Love for money, or, The boarding school a comedy as it is acted at the Theatre Royal / written by Mr. Durfey.

SCENE II. The Boarding-School.

Enter Mirtilla with a Book in her hand.

Mirtil.

Reads.

Embarqu'd at last, and sculk'd into the Hold; My Flight was to my jealous Parents told; As much too timorous they, as I too bold. Ah dear, dear Ovid, how thy precious Wit, Drest in the glittering Robe of Charming Poetry, Moves my soft Soul?—When e're thou writest of Love, Methinks my Heart melts with the Sacred Flame, And even makes Virgin Innocence grow wanton: For then dear Merriton I think on thee, And every Thought begets an Extasie, Almost too fierce for Vertue to endure: Yet tho' I love thee, my Resolves are constant, I'le sigh and mourn for thee my dearest Friend, But can no more, till our hard Fortunes mend.

Enter Lady Addleplot, Crowstich, and L. Stroddle.

L. Addle.

You amaze me, Mrs. Crowstich, with this Discovery: I thought it impossible the Girl should be so wild.

Crow.

'Tis strange indeed, Madam, for one of her years; but your Ladiship shall have the proof on't presently.

Mirtil.

She here! To disturb my Contemplation: Horrid Creature! How shall I avoid her?

[Exit Mirtil.

L. Addle.

The t'other Dowdy indeed I always imagin'd indocible; but that Sir Arthur's Offspring, a Child born of my own Body, Bone of my Bone, Flesh of my Flesh, Vitals of my Vitals, that she should degenerate, I am amaz'd at it!

L. Strod

To look so much below her self, as to fancy a little Dancing-Master; 'tis not adequate your Ladyships Blood that runs in her, I confess.

Enter Jenny.

L. Addle.

Whither were you going you great Romp? ha!

Ienny.

Oh Pray Mam forgive me this time, and I'le never do so agen.

Crow.

Only to Mr. Coopee, Madam; this has been hatching a good while; the t'other too is as mad for Semibrief our Singing-Master; they were both found Romping in the Garden with 'em last Night, but the Governess has turn'd them away for't. Here she comes with her Father, I've told him her▪ Tricks already.

Enter▪ Nicompoop, Molly, and Tearshift.

Nicomp.

Ah Madam, the Girls are both undone seriously!

L. Addle.

The Girls! I hope you don't couple your Tarrier there with Sir Arthur's Breed, Jack Sawce!—Ah Tearshift, 'tis evident now that filthy thing there has quite spoil'd Miss by Keeping her Company.

Tear.

'Tis certainly so, Madam, there's no comparison between the Chil∣drens Parts.

L. Addle.

I'lle examine her my self. Hussey, speak the Truth, and scape the Rod: What did you and that aukward Creature do with Coopee and Semi∣brief in the Garden last Night?

Ienny.

No hurt, truly, truly now.

L. Addle.

What business had ye there? What was your Design? Come, don't ye lie.

Ienny.

Why, we Eat, ugh, ugh; we eat a dozen of Custards there.

L. Addle.

A dozen of Custards, very well.

Ienny.

And about Fourteen Cheescakes.

Molly.

There wan't Fourteen then, there was but Thirteen in all, and I have one of them in my Pocket here.

[Pulls out a great Cheescake, and eats it.

L. Addle.

My Lady Stroddle, did ye ever hear such a filthy Romp?

L. Stroddle.

She has a little too much of the vulgar, I confess, Madam.

Nicom.

Madam, I beseech your Ladyship to hear Molly tell what Word▪ pass'd between 'em, and what that Impudent Singing-master said to her.

L. Addle.

Prithee hold thy Tongue.

Nicom.

Pray Madam, let me beg your Ladyship. Come Molly, leave chaw∣ing your Cheescake, and tell my Lady, Child.

Molly.

Why, he ask'd me—

Ienny.

But pray Mother don't be angry with Mr. Coopee, for he's a mighty pretty Man, and the best Caperer in all the Town.

[••eaps rampingly.

Molly.

And pray Father don't fall out with Mr Semibrief, for he's a fine Man every inch of him, and the best Triller, aw, aw, au, au.

[Trils.

Nicomp.

The poor Fool wins upon me so with her pretty Carriage, that se∣riously I can deny her nothing: Come and kiss me, Molly▪

L. Addle.

Fogh, how the Brute licks the Calf yonder. Well, Mrs. Crowstich, tho' the Fellow has been sawcy with her; 'tis not so far gone I see, but the Girl may be reclaimed.

Crow.

Ah Madam, this is not half her Fault; if this had been all I had born it with some Patience; but, Madam, he has taught her to be a Rebel too.

L. Addle.

Hah!

Crow.

And made 'em drink Confusion to the French three times one after a∣nother in Sillabub.

L. Addle.

Degenerate Bastard? Is't possible! I had rather she had been choak'd.

Crow.

Nay, and what's worst of all, the Villan made her sit on's Knee and sing an impudent Ballad twice over in praise of King William.

L. Addle.

A young Whore, gad I'll whip her presently before ye all.

[Runs to her and they interpose.

Nicom.

Nay, dear Lady, seriously, you'll put your self into such an heat. —Hussy get ye gone

Ienny.

I've a trick for't yet, for I'll go and hide my self till night, and then get out to Mr. Coopee at the Belcony.

[Runs off.

Molly.

And I'll get out at the Cellar-Window to Mr. Semibrief and be gone from 'em all I'm resolv'd on't.

[Runs out.

L. Addle.

Away ye Coxcomb, or I'll give you as much; 'dslife a young Jade to drink Confusion to the French; I shall hate Sillabub as long as I live for't; but I'll claw her, I'll teach her to turn Rebel.

[Exit after her.

Nicom.

Pray Mrs. Crowstich go and strive to pacifie her, for she is in a devil∣lish humour seriously.

[Exeunt.

Enter Young Merriton and Mirtilla.

Mirtil.

But to pass upon 'em thus for a dancing Master and undiscovered, is a strange Riddle to me.

Y. Mer.

It pleased Mrs. Crowstich to introduce me, who it seems, has some friendly opinion of my qualification for my performance Yesterday; beside, what can be strange to Love, who'd not change Shapes like Iove for such a Danae?

Mirtil.

Who wou'd not talk like you that had your Wit?

Y. Mer.

Or who would live confin'd here, that had yours? once more think on my Suit then dear Angel.

Mirtil.

Nay, now you are unjust; did you not promise, provided I would suffer ye to see me, to touch no more upon that jarring string?

Y. Mer.

If that be jarring, there is then no Musick; but Discord is the Soul of Harmony. I own I promised ye, alas! but how? as men in Fevers promise not to drink, yet have no Ease or Comfort till they break it; or as to modest Virgins newly wedded and beg a Weeks Reprieve, we seem to promise, but how can that e're bind the amorous Bridegroom, when there's necessity it should be broke?

Mirtil.

Little should I depend upon your promise, when you had power, that can infringe it now.

Y. Mer.

All things of sense unanimously excuse me; I cannot look upon thee without loving, nor love thee but I must renew my suit.

Mirtil.

A Suit bent to the ruin of us both.

Y. Mer.

No, rather to our Souls Eternal Comfort.

Mirtil.

Oh Heaven! What Comfort can there be in Love, curb'd and con∣fin'd by Poverty?

Y. Mer.

We have no Poverty, whilst we love enough; the Dross of gilded Luxury ne're can equal the Glittering Ore of our sublime Contentment. Thou hast a Soul I know disputes Fortune as much as vile unchastity or folly; a Soul that sits in the middle of her Wheel with Wings still poyz'd, not mounting up, nor falling, but in a constant Station fixt, canst smile at those that climb, and those that hurry down.

Mirtil.

I have so, and I own I think as little of the vain noisy fluttering World as you, the gawdy Fop or haughty thing of Title, the strutting Prelate, or the Knave in Furs can laugh at too; nay I could be contented with the least gift of Fate, if that were all.

Y. Mer.

If that were all! What is there else, sweet Life?

Mirtil.

'Tis not for my own sake that I deny, but, Sir, for yours; if we were married, perhaps I should love ye, nay love ye dearly; perhaps have Children too, some half a dozen pretty smiling Blessings to cling around and help Lifes tedious Journey with the dear nonscence of their prattling Stories. But should the freezing hand of Want afflict us, what should we do, but sit by our small fire, Tears in our Eyes and throbing Griefs at Heart, to see our little Flock of unfledg'd Cupids, shivering with Cold as wanting necessaries,

who looking wishly on us seemed to say, why would you marry thus to make us miserable?

Y. Mer.

Thou talkst of Children, and I think of Heaven, when I conceit thou art to be their Mother; oh I would learn to out-dig my Grandsire A∣dam, e're thou shouldst want the profits of the Earth, or my dear Children born of thy sweet Body, their due or proper sustenance.

Mirtil.

And what must I do then when you should dig? I know in Marriage we must share the Troubles as well as Joys of him we are confin'd to; can I see him that lies within my Arms so full of cares he has scarce time for Love, rise early to provide for me and mine, and I not knit, or sow, or spin or something? The labouring Husband that has a lazy Wife may not only sus∣pect her Love, but Vertue—No, I'de never part from you in your ill For∣tune, but will not be the Cause to bring it on ye.

Y. Mer.

You cannot be the Cause I have enough, tho' not what you deserve.

Mirtil.

But I alas! have not enough for you.

Y. Mer.

No matter, Heaven will prosper.

Mirtil.

That I hope, and then my Tongue shall tell another story, till when adieu; and yet I believe I value ye, and 'tis value keeps me from consenting.

Y. Mer.

Come, come, 'tis plain you hate me; for if you did not, Fortune and Wealth were Trifles.

Mirtil.

Be ungrateful and think so still.

Y. Mer.

I must and will by Heaven!

[Is going out, and Old Merriton meets him.

O Mer.

How now Son? Why in such hast? Come back agen.

Mirtil.

My Foster Father here, and in this unhappy Juncture! Oh Heaven! What shall I say to excuse my self?

Y. Mer.

Sir, I beseech ye give me leave, I'm ill o'th' suddain, and want a little Air—What makes he here? She said indeed she was beholding to him, but how, Heaven knows: I'le observe more hereafter, this may be a Riddle worth finding out.

[Exit.

Mirtil.

Sir, I am afraid I have offended you, finding me thus discoursing with your Kinsman in this suspicious manner.

O. Mer.

To fear implies a Guilt; I know your Vertue, and you might have spared that word; beside, he is my Son.

Mirtil.

Your Son! Nay, then a Sisters Amity may well excuse this Free∣dom; 'twas Sir, your Interest first that introduced him; for any Blood of yours meer Gratitude would prompt my throbing Heart to love and honour.

O. Mer.

'Twas warm discourse you had, the purple Signal that yet remains displayed within your Cheeks, confirmed me that your Tongues have had a Battle, and Love or War has fiercely been denounced.—Pray let me know, and if I've interest in ye, as for past Cares I cannot doubt I have, give me a share in the discovery.

Mirtil.

Sir, I dare trust you with my secret Sins, much more then with my little worldly Business: Know then, your Son has oft been pleased to ho∣nour me with passionate Expressions of his Love.

O. Mer.

I thought so, pray proceed

Mirtil.

Ah! then take all; I own I love him too, and now you have a secret out, which nothing but your Commands could ever have forced from me; I love him, Sir, yet knowing my Condition, modest regard of wronging him hereafter by my ill Stars, made my poor famished Heart hold out, though within one short hour of starving

[weeps.

O. Mer.

This is as I could •• wish—Come be not sad, the Stars have bet∣ter aspects than you think, and Fortunes giddy Wheel will soon turn round to sea•• thee on the utmost Spoke with Honours.

Mirtil.

Ah, do not mock my Wretchedness, dear Father!

O. Mer.

Not for the World; come in with me and listen, for I will tell thee wonders; the Minute is near and the blest Hand of Providence to pass thee from thy Labyrinth of Misfortunes holds out a Clue and guides thee on to Happiness.

In every Life, the Doom of Fate secures One Hour to make it blest, and this is yours.

[Exeunt.