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Mum!

Miss Rich. Sooner, sir, I should hope. Lof. Why, yes, I believe it may, if it falls into proper hands, that know where to push and where to parry; that know how the land lies-ch, Honeywood?

Miss Rich. It is fallen into yours.

Lof. Well, to keep you no longer in suspense, your thing is done. It is done, I say - that's all. I have just had assurances from Lord Neverout, that the claim has been examined, and found admissible. Quietus is the word, madam.

Hon. But how! his lordship has been at Newmarket these ten days.

Lof. Indeed! then Sir Gilbert Goose must have been most damnably mistaken. I had it of

him.

Miss Rich. He! why Sir Gilbert and his family have been in the country this month.

Lof. This month! it must certainly be soSir Gilbert's letter did come to me from Newmarket, so that he must have met his lordship there; and so it came about.-I have his letter about me; I'll read it to you.-[Taking out a large bundle. That's from Paoli of Corsica, that from the Marquis of Squilachi —Have you a mind to see a letter from Count Poniatowski, now king of Poland?-Honest Pon-[Searching.]-O, sir, what are you here too?-I'll tell you what, honest friend, if you have not absolutely delivered my letter to Sir William Honeywood, you may return it. The thing will do without him.

Sir Wil. Sir, I have delivered it, and must inform it was received with the most mortifyyou, ing contempt.

Co. Contempt! Mr Lofty, what can that mean?

Lof. Let him go on, let him go on, I say. You'll find it come to something presently.

Sir Wil. Yes, sir, I believe you'll be amazed, if, after waiting some time in the anti-chamber, after being surveyed with insolent curiosity by the passing servants, I was at last assured, that Sir William Honeywood knew no such person, and I must certainly have been imposed upon.

Lof. Good; let me die, very good. Ha, ha, ha! Cro. Now, for my life, I cann't find out half the goodness of it.

Lof. You cann't? Ha, ha!

Cro. No, for the soul of me; I think it was as confounded a bad answer, as ever was sent from one private gentleman to another,

Lof. And so you cann't find out the force of the message? Why, I was in the house at that very time. Ha, ha! It was I that sent that very answer to my own letter. Ha, ha!

Cro. Indeed! How! Why!

Lof. In one word, things between Sir William and me must be behind the curtain. A party has many eyes. He sides with Lord Buzzard, I side with Sir Gilbert Goose. So that unriddles the mystery.

Cro. And so it does indeed, and all my suspicions are over.

Lof. Your suspicions!-What then you have been suspecting, you have been suspecting, have you? Mr Croaker, you and I were friends we are friends no longer. Never talk to me. It's over; I say, it's over.

Cro. As I hope for your favour, I did not mean to offend. It escaped me. Don't be discomposed. Lof. Zounds, sir, but I am discomposed, and will be discomposed! To be treated thus!-Who am I?-Was it for this I have been dreaded both by ins and outs?-Have I been libelled in the Gazetteer, and praised in the St James's ? have I been chaired at Wildman's, and a speaker at Merchant Tailors' Hall? have I had my hand to addresses, and my head in the print shops, and talk to me of suspects?

Cro. My dear sir, be pacified. What can you have but asking pardon?

Lof. Sir, I will not be pacified-Suspects! Who am I? To be used thus, have I paid court to men in favour to serve my friends, the lords of the treasury, Sir William Honeywood, and the rest of the gang, and talk to me of suspects!Who am I, I say, who am I?

Sir Wil. Since, sir, you're so pressing for an A gentleman answer, I'll tell you who you are. as well acquainted with politics, as with men in power; as well acquainted with persons of fashion, as with modesty; with lords of the treasury, as with truth; and with all, as you are with Sir William Honeywood. I am Sir William Honeywood. [Discovering his ensigns of the Bath, Cro. Sir William Honeywood! Hon. Astonishment! my uncle! Lof. So then my confounded genius has been all this time only leading me up to the garret, in order to fling me out of the window.

[Aside.

Cro. What, Mr Importance, and are these your works? Suspect you! You, who have been dreaded by the ins and outs: you, who have had your hand to addresses, and your head stuck up in print-shops. If you were served right, you should have your head stuck up in the pillory.

Lof. Ay, stick it where you will, for, by the Lord, it cuts but a very poor figure where it sticks at present.

Sir Wil. Well, Mr Croaker, I hope you now see how incapable this gentleman is of serving you, and how little Miss Richland has to expect from his influence.

Cro. Ay, sir, too well I see it, and I cann't but say I have had some boding of it these ten days. So I'm resolved, since my son has placed his af

fections on a lady of moderate fortune, to be sa-
tisfied with his choice, and not run the hazard of
another Mr Lofty in helping him to a better.
Sir Wil. I approve your resolution, and here
they come, to receive a confirmation of your par-
don and consent.

Enter Mrs CROAKER, JARVIS, LEONTINE, and
OLIVIA.

Mrs Cro. Where's my husband?—Come, come, lovey, you must forgive them. Jarvis here, has been to tell me the whole affair; and, I say, you must forgive them. Our own was a stolen match, you know, my dear; and we never had any reason to repent of it.

Cro. I wish we could both say so: however, this gentleman, Sir William Honeywood, has been beforehand with you, in obtaining their pardon. So, if the two poor fools have a mind to marry, I think we can tack them together without crossing the Tweed for it. Joining their hands. Leo. How blest, and unexpected! What, what can we say to such goodness! But our future obedience shall be the best reply. And, as for this gentleman, to whom we owe

Sir Wil. Excuse me, sir, if I interrupt your thanks, as I have here an interest that calls me. [Turning to HONEYWOOD.] Yes, sir, you are surprised to see me; and I own that a desire of correcting your follies led me hither. I saw, with indignation, the errors of a mind that only sought applause from others; that easiness of disposition, which, tho' inclined to the right, had not courage to condemn the wrong. I saw with regret those splendid errors, that still took name from some neighbouring duty. Your charity, that was but injustice; your benevolence, that was but weakness; and your friendship but credulity. I saw, with regret, great talents and extensive learning only employed to add sprightliness to error, and increase your perplexities. I saw your mind with a thousand natural charms: but the greatness of its beauty served only to heighten my pity for its prostitution.

Hon. Cease to upbraid me, sir; I have for some time but too strongly felt the justice of your reproaches. But there is one way still left me: Yes, sir, I have determined this very hour to quit for ever a place where I have made myself the voluntary slave of all; and to seek among strangers that fortitude which may give strength to

| the mind, and marshal all its dissipated virtues. Yet, ere I depar, permit me to solicit favour for this gentleman; who, notwithstanding what has happened, has laid me under the most signal obligations. Mr Lofty

Lof. Mr Honeywood, I'm resolved upon a reformation, as well as you. I now begin to find, that the man who first invented the art of speaking truth was a much cunninger fellow than I thought him. And, to prove that I design to speak truth for the future, I must now assure you, that you owe your late enlargement to another; as, upon my soul, I had no hand in the matter. So now, if any of the company has a mind for preferment, he may take my place—I'm determined to resign. [Exit.

Hon. How have I been deceived! Sir Wil. No, sir, you have been obliged to a kinder, fairer friend for that favour-To Miss Richland. Would she complete our joy, and make the man she has honoured by her friendship happy in her love, I should then forget all, and be as blest as the welfare of my dearest kins man can make me.

Miss Rich. After what is past, it would be but affectation to pretend to indifference. Yes, I will own an attachment, which, I find, was more than friendship. And if my entreatis cannot alter his resolution to quit the country, I will even try if my hand has not power to detain him. [Giving her hand,

Hon. Heavens! how can I have deserved all this! How express my happiness, my gratitude! A moment, like this, overpays an age of appre

hension.

Cro. Well, now I see content in every face; but Heaven send we be all better this day three months.

Sir Wil. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect yourself. He who seeks only for applause from without, has all his happiness in another's keeping.

Hon. Yes, sir, I now too plainly perceive my errors. My vanity, in attempting to please all, by fearing to offend any; my meanness in approving folly, lest fools should disapprove. Henceforth, therefore, it shall be my study to reserve my pity for real distress; my friendship for true merit; and my love for her, who first taught me what it is to be happy.

[Excunt.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MRS BULKLEY.

As puffing quacks some caitiff wretch procure
To swear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure;
Thus on the stage, our play-wrights still depend
For Epilogues and Prologues on some friend,
Who knows each art of coaxing up the town,
And make full many a bitter pill go down.
Conscious of this, our bard has gone about,
And teased each rhyming friend to help him out.
An Epilogue,-things cann't go on without it;
It could not fail, would you but set about it.
Young man, cries one (a bard laid up in clover)
Alas, young man, my writing days are over;
Let boys play tricks, and kick the straw, not I;
Your brother doctor there, perhaps, may try.
What I! dear sir, the doctor interposes;
What, plant my thistle, sir, among his roses!
No, no, I've other contests to maintain;
To-night I head our troops at Warwick-lane.

Go, ask your manager-Who, me! Your pardon;
Those things are not our forte at Covent-Garden.
Our author's friends, thus placed at happy dis-
tance,

Give him good words indeed, but no assistance.
As some unhappy wight, at some new play,
At the pit-door stands elbowing away,
While oft, with many a smile, and many a shrug,
He eyes the centre, where his friends sit snug,
His simpering friends, with pleasure in their eyes,
Sink as he sinks, and as he rises rise:
He nods, they nod; he cringes, they grimace;
But not a soul will budge to give him place.
Since then, unhelp'd, our bard must now conform
To 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
Blame where you must, be candid where you can,
And be each critic the Good-Natured Man.

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER;

OR

THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

BY

GOLDSMITH.

PROLOGUE.

BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.

Enter Mr WOODWARD, dressed in Black, and

holding a Handkerchief to his Eyes.

EXCUSE me, sirs, I pray-I cann't yet speak-
I'm crying now-and have been all the week!
'Tis not alone this mourning suit, good masters;
I've that within-for which there are no plasters!
Pray would you know the reason why I'm crying?
The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!
And if she goes, my tears will never stop:
For, as a player, I cann't squeeze out one drop:
I am undone, that's all-shall lose my bread-
I'd rather-but that's nothing—lose my head.
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
Shuter and I shall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in sentimentals, will succeed!
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents,
We can as soon speak Greek as sentiments!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up,
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall we do?—If Comedy forsake us,
They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us.
But why cann't I be moral?-Let me try-
My heart thus pressing-fix'd my face and eye-

With a sententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks, in sentimental scenes,)
Thus I begin-All is not gold that glitters,
Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters
When ign'rance enters, folly is at hand;
Learning is better far than house or land.
Let not your virtue trip; who trips may stumble,
And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble.

I give it up-Morals won't do for me:
To make you laugh I must play tragedy.
One hope remains-Hearing the maid was ill,
A doctor comes this night to shew his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He, in five draughts prepared, presents a potion:
A kind of magic charm-for, be assured,
If you will swallow it, the maid is cured;
But desp❜rate the doctor, and her case is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
No pois'nous drugs are mixed with what he gives:
Should he succeed, you'll give him his degree;
If not, within he will receive no fee!
The college you, must his pretensions back,
Pronounce him regular, or dub him quack.

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SCENE I.—A Chamber in an old-fashioned House. Enter Mrs HARDCASTLE, and Mr HARDCAS

TLE.

Mrs Hard. I vow, Mr Hardcastle, you're very particular. Is there a creature in the whole country, but ourselves, that does not take a trip to town now and then to rub off the rust a little? There's the two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour, Mrs Grigsby, go to take a month's polishing every winter.

Hard. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home. In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as inside passengers, but in the very basket.

Mrs Hard. Ay, your times were fine times, indeed: : you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never see company. Our best visitors are old Mrs Oddfish, the curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all our entertainment, your old stories of Prince Eugene and the duke of Marlborough. I hate such oldfashioned trumpery.

Hard. And I love it. I love every thing that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and, I believe, Dorothy, [Taking her hand.] you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife.

Mrs Hard. Lord, Mr Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothy's and your old wife's. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promise you. I'm not so old as you'd make me by more than

one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that.

Hurd. Let me see; twenty added to twenty, makes just fifty and seven.

Mrs Hard. It's false, Mr Hardcastle: I was but twenty when I was brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr Lumpkin, my first husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet.

Hard. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, you have taught him finely.

Mrs Hurd. No matter, Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred a year.

Hard. Learning, quotha? a mere composition of tricks and mischief.

Mrs Hard. Humour, my dear; nothing but hu mour. Come, Mr Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour.

Hard. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footmen's shoes, frighting the maids, worrying the kittens, be humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs Frizzle's face.

Mrs Hard. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a lit the stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him?

Hard. Latin for him! A cat and a fiddle. No, no, the ale house and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.

Mrs Hard, Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I believe we sha'n't have him long among us. Any body that .ooks in his face may see he's consumptive.

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