Enter Aimwell leading Dorinda, and making Love in dumb Sherw Mrs. Sull. and Archer.

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Mrs. Sul. Pray, Sir, [To Archer] how d'ye like that Piece?

Arch. O, 'tis Leda-You find, Madam, how Jupiter came difguis'd to make Love Mrs. Sul. But what think you there of Alexander's Battles?

Arch. We want only a Le Brun, Madam, to draw greater Battles, and a greater General of our own The Danube, Madam, wou'd make a greater Figure in a Picture than the Granicus; and we have our Ramelies to match their Arbela.

Mrs. Sul. Pray, Sir, what Head is that in the Corner there?

Arch. O, Madam, 'tis poor Ovid in his Exile.
Mrs. Sul. What was he banish'd for?

Arch. His ambitious Love, Madam, [Bowing.] His Misfortune touches me.

Mrs. Sul. Was he fuccefsful in his Amours?

Arch. There he has left us in the dark- He was too much a Gentleman to tell.

Mrs. Sul. If he were fecret, I pity him. Arch. And if he were fuccessful, I envy him. Mrs.Sul. How d'ye like that Venus over the Chimney? Arch. Venus! I proteft, Madam, I took it for your Picture; but now I look again, 'tis not handsome enough. Mrs. Sul. Oh, what a Charm is Flattery! if you wou'd fee my Picture, there is is, over that Cabinet How d'ye like it?

Arch. I muft admire any thing, Madam, that has the leaft Refemblance of you But methinks, Madam, [He looks at the Picture and Mrs. Sullen three or four times, by turns.] Pray, Madam, who drew it?

Mrs. Sul. A famous Hand, Sir.

[Here Aimwell and Dorinda go off. Arch. A famous Hand, Madam: Your Eyes, indeed, are featur'd there; but where's the sparkling Moifture, fhining Fluid, in which they fwim? The Picture,

indeed, has your Dimples; but where's the Swarm of killing Cupids that shou'd ambush there? The Lips too are figur'd out: But where's the Carnation Dew, the pouting Ripenefs that tempts the Taste in the Original? Mrs. Sul. Had it been my Lot to have match'd with fuch a Man! [Afide.

Arch. Your Breafts too; presumptuous Man! what! paint Heaven! Apropo, Madam, in the very next Picture is Salmoneus, that was ftruck dead with Lightning, for offering to imitate Jove's Thunder; I hope you ferv'd the Painter fo, Madam.

Mrs. Sal. Had my Eyes the Power of Thunder, they fhou'd employ their Lightning better.

Arch. There's the finest Bed in that Room, Madam; I fuppofe 'tis your Ladyfhip's Bed-chamber?

Mrs. Sul. And what then, Sir?

Arch. I think the Quilt is the richest that ever I faw I can't at this Distance, Madam, diftinguish the Figures of the Embroidery: Will you give me leave, Madam ?

Mrs. Sul. The Devil take his Impudence-Sure, if [ gave him an Opportunity, he durft not offer it- I have a great mind to try. [Going. Returns.] 'Sdeath, what am I doing? And alone too!. Sifter, Sifter. Arch. I'll follow her clofe

For where a French-man durft attempt to form,
A Briton, sure, may well the Work perform. [Going.
Enter Scrub.

Scrub. Martin, Brother Martin.

Arch. O Brother Scrub, I beg your Pardon, I was not a going: Here's a Guinea my Master order'd you. Scrub. A Guinea; hi, hi, hi, a Guinea! ehthis Light it is a Guinea; but I fuppofe you expect one and twenty Shillings in change.

-by

Arch. Not at all; I have another for Gipfey. Scrub. A Guinea for her! Fire and Faggot for the Witch. Sir, give me that Guinea, and I'll discover

a Plot.

Arch. A Plot!

Vol. II.

P

Scrub.

Scrub. Ay, Sir, a Plot, a horrid Plot be a Plot, because there's a Woman in't

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Firft, it must
Secondly, it

must be a Plot, because there's a Priest in't: Thirdly, it must be a Plot, because there's French Gold in't: And Fourthly, it must be a Plot, because I don't know what to make on't.

Arch. Nor any body else, I'm afraid, Brother Scrub. Scrub. Truly I'm afraid fo too; for where there's a Prieft and a Woman, there's always a Mystery and a Riddle This, I know, that here has been the Doctor with a Temptation in one hand, and an Absolution in the other, and Gipfey has fold herself to the Devil; I saw the Price paid down, my Eyes fhall take their Oath on't.

Arch. And is all this Buftle about Gipfey?

Scrub. That's not all; I cou'd hear but a Word here and there; but I remember they mention'd a Count, a Clofet, a Back-door, and a Key.

Arch. The Count! Did you hear nothing of Mrs.Sullen? Scrub. I did hear fome Word that founded that way: but whether it was Sullen or Dorinda, I cou'd not dif tinguish.

Arch. You have told this Matter to no body, Brother? Scrub. Told! No, Sir, I thank you for that; I'm refolv'd never to speak one Word, pro nor con, till we

have a Peace.

Arch. You're i'th' right, Brother Scrub; here's a Treaty a-foot between the Count and the Lady.—The Prieft and the Chamber-maid are PlenipotentiariesIt fhall go hard, but I'll find a Way to be included in the Treaty. Where's the Doctor, now?

Scrub. He and Gipfey are this Moment devouring my Lady's Marmalade in the Closet.

Aim. [From without] Martin, Martin!
Arch. I come, Sir, I come.

Scrub. But you forget the other Guinea, Brother Martin.
Arch. Here I give it with all my Heart.

Scrub. And I take it with all my Soul. [Exeunt feverally.] I'cod, I'll spoil your plotting, Mrs. Gipfey; and if you fhou'd fet the Captain upon me, thefe two Guineas will buy me off.

[Exit. Enter

Enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda, meeting. Mrs. Sul. Well, Sifter.

Dor. And well, Sifter.

Mrs. Sul. What's become of my Lord ?
Dor. What's become of his Servant?

Mrs. Sul. Servant! He's a prettier Fellow, and a finer Gentleman by fifty Degrees than his Master.

Dor. O' my Confcience, I fancy you cou'd beg that Fellow at the Gallows-foot.

Mrs. Sul. O' my Confcience I cou'd, provided I cou'd put a Friend of yours in his room.

Dor. You defir'd me, Sifter, to leave you, when you tranfgrefs'd the Bounds of Honour.

Mrs. Sul. Thou dear cenforious Country Girl

What doft mean? You can't think of the Man without the Bedfellow, I find.

Dor. I don't find any thing unnatural in that Thought while the Mind is converfant with Flesh and Blood, it must conform to the Humours of the Company.

Mrs. Sul. How a little Love and Conversation improve a Woman! Why, Child, you begin to live you never spoke before.

Dor. Because I was never spoke to before: My Lord has told me, that I have more Wit and Beauty than any of my Sex; and truly I begin to think the Man is fincere.

Mrs. Sul. You're in the right, Dorinda; Pride is the Life of a Woman, and Flattery is our daily Bread; and fhe's a Fool that won't believe a Man there, as much as fhe that believes him in any thing elfe-But I'll lay you a Guinea that I had finer things faid to me than you had. Dor. Done-What did your Fellow fay to ye? Mrs. Sul. My Fellow took the Picture of Venus for mine.

Dor. But my Lover took me for Venus herself.

Mrs. Sul. Common Cant! Had my Spark call'd me a Venus directly, I fhou'd have believ'd him a Footman in good earnest

Dor. But my Lover was upon his Knees to me.
Mrs. Sul. And mine was upon his Tiptoes to me.

P 2

Dur.

Dor. Mine vow'd to die for me.

Mrs. Sul. Mine fwore to die with me.

Dor. Mine spoke the fofteft moving Things.
Mrs. Sul. Ay, ay, mine had his moving Things too.
Dor. Mine kifs'd my Hand ten thousand times.
Mrs. Sul. Mine has all that Pleasure to come.
Dor. Mine offer'd Marriage.

Mrs. Sul. O Lard! D'ye call that a moving thing? Dor. The sharpeft Arrow in his Quiver, my dear Sister; Why, my ten thousand Pounds may lie brooding here this seven Years, and hatch nothing at last but some ill-natur'd Clown like yours: Whereas, if I marry my Lord Aimwell, there will be Title, Place and Precedence, the Park, the Play, and the Drawing-Room, Splen dor, Equipage, Noise and Flambeaux. Hey, my Lady Aimwell's Servants there - Lights, Lights to the Stairs My Lady Aimwell's Coach, put forward—

Stand by; make room for her Ladyfhip- Are not these Things moving? What! melancholy of a fudden?

Mrs. Sul. Happy, happy Sifter! Your Angel has been watchful for your Happiness, whilft mine has flept regardless of his Charge Long fmiling Years of circling Joys for you, but not one Hour for me! [Weeps.

Dor. Come, my Dear, we'll talk of fomething else. Mrs. Sul. O Dorinda, I own my self a Woman, full of my Sex, a gentle, generous Soul,-- easy and yielding to foft Defires, a fpacious Heart, where Love and all his Train might lodge: And must the fair Apartment of my Breaft be made a Stable for a Brute to lie in ? Dor. Meaning your Husband, I fuppofe?

Mrs. Sul. Husband! No, Even Husband is too foft a Name for him-But come, I expect my Brother here to-night or to-morrow; he was abroad when my Father marry'd me; perhaps he'll find a way to make me eafy, Dor. Will you promise not to make your felf easy in the mean time with my Lord's Friend?

Mrs. Sul. You mistake me, Sifter-It happens with us, as among the Men, the greateft Talkers are the greatest Cowards and there's a Reason for it; thofe Spirits evaporate in Prattle, which might do more Mischief if

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