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ment to you; but if the most perfect adoration, if the warmest wishes for your felicity, though I should never be witness of it; if these, madam, can have any merit to continue in your remembrance a man once honoured with a share of your esteem Clar. Hold, sir—I think I hear somebody. Lionel. If you please, madam, we'll turn over this celestial globe once more–Have you looked at the book I left you yesterday ? Clar. Really, sir, I have been so much disturbed in my thoughts for these two or three days past, that I have not been able to look at any thing. Lionel. I am sorry to hear that, madam; I hope there was nothing particular to disturb you. The care Sir John takes to dispose of your hand in a manner suitable to your birth and fortune Clar. I don’t know, sir;—I own I am disturbed; I own I am uneasy; there is something weighs upon my heart, which I would fain disclose. Lionel. Upon your heart, madam! did you say your heart 2 I
Clar. I—did, sir,
Jenny. Madam! Madam | Here's a coach and six driving up the avenue: It's Colonel Oldboy’s family: and, I believe, the gentleman is in it that's coming to court you.-Lord, I must run and have a peep at him out of the window— [Exit.
Lionel. Madam, I’ll take my leave.
Clar. Why so, sir?—Bless me, Mr Lionel, what's the matter?—You turn pale.
Lionel. Madam | e a
Clar. Pray speak to me, sir.—You tremble.—Tell me the cause of this sudden change.—How are you? —Where’s your disorder 2
Dionel. Oh fortune! fortune 1
You ask me in vain,
Each effort I try,
Ev'ry med'cine apply,
But, doom'd to endure,
What I mean for a cure;
Enter DIANA. \
Diana. My dear Clarissa —I am glad I have found you alone.—For Heaven’s sake, don’t let any one break in upon us;–and give me leave to sit down with you a little:—I am in such a tremor, such a panic
Clar. Mercy on us! what has happened?
Biana. You may remember I told you, that, when I was last winter in London, I was followed by an odious fellow, one Harman; I can’t say but the wretch pleased me, though he is but a younger brother, and not worth sixpence: And, in short, when I was leaving town, I promised to correspond with him.
Clar. Do you think that was prudent?
Diana. Madness! But this is not the worst; for what do you think?—the creature had the assurance to write me about three weeks ago, desiring permission to come down and spend the summer at my father’s.
Clar. At your father’s Diana. Ay, who never saw him, knows nothing of him, and would as soon consent to my marrying a horse-jockey. He told me a long story of some tale he intended to invent, to make my father receive him as an indifferent person; and some gentleman in London, he said, would procure him a letter, that should give it a face; and he longed to see me so, he said, he could not live without it; and if he could be permitted but to spend a week with me— Clar. Well, and what answer did you make 2 Diana. Oh abused him, and refused to listen to any such thing. But—I vow I tremble while I tell it you—just before we left our house, the impudent monster arrived there, attended by a couple of servants, and is now actually coming here with my father. Clar. Upon my word, this is a dreadful thing. Diana. Dreadful, my dear!—I happened to be at the window as he came into the court, and I declare I had like to have fainted away. Clar. Well, Diana, with regard to your affair—I think you must find some method of immediately informing this gentleman that you consider the outrage he has committed against you, in the most heinous light, and insist upon his going away directly. Diana. Why, I believe that will be the best way— but then he’ll be begging my pardon, and asking to Stay. är. Why then you must tell him positively you won’t consent to it; and if he persists in so extravagant a design, tell him you'll never see him again as long as you live. Diana. Must I tell him so :
Ah 1 pr’ythee spare me, dearest creature /
Kneeling before me,
No, believe me, my dear,
In spite of my frights, and alarms,
Clar. How easy to direct the conduct of others, how hard to regulate our own I can give my friend advice, while I am conscious of the same indiscretions in myself. Yet is it criminal to know the most worthy, most amiable man in the world, and not to be insensible to his merit? But my father, the kindest, best of fathers, will he approve the choice I have made 2 Nay, has he not made another choice for me? And, after all, how can I be sure that the man I love loves me again He never told me so; but his looks, his actions, his present anxiety, sufficiently declare what his delicacy, his generosity, will not suffer him to utter.—
Ye gloomy thoughts, #.fears perverse,
View of SIR John FlowerDALE’s House, with Gates, and a Prospect of the Garden.
Enter HARMAN and Colonel OLDBoy.
Col. O. Well, and how does my old friend Dick Rantum do? I have not seen him these twelve years: he was an honest worthy fellow as ever breathed; I remember he kept a girl in London, and was cursedly plagued by his wife's relations.
Har, Sir Richard was always a man of spirit, Colonel.
Col. O. But as to this business of yours, which he tells me of in his letter, I don’t see much in it—An affair with a citizen’s daughter—pinked her brother in a duel—is the fellow likely to die?
Har. Why, sir, we hope not; but as the matter is dubious, and will probably make some noise, I thought it was better to be for a little time out of the way; when, hearing my case, Sir Richard Rantum mentioned you; he said, he was sure you would permit me to remain at your house for a few days, and of. fered me a recommendation.
Col. O. And there's likely to be a brat in the case, and the girl’s friends are in business—I’ll tell you what will be the consequence then—They will be for going to law with you for a maintenance—but no matter, I’ll take the affair in hand for you—make me your solicitor; and, if you are obliged to pay for a single spoonful of pap, I’ll be content to father all the children in the Foundling Hospital. Har. You are very kind, sir!