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Buy a snug piece of ground,
Just the size of the pound,
Perhaps two or three;
For e'er they are hatch'd,
I dance Irish reels,
Scene, in the Village.
Enter CONSTANT and CARELESS.
Cons. And you really are in love with the girl ?
Cons. She is a pretty woman in distress; and that, to a man who can relieve it, is of all human objects
the most interesting — but consider the meanness of her birth.
Carel. Her conduct belies it — besides, the picture. However, I'ın determined to inquire.
Cons. You may save yourself the trouble.
Cons. Ay, respectable; it would'nt become me to say more — she has friends who must be consulted.
Carel. Friends ?
Carel. Ay, that's quite another thing - you may find twenty that are allied to her by blood, to one that is akin to her misfortunes.
Cons. Fortune she has none.
Cons. So much the better! come, come, you shall never marry her without one.
Carel. Shan't marry her ?
Cons. Positively shan't, for I have too great a regard for my sister's happiness.
Carel. Your sister ?
Carel. Why, then, your sister is a charming girl, and what think you of me for a brother-in-law ?
Const. If my sister thinks but half as well of you, I shall be most proud of the relationship.
Carel. And if she does not think well of me, the relationship may go to the devil; for my fortune shall never purchase the hand, which my own merits are not able to obtain.
Curs'd be the wretch whose wealth succeeds
Scene, the Elm Grove.
• AIR 17th.
Pourest thy plaintive trill,
When all the woods are still,
For nought but love forlorn can be
The burthen of thy melody,
Soph. This second letter of Constant's puzzles me still more than his former one. Indeed he appears to have forgotten that he had written the first. It shews, however, that his reason is less disturbed.
Enter CONSTANT. Constant!
Cons. Sophia! (He endeavours to rush into her arms, but stops short.) 'Sdeath! I cannot — 'tis impossible.
Soph. Is it thus we are to meet ? Do you not know me, Constant ?
Cons. Oh, yes, I know you well ; you are the woman whose misfortune would have grieved, had not her falsehood undone me.
Soph. Misfortune! Falsehood! he has relapsed again. Come, come, you are not well: lean on my arm, and recollect yourself.
Cons. Recollect myself? Was I not an eye witness to the whole? Did I not just now overhear you confess to that scoundrel attorney that you had resigned me for ever.
Soph. So, so, so !
Cons. To your utter confusion, I was concealed in the closet, and privy to it all.
Soph. Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha!
Soph. Laugh'd at ! Why, could you really suppose I should invent such a fable, but to avoid his odious addresses: though, had the story been true, your misfortune would have been as great as mine.'
Cons. My misfortune?
Soph. Come, come, the fellow you sent with the letter blabb’d the secret.
Cons. Did he?