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Cecilia. Are they? then I wish lady Project •would recriminate, for I'm very fond of balls, concerts, and galas; and if you're expos'd you must give them to patch up your own reputation, you know —so adieu !——oh, I forgot, though—lend me the; key of the Pagoda, will you?

Project. The Pagoda!

Cecilia. Ay, there's1 an eclipse to night, and it will be a charming place to see it from—come give it me—fooliso man !—I dare say, now, you're thinking this may lead to some plot about Emmeline; but you forget there are other doors and other keys, Mr. Cerberus, and as I've given the Bridegroom such a warm reception

Project. Well—your kindness to young Arable deserves a reward, and as I've no reason to suppose

you mean to make a bad use of the key, take it

heh !—here's the gentleman himself! and I declare looking as melancholy as if the honey moon was over—nay—don't leave us.

Cecilia. If I don'r, I shall be too late for the eclipie—so good evening—spouse will describe our interview to you—he'll tell you what pretty things I said of him and his father: upon my word they're a charming pair, 'and though a namesake of mine had long since won my asfections; yet, when I saw young Arable—Oh! who can resist a man of his education. .• . [Exit.

Enter Jack Arable.

J* Project. Joy! I give you joy, sir,—she .has consented !—you'll be brother-in-law to a Nabob, and I, bringing about the match, shall touch a thousand pounds from the Alderman. Come, sit down, my boy, and tell me all about it—(they sit.)—who had the first word? you or Cecilia?

C 2 Jack Ar, Jack 4r. I bad the first: she the last.

Project. Ah! that's one of the sex's privileges; but how did she conclude? with recommending you to go to a parspn, and finish the marriage?

Jack Ar. No: she concluded with recommending me to go to school again and finish my education !—Mr. Project, you'll hardly believe it, but flie call'd me Master Jacky: laugh'd at my learning; ridicul'd my manners; and when I reminded her that I had been made a scholar, and a gentleman, she said I might as well fay one of my father's cows had been made to translate Greek, or dance the minuet de la Cour.

Project. Why this is a warm reception indeed! well: what was your answer?

Jack Ar. Says I, ma'am !—ma'am! I'm a Bachelor of Arts, and a Student at Law ; lean solve a Problem, draw a Demurrer, and read a Latin Ovid.

Project. A Latin Ovid !—what not a translation?

Jack Ar. No: a real Latin Ovid, says I, ma'am.' that was .fair, was'nt it? had her there— famous, heli ? ,

Project. Was ever time and money so wasted on a. blockhead's education? (aside)—you should have told her you were shortly to be call'd to the bar; that you were now at a Special Pleader's: if I mistake not, she is a great admirer of the prosesiion.

Jack Ar. No, no : she's not so bad as that cither; for when by way of a joke, I said that Westminster Hall would be a knowing plaae to give a masquerade in—" a masquerade!" says she—" there's one there every day in Term time !—famous, heh ?• had me there: but there's father just awoke from his after dinner nap—r'gad! he shall have his share-—r

Enter Enter Alderman Arable.

Jack Ar. Father, I'm come from my intended wise: she speaks so highly of you.

Aid. Ar. Does she? that makes out my dream < then: I dreamt she gave you her hand, because she said your father understood farming better than any man in England. Oh! the dear creature !.— how was it?

Jack Ar. She said, that while you were planting shrubberies, building outhouses, and painting the pig-stye, your bailiff was cheating you of the small crops your neglected fields produced; that in a month you would spend more money in fattening a single wether, than would supply the Court of Aldermen with turtle and venison for a year; that your garden is as expensive as your farm, for that every Monday morning, when your coach is cram'd with hampers of garden stusf, there isn't a turnip top within them but costs more than all the pine apples in Covent Garden market—that was fair, wasn't it ?— very fair.

AU. Ar. I'll hear no more—it's a libel, and if she

wasn't a sister to a Nabob. a wether cost me more

than venison; and turnip tops more than pine apples! I'll be reveng'd.

Jack Ar. So will I- -but how father?

Aid. Ar. How! by making her your wise, whether she will or no—I'm determin'd to have a pow'r over her; and Mr. Project I will give you all my crops in and out of the ground-—all my live and dead stock-—ay, an additional thousand pounds onlv to make me father to this Jezabel, and then—leave me to manage her education.

ProjeSt. If she won't consent, Alderman, what pan I do?

Jack Ar.

Jack Ar. What! a college for that; we classics know a trick or two, and give me an opportunity, and sive to four but I make her Mrs. Jack Arable before to-morrow morning. Zounds! I'll carry her off, then touch the Spanish, and away to Epsom and cricket— {aside)—come, what fay you to the two thousand pounds.

Trojtcl. That it's a nice speculation, and as there can be no harm in getting a girl a good husband, I will give you an opportunity: hark ye, she is, jiow in my garden, in the pagoda; come with me,

directly and but hold, hold, where will you

carry her to?'

Jack Ar. To Aldgate farm to be sure, where we've a parson waiting, and where we'll convince her, that we can make a match, or be a match for any woman in the world: come—

Aid. Ar. Ay, away with you; and when she's my daughter, instead os being fashionable and impertinent, me shall be humble and industrious: she shall give up the harpskord for the spinning wheel $ faro and archery for the hen-house and the dairy; and, instead of parading c la miliiaire on a high bred hunter, flic shall carry eggs to market on brokenknee'd Dobbin, and be a pat:ern for all the farmer's wives and daughters in the land! away my boys!


SCENE II. Another Apartment in Project's

Country Hottse—A Door in Flat.

Enter Cecilia.

Cecil So, I've, trie'd him out of the key, and now for my dear Emmeline (Opens the door in fiat

Enter Enter Emmeline.

Emme. Oh my friend!' you come most opportunely—at the very moment when most I needed consolation and support. Look there {giving a letter) 'tis my guardian's answer to the letter we plan'd together. .

Cecilia reads: i

"You are kept here to recruit your health— ** your fortune shall be paid you on the day of "your marriage—in the mean time don't trouble *' me any more with unreasonable requests, lest "I should imagine you ha/e relaps'd---you un"derstand"

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This is beyond all bearing---I cannot endure such-

Emme. How then can l? Oh, Cecilia! when dissipation and ruin deprives the thoughtless profligate of his senses, there is little cause for lamenting a disorder that bereaves him of all memory of his vices; but when a poor sufferer like myself, whole only error has been virtuous love, who has done no wrong but that of cherishing an honest passion, and that passion for a time deprived her of her reason, what is to be her fate? is she to be pitied, or thus for ever punished?

Cecil. Don't be unhappy, Emmeline; I feel for you—pity you sincerely.

Emme. I need it, for if I were, as they insinuate, I should not have the sense to seel my sorrows lo acutely. My heart has long been breaking, and but for your humanity, the struggle had been pastwould it were! and yet Cecilia—

Cecil. What, my friend?


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