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14432,1% 11.5

HARVARD COLLE

FEB 18 1915

LIERARY

C. F. PARKMAN FUND

ERRATA.

P. 13-for thy, read my.
P. 16-for seen you,-read you seeñ.
P. 22-At the bottom, read
Well. Call me what you will 1;

I am your nephew, sir, your sister's son.

Printed by S. GOSNELL, Little Queen Street, London.

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A

NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

АСТ I.

SCENE I.
A Village.

Enter WELLBORN, TAPWELL, and FROTH, from an
Alehouse.

Well. No credit? nor no liquor?
Tap. Not a suck, sir;

Not the remainder of a single can,

Left by a drunken porter.

Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for your morning's draught, sir : `,

'Tis verity, I assure you.

Well. Verity, you brach!

The devil turn'd precisian ?-Rogue, what am I? Tap. Troth! durst I trust you with a looking-glass, To let you see your trim shape, you would quit me, And take the name yourself.

Well. How? dog!-[Raising his Cudgel.]

Tap. Advance your Plymouth cloak,

There dwells, and within call, if it please your worship,

A potent monarch, call'd the constable,

That does command a citadel, call'd the stocks;

Such as with great dexterity will hale

Your threadbare, tatter'd

Well. Rascal! slave!

Froth No rage, sir.

Tap. At his own peril: Do not put yourself In too much heat, there being no water near

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