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indeed. I have kept the secret for my sister's sake,
as long as I could; but you must know it, and shall
know it too.
[Cries.

Moo. Dry your tears.

for him. They have had private meetings; and he was making love to her before yesterday, from the tavern window, when you thought it was me. I would have discovered all, but she made me swear to deceive you; and so I have finely; have not I, bud?

dam. [Reads.] Dear, dear, Mr. Belville. Very well, I have taught you to write letters to good purpose; but let's see't. First, I am to beg your pardon for my boldness in writing to you, which I'd have know I would not have done had you not said first you Peg. You always thought he was hankering after loved me so extremely; which, if you do, you will never me. Good law! he's dying for Alithea, and Alithea suffer me to be another man's, who I loath, nauseate, and detest. Now you can write these filthy words. But what follows!-therefore I hope you will speedily find some way to free me from this unfortunate match, which was never, I assure you, of my choice; but I'm afraid 'tis already too far gone; however, if you love me as I do you, you will try what you can do; you must help me away before to-morrow, or else, alas! I shall be for ever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our-our-what is to follow our? Speak, what? Our journey into the country, I suppose. Oh, woman d-d woman! and love! d-d love! their old tempter; for this is one of his miracles; in a moment he can make those blind that could see, and those see that were blind; those dumb that could speak, and those prattle who were dumb before. But make an end of your letter, and then I'll make an end of you thus, and all my plagues together.

[Draws his sword. Peg. O Lord! O Lord! you are such a passionate man, bud!

Moo. Come, take the pen, and make an end of the letter, just as you intended; if you are false in a tittle I shall soon perceive it, and punish you with this as you deserve. Lays his hand on his sword.] Write what was to follow. Let's see.-You must make haste, and help me away before to-morrow, or else I shall be for ever out of your reach, for I can defer no longer our-what follows our?

[PEGGY takes the pen, and writes. Peg. Must all out then, bud? Look you there then.

Moo. Let's see;-for I can defer no longer our wedding. Your slighted ALITHEA. What's the meaning of this? My sister's name to't? Speak; unriddle.

Peg. Yes, indeed, bud.

Moo. But why her name to't? Speak, speak, I say!

Peg. Ay, but you'll tell her again; if you would not tell her again

Moo. I will not; I am stunn'd; my head turns round. Speak.

Peg. Won't you tell her, indeed, and indeed?
Moo. No; speak, I say.

Feg. She'll be angry with me: but I would rather she should be angry with me than you, bud. And to tell the truth, 'twas she made me write the letter, and taught me what I should write.

Moo. Ha! I thought the style was somewhat better than her own. [Aside.] Could she come to you to teach you, since I lock'd you up alone?

Peg. Oh! through the key-hole, bud.

Moo. But why should she make you write a letter
for her to him, since she can write herself?
Peg. Why, she said, because-
Moo. Because what; because-
Peg. Why because, bud-

Moo. Because what, I say?

Peg. Because, lest Mr. Belville, as he was so young, should be inconstant, and refuse her; or be vain afterwards, and shew the letter, she might disown it, the hand not being her's.

Moo. Belville again! Am I to be deceiv'd again with that young hypocrite?

Peg. You have deceiv'd yourself, bud; you have

Moo. Why did you write that foolish letter to him then, and make me more foolish to carry it? Peg. To carry on the joke, bud; to oblige them. Moo. And will nothing serve her but that great baby? He's too young for her to marry. Peg. Why do you marry me then? 'Tis the same thing, bud.

Moo. No, no, 'tis quite different. How innocent she is! [Aside.] But hark you, madam, your sister went out this morning, and I have not seen her within since.

Peg. Alack-a-day! she has been crying all day above, it seems, in a corner.

Moo. Where is she? let me speak with her.
Peg. O Lord! then she'll discover all. [Aside.]
Pray hold, bud: what, d'ye mean to discover me?
She'll know I have told you then. Pray, bud, let
me talk with her first.

Moo. I must speak with her to know whether Belville ever made her any promise, and whether she will be married to Sparkish or no.

Peg. Pray, dear bud, don't till I have spoken with her, and told her that I have told you all; for she'll kill me else.

Moo. Go then, and bid her come to me.
Peg. Yes, yes, bud.

Moo. Let me see

Peg. I have just got time to know of Lucy, who first set me to work, what lie I shall tell next; for I am e'en at my wits end. [Aside, and exit.

Moo. Well, I resolve it, Belville shall have her. I'd rather give him my sister than lend him my wife; and such an alliance will prevent his preten sions to my wife, sure; I'll make him of kin to her and then he won't care for her.

Re-enter PEGGY. Peg. O Lord, bud, I told you what anger you would make me with my sister.

Moo. Won't she come?

Peg. No, she won't, she's ashamed to look you in the face; she'll go directly to Mr. Belville, she says. Pray let her have her way, bud; she won't be pacified if you don't; and will never forgive me. For my part, bud, I believe, but don't tell anybody, they have broken a piece of silver between 'em; or have contracted one another, as we have done, you know, which is the next thing to being married.

Moo. Pooh! you fool; she is ashamed of talking with me about Belville, because I made the match for her with Sparkish! But Sparkish is a fool, and I have no objection to Belville's family or fortune: tell her so.

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Re enter HARCOURT, with ALITHEA. Har. Give me leave, gentlemen, without offence to either, to present Mrs. Harcourt to you.

Spark. Alithea, your wife! Mr. Moody, are you in the clouds too?

Moo. If I am not in a dream, I am the most miserable walking dog that ever run mad with his misfortunes and astonishment!

Har. Why so, Jack? Can you object to my hap piness, when this gentleman was unworthy of it? [MOODY walks about in a rage. Spark. This is very fine; very fine, indeed. Where's your story about Belville now, 'squire Moody? Pr'ythee, don't chafe, and stare, and stride, and beat thy head, like a mad tragedy poet! but out with thy tropes and figures.

Moo. Zounds! I can't bear it.

[Goes hastily to BELVILLE's door, and knocks hard. Ali. Dear brother, what's the matter? Moo. The devil's the matter! the devil and women together. [Knocks again.] I'll break the door down, if they won't answer. [Knocks again.

A Footman appears in the balcony, in flat. Foot. What would your honour please to have? Moo. Your master, rascal.

Foot. He is obeying your commands, sir; and the moment he has finished, he will do himself the pleasure to wait on you.

Moo. You sneering villain, you! if your master does not produce that she-devil, who is now with him, and who, with a face of innocence, has cheated and undone me, I'll set fire to his house.

[Exit Footman from the balcony. Spark. 'Gad so! now I begin to smoke the business. Well said, simplicity! rural simplicity! 'Egad! if thou hast trick'd Cerberus here, I shall be so ravish'd, that I will give this couple a wedding-dinner. Pray, Mr. Moody, who's d-d ridiculous now?

Moo. Going to SPARKISH.] Lookye, sir; don't grin, for if you dare to shew your teeth at my misfortunes, I'll dash 'em down your impudent throat, you jackanapes!

Spark. [Quite calm.] Very fine, faith; but I have no weapons to butt with a mad bull, so you may toss and roar by yourself, if you please.

Enter BELVILLE in the balcony.

Bel. What does my good friend want with me?
Moo. Are you a villain, or are you not?
Bel. I have obey'd your commands, sir.
Moo. What have you done with the girl, sir?
Bel. Made her my wife, as you desired.
Spark. Very true, I am your witness.
Moo. She's my wife, and I demand her.

Enter PEGGY in the balcony.

Peg. No; but I an't though, bud. What's the matter, dear? are you angry with me? Moo. How dare you look me in the face, cockatrice?

Peg. How dare you look me in the face, bud? Have you not given me to another, when you ought

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to have married me yourself? Have you not pretended to be married to me, when you knew in your conscience you was not? And have you not been shilly-shally for a long time? So that if I had not married dear Mr. Belville, I should not have married at all; so I should not.

[BELVILLE and PEGGY retire from the balcony. Spark. Extremely pleasant, faith; ha, ha, ha! Moo. I am stupified with shame, rage, and astonishment. My fate has o'ercome me; I can struggle no more with it. [Sighs.] What is left me? I cannot bear to look, or be looked upon. I will hurry down to my old bos, take a twelvemonth's provision into it, cut down my drawbridge, run wild about my garden, which hall grow as wild as myself; then will I curse the world, and every individual in it; and when my rage and spirits fail me, I will be found dead among the nettles and thistles, a woeful example of the baseness and treachery of one sex, and of the falsehood, lying, perjury, deceit, impudence, and damnation, of the other. [Exit. Spark. Very droll, and extravagantly comic, I must confess; ha, ha, ha!

Enter BELVILLE and PEGGY.

Lookye, Belville, I wish you joy with all my heart; you have got the prize, and perhaps have caught a Tartar; that's no business of mine. If you want evidence for Mr. Moody's giving his consent to your marriage, I shall be ready. I bear no ill-will to that pair; I wish you happy; [to ALITHEA and HARCOURT] though I'm sure they'll be miserable; and so, your humble servant.

[Exit.

Peg. I hope you forgive me, Alithea, for playing your brother this trick; indeed, I should have only made him and myself miserable, had we married to gether.

Ali. Then 'tis much better as it is. But I am yet in the dark how this matter has been brought about; how your innocence, my dear, has outwitted his worldly wisdom.

Peg. I am sure I'll do anything to please my bud, but marry him.

But you, good gentry, what say you to this?
You are to judge me have I done amiss?
I've reasons will convince you all, and strong ones,
Except old folks, who hanker after young ones.
Bud was so passionate, and grown so thrifty,
'Twas a sad life-and, then, he was near fifty!
I'm but nineteen-my husband too is young,
So soft, so gentle, such a winning tongue!
Have I, pray ladies, speak, done very wrong?
As for poor bud, 'twas honest to deceive him;
More virtuous, sure, to cheat him than to grieve him.
Great folks, I know, will call me simple slut;

Marry for love," they cry," the country put!"
Marriage with them's a fashion-soon grows cool;
But I'm for always loving, like a fool.
With half my fortune I would rather part,
Than be all finery with an aching heart.
For these strange awkward notions don't abuse me:
And, as I know no better, pray excuse me. [Exeunt

THX END.

THE CHANCES;

CURECT, IN FIVE ACTS;

ALTERED FROM BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER,

BY DAVID GARRICK.

DRAMATIS PERSONE

DUKE

DON JOHN

DON FREDERICK PETRUCHIO

ANTONIO

PETER

ANTHONY

FRANCISCO

PEREZ

PEDRO

GUZMAN

SANCHIO

Gentlemen

Servants

FIRST CONSTANTIA
SECOND CONSTANTIA
Landlady
Nurse

ACT I.

SCENE I-A Chamber.

Enter PETER and ANTHONY.

Peter. 'Would we were remov'd from this town,
Anthony,

That we may taste some quiet! for mine own part,
I'm almost melted with continual trotting
After inquiries, dreams, and revelations, [soldiers!
Of who knows whom, or where? Serve weaching
I'll serve a priest in Lent first, and eat bell-ropes.

Anth. Thou art the forwardest fool-
Peter. Why, good tame Anthony,

Tell me but this: to what end came we hither!
Anth. To wait upon our masters.
Peter. But how, Anthony?

Answer me that; resolve me there, good Anthony
Anth. To serve their uses.

Peter. Shew your uses, Anthony,

Anth. To be employ'd in anything.
Peter. No, Anthony;

Not anything, I take it, nor that thing
We travel to discover, like a new island;
I'll give 'em warning.

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That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken = -
Are ever loving.

Anth. Pr'ythee, be thou sober,
And know that they are none of those,
Of the least vanity of love; only a doolt
Fame might too far report, or rather, fatter
The graces of this woman, made them cu
To find the truth; which, since they fade
Lock d up from their searches, they are tw
To give the wonder over.

Peter. 'Would they were resolv'd
To give me some new shoes, too! for
These are e'en worn out to the reasonele scles

In their good worship's business: and some sleep
Would not do much amiss, unless they mean
To make a watchman of me.-Here they come!

[Ereunt.

Necessity compels me.

San. But think better.

(me,

Petr. There's no other cure left; yet, witness with All that is fair in man, all that is noble,

I am not greedy of his life I seek for, [ possible, Nor thirst to shed man's blood; and 'would 'twere

Enter DON JOHN and DON FREDERICK. Don J. I would we could have seen her though : I wish it from my soul,

for, sure,

She must be some rare creature, or report lies:
All men's reports, too.

Don F. I could well wish I had seen Constantia:
But since she is so conceal'd, plac'd where
No knowledge can come near her, so guarded
As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach her,
I have made up my belief.

Don J. Hang me, from this hour,

If I more think upon her!

But as she came a strange report unto me,

So the next beauteous fame shall lose her.
Don F. 'Tis the next way:-

But whither are you walking?
Don J. My old round,

After my supper, and then to bed.
Don F. Your servant, then.

Don J. Will not you stir?
Don F. I have a little business.

Don J. I'd lay my life, this lady still-
Don F. Then you would lose it.
Don J. Pray, let's walk together.
Don F. Now I cannot.

Don J. I have something to impart.
Don F. An hour hence,

I will not miss to meet you.

Don J. Where?

Don F. I' th' High-street;

For, not to lie, I have a few devotions

To do first, and theu I am your's, Don John.

Don J. Devotions, Frederick ! Well, I leave you to them:

Speed you well: but remember

Don F. I will not fail.

SCENE II.-A Street,

» [Exeunt.

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My sword should only kill his crimes: no, 'tis Honourhonour, my noble friends, that idol honour That all the world now worships, not Petruchio, Must do this justice.

Anto. Let it once be done,

And 'tis no matter whether you, or honour,
Or both, be accessary.

Bapt. Do you weigh, Petruchio,

The value of the person, power, and greatness,
And what this spark may kindle ?
Petr. To perform it,

So much I am tied to reputation,

And credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires,
And storms that toss me into everlasting ruin,
Yet I must through; if you dare side me.
Anto. Dare!

Say we were all sure to die in this venture,
As I am confident against it, is there any
Amongst us of so fat a sense, so pamper'd,
Would choose luxuriously to lie a-bed,
And purge away his spirit? send his soul out
In sugar sops, and syrups? Give me dying,
As dying ought to be, upon my enemy:
Let them be all the world, and bring along
Cain's envy with them, I will on.

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Don J. The civil order of this city, Naples,
Makes it belov'd and honour'd of all travellers,
As a most safe retirement in all troubles;
Beside the wholesome seat, and noble temper
Of those minds that inhabit it, safely wise,
And to all strangers courteous. But I see
My admiration has drawn night upon me,
And longer to expect my friend, may pull me
Into suspicion of too late a stirrer,
Which all good governments are jealous of.
I'll home, and think at liberty: yet, certain,
'Tis not so far night as I thought; for see,
A fair house yet stands open; yet all about it
Are close, and no lights stirring: there may be
foul play:

I'll venture to look in. If there be knaves,
I may do a good office.

Nurse. [Within.] Signior!
Don J. What? how is this?

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