SCENE I.

GIN the black de'el glowr at me, I'ze tell ye my mind! Diſchairge me an ye wull: I a been nae mair but therty years i' the faimily. I care nae for yeer canker'd girns! An ye wad nae hear faſhus tales, ye munna be guilty o' fow deeds!

Will you ſpeak in a lower key?—Earth is wholly inhabited by Harpies, and I am eternally haunted by the moſt malignant of them!

An I get nae tidings of her to-day, I'ze ad⯑vertize for her i' the public papers! Ay, and I'ze gar yeer name be imprented at full langth!

Print my name?

The de'el hike me on his horns gin I dunna.

Daemon! I'll blow your brains out!

Fiz, wi' your flaſh i' the pan! I dunna fear ye! Yeer raſh and mad enoch! Sham betide ye! A father abandon his child?

Leproſy ſeize your licentious tongue, will you ſpeak lower? Did I abandon her?

Ye wad nae acknowledge her; wad nae ſee her; never frae the time that ſhe war a wee tot at the knee! Gin ye had a hairt ye wad nae aixpoſe her tul.—

What?

Tramp the ſtreets! Aixpald the warld of oneſty by her ain father! And why, trow? She is a naitural child! To beget children, and then turn them adrift to bag, ſteal or ſtairve, is a damned unnaitural deed!

Prophet of evil! Would you tell all the fa⯑mily? Expoſe me to my wife?

I'ze aixpoſe ye tul the whole warld, gin I dunna find her! And what the muckle better ſhall I be gin I do? A thrawart poverty maun be her lot! Ye ha' diced, and drabbed, and ſquandered, and mort⯑gaged, till ye wull na' hae a baw bee tul yeerſal!

Ceaſe your croaking, raven! Do you govern this houſe, or I?

Govern, trow? Belzebub himſal is the gover⯑nor! There is yeer pett ſteward! An auld whilly wha! Tak warning! I ha' toud ye aforetime and I tell ye again, he's a raſcal.

Viper, 'tis falſe! If the earth hold an honeſt man, Mr. item is he.

Oneſt? A juggling loon o'hell! He feigns to borrow the filler for ye wetch he lends himſal; and the walthy poſſaſſions ye lang ſyne held wull eſtſoon be aw his ain.

I ſay 'tis falſe! His truth, integrity and zeal are unexampled!

Marcy o' God, ye'er bewetched!

What a den of miſery is this world! Swarming with one ſet of fiends that raiſe the whirlwind of the paſſions, and with another that beſet and tantalize the bewildered wretch for having been overtaken by the ſtorm!

Poor Joanna! Winſom laſſey—I'ze keep my ward!

Can nothing ſtop your peſtiferous tongue? Have I not fifty times deſcended to explanation, and ſhewn you that I muſt not, cannot, own her?

Dare not! Ye hanna the hairt to be oneſt! Ye bogle at ſhadows!

Pertinacious devil! The public clamour and diſgrace, the affected ſufferings and inſulting forbear⯑ance of Lady Anne, the reſentment of her imperious family, are theſe ſhadows?

SCENE II.

What is it you are pleaſed to be talking, pray, about my lady, Mr. Scotch Donald?

Troth, Mrs. Engliſh Sarſnet, nae ward o' ill.

Ill truly! No, ſir, my lady may defy her worſt enemies! Though there are folks, who ought to adore the very ground ſhe treads upon, that uſe her like a Turk!

How now?

I name no names.

Who ſent for you here, Miſtreſs?

My lady ſent me here, ſir.

And did ſhe bid you behave with impertinence?

She, indeed! A dear ſuffering ſaint! She bid me always behave with affability and decorum: and ſo I would, if I could But it would provoke an angel!

And what is it your wiſdom thinks ſo pro⯑voking!

To ſee a ſweet lady ſit for hours, and pine and grieve; and then, when ſome folks are in ſight, pretend to ſmile and be all aſſignation and con⯑tentment, when all the while her poor heart is ready to break!

Then ſhe complains to you?

I ſaid no ſuch thing, ſir! No: ſhe com⯑plains to no chriſtian foul; more's the ſhame! I wiſh ſome folks had a little of my ſpirit! other folks, may⯑hap, mut find the difference!

Troth, an yee wad nae be ſneaking o' that, Mrs. Sarſnet.

A poor weak woman, who can only take her own part by crying, and fainting!

Ye forget, Mrs. Sarſnet, there are ſome poor weak women that ha' tongues and nails.

Have they, Mr. Snap-ſhort? Why then, if I had you for a huſband, mayhap I would let you ſee that I could uſe them.

The muckle de'el may doubt yee!

It's a ſhame, Mr. Donald, for you to be getting into corners, and whiſpering and peering and plotting to my lady's diſhonour!

I plotting? How dare yee, Mrs. Sarſnet.

Silence, with you both!

You ought to be aſhamed of making yourſelf a ſpy, and a ſkip-jack go-between!

I a ſkip-jack? Varra weel! Yee hear, ſir, what are my thanks! 'Tis unco weel! I hae but my deſairts! True enoch, I am a go-between!

Yes, yes; we know that very well, Mr. Donald.

But nae ſic go-between as yee, Mrs. Malapert, may thenk me! I hae been a truſt worthy caterer tul the family:

a ſlave tul yeer revels, and yeer roots, and year banquetings. 'Tis lang ſyne ye made me yeer purveyor; but nae man ever yet made me his pander!

Begone! See if Mr. Item is returned.

Ah! There's another!

Skip-jack? Go-between? Mag's maliſon o' yeer ſpitefoo' tongue-gab!

SCENE III.

Did your lady, I ſay, inſtruct you to behave with this inſolence?

You know very well, ſir, my lady is the beſt of wives! ſhe ſent me on a civil meſſage, and bid me ſpeak with properiety: and ſo, if ſpeaking one's mind and telling the truth be a fault, its all my own.

I'll put an end to this.

Oh, to be ſure; you may tell my lady and get me turned away, if you pleaſe! becauſe, I know very well, if you bid her, ſhe will do it!

Prometheus and his vulture is no fable!

But, as it is all for love of my lady, I am ſure the Earl of Oldereſt, her father, will give me a ſitiation He knows, mayhap, more than you may think. So does the Viſcount her brother, too; her aunt lady Mary, and her uncle the Biſhop: and every body is not obliged to be ſo blind and ſo tame as my lady!

What is it they know?

That's more than I can ſay; but they have all been here, and my lady deſires to ſpeak with you.

Indeed!—I have no leiſure.

Ha! I told my lady ſo!

Begone! inform your lady, I have tormentors enough; and have no inclination to increaſe the number.

I prognoſtified the anſwer!—A good for nothing chap!—I know very well what is becoming of a huſband! He ſhould love his wife, dearly, by day and by night! he ſhould wait upon her; and give her her own way; and keep her from the cold, and the wet; and provide her with every thing comfortable; and if the happen to be in an ill humour, ſhould coax her, and bear a little ſnubbing patiently! Humph! The fellows! What are they good for?

SCENE IV. Changes to the Steward's Room.

My dear Grime, I am glad you are come! Well, is the deed prepared?

Ready for ſealing. Mr. Mordent never ex⯑amines what he ſigns! he truſts all to you!

We cannot be too ſafe. But, this other affair? this Joanna? What have you done? Have you de⯑coyed her to Mrs. Enfield's?

Really, Mr. Item, ſhe is ſo fine a creature that, when I conſigned her over, I am not a true Chriſ⯑tian if I did not feel ſuch a twinge here!—

Curſe your twinges? Is ſhe ſafe? Did ſhe ſuſpect nothing?

No, no! The poor innocent bleſſed herſelf, to think what a kind protectreſs Providence had ſent her?

That is well! That is well!

But I do not yet underſtand why you ſhould ſeek the ruin of this lovely creature?

I? You miſtake: 'tis Mr. Mordent!

What, wiſh deſtruction to his child?

No, no. We neither of us ſeek her harm; but our own ſafety.

Which way?

He has various tormentors; his wife, or ra⯑ther her proud relations, are among the chief; and he dreads they ſhould come to the knowledge of this ſe⯑cret. But his ſtrongeſt terror is of being detected, in having for years diſowned a child who, if now pro⯑duced, would be his everlaſting diſgrace.

Then he does not know that his daughter is now in the houſe of Mrs. Enfield?

Not a word. His plan, for the preſent, is to ſettle her in ſome profeſſion: for this he will beſtow a thouſand pounds, which, ha, ha, ha! I am to expend.

Or keep?

Plague! I have ſaid too much.

Oh, oh! A thouſand pounds?

That—that, my dear Grime, would be a pal⯑try motive.

I'll have my ſhare!

Mr. Mordent has been all his life ſquandering, like a blockhead, what I have been prudently pick⯑ing up.

And pretty pickings you have had, Mr. Item!

I have him in the toils! Intereſt accumulating, upon intereſt, and all in arrear. I can forecloſe upon him when I pleaſe, for all except the Berkſhire eſtate; and by this ſecond mortgage, agree⯑ably to the deed you have brought, equity of redemp⯑tion [11]will be forfeited, and that as well as the reſt will then be mine!

If he had but ſigned and ſealed—

Which he ſhall do this very day.

Still, why are you the enemy of Joanna? What have you to ſear from her?

Much! Very much! An action of recovery!

How ſo? She has no title! She is illegitimate!

Would ſhe were! No, no; a lawful daughter, born in wedlock; her mother poor but virtuous, and died in childbed. Fearful it ſhould injure his ſecond marriage with lady Anne, he never produced the in⯑fant, but told his man, Donald, it was a natural daugh⯑ter, and by his intermiſſion ſecretly maintained and had her educated.

Why not employ the ſame agent ſtill?

Becauſe this Donald has got the fool's diſeaſe, pity, and threatens to make Mordent own his daugh⯑ter, or impeach.

And it was prudent to place her beyond Do⯑nald's knowledge?

It was.

Ha! 'Tis a ſtrange world! Well, now, Mr. Item, give me leave to ſay a word or two on my own affairs.

To be ſure my dear friend! Speak and ſpare not.

There is the thouſand pounds, you men⯑tioned.

Hem!

Then the premium on this mortgage—In ſhort, Mr. Item, I do all your buſineſs, ſtand in your ſhoes;—

You are my right hand, the apple of my eyes!

Ay, but—

The deareſt friend I have on earth!

The diviſion of profits—

Don't mention it. Am not I your friend? I ſhall not live for ever.

No, nor I neither. Friendſhip—

Don't think of it. You can't diſtruſt me! The firſt and beſt friend you ever had!

Fine words—

Yonder is my nephew.

Clement.

SCENE V.

Sir.

Fetch the title deeds of the Berkſhire eſtate from my good friend Mr. Grime's.

Well, but—

Any time, to-day.

Very well, ſir.

Once again, Mr. Item—

And, Clement!

I ſay the diviſion—

Hark! I hear Mr. Mordent!

It ſhall not paſs off thus. I begin to know you!

I would not have you ſeen juſt now—My dear Grime! My kind friend! Through this door! Some other opportunity! Pray oblige me!

Well, well—

The next time we meet, you ſhall know more of my mind.

The raſcal begins to grow trouble⯑ſome!—Take care of the ſteps, good Mr. Grime!

SCENE VI.

What is life? A continual cloud; pregnant with miſchief, malignity, diſeaſe and death. Happi⯑neſs? An ignis fa [...]us. Pleaſure? A nonentity. Ex⯑iſtence? A misfortune, a burthen. None but fools condeſcend to live. Men exert their whole faculties to torture one another. Animals are the prey of ani⯑mals. Flowers bloom to be plucked and periſh. The very graſs grows to be torn and eaten: trees to be mangled, ſawed, rooted up, and burned. The whole is a ſyſtem of exquiſite miſery, and I have my full pro⯑portion!—Oh! this girl! Why am I thus perturbed concerning her; She can but be wretched; and wretch⯑edneſs is the certain ſate of all! ‘But then, the world? Why what an inſatuated aſs am I; con⯑temning [13]the world and all it contains, yet living in continual dread of its reproof!’

Well, my good Mr. Item, this poor Joanna! What have you done? Can you ſecure her happineſs? Pſhaw! Fool! Can you lighten her miſery? I can think of nothing but her; though diſtraction is in every thought?

'Tis a ſerious affair: very ſerious—you ought to do nothing lightly.

Turned adrift, rejected of all, no relation, no friend, never acknowledged, never?

My advice you know, Sir, was at once boldly to produce her, as your daughter. No matter for the impertinent clamours and queſtions of who her mother was, and what became of her; why the child was ne⯑ver owned; where ſhe had been concealed, and for what purpoſes?

Ay, ay, ay! The malignant ſneers of friends, the cutting calumny of enemies, the reproaches of Lady Anne, the inſults of her pompous proud family!

For my part, I obey your commands, but I cannot approve them.

My late ward, Mr. Cheveril, ſhould he hear of it what would he think?—Then this Berkſhire mortgage!

Ay, there again! Totally oppoſite to my advice.

Can you ſhew me any other poſſible way of paying my debts?

The danger of ſigning it is extreme!

'Tis ruin! But what matter? Is not the whole one maſs of wretchedneſs?

Young Cheveril, I own, has demands.

Which muſt be paid.

Then the out-ſtanding bills—tradeſmen are provokingly inſolent!

Ay, ay! They, like the reſt, have their ap⯑pointed office of torture!

Well, remember I have given you fair warning!

Certainly! You do your part, and with the [14]beſt intentions; goad, and ſting, and add your quan⯑tum to the ſum of ſuffering! The conſiſtency of evil is amazing! good and bad, all concur!—Is the deed ready?

I muſt firſt read it through.

Do ſo. I leave it all to you.

But that will not take ten minutes.

I will be back preſently. The gulph is before me, plunge I muſt, and to plunge blindfold will be to cheat the devil of ſome part of the pain!

Nay, if you will not be warned, it is not my fault.

SCENE VII. The Dreſſing Room of Lady ANNE.

I told your Ladyſhip he would refuſe.

What reaſon did he give?

Reaſon, forſooth! Huſbands never have any reaſon!

Unkind man! Why does he thus wiſh to avoid me?

He keeps his diſtance, both day and night! But I would teach him to ſleep in two beds! A pretty faſhon truly! I would tell him I was afraid of ghoſts; and ſo I married becauſe I could not nor I would not lie alone. So let him remember that.

Why were you ſo long in bringing the meſ⯑ſage back?.

Why that is what I have to tell your Ladyſhip. If there is not bad doings, ſay I am no witch.

What do you mean?

Your Ladyſhip muſt not be angry; but you know I can't help having a ſharp eye and a quick ear of my own.

What have you been doing now?

So I ſaw my Maſter go into the ſteward's room.

Pſhaw! Folly! What of that?

So I had all my ſeven ſenſes and my eye-teeth about me.—

Pray have done!

So I clapped my ear to the keyhole; and then I heard a—whuz, buz—

This was very improper!

So I could only catch up a word here and there; and the firſt was ſummut about—of a child!

A child?

And a mother, my Lady! Though for the matter of that, where there is a child, one's own nataral penetrality will tell one there muſt be a mother.

Of what weakneſs am I guilty?

And I thought I catched the ſound of Mr. Item of a fathering the child! and I'm poſituve he ſaid it wuz againſt his conſcience!

Who ſaid ſo?

Mr. Item, my Lady! And ſo a little bit after, my maſter called ſomebody a poor injurious girl, and a prodigality of wit and beauty! So then I heard ſomebody's foot on the ſtairs, and I wuz fain to ſcamper.

I know not why I liſten to this indecent prattle! My over-anxious curioſity betrays me, and you are much too forward to profit by my weakneſs.

Becauſe you know, my Lady, I love you in my heart; and it is all for your own good.

A child! An injured girl! Yet why do I feel agitation? His infidelities have been too open, for me to be ignorant of them. And who has been to blame; he or I? Oh! doubtful and difficult queſtion!

But I'll come at the truth, I'll warrant me, in all its particlers!

Suffering perhaps under the conſciouſneſs of error, which the ſight of me might increaſe, he flies from additional anguiſh. Oh! that I had the power to ſooth and reconcile him to himſelf! Why will he not receive conſolation from me?

I'll rummage about.

If I am unhappy, how muſt I be certain that it is not my own fault? Where there is unhappi⯑neſs, neither party can be wholly blameleſs.

He ought to love and adore ſuch a Lady! and clothe her in ſatin and gold!

Shall I tyrannize over the affections that I cannot win? If I want the power to pleaſe, let me correct my own defects, and not accuſe my huſband of inſenſibility! Oh, nothing is ſo killing to a huſband's love, as a diſcontented, irkſome, w [...]iling wife! let me be any thing but that!

He is a barbarian Turk! and ſo I as good as told him.

‘What is the teſt of an affectionate wife? It is that, being wronged, her love remains undi⯑miniſhed; having cauſe of complaint, ſhe ſcorns to complain, convinced that any miſery is more wel⯑come than the poſſibility of becoming the torment of her boſom's Lord! Oh, let me rather ſuffer every poſſible evil than endure my huſband's hate!’

If any fellow was to uſe me ſo, I know what I would do.

Yet have I not loſt his love? Dreadful doubt! My family adviſe a ſeparation, and, if this fatal loſs be real, how is it to be avoided? Yet, I will not ſightly yield! Let me hope my efforts will not all be ineffectual. Would this agonizing conteſt were ended!

She may ſay what ſhe will, but I know very well ſhe is the moſt miſerable-eſt lady alive, and I could tear his eyes out! Huſband, indeed? And ſo, becauſe I liſtened to the fellow's love, and nonſenſe⯑ſtuff, and took pity on him, when he was going to hang or drown himſelf, he muſt think, as ſoon as he has got me ſafe, to be my lord and maſter! I'd tell him another ſtory! My lord and maſter, truly!

SCENE I. The Houſe of Mrs. ENFIELD.

AND, mind me, treat her with great kindneſs and deference.

I'll be careful.

Keep her in continual good humour: don't let her aſk for any thing twice; and above all thingſ liſten to her complaints, and pity them.

My white handkerchief ſhall be at her ſervice.

Is the meſſenger returned?

Yes, madam; and there is no anſwer from Mr. Mordent, but Mr. Lennox ſent word he will ſoon be here.

Send her to me.

Yes, madam.

She is young, and ignorant of the town; but, I can ſee, ſhe has a quick and courageous ſpirit.

SCENE II.

Well, my ſweet Joanna; do you think you can love me, and truſt me, and follow my advice?

Are you not my benevolent protectreſs, and will it not be my duty?

Why that's a precious! Ay, ay; do but as I deſire you, darling, and then!

Oh, that I will! Come, ſet me to work.

Ah, I won't kill you with work. Pretty dear! Thoſe delicate arms!—They were not made for work.

Fie! You muſt not tell me that. My mo⯑ther is dead, and my father—!

But I muſt bear my fate with fortitude. Labour is no puniſh⯑ment.

Labour? Oh the beauty! Chicken gloves, my lamb, for thoſe white hands! A noble looking-glaſs, [18]to ſee that ſweet form! A fine chariot, to ſhew off your charms! Theſe you ought to have, and a thouſand other fine things. Ay, and if you will take my advice, have them you ſhall.

Fine things? Chariots? No, no; not for me. To work, to work.—But I'll willingly take your advice; for are ſo kind, it cannot be ill!

Ill? Heaven protect me! I adviſe a dear ſweet handſome creature to ill?

Handſome? Fie! an orphan; Fatherleſs!

Ay, very true! Ill? No, no; think me your parent.

Dear lady!

Ah, my tender lamb! Think of joy! Think of pleaſure!

Be not ſo kind. You ſhould not ſoften, but ſteel my heart! Teach it to have neither fear nor feeling of wrong; to laugh when others weep. Oh! I'll mock at ſorrow!

Do not think of it.

Did you never ſee your father?

Anan, dear?

I never ſaw mine! Do not even know his name! I had a ſtrange deſire to ſee him once, but once, and I was denied! I am a high ſpirited girl, but I would have kneeled to him; would have kiſſed his feet; and was refuſed.—No matter!

Forget it.

Well, well!—Courage!—You muſt let me work. I'll earn what I eat. I love you for your kind⯑neſs, but I will not be dependent.

Since you will! You ſay you can draw?

It has been my delight. I have ſtudied the human countenance, have read Lavater.

Anan! Will you copy the engraving I ſhewed you?—

What, the portrait of that ſtrange—?

Mr. Mordent.

Mordent?

Of Portland Place.

I don't quite like him!

Why?

He's a wicked man.—

Nay—

A wild eye!—I hope he is not your rela⯑tion.

No; but has been a very good friend.

Take care of him!

Can you judge ſo certainly?

Looking at ſuch a face, who can fail?

You are a worthy lady; a kind lady; your actions beſpeak it: and yet—Don't be angry—there is ſomething about your features—that I don't like!

Bleſs, me, dear!

In muſt be wrong, becauſe you are good: but you have not a good countenance. That's ſtrange! I never ſaw ſuch a thing before!—And the more I look the leſs I like.

Does ſhe ſuſpect me?

If ever I draw your face, I'll alter ſome of the lines. I'll make them ſuch as I think virtue ought to have made them; open, honeſt, undaunted. You have ſuch a number of little artful wrinkles at the cor⯑ners of your eves!—You are very cunning!

What does ſhe mean?

But what of that? You are kind to me; and I ſear no cunning, not I! You found me friend⯑leſs, have given me work, and I would die to ſerve you! So I'll copy that wild man's portrait.

Wild?

Nay, for that matter, you need not fear him; but if you know any vain, fooliſh young girls, that love flaunting, and will liſten to fine promiſes, bid them beware of him!

A little witch.

Mr. Lennox is below, madam.

I am glad of that! Come, my ſweet Joanna, I'll introduce you to him.

Me, madam?

Ay, Child! that I will. Every body ſhall know what an angel my dear young friend is.

Conſider, madam—

Nay, I am ſure you will not refuſe me this pleaſure? Come, come!

You are too kind!

Come, my precious.

Well! I commit myſelf to your truſt. Friendleſs and fatherleſs, you will be my guardian. You are too generous to injure the helpleſs, and the forlorn: and the lines in your face are falſe!

SCENE III. An Anti-chamber in the Houſe of MORDENT.

Grumble no more 'Guardy! Have done with prognoſticating evil! 'Tis all in vain: your gloomy reign is ended: I am of age!

To play the fool!

I'm free! I'm alive! I'm beginning to exiſt!

Like a wretch at the ſtake, when the flames firſt reach him!

The whole world is before me! its pleaſures are ſpread out, and I long to fall on! The golden ap⯑ples of delight hang inviting me to pluck, eat, and—

Be poiſoned!

Ha, ha, ha!

As your guardian, I—

Damn guardianſhip! I have been guarded too long. Years our of number have I been fed with lean Latin, crabbed Greek, and an abominable olio of the four faculties; ſerved up with the jargon of Ariſ⯑totle, the quirks of Thomas Aquinas, and the quib⯑bles and quodlibets of Doctor Duns Scotus.

Take warning—!

Fined for Horace, horſed for Homer, and plucked becauſe I could not parrot over their premiſes and predicates, majors and minors, antecedents and conſequents. My brain was a broker's ſhop; the little good furniture it contained all hid by lumber!

Let me tell you, young Sir—

Not now: Your day is done. I am my own man! I breathe! I am abroad! I am on the wing to viſit the regions of fruition and Paradiſe; to banquet with the Gods, and ſip ambroſia from the lips of Venus and Hebe, the Hours, the Loves, and the Graces!

You are a lunatic!

No! I am juſt come to my ſenſes; for I am juſt come to my eſtate! High health, high ſpirits, eight thouſand a year, and one and twenty!

Youth? Riches? Poor ideot! Health too? What is man but a walking hoſpital? You, boy, you, little as you ſuſpect it, include within yourſelf a whole pharmacopoeia of malady and miſchief!

Zounds! He'll perſuade me preſently I am Pandora's box!

So you are!

Why, guardy! You are mad!

True, or I ſhould take the ſhorteſt way to get rid of miſery, and inſtantly go hang myſelf!

What a picture!

Equal it in accuracy, if you can.

Why I am but a young artiſt; however I can daſh my bruſh at the canvas as daringly as you have done! So what think you

of mirth, ſongs, and ſmiles; youth, beauty, and kiſſes; friend⯑ſhip, liberty, and love; with a large capacious ſoul of benevolence, that can ſooth the afflicted, ſuccour the poor, heal the ſick, inſtruct the ignorant, honour the wiſe, reform the bad, adore the good, and hug genius and virtue to the heart?

Every feature a lie!

Curſe me but I ſay the likeneſs is at leaſt as good as yours: and I am ſure the colouring is infi⯑nitely more delightful!

SCENE IV.

I'ze ganging aboot the buſineſs of the poor laſſy, ken ye me? Gin ye want me, I'ze be back in a blink.

Go to the devil, if you will; ſo that you do not torment me.

Ha, friend Donald! Don't you know that I'm of age? Won't you revel and roar, my boy? Why do you look ſo glum, old honeſty?

Troth ye miſtake the maitter, young gentle⯑man: I am an auld go-between.

Ha, ha, ha!

It's varra true; wetch makes me unco blate. A helpleſs bairn has been caſt upo' the wide warld, by a hairtleſs father, and I am a pairt o' the cauſe.

Again, Imp?

A child deſerted by the father!

Ye well may ſhew the gogle o' yeer eyn.

Is he poor? Is he pennyleſs?

Much thereaboot, an I dunna miſs my ken.

Bring the child to me! Bring it to me, old rueful! I'll be it's father! I never fathered a child in my life, and I long to begin!

Ye ſeem truly to hae mair human affaction than ſome fathers.

Begone! Leave us, Blood-ſucker! Goblin! Vampire!

Yas—I'ze gang where I tow'd ye; and, gin I dunna hear o'her, ye'ze h [...]ar o' me!

SCENE V.

Bring me the baby, Donald! Zounds how it would delight me to father all the fatherleſs children in the world? Poor little dears! I ſhould have a plenti⯑ful brood!—And ſo, guardian, I want money.

What! To purchaſe deſtruction wholeſale?

I have five hundred good, wicked, ſpirited, famous projects on hand. You have ſeventeen thou⯑ſand pounds of mine, hard caſh. I want it.

Seventeen thouſand plagues!

Every farthing.

Your money, ſir, is locked up in mortgages.

Locked up? Oh, damme, I'll unlock it. I'll ſend honeſt Grime to ye; he carries a maſter key.

Have you no regard to my convenience.

I'll pay the premium; and, if you want ſe⯑curity, you may have mine. I muſt have money! [23]The world muſt hear of me! I'll be a patron, and a ſubſcriber, and a collector, and an amateur, and a connoiſſeur, and a dilletanti! I'll hunt, I'll race, I'll dice; I'll grub, plant, plan, and improve! I'll buy a ſtud, fell a foreſt, build a palace, and pull down a church.

Mr. Cheveril!—He is flown—Why ay, with ſpirits equally wild, wanton, and ignorant of evil, I began my career. I have now lived long enough to diſcover that univerſal nature is univerſal agony! O this rejected Joanna ! Miſerable girl! Well? Am not I miſerable too? Who is not?—The dangers to which ſhe may be expoſed? The cruelty of utterly abandon⯑ing her? Never ſhall I again be at peace with my⯑ſelf?—

Where is your maſter?

Hark! My wife! She tortures me with her ſilent ſufferings and her ſtifled ſighs. Paſſion, bitter reproach, and violent menace, would be infinitely more ſupportable. In ſhort, I have not deſerved her kind⯑neſs, and cannot endure it.

SCENE VI.

Mr. Mordent! Thus does he continually ſhun me! Why then do I haunt him? Why intrude myſelf upon him?—Muſt this have no end? Fond fooliſh heart, theſe aches and pains are fruitleſs! Sleep in forgetfulneſs, ceaſe to feel, and be at peace!

I tell you, I can't ſtay!

The ſtories, too, with which this kind but officious creature torments me—

SCENE VII.

I've got it, my lady! I've got it!

What is the matter now?

Why, I'll tell your ladyſhip. A queer quandary kind of perſon brought my maſter a letter; which I knew was ſuſpicious. So my maſter's coat was all powder; over here.

How he came by it, I don't know!

Pſhaw! Pray don't teaze me.

So, my lady, he took it off, and ordered one of the fellows to give it a bruſh. So, making a pretence, I was cloſe at his heels.

At whoſe heels?

The footman's, my lady. So while he was bruſhing, he had a wranglation with the cook; and turned about to gabble footman's gibberiſh with ſhe; ſo I, having a hawk's eye, twirled my hand behind me; ſo; and felt in the pocket; and there I found this written letter, which I ſlily ſlipped under my apron; ſo—

Take a letter out of your maſter's pocket?

Yes, my lady; becauſe, being broke open, I read the contents, and found that it was from one Mrs. Enfield, to appoint an aſſaſſination between my maſter and a young girl.

Give it me!

Yes, my lady; I was ſure you could not but wiſh to ſee it.

Miſtreſs Sarſnet, I have frequently cau⯑tioned you againſt practices like theſe; which are mean, diſhoneſt, and pilfering.

My lady!

To have robbed your maſter of his money would have been leſs culpable, than to ſteal from him the knowledge of tranſactions which, becauſe of their impropriety, he has not the courage to avow.

It's very hard, becauſe I can't bear your lady—ladyſhip's ill uſage, and, and, and always feel as if my very ſtays were a burſting, to ſee your, your treatment, time after time—that I ſhould get myſelf ill, ill, ill-will, becauſe I love you from the very bot⯑tom of my heart!

I have winked at theſe liberties too often: I'll ſuffer them no longer.

Very—very well—Since your ladyſhip is ſo angry, you may turn, turn, me away, if you pleaſe and quite break, break, break my heart!

No: the fault is more than half my own: But, from this time, I ſeriouſly warn you againſt ſuch improper, ſuch baſe actions.

Very—very well, my lady! I'll be deaf, and dumb, and blind! and, when I ſee you treated worſer than a ſavage, I'll burſt twenty laces a day, be⯑fore I'll ſpeak a word!

What you have done has been affectionately meant. I am ſorry to have given you pain, and to have excited your tears. But I muſt earneſtly deſire you will commit no more ſuch miſtakes. They are wrong, in themſelves; and every way fatal to my peace.

You are the tendereſt and beſt of ladies! and I know who is an unfeeling brute!

SCENE VIII.

Pray, miſtreſs Sarſnet, is Mr. Mordent within?

Indeed, ſir, I don't know!

Mr. Mordent is a good for nothing chap!

I'll bet you a thouſand, Cheveril, your char⯑mer does not equal the girl I have this moment left.

Done, for ten thouſand!

You would loſe.

You never beheld ſo peerleſs a beauty!

How did you become acquainted with her?

We are not yet acquainted;

and I begin to fear we never ſhall be.

Oh, oh!

I met her three times in the Green Park. The firſt moment I gazed at her with admiration—as ſoon as ſhe was gone by!

Gone by?

Good manners, you know, would not let me ſtare her in the face. Such a ſhape! Such elegance I The next time I determined to ſpeak to her, and ap⯑proached as reſolutely as Hercules to the Hydra.

A good ſimile for a beauty!

I had ſtudied a ſpeech; but, ſomehow, there was ſuch a ſweet ſeverity in her looks—I—I had not the power to utter a word!

Courageous lover!

The third time however, it being a little darker, for it was always in the evening, I was more undaunted: ſo, fully determined to throw myſelf at her feet and declare my paſſion, up I marched! But, as the devil would have it, ſhe turned and looked me full in the face; and her beauty, and—and virtue—and—and modeſty, were ſo awful—that my heart ſunk within me!

Ha, ha, ha!

It is now a fortnight ſince; and, though I have walked the Green Park, morning, noon and night every day, I could never once again ſet eyes on her! Intolerable booby that I was, to loſe three ſuch precious opportunities!

Of making love to a lady's maid?

Oh for one momentary glance, that I might give vent to the paſſion that devours me!

Ha, ha, ha!

What! You think I dare not?

Ha, ha, ha! Look you, Cheveril, I know you: a lighted match and the mouth of a cannon could not cow you like the approach of a petticoat.

I!—Afraid of women? Damme, I don't un⯑derſtand having my character attacked and traduced! Make a Maſter Jackey of me? I am a wicked one!

Ha, ha, ha! Wicked? You are as conſcien⯑tious as a drunken methodiſt, or as a dying miſer! You are not only afraid of the woman but of the ſin!

Why, if—No, damme, 'tis not true! I have no more conſcience than yourſelf.

Me? I have a deal of conſcience. Pleaſure, I own, can tempt me; but I make no pretenſions, like you, to ſin for the ſake of reputation.

Sir, I make no ſuch pretenſions! I am, in⯑deed, reſolved to be a fellow of enterprize, pith, and ſoul; but not by vile raſcally methods. I'll love all the women, and perhaps trick ſome of the men; but [27]not ſeduce wives, ruin daughters, and murder huſbands and fathers. No! If I cannot be wicked without being criminal, damme if I do not live and die an honeſt dull dog.

SCENE IX.

Curſe the letter—It's gone—Careleſs booby.

What's the matter?

A thouſand to one but it has fallen into the hands of lady Anne!

What have you loſt?

A damned epiſtle, from—

Hem!

SCENE X.

Mr. Mordent, I am glad to meet with you!

Glad? Is the thing ſo difficult?

I did not ſay ſo: I meant nothing unkind.

Ha, ha, ha!

Indeed I did not—I wiſh to ſpeak to you.

Stay where you are, Lennox. What, man you are in no fear of ſoothing inſult! You are not married.

I'll return in five minutes.

Pray, Mr. Mordent—

Pſhaw! I know I am a bear at the ſtake: don't ſhorten my tether.

I have a paper—

Ay, ay! I knew it. Come, be⯑gin! I am prepared.

It fell into my hands by the reprehenſible but unauthorized curioſity of my woman.

Ha, ha, ha!

Indeed, I have never opened it.

Nor ſhe either!

Yes; but that is not my fault.

Yours indeed? Impoſſible!

The heart, which I cannot ſecure by affec⯑tion, I will not alienate by ſuſpecting.

Pſhaw! Meekneſs is but mockery, forbearance inſult.

How ſhall I behave? Which way frame my words and looks, ſo as not to offend? Would I could diſcover?

You never complain? You have no jealouſy?

Indeed, I have been very obſtinately blind.

Ay, ay! Patience on a monument!

Reproach, at leaſt, has never eſcaped my lips.

Ha, ha, ha! As if lips were the only inſtru⯑ments of upbraiding! No deep fetched ſighs? No pale melancholy glances? No obvious hiding of the ever ready tear?

I fear I have been to blame! Indeed, I am ſorry that my ſenſations have been ſo acute.

You accuſe? You give a huſband pain? Inſo⯑lent ſuppoſition!

I ſincerely wiſh, my dear, you gave no more than I intend to give!

There! Did not I ſay ſo? Ha, ha, ha! You accuſe?

I am wrong! I forgot myſelf! Pray for⯑give me! Why am I ſubject to theſe miſtakes?

You are all angel!

Would I were!

And I all demon!

Do not, Mr. Mordent, by the dear affec⯑tion you once bore—

There! There! The affection I once bore?

Heavens! Muſt I ever be fated to wound, when it is moſt the wiſh of my ſoul to heal?

Why was the Earl of Oldcreſt here, this morn⯑ing? Why are theſe family conſultations held?

They are contrary to my wiſh.

A ſeparation, I hear, is the ſubject of them?

But not countenanced by me.

Pretending in pity to ſpare me yourſelf, they are to be ſet upon me!

Never! Heaven be my judge, never!

I am to be ſubjected to their imperious dictates!

I own they have lately been very urgent with me, to return to my father; but, were you only kind, their ſolicitations would be vain indeed. Oh! take pity on yourſelf and me, and teach me to regain your loſt affections! or if that be too great a bleſſing to hope, there is ſtill one evil, which I would ſuffer any other torture to eſcape. Think, if you can, that I no longer love; treat me with unkindneſs; neglect, ac⯑cuſe, do any thing—but hate me! Let me not endure that laſt ſtage of miſery! But—Oh heavens!—if our former endearments muſt end in that, have mercy, and retard or conceal it as long as you can!

Ha, ha, ha! What are barbs, and ſtings, and poiſoned arrows? Pitiful inſtruments! Thou, trium⯑phant wretchedneſs, uſeſt theſe but on ſmall occaſions; they want pungency!

SCENE XI.

May I come in?

Ay, ay!—Now am I ripe for miſchief!

You ſeem out of temper! What has hap⯑pened?

Trifles, trifles! She has got the letter.

From whom?

Mrs. Endfields!

Zounds!

An invitation to a new ſample of beauty. She has ſeen it; returned it; has graciouſly forgiven; has racked, has driven me mad!

And do you mean to go?

Ay will I! Since devil I am, devil let me be! It will be ſome, though but a petty ven⯑geance for prying.

You muſt not.

Indeed but I will.

We have long been friends, and fellow-ſinners; but, in theſe affairs, we have always behaved ho⯑hourably.

What then?

I have ſeen the girl!

Where?

At Enfield's.

Did ſhe write to you, too?

She did. An angel, Mordent!

Ha, ha, ha!

An angel! I am ſeriouſly and deeply ſmitten.

Ha, ha, ha! Marry her, and make wretch⯑edneſs ſecure!

No; but I am fixed for life. Such animation! Such ſoul! The fineſt creature my eyes ever beheld!

I'll ſee her.

No; I cannot conſent.

Why ſo? I'll aid you to carry her off.

Are you ſerious?

As malice can make me! The ſex have been worſe to me than plague, peſtilence, and famine!

And what have you been to them?

No matter: I'll have my revenge!

And you will aid me in this buſineſs?

I will.

Solemnly? on your word and honour?

I tell you, I will!

Why then; ſee her you ſhall; but in my com⯑pany, obſerve.

Ha, ha, ha! Right! anticipate your torments!

On this condition, I ſhall thank you for your aſſiſtance and advice.

Why ay! Advice! I too, fool that I am, knowing the impotence of man to avert miſchief, I wiſh for advice! I—

There may be danger in telling him?

Well?

A—A friend of mine has a child; ſuppoſe it a—a natural child; that he knows not how properly to diſpoſe of.

A natural child, that he knows not how properly to diſpoſe of?

Yes.

Could not he ſell it to the kidnappers?

Pſhaw!

There are honeſt overſeers that will take it, fifty pounds down!

Not an infant: twenty years of age.

Oh! Then indeed! There are crimp ſerjeants!

When I put a ſerious queſtion, I expect a ſeri⯑ous anſwer.

Serious! And aſk what a man is to do with his child!

Suppoſe he ſhould have legitimate offspring?

Oh, oh! Legitimate! Hah! Made of other metal? A different manufacture?

You won't hear! He provided for her.

A female, too?

Would have continued to provide, but ſhe re⯑jected his aſſiſtance.

How ſo?

Unleſs he would ſee her, embrace her; that is, whine over, acknowledge her, and beſtow his bleſſing.

And he refuſed?

Why not? Of what benefit are bleſſings? Where all is evil, why torment conſcience concerning the mode?

He is a monſter!

But, ſir, appearances—

Damn appearances.

Friends—

Damn his friends!

A wife—

Damn his wife! He has friends, appearances, and a wife; but he has no heart!

SCENE XII.

She is gone! She is loſt for aye! I'ze e'en red wude!

How now? Herald of ma⯑lice and miſchief!

I canna foregether her! Fair fa' yeer hairt! I'ze ne'er ſet eyes o' her mair.

Peace, hound!

I tell you I wunna! Miſca' me an ye wull, the de'el ma' care! A father turn his back o' his bairn!

Oh, ho! What it was yourſelf, your own daughter, you were talking of?

Gin earth haud her, I'ze hae her yet; ay and I'ze gar ye do her recht.

She laft a maſſige for ye!

What meſſage?

Tell him, gin he wunna gi his child ane keſs, ane ſcrimpet blaſſing, that child wull wark, ſtairve and die, ore ſhe wull leve like a pariſh pauper on ſcraps and alms. Tell him ſhe has a pridefoo' ſpirit, that wunna bag, gin ſhe canna win: and, gif he ſcorn his doch⯑tor, ſhe ſcorns akſapt his charity.

So you commit crime, and then invent a ſyſtem for its juſtification? Excellent philoſopher!

Why dunna ye ſpier a'ter her yeerſal? Hech! Waeſucks! Ye dunna ken yeer ain bairn!

How?

Ye never ſaw the face o' her, ſin ſhe hung a wee giglet at the breaſt! Weel, weel! Nothing comes more ſurely tul licht than that which is long hidden! An ill life, an ill end!

Wolves, tigers, ſerpents were firſt created, and then man!

You are truly a high fellow, Mordent: you ſpend your fortune, wrong your wife, and diſown your child! That is, you inflict miſery and then tell us all are miſerable.

I act and I am acted upon. The precept and the proof go together.

You are incorrigible! But come; we muſt about this buſineſs. My heart is deeply intereſted.

My affairs are at a criſis; and, if I augur rightly, it will ſoon be all over with me.

Hope better. Come; come with me to En⯑field's.

I'll meet you there in half an hour.

Do not fail. I am all impatience.

Juſt ſo are curs fighting, and thieves in the act of plundering. Man is ever eager on miſchief! With what infernal ardor do two armies prepare in the morning, to exterminate each other before noon! Are they not wife? What is it but compreſſing the ſum of evil within an hour, which trembling cowardice would protract through an age?

SCENE I.

YOU muſt let me have the caſh directly.

That is impoſſible.

I ſay, you muſt. When I have wants and wiſhes, nothing ſhall be impoſſible.

What if I were to tell him of Jo⯑anna? He would pay well.

Twelve hours have I been free, and have not had a taſte of pleaſure yet! If I do not make haſte, I ſhall grow old before I begin!

I ſhould make him my friend; ‘perhaps ſhould get him to myſelf, and leave old Item in the lurch.’ 'Tis a rare thought!

Why do you ruminate? Do you doubt me?

Mr. Cheveril!

Well, ſir?

Do you love innocence, youth and beauty?

Do I? 'Sdeath, I am dying for them.

I know where they are to be found.

You?

The rareſt creature!

Where? Where?

Such pure white and red!

Ay!

Such moiſt, ripe, ruddy lips!

'Sdeath, don't drive me mad! Tell me where; where?

At a certain convenient—

Indeed? No, no; I have no taſte for beauties of this kind.

See her, and then judge.

Beſide, I'll not be unfaithful to my angelic incognita of the Green Park!

She is a young untutored thing.

Untutored?

That I can aſſure you.

Then depend upon it I'll not be her inſtruc⯑tor. How came ſhe in ſuch a place?

She knows nothing of the place, nor in the leaſt ſuſpects ſhe is in bad company!

Poor dear ſoul, what raſcal ſent her there?

Hem! Why, that is, it it it was a kind of accident.

She is not for me. I want to be a famous wicked fellow, but not by enſnaring the helpleſs. No, damme, this is not the true way.

Nay, if you will neither enſnare nor accept the already enſnared, you muſt e'en marry, or ſtarve.

That is damned hard!

Enſnared ſhe will be.

Curſe me but ſhe ſhall not.

What will you do?

Snatch her from danger; provide for her, cheriſh her!

Ay, now you ſay ſomething.

Zounds! Here have I been an age in the poſſeſſion of eight thouſand a year, and have not done one famous good wicked thing yet! It's a damned ſhame!

You will fall in love with her the moment you ſee her!

To be ſure I ſhall!—No; on recollection, I can't love two at a time. Then if ſhe ſhould tempt me to be wicked? I mean vicious. I love wickedneſs, [35]but I hate vice. 'Tis a dirty whirlpool, in which if once a man ſet his foot he is ſoon up to his chin.

'Tis in Dover-ſtreet. I'll furniſh you with an introduction.

You are abundantly civil. An introduction from a uſurer to a—Hem! I ſhall come to preferment!

This is the addreſs.

Dover-ſtreet.

Yes: Mrs. Enfield,

Number—

'Sblood! Why do I ſtand prating here? I who have been kept faſting from happineſs and pleaſure ſo long? Another day will be over and I ſhall not get a taſte of pleaſure!

Nay, I am telling you of a banquet.

Are you? Why then, I have a keen appe⯑tite, and a moſt devouring wiſh to fall to: ſo here goes!

SCENE II.

So, Mr. Grime.

Every thing is prepared, Sir: we wait your good leiſure.

You will find Mr. Item in his own room.

I ſhall attend you there: we can do not buſi⯑neſs till you come.

Heigh ho!

SCENE III.

My uncle deſires me to inform, you, Sir, that he has examined the deed, and it is ready for ſigning.

I am coming.

Had I but any influence with you, Sir, I would intreat, I would conjure you not to execute it.

Why?

A ſudden demand may be made, by the firſt mortgagee; you may be unprovided for payment; equity of redemption will be forfeited; he will fore⯑cloſe, and the eſtate will be his at a valuation made fifty years ago, at leſs than half its preſent worth.

Ha, ha, ha! 'Twill become his incumbrance, as it has been mine.

Money lenders neglect no advantage.

And as for conſcience or honour—

Some of them I am afraid, Sir, have very little of either.

'Tis in the order of things. Your uncle in⯑deed is a man of integrity; he knows them to be rogues, and warns me of them.

Sir, he—I—He may be a miſtaken man, like others. I once again conjure you, Sir, to re-conſider the conſequence. It is a very ſerious affair.

Mr. Clement you are wrong: You cheriſh the fond hope of alleviating miſery. Ah!

Sir, I—My ſituation is a painful one, but every feeling of honeſty and duty compel me to inform you that, when once you have ſigned this deed, you will be wholly in the graſp of mercenary men, who will pay no reſpect to former profits, the benefits they have received, or the feelings and diſtreſſes of him by whom they have acquired wealth, power, and pride.

The nephew and the uncle, poor fools, have the misfortune to be honeſt. Grime, ſly villain, is more cunning, and will not forfeit his hope of cutting evil ſhort at the gallows. The deed muſt be ſigned; for the money muſt be had. Yet theſe cautionings do but ſtrengthen an averſion which, in ſpite of neceſſity, I have always felt againſt this laſt act of deſpair.

SCENE IV.

Mr. Item, you are right: this mortgage is a damned affair. Delay is dangerous; thought is vain; yet I am inclined to think again, before I ſign.

By all means, Sir! I like that! I approve that! Act with your eyes open! Take no raſh ſtep! 'Tis what I always ſay—but mine is a thankleſs office. Like other officious fools, I can give counſel, but no help. I am ſorry to tell you, here is the upholſterer below, who is very inſolent, and declares, if he be not paid immediately, he will have an execution in the houſe before night.

Scoundrel!—Could not you put him off for a week?

He has been put off too often.

Are there no means by which you might ad⯑vance me that ſum yourſelf?

Oh, that I could! It would make me the hap⯑pieſt man on earth!

Affectionate ſoul!

Riches would now indeed be welcome!

Mr. Item, you make me as great a fool as yourſelf.

As to the deed, again and again I warn you not to ſign it.

Then I will not. Ruin and wretchedneſs are certain; but the mode of being wretched is in my own choice, and I will not.

Yet, what the devil I ſhall ſay to all your other tradeſmen I don't know! They are every man of them as clamorous as the upholſterer. I don't believe one of them will wait two days.

Was ever man ſo peſtered?

Here too is a long account that I have juſt re⯑ceived from your groom at Newmarket; who ſays he ſhall ſoon want even a whiſp of hay. For my part, I have not a guinea in hand! I wiſh I had! Then the impatience of Cheveril? And what the malignant, damned world will ſay of the defalcation of a guardian there is no foreſeeing! ‘Mine is a painful taſk; for I cannot honeſtly diſcharge my conſcience, without ſhewing you both ſides of the picture.’

‘Ay, ay! Be faithful; follow nature; daub in the dark ſhades!’

Sign you muſt not!

At leaſt I will take an hour or two to think of it. Misfortune, diſgrace, and approaching infamy ſit mocking at me, and I ſhall ſoon attain the acmé of miſery.

Ha, ha, ha! You won't ſign? In⯑deed, moody maſter of mine! Ha? But I will ſend thoſe about your ears that will preſently make you!

SCENE V. The Street.

This is the ſtreet. It muſt be ſomewhere hereabout. What a fatiguing affair pleaſure hunting is! Oh that I could once more meet my lovely angel; my Green Park Deity!

This is the number.

SCENE VI.

Heydey! Lennox?

Cheveril?

Coming from—? You! Who preach refine⯑ment of purſuit, and delicacy of enjoyment?

Oh! We preach one thing, we practice ano⯑ther. Beſide, were you but to ſee her!

Her! Who?

The girl I told you of—The divineſt crea⯑ture—!

What, here?

I am all flame!

In this houſe?

Yes: but ſhe ſhall not remain there half an hour. I am going to prepare every thing. I am de⯑termined to ſecure her—.

Honeſt Grime has given him an in⯑troduction too.

Huſh!

There ſhe is!

Where? I ſee nobody.

Ah, ſhe's gone again.

Oh, but I'll

Where are you going?

To leap through the window!

No, Cheveril; that muſt not be.

Why not?

She is mine.

Yours?

I have bought an excluſive right to her: paid a hundred pounds down.

Pooh.

I tell you ſhe is, and ſhall be mine.

Well, well; if ſo—

Come with me!

No; I can't.

Why not?

This is my way.

Nay, but—

Good bye!

Zounds, my damned blabbing tongue!

There he flies, the whirligig! Ah! he is out of ſight, and all is ſafe. I muſt have Mordent's aſſiſtance. Where the devil does he loiter?

I'll ſoon be back though, for fear of accidents.

SCENE VII. The Houſe of Mrs. ENFIELD.

Betty!

Ma'am.

Who is it that bounced through the back door in ſuch haſte?

I don't know ma'am: a young —Hem!

I am here, ſafe: I have tricked him! Your humble ſervant, Madam. Your name is—?

at your ſervice, Sir.

You keep a—modiſh magazine, I think.

Magazine!

Of ready-made beauty?

Well, Sir?

Your acquaintance, honeſt Mr. Grime, in⯑formed me you have a ſample of a fine ſort.

Ah, you are too late!

My friend Lennox has paid you one hundred pounds. Don't ſtare; I know the whole. Bring me to the lady, and, if I like her—

I am very ſorry, ſir, but I cannot: my honour won't let me.

Prodigious virtue! Come, come! Lennox is cunning forty; I am fooliſh one and twenty. He is too old to be a laviſh paymaſter,

Ah, ſir, that is your miſtake! He is too young! He will pay better as he grows older.

I have eight thouſand a year, and am deter⯑mined to be a—a—a—wicked dog.

Ah, lord love you!

So ſee her I muſt. This is my proof.

As Mr. Lennox is your friend, perhaps you have his permiſſion?

Permiſſion? Oh, yes—No! I'll be wicked but not unprincipled: I won't lie! That is a paltry ſcoundrel vice; no ſoul in it. Look you, if that ſum will not content you, tell me what will?

Why, ſir, you are ſuch a handſome, charming, pleaſant young gentleman, that—if you could ſpare me another ſuch—?

To ſettle accounts with your honour. Well, there.

Obſerve, ſir—it is only a ſhort con⯑verſation.

Nothing more.

No injury to Mr. Lennox?

Never fear.

But you muſt be wary: young as ſhe is, I never ſaw ſo cute one!

Never fear, I tell you! I underſtand ſuch affairs; or ſoon ſhall do at leaſt. I'm a young be⯑ginner, but a deviliſh apt ſcholar!

Now if ſhe be worth carrying off, and I could out-wit Lennox! I! Oh! I ſhould eſtabliſh my character, for ſpirit, ſoul, and intrepidity for ever! I'll not be out of countenance. No, damme, I am determined! I'll—I'll ſpeak, and to the purpoſe too! I'll be a damned forward, prating, impudent, wicked, dog!

SCENE VIII.

Really, madam—

Ah, my lamb, pray oblige me! He is one of my kindeſt, beſt friends.

What then?

You are ſo ſweet a cherub! I muſt pro⯑cure my friends the pleaſure of your acquaintance! Ah! There's a dove! There's a beauty!—Dear! I forgot my knotting! I will be back in a moment.

Mrs. Enfield!—She is gone!—I ſhould have felt bolder, had ſhe been preſent.

It is very ſtrange!

What does ſhe ſay?

Firſt one man, and then another!

Hay? Hem!

Her friends too are all men!

Where the devil now is all my impudence flown?

But ſhe is ſo kind, ſo winning, that I have not the power to deny.

If I could but turn round—One plunge and it would be over!

Ma—! Heavens!

Mercy! It is he!

The very beauty of the Green Park!

I had almoſt hoped never to have ſeen him more!

This is the luckieſt—Lucky? To find her here?

I have thought of him much too often!

A creature ſo divine! Looks of ſuch conſcious modeſty! And in this place?

Sir—

Madam—

O that I might but touch her lips!

Mrs. Enfield informs me you are one of her beſt friends.

Me, madam?

Yes, ſir.

Why—That is—

No: I'll not de⯑ceive her!

I—I never ſaw Mrs. Enfield be⯑fore in my life.

Never—?

Never. And I don't care if I never ſee her again.

Bleſs me!

Very true, madam. And I—

Mrs. Enfield!

Stop, madam!—Pardon my preſumption, but—I—you—you have ſo much beauty and modeſty—and merit—and—I am ſuch a faltering—baſhful booby—that, if you leave me—I ſhall run mad!

Mad, ſir?

Upon my ſoul I ſhall, madam! I can't help it! I never was ſo enchanted, enraptured, and ra⯑viſhed in all my life! And I am very ſorry to find you—

Sorry to find me?

No, no, no, madam! Glad to find you! Infinitely glad; but not in this houſe!

And why, ſir?

I was frantic to think I had loſt you!

How ſo, ſir? We are not acquainted?

I am ſorry for it, madam!—B—b—but I hope we ſhall be. I have been a very Bedlamite! I could neither eat, drink, nor ſleep!—I have dreamed of you every night! You have been in my head, in my heart, in my arms—!

Your arms, ſir!

Oh lord, no, madam! No, no!—I—I am talking in my ſleep now. I mean—That is—I would not offend you, madam, no, not for ten thouſand thrones! Though to find you here is the greateſt torment—!

Torment?

B—b—bliſs! I—I—I would ſay bliſs, ma⯑dam! Bliſs ineffable! And if—you would but leave this wicked place—

I do not underſtand you, ſir!

Purity of heart is the characteriſtic of your countenance: I am ſure you are innocent; or, if not, I would give worlds that you were!

This, ſir, is the firſt time we ever ſpoke together: what have you heard or ſeen of me that ſhould authorize you to doubt?

Nothing, madam! On my ſoul, nothing! Every motion, word and look, ſpeak virtue void of blemiſh! I would lay down my life to prove it, and to reſcue you from this bad woman!

From Mrs. Enfield?

An odious, vile—!

You make me half ſuſpect you are as fran⯑tic as you deſcribe yourſelf! She is the moſt benevo⯑lent of women!

Forgive me if I appear intruding; indeed my intention is good; but, how long have you been in this houſe?

Not four hours.

And how long acquainted with this woman?

To-day was the firſt time I ever ſaw her.

She's innocent! She's in⯑nocent!

I tell you, I will ſee her!

'Sdeath! I hear my guardian!

Lennox will be here preſently.

I muſt not be ſeen, but for heaven's ſake let me ſpeak to you once more!

SCENE IX.

Your humble ſervant, ma⯑dam.

She is indeed beautiful!

This is the man of the portrait!

You are acquainted, I believe, with my friend, Mr. Lennox?

I, ſir? Not to my knowledge.

Did he not converſe with you this morning?

I have converſed with two gentlemen this morning: you are the third.

Lovely creature! Can ſhe too be an inſtrument of malevolence?

I mean a fair gentleman, about forty.

Well, ſir; what of him?

Did he—not make propoſals?

To me? Propoſals?

Ay, madam; on the common ſubject, the pro⯑moting of ill?

You ſpeak riddles. He talked idly, and perhaps was more unprincipled and inſulting than I ſuppoſed!

By heavens, ſhe is an innocent! Nay her countenance would half perſuade me there are be⯑ings capable of happineſs!

Zounds! He looks as if he too would fall in love with her!

Pardon my intruſion, madam: I am a ſtranger to you, but—

Not entirely.

Not!

I have been ſtudying you all the morning.

Me?—You never ſaw me before!

Yes, I have.

When? Where?

Here—In effigy.

What are they about?

My portrait?

How dare the old bel⯑dam hang it up in her houſe?

It ſpeaks volumes: yet not ſo much as the original.

Oh that I could hear them!

Indeed! And what does it ſay, madam? If it ſpeak good, it lies.

Either it indicates falſely or you have flat⯑tered, promiſed, deceived, and betrayed.

Aſtoniſhing!—Who?

More poor girls than one!

Her eyes penetrate to the heart!—

Evil is every where, therefore in me.

How ſhe gazes at him! 'Sdeath!

There is a mixture; traits that ſtruggle to be juſt and good; occaſional marks of virtue, but more of moody remorſe.

Is this real?—You judge and ſpeak freely, madam, I applaud your ſincerity.

What ſhould I fear? Beſide, you have not the features of revenge.

Her underſtanding and diſcernment ſurpaſs her beauty.

Will they never have done.

This eye! How often muſt it have aſſumed the ſame deceiving form and meaning, to have im⯑preſſed theſe deep lines of artful ſeduction! How fre⯑quently muſt health, wealth, and principle have been ſacrificed, to gratify diſhoneſt paſſions!

Amazing! So young too!

You are an unhappy man: for you have not the apathy of folly; you have a ſenſe, a feeling of what you have done.

I ſhall go mad!

I have never had faith in ſorcery! Is it your profeſſion?

I have no profeſſion. I am nobody; the child of nobody; a branch lopped off and caſt away; that might have grown, but that could find no root. Misfortune and an active ſpirit, ſtruggling to ſhake off oppreſſion, have quickened me a little. Other than this I am but a ſimple girl; and my whole art is to note what I ſee, and to ſpeak what I think.

Whoever you are, come but with me, and, while I have a morſel, a home, or a heart, you ſhall ſhare them.

Damme if ſhe ſhall!

Why, Mr.—!

She ſhall have my morſel, my home, and my heart!

You in this houſe, ſir?

Nay, ſir, you in this houſe, ſir? Madam, put no faith in him! You are very right, he is a ſe⯑ducer! [46]I love you, heart, body, and ſoul! I'll offer you no wrong! Every proof that the moſt ardent, pureſt paſſion can give, feel, or imagine, ſhall be yours!

This houſe! This houſe! What is it you mean, gentlemen? Is there contamination in this houſe?

Vile! Deteſtable! A place of intrigue!

Heavens!

How came I, ſir, to find you here?

Zounds, ſir, how came I to find you here?

SCENE X.

What have you done, gentlemen, to alarm the young creature in this manner? A little more and ſhe had eſcaped us all!

Hark you, Mrs. Enfield. At your peril, keep her ſafe and free from inſult till my return!

Inſult! If you breathe impurity in her pre⯑ſence, I'll make a general maſſacre! Let any one take her away, ſpeak to her, or even look at her, while I am gone, and I'll grind you all to powder!

Here! Here are all the bills I have! I'll be back in five minutes! keep her ſafe and I'll give you a thouſand pounds! My name is Cheveril: ten thouſand!

Cheveril, I ſay, my whole eſtate!

But, ſir! ſir!

SCENE I.

ONCE for all, Mr. Item, it will not do! So be of a ſweet temper.

Why you grumbling old blockhead, what would you have? May you not thank me for every ſhilling you are worth in the world?

Don't tell me Mr. Item! I am but your ſca⯑venger, and you put me to a deal of dirty work.

Here's gratitude! Why, Mr. Grime!

Well, Mr. Item!

Did I not firſt find you in a miſerable garret, in Fullwood's Rents, where you were ſtarving in rags and wretchedneſs?

Well!

Did I not take you to Monmouth-Street, make you caſt your beggar's ſkin, transform you into ſomething almoſt human, hire you apartments in the Temple, and paſs you on my maſter for a rich uſurer, a damned rogue?

Very true. But you would not let me act my part! You took care to be the damned rogue yourſelf!

Have I not truſted you, tutored you, taught you your trade, and furniſhed the tools?

What then?

And do you pretend to bargain, wrangle, and preſcribe terms to me?

Yes: I do.

You do?

I do. Help yourſelf how you can.

Here's a villain!

You tutored me, you know; you taught me my trade, and furniſhed the tools.

You viper! Sting the boſom that foſtered you?

I follow your own example; Mr. Mordent foſtered you? There's morality in it.

Oh, damn your morality!

Be of a ſweet temper! Time was I was your ſlave; you are now mine.

Oh, the raſcal!

I am too deep in your ſecrets for you to dare diſcard me; ſo, I'll have my ſhare.

Your—?

Ay, my!—My full ſhare. So be ſweet tem⯑pered.

And who is to find the money?

You.

And who is to run the riſk?

You.

And who is to be proſecuted for uſury and colluſion.

Caſt perhaps for perjury, whipped, impri⯑ſoned, and put in the pillory—You.

And you to run away with half the profits?

Yes.

Here's juſtice! Oh, what a damned world do we live in!

Your fortune is made; you muſt now help to make mine.

SCENE II.

Here's a villain!

You muſt, or I tell.

What will you tell?

All!—All the uſurious tricks you have prac⯑tiſed on Mordent: the arts by which you have cheated him of his eſtates, pretending that I am the man; your intention to forecloſe; your neglect in not paying yourſelf intereſt, purpoſely to rob according to law; your plots to ruin Cheveril; all, all!

You will tell all this?

I will.

Why you fiend! You ſuperlative villain! You cut-throat!

Hem!

What the hornie de'el do ye ſtop at? What gars ye ſwither? I'ze haud my whiſht! Yeer confabulation is unco entertaining!

Ah! good Mr. Donald! Here is my old friend, Mr. Grime, has, has—

[You ſee what your villainy has done!]

He is a good-natured ſoul, as you know, [Scoundrel!] and he—I—I—

Ye!—Yas; ye'er a ſweet nut, gin ye war well crackt.

I, I, I was bantering him: trying to, to—[Villain!] but nothing can put him in a paſſion! [Oh, curſe you!] Nothing!

The fient! Wow! But ye'er a pauky Gilli⯑gapus?

Perhaps you want our good maſter, Mr. Donald?

Aiblins yeer right, auld Clootie.

He is gone out. Nothing but a joke, Mr. Donald: nothing elſe.

Noo could I gi' him ſic an a gowf o' the haſfet!

Can I, can my dear friend, Mr. Grime [Oh, you thief!] do you any ſervice?

Haud yeer blether, mon!

Can we oblige you any way in the world?

Yas.

How? How?

Tak compaiſſion o' the booels o' yeer brother, Jack Ketch, and be yeer ain hangman!

SCENE III.

There villain! You ſee what you have done!

Is it my fault? I tell you again, you had better be ſweet tempered. I ſhall ſay no more: you know my mind.

Oh that I could poiſon him!

Mr. Grime! Mr. Grime!

Well, Mr. Item?

This quarreling is very fooliſh.

Oh, ho!

We are neceſſary to each other.

I know it.

Your hand?

There.

We are friends?

If you pleaſe.

Well, well—

Damn him! How I hate the dog!—Concerning this Berkſhire mortgage—

Ay?

You ſhall have twenty per cent. on the premium.

That won't do!

Thirty!

It won't do! Half! The full half!

Hell take him!—Well, well, my dear Grime, the half be it.

Together with my moiety of the thouſand, given with Joanna.

Your—? Hem!

You ſhall; you ſhall. Are you ſatisfied?

On theſe conditions.

Where is the deed?

In that bag.

Mordent is coming. I know he will, for I know he ſhall, ſign. But that is not all.

What more?

This damned Scotchman will aſſuredly betray us to him; and Lady Anne's jointure prevents his being ſo entirely deſtitute, and powerleſs, as is ne⯑ceſſary,

But how is that to be helped?

Eaſily enough. You muſt convey informa⯑tion, to her father and relations, that he has a daughter.

Nay, but—

Huſh! Here he comes! I will give you my reaſons and inſtructions when we are alone. Where is the deed?

Here, ready. Hem!

SCENE IV.

What is the meaning, Mr. Item, that I ſee that upholſterer, and two other ill-looking followers with him below?

Nay, why aſk me? Why knit your brows at me? Can I coin?

Excuſe me! I am a hunted bull, and butt at friends and foes!

The inſolent fellow inſiſted on taking poſſeſ⯑ſion; ſo, thinking you would not wiſh Lady Anne to know, I prevailed on him and the officer to remain in the hall, till I could ſpeak to you. If I have done amiſs, ſhew me in what.

No, no. I know your zeal. Why will you not advance two thouſand pounds, for that and other immediate purpoſes, and delay ſigning, Mr. Grime? I aſk only a day!

Ay, Mr. Grime, why will you not?

Impoſſible!

Don't tell me! Impoſſible, indeed! You ought to conſent; it is your duty: nay, you ſhall conſent!

I cannot. Muſt have ſecurity.

Ha, ha, ha! Villain!—Where is the deed?

So you will not, Mr. Grime? You will not?

I wiſh I could! But I am myſelf a bor⯑rower: the money is not my own.

Hem!

Ha, ha, ha! Damn your raſcal hypocriſy! Give me the pen!

Why you will not ſign, ſir! Will you?

Peace, fool! Cannot you ſee a wretch on the wheel but that your bones too muſt ach?

Ah! It is always thus! I may adviſe, but my advice is never followed!

"I deliver this as my act and deed." Here, implement of hell! I know your thirſt, blood hound! 'Tis ready mixed deſtruction: take, quaff, and burſt! Begone!

Come, ſir! My good maſ⯑ter has ſufficient reaſon to be angry with you! It was very unfriendly, ſir, to refuſe. You teach Mr. Mor⯑dent what he has to expect.

All is now ſecure!

SCENE V.

Ha' ye ſigned?—Ha' ye ſigned?

Aſk no queſtions—Yes.

Weel, weel!—Stark deed has nae remeed!—Twa wolves may worry ane ſheep—I kam to tal ye that yeer glib gabbit ſteward, and his compeer, Grime, are too ſcoondrels.

Pſhaw! Fool!

I tal ye, they are twa damned villains!

Grime, fellow! Grime! A paltry, gold-lov⯑ing, ravenous raſcal! But Item?—a worthy man.

He wordy? That fient? Marcy o' my ſoul! He is the prime cock deel o' the blackeſt pit o' hell! The maliſon curſe catch 'em aw! 'Tis nae ſtick and flow ſax minutes ſin I heard aw their murgullied gab!

Hear?

Yas! hear!

What did you hear?

Item himſal confeſs that he had flethered ye of aw yeer eſtates; that Grime is nae mair but his fl [...]ui [...]kie; that it is his intantion to forecloſe; that he has wil⯑fully neglacted to pay himſal intereſt, ſo that he may claw ye according tul law; that there ha' been ſ [...]am deeds; and that a plot is laid to felch maiſter Cheveril of aw his walth.

Ha, ha, ha! You heard all this?

Wi' my ain ears!

Ha, ha, ha! Item? Are you ſure you heard this precious miſchief?

When did Donald tall ye a lie?

Ha, ha, ha! Item? I am glad on't! 'Tis right! 'Tis conſiſtent! 'Tis delightful! Ha, ha, ha! [53]Abraham's rejected prayer: not one honeſt man. Ha, ha, ha!

Hoot awa! Nae oneſt? Nor ye nor the black clawed Lucifer himſal canna deny but that Donald is oneſt.

Item! Ha, ha, ha! Ineſtimable villain!—And I too? Thought him juſt and good! Oh, Gull! Gull! Gull! Ha, ha, ha!

Tell Mr. Clement I wiſh to ſpeak with him.

Noo the ſteed is ſtolen, ye wad ſteck the door.

Oh the ſharp fanged wolf! Ha, ha, ha!

SCENE VI.

Mordent! How now? How you look!

I am an aſs! A moſt ineffable aſs!

What is the matter?

Ha, ha, ha! 'Tis proved upon me!

Your mirth is of a ſtrange kind!

The man whom I have truſted through life, ha, ha! ha, he whoſe rigid honeſty—do you mark me? ha, ha, ha! honeſty!

Well?

Ha, ha, ha! whoſe honeſty made me ſome⯑times doubt the truth of the ſelf-evident ſyſtem of evil, ha, ha! he's a raſcal! A double leagued hell dog!

Your ſteward?

Item! A deep damnable thorough-paced vil⯑lain; that can bully, cajole and curſe, fawn, flatter and filch, ha, ha, ha!

Be patient.

Oh I am delighted, ha, ha, ha!

Be calm. You knew yourſelf to be in the power of a villain, and 'tis little matter whether his name be Grime or Item.

How? Ha, ha, ha! In a world of raſcality, are not two raſcals better than one?

Nay but attend to me. I want your help in⯑ſtantly, in Dover-ſtreet.

Dover-ſtreet?

Yes.

It muſt not be.

Ahey! What's the freak now?

You can have no help of mine.

Indeed but I muſt!

I would not commit an injury on that girl for worlds.

Why what conſcientious mummery is this? You neglect your own child, and pretend to intereſt yourſelf for a ſtranger!

If the ſtranger be an angel of light, a bene⯑ficent being, why not?

Beneficent! What, in this ſyſtem of evil?

An exception to the rule! A rare exception?

Like Item?

Pſhaw! Hell!

And may not your deſerted daughter be equally an angel?

May ſhe? If ſhe ſhould—I'll have no concern in the ruin of that girl!

Hark you, Mordent, you are plotting.

I?

No diſtreſs can cure you of your old propen⯑ſities. You mean to trick me of her.

Ha, ha!

'Tis evident. Do you not affirm ſhe cannot remain innocent, in the houſe into which ſhe is de⯑coyed?

Granted.

Marriage excepted, which would be madneſs, am I a man to treat her vilely?

Not worſe than the malignity of fate ordains.

Pooh! Cant! Cheveril, in the fervor of youth, is lunatic enough rather to marry than loſe her.

Ay, ay; he is horn mad to begin his career of wretchedneſs.

And you his guardian, from pretended pity to a ſtranger, will guide and ſpur him to the courſe?

Even ſo it is! Miſchief here, miſchief there; turn which way you will, miſchief!

Your word and honour are ſolemnly pledged-If you really wiſh the lovely creature's welfare, would preſerve your ward, and prove your friendſhip and honeſt intentions, you will aid me.

Well, well, I am blind; I am but the tool of deſtiny; ſo be it!

Your authority will oblige Mrs. Enfield to yield her to me.

No; my credit there is on the decline. Stra⯑tagem; ſtratagem.

But how? What?

Convey a diſguiſe to the girl.

And ſo ſhe will eſcape us all!

Eſcape? No, no! Malevolence is the element of man, and I have an apt alacrity: I will inſtruct you. Come this way. Having her ſafe, you may poſt away with her to my commodious houſe in Park-lane. Fear not me! When Belial is buſy, ſhall his progeny be idle?

SCENE VII.

Maiſter Clement is nae i' the hooſe.

No matter— ‘The circle is complete: knaves and fools engender each other; together they make rulers; rulers make laws; laws make villains, and villains ſanctify and perpetuate the uſe of priſons, chains, ropes, racks!’

Come, come!

Oh! What an excellent gull is this image of the gods, this thing called man!

Ah! Waes me! This poor laſſie? I canna reſt! I hirple here and gang hilching there, till I'ze e'en ramfeelzed wi'the ripples. I wiſt nae where tul ſpier nieſt. My dool and thole wull be my deeth! I' Gode's name, and wi' aw my hairt; for I'ze recht weary o' life!

SCENE VIII.

Hoot, man, what is the bang?

My dear Donald, can you direct me where Mr. Item or Mr. Grime may be found?

Donald diract ye tul ſic on a pair o' ſcoondrels? Father Belzebub! But I wad at anes gar ye o'er catch plague paſtilence and faimine!

'Sdeath! they are both dead and buried, I believe; for they are neither here, nor there, nor any where elſe. Can you tell me where I can borrow a few thouſands?

Sir! Do ye tak me for a thief, or a ſteward?

I ſhall go mad—Oh, Donald, I left the moſt angelic girl your eyes ever beheld at a wicked houſe! ſhe muſt be friendleſs and fatherleſs, or ſhe could not have been there.

What's that ye red of angil and fatherleſs?

I am ſure ſhe is innocent. Vile as the houſe is, ſhe is innocent.

Wha? What ſhe? What hooſe?

I can't ſay—I ſaw her firſt in the Green Park.

Green Park?

She is now at Enfield's—A divine girl! A miracle!

What? Hoo?—A menzſoo' maikleſs laſs? I' the bloom o' youdith?

Not twenty; yet with the penetration, wit, and underſtanding of the ſeven ſages!

The Green Pairk? Maircy miſgi' me! Enfield's?

In Dover-ſtreet.

I ken the place! A hooſe o'hell!—Gin it be—! Quick, Donald, Quick!

What is the matter with the honeſt ſoul? I don't know what ſum that old harridan will require, but I can do nothing without money. I muſt have enough too, for I muſt make ſure. I'll place her in ſafety and ſplendor: ſhe ſhall be my queen!

SCENE IX.

Ah, my dear, dear Item! I am the luckieſt follow on earth! I am in inſtant want of money!

So am I. I have been in want of it all my life.

You muſt furniſh me with ten thouſand pounds.

Ah! I wiſh I could!

'Sblood, don't ſtand wiſhing, but give me the money!

If my friend Grime were but here—

'Sdeath and the devil, give me the money! I ſhall loſe her! She'll be gone! I'll make over the ſeventeen thouſand, that is in Mordent's hands! I will by heaven! On the word and honour of a gentleman!

The ſeventeen thouſand?

I will!

It is true, I have caſh in hand; but not my own.

Zounds! Never mind whoſe it is! Let me have it!

Why, if I could but manage the matter—I am but a poor old man, and it would be a little lift.

Damn your poverty and your cant!

You are ſure you underſtand—the ſeventeen thouſand?

I tell you, yes!

The riſk will be very great!

Do you doubt my word?

No, no—But—

But what?

Your hand-writing, on a ſtamp, would be a memorandum.

You ſhall have it! Write a receipt for ſeven⯑teen thouſand: I'll ſign it!

Ay, this is the thing. You remember the riſk? Otherwiſe, it might be thought—

Give it me! Give it me! I have no time for hinking!

I muſt borrow to replace it.

Will you come away, and let me have the money? Come, come, man! 'Sdeath will you diſpatch!

SCENE X.

Do you know where Mr. Mordent is, ſir?

No, ſir!

Mr. Mordent has aſked for me, and unfor⯑tunately I cannot find him. I fear he has ſigned the mortgage. Oh this uncle! Never was ſituation ſo excruciating as mine. Muſt I caſt off all ties of blood, become his accuſer, and, as the world would call it, betray my benefactor? Beſide, what have I to reveal? My fears and my ſuſpicions. Unconnected facts, that can alarm but not relieve. And who is it that I ſhould thus impotently accuſe? My own uncle.

Hah! What have we here? As I live, his pri⯑vate account book! The very thing he ſo carefully has concealed from all inſpection! What ſhall I do? De⯑liver it to Mordent? What may be the conſequences? Diſgrace, infamy, and—! Dreadful thought! I muſt not be raſh.—Hark! He's here! I muſt conſider well.

SCENE XI.

You ſee, there is no book there!

I am certain I had it in my hand!

We have not quitted the room a minute! Nobody can have been here ſince!

We leſt my nephew here.

Well, if he have it, 'tis ſafe enough.

I don't know that! I don't know that! If I have loſt it, I ſhall never ſleep again!

Come away! You have it ſomewhere, locked up ſafe.

No! I laid it down here! I am poſitive of it!

Nay, but you ſee that is impoſſible! Come, come!

If it be gone, I ſhall go mad!

Is it ſo valuable?

I would not loſe it for all I am worth in the world!

Come, come—

What did it contain?

My ſoul! My ſecrets!

Well, it certainly is not here! You muſt go! You ſhall go! I'll indemnify you!

You can't!

I tell you, I will!

It is in your own room.

I hope ſo! I hope ſo!

But my heart miſgives me! Oh lord! I'm undone!

Will you go?

I am wretched!

You won't!

I am ruined!

Will you, or—?

I'm loſt! I'm dead! I'm—!

Furies and fire, begone!

SCENE XII.

Mr. Cheveril!

Mr. Cheveril!—'Tis impoſſible to ſtop him! But no matter; the plan cannot fail: Lennox by this time has her ſafe. Why ay! I have adviſed! I have plotted, I have aided! And in what? Why the ruin of an innocent; who, while I looked and liſtened to her, I would have loſt my life to defend? ‘Why was man endowed with thought? It breeds but con⯑fuſion! Fools have called it the gift of gods, wiſe men know it to be the medium of miſery.’

SCENE XIII.

My lady, ſir, deſires to know if ſhe may have the honour to ſee you!

What is the matter now?

Oh! as to that, let my lady ſpeak! I have got ill-blood enough, becauſe I would not take ſomebody's part. But that is all over.

What is over?

I have told my lady, often and often, how a gentleman's proud ſpirit might be brought down: but ſhe would never liſten to my conſultation before.

Before?

For ſaid I, my lady, you would be as merry as May, if you would but pluck up a ſpirit to take the Earl's advice, and leave all baſe ſeducers to their own courſe!

You ſaid ſo?

Yes, I did! I ſhould be no woman, if I did not take part with my ſeet! So we are all ready for moving, ſeeing as we are reſolved. For, ſaid I, if he ſhould fall at my feet and cry his eyes out; I would not hear a word!

Indeed!

Not but I have as tender a heart as ano⯑ther. But then, I would ſooner break his heart than my own!

What does this inſolent gabble mean?

Not but I have as tender a heart as ano⯑ther. But then, I would ſooner break his heart than my own!

What does this inſolent gabble mean?

Why it means that any lady is coming to take her leave; and that then we ſhall be gone; and then it will be ſeen who will have moſt cauſe to repent.

Is it poſſible?

I am ſure if I could have made folks happy, I would have done it with all my heart and ſoul! But the ſecret is out at laſt; and all is ſettled. Not but, for all I'm ſo glad, I can't ſay but I'm ſorry in the main! for I'm ſure ſome folks will be miſerable enough! and, though they richly deſerve it, one can't help feeling for them, in ones heart. And ſo, ſir, as perhaps I ſhall never ſee you no more, God bleſs you, and mend you!

SCENE XIV.

Mr. Mordent, I am driven upon an ago⯑nizing taſk, which a too painful ſenſe of duty only could oblige me to execute.

Proceed, Madam; apologies, for feeling or for inflicting pain, are quite unneceſſary!

Forgive me! Would it were to be avoided!—You have a daughter?

Whence gain you that intelligence!

From the Earl of Oldereſt.

And what is his authority?

I know not. But I, it ſeems, have inno⯑cently been the cauſe that ſhe is diſowned and aban⯑doned. Of ſuch an act I cannot knowingly conſent to be a moment guilty. The fatal period is come! that ſeparation which I ſo much have dreaded, is inevitable!

And you ſupport your fate with patience.

Cruel man! do I deſerve this parting re⯑proach?

You deſerve? Who ſhall dare inſinuate it?

Happy days and paſt endearments ruſh upon my mind with ſenſations unutterable?

I know! I know!—I am the vileſt of men!

Far from ſaying, far from thinking ſo, I take my full ſhare of blame. How do I know that the fault is not wholly mine?

Madam I—I—I requeſt I may be tortured by any thing but your candor.

I know I have loſt the envied art of making myſelf intelligible to your feelings! And how? You once were happy, tender, and pro [...] to ſmile at every look and word of mine! Of what fatal errors have I been guilty, that ſhould have wrought this change?

Oh, exquiſite! Continue! my nerves are ſtrung!

To deſpair of recovering thoſe ineſtimable bleſſings was quite ſufficient! But to be the cauſe of baniſhing a child from a father's arms and heart? to caſt it an orphan on a tempeſtuous world? No! what⯑ever [62]my other miſtakes may have been, of that no tongue ſhall accuſe me!

Right! let the guilt be all my own!

And now, I have one laſt requeſt to make; which I conjure you, by all our former affection not to deny!

To aſk favours, where there is neither the power to grant nor the deſire to be thanked, is fruitleſs,

I am but too well acquainted with the ſtate of your affairs.

A humane motive for parting!

The ſettlements you have made on me, in our early days of love, were ample. In the ſincerity of affection, I vowed, if ever they ſhould be neceſſary to your happineſs, that moment they ſhould again be yours.

Madam?

Pardon and endure this proof of my fide⯑lity! The deeds are now in Mr. Clement's poſſeſſion: he will reſtore them to you.

Never!

Stop! Beware of raſhneſs! You are a fa⯑ther, and have a father's ſacred duties to fulfil. Take home your daughter: make her what amends you can for the deſertion of a parent's love.

'Tis too much! Scorpions could not ſting like this!

On this laſt occaſion, ſuffer a gleam of for⯑mer kindneſs once more to warm your boſom. Money is a poor vehicle, for the affections of the ſoul! a con⯑temptible token of the love I have borne you! but, ſuch as it is, for that love's ſake, give it welcome! A cold adieu I cannot take! It freezes my very heart! From my ſoul, I ever have loved, and ever ſhall love! Had I a heaven of happineſs to beſtow, would you but deign to accept it from me, it ſhould be yours.

Why, ſo! ſo! ſo!—It rages! it burſts! it is complete! Let fate or fiends increaſe the miſery, if they can!

SCENE XV.

It's paſt! It's aw o'er! My forebodings are foofilled!

Have you not found her yet?

Yes, yes! I have foond her!

Have you? Where?

I'ze noo indeed a raſca' go-between!

But what are ye?

You ſay you have found her?

She is gone! She is ruined! Ye're a wratch: the moſt meeſerable o' wratches!

Tormenting demon! What? Who?—Where have you been?

To Dover-ſtreet!

Dover—?

Tul the elritch limmer Enfield.

What do you ſay?

I was too late! A maiſter ſcoondrel, e'en as wecked as her ain father, had decoyed her intul his net!

Decoyed?

Lennox! Yeer friend; veer crony!

From Enfield's!

Ha' not I toud ye?

Lennox? Dover-ſtreet? Joanna?

Hear it, gin ye can, and live! Joanna! yeer child! Yeer guilcleſs Joanna!

Miſery of Hell! And was that Joanna? That my child? Celeſtial creature! And I the pit-digger!

Sir!—Sir!—Maiſter!

I the pander? I caſt her ſhrieking on the bed of infamy, and chain her in the arms of luſt? Her father to do this?

Maiſter!—Dear Maiſter!—Maiſter Mordent! Dear Maiſter Mordent! Speak! I'ze forgi' ye! Why [64]maiſter! I'ze pray for ye! I'ze die for ye! I'ze forgi' ye!

Fly! Summon the ſervants! Arm yourselves! follow me to Park Lane!

William! Sandy! Jock!

SCENE I.

WE are now in private.

I am glad we are.

And now, Sir, I inſiſt on a clear and explicit anſwer. Where have you lodged Joanna?

Nay, Sir, Where have you lodged Joanna?

Mr. Lennox, I will not be trifled with! where is ſhe?

Nor will I be trifled with, Mr. Mordent: I ſay where is ſhe? The contrivance was your own! I know you! The moment you ſet your eyes on her you began your curſed plots, to ſecure her for yourſelf; and, when you found I would not give her up at your per⯑ſuaſion, you put them in practice while you treache⯑rouſly pretended to ſcure her to me.—I tell you, I know you.

This will not ſerve, ſir, it is all evaſion.

Ay, ſir, it is evaſion! cunning, baſe, damned evaſion! and I affirm ſhe is in your poſſeſſion.

Mr. Lennox, I am at this moment a deter⯑mined and deſperate man, and muſt be anſwered—Where is ſhe?

Sir, I am as determined and as deſperate as yourſelf, and I ſay, where is ſhe? For you alone can tell?

'Tis falſe!

Falſe?

Ay, falſe!

He is the falſeſt of the falſe that dares whiſper ſuch a word!

Hark you, ſir, I underſtand your meaning, and came purpoſely provided.

Take your choice. They are loaded.

Oh, with all my heart!

Come, ſir.

Nigher!

As nigh as you pleaſe!

Foot to foot!

Muzzle to muzzle!

Why don't you fire?

Why don't you unlock your piſtol?

There!

Why do you turn it out of the line?—

I ſee your intention, Mordent! You are tired of life, and want me to murder you!—Damn it, man, that is not treating your friend like a friend!—Kill me if you will, but don't make me your aſſaſſin!

Nay, kill me, or tell me where you have lodged the wretched girl.

Fiends ſeize me if I have lodged her any where, or know what is become of her.

Your behaviour tells me you are ſincere, and to convince you at once that I am no leſs ſo, know—ſhe is my daughter!

Your daughter?

The honeſt indefatigable Donald diſcovered her at Enfield's!

Murder my friend, and debauch his daughter.

We are ſad fellows.—

Again and again, 'tis a vile world.

I'll ſeek it through with you to find her.—Forgive me?

Would I could forgive myſelf!

But it ſeems then ſhe has eſcaped, and is perhaps in ſafety.

Oh that ſhe were!—Donald uſed to meet her here, in the Green Park, about this time of the evening.

I hear the ſound of feet.

'Tis not a woman. Let us retire among the trees, and keep on the watch.

SCENE II.

She is not here—ſhe is gone! For ever gone—gone—gone! I ſhall never more ſet eyes on her! I'll fire that in⯑fernal Dover-ſtreet!—I'll piſtol Lennox!—I may pe⯑rambulate here till doomſday, and to no purpoſe. She would have been here had ſhe been free. Ay, ay, ſhe is in thraldom; perhaps in the very gripe of vice'—Furies!—Lennox is a liar!—I'll cut his throat!—I'll hack him piece-meal!—I'll have her, or I'll have his heart!

SCENE III.

Whither ſhall I run?—Where ſhall I hide? How fly the purſuits of wicked men, and women ſtill more depraved? I have neither houſe, home, nor friend on earth; and the fortitude that can patiently endure is my only reſource. What then?—Have I not eſcaped the dens of vice!—Oh happineſs!—I have!—I have! And rather than venture in them again, welcome hun⯑ger, welcome cold, welcome the bare ground, the biting air, and the ſociety of brute beaſts.

What can that youth want? Why is he watching here?

As I live the young gentleman I ſaw this morning! What reaſon can he have for being in this place?

He eyes me with curioſity.

His intentions ſeemed good, for he firſt warned me againſt that wicked woman.

Who can ſay, he may know her? He is a ſmart, handſome, dapper fellow: I don't like him.

I am not now confined by walls and bolts;—there can be no danger.—I'll ſpeak.—Pray, ſir—

Well, ſir?

Have you ſeen a young perſon—?

A lady—

Yes.

With blue eyes, auburn hair, aquiline noſe, ivory teeth, carnation lips, raviſhing mouth, enchanting neck, a form divine, and an angel face?

Have you ſeen her?

Are you acquainted with that lady?

I am acquainted with a lady, but not an angel.

Ah! then it is not her.

Perhaps you are her—her lover?

Humph—I—I love her.

You do!

I'll be the death of him!—And ſhe loves you?

Why—Yes.

I'll put an end to him!—Are you married?

No.

You—you mean to marry her?

No.

Is ſhe then loſt to virtue?

Who dare ſuppoſe it?

Ay! who dare? I'll cut the villain's throat that dares!

She has endured inſult, conſtraint, and violence; but not guilt.

Guilt? No; not wilful guilt: impoſſible! But then—Is ſhe ſafe? Is ſhe ſafe?

Diſowned by her family, expoſed to the ſnares of vice, houſeleſs, hopeleſs, not daring to approach the wicked haunts of men, ſhe wanders forlorn and deſolate, willing to ſuffer, diſdaining to complain.

Tell me where! I will reſcue, defend, pro⯑tect, cheriſh, love, adore, die for her!

Is your heart pure? Have you no ſelfiſh diſhoneſt purpoſes?

How came you to imagine, ſir, that I or any man durſt couple her and diſhoneſty, even in a thought?

Meet me here to-morrow at ten.

You!

You ſhall ſee her.

See her! Shall I?

You ſhall.

My dear friend!

I'll make your fortune!—At nine?

Ten.

Could not I ſee her to-night?

To-morrow Joanna will meet you.

Joanna? Is that her dear name?

It is.

Delightful ſound! The ſweet Joanna! The divine Joanna! My heart's beſt blood is not ſo pre⯑cious as Joanna!

But pray where do you live?

Joanna!—In Portland-Place.

Your name?

Joanna!—Cheveril: Hans Cheveril.—Jo⯑anna!—Be ſure you don't forget.

I'll be punctual.

SCENE IV.

Who's here

Joanna!—At eight did not you ſay?—Where is he gone?—Sir! Sir!

I heard the name repeated!

Who is it here that knows Joanna?

I do.

Sir! Do you! Well, and what? Where?—Is ſhe ſafe?

I hope ſo.

But where, Sir, where?

'Tis Mr. Mordent!

Why do you enquire?

For heaven's ſake, Sir, do not torment me by delay, but tell me where ſhe is.

I muſt not.

But, Sir, I ſay you muſt, and ſhall!

Sir, you miſtake, if you ſuppoſe menaces can prevail.

Excuſe me! I would give my right hand to know what it appears you can tell.

I can tell nothing, 'till I am firſt made ac⯑quainted with your true motives.

And will you inform me then?

Provided I am certain of their purity.

Know then that I pant for a ſight of her once more, to do her the little juſtice that is yet in my power. Know, the wrongs ſhe has received from me are irreparable, vile, ſuch as could not have happened but in this worſt of worlds! Know that I, her natural guardian, have been her actual perſecutor; that I drove her to the abode of infamy; that I became the agent of her ruin, the plotter againſt her chaſtity; and that, when I had ſet the engines of darkneſs and hell at work to enſure her everlaſting wretchedneſs, I then diſcovered

ſhe was my daughter!

Sir!—Your daughter!—You? You my father?

How!

O [...]!

Can it be?—My child—? —My Joanna?

It is! It is!

My father!

My child! And innocent?

As your own wiſhes; or the word father ſhould never have eſcaped my lips! This dreſs was the diſguiſe conveyed to me, by which I effected my eſcape. I can ſuffer any thing but diſhonour.

A father? Oh!—I do not deſerve thee! I do not deſerve thee!

Once again, let me ſold thee to my heart!

Zounds, ſir!

I inſiſt, ſir!

I hear voices.

SCENE V.

Oh for ſwords, daggers, piſtols!

This way!

Confound your impertinent freaks; they have ſtopped my mouth this half hour; I would have told you all I knew inſtantly, but for your inſulting paſſion!

Did not you ſay you would not tell me where ſhe is?

I ſaid I could not.

Why there now.

But I ſuſpect I can tell more at preſent, if you will but hear.

'Sdeath, then, why don't you?

Will you be ſilent?—I had a glimpſe of Mor⯑dent this moment, in converſation with a youth.

Well?

It was the identical dreſs I ſent as a diſguiſe to Joanna.

How!

And I ſuſpect that very youth to be Joanna herſelf.

By heaven, and ſo it is!

In the poſſeſſion of Mordent?

Be patient—there is a ſecret—His claims ſuper⯑ſede all others.

His claim!—By every power of heaven and hell—

Be patient I tell you;—ſhe is his daughter!

Joanna? my ſweet Jo⯑anna? his daughter?

Even ſo.

His daughter? Hurrah! My dear Lennox!

Hurrah!

Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Hurrah! His daughter? Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

SCENE VI. The Houſe of MORDENT.

Are you ſure it was Mr. Mordent?

I tell, you, ſir, I was on the watch, and opened the door myſelf. Take care, my dear, ſaid he, to the ſham gentleman lady; and handed her in as lovingly!—The monſter!—My lady is bewitched!—She is fabricated!—She can't quit the houſe. I am ſure he muſt have nailed an inviſible horſe-ſhoe to the threſhold!

But how do you know this pretended youth to be a woman?

Did not I hear? I held the candle full flare in her face; it was a perfect picter! I never ſaw the like.—So ſhe is to be brought home, truly!—Such magnanimous impudence! But I'll go to my lady.

Be cautious: you may do miſchief.

I don't care! I am reſolved to ſtabilate and confound facts. So then, having a ſufficient dearth of proofs, we ſhall ſail off in the charut; and be properly received by the Earl, the Viſcount, and the Biſhop; and be ſquired into the hall; and be kiſſed for joy; and ſhall ſwim up ſtairs into the boſom of the family.

SCENE VII.

Dear Clement, have you ſeen Mr. Mordent?

No:—I am in ſearch of him, on affairs of the utmost importance.

So am I.

No leſs than the recovery or total loſs of his mortgaged lands.

How?

I am in great need of advice, and ſhould be glad to conſult you.

Conſult!—'Sdeath, man, I am in a hurry! I cannot reſt till I have found him.

Nay, but on the deciſion of the moment his ruin or ſafety depends.

Indeed! If ſo, my impatience muſt wait. What is it?

I hear footſteps.—This way.

SCENE VIII.

Yes, dear girl, your rare endowments ſurpaſs my hopes; and, convinced as I am that beauty is deſtructive, and wiſdom impotent, I joy to find you thus adorned.

Wait to know me better. I fear you ſhould prize me above my worth.

How ſhall I reward it? Fool that I am, mad⯑man that I have been.

This is my rich reward!

I have told you in part my deſperate ſituation. If Grime would but give honeſt evidence—But of that there is little hope.

My greateſt fear ariſes from what you have ſaid of Lady Anne. I muſt not, will not be the cauſe of ſeparation.

Let me do her juſtice: She is a miracle of forbearance. I have hated and ſpurned at the kindneſs I did not deſerve. Her perſeverance in good has been my aſtoniſhment and my torture.

Oh that I could ſee you reconciled! Oh that I could gain the love of ſuch a lady!

Of that, ſweet girl, you are certain. Lennox is with her, and by this ſhe knows your ſtory; and I am ſure adores your virtue.

Where is ſhe?

I hear her.

SCENE IX.

Oh! noble girl!

Forgive this rude tumult of affection, which I cannot reſtrain.

Is it poſſible?

Mr. Mordent, you are now a million fold more dear to me.

I cannot bear it!

Will you be my daughter?

Oh, madam!

Will you?

Adverſity I could endure, but this unhoped-for tide of bleſſings overpowers me.

Oh, how I hate myſelf!

And why?—Can you be ignorant of the virtuous ſtruggles which have cauſed the conflict you have felt? The ſtrength of theſe ſenſations ſhew how fitted you are to be great and good.

To be a—I dare not think!

Indeed you are wrong. Had I not been guilty of a thouſand errors, you never would have had occaſion for this ſelf reproach. Like cowards, we both have ſhunned inquiry. Let us be more cou⯑rageous; let us affectionately communicate our mutual miſtakes, and while we examine we ſhall correct the mind, expand the heart, and render ourſelves dear to each other, and beneficent to the whole world.

Oh ſhame, ſhame!

Nay, my love—

My dear father!

Well, well, I will endure exiſtence a little lon⯑ger, if it be but to hate myſelf.

SCENE X.

My life! my ſoul! my precious Joanna!

They will perſuade me preſently that hap⯑pineſs is poſſible!—You have cauſe, child, to thank Mr. Cheveril?

Oh, yes! he has a heart of the nobleſt ſtamp.

Ay! every body right! All angels! except myſelf: I am caſt into the ſhade; a kind of demon, grinning in the dark!

Come, come, guardian, diſmiſs theſe ſombre familiars, they have plagued you long enough. Clement is in eager ſearch of you, to communi⯑cate ſecrets of the utmoſt importance concerning his uncle.

The villain!

Yes:—he is below, half diſtracted, foaming with rage, and accuſing every ſervant in the houſe with having ſtolen his book! I hear him—Pray keep back! My ſweet Joanna, but for a moment.

SCENE IX.

'Tis gone! 'tis loſt! I am undone! I am murdered! I am betrayed!—I ſhall be proſecuted, pilloried, fined, caſt in dama⯑ges, obliged to pay all, to refund all, to relinquiſh all!—all—all—all! I'll hang myſelf!—I'll drown my⯑ſelf!—I'll cut my throat!—Mordent has got it!—All my ſecrets, all my projects, all my rogueries,—paſt, preſent, and to come!—Oh that I had never been born!—Oh that—

SCENE XII.

Have you ſeen my book?—Give it me!—Where is my book?

What book?

My account book! my ſecrets! myſelf! my ſoul! my heart's blood!

I have it—'tis here—I feel it!

Yes, ſir, 'tis here. Be pacified.

I won't! I won't! I'll have it! Give it me! I'll ſwear a robbery! I'll have you hanged!

This book, ſir, I conſider as a ſacred truſt; and part with it to you I muſt not.

You ſhall part with it, villain! You ſhall! I'll have your ſoul! 'Tis mine! I'll have your heart! 'Tis mine! I will have it! I will have it! I will have it!

You ſhall have heart, life, and ſoul firſt!

My dear nephew! My good boy! My kind Clement! I'll ſupply all your wants! I'll pay all your debts! I'll never deny any thing you aſk! I'll make you my heir!

You are the agent of Mr. Mordent, whom I fear you have deeply wronged, I have a painful duty to perform; but juſtice muſt be obeyed: no⯑thing muſt or ſhall bribe me to betray an injured man.

I'll give you ten thouſand pounds! I'll give you twenty! I'll give you fifty! Would you rob and ruin your uncle? Would you put him in the pillory? Would you ſee him hanged?

Villain! I will have it! 'Tis mine! I will! I will! Thieves! Robbers! Murder! Fire!

SCENE the laſt.

I am glad Mr. Item, that your inattention and your nephew's inflexible honeſty have afforded me the means of doing myſelf juſtice: that is all I require.

Here is double teſtimony: your hand-writing and your agent.

Have you impeached then?

I am a villain, a raſcal, a cut throat!

Mr. Clement, your worth and virtue are be⯑yond my praiſe.

If my conduct eſcape cenſure, it is more than I expect.

If it meet not retribution, all ſenſe of juſtice is loſt. Donald!

My watchful guide! My never failing friend!

Your hand, old boy! You and I muſt ſettle accounts. I am I know not how many ſcore pounds a year in your debt.

What then am I?

And I?

Hoot awa! Gin ye wad pay Donald, it mun nae be wi' yeer dirty ſiller; it mun be wi' yeer affactions.

True, my noble protector!

Why ay, noo! That's a receipt in foo?—It makes my hairt gi' ſic an a bang!

Honeſt worthy ſoul. And now to reconcile—

Come, come; make no ſpeeches. I'll ſettle the buſineſs. I am the proper perſon. I have eight thouſand a year, and ten thouſand in my pocket—Ten?

Is it ten or ſeventeen?

Seventeen!

Joanna ſhall be my queen of joy, pleaſure, and happineſs. Honeſty, here, ſhall ſettle all his ill-gotten gains on his nephew: Lennox, as a bachelor's pennance, ſhall marry his houſemaid: You, Guardian, ſhall change your ſyſtem of evil for practical good: Lady Anne ſhall become more patient and kind—if ſhe know how: and old Moloch

ſhall go hang himſelf.

Spoken like an oracle.

Why then, toſs up your caps, farewel to folly, long life to one and twenty, and mirth, health, and happineſs to all!

How ſtrange are the viciſſitudes of fortune! With what gloom was the dawn overcaſt! How have the ſtorms of this memorable day riſen, and increaſed even to horror! And now how bright the proſpect; and how glowing the hope that it excites! Ceeriſh it, kind friends, with your ſmiles: and, in the gentle ſlumbers of the night, let us joyfully dream that we ſtill merit, and ſtill obtain, your willing favour.