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RUST.

How! confefs myself in the fault?

JULIET.

Ay; for the best thing that a man can do, when he finds he can't be beloved, is to take care he is not heartily hated. There is no other alternative.

RUST.

Madam, I fha'n't break my word with Sir

Thomas.

JULIET.

Nor I with myself. So there's an end of our conference. Sir, your very obedient.

RUST.

Madam, I, I, don't-that is, let me-But no

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Ha, ha, ha! Incomparable Juliet! How the old dotard trembled and tottered; he could not have been more inflam'd, had he been robb'd of his Otho.

JULIET.

Ay; was ever goddess fo familiarly used? In my confcience, I began to be afraid that he would treat me as the Indians do their dirty divinitics; whenever they are deaf to their prayers, they beat and abuse them.

BEVER.

But, after all, we are in an aukward fituation.

JULIET.

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Your uncle has refolved that you should be married to Ruft.

JULIET.

Ay, he may decree; but it is I that must

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Then I am at the height of my hopes.

JULIET.

Your hopes! Your hopes and your fears are ill-founded alike.

BEVER.

Why, you are determined not to be his.

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What then! why then you will be mine.

JULIET.

Indeed! and is that the natural confequence? Whoever won't be his, must be your's. Is that the logic of Oxford?

BEVER.

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Madam, I did flatter myself

JULIET.

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JULIET.

Then you did very wrong, indeed, Mr. Bever: you should ever guard against flattering yourself; for of all dangerous parafites, felf is the worst.

I am aftonish'd!

BEVER.

JULIET.

Astonish'd! your are mad, I believe! Why, I have not known you a month. It is true, my uncle fays your father is his friend; your fortune, in time, will be eafy; your figure is not remarkably faulty; and as to your understanding, paffable enough for a young fellow who has not feen much of the world: but when one talks of a hufband-Lord, it's quite another fort of aHa, ha, ha! Poor Bever, how he ftares! he stands like a ftatue!

BEVER.

Statue, indeed, Madam; I am very near petrified.

JULIET.

Even then you will make as good a husband as Ruft. But go, run, and join the affembly within: be attentive to every word, motion, and look of my uncle's; be dumb when he speaks, admire all he says, laugh when he fmirks, bow when he fneezes; in fhort, fawn, flatter, and cringe; don't be afraid of over-loading his ftomach, for the knight has a noble digestion, and you will find fome there who will keep you in

countenance.

BEVER.

I fly. So then, Juliet, your intention was only

to try

JULIET.

Don't plague me with impertinent questions: march! obey my directions. We muft leave the

iffue to Chance; a greater friend to mankind than they are willing to own. Oh, Oh, if any thing new should occur, you may come into the drawing room for further inftructions. [Exeunt feverally.

SCENE,

A ROOM IN SIR THOMAS LOFTY'S HOUSE.

Sir Thomas, Ruft, Puff, Dactyl, and others, discovered

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Then in this difette, this dearth of invention, give me leave, gentlemen, to distribute my ftores. I have here in my hand a little, fmart, fatyrical epigram; new, and prettily pointed: in fhort, a production that Martial himself would not have blush'd to acknowledge.

RUST.

Your own, Sir Thomas?

Sir THOMAS.

O fie! no; fent me this morning, anonymous

DACTYL.

Pray, Sir Thomas, let us have it.

By all means; by all means.

ALL.

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Sir THOMAS.

Sir THOMAS.

To Phillis.

Think'ft thou, fond Phillis, Strephon told thee true,
Angels are painted fair to look like you:
Another ftory all the town will tell;

Phillis paints fair-to look like an an-gel.

ALL.

Fine! fine! very fine!

DACTYL.

Such an ease and fimplicity.

PUFF.

The turn fo unexpected and quick.

RUST.

The fatire fo poignant.

Sir THOMAS.

Yes; I think it poffeffes, in an eminent degree, the three great epigrammatical requifites; brevity, familiarity, and feverity.

Phillis paints fair to look like an an-gel.
DACTYL.

Happy! Is the Phillis, the fubject, a secret?

Sir THOMAS.

Oh, dear me! nothing perfonal; no; an impromptu; a mere jeu d'efprit.

PUFF.

Then, Sir Thomas, the fecret is out; it is your

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