enter into a kind of second marriage with the only man whom she was ever capable of loving!

SIR GEORGE. May it be as happy as our first, I desire no more! Believe me, my dear, I want words to express those transports of joy and tenderness which are every moment rising in my heart whilst I speak to thee.

Enter SERVANTS.

BUT. Just as the steward told us, lads! look you there, if he ben't with my lady already.

GARD. He, he, he! what a joyful night will this be for madam!

COACH. As I was coming in at the gate, a strange gentleman whisked by me; but he took to his heels, and made away to the George. If I did not see master before me, I should have sworn it had been his honour.

GARD. Hast given orders for the bells to be set a ringing?

COACH. Never trouble thy head about that, 'tis done. SIR GEORGE. [TO LADY.] My dear, I long as much to tell you my whole story, as you do to hear it. In the mean while, I am to look upon this as my wedding day. I'll have nothing but the voice of mirth and feasting in my house. My poor neighbours and my servants shall rejoice with me. My hall shall be free to every one, and let my cellars be thrown open.

BUT. Ah! bless your honour, may you never die again!
COACH. The same good man that ever he was!
GARD. Hurra!

SIR GEORGE. Vellum, thou hast done me much service to-day. I know thou lovest Abigail, but she's disappointed in a fortune. I'll make it up to both of you. I'll give thee

a thousand pound with her. It is not fit there should be one sad heart in my house to-night.

LADY, What you do for Abigail, I know is meant as a compliment to me. This is a new instance of your love. ABIG. Mr. Vellum, you are a well-spoken man: pray do you thank my master and my lady.

SIR GEORGE. Vellum, I hope you are not displeased with the gift I make you.

VELLUM.

The gift is twofold. I receive from you

A virtuous partner, and a portion too;

For which, in humble wise, I thank the donors:

And so we bid good night to both your ho--nours.

THE

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MRS. OLDFIELD.

To-night the poet's advocate I stand,
And he deserves the favour at my hand,
Who in my equipage their cause debating
Has plac'd two lovers, and a third in waiting;
If both the first should from their duty swerve,
There's one behind the wainscot in reserve.
In his next play, if I would take this trouble,
He promis'd me to make the number double:
In troth 'twas spoke like an obliging creature,
For though 'tis simple, yet it shows good nature.

My help thus ask’d, I could not choose but grant it,
And really I thought the play would want it,
Void as it is of all the usual arts

To warm your fancies, and to steal your hearts:
No court-intrigue, nor city cuckoldom,
No song, no dance, no music-but a drum-
No smutty thought in doubtful phrase exprest;
And, gentlemen, if so, pray where's the jest?
When we would raise your mirth, you hardly know
Whether, in strictness, you should laugh or no,

But turn upon the ladies in the pit,
And if they redden, you are sure 'tis wit.

Protect him then, ye fair ones; for the fair
Of all conditions are his equal care.

He draws a widow, who of blameless carriage,
True to her jointure, hates a second marriage;
And, to improve a virtuous wife's delights,
Out of one man contrives two wedding-nights;
Nay, to oblige the sex in every state,

A nymph of five and forty finds her mate.
Too long has marriage, in this tasteless age,
With ill-bred raillery supplied the stage;
No little scribbler is of wit so bare,

But has his fling at the poor wedded pair.
Our author deals not in conceits so stale;
For should th' examples of his play prevail,
No man need blush, though true to marriage vows,
Nor be a jest though he should love his spouse.
Thus has he done you British consorts right,
Whose husbands, should they pry like mine to-night,
Would never find you in your conduct slipping,
Though they turn'd conjurers to take you tripping.