, remorse, and--yes--and
jealousy, all distract me:--and no counsellor to advise with; no
friend to whom I may--

_Enter TOM SHUFFLETON._

_Frank._ Tom Shuffleton! you never arrived more apropos in your
life.

_Shuff._ That's what the women always say to me. I've rumbled on the
road, all night, Frank. My bones ache, my head's muzzy--and we'll
drink two bottles of claret a-piece, after dinner, to enliven us.

_Frank._ You seem in spirits, Tom, I think, now.

_Shuff._ Yes;--I have had a windfall--Five hundred pounds.

_Frank._ A legacy?

_Shuff._ No.--The patient survives who was sick of his money. 'Tis a
loan from a friend.

_Frank._ 'Twould be a pity, then, Tom, if the patient experienced
improper treatment.

_Shuff._ Why, that's true:--but his case is so rare, that it isn't
well understood, I believe. Curse me, my dear Frank, if the disease
of lending is epidemic.

_Frank._ But the disease of trying to borrow, my dear Tom, I am
afraid, is.

_Shuff._ Very prevalent, indeed, at the west end of the town.

_Frank._ And as dangerous, Tom, as the small-pox. They should
inoculate for it.

_Shuff._ That wouldn't be a bad scheme; but I took it naturally.
Psha! damn it, don't shake your head. Mine's but a mere _facon de
parler_: just as we talk to one another about our coats:--we never
say, "Who's your tailor?" We always ask, "Who suffers?" Your father
tells me you are going to be married; I give you joy.

_Frank._ Joy! I have known nothing but torment, and misery, since
this cursed marriage has been in agitation.

_Shuff._ Umph! Marriage was a weighty affair, formerly; so was a
family coach;--but domestic duties, now, are like town
chariots;--they must be made light, to be fashionable.

_Frank._ Oh, do not trifle. By acceding to this match, in obedience
to my father, I leave to all the pangs of remorse, and disappointed
love, a helpless, humble girl, and rend the fibres of a generous,
but too credulous heart, by cancelling like a villain, the oaths
with which I won it.

_Shuff._ I understand:--A snug thing in the country.--Your wife,
they tell me, will have four thousand a year.

_Frank._ What has that to do with sentiment?

_Shuff._ I don't know what you may think; but, if a man said to me,
plump, "Sir, I am very fond of four thousand a year;" I should
say,--"Sir, I applaud your sentiment very highly."

_Frank._ But how does he act, who offers his hand to one woman, at
the very moment his hear