[] LOVE IN THE EAST: A COMIC OPERA.

SCENE I. The Landing-place at Cal⯑cutta.

Captain Coromandel,—once more welcome to Bengal.

Ah, my old friend Stanmore; I ex⯑pected to have ſeen you in England before now.—Well, Sir, what news in Bengal?—How is your old friend and patron, Colonel Bentley; as whimſical as ever?

As well beloved in the ſettlement as ever, I promiſe you: the Colonel's ſingulari⯑ties do not cloud his virtues;—while others court eſteem, he commands it.—You know he has long fought under the banner of plain dealing.

Oh, that's a ſervice in which there is but bad pay.—He won't be able to enliſt many recruits."

But then the honour!"

"Why, as you ſay, if he loves the honour of fighting, he will have enough—for with plain dealing, he will be ſure to find enemies in plenty every where."—And how is the charming young lady, whom the Colonel has taken under his patronage?

Ormellina, you mean.—She is a charming creature indeed—but ſtill unmarried.

I ſuppoſe ſhe won't remain ſo long; [3] the Colonel has, no doubt, taught her to be obedient, in order to train her up for a wife.

A wife! No, no, ſir, the Colonel is too much a man of honour, to think of uniting threeſcore and eighteen.

But what has honour to do in the buſi⯑neſs, my dear Stanmore?

Not much, indeed.—I think an un⯑fortunate young woman has far leſs reaſon to complain of the poor fellow who takes her purſe on the highway, than of the old dotard who robs her of her happineſs, under the title of mar⯑riage; and yet the ſame laws which encourage her to hang the one, command her to honour and obey the other.

You ſeem to ſpeak feelingly.

I have but too much cauſe;—the woman I loved was thus ſacrificed.

Pſhaw, man, don't droop becauſe you are ſeparated from your miſtreſs; ſhe will love you the better when you meet: without a ſtorm now and then, we ſhould not enjoy fair weather.

Here comes a paſſenger of mine, a taylor, with whom I muſt bring you acquainted; I think the fellow will entertain you.

Mr. Stanmore, this is Tom Twiſt,—a very whimlical fellow, who, not being ſatisfied with ſitting croſs-legged in London, is reſolved to cut out work for himſelf in Bengal.

I am his moſt obedient.—And pray, Mr. Twiſt, what buſineſs do you mean to fol⯑low in Bengal?

The ſame buſineſs which every one elſe follows in Bengal; getting money, oh, Captain."

But in what line?—For there are various ways of carrying on that buſineſs.

Yes, Sir, and ſome of them d—d ſtrange ways, they tell us in England.

And pray, Mr. Twiſt, on what do you mean to depend, in becoming a favourite of fortune?"

Accompliſhments, Sir.—I can dance a cotillion tolerably; ſing twenty ſongs, about Jockies and Jennies, for the ladies; and play Malbrouk on the fiddle.—In ſhort I can do every thing but write and read, and my genius never could ſtoop to that.

But tell me, how did you acquire theſe elegant accompliſhments?

You know, Sir, I always moved in a genteel circle.—My maſter worked for none but people of quality: not a tradeſman in Weſtminſter could boaſt of a greater number of book debts.

That muſt have been a vaſt happi⯑neſs!

Yes; old Staytape ruined himſelf by his great connections—He viſited ſome of the firſt people.

What! a taylor viſit the firſt people?

Aye, Sir,—two or three times a day ſometimes; but he was ſeldom fortunate enough to meet with them at home; they weretoo much engaged in paying off the debts of the nation, to attend to their own.

Well, Twiſt, a truce with your wit for the preſent. I have promiſed my friend Muſh⯑room to ſend you to him.—He wiſhes to have ſome clothes made up in a hurry; and if your needle goes but as faſt as your tongue, I ſhall gain credit by recommending you.

Mr. Twiſt, I heartily wiſh you ſucceſs.—We are all three brother adventurers, and how⯑ever different our ſituations, our object is the ſame.

SCENE, Colonel BENTLEY's.

Once more, my dear little adventurer, welcome to Bengal. Captain Coromandel's letter introduces you to me with the higheſt en⯑comiums; but he omits to tell me what has oc⯑caſioned you to quit England in this diſguiſe.

Ah, my dear Ormellina, what be⯑ing is that in the creation, for whom woman feels a thouſand various emotions, who is her bleſſing and her torment, her tyrant and her ſlave, the man ſhe loves?—In ſhort, I am come to Bengal in ſearch of a huſband, no uncom⯑mon errand, I believe.

But your ſtory.

Is told in a few words. The prayers and intreaties of an indigent mother forced me to marry where I could not love. The object of my affections quitted the kingdom in de⯑ſpair, and took paſſage for Bengal.—My auld Robin Grey is lately dead. I diſguiſed myſelf thus, and embarked for India, in the hope of diſcovering my lover, and ſharing with him that fortune, which I have ſo dearly acquired.

Generous girl!—And ſo this lover is my friend—Enſign Stanmore. But tell me, what is this hiſtory of me, which you ſay you have heard?

That you are an orphan—educated by Colonel Bentley as his daughter.

Well.

That your lover's name is Warnford—that you are jealous of him with a woman of intrigue—a Mrs. Muſhroom.

Who could have told you this?

All that relates to you and Mr. Warnford, I learned from Mrs. Muſhroom herſelf: I called at her houſe juſt now, with a letter of introduction from Captain Coro⯑mandel.—You ſeem ſurpriſed at my know⯑ledge; but I ſhould think very meanly of myſelf, indeed, were I to be in any place two hours, without learning the ſcandal of the whole neighbourhood."

But you have no reaſon to ſuppoſe that Warnford requites her attachment.

That I am not ſure of.

Oh that I were aſcertained of the contrary.

You ſhall not long remain in ſuſpence—I am now going again to Mrs. Muſhroom, and will contrive to gain information; but I vow I had forgot to tell you my name.

Your name!

You muſt know that, in order to conceal myſelf from my lover the more effec⯑tually, I have aſſumed this diſguiſe, and am at preſent Alexander M'Proteus, at your ſervice.

And why diſguiſe yourſelf from my poor friend Stanmore?

Only till I have perplexed him a little.—Coquetry with a lover, is like playing with your lap-dog, "or kitten." The fonder you are of the pretty animal, the more delight you feel in teazing it. Come, come, my dear friend, I ſhall make you a convert to my laugh⯑ing philoſophy.

I wiſh indeed you could.

Depend upon it, I ſhall. None can pay more ſincere homage to Cupid, than we laughing lovers. You ſighing folks make him an eaſtern deſpot, and fall proſtrate before him; with us, he is an European prince—we bow and ſimper at his levee: you degrade him to the mere tyrant of ſlaves; we exalt him to a glorious ſituation—the monarch of happy ſub⯑jects.

SCENE, MUSHROOM's Houſe.

Mrs. Muſhroom!

Well, Mr. Muſhroom.

Do you dine at home to-day?

Perhaps not.

You are not reſolved then?

No—yes—no—I won't dine at home.

I am very glad of it.

I ſhall leave you to expoſe yourſelf as much as you pleaſe to-day, and not take the trouble of interpreting your nonſenſe to your company, to perſuade them you are not a fool.

They'll never believe me to be other⯑wiſe than a fool, whilſt they remember I mar⯑ried ſuch a precious wife.

Well, Sir, and is it not that pre⯑cious wife who has introduced you to moſt of the company you keep in Bengal?

Yes, my dear, you have indeed in⯑troduced me to all the rake-helly young dogs in the three provinces; they ſtick ſo cloſe to you, that, whenever you go out, you move like the queen bee, with a whole ſwarm after you.

You don't mean to inſinuate that I have wronged your bed, Mr. Muſh⯑room?

Not I, my love—I would not in⯑ſinuate that, till I have proof of it, and I'm afraid you'll take care to keep that out of my reach."

Very well, Sir, very well; but indeed what had I elſe to expect, when I mar⯑ried an illiterate, ſordid wretch, and twenty years older than myſelf into the bargain?

Aye, that's an unpardonable crime in me. I never knew a woman leave age out of the liſt of a man's faults. What an aſs was I to marry a broken milliner from Bond-ſtreet, who brought out a face as badly patched up as [10] her reputation, for a venture to Bengal; be⯑ſides which, ſhe hadn't ſtock in trade enough to fill one of her own band-boxes.

A very fit match, Mr. Muſh⯑room, for an ignorant run-away ſhop-boy, with a mind as deſtitute of ideas as his pockets were of money.—The whole ſettlement knows your origin.

Yes, I always meant they ſhould know it. I glory in it, that there was a time when Martin Muſhroom, one of the richeſt men in Bengal, had not half-a-crown in his pocket, nor a whole coat to his back.—Zounds!—

Don't fly in a paſſion now.

Not I, egad. That we hate each other moſt heartily, you very well know.

And the worſt part of the ſtory is, that we muſt not own it before com⯑pany.

No—that's a curſed confinement upon us.

Well, it can't be help'd, Mr. Muſhroom; as we are tied together, we muſt make the beſt of a bad bargain. Huſh! here is ſomebody coming.

Mr. M'Proteus.

Shew him up.—Draw your chair cloſer.

My dear M'Proteus.

Ah! bleſſing o' ye're hearts—ye're a pattern for a' married folk.

Yes, and a pattern that is pretty much in vogue, I believe.—We have been talking over ſome old ſtories; hav'n't we, my dear Mr. Muſhroom?

Yes, my life, we always talk them over when we are alone.

I ſhan't be able to keep my temper much longer.—Well, my dear, I muſt leave you for an hour or two: if Coromandel ſhould ſend the taylor, let them ſet him to work to alter my blue and gold; and if Colonel Baton ſhould call, pray entertain him till I return.

Oh, that is the French officer you expect from Pondicherri.

The ſame, my dear. He never was in Calcutta before. He is a man of gallantry, Mr. M'Proteus—a dangerous man among the ladies.

Then I'm reſolved to make a conqueſt of him.

—How do I look to⯑day, my dear?

Much better than you did—

before you were painted.

Ha! ha! ha! Mr. M'Proteus: the only looking glaſs an old married woman has to conſult, is her huſband.

You are reight, Madam:—like a look⯑ing glaſs, he'll let ye ſee aw ye're fauts.

Well, if you muſt go, good bye, love.

Adieu, my angel. You ſee, Sir, what it is to have a wife ſo d—d fond of one.

At length we are alone. "Oh, Mr. M'Proteus, what an acquiſition it is to [12] have a friend like you.—The moment I ſaw you, I diſcovered that we had kindred minds.

I houp, Madam, they wunna gree th' war for being relations."

You will recollect I mentioned to you my fears, that Mr. Warnford might miſ⯑underſtand my behaviour to him?

I remember it perfectly, Madam; I never forget my friends.

Indeed! Well, that is very diſintereſted to remember your friends while you forget yourſelf, and that you certainly do at this moment.—What is become of that charming Caledonian accent which graced your converſa⯑tion? Ye're reight, Madam: like a looking glaſs, he'll let ye ſee aw ye're fauts.

Ha! ha! ha!

I cry for quarter, my dear Madam; a ſlip of the tongue has betrayed me, to be ſure. The truth is, love induced me to aſſume this diſguiſe, which I muſt wear for two or three days. You ſhall then know who, and what I am. Come, madam, you need not fear to make me your confidant; I am too much in your power for you to apprehend I ſhould de⯑ceive you.

There is ſome reaſon in that.—Well, M'Proteus, I will convince you that I can be generous.

Then, Madam, to the ſubject of our converſation—Mr. Warnford.

Well, as I told you—I have chatted, laughed, rallied him, and have given into a thouſand little levities in which we inno⯑cent women indulge, without meaning any thing.

Certainly—Why, what can you do? If a ſmart fellow will attack you with a curſe me, madam, but you are a monſtrous fine wo⯑man, you would not be ſo ill bred as to bluſh, look fooliſh, and threaten to tell your huſband.

That would be ill breeding, indeed.

To be ſure. Lud, why a declara⯑tion of love excites a woman to coquetry, as naturally as the ſound of a fiddle excites her to dance. Never mind, my dear Madam; ſcan⯑dal is a tax on pleaſure; and if the commodity cannot be ſmuggled, a woman of ſpirit will rather pay the duty than go without it.

But is it not very hard that ſcan⯑dal ſhould attack us women of ſpirit, who, in⯑ſtead of ſhrinking from Temptation, boldly meet him, put him to the rout, and ſhew the reſt of our ſex the way to victory and glory? My maxim, Mr. M'Proteus, is, that virtue ſhould be tried.

Therefore, I preſume, Madam, you have tried yours.

Aye, Sir, I thank my ſtars, often, and often—do you know—

Ah, Madam, what a treaſure do you poſſeſs in ſuch a veteran virtue!—You muſt have great confidence in it."

"Prodigious—I'll give you a proof of it."—I mean to give Warnford a private meeting, and in my own room too. Ha! ha! you ſeem ſurpriſed; but you don't conſider that ſo bold a propoſal will argue ſuch a confidence in my own prudence, that it muſt entirely deſtroy all his hopes of ſucceſs.

No, really, I did not think of that.

You have it in your power to witneſs the purity of my motives, in caſe my conduct ſhould be miſconſtrued; but" I have written a letter to Warnford, which I will ſhow you.

This will be bad intelligence for my poor friend Ormellina. But to the letter.

'I am extremely anxious to remove any pre⯑judice you may have formed to my diſadvan⯑tage. As I think that can be beſt done by a private interview, let me ſee you as ſoon as poſſible.—Three raps at my chamber-door will be your paſſport to the explanation propoſed by MARIA MUSHROOM.'

One of Warnford's ſervants happens fortunately to be in the houſe—It will be much better to ſend it by him, than by one of my own people.

How d'ye do, Roſario? You muſt deliver a letter from this gentleman to your maſter.

Yes, Miſſee.

Dere always be ſome cus miſchief ven Miſſee be ſo civil.

You have not directed the letter.

It would not be prudent for my hand-writing to appear on the direction—beſides, Roſario ſuppoſes the letter yours.

Shall I addreſs it then?

Oh, no; that will appear ſo [15] ſtrange to Warnford:—there is no neceſſity for any direction.—There, Roſario—there is the letter.

I hope this will ſet my character in a proper point of view. It is really very troubleſome for people to fall in love with one in this manner—is it not, M'Proteus?

Faith, I don't know, Madam; love is like money, every one abuſes it, and yet I know not what we ſhould do without it.

Ah! my mind miſgive m [...].—Dis letter be no honeſt, no ſay any ting o [...] outſide—all white and clean outſide—nice and fair, like Miſſee—afraid though it be wicked and black within.—Poor Maſſa, why ſhould Roſario give him bad letter?—He be good maſſa—give me money for my poor father—never ſay to me rogue—raſcal—but always ſpeakee kind, and call my own name.

[16]But den maſſa be angry if me no give letter, me tink.—

Eh bien! ma fille charmante—As monſieur be not at home, I vill pay my reſpect to madame.

Your name, Sir, if you pleaſe.

Le Colonel Baton—French officier—come from Pondicherri.

I will ſee if my miſtreſs is at home.

You maitreſſe! Par ma foi, ma⯑dame, I did ſuppo [...] you vas de lati of de houſe—you be ſo jolie [...] your figure ſo gentille, ſo negligee.

Ah, Sir!—you French gentlemen are ſo gallant.

Gallantrie! Ah, c'eſt mon metier—It be my trade—Cupid be mon general—I have been his ſoldier great many year.

Indeed, Sir!—Dear, I ſhould think it is almoſt time for you to retire upon half pay.

Ah! ma [...]ere, have pity on my ſigh.

Sighs! O Lord, Sir, ſighing lovers are a ſet of the ſillieſt mortals.—I'll tell you how they torment themſelves.

Ah! ha! ha! Litel divil—Je l'ai priſe! I'ave caught her. Ven ever doſe litel girls fall in loaf vid me, dey alvays laugh di⯑ablement—mais allons—now for de maitreſſe.

No—won't give letter to maſſa—Egod, have great mind to give it to French⯑man—don't like Fr [...]chmans—bad letter good enough for him—a [...] that will make joke.

Une lettre! pour moi!—Ah ha! vidout directione! Somebody elſe in loaf avec moi; nous verrons.

Pri⯑vate [18] interview—tr [...] rap at my chamber door. Marie Muſhroom. Serviteur, Madame Muſh⯑room—Poor ladi—ſhe is ſtruck auſſi—ſaw me from the window, peut-etre.

Sir, I am ſorry to tell you, my miſ⯑treſs is out.

Ma ch [...]e, I am ſorry to contra⯑dict you—but you are out yourſelf. Montrez moi la chambre de m [...]dame—de lady's chambre door—tree rap, ma [...]lle eh!—

Dear, Sir, what would you have?

I can't [...]ll you dat, my dear,—only ſhew me madam [...]s room—voici la lettre.

My miſtreſs's hand-writing, as I live! What is this to produce?

I am au deſe⯑ſpair, dat I 'ave no time to be more in love vid you à preſent, Mademoiſelle, but I ſhall 'ave dat honneur anoder time

Oh dear, Sir, I am in a hurry.

Allons! ma belle, allons!

Bleſs me, here is ſomebody coming; ſtep into that room, Sir, on the right-hand—I'll attend you preſently.

Come, come, Roſario, tell me truth—you are certainly in love with ſome pretty little Indian girl in this houſe—I meet you here continually—what ſay you, Lucy?

If ma [...] ſhould find out dat I no give him letter, wh [...] ſhall I do?

Lord, Mr. Warnford, you are always talking about love.

Well, Lucy; I own that my heart [19] yields like war to the impreſſion of the little god.

I fancy the wax is ſoon hot and ſoon cold, and yields to a different impreſſion every day.

You are miſtaken, Lucy:—it does not follow that I ſhould be inconſtant, becauſe I am attentive to the whole ſex.

Well, Mr. Warnford, my miſtreſs is not at home; and as for my maſter, I ſup⯑poſe you hardly come to inquire after him.

No, i'faith, I came to inquire after an old friend of my father's, Colonel Baton, who, I hear, is arrived in Calcutta.—I expected to find him here.

Then, Sir, you'll be diſappointed in your expectations.

Perhaps he is not arrived."

And as for my miſtreſs, ſhe is not at home.

No! why then I have half a mind to make love to you. Come, come, my dear Lucy, don't frown, but confeſs honeſtly with me that making love is no very unpleaſant amuſement.—Your eyes anſwer yes.—And what ſay you, my poor Roſario?—Nothing! Ah, I thought mine was an univerſal opinion.

SCENE, Mrs. MUSHROOM's Chamber.

HEY day! do my ears deceive me, or did I hear Warnford's ſignal?—Three raps at my door!—How can he poſſibly have received my letter ſo ſoon?

Hark!—The ſignal repeated! This is a lover's haſte, indeed!

My confuſion will ſcarcely ſuffer me to explain what I dare ſay muſt ſurpriſe you.

Oh no, Madame; I am uſed to deſe affaires.

Oh, heavens!—who are you, Sir, and what brought you here?

Your commande, Madame—La voila.

Permittez moi, Ma⯑dame—Suffer me on my knee—

Ruin'd and undone, Madam!—Here is my maſter return'd home ſuddenly, and is coming into your room.—If he ſhould catch the Colonel with you—

Don't be alarm, Madame; ve people of gallantrie never mind ſuch accidens. [22]

Put me in a cloſet, or under your bed, or vere ever you pleaſe, Matame.

No, that will never do—We have but one chance for your eſcape—In that cloſet is a window, which looks into the garden—you muſt e'en jump out—it is not above ſeven or eight feet from the ground.

Seven or eight feet from de ground!—Pardonnez moi, Madame, it be impoſſible.

Impoſſible!

Madame, I ſhould be vera happy to jump any vere for you; but I 'ave von litel malheur vill make it impoſſibel. I am trouble, Madame, vit de rheumatiſm in my knee.

Unfortunate beyond every thing.—What a time for a man to have the rheumatiſm!

Courage, Madam:—I have thought of an expedient to ſave both your reputation and the Colonel's lame knee. Twiſt, the taylor, is juſt arrived, and is now waiting at the garden⯑door, for this very coat which I have in my hand—But we have not a moment to loſe—This way, Sir.

By what ſtrange accident could this old Frenchman have got my letter?—Co⯑lonel Baton I think ſhe call'd him—the very man whom we expected here.

Mrs. Muſhroom!—my dear!—Why, I ſay, Mrs. Muſhroom!

What ſhall I do, Lucy?

We are all ſafe, Madam. As I told you, Mr. Twiſt happen'd to be waiting for me, at the garden-door—I call'd to him from the [23] cloſet; and the Colonel has bribed my gentleman to exchange clothes with him from the window, and will attend you as ſoon as he is dreſs'd—Ha! ha! ha!

But how muſt I manage, Lucy?

Fear nothing, Madam!—You muſt keep the old Colonel in good humour, by nods, winks, and tender glances—and leave the reſt to me.

Mrs. Muſhroom!—my love—

Dear, Sir, is it you?

Yes, it is me, Madam; and an unwelcome viſitor I am, no doubt. I ſuppoſe you had a gallant with you, my love.

I ſha'n't anſwer ſuch queſtions, Sir.

Perhaps, then, Madam, you will anſwer me."

Is the gentleman diſ⯑poſed of?

Oh yes, Sir; I am much obliged to you—I took care to provide for that, while you were knocking at the door.

You did—hum—and pray, my good Jezebel, how did you contrive to get rid of him?

Why, Sir, I wanted him to jump out of the window; but unluckily he had the rheu⯑matiſm.

Bleſs me, Lucy, how can you talk ſo?

Let her alone—She tells lies with ſo good a grace, 'tis a pleaſure to hear her.—Well, my dear, go on.

So, Sir, we were even obliged to hide the gentleman in that cloſet—Ha! ha! ha!

Why, you audacious ſlut, how dare you laugh at me in this manner?

Lord, Sir, if you doubt my veracity—believe your own eyes.

Hey day! why, who, in the name of nonſenſe, have we here?

Who ſhould it be, but the taylor ſent to you by Capt. Coromandel, to alter your clothes?

A taylor! he looks much more like a mountebank doctor.—Well, my old boy, is it not rather too late in the day for you to come to India?

Diable!

Eh! what! Diable!

My dear Colonel, be patient—conſider, it is for my ſake.—

Ah! Ma⯑dame, pardonnez—I had forgot dat—To ſuffer diſgrace in de cauſe of beauty, is de triomphe, "de victory and glory."

A Frenchman, eh! Egad though he is a fierce-looking fellow.—Look ye, Mounſeer, I can't jabber your lingo, ſo I believe my wife muſt talk to you; ſhe can parlee voo a little.

Aye, aye; I'll releaſe him from your vulgarity, Mr. Muſhroom.

Not till I have given him directions how my coat is to be alter'd, Mrs. Muſhroom.—Come here, Mounſeer, and let me try it on; though, on ſecond thoughts, I won't trouble you. Egad though I have forgot, all this time, to in⯑quire after Colonel Baton. I am very anxious for his arrival.

I dare ſay you will find him a very agreeable gueſt.

I dare ſay I ſhall; for I hear he is a great fool, with plenty of money—part of which will go through my hands, he! he! he! Indico tells me, in his letter, the ſilly puppy fancies every woman, who ſees him, is in love with him.

Pſhaw!—Indico means to laugh at you.—I underſtand the Colonel is a man likely to win any woman's affections.

Of moſt engaging manners.

An agreeable perſon.

Not above the middle age, and with an excellent conſtitution,

ex⯑cepting an old rheumatic complaint.

A man of wit, politeneſs, and gallantry.

Why, what the devil makes you bow and grin ſo, Mounſeer? They are not talking of you.

He feels the compliment to his coun⯑tryman, Sir, as if it were to himſelf.

Has Colonel Baton been here yet?

Colonel Baton, Sir!

Aye—the French gentleman I ex⯑pected.

French!—Dear, Sir, there is an out⯑landiſh-looking [26] gentleman now walking in the garden, with a white cockade in his hat.

A white cockade!—Zounds, 'tis the Colonel!—I'll run immediately—no I won't—Give my compliments—and ſay, I ſhall be glad to ſee him here.

Mrs. Muſhroom, he'll take it as a compliment, to be received in your dreſſing-room—I'm told that is quite the thing in France.

Diable! dis be vilain avanture.

What ſhall we do, Lucy?

I'll give Mr. Twiſt his cue, never fear me.

My dear Colonel Baton, I am heartily glad to ſee you in Calcutta.

But, odſo, I forgot—perhaps he can't ſpeak Engliſh.

Let me talk to him, Sir; I'll warrant I'll contrive to make him underſtand us.

This is a mighty queer kind of a Frenchman—he is as ſilent, and as ſhamefaced, as if he had been bred up in England.

Bred up in England!—No bad hint that—purſue it by all means.

Oh, Colonel Baton! how ſhall I make you amends for all this?

Madame, I vill have de honeur to tell you anoder time.

Bleſs me! what could make her ſo moſh in love vid me?

And ſo I'm to paſs for the French Colonel—But are you ſure I ſha'n't get my bones broke for this?

Pſhaw! you can't oblige the Colonel more—Come, begin.

And may I give my⯑ſelf as many airs as I like?

The more the better—be as impudent as you pleaſe.

A match—I warrant you ſhall have no reaſon to complain of my mo⯑deſty.

Muſhroom, my dear old boy, how are you?

Thank ye, thank ye—but you need not have been ſo violent in your ſalutation.

I have an Engliſh tongue, you find.

Yes, and an Engliſh arm too—and you have learnt our country faſhion of aſking people how they do.—My dear Mrs. Muſhroom, this is Colonel—

Pſha! zounds! the lady knows very well who I am—By your leave, Madam—

No offence, I hope.

Ah, peſte! Madame. I am enragé—Shall I cut his troat?—Diable! I have no ſword.

By no means, Colonel—The poor fellow means no harm.

But, pray, Colonel, how does it hap⯑pen that you ſpeak Engliſh ſo well?

Oh, I was bred up in England from a child—I was at ſchool in London.

Egad, I ſhould not ſuppoſe you had been at ſchool any where by your breeding.

—I'll take a pinch of your ſnuff, Colonel.

I don't know whether I have a ſnuff⯑box [28] about me.—Oh, yes—here it is.

What a handſome box! charm⯑ing indeed.

Yes, 'tis pretty enough—I think I never obſerved it before.

Pretty!—it is exquiſite.

The box is much at your ſervice, if you like it.

My dear Colonel, ten thouſand thanks.

This fellow will prove a fine pigeon.

Ah, ma chere tabatiere! my deare box!

Rogue! vilain!

Hey day! what does that taylor want with you?

Faith, I don't know—perhaps he imagines my coat wants altering.

Why, I don't think it would be amiſs to—

It does look as if it was not made for me—that is the truth of the matter.

He ſhall alter it for you.—Here, Mounſeer—take meaſure of this gentleman di⯑rectly—He is your countryman; and if you don't alter his clothes to his liking—I'll have your ears cut off.

I may venture to bluſter a little, as the Colonel is preſent.

Oh, hang him—he is as aukward as if he had never meaſured a man for a ſuit in his life—I dare ſay I could alter the coat better myſelf—ſet him about your own clothes.

Egad, there is no time to loſe, indeed; ſo go to work directly, Mounſeer.—I commit him to your care, Lucy—Lock him up, and give [29] him nothing to eat, or drink, till he has com⯑pleted the job.

So it is your deſtiny to be my priſoner, Sir.

Ah, ma chere—I did read dat deſtiny in your eyes ven I firſt ſaw you.

Pauvre fille! quite jealouſe of me—I muſt be kind to her.

One muſt treat theſe fellows a little harſhly, to make them do their duty.

Certainly, certainly. Theſe taylors are a ſet of the moſt lazy, impudent—I'm glad the fellow is gone.

So am I, moſt ſincerely.

I am not ſorry for it. I did not much like his looks.—But, where are your letters, Co⯑lonel?

Letters!

Ay, from my friend at Pondicherri—and the bill which he adviſes having drawn upon one, in your favour.

This will diſcover all.

Bill!—Really, my memory is ſo bad.

Perhaps you have put them in your pocket-book.

They may be there, for aught I know.

Here, Muſh⯑room, look over the book for me. "I can't ſubmit to the trouble of doing it."

I don't know what to make of this Frenchman.

Here is another letter—perhaps this is for you.

Eh! a letter from my wife, and to this French puppy—An appointment—Three raps at my chamber-door—This is a fortunate blunder of his.

'Tis very remarkable, that, though I ſpeak Engliſh ſo well, I never could read it.—But pray, Muſhroom, at what hour do you dine? I really think eating and drinking a mighty agreeable relief to converſation.

Egad, I ſhould think any thing a relief from your converſation.

You'll excuſe my freedom—But I am always perfectly at eaſe, wherever I go—You know that's very polite.

But, pray, my dear friend, is whiſper⯑ing a part of modern politeneſs?—You ſeem to deal in that mightily.

Whiſpering!—Why, my dear Sir, it is the perfection of eloquence.

May be ſo—but I will take care you ſha'n't profit much by the uſe of it.

SCENE, The Garden-Room belonging to Col. BENTLEY's Houſe.

It does not ſignify talking, Stan⯑more; I will not diſcover to Ormellina, that ſhe is my daughter. I love the ſlut ſo well, that I muſt not let her know it.

And ſo, Sir, you will ſtill continue the impoſition, of letting her ſuppoſe ſhe is an orphan, ſupported and educated by your bounty.

Certainly. It is that happy ignorance of her birth, which has ſaved her from the ill effects of my fondneſs; for, I am ſure, if I had once owned her for my daughter, I ſhould cer⯑tainly have ſpoilt her. You know, Stanmore, I am one of thoſe fools, who are vulgarly called good-natured people, and who find themſelves involved in a thouſand difficulties, merely be⯑cauſe they can't ſay no to any thing.

Yes, I know that is your infirmity.

Whenever a man wanted to borrow a few guineas, which he never meant to repay, Jack Bentley was the man applied to; and I had the excluſive privilege of being pigeon'd by my friends, merely becauſe I was the beſt creature in the world. However, I ſoon found it was a damn'd misfortune to be ſo agreeable; ſo I e'en parted with my character, to ſave my money, and affronted my acquaintance, to prevent my being obliged to quit ſociety.

Ay, there it is, now—What a pity, that good-nature, like the dreſs of an officer in battle, ſhould be only a dangerous mark of diſ⯑tinction, for the enemy to aim at.

How often have I envied poor Sam Sulky! He was a happy fellow—bleſt with the worſt temper I ever knew, and had the fineſt forbidding frown—never lent a man a ſhilling in his life—nobody praiſed him, and he praiſed no⯑body—ſo he grew rich, becauſe people did not like his company well enough to ruin him.

Ah, Colonel! you would not have changed places with him, for all that—Your natural diſpoſition—

For heaven's ſake, Stanmore, don't betray me, by calling me a good-natured man—Do act the part of a friend—and abuſe me be⯑hind my back.

Here comes Mr. Warnford.

For his anſwer, I ſuppoſe.—He aſk'd my conſent, yeſterday, to marry Ormellina.

Well, Sir; and—

And I mean to try the force of his at⯑tachment, by leaving him a little while in ſuſ⯑pence—But he is here.

My dear Colonel, I rejoice to ſee you.—Mr. Stanmore, yours.—I read your con⯑ſent to my marrying Ormellina, in your coun⯑tenance.

He who believes all he reads, young man, muſt be often wofully miſtaken.

I cannot be miſtaken here, Sir—I depend on my author—Nature has traced be⯑nevolence and good-humour in every feature; and her characters have not been defaced by malice or hypocriſy.

Sir, you do me a great deal of honour, to fancy my face a gazette extraordinary of good news to you. But, I ſay again, that you are miſ⯑taken; I am not benevolent—I am ill-temper'd, Sir, and moroſe; and, as for all the ſilly cant of lovers, I conſider it as the half-form'd dialect of children, an abuſe of language, which they cor⯑rect as they grow older.

It is the language of my heart, Sir; and while that heart beats, ſuch muſt be its effuſions.

And ſo I am to infer, from all this, that, if I refuſe my conſent, you will run away with the girl.

Why look ye, Colonel—I will not anſwer for myſelf—if Ormellina will agree to it.

A fine fellow, i'faith!—

This is beyond bearing, Warnford.

Nay, I predict that you will forgive me. You have a friend, who will infallibly make my peace with you—a conſtant friend, to whom you now owe ſome of your happieſt moments.

Eh!—what friend do you mean?

The remembrance of what you were at my age—I'll be hang'd if you would not have done the ſame thing.

No, no—indeed no, Warnford—though, to be ſure, at your age, I did not want for fire.

You were in love, Sir?

In love!—Who could have ſeen my dear Sophia, without loving her? Oh, Warnford! ſuch a pair of eyes! ſuch a winning ſmile!—But I am a vile hand at deſcription—I ſhall never forget when ſhe got into the chaiſe to elope with me.

You eloped with her then, Sir?

Aye, my boy.

Her guardian had refuſed his con⯑ſent?

Pſhaw! What ſignifies that?

Bravo, Colonel Bentley;—and o, glowing with youth, love, and high ſpirits, you aſſerted the privilege of a lover, and ſnatch'd a fine girl from the tyranny of caprice, as I would do now.

Eh!—Snatch a fine girl!—Caprice! Why, what the devil, I muſt explain myſelf, Warnford.

The voice of Nature needs no ex⯑planation, Sir.

Zounds! Stanmore, why didn't you ſtop me, when you ſaw me expoſing myſelf ſo? The dog took me unawares, and unfortunately ſurpriſed me into a fit of good-humour. He is a fine high-mettled fellow, faith.

Perhaps, Sir, you may find him too much ſo.—You know he has given you fair warn⯑ing of his intention to run away with Ormellina; and I think your only chance for preventing him, is, to own her publicly as your daughter imme⯑diately.

Surely I heard your name mentioned—Stop, I beſeech you; perhaps the conver⯑ſation may be intereſting to you.

Egad, Stanmore, you are in the right—I will declare myſelf to Ormellina—ſhe ſhall know all the affection I feel for her. To⯑morrow I will call her mine in the face of the world.

Then my miſery is complete.

It is as you ſuſpected, and your guardian means to become your huſband.

How many years has affection ſtruggled with prudence to prevent the ſecret eſcaping me! But I will delay my happineſs no longer.—I ſhall only inſiſt on the ſlut not praiſing me.—She muſt not ſhew her gra⯑titude.—I'll overwhelm her with kindneſs, if ſhe will but promiſe to let nobody know it."

What accumulated misfortune! To-morrow, did he ſay? I ſhudder at the thought. What ſhall I do, Eliza?—What advice do you give me?

The only advice people in love ever take—to follow your own inclinations.

Yet this dreadful ſtroke is not half ſo ſevere, as the cruel doubts I entertain of Warnford's affection—Oh, Eliza! I cannot ſup⯑port the idea of his inconſtancy—You muſt go to him.

And endeavour to paſs on him for [37] this Colonel Baton, who is expected from Pondicherri?

Yes, it will be the eaſieſt thing in the world—Warnford never ſaw him—You will at leaſt gain an introduction to him, and diſ⯑cover the ſtate of his heart—Nay, ſhould you even be diſcovered, the attempt will paſs for a jeſt.

Poor Warnford!—Heaven help him, if I begin to torment him; beſides, you know I am engaged in teazing my own lover, and really I think it is ſufficient amuſement for any reaſonable woman, whether married or ſingle, to plague one man at a time.

Pſhaw! if you would be ſerious.

Well, then, to be ſerious; ſuppoſe the real Frenchman ſhould arrive!"

Oh, my dear girl, do not oppoſe my impatience.

I am at your diſpoſal then from this moment; it will not be the firſt mad prank I have play'd, however, as theſe habiliments wit⯑neſs.

Remember your leſſon, that your name is Colonel Baton—that you are from Pondicherri—that you are to be at Muſh⯑room's houſe during your ſtay in Calcutta—that—

Never fear me, Madam."

I am ſure you will pardon the effects of my anxiety, when you conſider the ſituation of my heart; and yet amidſt all my uneaſineſs, I liſten to the ſweet accents of hope.

Here comes my dear Henry—how fortunate!

I cannot get this youth out of my head—the moſt exact reſemblance of her I love—

Now for a good opportunity to enter into converſation with him.

I never heard of my dear girl having a brother.

The very per⯑ſon as I live—I'll ſpeak to him—You are lately from England, Sir?

Yes, Sir, juſt arrieved, and on an errand which may be weel ſurpriſe ye:—What ſay ye to love ſend⯑ing a mon to India? Dinna ye think I am the only inſtance o' th' kind?

I fear not, Sir.

Indeed!

I am thus circumſtanced.

May be, then, our ſituation is ex⯑actly alike;—the object of my affactions is now in Bengal.

Would that I could ſay the ſame!—but the miſtreſs of my heart is in England.

How I long to contradict him!—May be than your miſtreſs wur nae kind to ye?

I do not complain of her.—If ſhe was in an error, ſhe muſt have already felt its effects but too ſeverely.

Generous man!

But what way ha' ye borne ye're miſery?

I have borne it as becomes a ſoldier—in ſilence.

And wur it really ſorrow unmixed wie anger? wud na' an exclamation againſt the ſex break forth noo and than?

Ah, Sir, if ſhe whom I love could but view my heart; it is an emblem of the glaſſy rivulet, on whoſe banks we have ſo often taken our melancholy walk; though a ſudden ſtorm may for a time efface her image from the ſur⯑face, the ſucceeding calm faithfully reſtores the picture.

But you forget aw circumſtance, to render the ſimile complete; neither the rivulet, nor the heart can preſerve the lady's picture in her abſence.

You are to be envied, who can treat love with raillery.

Indeed you miſtake me.—I love wi an affaction equal to yours; I love ſa weel, that—

Heavens! what am I ſaying!—I forget what I have promiſed to Ormellina.

You ſeem agitated, Sir.

I am ſo indeed—I wuſht to ſay ſome⯑thing to ye which I canna noo explain—Yeur hond, Sir. Meet me at Captain Coromandel's in the evening.—Speer ye for ain Mr. M'Pro⯑teus; [40] —you wull find reaſon to flatter me wi the title of freend at leaſt.

SCENE, WARNFORD's Houſe.

Poor maſſa! he be ſure in love; he walk about and talke to himſelf. I wonder if he love like poor Indian—He can't love better.—Sometime I ſigh by myſelf, and wiſh I was [41] grand Engliſh gentleman, to ride in my palan⯑quin, and have great riche—and den I meet Dayda, and ſhe ſmile and ſay, dear Roſario, I love you;—and den I wiſh for no palanquin, no great riche—I ſo glad dat I be poor Roſario.

My maſter will wait on you immedi⯑ately, Sir.

Ah, don't let him hurry himſelf. The devil take this Muſhroom for bringing me here, and inſiſting on my being introduced to Warnford.—Curſe his civility.

Come along, Colo⯑nel.

Zounds, what's the matter with you?

Why, really, it is very kind of you, to inſiſt on my being introduced to Mr. Warn⯑ford;—but—

But what?—I tell you he'll like to hear you talk of his father, with whom you were ſo well acquainted when you viſited England.

Then he'll be plaguily diſappointed—for I'm reſolved not to open my lips on that ſubject. I hate old ſtories—they are a ſhock⯑ing bore.

Well, I muſt leave you for the pre⯑ſent; however, I'll endeavour to find Warn⯑ford, and ſend him to you.

What will become of me?—Egad, I find impudence, like corks to a bad ſwimmer, may tempt a man dangerouſly out of his depth. I wonder whether this Warnford is apt to be choleric.—Zounds, if he ſhould deal in kick⯑ing!—I ſhould like to ſee whether he has a fight⯑ing face; if one could get a ſquint at him through any compaſſionate window, or the cre⯑vice of a door—or—

Tell Monſieur Warnford dat his friend [44] le Colonel Baton vait to pay his reſpect.—

Poor Henry!—I declare he has made me almoſt as penſive as himſelf—There is ſomething very contagious in the melancholy of the man we love.—But now for my French character: ſo exit love for the preſent, and vive la bagatelle.

Here he is;—I am not ſo much afraid of him as I expected to be.

Hey day, whom have we here?

Coromandel's taylor in maſ⯑querade, by all that's ridiculous.

The little lady-like paſſen⯑ger, who came on board our ſhip!

Gentlemen, your moſt obedient—I am extremely anxious to pay my reſpects to Colonel Baton, if he will do me the honour to name himſelf.

Sir, I—

What can that fellow mean? He is dreſſed as if he meant to perſonate—

Egad, I'm fairly plunged in over head and ears: if I do ſink, it ſha'n't be without a ſtruggle however."

Sair, I'ave de honneur to announce myſelf.

Yes, Sair, I'ave de honor to an⯑nounce myſelf.

Gentlemen, your impatience to an⯑nounce yourſelves is highly flattering to me; but pray which is Colonel Baton?

C'eſt moi.

I am the colonel, Sir.

A moſt ſingular incident! When you are both inclined to be ſerious—

Serieux!

Aye, Sir—ſerious.

Nay, I beg pardon; if you are diſ⯑poſed for a tilting bout, I'll interrupt you no longer—Three perſons form an aukward party on theſe occaſions.

Theſe are a couple of ſcoundrels.

Vera extraordinaire to treat a me dus, Sair; moi, your old friend.

"At leaſt, Sir, you're an old friend with a new face."

You are alſo an old friend of mine.

Yes, Sir, and I have as great a re⯑gard for you as I had for your father.

Ha! ha! ha! You will pardon my caution, gentlemen; but it is ſo difficult to diſtinguiſh one's real friends.

Ah! ſans doute.—I dare ſay vid your pleaſant brutale manners you 'ave never yet find any friend at all.

Except yourſelf, Sir; and you know you were pleaſed to honour me with that title, though you had never ſeen me.

Yes, Sair, for dat vara raiſon, becauſe I had not ſeen you."

I'faith, the little fellow acts it rarely.

I can't manage it half ſo well.

Your are witty, Sir.

Ha! ha! ha!—I believe, Sir, you grow a little angry.

Perhaps I may, Sir—and then—

Ah! pray pleaſe to be angry—It will amuſe me. Ah! it be ſo charmant to ſee Jack Roaſt Beef ven he be enragé, like de grand ſtupid Lion at de Tour of Londres, ven dey give him little poke, and rouze him up, and make him roar.

Zounds, Sir!

Bravo! bravo! trot about—dancez, s'il vous plait, plus vite, faſter, faſter—

Malbrouk s'en va t'en guerre.

Ha! ha! ha!

What d'ye mean by that, Sir? 'Sdeath, I'll—

Mrs. Muſhroom, Sir.

How abſurd to ſuffer theſe fools to ruffle my temper!

Warnford, I am come to quar⯑rel with you. Hey-day! you're engaged, I ſee.—

What can all this mean?

I would introduce Colonel Baton to you, if I knew which it was of theſe two gen⯑tlemen. "But I ſee it is unneceſſary; you ſeem to be acquainted with them both."

Mr. Warnford, a word with you—Aſk me not who or what I am; "for I won't tell you" I came hither to ſerve you. Do [47] not interrupt, but anſwer me. Can you ſubmit to ſee Ormellina married to another, to her guardian, Colonel Bentley?

I tremble at the thought.

This evening then muſt determine your fate; ſhe will be at Captain Coromandel's—I'll meet you there, and pilot you to happineſs.

I believe, Sir, you had better, like a falling mi⯑niſter, retire to prevent you being turned out.

I will, Ma'am—but then the worſt of it is, I muſt retire without a penſion.

I vow the hiſtory of the two laſt hours would furniſh an additional ſtory for Ovid's Metamorphoſes.

If the information ſhould be falſe.—

Very true, indeed, Madam, as you ſay.

I ſent you a letter this morn⯑ing—I find, however, it was not received.

But then for what purpoſe ſhould he deceive me?

—No, Ma'am—not received."

Now I own my idea—

Oh, Ormellina!

A—a—yes, Madam, that is my idea.

And pray, Sir, what may your ideas be? For your echo converſation does not betray any ſigns of them.

Pardon, pardon, my dear Mrs. Muſhroom.

Come, come, you are agitat⯑ed by the news you have heard from the gen⯑tleman who has now left you, Mr. M'Pro⯑teus [48] —

He has been mentioning the contents of my letter.

I am ſo, indeed.—

Surely ſhe is apprized of Ormellina's intended mar⯑riage.

I know not what he meant by ſo whimſically aſſuming the dreſs of a French officer—but undoubtedly he came on pur⯑poſe to give you the information.

He ſaid ſo indeed."

I imagine M'Proteus told you he ſaw my letter to you.

You wrote me a letter then?

Yes, appointing an interview—I could not reſt till I explained to you.

Yes, yes, ſhe knows of Co⯑lonel Bentley's deſign of marrying Ormellina.—

Generous woman!

But a ridiculous miſtake pre⯑venting my letter reaching you—I am now come in perſon to inform you—

On my knees let me thank you for your condeſcenſion—Love alone like mine—

Love like mine—Is it my turn to be Echo now, Mr. Warnford?"

Where is he, I ſay?

My huſband's voice!

His arrival is very fortunate indeed—I dare ſay he will lend us his aſſiſtance in any ſcheme to effect my happineſs.

Sir!

Nay, Ma'am, if he is ignorant of the circumſtance, and you wiſh him to remain ſo—

Upon my life, Warnford, you jumble jeſt and earneſt in ſuch a manner, that [49] I don't know what to make of you—But I muſt retire—So get rid of Muſhroom as ſoon as you can.

Jumble jeſt and earneſt!—"I am ſure I ſee no jeſt in the matter."

Zounds! what's become of the Co⯑lonel? Off!—Eh!—Ah! you had ſome fe⯑male viſitor, I ſuppoſe?—Come, tell the truth—Nay, no ceremony with me—You know I hate ceremony—I was bred a low fellow, and ſo I have always remained—Not a farthing the poorer for that, by the bye. But I abhor gen⯑tility.

Why, Sir, as for the Colonel—

Come, come, I know you don't like him—He is not genteel enough for you—But I wiſh you hadn't packed him off ſo ſoon—There is Captain Coromandel below ſtairs, who longed to ſee him.

Who? Captain Coromandel? Ex⯑cuſe me for a moment.

Hey-day! What's in the wind now? Egad he takes my advice, and makes no ceremony with me, indeed! I fancy there is not much ceremony between him and my jade of a wife neither—I find ſhe is ſomewhere about the houſe at this moment; and I begin to doubt whether her letter was meant for that booby French Colonel. Let me read it once more.

All is quiet! I hope Warnford has ſent my huſband off.

Ah! my dear, I know I always have your good wiſhes—You did not expect to meet me here, I dare ſay; but I believe there is a ſecret ſympathy between us.

A ſecret ſympathy then it muſt be; for I have never found it out.

Then I have the advantage of you, my love—But, indeed, I am ever making diſ⯑coveries, and indebted to you for them all too.

And yet you have not profited by what a wiſe man would deem the moſt im⯑portant of my diſcoveries. You know, my dear, I have often, with a faithful pencil, given you a whole length picture of yourſelf.

And, I fancy, my dear, you have paid particular attention to finiſhing my head properly—Ha! ha! ha!

Your attempts at wit, Mr. Muſh⯑room, are a kind of hyſterical diſorder, which creates univerſal pity, and makes no one laugh but yourſelf—Not that I deny you ſome merit.

Aye, aye, what may that be?

You have the peculiar happi⯑neſs of reconciling us even to your ill-manners. They are a ſet of bad features diſtorted into a pleaſant caricature. Abſurdity, your conſtant friend, tinges even your impertinence with folly, and ſaves you from chaſtiſement, by rendering [51] you ridiculous. Is the picture complete, my life?

Yes, my ſoul, and now for yours.—

Huſh! here is ſomebody com⯑ing.

That's unlucky—I had one of the ſevereſt things at my tongue's end—However—I'll ſave it for our next quarrel.

My dear Coromandel, you give me new life: you ſay you've ſeen Ormel⯑lina!

Ay, and have removed all her ſcruples. You ſhall ſee her this evening—and—but we are not alone—

My old friends, I rejoice to ſee you."

There is a pair whom Hymen has bound with wreaths of roſes.

I'faith, then the roſes have dropt off, and left nothing but thorns.

My experience of wedlock, Mr. Warnford, leads me to wiſh all my friends mar⯑ried.—

It is ſome comfort to have compa⯑nions in one's misfortunes.

Aye, aye, that's right, Muſhroom.

SCENE, COROMANDEL's Houſe.

I WONDER this Mr. M'Proteus is not come yet. He certainly can tell me ſome news of my Eliza.

From love and ſhipwreck Heaven preſerve me! Why, what's the matter with the man?

I cannot help it—I own myſelf un⯑fit for ſociety.

Once more, Colonel, welcome to my houſe: I congratulate you on your eſcape from old Muſhroom's: I find you ſuffer'd ſome in⯑dignities there.

Ce n'eſt rien—Ve people of gal⯑lanterie tink dat litel difficulté make de plaiſure of de conqueſt greater; dat Madame Muſhroom be adorable;

ſhe love me to diſtraction.

Ah! Colonel, you are a happy man—but I am perſuaded that your own happineſs will not render you forgetful that our friend here is not ſo.

Sair, ven I do ſo I vill renounce my contrée: I rejoice to hear de accents of hap⯑pineſs from all around me; de harmonie de⯑light my heart, and I join de chorus.—But if von ſtring be out of tune—if one litel ſigh of miſerie reach my ear—ah! all de concert be ſpoil pour moi.

My dear Colonel, I perceive the goodneſs of your heart; I give you credit for your kind intentions.

No, Sair, I vill have no credit—I vill pay vat I owe; you be my friend—you vant my aſſiſtance—I can give it to you—and I love to pay my debt. You ſay Madame Ormel⯑lina conſent to run avay vid you?

Yes, my perſuaſions have prevail'd on her to ſeek an aſylum in a foreign ſettlement, where the power and influence of her guardian cannot reach us.

I find your friend the French captain fails for Pondicherri early to⯑morrow morning; I have contrived that the lovers ſhall be ſafely convey'd on ſhipboard this evening—and then—

Dé ſighs of love vill fill deir ſails—Cupidon vill be deir pilot—Hymen vill ſtand at de helm—and I vill go and ſettle every ting with the Capitaine. Morbleau, I viſh I had tought of it before; I dare ſay Madame Muſh⯑room vou'd be of de partie; or if ſhe vou'd not go, perhaps dat litel girl dat laugh ſo—her fille de chambre—Bleſs me, I ſhou'd like to run avay vid ſomebody.

Hark! ſome of your viſitors are come already.

Then I had better join them, to pre⯑vent ſuſpicion. Remember that when Ormellina ſteals away from the company, ſhe is to conceal herſelf in the garden, till every thing is ready for your elopement.

'Sdeath, here comes my torment, Mrs. Muſh⯑room.

Oh, Warnford! I am ſo glad to meet with you at laſt. Do you know my huſband is abſolutely jealous of you.

Jealous of me?

He watches me ſo narrowly, that I have made an excuſe for bringing Lucy with me, to obſerve him, and prevent his com⯑ing upon us unawares.

Really you ſurpriſe me.

I dare ſay I do; I don't know any thing in your conduct and mine, which could have given riſe to Mr. Muſhroom's ſuſpicions; though he pretends to ſay our mutual attach⯑ment is very apparent.

I begin to perceive the drift of theſe ingenious reflections.

Perhaps, indeed, relying too far on the purity of my intentions, my unſuſpecting temper may have betrayed me into a levity of manner; or perhaps (pardon the ſuppoſition), but perhaps you, in a convivial moment, might have ſpoken of me in ſuch terms as often give birth to ſcandal.

I'll teaze her—No never, as I recollect.

How provoking! Come, come, Warnford, I know a man, without any [57] diſhonourable intention, might, in ſpeaking o a lady, ſay, "Egad, ſhe is a fine woman"—Her huſband is a horrid fellow—and if ſhe were to throw herſelf in my way—

A moſt curious catechiſm

—I aſſure you, Madam, I never ſpoke thus of you in my life.

What an inſenſible creature!

—Though Mr. Muſhroom ſeems to lay the greateſt ſtreſs on what happened the other evening at my houſe: You were ſilly enough to attempt to kiſs my hand; and I was ſilly enough to let you. He ſays your eyes ſpoke a thouſand tender things; to which I only re⯑plied, I did not obſerve it; and, as I told him, I am ſure you meant nothing at all—Now did you?

A home queſtion, by my ſoul—there is no parrying this

My dear Ma⯑dam.

Ma'am, Ma'am! juſt as we expected, my maſter miſs'd you from the room below, and is coming ſoftly up the back ſtairs, in hopes of ſurpriſing you and Mr. Warnford together.

Deuce take his curioſity!

It is very impertinent, to be ſure—This way, my dear Ma'am.

Don't go out at that door, Sir; it leads to the garden, where you will be ſurely diſcovered—make haſte into this room—here is the key of the door—I'll match the old gentle⯑man, I'll warrant him.

The ſame key fits both locks; that is lucky indeed.

Hey day, gone already! why How can they have eſcaped?—That jade Lucy here?—then there is miſchief ſtirring—

How the devil did you come here? and what are you fidgetting about at that door?

Dear Sir—you—you—really your queſtions confuſe one ſo.

Indeed! well, I didn't think any queſtion whatever could have confuſed you—however, I'll ſpare your bluſhes for the ſake of their novelty—ſo open that door for me.

What door, Sir?—this?

Ay, Madam, that—I ſuppoſe you have the key.

I have the key, to be ſure, Sir; but hadn't you better go into the other room.—In⯑deed, Sir, you will find nobody here.

Huſſey, Huſſey! you're in league with my wife.

Who, Sir, would not be partial to ſo kind a miſtreſs?

Yes, i'faith, I believe ſhe's a kind miſtreſs to half my acquaintance—but open the door, I tell you.

Pray take my advice, Sir;—indeed, if you go in you'll repent it.

Open the door, I ſay.

Well, Sir, if it muſt be ſo.—

Well, Madam, what do you think of me now?

Words cannot expreſs what I think of you.

That is exactly my caſe, Lucy, and therefore let this ſpeak for me.

Adieu then till to-morrow—I ſhall expect to ſee you.

If I am in Calcutta, Madam, you may depend upon me.

Open the door—Zounds, you have lock'd me in.

Well, Sir, you would not take good advice when I offered it. I ſaid you would re⯑pent it.

Come, I know my wife has bribed you—But I'll pay you double what ſhe gave you.

Why, Sir, you ought to be puniſhed for your unkind ſuſpicions. What reaſon now can you have for thinking—

Pſhaw! what ſignifies arguing through a key-hole? Releaſe me, and truſt to my genero⯑ſity.

Well, Sir, for once I will—

Here, Madam, I commit my priſoner to your care.

Aye, aye, I'll reward you, and as for my wife—

Here I am, my dear huſband, in the obedient diſcharge of my duty. How agreeable it is to meet thus unexpectedly!

Yes, but it would be rather more agreeable to part unexpectedly.

Come, come, Muſhroom, we have quarrelled till we have nothing more to ſay. Let us agree by way of variety.

With all my heart, I know you like variety.

Let me ſee then how gallantly you can hand me back to the company.

Agreed.

Our friends are quite impatient for you.

I have been taking a ramble over this part of your houſe, Mr. Coroman⯑del, and admiring the elegance with which it is fitted up.

Yes, Mrs. Muſhroom is very fond of rambling ſometimes." Let us go and make our apologies. Take care, my dear, how you walk—you know you are very apt to trip.

SCENE changes to the Garden—The Entrance of a Walk overſhadowed with Trees, is ſeen on the right Hand.

Give me joy, Coromandel; our ſcheme has ſucceeded beyond expectation—a pretended head-ache afforded my dear girl an opportunity of quitting the company, and Co⯑lonel Bentley was the firſt to urge her to go home.

Behold the place of your retreat, Madam. That walk, which I formed into a bower to ſhield me from the rays of the mid⯑day ſun. This is the only entrance to it, and I will ſend Roſario to watch if any one approach.

Still ſo penſive!—Surely, my charm⯑ing Ormellina will no longer doubt my truth.

No, Warnford, you have convinced me that I need not bluſh to declare my af⯑fection for you. Let guilt be the parent of ſhame—I feel none in avowing my attach⯑ment to a man of honour—the firſt and only at⯑tachment of which my heart was ever ſuſcept⯑ible.

Delightful confeſſion.

Here are the turtles—This is what I ſuſpected.

I conſider Colonel Bentley as my deareſt friend—He has a claim to my utmoſt gratitude and eſteem—But you have my heart, and I ſhudder at the idea of mocking him with a ſhadow of affection.

All ſoul and ſentiment—not a ſingle vile, earthly idea abour her, I war⯑rant.

However the Colonel may be blind⯑ed by paſſion, I know him to be honourable, and I know he will one day thank me for having put it out of his power to be unjuſt—But you ought to quit me for the preſent, Warnford; the Colonel will wonder at your abſence.

I go, my love.

And I'll ſtay, my love, to ſee the end of this romance.

Pray leave me—Conſider—on this hour depends our fate.

I obey—"And may the dawning preſage of happineſs, which now revives my [63] ſoul, ſmile on us with meridian ſplendour when next we meet."

This is, indeed, an eventful mo⯑ment for me.

Ah! Roſario, I'm glad you are come—I am ſure I hear ſomebody talking with Mr. Warnford—follow him, and liſten, Roſario; I will retreat here in the meanwhile

Heavens! ſome one is conceal'd here already: how unfortunate!

Need not be frighten'd, Miſſee Ormelli⯑na; it be only Captain Coromandel talk with my maſſa—Don't be melancholy, Miſſee Ormel⯑lina; I be ſure my maſſa love you dearly. Roſario will ſing a little ſong to amuſe you.

Come hither, my good boy, I want to ſpeak to you. Will you do me a favour?

Yes, Sir, Roſario would love dearly to do you a favour, you ſay ſo kind.

Be ſo good as to ſtep to Mr. Stan⯑more, and tell him a gentleman waits here to ſpeak with him; whiſper to him, Roſario, ſo that nobody may overhear you.

No money, Sir. I ſhall like to ob⯑lige you; but it be no oblige ven you pay me—rather you keep money, and ſay to me, thank ye.

And I will thank thee, Roſario, as I ought.

Ah, ha!—Voila mon homme—

Serviteur. I am told, Sair, you call your⯑ſelf Colonel Baton.

I—I have anſwer'd to that name, Sir.

Den I preſume, Sair, you be officier in de French ſervice, by your vite cockade.

Sir, I—I, yes, Sir; I wear a white cockade—I admire it extremely.

So do I, Sair.

I am very glad you like it—I—

And I muſt 'ave it, Sair.

Have my cockade, Sir! Bleſs me, that is a little extraordinary.

Monſieur.

Well, Sir, there it is—If you have taken any fancy to the hat, Sir, it is at your ſervice.

I wiſh Henry were come.

Now, Sair, you 'ave no mark of de livree of my ſovereign—I tell you dat you be villain, poltroon.

Really, Sir, I think it is very abſurd for us to cut throats about a piece of white rib⯑bon—ſo—

I know dat I do you too much ho⯑neur to fight you.

Then I am ſure, Sir, I don't deſire any more honour than is my due.

Allons, defend yourſelf.

I wiſh I could, Sir.

Combatez! combatez! Monſieur.

No, Sir, you have diſhonoured my reputation, by calling me a coward, and I will not fight till I have cleared my character. Pray, Sir, don't be ſo violen.

What ſhall I do? I muſt avow myſelf.

Repondez ſcelerat!—anſwer me—do you deſerve the name of man?

No, indeed, Sir—I am—

Parlez—vite.

I am—

Vat be you?

I am—

Sir, your moſt obedient humble ſervant.

Heavens! that voice—no longer diſ⯑tinguiſhed by the Scotch accent—I—

Here is my champion, Colonel—Surely he will defend a life which I have riſked for the joy of ſeeing him once more; and which, from this moment, ſhall be devoted to repair the wrongs he has ſuffered.

My life! my ſoul! my deareſt Eliza.

My dear Eliza! Oh ho!

Madame, vil you pardon my miſtake? Dere be de cockade. Venever you like to go into de armie again, I hope to 'ave de honneur of be your commanding officer.

You ſee, Colonel, I have engaged with another commander, and I am ſure you are too much a man of honour to wiſh I ſhould ever deſert.

Ah! dat laſt glance at me mean ſomething. I have catch her too.

I need not aſk whether an explana⯑tion has taken place.

Indeed, it has been as ſhort as ſweet, thanks to Colonel Baton's mode of frightening one out of a ſecret.

I am ſorry, however, the ſecret has made ſo much noiſe. You have poſitively alarmed the houſe. Colonel Bentley, and our whole party, are coming into the garden, to ſee what is the matter.

Den I muſt retire for de preſent.

Well, Colonel, when you retreat, I think my courage will not ſuffer by following your example.

Poor Ormellina will be ſcared out of her wits.

Don't be alarmed, my dear Madam—Nobody knows you are there, except Warnford and myſelf.

Well, Coromandel, what the devil has produced all this clatter?—ſome of your ſpoilt ſervants, I ſuppoſe, at their gambols—aye—all the effects of your fooliſh good-nature.

Come, Colonel, let us have no more of this affectation.—You to abuſe good⯑nature—you, in whoſe compoſition the milk of human kindneſs is the chief ingredient."

"Sir, I deny it—I diſclaim it—'Tis on the milk of human kindneſs, knavery thrives, Sir."—I rejoice in my ill-humour; it [68] is a fortification raiſed around me by nature, to guard me from ruin.

Don't tell me of your fortifications—A tear from virtue in diſtreſs would make a practicable breach in one minute.

Let me tell you, Sir, I take your compliments very ill; and if you perſiſt in your curſed civility, you will oblige me to quit your houſe.

Nay, my dear Colonel, rather than offend you, I will allow you to be as bad as you pleaſe; I will acknowledge you to be unfeel⯑ing, uncharitable, cynical, moroſe—In ſhort, one of the moſt diſagreeable men I am ac⯑quainted with."

Pſhaw! a fig for your arguments; let us go and finiſh our bottle.

No, no; if we muſt have a bottle, let us have it here. It is a fine evening, and I like variety—you know I am whimſical.

Dear Sir, conſider the abſurdity.

I always was reckoned abſurd, and I wiſh to act up to my character.

Well, but Colonel—

Mr. Coromandel, obſtinacy is my favourite virtue—on this ſpot I either take a glaſs of wine, or take my leave—ſo make your choice."

"Then, Sir, my choice is made." Bring wine immediately.

'Sdeath, Coro⯑mandel, are you mad?

Pſhaw! give the child his rattle, and he'll ſoon be tired of it.

Colonel Baton wants me, do you ſay? deſire him to walk this way—here are none but friends.

Ah, Colonel.

Huſh, my good Sir,—I—I—I thought you were alone—I'll call on you another time.

Hey day, Colonel, you ſeem con⯑foundedly frightened at ſomething.

Sudden ſurpriſe, Sir, that's all.

Here is Coromandel and Warnford—I ſhall be blown preſently.

Oh, oh! the ſurpriſe of meeting your old friend Colonel Bentley ſo unexpectedly?

Yes, Sir; really it overcomes me.

I'faith, you ſha'n't leave us.

There is that raſcal, Twiſt, diſguiſed in Baton's clothes.

Let him alone—we have a more ſerious object to en⯑gage our attention."

Pray which is my old acquaintance Colonel Bentley?

There he ſits. How aſtoniſhingly altered he muſt be to have eſcaped your re⯑collection! I'faith, he looks at you as if he had never ſeen you before.

So he does—and—and it abſolutely diſtreſſes me. Let me tell you, Mr. Muſhroom, that to be forgotten thus by one's friends—but my [70] feelings overcome me—I had rather go, if you pleaſe.

Indeed I ſha'n't ſuffer you to go. I will ſeat you next to Colonel Bentley, without telling him who you are.—It will be a very good joke.

Heigh-ho! Well, if it muſt be ſo; but, upon my ſoul, I am not in a joking hu⯑mour.

I declare I am quite in love with our ſituation; this is an excellent place for a catch.

And there is another excellent place for a catch in the houſe—'Tis a moſt bewitching room—when one is once in it, one hardly knows how to get out again—Eh, Mr. Warnford.

There is ſome hidden meaning in all this."

"Oh, yes, 'tis the faſhion to have things hidden in this houſe; aye, and in this garden too; for" I am much miſtaken if I had not the glimpſe of a petticoat in that ar⯑bour juſt now.

My loving wife, moſt likely.

'Sdeath, I muſt explain the truth, to keep him quiet.

What does all this myſterious conver⯑ſation ſignify?

Why, it ſignifies that we have not yet had wine enough to underſtand each other pro⯑perly.

And you ſay Ormellina is really concealed there?—Egad, I [71] could have ſworn it had been my wife; for I did ſuſpect you, Warnford. However, leave me to bring the Colonel to reaſon.

A word with you.—I ſuppoſe you don't know that a particular friend of yours is in that arbour; but, indeed, you have no great knack in finding out your friends—Eh, Colo⯑nel.

This may be wit, Mr. Muſhroom.

Aye, and truth into the bargain.—I tell you as a fact, that Warnford has concealed Ormellina in that arbour; by the bye, he muſt not know I told you ſo.

I have long owed Warnford a good turn, and now I think I have paid him."

Juſt as I could wiſh. I long to embrace the ſpirited young rogue.

Well, Colonel, after what I have explained to you, your ſuſpicions muſt of courſe ceaſe.

You don't ſeem to be angry."

"Zounds, Sir, but I am, and very angry too." Mr. Coromandel, I have par⯑ticular reaſons for wiſhing to know who is in that retired walk.

My dear Colonel, the requeſt is ſo ſtrange!

Sir, I muſt perſiſt in it. I charge that gentleman

with hav⯑ing meanly concealed—

Meanly concealed! No man, but yourſelf, Colonel Bentley, dare uſe the expreſſion. If I have had recourſe to artifice, it was in an honourable cauſe; in defence of beauty and vir⯑tue, which claimed my protection againſt the [72] man who dares to become my accuſer.—I own a lady is there.

Faith, 'tis very hard a man can't hide a pretty woman in a corner, with her own con⯑ſent, without the place being ſearched, as if it contained ſmuggled goods.

That lady was concealed there by me—my warmeſt hopes have been crowned with her conſent to elope with me this evening—Her heart is mine, and I will defend the poſſeſſion of it with my life.

—Confuſion!

Why, what the devil does this mean, my dear?

Really, my dear, you had bet⯑ter aſk Mr. Warnford's ſervant, Roſario—he watch'd me in my concealment, and, I ſuppoſe, can explain the reaſons why he did ſo.

What's the matter, Warnford? You have only had recourſe to artifice in an honour⯑able cauſe, in defence of beauty and virtue, which claimed your protection.—By the bye, I don't recollect that ever I offered any violence to Mrs. Muſhroom's delicacy.

I muſt tell you, Mr. Warnford, that you have uſed me curſedly ill.

I don't ſee that, Muſhroom—you know 'tis very hard a man can't hide a pretty woman in a corner, with her own conſent.

Roſario!

Come hither, blockhead; go inſtantly to the lady whom you watched in that arbour—"pre⯑ſent my compliments," and requeſt ſhe will [73] favour me with one minute's private converſa⯑tion here.

Poor Miſs Ormellina will be ſo afraid:—before all dis company, Sir?

Tell her I ſhall be alone.—Obey my orders inſtantly, Roſario. Now gentlemen, "we ſhall have this myſtery explained—I flat⯑ter myſelf Mrs. Muſhroom will not refuſe me an explanation, and I am content that yourſelves ſhall witneſs it."—Retire into that very arbour which has been the ſource of our embarraſſment, and from thence you may over⯑hear our converſation.

This is ſome trick of that tormenting woman, and ſhe deſerves to be ex⯑poſed.

Is all ſafe, maſſa? All gentlemen gone?

You ſee I am alone.

Den Miſſee Ormellina may come here.

Oh, Warnford, what have. I not en⯑dured for this laſt half hour!

'Sdeath, how unlucky!—the Colonel will overhear every word.

By the ſtrangeſt accident, I was de⯑prived of the retreat we had agreed upon, and have been waiting in the garden—

Pray forbear—this is not a proper time"—

"Well, then let us be gone. Colo⯑nel Baton is now in the garden." A guide is [74] ready to conduct us to the ſhip, and, in ſhort, every obſtacle to our eſcape is removed.

No, Ormellina, there is ſtill an obſtacle to your eſcape.

There can be none, Sir, while that lady conſents to be mine.

You are miſtaken, young man, that obſtacle is my authority—the authority of a father.

Gracious Heaven!

Yes, Ormellina, this accident has forced the ſecret from me, which a regard for your welfare has for ſo many years buried in my bo⯑ſom

"As for you, Warnford, you are not much pleaſed with this diſcovery, I take it."—Look ye, Sir; zounds, if I were to give way to my feelings upon this occaſion—but I will repreſs them—I ſhall content myſelf with telling you, that you need not flatter your⯑ſelf with any hopes of eloping with my daughter, and that effectually to prevent the moſt diſtant chance of your repeating ſo abominable an at⯑tempt, I am fixed and determined to give my conſent for your marrying her to-morrow.

Generous friend!—how ſhall I thank you?

By making a good huſband to my laughter, you rogue—that's the beſt way of thanking me.

Ah, Stanmore, give us joy.

Colonel Bentley, give me leave to congratulate you and our friends here on this agreeable diſcovery.

An agreeable diſcovery, indeed; but this ſeems to be a day of diſcoveries, and I be⯑lieve, my dear, we are not yet got to the end of them.

But I thought I heard ſomebody name Colonel Baton—is he arrived?

Arrived! ha! ha! ha! Why the Colonel has been in company with you for this half hour paſt.—You have ſeen him—ſpoke to him—drank with him—Why here he ſtands—This is Colonel Baton.

Is it? then he is a moſt extraordinary man, and I ſhould like to follow his example, for he is grown twenty years younger, at leaſt, ſince I ſaw him laſt.—Harkee, you dog—who are you?

Ah! mon ami—joy—joy—je vous fe⯑licite—I give you joy—here I am.

Pardon me, my dear friend, you have forgot yourſelf. There you are;

I find you have been here this half hour paſt—that I have talked with you, drank with you—and that there you ſtand at this moment.—Does not he, Muſhroom?

Ah! ah! vilain! pol⯑troon—I'ave got you. So you be Colonel Baton?

No, Sir,—not the original Colonel Baton;—I am only a tranſlation from the French.

And a very free tranſlation too, for there appears to be great liberties taken with the original.

My dear Colo⯑nel, you muſt prevent an eclairciſſement—You [77] are bound as a man of gallantry to conceal that weakneſs which you have occaſioned.

Well, Sir; now for the whole truth.

With all my heart, Sir.—I am ſure I have found lying a very hazardous trade.—I'll tell the company the whole ſtory, from the beginning to the end.

No, Sair, it ſhall not be—Taizez vous.

Don't tell me of your taizez vous—I have got a letter in my pocket, from my wife to you; and, Sir, I ſhall inſiſt upon an ex⯑planation.

Here be my explanation, Monſieur.

You ſhall 'ave it venever you pleaſe.

Here, Colo⯑nel; let me preſent you with another French tranſlation, a great favourite of mine.

It is done by a woman, Madam, and of courſe, you know, claims an exemption from ſevere criticiſm.

A woman!—How is all this, Stan⯑more?

Yes, Sir, that lovely woman whom I thought irrecoverably loſt.

A brave girl, i'faith. "I muſt ſalute her"

Welcome, moſt ſincerely, my little heroine.

Then you are not afraid of venturing on a military wife, eh, Stanmore?

Why ſhould he fear? Military diſci⯑pline would teach me the moſt difficult duty of a wife—to obey.

Ah! Stanmore, you are a happy dog.—Zounds, I ſhall grow good-humoured in ſpite of myſelf.—I'll own neither man nor wo⯑man as my friend, who does not wear a ſmiling countenance.

Then, Sir, your bounty has ſe⯑cured me a claim to your friendſhip."

I own, my happineſs has received no trifling addition, in ſeeing my little friend here finiſh her campaign ſo ſucceſsfully.

And now farewell to the big war—my occupation's done. For though matrimony is ſometimes a ſervice of danger, I inliſt in hopes of remaining on the peace eſtabliſhment. What is your opinion of the matrimonial corps, Colo⯑nel Baton?

Very reſpectable corps, Madame; I ſhould like to ſerve von campaigne, or ſo, in it—but den de diable be, dat von cannot give up de ſervice ven tired of it.

And therefore the Colonel con⯑tinues in the corps of Rangers.—"For my part, I do not regret the temporary cloud, which, for the firſt time in my life, has darkened my reputation, ſince it has tended to produce ſo fortunate an event.

"Some ladies are ſo generous, as not to value reputation, when it can be ſacrificed for a friend."—Hey-day, Muſhroom, you don't ſeem too happy, however.

Oh, yes, Sir,—I have been happy for theſe ſixteen years paſt; ever ſince I married Mrs. Muſhroom.

And what ſays my old acquaintance, [79] whom I never ſaw before? He is a merry look⯑ing dog—what ſhall I do to make him happy?

Why, Colonel, my wiſhes are mo⯑derate, conſidering what old friends we have been (as Mrs. Muſhroom knows)—I ſhould be glad to be appointed your taylor in ordinary.

Thank ye, thank ye, for aſking no more; for, in my preſent good humour, I could refuſe nothing.