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their chance) why he will have to cover himself, and perhaps a wife, who, ** Nonurn parturit in mensem"—not only Laubel in abuandance, but a clear terminable income of about Twenty Pounds!
That a very large majority of critical writers are always ready to take the good-natured side of the question, and to aid "their fellow labourer in the vineyard," I have every reason to acknowledge, and I am happy—most happy, in this opportunity of confessing that no author that ever <lid livey or possibly ever will live, can be under greater obligations to them than I am.—But since the few may at last lead and convert the many, —and play-writing is my chief source of income, I trust there is no impropriety in my vindicating my vocation to the utmost of my power.—I beg it to be understood, that I bear no malice even to those critics who call modern comedy, modern trash; because if the sale of their publications depend on their severity, who knows but' they are writing against their opinions, and are all the time secretly thinking me a wonderfully fine dramatist I—-To the reviewers I can bear no malice, because when they state that my new comedy is worth nothing, they actually state the fact—for by that time / have expended all its profits. To the public at large, who have for more than twenty years bestowed on me such uniform and unceasing indulgence, what can I say for not better meriting that indulgence? Why briefly, in the words of many of my own sentimental heroes*—
"The fault is ift my Head, and not my Heart." March ith, 1808.
WRITTEN BY A FRIEND.
J.N every Prologue for these thousand years,
Sir Arthur St. Albyn Mr. Popi.
Algernon St. Albyn Mr. C. Kemble.
Modern • Mr. Lewis.
Danvers ......... Mr. Brunton.
Lord Blushdale Mr. Fawcrtt.
Solace • Mr. Emery.
Trusty Mr. Chapman.
Geoff!ry Mr. Simmons.
Legis • Mr. Cbeswelu
Selina > • Miss Smith.
Cicely • • « Miss Norton.
Deborah Mrs. Davenport.
BEGONE DULL CARE
HOW WILL IT END
SCENE I.—An ■Apartment in Sir Arthur St. Albyn's
Sir Arthur discovered, reading.
"PROCRASTINATION is the thief of time." *• (Puts down book, and rises). Ay, ay, when waste, extravagance, and shew, first drove me to the want of temporary aid, had I but sacrificed some luxury, and met the present danger by retrenching, I had repaired my fortune, and been happy—but pride, false pride, was so engrafted here, that, ere I would reduce one tittle of my pomp, and be the sneer of those, whom wealth makes envious, I still plunged on in the same heated whirlpool; buoyed up by bubbling, and deceiving hopes, which now dissolve, and 1 must sink for ever.—Yet,rio—one prospect still remains—the marriage of my niece—and if my last remaining friend—if Mr. Danvers wou'd arrive—
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Sir, Mr. Danvers is this moment arrived from London.
B Sir Sir Art. Admit him then.
[Exit Servant. Now, now I may regain my former height—and soar beyond the reach of malice, envy, arid uigratitude.
Danv. Sir Arthur, I give you joy, and myself joy, and your niece joy ;—-for, ifconntibial bliss can be rendered permanent, by love, money, wit, and personal accomplishments, shew me a more happy, handsome couple, than Mr. and Mrs. Danvers.
Sir Art. What, your uncle, Lord Blushdale, wrll consent.
Dam'. He will,—and on the terms I pointed out—namely, on his part he agrees to give up that bond of yours to the late lord, of sixteen thousand pounds—:—
Sir Art. Which you persuaded him to lend.—Go on. T
Danv. On my part, I agree to advance to you the whole of your niece's fortune,—and on your part, you agree that the day I become her partner, I become yours in all your large mines and copper works, and depend on't, both firms shall flourish, Sir Arthur.
Sir Art. You have revivod, restored me;—for though Selina, when we last conversed, seemed "somewhat adverse to the marriage, yet all my wishes are so truly hers, that I've but little fear. And as a proof, by this, (Giving paper) I bind myself in heavy penalties to see the marriage solemnized.
Danv. ( Taking paper.) Sir, you're all kindness; and I've but little to fear, unless a rival has forestalled—
Sir Art. (With great impatience.) What rival? Whom?
Danv. Your son.