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dale's accomplishments, but a little knowledge in matters of small importance to a mind already so well improved.

Sir J. F. I don't think so; a little knowledge, even in those matters, is necessary for a woman, in whom I am far from considering ignorance as a desirable characteristic: when intelligence is not attended with impertinent affectation, it teaches them to judge with precision, and gives them a degree of solidity necessary for the companion of a sensible man.

Lionel. Yonder's Mr Jenkins: I fancy he's looking for you, sir,

Sir J. F. I see him; he's come back from Colonel Oldboy's; I have a few words to say to him; and will return to you again in a minute.

[Exit.

Lionel. To be a burden to one's self, to wage continual war with one's own passions, forced to combat, unable to overcome! But see, she appears, whose presence turns all my sufferings into transport, and makes even misery itself delightful.

Enter CLARISSA.

Perhaps, madam, you are not at leisure now; otherwise, if you thought proper, we would resume the subject we were upon yesterday.

Clar. I am sure, sir, I give you a great deal of trouble.

Lionel. Madam, you give me no trouble; I should think every hour of my life happily employed in your service; and, as this is probably the last time I shall have the satisfaction of attending you upon the same

occasion

Clar. Upon my word, Mr Lionel, I think myself extremely obliged to you, and shall ever consider the enjoyment of your friendship

Lionel. My friendship, madam, can be of littlemo

ment to you; but if the most perfect adoration, if the warmest wishes for your felicity, though I should never be witness of it; if these, madam, can have any merit to continue in your remembrance a man once honoured with a share of your esteem

Clar. Hold, sir-I think I hear somebody.

Lionel. If you please, madam, we'll turn over this celestial globe once more- -Have you looked at the book I left you yesterday?

Clar. Really, sir, I have been so much disturbed in my thoughts for these two or three days past, that I have not been able to look at any thing.

Lionel. I am sorry to hear that, madam; I hope there was nothing particular to disturb you. The care Sir John takes to dispose of your hand in a manner suitable to your birth and fortune

Clar. I don't know, sir;-I own I am disturbed; I own I am uneasy; there is something weighs upon my heart, which I would fain disclose.

Lionel. Upon your heart, madam! did you say your heart?

Clar. I-did, sir,

Enter JENNY.

Jenny. Madam! Madam! Here's a coach and six driving up the avenue: It's Colonel Oldboy's family: and, I believe, the gentleman is in it that's coming to court you.-Lord, I must run and have a peep at him out of the window

Lionel. Madam, I'll take my leave.

[Exit.

Clar. Why so, sir?-Bless me, Mr Lionel, what's the matter?-You turn pale.

Lionel. Madam!

Clar. Pray speak to me, sir.-You tremble.-Tell me the cause of this sudden change.-How are you? Where's your disorder?

Lionel. Oh fortune! fortune!

AIR.

You ask me in vain,
Of what ills I complain,

Where harbours the torment I find ;

In my head, in my heart,

It invades ev'ry part,

And subdues both my body and mind.

Each effort I try,

Ev'ry med'cine apply,

The pangs of my soul to appease ;

But, doom'd to endure,

What I mean for a cure,

Turns poison, and feeds the disease. [Exit.

Enter DIANA.

Diana. My dear Clarissa!-I am glad I have found you alone. For Heaven's sake, don't let any one break in upon us;-and give me leave to sit down with you a little :-I am in such a tremor, such a panic

Clar. Mercy on us! what has happened?

Diana. You may remember I told you, that, when I was last winter in London, I was followed by an odious fellow, one Harman; I can't say but the wretch pleased me, though he is but a younger brother, and not worth sixpence: And, in short, when I was leaving town, I promised to correspond with him.

Clar. Do you think that was prudent?

Diana. Madness! But this is not the worst; for what do you think?-the creature had the assurance to write me about three weeks ago, desiring permission to come down and spend the summer at my father's.

Clar. At your father's!

Diana. Ay, who never saw him, knows nothing of him, and would as soon consent to my marrying a horse-jockey. He told me a long story of some tale he intended to invent, to make my father receive him as an indifferent person; and some gentleman in London, he said, would procure him a letter, that should give it a face; and he longed to see me so, he said, he could not live without it; and if he could be permitted but to spend a week with me

Clar. Well, and what answer did you make?

Diana. Oh! abused him, and refused to listen to any such thing. But I vow I tremble while I tell it you just before we left our house, the impudent monster arrived there, attended by a couple of servants, and is now actually coming here with my father. Clar. Upon my word, this is a dreadful thing. Diana. Dreadful, my dear!-I happened to be at the window as he came into the court, and I declare I had like to have fainted away.

Clar. Well, Diana, with regard to your affair-I think you must find some method of immediately informing this gentleman that you consider the outrage he has committed against you, in the most heinous light, and insist upon his going away directly.

Diana. Why, I believe that will be the best waybut then he'll be begging my pardon, and asking to stay.

Clar. Why then you must tell him positively you won't consent to it; and if he persists in so extravagant a design, tell him you'll never see him again as long as you live.

Diana. Must I tell him so?

AIR.

Ah! pr'ythee spare me, dearest creature!
How can you prompt me to so much ill nature?

Kneeling before me,

Should I hear him implore me,

Could I accuse him,

Could I refuse him

The boon he should ask?
Set not a lover the cruel task.

No, believe me, my dear,
Was he now standing here,
In spite of my frights, and alarms,
I might rate him, might scold him

But should still strive to hold him-
And sink at last into his arms.

[Exit. Clar. How easy to direct the conduct of others, how hard to regulate our own! I can give my friend advice, while I am conscious of the same indiscre tions in myself. Yet is it criminal to know the most worthy, most amiable man in the world, and not to be insensible to his merit? But my father, the kindest, best of fathers, will he approve the choice I have made? Nay, has he not made another choice for me? And, after all, how can I be sure that the man I love loves me again? He never told me so; but his looks, his actions, his present anxiety, sufficiently declare what his delicacy, his generosity, will not suffer him to utter.

AIR.

Ye gloomy thoughts, ye fears perverse,
Like sullen vapours all disperse,

And scatter in the wind;
Delusive phantoms, brood of night,
No more my sickly fancy fright,
No more my reason blind.

'Tis done; I feel my soul released:
The visions fly, the mists are chased,
Nor leave a cloud behind.

[Exit.

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