the trouble, by now confessing that I rear'd it, must have had a heart like am not what I have passed myself for. stone to refuse it. Sir Tunbelly, I am a gentleman, and I flatter myself a man of character; but 'tis with great pride I assure you I am not Lord Foppington. Sir T. Ouns! I shall go mad! Unloose my lord there, you scoundrels! Lord F. Why,when these gentlemen are at leisure, I should be glad to Sir T. Ouns! what's this? an congratulate you on your son-inimpostor?—a cheat?—fire and fag-law, with a little more freedom of gots, sir, if you are not Lord Fop-address. pington, who the devil are you? - Young F. Sir, the best of my condition is, I am your son-in-law; and the worst of it is, I am brother to that noble peer. Miss H. Egad, though, I don't see which is to be my husband after all. Love. Come, come, Sir Tunbel'y, a man of your understanding must perceive, that an affair of this kind is not to be mended by anger and reproaches. Lord F. Impudent to the last, Gad dem me. Sir T. My son-in-law ! Not yet, I Col. T. Take my word for it, Sir hope. Tunbelly, you are only tricked into a Young F. Pardon me, sir; thanks to son-in-law you may be proud of: my the goodness of your chaplain, and friend, Tom Fashion, is as honest a the kind offices of this old gentle-fellow as ever breath'd. Lory. 'Tis true, indeed, sir; I gave your daughter away, and Mrs. Nurse, here, was clerk. Sir T. Knock that rascal down!But speak, Jesabel, how's this? Nurse. Alas! your honour, forgive me! I have been overreach'd in this business as well as you. Your worship knows, if the wedding-dinner had been ready, you would have given her away with your own hands. Sir T. But how durst you do this without acquainting me? Nurse. Alas! if your worship had seen how the poor thing begg'd and pray'd, and clung and twined about me like ivy round an old wall, you would say I, who had nurs'd it, and Love. That he is, depend on't; and will hunt or drink with you most affectionately; be generous, old boy,and forgive them Sir T. Never. The hussy!-when I had set my heart on getting her a title. Lord F. Now, Sir Tunbelly, that I am untruss'd—give me leave to thank thee for the very extraordinary re-. ception I have met with in thy damn'd, execrable mansion; and at the same time to assure you, that of all the bumpkins and blockheads I have had the misfortune to meet with, thau art the most obstinate and egregious, strike meugly! Sir T. What's this? I believe you are both rogues alike, Lord F. No, Sir Tunbelly, thou wilt 's name, nurse? find, to thy unspeakable mortifica-lady after all? only plain Mrs.tion, that I am the real Lord Fop-What's my husband's pington, who was to have disgraced Nurse. Squire Fashion. myself by an alliance with a clod; Miss H. Squire, is he?-Well, that's and that thou hast match'd thy girl to better than nothing. a beggarly younger brother of mine, whose title-deeds might be contain'd in thy tobacco-box. Lord F. Now I will put on a philosophic air, and show these people, that it is not possible to put a man of my Sir T. Puppy! puppy!-I might quality out of countenance. [Aside.] prevent their being beggars, if I chose Dear Tam, since things are fallen out, it; for I could give 'em as good a rent-pr'ythee give me leave to wish thee roll as your lordship. joy; I do it de bon coeur, strike me Lord F. Ay, old fellow, but you will dumb! You have married into a family not do that for that would be acting of great politeness and uncommon like a Christian, and thou art a barba- elegance of manners, and your bride rian, stap my vitals! appears to be a lady beautiful in perSir T. Udzookers! Now six such son, modest in her deportment, rewords more, and I'll forgive them fined in her sentiments, and of nice directly. morality, split my windpipe! Miss H. By goles, husband, break his bones, if he calls me names. Young F. Your lordship may keep up your spirits with your grimace, if you please; I shall support mine by Sir Tunbelly's favour, with this lady and three thousand pounds a year. Love. 'Slife, Sir Tunbelly, you should do it, and bless yourself. Ladies, what say you? Aman. Good Sir Tunbelly, you must consent. Ber. Come, you have been young yourself, Sir Tunbelly. Sir T. Well then, if I must, I must; but turn-turn that sneering lord out Lord F. Well, adieu, Tam—ladies, however, and let me be revenged on I kiss your hands. Sir Tunbelly, I somebody. But first look whether I shall now quit this thy den; but while am a barbarian or not; there, chil-I retain the use of my arms, I shall dren, I join your hands; and when ever remember thou art a demn'd I'm in a better humour, I'll give you horrid savage; Ged demn me! [Exit. my blessing. Sir T.By the mass, 'tis well he's gone a Love. Nobly done, Sir Tunbelly; and we shall see you dance at grandson's christening yet. Miss H. By goles though, I don't understand this. What, an't I to be a for I should ha' been provoked, by-and-by, to ha' dun un a mischief. Well, if this is a lord, I think Hoyden has luck o'her side, in troth. Col. T. She has indeed, Sir Tunbelly —but I hear the fiddles; his lordship, tention. If you should be at a loss to I know, had provided 'em. divert your new guests, we will assist Love. O, a dance and a bottle, Sir you to relate to them the plot of your Tunbelly, by all means. daughter's marriage, and his lordSir T. I had forgot the company be- ship's deserved mortification; a sublow; well-what-we must be merry ject which perhaps may afford no bad then, ha? and dance and drink, ha? evening's entertainment. Well, 'fore George, you sha'n't say I Sir T. 'Ecod, with all my heart; do these things by halves. Son-in-though I am a main bungler at a long law there looks like a hearty rogue, story. so we'll have a night on't: and which Ber. Never fear; we will assist you, of these ladies will be the old man's if the tale is judged worth being repartner, ha?-'Ecod, I don't know peated; but of this you may be ashow I came to be in so good a humour. sured, that while the intention is eviBer. Well, Sir Tunbelly, my friend dently to please, British auditors will and I both will endeavour to keep ever be indulgent to the errors of the you so you have done a generous performance. action, and are entitled to our at [Exeunt. THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL: A COMEDY. A PORTRAIT; ADDRESSED TO MRS. CREWE, WITH THE COMEDY OF THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. BY R. B. SHERIDAN, ESQ. TELL me, ye prim adepts in Scandal's That even you assist her fame to raise, Approve by envy, and by silence praise ! school, Who rail by precept, and detract by rule, known, a model shall attract your view So deck'd with grace, and so unlike your Daughters of calumny, I summon you! You shall decide if this a portrait prove, own, praise, Or fond creation of the Muse and Love.- Hard is the task to shape that beauty's Whose judgment scorns the homage flattery pays! But praising Amoret we cannot err, No tongue o'ervalues Heaven, or flatters her! Yet she by Fate's perverseness - she alone Would doubt our truth, nor deem such praise her own! Adorning Fashion, unadorn'd by dress, Simple from taste, and not from carelessness; Discreet in gesture, in deportment mild, Not stiff with prudence, nor uncouthly wild: No state has Amoret! no studied mien; She frowns no goddess, and she moves no queen. The softer charm that in her manner lies, Is framed to captivate, yet not surprise; It justly suits th' expression of her face, 'Tis less than dignity, and more than grace! On her pure cheek the native hue is such, That form'd by heav'n to be admired so much, The hand divine, with a less partial care, Might well have fix'd a fainter crimson there, And bade the gentle immate of her breast, Inshrined Modesty!-supply the rest. But who the peril of her lips shall paint? Strip them of smiles—still,still all words are faint! But moving Love himself appears to teach That art, which well might added lustre Their action, though denied to rule her give speech; To Nature's best, and Heaven's super- And thou who seest her speak and dost lative: On Granby's cheek might bid new glo- Mourn not her ries rise, Or point a purer beam from Devon's Viewing those eyes! not hear, distant accents 'scape thine ear; lips, thou still may'st make pretence To judge of what she says, and swear 'tis | Fond to improve, nor tim❜rous to discern sense: Cloth'd with such grace, with such expression fraught, They move in meaning, and they pause in thought! How far it is a woman's grace to learn; In Millar's dialect she would not prove Apollo's priestess, but Apollo's love, Graced by those signs, which truth delights to own, But dost thou farther watch, with The timid blush, and mild submitted Veils and unveils those beams of heav'nly light, Such too her talents, and her bent of mind, As speak a sprightly heart by thought re fined, Too full, too fatal else, for mortal sight? Subduing frowns to arm her alter'd brow, By Love, I swear, and by his gentle wiles, Prerogative in her, and Nature's fault. And half mistrustful of her beauty's store, She barbs with wit those darts too keen before: school'd, A turn for ridicule, by candour ruled, Peace! idle Muse,-no more thy strain prolong, But yield a theme, thy warmest praises wrong; Just to her merit, though thou canst not raise Thy feeble verse, behold th', acknowledged praise Has spread conviction through the envious train, And cast a fatal gloom o'er Scandal's reign! And lo! each pallid hag, with blister'd tongue, Mutters assent to all thy zeal has sungRead in all knowledge that her sex should Owns all the colours just — the outline reach, true; -- Though Greville, or the Muse, should Thee my inspirer, and my model deign to teach, CREWE! |