Lucy. Heyday! a very pretty reason! Alith. I was engaged to marry, you see, another man, whom my justice will not suffer me to deceive, or injure. Lucy. Can there be a greater cheat or wrong done to a man, than to give him your person without your heart? I should make a conscience of it. Alith. I'll retrieve it for him, after I am married. Lucy. The woman, that marries to love better, will be as much mistaken, as the rake that marries to live better. Alith. What nonsense you talk! Lucy. 'Tis a melancholy truth, madam,—marrying to increase love, is like gaming to become richAlas! you only lose what little stock you had before. -There are many woeful examples of it in this righteous town! Alith. I find by your rhetoric you have been bribed to betray me. Lucy. Only by his merit, that has bribed your heart, you see, against your word and rigid honour. Alith. Come, pray talk no more of honour, nor Mr. Harcourt; I wish the other would come to secure my fidelity to him, and his right in me. Lucy. You will marry him then? Lucy. Well, I wish I may never stick a pin more, if he be not an errant natural to t'other fine gentleman. Alith. I own he wants the wit of Harcourt. Lucy. Lord, madam, what should you do with a fool to your husband? You intend to be honest, don't you? Then that husbandly virtue, credulity, is thrown away upon you. Alith. He only, that could suspect my virtue, should have cause to do it; 'tis Sparkish's confidence in my truth, that obliges me to be faithful to him, Lucy. What, faithful to a creature who is incapable of loving and esteeming you as he ought! To throw away your beauty, wit, accomplishments, sweet temper Alith. Hold your tongue. Lucy. That you know I can't do, madam; and upon this occasion, I will talk for ever-What, give yourself away to one, that poor I, your maid, would not accept of? Alith. How, Lucy! Lucy. I would not, upon my honour, madam; 'tis never too late to repent-Take a man, and give up your coxcomb, I say. Enter SERVANT. Serv. Mr. Sparkish, with company, madam, attends you below. Alith. I will wait upon them. [Exit SERVANT. My heart begins to fail me, but I must go through with it. Go with me, Lucy. [Exit. Lucy. Not I, indeed, madam-If you will leap the precipice, you shall fall by yourself What excellent advice have I thrown away!-So I'll e'en take it where it will be more welcome.--Miss Peggy is bent upon mischief against her guardian, and she can't have a better privy counsellor than myself I must be busy one way or another. [Exit. SCENE II. A Chamber in MOODY's House. Enter MOODY and PEGGY. Moody. I saw him kiss your hand before you saw me. This pretence of liking my sister was all a blind -the young abandoned hypocrite! [Aside.] Tell me, I say, for I know he likes you, and was hurrying you to his house-tell me, I say. Peg. Lord, han't I told it a hundred times over? Moody. I would try if, in the repetition of the ungrateful tale, I could find her altering it in the least circumstance; for, if her story be false, she is so too. [Aside.] Come, how was't baggage? Peg. Lord, what a pleasure you take to hear it, sure! Moody. No, you take more in telling it, I find; but speak, how was't? No lies-I saw him kiss you-he kissed you before my face. Peg. Nay, you need not be so angry with him neither; for, to say the truth, he has the sweetest breath I ever knew. Moody. The devil!-you were satisfied with it then, and would do it again ?— Peg. Not unless he should force me. Moody. Force you, changeling. Peg. If I had struggled too much, you know-he would have known had been a woman; so I was quiet, for fear of being found out. Moody. If you had been in petticoats then, you would have knocked him down? Peg. With what, Bud?--I could not help myself-besides, he did it so modestly, and blushed so→ that I almost thought him a girl in men's clothes, and upon his mummery too, as well as me-and if so, there was no harm done, you know. Moody. This is worse and worse--so 'tis plain she loves him, yet she has not love enough to make her conceal it from me. Love, 'twas he gave women first their craft, their art of deluding. I must strangle that little monster, whilst I can deal with him. [Aside.] Go fetch pen, ink, and paper, out of the next room. Peg. Yes, I will, Bud. Moody. Go, then. Peg. I'm going. Moody. Why don't you go, then? Peg. I'm going. [Exit. Moody. This young fellow loves her, and she loves him-But I'll crush this mischief in the shell--Why should women have more invention in love than men ? It can only be, because they have more desire, more soliciting passions, more of the devil. Enter PEGGY, with pen, ink, and paper. Come, minx, sit down and write. Peg. Ay, dear, dear Bud; but I can't do very well. Moody. I wish you could not at all. Peg. But what should I write for? Moody. I'll have you write a letter to this young man. Peg. O Lord, a letter to the young gentleman! Peg. Lord, you do but jeer: sure you jest? Moody. I am not so merry: come, sit down, and write as I bid you. Peg. What, do you think I am a fool ? Moody. She's afraid I would not dictate any love to him, therefore she's unwilling. [Aside.] But you had best begin. Peg. Indeed and indeed but I won't, so I won't. Moody. Why?: Peg. Because he's in town; you may send for him here, if you will, Moody. Very well, you would have him brought to you ?-is it come to this? I say, take the pen and ink and write, or you'll provoke me. Peg. Lord, what do you make a fool of me for? Don't I know, that letters are never writ but from the country to London, and from London into the country! now he's in town, and I am in town too; therefore I can't write to him, you know. Moody. So, I am glad 'tis no worse; she's innocent enough yet. [Aside.] Yes, you may, when your husband bids, write letters to people who are in town. Peg. O may I so! then I am satisfied. [Dictates. Peg. Shan't I say, dear sir? you know one says always something more than bare Sir. Moody. Write as I bid you, or I will write something with this penknife in your face. Peg. Sir Moody. Though I suffered last night, your nauseous loathed kisses and embraces-Write! Moody. Let me see what you have writ. Though I suffered last night your kisses and embraces-[Reads the paper. Thou impudent creature, where is nauseous and loathed? Peg. I can't abide to write such filthy words. Moody. Once more, write as I'd have you, or I will spoil your writing with this; I will stab out those eyes that cause my mischief. [Holds up the penknife. Peg. O Lord, I will. Moody. So-so-let's see now: Though I suffered last night your nauseous loathed kisses and embraces; go on, yet I would not have you presume that you shall ever repeat them[She writes. -SO. Peg. I have writ it. Moody. O then-I then concealed myself from your knowledge, to avoid Peg. To avoid your insolencies Moody. Your insolencies Peg. Your insolencies. [She writes. [Writes. Moody. The same reason, now I am out of your hands Peg. So [She writes. |