Britain of late years-I was sure you was French the moment I laid my eyes upon you; I could not come into the supposition of your being an Englishman: this island produces few such ornaments.

Col. Pardon me, Sir Philip, this island has two things superior to all nations under the sun. Sir Phil. Ah! what are they?

Col. The ladies, and the laws.

Sir Phil. The laws indeed, do claim a preference of other nations,-but, by my soul, there are fine women every where. I must own I have felt their power in all countries.

Col. There are some finish'd beauties, I confess, in France, Italy, Germany, nay, even in Holland, mais elles sont bien rare: but les belles Angloises! Oh, Sir Philip, where find we such women! such symmetry of shape! such elegancy of dress! such regularity of features! such sweetness of temper! such commanding eyes! and such bewitching smiles!

Sir Phil. Ah! parbleu vous etes attrapé.

Col. Non, je vous assure, Chevalier.—But I declare there is no amusement so agreeable to my goût as the conversation of a fine woman. -I could never be prevailed upon to enter into what the vulgar calls the pleasure of the bottle.

Sir Phil. My own taste, positivement.-A ball, or a masquerade, is certainly preferable to all the productions of the vineyard.

Col. Infinitely! I hope the people of quality in England will support that branch of pleasure, which

was imported with their peace, and since naturaliz'd by the ingenious Mr. Heidegger.

Sir Phil. The ladies assure me it will become part of the constitution-upon which I subscrib'd a hundred guineas-It will be of great service to the public, at least to the company of surgeons; and the city in general.

Col. Ha, ha! it may help to ennoble the blood of the city. Are you married, Sir Philip?

Sir Phil. No; nor do I believe I ever shall enter into that honourable state: I have an absolute tendre for the whole sex.

swear.

Col. That's more than they have for you, I dare [Aside. Sir Phil. And I have the honour to be very well with the ladies, I can assure you, sir; and I won't affront a million of fine women to make one happy.

Col. Nay, marriage is reducing a man's taste to a kind of half pleasure: but then it carries the blessings of peace along with it; one goes to sleep without fear, and wakes without pain.

Sir Phil. There's something of that in't; a wife is a very good dish for an English stomach,-but gross feeding for nicer palates, ha, ha, ha!

Col. I find I was very much mistaken,—I imagined you had been married to that young lady, whom I saw in the chariot with you this morning in Gracechurch-Street.

Sir Phil. Who, Nancy Lovely? I am a piece of a guardian to that lady: you must know, her father,

I thank him, joined me with three of the most preposterous old fellows-that, upon my soul, I am in pain for the poor girl;—she must certainly lead apes, as the saying is; ha, ha!

Col. That's pity, Sir Philip. If the lady would give me leave, I would endeavour to avert that curse.

Sir Phil. As to the lady, she'd gladly be rid of us at any rate, I believe; but here's the mischief, he who marries Miss Lovely, must have the consent of us all four, or not a penny of her portion.-For my part, I shall never approve of any but a man of figure, and the rest are not only averse to cleanliness, but have each a peculiar taste to gratify.—For my part, I declare I would prefer you to all the men I ever saw.

Col. And I her to all women

Sir Phil. I assure you, Mr. Fainwell, I am for marrying her, for I hate the trouble of a guardian, especially among such wretches; but resolve never to agree to the choice of any one of them,—and I fancy they'll be even with me, for they never came into any proposal of mine yet.

Col. I wish I had your leave to try them, Sir Philip. Sir Phil. With all my soul, sir, I can refuse a person of your appearance nothing.

Col. Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you.

Sir Phil. But do you really like matrimony?
Col. I believe I could with that lady.

Sir Phil. The only point in which we differ-But you are master of so many qualifications, that I can

excuse one fault; for I must think it a fault in a fine gentleman; and that you are such, I'll give it under my hand.

Col. I wish you'd give me your consent to marry Mrs. Lovely under your hand, Sir Philip.

Sir Phil. I'll do't, if you'll step into St. James's Coffee-house, where we may have pen and ink ;tho' I cann't foresee what advantage my consent will be to you, without you could find a way to get the rest of the guardians.—But I'll introduce you, however: she is now at a Quaker's, where I carried her this morning, when you saw us in Gracechurch-Street.—I assure you she has an odd ragout of guardians, as you will find when you hear the characters, which I'll endeavour to give you as we go along.-Hey! Pierre, Jaque, Renno,-where are you all, scoundrels ?Order the chariot to St. James's Coffee-house. Col. Le Noir, la Brun, la Blanc.-Morbleu, ou sont ces Coquins la? Allons, Monsieur le Chevalier.

Sir Phil. Ah! Pardonez moi, Monsieur.

Col. Not one step, upon my soul, Sir Philip.
Sir Phil. The best bred man in Europe, positively.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Changes to OBADIAH PRIM'S House.

LOVELY, followed by Mrs. PRIM.

Enter Mrs.

Mrs. Prim. Then thou wilt not obey me: and thou

dost really think those fallals become thee?

Mrs. Lov. I do, indeed.

Mrs. Pr. Now will I be judged by all sober people, if I don't look more like a modest woman than thou dost, Anne.

Mrs. Lov. More like a hypocrite you mean, Mrs. Prim.

Mrs. Pr. Ah! Anne, Anne, that wicked Philip Modelove will undo thee,-Satan so fills thy heart with pride, during the three months of his guardianship, that thou becomest a stumbling block to the upright.

Mrs. Lov. Pray who are they? Are the pinch'd cap and formal hood the emblems of sanctity? Does your virtue consist in your dress, Mrs. Prim?

Mrs. Pr. It doth not consist in cut hair, spotted face, and a bare neck.-Oh the wickedness of the generation! The primitive women knew not the abomination of hoop'd petticoats.

Mrs. Lov. No, nor the abomination of cant neither. Don't tell me, Mrs. Prim, don't. I know you have as much pride, vanity, self-conceit, and ambition among you, couched under that formal habit, and sanctified countenance, as the proudest of us all; but the world begins to see your prudery.

Mrs. Pr. Prudery! What! do they invent new words as well as new fashions? Ah! poor fantastic age, I pity thee-Poor deluded Anne, which dost thou think most resemblest the saint, and which the sinner, thy dress or mine? Thy naked bosom allureth the eye of the by-stander-encourageth the frailty of