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Here's one for your purpose, come tahe me and try;
You'll say you ne'er met with a better nor I,
Ge ho Dobbin, &c.

My masters and mistresses, hither repair;
What servants you want, you'llfind in our fair;
Men and Maids fitfor all sorts of stations there be;
And, as for the wages, we shan't disagree.


A Parlour in Justice Woodcock.'s House.
Lucinda, Eustace.

Well, am not I a bold adventurer, to bring you into my father's house at noon-day f Though, to say the truth, we are safer here than in the garden; for there is not a human creature under the roof besides ourselves.

Eust. Then why not put our scheme into execution this moment? I have a post-chaise ready.

Luc. Fye: how can you talk so lightly ? I protest I am afraid to have any thing to do with you; your passion seems too much founded on appetite; and my aunt Deborah says— 11

Eust. What! by all the rapture my heart now feels—

Luc. Oh to be sure, promise and vow; it sounds prettily, and never fails to impose upon a fond female.


We women like weah Indians trade,
Whose judgment tinsel shew decoys;

Dupes to our Jolly we are made,

While artful man the gain enjoys: Bo

We give our treasure, to be paid
A paltry, poor return I in toys.

Eust. Well, I see you've a mind to divert yourself witli me; but I wish I could prevail on you to be a little serious.

Luc. Seriously then, what would you desire me to say ? I have promised to run away with you; which is as great a concession as any reasonable lover can expect from his mistress. 29

Eust. Yes; but, you dear provoking angel, you have not told me, when you will run away with me.

Luc. Why that, I confess, requires some consideration.

Eust. Yet remember, while you are deliberating, the season, now so favourable to us, may elapse, never to return.


Thinh, my fairest, how delay

Danger every moment brings;
Time flies swift, and will away;

Time that's ever on its wings; 40
Doubting and suspcnce at best,

Lovers late repentance cost;
Let us, eager to be blest,

Seize occasion e'er 'tis lost.


Lucinda, Eustace, Justice Woodcock, Mrs. Deborah Woodcock.

J. Wood. Why, here is nothing in the world in this house but cater-wauling from morning till night, nothing but cater-wauling. Hoity toity; who have we here?

Luc. My father, and my aunt!

Eust. The devil I What shall we do? 50

Luc. Take no notice of them, only observe me. (Speahs aloud to Eustace.) Upon my word, Sir, I don't know what to say to it, unless the Justice was at home; he is just stepp'd into the village with some company; but, if you'll sit down a moment, I dare swear he will return—(pretends to see the Justice)—O! Sir, here i& my papa!

J. Wood. Here is your papa, hussy! Who's this you have got with you? Hark you, sirrah, who are you, ye dog? and what's your business here f 60

Exist. Sir, this is a language I am not used to.

J. Wood. Don't answer me, you rascal—I am a justice of the peace; and if I hear a word out of your mouth, I'll send you to jail, for all your lac'd hat.

Mrs. Deb. Send him to jail, brother, that's right.

J. Wood. And how do you know it's righU How should you know any thing's right f—Sister Deborah, you are never in the right.

Mrs. Deb. Brother, this is the man I have been telling you about so long. 70

J. Wood. What man, goody Wise-acre!

Mrs. Deb. Why, the man your daughter has an intrigue with: but I hope you will not believe it now, though you see it with your own eyes—Come, hussy, confess, and don't let your father make a fool of himself any longer.

Luc. Confess what, aunt? This gentleman is a music-master: he goes about the country, teaching ladies to play and sing; and has been recommended to instruct me: I could not turn him out when he came to offer his service; and did not know what answer to give him till I saw my papa. 8e

J. Wood. A music-master!

Eust. Yes, Sir, that's my profession. Mrs Deb. It's a lye, young man; it's a lye. Brother, he is no more a music-master, than I am a music-master.

J. Wood. What then, you know better than the fellow himself, do you? and you will be wiser than all the world? go

Mrs. Deb. Brother, he does not look like a musicmaster.

J. Wood. He does not lookl ha! hal hal Was ever such a poor stupe! Well, and what does he look like, then i But I suppose you mean, he is not dressed like a music-master, because of his ruffles, and this bit of garnishing about his coat—which seems to be copper too—Why, you silly wretch, these whippersnappers set up for gentlemen, now-a-days, and give themselves as many airs as if they were people of quality.—Hark you, friend, I suppose you don't come within the vagrant act? You have some settled habitation—Where do you live?

Mrs. Deb. It's an easy matter for him to tell you a wrong place.

J. Wood. Sister Deborah, don't provoke me.

Mrs. Deb. I wish, brother, you would let me examine him a little.

J. Wood. You shan't say a word to him, you shan't say a word to him. no

Mrs. Deb. She says he was recommended here, brother; ask him by whom i

J. Wood. No, I won't now, because you desire it.

Luc. If my papa did ask the question, aunt, it would be very easily resolved.

Mrs. Deb. Who bid you speak, Mrs. Nimble Chops!

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