I can't fight, and I won't fight; I'll do any thing rather than fight; I'll marry your sister; my nephew shar! marry her; I'll give him all my fortune; what would the fellow have? Here, Nephew! Thomas! murder! murder! [He flies, and she pursues.

Enter BATES and NEPHEW.

Neph. What's the matter, uncle?

Whit. Murder, that's all; that ruffian there would kill me, and eat me afterwards.

Neph. I'll find a way to cool him! come out, sir, I am as mad as yourself; I'll match you, I warrant you. [Going out with him. Wid. I'll follow you all the world over.

[Going after him. Whit. Stay, stay, nephew, you shan't fight; we shall be expos'd all over the town, and you may lose your life, and I shall be curs'd from morning to night; do, nephew, make yourself and me happy; be the olivebranch, and bring peace into my family; return to the widow; I will give you my consent, and your fortune, and a fortune for the widow, five thousand pounds! Do persuade him, Mr. Bates.

Bates. Do, sir; this is a very critical point of your life; I know you love her; 'tis the only method to restore us all to our senses.

Neph. I must talk in private first with this hot young gentleman.

Wid. As private as you plase, sir.

Whit. Take their weapons away, Mr. Bates; and do you follow me to my study, to witness my proposal; it is all ready, and only wants signing; come along, come along. [Exit.

Bates. Victoria! victoria! give me your swords and pistols; and now do your worst, you spirited, loving, young couple; I could leap out of my skin! [Exit. Neph. O, my charming widow! what a day have we gone through!"

Wid. I would go through ten times as much to de

in old amorous spark, like your uncle, to purCause a young one, like his nephew.

Neph. I listen'd at the door all this last scene; my heart was agitated with ten thousand fears; suppose my uncle had been stout, and drawn his sword.

Wid. I should have run away as he did; when two cowards meet, the struggle is who shall run first; and sure I can beat an old man at any thing.

Neph. Permit me thus to seal my happiness.

[Kneels and kisses her Hand.

Enter WHITTLE and BATES. WHITTLE stares.

Bates. Confusion!

[Aside. Whit. [Turning to Bates] Hey-day! I am afraid his head is not right yet! he was kneeling and kissing the captain's hand.

Bates. Take no notice, all will come about. [Aside to Whittle. Wid. find, Mr. Whittol, your family loves kissing better than fighting; he swears I am as like my sister as two pigeons.

Enter SIR PATRICK O'NEALE.

Sir P. I hope, Mr. Whizzle, you'll excuse my coming back to give you an answer, without having any to give; I hear a grate dale of news about myself, and came to know if it be true; they say my son is in London, when he tells me himself by letter here, that he's at Limerick; and I have been with my daughter to tell her the news, but she would not stay at home to receive it, so I am come-O gra ma chree my little din ousil craw, what have we got here? a piece of mummery! here is my son and daughter too, fait; what are you waring the breeches, Pat, to see how they become you when you are Mrs. Weezel?

Wid. I beg your pardon for that, sir! I wear them before marriage, because I think they become a woman better than after.

Whit. What, is not this your son?

C

[Astonished.

Sir P. No, but it is my daughter, and that is the same thing.

Wid. And your niece, sir, which is better than either. Wit. Mighty well! and I suppose you have not lost your wits, young man?

Neph. 1 sympathize with you, sir; we lost 'em together, and found 'em at the same time.

Whit. Here's villany! Mr. Bates, give me the paper; not a farthing shall they have till the law gives it 'em. Bates. We'll cheat the law and give it them now.

[Gives Nephew the Paper. Whit. He may take his own, but he shan't have a sixpence of the five thousand pounds I promis'd him. Bates. Witness, good folks, he owns to the promise. Sir P. Fait, I'll witness dat, or any thing else in a good cause.

Whit. What, am I chous'd again?

Bates. Why should not my friend be chous'd out of a little justice for the first time? Your hard usage bas sharpen'd your nephew's wits, therefore beware, don't play with edge-tools-you'll only cut your fingers.

Sir P. And your trote too, which is all one; therefore to make all azy, marry my daughter first, and then quarrel with her afterwards; that will be in the natural course of things.

Whit. Here, Thomas! where are you?

Enter THOMAS.

Here are fine doings! I am deceiv'd, trick'd, and cheated!

Tho. I wish you joy, sir; the best thing that could have happen'd to you; and as a faithful servant I have done my best to check you.

Whit. To check me!

Tho. You were galloping full speed, and down hill too, and if we had not laid hold of the bridle, being a bad jockey, you would have hung by your horns in the stirrup, to the great joy of the whole town.

Whit. What, have you help'd to trick me?

Tho. Into happiness: You have been foolish a long while, turn about and be wise; he has got the woman and his estate, give them your blessing, which is not worth much, and live like a Christian for the future.

Whit. I will if I can; but I can't look at 'em ; I can't bear the sound of my voice, nor the sight of my own face: look ye, I am distress'd and distracted! and can't come too yet; will be reconcil'd if possible; but don't let me see or hear from you, if you would have me forget and forgive you—I shall never lift up my head again!

Wid. I hope, sir Patrick, that my preferring the nephew to the uncle will meet with your approbation? Sir P. You are out of my hands, Pat, so if you won't trouble me with your afflictions, I shall sincerely rejoice at your felicity.

Neph. It would be a great abatement of my present joy, could I believe that this lady should be assisted in her happiness, or be supported in her afflictions, by any one but her lover and husband.

Sir P. Fine notions are fine tings, but a fine estate gives every ting but ideas, and them too, if you'll appale to those who help you to spend it-what say you, widow?

Wid. By your and their permission I will tell my mind to this good company; and for fear my words should want ideas too, will add an Irish tune, that may carry off a bad voice, and bad matter.

SONG.

A widow bewitch'd with her passion,
Though Irish, now quite ashamed,
To think that she's so out of fashion,
To marry and then to be tamed:
"Tis love, the dear joy,
That old-fashion'd boy,

Has got in my breast with his quiver;
The blind urchin he,

Struck the cush la maw cree,

And a husband secures me for ever!

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Ye fair ones I hope will excuse me,
Though vulgar pray do not abuse me
I cannot become a fine lady,

O love has bewitch'd widow Brady.
Ye critics, to murder so willing,

Pray see all our errors with blindness,
For once change your method of killing,
And kill a fond widow with kindness;
If you look so severe,
In a fit of despair,

Again will I draw forth my steel, sirs:
You know I've the art,

To be twice through your heart, Before I can once make you feel, sirs: Brother soldiers, I hope you'll protect me, Nor let cruel critics dissect me; To favour my cause be but ready, And grateful you'll find widow Brady.

To all that I see here before me,

The bottom, the top, and the middle,
For music we now must implore you,
No wedding without pipe and fiddle;
If all are in tune,
Pray let it be soon;

My heart in my bosom is prancing!
If your hands should unite,
To give us delight,

O that's the best piping and dancing!
Your plaudits to me are a treasure,
Your smiles are a dow'r for a lady;
O joy to you all in full measure,
So wishes, and prays widow Brady.

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C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.