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Lord T. Fear me not.

Man. This last reproach, I see, has struck her!

[Aside.

Lord T. No, let me not (though I this moment cast her from my heart for ever), let me not urge her punishment beyond her crimes-I know the world is fond of any tale that feeds its appetite of scandal;-and as I am conscious severities of this kind seldom fail of imputations too gross to mention, I here, before you both, acquit her of the least suspicion raised against the honour of my bed. Therefore, when abroad her conduct may be questioned, do her fame that justice. Lady T. Oh, sister! [Turns to Lady Grace, weeping. Lord T. When I am spoken of, where, without favour, this action may be canvassed, relate but half my proVocations, and give me up to censure. [Going. Lady T. Support me-save me-hide me from the world! [Falling on Lady Grace's Neck. Lord T. [Returning] I had forgot me-You have no share in my resentment, therefore, as you have lived in friendship with her, your parting may admit of gentler terms than suit the honour of an injured husband. [Offers to go out.

Man. [Interposing] My lord, you must not, shall not, leave her thus!-One moment's stay can do your cause no wrong. If looks can speak the anguish of her heart, I'll answer, with my life, there's something labouring in her mind, that, would you bear the hearing, might deserve it.

Lord T. Consider-since we no more can meet, press not my staying to insult her.

Lady T. Yet stay, my lord-the little I would say will not deserve an insult; and, undeserved, I know your nature gives it not. But as you've called in friends to witness your resentment, let them be equal hearers of my last reply.

Lord T. I shan't refuse you that, madam-be it so. Lady T. My lord, you ever have complained I wanted love; but as you kindly have allowed I never

gave it to another, so, when you hear the story of my heart, though you may still complain, you will not wonder at my coldness.

Lord T. Proceed-I am attentive.

Lady T. Before I was your bride, my lord, the flattering world had talked me into beauty; which, at my glass, my youthful vanity confirmed. Wild with that fame, I thought mankind my slaves-I triumphed over hearts, while all my pleasure was their pain: yet was my own so equally insensible to all, that, when a father's firm commands enjoined me to make choice of one, I even there declined the liberty he gave, and to his own election yielded up my youth-his tender care, my lord, directed him to you.-Our hands were joined, but still my heart was wedded to its folly.-My only joy was power, command, society, profuseness, and to lead in pleasures.-The husband's right to rule I thought a vulgar law, which only the deformed or meanly spirited obeyed.-I knew no directors but my passions, no master but my will.-Even you, my lord, sometime o'ercome by love, were pleased with my delights; nor then foresaw this mad inisuse of your indulgence.And though I call myself ungrateful while I own it, yet as a truth it cannot be denied, that kind indulgence bas undone me; it added strength to my habitual failings, and, in a heart thus warm in wild, unthinking life, no wonder if the gentler sense of love was lost. Lord T. Oh, Manly! where has this creature's heart been buried?

[Apart,

Man. If yet recoverable, how vast the treasure!

Apart. Lady T. What I have said, my lord, is not my excuse, but my confession; my errors (give them, if you please, a harder name) cannot be defended-No, what's in its nature wrong, no words can palliate-no plea can alter ! What then remains in my condition, but resignation to your pleasure? Time only can convince you of my future conduct: therefore, till I have lived an object of forgiveness, I dare not hope for pardon - The penance of a lonely, contrite life, were little to the

innocent; but, to have deserved this separation, will strew perpetual thorns upon my pillow.-Sister, farewell! [Kisses her] Your virtue needs no warning from the shame that falls on me; but when you think I have atoned my follies past, persuade your injured brother to forgive them.

Lord T. No, madam! your errors, thus renounced, this instant are forgotten! So deep, so due a sense of them has made you what my utmost wishes form'd, and all my heart has sigh'd for.-Long parted friends, that pass through easy voyages of life, receive but common gladness in their meeting; but, from a shipwreck saved, we mingle tears with our embraces.

[Embraces Lady Townly. Lady T. What words-what love-what duty can repay such obligations?

Lord T. Preserve but this desire to please, your power is endless.

Lady T. Oh! till this moment never did I know, my lord, I had a heart to give you!

Lord T. By heaven! this yielding hand, when first it gave you to my wishes, presented not a treasure more desirable!-Oh, Manly! sister! as you have often shared in my disquiet, partake of my felicity-my new-born joy! See here, the bride of my desires! This may be called my wedding-day.

Lady G. Sister (for now, methinks, that name is dearer to me than ever), let me congratulate the happiness that opens to you.

Man. Long, long, and mutual, may it flow!

Lord T. To make our happiness complete, my dear, join here with me to give a hand, that amply will repay the obligation.

Lady T. Sister, a day like this-
Lady G. Admits of no

joy.

it.

Man. A joy like mine

excuse against the general [Gives her Hand to Manly. -despairs of words to speak

Lord T. Oh, Manly, how the name of friend endears

the brother!

[Embraces him.

Man. Your words, my lord, will warm me to deserve them.

Lady T. Sister, to your unerring virtue I now commit the guidance of my future days.

Never the paths of pleasure more to tread,
But where your guarded innocence shall lead ;
For, in the marriage state, the world must own,
Divided happiness was never known.

To make it mutual, nature points the way;
Let husbands govern, gentle wives obey. [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

METHINKS I hear some powder'd critics say,
"Damn it! this wife reform'd has spoil'd the play!
The coxcomb should have drawn her more in fashion,
Have gratify'd her softer inclination, [tion."
Have tipp'd her a gallant, and clinch'd the provoca-
But there our bard stopp'd short; for 'twere uncivil,
T have made a modern belle all o'er a devil!
He hop'd, in honour of the sex, the age
Would bear one mended woman-on the stage.

From whence, you see, by common sense's rules,
Wives might be govern'd, were not husbands fools.
Whate'er by nature dames are prone to do,
They seldom stray but when they govern you.
When the wild wife perceives her deary tame,
No wonder then she plays him all the game.
But men of sense meet rarely that disaster;
Women take pride where merit is their master:
Nay, she that with a weak man wisely lives,
Will seem t' obey the due commands he gives!
Happy obedience is no more a wonder,

When men are men, and keep them kindly under.
But modern consorts are such high-bred creatures,
They think a busband's pow'r degrades their features ;

That nothing more proclaims a reigning beauty,
Than that she never was reproach'd with duty:
And that the greatest blessing heav'n e'er sent,
Is in a spouse incurious and content.

To give such dames a diff'rent cast of thought,
By calling home the mind, these scenes were wrought.
If with a hand too rude, the task is done,
We hope the scheme by lady Grace laid down,
Will all such freedom with the sex atone,
That virtue there unsoil'd by modish art,
Throws out attraction for a Manly's heart.
You, you, then, ladies, whose unquestion❜d lives
Give you the foremost fame of happy wives,
Protect, for its attempt, this helpless play,
Nor leave it to the vulgar taste a prey;
Appear the frequent champions of its cause,
Direct the crowd, and give yourselves applause.

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.

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