Eger. Indeed, madam!

Lady Rod. [With an amiable, soft, tender sincerity.] O! sir, notwithstanding aw my shew of courage and mirth,—here I stand—as errant a trembling Thisbe, as ever sighed or mourned for her Pyramus,—and, sir, aw my extravagant levity and ridiculous behaviour in your presence now, and ever since your father prevailed upon mine to consent till this match, has been a premeditated scheme to provoke your gravity and guid sense intill a cordial disgust, and a positive refusal.

Eger. Madam, you have contrived and executed your scheme most happily.

Lady Rod. Then, since Cupid has thus luckily disposed of you till your Constantia, and me till my swain, we have nothing to think of now, sir, but to contrive how to reduce the inordinate passions of our parents intill a temper of prudence and humanity.

Eger. Most willingly I consent to your proposal.——But, with your leave, madam, if I may presume so far;—'pray, who is your lover?

Lady Rod. Why, in that too I shall surprise you perhaps more than ever.—In the first place—he is a beggar—and in disgrace with an unforgiving father;—and in the next place,—he is [Curtsies.] your ain brother.

Eger. Is it possible?

Lady Rod. A most amorous truth, sir;—that is, as far as a woman can answer for her ain heart. [in a laughing gaiety.] So you see, cousin Charles, thof I you'd nai mingle affections with you—I have nai ganged out of the family.

Eger. [A polite rapture, frank.] Madam, give me leave to congratulate myself upon your affection,—you cou'd not have placed it on a worthier object; and, whatever is to be our chance in this lottery of our parents, be assured that my fortune shall be devoted to your happiness and his.

Lady Rod. Generous, indeed, cousin—but not a whit nobler, I assure you, than your brother Sandy believes of you.—And, be assured, sir, that we shall both remember it, while the heart feels, or the memory retains a sense of gratitude.—But now, sir, let me ask one question:—Pray, how is your mother affected in this business?

Eger. She knows of my passion, and will, I am sure, be a friend to the common cause.

Lady Rod. Ah! that's lucky. Our first step then must be to take her advice upon our conduct, so as to keep our fathers in the dark till we can hit off some measure that will wind them about till our ain purpose, and the common interest of our ain passion.

Eger. You are very right, madam, for, should my father suspect my brother's affection for your ladyship, or mine for Constantia, there is no guessing what wou'd be the consequence.—His whole happiness depends upon this bargain with my lord; for it gives him the possession of three boroughs, and those, madam, are much dearer to him than the happiness of his children. I am sorry to say it, but, to gratify his political rage, he wou'd sacrifice every social tie, that is dear to friend or family. [Exeunt.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.



ACT IV. SCENE I.

Enter Sir PERTINAX, and Counsellor PLAUSIBLE.

Sir Per. No, no.—Come away, Counsellor Plausible;—come away, I say;—let them chew upon it.—Why, counsellor, did you ever see so impertinent, so meddling, and so obstinate a blockhead, as that Serjeant Eitherside? Confound the fellow—he has put me out of aw temper.

Plaus. He is very positive, indeed, Sir Pertinax,—and no doubt was intemperate and rude. But, Sir Pertinax, I wou'd not break off the match notwithstanding; for certainly, even without the boroughs, it is an advantageous bargain both to you and your son.

Sir Per. But, zounds! Plausible, do you think I will give up the nomination till three boroughs?—Why I wou'd rather give him twenty, nay thirty thousand pounds in any other part of the bargain:—especially at this juncture, when votes are likely to become so valuable.—Why, man, if a certain affair comes on, they will rise above five hundred per cent.

Plaus. You judge very rightly, Sir Pertinax;—but what shall we do in this case? for Mr. Serjeant insists that you positively agreed to my lord's having the nomination to the three boroughs during his own life.

Sir Per. Why yes,—in the first sketch of the agreement, I believe I did consent:—but at that time, man, my lord's affairs did not appear to be half so desperate, as I now find they turn out.—Sir, he must acquiesce in whatever I demand, for I have got him intill sic an a hobble that he cannot——

Plaus. No doubt, Sir Pertinax, you have him absolutely in your power.

Sir Per. Vary weel:—And ought rial a man to make his vantage of it?

Plaus. No doubt you ought;—no manner of doubt.—But, Sir Pertinax, there is a secret spring in this business, that you do not seem to perceive;—and which, I am afraid, governs the matter respecting these boroughs.

Sir Per. What spring do you mean, counsellor?

Plaus. Why this Serjeant Eitherside,—I have some reason to think that my lord is tied down by some means or other to bring the serjeant in, the very first vacancy, for one of these boroughs;—now that, I believe, is the sole motive why the serjeant is so strenuous that my lord should keep the boroughs in his own power;—fearing that you might reject him for some man of your own.

Sir Per. Odswunds and death! Plausible, you are clever,—devilish clever.—By the blood, you have hit upon the vary string that has made aw thjs discord.—Oh! I see it,—I see it now.—But hauld—hauld—bide a wee bit—a wee bit, man;—I have a thought come intill my head—yes—I think, Plausible, that with a little twist in our negotiation that this vary string, properly tuned, may be still made to produce the vary harmony we wish for.—Yes, yes! I have it: this serjeant, I see, understands business—and, if I am not. mistaken, knows how to take a hint.

Plaus. O! nobody better, Sir Pertinax.

Sir Per. Why then, Plausible, the short road is always the best with sic a man.—You. must even come up till his mark at once, and assure him from me—that I will secure him a seat for one of these vary boroughs.

Plaus. O! that will do, Sir Pertinax—that will do, I'll answer for't.

Sir Per. And further—I beg you will let him know that I think myself obliged to consider him in this affair, as acting for me as weel as for my lord,—as a common friend till baith:—and for the services he has already done us, make my special compliments till him—and pray let this amicable bit of paper be my faithful advocate to convince him of what my gratitude further intends for his great [Gives him a bank-bill.] equity in adjusting this agreement betwixt my lord and me.

Plaus. Ha, ha, ha!—upon my word, Sir Pertinax, this is noble.—Ay, ay! this is an eloquent bit of paper indeed.

Sir Per. Maister Plausible, in aw human dealings the most effectual method is that of ganging at once till the vary bottom of a man's heart:—for if we expect that men shou'd serve us,—we must first win their affections by serving them.—O! here they baith come.

Enter Lord LUMBERCOURT, and Serjeant EITHERSIDE.

Lord Lum. My dear Sir Pertinax, what could provoke you to break off this business so abruptly? you are really wrong in the point,—and if you will give yourself time to recollect, you will find that my having the nomination to the boroughs for my life was a preliminary article;—I appeal to Mr. Serjeant Eitherside here, whether I did not always understand it so.

Serj.I assure you, Sir Pertinax, that in all his lordship's conversation with me upon this business, and in his positive instructions,—both he and I always understood the nomination to be in my lord, durante vita.

SirPer. Why, then my lord, to shorten the dispute, aw that I can say in answer till your lordship is—that there has been a total mistake betwixt us in that point,—and therefore the treaty must end here. I give it up.— O! I wash my hands of it for ever.

Plaus. Well, but gentlemen, gentlemen, a little patience.—Sure this mistake, some how or other, may be rectified.—Pr'ythee, Mr. Serjeant, let you and I step into the next room by ourselves, and reconsider the clause relative to the boroughs, and try if we cannot hit upon a medium that will be agreeable to both parties.

Serj. [With great warmth.] Mr. Plausible, I have considered the clause fully;—am entirely master of the question;—my lord cannot give up the point.—It is unkind and unreasonable to expect it.

Plaus. Nay, Mr. Serjeant, I beg you will not misunderstand me. Do not think I want his lordship to give up any point without an equivalent.—Sir Pertinax, will you permit Mr. Serjeant and me to retire a few moments to reconsider this point?

Sir Per. With aw my heart, Maister Plausible; any thing to oblige his lordship—any thing to accomodate his lordship—any thing.

Plaus. What say you, my lord?

Lord Lum Nay, I submit it entirely to you and Mr. Serjeant.

Plaus. Come, Mr. Serjeant, let us retire.

Lord Lum. Ay, ay,—go, Mr. Serjeant, and hear what Mr. Plausible has to say.

Serj. Nay, I'll wait on Mr. Plausible, my lord, with all my heart; but I am sure I cannot suggest the shadow of a reason for altering my present opinion: impossible—impossible.

Plaus. Well, well, Mr. Serjeant, do not be positive. I am sure, reason, and your client's conveniency, will always make you alter your opinion.

Serj. Ay, ay—reason, and my client's conveniency, Mr. Plausible, will always controul my opinion, depend upon it: ay, ay! there you are right. Sir, I attend you. [Exeunt Lawyers.

Sir Per. I am sorry, my lord, extremely sorry indeed, that this mistake has happened.

Lord Lum. Upon my honour, and so am I, Sir Pertinax.

Sir Per. But come now, after aw, your lordship must allow you have been in the wrong: come, my dear lord, you must allow me that now.

Lord Lum. How so, my dear Sir Pertinax?

Sir Per. Not about the boroughs, my lord, for those I do no mind of a bawbee;—but about your distrust of my friendship.—Why, do you think now—I appeal till your ain breast, my lord—do you think, I say, that I should ever have slighted your lordship's nomination till these boroughs.

Lord Lum. Why, really, I do not think you would, Sir Pertinax, but one must be directed by one's lawyer, you know.

Sir Per. Hah! my lord, lawyers are a dangerous species of animals to have any dependance upon: they are always starting punctilios and difficulties among friends. Why, my dear lord, it is their interest that aw mankind should be at variance: for disagreement is the vary manure with which they enrich and fatten the land of litigation; and as they find that that constantly promotes the best crop, depend upon it, they will always be sure to lay it on as thick as they can.

Lord Lum. Come, come, my dear Sir Pertinax, you must not be angry with the serjeant for his insisting so warmly on this point—for those boroughs, you know, are my sheet anchor.

Sir Per. I know it, my lord,—and, as an instance of my promptness to study, and of my acquiescence till your lordship's inclination, as I see that this Serjeant Eitherside wishes you weel and you him, I think now he would be as guid a man to be returned for one of those boroughs as could be pitched upon—and as such, I humbly recommend him till your lordship's consideration.

Lord Lum. Why, my dear Sir Pertinax, to tell you the truth, I have already promised him. He must be in for one of them, and that is one reason why I insisted so strenuously: he must be in.

Sir Per. And why not? odswunds! why not? is nai your word a fiat? and will it nai be always so till me? are ye nai my friend—my patron—and are we nai, by this match of our children, to be united intill one interest?

Lord Lum. So I understand it, I own, Sir Pertinax.

Sir Per. My lord, it can nai be otherwise: then, for Heaven's sake, as your lordship and I can have but one interest for the future, let us have nai mair words about these paltry boroughs, but conclude the agreement just as it stands; otherwise there must be new writings drawn, new consultations of lawyers, new objections and delays will arise,—creditors will be impatient and impertinent, so that we shall nai finish the Lord knows when.

Lord Lum. You are right, you are right: say no more, Mac, say no more. Split the lawyers—you judge the point better than all Westminster-hall could. It shall stand as it is: yes, you shall settle it your own way: for your interest and mine are the same, I see plainly.

Sir Per. No doubt of it, my lord.

Lord Lum. O! here the lawyers come.

Enter Counsellor PLAUSIBLE and Serjeant EITHERSIDE.

Lord Lum. So, gentlemen—well, what have you done? how are your opinions now?

Serj. My lord, Mr. Plausible has convinced me—fully convinced me.

Plaus. Yes, my lord, I have convinced him; I have laid such arguments before Mr. Serjeant as were irresistible.

Serj. He has indeed, my lord: besides, as Sir Pertinax gives his honour that your lordship's nomination shall be sacredly observed, why, upon a nearer review of the whole matter, I think it will be the wiser measure to conclude the agreement just as it is drawn.

Lord Lum. I am very glad you think so, Mr. Serjeant, because that is my opinion too: so, my dear Eitherside, do you and Plausible dispatch the business now as soon as possible.

Serj. My lord, every thing will be ready in less than an hour. Come, Mr. Plausible, let us go and fill up the blanks, and put the last hand to the writings on our part.

Plaus. I attend you, Mr. Serjeant. [Exeunt Lawyers.

Lord Lum. And while the lawyers are preparing the writings, Sir Pertinax, I will go and saunter with the women.

Sir Per. Do, do, my lord: and I will come till you presently.

Lord Lum. Very well, my dear Mac, I shall expect you. [Exit singing, 'Sons of care,' &c.

Sir Per. So! a little flattery mixt with the finesse of a gilded promise on one side, and a quantum sufficit of the aurum palpabile on the other, have at last made me the happiest father in Great-Britain. Hah! my heart expands itself, as it were thro' every part of my whole body, at the completion of this business, and feels nothing but dignity and elevation.—Hauld! hauld! bide a wee! bide a wee! I have but one little matter mair in this affair to adjust, and then, Sir Pertinax, you may dictate till Fortune herself, and send her to govern fools, while you shew and convince the world that wise men always govern her. Wha's there? [Enter Footman.]—Tell my son Egerton, I would speak with him here in the library. [Exit Footman]—Now I have settled the grand point with my lord, this, I think, is the proper juncture to feel the political pulse of my spark, and, once for aw, to set it to the exact measure that I would have it constantly beat. [Enter Egerton.]—Come hither, Charles.

Eger. Your pleasure, sir.

Sir Per. About twa hours since I told you, Charles, that I received this letter express, complaining of your brother's activity at an election in Scotland against a particular friend of mine, which has given great offence; and, sir, you are mentioned in the letter as weel as he: to be plain, I must roundly tell you, that on this interview depends my happiness as a father and as a man; and my affection to you, sir, as a son for the remainder of our days.

Eger. I hope, sir, I shall never do any thing either to forfeit your affection, or disturb your happiness.

Sir Per. I hope so too—but to the point.—The fact is this: there has been a motion made this vary day to bring on the grand affair—which is settled for Friday seven-night:—now, sir, as you are popular—have talents, and are weel heard, it is expected, and I insist upon it, that you endeavour to atone, sir, for your late misconduct, by preparing, and taking a large share in that question, and supporting it with aw your power.

Eger, Sir, I have always divided as you directed, except on one occasion; never voted against your friends, only in that affair.—But, sir, I hope you will not so exert your influence as to insist upon my supporting a measure by an obvious, prostituted sophistry, in direct opposition to my character and my conscience.

Sir Per. Conscience! why, you are mad! did you ever hear any man talk of conscience in political matters? Conscience, quotha? I have been in Parliament these three and thraty years, and never heard the term made use of before:—sir, it is an unparliamentary word, and you will be laughed at for it;—therefore I desire you will not offer to impose upon me with sic phantoms, but let me know your reason for thus slighting my friends and disobeying my commands.—Sir, give me an immediate and an explicit answer.

Eger. Then, sir, I must frankly tell you, that you work against my nature; you would connect me with men I despise, and press me into measures I abhor; would make me a devoted slave to selfish leaders, who have no friendship but in faction—no merit but in corruption—nor interest in any measure, but their own;—and to such men I cannot submit; for know, sir, that the malignant ferment which the venal ambition of the times provokes in the heads and hearts of other men, I detest.

Sir Per. What are you about, sir? malignant ferment! and venal ambition! Sir, every man should be ambitious to serve his country—and every man should be rewarded for it: and pray, sir, would nai you wish to serve your country? Answer me that.—I say, would nai you wish to serve your country?

Eger. Only shew me how I can serve my country, and my life is hers. Were I qualified to lead her armies, to steer her fleets, and deal her honest vengeance on her insulting foes;—or could my eloquence pull down a state leviathan, mighty by the plunder of his country—black with the treasons of her disgrace, and send his infamy down to a free posterity, as a monumental terror to corrupt ambition, I would be foremost in such service, and act it with the unremitting ardour of a Roman spirit.

Sir Per. Vary weel, sir! vary weel! the fellow is beside himself!

Eger. But to be a common barker at envied power—to beat the drum of faction, and sound the trumpet of insidious patriotism, only to displace a rival,—or to be a servile voter in proud corruption's filthy train,—to market out my voice, my reason, and my trust, to the party-broker, who best can promise, or pay for prostitution; these, sir, are services my nature abhors,—for they are such a malady to every kind of virtue, as must in time destroy the fairest constitution that ever wisdom framed, or virtuous liberty fought for.

Sir Per. Why, are you mad, sir? you have certainly been bit by some mad whig or other: but now, sir, after aw this foul-mouthed frenzy, and patriotic vulgar intemperance, suppose we were to ask you a plain question or twa: Pray, what single instance can you, or any man, give of the political vice or corruption of these days, that has nai been practised in the greatest states, and in the most virtuous times? I challenge you to give me a single instance.

Eger. Your pardon, sir—it is a subject I wish to decline: you know, sir, we never can agree about it.

Sir Per. Sir, I insist upon an answer.

Eger. I beg you will excuse me, sir.

Sir Per. I will not excuse you, sir. I insist.

Eger. Then, sir, in obedience, and with your patience, I will answer your question.

Sir Per. Ay! ay! I will be patient, never fear: come, let us have it, let us have it.

Eger. You shall; and now, sir, let prejudice, the rage of party, and the habitual insolence of successful vice—pause but for one moment,—and let religion, laws, power herself, the policy of a nation's virtue, and Britain's guardian genius, take a short, impartial retrospect but of one transaction, notorious in this land,—then must they behold yeomen, freemen, citizens, artizans, divines, courtiers, patriots, merchants, soldiers, sailors, and the whole plebeian tribe, in septennial procession, urged and seduced by the contending great ones of the land to the altar of perjury,—with the bribe in one hand, and the evangelist in the other,—impiously, and audaciously affront the Majesty of Heaven, by calling him to witness that they have not received, nor ever will receive, reward or consideration for his suffrage.—Is not this a fact, sir? Can it be denied? Can it be believed by those who know not Britain? Or can it be matched in the records of human policy?—Who then, sir, that reflects one moment, as a Briton or a Christian, on this picture, would be conducive to a people's infamy and a nation's ruin?

Sir Per. Sir, I have heard your rhapsody with a great deal of patience! and great astonishment,—and you are certainly beside yourself. What the devil business have you to trouble your head about the sins or the Souls of other men? You should leave these matters till the clergy, wha are paid for looking after them; and let every man gang till the devil his ain way: besides, it is nai decent to find fault with what is winked at by the whole nation—nay, and practised by aw parties.

Eger. That, sir, is the very shame, the ruin I complain of.

Sir Per. Oh! you are vary young, vary young in these matters, but experience will convince you, sir, that every man in public business has twa consciences,—a religious, and a political conscience. Why, you see a merchant now, or a shop-keeper, that kens the science of the world, always looks upon an oath at a custom-house, or behind a counter, only as an oath in business, a thing of course, a mere thing of course, that has nothing to do with religion;—and just so it is at an election:—for instance now—I am a candidate, pray observe, and I gang till a periwig-maker, a hatter, or a hosier, and I give ten, twenty, or thraty guineas for a periwig, a hat, or a pair of hose; and so on, thro' a majority of voters;—vary weel;—what is the consequence? Why, this commercial intercourse, you see, begets a friendship betwixt us, a commercial friendship—and, in a day or twa these men gang and give me their suffrages; weel! what is the inference? Pray, sir, can you, or any lawyer, divine, or casuist, cawl this a bribe? Nai, sir, in fair political reasoning, it is ainly generosity on the one side, and gratitude on the other. So, sir, let me have nai mair of your religious or philosophical refinements, but prepare, attend, and speak till the question, or you are nai son of mine. Sir, I insist upon it.

Enter SAM.

Sam. Sir, my lord says the writings are now ready, and his lordship and the lawyers are waiting for you and Mr. Egerton.

Sir Per. Vary weel: we'll attend his lordship. [Exit Sam.] I tell you, Charles, aw this conscientious refinement in politics is downright ignorance, and impracticable romance; and, sir, I desire I may hear no more of it. Come, sir, let us gang down and finish this business.

Eger. [Stopping Sir Per. as he is going off,] Sir, with your permission, I beg you will first hear a word or two upon this subject.

Sir Per. Weel, sir, what would you say?

Eger. I have often resolved to let you know my aversion to this match.—

Sir Per. How, sir!

Eger. But my respect, and fear of disobliging you, have hitherto kept me silent—

Sir Per. Your aversion! your aversion, sir! how dare you use sic language till me? Your aversion! Look you, sir, I shall cut the matter vary short:—consider, my fortune is nai inheritance; aw mine ain acquisition: I can make ducks and drakes of it; so do not provoke me, but sign the articles directly.

Eger. I beg your pardon, sir, but I must be free on this occasion, and tell you at once, that I can no longer dissemble the honest passion that fills my heart for another woman.

Sir Per. How! another woman! and, you villain, how dare you love another woman without my leave? But what other woman—wha is she? Speak, sir, speak.

Eger. Constantia.

Sir Per. Constantia! oh, you profligate! what! a creature taken in for charity!

Eger. Her poverty is not her crime, sir, but her misfortune: her birth is equal to the noblest; and virtue, tho' covered with a village garb, is virtue still; and of more worth to me than all the splendor of ermined pride or redundant wealth. Therefore, sir—

Sir Per. Haud your jabbering, you villain, haud your jabbering; none of your romance or refinement till me. I have but one question to ask you—but one question—and then I have done with you for ever, for ever; therefore think before you answer:—Will you marry the lady, or will you break my heart?

Eger. Sir, my presence shall not offend you any longer: but when reason and reflection take their turn, I am sure you will not be pleased with yourself for this unpaternal passion. [Going.

Sir Per. Tarry, I command you; and, I command you likewise not to stir till you have given me an answer, a definitive answer: Will you marry the lady, or will you not?

Eger. Since you command me, sir, know then, that I can not, will not marry her. [Exit.

Sir Per. Oh! the villain has shot me thro' the head! he has cut my vitals! I shall run distracted;—the fellow destroys aw my measures—aw my schemes:—there never was sic a bargain as I have made with this foolish lord,—possession of his whole estate, with three boroughs upon it—six members—Why, what an acquisition! what consequence! what dignity! what weight till the house of Macsycophant! O! damn the fellow! three boroughs, only for sending down six broomsticks.—O! miserable! miserable! ruined! undone! For these five and twanty years, ever since this fellow came intill the world, have I been secretly preparing him for ministerial dignity,—and with the fellow's eloquence, abilities, popularity, these boroughs, and proper connections, he might certainly, in a little time, have done the deed; and sure never were times so favorable, every thing conspires, for aw the auld political post-horses are broken-winded and foundered, and cannot get on; and as till the rising generation, the vanity of surpassing one another in what they foolishly call taste and elegance, binds them hand and foot in the chains of luxury, which will always set them up till the best bidder; so that if they can but get wherewithal to supply their dissipation, a minister may convert the political morals of aw sic voluptuaries intill a vote that would sell the nation till Prester John, and their boasted liberties till the great Mogul;—and this opportunity I shall lose by my son's marrying a vartuous beggar for love:—O! confound her vartue! it will drive me distracted. [Exit.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.



ACT V. SCENE I.

Enter Sir PERTINAX, and BETTY HINT.

Sir Per. Come this way, Betty—come this way:—you are a guid girl, and I will reward you for this discovery.—O the villain! offer her marriage!

Bet. It is true, indeed, sir;—I wou'd not tell your honour a lie for the world: but in troth it lay upon my conscience, and I thought it my duty to tell your worship.

Sir Per. You are right—you are right;—it was your duty to tell me, and I'll reward you for it. But you say Maister Sidney is in love with her too.—Pray how came you by that intelligence?

Bet. O! sir, I know when folks are in love, let them strive to hide it as much as they will.—I know it by Mr. Sidney's eyes, when I see him stealing a sly side-look at her,—by his trembling,—his breathing short,—his sighing when they are reading together. Besides, sir, he has made love-verses upon her in praise of her virtue, and her playing upon the music.—Ay! and I suspect: another thing, sir,—she has a sweetheart, if not a husband, not far from hence.

Sir Per. Wha? Constantia?

Bet. Ay, Constantia, sir.—Lord! I can know the whole affair, sir, only for sending over to Hadley, to farmer Hilford's youngest daughter, Sukey Hilford.

Sir Per. Then send this instant and get me a particular account of it.

Bet. That I will, sir.

Sir Per. In the mean time, keep a strict watch upon Constantia,—and be sure you bring me word of whatever new matter you can pick up about her, my son, or this Hadley husband or sweetheart.

Bet. Never fear, sir. [Exit.

Sir Per. This love of Sidney's for Constantia is not unlikely.—There is something promising in it.—Yes! I think it is nai impossible to convert it intill a special and immediate advantage. It is but trying. Wha's there?—If it misses, I am but where I was. [Enter Tomlins.] Where is Maister Sidney?

Tom. In the dining room, Sir Pertinax.

Sir Per. Tell him I wou'd speak with him. [Exit Tomlins.] 'Tis more than probable.—Spare to speak and spare to speed. Try—try—always try the human heart:—try is as guid a maxim in politics as in war.—Why, suppose this Sidney now shou'd be privy till his friend Charles's love for Constantia.—What then? guid traith, it is natural to think that his ain love will demand the preference,—ay, and obtain it too.—Yes, self—self is an eloquent advocate on these occasions, and seldom loses his cause. I have the general principle of human nature at least to encourage me in the experiment;—for only make it a man's interest to be a rascal, and I think we may safely depend upon his integrity—in serving himself.

Enter SIDNEY.

Sid. Sir Pertinax, your servant.—Mr. Tomlins told me you desired to speak with me.

Sir Per. Yes, I wanted to speak with you upon a vary singular business. Maister Sidney, give me your hand.—Guin it did nai look like flattery, which I detest, I wou'd tell you, Maister Sidney, that you are an honour till your cloth, your country, and till human nature.

Sid. Sir, you are very obliging.

Sir Per. Sit you down, Maister Sidney:—Sit you down here by me. My friend, I am under the greatest obligations till you for the care you have taken of Charles.—The principles—religious, moral, and political— that you have infused intill him, demand the warmest return of gratitude both fra him and fra me.

Sid. Your approbation, sir, next to that of my own conscience, is the best test of my endeavours, and the highest applause they can receive.

Sir Per. Sir, you deserve it,—richly deserve it.—And now, sir, the same care that you have had of Charles,—the same my wife has taken of her favourite Constantia.—And sure, never were accomplishments, knowledge or principles, social and religious, infused intill a better nature.

Sid. In truth, sir, I think so too.

Sir Per. She is besides a gentlewoman, and of as guid a family as any in this county.

Sid. So I understand, sir.

SirPer. Sir, her father had a vast estate; the which he dissipated and melted in feastings, and friendships, and charities, hospitalities, and sic kind of nonsense.—But to the business.—Maister Sidney, I love you,— yes,—I love you,—and I have been looking out and, contriving how to settle you in the world.—Sir, I want to see you comfortably and honourably fixt at the head of a respectable family,—and guin you were mine ain son, a thousand times,—I cou'd nai make a more valuable present till you for that purpose, as a partner for life, than this same Constantia,—with sic a fortune down with her as you yourself shall deem to be competent,—and an assurance of every canonical contingency in my power to confer or promote.

Sid. Sir, your offer is noble and friendly:—but tho' the highest station would derive lustre from Constantia's charms and worth, yet, were she more amiable than love could paint her in the lover's fancy,—and wealthy beyond the thirst of the miser's appetite,—I could not—would not wed her. [Rises.

Sir Per. Not wed her! odswunds, man! you surprise me!—Why so?—what hinders?

Sid. I beg you will not ask a reason for my refusal,—but, briefly and finally—it cannot be; nor is it a subject I can longer converse upon.

Sir Per. Weel, weel, weel, sir, I have done,—I have done.—Sit down, man;—sit down again;—sit you down.—I shall mention it no more;—not but I must confess honestly till you, friend Sidney, that the match, had you approved of my proposal, besides profiting you, wou'd have been of singular service till me likewise.—However, you may still serve me as effectually as if you had married her.

Sid. Then, sir, I am sure I will most heartily.

Sir Per. I believe it, friend Sidney,—and I thank you.—I have nai friend to depend upon, but yourself. My heart is almost broke.—I cannot help these tears,—And, to tell you the fact at once—your friend Charles is struck with a most dangerous malady,—a kind of insanity.—You see I cannot help weeping when I think of it;—in short this Constantia, I am afraid, has cast an evil eye upon him.—Do you understand me?

Sid. Not very well, sir.

Sir Per. Why, he is grievously smitten with the love of her;—and, I am afraid, will never be cured without a little of your assistance.

Sid. Of my assistance! pray, sir, in what manner?

Sir Per. In what manner? Lord, Maister Sidney, how can you be so dull? Why, how is any man cured of his love till a wench, but by ganging to bed till her? Now do you understand me?

Sid. Perfectly, sir—perfectly.

Sir Per. Vary weel.—Now then, my very guid friend, guin you wou'd but give him that hint, and take an opportunity to speak a guid word for him till the wench;—and guin you wou'd likewise cast about a little now,—and contrive to bring them together once,—why, in a few days after he wou'd nai care a pinch of snuff for her. [Sidney starts up.] What is the matter with you, man?—What the devil gars you start and look so astounded?

Sid. Sir, you amaze me.—In what part of my mind or conduct have you found that baseness, which entitles you to treat me with this indignity?

Sir Per. Indignity! What indignity do you mean, sir? Is asking you to serve a friend with a wench an indignity? Sir, am I not your patron and benefactor? Ha?

Sid. You are, sir, and I feel your bounty at my heart;—but the virtuous gratitude, that sowed the deep sense of it there, does not inform me that, in return, the tutor's sacred function, or the social virtue of the man must be debased into the pupil's pander, or the patron's prostitute.

Sir Per. How! what, sir! do you dispute? Are you nai my dependent? ha? And do you hesitate about an ordinary civility, which is practised every day by men and women of the first fashion? Sir, let me tell you,—however nice you may be, there is nai a client about the court that wou'd nai jump at sic an opportunity to oblige his patron.

Sid. Indeed, sir, I believe the doctrine of pimping for patrons, as well as that of prostituting eloquence and public trust for private lucre, may be learned in your party schools:—for where faction and public venality are taught as measures necessary to good government and general prosperity—there every vice is to be expected.

Sir Per. Oho! oho! vary weel! vary weel! fine slander upon ministers! fine sedition against government! O, ye villain! you—you—you are a black sheep;—and I'll mark you.—I am glad you shew yourself.—Yes, yes,—you have taken off the mask at last;—you have been in my service for many years, and I never knew your principles before.

Sid. Sir, you never affronted them before:—if you had, you should have known them sooner.

Sir Per. It is vary weel.—I have done with you.—Ay, ay; now I can account for my son's conduct—his aversion till courts, till ministers, levees, public business, and his disobedience till my commands.—Ah! you are a Judas—a perfidious fellow;—you have ruined the morals of my son, you villain.—But I have done with you.—However, this I will prophecy at our parting, for your comfort,—that guin you are so very squeamish about bringing a lad and a lass together, or about doing sic an a harmless innocent job for your patron, you will never rise in the church.

Sid. Though my conduct, sir, should not make me rise in her power, I am sure it will in her favour, in the favour of my own conscience too, and in the esteem of all worthy men;—and that, sir, is a power and dignity beyond what patrons, or any minister can bestow. [Exit.

Sir Per. What a rigorous, saucy, stiff-necked rascal it is! I see my folly now.—I am undone by mine ain policy.—This Sidney is the last man that shou'd have been about my son:—The fellow, indeed, hath given him principles, that might have done vary weel among the ancient Romans,—but are damn'd unfit for the modern Britons.—Weel, guin I had a thousand sons, I never wou'd suffer one of these English, university-bred fellows to be about a son of mine again;—for they have sic an a pride of literature and character, and sic saucy, English notions of liberty continually fermenting in their thoughts, that a man is never sure of them. Now, if I had had a Frenchman, or a foreigner of any kind, about my son, I cou'd have pressed him at once into my purpose,—or have kicked the rascal out of my house in a twinkling.—But what am I to do?—Zoons! he must nai marry this beggar;—I cannot sit down tamely under that.—Stay,— haud a wee.—By the blood, I have it.—Yes—I have hit upon it.—I'll have the wench smuggled till the highlands of Scotland to-morrow morning.—Yes, yes,—I'll have her smuggled—

Enter BETTY HINT.

Bet. O! sir,—I have got the whole secret out.

Sir Per. About what?

Bet. About Miss Constantia. I have just got all the particulars from farmer Hilford's youngest daughter, Sukey Hilford.

Sir Per. Weel, weel, but what is the story? Quick, quick—what is it?

Bet. Why, sir, it is certain that Mrs. Constantia has a sweetheart—or a husband,—a sort of a gentleman—or a gentleman's gentleman, they don't know which—that lodges at Gaffer Hodges's—and it is whispered all about the village that she is with child by him; for Sukey says she saw them together last night in the dark walk—and Mrs. Constantia was all in tears.

Sir Per. Zoons! I am afraid this is too guid news to be true.

Bet. O! sir, 'tis certainly true, for I myself have observed that she has looked very pale for some time past—and could not eat,—and has qualms every hour of the day.—Yes, yes, sir—depend upon it, she is breeding, as sure as my name is Betty Hint..—Besides, sir, she has just writ a letter to her gallant, and I have sent John Gardener to her, who is to carry it to him to Hadley.—Now, sir, if your worship would seize it— See, see, sir,—here John comes with the letter in his hand.

Sir Per. Step you out, Betty, and leave the fellow till me.

Bet. I will, sir. [Exit.

Enter JOHN, with a Packet and a Letter.

John. [Putting the packet into his pocket.] There—go you into my pocket.—There's nobody in the library, so I'll e'en go thro' the short way.—Let me see, what is the name?—Mel—Meltil—O, no!—Melville, at Gaffer Hodges's.

Sir Per. What letter is that, sir?

John. Letter,sir!

Sir Per. Give it me, sir.

John. An't please you, sir, it is not mine.

Sir Per. Deliver it this instant, sirrah, or I'll break your head.

John. [Giving the letter.] There, there your honour.

Sir Per. Begone, rascal.—This, I suppose, will let us intill the whole business.

John. [Aside..] You have got the letter, old surly, but the packet is safe in my pocket. I'll go and deliver that, however, for I will be true to poor Mrs. Constantia in spite of you. [Exit.

Sir Per. [Reading the letter.] Um—um 'and bless my eyes with the sight of you.'—Um—um 'throw myself into your dear arms.' Zoons! 'this letter is invaluable.—-Aha! madam—yes—this will do—this will do, I think.—Let me see, how is it directed—'To Mr. Melville.' Vary weel. [Enter Betty.] O! Betty, you are an excellent wench,—this letter is worth a million.

Bet. Is it as I suspected?—to her gallant?

Sir Per. It is—it is.—Bid Constantia pack out of the house this instant—and let them get a chaise ready to carry her wherever she pleases.—But first send my wife and son hither.

Bet. I shall, sir.

Sir Per. Do so—begone. [Exit Betty.] Aha! Maister Charles,—I believe I shall cure you of your passion for a beggar now.—I think he cannot be so infatuated as to be a dupe till a strumpet.—Let me see—how am I to act now?—Why, like a true politician, I must pretend most sincerity where I intend most deceit.

Enter EGERTON, and Lady MACSYCOPHANT.

Weel, Charles, notwithstanding the misery you have brought upon me,—I have sent for you and your mother in order to convince you both of my affection and my readiness to forgive,—nay, and even to indulge your perverse passion:—for, since I find this Constantia has got hold of your heart, and that your mother and you think that you can never be happy without her, why, I'll nai longer oppose your inclinations.

Eger. Dear sir, you snatch me from sharpest misery;—on my knees let my heart thank you for this goodness.

Lady Mac. Let me express my thanks too,—and my joy;—for had you not consented to his marrying her, we all should have been miserable.

Sir Per. Weel; I am glad I have found a way to please you both at last.—But, my dear Charles, suppose now that this spotless vestal,—this wonder of virtue,—this idol of your heart—shou'd be a concealed wanton after aw,—or shou'd have an engagement of marriage or an intrigue with another man,—and is only making a dupe of you aw this time:—I say, only suppose it, Charles—what wou'd you think of her?

Eger. I should think her the most deceitful, and the most subtle of her sex, and, if possible, would never think of her again.

Sir Per. Will you give me your honour of that?

Eger. Most solemnly, sir.

Sir Per. Enough.—I am satisfied,—You make me young again.—Your prudence has brought tears of joy fra my very vitals.—I was afraid you were fascinated with the charms of a crack.—Do you ken this hand?

Eger. Mighty well, sir.

Sir Per. And you, madam.

Lady Mac. As well as I do my own, sir.—It is Constantia's.

Sir Per. It is so; and a better evidence it is than any that can be given by the human tongue. Here is a warm, rapturous, lascivious letter under the hypocritical syren's ain hand—her ain hand, sir.

Eger. Pray, sir, let us hear it.

Sir Per. Ay, ay;—here—take and read it yourself.—Eloisa never writ a warmer nor a ranker to her Abelard—but judge yourselves.

Eger. [Reads.] 'I have only time to tell you, that the family came down sooner than I expected, and that I cannot bless my eyes with the sight of you till the evening.—The notes, and jewels, which the bearer of this will deliver to you, were presented to me, since I saw you, by the son of my benefactor'—

Sir Per. [Interrupts him by his remarks.] Now mark.

Eger. [Reads.] 'All which I beg you will convert to your immediate use'—

Sir Per. Mark, I say.

Eger. [Reads.] 'For my heart has no room for any wish or fortune, but what contributes to your relief and happiness'—

Sir Per. Oh! Charles, Charles, do you see, sir, what a dupe she makes of you? But mark what follows.

Eger. [Reads.] 'O! how I long to throw myself into your dear, dear arms; to sooth your fears, your apprehensions, and your sorrows'—

Sir Per. I suppose the spark has heard of your offering to marry her, and is jealous of you.

Eger. Sir, I can only say I am astonished.

Lady Mac. It is incredible.

Sir Per. Stay, stay, read it out—read it out, pray: ah! she is a subtle devil.

Eger. [Reads.] 'I have something to tell you of the utmost moment, but will reserve it till we meet this evening in the dark walk'—

Sir Per. In the dark walk—in the dark walk—ah! an evil-eyed curse upon her! yes, yes! she has been often in the dark walk, I believe:—But, read on.

Eger. [Reads.] 'In the mean time banish all fears, and hope the best from fortune, and your ever dutiful CONSTANTIA HARRINGTON.'

Sir Per. There—there's a warm epistle for you! in short, the hussy, you must know, is married till the fellow.

Eger. Not unlikely, sir.

Lady Mac. Indeed, by her letter, I believe she is.

Sir Per. Nay, I know she is: but look at the hand—peruse it—convince yourselves.

Eger. Yes, yes, it is her hand; I know it well, sir.

Sir Per. Madam, will you look at it? perhaps it may be forged.

Lady Mac. No, sir, it is no forgery.—Well! after this, I think I shall never trust human nature.

Sir Per. Now, madam, what amends can you make me for countenancing your son's passion for sic a strumpet? And you, sir, what have you to say for your disobedience and your frenzy? O! Charles, Charles—

Eger. Pray, sir, be patient; compose yourself a moment: I will make you any compensation in my power.

Sir Per. Then instantly sign the articles of marriage.

Eger. The lady, sir, has never yet been consulted; and I have some reason to believe that her heart is engaged to another man.

Sir Per. Sir, that is nai business of yours.—I know she will consent and that's aw we are to consider.—O! here comes my lord.

Enter Lord LUMBERCOURT.

Lord Lum. Sir Pertinax, ever thing is ready, and the lawyers wait for us.

Sir Per. We attend your lordship. Where is Lady Rodolpha?

Lord Lum. Giving some female consolation to poor Constantia.—Why, my lady, ha, ha, ha! I hear your vestal has been flirting.

Sir Per. Yes, yes, my lord, she is in vary guid order for any man that wants a wife and an heir till his estate intill the bargain.

Enter SAM.

Sam. Sir, there is a man below that wants to speak to your honour upon particular business.

Sir Per. Sir, I cannot speak till any body now—he must come another time;—hand—stay—what—is he a gentleman?

Sam. He looks something like one, sir—a sort of a gentleman—but he seems to be in a kind of a passion, for when I asked his name, he answered hastily, it is no matter, friend,—go, tell your master there is a gentleman here that must speak to him directly.

Sir Per. Must! ha? vary peremptory indeed; pr'ythee, let's see him for curiosity sake. [Exit Sam.

Enter Lady RODOLPHA.

Lady Rod. O! my Lady Macsycophant, I am come an humble advocate for a weeping piece of female frailty, wha begs she may be permitted to speak till your ladyship, before you finally reprobate her.

Sir Per. I beg your pardon, Lady Rodolpha, but it must not be: see her she shall not.

Lady Mac. Nay, there can be no harm, my dear, in hearing what she has to say for herself.

Sir Per. I tell you, it shall not be.

Lady Mac. Well, my dear, I have done.

Enter SAM and MELVILLE.

Sam. Sir, that is my master.

Sir Per. Weel, sir, what is your urgent business with me?

Mel. To shun disgrace, and punish baseness.

Sir Per. Punish baseness! what does the fellow mean? Wha are you, sir?

Mel. A man, sir—and one, whose fortune once bore as proud a sway as any within this county's limits.

Lord Lum. You seem to be a soldier, sir.

Mel. I was, sir; and have the soldier's certificate to prove my service—rags and scars. In my heart, for ten long years in India's parching clime I bore my country's cause; and in noblest dangers sustained it with my sword: at length ungrateful peace has laid me down where welcome war first took me up,—in poverty, and the dread of cruel creditors.—Paternal affection brought me to my native land, in quest of an only child:—I found her, as I thought, amiable as parental fondness could desire; but lust and foul seduction have snatched her from me, and hither am I come, fraught with a father's anger, and a soldier's honour, to seek the seducer and glut revenge.

Lady Mac. Pray, sir, who is your daughter?

Mel. I blush to own her—but—Constantia.

Eger. Is Constantia your daughter, sir?

Mel. She is; and was the only comfort that nature, fortune, or my own extravagance had left me.

Sir Per. Guid traith, then, I fancy you will find but vary little comfort fra her, for she is nai better than she shou'd be.—She has had nai damage in this mansion. I am told she is with bairn, but you may gang till Hadley, till one farmer Hodges's, and there you may learn the whole story, and wha the father of the bairn is, fra a cheeld they call Melville.

Mel. Melville!

Sir Per. Yes, sir, Melville.

Mel. O! would to heaven she had no crime to answer, but her commerce with Melville.—No, sir, he is not the man; it is your son, your Egerton, that has seduced her; and here, sir, are the evidence of his seduction.

Eger. Of my seduction!

Mel. Of yours, sir, if your name be Egerton.

Eger. I am that man, sir; but pray, what is your evidence?

Mel. These bills, and these gorgeous jewels, not to be had in her menial state, but at the price of chastity.—Not an hour since she sent them— impudently sent them—by a servant of this house—contagious infamy started from their touch.

Eger. Sir, perhaps you may be mistaken concerning the terms on which she received them.—Do you but clear her conduct with Melville, and I will instantly satisfy your fears concerning the jewels and her virtue.

Mel. Sir, you give me new life: you are my better angel. I believe in your words—your looks:—know then, I am that Melville.

Sir Per. How, sir! you that Melville, that was at farmer Hodges's?

Mel. The same, sir: it was he brought my Constantia to my arms; lodged and secreted me—once my lowly tenant—now my only friend. The fear of inexorable creditors made me change my name from Harrington to Melville, till I could see and consult some who once called themselves my friends.

Eger. Sir, suspend your fears and anger but for a few minutes; I will keep my word with you religiously, and bring your Constantia to your arms, as virtuous, and as happy as you could wish her. [Exit with Lady Mac.

Sir Per. The clearing up of this wench's virtue is damned unlucky: I am afraid it will ruin aw our affairs again:—However, I have one stroke still in my head that will secure the bargain with my lord, let matters gang as they will. [Aside.] But I wonder, Maister Melville, that you did nai pick up some little matter of siller in the Indies; ah! there have been bonny fortunes snapt up there, of late years, by some of the military blades.

Mel. It is very true, sir: but it is an observation among soldiers, that there are some men who never meet with any thing in the service but blows and ill fortune.—I was one of those, even to a proverb.

Sir Per. Ah! 'tis pity, sir, a great pity now, that you did nai get a Mogul, or some sic an animal, intill your clutches. Ah! I should like to have the strangling of a Nabob, the rummaging of his gold dust, his jewel closet, and aw his magazines of bars and ingots. Ha, ha, ha!—guid traith naw, sic an a fellow would be a bonny cheeld to bring till this town, and to exhibit him riding on an elephant: upon honour, a man might raise a poll-tax by him, that would gang near to pay the debts of the nation.

Enter EGERTON, CONSTANTIA, Lady MACSYCOPHANT, and SIDNEY.

Eger. Sir, I promised to satisfy your fears concerning your daughter's virtue; and my best proof to you, and all the world, that I think her not only the most chaste, but the most deserving of her sex, is, that I have made her the partner of my heart, and the tender guardian of my earthly happiness for life.

Sir Per. How! married!

Eger. I know, sir, at present we shall meet your anger; but time, reflection, and our dutiful conduct, we hope, will reconcile you to our happiness.

Sir Per. Never, never—and could I make you, her, and aw your issue, beggars, I would move hell, heaven, and earth, to do it.

Lord Lum. Why, Sir Pertinax, this is a total revolution, and will entirely ruin my affairs.

Sir Per. My lord, with the consent of your lordship, and Lady Rodolpha, I have an expedient to offer, that will not only punish that rebellious villain, but answer every end that your lordship and the lady proposed by the intended match with him.

Lord Lum. I doubt it much, Sir Pertinax—I doubt it much:—But what is it, sir?—What is your expedient?

Sir Per. My lord, I have another son, and, provided the lady and your lordship have nai objection till him, every article of that rebel's intended marriage shall be amply fulfilled upon Lady Rodolpha's union with my younger son.

Lord Lum. Why that is an expedient indeed, Sir Pertinax.—But what say you, Rodolpha?

Lady Rod. Nay, nay, my lord, as I had nai reason to have the least affection till my cousin Egerton, and as my intended marriage with him was entirely an act of obedience till my grandmother, provided my cousin Sandy will be as agreeable till her ladyship as my cousin Charles here wou'd have been,—I have nai the least objection till the change. Ay, ay! one brother is as guid till Rodolpha as another.

Sir Per. I'll answer, madam, for your grandmother.—Now, my lord, what say you?

Lord Lum. Nay, Sir Pertinax, so the agreement stands, all is right again. Come, child, let us begone.—Ay, ay, so my affairs are made easy, it is equal to me whom she marries.—I say, Sir Pertinax, let them be but easy, and rat me, if I care if she concorporates with the Cham of Tartary. [Exit.

Sir Per. As to you, my Lady Macsycophant, I suppose you concluded, before you gave your consent till this match, that there wou'd be an end of aw intercourse betwixt you and me.—Live with your Constantia, madam, your son, and that black sheep there.—Live with them.—You shall have a jointure, but not a bawbee besides, living or dead, shall you, or any of your issue, ever see of mine;—and so, my vengeance light upon you aw together. [Exit.

Lady Rod. Weel, cousin Egerton, in spite of the ambitious frenzy of your father, and the thoughtless dissipation of mine, Don Cupid has at last carried his point in favour of his devotees.—But I must now take my leave.—Lady Macsycophant, your most obedient.—Maister Sidney, yours.— Permit me, Constantia, to have the honour of congratulating myself on our alliance.

Con. Madam, I shall ever study to deserve and to return this kindness.

Lady Rod. I am sure you will.—But ah!—I neglect my poor Sandy aw this while! and, guid traith, mine ain heart begins to tell me what his feels, and chides me for tarrying so long.—I will therefore fly till him on the wings of love and guid news;—for I am sure the poor lad is pining with the pip of expectation and anxious jeopardy. And so, guid folks, I will leave you with the fag end of an auld North-Country wish:—'May mutual love and guid humour be the guests of your hearts, the theme of your tongues, and the blithsome subjects of aw your tricksey dreams through the rugged road of this deceitful world; and may our fathers be an example till ourselves to treat our bairns better than they have treated us.' [Exit.

Eger. You seem melancholy, sir.

Mel. These precarious turns of fortune, sir, will press upon the heart,—for, notwithstanding my Constantia's happiness, and mine in hers— I own I cannot help feeling some regret, that my misfortunes should be the cause of any disagreement between a father, and the man to whom I am under the most endearing obligations.

Eger. You have no share in his disagreement; for had not you been born, from my father's nature, some other cause of his resentment must have happened.—But for a time at least, sir, and, I hope, for life, affliction and angry vicissitudes have taken their leaves of us all.—If affluence can procure content and ease, they are within our reach.—My fortune is ample, and shall be dedicated to the happiness of this domestic circle.—

My scheme, tho' mock'd by knave, coquet, and fool, To thinking minds will prove this golden rule; In all pursuits, but chiefly in a wife, Not wealth, but morals, make the happy life.

FINIS.



William Andrews Clark Memorial Library: University of California

THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY

General Editors

H. RICHARD ARCHER William Andrews Clark Memorial Library

E.N. HOOKER University of California, Los Angeles

R.C. BOYS University of Michigan

JOHN LOFTIS University of California, Los Angeles

The society exists to make available inexpensive reprints (usually facsimile reproductions) of rare seventeenth and eighteenth century works.

The editorial policy of the Society continues unchanged. As in the past, the editors welcome suggestions concerning publications.

All correspondence concerning subscriptions in the United States and Canada should be addressed to the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, 2205 West Adams Blvd., Los Angeles 18, California. Correspondence concerning editorial matters may be addressed to any of the general editors. Membership fee continues $2.50 per year. British and European subscribers should address B.H. Blackwell, Broad Street, Oxford, England.

Publications for the fifth year [1950-1951] (At least six items, most of them from the following list, will be reprinted.)

FRANCES REYNOLDS (?): An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Taste, and of the Origin of Our Ideas of Beauty, &c. (1785). Introduction by James L. Clifford.

THOMAS BAKER: The Fine Lady's Airs (1709). Introduction by John Harrington Smith.

DANIEL DEFOE: Vindication of the Press (1718). Introduction by Otho Clinton Williams.

JOHN EVELYN: An Apologie for the Royal Party (1659); A Panegyric to Charles the Second (1661). Introduction by Geoffrey Keynes.

CHARLES MACKLIN: Man of the World (1781). Introduction by Dougald MacMillan.

Prefaces to Fiction. Selected and with an Introduction by Benjamin Boyce.

THOMAS SPRAT: Poems.

SIR WILLIAM PETTY: The Advice of W.P. to Mr. Samuel Hartlib for the Advancement of some particular Parts of Learning (1648).

THOMAS GRAY: An Elegy Wrote in a Country Church Yard (1751). (Facsimile of first edition and of portions of Gray's manuscripts of the poem).

* * * * *

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PUBLICATIONS OF THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY

First Year (1946-1947)

1. Richard Blackmore's Essay upon Wit (1716), and Addison's Freeholder No. 45 (1716).

2. Samuel Cobb's Of Poetry and Discourse on Criticism (1707).

3. Letter to A.H. Esq.; concerning the Stage (1698), and Richard Willis' Occasional Paper No. IX (1698). (OUT OF PRINT)

4. Essay on Wit (1748), together with Characters by Flecknoe, and Joseph Warton's Adventurer Nos. 127 and 133. (OUT OF PRINT)

5. Samuel Wesley's Epistle to a Friend Concerning Poetry (1700) and Essay on Heroic Poetry (1693).

6. Representation of the Impiety and Immorality of the Stage (1704) and Some Thoughts Concerning the Stage (1704).

Second Year (1947-1948)

7. John Gay's The Present State of Wit (1711); and a section on Wit from The English Theophrastus (1702).

8. Rapin's De Carmine Pastorali, translated by Creech (1684).

9. T. Hanmer's (?) Some Remarks on the Tragedy of Hamlet (1736).

10. Corbyn Morris' Essay towards Fixing the True Standards of Wit, etc. (1744).

11. Thomas Purney's Discourse on the Pastoral (1717).

12. Essays on the Stage, selected, with an Introduction by Joseph Wood Krutch.

Third Year (1948-1949)

13. Sir John Falstaff (pseud.), The Theatre (1720).

14. Edward Moore's The Gamester (1753).

15. John Oldmixon's Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley (1712); and Arthur Mainwaring's The British Academy (1712).

16. Nevil Payne's Fatal Jealousy (1673).

17. Nicholas Rowe's Some Account of the Life of Mr. William Shakespear (1709).

18. Aaron Hill's-Preface to The Creation; and Thomas Brereton's Preface to Esther.

Fourth Year (1949-1950)

19. Susanna Centlivre's The Busie Body (1709).

20. Lewis Theobald's Preface to The Works of Shakespeare (1734).

21. Critical Remarks on Sir Charles Gradison, Clarissa, and Pamela (1754).

22. Samuel Johnson's The Vanity of Human Wishes (1749) and Two Rambler papers (1750).

23. John Dryden's His Majesties Declaration Defended (1681).

24. Pierre Nicole's An Essay on True and Apparent Beauty in Which from Settled Principles is Rendered the Grounds for Choosing and Rejecting Epigrams, translated by J.V. Cunningham.

THE END