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Charles. To put it beyond doubt, madam, Mr. Russet and my guardian have consented to our marriage; and we are in hopes that you will not withhold your approbation.

Mrs. Oak. I have no further doubt--I see you are innocent, and it was cruel to suspect you—You have taken a load of anguish off my mind--and yet your kind interposition comes too late ; Mr. Oakly's love for me is entirely destroyed.

[Weeping Oak. I must go to her

[Apart. Maj. Not yet! -Not yet!

[ Apart. Har. Do not disturb yourself with such apprehensions; I am sure Mr. Oakly loves you most affectionately.

Oak. I can hold no longer. [Going to her.) My affection for you, madam, is as warm as ever. My constrained behaviour has cut me to the soul-For it was all constrained—and it was with the utmost difficulty that I was able to support it.

Mrs. Oak. O, Mr. Oakly, how have I exposed myself! What low arts has my jealousy induced me to practise ! I see my folly, and fear that you can never forgive me. Oak. Forgive you! This change transports me!

-Brother! Mr. Russet! Charles ! Harriet! give me joy !---I am the happiest man in the world!

Maj. Joy, much joy, to you both! though, by the by, you are not a little obliged to me for it. Did not I tell you,

I would cure all the disorders in your family? I beg pardon, sister, for taking the liberty to prescribe for you. My medicines have been somewhat rough, I believe, but they have had an admirable effect, and so don't be angry with your physician.

Mrs. Oak. I am indeed obliged to you, and I feel

Oak. Nay, my dear, no more of this. All that's past must be utterly forgotten.

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Mrs. Oak. I have not merited this kindness, but it shall hereafter be my study to deserve it. Away with all idle jealousies ! And since my suspicions have hitherto been groundless, I am resolved for the future never to suspect at all.

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THE END.

1

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Mrs. Oak. I have not merited this kindness, but it shall hereafter be my study to deserve it. Away with all idle jealousies! And since my suspicions have hitherto been groundless, I am resolved for the future never to suspect at all.

THE END.

THE

WEST INDIAN;

A COMEDY.

BY

RICHARD CUMBERLAND.

VOL. 1.

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