ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE-An Apartment in Young HONEYWOOD'S House.

Enter SIR WILLIAM HONEYWOOD and JARVIS.

Sir Wil. Good Jarvis, make no apologies for this honest bluntness. Fidelity, like yours, is the best excuse for every freedom.

far. I can't help being blunt, and being very angry too, when I hear you talk of disinheriting so good, so worthy a young gentleman as your nephew, my master. All the world loves him.

Sir Wil. Say rather, that he loves all the world; that is his fault.

far. I am sure there is no part of it more dear to him than you are, though he has not seen you since he was a child.

Sir Wil. What signifies his affection to me; or how can I be proud of a place in a heart, where every sharper and coxcomb find an easy entrance?

Jar. I grant you that he is rather too good-natured; that he's too much every man's man; that he laughs this minute with one, and cries the next with another: but

WOMEN.

Mr. HOLTO Mr. Qu

Mrs. BULK

Mrs. MATTIS

Mrs. Pitt.

Mrs. GREES.

Mrs. Wate

whose instructions may he thank for all this?

Sir Wil. Not mine, sure? Myles to him during my employment in Italy taught him only that philosophy wha might prevent, not defend his errors

Jar. Faith, begging your honour's perdon, I'm sorry they taught him any pho sophy at all; it has only served to spa him. This same philosophy is a gr horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey. For my own part, whenev I hear him mention the name ont. In always sure he's going to play the foc

Sir Wil. Don't let us ascribe his to his philosophy, I entreat you N Jarvis, his good-nature arises rather fr his fears of offending the importunate, tha his desire of making the deserving harm

Jar. What it rises from, I don't kn But, to be sure, everybody has it, t asks it.

Sir Wil. Ay, or that does not ask I have been now for some time a conceal spectator of his follies, and find them boundless as his dissipation.

Jar. And yet, faith, he has some f name or other for them all. He calls

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avagance, generosity; and his trusteverybody, universal benevolence. It but last week he went security for a ow whose face he scarce knew, and the called an act of exalted mu-munificence; ay, that was the name he e it.

är Wil. And upon that I proceed, as last effort, though with very little hopes eclaim him. That very fellow has just conded, and I have taken up the seity. Now, my intention is to involve 1 in fictitious distress, before he has nged himself into real calamity: to est him for that very debt; to clap an cer upon him, and then let him see ich of his friends will come to his relief. Far. Well, if I could but any way see a thoroughly vexed, every groan of his uld be music to me; yet, faith, I believe impossible. I have tried to fret him self every morning these three years; t, instead of being angry, he sits as mly to hear me scold, as he does to his I-dresser.

Sir Wil. We must try him once more, wever, and I'll go this instant to put scheme into execution: and I don't spair of succeeding, as, by your means, an have frequent opportunities of being out him without being known. What pity it is, Jarvis, that any man's good il to others should produce so much glect of himself, as to require correction! et we must touch his weaknesses with a licate hand. There are some faults so arly allied to excellence, that we can arce weed out the vice without eraditing the virtue. [Exit. Jar. Well, go thy ways, Sir William oneywood. It is not without reason at the world allows thee to be the best men. But here comes his hopeful ephew; the strange good-natured, foolish, pen-hearted-And yet, all his faults are ch that one loves him still the better for em.

Enter HONEYWOOD. Hon. Well, Jarvis, what messages from y friends this morning? Jar. You have no friends.

Hon. Well; from my acquaintance then? Jar. (Pulling out bills.) A few of our Jual cards of compliment, that's all.

This bill from your tailor; this from your mercer; and this from the little broker in Crooked-lane. He says he has been at a great deal of trouble to get back the money you borrowed.

Hon. That I don't know; but I'm sure we were at a great deal of trouble in getting him to lend it.

Jar. He has lost all patience.

Hon. Then he has lost a very good thing.

Far. There's that ten guineas you were sending to the poor gentleman and his children in the Fleet. I believe that would stop his mouth for a while at least.

Hon. Ay, Jarvis, but what will fill their mouths in the mean time? Must I be cruel, because he happens to be importunate; and, to relieve his avarice, leave them to insupportable distress?

Far. 'Sdeath! Sir, the question now is how to relieve yourself; yourself.-Haven't I reason to be out of my senses, when I see things going at sixes and sevens?

Hon. Whatever reason you may have for being out of your senses, I hope you'll allow that I'm not quite unreasonable for continuing in mine.

Far. You are the only man alive in your present situation that could do so. Every thing upon the waste. There's Miss Richland and her fine fortune gone al ready, and upon the point of being given to your rival

Hon. I'm no man's rival.

Jar. Your uncle in Italy preparing to disinherit you; your own fortune almost spent; and nothing but pressing creditors, false friends, and a pack of drunken servants that your kindness has made unfit for any other family.

Hon. Then they have the m re occasion for being in mine.

Jar. Soh! What will you have done with him that I caught stealing your plate in the pantry? In the fact; I caught him in the fact.

Hon. In the fact? If so, I really think that we should pay him his wages and turn him off.

Jar. He shall be turned off at Tyburn, the dog; we'll hang him, if it be only to frighten the rest of the family.

Hon. No, Jarvis; it's enough that we have lost what he has stolen; let us not add to it the loss of a fellow-creature! Jar. Very fine! well, here was the footman just now, to complain of the butler: he says he does most work, and ought to have most wages.

Hon. That's but just; though perhaps here comes the butler to complain of the footman.

Far. Ay, it's the way with them all, from, the scullion to the privy-councillor. If they have a bad master, they keep quarrelling with him; if they have a good master, they keep quarrelling with one another.

Enter BUTLER, drunk.

But. Sir, I'll not stay in the family with Jonathan; you must part with him, or part with me; that's the ex-ex-exposition of the matter, sir.

Hon. Full and explicit enough. what's his fault, good Philip?

But

But. Sir, he's given to drinking, sir, and I shall have my morals corrupted by keeping such company.

Hon. Ha! ha! he has such a diverting

way

Far. Oh, quite amusing.

But. I find my wine's a-going, sir; and liquors don't go without mouths, sir; I hate a drunkard, sir.

Hon. Well, well, Philip, I'll hear you upon that another time; so go to bed now. Jar. To bed! let him go to the devil. But. Begging your honour's pardon, and begging your pardon, master Jarvis, I'll not go to bed, nor to the devil neither. I have enough to do to mind my cellar. I forgot, your honour, Mr. Croaker is below. I came on purpose to tell you. Hon. Why didn't you show him up, blockhead?

But. Show him up, sir! my heart, sir. Up or down,

to me.

With all all's one [Exit. Far. Ay, we have one or other of that family in this house from morning till night. He comes on the old affair, I suppose. The match between his son that's just returned from Paris, and Miss Richland, the young lady he's guardian to. Hon. Perhaps so. Mr. Croaker, knowing my friendship for the young lady, has

got it into his head that I can persuad her to what I please.

Jar. Ah! if you loved yourself but hal as well as she loves you, we should s see a marriage that would set all thug to rights again.

Hon. Love me! Sure, Jarvis, you dream. No, no; her intimacy with me never amounted to more than mere friendship-mere friendship. That she is the most lovely woman that ever warmed the human heart with desire, I own. But never let me harbour a thought of making her unhappy, by a connexion with one so worthy her merits as I am. No, Jarvis, it shall be my study to serve her, even in spite of my wishes; and to secure her happiness, though it destroys my on.

Far. Was ever the like? I want patiense.

Hon. Besides, Jarvis, though I could" obtain Miss Richland's consent, do you think I could succeed with her guarda, or Mrs. Croaker, his wife; who, thigh both very fine in their way, are yet opposite in their dispositions, you know?

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Jar. Opposite enough, Heaven krows ! the very reverse of each other: she all laugh and no joke; he, always complaining and never sorrowful; a fretful poor soal, that has a new distress for every hour a the four and twenty

Hon. Hush, hush, he's coming up, be'll hear you.

Jar. One whose voice is a passingbell

Hon. Well, well; go, do.

Far. A raven that bodes nothing but ma chief; a coffin and cross-bones; a bundle of rue; a sprig of deadly night-shade; a-(HONEYWOOD, stopping his mouth, at last pushes him off.) [Exit Jarvis.

Hon. I must own, my old monitor is not entirely wrong. There is something in my friend Croaker's conversation that entirely depresses me. His very mint is quite an antidote to all gaiety, and his 29pearance has a stronger effect on my spins than an undertaker's shop.-Mr. Croaker, this is such a satisfaction

Enter CROAKER.

Cro. A pleasant morning to Mr. Honey wood, and many of them. How is this! you look most shockingly to-day, my dear

riend. I hope this weather does not ffect your spirits. To be sure, if this weather continues-I say nothing-But od send we be all better this day three aonths!

Hon. I heartily concur in the wish, hough, I own, not in your apprehensions. Cro. May be not. Indeed, what signifies that weather we have in a country going > ruin like ours? Taxes rising and trade alling. Money flying out of the kingdom, nd Jesuits swarming into it. I know at his time no less than a hundred and wenty-seven Jesuits between Charing Cross and Temple Bar.

Hon. The Jesuits will scarce pervert ou or me, I should hope.

Cro. May be not. Indeed, what signiies whom they pervert in a country that as scarce any religion to lose? I'm only fraid for our wives and daughters.

Hon. I have no apprehensions for the adies, I assure you.

Cro. May be not. Indeed, what signiies whether they be perverted or no? The women in my time were good for something. I have seen a lady drest from top to toe in her own manufactures formerly. But now-a-days the devil a thing of their own manufacture's about them, except their faces.

Hon. But, however these faults may be practised abroad, you don't find them at home, either with Mrs. Croaker, Olivia, or Miss Richland.

Cro. The best of them will never be canonised for a saint when she's dead. By the bye, my dear friend, I don't find this match between Miss Richland and my son much relished, either by one side or t'other. Hon. I thought otherwise.

Cro. Ah, Mr. Honeywood, a little of your fine serious advice to the young lady might go far: I know she has a very exalted opinion of your understanding.

Hon. But would not that be usurping an authority that more properly belongs to yourself?

Cro. My dear friend, you know but little of my authority at home. People think, indeed, because they see me come out in a morning thus, with a pleasant face, and to make my friends merry, that all's well within. But I have cares

that would break a heart of stone. My wife has so encroached upon every one of my privileges, that I'm now no more than a mere lodger in my own house. Hon. But a little spirit exerted on your side might perhaps restore your authority. Cro. No, though I had the spirit of a lion! I do rouse sometimes. But what then? always haggling and haggling. A man is tired of getting the better before his wife is tired of losing the victory.

Hon. It is a melancholy consideration indeed, that our chief comforts often produce our greatest anxieties, and that an increase of our possessions is but an inlet to new disquietudes.

Cro. Ah, my dear friend, these were the very words of poor Dick Doleful to me not a week before he made away with himself. Indeed, Mr. Honeywood, I never see you but you put me in mind of poor Dick. Ah, there was merit neglected for you! and so true a friend! we loved each other for thirty years, and yet he never asked me to lend him a single farthing.

Hon. Pray what could induce him to commit so rash an action at last?

Cro. I don't know: some people were malicious enough to say it was keeping company with me; because we used to meet now and then and open our hearts to each other. To be sure I loved to hear him talk, and he loved to hear me talk; poor dear Dick! He used to say that Croaker rhymed to joker; and so we used to laugh.-Poor Dick! [Going to cry. Hon. His fate affects me.

Cro. Ah, he grew sick of this miserable life, where we do nothing but eat and grow hungry, dress and undress, get up and lie down; while reason, that should watch like a nurse by our side, falls as fast asleep as we do.

Hon. To say a truth, if we compare that part of life which is to come, by that which we have past, the prospect is hideous.

Cro. Life at the greatest and best is but a froward child, that must be humoured and coaxed a little till it falls asleep, and then all the care is over.

Hon. Very true, sir; nothing can exceed the vanity of our existence, but the folly