ACT I.

PAST two o'clock and not yet returned!—Well, well!—It's my own fault!—Mr. Smith!

Sir.

Is Mr. Sulky come in?

No, Sir.

Are you ſure Harry Dornton ſaid he ſhould return to-night?

Yes, ſir.

And you don't know where he is gone?

He did not tell me, ſir.

I aſk you if you know!

I believe to Newmarket, ſir.

You always believe the worſt!—I'll ſit up no longer—Tell the ſervants to go to bed—And do you hear, ſhould he apply to you for money, don't let him have a guinea.

Very well, ſir.

I have done with him; he is henceforth no ſon of mine! Let him ſtarve!

He acts very improperly, ſir, indeed.

Improperly! How? What does he do?

Sir!

Have you heard any thing of—?

No—No, ſir—Nothing—Nothing but what you yourſelf tell me.

Then how do you known he has acted impro⯑perly▪

He is certainly a very good-hearted young gentleman, ſir.

Good-hearted! How dare you make ſuch an aſſertion?

Sir!

How dare you, Mr. Smith, inſult me ſo? Is not his gaming notorious; his racing, driving, riding, and aſſociating with knaves, fools, debauchees, and black legs?

Upon my word, ſir—I—

But it's over! His name has this very day been ſtruck out of the firm! Let his drafts be returned. It's all ended!

And obſerve, not a guinea! If you lend him any yourſelf I'll not pay you. I'll no lon⯑ger be a fond doting father! Therefore take warning! Take warning, I ſay! be his diſtreſs what it will, not a guinea! Though you ſhould hereafter ſee him begging, ſtarving in the ſtreets, not ſo much as the loan or the gift of a ſingle guinea!

I ſhall be careful to obſerve your orders, ſir.

Sir!

Why, would you ſee him ſtarve?—Would you ſee him ſtarve and not lend him a guinea? Would you ſir? Would you?

Sir!—Certainly not▪ except in obedience to your orders!

And could any orders juſtify your ſeeing a poor unfortunate youth, rejected by his father, abandoned by his friends, ſtarving to death?

There is no danger of that, ſir,

I tell you the thing ſhall happen! He ſhall ſtarve to death!

I'll never look on him more as a ſon of mine; and I am very cer⯑tain, when I have forſaken him, all the world will for⯑ſake him too.

Yes, yes! He is born to be a poor wretched outcaſt!

I hope, ſir, he ſtill will make a fine man.

Will!—There is not a finer, handſomer, no⯑bler looking youth in the kingdom; no not in the world!

I mean a worthy good man, ſir.

How can you mean any ſuch thing! The company he keeps would corrupt a ſaint.

Sir▪ if you will only tell me what your plea⯑ſure is, I will endeavour to act like a faithful ſervant.

I know you are a faithful ſervant, Mr. Smith.—

I know you are—But you—You are not a father.

Well, Mr. Sulky, have you heard any thing of him?

Yes.

And, hay—?

Any thing conſoling, any thing good?

No.

No?—No, ſay you!—Where is he? What is he about?

I don't know.

Don't—? You love to torture me, ſir! You love to torture me.

Humph.

For heaven's ſake tell me what you have heard!

I love to torture you.

Put me out of my pain! If you are not a tiger, put me out of my pain!

Dead!

Worſe▪

Mercy defend me!—Where? What?

The firſt paragraph in the poſtſcript: the begin⯑ning line in capitals.

‘The junior partner of the great bank⯑ing houſe, not a mile from the Poſt-office, has again been touched at Newmarket, for upward of ten thou⯑ſand pounds’—

It can't be!

Humph.

Why, can it?

Yes.

How do you know? What proof have you that this is not a lie?

His own hand-writing.

How!

Bills at three days ſight to the full amount have already been preſented.

And accepted?

Yes.

But!—Why!—Were you mad, Mr. Sulky? Were you mad?

I ſoon ſhall be.

Is not his name ſtruck off the firm?

They were dated two days before.

The credit of my houſe begins to totter!

Well it may!

What the effect of ſuch a paragraph may be I cannot tell!

I can—Ruin.

Are you ſerious, ſir?

I am not inclined to laugh—A run againſt the houſe, ſtoppage, diſgrace, bankruptcy.

Really, Mr Sulky, you—

Yes, I know I offend. I was bred in your houſe, you uſed me tenderly, I ſerved you faithfully, and you admitted me a partner. Don't think I care for myſelf. No, I can ſit at the deſk again. But You! You! Firſt man of the firſt commercial city on earth, your name in the Gazette? Were it mine only I would laugh at it. What am I? Who cares for me?

"Where is the vile—?"

‘Who can tell? With his lords and his ladies, his court friends and his Newmarket friends, his wo⯑men of wit and his men of ſoul, his blue ſtockings and his black legs!’

Mr Smith!—Thomas!—William!

Call all the ſervants together, Mr Smith; clerks, foot⯑men, maids, every ſoul! Tell them their young maſter is a ſcoundrel!

Very well, ſir.

Sir?—

Bid them ſhut the door in his face! I'll turn the firſt away that lets him ſet foot in this houſe ever again!

Very well, ſir,

Very well, ſir? Damn your very well, ſir! I tell you it is not very well, ſir. He ſhall ſtarve, die, rot in the ſtreet! Is that very well, ſir?

Has a noble heart. A fond father's heart. The boy was a fond youth—But he ſpoiled him; and now he quarrels with himſelf and all the world, becauſe he hates his own folly.

So! Here is the youth returned

Don't ſtir! On your lives, don't go to the door! Are the bolts and locks all faſtened?

All, ſir.

Don't mind his knocking! Go to bed every foul of you inſtantly, and fall faſt aſleep!—He ſhall ſtarve in the ſtreets!

Fetch me my blunderbuſs! Make haſte!

Poſtillion We ſmoked along, your honour!

I know you did. Had you been leſs free with your whip you would have been half a crown richer. Your next ſtep ſhould be to turn drummers, and handle the cat o' nine tails.

It is very late you honour!

Be gone! I'll give you no more.

Knock again, you ſcoundrel, and you ſhall have the full contents loaded to the muz⯑zle, raſcal!

So! I ſuſpected dad was in his tantarums.

You have given him ſome cauſe:

Very true

Conſider, my dear ſir, the conſequences of lying out all night;

Be gone, villian:

Bad women, ſir; damps, night air!

Will you be gone?

Watch-houſes, pick-pockets, cut-throats;

Come, come, ſir—

We ſhall not get in:

Pſhaw! How little do you know of my father, the door will open in leſs than fifteen ſeconds;

Done, for a hundred:

Done, done,

I knew you were had; double or quits we find the cloth laid and ſupper on the table;

No, It won't do,

My old maſter is in a bitter paſſion, ſir,

I know it:

He is gone down to turn the ſervant out of doors that let you in:

Is he? Then go you and let your fellow-ſervant in again:

I dare not ſir,

Then I muſt.

He enquired who was with my young maſter,

Well:

And when he heard it was you, ſir, he was ten times more furious,

All's well that ends well. This has been a curſed loſing voyage, Milford:

I am a hundred and fifty▪ in,

And I ten thouſand out!

I believe I had better avoid▪ your father for the preſent,

I think you had. Dad conſiders you as my tempter, the cauſe of my ruin,

And I being in his debt, he conceives he may treat me without ceremony.

Nay, damn it, Jack, do him juſtice; it is not the money you had of him, but the ill advice he imputes to you that galls him:

I hear he threatens to arreſt me;

Yes, he has threatened to ſtrike my name out of the firm, and diſinherit me, a thouſand times:

Oh, but he has been very ſerious in menacing me,

And me too.

You'll be at the tennis-court to morrow?

No.

What, not to ſee the grand match?

No,

Oh yes, you will.

No, I am determined:

Yes, over night, you'll waver in the morning;

No, It is high time, Jack, to grow prudent:

Ha, ha, ha, my plan is formed: I'll ſoon be out of debt,

How will you get the money?

By calculation.

Ha, ha, ha—

I am reſolved on it. ‘What! can't a man of invention and genius out-wit a black-leg?’

"Yes, if he will be as great a ſcoundrel."

‘That's not neceſſary. A keen eye a contriv⯑ing head, a lucky moment and a little algebra will rout the whole hoſt.’ How many men of rank and honour, having loſt their fortunes, have double reco⯑vered them

And very honourably;

who doubts it?

Ha, ha, ha—Nobody, Nobody;

But pray Harry, what is it you find ſo attrac⯑tive in my late father's amorous relict?

Ha, ha, ha! What the widow Warren?

She ſeems to think and even reports you are to marry—

Marry? Her? A coquette of forty, who ridicu⯑louſly apes all the airs of a girl! Fantaſtic, ſelfiſh and a fool! And marry? Diſguſting idea! Thou wert philo⯑ſophiſing as we drove on the condition of a poſt-horſe—

Well?

I would rather be a poſt-horſe, nay the raſcal that drives a poſt-horſe, than the baſe thing thou haſt imagined!

Then why are you ſo often there?

Becauſe I can't keep away:

What, it is her daughter, Sophia?

Lovely bewitching innocent!

The poor young thing is fond of you?

I ſhould be half mad if I though ſhe was not, yet am obliged to half hope ſhe is not!

Why?

What a queſtion! Am I not a profligate, and in all probability ruined?—Not even my father can over⯑look this laſt affair—No,—Heigho;

The loſs of my father's will, and the myſtery made of its contents by thoſe who witneſſed it, are ſtrange circumſtances!

In which the widow triumphs. And you being a baſtard, and left by law to ſtarve, ſhe willingly pays obedience to laws ſo wiſe.

She refuſes even to pay my debts.

And the worthy alderman, your father, being overtaken by death in the ſouth of France, carefully makes a will, and then as carefully hides it where it is not to be found; or commits it to the cuſtody of ſome mercenary knave, who has made his market of it to the widow—So! here comes the ſuppoſed executor of this ſuppoſed will.

My dear Mr. Sulky, how do you do?

Very ill.

Indeed? I am very ſorry! What's your diſorder?

You,

Ha, ha, ha!

Ruin, bankruptcy, infamy!

The old ſtory!

To a new tune.

Ha, ha, ha—

You are—

What, my good cynic?

A faſhionable gentleman.

I know it,

And faſhionably ruined.

No—I have a father,

Who is ruined likewiſe:

Ha, ha, ha! Is the Bank of England ruined?

I ſay ruined. Nothing leſs than a miracle can ſave the houſe. The purſe of Fortunatus could not ſupply you,

No; it held nothing but guineas, notes, bills paper for me!

Such effrontery is inſufferable. For theſe five years, ſir, you have been driving to ruin more furiouſly than—

An ambaſſadour's coach on a birth night. I ſaw you were ſtammering for a ſimile.

Sir—

Youth mounts the box, ſeizes the reins, and jehus headlong on in the dark; Paſſion and Prodigality blaze in the front, bewilder the coachman, and dazzle and blind the paſſengers; Wiſdom, Prudence, and Vir⯑tue are overſet and maimed or murdered; and at laſt Repentance, like the footman's flambeau lagging behind, lights us to dangers when they are paſt all remedy.

Your name is ſtruck off the firm. I was the ad⯑viſer

You are very kind, Mr Sulky,

Your father is at laſt determined.

Ha, ha, ha—Do you think ſo?

You'll find ſo! And what brought you here, ſir?

A chaiſe and four.

It might have carried you to a ſafer place. When do you mean to pay your debts?

When my father's executor prevails on the widow Warren to do me juſtice.

And which way am I to prevail?

And which way am I to pay my debts?

You might have more modeſty than inſolently to come and brave one of your principal creditors, after having ruined his ſon by your evil counſel.

Ha, ha, ha,—Don't believe a word on't, my good grumbler; I ruined myſelf, I wanted no counſellor,

My father died immenſely rich; and, though I am what the law calls illegitimate, I ought not to ſtarve

You have had five thouſand pounds, and are five more in debt.

Yes, thanks to thoſe who truſt boys with thou⯑ſands,

You would do the ſame now you think yourſelf a man,

Indeed I would not.

Had you been watching the widow at home, in⯑ſtead of galloping after a knot of gamblers and pick⯑pockets, you might perhaps have done yourſelf more ſervice:

Which way, ſir?

The will of your late father is found.

Found?

I have received a letter, from which I learn it was at laſt diſcovered, carefully locked up in a private drawer, and that it is now a full month ſince a gentleman of Mont⯑pelier, coming to England, was entruſted with it. But no ſuch gentleman has yet appeared.

If it ſhould have got into the hands of the wi⯑dow—

Which I ſuſpect it has,—You are a couple of pretty gentlemen! But beware: misfortune is at your heels, Mr. Dornton vows vengeance on you both, and juſtly. He is not gone to bed▪ and if you have confidence enough to look him in the face, I would have you ſtay where you are,

I neither wiſh to inſult nor be inſulted.

Do you know, ſir, your father turned the poor fellow into the ſtreet, who compaſſionately opened the door for you?

Yes; and my father knows I as compaſſionately opened the door for the poor fellow in return▪

Very well, ſir—Your fame is increaſing daily:

I am glad to hear it:

Humph! Then perhaps you have paragraphed yourſelf?

Paragraphed? What? Where?

In the St. James's Evening:

Me?

Stating the exact amount:

Of my loſs?

Yours—You march through every avenue to fame, dirty▪ or clean,

Well ſaid!—Be witty when you can; ſarcaſtic you muſt be, in ſpite of your teeth. But I like you the better. You are honeſt, you are my cruet of Cayenne, and a ſprinkling of you is excellent:

Well, ſir, when you know the ſtate of your own affairs, and to what you have reduced the houſe, you will perhaps be leſs ready to grin.

Reduced the houſe! ha, ha, ha!

So, ſir!

I am happy to ſee you, ſir.

You are there, after having broken into my houſe at midnight!—And you are here,

after having ruined me and my houſe by your unprincipled prodigality! Are you not a ſcoundrel?

No, ſir: I am only a fool.

Good night to you gentlemen.

Stay▪ where you are, Mr Sulky, I beg you to ſtay where you are, and be a witneſs to my ſolemn re⯑nunciation of him and his vices!

I have witneſſed it a thouſand times:

But this is the laſt, Are you not a ſcoundrel, I ſay?

I am your ſon,

Mr Smith! Bring in thoſe deeds.

You will not deny you are an incorrigible ſquanderer?

I will deny nothing,

A nuiſance, a wart, a blot, a ſtain upon the face of nature!

A ſtain that will waſh out ſir,

A redundancy, a negation; a beſotted ſophi⯑ſticated incumbrance; a jumble of fatuity; your head, your heart, your words, your actions. all a jargon; in⯑coherent and unintellegible to yourſelf, abſurd and offen⯑ſive to others!

The whirlwind is riſing.

I am whatever you pleaſe, ſir.

Bills never examined, every thing bought on credit, the price of nothing aſked, conſcious you were weak enough to wiſh for baubles you did not want, and pant for pleaſures you could not enjoy, you had not the effrontery to aſſume the circumſpect caution of common ſenſe! And to your other deſtructive follies, you muſt add the deteſtable vice of gaming!

Theſe things, ſir, are much eaſier done than de⯑fended,

But here—Give me that parchment!

The partners have all been ſummoned▪ Look, ſir! Your name has been formally eraſed!

The partners are very kind.

The ſuſpicions already incurred by the known profligacy of a principal in the firm, the immenſc ſums you have drawn, this paragraph, the run on the houſe it will occaſion, the conſternation of the whole city—

All very terrible, and ſome of it very true.

Give me the will, Mr Smith! Give me the will! Fond and fooliſh as I have been, read, and you will find I am at laſt reſtored to my ſenſes!—If I ſhould happily outlive the ſtorm you have raiſed, it ſhall not be to ſupport a prodigal, or to reward a gambler!—You are diſ [...]herited!—Read!

Your word is as good as the Bank, ſir.

I'll no longer act the doting father, faſcinated by your arts!

I never had any art, ſir, except the one you taught me.

I taught you! What? Scoundrel! What?

That of loving you, ſir,

Loving me!

Moſt ſincerely!

Why, can you ſay, Harry—Raſcal! I mean, that you love me?

I ſhould be a raſcal indeed if I did not ſir,

Harry! Harry!

No! Confound me if I do!—ſir, you are a vile—!

I know I am.

And I'll never ſpeak to you more,

Bid me good night, ſir, Mr Sulky here will bid me good night, and you are my father!—Good night, Mr Sulky,

Good night:

Come, ſir—

I won't!—If I do—

Reproach me with my follies, ſtrike out my name, diſinherit me, I deſerve it all and more—But ſay Good night, Harry!

I won't!—I won't!—I won't!—

Poverty is a trifle; we can whiſtle it off—But enmity—

I will not!

Sleep in enmity? And who can ſay how ſound⯑ly?—Come! Good night.

I won't! I won't!

Say you ſo?—Why then, my noble hearted dad, I am indeed a ſcoundrel!

Good night!

Good night! And Heaven eternally bleſs you, ſir! Heigho!—That's ſomething.

ACT. II.

I TELL you, good woman, I can do nothing for you.

Only let me ſee Mrs Warren,

And get myſelf ſnubbed. Not I indeed.

La, Jenny! Yonder's my mamma, with a whole congregation of milliners, mantua-makers, mer⯑cers, haberdaſhers, lacemen, feathermen, and—and all the world, conſulting about ſecond mourning!

I know it.

It will be ſix months to morrow ſince the death of my father-in-law; ‘and ſhe has been buſy giv⯑ing orders for this fortnight that every thing might be brought home and tried on to-day. I do believe ſhe'll ſleep in her new clothes!’

How you run on, miſs!

What would my dear grandma' ſay, if ſhe ſaw her? Why ſhe is even fonder of finery than I am!

Sure, miſs, you are not fond of finery?

Oh but I am—I wonder why ſhe won't let me wear high-heeled ſhoes! I am ſure I am old enough! I ſhall be eighteen next Chriſtmas day at midnight, which is only nine months and two days! And ſince ſhe likes to wear ſlips, and ſaſhes, and ringlets and—nonſenſe, like a girl, why ſhould not I have high heels, and gowns and feſtinis, and hoops, and trains, and ſweeps

and—like a woman?

It's very true what your mamma tells you, miſs; you have been ſpoiled by your old fond grandmother in Glouceſterſhire.

Nay, Jenny, I won't hear you call my dear grandma' names! Though every body told the loving old ſoul ſhe would ſpoil me.

And now your mamma has ſent for you up to town to finiſh your edication.

Yes, ſhe began it the very firſt day: There was the ſtay-maker ſent for, to ſcrew up my ſhapes; the ſhoe-maker, to cripple my feet; the hair dreſſer, to burn my hair; the jeweller, to bore my ears; and the dentiſt, to file my teeth.

Ah! You came here ſuch a hoyden!

What, an't you gone yet, miſtreſs?

La, Jenny, how can you be ſo croſs to peo⯑ple? What is the matter with this good woman?

Oh! Nothing but poverty.

Is that all? Here

give her this half crown, and make her rich.

Rich indeed!

What, is not it enough? La, I am ſorry I ſpent all my money yeſterday! I laid it out in ſweetmeats, cakes, a Canary bird, and a poll parret. But I hope you are not very, very poor?

My huſband ſerved the late alderman five-and-twenty years. His maſter promiſed to provide for him; but his pitileſs widow can ſee him thrown with a broken heart upon the pariſh,

Oh dear!—ſtop!—ſtop a bit!

Be ſure you don't go!

Where's your miſtreſs girl?

My name is Jane Cocket, ſir,

Where's your miſtreſs?

Buſy, ſir—

Tell her to come down—Don't ſtare, girl, but go and tell your miſtreſs I want her.

Humph! Mr Black and gruff!

I've got it! here! take this, good woman; go home and be happy! Take it, I tell you!

who is this? Mrs Ledger! how does your worthy huſband?

Alack, ſir, ill enough, likely to ſtarve in his latter days,

How, ſtarve?

The widow refuſes to do any thing for him,

Humph!

Service, age, and honeſty are poor pleas, with affluence, eaſe, and Mrs Warren,

Humph!

You, ſir, I underſtand are the late alder⯑man's executor?

I can't tell,

Perhaps you may be able to ſerve my huſ⯑band?

I don't know—however, give my reſpects to him: he ſhan't ſtarve: tell him that.

Nay, but take this in the mean time,

Ay; take it, take it,

And who are you, miſs Charity?

Me, ſir? Oh I—I am my grandma's grand⯑daughter.

Humph!

Sophia Freclove,

Oh!—The widow's daughter by her firſt huſ⯑band?

Yes, ſir,

Where's your miſtreſs?

Coming, ſir—ſo you have ſtolen your mamma's purſe, miſs?

La, don't ſay ſo; I only ran away with it! ſhe was bargaining for ſome ſmuggled lace with one of your acquaintance, and I thought I could diſpoſe of her mo⯑ney to better advantage,

Without her conſent,

Yes, to be ſure! I knew I ſhould never diſ⯑poſe of it in that manner with her conſent,

Well! here comes your mamma,

So you'll be ſure not to forget my chapeau a la Pruſſe, Mr Mincing?

Certainly not, madam,

And you'll make a delicate choice of the fea⯑thers?

The ſelection ſhall be elegant, madam

Yes—I know, Mr Mincing, you're a charming man!—And you let me have my pierrot a la Coblentz by nine in the morning, Mrs Tiffany?

To a minute, maim.

Madam, when you have a moment's leiſure—

Be quiet, you fright; don't interrupt me!—And my caraco a la huſſar, and my bavaroiſes a la ducheſſe—And put four rows of pearl in my turban,

Ver vell, me ladyſhip,

And you'll all come together, exactly at nine?

We'll all be here!

And don't forget the white ermine tippets, and the black fox muffs, and the Kamſchatka furs that you mentioned, Mr Weazel!

I'll bring a fine aſſortment, madam,

And, and, and—No; no—you may all go—I can think of nothing elſe—I ſhall remember more to⯑morrow,

Thank you, madam!

Very much obliged to you maim!

Dee ver good bon jour to me ladyſhip.

What was it you were ſaying, Mr Sulky?—Pray child, what have you done with my purſe?

Given it away, ma',

Given it away, minikin?

Yes ma',

Given my purſe away! To whom, for what purpoſe?

La, ma', only—only to keep a poor woman from ſtarving,

I proteſt, child, your grandmother has totally ruined you—

Not quite, madam: ſhe has left the finiſhing to you,

What were you ſaying, Mr Sulky—

You won't give me leave to ſay any thing madam

You know you are a ſhocking troubleſome man, Mr Sulky, I have a thouſand things to remember, and can't bear teaſing, it fatigues my ſpirits! ſo pray relate this very urgent buſineſs of yours in a ſingle word—What would you have—

Juſtice,

Lord, what do you mean!—Do you think I am in the commiſſion?

Yes of ſollies innumerable!

You are a ſad ſavage, Mr. Sulky! And who is it you want juſtice for?

Your late huſband's ſon, John Milford,

Now pray don't talk to me! You are a very in⯑truſive perſon! You quite derange my ideas! I can think of nothing ſoft or ſatisfactory while you are pre⯑ſent!

Will you hear me, madam?

I can't, I poſitively can't, it is an odious ſub⯑ject!

Nah, ma', how can you be ſo croſs to my brother Milford—

Your brother, child—Country education!—how often, minikin, have I told you he is no brother of yours,

La, ma', he was your huſband's ſon!

Yes, his—Faugh! Odious word—your brother,

Yes, that he is,—For he is in diſtreſs,

Humph!

And would you now, you who pretend to be a very prudent—ridiculous kind of a perſon, wiſh to ſee me ſquander the wealth of my poor dear dead good man on Mr Milford, and his profligate companions?

Not I indeed, madam; though the profligate to whom you make love ſhould happen to be one of them

Ha, ha, ha! Oh the monſter,—I make love!—You have no eyes, Mr Sulky!

You are really blind!—But I know whom you mean.

I mean young Dornton, madam,

To be ſure you do,—whom could you mean? Elegant youth!—Rapturous thoughts!

I am ſure, ſir, young Mr. Dornton is no pro⯑fligate,

You are ſure?

Yes that I am!

Humph,

And it's very ſcandalous, very ſcandalous in⯑deed, to ſay he is my ma's lover!

Humph,

Becauſe he is a fine genteel young gentleman; and you know ma' is—

Pray, minikin, be leſs flippant with your tongue.

Why la, ma', you yourſelf know you are too,

Go up to your chamber, child,

I am ſure ma', I ſay it is very ſcandalous to call the handſome Mr Dornton your lover!

Do you bluſh?

Bluſh indeed!—Bluſh, ha, ha, ha; you are a very unaccountable creature, Mr Sulky—Bluſh at the babbling of a child!

Who is your rival?

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! my rival—The poor mi⯑nikin!—my rival?—But I have a meſſage for you! Now do compoſe your features to ſoftneſs and compla⯑cency! Look pleaſant if you can, ſmile for once in your life!

Don't make love to me! I'll have nothing to ſay to you!

Ha, ha, ha! Love—

Yes, you make love to Dornton! Nay you make love to the booby Goldfinch! Even I am not ſecure in your company!

Ha, ha, ha! You are a ſhocking being, Mr Sulky,—But if you ſhould happen to ſee Mr Dornton, do aſtoniſh your acquaintance: do a good natured thing, and tell him I am at home all day—Love to you? Ha, ha, ha! Oh you figure, you caricatura of tenderneſs—you inſupportable thing!

Ah!—All labour in vain!

ſtand out of the way girl;

There ſhe goes!

That's lucky, this way, ſir,

My miſtreſs is gone up to her toilette, ſir; but I can ſend you ſomebody you may like better,

Harry Obliging Abigail!—

'ſdeath, what all theſe tradeſmen's bills?

All, ſir, Mr Smith ſent me after you with them,

When were they brought?

Some laſt night, but moſt this morning,

Ill news travels faſt, and honeſty is deviliſh in⯑duſtrious. Go round to them all, return their bills, and bid them come themſelves to-day, has Mr Williams the hoſier ſent in his bill?

No, ſir,

I thought as much—Tell him to come with the reſt, and on his life not fail,

Very well, ſir,

Oh, Mr Dornton, I am glad to ſee you, do you know, I've got the ſong by heart that you was ſo good as to teach me!

And do you know, my charming Sophia, you are the moſt delightful, beautiful bewitching ſcholar that ever took leſſon,

La, Mr Dornton. I'm ſure I'm very ſtupid!

That you are all intelligence, all grace, all wit,

To be ſure my ma' caught me ſinging it, and ſhe was pettiſh; becauſe you know it's all about love and ends with a happy marriage.

But why pettiſh?

La, I can't tell, I ſuppoſe ſhe wants to have all the marriage in the world to herſelf! It's her whole talk! I do believe ſhe'd be married every morning that ſhe riſes, if any body would have her!

Think not of her, my ſweet Sophia, but tell me—

What?

I dare not aſk,

Why?

Leſt I ſhould offend you,

Nay now, Mr Dornton, that is not right of you! I am never offended with any body, and I am ſure I ſhould not be offended with you! my grandma' always ſaid I was the beſt tempered girl in the world—What is it?

Were you—?

Did you ever know what it is to love?

La, now, how could you aſk one ſuch queſtion? You know very well one muſt not tell!—Beſides, you know too one muſt not be in love—

Why not?

Becauſe—Becauſe I am but a girl—my grandma' has told me a hundred times, it's a ſin for any body to be in love before they be a woman grown, full one-and twenty; and I am not eighteen!

Love they ſay cannot be reſiſted,

Ah, but I have been taught better!—It may be reſiſted—Nobody need be in love unleſs they like: and ſo I won't be in love, for I won't wilfully do amiſs.

No! I won't love any perſon though I ſhould love him ever ſo dearly,

Angelic innocence!

Right, lovely Sophia, guard your heart againſt ſeducers.

Do you know it is full five weeks ſince Valen⯑tine's day; and, becauſe I'm not one-and-twenty, no⯑body ſent me a valentine!

And did you expect one?

Nah—, I can't ſay but I did think—! in Glou⯑ceſterſhire, if any young man happen to have a liking for a young woman, ſhe is ſure to hear of it on Valen⯑tine day. But perhaps Valentine day does not fall ſo ſoon here as it does in the country;

Why, it is poſſible you may yet receive a va⯑lentine.

Nay now, but don't you go to think that I am aſking for one; for that would be very wrong of me, and I know better—my grandma' told me I muſt never mention nor think of ſuch things till I am a woman, full one-and-twenty grown; and that if I were to find ſuch a thing at my window, or under my pillow or con⯑cealed in a plumcake—

A plum-cake?

Yes: I aſſure you I have heard of a valentine ſent baked in a plum-cake—And ſo ‘if I had one that I muſt ſhew it to her. But you know ſhe is in Glou⯑ceſterſhire; And I am ſure I would not ſhew it to ma' for though ſhe is all out and above forty, ſhe would be as jealous as the vengeance! And indeed’ I would not receive ſuch a thing for the world, no not from the fineſt man on earth, if I did not think him to be a true and faithful, true, true lover,

But how muſt he prove his faith and truth?

Why firſt he muſt love me very dearly!—with all his heart and ſoul!—And then he muſt be willing to wait till I am one-and-twenty,

And would not you love in return?

N—yes, when I come to be one-and-twenty,

Not ſooner?

Oh no!—I muſt not!

Surely you might if you pleaſed?

Oh but you muſt not perſuade me to that! If you do I ſhall think you are a bad man, ſuch as my grandma' warned me of!

and do you think me ſo?

Do I?—No!—I would not think you ſo for a thouſand thouſand golden guineas!

Faſcinating purity!—what am I about? To▪ deceive or trifle with ſuch unſuſpecting affection would indeed be villiany!

is ſhe above? muſt ſee her—

La, I here that great, ridiculous. horſe jockey oaf Goldfinch coming up!—

—Good bye Mr Dornton!

Heaven bleſs you, Sophia—ſweet Sophia, Hea⯑ven bleſs you, my lovely angel! Heigho!

Heigho!

Is ſhe here?

I don't know, ſir,

Hah; my tight one,

well Charles!

How you ſtare! An't I the go? That's your ſort!

Ha, ha, ha—

Where's the widow,

Gone up to dreſs, and will not be down theſe two hours,

A hundred to eighty I'd ſup up a ſtring of twenty horſes in leſs time than ſhe takes to dreſs her fetlocks, plait her mane, trim her ears, and buckle on her body-clothes,

You improve daily Charles!

To be ſure,—That's your ſort!—

An't I a genus?

Quite an original!—you may challenge the whole fraternity of the whip to match you!

Match me, Newmarket can't match me!

—That's your ſort,

Oh no! Ha, ha, ha! you are harder to match than one of your own pied ponies—A very different being from either your father or grandfather!

Father or grandfather!—ſhakebags both.

How!

Father a ſugar-baker, grandfather a ſlopſeller—I'm a gentleman—That's your ſort,

Ha, ha, ha! And your father was only a man of worth,

Kept a gig!

—Knew nothing,—Never drove four;

No, but he was a uſeful member of ſociety,

A uſef—! What's that?

Ha, ha, ha! A pertinent queſtion,

A gentleman like me a uſeful member of ſo⯑ciety!—Bet the long odds nobody ever heard of ſuch a thing!

You have not acquired your character in the world for nothing, Charles,

World!—What does the world ſay?

Strange things—It ſays you have got into the hands of jockeys, Jews, and ſwindlers; and that, though old Goldfinch was in his day one of the richeſt men on 'Change, his ſon will ſhortly become poorer than the pooreſt black-leg at Newmarket,

Damn the world!—

With all my heart, damn the world, for it ſays little better of me,

Bet you ſeven to five the Eclipſe colts againſt the Highflyers, the ſecond ſpring meeting,

No, I have done with highflyer and eclipſe too—ſo you are in purſuit of the widow?

Full cry!—Muſt have her!

Ha, ha, ha! heigho! you muſt?

All up with me elſe! If I don't marry the wi⯑dow I muſt ſmaſh!—I have ſecured the knowing one,

Whom do you mean, the maid?

Promiſed her a hundred on the wedding day.

My miſtreſs can't ſee you at preſent, gentlemen,

Can't ſee me?

Take Harriet an airing in the phaeton,

What is Harriet your favourite?

To be ſure, I keep her:

You do?

Fine creature,

Well bred,

Juſt to my taſte—Like myſelf, free and eaſy. That's your ſort!

A fine woman?

Prodigious! ſiſter to the Iriſh giant, ſix feet in her ſtockings—That's your ſort!—ſleek coat, flowing mane, broad cheſt, all bone,—Daſhing figure in a phae⯑ton—ſky blue habit, ſcarlet ſaſh, green hat, yellow rib⯑bands, white feathers, gold band and taſſel!—That's your ſort,

Ha, ha, ha! heigho,—Why you are a high fellow, Charles!

To be ſure,—Know the odds!—Hold four in hand—Turn a corner in ſtile!—Reins in form—Elbows ſquare—Wriſt pliant—Hayait!—Drive the Coventry ſtage twice a week all ſummer—Pay for an inſide place—Mount the box—Tip the coachy a crown—Beat the [27] mail—Come in full ſpeed!—Rattle down the gateway!—Take care of your heads!—Never killed but one wo⯑man and a child in all my life—That's your ſort!

Take him with you

Want a hedge?—Take guineas to pounds pre⯑cipitate againſt Dragon?

No,

Wiſh I could have him a few!—Odd or even for fifty?

Ha, ha, ha! Odd enough!

Will you cut a card, hide in the hat, chuck in the glaſs, draw cuts, heads or tails, gallop the maggot, ſwim the hedgehog, any thing?

Nothing,

I'm up to all—That's your ſort!—Get him with me and pigeon him.

Come and ſee my greys—Been to Tatterſall's and bought a ſet of ſix—ſmokers!—Beat all England for figure, bone, and beauty,—Hayait, charmers!—That's your ſort!—Bid for two pair of mouſe ponies for Harriet.

Ha, ha, ha! The Iriſh Gianteſs drawn by mouſe ponies!

Come and ſee 'em,

No, I am weary of the company of ſtable boys,

Why ſo? ſhan't play you any tricks—If they ſquirt water at you, or make the colts kick you, tell me and I'll horſewhip 'em—Arch dogs! Deal of wit!

When they do I'll horſewhip them myſelf,

Yourſelf?—'Ware that—Wrong there!

I think I ſhould be right,

Do you!—What—Been to ſchool?

To ſchool!—Why yes—I—

Mendoza—Oh!—Good-morrow!

Ha, ha, ha! There goes one of my friends! Heigho!

What is it Jack? Tell me!

Come, Harry we ſhall be too late! They are about to begin, we may have what bets we pleaſe:

Where? What?

The great match! The famous Frenchman and Will the marker! A thouſand guineas a ſide!

What tennis?

Yes, the Frenchmen gives fifteen and a biſque,

To Will the marker?

Yes,

Will for a hundred,

Done!

Done, done!

I bar the bet; the odds are five to four already:

What, for the mounſeer?

Yes,

I'll take it, five hundred to four.

Done!

Done, done!

No, I bar!—I forget—I have cut, I'll never

You do for a hundred,

Done!

Done, done! ha, ha, ha!

Pſhaw!

What a cake!

But you'll go?

No,

Yes you will. Come, come, the match is begun every body is there! The Frenchman is the firſt player

It's a noble exerciſe!

Ay! Cato himſelf delighted in it,

Yes, it was much practiſed by the Romans,

The Romans! who are they?

Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha! will you go or will you not, Harry?

I can't Jack, my conſcience won't let me,

Pſhaw! Zounds, if we don't make haſte it will be all over,

Do you think it will?

No—I won't—I muſt not,

Come along, I tell you,

No,

They have begun:

Have they?—I'm off!

what folly! Come along!

No, I will not,

Well, well, if you're ſo poſitive—

ſtay Jack; ſtay—I'll walk up the ſtreet with you, but I won't go in,

Double or quits the hundred that you won of me laſt night you do!

I don't for a thouſand!

No, no, the hundred.

I tell you I won't. I won't go in with you,

Done for the hundred!

Done, done!

Hurrah!

Pray is Mr Milford, in the court?

I'll bet you gold to ſilver the Frenchman loſes! Hurrah!

He is not there,

Are you ſure?

The crowd is very great, but I can neither ſee him nor any of his companions,

Then he will not come:

I begin to hope ſo!

"Middleſex to wit—One thouſand pounds—Dornton againſt John Milford."

You muſt take none but ſubſtanſtial bail.—

what a ſcene!

He will not be here,

Heaven ſend!

Is the match begun?

The firſt game is juſt over,

Who loſt?

the Frenchman!

Hurrah!

Hurrah!

Damn the mounſeers! That's your ſort!

That's one of his companions. I begin to tremble—ſtand aſide! here they both come,

Which is he?

The ſecond,

I hear them! I hear them! Come along,

Ha, ha, ha!—Harry!—You would not go!—You were determined!

Zounds! Come along!

A word with you, ſir, if you pleaſe

With me? Who are you? What do you want!

You are my priſoner,

Priſoner! Damnation! Let me go!

I muſt do my duty, ſir.

Here, here; this is your duty,

It muſt not be ſir.

Mr Smith,—What, at the ſuit of Dornton?

Yes, ſir. 'Tis your own fault for leading his ſon to theſe places. He heard you were to bring him here.

Furies!—Marker!

Tell Harry Dornton to come to me inſtantly!

Yes ſir,

Zounds! Let me go and fee the match—

You muſt not, ſir,

Marker,

Sir!

Who wins?

The Frenchman has the beſt on't,

Tell Harry Dornton I am here in trouble, deſire him to come this moment,

Very well ſir,

I'll give you ten guineas for five minutes!

Take him away ſir,

You muſt come along, ſir,

have you told him?

He can't come ſir,

Very well, Harry! Very well!

well, ſir,

He would not leave the court for a thouſand pounds,

Come, come, ſir!

bring him along!

Hands off, ſcoundrels!

Fiends!

Well, Jacob, have you been?

Yes ſir,

Well, and what news? how is he?—Very bad?

Dead ſir,

Dead?

As Deborah!

I'm a lucky man!

Are you ſure he is dead, Jacob?

I ſaw him with my own eyes, ſir.

That's right, Jacob! I am a lucky man! And what ſay the people at the hotel? Do they know who he is?

Oh yes, ſir!—He was rich! A gentleman in his own country!

And did you take care they ſhould not know you?

To be ſure, ſir! You had given me my leſſon!

Ay, ay, Jacob! That's right!—You are a fine boy! mind me, and I'll make a man of you!—And you think they had heard nothing of his having called on me?

Not a word!

It was a luckey miſtake!

Well, Jacob! Don't ſay a word, and I'll give you—I'll give you a crown!

You promiſed me a guinea, ſir!

Did I, Jacob? Did I? Well, well! I'll give you a guinea, but be cloſe: did you call at the widow Warren?

Yes, ſir,

And will ſhe ſee me?

She deſires you will be there in an hour,

Very well Jacob—Keep cloſe, not a word about the foreign gentleman, or his having been here a week ago, or his being taken ſuddenly ill and dying!

It is a lucky ſtroke!—Cloſe, Jacob, my boy!

But give me the guinea, fir!

What now, Jacob?

If you pleaſe, ſir, you may forget—

Well, there, Jacob; there! you'll be a rich man, Jacob, a cunning fellow, I read it in your countenance, Jacob; cloſe, Jacob, and then—!

Perhaps you'll give me another?

Well ſaid, Jacob! you'll be a great man, mind what I ſay to you, and you'll be a great man—here's ſomebody coming! go, Jacob, cloſe,

And another guinea?

This is a luckey ſtroke,

ſo, Mr. Goldfinch what do you want?

Money—a thouſand pound directly,

Fine talking, Mr. Goldfinch, money's a ſcarce commodity, times are tickliſh!

Tellee I muſt have it,

Give me but good ſecurity, and you know I'm your friend,

Yes, good ſecurity and fifty per cent!

Why look you there now, for all you know the laſt annuity I had of you, I gave a full hundred more than was offered by your friend Aaron, the Jew:

My friend? Your friend! You collogue toge⯑ther,

Hear you now! For all you know I have always been your friend; always ſupplied you with money, have not I? And when I ſaw you running to ruin, I never told you of it, did I? I was willing to make all things eaſy!

Eaſy enough, you have pretty well 'eaſed me!

There is your companion Jack Milford; I ſhall be a heavy loſer by him!

Ah! It's all up with poor Jack, he's ſixed at laſt

What do you mean?

Old Dornton has ſent the Nab▪man after him!

And arreſted him?

Yes he's touched!

Jacob!

Run as faſt as you can to my good friend Mr Strawſhoe, the attorney, and tell him to take out detainders for all the debts I have bought up againſt Mr Milford! make haſte!

Yes, ſir,

I thought you were Jack Milford's friend too!

So I am, Mr Goldfinch; but I muſt provide for my family,

Come, come!—The bit! Tellee I want the coal directly! ſale at Tatterſall's to-morrow morning! Three Herod brood mares with each an eclipſe colt, would not loſe 'em for all Lombard-ſtreet! ſo will you let me have the bit?

Dear, dear! I tell you I can't Mr Goldfinch,

Then ſome other Jew muſt,

Jew! hear you, hear you, this it is to be the friend of an ungrateful ſpendthrift, calls me Jew! I who go to morning prayers every day of my life, and three times to tabernacle on a Sunday!

Yes, you cheat all day, tremble all night, and act the hypocrite the firſt thing in the morning,

Nay but ſtay, Mr Goldfinch, ſtay I want to talk to you—I have a ſcheme to make a man of you,

What? Bind me 'prentice to a uſurer,

Pſhaw! you are in purſuit of the widow Warren

Well?

Now what will you give me, and I'll ſecure her to you,

You,

I,

Which way?

I have a deed in my power, I won't tell you what, but I have it, by which I can make her marry the man I pleaſe, or remain a widow all her life; and that I am ſure ſhe will never do if ſhe can help it,

You a deed,

Yes I,

Shew it me,

Not for twenty thouſand pounds—depend upon me, I have it, I tell you I'm your friend, and you ſhall have her, that is on proper conditions—If not, Mr Goldfinch, you ſhall not have her,

Indeed, old Judas, well what are your con⯑ditions?

I find the late alderman died worth a hundred and fifty thouſand pounds,

Ay—

Every farthing, Mr Goldfinch! And my conſci⯑ence tells me that, riſk and character and all conſidered, I muſt come in for my thirds,

Your conſcience tells you that?

Yes, it does, Mr Goldfinch—Fifty thouſand is a fair price,

For the ſoul of a miſer,

If you'll join me, ſay ſo,

Fifty thouſand,

Not a farthing leſs! What, will there not be a hundred thouſand remaining?

Why that's true—it will cut a fine daſh.

To be ſure it will! Come with me! I'll draw up a ſketch of an agreement. After which we muſt fight cunning—The widow is a vain weak woman—you muſt get her written promiſe,

Written—

Under her own hand; with a good round penalty in caſe of forfeiture,

Well ſaid, old one!

Not leſs than twenty thouſand pounds! A jury would grant half!

Why you're a good one!

That would ſecure ſomething, and we would ſnack,

Dammee you're a deep one,

Ah, ha, ha! Do you think I am, Mr Goldfinch—ſigned on a ſtamp!

You know a thing or two:

Ah, ha, ha, ha; do you think I do, Mr Goldfinch,

You can teach 'em to bite the bubble,

Ah, ha, ha, ha! you joke, Mr Goldfinch, you joke.

But the devil will have you at laſt!

Lord forbid, Mr Goldfinch, don't terrify me—I hate the devil, Mr Goldfinch; indeed I do; I hate the name of him! Heaven keep me out of his fiery clutches.

No: he has you ſafe enough, bait his trap but with a guinea, and he is ſure to find you nibbling—

Don't talk about the devil, Mr Goldfinch, pray don't; but think about the widow ſecure her,

I muſt have the coal though this evening:

Don't loſe a moment, Mr Goldfinch;

Muſt not loſe the eclipſe colts—

Pſhaw, Mr Goldfinch, think leſs of the colts and more of the widow, get her promiſe black and white, Goldfinch going

Tellee I muſt have 'em,

All will then be ſafe!

Muſt have 'em.

ACT. III.

OH, miſs! I have got ſomething for you,

Something for me, what is it, what is it?

What will you give me—

Oh I'll give you

La, I've got no money, but I'll give you a kiſs and owe you ſixpence,

No. A ſhilling without the kiſs,

Well, well, a ſhilling:

There then,

La, what is it?

‘To Miſs Sophia Freelove.’ And ſuch a beautiful ſeal! it's a pity to break it,

La, nothing but a plum⯑cake,

Is that all?

Ecod—ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I do think—As ſure as ſixpence it is!—it is—

Is what?

Oh la it is!

What's the matter with the girl?

Ecod Jenny, it is the moſt curious plum-cake you ever ſaw

I ſee nothing curious about it,

Oh but you ſhall ſee, give me a knife—Oh no, that would ſpoil all,—Look you, Jenny, look—Do but look!

ha, ha, ha, ha! I told you ſo! The ſweet dear—

Did you ever ſee ſuch a plum-cake in your whole life, Jenny?—And look here!

Oh, how beautiful,—The ſhape of a honey-ſuckle—What ſhould that mean?—And two doves cooing, but here!—here's the writing,

Were ſuch peace and truth but mine, la, now, Mr Dornton, you know they are yours!

So, ſo! Mr Dornton ſends you valentines, miſs?

Oh yes. Jenny he is the kindeſt, ſweeteſt, handſomeſt gentleman!

You muſt give me that valentine, miſs,

Give it you:

Yes, that I may ſhew it to your mamma,

Indeed but don't you think it, I would not give this tiny bit of paper, no, not for a diamond as big—as big as the whole world,—And if you were to téll ma', and ſhe were to take it from me, I'd never love you, nor forgive you, as long as I live.

Oh but indeed, miſs, I'm not obliged to keep ſecrets for nothing,

Nah, Jenny, you know I am very good to you and here—here!—Don't tell ma', and I'll give you this ſilver thimble.

You are a very ſhocking perſon, Mr Sulky,—The wild man of the woods broke looſe, do return to your keeper, good Orang Outang; and don't go about to terrify the children!

I tell you, madam, Mr Milford is arreſted,

My brother;

Locked up at a bailiff's in the next ſtreet,

Oh dear!

And pray now what is that to me,

Madam!

I am not arreſted,

Would you were!

Oh the ſavage!

The pitileſs only ſhould feel pain. The ſtony⯑hearted alone ſhould be encloſed by walls of ſtone,

Don't be croſs with ma', ſir; I'm ſure ſhe'll releaſe my brother,

You are ſure, minikin!

Yes, ma'; for I am ſure no ſoul on earth would ſuffer a fellow creature to lie and pine to death, in a frightful dark dungeon, and fed with bread and water:

Your late huſband recommended the payment of his ſon's debts,

Recommended?

Yes,

But leaving it to my own prudence,

More's the pity,

Which prudence I ſhall follow,

It will be the firſt time in your life—You never yet followed prudence, you always ran before it;

Nay come, dear ma', I am ſure you have a piti⯑ful heart! I am ſure you could not reſt in your bed if my poor brother was in priſon!

Hold your prattle, child,

Ah! I'm ſure you'll make him happy, and pay his debts!

Why Jenny!

You won't?

Jenny;

La, dear ſir, have patience—

You are an angel!—And you are—!

Nay pray, ſir, do ſtay!

I am glad the monſter is gone! He is a very in⯑tolerable perſon! Pray, Jenny, how did it happen that Mr. Dornton went away without ſeeing me?

Servant, Mr Silky, madam.

Leave us, Jenny.

So, Mr Silky—What is this very urgent buſineſs of yours?

Are we ſafe, madam? Will nobody interrupt us; nobody over-hear us?

No, no—But what is the meaning of this caution?

Do you know this hand-writ⯑ing, madam?

Ah!—It is my poor old dear man's, I ſee.

You have heard of a will he left in France?

Pſhaw! Will indeed? He left no will!

Yes, he did, madam.

I won't believe it! He loved me too well to rob me of a ſingle guinea! Poor ſimple ſoul! I was his darling!

His darling madam!—With your permiſſion, I will juſt read a ſingle clauſe in which his darling is men⯑tioned! Look, madam; it is thealderman's hand!

‘But as I have ſometimes painfully ſuſpected the exceſ⯑ſive affection which my ſaid wife, Winifred Warren, profeſſed for me during my decline, and that the ſo⯑lemn proteſtations ſhe made never to marry again▪ ſhould ſhe ſurvive me, were both done with ſiniſter views, it is my will that, ſhould ſhe marry, or give a legal promiſe of marriage, written or verbal, that ſhe ſhall be cut off with an annuity of ſix hundred a year; and the reſidue of my effects in that caſe to be equally divided between my natural ſon, John Milford, and my wife's daughter, Sophia Freelove.’

Six hundred a year! An old dotard! ‘To ima⯑gine that a woman of my elegant ideas could exiſt on ſix hundred a year!’ Brute! Monſter! I hate him now as heartily as when he was alive: But pray, ſir, how came you by this will?

Why it was odd enough! And yet eaſy enough! My name is Silky, madam—

Well?

And you know the executor's name is Sulky—

Well?

The gentleman that delivered it only made a miſ⯑take of a letter, and give it to Mr. Silky inſtead of to Mr. Sulky!

And where is that gentleman?

Ah, poor man! He is dead!

Dead?

And gone! ‘Was taken ill the very night he parted from me, went to his hotel, was put to bed in a high fever, and carried off in leſs than a week.’

And does Mr Sulky know of this will being delivered?

Not a ſyllable! It's all cloſe and ſmooth!

So much the better—Come, give it me, and—

Excuſe me there, madam! I can't do that!

Why ſo?

My conſcience won't let me! I muſt provide for my family!

And pray what proviſion is this will to make for your family, Mr Silky?

Why, madam. I have a propoſal—You know the power of your own charms!

Which I believe is more than you do, Mr Silky—

Hah! Don't ſay ſo, madam! Don't ſay ſo!—Would I were a handſome, rich and wellborn youth! But you know Mr Goldfinch?—Ah, ha, ha, ha! I could tell you a ſecr [...]t!

What, that he is dying for me, I ſuppoſe?

Ah! So ſmitten!—Talks of nothing elſe!

And is that any ſecret, think you?

The alderman I find died worth more than a plum and a half—

Well?

I have talked the matter over with my friend, Mr Goldfinch, and he thinks it but reaſonable, that for a ſecret of ſo much importance, which would almoſt ſweep the whole away, I ſhould receive one third.

Fifty thouſand pounds, Mr Silky?

I can't take leſs.

Why you are a greater rogue than even I thought you!

Lord, madam, it's no roguery! It's only a know⯑ledge of the world! A young huſband and a hundred thouſand pounds, or poor ſix hundred a year without any huſband!

You are a very ſhocking old miſer▪ Mr Silky! A very repulſive ſort of a perſon! What heart you had is turned to ſtone! You are inſenſible of the power of a pair of fine eyes! But I have made a conqueſt that places me beyond your reach—I mean to marry Mr Dornton!

What! Old Mr Dornton, madam?

Old Mr Dornton, man?—I never ſaw the figure in my life! No! The gay and gallant young Mr Dornton! The pride of the city, and the lawful monarch of my bleeding heart!

Ha▪ ha, ha! Young Mr Dornton!

So you may take your will and light your fires with it! You will not make a penny of it in any other way. Mr. Sulky, the executor is Mr. Dornton's partner, and when I marry Mr Dornton he will never inflict the abſurd penalty.

Ha, ha, ha! No, madam! When you marry Mr Dornton, that he certainly never will! But if any acci⯑dent ſhould happen to prevent the match, you will then let me here from you?

Lord▪ good man! Don't mention the horrid idea? Do leave me to my delightful meditations! I would indulge in ſoft ſenſibility and dreams of bliſs; and not be diſturbed by dead men's wills, or the ſordid extorti⯑ons of an avaricious old rogue!

Very well, madam! The ſecret for the preſent remains between ourſelves! You'll be ſilent for your own ſake! Only remember, ha, ha, ha! If you ſhould want me, I live at number 40. My name is on the door. Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Dornton! Good morning, madam: Mr. Dornton: Ha, ha, ha! You'll ſend if you ſhould want me?

Jenny!

Ma'am!

As I was ſaying, Jenny, pray how did it happeu that Mr, Dornton went away without ſeeing me?

Indeed ma'am, I don't know.

Cruel youth!

I'm ſure, ma'am, I wonder how you can like him better than Mr. Goldfinch!

Mr, Goldfinch is very well, Jenny—But Mr, Dornton! Oh incomparable!

I am ſure, ma'am, if I was a rich lady, and a hand⯑ſome lady, and a fine lady, like you, I ſhould ſay Mr. Goldfinch for my money!

Should you, Jenny? Well, I don't know—

Tellee I muſt ſee her.

As I live, here he comes!—He is ſuch a boiſterous perſon!

How do I look Jenny? I pro⯑teſt my face is of all colours!

You had better go up to your toilette for a minute.

That ſmooth tongued old extortioner has put me into ſuch a flutter—Don't let him go Jenny.

Never fear, ma'am.

I'll not ſtay too long.

Here I am—All alive.

Dear! What's the matter?

Safe and ſound! Fine kick up!

Have you been thrown?

Pitched five-and-twenty feet into a ditch—Souſe!

Dear me!

Pretty commence! No matter—Limbs whole—Heart ſound—That's your ſort!

Where did it happen)

Bye road—Back of Iſlington—Had them tight in hand too—Came to a ſhort turn and a narrow lane—Up flew a damned dancing maſter's umbrella—Bounce—Off they went—Road repairing—Wheelbarrow in the way—Craſh—Out flew I—Whiz—Fire flaſhed—Lay ſtunned—Got up—Looked fooliſh—Shafts broke—Snar⯑ler and Blackguard both down—Black-and-all-black pay⯑ing away, pannels ſmaſhed, traces cut, Snarler lamed.

Terrible!

Damned mad!—Curſed a few, cut up Black-and-all-black, horſewhipped Tom, took coach and drove here like a devil in a whirlwind!

'Tis very well your neck's not broke!

Little ſtiff—No matter—Damn all dancing⯑maſters and their umbrellas!

You had better have been here. Mr Goldfinch. You ſtand ſo long, ſhilly ſhally, that you'll be cut out at laſt, If you had but a licence now in your pocket, I'd undertake to have you married in half an hour!

Do you think ſo?

Think? I'm ſure on't,

Dammee, I'll poſt away and get one—muſt not loſe her; the game's up if I do—muſt have her; be true to me, and I'll ſecure you the hundred, I'll be back from the Commons in a ſmack!

Ah, widow, here am I!

I proteſt, Mr Goldfinch—was ever the like,—

Never mind, bruſh off—I'm the lad—been to Hatchet's—beſpoke the wedding-coach,

But—ſir—

Pannels ſtripe painted—hammer-cloth fringed—green and white—curtains feſtooned—patent wheels—ſilver furniture—all flaſh—light as a bandbox—trun⯑dle and ſpin after my greys like a tandem down hill—paſs—ſhew 'em the road—whurr—whizz-gig,—That's your ſort!

It will be ſuperb,

Superb?

—Tellee it will be the thing!—The go—the ſtare—the gape—the gaze—the rich widow and the tight one,—there they go—away they bowl—That's your ſort,

‘You have a taſte for theſe things, Mr Goldfinch,’

‘Taſte,—believe I have—who more?—Phae⯑tons and curricles, parks and pleaſure-grounds—up hill and down—highways and bye-ways"—I'm the boy that ſhall drive you,’

Pardon me, Mr Goldfinch; if a certain event were by the wiſe diſpoſition of providence to take place, I ſhould think proper to drive,

You drive, if you do damn me;

Sir,

I'm chriſtened and called Charles—Charles Goldfinch—The knowing Lad that's not to be had—winter and ſummer—Fair weather and foul—Low ruts [42] or no ruts—Never take a falſe quarter—No, no, widow—I drive—hayait!—Ah,—Ah get on,—St—St—Touch whitefoot in the flank—Tickle ſnarler in the ear—Cut up the yelper—Take out a fly's eye—Smack crack—That's your ſort,

I aſſure you, Mr Goldfinch, you entertain very improper ſuppoſitions concerning—

Go for the licence

Nay but ſurely Mr—

Go for the licence—reſolved—Taking it here▪

If retroſpect and—and affection threw no other obſtacles in the way—yet the—the world—prudence,

The world!—prudence,—damn▪ the world, damn prudence,

Oh but ſir,

The world nor nobody elſe has nothing to do with neither your prudence nor mine,—we'll be married immediately,

Immediately, Mr. Goldfinch.!—I—

What you won't?

Nay, Mr Goldfinch—I—do not—abſolutely renunciate—but I—wiſh

It was over—Know▪ you do—go for the li⯑cence

Pray—Dear Mr Goldfinch—

Go for the licence, I tellee.

Only a word,

To the wiſe—I'm he—go for the licence—That's your ſort!

Mr Goldfinch!—I declare—

Still the ſame hurry, the ſame crowd, Mr Smith,

Much the ſame ſir, the houſe never expe⯑rienced a day like this! Mr Sulky, thinks we ſhall never get through

Is Milford taken,

Yes ſir,

Unprincipled prodigal! my ſon owes his ruin to him alone. But he ſhall ſuffer,

My young maſter's tradeſmen are waiting,

Bid them come in,

All my [43] own fault, my own fond folly! Denied him nothing, encouraged him to ſpend; and now ‘the unnatural fa⯑ther can coolly think of turning him on the wide pi⯑tileſs world; there to ſtarve, pine in a priſon, rot in dungeons, among agues, rheums and loath ſomeneſs!’

This way gentlemen!

Zounds! what an army—A vile thoughtleſs profligate!—"Yes, yes, miſery be his portion; he me⯑rits it;"

You are wanted in the counting-houſe ſir,

Very well, I'll be with you in a moment, gen⯑tlemen—abandoned ſpendthrift,

I don't like all this, what does it mean?

Danger,

He has been a good cuſtomer—None of your punctual paymaſters, that look over their accounts,

Oh, a different thing! Nothing to be got by them—Always take care to affront them,

Perhaps it is a trick of the old gentleman, to inſpect into our charges;

I don't like that—rather hear of any tax than of taxing my bill.

Humph! Tradeſmen begin to underſtand theſe things, and allow a reaſonable profit!

Can't have leſs than fifty per cent. for re⯑tail credit trade▪

To be ſure not; if a man would live in ſtyle, and ſave a fortune as he ought:

Huſh, mind—All deviliſh hard run,

Certainly!

Not a guinea in the houſe!—To-morrow's Sa⯑turday—Hem!

Your ſervant, gentlemen, your ſervant.—Pray how happens it that you bring your accounts in here

We received notice, ſir,

You have none of you any demands upon me?

Happy to ſerve you ſir,

We ſhall all be glad of your cuſtom ſir,

All, all!

And do you come expecting to be paid?

Money, ſir, is always agreeable,

Tradeſmen find it a ſcarce commodity:

Bills come round quick,

Workmen muſt eat!

For my part, I always give a gentleman, who is a gentleman▪ his own time.

I underſtand you!—And what are you, ſir, who ſeem to ſtand apart from the reſt?

A hoſier, ſir, I am unworthy the company of theſe honeſt gentlemen, who live in ſtyle, I never affront a punctual paymaſter▪ not I: and, what they will think ſtrange, I get more by thoſe who do look over their bills, than thoſe who do not,

Humph!

Blab!

Shab!

And what may be the amount of your bill, ſir?

A triſle, for which I have no right to aſk,

No right! what do you mean?

Your ſon, ſir, made me what I am; redeemed me and my family from ruin; and it would be an ill re⯑quital of his goodneſs to come here, like a dun, at ſuch a time as this; when I would rather, if that could help him, give him every ſhilling I have in the world,

Would you? Would you?

You look like an honeſt man! But what do you do here then?

Mr Dornton, ſir, knew I ſhould be unwilling to come, and ſent me word he would never ſpeak to me more if I did not: and, rather than offend him, I would even come here on a buſineſs like this,

You are an honeſt fellow—! An unaccountable—and ſo Harry has been your friend?

Yes ſir; a liberal-minded friend; for he lent me money, though I was ſincere enough to tell him of his faults.

Zounds ſir, how came you to be a weaver of ſtockings?

I don't know, ſir, how I came to be at all; I only know that here I am,

A philoſopher!

I am not fond of titles, ſir—I'm a man,

Why is it not a ſhame, now, that the ſoul of Socrates ſhould have crept and hid itſelf in the body of a ſtocking-weaver? give me your bill,

Excuſe me, ſir,

Give me your bill, I tell you! I'll pay this bill myſelf:

I cannot, muſt not, ſir.

Sir, I inſiſt on—

ſo ſir,

why have you aſſembled theſe people into whoſe debt you have diſhoneſtly run, want⯑ing the power to pay; and who have as diſhoneſtly truſted you, hoping to profit exorbitantly by your ex⯑travagance?

Oh, fir, you don't know them! They are very complaiſant, indulgent kind of people. Are not you, gentlemen?

Certainly, ſir.

Certainly.

Be kind enough to wait a few minutes without, my good friends.

Mr, Williams—

Sir—

How dare you introduce this ſwarm of locuſts here? How dare you?

Deſpair, ſir, is a dauntleſs hero.

Have you the effrontery to ſuppoſe that I can or ſhall pay them?—What is it you mean?

To let you ſee I have creditors.

Cheats! Bloodſuckers!

Some of them: but that is my fault—They muſt be paid.

Paid!

The innocent muſt not ſuffer for the guilty.

You will die in an alms-houſe!

May be ſo; but the orphan's and the widow's curſe ſhall not meet me there!

Harry! Zounds!

Paid! Whom do you mean to rob?

My name is Dornton, ſir.

Are you not—?

Yes, ſir.

Quit the room! Begone!

You are the beſt of men, ſir, and I—! But I hate whining. Repentance is a pitiful ſcoundrel, that [46] never brought▪ back a ſingle yeſterday. Amendment is a fellow of more mettle—But it is too late—Suffer I ought, and ſuffer I muſt—my debts of honour diſcharged, do not let my tradeſmen go unpaid.

You have ruined me!

The whole is but five thouſand pounds!

But?—The counter is loaded with the deſtruc⯑tion you▪ have brought upon us all!

No, no—I have been a ſad fellow, but not even my extravagance can ſhake this houſe.

Bills are pouring in ſo faſt upon us we ſhall never get through!

What!—What is that you ſay?

We have paid our▪light gold ſo often over that the people are very ſurly!

Pay it no more! Sell it inſtantly▪ for what it is worth, diſburſe the laſt guinea, and ſhut up the doors!

Are you ſerious?

Sir!

Are you ſerious, I ſay?—Is it not ſome trick to impoſe upon me?

Look into the ſhop, ſir, and convince yourſelf!—If we have not a ſupply in half an hour we muſt ſtop!

Tol de rol—My father! Sir!

Is it poſſible?—Diſgraced?—Ruined?—In reality ruined?—By me?—Are theſe things ſo?—Tol de rol—

Harry!—How you look!—You frighten me!

It ſhall be done!

What do you mean?—Calm yourſelf, Harry!

Ay! By heaven!

Hear me, Harry!

This inſtant!

Harry!

Don't droop!

Don't deſpair! I'll find relief—

firſt to my friend—he cannot fail? But if he ſhould!—why ay, then to Megaera!—I will marry her, in ſuch a cauſe, were ſhe fifty widows, and fifty furies!

Calm yourſelf Harry,

I am calm! Very calm—it ſhall be done—don't be dejected—You are my father—you were the firſt of men in the firſt of cities—revered by the good and re⯑ſpected [47] by the great—you flouriſhed profperouſly!—But you had a ſon!—I remember it!

Why do you roll your eyes Harry,

I won't be long away,

Stay where you are, Harry!

All will be well, I am very happy, do not leave me,—I am very happy!—indeed I am Harry,—very happy!

Tol de rol—heaven bleſs you, ſir! You are a worthy gentleman, I'll not be long:

Hear me, Harry—I'm very happy!

Mr Smith, ſir, deſires to know whether we may ſend to the Bank for a thouſand pounds worth of ſilver

No ſcoundrel,

Harry,—Harry, I am very happy,—Harry Dornton!

I am very happy,—Very happy.

Mr Goldfinch not called yet, Jacob?

No, ſir,

Nor any meſſage from the widow?

No, ſir,

See who knocks, Jacob,

I dare ſay it is one or t'other! They muſt come to me at laſt,

Are you ſure he is at home?

He is here, ſir.

Mr Silky,

Ah! my dear Mr Dornton, how do you do? I hope you are very well! I am exceedingly glad to ſee you! this call is ſo kind, ſo condeſcending, it gives me infinite pleaſure,

Mr Silky, you muſt inſtantly grant me a favour,

A favour, what is it? How can I ſerve you? I would run to the world's end,

You muſt exert your whole friendſhip!

Friendſhip, ſir? Say duty, 'twas you that made a man of me! I ſhould have been ruined, in the Bench, I know not where or what, had you not come forward [48] and ſupported me at the critical moment! And now I can defy the world,

Hear me, I know you can,

Oh yes! The ſum you lent me, a lucky ſpecula⯑tion, five years of continual good fortune, and other little lifts have made me, I won't ſay what—But, your father and perhaps another or two excepted, I ſay per⯑haps, I'll ſhew my head with the proudeſt of 'em

Why then I am a fortunate man!

To be ſure you are! how can I ſerve you? what can I do? Make me happy!

You can reſcue me from phrenſy!

Can I?—I am proud! Infinitely happy!—What? How? I am a lucky fellow! Tell me which way?—Where can I run? What can I do?

The requeſt is ſerious—trying!

So much the better! So much the better! Whom would I ſerve, if not you?—You! The ſon of the firſt man in the city!

You miſtake!

I don't! You are, you are! Dornton and Co. may challenge the world, the houſe of Hope perhaps excepted!

Woefully miſtaken!

Pooh!

Our houſe is in danger of ſtopping payment!

Sir?—Stop payment!

My follies are the cauſe!

Stop payment?

I have not been uſed to aſk▪favours—but—

Stop payment!

Scorn me, curſe me, ſpurn me, but ſave my fa⯑ther!

Stop payment?

What means this alteration in your countenance?

Oh dear, no! Ha, ha, ha! Not in the leaſt! Ha, ha, ha! I aſſure you, I, I, I—

I have told you our ſituation. Yourſelf and two other friends muſt jointly ſupport my father, by your credit, to the amount of fifty thouſand pounds—Mark me!—Muſt!

Fifty thouſand pounds, Mr. Dornton! Fifty thou⯑ſand pounds! Are you dreaming? Me? Fifty thouſand pounds! Me? Or half the ſum? Or a fifth of the ſum Me!

Prevaricating ſcound—! Hear me, ſir!

Yes, ſir!

I muſt be calm—

Are you not a—! I ſay—Sir—You have yourſelf informed me of your abi⯑lity, and I muſt inſiſt, obſerve ſir! I inſiſt on your im⯑mediate performance of this act of duty!

Duty, and fifty thouſand pounds! Are you made Mr. Dornton? Are you mad? Or do you think me mad?

I think you the baſeſt of wretches!

Nay, Mr. Dornton, I would do any thing to ſerve you! Any thing, I proteſt to Heaven!—Would go any where, run—

Of my errands, wipe my ſhoes! Any dirty me⯑nial office that coſt you nothing—And this you call ſhew⯑ing your gratitude?

Is it not, Mr Dornton?

And will you give no help to the houſe

Nay, Mr. Dornton!—

After the favours you have been for many years receiving, the profeſſions you have been daily making, and the wealth you have by theſe means been hourly acquiring! Will you not, ſir?

Nay, Mr. Dornton—!

Will you not, ſir?

Don't hurt a poor old man! I can't!

Scoundrel!

Bleſs my heart! Stop payment?—The houſe of Dornton!—Fifty thouſand pounds? I declare I am all of a tremble! James! William!

Have we any bills on the houſe of Dornton?

I have juſt been examining the books, ſir, We have bills to the amount of—

How much? How much? A thouſand pounds?

Three, ſir.

Three!—Three thouſand? Bleſs my heart!

We heard the news the very moment after young Mr. Dornton came in!

Run, pay the bills away!

Where, ſir?

Any where! Any body will take 'em! Run with them to my dear friend, Mr Smallware; it is too far for him to have heard of the craſh. Begone! Don't leave [50] him Give my very beſt reſpects to him! He will ob⯑lige me infinitely! Fly!

And go you, James, to the clearing houſe, and get it whiſpered among the clerks. Then if there are any of Dornton's bills to be bought at fifty per cent. diſcount, let me know. I will buy up all I can—

It's a ſafe ſpecula⯑tion: I know the houſe: there muſt be a good round dividend.

ACT. IV.

A WAY, Handmaid of Hecate! Fly!

Lord, ſir, you don't mean as you ſay!

Will you begone, Cerberea?—Invite my Goddeſs to deſcend in a golden ſhower, and ſuddently relieve theſe racking doubts.

Mr. Dornton!

Widow!—Here am I!—Phaeton the ſecond hurl⯑ed from my flaming car! I come burning with fierce de⯑ſires, devoutly bent on committing the deadly ſin of ma⯑trimony! May theſe things be? Speak, my ſaving Angel!

‘Fie upon you! How can you throw one into ſuch inſuperable trepidation of ſpirits?’

‘Will you have me?—Pronounce but the bleſſed Yes, and I am thine for ever and for aye.’

‘Dear Mr Dornton—! You—I—’

Nay, but—! Dear Mr Dornton—!

Do not imagine, amiable widow, that I am mad!—No, no, no!—

Only a little flighty—Left my father furiouſly, drank three bottles of Burgundy franticly, flew in amorous phrenſy to the at⯑tack, and will carry the place or die on the ſpot!—Pow⯑der and poiſon await my choice; and let me tell you, ſweet widow, I am a man of my word. So you'll have me, won't you?

Oh, Mr Dornton—!

Why you would not ſee my father periſh! Would you? And me expire! Would you?

Am I ſo very cruel?

Then ſay Yes!—Yes or—Piſtols—Daggers—Cannon balls!

Yes, ſir, yes, yes!

Hold, fair widow! Kind widow, hold! Be not raſh!—I am the verieſt! villain!—Avoid me!—A ruined—! But that were indeed a trifle—My father! Him! Him have I ruined! Heard you that? Bring forth your hoards! Let him once more be himſelf, and bid me kiſs the duſt!

‘Elegant youth! [Aloud] Ah you flatterer! I own you have been a little—wild, but—’

Oh fie! How can you terrify one ſo?

And wilt thou, widow, be his ſupport?

Wilt thou?

Cruel queſtion! How can I deny?

Immortal bleſſings be upon thee! My father!

Will be all rapture to hear—!

‘Will he?—Words of comfort!—Will he?—A buxom, fair and bounteous dame, whoſe treaſures [52] can reſtore his tottering fortunes to their wonted ſplen⯑dour! Ha! Will he? Will he?’

Ah, ha, ha, ha,

You don't know my father! A ſtrange, affectionate—! That loves me—! Oh! He—! And you ſee how I uſe him! You ſee how I uſe him! But no matter—Tol de rol—We'll be married to-night.

Oh fie!

Ay, my Madona! To-night's the day—The ſooner the better—'Tis to reſcue a father, blithſome widow! A father! To ſave him have I fallen in love—Remember—Sin with open eyes, widow—Money—I muſt have money—Early in the morn, ere counters echo with the ring of gold, fifty thouſand muſt be raiſed!

It ſhall, Mr. Dornton.

Why, ſhall it? Shall it? Speak again, beatific viſion, ſpeak! Shall it?

Tol de rol—‘He ſhall live! He ſhall ſmile! Again his heart ſhall feel joy!—Oh my bland and bonny widow! [Partly ſinging] My widow fair and debo⯑nair—Keep thy word—Let but my father be himſelf, and I am thine! Body and ſoul thine!’

‘And are your really—? Oh, no!—No— [Co⯑quettiſhly] You are not in love?’

‘[Coquetting] Fie! I ſhall hate you, if you are ſo fond of me! I ſhall indeed!—But no—You are man!—Roving faithleſs man!’

‘No, no! Fear not! Thou, gracious widow, art my overflowing cup of conſolation—What! A fa⯑ther ſaved—?’—Remember!—Fifty thouſand the firſt thing in the morning?

And would not a part this evening—?

What ſayeſt thou?—Oh, no!—Whoo!—Thouſands—

"No: you are a naughty bad man, and I don't love you: I don't indeed—Elſe." I have a trifling ſum.

How much?

Six thouſand—

Six?

Which I meant to have diſpoſed of, but—

No, no! I'll diſpoſe of it, dear widow!

I'll diſpoſe of it in a twinkling!

‘Thou▪art my Goddeſs! [Kiſſes her again] By the faith of my body but I will thank thee—Yea thee will love ex⯑ceedingly!’

‘Oh fie!—No, you won't!—Will you?’

‘Will I? [Sighs] Shall I not be in duty bound?’

‘No!—You can love me.’

‘Ha, ha, ha! My fair Pelican of Potoſi! Queen of Pactolus!’ Doubt not my gratitude—Let this and this—

Fie! You are a ſad man—But I'll bring you a draft!

Do, my blooming widow! Empreſs of the gol⯑den iſles, do

I tell you, you are a very bad man!—But re⯑member, this trifle is for your own uſe.

No, my pearl unparalleled! My father's! ‘My father's! My pocket is an inſidious gulf, into which I never more will guineas caſt.’ Save but my father, and I will kiſs the ground on which thou treadeſt, and live and breathe but on thy bounty!

St!

Ah, ha! my merry maid of May!

I ſuppoſe you are waiting to ſee miſs Sophy, now you have got rid of the old lady?

Got rid of the old lady?—‘Thou brazen pin⯑placer, thou virgin of nine-and-twenty years occupa⯑tion!’ No. "I have not got rid of the old lady▪" [54] The old lady is to be my blooming, youthful bride!—And I, happy youth, am written and deſtined in the records of eternity her other half!—"Before the ſtars were this marriage was decreed—" Heigho.

Lord, ſir, what rapturation,—But ſtay a little, and I'll tell miſs Sophy her mamma wants her, here; ſo then—huſh—

"An't you a ſad man?"—Here's the draft,

Thanks, my Sultana—‘Thou ſhall find me very grateful—Thou haſt bought and paid for me, and I am thine!—By fair and honeſt traffic thine!’—This halcyon night the prieſt, pronouncing conjurations dire,

Fie, I won't look at you:

Ay, to-night we'll marry; ſhall we not?

I'll not anſwer you a word!

"You are a dangerous man"

how dare you talk to me of to-night?

To-night ſhall be a night of wonder, and we'll love like—

like Darby and Joan,

I ſhall hate you intolerably!

Hey for the parſon's permiſſion, hay my ſub⯑lime widow,

To ſteal thus upon one at an unguarded mo⯑ment—

But here firſt let me kneel, and thus to Ceres pay

"I'll never forgive you!—I hate you now worſe than ever."

there ſir.

Ah!

There ſir,—Oh pray ſir, take it ſir,

Why minikin—I

I requeſt ſir,—I deſire ſir!

Tol de rol,

why then there, ſir—and there, ſir—and there, there, there, there, ſir.

Poor minikin! I declare, ſhe is jealous,

And I'll—I'll—wri-i-i-ite to my—to my grandma-a-a-a directly,

Fie, child,

And I'll go do-o-o-own—into Glo-o-o-oſter⯑ſhire,

Go up to your chamber, child!

And I'll tell▪my grandma-a what a falſe, baſe, bad man you are: and ſhe ſhall ha-ate you, and deſpiſe you; ‘and every body ſhall ha-ate you, and deſpiſe you;’ and I'll ha-a-ate you, and deſpiſe you myſelf!

Poor thing!

And moreover I'll hate and deſpiſe all mankind and for your ſake

I'll live and die a maid!

Yes, child, that I dare be ſworn you will,

Widow, I'm a ſad fellow, don't have me—I'm a vile fellow, Sophy! You are right to deſpiſe me, I am going to marry your mother!

I'll go down into Glo-o-oſterſhire—I wo-on't live in ſuch a falſe-hearted city! And you ought to be aſhamed of yourſelf, ma', to make yourſelf ſo ridi⯑culous.

No, no, ſweet Slyth, it is my fault, all my fault!

Be gone, miſs!

Sweet widow! gentle widow,—I've ſold myſelf, Sophy, ſix thouſand pounds is the earneſt money paid down, for the reptile Harry Dornton—I love you, Sophy!

How, Mr Dornton?

I do by heaven! Take back your money, widow

I'm a ſad ſcoundrel,

You are a baſe faithleſs man, you know you are, and you are a pitileſs woman, a mercileſs woman, for all you are my own mother, to let my poor brother Milford go to be ſtarved to death in a dark dungeon.

Milford in priſon?

Yes, ſir, arreſted by your cruel, old, ugly fa⯑ther, I'm ſure he is ugly! Though I never ſaw him in my life, I'm ſure he is an ugly, hideous, ugly mon⯑ſter!

Is this true, widow?

ſir—

Arreſted by my father?—ſquander⯑ing her money on a ruined reprobate, and won't releaſe her huſband's ſon?

Nay but, dear Mr Dornton!

I'll be with you again preſently, widow; pre⯑ſently, preſently,

‘To-night, you know, Mr Dornton!’

Mr Goldfinch is coming up ma'am,

I have no time to waſte with Mr Goldfinch. I'll preſently ſend him about his buſineſs. Mr Dornton talks I don't know how Jenny—ſays it muſt be to⯑night—

Well widow?

Not ſo free, ſir!

Have you got the licence?

No.

No!

No—Been to Tatterſall's,

And not for the licence?

Tellee I've been to Tatterſall's,

Ah, It's all over!

Made ſure of the eclipſe colts—muſt not loſe 'em,

Stupid boody!

what is your preſent buſineſs ſir?

My buſineſs, ha, ha, ha! That's a good one▪ I'll tell you my buſineſs,

Keep your diſtance ſir,

Diſtance, widow? No; that's not the way, I ſhould be double diſtanced if I did.

Were you indeed a man of deportment and breeding!

Breeding? look at my ſpurs,

Had you the manner, the ſpirit, the—But no—You are no gentleman—

Whew! No gentleman?

Dammee that's a good one!—Charles Goldfinch no gentleman?—Aſk in the box-lobby! Enquire at the ſchool!

Sir, you are a tedious perſon: your company is troubleſome!

Turf or turnpike, keep the beſt of cattle—Walk, trot or gallop—Run, amble or canter—Laugh at every thing on the road—Give 'em all the go-by—Beat the trot⯑ting butcher! Gentleman?—That's is your ſort!

Follow me.

I beg, ſir, I may not be intruded upon with you or your horſe-jockey jargon any more.

Here's a kick up. ‘What's all this? Muſt have her or ſmaſh!—Smirker [Pointing after Jenny] will tell me what it means!—Smart thing for a light weight. Spirit, ſhape, and form—Carry a fine neck in a running martingale—Shews blood—Win all the give and takes—Take her into training—Match her the Abingdon mile againſt all England—That's your ſort!’

Diſpatch, man! Diſpatch! Tell Jack Milford I can't wait a moment! Hold—Write an acquittal inſtantly for the thouſand pounds. But ſay not a word to him of my intention!

A thouſand, ſir? It is almoſt five thouſand!

Impoſſible!

There are detainders already lodged to that a⯑mount.

Five thouſand?

Muſt I write the acquittal for the ſum total?

No—Yes, write it however. Have it ready. Early to-morrow morning it ſhall be paid.

In the mean time there may be more detainders.

Damnation! What ſhall I do?—Run, ſend him! And do you here, a bottle of Champaign and two rum⯑mers!—Rummers! Mind!—Not a word to him!—

Five thouſand?—And more detainders!

Mr Dornton!

How now, Jack! What's your wonder? I can't ſtay a moment with you, but I could not paſs without giving you a call. Your hand, my boy! Cheer up!

Excuſe me, ſir!

Why, Jack!—‘Pſhaw! Caſt away this gloom and be—Honeſt Jack Milford! You are now in tri⯑bulation; [58] what of that? Why, man, the bleſſed ſu [...] himſelf is ſometimes under a cloud! Wait but till to⯑morrow’—Where is this wine?—

Come, drink, and waſh away grief! 'Sblood, never look froſty and aſkaunce, man, but drink, drink, drink!

Sir? I am not diſpoſed to drink!

"Why what a tabernacle phraſe is that!" Here's confuſion to all ſorrow and thinking!—I could a tale unfold—! But I won't afflict you—‘I muſt fly—Yet I can do no good to-night—’ Hurrah, Jack! Keep up your ſpirits! Be determined, like me!—I am the vileſt of animals that crawl the earth—Yet I won't flag!—I'll die a bold face villain! I have ſold myſelf—Am diſinhe⯑rited—Have loſt—Ah, Sophia!—Hurrah, Jack!—Keep it up!—Round let the great globe whirl; and whirl it will, though I ſhould happen to ſlide from its ſurface into infinite nothingneſs—Drink, my noble ſoul!

Your mirth is impertinent, ſir!

So it is, Jack!—Damned impertinent! But ruin is around us, and it is high time to be merry!

Sir? I muſt inform you that, though I have been betrayed by you and impriſoned by your father, I will not be inſulted!

Betrayed by me?

Ay, ſir! I have had full information of your mean arts! It was neceſſary I ſhould be out of the way, that your deſigns on Mrs. Warren might meet no inter⯑ruption!

Pſhaw!—Good day, Jack, good day!

And pray, ſir, inform your father I deſpiſe his meanneſs, and ſpurn at his malice!

Jack Milford!—Utter no blaſphemy a⯑gainſt my father!—I am half mad!—I came your friend.

I deſpiſe your friendſhip!

That as you pleaſe—Think all that is vile of me I defy you to exceed the truth—But utter not a word a⯑gainſt my father!

Deliberately, pitifully malignant!—Not ſatisfied with the little vengeance he himſelf could take, he has ſent round to all my creditors!

'Tis falſe!

Falſe?

A vile, eternal falſehood!

Gentlemen!—Did you call?

Leave the room, ſir!

But—!

We are buſy, ſir!

I thought—!

I tell you we are buſy, and muſt not be inter⯑rupted!

Mr. Mil⯑ford, you ſhall hear from me immediately.

What were thoſe papers? Surely I have not been raſh?—Nobody but his father could have brought my creditors thus on me all at once?—He ſeemed half drunk or half frantic!—Said he was ruined, diſin⯑herited—Talked ſomething of to-morrow—What could the purport of his coming be?

Well, ſir?

Here is a note, ſir.

From whom?

The young gentleman.

'I underſtand you are liberty'—How! At liberty?

‘I ſhall walk up to Hyde Park: you will find me at the Ring at ſix’—Exactly at ſix'—At liberty?

Your debts are all diſchared.

Impoſſible!—Which way?—By whom?

Why, ſir—That is—

No heſitation, but tell me by whom?

Sir—I thought I perceived ſome anger between you and the young gentleman?

Aſk no queſtions, ſir; make no delays! Tell me who has paid my debts?—Tell me the truth—Conſe⯑quences you do not ſuſpect depend upon your anſwer!

I perceive, ſir, there has been ſome warmth be⯑tween you: and though the young gentleman made me promiſe ſilence and ſecrecy.

What then it was Mr. Dornton?

Madman! What have I done!

And the danger not yet paſt?

Far from it! Mr. Sulky has twice brought us ſupplies, and is gone a third time.

Brave ſpirit! He would coin his heart!—My father ſupports it nobly?

He is anxious only for you.

Well▪ well! Ha▪ ha, ha! Tol lol—I'll bring him relief—Comfort him, aſſure him of it!—Ay, hear me heaven and—! To-night it is too late, but to-morrow all ſhall be well!—Excellent well!

You will marry the widow?

Have you heard?—Ay, boy, ay!—We'll marry! "I will go and prepare her—We'll marry!"—Early in the morning that all may be ſafe.

‘Will that be right?’

"I have told her the truth. She knows all: knows what a vile infernal—I tell you ſhe knows me! My father again ſhall look upon ‘the glare of the day! Firſt to the proctor, next to the lawyer, and then—! Ha, ha, ha! Ay then to my fair bride! Heareſt thou, my noble ſoul? I ſay my bride! My fair, my bloom⯑ing, thrice-bedded bride! No novice ſhe, old true blue! Tol de rol—It will be a merry wedding! Con⯑ſole my father! Cheer him! Enlighten his ſoul with hope! I'll keep my word; What, does he not know me? Am I not his own ſon?’—Why, ay—

The proctor's, the lawyer's, the widow's, and

at ſix?—

The Ring?—The Ring at ſix? Fiends!—Who can ſay what may happen?—What, leave my father to periſh?—I'll not go! Though all hell ſhould brand me for a coward, I'll not go!—Mr. Smith, take care of my father!—Mark me, I recommend my father to you!

Where is Harry?—Did not I hear his voice?

He is this moment gone, ſir.

Gone where?

Do you not ſuſpect where, ſir?

Suſpect!—What?—Speak?

To the widow Warren's.

For what purpoſe?

To marry her.

Marry!—The widow Warren!

And ſave the houſe by her fortune.

Generous Harry! Noble affectionate boy! I'd periſh firſt!

He ſeems very reſolute—He has already had ſix thouſand pounds of her.

Marry her? I ſhall go mad!—Where is Mr. Sulky?

He is juſt returned, I hear him in the compt⯑ing-houſe,

Tell him I wiſh to ſpeak with him,

Harry Dornton and the widow Warren? I ſhall die in Bedlam!

Are we ſafe, Mr Sulky?

For to-day, perhaps,

What bank have we to begin to-morrow?

I can't tell—I fear not thirty thouſand.

Mr Sulky, you—you—have this day ſhewn yourſelf an active partner, and a ſincere friend.

Humph,

I have long eſteemed you; I eſteem you more and more,

Humph,

My ſon Harry—

You are a very good man, Mr Sulky; a compaſſionate man, though you don't look ſo,

Humph,

'Tis pity to ſee ſo noble a youth—I am ſure you would not wiſh him any harm, Mr Sulky, I am ſure you would not!

Whom?

Harry Dornton, would you—would you—would you, Mr Sulky?

A kind queſtion,

Nay, I did not mean to be unkind, Mr Sulky, you know I did not—ſhall we not venture one ſtep more to ſave him?

Save? Impoſſible! Ruin only can reform him▪ total ruin.

You miſtake, Mr Sulky, his own misfortunes little affected him, but mine—he is ſtruck to the heart—I know him▪

So do I.

Struck to the heart—I'm ſure on't! he'll be a good man!—A great man,

Humph,

You know the widow Warren, Mr Sulky?

Don't you?

I never ſaw her in my life—I hear ſhe is full forty, her manners abſurd, her character cruel, and her morals—

Bad enough,

Six thouſand pounds at this moment is a great ſum! I own it! But do you think I ought not to ven⯑ture?

Venture what?

To—To take it from our bank?

For what?

For—For the—the relief of Harry Dornton?

What you pleaſe, take all! what is it to me?

Nay, but, Mr Sulky, you ſurely don't ſee the thing in the right light?

I can ſtarve, like the reſt!

Very well▪ Mr Sulky, very well: I perceive you can be intereſted, and—and—

And what?

Very well, Mr Sulky, very well!

I can ſtare bankruptcy in the face as ſtedfaſtly as you can.

Ay, ay. No doubt! The world is all alike! I am an old fool, and ſo ſhall live and die:

Why do you aſk my advice? Take the money. Empty the coffers! Pour it all into his hat, give him guineas to play at chuck farthing, and bank bills to curl his hair.

Very well, Mr Sulky:—Friendſhip, generoſity, a ſenſe of juſtice. Oh, it's all a farce,

Humph,

Very well, ſir: Very well,

Is the carriage ready?

It's at the door, ſir,

So, Mr Sulky, you could ſee him married to this widow, to whom you have ſo often as well as now given the worſt of cha⯑racter, rather than incur a little more riſk for your friend.

Marry?

Yes, marry,

Whom?

The widow Warren, I tell you!

And Harry Dornton?

Yes, and Harry Dornton,

When, where?

Immediately, with unexampled affection, to ſave me who am old and worthleſs, he would devote his youth, his great quailities, and his noble heart, to all the torments which ſuch a marriage and ſuch a woman can inflict

Take the money!

Are you ſerious, Mr Sulky,

Take the money, away, begone! I would in⯑deed ſtarve, inchmeal, rather than he ſhould marry her,

Mr Sulky, you are a worthy man, a true friend.

Curſe compliments, make haſte.

ACT. V.

So, miſs! here's your mamma juſt coming down,

Is ſhe dreſſed?

Oh yes!—I have decorationed her out like any king's coach horſe,

It's very well.

With her ribbands and ringlets ſtuck about and dangle-ating down her back and all here—

It's very well.

Tight laced—"Thomas called up to help."—

It's all very well!—But it will be no wedding,

I hope not;

He told her to her face that he loved me, and offered to give her the money back—He'll never have her—And if he does I don't care—I know I ſhall die broken-hearted, but I don't care—I'll tell all to my dear grandma', for I'll not ſtay in this wicked city—No i he ſhan't ſee me pine away—I know my ghoſt will haunt him; but I can't help it. I never wiſhed him any harm, and had he but been true-hearted and have waited for me, I would—But it's no matter—He ſhan't ſee a tear that I ſhed, nor hear the leaſt ſigh that I heave.

Well, ma'am—! I declare you're a pictur!

Do you think I look tolerably, Jenny?

—Shall I do execution? What is the matter, child?

Mark my words, he'll never have you!

Poor thing!

He never will!

Run, Jenny, ſee who it is!

Go up to your chamber, child.

No! I will ſtay here.

Begone to your chamber, I ſay, miſs!

Beat me if you pleaſe, kill me, but I will not!

Here's an elderly gentleman, ma'am, aſks to ſpeak to you.

Will you begone, miſs?

Since it is not he I don't want to ſtay. I only want to look him in the face once more.

How is he dreſſed?

In grey ma'am.

In gray?

Yes ma'am.

In d [...]k gr [...]y?

Yes ma'am.

Does he look like a parſon, Jenny?

Why ma'am he is a ſoberly, ſnug, jobation⯑looking man enough.

Let him be ſhewn in—I dare ſay it is the Divine!

Your humble ſervant, madam.

Sir your very moſt humble ſervant.

I preſume you are unacquainted with me?

I believe I can penetrate, ſir—

Can you, madam?

You—You come on the—part of—young Mr. Dornton?

I do!

It is the parſon!—Would you be ſo in⯑dulgent as to be ſeated, ſir?

Excuſe me, madam.

Would you be pleaſed to take any refreſhment, fir?

Madam?—None, I thank you.

A morſel of ſeed-cake, a French biſcuit, a bit of orange-loaf, a glaſs of Conſtantia, or a jelly?—I know theſe little cordial comforts are agreeable conſolations to gentlemen of your cloth.

Cloth!

No offence, I hope? I participate in them my⯑ſelf.

Hem! No doubt!

You are acquainted with Mr. Dornton?

Why—Yes—I am I believe one of his oldeſt acquaintance.

Then I dare ſay you have a great regard for him?

Hem!—Yes—I—had a—ſort of a friendſhip for him even before he was born.

Sir!—Oh!—You are intimate With the family?

Yes—yes, madam!

And know his father?

Um—

Why—Though I have kept him company from the day of his birth to this very hour, they tell me I don't know him yet!

Ay indeed, is he ſo odd▪

Sometimes—To my great regret, I have ſome⯑times found him a very abſurd old gentleman,

I am ſorry for it—Becauſe as I am ſoon to be⯑come—hymeneally—his intimate—relation—I—I—!

You would wiſh for a ſenſible indulgent—Papa—

It's natural ſir,

Ha, I dare not ſay too much in his favour,

Nay though I have a vaſt—hum—ha—regard for young Mr Dornton—I own I have no great predi⯑lection of opinion for the father!

Nor he for you, madam!

Do you think ſo?

I am ſure ſo!

I warrant, ſir, he is, as you ſay, a very pre⯑ciſe acrimonious perſon—A tetchy repugnant kind of old gentleman.

I ſaid no ſuch thing, madam!

Ah! a little caution, ſir, to be ſure, becomes gentlemen of your cloth,

Cloth again!—I don't know what you mean [66] by my cloth: but Mr Dornton, madam, is little older than yourſelf: nor does he think himſelf half ſo repug⯑nant.

Sir,

Madam—I—I beg your pardon,—I—

Oh! here I dare comes the bridegroom,

My curſt vivacity! I can never tell her after this who I am.

Oh you rover,

Well, my kind widow!

My loving compaſſionate widow! I am come poſt haſte to caſt myſelf once more on your bounty,

Hu-ſh!

To intreat inſtant commiſeration, and aid,

Hem, hem!

I have not a minute to ſpare!

He's here, he's come! A waſpiſh, tetchy—! Hem—

Your friend has been here ſome time, Mr Dornton.

My friend, what friend?

Your friend the clergyman.

Clergyman—You—

—My father!

His father,

Well, Harry, why do you look ſo blank? I am glad you are here—Your coming, and the mutual ſincerity with which this lady and I have juſt ſpoken, our ſentiments, will ſave all circumlocution—At pre⯑ſent we underſtand each other.

Sir—I—

Oh, madam, never retract—Let us continue the like plain honeſt dealing—

But—ſir—Mr Dornton's affection—

Ha, ha, ha!—Affection, madam!—

Sir—

Harry—I know your motives, will never for⯑get them! But the cauſe of them has ceaſed.

Sir?—Beware! No falſe compaſſion! Remem⯑ber not the vile reprobate that was your ſon! I ſpurn at exiſtence that his coupled with your miſery!

Harry! our danger his over.

Are you—? Are you ſerious?

Mr Sulky is a worthy man! his rich uncle is dead, and has left him ſole heir. Our books too have been examined, and exceed our beſt hopes,

Tol de rol—

Here is your money, madam.

My father ſaved—Tol de rol!

Nay but—Mr Dornton,—ſir—

I muſt beg you'll take it—

Rejoice widow! Rejoice! ſing, ſhout! Tol de rol!

I do not want the money, ſir! Filthy money—

And as to what I ſaid, though you have arreſted Mr Milford—

Ha!

I am ſorry—I beg your pardon—And if Mr Dornton—

Why don't you ſpeak, Harry? Where are you going?

Come back, Harry!—ſtay, I ſay!

I cannot ſtay!—I muſt fly—My honour is at ſtake,

His honour,—his honour at ſtake! here, here, madam!—

Nay, ſir—

'Sdeath, madam, take your money,

Cruel—uſage!—Faithleſs—men—Blind—ſtupid! I'll forſake and forſwear the whole ſex!

Ma'am!

Savage race,

Ma'am, ma'am! Mr Goldfinch, ma'am

Hay! Mr Goldfinch?—was that what you ſaid, Jenny?

Where?

Below, ma'am. I perſuaded him to come up, but he is quite ſurly,

Oh! he is coming, well! I think I will ſee him—Yes—I think I will,

I always told you, ma'am, Mr Goldfinch for me,

Did you?

But he ſays he will have your written promiſe this very night, or never ſpeak to you more—I hear him.

Law. ma'am, you had better give a few touches—hereabout! Your eyes will have double the ſpirit and fire.

Will they?

Where's the Dowager?

Huſh! mind what I ſaid to you—It is too late now for a licence, ſo be ſure get the promiſe—Don't flinch—

Me flinch? Game to the back-bone!

Huſh,

Here I am once more, widow,

Ah, rambler!

Are you cured of the tantarums?

Nay, Mr. Goldfinch—!

Muſt I keep my diſtance?

Unkind!

Am I a gentleman now?

Killing!

Look you, widow, I know your tricks—Skit⯑tiſh! Won't anſwer the whip! Run out of the courſe! Take the reſt!—So give me your promiſe.

My promiſe—!

Signed and ſealed.

Naughty man—You ſhan't—I won't let you tyrannize over a palpitating heart!

Palpi—

What does ſhe ſay?

You ſhan't ſteal on hymeneal tranſports!

What's that?

Connubial ecſtaſies!

Nu—What?

Go, intruder!

Oh! What you won't?

I'll never forgive you.

I'm off.

Cruel man!

I'm off.

Mr Goldfinch!

I'm off—

You ſhall have the promiſe!

Oh, ho! Why then I pull up—

Barbarous youth! Could you leave me?—But I muſt ſend to Mr Silky.

No, no! Let me have the promiſe directly! I'll go myſelf to Silky.

Will you. Mr Goldfinch?

Will I not?—Take a hack, mount the box—Hayait!—Scud away for the old ſcoundrel! I'm a deep one! Know the courſe every inch! I'm the lad for a wi⯑dow! That's your ſort!

Saucy man! I'll be very angry with you.

Soon be back!

Adieu! Fly ſwiftly, ye minutes!

But I muſt have the promiſe firſt!

I will go and write it—Come, diſſembler, come!

She's an old courſer! But I know I ſhould take her at the double!

So, Charles, where's the widow?

The widow's mine!

Yours?

I'm the lad! All's concluded—Going poſt for old Silky.

Silky did you ſay?

Am to pay the miſerly raſcal fifty thouſand pounds down! But mum! That's a ſecret!

You are raving!

Tellee he has her on the hip! She can't marry without his conſent!

But why?

Don't know. The cloſe old rogue won't tell. Has got ſome deed, he ſays—Some writing.

Indeed!

Yes—But it's all huſh! I ſhall be a higher fel⯑low than ever, Jack! Go to the ſecond ſpring meeting—Take you with me—Come down a few to the Sweaters and Trainers—The knowing ones—The Lads—Got into [70] the ſecret—Lay it on thick—Seven hundred to five Fa⯑vourite againſt the field!—Done!—I'll do it again!—Done!—Five times over ditto repeated!—Done, done! Off they go!—Winner lays by—Pretends to want foot—Odds riſe high! Take 'em—Winner whiſpered lame—Lags after—Odds higher and higher!—Take 'em—Creeps up—Breathes 'em over the flat—Works 'em up hill—Paſſes the diſtance poſt—Still only ſecond—Betting chair in an uproar!—Neck to neck!—Lets him out—Shews him the Whip!—Shoots by like an arrow—Oh dammee a hollow thing!—That's your fort!

Fifty thouſand to Silky for his conſent becauſe of ſome deed, ſome writing?—If it ſhould be the—? It muſt!—By heaven it muſt!

How long muſt I wait?—I ſee nothing of Mil⯑ford—I'll cut off that bailiff's ears if he have betrayed me.

So, Harry!

My father again!

What do you do here, Harry?

Sir—I—I want air.

So do I—A pretty dance you have led me—What brought you hither?—

Where's the money you had of the widow?

Where's the money, Harry?

Gone, ſir.

Gone!

Moſt of it.

And your creditors not paid?

And your creditors not paid?

No▪ ſir.

I ſuſpected—I foreboded this!

He has been at ſome gaming houſe, loſt all, quarrelled and came here to put a miſerable end to a miſerable exiſtence! Oh, who would be a father!

I am ſent on an April-day kind of errand here. I think this is what they call the Ring

[71] Hey! Who is this?

Pray—Sir—Is your name Dornton?

It is.

Then I am right—Mr Milford, ſir, has ſent me this note.

It is for me, ſir!

How do you know, Harry?

Sir, I am certain!—I muſt beg—!

This is no time for ceremony!

‘Dear Harry, forgive the provocation I have given you; for⯑get the wrong I have done your father—Me!—I will ſubmit to any diſgrace rather than lift my hand againſt your life—I would have come and apologiſed even on my knees, but I am prevented—J. Milford.’

—Why Harry!—What! What is this?—Tell me—Tell me—Is it in paying Milford's debts you have expended the money?

It is, ſir.

But how had he wronged me?—Why did you come here to fight him?

Sir—He—he ſpoke diſreſpectfully of you.

Harry!

My father!

Harry! Harry!

Dear ſir, let us fly to conſole poor Milford!

What you will, Harry! Do with me what you will—Oh who would not be a father

The fool Go ldfinch himſelf informed me, ſir, that Silky is to receive fifty thouſand pounds for his conſent!

Fifty thouſand! Zounds! Why then the old ſcoundrel muſt have got poſſeſſion of the will.

Which is ind ubitably meant to be deſtroyed. Gold⯑finch is juſt returned with Silky. They are now with [72] the widow, all in high glee, and are coming up here immediately, no doubt to ſettle the buſineſs in private.

What can be done?

We muſt hide ourſelves ſomewhere, and ſpring upon them.

I hate hiding! It's deceit, and deceit is the re⯑ſource of a raſcal.

But there is no avoiding it! We cannot get legal aſſiſtance in time! Here are two cloſets! Do you go into one, and I'll ſhut myſelf up in the other. We ſhall hear what they are about, and can burſt upon them at the proper moment.

Well, if it muſt be ſo—But it's a vile, paltry refuge!

I hear them coming! Make haſte!

Ha, ha, ha! I told you, madam, I ſhould hear from you when you wanted me! I knew it muſt come to that! But you are a lucky man. Mr Goldfinch, and I'am a lucky man! ay and you are a lucky woman too, madam! We are all in luck!

Ay dammee, old one, you have been concerned in many a good thing in your time!

Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha! To be ſure I have! I muſt provide for my family, Mr. Goldfinch!

It is indeed a fortunate event! Do you not par⯑ticipate my raptures, Mr Goldfinch?

To be ſure—It's a deep ſcheme! It's knowing a thing or two! Hay, old one? Pigeoning the Green horns!

All ſo ſafe too, ſo ſnug! I am ſo pleaſed, and ſo happy! It's all our own! Not a ſoul will know of it but our three ſelves!

Oh yes—One more, old one—

Ay! Who? Who?

Your father—Beelzebub!

Lord! Mr Goldfinch, don't terrify me!

To be ſure, it muſt be owned you are a ſhocking old rogue, Mr Silky! But there is no doing without you—So make haſte with your deeds and your extortions; for really we ſhould be glad to be rid of your com⯑pany—

Well, well, I'm ready—I'll not long interrupt your amorous haſte. I am a man of buſineſs! I expected how it would be, and have a legal inſtrument here, ready drawn up by my own hand; which, when it is ſigned and ſealed, will make all ſafe!

But where is the will?

Oh I have it—Firſt however let us be ſecure.

You're an old trader in ſin! There's no being too deep for you!

Ah, ha, ha, ha! Do you think ſo, Mr Goldfinch?

But I ſhould like to ſee you on your death-bed!

Bleſs my ſoul!—What's that?

Zounds! Odd enough! I believe he's coming for you before your time!

It was very ſtrange!

I declare I am all of a tremble!

Come, come, let us get the ſhocking buſineſs over!—Where is the will?

Don't ſhake ſo man!

Well, well!—Firſt ſign the bond!

Lord have mercy upon me!

I ſmell ſulpher!

Save me, Mr Goldfinch!

The candles burn blue!

Pſhaw! Zounds, it is only ſome cat in the cloſet!

I heard it in both the cloſets!

Why then there are two cats!—Come! I'll ſign—

Where's the promiſe?

Here it is!

And here is the will, which, that all may be ſafe, we will immediately commit to the flames.

Lord have mercy upon us!

My hair ſtands an end!

Save me, Mr. Goldfinch! Protect me! Ah!

Dear, ma', what's the matter?

Where is the will?

Give it me, you old ſcoundrel! Give it me this inſtant, or I'll throttle you!

So, gentlemen! You are a pretty pair of knaves!

And you are a very worthy lady!

Don't talk to me, man!—Don't talk to me!—I ſhall never recover my ſenſes again!

What has happened, gentlemen? How came you thus all locked up together?

Are you here, Mr. Silky?

Yes! There's the honeſt, grateful, friendly Mr. Silky! Who would betray his friends, plunder the liv⯑ing, and defraud the dead, for the eaſe of his conſcience, and to provide for his family!

Old one! You're done up!

And here is the girliſh old coquette, who would rob her daughter and leave her huſband's ſon, to rot in a dungeon, that ſhe might marry the firſt fool ſhe could find.

Widow! You are diſhed!

Loſt your laſt chance!

A broken gameſter, nurtured in idleneſs, ig⯑norance, and diſſipation, whoſe ridings, racings, and drivings are over, and whoſe whole train of horſes, dogs, curricles, phaetons, and fooleries muſt come to the hammer immediately, is no great loſs.

Oh, la! ‘And what is coming to the hammer?’

‘Oh, the hammer is an inſtrument by which Folly is publickly knocked down to the beſt bidder; after which ſhe riſes, gambols, whiſks away, makes a ſhort flying tour, and gallops back to be publickly knocked down again.’

"Dear!—Poor Mr Goldfinch,"

I knew your father, ſir: 'tis happy for him that he is dead! If you will forſake theſe courſes and apply to trade—

Damn trade; Who's for the ſpring meeting? Croſs 'em and wind 'em! ſeven to five you don't name the winner! I'm for life and a curricle! A cut at the caſter, and the long odds! damn trade, the four aces, a back hand, and a lucky nick! I'm a deep one: That's your ſort!

And now, madam—

Keep off, monſter! You ſmell of malice, cruelty and perſecution!

No, madam: I ſmell of honeſty! A drug you nauſeate, but with which you muſt forcibly be doſed;—I have glanced over the will, and find I have the power:

Let me go, goblin!—You are a hideous perſon, and I hate the ſight of you! Your breaſt is flint!—Flint! Unfeeling Gorgon, and I abominate you:

Nah, you are a kind, good, croſs old ſoul; and I am ſure you will forgive my poor ma', we ought all to forget and forgive: Ought not we, Mr Dornton,

do you hear her, ſir?

Harry has told me of your innocent, pure, and unſuſpecting heart—I love you for having called me an ugly monſter;

La, Mr Dornton, how could you!

Harry—Give me your hand—You have a gene⯑rous and a noble nature! But your generoſity would have proved more pernicious than even your diſſipation. No misfortunes, no not the beggary and ruin of a father, could juſtify ſo unpricipled a marriage!

And now

my friend,

My father—

My—!

Whoo! If you wiſh to get another word from me to night, have done.

I hate fawn⯑ing!

Ah, Mr Sulky, you will have your humour,

The undiſcriminating generoſity of this young man ſupported you in your day of diſtreſs; for which, ſer⯑pent-like, you turned to ſting your preſerver,

Ah, you will have your humour,

Yes; and it is my humour to ſee that your vil⯑lany ſhall be expoſed in its true colours. Hypocriſy, falſehood, and fraud, are your familiars. To ſcreen [76] [...] [76] your avarice, you made it believed that this gentleman had been the cauſe of lodging the detainders, and had done the dirty work of which even you were aſhamed. But the creditors receive their full demand.

The propoſal is juſt. Liſten to that worthy man; and if you can, be honeſt with a good grace. Every thing will then be readily adjuſted, and I hope to the ſatisfaction of all parties.