Mrs. Mal. I am delighted with the scheme; never was anything better perpetrated! Abs. But, pray, could not I see the lady for a few minutes now?-I should like to try her temper a little.

Mrs. Mal. Why, I don't know-I doubt she is not prepared for a visit of this kind. There is a decorum in these matters.

Abs. O Lord! she won't mind me-only tell her Beverley

Mrs. Mal. Sir!

Abs. Gently, good tongue.

[A side.

Mrs. Mal. What did you say of Beverley? Abs. Oh, I was going to propose that you should tell her, by way of jest, that it was Beverley who was below; she'd come down fast enough then-ha! ha! ha!

Mrs. Mal. Twould be a trick she well deerves; besides you know the fellow tells her he'll get my consent to see her-ha! ha! Let him if he can, I say again. Lydia, come down here Calling.] He'll make me a go-between in their interviews!-ha! ha! ha! Come down, say, Lydia! I don't wonder at your laughing, ha ha ha! his impudence is truly ridiculous. Abs. 'Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul, a'am, ha ha! ha!

Mrs. Mal. The little hussy won't hear. Well, I'll go and tell her at once who it is she shall know that Captain Absolute is come to wait on her. And I'll make her behave as Jecomes a young woman.

Abs. As you please, ma'am.

servant.

Mrs. Mal. For the present, captain, your Ah! you've not done laughing yet, I see-elude my vigilance; yes, yes; ha! ha! ha! [Exit. Abs. Ha! ha! ha! one would think now that I might throw off all disguise at once, and seize my prize with security; but such is Lydia's caprice, that to undeceive were probably to lose ber. I'll see whether she knows me.

[Walks aside, and seems engaged in look ing at the pictures.

Enter LYDIA.

Lyd. What a scene am I now to go through! surely nothing can be more dreadful than to be obliged to listen to the loathsome addresses of a stranger to one's heart. I have heard of girls persecuted as I am, who have appealed in behalf of their favoured lover to the generosity of his rival; suppose I were to try itthere stands the hated rival-an officer too!but oh, how unlike my Beverley! I wonder he don't begin-truly he seems a very negligent wooer!-quite at his ease, upon my word!-I'll speak first-Mr. Absolute.

Lyd. O Heavens! Beverley! Abs. Hush! hush, my life! softly! be not surprised!

Lyd. I am so astonished! and so terrified! and so overjoyed!-for Heaven's sake! how came you here?

Abs. Briefly, I have deceived your aunt-I was informed that my new rival was to visit here this evening, and contriving to have him kept away, have passed myself on her for Captain Absolute.

Lyd. O charming! And she really takes you for young Absolute?

Abs. Oh, she's convinced of it.

Lyd. Ha ha ha! I can't forbear laughing to think how her sagacity is overreached.

Abs. But we trifle with our precious moments such another opportunity may not occur; then let me now conjure my kind, my conde, scending angel, to fix the time when I may rescue her from undeserving persecution, and with a licensed warmth plead for my reward.

Lyd. Will you then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that portion of my paltry wealth?—that burden on the wings of love?

Abs. Oh, come to me-rich only thus-in loveliness! Bring no portion to me but thy love-'twill be generous in you, Lydia-for well you know, it is the only dower your poor Beverley can repay.

Lyd. How persuasive are his words!-how charming will poverty be with him! [Aside.

Abs. Ah! my soul, what a life will we then live! Love shall be our idol and support! we will worship him with a monastic strictness; abjuring all worldly toys, to centre every thought and action there. Proud of calamity, we will enjoy the wreck of wealth; while the surrounding gloom of adversity shall make the flame of our pure love show doubly bright. By Heavens! I would fling all goods of fortune from me with a prodigal hand, to enjoy the scene where I might clasp my Lydia to my bosom, and say, the world affords no smile to me but here [Embracing her.] If she holds out now, the devil is in it! [Aside. Lyd. Now could I fly with him to the antipodes! but my persecution is not yet come to a crisis. [Aside.

Re-enter MRS. MALAPROP, listening. Mrs. Mal. I am impatient to know how the little hussy deports herself. [A side. Abs. So pensive, Lydia!-is then your warmth abated?

Mrs. Mal. Warmth abated!-so!-she has been in a passion, I suppose. [Aside.

Lyd. No-nor ever can while I have life. Mrs. Mal. An ill-tempered little devil! She'll be in a passion all her life-will she?

[Aside.

Lyd. Think not the idle threats of my ridiculous aunt can ever have any weight with me. Mrs. Mal. Very dutiful, upon my word!

[Aside. Lyd. Let her choice be Captain Absolute, but Beverley is mine.

Mrs. Mal. I am astonished at her assurance!—to his face—this is to his face! [Aside. Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit.

[Kneeling. Mrs. Mal. [Aside.] Ay, poor young man! -down on his knees entreating for pity-I can contain no longer.-[Coming forward.] Why, thou vixen!-I have overheard you. Abs. Oh, confound her vigilance. [Aside. Mrs. Mal. Captain Absolute, I know not how to apologize for her shocking rudeness. Abs. [Aside.] So all's safe, I find.-Aloud.] I have hopes, madam, that time will bring the young lady

Mrs. Mal. Oh, there's nothing to be hoped for from her! she's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of Nile.

Lyd. Nay, madam, what do you charge me

with now?

Mrs. Mal. Why, thou unblushing rebeldidn't you tell this gentleman to his face that you loved another better?-didn't you say you never would be his?

Lyd. No, madam-I did not.

Mrs. Mal. Good Heavens! what assurance! -Lydia, Lydia, you ought to know that lying don't become a young woman!-Didn't you boast that Beverley, that stroller Beverley, possessed your heart?-Tell me that, I say. Lyd. 'Tis true, ma'am, and none but Beverley

Mrs. Mal. Hold!-hold, Assurance!-you shall not be so rude.

Abs. Nay, pray, Mrs. Malaprop, don't stop the young lady's speech: she's very welcome to talk thus-it does not hurt me in the least, I assure you.

Mrs. Mal. You are too good, captain-too amiably patient-but come with me, miss.Let us see you again, soon, captain-remember what we have fixed.

Abs. I shall, ma'am.

[Exeunt severally; CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE kissing his hand to LYDIA-Mrs. MALAPROP stopping her from speaking.

SCENE AS BEFORE.

MRS. MALAPROP and LYDIA. Mrs. Mal. Why, thou perverse one!-tell me what you can object to him? Isn't he a handsome man?-tell me that. A genteel man? a pretty figure of a man?

Lyd. [Aside.] She little thinks whom she is praising-Aloud.] So is Beverley, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. No caparisons, miss, if you please. Caparisons don't become a young woman. No! Captain Absolute is indeed a fine gentleman! Lyd. Ay, the Captain Absolute you have

Mrs. Mal. Then he's so well bred;-so full of alacrity, and adulation!-and has so much to say for himself:-in such good language too! His physiognomy so grammatical! Then his presence is so noble! I protest, when I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet says in the play:

"Hesperian curls-the front of Job himself!

An eye, like March, to threaten at commandA station, like Harry Mercury, new-" Something about kissing-on a hill-however, the similitude struck me directly.

Lyd. How enraged she'll be presently, when she discovers her mistake! [Aside. Enter SERVANT. Ser. Sir Anthony and Captain Absolute are below, ma'am.

Mrs. Mal. Show them up here. -[Erit SERVANT.] Now, Lydia, I insist on your behaving as becomes a young woman. Show your good breeding, at least, though you have forgot your duty.

Lyd. Madam, I have told you my resolution! -I shall not only give him no encouragement, but I won't even speak to, or look at him.

[Flings herself into a chair, with her face from the door. Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.

Sir Anth. Here we are, Mrs. Malaprop: come to mitigate the frowns of unrelenting beauty,—and difficulty enough I had to bring this fellow. -I don't know what's the matter: but if I had not held him by force, he'd have

Abs. [Aside.] What the devil shall I do!— [Aside to SIR ANTHONY.] You see, sir, she won't even look at me whilst you are here. I knew she wouldn't! I told you so. Let me entreat you, sir, to leave us together!

[Seems to expostulate with his father. Lyd. [Aside.] I wonder I ha'n't heard my aunt exclaim yet! sure she can't have looked at him!-perhaps their regimentals are alike, and she is something blind.

Sir Anth. I say, sir, I won't stir a foot yet! Mrs. Mal. I am sorry to say, Sir Anthony, that my affluence over my niece is very small. Aside to LYDIA.] Turn round, Lydia: I blush for you!

Sir Anth. May I not flatter myself, that Miss Languish will assign what cause of dislike she can have to my son!-[Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] Why don't you begin, Jack? -Speak, you puppy-speak!

Mrs. Mal. It is impossible, Sir Anthony, she can have any. She will not say she has. -Aside to LYDIA.] Answer, hussy! why don't you answer?

Sir Anth. Then, madam, I trust that a childish and hasty predilection will be no bar to Jack's happiness.-[Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] Zounds! sirrah! why don't you speak?

Lyd. [Aside.] I think my lover seems as little inclined to conversation as myself.-How strangely blind my aunt must be!

Abs. Hem! hem! madam-hem!-[Attempts to speak, then returns to SIR ANTHONY.] Faith! sir, I am so confounded-and-so-so-confused! I told you I should be so, sir--I knew it.-The-the-tremor of my passion entirely takes away my presence of mind.

Abs. The-the-excess of my awe, andmy-my-my modesty, quite choke me!

Sir Anth. Ah! your modesty again!-I'll tell you what, Jack; if you don't speak out directly, and glibly too, I shall be in such a rage-Mrs. Malaprop, I wish the lady would favour us with something more than a sidefront.

[MRS. MALAPROP seems to chide LYDIA. Abs. [Aside.] So all will out, I see!-[Goes up to LYDIA, speaks softly.] Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all surprise at present.

Lyd. [Aside.] Heavens! 'tis Beverley's voice! Sure he can't have imposed on Sir Anthony too?-[Looks round by degrees, then starts up.] Is this possible!—my Beverley!— how can this be?-my Beverley?

Abs. Ah! 'tis all over.

[Aside.

Sir Anth. Beverley!-the devil!- Beverley! -What can the girl mean?-This is my son, Jack Absolute.

Mrs. Mal. For shame, hussy! for shame! your head runs so on that fellow, that you have him always in your eyes!-beg Captain Absolute's pardon directly.

Lyd. I see no Captain Absolute, but my loved Beverley!

Sir Anth. Zounds! the girl's mad!-her brain's turned by reading.

Mrs. Mal. O' my conscience, I believe so!What do you mean by Beverley, hussy?—You saw Captain Absolute before to-day; there he is-your husband that shall be.

Lyd. With all my soul, ma'am-when I refuse my Beverley

Sir Anth. Oh! she's as mad as Bedlam!-or has this fellow been playing us a rogue's trick!-Come here, sirrah, who the devil are you?

Sir Anth. Not yet, ma'am, not yet!-[Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] What the devil are you at? unlock your jaws, sirrah, or

Abs. [Aside.] Now Heaven send she may be too sullen to look round!-I must disguise my voice.-[Draws near LYDIA, and speaks in a low hoarse tone.] Will not Miss Languish lend an ear to the mild accents of true love?

Will not

Sir Anth. What the devil ails the fellow?

Sir Anth. Are you my son or not?—answer for your mother, you dog, if you won't for me. Mrs. Mal. Ay, sir, who are you? O mercy! I begin to suspect!—

Abs. [Aside.] Ye powers of impudence, befriend me!-[Aloud.] Sir Anthony, most assuredly I am your wife's son, and that I sincerely believe myself to be yours also, I hope my duty has always shown. -Mrs. Malaprop, I am your most respectful admirer, and shall be proud to add affectionate nephew. -I need not tell my Lydia that she sees her faithful Beverley, who, knowing the singular generosity of her temper, assumed that name and station, which has proved a test of the most disinterested

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted
vault

The peeling anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,

The little tyrant of his fields withstood,Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbad: nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;

Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne,

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture
deck'd,

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;

If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,-

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn,

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; Another came-nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:

"The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne:

Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth

A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.