I'm now recover'd from the delusion, and hope 165 from your tenderness what is denied me from a

nearer connexion.

Mrs. Hard. Pshaw, pshaw, this is all but the whining end of a modern novel!

Hard. Be it what it will, I'm glad they're 170 come back to reclaim their due. Come hither, Tony, boy. Do you refuse this lady's hand whom I now offer you?

Tony. What signifies my refusing? You know I can't refuse her till I'm of age, father. 175 Hard. While I thought concealing your age, boy, was likely to conduce to your improvement, I concurred with your mother's desire to keep it secret. But since I find she turns it to a wrong use, I must now declare, you have been of age 180

these three months.

Tony. Of age! Am I of age, father?

Hard. Above three months.

Tony. Then you'll see the first use I'll make of my liberty. (Taking Miss Neville's hand.) 185 Witness all men by these presents, that I, Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire, of BLANK place, refuse you, Constantia Neville, spinster, of no place at all, for my true and lawful wife. So Constance Neville may marry whom she pleases, 190 and Tony Lumpkin is his own man again!

190 may marry whom she pleases. The usual stage variant, may go to the devil, has no warrant from the octavos.

Sir Char. O brave 'Squire!

Hast. My worthy friend!

Mrs. Hard. My undutiful offspring!

Marl. Joy, my dear George, I give you joy 195 sincerely. And could I prevail upon my little tyrant here to be less arbitrary, I should be the happiest man alive, if you would return me the favour.

Hast. (to Miss Hardcastle.) Come, madam, 200 you are now driven to the very last scene of all your contrivances. I know you like him, I'm sure he loves you, and you must and shall have him.

Hard. (joining their hands.) And I say so 205 too. And Mr. Marlow, if she makes as good a wife as she has a daughter, I don't believe you'll ever repent your bargain. So now to supper; to-morrow we shall gather all the poor of the parish about us, and the Mistakes of the 210 Night shall be crowned with a merry morning; so boy, take her; and as you have been mistaken in the mistress, my wish is that you may never be mistaken in the wife.

FINIS.

EPILOGUE

BY DR. GOLDSMITH

WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success,
And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
Still as a bar-maid, I could wish it, too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you :
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty bar-maids have done execution.
Our life is all a play, compos'd to please,
"We have our exits and our entrances."
The first act shews the simple country maid,
Harmless and young, of ev'ry thing afraid,
Blushes when hir'd, and with unmeaning action,
I hopes as how to give you satisfaction.

Her second act displays a livelier scene,—
Th' unblushing bar-maid of a country inn.

Who whisks about the house, at market caters, 15 Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters.

Next the scene shifts to town, and there she

soars,

The chop-house toast of ogling connoissieurs.
On 'Squires and Cits she there displays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts— 20
Epilogue. In the octavos this follows Garrick's Prologue.

And as she smiles, her triumphs to compleat,
Even Common Councilmen forget to eat.
The fourth act shews her wedded to the 'Squire,
And Madam now begins to hold it higher;
Pretends to taste, at Operas cries caro,
And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che Faro.
Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride,
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheap-
side:

Ogles and leers with artificial skill,

Till having lost in age the power to kill,

She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, thro' our lives, the eventful history-
The fifth and last act still remains for me.
The Bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns female barrister, and pleads for Bayes.

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30

35

EPILOGUE

To be spoken in the character of TONY LUMPKIN

BY J. CRADDOCK, Esq.

WELL-now all's ended-and my comrades

gone,

Pray what becomes of mother's nonly son?
A hopeful blade!—in town I'll fix my station,
And try to make a bluster in the nation.
As for my cousin Neville, I renounce her,
Off-in a crack—I'll carry big Bett Bouncer.
Why should not I in the great world appear?
I soon shall have a thousand pounds a year;
No matter what a man may here inherit,

5

In London-'gad, they've some regard to spirit. 10
I see the horses prancing up the streets,
And big Bet Bouncer bobs to all she meets;
Then hoikes to jiggs and pastimes ev'ry night—
Not to the plays—they say it aʼn't polite;
To Sadler's-Wells perhaps, or operas go,
And once, by chance, to the roratorio.

* This came to late to be spoken.

Epilogue. In Or this is placed before the play, following Goldsmith's own epilogue.

10 regard to. Some recent editions print, regard for.

15