AYE—ſhe was obliged to be angry, becauſe that fool Gondibert appear'd juſt in the critical minute at the door—pox take him!—I might have known it was not natural, by her overdoing it—it was, indeed, overdone with a vengeance! But now ſhe's in the pannicks, leſt I ſhould reſent it. Now ſhe has ſomething to ſay—and—if I am diſengag'd,—ſhe will be glad to meet me upon the terrace. If I ſhould humble her now, and not meet her—but that would be cruel. I will, however, take ſome ſtate upon me—I will look a little formal; it may ſave me ſome trouble in my future advances.—Here ſhe comes.

Sir, I hope you will not take any advantage of my weakneſs—

turning from her. Weakneſs! pox on you— Your weakneſs don't lie in your arm, I'm ſure o'that.

following. Or ſuppoſe, ſir, that whatever reaſon I may have for deſiring this meeting—What airs the wretch gives himſelf! aſide—I ſay, ſir, that you would not ſuppoſe—I cannot contain myſelf!—

I think, ſir, you was telling Gondibert a certain affair between you, and Edgar, and a lady; and ſomething that, by his manner of telling it, I could not very well underſtand.

aſide. Aye—a very good introduction—a love-ſtory is a moſt excellent prelude to a love-ſcene— I perceive we are to adjourn—Why, madam, a certain fair lady, call'd Emmeline, has thought fit to make Edgar as happy, as any man can be made, except him, madam, whom you ſhall pleaſe to honour with the ſame favour—Upon my ſoul, ſhe's a fine creature!

Sir, your compliments really put me ſo out of countenance—that I ſhall bluſh to death—

Your bluſhes are ſo becoming, madam, that—

Give me leave, ſir, to entreat, that you would at preſent ſpare my confuſion, and tell me all the particulars of that affair which have come to your knowledge.

Aye—ſhe wants a luſcious deſcription now. aſide. Why, madam, I preſume that Edgar, being fir'd with the charms of Emmeline, firſt gaz'd languiſhingly upon her; caught her eyes the firſt time they were caſually turn'd upon him; when, in a ſoft confuſion, ſhe haſtily turn'd her look downward and bluſh'd; he took her hand, firſt preſſing it gently in his own, then raiſing it to his lips; then, madam, I preſume he might proceed to—

Sir!—I ſhall certainly be out of patience, and knock him down aſide.—Sir, if you have any deſire to oblige me—or have any expectations, ſir, of favours—Not, ſir, that I—

My dear angel, keep me no longer in ſuſpenſe; let me know your commands, that I may fulfil the condition of— Preſſing.

Why, madam, it ſhall then be in your own way.

Firſt then, Sir, are you acquainted with Edgar, the young heir of Kent?

Why, madam, to proceed implicitly as you direct, I believe there are few perſons who know more of that gentleman, than your humble ſervant.

aſide Matchleſs impudence!—And pray, Sir, what kind of a youth is he?

aſide I ſee by her curioſity ſhe don't know him—Why, madam, the youth is a, a, a, rather ſoft—a green youth, madam, as we ſay—

Sir, theſe are terms that I do not perfectly comprehend: and, therefore, I beg you would be more explicit.

Why then, explicitly, madam, he is, upon my ſoul, a ſhallow fellow—a very ſhallow fellow, faith—It's among ourſelves.

He is.

He is indeed, madam.—The poor devil has ſome aukward good nature, and I have a kindneſs for him; but, between you and I, he'll never be ſo much a man of honour as I could wiſh him—

forgetting his feminine character, and running up to him How, villain!—

frighted and drawing back Ma'am—!

aſide What have I done! he draws himſelf again into form To think of villainy in people that, by their rank, are ſet up as examples to others, quite tranſports me out of myſelf.—Heigh ho!—It has quite overcome me.

aſide What a terrible virago it is!—May I preſume, madam, to lend you my hand.

Very baſe, I aſſure you, madam.

Sir.— aſſuming a fierce maſculine air, but inſtantly correcting himſelf

Ma'am— ſtarting back Fore Gad, ſhe's mad!— and upon my ſoul in my opinion damnably miſchievous. aſide—

Give me leave, ſir—as well as I am able— to aſk you what in particular has—but I ſee company coming—If we walk this way, we ſhall avoid them.

aſide Avoid them!—Heaven forbid!—Perhaps, madam, another time—

Sir, I ſhall die, if my curioſity is not gratified.

Madam—at preſent I am—

Sir, I beg—for my reputation, that we may not be ſurpriz'd together, while I am in this diſorder.

By no means, madam—let us part this moment—If you'll go off one way, I'll go the other.

O not for the world!—To be ſeen to part haſtily, upon being obſerved together, would be the ſubject of eternal ſcandal.—Let me beg the favour of your arm— lays hold of his arm

crying out Lard Gad, madam!—

Sir?—

You'll pinch it through—

Lord, Sir, 'tis my fright—One naturally claſps any thing hard in a fright.

Siſter! ſiſter!Grotilla ſuddenly appears

——Here am I.

Florimond, the caitiff vile—

She's gone out, and I have unfortunately miſſed her—She is certainly got to Florimond—Ha! yonder they are—Yes, it is certainly ſo—What violent emotion!—Now they move haſtily forward— Now ſhe ſtops ſhort—her geſtures are ſcarce feminine—Now ſhe recovers herſelf—Florimond too ſeems to be frighted out of his gallantry, and extremely willing to put an end to the converſation—'Tis over! he leaves her, and ſhe comes this way.—Yes, I will open my whole heart to her; not for my ſake now, but her own. Whatever are the firſt fallies of her ſurprize and paſſion, ſhe muſt at length feel and return my friendſhip.—Here ſhe comes: I muſt not accoſt her too abruptly. Retires to a little diſtance.

Ha! Gondibert—I know the generous reaſon, now, of his reſerve. In this diſguiſe, what could my intereſt in Edgar appear to him, but love!—and if it had been ſo, how muſt I have been hurt by what he had to tell me!—But he is not leſs intereſted in the lady—ſo he ſaid—Sure then he is to Emmeline, what he thought Edgar was to me!—Let me then repay his generous kindneſs; let me diſcover, not only what, but who I am, to convince him that the tale is falſe, which, if true, muſt deſtroy his peace. Going up to Emmeline—You need not ſhun me, ſir; I have now nothing to aſk, that you would wiſh to conceal: I have only to requeſt, that you would forgive me for having violated your injunction, not to ſatisfy the curioſity you had raiſed. I am apprized of your kind, your generous motive; and it has inſpired my breaſt with all that it is poſſible I ſhould feel for you, a grateful and ardent friendſhip.

Your love, madam, I make no doubt, is fixed on a much nobler and more deſerving object.— Edgar, I preſume—

My connection with Edgar, ſir, is indeed, in ſome ſenſe, the reaſon why your merit cannot make an impreſſion, which I am not aſhamed to ſay it might otherwiſe have done: and yet, ſir, let me confeſs that I am not affected by the ſtory of his diſappearing with Emmeline, as you might reaſonably imagine, becauſe I know for certain that it cannot be true.

haſtily Ha! that it cannot be true—

I now owe your friendſhip a diſcovery, if indeed it is a diſcovery, which I was prompted by mere regard to myſelf to have made before: I think there is a connection between you and Emmeline, that—

Let me then claim it—But let me firſt, as a pledge of that friendſhip which I hope ſhall end but with our lives, give, for your ſecret, mine.—

Do then, nor keep me longer in ſuſpenſe; for ſtill, the more we talk, the more I am perplexed. aſide What can her ſecret be!

Why then, in the firſt place, ſir,—I am— a man —

aſide, with great emotion, which ſhe labours to conceal A man!—Good Heav'n! what will become of me!

And now, let me at once embrace you as a friend: punctilios and forms no longer part us—

haſtily What ails my friend?

O! you have ruined all my pleaſing project— prevented—but no matter—

This is amazing! For heaven's ſake, what d'ye mean?—You was not ſure enamoured of my perſon—

O! no—You ſtill miſtake —

Then tell me my miſtake; for we may now converſe on even terms: our hearts may now be opened to each other, without the forms and the reſerve preſcribed in friendſhips with the ſofter ſex.

O! ſtill you wander, wide and wider ſtill— I cannot ſpeak—

You muſt—There is a ſecret, which, but now, your heart was ready to reveal—

And then I thought it known—but now—

Now my warm heart has claimed you for my friend—

I'm all perplexity and wonder!—Your colour comes and goes, like a ſick girl's— She becomes more confuſed, as he marks her confuſion—You tremble!—Heavens! he faints!— he catches her in his arms, and diſcovers her breaſt By all my wonder and my joy, a woman!—How lovely her confuſion!—O let my boſom warm thee back to life! Look up, and truſt the honour of my love: you ſhall not whiſper what you would conceal; nor will I ſeem to know it.

O! let me hide me from myſelf—my ſex thus known—in this diſguiſe! Where ſhall my conſcious bluſhes find a veil!—Who are you? Tell me, that I may hide me from your ſight for ever.

O! no—On that condition, let me ne'er be known.

Yet tell me—truſt me—

Truſt thee! Yes, with my life I'd truſt thee. Thy friend—O! know me by a ſofter name— is Kent's young heir; that Edgar you have heard ſo falſely and ſo wantonly traduc'd.

Still wonders crowd on wonders!

I dream myſelf, or this is all enchantment.

So might you think, indeed, if more you knew me.

Let me then know thee more, whom now I know as the moſt fair and gentle of thy ſex; whom yet I ſaw and lov'd without deſire—my pledge of happineſs!—May I be thine!—but yet I rave—thy fate was not like Edgar's—

O! take me from the rack! My thoughts grow wild!—There is, indeed, a maid, whoſe fate I've heard was ſuch as mine—that Emmeline —O! heav'n, that Emmeline, in whom I thought thy intereſt, love!—O! yes, it muſt, it ſhall—thou, thou art ſhe!

Leave me, or I ſhall die with my confuſion—

Let me ſupport thee, hide thee in my breaſt, where thou ſhalt breathe thy anſwer in a ſigh.—Art thou not Emmeline, my fated love?

If Emmeline be thy fated love—I am—

Still let me claſp thee cloſe, and cloſer ſtill; calm all the tumults of thy feeling mind, and ſooth thee into confidence by love.

No, let me now retire: for, in this dreſs, I cannot bear to ſee myſelf, or you.

Yet ſtay—forgive the violence I do you— My fame and yours are wantonly traduc'd; 'tis fit that we do juſtice to them both, and puniſh the traducer.

He is not worth reſentment.

He is for others ſakes, though not his own. —I have a thought, would Emmeline but join—

Tell me then quickly.

Send him a challenge in behalf of Emmeline, as Gondibert; and meet him, not as Gondibert, but Emmeline: I will take care to be preſent, not as Elfrida but Edgar: he will then be ſelf-convicted as a liar, by knowing neither of the perſons he has defam'd; and we may farther puniſh him as we pleaſe.

Well, I will try at this: but now diſmiſs me. She breaks from his hand, and runs off.

Farewel, my love!—How has the hand of heav'n vouchſafed to guide me through all the mazes of my fate, to bliſs! Even my revenge, my juſtice rather, upon that wretch, whoſe very folly is invenom'd, ſhall be compleat—But a mind ſo baſe can never be brave—Suppoſe he ſhould not come—He's here.

Gad take me—this damn'd madwoman is certainly fated to be my death.

Sir, I am ſo ſhock'd when I reflect upon the indecorums that my paſſions have made me guilty of to you, and my poor ſpirits are ſo flurried, that I really am not able to make my 'pology.

Ma'am, I'm extreamly ſorry—and ma'am— I muſt abſolutely fly from your ladyſhip's apology.—

Sir, I muſt beg the favour of your ear for a few minutes—I hope, ſir, you will pardon my confuſion—I have ſomething to ſay to you, ſir, that— Let me beg, ſir, that you would come a little nearer—

aſide. Pox on her—ſhe wants to faſten her damn'd claws upon me again— To her Your commands, madam, always do me honour—And upon my ſoul always leave me black and blue. Aſide.

I have juſt heard, ſir, ſomething that has fluſtered me to ſuch a degree—

aſide. Aye—another fright! ſhe'll certainly lay hold of me— retiring Ma'am—a, a, a, I hope there's no danger threatens your ladyſhip.—

Not directly me, ſir; nor indeed much danger to you: but I was willing you ſhould be prepared—

Danger—prepared—for heav'n's ſake, madam, what d' ye mean?

Lord, ma'am, if there is any villainous deſign againſt me, I beſeech you to let me know it— looking about. Perhaps we had better change our ground; ſome villain may be taking aim at me as I ſtand.

You need not be under ſuch apprehenſions, ſir; it is a matter of no conſequence—It is only, that Gondibert is to ſend you a challenge, for the liberty you have taken with lady Emmeline; that's all—

Oh, if it's only an intention of Gondibert to cut my throat, to be ſure that's a matter of no conſequence—A bloody-minded ruffian▪ Aſide.

Why, ſir, to my certain knowledge, Gondibert knows no more of a ſword, than a girl of eighteen; and has not a grain more courage.

taking courage Why, as to that, madam—

As to that, ſir, I am confident it would make no difference to you; but as I know he won't fight, and only preſumes upon an inſolent opinion, that count Florimond's courage is as queſtionable as his own—

bluſtering. How, madam!

Lard, ſir, if you are ſo violent, I ſhall certainly fall into my tremors—I ſhall certainly want the ſupport of your arm.

Aſide. Mercy upon me! and I ſhall want but very little killing afterwards, if you do.

I ſay, ſir, I think he ſhould be properly expos'd; and I hope you'll act accordingly.

Madam—excuſe me—a coward is my averſion; and you may depend upon his being chaſtiſed with moſt exemplary ſeverity— but I ſhould be ſorry to miſtake his character aſide—You know he won't fight?—

O! Lord, madam—no, not in the leaſt.

You'll excuſe me, ſir: I am really aſham'd —of the liberty I have taken—Sir, your humble ſervant. Exit.

Madam, your moſt obedient—Thank heav'n, ſhe's gone—It was a lucid interval; but it would not have been of much longer continuance. I'm oblig'd to her though, for her information—indeed am I— Egad, I'll make a figure in this buſineſs—But if the challenge is coming, I muſt be at home to receive it. Exit.

Wherefore, wherefore?

Tell me.

Tell me.

What is finiſh'd?

What is plann'd?

Peace—the ſiſters are at hand.

This is the place, and this is the time—but I ſee no ſigns of my little Gondibertus—Ha! here comes a bona roba, whom I have not the honour to know—Egad this affair will turn out with an eclat— very much to my honour—I'll make the moſt of it: I'll let her into my buſineſs here, without ſeeming to ſee her.

A poltron! not to meet me upon his own challenge— I'll make him know what it is to inſult a man of honour —If the wretch had met me, I would have given him his life; but now to ſpare him—a ſcandal to mankind! Ha! affects to be ſurpris'd at ſeeing Emmeline. 'Death, interrupted and diſcovered! — half aſide Madam—I proteſt—I am confounded—I am afraid that my natural impetuoſity has a, a, a—

Sir, I am very ſorry that I ſhou'd have intruded upon your privacy; but, perhaps, I have prevented ſomething that would have had worſe conſequences.

Madam, I am not at liberty—

By the few words, ſir, which juſt now involuntarily eſcaped you, I know that you are waiting here upon an affair of honour—but I intreat—

Madam, it is impoſſible—nothing but his life can atone for the inſult.

You will excuſe a woman, though a ſtranger, ſir, upon ſuch an occaſion: may I intreat to know, ſir, who has had the misfortune to incur the reſentment of a gentleman, who ſeems ſo little to deſerve ill treatment, and ſo able to puniſh it?

Madam, you do me honour—She is making advances already aſide.—Why, madam, as the treatment I have received makes it an act of juſtice to tell, what I ſhould otherwiſe rather die than diſcover, I will comply with your requeſt—Hem! A little dirty dependant upon the court here, madam, one Gondibert, thought fit to ſend me a challenge, upon account of ſomething I happened to ſay concerning a lady, in whole good graces I happen'd to be, and whom a fooliſh young fellow that I was a friend to has thought fit to run away with; and, madam, though I have ſo far treated him like a gentleman, as to accept his challenge, he has not come to the place appointed, and it is now half an hour paſt the time.

looking out Methinks I ſee ſomebody at a diſtance, coming this way; perhaps that may be the gentleman—

Sir, I believe it will not be neceſſary; for I'm pretty ſure now, that the gentleman is a friend of mine—

A friend of yours, madam! pray who is he?

A gentleman, ſir, who, I am ſure, will be extreamly glad to be better known to you.

aſide. Yes, 'tis he, 'tis Edgar! With what elegance and dignity he looks the man!

aſide. How ſoft, how lovely in her female dreſs!

to Florimond. Sir, as we are now no longer alone, I may confeſs, that I am not altogether a ſtranger to your perſon or your merit. To Edgar. Sir, this is Florimond, a gentleman to whom both you and I have ſome obligations, which I believe he is not at preſent aware of.

Upon my word, madam, you abſolutely confound me—this exceſſive honour—is it poſſible that I ſhould have been ſo happy, as to confer obligations— pray, madam, may I crave the honour of your name?

Do you not at all recollect that lady, ſir?

Upon my ſoul, ſir, I cannot ſay that I do.

Who, now, do you think it can poſſibly be, of all that your polite generoſity has oblig'd?

Let me periſh, ſir, if I can tell.

Why, ſir, that lady is one Emmeline; with whom, as ſhe tells me, you was formerly moſt intimately acquainted; and whom you lately converſed with, ſir, in diſguiſe, by the name on Gondibert: it's among ourſelves.—What! quite confounded, ſir!

You told Elfrida your whole ſcheme—

But pray, ſir, as you did not know my perſon in my own dreſs, how came you to know me in diſguiſe?

Why, madam, to confeſs the truth, I was let into the ſecret by a friend. aſide Egad, this goes ſwimmingly.—

Well, ſir; but pray give me leave to bring you acquainted with a perſon, who, I'm ſure, you are at preſent totally a ſtranger to—Pray, who do you think I am?

aſide Heaven knows! but I wiſh I was fairly out of your clutches—Upon my ſoul, ſir, I have not the honour to know you, any otherwiſe than as a gentleman, whom I ſhould be extremely proud to conſider as my friend.

Why, ſir, I have the honour to be one Edgar; a very ſhallow fellow, ſir, that you had ſome kindneſs for, becauſe he was aukwardly good-natured: I have alſo had the honour to receive ſeveral of your civilities, under the name of Elfrida—It's among ourſelves.

Sir, your moſt humble ſervant—I have at this time ſome urgent buſineſs—

So have I, ſir; and therefore you muſt not leave me yet—You may remember, ſir, that you told me your whole ſcheme to puniſh Emmeline for her frolick, and to mortify her with ſtories of herſelf by way of joke.

Sir, I beſeech you—

Sir, I am extremely ſorry for the occaſion; but as this lady has not got her fighting cloaths on, you muſt excuſe me if I take her challenge upon myſelf; and ſo ſir— draws—it's among ourſelves.

What has my thoughtleſs indiſcretion done!

Ah, dear ſir, now you are too ſerious—

This muſt not be—For heav'ns ſake, Edgar, hear me!

Fear not, my love—Sir, whatever you may think, this is but ſport to what is to follow—and ſo, ſir, without more words—

O Lord, ſir!—I beſeech you, madam—

For my ſake, Edgar—

Truſt me—Draw, ſir, or—

Sir, I don't deſire to do you any harm; I don't, upon my ſoul, ſir.

Scoundrel, coward, draw!

Conſider, Edgar—

Ay, do, dear ſir, conſider—

Conſider what?

That I am but a poor, miſerable, lying coxcomb, ſir—Indeed, ſir, I am—

It is better to diſmiſs him, Edgar, as beneath your reſentment.

So it is, indeed, ſir—a great deal better.

He is worthy only of contempt.

It is very true indeed, ſir,

Art thou not a wretch, without the leaſt principle of truth or honour?

Yes, ſir.

Art thou not infamous, as a ſlanderer and a coward?

Yes, ſir.

Have not thy very follies the malignity of vices; and is it not a diſgrace to nature, to conſider thee as a man?

Any thing, dear ſir, if you will but ſpare my life.—If you chuſe any other ſatisfaction, ſir; if you would be content to kick me into ſome dark corner, and leave me, I ſhould think myſelf under infinite obligations to you.

Hence then—and be thyſelf thy puniſhment!

Ha!—Fear not, my Emmeline! It is a friendly pow'r, familiar to my ſight.

What! is ſhe known to you?—My friend! my guide!

And mine!— both run and kneel to her.

Riſe both, both bleſt!——

Forgive my diffidence—When my heart accuſed you, I was overwhelmed with diſtreſs!—Your promiſe to come at my call, was not fulfill'd.

I came not, that I might ſend you hither: pointing to Edgar Your friendſhip was the parent of your love.

I too have need of your forgiveneſs! pardon my diſtruſt.

She's gone! the kind propitious ſpright, that has led us, hoodwink'd, to the happineſs, which, ſeeing, we had miſs'd.

Let us then haſte to follow her laſt advice; for I can truſt her now.

Edgar, Edgar, Edgar!

Hark! What voice?

Perhaps ſome other kind and inviſible being—There's muſic too— An overture to a ſong.

It comes, another tiny ſpright—It cannot mean us ill—It beckons you—