University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Sir Nicholas in debate with Mrs. Felix and Selina.
Mrs. Felix.
What a strange declaration!—it gives me the spleen;
But 'tis what good Sir Nicholas never can mean.

Sir Nicholas.
Not mean it, fair Lady!—by Jupiter, yes!
And my project you'll see will be crown'd with success;
I am joyous myself, and 'tis ever my plan
To give those I love all the joy that I can.

Mrs. Felix.
We own it—but joy is like diet, dear Cousin,
One palate may'nt relish what pleases a dozen;
Nor will I allow that my appetite's vicious,
If perchance I don't like, what you think most delicious.

Sir Nicholas.
Rare dainty distinctions!—but can I believe
That a woman e'er lived since the wedding of Eve,
Whose heart (tho' most coyly her head might be carried)
Did not fervently wish to be speedily married?
Not to wound your nice ears with the name of desires
Which youth renders lovely, and nature inspires,
Your sex, from its weakness, demands a defender,
Whom pride and affection make watchful and tender;
And if my fair Coz is no hypocrite grown,
The truth of my maxims you'll honestly own;
While the wars from your arms the brave Colonel detain,
Is the want of a husband the source of no pain?

Mrs. Felix.
There, indeed, you have touch'd me a little too near,
My Soldier, you know, to my soul is most dear,
I own—and my frankness you never will blame,
I'd purchase his presence with ought but his fame.

Sir Nicholas.
Well said, thou dear, honest, and warm-hearted wife;
For thy truth may good angels still watch o'er his life,
And while others the rough field of slaughter are treading,
Send him home full of glory, to dance at our wedding!
For a wedding we'll have to enliven us all,
And Hymen's bright altar shall warm the old hall.
For my Niece ere I die 'tis my wish to provide,
And ere two months are past I will see her a bride.
I'm resolv'd—and you know that my neighbours all say,
Sir Nicholas Oddfish will have his own way.

Mrs. Felix.
Selina, dear Sir, wants no other protection,
While her life glides in peace by your gentle direction.
She thinks, and, I own, I approve her remark,
In conjugal cares 'tis too soon to embark:
Her bosom untouch'd by Love's dangerous dart,
Fate has not yet shewn her the man of her heart.

Sir Nicholas.
The man of her heart!—these nonsensical fancies
You light-headed females pick out of romances.
That I am no tyrant you know very well,
So Cousin don't teach my good Niece to rebel!
I am no greedy guardian, who thinks it his duty
On the altar of Plutus to sacrifice beauty;
Whose venal barbarity, justly abhorr'd,
Ties a lovely young girl to an old crippled lord,
And basely, to gain either rank or estate,
Makes her swear she will love, what she cannot but hate.
From such a protector Heaven guard my dear Niece!
I wish her to wed that her joys may increase;
And the deuce must be in the strange girl who discovers
No man to her mind in such plenty of lovers.
To no very great length will my cruelty run,
If from twenty admirers I bid her chuse one.

Mrs. Felix.
But why, dear Sir Nicholas, why in such haste?

Sir Nicholas.
'Tis thus that my projects are ever disgrac'd
With the false names of hurry and precipitation,
Because I abhor silly procrastination;
That thief of delight, who deludes all our senses,
Who cheats us for ever with idle pretences,
By whom, like the dog in the fable, betray'd,
We let go the substance to snap at the shade.
To seize present Time is the true Art of Life;
'Tis Time who now cries, make Selina a Wife!
The season is come, I've so long wish'd to see
From the moment I dandled her first on my knee:
She, you know, to my care was bequeath'd by my Brother,
And having this Child, I ne'er wish'd for another:
Thro' life I have kept myself single for her;
Her interest, her joy, to my own I prefer.

Selina.
Your kindness, dear Sir, I can never repay.

Sir Nicholas.
In truth, my dear damsel, you easily may;
I demand no return so enormously great;
I ask but a Boy to possess my estate.

Selina.
Lord, Uncle, how come such odd thoughts in your head?

Mrs. Felix.
From his heart, I assure you—'tis pleasantly said;
A fair stipulation—both parties agreed,
The compact, I trust, in due time will succeed;
But patience, dear Knight, you will have your desire,
Nor wait very long for a young little 'Squire.

Sir Nicholas.
The cold stream of Patience ne'er creeps in my veins,
But the wish my heart forms my quick spirit attains.
I'm none of your chill atmospherical wretches,
Whose affections are subject to starts and to catches;
Whose wish, like a weather-cock, veering about,
Now turns towards hope, and now changes to doubt:
No, mine, like the needle without variation,
Only looks to one point, and that point's Consummation.
I want to behold this young Urchin arise,
Before I have lost or my legs or my eyes,
That I may enjoy all his little vagaries,
As the changeable season of infancy varies.
I long to be moulding his heart and his spirit,
To shew him the fields he is born to inherit;
Lead him round our rich woods, while my limbs are yet limber,
And tell the young rogue, how I've nurs'd up his timber;
That when the worn thread of my life is untwisted,
He long may remember that I have existed:
And when my old frame in our monument rests,
As he walks by my grave with a few worthy guests,
He thus to some warm-hearted friend may address him,
Here lies my odd, honest, old Uncle—God bless him!

Mrs. Felix.
Thank Heaven, dear Cousin, your hale constitution
Shews not the least sign of a near dissolution.

Selina.
To make your life happy, whate'er the condition,
Has been, my dear Uncle, my highest ambition;
To fulfil every wish that your fancy can frame,
Still is, as it ought to be, ever my aim:
But if by your voice I am doom'd to the altar,
With terror and pain my weak accents must falter,
Unless my kind stars a new lover should send me,
Unlike all the swains who now deign to attend me.

Sir Nicholas.
Nice wench! do you want the whole world to adore you?
Would you have all the men of the earth rang'd before you?
For thanks to your charms, and to fortune's kind bounty,
You may rank in your train all the youth of our county,
And chuse whom you will; if the man has but worth,
And is nearly your equal in wealth and in birth,
I give my consent—you are free from restriction;
But I will not be plagu'd with perverse contradiction.
I will see you wed without any delay:
Your two fittest lovers are coming to-day;
Young Sapphic, whose verses delight all the fair,
And Dicky Decisive, Sir Jacob's next heir:
Both young and both wealthy, both comely and clever,
To gain you, no doubt, each will warmly endeavour;
For they come for a month, by my own invitation,
On purpose to sound my dear girl's inclination:
I have said to them both, and no man can speak fairer,
Let him, who can please her most, win her and wear her.

Selina
, aside to Mrs. Felix.
Good angels defend me!

Mrs. Felix.
I see nothing frightful:
Our month with such guests must be very delightful:
When Sapphic's soft verses incline us to dose,
Dick will keep us awake with satirical prose.

Sir Nicholas.
Don't cross me, I say! nor mislead my good Niece!
By Jove, if she thwarts me with any caprice,
Like a certain old justice I'll ring up my maids,
And marry the first of the frank-hearted jades;
For perverse contradiction I never will bear,
But provide for myself a more dutiful heir.

Mrs. Felix.
Dear Cousin, in spite of his worship's decision,
You cannot be certain of such a provision:
Attempts of that nature are subject to fail.

Sir Nicholas.
My designs you shall see, Madam, always prevail:
For if this nice Gipsy, by your machination,
Declines every offer, to give me vexation,
Like my late jolly neighbour, Sir Timothy Trickum,
Who vindictively married the frail Molly Quickum,
I'll make sure of the matter, and chuse me a wife,
With an heir ready plac'd on the threshold of life:
For, as I have said, tho' a foe to restriction,
I never will suffer perverse contradiction.
You now know my mind, which no mask ever covers,
So farewell, and prepare, to receive your two lovers.

[Exit.
Mrs. Felix.
Go thy way, thou strange mixture of sense and of blindness!
A model at once of oppression and kindness.
Thy will, thou odd compound of goodness and whim,
Is a stream, against which it is treason to swim;
Yet we must cross the current—

Selina.
Dear Cousin say how!
Direct opposition he will not allow:
What can you devise as a plan of prevention?
How divert his keen spirit from this new intention?
I had much rather die than be ever united
To one of the lovers, that he has invited:
My heart has a thorough aversion to both:
Yet to make him unhappy I'm equally loth;
When I think what I owe to his tender protection,
The worst of all ills is to lose his affection.

Mrs. Felix.
Dear Girl, your warm gratitude gives you new charms:
'Tis an amiable fear, which your bosom alarms,
And I from your Uncle's quick humour would screen you,
Not loosen the bands of affection between you.
He merits your love, and you know he has mine;
Yet we somehow must baffle his hasty design,
Nor suffer his whim thus to make you a Wife,
To repent the rash business the rest of his life.
Take courage! kind Chance may assist us—

Selina.
I doubt it,
Yet Heaven knows how we shall manage without it;
For when his heart's set on a favourite scheme,
His ardor and haste, as you know, are extreme,
Like a med'cine ill-tim'd opposition is vain,
And inflames the disorder 'twas meant to restrain.

Mrs. Felix.
In his fevers indeed there is no intermission:
And thanks, gentle Coz! to your soft disposition!
So sweet and compliant your temper has been,
You have taught him to think contradiction a sin;
And here all around him confirm that belief,
His vassals all bow to the nod of their chief.
Here shut from the world in this rural dominion,
No mortal opposes his will or opinion;
And thus he is spoil'd—Politicians all say,
Human nature's not fashion'd for absolute sway.

Selina.
'Tis true, tho' the world, as you say, think him odd,
In this sphere he is held a diminutive god:
And when I behold how his fortune is spent,
In suppressing vexation, and spreading content;
When I hear all the poor his kind bounty expressing,
And thoroughly know how he merits their blessing,
My feelings with theirs in his eulogy join,
And confess, that his nature is truly divine.

Mrs. Felix.
Thou excellent Girl! if such fondness and zeal
For a warm-hearted, whimsical Uncle you feel,
With what fine sensations your bosom will glow,
What tender attachment your temper will shew,
When your fortunate lord Love and Hymen invest
With higher dominion o'er that gentle breast!
But tell me, dear Cousin—be honest—declare,
Has no young secret swain form'd an interest there?
I suspect—but don't let my suspicion affright you,
Tho' the good Knight's rare virtues amuse and delight you,
From this gloomy old hall you would wish to get free,
Had not Cupid preserv'd you from feeling ennui;
Come tell me the name of the favourite youth:
I am sure I guess right.

Selina.
No, in sad sober truth
I never have seen in the course of my life,
A mortal to whom I should chuse to be wife.

Mrs. Felix.
Ye stars, what a pity!—I wish I could learn
That my Colonel from India would shortly return,
Both for your sake and mine; for our present distress
He would speedily turn into joyous success;
As his regiment must some young hero afford,
Who might throw at your feet both himself and his sword.
What say you, my dear, to a soldier?—

Enter Jenny.
Jenny.
Oh! Madam,
Here 's young Mr. Sapphic—I vow, if I had them,
I'd give fifty pounds had you seen how politely
He beg'd me to tie a sweet nosegay up tightly,
Which is jolted to pieces—well, he 's a sweet beau;
And now with his pencil he 's writing below,
I believe 'tis a posy, he writes it so neatly,
And I'm sure 'tis fine verse, Ma'am, it sounded so sweetly.

Mrs. Felix.
Oh charming! his vows will be very sublime,
And I trust we shall hear his proposals in rhyme.

Selina.
How can you, dear Cousin, so cruelly jest in
A business you know I am really distrest in?
I shall certainly forfeit my Uncle's protection,
For I never can wed where I feel no affection.
Do help me.

Mrs. Felix.
Good Girl, this perplexity smother,
And think your two lovers will banish each other:
There's much to be hop'd from our present affairs.

Jenny.
O, Ma'am, Mr. Sapphic is coming up stairs.
(Aside as she goes out.)
I am mightily pleas'd with this marrying plan,
And I hope in my spirit that he'll be the man.

[Exit.
Enter Sapphic.
Sapphic.
Fair Ladies, the moments have seem'd to be hours,
While I stopt in your hall to adjust a few flowers:
For the season, I'm told, they're uncommonly fine;
But I still wish the tribute more worthy the shrine.

[Bowing and presenting them to Selina.
Selina.
Mr. Sapphic is always extremely polite:
These roses, indeed, are a wonderful sight:
You are far better florists than we are.

Mrs. Felix.
My dear,
Mr. Sapphic has magic to make them appear,
And Flora is brib'd by the songs he composes
To produce for her poet extempore roses;
Into this early bloom all her plants are bewitch'd:
But you do not observe how the gift is inrich'd,
Here's a border of verse, if my eyes don't deceive me.

Selina
, aside to Mrs. Felix.
Dear Cousin you'll read it—I pray you relieve me;
I shall blush like a fool at each civil expression.

Mrs. Felix
, aside to Selina, taking the paper.
Now with emphasis just and with proper discretion.
(Mrs. Felix reads.)
'Tis a delicate compliment, tender and pretty,
What original spirit! how graceful and witty!

Sapphic.
Dear Ma'am, you're too good to find any thing in it,
'Tis a mere hasty trifle—the work of a minute:
On the anvil I had not a moment to hammer,
And I fear, in my haste I have sinn'd against grammar.

Mrs. Felix.
All slight imperfections I never regard
When I meet with such vigor of thought in a bard,
With a fancy so brilliant—

Sapphic.
O! Ma'am, you're too kind;
But candor's the test of an amiable mind.
I wish that your taste all our Critics might guide,
To soften that rigor with which they decide.

Mrs. Felix.
From Critics, dear Sir, you have little to fear.
If Mr. Decisive himself had been here,
He must have been charm'd with this sweet jeu d'esprit,
Which, as he is coming to-day, he shall see.
I am eager to hear how his wit will applaud it:
To conceal it would be of due praise to defraud it.

Sapphic.
In Mercy's name, Ladies, I beg your protection,
Preserve my poor rhymes from Decisive's inspection;
Consider how hasty—

Mrs. Felix.
Say rather how sprightly—

Sapphic.
Compos'd in a moment—

Mrs. Felix.
Produc'd so politely!

Sapphic.
He'll cut them to atoms!

Mrs. Felix.
Dear Sir, he's your friend,
And I thought he had seen all the poems you pen'd:
I was told that to him your long works you rehearse—
Does Mr. Decisive himself write in verse?

Sapphic.
I wish from my soul that he did now and then;
But he uses the pen-knife much more than the pen,
And too freely has slash'd all who write in the nation,
To give them an opening for retaliation.
My old friend Decisive has honour and wit;
To the latter, indeed, he makes most things submit;
And thinks it fair sport, as a friend or a foe,
To knock down a Bard by a flaming bon mot.
To your sex indeed his chief failings I trace;
For the fair-ones so flatter'd his figure and face,
That too early he ceas'd the chaste Muses to follow,
And being Adonis, would not be Apollo.

Mrs. Felix.
Yet he has much fancy.

Sapphic.
O, Madam, no doubt,
And genius that study would soon have brought out.
Had his thoughts been less turn'd to his legs and his looks,
Ere this he'd have written some excellent books:
'Tis pity such parts should thro' indolence fall;
But he never composes, and reads not at all.

Selina.
Not read, Mr. Sapphic! you surely mistake;
Your friend cannot be an illiterate rake:
Our neighbours, who lately from London came down,
Declare, that his word forms the taste of the town!

Sapphic.
Dear Madam, the business is easily done;
He judges all authors, but never reads one.

Mrs. Felix.
I'm sure he must own this impromptu is sweet,
And I vow he shall read it—

Sapphic.
Dear Ma'am, I intreat,
I conjure you to spare me; this earnest petition
I know you will grant me—

Mrs. Felix.
On this one condition,
That for six lines suppress'd you indulge me with twenty:
Come, shew us your pocket-book—there you have plenty
Of tender poetical squibs for the Fair.

Sapphic
, taking out his pocket-book.
Dear Ma'am here is nothing.

Mrs. Felix.
A volume, I swear,
O, charming! well, now you're an excellent man;
'Tis stuff'd like a pincushion—

Sapphic.
Yes, Ma'am—with bran.

Mrs. Felix.
Fie, fie, you're too modest, and murder my meaning;
What a harvest is here! yet I ask but a gleaning:
It would not be fair to seize all the collection,
Tho' all is most certainly worthy inspection.
Indulge us, dear Sir: come, I'll take no refusal.

Sapphic.
Indeed, Ma'am, here's nothing that's fit for perusal.

Mrs. Felix.
There are fifty fine things, and one can't chuse amiss.

Sapphic
, taking out a paper.
Here's one new little song—

Mrs. Felix.
Well then, let me have this.

Sapphic
, after giving a paper.
They all are so jumbled, I fear I am wrong;
I meant to have shewn you a new little song,
Which was written last week on the ball at our races,
Where I heard the Miss Trotters compar'd to the Graces;
I could not help saying, 'twas very profane,
It was taking the name of the Graces in vain.

Mrs. Felix
reads.

“On seeing Selina and Jenny near each other in the garden.”

Sapphic.
O mercy, dear Madam, you must not read those!
A stanza unfinish'd.—

Mrs. Felix.
How sweetly it flows!
Selina, pray hear it.

Selina
, aside to Mrs. Felix.
Dear Cousin enough!
How can you delight in his horrible stuff!
Mrs. Felix reads.

Selina
, aside to Mrs. Felix.
If you love me, dear Cousin, assist me, I pray,
To end all this nonsense, and get him away.—
Pray, Sir, when you came, was my Uncle below?

Sapphic.
He's abroad, Ma'am, your servant inform'd me—

Selina.
O No!
You have heard he is building a temple to Pan,
And we hope that your taste may embellish the plan:
At the end of the walk, in his favourite grove,
Where there formerly stood an old ruin'd alcove,
You'll find him; and as 'tis an art you are skill'd in,
Twill please him to know what you think of the building.

Mrs. Felix.
Aye do, Mr Sapphic, inspect what is done,
For the workmen all blunder'd when first they begun:
Your opinion I'm sure will oblige the good Knight.

Selina.
An inscription, he once said, he wish'd you to write.

Sapphic.
Dear Madam!—the hint is delightful, I vow;
To the God of Arcadia I hasten to bow:
I shall find the good Knight in the midst of the dome;
I am heartily glad that he is not from home.
We shall surely contrive something clever between us,
And the Muse will compose by the order of Venus.

[Bows tenderly to Selina, and Exit.
Selina.
How could you so praise that impertinent creature?
And praise him without discomposing a feature!—
I could not have thought, before this conversation,
That your frankness could turn into such adulation.

Mrs. Felix.
The World, my dear Child, is to you quite unknown;
When you see it you'll find such discourse is the ton;
Fine folks in high life learn to praise with great glee
Such persons and things as they sicken to see.
To me your best thanks for my speeches are due—
By thus flattering the Poet, I surely serve you;
He will now play the Sky-lark instead of the Dove,
And stun me with songs, while you're sav'd from his love.

Enter Jenny.
Jenny.
Dear Ma'am, now I hope Mr. Sapphic's quite blest,
For he flies thro' the walks like a bird to his nest.—
He's a sweet pretty gentleman.

Mrs. Felix
, aside to Selina.
This, if I shew it,
Will soon banish Jenny's regard for the poet:—
Jenny, see what your friend Mr. Sapphic has written.

Jenny.
Dear Ma'am, with his verses I always am smitten.
(Having read the stanza.)
A Daisy indeed! to be sure I am neat,
But tho' I'm a servant I hope I am sweet.
When he makes my young Mistress a Rose or a Lilly,
He might turn me at least to a Daffy-down-dilly.
But a Daisy, forsooth! with no fragrance at all!—
I'll cross him for this—

Selina.
What's that noise in the hall?

Jenny.
As sure as I live 'tis your other gay Spark,
For I saw a new chaise driving into the park.—
I'll see, Ma'am.
(Aside going out)
I'll shew this fine Poet a trick—
A Daisy! that no one but children will pick.

[Exit.
Mrs. Felix.
This simile Jenny I see cannot swallow,
And her anger may ruin this son of Apollo;
For in courtship this maxim is often display'd,
He has half lost the Mistress who loses the Maid.

Enter Decisive.
Decisive.
Alone, my dear Ladies!—they told me below,
Our friend Sapphic was here, your poetical Beau;
I was almost afraid that my sudden intrusion
Might check the rich stream of some lyric effusion.
(To Selina.)
I'm happy to see you so lovely to-day;
But I hope I've not frighted your Poet away.

Selina.
O no—Mr. Sapphic had bid us adieu—

Mrs. Felix.
And not without saying some fine things of you:
He declares, that with those brilliant parts you possess,
'Tis a sin you ne'er send any work to the press.

Decisive.
Good Sapphic!—In truth 'tis his comfort to think
The whole duty of man lies in spilling of ink;
And at Paradise gate his large volumes of metre
Will I hope be allow'd a fair pass by Saint Peter.

Mrs. Felix.
Then the Saint must be free from your critical spirit,
For I know you have little esteem for their merit;
You're a rigorous judge, and to poets terrific.

Decisive.
I wish my friend's muse was not quite so prolific:
But in rhymes when a child I have heard he would squeak,
And so proved a poet before he could speak;
On his death-bed, I doubt not, he'll still think of verse,
And groan out a rhyme to his doctor or nurse.

Mrs. Felix.
I fancy your favourite reading is prose;
Here's a new set of travels, pray have you read those?

Decisive
, taking the book.
This author is lucky to meet with a buyer:
A traveller's but a soft word for a liar.
Such works may please those who have ne'er been abroad,
But men, who have travell'd, perceive all the fraud.

Mrs. Felix.
Is the work so deceitful! it seems you have read it?

Decisive.
Not a syllable, Madam—

Mrs. Felix.
Pray who then has said it?

Decisive.
Not a soul that I know—but such books are a trade,
And I perfectly know how those volumes are made.

Mrs. Felix.
'Tis a work, I am told, that has great reputation
Both for wit and for truth—

Decisive.
We're a credulous nation—

Mrs. Felix.
Pray what kind of books are your favourite study?

Decisive.
I find modern works only make the brain muddy,
As my friends grew by reading more awkward than wise,
And ruin'd their persons and clouded their eyes;
I have wisely resolv'd not to read any more,
Since each living author is turn'd to a bore.

Mrs. Felix.
How can you so waste all your bright mental powers?
'Tis pity you men have not such works as ours—
What d'ye say to my knotting?

(Takes out her work.)
Decisive.
Your box wants a hinge.
And I'll give you a much better pattern for fringe;
I brought it from France.

Mrs. Felix.
Now I see, my good friend,
There is no kind of work which your skill cannot mend:
In all arts you possess a distinguishing head,
From building a temple to knotting a thread.

Decisive.
A-propos of a temple—pray has the good Knight
Rais'd his altar to Pan?—he had fix'd on the site.
Is the structure begun?—I have not seen his plan—

Mrs. Felix.
Then hasten, and pay your devotions to Pan.
Sir Nicholas now in his vestibule stands,
To guide all his workmen and quicken their hands;
And Sapphic is gone to attend the good Knight,
And try what inscription his genius can write.

Decisive.
Poor Pan! by the Graces thou'rt left in the lurch;
Thy temple will look like a trim parish church,
With Sapphic's inscriptions, like scraps of the Bible
Put up, as the Church-wardens say, in a libel.

Mrs. Felix.
Indeed we much fear so—pray haste to inspect it,
And exert all your exquisite taste to correct it.

Decisive.
Ma'am I'll do what I can, for it puts me in wrath
To see a fine temple disgrac'd by a Goth.

[Exit.
Mrs. Felix.
Well, my dear, your two Lovers, like true men of fashion,
Do not pester you much with the heat of their passion:
You'll be quite at your ease—thanks to Pan and the Muse!

Enter Jenny, hastily.
Jenny.
News! news! my dear Ladies, most excellent news!

Selina.
The girl is quite wild!

Mrs. Felix.
What transports you so, Jenny?

Jenny.
I've news for you, Madam, that's well worth a guinea:
I have news from the Colonel—

Mrs. Felix.
A letter! Where is it?

Jenny.
No, Ma'am, here's a stranger arriv'd on a visit,
And he comes from the place where the Colonel is fighting.

Mrs. Felix.
And with letters for me?

Jenny.
Madam, that I'm not right in;
For I run from his man when I got half my story;
But the Colonel, he says, is all riches and glory.

Mrs. Felix.
Dear girl that's enough; through my life I shall feel
Due regard for thy warm and affectionate zeal.
But where is this Stranger?

Jenny.
Just walk'd to my Master,
His poor man has met with a cruel disaster;
He was wounded in battle.

Selina.
Pray treat him with care.—
In your joy, my dear Cousin, I heartily share.

Mrs. Felix.
This Stranger's a jewel for you from the East;
He's a Captain, I hope, my dear Jenny, at least.

Jenny.
Ah, Madam! my fancy suppos'd him so too;
But we're both in the wrong, and for Miss he won't do,
For I learnt from his man he is only a Doctor.

Mrs. Felix.
Poor Jane, how the difference of title has shock'd her!
For my part I can't find by my reason or feeling,
That the art of destroying excels that of healing:
We may equally love the professors of both.

Jenny.
That Miss tho' should marry a Doctor I'm loth.

Mrs. Felix.
Come, my dear, let us meet 'em—I can't rest above—
How slowly fly letters from hands that we love!