from utter and immediate ruin, a father that I dearly love?

Miss Rich. It can, sir, and honour you for the motive; for I am sure that nothing else could have brought about such an event; and I should little deserve that esteem which I hope you still retain for me, if I could not give up my feeble claim to your tenderness, for ties of so much more importance.

Col. Med. Oh, Clara, why did I give you up? what have I got to compensate for your loss?

Miss Rich. Your virtue! the consciousness of having acted right-You have broke no oaths, no promises to me; nay, I have often told you, I would never be yours but with your father's consent; for, sunk as I am in fortune, I would not meanly creep into a family that rejected me. And for this reason, I would neither give, nor receive a vow; but left you at full liberty to make a better choice, when your duty or your interest should urge you.

Col. Med. That last word, madam, carries a reproach in it, which I cannot bear from you.

Miss Rich. Do not mistake me, sir; I have not the least suspicion, that interest has the smallest share in this action-I wish it had-for then, perhaps, I should part with you with less reluctance, than now I own I have power to do.-But we must not touch upon this string-my sister loves you, and I hope will make you happy.

Col. Med. Happy, do you say! no, Clara, no, hap

piness and I have shaken hands; what I have done to-day has made a wretch of me for life.

Miss Rich. Oh, sir, shew more indifference, if you would not have me repine too much at my own sad fate.

Col. Med. And what is mine then, Clara, condemn. ed to losing what is dearer to me than life; with the superadded grief of giving up my days to one I cannot love. Your condition is not quite so wretched; you still are free, and time may incline you to bestow your heart upon some happy man.

Miss Rich. Never, never!

Col. Med. Do not say so-I had but that hope left to keep me from desperation; if I lose it, I shall forget all obligations, and give my father up to poverty and shame,

Miss Rich. No more, I beseech you, sir-you have made a noble sacrifice of your love-do not lose the merit of your filial goodness, by repenting of an act, that raises you higher even in my esteem.

Col. Med. Clara, the tears stand trembling in your eyes while you speak-pray, give them vent, for I am ashamed to weep alone. [He turns from her.

Miss Rich. See, mine are dispersed already.—Col. lect yourself, I beg of you, you have a noble character to sustain..

Col. Med. Oh, Clara, I am unequal to the task |—I have no fortitude left

Miss Rich. Think of your unhappy father, sir!-let that keep up your resolution. "I grant you have a

sister may pake a turn or two

୧

"difficult task; for my
❝self affronted, by the explanation you myself; and
❝that letter, which has fallen into her haioned, you,
"Col. Med. I hope she may!

it what "Miss Rich. Nay, do not indulge in such

"hope; 'tis but a surmise of mine, and may ha I "nothing in it.- -I know she suspected our attach "ment to each other, yet that did not check the pro66 gress of her love."-I am going to quit her house =directly; and this, sir, for my own, for my sister's, and for your sake, is the last time we must ever meet! -Forget me, sir, and try-I conjure you try-to be happy![Exit. Col. Med. Clara I-stay!-stay!-So! all's at an end!- -and the hope I had nourished for many years, is vanished like a dream. This trial was more than I thought I could support; but her noble I firmness, I believe, made me ashamed to sink quite under the blow that parted us for ever-I wish I were out of this fatal house—for I am very unfit to act the lover's part.

Enter Lord MEDWAY.

Lord Med. How now, Medway! what's the meaning of this alone, and with a countenance of despair! I bid you wear a better face. Where's Mrs. Knightly? have not you seen her yet? I thought, by this time, to have found you at her feet, and as I passed by the door, stepped in to help you to make love; for I know your heart is not warm in the business.

Col. Med. My lørd, I am very glad you are come : you must, indeed, make love for me; for I assure you, I am in no condition to speak for myself.

Lord Med. Why, what's the matter, man? I suppose Miss Richly and you have been whining over one another: did not I warn you against that, George, and bid you write to her?

Col. Med. So I did, my lord; but, unfortunately, she did not receive my letter; so that, by accident, we met just now, not, I assure you, with the least design on either side.

Lord Med. That was unlucky; but how came she to miss of your letter?

Col. Med. By a circumstance still more unlucky, for she is afraid her sister got it.

Lord Med. What a curst untoward accident, if that be so; yet her love for you will make her overlook all this. 'Twas but a thing of course, mere gallantry. -I'll lead you to her, and turn it off.

Col. Med. I beg of you, my lord, to see her first alone; she does not know that I am come; the servant conducted me to this room, supposing she was here; and lucky it was for me that it happened otherwise her sister's presence so disconcerted me, that I should have acquitted myself but very ill towards her.

:

Lord Med. But she expects you by this time; a lover and out-stay his appointment! for shame, George!

Col. Med. Let me beseech your lordship to dispense

with my seeing her just now; I'll take a turn or two in the park, and endeavour to compose myself; and if my passion for her sister should be mentioned, you, my lord, can, with a better grace than I, give it what turn you please.

Lord Med. Well-perhaps it may be better so. I own I had rather she should speak of that to me than to you. Get you gone quickly—I'll prepare the way for you-She admits me to her toilet.

[Exeunt different ways.

ACT V. Scene 1.

Lord MEDWAY's House. Enter Lord MEDWAY.

Lord Medway.

By what a strange fatality are all my actions governed-Nothing that I can devise but what ends in disappointment and vexation.-Yet in this last instance, I ought to be thankful for my disappointment; for had my design been accomplished, into what a horrid gulph should I have plunged my children. It makes my blood run cold to think of it.I was born for destruction, and the ruins I have made myself are now come tumbling on my head. No hope left for avoiding them-no prospect before me but disgrace.

-And the life of shame I have to look back on! To think how I have abused and perverted every. gift bestowed on me for a blessing!-How I sicken at my own reflections.