Chapter III: Act THE SECOND: Scene I

_An Apartment in LADY WAITFOR'T'S House.--Two Chairs._

_Enter VAPID and a SERVANT._

_Serv._ Sir, my lady will wait on you immediately.

_Vapid._ Hark ye, sir--Is this young lady of yours very handsome?

_Serv._ Sir?

_Vapid._ Is your young mistress, sir, very handsome?

_Serv._ Yes, sir.--My young mistress is thought a perfect beauty.

_Vapid._ Charming!--What age do you reckon her?

_Serv._ About twenty, sir.

_Vapid._ The right interesting age! and fond of the drama, I suppose?

_Serv._ Sir?

_Vapid._ Very fond of plays, I presume?

_Serv._ Yes, sir, very fond of plays, or any thing relating to them.

_Vapid._ Delightful!--now am I the happiest dog alive:--yes, yes, Vapid! let the town damn your plays, the women will never desert you. [_Seats himself._] You needn't stay, sir. [_Exit SERVANT._] That's a good sign, that fellow isn't used to this kind of business--so much the better--practice is the destruction of love----yes, I shall indulge a beautiful woman,--gratify myself, and, perhaps, get the last scene for my unfinished comedy.

_Enter LADY WAITFOR'T._

_Lady._ Sir, your most obedient.

_Vapid._ Ma'am. [_Bowing._

_Lady._ Pray keep your seat, sir--I beg I mayn't disturb you.

_Vapid._ By no means, ma'am, give me leave--[_Both sit._] Who the devil have we here? [_Aside._

_Lady._ I am told, sir, you have business for Lady Waitfor't?

_Vapid._ Yes, ma'am--being my first appearance in that character, but I could wait whole hours for so beautiful a woman.

_Lady._ Oh, sir!

_Vapid._ Yes--I am no stranger to her charms----sweet young creature!

_Lady._ Nay, dear sir, not so _very_ young.

_Vapid._ Your pardon, ma'am,--and her youth enhances her other merits.--But, oh! she has one charm that surpasses all.

_Lady._ Has she, sir?--What may that be?

_Vapid._ Her passion for the stage.

_Lady._ Sir!

_Vapid._ Yes, her passion for the stage; that, in my mind, makes her the first of her sex.

_Lady._ Sir, she has no passion for the stage.

_Vapid._ Yes, yes, she has.

_Lady._ But I protest she has not.

_Vapid._ But I declare and affirm it as a fact, she has a strong passion for the stage, and a violent attachment for all the people that belong to it.

_Lady._ Sir, I don't understand you--explain.

_Vapid._ Hark ye,--we are alone--I promise it shall go no further, and I'll let you into a secret--I know----

_Lady._ Well, what do you know?

_Vapid._ I know a certain dramatic author with whom she----he had a letter from her this morning.

_Lady._ What?

_Vapid._ Yes,--an assignation--don't be alarmed--the man may be depended on--he is safe--very safe!--Long in the habit of intrigue--a good person too!--a very good person indeed.

_Lady._ Amazement!

_Vapid._ [_Whispering her._] Hark ye, he means to make her happy in less than half an hour.

_Lady._ [_Rising._] Sir, do you know who you're talking to?--do you know who I am?

_Vapid._ No,--How the devil should I?

_Lady._ Then know I am Lady Waitfor't!

_Vapid._ You Lady Waitfor't!

_Lady._ Yes, sir--the only Lady Waitfor't!

_Vapid._ Mercy on me!--here's incident!

_Lady._ Yes, and I am convinced you were sent here by that traitor, Neville.--Speak, is he not your friend?

_Vapid._ Yes, ma'am:--I know Mr Neville.--Here's equivoque!

_Lady._ This is some trick, some stratagem of his.--He gave you the letter to perplex and embarrass me.

_Vapid._ Gave the letter! 'gad that's great.--Pray, ma'am, give me leave to ask you one question--Did you write to Mr Neville?

_Lady._ Yes, sir,--to confess the truth, I did--but from motives----

_Vapid._ Stop, my dear ma'am, stop--I have it--now,--let me be clear--first, you send him a letter; is it not so? yes: then he gives it to me--very well: then I come (supposing you only twenty) mighty well!--then you turn out ninety--charming!---then comes the embarrassment: then the eclaircissement! Oh! it's glorious!--Give me your hand--you have atoned for every thing.

_Lady._ O! I owe all this to that villain, Neville--I am not revengeful--but 'tis a weakness to endure such repeated provocations, and I am convinced the mind, that too frequently forgives bad actions, will at last forget good ones.

_Vapid._ Bravo! encore, encore--it is the very best sentiment I ever heard--say it again, pray say it again--I'll take it down, and blend it with the incident, and you shall be gratified, one day or other, with seeing the whole on the stage.--"The mind that too frequently forgives bad actions will at last forget good ones." [_Taking it down in his common place book._

_Lady._ This madman's folly is not to be borne--if my Lord too should discover him. [_VAPID sits, and takes notes._] Here, the consequences might be dreadful, and the scheme of Ennui's play all undone.--Sir, I desire you'll quit my house immediately--Oh! I'll be revenged, I'm determined. [_Exit._

_Vapid._ What a great exit!----Very well!--I've got an incident, however.--'Faith, I have noble talents--to extract gold from lead has been the toil of numberless philosophers; but I extract it from a baser metal, human frailty--Oh! it's a great thing to be a dramatic genius!--a very great thing indeed. [_As he is going,_

_Enter LORD SCRATCH._

_Vapid._ Sir, your most devoted,----How d'ye do?

_Lord._ Sir, your most obedient.

_Vapid._ Very warm tragedy weather, sir!--but, for my part, I hate summer, and I'll tell you why,--the theatres are shut, and when I pass by their doors in an evening, it makes me melancholy--I look upon them as the tombs of departed friends that were wont to instruct and delight me--I don't know how you feel--perhaps you are not in my way?

_Lord._ Sir!

_Vapid._ Perhaps you don't write for the stage--if you do,--hark ye--there is a capital character in this house for a farce.

_Lord._ Why! what is all this--who are you?

_Vapid._ Who am I?--here's a question! in these times who can tell who he is?--for aught I know I may be great uncle to yourself, or first cousin to Lady Waitfor't--the very woman I was about to--but no matter--since you're so very inquisitive, do you know who you are?

_Lord._ Look ye, sir, I am Lord Scratch.

_Vapid._ A peer! pshaw! contemptible;--when I ask a man who he is, I don't want to know what are his titles, and such nonsense; no, Old Scratch, I want to know what he has written, when he had the curtain up, and whether he's a true son of the drama.--Harkye, don't make yourself uneasy on my account--In my next pantomime, perhaps, I'll let you know who I am, Old Scratch. [_Exit._

_Lord._ Astonishing! can this be Lady Waitfor't's house--"Very warm tragedy weather, sir!" "In my next pantomime, let you know who I am."--Gad, I must go and investigate the matter immediately, and if she has wronged me, by the blood of the Scratches, I'll bring the whole business before parliament, make a speech ten hours long, reduce the price of opium, and set the nation in a lethargy. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_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._