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Miss Val. Profess'd! ha, ha, ha! to my father! when I never dar'd to do otherwise. I may rather say, this foolish generosity is little of a piece with your frequent professions of disobedience.

Young Bonc. Well, no more of this, dear Sophia. Tell me when you will make me happy?

Miss Val. I don't know what you mean

Young Bonc. How!

Miss Val. Sure, you can't imagine, when you parted with the right of your estate, but that you parted with your right to your mistress. Do you think I would do so imprudent a thing as marry a beggar?

Young Bonc. Did you not tell me to-day, nay scarce an hour ago, that neither the misfortunes of my father, nor the commands of your own, should prevent our happiness?

Miss Val. Nor do they. 'Tis your own folly you are to thank; a folly, which had you lov'd me, you could not have been guilty ofBesides, I did not know then, that I had a lover at my command. [Aside. Young Bonc. Sure my eyes or my ears deceive me! these words cannot come from the generous Miss Valence.

Miss Val. Indeed, I am as generous as a prudent woman ought to be, or ever will be; I hope you do not expect me to have the romantic ideas of a girl of fifteen, to dream of woods and deserts; you would not have me live in a cottage on love.

Young Bonc. I find I have been in an error, the grossest, wildest, and most monstrous of errors; I have thought a woman faithful, just, and generous.

Miss Val. Why truly, that is a mistake, something extraordinary in so great a man; but if you have any thing of importance, I beg you would communicate it, for my mantua-maker waits for me in the next room, and I

expect a lady every moment, to carry me into the city, where I am to give her my judgment on a fan mount. So, Mr. Boncour, you will excuse me at present, and do me the favour to give my compliments to your sister. [Exit Miss Valence.

Young Bonc. [Stands some time silent.] I have been deceiv'd with a vengeance! Thou art indeed another creature than the object of my affection was; where is she then? why no where. This is the real creature, and the object of my love was the phantom. Vanish then, my love, with that, for how can a building stand, when the foundation is gone! [Exit Young Boncour.

SCENE II.

Enter YOUNG VALENCE and MISS VALENCE, (laughing.)

Miss Val. I assure you, brother, I take it ill of you to overhear my privacies.

I

Young Val. Nay, never be asham'd of your merit. shall esteem you always for your resolution. I own I scarce believ'd any woman could so easily have resign'd her lover.

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Miss Val. O, 'tis a terrible thing for a woman to resign her lover, when she is under fifteen, or above fifty; that is, for a girl to part with what she calls her first love, or an old woman with what she fears will be her last. But at one-and-twenty, when one has seen a little of the world, the changing of one lover for another is as changing one's cloaths.

Young Val. Well, since you are so frank with me, I'll be as communicative with you. My passion for Miss Boncour is a little more ungovernable, than your's for her brother; and since it is inconvenient to

have her for a wife, I have determined to have her for a mistress.

Miss Val. And do you think you shall be able to accomplish your point?

Young Val. Yes, and you will think so too, I believe, when you know allknow all-In short, I attack'd her this very morning, depreciated marriage with violence, and press'd her with all the eagerness of a man, whose appetites were too impatient to endure the tedious ceremony of saying grace before he satisfies them.

Miss Val. And how did she receive you ?

Young Val. Much better than I expected. However, at last she rallied her spirits, and with some passion commanded me to leave her; I was scarce at home before I received this letter.

Miss Val. Any letter after such a proposal was an acceptance of it.

(Reads.)

'As

you cannot wonder at my being a little surprised ' at what past this morning between us, you will easily 'be able to account for my behaviour on that occasion. 'If you desire me to say I am sorry for so peremptorily putting an end to your visit, you may think I have 'said so. However, I desire to see you this evening punctually at eight, and that you would, if possible, avoid being seen by any of the family, but your's.' Young Val. What are you considering about? Miss Val. Only whether it is her hand.

Young Val. That I am sure it is.

Miss Val. Then I am sure you have nothing to do but to keep your appointment.

Enter VALENCE and YOUNG KENNEL.

Val. Since you are so very desirous, Sir, to see my

daughter, I don't see how I can refuse the son of my good friend Sir Gregory; refusing indeed is not my talent-I own I cannot guess what earnest business you can have with her.

Young Ken. Upon my honour, Sir, it is not of any disservice to the young lady, nay, I believe I

you with it.

may trust Val. No, no, no, I will be trusted with nothing.— I see nothing, I hear nothing, I know nothing. But pray, young gentleman, are you sure now (I only ask for an impertinent curiosity), are you sure that Sir Gregory can't cut off the entail of his estate?

Young Ken. Why, if you won't believe, you may ask the lawyers that my tutor consulted about it.

Val. Nay, nay, it is nothing to me, it is no business. of mine- -O, here is my daughter. Child, Mr. Kennel, eldest son of Sir Gregory Kennel, desires me to introduce him to your acquaintance-(They salute)— Well, Mr. Kennel, you must pardon me, I must leave you on business of consequence: Son, you must come along with me, I ask pardon for only leaving my daughter to keep you company.

Young Val. Sir, I wait on you.

[Exit Valence and Young Valence. Young Ken. Pray Madam was you ever at Paris? Miss Val. No, Sir, I have never been out of my own country.

Young Ken. That is a great misfortune to you, Madam; for I would not give a fig for any thing that had not made the tour of Europe.

Miss Val. I thought, Sir, travelling had been a necessary qualification only to you gentlemen. I need not ask, Sir, if you have been at Paris.

Young Ken. No, I hope not, Madam; I hope no one will imagine these cloaths to be the handy-work of any

English tailor: Paris, indeed! why, Madam, I have made the tour of Europe.

Miss Val. Upon my word, this is extraordinary in one so young; I suppose, Sir, you went abroad very soon after you left school.

Young Ken. School! ha, ha, ha! why, Madam, I was never at school at all; I liv'd with the old witch my grandmother till I was seventeen, and then my father stole me away from her, and sent me abroad, where I wish I had staid for ever- -for, ah! MadamMiss Val. Now he begins (he is just what I would choose for a husband)

[Aside.

Young Ken. Can you not read in my eyes that I have lost my heart?

Miss Val. Avez-vous donc laissez vôtre cœur à Paris, Monsieur ?

Young Ken. What the devil is that, Madam.

Miss Val. Don't you understand French, Sir?

Young Ken. Not a syllable, upon my soul, except an

oath or two.

Miss Val. I suppose, I

heart at Paris.

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Young Ken. No, Madam, you cannot suppose that: you saw, you must have seen at the play in what corner of the world my heart was.

Miss Val. I have no time to play the coquette. [Aside.] High-ho! [Sighs.]

Young Ken. Ha! sure that sigh betokens pity.

Miss Val. How do you know you want it? Have you declared your passion?

Young Ken. Not, unless my eyes have done it.

Miss Val. Perhaps she who hath your heart, may have returned you her own.

Young Ken. That would make me happier than the King of France, the Doge of Venice, or any prince I

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