British theatre . ownan attachment, which, I find, was more than friend-ship. And if my entreaties cannot alter his resolutionto quit tlie country; I will even try, if my hand hasnot power to detain him. [Giving her hand. Hon. Heavens! how can I have deserved all this ?How express my happiness, my gratitude I A mo-ment, like this, overpays an age of appreliension. Croak, Well, now i see content in every face ; butHeaven send we be all better this day three months. Sir WHL Henceforth, nephew, learn to respectK 102 THE GOOD NATURED MAN. /^5 /% yourself. Ke who seeks only for applause from with-o
British theatre . ownan attachment, which, I find, was more than friend-ship. And if my entreaties cannot alter his resolutionto quit tlie country; I will even try, if my hand hasnot power to detain him. [Giving her hand. Hon. Heavens! how can I have deserved all this ?How express my happiness, my gratitude I A mo-ment, like this, overpays an age of appreliension. Croak, Well, now i see content in every face ; butHeaven send we be all better this day three months. Sir WHL Henceforth, nephew, learn to respectK 102 THE GOOD NATURED MAN. /^5 /% yourself. Ke who seeks only for applause from with-out, has all his happiness in anothers keeping. Hon. Yes, sir, I now too plainly perceive my er-rors. My vanity, in attempting to please all, by-fearing to offend any. My meanness in approvingfollv, lest fools should disapprove. Henceforth,therefore, it shall be my study to reserve my pity forreal distress ; my friendship for true merit; and mylove for her, who first taught me what it is to behappy. [^Exeunt EPILOGUE Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley. j^S pujfvig quacks some caitiff wretch procureTo sxoear the piil^ or dropy has wrought a cure ;*Thus on the stagey our play-wrights still dependFor Epilogues and Prologues on some friend^Who knows each art of coaxing up the town^yind make full many a bitter pill go of tillsy our bard has gone teasdeach rhyming frimd to hdp him Epibguey things cannt go on without it iIt could notfaily would you but set about many cries one (a bard laid up in clover)AlaSy young many my writing days are over ;Let boys play tricks, and kick the straw, not I;Your brother doctor there, perhaps, may 11 dear sir, the dodor interposes ;What, plant my thistle, sir, among his roses INo, no, Ive other contests to maintain ;To-night I head our troops at , ask your manager—Who, me! Your pardon ;Those things are not our fcrj, at Covent-Garden. * The Author, in expettation of an Epilogue from a friend
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