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ling and the lady—they took the road towards Ivy Farm—and Miss Lauretta is disguised in boy's clothe?.

Paul. Disguis'd in boy's clothes!

Servant. Yes, sir—in a green coat—white waistcoat—round hat —

Paul {Writing it down in a memorandum book"). Enough; that, with her effeminate appearance, is full description.-—-Shew (he way, and, free from dissipated company, I'll secure her.—■•{Locking at Sapling.)—*Madam, yours.—If at any time you want leg.il redress—and with such a fashionable husband, the thing's not at all unlikely—there's my card: neat house—»nd charming accommodation for you and the female pm of the family -,—but for the male—extremely lorry, but there's no stable on the premises. [Exit.

Sapling. Stable! Vlakemeout a fourleg'd animal! —Excuse me, my dear-—but nobody shall take such liberties with me but yourself. Besides, to suppose I'd even name a horse, when

Mrs. Sapling. Oh, the odious creatures !—for Heaven's fake, don't let them make me a disconsolate widow a second time, Mr. Sapling.

Sapling. They (ha'n't.—You shaVt be a widow, my darling^and what's more, Honoria shall be a wife—she shall marry Privilege directiy j and as for Mr. Henry—leave him to me—I've laid a train that will blow him out of water.

Mrs. Sapling. A train!

Sapling. Mum! He keeps a lady.—Robert Grange, a Yorkshireman, informs me he keeps a cousin of his in London; so what do you think I've done?—sent Robert off express •, bid him tell his cousin of Henry's love affair with Honoria—and then you know, down comes her ladyship—she gives it him one way—Honoria another—Robert another—

c 3 Mrs. Sapling.

Mrs. Sapling (Laughing). So they do.—Poor wretch !—What will become os him?

Sapling. Aye: he may stand against the cannon's r^ar;—but two jealous women, back'd by a Yorkshireman—damme, the rock of Gibraltar could not resist their artillery.

Mrs. Sapling. Oh delightful!—Mr. Privilege is now in the park; and I'll immediately inform him.—But though this is very well for such women as Honoria and her self-created ladyship \ it won't do in fashionable life—you'll never find me jealous, Mr. Sapiiog.

Sapling. No—nor me, my dear. When I hint that you sometimes speak and look too kindly on your admirers—it isn't jealousy !—:io—it's pity —general pity for mankind.— I w-isti you to be mercilul, and spare these murdering smiles

Mrs. Sapling. Do you r—Weil! Perhaps I will be 'merciful—adieu! You really improve every h,our, Mr. Sapling. [Exit smiling.

Sapling. A do !—I'm finish'd !—it's very odd, though—if I wer'n't convine'd that jealousy was out of fashion, I should be sometimes like Othello —quite black in the face with it!—for hete's Mr. Privilege—how can I fell but she may go on pitying him, till every body pities me. Very well 1 —I know how to be t ven with her—I can go hunting and break my neck at any time.

*" Enter Groom.

Grocm. Sir!-—Sir !—Your favourite hunter—> ,_ Sapling. Hush 1—lower—or your mistress may

hear yoy. t Groom. Sir, your poor mare Arabella, is so low

spirited for want of hunting, that 1 do think the

next time I take her to the, river, she'll coolly lay

down and drown herself.

Saplings

Sapling, Poor Arabella!—(he's a charming goer; and if your mistress would give me an opportunity, William—but no—she's (0 loving,—so dutiful—so constant

Groom. Ah '.—it's a^ thousand pities, fir—but perhaps mistress mayn't be always so, sir.

Stapling. No !—Why not, sir ?—Have you heard any thing?

Groom. Not at present, sir—but 1 hope for the best.

Sapling. You do; do you ?—Leave the room. —No—stop—follow me to the library, and I'll give you a prescription for the mare:—and as to your

wishing your master to -he a j no, sir,-1 am

sufficiently fashionable without that embellishment. [Exeunt.

SCENE.—A lone Farm-House, with much marked Desolation around it.

Enter Hfnry Sapling and Lauretta St. Orme. Lauretta is difguijed in Boy's Cloatbs.

Henry. Come, come, cheer up.—Look—yon'der's Ivy Farm—the lone sequester'd house we are in search of;—and thus disguis'd, and intredue'd as servant to the farmer

Lauretta. Aye: but the time—the time !— think in a few short hours, my father will be summon'd to the awful scene, and if he blesses not the daughter who preserves him, he'll curse the parricide whose rashness has destroy'd him.—Oh! I can't bear the recollection. Hide me from heaven, the world, and from myself.

Henry. No—I'll only h;de you from your ene» mies—Hush—stand aside—somebody approaches. ['They retire behind the whig )

c 4 Enter

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En t et from the House Sternly and Farmer Night

SHADE.

Sternly. Enough—I'll tell Sir Edward.—Good day!

Nightshade. Good day!

Sternly. Remember now—be more than ever wary;

Nightshade. Fear not—this secures me (shewing fUrfet and exit Sternly): but plague on't 5 I can't manage without a lervart j and this Yorkshire rascal that I sent for one—what the devil is become of him?

Henry (Looking out from behind the wing). It*s he!;—I know him now (comes forward with LauRetta).—So, Master Nightshade, you want a Iervant ,< don't you?

Night/bade. I do, Squire Sapling—want one tnainly—and sent my ploughman

Henry. I know it,—and I've brought one-;— 'ei ( pointing to Lauretta)—I'm. lure you'll take my recommendation.

Nightshade. That I will, fir—and thank you fof this timely service ;—*—besides, I like the lad's countenance^-he looks discreet and trusty :—come along, boy.—Only this, sir,—I hope he don't mind solitude—we see nobodv at Ivy Farm.

Henry. All the better—isn'c it, boy b -there

■-now you're safe, till I inform your father, and

return (aside to Lauretta).—Adieu! You've

get a treasure, Nightfhadei

Nightshade. I think I have, sir and as

to my lazy Yorkshireman—if he don't come home
directly, he lha'n't come home at all.
'Henry. And serve him right (nightshade and
Lauretta exeunt).—Low-lifed, scurrilous block-
head I—I dare fay he is now all the time at the

publicpublic-house, boasting that he's cousin to a lady.— Well—with all my heart—I onty know ic is impossible he can be a cousin to roy lady. Yes: —

there's a native elegance—a fort of noble indescribable—and I'd a dream that so reviv'd and rivetted my love—(going.J-*-Heh ! who is walking yondc-r with that coxcomical—By heaven! Honoria, and the husband they design her!—and see —he kneels to her—he kisses her hand—and she permits it!—So, so—(he likes him—she prefers him !—Oh! after all, give me the woman who turns off cooks and lap-dogs; not her who selects

privileg'd men—and that decides it. I'm tor

her ladyship and London.

Enter Thomas hastily.

Thomas. Sir, Lady Sensitive has sent me posthaste with this letter.

Henry. I'm glad on*t.—I long to hear from her —I sigh to fee her dear delicious hand !—Oh, that *—that for the false Honoria's letter (taking it from his pocket, and throwing it down).—Now let me dwell on a superior composition—(reads'). "You know too well my tender nature; and if "you do not set off for London directly, you will "never see me more."——>-Sweet innocent! how

I have neglected her !—{reading on.) "Never, you "salt-water savage !— Thanks to your uncle, Bob "jsarriv'd—my Yorkshire cousin Bob, sir!—and "Ms you don't quit this Miss Honoria Thingam"bob, I'll come down —shoot you—stab her— "and poison myself! — My head goes round and "round—I write this between my fits—and have

II already emptied the laudanum, hartshorn, and *• all the other bottles in the house.—Yours, &c.

"A. Sensitive."-; Pheugh! (trembles and lets

the letter fall.)—1 shall have a sit myself—Thomas!

you

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