TH

'HE Bards, triumphant, of a brighter age,
Unrivall'd Monarchs of the Comic Stage,
Held o'er Wit's empire an unbounded sway,
And taught each fubject Province to obey.
Their treasury, Nature's unexhausted mine,
Yielded prompt payment in the purest coin.
And ev'ry note was current thro' the land,
By Farquhar drawn, or Congreve's mightier hand
They, not for mere accommodation drew,
They had effects whene'er their paper lew.
Their drafts, by all, were anfwer'd by delight,
Indors'd by thoufands, and paid down at fight.
Our poverty consents, but not our will,
Our humbler stage with dubious groupes to fill;
With characters, perchance, whofe fole existence
Is owing to the Mufe's kind affiftance;

Or, drawn from modern life, scarce boaft the power,
On ftage, or off, to ftrut beyond the hour.

All arts befide by fure progreffion rife,
And win from Time fresh honors as he flies.
But our poor Bard-to fcribbling doom'd by fate,
Whose pen, precarious, is his whole estate :

Years following years (kind friends, believe it) will
Wear out the best fee-fimple of a quill.

The land, (pointing to the head,) so aipp'd by many a former play,
Can ill afford his annual rent to pay.

Yet ftill he'll toil and toil from night 'till morning,

Till you, his bounteous landlords, give him warning.

ACT I.

SCENE I. — An elegant Apartment at Sir Herbert

Melmoth's.

Sir Herbert and Curfitor difcovered at a Table, with Writing Materials upon it.

Curfitor (writing.) WELL, well-that's fufficient,

Sir Herbert; (putting paper in his pocket) I'll draw the deeds of conveyance according to these inftructions. (Rises and takes out his watch.) Bless me, past four in the morning! why, my lady is as late as ufual.

Sir Herb. Past four! and not yet come home. Oh, Ellen! Ellen!

Curfitor. Nay; fretting won't bring her. I'll warrant she won't return from lady Malcour's affembly these two hours; and I ask you again, Sir Herbert, after getting rid of one troublesome wife, what could induce you to marry your own ward? a girl not twenty years of

age.

Sir Herb. That which even now makes me endure her diffipation and extravagance-affection-uncontroulable affection. My former marriage was against my choice, and yielded me no happiness.

Curfitor. No! why it gave you a fon,-as noble ́a youth as any in the fervice of his country.

Sir Herb. Yes; and love has not fo amply filled my heart, but there is room for Leonard. Yet, in Ellen, in her difinterested, artless mind, I thought to find unceafing confolation.-1 offered her my hand, and she, regardless of the difference of years, preferred her guardian to unnumbered suitors.

Curfitor. She did-even to the fon of the lady fhe is now vifiting-the handfome, the honourable Mr. Mal

cour.

Sir Herb. Yes: fhe chofe me as her friend-protector-husband.

Curfitor. Granted-and a lucky preference it was: for, in the two years you have been married, she has been uncommonly active and induftrious. Let me fee -fhe has got through the fifteen thousand in the funds

run you in debt as many more-and compelled you to fend for your fon Leonard, to cut off the entail of the finest estate in all Pembrokeshire.

Sir Herb. Sir, I am the perfon to condemn her, not you.

Curfitor. Nay; I am, perhaps, fomewhat blunt; but I remember, there was a time when Sir Herbert Melmoth would have blufhed to owe any man a fhilling, and would have perished, rather than have afked an affec. tionate fon to fign away his inheritance.

Sir Herb. Why, yes: there was a time-Oh! how narrow are the bounds 'twixt virtue and disgrace! One crime fo rapidly begets another, that he, who by extravagance is the author of his own poverty, will climb by any guilty steps till he afcend the heighth from whence he fell. What would you have me do?

Curfitor. What! control your wife-infift on her retrenching

Sir Herb. I will-I'll talk to her-(knocking at the door) And, hark-most opportunely fhe's arrived-I'll go, and

Enter Shenkin.

Shenkin. Look you, Sir Herbert-there be my Lady, and Mifs Georgiana, and Mr. Malcour.

Sir