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Lou. I own it; and what must that heart not furnish settlement quite sufficient for the be, which love, honour, and beneficence, like heiress of sir Stephen Rusport. Mr. Belcour's, can make no impression on? Miss R. But a good estate, in aid of a com
Stock. I thank you: What happiness bas mission, may do something. this bour brought to pass!
Lady R. A good estate, truly! where should OʻFla. Why don't we all sit down to he get a good estate, pray? supper, then, and make a night on't?
Stock. Why, suppose now a worthy old
gentleman, on his death-bed, should bare taEnter Belcour, introducing Miss RU SPORT. Ken it in mind to leave him one
Bel. Mr. Dudley, here is a fair refugee, Lady R. Hah! what's that you say? who properly comes under your protection O'Fla. O bo! you begin to smell a plot, she is equipped for Scotland, but your good do you ? fortune, which I have related to her, seems Stock. Suppose there should be a paper in inclined to save you both the journey-Nay, the world, that runs thus—“I do hereby give madam, never go back! you are amongst and bequeath all my estates, real and persofriends.
gal, to Charles Dudley, son of my late daugbter Charles. Charlotte !
Louisa, etc. etc. etc. Miss R. The same; that fond, officious girl, O'Fla. There's a fine parcel of etc.'s for that haunts you every where: that persecu- your ladyship. ting spirit
Lady R. Why, I am thunderstruck! by Charles. Say rather, that protecting angel; what contrivance, what villany, did you get such you have been to me.
possession of that paper? Miss R. O Charles, you have an honest, Stock. There was no villany, madam, in but proud heart.
getting, possession of it; the crime was in Charles. Nay, chide me not, dear Charlotte. concealing it, none in bringing it to light. Bel. Seal up her lips, then; she is an ador- Lady Ř. Oh, that cursed lawyer, Varland! able girl; her arms are open to you; and love O'Fla. You may say that, 'faith; he is a and bappiness are ready to receive you. cursed lawyer; and a cursed piece of work I
Charles. Thus, then, I claim my dear, my bad to get the paper from him; your lady, destined wife.
[Embracing her. ship now was to bave paid him five thousand Enter LADY RUSPORT.
pounds for it: I forced' bim to give it me of Lady R. Hey, day! mighty fine! wife, truly ! his own accord, for nothing at all
, at all, mighty, well! kissing, embracing - did ever Lady R. Is it you that have done this? am any thing equal this?' Wby, you shameless I foiled by your blundering contrivances, afbussy!—But I won't condescend to waste a ter all? word upon you.—You, sir, you, Mr. Stock- O'Fla. 'Twas a blunder, 'faith, but as nawell; you fine, sanctified, fair-dealing man of tura! a one as if I had made it o'purpose. conscience; is this the principle you trade Charles. Come, led us not oppress the fallen ; upon? is this your neighbourly system, to do right even now, and you shall have no keep a house of reception for runaway daugh- cause to complain. ters, and young beggarly fortune hunters ? Lady R. Am I become an object of your
OʻFla. Be advised now, and don't put your- pity, then? Insufferable!confusion light amongst self in such a passion; we were all very happy you! marry, and be wretched: let me never till you came.
[E.cil. Lady R. Stand away, sir; bar'n't I a reason Miss R. She is outrageous; I suffer for ber, to be in a passion?
and blush to see her thus exposed. O'Fla. Indeed, honey, and you have, if you Charles. Come, Charlotte, don't let this an. knew all.
gry woman disturb our bappiness: we will Lady R. Come, madam, I have found out save her, in spite of herself; your f. tber's nieyour haunts; dispose yourself to return home mory shall not be stained by the discredit of with me. Young man, let me never see you his second choice. within my doors again: Mr. Stockwell, I shall Miss R. I trust implicitly to your discretion, report your behaviour, depend on it. and am in all things yours. Stock. Hold, madam, I cannot consent to
Bel. Now, lovely, but obdurate, does not lose miss Rusport's company, this evening, and this example soften? I am persuaded you won't insist upon it; 'tis Lou. What can you ask for more? Accept an unmotherly action to interrupt your daugh- my hand, accept my willing heart, ter's happiness in this manner, believe me it is. Bel
. O, bliss unutterable! brother, father
, Lady R. Her happiness truly! upon my friend, and you, the author of this general word! and I suppose it's an unmotherly ac- joytion to interrupt her ruin; for what but ruin "OʻFla. Blessing of St. Patrick upon must it be to marry a beggar? , I think my 'tis a night of wonderful and surprising ups sister bad a proof of that, sir, when she made and downs: I wish we were all fairly set choice of you.
[To Captain Dudley. down to supper, and there was an end ent. Dud. Don't be 100 Tavish of your spirits, Stock. Hold for a moment! I bave yet one lady Rusport.
word to interpose-Entitled by my friendship ÖFla. By my soul, you'll have occasion to a voice in your disposal, I have approved for a sip of the cordial elixir by-and-by. your match; 1here yet remains a father's con
Stock. It don't appear to me, madam, that sent to be obtained. Mr. Dudley can be called a beggar.
Bel. Have I a father? Lady R. But it appears to me, Mr. Stock-! Stock. You have a father; did not I tell you well; I am apt to think a pair of colours can- 'I had a discovery to make ? — Compose your
see you more.
sell-you have a faiber, who observes, who Stock. Yes, Belcour, I have watched you knows, who loves you.
with a patient, but inquiring eye, and I have Bel. Keep me no longer in suspense; my discovered through the veil of some irregularheart is softened for the affecting discovery, ities, a beart beaming with benevolence, and and nature fits me to receive his blessing. animaled nature; fallible indeed, but not inStock. I am your father.
corrigible; and your election of this excellent Bel. My father!-Do 1 live?
young lady makes me glory in acknowledging Stock. I ain your father.
you to be my son. Bel. It is too much-my happiness over- Bel. I thank you, and in my turn, glory in powers me--to gain a friend, and find a fa- the father I have gained. Sensibly impressed iher, is too much: I blush to think how little with gratitude for such extraordinary dispenI deserve you.
[They embrace. sations, I beseech you, amiable Louisa, for Dud. See, children, how many new rela- the time to come, whenever you perceive me tions spring from this night's unforeseen events, deviating into error or offence, bring only to to endear us to each other.
my mind the providence of this night, and I O'Fla. O'my conscience, I think we shall will turn to reason and obey. be all related by-and-by.
Was born al Londonderry, in 1678, where he received the rudiments of erudition and from whence, as soon as he van properly qualified, he was sent to Trinity College, Dublin, where he wis entered as a sizer, July 17, 1694; but the nodes of study in that place being calculated rather for making deep than polite scholars, and Mr. Farquhar being Antally averse to serious pursuils, he was reckoned by all his fellow-students one of the dullest young men in the university, and even as a companion he was thought extremely heavy and disagreeable., On quitting college, be engaged himsejr to Mr. Ashbury, the manager of the Dublin theatre, and was soon introduced on the stage, in the characier of Othello. In this situation he continued no longer than part of one season, nor made any very considerable figure. For though his perses was sastciently in his favour, and he was possessed of the requisites of a strong retentive memory, a just
Dair of speaking, and an easy and elegant deportm yet his natural diffidence and timidity, or what is usually termed the stage-terror, which he was never able to overcome, added to a thin insufficiency of voice, were strong bara in the way of his succes, more especially in tragedy. However, notwithstanding these disadventages, it is not improbable, as' from his amiable private behaviour he was very much esteemed, and has never met with the least repulse from the sadieace in any of his performances, that he might have continned much longer on the stage, but for an accidant ubick determined him to quit it on a sudden; for being to play the part of Guyomar, in Dryden's Indian Impapuri shekills Velasquez, one of the Spanish generals, Mr. Farquhar, by some mistake, look a real sword instead of • foil on the stage with him, and in the engagement wounded his brother-tragedian, who acted Velasquez, in so dangere a manner, that, although it did not prove mortal, he was a long time before he recovered it; aud the consideration of the fatal ccosequences that might have insued, wrought so strongly on our author's humane disposition, that he took sp e resolution never to go on the stage again, or submit himself to the possibility of such another mistake. Notwithstand3. the several disappointments and vexations which this gentleman met with durimg his short stay in this transitory world, I only thirty years) nothing seems to have been able to overcome the readiness of liis genios, or the easy good**se of his disposition; for he began and finished his well-known comedy of The Beaux Stratagem in about six seks, daring his last illness; notwithstanding he, for a great part of the time, was extremely sensible of the approacia of death, and even foretold what actually happened, viz. that he should die before the run of it was over.
***, in 30 e»lm and manly a manner did he treat the expectation of that fatal event, as even to be able to exercise biasated pleasantry on ihe very subject. For while his play was in rehearsal, his friend Mr. Wilks, who frequently
ed him during his illness, observing to him that Mrs. Oldfield thought he had deall too freely with the character 01 Mrs. Sullen, in giving her to Archer, without such a proper divorce as might be a security for her lionour, "uh," replied the author, with his accustomed vivacity, "I will, if she pleases, salve that immediately, by gelting a real dirite, marrying her myself, and giving her my bund, that she shall be a real widow in less than a fortnighi," But
* 154 can give a more perfect idea of that disposition we have hinted al in him, than the very laconic lul expreswire billet which Mr. Wilks found, after his death, among his papers, directed to himself, and which, as a curiosity in sod, we cannot refrain from giving 12 our readers; it was as follows: “Dear Bob, I have not auy thing to leave le to perpetuate my memory, but two helpless girls ; look upon them sometimes, and think of hin that was, to the i bent of life, thine George Farquhar." of his character as a man, we have an account by himself in a piece, and dressed to a lady, which he calls The Picture. It begins thus: “My outside is neither better wor worse than my (12&st nade it; and the picce being drawil by so great an artist, it were presumption to say there were many strokes
I have a body qualified to answer all the ends of its creation, and that is sufficient. As to the mind, which in
mks wears as many changes as their body, so in me it is generally dressed like my person, in black. MelanEs mi every day apparel; and it has hilberto found few holidays to make it change its clothes, In short, my
is irery splenetie, and yet very amourous; both which I endeavour to hide, lest the former should ents whers, and thal the latter might incornmode myself. And my reason is so vigilant in restraining these two (81DFE), that I am taken for an easy-nalured man with my own sex, and an illnatured clown by yours. I have
lize estate, but what lies under the circumference of my and should I by mischance come to lose av hd, I should not be worth a groat; but I ought to thank Providence that I can'by three hours study live ne and in rats with satisfaction to myself, and contribute to the maintenance of more fanilies than sume who are tand: a year. I have somewhai in my outward behaviour, which gives strangers a worse opinion of me
deserve; bat I am more than recompensed by the opinion of my acquaintance, which is as much above E disest. I have many acquaintance, very few intimates, but no friend, I inean in the old romantic way; I have no
*wershty, but what i can bear in my own breast; nor any duels to fight, but what I may engage in without # mer xod: sorron I love alter the old romantic discipline. I would have my passion, if not led, yet at least waited *# byer reason: and the greatest proof of my affection that a Tady must expect, is this: I would run any hazard to zak s boib bappy, bat nould not Tor any transitory pleasure make either of its miserable. If ever, Madam, you como
* the life of this piece, as well as he that drew it, you will conclude that I need not subscribe the naine to the pote." As a writer, the opinions of critics have been various; the general character which has been given of his • so is, that the success of most of them far exceeded the author's expectations, that he was particularly happy in
boke of his subjects, which he always took care to adorn with a great variety of characters and incidents, that
le in pure and unallecied, his wit natural and flowing, and that his plots are generally well contrived. Bulihen, on Home contrary, it has been objected, that he was too hasty in his productions, that his works are loose, thougli indeed not ** 7, libertine as those of some other wits of his time; that his imagination, though lively, was capable of no ***as, apd his wil, Thongli passable, not such as would gain ground on consideration. In a word, he seems
We bees a man of a genius rather sprightly thing great, rather Howing than solid; his characters are natural yet *** vertrougly marked, aur peculiarly heightened; yet, as it is appareat be drew his observations from those he cou
versed with, and formed all his portraits from nature, it is more than probable, that if he had lived to have gained a more general knowledge of life, or if his circumstances had not been so straitened as to prevent his mingling with persons of rank, we might have seen his plays embellished with more finished characiers, and adorned with a more polished dialogac.
THE RECRUITING OFFICER,
Com. by George Farquhar. Acted at Drary Lane 1705. This most entertaining and lively comedy, which is at this time, and probably will eve continue to be, une of the most standard and established amusements of the British stage, was written on the very spot where the author has fixed his scene of action, viz, at Shrewsbury, and at a time when he was himself a recruiting officer in that town, and, by all accounts or him, the very character he has drawn in that of Captain Plaine His Justice Balance was designed, as he tells us himself, as a compliment to a very wortby gentleman in that neighbourhood (Mr. Berkely, then recorder of Shrewsbury). Worthy, was a Mr. Owen, of Rastsson, on the borders of Shropshire. Brazen is unknown. Melinda vas a Miss Harnage, of Balsadine, near the Wrekin. Sylvia was the daughter of Mr. Berkely, above-mentioned, He has dedicated the play in a familiar and at the same time grateful manner, to all friends round the Wrekin. The story is of the author's invention; the characters are nstural, the dialogue is casy, and the wil entirely spirited and genuine. In short, to say the least we can in its praise, we can scarcely keep within the limits assigned us; and, were we to say the most, we could scarcely do jastice to its merit. An anecdots, connected with this play, is related of Quin, which only shows that great, as well as humble aclors, will occasionally trip. Quin was performing the part of Balance with Mrs. Woffington, who was playing the part of bis daughter, Quin, laving, it is supposed, laken a little more wine than usual after dinner, addressed her thus : “ Sylvia, how old were you when your mother was married?"-"What, Sir!" said the actress, tittering.–Pahaw!" says he, “I
mean, how old were you when your mother was born?"-"I regret, Sir, that I cannot answer you precisely on either of those questions; bul I can tell you, is that be necessary, how old I was when my mother died !"
Cos. Pray, sergeant, what writing is this
upon the face of it? Scene I. - The Market Place. Serg. K. The crown, or the bed of honour
Cos. Pray now, what may be that same Drum beats the Grenadier's March. Enter
bed of honour? SERGEANT Kite, followed by Thomas AP
Serg. K. Ob! a mighty large bed! bigger PLETREE, CostaR PEARMAIN, and the Mob.
hy half than the great bed at Ware- ten Serg. K. If any gentlemen soldiers or others thousand people may lie in it together, and have à mind to serve bis majesty, and pull never feel one another. down the French king; if any, prentices have Cos. My wife and I would do well to lie serere masters, any children have undutiful in't-But do folk sleep sound in this same bed parents ; if any servants have too little wages, of honour? or any husband too much wise, let them re- Serg: K. Sound! ay, so sound that they pair to the noble sergeant Kile, at the sign of never wake. ihe Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury,
Cos. Wauns! I wish again that my wife and they shall receive present relief and en-lay there. tertainment. Gentlemen, I don't beat my Serg. K. Say you so! then I find, brotherdrums here to ensnare or inveigle any man; Cos. Brother! hold there, friend; I am no for you must know, gentlemen, that I am a kindred to you that I know of yet. -Lookye, man of honour: besides, I don't beat up for sergeant, no coaxing, no wheedling, d'ye see; common soldiers; no, í list only grenadiers; if I have a mind to list, why, so; if not, why grenadiers, gentlemen.-Pray, gentlemen, ob- 'tis not so: therefore, take
your serve this cap-this is the cap of bonour; it brothership back again, sor" I am not dispodubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a sed at this present writing.–No coaxing; no trigger; and be that has the good fortune to brothering me, faith! be born six feet high was born to be a great Serg. Ř. I coax! I wheedle! I'm abore it, man.-Sir, will you give me leave to try this sir; I have serv'd twenty campaigns—But, sir, cap upon your head?" [To Costar Pearmain. you talk well, and I must own that you are
"Cos. Is there no harm in't? won't the cap a man every inch of you; a pretty, young, list) me?
sprightly sellow!—I love a fellow with a spiSerg, K. No, no, no more than I can.-rit; but I scorn lo coax: 'tis base; though I Come, let me see how it becomes you. must say, that never in my life have I seen a
Cos. Are you sure there be no conjuration man better built. How firm and strong he in it? no gunpowder-plot upon me? treads! be steps like a castle! but I scorn to
Serg. K. No, no, friend; don't fear, man. wheedle any man.-Come, honest lad! will
Cos. My mind misgives me plaguily.-Let you take share of a pot? me see it. [Going to put it on] It smells Cos. Nay, for that matter, I'll spend my woundily of sweat and brimstone: smell, penny with the best he that wears a head; Tummas.
that is, begging your pardon, sir, and in a Tho. Ay, wauns, does it. 1) Eulist,
Serg. K. Give me your band then; and
now, gentlemen, I have no more to say than roll
. [Draws it oul] Let me see- - [Reads] this-here's a purse of gold, and there is a Imprimis, Mrs. Shely Snikereyes, she sells lub of humming ale at my quarters; 'tis the polatoes upon Ormond Key in Dublinking's money, and the king's drink: he's a Peggy Guzzle, the brandy woman at the generous king, and loves his subjects. I hope, Horse Guards at Whitehall-Dolly Waggentlemen, you won't refuse the king's health. gon, the carrier's daughter at Huli—MadaMob. No, no, no.
moiselle l'an Boltomflat, at the Buss-then Serg. K. Huzza, then! huzza, for the king Jenny Oakum, the ship-carpenter's widow and the honour of Shropshire.
at Portsmouth ; but I don't reckon upou her, Mob. fuzza!
for she was married at the same time to two Serg. K. Beat drum.
lieutenants of marines, and a man-of-war's [E.reunt shouting; Drum beating a Gre- boatswain. nadier's March.
Capt. P. A full company-you have named
five-Come, make them half a dozen. Kite, Enter Captain Plume, in a Riding Habit. is the child a boy or a girl?
Capt. P. By the grenadier's march, that should Serg. K. A chopping boy. be my drum; and by that shout it should Cupl. P. Then set the mother down in your beat with success. Lci me see-four o'clock. list, and the boy in mine; and now go com(Looks at his Watch] At ten yesterday fort the wench in the straw. morning I left London-pretty smart riding; Serg. K. I shall, sir. but nothing to the fatigue of recruiting. Capt. P. But hold, have you made any use
of your German doctor's habit since you Re-enter SERGEANT KITE.
arriv'd ? Serg. K. Welcome to Shrewsbury, noble Serg. K. Yes, yes, sir, and my fame's all caplain! from the banks of the Danube to the about the country for the most faithful forSevern side, noble captain! you're welcome. tune-teller that ever told a lie. I was obliged Capt
. P. A very elegant reception indeed, to let my landlord into the secret for the conMr. Kite I find you are fairly entered into venience of keeping it so; but he is an hoyour recruiting strain--Pray what success? nest fellow, and will be faithful to any ro
Serg. K. I've been here a week, and I've guery that is trusted to him. This device, sir, recruited lise.
will get you men, and me money, which i Capt. P. Five! Pray what are they? think is all we want at present.—But yonder
Serg.K. I have listed the strong man of comes your friend, Mr. Worthy. Has your Kent, the king of the gipsies, a Scoich pedler, honour any further commands? a scoundrel aitorney, and a Welch parson. Capt. P. None at present. [Exit Sergeant
Capt. P. An attorney! wert thou mad ? list Kitej Tis indecd the picture of Worlby, but a lawyer! discharge hin, discharge him this the life's departed. minnte. Serg. K. Why, sir?
Enter WORTHY. Capl
. P. Because I will have nobody in my What, arms across, Worthy! melhinks you company that can write: I say, this' minute should hold them open when a friend's so discharge bim.
The man bas got the vapours in bis Serg. K. And what shall I do with the ears I believe. I must expel this melancholy parson.
spirit. Capt. P. Can he write?
Spleen, thou worst of fiends below, Serg. K. Hum! he plays rarely upon the Fly, I conjure thee, by this magic blow. fudle.
[Slaps Worthy on the Shoulder. Capt. P. Keep bim by all means. But how Wor. Plume! my dear captain! relurn'd! stands the country affected ? were the people safe and sound, I hope. pleas'd with the news of my coming to town? Capt. P. You see I have lost neither leg
Serg. K. Sir, the mob are so pleased with nor arm; then, for my inside, 'tis neither your bonour, and the justices and better sort troubled with sympathies nor antipathies; and of people are
so delighted with me, that we I have an excellent stomach for roast beef. shall soon do your business. But, sir, you Wor. Thou art a happy fellow: once I bave got a recruit here that you little think of. was so. Capi. P. Who?
Capt. P. What ails thee, man? no inundaSerg. K. One that you beat up for the last tions nor earthquakes in Wales I bope! Has
you were in the country. 'You remem- your father rose from the dead, and reassuber your old friend Molly, at the Castle. med his estate? Capl. P. She's not-I hope
Wor. No. Serg. K. She was brought to bed yesterday. Capt. P. Then you are married, surely? Capt. P. Kite, you must father the child. Wor. No. Serg. K. And so her friends will oblige me Capt. P. Then you are mad, or turning to marry the mother.
methodist ? Capt. P. If they should, we'll take her with Wor. Come, I must out with it. Your us; she can wash you know, and make a bed once gay roving friend is dwindled into an upon occasion.
obsequious, thoughtful, romantic, constant cosSerg: K. But your honour knows that I am comb. married already:
Capt. P. And pray what is all this for? Capt. P. To how many ?
Wor. For a woman. Serg. K. ( can't tell readily – I have set Capt. P. Shake hands, brother. If thou go then dowa bere upon the back of the muster-to that, behold me as obsequious, as thought
ful, and as constant a coxcomb as your worship. Wor. O ho! very well. I wish you joy, Wor. For whom?
Mr. Kite. Capt. P. For a regiment-but for a woman! Serg. K. Your worship very well may; for 'Sdeath! I have been constant to fifteen at a I bave got both a wife and child in half an time, but never melancholy for one. Pray hour. But as I was saying, you sent me to who is this wonderful Helen?
comfort Mrs. Molly - my wife, I mean-But Wor. A Helen indeed! not to be won un- what do you think, sir? she was better comder
en years siege; as great a beauty, and forted before I came. as great a jilt.
Capt. P. As how ? Capt. P. But who is she? do I know ber? Serg. K. Why, sir, a footman in livery Wor. Very well.
had brought her ten guineas to buy her babyCapt. P. That's impossible. I know no wo-clothes. man that will hold out a ten years siege. Capt. P. Who, in the name of wonder,
Wor. What think you of Melinda ? could send them?
Capt. P. Melinda! you must not think to Serg. K. Nay, sir, I must whisper thalsurmount her pride by your bumility. Would Mrs. Sylvia. you bring her to better thoughts of you, she Capi
. P. Sylvia! generous creature! must be reduced to a meaner opinion of her- Wor. Sylvia! Impossible! self. Let me see, the very first thing that I Serg. K. Here are the guineas, sir. I took would do, should be to make love to her the gold as part of my wife's portion, Nay, chambermaid. Suppose we lampooned all the further, sir, she sent word the child should pretty women in town, and left her out; or, be taken all imaginable care of, and that she what if w
we made a ball, and forgot to invite intended to stand godmother. The same foother, with one or two of the ugliest. man, as I was coming to you with the news,
Wor. These would be mortifications, called after me, and told me that his lady must confess; but we live in such a precise would speak with me: I went; and upon bear dull place, that we can bave no balls, no ing that you were come to town she gare me lampoons, no
balf-a-guinea for the news, and ordered me Capt. P. What! no young ones? and so to tell you that justice Balance, her father, many recruiting officers in town! I thought who is just come out of the country, would 'twas a maxim among them to leave as many be glad to see you. recruits in the country as they carried out. Capt. P. There's a girl for you, Worthy.
Wor. Nobody doubts your good will, no- Is there any thing of woman in this? No, ble captain! witness our friend Molly at the 'tis noble, generous, manly friendship. The Castle; there have been tears in town about common jealousy of ber sex, which is nothing that business, captain.
but their avarice of pleasure, she despises ; Capt. P. I hope Sylvia has not beard of it. and can part with the lover, though she dies
Wor. Oh, sir! have you thought of her for the man. Come, Worthy, where's the I began to fancy you had forgot poor Sylvia. best wine? for there I'll quarter.
Capt. P. Your affairs had quite put mine Wor. Horton has a fresh pipe of choice out of my head. 'Tis true, Sylvia and I had Barcelona, which I would not let him pierce once agreed, could we have adjusted prelimi- before, because I reserved it for your welnaries; but I am resolved never to bind my-come to town. self to a woman for my whole life, till" i Capt. P. Let's away, then. Mr. Kite, go to know whether I shall like her company for the lady,, with my humble service, and tell half an hour. If people would but try one her I shall only refresh a little and wait another before they engaged, it would prevent upon her. all these elopements, divorces, and the devil Wor. Hold, Kite! have you seen the other knows what
recruiting captain? Wor. Nay, for that matter, the town did Serg. X. No, sir; I'd have you to know ! not stick to say that.
don't keep such company. Capt. P. I have country towns for that rea- Capt. P. Another! who is be? son. If your town has a dishonourable thought Wor. My rival, in the first place, and the of Sylvia it deserves to be burned to the most unaccountable fellow: bui I'll tell you ground. I love Sylvia, I admire her frank more as we go.
[Exeunt. generous disposition; in short, were I once a general, I would marry her.
Scene II.-An Apartment. Wor. Faith, you have reason; for were Enter MelindA and Sylvia, meeting. you but a corporal, she would marry you. But my Melinda coquels it with every fellow Mel. Welcome to town, cousin Sylvia. she sees; I'll lay fifty pounds she makes love [They salute] I envied you your retreat in
the country; for Shrewsbury, methinks, and Capt. P. I'll lay you a hundred that I re-all your heads of shires, are the most irreguturn it if she does.
lar places for living: here we have smoke,
noise, scandal, affectation and pretension; in Re-enter SERGEANT KITE.
short, every thing to give the spleen, and Serg. X. Captain, captain! a word in your ear. nothing to divert it: then the air is intolerable.
Capt. P. You may speak out; here are none Syl. Oh, madam! I have heard the tova but friends.
commended for its air. Serg. K. You know, sir, that you sent me Mel. But you don't consider, Sylvia, how to comfort the good woman in the straw, long I have lived in't! for I can assure you, Mrs. Molly; my wife, Mr. Worthy. that to a lady the least nice in her constitu