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Doric. There—you see—

Y.Doric. Be quiet! I'll bring you thro'! Landlord, my friend here will want tea and supper, and all that—but, for myself, my food is love.— And if you know the dear, divine Miss Olivia Torna lo, whom I saw just now, and sought for on the sei-shore—Where does she live? Who does she visit? At what parties can I meet her?

Dorv. You meet her! here's assurance again! Why, who'll invite you?

Y. Doric. Who? Why, the greatest person in the town—myself—I'll invite myself—and I'm right—am I not, old Pelican?

Land. Certainly; for, perhaps nobody else will invite you.

Y. Doric. How!

Land. Why, look, ye, when gentlemen of fortune and respectability visit this town, the town visits them; but when people bring with them neither money nor manners, why, even old Pelican turns his back upon them.

Y. Doric. Stop! in your inn is there a handsome ball-room?

Land. To be sure there is.

Y. Doric. Then, observe—write a hundred cards in my name; in the name of Jack Doric, of Piccadilly, London, and invite a hundred of your first neighbours to a splendid ball and supper—and look, here area hundred respectable gentlemen to answer for it. (Shews a note-cafe.)

Land. So there are! Oh, your honour, a thousand pardons.

Y.Doric. One for each pound—a hundred will do.

Dorv. 'Sdeath! what madness and effrontery! Nobody knows you, and of course, nobody will accept your -invitation*


Y. Doric. Won't they? My dear fellow, people think so much more of the supper, than they do of the person who gives it, that if, by mistake, instead of "Jack Doric's," he were to write, " Jack Ketch's compliments," my lifeon't, there wourln't be three excuses.—And now I'll tell you both a secret. Spunging is a sneaking, hacknied art; and, instead of toiling to get dinners, always try to give them.

Land. Give dinners!

Y. Doric. To be sure. Let every body suppose you don't want money, and any body is so ready to lend it to you, that, whilst the poor and cringing spunge, borrows half-crowns with difficulty, he who gives sumptuous entertainments, confers a favour, by accepting hundreds; and, as a proof, [_lo landlord] George talk'd of ruin, and you turn'd your back—I give a supper and its " Oh! your honour, and a thousand pardons."

Land. Gad! so it is: and I can't help laughing at the world and myself too.

Y. Doric. No; and, were my motives sordid, fach bottle of your wine, to-night, should yield me twenty times your profit: but 'tis from love I act— I would be known and notie'd by Olivia's friends j —so, come, I'll help you to make out the cards $ {to landlord,) and for my friend, you, George, prepare the paragraphs and puffs: for Balls are nothing now, 'till stampt by newspaper report; and every giver of a fete must, like quack doctors, publish lists of names, to shew they've equal custom and repute.

Doris. Stay ! are you aware that, out of 15,000/. ■earned by jour late good father, as an architect, this hundred is the last?

Y. Doric. I am; and also that my uncle will distblve our partnership; but, if I fail, I only wrong myself; and if my plan succeeds, you know

B '2 my my friend shall share in my success. 'Tis my last" slake, and by heav'n I'll make the most of it. So, here! house! waiter rooms, wine and supper for a hundred,

[Exeunt into the Inn.




SCENE I.—A Room inside of the Hermitage. JDoor in the back Scene.

Miss Stoic discovered sitting with a Book in her Hand, reading.

Miss Stoic.

ii (")H, world, world! but that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, life would not yield to age!" Well, well! So long milanthropy has chill'd my foul, so long I've fhunn'd life's miserable scenes, that sometimes I prefer to read those bards that point its blessings out. Sterne, Congreve, or a modern German play—oh, had I met with social minds like these—but here's my brother; and for a time I must assume the love of solitude and rural peace.

Enter Major Tornado.

Well, sir, I hope the hour of reason has arrived, and that you own your error.

Major. 1 do: you were right, Dorothy, you are always right; but when I abused a country life,I little thought it could afford such pleasures.

Miss Stoic, (with triumph) Oh, the country can afford pleasures then,?

Major. Plenty i 'tis the place of all others for an old soldier to retire to; for, I'll tell you—Sir Edward took me to their club, to their aceadian meeting, and, upon my honour—that is, for the time it lasted—I don't think I ever saw a more general engagement, or much sharper fighting.

Miss Stoie. Fighting!

Major. Aye: it seems there are three parties in this vale of peace and innocence; 'Squire Dobson's •party, Vicar Robson's party, and Apothecary Hobson's party; and, like good quiet neighbours, they have been all in Chancery these twelve years, about the right of fishing in a gudgeon stream; which stream proving to be the same I tumbled inio yesterday, one said I might at any time sifli and drown myself there with his leave, and another said- I should not drown myself there without his leave, till, from words, these rural Yorks and Lancaster got to blows, and then—oh, I was wrong sister; for I see now there's no difference between camps and country towns, except that, by combating for kingdoms, you sometimes gain promotion, but, by fighting for gudgeons, you don't even get half-pay for your services.

Miss Store. For shame! for shame! this is the sex; this is your boasted male society! Had you kept company with such as me

Major. What, with the ladies! Oh Lord, their parties run ten times higher; for we drank tea with the Sheriff's wife, an old Red Rose dowager; and her opposite neighbour, a White Rose,having lately built a new bow-window to improve her prospect, cuvx me is Mrs. Sheriff didn't order her husband to erect a gallows, and hang a tall highwayman plump in the front of it. It will do, it will do! I am already chuck-full of rural ardour, and to-morrow I shall have more of it; for Sir Edward Specious gives a grand concert to both armies, and has appointed me generalissimo.

Miss Stoic. You!


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