so far from home? What has brought you to follow us?

Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits. So far from home! when you are within forty yards of your own door. [To him.] This is one of your old tricks, you graceless rogue you. [To her.] Don't you know the gate, and the mul berry-tree; and don't you remember the horsepond, my dear?

Mrs Hard. Yes, I shall remember the horsepond as long as I live; I have caught my death in it. [To TONY.] And is it to you, you graceless varlet, I owe all this? I'll teach you to abuse your mother, I will.

on't.

Tony. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you have spoiled me, and so you may take the fruits Mrs Hard. I'll spoil you, I will. [Follows him off the stage. Exeunt. Hard. There's morality, however, in his reply. [Exit.

Enter HASTINGS and Miss Neville. Hast. My dear Constance, why will you deliberate thus? If we delay a moment, all is lost for ever. Pluck up a little resolution, and we shall soon be out of the reach of her malignity.

Miss Nev. I find it impossible. My spirits are so sunk with the agitations I have suffered, that I am unable to face any new danger. Two or three years patience will at last crown us with happiness.

Hast. Such a tedious delay is worse than inconstancy. Let us fly, my charmer. Let us date our happiness from this very moment. Perish fortune! Love and content will increase what we possess beyond a monarch's revenue. Let me prevail.

Miss Nev. No, Mr Hastings, no. Prudence once more comes to my relief, and I will obey its dictates. In the moment of passion, fortune may be despised, but it ever produces a lasting repentance. I'm resolved to apply to Mr Hardcastle's compassion and justice for redress.

Hast. But though he had the will, he has not the power to relieve you.

Miss Nev. But he has influence, and upon that I am resolved to rely.

Hast. I have no hopes; but, since you persist, I must reluctantly obey you. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Changes.

Enter MARLOW.

Mar. Though prepared for setting out, I come once more to take leave; nor did I, till this moment, know the pain I feel in the separation.

Miss Hard. [In her own natural manner.] I be lieve these sufferings cannot be very great, sir, which you can so easily remove. longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, by A day or two shewing the little value of what you now think

proper to regret.

Mar. [Aside.] This girl every moment improves upon me. [To her. It must not be, madam. I have already trifled too much with my heart. My very pride begins to submit to my passion. The disparity of education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my equals, begin to lose their weight; and nothing can restore me to myself, but this painful effort of resolution.

Miss Hard. Then go, sir. I'll urge nothing more to detain you. Though my family be as good as her's you came down to visit, and my education, I hope, not inferior, what are these advantages without equal affluence? I must remain contented with the slight approbation of imputed merit; I must have only the mockery of your addresses, while all your serious aims are fixed on fortune.

Enter HARDCASTLE and Sir CHARLES MARLOW from behind.

Sir Chur. Here, behind this screen. Hard. Ay, ay, make no noise. I'll engage my Kate covers him with confusion at last.

Mar. By heavens, madam, fortune was ever my smallest consideration. Your beauty at first caught my eye; for who could see that without emotion? But every moment that I converse with you steals in some new grace, heightens the picture, and gives it stronger expression. What at first seemed rustic plainness, now appears refined simplicity. What seemed forward assurance, now strikes me as the result of courageous innocence and conscious virtue.

Sir Char. What can it mean? He amazes me! Hard. I told you how it would be. Hush! Mar. I am now determined to stay, madam, and I have too good an opinion of my father's discernment, when he sees you, to doubt his approbation.

Miss Hard. No, Mr Marlow, I will not, cannot detain you. Do you I think I could suffer a con

CASTLE.

Sir Char. What a situation am I in! If what you say appears, I shall then find a guilty son; if what he says be true, I shall then lose one that, of all others, I most wished for a daughter. Miss Hurd. I am proud of your approbation, and, to shew I merit it, if you place yourselves as I directed, you shall hear his explicit declaration. But he comes.

Sir Char. I'll to your father, and keep him to the appointment. [Exit Sir CHARLES.

VOL. IV.

repentance? Do you think I would take the mean advantage of a transient passion, to load you with confusion? Do you think I could ever relish that happiness which was acquired by lessening yours?

Mar. By all that's good, I can have no happiness but what's in your power to grant me; nor shall I ever feel repentance, but in not having seen your merits before. I will stay even contrary to your wishes; and, though you should persist to shun me, I will make my respectful assi duities atone for the levity of my past conduct. 2 N

Miss Hard. Sir, I must entreat you'll desist. As our acquaintance began, so let it end, in indifference. I might have given an hour or two to levity; but seriously, Mr Marlow, do you think I could ever submit to a connection, where I must appear mercenary, and you imprudent? Do you think I could ever catch at the confident addresses of a secure admirer?

Mar. [Kneeling.] Does this look like security? Does this look like confidence? No, madam, every moment that shews me your merit, only serves to increase my diffidence and confusion. Here let me continue

Sir Char. I can hold it no longer. Charles, Charles, how hast thou deceived me! Is this your indifference, your uninteresting conversation? Hard. Your cold contempt; your formal interview? What have you to say now?

Mar. That I'm all amazement! What can it

Mar. Oh, the devil!

Miss Hurd. Yes, sir, that very identical tall squinting lady you were pleased to take me for [Curtseying.] She that you addressed as the mild, modest, sentimental man of gravity, and the bold, forward, agreeable Rattle of the ladies' club; ha, ha, ha!

Mar. Zounds! there's no bearing this; it's worse than death.

Miss Hard. In which of your characters, sir, will you give us leave to address you? As the faltering gentleman, with looks on the ground, that speaks just to be heard, and hates hypocrisy; or the loud confident creature, that keeps it up with Mrs Mantrap, and old Mrs Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morning; ha, ha, ha!

Mar. O, curse on my noisy head! I never attempted to be impudent yet, that I was not taken down. I must be gone.

Hard. By the hand of my body, but you shall not. I see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it. You shall not, sir, I tell you. I know she'll forgive you. Won't you forgive him, Kate? We'll all forgive you. Take courage, man. [They retire, she tormenting him to the back scene.

Enter Mrs HARDCASTLE and TONY. Mrs Hard. So, so, they're gone off. Let them go, I care not.

Hurd. Who gone?

Mrs Hard. My dutiful niece and her gentle man, Mr Hastings, from town. He who came down with our modest visitor here.

Sir Char. Who, my honest George Hastings? As worthy a fellow as lives, and the girl could not have made a more prudent choice.

Hard. Then by the hand of my body, I'm proud

of the connection.

Mrs Hard. Well, if he has taken away the lady, he has not taken her fortune; that remains in this family to console us for her loss.

Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you would not be so me cenary?

Mrs Hard. Ay, that's my affair not yours. B you know if your son, when of age, refuses to mar ry his cousin, her whole fortune is then at le own disposal.

Hard. Ay, but he's not of age, and she has nx thought proper to wait for his refusal.

Enter HASTINGS and Miss NEVILLE Mrs Hard. [Aside.] What, returned so soon;! begin not to like it.

Hast. [To HARDCASTLE.] For my late attemp to fly off with your niece, let my present confusi be my punishment. We are now come back, appeal from your justice to your humanity. B her father's consent, I first paid my addresses, an our passions were first founded in duty.

Miss Nev. Since his death, I have been oblige to stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression.`b an hour of levity, I was ready even to give up y fortune to secure my choice. But I am now? cover'd from the delusion, and hope from ye tenderness what is denied me from a nearer co nection.

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

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

Tony. What signifies my refusing? You kn I cann't refuse her till I'm of age, father.

Hard. While I thought concealing your boy, was likely to conduce to your improveme I concurred with your mother's desire to keep secret; but, since I find she turns it to a wr use, I must now declare, you have been of 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 mak of my liberty. Taking Miss NEVILLE'S Witness all men by these presents, that I, A thony Lumpkin, Esquire, of blank place, res you, Constantia Neville, spinster, of no place all, for my true and lawful wife. So Constanta Neville may marry whom she pleases, and Tory Lumpkin is his own man again. Sir Char. O brave 'squire ! Hast. My worthy friend! Mrs Hard. My undutiful offspring!

Mar. Joy, my dear George, I give you joys cerely; and, could I prevail upon my little tyra here to be less arbitrary, I should be the happies man alive if you would return me the favour.

Hast. [To Miss HARDCASTLE.] Come, madar, you are now driven to the very last scene of 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 too And, Mr Marlow, if she makes as good a wife a

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 night shall be

crown'd 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. [Exeunt.

WELL, having stooped to conquer with success, And gained 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, composed 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 hired, 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,
Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the
waiters.

Next the scene shifts to town, and there she

On 'squires and cits she there displays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts-
And as she smiles, her triumph to complete,
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;
Dotes 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, through 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.

THE

BY

VARIOUS the shifts of authors now-a-days,
For operas, farces, pantomimes, and plays;
Some scour each alley of the town for wit,
Begging from door to door the offal bit;
Plunge in each cellar, tumble every stall,
And scud, like tailors, to each house of call;
Gut every novel, strip each monthly muse,
And pillage poet's corner of its news:
That done, they melt the stale farrago down,
And set their dish of scraps before the town;
Boldly invite you to their pilfer'd store,
Cram you, then wonder you can eat no more.
Some, in our English classics deeply read,
Ransack the tombs of the illustrious dead;
Hackney the muse of Shakespear o'er and o'er,
From shoulder to the flank, all drench'd in gore.
Others, to foreign climes and kingdoms roam,
To search for what is better found at home:

The recreant bard, oh! scandal to the age! Gleams the vile refuse of the Gallic stage.

Not so our bard-To-night, he bids me say, You shall receive and judge an English play. From no man's jest he draws felonious praise, Nor from his neighbour's garden crops his bay:; From his own breast the filial story flows; And the free scene no foreign master knows: Nor only tenders he his work as new; He hopes 'tis good, or would not give it you: True homely ware, and made of homely stuff, Right British drugget, honest, warm and rough No station'd friends he seeks, no hired applause, But constitutes you jurors in his cause.

For fame he writes-Should folly be his doom, Weigh well your verdict, and then give it home: Should you applaud, let that applause be true; For undeserved, it shames both him and you.

565

SCENE I-A rocky Shore, with a Fisherman's Cabin in the Cliff: a violent Tempest, with Thunder and Lightning: a Ship discovered stranded on the Coust. The Characters enter, after having looked out of their Cabin, as if waiting for the Abatement of the Storm.

GOODWIN, PHILIP, und FANNY.

Phil. It blows a rank storm; 'tis well, father, we hauled the boat ashore before the weather came on; she's safe bestowed however, let what will happen.

Good. Ay, Philip, we had need be provident : except that poor skiff, my child, what have we left in this world that we can call our own?

Phil. To my thoughts now we live as happily in this poor hut, as we did yonder in the great house, when you was 'Squire Belfield's principal tenant, and as topping a farmer as any in the whole county of Cornwall.

Good. Ah, child!

Phil. Nay, never droop; to be sure, father, the 'squire has dealt hardly with you, and a mighty point truly he has gained; the ruin of an honest man. If those are to be the uses of a great estate, Heaven continue me what I am!

Fan. Ay, ay, brother, a good conscience in a coarse drugget is better than an aching heart in a silken gown.

Good. Well, children, well, if you can bear misfortunes patiently, 'twere an ill office for me to repine; we have long tilled the earth for a subsistence; now, Philip, we must plough the ocean; in those waves lies our harvest; there, my brave lad, we have an equal inheritance with the best.

Phil. True, father, the sea, that feeds us, provides us an habitation here in the hollow of the cliff'; I trust, the 'squire will exact no rent for this dwelling-Alas! that ever two brothers should have been so opposite as our merciless landlord, and the poor young gentleman they say is

now dead.

Good. Sirrah, I charge you, name not that unhappy youth to me any more; I was endeavouring to forget him and his misfortunes, when the sight of that vessel in distress brought him afresh to my remembrance; for, it seems, he perished by sea: the more shame upon him, whose cruelty and injustice drove him thither. But come-the wind fulls apace; let us launch the boat, and make a trip to yonder vessel; if we can assist in lightning her, perhaps she may ride it out.

Phil. 'Tis to no purpose; the crew are coming ashore in their boat; I saw them enter the creek. Good. Did you so? Then do you and your sister step into the cabin, make a good fire, and provide such fish and other stores as you have within: I will go down, and meet them: whoever they may

SCENE II.

Re-enter GOODWIN, followed by FRANCIS and several Sailors, carrying Goods and Chests from the Wreck.

Good. This way, my friends, this way; there's stowage enough within for all your goods.

Fran. Come, bear a hand, my brave lads, there's no time to lose; follow that honest man, and set down your chests where he directs you.

Sail. Troth, I care not how soon I'm quit of [Exeunt. mine; 'tis plaguy heavy.

SCENE III.

Enter other Sailors.

1 Sail. Here's a pretty spot of work! plague on't, what a night has this been! I thought this damn'd lee-shore would catch us at last.

2 Sail. Why, 'twas unpossible to claw her off; well, there's an end of her-The Charming Sally privateer !-Poor soul;-a better sea-boat never swam upon the salt sea.

3 Sail. I knew we should have no luck after we took up that woman there from the packet that sunk along side us.

1 Sail. What, Madam Violetta, as they call her? Why, 'tis like enough-But hush, here comes our captain's nephew; he's a brave lad, and a seaman's friend, and, between you and me [Boatswain's whistle.]-But hark, we are called-Come [Exeunt Sailors. along.