-Thou hast no vanities, no niceties; but art thankful for every instance of love that I bestow on thee[Embracing her. Mrs Cler. What! am I then abused? Is it a wench then of his? Oh, me! was ever poor abused wife, poor innocent lady, thus injured! [Runs and seizes FAINLOVE'S sword. Cler. Sen. Oh, the brave pretty creature! Hurt Mr Fainlove! Look at his youth, his innocence-Ha, ha! [Interposing. Fain. Have a care, have a care, dear sirknow myself she'll have no mercy.

Mrs Cler. I'll be the death of her- -let me come on Stand from between us, Mr Clerimont- -I would not hurt you.

[Pushing and crying. Cler. Sen. Run, run, Jenny. [Exit JENNY. [Looks at her upbraidingly before he speaks. Well, madam, are these the innocent freedoms you claim'd of me? Have I deserv'd this? How has there been a moment of yours ever interrupted with the real pangs I suffer? The daily importunities of creditors, who become so by serving your profuse vanities: did I ever murmur at supplying any of your diversions, while I believed em (as you call'd 'em) harmless? must, then, those eyes, that used to glad my heart with their familiar brightness, hang down with guilt? Guilt has transform'd thy whole person; nay, the very memory of it-Fly from my growing passion. Mrs Cler. I cannot fly, nor bear it-Oh! look not

Cler. Sen. What can you say? Speak quickly. [Offering to draw. Mrs Cler. I never saw you moved beforeDon't murder me, impenitent; I'm wholly in your power as a criminal, but, remember, I have been so in a tender regard.

Cler. Sen. But how have you consider'd that regard?

Mrs Cler. Is't possible you can forgive what you ensnar'd me into?-Oh! look at me kindly-You know I have only err'd in my intention, nor saw my danger, till, by this honest art, you had shown me what 'tis to venture to the utmost limit of what is lawful. You laid that train, I'm sure, to alarm, not to betray, my innocenceMr Clerimont scorns such baseness! therefore I kneel I weep—I am convinced. [Kneels.

[CLER. Sen. takes her up, embracing her. Cler. Sen. Then kneel, and weep no more.. my fairest-my reconciled!- -Be so in a moment, for know, I cannot (without wringing my own heart) give you the least compunctionBe in humour-It shall be your own fault, if ever there's a serious word more on this subject.

Mrs Cler. I must correct every idea that rises in my mind, and learn every gesture of my body a-new—I detest the thing I was.

Cler. Sen. No, no-You must not do so-Our joy and grief, honour and reproach, are the same; you must slide out of your foppery by degrees, so that it may appear your own act. Mrs Cler. But this wench!

Cler. Sen. She is already out of your way-You shall see the castastrophe of her fate yourself—But still keep up the fine lady till we go out of town-You may return to it with as decent airs as you please-And, now I have shown you your error, I'm in so good humour as to repeat you a couplet on the occasion

They only who gain minds, true laurels wear, 'Tis less to conquer, than convince the fair. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Room.

Enter POUNCE, with Papers.

[A table, chairs, pen, ink, and paper.] Pounce. 'Tis a delight to gull these old rascals, and set 'em at variance about stakes, which I know neither of 'em will ever have possession of.

Enter TIPKIN, and Sir HARRY.

Tip. Do you design, Sir Harry, that they shall have an estate in their own hands, and keep house themselves, poor things?

Sir Har. No, no, sir, I know better; they shall go down into the country, and live with me, nor touch a farthing of money; but, having all things necessary provided, they shall go tame about the house, and breed.

Tip. Well, Sir Harry, then considering that all human things are subject to change, it behoves every man that has a just sense of mortality, to take care of his money.

Sir Har. I don't know what you mean, brother-What do you drive at, brother?

Tip. This instrument is executed by you, your son, and my niece, which discharges me of all retrospects.

Sir Har. It is confess'd, brother; but what then?

Tip. All that remains is, that you pay me for the young lady's twelve years board, as also all other charges, as wearing apparel, &c.

Sir Har. What is this you say? Did I give you my discharge from all retrospects, as you call it, and after all do you come with this and t'other, and all that? I find you are, I tell you, sir, to your face, I find you are

Tip. I find too what you are, Sir Harry.
Sir Har. What am I, sir? What am I?
Tip. Why, sir, you are angry.

Sir Har. Sir, I scorn your words, I am not angry-Mr Pounce is my witness, I am gentle as a lamb-Would it not make any flesh alive angry, to see a close hunks come after all with a demand of—

Tip. Mr Pounce, pray inform Sir Harry in this point.

Pounce. Indeed, Sir Harry, I must tell you plainly, that Mr Tipkin, in this, demands nothing but what he may recover-For though this case may be considered multifariam; that is to say, as 'tis usually, commonly, vicatim, or vulgarly express'd-Yet, I say, when we only observe, that

the power is settled as the law requires, assensu patris, by the consent of the father-That circumstance imports you are well acquainted with the advantages which accrue to your family by this alliance, which corroborates Mr Tipkin's demand, and avoids all objections that can be made.

Sir Har. Why then I find you are his adviser in all this

Pounce. Look ye, Sir Harry, to show you I love to promote among my clients a good understanding; though Mr Tipkin may claim four thousand pounds, I'll engage for him, and I know him so well, that he shall take three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings, and eight-pence farthing.

Tip. Indeed, Mr Pounce, you are too hard up

on me.

Pounce. You must consider a little, Sir Harry is your brother.

Sir Har. Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings, and eightpence farthing! for what, I say? for what, sir?

Pounce. For what, sir! for what she wanted, sir, a fine lady is always in want, sir-Her very clothes would come to that money in half the time.

Sir Har. Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings and eight-pence farthing, for clothes! pray how many suits does she wear out in a year?

Pounce. Oh, dear sir, a fine lady's clothes are not old by being worn, but by being seen.

Sir Har. Well, I'll save her clothes for the future, after I have got her into the country-I'll warrant her she shall not appear more in this wicked town, where clothes are worn out by sight And as to what you demand, I tell you, sir, 'tis extortion.

Tip. Sir Harry, do you accuse me of extortion!

Sir Har. Yes, I say extortion.

Tip. Mr Pounce, write down that-There are very good laws provided against scandal and calumny--Loss of reputation may tend to loss of

money

Pounce. Item, For having accused Mr Tipkin of extortion.

Sir Har. This is the furniture of my brother's bed-chamber that follows-A suit of tapestry hangings, with the story of Judith and Holofernes, torn only where the head should have been offan old bedstead curiously wrought about the posts, consisting of two load of timber—a hone, a bason, three razors, and a comb-case-Look ye, sir, you see I can item it.

Pounce. Alas! Sir Harry, if you had ten quire of items, 'tis all answer'd in the word retrospect. Sir Har. Why then, Mr Pounce and Mr Tipkin, you are both rascals.

Tip. Do you call me rascal, Sir Harry?
Sir Har. Yes, sir.

Tip. Write it down, Mr Pounce-at the end of the leaf.

Sir Har. If you have room, Mr Pounce-put down villain, son of a whore, curmudgeon, hunks, and scoundrel.

Tip. Not so fast, Sir Harry, he cannot write so fast, you are at the word villain-Son of a whore, I take it, was next-You may make the account as large as you please, Sir Harry.

Sir Hur. Come, come, I won't be used thus -Hark ye, sirrah, draw-What do you do at this end of the town without a sword?-Draw, I

Sir Har. Tipkin, live these two hours-but expect

Enter HUMPHRY leading Niece, Mrs CLERIMONT led by FAINLOVE, Capt. CLERIMONT, and CLERIMONT, Sen.

Pounce. Who are these? Hey-day, who are these, Sir Harry? Ha!

Sir Har. Some frolic, 'tis wedding-day-no matter.

Imprimis, A golden locket of her mother's, with something very ingenious in Latin on the inside of it.

Item, A couple of muskets, with two shoulder belts, and bandeliers.

Item, A large silver caudle-cup, with a true story engraven on it.

Pounce. But, Sir Harry

Sir Har. Item, A base viol, with almost all the strings to it, and only a small hole on the

back.

Pounce. But nevertheless, sir

Mrs Gler. Mr Tipkin, Sir Harry, I beg pardon for an introduction so mal à-propos--I know sudden familiarity is not the English wayAlas, Mr Gubbin, this father and uncle of yours must be new modell'd-How they stare, both of them!

Sir Har. Hark ye, Numps, who is this you have brought hither? is it not the famous fine lady, Mrs Clerimont-What a pox did you let her come near your wife

Humph. Look ye, don't expose yourself, and play some mad country prank to disgrace me before her-I shall be laugh'd at, because she knows I understand better.

Mrs Cler. I congratulate, madam, your com.

to custom.

Humph. Mrs Clerimont, pray know my aunt. Mrs Cler. Madam, I must beg your pardon; I cann't possibly like all that vast load of meat that you are sending in to table-besides, 'tis so offensively sweet, it wants that haut-goût we are so delighted with in France.

Aunt. You'll pardon it, since we did not expect you. Who is this ?

[Aside. Mrs Cler. Oh, madam, I only speak for the future, little saucers are so much more politeLook ye, I'm perfectly for the French way, whene'er I'm admitted, I take the whole upon me. Sir Har. The French, madam!-I'd have you to know

Mrs Cier. You'll not like it at first, out of a natural English sullenness, but that will come upon you by degrees When I first went into France, I was mortally afraid of a frog, but in a little time I could eat nothing else, except sallads. Aunt. Eat frogs! have I kiss'd one that has eat frogs-paw! paw!

Mrs Cler. Oh, madam-A frog and a sallad are delicious fare-'tis not long come up in France itself, but their glorious monarch has introduced the diet which makes 'em so spiritual-He eradicated all gross food by taxes, and for the glory of the monarch sent the subject a-grazing; but I fear I defer the entertainment and diversion of the day.

Humph. Now, father, uncle-before we go any further, I think 'tis necessary we know who and who's together then I give either of you two hours to guess which is my wife'tis not my cousin so far T'll tell you.

-And

Sir Har. How! What do you say? But oh! -you mean she is not your cousin now-she's nearer a-kin; that's well enough--Well said, Numps--Ha, ha, ha!

Humph. No, I don't mean so, I tell you I don't mean so--My wife hides her face under her hat. [All looking at FAINLOVE. Tip. What does the puppy mean? his wife under a hat!

Humph. Ay, ay, that's she, that's she-a good jest, 'faith..

Sir Har. Hark ye, Numps.-what dost mean, child? Is that a woman, and are you really married to her?

Humph. I am sure of both.

Sir Har. Are you so, sirrah? then, sirrah, this is your wedding-dinner, sirrah-Do you see, sirrah, here's 'roast meat.

[Shakes his cane at HUMPHRY.

Humph. Oh ho! what, beat a married man! hold him, Mr Clerimont, brother Pounce, Mr Wife; nobody stand by a young married man! [Runs behind FAIN LOVE.

Sir Har. Did not the dog say, brother Pounce? What, is this Mrs Ragoût-this Madam Clerimont? Who the devil are you all, but especially who the devil are you two ?

[Beats HUMPHRY and FAINLOVE off the stage, following.

Tip. [Aside.] Master Pounce, all my niece's fortune will be demanded now-for I suppose that red-coat has her-Don't you think that you and I had better break.

Pounce. You may as soon as you please, but 'tis my interest to be honest a little longer.

Tip. Well, Biddy, since you would not accept of your cousin, I hope you ha'n't disposed of yourself elsewhere.

Niece. If you'll for a little while suspend your curiosity, you shall have the whole history of my amour, to this my nuptial day, under the title of the loves of Clerimont and Parthenissa.

Tip. Then, madam, your portion is in safe hands

Capt. Come, come, old gentleman, 'tis in vain to contend; here's honest Mr Pounce shall be my engineer, and I warrant you, we beat you out of all your holds.

Aunt. What, then, is Mr Pounce a rogue? he must have some trick, brother; it cannot be; he must have cheated t'other side, for I'm sure he's honest. [Apart to TIPKIN.

Cler. Sen. Mr Pounce, all your sister has won of this lady she has honestly put into my hands, and I'll return it her, at this lady's particular request. [To POUNCE. Pounce. And the thousand pounds you promised in your brother's behalf, I'm willing should be hers also.

Capt. Then go in, and bring 'em all back to make the best of an ill game; we'll eat the dinner and have a dance together, or we shall transgress all form.

Re-enter FAINLOVE, HUMPHRY, and Sir HARRY.

Sir Har. Well, since you say you are worth something, and the boy has set his heart upon you, I'll have patience till I see further.

Pounce. Come, come, Sir Harry, you shall find my alliance more considerable than you imagine; the Pounces are a family that will always have money, if there's any in the world-Come, fiddlers. [Dance here.

Capt. You've seen th' extremes of the domes-
tic life,

A son too much confined-too free a wife ;
By generous bonds you either should restrain,
And only on their inclinations gain;
Wives to obey must love, children revere,
While only slaves are govern'd by their fear.

[Exeunt omnes.

BRITONS, who constant war, with factious rage,
For liberty against each other wage,
From foreign insult save this English stage.
No more th' Italians squalling tribe admit,
In tongues unknown; 'tis popery in wit.

The songs, (their selves confess,) from Rome they bring,

And 'tis high mass, for aught you know, they sing. Husbands, take care! the danger may come nigher, The women say their eunuch is a friar.

But is it not a serious ill to see Europe's great arbiters so mean can be; Passive, with an affected joy to sit, Suspend their native taste of manly wit; Neglect their comic humour, tragic rage, For known defects of Nature, and of age?

Arise, from shame, ye conquering Britons, rise!
Such unadorn'd effeminacy despise;
Admire, (if you will doat on foreign wit,)
Not what Italians sing, but Romans writ.
So shall less work, such as to-night's slight play,
At your command with justice die away;
'Till then forgive your writers, that cann't bear
You should such very Tramontanes appear,
The nation, which contemns you, to revere.

Let Anna's soil be known for all its charms;
As fam'd for liberal sciences, as arms:
Let those derision meet, who would advance
Manners, or speech, from Italy or France.
Let them learn you, who would your favour find,
And English be the language of mankind.

BY

To win your hearts and to secure your praise
The comic writers strive by various ways,
By subtile stratagems they act their game,
And leave untry'd no avenue to fame:
One writes the spouse a beating from his wife,
And says each stroke was copied from the life;
Some fix all wit and humour in grimace,
And make a livelihood of Pinkey's face;
Here one gay shew and costly habit tries,
Confiding to the judgment of your eyes;
Another smuts his scene, (a cunning shaver)
Sure of the rakes' and of the wenches' favour.
Oft have these arts prevail'd, and one may guess,
If practis'd o'er again, would find success;
But the bold sage, the poet of to-night,
By new and desp❜rate rules resolv'd to write,
Fain would he give more just applauses rise,
And please by wit that scorns the aids of vice;

The praise he seeks from worthier motives springs, Such praise, as praise to those that give it brings.

Your aid, most humbly sought, then Britons

lend,

And lib'ral mirth like lib'ral men defend ;
No more let ribaldry, with licence writ,
Usurp the name of eloquence or wit.
No more let lawless farce uncensur'd go,
The lewd dull gleanings of a Smithfield show;
'Tis yours with breeding to refine the age,
To chasten wit and moralize the stage.

Ye modest, wise, and good! ye fair! ye brave! To-night the champion of your virtues save, Redeem from long contempt the comic name, And judge politely for your country's fame.