con- By thee, my careful Marrall, and deliver'd When thou wert present, will make good my title

Mar. Yes, and uncase you too. The idiot; the patch; the slave; the booby; [Aside. The property fit only to be beaten Well. I do acknowledge none; 1 ne'er For your morning exercise; your football, or

You'll speak in humbler key, and sue for Come nearer to you; when I have discover'd,

To be honest and repent.

Sir G. They are words I know not,
Nor e'er will learn. Patience, the beggar's
virtue,

Shall find no harbour here-After these storms,
At length a calm appears.

Enter WELLDO, with a Letter.
Welcome, most welcome:

There's comfort in thy looks; is the deed done?
Is my daughter married? say but so, my chaplain,
And I am tame.

Welldo. Married? yes, I assure you.
'Sir G. Then vanish all sad thoughts! there's
more gold for thee.

My doubts and fears are in the titles drown'd
Of my right honourable, right honourable
daughter.

A syllable, but thus I take the life
Which, wretch! I gave to thee.

[Offers to kill Margaret. Lord L, Hold, for your own sake! Though charity to your daughter hath quite left you,

Will you do an act, though in your hopes
lost here,

Can leave no hope for peace or rest hereafter?
Sir G. Lord! thus I spit at thee,

And at thy counsel; and again desire thee, As thou art a soldier, if thy valour Dares show itself where multitude and example Mar. What think you, sir; was it not Lead not the way, let's quit the house, and

wisely done

To turn his wicked arts upon himself?
[To Wellborn.

Sir G. Instantly be here!
[Whispering to Welldo.
To my wish, to my wish. Now you that plot
against me,

And hop'd to trip my heels up; that contemn'd me;

Think on't, and tremble. [Loud Music] They come, I hear the music.

A lane there for my lord.

Well. This sudden heat
May yet be cool'd, sir.
Sir G. Make way there for my lady and
lord.

Enter ALLWORTH and MARGARET. Marg. Sir, first your pardon, then your blessing, with

Your full allowance of the choice I have made.
Not to dwell too long on words,
This is my husband.

Sir G. How?

[Kneels.

Allw. So, I assure you; all the rites of

marriage,

With every circumstance, are past.

change
Six words in private,
Lord L. I am ready.
Well. You'll grow like him,
Should you answer his vain challenge.
Sir G. Are you pale?

Borrow his help, though Hercules call it odds,
I'll stand against both, as I am hemm'd in thus.
Say they were a squadron
Of pikes, lin'd through with shot, when I am

mounted

Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge 'em?
No, I'll through the battalia, and that routed,
I'll fall to execution.

[Attempts to draw his Sword.

Ha! I am feeble:
Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,
And takes away the use of't! and my sword
Glu'd to my scabbard with wrong'd orphans'
tears,
Will not be drawn.

[Falls into his Servants' Arms.
Ha! what are these? Sure, hangmen,
That come to bind my hands, and then to
drag me

Before the judgment seat!-Now they are new shapes,

And for right honourable son-in-law, you may And do appear like furies, with steel whips,

say

Your dutiful daughter.

Sir G. Devil! are they married?
Welldo. Do a father's part, and say, heav'n
give 'em joy!

Sir G. Confusion and ruin!" Speak, and speak
quickly,

Or thou art dead.

Welldo. They are married.

Sir G. Thou hadst better

To scourge my ulcerous soul! Shall I then fall
Ingloriously, and yield? No, spite of fate,
I will be forc'd to hell like to myself;
Though you were legions of accursed spirits,
Thus would I fly among you.

[Carried off by Order and Amble,
Mar. Was it not a rare trick,
An't please your worship, to make the deed
nothing?
Certain minerals I us'd,

Have made a contract with the king of fiends Incorporated with the ink and wax.

Than these.-My brain turns!

Welldo. Why this rage to me?

Is not this your letter, sir? and these the words— "Marry her to this gentleman?"

Sir G. It cannot;

Nor will I e'er believe it: 'sdeath! I will not.
That I, that in all passages I touch'd

At worldly profit have not left print

Besides he gave me nothing, but still fed me With hopes and blows; and that was the inducement

To this conundrum.

Well. You are a rascal. He that dares be
false

To a master, though unjust, will ne'er be true
To any other. Look not for reward,

Where I have trod, for the most curious search Or favour from me; I will shun thy sight To trace my footsteps, should be gull'd by As I would do a basilisk's. Thank my pity, If thou keep thy ears; howe'er, I will take

If you will have me, sir.
Well. That were to little purpose;
His conscience be his punishment. - Not a
word,

[Exit Marrall.

But instantly be gone.
Marg. Oh, my poor father!"
Allo. Nay, weep not, dearest, though it
shows your pity.

What is decreed by heaven we cannot alter:
And heaven here gives a precedent to teach us
That when we leave religion, and turn atheists,
Their own abilities leave them.

Lord L. Pray you take comfort;

I will endeavour you shall be his guardian
In his distraction: and for your land, Mr.
I'll be an umpire
[Wellborn,
Between you and this the undoubted heir
Of sir Giles Overreach. For me, here's the
anchor

That I must fix on.

Beside the repossession of my land,
And payment of my debts, that I must practise.
I had a reputation, but 'twas lost
In my loose course; and till I redeem it
Some noble way, I am but half made up.
It is a time of action; if your lordship
Will please to confer a company upon me
In your command, I doubt not, in my service
To my king and country, but I shall do some-
thing

That may make me right again.
Lord L. Your suit is granted,
And you lov'd for the motion.
Well. Nothing wants then

[Addressing himself to the Audience.
But your allowance-and in that our all
Is comprehended; it being known, nor we,
Nor he that wrote the comedy, can be free,
Without your manumission; which if you
Grant willingly, as a fair favour due

[Takes Lady Allworth's Hand. To the poet's and our labours (as you may) All. What you shall determine, For we despair not, gentlemen, of the playWe jointly shall profess, your grace hath might

My lord, I will allow of.

Well. Tis the language

That I speak too; but there is something else, To teach us action, and him how to write.

1

THOMAS MORTON

WAS born in the county of Durham. His father died when he was very young; and the care of his education and fortune devolved on his uncle, Mr. Maddison, an eminent stock-broker, who sent him to Soho Square Academy, where he was a contemporary performer, in the private plays of that seminary, with Mr. Holman. He became afterwards a member of Lincoln's Inn. This year has added an imperishable leaf to his fame in The School for grown Children.

A CURE FOR THE HEART-ACHE.

Acted at Covent Garden 1797.

Comedy by Th. Morton, any other drama by the same author, or perhaps, of any author.

There is in this comedy more of dramatic art than in

That peculiar part of skill here implied is-the skill of drawing characters which shall exactly please upon the stage, the sphere alone for which they were formed, boldly defying every other consequence.

A reader unacquainted with the force, the various powers of acting, may gravely inquire, how it was possible this play could interest an audience? Mach, may be answered, was effected by the actors-but still it was the author who foresaw what might be done in their performance, and who artfully arranged his plan to the purpose of exhibition, and penetrated farther than any other eye could have discerned, into the probability of success.

His sagacity was rewarded-for never was play better received.

It appears in the acting a pretty rural story, most whimsically embellished by the two heroes of the piece from town-the Rapids, father and son.

Munden and Lewis, in those two parts, so excellently understood the author; and the audience so well comprehended all three, that scarcely a sentence was uttered by either of those performers without being greeted by laughter or applause. If the influence of St. Vitus was, at times, somewhat too powerful upon Lewis, if his rapidity, now aud then, became extravagant, it only excited still more extravagant mirth.

The author has drawn a delinquent from India, and made an apology to all persons returned from that part of the globe for having done so. To persons of fashion, whom he has likewise satirized, he makes no apology-he either thought they were too hardened to suffer under his censure, or toe innocent to care for it,

There are incidents of most virtuous tendency in this play, and such, on the first view, is that of Frank Oatland overcoming his temptation to steal. But thieving is, perhaps, the only crime that never assails the human heart without making a conquest-for it seems probable, that an honest man never, upon any occasion, feels the enticement to purloin from his neighbour.

The title of this comedy is most apt, and gives the author's own estimation of it with a degree of candour that forbids high expectation in either auditor or reader, and disarms all criticism that is not merely confined to that species of entertainment, which, by implication, he has promised-excessive merriment.

In keeping his word with the public. Mr. Morton has likewise added more valuable materials than humour-many admirable reflections are dispersed throughout the work, and an excellent moral is introduced at the catastrophe.

ACT I.
SCENE I-A Farm Yard. - House on

one

Jessy, at church yesterday, Sir Hubert looking round, as he always do, to see if his tenants side, a neat Flower Garden on the other desperate look, that I dropt prayer-book out be there, miss'd feyther, and gave me such a -The Bells of a Team jingling. of my hand; and truly, when feyther do go Frank. [Without] Worn! Whoh! Smiler. to church, I be always sham'd, be never knows [Enters] So! Feyther be not come home from where to find the collect-never-I'm sure it the Nabob's house yet. Eh! bean't that sister be not my fault, he be so full of prodigality Jessy in her garden, busy among the poseys? -never son set feyther better example than 1 -Sister Jessy! do's mine; what can I do more for 'un? it wou'dn't be becoming in me to leather 1) feyWater-ther, wou'd it, Jessy?

Enter JESSY from the Garden, a ing-pot in her hand.

Jessy. Here he comes-I'll return to my

Jessy. Ah, Frank, so soon returned from garden-to converse with him is to me dreadGloucester? Have you sold the corn?

Frank. Ees.

Jessy. And how did you like the town? You were never there before?

Frank. Loike it-I doan't know how I loik'd it, not I; I zomehow cou'dn't zee the town for the housen: desperate zight of them to be sure! But, Jessy, you, who went to Lunnun town to take in your larning, can tell me, be there as many houses in Lunnun?

ful; for while my breast rises with indignation at his conduct as a man, it sinks again in pity for the misfortunes of a parent.

Frank. Now that's just like I-I feels as if I shou'd like to lick 2) un, and cry all the time-but what will be the end on't, Jessy? Jessy. Ruin, inevitable ruin. [Despondingly. Frank. Well, don't thee be cast downthee knows I be cruel kind to thee; at meals, I always gi's thee the desperate nice bits, and Jessy. A hundred times the number. if thy lover prove false-hearted, or feyther Frank. And do your 'squires there, like Sir shou'd come to decay, I be a terrible strong Hubert Stanley, and the Nabob here, keep fine lad, I'll work for thee fra sun-rise to down, coaches? and if any one offer to harm thee, I'll fight

Jessy. Yes, Frank; there are some thou-for thee till I die. sands round St. James's Gate.

Jessy. Thanks, my good lad: thanks, dear [Kisses him, and exu.

Frank. St. James's Geat! Dong it; it would brother. be worth a poor man's while to stand and Frank. As nice a bit of a sister that, as in open that geat-Pray you, where do that geat all country round. lead to?

Frank. You seem to be in terrible good spirits, Jessy!

Jessy. I have reason, Frank. I have just received a letter from my dear Edward, who has left London on business with his father, Mr. Rapid, and will be here to-day.

Enter FARMER OATLAND dressed in a com-
pound of rusticity and fashion.
Oat. [Singing] Ba viamo tutti tra. Dom
this be what I call loife! Have you sold
the wheat?

it

Frank. Ees.

Oat. How much?

Oat. Take it to the Nabob's gentleman.
Frank. I were going, feyther, to the castle

Frank. I suppose it be a desperate long letter, and cruel sweet. Full of kisses and to gee it to Sir Hubert's steward for rent. voluntines 1).-Nine sheets I warrant.

Oat. Rent, you boor! That for Sir Hubert, Jessy. Hardly nine words. The truth is, [Snapping his Fingers] Ah! Nahob's sarvants that Edward, though handsome, generous, and be the tippy 3)-Every thing be done by them I hope sincere, is impatient and hasty to a so genteely. degree, thatFrank. Ecod, you be done by them genFrank, Hasty? What then? When a man teely enough: I be sure that house have brought be on the road to do good, he can't go too the country round to ruination. Before this fast, I say.-Bean't that Feyther coming thro' Nabob come here wi' all his money, and be Wheat-Ash? He have been drinking and game- domn'd to 'un, every thing were as peaceable string all good Sunday night wi' Nabob's and deceant as never was; not a lawyer within sarvants, how whitish and deadly bad he do ten miles; now there be three practizing in look. He used to be as comely and handsome village; and what's ameast as bad, there be as either of us, wasn't he now? Do you know, three doctors; and the farmers so consated, drive about in their chay-carts, eat lumpsugar 1) Valentines. On the 14th of February, (St Valentine's day) it is the custom in England for young people ev'ry day, and gi' balls 4). to correspond with one another, by means of the post; when young ladies are allowed to receive letters valentines from young gentlemen, and to answer them also. Of course these letters are full of smart, and darts, loves and doves, etc. This custom is now mostly confined to country-town swhere the unfavoured swain is sometimes honoured with a caricature, accompanied perhaps with the following:

"The rose is red, the viole'ts blue, The devil's black-and so are you." or the favoured one's last line is,

"Carnation's sweet, and so are you."

Oat. To be sure.

Frank. And what's the upshot? why that they jig it away to county jail.

Ŏat. Tezez-vous! Let me see-Great cassino

1) To leather means, to beat.

2) To lick is another word for, to beal.

5) The tip-top of fashion.

*) This extravagance of the English formers, has been the cause of the rain of many hundreds of families, and sent some to gaol, and others to emigrate.

be ten o diamonds. Well, then, I play-second table is more genteeler than Sir Hubert's Frank. Play! ecod, if you go on so you own. But I must away, for we expect the mun work tho'. rich Miss Vortex - I beg pardon; but your name and the Nabob's daughter being the same, we call her the rich, to distinguish

Oat. Next I mun take care of the speads. Frank. No, feyther, a spade mun take care o'you; by gol 1), here be Mr. Heartley, Sir Hubert's steward;-now doan't you be saucy to 'un, feyther; -now do beheave thyself now that's a man, feyther, do.

[Clapping him on the Back. Enter HEARTLEY. Heart. Good day, Farmer Oatland; how dost do, honest Frank?

Frank. Desperate pure, thank ye, sur. Heart. Well, Farmer, once more I have call'd respecting your arrear of rent. - Three hundred pound is a long sum.

Frank. Three hundred pound! Heart. And unless it be immediately discharg'd, Sir Hubert is resolv'd to

Oat. That for Sir Hubert-He shall have his rent - Frank, send your sister Jessy to the Nabob's, he'll let me have the money.

Frank. No! I won't-What business have sister at such a desperate prodigal place! Na, na, I'll go myzelf.

Heart. You are in the right, honest Frank.
Frank. Yes, sur, I always am.

Oat. Ugh! you vulgar mungrel-Well, desire the Nabob's gentleman to desire the Nabob to let me have three hundred pounds.

Frank. He won't gi' thee a brass farthing. Oat. Sir Hubert shall have his money-Ha! ha ha! my notion is, he wants it sad enough, ha! ha!

Heart. Sirrah!

Frank. Don't you mind 'un, zur, don't ye, he be's intoxicated. Dong thee, beheave thyself! [With Sorrow and Vexation.

Ellen. And you do wisely. No term of distinction could possibly be more significant, or better understood by the world than that you have adopted.

Bronze. Hope no offence, ma'am.
Ellen. None, Bronze, go in-

Bronze. The last man on earth to offend
a fine woman.
[Exit.
Ellen. The rich Miss Vortex-most true.-
But now my dear Charles Stanley is returned,
I claim the superior title of the happy. Oh!
Charles, when we parted last at Spa; how
great the contrast! thy animated form was
prison'd in the icy fetters of disease, thy pale
and quiv'ring lip refus'd a last adieu: but,
ah! a smile that seem'd borrow'd from a seraph,
who waited to bear thee up to Heaven, swore
for thee everlasting love. That smile sup-
ported me in solitude,—but to solitude I have
now bade adieu; and to be near the lord of
my heart, have again enter'd this house, the
palace of ruinous luxury and licentious mad-
ness:-but here comes its whimsical proprietor.

Enter MR. VORTEX, with a Paper in his hand, attended by Black and White Servants.

Vortex. Sublime !-Oh the fame of this speech will spread to Indostan. Eh! don't I smell the pure air in this room? Oh! you villains, would you destroy me? throw about the perfumes. For legislative profundity, for fancy and decoration-'tis a speech

Ellen. What speech is it, sir?

Vortex. Ah! Ellen,-why my maiden speech

speak it to you

Oat. Silence, you hound! and obey!-Bon in Parliament. It will alarm all Europe; jour, Mr. Steward-I'll to bed-'Pon honour, I'll I must cut 2) Champaigne, it makes me so narvous-Sir Hubert shall have his money, let that satisfy. Follow me, cur!

[Exit into the house.
Heart. Sad doings, Frank.
[Exit.
[Frank shakes his Head and followsOATLAND.

Scene II. — A Room in the Nabob's House.
Enter ELLEN VORTEX, meeting BRONZE.
Ellen. Good Mr. Bronze, have you been at
Sir Hubert Stanley's!

Bronze. Yes, ma'am.

I

Ellen. No, my dear uncle, not just now.hear you've been ill.

Vortex. Oh! very. A strange agitation at my heart, and such a whizzing and spinning in my head

One

Ellen. I hope you've had advice.Vortex. Oh, yes, I've had them all. physician told me it was caused by too brilliant and effervescent a genius;-the next said, it was the scurvy;-a third, it proceeded from not eating pepper to a melon; another had the impudence to hint it was only little qualms that agitated some gentlemen who had made fortunes in India; – -one recommended a sea voyage, another, a flannel night-cap; one prescribed water, the other brandy; but, covered? however, they all agreed in this essential point, Bronze. I don't know, ma'am, upon my that I'm not to be contradicted, but have my soul. I beg pardon, but really the Baronet's way in every thing.

Ellen. Is Charles Stanley arrived? Bronze. No, ma'am, but he is hourly expected.

Ellen. Do they say he is well- quite re

house is horrid vulgar, compared to your Ellen. An extremely pleasant prescription, uncle's, the Nabob's here; I peeped through certainly. But under these circumstances do my glass into an old hall, and beheld fifty you hold it prudent, uncle, to become a parpaupers at dinner, such wretches!-and the liamentary orator? I believe a little gentle conBaronet himself walking round the table to tradiction is usual in that House.

see them properly fed.-How damn'd low!- Vortex. I know it- but if you will hear Ugh! I would bet a rump and dozen 3), our my speech, you will see how I manage-I

1) By God.

2) Flash for, leave off.

3) A rump of beef and

English wager.

begin-Sir

Enter Servant.

a dozen of port; a favourite

Ser. Your daughter, Sir, is arrived from town