ne States accede to the adoption of the
new Constitution, we will investigate the merits of the old. Ha, ha, ha.

[_This speech and the preceding one, are to be spoken at the same time;
during which, TRUEMAN and LOVEYET run about the stage, and HUMPHRY
retreats from them as they approach him._]

_Enter HARRIET alarmed._

HARRIET. Oh, Papa,--my dear Papa, what's the matter!

LOVEYET. And, sir, as sure as--as--eight times nine is sixty-three, your
new government is not bottom, not sound; and--

TRUEMAN. And as sure as you are sixty-three, your head is not sound.

LOVEYET. Here is your incomparable daughter;--I came here to acquaint you
of her scandalous conduct; but now she can save me that trouble.

TRUEMAN. How, sir! My daughter's scandalous conduct?

LOVEYET. I was going to tell you. I caught her with a strange gallant,--a
"very particular friend;" whose "love,--friendship, I would say," was so
sincere, that she was kind enough to grant him a little "friendly freedom,"
in my presence.

TRUEMAN. Heaven protect me! There certainly must be something in this.
[_Aside._

LOVEYET. And that I have received a letter from my son.

HUMPHRY. Aye, now he's his son again. [_Aside._

LOVEYET. And that he will be here soon, and that when he comes, I am going
to marry him to Miss Maria Airy.

HUMPHRY. I must go tell Mr. Lovit of that, at once.
[_Aside, and exit._

LOVEYET. And--but it is no matter now:--I suppose she will tell you a fine
story of a cock and a bull.

HARRIET. I shall not be base enough to deceive a father, I give you my
honour, sir.

LOVEYET. I am very much mistaken if you have not given _that_ to somebody
already:--A woman's honour is a very perishable commodity; a little thing
often spoils it.

HARRIET. By what a feeble tenure does poor woman hold her character and
peace of mind!--It is true, sir, that a woman's _reputation_ is too
frequently, with ruffian cruelty, blasted in the bud, without a cause; and
that so effectually, that it seldom or never flourishes again; but let me
remind you, sir, in the words of the poet, that--

_"Honour's a sacred tie, the law of kings;--
It ought not to be sported with."_

LOVEYET. I say it ought to be sported with; and, by my body, 'tis capital
sport, too;--eigh, Horace?--[_Sings._]--"Then hoity toity, whisky frisky