Skip to main content

Full text of "British Theatre"

See other formats

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 
to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 
publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 

We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http : //books . google . com/ 

USE om.Y 









Bj Permission of the Managers, 

*» The Lines discinguished by iovened Commas, are omined io the Represenution/ 

LONDON: r •-• 

Printed for the Proprietor Sy under the DireSHon of 

John Bell, Britije^ librarp, St rand. 
Bookseller to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales* 




» A HE use that has Been made in this corned/ of 

: Fielding'j admirable novel o/Tom Jones, must be 

' obvious to the most ordinary * reader. Some hints 

^ hape also been taken from the account of Mr, and 

J Mrs. Freeman, in No, 212, and No, 216, of the 

f» Spectator; and the short scene of CYasXei* a intoxi- 

y cation, at the end of the third act, is partly an imi- 

^^ tation of the behaviour of Syrus, much in the same 

circumstances, in the Adelphi of Terence. There 

are also some traces of the character of the Jealous 

Wife, in one of the latter papers of the Cotnnoisseur. 

Jt would be unjust, indeed, to omit mentioning my 
obligations to Mr. Garrick. To his inspection the 
comedy was submitted in its first rude state ; and to 
my care and attention to follow his advice in many 
particulars, relating both to the fable and characters, 
I know that I am. much indebted for the reception 
which this piece has met with from the public. 


Spoken by Mr. Gar sick. 

I HE Jealffus Wife 1 a tcmedy I poor man / 

^ charming subject I but a wretched plan* 

His skittish wity overleaping the due bound. 

Commits flat trespass upon tragic ground. 

Quarrels^ upbraidingSy jealousies^ and spleen f 

Grow too familiar in the comic scene. 

Tinge but the language with heroic chime, 

^Tis passion, pathos, chara8er, sublime! 

What round big words had sweWd the pompous scenes 

A king the husband, and the wife a queen! 

Then might distraUion rend her graceful hair. 

See sightless forms, and scream, and gape, and stare. 

Drawcansir Death had rag'd without nontroul. 

Here the drawn dagger, there the poisoned bowl. 

What eyes had streamed at all the whining zoo ! 

What hands liad thunder* d at each Hah 1 and Oh I 

But peace ! the gentle prologue custom sends. 
Like drum and serjeant, to beat up for friends. 
At vice and folly ^ each a lawful game. 
Our auihorflies^ but with no partial aim* 


He read the manners^ open as ikey lie 

In Nature's volume to tke general eye* 

Books too he ready nor blush' d to use their store^^^ 

He does hut what his betters did before. 

Shakespere has done it, and the Grecian stage 

Caught truth of chara&vr frm, Homcr^s page. 

If in his scenes an honest skill is shewn. 
And borrowing Utile, much appears his oztm; 
If what a master's happy pencil drew 
He brings more forward in dramatic view ; 
To your decision he submits his cause. 
Secure of candour, anxious for applause. 

But if, all rude, his artless scenes deface 
The simple beauties which he meant to grace, 
If, an inxfader upon others land. 
He spoil and plunder with a robber's hand. 
Do justice on him 1-^^ As on fools before. 
And give to ^XoQVhe^^s past one Blockhead m^rf. 

2:^rain3tt0 JPrtfonae, 


Oakly - - - 

Major Oakly 



Sir Harry Beagle 

Lord Trinket 

Captain O'C utter 




Tom - . - 

Servant to Lady Freelovc 

Mrs. Oakly 
Lady Free love 

- Mr. Bensley* 

- Mr. Baddelcy. 

- Mr. Barrym^rc. 

- Mr. Aickin« 

- Mr. R. Palmer. 

- Mr. Dodd. 

- Mr. Moody. 

- Mr. Maddocks. 

- Mr. Phillimorc. 

- Mr. Webb. 

- Mr. Alfred. 

- Mr. Lyons. 

' Miss Farren. 

- Mrs. Hopkins. 

- Mrs* Kemblc. 

- Miss Tidswell. 

- Mrs. Heard. 



Major Oakly 



Sir Harry Beagle 

Lord Trinket 

Captain O'Cutter 



John - - - 


Servant to Lady Freelovc 

Mrs. Oakly 





- Mr. Farren. 

- Mr. Ryder. 

- Mr. Macready. 

- Mr. Fearon. 

- Mr. Edwin. 

- Mr. Lewis. 

- Mr. Aickin. 

- Mr. WewitzerJ 

- Mr. Ledger. 

- Mr. Evatt. 

- Mr. Rock. 

- Mr. Lee. 


- Mrs. Pope. 

- Mrs. Bernard. 

- Mrs. Merry. 

- Miss Stuart. 

- Miss Brangin. 




A Room ih Oakly'* House, Noise heard within* 

Mrs. Oakly^ nnthin. 
Don't tell me — I- know it is so— It's monstrous, 
and I will not bear it. 

Oak. \Within,^ But, my dear I— 

Mrs. Oak. Nay, nay, 0c. [Squabbling zuithin. 

Enter Mrs. OakLy, tuitk a Letter ^ Okjlly following, 

Mrs. Oak. Say what you will, Mr. Oakly, you shall 
never persuade me, but this is some filthy intrigue of 

Oak. I can assure you, my love? 

Mrs. Oak. Your love I — Don't I know your — Telt 
me, I say, this instant, every circumstance relating to 
this letter. 

Oak. How can I tell you, when you will not so 
much as let me see it } 



Mrs, Oak. Look you, Mr. Oakly, this usage is not 
to be borne. You take a pleasure in abusing my 
tenderness and soft disposition. — 'To be perpetually 
running over the whole town, nay, the whole king- 
dom too, in pursuit of your amours 1 — Did not I dis- 
cover that you was great with mademoiselle, my own 
woman ? — Did not you contrail a sl>ameful familia- 
rity with Mrs. Freeman f — Did not I deteft your in- 
trigue with Lady Wealthy ? — Was not you— 

Oak, Oons 1 madam, the Grand Turk himself has 
not half so many mistresses — You throw me out of 
all patience — Do I know any body but our common 
friends ? — Am I visited by any body, that docs not 
visit you ? — Do I ever go out, unless you go with 
me \ — And am I not as constantly by your side, as if 
I was tied to your apron- strings \ 

Mrs, Oak. Go, go, you are a false man Have 

not I found you out a thousand times? And have 
not I this moment a letter in my hand, which con- 
vinces me of your baseness I— Let me know the 
whole atfair, or I will— 

Oak, Let you know I Let me know what you 

would have of me You stop my letter before it 

comes to my hands, aud then exped that I sbou'd 
know the contents of it, 

Mrs. Oak. Heaven be praised! I stopt it. — I sus- 
pe£led some of these doings for some time past — But 
the letter informs me who she is, and Til be re- 
venged on her sufficiently* Oh, you base man, you I 


Oak. I beg, my dear, that you would moderate 
your passion I — Shew me the letter, and V\\ convince 
you of my innocence. 

Mrs. Oak, lenocence! — Abominable!— Tnnocence I 
—But I am not to be made such a fool — I am con- 
vinced of your perfidy, and very sure that— — 

Oak, *Sdeath and fire! ypur passion hurries you 
out of your senses—Will you hear me ? 

Mrs, Oak. No^ you are a base man ; and I will iu>t 
hear you. 

Oak, Why then, my deaf, since you will neither 
talk reasonably yourself, nor listen to reason from 
me, I shall take my leave till you are in a better hu- 
mour. So, your servant ! [Going* 

Mrs. Oak. Ay, go, yoii cruel man !— Go to your 
mistresses, and leave your poor wife to her miseries. 
—How unfortunate a woman am I ! — I could die 
with vexation [Throwing kersdfinto a chair. 

Oak. There it is— Now dare not I stir a step fur- 
ther— If I offer to go, she is in one of her fits in an 
instant — Never sure was woman at once of so violent 
and so delicate a constitution ! What shall I say to 
sooth her ? Nay, never make thyself so uneasy, my 
dear — Come, come, you know I love you. Nay, nay, 
you shall be convinced. 

Mrs, Oak, I know you hate me ; ajid that your un- 
kindness and barbarity will be the death of me. 


Oak, Do not vex yourself at this rate— I love you 


most passionately-— Indeed I do — ^This moat be some 

Mrs, Oak. O, I am an unhappy woman! [Wetpin^^ 

Oak. Dry up thy tears, my love, and be comforted 1 
Tou will find that I am not to blame in this matter — 
Come, let me see this letter— Nay, you shall not 
deny me. [ Taking tke letter. 

Mrs. Oak, There 1 take it, you know the hand, I 
am sure. 

Oak. To Charles Oakly, Esq. [Reading. ]^lf and I 
'Tis a clerk-like hand, indeed I a good round 
textl and was certainly never penned by a fair 

Mrs. Oak. Ay, laugh at me, do \ 

Oak. Forgive me, my love, I did not mean te huigh 
at the c ' " .. ..w.But what says the letter i-'^^lReading.'] 
Davgktn ehped^-you must U privy to it — scandalous-^ 
diskonourabU-^satisfatUonr^revengf^^-Miay um, um-*- — 
injured Jatker. 

Henry Russet. 

Mrs. Oak. [Rising.'] Well, sir — you see I have de- 
tected you— Tell me this instant where she is con- 

Oak. So— so— so This hurts me — I'm shocfc'd — 


Mrs. Oak. What, are you confounded with your 
guilt i Have I caught you at last i 

Oak. O that wicked Charles I To decoy a young 
lady from her parents in the country I The pr ofli- 

4B L Tfli JEALOUS Win. ii 

gacy oC the young fellows of Ms age is abomi* 
nable. [Ti kimsei/l 

Mrs* Oak. [Half aside and musing.'] Charles I --Let 
me see 1—— "Charles [ — No I Impossible. This is 
all a trick. 

Oak. He has certainly ruined this poor lady. 


Mrs. Oak. Artl artr all art! There's a sudden 
turn now I You have ready wit for an intrigue^ I 

0^. Such an abandoned a^ionl I wish i had 
never had the care of him. [Tq hintself. 

Mrs. Oak. Miglity fine, Mr. Oakly t Go on, sir, 
go on 1 I see what you mean.-— Your assurance 
provokes me beyond your very falsehood itself. So 
you imagine, sir, that thisafie^edconcern^ this flimsy 
pretence about Charles, is to bring you oif. Match* 
less confidence I But i am armed against every thing 
— ^I am prepared for all your dark schemes : I am 
aware of all your low stratagems. 

Oak. See there now 1 Was ever any thing so pro- 
voking i To persevere in your ridiculous— ——For 
Heaven's sake, my dear, don't distract me. When 
you see my mind thus agitated and uneasy, that a 
young fellow, whom his dying father, my own bro- 
ther, committed to my care, should be guilty of such 
enormous wickedness; I say, when you are witness of 
my distress on this occasion, how can you be weak 
enough and cruel enough to— ^^ 

Mrs. Oak. Prodigiously well, sir 1 You do it very 


well. Nay, keep it up, carry it on, there's nothing 
like going through with it. O you artful creature 1 
But, sir, I am not to be so easily satisfied. I do not 

believe a syllabic of all this -Give me the letter — 

{Snatching the ietter,'] You shall sorely repent this . 

vile business, for I am resolved that I will know the 
bottom of it. {Exit, 

Oak. This is beyond all patience. Provoking wo- 
man ! Her absurd suspicions interpret every thing 
the wrong way. She delights to make me wretched, 
because she sees I am attached to her, and converts 
my tenderness and afFe6lion into the instruments of 
my own torture. But this ungracious boy 1 In how 
many troubles will he involve his own and his Iady*s 

family 1 never imagined that he was of such 

abandoned principles. O, here he comes ! 

Enter Major Oakly, and Charles. 

Char. Good- morrow, sir 1 

Maj» Good -morrow, brother, good-morrowl— * 
What! you have been at the old work, I find. I 
heard you — dingl dongl i'faith! — She has rung a 
noble peal in your ears. But how now? Why sure 
you've had a remarkable warm bout on't.— *— -You 
seem more ruffled than usual. 

Oak. I am, indeed, brother! Thanks to that 
young gentleman there. Have a care, Charles ! you 
may be called to a severe account for this. The ho- 
nour of a family, sir, is no such light matter. 

Char, sirl 


Maj. Hey-day ! What, has a curtain-Ie^ure pro- 
duced a le6lure of morality } What is all this ? 

Oak, To a profligate mind, perhaps, these things 
may appear agreeable in the beginning. But don't you 
tremble at the consequences ? 

Char* I see> sir, that you are displeased with me, 
but I am quite at a loss to guess at the occasion. 

Oak. Tell me, air !— where is Miss Harriot Russet > 

Ckar. Miss Harriot Russet I— Sir— Explain- 

Oak. Have not ypu decoy'd her from her father ? 

Ckar. I!— Decoy'd her— l>ecoy'd ray Harriot ! 

I would sooner die than do her the least injury, 

What can this mean ? 

Maj. I believe the young dog has been at her, after 

Oak. I was in hopes, Charles, you had better prin- 
ciples. But there's a letter just come from her fa- 

Ckar. A letter I— .What letter? Dear sir, give it 
me. Some intelligence of my Harriot, Major I— 
The letter, sir, the letter this moment, for Heaven's 

Oak, If this warmth, Charles, tends to prove your 
iDnocence-i ■ - 

Ckar. Pear sir, excuse me I'll prove any thing 

—Let me but see this letter, and Til 

Oak. Let you sec it? I could hardly get a 

sight of it myself. Mrs. Oakly lias it. 

Ckar, Has she got it I Major, l*U be with you 
again dureaiy. [£*:/ kasUly. 



Maj, Hey-day ! The devil's in the boy I What a 
fiery set of people I By my troth, I think the whole 
family is made of nothing but combustibles. 

Oak, I like this emotion. It looks well. It may 
serve too to convince my wife of the folly of her sus- 
picions. Wou'd to Heaven I could quiet them for 
ever I 

Maj. Why, pray now, my dear naughty brother, 
what heinous offence have you committed this morn- 
ing ? What new cause of suspicion \ You have been 
asking one of the maids to mend your ruffle, I sup- 
pose, or have been hanging your head out of wipdow, 
when a pretty young woman has past by, dr— *— 

Oak. How can you trifle with my distresses. Ma- 
jor ? Did not I tell you it was about a letter ? 

Maj. A letter ! — hum — A suspicious circumstance, 
to be sure 1 What, and the seal a true-lover's knot 
now, hey I or an heart transfixt with darts ; or pos- 
sibly the wax bore the industrious impression of a 
thimble; or perhaps the folds were lovingly con- 
nected by a wafer, pricked with a pip, and the direc- 
tion written in a vile scrawl, and not a word spelt as 
it should be ; ha, ha, ha I 

Oak. Pooh I brother— Whatever it was, the let- 
ter, you find, was for Charles, not for me— this 
outrageous jealousy is the devil. 

Maj, Mere matrimonial blessings and domestic 
comfort, brother ! jealousy is a certain sign of love. 

Oak, Love I it is this very love that hath made us 
both so miserable. Her love for me has confined 


me to tny house, like a state prisoner, without the 
liberty of seeing my friends, or the use of pen, ink, 
and paper ; while my love for her has made such a 
fool of me, that I have never had the spirit to con- 
tradict her. 

Maj, Ay, ay, there you've hit it ; Mrs. Oakly 
would make an excellent wife, if you did but know 
how to manage her. 

Oak. You are a rare fellow, indeed, to talk of ma < 
naging a wife— -A debauch 'd bachelor— a rat- 
lle-brain'd, rioting fellow-~who have pick'd up 
your common- place notions of women in bagnios, ta- 
verns, and the camp ; whose most refined commerce 
with the sex has been in order to delude country girls 
at your quarters, or to besiege the virtue of abigails, 
milliners, or mantua-maker's 'prentices. 

Maj, So much the better I — so much the better \ 
women are all alike in the main, brother, high or 
low, married or single, quality or no quality. I have 
found them so, from a duchess down to a milk-maid. 

OaA. Your savage notions are ridiculous. What 
do you know of a husband's feelings ?— -You, who 
comprise all your qualities in your honour^ as you call 
itt — Dead to all sentiments of delicacy, and incapable 
of any but the grossest attachments to women. This 
is your boasted refinement, your thorough knowledge 
of the world ! While with regard to women, one poor 
train of thinking, one narrow set of ideas, like the 
uniform of the regiment, serves the whole corps. 

Maj, Very fine, brother 1— there's common-place 


for you with a vengeance. Henceforth^ expe£): no 
quarter from me. I tell you again and again, I know 
the sex better than you do. They all love to giv^e. 
themselves airs, and to have power : every woman isi 
a tyrant at the bottom. But they could never make] 
a fool of me.^-— No, no 1 no woman should ever do-»^ 
mineer over me, let her be mistress or wife. 

Oak, Single men can be no judges in these casesw 
They must happen in all families. Rut when things, 
are driven to extremities — to see a woman in uneasi- 
ness — a woman one loves too— one's wife — who canj 
withstand it ? You neither speak nor think like a mAii| 
that has lovM, and been married, msgor ! 

Maj, I wish I could hear a married man speak myi 
language— -I'm a bachelor, it's true ; but I am no\ 
bad judge of your case for alb that. I know yours 
and Mrs. Oakly's disposition to a hair. She is all im- 
petuosity and fire — A very magazine of touchwood 
and gunpowder. You are hot enough too upon oc- 
casion, but then it's over in an instant. In comes 
love and conjugal afleflion, as you call it ;~that is, 
mere folly and weakness— and you draw off your 
forces, just when you shou'd pursue the attack, and 
follow your advantage. Have at her with spirit, and 
the day's your own, brother I 

Oak. I tell you, brother, you mistake the matter. 

Sulkiness, fits, tears 1 ^These, and such as these, 

are the things which make a feeling man uneasy. Her 
passion and violence have not half such an efife^l 
on me. % 


Maj* Why, then, you may be sure, sheMl play that 
upon you, which she finds does most execution. But 
you must be proof against every thing. If she's fu- 
rious, set passion against passion; if you find her at 
her tricks, play off art against art, and foil her at her 
own weapons. That's your game, brother I 

Oak, Why, what would you have me do ? 

Maj. Do as you please, for one month, wliether she 
likes it or not ; and, 1*11 answer for it, she will con- 
sent you shall do as you please all her life after. 

Oak, This is fine talking. You do not consider the 
difficulty that 

Maj, You must overcome all difficulties. Assert 
your right bj>ldly, man I give your own orders to ser- 
vants, and see tjiey observe them ; read your own 
letters, and never let her have a sight of them; make 
your own appointments, and never be persuaded to 
break them ; see what company you like ; go out 
when you please ; return when you please, and don't 
suffer yourself to be called to account where you have 
been, in short, do but shew yourself a man of spi- 
rit, leave off whining about love and tenderness, and 
nonsense, and the business is done, brother I 

Oak. I believe you are in the right, major I I see 
you're in the right. 1*11 do it, 1*11 certainly doit. — 
But then it hurts me to the soul, to think what un- 
easiness I shall give her. The first opening of my 
design will throw her into fits, and the pursuit of it 
perhaps may be fatal, 

Maj, Fits \ ha, ha, ha I— Fits !-~I'll engage to cure 


her of her fits. Nobody understands hysterical cases 
belter than I do : besides, my sister's symptoms are 
not very dangerous. Did you ever hear of her falling 

into a fit when you was not by ? Was she ever 

found in convulsions in her closet ?^— — No, no, these 
fits, the more care you take of them, the more you 
will increase the distemper : let them alone, and they 
will wear themselves out, I warrant you. 

Oak, True — very true — you're certainly in the 
right — I'll follow your advice. Where do you dine 
to-day ? IMl order the coach, and go with you. 

Maj. O brave 1 keep up this spirit, and you*rc 
made for ever. 

Oak, You shall see now» major 1 Who's there i 

Enter Servant, 
Order the coach diredlly, I shall dine out to-day. 

Serv. The coach, sir I Now ? Sir I 

Oak, Ay, now, immediately. 

Serv. Now? Sir! the— the— coach I Sir!— ~ 

that is— -my mistress-^— 

Oak, Sirrah 1 do i^s you're bid. Bid them put to 
this instant. 

Serv. Y e i yeSy sir yes, sir. [£'*«/♦ 

Oak, Well, where shall we dine ? 

Maj, At the St. Alban's, or where you will. This 
is excellent, if you do but hold it. 

Oak, I will have my own way, I am determined* 

Maj. That's right. 

if ok. I am steeh 



Maj. Bra^o! 

OaL Adamant. 

Maj, Bravissimo I 

OaL Just what you'd have me. 

Maj, Why that's well saidi« But toili you do it \ 

Qak. I will. 

Maj» You won't. 

Oak, I will, ril be a fool to her no longer. But 
hark ye^ major ! my hat and sword lie in my stu^y* 
I'll go and steal them out^ while she is busy talking 
with Charles, 

Maj» Steal them ! for shame I Pr*ythce take them 
boldly, call for them, make them bring them to you 
here, and go out with spirit, in the face of your whole 

' Oak. No, no — you are wrong-^let her rave after I 
am gone, and when I return, you know, 1 shall exert 
myself witli more propriety, after this open ail'ront to 
her authority. 

Maj, Well, take your own way. 

Oak, Ay, ay let me manage it, let me manage 

it. lExit^ 

Maj, Manage it ! ay, to be sure, you're a rare ma- 
nager ! It is dangerous, they say, to meddle between 
man and wife. 1 am no great favourite of Mrs* 
Oakly's already ; and in a week*s time I expeA to 
have the door shut in my teeth. 

Enter Charles* 

How now, Charles, what news \ 


Char, RiiinM and undone ! she's gone, uncle ! my 
Harriot's lost for ever. 

Maj. Gone off with a man ? — I thought so : they 
are all alike. 

Char. O no ! Fled to avoid that hateful match with 
Sir Harry Beagle. 

Maj, Faith, a girl of spirit ! — Joy ! Charles, I give 
you joy; she is your own, my boy ! — A fool and a 
great estate ! Devilish strong temptations * 

Char, A wretch ! I was sure she would never think 
of him. 

Maj, No I to be sure ! commend me to your mo- 
desty I Refuse five thousand a year, and a baronet, 
for pretty Mr. Charles Oakly \ It is true, indeed, that 
the looby has not a single idea in his head besides a 
hound, a hunter, a five-barred gate, and a horse- 
race ; but then he's rich, and that will qualify his ab- 
surdities. Money is a wonderful improver of the 
understanding.— But whence comes all this intel- 
ligence ? 

Char, In an angry letter from her father. How 

miserable I am ! If I had not offended my Harriot, 
much offended her by that foolish riot and drinking 
at your house in the country, she would certainly, at 
such a time, have taken refuge in my arms. 

Maj, A very agreeable refuge for a young lady to 
be sure, and extremely decent ! 

Char. I am all uneasiness. Did not she tell me, 
that she trembled at the thoughts of having trusted* 
l^^r afl'e^tions with a man of spch a wild dis* 


ifiosition? What a heap of extrav^agdncks was I 
guilty of ! 

Maj. Extravagancies with a witness ! Ah, you silly 
young dog, you would rain yourself with her father, 
in spite of all I could do. There you sat, as drunk 
as a lord, telling the old gentleman the whole affair^ 
and swearing you would drive Sir Harry Beagle out 
of the country, though I kept winking and nodding^ 
pulling you by the sleeve, and kicking your shins 
under the table, in hopes of stopping you, but all to* 
ho purpose. 

Char. What distress may she be in at this instant I 
Alone and defenceless i -« — Where \ Where can she 

Maj. What relations or friends has she \Ti town \ 

Char. Relations I let me see. — Faith! I have it.—* 
If she is in town, ten to one but she is at her aunt's^ 
Lady Freelove's. I'll go tWther immediately. 

Uaj, Lady Freelove's I Hold, hold, Charles I 

do you know her ladyship ^ 

Ckar, Not much j but I'll break through all forms 
to get to my Harriot, 

Maj, I do know her ladyship. 

C4ar. Well, and what do you know of her \ 

Maj. O nothing! Her ladyship is a woman of 

the worlds that's all-«-«she'U introduce Harriot to 
the best company. 

Char. What do you mean } 

Maj, Yes, yes, I would trust a wife, or a daugh- 
ter, or a mistress with Lady Freelovc, tO'be sure I— 


I'll tell you what, Charles I youVe a good boy, but 
you don't know the world. Women are fifty times 
oftener ruined by their acquaintance with each other, 
than by their attachment to men. One t^horough. 
paced lady will train up a thousand novices. That 

Lady Freelove is an arrant By the bye, did not 

she, last summer, make formal proposals to Harriot's 
father from Lord Trinket > 

Char. Yes I but they were received with the utmost 
contempt. The old gentleman, it seems, hates a 
lord, and he told her so in plain terms. 

Maj. Such an aversion to the nobility may not run 
in the blood. The girl, I warrant you, has no ob- 
jeftion. However, if she's there, watch her nar- 
rowly, Charles I Lady Freelove is as mischievous as 
a monkey, and as cunning too.-^-Have a care of her, 
I say, have a care of her. 

Char, If she's there, I'll have her out of t^ house 
within this half hour, or set fire to it. 

Maj, Nay, now you're too violent. — —Stay % mo* 
nient, and we'll consider what's best to be done. 

Re-enter Oakly. 

Oak, Cofne, is the coach ready > Let us be gone. 
Does Charles go with us ? 

Char. I go with you 1 What can I do ? I am so 

vext and distrafted, and so many thoughts crowd in 
upon me, I don't know which way to turn myself. 

Mrs,Oak^ [Within,'] The coach !-^dines out ! — « 
^here i^ yopr mastcif ? ' 


Oak* Zounds I brother, here she is ! 
Enter Mrs. OxYiLY, 

Mrs, Oak. Pray, Mr. Oakly, what is the matter you 
cannot dine at home to-day ? 

Oak. Don't be uneasy, my dear! 1 have a lit- 
tle business to settle with my brother ; so I am only 
just going to dinner with him and Charles to the 

Mrs. Oak. Why cannot you settle your business 
here as well as at a tavern ? But it is some of your 
ladies business, I suppose, and so you must get rid of 

my company, This is chiefly your fault, Major 

Oakly I 

Maj. Lord I sister, what signifies it, whether a 
man dines at home or abroad ? .[^Coolly. 

Mrs. Oak, It signifies a great deal, sir ! and I don't 

Maj. Phoo 1 let him go, my dear sister, let him go ! 
he will be ten times better company when he comes 
back. I tell you what, sister — you sit at home till 
you are quite tired of one* another, and then yon 
grow cross, and tall out. If you wpuld but part a 
little now and then, you might meet again in good 

Mrs. Oak, I beg, Major Oakly, that you would 
trouble yourself about your own affairs j and Tet me 
tell you, sir, that I- — . 

Oak, Nay, do not put thyself into a passion with the 


Majori my dear I — It is not his feult ; and I shall 
come back to thee very soon. 

Mrs, Oak^ Come back ! —why need you go out ?— 
I know well enough when you mean to deceive the : 
for then there is always a pretence of dining with Sir 
John, or my Lord, or somebody ; but when you tell 
me, that you are going to a tavern^ it*s such a bare- 
faced affront 

Oak. This is so strange now ! Why, my dear, I 
sliall only just 

Mrs. Oak, Only just go after the lady in the letter^ 
I suppose. 

Oak. Well, well, I won't go then. — Will that con- 
vince you ? — I'll stay with you^ my dear!— .will that 
satisfy you ? 

Maj. For shame I hold out| if you are a man. 


Oak. She has been so much vext this momii^ 
already, 1 must humour her a little now. [jipmi, 

Maj, Fie, fiel go out, or you're undone. \^ApmH, 

Oak. You see it's impossible-—— [^ Apart. 

[To Mrs. Oakly.] I'll dine at home with thee, ray love. 

Mrs. Oak. Ay, ay, pray do, sir.— Dine at a ta- 
vern indeed! [poing* 

Oak. [Riturnittg.] You may depend on toe another 
time. Major. 

Maj. Steel and adamant !-^— Ah ! 

Mrs. Oak. lRetuming.'\ Mr. Oakley! 

Oak. O, my dear 1 lExeunt Mr and Mrs. Oakly^ 


Maj. Ha, ha, ha! there's a pifture of resolution! 
there goes a philosopher for you ! ha I Charles 1 

Char. O, uncle ! I have no spirits to laugh now. 

Maj, So I I have a fine time on't between you and 
my brother. ^\\\ you meet me to diiiner at the St. 
Alban's by four ? We'll drink her health, and think 
of this affair. 

Char, Don't depend on rae. I shall be running all 
over the town in pursuit of my Harriot. I have been 
considering what you have said, but at all events Pll 
go directly to Lady Free!ove*s. If I find her not 
there, which way I shall direi^l myself, Heaven 

Maj, Hark*e, Charles! If you meet with her, yoa 
may be at a los*. Bring her to my house. 1 have a 
snug room, and— — - 

Char, Phoo ! pr'ythee, uncle, don't trifle with me 

Maj. Well, seriously then, my house is at your 

Char. I thank you : but I must be gone. 

Maj, Ay, ay, bring her to my house, and we'll 
settle the whole affair for you. You shall clap her 
into a post-chaise, take the chaplain of our regiment 
^long with you, wheel her down to Scotland, and when 
you come back, send to settle her fortune with her 
f;either: that's the modern art of making love, 
Charles! [Exeunu 



A Room in the Bull and Gate Inn, Enter Sir Harrt 
Beagle and Tom. 

Sir Harry. 
Ten guineas a mare, and a crown the man f heyi 

Tom, Yes, your honour. 

Sir If, And are you sure, Tom, that there is no flaw 
Sn his blood ? 

Tom, He's a good thing, sir, and as little beholden 
to the ground, as any horse that ever went over the 
turf upon four legs. Why, here's his whole pedigree, 
your honour! 

Sir H. Is it attested \ 

Tom. Very well attested : it is signed by jack Spur, 
and my Lord Startall. \Givvng the Ptdigrtt* 

Sir H. Let me see--[/??aifc»^.] — ^Tom- come- tickle* 
me was out of the famous Tantwivy mare, by Sir 
Aaron Driver's chcsnut horse White Stockings. 
White Stockings his dam was got by Lord Hedge's 
South Barb, full sister to the Proserpine Filley, and 
his sire Tom Jones; his grandam was the Irish 
Duchess, and his grandsire 'Squire Sportly's Trajan j 
his great grandam, and great, great grandam, were 
Newmarket Peggy and Black Moll, and his great 
grandsire, and great, great grandsire, were Siif 


Ralph Whip's Regulus, and the famous Prince 
Anamaboo. his 

John X Spur, 


Tom. All fine horses> and won every thing I a foal 
out of your honour's Bald-faced Venus, by this horse, 
would beat the world. 

Sir. H. Well then, we'll think on't But, pox 

on't, Tom, I have certainly knock'd up my little roan 
gelding, in this dam*d wild-goose chase of threescore 
miles an end. 

Tom. He's deadly blown to be sure, your honour j 
and I am afraid we are upon a wrong scent after all. 
Madam Harriot certainly took across the country, 
instead of coming on to London. 

Sir H. No, no, we traced her all the way up. — But 
d'ye hear, Tom, look out among the stables and re- 
positories here in town, for a smart road nag, and a 
strong horse to carry a portmanteau. 

Tom. Sir Roger Turf's horses are to be sold— I'll 
see if there's ever a tight thing there— but I sup« 
pose, sir, you would have one somewhat stronger than 

Snip 1 don't think he's quite enough of a horse 

for your honour. 

Sir H, Not enough of a horse I Snip's a powerful 
gelding; master of two stone more than my weight* 
If Snip stands sound, I would not take a hundred 
guineas for him. Poor Snip! go into the s^bie, 
Tom, see they give him a warm mash, and look at 


his heels and his eyes.— But where's Mr. Russet all 
this while ? 

Tom. I left the 'squire at breakfast on a cold pigeon- 
pye, and enquiring after madam Harriot in the kitchen. 
I'll let him know your honour would be glad to see 
him here. 

Sir H, Ay, do : but hark'e, Tom, be sure yon 
take care of Snip. 

Tom, I'll warrant your honour. 

Sir H, ril be down in the stables myself by and 
by. [£xt/Tom.] Let me see-^— out of the famous 
Tantwivy by White Stockings ; White Stockings his 
dam, full sister to the Proserpine Filley, and his sire 
— pox on't, how unlucky it is, that this damn'd acci- 
dent should happen in the Newmarket week ! ten 

to one I lose my match with Lord Choakjade, by not 
riding myself, and I shall have no opportunity to hedge 

my betts neitiier what a damn'd piece of work 

have I made on't! — I have knock*d up poor Snip, 
shall lose my match, and as to Harriot, why, the odds 

are, that I lose my match there too a skittish 

young titl If 1 once get her tight in hand, I'll make 

her wince for it. Her estate join'd to my own, I 

vt ould liave the finest stud, and the noblest kennel in 

the whole country.- But here comes her father, 

puffing and blowing, hke a broken-winded horse up 

Enter Russet. 
Rus, Well, Sir Harry, have you heard any thing' 
of her ? 



Sir H* Yes, I have been asking Tom about her, 
and lie says, you may have her for five hundred 

Rus, Five hundred guineas ! how d'ye mean ? where 
is she ? which way did she take ? 

Sir if. Why, first she went to Epsom, then to Lin- 
coln, then to Nottingham, and now she is at York. 

Rui* Impossible ! she could not go over half the 
ground in the time. What the devil are you talk- 
ing of? 

Sir H* Of the mare you was just now saying you 
wanted toibuy. 

Rui, Tlie devil take the iif/^^\ who would 

think of her, when I am mad about an affair of so 
much more consequencfgj 

Sir H, You seemed mad about her a little while 
ago. She's a fine mare, and a thing 'of shape and 

Rus, Damn her blood I Harriot ! my dear pro- 
voking Harriot I Where can she be ? Have you got 
any intelligence of her J 

Sir H» No, faith, not I : we seem to be quite 
thrown out here— but however 1 have ordered Tom to 
Uy if he can hear any thing of h^r among the ostlers. 

Rus. Why don't you enquire ^ftcr her yourself? 
why don't you run up and down tjje whole town after 
her ?— t'other young ra^^Lknows where she is, I 

warrant you. WMiatj ii plague it is to have^ a 

daughter I When one joyes her to distra6lion, and. 
has toil'd and laboured to make her happy, the un- 


grateful slut will sooner go to.hell her own way-^but 
she shall have him — I will make her happy, if I break 
her heart for it. — A provoking gipsy ! —to run away» 
and torment her poor father, that dotes on her I I'll 
never see her face again.— -Sir Harry, how can we gee 
any intelligence of her \ Why don't you speak I why 
don't you tell me ?— Zounds ! you seem as indif- 
ferent as if you did nor care a farthing about her. 

Sir H. Indifferent ! you may well call me indiflfe* 

rent I this damn'd chace after her will cost me a 

thousand if it bad not been for her, I would not 

have been off the course this week, to have sav'd the 
lives of my whole fimUy— — Pll hold you six to two 
that— — 

Ru%, Zounds I hold your tongue, or talk more to 

the purpose 1 swear, she is too good for you — you 

don't deserve sueh a wife— a fine, dear, sweet, lovely, 
charming girl 1 — She'll break my heart. — How shall 

I find her out ? Do, pr'ythee, Sir Harry, my dear 

honest friend, consider how we may discover where 
she is fled to. 

Sir H, Suppose you put an advertisement into the 
news- papers, describing her marks, her age, her 
height, and where ahe strayed from. I recover'd a 
bay mare once by that method. 

Rtts, Advertise her I — What! describe my daughter 
and expose her in the publick papers, with a reward 
for bringing her home, like horses stolen or srray'd ! 
—recovered a bay marel** — the devil's in the 
fellow! he thinks of nothing but racers, and 

df5 /f. f HE jEAtOUS WiFt* gl 

bay mares, and stallions.— 'Sdeath I wish you r - ' ■ 
Sir H. I wish Harriot was fairly pounded ; it would 
save us both a deal of trouble. 

Rus. Which way shall I turn myself?——! atn half 

distrafted. If I go to that young dog*s house, he 

has certainly conveyed her somewhere out of my 
rcach-^— if she does not send to me to-day, I'll give 
her up for ever— —perhaps though, slic may have 
met with some accident^ aud has nobody to assist her. 
•—No, she is certainly with that young rascal.— 1 wish 
she was dead, and I was dead— —1*11 blow young 
Oakly's brains out. 

EnUr Ton. 

Sir H, Well, Tom, how is poor Snip \ 

Tom, A little better, sir, after his warm mash : but 
Lady, the pointing bitch that followed you all the 
way, is deadly foot- sore. 

Rus. Damn Snip and Lady I — htvc you heard any 
thing of Harriot } 

Tom, Why I came on purpose to let my master and 
your honour know, that John Ostler says as how, just 
such a lady as I told him madam Harriot was, came 
here in a four-wheel chaise, and was fetch'd away 
Soon after by a fine lady in a chariot. 

Rus, Did she come alone ? 

Tom. Qnite alone, only a servant-maid, please your 

Rjm, And what part *bf the town did they go to ? 


Tom. John Ostler says as how, they bid the coach- 
man drive to Grosvenor- square. 

Sir ff, Soho ! puss Yoics! 

Rus, She is cestainly gone to that young rogue 

he has got his aunt to fetch her from hence or else 

she is with her own aunt Lady Freelove they both 

live in that part of the town. I'll go to his hou^e, 
and in the mean while, Sir Harry, you shall step to 
Lady Freelove's. We'll find her, I warrant you. 
I'll teach my young mistress to be gadding. She 
shall marry you to-ni^ht. Come along, Sir Harry, 
come along; we won't lose a minute. Come along. 

Sir H. Soho! haik forward I wind 'em and cross 
'cm ! hark forward ! *!^oicsl Yoics ! [Exeunt^ 
. - v } ■. — ■ •■ 


Changes to Oakly's. Enter Mrs. Oakly. 
Mrs. Oak, After all, that letter was certainly in* 
tended for my husband. I see plain enough they are 
all in a plot against me. My husband intriguing, 
the major working him up to affront me, Charles 
owning his letters, and so playing into each other's 

hands. They think me a fool, I find but I'll 

be too much for them yet. 1 have desired to speak 

with Mr. Oakley, and expe6l him here imraediateiy. 
His temper is naturally open, and if 'he thinks my 
ang;er abated, and my suspicions laid asleep, lig will 
certainly betray liimseif by bis behaviour. I'll assume 

JBlL tiiB jEAtous WIFE* 33 

to air of good -humour, pretend to believe the fine 
story they have trumped up, throw him ofFhis guards 
and so draw the secret out of him. — Here he comes. 
*— How hard it is for to dissemble one*s anger 1 O, I 
could rate him soundly I but 1*11 keep down my in* 
dignation at present, though it chokes me. 

Enter OAitLT* 

my (Jear I I am very glad to se^ you. Pray sit 
down. {^Thty sit,"] I longed to see you. It seemed an 
age till 1 had an opportunity of talking over the silly 
affair that happened this morning. [Afi/^/^. 

Oak, Why really, my dear- - 

Mrs. Oak, Nay don't look so grave now. Come--* 
its all over. Charles and you have cleared up mat* 
ters. I am satisfied. 

Oak. Indeed I I rejoice to hear it 1 You make me 
happy beyond my expedlation. This disposition will 
insure our felicity. Do but lay aside your cruel un- 
just suspicion, and we should never have the least 

Mrs, Oak, Indeed I begin to think so. 1*11 endea» 
vour to get the better of it. And really sometimes 
it is very ridiculous. My uneasiness this morning, 
for instance I ha, ha, ha I To be so much alarmed 
about that idle letter, which turned out quite another 
thing at last — was not I very angry with you? ha, ha, 
ha! lAffeaing a laugh. 

Oak. Don't mention it. Let us both forget it. 


Your present cheerfulness makes amends for every 

Mrs. Oak. I tftti apt to be too violent : I love you 
too well to be quite easy about you, [Fondiy.^ — Well 
—no matter — what is become of Charles? 

Oak, Poor fellow ! he is on the wing, rambling all 
over the town in pursuit of this young lady. 

Mrs, Oak. Where is he gone, pray ? 

Oak. First of all, I believe, to some of her relations. 

Mrs. Oak. Relations ! Who are they ? Where do 
they live f 

Oak, There is an aunt of her's lives just in the 
neighbourhood ; Lady Freclove. 

Mrs. Oak. Lady Freelove ! Oho ! gone to Lady 
Freelove's, is he ? — and do you think he will hear any 
thing of her? 

Oak. I don't know j but I hope so with all my souL 

Mrs. Oak. Hope ! with all your soul ; do you hope 
so. \^ /Harmed* 

Oak, Hope so 1 ye — yes — why don't you hope so ? 


Mrs. Oak. Weil— yes — [Recovering. "^ — O ay, to be 
sure. 1 liope it of all things. You know, my dear^ 
it must give me great satisfaction, as well asyourself, 
to see Charles well settled. 

Oak. 1 should think so; and really I don't know 
where he can be settled so well. She is a most deserv- 
ing young* woman, 1 assure you. 

Mrs, Oak, You are well acquainted with her then ? 
• Oak. To be sure, my dear I after seeing her so often 


last summer at the Major's house in the country, and 
at !ier father's. 

J^s. Oak, So often I 

Oak. O ay, very often — Charles took care of that 
—almost every day. 

Mrs. Oak. Indeed ! But pray — a— a — a — I say— 
a — a — [Confused. 

Oak. What do you say ? my dear I 

Mrs. Oak. I say— a — a — [Stammering.'] Is she hand- 
some ? 

Oak. Prodigiously handsome indeed. 

Mrs. Oak. Prodigiously handsome ! and is she 
reckoned a sensible girl ? 

Oak. A very sensible, modest, agreeable young 
lady as ever I knew. You would be extremely fond 
of her, I am sure. You cann't imagine how happy I 
was in her company. Poor Charles! she soon made 
a conquest of him, and no wonder, she has so many 
elegant accomplishments ! such an infinite fund of 
cheerfulness and good humour ! Why, she's the dar- 
ling of the whole country. 

Mrs. Oak. Lord ! you seem quite id raptures about 

Oak. Raptures ! — not at all. I was only telling you 
the young lady's chara6ter. I thought you would be 
glad to find that Charles had made so sensible a 
choice, and was so likely to be happy. 

Mrs. Oak. O, Charles ! True, as you say, Charles 
will be mighty happy. 

Oak. Don't you think so \ 


Mrs, Oak, I am convinced of it. Poor Charles i i 
am much concernM for him. He must be very uneasy 
about her. I was thinking whether we could be of 
any service to him in this affair. 

Oak. Was you, my love } that is very good of you. 
Why, to be sure, we must endeavour to assist him. 
Let me see ? How can we manage it ? Gaii I I have 
hit it. The luckiest thought I and it will be of great 
service to Charles. 

Mrs, Oak, Well, what is it } [Eagerly. y^YQxx know 
I would do any thing to serve Charles, and oblige 
you. [Mildly. 

Oak. That is so kind ! Lord, my dear, if you 
would but always consider things in this proper lights 
and continue this amiable temper, we should be the 
happiest people 

Mrs. Oak, I believe so: but what's your proposal } 

Oak. 1 am sure you*il like it.— Charles, you know, 
may perhaps be so lucky as to meet with this 

Mrs, Oak, True. 

Oak, Now I was thinking, that he might, with yout 
leave, my dear 

Mrs, Oak, Well I 

Oak. Bring her home here— - 

Mrs. Oak. Howl 

Oak. Yes, bring her home here, my dear! — it will 
make poor Charles's mind quite easy : and you may 
take her under your protection till her father comes 
to town. 


Mrs, Oak, Amazing! this is even beyond my ex. 

OaL Why! what! 

Mrs. Oak, Was there ever such assurance ? Take 
her under my prote6\ion I What ! would you keep 
her under my nose ? 

Oak. Nay, \ never conceiv'd — I thought you would 
have approved 

Afr^. Oak. WJiat ! make me your convenient wo- 
man! No pl^e but my o^i\ house to serve your 

purposes ? 

Dai. Lordy this is the strangest misapprehenion ! 
J am quite astonished. 

Mrs, Oak. Astonished ! yes confused, deteded, 

betrayed by your vain confidence of imposing on me. 
Why, sure you imagine me an ideot, a driveller. 
Charles, indeed ! yes, Charles is a fine excuse for you. 
The letter this nwrning, the letter, Mr. Oakly I 

Oak. The letter ! why sure that" • 

Mrs. Oak. U sufficiently explained. You have made 
it very clear to me. Now I am convinced. I have 
no doubt of .your perfidy. But 1 thank you for some 
hints you have giv«n me, and you may be sure I shall 
make use of ihcm: nor will I rest, till I have fuU 
conviction, and overwhelm you with the strongest 
proof of your baseness towards me. 

Oak. Nay, but 

Mrs, Oak. Go, go ! I have no doubt of your false- 
hood : away \ [Exit Mrs, Oakly, 
0€Lk, Was there ever any thing like this } Such 

g8 fHE jEALOtTS Wll?E. ABtf. 

unaccountable behaviour 1 angry I don't know why! 
jealous of I know not what! pretending to be satis* 
fied merely to draw me in, and then creating ima- 
ginary proofs out of an innocent conversation!—^ 

Hints! hints I liave given herl — What c4n she 

mean ?—— — 

Toilet crossing tke Stage. 
Toilet 1 where are you going ? 

ToiUt. To order the porter to let in no company to 
my lady to-day. She won't see a single soul, sir. 

Oak, What an unhappy woman! Now will she 
sit all day feeding on her suspicions, till «hc has con- 
vinced herself of the truth of them. 

John crossing the Stage, 
Well, sir, what's your business i 

John* Going to order the chariot, sir !-*my lady's 
goiri:^ out immediately. [Exit* 

Oak. Going out ! what is all this ?— But every way- 
she makes me miserable* Wild and ungovernable 
as the sea or the wind I made up of storms and tem* 
pests I 1 cann't bear it : and one way or other I will 
put an end to it. [£xf^« 


Lady Free love's Houst Enter Lady Frkelove 

with a card — Servant folhmng, 
L, Free. \Reading as she enters.y^* And will take 


the liberty of waiting on her ladyship en cavalier^ as 
he comes from the menege.* Does any body wait 
that brought this card } 

Serv, Lord Trinket's servatitis in the hall, madam, 

L, Free. My corapHmenls, and I shall be glad ta 
tee his lordship. — Where is Miss Russet f 

Servm In her own chamber, madam. 

L* Free^ What is she doing ? 

Serv* Writing, I believe, madam. 

L, Free. Oh! ridiculous f — scribbling to that Oak- 
ly, I suppose, [ipart.^ — Let her know I should be 
glad of her company here. {Exit Servant. 

X. Free. It is a mighty troHblesome thing to ma- 
nage a simple girl, that knows nothing of the world. 
Harriot, like all other girls, is foolishly fond of this 
young fellow of her own choosing, her first love, 
that is to say, the first man that is particularly civil, 
and the first air of consequence which a young lady 
gives herself. Poor silly soul f — But Oakly must not 
have her positively. A match with Lord Trinket 
will add to the dignity of the family. I must bring 
her into it. I will throw her into his way as often as 
possible, and leave him to make his party good as 
fast as he can. But here she comes. 

Enter Harriot. 
Well I Harriot, still in the pouts ! nay, pr'ythee, my 
dear little run-away girl, be more cheerful I your 
everlasting melancholy puts me into the vapours. 
Har. Dear madam, excuse me. How can I be 

40 THE JEALOUS WIPfi. jiQ //« 

cheerful ifi my present situation } I know my fa- 
ther's temper so well, that I am sure this step of mine 
must almost distract him. I sometimes wish that I. 
had remained in the country, let what would have 
been the consequence. 

L. Free. Why, it is a naughty child, that's certain j 
but it need not be so uneasy about papa, as you know 
that I wrote by last night's post to acquaint him that 
his little lost sheep was safe, and that you are ready to 
obey his commands in every particular, except mar- 
rying that oaf, Sir Harry Beagl e "Lord I Lord! 
what a difference there is between a country and towa 
education ! Why, a London lass would have jumped 
out of a window into a gallant's arms, and without 
thinking of her father^ unless it were to have drawn 
a few bills on him, been an hundred miles nine 
or ten hours, or perhaps out of the kingdom in twen- 

Har, I fear I have already been too precipitate. I 
tremble for the consequences. 

L, Free. I swear, child, you are a downright prude. 
Your way of talking gives me the spleen ; so full of 
affeflion, and duty, and virtue, 'tis just like a funeral 
sermon. And yet, pretty soul 1 it can love. — Well, 
I wonder at your taste ; a sneaking simple gentle- 
man ! without a tide ! and when to my knowledge 
you might have a man of quality to-morrow. 

liar. Perhaps so. Your ladyship must excuse me, 
but many a man of quality would make me miserable. 

L. Free, Indeed, my dear, these antideluvian no* 


tions will never do now a«days ; and at the same 
time too, those little wicked eyes of yours speak a 
very different language. Indeed you have fine eyes, 
child ! And they have made fine work with Lord 

Har, Lord Trinket ! [Contemptuously, 

L, Free. Yes, Lord Trinket : you koow it as well, 
as I do, and yet, you ill-natured thing, you will not 
vouchsafe him a single smile. But. you must give 
the poor soul a little encouragement, pr'ythee do. 

Har. Indeed I cann't, madam, for of all mankind 
Lord Trinket is my aversion. 

L, Free, Why so? child 1 He is counted a well- 
bred, sensible young fellow, and the women all 
think him handsome. 

Har, Yes, he is just polite enough to be able to be 
very unmannerly with a great deal of good breeding ; 
is just handsome enough to make him most exces- 
sively vain of his person ; and has just refle6Hon 
enough to finish him for a coxcomb ; qualifications 
which are all very common among tliose whom your 
ladyship calls men of quality. 

L, Free, A satirist too I Indeed, my dear, this af- 
feCilation sits very aukwardly upon you. There will 
be a superiority in the behaviour of persons of 

Har. A superiority, indeed \ For his lordship al- 
ways behaves with so much insolent familiarity, that 
I should almost imagine he was soliciting me for 


Other favours, rather than to pass my whole life with 

L. Free. Innocent freedoms, child, which every fine 
woman expects to be taken with ht;r, as an acknow- 
ledgment of her beauty. 

//flr. They are freedoms, which, I think, no inno^ 
cent woman can allow, 

L, Ftee, Romantic to the last degree I — Why, you 
are in the country still, Harriot ! 

Enter Servant, 

Serv, My Lord Trinket, madam I [Exit ServanU 
I. Free, I swear now I have a good mind to tell 
hJm all you have said. 

Enter Lord T Kin ket in boots^ &c, as/romtke Ridings 

Your lordship's most obedient humble servant. 

Z. Trink, Your ladyship does me too much honour. 
Here I am fs Sottine as you see, — ^^iust come from the 
men6'ie. Miss Russet, I am your slave. I declare 
it makes me quite happy to find you together. 'Pon 
honour, ma'am, [To Harriot.] I begin to conceive 
great hopes of you : and as for you. Lady Freelove, 
I cannot sufficiently commend your assiduity with 
your fair pupil. She was before possessed of every 
grace that nature could bestow on her, and nobody 
is so well qualified as your ladyship to give her the 
£on Ton. 


Bar, Compliment and contem^'t all in a breath I 
My lord, I am obliged to yon. But waving my ac- 
knowledgment s» give me leave to a^k yoiii lordship, 
whether nature and the Btm Ton (as you call it) are so 
different, that we must give up one in order to obtain 
the other ? 

L Trink. Totally opposite, madam. The chief 
aim of the Bon Ton is to render persons of family dif- 
ferent from the vulgar, for whom indeed nature 
serves very well. For this reason it has, at various 
times, been ungenteel to see, to hear, to walk, to be 
in good heallh, :uid to have twenty other horrible 
perfe6lions of nature. Nature indeed may do very 
well sometimes. It made you, for instance, and it 
then made something very lovely ; and if you w ouid 
suffer us of quality to give you the Ton, you would be 
absolutely divme : h\\X now — me— nudam— me-— 
nature never made such a thing as me. 

Har. Wliy, indeed, 1 think your lordship has very 
few obligations to her. 

Z. Trink. Then you really think it's all my own f 
I declare now that is a mighty genteel compliment. 
Nay, if you begin to flatter already, you improve 
apace. *Pon honour. Lady Frcelove, I believe we 
shall make something of her at last. 

L. Free. No doubt on't. It is in your lordship's 
power to make her a complete woman of fashion at 

L. Trink. Hum I Why, ay 

Har, Your lordship must excuse me. 1 am of a 


very tasteless disposition. I shall never bear to be 
carried out of nature. 

L, Free, You are out of nature now, Harriot ! I 
am sure no woman but yourself ever objefted to being 
carried among persons of quality. Would you be- 
lieve it ? my lord ! here has she been a whplc week 
in town, and would never suffer me to introduce her 
to a rout, an assembly, a concert, or even to court, 
or to the opera ; nay, would hardly so much as mix 
with a living soul that has visited me. 

£. Trink, No wonder, madam, you do not adopt 
the manners of persons of fashion, when you will not 
even honour them with your company. Were you 
to make one in our little coteries, we should soon 
make you sick of the boors and bumpkins of the hor- 
rid country. By the bye, I met a monster at the 
riding-house this morning, who gave me some intel- 
ligence, that will surprise you, concernina; your fa» 

Har. What intelligence ? 

jL. Free. Who was this monster, as your lordship 
calls him ? A curiosity, I dare say. 

/.. Trink* This monster, madam, was formerly my 
head groom, and had the care of all my running 
horses, but growing most abominably surly and ex- 
travagant, as you know all these fellows do, I turned 
him off; and ever since my brother Slouch Trinket 
has had the care of my stud, rides all my principal 
matches himself, and-— — 

liar. Dear my lord, don't talk of your groom an^ 

4B ih tHE jBAtOUS WiFt. 45 

your brother, but tell me the news. Do you knovr 
any thing of my father ? 

Z, Trivk* Your father, madam, is now in town. 
This fellow, you must know, is now groom to Sir 
Harry Beagle, your sweet rural swain, and informed 
roe, that his master and your father were running all 
over the town in quest of you ; and that he himself 
had orders to enquire after you ; for which reason, I 
suppose, he came to the riding-house stables, to look 
after a horse, thinking it, to be sure, a very likely 
place to meet you* Your father, perhaps, is gone to 
seek you at the Tower, or Westminster- Abbey, 
which is all the idea he has of London ; and your 
faithful lover is probably cheapening a hunter, and 
drinking strong beer at the Horse and Jockey in 

£, Frtt, The whole set admirably disposed of I 

Har. Did not your lordship inform him where 
was \ 

I, Trink. Not I, *pon honour, madam : that I left 
to their own in|>enuity to discover. 

£. Frt€, And pray, my lord, where in this town 
have this polite company bestowed themselves \ 

L, Trink. They lodge, madam, of all places in the 
world, at the Bull and Gate Inn, in Holborn, 

£• Free, Ha, ha, ha I The Bull and Gate I Incom- 
parable 1 What, have they brought any hay or cattle 
to town } 

L. Trink, Very well. Lady Freelove, very well, 
indeed l-^There they are, like so many graziers; 


and there, it seems, they have learned that this lady 
is certainly in London. 

Ear, Do, dear madam, send a card dire^lly to my 
father, informing him where I am, and that your 
ladyship would be glad to see him here. For my 
part, I dare not venture into his presence till you 
have, in some measure, pacified him ; but, for Hea- 
ven's sake, desire him not to bring that wretched 
fellow along with him. 

L. Trink, Wretched fellow I Ohol Courage^ Milor 
Trinket! {Aside. 

L, Free, V\\ send immediately. Who's there ? 

Enter Servant* 

Serv. [Apart to L, Freelove.] Sir Harry Beagle is 
below, madam. 

Z. Free. {Apart to Serv.'] I am not at home.*— 
Have they let him in ? 

Serv. Yes, madam. 

L. Free. How abominably unlucky this is I Well, 
then shew hini into my dressing-room. I will come 
to him there. [Exit Serv. 

L. Trink. Lady Freelove I No engagement, I hope. 
We won't part with you, 'pon honour. 

L. Free. The worst engagement in the world. A 
pair of musty old prudes ! Lady Formal and Miss 

L. Trink, O the beldams ! As nauseous as ipeca- 
cuanha, 'pon honour. 

L, Free, Lud \ lud I what shall I do with thc>^ ? 

4^ //. THE JEALOUS WIFE. 47 

Why do these foolish women come troubling me now ? 
I must wait on them in the dressing-room, and you 
must excuse the card, Harriot, till they are gone. Til 
dispatch them as soon as I can, but Heaven knows 
when I shall get rid of them, for they are both ever- 
lasting gossips ; though the words came from her la- 
dyship one by one, like drops from a still, while the 
Other tiresome woman overwhelms us with a flood of 
impertinence. Harriot, you'll entertain his lordship 
fill I return. [£xit, 

L, TrznA, Gone I — 'Egad, my affairs here begin to 
grow very critical, — the father in town 1— lover in 
town! — Surrounded by enemies !— What shall I 
do ? — [To Harriot.] I have nothing for it but a coup 
dtmain, 'Poi) honour, I am not sorry for the coming 
in of these old tabbies, and am much obliged to her 
ladyship for leaving us such an agreeable t6re-a-t6te. 

Har. Your lordship will find me extremely bad 

L, Trink. Not in the least, my dear ! We'll enter- 
tain ourselves one way or other, I'll warrant you.— 
'Egad, I think it a mighty good opportunity to esta- 
blish a better acquaintance with you. 

Har, I don't understand you. 

/.. Trink. No ? Why then 1*11 speak plainer. — 

\^aunng and looking her full in ihcface.'\ You are an 
amazing fine creature, 'pon honour. 

Har^ If this be your lordship's polite conversation, 
I ^hall leave you to amuse yourself in soliloquy. 


49 THE JEALOUS WlF£k jiS Ih 

L, TrinL No, no, no, madam, that must aot be. 

{Stopping Aer.] This place, my passion, the opportu- 
nity, all conspire . 

Har. How, sir ! you don't intend to do me any 

L. Trink. Ton honour, ma*ara, it will be doing 
great violence to myself if I do not. You must ex- 
cuse me. [Struggling with htr* 

Har, Help I help I murder I helpl 

L, TrinL Your yelping will signify nothing ; no« 
body will come, [Struggling* 

Har, For Heaven's sake 1 Sir I My lord !— 

[Noise within^ 

L. Trink. Pox on't, what noise ? -Then I must 

be quick. [Still struggling^ 

Har, Help I murder I help ! help ! 

Enter Cha&LES hastily. 

Char, What do I hear ? My Harriot's voice calling 
for help? Ha! ISeeing them.] Is it possible? Turn 
ruffian I — I'll find \ou employment. [Drawings 

L. Trink, You are a most impertinent scoundrel^ 
and I'll whip you through the lungs, 'pon honour. 

[Tkeyjight^ HdivnoX runs out screaming help^ C?c. 

Entfr Lady Freelove, Sir Harry Beagle, and 
L. Free- How's this ? — Swords drawn in my house! 

—Part them [They are parted,] Thi* is the most 

impudent thing. 


L. TrinL Well, rascal, I shall find a time, I know 
you, sir ! 

CAar, The sooner the better, I know your lordship 

Sir ff. I'faith, madam, [To L. Free.] we had like 
to have been in at the death. 

i. free. What is all rhis i Pray, sir, what is the 
meaning of your coming hither to raise this disturb- 
ance i Do you take my house for a brothel ? 

[To Charles. 

CAar, Not I, indeed, madam t but I believe his 
lordship does. ' 

L, Trink, Impudent scoundrel! 

L, Free, Your conversation, sir, is as insolent as 
your behaviour. Who are you ? What brought you 
here ? 

Char, I am one, madam, always ready to draw my 
sword in defence of innocence in distress, and more 
especially in the cause of that lady I delivered from 
his lordship's fury ; in search of whom I troubled 
your ladyship's house. 

X, Free, Her lover, I suppose, or what ? 

Char, At your ladyship's servipe ; though not quite 
80 violent in my passion as his lordship there. 

L, Trink. Impertinent rascal I 

L, Free. You shall be made to repent of this inso- 

L, Trink, Your ladyship may leave that to me. 

Char. Ha! ha I 

^ir H, But pray what is become of the lady all this 



while ? Why, Lady Freelovc, you told me she was 
not here, and, i'faith, 1 was just drawing off another 
way, if I had not heard the view- halloo. ] 

/.. Free. You shall see her immediately, sir I Who's 
there ? 

Enter a Servant, 

Where is Miss Russet ? 

Serv. Gone out, madam. I 

L. free. Gone our! where? 

Serv. I don't know,x madam : but she ran down { 
the back stairs crying for help, crossed the servants ' 
hall in tears, and took a chair at the door. 

L. Free, Blockheads I To let her go out in a chair 
^lone 1— — Go, and enquire after her immediately. 

[Exit Servant, 

Sir H. Gone ! What a pox had I just run her 
down, and is the little puss stole away at last ? 

L. Free. Sir, if you will walk in [To Sir Har.] with 
his lordship and me, perhaps you may hear some 
tidtngs of her; though it is mpst probable she may 
be gone to her father. I don't know any other friend 
she has in town. 

C/iar, I am heartily glad she is gone. She is safer 
any where than in this house. 

L. Fre€* Mighty well, sir!— My lord I Sir Harry I 
1 attend you. 

L. Trinl* You shall hear from me, sir! 

[Tq Charles. 

Ciar, Very well, my lord. 


Sir H, Stole away I Pox on't stole away. 

\^Exeunt Sir H. and Lord Trink* 

L. Free, Before I follow the company, give me 
leave to tell you, sir, that your behaviour here has 
been so extraordinary— 

CAar, My treatment here, madam, has indeed been 
very extraordinary. 

Z. Frs€. Indeed I — Well—no matter — permk mc 
to acquaint you, sir, that there lies your way out, and 
that the greatest favour you can do me, is to leave 
the house immediately. 

CAar, That your ladyship may depend on. Since 
you have put Miss Russet to flight, you may be sure 
of not being troubled with my company. Til after 
her immediately — 1 can't rei>t till 1 know what it 
become of her 

I. Free. If she has any regard for her rerutatioo, 
she'll never put herself into such hands as yours. 

CAar, O, madam, there can be no doubt of her re- 
gard for that, by her leaving your ladyship* 

L> Free, Leave roy house. 

Char. Direftly. A charming house 1 and a 

charming lady of the house too I Ua> ha> ha I 

L. Free. Vulgar fellow I 

CAar. Fine lady ? [Exeunt severally. 



lady Fre^love'j House, Enter Lad) Freeloye, and 

Lord Trinket, 
DOucement, Doucementf my dear Lady Frcelovc \ * 
Excuse me I I meant no harm, 'pon honour. 

£. Free. Indeed, indeed, my Lord Trinket, this is 
absolutely intolerable. What, to offer rudeness to a 
young lady in my house 1 What will the world say 
of it? 

L, Trink. Just what the world pleases.— It does 
not signify a doit what they say.— -—However, I ask 
pardon ; but, 'egad, I thought it was the best way* 

L, Free. For shame, for shame, my lord 1 I am 
quite hurt at your want of discretion. Leave the 
whole condu^ of this affair to me, or Vl\ have done 
with it at once. How strangely you have adled I 
There 1 went out of the way on purpose to serve you, 
by keeping off that looby Sir Harry Beagle, and pre- 
venting him or her father from seeing the girl, till 
we had some chance of managing her ourselves. — > 
And then you chose to make a disuiibance, and 
spoiled all. 

X. Trink, Devil take Sir Harryand t'other scoundrel 

loo I That they should come driving hither just 

at so critical an instant !— -And that the wild little 
thing should take wing, and fly away the lord know 
whither I 


L, Free* Ay,— — And there again you was indis-* 
creet past redemption. To let her know, that her 
father was in town, and where he was to be found 
tool For there I am confident she must be gone, a» 
she is not acquainted with one creature in London. 

L, Trink, Why a father is in these cases the pis* 
aUer I must confess. Ton honour, Lady Fre^love, 
1 can scarce believe this obstinate girl a relation of 
yours. Such narrow notions I I'll swear, there is 
less trouble in getting ten women of the premiere volee^ 
than in conquering the scruples of a silly girl in that 
stile of life. 

L, Free. Come, come, my lord, a truce with your 
reflections on my niece I Let us consider what is best 
to be done. 

£. Trink. E'en just what your ladyship thinks pro- 
per.— For my part, I am entirely derangte, 

L Free. Will you submilK to be governed by mc 

£. TrinL I'll be all obedience your ladyship's 

slave, 'pon honour. 

Z. Free. Why then, as this is rather an Ugly affair 
in regard to me, as well as your lordship, and may 
make some noise, I think it absolutely necessary, 
merely to save appearances, that you should wait on 
her father, palliate matters as well as you can, and 
make a formal repetition of your proposal of mar- 

L. Trink. Your ladyship is pcrfcftly in the right. 
—You arc quite au fait of the affair. It shall be 


done immediately, and then your reputation will be 

Bafe, and my conduct justified to all the world. 

But should the old rustic coi^tinue as stubborn as his 
daughter, your ladyship, I hope, has no objedlions to 
my being a little rmh fof I «ust have her, 'poa 

X. Fru* Not in the least. 

X. Trink, Or if a good opportunity should offer, 
gnd the g^rl should be still untraftablc 

X. Free* Do what you will, I wash my hands Of it. 

She's out of my care now, you know. But you 

must beware your rivals. One, you know, is in the 
house with her, and the other will lose no opportu- 
nities of getting to her. 

L. Trink. As to the fighting gentleman, I shall cut 
out work for^him in his own way. I'll send him a 
petit billet to-morrow morning, and then there can be 
no great difficulty in outwitting her bumkin father, 
gnd the baronet. 

Enter a Servant* 

Serv, Captain O'Cutter to wait on your ladyship. 

L. Free. O the hideous fellow ! The Irish sailor- 
man, for whom I prevailed on your lordship to get 
the post of regulating captain. I suppose he is come 
Xo load me with his odious thinks. I won't be troubled 
with him now. 

X. Trink. Let him in, by all means. He is the best 
creature to laugh at in nature. He is a perfeft sea* 
monster, and always looks and talks as if he was upon 

Min. THK iBALOirs wirir 1^ 

deck. Besides^ a thought strikes me*— — «He may 
be of use. 

X. Free, Well send the creature up then. 

[^Ixit Servant* 
But what fine thought is this } 

L, Trink, A coup de mailref 'pon honour ! I intend 
•——but hush I Here tlie porpus comes* 

Enter Captain O'Cutter. 

Z« Free. Captain^ your humble servant 1 I am very 
glad to see you. 

0*Cut, I am much oblage'd to yoU| my lady I Upoil 
my conscience, the wind favours roe at all points* I 
had no sooner got under way to tank your ladyship^ 
but I have born down upon my noble friend his lord«i 
ship too. I hope your lordship's well ? 

l. Trink. Very well, I thank you, captain I — But 
you seem to be hurt in the service i what is the mean-* 
ing of that patch over your right eye } 

OXut, Some advanced wages from my new post^ 
my lord I This pressing is hot work, tho* it entitles 
us to smart-money. 

L. Free. And pray in what perilous adventure did 
you get that scar, captain > 

O'Cut. Quite out of my element, indeed my lady I 
I got in an engage me pt by land. A day or two 
ago I spied three stout fellows, belonging to a mer^ 
chant* man. They made down Wapping. I imme« 
diately gave my lads the signal to chace, and we bore 
down right upon them. They tacked, and lay to. Wc 


gave them a thundering broadside, which they re- 
saved like men ; and one of them made use of small 
arms, which carried ofE the weathermost comer of 
Ned Gage*shat; so I immediately stood in with him, 
and raked him, but resaved a wound on my starboard 
eye, from the stock of the pistol. However, wc took 
them all, and they now lie under the hatches, with 
fifty more, a -board a tender off the Tower. 

L. Trink. Well done, noble captain ! iBut how- 

ever you will soon have better employment, fori 
think the next step to your present post, is commonly 
a ship. 

O'Cut. The sooner the better, my lord I Honest 
Terence O' Cutter shall never flinch, I warrant vou ; 
and has had as much sea-sarvice as any man n\ the 

Z. TrinA, You may depend on my good offices, cap- 
lain ! — But in the mean time it is in your power to do 
me a favour, 

0*Cut» A favour 1 my lord ! your lordship doeb me 
honour. I would go round the world, from one end 
to the other, by day or by night, to sarve your lord- 
ship, or my good lady here. 

Z.. Trtnk. Dear madam, the luckiest thought in na- 
ture I l^^part to L. Free.]--The favour I have to ask 
of you, captain, need not carry you so far out of your 
way. The whole afFafr is, that there are a couple of 
impudent fellows at an inn in Holborn, who have af- 
fronted me, and you would oblige me infimtely, by 
pressing them into his Majesty's service* 


Z. Free* Now I understand you.« ■Admirable! 

[Apart to L. Trink^ 

0*Cut, With all ray heart, ray lord, and tank you 
too, fait. But, by the bye, I hope they are not house-^ 
keepers, or freemen of the city. There's the devil to 
pay in meddling with them. They boder one so 
about liberty and property, and stuff. It was but 
t'other day that Jack Trowser was carried before my 
Lord Mayor, and lost above a twelvemonth's pay^ 
for nothing at-all — at«all. 

L, Trink. I'll take care you shall be brought into 
no trouble. These fellpws were formerly my grooms* 
If you'll call on me in the morning, 1*11 go with you 
to the place. 

O'Cut. I'll be with your lordship, and bring with 
me four or five as pretty boys as you'll wish to clap 
your two lucking eyes upon of a summer's day. 

Z, Trink, I am much obliged to you. But, captain^ 
I have another little favour to beg of you. 

O'Cut. Upon my shoul, and I'll do it. 

Z. 5r«7iA. What, before you know it I 

0*Cut. Fore and aft, my lord ! 

Z. Trink. A gentleman has offended me in a point 
•f honour - 

QXiU, Cut his troat. 

Z. Trink, Will you carry him a letter from me t 

O'Cut. Indeed and I will : ami Til take you in tow 
too, and you shall engage him yard-arm and yard-arm. 

I. Trink, Why then, captain, you'll come a little 
earlier to<^morrow morning than you proposed, that 


you may attend him with my billet, before you pro- 
ceed on the other affair, 

0*Cut, Never fear it, my lord! Your sarvanti 

-. ■ My ladyship, your humble sarvant I 

L, Free, Captain, yours! Pray give my service to 
my friend Mrs. O' Cutter. How does she do i 

0*Cut. I tank your ladyship's axing -The dear 

creature is purely tight and well, 

L, Trink. How many children have you, captain } 
0*Cut, Four, and please your lordship, and another 
upon the stocks. 

Z. Trink. When it is launched, I hope to he at the 
christening* I'll stand godfather, captain ! 
O'Cut. Your lordship's very good, 
L. Trink. Well, you'll come to-morrow. 
O'Cut. O, ril not fail, my lord! Little Terence 
O'Cutter never fails, fait, when a troat is to be cut. 

L, Free, Ha, ha, ha ! But sure you don't intend 
to ship off both her father and her country lover for 
the Indies ? 

Z. Trink, O no ! Only let them contemplate the in- 
si4'C of a ship for a day or two. 

L. Free, Well, but after all, my lord, this is a very 
bold undertaking. I don't think you'll be able to put 
it in practice. 

Z. Trink, Nothing so easy, 'pon honour. To press 

a gentleman a man of quality— one of us— -i. 

would not be so easy, I grant you. But these. fellows, 
ypu know, have not half so decent an appearance as 


one of my footmen : and from their behaviour, con- 
v^sation, and dress, it is very possible to mistake 
them for grooms and ostlers. 

I. Frtt* There may be something in that indeed. . 
But what use do you propose to make of this strata- 
gem ? 

L, Trink. Every use in nature. This artifice must 
at least take them out of the way for some time, and 
in the mean while measures may be concerted to carry 
off* the girl. 

Enter a Servant, 
Serv, Mrs. Oakly, madam, is at the door, in her 
chariot, and desires to have the honour of speaking to 
your ladyship, on particular business. 

L.TrtnA. Mrs. Oakly! what can that jealous-pated 
woman want with you ? 

£. Free, No matter what.— I hate her mortally.—- 
Let her in. [Exit Servant. 

L, Trink. What wind blows her hither ? 
'L,Free» A wind that must blow us some good. 
L. Trin^* How ?— — I was amazed you chose to see 

t,. Free, How can you be so slow of apprehension ? 
——She comes you may be sure on some occasion re- 
lating to this gir! : in order to assist young Oakly 
perhaps, to sooth me, and gain intelligence, and so 
forward the match; but I'll forbid the banns, I war- 
rant you. Whatever she wants, I'll draw some 

sweet mischief out of it. But away ! away ! 1 

think I hear her — slip down the back stairs or. 


Stay, now I think 'on't, go out this way— meet her— 
and be sure to make her a very rcspc^ul bow, as 
you go out. 

L, Trink, Hush 1 here she is. 

Enter Mrs. Oakly. 
[A Trinket iawSf and exit.} 

Mrs. Oak. I beg pardon for giving your ladyship 
this trouble. 

L, Free. I am always glad of the honour of seeing 
Mrs. Oakly. 

Mrs. Oak. There is a letter, madam, just come from 
the country> which has occasioned some alarm in out 
family. It comes from Mr. Russet--^ — 

I. Free. Mr. Russet I 

Mrs. Oak. Yes, from Mr. Russet, madam I and is 
chiefly concerning his daughter. As she has the faO'* 
nour of being related to your ladyship, I took the li* 
berty of waiting on you* 

L. Free. She is indeed, as you say, madam, a rela- 
tion of mine 1 but after what has happened, I scarce 
know how to acknowledge her. 

Mrs. Oak. Has she been so much to blame then i 

L. Free. So much, madam ?— — Only judge for 
yourself.-^— —Though she had been so indiscreet, not 
to say indecent in her condud, as to elope from her 
fatlier, I was in hopes to have hush*d up that matter, 

for the honour of our family.* But she has run 

away from me too, madam !~-wexit off in the most ab« 
rupt manner, not an hour ago. 


Mrs. Oak. You surprise me. Indeed her father, by 
his letter, seems apprehensive of the worst conse- 
<|uences. — But does your ladyship imagine any harm 
has happened \ 

£». Fret, I can't tell 1 hope not But indeed 

she is a strange girL You know, madam, young wo* 
men cann't be too cautious in their condudt. She is, 
I am sorry to declare it, a very dangerous person ta 
take into a family. 

Mrs, Oak, Indeed 1 [Alarmed* 

hf Fret. If I was to say all I know I 

Mrs. Oak. Why sure your ladyship knows of no- 
thing that has been carried on clandestinely between 
her and Mr. Oakly. [/» disordtr* 

h> Free. Mr. Oakly ! 

Mn. Oak. Mr. Oakly— no, not Mr. Oakly— that 
is, not my husband — I don't mean him— not him— 
but his nephew— young Mr. Oakly. 

L. Free. Jealous of her husband 1 So, so I Now I 
know my game. ^Aside. 

Mrf. Oak. Bgt pray, madam, give me leave to ask, 
was there any thing very particular in her conduct, 
while she was in your ladyship's house ? 

L. Free. Why really, considering she was here 
scarce a week, her behaviour was rather mysterious ; 
^^letters and messages, to and fro, between her and 

I don't ki>ow who 1 suppose you know that Mr. 

Oakly's nephew has been here, madam. 

Mrs. Oak. I was not sure of it. Has he been to 
wait on your ladyship already on this occasion \ 


L, Free. To wait on me ! ^The expression is 

much too polite for the nature of his visit. — My lord 
Trinket, the nobleman whom you met as you came 
in, had, you must know, madam, some thoughts of 
my niece, and as it would have been an advantageous 
match, I was glad of it ; but I believe, after what 
he has been witness to this morning, he will drop all 
thoughts of it. 

Mrs, Oak, I am sorry that any relation of mipe 
should so far forget himfelf— 

Z. Free* It's no matter — his behaviour indeed, as 
well as the young lady's, was pretty extraordinary 

and yet after all, 1 don't believe he is the obje^ 

of her affections. 

Mrs, Oak. Hal [Muck alarnud* 

L. Free* She has certainly an attachment some- 
where, a strong one ; but his lordship, who was pre- 
sent all the time, was convinced, as well as myself, 
that Mr. Oakly's nephew was rather a convenient 
friend, a kind of go-between, than the lover.— —Bless 
me, madam, you change colour 1 you seem uneasy \ 
what's the matter ? 

Mrs, Oak, Nothing, — -madam,— nothing,— a 
little shock*d that my husband should behave so« 

L, Free, Your husband, madam I 

Mrs, Oak. His nephew, I mean.— His unpardon« 
able rudeness^— but I am not well— I am sorry I 

have given your ladyship so much trouble I'll 

take my leave. 

L. Free. I declare, madam, you frighten me. Your 


being so visibly affedted, makes me quite uneasy. I 
hope I have not said any thing— I really don't ber 
lieve your husband is in fault. Men, to be sure, 
allow themselves strange liberties. But I think, nay 
I am sure, it cannot be so. It is impossible. Don*t 
let what I have said have any effe6t on you. 

Mrs, Oak, No, it has not— T have no idea of such 
a thing.— —Your ladyship's most obedient— [G««^, 
fttums] But sure^ madami you have not heard or 
don*t know any thing. 

L, Fre€* Come^ come, Mrs. Oakly, I see how it is^ 
and it would not be kind to say all I know. I dare 
not tell you what 1 have heard. Only be on your 
guard — there can be no harm in that. Do you be 
against giving the girl any countenance, and see what 
effect it has. 

Mrs* Oak. I will 1 am much obliged But 

does it appear to your ladyship then that Mr* 


L. Fret. No, not at all — nothing in*t, I dare say — 
1 would not create uneasiness in a family — but I am 
a woman myself, have been married, and cann't help 
feeling for you.— -But don't be uneasy, there's nothing 
in*t, I dare say. 

Mrs, Oak. I think so. Your ladyship'^ humble 


L, free. Your servant, madam. .Pray don't be 

alarmed, I must insist on your not making yourself 


Mrs. Oak, Not at all alarmed — not in the least un- 
easy. — Your most obedient. \_Exit» 

L. Free, Ha, ha, ha 1 There she goes, brimful of 
anger and jealousy, to vent it all on her husband. 
Mercy on the poor man 1 

Enter Lord Tkiiak^t. 
Bless me I my lord, I thought you was gone. 

L» Trtnk, Only into the next room. My curiosity 
would not let me stir a step further. I heard it all, 
and was never more diverted in my life, 'pon honour. 
Ha, ha, hal , 

L. Free, How the silly creature took it I Ha, ha, hal 

L, Trink, Ha, ha, ha!— My dear Lady Freelove, 
you have a deal of ingenuity, a deal of esprit^ 'pon 

X. Free, A little shell thrown into the enemy's 
works, that's all. 

Both, Ha, ha, ha, hal 

L, Free. But I must leave you. I have twenty 
visits to pay. You'll let me know how you succeed 
in your secret expedition. 

L. Trink. That you may depend on. 

L. Free. Remember then that to-morrow morning 
I expeft to sec you.— —At present your lordship will 

excuse me. Who's there ? [Calling to the servants.']^ 

Send Epingle into my dressing-room. [Exit. 

L. Trink. Sol If O'Cutter and his myrmidons 

are alert, I think I cann*t fail of success, and then 
prenczgardcf Mademoiselle Harriot I— -—This is one 

A3UL thAealous WIFE. 6$ 

of the drollest circumstances in nature.-*— Here is 
my lady Freelove, a woman of sense, a woman that 
knows the world too, assisting me in this design. I 
never knew her ladyship so much out.—-— How, in 
the name of wonder, can she imagine that a man of 
quality, or any man else 'egad, would marry a fine 

girl, after not I, 'pon honour. No— no— when I 

have had the entamure^ let who will take the rest of 
the loaf. [Exit. 

SCENE 11. 

Changes to Mr, Oakly'j House, Enter Uakkiot/oI' 
lowing a Servant. 

Har. Not at home I— Are you sure that Mrs. 
Oakly is not at home, sir i 

Serv. Siie is just gone out, madam. 

Har, I have something of consequence If you 

will give me leave, sir, 1 will wait till she returns. 

Serv. You would not see her, if you did, madam. 
She has given positive orders not to be interrupted 
with any company to-day. 

Har. Sure, sir, if you was (o let her know that I 
had particular business 

Serv, I should not dare to trouble her, indeed, 

Har. How unfortunate this is! What can I do?— 
Pray, sir, can I see Mr. Oak^ then ? 

66 THS JEALOUS 4lrB« A3 liim 

Serv. Yes, madam : I'll acquaint my master^ if you 


H^r, Pray do, sir. 

Serv. Will you favour me with your name, madam ? 

Har. Be pleased, sir, to let him know that a lady 
desires to speak with him. 

Serv. I shall, madam* [Exit servaaim 

Har, I wish I could have seen Mrs. Oakly. What 
an unhappy situation am I reduced to! What will the 
world say of me ? — And yet what could I do ? To 
remain at Lady Freelove's was impossible. Charles, 
I must own, has this very day revived much of my 
tenderness for him ; and yet I dread the wildncss of 
his disposition. I must now, however, solicit Mr. 
Oakly*s prote6lion, a circumstance (all things consi- 
dered) rather disagreeable to a delicate mind, and 
which nothing, but the absolute necessity of it, could 
excuse. Good heavens ! What a multitude of dif- 
ficuhies and distresses am T thrown into, by my father's 
obstinate perseverance to force me into a marriage, 
which my soul abhors t 

Enter Oakly. 

Oak, \^At entering,'] Where is this lady ?— [5tf««^ 

her.] Bless me, Miss Russet, is it you ? Was ever 

any thing so unlucky \ \_Aside ] Is it possible, madam, 
that I see you here ? 

Har, It is too true, sir j and the occasion on which 
I am now to trouble^ou is so much in need of 4n 
apology, that——* 


' Oak, Pray make none, madam. «— If my wife should 
return before I get her out of the house again 1— -«« 


Hat. I dare say, sir, you are not quite a stranger 
to the attachment your nephew has professed to me* 

Oak. I am not, madam* I hope Charles has not 
been guilty of any baseness towards you. If he has^ 
V\\ ftever see his face again. 

Hat. I have no cause to accuse him* Bu t - ■■ 

Oak* But what, madam } Pray be quickl«— — The 
very person in the world I would not have seen I 


Har. You seem uneasy, sir I 

Oak, No, nothing at all— Pray go on, madam« 

Har, I am at present, sir, through a concurrence 
of strange accidents, in a very unfortunate situation^ 
and do not know what will become of me without 
your assistance. 

Oak, 1*11 do every thing in my power to serve you^ 
1 know of your leaving your father, by a letter we 
have had from him. Pray let me know the rest of 
your story. 

Har, My story, sir, is very short. When I left 
my father's I came immediately to London, and took 
refuge with a relation, where, instead of meeting 
with the prote6lion 1 expected, I was alarmed with 
the most infamous designs upon my honour. It is 
not an hour ago, since your nephew rescued me from 
(he attempts of a villain. I t|pmble to think, that I 
icfc him a^ually engaged in a duel. 


Oak. He is very safe. He has just sent home the 
chariot from the St. A 1 ban's tavern, where he dioet 
to-day. But what are your commands for me^ 
snadam ? 

Har. I am heartily glad to hear of his safety.— The 
favour, sir, I would now request of you is, that you 
Urould suffer me to remain for a few days in your 

Oak, Madam! 

JIar. And that in the mean time you will use your 
utmost endeavours to reconcile me to my father^ 
without his forcing me into a marriage with Sir Harry 

OdA, Thi3 is the most perplexing situation!—^-* 
Why did not Charles talce c^re to bej$tow you pro- 
perly ? 

Har, It is most probable, sir, that I should not haire 
consented to such a measure myself. The world is 
but too apt to censure, evep without a cause : and 
you are so kind as to admit me into your house, 
must desire not to consider Mr* OaUy in any othejr 
light than as your nephew; as in my present circum* 
stances I have particular objections to it. 

OaA,^ What an unlucky circumstance ! — r-Upon my 
soul, madam, I would do any thing to serve you- 
but being in my house, creates a difficulty that— — — 
Mar, I hope, sir, you do not doubt the truth of 
)what I have told you. 

Oak. I religiously bq|Jeve every tittle of it, madam» 
but I have particular fanlily consideration?, that' 

iif J 
,1 1 

A3 ilL THE Jealous wife. 6$ 

Har* Sure, sir, you cannot suspect me to be base 
enough to form any connections in your family con* 
trary to your inclinations, while I am living in your 

OaA. Such connections, madam, would do me and 
all my family great honour. I never dreamt of any 
scruples on that account.— What can 1 do ? — Let mc 
sec— -let me see— suppose ^Pausing* 

Enter Mrs, Oakly ieAindf in a capuchin^ tippet^ &c. 
Mrs. Oak, I am sure I heard the voice of a woman 
conversing with my husband ■ Ha ! \Stdng Har- 

riot.] It is so, indeed I Let me contain myself— -1*11 
Hat* I sec, sir, you arc not inclin'd to serve me— 

good heaven ! what am I reserved to ? Why, why 

did I leave my father's house to expose myself to 
greater distresses \ {Ready to wtep* 

Oak. I would do any thing for your sake : indeed I 
would. So pray be comforted, and I'll think of some 
proper place to bestow you in. 
Mrs.Oak. Sol sol 

Har. What place can be so proper as your own 
house \ 
Oak* My dear madam, 1«— -^I *" ■ i 

Mrs, Oak, My dear madam .mighty well ! 

Oak, Hush 1— hark I what noise no— — no^ 

thing. But ril be plain with you, madam, we may 
be interrupted.— —The family consideration I hinted 
at, is nothing else than my wife.- She is a little un- 


happy in her temper, madam! — ^and if you was to be 
admitted into the house, I don't know what wouI4 
be the consequence* 

Mrs, Oak. Very fine- 

Har» My behaviour, sir I 

Oak, My dear life, it would be impossible for yon 
to behave in such a manner, as not to give her suspi- 

Har. But if your nephew, sir, took every thing 
upon himself—— 

Oak, Still that would not do, madam t Why 

this very morning, when the letter came from your 
father, though I positively denied any knowledge of 
it, and Charles owned it, yet it was almost impossible 
to pacify her. 

Mrs, Oak, The letter!— How I have been bubbled I 

Har. What shall 1 do ? What will become of me ? 

Oak, Why, look'e, my dear madam, since my wife 
is so strong an obje6lion, it is absolutely impossible 
for me to take you into the house. Nay if I had not 
known she was gone out, just before you came, I 
should be uneasy at your being here even now. So 
we must manage as well as we can. I'll take a pri- 
vate lodging for you a little way off, unknown tp 
Charles or my wife, or any body ; and if Mrs. Oakly 
should discover it at.last, why the whole matter will 
light upon Charles you know. 

Mrs, Oak* Upon Charles! 

Har, How unhappy is my situation ! [Waping] I 
am ruined for ever. 

4B ///• THE JEALOUS WlfB. 7| 

Oak. Ruin'd ! Not at all. Such a thing as this has 
happened to many a young lady before you, and all 
Jias been well again— Keop up your spirits I 1*11 
contrive, if I possibly can, to visit you every day. 

Mrs.Oak, [Advancing,] Will yoij so ? O, Mr. Oak- 
Jy I h^fi I discovered you at last ? I'll visit you, in- 
deed. And you, my dear madam, ril- , 

Har, Madam, I don*t understand-r— — 

Mrs. Oa^. I understand the whole affair, and have 
understood it for ^ome timp past.7*-You shall have a 

private lodging, miss I It is the fittest place for 

you, I believe.— How dare you look me in the face ? 

O^k, For heaven's sakp^ n)y love, don't be so vio- 
lent. — You are quite wrong in this affair — you don't 
know who you are a talking to. That lad/ is a per« 
^n of fa^hipn, 

Mrs. Oak. Finp fashion, indeed I to ^jeduce othe^: 
women's husbands 1 

Bar* Dear madam ; how can you imagine 

Qak* I tell you, my dear, this is the young lady that 

Mrs. Oak. Mighty well! but th^t won't do, sir I— 
Did not I hear you lay the whole iotrigue together ? 
Did pot I hear your fine plot of throwing all the blame 
upon Charles ? ■ 

Oak. Nay, be cool a moment.— ;— You must know, 
iny dear, that the letter wiiich came this morning re- 
lated to this lady 

Mrs. Oak. I know it. 

Oak. And since that, it seems, Charles h^ been sp 
fortunate as to 


Mrs. Oak. O, you decfeitful man ! That trick is 

too stale to pass again with me It is plain now 

what you meant by your proposing to take her into 

the house this rporning.- -But the gentlewoman 

could introduce herself, I see. 

Oak. Fie I fie I my dear, she came on purpose to 
enquire for you, 

Mrs. Oak, For me!— —better and better!^ Did 

not she watch her opportunity, and come to you just 
as I went out } But I am obliged to you for your 
visit, madam. It is sufficiently paid. Pray don't let 
me detain you. 

Oak. For shame I for shame, Mrs. Oakly! How 
can you be so absurd ? Is this proper behaviour to a 
lady of her charafter I 

Mrs. Oak. I have heard h^r charafler. Go, my fme 
run-away madam I Now you've eloped from your fa- 
mily, and run aw^ from your aunt I Go I- ^You 

shan't stay here, I promise you. 

Oak. Pr'ythee, be quiet. You don't know what 
you are doing. She shall stay. 

Mrs. Oak. She shan't stay a minute. 

Oak. She shall stay a minute, an hour, a day, a 

week, a month, a year! 'Sdeath, madam, she shall 

stay for ever if I choose it. 

Mrs. Oak. How ! 

Har. For heaven's sake, sir, let me go. I am 
frighted to death. 

Oak. Don't be afraid, madam! She shall stay, I 

Insist upon it. 


Rus, [aift^to.] I tell you, sir, I wili go up, I am 
sure the lady is Iiere, and nothing shall hinder me. 

Har^ O my father I my father ! [Faints away. 

Oak, See! she faints. [Catching her,'] Ring the 

bell! Who's there? ** 

Mrs, Oak. What! take her into your arms too !^- 
I have no patience. 

Enter Russet and Servants, 

Rus, Where is this ha! fainting! [Running to 

ker.'] O my dear Harriot ! my child ! my child ! 

Oak. Your coming so alpruptly shocked her spirits. 
But she ueyiyes* How do you, xnadam ? 

Har, [72; Russet.] O, sir! 

Rus, O B>y dear gir,l! How could you run away 
f^oni youf father, th^t loves you with sqch fondness I 
T But J was 5Pre I should find you here- 

Mrs Oak. There — there! — sure he should find her 

here I Pid not I tell you so? Are not you a 

picked man, to carry o;) si^ch b^se underhand doings, 
with a gentleman's daughter ? 

Rtts. Let me tell you, sir, whatever you may think 
Jpf the matter, I shall not easily put jup with this be- 
haviour. — How durst you encourage my daughter tQ 
an elopement, and receive her in your house. 

Mrs. Oak. There^ mind that! The thing is as 

plain as the light. 

Oak. I tell you, you misunderstand— r- 

Rus. Look you, Mr. Oakly, I shall expefl satis- 
f*^Uon from your family for so gross an afFront.-^-» 


Zouns, sir, I am not to be uxd ill by any man in 


Hat, My dear sir, I can assure you 

Kus. Hold your tongue, girl 1 You' U put me in a 
passion* , 

Oak. Sir, this is all a mistake* 

^us, A mistake I Did not 1 find her in your house \ 

Oak. Upon my soul, she has not been in my house 

hlLn, Oak, Did not I hear you say you would take- 
her a lodging? a private lodging I 

Oak. Yes, but that— —. 

Rui, Has not this af&ir been carried on a long time 
in spite of my teeth \ 

Oak, Sir, I never troubled myself - 

Mrs. Oak. Never troubled yourself I — Did not you 
insist on her staying in the house, whether I would 
or no? 

Oak. No. 

Ru%. Did not you send to meet her, when she came 
to town ? 

Oak. No. 

Mrs. Oak. Did not you deceive me about the let- 
ter this morning ? 

Oak. No— no — no — I tell you , no. 

Mrs. Oak. Yes— yes — yes— —I tell you, yes. •! 

Rui. Shan't I believe my own eyes? ' 

Hn. Oak. Shan't I believe my own ears ? 

Oak. I tell yon, you are both deceived. 

Rus* Zouns, sir, I'll have satisfaction* 

4&Hi. THE IRALOtrs WIFff. 75 

Mrs»OaL 1*11 stop these fine doingSi I warrant 

Oak, *Sdeath| you will not let me speak — and you 
are both alike I think*— -I wish you were married 
to one another with all my heart. 

Mrs* Oak, Mighty well I mighty well I 
• Rus. I shall soon find a time to talk with you. 

dak. Find a time to talk I you have talked enough 
now for all your lives. 

Mrs. Oak. Very fine I Gome alon^, sir 1 Leave that 
lady with her father. Now she is in the properest 

Oak. I wish I could leave you in his hands. [Goings 
returns,'] I shall follow, you, madam I One word with 

I you, sir I The height of your passion, and Mrs. 

; Oakly*s strange misapprehension of this whole affair, 
makes it impossible to explain matters to you at pre- 
sent. I will do it when you please, and how you 

Rus. Yes, yes: 1*11 have satisfaction. So, ma- 
dam I I have found you at last. Y ou have made a 
fine confusion here. ^ 

Jfar. I have, indeed, been the innocent cause of a 
great deal of confusion. 

Rus. Innocent I What business had you to be 

^» running hither after—— 

k Har. My dear sir, you misunderstand the whole af- 
fair. I have not been in this house half an hour. 

Rus. Zouns, girl, don't put me in a passion I—— 
You know I love you— —but a lie puts me in a pas- 

7$ THB JEALOUS wiri. AB in» 

sion. But cofne along— we'll leave this house direAly 

•^[Charles iinging tuithout,"] Heyday ! what now ? 

After anohc without, enter Chaklrs, drunk* 
Char. But my wine netther nurses nor balnes can. brings 
And a big-bellied bottlers a mighty good thing* 

What^shere? a woman? Harriot 1 impossible! My 
dearest, sweetest Harriot! I have been looking ail 
over the town for you, and at last when.! was 

tired and weary-^-and disappointed— -why then the 

honest Major and I sat down together to. drink your 
heal thinpintbumpers. [Rvnn ing up to ktr, 

Rus, Stand ofFi How dare you take any liberty 

with my daughter before me i 2k>uns, sir, 1*11 be the 
death of you. 

Char. Hal 'Squire Russet too! You jolly old 

cock, how do you do ?— -But Harriot! my dear girl I 
[Taking hold of her,] My life, my soul, my— — - 

Rus, Let her go, sir-— come away Harriot !— Leave 
him this instant, or 1*11 tear you asunder. [PuUingher* 

Har. There needs no violence to tear me from a 
man who could disguise himself in such a gross man- 
ner, at a time when he knew I was in the utmost dis- 
tress. [Disengages herself , and exit with Russet. 

Charles, Only hear me, sir— —madam I my dear , 

Harriot— —Mr. Russet gone!— ^she*s gone I— < 

and 'egad in very ill humour, and in very bad com- 
pany I— .I'll go after her— but hold J— I shall only 
make it worse— as I did— now I rccollc^Wonce be- 

A3 lf^» tn^ jEALout WIFE. 77 

fore. How the devil came they here \ — Who would 
have thought of finding her in my own house ?— — 
My head turns round with conjedlures. — I believe I 

am drunk — ^very drunk so 'egad, I'll e'en go and 

sleep myself sober, and then enquire the meaning of 
all this. For, 

ILoveSue^ and Sue loves nuy 8cc. 

[Exit singing, 


OAKLY^sHouse. Enter Mrs, Oakly and Major Oak lx. 

Well— —well but sister I— 

Mrs, Oak. I will know the truth of this matter. 
Why cann't you tell me the whole story ? 

Maj, I'll tell you nothing.— -There's nothing to 
tell— you know the truth already.— Besides, what 
have I to do with it ? Suppose there was a disturbance 
yesterday, what's that to me? was I here? it's no 
business of mine. 

Mrs, Oak, Then why do you study to make it so? 
Am not ( well assured that this mischief commenced 
at your house in the country ? And now you are 
carrying it on in town. 

Maj. This is always the case in family squabbles. 
My brother has put you out of humour, and you 
choose 10 vent your spleen upon me. 


Mrs* Oak. Because I know that you are the occa- 
sion of his ill usage. Mr. Oakly never behaved in 
such a manner before. 

Maj. I ? Am I the occasion of it \ 

Mrs, Oak. Yes, you. I am sure on't. 

Maj. 1 am glad on't with all my heart. 

Mrs. Oak. Indeed I 

Maj. Ay, indeed : and you are the more obliged 
to me.-^Comey come, sister, it's time you should re- 
Heft a little. My brother is become a public jest ; 
and by-and-bye, if this foolish affair gets wind, the 
whole family will be the subjefl of town-talk. j 

Mrs. Oak. And well it may, when you take so much 
pains to expose us.— ^The little disquiets and un- 
easiness of other families are kept secret ; but here 
quarrels are fomented, and afterwards industriously 
made public.-— ^And you, sir, yoi) have done all 
this you are my greatest enemy. 

Maj. Your truest friend, sister. 

Mrs. Oak. But it*s no wonder. You have no feel- 
ings of humanity, no sense of domestic happiness, 
no idea of tenderness or attachment to any woman. 

Maj. No idea of plague or disquiet — no, no— and 
yet I can love a woman for all that—heartily— 
as you say, tenderly-—— But then I always choose a 
woman should shew a little love for me too. 

Mrs. Oak. Cruel insinuation I — But I defy your 

malice Mr. Oakly can have no doubt of my affec- 

lion for him. 
Maj. Nor I neither j and yet your affedlion, sudi 


as it is, has all the evil properties of aversion • You 
absoUitely kill him with kindness. Why, what a life 
l)c leads I He serves ^or nothing but a mere whetstone 
of your ill-humour. 

Mrs, Oak, Pray now, sir!- 

Maj, The violence of your temper makes his house 
uncomfortable to him, poisons his meals, and breaks 
his rest. 

Mrs, Oak, I beg, Major Oakly, that' ■ 

Maj^ This it is to have a wife that dotes upon one! 
- — the least trifle kindles your suspicion ; you take 
fire in an instant, and set the whole family in a blaze, 

Afr*. Oak, This is beyond all patience. — No, sir, His 
you are the incendiary — you are the cause of— I cann't 
bear such— [r^a^fy to a;«^.]— from this instant, sir, I 
forbid you my house. However Mr. Oakly may 
treat rac himself, I'll never be made the sport of all 
his insolent relations. [Exit* 

Maj, Yes, yes, I knew I should be turn'd out of 
doors. There she goes— —back again to my brother 

diireaiy. Poor gentleman ! ;-'S!ife, if he was but 

half the man that 1 am, I'd engage to keep her going 
to and fro all day, like a shuttlecock. 

£ff^er Charles. 
What, Charles I 

Char. O major I have you heard of what happened 
after I left you yesterday \ 

Maj. Heard! Yes, yes, I have heard it plain 
enough. But poor Charles 1 Ha, ha, ha I What a 


scene of confusion 1 I would give the world to have 
been there. 

Char, And I would give the world to have beei^ 
any where else. Cursed fortune 1 

Maj, To come in so opportuaely at the tail of an 
adveuture l-»r-^Was not your mistress mighty glad 
to see you i You w^s very fond of her, I dare say. 

C^ar, I am upon the rack. Who can tell what 
rudeness X might offer heri I can remember nothing 
T— I deserve to lose her»-r-rto wake myself a beastl 
—and at such a time tool-« — O fool, fool, fool ! 

Maj. Pr*ythee^ be quiet, Charlps 1— -Never vex 
yourself about notlung; thi$ m\\ all.h? .m^e up -the 
first time you see hc;r, 

CAar, I should dread to see her-rr-^od the not 
knowing where she is, distrads me-irr-her father 
may force her to marry Sir Haj-ryJJeagle Imiiie* 

Maj, Not he, I promise you. iSIie'd run plui^p 
into your arms first, in spite of her father's tqeth. 

CAar. But then her father's violence, a|>(} thp i^ildr 
ness of her disposition — r?- 

Maj. Mildness I Ridiculous I— -r-TrjusJ tp tjic 

spirit of the sex in her. I warrant you, like all the 
rest, sheUl have perverseness enough not to do as hejr 
father would have her. 

CAar. Well, well — But then my behaviour to her 
To expose myself in such a condition to her again I 
The very occasion of our fornrier quarrel 1— . 

^aj. Quarrel I ha, ha, hat What signifies a|rr 

jiB iP^. THE lEALOITS ^fFE. ^1 

rel with a mistress ? Why, the whole affair of making 
love, as they call it, is nothing but quarrelling and 
making it up again. They quarrel ©'purpose to kiss 
and be friends. 

Char. Then indeed things seemed to be taking afor« 

tunate turn ^To renew our difference at such a 

time ! ^Just when 1 had some reason to hojpe for a 

reconciliation! May wine be my poison if ever I 

sun drunk again I 

Maj. Ay, ay, so every man says the next morning. 

Char. Where, where can she be ? Her father would 
hardly carry her back to lady Freelove's, and he has 
no house in town himself, nor Sir Harry— I don't 

know what to think I'll go in search of her, 

though I don't know where to direft myself. 

Enter a Servant* 

Serv, A gentleman, sir, that calls himself Captain 
O'Cutter, desires to speak with you. 

Char, Don*t trouble me I'll see nobody— —I'm 

not at home—— 

Serv. The gentleman says he has very particular 
business, and he must see you. 

Char, What's his name ? Who did you say ? 

Serv, Captain O'Cutter, sir. 

Char. Captain O'Cutter! I never heard of him 
before. Do you know any thing ot him, major i 

Maj, Not I—But you hear he has particular bu. 
siness. I'll leave the roonu 

Chan tie can have no business that need be a secret 


tp you. Desire the Captain to walk up4-^^-p[£x{i 

Servant.'] What would I give if this unknown 

P^ptftin was Xo prove ^ piesscngcr from my Harriot I 

fnter Captqtn O'CuttbR- 

O'Cut. Jontlemcn, your sarvant. Is either of yp|if 
ijames Charles Oakly, esq. . 

Char* Charles Oakly, sir, is my name, if you have 
any business with it. 

0*Cut. Avast, ^vast, my dear I — I have a little bu- 
siness with your name, but as I was to let nobody 
^now it, I cann*t mention \t till you clear the decks, 
fait.— \_Pointing to the major* 

Char, Thi$ gentleman, sir, is my most intimate 
friend, and any thing that poncerns mc may be inenr 
tioned before him. 

O'Cut. O, if he's your friend, my dear, we may do 
all above-board. It's only about your deciding a de- 
fcrance with my Lor4 Trinket. H£ wants to shew 
you a little warm work ; and as I was steering this 
way, he desired me to fetch you this letter. [Giving 
a letter,'] 

Maj. How, sir, a challenge I 

O'Cut, Yes, fait, a challenge. I am to be his lord- 
ship's second ; and if you are fpnd of a hot birth, 
and will come along with that jontleman, we*ll all go 
to it together, and make a little line of battle a- head 
of our own, my dear. 

CAar. IReading,'] Hai what's this? This may be 
useful. \/iside* 

4& IF4 , 7HE lEALOVS WIFE. 83 

A%\ Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you.-— A rare 
fellow this. [ilwVfe.] Yes, yes, I'll meet all the good 
company. I'll be (here in my waistcoat ^nd pumps, 
and take ^ morning's breathing with you. Are you 
ycry fond of fighting, sir \ 

0*Cut, Indeed and I am ; I loye it better than salt 
pcef or biscuit. 

Maj* But pray, sir, how are you interested in this 
difference ? Do you know what it is about ? 

O'Cut. O, the devil burn me, not !• What sig- 
nifies what it's about, you know } so we do but tilt a 

Maj. What, fight and not know ^or what ? 

O'Cut. When the signal's out for engaging, what 
signifies talking } 

Maj, 1 fancy, sir, a duel is a common breakfast 
with you. I'll warrant now, you have been engag'd 
In many such affairs. 

O'Cut^ Upon my shoul, and I have : sea or land, 
its all one to little Terence O'Cutter.— When I was 
last in Dublin, I fougl^t one jontleman for cheating 
me out of a tousand [>ounds : I fought two of the 
Mermaid*s crew about Sally Macguire ; tree about 
politicks ; and one about the play-house in Smock - 
Alley. But upon my fait, since I am in England, I 
)iave done noting at-all, at-all. 

CAar, This is lucky — but my transport will dis- 
cover me. [/istde,] Will you be so kind, sir, [7a 
P* Cutter.] as to make my compliments to his Lord- 


ship9 and assure him that I shall do myself the honour 
of waiting on him. 

0*Cut. Indeed and I will. — Arrah, my dear, won't 
you come too ? [To Major Oakly. 

Maj. Depend upon't. We'll go through the whole 
exercise : carte, tierce, and segoon, captain. 

Char. Now to get my intelligence. [/Istde,'] I think 
the time, sir, his lordship appoints in his letter, is— « 

O'Cnt, You say right Six o'clock. 

Char. And the place — a — a— is 1 think, behind 

Montague- House. 

0*Cut, No, my dear !- Avast, by the Ring in 

Hyde- Park, fait 1 settled it there myself, for 

fare of interruption. 

Char. True, as you say, the Ring in Hyde- Park— 
I had forgot — Very well, I'll not fail you, sir. 

0*Cut, Devil burn me, not I. Upon my shouly 
little Terence O'Cutter will sec fair play, or he'll 
know the reason — And so, my dear, your sarvant. 

Maj. Ha, ha, hal What afellowl— — He loves 
fighting like a game cock. 

Char. O uncle I the luckiest thing in the workl I 

Maj. What, to have the chance of being run 
through the body I I desire no such good fortune. 

CAar. Wish me joy, wish me joy I I have found 
her, my dear girl, my Harriot !—— She is at an inn in 
Holborn, major! 

Maj. Ay I how do you know f 



Char, Why, this dear, delightful, charming, blun- 
dering captain, has delivered me a wrong letter. 

Maj. A wrong letter I 

Char. Y,es, a letter from Lord Trinket to Lady 

Maj, The devil ! What are the contents ? 

Char,. The news I told you just now, that she's at 
an inn in Holborn :— and besides, an excuse from my 
lord, for not waiting on her ladyship this morning, 
according to his promise, as he shall be entirely taken 
up with his design upon HArriot. 

Maj» So I — sol — A plot between the lord and the 

Char. What his plot is I don't know, but I shall 
^cg leave to be made a party in it : so perhaps his 
lordship and I may meet, and V^aif our deferance^ as 
ihe captain calls it, before to-morrow morning.—— 
There I read, read, man 1 [Giving tht Utter. 

Maj, [Reading,"] Um — um — um-*— -^— Very fine I 
And what do you propose doing ? 

Char. To go thither immediately. 

Maj. Then you shall take me with you. Who 
Jcnows what his Iprdship's designs may be ? I begin 
to suspeft foul play. 

Char. No, no ; pray mind your own business. If 
I find there is any need of your assistance, I'll send 
for you. 

Maj, You'll manage this affair like a boy now— Go 
pn rashly with noise and bustle, and fury, and gc^ 
yourself into another scrape. 


Char, No — no — Let me alone; I'll go incog. — 
Leave my chariot at some distance— Proceed pru- 
dently, and take care of myself, I warrant you. I 
did not imagine that 1 should ever rejoice at receiving 
a challenge, but this is the most fortunate accident 
that could possibly have happened. B'ye, b'ye, 
uncle ! [Exit hastily, 

MtLJ. I don't half approve of this — and yet I can 
hardly suspeit liis lordship of any very deep designs 
neither. — Charles may easily outwif him. Hark ye, 
William ! [At seeing a servant at some distance^ 

Enter Servant. 

Serv. Sir! 

Afaj, Where's my brother } 

Serv. In his study alone, sir. 

Maj. And how is he, William? 

Serv, Pretty well, 1 believe, sir. 

Maj, Ay, ay, but is he in good humour, or 

Serv.. Inever meddle in family affairs, not I, sir. 


Maj. Well said, William ! No bad hint for me, 

perhaps! — What a strange world we live in 1 — No 
two people in it love one another better than my bro- 
ther afid sister, and yet the bitterest enemies could 

not torment each other more heartily. Ah, if he 

had but half my spirit! And yet he don't want it 

neither— But I know his temper— He pieces out the 
matter with maxims, and scraps of philosophy, and 
odds and ends of sentences — I must live in peace— 


Patience is the best remedy — Any thing for a quiet 
life ! and so on—However, yesterday, to give him 
his due, he behaved like a man. Keep it up, bro- 
ther ! keep it up I or it's all over with you. Since 
mischief is on foot, I'll even set it forwards on all 
sides. I'lf in to him dire^lly, read him one of my 
morning le£lures, and persuade him, if I possibly 
can, to go out with me immediately; or work him up 
to some open aft of rebellion against the sovereign 
authority of his lady -wife. Zounds, brother ! rant, 
and roar, and rave, and turn the hopse out of the 
window. If I was a husband!— 'Sdeath, what a 
pity it is, that nobody knows how to manage a wife 
but a batchelor. [^*iV. 


Changes to the Bull and Gate inn. Enter Harriot. 

Har. What will become of me ? My father is en- 
raged, and deaf to all remonstrances, and here I am 
to remain by his positive orders, to receive this booby 
baronet's odious addresses. Among all my dis- 
tresses, I must confess that Charles's behaviour yes- 
terday is not the least. So wild ! So given up to ex- 
cesses ! And yet— «I am ashamed to own it even 
myself 1 love him : and death itself shall not pre- 
vail on me to give my hand to Sir Harry.— But 
•here he comes I What sliall I do with him i 


Enter Sir Hakry Beagle. 

Sir H. Your servant, miss !— --What ? Not speak f 
—Bashful, mayhap — Why then I will. — Look'c, 
miss, I am a man of few words. — What sonifies hag- 
ling ? It looks just like a dealer. What d'ye think 

of me for a husband ? 1 am a tight young fellow 

—sound wind and limb — free from all natural ble- 
mishes — Rum all over, damme, 

Har. Sir, I don*t understand you. Speak English, 
and I'll give you an answer. 

Sir H, Knglish ! Why so I do— and good plain 
English too. What d'ye think of me for a hus- 
band ? — That's English— e'nt it t 1 know none of 

your French lingo, none of your parfyvoos, not I.— 
What d'ye think of me for a husband ? The 'squire 
says you shall marry me. 

Har. What shall I say to him ? I had best be civil. 

{^Aside,"] 1 think, sir, you deserve a much better 

wifci and beg 

Sir //• Better I No, no,— though you're so know. 

ing, Vm not to be taken in so. You're a fine 

ihing Youj;* points are all good. 

Har, Sir Harry 1 Sincerity is above all ceremony. 
Excuse me, if I declare I never will be your wife. 
And if you have a real regard for me, and my hap- 
piness, you will give up all pretension to me. Shall 
I beseech you, sir, to persuade my father not to urge 
a marriage, to which I am determined never to con« 

SirH. Hcy1 howl what! be off! Why, it's a 

match, miss ! It's done and done on both sides. 

Hsr, For Heaveii*s ^ake, «ir, withdraw your claim 

tome. 1 never can be prevailed on rindeed I 

cann't ■ « 

Sir H» What, Ri^ke a match and then draw stakes 1 
That's doing of nothittg^^Piay or pay all the world 
€rver, » 

Har. Let mc prevail on yon, sir !■ ■ I am deter- 
mined not to marry you at all events. 

SirM, Eut your fether*s determined you shall, miss. 
«-«So iine odis are oa my side.— — *I am not quite sure 
of my horse, but I have <he rider hollow. 

Har, Y«ur horse i «ir— 4'ye take me for — but I 
Sov^ve you.— I beseech you come into 103 propoal. 
It will be better for ds both in the end. 

^ir H. 1 cann't be off. 

Nar. Let me intreat you. 
" Sir H. I tell yo«, t^s unpossible. 

Har. Pray, pray do, sir. 

SirH. I cann't, damme. 

Mar. I beseech you.* 

SirH. [fVkhtles,] 

har. How 1 lauglied at i 

Sir «• Will you marry me? Dear Alfyy Ally Crohn I 


Har. Marry you ? I had rather be married to a 
slave, a wretch- You I [Walks about^ 

Sir H. A find going thing.*— »Sh^ has a deal of 


foot — p-treads wqU upon her pasterns 
her ground-*— 

Har. Peace, wretch I— Do you talk to roe as if I 
were your horse ? 

Sir H. Horse ! Why not speak of my horse ? If 
your fine ladies had half as many good qualities, they 
would be much better bargains. 

Har, And if their wretches of husbands liked them 
half so well as they do their horses, they would lead 
better lives. 

Sir H. Mayhap so. But what signifies talking 

to you ?— The 'Squire shall know your tricks—— 
He'll dodor you. I'll go and talk to him, 

Har. Go any where, so that you go from mt* 
. Sir H. HeUl break you in-!— If you won't go to a 
snaffle, you must be put in a curb— He'll break 
you, damme. {^£xiU 

Har. A wretch I But I was to blame to suffi^r 

his brutal behaviour to ruffle my temper.— I could 
expe6t nothing else from him, and he is below my 
anger.-»— How much trouble has this odious fellow 
caused both to me and my poor father I — 1 never dis* 
obeyed liim before, and my denial now makes him 
quite unhappy. In any thing else I would be all sub* 
mission ; and even now, while I dread his rage, my 
heart bleeds for his uneasiness-****! wish i could re- 
lolve to obey hiin« 

Enter Russbt. 

Rus. Are not you a sad girl > a perverse, stubborn^ 
obsitinate - ■■» 

ABtf* Titt }BALotrft wtf «« 91 

Har, My dear sir— — 

Rus, Look ye, Harriot, don't speak, you'H put 

me in a passioti-*-*Will you have him ?—*— Answer 
me that— .Why don*t the girl speak ?^WiIl you have 

Har, Dearest sir, there is nothing in the world 

Rnu Why there I— there!— ^Look ye there I— — 

Zounds, you shall have him Hussy, you shall 

have him-— —You shall marry him to night— — Did 
not you promise to receive him civilly ?-^How came 
you to affront him ? 

Har. Sir, I did receive Hm very civilly j but his 
behaviour was so insolent and insupportable ■ ' - 

Rus. Insolent! — Zounds, I'll blow his brains out. 
^*— -Insolent to my d«ar Harriot I — A rogue ! a vil- 
lain I a scoundrel ! 1*11— but it's a lie — I know it*s a 
lie — He durst not behave insolent— Will you have 
him f Answer me that. Will you have him ?— ^ 
Zounds, you shall have him. 

Har, If you have any love for me> sir- ■ ■ ■ 

Rus, Love for you I — You know I love you— You 
know your poor fond father dotes on you to madness. 
■ ■■ ! would not force you, if I did not love you— - 
Don't I want you to be happy ?— ButI know what 
you would have. You want young Oakly, a rake- 
helly, drunken* 

Har. Release me from Sir Harry, and if I ever 
marry against your consent, renounce me for ever. 

3^ THE }E4kU>vs wifb. 49 jr, 

Rus» I iz;/// renounce you^ unless you'll have Sir 

Har, Consider, m^ d«ar sir, you'll make me mi* 
serable. I would die to please yot^y but caonot pros- 
titute my hand to a man my heart abhors.— Abr 
solve me from this hard command^ and in every tbfiig 
else it will be happiness to obey you. 

^us* You'll break my heart, ti^rriol, you'll break 

iny heart- ^Make you miseral>le I— Don't I want to 

make you happy } Is not he the richest man in the 

county *•— That will make you happy. Dcta'tali 

the pale> faced girls in the country long to get him) 
^— And yet you are so perverse, and wayward, and 
stubborn— T—2^ounds, you shall have him* 

Bar* For Heaven's sake, sir . ■ 

Rus. Hold your tongue, HsM'ri^'l — I'U h^^ nons 
cf your nonsense.— Yq«t shall have him, I tell you» 

you shall have him *He shall marry you this very 

night ' ' " I'll go for a licevLseraad a parson imme* 
diateiy. Zounds 1 Why do 1 s^nd arguing with you I 
An't I your father i^ Have not I a ri^t to dispose of 
you } Yoia shall have kiaa* 

Har, Sir I ' I ■ ■ 

Rus, I won't hear a wosd* You shall have him. 

' Har, Sirl-^Hear mel-<-4»ut one word 1— -He will 
not hear me, and is gone to prepare for this odious 
ntasriage. I wiJ-1 die before I consent to it. You 
<iAai/have hiaa! O^that fathers would enforce their 
pomm^inds by |}ptter arguments | And yet I pity him, 


while he afllifts me. — He upbraided me with Charles, 
his wildness and intemperance — Alas I but too justly 

^ I see that he ii wedded to his excesses $ and I 

ought to conquer an afie^ion for him, which will 
only serve to make me unhappy* 

Enter Charles in a Frock^ ^c. 
Ha I What do I sec 1 [Screamng. 

Ckar, Peace, my love I— My dear life, make nO 
noise 1 — I have been hovering about the house this 

hour 1 just now saw your father and Sir Harry go 

out, and have seized this precious opportunity to 
throw myself, at your feet. 

Har. You have given yourself, sir^ a great deal of 
needless trouble. I did jiot expeil: or hope for the 
favour of such a visit. 

Char. O my dear Harriot, your words and looks 
cut me to the soul. You can n't imagine what 1 suf- 
fer, and have suffered since last night And yet I 

have in some fond moments flattered myself, that the 
service I was so fortunate as to do you at Lady Free- 
love's, would plead a little in my favour. 

Hat. You may remember, sir, that you took a 
very early opportunity of cancelling that obligation. 

Char, I do remember it. with shame and despair. 
But may I perish, if rtiy joy at having delivered you 
from a villain was not the cause! My transport more 
than half intoxicated me, and wine made an easy con- 
quest over me.— I tremble to think lest I should have 
behaved in such a manner as you cannot pardon. 
1 iij 


Har, Whether I pardon you or no, sir, is a matter 
9f mighty little consequence. 

Char O my Harriot I Upbraid me, reproach me, 
do-any thing but look and talk with that air of cold- 
ness and indifference* Must I lose you for one of^ 
fence ? when my soul dotes on you, when I love you 
to distradlion I 

' Hay Did it appear like love, your conduct yester- 
day \ To lose yourself in riot, when I was exposed 
to tlie greatest distresses I 

Char. 1 feel, I feel my shame, and own it. 

Har, Vou confess tluit you don't know in what 
manner you behaved. Ought not I to tremble at the 
¥ery thoughts of a man, devoted to a vice which ren- 
ders him no longer a judge or master of his own 
condud ? 

Chq.r. Abandon me, if ever I am guilty of it again, 
O Harriot I I am distracted with ten tliousand fears 
and apprehensions of losing you for ever-^ — The 
chambermaid, whom I bribed to admit me to you, 
told me that when the two gentlemen went out, they 
talked of a license.*"— —What am I to think \ Is it 
possible that you can resign yourself to Sir Harry 
Beagle? [Har riot /wfciM.] Can you then con- 
sent to give your hand to another \ No, let me once 

more deliver you Let us seize this lucky moment ! 

—My chariot stands at the corner of the next street 
— Let me gently force you, while their absence al* 
lows it, and convey you from the brutal violence of % 
. constrained marriage. 


ffar. No ! — ^I will wail thecvont^ be it w^hat it rtiay. 
— O Charles, I am too much inclined — They sha'n't 

force me to marry Sir Harry But your behaviour 

•—-Not half an hour ago, my father reproached me 
with the looseness of your chara^ier. [iVeeping* 

Char, I see my folly, and am ashamed of it. You 
have reclaimed me, Harriot I — On my soul, you have. 
—If all women were as attentiveas yourself to the 
morals of their lovers^a Hbertine would be an un- 
common <;harader.~.Bu)t let me persyade you to 
leave this place, while you may — Major Oakly will 
receive us at his house with pleasure— I am shocked 
at the thoughts of what your stay here may reserve 
you to. 

Har* No, I am determined to remain. ^To leave 

«y father again, to go off openly with a man, of 
whose libertine charafter he has himself so lately beert 
a witness, would justify his anger, and impeach my 

Ci«r. Fool I fool \ How iHihappy have I made my- 
self | Consider, my Harriot, the peculiarity of 

your situation ; besides I have reason to fear other 
designs against you. 

&r. From other design I can be no where so se- 
cure as with my fothcr. . 

Chtar. Tkne fties-«-^Let me pcrsoade you I 

Mar. I am resolved to stay here. 

Ckar. You distraa me. For Heaven's sake. 

Mar. I will not think of it. 

^kar. Consider, my angelt » 

96 'tut JEALOUS WIPE. Aa IK 

Har. \ do consider, that your condufl has made it 
absolutely improper for me to trust myself to your 

Char, My condu6H~*Vexation! 'Sdeath l-*^But 
then, my dear Harriot, the danger you are in, the 

EnUr Chambermaidi 

Chamb, O law, ma^amt— — Such a terrible accU 

dent! As sure as I am here, there's a press-gang 

has seized the two gemmin, and is carrying them 
away, thof so be one an *em says as how he's a knight 
and baronighti and that t'other*s a * squire and a 

Har, Seized by a press-gang! impossible* 

Char. O, now the design comes out. But 111 

baulk his lordship. 

Ckamb. Lack-a-dasy, ma'am, what can we do) 
There is master, and John Ostler, and BoOtcatcher, 
all gone a'ter *em,——— There is such an uproar as 
never was. [£«iV.* 

Har. If T tjiought this was your contrivance, sir^ 
I would never speak to you again* 

CAar. I would sooner die than be guilty of it.— 
This is Lord Trinket's doing, I am sure. I knew he 
had some scheme in agitation, by a letter I inter-* 
cepted this morning. 

Har, [^Screams,ll 

Char, Hal Here he comes. Nay then, it's plain 
enough. Don't be frighted, myloyel I'll proteft 


you*— —But now I must desire you to. follow lay 
dirc£Uoii5. . , / 

£«/fr Z.{?r</ Trinket. 

' 1 . •v 

L. TrM, Now, madam. Pox oa*t, he here 

again I Nay, then, {■Drawinff.'\^om^six I You'rf 

unarmed^ I see. Give up the lady : gtveh^rup^ I 
say, or 1 am through you in a twinkling. 

[Gain^ to make a pois At Charles* 

Ckar. Keep your distance, my lord I I have arais, 
[Producing a pistol.] If you come a foot nearer, you 
have a brace of balls thro' your lordship's head. 

Z. TrinA, How i what's this } pistols I 

CAar, At your lordship's service. Sword and 

pistol my lord.— ^— Those, you know, are our wea» 

pons. If this misses, I have the fellow to't in my 

pocket. Don't be frighted, madam. His lordship 

has removed your friends and relations, but he will 
take great care of you- Shall I wixh bim I 

Bar. Cruel Charles! You know^ J. must gp with 
you now. 

C&or. A little way from the door, if yqnr lordship 
pleases. [fVatdng kis haiuk 

X. Trink. Sir!-r-»Sdeath;— Madaml 

Char* A little more round, my loi;d» [Waving* 

L. Trink* But, sir!— -Mr. Oaklyl 

Char. I have no leisure to talk with your lordship 
now.— A little more that way, if you please, 
[Waving*] — You know where I live.— If you have 
any commands for Miss Russet^ you will hear of her 

^8 TltB ISAtOuS WlfB» AB K 

too at my house.— —Nay, keep back> my lord. [Pre^ 
senting,'] Your lordship's most obedient humble 
servant. [&xt/ tvitA Harriot. 

L. Trink, [Looking after them, and pausing Jbr a short 
«tW.]— — I cut a mighty ridiculous figure here, *pon. 
honour.— So I have been concerting this deep 

scheme, merely to serve him. Oh, the devil take 

such intrigues, and all silly country ^rls, that can 
give up a man of quality and figure, for a fellow that 
nobody knows. [Exii* 


Lady Freelovf'j House. Enter Lord Trinket, Lady 
pREfeLOVB with a Letter y and Captain O'Cutter. 

Lord Trinket, 
V/a8 ever any thing so unfortunate ? Pox on*t| 
captain, how could you make such a strange blunder \ 

0*CiU. I never tought of a blunder. I was to da^ 
liver two letters, and if I gave them one a piece, I 
tought it was all one, fait. 

Z. Fret* And so, my lord, the ingenious captain 
gave the letter intended for me to young Oakly, and 
here he has brought me a challenge. 

L Trinh. Ridiculous! Never was any thing so 
mal-apropos^^^—TM you read the dire6lion, captain } 

0*Cta. Who, me I— —Devil burn me, not !• I 
never rade at all. 


Z. Trink. 'Sdeath ! how provoking ! When I had 
$ecur'd the servants, and got ail t)ie people out of the 
way— When every thing was en train, 

L, Free, Nay, never despair, my lord I Things have 
happened unluckily, to be sure ; and yet 1 think I 
could hit upon a method to set every thing to right 

X. Trink, How? how? my dear Lady Freelove, 

L* Free* Suppose then your lordship was to go and 
deliver these country gentlemen from their coiifine- 
ment ; make them believe it was a plot of young 
Oakly's to carry oiF my niece ; and so make a merit , 
of your own services with the father. 
Z* Trink. Admirable t ^11 about it immediately. 
0*Cut, Has your lordship any occasion for my sarvice 
in this expedition ? 

X. Trink, O no : — ^Only release me these people, 
and then keep out of the way, dear captain. 

OXut, With all my heart, fait. But you are all 
wrong :— this will not signify a brass farding. If you 
would let me alone, I would give him a salt eel, I 
warrant you.— — But upon my credit, there's noting 
to be done without a little tilting. [^Exit, 

L, Free, Ha, ha I poor captain I 
L TrinJL But where shall 1 carry them, when I 
have delivered them ? 

L, Free, To Mr. Oakly's, by all means. You may 
lie sure my niece is there. 
l.Trtnk, To Mr, Oakly's! Why, does your 

loo THfe JtALOUi WII^E. AB fi 

ladyship consider? 'Tis goings direftly in the fire of 

the enemy throwing K\itijtmtfai full in their teeth. 

Z. Fret. So mnch the better. Face your enemies 5 
—nay, you shall outface thctn too. Why, where's the 
difference between truths and untruths, if you do but 
stick close to the point \ Falsehood would scarce ever 
be detedled, if we had confidence enough to sup* 
port it. 

Z. T^rink. Nay, T don't want bronze upon occaskNU 
—But to go amongst a whole troop of people, sure, 
to contradict every word I say, is so dangerous—— 
Z. Fret. To leave Russet alone amongst them, 
would be ten times more dangerous. You may be 
sure that Oakly's will be the first place he will go to 
after his daughter, where, if you don*t acoompauiy 
hitn, he will be open to all their suggestions. They'll 
be all in one story, and nobody there to contradi A 
them: aad then their dull truth would triumph, 
which must not be. No, no,— positively, ray Kordy 
you must battle it out. 

Z. Trink., Well, I'll go, 'pon honour— and if I 
could depend on your ladyship as a c€(rp$ ds reserve^^^ 
Z. Free. I'll certainly meet you there. Tush J my 
lord, there's nothing in it. It's hard, indeed, if two 
persons of condition can't bear themselves out against 
such trumpery folks as the family of the Oaklys. 

L: Trink, Odious low people ! But I lose time 

—I must after the captain— -*and so, till we meet 
at Mr. Oakly's, I kiss your ladyship's hand.— -—You 
ivon't fail me. 


Mi V* TRI JEALOtJI Wire. 101 

L, Free, You may depend on me. [Exit L, Trink. 

L, Free, So, here is fine worki Thi* artful little 
hussy has been too much for us all : Welly what's to 
be done ? Why, when a woman of fashion gets into 
a scrape, nothing but a fashionable assurance can get 
her out of it again» I'll e*en go boldly to Mr. Oakly*S| 
as I have promised, and if it appears practicable, I 
will forward Lord Trinket's match ) but if I find 
that matters have taken another turn, his lordship 
must excuse me» In that case 1*11 fairly drop him, 
seem a perfect stranger to all his intentions, and give 
my visit an air of congratulation to my niece and any 
other husband, which fortune, her wise father, or her 
ridiculous self has provided for her. [Exit. 


Changes to Mrs, Oakly'j Dressing- Room, Enter Mrs* 

Mis, Oak, This is worse and worse t— He never 

held me so much in contempt before.- To go out 

vvithout speaking to me, or taking the least notice.— 
I am obliged to the major for this,— ^How could he 
take him out I and how could Mr. Oakly go ^h 
him ? ■ 

Enter Toilet. 

Mrs, Oak, Well, Toilet. 
ToiL My master is not come back yet, ma'am. 


Mrs» Oak, Where is he gone ? 

ToiL I don't know, I can assure your ladyship. 

Mrs, Oa^. Why don't you know ? — You know no- 
thing.-— But I warrant you know well enough, if you 
would tell. — You shall never persuade me but you 
knew of Mr. Oakly's going out to-day. 

Toil. I wish I may die, ma'am, upon my honour, 
and I protest to your ladyship, 1 knew nothing in the 
world of the matter, no more than the child unborn. 
There is Mr. Paris, my master's gentleman, knows — 

Mrs. Oak. What docs he know i 

ToiL That I knew nothing at all of the matter. 

Mrs. Oak, Where is Paris? What is he doing } 
, Toil, He is in my master's room, ma'am. 

Mrs Oak, Bid him come here. 

ToiL Yes, ma'am. [Exit, 

Mrs, Oak, He is certainly gone after this young 

flirt. His confidence and the major's insolence 

provoke me beyond expression. 

Re-enter Toilet with Paris. 

Where's your master ? 

Par. il est sorti. 

Mrs. Oak» Where is he gone ? 

Par, Ah, madame, je n^en scai rien. I know no- 
ting of it. 

Mrs, Oak, Nobody knows any thing. Why did not 
you tell me he was goin^ out ? 

Par. I dress him — Je ne m*en sonde pas du plus-^Hc 
go where he will — I have no bi&ness His it. 


Mrs, Oak. Yes, you should have tt^d mC" * t hat 

was your business and if you don't mind youir 

business better, you shan't stay here, I can tell you, sir. 

Par. VoUal quelque cAose d* extraordinaire! 

Mrs, Oak. Don't stand jabbering and shruggfing 
your shoulders, but go, and enquire*"— go and 
bring me word where he is gone. 

Par. I don'.t know what I am do.— ——I'll ask 

Mrs. Oak. Bid John come to me. 

Par. De tout man caur. Jean ! ici! /ean— Speak 

my ladi. [Exit, 

Mrs. Oak. Impudent fellow I His insolefit gravity 
and indifference is insupportable ■ T oilet ! 

Toil. Ma'am. 

Mrs. Oak. Where's John? Why don't he come? 
Why stand with your hands before you ? Why 
don't you fetch him ? 

Toil. Yes, ma'am,— I'll go this minute.— —-0, 
here, John I my lady wants you. 

Enter John. 

Mrs. Oak^ Where's your master? 
John. Gone out, madam. 
Mrs. Oak. Why did not you go with him ? 
John. Because he went out in the major's chariot, 

Mrs. Oak. Where did they go to? 
John. To the major's, I suppose, madam; 
Mrs. Oak, Suppose 1 Don't you know ? 

f04 TH8 lEAtOVI WIFB. AS V. 

John, lbe)|(;yesOy but caiin*t tell for certain, in* 
deed, maci^ip, . . 

Mrs. 00k. Believe^ and suppose {*-<<and don't know, 
and cann*t M 1-,-^You are all fools,— —Go about 
your business, [John going,} — Come here, [ReturHs,'\ 
Go to the xnajor'^— np>*^it does notsigntfy-^go along 
— [John ^«*«^.] — Yes, hark'ee, [Returns »} go totlw 
majofr's, and see if yoiir master !« there, 

JoAn. Give your compliments, madam } 

Mrs, Oak. My compliments, blockhead 1 Get along, 
[John^'i^.] Come hither. [Riturns,'] Cann't you 
go to the major's, and bring me word if Mr, Oakly 
is there, without taking any further notice ? 

John. Yes, ma'am I 

Mrs, Oak. Well, why don't you go, then ? And 
make haste back.-— —And d'ye hear, John. 

[John goings returns^ 

Jokn, Madam. 

Mrs. Oak. Nothing at all — go along — [J ohn goes, ]— 
How uneasy Mr. Oakly makes mcl— Hark'e, J ohn I 
[John returns.'] 

John, Madam I 

Mrs, Oak, Send the porter here, 

John. Yes, madam. [Exit, 

Toil, So, she's in a raie humour I I shall have 9 
fine time on't. — [ Aside. "]' » 'Will your ladyship 
choose to dress \ 

Mrs. Oak, Pr'ythee, creature, don't tease me with 
your fiddle-faddle stuff— I have a thousand things to 

think of.- -Where is the porter ^ Why has xxq% 

tjiat booby sent him ? WJiat is the meaning; 

AQV. the jealous WIPH. loj 

Re-enter John. 

John, Madam, my master is this moment retiifned 
with Major Oakly, :ind my young master, and the 
lady that was here yesterday. 

Mrs. Oak. Very well. [£*«/ John.] Returned!-^ 
yes, truly, he is returned — and in a very extraordinary 
manner. This is setting me at open defiance. But 
I'll go down, atid shew them I have too much spirit 
to endure such usage. — [Going.] — Or stay — I'll not 
go amongst his company— I'll go out.— —Toilet ! 

Toil. Ma'am. 

Mrs. Oak. Order the coach. Til go out. [Toilet 
^oi»^.]— Toilet, stay,— 1*11 e'en go down to them 
. No. Toilet. 

Toii. Ma*am. 

Mrs. Oak. Order me a boil'd chicken— I'll not 
go down to dinner— I'll dine in my own room, and 
sup there— I'll nor see his face these three days. 

- [ExeuntJ 


Changes to another Room, Enter Oakly, Major Oa k l Y, 
Charles, and Harriot. 
Char. My dear Harriot, do not make yourself so 

Har. Alas! I have too much cause for my un» 
easiness. Who knows what that vile lord has done 
with my father ? 



Oak, Be comforted, madam ; we shall soon hear of 
Mr. Russet, and all will be well I dare say. 

Hat* You arc too good to me» sir:— But I can 
assure you, 1 am not a little concerned on your ac- 
count as well as my own ; and if I did not flatter nayself 
with hopes of explaining every thing to Mcs. Oakly's 
Satisfaftion, I should never forgive myself for hav- 
ingdisturbed the peace of such a worthy family. 

Maj. Dun't mind tliat, madam ; they'll be very 
good friends again. This is nothing among married 

people. *Sdeath, here she is! — No, — it's only 

Mrs. Toilet. 

Enter Toilet. 

Oak. Well, Toilet, what now f [Toilet wkispers."] 
Not well ?— Cann't come down to dinner? — Wants to 
Bcc rae above ?— ^Hark'e, brother, what shall I do? 

Maj* If you go, you're undone. 

Har. Go, sir; go to Mrs. Oakly Indeed you 

had better 

Maj, 'Sdeath, brother! don^t budge a foot — This 
is all fradtiousness and ill-humour 

OaL No, 1*11 not go.— Tell her I have company 
and we sliall be glad to see her here. \_Exit Toilet. 

Maj, That's right. 

Oak, Suppose 1 go and watch how she proceeds? 

Maj, What d'ye mean ? You would not go to her ? 
Are you mad ? 

Oak, By no means go to her— I only want to know 
JiQw she takes it. I'll lie perdue in my study, andob- 
.,.' Serye her motions. 


Maj. T don't like this pitiful ambu$c»de work— this 
bush-fighting. Why cana*t you stqy here F-P-^^Ay, 

ay 1 — I know hpw it will be She'll come bounce 

in upon you with a torrent of anger and passion, or, 
if necessary ,'!a whole fbod of tears, and carry all be- 
fore her at once.. 

Oak, You shall find that you're mistaken, major, 
— Don't in^agine that because I wish not to be void of 
humanity, that I am destitute of resolution. Now I 
am convinced I'm in the right, Til support that right 
with ten times your steadiness, 

Maj. You talk this well, brother. 

Oak, V\\ do it well, brother. 

Maj.^ If you don't, you're undone, 

Oak, Never fear, never fear. [£mV, 

Maj, Well, Charles. 

Char, I cana't bear to see my Harriot so uneasy, 
ril go immediately in quest of Mr. Russet. Per^ 
hap, I may learn at the inn where his lordship's ruf« 
fians have carried him. 

Rus, [Without,'] Here ? Yes, yes, I know she's here 
well enough. Come along, Sir Harry, come along. . 

Har^ He's here ? — My father I I know his voic^, 
Where is Mr. Oakly ? O, now, good .sir, [To the Ma-r 
jor.] do but pacify him, and >ou'U be a friend in- 

EnUr Russet, Lord Trinket, and Sir Harrv 
L, Trink, There, sir— I told you it was so. 
Riu, Ay, ay, it is too plain.— —O you provoking 


slutt Elopement after elopement I And at last to 
have your father carried oiF by violence I To endan* 
ger my life 1 Zounds I I ''am so angry, I dare aot trust 
myself within reach of you. 

Char, I can assure you, sir, that your daughter is 

Rus* You assure me ? You arc the fellow that has 
perverted her mind—— -That has set my own child 
against me ■ 

Ckar* If you will but hear me, sir- 

/?iw. I won't hear a word you say. I'll have my 
daughter— -"I won't hear a word. 

Maj. Nay, Mr. Russet, hear reason. If you will 
but have patience' - 

Rus. V\\ have no patience— 1*11 have niy daughter, 
and she shall marry Sir Harry to-night. 

£. Trink» That is dealing rather too much en cava* 
Iter with me, Mr. Russet, *pon honour. You take 
no notice of my pretensions, though my rank and 

Rm. What care I for rank and family. I don't 
want to make my daughter a rantipole woman of 
quality. 1*11 give her to whom I pleasew Take her 
away. Sir Harry ; she shall marry you to-night. 

Har, For Heaven's sake, sir, hear me but a mo- 

Rus. Hold your tongue, girl. Take her away, Sir 
Harry, take her away. 

Char* It must not be. 

Maj, Only three words, Mr. Russet. - 


Bus. Why don't the booby take her J 
Sir H. Hold hard, hold hard ! You are all on a 
wrong scent : Hold hard ! I say, hold hard I— Har]( 
ye, Squire Russet. 

Rus. Well ! what now ? 

Sir H. It was proposed, you know, to match me 

with Miss Harriot But she cann't take kindly to 

mc. When one has made a bad bet, it is best to 

hedge oflF, you know— and so I have e'en swopped 
her with Lord Trinket here for his brown horse Na- 
bob, tbat he bought of l^prd Whistle-Jacket for fif^ 
teen hundred guineas. 

Ru4» Swopped her i Swopped my daughter for a 
Ihorse ? i^ouns, sir, what d'ye mean ? 

Sir ff. Mean i Why I niean to be off, to be surie 
»— It w.on't dor—I tell yo^ it wjon't <io*— ^First of aU 
1 knocked up myself and my horses, when they took 
for London — and now 1 have been stewed aboard a 

tcnder-TTT-rl have wasted three stone at least If I 

could have rid my match, it would not have grieved 
inc«^.^And so, as I sj^iid before, 1 have swopped hej: 
for Nabob. 

Rus^ The devil take Nabob, and yourself, and Lord 
Trinket, and- 

L, TriuA- Pardon I je vous dtmande pardon^ Monsieur 
Russet, 'pon honour. 

Rus. Death and the devil I I shall go distracted. 
My daughter plotting against me — the 

Maj, Come, come, Mr. Russet, I apa your mai> 
*fter all. Qive me but a moment's hearing, and I'U 


engage to make peace between you and your daugh- 
ter, and throw the blame where it ought to fall most 

Sir H. Ay, ay, that's right. Put the saddle on the 
right horse, my buck I 

Rus. Well, Sir!— What d*ye say ?— Speak 1 

don't know what to do — 

Maj. V\\ speak the truth let who will be offended 

by it. 1 have proof presumptive and positive for 

you, Mr. Russet. From his lordship's behaviour at 
Lady Freelove's, when my nephew rescued her, we 
may fairly conclude that he would stick at no mea- 
sures to carry his point. — There's proof presumptive. 
— ruit, sir, we can give you proof positive too — proof 
imder his lordship's own hand, that he, likewise, was 
tho contriver of the gross affront that has just been 
off'ered you. 

Pus. Hey ! how ? 

L. Trink. Every syllable romance, 'pon honour. 

Maj. Gospel, every word on't. 

Char, This letter will convince you, sir! — Incon- 
sequence of what happened at Lady Freelove's, his 
lordship thought fit to send me a challenge : but the 
messenger blundered, and gave me this letter instead 
of it. [Giving the Utter, '\ I have the case which in- 
closed it in my pocket. 

I. Trink, Forgery, from begining to end, *pon ho- 

Maj. Truth upon my honour. — But read, read, Mr. 
Russet, read and be convinced. 


. Riis, Let me see— let me see^— [/?w^»^]—trni*— 
uni — um — urn — so, so I — urn— um — um — damnation L 
—Wish me success— obedient slave — Trinket.— 
Fire and fury I How dare you do this ? 

L, Trink, When you are cool, Mr. Russet, I will 
explain this matter to you. 

Bus. Cool? *Sdeath and helLI—ril never be cool 
again — 1*11 be revenged. — So my Harriot, my dear 
girl is innocent at last. — Say so, my Harriot ; tell me 
you are innocent. \^Embractng ktr, 

Har. I am,^ndeed, sir ; and happy beyond expres- 
sion, at your being convinced of it. 

Rus. I am glad on't— 1 am glad on't — I believe you, 
Harriot ! — You was always a good girl. 

Maj* So she is, an excellent girl I— Worth a regi- 
ment of such Lords and Baronets — Come, sir, finish 

every thing handsomely at once. Come — Charles 

will have a handsome fortune. 

Rus, Marry !— She durst not do it. 

Maj. Consider, sir, they have long been fond of 
each other — old acquaintance — faithful lovers — tur- 
tles — and may be very happy. 

Rus. Well, well — since things arc so 1 love my 

girl. — Hark'ye, young Oakly, if you don't make her 
a good husband, youMl break my heart, you rogue. 

Char, Do not doubt it, sir 1 my Harriot has reform- 
ed me altogether. 

Rus. Has she? — Why then — there— Heaven bUss 
you both— there— now there's an end on't, 


SirH. So, my lord, you and 1 are both distaoced 
•^A hollow thing:, damme. 

L. Trink, N^mpcrte. 

Sir H, l^sidf,] Now this stake is drawn, my Lord 
may be for hedging off mayhap. Ecod 1 I'll go to 
Jack Speed's, and secure Nabob, and be out of town 
in an hour.— S*ho ! Lady Frcelove ! Yoics ! [£xti(. 

Enter Lady FkEBLOVE. 

Z. Fr«. My dear Miss Russet, you'll excus e - ' 

Char, Mrs. Oakiy, at your ladjshipV service. 

L. Free. Married \ 

Har* Not yet, madam; but my father Mu been so 
good as to give his consent. 

Z.. Free. I protest I am prodigiously glad of it. My 
dear, 1 give you joy— and you, Mr. Oakly.— I wish 
you joy, Mr. Russet, and all the good company — for 
I think the most of them are parties concerned 

Maj, How easy, impudent, and familiar 1 [^Aside. 

L» Free, Lord Trinket here too! I vow I did not 
see your lordship before. 

L, Trink. Your ladyship's most obedient slave. 


L. Free. You seem grave, my lord I — Come, come, 
I know there has been some difference between you 
and Mr. Oakly— You must give me leave to be a me- 
diator in this aifair. 

L. Trink. Here has been a small fracas to be sure, 
madam I — We are all blown, 'pon honour. 

ASt v. THE lEilLOtrS WitB. 11^ 

L, Fret* Blown I What do yoo mean, my lord ? 

L» Trinkm Nay, your ladyship knows that I never 
mind these things, and I know that they never dis- 
compose your ladyship— -But things have happened a 
little en trdterS'^Tht little billet I sent your ladyship 
has fkllen into the hands of that gentleman — [Point' 
ing to Char.]— and so— there has been a little brouU* 
tcrie about it— that's all. 

Z. Free* Yoo talk to me, my l<Jrd, in a very extra- 
ordinary stile — If you have been guilty of any misbe* 
haviour, I am sorry for it; but your ill conduct can 
fasten no imputation on me.-^Miss Russet wiU justify 
me sufficiently. 

Maj. Had not your ladyship better appeal to my 

friend Charleshere?— The Letter! Charles! Out 

with it this instant 1 

Ckar, Yc9, 1 have the credential* of her ladyship's 
integrity in my pocket.— *— Mr. Russet, the letter 
you read a little while ago was inclosed in this cover, 
which also I now think it my duty to put into your 

Rus. [Reading. '\ To the Right Honourable Lady 
Pfcelove— — -'Sdeath and hell ! — ^pnd now I recol- 
feft, the letter itself was pieced with scraps of French, 
and madam, and your ladyship— Fire and fury I ma- 
dam, how tame you to Use me so ? I am obliged to 
you then for the insult that has been offered me. • 

L. Free, What is all this } Your obligations to me, 
Mr. Russet, are of a nature that 

Bms* Fine obKgalionsl I dare say I am partly 

114 THE >EAL0U8 WXFB. AS K^ 

obliged to you too for the attempt on my daughter, 
by that thing of a lord yonder at your house. Zouns! 
madam, these are injuries never to be forgiven—— 
They are the grossest affronts to me and my family-<'- 
AU the world shall know them — Zouns l«^rU ■ 

L, Free, Mercy on me I how boisterous are these 
country gentlemen I Why really, Mr. Russet, you 
rave like a man in Bedlam—-! am afraid you*U bejt 
me— and then you swear most abominably.-— ^How 
can you be so vulgar ?— — I see the meaning of this 
low malice— *-But the reputations of women of qua- 
lity are not so easily impeached— My rank places me 
above the scandal of little people, and I shall meet 
such petty insolence with the greatest ease and tran- 
quillity. But you and your simple girl will be the suf- 
ferers.——— 1 had some thoughts ot introducing her 
into the first company — But now, madam, 1 shall 
neither receive nor return your visits, and will en-, 
tirely withdraw my prote^on from the ordinary part 
of the family. [£«V. 

Rus, Zouns, what impudence I that's worse than all 
the rest. 

L, Trink. Fine presence of mind, faith !— The true 

French nonchalance^ But, good folks, why such a 

deal of rout and tapage about nothing at all ?— .^If 
Mademoiselle Harriot had rather be Mrs. Oakly than 

Lady Irinkct Why— I wish her joy, that's all 

Mr. Russet, I wish you joy of your«^Mr. 
Oakly, I wish vou joy of tlve lady— and yon, madam, 

[To Hariiut.] of ihe gentleman And, in short, I 

wish you all joy of one another, 'pon honour I [£'*i/. 


Rus. There's a fine fellow of a lord now ! The 
ideviPs in your London folks of the first fashion, as 
you call them. They will rob you of your estate, de- 
i>auch your daughter, or lie with your wife — and all 
as if they were doing you a favour— 'pon honour !»— 

Mof. Hey 1 what now } [^^/^ rings violently* 

Inter Oakly. 

Vak, D'ye hear, major, d'ye hear > 

Maj, Zouns I what a clatter !— She'll pull down 
all the bells in the house. 

Oak. My observations since I left you have con- 
firmed my resolution. I see plainly, that her good- 
humour, and her ill>humour, her smiles, her tears, 
and her fits, are all calculated to play upon me. 

Maj, Did not I always tell you so } It's the way 

with them all they will be rough and smooth, and 

hot and cold, and all in a breath. Any thing to get 
the better of us. 

Oak* She is in all moods at present, I promise you 
—1 am at once angry and ashamed of her ; and yet 
she is so ridiculous I cann't help laughing at her — — 
There has she been in her chamber, fuming and fret- 
ting, and dispatching a messenger to me every two 
minutes— servant after servant— now she insists on 
my coming to her — now again she writes a note to in- 
treat'^then Toilet is sent to let me know that she is 
ill» absolutely dying — then, the very next minute, 
sheMlneverseemy face agaiiv— she'll go out of the house 
dirciUy. {BeUfing$,'\ A^ain I now the stt>rm rises l^ 


Maj, It will soon drive thi« way thea— now, bro- 
ther, prove yourself a nun-»>-You havie gone too hi 
to retreat. 

Oak. Retreat I— Retreat J -^No, no 1^1*11 preserve 
the advantage I have gained, I am determined. 

Maj. A.y, ay! — keep your ground! — fear nothing 
•—up with your noble heart! Good discipline makes 
good soldiers ; stick close to my advice, and you may 
stand buff to a tigress ■ . ■ 

Oak. Here she is, by heavens!— now, brother! 

Maj. And now, brother ! — Now or never I 

Enter Mrs. Oakly* 

Mrs. Oak. I think, Mr. Oakly, you miglit have had 
humanity enough to have come to see how I did. 
You have taken your leave, I suppose, of all tender^ 

ness and affeflion — ^but I'll be calm 1*11 not throw 

myself into a passion — you want to drive me out of 
your house— I see what you aim at, and will be 
aforehand with you-*-let me keep my temper! Til 
send for a chair, and leave the house this instant. 

Oak. True, my love I I knew you would not think 
of dining in your own chamber alone, when I had 
company below. You shall sit at the head of the ta)>le» 
as you ought to be sure, as you say, and make my 
friends welcome. 

Mrs. Oak. Excellent raillery! Look ye, Mr. Oakly^ 
I see the meaning of all this affe^ed coolness and ii|» 

Pak. My dear, consider whjcre you arg vj^ "j * 


Mrs. Oak, You would be glad, I find, to get me out 
of your house, and have all your flirts about you. 

Oak. Before all this company I Fie! 

Mrs, Oak. But 1*11 disappoint you, for I shall re- 
main in it to support my due authority— as for you. 
Major Oakly I 

Mhj, Oak. Hey-day \ What have I done? 

Mrs, Oak, I think you might find better employ* 
ment, than to create divisions between married peo- 
pled—and you, sir 

Oak* Nay, but my dear I— — 

Mri, Oak, Might have more sense, as well as ten- 
derness, than to give ear to such idle stuff.—-* 

Oak. Lord, lord I 

Mrs. Oak. You and your wise counsellor there, I 
suppose, think to carry all your points with me«— 

Oak. Was ever any thin g 

Mrs. Oak. But it won't do, sir. You shall find that 
I will have my own way, and that I will govern my 
own family. 

Oak. You had better learn to govern yourself by 
half. Your passion makes you ridiculous. Did ever 
any body 'see so much fury and violence j affronting 
your best friends, breaking my peace, and disconcert- 
ing your own temper. And all for what } For no- '^ 
thing. 'Sdeath, madam I at these years you ought to 
know better. 

Mrs, Oak. At these years!— Very fine!— —Am I 
to be talk'd to in this manner } 

Oak. Talk'd to!— Why not? You have talk'd 



to nse long enough — almost talk'd me to death-*and 
I have taken it all in hopes of making you quiet-— but 
all in vain ; for the more one bears, the worse you 
are. Patience, I find, iS/all thrown away upon you; 
^nd henceforward, come what may, I am resolved to 
be master of my own house. 

l/ln. Oak. SOy so I -r Master, indeed l—r-Yes, sir, 
l^d you'll tak^ care to have mistresses enough too« I 
warrant you. 

Oak, Perhaps I may ; but tKey shaU be quiet ones, 
I can assure you. 

Mn, Oqk, Indeed 1 — And do you think I am such 
a tame fool as to sit quietly and bear all this i You 
shall know, sir, that I will resent this behayiour-^-r 
You shall find that I have ^ spirit ■ 

Oak. Of the devil. 

Mri, Oak, Intolerablel-»<-«>You shall find then that 
I will exert that spirit. I am sure I have need of it. 
As soon as the house is onte cleared again, I'll shut 
my doors against all company. — You shan't seo a 
single soul for this month. 

Oak. *Sdeath, madam, but I will 1-^1*11 keep open 
house for a year.— I'll send cards to the whole 
town — Mr. Oakly's route!— All the world will 
come-*and I'll go among the world too ■ I'll be 
mew'd up no longer. 

Mrs. Oak. Provoking insolence I This is not to be 
endured.— Look'e, Mr# Oakly . 

Oak. And look'e, Mrs. Oakly, I will have my own 

Mr$, Oak. Nay then, let me lell you, sir " 


Oak^ And let me tell you, madam, I will not be 
crossed— 1 wont be made a fool. 

Mrs. Oak. Why, you wont let me speak. 
Oak. Because you don't speak as you ought. 
Madam, madam ! you shan't look, nor walk, nor talk, 
nor think, but as I please. 

Mrs, Oak, Was there ever such a monster ! I can 
bear this no longer. [Bursts into tears,] O you vile 
manl 1 can see through your design — you cruel> 
barbarous, inhuman-— such usage to your poor 
*»ife !— you'll be the death of her. 

Oak. She shan't be the death of me, I am determined. 

Mri, Oak. That it should ever come to this l-^-^— 
To be contradi6ted-"[5<7M/«^.] — insulted — abused— 

hated 'tis too much — my heart will burst with— 

oh--oh I . [Falis into a Jit. Harriot, Charles, €?c. 

nm to her assistance,"] 

Oak. [intfrposing.] Let her alone. 

Har. Sir, Mrs. Oakly 

Ckar. For Heaven's sake, sir, she will be- ■ 

Oak, Let her alone, ! say; I won't have her touched 
•—let her alone — if her passions throw her into fits, 
let the strength of them carry her through them. 

Har. Pray, my dear sir, let us assist her. She 

Oak. I don't care — you shan't touch her — let her 
bear them patiently — she'll learn to behave better ano- 
ther time. Let her alone, I say. 

Mrs. Oak. [Rising.'] O you monster!— you villain I 

—you base manl Would you let me die for want 

of help \ — would you — . ■ ■■ 


Oak. Bless me I madaaiy your fit is very violent- 
take care of yourself. 

Afrf . Oak . Despised, ridiculed— -but I'll be revenged 
—you shall see, sir— — *- 

Oak . Tol'de-rdl loll- de-rol lolUde- rot hU, [Singing. 

Mrs. Oak, What, am I made a.iest of? Exposed to 
all the world f — If there's law or justice* 

Oak. Tol- de-rol kU-ic^rd itUl'de'tol ML [Singing. 

Mrs, Oak. 1 shall burst with anger. — Have a care, 
sir, you may repent thi»» — Scorned and made ridicu* 
lous I — No power on earth shall hinder my revenge! 


ffar, [Interpasing,'] Stay, madam. 

Mrs, Oak. Let me go. I cannot bear this place. 

Har, Let me beseech you^ madam. 

Oak, What does the girl mean I lAffort. 

Maj, Courage, brother I you have done wonders. 


Oak. I think she'll have no more fits, l/ipmrt. 

Har. Stay, madam — Pray stay but one moment. 
] have been a painful witness of your uneasiness, and 
in great part the innocent occasion of it^ Give me 
leave then ■■■ 

Mrs. Oak, I did not expert indeed to have found 
you here again. But however - 

Har. 1 see the agitation of your mind, and it makes 
nie miserable. Suffer me to tell you the real truth. I 
can explain every thing to your satisfaction. 

Mrs. Oak. May be so — I cannot argue with you. 

Ckar* Pray, madam, hear her— for my sake— • 
for your own— dear madam I 

'MV. . VHC 5BAL0U$ WITE. 181 

MnOak. Well ^weU proceed. 

Oak, \ shall relapse, I cann't bear to see her so 
uneasy. I Apart. 

Maj. Hush I— Hush! [Apart. 

Har., I understand, madam, that your first alarm 
was occasioned by a letter from my father to your 

Rus. I was in a bloody passion to be sure, madam I 
- — The' letter was not over-civil, I believe— I did 
not know but the young rogue had ruined my girl. — 
But it's all over now, and so* 

Mrs, Oak, You was here yesterday, sir ? 

Rus. Yes, 1 came after Harriot. I thought I 
should find my young madam with my young sir, 

Mrs. Oak, With Charles, did you say ? sir. 

Rus, Ay, with Charles, madam ! The young rogue 
has been fond of her a long time, and she of him, it 

Mrs. Oak, I fear I have been to blame. [Aside. 

Rus. 1 ask pardon, madam, for the disturbance I 
made in your house. 

Har. And the abrupt manner in which I came into 
it, demands a thousand apologies. But the occasion 
must be my excuse. 

Mrs. Oak. How have I been mistaken ! [Jside,-^ 
But did not I overhear you and Mr. Oakly- - 

[To Harriot. 

Har. Dear madam I you had but a partial hearing 
of our conversation i It related entirely to this gen- 

1 02 THE 5BAL0US WfTE* A8if^ 

Char, To put it beyond doubt, madam, Mr. Russet 
and my guardian have consented to our marriage ; 
and we are in hopes that you will not withhold your 

Mrs, Oak* I have no further doubt— I see you 
are innocent, and it was cruel to suspe6t you You 
have taken a load of anguish offmy mind and yet 
your kind interposition comes too late, Mr. Oakly's 
love for me is entirely destroyed. \Weeping, 

Oak. I must go to he r \^fipart, 

Maj. Not yet! Not yet 1 {Apart, 

Har, Do not disturb yourself with such apprehen- 
sions, I am sure Mr. Oakly loves you most aftec* 

Oak. I can hold no longer. [Going to her,'\ My af- 
fection for you, madam, is as warm as ever. Nothing 
can ever extinguish it. My constrained behaviour 
cut me to the soul—— For within these few hours it 
has been all constrained-— -~and it was with the ut- 
most difficulty that I was able to support it. 

Mrs. Oak, O, Mr. Oakly, how have I exposed ray- 
self? What low arts has my jealousy induced me to 
practise I I see my folly, and fear tliat you can never 
forgive me. 

Oak, Forgive you I-— You are too good ray love! 

-— Forgive you I^— Can you forgive me i— This 

change transports me.— Brother! Mr. Russet! 
Charles 1 Harriot I give me joy I ■ ■! am the hap- 
piest man in the world 

Maj. Joy, much joy to you both! though, by-thc- 
bye, you are not a little obliged to me for it. Did no^ 


^tell you I would cure all the disorders in your fa- 
lily ? I beg pardon, sister, for taking the liberty to 
rescribe for you. My medicines have been some- 
what rough, I believe, but they have had an admira- 
•le cfFefl, and so don't be angry wjthyour physician. 
Mn, Oak* 1 am indeed obliged to yoii, and I feel — 
Oak. Nay, my dear, no more of this. All that's 
tast must be utterly forgotten. 

Afrs. Oak, I have not merited this kindness, but it 
hall hereafter be ray study to deserve it. Away with 
tU idle jealousies I And since my suspicions have hi- 
herto been groundless, I am resolved for the future 
Jever to suspe6l at all. 


JL AIDES I Pve had a squabble with the Poet 

jihout his chdra3ers-''^nd you shall know it. 
Toung man^ said /, restrain your saucy satire I 
MyparVs ridicutous-^false^-^t of nature. 
Fine draughts indeed of ladies I sure you hate 'em I 
Why, sir} My part 15 scandalum magnatum. 

** Lordf ma* am, said he, to copy life my trade is. 
And Poets ewr have made free with ladies :■ 
One Simon^the deuce take such names as these / 

A hard Greek name O-^e^ — Simonidesr-' 

He shettfd—'-^ourfreaki, this whim and that desire. 
Rose first from earth, sea, air, nay, some from fire ; 
Or that lite owe our persons, minds, and features 
To birds, forsooth, and filthy four 'legg' d creatures, 

The dame, of manners various, temper fickle^ 
\ ^<m alfor le asure, now the conventicUl 


fVko prayst then raves^ now calm, now all commotion^ 
Rises another Vcnttsjrom the ocean. 

Constant at every sale, the curious fair^ 
Who longs for Dresden^ and old China ware; 
Who dotes onpagodsj and gives up vile man 
For niddle-noddle Jigures from Japan % 
Critic in jars and josses^ shews her birth 
Drawn, lihe the brittle ware itself , from earth. 

The flaunting shcy so stately y rich, and vain^ 
Who govts her conquests by her length of trains 
While all her vanity is under sail. 
Sweeps a proud peacock, with a gaudy iaiL 

Husband and wife, with sweets I and dears I and lo9€s! 
What are they but a pair of cooing doves ? 
But seiz^ d with spleen, fits, humours, and all that^ 
Tour dove and turtle turn to dog and cat. k 

The gossip, prude, old maid, coquette^ and trapes^ \ 
Are parrots, foxes, magpies, waspSy and apes i ' 

But she, with ev^ry charm of form and mind, ( 

Oh ! She*s — sweet soul — the phoenix of her kind**'' J 

This his apology! *Tis rank abuse 

Afresh affront, instead of an excuse! 

His own sex rather such description suits: 

Why don*t he draw their charaSiers^-^-^The brutes f 

Ay, let him paint those ugly monsters, men ! 

Mean time'-' — mend we our livesy he'll mend his pen. 

TH£ nn04 


■-^° ■■ wee 







By Permission of the Managers, 

>■ The Lines dituncuitbed by iovened Commas, are omined in the Reprcteatadon/ 


Printed/or the Proprietors, under the DirtQion of 

John Bell, ^rlttnli-lftrarH, Strand, 

Bookseller to His Royal Highness the PsiNCSof Walss. 



Spoken by Mr* BAMMisTsit* 

^HE Comic Muse, as Cyprian records protie^ 
Was Camu^ daughter, by the Queen of Lovt, 
A left-hand Uneage-^whilst the Tragic Dame 
From Ugiil loins of father VtUcan came ; 
Therefore this Muse tooesfrdicy fun, andjohe^ 
That htllowS'blomng, blustering, puff, and smohe* 
*^Hence mother Nature* s bye- begotten stock 
Are all ifut chips of the old comic block j 
For all derive their pedigrees in tail. 
From fathers frolicsome, and mothers frail. 
^Therefore, if in this brat of ours you track 
Bomt feature of his merry mother* s face. 
Sure, sons qfComus, sureyouHl let him in 
To your gay brotherhood, as founder's kin* 

A married Muse I-'-no ; Muses are too wise 
To take a poetU jointure in the skies, 
Th^ anticipation of an unborn play. 
Or ttar-soum acres in the milky way : 
So each lives single, like a cloyster'd nun. 
But does sometimes as other nuns have done-^ 


Prayi with grave authors, with the giddy prates^ 
Or ogles a young poet thro" the grates. 

Therefore our rule is, never to enquire, 
Who begat whom, tn^hat dam^ or which the sire ; 
But, soon as e*er the babe breathes vital air^ 
Take him, and never ask how he got there* 
Some are still-born ; some sent to mother Earthy 
Strangled by critic midwives in their birth j 
^nd many an unacknowledged foundling lies 
Without a parentis hand to close its eyes : 
' Thus are our bills with deaths dramatic crammed, 
j4ndf what is worse — to die is to be damiCd* 

You, the Humane Society, who sit 
To mitigate the casualties of wit. 
Save a frail Muse*s NaturalSo rufrom death /— 
He lives onfame^ and fame lives on your breath. 

Dramatf0 Perfionae* 


Sir JsFFiRY Latimie, 

BlUSHENLY) • - - 

RuEFULLy - ■* 

Jack Hvstivgs^ 
Major OTlahxrty> 
Dxricpsy . - - 
DatiDj - - • 

Mrs. Phcebe Latimek^ - ^ 
l#acly Paragon* - • - - ^ 
PjlKELpPXx , - - - - 


- Mr. Baddely. 

- Mr. Palmer. 

- Mr. Bensley, 

- Mr. King, 

- Mr. Moody. 
T Mr. Parsons. 

- Mr. Wrjghtcn, 

- Miss Pope. 

- Miss Farren. 

- Miss Tidswell. 

Time, that of the Representation. 
ScEME; Sir Jeff XRY^j Country House, 



. A tihrary, Mrs. Phoebe La t i m £ r discovered at a 
Tabu with Books^ reading. Enter Penelope^ after 
gently tapping at the door, 

Mrs, Pkctbe. 

Who's there ? Come in, Mrs. Penelope I — Come 

in without ceremony. 

Pen, I beg pardon for disturbing you, madam ; but 
my lady ordered me to bring her a book out of tlie 

Pkabe. What book does Lady Paragon wish to 

Pen, Any that comes first to hand, French or Eng- 

Phc^e, Is ahe fond of reading poems \ 

Pen, if they are moving. 

Phcebe, A lady's produ^ions, I doubt, are not so 
apt to move, else 1 should recommend this collection* 

Pen. A lady write poems 1 I wonder any lady will 


do such a thing, *tis sure destruflion to the com* 

plexion. Do£tor Calomel says, a lady, to preserve 

her beauty, should not even think; he has wrote a 
book purposely to dissuade people from reading. 

Phabt. Every book he writes will do that. So far 
however I subscribe to his maxims, as cautiously to 
engage in any work of intense hot thinking, lest the 
fire of the imagination should force its way into the 
face, and the flag of the rose be made to predominate 
over the wreck of the lily. 

Pen. Then, as sure as can be, that's my Lady Para- 
gon's reason for employing Mr. Blushenly to read to 

Phabt, So, so I she employs him, does she \ 

Pen, Oh yes, ma*am, Mr. Blushenly sits with my 
lady, and reads to her by the hour. 

Pkctbe. Humph I then depend upon it 'tis not to save 
her eyes that she employs Mr. Blushenly ; I rather 
^ think it is to satisfy them. 

Pen, Mr. Blushenly is a very handsome man, to be 

Pkabe. You think so ; and you are generally of 
your lady's way of thinking, are you not ? 

Pen, 'Twould be no disparagement to my taste, if 
I were. 

Phabe. On the contrai7, Mrs. Penelope, your lady 
and my niece is a professed admirer of beauty, so 
great a one, that she admires even herself j:— she may 
like to gratify her ears as well as her eyes by em» 
jdoying Mr. Blushenly : so, now that we have ac- 


counted for. two of her five senses in the interest of 
the reader, we need not seek for other reasons, Mrs* 
Penelope, why yuii should carry this book to the lady; 
and why I should intercept the gentleman from foU 
lowing it. 

Pen, A malicious thing 1 she*s in love witli him her- 
self. lAside and exiU 

Pkithe. These confidential commies of the toilette are 
sure to talk the language of their principals. Not 
that I suspedt my niece of an attachment — that's not 
her passion ; vanity and variety is her game. Then 
the condition of poor Blushenly keeps him back ; a 
dependant, a foundling, destitute of every thing but 
what the Graces have bestowed ; Nature his only 
parent. Charity his nurse, and the wide world his in-* 

Enter Blushenly, and hows. 

Mr. Blushenly, good day to you I 

Blush, Vour most obedient^ Mrs. Phccbe ; always 
lunongst your books 1 ever at the toilette of the 
Muses 1 

Phoebe, Yes, Mr, Blushenly, my beauty-wash \% 
culPd from the blossoms of Parnassus ; Truth holds 
the glass. Nature gives the grace. The mind, the 
mind, Mr. Blushenly, must be clothed, and here is 
its wardrobe; 'tis with that we attract the regards of 
the man of sense, with that we hold commerce with 
the worthy: misconstrue not my expression; the soul^ 
young gentleman, the soul is of no sex. 


Blusk. I am sorry for it, Mrs. Phoebe ; for I have 
been apt to think all its softer attributes were of your 
department* Admit your doctrine to be true, and 
what becomes of the good old proverb, * Love begets 
love,* if there be no sex in the question } 

Pkabe. I like your proverb, I admit your proverb, 
I admit it in its full force, Mr. Blushenly : there is not 
a postulatum in philosophy I bad not rather give up, 
than have you think for a moment that these tender 
attentions can be bestowed upon an unthankful heart* 

Blush* Oh the vengeance I what is coming now ? 


Pketbe* They are not lost, believe me : not a tear 
that springs in your eye, not a sigh that escapes from 
your breast, but generates in mine a congenial affec« 

tion. 1 appeal to what pass*d last night whilst I was 

at the harpsichord : you may remember the cantata 
was Parthenia*s encouraging address to her bashful 
lover: I noticed the looks you gave me whilst I was 
singing ; I felt them, you might perceive I did : they 
gave a meaning, an expression to the cadence : it 
might not reach perhaps to barbarous ears, but I am 
persuaded, Mr. Blushenly, it came home to your's. 

Blush, The ears, madam, are the most dangerous 
avenues to the heart ; your sex, as well as mine, have 
found them such to their cost. 

Pkabe, The human voice, Mr. Blushenly, was not 
bestowed as the mere organ of speech, but as the oral 
index of the soul.— You have a sweet voice, Mr. 
Blushenly ; and what a recreation to my earS| after 


being tortured with the crack'd untuncable trumpet 
of my brother, Sir JefFery Latimer, the hoarse hunt- 
ing-horn of Jack Hustings, and the quarter-sessions 
yell of our neighbouring country squires, to hear you 
speak I— Thanks be to the times I these indigenious 
barbarians are in the way to be exterminated by taxes, 
as the Indian savages have been by rum. 

Bltish, Upon my word, Mrs. Phoebe, your partiality 
puts me to the blush. 

Phabc, And it becomes you; blushing becomes 
you : not that I approve of diffidence in excess, the 
least resemblance of despair ; no, on the contrary, I 
would encourage hope, I would cherish even ambi- 
tion.— There is one in this family, Mr. Blushenly, 
warmly impressed in four favour : let not distance of. 
condition, nor the inscrutable mysteriousness of your 
birth, put you out of heart ; you have qualities that 
can counterbalance fortune ; and you have a friend at 
hand, who bears you miich good-will, more than you 
are aware of; more than it becomes her to express- 
snore, perhaps, than she can express Oh I I shall 

blush to death I 

Entvr Lady Paragon, reading. 
Lady P. ' O^tr her soft cheek consenting blushes move, 

* And wit A kind stealth her secret soul betray i 
* Blushes f which usher in the morn qflovCf 

* Sure as ike reddening eastforetels the day.* 


•p^Thank you for your female poet I thus we women 



^rite.— --*Blushe]aly> have you wrcd my lap-dog I 
that's all you men are fit for. 

P&ake. How long has Lady Paragon been of that 
opinion ?—— Vexatious and perverse I [Aside, 

Lady P. Her ladyship has been of that opinion long 
enough to ciiange it — half an hour. 

Phabe, I thought it would not be your lasting 

Lady P. Ah no, no, no! Woman's a riddle, my 
good aunt, and so is love : to love and be a woman, 
that's not well 5 to be a woman, and not love, tliat*8 
worse. ■ Here, Blushenly, put this book in your 
pocket, and come and read to me whilst I dress my- 


Ph^eie, Lady Paragon, are ^u aware of what you 


Lady P. Not always ; but I think I bade him come 
and read to me whilst I am at my toilette ; by which 
means I divide my attentions between mind and body, 
and keep peace with both parties : out of two offices I 

think I have civilly oflfercd him the best. She's in 

a horrid humour. [Aside. 

Pkabe, Well, niece, these may be modern man- 
ners : for my own part, I should think you have 
already bestowed pains enough upon your person for 
one day. 

Ididy P. True ; but I dress and undress myself as a 
child does her doll, for amusement. . 

Pketbe. And do you invite young gentlemen to be 
present en these oocajs^ns, for amusement too { 


Lady P* No» I do it for his good : when he shall 
see what frippery a womin is made up with, what a 
pasticcio of gauzes, pins, and ribbons go to compound 
that multifarious thing a well-dress'd woman ,* why 
then — why then— what was I going to say ^-—hc'U find 
that modern beauty is but haberdasher's ware ; and if 
he ever had any gallantry (which i very much doubt) 
he'll be cur'd of it at once, and you may lead him up 
and down the house like a tame philosopher.--«lsn*t it 
so, Bliishenly \ 

Blush. I hope I shall never forget myself, when I 
approach your ladyship or Miss Phoebe. 

Lady P. Look you there, now; didn't I tell you he 
was fit for nothing but to air a lady's lap*dog } 

Phctbc. I perceive 3^ou are in one of your rallying 
humours, and want to be rid of me. 

Lady P. Not I, upon my life! — part not in that 
opinion : I talk nonsense only to drive away spleen ; 
be assured I never was in a more melancholy mood 
in my life. 

Pdabi* I am sorry, niece Paragon, your father's 
family is so dull to you. 

Lady P. Misconceive me not ; I have every thing 
I want but one, and without that I starve in the midst 
of plenty. 

Pkotbe. And what is that one thing wanting, pray 
now ? 

Lady P. Flattery : simply the food of flattery ; 
not a full meal, that is nauseating, but evermore a 
little relish now and then : truth is the daily bread, 


the staff of life, flattery the salt. — As for this moping 
mortifying thing, I can make nothing of him ; a way- 
post has more conversation. — * I hope I shall never 
forget myself, when I approach your ladyship or 

Miss Phoebe.' Oh, you unaccountable creature I 

may I be further, if he has said one flattering thing 
to me since in the house I have been. 

BhisA. Nor ever shall attempt it: fine men may 
make fine speeches, a flattering beggar only shews his 
mind is as mean as his condition. 

Lady P. Nay, if you talk sentiment to me, Blush- 
enly, you'll set me a crying; hands ofi^ from that 
edg'd tool, if you love me. Sentiment in the coun- 
try is clear another thing from sentiment in town : in 
my box at the Opera I can take it as glibly as a dish 
of tea, down it goes, and there's an end of it ; but 
in walks of willows, and by the side of rivulets, 
there's no joke in it ; I'm undone if I hear it by 
moon-light. — Of all things in the creation^ I hate 

PAaie, Did I ever hear the like ? Pity is the cha- 
rs^eristic of our sex. 

Blush, Right, madam, it is the sister of Love. 

Lady P, Well, and if it is,^b|pause I take one of 
the family, is that a reason I should maintain all the 
relations ?— Heaven defend me from pitying any thing 
above a lap-dog or a monkey I 

Phctbc. Oh, for a shame I would you throw that 
away upon a brute, which is due to your fellow* 
creatures? — Believe me, Mr. Blushenly, I have a 


lieart for pity, and your misfortunes have a share in it. 

Lady P. O lud, lud, lud I I would not pity him for 
the world ; I would not do him such an injury ; for 
SIS sure as can be, if I pitied I should love him i and 
if I lov*d him, all the world would pity him. 

Blush, Envy him, you should have said : how any 
laan belov'd by Lady Paragon can be an objedt of 
pity, is a mystery past my finding out. 

Lady P. That may well be, and no great mystery 
neither ; as for my lovers, they are in general the 
merriest, gayest creatures in nature ; for, as I seldom 
take a liking to any of them, I seldom torment 'em; 
but if ever that happens, wo betide *em 1 no cat ever 
torturM a mouse as I persecute the poor, dear, mise- 
rable creature.—- So, now you are fairly wam'd, 
Blushenly ; and if you run into a trap, you run with 
your eyes open. [Lady Paragon is goings and stops at f 
the door,'\ Well, I'm going — If you are discreet you 
will not go with me — but if you are determined to 
venture, here lies your way.— What say you ? Will 
you venture ? — Aunt Phccbe, your servant. [Exit* 

Pkabt, Mr. Blushenly, let me advise you — ^you 
see what a fantastical thing it is — I have something 
to impart to you. — Nay, if you arc resolved — go — I 
renounce you — I commit you to your folly. — Oh ! I 
could tear out her eyes I I am betrayed, abused, in- 

[Blushenly during these speeches stands silent^ and 
in apparent suspense ; at length hastily escapes, 
and/oUows Lady Paragon. 


Enur SirjErTB%.Y Latimer. 
You have a notable wise head of your own, have you 
not ?— Cackling like an old gander with but one gos- 
ling to your back, and then to set that fox, dropt in 
a bag at your door, to keep it. 

^i^ /#• Why, what the plague's the meaning of 
all this ? 

P^ahe. The meaning is, that, not content with 
what Nature did for you, you will be a fool of your 
own making. — The meaning is, that you have reared, 
educated, father*d this Terra-JUius to bring heirs to 
the Latimers, children of nobody, and grandchildren 
without a name* 

^w" J^' What would you have me do in the mat- 

PAas6e, Send a herald to the moon, from whence 
he dropt, and search the office there, before you let 
this foundling quarter arms with a family as ancient 
as the monarchy. 

^^^ Jfjf' Here's an outcry about nothing ! — Look 
out, and satisfy yourself. — There they arc in the gar- 
den, innocently plucking a little fruit. 

Phxbt. Yes, o' my conscience, the forbidden fruit 
— But I'll not look out ; I cann't endure to see them : 
your daughter's danger brings the tears into my eyes. 

5«> Jeff, I believe you are in most danger of the 
two yourself. — Never tell me 1 'tis all rank jealousy. 

Pkabt, Rank folly, Jcffery Latimer!— But I will 
be more moderate. — Why did you call him home 


from the University ?— Why did you send him 

thither? — I'll argue calmly with you Is it not 

enough that she has made one unhappy match ? 

Sir Jtff, Yes ; but I doubt that match was of our 
making, sister Phoebe. — Let her choose next for her- 
selfy and she will have nobody but herself to com- 
plain of. 

Pkctbe. Fine arguing {•^Brother, brother^ you are 
ignoramus^ or, as the Poet sings-— 

Sir Jeff. Damn the Poet I 

Phaht. Oaths are no arguments, Jefiery Latimer ; 
mere bruiumfubnen^ as the logicians have it* 

Sir Jeff. Damn the logicians I 

Phctbt, Now I am cool, you arc hot ! — How often, 
brother Latimer, have I talk'd to you on the subject 
.of passion ? Have not I told you that the wise an- 
cients call anger a short madness? You had best 
abuse them too, had you not ? 

Sir Jeff. No, no, not in your company ; I have too 
much manners to abuse the ancients to their faces. 

Phaebt. You have no manners, Jefiery Latimer \ no 
one component particle of a gentleman about you, 
but the pedigree of one : then you swear and talk so 
loud, and have contracted su^h a yell at turnpike 
meetings and election ordinaries, that, I protest to 
you, if I did not see you be-perriwig'd with the mane 
of a lion, I should think by your braying I was in 
company with an ass. . 

^i^ Jfjff' I ^ish I had the patience of an ass* — Talk 
of my pcrriwig indeed I look at your own*— What 


are all those flags and streamers but Cupid* s artillery 
in ambuscaded Men- traps and marnage*guns in 
every curl. 

Phabe, Don't be gross, JefFery Latimer, don*t be 
gross. — 1*11 not be made the butt of your ribaldry^ 
nor the dupe of your avarice ; I'll take my fortune 
into my own hands, and not leave it as a nest-egg to 
hatch cuckows of anotlier feather than my own. You 
are a barren bird, brother Jeflfery 5 your line is run 
out, and you are the worm at the end of it ; you are 
the last of the Latimers, an evanescent quantity, as 
the schoolmen express it : you stand at the foot of a 
noble pedigree, like a brass farthing in a colleflion 
of rich medals. 

Sir Jeff, And what will you do for my pedigree ?-^ 
A second deluge cannot stop it more eflfedually. 

Fhcdtt. I'll tell you what 1*11 do — ^live to my own: 
liking : I've sacrificed the morning of my day to your 
humours, noon and evening 1*11 dedicate to my own. 


Sir Jeff. 'Fore Heaven you make a long day of it, 
if it's only noon with you yet \ — Well, David, what's' 
the best news with you \ 

Enter David. 

David. An' please your worship, Mr. Hustings is 
come to dine with you. 

Sir Jeff, My honest friend, Jack Hustings ! where 
is he) 

LttviiU In the steward's parlour^ putting the fowling* 


pieces in order: he has brought a brace of trout of 
his own hooking, would do your heart good to see 

Sir Jef. That's well, that's well ! fly-fishing is in 
season, and then my friend Jack never comes empty- 
handed. — But I must have a word in private with 
you — shut the door. — You and I, David, have kept 
this secret of young Blushenly, as we call him, now 
these twenty years and upwards; the neighbours 
think him a bye<*brat of my own (for the old story of 
a foundling dropt at my door gets no credit with 
them), and the education I have given him, which 
has been such in all points as I would have given my 
own son, strengthens tlieir suspicions; in all tills 
time my cousin Frances Latimer, though she has li- 
berally maintained him in secret, has never seen liim. 

Davids And, if report says true, she is likely to go 
out of the world without it. 

Sir J<ff, So she does bur acknowledge him at her 
death, be it so I My last letters out of Flanders left 
her in a very dangerous way. — How long ago is it, 
David, since my daughter's husband. Lord Paragon, 

David. A year and a half to a day, next Lammas. 

Sir Jeff. 'Twas a happy riddance : and what the 
world would think a misfortune (that she had no 
children by him), I account a blessing ; for 1 would 
fain have a grandson of my own name and family to 
inherit my estate* 

David* I thought your worship was coining to that 



point ; there is no male living of the name of Latimer, 
unless you call Mr. Blushenly so, in right of his 

^ir Jeff, And what is he but a Latimer? Why 
have I brought him and Lady Paragon together, 
think you, but in this very hope ? — ^l have the plea- 
sure to see their attachment advance every hour. 

David, I can readily believe it j and a lovely couple 
they will be as the sun ever saw ; a fine gentleman he 
is, and' a kind-hearted and a handsome ; no flouter 
nor fleerer at poor folks, but always humble and ob- 
liging : all the neighbours love him, all the poor bless 
him ; and, for my own part — ^but I say little ; it does 
not become a servant to be prating— I ask your wor- 
ship*s pardon for my boldness. 

Sir Jeff. David, you have no need to ask pardon ; 
I consider you as a friend rather than a servant — but 

wc*ll talk of this at our leisure Get you gone for 

the present ; I hear Jack Hustings at the door. 

[Exit David. 

Enter Jack Hustings. 
Ah, Jack 1 how runs the world with thee ? 

Jack. Rubs as it runs. How is it, knight ? — Give 
me thy fore -finger ; I am come to rumple a napkin 
with thee. 

^^^ J*ff' And thou shalt be as welcome, my good 
friend, as to-day and to-morrow into the bargain. 

Jack* I know it, 1 know it well, else I would not 
come.— I have brought thee a brace of trout, knight; 


they a<c the first I've taken this season^ and V\\ war- 
rant 'era as pink as a petticoat ; — shcw'd noble play, 
up the stream and down the stream ; — a cloud in the 
sky, a ripple on the water ; — here stood I ; you 
know my old watch ; snap's the word— never miss 
my throw. — Hast got a good breed of birds on thy 
manor this season \ 

Sir Jtff^ Tolerable, tolerable, a pretty fairish 

Jack. So much the better ; I'll come and brush the 
stubbles for thee in a week or two's time. I have 
been putting your fowling-pieces in order, for your. 
armoury was in sad trim.— How does my dainty little 
widow and fair Phoebe \ — I've a little matter of busi* 
nefis for thee, if 1 can bring it out. 

'SiV 7i# What's the matter now, Jack ? 

Jack, Burst it ! 1 don't know what to say to it^. 
though i came partly o' purpose to open a bit of my 
mind to thee, only other things put it out of my head. 
—By the way, don't let me forget to remind thee of 
Tom Trueby's election for verdurer— it comes on 
next Tuesday— Sir Roger's folks will be there.— 
Tom's an lionest fellow, and of the right kidney ;. 
we shall want your voice at the poll. 

Sir Jeff* Here's my hand ; never flinch my friends ; 
I am staunch for Trueby. —Now go on with your bu« 

Jack, Why, I don't know how it is ; sometimes I 
think I am rather lonesome of an evening, when the 
days are short, and the roads bad, so that my neigh- 



bours cann*t visit me; then the parsoQ*s dead, and 
there I'm out of backgammon ; books, you know, 
books are but dull company ; a body is soon tired of 

^ir Jeff. Certainly; any resource is better than 
that ; it gives me the hip at once. 

Jack. Besides, I have had a great loss amongst my 
greyhounds, and so, do you see»*-I sometimes think, 
by way of killing time, to take a wife ; that's all. 

Sir Jeff, Well said, Jack ; and you have a mind to 
take fair Phcebe, as you call her ; 'foregad you will 
have wife enough, and to spare. 

Jack. Yes, yes, I am aware of all that ; she's a 
bouncer, I confess : but then it is mostly in winter 
evenings I have occasion for such a companion ; 
when fishing and shooting seasons set in I am gene* 
rally from home. 

Sir Jeff. She has the vengeance of a temper* 

Jack. Nevermind that, mine will serve for both. 

Sir Jeff, Have you broke your mind to her ? 

Jack. No, no, that's to come yet ; I shall be a lit- 
tle awkward and ungain at courting, but I've a re- 
cipe for that. 

Sir Jeff, How so. Jack ? 

Jack, Why I've got a little somewhat by heart out 
of a book, and can say it pretty smoothly ; if I can 
bring her to that, I shall come tolerably well off — 
but I hope I shall have your good word, knight : if 
it is not with your liking, do you see, I am off, and 
7M harm done. 


Sir Jejf. 'Tis a small compliment to say I had ra* 
ther pay her fortune to you than to a stranger, for 
marry she will ; but as for my good word with her, 
I woiild not do you the injury to oflfer it.— -There she 
is in her castle ; if thou hast the heart to attack it^ 
inarch up boldly, the coast is clear ; but if thou 
thinkest it better to fortify with a good dinner, and a 
flask of wine, friend David shall give thee a bottle of 
his best, and we'll have a crash, my dear boy, to set 
thee on thy mettle. 

Jack. With all my heart, I like your counsel well ; 
it is an old saying, ' Women and wine ;' but I say, 
wine and women. 

&ir Jeff. Come thy ways with me, then, and we 
will have a batch at backgammon, to while away the 
time till David gives the signal on the buttery- door. 



AChamher, Enter Blvshehly^ and Lady ^akaqov. 

Lady Paragcn* 
So, you've escaped from the bottle, but there's a 
worse danger in wait for you : my aunt Phoebe is out 
of port, and has set all sails in fullchace; ribbands 
and gauzes streaming at her top, signals of distrest 
virginity on its cruise for a consort. 

BiusA. Is there no looking-glass in this house that 
will speak a plain truth to her i 


Lady P. Helkbore cairn't cure her: don't you 
know there is nothing so foolish as the folUes of ge* 
nius, nothing to weak as the weaknesses of the wise i 

Biutk. Truly observed 1—- and if she will take the 
promissory notes of that swindler Vanity, before the 
solid security of honest nature, who can help it i 

Lady F, Nobody ; for let Truth write ever ao Ie» 
gibly, Love is blind, you know, and cann't read it: 
sad coufusion in the human. intelle£b that little nus* 
chievous deity is apt to make ; and when he aims an 
arrow at my aant, he must be a sorry archer^ if he i 
does not hit so broad a mark;— After all, Harryi 
what do you mean to do ? she is very rich* , 

Blush. And I am very poor, but that's no proof I 
am very mercenary. 

Lady P. She has one strong feature in her £Eivour« 

Blvsk, Her strong box, I grant you. Your lady- 
ship seems to think money a tempting circumstance, 
and so it is in the world's opinion ; but I am interest- 
ed to know your real sentiments ; su&r me to ask, if I 
for a moment you can put yourself in my situation, j 
would yon marry Mrs. Phoebe Latimer ? 

Lady P. Humph 1 that's a home question, and be- 
fore I answer it, I must know what your situation is* 

Biusk. A thing without parents, and without a 
name ; a waife, a stray that your father has taken up 
upon his manor, and keeps upon the trespass till its 
beggarly owner perhaps shall reclaim it. 

Lady P. Hold, hold, hold ! you quite mistake mei 
you distress me ; — *us not your circumstancesi Harryi 


but yonr affedlionsy that my question points at \ and, 
sure I ought to know the state of that person's heart, 
for whom I am called upon to answer in such, a case : 
resolve my question, therefore^ and I will reply to 

Blush, I believe we had better drop the subje^. ' 

Lady P- By no means. Am I to suppose you alike 
indififerent to all women I that your lieart is entirely 
disengaged ? 

£Iitsk» I beg there may be no such supposition 

L^ufy P, Am I then to suppose the contrary ? 

JBlusL Madam t 

Lady P, Nay, be sincere, hide nothing from your 
advocate, in your own cause. 

Blush. I have no cause ; I will not speak a falsity, 
and I cannot declare the truth.— Farewell! 


Lady P. Where's the man running? — Come back: 
must I take up that glove, pray, or you ? [Drops her 
glovCf which he takes up.'} — Stoop, proud spirit, stoop 1 

Blush, I humbly ask your pardon. 

[Tenders her the glcve* 
. Lady P. A man of gallantry would have kept it.— 
Oh 1 if thou hadst half an eye, the brains but of a 
wren, the smallest grain of intuition in thee or about 
ihee, thou must ere this have seen and known ■ ■ 

Blush. What? tell me what. 

Lady P. Whatl all ye Powers forbid that I should 


tell thee whati — -Go, get thee gone, thou art good 
for nothing but to put me out of spirits. 

Biusk, Turn me not away till you are reconciled : 
instruct me, I beseech you, how I am to a6t with 
Mrs. Phoebe; for I am distress*d beyond measure. 

Lady, P. Well, then, if you are disposed for a prac- 
tice, ril fight this quarter for my aunt, and you shall 
defend that for yourself. Speak, are you ready ^ 

Bluik* No, no, no ; that will never do. 

Lady P. Defend yourself, for I am coming on.— — 
We are now alone, my dear Harry; and as I know 
you to be the man I may confide in, I shall not scru* 
pie to avow you are the man of all the world I must 
approve and love : a thousand opportunities have oc- 
curred for you to discover this, but the delicacy of 
your principle has determined you to meet my affec- 
tion with indifierence ; I am now resolved to prove if 
that indifference be real or assumed ; the measure may 
seem out of character with strict propriety, but love 
on my part, and backwardness on yours, compel me 
to declare myself; and thus I offer you a fond, a fsiith- 
ful, a devoted heart—- 

Blush. Stop, stop, for pity's sake I you put me out of 
every thing I had to say : I tell you this will never 

Lady P, You'll tell me of your obligations to my 
family ; I answer, they are offices that leave us your 
debtors: — ^you'll say, you are unknown, dependant, 
destitute; therein you humble me, and aggrandize 
yourself; for^ with all the nobler superiorities of na- 


ture on your side, you leave me nothing but a poor 
advantage on the score of fortune:— as to your scru« 
pics that respeft my father 

Blush, Father! you forget you are speaking .for 
Mrs. Phoebe ; you should say brother. 

Lady P. Should 1? O, Harry! Let it past 

however ; and now for your answer. 

Blush, I cannot make any answer. 

Lady P, 1 beg your pardon, you have answered me, 
completely answer'dj I never saw rebuff more pe- 
remptorily given. 

Blush* What do you mean ? you puzzle me. 

Lady P. Then practise it again, till you are per- 
feft; and since I have got so little way on Mrs. 
Phoebe*s side, take it yourself, and I'll reply for Mr* 

Blush, Excuse me : I feel myself unfit to take 
up any other character than of the humblest of your 
servants, and with all respe^ entreat you to release 

Lady P. By all means, for, to own the truth, I 
am not yet prepared to a6l your part with the insen- 
sibility which it demands.— Farewell ! ^Exit hastily. 

Blush, O crue), cruel honour I [Exit, 

Enter David, introducing Major O'F lahekty , fol^ 
lowed by two Servants in Sir Jeffery'i livery, 

David* Pray, sir, walk in ; good sir, use no cere- 
mony : I am but a servant, under favour, yet I am 
f)old to say every friend of Mr. Blushcnly's is wd- 


come in this house. — Thomas! — William ! nm about 
good lads, till you can find Mr. Blushcnly — tell him — 
but I ask your honour's pardon; you will be pleased 
to send your own message. 

O'Fla, Make no more words, but tell the young 
gentleman a sti'anger wishes to speak with him. 

David. Sha'n't they carry your name, sir ? 

O^Fla, I can carry that myself; they will be tlic 
nimbler for having nothing to burthen them with. 

David, Do as you are bid then, and make haste 

\Extunt Servants severally.'] What can his business 

be with Mr. Blushenly ? [AsicU,] I humbly conceive 
you have had a long journey, sir; won't you be pleas'd 
to repose yourself? 

O^Fla. With your leave, 1*11 stretch my legs awhile, 
I have been so long in the saddle, that, except two 
or three tumbles and a roll by tJie way, I have scarce 
felt my feet these three days. 

David. Bless me I three days in the saddle! 
Where can he be come from ? I wish I could get it 

out of him. \_Aside,] -I presume, sir, you are from 

foreign parts— no oifence, I hope ? 

O'Fla, None in life. 

David. It will not out of my head but some good 
luck is to happen this day — He looks like a foreigner, 
[y^jj^tf.]— Are you last from Flanders, may I ask ? 

0*Fla, Indeed you may, sir. 

Daxfid. He won't plead; what shall I do ? [^ Aside.] 
-— From the city of Lisle, perhaps } 

O'Fla, Are you going thither, that you are so cu^ 
rious I 


David* I have been there, sir; I served a lady who 
is settled there, Mrs. Frances Latimer. 

0*Fla. Sir! 

David* Perhaps you know the lady, sir ; I believe 
she lives there at this day. 

0*Fla. I believe not. And now I hope you arc 

satisfied with the information I have given you. 

David, I ask pardon for my boldness, sir ; but I 
have known Mr. Blushenly from an infant ; the first 
hands that received him at the door of this very house, 
were mine : I was in hopes you had brought news of 
good fortune to him ; I should have sincerely rejoiced 
at it, for I love him at my heart ; every body loves 
him — but I won't be troublesome.— —Here comes 
the young gentleman himself. 

Enter Blushenly. 

Blush, I am told, sir, you would speak with me. 

0*Fla, I shall be glad of that honour.— I believe 
our business does not want a witness ; this person may 

Bluik. David, leave the room. 

David. Sir, sir I 1 hope no mischief; I shall be 

within call. [Aside to Blush. 

Blush, Go, got shut the door. [£xtV David.] — And 
now permit me to request your name, sir ? 

0*Fla. O'Flaherty, at your command ; you may add 
Major to it, if you are so pleased. — I have travelled 
a pretty many mileS| by sea and land, out of pure love 


and service to you, young gentleman, if it is you that 
are called Mr. Blushenly. 

Blusk. My name is Blushenly, 

0*Fla. There's your mistake, my dear ;— upon my 
faith it is not : cann't you take my word at once for 
what i teil you } 

Blusk. I havie been so called from my birth, I be- 
lieve; and though neither honour nor inheritance ap- 
pertains to it, I have to hope you will not take one 
name from me till you provide me with another. 

0*Fla. You speak as prettily, and as much like a 
gentleman, as heart can wish.-^— In one word, the 
true name upon you is Latimer. 

^/&j^. Latimer! 

O'Fla. To be sure: didn't I tell you so at first? 
for if it is Latimer, look you, how can it possibly be 
Blushenly ? Believe me at a word, and save a long 
preamble of a story : what grace would tlicrc be in my 
going throtfgh the whole catechism with you, when 
we cann*t agree upon the first question ? 

Blusk, Tell your story then in your own way, sir^ 
only be pleased to tell it. 

O'Fla. Nothing so easy ; say which story you would 
have, and IMl tell it as you like. — You had but one 
mother, depend upon it, and her name was Latimer, 
Frances Latimer, of Lisle, a lady I had the greatest 
respetfl for in life ; a dear generous soul she was ; a 
saint upon earth, though she made a small slip in her 
youth, and bore you over the left shoulder, as the 
saying is ; a frolic, nothing more $ but it laid upon 


her mind, which is wonderful to say. ^Oh ! she 

took on piteously about you in her last moments. 

Bluik. Good Heaven ! 

O^Fla. Yes, 'twas mighty good of Heaven ; you'll 
have great cause to sing Te Deum, when you see what 
a fortune she has left you. 

Biusk, What is this you tell me ? I cannot doubt 
4)ut you are serious. 

CFla. I am not given to be a trifler, and if I were, 
•twould be a sorry joke to take so long a journey for: 
I have the credentials signM and sealM ; you'll have 
'em all before you, together with her last dying speech, 

,and what she said afterwards in her will. * Take 

these papers,' says she to me in her last moments, 
* take 'em, Major O'Flaherty, and deliver 'em into 
flobody's hands but my son's.' 

Biush, And where are the papers ? 

O'Fla. Where are they! safe enough, trust me for 
that ; there's a little ragged boy at the hedge- ta- 
vern hard by, where I baited my garran, has got hold 
of my saddle-bags, and is bringing them here on his 

Blush. Mercy upon me I had you the imprudence 
to trust papers of such consequence to a vagabond boy 
out of your sight ? 

O'Fla. Don't believe it, he is not out of my sight, 
for I asked him his name before I trusted him with 
the bags. 

Blush, His name I what signifies his name ? 
O'Fla, Nay, if his name don't signify, 'tis all the 

38 THE NATtrHAL 80V. ABt lU 

better, for I have forgot it by the way, 'tis no longier 
upon my memory : but you*li know it adl» when the 
little whipster comes. 

Bluih. Vou alarm me beyond measure : let us go in 

search of him. \GwiigM 

[David neeii ikem as tkey are going out» 

David. There is a fellow without, who has brought 
some baggage belonging to this gentleman* 

O'Fia. There, there I now you will be easy ; now 
what becomes of your alarm } 

Blush. Shew me to the fellow. 

David* I don't know what to make of all this. 

[Aside^ andtxeuMi. 

Enter Jack Hustings. 

Jack. Sir Jeffery has fled the pit, Harry Blush- 
enly is a flincher of old, the ladies are off, the whole 
house is a solitude, and nothing is left for me but 
drowning or marrying, and they both go by destiny; 
therefore, if Mrs. Phccbe comes across me, 1*11 say 
a short prayer, and wait my fate— —Apropos I here 
she is I— — 

Enter Mrs, Phoebe Latimer. 

Mrs. Phccbe, your most humble servant ; I think my- 
self fortunate in this meeting. 

Phabc. Really 1 then I conclude, Mr. Hustings, 
you are no friend to contemplation, and do not like 
your own company : now I am, as the Ancients ex- 
press it, never less alone than when alone.-— —Could 


^ou not pass an hoUr with a book i the library is 

Jack, With a book 1 yes, tnadam, I can take up a 
i>ook, when Tvc nothing else to do. 

Phabt. And what books do you chiefly read, pray ? 
— ^poetry, history, philosopliy ? 

Jack. All's one for that; the Racing Calendar, 
Cock-fighter*s Guide, Complete Angler, and the re&t 
of the classics; nothing comes amiss,-— —Are you 
fond of fishing, Mrs. Plvoebe \ 

Phcebt^ In theory extremely so j I can fish with San- 
nazarius all the day long. 

Jack, He's a happy man, truly; but I cannot say I 
know the gentleman ; does he troll, pray now, or fish 
with a fly \ 

Phxbe. I rather believe with a quill ; Sannazarius 
was a poet of the fifteenth century. 

Jack, And that's a wonderful old age for a poet ; 
but fishing's a long- liv'd amusement. 

Pkmbt, ' ris a solitary one. 

Jack, You've hit it, Mrs Phoebe, 'tis a solitary one; 
and, to say the truth, I begin to find I roust seek out 
a companion to cheer my solitude, a companion for 
Jife, Mrs. Phoebe. 

Phabe, Oh dear heart I if you are in quest of a wife, 
pass on ; don't let roe stop you ; you have no time to 

Jack. Perhaps T shall go no further. — I have a lady 
in my thoughts; not one of your flanting young ma- 
dams, but a staid, sensible, discreet person, of a suit^ 


able age.— —I don't choose by the eye, Mrs. Phoebe; 
I ask for no more than I bring : youth and beauty are 
not indispensabtes in my choice. 

Pkabe, If you are contented without them^ you art 
the sooner pleased.— —And who may the happy lady 
be, whom you have so flatteringly described } 

Jack, One you know very well, Mrs. Phoebe; slic's 
not far off. 

PhaU. One of our neighbours ? 

Jack. One of your family, the sister of my friend, 
Sir Jeffery ; if you know the lady's mind, I sliall be 
glad you will inform me of it. j 

Phctbe. Her mind I know sure enough, but her 
person I should not have guessed at by your descrip- 
tion of it. 1 believe I may answer for that lady, 

that such addresses, which convey an affront, or any 
addresses from you, Mr. Hustings, Will meet nothii^ 
but repulse. 

Jack, That's very extraordinary; for Sir Jeffery 
told me you was determined of marrying out of 

Phahe, Did he so ? 

Jack, Yes he did ; * Marry she will,' says he ; * and 
to be sure I had rather pay her fortune to you than to 
a stranger : ' these were his very words. 

Phetbe, Defile not my ears with the vulgar retail of 
his impertinent discourse. Sir Jeffery shall repent of 
this insult. 

Jack, Now, if I could but fetch her up with the 
speech ; but, as I am a true man, she has frightened 


it out of my head.— —Come, come, sweet Mrs. 
Phcebe, don't be angry with me ; you and I have 
long been friends.— Fair bud of beauty I look upon 
your enamoured lover; suffer him to enfold you in 
his arms, to clasp you to his panting heart I 
Phabe. Keep off I avoid the chamber I—- 
Jack. One kiss, one kind, consenting, reconciling 

kiss I [Pff^^ ^^ kiss her, 

Phabe, Off, monster I— Are we amongst woods 
and wilds, with satyrs, or in a civilized society, with 
tatn ?— Here is no scene for Lapithean banquets, 

thou descendant of the Centaurs! The ancient 

Scythians were not more barbarous in their cups than 
thou art 5 Rome's monarchy was lost by violence not 
more shocking than this. 

Enter Lady Paragon. 

Lady P, Bless me, aunt Phoebe, what's the mat« 

Pkadft, Matter enough; this savage would have 
forced a kjss upon me. 

Jack. Why then, as I hope to be saved, I did it for 
the best. 

Lady P. Do you call that your best \ — O fye I 

Men are strange animals, and when we women throw 
out our charms, and look alluring, which you, dear 
aunt, particularly do this moment, such little fracas 

will happen. Come, let me intercede; 'twas but 

a kiss at most, and I never think a kiss worth fighting 

36 THB NATURA.L son. ASlL 

Pkabt* Nor I, perhaps, in any other case ; but he 
had the iiUmanners to introduce a proposal of mar* 
riage, by teliing me he did not look for youth or 
beauty in a wife*. 

Lady P That's the consequence of having too 
many good qualities.— -—Had you nothing but youth 
and beauty to recommend you, you had been sure to 
have heard of them : foolish women always get the 

finest things said to them. Go your way j take no 

lea^c of her, but bej^one. [Aside to Jack. 

Jack. Thou art a dear soul : there's more fuss with 
these old maids than they are worth. [Exit* 

Lady P. Well, my dear aunt, how do you find your- 
self now i 

Phccbe. Something better; but still in a terrible 
flutter: my heart beats vehemently. 

Lady P. Oh ye«, these men do set our hearts a beat- 
ing ; but you see he is eone, the ravisher is gone; I 
hope you will recover by degrees. V\\ stay by you till 
)*ou are sife : it he should come back 1 can scream 
out whilst you are defending yourself; fer, let the 
worst come to the worst, he can stop the mouth but 
of one of us at a time. 

Pkabt, In my days, lovers were on their knees to 
their ladies for the favour of a salute ; and the conces- 
sion of tlie cheek was not then to be obtained without 
long solicitation, tears, and entreaties. 

Lady P,^ Those were fine days indeed ; then a lady 
set her favours at some price ; now so many give away 


their goods for nothing, that they have fairly apoird 
the market.—— If Mr. Blushenly now- 

PhaU You do him wrong ; in all our intercourse 
he never once solicited 

Lady P. Oh fie I take care of what you say : remeni* 
bcr, remember I 

Pkctbe, What should I remember ? 

Lady P. The tapestry bed-chamber, when you was 
shewing him king Solomon and his concubines in 
chain-stitch.— —^Defend me from these modest men I 
your beef- fed country squires are nothing to them; 
they have the will, indeed, but not the wit to be mis- 

Pketbe. Well, well, I sha*n*t easily be persuaded out 
of my good opinion of Mr. Blushenly. 

Lady P. Keep to that, and you are safe : good opi- 
nion is one thing, and love is another. 

Phabt, True ; yet in some cases they go together* 

Lady P. And then they drive at a furious rate^ 
truly ; when Love holds the whip. Reason drops the 
reins. [^Exeuntm 


A Hunting-Hall. Sir Jeffery Latimer, Blusm* 
RNLY, and 0*Flaherty. A Table vntk Papers. 

Sir Jeffery. 

Joy to you, my dear Harry, all joy attend youf— — • 

The wiirs a good will ; you have a brave properly | 


your title's firm, pen and parchment canit't make A 
better. lam beside myself with joy; I'll havea jubiiec 
for this month to come ; there sha'n't be a sober man 
in the county. I could hmgh and cry, and be merry 
and be sad, or any thing but irr my senses.— Come 
into my arms, my dear, dear Mr. ■ What*s your 
name ? 

O'Fla. Dennis O'Flaherty is my name. I hope you 
like it ; it has been a pretty while in the family, and 
I should he loth to change it. 

^i^ JiJF' ^ shall love your name and your natron as 
long as 1 have breath. Why, a man of your parts 
might have married this cousin of mine, and snapped 
her whole fortune, if you had not been the noblest 
fellow upon earth. 

0*Fla, Where's the nobleness of not being a rascal ? 
I prize the friendship of the fair sex too well to raise 
money upon them. It was my fortune in life to in- 
herit nothing at all ; and I have not lessened it : my 
good name and my good sword are still my own, and 
there is no incumbrance upon either; I have not 
mortgaged them to dishonour, and, with the grace of 
Heaven, I never intend it. 

Blush. Mr. O'Flaherty, I would fain thank you j 
but my heart is too full ; time and my future condo6t 
must declare my gratitude : whatever may be my 
good fortune, you, under Providence, are the father 
of it. 

O^Fla, It has been my lot, young gentleman, to 
»eet a great deal of good fortune in the world — be* 

AUIU. 7«;» ^ATUEAi< SON* 89 

longing to other peopk, I mean-— and 'tis a mighty 
pleasant thing to carry, up and down, though I have 
never kept any to my own share. 

5»V Jeff, Ah, my good friend, 'tis well my cousin 
Frances fell into honest hands ; she was a tempting 
trust in a distant country. 

OTla. What difference does the distance make in 
my honesty, or her trust ? Not but I must own some 
of your countrymen, who have had their tempting 
trusts at a distance, have remembered to leave the 
trust behind 'em, and bring home nothing but the 

&> Jfff' That's true, that's true. Oh I that you 
had heard what a speech I had like to have made one 
day in parliament on this very subject.—* M r . Speaker,* 
lays^I, starting on my legs, < shall X tamely sit down ? 
* shall I sit down tamely, Mr. Speaker V Would 
you think it ?— passion choked me, and I did sit 

0*Fla, What a pity's that, when a man has got a 
fuUbottle, and cann't pluck out the cork! — IMl tell 
you what, Sir Jeffery, you need not be surprised at 
finding a poor catholic, like myself, an honest man { 
you take a ready way to keep us so, by shutting us out 
of your service. 

^^ 3*ff- And now, Harry, that you are of the 
house of the Latimers, if it drops in your hands 1 
am clear of the blame. 

C^Fla, O' my conscience, that's well thought of ; 
if there's a gap in your pedigree, old gentleman, you 


had better trust to him for filling it up than yourself ; 
aye, and let n)e tell you, you are not a little beholden 
to the poor dear soul that's dead, for putting a 
streak in your ladder, when you was on the last step 
of it : marry t but she made a good job of it, though 
she had only her left hand to work with. 

Bluih. Touch not upon that subjedll I am to 
mourn a mother, who, till the last hour of her life, 
never acknowledged me ; I must remember her, 
therefore, as a benefactress rather than a parent,— 
You, sir, have ever been a father to me. 

Sir Jeff, Take my daughter into council then, and 
be a son to me. You see the conditions of your mo- 
ther's bequest ; unless you marry Lady Paragon you 
have only a life-holding in your estate: Frances, with 
all her failings, had a family^feeling for the house of 

Bluik. 'Tis that condition, with other reasons of 
equal delicacy, makes me entreat you both to keep 
this matter a secret, till I have sounded the alFeClions 
of your adorable daughter. I would owe my happi- 
ness to nothing but her free choice and bounty — I be- 
seech you, therefore, to conceal this event, for a 
few hours at least, from Lady Paragon, from Mrs. 
Phoebe, and in short, from all your family, but ho- 
nest David ; his friendly anxiety must be relieved. 
You will promise me this. Sir Jeffery \ 

S«V Jeff, Twenty long years and upwards have I 
brooded upon this nest-egg, and now the chicken's 
hatcht I mayn't cackle \ — 'tis a little hard, but 1*11 do 

Mid. Tilfi NATURAL SON. 41 

Blmk, Major O'Flahertyy I may expedl the SMne 
from you i 

O'Fla. To be sure you may, my dear : — ^amuse 
yourself in your own way, rMe your own round- 
abooty so you do J)ut come to the right point at last. 

Sir /{^ Corae« Harry, tliis business being dis- 
patched^ let us aow go and tap the best bottle in my 
cellar to the health of this worthy gentleman, to 
whose good offices we are both so highly indebted. 

O^Fla. For the bottle. Sir JefFery, I am your man | 

for Che good offices you 8f>eak of, speak no more 

about 'em ; honesty is due to every man^ and how 

should you be indebted to me for what I owe you ? 

Sir Jef* Coane, sir, let me shew you the way.-— 

C^FUi. Mu Latimer, with }>oi3r leave, I shall be 
following you. 

Biksk^ By no means*— I am at home i—but Viot 
lAtiiDer, if you please, call me filusbenly. 

O'Fla. Aye, aye, that's true — Blushenly — now 
you go by your wrong name : that's right ! — Well, 
well 1 let me see, i call'd you by your right name, 
but that's wjnoag— By my soul, between both but it^s 
a very pttzzting atiair. 

Enter Jactl Hustings. 

Sir Jeff, Hold, hold, hold I as I liye, a very ad« 
tnirable recruit to our parry, — Mr. Hustings, this is 
Mj\jor O'Flahcrty ; Major O' Flaherty, this is my 
D iij 


friendy Mr. Hustings.— I pray you be known to each 
other, gentlemen both I honest men don't meet every 

Blush. This is my moment to escape. [Exit hasHfy. 
0'FIa> I am proud to 'know you, sir ; you bear 
your credentials about you ; there's a passport in 
your countenance that will carry you through every 
kingdom in Europe. — Sir JefFery Latimer, your 
friend here looks as if he could say Bck / to a bottle 
as well as most men. 

Sir Jeff, I'll be his sponsor, though it were in the 
dark.— And now, friend Jack, shall we drink to the 
health of fair Phccbe, your future bride I 

Jock* Hush, hush 1 if you love me ; no more of 
that, knight : let the wind whistle as it may, if every 
month in the twelve was November, 1*11 tuck myself 
up with a halter, before 1*11 couple with a wife. 

^tV Jtff, Are you so soon disheartened ?~*never 
fear, man ; you and fair Phccbe will make it up before 

Jack. Then 1*11 give my skin to the tanner before 
morning, for you'll find it on the beam— why, she flout- 
ed me in a stile as proud as Nebuchadnezzar. 

Sir Jeff, And she will be as humble as a trout before 
this day passes over her head, or I'll never venture at 
predi6tion again : retain this gentleman in your cause, 
and I'll ensure a verdict in your favour. 

O'Flu, is there any quarrel a-foot) What is the 
maiter, ma]^ I ask? 

Sir Jeff. A lady's matter; a small suit at matrimony 


between this worthy gentleman and a maiden sister of 
mine^ Mrs. Phoebe Latimer : the good lady, it must 
be owned, is rather on the down-hill passage towards 
the vale of years, and has cast the eyes of her affedtion 
on the young gentleman we just now parted with. . 

O^Fia* When one is going down the hill and t'other 

up, nothing so natural as that both should meet ; but, 

my life upon it, Mr. Latimer will give her the go-by. 

Sir Jeff. Mr. Blushenly, you would say. 

0*FU. Well remembered j you put that leaf into 

my book in good time. 

Enttr David. 

Sir Jeff. Now, David, what's the news with you ? 

David. Strange news, sir. Mr. Ruefull is coming 
to visit you. 

Sir Jeff Rueful! to visit me I I want faith to be- 
lieve you. 

David* His servant is in the house ; and if you like 
to see a curiosity, gentlemen, you will order him in. 

JcLck. Oh, bring him in by all means, David ; I 
should like to see the running- footman to a tortoise. 
Who is dead in your house, knight, that old Ruefull 
is come to sit up by the corpse ? [Exit David j 

i9'//a. Ruefull I Ruefull! sure I've heard that 
name before. 

Jack. When a miser or a man-hater is mentioned, 
Ruefuil's name is in every body's mouth. 

Sir Jeff 'Tis a rough shell, but there's virtue at 
the heart of him.«— But 1 see the fellow coming.— Get 


yourselves ready» geatleiiieo> for Death is at the 

DuMFs is brought in by David* 

0*Fta. [Seditg Dumps ^^«ii/m.] Oh the Beel- 
xebub ! what's here } — Which of the seven deadly 
sins begot you \ what gibbet have you defrauded <^ 
its furniture ? 

Dumps, I am serving^nian to' Squire Rueful!; I 
hastened in advance, to signify the coming on of tny 

master. Salve^ Dominet — Et tu fuofue f-^^ax v» 

domo ! 

O'Fla. What the plague! which of your evil 
tongues isthati 

Dumps. 'Tis Latin ; I learnt it when I shewed the 
tombs in Westminster Abbey. 

O'Fla. Oho i if you come out of the tombs, 'tis no 
wonder you speak the dead languages. 

Dumps. ReSii. 

Sir Jeff. When will yoor master be here, fellow \ 

Sumps. Anon. 

^i^ JdF' Hark ye, David, take this mummy into the 
cellar, and wet his dust with a cup of October. — 
You'll find better company in my vaults, friend, tha* 
the Abbey's. 

Dumps. Oil dear, sir, I was reasonable merry, till 
I came into my master's service $ he is a monument 
Of a man : we should have had a terrible journey of 
it, if we had not luckily fallen in with a black job by 
the way, and kept company with the corpse to £xeter 

jUtllL THK NATURAL 80K. 45 

Jack, I must be acquainted with this fellow,-* 
"What is your name ? 

Dumps* My name is Dumps, an* please you. 
Jack. How long have you been in Mn RuefulPs 
service > 

Dumps. Five years by the calendar, ^^ centuries 
by calculation.— I had indeed the choice of being 
keeper of a pest- house, but I was fool enough to 
withstand the offer; and, all other trades failing, took 
into my present service. 

O^Fla. What other trades have you followed ? let 
us know your history. 

Dumps. 'Tis soon told, gentlemen :— I am the son 
of a sexton, and worked at my father*s business in my 
youth ; 1 then went into the service of a dissecting 
surgeon, and with my father's help furnished my 
roaster's academy with subjects. « 
O^Fla* Oh, Lord have mercy upon us I 
Dumps, When that trade failed, I hired myself ou| 
to the Humane Society. 

O'Fla, That was the devil of a jump backwards. 
Dumps. Many an honest gentleman now walks 
about with breath ef my blowing ;•— but it was too 
much labour for one pair of lungs ; and, by giving 
life to a drowned alderman upon a swan hopping 
party, 1 contra6Ud a consumption, and turned mur- 
der-monger to a- morning paper. 

O'Fla, Murder- monger I there you are in your old 
quarters once more. — And what's murder-monger, I 
would fain ask \ 


Dumpu Casualty-compileri an* please you, mven* 
ter of murders to amuse our customers ; but they 
said I .wanted vaiiety in my violent deaths, I made 
too much use of the brewer's dray j so 4bey took a 
tragic poet in my place, and I was turned into West- 
minster Abbey, as valet-de->chambre to the ragged 
regiment* to brush the dust off tlie faces of the wax* 
work I from thence I came into Squire Ruefull's ser« 
vice ; and if I take another step downwards, it must 
be to the old one, for I can go no lower in this 

Sir Jeff", Try the depth of my cellar first, and then 
we'll taik further with you : get you gone*— [JExU 
Dumps.]-— But I see the ladies coming-^let us step 
aside, my good friend, and concert our evidence, and 
then we shall agree in the same story. 

O'F/a. Faith, and that's well thought of ; for if the 
truth is not to be spoken, 'tis mighty proper to agree 
what we shall put in the place of it. [JEfcetmt, 

EnUrFuOEJiZ^ Z^ Paragon, tfn^Bi.usHBNLT. 

PAabe^ Mr. Blushenly, who is that stranger with 
my brother ? 

Blush. His name is O'Flaherty, an officer in the 
Austrian service. 

PA<x6e, But what is his business here? 

BlusA, He comes to announce the death of your 
relation, Mrs. Frances Latimer, 

PAa&e. What do you tell me? Is she dead ? this it 
news indeed :— do you hear this, Lady Paragon I 


^J?he death of Mrs. Latitner is an event very interest* 
ing^ to us all. 

Lady P. As I had scarce the honoor of knowing 
Che lady, I cannot say I am particularly affected by 
€he event : if any good person is made happy by her 
£^ortune, so far I shall be rejoiced at it. 

Pkabe, Why, your father is her heir at law : I won- 
kier you can be so insensible. 

Ija4iy P, I hope my father has enough without it ; 
there are people in the world I should rather wish her 
£ortuiie to. — I recolle6)iy Harry, she was once very 
^ood to you, what shall I give yon for your legacy \ 

Blush, I will not sell it, because I have never yet 
bad any good luck to dispose of ;— but, promise that 
you will share it with me, and, believe me, in that 
case I shall find the old proverb true, and half will 
be much more than the whole. 

Lady P. 'Tis done 1 I agree to it, so the partitioo 
be reciprocal. 

Enter Sir Jeffery Latimer, an^i O'Flaherty. 

Sir Jeff, Where are the ladies ? I've a budget of 

news for them. Sister Phosbe, this is Major 

O' Flaherty, a friend of our cousin, Mrs. Frances La- 
timer ; I believe his name is not unknown to you.— 
Major, this is my daughter. Lady Paragon. 

[O' Flaherty bozos to the ladies severally. 

O'Fla, A Paragon indeed I — I am sorry I must put 
you in mourning, ladies, and strike these fine colours^ 


that become you so w«U ; I bring you news of the 
death of a relation. 

Pkabe. I understand my cousin Frances is dead. 

O^Fla* She is all that, madam, the mote's the pity. 

Pkecbe, Pity indeed! I fear she was not very fit to 
die ; 1 hope she had time to repent. 

0*Fla. Plenty of time — and to make her will too. 

Pkabe, In that I suppose you have an interest, sir. 

O'Fla* Oh 1 a very great one ; I have the pleasure 
to see every shilling bequeathed to her own son. 

Photbe, Her son 1 her own son ! Oh monstrous ! 

0*Fla, Where's the monstrous part of it ? She 
would have been a monster if she had not done it. 

Lady P, Do you hear that, Blushenly ? — our bar- 
gain is drawn. 

Blush. I beg your pardon, T shall hold you to it. 

Phabe. I never heard she had a son : where is he \ 
what is he ?— She was a single woman, how could she 
have a son ? 

O'Fla, I believe there was a very natural reason for 
it ; she was not a single woman in that particular, I 
take it. 

Sir Jeff', Puzzle yourself with no more questions ; 
—the world says, this son of my cousin's merits his 
good fortune ; you will sec him in this house ; he is 
near at hand, and only waits to know u it will be 
agreeable he should present himself. — Lady Paragon, 
I hope you have no objeftion to a visit from him. 

Lady P. How can I, sir F an agreeable visitor will 
always be an accession to our family circle. 


Sir Jeff. You will be very fond of him when you 
know him. 

Lady P. No doubt I shsilly and before I know him, 
by your chara6ler of him. 

Sir Jeff. Have a care of yourself, Louisa j for if 
you should fall desperately in love, and throw your* 
self away upon the best young man in England, you 
will go near to break my heart — with joy. 

Lady P, The Heavens forbid 1 I would not be 
guilty of such a thing for the world. 

Sir Jff. 'Tis no matter, in spite of all my warning 
you will do it. 

Lady P. Impossible I 

5«'* Jff- I tell you, you will do it; — sister Phcebe, 
remember I predift it. 

Phabe. Stay till the event happens, brother Jef- 
iery, and then you may safely risque a prediction. 

Sir Jeff, What do you say in the case. Major 
O'Flaherty, are you with me in opinion ? 

0*Fla. Oh t mbst clearly ; and the more her Iady-» 
ship protests against it, give me leave to say, the 
more I am persuaded of it. 

Lady P. That's severe indeed, if ladies are to be 
taken by contraries. 

0*Fla, Ladies like you, madam, must be taken as 
we can get them ; such prizes don't fall to every 
man's lot : if Sir Jeffery has a mind for a wager, I 
shall be ve^y glad to go sharer with him. 

Lady P* Agreed! what shall the wager be ? 

O'Fta* Any thing but money. 


La^ P, 1*11 pot my life upon the stike. 

O^Fla, Any thing but murder : for your money, 
I don't Talue it ; and for your life, k is in my opi- 
nion above all value. 

Lmiy P. Name your own terms, then ; the bet is 
lost before *tis laid. 

0*Fla* let it be a wedding-favour, then : a cockade 
to mount in otir hats, and a courtesy to wear upon 
our lips.-*— Will you strike hands to this \ 

Lady P, Hands and heart — KNishenly shall hold 

Blush, Give them to me, then, and let me seal the 
treasure thus, and thus — [Kisses her kaniJ^ — When I 
forfeit this deposit, it must be death that takes it 
from me. 

Sir Jeff. All this does not stagger me : 1 tell you, 
daughter, you have laid a losing wager, and so good 
IVye to you. — Come, gentlemen. [£jci/. 

0*Fla» I am your ladyship's most obedient-— I shall 
call upon you for payment j 'tis true I have only half 
a share, but any half of your ladyship's favours is 
more by half than any man deserves. [Exeunt, 

Enter David and Dumps. 

David, Wdl, Master Dumps, how do you find 
yourself now ? 

Dumps, Gayly. 

David. Ho -v sits his honour's old O^obcr on your 
stomach } 

Dumps. Bravely. 

A&llL TIfS VATVRAi. %Qlti, ^t 

David* Now you are fre« of Meiry^lcUHali : every 
body thatconacfi here goes through a wetting. 
Dumps. Btwe, 

David, ' ris the custom of the house. 
Dumps. FloreatI 

Enter Servant, and speaks to OuMPS. 

Serv, /Vre not ^ou servant to tliegentleauui just ar^ 
rived ? 

JDump. Wlao,. old Ruefull? 

Serv. I don't know his naxnej but if your's be 
Dumps, he is calling out lustily for you in the hall. 
'-— RuD» and see what he wants i for he won't be pa- 
cified withpMt you. 

Dumps. I run 1 no, if I could have done that, I 
would have run out of his service long enough ago. 
—Hang him, earthworm, let him crawl to me -, I'll 

David. Hushy hushi keep a good tongue in your 
head. Dumps ; here your master comes. 

[Ejceunt David and Servant* 

Dumps retires to the back Scene. Enter RuEFULL. 

Rue. Are they fools born, or fools bcwitcht, in this 
house ?— 'Twere better I took lodgings in a belfry, 
and slept to the ringing of bob- majors, than harbour 

in this academy of confusion. Here have I been 

calling for my rascal, and every rascal runs but the 

right one ; half a score tongues to answer, not a hand 

to help : the building of Babel was a Q^iaker's meet* 


^8 THE NATUKAL SOH. A3 ill, 

ing to it*— Where is this fellow of mine > 'tis p^ain 
he has not broken his neck, else I should have stxita^ 
bled upon his corpse.-— ^Dumps 1 why Dumps, I 
say I 

Dumps. Here am I. 

Rue. Here am II hedge-hog: well, and here I 

am. Why don't you move at my call } Are you in 
the stocks i Are you in the conjurer^ circle i 

Dumps, Very likely, for my head runs round. 

Rue» Why, you are tipsy ; you have been drinking, 
sirrah : your eyes are set in your head. 

Dumps, 1 hope so. 

Rue, Sot, did not I warn you against this h -How 

often have I preached to you on the virtue of so- 
briety ? 

Dumps. Yes, but you made a virtue of necessity; 
you never gave me a chance to get tipsy in your ser- 

Rue. And 1*11 take care you never shall again, sir- 
rah. rU muzzle you for this : 1*11 shut you up in 
the Eddystone upon |*otten biscuit and rain-water, 
for a twelvemonth. 

Dumps, Do ; then I shall go out of the world in a 
blaze. Fale. [£wV. 

Enter Sir Jeffery. 
^vr Jeff. What, old acquaintance I are you come 
amongst us \ Welcome to Merryfield Hall ; stay with 
me an hour, stay with me a month, once for all yon 
are heartily welcome I 


Rut. I am obliged to you ; tt becomes the laafiiter 
of the mansion to welcome liis guests : but whea his 
servants do the office fior biin» tii^y ju^e apt to overact 
their parts. Your fellows have intoxicated my fool 
wriOn. their we&tera hospitality ; aud I am as much to 
seek without him» as a blind beggar without his dog. 
■ ■ I pray ywx get some body to lead me about the 

Sir 3^, I will be your servant; everybody will 
be your servant. 

Rit€, Let i£ ^e some civil gentleman^ then« and 
none of those powdered coxcombs I met in your 
lobby. Servants now -a- days dress so like gentlemen, 
and gemlenken so like servants, that the less ceremony 
is with the better sort : if Harry Blushenly is with 
youy turn me over to him. 

Sir Jeff, He'll be happy to attend upon you; I ex- 
pert him every niomeut. 

i{tK. I have a foolish liking to the lad — but no mat- 
ter.— Hark ye, friend JefFery ; if you foist rae into 
one of your srtajte-beds, with a viiianous Dutch device 
of fair Bathsheba, or the queen of Sheba^ to keep me 
company, I had rather you should shut me into your 
old tower, with a screech-owl at my casement, and a 
death-w^tch at my tester.-— ^If you make a stranger 
of me that way, you'll be sure to keep me so. 

Sir Jtff, *Fore George, you have hie it : the chara« 

ber in the old Tower will suit you to a truth But 

hold, hoidl chat woa't ^ neither— if you ring your 

54 THB NATUftAL SON. A& //A 

beU there, not a soul will come to it» was it to sa^e 
your life or their own. 

Rue, What's the matter with it? 

Sir Jeff. *Tis haunted : Tom Dismal walks there. 

Rtu. I knew him when I was a boy ; he was your 
father's butler : a melancholy man he was ; he taught 
me the history of the great plague, and the fire of 

Sir Jeff, He tuck'd himself up on the beam, in the 
great frost, thirty- nine. 

Rue. He could not do it in a cooler monient.-*-But 
look I here comes your young man ; go to your com- 
pany, and leave us together. 

Sir Jeff. You shall have your humour; so good 
bye to you. [£xiit. 

Enter Blush EN LY. 

Blush. I am happy to see you, sir ; I hope you are 
in good health. 

Rue, No, no, child, no such thing : I am never in 
good health : throw away no time in such silly com* 
pliments. Shut the door, for your owls in this house 
are broad awake in noon>day.— So, so 1 that's well* 
—.1 have taken an idle whim in my head, young- 
ster, since you was at the Hermitage, that I am ra- 
ther ashamed of, and therefore, do you see, I choose 
to make all fast, before I come to confession* 

Blush, I believe, sir, nobody can overhear us, if 
you have any commands in private for me* 


Rue. Was not it three days you passed at my cot-^ 

Blush. I think it was^ sir. 

Rue. I dare say you thought them thirteen s but 
you played the hypocrite well. 

Blusk. Oh for shame, sirl you most believe to the 
contrary, or think me the most ungrateful of all 

Rue. No, no, no, no I I tell you \ don't think it. — 
I have an odd humour of my own, I know I have, 
but I like you, I have a regard for you, young man ; 
and that's more than I have said to any body tjiese 
thirty years ; I suppose if I was better acquainted 
with you, I should be cured of my weakness. 

JBluik. Perhaps you would, sir, for I'll not boast of 
my own deservings. 

Rue. I like you the better for it, I like you the bet- 
ter for it. I hate professions ; I am sick when I meet 
a fellow bolstered up with bladders, puflfd full of his 
own empty praises. I hope you don't think I am fool 

enough to come here upon a visit to old Jcflfery. 

Not I, nor to Dame Partlet, his cackling sister, 
either.— He has got his daughter home, has he not ^ 

Blush. Yes, sir, Lady Paragon is part of the 

Rue. A blockhead that he was, to marry her to a 
gamester.— He deserves to be hung up by the heels, 
with a warning pasted on the gibbet to all fathers, 
mothers, and guardians. Why didn't he give her to 


Blush, Alas I str, I had nekfaer falher, mother) nor 

Rue. What then f you had a betterpcdigree with- 
out parents, than she has with them ; and for fortune, 
what's that i if you was of my way of thinking, you 
would not take it was it offered to you ; why, I have 
got a fortuike, youngster, a great fortune, if that be 
all, and a great house ; but Magna domus magnum ms» 
htm is my motto; a but by the sca^side is the castle 
of my comfort. ^-^I haire somethifig to say to you oa 
the subject of thts young woman $ but €rBt let «e 
have a sight of hen 

BlusA» She is now taking her walk 4n the ganden ; 
shall we join her f 

Rue. With all my heart— shew me the way* ~ 



Mrs. Phoebe Latimer, alone^ 

Mrs. Fhteh. 
If this silly brother of mine was not the strangest 
compound of contraries in nature, I should think 
there was some plot in his proceeding ; for it seems 
as if he encouraged Blushenly, whilst he was recom* 
mending Latimer ; yet he protests to me his heart is 
set upon the match : but you may as well teach me- 
thod to a monkey, as expert consistency in him,^**'^ 


"Well met; sir I I must beg your patient answer to a 
few questions. 

Inter Blushsnly. 

Blush, Propose them. 

Phttbe, What are you doing in this fanlliy, Mr. 
. Blushenly } Are you, or are you not apprised of my 
brother's wishes for the disposal of his daughter to 
the heir of my cousin Latimer ^ 

Blush. I am, madam. 

Fkabe. Are you disposed to promote, or to obstru£l 
that alliance ? 

Blush, Warmly to promote it. 

Phabt, Then you take a very extraordinary method 

of doing it, let me tell you : 1 can hardly believe 

Lady Paragon will be the more disposed to give her 
hand to Mr. Latimer, for the ardor with which Mr* 
Blushenly kisses it. ' 

Blush, She has hampered me; but I cannot disclose 
myself to her yet. [Aside. 

Phabe, I perceive you are embarassed.— Female 
hearts, young gentleman, cannot resist such gallan- 
tries ; there is nothing else wanting in your charadter 

to render you irresistible. You must not kiss her 

hand again, indeed you must not. 

Blush, I f it was done to recommend Mr. Blushenly, 
and not Mr. Latimer, set me down in your opinion 
for the meanest of mankind. 

Pkabiu Whom but yourself can it recommend ?— % 

6o ' THE NATURAL 80K. A3 IF. 

broke horse: but I have got him under now; I can 
govern him with a twine of thread. 

Phabe, 'Tis well you can, sir. 

Jack. Very true, Mrs. Phoebe, 'tis a joyful change. 
—I see I am not the man; a lady of your talents 
cann't take up with a country ^squire; 'tis not to be 
thought of— Blushenly carries all before him. 

PAabe, Where did your sagacity collefl that, Mr. 
Hustings } 

Jack. 'Tis not I only that see it; all the neighbours 
talk of nothing else. I thought indeed disparity of 
years might have stood in his way ; but I see you do 
not start at trifles, your generosity has surmounted 
that objeflien : as for fortune, I know you have a spi- 
rit above that. 

Photie. Whether you know it or not, I have that 
spirit, sir. 

Jack. Yes, Mrs. Phoebe, I am ready to bear wit* 
ness to your spirit; and, though a discarded lover, 
have some hopes, by the blessing of a good consti- 
tution, to survive it, and dance at your wedding 
still. Happy be the man! he has the merit of ad- 
miring you for your youth and beauty— I had the 
misfortune to address you for your virtue and dis- 

Enter Sir Jbffery Latimer, Rvefull, and Lady 
5ir Jtff. Sister Phabe, here is an old friend, and 
servant of yours, Mr. Ruefull : he is not quite 90 


Jovial as Jack Hustings, nor so young as Harry Blush* 
«njy ; but, if you like a melancholy lover, 1*11 pit my 
friend against all England. 

Rue* Ah, Mrs. Phcebel a pretty many years have 
gone over our heads since I handed you to your ber- 
lin from the opera of Griselda. I was then a young 
man just come home from my travels, and you a fine 
gay girl in your bloom, just setting out in your career 

of conquests. By the same token, I remember I 

broke a glass hoop-ring, which it was then a fashion 
to wear, into your 6nger by squeezing your hand; I 
shall never forget the pretty flutter it threw you into, 
when the blood started through your glove : I penn'd 
a sonnet on the occasion, in elegiac metre, that had 
some points in it; but it did not move; you was ever 

PActhe. Such a thing may have passed, but I was 
too young to carry the impression in remembrance. 

Ru€, Very likely, for I dare say your wound healed 

quicker than mine. 1 retired from the gay world 

soon after, where I had no desire to pass fur a sple- 
netic companion amongst men of pleasure; since when 
I have made some friendships with the dead, merely 
that we may not be absolute strangers to each other 
when we meet ; however, I have this advantage in it, 
that I am going to my connexions, and you are part- 
ing from yours. Not that I would be understood to 
insinuate that you have any symptoms of immediate 
decay about you, Mrs. Pheebe; on the contrary, I 
Uiink your air and apparel more gay and juvenile than 


I should have looked for in a person of your years ; 
and I rejoice to sec you carry them off so much above 
my expeftation.— Truly you are a fine woman of your 
age, a very fine woman of your age still. 

[Mrs, Phcebe ztfaiks aside in a passim. 

Jack, Wormwood, knight, wormwood ! She is 
broiling with vexation. 

Sir Jeffi Hark ye, daughter Paragon, cot her lace, 
and save her stays from bursting. 

Lady P» Worse and worse! Hefe*s Blushenly 
coming ; I cannot bear to see her suffer. — Mr. Rue- 
full, I shall grow jealous if you make all these fine 
speeches to my aunt, and not let me have my turn. — 
Go to my aunt, Harry, go ; I can assure you she has 
her full share of admiration in this company, and you 

are throwing weight into the heavier scale. Why 

don't you do as I bid you ? [Apart to Blushenly. 

[Blushenly having entered during this speech of Lady 

Paragon V, she makes signs to him io go to Mrs, 

Phoebe ; which he at first misunderstands^ but of' 

ttrwards goes and converses apart toith her. 

Rue, There is something very sincere in your chal- 
lenge, young lady, T like the manner of it well ; and, 
to tell you the truth, I came hither purposely to sec 
you ; for though I am an old fellow with one foot in 
my coffin, I hope there's no harm if I take a parting 
peep at youth and beauty before death shuts down the 
lid. I was curious, you must know, to see you with 
my own eyes, and hear with my own ears ; for had I 
taken what that idle young fcUow reported upoa 

A£t ly, THE NATURAL SON. 6{ 

trusty I should have the strangest opinion of yo«i in 

Lady P, Hovfr so, I pray, how so ? I should ex- 
pert he, of -all men, would report of me as a friend. 

Ri^» I should doubt tiiat, for . he made you out 
Co be a miracle of humati goodness-^Now that's g 
shot point-blank against all my experience and belie:^ 

Phabe. Oh t that I llad that man's tongue in my 
pocket! — Will nobody silence himi 

Ludy P. You are justified in your incredulity ; for 
I shall not scruple to confess that I am more proud 
of his partiality than I could be of the truth kself. 

Rmc. That's a fair confession at least ; and if it doe$ 
not serve to convey a very favourable impression of 
your judgment^ it enables me to guess at your af* 
felons towards the young man at your elbow : and 
I am persuaded I shall have my old friend Mrs* 
Ph<xbe on my side, if I wish you both happy in each 

Phaht. Arc you so^ Mr ? ar< you so ? Why do 
you take upon yourself to answer for me in the case \ 

Rue* Because I think you haVe iived long enough 
in the world to see the miaery of unequal matches :— 
where afFeilions meet, where charafters tally, wher« 
tempers agree, who regards fortune.? 

Jack. Not Mrs. Phcebe, I assure you ; she has a 
spirit above that — you know you toiLd me so yourself 
just now. 

PA<g^, Who desired you to interfere ? 


Rue. Then their ages, madam — there, I'm sure, 
you'll own they're match'd. Now I hold it in abhor- 
rence, and equally a sin against nature in either sex, 
were an old fellow, like myself, to couple his in- 
firmities to the youth and beauty of Lady Paragon, 
or a woman of your gravity to befool herself with a 
ridiculous passion for him there. 

Jack, Lack-a-day, sir I* Mrs. Phoebe can get over 
that too. 

Pkabc, Who told you what I can get •ver, or 
what I cannot get over ? I desire I may neither be 
quoted for an example, nor referred to as a Mritness 
in these matters.— And you must give me leave to 
tell you, Mr. Ruefiill, that it is unusual for strangers, 
like you, to interfere in family matters, and take up 
the concerns of other people's alliances, as if they 
were their own. 

Rue. Whether I am officious or not, madam, time 
must shew ; but 1 trust there is no offence in sayin^^ 
that if this young lady was my daughter, I would 
bestow her on Mr. Blushenly ; or was he my son, I 
would recommend him to Lady Paragon : this is my 
opinion, Mrs. Phcebe, and I am ready to back it 
with my purse, if it is wanted. I believe I have as 
good an estate as my old friend here, perhaps I 
might say a better, for I have nursed it pretty care- 
fully, and lived upon the gnawing of a crust ; — 'twas 
my humour, and 1 had nobody's leave to ask for mor- 
tifying myself. I am going out of the world, this 
young man is coming into it.— If Sirjeffery will stcpi 

} daiV. TH« NATURAL SOU. t^ 

aside with me, perhaps I shall convioce him at least 
that I did not come here officiously, and for nothing* 

Jack, Who calls this man a miser f 

Lady P. I am in love with him ; he has won Wf 
besLTt for ever. 

BiusJk, 'Tis a rough humour, but a most benevolent 

Sir Jeff. Sister Phabe, what do you think of all 

Phabe* I think it a mere mouthful of moonshine % 
true lunatic's diet; the cookery of a crack*d brain; 
froth to feed fools with ; you will find a better legacy 
in Don Diego's will : the man is in his dotage. 

Sir J^. A word in your car.— You arc still for 
Mn Latimer ? [^Aside. 

Fhabu lam. l^side^ 

Sir Jeff. Positively? [Aside. 

Pkabt, Peremptorily. \^Aside, 

Sir Jeff.. Here's my hand, then : my daughter mar- 
ries Frances Latimer's son, or I'll make the house 
too hot to hold her* \Aiide, Exit. 

Phabt. So far all is safe — but I don't like these 
whisperings — I must interrupt their conference. [Aside. 
Mr. Blushenly 1 — ^Niece Paragon I — You will forgive 
me, byfc ^ - 

J0^ K^y» madam, let me speak a word in pri- 
vate with your aunt. [To Lady Paragon.] ^Mrs. 

Phcebe, you betray yourself by this impatience ; 
leave me^ if you please, with Lady Paragon. 


Pkmbe. Why inust I leave you \ 

Bluik, Because — because you must. 

Phabe, Sure!-— You're grown very peremptory. 

Blush. I make it my condition — my request — will 
that, suffice? 

Phabt. Weil I— but youMl keep faith with me— ^ 
youUl remember !— I'm gone.— [-^xafc.] How pro- 
vokingly handsome she looks 1 I cann*t bear the ^ght 
pf her. [^EnU 

Blush, At last we are alone ; and I now press the 
moment that decides upon my hope. — ^This Latimer, 
whom she so anxiously expels, whom your father 
recommends, and who is prepared to throw himself 
at your feet, is now in this very house. 

Lady P, Welt, if he is, what then ? Nor he nor 
they have supernatural power; and human means 
shall never force me to a second sacrifice. 

Blush. Are you so resolute } 

Lady P. My heart is pledged: you know the 
holder of it. 

Blush. Then I have undertaken a hard task indeed ; 
for I am to move you for that very Latimer. 

Lady P. Come, come, I've found you out : this is 
a return for my raillery about my aunt's strong box \ 
but, unless you can find pleasure in putting me to 
pain, 1 beg you to be serious. ^ ^i 

Blush. I never was more serious in my lire. ^^ ^ 

Lady P. Sir! — Mr. Blushenlyl — I did not ffiink 
you could be cruel to me. We never meet again. 

ABiy. TUI NATU&AL son. 4; 

Blush, Stop, I conjure you, stop 1 

Lady P. Why should I ?— Oh, Harry ! if you arc 
still so blind as not to see the openest heart in nature, 
fegible by every eye but yours^ I'll sooner do a vio- 
lence to my sex's delicacy^ by an avowal of my love, 
than leave it in your power to make a plea of igno- 

* Blush* You shall not do your dignity that wrong ; 
I see and know your heart. 

Lady P. You sec it by false lights, you know it by 
tinfair reports ; else would you treat it as you do }— 
No, you mistake a playful spirit for a levity of prin- 
ciple ; you think me a coquette, who likes and dis* 
likes by caprice, and whose favours, like false coin 
received in payment, you are impatient to pass off to 
any other dupe that will take them. 

Blush. I were a brute without reason could I so 
judge of you. The playfulness of your spirit shews 
the purity of your nature ; a heart like yours would 
make an angel's face superfluous ; I think with too 
much reverence of your virtue to recollect that you 
are beautiful. 

Lady P. For which then of these two perfeftions 
do you rejeft me ? Is it my virliie, or my beauty you 
revolt from ?— Inconsistent flattery I Wlio throws 
away what he admires } who draws back from prof- 
fered happiness } either too proud to receive a bles- 
sing, or too suspicious to believe it is intended. 

Blush* I neither have the pride nor the suspicion 
you describe ; and I only regret there is any thing 


between us^ which you have not the pleasure of be- 

Lady P, Why then do you assume a disimerested* 
ness which cuts me to the heart ? and with a cold air 
of prudence, as fruitless as it is cruel, attempt Co turn 
inflexible affections from yourself to Latimer I 

Blush, Because I am that Latimer. 

Lady P. What do I hear I 

Blush. Oh, let me clasp you to my heart i words 
are too weak to tell you how I love. 

Lady P. Oh I what a head for stratagem is thine I 
— a notable experiment, to prove that it is day by the 
light of the sun I— Oh, Harry, Harry I Jf I could 
play the hypocrite, I would revoke all I have said, 
and turn your own game upon you :-— but I have 
ways enough to be revenged ; and, as you have been 
so very backward in discerning a lady's advances, 1*11 
take care you shall be as slow in leaking your own : 
you have seized a strong post by surprise, but I have 
other defences in reserve ( and, with my aunt Phcebe 
in front, I can still protract a surrender. 

Blush. Whilst you look upon me with those eyes 
of love, I may defy your menaces, because I have 
your mercy to depend upon. 

Lady P. Well, I protest you are insufferably vain. 
Blush. And I swear you are insupportably hand- 

Lady P. Oh I then you are come down from your 
high-flown sentiment to a little plain sense at last : 
you have drawn off the angel, and the woman ap« 


pears : I am very glad to find that I am not quit& too 
g;ood to be flattered. 

Blush. My soul dotes on you : I adore you* 

Lady P. Kneel, then, and worship at a distance. 
—I stand for privilege.— There lies your retreat ; 
I keep this for my own. 

Blush, Will you break parole with me ? No, you 
iiave surrendered, and TU carry off ray prisoner, or 
perish. — Come with me, loveliest of women, come I 

Lady P. I don*t know that I dare ; I shall grow 
afraid of you : I thought to stroke a lamb, and I 
fcave unchained a lion. [£x€unt. 

Enter Mrs. Phoebe and 0*Flahejlty. 

Pkcebe. There, there, there 1 did you see that, sir \ 

0*Fla. Oh I yes j mighty close truly, mighty close, 

Pkc^e* As Mr. Latimer's friend, methinks, you 
cann't be very well pleased with this discovery. 

0*Fla. No indeed, and I am surprised to see you 
bear it so patiently 5 but you are of a sweet gentle 
nature, I perceive : and, as a reward for your pa- 
tience, I can safely promise you shall hear no more 
of Blushenly after this night. 

Phoebe. How so, how so \ make me understand 
what you mean to do. 

.O^Fla. Never ask about it : never vex your lovely 
self-— we have a way of our own in Ireland. 

PhiJtbe. Explain yourself, I conjure you. 

O'Fla, Why, you know there ,is such a thing in the 
world as a post*chaise— Weil 1— and here you live 


upon the cocst^ hard by the sca« do yon mind me ^— ^ 
Very well 1— Mighty convenient^ youMl allow, for 
shipping off contraband commodities, alias live-stack, 
for the continent.-~>Now if we can catch this young 
ram by the horns, and snuiggle him into Duiikiiki 
we shall stop his breed at home, and nobody the 

PAcB^. Horrible I would yoit take the young mat 
out of the kingdom i would you murder him ? 

O'Fla. Why that shall be just as you like ; it 
would make his voyage the shorter. 

Phccbt, Barbarian! IMl not suffer it: my blood 
chills with the idea. 

O'Fla. Oh then take another recipe to warm it :— 
Elope with him yourself. 

Phcsbe. Myself. 

O^FUu 'Tis done every day ; the most efie£hial 
mode in nature to pique the jealousy of the young 
lady at home $ she'll marry Ladmer, out of revenge, 
in a week : the only thing is, to put a small force upon 
your modesty; if you have friendship enough for 
your niece to do this, all difficulties are over. 

Phcebe, Do you propose this in ridicule, or in insult 
to me I 

O'Fla. Nay, if it shocks the delicacy ofyourna* 
lure, away with it at once -y and, to say the truth, I 
was afraid your modesty could not put up with it.— 
What will become of her reputation 2 says I to Mr. 
Latimer. Would you put a fair innocent creature 
«ide by side with a tempting young rogue in a close 

4BI¥, TR« NATirRAL SOK. J\. 

3flirriage \ I'm ashamed of jfouysays I.-^Oh 1 1 rattled 
tilm off raandly, for dreaming of it; for I was of 
^ur way of thinking, that it would be best to knock 
him on the head at once, and save miBchief. 

\ Pkcdft. Murder to save mischief! Murder my 

reputation rather! inclose me in the odious post 5 
chaise! let my innocence be your sacrifice, sooner 
than meditate an a£l so horrible: if no means else can 
be devised to separate him from Lady Paragon, be* 
hold me ready to devote myself a voluntary vi61im 
to preserve the honour and the interests of my 

0*Fla. Why then, as I am a sini^rt there is not a 
martyr in the calendar can go beyond you,— Oh, 
sweet Phoebe, if you were of the right persuasion, you 
would be the first saint of your namel^-^-Make up your 
mind, dear creature, for the journey : pack up a few 
trifles for your occasions by the way; put a good book 
in your pocket to keep the foul (tend at a distance ;— 
for, mind what I tell you, there's no trusting to these 
close carriages: as for holding him in talk about the 
weather^ and the prospers, and alt that, don't depend 
upon it, for the night will be as dark as a hedge; then 
there's such a cracking and a rattling with your iron 
work, screaming goes for nothing in an English post- 

Phosbe, Talk no more of such idle prospefts; I 
have other resources than you know of; and shall take 
care to prevent mischief, both to him, toher, or my- 
Klf. {Exitl 


0*Fis» Mercy on met what a fermentation does a 
little learnuig raise in a female scull I No wonder that 
our fortune-hunters poach among these petticoated 
pedants ; they fall into the snare like a pheasant from 
its perch. [^Esdt. 


Enter RuEFULL an^/ Dumps. 

Get you gone, sijrrah I I dismiss you from my ser- 

Dumps, Thank you heartily f 'tis the only kindness 
you ever did me. 

Rue. Leave the room. 

Dump^. To leave is to obey— to obey is to serve.— 
You are no longer my master^ therefore I do Qot 
leave the room. 

Rut. Incomparable impudence! This is as it should 
be, it feeds my spleen, and serves to put me out of 
humour with the world. 

Enter Jack Hustings^ 

Jack. Who finds fault vi^l* the world?— I say 'tis a, 
good world. 

Rue. I never said it was not good enough for those 
who live in it. 

JacL Philosophers do but mar it. 

ABV. fHE NATURAl S0». , Jg 

Rue, Fox -hunters don't mend it» 

Jack, You have a fellow here in yeur service of 
admirable humour. 

Rve, He is an admirable fellow, if impudence be a 
rccomiiiendation.-»-I have done with him : he is ypon 
his promotion ; if you have a mind for a purchase, yoiJ^ 
have nothing to do but to outbid the gallows, and jfer 
lot is your own. 

Dumps. Take me whilst you can have me, good sir! 
if you put it by till to-morrow, you will have to 
seek for me at the bottom of the moat ; — I shall lay 
this old scare- crow of a livery on the bank for a 
mark s 'twill be in its seventh generation when I take 
leave of it, and every one of my predecessors left a 
family behind to be provided for;— ^— give the devil 
his due, as the saying is, my master has some credit 
in this old coat; for 'tis made for all mankind, 'tis 
the only thing in our house that does not go by 

Jfkck. And can you find in your heart to part from 
this fellow ? 

JRue. Parting from Dumps is like the practice of 
repentance : it costs some struggle to wean one's self 

from one's vices. Fare thee well, Dumps! I wish 

I were certain thuu wouldst never come back to me | 
for if thou dost, I shall surely take thee in, and 
'twould be hard if the plague could be had above once 
in one's life. [Exitm^ 

Jack, Well, DumpS) what are you pondering uponf 

74, THE NATURAL SOir. AEif^ 

Dwnpu A reprieve at the gallows is a very senoos 

Jack. Affer all your changes in life, you have had 
one change for the better ; I have no melancholy faces 
in my family^-^— -You must have led the life of a dog 
fin this old fellow's service. 

> ^hmps. Bad enough I but if I had little food, I had 
less work; iff had no merriment^ I had no care. A 
nian may live in a prison till he likes it : when I was 
with my master, I pined for liberty ; now I am loosci 
I long to go back again. In short, I don't know how 
it is; I had made up my mind, and, with your leave, 

I'll return to my execution. You don't know that 

old gentleman's charadter, sir. 

Jack. I know what he passes for in the world*s opi- 
nion — a miser and a man hater. 

Dumps. Miser enough I own he ist and has gone | 
near to starve me ; but then he starves himself, so I ' 
cann't complain of him for that: a man-hater he is, I 
don't deny it ; but then he does good to people out o\ 

spite.' He can be charitable enough, whilst other 

folks take the praise of it ; find him out, and you>are 

sure to lose his good-will. He was a rake in his 

young days. 

Jack. Was he so ? pr'ythee, if thou canst, tell me 
something of his history. 

Dumps. There's a lady of family (I don't know who 
she is} that he behaved very ill to : it lies on his con- 
science, and has turned his temper to vinegar : — she 
had a child by him — when he went abroad and left 

jiB r. THE NATURAL SON. . 75 

her; — ^he buried himself many years amongst the 
mountains, where the Swiss live^ as I believe. 

Jack. Is the child alive i 

Dumps, I know nothing of that : so muck I know^ 
that he has been making enquiries since Tve been with 
him, but all to no purpose, as far as I can find. He 
has a brave estate, and a fine house upon it, but he 
lives in a poor little cottage-like place, with an old wo- 
man and myself, and sees nobody. Folks think him a 
white-witch or wizard, and are afraid to come near 

Jack, He seems to have taken strongly to our young 
man here. 

Dumps. Mr. Blushenly, you mean ? 

Jack. The same j — he is very earnest to promote a 
match between him and Lady Paragon. 

Dumps, Is he so } why then you must excuse mc, 
sir, I cannot think of leaving him : if he is Mr.i 
Blushenly's friend, I*U follow him whilst there is 
land or water to carry me; and so I will tell him; 

here he comes. Pcuavi^ DovUfu! Master^ 

forgive me I 

£nter RuEFULL, andfStr Jeffery. 
Rue, Get thee gone, blockhead, get thee gone ! — I 
have no time to forgive thee. 

Dumps, Rather say« you have no leisure to hoM 
Rue. I have better business to mind. 

yS THE NATURAL saN. A3 f^» 

Dumps. *Th done with a word : pray, sir, be quick 
about ity for repentance comes but seldom, and 'tit 
not good manners to keep a stranger waiting. 

Rue* Well, well, well I I will keep thee on, if it be 
only to torment thee ; thy pardon shall be thy punish- 
ment. — Away with thee. [Exit Dumps. 

Sir Jeff, Friend Jack, we are upon business. 

Jack. A moment's patience I Mr. Ruefull, give 

me your hand ; nay, good sir, give it me 1— — I ho- 
nour you from my soul :— -~I beg pardon for the 
false opinion I have had of you; — I am a country- 
bred fellow, 'tis true, but I have an honest heart, 
and a warm one — so Heaven bless you 1 that's enough. 

But, Ahem I— -What's the matter with my eyes \ 
■ A plague upon the fellow, say I, for putting 

jfit. in humour with mankind. Go on with your 


Sir Jeff, i educated him in all points as my own 
. Rue, And at your own expence ? 

Sir Jfff. No, I was privately supplied by his mother 
for that purpose. 

Rue, Thank you, sir I thank you heartily for that; 
I should else have been compelled to confess it was a 
benevolent aftion.— And who is his mother ? — Stopy 
though I if it is one of your secrets, keep it to your- 

5«r Jfff, It has been a secret, an inviolable secret, 
from the day of his birth to this hour \ — ^ii is now no 


longer so ; for the death of his mother, who w^s a 
kinswoman of mine 

Rue, How*s that i what do you say } a kinswomaa 
of yours I 

Sir Jeffl A near one; my cousin. Prances La* 

Rue. Sir! 

Sir Jeff". What alarms you i 

Rue, Is Blushenly the son of Mrs; Fanny La- 
timer i are you sure of this ? have you no trick in it f 

Sir Jeff, Trick I you may see her will. 

Rue, Shew it to me. — Had she no other son, no 
other child but this \ answer me this. 

Sir Jeff, No other child. — After putting him into 
my hands, she left England, shut herself into a con* 
vent at Lisle in Flanders, and led an exemplary li£e 
in retirement from the world, though she would 
never be induced to acknowledge her son, or discover 
bis father. 

Rue, Let me see the will, let me see the will* 

Sir Jeff. Come into my closet with me, and you 
shall see it. 

Riu, Shew me the way.— Hey-day \ what ails me \ 
how my head swims I — Give me your ann.*-So, so I 
•tis better. 

Sir Jeff, Bear up, my good friend j I see you arc 
agitated by this discovery* 

Rue, Do you think so ? Cann't an old man be sick 
suddenly, but you must spy a mystery in it ?— — • 
Pshaw 1 « {ExaokU 



Inter Lady Paragon and Blushenly. 

Lady P. A situation ^f more hazard than mine 
could not well be ; for I was courted by my ad- 
mirers, and neglected by my husband. Oh! let no 
woman wed a gamester 1 human misery cannot ex- 
ceed it.-^And now, my dear Harry, that I have given 
you a portrait of myself, the best I can say for it is, 
that it is a faithful likeness; some faulty tints there 
may be, which the pencil of vanity has thrown in, 
but they will fly off in time ; and I flatter myhclf it is 
lio where dashed with the dark shades of guHi or 
deformity : as for the colours which love has given 
it, they will never fade in your keeping, for they are 
burnt in with fire, and can only perish with the piece 
itself, [Thty emSrace^ 

Enter Mrs. Phoebe Latimer, as they art embracing* 
Phoebe, I can support this no longer.-^Mr. Blush- 
enly, you arc a traitor I Lady Paragon, you are— I 
won't say what — I renounce you 1 

blush. Recoiled yourself, madam! speak without 
passion, »nd I will answer you without reproach. 
Phdbe, No, sir, 1 will not speak without passion, 

nor will I enter upon any explanation with you. - 

There is a couching lion in your path, ready to spring 
Upon you, ^nd devour you both : an awful secret is 
in my keeping, nature extorts it from me; and be- 
fore you rush into the crime of incest, know, youn^ 
laan-^nd tremble whilst I tell it— you arc her fa- 


thcr'sjson.— How now I have you no feeling to your 
situation, that you receive it thus calmly Mf you can 
doubt it, I'll produce my brother, and he shall con- 
firm it to your faces. 

Lady P. Stay, madam, if you please ; there is no 
occasion to spread our family disgrace any further. 

Phabe, How you both stand 1— Lady Paragon, I'm 
astonished at your insensibility: you Mon't even 
change colour. 

Lady P. That's much indeed ; for I'm very apt to 
blush for those who assert a falsehood to my face. 

Phadfe. A falsehood 1 what do you insinuate } 

Blush, Patience, I beseech you, and let us save 
you whilst we can. — Your zeal for Mr. Latimer hur« 
ries you too far, when it puts you to invention and 
the abuse of truth.— In some degree 1 take the fault 
upon myself i for I could sooner have told you that 
his interest in this lady's affections stands on the se- 
curity of honour, and does not want the aid of fie* 
tion— I am that happy man ! I am that Latimer 1 

Phabt. You I you I 

Blush, O'Flaherty brought the proofs ; Sir JefFcry 
vi\\\ impart them to you. 

Phabe. Then 1 am ruined and undone I — I have 
exposed myself to shame and derision :— I am sink- 
ing with confusion 1 

Lady P, No, my dear aunt, you shall not sink \ vfc 
are your friends, and we will hold you up. 

Phabe. Impossible I I never can recall what I've 


Blush. Nor shall you ; for if time shall ever extin- 
guish in your breast its partial affeftion for Blushenly, 
gratitude shall continue to record it in the heart of 
Latimer : therefore I pray you be at peace with your- 
self. What now is done, is done in secret ; and who- 
ever, in my hearing, dares to vent a sneer at the aunt 
of my Louisa, makes an enemy of me. 

Pkabe. I thank you ; you both are truly generous ; 
—but I am much agitated, and wish to retire to my 

Lady P. No, no, persist, if it be possible! — My fa- 
ther will soon be here ; meet him with congratula- 
tions ; meet the whole family 1— Look ! here comes 

Pkabe. The man of all the world I cannot meet; 
he knows my weakest thoughts : save me from this 
meeting, if you have pity for me. 

EnUr O'FlahektYj and is met ^yBLUSHENLY. 

Blush. Stop, my good friend! — and, before a word 
can pass your lips, let me exa6l from you, as a soldier 
and a man of honour, to look at these ladies, and if 
there be here present one, to whose thoughts in some 
weak moment (for we all liave such moments) you 
have been privy, burv them in generous silence for 
ever, and approve yourself deserving of the favours 
of the sex, by your gallantry in concealing their 
foibles ! 

O'f/a. I understand you, sir, perfeflly ; and whea 
I pledge my honour, I pledge that which neither to 



man nor woiAan has been ever forfeited— so there's 

an end of the matter. Now be so good as to say 

which name yeu are pleased to be called by, and 
whether I am to give you joy as Mr. Latimer j or 
how much longer 1 am to keep it secret. 

Blush* You are fairly released. 

O^Fla, And does your ladyship bear in mind our 
wager ? 

Lady P, I acknowledge it lost, and will pay it the 
first moment I am able. 

O^Fla, O dear heart alive ! what a joy it is to hear 
you say so !«-but there is a part at least, and the best 
part tooy which you can always pay on demand. 

Lady P. Well then, if you wish it, 'tis before you ; 
serve yourself. 

0*FLa, May the blessing of blessings light upon 
your generous heart 1 \SaluUs her respeBfuUy,'] May 
the cheek which I have touched be unstained with a 
tear 1 And may your lips, which I had not the bold- 
ness to approach, be the sacred treasure of your 
husband I Mrs. Phoebe Latimer, I hope I shall not 
offend if I offer at the same presumption.— Be con- 
fident, dear madam, that you have not in the world a 
more faithful humble servant than myself I 

[yiside to her, 

Phabe, I have entire reliance on your honour. I 
begin to feel the return of tranquillity. 

Enter Sir Jeffery Latimer. 
La4y P» filess me^ sir, what ails you \ You alarm me* 


Sir Jeff. Tears of joy, tears of joy— don't be 
alarmM t — I am a father myself; the feelings of na- 
ture are very strong. 

Bluih, What are you speaking of ^ 

Sir Jeff. The surprise was sudden, and overpowered 
him; but we have fetched him to himself: Jack Hus- 
tings opened a vein — he can turn his hand to any 
thing.— Here comes the good man !— Now let nobody 
be in a bustle ; recolleft yourself, Harry I Let no- 
body be in a bustle — Be as quiet and composed as I am. 

RuEFULL is led in between Jack Hustings and 
Dumps, David atiemding behind with a Chair » 

Rue. Put the chair in its place again I methinks you 
are very troublesome. — [Dumps puts a bottle ff salts 
to his nostJ] What does the blockhead thrust his salts 
up my nostrils for } Keep 'em till my funeral, they'll , 
«erve to draw tears in your eyes. I 

Jach, How do you find yourself now, sir ? 

Rue. Exceedingly annoyed by your officiousness — 
Who made you a surgeon, I would fain know } Why 
am I to be blooded like a calf at the whim of a 
butcher } 

Jack. You might have died, if we had not opened 
a vein. 

Rue. Might have died 1 — well, and what might I 
do better ? I have always reckoned upon one happy 

hour in life— the hour at the end of it. Hark ye, • 

Sir Jefiery, ask your daughter if she resolves upon 
siarrying that young man by her side. 


Sir Jeff. Her heart is centered in that hope — ^I an- 
swer you in her own words. 

Rue, Pray, madam, let me ask you why you make 
this choice } 

Lady P, Because I know him, love him, and ad- 
mire him ; his honour, gentleness, modesty, and be- 
nevolence, endear him to me, 

Ru€s And is this a world for such a man to live in? 
With all these qualities, what sort of figure will he 
make in high life ? 

Lady P, I should be sorry if a man of your good 
sense gave into hackneyed invedives against high 
life; I suspect it is the vices of the vulgar which are 
precipitating this country to its grave I 

Rue. It may be so ; I stand correfled. But it is 
fitting you should know there is one objeflion to your 
future husband: he is the son of a humoursome, 
capricious old fellow, whom all the world sets down 
for a snarler and a miser. — I am his father. 

Blush. Then nature is a faithful prophetess : I felt 
her at my heart. — Give me your blessing, sir I — My 
benetadlor, friend, and father. 

[Throws himself on his knee. 

Rue. There, there I [Blesses him.'] — I do these of- 
fices scurvily ; a fellow of no feeling would make you 
a fine speech on the occasion. — I desire there may be 
no more said of the matter ; it won't tell to my re« 
putation — Old JefFery knows all about it. — The world 
was a bad world, even in my young days, and I con- 
tributed to make it worse : 1 used your mother like a 


rascal, the more shame for me t She never forgave 
ity and I never ceased repenting of it : if she would 
have told me where to find you, you should not have 
been so long without a father. 

O'Fia. O Jubilate! what a hurricane of good luck 
is fallen upon us. — Hark ye, Mr. Jack Hustings, you 
and I will make the corks crack for this. 

Blush. Louisa, may I not present you to nay father? 

[Presents her. 

Rue, Kappy be your lot, young lady I May the 
son repair the injuries of the father I and, by the ho- 
nour of his condufl to your family, atone for the 
shame which mine has brought upon it ! 

Lady P, I am not the less confident of his condu A, 
when I find he is honourable and virtuous by inhe- 

Rue, I am only afraid he is too rich to be virtuous ; 
if I was to consult his true interest I should disinherit 

Blush, Fear me not, sir, whilst there is an honest 
man in this company in want of that which we-ftbound 
in,— Captain O* Flaherty, 1 holrf myself accountable 
for Ladv Paragon's debts; they are gaming debts 
indeed, but no less debts of honour : she has lost a 
wager to you of a wedding-favour — It is not very ele- 
gantly made up, but it is cordially bestowed — I hope 
you'll wear it for her sake. [Gives a paper folded up. 

Rue, Well said, boy! you are my own son ; — you 
have put my money out to use already. 

O^Fla, Out upon it I 'tis a subsidj: for a German 


prince f 1*11 not touch a stiver of it. Zooks I man> I 
never wanted money, for I've always lived without it- , 

Lady P* Take it, however, if it be only to do ho- 
nour to the friend that gives it. 

Phttbe. Let me join interest with my niece in the 
request : and now let's see if you dare to hold out 
against the petition of the ladies. 

'Sir Jeff", Sister Phccbe I sister Phoebe I give me 
your hand — by the bones of the Latimers you are aa 
honour to my family. Henceforward we strike up 
harmony and good fellowship for our lives. 

Phabe. Let u$ all be friends, and all be happy !— 
Call in your neighbours, brother Jeflery, and let Mer« 

ryfield-Hall blaze on this joyful occasion! Mr. 

Hustings, as you are looking out amongst the old and 
ugly for a partner, let the fiddles strike up, and you 
and I will join in the dance. ^ 

Jack^ »Tis a bargain 1 now you are fair Phoebe 
again. — Away with all bidc^riags for everl let those 
take them up that like 'em. — I should wish to know 
what punishment you could find in your heart to in* 
flift, if I dared to repeat my offence in the face of 
this good company. 

Lady P, Til answer you that question — ^Transpor- 
tation for Hfe. 

Sir Jeff, To the land of matrimony. 

Jack* 1 am resigned to my fate — Let the law take 
its course I 

^^^ 3^ff* ^et the warrants ready : here is double 
duty for the Ordinary. 



G*Fla. Ladies and gentlemen, a word with you be- 
fore you are turned off— I hope I am not to be your 
executor, for I have enough already on my bands 
with these papers. — Will you be my banker, old gen- 
tie man ? and lay out for a purchase of just such an- 
other little cot as your own j where, with a rood of 
potatoes in my front, and an acre of. bog at my back, 
I can sit chirping like an old cricket in my chimney* 
corner, and ruminate on the occurrences of this 
happy day. 

\Ex€unt i 


Written for Miss Farrew, 

In this gay agt^ when all the heart is waste. 

And frighted Nature Jlies the realms of taste. 

Is there a well-bred dame, whose cheek discloses 

The bloom —ofrouge^ cold creamy and milk of roses. 

Who deigns these splendid side-boxes to grace. 

In Figaro feathers and Lunardi lace. 

And, gently lolling on her favourite page. 

Laughs — and talks somewhat louder than the Stage 9 

If some sweet girl-^another Werter^s pride — 

in pure simplicity should grace her side, 

And feeling what she hears, devoid of art—^—^ 

Drop a soft tear— expressive of the heart ; 

Would not the fashion* d dame our child reprove. 

And cry — * indeed — you're vastly wrong — my love I 

* What, w^p ? O fie I — I blush ;— -this strange disorder 

* Will make folks think you enter'd with an Order l* 

WhiU in high life our hearts the fashions steel. 

Too gay to listen, and toofne to feel 

Honest John HuU^-before a sturdy elf- 

Now claims no right of judging for himself \ 
To Puvvs from Theatres gives up his vote. 
And kindly thinks all trut— because Uis wrote j 
For when no plaudits strike our duller ear. 
The papers hear a voice we cannot hear^-^-^ 
And when for seats no beauties disagree. 
They set a crowd, alas / we cannot set ; 


'^And while you cUanher o^er tke empty rows^ 
In sweet advertisement — the House o'er/lows! 
Ptiff'is the word: where fame is not a breath, 
'^How many an ABress Puff has sav^dfrom death I 
And ABorSf for whom Mutes werefuU enough^ 
Have risen Alexanders— from a Puffl 
While generous paragraphs all-lavish give 
Sums total, which our Treasurers ne*er receive. 

With added force — the other House comes after 

Here, dead with grief you there revive with laughtt 
Beaumar chaises Muse — a favourite of the nation— 
Now rises lihe some Bishop — hy translation. 
Jest, repartee, and stage effeEt still tease you. 
With wit made English, and with French made easy^ 
Say, then — as humble copyistS'^shall WE borrom 
A shetch of what some pens may say to-morrow 9 

* The Comedy, where laughter knows no pause ■ ■ 

* Went off with most astonishing applause! 

* The dresses, scenery — and situatum^ 

* Exceeded all the bounds of commendation ! 

* The great demand for side-boxes, from Monday 

* Will know no intermission — but on Sunday ! 

< The eighth^ tenth, twentieth nights — each place is chosen'^ 

* About the fiftieth you may pop your nose in, 

* The AQors all — were wonderfully clever ; 

* The lihe was never seen, nor heard — no never* 

* Miss Farren's widow — above all — dye see, 

< Was — YOU must fill that vacancy for MB.* 








By FtrmUiton of the Managers* 

^The Llne« distin gutahedby inverted Commat, «reoinittedin the Representation* ' 


Frintedfor the Proprietors % under the DireBion of 

John Bell, Br(tlj0!i-!L<brarH, Strand, 
Bookseller to his Royal Highness the Primcs of Wax. St* 




r ^ ' " " ■ ■ ■ ■■ ■■■»■- ■ " .1 ■ ..i j 

I BEG leave io recommend a trifling performance 
to your notice ; nothing but my venturing to ap* 
proaeh your Grace on this occasion, without intro^ 
duction, could excuse my addressing you without 
a Tiame •* hy this kind of sophistry, my Lord, we 
that set up fir Poets, attempt to palliate one pre^ 
sumption by another. As I hape strong temptations 
to plead for the honour I now assume, so, I hope, I 
am not totally without pretensions to it. As an hum^ 
hie son of that Alma Mater, who has now bestowed 
on your Grace the most honourable adoption, which 
maternal approbation had to give, I fatter myself 
that I stand in some degree of alliance to you ; and 
if there is any thing in these scenes that deserves the 
name of Genius, I am happy in acquainting die 
World that I drew it from the same fountain, and, 
nearly, at the same pifffod with your Grace / though 
not in the same proportion. 

As I only seek, by this offering, to amuse a leisure 
hour, I have no right either to speak to your Grace, 
or of your Grace, a^ a Minister, Nevertheless, my 
Lord, in these ill-tempered times, I must be allowed 
to say, that there is some merit, when your fortune 
needs no addition, and your rank cannot receive 


any, in standing forth the servant and the sufferer 

of yo^hr country : I say the sufferer, my Lord, he^ 

cause in your station you have to combat not only 

the envy, but the ingratitude of mankind^ 

, In times of peace the Muses, more especiaUy, 

look for protection at the thrones of Princes, and in 

ihe closets o/Mmisters, In seasons of public /i«» 

'fiudUj^, when. good order ^nd good humour obiaiit 

in. a nation, the gre^ m»y find sm ear letfen for 

such trifles at i n^w lay be/ore you. Did these 

timesp my Lord, answer .that description, I should 

haiferiiuch^o say to your Grace on the subject of 

the Stage, so applicable to noble uses, and of the 

iow ebb at which Genius now stands, so much in 

need of cultivation )■ but these an topics too ksirmo^ 

"tnoHsfor an aera that seems to delight in discord; 

and all the merit I can claim fnth your Gruce and 

the public is, that at a time when all other anonym 

wnous writer^ ha(f0 been itcattering the seeds ofdis* 

intent and- disturbance, I have used my best «n* 

deavourf, in tlte following scenes, to lead such of 

my countrymen^ as have « attended their representor 

tion, into a short paroxysm of complacency and 

good humour, I have the honour to be, 

^y Lord, 

Your Grace*.? most obedient. 

And most humble Servant, 



Spoken by Mr. Smith* 

Various the shifts of Authors noto-a^ddys^ 
For OperaSf Tarces^ Pantomimes^ and Plays ; 
Some SCOUT each alley of the town for wit^ 
^ggi'^g fff^ door to door the offal hit\ 
Plunge in each cellar^ tumble every stalls 
And scudf lihe taylors, to each house of call; 
Gut every novelf strip each monthly muse. 
And pillage poet*s corner of its news : 
That done, they melt the stale farrago down. 
And set their dish of scraps before the town ; 
Boldly invite you to their pilfered store. 
Cram you, then wonder you can eat no more^ 

Some, in our English classics deeply read, 
Ransach the tombs of the illustrious dead ; 
Hackney the muse ofShakspere oUr and o^er^ 
Prom shoulder to thefank, aU drenched in gore. 

Others^ to foreign climes and kingdoms roam^ 
To search for what is better found at home: 
T^e recreant Bard, oh I scandal to the age ( 
Gleams the vile refuse of the Gallic Stage. 


A^^ so, our Bard — To-night^ ke bids me say^ 
You shall receive and judge an KngUsk Play. 
From no marCs jest he draws felonious praise^ 
Nor from his neighbour's garden crops his baysi 
From his own breast the filial story floms ; 
jind the free scene no foreign master knows : 
Nor only tenders he his worh as new ; 
He hopes Uisgood, or would not give it you : 
True homely ware^ and made of homely sttfffy 
Right British drugget^ honesty warm^ and rough. 
No stationed friends he seeks, no hir*d applause i 
But constitutes you jurors in his cause. 

For fame he writes Should folly be his doom^ 

Weigh well your verdid^ and then give it home : 
Should you applaud, let that applause be true \ 
Fory undeserved, it shames both him andyou. 

DtanuitiK iPerConae* 


5/r Benjamin Doti, • 

Belfield Senior^ - • 

Belfield Junior^ 

Captain Iron8Ide8> 

Skiff, Mtittroftbt Privateer ^ 

Paterson> . - - 

OA/ Goodwin, aFlsbenrum^ 

Philip, bis Son, 

Fr A N c I s , Servant to Belfield Junior, 


• Mr* Quick. 

- Mr* Dames. 

- Mr. Farren. 

- Mr* Ryder* 

- Mr. Fearon* 
. Mr. Cubitt. 

- Mr. Hull* 

• Mr. Macready. 
. Mr. Thompson. 

Jon A TH AH, Servant to Sir Benjamin, - Mr. Gardner. 


Lady Dovt 9 Mrs. Webb. 

Sophia, Sir Benjamin'* Daughter, - Mrs. Pope. 
VioLETTA, Wife to Belfield Senior, - Mrs, Wells* 
Lucy Waters, - - - - Miss Stuart. 

Fanny GooDwiN) - - - Miss Rowson* 

Sailors, &c. &ۥ 
Scene, The Sea- Coast of Cornwall* 




^ rociy S^or<, wt& a Fisherman's Ca5in in tie Ciif: a 

violent Tempest^ with Thunder and Lightning : a Ship, 

discovered stranded on^ the Coast, The Charaders enter, 

after having looked out qf their Cabin^ as if waiting 

^or the Abatement of the Storm. 

Goodwin, Philip, an^/ Fanny. 

It blows a rank storm j *tis well, father, we haul'd 
the boat ashore before the weather came on ; she'* 
fafe bcstow'd, however, let what will happen. 

Go9d. Ay, Philip, we had need be provident : ex- 
cept that poor skiff, my child, what have we left in 
this world that we can caji our own ? 

PAt/. To my thoughts now we live as happily in 
thi^ poor hut, as we did yonder in the great house, 
when you was *Squire fielfield's principal tenant, and 
as topping a farmer as a^iy in the whole county of 


Good. Ah, child I 

Phil, Nay, never droop; to be sure, father, the 
•squire has dealt hardly with you, and a mighty point 
truly he has gained; the ruin of an honest man. If 
those are to be the uses of a great estate, Heav'a 
continue me what I am. 

Fant^, Ay, ay, brother, a good conscience in a 
coarse drugget is better than an aching heart in a 
silken gown. 

Good, Well, children, well, if you can bear misfor- 
tunes patiently, 'twere an ill office for me to repine; 
we have long till'd tlie earth for a subsistence ; now, 
Philip, we must plough the ocean ; in those waves 
lies our harvest ; there, my. brave lad, we have an 
equal inheritance with the best. 

Phil. True, father, the sea, that feeds us, provides 
us an habitation here in the hollow of the cliff; I 
trust, the 'squire will exa^ no rent for this dwelling 

Alas 1 that ever two brothers should have been 

80 opposite as our merciless landlord, and the poor 
young gentleman they say is now dead. 

Good. Sirrah, I charge you, name not that unhappy 
youth to me any more ; I was endeavouring to forget 
him and his misfortunes, when the sight of that ves- 
sel in distress brought him afresh to my remem- 
brance J for, it seems, he perished by sea : the more 
shame upon him, whose cruelty and injustice drove 
him thither; but come — the wind lulls apace; let us 
lalmch the boat, and make a trip to yonder vessel % 
if we can assist in light'ning her, perhaps she may 
ride it out* ^ 


PkiL *Tis to no purpose} the crew arc coming 
ashore in their boat ; I saw them enter the creek. 

Good. Did you so ? Then do you and your sister 
step into the cabin ; make a good fire, and provide 
such fish and other stores as you ha^e within : 1 will 
go down, and meet them : whoever they may be> 
that have suffered this misfortune on our coasts, let 
us remember, children, never to regard any man as 
an enemy, who stands in need of our protection. [£>. 

PhiL I am strongly tempted to go down to the creek 

too ; if father should light on any mischief well, 

for once in my life, I'll disobey him \ sister, you can 
look to matters withindoors; I'll go round by the 
point, and be there as soon as he. 

Fanny* Do io, Philip \ 'twill be best. 

\J.xeuiU severally, 

SCENE 11. 

Re-enter GooDVfiv^ followed by ^jLhucis and several 
Sailors y carrying Goods and Chests from the fVreck, ' 

Good* This way, my friends, this way; there's 
stowage enough within for all your goods. 

Frari, Come, bear a hand, my brave lads, there's 
no time to lose ; follow that honest man, and set down 
your chests where he diredls you. 

Sail. Troth, I care not how soon I'm quit of 
mine ; 'tis plaguy heavy. [Exeunt^ 




Enter dtktr SaUors, 

1 SaiL Here's a pretty spot of work ! plague on't, 
what a night has this been I I thought this damn'd 
lee-shore would catch us at last. 

2 SaiL Why, 'twas impossible to claw her off; 
well, there's an end of her — The Charming Sally pri- 
vatefer! — Poor soul;— a better sea boat never swam 
upon the salt sea. 

3 SaiL I knew we should have no luck after we 
took up that woman there fiom the packet that sunk 
along side us. 

1 SaiL What, Madam Violetta, as they call her \ 
Why, 'tis like enough — But hush, here comes our 
captain's nephew ; he*s a brave lad^ and a seaman's 
friend, and, between yt)u and me [Boatswain's whtstle*'\ 
—But hark, we are call'd— Come along. 

[Exeunt sailors* 

■- ■ _ ■ ■ ■■'>■■ ■-'■'-- • ■'^ — ■ ■■ ■ _ 


Enter Belfield Junior, and Francis. 

BeLjun, That ever fortune should cast us upoa 
this coast I Francis. 

Fran. Sir I 

BeLjun. Have the people landed those chests we 
brought off with us in the boat } 


fran* They have, sir j an old fisherman^ whom we 
mfet, has shewn us here to a cavern in the clifli where 
we have stowM them all in safety. 

BeLjun. That's well. Where's my uncle ? 

Fran. On board $ no persuasions can prevail on 
him to quit the ship, which, he swears, will litt with 
the tide j his old crony, the master, is with him, and 
they ply the casks so briskly, that it seems a moot 
point which fills the fastest, they or the wreck. 

BeLjun, Strange insensibility ! 'but you must bring 
him off by force then, if there is no other way of 
saving him ; I think, o' my conscience, he is as in- 
different to danger as the plank he treads on. We are 
now thrown upon my unnatural brother's estate ; that 
house, Francis, which you see to the left, is his; and 
what may be the consequence if he and my uncle 
should meet, I know not ; for such has been Captain 
Ironside's resentment account, that he has de- 
clared war against the very name of Bel field; and, 
in one of his whimsical passions, you know, insisted 
on my laying it aside for ever ; so that hitherto 1 
have been known on board by no other name than 
that of Lewson. 

Fran. 'Tis true, sir, and I think 'twill be advisable 
to continue the disguise as long as you can. As for 
the old captain, from the life he always leads on 
shore, and his impatience to get on board again, I 
think 'tis very possible an interview between him and 
your brother may be prevented. 

14 THE BROTUtR^. jia /. 

Bel.jun. I think so too. Go then, PranciSy and 
condii6l the old gentleman hither; I see Violetta 
coming. [Exit Francis.] Sure there is something in 

that woman's story" uncommonly mysterious Of 

English parents — born in Lisbon — her family and for- 
tune buried in the eartliquake so much she freely 

tells; but more, I am convincM, remains untold, and 
of a melancholy sort : she has once or twice, as I 
thought, seem'd dispos'd to unbosom herself to me ; 
but it is so painful to be told of sorrows one hasn't 
power to relieve, that I have hitherto avoided the dis- 
course, ' 


Enter Violetta, 

BeLjun. Well, madam, melancholy still ? still that 
face of sorrow and despair ? twice shipwreck'd, and 
twice rescu'd from the jaws of death, do you regret 
your preservation ; and have I incurr'd your dis- 
pleasure by prolonging your existence ? 

P^io, Not so, Mr. Lewson j such ingratitude be far 
from me : can I forget when the vessel, in which I 
had sailed from Portugal, founder'd by your side, 
with what noble, what benevolent ardour you flew 
to my assistance ? Regardful only of my safety, your 
own scemM no part of your care. 

BeLjun, Oh I no more of this ; the preservation of 
a fellow -creature is as natural as self-defence : yon 
BOW, for the first time in your life, breathe the air of 


England— a rough reception it has given you ; but be 
not therefore discourag'd ; our hearts, Violetta, ar6 
more accessible than our shores ; nor can you find 
inhospltality in Britain, save in our climate only. 

f^io. These characteristics of the English maybe 
5ust; I take my estimate from a less favourable ex- 

Bel, jun, Villany, madam, is the growth of every 
soil ; nor can I, while yonder habitation is in my 
view, forget that England has given birth to mon- 
sters that disgrace humanity ; but this I will say for 
niy countrymen, that, where you can point out one 
rascal with a heart to wrong you, I will produce fifty 
honest fellows ready and resolute to redress you. 

« Vio, Ah ! But on what part of the English coast is 
It that we are now landed } 

BeLjun. On the coast of Cornwall. 
r'io. Of Cornwall, is it > You seem to know the 
o^ner of that house : are you well acquainted with 
the country hereabouts ? 

BeL jun. Intimately ; it has been the cradle of my 
infancy, and, with little interruption, my residence 
ever since. 

Vio. You are amongst your friends, then, no 
doubt ; how fortunate is it, that you will have their 
consolation and assistance in your distress. 

BeL jun. Madam ■ 

Vio. Every moment will bring them down to the 
very shores; this brave, humane, this hospitable 

l6 THB BKOTHS&S. ji3 L 

people will flock> in- crowds, to your relief; your 
friends, Mr. Lewson 

Bel, jun. My friends, Violetta I must I confess it to 
you, I have no friends-r-thosc rocks, that have thus 
scattered my treasure, those waves, that have de- 
vourM them, to me are not so fatal, as hath beeft | 
that man, whom Nature meant to be my nearest i 

P^to. What, and are you a feilow^sufierei: then ? Is 
this the way you reconcile me to your nation ? Are 
these the friends of human kind ? Why don't wc fly 
from this ungenerous, this ungrateful country ? 

BeLjun* Hold, madam; one villain, however base, 
can no more- involve a whole nation in his crimesp 
than one example,, however dignified, can inspire it 
with his virtues i thank Hoaven,. the worthless ownes 
of that mansion is yet without a rival* 

Vio. You have twice diredted my attention to that 
house ; 'tis a lovely spot; what pity that so delicious 
a retirement should be made the residence of so unde- 
serving a being? 

BeL jun. It is indeed a charming place, and was once 
the seat of hospitality and honour ; but it's present 

possessor, Andrew Belfield Madam, for Heaven's 

sake what ails you ^ you seem suddenly disorder'd— 
Have I said— — 

^10. No, 'tis nothing f. don'^t regard me, Mr. Lew* 
son; I am weak, and subje6l to these surprises ; I 
shall be glad, howeveri to retire. 

AB /. TrtE BROTHER^. I7 

BeLjun. A little repose I hope will relieve you; 
within this hut some accommodation may be found : 
lean on my arm. [Leads her to the door of the ca6tn» 


EnUr Goodwin. 

Good. Heaven defend me I do my eyes deceive me 
'tis wm^tl'rouA like his shapes his air, his look 

'£el.jmn. What is your astonishment, friend? Do 
yon know me ? If it was not for that habit, I should 
aay yoUrname is Goodwin* 

Good. 'Tis he; he is alive I my dear young master, 
Mf . Belfield ! Yes, sir, my name is Goodwin : how« 
ever changed my appearance, my heart is still the 
same, and overflows with joy at this linexpe^led 

Bel.jun. Give me thy hand, my old, my honest 
friend ; and is this sorry hole thy habitation \ 

Good. It is. 

BeLjun. The world I see has frown'd on thee since 
we parted. 

Good. Yes, sir : but what are my misfortunes ? you 
must have undergone innumerable hardships, and 
now, at last, shipwrecked on your own coast ! Well, 
but your vessel is not totally lost, and we will work 
night and day in saving your efiedts. 

Bel.jun. Oh, as for that, the sea gave all, let it 
take back a part ; I have enough on shore not to envy 


my brother his fortuae* But there is one blessings 
niaster Goodwin, I own I should grudge him the pos^ 
session of ^There was a young lady 

Good. What, sir, haven't you forgot Miss Sophfa} 

Btl.jun* Forgot herl my heart trembles while I 
ask you> if she is indeed » as you call her. Miss So* 

Good. She is yet unmarried, though every day we 
expe£t " ■ 

Bei.jun, 'Tis enough ; Fortune, I acquit thee 1— ^ 
Happy be the winds that threw me on this coast, and 
blest the rocks that receiv'd roe 1 Let my vessel go to 
pieces ; she has done her part in bearing me tnther, 
while I can cast myself at the feet of my Sophia, re- 
count to her my unabating passion, and have one fair 
stmegle for her heart. . . [fxrvxl. 


Enter V 10 LUTTk. 

Vio» Once more I am alone. How my heart sunk 
when Lewson pronounc'd the name of Belfield I It 
must be he, it must be my false, cruel, yet (spite of all 
my wrongs) beloved husband : yes, there he lives, 
each circumstance confirms it ; Cornwall, the county; 
here the sea-coast, and tliese white craggy cliffs; 
there the disposition of his seat ; the grove, lake;, 
lawn ; every feature of the landscape tallies with the 
descriptions he has givea me of it. What shall I do^ 


Mid to whom shall I complain \ When Lewson spoke 
of him, it was with a bitterness that shock'd me ; I 
will not disclose myself to him : by what fell from 
hiniy I suspedi he is related to Mr. Belfield — But, 
hush, I talk to these rocks, and forget that they have 

Enur Fanky. 
Tanny. Are you any better, madam } Is the air of 
-any service to you •} 
- F'io, I am much reliev'd by it : the beauty of that 
place attracted my attention, and, if you please, we 
will waUc further up the hill • to take a nearer view , 
ofit. [ExeunU 

SCENE Villi 

Part of the crew inter^ zaith Ironsidbs, and Skiff^ 
in the midst of them* 

Omnes. Huzza, huzza, huzza ! 

I Sail. Long life to your honourl welcome ashore, 
noble captain, 

9 SaiL Avast there. Jack ; stand clear, and let 
his old honour pass ; bless his heart, he looks cheer- 
ly howsomever ; let the world wag as it will, heUl 

3 Sail, Not he I he's true English oak to the heart 
of him ; and a fine old seaman-like figure he is. 

Irp«. Ah, messmates, we're all aground ; I ha¥e 


been taking a parting cup with the Chaming Sallys- 
She's gone ; but the stoutest back must have an end i 
master here and. I did all we could to lighjton her ; 
we took leave of her in an officer-like manner. 

I Sail, Hang sorrow; we know the. worst on*t; 
*tis only taking a fresh cruize ; and, for my part, I'll 
sail with Captain Ironsides as far as there's water to 
carry me* ' • 

Omnes, So we will all* 

iron. Say ye so, my hearts ; if this wind sils th^i^ 
way, hoist, sail, say I ; old George will make one 
amongst you, if that be all ; I hate an idle life; — So^ 
so: away to your work : to-morrow weUlmake a day i 
on't. lExetMt saiUru \ 


Ironsides and SKiFff. 

Iron. Skiff! 

Skiff. Here, your honour. 

Iron. I told you. Skiff, bow 'twould be ; if you 
had lufT'd up in time, as I would have had you, and 
not made so free with the land, this mishap had never 
come to pass. 

Skiff"- Lord love yout Captain Ironsides, 'twas a 
barrel of beef to a biscuit, the wind had n9t shifted 
so direct contrary as it did ; who could have thought 

iron. Why I could have thought it ; every body 


could have thought it : do you consider ivhereabouts 
you are, mun ? Upon the coast of England, as I take 
it. Every thing here goes contrary both by sea and 
land— "Every thing whips, and chops, and changes 
about like mad in this country ; and the people, I 
think, are as full of vagaries as the climate. 
Skiff. Well, I could have swore— 
Iron. Ay, so you could, SkifF, and so you did, 
pretty roundly too ; but for the good you did by it, 
you might as well have puif *d a whifF of tobacco in 
the wind's face. 

Skiff. Well, captain, though we have lost our ship, 
we bav'n't lost our all: thank the fates, we've sav'd 
treasure enough to make all our fortunes notwith- 

Iron. Fortunes, quotha? What have two such 
old weather-beaten fellows, as thee and I are, to do 
with fortune ; or, indeed, what has fortune to do 
with us } Flip and tobacco is the only luxury we have 
any relish for : had we fine houses, could we live in 
*em ? a greasy hammock has been our birth for these 
fifty years ; fine horses, could we cide 'em \ and as 
for the fair sex there, that my nephew makes such a 
pother about, 1 don*t know what thou may'st think 
of the matter, SkifF ; but, for my own part, I should 
fiot care if there were no such animals in the creation* 



Ironsides, Skiff, aii</B£LFiELD Junier, 

Bel. jun. Uncle ; what cheer, man ? 
Iron* Oh, Bob, is it thee \ whither bound now, 
my dear boy ? 

Bel. jun. Why, how can you ask such a question ? 
We have landed our treasure, sar'd all our friends, 
and set foot upon English ground, and what business 
think you can a young fellow like me have, but one ? 

Iron, Pshaw, you're a fool, Bob ; these wenches 
tvill be the undoing of you ; a plague of *em altoge- 
ther, say I ; what are they good for, but to spoil 
company, and keep brave fellows from their duty } 
O* my conscience, they do more mischief to the king's 
navy in one twelvemonth, than the French have done 
in ten ; a pack of— but I ha* done with 'em ; ' thank 
the stars, i ha* fairly wash'd my hands of 'em, I ha* 
nothing to say to none of 'em. 

Skiff', Mercy be good unto us! that my wife could 
but hear your worship talk. 

Bel. jun. Oh, my dear uncle— 

Iron. But 1*11 veer away no more good advice after 
you, so even drive as you will under your petticoat- 
sails ; — black, brown, fair, or tawny, 'tis all fish that 
comes in your net : why, wherc's your reason, Bob, 
all this here while? Where's your religion, and be 
damn*d to you ? 

J$el.jun* Come, come, my dear uncle, a truce to 


your philosophy. Go, throw your dollars into yon- 
der ocean, and bribe the tempest to J^e still ; you 
shall as soon reverse the operations of nature, as 
wean my heart from my Sophia. 

iron. Hold, hold, take me right; if, by Sophia, you 
mean the daughter of Sir Benjamin Dove, I don't 
care if I make one with you; what say*stthou, boy, 
shall it be so? 

Bcl.jun. So then you think there may be one good 
woman however? 

Iron, Just as I think there may be one honest 
Dutchman, one sober German, or one righteous me- 
thodist. Look'e, Bob, so I do but keep single, I 
have no .bje^lion to other people's marrying ; but, on 
these occasions I would manage myself as I would 
my ship ; not by running her into every odd creek 
and cranny, in the smuggling fashion, as if I had no 
good credentials to produce ; but play fairly and in 
sight, d'vc see ; and whenever a safe harbour opens, 
stand boldly in, boy, and lay her up snug, in a good 
birth, once for all. 

Bel. jun. Come then, uncle, let us about it ; and 
you may greatly favour my enterprize, since you can 
keep the father jnd mother in play, while I - 

Jron. Avast, young man, avast ; the father, if you 
please, without the mother; Sir Benjamin's a passa* 
ble good companion, for a land-man ; but for my 

lady I'll have nothing to say to my ladyj she's 

his wife, thank the stars, and not mine, 


Bel.jvru Be it as you will; I shall be glad of your 
company on any terms. 

Iron, Say no more then. About ship ; if you are 
bound for that port, I'm your mate : master, look to 
the wreck, I'm for a fresh cruize. [^Exeunt, 


THu Outside of Sir Benjamin Doyb'^ House^ Enter 
Belfield Senior^ and Lucy Waters. 

What, don't I know you ; hav'n't you been to rae 
of all mankind the basest \ 

Bel. sen. Not yet, Lucy. 

Lucy. Sure, Mr. Belfield, you won't pretend to 
deny it to my face. 

Bel, sen. To thy face, child, I will not pretend that 
I can deny any thing) you are much too handsome to 
be contradicted. 

Lucy* Pish! 

Bel. sen, Sol so! 

Lucy. Hav'n't you, faithless as you are, promisM 
me marriage over and over again J 

Bel. sen. Repeatedly* 

Lucy And you have now engag'd yourself to the 
daughter of Sir Benjamin Dove, have you not ? 

Bel. sen. Assuredly. 

Lticy. Let me demand of you then, Mr* BelfieU, 


since you had no honourable designs towards in« 
yourself, why you prevented those of an humbler 
lover, young Philip, the son of your late tenant, poor 
Goodwin ? 

BeL sen. For the very reason you state in your 
question ; because I had no honourable designir, and 
he had : you disappointed my hopes, and I was re-r 
solv'd to. defeat his. 

Lucy. And this you thought reason sufficient to ex- 
pel his father from your farm ; to persecute him and 
his innocent family till you had accomplish'd their 
ruin, and driven them to the very brink of the ocean 
for their habitation and subsistence ? 

BeL sen. Your questions, Miss Lucy, begin to b« 

Lucy. Oh, do they touch you, sir? but 1*11 waste 
no more time with you ; my business is with your So- 
phia ; here, in the very spot which you hope to make 
the scene of your guilty triumphs, will I expose you 
to her; set forth your inhuman conduct to your un- 
happy brother; and detedt the mean artifices you 
have been driven to, in ordpr to displace him in hpf 

BeL sen. You will } 

Lucy". I will, be assur'd ; so let them pass,» 

Bel. sen. Stay, Lucy, understand yourself a little 
better ; didn't you pretend to Sophia that my brother 
paid his addresses to you ; that he had pledg'd hir»- 
gdf tp marry you ; nay, that he hi»d- » umm 


Lucy, Hold, Mr. Belfield, nor further explain a 
transaflion, which, though it refledls shame enough 
upon me, that was your instrument, ought to cover 
you, who was principal in the crime, with treble con- 
fusion and remorse. 

Bei* sen. True, child, it was rather a disreputable 
transartion ; and 'tis therefore fit no part of it should 
rest with me : I shall disavow it altogether. 

Lucy. Incredible confidence I 

BeL sen. We shall see who will meet most belief in 
the world ; you or I ; choose, therefore, your part : 
if you keep my secret, you make me your friend ; if 
you betray it^ you have me for^your enemy ; and ^ 
fatal one you shall find me. Now enter, if you think 
fit ; there lies your way to Sophia. [She goes into the 
house.'] So! how am I to parry this blow ? — what 
plea shall I use with Sophia ? — 'twas the ardour of 

my love any thing will find pardon with a woman, 

that conveys flattery to her charms.— After all, if the 
worst should happen, and I be defeated . in this 
match, so shall I be saved from doing that, which, 
when done, 'tis probable I may repent of; and I 
have some intiniations from within, which tell me 
that it will be so : I perceive that, in this life, he 
who is checked by the rubs of compun6tion, can 
never arrive at the summit of prosperity. 



Enter Belvield Senior, and 1^ at EKSovt, 

^ Pat. What, melancholy, Mr. Belfield ? So near 
your happiness, and so full of thought } 
Bel, sen. Happiness, what's that ? 
Pat, ril tell you, sir; the possession of a lovely 
girly with fifty thousand pounds in her lap, and twice 
fifty thousand virtues in her mind ; this I call hap- 
piness, as much as mortal man can merit : and this, 
as I take it, you are destined to enjoy. 

Bel. sen. That is not so certain, Mr. Paterson ; 
would you believe it, that perverse hussy, Lucy Wa- 
ters, who left me but this minute, threatens to trans- 
verse all my hopes, and is gone this instant to Sophia 
with that resolution \ 

Pat. Impossible ! how is Miss Waters provided or 
provoked to do this } 

Bel. sen. Why, 'tis a foolish story, and scarce worth 
relating to you ; but you know, when your letters 
call'd me home from Portugal, I found my younger 
brother in close attendance on Miss Dove; and, 
indeed, such good use had the fellow made of his 
time in my absence, that I found it impossible to 
counterwork his operations by fair and open ap- 
proaches ; so, to make short of the story, I took this 
girl, Lucy Waters, into partnership ; and, by a 
happy device, ruin'd him with Sophia. 


Pat. This, Mr. Belficld, I neither know, nor wish 
to know. 

Bel. sen. Let it pass, then ; defeated in these views, 
my brother, as you know, betook himself to the des- 
perate course of privateering, with that old tar- barrel, 
my uncle : what may have been his fate, I know not, 
but I have found it convenient to propagate a report 

of his death. 

Pat. I am sorry for it, Mr. Belfield ; I wish no- 
thing was convenient that can be thought dishonour- 

Bel. sen. Nature, Mr. Paterson, never put into a 
human composition more candour and credulity than 
she did into mine ; but acquaintance with life has 
shewn me how imprafticable these principles are ; to 
live with mankind, we must live like mankind : was 
it a world of honesty, I should blush to be a man of 


Pat, And do you dream of ever reaching your 
journey's end by such crooked paths as these are ? 

Bel. sen. And yet, my most sage moralist, wonder, 
ful as it may seem to thee, true it is notwithstanding, 
that after having threaded all these by-ways and 
crooked alleys, which thy right-lin'd apprehension 
knows nothing of ; after having driven my rival from 
the field, and being almost in possession of the spoil, 
still I feel a repugnance in me that almost tempts me 
to renounce my good fortune, and abandon a viftory 
I have struggled so hard to obtain. 


PaU I guess'd as much; 'tis your Violetta ; 'tis 
your fair Portuguese that counterworks your good 
fortune; and, I must own to you, it was principally 
to save you from that improvident attachment, that I 
wrote so pressingly for your return ; but though I 
have got your body in safe holding, your heart is still 
at Lisbon ; and if you marry Miss Dove, 'tis because 
Violetta's fortune was demolished by the earthquake f 
and Sir Benjamin's stands safe upon terra Jirma. 

Bel. sen* Pr'ythec, Paterson, don't be too hard 
upon me : sure you don't suspe^ that I am married 
to Violetta. 

Pat. Married to Violetta! Now you grow much 
too seriouSy and 'tis time to put an end to the dis- 
course. [Exit, 

Bel. sen* And you grow much too quick-sighted, 
Mr. Paterson, for my acquaintance. I think he does 
not quite suspe6l me of double dealing in this busi- 
ness; and yet I have my doubts; his reply to my 
question was equivocal, and his departure abrupt — I 
know not what to think— —This I know, that love 
is a deity ; and avarice a devil ; that Violetta is my 
lawful wife ; and that Apdrew Belfield is a villain. 



Paterson passes over tke Stage. 
Pat, Ail abroad tlus fine day — not a creature with- 
in doorSf 


Enter Kitty. 

Kitty, Mr. Paterson I hist, Mr. Paterson, a word 
in your ear, sweet sir. 

Pat. Curse on't, she has caught me — Well, Mrs. 

Kitty. Why, I ha^e been hunting you all the house 
over ; my lady's impatient to see you. 

Pat. Oh| I'm my Lady Dove's most obedient ser- 
vant—And what are her ladyship's commands, pray! 

Kitty, Fye, Mr. Paterson; how should I know 
what her ladyship wants with you ; but a secret it is, 
no doubt, for she desires you to come to her imme- 
diately in the garden, at the bottom of the yew-tree 
walk, next the warren. 

Pat. The devil she does I What a pity it is, 

Mrs. Kitty, wecann't cure your lady of this turn for 
solitude ; I wish you would ^o with me ; your com- 
pany, probably, will divert her from her contempla- 
tions; besides, I shall certainly mistake the place, j 

Kitty, I eo with you, Mr. Paterson I a fine thing , 
truly : I'd have you to know that my character is not 
to be tru5ted with young fellows in yew-tree walks, 
whatever my ladv may think of the matter Be- 
sides, I've an assignation in another place. [£*i/. 

Pat. What a devilish dilemma am I in ! Why, this 
is a peremptory assignation — Certain it is, there are 
some ladies that no wise man should be commonly 
civil to— —-Here have I been flattering myself that I 
W3S stroaking a termagant into humour, and all the 


«^'hile have been betraying a tender viflim into love. 
I^ove, love did 1 say ? her ladyship's passion is a dis- 
grace to the name — But what shall I do ? — 'tis a pi- 
ftiful thing to run away from a vidory ; but 'tis fre- 
quently the case in precipitate successes; we conquer 
xnore than we have wit to keep, or ability to enjoy. 



Changes' to the Yew-tree Walk, Enter Belfield Junior, 

Bel.jun, Now could I but meet my Sophia — Where 
can she have hid herself? — Hush; Lady Dove, as I 

Enter Lady Dove. 

Lady Dove, So, Mr. Paterson, you're a pretty gen* 
tleman to keep a lady waiting here : why how you 
stand?— Come, come, I shall expe^ a very hand- 
some atonement for this indecorum — Why, what, let 
xne look — Ah 1 who have we here ? 

Bet. jun, A man, madam ; and though not your 
man, yet one as honest and as secret : come, come, 
my lady, I'm no telUtale; be you but grateful, this 
goes no further. 

Lady Dove. Lost and undone : young Belfield ! 

Bel. jun. The same ; but be not alarm*d ; we both 
have our secrets ; 1 am, like you, a votary to love : 
favour but my virtuous passion for Miss Dove, and 


take you your Patcrson; 1 shall be silent as the 

Lady Dove. Humph 1 

BeLjun*, Nay, never hesitate; my brother, I know, 
had your wishes : but wherein has Nature favourM 
him more than me ? And, since Fortune has now 
made my scale as heavy as his, why should you par- 
tially dire6l the beam i 

Lady Dove. Well, if it is so, and that you promise 
not to betray me— —But this accident has so discom- 
pos'd me, (plague on't, say I) don't press mc any 
further at present ; I must leave you ; remember the 
condition of our agreement, and expeft my friend- 
ship—Oh, I could tear your eyes out. [ExiU 

BeLjun, Well, Sir Benjamin, keep your own coun- 
sel if you are wise; I'll do as I would be done by; 
had I such a wife as Lady Dove, I should be very 
happy to have such a friend as Mr. Paterson. [£«/. 


Enter SoFHiA Boye and LvCY Waters. 

Lucy. If there is faith in woman, I have seen young 
Belfield ; I have beheld his apparition ; for what else 
could it be ? 

Soph., How ; when ; where ? I shall faint with sur- 

Lucy. As I cross'd the yew-tree walk, I saw him 
pass by the head of the canal towards the house. 


Alas I poor youth, the injuries I have done him have 
called him from his grave. 

Soph. Injuries, Miss Waters, what injuries have 
you done him ? Tell me ; for therein, perhaps, I may 
be concerned. 

Lucy, Deeply concerned you are ; with the most pe* 
nitent remorse I confess it to you, that his afFe£lions 
to you were pure, lionest, and sincere. Yes, amiable 
Sophia, you wasunrivall'd in his esteem j and I, who 
persuaded you to the contrary, am the basest, the 
falsest of woman kind ; every syllable I told you of 
his engagements to me was a malicious invention : 
how could you be so blind to your own superiority, 
to give credit to the imposition, and suffer him to 
depart without an explanation ? Oh, that villain, that 
villain, his brother, has undone us alU 

Soph, Villain, do you call him ? Whither would 
you transport my imagination ? You hurry me with 
such rapidity from one surprise to another, that I 
know not where to fix, how to aft, or what to believe. 
Lucy, Oh, madam, he is a villain, a most accom- 
plish'd one ; and, if I can but snatch you from the 
snare he has spread for you, I hope it will, in some 
measure, atone for the injuries I have done to you, 

and to that unhappy youth, who now O Heavens I 

I see him again ; he comes this way ; I cannot en- 
dure his sight ; alive or dead I must avoid him. 

[^Runs out. 




Enter B £ LFi E LD Junior, 

BeLjun. Adorable Sophia 1 this transport overpays 
my labours. 

Soph. Sir, Mr. Belfield, is it you ? Oh, support 
me I 

Bei.jun. With my life, thou loveliest of women! 
Behold your poor adventurer is returned ; happy past 
compute, if his fate is not indifferent te you 5 rich 
beyond measure, if his safery is worthy your concern. 

Sopk. Release me, I beseech you : what have I 
done ! Sure you are too generous to take advantage 
of my confusion^ 

Bel.jun. Pardon me, my Sophia; the advantages I 
take from your confusion are not to be purchased by 
the riches of the East : I would not forego the trans- 
port of holding you one minute in my arms for all 
that wealth and greatness have to give. 


Enter Lady Dove, while Belfield Junior is kneeling 
and embracing Sofhia. 

Lady Dove. Hey-day ! what's htri to do with you 

Soph. Ah I [Shrich, 

Bel.jun, Confusion ! Lady Dove here. 



L^y Dove, Yes, sir, Lady Dove is here, and will 
take care you shall have no more garden dialogues. 

On your knees too! (The fellow was not half so 

civil to me.) Ridiculous I a poor beggarly swabber 

truly As for you, Mrs. 

BeLjun. Hold, madam, as much of your fury and 
foul language as you please upon me ; but not one 
Iiard word against that lady, or by Heavens \- — - 

Lady Dove, Come, sir, none -of your reprobate 
swearing, none of your sea-noises here ; I would my 
first husband was alive, I would he was for your 
sake. I am surprised, Miss Dove, you have no 
more regard for your reputation ; a delicate swain 
truly you have chosen, just thrown ashore from the 
pitchy bowels of a shipwreck'd privateer. Go, go, 
get you in, for shame ; your father shall know of 

these goings on, depend on*t : as for you, sir 

[Exit Sophia* 


As Lady Dovi is going outy Belfield Jun. stops her* 

Bei.jun. A word with you, madam; is this fair 
dealing ? What would you have said, it I had broke 
in thus upon you and Mr. Paterson i 

Lady Dove. Mr. Paterson I why, you rave ; what 
is it you mean ? 

Bei.jun. Come, come, this is too ridiculous ; you 
know your reputation is in my keeping ; call to mind 


what passed between us awhile ago, and the engage- 
ment you are under on that account. 

Lady Dove, Ha, ha, ha I 

Bel, jun. Very well, truly ; and you think to brave 
this matter out, do you ? 

Lady I)ove* Most assuredly ; and shall make Sir 
Benjamin call you to account, if you dare to breathe 
a word against my reputation : incorrigible coxcomb I 
to think I would keep any terms with you after such 
an event. Take my word for it, Belfield, you are 
come home no wiser than you went out ; you missed 
the only advantage you might have taken of that ren- 
counter, and now I set you at defiance : take heed to 
what you say, or look to hear from Sir Benjamin. 

Bel, jun. Oh, no doubt on*t : how can Sir Ben- 
jamin avoid fighting for your sake, when your lady- 
ship has so liberally equipp*d him with weapons > 

\^Exeunt severally* 


A Hall, £n/^r Jonathan /zn^ Francis. 

Jon, And so, sir, 'tis just as I tell you ; every thing 
in this family goes according to the will of the lady : 
for my own part, I am one of those that hate trouble; 
1 swim with the stream, and make my place as easy 
as I can. 

Fran, Your looks, Mr. Jonathan, convince me that 
you live at your ease. 

jta 11. THE BROTHERS. gj 

Jon, I do so ; and therefore, (in spite of the old 
proverb, * Like master, like man') you never saw two 
people more different than I and Sir Benjamin Dove. 
He, Lord help him, is a little peaking, puling thing ; 
I am a jolly, portable man, as you see. It so happen'd 
that we both became widowers at the same time ; I 
knew when I was well, and have continued single ever 
since. He fell into the clutches of— —Hark, sure I 

hear my lady 

Fran* No, it was nothing. When did the poor gen- 
tleman light upon this termagant ? 

Jon, Lackaday, 'twas here at the borough of Knaves, 
town, when master had the great contest with 'Squire 
Belfield, about three years ago : her first husband, 
Mr. Searcher, was a king's messenger, as they call it, 
and came down express from a great man about court 
during the poll ; he caught a surfeit, as ill-luck 
would have it, at the election dinner : and, before he 
died, his wife, that's now my lady, came down to see 
him ; then it was, master fell in love with her : egad, 
'twas the unluckiest job of all his life. 

Sir Ben. [Calls wit Aout.] Jonathan I why Jonathan I 
Fran. Hark, you are called. 

Jffn. Ay, ay, 'tis only my master ; my lady tells the 
servants not to mind what Sir Benjamin says, and I 
love to do as I am bid. 

Fran. Well, honest Jonathan, if you won't move, I 
must ; by this time 1 hope my young master is happy 
with your young mistress. [Exit* 




Enter Sir Benjamin Doye 

Sir Ben, Why, Jonathan, I say.. Oh, are you here? 
Why cou'dn't you come when I calPd you ? 

Jon. Lackaday, sir, you don't consider how much 
easier it is for you to call, than me to come. 

Sir Ben,, I think, honest Jonathan, when I first 
knew you, you was a parish orphan j I 'prentic'd you 
out ; you jrun away from your master ; I took you into 
my family ; you married j I set you up in a farm ot 
my own, stock'd it ; you paid me no rent : I receiv'd 
you again into my service, or rather, I should say, 
my lady's. Are these things so, or docs my memory 
fail me, Jonathan ? 

Jon, Why, to be sure, I partly remember some- 
what of what your worship mentions. 

Sir Ben, If you partly remember something of all 
this, Jonathan, don't entirely forget to come when I 

Iron, [lVitAout,'\ Hoy there I within I what nobody 
stirring! all hands asleep 1 all under the hatches ! 

Sir Ben. Hey-day, who the dickens have we got 
here?— -Old Captain Ironsides as I am a sinner; who 
could have thought of this? — Run to the door, good 

Jonathan— nay, hold, there's no escaping now: 

What will become of me ?— he'll ruin every tiling j 
and throw the whole house into confusion. 


Enter Captain Ironsides. 

Iron. What, Sir Ben I my little knight of Malta! 
give me a buss, my boy. Hold, hold, sure I'm out of 
my reckoning : let nie look a little nearer; why, what 
mishap has befallen you, that you heave out these 
signals of distress. 

Sir Ben, I*m heartily glad to see thee, my old 
friend ; but a truce to your sea-phrases, for I don't 
understand them : What signals of distress have I 
about me ? 

iron. Why, that white flag there at your main top- 
mast head: in plain English, what dost do with that 
clout about thy pate I 

Sir Ben. Clout, do you call it i *Tis a little en dis- 
habiltey indeed : but there's nothing extraordinary, I 
take it, in a man's wearing his gown and cap in a 
morning ; 'tis the dress 1 usually choose to study in. 

Iron, And this hall is your library, is it ? Aht my 
old friend, my old friend 1 But, come, I want to have 
a little chat with you, and thought to have dropt in at 
pudding-time, as they say; for tho\igh it may be 
morning with thee. Sir Ben, 'tis mid-day with the 
rest of the world. 

Sir Ben. Indeed, is it so late i But I was fallen 

upon an agreeable tete a tete with Lady Dove, and 
hardly knew how the tmie passed. 

Iron. Come, come, 'tis very clear how your time 
has passed i but what occasion is there for this fellow's 


being privy to our conversation — Why don't the lub- 
ber stir ? What does the fat lazy oaf stand staring at? 

Sir Ben, What shall I say now ? Was ever any 

thing so distressing ? Why, that's Jonathan, cap- 
tain ; don't you remember your old friend Jonathan? 

Jan. I hope your honour's in good health ; I'm glad 
to see your honour come home again. 

Iron. Honest Jonathan, I came to visit your master, 
and not you; if you'll go and hasten dinner, and 
bring Sir Benjamin his periwig and clothes, you'll do 
me a very acceptable piece of service ; for, to tell you 
the truth, my friend, I hav'n't had a comfortable 
meal of fresh provision this many a day. 

lExit Jonathan. 

Sir Ben. 'Foregad, you're come to the wrong house 
to find one. [^Asidt, 

Iron. And^so, Sir Knight, knowing I was welcome, 
and having met with a mishap here, upon your coast, 
I am come to taste your good cheer, and pass an even- 
ing with you over a tiff of punch. 

Sir Ben. The devil you are I [Asidt."] This is very 
kind of you : there is no man in England, Captain 
Ironsides, better pleas'd to see his friends about him 
than I am. 

Iron. Ay, ay, if I didn't think I was welcome, I 
shou'dn^t ha' come. 

Sir Ben. You may be assur'd you are welcome. 

Iron. I am assur'd. 

Sir Ben. You are, by my soul : take my word for 
it, you are. 


iron. Well, well, what need of all this ceremony 
about a meal's meat ? Who doubts you ? 

Sir Ben* You need not doubt me, believe it ; 1*11 
only step out, and ask my lady what time she has or- 
dered dinner; or whether she has made any engage- 
ment I'm not apprizM of. 

Iron, No, no ; engagement I How can that be, 

and you in this pickle ?— Come, come, sit down f 
dinner won't come the quicker for your enquiry: 
and now tell me, how does my god^daughter Sophia ^ 

Sir Ben. Thank you heartily, captain, my daugh- 
ter's well in health. 

Iron. That's well ; and how fares your fine new 
wife ? How goes on matrimony ?— Fond as ever, 
my little amorous Dove ; always billing, always 
cooing ? 

Sir Ben, No, captain, no ; we are totally alter'd in 
that respe6l; we shew no fondness now before com- 
pany ; my lady is so delicate in that particular, that, 
from the little notice she takes of me in public, you 
would scarce believe we were man and wife. 

Iron. Ha, ha, ha I why, 'tis the very circumstance 
that would confirm it ; but I*m glad to hear it ; for of 
all things under the sun, I most nauseate your nup^ 
tial familiarities j and tho' you remember 1 was fool 
enough to dissuade you from this match, I'm rejoic'd 
to hear you manage so well and so wisely. 

Sir Ben. No man happier in this life, captain, no 
man happier j one thing is only wanting; had the 
kind stars but crown'd our endearments — — 


Iron. What, my lady don't breed then ? 

Sir Ben* Hush, hush 1 for Heaven's sake, don't 
speak so loud ; should my lady overbear you, it mig^t 
put strange things into her head ;— oh I she is a lady 
of delicate sp'urits \ tender nerves, quite weak and tea- 
der nerves ; a small matter throws her down ; gentle 
as a lamb ; starts at a $traw i speak loud, and it de« 
stroys her : oh I my friend, you arc not us'd to deal 
with women's constitutions ; these hypocondriac cases 
require a deal of management ; 'tis but charity to hu- 
mour them, and you cannot think what pains it re- 
quires to keep them always quiet and in temper. 

Iron, Ay, like enough, but here comes my lady, 
and in excellent temper, if her looks don't belie her. 


Enter Lady Dove. 

Lady Dove* What's to do now, Sir Beniamin ? 

What's the matter that you send for your clothes in 
such a hurry ? Cann't you be contented to remain as 
you are } Your present dress is well enoueh to stay at 
home in, and I don't know that you have a^ call out 
pf doors. 

Iron, Gentle as a lamb, Sir Benjamin. 

Sir Ben* This attention of yours, my dear, is be- 
yond measure flattering I I am infinitely beholden to 
you ; but you are so taken up with your concern on 


ny^accounti that you overlook our old friend and 
t^ighbour, Captain Ironsides. 

J-Mdy Dove. Sir Benjamin, you make yourself quite 
*i<3iculous : this folly is not to be endur'd ; you are 
^cftough to tire the patience of any woman living. 

Sir Ben. She's quite discompos'd, all in a flutter for 
fear I should take cold by changing my dress. 

Iron, Yes, I perceive she has exceeding weak nerves* 
V^ou are much in the right to humour her. 

Lady Dove, Sir Benjamin Dove, if you mean that I 
sliould stay a minute longer in this house, I insist upon 
your turning that old porpoise out of it : is it not 
enough to bring your nauseous sea companions within 
^hese doors, but must I be compelled to entertain 'em? 
^oh ! I shan't get the scent of his tar- jacket out of my 
nostrils this fortnight. 

Sir Ben. Hush, my dear lady Dove, for Heaven's 
sake, don't shame and expose me in this manner ; how 
can I possibly turn an honest gentleman out of my 
doors, who has given me no offence in life ? 

Lady Dove. Marry, but he has though, and great 
offence too ; I tell you, Sir Benjamin, you are made 
a fool of. 

Sir Ben. Nay, now, my dear sweet love, be com-^ 

Lady Dove. Yes, forsooth, and let a young ram* 
bling raking prodigal run away with your daughter. 
Sir Ben, How, what! 
La(fy Dove. A fine thing, truly, to be compos'd— — 

^^ THE BROTHEM. A3 11. 

Iron. Who is it your ladyship suspedb of such a. 
design ? I 

Lady Dove. Who, sir ? why, who bUt your nephew | 
Robert \ You flattcr'd us with a false hope he was , 
dead ; but, to our sorrow, we find him alive, and rc- 
turn'd : and now you are cajoling this poor simple 
unthinking man, while your wild Indian, your savage 
there, is making off with his daughter. 

Sir Ben, Mercy on us I what am I to think of ail 
this ? 

Iron. What are you to think ! Why, that it is a lie; 
that you are an ass ; and that your wife is a terma- 
gant. My nephew is a lad of honour, and scorns to 
run away with any man's daughter, or wife either, tho* 
I think, there's little danger of that here — As forme, 
sooner than mess with such a vixen, I'd starve : and 
so. Sir Benjamin, I wi$h you a good stomach to your 
dinner. [ExiU 


Sir Benjamin Dove and Lady 'Dovn. 

Lady Dove, Insolent, unmannerly brute, was ever ' 
the like heard ? And you to stand tamely by : I de- 
clare I've a ^reat mind to raise the servants upon 
him, since I have no other defenders. Thus am I 
fdr ever treated by your scurvy companions. 


Sir Btn» Be pacified, my deari ami in fault r But 
for Heaven's sake, what is become of my daughter? 

Lady Doue, Yes, you can think of your daughter ; 
but she is safe enough for this turn ; I have taken 
care of her for one while, and thu^ I am rewarded 
for it. Am I a vixen, am I a termagant ?. Oh, had 
my first husband, had my poor, dear, dead Mr. 
Searcher heard such a word, he would have rattled 

him But he — What do I talk of? he was a man : 

yes, yes, he was, indeed, a man As for you— — 

Sir Ben, Strain the comparison no farther, Lady 
Dove ; there are particulars, I dare say, in which I 
fall short of Mr. Searcher. 

Lady Dovt, Short of him I 1*11 tell you what, Sir 
Benjamin, I valued the dear greyhound that hung at 
his^ button-hole more than I do all the foolish trinkets 
your vanity has lavish'd on me. 

Sir Bm. Your ladyship, doubtless, was the paragon 
of wives : I well remember, when the poor roan laid 
ill at my borough of Knavestown, how you came 
flying on the wings of love, by the Exeter waggon, 
to visit him before he died. 

Lady Dove. I understand your sneer, sir, and I de- 
spise it : there is one condition only upon which you 
may regain my forfeited opinion; young Beifield, 
- who, with this old fellow, has designs in hand uf a 
dangerous nature, has treated me with an indignity 
still greater than what you have now been a witness 
to. Shew yourself a man upun this occasion, Sir 



Sir Ben. Any thing, dearest, for peace sake. 

Lady Dove. Peace sake I It is war, and not peace, 
which I require— But come, if you will walk this 
way, I'll lay the matter open to you. lExevU, 


Iht Sea-skore before Goodwin'* Cabin. Enter 
ViOLETTA and Fanny. 

And when is this great match of Mr. Belfield's 
to be? 

Fanny, Alas I madam, we look to hear of it every 

Vio. You seem to consider this event, child, as a 
misfortune to yourself: however others may be af- 
fe6led by Mr. Belfield's marrying Miss Dove, to you 
I conceive it must be matter of indifference. 

Fanny, I have been taught, madam, to consider no 
event as matter of indifference to me, by which good 
people are made unhappy. Miss Sophy is the best 
young lady living; Mr. Belfield is ■ 

Vio. Hold, Fanny ; do step into the house ; in ray 
writing-box you will find a letter seaPd, but without 
a diredion, bring it to me. [Exit Fanny.] I have 
been writing to this base man, for I want fortitude to 
support an interview. What, if I unbosom'd myself 
to this girl, and intrusted the letter to her convey- 


ance ? She seems exceedingly honesty and, for one of 
9o mean a condition, uncommonly sensible ; I think 
I may safely confide in her. Well, Fanny* 

Enter Fanny. 

Fanny, Here is your letter, madam. 
p^io, I thank you ; I trouble you too much ; but 
thou art a good-natur'd girl, and your attention to 
me shall not go unrewarded. ^ 

Fanny, I am happy to wait upon you ; I wish I 
could do or say any thing to divert you ; but my dis- 
course cann*t be very amusing to a lady of your sort; 
and talking of this wedding seems to have made you 
more melancholy than you was before. 

P^io* Come hither, child ; you have remarked my 
disquietude, I will now disclose to you the occasion 
of it ; you seem interested for Miss Dove ; I too am 
touched with her situation : you tell me she is the 
Uest young lady living. 

Fanny. Oh I madam, if it were possible for an an- 
gel to take a human shape, she must be one. 

Fio, 'Tis very well ; 1 commend your zeal ; you 
are speaking now of the qualities of her mind. 

Fanny. Not of them alone ; she has not only the 
virtues, but the beauties of an angel. 

Fio, Indeed I Pray tell me, is she so very hand- 
some ? 
Fanny. As fine a person as you could wish to see. 
rio. Tall i 

Fanny, About your size, or rather taller. 


Vio. Fair, or dark complexion ? 

Fanny, Of a most lovely complexion, 'tis her 
greatest beauty, and all pure nature, 1*11 be an- 
swerable ; then her eyes are so soft, and so smiling; 
and, as for her hair— 

Vio, Hey-day! why, where «ire you rambling^ 
child \ I am satisfied ; I make no doubt she is a con- 
lummate beauty, and that Mr. Belficld loves her to 
distraaion. \^Addt.\ I don't like this girl so well as 
1 did ; she is a great talker ; 1 am glad 1 did not dis- 
close my mind to her j 1*11 go in and determine on 
some expedient. [£«»^ 

Fanny, Alas I poor lady I as sure as can be she has 
been cross'd in love ; nothing in this world besides 
could make her so miserable ; but sure I see Mr. 
Francis ; if falling in love leads to such misfortuncii, 
'tis fit 1 should get out of his way, [£*t<. 

Enter Francis and Philip. 

Fran. Wasn't that your sister, Pliilip, that raa 
into the cabin \ 

PhiL 1 think it was. 

Fran^ You've made a good day's work on't : the 
weather coming about so fair, 1 think we've scarce 
lost any thing of value but the ship ; didn't you meet 
the old captain as you came down to the creek \ 

PhiL I did i he has been at Sir Benjamin Dovc*s 

Jia ///. THE BUOTHERS. 4p 

here, at Cropley Castle, and is come back in a cu- 
rious humour. 

Fran, So! sol I attended my young master thither 
at the same time; how came they not to return 
together ? * 

PAiL That I cann't tell.— Come, let's go in and 
refresh ourselves. [Exeunt, 


Enter Sophia Dove and Lucy Waters. 

Sopk. Indeed, and indeed. Miss Lucy Waters, these 
are strong fadls which you tell me; and, I do be- 
lieve, no prudent woman would engage with a man 
of Mr, Andrew Belfield*s disposition : but what 
course am I to follow ; and how am I to extricate 
myself from the embarrassments of my situation ? 

Lvcy. Truly, madam, you have but one refuge that 
rknow of. 

Sopk» And that lies in the arms of a young adven- 
turer. O Lucy, Lucy, this is a flattering prescription ; 
calculated rather to humour the patient, than to re- 
move the disease. 

Lvcy, Nay, but if there is a necessity for your 
taking this step 

Soph. Ay, necessity is grown strangely commo- 
dious of late, and always compels us to do the very 
thing we have moat a mind to. 
Lucy, Well, madam, but common humanity to 


young Mr* Bel6eld-— You must aUow he has been 
hardly treated. 

Sopk. By me, Lucy ^ 

Lu€y» Madam t-»«»Noy madam, not by you; but 
•tis charity to heal tlie wounded, though you have not 
been a party in the fray. 

Soph, I grant you ! You are a true female phi- 
losopher ; you would let charity recommend you a 
husband, and a husband recommend you to charity — 
But I won't reason upon the matter; at least, not in 
the humoui I am now ; nor at this particular time: 
no, Lucy, nor in this particular spot ; for here it was, 
at this very hour yesterday evening, young Belfield 
surprised me. 

Ltu^, And see, madam, pundlual to the same lucky 
moment he cumes again ; let him plead his own cause; 
you need fear no interruption ; my lady has too agree* 
able an engagement of her own, to endeavour at dis* 
turbing those of other people. [Exit Lucy. 


Enter Belfield Junior, 

RcLjun, Have I then found thee, loveliest of wo- 
men } O I Sophia, report has struck me to the heart; 
if, as I am told, to> morrow gives you to my brother, 
this is the last time I am ever to behold you. 

Soph. Why so, Mr. Belfield ? Why should our se- 
paration be a necessary consequence of our alliance f 


BtL jun. Because I have been ambitious, and can* 
not survive the pangs of disappointment. 

Soph, Alas I poor man ! but you know where to 
bury your disappointments ; the sea is still open to 
you } and, take my word for it, Mr. Belfield, the 
man who can live three years, ay, or three months, 
in separation from the woman of his heart, need be 
under no apprehensions for his life, let what will be- 
fall her. 

Bel, jun* Cruel, insulting Sophia I when I last 
parted from you, I flatter'd myself I had left some 

impression on your heart But in every event of 

my life, I meet a base, injurious brother ; the ever- 
lasting bar to my happiness — I can support it no 
longer ; and Mr. Belfield, madam, never can, never 
shall be yours. 

Soph. How, sir I . never shall be mine ? What do 
you tell me ? There is but that man on earth with 
whom I can be happy ; and if my fate is such, that 
he is never to be mine, the world, and all that it con- 
tains, will for ever after be indifferent to me. 

Bel, jun. I have heard enough ; farewell I 

Soph, Farewell, sagacious Mr. Belfield ; the next 
fond female, who thus openly declares herself to you, 
will, I hope, meet with a more gallant reception than 
I have done. 
. Bei.jun. How, what I is't possible ? O Heavens 1 

SopA. What, you've discovered it at last ? Oh, fie 
upon you I 

Bel Jun. Thus, thus, let me embrace my unexpc^t- 

5« TRI BROTHEM. Aa llh 

ted blessing : come to my heart, my fond, oVrflow- 
ing heart, and tell me once again that my Sophia will 
be only mine. 

Soph. O man, man t all despondency one moment, 
all rapture the next. No question now, but you con- 
ceive every difficulty surmounted, and that we have 
nothing to do but to run into each other's arms, make 
a fashionable elopement, and be happy for life ; and 
I must own to you, Bel field, was there no other con- 
dition of our union, even this projeft should not de- 
ter me ; but I have better hopes, provided you will 
be piloted by me ; for believe me, my good friend, I 
am better acquainted with this coast than you are. 

Bd. jun. I doubt not your discretion, and shall im- 
plicitly surrender myself to your guidance. 

Soph. Give me a proof of it then by retreating from 
this place immediately; 'tis my father's hour for 
walking, and I would not have you meet ; besides, 
your brother is expeded. 

Bel. jun. Ay, that brother, my Sophia, that brother 
brings vexation and regret whenever he is named; 
but I hope I need not dread a second injury in your 
esteem ; and yet I knew not how it is, but if I were 
addifled to superstition " 

Soph, And if I were addi6ted to anger, I should 
quarrel with you for not obeying my injundlions with 
more readiness, 

Bel. jun. 1 will obey thee, and yet 'tis difficult— 
Those lips, which thus have blest me, cannot dismiss 
me without— 

A3 I2h THB BROTHEllS. 53 

Soph, Nay, Mr. Belfield, doii*t you— well then 
i mercy upon us 1 who's coming here ? 

BeLjun, How, oh, yes ! never fear ; 'tis a friend ; 
•tis Violetta ; 'tis a lady that I 

Soph. That you what, Mr. Belfield? What lady 

is it ^ I never saw her in my life before. 

Bel.jun* No, she is a foreigner, born in Portu^I, 
though of an English family : the packet in which she 
was coming to England fouuder*d along- side of our 
ship, and I was the instrument of saving her life : I 
interest myself much in her happiness, and I beseech 
youy for my sake, to be kind to her. [Exit. 

Soph, He interests himself much in her happiness $ 

he beseeches me, for his sake, to be kind to her 

What am I to judge of all this I 


Enter Violetta^ 

Vio, Madam, I ask pardon for this intrusion ; but 
I have business with you of a nature that 1 pre- 
sume I'm not mistaken, you are the young lady I 
have been directed to, the daughter of Sir Benjamin 

Soph, I am, madam ; but won't you please to re» 
pose yourself in the house ? I understand you are a 
stranger in this country. May 1 beg to know what 
commands you have for me? Mi. Bclficld has made 


me acquainted with some circumstances relative to 
your story : and, for his sake, ma<1ain, I shall be 
proud to render you any service in oiy power. 

Fio. For Mr. BelBeld'a sake^ did you say, madam?^ 
Has Mr. Helfield named me to you, madam > 

Soph. Is there any wonder in that, pray i 

Vic. No, none at all. If any man else, such confi- 
dence would surprise me ; but in Mr. Belfield *tis 
natural ; there is no wondering at what he does. 

SopA. You must pardon me : I find we think diflR*- 
rently of Mr. Belfield. He left me but this minute, 
and in the kindest terms recommended you to my 

Fio. 'Twas he then that parted from you as I came 
up ; I thought so -, but I was too much agitated to 
observe him — and I am confident he is too guilty to 
dare to look upon me. 

Sop A. Why so, madam ? For Heaven's sake, inform 
me what injuries you have received from IVJr. Bel- 
field ; I must own to you, I am much interested ia 
finding him to be a man of honour. 

P^io, 1 know your situation, madam, and I pity it; 
Providence has sent me here, in time, to save you, 
and to tell you- 

-^opA. What? To tell me what ? Oh! speak, or I 
shall sink with apprehension. 

F'io* To tell you, that he is my husband. 

SopL Husband! your husband ? What do I hear? 
Ungenerous, base, deceitful Belfield 1 I thought he 


leem'd confounded at your appearance ; every thing 
soniirmshis treachery; and I cannot doubt the truth 
>f what you tell me. 

P"io. A truth it is, madam, that I must ever refleft 
on with the most sorrowful regret. 

Soph. Come, let me beg you to walk towards the 
house : I ask no account of this transadlion of Mr* 
Belfield's ; 1 would fain banish his name from my me- 
mory for ever, and you shall this instant be a witness 

to his peremptory di&mission. [Exeunt* 

• ■ 


Enter Belfielp Junior^ and Paterson. 

£ti. jun. And so, sir, these are her ladyship's com- 
mands, are they ? 

Pat, This is what I am commission'd by Lady 
Dove to tell you : what report shall I make to her i 

Bel, jun. Even what you please, Mr. Paterson ; 
mould it and model it to your liking ; put as many 
palliatives, as you think proper, to sweeten it to her 
ladyship's taste ; so you do but give her to understand 
that I neither can, nor will abandon my Sophia.— 
Cease to think of her, indeed ! — What earthly power 
can exclude her idea from my thoughts ? I am sur- 
pris'd Lady Dove should think of sending me such a 
message ; and I wonder, sir, that you should consent 
to bring it. 
Pat. Sir!- 


Bd. jtm. Nay, Mr. Fatfcnoo, doa*t assome soch a 
menacing air ; nor |>raQist ob my teiy|m too far in 
this business ; I knoir both yoor situation and my 
O'A n ; consider, sir, mioc is a came tbat would ani- 
mate the most dastardly spirit; yours is enough to 
damp the most courageous. [£xse. 

Pat^ A very short and sententioos gentleman : but 
there is truth in this remark ; fmne is but a sorry 
commission, after all ; the man's in the right to fight 
for his mistress ; she's wortii the venture ; and if 
there were no way else to be quit of mine, I should be 
in the right to fight too : egad, I don't see why aver- 
sion shou'dn't make me as desperate as love makes 
him. Hell and fury! here comes my Venus. 

' ■ y ■ " ■ ■ - ■ , 


Enter Lady Dove* 

Lady T>ovt. Well, Paterson, what says the fellow to 
my message ? 

Pat. Says, madam I I'm asham*d to tell you what : 
he says : he's the arrantest boatswain that ever I con- 1 
versed with. 

Lady Dove. But tell me what he says. 

Pat. Every thing that scandal and scurrillity can ut- 
ter against you. 

Lady Dove, Against me I What could he say against 

Pat, Modesty forbids me to tell you. 

A& ///. THE BROTHtR«. 5/ 

Lady Dove. Oh! the vile reprobate I I, that have 
been so guarded in my conduct, so discreet in my par* 
tialities, as to keep *em secret, even from my own 
husband ; but, 1 hope, he didn't venture to abuse my 

Pat. No, madam, no; had he proceeded to such 
lengtiis, I cou*dn*t in hunour have put up with it ; I 
hope 1 have more spirit than to suffer any refle<ftioa 
upon your ladyship's personal accomplishments. 

Ltidy Dove, Well ; * but did you say nothing in de« 
fence of my reputation I 
Pat. Nothing. 
Lady Dove. No I 

Pat. Not a syllable I Trust me for that ; 'tis the 
wisest way upon all tender topics to be silent ; for he 
who takes upon him to dctend a lady's reputation, 
only publishes her favours to the world j and, there- 
fore, I would always leave that office to a husband. 
Lady Dove, 'Tis true ; and, if Sir Benjamin had any 


Pat. Come, come, my dear lady, don't be too se- 
vere upon Sir Benjamin ; many men of no better ap- 
pearance than Sir Benjainin h ive shewn themselves 
pcrfed heroes : 1 know a whole family, that, with 

the hnibs of ladies, have the hearts of lions. Who 

can tell but your husband may be one of this sort \ 
Lady Dove. Ah I— 

Pat. Well, but try him ; tell him how you have 
been used, and see what his spirit will prompt him to 
do.-— —Apropos 1 here the little gentleman comes | 


if he won't fight, 'tis but what you ezpe6l ; if he will, 
who can tell vNhcrc a lucky arrow may hit ? [£00/. 


Enter Sir Benjamin Dove. 

Lady Dove Sir Benjamin, I want to have a little 
discourse in private with you. 

Sir Ben. Willi me, my lady ? 

Lady Dove. VViih you, Sir Benjamin; *tis upon a 
iBatter ot a veiy serious nature ; pray sit down by mcj 
I don't know l»ow it is, my dear, but I have pbjjerv'd 
of late, v\ith much concern, a great abatement in your 
regard for me. 

Sir Ben. Oh j fie, my lady, why do you thii>k so? 
What reason have you for so unkind a suspicion \ 

Lady Dove, *Tis in vain for you to deny it ; I am 
Qopvinc'd you have done loving me. 

Sir Ben, Well, now, I vow, my dear, as I am a sin- 
ner, you do me wrong. 

Lady 'Dove, Lpok'e, Sir Benjamin, love like mine is 
apt to be quick-sighted ; and, I am persuaded, I am 
not deceived in my observation. 

Sir Ben. Indeed, and indeed, my Lady Dove, you 
accuse me wrongfully. 

Lady Dove, Mistake me not, my dear, I do not ac-. 
cuse you ; 1 accuse myself; I am sensible there are 
faults and imperfections in my temper. 

Sir Ben* Ohl trifles, my dear; mere trifles. 


Lady Dove. Come, come, I know you have led but 
an uncomfortable life of late, and, I am afraid, I have 
l>een innocently, in some degree, the cause of it. 

Sir Ben, Far be it from me to coutradift your lady- 
sbip, if you are pleas'd to say so. 

I^dy Dove. I am sure it has been as I say ; my 
over- fondness for you has been troublesome and vex- 
atious ; you hate confinement, I know you do ; you 
are a man of spirit, and form*d to figure in the 

Sir Ben. Oh ! you flatter me. 

Lady Dove. Nay, nay, there's no disguising it ; you 
sigh for action ; your looks declare it : this alteration 
in your habit and appearance puts it out of doubt ; 
there is a certain quickness in your eye ; 'twas the first 
symptom that attra6ted my regards; and, I am mis- 
taken. Sir Benjamin, if you don't possess as muchcou* 
rage as any man. 

Sir Ben. Your ladyship does me honour. 

Lady Dove. I do you justice, Sir Benjamin. 

Sir Ben. Why, I believe, for the .matter of courage, 
I have as much as my neighbours; but' 'tis of a 
strange perverse quality ; for as some spirits rise with 
the difficulties they are to encounter, my courage, on 
the contrary, is always greatest when there is least call 
for it. 

Lady Dove. Oh ! you shall never make me bclievfc 
this, Sir Benjamin ; you cou'dn't bear to see me iH 
used, I*m positive you cou'dn't. 


Sir Ben. Tis as well, however, not to be too ssre 
of that. IjtsiJe, 

Lady Dove. You cou'dn't be so mean-spirited, a$ to ' 
stand by and hear your poor dear wife abus'd and in- 
sulted, and 

Sir Ben. Oh I no, by no means, 'twould break my 
heart; but who has abusM you and insulted you, 
tnd > 

Lady Dcve. Who ? Why, this young Belfield that I 
told you of. j 

Sir Ben. Oh I never listen to him ; a woman of your i 
years should have more sense than to mind what such 
idle young fleerers can say of you. 

Lady Dove. [Rising."] My years, Sir Benjamin f —> 
Why, you are more intolerable than he is ; but let 
him take his course; let him run away with your 
daughter; it shall be no further concern of mine to 
prevent him. i 

Sir Ben. No, my dear, I have done that effe^ually, ' 

Lady Dove. How so, pray ? 

Sir Ben. By taking care he shaVt run away with 
my estate at the same time. Some people lock rheir I 
daughters up to prevent rheir eloping ; I've gone a ' 
wiser way to work with mine, let her go loose, and 
lock'd up her fortune. 

Lady Dove, And, o* my conscience, I believe you 
mean to do the same by your wife ; turn her loose 
upon the world, as you do your daughter; leave her 
to the mercy of every free-booter; let her be vilified 
and abused ; her honour, her reputation, mangled and 


torn by every paltry privateering fellow that fortune 
casts upon your coasts. 

Sir Ben. Hold, my lady, hold I young Belfield didn't 
glaunce at your reputation, I hope ; did he ? 

Lady Dove, Indeed but he did though^ and therein 
I think every wife has a title to her husband's protec* 

Sir Ben, True, my dear, 'tis our duty to plead, but 
yours to provide us with the brief. 

Lady Dove, There are some insults, Sir Benjamin, 
^liat no man of spirit ought to put up with ; and the 
imputation of being made a wittol of, is the most uii«> 
pardonable of any. 

Sir Ben, Right, my dear, even truth yoU know is 
not to be spoke at all times. 

iMdy Dove* How, sir, would you insinuate any 
thing to the disparagement of my fidelity ? but choosd 
your side, quarrel you must, cither with him or with 

Sir Ben, Oh ! if that's the alternative, what a deal 

of time have we wasted! Step with me into my 

library, and 1*11 pen him a challenge immediately. 





The Cahm^ with a view of ike sea, as iefire. Enter 
Philip and Lucy Waters* 

How I have loved you, Lucy, and what I have suf- 
fered on your account, you know well enough ; and 
you shou'dn*t now, when I am struggling to forget 
you, come to put me in mind of past afflictions ; gOy 
go, leave me : I pray you leave me. 

Lucy. Nay, Philip, but hear me. 

PAil» Hear you, ungrateful girl ; you know it has 
been all my delight to hear you, to see you, and to sit 
by your side j for hours have I done it; for whole 
days together : but those days are past ; I roust now 
labour for my livelihood ; and, if you rob me of my 
time, you wrong me of my subsistence. 

Lucy, 1 Philip, I am undone if you don't protefl 

PAiL Ah 1 Lucy, that, I fear, is past prevention. 

Lucy. No, Philip, no, I am innocent ; and there- 
fore, persecuted by the mokt criminal of men : 1 have 
disclosed all Mr. Belfield's artifices to Miss Sophia, 
and now am terrified to death ; I saw him follow me 
out of the Park, as I was coming hither, and I dare 
not return home alone; indeed, Philip, 1 dare not. 

Pkii, Well, Lucy, step in with me, and fear no- 
thing ; I see the 'squire is coming.—- He who can re* 


fuse his protedton to a woman, may he never taste the 

blessings a woman can bestow ! \Extmt. 


Enter Belfield Senior. 
Bel, sen. Ay, 'lis she I Confusion follow her I How 
perversely has she travcrs'd my projects with Sophia 1 
—By all that's resolute, Til be reveng'd. — My bro- 
ther too reiurn'd Vexatious circumstance 1 there 

am 1 foil'd again Since first i stepp*d out of the 

path of honour, what have 1 obtained i — O treachery 1 
treachery I if thou canst not in this world make us 
happy, better have remain'd that dull formal thing, 
an honest man, and trujited to what the future might 

Enter FHiLir. 

BcL sen. So, fellow, who are you } 

Phil. A man, sir; an honest man. 

BeL. sen* A saucy one, niethinks. 

Phil. The injurious are apt to think so ; however, 
I ask pardon : as your riches make you too proud, 
my honesty perhaps makes me too bold. 

BeL sen. O 1 1 know )ou now; you are son to that 
old fellow 1 thought proper to discharge from my 
farm; please to betake yourself from the door of 
your cabin ; there's a youiig woman within 1 must 
have A word with. 


PhiL Tf *tts Lucy Waters you would speak with — 

Btl sen. Tf, rascal ! It is Lucy Waters that I would 
speak with ; that I will speak with ; and, spite of your 
insolence, compel to answer whatever I please to 
ask, and ?o with me wherever I please to carry her. 

Phil. Then, sir, I must tell you, poor as I am, she 
is under my protefUon : you see, sir, I am arm'd ; you 
have no right to force an entrance here; and, while 
1 have life, you never shall. 

Bel. sen. Then be it at your peril, villain, if you op- 
pose me. \Tkty fight. 

Enter Pate RS ON, who beats doxon their swords. 

Pat. For shame, Mr. Belfield! what are you about? 
Tilting with this peasant. 

BeL sen. Paterson, stand off. 

Pat, Come, come, put up your sword. 

Bel, sen. Damnation, sir! what do you mean? D# 
you turn against me ?— Give way, or by ray soul, 1*11 
run you through. 

Enter Captain Ironsides, and Skiff. 

Iron, Hey-day, what the devil ails you all ? I thought 

the whole ship's company had sprung a mutiny.' 

Master and I were taking a nap together for good fel- 
lowship; and you make such a damn'd clattering and 
clashing, there's no sleeping in peace for you. 

Bel. sen. Come, Mr. Paterson, will you please to 
bear me company, or stay with your new acquaint- 
ance } 


lT4tn* Oh ho I my righteous nephew, is it you that 
sire kicking up this riot \ Why, you ungracious pro- 
iligate, would you murder an honest lad in the door 
of his own house ?— his castle — his castellum— Arc 
these your fresh- water tricks ? 

BeU sen. Your language, Captain Ironsides, savours 
strongly of your profession i and 1 hold both you» 
your occupation, and opinion, equally vulgar and 

Pat, Come, Mr. Bel Be Id, come : for Heaven's sake 
let us go iiunie. 

Iron, My profession I Why, what have you to say 
to my profession, you unsan^lified i\help you f I 
hope 'tis an honest vocation to fight the enemies of 
one's country ; yuu» it seems, are for murdering the 
friends; I trust, it is not fur such a skip-jack as thee 
art to fleer at my profession. Master, dicl*st ever 
hear the like } 

Skiff, Never, captain, never; for my own part, I 
am one of few words; but, for my own part, I al- 
ways thought, that to be a brave seaman, like \our 
honour, was the greatest title an Englishman can 

iron. Why so it is. Skiff: ahem I 

Bel, sen Well, sir, I leave )ou to the enjoyment of 
your honours ; so your servant. Sirrah, 1 sliall find 
a time for you. [Belfield is going out* 

Iron, Hark'e, sir, come back, one more word with 

Bel. J«i. Well, sir 


Iron. Your father was an honest gentleman : your 
mother, tho' I say it that should not say it, was an 
angel ; my eyes ache when I speak of her : ar'n't you 
ashamM, sirrah, to disgrace such parents ? My ne- 
phew Bob, your brother, is as honest a lad, and ai 
brave, as ever sttpt between stem and stem ; a* has 
a few faults indeed, as who is free? But you. An- \ 
drew, you are as false as a quick-sand, and as full of 
mischief as a fire-ship. 

Bd, seiu Captain Ironsides, I have but little time 
to bestow on you ; if you have nothing else to enter- 
tain me with, the sooner we part the better. 

Iron. No, sir, one thing more, and I have done 
with you ; they tell meyouVe parliament-man here for 
the borough of Knavestown: the lord have mercy 
upon the nation, when such fellows as thou art arc to 

be our law-makers For my own part, I can shift j 

I'll take shipping, and live in Lapland, and be dry- 
nurse to a bear, rather than dwell in a country where 
I am to be goveniM by such a thing as thou art. 

Bel sen. By your manners 1 should guess you had 
executed that office already ; however, lose no time, 
fit out a new Charming Sally, and set sail for Lap« 
land : 'tis the properest place for you to live in, and 
a bear the fittest companion for you to keep. 

[Exeunt Belfield and Paterson. 

Iron, Hark'e, Philip, 1 forgot to ask what all this 
stir was about ? 

^htl. Sir, if you please to walk in, I will inform 


Iron. With all my heart. A pragmatical, imper- 
jient coxcomb! Come, master, we'll fill a pipe, and 
tear the lad's story within doors. I never yet was 
sliam*d of my profession, and I'll take care my pro- 
es3ion shall have no reason to be asham'd of me. 



Enter Belfield Junicr^ and Sophia* 

Bel. jun. Madam, madam, will you not vouchsafe 
to give me a hearing ) , 

Soph, Unless you could recall an adl no earthly 
power can cancel, all attempt at explanation is vain. 

Bel. jun. Yet, before we part for ever, obstinate, 
inexorable Sophia, tell me what is my offence. 

Soph, Answer yourself that question, Mr. Belfield; 
consult your own heart, consult your Violetta. 

Bel. jun. Now, on Hiy life, she's meanly jealous of 
Violetta : that grateful woman has been warm in her 
commendations of me, and her distempered fancy 
turns tliat candour into criminality. 

Scpk, Hdh I he seems confounded I guilty beyond 
all doubt. 

Bel. jun. By Heaven I'll no longer be the dupe to 
, these bad humours : Lucy Waters, Violetta, every 
woman she sees or hears, alarms her jealousy, over- 
throws my hoj^es, and rouses every passion into fury. 
Well, madam, at length 1 see what you allude to ; I 


shall follow your advice, and consult my Violetta; 
nay, more, consult my happiness ; for with her, atl 
least, I shall find repose; with you, I plainly scej 
there can be nene. 

Soph, * rts very well, sir ; the only favour you can 
now grant me is never to let me see \ou again; for 
after what has passed between us, every time you in- 
trude into my company you will commit an insult 
upon good breeding and humanity. 

Bel. juH. Madam, 1*11 take care to give you no fur- 
ther offence. [Ajot. 

SopA, Oh I my poor heart will break ! 


Enter Sir Benjamin Dove. 

Sir Ben. Hey-day, Sophia, what's the matter ? 
What ails my child \ Who has offended you ? Did 
not I see the younger Belfield part from you just 

Soph, O, sir! have any love for me, don't 
name that base treacherous wretch to me any more. 


Sir Ben, Upon my word, I am young Mr. Belfield 's 
most obsequious servant : a very notable confusion 
truly has he been pleased to make in my family. Lady 
Dove raves, Sophia cries; my wife calls him a saucy 
impudent fellow, my daughter says he*s a base trca- 
cherous wretch ; from all which 1 am to concludcj 


that he has spoke too plain truths to the one, and told 
too many lies to the other ; one lady is irritated be* 
cause he has refused favours ; the other, perhaps, is 
afflicted because he has obtained 'em. Lady Dove 
has peremptorily insisted upon my giving him a chal- 
lenge ; but, to say the truth, I had no great stomach 
to the business till this fresh provocation ; I perceive 
now I am growing into a most unaccountable rage; 
*tis something so diflerent from what I ever felt be- 
fore, that, for what I know, it may be courage, and 
1 mistake it for anger; I never did quarrel with any 
man, and hitherto no man ever quarrelled with me : 
egad, if once I break theice^ it sha'n't stop here : if 
young Belfield doesn't prove me a coward. Lady Dove 

shall see that I am a man of spirit. Sure I see my 

gentleman coming hither again. [Steps aside. 

Enter Belfield Junior, 
" BeLjun* What meanness, what infatuation pos. 
sesses me, that I should resolve to throw myself once 
more in her way t but she's gone, and yet I may 
, escape with credit. 

Sir Ben, Ay, there he is, sure enough : by the 
mass I don't like him : TU listen awhile, and discover 
what sort of a humour he is in. 

Bel, jun, I am asham'd of this weakness : I am de* 
terniin'd to assume a proper spirit, and a6l as be- 
comes a man upon this occasion. 

Sir Ben, Upon my soul I'm very sorry for it. 
Bel.jun* Now am I so distra^ed between lovc^ 


rage, and disappointment, that I could find in my 
heart to sacrifice her, myself, and all mankind. 

Sir Ben. Lord ha* mercy upon us, I'd better steal 
•ff and leave him to himself. 

BeLjun. And yet, perhaps, all this may proceed 
from an excess of fondness in my Sophia. 

Sir Ben. Upon ray word, you are blest with a most 
happy assurance. 

BeLjun, Something may have dropp'd from Vio- 
letta to alarm her jealousy ; and, working upon the 
exquisite sensibility of her innocent mind, may have 
brought my sincerity into question. 

Sir Ben, I don't understand a word of all this. 

Bel.jun, Now could I fall at her feet for pardon, 
though I know not in what I have offended ; . I have 
not the heart to move. Fie upon it I What an arrant 
coward has love made me 1 

Sir Ben, A coward, does he say ? I am heartily re- 
joiced to hear it : if I must needs come to action, pray 
Heaven it be with a coward ! I'll even take him while 
he is in the humour, for fear he should recover his 

courage, and 1 lose mine. So, sir, your humble 

servant, Mr. Belfield \ Vm glad I have found you, sir. 

BeLjun, Sir Benjamin, your most obedient. Pray 
what are your commands now you have found me ? 

Sir Ben, Hold I hold! don't come any nearer: 
don't you see I am in a most prodigious passion ? Fire 
and fury, what's the reason you have made all this 
disorder in my house ? my daughter in tears ; my 
wife in fits; every thing in an uproar; and all your 


doing. Do you think Til put up with this treatment \ 
If you suppose you have a coward to deal with, you'll 
find^ yourself mistaken ; greatly mistaken, let me tell 
you, sir I Mercy upon me, what a passion I am in 1 
111 short, Mr. Belfield, the honour of my house is 
concern'd, and I must and will have satisfa6lion.— 
I think this is pretty well to set in with ; I'm horribly 
out of breath; I. sweat at every pore. What great 
fatigues do nien of courage undergo 1 

EtL jun, Look'e, Sir Benjamin, I don't rightly 
comprehend what you would be at ; but, if you think 
I have injur'd you, few words are best ; disputes be- 
tween men of honour are soon adjusted -, I'm at your 
service, in any way you think fit. 

Sir Ben. How you fly out now 1 Is that giving me 
the satisfaction I require ? I am the person injur'd in 
this matter, and, as such, have a right to be in a 
passion ; but I see neither right nor reason why you, 
who have done the wrong, should be as angry as I, 
who have received it. 

Bel. jun, I suspe^ I have totally mistaken this ho- 
nest gentleman ; he only wants to build some reputa- 
tion with his wife upon this rencounter, and 'twould 
be inhuman not to gratify him. 

Sir Ben. What shall I do now? Egad I seem to 
have pos'd him : this plaguy sword sticks so hard in 

the scabbard Well, come forth rapier, 'tis but one 

thrust; and what should a man fear that has Lady 
Dove for his wife } 


Btljm. Hey-day ! Is the man mad > Put up your 
•word. Sir Benjamin; put it up, and don*t expose 
yourself in this manner. 

Sir Ben. You shall excuse me, sir ; I have ha<l 
tome difficiiliy in drawint^ it, and am determin'd now 
to try what metal it's made of. So come on, sir. 

Bel. jun. Really this is too ridiculous ; I tell you, 
Sir Benjamin, I am in no humour for these follies. 
I've done no wrong to you or yours : on the con- 
trary, great wrong has been done to me; but I have 
no quarrel with yoii, so, pray, put up your sword. 

Sir Ben. And I tell you, Mr. Belfield, *tis in vain 
to excuse yourself.— The less readiness he shews, so 
much the more resolution I feel. 

Be/.jitn. Well, Sir Knight, if such is your humour, 
I won't spoil your longing. So have at you. 

Enter Lady Dove. 
Lady Dove. Ah I ISkrteks, 

Bel.jun. Hold, hold. Sir Benjamin, I never fight in 
ladies company. Why, I protest you are a perfect 
Amadis de Gaul ; a Don Quixote in heroism ; and 
the presence of this your Dulciiiea renders you in- 

Sir Ben, Oh f my lady, is it you ? don't be alarm'd, 
my dear; 'tis all over: a small fracas between this 
gentleman and myself; that's all ; don't be under 
any surprise; I believe the gentleman has had enough; 
I believe he is perfectly satisfied with my behaviour, 
and I persuade myself you will have no cause for the 

A^ iV^ THE BR0THB&9. 73 

future to complain of his. Mr. Belfie1d> this is Lady 

BeLjun. Madam* to a generous enemy 'tis mean to 
deny justice, or withhold applause. You are happy 
in the most valiant of defenders ; gentle as you may 
find him in the tender passions, to a man, madam, he 
sicqiuts himself like a man. Sir Benjamin Dove, in 
justice to your merit, I am ready to make any sub- 
mission to this lady you shall please to impose. If 

you suflfer her to bully you after this, you deserve to 
be henpeck'd all the days of your life. 

Sir Ben, Say no rncye, my dear Bob ; I shall love 
you for this the longest hour I have to live. 

BeLjun. If I have done you any service, promise 
me only one hour's conversation with your lovely 
daughter, and make what use of me you please. 

Sir Ben, Here's my hand, you shall have it ; leave 
us. [Exit Belfield Junior, 

Lady Dove, What am I to think of all this ? It 
cann't well be a contrivance ; and yet 'tis strange, 
that yon little animal should have the assurance to 
face a man, and be so bashful at a rencounter with a 

Sir Ben. Well, Lady Dove, what are you musing 
upon ? you see you are obey'd, the honour of your 
family is vindicated : slow to enter into these affairs ; 
being once engag'd, I pertinaciously condu^ them to 
an issue. 

Lady Dove, Sir Benjamin, 1— ...I—^ 



Sir Ben. Here, Jonathan, do you hear, set my 
things ready in the library ; make haste. 

Lady Dove, I say, Sir Benjamin, I think ■ 

Sir Ben. Well, let's hear what it is you think. 

Lady Dove. Bless us all, why you snap one up so^ 
I say, I think, my dear, you have acquitted yourself 
tolerably well, and I am perfe^ly satisfied. 

Sir Ben, Humph 1 you think I have done tolerably 
well, I think so too ; do you apprehend me i Tole- 
rably I for this business that you think tolerably well 
done, is but half concluded, let me tell you: nay, 
what some would call the toughest part of the under- 
taking remains unfinished ; but I dare say» with your 
concurrence, I shall find it easy enough. 

Lady Dove. What is it you mean to do with my 
concurrence ; what mighty proje^ does your wi^ 
brain teem with? 

Sir Ben, Nay, now T reflefl on't again, I don't 
think there'll be any need of your concurrence; for, 
nolens or volens, Tm determined it shall be done. 
In short, this it is, 1 am unalterably resolv'd from 
this time forward, Lady Dove, to be sole and absolute 
in this house, master of my own servants, father to 
my own child, and sovereign lord and governor, ma- 
dam, over my own wife. 

Lady Dove, You are ? 

Sir Ben. lam. Godsl Gods) what a pitiful, con- 
temptible figure does a man make under petticoat 
government. Perish he that's mean enough to stoop 
to suchi indignities I I am determined to be free 


Paters ON enters ^ and whispers Lady Dove, 

Hah 1 how's this, Mr. Paterson } What liberties are 
these you take with my wife, and before my face \ 
Ao more of these freedoms, I beseech you, sir, as 
you etpe^t to answer it to a husband, who will have 
no secrets whisper'd to his wife, to which he is not 
privy ; nor any appointments made, in which he is 
not a party. 

Pat. Hey-day I what a change of government is 
here 1 Egad, I'm very glad on't— 'I've no notion of a 
female administration. [^ExU. 

Lady Dove, What insolence is this, Sir Benjamin ; 
m^hat ribaldry do you shock my ears with ? Let me 
pass, sir, I'll stay no longer in the same room with 

Sir Ben, Not in the same room, nor under the same 
roof, shall you long abide, unless you reform your 
manners $ however, for the present, you must be con- 
tent to stay where you are. 

Lady Dcve, What, sir, will you imprison me in my 
own house \ I'm sick j I'm ill ; I'm suffocated j I 
vvant air ; I must and will walk into the garden. 

Sir Ben,, Then, madam, you must find some .better 
weapon than your fan to parry my sword with : this 
pass I defend : what, dost think, after having en- 
countered a man, I shall turn my back upon a wo- 
man I No, madam, I have ventured my life to defend 
your honour ; 'twould be hard if I wanted spirit to 
prote6l my own. 

.^5 THE BR0THB&9« ASLW. 

Lady Dwe. You, monster, would you draw your 
sword upon a woman } 

Sir Ben, Unless it has been your pleasure to make 
me a monster, madam, I am none. 

Lady Dove. Would you murder me, you inhuman 
brute? Would you murder your poor, fond, de- 
fenceless wife ? 

Sir Ben. Nor tears, nor threats, neither scolding, 
nor soothing, shall shake me from my purpose : your 
yoke, Lady Dove, has laid too heavy upon my shoul- 
ders; I can support it no longer: to-morrow, ma- 
dam, you leave this house. 

Lady Dove. Will you break my heart, you tyrant ? 
Will you turn me out of doors to starve, you bar- 
barous man i 

Sir Ben, Oh I never fear ; you will fare to the full 
as well as you did in your first husband's time ; in 
your poor, dear, dead Mr. Searcher's time. You 
told me once you priz'd the paltry greyhound that 
hung at his button- hole, more than all the jewels my 
folly had lavish'd upon you- I take you at your 
word; you shall have your bawblc, and I will take 
back all mine; they'll be of no use to you hereafter. 

Lady Dove. 0\ Sir Benjamin, Sir Benjamin, for 
mercy's sake, turn me not out of your doors ! I will 
be obedient, gentle, and complying for the future; 
don't shame me ; 9n my knees I beseech you don't. 

Enter Bel field Senior, 
Sir Ben, Mr. Belficld, I am heartily glad t« we 


you ; don't go back, sir; you catch us indeed a little 
unawares ; but these situations are not uncommon in 
-well- ordered families ; rewards and punishments are 
the life of government, and the authority of a hus- 
band must be upheld. 

BeL sen. I confess. Sir Benjamin, I was greatly 
surprised at finding Lady Dove in that attitude : but 
I never pry into family secrets ; I had much rather 
suppose your lady was on her knees to intercede with 
you in my behalf, than be told she was reduc'd to 
that humble posture for any reason that afic6ls her- 

Sir Ben. Sir, you are free to suppose what you 
please for Lady Dove ; I'm willing to spare you that 
trouble on my account; and therefore I tell you 
plainly, if you will sign and seal your articles this 
night, to-morrow morning Sophia shall be yours: 
I'm resolved that the self-same day, which conse- 
crates the redemption of my liberty, shall confirm the 
surrender of yours. 

Lady Dove. O I Mr. Belfield, I beseech you inter- 
cede with this dear, cruel man, in my behalf; would 
you believe that he harbours a design of expelling mc 
his house, on the very day too when he purposes ce- 
lebrating the nuptials of his daughter ^ 

Bel. sen. Come, Sir Benjamin, I must speak to you 
now as a friend in the nearest connection ; I beg you 
will not damp our happiness with so melancholy an 
event : I will venture to pledge myself for her lady« 

78 THE B&OTHB&8. A8 V*, 

Sir Ben* Well, for your sake, perhaps, I may pro- 
long her departure for one day ; but I'm determia'd| 
if she does stay to-morrow, she shall set the first dish 
upon the table ; if 'ds only to shew the company what 
a refractory wife in the hands of a man of spirit may 
be brought to submit to. Our wives, Mr. Belfield, 
may tease us, and vex us, and still escape with im* 
punity; but if once they thoroughly provoke us, the 
charm breaks, and they are lost for ever. [Exeunt. 


The Sea Coast, as before. Enter Goodwin and Fanny. 

What you tell me, Fanny, gives me great concern, 
that Mr. Francis should think to seduce the innocence 
of my child for a paltry bribe : what can have pass'd 
to encourage him to put such an affront upon you \ 

Fanny, Till this proposal, which I tell you of, I 
always took Mr. Francis for one of the best behav'd, 
modestest young men I had ever met with. 

Good, To say the truth, Fanny, so did I ; but the 
world is full of hypocrisy, and our acquaintance with 
him has been very short.— 

Enter Francis. 
Hark'e, young man, a word with you I What is it I 
or my children have done to offend you \ 


Fran, Offend me I what is it you mean ? 

Geod. When your vessel was stranded upon eur 
coast, did we take advantage of your distress ? Oa 
the contrary, wasn't this poor hut thrown open to 
your use, as a receptacle for your treasures, and a 
repose for your fatigues ? Have either those treasures^ 
or that repose, been invaded ? Whom amongst you 
have we robb'd or defrauded ? 

Fran. None, none j your honesty has beep as con- 
spicuous as your hospitality. 

Good. Why then, having received no injury, do you. 
seek to do one i an injury of the basest nature— 
You see there a poor girl, whose only portion in thi& 
World is her innocence, and of that you have sought 

Fran, Hold ; nor impute designs to me which I 
abhor: you say your daughter has no portion but her 
innocence; assured of that, 1 ask none else; and, 
if she caa forgive the stratagem I have made use of,, 
I am ready to atone for it by a life devoted to her 

Good. Well, sir, I am happy to find you are the 
nian I took you for, and cannot dij>commend your 
caution ; so that if you like my daughter, and Fanny 
IS consenting— ^But, softl who have we got here ? 
I Fran. I wish Mr. Paterson was further for inter-* 
rupting us just now. 


SCENE //• 

Enter Paterson. 

Pat, Pray, good people, isn't there a lady with 
you of the name of Violetta ? 

Good, There is. 

Pat, Can you dircft me to her ? I have business 
with her of the utmost consequence. 

Good Fanny, you and Mr. Francis step in and let 
the lady know. [Exit Fanny and Francis. 


Goodwin an^/ Paterson* 

Good. If it's no offence, Mr. Paterson, allow me to 
ask you whether there is any hope of our young gen- 
tleman here, who is just returned, succeeding in his 
addresses to Miss Dove ? 

Pat. Certainly none, master Goodwin. 

Good* I'm heartily sorry for it. I 

Pat, I find you are a stranger to the reasons which 
make against it : but how arc you interested in his 
, success? 

Good, I am a witness of his virtues, and consc- 
quently not indifferent to his success. [Exit» 



Enter Violbtta. 
Pat, Madam, I presume your name is Violetta. 
Vio. It is, sir. 

PaU I wait upon you, madam, at Miss Dove's de- 
sire, and as a particular friend of Mr. Andrew ^^m 

Vio, Sir! — 

Pat. Madam ! 
Vio, Pray proceed. 

Pat» To intreat the favour of your company at 
Cropley-castle upon business, wherein that lady and 
gentleman are intimately concerned : I presume, ma* 
dam, you guess what I mean. 

Via. Indeed, sir, I cannot easily guess how I can 
possibly be a party in any business between Miss 
Dove and Mr. Belfield. I thought all intercourse 
between these persons was now entirely at an end. 

Pat. Ohl no, madam, by no means ; the affair is 
far from being at an end. 

Vio, How, sirl not at an end \ 
Pat, No, madam ; on the contrary, from Sir Ben« 
jamin*s great anxiety for the match, and, above all, 
from the very seasonable intelligence you was so good 
to communicate to Miss Sophia, I am not without 
hopes that Mr. Andrew Beliield will be ha^ py 
enough to conquer all her scruples, and engage her to 
consent to marry him* 



Pit, Indeed! but pray, sir, those scruples of 
Miss Dove's, which you (hitter yourself Mr. BelScld 
will so happily conquer, how is it that ladies in this 
country reconcile themselves to such matters? I 
should have thought such an obstacle utterly insur- 

Pnt, Why, to be sure, madam. Miss DoFe has had 
some doubts and difficulties to contend with : but 

duty, you know and, as I said before, you, ma-f 

dam, you have been a great friend to Mr. Belfield ; 
you have forwarded matters surprisingly. 

Vio^ It is very surprising, truly, if I have. 

Pat, You seem greatly stagger'd at what I tell 
you : I see you are no stranger to the principles upon 
which young ladies frequently a6l in this country : I 
believe, madam, in England, as many, or more, 
matches are made from pique, than for love ; and, to 
say the truth, I take this of Miss Dove's to be one of 
that sort. There is a certain person you know, who 
will feel upon this occasion. 

Vio. Yes ; I well know there is a certain person, 
who will feel upon this occasion ; but, are the sufiert 
ingsof that unhappy one to be converted into raillery 
and amusement } 

Pat. Oh ! madam ! the iadies will tell yon, that 
therein consists the very luxury of revenge.— But, 
I beseech you, have the goodness to make haste; my 
friend Mr. Belfield may stand in need of your support, 

I'io. Thus insulted, I can conta'n myself no lon« 
^er. Upon what infernal shore am i cast! into what . 


society of demons am I fairn ! that a womani whom 
by an a6t: of honour I would have redeemed from mi- 
sery and ruin, should have the insolence, the inhu- 
manity, to invite me to be a spectatress of her mar* 
riage with my own husband I 

Pat. With your husband I What do I hear I Is 
Mr. Andrew Belfield your husband ? 

f^io. Ay ; do you doubt it ? Would I could say he 
was not I 

Pat. Just Heaven 1 you then are the Violetta, you 
are the Portuguese lady 1 have heard so much of, and 

married 10 Mr. Belfield : base and perfidious! 

Why, madam, both Miss Dove and myself conceived 
that 'twas the young adventurer with whom you suf- 
fered shipwreck, that— — 

P^io, What I Lewson, the brave, generous, honour^ 
able Lewson ? 

Pat, X^wson f Lewson I as sure as can be you 
mean young Belfield; for now the recollection strikes 
me, that I've heard he took that name before he 
quitted England. That Lewson, madam, whom we 
believed you married to, is Robert Belfield, and 
younger brother to your husband. 

yio, Mercy defend me 1 into what distress had this 
mutual mistake nearly involved us \ 

Put. Come then, madam, let us lose no time, but 
fly with all dispatch to Cropley-castle ; I have a post- 
chaise waiting, which will convey us thither in a fevr 
minutes ; but, before we go, i*ll step in and dire^ 


these good people to find young Belfield, and send 
him after us — Old Ironsides and all must be there. 


J • 


Vio. Let me reflefl upon my fat e W edded, be- 
trayed, abandoned I at once a widow and a wife. All 
that my soul held dear, in the same hour obtained and 
lost. O false, false Belfield I Strong indeed must be 
that passion, and deeply seated in my heart, which 
even thy treachery could not eradicate I Twice ship- 
wrecked! twice rescued from the jaws of death ; just 
Heaven 1 I do not, dare not murmur, nor can I 
doubt but that the hand invisibly is stretched forth 
to save me, and through this labyrinth of sorrow to 
conduct me to repose. 

EfUer Paterson. 

Pat, Now, madam, if you will trust yourself to my 
convoy, I'll bring you into harbour, where you shall 
never suffer shipwreck more. [ExtunU 


Sir Benjamin DovE^s House, Enter Sir Benjamik 
Dovfi and Lady Dove. 
Sir Ben. Upon these terms and stipulations, Lady 
Dove, I consent to your remaining at Cropley- castle* 

Jia v. THE BX.0THEA8. 85 

£njoy your own prerogative, arid leave xne in posses- 
sion of mine ; above all things, my dear, I roust insist 
that Mr. Paterson be henceforward considered as my 
friend and companion, and not your ladyship's. 

Lctdy Dove. Nay, but indeed and indeed, my dear 
Sir Benjamin, that is being too hard with me, to de- 
bar me the common gratifications of every woman of 
distindtion : Mr. Paterson^ you know, is my very par- 
ticular friend. 

Sir Ben. 'Tis for his being so very particular, my 
dear, that I objeft to him. 

Lady Dove. Friendship, Sir Benjamin, is the vir- 
tuous recreation of delicate and susceptible minds ; 
would you envy me that innocent pleasure ? Why 
you know, my dearest, that your passion for me, 
which was once so violent, is now softened and sub* 
sided into mere frendship. 

Sir Ben. True, my dear ; and> therefore, I am 
afraid lest my love having, by easy degrees, slackened 
into friendship, his friendship should, by as natural a ' 
transition, quicken into love } say no more, therefore, 
upon this point, but leave me to Mr. Paterson, and 
Mr. Paterson to me — go— send Sophia to me — oh 
here she comes : your ladyship need not be present 
at our conference ; I think my own daughter surely 
belongs to my province, and not your's. Good 
morning to you. [^Exit Lady Dove. 


t$ rnt BROTHERS. A8f, 

SCENE vn. 

Enter Sophia. ' 

Sir Ben. Well, daughter, are you prepared to com. 
ply with my desires, and give your hand to Andrew | 
BelBeld this morning } \ 

Soph. Sirl 

Sir Ben. My heart is fixt upon this event ; I have 
watch'd late and early to bring it to bear ; and you'll 
find, my child, when you come to peruse your mar- 
riage settlement, how tenderly I have consulted your 
happiness in this match. 

SopL Alas ! I should never think of searching for 
happiness amongst deeds and conveyances ; 'tis the 
man, and not the money, that is likely to determine 
my lot. 

Sir Ben. Well, and is not Mr, Belfield a man } a 
fine man, as I take it, he is, and a fine estate I'm 
sure he has got ; then it lies so handy and contiguous 
to my own ; only a hedge betwixt us; think of that, 
Sophy, only a hedge that parts his^manor from mine; 
then consider, likewise, how this alliance will accom- 
modate matters in the borough of Knavestown, wherv 
I and my family have stood three contested eleflions 
with his, and lost two of them ; that sport wiU now 
be at an end, and our interests will be consolidated 
by this match, as well as our estates. 

Soph, Still you mistake my meaning ; I talk of the 
qualities of a man, you of his possessions; I require 

iia r* THB BROTHERS* %J 

In a husband, good morals, good nature, and goo<;l 
»ense; what has all thi$ to do with contiguous es« 
Kates, conne^^ed interests, and contested elections. 

Sir Ben, I don't rightly understand what you would 
have, child ; but this I well know, that if money 
alone will not make a woman happy, 'twill always 
purchase that that will.— I hope, Sophy, you've 
done thinking of that rambling, idle young fellow. Bob 

Soph,, Perish all thought of him for ever I Nothing 
can be more contrary, more impossible in nature, 
than my union with young BelBeld : — age, ugliness, 
ill-nature, bring any thing to my arms, rather than 

Sir Ben, But why so angry with him, child } This 
violent detestation and abhorrence is as favourable a 
symptom as any reasonable lover could wish for* 


Enter Pater son. 

Pat, Joy to you, Sir Benjamin I all joy attend you 
both I the bridegroom by this tim** is arrivM ; we saw 
his equipage enter the avenue as ours drove into the 

Sir Ben, Mr. Paterson, sir, I know not if yet your 
friend is to be a bridegnoom ; I find my daughter 
here so cold and uncomplymg, for my own part, I 
don't know how 1 shall look Mr. Belfield in the face. 

Pat, Fear nothing, Sir fieixjamin : make haste and 


receive your son-in-law ; I have nevrs to communi- 
cate to Miss Dove, which, I am confident^ will dispose 
her to comply with your wishes. 

Sir Ben. Well, sir, I shall leave her to your tutor- 
age. This obliging gentleman undertakes not only 
for my wife, but my daughter too. [^Exiu 

Soph, I am surprised, Mr. Paterson- 

Pat. Hold, madam, for one moment : I have made 
a discovery of the last importance to your welfare: 

you are in an error with regard to young Belfield 

Violetta, the lady you believed him to married to, is 
here in the house ; I have brought her hither at your 
request, and from her I learn that the elder brother is 
her husband ; he who this very morning, but for my 
discovery, had been yours also. 

Soph. What's this you tell me^ sir ?— Where \% 
this lady, where is Violetta ; where is young Bel fields 

Pat. Violetta, madam, I have put under safe con- 
voy, and by this time your waiting woman has lodg*d 
her privately in the closet of your bedchamber : there 
you will find her, and learn the whole process of this 

providential escape. I'll only speak a word to Sir 

Benjamin, and come to you without any further de- 
lay. [^ExU Sophia. 


Enter Sir Benjamin Dove, and Belfibld Sem$r» 
Sir Ben* Well, Mr. Paterson, what says my daugh- 


Pat, Every thing that becomes an obedient daugh- 
ter to say; so that if this gentleman is not made com- 
pletely happy within this hour, the fault will lie at 
his door, and not with Miss Sophia* 

•Sir Bm, This is good news, Paterson ; but I am im- 
patient to have the ceremony concluded ; the bells are 
ringing, the parson is waiting, and the equipages are 
at the door ; step up to Sophia, and tell her to hasten ; 
and heark'e, my friend, as you go by Lady Dove's 
door, give her a call, do you mind me, only a call at 
tlie door: don't you go in j she*s busy at work upon 
a large parcel of ribbands, which 1 have given her to 
make into wedding favours, she'll be very angry if you 
- go into her chamber. Go, go, get you gone. 

\Exit Paterson. 
BtL sen. How comes it to pass. Sir Benjamin, that 
Mr. Paterson becomes so necessary an agent in the fe- 
male affdirs of your family ? I confess to you, my pride 
is wounded, when I find I am to thank him for your 
daughter's consent to marry me. The man that can 
prevail upon a woman to adt against her Irking, what 
may he not persuade her to do with it ) 

Sir Ben. Your remark is just j Paterson has cer- 
tainly some secret faculty of persuasion ; and all thai 
can be said, is, that 'tis better to sec your danger be- 
fore marriage, than to be feeling it out, as I have done 




Enter Captain Ironsides ayid Belfield jfunior. 

Sir Ben. What, old acquaintance, are yoti come to 

rejoice with me on this occasion ? Bob Belfield too, 

as I live ; you are both heartily welcome 1 could 

havespar'd their visit notwithstanding. \_Asidt* 

BeL sen My brother here ? vexation I 

Bel.juH, Sir Beniamin, I come n^w to claim your 
promise of one hour's conversation with your daugh- 

Sir Etn, The devil you do ! 

Bel sen. Ridiculous! 

Bel jun. To you, sir, obligations of this sort iliay 
be niait'T of ridicule; but while 1 religiously observe 
ail pr mises I make to others, I shall expert others to 
be ai « bsef vant of those they make to me. 

Bel sen Sir, I have a most profound veneration for 
yoiir principles, artd am happy to find your under- 
standing so much cultivated by travel ; but, in spite 
of your address, you wiU find it rather difficult to in- 
duce me ro wave my right in Miss Dove in favour of 
a profess'd ad venturer. 

Be/, jun Shameless, unfeeling man 1 an adventurer 
do you call me? Vou, whose uubroiherly persecution 
drove me to this hazardous, this humiliating occupa- 
tion i 

yr<7J«. Sirrah! Bob I no rcfled:ions upon privateer- 
ing I it has iin*d your pockels well^ you young roguei 


and. yoii may tell your fine brother there, that we have 
landed treasure enough upon his estate to buy the fee- 
simple of it : ay, and for what I know, of Sir Wise- 
acre's here, into the bargain. 

Sir Ben. What's that you say, Captain tronsides ?'« have a word in a corner with you. 

Bel. sen, Look'e, sir, if you conceive yourself 

wrongM by me, there is but one way You know 

your remedy, 

BeLjun. I know your meaning, brother; and, to 
demonstrate how much greater my courage is than 
yours, I must confess to yoa, I dare not accept your 

Sir Ben. No, no, I've given him enough of that, I 

Iran, Bob Belfield, if I did not know thee for a lad 
of mettle, I shou*dn*t tell what to make of all this: — 
for my own part, i understand none of your scruples 
and refinements, not I ; a man is a man ; and if I take 
care to give an affront to no man, I think I have a 
right to take an affront from no man. 

Sir Ben. Come, gentlemen, suspeaid your dispute ; 
here comes my daughter, let her decide betwixt 

Bel. jun. Let me receive my sentence from her lips, 
and i will submit to it. 

Enter Soviiiht Paterson, and Lady Do.yb. 

Sir Ben. Here's a young gentleman, daughter, that 
will lake no denial ; he comes to iprbid the bann» 


just when you are both going into the church to be 

Soph. Upon my word» this is something extraor- 
dinary. What are the gentleman's reasons for thii 
behaviour ? 

Sir Btn, He claims a sort of promise from me that 
he should be indulged in an hour*s conversation with 
you before you give your hand to his brother. 

Soph. An hour's conversation! What little that 
gentleman can have to say to me, I believe, may be 
said in a very few minutes. 

Bel. sen. I think, brother, this conversation don't 
promise a great deal. 

Soph. In the first place, then, I own to this gentle- 
man and the company present, that there was a time 
when I entertain 'd the highest opinion of his merit* 
Na>, I will not scruple to confess that I had conceiv'd 
a regard for him of the tenderest sort. 

Iron And pray, young lady, how came my nephew 
to forfeit your good opinion i 

Soph. By a conduct, sir, that must for ever forfeit 
not my e&teem only, but yours and all mankind's: 
I am sorry to be his accuser, but I will appeal to you, 
Mr. Belfield, who are his brother, whether it is re- 
concileable either to honour or humanity to prose- 
cute an affair of marriage with one woman, when you 
are previously and indispensably engag'd to another? 
Bel. sen. Humph 1 

Soph. Wt thist sir, is the treatment I have re- 
ceived : judge, therefore, if 1 can desire or consent to 


Jhave any long conversation with a gentleman who ift 
under such engagements; nay, whom I can pro^e 
a6lually married to another woman in this very house, 
and ready to vouch the truth of what I assert. Judge 
for me, Mr. Beliield, could you believe any man ca^ 
pable of such complicated, such inconceivable vil- 

Bel. sen* Heav'ns I This touches me too closely* 

Sir Ben. Sir, I would fain know what excuse you 
can have for this behaviour \ I can tell you, sir, I 
don't understand it. 

Lady Dove. Oh 1 fie I fie upon you, Mr. Belfield I 
I wonder you are not asham*d to show your face in 
this family. 

Sir Ben. Who desir'd you to put in your oar \ 

Iron. Why, sirrah, would not one wife content you \ 
'Tis enough in all reason for one man \ is it not, Sir 
Benjamin ? • 

Bel.jun, Sir, when it is prov'd I am married, ac- 
cuse me. 

Iron. Look*e, Bob, I don't accuse you for marry- 
ing ; 'twas an indiscretion, and I can forgive it ; but 
to deny it is a meanness, and I abhor it. 

Soph, Mr. Belfield, do you say nothing upon this 
occasion i 

Bel. sen. Paterson, I am struck to the heart ; I can« 
not support my guilt : I am married to Violctta ; 
save me the confusion of relating it : this dishonour- 
able engagement for ever I renounce ; nor will I rest 


tin I have made atonement to an injured wife. Ma« 
dam, I beg leave to withdraw for a few minutes. 

Belt jun* Holdy sir; this contrivance is of your 
forging; you have touchM me too near; and now, if 
you dare draw your sword, follow me. 

Soph, Hold, gentlemen^ you forget the lady is now 
in the house; she is a witness that will effe6tually put 
an end to your dispute ; I will conduA her hither. 

BeLjuu* I agree to it. 

Iron, Hark'e, nephew, I shrewdly suspe£l you 
have been laying a train to blow yourself up : if once 
Bob comes fairly along- side of you, you'll- find your 
quarters too hot to hold you : I never yet found my 
boy out in a lie, and sha'n't tamely see a lie imposed 
upon him; for while he is honest, and I have breath, 
he shall never want a friend to stand by him, or a 
father to protefi him. 

Bel. sen. Mr. Paterson, explain my story; I will 
depart this instant in search of Violetta. 

Enter Sofhia and Violbtta. 

SopA. Stay I I conjure you; stay, turn, and look 
back upon this lady before you go. IPresenting Vio. 

Bel. sen. My wife ! 

Sir Ben. Hey-day 1 here's a turn. 

Iron, I thought how 'twould be. 

Fio, Yes, sir, your faithful, your forsaken wife. 

Bel. sen. How shall I look upon you } What shall I 
say i Where shall I hide my confusion } Oh 1 take 


me to your arms, and in that soft shelter let me find 
forgiveness and prote£lion. 

f^io. Be this your only punishment 1 and this I 

Bd.jun, Was it then a sister I preserved from 
death } 

BeL sen, What*s this I hear ? Oh I brother^ can you 
pardon too ? 

£eLjun» Be indeed a brother, and let this provi- 
dential event be the renovation of your friendship* 

BeL sen. What shall I say to you, madam } [To So* 
phia.] Patcrson, you know my heart : bear witness 
to its remorse. By Heav'n, my secret resolution was 
instantly to have departed in search of this my in- 
jured wife ; but I'm not worthy evao of your resent- 
ment: here is one that merits and returns your love* 

[Turning to his Brother* 

Iron* Come, god- daughter, we can never say the 
fleet's fairly come to an anchor, wlyle the admiral's 
ship is out at sea. [[^resenting Bel field Junior, "} My 
nephew here is as honest a lad as lives, and loves 
you at the soul of him 2 give him your hand, and I'll 
broach the last chest of dollars to make him a fortune 
deserving you. What say you, my old friend ? 

Sir Ben, Here's my hand ! I've spoke the word; 
she's his own. Lady Dove, I won't hear a syllable 
to the contrary. 

Iron, Then the galleon is thy own, boy.— What 
should an old fellow like me do with money ? Give 
me a warm night-cap, a tiff of punchy afld an elbow- 

9^ THS BROTHS&S. utfff T. 

chair in your chimney corner; and I'll lay up for the 
rest of my days. 

Bel.jun, How shall I give utterance to my gratitude 
or my love f 

Mnttr Goodwin, Fanny, Fb.anci$» Philip^ and 
Sir Ben, So, sol more work for the parson. 
Iron, What I Francis, hast thou chosen a mate, and 
art bound upon a matrimonial cruise as well as thy 
master } 

Fran, Ay, sir ; so he is happy as well as myself, 
and has no obje^ion to my choice. 

Bei, sen. What! Are you all assembled to over- 
whelm me with confusion } Like some poor culprit, 
surrounded by a crowd of witnesses, I stand convi^d 
and appaird. But all your' wrongs shall be redressM ; 
your's Goodwin; Philip's; Lucyjs: my whole life shall 
be employM in adls of justice and atonement. Virtue, 
and this virtuous woman, were my first ruling passions. 
Now they resume their social soft controulj 
And love and happiness possess my soul. 

[Exeunt omnes. 


Spoken by Mrs. Yatis. 

n^HO but has seen the celebrated stii/e, 
Where Reynolds calls the canvass into life ; 
And, 'twixt the tragic and the comk muse. 
Courted of boihf and dubious where to choose^ 

TV immortal AHor stands f Here we espy 

An awful figure^ pointing to the shy ; 

A gravey sublime, commanding form she bears^ 

And in her zone, an unsheathed dagger wears. 

On V other side, with sweet attractive mien, 

TChe playful muse of comedy is seen \ 

She, with a thousand soft, bewitching smiles. 

Mistress of love, his yielding heart beguiles i 

(For whereas the heart so hardened, to withstand 

^e fond compulsion of so fair a hand?) 

Oh I would she here bestow those winning arts I 

This night we' dfx her empire in your hearts j 

No tragic passions should deface the age. 

But all should catch good' humour from the stage : 

The storming husband, and imperious wife. 

Should learn the dotlrine of a quiet life : 

Tke plodding drudge, should here at times resort. 

And leave his stupid clubf and stummy port -, 


7%e pensive politiciariy who foresees 

Cloudsy stormsy and tempests ^ in the calms of peace i 

The scribbling tribe, who vent their angry spleens 

In songs, prints, pamphlets, papers, magazines ^ 

Lucius, and Anti^Lucius, pro^s and con*Sp 

The list of placets, and of placet-nons \ 

The mobbing vulgar, and the ruling great. 

And all who storm, and all who steer the state i 

Here should for get the labours of the day. 

And laugh their cares, and their complaints, away. 

The wretch qf JonaiharCs^ who, crushed with shame^ 

Crawls lamely out from India's desperate game. 

Safely might speculate within these walls ; 

For here, while you approve, stoch never falls: 

Pleased then indulge the efforts of to-night. 

Nor grudge to give^ if you've rectivd delight.