_Har._ You won't find 'em over brisk, I fancy. I foresee some ill happening from this making believe to die before one's time. But hang it--a-hem!--I am a stout man yet; only fifty-six--What's that? In the last Yearly Bill there were three lived to above an hundred. Fifty-six!----Fiddle-de-dee! I am not afraid, not I. [_Exit._ SCENE II.----_Doricourt_'s. Doricourt _in his Robe-de-Chambre_. _Enter_ Saville. _Sav._ Undress'd so late? _Doric._ I didn't go to bed 'till late--'twas late before I slept--late when I rose. Do you know Lord George Jennett? _Sav._ Yes. _Doric._ Has he a Mistress? _Sav._ Yes. _Doric._ What sort of a creature is she? _Sav._ Why, she spends him three thousand a year with the ease of a Duchess, and entertains his friends with the grace of a _Ninon_. _Ergo_, she is handsome, spirited, and clever. [Doricourt _walks about disordered_.] In the name of Caprice, what ails you? _Doric._ You have hit it--_Elle est mon Caprice_--The Mistress of Lord George Jennett is my caprice--Oh, insufferable! _Sav._ What, you saw her at the Masquerade? _Doric._ _Saw_ her, _lov'd_ her, _died_ for her--without knowing her--And now the curse is, I can't hate her. _Sav._ Ridiculous enough! All this distress about a Kept Woman, whom any man may have, I dare swear, in a fortnight--They've been jarring some time. _Doric._ Have her! The sentiment I have conceived for the Witch is so unaccountable, that, in that line, I cannot bear her idea. Was she a Woman of Honour, for a Wife, I cou'd adore her--but, I really believe, if she should send me an assignation, I should hate her. _Sav._ Hey-day! This sounds like Love. What becomes of poor Miss Hardy? _Doric._ Her name has given me an ague. Dear Saville, how shall I contrive to make old Hardy cancel the engagements! The moiety of the estate which he will forfeit, shall be his the next moment, by deed of gift. _Sav._ Let me see--Can't you get it insinuated that you are a dev'lish wild fellow; that you are an Infidel, and attached to wenching, gaming, and so forth? _Doric._ Aye, such a character might have done some good two centuries back.----But who the devil can it frighten now? I believe it must be the mad scheme, at last.--There, will that do for the grin? _Sav._ Ridiculous!--But, how are you certain that the Woman who has so bewildered you, belongs to Lord George? _Doric._ Flutter told me so. _Sav._ Then fifty to one against the intelligence. _Doric._ It must be so. There was a mystery in her manner, for which nothing else can account. [_A violent rap._] Who can this be? [Saville _looks out_.] _Sav._ The proverb is your answer--'tis Flutter himself. Tip him a scene of the Mad-man, and see how it takes. _Doric._ I will--a good way to send it about town. Shall it be of the melancholy kind, or the raving? _Sav._ Rant!--rant!--Here he comes. _Doric._ Talk not to me who can pull comets by the beard, and overset an island! _Enter_ Flutter.