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my inclinations are fixed on another-my heart is engaged to an angel.
Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse. It is very sorry-but business prevents its waiting on her.
Abs. But my vows are pledged to her,
Sir Anth. Let her foreclose, Jack; let her foreclose; they are not worth redeeming; besides, you have the angel's vows in exchange, I suppose; so there can be no loss there.
Abs. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, that in this point I cannot obey you.
Sir Anth. Hark’ee, Jack ;-I have heard you for some time with patience—I have been cool --quite cool; but take care—you know I am compliance itself-when I am not thwarted ;no one more easily led—when I have my own way ;-but don't put me in a frenzy.
Abs. Sir, I must repeat it—in this I cannot obey you.
Sir Anth. Now damn me! if ever I call you Jack again while I live!
Abs. Nay, sir, but hear me.
Sir Anth. I won't hear a word--not a word ! not one word ! so give me your promise by a nod—and I'll tell you what, Jack-I mean, you dog—if you don't, by--
Abs. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness! to-
Sir Anth. Zounds! sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly, as I choose: she shall have a hump on
each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull's in Cox's Museum; she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew—she shall be all this, sirrah !—yet I will make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty.
Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed !
Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy! no grinning, jackanapes !
Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor for mirth in my life.
Sir Anth. 'Tis false, sir, I kno' you are laughing in your sleeve; I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrah!
Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better.
Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, if you please !--It won't do with me, I promise you.
Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life.
Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie-I know you are in a passion in your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog! but it won't do.
Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word
Sir Anth. So you will fly out! can't you be cool like me? What the devil can passion do? -Passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate !—There, you sneer again! don't provoke me!—but you rely upon the mildness of my temper—you do, you dog! you play upon the meekness of my disposition !-Yet take care---the patience of a saint may be overcome at last !--but mark! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this: if you then agree, without any condition, to do everything on earth that I choose, why-confound you! I may in time forgive you.—If not, zounds! don't enter the same hemisphere with me! don't dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light with me; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own! I'll strip you of your commission; I'll lodge a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest.—I'll disown you, I'll disinherit you, I'll unget you! and damn me! if ever I call you Jack again !
BOB ACRES' VALOR.
THE RIVALS.-ACT V.
Enter Sir Lucius O’TRIGGER and ACRES, with
Acres. By my valor! then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims !-I say it is a good distance.
Sir Luc. Is it for muskets or small fieldpieces? Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me.-Stay nowI'll show you.—[ Measures paces along the stage.] There now, that is a very pretty distance--a pretty gentleman's distance.
Acres. Zounds! we might as wel! fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim.
Sir Luc. Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight!
Acres. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eight and thirty yards
Sir Luc. Pho! phe ! nonsense! three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. Acres, Odds bullets, no !--by my valor! there is no merit in killing him so near: do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot:—a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me.
Sir Luc. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must settle that.—But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you?
Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius —but I don't understand
Sir Luc. Why, you may think there's no being shot at without a little risk --and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it -I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters.
Acres. A quietus !
Sir Luc. For instance, now if that should be the case—would you choose to be pickled and sent home ?—or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey ?—I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey.
Acres. Pickled !-Snug lying in the Abbey ! -Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don't talk so!
Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before ?
Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before.
Sir Luc. Ah! that's a pity !—there's nothing like being used to a thing.–Pray now, how would you receive the gentleman's shot?
Acres. Odds files !—I've practiced thatthere, Sir Lucius—there.--[Puts himself in an attitude.] A side-front, hey? Odd! I'll make myself small enough: I'll stand edgeways.