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ACT I. SCENE I.—LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR's Lodgings. Enter SERJEANT TROUNCE, CORPORAL FLINT, and four SOLDIERS. 1 Sol. I say you are wrong; we should all speak together, each for himself, and all at once, that we may be heard the better. 2 Sol. Right, Jack, we'll argue in platoons. 3 Sol. Ay, ay, let him have our grievances in a volley, and if we be to have a spokesman, there's the corporal is the lieutenant's countryman, and knows his... more...

PREFACE A preface to a play seems generally to be considered as a kind of closet-prologue, in which—if his piece has been successful—the author solicits that indulgence from the reader which he had before experienced from the audience: but as the scope and immediate object of a play is to please a mixed assembly in representation (whose judgment in the theatre at least is decisive,) its degree of reputation is usually as determined... more...

ACT I. SCENE I.—The Street before DON JEROME'S House. Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern. Lop. Past three o'clock!—Soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover is the hardest.—Not that I am an enemy to love; but my love and my master's differ strangely.—Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or... more...

SCENE I.—The Library Enter SURFACE and SERVANT SURFACE. Mr. Stanley! and why should you think I would see him?— you must know he came to ask something! SERVANT. Sir—I shouldn't have let him in but that Mr. Rowley came to the Door with him. SURFACE. Pshaw!—Blockhead to suppose that I should now be in a Temper to receive visits from poor Relations!—well why don't you show the Fellow up? SERVANT. I... more...

ACT I. SCENE I.—The Hall of an Inn. Enter TOM FASHION and LORY, POSTILION following with a portmanteau. Fash. Lory, pay the postboy, and take the portmanteau. Lory. [Aside to TOM FASHION.] Faith, sir, we had better let the postboy take the portmanteau and pay himself. Fash. [Aside to LORY.] Why, sure, there's something left in it! Lory. Not a rag, upon my honour, sir! We eat the last of your wardrobe at New Malton—and, if we had had... more...