and, after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's.

Sir Pet. Ay, there's another precious circumstance -a charming set of acquaintance you have made there!

Lady Teaz. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation.

Sir Pet. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose any body should have a character but themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputa

tion.

Lady Teaz. What, would you restrain the freedom of speech?

Sir Pet. Ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society.

Lady Teaz. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace.

Sir Pet. Grace indeed!

Lady Teaz. But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse: when I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humour: and I take it for granted they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too.

Sir Pet. Well, well, I'll call in, just to look after my own character.

Lady Teaz. Then, indeed, you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So good-bye to ye. [Exit.

Sir Pet. So I have gained much by my intended expostulation! Yet with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say, and how pleasantly she, shows her contempt for my authority! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing everything in her power to plague me.

SCENES FROM "THE GAMESTER."

BY EDWARD MOORE.

BEVERLEY. STUKELY. JARVIS.

Bev. (Rises and comes forward.) Why, what a world is this! The slave that digs for gold receives his daily pittance, and sleeps contented; while those for whom he labours convert their good to mischief, making abundance the means of want. O shame! shame! Had fortune given me but little, that little had still been my own. But plenty leads to waste; and shallow streams maintain their currents, while

swelling rivers beat down their banks, and leave their channels empty. What had I to do with play? I wanted nothing-My wishes and my means were equal. The poor followed me with blessings, love scattered roses on my pillow, and morning waked me to delight-Oh! bitter thought, that leads to what I was by what I am! I would forget both-Who's there?

Enter JARVIS.

Jarvis!-Why this intrusion ?-Your absence had been kinder.

Far. I came in duty, sir. If it be troublesomeBev. It is I would be private-hid even from myself. Who sent you hither?

Far. One that would persuade you home again. My mistress is not well-her tears tell me so.

Bev. Go with thy duty there then-I have no business for thee.

Far. Yes, sir; to lead you from this place. I am your servant still. Your prosperous fortune blessed my old age. If that has left you, I must not leave

you.

Bev. Not leave me! Recall past time, then; or, through this sea of storm and darkness, show me a star to guide me. But what canst thou?

You have been

Far. The little that I can, I will. generous to me.-I will not offend you, sir-butBev. No. Think'st thou I'd ruin thee, too? I have enough of shame already-My wife! my wife! Wouldst thou believe it, Jarvis? I have not seen her all this long night-I, who have loved her so, that

every hour of absence seemed as a gap in life! But other bonds have held me-Oh, I have played the boy! dropping my counters in the stream, and reaching to redeem them, lost myself!

Far. For pity's sake, sir!—I have no heart to see this change.

Bev. Nor I to bear it-How speaks the world of me, Jarvis?

Far. As of a good man dead-Of one who, walking in a dream, fell down a precipice. The world is sorry

for you.

Bev. Ay, and pities me-Says it not so? But Iwas born to infamy. I'll tell thee what it says; it calls me villain, a treacherous husband, a cruel father, a false brother, one lost to nature and her charities; or, to say all in one short word, it calls me-gamester. Go to thy mistress-I'll see her presently.

[Goes back and sits.

Far. And why not now? (Following him.) Rude people press upon her; loud, bawling creditors; wretches who know no pity-I met one at the door --he would have seen my mistress; I wanted means of present payment, so promised it to-morrow. But others may be pressing, and she has grief enough already. Your absence hangs too heavy on her.

Bev. Tell her I'll come then. But what hast thou to do with my distresses? Thy honesty has left thee poor. Keep what thou hast; lest, between thee and the grave, misery steal in. I have a friend shall counsel me. That friend is Stukely-here he comes.

Go, leave me.

Would I were dead!

Enter STUKely.

Stu. Pr'ythee, be a man, and leave dying to disease and old age. Fortune may be ours again; at least we'll try for 't.

Bev. No; it has fooled us on too far.

Stu. Ay, ruined us; and therefore we'll sit down contented. These are the despondings of men without money; but let the shining ore chink in the pocket, and folly turns to wisdom: We are Fortune's children. True, she's a fickle mother; but shall we droop because she's peevish? No; she has smiles in store, and these her frowns are meant to brighten them.

Bev. Is this a time for levity? But you are single in the ruin, and, therefore, may talk lightly of it: with me 'tis complicated misery.

Stu. You censure me unjustly; I but assumed these spirits to cheer my friend. Heaven knows, he wants a comforter.

Bev. What new misfortune?

Stu. I would have brought you money, but lenders want securities. What's to be done? All that was mine is yours already.

Bev. And there's the double weight that sinks me, I have undone my friend, too; one who, to save a drowning wretch, reached out his hand, and perished with him.

Stu. Have better thoughts.

Bev. Whence are they to proceed? I have nothing left.