_Lady Am._ My pity can do thee no good, yet I pity thee; but as resignation to what must be, may restore peace, if my means can procure thee comfort, they are at thy pleasure. Come, let thy griefs subside, instead of thy cottage, accept, thou and thy brother, every convenience that my mansion can afford.
_Amelia._ Madam, I can only thank you with----[_Weeps._
_Lady Am._ My thanks are here--Come, thou shalt be cheerful. I will introduce thee to my sprightly cousin Harry, and his father, my humourous uncle; we have delights going forward that may amuse thee.
_Lady Am._ Come, smile--though a quaker, thou seest I am merry--the sweetest joy of wealth and power is to cheer another's drooping heart, and wipe from the pallid cheek the tear of sorrow. [_Exeunt._
_Enter three_ RUFFIANS, _dressed as Sailors_.
_1st Ruff._ Well, now, what's to be done?
_2d Ruff._ Why, we've been long upon our shifts, and after all our tricks, twists, and turns, as London was then too hot for us, our tramp to Portsmouth was a hit.
_3d Ruff._ Ay; but since the cash we touched, upon pretending to be able bodied seamen, is now come to the last shilling, as we have deserted, means of a fresh supply to take us back to London, must be thought on.
_2d Ruff._ Ay, how to recruit the pocket without hazarding the neck.
_1st Ruff._ By an advertisement posted on the stocks yonder, there are collectors upon this road; thirty guineas are offered by the quaker lady, owner of the estate round here; I wish we could snap any straggler to bring before her. A quaker will only require a yea for an oath--we might sack these thirty guineas.
_2d Ruff._ Yes; but we must take care, if we fall into the hands of this gentleman that's in pursuit of us----'Sdeath, isn't that his man, the old boatswain?
_1st Ruff._ Don't run, I think we three are a match for him.
_2d Ruff._ Instantly put on your characters of sailors; we may get something out of him: a pitiful story makes such an impression on the soft heart of a true tar, that he'll open his hard hand, and drop you his last guinea--If we can but make him believe we were pressed, we have him; only mind me.
_John._ To rattle my lantern, Sir George's temper now always blows a hurricane.
_3d Ruff._ Bob, up with your speaking trumpet.
