ACT I.

THE poſtman is at the gate, Sam, pray ſtep and take in the letters.

John, the gardiner is gone for them, Mrs. Betty.

Bid John bring them to me, Sam, tell him I'm here in the Library.

I will ſend him to your Ladyſhip, in a crack,

Miſs Conſtantia deſires to ſpeak to you, Mrs. Betty.

How is ſhe now, Nanny, any better?

Something, but very low ſpirited ſtill, I verily believe it is as you ſay.

Nay, I would take my book oath of it.—I cannot be deceived in that point, Nanny—ay, ay; her buſineſs is done; ſhe is certainly breeding, depend upon it.

Why, ſo the houſe-keeper thinks too.

Nay, I know the father! the very man that ruined her!

The deuce you do!

As ſure as you are alive, Nanny, or I am greatly deceived, and yet I can't be deceived neither—Was not that the cook that came gallopping ſo hard over the common juſt now?

The ſame. How very hard he gallopped. He has been but three quarters of an hour, he ſays, coming from Hyde Park corner.

And, what time will the family be down?

He has orders to have dinner ready by Five; there are to be Lawyers, and a great deal of company.—He fancies there is to be a private wedding here to night, between our young Maſter Charles, and Lord Lumbercourt's daughter—the Scotch Lady:—who, he ſays, is juſt come from Bath on purpoſe to be married to him.

Ay, ay, Lady Rodolpha, as they call her, nay, like enough: for I know it has been talked of a good while; well, go tell Miſs Conſtantia that I will be with her immediately.

I ſhall, Mrs. Betty.

So! I find they all believe the impertinent creature is breeding, that is pure, it will ſoon reach my Lady's ear, I warrant.

Well, John, ever a letter for me?

No, Mrs. Betty, but here's one for Miſs Conſtantia.

Give it me—hum—my Lady's hand.

And here is one which the poſtman ſays is for my young maſter, but it is a ſtrange direction

To Charles Egerton, Eſq.

O! yes—yes—that is for Maſter Charles, John, for he has drop! his fathers name of Mac Syco⯑phant, and has taken up that of Egerton.—The Par⯑liament has ordered it.

The Parliament! pry'thee why ſo, Mrs. Betty?

Why, you muſt know, John, that my Lady, his mother, was an Egerton by her father; ſhe ſtole a match with our old maſter, for which all her fa⯑mily, on both ſides, have hated Sir Pertinax, and the whole crew of the Mac Sycophants ever ſince.

Except Maſter Charles, Mrs. Betty.

O! they doat upon him, for tho' he be a Mac Sycophant, he's the pride of all my Lady's fa⯑mily.—And ſo, John, my Lady's uncle, Sir Stanley Egerton, dying an old batchelor, and, as I ſaid before, mortally hating our old maſter, and the whole crew of the Mac Sycophants, leſt his whole eſtate to Maſter Charles, who was his God-ſon; but on condition tho', that he ſhou'd drop his fathers name of Mac Sycophant, and take up that of Egerton, and that is the reaſon, John, why the Parliament has made him change his name.

I am glad that Maſter Charles has got the eſtate however, for he is a ſweet tempered gentleman.

As ever lived, but come, John, as I know you love Miſs Conſtantia, and are fond of an oppor⯑tunity of ſpeaking to her, I will make you happy, you ſhall carry her letter to her.

Shall I, Mrs. Betty? I am very much ob⯑liged to you, where is ſhe?

In the houſekeeper's room, ſettling the de⯑ſert.—Give me Mr. Egerton's letter, I will lay it on the table in his dreſſing room, I ſee it's from his bro⯑ther, Mr. Sandy; ſo, now go and deliver your letter to your ſweetheart, John.

That I will, Mrs Betty, and I am much obliged to you for the ſavour of letting me carry it to her; for tho' ſhe ſhould never have me, yet I ſhall always love her, and wiſh to be near her, ſhe is ſo ſweet a creature—Your ſervant, Mrs. Betty, I will kiſs the letter for her ſake—ſweet, ſweet, dear Miſs Conſtantia!—O! if I was but kiſſing her hand, Betty, now, inſtead of this letter, how happy ſhou'd I be—Your ſervant, Mrs. Betty.

Your ſervant, John—ha! ha! ha! poor fel⯑low, he perfectly doats on her, and daily follows her [6] about with noſegays and fruit, and the firſt of every thing in the ſeaſon; ay, and my young Maſter Charles too, he is in as bad a way as the gardiner—in ſhort, every body loves her, and that is one reaſon why I hate her:—for my part, I wonder what the deuce the men ſee in her—a creature that was taken in for charity—I am ſure ſhe is not ſo handſome—I wiſh ſhe was out of the family once, if ſhe was, I might then ſtand a chance of being my Lady's favourite myſelf; ay, and perhaps of getting one of my young Maſters for a ſweetheart—or at leaſt, the Chaplain—But as to him, there would be no ſuch great catch, if I ſhould get him—I will try for him however; and my firſt ſtep ſhall be, to let the Doctor know all I have diſcovered about Conſtantia's intrigues with her ſpark at Hadley—Yes, that will do, for the Doctor loves to talk with me, and always ſmiles and jokes with me

he, he,—he loves to hear me talk too, and I verily believe he, he, he, that he has a ſneaking kindneſs for me! beſides, this ſtory will make him have a good opinion of my honeſty, and that I am ſure will be one ſtep to⯑wards it.—O bleſs me! here he comes, and my young Maſter with him—I'll watch an opportunity to ſpeak to him, as ſoon as he is alone, for I will blow her up, I am reſolved, as great a favourite, and as cunning as ſhe is.

Nay, dear Charles, but why are you ſo impe⯑tuous? Why do you break from me ſo abruptly?

I have done, Sir—You have refuſed—I have nothing more to ſay upon the ſubject—I am ſatisfied.

Come, come, correct this warmth; it is the only weak in⯑gredient in your nature; and you ought to watch it carefully; if I am wrong, I will ſubmit without re⯑ſerve; but conſider the nature of your requeſt, and how it would affect me. From your earlieſt Youth [7] your Father has honoured me with the care of your Education, and the general conduct of your mind; and however ſingular and moroſe his behaviour may be towards others, to me he has ever been reſpectful and liberal. I am now under his roof too—and becauſe I will not abet an unwarrantable paſſion, by an abuſe of my ſacred character, in marrying you beneath your rank, and in direct oppoſition to your Father's hopes and happineſs—you blame—you angrily break from me, and call me unkind.

Dear Sidney, for my warmth I ſtand condemned; but for my mar⯑riage with Conſtantia, I think I can juſtify it upon every principle of filial duty, honour and worldly pru⯑dence.

Only make that appear, Charles, and you know you may command me.

I am ſenſible how unworthy it appears in a Son to deſcant on the unamiable paſſions of a Father; but as we are alone, and friends, I cannot help ob⯑ſerving, in my own defence, that when a Father will not allow the uſe of reaſon to any of his Family—when his purſuit of greatneſs makes him a ſlave abroad—only to be a tyrant at home—when his narrow partiality to Scotland, on every trivial occaſion, pro⯑vokes him to enmity even with his Wife and Children, only becauſe they dare give a national preference where they think it is moſt juſtly due—and when merely to gratify his own ambition, he would marry his Son into a family he deteſts.

Sure, Sidney, a Son thus circumſtanced (from the dignity of human nature, and the feelings of a loving heart) has a right, not only to proteſt againſt the blindneſs of the Parent, but to purſue thoſe meaſures, that virtue and happineſs point out.

The violent temper of Sir Pertinax, I own, cannot on many occaſions be defended—but ſtill your intended alliance with Lord Lumbercourt.—

O! contemptible! A trifling, quaint, haughty, voluptuous! ſervile tool!—the mere lackey of party and corruption; who for the proſtitution of near [8] thirty years, and the ruin of a noble fortune, has had the deſpicable ſatisfaction, and the infamous honour, of being kicked up, and kicked down, kicked in, and kicked out—juſt as the inſolence, compaſſion, or con⯑veniency of leaders predominated; and now, being forſaken by all parties, his whole political conſequence amounts to, the power of franking a letter, and the right honourable priviledge of not paying a Tradeſman's bill.

Well, but, dear Charles, you are not to wed my Lord, but his daughter.

Who is as diſagreeable for a companion, as her Father is for a friend or an ally.

Ha! ha! ha! What, her Scotch accent, I ſuppoſe, offends you?

No—upon my honour—not in the leaſt, I think it entertaining in her, but were it otherwiſe, in decency—and, indeed, in national affection (being a Scotchman myſelf) I can have no objection to her on that account—beſides, ſhe is my near relation.

So I underſtand—but how comes Lady Rodol⯑pha, who, I find, was born in England, to be bred in Scotland?

From the dotage of an old, formal, obſti⯑nate, ſtiff, rich, Scotch Grandmother; who, upon a promiſe of leaving this Grandchild all her fortune, which is very conſiderable, wou'd have the Girl ſent to her to Scotland, when ſhe was but a year old; and there has ſhe been bred up ever ſince, with this old Lady, in all the vanity, and unlimitted indulgence, that fondneſs and admiration could beſtow on a ſpoiled Child, a fancied Beauty! and a pretended Wit!

O! you are too ſevere on her.

I do not think ſo, Sidney; for ſhe ſeems a being expreſsly faſhioned by nature, to figure in theſe days of levity and diſſipation! her ſpirits are inex⯑hauſtible! her parts ſtrong and lively! with a ſagacity that diſcerns, and a talent not unhappy in painting the weak ſide of whatever comes before her.—But what raiſes her merit to the higheſt pitch, in the laughing world is, her boundleſs vanity, in the exertion of thoſe [9] talents, which often renders herſelf much more ridi⯑culous, than the moſt whimſical of the characters ſhe expoſes.—And is this a woman fit to make my happi⯑neſs? This the partner that Sidney would recommend to me for life? To you, who beſt know me, I ap⯑peal.

Why, Charles, it is a delicate point—unfit for me to determine—beſides your Father has ſet his mind upon the match.

All that I know—but ſtill I aſk, and inſiſt upon your candid judgment, is ſhe the kind of Woman that you think cou'd poſſibly contribute to my happineſs?—I beg you will give me an explicit anſwer.

The ſubject is diſagreeable—But ſince I muſt ſpeak—I do not think ſhe is.

I know you do not; and I am ſure you ne⯑ver will adviſe the match.

I never did—I never will.

You make me happy—which, I aſſure you, I never could be with your judg⯑ment againſt me on this point.

And yet, Charles, give me leave to obſerve, that Lady Rodolpha, with all her ridiculous laughing vanity, has a goodneſs of heart, and a kind of viva⯑city, that not only entertains, but upon ſeeing her two or three times, improves upon you, and when her tor⯑rent of ſpirits abates, and ſhe condeſcends to converſe gravely, you will really like her.

Why, aye, ſhe is ſprightly, good-humoured, and tho' whimſical, and often too high in her colouring of characters, and in the trifling buſineſs of the idle world, yet, I think ſhe has principles and a good heart; but in a partner for life, Sidney, (you know your own precept—your own judgment) affection, capricious in its nature, muſt have ſomething even in the external manners—nay, in the very mode, not only of beauty, but virtue itſelf, which both heart and judgment muſt approve, or our happineſs in that delicate point cannot be laſting.

I grant it.

And that mode that amiable eſſential, I never can meet with but in Conſtantia.—You ſigh.

No, I only wiſh that Conſtantia had a fortune equal to yours; but pray, Charles, ſuppoſe I had been ſo indiſcreet as to have agreed to marry you to Con⯑ſtantia, would ſhe have conſented, think you?

That I cannot ſay poſitively; but I ſup⯑poſe ſo.

Did you never ſpeak to her, upon that ſubject then?

In general terms only; never directly aſked her conſent in form; but I will this very moment, for I have no aſylum from my Father's arbitrary deſign, but my Conſtantia's arms—Pray do not ſtir from hence—I will return inſtantly; I know ſhe will ſubmit to your advice, and I am ſure you will perſuade her to my wiſh, as my life, my peace, my earthly happineſs depend upon my Conſtantia.

Poor Charles! He little dreams that I love Conſtantia—but to what degree I knew not myſelf, till he importuned me to join their hands.—Yes, I love, but muſt not be a rival—for he is dear to me as fraternal friendſhip—my benefactor, my friend, and that name is ſacred It is our better ſelf, and ought to be preferred.—For the man who gratifies his paſ⯑ſions at the expence of his friend's happineſs, wants but a head to contrive, for he has a heart capable of the blackeſt vice.

I beg pardon, Sir, for my intruſion; I hope, Sir, I do not diſturb you.

Not in the leaſt, Mrs Betty.

I humbly hope you will excuſe me, Sir,—but I wanted to break my mind to your honour about a ſcruple—that lies upon my conſcience—and, indeed, I ſhou'd not have preſumed to trouble you, Sir, but that I know you are my young Maſter's friend—and, indeed, a friend to the whole family—

for to give you your due, Sir, you are as good a preacher as ever went into a pulpit.

Ha! ha! ha! Do you think ſo, Mrs. Betty?

Ay in truth do I—and as good a Gentleman too as ever came into a family, and one that never gives a ſervant a hard word; nor that does any one an ill turn, neither behind one's back, nor before one's face.

Ha! ha! ha!—why you are a mightty well ſpoken woman, Mrs. Betty, and I am extremely be⯑holden to you for your good character of me.

Indeed, Sir, it is no more than what you de⯑ſerve; and what all the ſervants ſay of you.

I am much obliged to them, Mrs. Betty—But pray, what are your commands with me?

Why, I will tell you, Sir,—to be ſure, I am but a ſervant, as a body may ſay, and every tub ſhould ſtand upon its own bottom; but

my young Maſter is now in the China room, in cloſe conference with Miſs Con⯑ſtantia—I know what they are about—but that is no buſineſs of mine—and therefore I made bold to liſten a little; becauſe you know, Sir, one would be ſure, be⯑fore one took away any body's good name.

Very true, Mrs. Betty—very true, indeed.

Oh! heavens forbid that I ſhould take away any young woman's good name, unleſs I had good reaſon for it:—But, Sir, if I am in this place alive—as I liſtened with my ear cloſe to the door—I heard my young Maſter aſk Miſs Conſtantia—the plain mar⯑riage queſtion; upon which, I ſtarted and trembled—nay, my very conſcience ſtirred within me ſo, that I, I, I cou'd not help peeping thro' the key-hole.

Ha! ha! ha!—And ſo your conſcience made you peep thro' the key-hole, Mrs. Betty?—Ha!

It did indeed, Sir, and then I ſaw my young Maſter down upon his knees; and what do you think he was doing?—Lord bleſs us!—kiſſing her hand, as if he would eat it; and proteſting and aſſuring her, he knew that you, Sir, would conſent to the match—and [12] then, O! my good Sir, the tears ran down her cheeks as faſt—

Ay!

They did indeed, Sir; I wou'd not tell your reverence a lie for the world.

I believe it, Mrs. Betty, I believe it; and what did Conſtantia ſay to all this?

O! ſhe is fly enough—ſhe looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth, but all is not gold that gliſtens—ſmooth water you know runs deepeſt,

I am ſorry my young Maſter makes himſelf ſuch a fool, very ſorry, indeed; but um—ha—take my word for it, he is not the man,

for tho' ſhe looks as modeſt as a maid at a chriſtening.

Yet, a—when ſweet-hearts meet in the duſk of the evening—and ſtay together a whole hour in a dark grove—and—a—embrace—and kiſs—and weep at parting—why then you know, Sir—it is eaſy to gueſs all the reſt.

Why, did Conſtantia meet any body in this manner?

O, Heavens! I beg, Sir, you will not miſapprehend me! for I aſſure you I do not believe they did any harm—that is—not in the grove—at leaſt not when I was there—and ſhe may be honeſtly married for aught I know.—O lud! Sir, I would not ſay an ill thing of Miſs Conſtantia for all the world—for to beſure ſhe is a good creature—'tis true my Lady took her in for charity—and, indeed, has bred her up to the muſic, and figures—ay, and to reading all the books about Homer—and Paradiſe—and Gods and Devils—and every thing in the world—as if ſhe had been a Ducheſs;—but ſome people are born with luck in their mouths—and then, as the ſaying is, you may throw them into the ſea—

—but if I had had dancing maſters, and muſic, and French monſieurs to teach me,

I be⯑lieve I might read the globes, and the maps, and have danced, and have been as clever as other folks.

Ha! ha! ha!—No doubt of it, Mrs Betty, no doubt in the leaſt.—But, Mrs. Betty, you mentioned ſomething of a dark walk—about kiſſing—a ſweet⯑heart—and Conſtantia.

O lud! Sir, I don't know any thing of the mat⯑ter—ſhe may be very honeſt for ought I know—I only ſay, that they did meet in the dark walk; and all the ſervants are laughing and tittering, and conſtantly ob⯑ſerving, that Miſs Conſtantia wears her ſtays very looſe—looks very pale—is ſick in a morning, and after dinner;—and as ſure as my name is Betty Hint, ſome⯑thing has happened that I won't name; but nine months hence, a certain perſon in this family, may aſk me to ſtand God-mother, for I think I know what's what, when I ſee it, as well as another.

No doubt you do, Mrs. Betty.

I do indeed, Sir, and

I am very ſorry for Miſs Conſtantia, I never thought ſhe would have taken ſuch courſes—for in truth, I love her as if ſhe were my own ſiſter—and tho' all the ſer⯑vants ſay ſhe is breeding, yet, for my part, I don't believe it—but one muſt ſpeak according to one's con⯑ſcience you know, Sir.

I ſee you do, Mrs. Betty.

I do indeed, Sir, and ſo your ſervant, Sir—

But I hope your Worſhip will not mention my name in this buſineſs, or that you had any item from me.

I ſhall not, Mrs. Betty.

For indeed, Sir, I am no buſy-body—nor do I love fending and proving—and I aſſure you, Sir, I hate all tittling and tattling, and goſſipping, and back⯑biting, and taking away a young perſon's character, be her ever ſo bad.

I obſerve you do, Mrs. Betty.

I do indeed, Sir, I am the fartheſt from it in the world.

I dare ſay you are.

I am indeed, Sir, and ſo your humble ſervant.

Your ſervant, Mrs. Betty.

So! I ſee he be⯑lieves every word I ſay—that's charming—I will do her buſineſs for her, I am reſolved.

What can this ridiculous creature mean—by her dark walk—her private ſpark—her kiſſing—and all her ſlanderous inſinuations againſt Conſtantia, whoſe con⯑duct is as unblameable as innocence itſelf? I ſee envy is as malignant in a paltry waiting wench, as in the vaineſt or moſt ambitious Lady of the Court. It is always a moſt infallible mark of the baſeſt nature, and merit in the loweſt, as in the higheſt ſtation, muſt feel the ſhafts of envy's conſtant agents, falſehood and ſlander.

Sir, Mr. Egerton and Miſs Conſtantia, de⯑ſire to ſpeak with you in the China room.

Very well, Sam.

I will not ſee them—What is to be done? Inform his Father of his intended marriage.—No; that muſt not be—for the overbearing temper, and ambitious policy of Sir Pertinax, would exceed all bounds of moderation. He has baniſhed one Son already, only for daring to differ from his judgment concerning the merits of Scotch and Engliſh hiſtorians.—But this young Man muſt not marry Conſtantia—wou'd his Mo⯑ther were here:—ſhe, I ſuppoſe, knows nothing of his indiſcretion, but ſhe ſhall the moment ſhe comes hither—I know it will offend him—no matter, it is our duty to offend, when the offence ſaves the Man we love from a precipitate action, which the world muſt con⯑demn, and his own heart, perhaps, upon reflection, for ever repent.—Yes, I muſt diſcharge the duty of my function, and a friend, tho' I am ſure to loſe the Man whom I intend to ſerve.

ACT II.

MR. Sidney, is not here, Sir.

I aſſure you I left him here, and begged that he wou'd ſtay till I returned.

His prudence you ſee, Sir, has made him retire, therefore we had better defer the ſubject till he is preſent.—In the mean time, Sir, I hope you will permit me to mention an affair, that has greatly alarmed and perplexed me; I ſuppoſe you gueſs what it is?

I do not, upon my word.

That's a little ſtrange.—You know, Sir, that you and Mr. Sidney, did me the honour of break⯑faſting with me this morning in my little ſtudy.

We had that happineſs, Madam.

Juſt after you left me, opening my book of accounts, which lay in the drawer of the reading deſk, to my great ſurpriſe, I there found this caſe of jewels, containing a moſt elegant pair of ear-rings, and a neck⯑lace of great value, and two bank bills in this pocket⯑book, the myſtery of which, I preſume, Sir, you can explain.

I can.

They are of your conveying then

They were, Madam.

I aſſure you they ſtartled and alarmed me.

I hope it was a kind alarm; ſuch as bluſh⯑ing Virtue feels, when with her hand, ſhe gives her heart and laſt conſent,

It was not indeed, Sir.

Do not ſay ſo, Conſtantia—come, be kind at once; my peace and worldly bliſs depend upon this moment.

What wou'd you have me do?

What love and virtue dictate.

O! Sir, experience but too ſeverely proves, that ſuch unequal matches as ours, never produce aught but contempt and anger in parents, cenſure from the world, and a long train of ſorrow and repentance in the wretched parties, which is but too often entailed upon their hapleſs iſſue.

But that, Conſtantia, cannot be our condi⯑tion, for my fortune is independent and ample, equal to luxury and ſplendid folly; I have a right to chooſe the partner of my heart.

But, I have not, Sir—I am a dependant on my Lady—a poor, forſaken, helpleſs orphan, your benevolent mother found me; took me to her boſom, and there ſupplied my parental loſs, with every tender care indulgent dalliance, and with all the ſweet perſua⯑ſion that maternal fondneſs, religious precepts, poliſhed manners, and hourly example cou'd adminiſter. She foſtered me,

and ſhall I now turn viper, and, with black ingratitude, ſting the tender heart that thus has cheriſhed me? Shall I ſeduce her houſe's heir, and kill her peace?—No; tho' I loved to the mad extreme of female fondneſs—tho' every worldly bliſs, that woman's vanity, or man's ambition cou'd deſire, fol⯑lowed the indulgence of my love; and all the contempt and miſery of this life, the denial of that indulgence, I would diſcharge my duty to my benefactreſs, my earthly guardian, my more than parent.

My dear Conſtantia, your prudence, your gratitude, and the cruel virtue of your ſelf-denial, do but increaſe my love, my admiration, and my miſery.

Sir, I muſt beg you will give me leave to return theſe bills and jewels.

Pray do not mention them—Sure my kind⯑neſs and eſteem may be indulged ſo far, without ſuſ⯑picion or reproach. I beg you will accept of them, nay, I inſiſt.

I have done, Sir—my ſtation here is to obey—I know they are the gifts of a virtuous heart, and mine ſhall convert them to the tendereſt and moſt grateful uſe—

Hark! I hear a coach—it is my Father—dear girl retire and compoſe yourſelf—I will ſend Sid⯑ney and my Lady to you; and by their judgment we will be directed—Will that ſatisfy you?

I can have no will but my Lady's—with your leave, I will retire—I wou'd not ſee her in this confuſion.

Dear girl, adieu—and think of love, of happineſs, and the man, who never can be bleſt with⯑out you.

Sir Pertinax, and my Lady, are come, Sir, and my Lady deſires to ſpeak with you in her own room. O! ſhe is here, Sir.

Dear child, I am glad to ſee you, why did you not come to town yeſterday to attend the levee? Your Father is incenſed to the uttermoſt at your not being there.

Madam, it is with ex⯑treme regret I tell you, that I can no longer be a ſlave to his temper, his politics, and his ſcheme of marrying me to this woman. Therefore, you had better conſent at once to my going out of the kingdom, and to my taking Conſtantia with me; for without her, I never can be happy.

As you regard my peace, or your own character, I beg you will not be guilty of ſo raſh a ſtep.—You promiſed me you would never marry her without my conſent. I will open it to your Father—Pray, dear Charles, be ruled, let me prevail. Here he comes, I will get out of his way—but I beg, Charles, while he is in this ill humour, that you will not oppoſe him, let him ſay what he will—when his paſſion is a little cool, I will return and try to bring him to reaſon—but pray do not thwart him.

Madam, I will not.

Weel, Sir, vary weel! vary weel!—Are not you a very fine fellow; a hagh—

What want you, Sir?

Sir, the groom is come back—he has been as far as Hammerſmith, and the turnpike men, and every perſon upon the road, are ſure that Lord Lum⯑bercourt has not paſſed by this day.

Let them take the cheſnut gelding and re⯑turn to town directly, and enquire at my Lord's houſe, whether he is at home, or if they know what is become of him—and do you hear—the moment that Counſellor Plauſible and Mr. Serjeant Eitherſide arrive, let me know it.

Weel, Sir, pray what do you think of yourſelf, are not you a fine ſpark?—are not you a fine ſpark, I ſay?—So you would not come up to the levee?

Sir, I beg your pardon, but I—I—I was not very well—beſides, I did not think that my preſence there was neceſſary.

Sir, it was neceſſary—I tauld ye it was neceſſary—and, Sir, I muſt now tell you, that the whole tenor of your conduct is moſt of⯑fenſive.

I am ſorry you think ſo, Sir—I am ſure I do not intend to offend you

I care not what you intend, Sir, I tell you, you do offend—what is the meaning of this con⯑duct?—neglect the levee!—neglecting the levee is ſuch a contempt, and ſuch an ignorance of the world, that, ſdeath, Sir, your—What is your reaſon, I ſay, for thus neglecting the levee, and diſobeying my commands?

None of your bowing and ſighing, Sir, give me an immediate anſwer.

Sir, I own I am not uſed to levees; nor do I know how to diſpoſe of myſelf, or what to ſay or do in ſuch a ſtation.

Zounds, Sir, do you not ſee, what others do gentle and ſimple; temporal and ſpiritual; Lords, Members, Judges, Generals, and Biſhops, aw crouding, burſtling, puſh⯑ing foremoſt untill, intul the middle of the circle, and there waiting, watching, and ſtriving to catch a luock or a ſmile fra the great Mon—which they meet with an amicable riſibility of aſpect, a modeſt cadence of body, and a conciliating co-operation of the whole mon, which expreſſes an officious promptitude for his ſervice, and indicates, that they luock upon themſelves as the ſuppliant appendage of his power, and the inliſted Swiſs of his political fortune.—This, Sir, is what you ought to do—and this, Sir, is what I never once omitted for theſe five and thirty years—let wha wou'd be miniſter.

Contemptible!

What is that ye mutter, Sir?

Only a ſlight reflection, Sir, not relative to you.

Sir, your abſenting yourſelf from the levee at this juncture, is ſuſpeecious; it is luocked upon as a kind of diſaffection, and aw your country men are highly offended with your conduct, for, Sir, they do not look upon you as a friend, or a well-wiſher to Scotland, or to Scotchmen.

Then, Sir, they wrong me, I aſſure you; but pray, Sir, in what par⯑ticular can I be charged, either with coldneſs, or of⯑fence to my country!

Why, Sir, ever ſince your mother's uncle (Sir Stanly Egerton) left you this three thouſand pounds a year, and that you have, in compliance with his will, taken up the name of Egerton, they think you are growing proud, that you have eſtranged yourſelf fra the Mac Sycophants—have aſſociated with your mo⯑ther's family—with the oppoſeetion, and with thoſe who do not wiſh weel to Scotland—beſides, Sir, in a converſation the other day after dinner, at your couſin Campbell M'Kenzie's, before a whole table full of your ayn relations, did you not publicly wiſh a total extin⯑guiſhment [20] of aw party, and of aw national diſtinctions whatever relative to the three kingdoms.

And was that a prudent wiſh before ſo many of your ain countrymen, and be damn'd to you? Or was it a filial language to hold before me?

Sir, with your pardon, I cannot think it un⯑filial or imprudent;

I own, I do wiſh, moſt ardently wiſh, for a total ex⯑tinction of all parties; particularly, that thoſe of Eng⯑liſh, Iriſh, and Scotch, might never more be brought into conteſt or competition, unleſs like loving brothers, in general emulation for one common cauſe.

How, Sir, do you perſiſt? What would you baniſh aw party and diſtinction between Engliſh, Iriſh, and your ain countrymen?

I would, Sir.

Then damn ye, Sir, ye are nai true Scot!—Ay, Sir, you may luock as angry as you wuol—but again, I ſay—ye are nai true Scot!

Your pardon, Sir, I think he is the true Scot, and the true citizen; who wiſhes equal juſtice to the merit and demerit of every ſubject of Great Britain, amongſt whom, I know but of two diſtinctions.

Weel, Sir, and what are thoſe? What are thoſe?

The knave, and the honeſt man.

Pſhaw! ridiculous—nonſenſe!—ſtuff!—all idle hacknied oppoſition, cant, and nonſenſe.

And, he, Sir, who makes any other, be him of the North, or of the South, of the Eaſt, or of the Weſt, in place, or out of place; is an enemy to the whole, and to the virtues of humanity!

Ay, Sir, this is your brother's impudent doctrine—for the which I have baniſhed him for ever fra my preſence, my heart, and my fortune.—Sir, I will have nai Son of mine, becauſe truly he has been educated in an Engliſh ſeminary, preſume (under the maſk of public candor) to ſpeak againſt his native land, or my principles, Sir—Scotſmen—Scotſmen—Sir, wherever they meet throughout the globe ſhould unite and ſtick together, as it were in a poleetical phalanx.

That is a ſevere judgment, Sir, and accord⯑ing to my obſervation, and indeed my frequent ex⯑perience, conſiſtent neither with truth, nor the indiſcri⯑minate affection of impartial nature.

How, Sir, not conſiſtent with truth?

Not in my opinion, Sir, for I, who am a Scotchman as well as you, have met with as warm friendſhips, and as many too, out of Scotland, as ever I met with in it.

Sir, I do not believe you!—I do not be⯑lieve you!—But, Sir, you have a ſaucy, lurking pre⯑judice againſt your ain country, you hate it—yes, your mother, her family, and your brother, Sir, have aw the ſame diſaffected rankling, and by that, and their politics together, they will be the ruin of you, them⯑ſelves, and aw' who connect with them, however, nai mair of that now, I weell talk at large with ye aboot that buſineſs anon—In the mean time, Sir, not⯑withſtanding your contempt of my advice, and your diſobedience till my commands, I will convince you of my paternal attention till your welfare, by my manage⯑ment with this voluptuary—this Lord Lumbercourt, whoſe daughter you are to marry—ye ken, Sir, that the fellow has been my patron theſe three and tharty years.

True, Sir.

Vary weel—and now, Sir, you ſee by his prodigality, he is become my dependant, and ac⯑cordingly, I have made my bargain with him. The dee'l a baubee he has in the world, but what comes thro' theſe clutches; for his whole eſtate, which has three impleecit boroughs on it, mark—is now in my cuſ⯑tody at nurſe; the which eſtate, on my paying off his debts, and allowing him a life-rent of ſeven thouſand pounds per annum, is to be made over till me for my life; and at my death it is to deſcend till ye, and your iſſue.—The peerage of Lumbercourt, ye ken, will fol⯑low of courſe.—So, Sir, ye ſee by this marriage there are three impleecit boroughs, the whole patrimoney of Lumbercourt, and a peerage at one ſlap—Why it is a [22] ſtroke—a hit—a hit—Zounds, Sir, a man may live a century and not make ſic another hit again.

It is a very advantageous bargain, no doubt, Sir—But what will my Lord's family ſay to it?

Why, man, he cares not if his family were aw at the dee'l, ſo that his luxury be but grati⯑fied.—Only let him have a race horſe till feed his va⯑nity, his polite blacklegs to adviſe him in his matches on the turf, at cards, and at tenis, and his harridan till drink drams wee him, and in her drunken hyſterics to ſcrat his face and burn his periwig, or let him have a dozen of his dependants, and half a dozen of his Swiſs borough voters, ſit up all night drinking bumpers of ſucceſs to the oppoſition—and double bumpers of deſtruction to the miniſtry; and then, Sir, the fellow has aw that he wants, and aw that he wiſhes in this world or the next.

Lady Rodolpha is come, Sir.

And my Lord?

Sir, he is about a mile or two behind, the ſervants ſay.

Let me know the inſtant he arrives.

I ſhall, Sir.

Step ye oot, Charles, and receive Lady Rodolpha—and I deſire, Sir, that you wool treat her with as much reſpact and gallantry aſs poſſible; for my Lord has hinted that ye have been a little remiſs aſs a lover.—So go, go, and receive her with warmth and rapture.

I ſhall, Sir.

Odzucks, Charles, you ſhou'd adminiſter a torrent of adu'ation to her; for woman, Sir, never thinks a man loves her till he has made an idiot of her underſtanding by flattery—for flattery, Sir, is the prime bliſs of the ſex—the nectar and ambroſia of their vanity, ſo that you can never give them too much of it—go, go, a good lad, and mind your flattery.

—Ha! I muſt keep a tight hand upon [23] this fellow, I ſee—ah! I am frightened out of my wits leſt his mother's family ſhould ſeduce him to the oppoſition party, which would totally ruin my whole ſcheme, and break my heart—a fine time a day, in⯑deed, for a blockhead till turn patriot—when the cha⯑racter is exploded—marked—proſcribed, why the com⯑mon people, the very vulgar have found out the jeſt, and laugh at a patriot now a days, juſt as they do at a magician, a conjurer, or any other impoſtor in ſo⯑ciety.

Lord Lumbercourt.

Sir Pertinax, I kiſs your hand.

Your Lordſhip's moſt devoted—I rejoice to ſee you.

Why you ſtole a march on me this morn⯑ing—gave me the ſlip Mac, tho' I never wanted your aſſiſtance more in my life, I thought you would have called upon me.

My dear Lord I beg ten millions of par⯑dons for leaving the town before you; but you ken that your Lordſhip at dinner yeſterday poſitively ſettled it, that we ſhould meet this morning at the levee.

That I acknowledge, Mac—I did promiſe to be there, I own.

You did, indeed, and accordingly I was at the levee, and waited there till every mortal was gone—and ſeeing you did not come, I concluded that your Lordſhip was gone before, and away I pelted hi⯑ther, as I thought after ye.

Why, to confeſs the truth, my dear Mac—that old ſinner, Lord Freakiſh, General Jolly, Sir An⯑thony Soker, and two or three more of that ſet, laid hold of me laſt night at the opera; and as the General ſays, I believe by the intelligence of my head this morning; that we drank deep ere we departed—ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha! Nay, if you were with that party, my Lord, I don't wonder at not ſeeing your Lordſhip at the levee.

The tru [...]h is, Sir Pertinax, my fellow let me ſleep too long for the levee; but I wiſh I had ſeen you before you left town, I wanted you dreadfully.

I am heartily ſorry then I was not in the way, but on what account my Lord did you want me?

Ha! ha! ha! a curſed awkard affair—and ha! ha! ha! yet, I cannot help laughing at it neither—tho' it vexed me confoundedly.

Vexed you my Lord! Zounds, I wiſh I had been with you—but for Heaven's ſake, my Lord, what was it that could poſſibly vex your Lordſhip?

Why that impudent teazing, dunning raſ⯑cal, Mahogany, my upholſterer—you know the fel⯑low.

Perfectly, my Lord.

This impudent ſcoundrel has ſued me up to ſome kind of a ſomething or other in the law, which I think they call—an execution.

The raſcal!

Upon which, Sir, the fellow, by way of aſking pardon, had the modeſty of waiting upon me two or three days ago, to inform my honour, ha! ha! ha! as he was pleaſed to dignify me, that the execu⯑tion was now ready to put in force againſt my honour, but that out of reſpect to my honour, as he had taken a great deal of my honours money, he would not ſuffer his Lawyer to ſerve it upon my honour, till he had firſt in⯑formed my honour, becauſe he was not willing to af⯑front my honour—ha! ha! ha!—a ſon of a whore.

I never hard of ſo impudent a dog!

Now my dear Mac—ha! ha! ha! as the ſcoundrel's apology was ſo very ſatisfactory—and his information ſo very agreeable, I told him that in honour, I thought that my honour, could not do leſs than to order his honour to be paid immediately.

Vary weel—vary weel—ye were as com⯑plaiſant as the ſcoundrel till the full, I think my Lord.

You ſhall hear—you ſhall hear Mac—So, Sir, with great compoſure, ſeeing a ſmart oaken cudgel, that ſtood very handily in a corner of my dreſſing room, I ordered two of my fellows to hold the raſcal, and another to take the cudgel, and return the ſcoundrel's civility with a good drubbing, as long as the ſtick laſted.

Ha! ha! ha! admirable,—aſs gude a ſtroke of humour and fun as ever I heard of—And did they drub him, my Lord?

O! moſt liberally—ha! ha! ha!—moſt liberally, Sir—and there I thought the affair would have reſted, till I ſhou'd think proper to pay the ſcoun⯑drel; but this morning, Sir, juſt as I was ſtepping into my chaiſe—my ſervants all about me, a fellow, called a Tip ſtaff, ſtept up to us, and with a very modeſt ad⯑dreſs, requeſted the favour of my footmen, who thraſhed the upholſterer, and the two that held him, to go along with him, upon a little buſineſs—to my Lord Chief Juſtice.

The Devil!

And at the very ſame inſtant, I in my turn, was accoſted by two very civil ſcoundrels, who, with a moſt inſolent politeneſs, begged my pardon, and informed me, that I muſt not go into my own chaiſe.

How, my Lord, not into your ain car⯑riage?

No, Sir, not into my own chaiſe, for that they, by order of the ſheriff, muſt ſeize it at the ſuit of a gentleman, one Mr. Mahogony, an upholſterer.

An impudent villian!

It is all true, I aſſure you, ſo you ſee my dear Mac, what a damn'd country this is to live in! where noblemen are obliged to pay their debts, juſt like merchants, coblers, peaſants, or mechanic;—is not that a damn'd ſcandal to the nation, Mac?

Sir, there is not a nation in the whole world beſides, has ſuch a grievance to complain of.

But, Sir, what is worſe than all that, the ſcoundrel has ſeized upon the houſe too, that I fur⯑niſhed for the girl I took from the opera.

I never heard of ſic an a ſcoundrel!

Ay, but what concerns me moſt, my dear Mac, is I am afraid that the villian will ſend down to New-market, and ſeize my ſtring of horſes.

Your ſtring of horſes! Zounds! we muſt prevent that at all events—that would be ſuch a diſ⯑grace—I will diſpatch an expreſs to town directly, to put a ſtop till the ſcoundrel's proceedings.

Prithee do, my dear Sir Pertinax.

O! it ſhall be done, my Lord.

Thou art an honeſt fellow, upon honour.

O! my Lord, it is my duty to oblige your Lordſhip, to the utmoſt ſtretch of my abeelity.

Colonel Toper, preſents his compliments to you, Sir, and having no family down with him in the country, he, and Captain Hardbottle, if not incon⯑venient, will do themſelves the honour of taking a fa⯑mily dinner with you.

They are two of our militia officers—does your Lordſhip know them?

By ſight only.

I am afraid, my Lord, they will interrupt our buſineſs.

Not at all—I ſhould like to be acquainted with Toper; they ſay he's a damn'd jolly fellow.

O, deviliſh jolly!—deviliſh jolly!—he and the Captain are twa of the hardeſt drinkers in the country.

So I have heard; let us have them by all means, Mac—they will enliven the ſcene. How far are they from you?

Juſt acroſs the meadows—not half a mile my Lord; a ſtep, a ſtep.

O, let us have the jolly dogs, by all means.

My compliments—I ſhall be proud of their company.—

—Guif you pleaſe, my [27] Lord, we will gang, and chat a bit with the women; I have not ſeen Lady Rodolpha ſince ſhe returned fra Bath, I long to have a leetle news fra her aboot the company there.

O! ſhe'll give you an account of them, I warrant you.

—Ha! ha! ha!—Well, I vow couſin Egerton, you have a vaſt deal of ſhrewd humour.

Here the hair brain comes—it muſt be her by the noiſe.

Allons, gude folks—follow me—fans ceremonie!—

Sir Pertinax—your moſt devoted—moſt obſequious, and moſt obe⯑dient vaſſal.

Lady Rodolpha—doon till the graund, my congratulations, duty, and affection, are at your devotion: and I ſhould rejoice till kiſs your Ladyſhip's footſteps.

O, Sir Pertinax, your humility is moſt ſublimely complaiſant—at preeſent—unanſwerable;—but, Sir, I ſhall inſtantly ſtudy to return it faſty fold.

Your Ladyſhip does me a ſingular ho⯑hour—weel, madam—ha! you luock gaily—weel, and how, how is your Ladyſhip, after your jaunt till the Bath?

Never better, Sir Pertinax! as weel as youth, health, riotous ſpirits, and a careleſs, happy heart can make me.

I am mighty glad till hear it, my Lady.

Ay, ay, Rodolpha is always in ſpirits, Sir Pertinax—vive la bagatelle—is the happy philoſo⯑phy of our family—ha! Rodolpha—ha!

Traith is it my Lord; and upon honour, I am determined it never ſhall be changed by my con⯑ſent, [28] ha! ha! ha!—weel, I vow, vive la bagattelle, would be a moſt brilliant motto for the chariot of a belle of faſhion—what ſay you till my fancy, Lady Mac Sycophant?

It wou'd have novelty at leaſt to recom⯑mend it, Madam.

Which of aw chairms! is the moſt de⯑lightfull that can accompany wit, taſte, love, or friendſhip: for novelty I take to be the true je ne ſcais-quoi of all worldly bliſs.—Couſin Egerton, ſhould not you wiſh to have a wife, with vive la bagatelle, upon her chariot?

O, certainly, Madam.

Yes, I think it wou'd be new quite out of the common, and ſingularly elegant.

Indiſputably ſo, Madam—for as a motto is a word to the wiſe, or rather a broad hint to the whole world, of a perſons taſte and principles—vive là baga⯑telle! would be moſt expreſſive, at firſt ſight, of your Ladyſhip's mental character.

O! Maſter Egerton! you touch my very heart we your approbation!—ha! ha! ha! yes—vive la bagatelle, is the very ſpirit of my intention, the in⯑ſtant I commence bride!—Well, I'm immenſely proud that my fancy has the approbation of ſo ſound an un⯑derſtanding, and ſo poliſhed a taſte—aſs that of all—the accompliſhed Mr Egerton.

O! Heavens, madam, your Ladyſhip's panegyric is moſt ſuperlatively complaiſant—to anſwer it, Madam, would require the aſcendancy of the higheſt heaven of invention, and of its brighteſt ſub⯑limity

Weel, I vow Maſter Egerton, you have a moſt aſtoniſhing genius in the complimentary ſtyle; not to be decyphered by the preſent ſtate of my inex⯑perienced capacity!—but, Sir, in order to improve and elevate my intellects, I am determined in a few months to commence a long voyage of air balloon philoſophy, on purpoſe to learn the complimentary ſublime, in imi⯑tation of Maſter Egerton, that great luminary of wit, humour, and all convivial politeneſs!

Hey day, hey day! what the devil are ye both about, with your, higheſt heavens, your air balloons, your ſublimity, and your nonſenſical jargon:—You ſeem to me, to be playing at riddle my riddle my ree—tell me what my nonſenſe ſhall be; it is all down⯑right jargon, upon honour, I do not underſtand a ſingle thought of all you have both uttered.

But I do—I do—and they'll ſoon under⯑ſtand yan another—But, Lady Rodolpha, I wanted till aſk your Ladyſhip ſome queſtions aboot the com⯑pany at Bath—they ſay ye had aw the world there.

O yes, there was a very great mob, in⯑deed—but vary little company:—aw canaille—exept our ain party—the place was quite crooded with your little purſe prood mechanics, an odd kind of queer luocking animals, that hai ſtarted intul untill fortune, fra lottery tickets, rich prizes at ſea, gambling at Change⯑alley, and ſic caprices of fortune—and awa the aw crood till the Bath.

Ha! ha! admirable! what a fund of entertainment!

O, ſuperlative, and inexhauſtible, Sir Pertinax, ha! ha! ha!—Madam, we haud in yane group, a Peer, and a Sharper—a Ducheſs, and a pin⯑maker's Wife—a boarding ſchool Miſs, and her Grand⯑mother—a fat Parſon—a lean General—and a yellow Admiral—ha! ha! ha! aw ſpeaking together, and bawling, and wrangling, and jangling, and fretting, and fuming, in fierce contention, aſs if the [...]ame and fortune, of aw the parties were to be iſſue of the con⯑flict.

Ha! ha! ha! excellent, and pray, Ma⯑dam, what was the object of their fierce contention?

O! a vary important one I aſſure you!—of no leſs conſequence, Madam, than how an odd trick at whiſt was loſt—or might have been ſaved—ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!

Ridiculous!

Ha! ha! ha! My dear Rodolpha, I have ſeen that very conflict a thouſand times.

And ſo have I, upon my honour, my Lord.

In another party, Sir Pertinax, ha! ha! ha! we had what was called the Cabinet Council! which was compoſed of a Duke, and a Haberdaſher; a red hot Patriot, and a ſneering Courtier; a diſcarded Stateſman, and his ſcribbling Chaplain;—we a buſy, brawling, muckle-heeded prerogative Lawyer—aw of whom were every minute ready to gang together by the lugs, aboot the in, and the oot meeniſtry.—Ha! ha! ha!—

Ha! ha! ha!—Weel, that is a droll mo ley cabinet, I vow, vary whimſical upon my ho⯑nour—but they are aw great poleeticions at Bath, and ſettle a meeniſtry there with aſs much eaſe aſs they do a tune for a country dance!

Then, Sir Pertinax—in a retired part of the room—ſnug in a bye corner—in cloſe conference—we haud a Jew, and a Beeſhop.

A Jew and Beeſhop—ha! ha! a deviliſh good connexion, that—and pray, my Lady, what were they aboot?

Why, Sir, the Beeſhop was ſtriving to convert the Jew—while the Jew, by intervals, was ſlyly picking up intelligence fra the Beeſhop, aboot the change in the meeniſtry, in hopes of making a ſtroke in the ſtocks.

Ha! ha! ha!

Admirable! admirable! I honour the ſmouſe—ha! ha! ha! it was deeviliſh clever—the Jew diſtilling the Beeſhop's brains

Yes, yes, the fellow kept a ſharp look out; it was a fair trial of ſkill on both ſides, Mr. Egerton.

True, my Lord, but the Jew ſeems to be in the faireſt way to ſucceed.

O all to nothing, Sir, ha! ha! ha!—Well, child, I like your Jew and your Biſhop much. It is deviliſh clever, let us have the reſt of the hiſtory, pray my dear.

Gude traith, my Lord, the ſum total is, that there we aw daunced, and wrangled, and flattered, and ſlandered, and gambled, and cheated, and mingled, and jumbled, and walloped together, till my very bowels went crack again with the woolley wambles.

Ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!—Well, you are a droll girl, Rodolpha, and upon honour—ha! ha! ha! you have given us as whimſical a ſketch as ever was hit off.

A yes, my Lord, it is an excellent peec⯑ture of the odedities that one meets with at Bath.

Why yes, I think there is ſome fancy in it, Egerton

Very characteriſtic, indeed, my Lord.

What ſay you, Mr. Sidney? Don't you think there is ſomething ſprightly in her daſhing Cale⯑donian genius?

Upon my word, my Lord, the Lady has made me ſee the whole aſſembly in diſtinct colours.

Ho! ho! ho! you indelicate creature—why, my dear Rodolpha, ha! ha! ha! do you know what you are talking about?

Weel, weel, my Lord, guin you lough till you burſt, the fact is ſtill true, now in Edinburgh, my Lady, in Edenburgh we ha nai ſic pinch-gut doings, for their gude traith, we always hai a gude comfortable diſh of cutlets, or collops, or a nice warm, ſavorey haggis, we a gude ſwag o' whaſky punch till recruit our ſpeerits, aufter our dancing and ſwatting.

Ha! ha! ha!

Ay, that is much wholſomer, Lady Ro⯑dolpha, then aw their ſlips and ſlaps here, i th' ſooth.

Ha! ha! ha!—Well, my dear Rodolpha, you are a droll girl, upon honour, and very entertain⯑ing, I vow—but, my dear child, a little too much upon the dancing and ſweating, and the woolley wambles.

Ha! ha! ha!

Colonel Toper, and Captain Hardbottle, are come. Sir.

O, vary weel, dinner immediately.

It is ready, Sir.

My Lord, we attend your Lordſhip.

Lady Mac—your Ladyſhip's hand, if you pleaſe.

Lady Rodolpha, here is a ſighing arcadian ſwain, that, I believe, has a hand at your Ladyſhip's devotion.

And I, Sir Pertinax, hai yean at his.—There, Sir,

as to hearts ye ken couſin, they are no brought into the account of human dealings now a days.

O, madam, they are meer temporary bau⯑bles, eſpecially in courtſhip, and no more to be de⯑pended on, than the weather, or a lottery ticket.

Ha! ha! ha! 'twa excellent ſimilies I vow, Mr. Egerton—excellent, for they illuſtrate the vagaries and inconſtancy of my diſſipated heart, aſs exactly aſs if ye had meant till deſcribe it.—

Ha! ha! ha! what a vaſt fund of ſpee⯑rits and guid-humour ſhe has, Maiſter Sidney.

A great fund, indeed, Sir Pertinax.

Come let us till dinner—ha, by this time to-morrow, Maiſter Sidney, I hope we ſhall have every thing ready for ye to put the laſt hand to the happineſs of your friend and pupil—and then, Sir, my cares will be over for this life—for as till my other ſon, Sandy, I expect, nai gude of him, nor ſhould I grieve were I to ſee him in his coffin.—But this match—O! it will make me the happieſt of aw human beings!

ACT III.

ZOONDS, Sir, I will not hear a word aboot it.—I inſiſt upon it ye were wrong—ye ſhai'd hai paid your court till my Lord, and not hai ſcrupled ſwallowing a bumper, or twa, or twanty, till oblige him.

Sir. I did drink his toaſt in a bumper.

Yas, ye did; but how? how?—Juſt aſs a bairn takes pheeſyc, we averſion, and wry faces, whach my Lord obſerved.—Then to mend the maiter, the moment that he and the Colonel get intill a drunken diſpute aboot religion, ye ſlily ſlunged awa.

I thought, Sir, it was time to go, when my Lord inſiſted upon half-pint bumpers.

That was not levell'd at you; but at the Colonel, in order till try his bottom—but they all agreed that ye and I ſhou'd drink out of ſmall glaſſes.

But, Sir, I beg pardon—I did not chuſe to drink any more.

But zoonds, Sir! I tell you there was a neceſſity for your drinking more.

A neceſſity! in what reſpect, Sir?

Why, Sir, I have a certain point to carry, independent of the Lawyers, with my Lord, in this agreement of your marriage, aboot which I am afraid we ſhall hai a warm ſquabble, and therefore I wanted your aſſiſtance in it.

But how, Sir, could my drinking contribute to aſſiſt you in your ſquabble?

Yas, Sir, it would hai contributed, and greatly hai contributed till aſſiſt me.

How ſo, Sir?

Nai, Sir, it might hai prevented the ſquabble entirely, for as my Lord is prood of ye for a ſon-in law, and of your little French ſongs, your [34] ſtories, about the Popes, and Cardinals, and their miſ⯑treſſes, and your bon-mots, when ye are in the humour, and guin you had but ſtaid and been a leetle jolly, and drank half a ſcore bumpers we him, till he got a little tipſy, I am ſure when we had him i that mood, we might ha ſettled the point among ourſelves before the Lawyers come; but n [...]o, Sir, I donna ken what will be the conſequence.

But, when a man is intoxicated, would that have been a ſeaſonable time to ſettle buſineſs, Sir?

The moſt ſeaſonable—the moſt ſeaſon⯑able—for, Sir, when my Lord is in his cups, his ſuſ⯑peecion is aſleep, and his heart is aw jolity, ſeen, and gude fellowſhip—and, Sir, can there be a happier mo⯑ment than that for a bargain, or till ſettle a diſpute we a friend? What is that you ſhrug your ſhouders at, Sir?—and turn up your eyes to heaven, like a duck in thunder!

At my own ignorance, Sir—for I underſtand neither the philoſophy, nor the morality of your doc⯑trine.

I know you do not, Sir—and what is worſe, ye never weell underſtand it, as long aſs ye pro⯑ceed.—In yean word, Chairles, I hai often tauld ye, and again I tell ye, yeance for aw, that the manoeu⯑vres of pleeabeelity are as neceſſary to riſe i' the world, aſs wrangling and logical ſublilty at the bar—why, you ſee, Sir, I hai acquired a noble fortune—a princely fortune—and how d'ye think I raiſed it?

Doubtleſs, Sir, by your abilities.

Dootleſs, Sir, ye are a blockhead—Nae, Sir, I'll tell you how I raiſed it, Sir—I raiſed it by boowing—by boowing, Sir.—I never i' my life could ſtand ſtraight i' the preſence of a great man; but was aw ways booing, and booing, and booing—aſs—aſs—if it were by inſtinct.

How do you mean by inſtinct, Sir?

How do I mean by inſtinct, why, Sir, I mean by—by—by the inſtinct of intereſt, Sir, which is the univerſal inſtinct of mankind, Sir; it is wonder⯑ful to think what a cordial, what an amicable, nay, [35] what an infaleeble influence, booing has upon the pride and vanity of human nature—Chairles, anſwer me ſincerely, hai ye a mind till be convinced of the force of my doctrine, by example and demonſtration?

Certainly, Sir.

Then, Sir, as the greateſt favour I can confer upon you, I will gi ye a ſhort ſketch of the ſtages of my bowing, aſs an excitement, and a land⯑mark for ye till bow by, and aſs an infaleeable noſtrum for a man of the world, till thrive in the world.

Sir, I ſhall be proud to profit by your ex⯑perience.

Vary weel, Sir—ſit ye down then

and now, Sir, you muſt recall till your thoughts, that your Grandfather was a man whoſe penurious in⯑come of Captain's half-pay, was the ſum total of his for⯑tune; and, Sir, aw my proveeſion fra him, was a medium of Latin, an expartneſs at areethmatic, and a ſhort ſyſtem of worldly counſel, the chief ingredients of whach were, a perſevering induſtry—a reegid oeconomy—a ſmooth tongue—a pliabeelity of temper—and a con⯑ſtant attention till make every great man well pleaſed we himſelf.

Very prudent conduct, Sir.

Therefore, Sir, I lay it before ye.—Now, Sir, wi theſe materials, I ſet out a rough, rawboned ſtrippling fra the North, till try my fortune we them here i' the ſooth—and my firſt ſtep intull the world, was a beggarly clerkſhip in Sawney Gordon's coonting⯑houſe, here in the city of London, whach you'll ſay afforded but a barren ſort of a proſpect.

It was not a very fertile one, indeed, Sir.

The reverſe—the reverſe—weel, Sir, ſeeing my ſel in this unprofitable ſeetuation, I reflacted deeply. I caſt aboot my thoughts, and concluded that a matrimonial adventure, prudently conducted, would be the readieſt gate I could gang for the better⯑ing of my condition, and accordingly I ſet aboot it, now, Sir, in this purſuit—beauty—beauty—ah I beauty often ſtruck mine een, and played aboot my heart—and fluttered, and beat, and knocked—and [36] knocked—but the deel an entrance I ever let it get—for I obſerved, that beauty is generally a prood, vain, ſaucy, expenſive ſort of a commodity.

Very juſtly obſerved, Sir.

And therefore I left it to the prodigals and coxcombs, that could afford till pay for it, and its ſtead, Sir, mark—I luock'd oot for an antient, well jointered, ſuperanuated Dowager—a conſumptive, toothleſs, ptiſical, wealthy widow—or a ſhreeveled, cadaverous, neglected piece of deformity, i' the ſhape of an eezard, or an apperſiand—or in ſhort, any thing—any thing that had the ſiller—the ſiller—for that was the North ſtar of my affection; do you take me, Sir—was nai that right?

O doubtleſs, doubtleſs, Sir.

Now, Sir, where do ye think I ganged to luock for this woman we the ſiller? Nai till court—nai till play-houſes, nor aſſemblies—nai, Sir, I ganged till the kirk—till the anabaptiſt, eendependant, bra⯑dleonian, muckletonian meetings—till the morning and evening ſervice of churches and chapples of eaſe—and till the midnight, melting, conciliating love-feaſts of the methodiſts—and there, at laſt, Sir, I fell upon an old, rich, ſower, ſlighted, antiquated, muſty maiden. She was as tall as a grenadier, and ſo thin that ſhe luocked ha! ha! ha! ſhe luocked—juſt like a ſkeleton in a ſurgeons's glaſs-caſe—Now, Sir, this meeſerable object, was releegiouſly angry wi herſelf, and aw the world—and had nai comfort but in a ſuper⯑natural, vicious, and enthuſiaſtic delirums; ha! ha! ha! Sir, ſhe was mad—aſs mad as a bedlamite.

Not impoſſible, Sir—there are numbers of poor creatures in the ſame condition.

O numbers, numbers—now, Sir, this cracked creature uſed to pray, and ſing, and ſigh, and groan, and weep, and wail, and gnaſh her teeth conſtantly, morning and evening, at the Tabernacle, in Moor-fields, and as ſoon as I found ſhe had the ſiller, aha!—in gude truth, I plumpt me doon upon my knees, cloſe by her, cheek by jole, and praid, and ſighed, and groaned, and gnaſhed my teeth, as ve⯑hemently [37] aſs ſhe could do for the life of her—ay, and turned up the whites of mine een, till the ſtrings awmoſt crackt again—Weel, Sir, I watched her motions—handed her till her chair—waited on her home—got moſt releegiouſly intimate we her—in a week married her—in a fortnight buried her—in a month touched the ſiller—and we a deep ſuit of mourning, a melancholy port, a ſorrowful veeſage, and a joyful heart, I began the world again—and this, Sir, was the firſt effectual boow I ever made, till the vanity of human nature.—Now, Sir, d'ye underſtand this doctrine?

Perfectly well, Sir.

Ay, boot was it not right? Was it not ingenious, and weel hit off?

Extremely well, Sir.

My next boow, Sir, was till your ain meether, whom I ran away wi fra the boarding ſchool—by the intereſt of whoſe family, I got a good ſmart place in the Treaſury—and, Sir, my vary next ſtep was in till Parliament—the whach I entered we as ar⯑dent, and aſs determined an ambeetion aſs ever agitated the heart o' Ceaſer himſelf!—and then, Sir, I changed my character entirely.—Sir, I bowed, and watched, and harkened, and lurked for intilligence, and ran aboot backwards and forwards, and attended, and dangled upon the then great Mon, till I got intill the very boowels of his confeedence; and then, Sir, I wriggled, and wriggled, and wrought, and wriggled till I wriggled myſelf among the vary thick o' them, till I got my ſnack of the cloathing, the foraging, the contracts, the lottery teeckets, and aw the poleetical bonuſſes—till at length, Sir I became a much weal⯑thier Mon, than one half o' the golden calves I had been ſo long a boowing to—

And was not that boowing to ſome purpoſe, Sir?—Ha!

It was indeed, Sir.

But are you convinced of the gude ef⯑fects, and of the uteelity of boowing?

Thoroughly, Sir, thoroughly.

Sir, it is infaleeble—but, Chairles, ah! while I was thus boowing, and wriggling, and making [38] a princely fortune—ah! I met many heart ſores, and diſappointments, frai the want of leeterature, ailo⯑quence, and other popular abeelities Sir, guin I could hai both ſpoken i' the houſe, I ſhou'd hai done [...]he deed in half the time—boot the eenſtant I opened my mouth there, they aw fell a laughing at me—aw whach deefeeciencies. Sir, I determined at any expence till hai ſupplied by the poliſhed education of a Son, who, I hoped, wou'd yean day, raiſe the hoouſe of Mac Sycophant till the higheſt pannicle of meeneeſterial ambeetion.—This, Sir, is my plan, I hai done my part of it, nature has done hers—Ye are ailoquent, ye are popular—aw parties like ye—and noow, Sir▪ it only remains for ye to be directed—completion fol⯑lows.

Your liberality, Sir, in my education, and the judicious choice you made of the worthy Gentle⯑man, to whoſe virtues and abilities you entruſted me, are obligations I ſhall ever remember, with the deepeſt filial gratitude.

Vary weel, Sir—vary weel—but, Chairles, hai ye haid any converſation yet we Lady Rodolpha, aboot the day of your marriage, your laveries, your equeepage, or your eſtabliſhment?

Not yet, Sir.

Pah! why, there again noow—ye are wrong, vary wrong.

Sir, we have not had an opportunity.

Why, Chairles, ye are very tardy in this buſineſs.

O! here comes my Lord.

"Sons of care 'twas made for you."

"Sons of care 'twas made for you."—Very good coffee indeed, Mr. Tomlins.—Here, Mr. Tom⯑lins.

Will your Lordſhip pleaſe to have another diſh?

No, thank ye, Mr. Tomlins.—

—Well, my hoſt of Scotch pints, we have had warm work.

Yes, you puſhed the bottle aboot my Lord wi the joy and veegar of a bacchanal.

That I did, my dear Mac—no loſs of time with me—I have but three motions old boy—charge—toaſt—fire▪ and off we go—ha! ha! ha! that's my exerciſe.

And fine warm exerciſe it is, my Lord, eſpecially with the half pint bumpers.

Zounds! it does execution point blank. Ay, ay, none of your pimping acorn glaſſes for me, but your manly, old Engliſh half pint bumpers my dear.—Zounds! Sir, they try a fellow's ſtamina at once—But where's Egerton?

Juſt at hand, my Lord—there he ſtands, luocking at your Lordſhip's picture.

My dear Egerton!—

Your Lordſhip's moſt obedient.

I beg pardon, I did not ſee you—I am ſorry you left us ſo ſoon after dinner—had you ſtaid, you would have been highly entertained, I have made ſuch examples of the Commiſſioner, the Captain, and the Colonel.

So I underſtand, my Lord.

But, Egerton, I have ſlipt from com⯑pany for a few moments on purpoſe to have a little chat with you. Rodolpha tells me, ſhe fancies there is a kind of demur on your ſide, about your marriage with her.

A demur; how ſo my Lord?

Why, as I was drinking my coffee with the women juſt now, I deſired they wou'd fix the wed⯑ding night, and the etiquette of the ceremony upon which the girl burſt into a loud laugh telling me ſhe ſuppoſed I was joking, for that Mr. Egerton had never yet given a ſingle glance or hint upon the ſubject.

My Lord, I have juſt now been talking till him aboot his ſhyneſs till the Lady.

Counſellor Plauſible is come, Sir, and Ser⯑jeant Eitherſide.

Why then we can ſettle the buſineſs this very evening, my Lord.

As well as in ſeven years—and to make the way as ſhort as poſſible, pray Maſter Tomlins, preſent your Maſter's compliments, and mine to Lady Rodolpha, and let her Ladyſhip know we wiſh to ſpeak with her directly.

—He ſhall attack her this inſtant, Sir Pertinax.

Ay, this is doing buſineſs effectually, my Lord.

O! we will pit them in a moment, Sir Pertinax. That will bring them into the heat of the action at once, and ſave a deal of awkardneſs on both ſides.—O! here your Dulcinea comes.

I have been learning this air of Conſtan⯑tia; I proteſt her touch on the harpſichord is quite brilliant, and really her voice not amiſs.—Weel, Sir Pertinax, I attend your commands, and your's my paternal Lord.—

Why then, my filial Lady, we are to in⯑form you, that the commiſſion for your Ladyſhip, and this enamoured Cavalier, commanding you jointly and [41] ſeparately to ſerve your country, In the honourable and forlorn hope of matrimony, is to be ſigned this very evening.

This evening, my Lord!

This evening, my Lady—come Sir Per⯑tinax, let us leave them to ſettle their liveries, wedding ſuits, carriages, and all their amorous equipage for the nuptial camp.

Ha! ha! ha! excellent, excellent—well I vow, my Lord, ye are a great officer, this is as gude a manoeuver to bring on a rapid engagement aſs the ableſt General of them aw could hai ſtarted.

Ay, leave them together, they'll ſoon come to a right underſtanding, I warrant you, or the needle and the load-ſtone have loſt their ſympathy.

Why this is downright tyranny. It has quite damped my ſpeerits, and my betrothed yonder, ſeems planet ſtruck too, I think.

A whimſical ſituation mine.

Ha! ha! ha! methinks we luock like a couple of cautious Generals, that are ob⯑liged till take the field, but neither of us ſeems willing till come till action.

I proteſt, I know not how to ad⯑dreſs her.

He weel nai advance, I ſee—what am I to do in this affair? gude traith, I weel even do as I ſuppoſe many brave heroes hai done before me, clap a gude face upon the matter, and ſo conceal an aching heart, under a ſwaggering countenance

Sir, as we hai, by the commands of our gude fathers, a buſineſs of ſome little conſequence till tranſact, I hope you will excuſe my taking the liberty of my recommending—a chair till you, for the repoſe [42] of your body, in the embarraſſed deliberation of your perturbed ſpirit.

Madam, I beg your pardon

Pleaſe to ſit, Madam.

Aha, he's reſolved not to come too near till me, I think.

A pleaſant interview this—hem—hem.

Hem, he will not open the con⯑greſs I ſee—then I weel

come, Sir!—when will you begin?—

Begin! what, Madam?

To make love till me.

Love, Madam!

Ay, love, Sir!—why you hai never ſaid a word till me yet upon the ſubject—nor caſt a ſingle glance at me, nor heaved one tender ſigh, nor even ſecretly ſqueezed my loof.—Now, Sir, tho' our fa⯑thers are ſo tyrannical, aſs to diſpoſe of us without the conſent of our hearts, yet you, Sir, I hope, hai mair humaneity, than to think of marrying me, with⯑out admaniſtering ſome o' preleemeenaries uſual on theſe occaſſions, if not till my underſtanding and ſenti⯑ments, yet till the vanity o' my ſex at leaſt—I hope you weel pay ſome leetle treebute of ceremony, and adula⯑tion—that, I think, I hai a right to expect.

Madam, I own your reproach is juſt, I ſhall therefore no longer diſguiſe my ſentiments, but fairly let you know my heart.

Ah! ye are right, ye are right, couſin—honeſtly and affectionately right—that's what I like of aw things in my ſwain—ay, ay, couſin, open your heart frankly, till me aſs a true loover ſhould.—But ſit ye down—I ſhall return your frankneſs and your paſſion—Couſin, we aw melt⯑ing tenderneſs equal to the amorous enthuſiaſim of an antient hereine.

Madam, if you will hear me.

But remember ye muſt begin with far⯑vency, and a moſt rapturous vehemence, for ye are to conſider, Couſin, that our match is nai till ariſe frai the union of hearts, and a long decorum of ceremonious courtſhip; but is inſtantly till ſtart at yeance out of neceſſeety or mere acceedent. Ha! ha! ha!—like a match in an antient Romance—where ye ken, Couſin, the Knight and the Damſel are mutually ſmitten and dying for each other, at firſt ſight, of by an amorous ſympathy, before they exchange a ſingle glance.

Dear Madam, you entirely miſtake.

And our ſaithers, ha! ha! ha! our fai⯑thers are to be the dark mageecians that are till faſci⯑nate our hearts, and conjure us till gether whether we weel or not.

Ridiculous!

So, noow Couſin, wi the true romantic enthuſiaſm, ye are till ſuppoſe me the Lady o' the En⯑chanted Caſtle—and ye—ha! ha! ha!—ye are to be the Knight o' the ſorrowful countenance—ha! ha! ha!—and, upon honour, you luock the character ad⯑mirably—ha! ha! ha!

Trifling creature!

Come, Sir—why do ye no begin to raviſh me—wi your valor, your voows, your knight-errantry, and your amorours frenzy; nay, nay, Couſin, guid ye do no begin at yeance, the Lady o' the Enchanted Caſtle weel vaniſh in a twinkling.

Lady Rodolpha, I know your talent for raillery well; but at preſent in my caſe, there is a kind of cruelty in it.

Raillery! upon honour, Couſin, ye miſ⯑take me quite and clean—I am ſerious, very ſerious, ay, and have cauſe till be ſerious—nay, I weel ſubmit my caſe even till yourſelf;

can any poor loſſy be in a mair lamentable condition than to be ſent four hundred miles by the commands of a poſitive Grandmaither, till marry a man who, I find, has nai [44] mair affection for me, than if I had been his wife theſe ſeven years.

Madam, I am extremely ſorry—

But it is vary weel, Couſin, vary weel—

—I ſee your unkindneſs and averſion plain enough, and, Sir, I muſt till you fairly, ye are the ainly man that ever ſlighted my perſon, or that drew tears fra theſe een—but it is vary weel—it's vary weel—

—I weel return till Scotland to-morrow morning, and let my Grandmaither know how I hai been affronted by your ſlights, your contempts, and your averſions.

If you are ſerious, Madam, your diſtreſs gives me a deep concern; but affection is not in our power, and when you know that my heart is irrevo⯑cably given to another woman, I think your under⯑ſtanding and good-nature, will not only pardon my paſt coldneſs and neglect of you, but forgive, when I tell you, I never can have that honour which is in⯑tended me—by a connection with your Ladyſhip.

How, Sir, are ye ſerious?

Madam, I am too deeply, intereſted, both as a man of honour and a lover, to act otherwiſe with you on ſo tender a ſubject.

And ſo you perſaſt in ſlighting me?—it's vary weel.

I beg your pardon, Madam, but I muſt be explicit, and at once declare, that I never can give my hand—when I cannot give my heart.

Why then, Sir, I muſt tell ye, that your declaration is ſic an affront aſs nai woman of ſpeerit can, or ought to bear—and here I make a ſolemn voow never till pardon it—but on yean condition.

If that condition be in my power, Madam.—

Sir, it is i' your poower.

Then, Madam, you may command me.

Why then, Sir, the condeetion is this, ye muſt here give me your honour, that nay importunity, command, or menace o' your faither—in fine, that nai conſideration whatever, ſhall induce you to take me Redolpha Lumburcourt till be your wedded wife.

Madam, I moſt ſolemnly promiſe, I never will.

And I, Sir, in my turn, moſt ſolemnly and ſincerely thank you for your reſolution

and your agreeable averſion—ha! ha! ha! for ye hai made me as happy—aſs a poor wretch reprieved in the vary inſtant of intanded execution.

Pray, Madam, how am I to underſtand all this?

Sir, your frankneſs and ſincerity demand the ſame behaviour on my ſide—therefore, without feuther diſguiſe or ambiguity, know, Sir, that I my⯑ſelf, am aſs deeply ſmitten, wi a certain ſwain, aſs I underſtand ye are wi your Conſtantia.

Indeed, Madam!

O! Sir, notwithſtanding aw my ſhew of mirth and courage, here I ſtand aſs errant a trembling Thiſ be as ever ſighed or mourned for her Peeramus.—O! Sir, all my extravagant leveety and redeeculous be⯑haviour in your preſence, noow, and ever ſince your faither prevailed on mine to conſent till this match, has been a premeditated ſcheme, to provoke your gravity and gude ſenſe intill a cordial diſguſt and poſi⯑tive refuſal.

Madam, you have contrived, and acted your ſcheme moſt happily.

Then ſince Cupid has thus luockeely diſ⯑poſed of ye till your Conſtantia, and me till my ſwain, we hai naithing till think of noow, Sir, but to contrive hoow to reduce the inordinate paſſions of oor parents intill a temper of prudence and humanity.

Moſt willingly I conſent to your propoſal; but with your leave, Madam, if I may preſume ſo far, pray who is your lover?

Why in that too I ſhall ſurpriſe you per⯑haps mere than ever—In the firſt place, he is a beggar, and in diſgrace wi an unforgiving Faither—and in the next place. Sir, he is

your ain Brother.

Is it poſſible?

A moſt amorous truth, Sir; that is aſs far aſs a woman can anſwer for her ain heart; ſo you [46] ſee couſin Chairles, that I could nai mingle affections we ye, I hai ne ganged oot o' the family.

Madam, give me leave to congratulate my⯑ſelf upon your affection—you could not have placed it on a worthier object, and whatever is to our chance in this lottery of our parents, be aſſured, that my for⯑tune ſhall be devoted to your happineſs and his.

Generous indeed; Couſin, but not awhit nobler, I aſſure you, than your brother Sandy believes of you; and be aſſured, Sir, that we ſhall remember it, while the heart feels, or memory retains a ſenſe of gratitude.—But noow, Sir, let me aſk one queſtion—pray how is your Mother affected in this buſineſs?

She knows of my paſſion, and will, I am ſure, be a friend to the common cauſe.

Ah! that's lucky; our firſt ſtep then muſt be to take her advice in our conduct, ſo as to keep our faithers in the dark, till we can bit off ſome meaſure, that wee'll wind them aboot till oor ain purpoſe, and the common intereſt of our ain paſſion.

You are very right, Madam, for ſhould my father ſuſpect my brother's affection for your Ladyſhip, or mine for Conſtantia, there is no gueſſing what would be the conſequence; his whole happineſs depends upon this bargain with my Lord, for it gives him the poſſeſ⯑ſion of three boroughs, and thoſe, Madam, are much dearer to him, than the happineſs of his children; I am ſorry to ſay it, but to gratify his political rage, he would ſacrifice every ſocial tie that is dear to friend or family.

ACT IV.

NO—no—come away Counſellor Plauſible—come away, I ſay—let them chew upon it—let them [47] chew upon it.—Why Counſellor, did you ever hear ſo impartinant, ſo meddling, and ſo obſtinate a block⯑head, as that Serjeant Eitherſide? Confound the fel⯑low, he has put me oot of aw temper.

He is very poſitive, indeed, Sir Pertinax, and no doubt, was intemperate and rude—But, Sir Pertinax, I would not break off the match notwith⯑ſtanding; for certainly, even without the boroughs, it is a very advantageous bargain to you, and your ſon.

But zoons, Plauſible, do you think I will gee up the nomineetion till three boroughs? Why, I would rather gee him twenty, aw thirty thooſand pounds in any either point of the bargain, eſpecially at this juncture, when votes are likely to become in⯑valuable? Why mon, if a certain affair comes on, they'll riſe above five hundred per cent.

You judge very rightly, Sir Pertinax, but what ſhall we do in this caſe? For Mr. Serjeant in⯑ſiſts, that you poſitively agreed to my Lords having the nomination to the three boroughs, during his own life.

Why, yes, in the firſt ſketch of the agree⯑ment, I believe I did conſent, but at that time, mon, my Lords affairs did not appear to be half ſo deſperate, aſs I now find they turn oot—Sir, he muſt be acqueeſe in whatever I demand—For I hai gotten him into ſic an hobble, that he canno exeeſt without me.

No doubt, Sir Pertinax, you have him ab⯑ſolutely in your power.

Vary weel, and ought not a mon to make his vantage of it?

No doubt you ought—no matter of doubt.—But, Sir Pertinax, there is a ſecret ſpring in this buſineſs, that you do not ſeem to perceive, and which I am afraid, governs the matter reſpecting theſe boroughs.

What ſpring do you mean, Counſellor?

Why Serjeant Eitherſide, I have ſome rea⯑ſon to think that my Lord is tied down by ſome means or other to bring the Serjeant in the very firſt vacancy for one of thoſe boroughs—now that I believe is the [48] ſole motive, why the Serjeant is ſo very ſtrenuous, that my Lord ſhould keep the boroughs in his own power, fearing that you might reject him, for ſome man of your own.

Odds wounds, and deeth, Plauſible—ye are cleever—deeviliſh cleever—by the blood, ye hai hit upon the vary ſtreeng, that hais made aw this diſcord—I ſee it—I ſee it now—But haud—haud—bide a wee bit—a wee bit mon—I hai a thought come in till my head—Yas, I think noow Plauſible wee a little care in our negotiation. that this vary ſtring properly tuned may be ſtill made to produce the harmony we wiſh for, yes, yes, I hai it. This Serjeant I ſee underſtonds buſineſs, and if I am not miſtaken knows how till take a hint.

O! nobody better, Sir Pertinax—nobody better.

Why then, Plauſible, the ſhort road is al⯑ways the beſt wee ſie a mon ye muſt even come up to his mark at yeance, and aſſure him frae me, that I weell ſecure him a ſeat for yean of theſe vary boroughs.

O that will do, Sir Pertinax—that will do, I'll anſwer for it.

And further, I beg ye weell let him know that I think myſelf oblig'd till conſeeder him in this af⯑fair aſs acting for me, aſs weell aſs for my Lord, aſs a common friend till baith, and for the ſervice he has already done us, make my ſpecial compliments till him, and pray let this amiacable bit of paper, be my faith⯑full advocate till convince him of what my gratitude further intends, for his great

equity in adjuſting this agreement betweext my Lords family and mine.

Ha! ha! ha! Sir Pertinax, upon my word this is noble—ay, ay, this is an eloquent bit of paper indeed.

Maiſter Plauſible in aw human dealings the moſt effectual method is that of ganging at yeance, till the vary bottom of a mons heart, for if we expact that men ſhould ſerve us, we muſt firſt win their af⯑fections, by ſerving them—Oh, here they baith come.

My dear Sir Pertinax, what could pro⯑voke you to break off this buſineſs ſo abruptly? You are really wrong in the point, and if you will give yourſelf time to recollect, you will find that my having the nomination to the boroughs for my life, was a pre⯑liminary article—and I appeal to Mr. Serjeant Either⯑ſide here, whether I did not always underſtand ſo.

I aſſure you, Sir Pertinax, that in all his Lordſhip's converſation with me upon this buſineſs, and in his poſitive inſtructions, both he and I, always underſtood the nomination to be in my Lord, durante vitae.

Why then, my Lord, to ſhorten the diſ⯑pute, all I can ſay in anſwer to your Lordſhip is, that there has been a total miſtake between us in that point, and therefore the treaty muſt end here—I give it up—Oh! I waſh my hands of it for ever.

Well, but Gentlemen, Gentlemen, a little patience—ſure this miſtake, ſomehow or other, may be rectified. Mr. Serjeant, prithee let you and I ſtep into the next room by ourſelves, and re-conſider the clauſe relative to the boroughs, and try if we cannot hit upon a medium that will be agreeable to both parties.

Mr. Plauſible, I have conſidered the clauſe fully, and am entirely maſter of the queſtion. My Lord cannot give up the point without an equivalent.

Sir Pertinax, will you permit Mr. Serjeant and me to retire a few moments to re-conſider the points?

Wee all my heart and ſaul, Maiſter Plau⯑ſible—ainy thing till accommodate your Lordſhip, ainy thing—ainy thing.

What ſay you, my Lord?

Nay, I ſubmit it intirely to you, and Mr. Serjeant.

Come, Mr. Serjeant, let us retire.

Ay, ay, go Mr. Serjeant, and hear what Mr. Plauſible has to ſay however.

Nay, I will wait on Mr. Plauſible, my Lord, with all my heart, but I am ſure I cannot ſuggeſt the ſhadow of a reaſon for altering my preſent opinion!—Impoſſible!—Impoſſible!

Well, well, do not be poſitive, Mr. Serjeant, do not be poſitive—I am ſure reaſon, and your client's conveniency, will always make you alter your opi⯑nion.

Ay, ay, reaſon, and my client's con⯑veniency, Mr. Plauſible, will always controul my opi⯑nion, depend upon it—Ay, ay, there you are right.—Sir, I attend you.

I am ſorry, my Lord, extremely ſorry, indeed, that this miſtake has happened.

Upon my honour ſo am I, Sir Pertinax.

But come now—after all, your Lordſhip muſt allow ye hai been i' the wrong; come, my dear Lord, you muſt allow that now.

How ſo—my dear Sir Pertinax?

Not aboot the boroughs, my Lord, for thoſe I do not mind a bawbee, but aboot your diſtruſt of my friendſhip; why do you think now (I appeal to your ain breaſt, my Lord) do you think, my Lord, that I ſhould ever hai refuſed, or ſlighted your Lord⯑ſhip's nomination to theſe boroughs?

Why really I don't think you would, Sir Pertinax, but we muſt be directed by our Lawyers you know.

Hah! my Lord, Lawyers are a danger⯑ous ſpecies of animals till hai depandence on—they are awways ſtarting punctilios, and diffeecultys among friends, why, my dear Lord, it is their intereſt that aw mankind ſhould be at variance, for diſagreement is the vary manure wee which they enrich and fatten the land of leeteegation, and as they find that that con⯑ſtantly promotes the beſt crop, depend upon it, they will always be ſure to lay it on as thick as they can.

Come, come, my dear Sir Pertinax, you muſt not be angry with Mr. Serjeant for his inſiſting ſo [51] ſtrongly on this point—for thoſe boroughs, you know, are my ſheet anchor.

I know it, my Lord—and as an inſtance of my promptneſs to ſtudy, and my acquieſcence till your Lordſhip's inclinations, aſs I ſee that this Serjeant Eitherſide wiſhes you weell, and ye him, I think now he wou'd be as gude a mon to be returned for yean of theſe boroughs aſs could be pitched upon; and aſs ſuch, I humbly recommend him to your Lordſhip's conſideration.

Why, my dear Sir Pertinax, to tell you the truth, I have already promiſed him—he muſt be in for one of them, and that is one reaſon why I inſiſted ſo ſtrenuouſly—He muſt be in.

And why not—Odzoons! why not?—Is nai your word a fiat, and wall it not be always ſo to me—Are ye nai my friend—my patron—and are we nai by this match of our cheeldren, to be united intill one intereſt?

So I underſtand it, I own, Sir Pertinax.

My Lord, it can be no otherwiſe—then, for Heaven's ſake, as your Lordſhip and I can have but one intereſt for the future, let us hai nai mare words aboot theſe paltry boroughs, but conclude the agreement at yeance. juſt as it ſtands, otherwiſe there muſt be new writings drawn, new conſultation of Lawyers, new objections, and delays will ariſe, credi⯑tors will be impatient, and impertinant; ſo that wee ſhall nai finiſh the Lord knows when.

You are right—you are right—ſay no more, Mac—ſay no more—ſplit the Lawyers—you judge the point better than all Weſtminſter-hall could—It ſhall ſtand as it is—Yes, it ſhall be ſettled your own way, for your intereſt and mine are the ſame, I ſee plainly.

No doubt of it, my Lord.

O, here the Lawyers come—ſo Gentlemen—well, what have ye done?—How are your opinions now?

My Lord, Mr. Plauſible has convinced me—fully convinced me.

Yes, my Lord, I have convinced him—I have laid ſuch arguments before Mr. Serjeant, as were irreſiſtable.

He has indeed, my Lord—beſides, as Sir Pertinax gives his honour, that your Lordſhip's no⯑mination ſhall be ſacredly obſerved; why, upon a nearer review of the whole affair, I think it will be the wiſer meaſure to conclude the agreement juſt as it is drawn.

I am very glad you think ſo, Mr. Serjeant, becauſe that is my opinion too.—So, my dear Either⯑ſide, do you and Plauſible diſpatch the buſineſs now, as ſoon as poſſible.

My Lord, every thing will be ready for ſigning in leſs than an hour; come, Mr. Plauſible, let us go and fill up the blanks, and put the laſt hand to the writings on our part.

I attend you, Mr. Serjeant.

And while the Lawyers are preparing the writings, Sir Pertinax, I will go and ſaunter with the women.

Do—do my Lord—and I wull come till you preſently.

Very well, my dear Mac—I ſhall expect you.

So, a leetle flattery, mixed wee the fineſſe of a guilded promiſe on one ſide, and a quantum ſufficit of the aurum palpabile on the other, hai at laſt made me the happieſt father in Great Bree⯑tain.—Hah! my heart expands itſelf as it were thro' every part of my whole body, at the completion of this buſeeneſs, and feels nothing but dignity and eleva⯑tion.—Haud—haud—bide a wee! bide a wee! I hai yean leetle maiter mair in this affair till adjuſt, and then, Sir Pertinax, ye may dictate till fortune herſel, [53] and ſend her till govern feuls, while ye ſhew, and con⯑vince the world that wiſemen awways govern her.—Wha's there?—

Tell my ſon Egerton, I waid ſpeak wi him here i' the Library—

—Now I hai ſettled the grand point wee my Lord, this, I think, is the proper juncture till feel the poleetical pulſe of my ſpark, and yeance for aw, till ſet it to the exact, mea⯑ſure that I would hai it conſtantly beat.

Come hither, Chairles.

Your pleaſure, Sir?

Aboot twa hoors ſince I told you, Chairles, that I received this letter expreſs, complaining of your brother's acteevety at an election i' the North, againſt a particular friend of mine, which has given great of⯑fence; and, Sir, ye are mentioned in the letter as well as he; to be plain, I muſt roundly tell you, that upon this interview depends my happineſs aſs a man, and a faither, and my affection till ye, Sir, as a ſon, for the remainder of our days.

I hope, Sir, I ſhall never do any thing either to forfeit your affection, or diſturb your happineſs.

I hope ſo too—but to the point—the fact is this—there has been a motion made, this very day, to bring on the grand affair, which is ſettled for Friday ſen'night.—Noow, Sir, aſs ye are popular, hai talents, and are weel heard, it is expected, and I inſiſt on it, that ye endeavour till attone for your paſt miſconduct by preparing, and taking a large ſhare in that queſtion, and ſupporting it wee aw your power.

Sir, I have always divided as you directed, except on one occaſion,—never voted againſt your friends, only in that affair, but, Sir, I hope you will not ſo exert your influence, as to inſiſt upon my ſup⯑porting, a meaſure, by an obvious proſtituted ſophiſtry, [54] in direct oppoſition to my character, and to my own conſcience.

Conſcience! Why ye are mad!—Did ye ever hear any mon talk of conſcience in poleetical maiters?—Conſcience, quotha!—I have been in Par⯑liament theſe three and thraty years, and never heard the term made uſe of before.—Sir, it is an unparlia⯑mentary word, and ye weel be laughed at for it—therefore, I deſire ye wull not offer till impoſe upon me wee ſuch phantoms, but let me know your reaſon for thus ſlighting my friends, and diſobeying my com⯑mands.—Sir, give me an immediate, and preciſe an⯑ſwer.

Then, Sir, I muſt frankly tell you, that you work againſt my nature, you would connect me with men I deſpiſe, and preſs me into meaſures I abhor, would make me a devoted ſlave to ſelfiſh leaders, who have no friendſhip but in faction, no merit but in corruption, nor intereſt in any meaſure but their own, and to ſuch men I cannot ſubmit.—For know, Sir, that the malignant ferment which the venal ambition of the times provokes in the heads and hearts of other men, I deteſt.

What are you aboot, Sir? malignant ferment, and venal ambition! every mon ſhould be ambeetious till ſerve his country, and every mon ſhould be rewarded for it.—And pray, Sir, would ye not weeſh to ſerve your country? I ſay, Sir, would ye not weeſh to ſerve your country?

Only ſhow me how I may ſerve my country, and my life is her's; were I qualified to lead her armies, to ſteer her fleets, and deal her honeſt ven⯑geance on her inſulting foes, or could my eloquence pull down a ſtate Leviathan, mighty with the plunder of his country, black with the treaſons of her diſgrace, and ſend his infamy down to a free poſterity, as a mo⯑numental terror to corrupt ambition, I would be fore⯑moſt in ſuch ſervice, and act it with the unremitting ardour of a Roman ſpirit.

Vary weel, Sir!—the fellow is beſide him⯑ſelf,

But to be a common barker at envied power, to beat the drum of faction, and ſound the trumpet of inſidious patriotiſm—only to diſplace a rival—or to be a ſervile voter in proud corruption's filthy train, to market out my voice, my reaſon, and my truſt, to the party broker who beſt can promiſe or pay for proſtitu⯑tion!—Theſe, Sir, are ſervices my nature abhors—for they are ſuch a malady to every kind of virtue, as muſt, in time, deſtroy the faireſt conſtitution, that ever wiſdom framed, or virtuous liberty fought for!

Why ye are mad, Sir!—Ye hai certainly been bit by ſome mad whig or other.—Ah! ye are vary young—vary young in theſe matters; but, ex⯑perience wull convince you, Sir, that every man in public buſineſs has twa conſciencees, a releegious, and a poleetical conſcience. Why, you ſee a merchant, noow, or a ſhopkeeper, or a lawyer, that kens the ſcience of the world, awways luocks upon an oath in a cuſtom-houſe, or behind a coounter, or in a Chan⯑cery ſuit, only aſs an oath in buſineſs, a thing of courſe, a mere thing of courſe, that hais naithing till do wee releegion, and juſt ſo it is at an election—for inſtance, noow—I am a candidate, pray obſerve—and I gang till a perreewig-maker, a hatter, or a hoſier, and I give him ten, twenty, or thraty guineas for a perreewig, hat, or a pair of hoſe, ſo on through a majority of votes—vary weel, what is the conſequence? Why this you ſee begets a commercial intercourſe, begets friendſhip betwixt us, and in a day or two theſe men gang, and give me their ſuffrages.—Noow, pray, Sir, can ye, or any lawyer, divine, or caſuiſt, caw this a bribe? hai, Sir? in fair poleetical reaſoning, it is ainly gene⯑roſity on the ain ſide, and gratitude on the other—So, Sir, let me hai nai mair of your releegious or philoſo⯑phical refinements; but prepare, attend, and ſpeak to the queſtion, or ye are nai ſon of mine; Sir, I inſiſt on it.

Sir, my Lord ſays the writings are now ready, and his Lordſhip, and the Lawyers, are waiting for you and Mr. Egerton.

Vary weel—we'll attend his Lordſhip.—

—I tell you, Chairles, aw this conſcientious refinement in poleetics, is downright ignorance, and impracticable romance; and, Sir, I deſire I may hear no more of it. Come, Sir, let us gang doon, and diſpatch the buſineſs.

Sir, with your permiſſion, I beg you will firſt hear me a word or two upon this ſubject.

Weell, Sir, what waid ye ſay?

I have often reſolved to let you know my averſion to this match.

How, Sir?

But my reſpect, and fear of diſobliging you, Sir, kept me ſilent.

Your averſion!—your averſion, Sir!—How dare ye uſe ſic language to me? Your averſion! Luock you, Sir, I ſhall cut the maitter ſhort—conſeeder my fortune is nai inheritance, 'tis aw my ain acqueeſeetion—I can make ducks and drakes of it—ſo do not provoke me, but ſign the articles directly.

I beg your pardon, Sir, but I muſt be free on this occaſion, and tell you at once, that I can no longer diſſemble the honeſt paſſion that fills my heart for another woman.

Hoow! another woman! and you villain how dare you love another woman weethout my leave? But what other woman? What is ſhe? Speak, Sir—ſpeak—

Conſtantia.

Conſtantia! O! ye profligate! What! a creature taken in for charity?

Her poverty is not her crime, Sir, but her misfortune. Her birth is equal to the nobleſt, and virtue, though covered with a village garb, is virtue ſtill, and of more worth to me than all the ſplendor [57] of ermined pride, or redundant wealth, and therefore, Sir—

Haud your jaubbering, ye villain!—haud your jaubbering—none of your romance, or re⯑finement till me—I hai but yean queſtion to aſk ye—but yean queſtion, and then hai done wee ye for ever—for ever—therefore, think before ye anſwer—Wee'll ye marry the Lady? or wee'll ye break my heart?

Sir, my preſence ſhall not offend you any longer—but when reaſon and reflection take their turn, I am ſure you will not be pleaſed with yourſelf for this unpaternal paſſion.

Tarry, I command ye!—and I command ye likewiſe, not to ſtir till ye hai given me an anſwer, a definitive anſwer, wull you marry the Lady, or wull ye not?

Since you command me, Sir, know then, that I cannot, will not marry her.

O! the villain has ſhot me through the head!—he has cut my vitals!—I ſhall run diſtracted! The fellow deſtroys aw my meaſures—aw my ſchemes—there never was ſic an a bargain, aſs I hai made with this feuliſh Lord—poſſeſſion of his whole eſtate, wee' three boroughs upon it—ſax members—why—what an acqueeſeetion?—what conſequence!—what dig⯑nity!—what weight till the houſe of Mac Sycophant! O! dom the fellow!—three boroughs, only for ſend⯑ing down ſax broomſticks.—O! meeſeerable I meeſeer⯑able! ruined! undone!—For theſe five and thraty years, ſince this fellow came intill the world, I have been ſecretly preparing him for the ſeat of miniſteerial dignity; and wee the fellow's ailoquence, abeelitys, popularity, theſe boroughs, and proper connections, he might certainly in a leetle time hai done the deed.—And ſure naver—naver—were times ſo favorable—a very thing conſpires, for aw the auld poleetical poſt⯑horſes are broken winded, and foundered, and canno get on, and aſs till the riſing generations, the vanity of ſurpaſſing yean another, in what they feuliſhly call taſte, and ailegance, binds them hond and foot in the chains of luxury, whach wull awways ſet them up till [58] the beſt beedder, ſo that if they can but get wherewith⯑all till ſupply their diſſipation, a meeniſter may convert the poleetical morals of aw ſuch voluptuaries intill a vote that would ſell the nation till Preſter John, and their boaſted leberties to the great Mogul. And this opportunity I ſhall loſe, by my ſon's marrying a var⯑tuous beggar for love.—O! confound her vartue! it wull drive me diſtracted!

ACT V.

COME this way, girl—come this way—you are a gude girl, and I'll reward you for this diſcovery—O! the villain! I offer her marriage!

It is true indeed, Sir—I wou'd not tell your honour a lie for the world; but, in troth, it lay upon my conſcience, and I thought it my duty to tell your Worſhip.

Ye are right—ye are right—it was your duty to tell me, and I'll reward you for it; but, you ſay, Maiſter Sidney is in love we her too—Pray hoow come ye by that intelligence?

O, Sir, I know when folks are in love, let them ſtrive to hide it as much as they will—I know it by Mr. Sidney's eyes, when I ſee him ſtealing a ſly ſide look at her—by his trembling—his breathing ſhort—his ſighing, when they are reading together; beſides, Sir, he made love verſes upon her in praiſe of her vir⯑tue, and her playing upon the muſic—Ay, and I ſuſ⯑pect another thing, Sir—ſhe has a ſweet-heart if not a huſband, not far from hence.

Wha! Conſtantia!

Ay, Conſtantia, Sir—Lord, I can know the whole affair, Sir, only for ſending over to Hadley, [59] to Farmer Hilford's youngeſt daughter, Sukey Hil⯑ford.

Then ſend this minute, and get me a par⯑ticular account of it.

That I will, Sir.

In the mean time, keep a ſtrict watch upon Conſtantia, and be ſure you bring me word of whatever new maiter ye can pick up aboot her, my ſon, or this Hadley huſband, or ſweet-heart.

Never fear, Sir.

This love of Sidney's, for Conſtantia, is not unlikely—there is ſomething promiſing in it—yas, I think it is nai impoſſible till convert it intill a ſpecial and immediate advantage—it is but trying—Wha's there?—if it miſſes, I am but where I was.

Where is Maiſter Sidney?

In the drawing room, Sir.

Tell him I would ſpeak with him—

—'Tis more than probable—ſpare till ſpake, and ſpare till ſpeed—try—try—awways try the human heart—try is as gude a maxim in poleetics as in war.—Why, ſuppoſe this Sidney noow, ſhould be privy to his friend Chairles's love for Conſtantia—what then?—gude traith it is natural till think, that his ain love will demand the preference—ay, obtain it too—yas, yas, ſelf—ſelf is an ailoquent advocate on theſe occaſions, and ſeldom loſes his cauſe. I hai the general principle o' human nature at leaſt till encourage me in the ex⯑pereement, for only make it a mon's intereſt till be a raſcal, and I think we may ſafely depend upon his integreety in ſerving himſelf.

Sir Pertinax, your ſervant—Mr. Tomlins told me you deſired to ſpeak with me.

Yas, I wanted till ſpeak to ye, upon a vary ſingular buſineſs—Maiſter Sidney, gi me your [60] hand—guin it did not luook like flattery, which I de⯑teſt, I would tell' ye, Maiſter Sidney, that ye are an honour till your cloth, your country, and till human nature.

You are very obliging.

Sit ye doon here, Maiſter Sidney—ſit ye doon by me, my friend, I am under the greateſt obligati⯑ons till ye, for the care ye have taken of Chairles—the preenceeples, releegious, moral, and poleetical, that ye hai infuſed intill him, demand the warmeſt return of gratitude, baith frai him, and frai me.

Your approbation, Sir, next to that of my own conſcience, is the beſt teſt of my endeavours, and the higheſt applauſe they can receive.

Sir, ye deſerve—richly deſerve it—and noow, Sir, the ſame care that ye hai had of Chairles, the ſame my wife hai taken of her favourite Conſtan⯑tia, and ſure never were accompliſhments, know⯑ledge, or preenciples, ſocial and releegious, infuſed into a better nature than Conſta [...]tia.

In truth, Sir, I think ſo too.

She is beſides, a Gentlewoman of aſs good a family aſs any o' this country.

So I underſtand, Sir.

Her faither had a vaſt eſtate, which he diſſipated and melted in feaſtings, and friendſhips, and chareeties, and hoſpitalities, and ſic kind of nonſenſe—but the buſineſs, Maiſter Sidney—I love ye, yas, I love ye, and hai been luocking oot, and contriving hoow till ſettle ye in the world. Sir, I want to ſee you comfortably and honourably fixed at the head of a reſpectable family, and guin ye were my ain ſon a thooſand times, I could nai make a mair valuable pre⯑ſent till ye for that purpoſe, aſs a pairtner for life, than this ſame Conſtantia, wi ſic a fortune doown we her, aſs ye yourſel ſhall deem till be competent; ay, and an aſſurance of every cannonical conteengency in my poower till confer or promote.

Sir, your offer is noble and friendly; but tho' the higheſt ſtation would derive luſtre from Conſtantia's charms and worth; yet, were ſhe more [61] amiable than love cou'd paint her in the lover's fancy, and wealthy beyond the thirſt of miſers appetite. I cou'd not—wou'd not wed her!—

Not wed her! Odſwins mon, ye ſurpriſe me! why ſo, what hinders?

I beg you will not aſk a reaſon for my refuſal—but briefly and finally it cannot be—nor is it a ſubject I can talk longer upon.

Weel, Sir, I hai done—I hai done—ſit doon mon—ſit doon again, ſit ye doon—I ſhall men⯑tion it no more—not but I muſt confeſs honeſtly till ye, friend Sidney, that the match, had ye approved of my propoſal, beſides profiting, ye, would have been of ſingular ſervice till me likewiſe; however, ye may ſtill ſerve me aſs effectually aſs if ye had married her.

Then, Sir, I am ſure I will moſt heartily.

I believe it, I believe it, friend Sidney, and I thank ye—I hai nai friend till depend upon but—yourſel—my heart is aw moſt broke—I canno help theſe tears, and to tell ye the fact at yeance, your friend, Chairles, is ſtruck we a moſt dangerous malady—a kind of inſanity—and ye ſee I canno help weeping when I think of it.—In ſhort, this Conſtantia, I am afraid has caſt an evil eye upon him—do ye underſtand me?

Not very well, Sir.

Why he is grievouſly ſmitten wi the love o' her, and I am afraid will never be cured without a leetle of your aſſeeſtance.

Of my aſſiſtance, pray, Sir, in what manner?

In what mainner! Lord, Maiſter Sidney, why hoow can ye be ſo dull, why hoow is any mo [...] cured of his love till a wench, but by ganging till bed till her—Now do you underſtand me?

Perfectly, Sir—perfectly.

Gude friend, gain ye wou'd but gai him that hint, and take an opportunity till ſpake a gude word for him, till the wench, and guin ye would like⯑wiſe caſt aboot a leetle now, and contrive till bring them together once—why in a few days after he would nai care a pinch of ſnuff for her.—

What is the maitter we you mon? What the deevil gars ye ſtart and look ſo aſtoned?

Sir, you amaze me!—In what part of my mind or conduct have you found that baſeneſs, which intitles you to treat me with this indignity?

Indignity! wha' indignity do ye mean, Sir?—is aſking ye till ſerve a friend we a wench an indignity?—Sir, am not I your patron and benefacter? Ha—

You are, Sir, and I feel your bounty at my heart, but the virtuous gratitude that ſowed the deep ſenſe of it there, does not inform me in return, that the tutor's ſacred function, or the ſocial virtue of the man, muſt be debaſed into the pupil's pander, or the patron's proſtitution.

Hoow! what, Sir, d'ye diſpute?—are ye nai my dependant? ha! and do you heſitate aboot an ordinary civility, which is practees'd every day, by men and women of the firſt faſhion, Sir—Sir, let me tell ye, however nice ye may be—there's nai a client aboot the court that wou'd nai jump at ſic an oppor⯑tuneety till oblige his patron.

Indeed, Sir, I believe the doctrine of pimping for patrons, as well as that of proſtituting eloquence and public truſt, for private lucre may be learned in your party ſchools; for when faction and public vena⯑lity are taught as meaſures neceſſary to good govern⯑ment and general proſperity, there every vice is to be expected.

O ho! O ho!—vary weel—vary weel!—fine ſlander upon meeniſters—fine ſeduction againſt government—O! ye villain—ye—ye—ye are a black ſheep, and I'll mark ye—I am glad ye ſhew yourſel—yas yas—ye hai taken off the maſk at laſt—ye hai been in my ſervice for many years, and I never kenned your principles before.

Sir, you never affronted them before—if you had, you ſhou'd have—have—known them ſooner.

It's vary weel, I hai done wi ye—ay, ay—noow I can account for my ſon's conduct, his averſion till courts, till meeniſters, levees, public bu⯑ſineſs, and his deeſobedience till my commands.—Ah, ye are a Judas!—a perfeedious Judas!—ye hai ruined the morals of my ſon, ye villain, but I hai done we ye—however this I will prophecy at our pairting for your comfort—that guin you are ſo vary ſqueamiſh aboot bringing a lad and a laſs together, or aboot do⯑ing ſic an harmleſs innocent job for your patron, you'll never riſe in the church.

Tho' my conduct, Sir, ſhou'd not make me riſe in her power, I am ſure it will in her favour—in the favour of my own conſcience too, and in the eſ⯑teem of all worthy men! and that, Sir, is a power and dignity beyond what patrons or any miniſter can confer.

What a reegorous, ſaucy, ſtiff neck'd raſcal it is!—I ſee my ſolly now—I am undone by my ain policy; this Sidney was the laſt mon that ſhould hai been aboot my ſon—the fellow, indeed, hath given him preenciples that might hai done vary weel among the antient Romans, but are damn'd unfit for the mo⯑dern Breetons.—Weel, guin I had a thooſand ſons, I never wou'd ſuffer yeane of your univerſity bred fel⯑lows till be aboot a ſon of mine again, for they hai ſic an a pride of leeterature, and character, and ſic ſaucy Engliſh notion of leeberty continually fermenting in their thoughts; that a mon is never ſure of them till he's a Beeſhop: Now if I had a Frenchmon or a foreigner of any kind aboot my ſon, I could hai preſſed him at yance untill my purpoſe, or hai kick'd the raſ⯑cal oot of my houſe in a twinkling—but what am I to do? Zounds, he muſt nai marry this begear, I cannot ſit doon tamely under that—ſtay—haud—a wee, by the blood I have it—yas, I hai hit upon 't, I'll hai the wench ſmuggled till the Highlands of Scotland to mor⯑row morning—yas—yas—I'll hai her ſmuggled.

O! Sir, I have got the whole ſecret out!

Aboot what?—

About Miſs Conſtantia, I have juſt had all the particulars from farmer Hilford's youngeſt daugh⯑ter—Sukey Hilford!

Weel, weel, but what is the ſtory? Quick, quick, what is it?

Why, Sir, it is certain, that Mrs. Conſtantia has a ſweetheart or a huſband, a ſort of a Gentleman, or Gentleman's Gentleman, they don't know which, that lodges at Gaffer Hodges's, and it is whiſpered all about the village, that ſhe is withchild by him, for Sukey ſays, ſhe ſaw them together laſt night in the dark walk, and Mrs. Conſtantia was all in tears.

Zoones! I am afraid this is too gude news to be true.

O! Sir, it is certainly true, for I myſelf have obſerved, that ſhe has looked very pale for ſome time, and could not eat, and has qualms every hour of the day—yes, yes, Sir, depend upon it, ſhe is breeding, as ſure as my name is Betty Hint—beſides, Sir, ſhe has juſt written a letter to the gallant, and I have ſent John the gardiner to her, who is to carry it to him to Hadley.—Now, Sir, if your Worſhip wou'd ſeize it—ſee—ſee—here John comes with the letter in his hand.

Step you oot Betty, and leave the fellow to me.

I will, Sir.

There you go into my pocket,

there's nobody in the library, ſo I'll e'en go thro' the ſhort way—Let me ſee, what is the name? Mel—Meltill—O! no, Melville, at Gaffer Hodge's

What letter is that, Sir?

Letter, Sir!

Give it me.

And pleaſe you, Sir, it is not mine.

Deliver it this inſtant, ſirrah, or I'll break your head.

There, there, your honour.

Begone, raſcal—this, I ſuppoſe, wull let us intill the whole buſineſs.—

You have got the letter old ſurly, but the paquet is ſafe in my pocket. I'll go and deliver that however; for I will be true to poor Mrs. Conſtan⯑tia, in ſpite of you.

Um, um, "And bleſs my eyes with the ſight of you;" um, um, "throw myſelf into your dear arms"—Zounds this letter is invaluable! ah! ah! Madam—yas this will do—this will do I think—let me ſee how it is directed—To Mr. Melville—vary well.

O! Betty, you are an excellent wench—this letter is worth a million.

Is it as I ſuſpected, Sir, to her gallant?

It is, it is—bid Conſtantia pack oot of the houſe this inſtant—and let them get the chaiſe ready to carry her where ſhe pleaſes—but firſt, ſend my wife and ſon hither.

I ſhall, Sir.

Do ſo—begone.—

—Aha! Maiſter Chairleſs, I believe I ſhall cure you of your paſſion for a beggar noow—I think he canno be ſo in⯑fatuated as till be a dupe till a detected ſtrumpet—Let me ſee hoow am I till act noow? why, like a true poleetician, I muſt pretend moſt ſincerity, when I in⯑tend moſt deceit.

Weel, Chairles, notwithſtanding the meeſery ye hai brought upon me, I hai ſent for ye and your meither, in order to convince ye baith of my affection, and my readineſs till forgive, nay, and even till indulge your perverſe paſſion; or ſince I find this Conſtantia has got hold of your heart, and that your meither and ye think, that ye can never be happy without her, why I'll nai longer oppoſe your inclinations.

Dear Sir, you ſnatch me from the ſharpeſt miſery—on my knees, let my heart thank you for this goodneſs.

Let me expreſs my thanks too—and my joy—for had you not conſented to his marriage here, we all ſhould have been miſerable.

Weel, I am glad I hai found a way till pleaſe ye baith at laſt—but my dear Chairleſs,

ſuppoſe noow, that this ſpotleſs veſtal, this wonder of vartue—this idol of your heart, ſhou'd be a conceal'd wanton after aw!

A wanton, Sir!

Or ſhou'd have an engagement of mar⯑riage, or an intrigue wi another mon, and is only making a dupe of ye aw this time—I ſay, only ſuppoſe it, Chairleſs, what would become ye think of her?

I ſhou'd think her the moſt deep, deceit⯑ful, and moſt ſubtil of her ſex, and if poſſible, wou'd never think of her again.

Wi ye gi me your honor o' that?

Moſt ſolemnly, Sir.

Enough—I am ſatisfied—you make me young again—your prudence has brought tears of joy frai my very vitals—I was afraid ye were faceenated wee the charms of a crack—do ye ken this hond?

Mighty well, Sir.

And ye, Madam?

As well as I do my own, Sir—it is Con⯑ſtantia's.

It is ſo, and a better evidence it is than any that can be given by the human tongue—here is a warm, rapturous, laſcivious letter, under the hypocri⯑tical Syren's ain hond, Sir.

Pray, Sir, let us hear it.

Yas, yas, ye ſhall hear it—Eloeeſa never writ a warmer, nor a ranker till her Abelard—but judge yourſelves.

"I have only time to tell you, that the family came down ſooner than I expected, and that I cannot bleſs my eyes with the ſight of you till evening, for my heart has no room for any wiſh or fortune, but what contributes to your relief and happineſs!"

O! Chairles! Chairles!—Do ye ſee, Sir, what a dupe ſhe makes of ye?—but mark what fol⯑lows—

"O! how I long to throw my⯑ſelf into your dear, dear, arms, to ſooth your fears, your apprehenſions, and your ſorrows.—I have ſome⯑thing to tell you of the utmoſt moment, but will re⯑ſerve it till we meet this evening in the dark walk."

In the dark walk! in the dark walk!—Ah! an evil-eyed curſe upon her!—yas, yas, ſhe has been often i' the dark walk, I believe—but liſt—liſt—

"In the mean time, baniſh all fears, and hope the beſt fortune, your ever duti⯑ful Conſtantia Harrington."

There's—there's a warm epiſtle for ye—in ſhort, the huſſey, ye muſt know, is married till the fellow.

Not unlikely, Sir.

Indeed, by her letter, I believe ſhe is.

Nay, I know ſhe is—Now, Madam, what amends can ye make me for countenancing your ſon's paſſion for ſic an a huſſey? And ye, Sir, what ha ye till ſay for your diſobedience and your frenzy?—O! Chairles, Chairles, ye'll ſhorten my days!

Pray, Sir, be patient—compoſe yourſelf a moment—I will make you any compenſation in my power.

Then inſtantly ſign the articles of mar⯑riage.

The Lady, Sir, has never yet been con⯑ſulted; and I have ſome reaſon to believe that her heart is engaged to another man.

Sir, that is nai buſineſs of yours—I know ſhe will conſent, and that's all we are till conſider. O! here comes my Lord.

Sir Pertinax, every thing is ready, the Lawyers wait for us.

We obey your Lordſhip—where is Lady Rodolpha?

Giving ſome female conſolation to poor Conſtantia, why my Lady, ha! ha! ha! I hear your veſtal, Conſtantia, has been flirting.

Yas, yas, my Lord, ſhe is in vary gude order for ainy mon that wants a wife, and an heir till his eſtate into the bargain.

Sir, there's a man below that wants to ſpeak to your honour upon particular buſineſs.

Sir, I canno ſpeak till any body noow—he muſt come another time—haud—ſtay—Is he a Gentleman?

He looks ſomething like one, Sir—a ſort of a Gentleman—he ſeems to be a kind of a Gentleman, but he ſeems to be in a kind of a paſſion, for when I aſked his name, he anſwered haſtily—'tis no matter friend—go tell your Maſter, there's a Gentleman here that muſt ſpeak to him directly.

Muſt! hah! vary peremptory indeed! pray thee lets ſee him for curioſity ſake.

O! my Lady Mac Sycophant, I am come an humble advocate for a weeping piece of fe⯑male frailty; who begs ſhe may be permitted till ſpeak till your Ladyſhip before ye finally reprobate her.

I beg your pardon, Lady Rodolpha—but it muſt not be, ſee her, ſhe ſhall not.

Nay, there be no harm, my dear, in hear⯑ing what ſhe has to ſay for helſelf.

I tell ye it ſhall not be.

Well, well, my dear, I have done.

Sir, that is my Maſter.

Weell, Sir, wha' is your urgent buſee⯑neſs wi me?

To ſhun diſgrace, and puniſh baſeneſs.

Puniſh baſeneſs! what does the fellow mean? what are ye, Sir?

A man, Sir!—and one whoſe fortune once bore as proud a ſway as any within this country's limits.

You ſeem to be a ſoldier, Sir.

I was, Sir, and have the ſoldier's certificate to prove my ſervice, rags and ſcars—in my heart for ten long years, in India's parching clime, I bore my country's cauſe, and in the nobleſt dangers ſuſtained it with my ſword; at length ungrateful peace has laid me down, where welcome war firſt took me up—in po⯑verty, and the dread of cruel creditors—paternal af⯑fection brought me to my native land, in queſt of an only child—I found her, as I thought, amiable as pa⯑rental fondneſs could deſire—but luſt and foul ſeduc⯑tion, have ſnatched her from me—and hither am I come, fraught with a father's anger, and a ſoldier's honour, to ſeek the ſeducer, and glut revenge.

Pray, Sir, who is your daughter?

I bluſh to own her—but—Conſtantia.

Is Conſtantia your daughter, Sir?

She is—and was the only comfort that na⯑ture, or my own extravagancies had left me.

Gude traith then, I fancy ye will find but vary leetle comfort frai her; for ſhe is nai better than ſhe ſhou'd be—ſhe has had nai damage in this manſion—I am told ſhe is wi bairn—but ye may gang till Hadley, till yeane Farmer Hodges's, and there ye may learn the whole ſtory, and wha the faither of her bairn is, frai a cheel they call Melville.

Melville!—

Yees, Sir, Melville.

O! would to heaven ſhe had no crime to an⯑ſwer, but her commerce with Melville.—No, Sir, he is not the man—it is your ſon, your Egerton, that has ſeduced her, and here, Sir, is the evidence of his ſeduction.

Of my ſeduction, Sir!

Of yours, if your name be Egerton!

I am that man, Sir, but pray what is your evidence?

Theſe bills, and theſe gorgeous jewels, not to be had in her menial ſtate, but at the price of chaſ⯑tity—not an hour ſince ſhe ſent them, impudently ſent them, by a ſervant of this houſe—Contagious infamy ſtarted from their touch!

Sir, perhaps you may be miſtaken concern⯑ing the terms on which ſhe received them—do you but clear her conduct with Melville, and I will inſtantly ſatisfy your fears concerning the jewels and her virtue.

Sir, you give me new life—you are my bet⯑ter angel—I believe—I believe in your words—your looks—know then, I am that Melville.

Hoow, Sir—ye that Melville?—that was at Farmer Hodges's?

The ſame, Sir—It was he brought my Con⯑ſtantia to my arms—lodged and ſecreted me—once my lowly tenant, now my only friend; the fear of inexor⯑able creditors made me change my name from Harring⯑ton to Melville—till I cou'd ſee and conſult ſome, who once called themſelves my friends.

Sir, ſuſpend your fears and anger but for a few minutes, I will keep my word with you religiouſly, [70] and bring your Conſtantia to your arms, as virtuous, and as happy as you cou'd wiſh her.

The clearing up this wanche's vartue is damn'd unlooky! I am afraid it will ruin aw oor affairs again; however, I hai yean ſtroke ſtill in my head, that will ſecure the bargain wi my Lord, let maiters gang as they weell.—But, I wonder Maiſter Melville, that ye did nai pick up ſome leetle maiter of filler in the Indies—ah! there hai been bonny fortunes ſnapt up there of late years, by ſome of the meeleetary blades.

It is very true, Sir, but it is an obſervation among ſoldiers, that there are ſome men who never meet with any thing in the ſervice but blows and ill fortune—I was one of thoſe, even to a proverb.

Ah! 'tis a pity, Sir, a great pity noow, that ye did nai get a Mogul, or ſome ſic an animal in⯑till your clutches.—Ah! I ſhould like till ha the ſtrangling of a Nabob—the rummaging of his gold duſt, his jewel cloſet, and aw his magazines of bars and ingots—ha! ha! ha!—gude traith noo ſic an a fellow would be a bonny cheel to bring over till this toown, and to exheebit him riding on an elephant—pon honor, a mon might raiſe a poll tax by him, that woul gang near to pay the debts of the nation.

Sir, I promiſed to ſatisfy your fears concern⯑ing your daughter's virtue, and my beſt proof to you, and all the world, that I think her not only chaſte, but the moſt deſerving of her ſex, is, that I have made her the partner of my heart, and tender guardian of my earthly happineſs for life.

How, married?

I know, Sir, at preſent, we ſhall meet your anger, but time, reflection, and our dutiful conduct, we hope, will reconcile you to our happineſs.

Naver, naver—and cou'd I make ye, her, and aw your iſſue beggars, I wou'd move hell, heaven, and earth till do it!

Why, Sir Pertinax, this is a total revolu⯑tion, and will intirely ruin all my affairs.

My Lord, wi the conſent of your Lord⯑ſhip, and Lady Rodolpha, I hai an expedient till offer, that will not ainly puniſh that rebellious villain, but anſwer every end that your Lordſhip▪ and the Lady propoſed wi him.

I doubt it much, Sir Pertinax, I doubt it much. But what is it, Sir? What is your expedient?

My Lord, I hai another ſon, (Sandy) a gude lad he is—and provided the Lady and your Lordſhip hai no objection till him, every article of that rebel's intended marriage ſhall be amply fulfilled upon Lady Rodolpha's union with my younger ſon.

Why that is an expedient, Sir Pertinax, but what ſay you, Rodolpha?

Nay, nay, my Lord, aſs I had nai reaſon till have the leaſt affection till my couſin Egerton, and aſs my intended marriage wi him was intirely an act of obedience till my grandmaither, provided my couſin Sandy will be aſs agreeable till her Ladyſhip, aſs my couſin Chairles here wou'd hai been—I hai nai the leaſt objection till the change—ay, ay, upon honor, yean brother is aſs gude till Rodolpha aſs another.

I'll anſwer, Madam, for your grandmai⯑ther—noow, my Lord, what ſay you?

Nay, Sir Pertinax, ſo the agreement ſtands, all is right again.—Come, child, let us be gone, ay, ay, ſo my affairs are made eaſy, it is equal to me who ſhe marries—Sir Pertinax, let them be but eaſy, and rat me if I care if ſhe incorporates with the Cham of Tartary!

As to ye, my Lady Mac Sycophant, I ſuppoſe ye concluded before ye gave yer conſent till this match, that there would be an end to every thing betwixt ye and me.—Live wee your Conſtant a, Ma⯑dam, your ſon, and that black ſheep there; live wee them, ye ſhall hai a jointure, but not a bawbee be⯑ſides, living or dead ſhall ye, or any of your iſſue, ever ſee of mine—and ſo my vengeance light upon ye aw together!

Weel, couſin Egerton, in ſpite of the ambeetious frenzy of yer faither, and the thoughtleſs diſſipation of mine, Don Cupid hais at laſt carried his point in favour of his devotees—but I muſt noow take my leave—Lady Mac Sycophant, your moſt obe⯑dient [72] —Maiſter Sidney, yours—Permit me, Conſtan⯑tia, till hai the honour of congratulating myſel upon oor alliance.

Madam, I ſhall ſtudy to deſerve and to return this kindneſs.

I am ſure you weel; but aw I neglect my poor Saundy aw this while—and gude traith, my ain heart begins to tell me what his heart feels, and chides me for tarrying ſo long; I will therefore fly till him on the wings of love and good news, for I am ſure the poor lad is pining wi the pip of deſire, and anxious jeopardy—and ſo, gude folks, I will leave ye wee the fag end of au auld North country wiſh.—May mutual love and gude humour be the gueſts of your hearts, the theme of your tongues, and the blythſome ſubjects of aw your trieſey dreams, thro' the rugged road of this deceitful world;—and may oor faithers be an example to oorſels, to treat oor bairns better than they hai treated us.

You ſeem melancholy, Sir.

Theſe precarious turns of fortune, Sir, will preſs upon the heart, for notwithſtanding my Conſtan⯑tia's happineſs, and mine in hers, I own, I cannot help feeling ſome regret, that my misfortunes ſhould be the cauſe of any diſagreement between a father and the man, to whom I am under the moſt endearing obligations.

You have no ſhare in this diſagreement—for had not you been born, from my father's nature, ſome other cauſe of his reſentment muſt have hap⯑pen'd,—but for a time, Sir, at leaſt, and I hope for life, afflictions, and angry viciſſitudes have taken their leave of us all. If affluence can procure content and eaſe, they are within our reach—my fortune is ample, and ſhall be dedicated to the happineſs of this domeſtic circle.