SCENE II.--_St. James's Park.

_Enter_ SIR HARRY GUBBIN _and_ TIPKIN.

_Sir Har._ Look ye, brother Tipkin, as I told you before, my business in town is to dispose of an hundred head of cattle, and my son.

_Tip._ Brother Gubbin, as I signified to you in my last, bearing date September 13th, my niece has a thousand pounds per annum, and because I have found you a plain-dealing man (particularly in the easy pad you put into my hands last summer), I was willing you should have the refusal of my niece, provided that I have a discharge from all retrospects while her guardian, and one thousand pounds for my care.

_Sir Har._ Ay, but brother, you rate her too high, the war has fetched down the price of women; the whole nation is overrun with petticoats; our daughters lie upon our hands, Brother Tipkin; girls are drugs, sir, mere drugs.

_Tip._ Look ye, Sir Harry, let girls be what they will, a thousand pounds a year, is a thousand pounds a year; and a thousand pounds a year is neither girl nor boy.

_Sir Har._ Look ye, Mr. Tipkin, the main article with me is, that foundation of wive's rebellion, and husband's cuckoldom, that cursed pin-money. Five hundred pounds per annum pin-money!

_Tip._ The word pin-money, Sir Harry, is a term.

_Sir Har._ It is a term, brother, we never had in our family, nor ever will. Make her jointure in widowhood accordingly large, but four hundred pounds a year is enough to give no account of.

_Tip._ Well, Sir Harry, since you can't swallow these pins, I will abate to four hundred pounds.

_Sir Har._ And to mollify the article, as well as specify the uses, we'll put in the names of several female utensils, as needles, knitting-needles, tape, thread, scissors, bodkins, fans, play-books, with other toys of that nature. And now, since we have as good as concluded on the marriage, it will not be improper that the young people see each other.

_Tip._ I don't think it prudent till the very instant of marriage, lest they should not like one another.

_Sir Har._ They shall meet--As for the young girl, she cannot dislike Numps; and for Numps, I never suffered him to have anything he liked in his life. He'll be here immediately; he has been trained up from his childhood under such a plant as this, in my hand--I have taken pains in his education.

_Tip._ Sir Harry, I approve your method; for since you have left off hunting you might otherwise want exercise, and this is a subtle expedient to preserve your own health and your son's good manners.

_Sir Har._ It has been the custom of the Gubbins to preserve severity and discipline in their families: I myself was caned the day before my wedding.

_Tip._ Ay, Sir Harry, had you not been well cudgelled in your youth, you had never been the man you are.

_Sir Har._ You say right, sir, now I feel the benefit of it. There's a crab-tree near your house which flourishes for the good of my posterity, and has brushed our jackets from father to son, for several generations.

_Tip._ I am glad to hear you have all things necessary for the family within yourselves.

_Sir Har._ Oh, yonder, I see Numps is coming--I have dressed him in the very suit I had on at my own wedding; 'tis a most becoming apparel.

_Enter_ HUMPHRY GUBBIN.

_Tip._ Truly, the youth makes a good marriageable figure.

_Sir Har._ Come forward, Numps; this is your uncle Tipkin, your mother's brother, Numps, that is so kind as to bestow his niece upon you.--Don't be so glum, sirrah, don't bow to a man with a face as if you'd knock him down, don't, sirrah. [_Apart._

_Tip._ I am glad to see you, cousin Humphry.--He is not talkative, I observe already.

_Sir Har._ He is very shrewd, sir, when he pleases.--Do you see this crab-stick, you dog? [_Apart._]--Well, Numps, don't be out of humour.--Will you talk? [_Apart._]--Come, we're your friends, Numps; come, lad.

_Hump._ You are a pure fellow for a father. This is always your tricks, to make a great fool of one before company. [_Apart to his father._

_Sir Har._ Don't disgrace me, sirrah, you grim, graceless rogue--[_Apart._]--Brother, he has been bred up to respect and silence before his parents. Yet did you but hear what a noise he makes sometimes in the kitchen, or the kennel--he's the loudest of 'em all.

_Tip._ Well, Sir Harry, since you assure me he can speak, I'll take your word for it.

_Hump._ I can speak when I see occasion, and I can hold my tongue when I see occasion.

_Sir Har._ Well said, Numps--Sirrah, I see you can do well, if you will. [_Apart._

_Tip._ Pray walk up to me, cousin Humphry.

_Sir Har._ Ay, walk to and fro between us with your hat under your arm.--Clear up your countenance. [_Apart._

_Tip._ I see, Sir Harry, you han't set him a-capering under a French dancing-master. He does not mince it. He has not learned to walk by a courant or a boree.[84] His paces are natural, Sir Harry.

_Hump._ I don't know, but 'tis so we walk in the West of England.

_Sir Har._ Ay, right, Numps, and so we do. Ha! ha! ha! Pray, brother, observe his make, none of your lath-backed wishy-washy breed. Come hither, Numps--Can't you stand still? [_Apart._] [_Measuring his shoulders._

_Tip._ I presume this is not the first time, Sir Harry, you have measured his shoulders with your cane.

_Sir Mar._ Look ye, brother, two foot and a-half in the shoulders.

_Tip._ Two foot and a-half? We must make some settlement on the younger children.

_Sir Har._ Not like him, quotha'!

_Tip._ He may see his cousin when he pleases.

_Hump._ But harkee, uncle, I have a scruple I had better mention before marriage than after.

_Tip._ What's that? What's that?

_Hump._ My cousin, you know, is akin to me, and I don't think it lawful for a young man to marry his own relations.[85]

_Sir Har._ Harkee, harkee, Numps, we have got a way to solve all that.--Sirrah! Consider this cudgel! Your cousin! suppose I'd have you marry your grandmother; what then? [_Apart._

_Tip._ Well, has your father satisfied you in the point, Mr. Humphry?

_Hump._ Ay, ay, sir, very well. I have not the least scruple remaining; no, no--not in the least, sir.

_Tip._ Then harkee, brother, we'll go take a whet and settle the whole affair.

_Sir Har._ Come, we'll leave Numps here: he knows the way--Not marry your own relations, sirrah! [_Apart._ [_Exeunt._

_Hump._ Very fine, very fine! How prettily this park is stocked with soldiers, and deer, and ducks, and ladies!--Ha! where are the old fellows gone? where can they be tro'----I'll ask these people.

_Enter_ POUNCE _and_ FAINLOVE.

_Hump._ Ha, you pretty young gentleman, did you see my father?

_Fain._ Your father, sir?

_Hump._ A weazel-faced cross old gentleman with spindle-shanks?

_Fain._ No, sir.

_Hump._ A crab-tree stick in his hand?

_Pounce._ We han't met anybody with these marks; but sure I have seen you before--Are not you Mr. Humphry Gubbin, son and heir to Sir Henry Gubbin?

_Hump._ I am his son and heir--but how long I shall be so I can't tell, for he talks every day of disinheriting me.

_Pounce._ Dear sir, let me embrace you--Nay, don't be offended if I take the liberty to kiss you. Mr. Fainlove, pray [FAINLOVE _kisses_] kiss the gentleman--Nay, dear sir, don't stare and be surprised, for I have had a desire to be better known to you ever since I saw you one day clinch your fist at your father when his back was turned upon you; for I must own I very much admire a young gentleman of spirit.

_Hump._ Why, sir, would it not vex a man to the heart to have an old fool snubbing a body every minute afore company?

_Pounce._ Oh fie, he uses you like a boy.

_Hump._ Like a boy! He lays me on now and then as if I were one of his hounds. You can't think what a rage he was in this morning because I boggled a little at marrying my own cousin.

_Pounce._ A man can't be too scrupulous, Mr. Humphry--a man can't be too scrupulous.

_Hump._ Sir, I could as soon love my own flesh and blood; we should squabble like brother and sister; do you think we should not? Mr.----Pray, gentlemen, may I crave the favour of your names?

_Pounce._ Sir, I am the very person that has been employed to draw up the articles of marriage between you and your cousin.

_Hump._ Ay, say you so? Then you can inform me in some things concerning myself--Pray, sir, what estate am I heir to?

_Pounce._ To fifteen hundred pounds a year, an entailed estate.

_Hump._ I am glad to hear it with all my heart; and can you satisfy me in another question--Pray how old am I at present?

_Pounce._ Three-and-twenty last March.

_Hump._ Why, as sure as you are there, they have kept me back. I have been told by some of the neighbourhood that I was born the very year the pigeon-house was built, and everybody knows the pigeon-house is three-and-twenty. Why! I find there have been tricks played me. I have obeyed him all along, as if I had been obliged to it.

_Pounce._ Not at all, sir; your father can't cut you out of one acre of fifteen hundred pounds a year.

_Hump._ What a fool have I been to give him his head so long!

_Pounce._ A man of your beauty and fortune may find out ladies enough that are not akin to you.

_Hump._ Look ye, Mr. what d'ye call--as to my beauty, I don't know but they may take a liking to that. But, sir, mayn't I crave your name?

_Pounce._ My name, sir, is Pounce, at your service.

_Hump._ Pounce, with a P?

_Pounce._ Yes, sir, and Samuel, with an S.

_Hump._ Why, then, Mr. Samuel Pounce, do you know any gentlewoman that you think I could like? For, to tell you truly, I took an antipathy to my cousin ever since my father proposed her to me; and since everybody knows I came up to be married, I don't care to go down and look balked.

_Pounce._ I have a thought just come into my head--Do you see this young gentleman? He has a sister, a prodigious fortune. 'Faith, you two shall be acquainted.

_Fain._ I can't pretend to expect so accomplished a gentleman as Mr. Humphry for my sister, but being your friend, I'll be at his service in the affair.

_Hump._ If I had your sister, she and I should live like two turtles.

_Pounce._ Mr. Humphry, you shan't be fooled any longer; I'll carry you into company. Mr. Fainlove, you shall introduce him to Mrs. Clerimont's toilet.

_Fain._ She'll be highly taken with him; for she loves a gentleman whose manner is particular.

_Pounce._ What, sir, a person of your pretensions, a clear estate, no portions to pay! 'Tis barbarous, your treatment.--Mr. Humphry, I'm afraid you want money. There's for you--What, a man of your accomplishments! [_Giving a purse._

_Hump._ And yet you see, sir, how they use me. Dear sir, you are the best friend I ever met with in all my life. Now I am flush of money, bring me to your sister, and I warrant you for my behaviour--A man's quite another thing with money in his pocket, you know.

_Pounce._ How little the oaf wonders why I should give him money! [_Aside_].--You shall never want, Mr. Humphry, while I have it, Mr. Humphry; but dear friend, I must take my leave of you; I have some extraordinary business on my hands. I can't stay; but you must not say a word.

_Fain._ But you must be in the way half-an-hour hence, and I'll introduce you at Mrs. Clerimont's.

_Pounce._ Make 'em believe you are willing to have your cousin Bridget, till opportunity serves. Farewell, dear friend. [_Exit_ POUNCE _and_ FAIN.

_Hump._ Farewell, good Mr. Samuel Pounce.--But let's see my cash-- 'tis very true, the old saying, a man meets with more friendship from strangers than his own relations--Let's see my cash: 1, 2, 3, 4, there on that side; 1, 2, 3, 4, on that side; 'tis a foolish thing to put all one's money in one pocket; 'tis like a man's whole estate in one county--These five in my fob--I'll keep these in my hand, lest I should have a present occasion.--But this town's full of pickpockets; I'll go home again. [_Exit whistling._

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE.--_The Park._

_Enter_ POUNCE, _and_ CAPTAIN CLERIMONT _with his arm in a scarf._

_Pounce._ You are now well enough instructed both in the aunt and niece to form your behaviour.

_Cler._ But to talk with her apart is the great matter.

_Pounce._ The antiquated virgin has a mighty affectation for youth, and is a great lover of men and money--One of these, at least, I am sure I can gratify her in, by turning her pence in the annuities, or the stocks of one of the companies; some way or other I'll find to entertain her, and engage you with the young lady.

_Cler._ Since that is her ladyship's turn, so busy and fine a gentleman as Mr. Pounce must needs be in her good graces.

_Pounce._ So shall you too--but you must not be seen with me at first meeting; I'll dog 'em, while you watch at a distance. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ AUNT _and_ NIECE.

_Niece._ Was it not my gallant that whistled so charmingly in the parlour before he went out this morning? He's a most accomplished cavalier.

_Aunt._ Come, niece, come; you don't do well to make sport with your relations, especially with a young gentleman that has so much kindness for you.

_Niece._ Kindness for me! What a phrase is there to express the darts and flames, the sighs and languishings, of an expecting lover!

_Aunt._ Pray, niece, forbear this idle trash, and talk like other people. Your cousin Humphry will be true and hearty in what he says, and that's a great deal better than the talk and compliment of romances.

_Niece._ Good madam, don't wound my ears with such expressions; do you think I can ever love a man that's true and hearty? What a peasant-like amour do these coarse words import! True and hearty! Pray, aunt, endeavour a little at the embellishment of your style.

_Aunt._ Alack-a-day, cousin Biddy, these idle romances have quite turned your head.[86]

_Niece._ How often must I desire you, madam, to lay aside that familiar name, cousin Biddy? I never hear it without blushing--Did you ever meet with a heroine in those idle romances, as you call 'em, that was termed Biddy?

_Aunt._ Ah! cousin, cousin, these are mere vapours, indeed; nothing but vapours.

_Niece._ No, the heroine has always something soft and engaging in her name; something that gives us a notion of the sweetness of her beauty and behaviour; a name that glides through half-a-dozen tender syllables, as Elismonda, Clidamira, Deidamia, that runs upon vowels off the tongue; not hissing through one's teeth, or breaking them with consonants. 'Tis strange rudeness those familiar names they give us, when there is Aurelia, Sacharissa, Gloriana, for people of condition; and Celia, Chloris, Corinna, Mopsa, for their maids and those of lower rank.

_Aunt._ Look ye, Biddy, this is not to be supported. I know not where you learned this nicety; but I can tell you, forsooth, as much as you despise it, your mother was a Bridget afore you, and an excellent house-wife.

_Niece._ Good madam, don't upbraid me with my mother Bridget, and an excellent house-wife.

_Aunt._ Yes, I say she was; and spent her time in better learning than you ever did--not in reading of fights and battles of dwarfs and giants, but in writing out receipts for broths, possets, caudles, and surfeit-waters, as became a good country gentlewoman.

_Niece._ My mother, and a Bridget!

_Aunt._ Yes, niece, I say again, your mother, my sister, was a Bridget! the daughter of her mother Margery, of her mother Sisly, of her mother Alice.

_Niece._ Have you no mercy? Oh, the barbarous genealogy!

_Aunt._ Of her mother Winifred, of her mother Joan.

_Niece._ Since you will run on, then I must needs tell you I am not satisfied in the point of my nativity. Many an infant has been placed in a cottage with obscure parents, till by chance some ancient servant of the family has known it by its marks.

_Aunt._ Ay, you had best be searched--That's like your calling the winds the fanning gales, before I don't know how much company; and the tree that was blown by it had, forsooth, a spirit imprisoned in the trunk of it.

_Niece._ Ignorance!

_Aunt._ Then a cloud this morning had a flying dragon in it.

_Niece._ What eyes had you, that you could see nothing? For my part I look upon it to be a prodigy, and expect something extraordinary will happen to me before night.--But you have a gross relish of things. What noble descriptions in romances had been lost, if the writers had been persons of your goût?

_Aunt._ I wish the authors had been hanged, and their books burnt, before you had seen 'em.

_Niece._ Simplicity!

_Aunt._ A parcel of improbable lies.

_Niece._ Indeed, madam, your raillery is coarse----

_Aunt._ Fit only to corrupt young girls, and fill their heads with a thousand foolish dreams of I don't know what.

_Niece._ Nay, now, madam, you grow extravagant.

_Aunt._ What I say is not to vex, but advise you for your good.

_Niece._ What, to burn Philocles, Artaxeres, Oroondates, and the rest of the heroic lovers, and take my country booby, cousin Humphry, for a husband!

_Aunt._ Oh dear, oh dear, Biddy! Pray, good dear, learn to act and speak like the rest of the world; come, come, you shall marry your cousin and live comfortably.

_Niece._ Live comfortably! What kind of life is that? A great heiress live comfortably! Pray, aunt, learn to raise your ideas--What is, I wonder, to live comfortably?

_Aunt._ To live comfortably is to live with prudence and frugality, as we do in Lombard Street.

_Niece._ As we do! That's a fine life, indeed, with one servant of each sex. Let's see how many things our coachman is good for--He rubs down his horses, lays the cloth, whets the knives, and sometimes makes beds.

_Aunt._ A good servant should turn his hand to everything in a family.

_Niece._ Nay, there's not a creature in our family that has not two or three different duties. As John is butler, footman, and coachman, so Mary is cook, laundress, and chamber-maid.

_Aunt._ Well, and do you laugh at that?

_Niece._ No, not I; nor at the coach-horses, though one has an easy trot for my uncle's riding, and t'other an easy pace for your side-saddle.

_Aunt._ And so you jeer at the good management of your relations, do you?

_Niece._ No, I'm well satisfied that all the house are creatures of business; but, indeed, was in hopes that my poor little lap-dog might have lived with me upon my fortune without an employment; but my uncle threatens every day to make him a turn-spit, that he too, in his sphere, may help us to live comfortably.

_Aunt._ Hark ye, cousin Biddy.

_Niece._ I vow I'm out of countenance when our butler, with his careful face, drives us all stowed in a chariot drawn by one horse ambling and t'other trotting, with his provisions behind for the family, from Saturday night till Monday morning, bound for Hackney--then we make a comfortable figure, indeed.

_Aunt._ So we do, and so will you always, if you marry your cousin Humphry.

_Niece._ Name not the creature.

_Aunt._ Creature! What, your own cousin a creature!

_Niece._ Oh, let's be going. I see yonder another creature that does my uncle's law business, and has, I believe, made ready the deeds--those barbarous deeds!

_Aunt._ What, Mr. Pounce a creature too! Nay, now I'm sure you're ignorant. You shall stay, and you'll learn more wit from him in an hour, than in a thousand of your foolish books in an age----Your servant, Mr. Pounce.

_Enter_ POUNCE.

_Pounce._ Ladies, I hope I don't interrupt any private discourse.

_Aunt._ Not in the least, sir.

_Pounce._ I should be loth to be esteemed one of those who think they have a privilege of mixing in all companies, without any business but to bring forth a loud laugh or vain jest.

_Niece._ He talks with the mien and gravity of a Paladin. [_Aside._

_Pounce._ Madam, I bought the other day at three and a-half, and sold at seven----

_Aunt._ Then pray sir, sell for me in time. Niece, mind him; he has an infinite deal of wit.

_Pounce._ This that I speak of was for you. I never neglect such opportunities to serve my friends.

_Aunt._ Indeed, Mr. Pounce, you are, I protest without flattery, the wittiest man in the world.

_Pounce._ I assure you, madam, I said last night, before an hundred head of citizens, that Mrs. Barsheba Tipkin was the most ingenious young lady in the Liberties.

_Aunt._ Well, Mr. Pounce, you are so facetious--But you are always among the great ones; 'tis no wonder you have it.

_Niece._ Idle! Idle!

_Pounce._ But, madam, you know Alderman Grey-Goose, he's a notable joking man. Well, says he, here's Mrs. Barsheba's health; she's my mistress.

_Aunt._ That man makes me split my sides with laughing, he's such a wag.--Mr. Pounce pretends Grey-Goose said all this, but I know 'tis his own wit, for he's in love with me. [_Aside._

_Pounce._ But, madam, there's a certain affair I should communicate to you. [_Apart._

_Aunt._ Ay, 'tis certainly so--he wants to break his mind to me. [_Aside._]

[CAPTAIN CLERIMONT _passing._

_Pounce._ Oh, Mr. Clerimont, Mr. Clerimont----Ladies, pray let me introduce this young gentleman; he's my friend, a youth of great virtue and goodness, for all he's in a red coat.

_Aunt._ If he's your friend we need not doubt his virtue.

_Cler._ Ladies, you are taking the cool breath of the morning.

_Niece._ A pretty phrase. [_Aside._

_Aunt._ That's the pleasantest time this warm weather.

_Cler._ Oh, 'tis the season of the pearly dews and gentle zephyrs.

_Niece._ Ay! pray mind that again, aunt. [_Aside._

_Pounce._ Shan't we repose ourselves on yonder seat? I love improving company, and to communicate.

_Aunt._ 'Tis certainly so. He's in love with me, and wants opportunity to tell me so [_Aside._]--I don't care if we do--He's a most ingenious man. [_Aside._ [_Exeunt_ AUNT _and_ POUNCE.

_Cler._ We enjoy here, madam, all the pretty landscapes of the country without the pains of going thither.

_Niece._ Art and nature are in a rivalry, or rather a confederacy, to adorn this beauteous park with all the agreeable variety of water, shade, walks, and air. What can be more charming than these flowery lawns?

_Cler._ Or these gloomy shades----

_Niece._ Or these embroidered valleys----

_Cler._ Or that transparent stream----

_Niece._ Or these bowing branches on the banks of it, that seem to admire their own beauty in the crystal mirror?

_Cler._ I am surprised, madam, at the delicacy of your phrase. Can such expressions come from Lombard Street?

_Niece._ Alas, sir! what can be expected from an innocent virgin that has been immured almost one-and-twenty years from the conversation of mankind, under the care of an Urganda[87] of an aunt?

_Cler._ Bless me, madam, how have you been abused! Many a lady before your age has had an hundred lances broken in her service, and as many dragons cut to pieces in honour of her.

_Niece._ Oh, the charming man! [_Aside._

_Cler._ Do you believe Pamela was one-and-twenty before she knew Musidorus?[88]

_Niece._ I could hear him ever. [_Aside._

_Cler._ A lady of your wit and beauty might have given occasion for a whole romance in folio before that age.

_Niece._ Oh, the powers! Who can he be?--Oh, youth unknown--But let me, in the first place, know whom I talk to, for, sir, I am wholly unacquainted both with your person and your history. You seem, indeed, by your deportment, and the distinguishing mark of your bravery which you bear, to have been in a conflict. May I not know what cruel beauty obliged you to such adventures till she pitied you?

_Cler._ Oh, the pretty coxcomb! [_Aside._]--Oh, Blenheim, Blenheim! Oh, Cordelia, Cordelia!

_Niece._ You mention the place of battle. I would fain hear an exact description of it. Our public papers are so defective; they don't so much as tell us how the sun rose on that glorious day--Were there not a great many flights of vultures before the battle began?

_Cler._ Oh, madam, they have eaten up half my acquaintance.

_Niece._ Certainly never birds of prey were so feasted; by report, they might have lived half-a-year on the very legs and arms our troops left behind 'em.

_Cler._ Had we not fought near a wood we should never have got legs enough to have come home upon. The joiner of the Foot Guards has made his fortune by it.

_Niece._ I shall never forgive your General. He has put all my ancient heroes out of countenance; he has pulled down Cyrus and Alexander, as much as Louis-le-Grand--But your own part in that action?

_Cler._ Only that slight hurt, for the astrologer said at my nativity, nor fire, nor sword, nor pike, nor musket shall destroy this child, let him but avoid fair eyes----But, madam, mayn't I crave the name of her that has so captivated my heart?

_Niece._ I can't guess whom you mean by that description; but if you ask my name, I must confess you put me upon revealing what I always keep as the greatest secret I have--for would you believe it, they have called me--I don't know how to own it, but they have called me--Bridget.

_Cler._ Bridget?

_Niece._ Bridget.

_Cler._ Bridget?

_Niece._ Spare my confusion, I beseech you, sir; and if you have occasion to mention me, let it be by Parthenissa,[89] for that's the name I have assumed ever since I came to years of discretion.

_Cler._ The insupportable tyranny of parents, to fix names on helpless infants which they must blush at all their lives after! I don't think there's a surname in the world to match it.

_Niece._ No! What do you think of Tipkin?

_Cler._ Tipkin! Why, I think if I was a young lady that had it I'd part with it immediately.

_Niece._ Pray, how would you get rid of it?

_Cler._ I'd change it for another. I could recommend to you three very pretty syllables--What do you think of Clerimont?

_Niece._ Clerimont! Clerimont! Very well--but what right have I to it?

_Cler._ If you will give me leave, I'll put you in possession of it. By a very few words I can make it over to you, and your children after you.

_Niece._ O fie! Whither are you running? You know a lover should sigh in private, and languish whole years before he reveals his passion; he should retire into some solitary grove, and make the woods and wild beasts his confidants. You should have told it to the echo half-a-year before you had discovered it, even to my handmaid. And yet besides--to talk to me of children! Did you ever hear of a heroine with a big belly?

_Cler._ What can a lover do, madam, now the race of giants is extinct? Had I lived in those days there had not been a mortal six foot high, but should have owned Parthenissa for the paragon of beauty, or measured his length on the ground----Parthenissa should have been heard by the brooks and deserts at midnight, the echo's burden and the river's murmur.

_Niece._ That had been a golden age, indeed! But see, my aunt has left her grave companion and is coming toward us----I command you to leave me.

_Cler._ Thus Oroondates, when Statira[90] dismissed him her presence, threw himself at her feet, and implored permission but to live. [_Offering to kneel._

_Niece._ And thus Statira raised him from the earth, permitting him to live and love. [_Exit_ CLER.

_Enter_ AUNT.

_Aunt._ Is not Mr. Pounce's conversation very improving, niece?

_Niece._ Is not Clerimont a very pretty name, aunt?

_Aunt._ He has so much prudence.

_Niece._ He has so much gallantry.

_Aunt._ So sententious in his expressions.

_Niece._ So polished in his language.

_Aunt._ All he says is, methinks, so like a sermon.

_Niece._ All he speaks savours of romance.

_Aunt._ Romance, niece? Mr. Pounce! what savours of romance?

_Niece._ No, I mean his friend, the accomplished Mr. Clerimont.

_Aunt._ Fie, for one of your years to commend a young fellow!

_Niece._ One of my years is mightily governed by example! You did not dislike Mr. Pounce.

_Aunt._ What, censorious too? I find there is no trusting you out of the house--A moment's fresh air does but make you still the more in love with strangers, and despise your own relations.

_Niece._ I am certainly by the power of an enchantment placed among you, but I hope I, this morning, employed one to seek adventures, and break the charm.

_Aunt._ Vapours, Biddy, indeed! Nothing but vapours. Cousin Humphry shall break the charm.

_Niece._ Name him not--Call me still Biddy rather than name that brute. [_Exeunt_ AUNT _and_ NIECE.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN CLERIMONT _and_ POUNCE.

_Cler._ A perfect Quixote in petticoats! I tell thee, Pounce, she governs herself wholly by romance--it has got into her very blood. She starts by rule, and blushes by example. Could I but have produced one instance of a lady's complying at first sight, I should have gained her promise on the spot. How am I bound to curse the cold constitutions of the Philocleas and Statiras? I am undone for want of precedents.

_Pounce._ I am sure I laboured hard to favour your conference, and plied the old woman all the while with something that tickled either her vanity or her covetousness; I considered all the stocks, Old and New Company, her own complexion and youth, partners for sword-blades, Chamber of London, banks for charity, and mine adventures, till she told me I had the repute of the most facetious man that ever came to Garraway's[91]--For you must know public knaves and stock-jobbers pass for wits at her end of the town, as common cheats and gamesters do at yours.

_Cler._ I pity the drudgery you have gone through; but what's next to be done towards getting my pretty heroine?

_Pounce._ What should next be done in ordinary method of things? You have seen her; the next regular approach is that you cannot subsist a moment without sending forth musical complaints of your misfortune by way of serenade.

_Cler._ I can nick you there, sir. I have a scribbling army friend that has writ a triumphant, rare, noisy song in honour of the late victory, that will hit the nymph's fantasque to a hair. I'll get everything ready as fast as possible.

_Pounce._ While you are playing upon the fort, I'll be within and observe what execution you do, and give you intelligence accordingly.

_Cler._ You must have an eye upon Mr. Humphry while I feed the vanity of Parthenissa; for I am so experienced in these matters that I know none but coxcombs think to win a woman by any desert of their own--No, it must be done rather by complying with some prevailing humour of your mistress, than exerting any good quality in yourself.

'Tis not the lover's merit wins the field, But to themselves alone the beauteous yield.

ACT THE THIRD.