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Mandeville.) Sir, I'll trouble you for that two hundred pounds you owe me! Robert. Psha!

- this isn't a proper timeReal. Where is my money, Sir?

Robert. Nonsense! His father will satisfy you. - Come - we'll all pay the old gentleman a visit together. (Laying hold of Realize's arm.)

Real. Softly, master Robert — You may both go to the old gentleman as soon as you like; but,

I don't intend to pay him a visit these twenty years.

Mand. No! - Why, where is he?

Real. Where, I can't exactly say-only I fancy you are about as far from him now as when you were hot in Bengal.

Mand. What, is he gone abroad?

Real. No; he's gone home! — he's dead! defunct !-- was buried twelve months ago!

Mand. Dead! — My father dead! - I didn't expect this. (Putting his handkerchief to his eyes.)

Robert. No more did I, Sir-Oh! h! h! (Ieeping violently.)

Real. Why, what's the milksop crying at?

Robert. I'm crying to think what troubleold Mr. Mandeville's death will occasion to my poor master-What a fatigue it will be to collect in all the rents—to pay his debts—to discharge you, and appoint me steward in your place - Oh! h! h!

Real. Indeed !--If that's all that afflicts you, dry up your tears, booby-Your master is disinherited,

Robert. Disinherited! Real. Cut off with a shilling! – Mr. Mandeville has left his whole estate to a woman.

Robert, A woman!--Oh! the old profligate!

Real. To your child, Sir (To Mandeville.) – to his own grand daughter !

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Mand. To Albina!

Robert. Bravo! -Then it comes to the same point: - my master of course manages the property, and I'm steward still.

Real. There you're out again! I rather think Mrs. Rigid will manage the property. I rather imagine the young heiress will be ruled by the old governess; and as you've been no friend to her, Mr. Mandeville

Mand. No friend to her! - How?

Real. Nay: perhaps you may call it friendship to leave her to support your daughter at her own expence; perhaps you may call it friendship, not to write any letters, or remit any money, for three years together.

Mand. Go on, Sir; let me know all.

Real. Why then you may know that Mrs. Rigid informed the late Mr. Mandeville of your unfatherlike conduct; that he invited her and his grand-daughter to his house, and taking a fancy to Miss Albina, he made her his heiress. There now you've heard the whole story; and I shall call it friendship if you'll pay me my two hundred pounds.

Mand. Not write letters ! - Not remit mo. ney!- Hear me, Sir. .

Real. Not now.— The heiress is expected from Dover every moment, and I must go and prepare the Castle for her reception. Come along, Poacher; come and deliver your keys to your successor I'll take out a writ directly, and he sha'n't slip through my fingers a second time(Aside.) No more disguises, Mr. MandevilleNo more Sunday-men, Mr. Steward. - Oh! what trouble will the old gentleman's death oc

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No new offender ventures here to-night:
Our present Culprit is a well-known wight,
Who, since his errors with such ease obtain
A pardon, has presum'd to sin again.
We own his faults; but, ere the cause proceed,
Something in mitigation let us plead.
If he was found on Fashion's broad high-way,
There Vice and FOLLY were his only prey;
Nor had he in his perilous career
E'er put a single passenger in fear;
All his unskilld attempts were soon o'erthrown,
And the rash youth expos'd himself alone.

Let us the objects he attack'd reviewUnhurt they all their wonted course pursue. «« * BARDS still to Bards, as waves to waves succeed, “ And most we find are of the Vapidt breed; A truth, perchance, 'tis needless to declare. " For ah! to-night, a luckless proof may glare." Still LAWYERS strain their throats with venal fury, Brow-beat an evidence, or blind a jury. Still the High GAMESTER and obedient mate Veil deep-laid schemes in hospitable state;

* The lines mark'd thus “ were not spoken. + Vide " THE DRAMATIST."

PHARO, though routed, still may Justice dare,
Fine a few pounds, and many a thousand share.
Still can our Bloods of Fashion arm in arm
March six abreast, and meaner folks alarm;
Still saunter through Pall-Mall with callous ease,
And jostle Worth and Beauty as they please ;
Still, drunk in Theatres, with savage ire,
Bid Sense and Decency abash'd retire;
Or, more to dignify superior life,
Cheat their best friend of money and of wife.
If such the age, in vain may Satire toil,
And her weak shafts must on herself recoil.


As some may wonder why our Author's found
Poaching for prey on this unusual ground-
Why thus his old and fav’rite haunt forsake,
Familiar to each secret dell and brake -
The simple truth at once we fairly own —
His subtlest toils were in that covert known;
The bushes he had beaten o'er and o'er
For some new quarry, but could start no more:
Hence he resolv'd a vain pursuit to yield,
And abler sportsmen left to range the field.
Besides, so many lenient trials past,
Well might he fear to suffer there at last.
At length to this dread Court he trusts his fate,
Where mighty Critics sit in solemn state :
But, sure that Candour will assert her claim,
He scorns to sculk beneath a borrow'd name :
And since no bad intention sway'd his mind,
Whate'er the deed, it must indulgence find;
Nor should a rigid sentence drive him hence,
For here, at least, it is his first offence.

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