Enter MISS KITTY. [Exit. Are much below me now. I'll hold up my head, Green. Nay, madam, you shall not leave me Kitty. Bless me! is not that Sir Timothy's li-yet; I have something more to say before we very! [Aside. Pray, sir, is Sir Timothy Flash come to town. Green. Yes, madam. Kitty. Good lack! is it you? What new whim have you got in your head now, pray? Green. No new whim in my head, but an old one in my heart, which, I am afraid, will not be easily removed. Kitty. Indeed, young man, I am sorry for it; but you have had my answer already, and I wonder you should trouble me again. Green. And is it thus you receive me! Is this the reward of all my faithful love? Kitty. Can I help your being in love? I'm sure I don't desire it; I wish you would not tcaze me with your impertinent love any more. Green. Why, then, did you encourage it? For, give me leave to say, you once did love me. part. Suppose this worthy, honourable knight, instead of marriage, should have only a base design upon your virtue? Kitty. He scorns it: No, he loves me, and I know he will marry me. Green. Dear Kitty, be not deceived; I know he will not. Kitty. You know nothing of the matter. 'My dear angel, [She reads. 'I could no longer stay in the country, when you was not there to make it agreeable. I came to town yesterday; and hey, if possible, you will, this evening, make me happy with your company. I will meet you at a relation's; my servant will conduct you to the house. I am impatient till I throw myself into your arms, and convince you much I am, Kitty. Perhaps I might, when I thought my-how seif but your equal; but now, I think, you cannot, in modesty, pretend to me any longer. Green. Vain, foolish girl! for Heaven's sake, what alteration do you find in yourself for the better? In what, I wonder, does the fine lady differ from the miller's daughter? Have you more wit, more sense, or more virtue than you had before? Or are you in any thing altered from your former self, except in pride, folly, and affectation? Kitty. Sir, let me tell you, these are liberties that don't become you at all. Miller's daughter! Green. Come, come, Kitty; for shame! lay aside these foolish airs of the fine lady; return to yourself, and let me ask you one serious question: Do you really think Sir Timothy designs to marry you? Kitty. You are very impertinent to ask me such a question; but, to silence your presumption for ever-I'm sure he designs it. Green. I'm glad she thinks so, however. [Aside.] Nay, then, I do not expect you will resign the flattering prospect of wealth and grandeur, to live in a cottage on a little farm. Tis true, I shall be independent of all the world; my farm, however small, will be my own unmortgaged. Kitty. Psha! can you buy me fine clothes? Can you keep me a coach? Can you make me a lady? If not, I advise you to go down again to your pitiful farm, and marry somebody suitable to your rank. SONG. Adieu to your cart and your plough; I scorn to milk your cow. Your butter and cheese, "Your fond and passionate admirer, TIMOTHY FLASH.' Kitty. Well, and what is there in this to convince me of his ill intentions? Green. Enough, I think. If his designs are honourable, why are they not open? Why does he not come to your father's house, and wake his proposals? Why are you to be met in the dark, at a stranger's? Kitty. Let me sec-, I'll meet yout at a relation's; my servant will conduct you;'—indeed I don't know what to think of that. Green. I'll tell, you, madam; that pretended relation is a notorious bawd. Kitty. 'Tis false; you have contrived this story to abuse me. Green. No, Kitty, so well I love you, that, if I thought his designs were just, I could rejoice in your happiness, though at the expense of my own. Kitty. You strangely surprise me! I wish I knew the truth. Green. To convince you of my truth, here is a direction to the house in his own hand, which he himself gave me, lest I should mistake: Whither, if you still doubt my sincerity, and think proper to go, I am ready to be your conductor. Kitty. And is this the end of all his designs? have I been courted only to my ruin? my eyes are now too clearly opened. What have I been doing? Green. If you are but so convinced of your danger, as to avoid it, I am satisfied. Enter SIR JOHN. Sir John. What do I hear? Are you reconciled, then? Kitty, My dear father! I have been cheated | poem in praise of that virtue, which I beg leave and abused. to present to you, and hope you will receive it kindly. [Gives him the poem. Sir John. I hope your virtue is untouched? Kitty. That I will always preserve. Sir John. Then I forgive you any thing. But how shall we be revenged on this scoundrel knight? Kitty. Contrive but that, and I am easy. Green. As his base designs have not been executed, I think, if we could expose and laugh at him, it would be sufficient punishment. Sir John. If it could be done severely. Kitty. I think it may. I believe I have found out a way to be revenged on him; come with me into the next room, and we'll put it in execution. Sir John. I'll come to him. Go you together, d'ye hear, and contrive your design. [They go out severally. SCENE III.-Another Room. Enter SIR JOHN and the King, disguised as a collegiate. Sir John. No compliments, I tell ye, but come to the point: What is your business? King. As I appear to you in the habit of a collegiate, you may fancy I am some queer pedantic fellow; but I assure you, I am a person of some birth, and had a liberal education. I have seen the world, and kept the best company. But living a little too freely, and having spent the greatest part of my fortune on women and wine, I was persuaded, by a certain nobleman, to take orders, and be would give me a living, which he said was coming into his hands. I was just closing with the proposal, when the spiteful incumbent recovered, and I was disappointed. Sir John. Well, and what's all this to me. King. Why, sir, there is a living now fallen, which is in the king's gift, and I hear you have so good an interest with his majesty, that I am persuaded a word from you, in my favour, would be of great service to me. Sir John. And what must that word be, pray? King. Nay, that I leave to you. Sir John. Sir, I am not used to these things: I don't understand them at all; but let's see[SIR JOHN reads.] A poem in praise of the incomparable sincerity and uncommon honesty of the worthy Sir John Cockle,' &c. - Enough, enough!-a poem in praise of sincerity, with a fulsome compliment in the very title, is extraordinary indeed! Sir, I am obliged to you for your kind intentions; your wit and your poetry may be very fine, for ought I know; but a little more common sense, I believe, could do you no harm. King. He is not to be flattered, I find; but I'll try what bribery will do. That, I'm afraid, hits every body's taste. [Aside.]-Shall I beg one word more with you? Sir, you are a gentleman of the greatest sincerity and honour I ever met with, and, for that reason, I shall always have the highest regard for you in the world, and for all that belongs to you. I hear your daughter is going to be married; let me beg leave to present her with this diamond buckle. I Sir John. Sir, you surprise me very much; pray, what may the value of this be? King. That's not worth mentioning-about five hundred pounds, I believe. Sir John. Why, did not you tell me, just now, that you had spent all your fortune? King. I did so: but it was for a particular reason; and you shall find I am not so poor as I represented myself. Sir John. I am glad of it. But, pray, how am to return this extraordinary generosity? King. I expect no return, sir, upon my honour; though you have it in your power to oblige me very much. Sir John. Don't mention the living, for that I have told you already you are not fit for. King. I won't. But there is a certain place at court of another kind, which I have long had a mind to: Tis true, there is a sorry, insignificant fellow in possession of it at present; but he's of no service; and I know your power with the king; a word or two from you would soon dispossess him. Sir John. But what must he be dispossessed for? King. To make room for me, that's all. Sir John. You are in the right; and I'll tell you what it shall be. That you, being a senseless, idle-headed fellow, and having ruined your-me-here, take it again; and let me tell you, I self by your own folly and extravagance, you am not to be flattered into a foolish thing, nor therefore think yourself highly qualified to teach bribed into a base one. mankind their duty. Will that do? King. You are in jest, sir. Sir John. Upon my word, but I am in earnest. I think he that recommends a profligate wretch to the most serious function in life, merely for the sake of a joke, gives as bad a proof of his morals, as he does of his wit. King. Sir, I honour your plain-dealing. You exactly answer the character I have heard of your uncommon sincerity; and, to let you see that I am capable of something, I have wrote a King. [Discovering himself.] Then thou art my friend, and I will keep thee next my heart. Sir John. And is it your majesty. King. Be not surprised; it is your own maxim, that a king cannot be too cautious in trying those whom he designs to trust. Forgive this disguise-I have tried thy honesty, and will no longer suspect it. Enter GREENWOOD. Green. Sir, I am come to let Miss Kitty know privately, that my master will be here, disguised, immediately. Sir John. Will he? Well, go into the next room, and tell her so. If your majesty will be so good as to retire into this chamber a while, you will hear something, perhaps, that will divert you. Enter JOE. Joe. Sir, here's a maid-servant come to be hired. Sir John. Let her come in. I'll speak to her presently. [Exit with the King. Enter SIR TIMOTHY, disguised as a maid-servant. Sir Tim. Well, I am obliged to the dear girl for this kind contrivance of getting me into the house with her. 'Twill be charmingly convenient Re-enter SIR JOHN. Sir Tim. Sir, I heard that the young lady, your daughter, wanted a servant, and I should be proud of the honour to serve her. Sir John. My daughter will be here presently. Pray, my dear, what's your name? Sir Tim. Faith, I never thought of that; what shall I say? [Aside.]-Betty, sir. Sir John. And pray, Mrs. Betty, who did you live with last? Sir Tim. Pox on his impertinence! he has non-plussed me again.-[Aside.] Sir, I—I—lived with Sir Timothy Flash. Sir John. Ah, a vile fellow that! a very vile fellow, was not he? Did he pay you your wages? Sir Tim. Yes, sir-I shall be even with you for this by and by. [Aside. well. Hold up your head, child. O Lord! Mrs. Betty, you have got a beard, methinks. [Strokes her under the chin. Kitty. What! has Betty got a beard? Ha, ha, ha! Ah, Betty! why did not you shave closer? But I told ye you was a fool! Sir John. Well-and what wages do you expect, my dear? Kitty. Ay, what work do you design to do,my dear? Sir John. How cleverly you have bit the old fool, ha! Kitty. And how charmingly we shall laugh at him by and by, ha! Sir John. Now don't you think you look like a puppy? Kitty. Poor Sir Timothy ! are you disappointed, love? Come, don't be nangry, and I'll sing it Sir Tim. Zoons! am I to be used in this manner? And do you think I will bear it unrevenged? Kitty. And have you the impudence to think you are not well used? Sir John. You was well off, then; for they Sir John. Nay, nay, if he's not satisfied, insay its what he very seldom does. Sad pay !stead of the entertainment he expected, suppose I can tell you, one part of your business must be we give him what he deserves. Who's within, to watch that villain, that he does not debauch there? my daughter: for I hear he designs it. But I hope we shall prevent him. Sir Tim. I'll take care of her, sir, to be sureI burst with laughter to think how charmingly we shall gull the old fellow! Sir John. Kate! Enter MISS KITTY. [Aside. Enter three or four Servants, SIR TIMOTHY runs off, and they after him. Sir John. They'll overtake him; and I don't doubt but they'll give him the discipline he de serves. Enter King, GREENWOOD, and Courtiers. King. After what you have told me, I think they cannot use him too ill. Madam, I wish you joy of your escape from the ruin which threaten Here's a maid for you, Kate, if you like her. Kitty. Pray, child, what can you do? Sir Tim. I hope I shall, madam, if you please to try me. Kitty. No, I durst not try you, indeed. a fool. Sir John. Nay, my dear, don't abuse the young woman; upon my word, I think she looks mighty Kitty. The king! I thank your majesty. King. And I am glad to hear that you are reconciled to an honest man that deserves you. Kitty. I see my error; and I hope, by my future conduct, to make amends for the uneasiness I have given to so good a father. Sir John, My dear child, I am fully satisfied: and I hope thou wilt every day be more and more convinced, that the happiness of a wife does not consist in a title, or fine appearance of her husband, but in the worthiness of his sen-. timents, and the fondness of his heart. King, And now, my good old man, henceforth be thou my friend. I will give thee an apart-nest, and my affection to your majesty sincerement in my palace, that thou mayest always be but as to my abilities, alas! they are but small: near my person. And let me conjure thee ever yet, such as they are, if it clash not with my duty to preserve this honest, plain sincerity. Speak to the public, they shall always be at your mato me freely, and let me hear the voice of truth.jesty's service. If my people complain, convey their grievances faithfully to my ear; for how should kings redress those ills, which flatterers hide, or wicked men disguise? Sir John. I thank your majesty for the confidence you have in me: my heart, I know, is ho King. I'd have you just to both. But let your country's good be first your aim; Gay. I tell thee, Sharp, last night Melissa consented, and fixed to-morrow for the happy day. Sharp. "Tis well she did, sir, or it might have been a dreadful one for us in our present condition: all your money spent; your moveables sold; your honour almost ruined, and your humble servant almost starved; we could not possibly have stood it two days longer-But if this young lady will marry you, and relieve us, o' my conscience I'll turn friend to the sex, rail no more at matrimony, but curse the whores, and think of a wife myself. Gay. And yet, Sharp, when I think how I have imposed upon her, I am almost resolved to throw myself at her feet, tell her the real situation of my affairs, ask her pardon, and implore her pity. Sharp. After marriage, with all my heart, sir; but don't let your conscience and honour so far get the better of your poverty and good sense, as to rely on so great uncertainty as a fine lady's mercy and good-nature. Gay. I know her generous temper, and am almost persuaded to rely upon it. What! because am poor, shall I abandon my honour? I Sharp. Yes, you must, sir, or abandon me. So, pray, discharge one of us; for eat I must, and speedily too: and you know very well, that that honour of yours will neither introduce you to a great man's table, nor get me credit for a single beef-steak. Gay. What can I do? Sharp. Nothing, while honour sticks in your throat. Do, gulp, master, and down with it. Gay. Pr'ythee leave me to my thoughts. Sharp. Leave you! No, not in such bad company, I'll assure you. Why, you must certainly be a very great philosopher, sir, to moralize and declaim so charmingly as you do, about honour and conscience, when your doors are beset with bailiffs, and not one single guinea in your pocket to bribe the villains. Guy. Don't be witty, and give your advice, sirrah. Sharp. Do you be wise, and take it, sir. But, |