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Julia, I never interfered before; but let me have a hand in the matter at last. — All the fault I have ever seen in my friend Faulkland seemed to proceed from what he calls the delicacy and warmth of his affection for you.— There, marry him directly, Julia; you'll find he'll mend surprisingly! [The rest come forward

Sir Luc. Come, now, I hope there is no dissatisfied person, but what is content; for as I have been disappointed myself, it will be very hard if I have not the satisfaction of seeing other people succeed better Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius.—So Jack, I wish

, you joy-Mr. Faulkland the same.—Ladies,-come now, to show you I'm neither vexed nor angry, odds tabours and pipes! I'll order the fiddles in half an hour to the New Rooms - and I insist on your all meeting me there.

Sir Anth. 'Gad! sir, I like your spirit; and at night we single lads will drink a health to the young couples,

a and a husband to Mrs. Malaprop.

Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us, Jack — I hope to be congratulated by each other --yours for having checked in time the errors of an ill-directed imagination, which might have betrayed an innocent heart; and mine, for having, by her gentleness and candour, reformed the unhappy temper of one who by it made wretched whom he loved most, and tortured the heart he ought to have adored.

Abs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the bitters, as well as the sweets of love; with this difference only, that you always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while 1–

Lyd. Was always obliged to me for it, hey! Mr. Modesty ? -But come, no more of that—our happiness is now as unalloyed as general.

Jul. Then let us study to preserve it so: and while Hope pictures to us a flattering scene of future bliss, let us deny its pencil those colours which are too bright to be lasting.–When hearts deserving happiness would unite their fortunes, Virtue would crown them with an unfading garland of modest hurtless flowers; but illjudging Passion will force the gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends them when its leaves are dropped!

[Exeunt omnes

Epilogue

BY THE AUTHOR

Spoken by Mrs. BulKLEY

ADIES, for you, I heard our poet say —

play:

“One moral's plain,” cried I,“ without more fuss:
Man's social happiness all rests on us:
Through all the drama — whether damn'd or not-
Love gilds the scene, and women guide the plot.
From every rank obedience is our due-
D'yedoubt?—The world's great stageshall proveit true.”

The cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife,
Will sup abroad; but first he'll ask his wife:
John Trot, his friend, for once will do the same,
But then—he'll just step home to tell his dame.

The surly Squire at noon resolves to rule,
And half the day-Zounds! madam is a fool!
Convinced at night, the vanquish'd victor says,
Ah, Kate! you women have such coaxing ways!

The jolly Toper chides each tardy blade,
Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid:
Then with each toast he sees fair bumpers swim,
And kisses Chloe on the sparkling brim!

Nay, I have heard that Statesmen-great and wise-
Will sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes!
The servile suitors watch her various face,
She smiles preferment, or she frowns disgrace,
Curtsies a pension here—there nods a place.

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Nor with less awe, in scenes of humbler life, Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife. The poorest peasant of the poorest soil, The child of poverty, and heir to toil, Early from radiant Love's impartial light Steals one small spark to cheer this world of night: Dear spark! that oft through winter's chilling woes Is all the warmth his little cottage knows!

The wandering Tar, who not for years has press'd
The widow'd partner of his day of rest,
On the cold deck, far from her arms removed,
Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved;
And while around the cadence rude is blown,
The boatswain whistles in a softer tone.

The Soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil,
Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile;
But ere the battle should he list' her cries,
The lover trembles—and the hero dies!
That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear,
Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear!

But ye more cautious, ye nice-judging few,
Who give to Beauty only Beauty's due,
Though friends to Love-ye view with deep regret
Our conquests marr’d, our triumphs incomplete,
Till polish'd Wit more lasting charms disclose,
And Judgment fix the darts which Beauty throws!

In female breasts did sense and merit rule, The lover's mind would ask no other school; Shamed into sense, the scholars of our eyes, Our beaux from gallantry would soon be wise; Would gladly light, their homage to improve, The lamp of Knowledge at the torch of Love!