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I thank you.
Sir C. Nay, nay, spare my blushes.
Sir C. Stay a moment, can't ye? Lady R. How could you say so harsh a Lady R. No-my bead begins to achething?-I don't love you.
[Affectedly. Sir C. It was indelicate, I grant it.
Sir C. Why then, damn the cards—there Lady R. Am I a vile woman?
there [Throwing the Cards about] and there, Sir C. How can you, my angel?
and there You may go to bed by yourself; Lady R. I shan't forgive you!—I'll have you and confusion seize me if I live a moment on your knees for this. [Šings, and plays longer wilh you - [Putting on his Shoes with him] - Go, naugbiy man. — -- Ab! sir again] No, never, madam. Charles!
Lady R. Take your own way, sir. Sir C. The rest of my life shall aim at con- Sir C. Now then, I tell you once more you vincing you how sincerely I love
are a vile woman. Lady R. (Sings) Go, naughty man, I can't Lady R. Ha, ha! don't make me laugh again, abide you. - Well! come let us go to rest. sir Charles. [Going] Ah, sir Charles!—now it is all over,
Sir C. I wish I had never seen your facethe diamond was the play.
I wish I was a thousand miles off; will you Sir C. Oh no, no, no,-my dear! ha, ha!— sit down quietly and let me convince you? it was the club indeed.
Sir C. Why then, may I perish if ever-a
[Both Laughing. blockhead— an idiot I was to marry [Walks Sir C. Pshaw! no such thing-ha, ha! about] such a provoking-impertinent- [She Lady R. 'Tis so, indeed-ha, ha! sits down] - Damnation! - I am so clear in
Sir C. No, no, no-you'll make me die with the thing-she is not worth my notice-[Sits laughing
down, turns his Back, and looks uncasy] Lady R. Ay, and you make me laugh too, I'll take no more pains about it-[Pauses for ha, ha!
[Toying with him. same time, then looks at her] Is net it very
strange that you won't hear me? Enter Footinan.
Lady R. Sir, I am very ready to hear you. Footm. Your honour's cap and slippers. Sir C. Very well then-very well-my dear
Sir C. Ay, lay down my nightcap-and here, -you remember how the game stood. take these shoes off. [He takes them off, and Lady R, I wish you'd untie my necklace, it leaves them at a distance) Indeed, my lady hurts me. Racket, you make me ready to expire with Sir C. Why can't you listen? laughing-ha, ba!
Lady R. I jell you it hurts me terribly. Lady R. You may laugh — but I'm right, Sir C. Why thus-you may be as wroug not withstanding.
as you please, and may I never hold four by Sir C. How can you say so?
honours, if I ever endeavour to set you right Lady R. How can you say otherwise ? again.
Sir C. Well now mind me, my lady RacketWe can now talk of this matter in good hu- Re-enter Drugger, MRS. DRUGGET, und Lovemour-We can discuss it coolly.
LACE; with Woodley and Nancy. Lady R. So we can-and it's for that reason I venture to speak to you-are these the Drug. What's here to do now? ruffles I bought for you?
Lady R. Never was such a man born -I Sir C. They are, my dear.
did not say a word to the gentleman - and Lady R. They are very pretty—but indeed yet he has been raving about the room like you played the card wrong
Drug. And about a club again, I suppose. -
Sir C. Look here now - here's a pack of her happiness. cards-now you shall be convinced
Love. The devil! and so I am to be left in Lady R. You may talk till to-morrow; I the lurch in this manner, am I? know I'm right.
[Walks about. Lady R. Oh! this is only one of those poSir C. Why then, by all that's perverse, lite disputes which people of quality, who have you are the most headstrong-Can't you look nothing else to differ about, must always be bere now-here are the very cards.
liable io- This will all be made up. Lady R. Go on; you'll find it out at last. Drug. Never tell me it's too late now
Şir C. Damn it! will you let a man show Mr. Woodley, I recommend my girl to your you. Po! it's all nonsense-I'll talk no more care — I shall have nothing now to think of about it - [Puts up the Cards] Come, we'll but my, green, and my images, and my sbrubgo to bed. [Going] Now only stay a mo- bery-though, mercy on all married fólks, say ment [Takes out the Cards Now, mind I! for these wranglings are, I am afraid, wbat me-see here.
we must all come to. Lady R. No, it does not signify-your head Lady R. [Advancing] What we must all will be clearer in the morning-I'll go to bed.
come to? What?--Come to what?
yours for life.
Must broils and quarrels be the marriage lot? To form a plan so trivial, false, and low? If that's the wise, deep meaning of our poet, As if a belle could quarrel with a beau. The man's a fool! a blockhead! and I'll show it. Shun strife, ye fair, and once a coolest o'er,
What could induce him in an age so nice, Wake to a blaze ihe dying flame no more. So fam'd for virtue, so refin'd from vice,
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, Who has been with great propriely styled the Congreve of the present day, was born at Quilca, near Dablia, abont the year 1752; and at the age of six years was brought to England, and placed at Harrow school, where he received his education, under the care of Dr. Sumner. After having finished his studies at that seminary, he eatered himself of the Middle Temple society, with a view to the profession of the law; but Die altractions of dramatic pceiry seem to have suspended his ardour in that pursnit. At ihe age of eighteen, he joined with another seatleman in translating the epistles of Aristacnelus from the Greek; and, before he arrived at the age of twenty-two, bis first play: The Rivils, was acted. In the year 1776, Mr. Garrick, having resolved to quit all his theatrical connesions, entered into a treaty with Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Linley, and Mr. Furd, for the sale of his share and interest in the palent, which agreement was soon afterwards finished, and our aullior became one of the managers of Drury Lane Theatre. On the 13th of April 1773, he was married to Miss Elizabeth Linley, an accomplished lady of exquisite musical talcals. Atide the cares of a theatre, Mr. Sheridau had nol krpe clear of the concerns of the political drama. Among the connessans that he had formed in this way was the late Right Hon. Charles James Fox. To that great man, then at the height of his talents, we may most probably attributo dir, Sheridan's commencement of senatorial honours. After a variety of expectations from parliamentary interests, he offered himself a candidate for the independent borough of Suferd, in the election of 1780, against the gentleman who had for some years represented it, and succeeded.
His consein with Mr. Fox naturally led him to the support of his party, at ihal lime in opposition. His first elfort in parliacen! was on tho subject of the employment of the military during the riols arising from the Protestant petition. On the accession to power of the second administration formed under the Marquis of Rockingham, in 1782, when Lord Shelburne and Mr. Fox were principal secretaries of state, and Burke was paymaster of the forces, Mr. Sheridan became under-secretary to his friend, and with him resigned, when the death of thal Noble Marquis again changed the dispasition of power. Again Mr. Sheridan returned to luis former exertions with new vigour, and, in conjunction with other persons, set up a periodical paper, called The Jesuit, which had not been long established, when its authors rendered themselves liable to a prosecution. This was not long delayed; for Mr. Pilt, ihen just twenty-three years old, was.at the head of the administration, Mr. Dundas was the treasurer of the navy, eles, and Lord Shelburne at the head of the treasury-board. The powerful party under Lord North was now in opposition as well as that or Mr. Fox. A csalition was therefore brought about by means of Edmund Burke, the mutual friend of both, for the purpose of creating a majority against administration.—This was that celebrated coalition, against which every party joined in mutual recrimination. On the debate of the preliminary articles of peace, (February 17, 1785.), Mr. Sheridan had warmly scondcd Lord John Cavendish, in an amendmeni of the address, which went to omit the approval of the treaty. Na Pill, in answer to him, thought proper to commence his speech with the following exordium: “No man (he said) admired more than he did, the abilities of that Honourable Gentleman, the elegant sallies of his thought, the BAY
eitssions of his fancy, his dramatic turns, and his epigrammatic points: and if ihey were reserved for the proper stage they would no doubt receive, what the Honourable Gentleman's abilities always did receive, the plaudits of the seJience: and it would be his fortune, «Sui plausu gandere thcatri:' But this was not the proper scene for these elegancies; and he therefore called the attention of the House to the question,” tic. In his reply to this, Mr. Skenden said, that “On the particular sort of personality which the Right Honourable Gentleman bad thought proper to make use of, bc need not make any comment; the propriety—the luste-lhe gentlemanly pomt of it, must have been obrisas to the House. But (continuer be), let me assure the Right Honourable Gentleman, that I do now, and will alway limc, when he chooses to repeat this sort of allusion, meet it with the most sincere good humour. Nay, I will as more-allered and encouraged by the Right Honourable Gentleman's panegyric on my talenis, if ever I agaia encase in the compositions lo which he alludes, I may be tempted to an act of presumptiou-lo allempl an improvement ** one of Ben Jonson's best characters-that of the Angry Boy in The Alchymist." The Coalition triumphed for a lime, and Mr. Sheridan again returned to place (April 1783), as secretary to the treasury, of which the Duke of Portland was first Lord. Mr. Fox, at the same time, was secretary for foreign affairs, and Lord North for the home depert, ment, wliile Mr. Burke, as before, was payınaster, In defence of the Hill for the Government of India, of his friend Mr. Fox, Sheridan evinced powers which appeared to astonish equally liis auditors and the public The time however, arrived when the whole men and measures of the English government were to experience a change, and we Sheridan, with his friends, receded into a long exile from power, on Mr. Pitt's more general assumption of it. The lalter gentleman now became arst lord of the treasury and chancellor of the exchequer, with a number of new cha rocters in the highest departmenls of the state. This did not, however, interrupt Mr. Sheridan's career to excellence and importance as a parliamentary orator; for, on the trial of Mr. Hastings, arising out of the disorders in the goversment of India, on which he had already distinguished himself, he was appointed a manager. The great estimation in which he then stood, may he readily conceived by the following enlogium, pronounced on him by Burke, upon his exertions in the above business: “He has this day surprised the thousands, who hung with rapture on his accents, ty such an array of talents, such an exhibition of capacity, such a display of powers, as are unparalleled in the shouls of oratory; a display that reflected the highest honour upon himself-lustre upon letters-renown upon parliament glory upon ihe country of all species of rhetoric, of every kind of cloquence ihat has been witnessed or recorded, either in ancient or modern limes; whatever the acuteness of the bar, the diguity of the senate, the solidity of the jodemesscat, and the sacred morality of the pulpit, have hitherto furnished nothing has surpassed, nothing has equalled, who tve have heard this day in Westminster IIall. No holy seer of religion, no sage, no stalesman, no orator, no mano any description whatever, has come "p, in the one instance, to the piire sentiments of moraliig; or in the other, to that variety of knowledge, force of imagination, propriely and vivacity of allusion, beauty and elegance of dictise, strength and copiousness of style, pathos and sublimity of conception, to which we have this day listened wh erdoa and admiration. From poetry up to eloquence there is not a species of composition, of which a complete and periect specimen might not from that single speech be culled and collected ”-Mr. Fox said, that all he had ever heard of read, when compared with it, dwindled into nothing.-Ms. Pilt acknowledged, “lhat he had surpassed all the eloqurnet of ancient or modern times, and that his speech (on the third charge against Mr. Hastings) possessed every thing that pins or art could furnish, to agitate and control the buman mind." The next great occasion in which the powers his eloquence were called forth, was the question of regency; in which he supporled with great digaily the rights of his Royal Patron. Thronghout the whole of this important period, the Prince of Wales honoured Mr. Sheridan vid his considence, and which has since remained with a steady constancy. About the same time he also lost his father, who died at Margate, August 14, 1788. The true friend of liberty, 'he always displayed himself as a genuine loyalist During the melancholy period of the naval muling, he said—“Whatever difference in political sentiments mighe proper vail in the country, the moment was come when His Majesty had an undoubled right to call upon all his subjects fer their jealons en-operation in maintaining the due execution of the laws, and in giving every possible elheieney to the measures of Government." In all questions that regard the liberty of the subjeci, Mr. eridan ha ever been premment and active ; and in questions of commerce and finance, as well as military allairs, he has surprised his most intimate friends. Mr. Sheridan bad, previous to his entering into Parliament, increased his property in the Theater
Royal, Drury Lane, by the purchase of Mr. Lacy's share in the patent, in addition to his owa; yet the increased cxpeuses of an establishment calculated for all that was great and gay, rendered the increase of fortuno unequal to their support, and produced embarrassments, of which, however they may, some occasions, delight in the recital, we should not feel warranted in the insertion. In 1792, he lost his lady, who died of a lingering decline. Mr. Wilkes said of her, she was “the most modest, pleasing, and delicate lower” he had seen. Once more he lent his aid to the interests of Drory Lane Theatre, as well as the drama at large. In the latter end of the season of 1799, appeared the tragedy of Pizarro, translated from the German of Kotzebue ; but translated wiih such freedom and additional beauties that it might be said to be his own. It was most happily adapted to the times and to the genius of the British nation, with all the graces and combinations of dramatic interest; hence the applause it met with was unbounded. Notwithslanding the success of the establishment, for which Mr. Sheridan's talents were su ably exerted, its finances were in a state that required the frequent interference of the Lord Chancellor; the decisions of whom were, however, always to the honour of Mr. Sheridan. It was about this time that he purchased the pleasant silla of Polesden, near Leatherhead, in Surrey, formerly the residence of Admiral Geary: soon after which he was appointed receiver-general of tho Dutchy of Cornwall, to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. On the retirement of Mr. Pill, Mr. Sheridan acted as nsual in accordance with Mr Fox; and on the relurn of Mr. Pill, 10 ofâce, he did not fail of his wonted rigour against him.
On the death of that great statesman, Mr. Fox, after an absence from power of twenty-three years, was, by the unnanimous voice of the sovereign and the people, called into office, and Mr.Sheridan was invited to share the honours of his friend. He became a member of the privy council, and treasurer of the navy, and applied himself in the important duiies of his situation with great diligence. Bul an event soon look place that checked the apparent serenity of his progress, as well as that of his co-partners: this was the death of Mr. Fox, The pleasing prospects which honour, popularity, and power, might have given to the view of Mr. Sheridan, now soon faded before him. On the subject of thie Roman Catholic question a diference in the cabinet took place, which occasioned a sudden dissolultion of Parliament; in consequence of which Mr. Sheridan again was found in opposition, in which he coutinued. Wo decline stating the wretchedness of his laller end, as that is now known to all the world.
Comedy by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Acted at Covent-Garden, 1775. This was the first dramatic piece of au author, who has since reached ine highest point of excellence in the least easy and most hazardous species of writing, The present play is formed on a plot unborrowed from any former drama, and contains wil, humour, character, incident, and the principle requisites io conftitute a perfert comedy. It, notwithstanding, met with very harslı treatment the first night, and was with diflcully allowed a second representation. It has, however, of late years been alway. received with great applanse.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE. SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE. SIR LUCIUS O' COACHMAN.
LUCY. CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.
MRS. MALAPROP. Maid, Boy, SerFAULKLAND.
vants, etc. ACRES.
Fag. No. — Well, honest Thomas, I must Scene I. – A Street in Bath. Coachman puzzle you no farther:-briefly then-Captain crosses the stage.
Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the
same person: Enter Fag, looking after him. Coach. The devil they are! Fag. WHAT! Thomas! Sure is be? - Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the enWhat! Thomas! Thomas!
sign half of my master being on guard at Coach. Hey!-Odd's life! Mr. Fag!-give us present the captain has nothing to do with me. your hand, my old sellow-servant.
Coach. So, so!-what, this is some freak, 1 Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas:—I'm de- warrant! - Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning vilish glad to see you, my lad: why, my prince lo'l-you know I ba' trusted you. of charioluers, you look as heariy!—but who Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas ? the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath? Coach. As a coach-horse.
Coach. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Fag. Why then the cause of all this ism Mrs. Kate, and the postillion, be all come. Love,-Love, Thomas, who (as you may get Fag. lodeed!
read' to you) has been a masquerader cver Coach. Ay! master thought another sit of since the days of Jupiter. the gout was coming to make him a visit;- Coach. Ay, ay!-1 guess'd there was a lady so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we in the case :--but pray, why does your master were all off at an hour's warning.
pass only for ensign- !--now if he had shamın'd Fag. Ay, ay! hasty in every thing, or it general indeedwould not be Sir Anthony Absolute !
Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery Coach. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does o'the matter. Mark'ee, Thomas, my master is young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare in love with a lady of a very singular taste: to see the captain bere!
a lady who likes him belter as a half-pay Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now.- ensign than if she knew he was son and heir Coach. Why sure!
to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign thousand a year. Beverley.
Coach. That is an odd taste indeed! but Coach. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? is she rich, hey? for the belier.
Fag. Rich! why, I believe sbe owns half Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could
tbe Coach. No! why didn't you say you bad national debt as easily as I could my washerleft young master?
woman! - She has a lap-dog that eats out of
gold, --she feeds her parrot with small pearls,-SCENE II. - A Dressing-room in Mrs. MAand all her thread-papers are made of bank
LAPROP's Lodgings., noes!
Coach. Bravo, faith!-Odd! I warrant she Lydia sitting on a Sofa, with a book in her has a set of thousands at least:--but does she
Hand. Lucy, as just returned from a draw kindly with the captain ?
Message. Fay. As fond as pigeons.
Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the Coach. May one hear her name?
town in search of it: I don't beliere there's Fag. Miss Lydia Languish. But there is an a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been ab
. old tough aunt' in the way ;-though, by the Lydia. And could not you get "The Reward by, she has never seen my master—for we got of Constancy?” acquainted with miss while on a visit in Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. Gloucestershire.
Lydia. Nor "The Fatal Connexion ?" Coach. Well-I wish they were once har- Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. nessed together in matrimony:-But pray, Mr. Lydia. Nor “The Mistakes of the Heart?" Fag, what kind of a place is this Baih?-I ha' Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. heard a deal of it - here's a mort o'merry- Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter bad just fetched making, hey?
it away. Fag Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well—'tis Lydia. Heigh-ho? - Did you inquire for a good lounge; in the morning we go to the “The Delicate Distress?” pump-room (though neither my master nor I Lucy. Or, "The Memoirs of Lady Wooddrink the walers); after breakfast we saunter ford ?* Yes, indeed, ma'am. I asked every on the parades, or play a game at billiards; where for it; and I might have brought it at night we dance; bui damn the place, I'm from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger
, tired of it: their regular hours stupefy me- who had, just sent it home, had so soiled and not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!-how- dog's-eard it, it wa’n't sit for a Christian to read. ever, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep Lydia. Heigh-bo!—Yes, I always know when it up a little in private parties; - I'll in- Lady Slattern has been before me. She bas troduce you there, Thomas you'll like him a most observing thumb; and, I believe, chemuch.
rishes her nails for the convenience of making Coach. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne – marginal notes.-Well, child, what have you you know his master is to marry Madam brought me? Julia.
Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am. [Taking books Fag. I had forgot.—But, Thomas, you must from under her cloak, and from her pockets.] polish a little-indeed you must-- Híere now- This is “The Gordian Knot,”—and this "Pereihis wig! - what the devil do you do with a grine Pickle” Here are "The Tears of Senwig, Thomas? - none of the London whips of sibility," and "Humphrey Clinker." This is any degree of ton wear wigs now.
“The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written Coach. More's the pity! more's the pily, I by herself,” and here the second volume of say-Odd's life! when I heard how the lawyers "The Sentimental Journey." and doctors bad tonk to their own hair, I Lydia. Heigh-bo!-What are those books thought how 'twould go next:-Odd rabbit' it! by the glass? when the fashion had got foot on the Bar, I Lucy. The great one is only “The Whole guess'd 'would mount to the Box! — but 'lis Duly of Man," where I pressa few blonds, all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and ma'am. look'ee, I'll never gi' up mine --- the lawyers Lydia. Very well-give me the sal volatile. and doctors may do as they will.
Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am? Fag. Well,' Thomas, we'll not quarrels Lydia. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton! about that.
Lucy. O, the drops !--bere ma'am. Coach. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of Lydia. Hold !-here's some one comingthey professions ben't all of a mind for in quick, see who it is – [E.rit Lucy] Surely I our village now, thoff Jack Gauge the excise- heard my cousin Julia's voice! [Re-enter Lucy. man has ta'en to his carrots ?), there's liule Lucy: Lud! ma'am, here is Miss Melville. Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake his Lydia. Is it possible!boh, tho' all the college should appear with their own heads!
Enter Julia. Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick! but hold- Lydia. My dearest Julia, how delighted am mark! mark! Thomas.
I! [Embrace] How unexpected was this bapCoach. Zooks! 'tis the captain-Is that the piness! lady with him?
Julia. True, Lydia--and our pleasure is the tag: No! no! that is Madam Lúcy — my greater; — but what has been the matter? – master's inistress's maid. They lodge at that you were denied to me at first! house -- but I must alter him to tell him the Lydia. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things
to tell you! but first inform me what has Coach, Odd! he's giving her money!-well, conjured you to Bath?-Is Sir Anthony bere? Mr. Fag
Julia. He is - we are arrived within this Fog. Good bye, Thomas. I have an ap-hour-and I suppose he will be here to wait pointment in Gyde's Porch this evening, at on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dress'd. eight; meet me ihere, and we'll make a little Lydia. Then before we are interrupted, let party,
[Exeunt suverally. me impart to you some of my distress! -!
know your genile nature will sympathize with 1) Red hair.
me, though your prudence may condemn me
make it up:
--My letters have informed you of my whole Anthony), yet bave you, for this long year, connexion with Beverley; – but I have lost been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the him, Julia!--my aunt has discovered our inter-jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will course by a note she intercepted, and has con- ever delay assuming the right of a husband, fined me ever since! Yet, would you beliere while you suffer him to be equally imperious it? she has fallen absolutely in love with a as a lover. tall Irish baronet she met one night since we Julia. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We have been here at Lady Macshuffle's rout. were contracted before my father's death, Julia. You jest, Lydia!
Thal, and some consequent embarrassments, Lydia. No, upon my word! — She really have delayed what I know to be my Faulkcarries on a kind of correspondence with him, land's most ardent wish. He is too generous under a feigned name though, till she chooses to trifle on such a point. — And for his chato be known to him;-but it is a Delia or a racter, you wrong him there too. No, Lydia, Celia, I assure you.
he is too proud, too noble to be jealous; if Julia. Then, surely, she is now more in-lhe is captious, 'tis without dissembling; if fretdulgent to her niece.
ful, without rudeness. Unused to the fopLydia. Quite the contrary. Since she has peries of love, he is negligent of the litile discovered her own frailty, she is become more duties expected from a lover - but being unsuspicious of mine. Then I must inform you hackneyed in the passion, bis affection is ardent of another plague! – That odious Acres is to and sincere; and as il engrosses his whole be in Bath to-day; so that I protest I shall be soul, he expects every thought and emotion teased out of all spirits !
of his mistress to move in unison with bis, Julia. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the Yet, though bis pride calls for this full return, best-Sir Anthony shall use bis interest with his humility makes him undervalue those quaMrs. Malaprop
lities in him which would entitle him to it; Lydia. But you have not heard the worst. and not feeling why he should be loved to Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor the degree he wishes, he still suspects that he Beverley, just before my aunt made the dis- is not loved enough: This temper, I must covery, and I have not seen him since, to own, has cost me many unhappy hours; but
I have learned to think myself his debtor, sor Julia. What was his offence?
those imperfections which arise from the arLydia. Nothing at all !—But, I don't know dour of his attachment. how it was, as often as we had been together, Lydia. Well, I cannot blame you for dewe had never had a quarrel !-And, somehow, fending him. But tell me candidly, Julia, had I was afraid he would never give me an op- he never saved your life, do you think you portunity:-So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter should have been attached to him as you are?to myself
, to inform myself that Beverley was Believe me, the rude blast that overset your at that time paying his addresses to another boat was a prosperous gale of love to him. woman. I signed it "your friend unknown," Julia. Gratitude may have strengthened my showed it to Beverley, charged bim with his attachment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and before be had preserved me; yet surely that vowed I'd never see him more.
alone were an obligation sufficientJulia. And you let him depart so, and have Lydia. Obligation! - Why a water-spaniel not seen him since ?
would have done as much! - Well, I should Lydia. 'Twas the next day my aunt found never think of giving my heart to a man bethe matter out. I intended only to bave tea- cause he could swim! sed him three days and a half, and now I've Julia. Come, Lydia, you are too inconlost him for ever.
siderate. Julia. If he is as deserving and sincere as Lydia. Nay, I do but jest.-What's here? you have represented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet consider, Lydia, you tell!
Enter Lucy in a hurry. me he is but an ensign, and you have thirty Lucy. O ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absos thousand pounds!
lute just come home with your aunt. Lydia. But you know I lose most of my Lydia. They'll not come bere. — Lucy, do fortune if I marry without my aunt's consent, you watch.
[E.rit Lucy. till of
age; and that is what I have determined Julia. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does to do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor not know I am here, and if we meet, he'll could I love the man, who would wish to delain me, to show me the town. I'll take wait a day for the alternative.
another opportunity of paying my respects to Julia. Nay, this is caprice!
Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall ireat me, Lydia. What, doos Julia tax me with ca-long as she chooses, with her select words so price? -I thought her lover Faulkland bad ingeniously misapplied, without being misinured her to it.
Julia. I do not love even his faults,
Lucy, 0 Lud! ma'am, they are both coming Julia. Not yet, upon my word-nor has he up stairs. the least idea of my being in Bath. Sir An- Lydia. Well, I'll not detain you, coz.!hony's resolution was so sudden, I could not Adieu, my dear Julia, I'm sure you are in inform bim of it
baste to send to Faulkland. - There-through Lydia. Well, Julia, you are your own my room you'll find another staircase. mistress (though under the protection of Sir Julia. Adieu! [Embrace. Exit Julia.