Mrs. O. Mighty well! But that won't do, Sir! — Did not I liear you lay the whole intrigue together? Did not I hear your fine plot of throwing all the blame upon Charles?

Oakly. Nay, be cool a moment

Thou muft

know, my dear, that the letter which came this mor ning, related to this Lady

Mrs. O. I know it.

Oakly. And fince that, it feems, Charles has been fo fortunate as to

Mrs. O. O you deceitful Man! That trick is too stale to pass again with ine It is plain now what you meant by your proposing to take her into the house. this morning But the Gentlewoman could intro

duce herself, I fee.

Oakly. Fie, fie, my dear, fhe came on purpose to enquire for you.

Mrs. O. For me! Better and better! Did not she watch her opportunity, and come to you juft as I went out? But I am obliged to you for your vifit, Madam. It is fufficiently paid. Pray, don't let ine detain you...

Oakly. For shame! for fhame, Mrs. Oakly! How can you be so abfurd? Is this proper behaviour to a Lady of her character?

Go, my

Mrs. O. I have heard her character. fine run-away Madam! Now you've eloped from your father, and run away from your aunt! Go! - You Than't stay here, I promise you.

Oakly. Prithee, be quiet. You don't know what

you are doing. She shall stay.

Mrs. O. She fhan't stay a minute.

Oakly. She fhall stay a minute, an hour, a day,

a week, a month, a year!

Sdeath, Madam, fhe

fhall stay for ever, if I chuse it....

Mrs. O. How!

Har. For Heaven's fake, Sir, let me go. I am frighted to death.

Oakly. Don't be afraid, Madam She Thall ftay, I infift upon it.

I

Ruffet. (within.) I tell you, Sir, I will go up. am fure that the Lady is here, and nothing Thall hinder me.

Har. O my father! my father! (faints away.)

Oakly. See, The faints. (Catching her.) Ring the. bell! Who's there?

Mrs. O. What! take her into your arms too! Oh! I have no patience.

f

Richard Cumberlandt der Sohn des durch ein.. weitläuftiges Werk über das Naturrecht bekannten Bischofs zu Kilmore in Jrland, und von mütterlicher Seite ein Enkel des berühmten Richard Bentley. Er ist einer der fruchtbars. ften neuern englischen Theaterdichter, sowohl in der tragis. schen als komischen Gattung; der Werth seiner Schauspiele ist aber sehr ungleich, und sie verrachen überall die zu große Eile ihrer Verfertigung, obgleich die meisten bei der ersten Borstellung viel Beifall fanden, und sich darin noch immer behaupten. Ihr Verfasser hat seit einigen Jahren auch Schriften andrer Art, z. B. Anekdoten der spanischen Mah; ler, und das Wochenblatt, The Obferver, geliefert. Seine Lustspiele find The Summer's Tale - The Bro

thers

thers

ral Son

The Weft - Indian

The Fafhionable Lover

The Note of Hand The Choleric Man The Natu The Country Attorney The Impostors. Ihr grestes Verdienst ist genaue Kenntniß und Nachs bildung des Welttons und der Umgangssprache; den Charaks teren aber fehlt mehrentheils die gehdrige Vollendung; auch find sie durch die Vielfachheit der Handlung zu sehr gemischt, und oft nur flüchtig angedeutet. Die Sprache der Person ist selten nätürlich und eigenthümlich genug; nicht ohne Wik, aber zu leer von sichtbaren Eingebungen des Gefühls und des Herzens. Cumberland's bestes Stück, der Westindier, ist auch in Deutschland, durch Bode's Uebersehung und ofts malige Vorstellung, bekannt genug. Aus diesem und dem Liebhaber nach der Mode hat er die Hauptpersonen in feinem Natural Son wieder auftreten lassen, und ein paar neue hinzugefügt, die Handlung aber aus dem Tom Jones entlehnt. Der natürliche Sohn ist ein Fündling, den ein würdiger Landedelmann erziehen lässt, und von dem sichs am Ende entdeckt, daß er sein Neffe ist. Drollig genug ist der Charakter des Dumps, den man aus folgender Scene tennen lernt:

O'Flaherty. (feeing Dumps as he enters.) Oh the Beelzebub! what's here? Which of the feven deadly fins begot you? what gibbet have you defrauded of its furniture?

Dumps. I am ferving-man to Squire Ruefull? Ihaften'd in advance, to fignify the coming on of my Master Salve, Domine! Et tu quoque! in domo!

Pax

OF What the plague! which of your evik tongues is that?

Dumps, Tis Latin; I learnt it when I fhew'd the tombs in Westminster Abbey.

O'Fl. Oho! if you come out of the tombs,

no wonder you speak the dead languages.

Dump. Recte.

'tis

Sir Jeff. When will your Mafter be here, fellow?
Dumps. Anon.

Sir Jeff Hark ye, David, take this mummy into the cellar, and wet his duft with a cup of October. You'll find better company in my vaults, friend, than the abbey's.

Dumps Oh dear, Sir, I was reasonably merry, till I came into my Master's fervice; he is a monument of a man: we shou'd have had a terrible journey of it, if we had not luckily fallen in with a black job by the way, and kept company with the corpse of Exeter cathedral.

Jack. I must be acquainted with this fellow What is your name?

Dumps. My name is Dumps an' please you. Jack. How long have you been in Mr. Ruefull's fervice?

Dumps. Five years by the calendar, five centuries by calculation I had indeed the choice of being keeper of a pesthouse; but I was fool enough to withftand the offer; and, all other trades failing, took into. my prefent fervice.

O'Fl. What other trades have you followed? Let us know your history.

Dumps. 'Tis foon told; gentlemen I am the fon of a fexton, and worked at my father's business in my youth; I then went into the service of a diffecting furgeon, and with my father's help furnifh'd my master's academy with fubjects...s

O FL.

O Fl. Oh Lord, have mercy upon us!

Dumps. When that trade fail'd, I hir'd myself out to the Humane Society *).

O' Fl. That was the devil of a jump backwards.

Dumps. Many an honeft gentleman now walks about with breath of my blowing; but it was too much labour for one pair of lungs; and by giving life to a drowned Alderman upon a swan - hopping party I contracted a confumption, and turn'd murder-monger to a morning paper.

O' Fl. Murder-monger! there you are in your old quarters once more! And what's murder-monger, I would fain afk.

Dumps. Cafualty

compiler, an' please you,

inventer of murders to amuse our customers; but they faid I wanted variety in my violent deaths, I made to much ufe of the brewer's dray; fo they took a tragic poet in my place, and I was turn'd into Westminster Abbey as Valet de Chambre to the ragged Regiment, to brush the duft of the faces of the wax work; from thence I came into Squire Ruefull's fervice; and if I take another step downwards, it must be to the old one; for I can go no lower in this world,

Sir Jeff. Try the depth of my cellar firft; and then we'll talk further with you. Get you gone,