I

Man. Dear madam, I desired you to bring me out of confusion, and you have given me more. know not what to speak to you, or how to look upon you; the sense of my rough, hard, and ill usage of you, (though chiefly your own fault,) gives me more pain now 'tis over, than you had when you suffered it: and if my heart, the refusal of such a woman-[Pointing to OLIVIA]- -were not a sacrifice to profane your love, and a greater wrong to you than ever yet I did you; I would beg of you to receive it, though you used it as she had done; for though it deserved not from her the treatment she gave it, it does from you.

Fid. Then it has had punishment sufficient from her already, and needs no more from me; and, I must confess, I would not be the only cause of making you break your last night's oath to me, of never parting with me; if you do not forget or repent it.

Man. Then take for ever my heart, and this with it ;-(gives her the cabinet) for 'twas given to you before, and my heart was before your due: I only beg leave to dispose of these few. Here, madam, I never yet left my wench unpaid.

[Takes some of the jewels, and offers them to OLIVIA; she strikes them down: PLAUSIBLE and NOVEL take them up.

Olir. So it seems, by giving her the cabinet. Plaus. These pendants appertain to your most

faithful humble servant.

Nov. And this locket is mine; my earnest for love, which she never paid: therefore my own again.

Wid. By what law, sir, pray ?--Cousin Olivia, a word. What, do they make a seizure on your

goods and chattels, vi et armis ? Make your de mand, I say, and bring your trover, bring your trover. I'll follow the law for you.

Oliv. And I my revenge.

[Exit.

Man. [To VERNISH.] But 'tis, my friend, in your consideration most, that I would have returned part of your wife's portion; for 'twere hard to take all from thee, since thou hast paid so dear for't, in being such a rascal. Yet thy wife is a fortune without a portion; and thou art a man of that extraordinary merit in villany, the world and fortune can never desert thee, though I do; therefore be not melancholy. Fare you well, sir.-[Exit VERNISH doggedly.] Now, madam, I beg your pardon [turning to FIDELIA] for lessening the present I made you; but my heart can never be lessened. This, I confess, was too small for you before; for you deserve the Indian world; and I would now go thither, out of covetousness for your sake only.

Fid. Your heart, sir, is a present of that value, MANLY from the company.] But I can give you I can never make, any return to't. -[Pulling back such a present as this, which I got by the loss of my father, a gentleman of the north, of no mean extraction, whose only child I was, therefore left me in the present possession of two thousand pounds a-year; which I left, with multitudes of pretenders, to follow you, sir; having in several public places seen you, and observed your actions thoroughly, with admiration, when you were too much in love to take notice of mine, which yet was but too visible. The name of my family is Grey, my other Fidelia. The rest of my story you shall know when I have fewer auditors.

Man. Nay, now, madam, you have taken from part; for I was going to tell you, that for your me all power of making you any compliment on my sake only I would quit the unknown pleasure of a retirement; and rather stay in this ill world of ours still, though odious to me, than give you more frights again at sea, and make again too great a venture there, in you alone. But if I should tell than I thought any was in the world) had now reyou now all this, and that your virtue (since greater conciled me to't, my friend here would say, 'tis your estate that has made me friends with the

world.

Free. I must confess I should; for I think most of our quarrels to the world are just such as we have to a handsome woman; only because we cannot enjoy her as we would do.

Man. Nay, if thou art a plain dealer too, give me thy hand; for now I'll say, I am thy friend indeed; and for your two sakes, though I have been so lately deceived in friends of both sexes,

I will believe there are now in the world
Good-natured friends, who are not prostitutes,
And handsome women worthy to be friends;
Yet, for my sake, let no one e'er confide
In tears, or oaths, in love, or friend untried.
[Exeunt omnes.

To Mr. CONGREVE.

On "The Old Bachelor."

WHEN virtue in pursuit of fame appears,
And forward shoots the growth beyond the years,
We timely court the rising hero's cause,
And on his side the poet wisely draws;
Bespeaking him hereafter by applause.
The days will come when we shall all receive
Returning interest from what now we give;
Instructed and supported by that praise
And reputation which we strive to raise.
Nature so coy, so hardly to be woo'd,
Flies like a mistress, but to be pursued.
O CONGREVE! boldly follow on the chase;
She looks behind, and wants thy strong embrace;
She yields, she yields, surrenders all her charms,
Do you but force her gently to your arms:
Such nerves, such graces, in your lines appear,
As you were made to be her ravisher.
Dryden has long extended his command,
By right divine, quite through the Muses' land
Absolute lord; and holding now from none,
But great Apollo, his undoubted crown;
(That empire settled, and grown old in power)
Can wish for nothing but a successor :
Not to enlarge his limits, but maintain
Those provinces which he alone could gain.
His eldest Wycherley, in wise retreat,
Thought it not worth his quiet to be great.
Loose, wandering Etherege, in wild pleasures tost
And foreign interests, to his hopes long lost :
Poor Lee and Otway dead! CONGREVE appears,
The darling and last comfort of his years.
Mayst thou live long in thy great Master's smiles,
And growing under him, adorn these isles:
But when-when part of him (be that but late)
His body yielding must submit to fate,
Leaving his deathless works and thee behind,
(The natural successor of his mind,)
Then mayst thou finish what he has begun ;
Heir to his merit, be in fame his son.
What thou hast done shows all is in thy power;
And to write better, only must write more.
'Tis something to be willing to commend;
But my best praise is, that I am your friend.

THO. SOUTHERNE.

To Mr. CONGREVE.
On" The Old Bachelor."

THE danger's great in these censorious days,
When critics are so rife, to venture praise :
When the infectious and ill-natured brood
Behold and damn the work because 'tis good;
And with a proud, ungenerous spirit, try
To pass an ostracism on poetry.

But
you, my friend, your worth does safely bear
Above their spleen; you have no cause for fear
Like a well-mettled hawk you took your flight
Quite out of reach, and almost out of sight.
As the strong sun, in a fair summer's day,
You rise, and drive the mists and clouds away,
The owls and bats, and all the birds of prey.
Each line of yours like polish'd steel's so hard,
In beauty safe it wants no other guard:
Nature herself's beholden to your dress,
Which though still like, much fairer you express.
Some vainly striving honour to obtain,
Leave to their heirs the traffic of their brain,
Like china under ground, the ripening ware,
In a long time, perhaps grows worth our care.
But you now reap the fame, so well you've sown ;
The planter tastes his fruit to ripeness grown.
As a fair orange-tree at once is seen

Big with what's ripe, yet springing still with green,
So at one time my worthy friend appears,
With all the sap of youth, and weight of years.
Accept my pious love, as forward zeal,
Which, though it ruins me, I can't conceal :
Exposed to censure for my weak applause,
I'm pleased to suffer in so just a cause :
And though my offering may unworthy prove,
Take, as a friend, the wishes of my love.

To Mr. CONGreve.

J. MARSH.

On his Play called "The Old Bachelor." WIT, like true gold refined from all allay, Immortal is, and never can decay; 'Tis in all times and languages the same, Nor can an ill translation quench the flame : For though the form and fashion don't remain, The intrinsic value still it will retain. Then let each studied scene be writ with art; And judgment sweat to form the labour'd part; Each character be just, and Nature seem; Without the ingredient, wit, 'tis all but phlegm : For that's the soul which all the mass must move, And wake our passions into grief, or love. But you, too bounteous, sow your wit so thick, We are surprised, and know not where to pick: And while with clapping we are just to you, Ourselves we injure, and lose something new. What mayn't we then, great youth, of thee presage, Whose art and wit so much transcend thy age? How wilt thou shine at thy meridian height, Who, at thy rising, givest so vast a light! When Dryden dying shall the world deceive, Whom we immortal, as his works, believe; Thou shalt succeed, the glory of the stage, Adorn and entertain the coming age.

L

BEVIL HIGGONS.