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It is a problem in the heart of man, that he applauds with the highest pleasure the tricks of represented fraud. He brings himself whimsically to think, that some characters may be injured meritoriously; and he laughs when the guardian or the parent is robbed of a ward or of a daughter, by the dextrous cunning of an unprincipled adventurer.

He is no more rigidly just in his ideas of married life. The husband whose wealth has drawn to hima partner younger than himself, or who diminishes the value of many good qualities by a stain of avarice, it is his joy to see dishonoured and deceived, defrauded and miserable.

The present Play is one of those which exhibit the vices of life rather than its follies the frivolous wife sporting with the destruction of her family-the lowborn PROFLIGATE imitating the character both external and internal of his superior, and creeping into connexions under a borrowed skin. He is a common sharper-for he would scruple little, whom we see plundering his mother.

However, the power of the Author is sufficiently visible. There is a prevalence of humour rather than wit; and the character of Mrs. AMLET, humble when she hopes to receive, insolent when demanding, proud and vulgar, the necessary slave and the eventual tyrant of the Fair, who depend upon her, is, while the effect must be admitted strong, acknowledged to be true.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY A SHABBY POET.

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YE gods! what crime had my poor father done,

That you should make a poet of his son ?

Or is't for some great services of his,

Y' are pleas'd to compliment his boy with this?

[Shewing his crown of laurel.

The honour, I must needs confess, is great,

If, with his crown, you'd tell him where to eat.

Tis well-But I have more complaints look here!

[Shewing his ragged coat.

Hark ye: D'ye think this suit good winter wear?
In a cold morning; whu! at a lord's gate,
How you have let the porter let me wait!
You'll say, perhaps, you knew I'd get no harm,
You'd given me fire enough to keep me warm.
Ah

1

A world of blessings to that fire we owe,
Without it, I'd ne'er make this princely show.

I have a brother too, now in my sight,

[Looking behind the scenes.

A busy man amongst us here to-night:

Your fire has made him play a thousand pranks,
For which, no doubt, you've had his daily thanks;

He'as thank'd you, first, for all his decent plays,
Where he so nick'd it, when he writ for praise.
Next for his meddling with some folks in black,
And bringing souse a priest upon his back;
For building houses here t'oblige the peers,
And fetching all their house about his ears;
For a new play, he'as now thought fit to write,
To sooth the town which they

will damn to-night.

These benefits are such, no man can doubt
But he'll go on, and see your fancy out,
Till for reward of all his noble deeds,
At last like other sprightly folks he speeds:
Has this great recompense fix'd on his brow
At fam'd Parnassus; has your leave to bow
And walk about the streets-equipp'd-as I am now.

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