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Hunks reads-[I had almost forgot to tell you, that last Thursday my son was married to Miss Clary Brentford, and that all parties are very happy in the connexion.] Confu. sion! (throws down the letter.) · What does this mean? married to Clary Brentford ! This is exactly one of cousin Tom's villainous tricks. He promised me that his son should marry my daughter, upon condition that I would give her those two farms ; but I can't imagin from what stupid motives he has altered his ...nd. | Blithe. Disappointment is the common lot of all men, even our surest expectations are subject to misfortune.

Hunks. Disappointment ! this comes from a quarter from which I least expected one.

But there's the deeds, I'll take care to secure them again ; 'tis a good hit that I did not give them to the young rogue beforehand.

Blithe. That was well thought of ; you keep a good look out, I see, though you cannot avoid some disappointments. I see nothing in the way now, to hinder my son's proceeding ; you will easily grant your consent, now you're cut off from your former expectations.

Hunks. I can't see into this crooked affair-I'm heartily vex'd at it. What could induce that old villain to deceive me in this manner? I fear this was some scheme of my daughter's to pitvent the effect of my design. If this is her plan, if she sets so light by two thousand pounds, she shall soon know what it is to want it, I'll promise her.

Blithe. If you had bestowed your gift, without crossing her inclination, she would have accepted it very thankfully.

Hunks. O, I don't doubt it in the least ; that would have been a pretty story, indeed ! but since she insists upon gratifying a foolish fancy, she may follow her own inclination, and take the consequences of it ; I'll keep the favors Í meant to bestow on her, for those that know how to prize them, and that merit them by a becoming gratitude.

Blithe. But you won't reject her destitute of a patrimony and a father's blessing?

Hunks. Not one farthing shall she ever receive from my hand. Your son may take her, but her person is barely all that I'll give him ; he has seduced her to disobey her father, and he shall feel the effects of it.

Blithe. You are somewhat ruffled, I perceive, but I hope you'll recall these rash resolutions in your cooler mo. ments.

Hunks. No, never, I give you my word, and that's as fix. ed as the laws of the Medes and Persians.

Blithe. But look ye, Sir, here's another circumstance to be attended to ; my son has the deeds already in his own hands.

Hunks. Deeds ! what deeds ? those I gave to my brother? Blithe. Yes, the very same.

Hunks. What a composition of villainy and witchcraft is here? What! my deeds give up to your son ?

Blithe. Yes ; your brother thought that my son had an undoubted title to them now, since his cousin was married, and so he gave them up the next day.

Hunks. This is intolerable! I could tear the scalp from my old brainless scull ; why had I not more wit than to wust them with him ? I'm cheated every way! I can't Biust a farthing with the best friend I have upon earth!

Blithe. That is very true, 'tis no wonder you can't trust your best friends. The truth of the case is, you have no friend, nor can you expect any so long as you make an idol of yourself, and feast your sordid avaricious appetite upon the misfortunes of mankind. You take every possible advantage, by the present calamities, to gratfy your own selfish disposition. So long as this is the case, depend upon it, you will be an object of universal detestation. There is no one ou earth that would not rejoice to see how you're brought in. Your daugi:ter now has got a good inheritance, and an agree. able partiter, which you were in duty bound to grant her ; but instead of that, you were then doing your utmost to de. prive her of every enjoyment in life. (Hinnks puts his hand to his breast.) I don't wonder your conscience smites you

your villainy. Don't you see how justly you have been cheated into your duty ?

Hunks. I'll go this moment to an attorney, and get a warrant ; I'll put the villain in jail before an hour is at an end. Oh my deeds! my farms! what shall I do for my farms !

Blithe. Give yourself no farther trouble about them, there's no evidence in the case ; you must be sensible, therefore, an action can't lie. I would advise you to rest contented, and learn from disappointments, not to place such an exhorbitant value upon wealth. In the mean time I should be very glad of your company at the wedding. My son and his wife would be very happy to see you.

Hunks. The dragon fly away with you, and your son, and your son's wife. O my farms ! what shall I do for my farms!



CONTEMPT of the common Objects of PURSUIT.
ONOR and shame from no condition rise ;

Act well yunr part, there all the honor lies.
Fortune in men has some small difference made ;
One flaunts in rags ; one flutters in brocade ;
The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd ;
The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
“What differ more (you cry) than crown and cow!.."
I'll tell you, friend ! a wise man and a fool.
You'll find if once the wise man acts the monk,
Or, cobler like, the parson will be drunk ;
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;
The rest is all but leather or prunella.
Go, if your ancient, but ignoble blood,
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood ;
Go, and pretend your family is young ;
Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Look next on greatness. Say where greatness lies?
Where, but among the heroes and the wise.
Heroes are all the same, it is agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede.
The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find,
Or make-an enemy of all mankind.
Not one looks backward, onward still he goes ;
Yet ne'er looks forward farther than his nose.
No less alike the politic and wise ;
All sly, slow things, with circumspective eyes :
Men in their loose ungarded hours they take ;
Not that themselves are wise ; but others weak.
But grant that those can conquer, these can cheat ;
'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great.,
Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,
Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.
Who noble ends by roble means obtains,
Or, calling, smiles in exile, or in chains,

P 2

Like good Aurelius let him reign ; or bleed
Like Socrates ; that man is great indeed by
What's fame? a fancy'd life in others breath ;
A thing beyond us, e'en before our death.
Just what you hear 's your owr. ; and what's unknown,
The same, (my lord) if Tully's or your own.
All that we feel of it, begins and ends
In the small circle of our foes and friends ;
To all besides as much an empty shade,
An Eugene living, as a Cæsar dead :
Alike, or when or where they shone or shine,
Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine.
A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod;
An honest man 's the noblest work of God.
Fame but from death a villain's name can savez,
As justice tears his body from the grave ;
When what t'oblivion better were consign’d,
Is hung on high, to poison half mankind.
All fame is foreign, but of true desert ;
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart,
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas ;
And more true joy, Marcellus, cxil'd, feels,
Than Cæsar, with a Senate at his heels,

In parts superior, what advantage lies?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise?
'Tis but to know, how little can be known
To see all others' faults and feel our own :
Condemn'd in business or in arts to drudge,
Without a second and without a judge.
Fruths would you teach to save a sinking land,
All fear, none aid you ; and few understand:
Painful pre-eminence ! yourself to view
Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.

Bring then these blessings to a strict account ;
Make fair deductions ; see to what they 'mount ;
How much of other each is sure to cost ;
How each for other oft is wholly lost ;
How inconsistent greater goods with these ;
How sometimes life is risk'd, and always ease ;
Think ; and if still such things thy envy call,
Say, would'st thou be the man to whom they fall !
To sigh for ribbands if thou art so silly,

Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy.
Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life?
Look but on Gripus or on Gripus' wife.
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd
The wisest, brightest-meanest of mankind d;
Or, ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell damn'd to everlasting fame :
If all united thy ambition call,
From ancient story learn to scorn them all.


VIS from high life, high characters are drawn ;

A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn ;
A judge is just ; a chanc'lor juster still ;
A gownman learn'd ; a bishop--what you will ;
Wise if a minister ; but if a king,
More wise, more just, more learn’d, more every thing
"Tis education forms the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent, the tree 's inclin'd.
Boastful and rough, your first son is a squire ;
The next a tradesman, meek and much a liar :
Tom struts a soldier, open, bold and brave :
Will sneaks a scriv'ner, an exceeding knave.
Is he a churchman ? Then he's fond of power ;
A quaker ? sly; A presbyterian ? sour ;
A smart freethinker? all things in an hour.
Manners with fortunes, humors turn with climes,
Tenets with books, and principles with times.
Search then the ruling passion. There alone,
The wild are constant, and the cunning known.


And scarce were Gibeon's loftiest spires beheld ; When up the west, dark clouds began to rise, Sail'd o'er the hills and lengthened round the skies ; A ridge of folding fire, their summits shone, But fearful blackness all beneath was thrown ; Swift round the sun the spreading gloom was hurid, And night and solitude amaz'd the world.

At once the voice of deep resounding gales Rung slow and solemn in the distant vales ; Then through the groves and o'er the extended plain,

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