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Nor

my

character such I need starve on't.

And, for going away,

I don't want to stay,

And so I'm your ladyship's servant. [Exit.

Enter MR JESSAMY.

Jess. What is the matter here?

Lady M. O. I will have a separate maintenance, I will, indeed. Only a new instance of your father's infidelity, my dear. Then with such low wretches, farmers' daughters, and servant wenches: but any thing with a cap on, 'tis all the same to him.

Jess. Upon my word, sir, I am sorry to tell you, that those practices very ill suit the character which you ought to endeavour to support in the world.

Lady M. O. Is this a recompence for my love and regard; I, who have been tender and faithful as a turtle-dove?

Jess. A man of your birth and distinction should, methinks, have views of a higher nature, than such low, such vulgar libertinism.

Lady M. O. Consider my birth and family too; Lady Mary Jessamy might have had the best matches in England.

Jess. Then, sir, your grey hairs.

Lady M. O. I, that have brought you so many lovely, sweet babes.

py,

Jess. Nay, sir, it is a reflection on me.

Lady M. O. The heinous sin too

Jess. Indeed, sir, I blush for you.

Col. O. 'Sdeath and fire! you little effeminate pupdo you know who you talk to?-And you, madam, do you know who I am?-Get up to your chamber, or, zounds, I'll make such a

Lady M. O. Ah! my dear, come away from him.

[Exit.

Enter SERVANT.

Col. O. Am I to be tutored and called to an account? How now, you scoundrel, what do you want? Serv. A letter, sir.

Col. O. A letter from whom, sirrah ?

Serv. The gentleman's servant, an't please your honour, that left this just now, in the post-chaise-the gentleman my young lady went away with.

Col. O. Your young lady, you dog-What gentleman? What young lady, sirrah?

Jess. There is some mystery in this-With your leave, sir, I'll open the letter.

Col. O. What are you going to do, you jackanapes? You sha'n't open a letter of mine,-Dy,-DianaSomebody call my daughter to me there-To John Oldboy, Esq.-Sir, I have loved your daughter a great while secretly-Consenting to our marriage

Jess. So, so.

Col. O. You villain-you dog, what is it brought me here?

you have

Serv. Please your honour, if you'll have patience, I'll tell your honour-As I told your honour before, the gentleman's servant that went off just now in the post-chaise, came to the gate, and left it after his mas ter was gone. I saw my young lady go into the chaise with the gentleman.

Col. O. Call all the servants in the house; let horses be saddled directly-every one take a different road. Serv. Why, your honour, Dick said it was by your own orders.

Col. O. My orders! you rascal? I thought he was going to run away with another gentleman's daughter -Dy-Diana Oldboy. [Exit SERVANT.

Jess. Don't waste your lungs to no purpose, sir; your daughter is half a dozen miles off by this time. Besides, the matter is entirely of your own contriving, as well as the letter and spirit of this elegant epistle.

Col. O. You are a coxcomb, and I'll disinherit you; the letter is none of my writing; it was writ by the devil, and the devil contrived it. Diana! Margaret! my Lady Mary! William! John! [Exit.

Jess. I am very glad of this, prodigiously glad of it, upon my honour-he! he! he!-it will be a jest this hundred years. [Bells ring violently on both sides.] What's the matter now? O! her ladyship has heard of it, and is at her bell; and the Colonel answers her. A pretty duet; but a little too much upon the forte methinks it would be a diverting thing, now, to stand unseen at the old gentleman's elbow.

[Retires up the Stage.

Enter COLONEL OLDBOY, with one Boot, a Great Coat on his Arm, &c. followed by several SERVANTS.

Col. O. She's gone, by the lord; fairly stole away, with that poaching, coney-catching rascal! However, I won't follow her; no, damme! take my whip, and my cap, and my coat, and order the groom to unsaddle the horses; I won't follow her the length of a spurleather. Come here, you sir, and pull off my boot; [Whistles.] she has made a fool of me once; she sha'n't do it a second time; not but I'll be revenged too, for I'll never give her sixpence; the disappointment will put the scoundrel out of temper, and he'll thrash her a dozen times a day; this thought pleases me; I hope he'll do it. What do you stand gaping and staring at, you impudent dogs? are you laughing at me? I'll teach you to be merry at my expence

[Exit, driving them away.

SCENE II.

CLARISSA'S Dressing-Room.

Enter CLARISSA, with a Book in her Hand, followed by JENNY.

Clar. Where have you been, Jenny? I was inquiring for you-why will you go out, without letting me know?

Jenny. Dear ma'am, never any thing happened so unlucky! I am sorry you wanted me- -But I was sent to Colonel Oldboy's with a letter; where I have been so used-Lord have mercy upon me-quality indeed -I say, quality-pray, madam, do you think that I looks any ways like an immodest parson to be sure I have a gay air, and I can't help it, and I loves to appear a little genteelish, that's what I do.

Clar..Jenny, take away this book.

Jenny. Heaven preserve me, madam! you are cry

ing!

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Clar. O, my dear Jenny !

Jenny. My dear mistress, what's the matter?

Clar. I am undone.

Jenny. No, madam; no, Lord forbid!

Clar. I am indeed-I have been rash enough to discover my weakness for a man, who treats me with contempt.

Jenny. Is Mr Lionel ungrateful, then?

Clar. I have lost his esteem for ever, Jenny. Since last night, that I fatally confessed what I should have kept a secret from all the world, he has scarce condescended to cast a look at me, nor given me an answer when I spoke to him, but with coldness and re

serve.

Jenny. Then he is a nasty, barbarous, inhuman brute.

Clar. Hold, Jenny, hold; it is all my fault.

Jenny. Your fault, madam! I wish I was to hear such a word come out of his mouth; if he was a minister to-morrow, and to say such a thing from his pulpit, and I by, I'd tell him it was false, upon the spot. Clar. Somebody's at the door; see who it is.

[Tapping at the Door. Jenny. You in fault indeed that I know to be the most virtuousest, nicest, most delicatest

Clar. How now?

Jenny. Madam, it's a message from Mr Lionel. If you are alone, and at leisure, he would be glad to wait upon you: I'll tell him, madam, that you are busy.

Clar. Where is he, Jenny?

Jenny. In the study, the man says

Clar. Then go to him, and tell him I should be glad to see him: but do not bring him up immediately, because I will stand upon the balcony a few minutes for a little air.

Jenny. Do so, dear madam, for your eyes are as red as a ferret's; you are ready to faint too; mercy on us! for what do you grieve and vex yourself-if I was as you[Exit.

Clar. Oh!

AIR.

Why with sighs my heart is swelling,
Why with tears my eyes o'erflow;
Ask me not, 'tis past the telling,
Mute involuntary woe.

Who to winds and waves a stranger,
Vent'rous tempts the inconstant seas,
In each billow fancies danger,
Shrinks at every rising breeze.

[Exit.

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