Aug. (Going up to Frank.) In what company are you, then, my little cit?

Frank. (Firmly.) With a young nobleman, that is very rude and very impudent-who values himself more than he ought-and who does not know how well-bred people should be. have one to the other.

Ed. We are all of the same opinion.

Aug. I rude and impudent? Tell me so, who am a gentleman!

Frank. Yes, I say it again-very rude and very impudent-though you were a duke, though you were a prince.

Aug. (Striking him.) I'll teach you to whom you are talking. (Frank goes to lay hold on him. Augustus slips back, goes out, and shuts the door.)

Ed.

Bless me, Raynton, what have you done? he will go 'to his father, and tell him a thousand stories. What will he think of us?

Frank. His father is a man of honor. I will go to him, if Augustus does not. He certainly has not invited us here to be ill-treated by his son.

Charles. He will send us home, and make a complaint against us.

Wil. No-my brother behaved himself properly. My papa will approve what he has done, when we tell him the whole. He does not understand having his children ill-used.

Frank. Come with me. Let us all go and find Lord Onsburg. (Augustus enters, with his sword undrawn. The two younger boys run, one in a corner, and the other behind an arm-chair. Frank and Edward stand firm.)

Aug. (Going up to Frank.) Now, I'll teach you, you little insolent. (Draws, and instead of a blade, finds a long turkey's feather. He stops short, in confusion. The little ones burst into a loud laugh, and come up.)

Frank. Come on! let us see the temper of your sword! Ed. Do not add to his confusion. He only deserves contempt.

Wil. Aha! This was it, then, that you alone had a right to wear!

Charles. He will not do any terrible harm to any body, with that terrible weapon.

Frank. I could punish you now for your rudeness, but I should blush to take such a revenge.

Ed. He is no longer worthy of our company. Let us all leave him to himself.

Wil. Good bye to you, Mr. Knight of the turkey's feather! Charles. We shall not come here again, until you be disarmed, for you are too terrible now! (As they are going, Frank stops them.)

Frank. Let us stay, and give an account of our behavior to his father, otherwise appearances will be against us.

Ed. You are right. What would he think of us, were we to leave his house thus, without seeing him?

(Enter Lord Onsburg. They all put on an air of respect, at the entrance of Lord Onsburg. Augustus goes aside, and cries for spite.)

Lord O. (To Augustus, looking at him with indignation.) Well, sir, you have honored your sword nobly-shame! sir, shame! (Augustus sobs, but cannot speak.)

Frank. My lord, you will pardon this disturbance that appears among us. It was not caused by us. From the first moment of our coming, Mr. Onsburg received us so ill

Lord O. Do not be uneasy, my dear little friend. I know all. I was in the next room, and heard, from the beginning, my son's unbecoming discourse. He is the more blamable, as he had just been making me the fairest promises. I have suspected his impertinence, for a long time, but I wished to see myself how far he was capable of carrying it; and, for fear of mischief, I put a blade to his sword, that, as you see, will not spill much blood. (The children burst out a laughing.)

Frank. Excuse the freedom, my lord, that I took, in telling him the truth a little bluntly.

Lord O. I rather owe you my thanks for it. You are an excellent young gentleman, and deserve, much better than he does, to wear this badge of honor. As a token of my esteem and acknowledgment, accept this sword; but I will first put a blade to it, that may be worthy of you.

Frank. Your lordship is too good; but allow us to withdraw. Our company may not be agreeable to Mr. Onsburg, to-day.

Lord O. No, no-my dear boys, you shall stay. My son's presence shall not disturb your pleasure. You may divert yourselves together, and my daughter shall take care to provide you with whatever may amuse you. Come with me into another apartment. As for you, sir, (To Augustus,) do not offer to stir from this place. You may celebrate your birthday here, all alone. You shall never wear a sword again, until you de(Exeunt.)

serve one.

X-FROM THE DOCTOR IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.

Fielding.

GREGORY-SIR JASPER-SQUIRE ROBERT-HARRY--JAMES

(Enter Dorcas and Gregory.)

Gregory. I tell you no, I won't comply, and it is my business

to talk and to command.

Dorcas. And I tell you, you shall conform to my will; and that I was not married to you to suffer your ill-humors.

Greg. O the intolerable fatigue of matrimony! Aristotle never said a better thing in his life, than when he told us, "that a wife is worse than a plague."

Dor. Hear the learned gentleman, with his Aristotles.

Greg. And a learned man I am, too. Find me out a maker of faggots, that's able, like myself, to reason upon things, or that can boast such an education as mine.

Greg. Ay, woman, a regular education; first at the charityschool, where I learnt to read; then I waited on a gentleman at Oxford, where I learnt-very near as much as my master; from whence I attended a traveling physician six years, under

the facetious denomination of a Merry Andrew, where I learnt physic.

Dor. O that thou hadst followed him still! Ah! ill-fated hour, wherein I answered the parson-I will.

Greg. And ill-fated be the parson that asked me the ques

tion!

Dor. You have reason to complain of him, indeed, who ought to be on your knees every moment, returning thanks to Heaven, for that great blessing it sent you, when it sent you myself. I hope you have not the assurance to think you deserve such a wife as I.

Greg. No, really, I don't think I do.-Come, come, madam, it was a lucky day for you, when you found me out.

Dor. Lucky, indeed! a fellow who eats every thing I have. Greg. That happens to be a mistake, for I drink some part

on't.

Dor. That has not even left me a bed to lie on.

Greg. You'll rise the earlier.

Dor. And who, from morning till night, is constantly in an ale house.

Greg. It's genteel; the squire does the same.

Dor. Pray, sir, what are you willing I shall do with my family?

Greg. Whatever you please.

Dor. My four little children, that are continually crying for bread!

Greg. Give 'em a rod! best cure in the world, for crying

children.

Dor. And do you imagine, sot

Greg. Hark ye, my dear; you know my temper is not over-and-above passive, and that my arm is extremely active. Dor. I laugh at your threats, poor, beggarly, insolent fellow. Greg. Soft object of my wishing eyes, I shall play with your pretty ears.

Dor. Touch me if you dare, you insolent, impudent, dirty, lazy

Greg. Oh, ho, ho! you will have it then, I find. (Beats her.)

Dor. O murder! murder !

(Enter Squire Robert.)

Robert. What's the matter here? Fie upon you, neighbor, to beat your wife in this scandalous manner.

Dor. Well, sir, and I have a mind to be beat, and what then?

Rob. O dear, madam! I give my consent, with all my heart and soul.

Dor. What's that, you saucebox? Is it any business of yours?

Rob. No, certainly, madam.

Dor. Here's an impertinent fellow for you; won't suffer a husband to beat his own wife!

Rob. Neighbor, I ask your pardon, heartily; here, take and thrash your wife; beat her as you ought to do. Greg. No, sir, I won't beat her.

Rob. O sir, that's another thing.

Greg. I'll beat her when I please, and will not beat her when I do not please. She is my wife, and not yours.

Rob. Certainly.

Dor. Give me the stick, dear husband.

Rob. Well, if I ever attempt to part husband and wife again, may I be beaten myself. (Exit.)

Greg. Come, my dear, let us be friends.

Dor. What, after beating me so?

Greg. 'Twas but in jest.

Dor. I desire your will crack your jests on your own bones next time, not on mine.

Greg. Psha! you know, you and I are one, and I beat one half of myself, when I beat you.

Dor. Yes, but for the future, I desire you will beat the other half of yourself.

Greg. Come, my pretty dear, I ask pardon; I'm sorry for't. Dor. For once, I pardon you,-but you shall pay for it.

Greg. Psha! psha! child, these are only little affairs, necessary in friendship; four or five good blows with a cudgel, between your very fond couples, only tend to heighten the affections. I'll now to the wood, and I promise thee to make a hundred fagots before I come home again. (Exit.)

Dor. If I am not revenged on those blows of yours!—Oh, that I could but think of some method to be revenged on him! —Oh, that I could find out some invention to get him well drubbed!

(Enter Harry and James.)

Harry. Were ever two fools sent on such a message as we are, in quest of a dumb doctor?

James. Blame your own paltry memory, that made you