arrant mistake.-You see, sir, my master was never mad, or anything like it :-then how could it be otherwise?

Val. Tattle, I thank you, you would have interposed between me and Heaven; but Providence laid purgatory in your way you have but justice.

:

Scan. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson provided for his own wedding; methinks 'tis pity they should not be employed when the match is so much mended.-Valentine, though it be morning, we may have a dance.

Val. Anything, my friend, everything that looks like joy and transport.

Scan. Call 'em, Jeremy.

[Exit JEREMY.

Ang. I have done dissembling now, Valentine; and if that coldness which I have always worn before you, should turn to an extreme fondness, you must not suspect it.

Val. I'll prevent that suspicion :-for I intend to dote to that immoderate degree, that your fondness shall never distinguish itself enough to be taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too much, it must be only when I can't love enough.

Ang. Have a care of promises; you know you are apt to run more in debt than you are able to pay.

Val. Therefore I yield my body as your prisoner, and make your best on't.

Re-enter JEREMY.

Jer. The music stays for you.

[A dance. Scan. Well, madam, you have done exemplary justice, in punishing an inhuman father, and rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a third good work, which I, in particular, must thank you for; I was an infidel to your sex, and you have converted me.-For now I am convinced that all women are not like Fortune, blind in bestowing favours, either on those who do not merit, or who do not want 'em.

Ang. 'Tis an unreasonable accusation, that you lay

upon our sex: you tax us with injustice, only to cover your own want of merit. You would all have the reward of love; but few have the constancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men are generally hypocrites and infidels, they pretend to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith how few, like Valentine, would persevere even to martyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their constancy! In admiring me you misplace the novelty :— The miracle to-day is, that we find

A lover true: not that a woman's kind.

[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE BY MRS. BRACEGIRDLE.

SURE Providence at first designed this place

To be the player's refuge in distress;

For still in every storm they all run hither,
As to a shed that shields 'em from the weather.
But thinking of this change which last befel us,
It's like what I have heard our poets tell us :
For when behind our scenes their suits are pleading,
To help their love sometimes they show their reading;
And wanting ready cash to pay for hearts,
They top their learning on us and their parts.
Once of philosophers they told us stories,

Whom, as I think, they called-Py-Pythagories ;-
I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give 'em,
And we, who know no better, must believe 'em.
Now to these men (say they) such souls were given,
That after death ne'er went to hell nor heaven,

But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and then,
When many years were passed, in men again.
Methinks, we players resemble such a soul;
That does from bodies, we from houses stroll.
Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,
May now be damned to animate an ass;
Or in this very house, for aught we know,
Is doing painful penance in some beau :
And thus, our audience, which did once resort
To shining theatres to see our sport,

Now find us tossed into a tennis-court.

These walls but t'other day were filled with noise
Of roaring gamesters, and your damn-me boys;
Then bounding balls and rackets they encompast,
And now they're filled with jests, and flights, and bom-
bast!

I vow, I don't much like this transmigration,

Strolling from place to place by circulation;

Grant, Heaven, we don't return to our first station

I know not what these think, but, for my part,

I can't reflect without an aching heart,

How we should end in our original, a cart.
But we can't fear, since you're so good to save us
That you have only set us up,—to leave us.
Thus from the past, we hope for future grace
I beg it-

And some here know I have a begging face.
Then pray continue this your kind behaviour,
For a clear stage won't do, without your favour.

THE WAY OF THE WORLD.

Audire est operæ pretium, procedere recte
Qui mochis non vultis. -HORAT. Lib. i. Sat. 2.
Metuat, doti deprensa.-Ibid.1

1 "Ye that do not wish well to the proceedings of adulterers, it is worth

your while to hear how they are hampered on all sides,"