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for me.

dit's sake - and you may depend on it I shall Charles S. Out with him, to be sure. soon discover Sir Oliver's weak side!

[Both forcing Sir Oliver out. Lady Sneer. I have no diffidence of your Enter Sir Peter and LadY TEAZLE, MARIA abilities ! only be constant to one roguery at

and ROWLEY. a time.

[Exit Lady SNEERWELL. Sir Peter T. My old friend, Sir OliverJoseph S. I will, I will. So!" 'tis confound-hey! What in the name of wonder-here ed hard, after such bad fortune, to be baited are dutiful nephews-assault their uncle at a by one's confederate in evil. Well, at all first visit! events my character is so much better than Lady T. Indeed, Sir Oliver, 'twas well we Charles's, that I certainly - bey!-- what! .- came in to rescue you. this is not Sir Oliver, but old Stanley again. Rowley. Truly, it was; for I perceive, Sir Plague on't that he should return to tease me Oliver, the character of old Stanley was ao just now I shall bave Sir Oliver come and protection to you. find him here -and

Sir Oliver S. Nor of Premium either: the

nécessities of the former could not exlort a Enter Sir OLIVER SURFACE.

shilling from that benevolent gentleman; and Gad's life, Mr. Stanley, why have you come now, egad, I stoud a chance of faring worse back to plague me at this time? You must than my ancestors, and being knocked down not stay now, upon my, word.

without being bid for. Sir Oliver S. Sir, I hear your uncle Oli- Joseph S. Charles ! ver is expected here, and though he has been Charles S. Joseph ! so penurious to you, I'll try what he'll do Joseph S. 'Tis now complete!

Charles S. Very! Joseph S. Sir, 'tis impossible for you to Sir Oliver S. Sir Peter, my friend, and Rowstay now, so I must beg- Come any other ley too-look on that elder nephew of mine. time, and I promise you, you shall be assisted. You know what he has already received from

Sir Oliver s. No: Sir Oliver and I must my bounty; and you also know how gladly ! be acquainted.

would have regarded balf my fortune as held Joseph S. Zounds, sir! then I insist on in trust for hiin: judge then my dissappointyour quitting the room directly.

ment in discovering him to be destitute of Sir Oliver S. Nay, sir

faith, charity, and gratitude. Joseph S. Sir, I insist on't: here, William! Sir Peter T. Sir Oliver, I should be more show this gentleman out. Since you compel surprised at this declaration, if I had not my, me, sir, not one moment, this is such inse self' found him to be mean, treacherous, and lence! [Going to push him out. hypocritical

.

Lady T. And if the gentleman pleads not Enter CHARLES SURFACE.

guilty to these, pray let him call me to his Charles S. Hey day! what's the matter now! character. What the devil, have you got hold of my

lil- Sir Peter T. Then, I believe, we need add tle broker here? Zounds, brother! don't hurt no more: if he knows himself, he will conlittle Premium. What's the matter, my little sider it as the most perfect punishment, that fellow?

he is known to the world. Joseph S. So! he has been with you too, Charles S. If they talk this way to honesty, has he?

what will they say to me, by and by? [Aside. Charles S. To be sure he has. Why he's Sir Oliver S. As for that prodigal, his broas honest as little_But sure, Joseph, you have ther, therenot been horrowing money too, have you? Charles S. Ay, now comes my turn: the

Joseph S. Borrowing! no! But, brother, damned family pictures will ruin me. [Aside. you know we expect Sir Oliver here every- Joseph S. Sir Oliver-uncle, will you ho

Charles S. o Gad, that's true! Noll mustn't nour me with a bearing? find the little broker here, to be sure.

Charles S. Now if Joseph would make one Joseph S. Yet Mr. Stanley insists

of his long speeches, I might recollect myCharles S. Stanley! why his name's Pre- self a little.

[ Aside. mium.

Sir Peter T. I suppose you would underJoseph S. No, sir, Stanley.

take to justify yourself entirely! [To Joseph. Charles S. No, no, Premium.

Josephs. I trust I could. Joseph S. Well, no matter which-but- Sir Oliver S. Well, sir! - and you could Charles S. Ay, ay, Stanley or Premium, justify yourself too, I suppose ? 'tis the same thing, as you say; for I suppose Charles S. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver. he goes by half a hundred names, besides A. Sir Oliver S. Wbat! --- Little Premium bas B. at the coffee-house. ?) (Knocking. been let too much into the secret, I suppose?

Joseph S. 'Sdeath! here's Sir Oliver at the Charles S. True, sir; but they were family door. Now I beg, Mr. Stanley

secrets, and should not be mentioned again, Charles S. Ay, ay, and I beg, Mr. Pre- you know. mium

Rowley. Come, Sir Oliver, I know you Sir Oliver S. Gentlemen

cannot speak of Charles's follies with aoger. Joseph S. Sir, by heaven you sball go! Sir Oliver S. Odd's beart, no more I can; Charles S. Ay, out with him, certainly! por with gravity eitber.- Sir Peter, do you S, Oliver S. This violence

know, the rogue bargained with me for all Joseph S. Sir, 'tis your own fault. his ancestors; sold me judges and generals by 1) It is customary to give one's address in an Advertise the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as broment, A, B. at , Collec-house, or other place.

ken china.

[ [Exit.

Charles S. To be sure, Sir Oliver, I did Sir Peter T. Plot and counter-plot, egad! make a little free with the family canvas, Lady Sneer. The torments of shame and that's the truth on't. My ancestors may rise disappointment on you all.in judgment against me, there's no denying Lady T. Hold, Lady Sneerwell-before you it; but believe me sincere when I tell you go, let me thank you for the trouble you and and upon my soul I would not say so if I that gentleman have taken, in writing letters was not--that if I do not appear mortified at from me to Charles, and answering them youriue exposure of my follies, it is because I feel self; and let me also request you to make my at this moment the warmest satisfaction in respects to the scandalous college, of which seeing you, my liberal benefaclor,

you are president, and inform them, that Lady Sir Olivers S. Charles, I believe you; give Teazle, licentiate, begs leave to return the di me your hand again: the i!llooking little fellow ploma they gave her, as she leaves off pracover the settee has made your peace.

lice, and kills characters no longer. Charles S. Then, sir, my gratitude to the Lady Sneer. You too, madam-provokingoriginal is still increased.

insolent-May your husband live these fifty Lady T. Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, here is years ! one whom Charles is still more anxious to be Sir Peter T. Oons! what a fury! reconciled to.

Lady T. A malicious creature, indeed! Sir Oliver S. Oh, I have heard of bis at- Sir Peter T. Hey! Not for her last wish? tachment there; and, with the young lady's Lady T. O no! pardon, if I construg right-that blush Sir Oliver S. Well, sir, and what have you

Sir Peter T. Well, child, speak your sen- to say now? timents !

Joseph S. Sir, I am so confounded, to find Maria. Sir, I have little to say, but that i that Lady Sneerwell could be guilty of subshall rejoice to hear that he is happy; for me orning Mr. Snake in this manner, to impose -whatever claim I had to his affection, I on us all, that I know not what to say; bowwillingly resign to one who has a better title. ever, lest her revengeful spirit should prompt Charles S. How, Maria!

her to injure my brother, I had certainly beiSir Peter T. Hey day! what's the mystery ter follow her directly.

(Exit. now? — While he appeared an incorrigible Sir Peter T. Moral to the last drop! rake, you would give your hand to no one Sir Oliver S. Ay, and marry her, Joseph, if else; and now that he is likely to reform, I'll you can.-Oil and Vinegar, egad! you'll do warrant you won't have him.

very well together. Maria. His own beart and Lady Sneerwell Rowley. I believe we have no more occaknow the cause.

sion for Mr. Snake at present? Charles S. Lady Sneerwell!

Snake. Before I go, 'I beg pardon once for Joseph S. Brother, it is with great concern all

, for whatever uneasiness I have been the humI am obliged to speak on this point, but my ble instrument of causing to the parties present. regard to justice compels me, and Lady Sncer Sir Peter T. Weil, well, you bave made well's injuries can no longer be concealed. atonement by a good deed at last.

[Opens the door. Snake. But I must request of the compaEnter LADY SNEERWELL.

ny, that it shall never be known. Sir Peter T. So! another French milliner! Sir Oliver S. Hey!-What the plague!-Are Egad, he has one in crery room in the house, you ashamed of having done a right thing I suppose.

once in your life? Lady Sneer. Ungrateful Charles ! Well Snake. Ah, sir! consider, I live by the may you be surprised, and feel, for the inde-badness of my character; I have nothing but licate situation your perfidy has forced me my infamy to depend on! and if it were once into.

known that I had been betrayed into an Charles S. Pray, uncle, is this another plot honest action, I should lose every friend I of yours? For, as I have life, I don't under- have in the world. stand it.

Sir Oliver S. Well, well, - we'll not traJoseph S. I believe, sir, there is but the duce you by saying any thing in your praise, evidence of one person more necessary to never fear.

[Exit Snake make it extremely clear.

Sir Peter T. There's a precious rogue! Sir Peter T. And that person, I imagine, Lady T. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no is Mr. Snake. -Rowley, you were perfectly persuasion now to reconcile your nephew right to bring him with us, and pray let him and Maria, appear.

Şir Oliver S. Ay, ay, that's as it should be, Rowley. Walk in, Mr. Snake.

and egad we'll have the wedding to-morrow

morning Enter SNAKE.

Charles S. Thank you, dear uncle! I thought his testimony might be wanted : Sir Peter T. What, you rogue! don't you however, it happens unluckily, that he comes to ask the girl's consent first? confroot Lady Sneerwell, not to support her. Charles S. Oh, I have done that a long

Lady Sneer. A villain! Treacherous to me time-a minute ago-and she has looked yes. at last! - Speak, fellow; have you too con- Maria. For shame, Charles !-! protest, Sir spired against me?

Peter, there has not been a word. Snake. I beg your ladyship then thousand Sir Oliver S. Well, then, the fewer the pardons : you paid me extremely liberally, for better ;-may your love for each other dever the lie in question; but I unfortunately 'bave know abatement! been offered dcuble to speak the truth. Sir Peter T. And may you live as happily

together as Leady Teazle and I intend to do!ja proof that I intend to set about it; but here

Charles S. Rowley, my old friend, I am shall be my monitor my gentle guide-ah! sure you congratulate me; and I suspect that can I leave the virtuous path those

eyes

illuI owe you much.

mine? Sir Oliver S. You do indeed, Charles, Though thou, dear maid, shouldst wave thy Rowley. If my efforts to serve you had not

beauty's sway, succeeded, you would have been in my debt Thou still must rule, because I will obey. for the attempt; but deserve to be happy, An humble fugitive froun Folly view, and you overpay me.

No sanctuary near but Love and you; Sir Peter T. Ay, honest Rowley always

[To the audience. said you would reform.

You can, indeed, each anxious fear remove, Charles S. Why, as to reforming, Sir Peler,

For eren Scandal dies if you approve. I'll make no promises, and that I take to be

SIR RICHARD STEELE Was born about the year 1676, in Ireland, in which kingdom one branch of the family was possessed of a considerahic estate in the county of Wexford. His father, a counsellor at law in Dublin, was private secretary 10 James Duke of Ormond, but he was of English extraction; and bis son, while very young, being carried to London, he pu! him to school at the Charterhouse, whence he was removed 10 Merton College, in Oxford, where be was admitted a postmaster in 1692. His inclination and genius being turned to polite literature, he commenced author during his residence in the university, and actually finished a comedy;, which, however, he thought fit 10 suppress, as unworthy of his genins. Mr. Steele was well beloved and respected by the whole society, and had a good interest with them after ho left the university, which he did without taking any degree, in the full resolution to enter into the army. This step was highly displeasing 10 bis friends; but the ardour of his passion for a military life rendered him deaf to any other proposal. Not being able to procure a beller station, he entered as a private gentleman in the horse-guards, notwithstanding he thereby lost his Irish estale. However, as he had a flow of good-nalure, a generous openness and frankness of spirit, and a sparkling vivacity of wits-these qualities rendered him the delight of the soldiery, and procured him an ensign's commission in the guards. In the mean time, as he had made choice of a profession which set him free from all the ordinary restraints on youth, he spared not to indulge bis inclinations in the wildest excesses. Yet his gaicties and re did not pass without some cool hours of reflection, and in these it was that he drew up his little irealise, entitled The Christian Hero, with a design, if we may believe himself, to be a cheek upon his passions. For this use and purpose it had lain some time by him, when he printed it in 1700, with a dedication to Lord Cults, who had not only appointed him his private secretary, but procured for him a company in Lord Lucas's regiment of fusileers. The whole plan and tenour of our author's hook was such a flat contradiction to the general course of his life, that it became a subject of much mith and raillery : but these shalls bad no effect; he persevered invariably in the same contradiction, and, though he had no power to change his heart, yet his pen was never prostituted to his follies. Under the influence of that good sense, he wrote his first play, which procured him the regard of king William, who resolved 10 give him some essential marks of his favour; and though, upon that prince's death. his hopes were dissapoinled, yet, in the beginning of Queen Anne's reign, he was appointed to the profitable place of Gazelicer. He owed his post to the friendship of Lord Halifax and the Earl of Sunderland, to whom he had been recommended by his schoolfellow Mr. Addison. That gentleman also lent him an helping hand in promoting the comedy, called The Tender Husband, which was acted in 1704, with great success. But his next play, The Lying Lover, found a very differ ent fate. Upon this rebus from the stage, he turned the same humorous current into another channel; and, early in the year 1709, he began to publish The Tatler ; which admirable paper was undertaken in concert with Dr. Swift. His reputation was perfectly established by this work; and, during the course of it, he was made a commissioner of !he stamp-duties, in 1710. Upon the change of the ministry the same year, he sided with the Duke of Marlborou who had several years entertained a friendship for him; and, upon his Grace's dismission from all employments, in 1711, Mr. Steele addressed a letter of thanks io him for the services done to his country. However, as our authur still continued to hold his place in the slamp-ofice under the new administration, he forbore entering with his pen upon political subjects, Bul, adhering more closely to Mr. Addison, he dropt The Tatler ; and afterwards, by the assistance chiefly of that steady friend, he carried on the same plan, under the title of the The Spectator. The success of this paper was equal to that of the former, which encouraged him, before the close of it, to proceed upon the same design in the character of The Guardian. This was opened in the beginning of the year 1715, and was laid down in October the same year. But, in the conrse of it, his thoughts took a stronger turn to politics; he engaged with great warmth against the ministry, and being determined lo prosecule his views that way, by procuring a seat in the House of Commons, he immediately removed all obstacles thereto. For that purpose, he took care to prevent a forcible dismission from his post in the stamp-office, by a timely resignation of it to the Earl of Oxford, and, at the same time, gave up a pension, which had been, till this time, paid him by the Queen, as a servant in the late Prince Georze of Denmark. This done, he wrote the famous Guardian, upon the demolition of Dunkirk, which was published August 7, 1713 ; aud the Parliament being dissolved the next day, the Guardian was soon followed by several other warm political Tracts against the administration. Upon the mecling of the new Parliament, Mr. Steele having been returned a member for the borough of Stockbridge, in Hampshire, took his seat accordingly in the House of Commons, but was expelled thence in a few drys after, for writing several seditious and scandaloas libels

, as he had been indeed forewarned by the author of a periodical paper, called The Examiner. Presently after his expulsiop, he published proposals for writing the History of the Duke of Marlborough. Al the same time he also wrole The Spinster; and set up a paper, called The Reader. He also continued publishing several other things in the same spirit, until the death of the Queen. Immediately after which, as a reward for these services, he was taken into favour by her successor to the throne, K. George 1., and appointed surveyor to the royal stables at Hampton Court, and put into the commission of the peace for the county of Middlesex; and, having procured a license for Chief manager of the royal company of comedians, he easily obtained it to be changed the same year, 1714, into a patent from His Majesty, appointing him governor of the said company during his life; and to his executors, administrators, or assigns, for the space of three years afterwards, He was also chosen one of the representatives for Boroughbridge, in Yorkshire, in the first Parliament of that King, who conferred the honour of kniglithood upon him, April 28, 1715; and, in Auglist following, he received five hundred pounds from Sir Robert Walpole, for special services. Thus highly encouraged, he triumphed over his opponents in several paniphlets, written in this and the following year. ln 1717 he was appointed one of the commissioners for inquirieg into the estates forfeited by the lato rebellion in Scotland. This carried him into that part of the united kingdom, where, low unwelcome a griest soever he might be to the generality, yet he received from several of the nobijiny and gentry the most distinguishing marks of respect. In 1718 he buried his second wife, who had brought him a handsome Forlune, and a good estale in Wales: but neither thal, nor the ample additions lately made to his income, were sufficient to answer his demands. Tlie thoughtless vivacity of his spirit often reduced him to little shifts of wit for its support, and the project of l'he l'ish Pool this year owed its birth chiefly to the projector's necessities. The following year he opposed the remarkable peerage bill in the House of Commons, and, during the course of this opposition lo ihe court, his license for acting plays was revoked, and his patent rendered ineflectual, at the instance of the lord chamberlain. He did his utmost to prevent so great a loss, and, finding every direct avenue of approach to his Royal Masler effectually barred against him by his powerful adversary, he had recourse to the method of applying to the public, in hopes that his complaints would reach the ear' of his Sovereign, though in an indirect course, by that canal. In this spirit he formed the plan of a periodical paper, to be published twice a week, under the title of The "heatre; the first namber of wbich came out on the end of Jan, 1719-20. In the mean time, the misfortune of being out of favour at court, like other misfortancs, drew after it a train of more. During the course of this paper, in which he had assumed the feigned base of Sir Juhn Edgar, he was outrageously attacked by Mr. Dennis, the noted critic, ju a very abusive pamphlet, cutitled The Character and Conduct of Sir John Edgar.. To this insult our author made a proper reply in The Theatre, While he was struggling, with all his might, to save himself from ruin, he found time to turn his pen against the mischievous South Sea scheme, which had nearly brought the nation to ruin, in 1720 ; and the next year he was restored to his effice and authority in the playhvuse iņ Drury Lane. Of this it was not long before be made an additional advantage by bringing his celebrated comedy, called The Conscious Lovers, upon that stage, where it was acted with prodigious success; so thal the receipt there must have been very considerable, besides the profits accraing by the sale of the copy and a purse of five hundred pounds given to him hy the King, to whom he dedicaled it. Yet, notwithstanding these ample recruits, about the year following, being reduced to the ntmost extremity, he sold his share in the play-house, and soon after commenced a lawsuit with the managers, which, in 1726, was determined to his disadvantage. Dariage these misforlunes of Sir Richard, there was once an execution in his honse. Being, however, under the necessity of receiving company a few days afterwarde, he prevailed on the bailiff's to put on liveries, and to pass for his servants. The farce succeeded but for a short time; for the knight enforcing his orders to one of them in a manner which this vermin of the law thought too authoritative, the insolent rascal threw off the mask, and discovered his real vecupatica, Soon after, Sir Richard retired to a small house on Maverstock Hill, in the road 10 Hampstead. Part of this building remains, and is now a collage. Here Mr. Pope and other members of the Kit-cat Club used to call on him and take bin da their carriages to the place of rendezvous. Having now, therefore, for he last time, brought his fortune, by the most heeda less profusion, into a desperate condition, he was rendered altogether incapable of retrieving the loss, hy being seized with a paralytic disorder, which greatly impaired his understanding. In these unhappy circumstances , he retired to his seat at Langiinnor, near Carmarthen, in Wales; where he paid the last debt lo nature, on the 21st of September 174, and was privately interred, according to his own desire, in the church of Carmarthen. Sir Richard was a man of usdissembled and extensive benevolence, a friend to the friendless, and, as far as his circumstances would permit, the fsther of every orphan. His works are chaste and manly. He was a stranger to the most distant appearance of enige malevolence; never jealous of any man's growing reputation, and so far from arrogaling any praise to himself from bu conjunction with Mr. Addison, that he was the first who desired him to distinguish his papers. His greatest error #2 want of economy, However, he was certainly the most agreeable, and (if we may be allowed the expressivo) the next innocent rake, that ever trod the rounds of indulgence,

THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS,

Comedy by Sir Richard Steele. Acted at Drury Lane 1721. The general design of this celebrated comedy, skich had been written some years before it was acted, and at first intended to be called The Unfashionable Lovers (@r, as some say, The Fine Gentleman), is taken from the Andria of Terence: but the author's principal intention in writies it was, as he himself informs is, to introduce the very fine scene in the fourth act between young Bevil and Myrtle which sets forth, in a strong light, the folly of duelling, and the absurdity of what is falsely called the point of kunca; and in this particular merit the play would probably have ever stood foremost, had not that subject been since were amply and completely treated by the admirable author of Sir Charles Grandison, in the affair between that truly ecomplished genileman and Sir Hargrave Pollexfen. This play was acted twenty six rights the first season: yet, before it appeared, it excited the envy and ill-humour of Dennis, who, while it was in rehearsal, published a pamphlet (alluding to Sir Richard Steele's vensure of Etherego's Man of Mode, in The Spectator), under the following litle: "Å Defence of sir Popling Fluller, written by Sir George Etheridge : in which Defence is shown, that Sir Fopling, the merry Knight, was rightly composed by the Knight his Father, to answer the Ends of Comedy, and that he has been barbarously and scurrilously allacked by the Knight his Brother in the 65th Spectator; by which it appears, that the Knight kniws nothing of the Nature of Comedy.' The scurrility of this pamphlet (which was intended to prejudice the public against Siecle's forth coming play) is implied in the title-page; and in the course of his writing he sot only reflecis illiberally on steele lor being an Irishman, but foolishly calls him a twopenny author, because lie wrple the 15lers, Spectators, and Guardians. In fine, he promised a criticism on The Conscious Lovers, when it should appear ea the stage: which criticism, when it appeared, was allowed by all to be the most civil, and therefore the dallest, of all his critical writings. This was the first play acted on the secession from Fleetwood, Sept. 20, 1743.

SIR JOHN BEVIL.
SEALAND.
BEVIL.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MYRTLE.

TOM.
CIMBERTON,

DANIEL
HUMPHREY.

MRS. SEALAND.
PHILLIS.

ISABELLA.
INDIANA.
LUCINDA.

ACT I.

man, I indulg'a bim in living after his own Scene I.-SIR John Bevil's House,

manner. I know not how otherwise to judge

of his inclination; for what can be concluded Enter Sir John Bevil and Humphrey,

from a behaviour under restraint and fear? Sir J. Have you ordered that I should not But what charms me above all expression is be interrupted wbile I am dressing? that my son has never, in the least action, the

Hum, Yes, sir; I believ'd you had something most distant hint or word, valued himself upon of moment to say to me.

that great estale of his mother's, which, acSir J, I'll tell thee then. In the first place, cording to our marriage settlement, he las this wedding of my son's in all probability, had ever since he came to age. shut the door-will nerer be at all.

Hum. No, sir; on the contrary be seems Hum: How, sir! not be at all? For what afraid of appearing to enjoy it before you or reason is it carried on in appearance? any belonging to you. He is as dependent

Sir J. Honest Humphrey, have patience, and and resigned io your will as if he had not a I'll tell thee all in order?' I have myself, in farthing but what must come from your imsome part of my life lived indeed with free-mediate bounty. You have ever acted like a dom, but I hope without reproach; now I good and generous father, and be like an obethought liberty would be as liitle injurious to dient and grateful son. my son; therefore, as soon as he grew towards Sir J. To be short, Humphrey, bis repu

tation was so fair in the world, that old Sea- | Sir J. That's what I wanted to debate with land, the great India merchant, has offered his you. I have said nothing to him yet. But only daughter, and sole heiress to that vast lookye, Humphrey, if there is so much in this estate of his, as a wife for him. You may be amour of his, that he denies upon my sumsure I made no difficulties; the match was mons to marry, I have cause enough to be agreed on, and this very day named for the offended; and then, by my insisting upon his wedding

marrying to-day, I shall know how far he is Hum. What hinders the proceeding? engaged to this lady in masquerade, and from

Sir J. Don't interrupt me. You know I was, thence only shall be able to take my measures. last Thursday, at the masquerade; my son, In the mean time, I would have you find out you may remember, soon found us out. He how far that rogue, his man, is' let into his knew his grandfather's babit, which I then wore; secret: he, I know, will play tricks as much and though it was in the mode of the last to cross me as to serve his master. age, yet the maskers, you know, followed us Hum. Why do you think so of him, sir? as if we had been the most monstrous figures I believe he is no worse than I was for you in that whole assembly.

at your son's age. Hum. I remember indeed a young man of Sir J. I see it in the rascal's looks. But I have quality, in the habit of a clown, that was par- dwelt on these things too long: I'll go to my ticularly troublesome.

son immediately; and while I'm gone, your Sir J. Right; he was too much what he part is to convince his rogue, Tom, that I am seemed to be. You remember how imperti- in earnest. I'll leave him to you. [Exit. nently he followed and teased us, and would Hum. Well, though this father and son know who we were.

live as well together as possible, yet their fear Hum. I know he has a mind io come into of giving each other pain is attended with that particular,

[Aside. constant, mutual uneasiness. I am sure I have Sir J. Ay, he followed us till the gentle- enough to do to be honest, and yet keep well man, who led the lady in the Indian mantle, with ibem both; but they know I love 'em, presented that gay creature to the rustic, and and that makes the task less painful bowever. -bid him like Cymon in the fable) grow po- Oh, bere's the prince of poor coxcombs, the lite, by falling in love, and let ihat worthy representative of all the better fed than taught:old gentleman alone, meaning me. The clown Ho, ho, Tom! whither so gay and so airy was not reform’d, but rudely persisted, and this morning? offered to force off my mask: with that the

Enter Tom, singing, gentleman, throwing off his own, appeared to Tom. Sir, we servants of single gentlemen be my son; and in his concern for me, tore are another kind of people than you domestic, off that of the nobleman. At this they seized ordinary drudges, that do business; we are each other, the company called the guards, raised above you: the pleasures of board wages, and in the surprise the lady swooned away; tavern dinners, and many a clear gain—vails, upon which my son quitted his adversary, and alas! you never beard or dreamt of. had now no care hut of the lady; when, Hum. Thou bast follies and vices enough raising her in his arms, "Art thou gone,” cried for a man of ten thousand a year, though it he, "for ever?-Forbid it, heaven!"-She re- is but as t'other day that I sent for you to vives at his known voice, and with the most town to put you into Mr. Sealand's family, familiar, though modest, gesture hangs in sa- that you might learn a little before I put you fety over his shoulders, weeping; but wept as to my young master, who is too gentle for in the arms of one before whom she could training such a rude thing as you were into give herself a loose, were she not under ob- proper obedience. You then pulled off your servation. While she hides fer face in his hat to every one you met in the street, like a neck, he carefully conveys her from the company. bashful, great, awkward cub as you were. But

Hum. I have observed this accident has your great oaken cudgel, when you were a dwelt upon you very strongly.

booby, became you much better than that Sir J. Her uncommon air, her noble modesty, dangling stick at your button, now you are a the dignity of ber person, and the occasion fop, that's fit for nothing except it hangs there itself, drew the whole assembly together; and to be ready for your master's hand when you I soon heard it buzzed about she was the arc impertinent. adopted daughter of a famous sea officer, who Tom. Uncle Humphrey, you know my master had' sery'd in France. Now this unexpected scorns to strike his servants. You talk as if and public discovery of my son's so deep the world was now just as it was when my concern for her

old master and you were in your youth; when Hum. Was what, I suppose, alarm’d Mr. you went to dinner because it was so much Sealand, in behalf of his daughter, to break o'clock; when the great blow was given in off the match.

the hall at the pantry door, and all the family Sir J. You are right: he came to me yester- came out of their holes, in such strange dresses day, and said he thought himself disengaged and formal faces as you sce in the pictures from the bargain, being credibly informed my in our long gallery in the country. son was already married, or worse, to the Hum. Why, you wild rogue! lady at the masquerade. I palliated matters, Tom. You could not fall to your dinner and insisted on our agreement; but we par- till a formal fellow, in a black gown, said ted with little less than a direct breach be- something over the meat ?); as if the cook, tween us.

had not made it ready enough. Hum. Well, sir, and what notice have you

1) A prayer used generally to be said before setting down taken of all this to my young master?

lo dinner,

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