SPOKEN BY MR. THURMOND.

THE youthful author of our scenes to-day,

Who scarce writes man, has boldly writ a play!
But now we fear new plays no more can thrive,
Than fummer-fruits in winter frofts furvive.
Poetic laurels then triumphant show,

And shall their branches now less chearful grow?
Shall those kind genial heats that bless the year,
Come to create a barren season here?

Or, shall that tree, fame's wreath by PHOEBUS made,
Now parch! and at his fultry influence fade?

Our poet, who to-night attempts at praise,
From various turns, wou'd your diverfion raise.
To please gay fancies, he at humour strove,
At plot for critics, for the ladies love.

Yet life's low fcenes he owns may here feem fcarce,
But well-wrought business makes amends for farce.
Not but our scene drawn on a foreign coaft

Of home-bred fools might fome resemblance boast:
For tho' each clime t'improve the mufes toil,
Yet fools, like weeds, fhoot up in ev'ry foil.

Our lively images are too fublime!
We draw our glory from the British clime.
In our wild hero's character we tell,
What love, what honour in the English dwell.
Not one of nature's monfters here we show,
Yet thro' our scenes fome feeds of fatire ftrow.
Be gen'rous then! and let our author's care,
Appease the critics, and divert the fair.

DRA.

ME N.

Lorenzo, governor of Valencia,} Mr. Williams.

father to Leonora,

Alonzo, father to Fidelia,

Sir Charles Winlove, an English gentleman, fled from Madrid for the death of his rival,

Don Philip, a noble Spaniard,

contracted to Leonora,

Afpin, fervant to Sir Ch. Winlove,

Diego, fervant to Alonzo,

WOMEN.

Mr. Norris.

Mr. Mills.

Mr. Thurmond.

Mr. Miller.

Mr. Will. Mills.

Leonora, daughter to the governor, Mrs. Seymour.

D. Phil. Sir Charles Winlove! What miracle has brought you here?

Sir Cha. Why faith, 'tis a miracle owing to fortune-Have you heard what has happened to me at Madrid?

D. Phil. I heard of your unfortunate adventure there, before I left it-How long have you been come to Valencia?

Sir Cha. About a fortnight, and I only wait for a fair wind to carry me to England.

D. Phil. I'd advise you to make the best of your way, for there was a rumour that orders wou'd be fent to the fea-ports to put a stop to your paffage.

Sir Cha. Why this comes now of intriguing in Spain-A man can't carry on an amour, but he muft cut the throat of fome jealous coxcomb or other to cure him of his impertinence-But what other news? I find you left Madrid later than I did-Is my rival that I wounded, dead?

D. Phil. When I came away I heard that his life was defpair'd of.And that the lady for

whom

whom your quarrel began, was fled from her father's houfe.

Sir Cha. I am forry for her fake, for she is every way fo agreeable, that could I learn to be constant, 'twou'd be only to her-But I find one love is ftill an antidote to expel another: For I have feen fuch a beauty here in Valencia !—

D. Phil. Another beauty! Sir Charles.

Sir Cha. Aye, one fo charming, fo good-humour'd, and fo witty, fhe's enough to turn the refolutions of a Cynic

D. Phil. Is the a woman of quality?

Sir Cha. Faith, I can't tell--Her appearance is as yet like that of Cynthia in a cloud, for I have never feen her but in a VEIL.

D. Phil. I thought to have heard that you'd have been more cautious, Sir Charles-But I find you are fill the fame, and are refolv'd to bear the frowns of fortune with as much pleasure as her fmiles

Sir Cha. Ay, Don Philip, let cowards fear her, and fools, her daily favourites, adore her-For my part, love and friendship shall still be the darlings of my foul-And new pleasures the continual bufinefs of my life-But prithee, what fort of comhere in Valencia?-For tho' I am pany have you returning to England, I am so tir'd with politics, that I perfectly nauseate the conversation of it.

D. Phil. How fo? Is there no other to be had then?

Sir Cha. None! Politicians ftart out of every profeffion, and stock-jobbers lies are the only dif courfe one can meet with.

D. Phil. I hope the beaux don't turn politicians in any nation

Sir Cha

Sir Cha. The beaux! Why the very women are turn'd politicians-In fhort, the goffiping of the tea-table is as much infected as the fociety of the coffee-houses-How are you at this part of the

globe?

D. Phil. We are like the reft of the world.Here are all manner of characters-Husbands that are jealous of their honour, and wives that as craftily betray it-For the ladies-Here's a compofition of all nations-Some boaft the affectation of the French; fome their own natural Spanish pride; and others the beauty and obftinacy of your Englifh women--Then for the men, here are from the formal grandees to the extravagant fop; and from the cavaliers of quality to the very fortune-hunter -In short, here are all degrees whatsoever-Some of 'em rely upon the merit of their riches, and others upon that of their assurance—

Sir Cha. Affurance is the most thriving virtue of the age. "Tis a fortune for a courtier, and a prevailing eloquence in a lover-But amongst the rest, What fort of a man is your governor?

D. Phil. A man of quality, and one whofe innate worth is an honour to the office he bearsNow I think on't, he may be of fervice to you. Sir Cha. Ay, prithee which way?

D. Phil. He has a daughter.

Sir Cha. Is fhe very handfome?

D. Phil. Beautiful as an angel; and then for her wit, 'tis as inchanting as her beauty; her repartees are as quick as her eyes, and-

Sir Cha. And when shall I fee her, Don Philip! D. Phil. She's to be my wife-For which purpofe I am come here to Valencia.

Sir Cha