The triumphs of love; or, Happy reconciliation. A comedy. In four acts. / Written by an American, and a citizen of Philadelphia. ; Acted at the New Theatre, Philadelphia. Murdock, John, 1748-1834. Approx. 148 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 82 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI : 2007-01. N22093 N22093 Evans 29129 APY1317 29129 99028385

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Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 29129. (Evans-TCP ; no. N22093) Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 29129) Images scanned from Readex microprint and microform: (Early American imprints. First series ; no. 29129) The triumphs of love; or, Happy reconciliation. A comedy. In four acts. / Written by an American, and a citizen of Philadelphia. ; Acted at the New Theatre, Philadelphia. Murdock, John, 1748-1834. Seymour, Joseph H., engraver. First edition. 83, [1] p., [1] leaf of plates : ill. ; 19 cm (12mo) Printed by R. Folwell, no. 33, Arch-Street., Philadelphia: : September 10, 1795. Half-title: The triumphs of love; or, Happy reconciliation. Registered agreeable to law. Attributed to Murdock by Hill, who notes that "this play first introduces Quakers to the American stage." Plate engraved by Joseph H. Seymour. "Subscribers' names."--p. [5-9]. Printer's advertisement, p. [84].

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eng Quakers -- Drama. Plays -- 1794. Subscribers' lists. Advertisements -- Printing. 2005-12 Assigned for keying and markup 2006-01 Keyed and coded from Readex/Newsbank page images 2006-08 Sampled and proofread 2006-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2006-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

THE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE; OR HAPPY RECONCILIATION.

Regiſtered agreeable to law.

THE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE; OR, Happy Reconciliation. A COMEDY. IN FOUR ACTS.

Written by an American, and a Citizen of Philadelphia.

Acted at the New Theatre PHILADELPHIA.

FIRST EDITION.

PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED BY R. FOLWELL, NO. 33, ARCH-STREET. SEPTEMBER 10, 1795.

Dramatis Perſonae. MEN. Mr. Morris. Mr. Whitlock. Mr. Moreton. Mr. Bliſſet. Mr. Green. Mr. Wignell. Mr. Marſhall. Mr. Frances. Mr. Cleveland. Mr. Harwood. Mr. Mitchell. Mr. Bates.

Watchmen, Conſtable, ſervants, &c.

WOMEN. Mrs. Rowſon. Mrs. Marſhall. Mrs. Whitlock. Mrs. Francis. Miſs. Willems.

Maid ſervant.

SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES. A. Miſs Jane Alliſon, 2 copies. Mr. Joſiah H Anthony. B. John B. Bordley, Eſq. 4 copies. Mr. Nathan Baker. Samuel Breck, 8 copies. John Blakeney, 2 copies. Andrew Bayard, 4 copies. John Brown, 6 copies. William Brown. D. Barry, 2 copies. Dr. Benſon, Germantown, 2 copies. C. Tench Coxe, Eſq. 6 copies. Mr. Daniel Caldwell, 2 copies. John Caldwell, 4 copies. John Coles, 4 copies. Bartholomew Conolly, 4 copies. John Cummings, 4 copies. James Cummings, 8 copies. Stewart Cummins. James Crawford. Henry Clymer, 8 copies. Maſter George Clymer, jun. 4 copies. Capt. Caldwell, 2 copies. Mrs. Chaſtwift, 2 copies. D. Robert H. Dunkin, Eſq. 4 copies. Mr. Robert Deniſon, 4 copies. J. Drelden. E. Mr. William Euen, 2 copies. Henry Eſcher. F. Thomas Fitzſimons, Eſq. 4 copies. Mr. Samuel Folwell, 2 copies. William Folwell. Richard Folwell, 12 copies. Thomas W. Francis, 20 copies. John Finley, 4 copies. Richard Footman, 2 copies. Alexander Foſter. Joſhua Fiſher. John Francis, Rhode-Iſland, 20 copies. John Frazier, 2 copies. G. Col. Francis Gurney, 4 copies. Mr. Harry St. George, 4 copies. Charles Goldſbury, Maryland, 6 copies. W. B. Goldthwait, 4 copies. David Graham, 4 copies. John Graham, 4 copies. H. Hon. Robert G. Harper, South-Carolina, 8 copies. Mr. George Harriſon, 20 copies. George H. Harriſon, 4 copies. Mathias Harriſon, 4 copies. William Harriſon. Henry J. Hutchins, 2 copies. Paſchall Hollingſworth. Robert Henderſon, 4 copies. J. Hunter, 2 copies. Hugh Holmes, 2 copies. George Hughes, 4 copies. Wilſon Hunt, 8 copies. J. Major W. Jackſon, 20 copies. Mr. H. Jackſon, 4 copies. Cantwell Jones, 20 copies. Charles Jarbrouſe. George Jenkins. K. Mr. Stephen Kingſton, 4 copies. John Knowles, 2 copies. John Knap, 4 copies. William King. W. Knox, 2 copies. J. Ketland, 10 copies. L. George Latimer, Eſq. 2 copies. Mr. George Laurman, 4 copies. W. Levy, 2 copies. Robert Lee, 2 copies. L. Y. Lewis. Joſeph S. Lewis. John Liſle, jun. 4 copies. M. Thomas Mifflin, Eſq. Governor of Pennſylvania, 4 cop. Mr. John F. Mifflin, 20 copies. Jonathan Mifflin, 4 copies. Thomas Mifflin, jun. Francis Markoe, 2 copies. J. Moore, 4 copies. James Moore, 4 copies. William Miller, 10 copies. William Miller, jun. 6 copies. John Miller, jun. 6 copies. George Meade, 2 copies. Samuel Meredith, 8 copies. Thomas Morris, 20 copies. James Morris. Joſeph Morris. Iſrael W. Morris. Thomas Morris. J. Marſhall, 20 copies. Abel Marple. Alexander Murray. David M'Cormick, 4 copies. Archibald M'Call, 20 copies. George M'Call, 4 copies. N. Mr. S. Noailles, 4 copies. P. Charles Pettit, Eſq. 6 copies. Dr. James Proudfoot, 4 copies. Mr. Samuel Potts. Thomas C. Potts, 2 copies. Henry Philips, 19 copies. John M. Price, 4 copies. Thomas Pollock, 2 copies. George Plumſted, 2 copies. Matthew Pearce, 2 copies. Mark Prager, jun. 2 copies. Norton Pryor, 4 copies. C. W. Peale, 4 copies. R. Dr. Benjamin Ruſh, 6 copies. Joſeph Redman, 2 copies. Mr. Hugh Roberts. George Roberts. Joſeph Roſs, 2 copies. John Read, jun. 2 copies. James Reynolds, 4 copies. S. Mr. Charles Smith, 2 copies. Thomas Smith. Robert Smith, 2 copies. Daniel Smith, 4 copies. Joſeph H. Seymour. John Shields, 4 copies. Skiffman Selby, 4 copies. John Savage, 2 copies. Samuel Sterrett, 20 copies. T. William Tilghman, Eſq. 8 copies. Mr. Joſeph Taggert, 2 copies. A Friend to the Drama, 10 copies. V. Mr. John Vaughan, 4 copies. W. Mr. William Williamſon, 2 copies. Richard Willing, 4 copies. Simon Walker, 10 copies. Henry L. Waddel. Joſeph Wynkoop. William Waln. Thomas Wharton. S. Watt, 4 copies. Benjamin Weſt, 50 copies. George Worral. A Friend to the Drama, 4 copies. Y. Mr. James Yard, 10 copies.

TRIUMPHS OF LOVE.

Mr. Green as Major Manly, and Mr. Moreton as George Friendly Jun.

Major M. I glory in being an enthusiast, in the cause of liberty, & my country!!

THE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE; OR, HAPPY RECONCILIATION,
ACT. I.
SCENE I.—Jacob Friendly, ſen's Houſe. Jacob and George Friendly ſens. G. Friend. ſen.

YOU and I, brother, never did, or ever will agree on this ſubject. You know the terms upon which I took your ſon; I adopted him as my own child, and hold myſelf reſponſible for his conduct.

J. Friend. ſen.

Little doſt thou know his character, and much do I repent of putting him under thy direction; it will be the ruin of him, ſoul and body.

G. Friend. ſen.

'Sdeath, Jacob, what do you mean by ſuch reflections? They are enough to make one quarrel with you outright. After all the expenſe I have been at, in giving him the firſt-rate education, don't he poſſeſs all thoſe neceſſary accompliſhments which conſtitute the agreeable companion—and yet you ſay I have ruined him, ſoul and body.

J. Friend. ſen.

What thou doth call accompliſhments, brother, are what lead him the broadway to deſtruction; there is ſcarce a night but I hear of his diſorderly behaviour; doſt thou not think that theſe reports hurt me, who am the father of the young man?

G. Friend. ſen.

Parents often create themſelves unneceſſary trouble by being too particular with their children—you multiply all the foibles of your ſon into vices, and make no allowances for the ſprightly ſallies of youth; we will ſee which will turn out the clevereſt fellow, him or your primitive ſon, whom you are bringing up in the ſtraight path. (Ironically.)

J. Friend. ſen.

Would that George was like unto Jacob! What a conſolation would it be to my mind! It would be a healing comfort, brother.

G. Friend. ſen.

And I am ſure it would be mortifying to me if George was like unto, Jacob; I mean him for a different ſphere in life, and truſt ſome of thoſe days he will make a figure; I know him—the ſeeds of greatneſs are planted in his breaſt, and time and reflection will make them bloſſom fair to the world.

J. Friend. ſen.

The great danger is, that the rank weeds of vice will overgrow the ſeeds of virtue: thou haſt been too indulgent to him; and where thou haſt been moſt to blame, was in making him too independent of thee.

G. Friend.

Brother, theſe are narrow, contracted notions; it is deſtroying every idea of independence to have a perſon hanging on one, a wretched dependant; I have placed George in eaſy circumſtances: I know he will be grateful, and make uſe of his money like a gentleman; come let us go and ſee Hannah and Rachel.

(Exeunt.)
Scene.—George Friendly, jun's lodgings. G. Friend. jun.

(looking over invitations.) Invitations upon invitations; cards upon cards; I will be with ye ladies and gentlemen: Pleaſure thou art my goddeſs, and I'll purſue thee with unremitting ardour.

(Enter Jacob Friendly, jun. who gives his brother a note.) G. Friend. jun.

(Reads.) Very good; tell Rachel I will attend to it. How are all at home, brother Jake?

J. Friend. jun.

Bravely, I'm obliged to thee, brother George.

Enter Major Manly. Major Manly.

Your ſervant, gentlemen.

G. Friend. jun.

Manly, your moſt obedient.

J. Friend. jun.

Farewell, brother George and friend Manly. Exit.

G. Friend. jun.

There goes the hope of the family—daddy's pet.

Major Manly.

He is a good kind of a lad.

G. Friend. jun.

A ſly fellow, depend on't— Harry, methinks you look very brilliant; this has been a grand parade day—a fine ſparkling hilted ſword—now tell me truly is there not vanity in dangling that fine affair by your ſide?

Major Manly.

No, George, not a particle; but I feel a conſcious pride in wearing it, for theſe reaſons:—it has been my truſty friend in the hour of danger; and the firſt moment I girded it on this ſide, I ſubſcribed my name to our glorious independence, which I will ſupport while I have breath.

G. Friend. jun.

What a Don Quixote in politics! you were always an enthuſiaſt in that way, Harry.

Major Manly.

I glory in being an enthuſiaſt in the cauſe of liberty and my country; and eſteem it the moſt fortunate circumſtance of my life, that I have been inſtrumental in effecting a revolution which has given freedom to millions living, and will ſecure it to millions yet unborn.

G. Friend. jun.

A political prophet, too—I hope you will not prove a falſe one. Our national government has its enemies.

Major Manly.

Not a great many: it is the nature of a popular government, like ours, for party-ſpirit to prevail.

G. Friend. jun.

Some will tell you it is the life and ſoul of a republican government: it kept the lamp of liberty burning at Rome a long time, but, unfortunately, extinguiſhed it at laſt.

Major Manly.

We have nothing of that kind to fear among us: a great majority of the citizens of the united ſtates are ſufficiently enlightened to judge for themſelves: they will not be led away or impoſed upon by deſigning men of any deſcription whatever: they, I truſt, ſet a juſt value upon one of the beſt conſtitutions that ever was framed for the government of man. What people on earth, ſave ourſelves, can boaſt of ſo free and equal a repreſentation, or of chooſing their chief magiſtrate? What people under heaven enjoy civil and religious liberty with that purity we do? With ſuch advantages, and under ſuch a government, how can we but be happy?

G. Friend. jun.

There is no doubt but we are, and may continue to be the happieſt people on the face of the globe; but let us throw politics aſide, and converſe about the affairs of the world in general. Have you heard any thing that is wonderful through the day?

Major Manly.

Not a ſentence: methinks the town ſeems very dull.

G. Friend. jun.

Ha! ha! ha! dull indeed. Where have you concealed yourſelf?—Here man—ſee what a volume of invitations I have: I am engaged to dinners, tea-parties, and balls, for the month to come.

Major Manly.

Really, really, Friendly, you are in great demand;—much in faſhion among the belles; I wonder you don't ſingle out one from the fair flock for matrimony.

G. Friend. jun.

Matrimony, eh!—no, no, Harry;—as the ſong goes, (Sings.) I'll kiſs and hug, And ſhake a brogue, (dances) Like a merry, merry rogue, But hang me if I marry.

No, no, Harry, hang me if I marry—unleſs I could have a thouſand wives.

Major Manly.

What an extravagant rogue thou art! I ſhould think myſelf ſupremely bleſt with one.

G. Friend. jun.

Apropos, Major: how do you come on in that buſineſs?—won't father give conſent?

Major Manly.

He will not.

G. Friend. jun.

Run away with her.

Major Manly.

That would be diſhonourable.

G. Friend. jun.

Ha, ha, ha, honour indeed! do you talk of honour in love matters? Love is not to be reſtricted.

Major Manly.

Yes, rational love may be; though your ſiſter is the dear and firſt object of my affections, and one in whom all my earthly happineſs is centered, yet ſuch are my notions of honour, that were ſhe to put herſelf under my protection, I think I could not baſely ſteal her from her parents.

G. Friend. jun.

Harke, Major, you have acquired much reputation under the banner of Mars, but I am afraid you have too much honour to make any great figure under that of Venus.

Enter Trifle haſtily. Trifle.

George, my worthy fellow, how are you? Major, moſt noble Major, I kiſs your hand. The news, gentlemen, tell me at once; I am on the wing in purſuit of the fineſt girl that ever was viewed by mortal man.

G. Friend. jun.

The Empreſs of Ruſſia is dead.

Trifle.

And her ſucceſſor is glad of it; I am off gentlemen. (Exit.)

G. Friend. jun.

What an oddity!

Major Manly.

'Tis a ſuperficial animal. (looks at his watch) I had no conception it was ſo late. I muſt be off too; adieu George.

G. Friend. jun.

Fare you well Harry. (Exit M. Manly.)

Enter Sambo. G. Friend. jun.

Sambo, take this note to Mrs. Soapſuds.

Sings. Sweet let me trifle time away, And taſte of love 'ere I grow grey.
Exit. Sambo.

Eh, eh, eh, dare he go ſing like mockey bird. Maſſa George berry fine young man; berry good to poor foke; he gib great deal money away; but he drom rogue for gall; he keep he tings berry cloſe too: he no tell Sambo he ſecrets; but Sambo be drom cunning for all dat. Now I take dis to miſſey Sopey Suds; berry well: den miſſey Sopey Suds gib it to ſomebody elſe; Sambo know all about it: how Sambo wiſh he had a rich quare-toe old uncle, like maſſa George. he be a drom rogue among fair ſex too. (Looks at himſelf in the glaſs.) I tink I berry handſome fellow:—look much like a gemmen; we negro improbe berry much. (Dances and ſings.)

Sweete lete me trife time away, And taſte of lub fo I grow grey. Exit.
Re-enter George Friendly jun. and Trifle. Trifle.

I am in love, George, over head and ears, by all that is charming in woman; deluged, inveloped, ſwallowed up in the great gulf of love;—and with whom do you think?

G. Friend. jun.

Why, faith, that it is not eaſy to divine; but, as I know you are fond of variety, I ſhould gueſs it to be with a black damſel.

Trifle.

No, damn it, not quite ſo ſtrong a ſtomach; but, by the bye, it is with one of thoſe called people of colour; the ſweeteſt creature ever my eyes beheld: do you know, Friendly, it is a complection I think ſuperior to all our boaſted fair whites and reds: 'tis a fine ſtanding colour: oh, ſuch ſoft, ſuch ſweet, languiſhing, melting, diſſolving looks.

G. Friend. jun.

Ceaſe, thou rogue, and tell me where ſhe is to be found.

Trifle.

Such an elegant, ſuch a graceful figure, ſuch dear little feet, ſuch well-turned ancles.

G. Friend. jun.

No, but prithee, Trifle, where is this yellow piece of perfection to be ſeen?

Trifle.

That is the devil of it: I don't know.

G. Friend.

And what the devil, have you been talking about all this while?

Trifle.

I loſt her by the ſtrangeſt accident that ever happened to man: I will tell you the whole ſtory. As I was addreſſing her in her own language, you know I ſpeak French very well, while I was holding her in converſation, a dog was chaſing a monſtrous great hog, juſt out of the wallow,—and what muſt the damn'd brute do, but run between my legs, and throw me off my centre, to the great mirth of the ſpectators.

G. Friend.

Ha, ha, ha: it muſt have been a laughable ſight.

Trifle.

That was a trifling mortification compared to the loſs of her. However, I'll try to fiſh her out.—

G. Friend. jun.

And let me know.

Trifle.

You are not to be truſted—oh, damn it, I thought I had ſomething to aſk you; do you ſet your face towards Mrs. Peeviſh's to-morrow night? I am told there is to be a damn'd rout there.—Mrs. Peeviſh is a ſweet woman.

G. Friend. jun.

She is perfection itſelf: I was once half in love with that lady myſelf.

Trifle.

It is ſaid you are ſo yet, George.

G. Friend. jun.

Whiſper not ſuch a word, Trifle. Exeunt.

SCENE.—An apartment in Peeviſh's houſe. Servants running to and fro. Enter Peeviſh. Peeviſh.

A pack of pickpockets I have about me: every one eating the bread of idleneſs. Patrick, you Patrick. (Rings a bell in paſſion.)

Enter Patrick haſtily. Patrick.

Shir.

Peeviſh.

Why did you not come before? one muſt be calling and ringing an hour before you budge.

Patrick.

I came as ſoon as I ſhaw you ring the bell, ſhir.

Peeviſh.

You did not, ſir: you are ſuch a heavy-heeled fellow that you move like an elephant: Did you attend to the horſes laſt night?

Patrick.

Yes, ſhir: I gave them as much oats as they could ate all night;—and Dick looked as if he would burſt this morning he was ſo fat.

Peeviſh.

Oh, you blundering Iriſh fool: you have foundered my horſes. It is provoking to be plagued with ſuch blockheads. I will ſend to England for ſervants that I can depend on: I muſt go and look after my creatures myſelf: it is mortifying that people of fortune and family ſhould be treated in this way. Exit.

Patrick.

(Speaking ironically.) Fortune and family, by my ſhoul, I know his inſhides ſo well, that if he had all the riches in the world, he would be a poor man; and as for family, I heard the paple ſpaking in the kitchen, that he never had a fader, and that his moder was a fiſh woman, and ſold tripes in the market.

Enter Jenny peeping. Jenny.

Is the old fellow gone?

Patrick.

I, and the devil go wid him, I ſhay.

Jenny.

You'll get uſed to him:— don't be diſheartened. How do you like this country, Patrick?

Patrick.

Why, I like it ſo well, that if I was once in dare Ireland again, the devil burn me if I would be here.

Jenny.

That's certain—if you was there you would not be here:—you mean, if you was once in your own country, you would not return to this country.

Patrick.

Yes, honey:—that is what I thought I ſhaid.

Jenny.

I ſuppoſe you have got a ſweet-heart there.

Patrick.

Upon my ſhalvation I have not.

Jenny.

Was you ever in love, Patrick?

Patrick.

Upon my word I am not quite ſhartin,—but I think I have ſome ſuch diſorder about me now.

Jenny.

Do you think ſo?

Patrick.

In faith I do.

Jenny.

(Eagerly) With whom?—I hope it is with me. (Aſide.)

Patrick.

Why faith, to tell you the honeſt trute, it is with your dear ſhelf.

Jenny.

With me, Patrick? You ſurprize me. —I am pleaſed with the declaration: it is a handſome good lump of an Iriſhman. (Aſide.)

Patrick.

You may belave me, when I tell you I love you above all fleſh; whene'er I come nare you, I have odd thoughts and ſtrange failings.

Jenny.

How do you feel, Patrick?

Patrick.

I will tell you, my jewel, and will call all the world to witneſs the ſhincerity of my heart: when I come cloſe to you, I fail a trembling all over, and my ſhoul jumps about ſo in my body, I am afraid it will tumble out of my mout.

Jenny.

Strong ſymptoms of love; (Aſide.) Suppoſe, Patrick, I was to liſten to your paſſion, and conſent to be married to you, what would you do for me?

Patrick.

In troth, I would uſe all my powers by day and night to ſharve you.

Jenny.

Ah, but we American girls run a great riſk in marrying foreigners; perhaps in a year or two, there would be an Iriſh wife coming to take you from me.

Patrick.

I would not lave you for all the wives in the world.

Jenny.

(Haſtily.) Then you are married!

Patrick.

The devil burn me if I ever was, and 〈◊〉 am willing to take my oat of it before all the ••• iſts and juſtices in the whole world.

Jenny.

What, made you ſay you would not ave me for all the wives in the world?

Patrick.

Oh hone, my ſwate, how you take •• e alarms for nothing at all at all: what I did mane was, if I was married to all the women in the world, I would never lave you.

Jenny.

Here is our miſtreſs coming.

Patrick.

Pray, Jenny dare, let me be uppermoſt in your mind.

Jenny.

Ah, ah, if you behave yourſelf perhaps you may. Exeunt ſeverally.

Scene changes to another apartment. Enter Mrs. Peeviſh.—Rings a bell. Enter Jenny. Mrs. Peeviſh.

Jenny, did you call on mr. Laſt for my ſhoes?

Jenny.

Yes ma'm: I have brought them, and he deſired me to tell as how he begged you a thouſand pardons for not making them ſooner.

Mrs. Peevish.

It was of no great conſequence I ſuppoſe he has been hurried. Exit.

Jenny.

(Solus) Conſiderate ſoul! moſt excellent woman! ſhe is worth her weight in gold— the kindeſt, the beſt miſtreſs that ever drew the breath of life. Exit.

Re-enter Mrs. Peeviſh.—Sets down to her harpſichord. Mrs. Peeviſh.

Melancholy I will force thee from me. (Plays and ſings.)

Enter Rachel Friendly. R. Friend.

Neighbour Peeviſh, I am come according to promiſe—don't let me interrupt thee—thou knoweſt how delighted I am with muſic—I could hear thee the live long day.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

(Riſes to meet Rachel Friendly.) —Welcome my dear Miſs Friendly, I was waiting with impatience for your agreeable company—ſit down my dear.

R. Friendly.

I thank thee for thy friendſhip: and be aſſured, I find as much pleaſure in thy ſociety, as thou can poſſibly have for mine. I ſhould have been here ſooner, but for that plaguy creature, Manly.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Ah, ah, ah! The poor major has loſt his heart; and don't diguiſe it from the world, that you have got it.

R. Friendly.

Who! me got his heart? How ſtrange thou doſt talk, Betſey Peeviſh.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Come, come, Miſs; you muſt not ſuppoſe the world does not know you hold the major in chains: treat your captive at leaſt with humanity.

R. Friendly.

Why, to be frank with thee my dear, I confeſs that he is far from being diſagreeable to me; but prudence tells me, I muſt ſtifle a paſſion, that if ſuffered to grow, will be a ſource of unhappineſs to me.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Why ſo, Miſs Friendly? are not Mr. Manly's connections reſpectable: he is in eaſy circumſtances; and as for character, there are few men who ſtand higher in the opinion of the world.

R. Friendly.

One would ſuppoſe he had employed thee as a counſel, to plead his cauſe.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

No: upon my word, I am quite diſintereſted: what I ſay upon the occaſion, is entirely upon the ſcore of friendſhip.

R. Friendly.

I am confident thou art actuated by no other motive. I am ſenſible of Manly's worth; and was I at liberty to act for myſelf he would be my choice: but my parents are to be ſatisfied upon that point; and ſuch are the inflexible attachments my father has to the rules of our perſuaſion, that he will not give his conſent to my being married in any other way.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

That is a bar, I never thought of.

R. Friendly.

It is a bar I have not the courage to jump over; tho' it would be into the arms of the man I love.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Jenny; inform Mr. Peeviſh, we expect the pleaſure of his company to tea.

Jenny.

Yes, Ma'm.

Enter Mr. Peeviſh. Mr. Peeviſh.

Your ſervant, Miſs Friendly; I do not believe there ever was a man in the world ſo ill uſed as I am.

Mrs. Peevish.

Poh, poh, my dear; don't let ſuch trifles ruffle your temper.

Peevish.

Trifles do you call them? having my horſes ruined; my fine greys, that coſt me three hundred dollars, by that Iriſh, buffle-headed blockhead, who told me he underſtood how to take care of horſes.

Mrs. Peevish.

Perhaps they are not ſo injured as you apprehend: Patrick will take more care in future: he is a good natured obliging creature, as ever we had about the houſe.

Peevish.

Ay, ay—you women always ſpoil ſervants.

Mrs. Peevish.

Come, my dear—let us have your judgment upon this freſh tea.

Peevish.

(Taſtes it.) It is horrid ſtuff; where did you buy it?—what did you give for it?— what ſcoundrel impoſed upon you.

Mrs. Peevish.

I bought it from an honeſt Quaker lady.

Peevish.

She is no lady—ſhe is a great cheat: it is bad tea.

Mrs. Peevish.

You muſt not be judge and jury both; and condemn the poor tea, unheard and untried: Now—I think Miſs Rachel and myſelf are the moſt proper perſons, to try, and paſs judgment upon the merits or demerits of the ſaid tea. What do you think of it, Miſs Friendly?

R. Friendly.

(Taſtes it) Why, I think, neighbour Peeviſh, it is delicious.

Mrs. Peevish.

(Taſtes it.) And I, alſo:—It has a moſt charming flavour.

R. Friendly.

There—thou ſeeſt thou haſt two to one againſt thee, friend Peeviſh.

Peevish.

And I think when a man has got the tongues of two women to contend with, it is time for him to decamp:—So, ladies, I leave you to ſip your hot water, and talk ſcandal as long as you pleaſe. Exit.

R. Friendly.

I did not think thy huſband had ſuch an unhappy temper: I thought thou was very happily married.

Mrs. Peevish.

Ah! the world is ſometimes deceived by appearances.

Enter Trifle. Trifle.

Juſt in the nick of time, ladies:—I have been ſhooling this hour for a diſh of tea.

Mrs. Peevish.

Take a ſeat, Mr. Trifle: You ſhall be accommodated. (Pours out a dish of tea.)

Trifle.

(ſips.) Dev'liſh good faith: a piece of that dried beef, ma'm—you ſee I make free, Mrs. Peeviſh: Freedom is the life and ſoul of friendſhip; ha! ha! ha!—I'd thank you for another diſh, ma'm; (drinks eagerly) another, madam; (drinks it off,) that was damn'd hot:— Enough, ma'm. Now, ladies, I muſt feaſt my eyes. Mrs. Peeviſh, you look majeſtic. Miſs Friendly, there is an elegant neatneſs in your dreſs, that I extremely admire—and, as you are not forbidden fruit, I have a ſtrong inclination to taſte you. (Goes to ſalute her.)

R. Friendly.

I proteſt thou ſhall not. (Runs from him.)

Trifle.

I proteſt and ſwear I will. (Runs after her.)

Enter Major Manly. Manly.

A truce—a truce, Trifle.

Trifle.

A truce in the moment of victory!— You would make a bad commander in chief, Major. (Kiſſes her.)

R. Friendly.

I believe, Trifle, thou haſt more aſſurance than all the men in the world put together.

Trifle.

You miſtake, my dear girl, 'tis confidence—and I find it of infinite uſe to me: there is no cutting any figure without it: it is that which gives a man a certain conſequence in himſelf. (ſtruts about.) What ſay you, Major?

Manly.

Inſignificant puppy. (aſide.) As you aſk my opinion—I think I had rather be more remarkable for my diffidence, than for my impudence.

Trifle.

I hope you do not mean to apply that to me, Major?

Manly.

Why—will you put the cap on, Trifle?—Mrs. Peeviſh, I believe I have been ſo rude as not to enquire after your health: I hope I have the pleaſure of ſeeing you well, madam.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

You are very excuſable, Major: (looking at him ſignificantly.) I am well, I thank you, Sir.

Trifle.

(Rachel Friendly going) —Are you going, Miſs Friendly: Shall I have the pleaſure of ſeeing you home?

R. Friendly.

What a tormentor he is. (Aſide.)

Manly.

Officious coxcomb: (aſide) Trifle, you will be ſo good as to let me have that honor.

Trifle.

Ecod, now I think on it; (pulling out his watch) I am, at this very hour, engaged upon buſineſs of the utmoſt importance:—the Major, Miſs, will afford himſelf the ſupreme felicity of waiting upon you, with all the honours of war. Pardon me—ladies, I am your ſlave: Harry, I am your's from the higheſt to the loweſt order of men and things. Exit.

R. Friendly.

I am glad he is gone. (Aſide) Betſey Peeviſh, I expect thee will ſoon return this viſit.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

I will—'ere long. But why is this viſit ſo ſhort?

R. Friendly.

I will give the reaſons for it, when I ſee thee again. Farewell, Betſey.

Manly.

Madam, your humble ſervant. Exeunt.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Adieu—amiable pair:—may heaven ſmile upon your virtuous loves.

Enter Peeviſh. Peeviſh.

Madam, I think you are very deficient in point of reſpect to me.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

In what inſtance, my dear?

Peeviſh.

In what inſtance?—Why, this evening at tea you made me appear very contemptible:—If you had any ſenſe of gratitude, Madam, you would behave with more propriety to the man whom you owe all your conſequence to.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Such language, Mr. Peeviſh, is as cruel as it is unjuſt:—I have always exerted myſelf in doing honour to the affairs of your houſe; and in no way have I been wanting in affection and reſpect to you.

Peeviſh.

I tell you, Madam, you have forgot yourſelf. (Exit in a paſſion.)

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Barbarous man:—Ah! why did I ſacrifice myſelf? (Weeps.)

Enter Jenny. Jenny.

Don't cry, my dear miſtreſs—don't cry: I heard every word he ſaid to you—and, indeed, Madam, I wonder you don't take up the cudgel; and not ſuffer him to lord it over you ſo:—If it was me—

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Hold, Jenny: Don't you preſume to reflect upon your maſter.

Jenny.

I won't, Madam, if it is not agreeable to you. O lard—ſhe is the moſt extraordinary wife I ever heard of: won't abuſe her huſband her ••• f nor ſuffer any one elſe to do it:—If Patrick uſes me ſo, when we are married, if I don't comb his head with a three-legged ſtool, there is no ſnakes in Ireland. (Aſide.) Exit.

Mrs. Peeviſh,

ſolus. Hard—hard is the lot of helpleſs women. When young—expoſed to the ſubtile arts of man—who have a thouſand ways to deceive our unwary ſex; inſtead of being our protectors, too, too often become our baſe deſtroyers: and when once the marriage knot is ty'd, we become ſubject to their arbitrary and capricious humours. Thus it is with me: allured by the wealth of Mr. Peeviſh, and prompted by that vanity too common to our ſex, of living in all the faſhionable parade of life, I gave my hand to the man, that I cannot ſay I ſincerely loved, but yet eſteemed; and was in hopes that eſteem would have ripened into love:—Alas! I fear it will never take place.

Exit.
End of the Firſt Act.
ACT II.
SCENE.—A room in Jacob Friendly ſen's Houſe. Enter George Friendly, ſen. and Jacob Friendly, ſen. G. Friendly, ſen.

I inſiſt upon it, brother, that parents have not a poſitive right, in every inſtance, to croſs their children in marriage matters:—Here are two young people whoſe affections are mutual; and who are ready and willing to pull off their ſhoes and ſtockings together, and you won't let them.

J. Friendly, ſen.

Thou ſpeakeſt ſtrangely, brother:—If thou waſt a parent, thou wouldſt not ſupport ſuch ſentiments.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Yes I would: zounds, what objection can you have? Is not the man every way upon a footing with your daughter? Is it becauſe he is not one of us. (ironically) I'll maintain it Jacob; and was going to ſay, it is a dev'liſh arbitrary law of your ſociety, that you won't permit a connection with other ſects of chriſtians.

J. Friendly, ſen.

It is in vain to reaſon with thee, brother—thou art ſo violent in what thou doſt undertake: our ſociety has had its rules of long ſtanding; which have kept the church together, from generation to generation.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Pſha, pſha—don't tell me about your generations and generations: you are a virtuous, valuable people; but you ſhould not ſet yourſelves up, in oppoſition to other people, ſo much.

Enter Hannah Friendly. H. Friendly.

What aileth thee brother George? —thou looketh as if ſomething troubled thee.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Ah, ah, ah; yes, ſiſter, I am very much troubled: it vexes me to the heart, to find ſo much perverſeneſs in your huſband: I am ſure, if it depended upon you, it would ſoon be ſettled—you are a woman of liberality.

H. Friendly.

What is the buſineſs?

G. Friendly, ſen.

Why, to have your daughter and the major married, and Jacob won't conſent:—Mind; I do not adviſe them to make a run-away match: but if they do—they will find an aſylum at my country ſeat. Exit.

H. Friendly.

I wiſh, Jacob, thou wouldſt be more accommodating to thy brother—thou knoweſt he is ſomewhat haſty, yet has got an excellent heart:—Conſider how much he is the friend of our family.

J. Friendly, ſen.

I know it, Hannah—but I cannot be ſo accommodating as to give up the prerogative of a parent.

H. Friendly.

Indeed, huſband, I think thou doth ſometimes carry thy prerogative too far: for inſtance—the other night thou didſt forbid George from coming to our houſe.

J. Friendly, ſen.

My houſe ſhall never be for the reception of profligates.

H. Friendly.

I do not view him as ſuch: but even if he was—remember he is our child.

(Exit crying.) J. Friendly, ſen.

ſolus. Fooliſh, and too indulgent mothers! it is owing to ye, that children too often take to improper ways:—It is in vain for fathers to precept, while mothers, by their too great indulgencies, counteract all they do.

Enter Rachel Friendly.

Rachel, come hither. Have I not always been a kind father to thee?

R. Friendly.

Thou haſt been one of the beſt of parents.

J. Friendly, ſen.

Then, why art thou ungrateful?—Why wilt thou wring my old heart?— Why haſt thou ſuffered thy affections to be engaged to a man, ſo every way a contraſt to thyſelf?

R. Friendly.

Ah, me!—What reply ſhall I make? (Aſide.)

Enter Jacob Friendly, jun. J. Friendly, jun.

Father, there is a Friend wants to ſee thee, upon ſome buſineſs of a very urgent nature. Exeunt.

R. Friendly,

ſolus. O love!—O tyrant love! —Thou deſtroyer of my peace of mind by day, and repoſe by night: but a little agone, my heart was as free as air—all men were alike to me: now, one object engroſſes all my thoughts. In vain I ſtrive to baniſh him from my affections, and confine myſelf to the guidance of my father—whenever I ſee him, my reſolution vaniſhes. Exit.

SCENE.—An apartment in Peeviſh's Houſe. Enter Peeviſh and Patrick. Peeviſh.

Patrick, my worthy fellow, you ſeem to be much improved:—Do you think you can keep a ſecret?

Patrick.

By my ſhoul, I believe he is taking lave of his raſon, be ſpakes ſo ſhenſible and ſhivil. (Aſide) Upon my word I can Shir: I will only tell it to Michael O'Gra, my comrade; he and I travelled over ſa, in the ſame ſhip together; he tells me all his ſacrets, and I tell him all mine—he is all one as myſhelf.

Peeviſh.

But you muſt not tell anyone.

Patrick.

Very well, Shir.

Peeviſh.

I am going out of town. What I want you to do, is—to take notice what gentlemen come here while I am gone—and who comes moſt frequently: in particular, take notice if young George Friendly comes often.

Patrick.

Very well, Shir.

Peeviſh.

Here, Patrick—be attentive. (Gives him money.) Exit.

Patrick.

Now, the devil take me; if I will either kape your money or your ſacrets: the money I will give to the firſt poor crater I meet, and the ſacret I will give my miſtreſs: I will tell her all, and more too:—The old ſhinner is jealous; I don't much wonder at it—he muſt know in his own conſhence, he is not ſhutable for her: O, ſhe is the ſwateſt woman that ever was made—ſhe is ſho good and ſho kind;— whenever ſhe wants any thing, ſhe will ſhay— Patrick, I will thank you to do this, or I would be oblaged to you to do that; that makes one do things pleaſantly; in fath, I would get up in my ſlape, any hour in the night, to do her a good turn:—As for him, I have not the laſte liking for him; he goes ſnarling about the houſe, like an old maſtiff; and ſeems never better plaſed than when he is in a paſſion, ſcoulding us poor ſharvants. Upon my conſhence, he made me ſho angry the other day, that if I had not been very much afrade I would have kicked him behind, before his face.—Oh, here is the ſwate crater. Exit.

Enter Jenny, with a ſweeping bruſh. Jenny.

Heigho! This love has turned me topſy-turvy; I hardly know what I am about; Patrick is always in my thoughts. In putting water into the kettle, for tea—inſtead of pump, I put it full of rain water: and this morning, I put on my ſtockings wrong ſide out.

Re-enter Patrick. Patrick.

Jenny, dare, have you ſhettled the matter wid yourſhelf. Will you have me or not?

Jenny.

I am afraid to truſt you, Patrick. (I'll teaze him— aſide.)

Patrick.

Then, as I can't live without you— I'll cut my own troat to ſhave my wretched life.

Jenny.

O lard, may be he will—then I ſhall be made miſerable.

Sings. O Patrick if I thought you would but be true, There is no man in this world I'd prefer before you: But there is a danger in truſting you Iriſh brogues, You often turn out to be very great rogues.
Patrick. Sings. Try me, pray Jenny; try me my ſwate one do; Though all may be falſe, yet Pat will prove true. I am afraid even when I go to ſlape on my bed, When I wake in the morning, I ſhall find myſhelf dead. So much do I grave after you, thou dare ſwate American girl; O try me, pray Jenny, try me—make me but your man: What more can I do, than do all I can To plaſe you, to plaſe you—thou dare ſwate American girl. Jenny.

Then, Pat, I'll be thine to-morrow-come-two-weeks.

Patrick.

I'm ſtruck dumb: I can't ſpake for joy.

Sings. Let us ſale with a kiſs, (kiſſes her.) 'Tis unſpakable bliſs.

Now America is the beſt country in the world; and I'll fight for it, while I have an inch of fleſh. (Takes her in his arms and runs off.)

Scene changes to George Friendly jun's Lodgings. George Friendly with a letter in his hand— opens and reads.

"Sir—If you value my happineſs and peace of mind, you will no longer viſit our houſe.

"E. PEEVISH."

This is myſterious:—Peeviſh is gone a journey.— (pauſes.) I have it: by all my pleaſures paſt, and joys to come, 'tis a gantlet for an aſſignation; now for the plan of operation: we ſoldiers of Venus have a right to aſſume any ſhape—Peeviſh is out of town—ſhe don't want me to appear in the houſe as young George Friendly. (pauſes) I have hit upon the mode—

Enter Beauchamp. Beauchamp.

I come, my friend, to bid you farewell; I received ſome bad news from my iſland; I am very ſorry cruel neceſſity compel me to leave this country—that it alſo oblige me leave you, my very dear friend, to whoſe politeneſs I am ſo much in debt.

G. Friendly, jun.

My worthy friend, I am diſtreſſed at the occaſion that obliges you to leave our country; and lament, that I am to be deprived of your ſociety: I hope the accounts you have received, have been exaggerated.

Beauchamp.

God know: I hope ſo. I requeſt one thing of you, my dear friend. I left behind one belov'd ſiſter; perhaps ſhe is now on her way to this country: ſhould ſhe arrive in my abſence, I beg you will give her your protection. Here is one letter for her, and there is her likeneſs.

G. Friendly, jun.

Reſt aſſured, ſhould ſhe come here, I will render her all the ſervices in my power.

Beauchamp.

I go content: to-morrow I take ſtage for New-York; there is one ſhip there which ſail direct for the Cape. God bleſs you, friend.

G. Friendly, jun.

May heaven protect you; I hope you will find matters better than you expect. Are you in want of caſh? pray be frank with me; my purſe is entirely at your ſervice.

Beauchamp.

You diſcover your goodneſs. I have no need, though the obligation is equally impreſſed: once more, farewell. (Shake hands.) Exit Beauchamp.

G. Friendly, jun.

Of all the young foreigners I am acquainted with, that youth I moſt eſteem. There is a certain ſomething in the phyſiognomy and addreſs of ſome men, that ſtrike at firſt ſight: I had not been an hour in young Beauchamp's company before I became intereſted in him; and now feel as perfect a friendſhip for him, as if I had been acquainted with him for many years.—Now for the likeneſs of his ſiſter: ha! the moſt lovely face I ever ſaw what regular features. (Walks to end fro viewing the likeneſs).

Enter Major Manly (unperceived by G. Friendly.) G. Friendly, jun.

What expreſſion! (Still looking at the picture.)

Manly.

George, I have been weighing the matter well. (Walks in great agitation.)

G. Friendly, jun.

'Tis a moſt charming face.

Manly.

I have reflected upon the conſequences, and am come to a determination to take your advice.

G. Friendly, jun.

What elegant flowing hair.

Manly.

What a conteſt I have had between love and honour, but love has triumphed;— (Still walking agitated) I have reſolved, Friendly, to put the queſtion to your ſiſter for an elopement. Why George, don't you hear me ſpeak?

G. Friendly, jun.

(looking round) Oh, Harry, are you there? When did you come in?

Manly.

Did you not ſee me come in?

G. Friendly, jun.

Not I, upon my word. Manly, do you know that I am moſt confoundedly in love?—Young Beauchamp has taken his departure for Cape-Francois, and left in charge with me, his beautiful ſiſter: there is her likeneſs—did you ever ſee ſo beautiful a creature?

Manly.

(viewing the likeneſs) It is a handſome face, but I am acquainted with one much more ſo—I never heard he had a ſiſter here: where does ſhe lodge?

G. Friendly, jun.

Lord, lord, where has my imagination carried me? I am miſtaken: ſhe is on her way to this place; but, faith, I am out of my ſenſes: Harry, you have the advantage of me: you are in love with a ſubſtance—I only with a ſhadow. Beauchamp having received unpleaſant news from the Cape, ſet off immediately for New-York, to take ſhipping for that place: on his departure, he gave me this likeneſs of his ſiſter, with a letter, requeſting, at the ſame time, if in his abſence ſhe ſhould arrive here, I would take her under my protection. Rouze, Manly! damn it, what makes you look ſo grave? you have loſt all your vivacity.

Manly.

Ah, George, you are a happy fellow.

G. Friendly, jun.

Happineſs was made for man, but he is eternally breaking his limbs over other people's faults, or planting thorns in his own road: well, how do you come on, Hal? Have you made the propoſition? try her; I'll engage ſhe will leave father and mother, and cleave unto you. You, that have aſſiſted in laying the foundation of a great and mighty empire, afraid of a woman! ha, ha, ha.

Manly.

It was the very buſineſs I came upon: I have now come to a ſerious determination of appealing to your ſiſter's affections for a private union.

G. Friendly, jun.

Bravo, bravo! that will be acting like a ſoldier. Your hand, Manly: by heaven it joys my heart, that I am to ſalute you by the name of brother, and that my ſiſter is to be ſo fortunate, as to fall in with a man of your worth.

Manly.

I thank you, my friend: if I ſhould be ſo fortunate as to gain your ſiſter, I hope I ſhall prove myſelf deſerving of ſo valuable an acquiſition. I am impatient to be gone, farewell. Exit Manly.

G. Friendly, jun.

Farewell.

G. Friendly, jun.

ſolus. Ha, ha, ha! what fools do theſe females make of us lord-like creatures men! the brave, the gallant Manly, who has undergone all the fatigues and hardſhips of war —braved death at the very cannon's mouth— might now be knocked down with a ſtraw; a very ſlave, a ſupplicating love-ſick man; for my part, I am determined to be free. Now for Mrs. P. The dreſs will anſwer very well which I had on in my other night's excurſion.

(Goes to a cloſet, takes out a dreſs, and puts it on.) Sings. And a begging I will go, will go, will go, And a begging I will go.

In this garb I will find my way into Mrs. Peeviſh's houſe.

Enter Sambo. Sambo.

How you cum here? Why you no tump at de door? Dat away you beggar peeple teel in a houſe when you ſee nobody, den you tief.

G. Friendly, jun.

O, Mr. black man, do not be ſo hard on a poor unfortunate white man: I have a wife lying at death's door, and three ſmall children down with the ſmall-pox.

Sambo.

You tell true?

G. Friendly, jun.

O, O yes.

Sambo.

Where you lib?

G. Friendly, jun.

I live a great diſtance from here.

Sambo.

Cum here to-morrow: my maſſa's heart big for poor foke; he gib you ſometing for you poor wife, and you poor leetel tings.

G. Friendly. jun.

I will come to-morrow. (going.)

Sambo.

Tay— (wipes his eyes) poor ſouls— (takes money out of his pocket) here— (puts it into G. Friendly, jun's hands) here, take dis: go home quick to you wife and childre, fo fere dey tarve or die fo you get dare.

G. Friendly, jun.

I can hardly refrain from embracing him. (Aſide.) You are a good black.

Sambo.

I ſee you ſafe out of eh door. Exeunt.

SCENE—A room in Peeviſh's Houſe. Enter Peeviſh. Peeviſh,

ſolus. I have changed my plan: I was afraid to truſt that blundering Iriſhman, and thought it moſt adviſable to aſſume this beggar's dreſs: I have hung about my houſe in order to diſcover my wife's viſitors, and am pretty well convinced of the purity of her conduct, and the goodneſs of her heart: none viſited here but the wretched, and they left the houſe with tears of joy.

Enter George Friendly, jun. G. Friendly, jun.

Thus far on my important miſſion.

Peeviſh.

Ha! there is ſomething here: I will ſlip into this cloſet, where I can ſee and hear all that is going forward. (goes into the cloſet.)

Enter Mrs. Peeviſh. Mrs. Peeviſh.

What are your wants, my friend?

G. Friendly, jun.

Now for the wheedling tongue of a Richard, and the impudence of a Sir Harry Wildair. (aſide; throws off his dreſs.) Madam, behold your devoted ſlave.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

(ſhrieks) Protect me heaven! where am I?

G. Friendly, jun.

(Takes her in his arms) In the arms of the man who loves you to diſtraction.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

(Recovers and diſengages herſelf.) Audacious man, ſtand off.

G. Friendly, jun.

Come, come, madam; this is carrying the joke too far the note, Mrs. Peeviſh, you ſent me.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Preſumptuous coxcomb; to hold you in converſation would be an outrage upon chaſtity. Begone, ruffian; and in future learn to pay due reſpect to virtue. (Looking at him with indignation, as ſhe goes off.) Exit.

G. Friendly, jun.

So, ſo, ſo, ſo; I have made a pretty hand of it; there is ſome curſed miſtake in this buſineſs: well, fortune—legar, I muſt ſhew my generalſhip by making a good retreat. (puts on his dreſs. As he is going off, Peeviſh comes out of the cloſet and pulls off his hat, he in turn, pulls off Peeviſh's bonnet.)

Peeviſh.

Young rake-hell, have I caught you with intentions to diſhonour me?

G. Friendly, jun.

Ha! who the devil are you?

Peeviſh.

I'll let you know, ſcoundrel. (Rings the bell.)

G. Friendly, jun.

'Sdeath, 'tis Peeviſh; it is all legerdemain and inchantment. (Aſide.)

Enter Jenny haſtily. Jenny.

Madam: Eh, eh, eh, mercy on me, two witches. (Runs out.)

Enter Patrick. Patrick.

Madam.

G. Friendly, jun.

'Tis time for me to make my eſcape. (Exit haſtily.)

Patrick.

In the name of ſhaint Patrick, what are you?

Peeviſh.

Never mind now; run, and ſeize that perſon who juſt now went out.

Patrick.

On my life I will not; one bird in the buſh is better than two out of the hand. (As I have a ſhoul to be ſhaved, it is my old ſcoundrel of a maſter; the devil roaſt me if I will know him, aſide.) Beſides, it would be unmannerly to lave you with nobody but yourſhelf; and as you are a ſtranger, I ſale a kind of duty to provide lodgings for you for fare you might run-away from yourſhelf, and get loſt in this great ſhity. (takes hold of him.)

Peeviſh.

Why Patrick, don't you know your maſter?

Patrick.

You auld Beelzebub, my maſter is at laſte a thouſand miles from here.

Peeviſh.

I tell you, I am your maſter; I have changed my mind; I did not go out of town.

Patrick.

Arrah, don't be prating to me you ould crater. Enter Conſtable. Here conſtable, take this ould woman to the work-houſe.

Peeviſh.

O lord, O lord, how have I taken myſelf in. (aſide) Conſtable, I am Mr. Peeviſh, I am the maſter of this houſe. Patrick don't you know my legs. (ſhews them.) Hell and furies, what a ſituation have I reduced myſelf to?

Conſtable.

O, 'tis a poor crazy woman, run-away from the hoſpital: ſee, her head has been ſhaved; I will take her back, poor creature.

Peeviſh.

O you devils, you are all combined againſt me. (Conſtable takes hold of him.)

Peeviſh.

Oh! oh! oh! Murder! murder! Fire! fire! fire! murder! fire! murder! murder! (As they are carrying him off, Patrick laughs and ſpeaks.) Ha, ha, ha, this is what may be called ſhatisfaction. Exeunt.

Scene changes to G. Friendly, jun's Lodgings. Enter George Friendly, jun. G. Friendly, jun.

The indignant flaſh from her eye, ſhot preſumption dead. I have got myſelf into a pretty ſcrape: to what lengths has my vanity carried me! by heaven it was ill done; a lady, who is a pattern of virtue; one who always treated me with the utmoſt hoſpitality: what the devil could poſſeſs me to put ſuch a vicious conſtruction upon her prudent injunction. (Walks in agitation) I ſee now the whole affair. Peeviſh has become jealous of his wife, without juſt cauſe, I am ſure. He, in order to come at her ſuppoſed inconſtancy, has affected to proſecute a journey, but in fact has remained in town, and aſſumed the dreſs of a woman, lurked about the houſe, to be a ready ſpy upon the actions of his lady. (pauſes) How am I to act in this affair? I muſt write a penitent letter to Mrs. Peeviſh; but what the devil ſhall I ſay to Peeviſh? I will go and beg his pardon for the diſhonor intended him. If he ſhould require other ſatisfaction, I ſhall be rendered extremely unhappy, though not afraid to meet him; yet as I have been the aggreſſor, it would be adding injury to inſult. Peeviſh is a man of underſtanding, though of a fretful temper. I hope he will be ſatisfied with due conceſſions, and the matter be huſhed: thus I go on ſinning and repenting, repenting and ſinning. Exit.

SCENE A Garden. Enter Major Manly, and Rachel Friendly. R. Friendly.

Henry, thou art fully acquainted with my ſentiments reſpecting thee; the only obſtacle to our union, is the want of my father's approbation, and I cannot marry without it.

Manly.

But why, my love? (takes her by the hand) be not offended at my calling you by that endearing name: why ſhould there be ſo blind a ſubmiſſion to the arbitrary mandates of an unreaſonable parent? Has there not been a due reſpect paid to him?

R. Friendly.

Wouldſt thou perſuade me from my duty? that daughter, who would be wanting in gratitude and obedience to her parents, will never make a good wife.

Manly.

I'll run the riſk; ſay that you will be mine. (Kiſſes her hand.)

R. Friendly.

Ah! Whither wouldſt thou lead me?

Manly.

To the altar of Hymen, my charmer, where we may be made the happieſt pair in the United States.

R. Friendly.

Stay thee Henry—that would be a ſtep that might involve in it very ſerious conſequences to me. If thou ſhould prove unkind, where ſhould I find a friend?

Manly.

And can you, my adorable girl, have a doubt of the laſting ſincerity of my love, if the oath or the affirmation of a man of honor will convince you; I declare, in the preſence of that being, who knoweth the inmoſt receſſes of all hearts, that neither time nor circumſtances ſhall abate my affection; and I truſt, my dear girl, you will never have cauſe to repent your partiality for me.

R. Friendly.

Then, to thy honour I reſign myſelf; and hope a little time will reconcile us to my father.

Manly.

(Salutes her.) I am now the happieſt man on earth.

R. Friendly.

I ſee my father coming this way—we muſt not be ſeen together. Farewell.

Exeunt.
Scene changes to Peeviſh's Houſe. Enter Peeviſh. Peeviſh.

Here am I, once more in my own houſe, after purſuing a phantom created by infernal curſed jealouſy; I am thoroughly aſhamed of my behaviour: ſelf conviction, thou reformer of the human mind; thou glaſs, in which we ſee the vileneſs of our actions, and the impropriety of our conduct: that I have groſsly wounded the feelings of an amiable woman, is to me, a matter of keen remorſe. Here ſhe comes: I muſt take every opportunity of convincing her of my penitence.

Enter Mrs. Peeviſh. Peeviſh.

(Salutes her.) I hope, my dear, you have enjoyed a good ſtate of health ſince I left town?

Mrs. Peeviſh.

This is ſtrange double-dealing. (Burſts into tears.) Mr. Peeviſh, Mr. Peeviſh, have I deſerved ſuch treatment?

Peeviſh.

My dear love and wife, I am as convinced of your innocence, as I am of my own guilt; and I humbly ſolicit your pardon.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Where there is repentance, there ſhould be forgiveneſs.

Peeviſh.

Do you really forgive me?

Mrs. Peeviſh.

I do, I do: Oh! this is unexpected. To be re-inſtated in your affections, is a piece of good fortune, I did not expect.

Peeviſh.

Moſt deſerving woman, henceforward we will live in the habits of love and friendſhip, and all my future life ſhall atone for the paſt. Exeunt.

End of the Second Act.
ACT III.
SCENE.—The Street. Trifle running; G. Friendly, jun. with maſk on, purſuing him. G. Friendly, jun.

Retournez vous en lache Americain, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, (takes off his maſk.) I have had a diverting ſcene of it. As I was ſtrolling along, I diſcovered Trifle ſneaking about a door; I put this maſk on which I ſometimes carry about me for my diverſion; pointed my cane at him; ſpoke loud French, and the fellow took to his heels and run as tho' he had a thouſand Indians yelling after him. I'll off to his lodgings, before he get there, in order to have a full laugh at him.

Exit.
Scene changes to Trifle's Lodgings. Enter George Friendly, jun. running. G. Friendly, jun.

Ha! I have got here before him.

Enter Trifle, running, with a Sailor's jacket and cap on. Trifle.

A curſe on all intriguing, I ſay—O lard, I can ſcarce breathe—eh, eh, eh.

G. Friendly, jun.

Ha, ha, ha—ha, ha, ha—ha, ha, ha—what a metamorphoſis. In the name of every thing that is extraordinary, how came you in that dreſs, Trifle?

Trifle.

In this dreſs?—Why, this dreſs, George, has been the means of preſerving my life. You know, I told you, I would find out the beautiful muſt e—I did; but had not been there long, before a damn'd great Frenchman, with a noſe as big as the man of Straſburgh, made at me, with a ſword, as long as himſelf. I parried him with a ſmall cane-ſword I had, till it broke into twenty pieces—then I was obliged to retreat; and if I had not been as nimble as a monkey, he would have pinked me. I ran— he purſued; I ſlipped into a ſlop-ſhop, threw off my hat and fine coat; put on this ſailor's jacket and cap, and puſhed out of a front-ſtreet door; by that means evaded the bloody rogue.

G. Friendly, jun.

Ha, ha, ha, a narrow eſcape, upon my word. However, you had this conſolation—you did not diſgrace the name of an American. You ſay, you fought with great bravery?

Trifle.

Fought! I had no idea I could handle the ſword ſo well; but a man don't know what he can do, until he is put to the puſh. If that Frenchman was here, and had any candor, he would acknowledge I behaved like a valiant man.

G. Friendly, jun.

(puts on his maſk.) Savez vous le nez. (takes it off.) O Jack! Jack! what a failing thou haſt, in deviating ſo often from the truth.

Trifle.

(In a paſſion.) Sir, Sir, I don't underſtand ſuch treatment. (Walks about in a pet.)

G. Friendly, jun.

Poh—man: don't get into a pet about the matter:—It was quite an accidental affair.

Trifle.

Damn it, here is ſomebody coming. I muſt change my dreſs. (Pulls off his jacket and cap, and ſlips on a ſurtout.)

Enter Careleſs. Careleſs.

Gentlemen, your moſt obedient.

G. Friendly, jun.

Careleſs, your humble—I have not ſeen you this age.

Trifle.

Nor I. (to G. Friendly—0 dem you— aſide.)

Careleſs.

Your movements and mine, gentlemen, are very different. Your time is diſſipated in balls, tea, and card parties, &c. for my part, I am fond of my caſe—and ſtudy it before all the faſhionable follies of life.

G. Friendly, jun.

What materials are you made of, Careleſs. My happineſs conſiſts in balls and routs:—in being in the ſociety of the female world.—What a poor helpleſs animal man would be, if it was not for lovely, charming woman?

Careleſs.

Pſha, pſha, that is all ſtuff. I had as ſoon have a mill-ſtone ty'd about my neck, and thrown into the Delaware, as to be obliged to dance attendance after thoſe ſhe affairs.

Trifle.

We will have him tried by a court-martial of ladies, for ſupporting ſuch ſentiments.

G. Friendly, jun.

And condemned and guillotined in one day.

Careleſs.

Hang me, if I care if it were ſo. I am almoſt tired of this 〈◊〉 world.

G. Friendly jun.

Fye, Careleſs, fye—rouſe and ſhake yourſelf. What ſay you to a ſocial party to-morrow night? I am told Mr. M. has got ſome excellent claret, and ſparkling champaign —there you will have an opportunity of embracing the miſtreſs you love.

Careleſs.

With all my heart. There is ſomething ſubſtantial in that kind of pleaſure.

G. Friendly, jun.

Trifle, you are of the party.

Trifle.

Oui, Meſſieurs. (And I'll try if I can't make you dev'liſh drunk—ſo as to make you commit ſome exceſs, by way of retaliation—dem you—aſide.) I'll be at my poſt.

Careleſs.

And I.

G. Friendly, jun.

And I—where corks will be drawn inſtead of daggers. Exeunt.

Scene changes to G. Friendly, jun's Lodgings. Enter Sambo. Who goes and views himſelf in the glaſs. Enter G. Friendly, jun. (undiſcovered by Sambo.) Sambo.

Sambo, what a gal call a pretty fellow. (Sings and dances—tol lol de rel lol—goes again to the glaſs.) Dis wool of mine will curlee up ſo, can't get him trait—dat all de faſhion among gemmen. Sambo tink himſelf handſome. He berry compliſh'd to; he ſing well; he dance well; he play ſiddle well. Can tink ſo, ſo, pretty well. He tink; he berry often tink why he ſlave to white man? why black foke ſold like cow or horſe. He tink de great ſomebody above, no order tings ſo.—Sometime he tink dis way—he got beſs maſſa in e world. He gib him fine clothes for dreſs—he gib him plenty money for pend; and for a little while, he tink himſelf berry happy. Afterwards he tink anoder way. He poſe maſſa George die; den he ſold to ſome oder maſſa. May be he no uſe him well. When Sambo tink ſo, it moſt broke he heart. Exit.

G. Friendly, jun.

(ſolus) Be ſoftened as thou wilt, ſtill, ſlavery, thy condition is hard. The untutored, pathetic ſoliloquy of that honeſt creature, has more, ſenſibly affected me, than all I have read, or thought, on that barbarous, iniquitous ſlave-trade—and yet how many thouſands of the poorer claſs of whites are there, whoſe actual ſituation are vaſtly inferior to his: he has no anxious cares for to-morrow, no family looking up to him for protection—no duns at his doors. Yet, ſtill, ſtill there is ſomething wanting. It is cruel. It is unjuſt, for one creature to hold another in a ſtate of bondage for life. Sambo, thou ſhalt be free. (Re-enter Sambo.) Sambo, ſuppoſe you had your liberty, how would you conduct yourſelf?

Sambo.

Ah, maſſa George, you no ax Sambo dat for true.

G. Friendly, jun.

Yes, Sambo, I do; and from this moment you are free. You may remain with me upon wages, or go where you may think yourſelf more happy.

Sambo.

(In a reverie—then becomes extremely elated, jumps about; kiſſes the ſkirt of his maſter's coat; —kiſſes his hand.) O maſſa George, I feel how I neber feel before. God breſs you. (Cries.) I muſs go, or my heart burſt. Exit.

G. Friendly, jun.

Tell me, ye ſenſualiſts, what are all your luxuriant gratifications, compared with the exalted mental ſenſations of doing a generous act? Would to heaven, I could as eaſy liberate our fellow-citizens, who are ſlaves in Algiers. Exit.

Re-enter Sambo, (Singing and dancing.) Sambo. Now let Sambo dance and ſing, He more happy dan a king. Now he fly about like bee, He enjoy ſweet liberty.

When maſſa George ax me how I like go free, I tink he joke: but when he tell me ſo for true, it make much water come in my eye for joy. I coud hardly peke a word, and I tink he look like an angel. God breſs him. Sambo hope he no be ſorry for make him he own maſſa. I ſabe all my wages for buy my Sue free, and make her my wife.

(Sings.) Den Sambo dance and ſing. He more happy dan a king.

He no fear he loſe he head. He now citizen Sambo. Exit.

Scene a room in Major Manly's Lodgings.—(Major Manly humming a tune in a ſprightly manner.) Enter G. Friendly, jun. (Singing and dancing.) G. Friendly, jun.

Tol, lol de lol.—Major, I rejoice to ſee you. Harry, my heart is as light as a feather. I have got over that rocky piece of buſineſs. The dear woman has forgiven me, and Peeviſh and I are upon the beſt of terms. As it has happened, good has come out of evil. It was a little unfolding ſcene, wherein Peeviſh diſcovered his wife to be a truly virtuous woman. So, you ſee I have been the means of promoting her domeſtic happineſs.

Manly

I am glad the affair has ended ſo well. I hope you will take care for the future how you treſpaſs upon hallowed ground. (Enter Rachel.) Let me have the pleaſure of introducing Mrs. Manly to you.

G. Friendly, jun.

Tantarara, brave boys.— (Jumps about.) Rach. a bride's kiſs. (Kiſſes her.) The Triumphs of Love, Major—ha, ha, ha—ſoldier, where's your honour? Your hands. (Joins them together.) Long may you live, and be happy!

Manly.

We are ſure of your good wiſhes:— and to complete our happineſs, we want thoſe of your worthy father.

G. Friendly, jun.

Patience, all will come right, by and by. My father no doubt will feaze, and call you naughty names—but you will find powerful friends in my mother, and good uncle.

R. Manly.

I wiſh, George, thou wouldſt go to father's houſe. Thou certainly doſt wrong in ſtaying away.

G. Friendly, jun.

(Ironically.) I can't find freedom in going. Thou knoweſt how peremptorily he bid me be gone from his houſe, becauſe I happened one night to be a little mellow or ſo, romped with you; huſsled Jake; cracked a joke upon my mother; ſaid a ſmart thing or two to him: In conſequence of which, he ordered me to depart his dwelling, and not to return again. When he deſires me to return, I will obey.

R. Manly.

It is the duty of children always to give way to their parents.

Enter Trifle, in haſte. Trifle.

I catched the report flying, and was determined to know the truth of it. It is ſo.— (Runs up to R. Manly.) I always told you, you was a fly rogue. A bride's kiſs. (kiſſes her.) — Major, my gallant fellow, I give you joy. It affords me infinite pleaſure, to find that your victorious arms, has encircled the object of your wiſhes. I hope your union will produce men as brave as the father, and women as beautiful as the mother. Have you heard the news, gentlemen? There is news arrived, that the people to the weſtward, are in arms againſt the laws of government. We are all to turn out: I expect to have the command of a regiment.

G. Friendly, jun.

And fight, till your ſword is broke into twenty pieces: as you did—

Trifle.

Mum—George.

Manly.

Are you really ſerious, Trifle?

Trifle.

Faith, I am. There has been five expreſſes come in within this hour.

G. Friendly, jun.

At the old trade, Trifle—of ſtretching?—

Manly.

What does the report ſay, George? I have had anxious thoughts about thoſe infatuated people.

G. Friendly, jun.

Only that they have been attacking the revenue officers.—Burning and deſtroying private property. That is but a trifle for your liberty boys. (I'll put Harry Hotſpur in a flame—aſide.)

Manly.

(Walks in a paſſion.) Anarchy-boys, rather ſay. The genuine ſons of liberty will never diſgrace themſelves by ſuch a conduct. But will ever be obedient to the laws. (Walking.) A government that is the admiration of the world! That might be the great aſylum of the unfortunate, and perſecuted of all the earth!—The flattering proſpects opening to our view!—To have our national character ſullied by a—

G. Friendly, jun.

Hold.—Theſe people ſay, they are deprived of their rights, by being obliged to pay a tax on whiſkey.

Manly.

Very good, very good. So, they are to enjoy all the benefits of government without contributing a ſingle farthing towards its ſupport! At the very time, too, that its parental arm is extended for their protection. They are ungrateful in the higheſt degree.

G. Friendly, jun.

There are ſome worthy men in that country.

Manly.

I know there are. Men, for whom I have the higheſt eſteem. There are others, again, who take the baſeſt means of acquiring popularity.—Oh! had I but power to laſh ſuch ſcoundrels out of our country!

R. Manly.

My dear Henry, thou doſt ſeem to be in much anger. I hope thou wilt not go to fight theſe wicked people.

Manly.

If there is occaſion, my love, I will; and ſhould think myſelf unworthy of being your huſband, and being called an American citizen, if I did not.

G. Friendly, jun.

It is but a little human eruption—it will ſoon be over.

Manly.

It is one of thoſe eruptions, George, that if not attended to in due time, there may proceed a fire, that will conſume the body politic.

G. Friendly, jun.

How often do theſe things happen in Europe!

Manly.

Why are we eternally confounding our ſituation with the governments of Europe? There is no compariſon. We are a diſtinct, heaven-favoured people. The very nature of our government affords us an opportunity of eſtabliſhing a national character, ſuperior to any people on the face of the earth.

G. Friendly, jun.

Mayhap you rate the American character too high:—Human nature is much the ſame in every age. We are but mortals—and it is the nature of mortals to be reſtleſs and diſſatisfied.

Manly.

Never had mortals leſs cauſe to complain, than the people of the United States. In no age, nor in any country, was ever human nature in ſo dignified a ſtate, as in ours.—View our Congreſs aſſembled. See the repreſentatives of an extenſive empire, clothed with the people's power, deviſing for their general good!— But, there is this to be obſerved:—It is in vain for them to legiſlate, if this fundamental principle is not ſacredly adhered to:—that, what the majority determine upon, ſhall be the law of the land. That is the great rock, which our grand democratic republic is built upon. Deſtroy that, and the beautiful fabric will crumble into atoms. If that principle is kept alive, I will be bold to defy either the intrigues of foreign courts, or the conclave machinations of our own citizens, to prevail againſt it.

Trifle.

O damn it—I am tired of hearing your politics. George, let us go. You know our engagements. We are to ſup to-night at M's. tavern.

R. Manly.

O, brother George—I wiſh thou wouldſt not go ſo often to taverns. It is time for thee to think of ſettling thyſelf.

G. Friendly, jun.

And it is time for thee to alter that Quaker tongue; and ſay Yes Sir, and No Sir: Yes Ma'm, and No Ma'm.—

Sings. And get the barber to frizzle your hair, tol, lol, &c. And O how the people will ſtare, tol, lol de dol, &c. To ſee the Quaker turn'd into a fine frizzled lady.
R. Manly.

Thou art too wild, George.

G. Friendly, jun.

And thou art too tame Rach. Mayhap you won't always be ſo. Like moſt wives, you will get into the habit of ſcolding by and by. Come, Trifle, let's be gone. The animating Burgundy and ſparkling Champagne call us.

Sings. To the copes, to the copes lead away.

Trifle.

Sings. To the copes, to the copes lead away. Exeunt.

R. Manly.

I wiſh, brother George would alter his courſe of life. I am concerned about his evil doings.

Manly.

There are few but have their failings, my dear. You will find ſome in your huſband, by and by.

R. Manly.

I don't believe thou haſt one.

Manly.

You are all innocence, with reſpect to George. Some vices he has; but his good qualities vaſtly outweigh them. He poſſeſſes one of the moſt generous, friendly hearts, that ever was centered in man. If we can but get him engaged in the happy bonds of wedlock, I'll anſwer for it, he will become a new man.

Exeunt.
Scene changes to Peeviſh's Houſe. Enter Patrick, (dreſſed in a new ſuit of clothes.) Patrick.

Jenny would be for making a gantleman of me. Shays ſhe, Patrick, you muſt get a new ſhuit of clothes, and have them made in the faſhion. Shays I to her, the devil a farthing has poor Pat to buy them. Then the good ſhoul inſhiſted upon rigging me out at her own expence. (looking at himſelf in a glaſs.) Upon my ſhoul, I think Mr. Shars has has made them to fit me very nate.. (ſtruts about.) Fait, I don't know how they do, who are fops and gantleman every day. I fale rather unaſy in this new-fangled dreſs. Beſides, there ſeems to be a ſtrange combuſtible in my head. I hope Mr. Puff has not put ſome many-fated craters in it. All the time the fellow was taring my head, I expected he would pull every hair out. But when I come to look at myſhelf in the glaſs, I found he had put millions more hairs in my head than I had before. (Struts.) Now I am a fine gantleman, I am led to think a little dape. Upon my honeſty, I think it is a comical quare world we are oblaged to live in. There is ſo many downs and ups—ſo many croſs-ways in it, that one don't know which way to look. The oder day, my maſter and miſtreſs were very much at outs. He was as jealous of her as the devil could make him, and now he is as fond of her as if ſhe was not his wife; and ſhe hangs upon him as if ſhe loved him from the bottom of her ſhoul. All theſe things, I ſhay, puzzles my ſhenſes. Fait, I believe, the beſt way to have things come right in the end, is to do them wrong in the beginning.

Enter Jenny, (unperceived by Patrick.) Jenny.

What an elegant looking man he is now he is dreſſed. How it delights me to look at him— (aſide.) Patrick, I think your clothes fit you very well.

Patrick.

Arra, my dare Jenny, are you there? Fait, I think ſo too. I was juſt admiring myſhelf, thanks to you, my dare: let me pay a tribute upon your ſwate lips; (kiſſes her.) and when I come to be your huſband, I'll pay you many fold. But why, my dare, will you puſh off the buſineſs ſo long? Had we not better become two and one at once? As there are ſho many unſhartainties in this life—I do not expect you will decave me, yet I have my fares for all. I ſaw Engliſh Dick, Mr. Buſtle's man, cloſe in wid you, laſt night. Now, if you were once my wife, you would be quite clare of ſuch rubbiſh.—Why can't you, my dare ſhoul, bate the two wakes into to-morrow night, and make it the happieſt day of my life. (kiſſes her.)

Enter Dick. Dick.

Stop, Paddy-Whack—you are on my premiſes. She has promiſed herſelf to me.

Jenny.

O lard, what ſhall I do with this fellow? (aſide.) —'Tis falſe; I only gave you half a promiſe.

Patrick.

Then I have the beſt right to her. She has only promiſed the half or herſhelf to you: but ſhe has promiſhed me her whole body and ſhoul, and every part of her. And, ſhir Dick, if you call me Paddy-Whack again, I'll make you fale the weight of an Iriſh fiſt upon your Engliſh pate.

Dick.

If you are for that kind of work, I can give you the Mendoza tip in a moment. (makes motions to box.)

Jenny.

Ah! me, what ſhall I do? they will get to fighting, and the whole houſe will be in an uproar. (aſide.) O, Patrick, don't fight with him.

Patrick.

Ha,ha, ha, fight wid him: the muſherene is benathe me. For your ſake, I will not ſtrike the crater; but I will give him a twirling. (Takes hold of Dick, and gives him a turn— he turns round ſeveral times.) That was to the right about. (Gives him another turn.) That was to the left about. Now march off, before I brake every bone in your ſkin.

Dick.

No I won't— (Speaking loud,) without my wife, my promiſed wife.

Jenny.

O, Dickey, let me beg of you to go away. You make ſo much noiſe, I am afraid every moment, that Mr. and Mrs. Peeviſh will come in. (Was ever poor girl in ſuch a plight? I could poke my head into an augur hole.— aſide.

Dick.

I want them to come in. (Speaking louder.) I will make as much noiſe as ever I can, to expoſe you; you deceiver.—Hollo, hollo— Paddy-Whack, Paddy-Whack. Iriſh Pat! Iriſh Pat!

Patrick.

It is too much for blood and fleſh to bear. (Runs after Dick, who falls at his feet—Patrick tumbles over him—Dick gets up.)

Dick.

Ha, ha, ha, Paddy-Whack, Paddy-Whack; Iriſh Pat.—Hallo, hallo. (Runs out— Patrick after him.)

Jenny.

Oh! Oh! Oh!— (Follows crying.) Patrick, Patrick.

Scene changes to a Tavern. G. Friendly, jun. Careleſs, and Trifle, at a table ſinging in chorus. Omnes.

And a hunting we will go—and a hunting we will go.

Trifle.

Damn your ſinging—puſh about the bottle. All gone but we three:—heighup. Friendly, I hope you are not flinching?

G. Friendly, jun.

Not I. Heighup. I can drink the ocean dry. (Takes the glaſs, gets up, and reels.) Here's to all generous ſouls. May they never know diſtreſs. (drinks.) Upon my honor, according to the common phraſe, I believe I am almoſt done over.

Trifle.

(gets up and reels.) O, damn it; you have no head at all. Heighup. I could drink three or four bottles more. What, Careleſs aſleep?

Careleſs.

(gets up and rubs his eyes.) What the devil is the matter?—heighup. (tumbles on the table and throws down the glaſſes.) Was not that well done? Put them all in the bin, landlord. Heighup.

Trifle.

I am for a cruize—down town —or battle with the watchmen. Heighup.

Careleſs.

(gapes and ſtretches.) I believe I'll moor where I am.

G. Friendly, jun.

No caſting anchor here, Bob. While you have ſome ſail ſet, let's get under way. (Pulls Careleſs along.) Hallo, hallo.

Exeunt omnes.
Scene changes to the Street.—Watchmen crying the hour. Enter G. Friendly, jun. Trifle, and Careleſs, ſinging in concert. Omnes.

And a hunting we will go—and a hunting we will go.

Watchman.

O paſt twelf o'clock, and a moonlight morning.

G. Friendly, jun.

You are miſtaken old man, it rains furiouſly—heighup. Go back to the watch-houſe and get your coat.

Watchman.

You are young plackguards, and I'll but you poth all three upon the work-houſe.

Trifle.

Take us to the work-houſe, you old ſcoundrel; mutter that again, if you dare— heighup.

Careleſs.

Never mind them, never mind them, Watchman: they are, heighup, both as drunk as David's ſow.

Watchman.

Out mitch you; you are all drunk: I'll but every one of you upon the work-houſe.

Trifle.

Let me at him, heighup. Let me at the old ſcoundrel. (makes up to the Watchman— who takes hold of him and throws him down.)

G. Friendly, jun.

(to Careleſs.) It would be a good piece of fun, to leave Trifle with the watchman. (G. Friendly & Careleſs going.)

Trifle.

Are you going to deſert me, gentlemen? Heighup.

G. Friendly, jun.

Ha, ha, ha, you are a valiant man; you can defend yourſelf.

Careleſs.

Take good care of him, Watchman. Heighup. Exit Friendly & Careleſs.

Trifle.

Oh dem ye. I have fell into the pit I have been digging for Friendly, heighup. Mr. Watchman pray Sir, will you be ſo polite, heighup, as to ſee me to my lodgings, Sir?

Watchman.

To the tivel mitch you. It is now Mr. Watchman, and Sir. Pefore, I was an old ſcoundrel. I will take you home, where you ought to be. Come, get up mitch you.

Enter George Friendly, ſen. and Jacob Friendly, ſen.—with fire-buckets. J. Friendly, ſen.

It burned furious, but was ſoon extinguiſhed. The people, much to their honour, are always very active on ſuch occaſions.

Watchman.

Come along mitch you. (Pulls him along.)

Trifle.

Murder! Murder!

G. Friendly, ſen.

What is all this? Goes up to the watchman. Watchman, don't abuſe the poor man.

Watchman.

He has apuſed me peyond all pearing.

G. Friendly, ſen.

As I live, it is Trifle!—Why, how came you in this ſituation, Jack?

Trifle.

Why, Sir, your nephew, George, Careleſs, and I—heighup; were walking very ſoberly along, and this old fellow attacked us without mercy.

Watchman.

Now, 'tis old fellow again. He tells lies, Maſter Friendlys: tey were all tree trunk; put he pehaved the worſt to me.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Come, Mr. Watchman, I'll be his bril. See him ſafe to his lodgings.

Watchman.

Upon your account, Maſter Friendlys, I will. (Takes Trifle off.)

J. Friendly. ſen.

There, thou doth ſee what kind of company George keeps. That is the way he is conſtantly debauching and diſſipating his time.

Enter Jacob Friendly, jun.—Reeling. J. Friendly, jun.

Fire! Fire! Heighup. The world is on fire: we ſhall all be burned! heighup.

J. Friendly, ſen.

What do mine eyes behold? Art thou my ſon Jacob?

J. Friendly, jun.

I am not quite wiſe enough, heighup, to anſwer that queſtion.

J. Friendly, ſen.

Oh! Heart-breaking fight! Where haſt thou been?

J. Friendly, jun.

I'll tell you all about it; heighup. There was Joſhua Meek, Jeremiah Sleek, Tom Sly, heighup, and I. Tom Sly and all of us, went to the ſign of the gooſe and gridiron; where we had a grand ſupper, and excellent, heighup, wine.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Heighup wine, in truth, ha, ha, ha. Verily, verily, thou art a hopeful youth. I told you, brother, he would flip his bridle ſome time or other. Yet, take my advice. Let him have more of the rein; dreſs 〈◊〉 ; aſſociate with the girls; go to ſee a play now and then; and I will engage he will do yet.

J. Friendly, ſen.

How have I been deceived in him? Come home, thou knave. Exeunt.

Scene changes to a Room in Jacob Friendly ſen's Houſe. Enter Jacob Friendly, ſen. and George Friendly, ſen. J. Friendly, ſen.

The conduct of that boy has hurt me as much as the undutiful behaviour of my daughter. (Walks to and fro in great paſſion.) I did once flatter myſelf, I ſhould enjoy a tranquil happineſs, in the eve of my life; but my hopes are every way blaſted. My daughter ſtolen by a baſe, infamous villain; robber worſt of robbers.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Where is your chriſtian fortitude? Patience, man.

J. Friendly, ſen.

Talk not to me of patience. My afflictions are almoſt as great as Job's.

G. Friendly, jun.

You make the very worſt of every thing, brother. Remember the old ſaying: all is not loſt which is in danger. You view every thing on the dark ſide. Now, let me take a look at the light ſide. It is true, you have been deceived in your younger ſon; but with prudent management, he may live to be a comfort to you. Your daughter, make the very worſt of it, has only taken a jump over the pales of your church, and married a man who is an honour to his country, and I am ſure, will make her happy. As for George, depend upon it, he will not eventually diſgrace you, or diſhonour me. Come, let us go to reſt. Keep up your ſpirits, and hope for the beſt.

Exeunt.
Scene changes to G. Friendly, jun's Lodgings. Enter Sambo, with two candles, reeling & ſinging. Sambo.

Sings. Dans ſons carmagnole, &c. &c. Liberty and quality for eber and eber. (Puts down one candle.) You tan dere, ſir. (puts down the other.) And you tay dere, ſir. (Sings.) Liberty and quality, for eber and eber. Caeſar, Pompey, and I, had drom fine frolic upon a trent of our become free. Caeſar maſſa, forget to put him in a book dat make him free; and de good Quaker foke buy Pompey free. (Reels.) Drom Caeſar heart, he make me drink too muth.—Sambo feel berry ſick. Eh, eh, eh— houſe go round like a wholagig. (Holds faſt by the ſcene.)

Enter G. Friendly, jun. and Careleſs. G. Friendly, jun.

Ha, ha, ha, we have prayed Trifle a devil of a trick. I don't know how you feel, Careleſs, but I feel a little ſober to what I was.

Careleſs.

The fumes of the wine have evaporated from me too.

G. Friendly, jun.

You will lodge with me tonight, Bob?

Careleſs.

With all my heart.

G. Friendly, jun.

Sambo.

Sambo.

Coming Sir. O me! (groans.)

G. Friendly, jun.

What ails you, Sambo?

Sambo.

O me, Sir.—Got e gripe, Sir.

G. Friendly, jun.

(mimicking.) Got e gripe, Sir. (goes to him.) 'Tis ſo. A ſituation I never ſaw him in before. You have got e gripe in e tomach. Sambo, where have you been?

Sambo.

Pompey.

G. Friendly, jun.

Where?

Sambo.

Caeſar. Heighup—wine.

G. Friendly, jun.

Caeſar—Pompey—wine. I can make nothing of that.

Careleſs.

Why—I ſuppoſe he has got drunk with Caeſar and Pompey, who like their name-ſakes, no doubt, are two miſchievous rogues.—I am afraid our friend Sambo, will make a bad uſe of his liberty.

G. Friendly, jun.

Poor fellow, I hope not.— (rings the bell.)

Enter Servant. G. Friendly, jun.

I'd thank you to get this unfortunate fellow to bed. (Servant takes hold of Sambo.)

Sambo.

Tan off, you drom coundrel. (Reels towards his maſter.) Maſſa George, heighup, you are a drom cleber fellow. I know you well, Sir. Liberty and quality for eber and eber.

G. Friendly, jun.

Come, Sambo; I inſiſt upon your going to bed.

Sambo.

Yes, Sir. Maſſa George, you forgib Sambo. Sambo die for you. (as he is going, ſervant takes hold of him.) Tan off, I ſay; I ſay you coundrel tan off. I go myſef. Liberty and quality, heighup, for eber. Exit.

Careleſs.

So much for againſt liberating thoſe people. The greateſt number of them, after they are ſet free, become vicious.

G. Friendly, jun.

That, by no means, authorizes their being detained in a ſtate of ſlavery. Much is to be ſaid in favour of them, for their want of education.

Enter Servant. Servant.

Gentlemen, do you wiſh to be lighted to your chambers?

G. Friendly, jun.

We will attend you.

(Exeunt, following the Servant.)
End of the Third Act.
ACT IV.
SCENE.—Clementina's Lodgings.—Ladies' Apartment. Clementina, ſitting in a dejected poſture. Clementina.

Be not offended heaven, at my complaints. Surely it is the privilege of the wretched and unfortunate. Which ever way I look, diſtreſs and ſorrow mark the path. Oh, who is like unto me—in ſo ſhort a time to experience ſuch a reverſe of fortune? Some few months ago, I was in the full enjoyment of all the luxuries of life—and in one day, obliged to fly my country and poſſeſſions, with ſome few hundred dollars: thought myſelf fortunate in getting a paſſage for this famed country of liberty and tranquility. But was arreſted by the way, by cruel pirates, and ſtripped of the remnant of my fortune, ſave a few dollars the relentful ſavages left me: and here I am, a wretched refugee; reduced almoſt to the laſt extremity. Oh! my brother, didſt thou but know my ſituation!— (Cries.)

Enter Servant. Servant.

Madam, a gentleman requeſts to ſee you.

Clementina.

To ſee me? Ah! who can want to ſee me? Shew him in.

Re-enter Servant, with G. Friendly, jun. G. Friendly, jun.

'Tis ſhe, by heaven! the very ſame; the ſiſter of Beauchamp. (aſide.) Madam, I juſt got intelligence of your arrival.— At the requeſt of your brother, I am to do myſelf the honour of paying you due attentions.

Clementina.

My brother! Gracious heaven, where is he?

G. Friendly, jun.

Not very diſtant. What a lovely creature. (aſide.) Here is a letter he delivered to me to preſent to you, if you ſhould arrive here. (gives the letter.)

Clementina.

(Reads and kiſſes the letter.) It is his well-known hand. (Reads on—looks pleaſantly at G. Friendly.) He doth mention you in moſt excellent terms. Ah! my poor brother. I fear he is gone into the very jaws of death.

G. Friendly, jun.

What a divine-looking creature. (aſide.) No madam, he is not gone. He was diſappointed in his paſſage. Here is a letter I received from him yeſterday. (gives it to her.)

Clementina.

(Reads.) I thank thee, my God. I ſhall ſee my brother. He mentions he will be here very ſoon.

G. Friendly, jun.

I will write immediately to your brother, to inform him of your arrival.— In the mean time, madam, I ſhall afford myſelf the pleaſure of perſonating him in his abſence.

Clementina.

Excellent ſtranger. Friendly America How ſhall I requite you for your goodneſs?

G. Friendly, jun.

It is all over with me. I am gone:—Caught in love's trap, at laſt. (aſide.— Takes her by the hand.) By giving me your heart. Lovely woman, excuſe the abruptneſs of my declaration. I have held you in adoration from the moment I beheld your portrait. Your brother, at his departure, preſented it to me.

Clementina.

(much agitated.) O, Sir, you do me too much honour. It gives me pleaſure to look at you. But you muſt not be deceived.— You ſee before you, a poor, unfortunate woman, who once poſſeſſed much wealth. But, alas!— (weeps.) cruel fortune has deprived me of it. I am now reduced to poverty.

G. Friendly, jun.

Madam, ceaſe to weep. The heaven-born act ſhall be mine, to relieve virtue in diſtreſs. Your viciſſitudes mark you as the greater object of my affections. Thank heaven, I have a handſome fortune—with great expectations from a rich, and good uncle: and all I want to complete my happineſs, is to call you mine. At the ſame time, I wiſh not to take advantage of your ſituation—or, that neceſſity ſhould force your inclinations. I will leave you for a ſhort time; with a requeſt, that you will be ſo good as to make up your mind on the ſubject. Whatever may be your determination, you may rely on my tender friendſhip. Madam, your humble ſervant. (Kiſſes her hand with extacy. As he goes off, looks at her with great tenderneſs. Exit.)

Clementina.

ſolus. All-gracious heaven, how wonderful are thy ways! (Pauſes.) What am I to do? I feel a partiality for this noble-minded American. Surely, it is the interpoſition of heaven. (Kneels.) I humbly thank thee, thou great diſpoſer of all things. I gratefully thank thee for thy goodneſs. That generous youth, I will embrace as my lover—my friend: and thro' thee, my guardian angel. Exit.

Scene, G. Friendly jun's Lodgings. Enter George Friendly, ſen. and George Friendly, jun. in converſation. G. Friendly, ſen.

My dear George, you are now arrived at that time of life, which ſhould teach you to ſet a juſt value upon time. You know I have never been a ſpy upon your actions; nor never wiſh to croſs you in rational pleaſures. I have heard of ſome of your exceſſes, which has given me uneaſineſs. Depend upon it, too conſtant a repetition of thoſe midnight revels, will neither promote your health, nor eſtabliſh you a fair reputation in the world. To be ſerious with you, George, I wiſh you to enter into the banns of wedlock. Caſt your eyes around you. Single out ſome lady, whom you may think worthy of your affection. It matters not, whether ſhe has wealth, provided ſhe has merit. For my part, I would rather have you form a connection with a woman of a moderate ſhare of beauty, with good ſenſe, and an amiable diſpoſition, if ſhe had not a ſecond change, than to one that would bring you thouſands, and lead you a termagant life.

G. Friendly, jun.

Propitious to my wiſhes.— (Aſide—Kneels.) Beſt of uncles and more than father.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Riſe, George. Kneel to none but your God, or a woman. You always have, and can be, ſufficiently reſpectful ſtanding.

G. Friendly, jun.

(Riſes.) Was I wanting in reſpect to you, Sir, I ſhould be one of the moſt ungrateful wretches in exiſtence. The obligations that I am under —

G. Friendly, ſen.

Enough of that George.— You are becoming too ceremonious. Whatever obligations you may conceive yourſelf under to me, your manly and grateful behaviour, will be a convincing proof to the world, that I have not-miſplaced my patronage. I have deviated from ſome parents and preceptors; for, whilſt I foſtered you as a child, I brought you up as my moſt particular friend. However, to make every thing ſhort, I want to ſee you ſettled in life. I mean married.

G. Friendly, jun.

Worthy Sir, at all times I am ready to comply with whatever you may think proper to preſcribe; but perhaps never did an injunction come ſo opportunely. I was juſt upon the point of requeſting your conſent for an union with a lady, wherein all my happineſs in life is involved.

G. Friendly, ſen.

You were? (Haſtily.) Who is ſhe?

G. Friendly, jun.

Sir, ſhe is a foreigner; and I hope when I make you acquainted with the circumſtances of our acquaintance, and the ſituation of the lady, you will neither condemn my conduct, nor diſapprove of my choice. She is the ſiſter of my young friend, Beauchamp—a young lady of moſt extraordinary beauty and accompliſhments.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Are you certain ſhe is a woman of honour?

G. Friendly, jun.

Yes, Sir; I can have no doubt of it.

G. Friendly, ſen.

How long have you been acquainted?

G. Friendly, jun.

Sir, Sir—our acquaintance is of no great length; but I am convinced ſhe is a woman of virtue—and what is more, ſhe is in diſtreſs.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Give me your hand, George. You have my conſent. Your having attached yourſelf to ſuffering virtue, has done you honour, whilſt it is extremely grateful to me.— There cannot be a more god-like act, than for a man to alleviate the misfortunes of a virtuous woman in adverſity. (pulls out his watch.) Meet me in about ten minutes at the coffee-houſe, and I'll go with you to ſee the object of your love. Exit.

Enter a Child, (who gives G. Friendly, jun. a note. Opens it, and reads.) G. Friendly, jun.

Seize her goods! Take her bed from under her! Hell receive thee for that, Gripus. May thou be damn'd beyond redemption; and when thy parched tongue needeth water, may no one be found to give thee any. If I had him here, damme how I would maul him. (Claſps his hands in ejaculation.) Great Parent of Nature, can there be a greater crime, except murder, than to oppreſs the poor, poor forlorn widow. Long has this worthy woman been contending with the ſtrong current of adverſity: now and then I have lent her a friendly hand: perhaps never better timed than now.— (Takes a note out of his pocket-book) —Here, my little innocent, give this to your mother—it will relieve her preſent neceſſities.—Tell her I will call to ſee her to-morrow, and place her in a permanent ſituation.

Child.

(courteſying.) Thank you, Sir. God bleſs you. (Kiſſes his hand.) Exit.

G. Friendly, jun.

(Solus.) The man who cannot feel for the misfortunes or afflictions of his fellow-creatures, is unworthy of the common benefits of human nature. Exit.

Scene, an apartment in Peeviſh's Houſe. Mr. and Mrs. Peeviſh. Enter Patrick, (looking grave.) Patrick.

Now, Pat, you have got a wife. Tho' I am made extramely happy by being married to Jenny; yet it occaſions me ſome ſorrowful thoughts. Now, the great queſtion is, how I am to kape her and the children alive. By my ſhoul, I never wiſhed to be rich before.—I never did like kaping company with thoſe four-footed baſtes: beſides, it is a devil of a hard life. One is oblaged to turn out in the ſnow and cold at very unſhaſonably hours, and there is no grate dale got by it after all. One may be riding about the whole yare, and at the end of it, be juſt where they walked off from, without a farthing the better. Now, I think, if I had about three, or two hundred dollars, I could ſhut up a grate ſtore; and it appares clare to me, I could make a grate dale of money. Jenny tells me, that many of my countrymen came here very poor, and have made grate fortunes out of nothing at all at all; and with the bleſſings of heaven, Pat will do it too. Exit.

Scene changes to another apartment. Peeviſh and Mrs. Peeviſh. Peeviſh.

They are married, my dear, you ſay; when did that take place?

Mrs. Peeviſh.

Laſt night, one of the ſervants informed me.

Peeviſh.

Their courtſhip has been very concealed.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

I had not the leaſt ſuſpicion of an attachment. I wiſh Jenny had conſulted me. I am afraid, poor girl, ſhe has been rather haſty; tho' Patrick appears to me to be a ſober, well-intentioned young man; but he has not been in this country a ſufficient time to give full evidence of being worthy of her.

Peeviſh.

He is ſobriety itſelf, and that is a quality which generally is the ground-work of proſperity. (Pauſes.) I'll befriend them. Jenny I know has claims on you. (Rings the bell.)

Enter Servant.

Tell Patrick and Jenny I wiſh to ſee them.

Servant.

Yes, Sir. (Exit.)

Enter Patrick and Jenny. Patrick.

What can all this mane? (Aſide.— Makes a reſpectful bow.)

Peeviſh.

Well, Patrick, how do you like your new ſituation? You have kept your courtſhip and marriage, very private.

Patrick.

He has become the moſt ſhivel man in the world of late. (aſide.) Why, indade, dare ſhir, we were not long making the bargain at firſt:—Jenny would be for putting the marriage off for two wakes, but I puſhed the matter ſo home to her, that ſhe conſented to bate the two wakes into a ſhorter time, and the good praiſt made us one laſt night.

Peeviſh.

And you are now happy?

Patrick.

As to happineſs, I can ſhay, the more I'm acquainted wid her, the more I love her; and in this bleſſed country, where my dare Jenny tells me, paple are free before they are born, we ſhall be happy as long as we and the world ſtick togeder.

Peeviſh.

Well, Patrick, I am glad to ſee you impreſſed with ſuch juſt ſentiments of our happy government. You have got a good girl for a wife, and you live in a country, where, if you are virtuous and induſtrious, you will be ſure to thrive. Jenny, come here. (Jenny comes to Peeviſh, and makes a low courteſy.) You have been a faithful girl to your miſtreſs; you ſhall not go from our houſe unrewarded. [To Mrs. Peeviſh.] I requeſt, my love, you will preſent Jenny with a ſum adequate to purchaſe furniture for their houſe.

Jenny.

(Courteſies.) Oh, Sir, I can't expreſs myſelf.

Patrick.

How I have been decaved in him!—

(Aſide.) Peeviſh.

Patrick, you are a tolerable ſcholar. Suppoſe I was to ſet you up in the grocery line, do you think it would anſwer?

Patrick.

On my ſhoul, Shir, that was the very buſineſs I was thinking I could make a fountain of money by.

Peeviſh.

I will look out for a good ſtand for you

Patrick.

Bleſſings on you, Shir.

Jenny.

(Makes a reſpectful courteſy to Mr. and Mrs. Peeviſh.) Dear maſter and miſtreſs, I gratefully thank you.

Patrick.

(Goes up to Mr. Peeviſh, takes him by the hand.) Shir, I hope you will not be affronted at my taking you by the hand. I fale more in my heart than I can ſpake wid my tongue.— (Wipes his eyes.) Pat and his Jenny will ſtrive to deſerve your friendſhip.—Bleſſings on both your ſwate ſhouls. (Exeunt Patrick and Jenny.)

Peeviſh.

Well, my dear, with reſpect to the young couple, the plan is happily concerted, and I hope will ſucceed.

Mrs. Peeviſh.

He certainly cannot withſtand all our importunities.

Peeviſh.

This is about the time they are to be here.— (Pulls out his watch.)

Enter G. Friendly, ſen. G. Friendly, ſen.

Mr. and Mrs. Peeviſh, your humble ſervant. (Whiſpers to Mrs. Peeviſh.)

Mrs. Peeviſh.

You ſurprize me. I am glad to hear it. (Exit Mrs. Peeviſh.)

G. Friendly, ſen.

The ſecret muſt not be kept from you Mr. Peeviſh. My nephew George is married: it was ſomewhat haſty, but may not be the worſe for that. It was my deſire it ſhould be ſo. I want to completely ſurprize my brother. Here he comes.

Enter J. Friendly, ſen. J. Friendly, ſen.

How doſt do, brother George? And thou, friend, Peeviſh?

Peeviſh.

All the better for ſeeing you. Pleaſe to take a ſeat, Sir. Have you heard any thing new?

J. Friendly, ſen.

Nothing new?—Didſt thou not ſend for me?

Peeviſh.

I did. Mr. Friendly, I am informed you have a valuable tract of land to diſpoſe of; I have ſome inclination of making a purchaſe of you, if we can agree about the price.

J. Friendly, ſen.

As for the price, thou ſhalt not find me unreaſonable. It is conſidered by thoſe who have ſeen it, as a very fine body of land.

Enter Mrs. Peeviſh, Hannah Friendly, Major and Rachel Manly. (Major and Rachel Manly kneel to J. Friendly, ſen.) Manly.

Venerable Sir—your children ſupplicate your forgiveneſs, and beg your bleſſing.

H. Friendly.

A wife and mother intreat thee to forgive them.

G. Friendly, ſen.

A brother, begs the ſame favour.

Peeviſh.

Mrs. Peeviſh and I make the ſame requeſt. Remember, you juſt ſaid, you would not be unreaſonable about land matters: pray, be not ſo, about what concerns the happineſs of your children.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Brother, can you withſtand all this? I wiſh I were in your place, that I might have the pleaſure of forgiving.

J. Friendly, ſen.

I am all amazement. Thou haſt taken me unawares, brother. Riſe my children. (they riſe.) Rachel, thou haſt not treated thy father well. But ſtill thou art my child. Parental affection muſt ſupercede reſentment. Ye have my forgiveneſs, and I pray heaven to bleſs ye both.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Tol, lol de rol. (Dances.) I am twenty years younger. That was acting like a chriſtian and gentleman, brother. (Goes to the door—returns with G. Friendly, jun. and Clementina) —Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleaſure of introducing Mr. and Mrs. Friendly to you. (All but Mr. and Mrs. Peeviſh appear ſurprized. —G. Friendly, jun. and Clementina make their repects to the company.)

R. Manly.

Brother George married!— Strange. To whom, I wonder? (Aſide.)

H. Friendly.

Son George married. This is unexpected. (aſide.)

J. Friendly, ſen.

George married! (aſide.)

Manly.

A ſingular circumſtance. (goes up to Clementina.) I have not the honor of being perſonally known to your lady, George, but I muſt have a bride's kiſs. (kiſſes her—claps G. Friendly on the ſhoulder.) Ha, ha, ha, George!—you are at length reduced from one thouſand, to one ſingle object. Love has now its bounds.

G. Friendly, jun.

I ſtand a happy proſelyte before the altar of Hymen. (Whiſpers Manly.)

Manly.

Is it poſſible?

G. Friendly, jun.

The very ſame—tol lol de rol. My heart is as blythe as a lark's.

Manly.

(Pulls G. Friendly, jun.) George, obſerve more decorum. Remember who are preſent.

G. Friendly, jun.

I thank you, Harry; I had forgot myſelf.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Come, brother, you muſt give another bleſſing. I make a requeſt for George and his wife.

J. Friendly, ſen.

To whom is he married?

G. Friendly, ſen.

A charming, though unfortunate French lady; one of the late ſufferers of St. Domingo. (G. Friendly and Clementina kneel to J. Friendly, ſen. and H. Friendly.)

G. Friendly, jun.

My dear parents, I hope we ſhall have your bleſſings in turn.

J. Friendly, ſen.

I am all aſtoniſhment I hardly know whether it is a dream or a reality.— George, thou haſt been very wild; but I hope thou art convinced of thy follies and evil ways. Thou and thy wife have our bleſſings. May ye enjoy uninterrupted happineſs. I pray heaven to ſhower down its choiceſt bleſſings on you all, my children.

Clementina.

My parents! occurrences extraordinary in themſelves, have introduced me into your family, the hiſtory of which you will ſoon be acquainted with. With a heart overflowing with gratitude, I will never ceaſe to be to you one dutiful daughter, and to your ſon, one faithful, affectionate wife.

Enter Beauchamp, (runs to Clementina and embraces her.) Beauchamp.

My Siſter!

Clementina.

My broder, my broder—do I embrace you once more. Mon Dieu je ſuis content.

Beauchamp.

Yes, my ſiſter: and we cannot be too thankful to the great Supreme, who hath brought us together under ſuch fortunate auſpices. I have many queſtions to aſk you, but, for the moment, I muſt wave them. (runs to G. Friendly, jun. and embraces him.) My beſt friend, my broder. O mon Dieu, je vous remercie.

G. Friendly, ſen.

I muſt honeſtly confeſs, I was not prepared for this ſcene. (Wipes his eyes.)

J. Friendly, ſen.

(Takes out his handkerchief and wipes his eyes.) The tears of ſenſibility rolleth down my cheeks. It pleaſeth me, that my ſon George hath contributed ſo much towards the happineſs of theſe ſtrangers. I have great hopes he will become my principal comfort.

G. Friendly, jun.

It ſhall conſtitute the principal part of my happineſs to be ſo. I acknowledge I have been thoughtleſs and imprudent; but, I hope, by forming a connexion with this amiable woman, that virtuous love will triumph over what foibles and vices I may have had.

(G. Friendly, ſen. goes up to Beauchamp, takes him by the hand.) I feel for your peculiar ſituation, as I do for all your unfortunate country people, who are in ſimilar circumſtances: If my purſe could beat in uniſon with my heart, I'd relieve ye all—but you ſhall be my particular care.

Beauchamp.

O, Sir, you are too good. I cannot be enough grateful. (goes to J. Friendly, ſen. & H. Friendly.) I pay my reſpectful duty to the parents of my friend. I hope my ſiſter will be one dutiful child to you.

G. Friendly, ſen.

Yes, I'll engage ſhe will. I ſee love, duty and affection beaming thro' her charming face. Brother, you ought to think yourſelf the happieſt man in the world. I am made ſo, by effecting this Happy Reconciliation. For love—virtuous love, has here its triumph and reward.

THE END.

PRINTING DONE WITH EXPEDITION AND CARE, BY R. FOLWELL, NO. 33, MULBERRY-STREET.