C. Bas. Mrs Myrtilla, will you be so good as to see if the doctor's ready for us?

Myr. He only staid for you, sir: I'll fetch him immediately. [Exit. Jen. Pray, sir, am not I to take place of marama, when I'm a countess?

C. Bas. No doubt on't, my dear.

Jen. O lud! how her back will be up then, when she meets me at an assembly, or you and | I, in our coach and six, at Hyde Park together!

C. Bus. Ay, or when she hears the box-keepers at an opera call out-The countess of Basset's servants!

Jen. Well, I say it, that will be delicious; and then, mayhap, to have a fine gentleman, with a star and what-d'ye-call-um ribbon, lead me to my chair, with his hat under his arm all the way! Hold up, says the chairman; and so, says I, my lord, your humble servant. I suppose, madam, says he, we shall see you at my lady Quadrille's? Ay, ay, to be sure, my lord, says I-So in swops me, with my hoop stuffed up to my forehead; and away they trot, swing swang! with my tassels dangling, and my flambeaux blazing, and— Oh, it's a charming thing to be a woman of quality!

C. Bas. Well, I see that plainly, my dear there's ne'er a duchess of 'em all will become an equipage like you.

Jen. Well, well, do you find equipage, and I'll find airs, I warrant you. [Sings. Sq. Rich. Troth, I think this masquerading's the merriest game that ever I saw in my life; thof, in my mind, an there were but a little wrestling or cudgel-playing now, it would help it hugely. But what a-rope makes the parson stay so? C. Bas. Oh, here he comes, I believe.

Enter MYRTILLA, with a Constable. Con. Well, madam, pray which is the party that wants a spice of my office here? Myr. That's the gentleman. [Pointing to the Count. C. Bas. Hey-day! What, in masquerade, doc

tor?

Con. Doctor! Sir, I believe you have mistaken your man: But if you are called Count Basset, I have a billetdoux in my hand for you, that will set you right presently.

C. Bas. What the devil's the meaning of all this?

Con. Only my lord-chief-justice's warrant against you for forgery, sir.

C. Bus. Blood and thunder! Con. And so, sir, if you please to pull off your fool's frock there, I'll wait upon you to the next justice of peace immediately.

Jen. O'dear me! What's the matter?

Sq. Rich. Oh ho, is that all?

Sir Fran. No, sirrah, that is not all.

Enter MANLY.

Sq. Rich. O lawd! O lawd! he has beaten my brains out!

Man. Hold, hold, Sir Francis; have a little mercy upon my poor god-son, pray, sir. Sir Fran. Waunds, cozen, I ha'n't patience. C. Bus. Manly! Nay, then, I'm blown to the devil. [Aside.

Sq. Rich O my head! my head!

Enter Lady WRONGHEAD.

L. Wrong. What's the matter here, gentlemen? For Heaven's sake! What, are you murdering my children?

Con. No, no, madam; no murder; only a little suspicion of felony, that's ali.

Do

Sir Fran. [To JEN.] And for you, Mrs Hotupon't, I could find in my heart to make you wear that habit as long as you live, you jado you. you know, hussy, that you were within two minutes of marrying a pickpocket? [Aside.

C. Bas. So, so, all's out, I find. Jen. O the mercy! Why, pray, papa, is not the count a man of quality then?

Sir Fran. O yes; one of the unbanged ones, it seems.

L. Wrong. [Aside.] Married! O the confident thing! There was his urgent business thenSlighted for her! I ha'n't patience!—and for ought I know, I have been all this while making a friendship with a highwayman.

Man. Mr Constable, secure there.

Sir Fran. Ah, my lady, my lady! this comes of your journey to London; but now I'll have a frolic of my own, madam; therefore pack up your trumpery this very night; for the moment my horses are able to crawl, you and your brats shall make a journey into the country again.

L. Wrong. Indeed you are mistaken, Sir Francis-I shall not stir out of town yet, I promise you.

Sir Fran. Not stir! Waunds! Madam

Man. Hold, sir!-If you'll give me leave a little--I fancy I shall prevail with my lady to think better on't.

Sir Fran. Ah, cousin, you are a friend indeed. Man. [Apart to my Lady.] Look you, madam : as to the favour you designed me, in sending this spurious letter inclosed to my lady Grace, all the revenge I have taken is to have saved your son and daughter from ruin; now, if you will take them fairly and quietly into the country again, I will save your ladyship from ruin.

L. Wrong. What do you mean, sir? Man. Why, Sir Francis-shall never know what is in this letter: look upon it: How it came into my hands you shall know at leisure.

L. Wrong. Ha! my billetdoux to the count, and an appointment in it! I shall sink with confusion!

Man. What shall I say to Sir Francis, madam ?
L. Wrong. Dear sir, I am in such a trembling!

knocks him down with his cane.

[Apart to MANLY.

Man. Sir Francis-my lady is ready to receive your commands for her journey, whenever you please to appoint it.

Sir Fran. Ah, cousin! I doubt I am obliged to you for it.

Man. Come, come, Sir Francis, take it as you find it. Obedience in a wife is a good thing, though it were never so wonderful!—And now, sir, we have nothing to do but to dispose of this gentleman.

C. Bus. Mr Manly! Sir, I hope you won't ruin me.

Man. Did not you forge this note for five hundred pounds, sir?

C. Bas. Sir--I see you know the world, and therefore I shall not pretend to prevaricateBut it has hurt nobody yet, sir. I beg you will not stigmatize me: since you have spoiled my fortune in one family, I hope you won't be so cruel to a young fellow, as to put it out of my power, sir, to make it in another, sir.

Man. Look you, sir, I have not much time to waste with you; but if you expect mercy yourself, you must shew it to one you have been cruel to.

as you think it, as a reward for her honesty, in detecting your practices, instead of the forged bill you would have put upon her, there's a real one of five hundred pounds, to begin a new honey-moon with. [Gives it to MYRTILLA.

C. Bas. Sir, this is so generous an act

Man. No compliments, dear sir-I am not at leisure now to receive them. Mr Constable, will you be so good as to wait upon this gentleman into the next room, and give this lady in marriage to him?

Con. Sir, I'll do it faithfully.

C. Bas. Well, five hundred will serve to make a handsome push with, however.

[Exeunt Count. MYR, and Constable. Sir Fran. And that I may be sure my family's rid of him for ever-come, my lady, let's even take our children along with us, and be all witness of the ceremony.

[Ercunt Sir FRAN. L. WRONG. Miss and

Squire.

Man. Now, my lord, you may enter.

Enter Lord and Lady TowNLY, and Lady GRACE.

Ld Town. So, sir, I give you joy of your negociation. Man. You overheard it all, I presume? L. Grace. From first to last, sir.

Ld Town. Never were knaves and fools better disposed of.

Man. A sort of poetical justice, my lord, not much above the judgment of a modern comedy.

Ld Town. To heighten that resemblance, I think, sister, there only wants your rewarding the hero of the fable, by naming the day of his happiness.

L. Grace. This day, to-morrow, every hour, I hope, of life to come, will shew I want not inclination to complete it.

Man. Whatever I may want, madam, you will always find endeavours to deserve you. Ld Town. Then all are happy.

Lady Town. Sister, I give you joy-consummate as the happiest pair can boast.

In you, methinks, as in a glass, I see
The happiness that once advanced to me :
So visible the bliss, so plain the way,
How was it possible my sense could stray?
But now a convert to this truth I come,
That married happiness is never found from
home.
[Exeunt omnes,

METHINKS I hear some powdered critics say, Damn it! this wife reform'd, has spoil'd the play! The coxcomb should have drawn her more in fashion;

Have gratified her softer inclination;

Have tipt her a gallant, and clinch'd the provocation.

But there our bard stopt short; for 'twere uncivil
T' have made a modern belle all o'er a devil!
He hop'd, in honour of the sex, the age
Would bear one mended woman-on the stage.
From whence you see by common sense's rules
Wives might be govern'd, were not husbands
fools.

Whate'er by Nature dames are prone to do,
They seldom stray but when they govern you;
When the wild wife perceives her deary tame,
No wonder then she plays him all the game.
But men of sense meet rarely that disaster;
Women take pride where merit is their master:
Nay, she that with a weak man wisely lives,
Will seem t'obey the due commands he gives!
Happy obedience is no more a wonder,
When men are men, and keep them kindly under:

But modern consorts are such high-bred creatures,

They think a husband's power degrades their features;

That nothing more proclaims a reigning beauty, Than that she never was reproached with duty; And that the greatest blessing Heaven e'er sent, Is in a spouse incurious and content.

To give such dames a different cast of thought, By calling home the mind, these scenes were wrought.

If with a hand too rude the task is done,
We hope the scheme by Lady Grace laid down
Will all such freedom with the sex atone;
That virtue there unsoil'd by modish art,
Throws out attractions for a Manly's heart.

You, you, then, ladies, whose unquestioned lives

Give you the foremost fame of happy wives,
Protect, for its attempt, this helpless play,
Nor leave it to the vulgar taste a prey;
Appear the frequent champions of its cause;
Direct the crowd, and give yourselves applause.

2 M

VOL. III.

Now luck for us, and a kind hearty pit ; For he who pleases never fails of wit. Honour is yours,

And you, like kings at city treats, bestow it ;
The writer kneels, and is bid rise a poet:
But you are fickle sovereigns, to our sorrow;
You dub to-day, and hang a man to-morrow;
You cry the same sense up and down again,
Just like brass money once a-year in Spain:
Take you i' the mood, whate'er base metal come,
You coin as fast as groats at Birmingham;
Though 'tis no more like sense in ancient plays,
Than Rome's religion's like St Peter's days:
In short, so swift your judgments turn and wind,
You cast our fleetest wits a mile behind.
'Twere well your judgments but in plays did

range,

But even your follies and debauches change
With such a whirl, the poets of your age
Are tired, and cannot score them on the stage,
Unless each vice in short-hand they indite,
Even as notch'd 'prentices whole sermons write.
The heavy Hollanders no vices know,
But what they us’d a hundred years ago;
Like honest plants, where they were stuck they

grow.

They cheat, but still from cheating sires they

come;

They drink, but they were christ'ned first in mum.
Their patrimonial sloth the Spaniards keep,
And Philip first taught Philip how to sleep.
The French and we still change, but here's the

curse,

They change for better, and we change for worse;
They take up our old trade of conquering,
And we are taking theirs, to dance and sing.
Our fathers did, for change, to France repair,
And they, for change, will try our English air.
As children, when they throw one toy away,
Strait a more foolish gewgaw comes in play;
So we, grown penitent, on serious thinking,
Leave whoring, and devoutly fall to drinking.
Scowring the watch grows out-of-fashion wit:
Now we set up for tilting in the pit,
Where 'tis agreed by bullies, chicken-hearted,
To fright the ladies first, and then be parted.
A fair attempt has twice or thrice been made
To hire night-murderers, and make death a trade.
When murder's out, what vice can we advance?
Unless the new-found pois'ning trick of France:
And when their art of rats-bane we have got,
By way of thanks, we'll send them o'er our Plot.