Sir Anth. Well, sir?

Capt, I have been likewise weighing, and balancing, what you were pleased to mention, concerning duty, and obedience, and authority.

Sir Anth. Why, now you talk sense, heard anything more sensible in my life. be Jack again.

Capt. I am happy in the appellation.

absolute sense! I never Confound you, you shall

Sir Anth. Why then Jack, my dear Jack, I will now inform you who the lady really is. Nothing but your passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented me telling you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture-prepare. What think you of Miss Lydia Languish?

Capt. Languish! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire?

Sir Anth. Worcestershire! No. Did you ever meet Mrs. Malaprop, and her niece, Miss Languish, who came into our country, just before you were last ordered to your regiment?

Capt. Malaprop! Languish! I don't remember ever to have heard the names before. Yet stay, I think I do recollect something -Languish Languish-she squints, don't she? A little redhaired girl?

Sir Anth. Squints! A red-haired girl: 'Sdeath: no!

Capt. Then I must have forgot; it can 't be the same person. Sir Anth. Jack! Jack! what think you of blooming, love-breathing seventeen?

Capt. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent; if I can please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire.

Sir Anth. Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks! Jack: so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! O, Jack, lips, smiling at their own discretion! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting- more lovely in sullenness! Then, Jack, her neck! O, Jack! Jack!

Capt. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or the aunt?
Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise you.

When I was of your age, such a description would have made me fly like a rocket! The aunt, indeed! Odds life! when I ran away with your mother, I would not have touched anything old or ugly to gain an empire.

Capt. Not to please your father, sir?

Sir Anth. To please my father-'Sdeath! not to please -0, my fatherOdso!-yes, yes; if my father, indeed, had desired that's quite another matter. Though he wasn't the indulgent father that I am, Jack.

Capt. I dare say not, sir!

Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mistress is so beautiful?

Capt. Sir, I repeat it, if I please you in this affair, 'tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse for being handsome; but, sir, if you please to recollect, you before hinted something about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind - now, without being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine to have the usual number of limbs, and a limited quantity of back; and, though one eye may be very agreeable, yet, as the prejudice has always run in favor of two, I would not wish to affect a singularity in that article.

Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is! Why, sirrah, you are an anchorite! a vile, insensible stock! You a soldier! you're a walking block, fit only to dust the company's regimentals on! Odds life, I have a great mind to marry the girl myself.

Capt. I am entirely at your disposal, sir; if you should think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you would have me marry the aunt; or, if you should change your mind, and take the old lady, 'tis the same to me, I'll marry the niece.

Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou art either a very great hypocrite, or - but come, I know your indifference on such a subject must be all a lie - I'm sure it must come now, hang your demure face; come, confess, Jack, you have been lyingha n't you? You have been playing the hypocrite, hey? I'll never forgive you, if you ha n't been lying and playing the hypo

crite.

Capt. I'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear to you should be so mistaken.

Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty! But come along with me. I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you - come along. I'll never forgive you, if you don't come back stark mad with rapture and impatience—if you don't, 'egad, I'll marry the girl myself.

SHERIDAN.

SIR PETER AND LADY TEAZLE.

Sir Peter. When an old bachelor marries a young wife, what is he to expect? 'Tis now above six months since my Lady Teazle made me the happiest of men, and I have been the most miserable

dog ever since. We tifted a little going to church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells were done ringing. I was more than once nearly choked with gall, during the honey-moon; and had fairly lost every satisfaction in life, before my friends had done wishing me joy. And yet I chose, with great caution, a girl bred wholly in the country, who had never known luxury beyond one silk gown, or dissipation beyond the annual gala of a race-ball. Yet now she can play her part in all the little extravagant fopperies of the town, with as good a grace as if she had never seen a bush or a grass-plot out of Grosvenor-square. I am sneered at by all my acquaintance — paragraphed in the newspapers—she dissipates my fortune, and contradicts all my humors. And yet, the worst of it is, I doubt I love her, or I should never bear all this-but I am determined never to let her know it. No, no, no! I think I'll try

what a little expostulation will do.

-

So, here she comes:

Sir P. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I won't bear it.

Lady Teazle. Very well, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, just as you please; but I know I ought to have my own way in everything; and what's more, I will.

Sir P. What, madam! is there no respect due to the authority of a husband?

Lady T. Why, don't I know that no woman of fashion does as she is bid after her marriage. Though I was bred in the country, I'm no stranger to that: if you wanted me to be obedient, you should have adopted me, and not married me—I'm sure you were old enough.

Sir P. Ay, there it is—madam, what right have you to run into all this extravagance?

Lady T. I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of quality ought to be.

Sir P. Madam, I'll have no more sums squandered away upon such unmeaning luxuries: you have as many flowers in your dressing-rooms as would turn the Pantheon into a green-house.

Lady T. La, Sir Peter, am I to blame that flowers don't blow in cold weather? you must blame the climate and not me. I'm sure, for my part, I wish it were spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet.

Sir P. Madam, I should not wonder at your extravagance, if you had been bred to it. Had you any of these things before you married me?

Lady T. Dear, Sir Peter, how can you be angry at those little elegant expenses?

Sir P. Had you any of those little elegant expenses when you married me?

Lady T. Very true, indeed; and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again.

Sir P. Very well, very well, madam; you have entirely forgot what your situation was when I first saw you.

Lady T. No, no, I have not; a very disagreeable situation it was, or I'm sure I never would have married you.

Sir P. You forget the humble state I took you from-the daughter of a poor country 'squire. When I came to your father's, I found you sitting at your tambour, in a linen gown, a bunch of keys at your side, and your hair combed smoothly over a roll.

Lady T. Yes, I remember very well; my daily occupations were

to overlook the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog.

Sir P. Oh, I am glad to find you have so good a recollection. Lady. T. My evening employments were to draw patterns for ruffles, which I bad not materials to make up; play at Pope Joan with the curate; read a sermon to my aunt Deborah; or perhaps be stuck up at an old spinnet to thrum my father to sleep after a fox-chase.

Sir P. Then you were glad to take a ride out behind the butler upon the old dock'd coach-horse.

Lady T. No, no, I deny the butler and the coach-horse.

Sir P. I say you did. This was your situation. Now, madam, you must have your coach vis-a-vis, and three powdered footmen to walk before your chair; and in summer, two white cats to draw you to Kensington gardens; and, instead of your living in that hole in the country, I have brought you home here, made a woman of fortune of you, a woman of quality-in short, I have made you my wife.

Lady T. Well, and there is but one thing more you can add to the obligation, and that is

Sir P. To make you my widow, I suppose.

Lady T. Hem!

Sir P. Very well, madam, very well; I am much obliged to you for the hint.

Lady T. Why then will you force me to say shocking things to you. But now we have finished our morning conversation, I presume I may go to my engagements at Lady Sneerwell's. Sir P. Lady Sneerwell! a precious acquaintance you have made of her too, and the set that frequent her house. Such a set, mercy on us! Many a wretch who has been drawn upon a hurdle, has done less mischief than those barters of forged lies, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation.

Lady T. How can you be so severe : I am sure they are all people of fashion, and very tenacious of reputation.

Sir P. Yes, so tenacious of it, they'll not allow it to any but themselves.