immediately inspired with every sensation which first testified their mutual passion. Still the sober critic must arraign the strength of this love with the shortness of its recollection; and charge the renewal of affection for objects that no longer appear the same, to fickleness rather than to constancy.

The biographers of Farquhar, who differ in some articles concerning him, all agree that he was married, in the year 1704, to a lady, who was so violently in love with him, that, despairing to win him by her own attractions, she contrived a vast scheme of imposition, by which she allured him into wedlock, with the full conviction that he had married a woman of immense fortune.

The same biographers all bestow the highest praise upon poor Farquhar for having treated this wife with kindness; humanely forgiving the fault which had deprived him of that liberty he was known peculiarly to prize, and reduced him to the utmost poverty, in order to support her and her children.

This woman, whose pretended love was of such fatal import to its object, not long enjoyed her selfish happiness-her husband's health gradually declined, and he died four years after his marriage. It is related that he met death with fortitude and cheerfulness. He could scarcely do otherwise, when life had become a burden to him. He had, however, some objects of affection to leave behind, as appears by the following letter, which he wrote a few days before his decease, and directed to his friend Wilks:

"DEAR BOB,

"I have not any thing to leave you to perpetuate my memory, except two helpless girls; look upon them sometimes, and think of him that was, to the last moment of his life, thine,

"GEORGE FARQUHAR."

Wilks protected the children-their mother died in extreme indigence.

THE

CONSTANT COUPLE.

ACT THE FIRST.

6CENE I

The Park

Enter VIZARD with a Letter, his SERVANT following. Vizard. Angelica send it back unopened! say you? Serv. As you see, sir?

Vizard. The pride of these virtuous women is more insufferable than the immodesty of prostitutes-After all my encouragement, to slight me thus!

Ser. She said, sir, that imagining your morals sincere, she gave you access to her conversation; but that your late behaviour in her company has convinced her that your love and religion are both hypocrisy, and that she believes your letter, like your-10 self, fair on the outside, and foul within; so sent it back unopened.

Vizard. May obstinacy guard her beauty till wrinkles bury it.-I'll be revenged the very first opportunity.Saw you the old Lady Darling, her mother?

Serv Yes, sir, and she was pleased to say much in your commendation.

Vizard. That's my cue- -An esteem grafted in 20 old age is hardly rooted out; years stiffen their opinions with their bodies, and old zeal is only to be cozened by young hypocrisy. [Aside.] Run to the Lady Lurewell's, and know of her maid whether her ladyship will be at home this evening. Her beauty is sufficient cure for Angelica's scorn.

[Exit SERVANT. VIZARD pulls out a Book, reads, and walks about.

Enter SMUGgler.

Smug. Ay, there's a pattern for the young men o' th' times; at his meditation so early; some book of pious ejaculations, I'm sure.

Vizard. This Hobbes is an excellent fellow ! [Aside.] 30 Oh, uncle Smuggler! To find you at this end o' th'

40

town is a miracle.

Smug. I have seen a miracle this morning indeed, cousin Vizard.

Vizard. What is it, pray, sir ?

Smug. A man at his devotion so near the courtI'm very glad, boy, that you keep your sanctity untainted in this infectious place; the very air of this park is heathenish, and every man's breath I meet scents of atheism.

Vizard. Surely, sir, some great concern must bring you to this unsanctified end of the town.

Smug. A very unsanctified concern, truly, cousin.
Vizard. What is it?

Smug. A lawsuit, boy-Shall I tell you?-My ship, the Swan, is newly arrived from St. Sebastian, laden with Portugal wines: now the impudent rogue of a tide-waiter has the face to affirm it is French wines in Spanish casks, and has indicted me upon the statute- -Oh, conscience! conscience! these tidewaiters and surveyors plague us more than the warAy, there's another plague of the nation