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ad learn, as they say “We grow older, and older every day-Service is no inheritance in these ages. There are more places than parish-churches ----So you may do ag you please, your honour

But I shall look up my things; give up a month's wages, for want of a month's warning, and go my ways out of your house immediately.

[Exit. Hon. Why, you old beldam, I'll have you carted You shall be burnt for a witch But I'll put an end to this matter at once- -Mr Ledger, you shall marry my daughter to-morrow morning.

Led. Not I, indeed, my friend! I give up my interest in her-She'd make a terrible wife for a fober citizen

- Who can answer for her behaviour? -I would not underwrite her for ninety per cent.

[Exit. Hon. See there! see there!-My girl is undone. Her character is ruined with all the world- These damn'd story-books ! - What shall we do, Mrs Honey. combe? what shall we do?

Mrs Hon. Look ye, my dear, you've been wrong in every particularHon. Wrong

!! Wrong!Mrs Hon. Quite wrong, my dear! I wou'd not expose you before company-my tenderness, you know, is so great

But leave the whole affair to me. -You are too violent

-Go, my dear, go and compose yourfelf, and I'll set all matters to rights (Going, turns back.) Don't you do any thing of your own head now -truft it all to me, my dear!-And I'll fectle it in such a manner, that you,_and I--and all the worldthall be astonished and delighted with it.

[Exit muttering. Hon. (alone.) Zouns, I shall run mad with vexation -Was ever man so heartily provoked?

-You fee now, gentlemen, (coming forward to the audience,) what a fi tuation I am in!-Inttead of happiness and jollity-my friends and family about me--a wedding and a danceand every thing as it should be-here am I, left by myself-deserted by my intended son-in-law-bully'd by an attorney's clerk --affronted by my own servant-my daughter mad-my wife in the vapours-and all's in confufion. This comes of cordials and novels. Vol. III.

R

Zouns,

Zouns, your ftomachics are the devil- and a man might as well turn his daughter loose in Covent-garden, as trust the cultivation of her mind to

A CIRCULATING LIBRARY.

E E PILOGU E.
Written by Mr GARRICK.

Spoken by Miss POPE.

Enters, as Polly, laughing -Ha, ha, ba! Mr poor papa's in woful agitation

Wbile I, the cause, feel here (Atriking her bosom) no palpitation-
We girls of reading and superior notions,
W bo from the fountain-bead drink love's fweet potions,
Pity our parents, when fuch paffion blinds 'em;
One hears the good folks ravemone never minds 'em.
Till these dear books infus'd their soft ingredients,
Apam'd and fearful, I was all obedience.
Then my good father did not storm in vain,
I blub'd, and cry'dama I'll ne'er do so again:",
But now no bugbears can my spirit tame,
I've conquer'd
fear--and almoft conguer'd

foame.
So much these dear instructors change and win us,
Without their light we ne'er foou'd know what's in us.
Here we at once supply our childisho wants
Novels are botbeds for your forward plants,
Not only sentiments refine the foul,
But hence we learn to be the smart and drele;
Each aukward circumstance for laughter ferves,
From nurse's nonfenfe to my mother's nerves.
Though parents tell that

our genius lies
In mending linen and in making pics;
I set fucb formal precepts at defiance,
That preach up prudente, neatness, and compliance :
Leap thefe old bounds, and boldly set the pattern,
To be a wit, philosopher, and flattern-

0! did all maids and wives my Spirit feel,
We'd make this topsy-turvy world to reel.
Let us to arms! Our fathers, bufoands, dare!
Novels will teach us all the art of war:
Our tongues will serve for trumpet and for drum;
I'll be your leader-General Honeycombe!
Too

long has buman nature gone aftray;
Daugbters should govern, parents foould obey :
Man fould fubmit, the moment that be weds;
And bearts of oak sould yield to wifer heads.
I see you smile, bold Britons !--But 'tis true
Beat you the French; but let your wives beat yolla.com

THE

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SCENE, A Chamber.
Enter Lucy and BETTY.

Lucy.
IS not the marriage, but the man, we hate;

'Tis there we reason and debate;
For, give us but the man we love,

We're sure the marriage to approve. Well, this barbarous will of parents is a great drawback on the inclinations of young peoplc.

Betty. Indeed and so it is, Mem. For my part I'm no heiress, and therefore at my own disposal; and if I was under the restraint of the act, and kept from men, I would run to feed, so I would.-But la! Mem, I had forgot to acquaint-you, I verily believes that I saw your Irish lover the captain; and I conceits it was he, and no other, so I do--and I saw him go into the blue poftices, fo I did.

Lucy. My Irish lover, Miss Pert! I never so much as faw his face in all my born days, but I hear he's a strange animal of a brute. - Pray, had he his wings on? I suppose they fav'd him in his passage.

Betty. Oh! Mem, you mistakes the Irishmen. I am told they are as gentle as doves to our sex, with as much politeness and sincerity as if born in our own country.

Enter Cheatwell. Cheat. Miss, your moft humble and obedient-I come to acquaint you of our danger: :- our common enemy is just imported hither, and is inquiring for your father's house thro' every ftreet.-The Irish captain, in short, is come to London. Such a figure! and so attended by the rabble!

Lucy. I long to fee him;--and Irishmen, I hear, are not so despicable: besides, the captain may be misrepresented. Afide.) Well, you know my father's design is to have as many suitors as he can, in order to have a choice of them all.

Cheat. I have nothing but your prepossessions and fiacerity to depend on. o here's my trusty Mercury.

Enter Sconce.
Well, Sconce, have you dogged the Captain?

Sconce. Yes, yes. I left him snug in the Blue Pofts, devouring a large dish of potatoes and half a furloin of beef for his breakfast. He's just pat te our purpose;

easily humm'd, as fimple and as undefigning as we would have him. Well, and what do you propose?

Cheat. Propose! why to drive him back to his native bogs as fast as possible.

Lucy. Oh! Mr Cheat well-pray let's have a fight of the creter?

Cheat. Oh! female curiofity. Why, child, he'd frighten thee-he's above fix feet high

Sconce. A great huge back and shoulders great long sword, which he calls his Sweetlips.

Lucy.

wears a

Lucy. I hear the Irith are naturally brave. Scance. And carries a large oaken cudgel, which he calls his Sbillela.

Lucy. Which he can make use of on occafions, I fup. pose.

[Ahide. Sconce. Add to this a great pair of jack-boots, a Cumberland pinch to his hat, an old red coat, and damn'd potatoe-face.

Lucy. He must be worth seeing, truly.

Cheat. Well, my dear girl, be conftant, wish me success ; for I shall so hum, so roaft, and so banter this same Irish captain, that he'll fcarce with himself in London again these seven years to come. Lucy. About itAdieu-I hear my father.

[Exeunt

feuerally SCENE, A Street. Enter Captain O‘Blunder and Sergeant. Capt. Tho? I will be dying,

For Captain O Brien,

In the county of Kerry;
Tho' I would be fad,
I'll be very glad

That
you

will be merry Upon my shoul, this. London is a pretty sort of a plash enough. And fo you tell me Chergeant, that Terence M-Gloodtery keeps a goon.

Serg. Yess, Sir

Capt. Monomundioul!--but when I go back to Ireland, if I catches any of these spalpeen brats keeping a goon, to destroy the fhentleman's creation, but I will. have 'em shot stone dead first, and phipt'thorrow the re-giment afterwards.

Serg. You mean that they shall be whipped first, and then shot.

Capt. Well, ifhn't it the same thing? Phat the devil magnifies that? ”Tis bui phipping and shooting all the time; 'tis the same thing in thie end sure, after all your: cunning;-—but still you'll be a wiseacre. Monomundioul, there ish’nt one of these spalpeens that has a cab. bin upon a mountain, with a bit of a potatoe-garden at the back of it, but will be keeping a goon ; -- but that

damn'd?

R 3

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