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Buy a snug piece of ground,

Just the size of the pound,
Where potatoes shall multiply all the year round:
And since Dr. O'Blarney's genteeler, you see,
Than plain Mr. O'Blarney, I'll take a degree,

Perhaps two or three;
For the name of a man, must for letters prevail,
When he wears half the alphabet pinn'd to his tail.
I'll import my own snuff, for snuff-taking, I'm told,
Is exceeding polite, tho' 'tis blackguard – but hold!
An't I counting my chickens a little too soon ?

For e'er they are hatch'd,
This same rogue must be catch'd,
So whilst at his heels,

I dance Irish reels,
May the devil take the hindmost, this fine afternoon.


Scene, in the Village.


Cons. And you really are in love with the girl ?
Carel. Is she not a charming creature ?

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.
Carel. How?
Cons. I have ascertained the point myself.
Carel. You ?
Cons. Nay, don't be jealous.
Carel. Well.
Cons. Her family is respectable.
Carel. Respectable ?

Cons. Ay, respectable; it would'nt become me to say more — she has friends who must be consulted.

Carel. Friends ?
Cons. I mean relations.

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.
Carel. So much the better.

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.

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Carel. Your sister ?
Cons. 'Tis even so.
Carel. Are you in earnest ?
Cons. 'Tis she, by heaven !

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.

AIR 16th.

Curs'd be the wretch whose wealth succeeds
To buy the heart he cannot move,
And to the altar rais'd for love,
His trembling captive leads.

Long may her cold reluctant charms,
Possess’d, but not enjoy'd,
With lifeless beauty fill his arms,
And leave his heart a void.



Scene, the Elm Grove.


AIR 17th.
Sweet minstrel of the midnight hour,
Who, from thy solitary bower,

Pourest thy plaintive trill,

When all the woods are still,
Oh, let my virgin sorrows float,
Responsive to thy widow'd note,

For nought but love forlorn can be

The burthen of thy melody,
Breathing so musically forth thy woes,
Night borrows silence from each dying close.

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!
Cons. 'Sdeath! to be laugh'd at, too!

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?
Soph. Yes, he told me the whole affair.

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