Jac. Don't ye look so muortal angry, then!

Wood. Well, well, I won't, my good fellow !-There's money for thy honesty.

Jac. Well;-there aw ware

Wood. Speak out freely, you can tell me nothing worse than I imagine; you won't shock me in the least; not at all.

Jac. Well; theare aw ware pleaying on that theare music-thing like a coffin, and madam ware a zinging to un like any blackbird

Wood. A music-master!—Is that all, booby? [Pushes him down.]

Jac. Yes;-but t'other, zur

Wood. Aye, I had forgot;—what of him, good Jacob? what of him?

Jac. I ware never caall'd up while aw steay'd; zoa (I can't but zeay, I had a curosity to knaw what brought he here) one deay I peap'd through the keay-hoole, and zeed un-[Titters.]-I shull ne'er forgeat.

Wood. Tell me this instant, or I shall burst with rage and suspense.

Jac. Screaping on a leetle viddle, no bigger than my hond; while madam ware a huolding out her quoats, and danzing all round the room, zoa— -[Mimics the minuet awkwardly.]

Wood. Why, I believe the impudent bumpkin dares to jest with my misery! and yet I have no other avenue; for the rest, I fear, are knaves, and he seems only a fool. -And are these all that came, Jacob?

Jac. Noa, thare ware one moare, zur; a leetle mon in a black quoat;-but aw only cuom'd now and

tan

Wood. A disguise, no doubt! Yes, yes, they were artful enough!

Jac. And zoa, arter he'd done wi' my leady, aw did zhut hiz zelf up wi' Bridget; and zoa I ax'd her all about un, and zhe zaid az how aw coom'd to teeach

madam to turn themmin great round balls, all bleue, and red, and yaller, that do stond by the books, and larned zhe to write.

Wood. Yes, yes, Mrs. Bridget was in all her secrets, I don't doubt. If that fellow in black comes here again, keep him, if you value your life, and send for me.-I know not what to do or think, and must renew my search, though hopeless of success. [Exit.

JACOB alone.

Jac. Dang it! but he's in a desperate teaking!Rabbit me, but I ware muortally afeard aw un too, for aw flurish'd hiz zword az yeazy az I cou'd a cudgel! -I do think conjuror moight as well ha' tould me madam would ha' run away, while aw ware abeout it, and then I moight ha' runn'd away first.

Enter GREY.

[Exit.

Grey. At length I have gained entrance into this house of shame, which now, alas! contains my darling Cecilia-plunged in vice, and lost to every sentiment I spent so many anxious years in implanting. This does not seem to be the abode of pleasure, nor have I met a single being.

WOODVILLE entering behind, sees GREY, and drawing his sword, flies at and seizes him.

Wood. Ha!-a_man !—and in black, as Jacob said. -Villain, this moment is your last.

Grey. [Turning suddenly upon him.] Yes, young seducer, add to the daughter's ruin the father's murder! -Stab my heart as you already have my happiness.

Wood. Alas! was this her visitor? I dare not speak to him!

Grey. Embosomed by affluence, exalted by title, peace shall still be far from thy heart; for thou, with the worst kind of avarice, hast, by specious pretences, wrested from poverty its last dear possession-virtue.

Wood. Pierced to the soul as I am by your reproaches, I dare appeal to Cecilia herself for a testimony of my contrition!-How shall I convince you?

Grey. Hardly by a life of repentance.-But I debase myself to exchange a word with you. Give me back my Cecilia!-Ruined as she is, I yet would recover her! -Give her back, then, to a father you first taught her to fear, and an habitation, too humble for any but the good to be happy in.

Wood. Alas, sir! can you trifle with my misery?— Do you give her back to the wretch who cannot survive her loss! Let me owe her hand to your bounty, though her heart to her own?-Did you know what this elopement of her's has cost me

Grey. Oh!-most accomplished villain!-but think not to dupe me too!

Wood. Who but you can have robbed me of her since morning?

Grey. Shallow artifice!

Wood. Hear me, sir! and even believe me, when I solemnly swear I have deeply repented my crime, and offered her all the reparation in my power;-but, since then

Grey. What since then?

Wood. Either by your means, or some other, she has fled!

Grey. Impossible!

Wood. 'Tis too true, by heaven!

Grey. Perhaps, while you are thus ingeniously deluding me, she indeed flies.-Study some other deception, while I examine the whole house, for nothing else can convince me. [Exit.

WOODVILLE alone.

Wood. Surely this injured venerable man was sent by heaven to complete my misfortunes!-My passions subside, but only into a vague horror and despondency, even

more dreadful!-If with rash hand she has shortened her days, what remain of mine will be, indeed, all her father predicts![Walking by the toilet.]—Ha, a letter ! Re-enter GREY.

Grey. A total loneliness in the house !

Wood. Now, sir, be convinced.-I have just found a letter from her.

Grey. This cannot be the invention of a moment;let me read it-it is, indeed, her hand

[Opens and reads it.

Receive this as my last farewell.-Providence has unexpectedly sent me a friend, whose protection I dare accept; and time may perhaps subdue a passion which seems interwoven with my being.—Forget me, I intreat; and seek that happiness with another, I can never hope to bestow or partake.-Consoled only by reflecting, that the grief my error occasions, is inferior to that I should have felt, had I, by an ungenerous use of my power, made you, in turn, my victim.·nce more, adieu!-All search will certainly

be fruitless.

P. S. In the cabinet you will find your valuable presents; and the key is in a dressing-box.

[WoonVILLE snatches the letter, and bursts into tears. Grey. Cecilia ! I may say, with tears of joy, thou art, indeed, my daughter! more dear (if possible) than ever! A daughter monarchs might contend for, though thy weak father abjures thee!-May the friend you have found have a heart but like your own!-For you, young man!-But I leave you to your anguish ; the loss of such a woman is a sufficient punishment.

Wood. Stay, sir! [Rises.] by your holy profession, I conjure you, stay!-Plunge me not into total despair! -Though without a clue to her asylum, I would fain believe my heart will lead me to it; and let me then hope you will bestow her on me?

Grey. There is a something in your manner, young gentleman, that affects me.-I have been young, wild, and extravagant, myself; and what is more strange, have not forgot I was so: my own experience proves reformation possible; act up to her, and atone your

error.

Wood. I will endeavour it, sir! and, oh! could those who yet but waver, know what has passed in my heart, during the last hour, who would dare to deviate?

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I.-Cecilia's House.

BRIDGET dressed in CECILIA's clothes, mixed with every thing vulgar and tawdry.

Brid. So-I am ready against our gentleman comes.— Deuce on him, to run away last night the moment I was drest-and with an inferial fellow too!—Lard, how can people of quality demean themselves by keeping company with inferials! However, one thing I am sure of, he's too much on the fidgets to stay long away from our house; and, in the meanwhile, I can entertain myself extremely well. [Sits down to the toilet.

Jac. [Without.] I tell ye, my leady's not at huome. Gov. I tell you, I won't take your word for it ;—so come, my lord, and see.

Brid. Heyday, my lord!—What's the news now, I wonder?

Enter LORD GLENMORE and the GOVERNOR; both stop

short.

Gov. Oh, I thought madam had learnt enough of the ton to lie by proxy!