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Sir Edw. You forget—the pleadings are not half prepar'd, and every moment of your time is precious (as be is going, enter Honoria). Honoria! what brings you here?

Honoria. 1 eome by Mrs. Sapling's orders, to paint a copy of that representation of the "Vestal buried alive."

Sir Edw. Well, well, dispatch—for it shall be remov'd—the sight is hateful to me.

Honoria. Why hateful, Sir? Sir Edw. Why ?—Oh nothing, nothing—but yonder's my solicitor, and mind that you disturb him not. And now, Sir,—be but as active and as zealous as the cause deserves, and our success is certain. (Exit. Honoria previously feats herself, and begins painting unseen by Paul,be during the time is writing.)

Paul. I'll be active—I'll now that I call a

complete idle country gentleman, who will let nobody have any pleasure but himself; however, only let me fill up this infernal process, and fee if I a'n't in the thick of the musical party; for after such a fag as this, devil's in't if I mayn't enjoy myself, and music's a thing I'm dotingly fond of. So—" Herefordshire to wit" (writing). "Lovely, lovely Chloe I" (singing.)

Honoria. (Painting.) Upon my word—extremely well—pray sing on, Sir.

Paul. Sing on ! {Looks up, fees her, and smiles.) Bless my foul—another thing I'm sodoatingly fond of!—and look here now—I hav'n't even time to— oh you little rogue!—I only wish it were the long vacation—but as it is—" Herefordshire to wit,"—■ ** Lovely, lovely Chloe I" (writing and singing.)

Honoria. That's right, you've an excellent voice, and I'd rather you'd do any thing than carry on this cruel prosecution, (rises and comes down tbe

stage.) stage'). Perhaps bv some neglect of his, St. Orme might still be fav'd—I'll try—Oh! Lord, here's my guardian. it's true:—and by your own account you've toil'd enough for this day.

Enter Sapling with manuscript music in his band.

Sapling. Oh, my dear Honoria !—what shall I do ?—where shall I go?—whom shall I apply to? —Poor Mrs. Sapling,—and poor Mr. Privilege!

Honoria. What's the matter, Sir ?—any accident?

Paul. (Putting the subpœna in his pocket, and coming on the other fide of Sapling.)—Aye, what's the matter, Sir ?—any accident?

Sapling. Dreadful—he's taken hoarse! now—an hour before the sylvan fete, Mr. Privilege is taken hoarse, and there's an end of his and my wife's duet.

Paul. An end of their duet!

Sapling. Yes: I offer'd to take his part here (pointing to the paper}; but it seems my voice is too natural. They fay I'm no singer, because I don't quaver, and jerk, and twist my body, and make horribly ugly faces—and it's very wrong of them—I know it's all affectation—for I'm sure in their hearts, they'd rather hear such a queer fellow as I am, sing *« Old Ramjudrah," than all the fine flourishing longs in the universe.

Paul. So they wou'd—and at the end, applaud, as I applaud at the opera.

Sapling. What! do you applaud at the opera?

Paul. Always—for joy >that it's over. But

you want a substitute, do you? (Looking at the music —chuckling and smiling.')

Honoria. He does: and can't you recommend one, Mr. Postpone?

Paul. I !—Oh fie, Ma'am !—I hope you don't insinuate

Honoria. Speak to him, guardian—his voice is only equal'd by his modesty.— Nay: you know

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Paul. I have—I've work'd like a horse; and if I thought the ladies wish'd it—[going to take the music from Sapling)—but no—Sir Edward will be angry.

Sapling. Nonsense!—as master of the house 'twill be doing him a favour.

Paul. Will it?

Honoria. To be sure, and you won't be out of the way, you know.

Paul. No more 1 (hall, {still chuckling.') - Sapling. And if "you refuse, a great singer must be sent for at a great expenf e<

Paul. So there must—and if 1 fing a hundred songs, I can but charge 6s. and id. each j—come along—give me the part—let somebody play it over —and, once in my life, I will relax for half an hour.

Sapling. There's a noble lawyer for you ;—Oh I wish 1 had known you sooner—you should have drawn my marriage settlement.

Paul. Never mind—where there's law and parchment before marriage, there's generally law and parchment after j and if any little accident should happen—(whispers bint)—between ourselves, now-a-days married people are the best

clients. But come ;—and don't be afraid of my

being natural—no—my voice is like an instrument.

Sapling. Ah! that's the true style. But, begging your pardon, if it be the fashion for fine fingers to resemble instruments, I wish there were instruments to resemble fine singers:—then they might be had at a less price—would be free from colds and hoarsenesses—and instead of Venice and Naples, they might be manufactur'd at Sheffield and Birmingham. [Exeunt.

SCENE.—A Road.In the back Ground, large Gates opening to a Park—the Trees at a distance are seen illuminatedan Orchestra alsoall marking a Sylvan fete.—Stage partly darken'd.

Enter Sir Edward Delauny and SErvant through the Gates.

Sir Edw. Discover'd, say you !—go on—repeat the joyful welcome tidings.

Servant. Yes, Sir, we saw her stealing out of yonder wood: and so whilst William staid to watch and to observe her, I came to ask your further orders. ,

Sir Edw. And you are sure it is Lauretta St. Ormc.

Servant. Quite, Sir; we recollect her on the fatal morning-—and fee! she comes this way.

Sir Edw. Wifh'd for, enchanting fight;—goinform my solicitor—bid him come instantly, and bring the process that secures her—1*11 stay myself, and guard her. [Exit Servant through the gates.

Enter Lauretta St. Or Me.

Lauretta. Oh, thanks to that sheltering wood, that hitherto has thus preserv'd me; and if I reach again my lone retreat, none but a father's voice— Jja!—What lights are those? surely I hav'n't lost oh yes—fear, and the darkness of the night, have quite misted me——Heavens!—let me fly—

Sir Edw. {Advancing before her.) Stay—pass not, I command you.

Lauretta. Oh, for mercy!

Sir Edw. Mercy! from whom ?—from him who represents Sir Frederick ; (lauretta Jhews violent agitation.)—Aye: behold your mortal, deadly foe; who long has fought, but now will never lose you.


Lauretta. (Trying to cross him.') You cannot — you will let me pass;—consider, by detaining me, you make me guilty of the very crime of which you charge my father.—He gave me life :—will you compel me to destroy his? Sir Edw. Peace !—I'm resolv'd. Lauretta. (Falling at his feet.) Look at me—'tis laid I bear a strong resemblance to my mother—< my poor ill-fated mother !—and shall my rashness rob her of a tender husband's care?—Look—do I not remind you?

Sir Edw. You do—and therefore is your presence still more hateful.—Yes:—she first debased our noble house's name, by marrying with this outcast.

Lauretta. (Still kneeling.) She !—do you censure her!

Sir Edw. I do;—and to complete the degradation, did she not abroad expose her daughter on a public stage? Lauretta. How!

Sir Edw. Train her disgracefully in that low, mimic school

Lauretta. (Rising.)^o, Sir—that fault was mine —I law her perishing for want—my father helpless and infirm—and though, as a woman, most professions are denied me, the stage was still before me! —and I shall ever bless those kind approving hearts that sanction'd my attempts-, nor call that path disgraceful, that leads a daughter to support her parents.

Sir Edw. Have a care—dare not to vindi


Lauretta. Sir!—the stage requires not vindication Is it a crime to labour to instruct and

entertain ?—Is there in Shakefpear's hallow'd lines such ignorance and vice, that 'cis degrading to repeat

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