La

Clo. Well, madam, you see I am punctual you've nicked your man, faith; I am always critical-to a minute. You'll never stay for me. dies and gentlemen, I desire you'll do me the honour of being better acquainted here-my lordGov. Give you joy, madam.

Clo. Nay, madam, I have brought you some near relations of my own, too- -This Don Antonio, who will shortly have the honour to call you daughter.

Ant. The young rogue has made a pretty choice, faith!

Clo. This Don Charino, who was very near having the honour of calling me son. This my elder brother-and this my noble uncle, Don Choleric Soapshorto de Testy.

D. Lea. Puppy! Clo. Peevish!

D. Lew. Madam, I wish you joy with all my heart; but, truly, I cann't much advise you to marry this gentleman; because, in a day or two, you'll really find him extremely shocking: those, that know him, generally give him the title of Don Dismallo Thickscullo de Halfwitto.

Clo. Well said, nuncle-ha, ha!

D. Du. Are you provided of a priest, sir? Clo. Ay, ay, pox on him! would he were come, though!

D. Du. So would I. I want the cue to act this justice, on my honour; yet I cannot read the folly in her looks. [Aside.

Gov. You have surprised us, madam, by this sudden marriage.

Elo. I may yet surprise you more, my lord. D. Du. Sir, don't you think your bride looks melancholy?

Cio. Ay, poor fool, she's modest-but I have a cure for that-Well, my princess, why that demure look, now?

Elo. I was thinking, sir

Clo. I know what you think of-You don't think at al- -You don't know what to thinkYou neither see, hear, feel, smell, nor taste

You ha'n't the right use of one of your senses→→ In short, you have it. Now, my princess, have not I nicked it?

Elv. I am sorry, sir, you know so little of yourself, or me.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the priest is come.

Elo. Let him wait, we've no occasion yet— Within, there-seize him.

[Several Officers rush in, who seize CLODIO, and bind him.

D. Du. Ha!

Gov. What can this mean?

Clo. Gads me! what, is my deary in her frolics already?

Elv. And now, my lord, your justice on that murderer.

Gov. How, madam !

Clo. That bitch, my fortune!

D. Lew. Madam, upon my knees, I beg you don't carry the jest too far; but if there be any real hopes of his having a halter, let's know it in three words, that I may be sure at once for ever, that no earthly thing but a reprieve can save him. [Apart to ELVIRA. Ant. Pray, madam, who accuses him ? Elv. His own confession, sir. Chu. Of murder, say you, madam? Elo. The murder of my brother.

Gov. Where was that confession made?

Elo After the fact was done, my lord, this man, pursued by justice, took shelter here, and, trembling, begged of me for my protection: he seemed, indeed, a stranger, and his complaints so pitiful, that I, little suspicious of my brother's death, promised, by a rash and solemn vow, I would conceal him: which vow, Heaven can witness with what distraction in my thoughts I strictly kept, and paid; but he, alas! mistaking this my hospitable charity for the effects of a most vile, preposterous love, proceeds upon his error, and in his letter, here, addresses me for marriage; which I, once having paid my vow, answered in such prevailing terms, upon his folly, as now have, unprotected, drawn him into the hands of justice.

D. Du. She is innocent, and well has disappointed my revenge. Aside. D. Lew. So, now I am a little easy-the puppy will be hanged.

Gov. Give me leave, madam, to ask you yet some farther questions.

Clo. Ay,—Î shall be hanged, I believe.

Cha. Nay, then, 'tis time to take care of my daughter; for I am convinced that my friend Clody is disposed of—and so, without compliment, do you see, children, Heaven bless you together.

[Joins CARLOS and ANGELINA's hands. Car. This, sir, is a time unfit to thank you as we ought.

Ant. Well, brother, I thank you, however; Charles is an honest lad, and well deserves her;

but poor Clody's ill fortune I could never have suspected.

D. Lew. Why, you would be positive, though you know, brother, I always told you, Dismal would be hanged; I must plague him a little, because the dog has been pert with me -Clody, how dost thou do? Ha! why you are tied! Clo. I hate this old fellow, split me!

D Lew. Thou hast really made a damned blunder here, child, to invite so many people to a marriage-knot, and, instead of that, it is like to be one under the left ear.

Clo. I'd fain have him die.

D. Lew. Well, my dear, I'll provide for thy going off, however; let me see you'll only have occasion for a nosegay, a pair of white gloves, and a coffin: look you, take you no care about the surgeons, you shall not be anatomized-I'll get the body off with a wet finger-Though, methinks, I'd fain see the inside of the puppy, too. Clo. Oh, rot him! I cann't bear this.

D. Lew. Well, I won't trouble you any more now, child; if I am not engaged, I don't know but I may come to the tree, and sing a stave or two with thee-Nay, I'll rise on purposethough you will hardly suffer before twelve o'clock, neither-ay, just about twelve-about twelve you'll be turned off.

Clo. Oh, curse consume him!

Gov. I am convinced, madam; the fact appears too plain.

D. Lew. Yes, yes, he'll suffer.

Gov. What says the gentleman? Do you confess the fact, sir?

Clo. Will it do any good, my lord? Gov. Perhaps it may, if you can prove it was not done in malice.

Clo. Why, then, to confess the truth, my lord, I did pink him, and am sorry for it; but it was none of my fault, split me.

Elv. Now, my lord, your justice.

D. Du. Hold, madam, that remains in me to give; for know, your brother lives, and happy in the proof of such a sister's virtue.

[Discovers himself. Elv. My brother! Oh, let my wonder speak my joy! Clo. Hey!

[CLODIO and his friends seem surprised. Gov. Don Duart! living and well! How came this strange recovery?

D. Du. My body's health the surgeon has restored: but here's the true physician of my mind: the hot, distempered blood, which lately rendered me offensive to mankind, his just resenting sword let forth, which gave me leisure

to reflect upon my follies past; and, by reflection, to reform.

Elv. This is indeed a happy change.

Gov. Release the gentleman.

Clo. Here, Testy, pr'ythee do so much as untie this a little.

D. Lew. Why, so I will, sirrah; I find thou hast done a mettled thing; and I don't know whether it is worth my while to be shocked at thee any longer.

Elv. I ask your pardon for the wrong I have done you, sir; and blush to think how much I owe you, for a brother thus restored.

Clo. Madam, your very humble servant; it is mighty well as it is.

D. Du. We are indeed his debtors both; and, sister, there's but one way now of being grateful. For my sake, give him such returns of love as he may yet think fit to ask, or you, with modesty, can answer.

Clo. Sir, I thank you; and when you don't think it impudence in me to wish myself well with your sister, I shall beg leave to make use of your friendship.

D. Du. This modesty commends you, sir.

Ant. Sir, you have proposed like a man of honour; and if the lady can but like it, she shall find those among us, that will make up a fortune to deserve her.

Cur. I wish my brother well; and as I once offered him to divide my birth-right, I'm ready still to put my words into performance.

D. Lew. Nay, then, since I find the rogue's no longer like to be an enemy to Charles, as far as a few acres go, I'll be his friend too. D. Du. Sister!

Elv. This is no trifle, brother; allow me a convenient time to think, and if the gentleman continues to deserve your friendship, he shall not much complain I am his enemy.

D. Lew. So, now it will be a wedding again, faith!

Car. Come, my Angelina,

Our bark, at length, has found a quiet harbour,
And the distressful voyage of our loves
Ends not alone in safety, but reward.
Now we unlade our freight of happiness,
Of which, from thee alone my share's derived;
For all my former search in deep philosophy,
Not knowing thee, was a mere dream of life:
But love, in one soft moment, taught me more
Than all the volumes of the learned could reach
Gave me the proof, when nature's birth began,
To what great end the Eternal formed a man.

[Exeunt.

AN epilogue's a tax on authors laid,
And full as much unwillingly is paid.
Good lines, I grant, are little worth; but yet
Coin has been always easier raised than wit.
(I fear we'd made but very poor campaigns,
Had funds been levied from the grumbling brains.)
Beside, to what poor purpose should we plead,
When you have once resolved a play shall bleed?
But then again, a wretch, in any case,
Has leave to say why sentence should not pass.
First, let your censure from pure judgment flow,
And mix with that some grains of mercy too;
On some your praise like wanton lovers you be-

stow.

Thus have you known a woman plainly fair,
At first scarce worth your two days pains or care;
Without a charm, but being young and new,

(You thought five guineas far beyond her due.) But when pursued by some gay, leading lover, Then every day her eyes new charms discover; Till at the last, by crowds of beaus admired, She has raised her price to what her heart desired,

New gowns and petticoats, which her airs required.

So, miss, and poet too, when once cried up,
Believe their reputation at the top:
And know, that while the liking fit has seiz'd you,
She cannot look, he write, too ill to please you.
How can you bear a sense of love so gross,
To let mere fashion on your taste impose?
Your taste refined, might add to your delight:
Poets from you are taught to raise their flight;
For as you learn to judge, they learn to write.

CRITICS! though plays without your smiles subsist,

Yet this was writ to reach your generous taste,
And not in stern contempt of any other guest.
Our humble author thinks a play should be,
Though tied to rules, like a good sermon, free
From pride, and stoop to each capacity.
Though he dares not, like some, depend alone
Upon a single character new shewn;
Or only things well said, to draw the town.
Such plays, like looser beauties, may have power
To please, and sport away a wanton hour;
But wit and humour, with a just design,
Charm, as when beauty, sense, and virtue join.
Such was his just attempt, though, 'tis confest,
He's only vain enough t' have done his best;
For rules are but the posts that mark the course,
Which way the rider should direct his horse;
He that mistakes his ground is easily beat,
Though he that runs it true mayn't do the feat;
For 'tis the straining genius that must win the
heat.

O'er chokejade to the ditch a jade may lead,
But the true proof of Pegasus's breed,

Is when the last act turns the lands with Dimple's

speed.

View then, in short, the method that he takes: His plot and persons he from nature makes, Who for no bribe of jest he willingly forsakes:

His wit, if any, mingles with his plot,
Which should on no temptation be forgot:
His action's in the time of acting done,
No more than from the curtain, up and down:
While the first music plays, he moves his scene
A little space, but never shifts again.

From his design no person can be spared,
Or speeches lopt, unless the whole be marred.
No scenes of talk for talking's sake are shewn,
Where most abruptly, when their chat is done,
Actors go off, because the poet-cann't go on.
His first act offers something to be done,
And all the rest but lead that action on;
Which, when pursuing, scenes i' th' end discover,
The game's run down, of course the play is over.
Thus much he thought 'twas requisite to say,
(For all here are not critics born) that they
Who only used to like, might learn to taste a
play.

But now he flies for refuge to the fair, Whom he must own the ablest judges here. Since all the springs of his design but move From beauty's cruelty subdued by love,

E'en they, whose hearts are yet untouched, must

know,

In the same case, sure, what their own wou'd do: You best should judge of love, since love is born of you.