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Enter Mr. WoodWARD, dressed in Black, and
holding a handkerchief to his Eyes.
Excuse me, Sirs, I pray—I can't yet speak--
What shall we do?-If Comedy forsake us ! They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us. But, why can't I be moral ?--Let me tryMy heart thus presing-fix'd my face and eyeWith a sententious look, that nothing means, (Faces are blocks, in sentimental scenes) Thus I begin-“ All is not gold that glitters, “ Pleasures seem sweet, but prove a glass of bitters. “ When ign’rance enters, folly is at hand : “ Learning is better far than house and land. “ Let not your virtue trip, who trips may stumble, “ And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble.”
I give it up-morals won't do for me;
will swallow it, the maid is cur'd:
Scene, a Chamber in an old-fashioned House.
Enter Mrs. HARDCASTLE and Mr. HARDCASTLE.
follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel fafter than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as infide passengers, but in the
Mrs. Hardcastle. Aye, your times were fine times, indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling manfion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we never see company.
Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master: and all our entertainment your old stories of prince Eugene and the duke of Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery.
HARDCASTLE. And I love it. I love every thing that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and, I believe, Dorothy, taking her hand) you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife.
Mrs. HARDCASTLE. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothy's and your old wife's. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan, I promise you. I'm not so old as you'd make me, by more than one good Add twenty to twenty, and make money
HARDCASTL7. Let me see; twenty added to twenty, makes just fifty and feren.