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forward. And so you have at last brought them home again.

Tony. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed lane, where we stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of Upand-down Hill-I then introduced them to the gibbet on Heavy-tree Heath, and from that, with a circumbendibus, I fairly lodged them in the horsepond at the bottom of the garden.

Hust. But no accident, I hope?

Tony. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks herself forty miles off. She's sick of the journey, and the cattle can scarce crawl. So, if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow you.

Hast. My dear friend, how can I be grateful? Tony. Ay, now it's dear friend, noble 'squire. Just now it was all idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn your way of fighting, I say. After we take a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be friends. But if you had run me through the guts, then I should be dead, and you might go kiss the hangman.

Hast. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to relieve Miss Neville; if you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of the young [Exit HASTINGS. Tony. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish. She's got from the pond, and draggled up to the waist like a mermaid.

one.

Enter Mrs HARDCASTLE.

Mrs Hard. Oh, Tony, I'm killed! Shook! Battered to death! I shall never survive it. That last jolt, that laid us against the quickset hedge, has done my business.

Tony. Alack, mamma! it was all your own fault. You would be for running away by night, without knowing one inch of the way.

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Mrs Hard. I wish we were at home again. never met so many accidents in so short a journey. Drench'd in the mud, overturn'd in a ditch, stuck fast in a slough, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way. Whereabouts do you think we are, Tony?

Tony. By my guess we should be upon Crackskull common, about forty miles from home.

Mrs Hard. O lud! O lud! the most notorious spot in all the country. We only want a robbery to make a complete night on't.

Tony. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be afraid. Two of the five that kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us. Don't be afraid. Is that a man that's galloping behind us? No; it's only a tree. Don't be afraid.

Mrs Hard. The fright will certainly kill me. Tony. Do you see any thing like a black hat moving behind the thicket?

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Tony. [Aside.] Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky, come to take one of his night walks. [To her. Ah, it's a highwayman with pistols as long as my arm. A damn'd ill-looking fellow.

Mrs Hurd. Good heaven defend us! He approaches

Tony. Do you hide yourself in that thicket, and leave me to manage him. If there be any danger, I'll cough and cry hem. When I cough be sure to keep close.

[Mrs HARDCASTLE hides behind a tree in the back scene.

Enter HARDCASTLE.

Hard. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of peo ple in want of help. Oh, Tony, is that you? I did not expect you so soon back. Are your mother and her charge in safety?

Tomy. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedigree's Hem!

Mrs Hard. [From behind.] Ah death! I find there's danger.

Hard. Forty miles in three hours? sure, that's too much, my youngster.

Tony. Stout horses, and willing minds, make short journies, as they say. Hem!

Mrs Hard. From behind.] Sure he'll do the dear boy no harm.

Hard. But I heard a voice here; I should be glad to know from whence it came?

Tony. It was I, sir, talking to myself, sir. I was saying that forty miles in three hours was very good going. Hem! As to be sure it was. Hem! I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We'll go in if you please. Hem!

Hard. But if you talk'd to yourself, you did not answer yourself. I am certain I heard two voices, and am resolved [Raising his voice.] to find the other out.

Mrs Hurd. [From behind.] Oh! he's coming to find me out. Oh!

Tony. What need you go, sir, if I tell you? Hem! I'll lay down my lite for the truth-Hem -I'll tell you all, sir. [Detaining him.

Hard. I tell you, I will not be detained. I insist on seeing. It's in vain to expect I'll believe you.

Mrs Hard. [Running forward from behind. O lud, he'll murder my poor boy, my darling. Here, good gentleman, whet your rage upon me. Take my money, my life, but spare that young gentleman, spare my child, if you have any mer cy.

Hard. My wife, as I am a Christian! From whence does she come, or what does she mean?

Mrs Hard. [Kneeling.] Take compassion on us, good Mr Highwayman. Take our money, our watches, all we have! but spare our lives. We will never bring you to justice, indeed we won't, good Mr Highwayman.

Hard. I believe the woman's out of her senses. What, Dorothy, don't you know me?

Mrs Hard. Mr Hardcastle, as I'm alive! My fears blinded me. But who, my dear, could have expected to meet you here, in this frightful place,

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so far from home? What has brought you to follow us?

Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits. So far from home! when you are within forty yards of your own door. [To him.] This is one of your old tricks, you graceless rogue you. [To her.] Don't you know the gate, and the mul berry-tree; and don't you remember the horsepond, my dear?

Mrs Hard. Yes, I shall remember the horsepond as long as I live; I have caught my death in it. [To TONY.] And is it to you, you graceless varlet, I owe all this? I'll teach you to abuse your mother, I will.

Tony. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you have spoiled me, and so you may take the fruits

on't.

Mrs Hard. I'll spoil you, I will.
[Follows him off the stage. Exeunt.
Hard. There's morality, however, in his reply.
[Exit.

Enter HASTINGS and Miss NEVILLE. Hast. My dear Constance, why will you deliberate thus? If we delay a moment, all is lost for ever. Pluck up a little resolution, and we shall soon be out of the reach of her malignity.

Miss Ner. I find it impossible. My spirits are so sunk with the agitations I have suffered, that I am unable to face any new danger. Two or three years patience will at last crown us with happiness.

Hast. Such a tedious delay is worse than inconstancy. Let us fly, my charmer. Let us date our happiness from this very moment. Perish fortune! Love and content will increase what we possess beyond a monarch's revenue. Let me prevail.

Miss Nev. No, Mr Hastings, no. Prudence once more comes to my relief, and I will obey its dictates. In the moment of passion, fortune may be despised, but it ever produces a lasting repentance. I'm resolved to apply to Mr Hardcastle's compassion and justice for redress.

Hust. But though he had the will, he has not the power to relieve you.

Miss Nev. But he has influence, and upon that

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SCENE III.-Changes.

Enter MARLOW.

Mar. Though prepared for setting out, I come once more to take leave; nor did I, till this moment, know the pain I feel in the separation.

Miss Hard. [In her own natural manner.] I believe these sufferings cannot be very great, sir, which you can so easily remove. longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, by A day or two shewing the little value of what you now think

proper to regret.

Mar. [Aside.] This girl every moment improves upon me. [To her. It must not be, madam. I have already trifled too much with my heart. My very pride begins to submit to my passion. The disparity of education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my equals, begin to lose their weight; and nothing can restore me to myself, but this painful effort of resolution.

Miss Hard. Then go, sir. I'll urge nothing more to detain you. Though my family be as good as her's you came down to visit, and my education, I hope, not inferior, what are these advantages without equal affluence? I must remain contented with the slight approbation of imputed merit; I must have only the mockery of your addresses, while all your serious aims are fixed on fortune.

Enter HARDCASTLE and Sir CHARLES MARLOW from behind.

Sir Char. Here, behind this screen. Hard. Ay, ay, make no noise. I'll engage my Kate covers him with confusion at last.

Mur. By heavens, madam, fortune was ever my smallest consideration. Your beauty at first caught my eye; for who could see that without emotion? But every moment that I converse with you steals in some new grace, heightens the picture, and gives it stronger expression. What at first seemed rustic plainness, now appears refined simplicity. What seemed forward assurance, now strikes me as the result of courageous innocence and conscious virtue.

Sir Char. What can it mean? He amazes me! Hard. I told you how it would be. Hush! Mar. I am now determined to stay, madam, and I have too good an opinion of my father's discernment, when he sees you, to doubt his approbation.

Miss Hard. No, Mr Marlow, I will not, cannot detain you. Do you think I could suffer a con

Enter Sir CHARLES MARLOW and Miss HARD- nection, in which there is the smallest room for

CASTLE.

Sir Char. What a situation am I in! If what you say appears, I shall then find a guilty son; if what he says be true, I shall then lose one that, of all others, I most wished for a daughter. Miss Hard. I am proud of your approbation, and, to shew I merit it, if you place yourselves as I directed, you shall hear his explicit declaration. But he comes.

Sir Char. I'll to your father, and keep him to the appointment. [Exit Sir CHARLES. |

VOL. IV.

repentance? Do you think I would take the mean advantage of a transient passion, to load you with confusion? Do you think I could ever relish that happiness which was acquired by lessening yours?

Mur. By all that's good, I can have no happiness but what's in your power to grant me; nor shall I ever feel repentance, but in not having seen your merits before. I will stay even contrary to your wishes; and, though you should persist to shun me, I will make my respectful assiduities atone for the levity of my past conduct. 2 N

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Miss Hard. Yes, sir, that very identical tall squinting lady you were pleased to take me for [Curtseying.] She that you addressed as the mild, modest, sentimental man of gravity, and the bold, forward, agreeable Rattle of the ladies' club; ha, ha, ha!

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Mar. Zounds! there's no bearing this; it's worse than death.

Miss Hard. In which of your characters, sir, will you give us leave to address you? As the faltering gentleman, with looks on the ground, that speaks just to be heard, and hates hypocrisy; or the loud confident creature, that keeps it up with Mrs Mantrap, and old Mrs Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morning; ha, ha, ha!

Mar. O, curse on my noisy head! I never attempted to be impudent yet, that I was not taken down. I must be gone.

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Mrs Hard. Well, if he has taken away the lady, he has not taken her fortune; that remains in this family to console us for her loss.

Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you would not be so mercenary?

Mrs Hard. Ay, that's my affair not yours. But you know if your son, when of age, refuses to marry his cousin, her whole fortune is then at her own disposal.

Hard. Ay, but he's not of age, and she has not thought proper to wait for his refusal.

Enter HASTINGS and Miss Neville. Mrs Hard. [Aside.] What, returned so soon; I begin not to like it.

Hast. [To HARDCASTLE.] For my late attempt to fly off with your niece, let my present confusion be my punishment. We are now come back, to appeal from your justice to your humanity. By her father's consent, I first paid my addresses, and our passions were first founded in duty.

Miss Nev. Since his death, I have been obliged to stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression. In an hour of levity, I was ready even to give up my fortune to secure my choice. But I am now recover'd from the delusion, and hope from your tenderness what is denied me from a nearer connection.

Mrs Hard. Pshaw, pshaw! this is all but the whining end of a modern novel.

Hard. Be it what it will, I'm glad they are come back to reclaim their due. Come hither, Tony boy. Do you refuse this lady's hand whom I now offer you?

Tony. What signifies my refusing? You know I cann't refuse her till I'm of age, father.

Hard. While I thought concealing your age, boy, was likely to conduce to your improvement, I concurred with your mother's desire to keep it secret; but, since I find she turns it to a wrong use, I must now declare, you have been of age these three months.

Tony. Of age! Am I of age, father?
Hard. Above three months.

Tony. Then you'll see the first use I'll make of my liberty. Taking Miss NEVILLE's hand.] Hard. By the hand of my body, but you shall.Witness all men by these presents, that I, Annot. I see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it. You shall not, sir, I tell I know she'll forgive you. Won't you forgive him, Kate? We'll all forgive you. Take courage, man. [They retire, she tormenting him to the back scene.

you.

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thony Lumpkin, Esquire, of blank place, refuse
you, Constantia Neville, spinster, of no place at
all, for my true and lawful wife, So Constantia
Neville may marry whom she pleases, and Tony
Lumpkin is his own man again.
Sir Char. O brave 'squire !
Hast. My worthy friend!

Mrs Hard. My undutiful offspring!

Mar. Joy, my dear George, I give you joy sin cerely; and, could I prevail upon my little tyrant here to be less arbitrary, I should be the happiest man alive if you would return me the favour.

Hast. [To Miss HARDCASTLE.] Come, madam, you are now driven to the very last scene of all your contrivances. I know you like him, I'm sure he loves you, and you must and shall have him.

Hard. Joining their hands.] And I say so too. And, Mr Marlow, if she makes as good a wife as

she has a daughter, I don't believe you'll ever repent your bargain. So now to supper. To-morrow we shall gather all the poor of the parish about us, and the mistakes of the night shall be

crown'd with a merry morning; so, boy, take her: and, as you have been mistaken in the mistress, my wish is that you may never be mistaken in the wife. [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

BY DR GOLDSMITH.

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WELL, having stooped to conquer with success,
And gained a husband without aid from dress,
Still as a bar-maid I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you :
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty bar-maids have done execution.
Our life is all a play, composed to please,
"We have our exits and our entrances."
The first act shews the simple country maid,
Harmless and young, of ev'ry thing afraid;
Blushes when hired, and with unmeaning action,
"I hopes as how to give you satisfaction."
Her second act displays a livelier scene,
Th' unblushing bar-maid of a country inn ;
Who whisks about the house, at market caters,
Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the
waiters.

Next the scene shifts to town, and there she

soars,

The chop-house toast of ogling connoissieurs.

On 'squires and cits she there displays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts-
And as she smiles, her triumph to complete,
Even common councilmen forget to eat.
The fourth act shews her wedded to the 'squire,
And madam now begins to hold it higher;
Pretends to taste, at operas cries caro,
And quits her Nancy Dawson for Che Faro;
Dotes upon dancing, and in all her pride,
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheap-
side;

Ogles and leers with artificial skill,
Till, having lost in age the power to kill,
She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, through our lives the eventful history-
The fifth and last act still remains for me.
The bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns female barrister, and pleads for Bayes.

THE

BROTHERS.

BY

RICHARD CUMBERLAND.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MR SMITH.

VARIOUS the shifts of authors now-a-days,
For operas, farces, pantomimes, and plays;
Some scour each alley of the town for wit,
Begging from door to door the offal bit;
Plunge in each cellar, tumble every stall,
And scud, like tailors, to each house of call;
Gut every novel, strip each monthly muse,
And pillage poet's corner of its news:
That done, they melt the stale farrago down,
And set their dish of scraps before the town;
Boldly invite you to their pilfer'd store,
Cram you, then wonder you can eat no more.
Some, in our English classics deeply read,
Ransack the tombs of the illustrious dead;
Hackney the muse of Shakespear o'er and o'er,
From shoulder to the flank, all drench'd in gore.
Others, to foreign climes and kingdoms roam,
To search for what is better found at home:

The recreant bard, oh! scandal to the age!
Gleams the vile refuse of the Gallic stage.

Not so our bard-To-night, he bids me say,
You shall receive and judge an English play.
From no man's jest he draws felonious praise,
Nor from his neighbour's garden crops his bays;
From his own breast the filial story flows;
And the free scene no foreign master knows :
Nor only tenders he his work as new ;
He hopes 'tis good, or would not give it you:
True homely ware, and made of homely stuff,
Right British drugget, honest, warm and rough.
No station'd friends he seeks, no hired applause;
But constitutes you jurors in his cause.

For fame he writes-Should folly be his doom, Weigh well your verdict, and then give it home: Should you applaud, let that applause be true; For undeserved, it shames both him and you.

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