your example; my tongue fticks to my mouth

too.

Mrs. M. Heavens! in my benefactor do I behold a parent?

Prim. You do; and but for the curs'd circumftance of changing names, we should have known each other long ago. But now I hold you to my heart. You alfo, my little grand-daughter-zooks! I must give you a kifs for your likenefs to your mother (kies her).

Sir H. So muft I (kiffes ber).-I beg pardon, but I always copy Mr. Primitive.

Prim. For you, Mr. Marchmont, I was once coming forward to throttle you; but when I recollected I deferved the fame punishment, I pitied and forgave you. Henceforth I'll be a friend to you, a father to your wife, a grandfather to your daughter-and what's more, with your leave, I'll be a grandfather to Sir Harry.

Sir H. Ay do; pray let me be one of the family: I've long had a predilection for matrimony; and, from what we've juft witneffed, I'm fure it will produce agitation in abundance.

March. Then, Sir, if I'm to be confulted, I can only fay, you faved me once from ruin, and I know no man that fo well deferves my daughter.

Prim. So he did me; and I know no man that fo well deferves my grand-daughter.-And now, what does the fay?

Rofa. That to deferve him, who has so served you and my dearest father, will be the future ftudy of my life.

Sir H. (taking her hand and kiffing it.) Then, thus I feal the bargain-and now, I only beg one thing-after marriage don't let us be too happy

you

you must now and then differ with me to keep me alive, for there is only one place in which I dread a difference, and that is here.

You who can save, or kill us with a breath, Stamp our existence, don't put Life to death; Impatient now, we wait your dread commands; So let us live, for Life is in your hands.

THE END.

EPILOGUE,

Written by JAMES COBB, Efq and spoken by Mr. MUNDEN in the Character of PRIMITIVE.

ALL things are chang'd fince I was laft in town,
And all that's in it feems turn'd upfide down,
Farewell the flowing wig, the fnuff-box, cane,
Emblems of wisdom! ye no longer reign!
Where'er I go, I've fome new caufe for wonder,
And what's ftil! worfe, each hour begets a blunder.
'Twas but last week as travelling to town,
Meaning to give the post-boy half a crown,
The inn being full, all riot, noife and pother,
And really one shock-head's fo like another,
I, chancing near Lord Dafhaway to ftand,
Whipt my half-crown into his Lordship's hand.
His gig he call'd for, dar'd me to deride him;
Then whirl'd away, his fervant close beside him;
And there again, ye moderns, I reproach ye,
Once Coachy drove, the Mafter now drives Coachy.
Courtiers and Citizens, Law, Phyfic, Trade,
Now are difguis'd in general masquerade,
The cropping fyftem over all prevails,

And horfes, like their mafters, dock their tails.
Coats are unskirted-flaps-the waistcoats lofe,
And boots cut down, are but high quarter'd shoes,
The very streets, this fashion too refines,
The fhopkeepers have taken down their figns.
Nought elfe, indeed, comes down but thefe devices;
For tho' they lower their figns, they raise their prices.
O Tempora! O Mores! men and fhops,

Horfes, boots, coats, and waistcoats-all are crops.
Fashion has times and feafons alter'd quite ;
At dinner-time they breakfast, dine at night.
And if they can contrive to rise so soon,
A morning's ride, take in the afternoon.

Our

Our beaux and belles, November's fogs deride;
Enjoy cold weather by the water fide;
And then, in Spring, to town return together;
To pafs, what they call winter, in warm weather.
To other scenes fhall Primitive retire ;

There, while I chat, around my focial fire;
Tho' oft' o'er Fashion's world fhall Fancy range,
One object claims regard, that knows no change;
Envy must own, true to a Briton's name,
That English Heart of Oak, remains the fame.

Printed by A. Strahan, Printers-Street, London.

A COMEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS.

AS PERFORMED AT THE

THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

By FREDERICK REYNOLDS.

A NEW EDITION.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY A. STRAHAN, PRINTERS-STREET;

FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-KOW.