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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 Sncer. 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 - hey!- 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 no just now I shall bave Sir Oliver come and protection to you. find him here - and

Sir Oliver S. Nor of Premium either: the

necessities of the former could not extort 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 Pcter, my friend, and Rowstay now, so I must beg—Come any other ley too-look on that elder nephew of minc. 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 him: 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 myme, sir, not one moment- this is such inso- 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 lit- 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 borrowing 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.

Joseph S. 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. What! - Little Premium has B. at the coffee-bouse. ?) (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 anger. 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 either.- 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 a Collee-house, or other place.

ken china.

осса

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;' bui 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 1 ihat gentleman have taken, in writing letters was not that if I do not appear mortified at from me to Charles, and ansy

nswering them yourthe 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 benefactor,

you are president, and inform them, that Lady Sir Olivers S. Charles, I believe you; give Teazle, licentiate, begs leave to return the dime your

hand again: the i!llooking little fellow ploma they gave her, as she leaves off pracover the seltee 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 tifly Lady T. Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, here is years !

[Erit. one whom Charles is still more anxious to be Sir Peter T. Oons! what a fury! reconciled to.

Lady T. A malicious creature, indeed! Sır Oliver S. Oh, I have heard of his 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 construo 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; howwillingly resign to one who has a better title. ever, lest her revengeful spirit should prompt Charles S. Ilow, Maria!

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

(E.rit

. 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 Kowley. I believe we have no more know the cause.

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

Snake. Before I go, 1 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 Sneer- 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 cvery 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 ibe 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 ao 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.

[Erit Snake. make it extremely clear.

Sir Peter T. There's a precious rogue! Sir Peter T. And that person, I imagine, Lady 1. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no is Mr. Snake. -Rowley, you were perfectly persuasion now to reconcile your nepher right to bring him with us, and pray let him and Maria. appear.

Sir 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? confrovt 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 never the lie in question; but I unfortunately have know abatement! been offered double 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 virluous 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 from 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 Peter,

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

SIR RICHARD STEELE Was born about the year 1076, in Ireland, in which kingdom one branch of the family was possessed of a consis derahle estate in the county of Wexford. His father, a counsellor at law in Dublin, was private sccretary 10 James Duke of Ormond, but he was of English extraction; and luis son, while very young, being carried to London, he pue 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 residenco 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 depree, in the full resolution to enter into the army. This step was highly displeasing to his friends; but the ardour of his passion for a military life rendered him deaf io any other proposal Not being able to procure a beller station, be entered as a private gentleman in the horse-guards, notwithstanding he thereby lost his trish estate. However, as he had a low of good-nature, a generous openness and frankness of spirit, and a sparkling vivacity of wils--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 ordiuary restraints on youth, he sparcol not to indulge bis inclinations in the wildest cxcesses. Yet his gairties and revels did not pass without some cool hours of reflection, and in these it was that he drew up his little irealise, entitled The Christian Ilero, with a design, if we may believe himself, to be a check pon his passions.

For this use and purpose it had lain sume limo by him, when he printed it in 1701, with a dedication 10 Lord Cults, who had not only appointed him his privalo secretary, but procured for hin 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 mithi and raillery : but these shafts bad no ellect; he persevered invariably in the same contradiction, and, though he had no power to change his beari, yet his pen was never prostiluled to his follics. Under the influence of that good sense, he wrole liis 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 dissaprinted, yet, in the beginning of Queen Anne's reign, die was appointed to the profitable place of Gazeticer. He owed his post to the friendship of Lord Italifax and the Earl of Sunderland, to whom he had been recommended by his schoolfellut Mr. Addison. Tbat gentleman also lept 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 diffoent fale. Upon this rebus from the stage, he turned the same humorous current into an ther 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 the stamp-duties, in 1710. pon the change of the ministry Uic same year, he sided with the Duke of Mar]borough, who had several years entertained a friendship for him; and, upon his Grace's dismission from all employments, in 1711. Mr. Siecle addressed a letter of thanko iu him for the services done to his country. However, as our authur still continued to hold his place in the stamp-ofice under the new administration, he forbore entering with his pen upon political subjects. But, adhering more closely to Mr. Addison, he dropt The Tatler; and afterwards, by the assistancu chielly of that steady frievd, he carricd on the same plan, under the title of the The Spectator. The success of this paper was equal to that of the former, which cncouraged 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 course of it, bis Doughts took a stronger turn to politics; he engaged with great warmth against the ministry, and being determined to prosecute his views that way, by procuring a seat in the House of Commons, lıc immediately removed all obstacles thereto. For that purpose. Jie 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 George of Denmark.

This donc, he wrote the famous Guardian, upon the demolition of Dunkirk, which was published August 7, 1713 ; and the Parliament being dissolved the next day, the Guardian was soon followed by several other warm political (racis against the administration. Upon the meeting of the new Parliament, Mr. Siecle having been returned a member for the borough of Slockbridge, in Hampshire, took his seat accordingly in the House of Commons, but was expelled thence in a few days after, for writing several seditious and scandalous libels, as he had been indeed forewarned by the author of a periodical paper, called The Examiner. Presently after his expulsiop, he publislıcd proposals for writing the listory of the Duke of Marlborough. Al the same time lie also wrole The Spinster; and set hp a paper, called The Reader. lle also continued publishing several other things in the same spirit, until the death of the Queen. Immediately after whichi, as a reward for these services, he was taken into favour by hier successor to the throne, k. Geurge 1., and appointed surveyor to the royal stables al 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 ohtained 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 knighthood upon him, April 28, 1715; and, in August following, he received five hundred pounds from Sir Robert Walpole, for special services. Thus highly encouraged, lie triumphed over his opponents in several paniphlets, writen in this and the following year. la 1717 he was appointed one of the commissioners for inquiring into the eslates forfeiled lig the late rebellion in Scotland. This carried him into tbal part of the united kingdom, where, how unwelcome a guest soever he might be to the generality, yet he received from several of the nobility and gentry tho most distinguishing marks of respect. In 1718 he buried his second wife, who had brought him a handsome fortune, 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 liltle shifts of wit for its support, and the project of l'he l'ish Pool this year owed its birih cliefly to the projector's accessities. The inllowing year he opposed the remarkable peerage bill in the House of Commons, and, during the course of this opposition to ihe court, his license for acting plays was revoked, and his patent rendered ineffectual, at the instance of the lord chamberlaia. He did his utmost to prevent so great a loss, and, finding every direct avenue of approach to his Royal Masler ellectually barred against him by his powerful adversary, he had recourse to the method of applying to the public, in hopes tho? his complainls 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 number of wbichi came oul on the end of Jan, 1719-20. In the mean time, the misfortune of being out of favour at court, like other misfortunes, drew after it a train of more. During the course of this paper, in which he had assumed the feigned pane of Sir John Edgar, he was outrageously altacked by Mr. Dennis, the noted critic, in a very abusive pamphlel, 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 jurn his pen against the mischievous South Sea scheme, which had nearly brought the natinn to ruin, in 1720 ; and the next year he was restored to his effice and authority in the playhouse in Drury Lane. Of this il was not long before be made an additional advantage hy bringing his celebrated comedy, called The Conscious Lovers, upon that stage, where it was acted with prodigious success; so that 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, lo whom he deilicaled it. Yet, notwithstanding these ample recruits, about the year following, being reduced to the utmost extremily, 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. Darier these misforlunes of Sir Richard, there was once an execution in his house. Being, however, under the necessity of receiving company a few days afterwarde, he prevailed on the bailills to put on liveries, and to pass for his servan's 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 100 authoritative, the insolent rascal throw off the mask, and discovered his real uccupatie, Soon after, Sir Richard retired to a small house on Haverstock 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 in their carriages to the place of rendezvous. Having now, therefore, for he last time, brought his sorlunc, by the most beeda less profusion, into a desperale 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 10 bis seat at Langiinnor, near Carmarthen, in Wales; where he paid the last debt to nature, on the 21st of Seplember 152, and was privately interred, according to his own desire, in the church of Carmarthen. Sir Richard was a man of udiesembled and extensi bencvolence, a friend to the friendless, and, as far as his mstances wou permil, the te ther of every orphan. His works are chaste and manly. He was a stranger to the most distant appearance of corsi malevolence; never jealous of any man's growing reputation, and so far from arrogating 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 ## want of economy, However, lie was certoinly the most agreeable, and (if we may be allowed the expressiun) the best innocent rake, that ever trod the rounds of indulgence,

THE CONSCIOUS LOVERS, Comedy by fir Richard Steele. Acted at Drury Lane 1721. The general design of this celebrated comedy, slick had been writien some years before it was acted, and at first intended to be called The Unfashionable Laers (or, u some say, The Fine Gentleman), is taken from the Andria of Terence: but the author's principal ini cation in writies it was, as he himself informs his, to introduce the very fine scene in the fourth act between young Bevil and Morte which sels forth, in a strong light, th fully of duelling, and the absurdity of what is falsely called the point of kencat ; and in this particular merit the play would probably have ever stood foremost, had not that subject been since wat amply and completely treated by the admirable author of Sir Charles Grandison, in the affairbelween that truly ascomplished gentleman and Sir Hargrave Pollexfen. This play was acted twenty six nights the first season: yet, before it appeared, it excited the envy and ill-humour of Dennis, who, while it was in rehearsal, published a pamplilet (2)Juding to Sir Richard Steele's i ensure of Etherege's Man of Mode, in The Spectator), under the following itle: "A Delence of Sir Popling Fuller, written by Sir George Etheridge : in which' Defence is shown, th: Sir Fopling, that merry Knight, was riglılly composed ly tho 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 Specialor; by which it appears, it at the Knight kn? ws nothing of the Nature of Comedy.” The scurrility of this pamphlet (which was intended in prejudire the public against Siecle's lorth coming play) is implied in the title-page ; and in the course of his writing lie sot volyte flecis illiberally on steele lor being an irishman, but foolishly calls him a twopenny author, because he wroe Ibe **lers, Spectators, and Guardians. In fine, he promised a criticism on The Conscious Lorers, when it should appeared the stage: which criticism, when it appeared,' was allowed by all to be the most civil, and therefore the dallesi, 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'd 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 while 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 ihee 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 to 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 im some part of my life lived indeed with free-mediate bounty. You have ever acted like? dom, I hope without reproach; now I good and generous father, and thought 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, his repu

like an obe

+

tation was so fair in the world, that old Seal 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 be 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 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 them 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, here's the prince of poor coxcombs, the Jite, by falling in love, and let that worthy representative of all the belter 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 tbat 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-tbat you might learn a little before I put you fely over his sboulders, 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 ihe 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 are impertinent. adopted daughter of a famous sea officer, who Tom. Uncle Humphrey, you know my master had servd in France. Now this unexpected scorns to strike bis 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 ber

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 boles, 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 taken of all this to my young master?

1) A prayer uscd generally to be said before setting down

to dinner,

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