_A Library in LADY WAITFOR'T'S House.--A Sofa and two Chairs._
_Enter VAPID._
_Vapid._ Either this house is a labyrinth, or I, in reflecting on my
incident, have forgot myself; for so it is I can't find my way out--who
have we here? by the sixtieth night, my little partner!
_Enter MARIANNE, with a Book in her Hand._
_Mari._ The poet I danced with!--he little thinks how much I've thought
of him since--Sir. [_Courtesying._
_Vapid._ Ma'am. [_Bowing._]
_Mari._ I hope, sir, you caught no cold the other night?
_Vapid._ No, ma'am, I was much nearer a fever than a cold.--Pray, ma'am,
what is your study?
_Mari._ I have been reading "All for Love."--Pray, sir, do you know any
thing about plays?
_Vapid._ Know any thing about plays!--there's a question!
_Mari._ I know so much about them, that I once acted at a private
theatre.
_Vapid._ Did you? Then you acted for your own amusement, and nobody's
else: what was the play?
_Mari._ I can't tell!
_Vapid._ Can't tell?
_Mari._ No,--nobody knew,--it's a way they have.
_Vapid._ Then they never act a play of mine.--With all this partiality
for the stage--perhaps you would be content with a dramatist for
life--particularly if his morals were fine?
_Mari._ Lord! I don't care about fine morals--I'd rather my husband had
fine teeth,--and I'm told most women of fashion are of the same opinion.
_Vapid._ To be sure they are,--but could you really consent to run away
with a poet?
_Mari._ 'Faith--with all my heart--they never have any money, you know,
and, as I have none, our distress would be complete; and, if we had any
luck, our adventures would become public, and then we should get into a
novel at last.
_Vapid._ Into a prison, more probably--if she goes on in this way, I
must dramatize her first,--and run away with her afterwards. [_Aside._]
Come, are you ready?
_Lady W._ [_Without._] Tell my lord, sir, I'll wait in the library.
_Mari._ Oh lord! my aunt, what's to be done?
_Vapid._ What's to be done!--why?
_Mari._ She mustn't find you here--she'll be the death of us, she is so
violent.
_Vapid._ Well, I'm not afraid--she's no manager.
_Mari._ If you have any pity for me--here--hide yourself for a moment
behind this sofa, and I'll get her out of the room directly.
_Vapid._ Behind the sofa! here's an incident!
_Mari._ Nay--pray--she's here! come--quick!--quick!--
[_VAPID gets behind the Sofa, MARIANNE sits on it, takes
out her work bag, and begins singing----_
_Mari._ Toll de roll, &c.
_Enter LADY WAITFOR'T._
_Lady._ Marianne, how came you here? I desire you'll leave the room
directly.
_Mari._ Leave the room, aunt?
_Lady._ Yes, leave the room immediately--what are you looking at?
_Mari._ Nothing, aunt, nothing--Lord! lord! what will become of poor,
poor Mr Poet? [_Exit._
_Lady._ So--here's my lord--now to mention Ennui's play, and if it does
but prejudice him against him, Willoughby marries Louisa, and Neville is
in my own power.
_Enter LORD SCRATCH._
_Lord._ That curst pantomime ruffian! nobody knows any thing about
him--perhaps my lady has got a sudden touch of the dramatic mania, and
prefers him--here she is--now if she would talk about the stage.
_Lady._ Pray be seated, my lord--I want to ask you a favour.
_Lord._ Ask me a favour? Is it possible? [_They sit._
_Lady._ Yes, for your friend Ennui--what do you think he has done?
_Lord._ What?
_Lady._ Turned author.--He has written a comedy.
_Lord._ A comedy!--she has it.
_Lady._ Yes--it's very true, and it has been approved of by men of the
first dramatic fame.
_Lord._ Dramatic fame! she has it!--dam'me, she has it!
_Lady._ Nay, if you need farther proof, my lord, it has been approved by
the manager of one of the theatres, and the curtain is to draw up next
winter.
_Lord._ The curtain draw up!--Look ye, madam, I care no more for the
manager or his theatre----
_Lady._ Now, my lord, the favour I have to ask of you is this--promise
me to peruse the play, make alterations, and write the epilogue.
_Lord._ The epilogue!--fire and forefathers! [_LADY holds him._
_Lady._ Ay, or the prologue.
_Lord._ The prologue! blood and gunpowder!
[_VAPID comes from behind the sofa, and smacks him on
the back._
_Vapid._ Prologue or epilogue!--I'm the man--I'll write you both.
_Lord._ There he is again!
_Lady._ Oh! I shall faint with vexation!--My lord, I desire you'll
misinterpret nothing--every thing shall be explained to you.--Marianne!
_Lord._ Here's the curtain up with a vengeance!
_Enter MARIANNE._
_Lady._ Answer me directly, how came that gentleman in this apartment? I
know it is some trick of yours.
_Vapid._ [_Coming down the stage._] To be sure, never any thing was so
fortunate!--upon my soul, I beg your pardon; but, curse me, if I can
help laughing, to think how lucky it was for you both I happened to be
behind the sofa!--ha! ha! ha!
_Mari._ [_As if taking the hint._] 'Faith, no more can I--to be sure it
was the luckiest thing in the world! ha! ha! ha!
[_Here they both laugh loud, and point to my LORD, and
LADY WAITFOR'T, who stand, between them in amazement._
_Lady._ Sir, I insist you lay aside this levity, and instantly explain
how you came in this room.
_Lord._ Ay, sir,--explain.
_Vapid._ Never fear, old lady--I'll bring you off, depend on't.
_Lady._ Bring me off, sir! speak out, sir, how came you in this
apartment?
_Vapid._ With all my heart--by her ladyship's own appointment.
_Lady._ My own appointment!----I shall run wild.
_Vapid._ To be sure you have hardly forgot your own hand writing.
_Lord._ Her own hand writing!--get on, sir,--I beseech you, get on.
_Vapid._ Why, look ye, old Scratch,--you seem to be an admirer of this
lady's.--Now I think it my duty as a moral dramatist--a moral dramatist,
sir, mark that--to expose hypocrisy--therefore, sir, there is the
letter, read it, and be convinced of your error.
_Lord._ Very well; have you done, sir--have you done?--consider I'm a
peer of the realm, and I shall die if I don't talk.
_Vapid._ And now, sir, I must beg a favour of you--[_Gets close to
him._]--keep the whole affair secret, for if it gets hacknied, it loses
its force.--To bring it all on the stage: hush! say nothing--it will
have a capital effect, and brother bards will wonder where I stole
it--your situation will be wonderful--you hav'n't an idea how ridiculous
you will look--you will laugh very much at yourself, I assure you.
_Lord._ What is all this! Well, now I will speak--I'll wait no longer.
_Vapid._ Yes, yes, I shall take care of you,--Falstaff in the buck
basket will be nothing to it--he was only the dupe of another man's
wife,--you'll be the dupe of your own, you know--"think of that, Master
Brook, think of that." Well, your servant. [_Exit._
_Lord._ He's gone without hearing me!--then there's an end of every
thing, for here I stand, once a barrister,--since a country gentleman,
and now a peer; and, though I have made twenty attempts to speak, I
can't be heard a syllable,--mercy! what will this world come to! A peer,
and not be heard!
_Lady._ My lord,--assured of my innocence, I have no doubt of justifying
my own conduct, and even by means of that letter increasing your
affection.--It was written to another person--your ungrateful nephew.
_Lord._ My nephew?
_Lady._ Yes, sir, I could not perceive him losing the esteem of his
friends, without having the desire to reclaim him--indeed, I knew no
better mode of fulfilling my project, than by personally warning him of
his situation.--For this purpose, I wrote that letter, and I never
thought it would have been thus misused.--If there is any improper
warmth in the expressions, it only proceeds from my anxiety of ensuring
an interview.--I hope, sir, you are satisfied.
_Lord._ Why, I believe you, my lady; and I should be perfectly satisfied
if I could forget your passion for the stage, and that madman behind the
sofa.
_Lady._ As to that, sir, this young lady can best inform you.--I desired
him to leave the house an hour ago.
_Mari._ [_Aside._] I'm afraid my only way is to confess all.--My lord,
if I confess the truth, I hope you'll prevail on my aunt to forgive me.
_Lord._ Tell what you know, and I'll answer for your forgiveness.
_Mari._ Why, sir, I found the gentleman alone, and not having had a
_tete-a-tete_ a long time, I pressed him to stay, and, on hearing your
voice, I put him behind the sofa,--that you might not think any thing
had happened,--and, indeed, sir, nothing did happen--upon my word he's
as quiet, inoffensive a gentleman as yourself.
_Lord._ My fears are over! Oh! you finished composition! come to my
arms, and when I suspect you again--[_Coughs much._]--this curst cough,
it takes one so suddenly!
_Enter ENNUI._
_Ennui._ I've an idea--Floriville is arrived--in fact--I just now spoke
to him.
_Lord._ Floriville arrived!--Come, my lady--let's go see what his
travels have done for him.--Hark ye, Ennui--prepare for your interview
with Louisa, and remember you make a mandarin member.--Come, my
lady--nay, never irritate your feelings. [_Exeunt LORD and LADY._
_Mari._ So--poor Mr Neville is to lose Miss Courtney.--Her present
quarrel with him is so violent, that she may marry this idiot merely in
revenge.--If I could dupe him now, and ensure her contempt.--I'll
try.--Mr Ennui, have you seen your intended wife yet?
_Ennui._ No.
_Mari._ So I thought--why you'll never please her while you remain as
you are.--You must alter your manners.--She is all life!--all
spirits!--and loves a man the very opposite to you.
_Ennui._ I've an idea--I'm very sorry--in fact--how can I please her?
_Mari._ There's the difficulty--let me see--the sort of man she prefers
is--you know Sir Harry Hustle?--a man all activity and confidence!--who
does every thing from fashion, and glories in confessing it.
_Ennui._ Sir Harry Hustle?--in fact--he's a modern blood of fashion.
_Mari._ I know--that's the reason she likes him, and you must become the
same, if you wish to win her affection--a new dress--bold looks--a few
oaths, and much swaggering, effects the business. [_ENNUI puts himself
in attitudes._] Ay, that's right, you are the very man already.
_Ennui._ I'm a lad of fashion!--eh, dam'me!--I've an idea--I shall fall
asleep in the midst of it.
_Mari._ No, no;--go about it directly--see Sir Harry Hustle, and study
your conversation before hand--but remember Louisa is so fond of
fashion, that you can't boast too much of its vices and absurdities.
_Ennui._ If virtue was the fashion, I should be virtuous!--I should,
dam'me!
_Mari._ Ay, that's the very thing--well;--good bye, Mr Ennui--success
attend you--mind you talk enough.
_Ennui._ Talk!--I'll talk till I fall asleep!--I will! dam'me!
[_Exit, swaggering.--MARIANNE laughing._
ACT THE THIRD.