Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/293

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Ant. (running up to her, catching her hand, and putting his knee to the ground.) Now, now, dear Livia! O that I could utter what I feel!—I am a fool still;—I cannot.

Liv. Nothing you can possibly say will make me more sensible of your generous worth, or more ashamed of my former injustice to it. Dart. We must pay our compliments another time; I fear there is a storm ready to burst upon us.

Countess. Yes, Gentlemen; I have heard of your plot, as you call it; a diabolical conspiracy for debasing the merit you envy. I despise you all: you are beneath my anger.

Walt. Let us escape it then.

Countess. (to Walt.) Aye, snarling Cynic! who hast always a prick of thy adder's tongue to bestow upon every one whom the world admires or caresses; thou are the wicked mover of all these contrivances. (To the Bar.) As for you, poor antiquated rhime-maker! had I but continued to praise your verses, you would have suffered me to ruin your whole kindred very quietly; nor had one single grain of compunction disturbed the sweet calm of your gratified vanity.

Bar. Nay, Madam; I cannot charge my memory with any interruption of your goodness,