Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius.-So, Jack, I wish you joy-Mr. Faulkland, the same.-Ladies,-come now, to show you I'm neither vexed nor angry, odds tabors and pipes! I'll order the fiddles in half an hour, to the New Rooms-and I insist on your all meeting me 'there. Sir Anth. Gad! sir, I like your spirit; and at night we single lads will drink a health to the young couples, and a husband to Mrs. Malaprop. Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us, Jack—I hope, to be congratulated by each other-yours for having checked in time the errors of an ill directed imagination, which might have betrayed an innocent heart; and mine, for having, by her gentleness and candour, reformed the unhappy temper of one, who by it made wretched whom he loved most, and tortured the heart he ought to have adored. Capt. Abs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the bitters, as well as the sweets, of love-with this difference only, that you always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while I Lydia. Was always obliged to me for it, hey! Mr. Modesty!--But come, no more of that—our happiness is now as unalloyed as general. Julia. Then let us study to preserve it so and while hope pictures to us a flattering scene of happiness, let us deny its pencil those colours, which are too bright to be lasting. When hearts diffusing happiness would unite their fortunes, virtue would crown them with an unfading garland of modest, hurtless flowers; but ill judging passion will force the gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends most, when its leaves are dropp'd! [Exeunt omnes. THE END. THE WAY TO KEEP HIM. ACT I. Scene I.-A Room in Lovemore's House. WILLIAM at cards with a brother Servant. Will. A plague on it!—I've turn'd out my game.— Is forty-seven good? Serv. Equal. Will. A plague go with it-tearse to a queen- Will. I've ruin'd my game, and be hang'd to me. I don't believe there's a footman in England plays with worse luck than myself.-Four aces is fourteen! Serv. That's hard :-cruel, by Jupiter! Will. Four aces is fourteen-fifteen. [Plays. [Plays. Will. Very well-sixteen-[Plays.] seventeen Serv. There's your equality. Enter MUSLIN. Mus. There's a couple of you, indeed!—You're so fond of the vices of your betters, that you're scarce out of your beds, when you must pretend to imitate them and their ways, forsooth. Will. Pr'ythee, be quiet, woman, do-Eighteen [Plays. |