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Enter SNAKE.

I thought his testimony might be wanted; however, it happens unluckily, that he comes to confront Lady Sneerwell, not to support her.

Lady SNEER. A villain! Treacherous to me at last! Speak, fellow, have you too conspired against me!

SNAKE. I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons; you paid me extremely liberally for the lie in question; but I unfortunately have been offered double to speak the truth.

Sir PET. Plot and counter-plot, egad! I wish your ladyship joy of your negotiation. Lady SNEER. The torments of shame and disappointment on you all! [Going. Lady TEAZ. Hold, Lady Sneerwell-before you go, let me thank you for the trouble you and that gentleman have taken, in writing letters from me to Charles, and answering them yourself; and let me also request you to make my respects to the scandalous college, of which you are president, and inform them, that Lady Teazle, licentiate, begs leave to return the diploma they granted her, as she leaves off practice, and kills characters no longer.

Lady SNEER. You too, madam !-provoking -insolent! May your husband live these fifty years! [Exit.

Sir PET. Oons! what a fury!

Lady TEAZ. A malicious creature, indeed! Sir PET. What! not for her last wish? Lady TEAZ. Oh, no!

Sir OLIV. Well, sir, and what have you to say now?

Jos. SURF. Sir, I am so confounded, to find that Lady Sneerwell could be guilty of suborning Mr. Snake in this manner, to impose on us all, that I know not what to say: however, lest her revengeful spirit should prompt her to in jure my brother, I had certainly better follow her directly. For the man who attempts to

[Exit.

Sir PET. Moral to the last!

Sir OLIV. Ay, and marry her, Joseph, if you Oil and vinegar!-egad you'll do very well together.

can.

Row. I believe we have no more occasion for Mr. Snake at present?

SNAKE. Before I go, I beg pardon once for all, for whatever uneasiness I have been the humble instrument of causing to the parties present.

Sir PET. Well, well, you have made atonement by a good deed at last.

SNAKE. But I must request of the company, that it shall never be known.

Sir PET. Hey! what the plague! are you ashamed of having done a right thing once in your life?

SNAKE. Ah, sir, consider-I live by the badness of my character; and, if it were once known that I had been betrayed into an honest action, I should lose every friend I have in the world.

Sir OLIV. Well, well-we'll not traduce you by saying anything in your praise, never fear. [Exit.

Sir PET. There's a precious rogue ! Lady TEAZ. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no persuasion now to reconcile your nephew and Maria.

Sir OLIV. Ay, ay, that's as it should be, and, egad, we'll have the wedding to-morrow morning. CHAS. SURF. Thank you, dear uncle.

Sir. PET. What, you rogue! don't you ask the girl's consent first?

CHAS. SURF. Oh, I have done that a long time—a minute ago—and she has looked yes. MAR. For shame, Charles !-I protest,. Sir Peter, there has not been a word

Sir OLIV. Well, then, fewer the better; may your love for each other never know abatement. Sir PET. And may you live as happily together as Lady Teazle and I intend to do!

CHAS. SURF. Rowley, my old friend, I am sure you congratulate me; and I suspect that I owe you much.

Sir OLIV. You do, indeed, Charles.

Sir PET. Ay, honest Rowley, always said you would reform.

CHAS. SURF. Why as to reforming, Sir Peter, I'll make no promises, and that I take to be a proof that I intend to set about it. But here shall be my monitor-my gentle guide.-Ah! can I leave the virtuous path those eyes illumine?

Though thou, dear maid, shouldst waive thy beauty's

sway,

Thou still must rule, because I will obey :

An humble fugitive from Folly view,

No sanctuary near but Love and you: [To the audience.
You can, indeed, each anxious fear remove,
For even Scandal dies if you approve.

EPILOGUE.

BY MR. COLMAN.

[Exeunt omnes.

SPOKEN BY LADY TEAZLE,

I, WHO was late so volatile and gay,

Like a trade-wind must now blow all one way,
Bend all my cares, my studies, and my vows,
To one dull rusty weathercock-my spouse !
So wills our virtuous bard-the motley Bayes
Of crying epilogues and laughing plays!
Old bachelors, who marry smart young wives,
Learn from our play to regulate your lives:
Each bring his dear to town, all faults upon
her-

London will prove the very source of honor.
Plunged fairly in, like a cold bath it serves,
When principles relax, to brace the nerves:
Such is my case; and yet I must deplore
That the gay dream of dissipation's o'er.
And say, ye fair! was ever lively wife,
Born with a genius for the highest life,
Like me untimely blasted in her bloom,
Like me condemned to such a dismal doom?
Save money-when I just knew how to waste it!
Leave London-just as I began to taste it!

Must I then watch the early crowing cock,

The melancholy ticking of a clock;

In a lone rustic hall forever pounded,

With dogs, cats, rats, and squalling brats sur rounded?

With humble curate can I now retire,

(While good Sir Peter boozes with the squire,) And at backgammon mortify my soul,

That pants for loo, or flutters at a vole

Seven's the main! Dear sound that must expire,

Lost at hot cockles round a Christmas fire;
The transient hour of fashion too soon spent,
Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content!
Farewell the plumèd head, the cushion'd tête,
That takes the cushion from its proper seat !
That spirit-stirring drum !-card drums I mean,
Spadille-odd trick-pam-basto-king and
queen!

And you, ye knockers, that, with brazen throat,
The welcome visitors' approach denote;
Farewell all quality of high renown,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious

town!

Farewell! your revels I partake no more,
And Lady Teazle's occupation's o'er!

All this I told our bard; he smiled, and said 'twas clear,

I ought to play deep tragedy next year.

Meanwhile he drew wise morals from his play, And in these solemn periods stalk'd away :"Bless'd were the fair like you; her faults who stopp'd,

And closed her follies when the curtain dropp'd! No more in vice or error to engage,

Or play the fool at large on life's great stage."

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR.

A COMEDY.

BY BEN JONSON.

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