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impatience to know, if there be a letter from Langwood, and what he says.

Fram. I shall never be able to afford you the least information, upon that subject, my lord.

LD. Eust. Surely, I do not understand you. You said you had secured the letters-Have you not read them?

Fram. You have a right, and none but you, to ak me such a question. My weak compliance with your firft proposal relative to these letters, warrants your thinking so meanly of me.

But know, my lord, that though my perfonal affection for you, joined to my unhappy circumstances, may have betrayed me to actions unworthy of myself, I never can forget, that there is a barrier fixed before the extreme of baseness, which honour will not let me pass.

Lp. Eust, You will give me leave to tell you, Mr. Frampton, that where I lead, I think you need not halt.

Fram. You will pardon me, my lord; the consciousness of another man's errors, can never be a justification for our


poor, indeed, must that wretch be, who can be satisfied with the negative merit of not being the worst man he knows.

Lo. Eust. If this discourse were uttered in a conventicle, it might have its effect; by setting the congregation Sleep.

FRAM. It is rather meant to rouse, than lull your lordthip.

Lo. Eust. No matter what it is meant for; give me the letters, Mr. Frampton.

FRAM. Yet, excuse me. I could as soon think of arming a madman's hand, against my own life, as fuffer you to be guilty of a crime that will, for ever, wound your honour,


own ;


LD. EUst. I shall not come to you, to heal the wound: your medicines are too rough and coarse for me.

fram. The soft poison of flattery, might, perhaps please

you better.

on the

Lp. Eust. Your conscience may, probably, have as much need of palliatives, as mine, Mr. Frampton, as I am pretty well convinced, that your course of life, has not been more regular than my own.

FRAM. With true contrition, my lord, I confess part of your farcasm, to be just. Pleasure was the object of my pursuit, and pleasure I obtained, at the expence, both of health, and fortune: but yet, my lord, I broke not in up

peace of others; the laws of hospitality, I never vio. lated ;. nor did I ever seek to injure, or seduce, the wife or daughter of my friend.

LD. Eust. I care not what you did; give me the letters.

FRAM. I have no right to keep, and therefore Mall surrender them, though with the utmost reluctance ; but, by our former friendship, I intreat you not to open them. 1. Lb. Eust. That you have forfeited.

Fram. Since it is not in my power to prevent your committing an error, which you ought, for ever, to repent of, I will not be a witness of it. There are the letters.

LD. Eust. You may, perhaps, have cause to repent your present conduct, Mr. Frampton, as much as I do our past attachment. FRAM. Rather than hold your friendship upon such terms; I resign it for ever. Farewel, ny lord.

Re-enter FRAMPTON. · FRAM. Ill treated as I have been, my lord, I find it impossible to leave you surrounded by difficulties. LD. EUst. That sentiment should have operated fooner,


Mr. Frampton. Recollection is feldom of use to our friends, though it may sometimes be serviceable to ourselves.

FRAM.' Take advantage of your own expression, my lord, and recollect yourself. Born and educated as I have been, a gentleman, how have you inju.ed both yourself and me, by admitting and uniting in the fame confidence, your rafcally servant!

LD. Eust. The exigency.of my fituation is a suficient excuse to myself, and ought to have been so to the man who called himself my friend.

FRAM. Have a care, my lord, of uttering the least douby upon that subject; for could I think you once mean enough to suspect the fincerity of my attachment to you, it must vanish at that inftant.

LD. Eust. The proofs of your regard have been rather painful of late, Mr. Frampton.

FRAM. When I see my friend upon the verge of a precipice, is that a time for compliment? Shall I not rudely rush forward, and drag him from it ? Just in that state you are at present, and I will strive to save you. Virtue may languish in a noble heart, and suffer her rival, vice, to ufurp her power; but baseness must not enter, or she flies for ever. The man who has forfeited his own esteem, thinks all the world has the same consciousness, and therefore is what he deserves to be, a wretch.

LD. EUST. Oh, Frampton! you have lodged a dagger in my heart,

Fram. No, my dear Eustace, I have saved you from one, from your own reproaches, by preventing your being guilty of a meanness, which you could never have forgiven yourself. LD. Eust. Can you forgive me, and be still my friend. L 2


FRAM. As firmly as I have ever been, my lord. -But let us, at present, haften to get rid of the mean businefs we are engaged in, and forward the letters we have no right to detain.


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DUKE N Hath not old custom made this life more sweet

, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Than that of painted pomp? are not these woods
More free from peril, than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The season's difference; as the icy phang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,
This is no flattery; these are counsellors,
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the ufes of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head :
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

Come, shall we go, and kill us venison !
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desart city,
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round launches gor’d.
LORD. Indeed, my Lord,


The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ;
And in that kind swears you do more ufurp
Than doth your brother, that hath banilh'd you.
To day my Lord of Amiens, and myself,
Did steal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;
To the which place a poor fequeftered ftag,
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my Lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth lush groans
That their discharge did ftretch his leathern coat
Almoff to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down'lis innocent nose
In piteous chafe; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremeft verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

Duke. But what said Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?

LORD. O yes, into a thousand similes,
First, for his weeping in the needless stream;
Poor Deer, quoth he, thou mak'ít a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much. Then being alone,
Left an abandon'd of his velvet friends;
'Tis right, quoth he, thus misery doth part
The flux of company. Anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him: Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens,
"Tis just the falhion : wherefore do you look

1 3'


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