-for here are a great many poor words pressed into the service of this note that would get their habeas corfrom any court in Christendom.

pus

Lucy. Ah! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she talks of you!

Sir Luc. Oh, tell her I'll make her the best husband in the world, and Lady O'Trigger into the bargain!— But we must get the old gentlewoman's consent-and do everything fairly.

Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich enough to be so nice!

Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have hit it: I am so poor, that I can't afford to do a dirty action. If I did not want money, I'd steal misyour tress and her fortune with a great deal of pleasure.— However, my pretty girl, [gives her money] here's a little something to buy you a ribbon; and meet me in the evening, and I'll give you an answer to this. So, hussy, take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind. [Kisses her

Lucy. O Lud! Sir Lucius-I never seed such a gemman. My lady won't like you if you're so impudent.

Sir Luc. Faith she will, Lucy!-That same- pho! what's the name of it?—modesty—is a quality in a lover more praised by the women than liked; so, if your mistress asks you whether Sir Lucius ever gave you a kiss, tell her fifty-my dear.

Lucy. What, would you have me tell her a lie?

Sir Luc. Ah, then, you baggage! I'll make it a truth presently.

Lucy. For shame now! here is some one coming.

Sir Luc. Oh, faith, I'll quiet your conscience!
[Sees FAG.-Exit, humming a tune

Enter FAG

Fag. So, so, ma'am ! I humbly beg pardon. Lucy. O Lud! now, Mr. Fag-you flurry one so. Fag. Come, come, Lucy, here's no one by—so a little less simplicity, with a grain or two more sincerity, if you please. You play false with us, madam.-I saw you give the baronet a letter.-My master shall know this-and if he don't call him out, I will.

Lucy. Ha! ha! ha! you gentlemen's gentlemen are so hasty. That letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, simpleton. She is taken with Sir Lucius's address.

Fag. How! what tastes some people have!—Why, I suppose I have walked by her window a hundred times. But what says our young lady? any message to my master?

Lucy. Sad news, Mr. Fag.-A worse rival than Acres! Sir Anthony Absolute has proposed his son. Fag. What, Captain Absolute?

Lucy. Even so I overheard it all.

Fag. Ha! ha! ha! very good, faith. Good-by, Lucy; I must away with this news.

Lucy. Well, you may laugh-but it is true, I assure you. [Going.] But, Mr. Fag, tell your master not to be cast down by this.

Fag. Oh, he'll be so disconsolate!

Lucy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling with young Absolute.

Fag. Never fear! never fear!

Lucy. Be sure-bid him keep up his spirits.

Fag. We will-we will.

[Exeunt severally