Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/53

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Maur. My Lord, indulge us of your courtesy.

Glot. In what, I pray?

Maur.Did not Fernando tell you? We are all met within our social bower; And I have wager'd on your head, that none But you alone, within the Count's domains, Can to the bottom drain the chased horn. Come, do not linger here when glory calls you.

Glot. Think'st thou that Theobald could drink so stoutly?

Maur. He, paltry chief! he herds with sober burghers; A goblet, half its size, would conquer him. [