Who's the dupe?: A farce: as it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By Mrs. Cowley, ...

ACT II.

SCENE, An Apartment.

DOILEY asleep. A Table before him, with Bottles, &c.

Enter a SERVANT.

Servant.

SIR! Sir!

[jogging him]

Sir! What a pise! sure my Master has drain'd the bottles, he sleeps so found.—Oh, no—

[pours out a glass]

—Here's t'ye, old Gentleman! can't think why they sent me to wake thee—am sure the house is al∣ways quietest when you're a snoring.—

[Drinks; then awakens him.]

Doil,

Hey!—how!—what! Is Mr. Gradus come?

Serv.

No, Sir—but Mr. Sandford's above stairs, and a mortal fine Gentleman.

Doil.

Fine Gentleman!—aye—some Rake, I suppose, that wants to sell an annuity—I wonder where Gradus is—Past seven.

[Looking at his watch.]

Serv.

His friends keep the gentleman over a bottle, mayhap, Sir, longer than he thought for.

Doil.

He over a bottle!—more liker he's over some crabbed book—or watching what the Moon's about, through a Microscope. Come, move the things; and empty them two bottoms into one bottle, and cork it up close—d'ye hear?—I wish Gradus was come—Well, if I succeed in this one point, the devil may run away with the rest. Let the world go to loggerheads; grass grow upon 'Change; land-tax mount up; little Doiley is snug. Doiley, with a Hundred Thousand in annuities, and a Son-in-law as wise as a Chancellor, may bid defiance to wind and weather.

[Exit.

SCENE, a Drawing-Room.

Enter GRADUS, led by CHARLOTTE, and followed by Mr. SANDFORD.

Charlotte.

Well, I protest this is an improve∣ment!—Why, what with sattins and tassels, and spangles and foils, you look as fine as a Chymist's shop by candle-light.

Grad.

Madam, do you approve—

Charl.

Oh, amazingly—I'll run and send Miss Doiley to admire you.

Grad.

[looking in a glass.]

Oh, if our Proctor could now behold me! he would never believe that figure to be Jeremy Gradus.

Sand.

Very true—and I give ye joy. No one would conceive you'd ever been within gun-shot of a College.

Grad.

What must I do with this?

Sand.

Your chapeau bras—wear it thus. These hats are for the arm only.

Grad.

A hat for the arm! what a subversion of ideas! Oh, Mr. Sandford—if the sumptuary laws of Lycurgus—

Sand.

Damn it! will you never leave off your College cant! I tell you once more—and, by Jupiter, if you don't attend to me, I'll give you up—I say, you must forget that such fellows ever existed—that there was ever a language but English—a classic but Ovid, or a volume but his Art of Love.

Grad.

I will endeavour to form myself from your instructions—but tarry with me, I entreat you—if you should leave me—

Sand.

I won't leave you. Here's your Mistress—Now, Gradus, stand to your arms.

Grad.

I'll do my best—but I could wish the Purse-keeper was Miss Charlotte.

Enter Miss DOILEY.

Sand.

Hush! Your devoted. Allow me, Madam, to introduce a Gentleman to you, in whose affairs I am particularly interested—Mr. Gradus.

Miss Doil.

Mr. Gradus! Is it possible?

Grad.

Be not astonished, oh lovely Maiden, at my sudden change! Beauty is a talisman which works true miracles, and, without a fable, transforms mankind.

Miss Doil.

Your transformation, I fear, is too sudden to be lasting—

Grad.

Transformation! Resplendent Virgo! brightest constellation of the starry Zone! I am but now created. Your charms, like the Pro∣methean fire, have warmed the clod to life, and rapt me to a new existence.

Miss Doil.

But may I be sure you'll never take up your old rust again?

Grad.

Never. Sooner shall Taurus with the Pisces join, Copernicus to Ptolemy resign the spheres, than I be what I was.

Miss Doil.

I shall burst.

[Walking aside]

Sand.

Well, you've hit it off tolerably, for a coup d'essai—But prithee, Gradus, can't you talk in a style a little less fustain? You remember how those Fine Fellows convers'd, you saw at dinner—no sentences, no cramp words—all was Ease, and Impudence.

Grad.

Yes, I remember. Now the shell is burst, I shall soon be fledged.

[Doiley coming in, starts back.]

Doil.

Why, who the dickens have we here!

Sand.

So—there's the old Genius!

Miss Doil.

But I am convinced now—I am sure all this is put on—in your heart you are still Mr. Gradus.

Grad.

Yes, Madam, still Gradus; but not that stiff, scholastic Fool you saw this morning—No, no—I have learn'd that the acquisitions of which your Father is so ridiculously fond, are useless lumber—that a man who knows more than his neighbours, is in danger of being shut out of society—or, at best, of being invited at dinner once in a twelvemonth, to be exhibited like an antique Bronze—or Porridge-pot from Herculaneum.

Doil.

Zounds! 'tis he! I'm all over in a cold sweat.

[Behind]

Miss Doil.

And don't you think Learning the greatest blessing in the world?

Grad.

Not I, truly, Madam—Learning! a vile Bore!

Doil.

Do I stand upon my head, or my heels?

Grad.

I shall leave all those fopperies to the Grey-beards at College—let 'em chop logic, or make English hashes out of stale Hebrew, 'till they starve, for me.

Sand.

This is your resolution?

Grad.

Fix'd as Ixion on his wheel—I have no study now but the Ton.

Doil.

Indeed!

Grad.

You shall confess, my Friend, in spite of prejudice, that 'tis possible for a Man of Letters to become a Man of the World. You shall see, that he can dress, grow an adept in the science of Taste, ogle at the Opera, be voci∣ferous at the Playhouse, suffer himself to be pigeon'd with an easy air at Boodle's, and lose his health for the benefit of his reputation in King's Place.

Miss Doil.

Bless me! one would suppose you had been familiar in the Bon-ton all your life—you have all the requisites to make a figure in it, by heart.

Grad.

The mere force of Beauty, Madam—I wish'd to become worthy of you, and that wish has work'd a miracle.

Doil.

A miracle with a vengeance! Jacquet Droz' wood and wire-work was nothing to it.

Miss Doil.

How different from what you was this morning!

Grad.

Oh, mention it not—this morning!—

may it be blotted from Time's Ledger, and never thought on more! I abhor my former Self, Madam, more than you can—witness now the recantation of my errors. Learning, with all its tribe of solemn fopperies, I abjure—ab∣jure for ever.

Doil.

You do?

Grad.

The study of what is vulgarly called Philosophy may suit a Monk; but 'tis as unbe∣coming a Gentleman, as Loaded Dice, or a Brass∣hilted Sword.

Doil.

Larning unbecoming a Gentleman!—Very well.

Grad.

Hebrew I leave to the Jew Rabbies, Greek to the Bench of Bishops, Latin to the Apothecaries, and Astronomy to Almanack-makers.

Doil.

Better, and better.

Grad.

The Mathematics—Mixed, Pure, Speculative, and Practical, with their whole circle of Sciences, I consign, in a lump, to Old Men who want Blood, and to Young ones who want Bread—and now you've heard my whole abjuration.

DOILEY rushing forward.

Doil.

Yes—and I have heard too—I have heard. Oh, that I should ever have been such a dolt as to take thee for a Man of Larning!

Grad.

Mr. Doiley!

[Confounded.]

Doil.

What! don't be dash'd, Man—go on with your objurations, do. Yes, you'll make a shine in the Tone!—Oh, that ever I should have been such a Nincompoop!

Sand.

My dear Mr. Doiley, don't be in a heat—how can a Man of your discernment—now look at Gradus—I am sure he's a much

prettier fellow than he was—his figure and his manner are quite different things.

Doil.

Yes, yes, I can see that—I can see that—Why, he has turned little Easop upside down—he's the Lion in the skin of an Ass.

[Walking about]

Grad.

I must retrieve myself in his opinion. The skin, Mr. Doiley, may be put off; and be assured, that the mind, which has once felt the sacred energies of Wisdom, tho' it may assume, for a moment—

Miss Doil.

So! so!

[Angrily]

Sand.

[Apart]

Hark ye, Sir! that won't do. By Heaven, if you play retrograde, I'll forsake you on the spot. You are ruined with your Mistress in a moment.

Grad.

Dear Madam! believe me, that as for—what can I say—how assimilate myself to two such opposite tastes? I stand reeling between two characters, like a Substantive between two Ad∣jectives.

Doil.

You! you for to turn Fop, and Mac∣caroni! Why, 'twould be as nateral for a Jew Robin to turn Parson. An Elephant in pinners—a Bishop with a rattle and bells, couldn't be more posterous.

Sand.

Nay now, my dear Mr. Doiley—

Doil.

Dear me no dears. Why, if I wanted a Maccaroni, I might have had choice—every alley from Hyde-Park to Shadwell-Dock swarms with 'em—genuine; and d'ye think I'll have an amphiberous thing—half-and-half, like the Sea-calf at Sir Ashton's?

Sand.

Oh, if that's all, an hundred to ten, Gradus will soon be as complete a character, as

if he had never learnt his Alpha Beta; or known more of the Classics than their names.

Doil.

Oh, I warrant him. Now what do ye think of the Scratchi, the Horsi, and the rest of 'em? aye!

Grad.

Oh, a mere Bore—a parcel of brawny untaught fellows, who knew no more of life than they did of Chinese. If they'd stood Candidates for rank in a College of Taste, they'd have been returned ignorantur—would they not, Madam?

Miss Doil.

Oh certainly—I could kiss the fellow, he has entered into my plot with such spirit.

[Exit.

Doil.

Why, you've been in wonderful haste to get rid of the igranter part—but as it hap∣pened, that was the only part I car'd for—so now you may carry your hogs to another market; they won't not do for me.

Grad.

My Hogs!

Doil.

Aye—your Boars—your improvements—your fashionable airs—your—in short, you are not the Man I took you for; so you may trot back to College again—go, Mister, and teach 'em the Tone, do—Lord, how they'll stare! Je∣remy Gradus, or the Monkey return'd from travel.

Sand.

Upon my honour, you are too severe. Leave us, Man—leave us—I'll settle your affair, I warrant.

[to Gradus.

Grad.

No so easily, I fear—he sticks to his point, like a rusty Weather-cock—All my de∣pendence is on the Lady.

Sand.

You'll allow Gradus to speak to Miss Doiley.

Doil.

Oh, aye, to be sure—the more he speaks, the less she'll like him. Here—shew

Mr. Gradus to the dressing-room

[Exit Gradus].

Give her another dose—surfeit her by all means. Why, sure, Mr. Sandford, you'd no hand in transmogrifying the—

Sand.

Yes, faith, I had—I couldn't endure the idea of seeing your charming Daughter tied to a collection of Greek Apophthegms and Latin Quotations—so I endeavoured to English him.

Doil.

English him! I take it shocking ill of you, Mr. Sandford—that I must tell you.—Here are all my hopes gone, like a whiff of Tobacco!

Sand.

Pho! my dear Mr. Doiley, this at∣tachment of yours to Scholarship is a mere whim—

Doil.

Whim! well, suppose it is—I will have my whim. Work'd hard forty years, and saved above twice as many Thousand Pounds—and if so much labour, and so much money, won't entitle a Man to whim, I don't know what the devil should.

Sand.

Nor I neither, I'm sure.

Doil.

To tell ye a bit of a secret—lack o' Larning has been my great detriment. If I'd been a Scholar, there's no knowing what I might have got—my Plumb might have been two—my—

Sand.

Why, doubtless, a little Classical know∣ledge might have been of use, in driving your Bargains.

Doil.

Aye, to be sure!—and I do verily be∣lieve it hindered me from being Lord Mayor—only think of that—Lord Mayor of London!

Sand.

How so?

Doil.

Why, I tended the Common Council, and all the Parish-meetings, for fifteen years, without daring for to make one arangue—at last

a Westry was call'd, about chusing of a Turncock. So, now, thinks I, I'll shew 'em what I'm good for—our Alderman was in the Purples—so, thinks I, if he tips off, why not I, as well as another?—so I'll make a speech about Patrots, and then ax for their votes.

Sand.

Very judicious!

Doil.

If you'll believe me, I got up three times—Silence! says Mr. Crier—and my tongue grew so dry with fright, that I couldn't wag it—so I was forc'd to squat down again, 'midst horse-laughs—and they nick-named me Dummy, through the whole Ward.

Sand.

Wicked Rogues! Well, I ask your par∣don—I had no idea of these important reasons, Yet, how Men differ! Now the Family of Sir Wilford Granger are quite distress'd by the ob∣stinate attachment to the Sciences, which has quite spoil'd that fine young Fellow I told you of this morning.

Doil.

Aye! What's he Sir Wilford Granger's Son? Knew his Father very well—kept a fine Study of horses, and lost many Thousands by it—lent him money many a time—good Man—always punctual.

Sand.

Aye, Sir! but this Youth disappointed all his hopes. Mighty pleasant, to see a young Fellow—form'd to possess life in all its points, and bewitching varieties—shrink from the World, and bury himself amidst obsolete Books, Systems, and Schisms—whilst Pleasure wooes him to her soft embrace, and joys sollicit him in vain!—Oh, it gave his Father great trouble.

Doil.

Great trouble! Dear me, dear me! I always thought Sir Wilford had been a wiser

man—why, I would have given the world for such a Son.

Sand.

He swallows it rarely!

[aside.]

—Oh, he piques himself on such trifles as reading the Greek and Latin Authors in their own tongue, and mastering all the quibbles of our English Philosophers—

Doil.

English Philosophers! I wou'd'nt give a farthing for them.

Sand.

Why, sure you have heard of a Bacon, a Locke, a Newton—

Doil.

Newton! oh aye—I have heard of Sir Isaac—every body has heard of Sir Isaac—Great Man—Master of the Mint.

Sand.

Oh, Sir! this Youth has found a dozen mistakes in his theories, and proved him wrong in one or two of his calculations—in short, he is advised to give the world a system of his own—in which, for aught I know, he'll prove the earth to be concave instead of spherical, and the moon to be no bigger than a punch-bowl.

Doil.

[Aside]

He's the Man—he's the Man!—Look'ee. Mr. Sandford—you've given a descrip∣tion of this young Fellow, that's set my blood in a ferment. Do you—now, my dear Friend, do you think now that you could prevail upon him to marry my Daughter?

Sand.

Why, I don't know—neither beauty nor gold has charms for him. Knowledge—knowledge is his Mistress.

Doil.

Aye! I'm sorry for that—and yet I'm glad of it too. Now, see what ye can do with him—see what ye can do with him!

Sand.

Well, well, I'll try. He promis'd to call on me here this evening, in his way to the

Museum—I don't know whether he is'nt below now.

Doil.

Below now! Isackins, that's lucky—hang me if it is'nt! Do go and—and speak to him a bit—and bring him up—bring him up. Tell him, if he'll marry Elizabeth, I'll give him, that is, I'll leave him every farthing I have in the world.

Sand.

Well—since you are so very earnest, I'll see what I can do.

[Exit.

Doil.

Thank'ee, thank'ee! Icod! I'll buy him twice as many books as a College Library, but what I'll bribe him—that I will. What the dickens can Elizabeth be about, with that thing there! that Gradus!—He a Man of Larning!—Hang me if I don't believe his head's as hollow as my Cane. Shure she can't have taken a fancy to the smattering Monkey! Ho, there they are—here he comes! Why there's Greek and Alge∣bra in his face.

Enter SANDFORD, and GRANGER dressed in black.

Mr. Granger, your very humble sarvant, Sir—I'm very glad to see you, Sir.

Grang.

I thank you, Sir.

[Very solemnly.]

Doil.

I knew your Father, Sir, as well as a Beggar knows his Dish. Mayhap Mr. Sandford told you that I wanted for to bring you and my Daughter acquainted—I'll go and call her in.

Grang.

'Tis unnecessary.

Doil.

He seems a mighty silent Man.

Apart, to Sandford.

Sand.

Studying—studying. Ten to one he's forming a discourse in Arabic, or revolving one of Euclid's problems.

Doil.

Couldn't you set him a talking a bit? I long for to hear him talk.

Sand.

Come, Man! forget the old Sages a moment—Can't the idea of Miss Doiley give a fillip to your imagination?

Grang.

Miss Doiley, I am inform'd, is lovely as a Woman can be—But what is Woman?—only one of Nature's agreeable blunders.

Doil.

Hum! That smacks of something!

[Aside.]

Why, as to that, Mr. Granger, a Wo∣man with no potion but her whims, might be but a kind of a Jew's bargain—but when Fifty Thou∣sand is popt into the Scale, she must be bad indeed if her Husband doesn't find her a Pen'worth.

Grang.

With Men of the World, Mr. Doiley, Fifty Thousand Pounds might have their weight; but, in the balance of Philosophy, gold is light as phlogisticated air.

Doil.

That's deep—I can make nothing of it—that must be deep.

[aside.]

Mr. Granger! the great account I have heard of your Larning, and what not, has made me willing for to be a-kin to you.

Grang.

Mr. Sandford suggested to me your design, Sir—and, as you have so nobly proposed your Daughter, as the prize of Learning, I have an ambition to be related to you.

Doil.

[Aside]

But I'll see a bit farther into him, though, first. Now pray, Mr. Granger! pray now—a—I say—

[To Sand.]

Ax him some deep question, that he may shew himself a bit.

Sand.

What the devil shall I say? Granger! is it your opinion that the ancient Antipodes walk'd erect, or crawl'd on all four?

Grang.

A thinking man always doubts—but the best informations concur, that they were Quadrupedes during two revolutions of the Sun, and Bipedes ever after.

Doil.

Quadpedes! Bipedes! what a fine Man he is!

[Aside.

Sand.

A surprising transformation!

Grang.

Not more surprising than the trans∣formation of an Eruca to a Chrysalis—a Chrysalis to a Nymph, and a Nymph to a Butterfly.

Doil.

There again! I see it will do—I see it will do—aye, that I will—hang me if I don't.

[Aside.

[Exit, chuckling and laughing.

Grang.

What's he gone off for, so abruptly?

Sand.

For his Daughter, I hope—Give ye joy, my dear fellow! the Nymph, the Eruca, and the Chrysalis, have won the day.

Grang.

How shall I bound my happiness? My dear Sandford—that was the luckiest question, about the Antipodes!

Sand.

Yes—pretty successful. Have you been at your studies?

Grang.

Oh, I've been in the Dictionary this half-hour—and have pick'd up cramp words enough to puzzle and delight the Old Gentle∣man the remainder of his life.

Sand.

Here he is, faith—

Grang.

And Elizabeth with him—I hear her dear footsteps! Oh, how shall I—

Doil.

without.

Come along, I say—what a plague are ye so modest for? Come in here.

[Pulls in Gradus by the arm.]

Here, I've brought him—one of your own kidney—ha! ha! ha! Now I'll lay a gallon you can't guess what I've brought him for. I've brought him—ha! ha! ha!

—for to pit him against you

[to Granger]

to see which of you two is the most larned—ha! ha!

Grang.

Ten thousand Devils, Plagues, and Furies!

Sand.

Here's a blow-up!

Doil.

Why, for all he looks so like a Nin∣compoop in this pye-pick'd jacket, he's got his noddle full of Greek, and Algebra, and them things. Why, Gradus, don't stand aloof, Man—this is a Brother Scholar, I tell ye.

Grad.

A Scholar! all who have earn'd that distinction, are my Brethren. Carissime frater, gaudeo te videre.

Grang.

Sir—you—I—most obedient. I wish thou wert in the bottom of the Red Sea, and the largest folio in thy library about thy neck.

[Aside.

Sand.

For Heaven's sake, Mr. Doiley, what do you mean?

Doil.

Mean! why, I mean for to pit 'em, to be sure—and to give Elizabeth to the winner. Touch him up—touch him up!

[to Grang.]

shew him what a fool he is.

Sand.

Why, sure, you won't set them together by the ears!

Doil.

No, no—but I'm resolved for to set 'em together by the tongues. To cut the business short—Mr. Gradus! you are, to be sure, a great dab at Larning, and what not; but I'll bet my Daughter, and Fifty Thousand to boot, that Granger beats ye—and he that wins, shall have her.

Grang.

Heavens! what a stake! 'Tis suffi∣cient to inspire a dolt with the tongues of Babel.

Sand.

My dear Friend, think of the inde∣licacy—

Doil.

Fiddle-de-dee!—I tell you, I will have my whim—and so, Gradus, set off. By Jenkins, you'll find it a tough business to beat Granger—he's one of your great Genis Men—going to write a book about Sir Isaac, and the Moon, and the Devil knows what.

[Miss Doil. and Charl. enter at the back of the stage.

Grad.

If so, the more glorious will be my victory. Come, Sir! let us enter the lists, since it must be so, for this charming prize

[pointing to Miss Doiley.]

Chuse your weapons—Hebrew—Greek—Latin—or English. Name your subject; we will pursue it syllogistically, or socratically, as you please.

Grang.

[aside]

Curse your Syllogisms, and Socraticisms!

Doil.

No, no, I'll not have no English—What a plague! every Shoe-black jabbers English—so give us a touch of Greek to set off with—Come, Gradus, you begin.

Miss Doil.

Undone! undone!

Grad.

If it is merely a recitation of Greek that you want, you shall be gratified. An epi∣gram that occurs to me, will give you an idea of that sublime language.

Charl.

[aside]

Oh, confound your sublime language!

Grad.

Panta gelos, kai panta konis, kai panta to meden Panta gar exalagon, esti ta ginomena.

Doil.

Panta, tri pantry! Why, that's all about the Pantry. What, the old Grecians lov'd Tid∣bits, may hap—but that's low! aye, Sandford!

Sand.

Oh, cursed low! he might as well have talk'd about a Pig-stye.

Doil.

Come, Granger, now for it! Elizabeth and Fifty Thousand Pounds!

Grang.

Yes, Sir. I—I—am not much pre∣pared—I could wish—I could wish—Sandford!

[Apart.

Sand.

Zounds! say something—any thing!

Char.

[Aside.]

Eigh! it's all over. He could as easily furnish the Ways and Means, as a word in Greek.

Doil.

Hoity, toity! What, at a stand! Why sure you can talk Greek as well as Gradus?

Grang.

'Tis a point I cannot decide—you must determine it. Now, Impudence, embrace me with thy seven-fold shield! Zanthus, I re∣member, in describing such a night as this—

Grad.

Zanthus! you surely err. I remem∣ber but one being of that name, and he was a Horse.

Grang.

Sir, he was an Orator—and such an one that, Homer records, the Gods themselves in∣spired him.

Grad.

True, Sir,—but you wo'n't deny—

Doil.

Come—come! I sha'n't have no brow-beating—nobody offer'd for to contradict you—So begin

[to Granger.]

What said Orator Zan∣thus?

Grang.

Yon lucid orb, in aether pensile, irra∣diates th'expanse. Refulgent scintillations, in th'ambient void opake, emit humid splendor. Chrysalic spheroids th'horizon vivify—astifarious constellations, nocturnal sporades, in refrange∣rated radii, illume our orb terrene.

Miss Doil.

I breathe again!

[Aside.

Doil.

There! there!—Well spoke, Granger!—Now, Gradus, beat that!

Grad.

I am enrapt in astonishment! You are imposed on, Sir—instead of classical language, you have heard a rant in English—

Doil.

English! Zounds! d'ye take me for a fool? D'ye think I don't know my own Mother-tongue!—'Twas no more like English, than I am like Whittington's Cat.

Grad.

It was every syllable English.

Doil.

There's impudence!—There was'nt a word of it English—If you take that for English, devil take me if I believe there was a word of Greek in all your tri pantrys.

Grad.

Oh! the torture of Ignorance!

Doil.

Ignorant!—Come, come, none of your tricks upon travellers. I thought you meant all that as a skit upon my edication—but I'll have you to know, Sir, that I'll read the Tenth Chap∣ter of Nehemiah with you for your ears.

Grad.

I repeat, that you are imposed on. Mr. Sandford, I appeal to you.

Grang.

And I appeal—

Sand.

Nay, Gentlemen, Mr. Doiley is your Judge in all disputes concerning the Vulgar Tongue.

Doil.

Aye, to be sure, I am. Who cares for your Peals? I peal too; and I tell you, I wo'n't be imposed on. Here, Elizabeth—I have got ye a Husband, at last, to my heart's content—

Miss Doil.

Him, Sir! You presented that Gentleman to me this morning, and I have found such a fund of merit in him—

Doil.

In he! what in that Beau-bookworm! that argufies me down, I don't know English?

Don't go for to provoke me—bid that Mr. Granger welcome to my house—he'll soon be Master on't.

Miss Doil.

Sir, in obedience to the com∣mands of my Father—

[significantly.]

Doil.

Sha'n't say Obedience—say something kind to him of yourself—He's a Man after my own heart.

Miss Doil.

Then, Sir, without reserve, I ac∣knowledge your choice of Mr. Granger is per∣fectly agreeable to mine.

Doil.

That's my dear Bet!—

[kissing her]

—We'll have the wedding directly. There! d'ye understand that, Mr. Tri-Pantry?—is that English?

Grad.

Yes, so plain, that it has exsuscitated my understanding—I perceive I have been dup'd.

Doil.

Aye, well! I had rather you should be the Dupe than me.

Grad.

Well, Sir, I have no inclination to contest—if the lovely Charlotte will perform her promise.

Char.

Agreed! provided that, in your cha∣racter of Husband, you will be as singular and old-fashion'd as the Wig you wore this morn∣ing.

Doil.

What, Cousin! have you taken a fancy to the Scholar? Egad! you're a cute Girl, and mayhap may be able to make something of him—and I don't care if I throw in a few Hundreds, that you mayn't repent your Bargain. Well, now I've settled this affair exactly to my own mind, I am the happiest man in the world—And, d'ye hear, Gradus?—I don't love for to

bear malice- If you'll trot back to College, and larn the difference between Greek and English, why you may stand a chance to be Tutor—when they've made me a Grandfather.

Grad.

I have had enough of languages. You see I have just engaged a Tutor to teach me to read the World; and if I play my part there as well as I did at Brazen-Nose, your indulgence will grant me applause.