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Was by a wave wash'd off into the deep;
When, instantly, I plung'd into the sea,
And, buffetting the billows to her rescue,
Redeem'd her life with half the loss of mine;
Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her,
And with the other dash'd the saucy waves,
That throng'd and press'd to rob me of my prize.
I brought her; gave her to your despairing arms;
Indeed, you thank'd me; but a nobler gratitude
Rose in her soul; for, from that hour she lov'd me,
Till for her life, she paid me with herself.

Pri. You stole her from me ; like a thief, you stole her
At dead of night; that cursed hour you chose
To rifle me of all my heart held dear.

May all your joys in her prove false as mine;
A sterile fortune and a barren bed

Attend you both;

continual discord make
Your days and nights bitter and grievous still :
May the hard hand of vexatious need

Oppress and grind you; till, at last, you find
The curse of disobedience all your portion.

Jaff. Half of your curse you have bestow'd in vain ✨
Heaven has already crown'd our faithful loves
With a young boy, sweet as his mother's beauty.
May be live to prove more gentle than his grandsire,
And happier than his father.

Pri. No more.

Jaff. Yes, all; and then-adieu forever.

There's not a wretch that lives on common charity
But's happier than I; for I have known
The luscious sweets of plenty; every night
Have slept with soft content about my head,
And never wak'd but to a joyful morning;
Yet now must fall; like a full ear of corn,
Whose blossom 'scap'd yet's wither'd in the ripening.
Pri. Home and be humble, study to retrench;
Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall,

Those pageants of thy folly;

Reduce the glitt'ring trappings of thy wife
To humble wecds, fit for thy little state;
Then to some suburb cottage both retire 3.

Drudge to feed loathsome life.

Home. home, I say.

Jaff. Yes, if my heart would let me

This proud, this swelling heart, home would I go,

But that my doors are hateful to my eyes,

Fill'd and damm'd up with gaping creditors.
I've now not fifty ducats in the world;
Yet still I am in love, and pleas'd with ruin.
Oh, Belvidera! Oh! she is my wife-
And we will bear our wayward fate together-
But ne'er know comfort more.

[Exits

IV-Boniface and Aimwell.-BEAUX STRATAGEM Bon. THIS way, this way, Sir.

Aim. Your're my landlord, I suppose.

Bon. Yes, Sir, I'm old Will Boniface; pretty well known upon this road, as the saying is.

Aim. O, Mr. Boniface, your servant.

Bon. O, Sir-What will your honor please to drink, as the saying is ?

Aim. I have heard your town of Litchfield much faired for ale; I think I'll taste that.

Bon. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy; and will be just fourteen years old the fifth day of next March old style. Aim. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale. Bon. As punctual, Sir, as I am in the age of my children :-I'll show you such ale!--Here, tapster, broach number 1706, as the saying is,-Sir, you shall taste my anno domini.—I have lived in Litchfield, man and boy, above eight and fifty years, and I believe, have not consumed eight and fifty ounces of meat.

Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess by your bulk.

Bon. Not in my life, Sir: I have fed purely upon ale: I have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always seep upon ale. [Enter tapster, with a tankard. Now, Sir, you shall see. -Your worship's health [drinks]-Ha! Delicious, delicious! Fancy it Bu gunay, only fancy it-and 'tis worth ten shillings a quait

Aim. drinks] Tis confounded strong.

Bon. Strong! It must be so, or how should we be strong that drink it?

Aim. And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord?

Bon. Eight and fifty years upon my credit, Sir; but it killed my wife, poor woman, as the saying is.

Aim. How came that to pass ?

Bon. I don't know how, Sir.--She would not let the ale take its natural course, Sir; she was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram, as the saying is; and an honest gentleman, that came this way from Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottles of usquebaugh— but the poor woman was never well after-but, however, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.

Aim. Why, was it the usquebaugr that killed her? Bon. My lady Bountiful said so-she, good lady, did what could be done: she cured her of three tympanies -but the fourth carried her off. But she's happy, and I'm contented, as the saying is.

en.

Aim. Who is that lady Bountiful you mentioned?

Bon. Odd's my life, Sir, we'll drink her health :~ drinks-My lady Bountiful is one of the best of wornHer last husband, Sir Charles Bountiful, left her worth a thousand pounds a year; and I believe she lays out one half on't in charitable uses, for the good of her neighbours.

Aim. Has the lady been any other way useful in her generation ?

Bon. Yes, Sir, she has had a daughter by Sir Charles -the finest woman in all our country, and the greatest fortune. She has a son teo, by her first husband; 'sqire Sullen, who married a fine lady frem London t'other day if you please, Sir, we'll drink his health. [drinks] Aim. What sort of a man is he?

Bon. Why, Sir, the man's well enough; says little, thinks less, and does-nothing at all, faith, but he's a man of great estate, and values nobody.

Aim. A sportsman, I suppose ?

Bon. Yes, he's a man of pleasure; he plays at whist;