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FALSE COLOURS.

A C T I.

SCENE. A Hall-(a ringing at the door.)

Enter Tony, with a tankard in his hand.

WHY

Tony.

HY, Jonathan Geoffrey-are none of you up yet? Will nobody go to the door?-Was there ever fuch a lazy pack of drunken scoundrels (he drinksbell rings again)-aye, now this is what one gets by being industrious and rifing early-instead of a cool comfortable tankard, I must be pacing to the door here before eight in the morning-(bell rings again). Ecod I have a great mind to go to bed again. No, as I am here, for once I'll do a good-natured act-and-(opens the door.)

Enter Subtle.

Eh, Master Subtle, is it you fo early? Where is my lord?

Subtle. On the road, my boy; but he sent me forward with a letter for her ladyfhip. Is the up yet?

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Tony. Up? Lord help you-not a foul ftirring in the houfe! To tell you the truth, we had a grand rehearsal of one of our Comedies last night, and, fomehow, that always makes the family pure fleepy in the morning.

Subtle. What? my lady dashes as usual—eh !

Tony. Dafhes-why, we have a private Theatre you know. Ecod, I am a gentleman performer,-hi, hi,→ and there's Mifs Conftance acts as well as thof fhe was paid for it-then we have our dilatory concerts.

Subtle. But what does Sir Paul fay? Where are his fears and caution? Why he never dared fhew his nose at night; and the bare idea of a hot room used to throw him into a cold sweat.

Tony. Aye, aye, he is at his old pranks ftill-Noftrums to give appetite in a morning, and noftrums to help digeftion in the afternoon. Why, all the fervants are but just out of their spring phyfic-to cool the blood, as he fays. Then we are regularly dofed with drugs once a month to prevent fevers. Here, pull away my boy(gives the tankard)-and tell us, is my lord as great a phyzzionomite as he used to be-eh!

Subtle. As great? Why man, he has had the whole household fhaved bald as coots, to fhew the fhape of their foreheads, and wears his wig full two inches in arrear to display his own. You fee I am obliged to wear my ears al fresco. Such a fet as we have at home-not a vulgar face among us. The quarter-feffions indeed makes fad carried off a brace of heroes laft week that were

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Tony. Eh! how? perfect.

Subtle. Aye, nofe and chin; but I told my lord at the time, their necks had a very suspicious turn; and indeed they were a little confufed in their ideas of property.

Tony. But you don't drink-may be, you like wine better. I can fmug you a play-houfe bottle from our property man.

[Bell rings. Subtle.

Subtle. Eh! no-there is the bell-have a care when his lordship comes, or egad he may detect you.

Tony. Eh! what! oh dear-you don't fay fo-how? Subtle. By your face, to be fure. Why man, the features are his alphabet, and he reads characters at fight. Now and then indeed he meets with a crabbed fort of print. You now for inftance-that nose of your's is fo plaguily ill-fpelt that he'll hardly be able to determine, whether of the two you are most given to-women or wine-though on a nearer inspection the wine seems to have got into your nofe, and the women into your headbut come along.

Tony. Ah, Mafter Subtle, you are a wag; not that I like drinking for drinking fake, only a bottle is company, and one hates to be alone. As for the vomen, why somehow they do get into a body's head.

Subtle. Never mind, Tony, keep your own counsel ; yours feems to be made of fuch good impenetrable ftuff, that whatever may be in, I don't fee any thing come out of it. (Bell rings again.) [Exeunt in a hurry.

SCENE-The Garden.

Enter Harriet, followed by Montague.

Montague. Nay, but my dear Harriet, give me up the promife of marriage. Why keep a Why keep a musty parchment, every word of which is obfolete.

Harriet. But it's validity is not obfolete. I know 'twas given three years fince to Harriet, the daughter of an opulent merchant, which Harriet now finds herself, by his death and insolvency, a poor dependant on the bounty of her aunt Lady Panick-but for all that, the promise is valid.

Mont. True woman-fhe has me-and no power on earth could make her quit her hold-(afide)-'sdeath have I not laid Sir Harry Cecil, a young Baronet, and 5000l. a year, at your feet.

Har. Not altogether that.

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Mont. I tell you-it is but playing on his ridiculous caprice, and you are fure of him. Is it not the very end of his plot? Has he not changed characters with me for this fole purpose? To find a girl that would love him for himself forfooth-without the aid of title, fortune, or any such gross attraction-the conceited mongrel;—and while every one else in the family is a ftranger to the truth, have I not revealed it to you-shewn you how to lay the net?

Har. Fair and foftly, my good fir; there is a delicate fenfibility about his mind, of which you have no conception I must have time-yielding too foon, instead of winning, would disgust him.

Mont. Pihawlet it feem from excefs of affection, then 'twill the more flatter his vanity, and judgment is too prudent to fhew its face against fuch an antagonist; befides, not a moment 's to be loft- he begins to see his folly, and a premature difcovery of his real character would ftrip me of my title, difclose the difinterestedness of your attachment, and ruin both our profpects-fo, prythee, my good Harriet, away with delicacy-you have never yet troubled her much, and she is a coy prude, that does not take kindly to new acquaintance. What have you done for me with Conftance?

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Har. All that inuendoes can effect has been tried

your name emblazoned with every virtue-and one thing is certain.

Mont. What, my fweet girl, what?

Har. Why, young Vifage turns out a confirmed libertine.

Mont. I knew it, but what of that? Spare my impatience.

Har. She is certainly averse to the match.

Mont. This is news indeed-I am tranfported, thou dear delicious girl-why I could almost kneel and worhip thee. (Going to kneel.)

Har. Confufion-here is fir Harry.

Mont.

Mont. The devil he is.

Har. Stay, ftay-don't move.

Enter Sir Harry Cecil, who flops at the back of the Stage on feeing them.

Mont. (In a low voice.) Curfes on my heroics.

Har. (Pretending not to fee Sir Harry.) Believe me, Sir, I am far from insensible to your merit; but no confideration fhall tempt my hand, where I cannot give my heart. That (seeing Sir Harry)-Captain Montague, here. I am really fo confused

[Exit.

Mont. (Pretending not to fee Sir Harry)—That in the whole female world my cursed star should point to a woman, who is as blind to the gifts of fortune as the goddess in giving them! Eh! are you there? (feeing Sir Harry), you heard her then? Did you think, Cecil, there exifted on the face of the earth a woman who would refuse an estate of 5000l. a year, with no other incumbrance than a young baronet of twenty-five.

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Sir Harry. Had you no quarrel?

Mont. Oh dear no. She offered me her friendfhip. No woman ever refuses a man without offering him her friendship. It's the rule of the sex.

Sir Harry. What was her reason?

Mont. No. I will not betray her. Could fhe have one? She did indeed confefs.

Sir Harry. Prithee let us change the fubject. No more of Harriet.

Mont. What should we talk about, but these rural divinities; and I am sure she is a thousand times a finer girl than her friend Conftance.

Sir Harry. Conftance-an angel-I met her within this half hour. She had been relieving the family of a poor peasant-her eye yet wet. Oh, Montague, the tear of fenfibility on the cheek of a beautiful woman, like the dew-drop of heaven on its favourite rofe, fheds new fweetness where all was fweet before.

Mont.

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