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CROAKER. I wish we could both say so. However, this gentleman, Sir William Honeywood, has been beforehand with you, in obtaining their pardon. So, if the two poor fools have a mind to marry, I think we can tack them together without crossing the Tweed for it.

[Joining their bands.

Leontine. How bleit and unexpected! What, what can we fay to such goodness! But, our future obedience shall be the best reply. And, as for this gentleman, to whom we owe

Sir WILLIAM. Excuse me, Sir, if I interrupt your thanks, as I have here an interest that calls me. Turning to Honeywood.) Yes, Sir, you are surprised to see me; and I own that a desire of correcting your follies led me hither. I saw, with indignation, the errors of a mind that only fought applause from others; that easiness of difpofition, which, though inclined to the right, had not courage to condemn the wrong. I saw, with regret, those splendid errors, that still took name from some neighbouring duty. Your charity, that was but injustice ; your benevolence, that was but weakness; and your friendship, but credulity. I saw, with regret, great talents, and extensive learning, only employed to add sprightliness to error, and encrease your perplexities. I saw your mind with a thousand natural charms: but,

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the greatness of its beauty served only to heighten my pity for it's prostitution.

HONEYWOOD. Cease to upbraid me, Sir: I have for some time but too strongly felt the justice of your reproaches. But there is one way still left me. Yes, Sir, I have determined this very hour, to quit for ever a place where I have made myself the voluntary flave of all; and to seek among strangers that fortitude which may give strength to the mind, and marshal all its dissipated virtues. Yet, ere I depart, permit me to solicit favour for this gentleman ; who, notwithftanding what has happened, has laid me under the moft fignal obligations. Mr. Lofty

Lofty.
Mr. Honeywood, I'm resolved upon a reforma-
tion, as well as you. I now begin to find, that the
man who first invented the art of speaking truth
was a much cunninger fellow than I thought him.
And, to prove that I design to speak truth for the
future, I must now assure you, that you owe your
late enlargement to another; as, upon my soul, I
had no hand in the matter. So now if any of the
company has a mind for preferment, he may take
my place, I'm determined to resign. [Exit.

HONEYWOOD.
How have I been deceived !

Sir

Sir WILLIAM. No, Sir, you have been obliged to a kinder, fairer friend for that favour. To Miss Richland. Would the complete our joy, and make the man she has honoured by her friendinip happy in her love, I Mould then forget all, and be as blest as the wel. fare of my deareit kinsman can make me.

Miss RiCHLAND. After what is past, it would be but affectation to pretend to indifference. Yes, I will own an attachment, which, I find, was more than friendship. And, if my intreaties cannot alter his resolution to quit the country, I will even try if my hand has not power to detain him.

[Giving her hand. HONEYWOOD. Heavens ! how can I have deserved all this? How express my happiness, my gratitude ! А moment, like this, overpays an age of apprehenfion.

CROAKER. Well, now I see content in every face; but Heaven send we be all better this day three months !

Sir WILLIAM. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect yourself. He who seeks only for applause from without, has all his happiness in another's keeping.

HO

HONEYWOOD. Yes, Sir, I now too plainly perceive my errors. My vanity in attempting to please all, by fearing to offend any. My meanness in approving folly, left fools should disapprove. Henceforth, therefore, it shall be my ftudy to reserve my pity for real diftress; my friendship for true merit; and my love for her, who firft taught me what it is to be happy.

E PI.

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S puffing quacks fome caitiff wretch procure
To swear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure;
Thus, on the stage, our play-wrights ftill depend
For Epilogues and Prologues on some friend,
Who knows each art of coaxing up the town,
And make full many a bitter pill go down.
Conscious of this, our bard has gone about,
And teaz'd each rhyming friend to help him out.
An Epilogue, things can't go on without it;
It could not fail, would you but fet about it.
Young man, cries one, (a bard laid up in clover)
Alas, young man, my writing days are over ;
Let boys play tricks, and kick the straw, not I;
Your brother doctor there, perhaps, may try.
What I! dear Sir, the doctor interposes;
What, plant my thistle, Sir, among his roses !

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* The author, in expectation of an Epilogue from a friend at Oxford, deferred writing one himself til the very last hour. What is here offered, owes all it's success to the graceful manner of the actress who spoke it.

No,

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