nt Peggy to the fellow at the door.

Peggy. What is your business, friend, with Mrs. Harry Lucas?

Fellow. I must speak to her her own self.

Lovel. My dearest widow, do you personate Mrs. Lovelace--for Heaven's
sake do you personate Mrs. Lovelace.

Wid. I personate Mrs. Lovelace, Sir! How can I do that?--She is fair;
I am brown. She is slender: I am plump--

Lovel. No matter, no matter--The fellow may be a new-come servant: he
is not in livery, I see. He may not know her person. You can but be
bloated and in a dropsy.

Wid. Dropsical people look not so fresh and ruddy as I do.

Lovel. True--but the clown may not know that. 'Tis but for a present
deception. Peggy, Peggy, call'd I, in a female tone, softly at the door.
Madam, answer'd Peggy; and came up to me to the parlour-door.

Lovel. Tell him the lady is ill; and has lain down upon the couch. And
get his business from him, whatever you do.

Away went Peggy.

Lovel. Now, my dear widow, lie along the settee, and put your
handkerchief over your face, that, if he will speak to you himself, he
may not see your eyes and your hair.--So--that's right.--I'll step into
the closet by you.

I did so.

Peggy. [Returning.] He won't deliver his business to me. He will
speak to Mrs. Harriot Lucas her own self.

Lovel. [Holding the door in my hand.] Tell him that this is Mrs.
Harriot Lucas; and let him come in. Whisper him (if he doubts) that she
is bloated, dropsical, and not the woman she was.

Away went Margery.

Lovel. And now, my dear widow, let me see what a charming Mrs. Lovelace
you'll make!--Ask if he comes from Miss Howe. Ask if he lives with her.
Ask how she does. Call her, at every word, your dear Miss Howe. Offer
him money--take this half-guinea for him--complain of your head, to have
a pretence to hold it down; and cover your forehead and eyes with your
hand, where your handkerchief hides not your face.--That's right--and
dismiss the rascal--[here he comes]--as soon as you can.

In came the fellow, bowing and scraping, his hat poked out before him
with both his hands.

Fellow. I am sorry, Madam, an't please you, to find you ben't well.

Widow. What is your business with me, friend?

Fellow. You are Mrs. Harriot Lucas, I suppose, Madam?

Widow. Yes. Do you come from Miss Howe?

Fellow. I do, Madam.

Widow. Dost thou know my right name, friend?

Fellow. I can give a shrewd guess. But that is