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My joys are turbulent, iny hopes shew like

fruition, These high and gusty relishes of life, sure, Have no allayings of mortality in them. I am too hot now and o'ercapable, For the tedious processes, and creeping wisdom, Of human acts, and enterprizes of a man. I want some seasonings of adversity, Some strokes of the old mortifier Calamity, To take these swellings down, divines call vanity.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Mr. Woodvil, Mr. Woodvil.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Where is Woodvil ?

GRAY. Let him alone. I have seen him in these lunes before. His abstractions must not taint the good mirth.

JOHN. (continuing to soliloquize.) O for some friend now, To conceal nothing from, to have no secrets. How fine and noble a thing is confidence, How reasonable too, and almost godlike! Fast cement of fast friends, band of society, Old natural go-between in the world's business, Where civil life and order, wanting this cement,

Would presently rush back
Into the pristine state of singularity,
And each man stand alone.

(A Servant enters.) Gentlemen, the fire-works are ready.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. What be they?

LOVEL. The work of London artists, which our host has provided in honour of this day.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Sdeath, who would part with his wine for a rocket?

LOVEL. Why truly, gentlemen, as our kind host has been at the pains to provide this spectacle, we can do no less than be present at it.

It will not take up much time. Every man may return fresh and thirsting to his liquor.

THIRD GENTLEMAN, There is reason in what he says.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Charge on then, bottle in hand. There's husbandry in that, (They go out, singing. Only Lovel remains, JOHN. (Still talking to him self.) This Lovel here's of a tough honesty, Would put the rack to the proof. He is not of

who observes Woodvil.

that sort, Which haunt my house, snorting the liquors, And when their wisdoms are afloat with wine, Spend vows as fast as vapours,



Even with the fumes, their fathers. He is one,
Whose sober morning actions
Shame not his o'ernight's promises ;
Talks little, flatters less, and makes no promises;
Why this is he, whom the dark-wisdom'd fate
Might trust her counsels of predestination with,
And the world be no loser.
Why should I fear this man?

(Seeing Lovel.)
Where is the company gone?

LOVEL. To see the fire-works, where you will be expected to follow. But I perceive you are better engaged.

I have been meditating this half-hour
On all the properties of a brave friendship,
The mysteries that are in it, the noble uses,
Its limits withal, and its nice boundaries,

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Exempli gratia, how far a man
May lawfully forswear himself for his friend;
What quantity of lies, some of them brave ones,
He may lawfully incur in a friend's behalf;
What oaths, blood-crimes, hereditary quarrels,
Night brawls, fierce words, and duels in the

morning, He need not stick at, to maintain his friend's honor, or his cause.

I think many men would die for their friends.

Death! why 'tis nothing. We go to it for sport,
To gain a name, or purse, or please a sullen

humour, When one has worn his fortune's livery thread

bare, Or his spleen'd mistress frowns. Husbands will

venture on it, To cure the hot fits and cold shakings of jealousy. A friend, sir, must do more.

LOVEL. Can he do more than die ?

JOHN. To serve a friend this he may do. Pray mark me. Having a law within (great spirits feel one)

He cannot, ought not to be bound by any
Positive laws or ord’nances extern,
But may reject all these: by the law of friend

He may do so much, be they, indifferently,
Penn'd statutes, or the land's unwritten usages,
As public fame, civil compliances,
Misnamed honor, trust in matter of secrets,
All vows and promises, the feeble mind's religion,
(Binding our morning knowledge to approve
What last night's ignorance spake);
The ties of blood withal, and prejudice of kin.
Sir, these weak terrors
Must never shake me. I know what belongs
To a worthy friendship. Come, you shall bave
my confidence.

I hope you think me worthy.

You will smile to hear now
Sir Walter never has been out of the island.

You amaze me.

That same report of his escape to France
Was a fine tale, forg'd by myself -

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