now you'd rob them of their father. For their fake, accufe him not. Ifee them now, with fupplicating hands, entreating me to fave their only hope--and you confent! -they are made happy ;-and I, infpired by returning virtue, may be to him a wife,-to them a mother.

Malcour. And what avail these promifed joys to me? I fhare not in them-therefore obferve,-one only way. can fave him.

Lady M. Name it.

Malcour (taking her hand). You well remember, that, by every base and treacherous art, he tore this hand from him who fairly won it. Then reftore it-give it to me, its rightful owner, and I'll withdraw the accufation.Why what alarms you?-Do you not understand me? Lady M. 1 do-you'd have him purchase life at the expence of a weak woman's honour.

Malcour. No-I would have him give me reftitution. Lady M. 'Tis well-I have deserved this treatment. But think you this facrifice will fave Sir Herbert ?Think you he will furvive the lofs of honour?-No.Virtue is the foul that animates his frame, and, that deftroy'd, he'll perifh with it!And fee the difference 'twixt his love and yours. He'd welcome death, ere I fhou'd forfeit that, which, if I do not forfeit, you will betray the father of your friend -Oh, fhame! fhame! fallen as I am-fure, when the heart is breaking, 'tis time to pity, not infult me (weeping.)

Malcour. Have a care!think of the awful proofs against him-the previous quarrel-the eftate fo needful to repair his fortune-the inftrument of death mark'd with his name-Remember, there is no other hope.

Lady M. There is, thank Heaven! Before it dawn'd, and, now, it glares upon me. Who urg'd the unhappy Leonard to difpofe of this eftate? Who drove him from a doating father's arms? Who caufed the quarrel that produced the fatal blow? And who will now most publicly acquit Sir Herbert of the charge? Acknowedge all the crime-and in the prefence of furrounding witneffes, make Leonard, with his dying breath, confefs the true, the only culprit, Ellen Melmoth!-I, that

guilty wife, who, 'midst unnumbered crimes, has ftill the pride to scorn a base seducer's arts, and die to fave a dear-lov'd husband's life (going towards a chamber.)

Malcour (topping her). Hold-you will not be fo

rafh?

Lady M. Sir, I will be fo juft-and if his future days pass on in peace, an ignominious death will yield that joy a fplendid life ne'er gave me! (Malcour ftill holds ber.) Oppofe me not-Awhile ago I was as cowardly as fear could make me-but confcious virtue once more warms my veins, and I've a giant's ftrength.

Malcour. Nay, then-fuppofe this boafted courage is in vain-What if I tell you Leonard is no more! Lady M. You cannot-will not

Malcour. I would avoid the melancholy theme, but -(bolding down his head.)

Lady M. Oh, fpeak it not! 1 fee-I read it in your looks! Great heaven! hide me from myself! (falls on the ground).

Enter Sir Herbert from the Chamber, leading on Leonard with his arm in a black fling.

Sir Herbert. He lives-we have witnefs'd his returning health-we know the ball, which lodged but in his arm, was inftantly extracted, and the exaggerated story of his dangerous ftate was propagated by that artful fiend, to shake the virtue of a matchlefs wife-But you are baffled, Sir-He has heard all, and comes to punish perfidy, and to reward the exalted Ellen's truth.

Lady M. Can you forgive me, Leonard?

Leonard. Forgive you!-Oh! if my fufferings deferve a recompence, let me receive it here-from one, who, while fhe fought applaufe from folly and from pomp, forgot the had a heart that might have won e'en heaven's own praise And now, Sir, (taking Sir Herbert's hand,) this is the happy hour I predicted-Connubial bleffings wait you! And I may exclaim, with joy and exultation, "Take the eftate," the whole is yours-and, thank heaven, I have preferved it for my father! Mr. Malcour, we quit your house, never to meet again.

Tom

Tom Tick (without). This way, and don't believe a

word on't.

Enters with Georgiana.

There as I told you-only a flight scratch-alive and merry, you fee.

Leonard Georgiana! Why-how's this? Has Poft Obit confented?

Tom. No, but I have-This paper (gives it to Leonard, who reads it to himself), fign'd with his own comic hand, gives me power to name her husband-and I don't know how you feel, brother guardian, (to Sir Herbert,) but I nominate Leonard Melmoth-I give him Georgiana, with charms to the tune of eighteen thousand.

Leonard (having read paper). Astonishing! Why, what could induce

Tom. Curfe me, if I can tell you-All I know is, a quack threw me into a fpunging houfe, and a legacyFunter took me out of it-that, by his orders, I figned my will at the lawyer's, and by his orders the lawyer gave me that agreement. That I'm free, Georgiana fafe, Leonard happy!-and, if the joke prove a dear one to Poft Obit, it's no fault of mine.He would have a legacy; and, hang me, but I've left him a thumping one.

Sir Herb. Generous friend! You fhall partake of our profperity, and, in my fon, may Georgiana find atonement for all the wrongs committed by his father. And now, Ellen, ere we commence our new career, let us remember, that moderate pleasures are the most complete, and that extravagance, which takes its root in indolence and pride, concludes its fleeting life in fraud, in ruin, and difgrace!

Tom. So it does-and let no man run out-and for the future I'll pay punctually-but still—

One debt there is, which we can never clear-
The debt of gratitude that's owing here.
Lend us your (miles once more--for my fake, do,

Enter

Enter Shenkin.

And alfo for Cara&tacus, look you.

Enter Doctor.

And for poor me-though driven from the plain,
If you'll stand by ine, I may fight again.

Poft Obit. And fo

Tom.

Nay; adjust affairs,

Give me your hand, and hope that they give theirs.
Tom shakes hands with Doctor and Poft Obit.
You want no fee, if they fupport your caufe, [to Doctor.
And you no legacy, but their applause. [to Poft Obit.

END OF THE COMEDY.

EPILOGUE,

Written by Mr. SERJEANT SELLON, and

Spoken by Mr. MUNDEN,

In the Character of POST OBIT.

'YE Nature's walks." Need ports thus advife?
Pray, who can fail, unless he puts his eyes?

Is not pure Nature full display'd to view?
Tranfparent fair ones-I appeal to you:

To you, ye-no-you're quite a different creature,
You modern Beau, for you are out of nature,
"Shoot folly as it flies."-Alas! I fear
The attempt is vain - We know, year after year,
Our bard his game-certificate hath got,
Hath wafted all his paper, powder, shot.
Yet, has he thinn'd the follies of the town?
He may hit hard, but can he knock one down!
Amaz'd at this, I ask'd the reason why?
Follies, he faid, on Fashion's pinions fly.
They fore aloft fecure-the more you fire,
You only scare them, and they mount the higher.
What! can no birds within our reach be found?
I'll look about me this is fporting ground.
Sure lawyers, hufbands, wives, and lobby phantoms,
Are black game, cuckoos, wagtails, crowing bantams,
Of rooks and pigeons I fee various races,

Befide the fea-gulls from the watering places!
As for the city fowls, they've had their trimming,
And lame ducks, now, in the canals are fwimming.
"And catch the manners living as they rife."
Where catch them? Here-their field for exercise.
Suppose the scene quite tragic-all in high woe-
Out thunders-"What's the play"—" Sir, how do I know ?"
"Do you know me ?"-" No, dam'me!-hold your brother!"
"Sir, I'm a gentleman"- Sir, I'm another."
(Audience.) "Go on! go on!" "Oh, wretched loft Evander !"
"Sir, my name's M'Golling"-" And mine, OʻGander."

[Actor.

(exchanging cards.
66 Dropa

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