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to Lady Charlotte: away with her-bring mademoiselle away to me, that she may not be a witness-Come, good Mr Trusty. [Excunt. Enter Lord HARDY, leading HARRIOT, CAMPLEY, and TRIM.

L. Har. Why, then, I find this Mr Trim is a perfect general. But were not you saying, my ford, you believed Lady Brumpton would follow hither? If so, pray let me be gone

L. Hardy. No, madam; I must beseech your ladyship to stay; for there are things alleged against her which you, who have lived in the family, may, perhaps, give light into, and which I cann't believe even she could be guilty of.

L. Hur. Nay, my lord, that's generous to a folly, for even for her usage of you (without regard to myself), I am ready to believe she would do any thing that can come into the head of a close, malicious, cruel, designing woman.

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your heels are a great help to your head-They relieve your wit, I see; and I don't question but ere now they have been as kind to your valourHa! ha ha!

Camp. Pox! I can say nothing, 'tis always thus with your endeavours to be witty. [Aside.] I saw, madam, your mouth go, but there could be nothing offered in answer to what my lady Harriot said-'Twas home-'Twas cutting satire

L. Har. Oh, Mr Campley! But pray, madam, has Mr Cabinet visited your ladyship since this calamity- -How stands that affair now?

Wid. Nay, madam, if you already want instructions-I'll acquaint you how the world stands, if you are in distress, but I fear Mr Campley overhears us.

Camp. I swear, Lady Harriot, were I not already yours, I could have a tendre for this lady.

Wid. Come, good folks, I find we are very free with each other-What makes you two here? Do you board my lord, or he you? Come, come, ten shillings a-head will go a great way in a family.- What do you say, Mrs Campley, is it so? Does your ladyship go to market yourself?-Nay, you are in the right of it-Come, can you imagine what makes my lord stay? He is not now with his land steward—not signing leases, I hope-Ha! ha! ha!

Camp. Hang her, to have more tongue than a man and his wife too. [Aside.

Enter Lord HARDY.

L. Hardy. Because your ladyship is, I know, in very much pain in company that you have injur'd, I'll be short- -Open those doors; there lies your husband's, my father's, body, and by you stands the man accuses you of poisoning him!

Wid. Of poisoning him!

Trusty. The symptoms will appear upon the

L. Hardy. But I am seized by nature. How shall I view a breathless lump of clay-him, whose high veins conveyed to me this vital force and motion.

O, my lady Brumpton, your ladyship's most obe-
dient servant. This is my lady Harriot Camp-corpse.
ley-Why, madam, your ladyship is immedi-
ately in your mourning-Nay, as you have more
wit than any body, so (what seldom wits have)
you have more prudence too-Other widows have
nothing in readiness but a second husband-but
you, I see, had your very weeds and dress lying
by you-

L. Har. Ay, madam: I see your ladyship is of the order of widowhood, for you have put on the habit

Wid. I see your ladyship is not of the profession of virginity, for you have lost the look on't

Camp. You're in the habit-That was so pretty; nay, without flattery, Lady Harriot, you have a great deal of wit, ha! ha! ha!

L. Har. No, my lady Brumpton, here, is the woman of wit; but indeed she has got but little enough, considering how much her ladyship has to defend-Ha! ba! ha!

Wid. I'm sorry, madam, your ladyship has not what's sufficient for your occasions, or that this pretty gentleman cann't supply them. [CAMPLEY dancing about and trolling. Hey-day, I find, sir,

I cannot bear this sight—
│I am as fix'd and motionless as he-

[They open the coffin, out of which
jumps Lady Charlotte.
Art thou the ghastly shape iny mind had form’d?
Art thou the cold inanimate-Bright maid!
Thou giv'st new higher life to all around.
Whither does fancy, fir'd with love, convey me?
Why is my fair unmov'd-My heav'nly fair;
Does she but smile at my exalted rapture?

L. Char. Speak on, speak on, and charm my
attentive ear:

How sweet applause is from an honest tongue!
Nor now with fond reluctance doubt to enter
My spacious, bright abode, this gallant heart.

[Reclines on HARDY.

L. Har. Ay, marry, these are high doings indeed; the greatness of the occasion has burst their passion into speech-Why, Mr Campley, when we are near these fine folks, you and I are

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Camp. My lord, I never thought to see the minute wherein I should rejoice at your forgetting me, but now I do heartily. Embracing. Wid. Sir, you're at the bottom of all this-I see your skill at close conveyances-I'll know the meaning instantly of these intricacies; 'tis not your seeming honesty and gravity shall save you from your deserts-My husband's death was sudden-you and the burial fellow were observ'd very familiar-Produce my husband's body, or I'll try you for his murder; which I find you'd put on me, thou hellish engine!

Trusty. Look you, madam, I could answer you, but I scorn to reproach people in misery-you're undone, madam

Wid. What does the dotard mean? Produce the body, villain, or the law shall have thine for it-[TRUSTY exit, hastily.] Do you design to let the villain escape? How justly did your father judge, that made you a beggar with that spiritYou mentioned just now you could not bear the company of those you'd injur❜d.

1. Hardy. You are a woman, madam, and my father's widow-but sure you think you've highly injur❜d me.

[Here my Lord and TRUSTY half enter and

observe.

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Wid. What do I see, my lord, my master, husband, living!

L. Brump. [Turning from her, running to his son.] Oh! my boy, my son— -Mr CampleyCharlotte-Harriot-[All kneeling to him. Oh, my children, I shall expire in the too mighty pleasure! my boy!

L. Hardy. A son, an heir! a bridegroom in one hour! Oh, grant me, Heaven, grant me moderation!

Wid. A son, an heir! Am I neglected then? What! can my lord revive, yet dead to me? Only to me deceased--to me alone,

Deaf to my sighs, and senseless to my moan?

L. Brump. 'Tis so long since I have seen plays, good madam, that I know not whence thou dost repeat, nor can I answer.

Wid. You can remember though a certain settlement, in which I am thy son and heir, great noble! that I suppose not taken from a play, that's as irrevocable as law can make it.

Trusty. Value her not, my lord; a prior obligation made you incapable of settling on her, your wife.

L. Brump. Thy kindness, Trusty, does distract thee-I would indeed disengage myself by any honest means, but, alas, I know no prior gift that avoids this to her.

Trusty. Look you, madam, I'll come again immediately-Be not troubled, my dear lords—

[Exit. Camp. Trusty looks very confident, there is some good in that.

Re-enter TRUSTY with CABINET. Cab. What! my lord Brumpton living? nay, then

Trusty. Hold, sir, you must not stir, nor can you, sir, retract this for your hand-writing-My lord, this gentleman, since your supposed death, has lurked about the house to speak with my lady, or Tattleaid, who, upon your decease, have shunned him, in hopes, I suppose, to buy him off for ever-Now, as he was prying about, he peep'd into your closet-where he saw your lordship reading-struck with horror, and believing himself (as well he might) the disturber of your ghost for alienation of your fortune from your family

he writ me this letter, wherein he acknowledges a private marriage with this lady, half a year before you ever saw her.

All. How! All turn upon her disdainfully."
Wid. No more a widow then, but still a wife.
[Recovering from her confusion.

I am thy wife-thou author of my evil.
Thou must partake with me an homely board,
An homely board that never shall be cheerful;
But ev'ry meal embitter'd with upbraidings,
Thou that couldst tell me, good and ill were
words,

Thou that couldst basely let me to another,
Yet couldst see sprites, great unbeliever!
Coward! bugg-bear'd penitent-
Stranger henceforth to all my joys, my joys.
To thy dishonour; despicable thing,
Dishonour thee! Thou voluntary cuckold!
Thou disgrace to thy own sex, and the whole
human race!

May scorn and beggary pursue thy name,
And dark despair close up a life of shame.

[CABINET sneaks off. Widow flings after him, TATTLEAID following. L. Brump. I see you're all confused as well as I-Ye are my children-I hold you all so. And for your own use will speak plainly to you. I cannot hate that woman: nor shall she ever want. Though I scorn to bear her injuries-yet I ne'er been roused from that low passion to

worthless creature-but by disdain of her attempt on my friend's child. I am glad that scorn's confirmed by her being that fellow's-whom for my own sake I only will contemn. Thee, Trusty, how shall we prosecute with equal praise and thanks, for this great revolution in our house! Trusty. Never to speak on't more, my lord. L. Brump. Now, gentlemen, let the miseries which I have but miraculously escaped, admonish

you to have always inclinations proper for the stage of life you are in. You who the path of honour make your guide, Must let your passion with your blood subside; And no untim'd ambition, love, or rage, Employ the moments of declining age; Else boys will in your presence lose their fear, And laugh at the grey head they should revere. [Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

Love, hope, and fear, desire, aversion, rage,
All that can move the soul, or can assuage,
Are drawn in miniature of life, the stage.
Here you can view yourselves, and here is shown,
To what you're born in suferings not your own.
The stage to wisdom's no fantastic way,
Athens herself learn'd virtue at a play.
Our author me to-night a soldier drew;
But faintly writ, what warmly you pursue :
To his great purpose, had he equal fire,
He'd not aim to please only, but inspire;
He'd sing what hovering fate attends our isle,
And from base pleasure rouse to glorious toil.
Full time the earth t' a new decision brings,
While William gives the Roman eagle wings;
With arts and arms shall Britain tamely end,
Which naked Picts so bravely could defend ;

The painted heroes on th' invaders press,
And think their wounds addition to their dress :
In younger years we've been with conquest blest,
And Paris has the British yoke confess'd;
Is't then in England, in bless'd England known,
Her kings are nam'd from a revolted throne?
But we offend-You no examples need;
In imitation of yourselves proceed;
'Tis you your country's honour must secure;
Be all your actions worthy of Namur :
With gentle fires your gallantry improve;
Courage is brutal, if untouch'd with love.
If soon our utmost bravery's not display'd,
Think that bright circle must be captives made;
Let thoughts of saving them our toils beguile,
And they reward our labours with a smile.

THE

TENDER HUSBAND;

OR, THE

ACCOMPLISHED FOOLS.

BY

STEELE.

PROLOGUE.

BY MR ADDISON.

IN the first rise and infancy of farce,
When fools were many, and when plays were

scarce,

The raw, unpractis'd authors could with ease Α young and unexperienc'd audience please: No single character had e'er been shown, But the whole herd of fops was all their own; Rich in originals, they set to view,

In every piece, a coxcomb that was new.

But now our British Theatres can boast Drolls of all kinds, a vast unthinking host! Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows

Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux ;

Rough country knights are found of every shire,
Of every fashion gentle fops appear;
And punks of different characters we meet,
As frequent on the stage as in the pit:
Our modern wits are forc'd to pick and cull,
And here and there by chance glean up a fool:
Long ere they find the necessary spark,

They search the town, and beat about the Park:

2

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A SONG.

Designed for the FOURTH ACT, but not set,

Sce, Britons, see with awful eyes,
Britannia from her seas arise!
"Ten thousand billows round me roar
While winds and waves engage,
That break in froth upon my shore
And impotently rage.

Such were the terrors, which of late
Surrounded my afflicted state;

United fury thus was bent
On my devoted seats,

'Till all the mighty force was spent In feeble swells and empty threats.

"But now with rising glory crown'd,
My joys run high, they know no bound;
Tides of unruly pleasure flow
Through every swelling vein,

New raptures in my bosom glow,
And warm me up to youth again.
Passing pomps my streets adorn;
Captive spoils in triumph born.

"Standards of Gauls, in fight subdued,
Colours in hostile blood imbrued,
Ensigns of tyrannic might,
Foes to equity and right,

In courts of British justice wave on high,
Sacred to law and liberty.
My crowded Theatres repeat,
In songs of triumph, the defeat.

Did ever joyful mother see
So bright, so brave a progeny!
Daughters with so much beauty crown'd,
Or sons for valour so renown'd!

"But, Oh, I gaze and seek in vain
To find amidst this warlike train,
My absent sons, that us'd to grace
With decent pride this joyous place:
Unhappy youths! How do my sorrows rise,
Swell my breast and melt my eyes,

While I your mighty loss deplore.
Wild and raging with distress

I mourn, I mourn my own success,
And boast my victories no more.
Unhappy youths! far from their native sky,
On Danube's banks interr'd they lie.
Germania, give me back my slain,
Give me my slaughter'd sons again.
Was it for this they rang'd so far,
To free thee from oppressive war!
Germania, &c.

"Tears of sorrow while I shed,
O'er the manes of my dead,
Lasting altars let me raise
To my living heroes' praise;
Heaven give them a longer stay,
As glorious actions to display,
Or perish on as great a day.'

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