Mrs. Love. You're mistaken, sir; not mad, but in spirits, that's all. No offence, I hope. Am I too flighty for you? Perhaps I am; you are of a saturnine disposition, inclined to think a little, or so. Well, don't let me interrupt you; don't let me be of any inconvenience. That would be the unpolitest thing for a married couple to inte fere and encroach on each other's pleasures! hideous! it would be gothic to the last degree. Ha, ha, ha!

now;

O,

Love. (Forcing a laugh.) Ha, ha! Ma'am, you-ha, ha! you are perfectly right. Mrs. Love. Nay, but I don't like that laugh, I positively don't like it. Can't you laugh out, as you were used to do? For my part, I'm determined to do nothing else all the rest of my life. Love. This is the most astonishing thing? Ma'am, I don't rightly comprehend

Mrs. Love. Oh, lud! oh, lud! with that important face! Well, but come, now; what don't you comprehend?

Love. There is something in this treatment that I don't so well—

Mrs. Love. Oh, are you there, sir? How quickly they, who have no sensibility for the peace and happiness of others, can feel for themselves, Mr. Lovemore! But that's a grave reflection, and I hate reflection.

Love. What has she got into her head? This sudden change, Mrs. Lovemore, let me tell you, is a little alarming, and

Mrs. Love. Nay, don't be frightened; there is no harm in innocent mirth, I hope? Never look so grave upon it. I assure you, sir, that though, on your part, you seem determined to offer constant indignities to your wife, and though the laws of retaliation would, in some sort, exculpate her, if, when provoked to the utmost, exasperated beyond all enduring, she should, in her turn, make him know what it is to receive an injury in the tenderest point

Love. Madam!

Mrs. Love. Well, well, don't be frightened; I say, I sha'n't retaliate; my own honour will secure you there, you may depend upon it. You won't come and play a game at cards? Well, do as you like; well, you won't come? No, no, I see you won't. What say you to a bit of supper with us? Nor that neither? Follow your inclinations it is not material where a body eats; the company expects me. Your servant, Mr. Lovemore; your's, your's, [Exit, singing. Love. This is a frolic I never saw her in before. Laugh all the rest of my life! laws of retaliation! an injury in the tenderest point! the company expects me. Your servant, my dear! Your's, your's!" (Mimicking her.) What the devil is all this? Some of her female friends have been tampering with her. Zounds! I must begin to look a little sharp after the lady. I'll go this moment into the card room, and watch whom she whispers with, whom she ogles with, and every circumstance that can lead to—(Going.)

Enter MUSLIN in a hurry.

Mus. Madam, madam! here's your letter; I would not, for all the world, that my masterLove. What, is she mad, too? What's the matter, woman?

Mus. Nothing, sir; nothing. I wanted a word with my lady, that's all, sir. Love. You would not, for the world, that your What master-what was you going to say? Mus. Paper, sir! [paper's that?

Love. Paper, sir! Let me see it. Mus. Lard, sir! how can you ask a body for such a thing? It's a letter to me, sir; a letter from the country; a letter from my sister, sir. She bids me to buy her a shiver de fize cap, and a sixteenth in the lottery; and tells me a number she dreamt of, that's all sir; I'll put it up.

Love. Let me look at it. Give it me this moment. (Reads.) To Mrs. Lovemore! Brilliant Fashion. This is a letter from the country, is it?

Mus. That, sir-that is-no, sir-no-that's not my sister's letter. If you will give me that back, sir, I'll shew you the right one. Love. Where did you get this? Mus. Sir?

Love. Where did you get it? Tell me truth. Mus. Dear heart, you fright a body so; in the parlour, sir; I found it there.

Love. Very well; leave the room.

Mus. The devil fetch it, I was never so oat in my politics in all my days. [Exit. Love. A pretty epistle, truly, this seems to be. Let me read it. (Reads.) Permit me, dear madam, to throw myself on my knees; for on my knees Î must address you; and, in that humble posture, to implore your compassion. Compassion, with a vengeance, to him. Think you see me now, with tender, melting, supplicating eyes, languishing at your feet. Very well, sir. Can you find it in your heart to persist in cruelty? Grant me but access to you once more, and, in addition to what I already said this morning, I will urge such motives-urge such motives, will ye?—as will suggest to you, that you should no longer hesitate, in gratitude, to reward him, who, still on his knees, here makes a vow to you of eternal constancy and love.

BRILLIANT FASHION. So, so, so! your very humble servant, Sir Brilliant Fashion! This is your friendship for me, is it? You are mighty kind, indeed, sir; but I thank you as much as if you had really done me the favour and Mrs. Lovemore, I'm your humble servant, too. She intends to laugh all the rest of her life! This letter will change her note. Yonder she comes, along the gallery, and Sir Brilliant in full chase of her. They come this way. Could I but detect them both now! I'll step aside; and who knows but the devil may tempt them to their undoing, At least, I'll try. A polite husband I am; there's the coast clear for you, madam. [Exit.

Enter MRS. LOVEMORE, SIR BRILLIANT following. is odious; your compliments fulsome; and your Mrs. Love. I tell you, Sir Brilliant, your civility solicitations impertinent, sir. I must make use of harsh language, sir; you provoke it, and I can't refrain.

Sir Bril. Not retiring to solitude and discontent again, I hope, madam? Have a care, my dear Mrs. Lovemore, of a relapse..

solicitous about me. Why would you leave the Mrs. Love. No danger of that, sir; don't be so company? Let me entreat you to return, sir.

Sir Bril. By heaven! there is more rapture, in being one moment vis-a-vis with you, than in the company of a whole drawing-room of beauties. youthful loves, and blooming graces; all unfelt, Round you are melting pleasures, tender transports, neglected, and despised, by a tasteless, cold, languid, unimpassioned husband, while they might be all so much better employed to the purposes of ecstacy and bliss.

Mrs. Love. I desire, Sir Brilliant, you will desist from this unequalled insolence. I am not to be treated in this manner; and, I assure you, sir, that follow, I should not hesitate a moment to acquaint were I not afraid of the ill consequences that might Mr. Lovemore with your whole behaviour.

Sir Bril. She won't tell her husband, then! A

charming creature, and blessings on her for so convenient a hint. She yields, by all that's wicked! What shall I say to overwhelm her senses in a flood of nonsense. (Aside.)

Go. my heart's envoys, tender sighs, make haste;
Still drink delicious poison from thy eye;
Raptures and paradise

Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press d.

Sir Bril. I was telling your lady, here, of the most whimsical adventure

Love. Don't add the meanness of falsehood to the black attempt of invading the happiness of your friend. I did imagine, sir, from the long intercourse that has subsisted between us, that you might have had delicacy enough, feeling enough, honour enough, sir, not to meditate an injury like this.

Sir Bril. Ay, it is all over; I am detected! (A side.) Mr. Lovemore, if begging your pardon for this rashness will any way atone

Love. No, sir; nothing can atone.
Sir Bril. But, Mr. Lovemore-
Love. But, sir,-

Sir Bril. I only beg

Love. Pray, sir; sir, I insist. I won't hear a word. Sir Bril. I declare, upon my honour

Love. Honour! for shame, Sir Brilliant, don't mention the word.

Sir Bril. If begging pardon of that lady— Love. That lady! I desire you will never speak to that lady.

Sir Bril. Nay, but pr'ythee, Lovemore.
Love. Poh! poh! don't tell me, sir.

Enter SIR BASHFUL.

Sir Bash. Did not I hear loud words among you? I certainly did. What are you quarrelling about? Love. Read that, Sir Bashful. (Gives him Sir Brilliant's letter.) Read that, and judge if I have not cause-(Sir Bashful reads to himself.)

Sir Bril. Hear but what I have to sayLove. No, sir, no; I have done with you for the present. As for you, madam, I am satisfied with your conduct. I was indeed a little alarmed, but I have been a witness of your behaviour, and I am above harbouring low suspicions.

Sir Bash. Upon my word, Mr. Lovemore, this is carrying the jest too far.

Love. Sir, it is the basest action a gentleman can be guilty of!

Sir Bash. Why, so I think. Sir Brilliant, (aside) here, take the letter, and read it to him; his own letter to my wife.

Sir Bril. Let me have it. (Takes the letter.) Sir Bash. "Tis indeed, as you say, the worst thing a gentleman can be guilty of

Love. 'Tis an unparalleled breach of friendship.
Sir Bril. Well, I can't see anything unparallel-

ed in it. I believe it will not be found to be

without a precedent; as for example-(Reads.) "To my Lady Constant-Why should I conceal, my dear madam, that your charms have touched my heart-"

Love. Zoons! my letter. (A side.)

Sir Bril. (Reading.) " I long have loved you, long adored. Could I but flatter myself—” Sir Bash. The basest thing a man can be guilty

of, Mr. Lovemore!

Love. All a forgery, sir; all a forgery. (Snatches the letter.)

Sir Bush. That I deny; it is the very identical letter my lady threw away with such indignation. My Lady Constant, how have I wronged you! That was the cause of your taking it so much to heart,

Mr. Lovemore, was it?

Love. A mere contrivance, to palliate his guilt. Poh! poh! I won't stay a moment longer among ye. I'll go into another room to avoid ye all. Hell and distraction! what fiend is conjured up here? Zoons! let me make my escape out of the house. Mrs. Love. I'll secure this door; you must not go, my dear.

Love, 'Sdeath, madam, let me pass!

Love. I wish I was fifty miles off. (Aside.) Mrs. Love. Mrs. Bellmour, give me leave to introduce Mr. Lovemore to you. (Turning him to her.) Mrs. Bell. No, my dear madam, let me introduce Lord Etheridge to you. (Pulling him.) My lordSir Bril. In the name of wonder, what is all this? Sir Bash. Wounds! is this another of his intrigues blown up?

Mrs. Love. My dear madam, you are mistaken: this is my husband.

Mrs. Bell. Pardon me, madam, 'tis my Lord Etheridge.

Mrs. Love. My dear, how can you be so ill-bred in your own house? Mrs. Bellmour, this is Mr. Lovemore.

Love. Are you going to toss me in a blanket, madam? call up the rest of your people, if you are. Mrs. Bell. Psha! pr'ythee now, my lord, leave off your humours. Mrs. Lovemore, this is Lord Etheridge, a lover of mine, who has made proposals of marriage to me. Come, come, you shall have a wife. I will take compassion on you.

Love. D! I can't stand it. (Aside.) Mrs. Bell. Come, cheer up, my lord. What the deuce, your dress is altered! what's become of the star and riband? And so the gay, the florid, the magnifique Lord Etheridge dwindles down into plain Mr. Lovemore, the married man! Mr. Lovemore, your most obedient, very humble servant, sir. Love. I can't bear to feel myself in so ridiculous circumstance. (Aside.)

a

Sir Bush, He has been passing himself for a lord, has he?

Mrs. Bell. I beg my compliments to your friend Mrs. Loveit. I am much obliged to you both for your very honourable designs. (Curtsying to him.) Love. I was never so ashamed in all my life! (Aside.)

Sir Bril. So, so, so; all his pains were to hide the star from me.

Mrs. Bell. Mrs. Lovemore, I cannot sufficiently acknowledge the providence that directed you to pay me a visit, and I shall henceforth consider you as my deliverer.

the closet, and be d-d to her jealousy. (Aside.) Love. Zoons! It was she that fainted away in

Sir Bril. My lord-(advances to him)-My lord, my Lord Etheridge, as the man says in the play, Your lordship's right welcome back to Denmark." Love. Now he comes upon me. (Aside.)

Sir Bril. My lord, I hope that ugly pain in your lordship's side is abated.

Love. Absurd and ridiculous. (Aside.)

Sir Bril. There is nothing forming there, I hope,

my lord.

Love. D ! I can't bear all this. I won't

stay to be teased by any of you. I'll go to the company in the card-room! Here is another fiend! I am beset with them.

Enter LADY CONSTANT. No way for an escape?—

Lady Con. I have lost every rubber I played for; quite broke. Do, Mr. Lovemore, lend me another [Nova Scotia.

hundred.

Love. I would give a hundred you were all in Lady Con. Mrs. Lovemore, let me tell you, you are married to the falsest man;-he has deceived me strangly.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-The Court of a castle, surrounded with

woods.

Enter LADY RANDOLPH through the castle-gates. Lady R. Ye woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom

Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart,
Farewell awhile: I will not leave you long;
For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells,
Who from the chiding stream, or groaning oak,
Still hears, and answers to Matilda's moan.
O Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosts
Are e'er permitted to review this world,
Within the circle of that wood thou art,
And with the passion of immortals bear'st
My lamentation: hear'st thy wretched wife
Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost.
My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn :
Who perish'd with thee on this fatal day.
O disregard me not; though I am call'd
Another's now, my heart is wholly thine.
Incapable of change, affection lies

Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave.
Bat Randolph comes, whom fate has made my lord,
To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead."

Enter LORD RANDOLPH.

Lord R. Again these weeds of woe! say, dost thou well,

To feed a passion which consumes thy life?
The living claim some duty; vainly thou
Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead.
Lady R. Silent, alas! is he for whom I mourn:
Childless, without memorial of his name,
He only now in my remembrance lives.

Lord R. Time, that wears out the trace of deepest anguish,

Has past o'er thee in vain.

Sure, thou art not the daughter of Sir Malcolm:
Strong was his rage, eternal his resentment:
For when thy brother fell, he smil'd to hear
That Douglas' son in the same field was slain.
Lady R. Oh! rake not up the ashes of my fathers:
Implacable resentment was their crime.
And grievous has the expiation been.

Lord R. Thy grief wrests to its purposes my words.

I never ask'd of thee that ardent love,
Which in the breasts of Fancy's children burns.
Decent affection, and complacent kindness
Were all I wish'd for; but I wish'd in vain.
Hence, with the less regret my eyes behold
The storm of war that gathers o'er this land:
If I should perish by the Danish sword,
Matilda would not shed one tear the more.
Lady R. Thou dost not think so: woeful as I am,
I love thy merit, and esteem thy virtues.
But whither goest thou now?

Lord R. Straight to the camp,
Where every warrior on the tip-toe stands
Of expectation, and impatient asks
Each who arrives, if he is come to tell
The Danes are landed.

Lady R. O, may adverse winds,

Far from the coast of Scotland drive their fleet!
And every soldier of both hosts return
In peace and safety to his pleasant home!

Lord R. Thou speak'st a woman's; hear a warrior's wish :

Right from their native land, the stormy north,
May the wind blow, till every keel is fix'd
Immoveable in Caledonia's strand!

Then shall our foes repent their bold invasion,

[state:

Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with my But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man, Never did sister thus a brother mourn. What had your sorrows been if you had lost, In early youth, the husband of your heart? Lady R. Oh!

Anna. Have I distress'd you with officious love, And ill-tim'd mention of your brother's fate? Forgive me, lady; humble tho' I am,

The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune:
So fervently I love you, that to dry
These piteous tears, I'd throw my life away.
Lady R. What pow'r directed thy unconscious
tongue

To speak as thou hast done? to name—
Anna. I know not:

[ble,

But since my words have made my mistress trem-
I will speak so no more; but silent mix
My tears with her's.

Lady R. No, thou shalt not be silent.
I'll trust thy faithful love, and thou shalt be
Henceforth th' instructed partner of my woes.
But what avails it; can thy feeble pity
Roll back the flood of never-ebbing time?
Compel the earth and ocean to give up

Their dead alive?

Anna. What means my noble mistress?

This precious moral from my tragic tale.-
In a few days, the dreadful tidings came
That Douglas and my brother both were slain.
Anna. My dearest lady! many a tale of tears
I've listened to; but never did I hear
A tale so sad as this.

Lady R. In the first days

Of my distracting grief, I found myself
As women wish to be who love their lords.
But who durst tell my father? The good priest
Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient tutor,
With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell:
They two alone were privy to the marriage.
On silence and concealment I resolv'd,
Till time should make my father's fortune mine.
That very night on which my son was born,
My nurse, the only confidant I had,

Set out with him to reach her sister's house:
But nurse, nor infant, have I ever seen,
Or heard of, Anna, since that fatal hour.
Anna. Not seen, nor heard of! then perhaps he
lives.

[rain

Lady R. No. It was dark December: wind and Had beat all night. Across the Carron lay The destin'd road; and in its swelling flood My faithful servant perish'd with my child.

Anna. Ah! Lady, see Glenalvon comes: I saw him bend on you his thoughtful eyes, And hitherwards he slowly stalks his way. Lady R. I will avoid him. An ungracious person Is doubly irksome in an hour like this. Their? Anna. Why speaks my Lady thus of Randolph's Lady R. Because he's not the heir of Randolph's

virtues.

Subtle and shrewd, he offers to mankind

An artificial image of himself:

And he with ease can vary to the taste

Of different men its features.

Why I describe him thus, I'll tell hereafter:

rows been,

If I in early youth had lost a husband?—

In the cold bosom of the earth is lodg'd,
Mangled with wounds, the husband of my youth;
And in some cavern of the ocean lies

My child and his.

Anna. O lady, most rever'd!

The tale wrapt up in your amazing words
Deign to unfold.

Lady R. Alas! an ancient feud,
Hereditary evil, was the source

Of my mifortunes. Ruling fate decreed,
That my brave brother should in battle save
The life of Douglas' son, our house's foe:
The youthful warriors vow'd eternal friendship.
To see the vaunted sister of his friend,
Impatient Douglas to Balarmo came,
Under a borrow'd name. My heart he gain'd;
Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg'd;
My brother's presence authoriz'd our marriage.
Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings of down,
Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd lord was call'd
To fight his father's battles: and with him,
In spite of all my tears, did Malcolm go.
Scarce were they gone, when my stern sire was told
That the false stranger was Lord Douglas' son.
Frantic with rage, the baron drew his sword
And question'd me. Alone, forsaken, faint,
Kneeling beneath his sword, fault'ring I took
An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would
Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity!
Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave
Thy onward path! altho' the earth should gape,
And from the gulf of hell destruction cry
To take dissimulation's winding way.

Anna. Alas! how few of woman's fearful kind Durst own a truth so hardy!

Lady R. The first truth

Is easiest to avow. This moral learn,

Anna. O happiness! where art thou to be found? I see thou dwellest not with birth and beauty, Tho' grac'd with grandeur, and in wealth array'd: Nor dost thou, it would seem, with virtue dwell; Else had this gentle lady, miss'd thee not.

With subjects intricate? Thy youth, thy beauty, Cannot be question'd: think of these good gifts, And then thy contemplations will be pleasing.

[Exit.

Anna. Let woman view yon monument of woe, Then boast of beauty: who so fair as she? But I must follow: this revolving day Awakes the memory of her ancient woes. Glen. So!-Lady Randolph shuns me; by and by, I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride. The deed's a doing now, that makes me lord Of these rich vallies, and a chief of pow'r. The season is most apt; my sounding steps Will not be heard amidst the din of arms. Randolph has liv'd too long: his better fate Had the ascendant once, and kept me down: When I had seiz'd the dame, by chance he came, Rescu'd, and had the lady for his labour; I'scap'd unknown: a slender consolation! Heav'n is my witness that I do not have To sow in peril, and let others reap The jocund harvest. Yet, I am not safe; By love, or something like it, stung, inflam'd, Madly I blabb'd my passion to his wife,