friend, he never designs to pay me; and his just now refusing to pay me a part is a proof it. If, therefore, you will be a generous young rogue, and secure me five thousand pounds, I’ll help you to the lady.

Fash. And how the devil wilt thou do that?

Mrs. Coup. Without the devil’s aid, I warrant thee. Thy brother’s face not one of the family ever saw; the whole business has been managed by me, and all his letters go through my hands. Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, my relation—for that’s the old gentleman’s name—is apprised of his lordship’s being down here, and expects him to-morrow to receive his daughter’s hand; but the peer, I find, means to bait here a few days longer, to recover the fatigue of his journey, I suppose. Now you shall go to Muddymoat Hall in his place.—I’ll give you a letter of introduction: and if you don’t marry the girl before sunset, you deserve to be hanged before morning.

Fash. Agreed! agreed! and for thy reward——

Mrs. Coup. Well, well;—though I warrant thou hast not a farthing of money in thy pocket now—no—one may see it in thy face.

Fash. Not a sous, by Jupiter!

Mrs. Coup. Must I advance, then? Well, be at my lodgings, next door, this evening, and I’ll see what may be done—we’ll sign and seal, and when I have given thee some further instructions, thou shalt hoist sail and begone.

[Exit.

Fash. So, Lory, Fortune, thou seest, at last takes care of merit! we are in a fair way to be great people.

Lory. Ay, sir, if the devil don’t step between the cup and the lip, as he used to do.

Fash. Why, faith, he has played me many a damned trick to spoil my fortune; and, egad, I am almost afraid he’s at work about it again now; but if I should tell thee how, thou’dst wonder at me.

Lory. Indeed, sir, I should not.

Fash. How dost know?

Lory. Because, sir, I have wondered at you so often, I can wonder at you no more.

Fash. No! What wouldst thou say, if a qualm of conscience should spoil my design?

Lory. I would eat my words, and wonder more than ever.

Fash. Why faith, Lory, though I have played many a roguish trick, this is so full-grown a cheat, I find I must take pains to come up to’t—I have scruples.

Lory. They are strong symptoms of death. If you find they increase, sir, pray make your will.

Fash. No, my conscience shan’t starve me neither: but thus far I’ll listen to it. Before I execute this project, I’ll try my brother to the bottom. If he has yet so much humanity about him as to assist me—though with a moderate aid—I’ll drop my project at his feet, and show him how I can do for him much more than what I’d ask he’d do for me. This one conclusive trial of him I resolve to make.

[Exeunt.