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aunt cannot prevent me from, and it will make us happy for a while at leaft; and I prefer a year, a month, a day, with the man I love, to a whole ftupid age without him.

Val. O, my dear love! and I prefer an hour with thee to all that heaven can give me. Oh! I am fo blest, that fortune cannot make me miferable.

AIR XI. The lafs of Patie's mill..
Thus when the tempeft high
Roars dreadful from above,
The conftant turtles fly

Together to the grove:
Each fpreads its tender wings,
And hovers o'er its mate;
They kifs, they cooe, and fing,
And love in fpite of fate.

My tender heart me long beguil'd,
I now firft my paffions prov'd;,
Had fortune on you ever fmil'd,

I'd not known how well I lov'd.
Base paffions, like bafe metals, cold,
With true may feem the fame;
But wou'd you know true love and gold,
Still try them in the flame.

Enter Oldcastle and Mrs Highman.

Old. Here, Madam; now you may truft your own eyes,, you won't believe mine.


Mrs High. What do I fee! my niece in the very arms of her betrayer, and his father an abettor of the inju ftice!————Sir, give me leave to tell you, your madness is a poor excufe for this behaviour.

Good. Madam, I ask your pardon for what I faid to you to-day. I was impos'd on by a vile wretch, who, I dare fwear, misrepresented each of us to the other. I affure you I am not mad, nor do I believe you so.

Mrs High. Thou vile wretch, thou difhonour of thy family! How doft thou dare to appear before my face? Char. Madam, I have done nothing to be asham'd of; and I dare appear before any one's face.


Good. Is this young lady a relation of yours? Mrs High. She was, before your fon had accomplish'd his bafe defigns upon her.

Char. Madam, you injure him; his defigns on me have been ftill honourable; nor hath he faid any thing which the most virtuous ears might not have heard.

Val. To-morrow fhall filence your fufpicions on that -head.

Mrs High. What, Mr Goodall, do you forgive your fon's extravagance?

Good. Is this lady your heirefs?

Mrs High. I once intended her fo.

Good. Why then, Madam, I like her generous paffion for my fon fo much, that if you will give her a fortune equal to what I fhall fettle on him, I shall not prevent their happiness.

Mrs High. Won't you? and I fee fhe is fo entirely his in her rt, that fince he hath not dared to think difhonourably of her, I fhall do all in my power to make it a bargain.

Val. Eternal bleffings on you both! Now, my Charlotte, I am blefs'd indeed.

Old. And pray, Madam, what's to become of me? Mrs High. That, Sir, I cannot poffibly tell: you know I was your friend; but my niece thought fit to difpofe of herself another way.

Old. Your niece has behaved like a

-Bodikins! I am

in a paffion; and for her fake, I'll never make love to any woman again, I'm resolv'd. [Exit in a pet.

Mrs High. No imprudent refolution.

Good. I hope, Valentine, you will make the only return in your power to my paternal tenderness in forgiving you; and let the mifery you fo narrowly efcaped from your former extravagances be a warning to you for the future.

Val. Sir, was my gratitude to your great goodness infufficient to reclaim me, I am in no danger of engaging in any vice whereby this lady might be a fufferer. Single, I'd fuffer fate's fevereft dart

Unmov'd; but who can bear the double fmart,
When forrow preys upon the fair one's heart!




Spoken by Mrs CLIVE.

APOET bould, unless bis fate be gueft,

Write for each play two Epilogues at least;
For how to empty benches can we fay,
"What means this mighty crowding bere to-day?"
Or foou'd the pit with flattery be cramm'd,
How can we Speak it, when the play is damn'd?
Damn'd, did I fay? -be furely need not fear it;
His play is fafe-
when none will come to bear it.
English is now below this learned town;
None but Italian warblers will go dozun.
Tho' courts were more polite, the English ditty
Cou'd heretofore at leaft content the city:
That, for Italian now has let us drop;
And Dimi Cara rings thro' ev'ry shop.
What glorious thoughts must all our neighbours nourifo
Of us, where rival operas can flourifb!
Let France win all our towns: we need not fear

But Italy will fend her fingers here;

We cannot buy them at a price too dear.
Let us receive them to our peaceful fhore,
While in their own the angry cannons roar:
Here they may fing in fafety, we reward’em;"
Here no Vifconti threatens to bombard 'em.

Orpheus drew flones with his enchanting fong;
Thefe can do more, they draw our gold along.
-But tho' our angry poets rail in fpite,
Ladies, I own, I think your judgment right:
Satire, perhaps, may wound fome pretty thing;
Thofe foft Italian warblers have no fling;
Tho' your foft hearts the tuneful charm may win,
You're fill fecure to find no harm within.
Wifely from thefe rude places you abftain,
Where fatire gives the wounded hearer pain.
'Tis hard to pay them who our faults reveal,
As boys are forc'd to buy the rods they feel.
No, let 'em ftarve, who dare to lab the age,
And, as you've left the pulpit, leave the flage.


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Spoken by Mr KING.

HITHER, in days of yore, from Spain or France,
Came a dread forceress; ber name Romance.
O'er Britain's ifle her wayward spells fhe caft,
And common fenfe in magic chain bound faft.
In mad fublime did each fond lover woo,
And in beroics ran each billet-doux:
High deeds of chivalry their fale delight,
Each fair a maid diftreft, each frain a knight.
Then might Statira Oroondates fee,
At tilts and tournaments, arm'd cap-a-pee.
She too, on milk-white palfrey, lance in hand,
A dwarf to guard her, pranc'd about the land.

This fiend to quell, his fword Cervantes drew,
A trufty Spanish blade, Toledo true:
Her talifmans and magic wand be broke-
Knights, genii, caftles vanifb'd into smoke.
But now, the dear delight of later years,
The younger fifter of Romance, appears


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Lefs folemn is her air, her drift the fame,
And Novel ber enchanting, charming name.
Romance might fitrike our grave forefathers pomp,
But Novel for our buck and lively romp!
Caffandra's folios now no longer read;
See two neat pocket-volumes in their flead!
And then fo fentimental is the flyle,
So chafte, yet fo bewitching all the while!
Plot and elopement, paffion, rape, and rapture,
The total fum of ev'ry dear-dear-chapter.

'Tis not alone the small-talk and the smart,
'Tis novel moft beguiles the female beart.
Mifs reads-be melts-fbe fighs-love feals upon her-
And then-alas, poor girl!—good night, poor bonour !-

"Thus of our Polly having lightly spoke, « Now for our author! but without a joke, "Though wits and journals, who ne'er fibb'd before, "Have laid this bantling at a certain door, "Where, lying fore of faults, they'd fain heap more; "I now declare it as a ferious truth, "'Tis the first folly of a fimple youth, "Caught and deluded by our harlot plays"Then crufb not in the foell this infant Bayes; "Exert your favour to a young beginner, "Nor ufe the ftripling like a batter'd finner.”


SCENE, An Apartment in HONEYCOMBE's House.
POLLY, with a Book in her Hand.


ELL faid, Sir George!-O the dear man!But fo- "With these words the enraptur'd "baronet (reading) concluded his declaration of love." -So! But what heart can imagine, (reading), "what tongue defcribe, or what pen delineate, the " amiable confusion of Emilia ?"-Well, now for it. "Reader, if thou art a courtly reader, thou haft "feen, at polite tables, iced cream crimsoned with raf"berries; or, if thou art an uncourtly reader, thou haft "feen the rofy-finger'd morning dawning in the golden "eaft."-Dawning in the golden eaft!Very pretty.


These lines were added by Mr Garrick, on its being reported that he was author of this piece; and, however humorous and poetical, contain as strict matter of fact as the dullest profe.

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