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feelings of the ^aker; its representation rather required aid firum the performer, than lent it him in the performance ri'::i:.Cc)(>t^lc

SOf FALSE SHAUE, &c

The geDeral idea of the piece, exhibiting a yoaog man, of the most rirtuous dispositions and amiable feeliogii overpowered by a fabe shame, and led into coDdiict nn-woitby of him, certainly admitted of a dramatic repre-■entation, suicepUble both of the lighter and more seti-oiu excellencies of comedy, and capable of a very useful moral efiect; but it must be owned, that this idea is imperfectly brought out.

I had once thoughts of re-modelling the piece, and of trying to place some of the characters in more theatrical situations; but I gave up the attempt, afmid of an alteration which might again expose me to a failure which I had once experienced. So 1 give the comedy here as it originally stood, fiattering myself, from the opinion of some friends who have read it, that, in the reading, some of its meritawill be better seen, and tome of its defects less itroDf^y fel^ than they were ia the representation.

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PROLOGUE.

Whebb'eb the drama rbsci to »choul the ag«, Tno rival listers walked the comic stage; Of different tempers, though iheir eod the same, To wield, in Virtue's cause, the scourge of shamej To prune the shooting follies of the times. And aid the law to punish lighter crimes. But though of equal praise the family plan. Like other sisters, they're not quite at ooe: "Hie elder, lively, laughiog, frolic, gay; The younger, somewhat uerious, iji her way. The elder some accused as cross and rude, Tiie younger others called a solemn prude. Here, on these boards,—at least the poets say't. Who say strange things,—we've heard them in debate; The elder had a bitter tongue of old. And Sentiment herself can sometimes scold.

" You sister Grave-Airs 1" said the laughing Muse, . " Who stalk with stalely pace on high-heeled shoes. Whose face demure was formed to whine and cry, Vou give 03 precious stuff for comedy.

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SM FROtOGVE.

In fine long words yonr moral truths rehearse, "And turn the Ten Commandmeots into yend." Yoar dramt* from France such sweet heroica teacbi ' Make tailors tragediie, and ploughmen preach Yoar tags of tragedy, your aha! and ohs 1 Your fine-spun sentiments, and wire-drawn woe^ Shew US bow comical it is—to weep ! And how diverting—to do what—to sleep '."

" Tis thus," her sister Sentiment replies, "Your ribald jokes aflront the good and wise. Your daubing hniih, that pictures coarsely true.

May hold some glaring follies up to Tiew; My pencil draws from manners and the mind. With nicer riiades, and colours more refined; Your satire's shafts may strike the rulgar breast Kaise the loud lauf^

tuid prompt the barren jest; On finer souls my gentler arrows play.

And melt each folly and each rice away."

To-night our bard,—I praise lus oounge for't^— To either sister tries to pay his court; Some comic characters attempt* to sketch. Some deeper feelings humbly hopes to reach. Your hearts, he Icbows, how quick soe'er to seize True conic mirth, those s^ious feelings please; The tear for worth, trium[duu)t or oppressed. Drops through the flanshine of ike gayest breast} And «ren your critics fisel an honeit pide To pMtlon enws, if onVirtoe'a side.

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PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

Sis GHAitLEs Dobmeb,

Mb Sbdlet.

Captain Wilkins.

LoKD Lapwing.

Db Muhuy.

Tom, a Servant of Sir Cliarlea Dormers.

William, a Servant of Mr Sedli^t.

Lady Dobmeb.

Miss Moonti^ibT.

Miss Diana Danbt.

Minikin, I^y Domia'i Maid.

LucR£TiA, an Juendant of Mia Danbg't.

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FALSE SHAME,

THE WHITE HYPOCRITE.

ACT I. SCENE l.—J lAhrary at Sir Charlei Dormer's.

Enter Minikin aadTott.

Tom. Nat, Mrs Mmikio, I can't assist you indeed ; bow should I know how to put a lady's library in order i

Mm. In disorder, yon mean, Mr Thomas; people of genius, like my lady, ai« always found in contusion. Here—^two large folios on this side of the cbur;—put down these little fellows higgle^

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Ml PALlB eSAME, OR

dy piggledy on the other—so—spread those letters wider, on the right hand side of the table^ this manuscript novel, fay a lady, on the left; and foi a mark Id it, this sketch by a young paioteri for a portrait of Lady Donner ia ^e character of Diana.

Tom. Fray, Mrs Minikin, is that a character your lady ia perfect in P

Min. Why, Mr Thomas, tfaat'd none of my business. For my part, I have always found the best places with ladies that know the world.

Your sober, huni'druni, tnetrooly mistresses, give one a cast gown now and then, and reckon it a favour; but when there are little thtags to manage, and little things to conceal^ ilittle letters to deliTcr, little messages to carry, and littl;; lies to invent, a waitiDg-maid mnst be stapid indeedj who does not make a good harvest on'U

Tom. And is yours a wbeaten erDp> tfcat way, Mrs Minikin ?

Min. Pretty well, if I bad it all to myself; bat there is aa interloper in the business, Miss Diana Puiby, my lady's sworn friend aad ccmfidante. I c«D only pick up some tcifltng bosinen within i«ai*Goog[c

doon; Miss Diana is her secretary for foreign affairs.

Tom. Indeed ! She that talks taOimaa, aa the; call it, so bravely, and spoke t'other day, at dia* Iter, of people's being in love with one anotliers' maidi forsooth, which she had some fine long name for.

Min. Oh yes; she has 6ne names for every thing. Her own name is a line one, of bcr own making; —Diana Danby Boundi much better than Dorothy Dobsoa.

Tom, Dobsoa! What, is she any relation of Ned Dobson's of Broadlands, in our parish i

Min. Hb daughter,wbo came to London in the waggon, to be put apprentice to a little mantua-maker in the borough. But now she is a poetess aad sentimentaliat, and has an elegant small house in Bemer's-street, where my lady often goes—to visit her library.

Tom. In Berner's-street;—oho!—then I can telt you a secret;—my master sometimes visits her library too; he is fond of reading.

Mm. Well, in these bad times, it is much if man and wife can agree in any thing.

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Tom. Butj if your lady agrees with Sil Charles, io liking Miss Danl^y's library, why should she trouble herself with any other? why pore over books, and peep through microscopes, with Mr Petal, Dr Mummy, and the reBtf Even Lord Lapwing, with all his learning, and ali his nobility, is hardly worth the trouble of so much study.

Mm. Why, I don't know; my lady has a spirit about her that loves to lead every thing. Then she likes to be talked of, even by Mr Petal and Dr Mommy; and, last of all, (as the best reason generally comes last,) there is a pretty fellow, Tom, who is to be found among those monsters my lady's studies bring about ber.

Tom.You mean MrSedley, that young relation of onra, who is lately come to town, from the university, for the first time since taking possession of his estate.

Min. Yes, I mean Mr Sedley; young, hand-some, rich, is not be worth studyiug for f

Tom. Why, he is very well, to be sure; yet, in my mind, he wants something of the air of my master to make biin a man for your lady's study^

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Mm. She has tried the air of your master bo loDg, ttiat a change of air may please her now, for variety's sake.

Tom. Yes, but he has a sort of awkward college 8ti£Fnesa about him, quite difierent from ns of St James's. He talks bo much of virtue.

Jlii«. My lady will teach him to be a little—to talk a little less of virtue by and by.

Tom. But then he is the professed lover of your lady's young friend.

Miss Mountfort. Her father, who died some time ago in India, was, it seems, Mr Sedle/a most particular friend, and left him this daughter as a sort of legacy.

Min. But people don't always like such a legacy, especially when their friends, like Mountfort, have left nothing else to go along with it. Yet Sedley, I believe, thinks otherwise at present; he &as not been a fortnight in town.—But, hush! here comes Miss Diana Banby; she has a much better notioa of things. You must not be seen here.

[Exit Tom. Enter Mia Danbt.

Mia Dan. Minikin, is the libraiy as it ought to be i It is jost on the hour of your lady's levee. l^tme see—la! child, the books are so close, and

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got FAUB SHAHB, OR

fo smooUi—foId down some of the leaves, thii»— and thus.—Good gadons ! wliat a blandering thing you are! Here you have laid down Hoyle in place of 9ir Isaac Newton, and La Egaremem it Caur instead of die Treatise on InBammabtea.

Enter Lord Lapwing.

Lord Lap. What! Miss Daoby, lectoriog oa chemiitry to Mrs Minikio f

[£xit Mihikin.

Mia Dan. No, roy loid, chemistry is a science I don't in the smaUest degree pretend to.

Lord Lc^. Tis not, I assure you, a whit too deep for your sex, provided the master be a good OTie. I have a System of Attractions, which I conld make any lady nnderstaud in a very short time.

Mix Dan. My lord, I haTe no doubt of yoni lordship's System of Actnictions being understood by the ladies.

Lord Lap. Well said. Miss Dauby, I protest; very well taid. I have always admired the justness of your conceptions, and the readiness of your elocution. But, seriously, I have tanght many fair pupils much more intricate analogies than tboM ef chemlstiy-. Tboogb indeed, now-a-tUysi, BWMt

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THS WHITS HTPOCBITE. SOB

of the young womea are so giddy, aod $o forget fi]}, aod the current of their panuits runs so eoimtei to the depths of science!—were it not for Lady Dormer and myself, the fashionable world would be almost unenlightened.

Mm Dm, But with two soch constellation!, my lord!

Ijord Le^. Do they really call na sof I bare been frequently told indeed, that something has been meoUoned of the sphere of the court being illuminated. Bnt it Looks so like vanity to talk of one's sdf

—one can't, however, help other people's tidking; and I know, that some of the iirst, nay, I believe I might say, the very first person is ^e kiogdora, has freqooitly quoted Lord Lapwing, as one of the most universal geniuses. Every body, I believe, will allow that great person's ability to judge in matters of scieoce; did affairs of state

•Bow him as much time, (though indeed they take up a great deal of my time too,) be might know as much, or perhaps more, than I do.

Mia Daii. More than yon do, oiy lord !

Lord Lap. Nay, the tfaiog is possible enough, though I have not met with it hitherto. But to change the subject, (for I l)ate egotiimO nbat cCoo^le

SM FALSE SHAME, OR

men of science do you expect here this mom-ing?

Mitt Dan, Mr Petal, the botanist, has sent bis Horha Skcut before him.

Jjordljap, Tbatman is abundantlydiallow,Miu Danby. He talked Mother day of the Linnsean Bystem, when I was just about to explain mine to him. He may dry plants, I suppose, well enough, but as for the arcana of nature, 'tis not every one who has the good fortune to be- of her cabinet-council. But, as I said before, I .hate egotism. -

Mia Dan. There is Mr DistJch, has promised to bring Lady Dormer the first act of bis tragedy.

Jxtrd Lap. I believe that yoong man has gmins. He applied to me for my remarks on bis last per^ fonnance; but I have been obliged to give up poeby, and indeed almost all the ornamentals; my time is so moch engrossed with more serious studies.

Mia Dan, Then, my lord, Dr Mummy, the antiquarian, wiU suit your disposition for seriousness. A dry, hard, literally brown, study, with the rust of antiquity on his cheeks, and wrinkles, like those' in the picture of Time, on his brow.

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The white hypocrite. ssi .

Lord Zap. He is indeed the first man^ abso-Intely the first man^ in his line, in Europe. He has adopted almost all my alteratttuis in his cbro* ndogy, and has displaced half hii own raedab to make room for mine.

Mia Dan. Were yours medalsj my lord,or coins? iJrcbh,.

Lord Lap. Both, both. Miss Danby, and he has arruiged them—as I should have done, had business allowed me leisure. I haye been of some little use to the Doctor, and ^all continue to do bim all the service in my power. There are bat two things I have reason to *be disfdeased with about him:—He has placed the Lapwing family half a

century higher than I gave bim any authority for; and he has written a Latin discourse on my medals, in which he has introduced me much too often, contrary to my repeated injunctions. As I said beTore, egotism is what I nould of all things avoid; the world talks enough of my name, my friends should spare iL—But here he comes.

—My dear Doctor!

Enter DrM-VTAUY.

Dr Mvm. My much honoured lord !

Lord Lap. Is the discourse ^ne to press, Doc-

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tor i You remember your promise of sending me the proofs.

Dr Mum. My lord, I have been making some alteratioDs, ac»M>rdiDg to your loidahip's sagges-tioos. That passage, which your over-delicacy insisted oa my leaving out, I have expunged, in obedience to your commands.

. Lord Lt^. \.fVilh an altered cottiitenaitce.2 Why, Doctor, you were perfectly right, perfectly, as to me. I did ioust upon it, as yon say, poatively in* sist upon it, and should still insist upon it/ had I not, OQ reading it over again, been so struck with the Latinity, the Ciceronian Latini^ of the passage, that I will submit to any thing rather than have such a morsel of laogui^e lost to your fame, and to the world.'

Dr Mvm, Your lordship rejoices me by die revocation. It shall stand aa it was. . Lord Lap. Only for the sake of the Latinity; the Mecanalem mema is charming. Miss Danby, I ask youF purdon; but though you don't understand liatin, you understand the feelings. '.

Even to me> who hate flattery, the praise of friendship—

Dr Mum. The voice of gratitude only, my lord/ or rather indeed of justice.

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Mitt Datt I comprehend it perfectly, mj lord. To delicate feelings,—to that fine-tooed seosibili-ty, which appropriates to itselfj whicb, as it were, transfuses the soul of sympathy!—like your lordship's, or Lady Dormer's.

Enter Lady Dokueb.

IriK^ Dor. Talking of my feelings, Danby— My lordj your most obedient—they are mon-Btronsly disarranged this morning. I was kept up BO late at Lady Squeeze's> lost my money to I don't know whom; Sedley and his party disappointed me> and did not come; so I was obliged to countermand our philosopherSj Lord Lapwing.

Lord Lap. If your ladyship was so unfortunate, a little philosophy might have been useful.

Lady Dor. No; for putting one in humonr agab, a littie flattery does ten times better. So 1 gave orders to let in Dr Honeycomb, when he calls with his dedication,

XonJX^ip. His dedication! of what? to whom?

La^ Dor. To me. The sweetest sermon I Preached to a charity, to which I am a contributor. I gave ten guineas lo .the charity, and am ri'::i:.Cc)0^le

MS FALSE SHAHB. OR

to subscribe ooe hundred to the Hoctor, for twenty copies of bis senoon.—" Wben the eye of beaaty"—^No^ ibat was not it.—Daoby, you can recollect the passi^; something abput beauty.

Mias Dan. Your ladyship has reasons for forgetting it.—" The gem of compassion^" said the Doctor, " in the eye of beauty! the ruby of animated feeling on her cheek!'—

Lord Lap, Yes, yes. Miss Danby, I remember it perfectly. I too am a cWitributor, and sat ia the gallery, opposite to your ladyship.—"

When elevated rank," said the Doctor, " serves to iUua< tiate native

dignity of mind I When genius uoitea her honours with those of station, and benignity sheds a radiance on both! When"—

La^ Dor. [I<ooAJ>^ in a Mirror."] Daoby, this cap is horridly awry; come, and help me to adjssk it. [^Ejeunt lady Dobhek and JVfui Danby.

Xonf Zap. Her ladyship's attention is a Httle dissipated this morning.

Dr Mwn. I am ashamed of the flattery, which

men of letters sometimes pay to rank and fortune.

Women of old had their province better assign-ed, and lel^ philosophy and science to n

understandings, like your Iwdship'st

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THE WHITE HTPOCBIT£. an

Lord Xop. Why, npv-o-days, saiea^ ia alntost come to tlie level of the ladies. It eonuats of trifling ezperimenti, paltry facta, which any body faay tuidentuid. No theory that generalizesj no ■ystem that coi}centFate». I gare a ipecinMn, some ye^n ago, at Cambridge, of such a system; fud, araoi^ tboM few, who had abOities to oom-prebend it, it has been a^hnired ever since. They called it Lapwingism before I left the nniversity. ■>—But here come Sir Charles Dormer and Mr Sedley. Doctor, shall I set yon down at your lodgiDgs i

Dr Mmn. I btunbly thank yoar lordihip; but I have an appointment at the Museum. Year lEKdship's most obedient hnmblc servanL

\_Bmt Dr Mdmmt.

Lord Lap. Sir, yofi' servaaL—That mwi has aq eye for e^^cellence.

£iiter -Sir Charlbs <md Sadlky.

&r Char. Still on ancient groand, my lord! I tbongbtyou had at last taken compassion on your contemporaries, and studied something for the good of the pieaent age.

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SIO FALSE SHAME, OR

Lord Lof. Sir Charles, I wish thia ^e very well, and do not forget it amidst my admiratioQ of the past. It does produce some men, that will be remembered ; talked of, I believe, when the present time shaU

have become the antiqoity of future centuries.

Sir Char. I have heard of your lat^ tour; Mr Sedley and I were justspeaking of it,

Sed. Who, I, Sir Charles! what tour?

Lord Lap. Mr Sedley is discreel, I see, and does not talk rashly.

Indeed you coold have scarce beard of it from any body but the minister. It will be more beard of against the meeting of Parliament.

I have a little sketch of ray expedition here— [Ta!dng a Paper from hix Pocket."] No, this b not it; this is a paper of hints for a new tax, if the exigencies of the state should require

Sed. A new tax, my lord ! Upon what article ?

lard Zap. Upon w^i. I have got most of the necessai}' calcalaticMis. I am only a little imperfect in the female braoch, where it will be difficult to prevent smuggling.

Sir Char. Very difficult, my lord; and the Buiw vey will be a matter of some delicacy.

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THE WHITE HYPOCRITE. all

Lord Jjop. We are aware of that, and sball probably have a clause of compositipn for the ladies. Gad so! I bad almost passed [Looking bU

Watch^ the hour of an appoiDtment; a meeting of some consequence.'-—Sir Cbarles, yon will excuse me.— Mr Sedley, yoor most obedient. My friend, Sir Charles, mentioned you to me; I know the pro-mise of your abiliUes, and if you wish for my advice in their direction, I can reftise nothing to Sir Charles and Lady Dormer.

[Exit Lord Lapwiso.

Sir Char. Dost know this lord, Sedley f

Sftl. Hardly at all, though be doep me the honour to offer me his advice.

&> Char. Oh! he offers every body advice; but he asks no fee foi't: on the contrary, I have found bim a wayt-and-tneata vaan to me, with ao other tax than a little tribute to bis vani^. The world is full of rogues and fools; a wise man must accommodate'himself to both.

Sed. That accommodation I find it difficult to reconcile myself to; yet often, from a silly sort of shame, I submit to it, till a better sort of shame takes me to task for having don^ bo.

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sit FALSE SHAME, OR

Sir Char. That cure of shame is worse than the disease. You must do it on priticiple, my dear Sedlejr. You know how mnch I love you; andj to say truth, I am proud of such a young fellow for my relatiouy—that is, of a young fellow wbc may be made so much of; for at present, Sedley, with your college and country notioBS of prin> ciple, as you

call it, virtue, feeling, and so forth, if it is not to be laughed at, you'are absolutely fit for nothing.

Sed. To be laughed at. Sir Charles I

l_fVith (Z mixture aflame and peevisinesi.

Sir Char, Yes, positively to be laughed at. You must excuse me; I am too much interested in you not to spealc plainly. Why, yesterday, now, when some men of the first fashion were here, to whom I introduced you as my relation end particular friend, and when, from my account of you, you had the fairest chance of being acai^ti, how you marred every thing by the most bizarre sort of behaviour S^. My behaviour. Sir Charles 1

Sir Char. Why, yes. You remember the scene —^Here stood my lord, with one of liady Dormer's tdescopes for a cricket-bat, giving an account of

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THE WHITE BYPOCRITB. tlS

&e great K«)tub match:—the cololiel, in bis w«y> with bU bat half on; one leg over t'othn, \rith the boot ninipled down, looking at tfaat leg. Mid picking his teeth with a poem of Distich's lolled up fnto a tooth-pick:—while little Helston, pot of pare friendship for me, was entertaining yooj is particular, with a narmtiTe of the last Newmarket meeting, and describing the very spot where bi9 boy jostled Demosthenes:—ryoa got. Lord knows how! among the Grecian common-jvealths, and talked of the genins of Atfaenq, and ihe virtue of Lacedemon.

Std. Why, I got there. Sir Charles, I suppose, as naturally as MrHelston gottO Newqiarket.

iStr Char. Oh I it was Christ-Cburirfa to a degree I But when I had brought you off there, a few minotes after, when uy lord told us of the little opera ^figurante he had bribed from the Connt, you lagged in a

Iwnentable story of a girl, a Dorsetshire parson's daughter, for whom a sub-(cripUoB had been set oa foot by that ridicolous old man, who makes such a pother with his bene* Tolence, in Portmaa-squarei—

Had you seen how I bloahed for you 1

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,SI4 FALSE 8HAHB, OR

Sed.1 —Idoremember Bomethiagofit. Bat—* I am not rare if I was the person who deseired to be blushed for.

Sir Char. Why, Ned, yon blnsh yet at the le-membrance of it. Oh!

believe me, these things are ridiculously hon de place here, lliey will do very well, if yoa have a mind to go back into the country to doze ont life> the squire of your own parish; to be a pattern tor the ie;cttire3 of the old women, and a test for the sennoDsof tbecarata; to marry some dowdy, that biows honsekeepiog, and get a parcel of boobies to devour custard, and fatten on mild ale.

Sed. Spare me, Sir Charles, spare me.

Sir Char. Nay, this is mildness and mercy to what people will think end say of yoa. I feel it, as your friend, by opticipation.—^You must fed it.

Sed. I have felt it bat too often. I own myself the veriest coward to ndicule. I know not how it is,—let me have thought, been coDvinced, and resolved ever so much, the laugh of those aronnd me always beats me ont of my ground. What a happy man you are. Sir Chadee, whp can look th«

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THE WHITE HYPOCRITE. SIS

world in the iWet without blushing at the sneer of it Sir Char. Only hecaase I give it no cause for sneering. You have as much^ or more^ in your power tfaan I have. With your family^

figure^ for* tone, every thing is within your reach, that wealth, or fashion, or pleasure, can bestow, if you will but ibake off this dunghill clog, that sUcks about yon from the ridicolous plan of country education, which my good ancle, your father, adopted for you.

Sed. Nay, Sir Charles,

Sir Char. Don't be afraid; I knew your father, and esteemed him. He too had been a rnoa of the world, and thence drew those qnulities, for which we valued him; but when age h&d damped his spirits, and impaired bis mmd, he peevishly re-flolved to bury you in the country, and gave you a cynic guardian, to abuse that life he himself had become too old to enjoy; that Mountfort, who was killed in India, and lefl bis daughter a sort of rent-charge on bis former pupil, Mr Sedley.

Sed. Twas but a debt I owed him. He had neglected his own aSaXta to lake care of mine; and when iinforeseea accidents, and abased generosity.

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$t§ FALSE SHAME, OB

bad wKctfld his circumgtances, he wovHd not aor cept of amy aid, which the estate he had nursed for me might have afforded him, but put od that sword again, he bad so long thrown aside, and went to Asia to tiy to repair the wrofigs of fortnpe to biat^ telf and lus daughter. I were a vilUin not to xe-, member him with gratitude !

Sir Char. Ypu >bBll be as grateful to bim as you please, as the friend of your father^ as the steward of jour estate i but for the model of your manr ners, my dear Sedley, let me iqtreat you to forget him as soon a« you cuu Monntfort, I belieVej, was a very good sort of man, i)> his Vfty; but he vf» not originally of a rank tf> entitle him to judge <^ the conduct of a man of fttsbion. His daughter is a pret^

girl enough, and should b^ taken care of. Wh«) the relation she lived with died, Iddy Do> mer did very right in asking b«r to this borne.

Her appearance is wonderful, every thing consiq dered, and may pass any where.

Sed. Pass, Sir Charles! bow you ^peak of her! Methinks I never saw anytbtng more elegant^ mure interestiagy—

Sir Char. But yen baye -not seen ^ite so many women as [ have^, Ned* The girl, as I sfiy, it well

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THE WHITE HYPOCRITE. SIT

enough; and there ia a milk-maid limiilicity about her, which a cottatry lad migbt fall in love with; and, if be were not afraid of being downright ri-diculoiu, migbt carry his attachment very teriotu lengths indeed.

Sed. And would it be so very ridiculous to be le* nously attached to Miss Moontfort f

•Sir Char. The most ridiculous thing on earth.

Sed. Indeed !—-to think of her for a wife i

Sir Char. A wife! Pray what notions have you formed of a wife, Mr Sedley ?

Sed. As of one who is to be a man's compookm for hfe.

Sir Char. Ha ! ba! h«! Yon have never been manried, Ned. A wife is a woman, who is to take a man's name, and may chance, daring the first year or two, to bring an heir to his estate; to do sonetimea the honours of his table, (when the company ia not too good for her;) and to let women, that might otherwise be scrapnlous, come about his hoase. But as for his companion—I don't think I have exchanged a dozen sentences' wiUi Lady Dormer theae three mtmths.

Sed. Indeed! YoD must be a very happy couple. Sir Charles.

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na FALSE SHAME. OR

Sir Char. For ihat very reason; we are nerer gttih with one another.

Lad; Dormer is a woman of fashion^ and does her husband no discredit by her appearancCj or her society. Sbe brought him a fortime that did no discredit to his good sense; and though she ^nds a little more of it than be coold wish, yet it is in such a way as does, no discredit to his taste. Had 1 married a pretty> poor, tiaknowa girl, like Julia Monntfort,—Oh God I oh God!—I should have hanged myself, at the end of the honey-moon, out of mere shame for my folly. Sed. Would it be bo mortifying a connecUon i Sir Char.

Disgraceful beyond measure, believe me. Yet a man ma; be fond of the girl, in a thoughtless way, and not forfeit his character. He may talk of her, talk to her, flirt with her,—What a grave reproving face you have on, Ned! Come, come, I am answerable for your figure in life, and -reckon m; honour engaged, that ;ou shall come to something worth; of you. You shall dine with me at the club to-da;, with men fitted to lead and to enjoy the world. If I did Hot think there were capabilities about you, I would not venture to introduce you. But put off that mookisU look, that

cCoot^lc

THE WHITE HYPOCRITE. tit

we may gel in without being laughed at, "Sdeath! a fellow of three-and-tweQty, with oa estate of seven thousand a year!

Sed. You shall teach me to enjoy it Sir Char. Yes, if you're not afraid of the ghost of Mr MouDtfort.

lExtunt.

i«ai*Goog[c

FALSE SHAUE, OE

SCENE—^( Sir Chablss Dobhbk's.

Enter Sbdlkt. He ipeah to a Servant in enter* ing. Misa Motmtfort is gone out, joa say.—I am son; for it; because methiaks I could speak to lierJDst now with more ease than ever I did iamy life. Why; what is

Julia Mountfortj Uiat Sedley should not speak to her with all the ease in the world i An orphan girl; the daaghter of one nobody knew, without friends, fortune^ or pretensions. Sir Charles is in the right—

but then—left, thus by her father^ who^ dying, thought of Sad-ley's honour, bis generosity, his gratitude—^herself, that genlle, elegant—

shaded by affliction, dignified by her sorrows!— {He walks with a kn^ened and agitated itep.} Why should I be

,:i:,Cc)Ot^le

THE WBITB HTPOORITE. ni

Ashamed of virtue and of bappineBS ? I will be a coward thus no longer. I wish I knew where to find her; this champaign is so veiy good a thing, thai I don't see wh; it sbonld not inspire goodnesi and generosi^, as well as folly and dissipation. X am to dine again at the clob to-morrow; mjLord Afodely is to be ^ere, to whom Sir Charles introduced me to-day.—" The Brst man in wit as in r^nk/' said Sir Charles> " with snch a girl for a daughter, Ned! botl had forgot, that you have no eyes for any woman but the little Movmtfort."— The little Mopatfort!—Let me read thb card again, which they brought me at the club; it said •omething of Mountfortj but I had not time to ttlink of bim then.— " Captain Wilkins, newly arrived from India, - - -

- friend of the late Colond Mountfort, - - - - wishes to see Mr Sedley, -

- - . and will do himself the pleasure of waiting on him."—Does he come to school me, as the pupil of bis friend i —I shall be pointed at as only a bigger boy, whom Mountfort is still to govern by bis executor.

Enter Tom.

Tom. Sir, there is a gentleman below, eoquiriag for Miss Mountfort He had called and left a

i«ai*Goog[c

Slj^ FAUB SHAHB, OR

note for her before. Hu naiqe is Wilkina. He asked where yon were to be found; so I told him, I beheved yon were here. Do you choose me to shew him up i

Sed Certainly. And yet—You expect your master every minute i-~\ had rather see him at my owa house—or stay—I will see him dow. A Cap« tain WilkioB^ you sayf

Tom. So be calls himself, sir; but, from his appearance, and the civility of his manner, I shoidd rallier suppose him a snbaltem.

Sed. A subaltern! And what right has uich a man—

Tom. Sir, if you have the smallest disiDclina-tton to see him, I can dismiss him in a momeq^ He looks like one whom I can treat withoilt any ceremony.

Sed. No, no, shew him np, while I am in the hnmonr -ol seeing him as I ought to do. [Exit ToH.] Now for an exercise in the science of Sir Charles and hb friends. This Wilkins shall see that I am not the vulgar, sober, whiatng thing he may have been taught by Mouutfort to imagine me.—^He comes!—His countenance is one that should be respected, something of Mountfort's

i«ai*Go<>J^le

owa venerableneas abont it, I could play the fooT> and b« afraid of ofiending that face—the rement-brance oF Sir Charles, and the spirit of bis champaign assist me! [Tom tnlnxJtfcesWiLKlKs; Sbd^ LBT

looh at him, atfint with a cot^acmof, whieh, mmediatdy after, he checks mth an evicted ind^er~ ence and hat^htinea tfmr^ Have you any commands, sir i

WU. [With an agitated vmee-l If I mistake not, sir,—yon are Mr Sedley. Yoo do not know mef

Sed. Sit, I never had the honour of seeing yoo before. Your name is Wilkins, I am told; yott are lately come from India, and bare some bu^-ness relating to—to a person I had some acquaint^ •nee with—

Mr Monnlfort, I think.

WU, [With a look oftmprae.'] Yes, sir.—Some acqnaintance with !—

Yoar pardon, sir, I thought he had been on a very intimate footing with yon; the friend of your faAer, I have heard him say.

Sed, Why, yes, sir; I believe he was an intimate acquaintance of my father's. My father lived in ^e country, and had all sorts of acquaint*

,:i:,Cc)Ot^le

m FALSE SHAME, OR

sDce. I have heard bim talk very well of Mr Hoantfort Wii. I have beard Moaotfort talk of bun—of you too, «ir, if yoo be really Mr Sedley. I bave beard bim often proDouoce that name vitb the tears of affection in l^ia eyes.

Sfd. Pid he iqdeed ( D\d he talk of Sedley 1 He—be—he did me honour.

W^. Honour! He lored you as bis scm. He once was a sort of father to yon; was he not, Mr Sedley?

Sed. He was, he was, sir!—that is, sir—vben a boy, I was placed under his care; a kind of tutor, sir; I was indebted to him for a great deal of gopd learning, which now it will cost me nearjy as much time to forget, and a great many gpod seii* timents, which—

Wil. Which, I presume, sir, you bav^ foigotten already.

Sed. They do not suit me quite so well now as then. A man, in certain circumstances, Mr Wil-kins, must accommodate himself to those around him. Mr Mountfort was—a very good sort of man in bis way, but not quite fit to model the

i«ai*Goog[c

nannen of b man of fashioD^ and of the world. I think of him with all possible esteem, but—

fVil. He thought of yoQ, MrSedley, with som^ thing more than esteem, in those last momenta, when only those are thought of on whom the bursting heart relies for peace and consolation, Sed. The bursting heart! The heart of Moont-fort I You saw him die, then! and he remembered me!—I shall forget myself, and be a boy again. [_Jaide. A loud rap U heard at the Door.] Sir Charles!—just in time to relieve me!—Sir, I believe there is company coming to interrupt us. You will be kind enough to signify the business, which has procured me the honour of this Ti»t,

fVil. 1 should have thought, sir, (pardon me for the mistake,) that merely to have indulged a remembrance of Moontfort^ would have made a visit from his friend a kindness: but mine, sir, (since you will have it so,) is a visit of business. Left hy Mr Mountfort a joint gnardian wiUi you of his daughter, I come to ask what is left for my duty to my deceased friend to perform ; in what utnation that daughter is; in what state the business of our trust f i«ai*Go<>J^le

Sed. Btisineis, sir! I have the misfortane not to uDdentand business.

It inay do veiy well for •ome gentlemen; but I have neither time nor iu-clinatiui for iu I fancy^ sir, you are not suflS-ciently acqaaioted with my situation. I am not what I was when your friend Mr Mountfort left England.

Wil. I believe not^ [ believe not, sir. Mount-fort left yoo—as he told me,—with every virtue warm in your heartj every talent opening in your mind; with genius and abilities above the insignificance of fashion, the litUeness of grandeur, or the vulgar pride of wealth; with benevolence, generosity, and feeling, to adorn that station which they enabled you to fill, to dignify that fortune which they taught you to enjoy. . Std. You—you talk this well, Mr Wilkins; but yoo will give me leave to tell you, that though this, like his Oreek, may be understood by a lad at college, such as I was when Mr Mountfort left me, yet, for a young man of fortune and fashion, all this is quite out of j^ce. Sir Charles Dormer, I believe,: is waiting for me below; if you wiU leaffe your card with the porter, I will send my

i«ai*Goog[c

THfe VBTtt HTPOCRITB. Sfl

num. <^ btuineag to talk with you on the affiun of Mr MouDtfoit.

W^. Sir, it ia with yon I would speak of Mr Monotfort, orof MissMountfort rather; a subject too delicate For the interfereDce of a man of bust' Desi. Her dying father recommended her to my care.

Unfortunately, I have little but Friendship in my power, my fortune (never a large one,) ha-TiDg been lost in that dieaitrons campaign, ia which Monntfort fell.

Sed. Lost! You return then to England without a fortune ?

Wil, I return with the consciousness of having done nothing a man should blush for to acquire one. I retani, I am proud to own it, a poor man [ my virtue, I trust, uuimpeached, my sense of vi^ tue unimpaired. Miss Mountfort shall not blush for her father—Other's friend, who, if he cannot make ber wealthy by a participation of his fortune, may teach her the dignity of honourable poverty by his example.

Sed. Sir, I revere—[ToAifig Att hand.} but, as things are now, sir, I am sorry— I am afraid [LO-ii»g go kia kand."^ your sentiments and example will want the authority, which a little more wealth

,:i:,Cc)Ot^le

might give them. Aa for Miss Mountfort, bhe shall he tabea care of.

Miss MouDtfortia—

Wil. Worthy of her father, I hope, and above dependence on the man who haa forgotten him.

Sed. She is ever; thing that is charming!—that it for a girl of her opportunities; and when she baa improved under the culttue and example of Xady Dormer—

JVil. Of Lady Dormer I

Sed. Yes, Lady Dormer haa taken her under her protectioHj since the death of a female relation, 'tthwbom her father had left her. When the so-ty, to which that protection will introduce her, M polished her native attractions, one may, /ithout blushing, be in love with her to despeia-

^on.

Wil. And bow far, may I venture to ask, would Mr Sedley's love fur her cany him i , Sed. Why, if he were the silly boy that Mount* fort left bim> very ridiculous lengths indeed j as be ia, he will go as &r as any man who knows the world can. He may talk of her, talk with her, flirt with ber,—

mi. With her! With Julia Mountfort 1

i«ai*Goog[c

Sid. Yon will excuse me, sir; 1 have do Blind to quarrel od the score. I leave you to Lady Dormer to satisfy your enquiries aboot the lady. As to aay other business, my agent shall attend you. ^Exit Sbsley.

WiLEiHs aiojte.

Is this Sedley, and am I Mouatfort i or is it a mere play we are acting; I boriowiug a name, and he a character i No, oo, no! 'tis but the commoa change which corrupted manhood makes upon amiable youth* The head giddy with the elevation oi fortune, the example of the great, the adulation of die low j the heart debased from purity, from virtue, and virtuous feeling, by the grosser luxuries which wealth can buy, and the trivial gaieties which folly and fashion can inspire! I am fortunate in my idea of this assumed name, and will Ittrk under its cover a little longer. When Sedley has thus changed, what may my child have become i —It is imposuble! it is impossible!

Yet I will allow a parent's jealousy to overcome for a while a parent's fondness. As Wilkins, I will watch that conduct, which, as Mountfort, 1 might cpniioal. If I can command fortitude enough fo^ the deception^ the distance of time, the change of i«ai*GOQg[c

habit, as welE as look, and the belief of my death, may easily impose

—Ileavena! she comes!

Enter Jdlia mth a Letter in her Hand. Jul. [Jfter a pause.l This letter, air, which you were kind enough—pardon me, su-, its coatenta have too much moved—The iriead of my father! —his friend when dying—

entrusted by him!—it is foolish, very foolish; but when I remember!—

\She bunts into tears. When she recovers, she aaines, and makes a sign to him to he seated,']-■ WiL Madam, I—I feel the reception one of the most interesting to me,—most favourable to you,—such as Mountfort—I mean the iriend of Mr Mountfort, the friend of his daughter—

Jul. Sir, I am gready indebted to you. In truth/ I have need of friendship, of counsel, of protection. Forgive me, sir; I think 1 speak to my father, while I address myself to you. I pass over the ceremonial of a. first interview, and, judging of the nobleness of his representative by what I have been proud to hear of him, I speak at once to the heart from the heart; from a poor, orphan, tmfrieaded girl, to one who can teel—Pardon this freedom. Captain WilkiM—

i«ai*Goog[c

WiL Speak to me, Mibb Momitfort, with the openaess, (if I may venture to ask it,) without the leverence, of a daughter; I will look on you with tiie tenderness of a father, without his authority. I know what, affliction you must have Buffered; I know there are distresses, there are embarrassments, which a mind, such as I believe yours to be, would feel, beyond the mere distresses of the situation.

Jul. There are many sach. Captain Wilkins> which your delicacy must ccmceive, for I cannot ^leak them. Fr<md, wayward it may be, in my affliction, I have lufiered even ftom friend^ip, from kindness, from compassiov. Metbinks yon seem like one, who could pity, withoat pity's humiliating look; who could protect, without the dignity of a protector; who could befriend, without putting one in mind how friendless one is !—■ This is too much; but my heart was full, and there was something in your manner. Captain Wilkins, that drew its feelings from it. I am calmer nowy «nd can question, «s well

as answer, more methodically. I understand from your letter, that my fitther left me a charge uppn your friendship.

i«ai*Go<>J^le

JSt FALSE SHAME, OR

WU. He did, and I am proud of bis choice, let it not wound yoa afresh, if I produce one lestinKH nialofit. Distant as the period of his departure for ludia is, you will not, I fancy, have forgotten thu picture i [Praentmg a Mimatitre.

Jul. Oh! never, never! I have seen him kisa il—thus—and thus,

[£i9RRg it-} and weep while he did so. Then would be press me to his bosom; tell me il was my mother, (she died, alas! when i was tooyoung.to know her;) looic in my face, and fondly find a likeness to her there; then throwing bis swimming eyes apwards, bid me be such an angel as she was, and bless him. [While she ^peakt, Wilkim mvoUintaaUf looks on her with tendemexst and throws wp his eye to heaven, as she describes him to have done.'] It moves you, sir! then what should it me i But I promised to be calm. You had this picture from my father, I presume, when be-when be was dying i WU. You wiU not wonder that the circomstance overcame me. That picture! It was the only ar-* tide saved from the rapacity of our conquerors^ This wag the cover in which it was wrapped; al-* low me to. replace it, \_Pats it in a paper, tmdre.^ turns it to her.']

,:i:,Cc)Ot^le

• Jti. Thb, sir! This cover is loo valuable for toe to accept of. I kaow my father's little furtUDO was lost in the devastation of that savage army, which he eocoaotered. I have no title to this, Capttun Wilkins.

- WU. You havej upon my honour! That note was the property of your father, and I only deliver it as his executor, Jid. I know not whether to believe you. I have met with such generous deception before. The day after my cousin's death, I received a paper, inclosing a very cooaiderable sum, with a few ill

spelt lines, in a hand that could not be that of the sender, ugoifying it to be a debt, which the writer of the note owed my father. This I keep as a deposit, till I can find out the owner. Is yours of the same sort.

Captain Wilkins ? It will not offend you that I ask this. . You know how my father felt, and will judge how his daughter ought to feeL

WU, I declare, in the most solemn manner, that this sum was yoar father's. Tts in the way of bn-uoess merely I deliver it.

Jtd. In my pride alone I suffered in pecuniary laatlers, nnce the death of my relation made

i«ai*Go<>J^le

BtrangerB think of me. Lady Donner, with the kind protection of her bouse, was liberal in het offers of such assistance. Sir Charles too, I sair by his disconrse, was tiying for an opportnoity to get the better of my delicacy in that paiticolar. Mr Sedley's own delicacy would not let him try it.

Wil, Mr Sedley's delicacy! Pray, Miss Moant-fort, are Mr Sedley's feelings so delicate on your score?

Jid. On my scoire I I believe them so towards every one.

iVii. When I led him,—when I left Britain, I mean—be was—I was told he was every thing that was honourable and virtuous; when I saw him to-day, I found him every thing that was otherwise.

Jvi. Indeed! You aattuiisb me.

IViL So did he me. I was not prepared for such a change as the acquisition of his fortune, a» the society of the dissipated, I presume of the licentious, of the frivolous, had made upon him« He spoke contemptuously of your father, villain* ously of you; and diough some feebler remains of better sentimeats seemed now and tbea to risft

i«ai*Goog[c

THE WHITE HYPOCRITE. B»-

npoQ bis mind, the depravity and folly> which had become habitual to him, ioaa overcame them.

Jul. Mr Sedley thus! Mr Sedley's mind 1ic<en-tioiiB and depraved!

Wil. Even so: depraved not by passion, hut on ^stem; that despicable, selfish, unfeeling system, in which modem refinement has taught her votaries to triumph. I can make allowance for the wanderings of youtb, when levity misleads, or passion impels it} but this cold apathy of vice so chills, so petrifies the heart, that neither returning honour con warm, nor awakened conscience roaae it Jul. But is Sedley's heart thus ? Good heavens I what a world it is, if this be as you say. Captain Wilkins!

WU. Believe me, it is as I say. In yonr situation. Miss MouDtfort, you cannot be too cautious. Forgive the freedom of my advice; I speak av your father would, were he now alive to speak; I speak with a parents affec^on, and a parent's fear.

Jtd. I am greatly indebted to yon, sir; and yet my good opinion of him was one of the few

i«ai*Go<>J^le

a» FALSE SHAME, OR

comforts left me. I hope yon do not ihake it ntsbly. I am persuaded you do not. I am greatly indebted to yon.

Wii. Your food opinion of snch a man as Sed-ley, is one of the most daBgerona opinions yon cm hold.

Jul, Indeed! I had tboagbt of him so differently from others; so differentiy from the yonng men who visit in this house—

JVil. In this honse I

Jti/.Whyyes,sir,iDtbishoase. In spite of Lady Dormer's kindaesB, my residence here is by no means agreeable to me. So much bustle, so much gaiety^—perhaps^ in my igaorance of high life, I might Bay> so littte principle,—Nay, do not look so; I dare say I do Lady Dormer and her company injustice. Tis but the levity of fashion, the gaiety of bappy minds. But to my thoughts, melancholy and depressed as they are, this levity aqd gaiety are so discordant I The hypocrisy with which I am obliged to cover my affliction, is worse than the affliction itself. To weep, with n ^d heart may be borne; but to smile with a sad hea^t 19 terrible t

i«ai*G0OJ^Ic

WiL I shall fall upoa means of placing yoa in a BituatioD more agreeable to you. You must ia-dulge me with a degree of confidence, to which, as a stranger, I am not en^tled.

Jul. Do not call yourself a stranger, Captain Wilkins. The bearer of this!— ILooking on the Miitialure} Yon are my acquaintance, my friend, my parent! You must be all to me. You have— you have taken Sedley from me.

Wil. Tis but for the sake of your happiness and peace. To disguise himself to you b but another crime, which his profligate society may have taught him.

Jai. I am infinitely indebted to you, X am indeed.— \_ffith a voke of distress.'] Lady Dormer comes. I would not be seen by her just now; her eye is so inquisitive, and I am so weak ! Farewell, sir; be assured of my warmest, gratitude. You will not fail to find me here. I shan't stir from home, till I see or hear from yon.

\_Exit Mitt MouNTPOBT.

WiLXiHs alone.

I see her entanglement with Sedley, and her

tmwillingness to think of him as he deserves. I

VOL. Vlll. T

i«ai*Go<>J^IC

aU FAUB SHAME, OR

too bad tangfat myself to believe him socb, that I can scarcely credit the testimony of- my senses against the creed of my affection. My coming here was critical, and my disguise a very fortanate one ; it has discovered Sedley, and may unmask bis ftiends, the Dormers, lo me, if indeed they need nnmasking. But it is probable that, like him, they have not even such a shred of viitne left, as to cover their want of it.

Enter Lady Dormbr.

La^ Dor. Captiun Wilkins, I should have waited on you sooner, bad I not understood that your ward. Miss Mountfort, was with you. Your conversation must have been of a kind toolote-resting for a third person to witness. I hope you found her such, as you would have wi^ed your friend's daughter to be.

Wil. I found her appearance, madam, most engaging ; and what I heard of her sentiments was not unworthy of it. I have more obligations to you. Lady Bonner, on her account, than I will attempt to repay in words.

La^ Dor, Ob ! never talk of obligations, sir; so sweet a girl as Miss Mountfort would do a fa-i«ai*Goog[c

THE WHITE UTPOCRITE. Stt

Toar to any bouse sbc would receive protection from. We qoite doat on her. Sir Cbarles makes me downright jealous by his attentions to her; and Mr Sedley, who, [ am told, is your coUe^ue, as a trustee for her father—

Wil. Mr Sedley, ma'am !

La^ Dor. Is so much captivated with his fair ward, that no other woman can get a civil word from him. They will certainly spoil the girl among them, if we du not prevent it.