SCENE I.--CLERIMONT, SEN.'S _House.

_Enter_ CLERIMONT, SEN. _and_ FAINLOVE.

_Cler. Sen._ Then she gave you this letter, and bid you read it as a paper of verses?

_Fain._ This is the place, the hour, the lucky minute. Now am I rubbing up my memory, to recollect all you said to me when you first ruined me, that I may attack her right.

_Cler. Sen._ Your eloquence would be needless; 'tis so unmodish to need persuasion: Modesty makes a lady embarrassed; but my spouse is above that, as for example [_Reading her letter_]--

"Fainlove, you don't seem to want wit; therefore I need say no more than that distance to a woman of the world is becoming in no man but a husband: an hour hence come up the back stairs to my closet.

"Adieu, Mon Mignon."

I am glad you are punctual; I'll conceal myself to observe your interview.--O torture! but this wench must not see it. [_Aside._

_Fain._ Be sure you come time enough to save my reputation.

_Cler. Sen._ Remember your orders, "distance becomes no man but a husband."

_Fain._ I am glad you are in so good humour on the occasion; but you know me to be but a bully in love, that can bluster only till the minute of engagement--but I'll top my part, and form my conduct by my own sentiments. If she grows coy, I'll grow more saucy--'twas so I was won myself.

_Cler. Sen._ Well, my dear rival, your assignation draws nigh; you are to put on your transport, your impatient throbbing heart won't let you wait her arrival. Let the dull family-thing and husband, who reckons his moments by his cares, be content to wait; but you are a gallant, and measure time by ecstasies.

_Fain._ I hear her coming--To your post--good husband, know your duty, and don't be in the way when your wife has a mind to be in private--To your post, into the coal-hole.

_Enter_ MRS. CLERIMONT.

Welcome, my dear, my tender charmer, oh! to my longing arms--feel the heart pant, that falls and rises as you smile or frown. Oh, the ecstatic moment!--I think that was something like what has been said to me. [_Aside._

_Mrs. Cler._ Very well, Fainlove.--I protest I value myself for my discerning. I knew you had fire through all the respect you showed me; but how came you to make no direct advances, young gentleman? Why was I forced to admonish your gallantry?

_Fain._ Why, madam, I knew you a woman of breeding, and above the senseless niceties of an English wife. The French way is, you are to go so far, whether you are agreeable or not. If you are so happy as to please, nobody that is not of a constrained behaviour is at a loss to let you know it--Besides, if the humble servant makes the first approaches, he has the impudence of making a request, but not the honour of obeying a command.

_Mrs. Cler._ Right; a woman's man should conceal passion in a familiar air of indifference. Now there's Mr. Clerimont; I can't allow him the least freedom, but the unfashionable fool grows so fond of me he cannot hide it in public.

_Fain._ Ay, madam, I have often wondered at your ladyship's choice of one that seems to have so little of the beau monde in his carriage, but just what you force him to, while there were so many pretty gentlemen----[_Dancing._

_Mrs. Cler._ Oh, young gentleman, you are mightily mistaken, if you think such animals as you, and pretty Beau Titmouse, and pert Billy Butterfly, though I suffer you to come in, and play about my rooms, are any ways in competition with a man whose name one would wear.

_Fain._ O madam! then I find we are----

_Mrs. Cler._ A woman of sense must have respect for a man of that character; but alas! respect--what is respect? Respect is not the thing. Respect has something too solemn for soft moments--you things are more proper for hours of dalliance.

_Cler. Sen._ [_Peeping._] How have I wronged this fine lady! I find I am to be a cuckold out of her pure esteem for me.

_Mrs. Cler._ Besides, those fellows for whom we have respect have none for us. I warrant on such an occasion Clerimont would have ruffled a woman out of all form, while you----

_Cler. Sen._ A good hint--now my cause comes on. [_Aside._

_Fain._ Since then you allow us fitter for soft moments, why do we misemploy 'em? Let me kiss that beauteous hand and clasp that graceful frame.

_Mrs. Cler._ How, Fainlove! What, you don't design to be impertinent--But my lips have a certain roughness on 'em to-day, han't they?

_Fain._ [_Kissing._] No, they are all softness; their delicious sweetness is inexpressible. Here language fails; let me applaud thy lips, not by the utterance, but by the touch of mine.

_Enter_ CLERIMONT, SEN., _drawing his sword._

_Cler. Sen._ Ha, villain! Ravisher! Invader of my bed and honour! draw.

_Mrs. Cler._ What means this insolence--this intrusion into my privacy? What, do you come into my very closet without knocking? Who put this into your head?

_Cler. Sen._ My injuries have alarmed me, and I'll bear no longer, but sacrifice your bravado, the author of 'em.

_Mrs. Cler._ Oh! poor Mr. Fainlove! Must he die for his complaisance and innocent freedoms with me? How could you, if you might? Oh! the sweet youth! What, fight Mr. Fainlove? What will the ladies say?

_Fain._ Let me come at the intruder on ladies' private hours. The unfashionable monster! I'll prevent all future interruption from him--Let me come. [_Drawing his sword._

_Mrs. Cler._ Oh the brave pretty creature! Look at his youth and innocence--he is not made for such rough encounters. Stand behind me--Poor Fainlove!--There is not a visit in town, sir, where you shall not be displayed at full length for this intrusion. I banish you for ever from my sight and bed.

_Cler. Sen._ I obey you, madam, for distance is becoming in no man but a husband [_Giving her the letter, which she reads, and falls into a swoon._]--I've gone too far--[_Kissing her._]--The impertinent was guilty of nothing but what my indiscretion led her to. This is the first kiss I've had these six weeks--but she awakes. Well, Jenny, you topped your part, indeed. Come to my arms, thou ready, willing, fair one. Thou hast no vanities, no niceties; but art thankful for every instant of love that I bestow on thee. [_Embracing her._

_Mrs. Cler._ What, am I then abused? Is it a wench then of his? Oh me! Was ever poor abused wife, poor innocent lady, thus injured! [_Runs and seizes_ FAINLOVE'S _sword._]

_Cler. Sen._ Oh the brave pretty creature! Hurt Mr. Fainlove! Look at his youth, his innocence--Ha! ha! [_Interposing._

_Fain._ Have a care, have a care, dear sir--I know by myself she'll have no mercy.

_Mrs. Cler._ I'll be the death of her; let me come on. Stand from between us, Mr. Clerimont--I would not hurt you. [_Pushing and crying._

_Cler. Sen._ Run, run, Jenny. [_Exit_ JENNY.] [_Looks at her upbraidingly before he speaks._] Well, madam, are these the innocent freedoms you claimed of me? Have I deserved this? How has there been a moment of yours ever interrupted with the real pangs I suffer? The daily importunities of creditors, who became so by serving your profuse vanities: did I ever murmur at supplying any of your diversions, while I believed 'em (as you call 'em) harmless? Must, then, those eyes that used to glad my heart with their familiar brightness hang down with guilt? Guilt has transformed thy whole person; nay, the very memory of it----Fly from my growing passion!

_Mrs. Cler._ I cannot fly, nor bear it. Oh! look not----

_Cler. Sen._ What can you say? Speak quickly. [_Offering to draw._

_Mrs. Cler._ I never saw you moved before. Don't murder me impenitent; I'm wholly in your power as a criminal, but remember I have been so in a tender regard.

_Cler. Sen._ But how have you considered that regard?

_Mrs. Cler._ Is it possible you can forgive what you ensnared me into? Oh, look at me kindly! You know I have only erred in my intention, nor saw my danger, till, by this honest art, you had shown me what 'tis to venture to the utmost limit of what is lawful. You laid that train, I'm sure, to alarm, not to betray, my innocence. Mr. Clerimont, scorn such baseness! Therefore I kneel--I weep--I am convinced. [_Kneels._

[_Takes her up, embracing her._

_Cler. Sen._ Then kneel, and weep no more, my fairest--my reconciled! Be so in a moment, for know I cannot (without wringing my own heart) give you the least compunction. Be in humour. It shall be your own fault if ever there's a serious word more on this subject.

_Mrs. Cler._ I must correct every idea that rises in my mind, and learn every gesture of my body anew--I detest the thing I was.

_Cler. Sen._ No, no; you must not do so. Our joy and grief, honour and reproach, are the same; you must slide out of your foppery by degrees, so that it may appear your own act.

_Mrs. Cler._ But this wench!

_Cler. Sen._ She is already out of your way; you shall see the catastrophe of her fate yourself. But still keep up the fine lady till we go out of town; you may return to it with as decent airs as you please.--And now I have shown you your error, I'm in so good humour as to repeat you a couplet on the occasion--

They only who gain minds, true laurels wear: 'Tis less to conquer, than convince, the fair. [_Exeunt._