pid._ Don't, don't go wild--that will ruin the denouement.

_Nev._ No matter--I am resolved--I'll bid her farewell for ever--Vapid,
'tis the last favour I shall ask of you--give her this, [_A Letter._]
and tell her, since I have resented Willoughby's attack on her honour, I
think I may be allowed to vindicate my own; tell her, great as have been
my faults, my truth has still been greater, and wherever I wander--

_Vapid._ Here's a flourish, now!--why you misunderstand--she is not
married, nor going to be married.

_Nev._ Come, this is no time for raillery.

_Vapid._ Raillery!--why, I'm serious--serious as the fifth act--she is
now weeping on your account.

_Nev._ Pr'ythee leave fooling, it will produce no effect, believe me.

_Vapid._ Won't it? it will produce a very great effect though, believe
me. Zounds! go to her--preserve the unity of action,--marry her
directly, and if the catastrophe does not conclude with spirit, damn my
comedy--damn my comedy--that's all, damn my comedy.

_Nev._ 'Would to Heaven you were in earnest!

_Vapid._ Earnest! why there it is now! the women, dear creatures, are
always ready enough to produce effect--but the men are so curst
undramatic.--Go to her, I tell you, go to her.
[_Exit NEVILLE.--VAPID stands aside._

_Enter LORD SCRATCH and FLORIVILLE._

_Lord._ That curst dramatic maniac,--if I see him again----

_Flor._ My dear uncle, consent to Harry's marriage, and depend on it he
shall trouble you no more.

_Lord._ I tell you again, sir, I will not.

_Flor._ Will you give any hopes of future consent?

_Lord._ By the word of a peer, I will not.

[_VAPID, coming forward, touching LORD SCRATCH on the
Shoulder, and writing in common-place book._

_Vapid._ Master Brook, let me persuade you.

_Lord._ Flames and firebrands, the fiend again!

_Vapid._ Give consent, and I'll give Neville a fortune--he shall have
the entire profit of the different plays in which I intend to have the
honour of introducing yourself and the old Lady Hurlothrumbo.

_Lord._ Oh, that I was not a peer! if I was any thing else--but, thank
Heaven, Louisa is more averse to the match than myself.

_Vapid._ Is she?

_Lord._ Yes, she knows his falsehood, and despises him.

_Vapid._ What, you are confident of it?

_Lord._ Out of my way, sir,--I'll not answer you,--I'll go take her to
town directly.--Out of my way, sir.

_Vapid._ Stop--you're wrong, Maste