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Jack's way-tell her, 'tis all our ways-it runs in the blood of our family! Come away, Jack, ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Malaprop-a young villain! [Pushes him out. Mrs. M. Oh, Sir Anthony! O, fie, Captain! [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The North Parade.

Enter SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER.

Sir L. I wonder where this Captain Absolute hides himself. Upon my conscience these officers are always in one's way in love affairs; I remember I might have married Lady Dorothy Carmine, if it had not been for a little rogue of a major, who ran away with her before she could get a sight of me! And I wonder too what it is the ladies can see in them to be so fond of them-unless it be a touch of the old serpent in them, that makes the little creatures be caught, like vipers, with a bit of red cloth. Hah, isn't this the Captain coming?-faith, it is! There is a probability of succeeding about that fellow, that is mighty provoking! who the devil is he talking to? [Retires.

Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.

Capt. A. To what fine purpose have I been plotting! a noble reward for all my schemes, upon my soul! a little gipsy! I did not think her romance could have made her so d-n'd absurd either. 'Sdeath, I never was in a .worse humour in my life! I could cut my own throat, or any other person's, with the greatest pleasure in the world!

Sir L. O, 'faith! I'm in the luck of it. I never would have found him in a sweeter temper for my purpose to be sure I'm just come in the nick! now to enter into conversation with him, and so quarrel genteelly. [Aside. Advances to CAPT. ABSOLUTE.] With regard to that matter, Captain, I must beg leave to differ in opinion with you.

Capt. A. Upon my word, then, you must be a very

subtle disputant: because, sir, I happened just then to be giving no opinion at all.

Sir L. That's no reason; for give me leave to tell you a man may think an untruth as well as speak one.

Capt. A. Very true, sir; but if a man never utters his thoughts, I should think they might stand a chance of escaping controversy.

Sir L. Then, sir, you differ in opinion with me, which amounts to the same thing.

Capt. A. Hark ye, Sir Lucius, if I had not before known you to be a gentleman, upon my soul, I should not have discovered it at this interview; for, what you can drive at, unless you mean to quarrel with me, I cannot conceive!

Sir. L. I humbly thank you, sir, for the quickness of your apprehension-[Bowing ]-you have named the very thing I would be at.

Capt. A. Very well, sir-I shall certainly not baulk your inclinations- -but I should be glad if you would please to explain your motives.

Sir. L. Pray, sir, be easy-the quarrel is a very pretty quarrel, as it stands-we should only spoil it by trying to explain it. However, your memory is very short-or you could not have forgot an affront you passed on me within this week. So, no more, but name your time and place.

Capt. A. Well, sir, since you are so bent on it, the sooner the better; let it be this evening-here by the Spring Gardens. We shall scarcely be interrupted.

Sir. L. 'Faith! that same interruption, in affairs of this nature, shews very great ill-breeding. I don't know what's the reason, but in England, if a thing of this kind gets wind, people make such a pother, that a gentleman can never fight in peace and quietness. However, if it's the same to you, Captain, I should take it as a particular kindness, if you'd let us meet in King's Mead-fields, as a little business will call me there about six o'clock, and I may despatch both

matters at once.

Capt. A. 'Tis the same to me exactly. A little

after six, then, we will discuss the matter more seriously.

Sir. L. If you please, sir; there will be a very pretty small-sword light, though it won't do for a long shot. So that matter's settled; and my mind's at [Exit.

ease.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.-JULIA's Dressing-Room.

Enter JULIA.

Jul. How this message has alarmed me! what dreadful accident can he mean? why such charge to be alone? O Faulkland! how many unhappy moments, how many tears, you have cost me!

Enter FAULKLAND.

What means this? why this caution, Faulkland? Faulk. Alas, Julia! I am come to take a long fare= well!

Jul. Heav'ns! what do you mean?

Faulk. You see before you a wretch whose life is forfeited:-Nay, start not; the infirmity of my temper has drawn all this misery on me: I left you fretful and passionate-an untoward accident drew me into a quarrel-the event is, that I must fly this kingdom instantly!—Oh, Julia, had I been so fortunate as to have called you mine entirely, before this mischance had fallen on me, I should not so deeply dread my banishment!

Jul. My soul is oppressed with sorrow at the nature of your misfortune: had these adverse circumstances arisen from a less fatal cause, I should have felt strong comfort in the thought, that I could now chase from your bosom every doubt of the warm sincerity of my love. My heart has long known no other guardian: 1 now entrust my person to your honour -we will fly together: when safe from pursuit, my father's will may be fulfilled, and I receive a legal

claim to be the partner of your sorrows, and tenderest comforter.

Faulk. O Julia! I am bankrupt in gratitude!— Would you not wish some hours to weigh the advantages you forego, and what little compensation poor Faulkland can make you beside his solitary love?

Jul. I ask not a moment-No, Faulkland, I have loved you for yourself: and if I now more than ever, prize the solemn engagement which so long has pledged us to each other, it is because it leaves no room for hard aspersions on my fame, and puts the seal of duty to an act of love. But let us not linger -perhaps this delay

Faulk. Twill be better I should not venture out again till dark: yet am I grieved to think what numberless distresses will press heavy on your gentle disposition!

Jul. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this unhappy act? I know not whether 'tis so, but sure that alone can never make us unhappy.-The little I have will be sufficient to support us, and exile never should be splendid.

Faulk. Ay, but in such an abject state of life my wounded pride, perhaps, may increase the natural fretfulness of my temper, till I become a rude, morose companion, beyond your patience to endure.

Jul. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy a bent, you will the more want some mild and affectionate spirit to watch over and console you; one who, by bearing your infirmities with gentleness and resignanation, may teach you so to bear the evils of your fortune.

Faulk. Julia, I have proved you to the quick! and with this useless device, I throw away all my doubts. How shall I plead to be forgiven this last unworthy effect of my restless, unsatisfied disposition?

Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you related? Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was all pretended. Let me to-morrow, in the face of heaven, receive my future guide and monitress, and expiate my past folly, by years of tender adoration.

Jul. Hold, Faulkland! that you are free from a crime, which I before feared to name, heaven knows how sincerely rejoice! These are tears of thankfulness for that! But, that your cruel doubts should have urged you to an imposition that has wrung my heart, gives me now a pang more keen than I can express!

Faulk. By heavens! Julia

Jul. Yet hear me-My father loved you, Faulkland! and you preserved the life that tender parent gave me ! in his presence I pledged my hand-joyfully pledged it, where before I had given my heart. When, soon after, I lost that parent, it seemed to me, that Providence had, in Faulkland, shewn me whither to transfer, without a pause, my gratified duty as well as my affection: hence I have been content to bear from you, what pride and delicacy would have forbid me from another. I will not upbraid you by repeating how you have trifled with my sincerity.

Faulk. I confess it all! yet, hear— Jul. After such a year of trial, I might have flattered myself that I should not have been insulted with a new probation of my sincerity, as cruel as unnecessary! I now see that it is not in your nature to be content, or confident in love. With this conviction I never will be yours.

Faulk. Nay, but Julia, by my soul and honour!— If, after this

Jul. But one word more. As my faith has once been given to you, I will never barter it with another. I shall pray for your happiness with the truest sincerity; and the dearest blessing I can ask of heaven to send you, will be to charm you from that unhappy temper which alone has prevented the performance of our solemn engagement. All I request of you is, that you will yourself reflect upon this infirmity; and, when you number up the many true delights it has deprived you of, let it not be your least regret, that it lost you the love of one who would have followed you in beggary through the world. [Exit.

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