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apply to Mr Hardcastle's compassion and jus- | pression. What at first seemed rustic plaintice for redress.

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Mar. Though prepared for setting out, I come once more to take leave; nor did I, till this moment, know the pain I feel in the separation.

Miss Hard. (In her own natural manner.) I believe these sufferings cannot be very great, Sir, which you can so easily remove. A day or two longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, by showing the little value of what you now think proper to regret.

ness, now appears refined simplicity. What seemed forward assurance, now strikes me as the result of courageous innocence, and conscious virtue.

Sir Char. What can it mean? He amazes

me!

Hard. I told you how it would be. Hush! Mar. I am now determined to stay, Madam, and I have too good an opinion of my father's discernment, when he sees you, to doubt his approbation.

Miss Hard. No, Mr Marlow, I will not, cannot detain you. Do you think I could suffer a connexion in which there is the smallest room for repentance? Do you think I would take the mean advantage of a transient passion to load you with confusion? Do you think I could ever relish that happiness which was acquired by lessening yours!

Mar. By all that's good, I can have no happiness but what's in your power to grant me! Nor shall I ever feel repentance but in not having seen your merits before. I will stay even contrary to your wishes; and though you should persist to shun me, I will make my respectful assiduities atone for the levity of my past conduct.

Miss Hard. Sir, I must entreat you'll desist. As our acquaintance began, so let it end, in indifference, I might have given an hour or two to levity; but seriously, Mr Marlow, do you think I could ever submit to a connexion where I must appear mercenary, and you imprudent? Do you think I could ever catch at the confident addresses of a secure admirer?

Madam, every moment that shows me your merit, only serves to increase my diffidence and confusion. Here let me continue

Mar. (Kneeling.) Does this look like seMar. (Aside.) This girl every moment im-curity? Does this look like confidence? No, proves upon me. (To her.) It must not be, Madam, I have already trifled too long with my heart. My very pride begins to submit to my passion. The disparity of education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my equals, begin to lose their weight; and nothing can restore me to myself but this painful effort of resolution.

Sir Char. I can hold it no longer. Charles, Charles, how hast thou deceived me! Is this your indifference, your uninteresting conversation?

Hard. Your cold contempt; your formal interview! What have you to say now? Mar. That I'm all amazement! What can it mean?

Miss Hard. Then go, Sir: I'll urge nothing more to detain you. Though my family be as good as hers you came down to visit, and my education, I hope, not inferior, what are these Mard. It means that you can say and unsay advantages without equal affluence? I must things at pleasure. That you can address a remain contented with the slight approbation lady in private, and deny it in public; that of imputed merit; Imust have only the mock-you have one story for us and another for my ery of your addresses, while all your serious daughter. aims are fixed on fortune.

Enter Hardcastle and Sir Charles, from behind.

Sir Char. Here, behind this screen. Hard. Ay, ay; make no noise. I'll engage my Kate covers him with confusion at last.

Mar. By Heavens! Madam, fortune was ever my smallest consideration. Your beauty at first caught my eye; for who could see that without emotion. But every moment that I converse with you, steals in some new grace, heightens the picture, and gives it stronger ex

Mar. Daughter!-This lady your daughter? Hard. Yes, Sir, my only daughter: My Kate; whose else should she be?

Mar. Oh, the devil!

Miss Hard. Yes, Sir, that very identical tall squinting lady you were pleased to take me for (courtesying); she that you addressed as the mild, modest, sentimental man of gra vity, and the bold forward agreeable Rattle of the ladies' club. Ha ha! ha!

Mur. Zounds, there's no bearing this; it's worse than death!

Miss Hard. In which of your characters, Sir, will you give us leave to address you? As the faltering gentleman, with looks on the ground, that speaks just to be heard, and hates hypocrisy; or the loud confident creature, that keeps it up with Mrs Mantrap, and old Miss Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morning ?Ha ha! ha!

Mar. O, curse on my noisy head! I never attempted to be impudent yet, that I was not taken down! I must be gone.

Hard. By the hand of my body, but you shall not. Í see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it. You shall not, Sir, I tell you. I know she'll forgive you. Won't you forgive him, Kate? We'll all forgive you. Take courage, man. [They retire, she tormenting him to the back scene.

Enter Mrs Hardcastle and Tony. Mrs Hard. So, so, they're gone off.

them go, I care not.

Hard. Who gone?

Let

liged to stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression. In an hour of levity, I was ready even to give up my fortune to secure my choice. But I'm now recovered from the delusion, and hope from your tenderness what is denied me from a nearer connexion.

Mrs Hard. Pshaw, pshaw; this is all but the whining end of a modern novel.

Hard. Be it what it will, I'm glad they're come back to reclaim their due. Come hither, Tony, boy. Do you refuse this lady's hand whom I now offer you?

Tony. What signifies my refusing? You know I can't refuse her till I'm of age, father. Hard. While I thought concealing your age, boy, was likely to conduce to your improvement, I concurred with your mother's desire to keep it secret. But since I find she turns it to a wrong use, I must now declare you have been of age these three months. Tony. Of age! Am I of age, father? Hard. Above three months.

Tony. Then you'll see the first use I'll make

Mrs Hard. My dutiful niece and her gentle- of my liberty. (Taking Miss Neville's hand.) man, Mr Hastings, from town.

He who came

Witness all men by these presents, that I, down with our modest visitor here. Anthony Lumpkin, esquire of BLANK place, reSir. Char. Who, my honest George Hast-fuse you, Constantia Neville, spinster of no ings? As worthy a fellow as lives, and the place at all, for my true and lawful wife. So girl could not have made a more prudent Constance Neville may marry whom she pleases, and Tony Lumpkin is his own man Sir Char. O brave 'Squire! Hast. My worthy friend!

choice.

Hard. Then, by the hand of my body, I'm proud of the connexion.

Mrs Hard. Well, if he has taken away the lady, he has not taken her fortune; that remains in this family to console us for her loss. Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you would not be so mercenary?

Mrs Hard. Ay, that's my affair, not yours. Hard. But you know if your son, when of age, refuses to marry his cousin, her whole fortune is then at her own disposal.

Mrs Hard. Ay, But he's not of age, and she has not thought proper to wait for his refusal.

Enter Hastings and Miss Neville.

Mrs Hard. (Aside.) What, returned so soon! I begin not to like it.

Hast. (To Hardcastle.) For my late attempt to fly off with your niece, let my present confusion be my punishment. We are now come back, to appeal from your justice to your humanity. By her father's consent I first paid her my addresses, and our passions were first founded in duty.

Miss Nev. Since his death, I have been ob

again.

Mrs Hard. My undutiful offspring.

Mar. Joy, my dear George, I give you joy sincerely. And could I prevail upon my little tyrant here to be less arbitrary, I should be the happiest man alive if you would return me the favour.

Hast. (To Miss Hardcastle.) Come, Madam, you are now driven to the very last scene of all your contrivances. I know you like him, I'm sure he loves you, and you must and shall have him.

Hard. (Joining their hands.) And I say so too. And, Mr Marlow, if she makes as good a wife as she has a daughter, I don't believe you'll ever repent your bargain. So now to supper. To-morrow we shall gather all the poor of the parish about us, and the mistakes of the night shall be crowned with a merry morning: So boy, take her; and as you have been mistaken in the mistress, my wish is, that you may never be mistaken in the wife. [Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE,

BY DR GOLDSMITH,

SPOKEN BY MRS BULKLEY,

IN THE CHARACTER OF

MISS HARDCASTLE.

WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with suc

cess,

And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
Still, as a bar-maid, I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you:
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty bar-maids have done execution.
Our life is all a play, composed to please,
"We have our exits and our entrances."
The first act shows the simple country maid,
Harmless and young, of every thing afraid;
Blushes when hired, and with unmeaning
action,

"I hopes as how to give you satisfaction."
Her second act displays a livelier scene-
The unblushing bar-maid of a country inn,
Who whisks about the house at market caters,
Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the
waiters.

Next the scene shifts to town, and there she

soars,

The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs.
On 'squires and cits she there displays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts-
And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete,
Ev'n common-council-men forget to eat.
The fourth act shows her wedded to the 'squire,
And madam now begins to hold it higher;
Pretends to taste, at operas cries caro,
And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che Faro :
Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheap-
side:

Ogles and leers with artificial skill,
Till, having lost in age the power to kill,
She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.

Such, through our lives the eventful historyThe fifth and last act still remains for me. The bar-maid now for your protection prays, Turns female Barrister, and pleads for Bays.

EPILOGUE,*

TO BE SPOKEN IN THE CHARACTER OF

TONY LUMPKIN. Į

BY J. CRADOCK, Esq. WELL-now all's ended-and my comrades gone,

Pray what becomes of mother's nonly son?
A hopeful blade !-in town I'll fix my station,
And try to make a bluster in the nation :
As for my cousin Neville, I renounce her,
Off-in a crack-I'll carry big Bet Bouncer.

Why should not I in the great world appear?
I soon shall have a thousand pounds a year!
No matter what a man may here inherit,
In London-'gad, they've some regard to spirit.
I see the horses prancing up the streets,
And big Bet Bouncer bobs to all she meets ;
Then hoiks to jigs and pastimes every night-
Not to the plays-they say it a'n't polite;
To Sadler's Wells, perhaps, or operas go,
And once by chance to the roratorio.
Thus here and there, for ever up and down,
We'll set the fashions too to half the town;
And then at auctions-money ne'er regard,
Buy pictures like the great, ten pounds a-yard:
Zounds, we shall make these London gentry

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LETTERS

FROM A

CITIZEN OF THE WORLD

TO HIS

FRIENDS IN THE EAST.

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