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Dear Theodosia, Though the sight of me was so disagreeable to you, that you charged me never to approach you more, I hope my hand-writing can have nothing to frighten or disgust you. I am not far off ; und the person that delivers you this, can give you intelligence. Come hither, child; do you know any thing of the gentleman that wrote this?

Fanny. My lady

Theod. Make haste-run, this moment-bring me to him, bring him to me; say I wait with impatience tell him I will go-fly any where

Mer. My life ! my charmer!
Theod. Oh, Heavens! Mr. Mervin !

Enter SiR HARRY and LADY SYCAMORE. Lady S. Sir Harry, don't walk so fast; we are not running for a wager.

Sir Harry. Hough, hough, hough!

Lady S. Heyday, you have got a cough! I shall have you laid upon my hands presently.

Sir Harry. No, no, my lady; it's only the old affair.

Lady s. Come here, and let me tie this handkerchief about your neck; you have put yourself into a muck-sweat already. [fies a Handkerchief about his Neck.] Have you taken your bardana this morning? Not

you, I warrant now, though you have been complaining of twitches, two or three times ; and, you know, the gouty season is coming on. Why will you be so neglectful of your health, Sir Harry? I protest, I am forced to watch you, like an infant !

Sir Harry. My lovey takes care of me, and I am obliged to her.

Lady S. Well, but you ought to mind me then, since you are satisfied I never speak but for your good. I thought, Miss Sycamore, you were to have

Bless'd, who no false glare requiring,
Nature's rural sweets admiring,
Can, from grosser joys retiring,

Seek the simple and serene.

[Exit.

Enter MERVIN and FANNY.

Mervin. Yonder she is seated, and, to my wish, nost fortunately alone.-Accost her as I desired.

Theod. Heigh!

Fanny. Heaven bless you, my sweet lady bless your honour's beautiful visage, and send you a good husband, and a great many of them!

Theod. A very comfortable wish, upon my word! who are you, child ?

Fanny. A poor gipsy, an please you, that goes about begging from charitable gentlemen and ladies. -If you have e'er a coal, or bit of whiting in your pocket, l'll write you the first letter of your sweetheart's name-how many husbands you will have, and how many children, my lady: or, if you'll let me look at your line of life, I'll tell you whether it will be long or short, happy or miserable.

Theod. Oh! as for that I know it already—you cannot tell me any good fortune, and, therefore, I'll hear none.-Go about

your

business. Mer. Stay, madarn, stay—[Pretending to lift a Paper from the Ground]-you have dropped something-Fan, call the young gentlewoman back.

Fanny. Lady, you have lost-
Theod. Pho, pho, I have lost nothing !

Mer. Yes, that paper, lady; you dropped it as you got up from the chair.–Fan, give it to her honour. Thcod. A letter, with my address !

[T'akes the Paper, and reads.

Dear Theodosia, Though the sight of me was so disagreeable to you, that you charged me never to approach you more, I hope my hand-writing can have nothing to frighten or disgust you. I am not far off ; und the person that delivers you this, can give you intelligence. Come hither, child; do you know any thing of the gentleman that wrote this?

Fanny. My lady

Theod. Make haste-run, this moment-bring me to him, bring him to me; say I wait with impatience -tell him I will go-fly any where

Mer. My life ! my charmer!
Theod. Oh, Heavens! Mr. Mervin !

Enter SIR HARRY and LADY SYCAMORE. Lady S. Sir Harry, don't walk so fast; we are not running for a wager.

Sir Harry. Hough, hough, hough!

Lady S. Heyday, you have got a cough! I shall have you laid upon my hands presently.

Sir Harry. No, no, my lady; it's only the old affair.

Lady S. Come here, and let me tie this handkerchief about your neck; you have put yourself into a muck-sweat already. [Ties a Handkerchief about his Neck.] Have you taken your bardana this morning? Not you, I warrant now, though you have been complaining of twitches, two or three times ; and, you know, the gouty season is coming on. Why will you be so neglectful of your health, Sir Harry? I protest, I am forced to watch you, like an infant !

Sir Harry. My lovey takes care of me, and I am obliged to her.

Lady S. Well, but you ought to mind me then, since you are satisfied I never speak but for your good. I thought, Miss Sycamore, you were to have

followed your papa and me into the garden-How far did you go with that wench?

Theod. They are gipsies, madam, they say-Indeed, I don't know what they are.

Lady S. I wish, miss, you would learn to give a rational answer.

Sir Harry. Eh! what's that? gipsies ! Have we gipsies here? Vagrants, that pretend to a knowledge of future events ! diviners—fortune-tellers !

Fanny. Yes, your worship, we'll tell your fortune, or her ladyship's, for a crum of bread, or a little broken victuals-what you throw to your dogs, an please you.

Sir Harry. Broken victuals, hussy! How do you think we should have broken victuals ?-If we were at home, indeed, perhaps you might get some such thing from the cook : but here we are only on a visit to a friend's house, and have nothing to do with the kitchen at all.

Lady S. And do you think, Sir Harry, it is necessary to give the creature an account?

Sir Harry. No, love, no; but what can you say to obstinate penple?- Get you gone, bold face-I once knew a merchant's wife in the city, my lady, who had her fortune told by some of those gipsies.—They said she should die at such a time; and, I warrant, as sure as the day came the poor gentlewoman actually died with the conceit. Come, Dossy, your mamma and I are going to take a walk.-My lady, will you have hold of my arm?

Lady S. No, Sir Harry, I choose to go by myself.

Mer. Now, love, assist me!-[Turning to the Gipsies.]-Follow, and take all your cues from me e-Nay, but, good lady and gentleman, you won't go, without remembering the poor gipsies?

Sir Harry. Hey, here is all the gang after us !
Gipsies. Pray, your noble honour

Lady S. Come back into the garden; we shall be covered with vermin.

Gipsies. Out of the bowels of your commiseration!

Lady S. They press upon us more and more; yet that girl has no mind to leave them: I shall swoon away.

Sir Harry. Don't be frighten'd, my lady; let me advance.

AIR,

You vile pack of vagabonds, what do you mean?

I'll maul you, rascallions,

Ye tatterdemallions-
If one of them comes within reuch of my cane.

Such cursed assurance !

'Tis past all endurance. Nay, nay, pray come away.

They're liars and thieves,

And he that believes
Their fuolish predictions,
Will find them but fictions,
A bubble that always deceives.

[Exeunt all but FANNY and GIPSY.

Fanny. Oh! mercy, dear-The gentleman is so bold, 'tis well if he does not bring us into trouble. Who knows but this may be a justice of peace? and see, he's following them into the garden!

Gipsy. Well, 'tis all your seeking, Fan.

Fanny. We shall have warrants to take us up, I'll be hanged else! We had better run away-the servants will come out with sticks, to lick us. [Exeunt.

Enter MERVIN and GIPSIES. Mervin. Cursed ill fortune!—She's gone, and, perhaps, I shall not have another opportunity And you

D

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