Lady G. Why, that indeed is enough to make a woman of spirit look about her. Lady T Nay, but to be serious, my dear-What would you really have a woman do in my case? Lady G. Why if I had a sober husband as you have, I would make myself the happiest wife in the world, by being as sober as he. Lady T. Oh, you wicked thing! How can you teaze one at this rate, when you know he is so very sober that (except giving me money) there is not one thing in the world he can do to please me. And I, at the same time, partly by nature, and partly, perhaps, by keeping the best company, do with my soul love almost every thing he hates. I dote upon assemblies; my heart bounds at a ball, and at an opera-I expire. Then I love play to distraction; cards enchant me-and dice-put me out of my little wits. Dear, dear hazard! O what a flow of spirits it gives one! Do you never play at hazard, child? Lady G. Oh, never! I dont think it sits well upon women; there's something so masculine, so much the air of a rake in it. You see how it makes the men swear and curse; and when a woman is thrown into the same passion-why Lady T. That's very true; one is a little put to it, sometimes, not to make use of the same words to express it. Lady G. Well, and upon ill luck, pray what words are you really forced to make use of? Lady T. Why, upon a very hard case, indeed, when a sad wrong word is rising just to one's tongue's end, I give a great gulph and-swallow it. Lady G. Well-and is it not enough to make you forswear play as long as you live? Lady T. Oh yes: I have forsworn it. Lady G. Seriously? Lady T. Solemnly, a thousand times; but then one is constantly forsworn. Lady G. And how can you answer that? Lady T. My dear, what we say when we are losers, we look upon to be no more binding than a lover's oath, or a great man's promise. But I beg pardon, child: I should not lead you so far into the world; you are a prude, and design to live soberly. Lady G. Why, I confess my nature and my education do in a good degree confine me that way. Lady T. Well, how a woman of spirit (for you don't want that, child,) can dream of living soberly, is to me inconceivable; for you will marry, I suppose. Lady G. I can't tell but I may. Lady T. And wont you live in town? very well. Lady T. My stars! And you would really live in London half the year, to be sober in it! Lady G. Why not? Lady T. Why can't you as well go and be sober in the country? Lady G. So I would-t'other half year. Lady T. And pray, What comfortable scheme of life would you form now for your summer and winter sober entertainments ? us. Lady G. A scheme that I think might very well content Lady T. Oh, of all things, let's hear it. Lady G. Why, in summer I could pass my leisure hours in riding, in reading, walking by a canal, or sitting at the end of it under a great tree; in dressing, dining, chatting with an agreeable friend; perhaps hearing a little music, taking a dish of tea, or a game at cards-soberly; managing my family, looking into its accounts, playing with my children, if I had any; or in a thousand other innocent amusements-soberly; and possibly by these means, I might induce my husband to be as sober as myself. Lady T. Well, my dear, thou art an astonishing creature! For such primitive antediluvian notions of life have have not been in any head these thousand years. Under a great tree ha! ha! ha! -But I beg we may have the sober town scheme too-for I am charmed with the country one. Lady G. You shall, and I'll try to stick to my sobriety there too. Lady T. Well, though I am sure it will give me the va pours, I must hear it. Lady G. Well, then, for fear of your fainting, madam, I will first so far come into the fashion, that I would never be dressed out of it—but still it should be soberly; for I can't think it any disgrace to a woman of my private fortune not to wear her lace as fine as the wedding suit of a first dutchess; though there is one extravagance I would venture to come up to. Lady T. Ay, now for it Lady G. I would every day be as clean as a bride. Lady T. Why, the men say that's a great step to be made one. Well, now you are drest, pray let's see to what purpose. Lady G. I would visit-that is, my real friends;-but as little for form as possible.-I would go to court; some times to an assembly, nay, play at quadrille-soberly. I would see all the good plays; and because 'tis the fash ion, now and then go to an opera; but I would not expire there for fear I should never go again. And lastly, I can't say, but for curiosity, if I liked my company, I might be drawn in once to a masquerade; and this, I think, is far as a woman can go-soberly. Lady T. Well, if it had not been for that last piece of sobriety, I was just agoing to call for some surfeit water. Lady G. Why, don't you think, with the farther aid of breakfasting, dining, taking the air, supping, sleeping, (not to say a word of devotion) the four and twenty hours might roll over in a tolerable manner? Lady T. Tolerable? Deplorable!--Why, child, all you propose is but to endure life; now, I want-to enjoy it. III.-Priuli and Jaffier.-VENICE PRESERVED. Pri. NO more! I'll hear no more! Begone, and leave me. Jaff. Not hear me? By my sufferings, but you shall! In right, though proud oppression will not hear me? Jaff. Could my nature e'er Have brook'd injustice, or the doing wrong, Pri. Yes, wrong'd me. In the nicest point, Childless you had been else, and in the grave And I was with you. Your unskilful pilot Pri. You stole her from me; like a thief you stole her At dead of night; that cursed hour you chose To rifle me of all my heart held dear. May all your joys in her prove false as mine; Attend you both; continual discord make Jaff. Half of your curse you have bestow'd in vain : Heaven has already crown'd our faithful loves With a young boy, sweet as his mother's beauty. May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire, And happier than his father. Pri. No more. Jaff. Yes, all; and then-adieu forever. ; Whose blossom 'scap'd, yet's wither'd in the ripening. Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife, Home, home, I say. Jaff. Yes, if my heart would let me— This proud, this swelling heart, home would I go, But that my doors are hateful to my eyes, Fill'd and damm'd up with gaping creditors. And we will bear our wayward fate together- [Exit. IV.-Boniface and Aimwell.-BEAUX STRATAGEM.. Bon. THIS way, this way, Sir. Aim. Your'e my landlord, I suppose. Bon. Yes, Sir, I'm old Will Boniface; pretty well known upon this road, as the saying is. |