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White. Tpeak!

Peter. Now, don't look fo fierce—you frighten the breath out of my body, and I can't fpeak a word to fave my lite. 1 wifti 1 was fafe in bed, or any where elfe. (aside.)

White. Rafcal, this inftant! (collars him ) Peter. (Falltng on bis knees ) Well, weil-i—Oh! Lord—Oh! would you murder me I why, 1 only gueffed, only furmifed—Ol—Ol-liver——

Enter Oliver.

White. (Throwing Peter from him.) Ah! Oliver,

I knew it was impoflible. Ha! ha! what an old

fool was I, to think it,

Oiiv. Give me your hand, father. (Peter fleals off during this steech.)

Ellen Dear, dear, Oliver, I am lo glad you are returned.

Oliv. Give me a kifs.

White. Damme but I'll prune the Perfumer's ears tho\ What! elcaped ! he's juit in time.

JZilen. Be fiill, Oliver; where have you been?

Oliv. Don't afk where I have been! Dad, give me your hand. You'll not ftarve now. Oh! I'm fo glad, I'm lb—I'll ipeak to thee foon—J'm fo haPP)-—

Ellen. Happy indeed! why your eyes are brimful of tears!

Oliver. Are they? never mind—my heart, Ellen, my heart is full: father was in diftrefs, and all by me. But now, all's right again. Here Dad, hold thy hand—here's money—enough to keep the wolf from the door a twelvemonth! Twenty Pounds, father!

Ellen. Twenty pounds!

Wbtte, Twenty pounds! my heart milgives rne,

(starts.)

Otiv. Take it, father; take it! White. Where did it come from? Otiv, A kind heart, and an open hand: Mr. -Sidney-.

White. And do you think I'd touch the wages of a villain?

Otiv. A villain! Do you fufpedt then that 1

Whit. Obtained it by force. . Oliv. I don't deferve this! I met Mr. Sidney by chance, by chance he heard of our diftrefs, and gave it freely.

Whit. Did he? I am alive again! Oliver, poor boy, I afk your pardon. Oh! that damn'd Perfumer! Come, lad ! come, Ellen ! Honefty, and my children, ha' been the pride of my life ; and while

they are unblemifh'd, I am contented happy!

Come, come. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The Filiate. Enter Peter.

Peter. Thank Heaven, I've efcaped from the clutches of that tr ugh ever-green Whitethorn. I'll venture no more within his premifes. Ha! by all that's beautiful, here comes my little Fanny! blefs me, how fhe trip? along, and glides over the grafs as fmooth as pomatum.

Enter Fanny.

Fanny. Pfha! this blockhead here! I hop'd to have met Oliver here; for after all, my heart tells me, I love him dearly.

Peter. Hey! Love him dearly—I know you love roe—but alas! haven't any thing new to tell you— Oliver's a rogue, that's nothing new—I love you, that's nothing new—and I've juft efcaped being kicked out of doors

Fannyi Apd that's nothing new! As to your loving mc, poor man, you can't heip that; but I'm in no humour to laugh at you at prefent. As to Oliver's being a rogue, as he is a friend of mine, I muft defire you to fpeak lefs harfhly of him; for tho' I illtreat him, I won't fufferany body elfe to abufe him behind his back.

Peter. And I'm fure I (han't abufe him before his face But Fanny ; ah, Fanny ! ah, Fanny ! heigho! I fear you love him

Fanny. Me love him; nonfenfe, Peter; you're joking; but certainly I do love fomebody.

SONG.Fanny Transit.

When Oliver «ry'd,

To make me his bride,

Then I was the plague of his life;

Cry'd he, I love Fanny,

Much better thaiv any,

I'm sure she'll make me a good wife,

I sung lira, la, la, &c.
I rcaz'd and uerpluxM him,
I worry'd and vex'U him,

With lira, la, la, Ace.

With rage he was wann'd
In passiun he storm'd,
As loud as a drum or a fife;
Now, don't be so silly,
But say, Fanny, will 'ye,
Be Oliver's dear little wife;

I sung lira, la, la, Sec.
I teaz'd and perplex'd him,
J worry'd and vex'd him,

With lira, la, fa, &c.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE III.—A Room at Mrs. Antidote's.

Enter Mrs. An Tidote and La Roqjje.

La Ro. Madame, fur mon honeur, I aflure you I fpeak the veritable truth. Monfieur Sidney is arrive, dat is he was arrive; and why he is no come, 1 have not the perception, I cannot tell.

Mrs. Ant. I'll not believe it; you are an impoftor.

La Ro, Impofture, ah! Madame! Mrs. Ant. Mr. Sydney in England! 'tis quite impoffible!

La Ro. Tobefure, Ma 1am, it muftbe impoffiblc if de Lady fay fo; but it is very true for all dat.

Mrs. Ant. Where "did you leave him?

La Ro. Where I leave him? I don't know precifement where I leave him.

Mrs. Ant. This is incomprehenfible: I am quite in the dark.

La Ro. No, Madam, I no leave him in the dark. Begar, if any malheur happen to my matter, I fhall be hanged as de accomplice, becaufe I not tell.

Mrs. Ant. 1 his uncertainty is provoking, and if he is really returned, before my union with Mr. Babble, the confequence will be dreadful.

La Ro. Dreadful indeed, if 1 fhall be hanged; I don't know what 1 am do. (a knock without.) Ha! fomebody knock, Mr. Sidney is come, now you will be too happy.

Mrs. Ant. Oh, if it is he, I'm ruir/d! undone!

Enter Babble.

Ha! Mr. Babble, 1 rejoice to fee you.
J. Bab. Mrs. Antidote!

La Ro. Ah! ah, comprend moi, I fee des Lover; O, I have de perception; I no fpoil fport; I go fearch for Mr. Sydney: vat adorable fwain he is— —'tis Cupid and Pfyche—I wifh very happy in your matrimony, (tings.) I wifh you joy. '[Exit.

J. Bab. Who the devil's he ?—Gone however-— now's my time, all of a twitter—Phew!—blefs my foul—muft pop the queftion.

Mrs. Ant. If he does not declare himfelf now, t, fhall be expofed, loft. 1 prefume, dear Sir, I can guefs the motives of your vifit. I muftn't difcourage him now.

J. Bab. If I might be fo bold, dear Mrs. Antidote—feems in a good humour.

Mrs. Ant, Nay, do not hefitate; I am altogether unprepared for your demand—

J. Bab t Demand !—means my bill—well—with all my heart—touch that firft—then to bulinefs— from your hands 'tis but a trifling favour—

Mrs. Am. A trifling favor—my hand and fortune a trifling favor!—but this is no time to hefitate !— Well, Sir, I wait your pleafure, 1 prefume the amount of your folicitation is Amply—

J. Bab. Forty,fix pounds, Madam—there's a bill and receipt for goods deiiver'd—

Mrs, Ant. Heavens, Mr. Babble—this is too much—

J. Bab. Too much !—Cheap as any houfe in London—every article from the firft importers, and of the bed quality.

Mrs. Ant. Give me leave to fay, Sir—I expected, fomething, more tender, more—your feelings I mould have thought—

J. Bab. Are of the moft delicate texture—Fine as gold-beater's fkin—no lubjedr, believe me, is fo tender to my nerves as—the prefentation of a Bill, efpecully when ordered to lie on the table.

Jf»*. Am. Sir, I was prepared fo/ —

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