[]

LIFE'S VAGARIES, A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

WRITTEN BY JOHN O'KEFFE, Author of Tony Lumpkin in Town; The Son in Law; The Dead Alive; Agreeable Surprize; Fontainbleau, or Our Way in France: The Poſitive Man; The Poor Soldier; Love in a Camp, or Patrick in Pruſſia; The Farmer; The Caſtle of Andaluſia; The Young Quaker; Beggar on Horſeback; Peeping Tom; The Priſoner at Large; The Toy, or Hampton Court Frolicks; Wild Oats, or The Strolling Gentleman; Little Hunchback; The Siege of Curzola; Modern Antiques, or The Merry Mourners; The Highland Reel; Birth Day, or Prince of Arragon; Sprigs of Laurel; The World in a Village; The London Hermit, or Rambles in Dorſetſhire; The Iriſh Mimick, or Blunders at Brighton, &c. &c. &c.

Man's unprecarious natural eſtate,
Improveable at will, in virtue lies,
It's tenure ſure; it's income is divine.
YOUNG.

LONDON: PRINTED BY G. WOODFALL, FOR T. N. LONGMAN, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1795.

PROLOGUE,

[]
'TIS ſtrange that authors, who ſo rarely find
Their pray'rs can move an audience to be kind,
Still ſend, with piteous tone and look forlorn,
The Prologue forth to deprecate your ſcorn;
Such doleful heralds, which would fain appear
The timid ſtruggles of a modeſt fear,
The ſurly Critic views with jealous ſpleen,
As the dull preſage of the coming ſcene.
In vain, the dread hoſtility to calm,
E'en potent Flatt'ry tries her ſoothing balm;
Pity's a crime his loſty ſoul diſdains
And his pride feaſts upon the poet's pains,
Yet now no critic rancour need we fear,
For lib'ral candour holds her empire here,
Candour, who ſcorns for little faults to pry,
But looks on merits with a partial eye.
And ſure a bard whoſe muſe ſo oft has found
The happy pow'r to kindle mirth around,
Though, in her ſportive moods, averſe to trace,
The rigid forms of Action, Time, and Place,
While gen'rous objects animate her view,
May ſtill her gay luxuriant courſe purſue;
For, mid her whims, ſhe ſtill has ſhewn the art,
To preſs the USEFUL MORAL on the heart;
With juſt contempt the worthleſs to diſcard,
And deal to VIRTUE its deſerv'd reward.
So aim'd the bard * (if haply we may dare,
Our humble ſcenes with nobleſt ſtrains compare)
The bard whoſe favour'd muſe could joy afford,
That eas'd the cares of Rome's Imperial Lord,
Who in her ſatire frolickſome and wild,
Gave vice the deepeſt wounds when moſt ſhe ſmil'd.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

[]
  • LORD TORRENDEL Mr. Bernard.
  • LORD ARTHUR D'AUMERLE Mr. Lewis.
  • SIR HANS BURGESS Mr. Munden.
  • DICKINS Mr. Quick.
  • GEORGE BURGESS Mr. Fawcett.
  • TIMOLIN Mr. Johnſon.
  • L'OEILLET Mr. Farley.
  • ROBIN Mr. Townſhend.
  • ROBINSON
  • THOMAS
  • COACHMAN Mr. Thomſon.
  • JOHN Mr. Ledger.
  • CONSTABLE
  • LADY TORRENDEL Mrs. Pope.
  • AUGUSTA Miſs Wallis.
  • FANNY Mrs. Lee.
  • MISS CLARE Miſs Stuart.
  • LANDLADY Mrs. Platt.

TRADESMEN, and SERVANTS.

SCENE.—A Town, and adjacent Country near the Coaſt.

LIFE'S VAGARIES, A COMEDY.

[]

ACT I.

SCENE I.—A Parlour in DICKINS'S; Breakfaſt things laid.

Enter SIR HANS BURGESS, and ROBIN.
SIR HANS.

I'LL truſt nothing to the errand cart, you muſt bring up my own waggon; cuts ſuch a figure! a Gentleman's fine team ringing thro' a country town.

Robin.

Why it does make folks ſtare.

Sir H.

There's the Duke's cart, Lord, Marquiſs's cart, and why not his Worſhip's cart? and on it written in capitals, ‘Sir Hans Burgeſs! Samphire Hall.’ Go—

[Exit Robin.]

(Looks at his watch)

Late breakfaſt here. This little ſhop-keeper is quite ſpoilt by a Lord's taking notice of him—aping all the abſurd impertinence of faſhion; an inſignificant cur mongrel, ſetting himſelf up for a greyhound.

[2] Enter DICKINS, in a morning gown, &c. tying his neckcloth—ſits.
Dick.

When one ſups at the Caſtle, no riſing next morning

(yawns, not minding Sir Hans.)
Sir H.

The Caſtle! ſup with Lord Viſcount Torrendel.

Dick.

His Lordſhip would make me bumper it laſt night, roaſting ſuch bundles of his fine girls; 'pon my ſoul I and Torrendel knock'd the bottle about rarely. How his Lordſhip ſtared at dinner when I hob nob'd him; ſays he, my dear Dickins, are you in earneſt? 'pon my ſoul, ſaid I, my dear Torrendel I am, that's poz. I'm uſed to good old black port, and his Lordſhip's pink Burgundy has given me an immenſe head-ach. No getring from him, he's ſuch good company.

(yawns)
Sir H.

Then I'm not even to be aſked to ſit down?

Dick.

Sir Hans Burgeſs! Oh, how do ye do?

Sir H.

Well, this is good, a Gentleman comes to talk about buſineſs, and its "Oh, how do ye do."

(mimicks.)
Dick.

Buſineſs! true, I ride out with my Lord this morning.

Sir H.

Pleaſe, Sir, firſt to ſtep into your ſhop, and weigh out the ſugar and tobacco for my ſervant, Robin Hoofs.

Dick. (riſing)

Sir, if you don't know how to behave as a parlour viſitor to me, as a cuſtomer, walk into my ſhop, and wait there till you are ſerv'd. Here, John, take this perſon's orders. Weigh tobacco! as you are [3] now Sir Hans Burgeſs, I may yet be Sir Anthony Dickens; I may be knighted for bringing up an addreſs. You made your money by a contract of hats, and an't I making mine by—

Sir H.

Your country merchant ſhop of all ſorts.

Dick.

My banking-houſe, agencies, receiverſhips, factorſhips—

Sir H.

And coal-ſhips. Now I have laid out my money in buying a ſcope of land, and my grand hobby is to turn it into a faſhionable ſeabathing place. I have ſuch a liberal mind to accommodate the publick, I built firſt there a beautiful houſe—

Dick.

For yourſelf. As my Lord ſays, to ſerve a man's ſelf, has been long the way of doing things for the public good.

Sir H.

I raiſed as pretty an hotel! and the neat row of lodging-houſes!

Dick.

But to give it a name, you muſt get a few of us people of faſhion down to it. Suppoſe I ſay to his Lordſhip, 'pon my ſoul Torrendel, now you ſhould take a houſe from my friend, Sir Hans, he's a good, honeſt, ſtupid ſort of a ſoul—why then, ſays my Lord, nay my dear Dickens, you are too ſevere. Yes, perhaps I may prevail on Torrendel to take one of your new houſes.

Sir H.

Not ſo much good in you, hem! a pity, friend Dickens, my Lord can't admit you for an hour to his table, but it makes you ſo curſed ſaucy.

Dick.

Proud! a proof my Lord ca'n't do without me.

Sir H.
[4]

Why you are ſo clever that I will truſt you, becauſe I ca'n't do without you.

Dick.

Very civil,

(bows)

as my Lud ſays; then ſays I, oh, dem it my Lud—

Sir H.

Devils in you, and the Lud; I came to conſult you. You know I deſign to beſtow my ward Auguſta Woodbine, with her whole fortune, on my ſon George; but I fear the report of her riches will bring all your flaſhy, high-titled gentry about her, then—

Dick.

Ay! then, indeed, ſhe may be for deſpiſing a ſon of yours. As my Lud was filling his glaſs, my jogging his elbow, dem it, Dickens, ſaid he, you are ſull of miſchief.

Sir H.

Oh, zounds!—

(impatiently)
Dick.

Hem! wa'n't Miſs Auguſta adopted by her uncle on his diſcarding his own daughter for a faux pas with ſome man of faſhion two and twenty years back?

Sir H.

Devil's in your twenty years back! how to bring my ſon's marriage about now?

Dick.

Make your ward think that her uncle has made a ſecond will, and that ſhe's not worth two-pence, then ſhe'll be glad to ſnap at your George.

Sir H.

Eh! I expect her to-day from London. According to that plan, it will ſhew too much attention to go myſelf to meet her—I'll let her down—I'll ſend any body—will you go, my dear fellow?

Dick.

Civil again;

(bows)

its a doubt to me, if you know how to make a bow, Sir Hans, ha, ha, ha! this morning I, making my bow of leave to his Ludſhip, ſliding back, ſtumbled upon the poor Chaplain's toe; my Lud laughed! [5]Zounds! cries his Reverence, you've killed me! Huzza, ſays my Lud, then the parſon's dead, and has loſt his living, ha, ha, ha! Oh, but to meet this Lady I'll ſend my daughter Fanny. Here ſhe is.

Enter FANNY, ſtops ſhort, and makes a low curteſy.

Why, Miſs, isn't this your ſchool hour?

Fanny.

Yes, papa, but I've ſtept home for a book; did you ſee my Pleaſing Inſtructor?

(looks about.)
Dick.

My dear, you muſt ſtep over to the inn to receive—

Fanny.

Lord! papa, what would our Governeſs ſay if a young Lady of her ſchool was ſeen going into an inn? beſides its now my reading time; then I have my embroidery; then I muſt practice my muſick; then ſay my French leſſon; then the dancing-maſter; then, papa—

Exit. courteſying. Sir Hans bows.
Dick.

I muſt not take her from her accompliſhments—I'll go, and in my way drop this parcel at my Lud's, a trivial thing, but was I to ſend it, it would be, ‘Eh, now, Dickens, why didn't you come yourſelf, my dear fellow? always happy to ſee you.’ Muſt call, my Lord may think I'm getring proud, pride is ſo contemptible.

(ſtrutting about)
Sir H.

So it is, I deſpiſe it at this moment.

Dick.

Well, good bye.

Sir H.

Devil's in your good bye! Introduce me now to Lord Torrendel.

Dick.

Why, I don't know, his Lordſhip ſupports [6]vaſt dignity; but never mind, tho' he is very difficult of acceſs, I'll introduce you, for my Lud ſays, ‘Dickens, I'll be glad to ſee ſome of your people; from my reſpect to you, you may command any ſervice—never mind their aukward want of breeding, if known to you.’ Sir Hans, I'll preſent you to my Lud; expect to ſee all the importance of genuine old nobility; yet I'm of that conſequence with him, that once preſented by me, his Lordſhip and you are hand and glove.

Exit. pompouſly.
Sir Hans.

Ay! that you and I may be hand and purſe.

Exit.

SCENE II.—A Chamber in LORD TORRENDEL'S Caſtle.

Lnter LORD TORRENDEL, and L'OEILLET, adjuſting his dreſs.
Lord Tor.

Then you think, L'Oeillet, Lady Torrendel is ſtill in Cumberland. She is too good a wife—I uſe her ill.

L'Oeillet.

Oui! mais, mi Lor, dat be de faute of la nature, vich did give your Lorſhip conſtitution galante amoureuſe.

Lord Tor.

No interruption from my wife here, ha, ha, ha! good deception this of mine, to make her believe I'm at Liſbon for the reeſtabliſhment of my health; never was better in my life!

L'Oeillet.

Your Lorſhip be robuſte comme Hercule; vid your ſpindle ſhank.

(aſide)
Lord Tor.
[7]

Lady Torrendel, among the lakes, little imagines that I am retir'd hither to this ſcene of darling pleaſures; a doubt to me if ſhe even knows I've ſtill a ſeat in this part of the country. She is truly amiable, her mind ſtored with every delicate refinement, and for perſonal charms has few ſuperiors; I like people ſhould know ſo fine a woman choſe me;—yes, ſhe ſeems the only perſon unconſcious of her ſhining qualities; but I cannot help my irreſiſtible penchant for variety,

(ringing without)

I'm not at home; the little girl, Dickins's daughter Fanny! isn't her name Fanny? an abſolute Cherub!

L'Oeillet.

Ah! oui milor—Fanny Dickins, Fanny Cherub!

Lord Tor.

But living beauty cannot baniſh the ſweet remembrance of Emily Woodbine. If her father hadn't diſinherited her for coming off with me, and adopted his niece, I ſhou'dn't now be troubled with this profligate boy of her's, this Lord Arthur, as he calls himſelf— preſumes as if my ſon in real wedlock. My fitting him out for the Indies was doing very handſome for a chance child.

L'Oeillet.

Milor, I did vid money, you give me, furniſh him ſuperbement for voyage de mer; but he did make ſuch a ſabat affreux in de ſhip, dat he vas turn'd out—

(aſide)

ſo I did tell you; but your money I have ſnug dans ma poche.

Lord Tor.

He's well enough, I hear, as to his perſon.

L'Oeillet.

Oui! il eſt fait á peindre, l'image of your lorſhip!

Lord Tor.
[8]

But mad! I'm abſolutely afraid of him.

L'Oeillet.

Milor, here come de pretty girl.

Lord Tor.

L'Oeillet! how do I look this morning? candid now! I always like the truth.

L'Oeillet.

Den, en enverité, milor, you look not above fifty, tho' you are a quarter paſt.

Lord Tor.

Fifty! L'Oeillet you are exceedingly coarſe.

Enter FANNY.

Ha, my charmer!

Fanny.

'Pon my word, Sir, my Lord I mean, if you talk that way to me, I won't come here any more; I didn't know you was in the room, or I ſhou'dn't have come in I aſſure you, Sir, my Lord I mean.

L'Oeillet.

Ah, petite badine. Mamſelle Fanny come purpoſe to ſee my Lor.

Fanny.

Monſieur, how can you tell ſuch fibs.

Lord Tor.

Do now, my love, declare and make me happy.

Fanny.

Then I only came becauſe—

Lord Tor.

What, my love?

L'Oeillet.

Ah, pourquoi?

Fanny.

Becauſe papa ſays its a boyiſh play, and all the rooms in our houſe are ſo ſmall, and you've ſuch a fine long gallery here, and Jenny the houſe-keeper's daughter is ſo ſmart at—he! he! he!

(produces battledores).
Enter THOMAS, with a parcel.
L'Oeillet. (ſnatching it,)

Va tén!

(puſhes him off.)
Lord Tor. (breaks it open.)
[9]

Oh, ſome begging petition. How! my Lady Torrendel's hand! L'Oeillet do you read, and write ſome conſiſtent anſwers; date the letters from Liſbon as uſual.

L'Oeillet.

Wile you, milor, play de raquette vid Miſs Fanny.

Fanny.

What! can you play, Sir, my Lord I mean?

Lord Tor. (aſide).

To win a girl one muſt comply with all her childiſh follies.

(To L'OEillet)

Say the ſprain's not better—can't lift my arm—and all that.

Fanny.

Ca'n't lift you arm! you flouriſh it finely, Sir; my Lord I mean.

Lord Tor.

Come, my love.

(they play)
L'Oeillet.

Ah! bien—trés bien!

Exit. admiring.
Enter DICKINS, and SIR HANS, who ſtand amazed.
Fanny.

Oh! my Lord, what a rare old beau the King wou'd think you now, and if my papa was to ſee me—oh!

(ſeeing Dickins, runs, he ſtops her).
Dickins.

So, this is your "Pleaſing Inſtructor".

Sir Hans.

The dignity of "genuine old nobility!"

Lord Tor.

Ah, hem! what, Sir?

Dickins.

I beg you Lordſhip's pardon, but I brought a parcel, and am come up to ſave your Lordſhip's coming down.

(ſwaggering)
Lord Tor.

Impudent intruſion this!

Dickins.
[10]

Miſs, you ſtep over to the Roſe Inn to receive a young Lady juſt arrived from London—go.

Fanny.

Lord, Papa!—give my battledores to Jenny.

(apart to Lord Torrendel; goes to door, turns, makes a low courteſy, and exit gravely)
Sir Hans.

How finely ſhe holds up her head.

Dickins.

All the good ſhe's got at the boarding ſchool.

Lord Tor.

Dem it! once you make free with theſe kind of people.

Sir Hans.

The devil's in your ſtrutting! why don't you preſent me?

Dickins.

Oh, true, my Lord give me leave to introduce—

Lord Tor.

Ah! hey! L'Oeillet!

(calls and exit. Dickins ſtands confuſed)
Sir Hans.

Dickins, ſince I have been introduced by you, his Lordſhip and I are ‘hand and glove,’ ha, ha, ha!

Dickins.

Get drunk with a man over night, and in the morning its—

Sir Hans.

Ah! hey! L'Oeillet!

(mimicks)
Dickins.

Hem!

Exit.
Sir Hans.

Stop, my Lord ca'n't do without you.

Enter L'OEILLET haſtily.
L'Oeillet.

Mon dieu! vere be my Lord to rell him of dis beauty lady ſtop at de Roſe Inn?

Sir Hans.

I ſee the valet's the prime favourite after all.

(aſide)

Monſieur, pleaſe to accept—

(gives money).
L'Oeillet.
[11]

Qu'eſt que c'eſt? vat's dis?

Sir Hans.

'Tis—you are ſo civil.

L'Oeillet.

Ah! je vous entends—to make me civil.

Sir Hans.

Sir!

Bows and exit.
L'Oeillet.

Two guinea! very polite! he vant ma protection. In his Lordſhip's ſervice I have been but four year, yet have ſav'd two thouſand guinea; the guinea flow to my coffer in many channel. My Lor fancy watch, trinket to preſent as decoy to Lady, I buy at ten guinea, charge him twenty. I wink at de tradeſman's bill, ven paid he ſlip me de guinea:—if tenant want leaſe renewed, I ſpeak to my Lor, tenant mé donne the guinea. De maitre tink we be dere ſervants, but when we have got into de love-ſecret, pardi! den de maitre become ſervant to de valet de chambre.

Exit.

SCENE III.—A Room in an Inn.

Enter Landlady, introducing AUGUSTA.
Landlady.

This way, Madam.

Exit.
Enter FANNY.
Fanny.

How d'ye do, Ma'am, after your journey?

Auguſta.

Tolerably well, Miſs—but, pray, who am I to thank for this obliging enquiry?

Fanny.

Why, Miſs, a'n't you the great heireſs, Miſs Auguſta Woodbine, Sir Hans Burgeſs expected down here from London?

Auguſta.

Where is the good old gentleman?

Fanny.
[12]

He good! brought papa upon me juſt how! he, he, he! I was caught—but pray don't you young Ladies in London ſometimes play at ſhuttlecock?

Auguſta.

Ha, ha, ha! why, Miſs, you are very agreeable—what a ſimple thing!

(aſide)

but, how came you to know, or expect me?

Fanny.

Papa ſent me to receive you.

Auguſta.

I didn't know Sir Hans had a daughter—Miſs Burgeſs I preſume.

Fanny.

He, he, he! no! no! I am not Miſs, but I may be Mrs. Burgeſs, for young George is quite partial to me; there he's now gone on his travels round Brighton, and Battle, and Haſtings, Sandwich, and Margate, and Ramſgate. My dear ſoul, George Burgeſs is a very fine creature, I aſſure you.

Auguſta.

I ca'n't doubt his taſte, Miſs, when I underſtand he's an admirer of your's.

Fanny.

Ah! now I ſee the difference between you and us down here. You are a true Lady, and we are only conceited figures, and ſo I'll tell all the Ladies in our ſchool, and I don't care if my French teacher hears me too. 'Pon my honour, with all my finery, I'm but a ſhabby genteel.

Enter DICKINS.
Dickins.

If my ſcheme of letting down our young heireſs, can bring about a match with Sir Hans's ſon George, by agreement I touch the handſome preſent.

Fanny.

La, papa! why don't you ſpeak to the young Lady?

Dickins.

Welcome, Miſs!

(gods familiarly)
Auguſta.
[13]

Sir.

(courteſies)

I wiſh ſomebody would call my ſervant.

(going)
Fanny.

Miſs, I'll run.

Dickins.

Stop. Now to let her down.

(aſide)

Miſs, I've diſcharged your ſervant.

Auguſta.

How, Sir!

Dickins.

And, my dear, inſtead of attendance on yourſelf, you muſt learn to attend on others, my dear.

Auguſta.

Sir! very odd and myſterious; this brutal treatment—

(aſide)

—my guardian lives but a few miles—the carriage ready!

(going)
Dickins.

Never mind, my dear, you'll be able to walk as far as you've to go; you can walk!

(abruptly)
Auguſta.

Heavens! what can be the meaning!—

Dickins.

A word, Miſs; you have been brought up with the idea of a great fortune. Smoke! your uncle has made a ſecond will, and bequeath'd all his property to a—ſome Mr. Jackſon, or Mr. Johnſon, no matter who.

Auguſta.

I don't know who you are, Sir, but if acquainted in my affairs, ſurely by my uncle's will I am—

Dickins.

A man's laſt will is the clincher, tho' he had made fifty before; you are left a trifling legacy, and a handſome education, ſo muſt now battle it out for yourſelf.

Fanny.

I could cry for her misfortune, if I wasn't glad at its making us more equal. Before, I admir'd; but now, I ſhall love her dearly.

Dickins.

My generoſity is ſuch, that at Sir Hans's requeſt, I'll take you into my houſe to be governeſs to my daughter Fanny, here.

Auguſta.
[14]

Can this be poſſible?

Fanny.

Lawk! then I'm to leave ſchool!

(joyful)
Dickins.

You ſhall have my protection, you may dine at my table when we have no particular company. No occaſion to acquaint you, my dear, of my property and fortune—firſt faſhion.

(looks at his watch)

My Lord may now have call'd at my houſe! but dem-it, let him call again!

Enter JOHN, with a large bag.
John.

Here, Sir Hans's man ſays you ſold him better moiſt ſugar for 6d. a pound.

Dickins.

Get you gone, you raſcal!

(puſhes him out)
Fanny.

La, papa, why don't you mind the buſineſs of the ſhop?

Dickins.

Hem! yes, I want a governeſs for my daughter. What ſay you, Miſs?

Auguſta.

Sir, I am a friendleſs orphan; no alternative—but ſuch an aſylum!

(aſide, and weeps)
Dickins.

Come, young Lady, don't be caſt down.

Auguſta.

I am ſurpriſed—perhaps concern'd; but the proſpect of riches gave me little pleaſure in the reflection that I was to poſſeſs what belong'd to an unfortunate relative; the unforgiving ſpirit of her obdurate parent took the birth-right from his own lamented daughter, caſt down! I could be happy was I ſure my uncle's wealth would devolve on the offspring of his child's offence; the poor youth, who may at this moment be a wretched outcaſt, [15]diſown'd by an unprincipled father, and no inheritance, but his mother's ſhame.

Dickins.

Why, a babe was, I heard, the conſequence of your Couſin's ſlip; a boy—this young mand Lord Arthur D'Aumerle, as he calls himſelf;

(aſide)

but, dear, nobody knows any thing of the bantling; it may be dead or drowned, or—well, but, Miſs, what think ye?

Auguſta.

Sir, I accept your offer.

Dickins.

Now, I ſhall have you under my own eye, no more playing ſhuttlecocks with Lords— but, how are you qualified for this office? what is your idea of the duties, in bringing up a young woman?

Auguſta.

Sir, by the mouth of a parent ſhe receives admonition from Heaven itſelf; and when he commits that charge to another, it is indeed ſacred. The care of youth is an arduous, and delicate truſt of confidence, and honor; I look upon truth, cleanlineſs, and frugality, to be the firſt principles in a lady's education. They preſerve to her mind, perſon, and means, purity, health, and independence of obligation, which thro' the devious paths of her future life, to the unſuſpecting female, is often the concealed adder, for the deſtruction of her innocence.

Dickins.

She ſet out pretty well about my heavenly authority, and my delicate mouth; but, lord, ſhe has got quite out;

(aſide)

well, in truth, my dear, your quondam guardian, bid me break this affair in a rough way, to lower your ſpirit, to your ſituation; but it's my intention to treat you with kindneſs and reſpect.

(aſide)

This will do me no harm, when ſhe finds ſhe has ſtill the fortune

[16] Enter L'OEILLET.
L'Oeillet.

Vraiment oui! here is de charmante inconnue for milor;

(aſide)

and Miſs Fanny! ah! ha!

(with freedom)
Dick.

And Miſs Fanny's pa! pa!

(interpoſing)

Monſieur—you want now, I ſuppoſe, to engage my daughter in a match of cricket; but you ſhall get all the notches on your pate.

L'Oeillet.

Non! Monſieur, I did come vid milor's compliments—you ride cavalcade vid him dis morning.

Dickins.

What! after his affronting me!

L'Oeillet.

Affront pah! votre interêt.

Dickins.

True! intereſt is the gold-beater's leaf, for my wounded pride. Come, Miſs, be chearful; you'll dine with us—dinner on table at ſix.

Fanny.

Why, papa, we always dine at one.

Dickins.

Fanny, to amuſe you, will ſhow you our town here.

L'Oeillet.

I vill ſhow de Lady de town.

(bowing)
Dickins. (Bowing)

Don't you believe it. After you, s'il vous plait, Monſieur.

(exit)
Fanny.

Yes, papa, I'll take Miſs Auguſta to the cathedral, the play-houſe, and ſhambles, the beaſt-market, and aſſembly-room, and by— ſhe ſhall ſee the fine gallery of pictures, in my Lord's caſtle too.

Timolin. (Without)

Give me my own big bottle of old claret, in my own fiſt.

Fanny.

A man! oh! Lord! I muſt take care of my governeſs.

(exeunt)
[17] Enter TIMOLIN, with wine and glaſs, and Landlady.
Timolin.

Puppies! but they coudn't read in my face, that I was gentleman to a Lord.

Landlady.

Here, porters, fetch up his Lordſhip's, and the Gentleman's trunks, let Dick and Tom Oſtler give a help; take care how you turn the ſtairs.

Enter WAITER, with two ſmall bundles.
Waiter.

Here, Ma'am, is the luggage.

(Timolin aſhamed)
Landlady.

And call for claret!

(aſide)

Your maſter, Sir, is—?

Timolin.

The Honorable Lord Arthur D' Aumerle.

Landlady.

The Honorable Lord—

Exit with Waiter.
Timolin. (taking papers out of his pocket).

I hope my Lord wo'n't find out, that I collected all theſe tradeſman's bills, which he ran up in London; he'd never have thought of them himſelf. This claret is neat—ſince he did call for it, I may as well drink it; for he has run out of the houſe. If his father, this Lord Torrendel wo'n't do ſomething, no going back to London, for us!

ENTER Waiter.
Waiter.

Sir, the other gentleman is calling for you, and making a great noiſe.

Timolin.
[18]

Noiſe! aye, that's quite himſelf. Then, Sir, this gentleman will wait on that gentleman, and that may happen to ſave all the bottles and glaſſes in your houſe.

Waiter.

He has juſt taken lodgings, at the jeweller's over the way.

Timolin.

What may the price be?

Waiter.

I think, they let them at three guineas a week.

Timolin. (Whiſtles, Waiter ſtares)

Don't be frighten'd, it's only a little new tune I was humming.

Waiter.

Sir, he deſires his luggage to be brought to him.

(Timolin aſhamed, looking at bundles, whiſtles)

Sir!

Timolin.

What's the matter with you now? luggage! have you good ſtrong porters here, and a big cart?

Waiter.

For what, Sir?

Timolin.

For—hem! only Sir—I'm afraid, our luggage will break down the landlady's ſtair-caſe. "And there was three travellers— travellers three."

Exeunt, Timolin, ſinging.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

[19]

SCENE I. Before the Caſtle.

Enter LORD TORRENDEL.
Lord Tor.

No, the phaeton:

(calling off)

I may ſee this little girl in the evening, and after an hour on horſeback; my limbs, not quite ſo ſupple, appear rather older than ſuch a young creature ſhould think one; but, true—I aſked this Dickins to ride out with me to-day. One ſhould hold theſe ſort of people at arm's length, till we want to turn them into ſome uſe.

Enter TIMOLIN, who takes papers from his pocket, and thruſts them into Lord TORRENDEL'S hand.
Timolin.

There! now you have the whole kit of them.

Lord Tor.

Who are you? what's all this? bills!

Timolin.

Yes, and by my ſoul they're not bank bills, and that's the worſt of them; and, they're not play bills, and that's the beſt of them; for there's not a gaming debt in the whole cluſter.

Lord Tor.

But, friend, you ſhould have delivered them to my banker, Mr. Dickins.

Timolin.

A banker! he'll give me the money!

(joy)

by finding you ſo good, oh! how you've diſappoined me.

(going)
Lord Tor.
[20]

Stop!

(looks-at bills)

"Lord Torrendel, debtor, for goods delivered to Lord Arthur;" who the Devil's Lord Arthur D'Aumerle?

Timolin.

Now don't be in a paſſion, why, I am his ſervant.

Lord Tor.

But who is he himſelf?

Timolin.

Come, be aiſy my Lord, don't go to pretend to know nothing of your own child.

Lord Tor.

How dare any fellow aſſume Lord Arthur!

Timolin.

He has the honor of being your ſon.

Lord Tor.

'Tis falſe.

Timolin.

Well, he has no honor in being your ſon.

Lord Tor.

An infernal raſcal! run about, contract debts, ſend in his bills to me! I won't pay a ſhilling to ſave him from perdition.

Timolin.

Perdition! ſome new-faſhion'd name for the King's Bench.

Enter GROOM.
Groom.

My Lord, am I to ſaddle the cheſnut mare for Mr. Dickins? he inſiſts upon having it.

Lord Tor.

Yes, yes, ſcoundrel!

(walks.)
Groom.

She coſt your Lordſhip two hundred guineas; he's a bad rider, and if ſhe ſhould get any hurt—

Lord Tor.

Dem it, don't trouble me with your quarrels.

Exit Groom.
Timolin.

Refuſe his child a few pounds, a bit [21]of beef, a feather bed, and a hat and a pair of ſhoes, or ſo; yet mounts a Mr. Dickins on a horſe coſt 200 guineas!

Lord Tor.

This damn'd—, can't keep within the allowance that I—

Timolin.

What allowance do you mean?

Lord Tor.

An extravagant—

Timolin.

He is extravagant; wicked; he's a devil! but, it's all your fault, my Lord, as a father; not noticing and bringing him up with a ſenſe of duty to himſelf and his neighbours. Call to mind how you loved his mother, and inveigled her from her friends, tho' you wasn't married to the poor unhappy lady, that doesn't make the child's little finger a bit leſs your ſon.

Lord Tor.

Emily!

(takes out his purſe)

for her dear ſake—

Timolin.

Then bleſſings on you! beſides, Lord Arthur is ſuch a gay—

Lord Tor.

Lord Arthur again! not a guinea!

Timolin.

And as like your lordſhip as a ſprightly young buck is like—an auld ſhambling baboon.

(aſide)
Lord Tor.

I know nothing about him.

Timolin.

Theſe they call gallantries, to bring a living creature into the world and then to leave him like a wild beaſt to prey upon ſociety.

(Lord Torrendel walks about enraged; Timolin following.)

Now, my lord, only ſee him.

Lord Tor.

Begone.

Timolin.

I'll tell you what—you'll drive him deſp'rate; he'll do ſome helliſh thing or other; he'll commit a ſuicide upon either himſelf or me, for, when once he thinks any thing, he [22]immediately does it, without thinking at all about it.

Lord Tor.

Harkye, you ſcoundrel! if I hear of your lord Arthur, or yourſelf, being ſeen about my door, I'll have you taken up.

Timolin.

Well, a ſmall man taken up, doesn't cut ſuch a pitiful figure, as a great man taken down.

Exit.
Lord Tor.

This eternal torment!

Exit diſturbed.
Enter DICKINS, dreſſed in a uniform of Hunt, and JOHN.
Dickins.

Yes, John, I think I'm very well equipp'd to ride out with my lord.

John.

Well, ſir, you had a hundred guineas fee with me, and the day may yet come, for my croſſing a hunter.

Dickins.

It may, John; when I was 'prentice in Barbican, and, like the houſe dog, ſlept in the ſhop; promis'd the watchman a pint, to rouſe me, to go to the Eaſter Epping Hunt; "five o'clock and a fine morning!" thump comes the pole againſt the ſhop door; tingle, tingle, goes the little bell behind it; up ſtarts me, from my bed under the counter; on with my buckſkin and jemmy jacket; jumps into my two boots; mounts my three and ſixpenny nag; but, firſt I put my ſpurs in my pocket; hey off we go, thro' Hackney, Hammerton—I ſaw the ſtag once, but then heard the hounds all the way; find I've a ſhort and a long ſtirrup: diſmount to put them even; forgetting to buckle the girt, down comes me, and the ſaddle at top of me; by this I was ſlung out; but, to prove [23]I was in at the death, preſents my kind miſtreſs with a piece of the ſtag's horn, which horn ſhe gives her huſband for a tobacco ſtopper, with "ah my dear hubby, I wiſh you were as good a ſportſman as your 'prentice Tony Dickins, ah he's the ſmart fellow," ha! ha! ha! and ſo I was, and dem it ſo I am ſtill—John, you needn't wait dinner, I ſhall dine with Torrendel.

Exit John.

Sir Hans! curſe it, I can't be plagued with ſuch a ſilly old fool now.

Enter Sir HANS.
Sir Hans.

Hollo, Dickins! ſo you have ſeen my ward, Miſs Auguſta.

Dickins.

Yes, yes, I have humbled her rarely, but pray don't delay me now, I'm engaged to ride out with my Lord. I, and Torrendel, may firſt take a turn or two down the Street, arm in arm, right ſide, ſo don't hide the ſtar! my dear Hans don't ſtop to talk to me; if you've people with you, and ſhould bow, I'll return it.

Re-enter Lord TORRENDEL.
Lord Tor.

Scoundrel! call himſelf my ſon; keep ſervants too.

Dickins.

Well, my Lord, here I am: whip and ſpur.

Lord Tor.

Deſire the porter not to admit either of them.

(calls off)
Sir Hans.

Not admit either of us!

Dickins.

Poh! hold your tongue.

(puſhing him)

My lud, I had a little head ache from our [24]debauch laſt night; you look vaſtly well, but a little cherry will do us both good.

Lord Tor.

Pray, Sir, what are you talking about?

Dickins.

Why, my Lord, you ſent for me to—

Lord Tor.

Poh! poh! man, I ſha'n't ride out to-day.

Exit.
Dickins.

Go to the expence of dreſſing! view'd by every body in the town, ſtrutting out in my leathers, and—

Sir Hans.

Why, Sir, you're equipp'd in your leathers.

Dickins.

‘Poh! poh! man I ſha'n't ride out to-day.’

Exit.
Sir Hans.

And, pray, man, who cares whether you ride or walk? big little nobody! I'll introduce myſelf—Gad's curſe! a'n't I a Knight, and if I can effect this marriage with Auguſta and my George—

Lord Arthur. (Without)

Timolin!

(Enters in ſlippers) (to Sir Hans.)

Where's Timolin? Sir, I aſk pardon. My raſcal dare loiter and had only to come and bring me a couple of hundred guineas from my father; I'll ſee my Lord myſelf.

(rings violently at the gate.)
Sir Hans.

Some young fellow of faſhion!

Lord Arthur.

I'm run out in ſlippers; all aſleep here!

Sir Hans.

Yes, Sir, they were at a jollification laſt night; Mr. Dickins told me.

Lord Arthur.

Who? aye, my father keeps it up here, and I without the price of a bottle.

Sir Hans. (aſide)

A little civility might make this Gentleman take lodgings at Samphire-hall.

Lord Arthur.

So, I'm not to be let in! then I'll have ſome of you out.

(rings.)
Sir Hans.
[25]

Are you in this way, Sir!

(offering ſnuff-box, which Lord Arthur daſhes through a window.)

the devil's in you, Sir! what ſort of mad trick's that, to knock a Gentleman's ſnuff-box.

Exit.
Enter a MAN, with boots.
Lord Arthur.

Whoſe boots are theſe? what do you aſk for theſe boots?

Man.

They are bought already, Sir, I'm bringing them home to my Lord Torrendel.

Lord Arthur.

My father;

(aſide)

you could make me a pair?

Man.

Certainly, Sir.

Lord Arthur.

Theſe are about my ſize.

(kicks ſlippers off, and puts the boots on.)
Man.

Don't put them on, Sir, I can take your meaſure.

Lord Arthur.

My dear fellow, why ſhould I give you that trouble, when here is a pair ready made? that fits, now this, the whole world is made up of this, that, and tother, I have this, and that, and tother I don't want, for two boots will do for me as well as fifty.

Man.

Lord, Sir, don't walk about in them, his Lordſhip wo'n't have them.

Lord Arthur.

A paradox! his Lordſhip cannot have them, and his Lordſhip has them already.

Re-enter Sir HANS.
Sir Hans.

Only the pebble knocked out of the lid! never ſaw ſuch a ſtrange—

Man.
[26]

The boots are now unſaleable, his Lordſhip wo'n't take them off my hands.

Lord Arthur.

Nor off my lordſhip's feet.

Sir Hans.

Lord! then I'll pocket my broken box.

Man.

They are two guineas, Sir.

Lord Arthur. (To Sir Hans)

Sir, I beg you a thouſand pardons for my inadvertency.

Sir Hans.

Inadvertency! a man of rank, by not knowing what he does.

Man.

We never book ſuch trifles, Sir.

Lord Arthur.

Well then ſet them down to me, to Lord Arthur D'Aumerle; or, carry the bill to my father; or, Timolin will pay you; or, any body will pay you.

Man.

I'll ſee if the law wo'n't make you pay me.

Exit Man.
Sir Hans.

Sir, I preſume you are Lord Arthur D'Aumerle.

Lord Arthur.

Right—who are you?

(aſide)

oh! Sir Hans Burgeſs! that old fool they were laughing at—I hear an immenſe character of you, Sir Hans.

Sir Hans.

Pray, my Lord, what do they ſay of me?

Lord Arthur.

Ha! ha! ha! what I ca'n't ſay to your face: that's my father's houſe.

Sir Hans.

Indeed! why we didn't know Lord Torrendel had a ſon.

Lord Arthur.

He doesn't like my coming about him—he affects to be thought ſo very young, to recommend him to the Ladies; you underſtand me, Sir Hans?

Sir Hans.

Not ſee you! he's a very unnatural father.

Lord Arthur.

And yet I'm quite a natural ſon.

[27] Enter THOMAS.
Thomas.

Sir, my Lord is very much alarm'd, and begs you will not commit any more outrage, or attempt to ſee him.

Lord Arthur.

Did he give the money to my ſervant?

Thomas.

Why, Sir, I did ſee his Lordſhip's purſe—

Lord Arthur.

Then, he has my profound duty—I aſk his pardon.

(exit Thomas)

He's a very tolerable father after all—huzza! I'll now pay my debts and be a man again.

Sir Hans.

I with my ſon George had your fire.

Lord Arthur.

You've a ſon? I'll ſhew him how to knock your caſh about!

Sir Hans.

Good morning to you, Sir.

(going)
Lord Arthur.

Not ſo, Sir Hans! come and take a Sandwich with me.

Sir Hans.

You hit my humour—I'm very wiſe and cunning—I'd do any thing to get money: but all only to ſee my ſon George make a blaze.

Lord Arthur.

A conflagration! come—old Hock's the word. I have a bachelor's houſe— that is, I lodge at the jeweller's yonder; I like to have things about me; I've ordered in wines and reliſhes—I want your opinion of a horſe I've bought juſt now. Dam me! how I'll curve it before noble dad's door! he ſhall ſee I can ſpend my money like a gentleman.

Sir Hans.

What a noble lad, I could never get my ſon George to buy a jack-aſs.

Lord Arthur.

Come, old hock's the word.

Exeunt.

SCENE II. LORD ARTHUR'S lodgings. New cloaths, linen, ſaddle, hat, &c. lying on chairs.

[28]
Enter TIMOLIN.
Timolin.

Oh, melancholy is our new home here. I'd wiſh to keep up my poor maſter's ſpirits, but he'll ſee an empty pocket in my diſmal countenance. If his papa had only given him as much as would have taken us back to London—well, well, we have no debts to lay hold on us in this town, however—

(ſees the things)

oh thunder and zounds! what's here;— been ſhopping on the ſtrength of the expected money! Ordered in wine too! Oh, oh, then not a cork ſhall be drawn till it is paid for.

(Locks the cupboard and takes the key.)
Lord Arthur. (without)

This way, Sir Hans. Oh, very well ma'am; but where's my ſervant?

Timolin.

Bringing company too!

Enter LORD ARTHUR, and SIR HANS.
Lord Arthur.

Pray, Sir, walk in—be ſeated. So we've touched.

(joyful)
Timolin.

Yes! we ſhall be touched.

(diſmal)
Lord Arthur.

Timolin, that old hock!

Timolin.

Timolin, that old hock! I believe you're jumping out of your leather.

Lord Arthur.

Ha! ha! ha! very well, Timolin. Sir Hans, that fellow's a treaſure: but, when he does any thing clever, ſuch as bringing [29]a man a couple of hundred guineas, it makes him ſo pert—

Sir Hans.

Yes! my Lord, when once a ſervant knows he's an honeſt man, he begins to be an impudent raſcal.

Timolin.

Poh! what talk's that! Was the devil buſy with you, Sir, to ſend in all theſe new things from the tradeſmen?

Lord Arthur.

Ha! ha! ha! very well— Timolin, the wine!—unlock! No! Sir Hans, this is the ſecret hiſtory of old hock,

(pointing to the cupboard)

and this

(touching his leg)

is the key to it.

(Burſts the door, and brings out wine.)
Timolin.

Broke open the cupboard—Oh, he'll get us both hanged.

Lord Arthur.

Sir Hans, without expedient a man's nothing.

Sir Hans.

You and your ſervant, my Lord, put one in mind of a couple of ghoſts. You are all ſpirit, and he is no body—ha! ha! ha!

Lord Arthur.

Bravo!

Timolin.

My Lord, let me ſend theſe things back to the honeſt people.

Lord Arthur.

Send yourſelf out of the room.

Timolin.

Only hear me.

Lord Arthur.

I'll give you ſuch a beating, you villain!

Timolin.

Well, ſo you do but hear me, beat me as long as you like.

Lord Arthur.

Lay the money upon my bureau and go to the devil.

(Puts him out)

The fellow is ſo puffed with doing a petty ſervice—

Sir Hans.

My Lord, I hope for the honour of ſeeing you down at Samphire Hall, an infant [30]ſcheme merely for the health and convenience of the gentry in this part of the country. I've converted a naked beech into as commodious a ſea-bathing place—

Lord Arthur.

Then your principal object is—

Sir Hans.

The main ocean!

Lord Arthur.

Pſha! you want to eſtabliſh it into a faſhion? its done, I'll be ſeen there upon your ſtein or eſplanade; my phyſician ſhall recommend all his patients from Brompton, and Paddington; a variety of gambling tabbies, honourable black legs, and rickety children.

Re-enter TIMOLIN, with THOMAS.
Timolin.

You told him! then untell him; for he won't hear me talk at all at all.

Lord Arthur.

There again! then, dam'me! now you ſhall bring me ſome brawn and anchovies.

Timolin.

Now don't make quite a kiſkawn of yourſelf.

Thomas.

Sir, I thought, when I told you that my Lord's purſe—

Lord Arthur.

Yes! I'm grateful for good news—you ſhall have a bottle.

(gives him one and places him at table. Timolin ſtares, then runs to take it from him)

. What! don't be quite ſo buſy; ſit ſtill.—

(to Thomas)

You march.

(puſhes Timolin out).
Sir Hans.

What a fine model for my ſon George! Come, my Lord, I'll give you a patriotic toaſt—Here's ſucceſs to all my undertakings.

Lord Arthur.
[31]

Patriotic and diſintereſted indeed, Sir Hans! here's—

Thomas.

Succeſs to my undertakings!

Lord Arthur.

Right, little pigeon—finiſh your bottle by yourſelf, and, if you quarrel with your company, I'll kick you both out of the room. Have you advertiſed this place at Samphire Hall?

Sir Hans.

I fancy advertiſing might make it better known; for newſpapers are a ſort of thing that's read.

Lord Arthur.

Why, yes, Sir Hans, people do read newſpapers; how the deuce did you find out that? Come, I'll draw you up a flouriſhing advertiſement.

Sir Hans.

I employed a famous auctioneer to draw up one for me.

(takes a paper and peruſes)

Mind how he deſcribes the beauties— ‘To the right, the bold cliffs and high bluff heads —at the foot, Sir Hans has built an elegant ſtrait row of houſes, called the Creſcent—’ Eh! that's very fooliſh.

Lord Arthur.

Why, yes! your creſcent is a little in the full moon order, ha! ha! ha!

(gets pen and ink.)
Enter TIMOLIN, walks about with his arms folded.

What do you mean by walking in here with your executioner's face?

Timolin.

Well, I didn't run in debt for my face. Step in here, all of you.

[32] Enter ſeveral Trades-people.
Firſt Man.

Sir, the horſe you bought—I'll be ſatisfied with a draught on Mr. Dickins, our banker, for the 50 guineas.

Second Man.

Neighbours, you can take back your goods undamaged: but, I inſiſt on being paid for my boots.

Lord Arthur.

Timolin!

Timolin.

Oh! I know nothing at all about it.

Lord Arthur.

Pay the people this moment.

Timolin.

With what?

Lord Arthur.

What! the two hundred my father gave you.

Timolin.

He didn't give me a Manx rap halfpenny.

Lord Arthur.

No! why, I thought—by Heavens! I'll get into the houſe myſelf.

Sir Hans. (riſing)

Oh! my Lord, a thought ſtrikes me of great conſequence, in the preſent caſe.

Lord Arthur.

Well—Sir—quick?

Sir Hans.

That here, inſtead of curlews, he ſhould have ſaid ſea-gulls.

Lord Arthur.

Damn your ſea-gulls, Sir! ſee a nobleman baited, by a parcel of mechanical—

Timolin.

There's all your goods for you again—what more do you want?

(they take up their ſeveral goods)
Lord Arthur.

Every one of you, lay down my property this moment, in the very ſpot from whence you took it. I'll pay you the firſt money I receive; but now, begone, or I'll murder you.

Timolin.
[33]

Go good people, whatever he ſays he'll do.

Thomas.

Here's gaiety and innocence!

(drinks)
Lord Arthur.

True, it was you who told me firſt, that the money—I'll make you gay, you innocent dog.

(whips him off)
Sir Hans.

Oh! what a model for my George.

(Arthur gives him a ſtroke.)
Exeunt.

SCENE III.—A Gallery in Lord Torrendel's hung with whole length Pictures of Women.

Enter LORD TORRENDEL, and L'OEILLET.
Lord Tor.

So very lovely!

L'Oeillet.

Une beauté celeſte! et pauvre— poor, derfore no danger from relations. So, my Lord, think no more of the rich mechanic Dickins's daughter.

Lord Tor.

Why, their ſturdy Citizens may be troubleſome; but you ſay this young Lady is coming with Fanny, to ſee my pictures.

L'Oeillet.

Oui, my Lor.

Enter FANNY.
Fanny.

This way, Miſs Auguſta.

Lord Tor.

L'Oeillet!

(winks, exit L'Oeillet)

well, you have brought your new friend, to ſee my paintings?

Fanny.

Oh yes, Sir; my Lord I mean, but I didn't think you'd be in the way.

Lord Tor.

Don't let her be alarmed at my pr [...]ſence.

Fanny.
[34]

Oh true, I'm not to let out you are a Lord? but ſhe don't mind Lords, ſhe's come from London; why, there's plenty of ſuch ſtupid nonſenſe.

Lord Tor.

Fanny! I ſhould like to have your picture here.

Fanny.

No, my Lord, ſure you woudn't?

Lord Tor.

And you ſhall have mine for a locket.

Fanny.

You think me a ſilly girl, but I know enough, never to give tokens, or accept preſents, but from my papa, and one beſides, a certain— not an old Lord! but a young man. As my new ſong ſays,

SONG.
Laſſes all are ſimple,
So the wiſe ones ſay:
Caught by bluſh or dimple,
Who is ſilly pray?
The ribband, and the ſtar,
One ſmile brings on a par,
With ruſtic maid, in her ſtockings blue:
Squeezing the hand, is the laſſes cue.
For ting, ting, ting, ting.
I can dance, and ſing.
(Step Minuet.)
II.
When the boy we fancy,
Jolly comes to woo:
Lady gay or Nancy,
All know what to do.
Tho' mantling cheek denies,
And language of the eyes,
[35] When the tongue gives you words unkind,
Take in her ſilence the laſſes mind.
With our ting, ting, ting'
I can dance, and ſing.
(Quick Step.)
Re-enter L'OEILLET.
L'Oeillet.

Here, my Lord, be de beauté Lady.

Fanny.

What a monkey you are, I don't know what you mean, by making ſo much of my governeſs.

Enter AUGUSTA.
Auguſta.

Oh, are you here Fanny, the pictures in that room are ſo faſcinating.

Lord Tor.

L'Oeillet has good taſte, ſhe's a lovely creature;

(bows)

ſervant ma'am.

Auguſta.

Sir!

(curteſies)
Fanny.

Miſs! never mind this old gentleman, he's only the houſe ſteward.

Lord Tor.

Old!

Auguſta. (looking round)

Something in the manner of the beauties at Hampton Court— true, I've been told what he is.

Fanny.

What do they ſay of my Lord? he, he, he! ſhe's going to abuſe you.

(apart)
Auguſte.

Fancy habits, or drawn in their real characters?

Lord Tor.

Both, madam, they are Ladies that his Lordſhip's heart has at times been devoted to.

Auguſta.

And his Lordſhip, I preſume, has flattered himſelf into the idea, that he was at times in poſſeſſion of their hearts.

(Lord bows.)
Fanny.
[36]

Now, what do you bow for? Miſs wasn't ſpeaking of you, Mr. Old Steward.

Auguſta.

I was told he's very vain.

Fanny.

Yes! he's quite a conceited figure, and as grey as a badger—isn't he, Mr. Old Steward?

(apart)

I ſaid ſhe'd abuſe you.

Auguſta.

What a ſweet expreſſion in that countenance!

(pointing to a picture)
Lord Tor.

Her loſs, madam, makes a chaſm in his Lordſhip's heart, never to be filled but by a face, the lovely emblem of this collected group of charms.

(bows to her)

That is Miſs Emily Woodbine.

Auguſta.

My couſin! then am I in the houſe of her baſe deſtroyer!

Lord Tor.

What's the matter Madam?

Auguſta.

Not much, Sir, I'm not very well. Come, Fanny! a ſtar! heavens! have I been talking to—

Lord Tor.

Stay, my divine girl!

Auguſta.

My Lord, it ill becomes my youth, and humble life, to offer admonition, where age ſhould be the monitor of inexperience; and exalted rank only illuſtrious in virtuous example. The veil of delicacy drops between my mind and tongue—I cannot ſay what I think you: but the bitter reproach will yet reach your heart, when your only hope lies in pardon for a bad life, from perhaps, a too late repentance.

exit.
Fanny.

What, has my governeſs run away! why Miſs! Miſs.

exit.
Lord Tor.

Her words have piere'd me—but I muſt have her—the only being worthy to ſupply the place of my loſe Fanily, and baniſh all other purſuits from my mind; from her good [37]ſenſe I ſhall enjoy rational ſociety—and from her beauty—yes, L'Oeillet muſt finiſh, what he has ſo well begun.

exit
Enter LORD ARTHUR.
Lord Arthur.

Prevent a dutiful ſon from ſeeing his honour'd parent! I'll convince him I'm a good boy—he ſhall ſee me, and I will be his comfort, and, though he commands me to be gone, I'll ſtay with him to prove my obedience. What a pity that the omiſſion of ſaying a few words, before I was born, ſhould prevent me from being lawful heir to this caſtle! perhaps the pride of my father! the darling of the tenants! favourite of the neighbours, and friend to the poor! now, a wretched outcaſt, ſhunned like a ſavage, foe to mankind, and man at enmity with me! no eſtabliſhment! profeſſion! friend, or character. Oh! my father, where are you?

(looks round with grief)

do not ſhun, I'll kneel, till you ſpurn me from you—that face! it is my mother. I heard of his Lordſhip's gallery of beauties—quite an exhibition for every ſtarer: but my dear mother ſhall no more be diſhonoured, by making one in this unhappy collection—no, by heavens! her misfortunes ſhall be no longer the topic, for the ſneering comments of vulgarity and ill nature.

(lifts the picture down)

Timolin! why don't you come up? Timolin!

Enter LORD TORRENDEL, and L'OEILLET.
Lord Tor.

What uproar is this in my houſe?

L'Oeillet.

Sacriſtie! by dis meeting milor [38]will find out, I did keep all de money, he did give me for his ſon's ſupport.

Lord Tor.

Have you any buſineſs with me, Sir? who are you?

Lord Arthur. (falls on his knee, and points to picture)

Sir, this was my mother.

(Lord Torrendel looks at both, puts his handkerchief to his eyes)
L'Oeillet.

Diantre! he is ſoftened, and I am ruined—milor, here be Miſs Auguſta in de hall ſtill.

(apart)
Lord Tor.

Begone!

(puſhes him off angrily, walks ſlowly and then turns)

My ſon, the child of Emily!

exit in great emotion.
Lord Arthur.

This our firſt interview ſince my infancy! my father not ſpeak to me! no gentle word, no complacent ſmile. Now I am poor! where to turn? every face meets me with a frown, a ſea of horrors ruſh on me! the ſtorm's up, and let it blow me as it will!

Enter TIMOLIN.
Timolin.

Well, and you ſaw your papa?

(joyful)
Arthur.

My heart was good, but now I'm all vexation, grief, and terror. A look now and then at this, might calm my mind. Timolin, take that picture to my lodgings.

Timolin.

What?

Arthur.

Take that picture to my lodgings.

(burſts into tears)
exeunt.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

[39]

SCENE I.—A Street.

Enter SIR HANS BURGESS.
Sir Hans.

Cram a fine daſhing fellow into their priſons for hats and ſhoe-buckles! Sha'n't. What a bright model this Arthur for my ſon George! yet if he had but life and ſoul to ſhew it, George is a compleat and finiſh'd pattern for moſt of our young men now-a-days. I don't know any one thing that my boy is not perfect maſter of, muſic, dancing, fencing, languages, a magazine of accompliſhments: ſet him to country ſports, he excels every body; he's as keen as an attorney, has the courage of a maſtiff, generous as the Man of Roſs! but hang it, all his ſhining qualities clouded by want of ſpirit to daſh! Oh, if I could but ſee him a bold, free daſher!

Enter ROBIN.
Robin.

Sir, who ſhould paſs me juſt now but the young ſquire.

Sir Hans.

What, my ſon George whiſk'd by you in a phaeton? a chaiſe and four? a tandem?

Enter GEORGE BURGESS.

George, why, what the devil's this ſort of figure?

George.
[40]

Sir, how are you?

(calmly)
Sir Hans.

Plague on it! ſpare no expence for you to appear like a prince; give you money to flaſh in a ſhining tour, to be here and there, before any body can tell where you are, and when I expected you to come, tearing up the pavement, in a phaeton as high as the clouds, over chickens, old women, and pigs, all the people jumping out of the way, with huzza for the young Squire, here you ſneak into town, limping like a lame beggar-man, covered with duſt as if you had been dancing in a canniſter of Scotch ſnuff. 'Sblood, Sir! what do you mean by this behaviour?

George.

Sir, on my leaving home you gave me a two hundred pound note, and ſix guineas; there's your note—I've ſtill one pound five and ſeven-pence in bank.

(touching his pocket)
Sir Hans.

Devil's in you and your ſevenpence! I wiſh you were both in the ſtocks you pitiful cur. Damn me if I havn't a mind to diſinherit you, and adopt Robin. Robin you can drive ſix?

Robin.

You knows, Sir, I drives eight in our waggon.

Sir Hans.

Pſha! go to the Roſe inn, and beſpeak the beſt dinner they can provide for I and George, and the gallant Arthur, if we can find him.

Exit. Robin.
George.

Why, Sir, I am a little hungry.

(takes out ſomething and eats)
Sir Hans.

By the Lord! a ſon of mine knawing a cruſt in the open ſtreet!

George.

Sir, as I paid for it at the laſt alehouſe where I ſupp'd—

Sir Hans.

Supp'd at an alehouſe!

George.
[41]

Yes, Sir, a neat little place, ſign of the Goat in Boots.

Sir Hans.

Oh, Lord! and perhaps ſome of my friends, in their coaches, ſaw you?

George.

Yes, Sir, Lady Beechgrove and the two Miſs Loftys, drove by in a coach and four; they didn't ſee me at firſt, but I ſaluted them.

Sir Hans.

Oh, the devil's in your politeneſs! ſalute ladies from the Goat in Boots! Where did your noble honour dine?

(ironical)
George.

Upon the mile-ſtone this ſide Saliſbury.

(Sir Hans ſtares)

Sir, I had no occaſion to ſhut myſelf from the open air, as I had a couple of hard eggs in my pocket.

Sir Hans.

Zounds! and I ſuppoſe you brought ſalt in your pocket?

George.

Yes, Sir, and a penny roll.

Sir Hans.

His penny roll has choak'd me! and where did your honour take your bottle?

(bows ironical)
George.

True, Sir, I ſlipp'd off the bank into the river, as I was getting a little water in the brim of my hat.

Sir Hans.

The devil take them that took you out again!

George.

Father, the walking got me an appetite; after my repaſt, I was neither dry nor hungry; I drank no wine; but then I was free from an head-ache, and, without mixing in company, my heart was chearful.

Sir Hans. (aſide)

This gay Arthur will make him another thing. Gadſo! but Dickins will have the conſtables after him. George, you'll give me what information you've picked up in your tour; how they manage their machines [42]and lodging-houſes; what they do, and what they don't do, that I may know what I ought to do.

George.

Ca'n't make up that other ſix-pence —oh! the halfpenny to the boy for opening the gate!

Sir Hans.

Dem the boy; come poliſh yourſelf up a little, my ward Miſs Auguſta Woodbine's come from London, and I've a certain reaſon for her thinking well of you. If ſhe ſhould ſee you ſo—

(takes an handkerchief, and whiſks the duſt off)

—ſuch an appearance by the Lord ſeems as eaſy and ſatisfied, as if dreſt for a ball. Can nothing make you aſhamed?

George.

Thanky, Sir, I'll take care to do nothing that ſhall make me aſhamed. You ſhall never ſee a bluſh in my face.

Sir Hans.

Plague of your bluſhing face, I mean your dingy appearance. Here's the Lady —I'll try what effect an accidental meeting may have. Now to know what they have done with the gay Arthur!

Exit.
George.

I ſear I've loſt my clothes bruſh.

Enter FANNY.
Fanny.

Bleſs me! where can ſhe be? if ſhe has run home, and told papa, I ſhall have it in ſtile.

George.

Fanny! how do you do, my love?

Fanny.

My dear George! when did you come? Lord! I'm ſo glad!

George.

You look as charming as ever.

Fanny.

Thankye; but, upon my word, you don't look ſo charming.

George.

I ſhould make myſelf a little decent.

Fanny.
[43]

Then run home, and change your dreſs.

George.

Oh, no occaſion, I've my clothes bruſh in my pocket.

(retires, bruſhing his coat)
Enter AUGUSTA.
Fanny.

Oh! governeſs, I've been running about after you.

Auguſta.

What could induce you to bring me into Lord Torrendel's houſe? ſure you know that he is a very dangerous character.

Fanny.

Lord, its no ſuch thing, who could have told you ſuch a fib? his Lordſhip has no more pride! he's not aſham'd at making one in a game of romps, even with his own ſervant maids.

Auguſta.

Ah, Fanny, when our ſuperiors of the other ſex condeſcend to affability, inſtead of exalting, it is for the purpoſe of degrading us to a ſtate of the moſt pitiable humiliation.

Fanny.

Now don't ſnub me, I'll introduce you to—

GEORGE—advances.
Auguſta.

Oh, no more of your introductions, pray.

Fanny.

I will, tho'; Miſs Auguſta, this is—

Auguſta.

A Mr. Steward, I ſuppoſe.

Fanny.

Ha, ha, ha! George you don't know what we're laughing at.—

(apart)

Miſs, don't go tell him that I play at ſhuttlecock with my Lord in the great gallery.

Auguſta.

A piece of his Lordſhip's condeſcenſion [44]I didn't know before. My guardian's ſon, I preſume.

George.

The deſcription of Miſs Auguſta Woodbine falls ſhort of what I have the happineſs to behold.

(bows)
Fanny.

There, I told you he was a ſmart fellow ſometimes. Come, George, you ſhall be our chaperon about the town, but you are an odd-looking beau.

George.

Well, I'll attend you on your rambles —

(aſide)

though I've already walked twelve miles to-day.

Fanny.

Madam will you honour my arm.

Fanny takes his arm.
Enter LORD ARTHUR.
Lord Arthur.

Ha! here's odds. Madam, my arm is at your ſervice.

(to Auguſta)
Auguſta.

Do you know this Gentleman?

(to Fanny.
Enter a Man with fruit.
Fanny.

Lord, true, this is Aſſembly night.

Man.

Gentlemen, treat the Ladies.

George.

Hem! the Ladies don't want—ſhall we walk?

Lord Arthur.

Quite a hound! ha! nectarines ſo early! Madam.

(offering fruit)
Man.

Six are a guinea.

Lord Arthur.

There!

(gives money)
Auguſta.

Oh! Sir, by no means.

George.

Miſs, an apple—Fanny!

(offering)
Lord Arthur.

Sir, theſe are Angels, not Eves, [45]to be tempted by your paltry pippins.

(knocks them about)
George.

Sir, what d'ye mean?

(angry)
Enter a Woman and Child.
Woman.

Good Gentlemen and Ladies, I've a ſick huſband lying in priſon.

George.

For debt? what is it?

(apart)
Woman.

Above eighteen ſhillings.

George. (loud)

Pray go—don't teize people; their diſtreſs is only the conſequence of idleneſs. I'd never encourage beggars—there, go—

(gives money apart)

plagueing one.

Woman.

Sir, it's a guinea!

George.

Well, don't trouble one now.

(loud)

Get your huſband out of priſon, and comfort your child.

(apart; ſings careleſsly, and puts them off).
Auguſta.

What's this?

Fanny.

Bleſs you, governeſs, George is always doing theſe kind of things. He'd grudge himſelf a penny cheeſecake, yet maintains and clothes half the poor round; he's king of a ſmall iſland near his father's ſeat.

Lord Arthur.

What a pitiful ſcoundrel am I. My guinea nectarines, and little penny-worth of pippins, with the benevolent heart of a god! Sir, if I dare beg the honour of your acquaintance—I haven't a card, but I'm over at—

George.

Sir, I'll put down your addreſs;

(takes out his pencil)

points broke

(takes out pen-knife)

cutting it away—waſtes—

(puts up both)

Oh, Sir, I'll remember.

Fanny.

George, what ſignifies your bowing there? come and pay ſome attention to me.

Lord Arthur. (looking at Auguſta).
[46]

How charming! what a block am I, talking half an hour to a Lady, and never look'd at her!

Auguſta.

Fanny, we muſt be walking towards your papa's.

Fanny.

But you hav'n't ſeen our ball-room here.

Lord Arthur.

Ball-room. Ladies, do you know I'm a moſt capital dancing-maſter? harkye, my worthy friend, a word.

George.

Oh! Sir, as many as you pleaſe.

Exeunt.
Fanny.

Lord! that rattle there has dragged George up into the Aſſembly-room; I hope its not to fight—ecod! if he goes to ſight, George will kill him.

(a fiddle heard above)

That's he! I know his ſweet little finger.

Auguſta.

What an aſtoniſhing reſemblance! Fanny, did you ever ſee any likeneſs of this ſtrange gentleman?

Fanny.

Ah! the image of Miſs Woodbine's picture! its Lord Torrendel's great boy.

Auguſta.

The neglected ſon of my unhappy couſin!

Enter TIMOLIN.
Timolin.

To drive him in ſorrow from his doors! my poor maſter now is ſunk in grief and woe.

Lord Arthur. (without)

Bravo!

(enters ſinging)

Ladies, 'pon my word, my friend is an excellent ſtick; his reſpects to you, Miſs, and my moſt humble adoration to you, Madam, we'll have a little dance above.

Auguſta.

Oh, Sir! no, no! come Fanny.

Fanny.
[47]

Lud! it would be fine fun, governeſs don't you ſee how cloudy it gets; I'm ſure there will be a ſhower, and if I walk thro' the rain, you, as my governeſs, ouglit to be very angry with me.

Lord Arthur.

Fye, Ma'am, wou'd you ſpoil your dreſs? we ſhall have a daſhing ſhower, a great drop fell on the tip of my noſe.

Fanny holds out her hand.
Auguſta.

No, indeed! come Fanny.

Lord Arthur.

You, Sir, where's my mother?

Timolin.

With your father. I left the picture in the porter's lodge; for the Frenchman has turn'd away the porter for letting you in.

Lord Arthur.

Go back, and bring it to my lodgings, or I'll maſſacre you.

(a fiddle heard without)

Tol de rol lol! we'll be with you, boy.

Fanny.

But, Sir, as George plays, where's my partner?

Lord Arthur.

I'll whiſtle, ſing, and dance, all in a breath.

(puts an arm round each, and runs in)
Timolin. (whiſtles)

A pity that Chriſtians hav'n't a laughing and crying ſide to their faces; for, in a comfortabe fit of ſorrow, up ſtarts ſomething to give us an he, he, he! and when the mouth's opened for a nice grin, up goes the finger in the eye with an ho, ho, ho!—but my face muſt take the humour and fortunes of my maſter; in the road of life the ſmall muſt follow the great, and that's the reaſon the big coach-wheel runs after the little one.

Exit.

SCENE II.—The Inn.

[48]
Enter Landlady, introducing LADY TORRENDEL, and MISS CLARE.
Landlady.

Won't you pleaſe to reſt, Ma'am?

Lady Tor.

I thank you, but ſo long ſhut up in a carriage, one ſhould reſt walking. Miſs Clare, will you be ſo kind as to aſk the footman if I've left my memorandum-book in the coach?

(exit Miſs Clare)

Some handſome equipages about here! have you many gentry in the town?

Landlady.

Oh, yes, Ma'am, we've a Lord, and Knight, and power of Squires.

Re-enter MISS CLARE.
Miſs Clare.

Here, Ma'am, is the book.

Lady Tor.

Oh! I thank you.

Landlady.

I'll haſten the horſes.

Exit.
Lady Tor.

My Lord had a ſeat in this part of the country, and I think a banking agent of his lives in this town.

(looks in the book)

Mr. Dickins, yes, very true.

Miſs Clare.

This ſeems a charming place, my Lady!

Lady Tor.

It is! I wiſh my Lord hadn't parted with it! the caſtle and its delightful environs were the tranquil ſcenes of my moſt happy hours! after marriage our firſt years were paſs'd here, and tho' there was title on his ſide, and great wealth on mine, yet ours was not a match of faſhion! neither ambition on my part, or (I think) avarice on his; very young to be ſure, [49]but then I was a little philoſopher, tho' bred in the full brilliant certainty of every dazzling joy that riches cou'd beſtow, yet my ſight was proof againſt the glare of ſplendor. My Lord was gay, accompliſh'd, and the generoſity of a youthful mind repell'd all idea of advantage in our union.

Miſs Clare.

Ah, Madam! any Gentleman muſt think himſelf poſſeſs'd of every advantage in a union with your Ladyſhip.

Lady Tor.

I wiſh I had myſelf gone to Liſbon with my Lord; this journey ſeems ſo tedious, and then the uncertainty of the ſeas; thro' his indiſpoſition he may want that tender cordiality, his claim from me; I'm all anxiety to proceed.

Enter Coachman.
Coachman.

Madam, the horſes are too, but does your Ladyſhip know my Lord's here?

Lady Tor.

Here! how! what do you mean?

Coachman.

In this very town my Lady, I met our old Martha.

Lady Tor.

Impoſſible! return'd to England! ſomething very myſterious—

Dickins. (without)

Well, what is it?

L'Oeillet. (without)

I cannot talk my Lor's buſineſs in public entré.

Lady Tor.

Eh, why—ſure that is my Lord's valet.

Miſs Clare.

It certainly is, Madam.

Lady Tor.

Huſh, ſtep this way, Heavens! oh, my heart will—Martha you ſay—tell me—

Agitated—exeunt.
[50] Enter DICKINS, and L'OEILLET.
Dickins.

Really, ſince my Lord's loſty conduct to me, I ſhall give up his affairs. I've my agencies, and my bank to mind.

L'Oeillet.

Bank! vat! de little till in your boutique? you had better ſend challenge to mi Lor—ſwell and puff! ma ſoi! c'eſt comique ca! let mi Lor take his money out of your bank, den vat is your bladder of conſequence.

Dickins.

'Slbood I don't want any body to take their money out of my bank.

L'Oeillet.

Here be a freſh pacquet of letters.

Dickins.

Which I am to forward, as uſual, to Lady Torrendel in Cumberland.

L'Oeillet.

I have date 'em, ſo as to make mi Lady believe my Lor ſtill at Liſhon.

Dickins.

To keep the unſuſpecting wife cool amongſt the lakes there, while the gallant huſband enjoys his roſe-buds in his pleaſure grounds here.

L'Oeillet.

Mi Lor, to ſpare himſelf, ſtill fineſſe de ſprain hand, and trouble me vid de vife—ſo dere I ave writ dat whole bundle for her at vonce. I ave upon my mind des affaires d'importance to get de pretty girl for mi Lor.

Dickins.

And I, as a magiſtrate, have to ſend this young dog to priſon, who has been taking up the tradeſmen's goods.

L'Oeillet.

Magiſtrate! fi done! petit bourgeois —you huff abaut pah!

Exit.
Dickins.

Who cares for your paw, or your four claws, you damned outlandiſh cockatoo! I muſt ſend theſe one by one, which firſt?

[51] Re-enter LADY TORRENDEL.
Lady Tor.

My Lord in England all this time!

Dickins.

Dated this day—"to Lady Torrendel."

Lady Tor.

How's this!

Dickins.

Then to give time for her to ſuppoſe it came from her Lord at Liſbon, where he has not been at all, her Ladyſhip ſhall have this in about a month.

Lady Tor.

A little ſooner, if you pleaſe, Sir.

Dickins.

Lady Torrendel hereſelf!

(drops the letters, and exit conſuſed. Enter Miſs Clare; picks them up, and preſents)
Lady Tor. (opening one)

Separate himſelf from me by ſuch a complicated ſeries of invention, and by fallacious accounts of his ill-health, keep me in perpetual uneaſineſs! cruel man! make me believe he had ſold his eſtate here, yet retain it only for the baſe purpoſe of converting a ſpot (that brings to my mind the ſweet recollection of delight, and innocence) into a contaminated retreat for licentious, guilty, ſordid pleaſures! you charg'd the coachman not to mention who I am? but I fear that now is too late.

Miſs Clare.

No, Ma'am, for his own diſcretion ſuggeſted the neceſſity of that, before I mentioned it to him.

Lady Tor.

Do you think too, if the people of this houſe know it, I can engage them to keep my arrival a ſecret.

Miſs Clare.

The woman promiſes that, for tho' my Lord ſpends ſo much money, he's no [52]favourite in the town, from the knowledge of his ill uſuage of your Ladyſhip.

Lady Tor.

I wou'dn't have him diſpiſed; but how to gain full and certain proofs? to put beyond all doubt his motive for ſecreting himſelf here?

Miſs Clare.

So far I have taken the liberty of anticipating your Ladyſhip's wiſh. I have aſk'd Martha—

Lady Tor.

My good friend! a thouſand thanks! I'm charm'd with your zeal. Yes, it is my wiſh; what! Martha will convey me privately into the Caſtle? delightful! I think none of his ſervants know me here, but his French Secretary. Write to me by a ſervant! not open my Letters! unkind! ungrateful! but then, to ſteal upon him, its a ſevere trial—I'm faint! but I muſt ſummon fortitude! they'll ſee I've been weeping; come—

Excunt.

SCENE III. Dickins's parleur: large books lying on the table.

Enter JOHN, and TRADESMEN.
John.

Step in, only ſtop a moment, my maſter will be in directly, and take all your informations. You know I can do nothing in it.

Exit.
Firſt Man.

The young Gentleman is thoughtleſs and wild, but I believe there's not much harm in him.

Second Man.

I don't think I can find in my heart to proſecute, if the affair is likely to affect his life.

Third Man.
[53]

He's but a bad one I ſear, yet I'd not hang a man for all the boots I'm worth.

Enter DICKINS.
Dickins.

So, the Lady has got into the Caſtle. Ecod! ſhe'll trim his gay Lordſhip—yes, ſhe has ſtole a march upon him—he ſha'n't hear of it from one. Oh what curtain lectures, perhaps a divorce, then maybe he'll marry my Fanny. No, he's a damn'd impudent fellow; a pretty buſineſs, this young buck—

Third Man.

If he can raiſe the money to pay me I don't wiſh to hurt him.

Dickins.

Pay you, oh! the Devil, I ſhall loſe my ſees!

(aſide)

You ſelfiſh dog, would you compound a felony: Some revenge upon the father, to have the great family-name of D'Aumerle down in a Mittimus.

Enter Conſtable.
Dickins.

Fellow, where's your pris'ner?

Conſtable.

Pleaſe your worſhip, he be dauncing— he deſired me to gi' you this bit of paper.

Dickins.

What the devil! I ſend you for a thief, and you bring me a bit of paper—"he be dauncing."

(reads)

"Lord Arthur D'Aumerle's compliments to Juſtice Dickins, is now engaged with ſome Ladies, but after another dance will wait upon"—dance!

Conſtable.

Yez, there bes young Squire Burgeſs got fiddling, and Miſs Fanny, ecod they be gigging it up rarely.

Dickins.

My daughter! is this the firſt leſſon [54]from her new Governeſs! but you ſtupid ſcoundrel, I ſuppoſe you took a bribe.

Conſtable.

Noa, Sir, I only took half-a-crown.

Dickins.

How dare you, only a Conſtable, meddle with the Juſtice's buſineſs. A notorious offender; charged with crimes of life and death! he come! no! he'll abſcond—we ſha'n't ſee him in a hurry.

Lord Arthur.

I want the Juſtice!

(without)
Dickins.

Why, that's he, but damn me if you find Juſtice here

(aſide)

I muſt examine the culprit in form; you, ſirrah! John, what the devil are you about in the ſhop, when I want you in my office? weighing raiſins and pepper; down with the ſcales and balance, and bring my great books, and my ink-ſtand, and my wig, aye! and I'll take my chocolate here.

Muffins, &c. brought in; Dickins places books, puts on wig, and ſits.
Enter Lord ARTHUR.
Lord Arthur.

I've finiſhed our Coranto in a quick ſtep, and, with a kiſs hand to the Ladies, have flown to receive your commands.

Dickins. (aſide)

Now, is this folly, impudence, courage, or generoſity?

Lord Arthur.

Upon the information of the butter'd muffins, Juſtice Dickins, I preſume—

(ſits on the table, and begins eating)
Dickins.

What the devil! Sir, upon the information of the Conſtable, a great rogue I preſume— but pon honor I didn't expect you.

Lord Arthur.

Oh! then, Sir, your moſt obedient!

(going)
Dickins.
[55]

Stop! ſtop! is this the man that took your goods?

Tradeſinan.

Yes!

Dickins.

Enough! write his mittimus—you all proſecute; what's your name Mr.—

Lord Arthur.

Lord Arthur D'Aumerle.

Dickins.

Alias Duke of Dunſtable, alias Captain, alias Major.

Lord Arthur.

Was my father ſtill in the army, I'd have enliſted a common ſoldier in his own regiment—then the world might have ſaid, there's Lord Torrendel's ſon carrying a knapſack— but now let it ſay, a parent ſuffers his child to lie in priſon for the neceſſaries of life. Cou'dn't you carry me to gaol by the caſtle?

Dickins.

Conſtable, you have my authority, take him.

Enter Sir HANS.
Sir Hans.

No man in England ſhall take him. So then, you've met with George—made him dance—bravo! but, my prince of bold actions, what are they going to do with you?

Dickins.

Conduct him to priſon!

Sir Hans.

I'll bail him.

Lord Arthur.

Pray be quiet, Sir.

Sir Hans.

I wo'n't be quiet, Sir.

Dickins.

But, here's an aſſault and battery— muſt be bound over to keep the peace for a year and a quarter—no, a year and a day.

Sir Hans.

I'll anſwer for him! aye, two thouſand pounds! there's my name; fill up the inſtrument.

(ſigns)
Exeunt tradeſmen.
Dickins.

Oh! very well: he'll ſave his neck, [56]and you'll loſe your money—let him out now, and catch him again if you can.

Lord Arthur.

Does your little raſcally ſoul conceive I'd let a friend ſuffer for an act of benevolence, and to myſelf? No! human laws may puniſh other crimes; but, let the hotteſt bolt of heaven ſtrike ingratitude.

Timolin. (without)

Sweet Mr. Conſtable, 'pon my ſalvation I didn't—

Enter CONSTABLE, with TIMOLIN.
Conſtable.

Meaſter, here bes an accompliſh.

Timolin.

I'm not accompliſh'd, I'm quite a bog trotter.

Conſtable.

The picture that was robb'd out of—

Dickins.

What, you found it upon him?

Conſtable.

Upon his very head.

Dickins.

You notorious criminal!

Timolin.

My maſter to be jumping about with Ladies, and leave me—oh! my dear Sir!

(runs to Lord Arthur. Tradeſman whiſpers. Timolin pointing to Sir Hans)

did he! then plaiſe your honour, will you be bound bail for me too?

Sir Hans.

For you! pardon me.

Timolin.

No, Sir! aſk them to pardon me.

Lord Arthur.

I'll bail my ſervant.

Dickins.

You! a rare ſhadow! ah! friend, I know you. Thanks to the noble Lord Torrendel's gallantries, we've twenty ſuch Lords cutting cabbages, and drudging for oyſters down at Sandgate Iſland—but becauſe your mother had a pretty face, a great fortune, and no virtue—

Lord Arthur.
[57]

Throw a reflection on the memory of my honour'd parent! defame the ſacred memory of the dead—the only univerſal epitaph—oblivion to the frailties of humanity!— I'll murder him, by heavens!

Timolin.

No occaſion to ſwear, you've ſaid it, and you'll do it.

Sir Han.

Hold! the devil's in you; break the peace, and I loſe my two thouſand pound.

Lord Arthur.

True, my dear friend—oh! I burn with fury—but your Worſhip's wig ca'n't ſwear a battery.

(twirls it)

There's Burn's Juſtice, Blackſtone, and Coke upon Littleton.

(knocks tables about)

Come along, Timolin.

Timolin.

Maſter, ſtay for me—take me—

Sir Hans.

Oh! what a bright model for my ſon George!

Exeunt all, Conſtable with Timolin.
END OF ACT THE THIRD.

ACT IV.

[58]

SCENE I.—An antique Room in the Caſtle.

Enter Conſtable, and L'OEILLET, puſhing in TIMOLIN.
Loeillet.

There, you ſtay faſt, coquin! ſuch audace—of robbery, take ſurniture and pictures out of my Lor's houſe!

Tim.

I'm more guilty than my maſter, as the receiver is worſe than the thief.

Conſtable.

Who is your maſter, the receiver? ſpeak!

(proud)
Timolin.

Friend, you may take me for a robber, if you will; but you ſhan't prove me an informer, becauſe I've a regard for my character.

Loeillet.

Stay there till we find Mr. Dickin, de juſtice, to ſend you to jail; be merry with that table and chair; ſorry to diſgrace—make a brown bear of my chamber—there ſit and ſing —"de charge is prepared, de lawyers are met."

Exit ſinging.
Timolin.

I wiſh they had crammed me into a jail at once, and not took me up in this diſmal top of a caſtle. Oh did my poor mother ever think that, before I died, I ſhould get myſelf hanged for a thief? Lord Arthur! Lord Arthur! unlucky was the day that Mr. Felix Timolin hired to be your ſervant man.

(looking at the table)

Here's letters and papers, ſcribble ſcrabble, eh! why, this is my Lord's own hand, I remember it by one of his Franks— ‘To [59]Monſieur Loeillet,’ what does he write to his ſervants; but what's all this to me; no way to get out of window, may be in this cloſet.

Exit.
Enter, at a ſecret door, LADY TORRENDEL, and MARTHA.
Martha. (ſurpriſed)

Why, I vow my Lady, this is the valet's room, and none of us ever knew this door to it.

Lady Tor.

I think, Martha, I remember the caſtle better than you, who have lived in it ſo long. Out of that door there's a ſtair-caſe to my Lord's dreſſing-room, where I'll wait till he comes in. I'd wiſh to know a little more before I ſee him. Rather mean this lurking about and tampering with ſervants—but no hope of reclaiming him, except he's certain I know what then will be out of his power to deny.

(aſide)

My Lord rode out you ſay; formed diſcompoſed? well, not a word that I'm here,

(Martha returns)

this houſe ſeems all wild, no regularity, peace, or the comforts of a home, but the gratification of paſſions which reaſon and nature now ſhould ſubdue, reconciles him to inquietude, meanneſs, and diſhonour. So, this room now belongs to his vile agent! it was formerly put to a better purpoſe—this is the very room I converted to a ſchool for the poor infant ruſtics. Here the young mind was trained to virtue and induſtry—here now, are perhaps, plans laid to corrupt and deſtroy the ſweet roſe of innocence! Eh, who's here!

[60] Re-enter TIMOLIN.
Timolin.

No, looks into a deep court. Oh, I'm very high up, they've double locked the door.

(trying it)

Oh dear! oh dear!

(ſits)
Lady Tor.

Dos'nt ſeem to be one of the family!

(aſide)
Timolin.

This letter, from my Lord to Monſieur, I've a ſtrong curioſity to ſee.

Lady Tor.

How! as I'm here on a voyage of diſcovery, the ſight of that might prepare me better for this dreaded interview with my Lord.

(aſide.)
Timolin.

It's ungenerous to look into another man's letter, only I'd like to ſee the raſtieſt mode of writing. I'm told its not the faſhion now to croſs the t's, and put little tittles on the i's; no harm to ſee that ſure—

(reads)

‘The ſight of this boy has troubled me exceedingly!—’ Boy! oh, that's my maſter;

(reading)

‘Probably, I ſhan't be home before evening, but if you can contrive to get Auguſta into your power, the better. She may be brought down to Sandgate iſland’—Oh, here's villainy!

Lady Tor. (aſide)

Some poor intended victim! My coming at ſuch a time is highly fortunate.

Timolin (reads).

‘Pray have an eye upon that Arthur's ill-looking Iriſhman’—Oh, that crowns his rogueries— ‘No harm to keep Auguſta under lock and key.’ I'll keep this proof of their wickedneſs, and if they talk of hanging me for a bit of an old picture, I'll bring it out in the noſe of their ſhabby red faces— ill looking Iriſhman—eh, one would think they took me for Miſs Auguſta.

(ſees Lady Tor.)

[61]Then they have locked you up? you moſt unhappy beautiful ſoul.

Lady Tor.

Why he takes me for the preſent object of purſuit! by giving into this miſtake, I may diſcover ſome more of my huſband's atchievements.

(aſide)

Are you his Lordſhip's emiſſary?

Timolin.

I, Miſs! I deſpiſe ſuch doings.

Lady Tor.

I believe it; your ſace ſpeaks honeſty.

Timolin.

Then it ſpeaks truth, and the devil himſelf ſhan't make it tell a lie.

Lady Tor.

But, who are you?

Timolin.

My maſter is his Lordſhip's ſon that's at this inſtant ſhifting about, and can't get a beef-ſteak without venturing his neck for it.

Lady Tor.

True—Martha told me of this unhappy deſtitute youth—Oh, huſband! falſe to me, and unnaturally cruel to the offspring of your follies.

Timolin.

Miſs, I'll aſſure you, Lord Arthur is as brave a little boy—

Lady Tor.

And bears his forlorn ſtate with meekneſs and reſignation?

Timolin.

Oh yes! Miſs, he's as meek and gentle—ah, hem!

Lady Tor. (aſide).

Poor youth, he has a father, and yet an orphan! Then he ſhall find a friend in me—though not mine, he belongs to the man I ſtill love! but to continue this deception—cou'd you contrive any means for me to fly this manſion of ſhame and ruin?

(a noiſe without)
Timolin.

Offer to come in to touch her, and, [62]by the mighty powers of heaven, I'll ſlay you.

(ſnatches up a chair)
Lady Tor.

Oh!

(runs in. The door's burſt open, and enter Lord Arthur.)
Lord Arthur.

Suffer me to periſh, and impriſon my faithful ſquire for his attachment! Put your arms a-kimbo, ſirrah, ſtump down thoſe great ſtairs with your hat on, and let me ſee who dares ſquint at you—Oh! that lovely divine Auguſta!

Timolin.

What! then you've ſeen her, Sir.

(winks and points, ſlily off)
Lord Arthur.

What do you ſtand winking and making faces there, ſirrah? come out.

Timolin.

But there's ſomebody elſe lock'd up.

Lord Arthur.

Kick up your legs boldly, no matter whoſe ſhins are in the way.

Timolin.

But, Sir—

Lord Arthur.

B'y'r leave there for Mr. Felix Timolin.

(puſhes him off, and exit.)

SCENE II. A Street.

Enter SIR HANS, and GEORGE.
Sir Hans.

Aye! and well George?

(joyful)
George.

We had a dance, Sir.

Sir Hans.

As if he had ſaid we had a funeral. 'Sblood! man, ſay—we had a dance.

(capers)

Arthur was maſter of the ceremonies—you ſhuffled it away? eh, boy?

George.

Yes, Sir, I was'nt afraid to ſhuffle, for I had my thick walking ſhoes on.

Sir Hans.
[63]

Shoes! aſſes' hoofs! I believe they're half an inch thick.

George.

Yes, Sir, they're an inch.

(aſide)

I muſt ſee if the poor woman has releaſed her huſband.

Sir Hans.

George, ſo 'twas you raſp'd up the fiddle for them?

George.

Yes, Sir, ſo we had no fiddler to pay.

Sir Hans.

Pſha! I'd hire Handel's anniverſary band to ſee you dance the Cameronian Rant with Auguſta. This ſcheme of leaving her at large wo'nt do—ſhe'll be ſnapt up. Gad, yonder ſhe is—I muſt clench this buſineſs. Why do you put on that diſmal look, ſirrah?

George.

I was thinking, father, of the cruelty in keeping people in priſon for ſmall debts above a twelvemonth however; liberty's ſo ſweet, they'd purchaſe it if in their power, if not, hard to puniſh a man for only being unfortunate.

Sir Hans.

Here comes Miſs Auguſta. Devil's in your thick ſoal'd ſhoes!

Enter AUGUSTA, and FANNY.
Auguſla.

That man certainly whiſpered ſomething diſagreeable that cauſed the abrupt departure of Lord Arthur.

Fanny.

Dear no, he's a very civil ſoul, why 'twas papa's conſtable. Oh my good gracious, if here is'nt George.

Sir Hans.

Your waiſtcoat's buttoned all crooked —no powder in your hair—by the lord! you look like the duſtman.

(apart)

Well Miſs, how do [64]you like your new ſituation?—ſtop, I want to ſpeak to you.

Fanny.

Stop, he wants to ſpeak to us—how do you do, George?

Sir Hans.

Ha! very free with George!

(aſide)

Miſs Woodbine, I've your good at heart. Your uncle's whim, in taking his fortune from you, makes you an object of compaſſion.

Auguſta.

Many would rather be an object of envy—but, to my thinking, an humble ſtate is preferable to affluence, built upon the ruins of unmerited adverſity.

Sir Hans. (aſide)

Made for each other!

(apart)

George, to her in her own way—out with your handkerchief, and cry for the poor debtors. My ſon, Miſs, is ſo happy to ſee—to be with you—

Fanny.

Happy to ſee her? but I'm ſure its no ſuch thing, old codger.

Sir Hans.

He expreſſed great joy at your coming ſo opportunely.

George.

Opportunely indeed!

(looking at his ſtockings)

Miſs, could you lend me a needle and thread?

Sir Hans.

Go along you raſcal, ſortune! I'll bind you apprentice to a taylor.

Auguſta.

You're happy, Sir, in having a ſon of ſo much frugality for his years.

Sir Hans.

Frugal, ma'am! he's the moſt extravagant—

Fanny.

I ſee now he only wants them to like each other; I muſt prevent this.

Sir Hans.

Why, look now, with his coat over his knuckles; he has on lace ruffles at three guineas a pair. Pull down your ruffles.

(pulls George's wriſtbands down)

By the lord! he has got into [65]hopſack. What have you done with all the fine linen and lace I ſent you?

George.

The lace was too fine for uſe—but the Holland made ſoft child-bed linen for the curate's wife.

Sir Hans.

Yes, madam, the biſhop's lady was the good woman in the ſtraw. He is very frolickſome—it's a ſhame for you to be ſuch a buck.

(apart)
Fanny.

Lord, Miſs, George is no buck! he's a mere milk ſop, an't you George?

Sir Hans.

Get away you little devil, who wants your prate.

(apart)

Miſs, we'll conceal your loſs from my ſon—he's ſo proud—ſee how he throws his head about.

(apart)

George, with Auguſta's caſh, you can do ſuch pretty charities! Son, this lady is worth one hundred thouſand pound.

Fanny.

Lord, how can you tell ſuch fibs— George, ſhe's only my governeſs, and as poor —borrowed five ſhillings from me juſt now to releaſe her box from the waggon—ſay you did.

(apart)
Sir Hans.

Get along you little buſy thing

(apart)

. You know, ma'am, you're an immenſe fortune.

Auguſta.

Sir, I am neither ambitious of compaſſion or ridicule.

Sir Hans.

George, never mind—ſhe's very rich.

Auguſta.

Oh no, Sir!

Sir Hans.

Zounds! Madam, you're a Jew.

Fanny.

My governeſs is not a Jew, ſhe has more religion than the biſhop.

Sir Hans.

The devil's in me, if I don't make your father pull your ears!

(apart)

Miſs, my [66]ſon has a moſt liberal mind, a ſoul of magniſicent extravagance.

George.

Madam, my father is only jeſting.

Fanny.

True, George, now that's very good, Sir Hans is always making his ſun of every body.

Sir Hans.

By the Lord, overthrowing my whole ſcheme.

(aſide)

Hop home you little magpie.

George.

Madam, be aſſured, I eſteem oeconomy the firſt virtue.

Sir Hans.

Then the devil's in you both! but it's you, prating monkey, has done it all; you, you raſcal, with your oeconomy and aſſes' hooſs, truff down to Samphire Hall; and you, Miſs, ſtalk with your poverty to Mr. Dickins, the banker's.

George.

Madam, your humble ſervant!

(bows and exit)
Sir Hans.

Devil's in your humble ſervant, you civil ſcoundrel! ſome mad gander will tuck her and her fortune under his wing, and hop off to Gretna Green.

Fanny.

George ſent down to the rocks, oh! oh! then I know where ſomebody will go.

(aſide)

Sir Hans, your moſt obedient, good morning to you, Sir!

(curtſy and exit gravely)
Sir Hans.

Oh very polite Ma'am, but I wiſh you had dropt your curtſy half an hour ago.

Auguſta. (looking out)

The forlorn thoughtleſs Arthur! Sir, tell me—is Miſs Woodbine's ſon my uncle's heir? then why not inſtantly extricate him, from the embarraſſing perplexities that muſt end in his deſtruction.

Sir Hans.

What ſon?

(looking out)

The gay Arthur! true, Lord Torrendel's;

(aſide)

oh ho! [67]I ſuſpect there's love here—this was her dancing partner. My dear, as to affection and all that, this Arthur—

Auguſta.

Sir, I am only intereſted for him, on account of my couſin Woodbine.

Sir Hans.

Right! for his heart is engaged to a girl, he told me all over a glaſs of hock.

(Auguſta agitated)

(aſide)

Yes! ſhe likes him— then, in one word, Miſs Auguſta, my dear, I'll not part with you, till I ſee you and my ſon fairly coupled.

(takes her under his arm, going)
Lord Arthur. (without)

Sir Hans!

(enters)
Sir Hans.

Yes, Sir! paſt three.

(exit with Auguſta)
Lord Arthur.

Paſt three! Don't much like his avoiding me, and taking the lady. His bailbond may keep me from limbo—but muſtn't rob me of paradiſe either.

Enter TIMOLIN.

Run, ſirrah, after Miſs Auguſta, and—

Timolin.

Back again to your father's?

Lord Arthur.

You will perſiſt, we left Miſs Auguſta there;

(takes a bit of paper, and writes with pencil)

if I can but obtain the love of this charming girl, ſhe's ſo beautiful, elegant—but then, very modeſt; I'll have her—oh! Timolin, I will have her, run with this letter.

Timolin.

With what?

Lord Arthur.

Stop to aſk queſtions with your hows and whats—run, take this letter to the young lady.

Timolin.

Oh! I'll give no letters to ladies. Do you want, Sir, to carry on your father's profligate rigmarolds? but you don't make a French [68]Mounſeer of me—for the ſpirit of Mr. Felix Timolin is a peg above that, I aſſure you.

Lord Arthur.

What! walk back, if you pleaſe, into Caſtle Quad.

Timolin.

Then 'pon my word, I won't.

Lord Arthur.

How, you ſcoundrel! do you object to go into priſon when I—? begone! I diſcharge you.

Timolin.

Oh! Sir, I diſcharge myſelf, and there's a receipt for my wages.

(ſnaps his fingers)

I'd hazard my life, to procure you what you might again repay—but, helping you to take the innocence you could never return, is beneath the ſoul of Mr. Felix Timolin.

exit
Lord Arthur.

Dem it! now I've loſt him. I had no conception of this mighty Iriſh honour of his brave ſoul. He has had moral, from his ruſtic parent in his mud cabin; but, I never knew a father's kind precept or good example.

Enter COACHMAN, ſurveys LORD ARTHUR at a diſtance.

What does this fellow eye me for?

Coachman.

My Lady ſent me to know his perſon—yes! that's he, very well.

Exit.
Lord Arthur.

You're no Coachman, my friend you're a bailiff—they take all diſguiſes.

Exit.

SCENE III. A walk near Lord Torrendel's

Enter L'OEILLET.
L'Oeillet.

To divert mi Lor from de thought of dis tapageur, ſon of his, I muſt get off Miſs [69]Auguſta for him; but, to ſee more of this letter of inſtruction—eh! oh! I have left it on the table in my room—Thomas have borrow Sir Hans's livery to carry her ſham meſſage; but if there be danger, we yet want ſome ſtrong, able, deſperate—

Enter TIMOLIN, melancholy.
Timolin.

I could be contented with one dinner in three days, becauſe it's a thing I've practis'd with ſome ſucceſs—but, my poor dear maſter—

L'Oeillet.

Oh! you be got out, where I did lock you—

Timolin.

Here, lock me up again; for I've loſt my maſter, and I don't care how I am.

L'Oeillet.

I ſuppoſe you be not overcharg'd vid money, and I take it you be fripon—in your character, roguery be the leading feature.

Timolin.

I judge that your noſe is your leading feature—ſo I take it.

(advancing)

I, a rogue! produce a proof that I'm one.

L'Oeillet.

Here be a ſtirling proof.

(ſhews money.
Timolin.

So, becauſe you've money, you've a right to call a poor man out of his name.

L'Oeillet. (gives it)

Dere now, call me out of my name.

Timolin. (looking at it)

Then, you're an honeſt man a genteel noble lad. If I can find my lord, this will carry us back to town.

(going)
L'Oeillet.

Arreté! dat is for ſervice you vill do me.

(looking out)

Milor! go! dat footman vill tell you vat it be. Beſides, more reward, [70]if you ſhould be taken up again for little peccadilloz, milor's intereſt vill releaſe you. Allez!

Timolin.

Paid for doing good before hand! now I've gold and a clear conſcience, two companions that are ſeldom together now a day's.

Exit.
Enter Lord TORRENDEL.
Lord Tor.

That fellow of Arthur's ſtill lurking about here!

L'Oeillet.

Peſte! quelle ballourdiſe! I have made fine confident in my Lord's ſcheme,

(aſide)

O! my Lord, he only aſk—

Lord Tor.

I hope you have'n't let this affair go further than thoſe already concerned?

L'Oeillet.

Oh! no, my Lord! if he knew I had employed this Iriſhman, I am undone.

(aſide)
Lord Tor.

L'Oeillet, I've improved upon your plan. Thomas's being in Sir Hans's livery may not be ſufficient to perſuade Auguſta, that ſhe is really ſent for by him—now if you could borrow Sir Hans's poſt chaiſe, that would effectually remove ſuſpicion—make any excuſe, he'll be glad to oblige me.

L'Oeillet.

Diantre! here I go for Sir Hans's coach to carry off Miſs Auguſta, and have ſet Thomas and the Iriſhman to take her off with horſes.

(aſide)
Lord Tor.

Why, L'Oeillet, you don't ſeem over hearty in the cauſe now?

L'Oeillet.

Oh! I'm devoted to your Lordſhip's ſervice.

Lord Tor.

Once wheedled into the carriage, a pretext is ſoon found to get her to Sandgate Iſland.

L'Oeillet.
[71]

Ah! mais ceſt que ceſt excellent ca!

Lord Tor.

About it now—I ſhall be there before you.

Exit.
L'Oeillet.

Pardi! dis is lucky—for now I vill do it myſelf. I viſh tho' I cou'd meet vid dis maroufle, to hinder him meddle in de affair— dat malheureux Iriſh tief vill do me ſome miſchief.

Exit.

SCENE IV.—A Road.

Enter TIMOLIN, and THOMAS, in Sir Hans's Livery.
Timolin.

Well, Mr. Thomas, I know all your plan, now you've told me. So here you've borrowed Sir Hans's livery from one of his ſervants, and you're to go and tell Miſs Auguſta, he has ſent you for her—but, as you may be a cowardly kind of chap, the Mounſeer has bid me aſſiſt you with my tight bit of arm. Huſh! here ſhe comes

Thomas.

I thought ſhe was a little girl juſt left ſchool.

Timolin.

I don't know, whether ſhe ſhe goes to ſchool or no—but, this is the very Miſs Auguſta, that was lock'd up in the caſtle with me.

(aſide)

Oh! I'll make a neat example of ye all.

they retire.
Enter Lady TORRENDEL, and COACHMAN.
Lady Tor.

My mind is in a ſtate of the moſt tormenting ſolicitude! I wiſh I knew where to find [72]this young lady, and apprize her of my Lord's deſigns. Whether to return and wait for him? I dread the interview, unkind upbraiding often ſhakes the very baſis of affection. Yet I know he'll endeavour, by ſome artful evaſion, to ſlip from my charge, except I can bring it to a full conviction—but firſt to afford this poor young man aſſiſtance.

Timolin.

Young man, that muſt be me—ſhe ſaw I was in diſtreſs.

Lady Tor.

Deliver this to him, without leting him know who it comes from.

Exit Coachman.
Timolin.

Stop! I'm here.

Lady Tor.

Oh, his ſervant.

Timolin.

Now, this goodneſs to me, has determined me, in what I was reſolved upon; to ſave her from all danger.

(aſide.)
Lady Tor.

Perhaps I may now learn, who this young lady is.

Timolin. (To Thomas)

Go you, and ſtay with your horſes—I'll deliver the meſſage to her myſelf.

Thomas.

But you're not in Sir Hans's livery —It wo'n't take her.

Timolin.

How d'ye do, Miſs Auguſta?

Lady Tor. (aſide)

My truſty champion's miſtaking me for her, I find, continues.

Thomas.

Miſs, your guardian, Sir Hans Burgeſs, hopes for your company down at Samphire-Hall—he has ſent horſes.

Timolin.

I'll whiſper a few words, that ſhall bring her directly. Harkye, Miſs! don't go, this is a rogue, that wants to coax you again into the mouſe-trap.

Lady Tor.
[73]

You miſtake—I'm not the perſon.

Timolin.

That's a good thought to deny yourſelf —I'll ſecond it—are you ſure you never ſaw Miſs Auguſta before now?

Thomas.

Not I.

Timolin.

Then this is not ſhe—ſo go about your buſineſs.

Thomas.

What!

Timolin.

He wants to inveigle you, to Lord Torrendel.

(apart.)
Lady Tor.

Indeed! this is charming, as I ſuppoſed! the moſt lucky opportunity to do good, prevent evil, ſave the innocent from ruin, and overwhelm the guilty in the bluſhing ſhame of his own baſe intentions.

(aſide)

I was apprehenſive of ſome error—you've brought horſes you ſay—very well, I'll—wait on my guardian.

Timolin ſtares, and whiſtles.
Thomas.

Then you are Miſs Auguſta. Why, what did you mean juſt now by—

Lady Tor.

Yes, yes, you're right enough.

Timolin.

If they take you for a Lady, that will fly off to an old libertine, they're right enough indeed; but I was wrong, when I thought you a bit of an angel.

Lady Tor.

Come.

(going.)
Timolin.

A word, ma'am! your charitable intentions juſt now about me, were good—but, ſince you give yourſelf up to this old reprobate, I ſcorn your aſſiſtance, and, if a little turn of virtue, ſhould ever make you repent of your nonſenſe, don't expect any defence from the ſoul of Mr. Felix Timolin.

Lady Tor.

Heavens! I leave a ſhocking impreſſion on the mind of this worthy creature.

(aſide)

[74]Well, well, we ſhall find time to clear my character.

Exit with Thomas.
Timolin.

An old rotten potatoe for your character! bye and bye, when you're ſeen flouriſhing in curricles, with a different gallant every day, ſtuck up at your elbow, you'll ſtill be chattering about your character, to all the turnpike-men.

Enter Lord ARTHUR.
Lord Arthur.

Yes! it is a baliſſ—he's at my heels. Timolin, do you ſee any door open? ſtand in that ſpot, you ſcoundrel.

Timolin.

Oh! if any more of thoſe compliments paſs between you and me, it's a toſs up who's to pay them.

Lord Arthur.

If he don't touch me, it's no caption.

Timolin.

He's returning with the money, the gay miſs gave him for me.

Enter COACHMAN.
Coachman.

I've had a good chace after you, Sir.

Lord Arthur.

Attempt to give me the tip, and—

Coachman. (taking papers from his pocket)

Here it is—this bill for three hundred pound.

Timolin.

If it was ten thouſand, I wou'dn't accept it.

Lord Arthur.

You villain, do I want you to accept bills for me?

Coachman.

It's a good note, and your own too.

Lord Arthur.

Well, I know I have notes and [75]bonds enough out—but if I pay one of them, I'll be damn'd.

Timolin.

Sir, don't frighten yourſelf, about what doesn't concern you.

Lord Arthur.

Hold your tongue, ſirrah; of my own accord, I came from our dance, when old Wighum, the juſtice, ſent for me; but, compell'd, I will not go; ſo let the plaintiff carry the bills in to my father.

Coachman.

Now, Sir, you're too nice. I promiſed to do the buſineſs, and I will.

(offers papers.)
Lord Arthur.

Aye! he only wants to touch me.

(ſlips round Timolin.)
Timolin.

Arrah! what ſignifies your dancing round me, like a couple of May-poles?

Lord Arthur.

Oh, how my fingers—Timolin, knock him down—I wonder whether it's a capture if I touch him.

Timolin.

What are you at with your caps, and hats? The Engliſh of he thing is—Miſs Auguſta, I deſpiſe.

Lord Arthur.

Speak o of my divine charmer.

Strikes him, and runs off, Coachman after.
Timolin.

Oh! if he diſcharges me, and comes once a day to give me a knock in my cheek, I'm to have a bleſſed life of it—tho' my honour wou'd not ſuffer me to take relief from this Miſs Auguſta, yet I'll try and get the reward from Mounſeer. For, if I was to preach in a pulpit as high as Patrick's ſteeple, the ladies, and gentlemen, would be running after one another, and, till they give roaſt beef for nothing, to mere honeſty, a guinea is convenient in an empty pocket.

Exit.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

[76]

SCENE I.—Samphire hall: Sir Hans's, and other Houſes:—A view of the Sea, bathing Machines, &c.

Enter Sir HANS, and ROBIN.
Sir Hans.

A month ſince i've been down here at my favourite rocks. How do the lodging-houſes go on? I hope they keep low with their prices, till the place is known. Aye! I may yet ſee Samphire-Hall, eclipſe Brighton, Weymouth, and Scarborough.

Robin.

Yez! your honour; for the young Squire has ſet up a ſtaple commodity of trade, and already the volks bes ſo merry about'n. You know Humphry Grin, the ſtone maſon, is famous in the letter cutting way—Meaſter George had gin the freedom of the quarry, and he has eſtabliſhed a manufacture for tombſtones.

Sir Hans.

Tomb-ſtones to make people merry!

Robin.

He has finiſhed half a dozen choice epitaphs with:

Afflictions zore
Long time I bore,
Phyſicians were in wain.
Sir Hans.

Devil's in his phyſicians!

[77] (Walks up. Enter GEORGE.)
George.

That was certainly Lord Torrendel turn'd into the green lane—muffled up, and ſeem'd hiding his face. Robin gave me a hint of his deſigns upon Fanny.

Sir Hans.

A ſweet morning concert for the rooms, of chipping and ſawing! Tell Maſter Grin, he muſt depart in peace with his merry monuments, from this part of the world. Did you hire a new poſtillion?

Robin.

Yez, ſir.

Exit.
Sir Hans. (Seeing George.)

Don't come near me—get a tin pot and a bit of ſtick, and pick up cockles on the beach—you haven't a ſoul above a cockle-gatherer, you curſed otter. Robin! have they put up the ſhelves in the raffling ſhop?

George.

Sir, the men are working at their looms.

Sir Hans.

Looms!

George.

Inſtead of encouraging frauds, cheating ſtrangers with paltry toys, I have erected looms, that will give bread to two induſtrious families.

(Loom heard without.)
Sir. Hans.

Why, they're Weavers!

George.

Yes, ſir, weavers of ſtockings, gloves, and mittins.

Sir Hans.

A ſtocking loom in the place of my elegant raffling ſhop!

George.

There's a ribband loom too. This was the firſt wove in it; for the motto's ſake, put it in your hat.

Sir Hans. (reads)

"Succeſs to Commerce, and laſting happineſs to England." Well, let Induſtry throw the ſhuttle to this motto with all [78]my heart. What ſmoke's that yonder? clinking of hammers! by the lord it's—

George.

Yes, Sir, it's the forge I built for poor old Grimes.

Sir Hans.

What, a ſmith?

George.

Yes, Sir, a worthy blackſmith.

Sir Hans.

Within the very walls of my cold bath, old Grimes blowing his bellows!

George.

What uſe for a cold bath juſt on the verge of the ocean? and the farmers want the neceſſary tools for bleſſed agriculture.

Sir Hans.

I baniſh you for ever, from my faſhionable bathing place. You barbarous young ſavage! after my high puff advertiſements of cold larders, neat wines, circulating libraries, baths, concerts, balls, billiards, machines, and bathing-caps, to expect to drag people of faſhion down here, amongſt ſtocking-looms, tombſtones, and bellows-clinkers!

George.

Father, my little colony was famiſhing on Lord Torrendel's iſland. Since I have brought them here, in pity don't diſturb them.

Sir Hans.

A fine ragged colony you've planted.

George.

Conſider, Father, induſtry is a flower that ſhould be encouraged by the genial warmth of patronage.

Sir Hans.

By the lord! the fellow's only fit for a plowman, or a weaver.

George.

Well, Sir, the one gives bread, the other cloathing; as a plowman and a weaver are the moſt uſeful characters, I know of none more noble.

Sir Hans.

Ah plague on it don't talk to me, my very ſervants will deſpiſe you you dog, I [79]dare ſay not one of 'em would ſtir a ſtump to ſave your ſoul and body, you young Beaver.

Enter ROBIN.
Robin.

Your purſe, Sir—I found it on the road.

George.

Thank you, Robin,

Sir Hans.

George's purſe! how much was in it?

Robin.

More than I can tell—once I knew it to be maſter George's, I never put finger on the caſh it held.

Sir Hans.

Suppoſe it had been my purſe?

Robin.

Ecod! your honor, you might never have ſeen it again: Gold's a tempting thing, and I don't ſet up for more honeſty than my neighbours; but young Squire's money already belongs to the poor, and he bez a bad man indeed that wou'd take, what the generous heart is ſo ready to give.

George.

Eh, now Robin, you've been playing tricks, knocking my purſe about—its all broke —ſtupid fellow, I dare ſay you'd take better care of your own!

Robin.

La, Sir, I have no purſe, only a little bit of a leather bag, to divide a few ſhillings from the halfpence.

(ſhewing it, which George takes.)
George.

Whole, and ſound, ſhou'dn't have thought of your impudence—tearing one's property—there's my broken one, I ſhall keep yours.

(flings it.)
Robin.

But, Sir, the gold's in it.

George.

Never mind, keep it Robin, you're [80]an honeſt fellow; honeſty is a true diamond, and ſhould be ſet in gold.

(puts him off.)
Sir Hans.

My generous boy, George, build up and pull down, juſt as you pleaſe;

(in rapture)

the rich man's ſafeſt guard, is the bleſſings of charity; but gold is the grand ſtaple of your trade of benevolence—I've brought Miſs Woodbine, and her fortune; go and entertain her.

George.

Iſn't that Lord Torrendel's Frenchman.

(looks out.)
Re-enter ROBIN.
Robin.

Your honor, Mounſeer's come from his Lord, to borrow your poſt-chay—going on a viſit, and his own be broke.

Sir Hans.

Here's an oportunity to oblige my Lord. He ſhall have it, and hanſel my new poſtillion too.

George. (aſide)

Some knavery in this poſtchaiſe! Robin, a word.

Sir Hans.

Here ſtill; hop to the Lady, you curſt curlew! hold, here ſhe is.

Enter AUGUSTA.
Aug.

'Twas certainly Arthur croſſ'd the road.

(aſide.)

Sir, I've walk'd out, to ſee your charming place here.

Sir Hans.

Hem!—I bid him ſpeak to the Lady, and by the lord he's whiſpering Robin; George, addreſs her with rapture.

George.

Yes, Sir! Madam, the—great—pleaſure of—Robin.

Exit, talking with Robin.
Sir Hans.

The great pleaſure of—Robin! oh! the devil's in you, for a fine amorous ſcoundrel! Stop, you Sir.

Exit.
Aug.
[81]

This young gentleman is an unadorned caſket, encloſing the moſt delicate ſprings of ſenſibility; but that heart is not for me; or rather mine is not for him. I muſt not cheriſh an hopeleſs paſſion for Arthur; if, as Sir Hans tells me, another poſſeſſes his affections.

Enter FANNY, in hat, cloak &c.

Fanny!

Fanny.

My dear governeſs, I've got down to you; I'm only come, becauſe you are here— where's George?

Auguſta.

You only come becauſe I'm here— "where's George!" Ah, Fanny!

Fanny.

I've made papa bring me too—by a monſtrous fib though. I've told him, Sir Hans wants him on moſt prodigious buſineſs.

Enter Lord ARTHUR.
Lord Arthur.

Diſtanced the nabber! my lovely partner! who could expect to find you here, like a ſea-nymph ſent from old Neptune's palace, to make mortals plunge into the ocean, enamoured from this divine ſpecimen of aquatic beauty.

Auguſta.

Moſt heroically gallant indeed, Sir.

Fanny.

Now for ſomething gallant to me— How d'ye do, Sir?

(curtſies.)
Lord Arthur.

Ah! little titmouſe, ſuppoſe, my love, you ſtep and gather a few honeyſuckles from the hedge yonder.

Fanny.

George might have had the manners to meet, and make nymphs of other people. Titmouſe, indeed!

Exit.
Lord Arthur.
[82]

Madam, you ſee before you, a fellow the moſt wretched—

(aſide)

ſhall I venture to declare my love? no—farewell.

Auguſta.

Whither, Sir, are you going?

Lord Arthur.

The truth is, Madam, tho' Great-Britain's large, I'm drove to the water's edge, where I'll ſtep into, and puſh off the firſt fiſhing boat I can find; for abandon'd by my father, and purſued by—England, Madam, is no home for me. If I can get acroſs the channel, amongſt camps, and batteries, my empty ſconce may keep a bullet from a head that has brains in it.

Auguſta.

Your fortunes, Sir, are not, perhaps, ſo deſperate—your mother was—

Lord Arthur.

How! Madam, have you heard?— ſhe is I hope an angel—and you my heaven.

(kneels.)
Enter COACHMAN.
Coachman.

Overtaken you at laſt!

Lord Arthur.

I'll be damn'd if you have though.

(runs off.)
Coachman.

I'll be damn'd but I will though!

(runs after him.)
Auguſta.

Unhappy youth! they'll purſue him to deſpair; but I'm uſurping a concern that belongs to the miſtreſs of his heart; yet, tho' I muſt not love, am I to reject all feelings of humanity.

Re-enter FANNY.
Fanny. (joyful)

Oh! governeſs, I have aſked the poſtillion to give us a roll on the beach—you don't know half this ſweet place.

Auguſta.

In the chaiſe I may have a better chance of ſeeing which way he takes.

(aſide.)
Fanny. (aſide)
[83]

Muſtn't tell 'twas my Lord's valet propoſed our ride, ſhe's ſo ſqueamiſh.

Auguſta.

Does Sir Hans know of this jaunt?

Fanny.

Very true—he may not let us go; I have if, ſit in the chaiſe till I come; I'll fetch your hat and cloak.

Exit.
Auguſta.

Is this prudent, but no time for reflection, Arthur may be loſt for ever.

Exit.

SCENE II.—A parlour in Sir HANS'S.

Enter DICKINS.
Dickins.

Deviliſh good place the Knight has got here; a fine proſpect of the ſea; a pretty mortgage; and I may pick up ſuch a bit as this, with Torrendel's intereſt—what can this be, Sir Hans has ſent for me!

Enter FANNY, looking about.
Fanny.

My Governeſs is ſo giddy—where can ſhe have leſt her hat.

Dickins.

Oh, Fanny, where's your friend Auguſta? you ſeem all upon the fidgets.

Fanny. (confuſed)

Oh no, Sir.—Lud! the two old boys will be running after us—what can I think of to keep them here? oh, true, my fine fib.

(aſide)

Papa, I wonder why Sir Hans has ſent for you; do you know?

(archly.)
Dickins.

No, child, but I ſhall if I can get to ſee him.

Fanny.

Here he is, ha, ha, ha!

(aſide)

only look papa, what a fine proſpect at that window; you can ſee, I believe, to the Iſle of Wight.

Dickins.
[84]

Oh no; but very fine.

(looks out at window.)
Enter Sir HANS.
Sir Hans.

Fanny, where's your papa?

Fanny.

He's there, Sir, but his head is ſo full of this ſerious affair, he's come down to tell you.

Sir Hans.

Oh, very well.

Fanny.

He, he, he; now each will be ſo full of expectation of the other telling, when there is nothing to tell, it may bring them into a ſquabble, and that will keep them as cloſe as a game of backgammon—but deuce, where's Auguſta's hat? he, he, he.

Exit.
Sir Hans.

Ah, Dickins! how do you do?

Dickins. (turning)

Oh, Sir Hans, well, I've trundled down to you in a whiff.

Sir Hans.

Then the affair is very urgent? ſit down.

Dickins.

Of conſequence, I hope; for I had 2 good deal to do.

Sir Haus.

And ſo?

Dickins.

Well

Sir Hans.

Well? ſo ſudden, I was alarmed? but does it concern me ſo much?

Dickins.

That you beſt know.

Sir Hans.

How the Devil ſhould I know!

Dickins. (peeviſh)

Well then, when you tell me, perhaps I may know.

Sir Hans.

When you tell me, perhaps I may not know. But come.

Dickins.

Ave?

Sir Hans.

The fellow's afraid of being overheard I ſuppoſe; come, I'll faſten the door.

Dickins.
[85]

Oh, if it is of ſo much conſequence, and ſecrecy, I'll faſten this door too.

(both riſe and go to oppoſite doors)

There now, we are quite ſafe.

(ſits down.)

aye?

Sir Hans.

Aye?

(they put their heads as liſtening.)
Dickins.

What the devil do you fit gaping! why don't you out with it?

Sir Hans.

Why do you ſit ſtaring and ſtretching your neck? why don't you tell it at once?

Dickins.

You ſent for me down about your buſineſs—and, zounds! what is it? that I may go about mine.

Sir Hans.

I ſend for you! you came here to tell me of ſomething of great importance—tell it, and ſhorten your viſit, when you pleaſe, Sir.

(both riſe.)
Dickins.

Sir, your ill manners, in your own houſe, are equal to your impudence in bringing me into it for nothing.

Sir Hans.

Impudence, you vulgar man! it's well you are in my houſe, or, by the hand of this body, I'd have you pitched out of window.

Dickins.

Pitch me, you hard-headed old fool! if Torrendel was to behave ſo, I'd—

Sir Hans.

I ſhall choak.—

(rings)

You're under my roof, you pleb—ſo ſay what you will— Robin Hoofs!

Dickins.

Damn your hoofs, and your horns, Sir! I can quit your houſe myſelf. You're as impudent as Torrendel.

(puts on his hat, and gloves.)
Enter FANNY, crying, with Auguſta's hat.
Fanny.

Oh George! George! my Governeſs has run away with George! falſe fellow! to [86]dreſs himſelf up as the new poſtillion, and drive off with my Governeſs, when I only turned to fetch her hat and cloak.

Sir Hans.

My ſon drive off with Auguſta! Huzza! he's a daſher.

Fanny.

And then Lord Torrendel's valet, to jump up behind the chaiſe—'twas all a packd thing to deceive me.

(cries.)
Sir Hans.

What! zounds! the Frenchman gone off with my ward.

Fanny.

Yes, they'll ſurely be married.

Dickins.

What, the Frenchman?

Fanny.

No! George!

(peeviſh)

Did I know where, i'd ſtand up in the church, and forbid the banns.

Dickins.

But where are they gone?

Fanny.

Rattled down the beach, towards Sandgate Iſland.

Sir Hans.

Zounds! Robin Hoofs, John, the devil, I've loſt my ward.

Exeunt.
Fanny.

Yes, I heard Sir Hans brought her down here to marry George; a demure looking thing, ſhe new better than to take the mad Lord, and I, myſelf to introduce her to my George; this is female friendſhip indeed, here's my friend's hat, and my friend's ribbands, oh that I had herſelf here.

Exit tearing the hat.

SCENE III; and laſt.—Sandgate Iſtland; one ſhattered houſe, and a few wretched cottages.

Enter Lord ARTHUR.
Lord Arthur.

Damn the ferryman, not to run his boat boldly in the creek—oblige me to daſh [87]through the water! If I could but get over to the continent, I'd fight like a true volunteer—the firſt Enſign that dropt, pick up his colours— huzza! I wiſh I had a ſew ſhillings, to pay my paſſage in ſome fiſhing ſmack.

Enter COACHMAN.

There again—by heavens! you ſha'n't have all the bailiff-work to yourſelf—we'll have a tuſsle for it—if you are ſtronger, I go—if not, I commit your body to maſter ſhark—begone, or into this ſea I daſh you.

Coachman.

Then, there Sir, is a three hundred pound Bank of England note—now I've at laſt done my job.

drops it, and exit.
Lord Arthur. (picking it up)

It is—and I to miſtake my bright angel for the blackeſt of all imps, a catchpole! three hundred! now they ſhall ſee who is Lord Arthur D'Aumerle—who from? my kind father, doubtleſs. Now I've caſh, where is my poor faithful Timolin.

(with feeling)
Enter ROBINSON.

A dreary Iſland, but one houſe—you live yonder, maſter.

Robinſon.

Live! ah, Sir.

(ſighs.)
Lord Ar.

Complain! Why, in the winter here, you've ſtorms in high perfection—ſnow, hail, rain, lightning and thunder, neat as imported —no door to your houſe, and ſcarce a houſe to your door! the ſpangled canopy your bed-teſters, and for a clear proſpect no glaſs to your windows! not a tree on your iſland, becauſe you wou'd not harbour noiſy rooks to diſcompoſe [88]your ſlumbers!—nor even a buſh! but that's vanity—that you might have it to ſay, you challenge the globe round to ſhew a ſpot more deſolate.

Robinſon.

Why, ſir, but for the charity of Mr. George Burgeſs we ſhould be worſe. He has unpeopled our iſland tho', and ſettled them comfortably near his father's. Since Lord Torrendel, our landlord, leaves us to his Frenchman and that Maſter Dickins, I wiſh they'd take the houſe off my hands.

Lord Ar.

They'll be taking it preſently from about your ears—

(aſide.)

Ha! ha! ha! I'm tickled with a ſtrange ambition—I'll be king of this Iſland from my father's ſole inheritance. Old Cruſoe, I'll enchant your houſe from the court of poverty, to the caſtle of comfort.

Robinſon.

You look comfort in you happy face. Welcome, ſir, Dame!

Exit.
Lord Ar.

This iſland is now my territory— here am I king! oh! for my queen! but plague of my palace.

Exit.
Enter L'OEILLET, and BOATMAN.
L'oeil.

Now dat your comrade has brought lady over in toder boat, let no one elſe croſs but Milor.

(Exit Boatman.)

Ah! quel bonheur to find Auguſta myſelf! now Monſieur Thomas and dat villain Iriſh thief may hunt her for deir own recreation—la voice—dis ſolitary iſle—here milor have no perſon to interrupt.—

retires.
Enter AUGUSTA.
Aug.

The deſire of ſeeing my couſin Arthur once again, before it is too late, can ſcarcely [89]reconcile me to this ſtep—altogether this iſland wears a moſt forbidding aſpect—I'll return, and ſit in the chaiſe, till Fanny comes.

(going.)
Loeil.

Ah! ma chere

(preventing her.)

You muſt vait for Milor.

Aug.

He here! heavens! I'm betrayed—I ſee my folly.

Loeillet.

I was your laquais, mon ange, and did ſit behind de chaiſe, and you did not know.

Aug.

Pray, ſir, ſuffer me to go.

Loeil.

Oui, to Londres! dere Milor vill buy you fine cloaths and jewels, and you vill ſhine at operas and ball and concert, and he will kiſs your hand dus.

(offers to kiſs her hand.)
Enter LORD ARTHUR.
Lord Ar.

How!

(ſtrikes him.)
L'oeil.

Diantre!

(runs off. Lord Arthur purſues. A plunge, as if in water, is heard.)
Re-enter ARTHUR.
Aug.

Heavens! ſir, what have you done?

Lord Ar.

Only caſt my bait into the ſea— Lucifer will always bite at a ſcoundrel.

Aug.

Sir, he'll be drowned.

Lord Ar.

A ſouſe, madam! he's already a pickled dog—don't be alarm'd—you're ſafe now from even the ſhadow of inſult. How came you here in this remote place with that ſcoundrel? ſpeak—but no matter—you ſeem diſtreſs'd.

Aug. (aſide.)

Vice ſhould not humble the father in the opinion of the ſon.

(aſide.)
Lord Ar.
[90]

Lean upon me, ma'am—holloo! old Cruſoe, where's your dame? come, madam.

(leads Auguſta in.)
Enter LORD TORRENDEL.
Lord Tor.

Should Loeillet get my Auguſta ſafe, here is no accommodation; I thought I had ſome tenants on this iſland! they've let the place run ſtrangely to ruin. Confuſion! Sir Hans!

Enter Sir HANS, DICKINS, GEORGE and ROBIN, with poſtillions dreſs in hand.
Dick.

But dem it ſquire, why diſguiſe yourſelf; ſure you coud'n't be a confederate with that French pandar, to ſteal my daughter's governeſs?

Sir H.

Aye, George, where was the neceſſity of uſing artifice, to run away with Auguſta, the very girl I wanted to give you.

George.

Then to explain the myſtery—ſome baſe deſigns of others, have ſunk me into a ſchemer of ſtratagems. My lord, my name is Burgeſs.—I'm no profeſs'd knight-errant, yet I openly avow that I will endeavour henceforth to protect female innocence from your lordſhip's diſhonourable purpoſes.

Exit.
Sir H.

Bravo! George. He has been drinking hock wich Lord Arthur.—My lord, I'll talk to you.

Exit.
Dick.

My lord, to you I'll talk.

Exit.
Lord Tor.

Then no ſhelter from open ſhame, but to turn champion myſelf! beſides, the ſtorm once blown over, my ſeeming her protector wins her love by gratitude.

[91] Enter TIMOLIN.
Tim.

Oh, my lord, here flies the ſweet creature, with her character under her arm.

Lord Tor.

That villain, Loeillet, make my ſon's ſervant a party in this buſineſs.

Enter Lady TORRENDEL, veiled, and THOMAS.
Lady Tor.

Where's my guardian? how!

(half apart.)
Tim.

Aye, I told you, but you wou'd run headlong [...] the devil. And there he ſtands, ready to receive you.

Lord Tor.

What's your purpoſe, you ſcoundrels, in bringing the lady to this lonely place?

Timolin.

Our purpoſe! well, that's very high!—

Lord Tor.

Madam, rely upon my protection. I am bound by honour to defend you from every inſult.

Lady Tor.

Certainly, my lord! every gentleman ſhould be the protector of his wife.

(diſcovers herſelf.)
Lord Tor.

Lady Torrendel! damnation!

Timolin.

The Lady herſelf! then 'twas to her huſband ſhe was running, oh! here's a wonder, and a blunder!

Exit.
Lady Tor.

My Lord, I ſee you are confounded, yet could I hope your preſent humiliation proceeded from a ſorrow that promiſed repentance, and conſequent reformation, my heart's feelings for the man I did love and honor, ſhould melt me to compaſſion!

(weeps)

but no! my lord! take [92]my reſentment! my deſerved, and bitter reproach! grief cannot reach a breaſt ſo callous as yours! it is only the ſtings of a wounded pride, and diſappointed purpoſe, that now agitates you; reflect! return an humble gratitude to heaven for having made my unexpected arrival here the means of ſnatching you from the repetition of a crime the moſt hoſtile to ſociety. A ſelfiſh, tranſient gratification, that muſt baniſh for ever an unhappy female from the paths of honor! ſhun'd thro' life by the beſt part of her own ſex! —and even deſpiſed by you! the author of her ſhame! your wrongs to me are nothing, but your meditated ſhifts, tricks, and plans, which you call gallantries, reflect only a diſgrace on the dignity of manhood!

Lord Tor.

Lady Torrendel—I confeſs I'm altogether ſomewhat ſhocked, and wiſh—I ſay —I'm very unhappy to ſee—that is—I'm unhappy at your ſuſpecting—

Lord Tor.

Oh, you miſtake, my lord! I have no ſuſpicions! mine are all certainties—but even if you conſider my throwing the paſt into the ſhade of oblivion, any indulgence, I ſhall inſiſt upon a few conditions, and the firſt—turn your countenance and protection to that poor deſerted youth! you are, as a parent, reſponſible for every violation that your neglect has occaſioned him to make on the laws of propriety; if you refuſe, I will be his parent, and I henceforth regard your poor friendleſs ſon, with all the care and tenderneſs of maternal affection.

Enter Lord ARTHUR.
Lord Tor.

He too, a witneſs!

Lord Arthur.
[93]

Huzza, the joy that laughs on me, ſhall ſmile on all around; ſir, I thank you for your bounty, but—

Enter COACHMAN.
Coachman.

My lady, I gave Lord Arthur the money, and—

Lady Tor.

Well! well!

Lord Arthur.

How! from you, madam.

Lord Tor.

Did you give countenance and relief, where wives, in general, look with contempt and even hatred. Madam, can you pardon?

Lady Tor.

My lord, your conduct renders you rather an object of pity, than reſentment—you have implicitly delivered up your fortune, your character, nay more, my lord, your honor, to be the ſport and property of an infamous paraſite— your confidential ſavourite, your French Valet, has counteracted the rectitude of your intentions, by embezzelling the ſums he had for purpoſes dictated by duty and nature. O! why will thoſe who poſſeſs the godlike power of doing good, delegate a baſe, unworthy agent, for the kind purpoſes of ſoft humanity.

Lord Arthur.

Then, madam, 'twas you that relieved me. You're an angel—angel you ſhall ſee! where's my divine Auguſta?

Enter Sir HANS, DICKINS, GEORGE, AUGUSTA, and TIMOLIN.
Sir Hans.

Here, boy, take Auguſta,

(advancing.)
Lord Arthur. (advancing.)

Thank ye, Sir Hans!

Sir Hans.
[94]

Thank ye, indeed, for that! George, devils in you! will you loſe your wife ſo?

George.

I've one ready at hand—father, with your leave and her own conſent.

Enter FANNY, TIMOLIN ſneaks in at the back.
Dickins.

To be ſure, I conſent—and we all conſent.

Fanny.

Oh! yes! we all conſent—my dear governeſs, are you going to be married? It ſeems I'm going to be married. He! he! he! eh! George?

Sir Hans.

To ſee my ſon taken before my face with an, he! he! he! s'blood, ſir! let the girl go, he, he, he, indeed.

Dickins.

Then I diſcover your tricks, ſir, oh! oh! oh! indeed!—madam, no matter what he ſays—you are ſtill heireſs to your uncle Woodbine's fortune. Throw it into my bank, chuſe me your guardian, I'll recover—dem'me, I'll ſend Sir Nob a ſheet of cracklin ramſkin, that ſhall reach from Chancery-lane, to the "devil and bag of nails, at Chelſea."

Lord Arthur.

Can this be!

Auguſta.

Indeed! well, even ſo the property of the mother ſhould devolve to the ſon, to him I reſign it.

Lord Arthur.

No! ſooner than take it from you, my generous couſin, Timolin and I will buffet the world again—where are you, old Bagatrot Caſile?

Timclin.

I'm here, your honour, dead or alive—we'll jump into our boots, before they're bought—and pull juſtice's wigs about—away, maſter! I'm your man thro' thick and thin, fire and ſmoke.

Lord Arthur.
[95]

I could force myſelf to accept this fortune—that is, with a certain ſweet'ner,— Will you, my Auguſta, accompany it?

Auguſta.

Then, ſir, for paltry gold, you'd quit your love! oh! fie!

Sir Hans.

Devil's in you, child! I was only joking about the girl over the hock, to make you marry George.

(Lord Arthur kiſſes her hand.)
Lord Tor.

Why, this is right. Lady Torrendel, your unexampled liberality will reclaim me into a huſband and a father—my boy, were bleſſings mine, you ſhould have one from me.

Timolin.

Then, as you're not worth a bleſſing, ſhow'r a bundle of yellow-boys upon us both.

Dickins.

A good motion throw them into my bank.

Lord Arthur.

My lord, father, and you moſt adored Auguſta, if I am deſtined to affluence, here is my model,

(to George.)

who can forego the comforts of life to beſtow its neceſſaries on the indigent!

Sir Hans.

Why, zounds! my moſt magnificent, gay Arthur, I thought you was to be George's model, and that he'd have grace enough like you to play the devil.

Lord Arthur.

So he ſhall—we'll kick Care out of the window, our abode ſhall be the Houſe of Joy, and the firſt card of invitation ſhall be, to the Man of Sorrow.

My faults how great! but as no foſt'ring care
Did ever ſmile upon misfortune's heir!
The outcaſt oh receive! your pardon give,
And in your favour, let him happy live!
END.

Appendix A

[]
  • 1. The DRAMATIST, a Comedy; by Mr. REYNOLDS. Price 1s. 6d.
  • 2. NOTORIETY, a Comedy; by Mr. REYNOLDS. Price 13. 6d.
  • 3. HOW TO GROW RICH, a Comedy; by Mr. REYNOLDS. Price 1s. 6d.
  • 4. THE RAGE, a Comedy; by Mr. REYNOLDS. Price 2s.
  • 5. WILD OATS, a Comedy; by Mr. O'KEEFFEE. Price 1s. 6d.
  • 6. The CASTLE OF ANDALUSIA, a Comic Opera; by Mr. O'KEEFFEE. Price 1s. 6d.
  • 7. SPRIGS OF LAUREL, a Comic Opera in two Acts; by Mr. O'KEEFFEE. Price 1s.
  • 8. THE IRISH MIMIC; or BLUNDERS AT BRIGHTON; by Mr. O'KEEFFEE. Price 1s.
  • 9. HARTFORD BRIDGE, an Operatic Farce, in Two Acts; by Mr. Pearce. Price 1s.
  • 10. The MIDNIGHT WANDERERS, a Comic Opera in two Acts; by Mr. Pearce. Price 1s.
  • 11. NETLEY ABBEY, an Operatic Farce, in two Acts, by Mr. Pearce. Price 1s.
  • 12. WINDSOR CASTLE, an Opera, performed in honor of the Marriage of His Royal Highneſs the Prince of Wales, by Mr. Pearce. With an elegant Vignette. Price 1s. 6d.
  • 13. THE MAID of NORMANDY; or, The DEATH of the QUEEN of FRANCE: A Tragedy; by Mr. EYRE, late of Pembroke College, Cambridge. Price 1s. 6d.
  • 14. CONSEQUENCES; or THE SCHOOL FOR PREJUDICE, A comedy, by Mr. EYRE. Price 1s. 6d.
  • 15. THE TOWN BEFORE YOU, a Comedy; by Mrs. Cowley. Price 2s.
  • 16. THE MYSTERIES OF THE CASTLE, an Opera; by Mr. P. Andrews. Price 2s.
  • 17. ENGLAND PRESERVED, a Tragedy; by Mr. Watſon, Price 2s.
  • 18. CROTCHET LODGE, a Farce; by Mr. Hurlſtone. Price 1s.
  • 19. The IRISHMAN IN LONDON, a Farce; by Mr. Mc. Cready. Price 1s.
Notes
*
HORACE.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4275 Life s vagaries a comedy in five acts As performed at the Theatre Royal Covent Garden Written by John O Keffe. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5D57-B