and learn, as they fay-We grow older, and older every⚫ day Service is no inheritance in these ages

-There

are more places than parish-churches- So you may do as you please, your honour-But I shall look up my things; give up a month's wages, for want of a month's warning, and go my ways out of your house immediately.

[Exit. Hon. Why, you old beldam, I'll have you cartedYou shall be burnt for a witch- But I'll put an end to this matter at once- -Mr Ledger, you shall marry my daughter to-morrow morning. Led. Not I, indeed, my friend! I give up my interest -She'd make a terrible wife for a fober citizen

in her

-Who can anfwer for her behaviour?

not underwrite her for ninety per cent.

I would

[Exit.

Hon. See there! fee there!-My girl is undone.. Her character is ruined with all the world- -Thefe damn'd ftory-books!-What fhall we do, Mrs Honey. combe? what shall we do?

Mrs Hon. Look ye, my dear, you've been wrong in every particular

Hon. Wrong!I! Wrong!Mrs Hon. Quite wrong, my dear! I wou'd not expofe you before company-my tenderness, you know, is fo great-But leave the whole affair to me -You

are too violent- -Go, my dear, go and compofe yourfelf, and I'll fet all matters to rights- -(Going, turns back.) Don't you do any thing of your own head now -truft it all to me, my dear!-And I'll fettle it in fuch a manner, that you,-and I-and all the worldfhall be aftonished and delighted with it.

[Exit muttering. Hon. (alone.) Zouns, I fhall run mad with vexation -Was ever man fo heartily provoked?You fee now, gentlemen, (coming forward to the audience,) what a fituation I am in!-Inftead of happiness and jollity-my friends and family about me--a wedding and a danceand every thing as it fhould be-here am I, left by myfelf-deferted by my intended fon-in-law-bully'd by an attorney's clerk-affronted by my own fervant-my daughter mad-my wife in the vapours-and all's in confufion.. This comes of cordials and novels. VOL. III.

R

Zouns,

Zouns, your ftomachics are the devil-and a man might as well turn his daughter loofe in Covent-garden, as truft the cultivation of her mind to

A CIRCULATING LIBRARY.

EPILOGU E.

Written by Mr GARRICK.
Spoken by Mifs POPE.

Enters, as Polly, laughing-Ha, ha, ba!

MY poor papa's in woful agitation

While I, the caufe, feel here (ftriking her bofom) no palpitation

We girls of reading and fuperior notions,

Who from the fountain-bead drink love's fweet potions,

Pity our parents, when fuch paffion blinds 'em;

One bears the good folks rave one never minds 'em.
Till thefe dear books infus'd their foft ingredients,
Afbam'd and fearful, I was all obedience.
Then my good father did not form in vain,
I blufb'd, and cry'd I'll ne'er do fo again:",
But now no bugbears can my fpirit tame,
I've conquer'd fear and almoft conquer'd fhame.
So much thefe dear inftructors change and win us,
Without their light we ne'er foou'd know what's in us.
Here we at once supply our childish wants
Novels are hotbeds for your forward plants.
Not only fentiments refine the foul,

But bence we learn to be the fmart and drele;
Each aukward circumftance for laughter ferves,
From nurfe's nonfenfe to my mother's nerves.
Though parents tell us, that our genius lies
In mending linen and in making pies;

I fet fuch formal precepts at defiance,

That preach up prudente, neatness, and compliance:
Leap thefe old bounds, and boldly fet the pattern,

To be a wit, philofopher, and flattern

O! did all maids and wives my spirit feel,

We'd make this topfy-turvy world to reel.
Let us to arms!Our fathers, bufbands, dare!
Novels will teach us all the art of war:
Our tongues will ferve for trumpet and for drum;
I'll be your leader-General Honeycombe!
Too long has buman nature gone aftray;
Daughters Jhould govern, parents should obey:
Man fould fubmit, the moment that he weds;
And bearts of oak fhould yield to wifer heads.
1 fee you fmile, bold Britons!-But 'tis true-
Beat you the French ;—but let your wives beat you

THE

IS not the marriage, but the man, we hate; 'Tis there we reafon and debate:

For, give us but the man we love,

We're fure the marriage to approve.

Well, this barbarous will of parents is a great drawback on the inclinations of young people.

Betty. Indeed and fo it is, Mem. For my part I'm no heiress, and therefore at my own difpofal; and if I

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was under the restraint of the act, and kept from men, I would run to feed, so I would.-But la! Mem, I had forgot to acquaint you, I verily believes that I faw your Irish lover the captain; and I conceits it was he, and no other, fo I do--and I faw him go into the blue poftices, fo I did.

Lucy. My Irish lover, Mifs Pert! I never fo much as faw his face in all my born days, but I hear he's a strange animal of a brute-Pray, had he his wings on? 1 fuppofe they fav'd him in his paffage.

Betty. Oh! Mem, you mistakes the Irishmen. I am told they are as gentle as doves to our fex, with as much politenefs and fincerity as if born in our own country. Enter Cheatwell.

Cheat. Mifs, your most humble and obedient-I come to acquaint you of our danger :-our common enemy is juft imported hither, and is inquiring for your father's house thro' every ftreet.-The Irish captain, in fhort, is come to London. Such a figure! and so attended by the rabble!

Lucy. I long to fee him;-and Irishmen, I hear, are not fo defpicable: befides, the captain may be mifreprefented. (Afide.) Well, you know my father's defign is to have as many fuitors as he can, in order to have choice of them all.

Cheat. I have nothing but your prepoffeffions and fincerity to depend on. O here's my trusty Mercury.

Enter Sconce.

Well, Sconce, have you dogged the Captain?

Sconce. Yes, yes.-I left him fnug in the Blue Pofts, devouring a large difh of potatoes and half a furloin of beef for his breakfast.- He's just pat to our purpose; -eafily humm'd, as fimple and as undefigning as we would have him. Well, and what do you propose?

Cheat. Propofe! why to drive him back to his native bogs as faft as poffible.

Lucy. Oh! Mr Cheatwell

of the creter?

-pray let's have a fight

Cheat. Oh! female curiofity. Why, child, he'd frighten

thee-he's above fix feet high

Sconce. A great huge back and fhouldersgreat long fword, which he calls his Sweetlips.

-wears a

Lucy.

Lucy. I hear the Irith are naturally brave.

Sconce. And carries a large oaken cudgel, which he calls his Shillela.

Lucy. Which he can make use of on occafions, I fup pofe.

[Afide. Sconce. Add to this a great pair of jack-boots, a Cumberland pinch to his hat, an old red coat, and a damn'd potatoe-face.

Lucy. He must be worth seeing, truly.

Cheat. Well, my dear girl, be conftant, with me fuccefs; for I fhall so hum, so roast, and so banter this fame Irish captain, that he'll scarce with himself in London again these feven years to come. Lucy. About it-Adieu

Capt.

I hear my father.

[Exeunt feverally.

SCENE, A Street.

Enter Captain O'Blunder and Sergeant.

Tho' I will be dying,

For Captain O'Brien,

In the county of Kerry;

Tho' I would be fad,

I'll be very glad

That you will be merry.

Upon my fhoul, this London is a pretty fort of a plash enough. And fo you tell me Chergeant, that Terence M'Gloodtery keeps a goon..

Serg. Yefs, Sir.

Capt. Monomundioul!-but when I go back to Ireland, if I catches any of thefe fpalpeen brats keeping a goon, to destroy the fhentleman's creation, but I will have 'em fhot ftone dead first, and phipt thorrow the re-giment afterwards.

Serg. You mean that they shall be whipped first, and

then shot.

Capt. Well, ifhn't it the fame thing? Phat the devile magnifies that? "Tis but phipping and hooting all the time; 'tis the fame thing in the end fure, after all yourcunning; but still you'll be a wifeacre.- -Monomundioul, there ifh'nt one of thefe fpalpeens that has a cab. bin upon a mountain, with a bit of a potatoe-garden at the back of it, but will be keeping a goon;-but that

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damn'di