Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve;

Oh, give me the friend, that I know to be true,
And the fair, that I tenderly love!

What's glory, but pride? A vain bubble, is fame,
And riot, the pleasure of wine.

What's riches, but trouble? and title's a name ;
But friendship and love, are divine.

Enter LORD WINLOVE and Rosa,

Henry. Lord Winlove alive!

Lord W. Sorry to see me so, Henry?

Henry. I own, my lord, I am surprised, yet rejoice to find my hand guiltless of blood, and you still possessed of power to heal my honour, in doing justice to my unhappy sister. Forgive my former weakness, I now only appeal to your humanity.

Lord W. My dear Henry, I never looked upon your sister, but with the ardent wish, of an honourable connexion-a jealous honour hurried you to rashness, and the fondest love rendered me imprudent thus, we see, the noblest principles, if guided only by our passions, may prove destructive.

Enter CELIA, running.

Celia. Oh, my dear Captain! but I didn't know you had company-a thousand pardons [Courtesies round.] but, upon my word, I don't know how to apologize for this strange intrusion of mine-Captain, don't be vain, if I make this horrible news of your danger, an excuse for my coming hither.

Henry. A thousand thanks for this kind solicitude! -My lord--Sister-give me leave to introduce a lady, who, I hope, will soon honour our family by the dearest tie.

Miss Dolly B. [Without.] Run, husband, or they'll eatch us.

Enter LACKLAND and MISS DOLLY BULL.

Lack. Let's rally, and face the enemy.

Enter SIR JOHN and LADY BULL.

Sir J. B. So, you're a pretty jade! but I'll

Lack. No abuse.

[Advancing. [Stops him.

Sir J. B. What! not my own daughter?
Lack. Nobody must abuse my wife.

Sir J. B. Wife! I shall go mad!-my daughter married to a fellow that I saw this morning in white shoes, and a black shirt?

Lady B. Ay, you would have English.

Sir J. B. I hope he's a rogue.

Henry. Your son-in-law!

[LACKLAND bows.

Sir J. B. If he was myself-I hope he's a rogueLady B. Tell me Dolly, how dare you take up with that person ?

Miss Dolly B. Why, la, mamma! when the Colonel and 'Squire Tallyho left me, I was glad to catch at any body.

Lack. What's that you say, Mrs. Lackland?—I'm very much obliged to you-you have done me infinite honour! [Makes a low Bow.

Enter TALLYHO.

Tall. Eh, what, have you all got about the winningpost here?

Miss Dolly B. Yes, and now, you may canter off to Newmarket.

Tall. Lackland, I give you joy of little Ginger, for she was never good, egg, or bird.

Enter COLONEL EPAULETTE.

Colonel E. How do you, good folks, damme? Ah, Miss Dolly coquin, run away!

Miss Dolly B. Yes, Colonel, and didn't even wait for my dancing pumps !

Colonel E. How is my good Lady de Bull? zounds! Lady B. Sir, if you're a Frenchman, behave like

one.

Colonel E. I vill never behave myself, damme! Tall. Oh, Captain, you made the betts against my mare-when do we share, my Trojan?

Henry. Sir, I don't understand-

Tall. Why, didn't I pay forfeit, and let the colonel's Black Prince walk over the course to-day?

Henry. And, seriously, did you dare to think that I'd join in such a scandalous affair?

Tall. Then you may fling your cap at Celia.

Henry. Hush! you laid me five thousand yourself-consent to my marriage with your sister, or I'll proclaim you, not only here, at Fontainbleau, but at every racecourse in England.

Tall. I'm had-yes, and tricked, choused, slanged, and banged! Celia, take him against the field-cle ver-has nicked me, that have nicked hundreds!

Henry. I fancy, the first real good ever produced by gaming; our winning is but a decoy, its joys, built upon the grief of others, and our losses stop but in ruin, or dishonour.

Tall. May be so; but, as I set out a young pigeon, I'll die an old rook.

Sir J. B. But how shall I get this rook [To LACK LAND.] out of my pigeon-house?

Colonel E. Ah, pauvre Lackland! I ave procur● de commission for you, in my regiment.

Lack. Thank you, Colonel, but while I can raise the price of a drumstick, I'll never draw a sword against my country.

Sir J. B. What!-your hand, my Briton!-you shall never want a nail for your hat, in my parlour, at dinner time you shall post my books, and take the whip hand of my lady's gig on a Sunday.

H

Lack. Drive a gig! My dear dad, you shall rattle up in your vis-a-vis, to the astonishment of all Garlick Hill.

Sir J. B. My dearee and I ride, side by side, in a vis-a-vis ha ha! ha!

Tall. Yes, and if you whip your gig down to Yorkshire, I'll mount her ladyship upon Whirligig, and, Sir Jackey, my lad, up you go again upon Kickhim-Jenny.

Sir J. B. I'll see you astride the dragon, upon Bow steeple first-but now I'll invite you all to the British Lion, where French claret shall receive the zest of English hospitality-Eh, my Antigallican son-in-law?

Lack. Well said, Bull; but mind, I'll have no illiberal prejudices in my family-general national reffections, are unworthy the breast of an Englishman; and, however in war, each may vindicate his country's honour, in peace, let us not know a distance, but the Streights of Dover.

FINALE.

Lord W. This patriot fire, within each heart,
For ever let us nourish.
Of Glory still, the golden mart,
May England ever flourish!"

Rosa.

Henry. Let fashion, with her glittring train,

Celia.

Sir J. B.

Abroad, awhile deceive us ;

We long to see dear home again,
The love of England must remain,
And that can never leave us.

This patriot fire, &c.

My future range,

The Stock Exchange,

'Tis there I'll mend my paces;

Nor gig, nor nag,
Jack Bull shall drag,

To French, or English races.

Lady B.

At feast, or ball,

At Grocers' Hall,

'Tis there I'll mend my paces;

Yet nothing keep

Me from a peep,

At French or English races.

CHORUS.

Now of each doubt, and perplexity eas'd,
From Fontainbleau we prance,

In hopes with our errors, our friends will be pleas'd,
As 'tis our way in France.

THE END.