SCENE IV.----Doricourt'_s_.

Doricourt _seated, reading_.

_Doric._ (_flings away the book_) What effect can the morals of Fourscore have on a mind torn with passion? (_musing_) Is it possible such a soul as her's, can support itself in so humiliating a situation? A kept Woman! (_rising_) Well, well--I am glad it is so--I am glad it is so!

_Enter_ Saville.

_Sav._ What a happy dog you are, Doricourt! I might have been mad, or beggar'd, or pistol'd myself, without its being mentioned--But you, forsooth! the whole Female World is concerned for. I reported the state of your brain to five different women--The lip of the first trembled; the white bosom of the second heaved a sigh; the third ejaculated, and turned her eye--to the glass; the fourth blessed herself; and the fifth said, whilst she pinned a curl, "Well, now, perhaps, he'll be an amusing Companion; his native dullness was intolerable."

_Doric._ Envy! sheer envy, by the smiles of Hebe!----There are not less than forty pair of the brightest eyes in town will drop crystals, when they hear of my misfortune.

_Sav._ Well, but I have news for you:--Poor Hardy is confined to his bed; they say he is going out of the world by the first post, and he wants to give you his blessing.

_Doric._ Ill! so ill! I am sorry from my soul. He's a worthy little Fellow--if he had not the gift of foreseeing so strongly.

_Sav._ Well; you must go and take leave.

_Doric._ What! to act the Lunatic in the dying Man's chamber?

_Sav._ Exactly the thing; and will bring your business to a short issue: for his last commands must be, That you are not to marry his Daughter.

_Doric._ That's true, by Jupiter!--and yet, hang it, impose upon a poor fellow at so serious a moment!--I can't do it.

_Sav._ You must, 'faith. I am answerable for your appearance, though it should be in a strait waistcoat. He knows your situation, and seems the more desirous of an interview.

_Doric._ I don't like encountering Racket.--She's an arch little devil, and will discover the cheat.

_Sav._ There's a fellow!--Cheated Ninety-nine Women, and now afraid of the Hundredth.

_Doric._ And with reason--for that hundredth is a Widow. [_Exeunt._