THE HEIRESS. A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS. [PRICE ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE.] [Entered at Stationers' Hall.]
THE HEIRESS. A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL DRURY-LANE.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. DEBRETT, OPPOSITE BURLINGTON-HOUSE, PICCADILLY. MDCCLXXXVI.
TO THE EARL OF DERBY.
[]OUR connection and friendſhip, as well as the partiality I know you will enter⯑tain in favour of any attempt at regulated Drama, mark you as the perſon, to whom, with the moſt propriety, and inclination, I can inſcribe the Comedy of the Heireſs.
It alſo comes to your Lordſhip's hand with a ſecondary claim to your acceptance, as ow⯑ing its exiſtence to the leiſure and tranquility I enjoyed during the two laſt ſummers at Knowſley.
I long intended, as your Lordſhip can wit⯑neſs, to keep the name of the author con⯑cealed. After the ſucceſs with which the Play has been honoured, I muſt expect that the change of my deſign will be imputed by many to vanity: I ſhall ſubmit, without murmuring, to that belief, if I may obtain equal credit for the ſincerity of another pride [ii] which this diſcovery gratifies—that, of teſtify⯑ing, in the moſt public manner, the reſpect, and affection with which I have the honour to be,
PREFACE.
[]THE approbation the following Comedy has re⯑ceived upon the Stage, and the candour with which every criticiſm, that has come to the Author's knowledge, has been accompanied, might encou⯑rage him to truſt it to the cloſet without any other preface, than an acknowledgement of his gratitude to the Public, for the honours done to him. And if he detains the reader a few moments more, it is not to diſavow what has been hinted at in ſome of the daily prints, as a ſpecies of plagiariſm, but to plead it in behalf of dramatic writing in general▪ againſt rules, that if carried to the extent they lead to, would fix ſhackles upon genius, and give a very undue limitation to variety.
In point of fable for inſtance—Is it a reproach to borrow?
Surely the dramatiſt, like the architect, brings his talents equally to the teſt, whether he builds upon another man's ground or his own. And if inſtead of ſmall and detached parts, the writer of the Heireſs had taken the compleat plot of his play from a novel; he would have imitated the exam⯑ples (the only imitation to which he has any pre⯑tence) of the beſt dramatic Poets of every age.
In point of originality of characters—It is humbly hoped this Comedy is not without it. But preſent inſtances apart, it is ſubmitted to the judicious, whether ſuch an exaction of novelty as would make a reſemblance to any thing ever ſeen upon the ſtage before unacceptable, might not materially vitiate the public taſte, carry the major part of writers beyond the ſcope of nature [iv] and probability, and deprive the ſpectator of that pleaſing and infinite diverſity of ſhape and colour⯑ing that the leading paſſions, vices, and follies of civiliſed life, admit. Love, avarice, miſanthropy, &c. &c. if drawn a thouſand and a thouſand times with new ſhades, and in different points of view, will do as much credit to invention, and have as juſt an effect in exhibition, as if Moliere or Con⯑grave had never touched the ſubjects. It is not whether there may not be perſonages in the Heireſs, in whom we may diſcover family features, that is aſked, but whether they are not ſtill individuals, with whom we have been hitherto unacquainted— i [...] a queſtion, not for the Author to determine.
Original thought—It has been obſerved that there is an image in a ſpeech of Lord Gayville, copied cloſely from Rouſſeau. Very poſſibly it may be ſo. The Author of the Heireſs cer⯑tainly has read that elegant writer; and to ſhew how eaſily invention may be deceived, he will quote another writer (in his eſtimation ſtill more elegant) who thus accounts, and apologizes for, unconſcious plagiariſm—‘"Faded ideas," ſays Mr. Sheridan, "Float in the fancy like half for⯑gotten dreams; and imagination, in its fulleſt enjoyments, becomes ſuſpicious of its offspring, and doubts whether it has created or adopted."’
More ſentiments and expreſſion due to the ima⯑gination of others, may poſſibly be challenged, though they are equally out of the recollection of the Author.—He would only wiſh the candid to admit the probability, that while he believed them his own, he thought them his beſt.
Many of the ſcenes now ſubmitted to peruſal, have been ſhortened in repreſentation, and a few [v] words have been altered occaſionally to preſerve connection—a circumſtance neceſſary to be known leſt the performers ſhould be ſuſpected of negli⯑gence, when, on the contrary, too much cannot be ſaid of their attention and zeal. When all have been eminent, it would be unneceſſary, if not in⯑vidious, to particularize any: There is nevertheleſs a Lady, to whom, by her ſtanding ſeparately and individually in one part of the performance, the Author, without departing from his maxim, may expreſs his more than ordinary obligation. Miſs Farren, by her inimitable manner of deliver⯑ing the Epilogue, has made a better apology to the public than any his pen could have produced, for a compoſition which, from an accident, was much too haſtily written in ſome parts, and in others pieced together with a like inſufficiency of time.
The Epilogue excepted, no defects in the fol⯑lowing ſheets can be covered by the excuſe of hurry: They cannot be ſo, conſiſtently with truth, nor indeed, with inclination: For the Author had rather be thought incapable of pleaſing, after his greateſt cares, than wanting in the attention and reſpect which every man who ventures to publiſh a production of this nature owes to the world and to himſelf—Not to let it paſs from his hands with⯑out frequent reviſal, and the beſt conſidered finiſh his abilities can give.
PROLOGUE. By the Rt. Hon. RICHARD FITZPATRICK. Spoken by Mr. KING.
[]DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
[]- Sir Clement Flint,
- Mr. KING.
- Clifford,
- Mr. SMITH.
- Lord Gayville,
- Mr. PALMER.
- Alſcrip,
- Mr. PARSONS.
- Chignon,
- Mr. BADDELEY.
- Mr. Blandiſh,
- Mr. BANNISTER, jun.
- Prompt,
- Mr. R. PALMER.
- Mr. Rightly,
- Mr. AICKIN.
Chairman, Servants, &c.
- Lady Emily,
- Miſs FARREN.
- Miſs Alſcrip,
- Miſs POPE.
- Miſs Alton,
- Mrs. CROUCH.
- Mrs. Sagely,
- Mrs. BOOTH.
- Tiffany,
- Miſs TIDSWELL.
- Mrs. Blandiſh,
- Mrs. WILSON.
[]THE HEIRESS.
ACT I.
SCENE I. A Lady's Apartment.
THERE, it is compleat——
There's phraſe—There's a period— Match it if you can.
Not I indeed: I am working upon a quite different plan: but you are as welcome to my caſt off ſtyle, as you ſhou'd be to my old embroidery. Pick out the gold if it be of any uſe.
Caſt off ſtyle! Excellent aſſur⯑ance! And pray, Sir, to whom are you indebted for the very elements of wheedling, and all that has attended it's progreſs, from the plaything in your nurſery, to the brilliant upon your finger?
For the elements, my honour'd ſiſter, and partner, I confeſs the obligation; but for the proficiency, I have attain'd the ſublime of the ſcience, while you with more experience are ſtill a novice; like a Miſs at her ſtuttering harpſicord, with a nimble finger, but no ear;—You keep in tune, 'tis true, for that is the merit of the inſtru⯑ment, but you are continually out of time, and all-ways thrumming the ſame key.
Which in plain Engliſh is as much as to ſay—
That human vanity is an inſtrument of ſuch eaſe and compaſs, the moſt unſkilful can play ſomething upon it: but to touch it to the true purpoſe—
Well, Sir, and look round you pray; theſe apartments were not furniſhed from the intereſt of two miſerable thouſand pounds in the three per cents, any more than our table and equipage have been maintained by your patri⯑mony—A land eſtate of three hundred a year, out of repair, and mortgaged for nearly it's value. I believe I have ſtated our original fa⯑mily circumſtances pretty accurately.
They wanted improvement, it muſt be acknowledg'd. But before we bring our in⯑duſtry [11] to a compariſon, in the name of the old father of flattery, to whom is that perfect phraſe addreſs'd?
To one worth the pains, I can tell you.—Miſs Alſcrip.
What, ſenſibility to Miſs Alſcrip! my dear ſiſter, this is too much, even in your own way; had you run changes upon her fortune, ſtocks, bonds and mortgages; upon Lord Gay⯑ville's coronet at her feet, or forty other coro⯑nets, to make footballs of, if ſhe pleaſed,—it would have been plauſible; but the quality you have ſelected—
Is one ſhe has no pretenſions to, therefore the flattery is more perſuaſive—that's my maxim.
And mine alſo, but I don't try it quite ſo high—Senſibility to Miſs Alſcrip! you might as well have applied it to her Uncle's Pig-iron, from which ſhe derives her firſt fifty thouſand; or the harder heart of the old Uſurer, her Father, from whom ſhe expects the ſecond. But come
to the buſineſs of the morning.
Here Prompt—ſend out the chairmen with the billets and cards. — Have you any orders, ma⯑dam?
This to Miſs Alſcrip, with my impatient enquiries after her laſt night's reſt, and that ſhe ſhall have my perſonal ſtatute in half an hour.—You take care to ſend to all the lying-in ladies?
At their doors, Madam, before the firſt load of ſtraw.
And to all great men that keep the houſe — Whether for their own diſorders, or thoſe of the nation?
To all, Sir—their ſecretaries, and prin⯑cipal clerks.
How goes on the buſineſs you have undertaken for Lord Gayville?
I have convey'd his letter, and expect this morning to get an anſwer.
He does not think me in the ſecret?
Mercy forbid you ſhould be!
I ſhould never forgive your medling.—
Oh! never, never!
Well, diſpatch. —
Hold!—apropos, to the lying in liſt — at Mrs. Barbara Winterbloom's to enquire after the Angola kittens, and the laſt hatch of Java ſparrows.
Ladies in the ſtraw—Miniſters, &c.—Old Maids, Cats and Sparrows, never had a better liſt of how d'ye's ſince I had the honour to collect for the Blandiſh family.
Theſe are the attentions that eſtabliſh valuable friendſhips in female life. By adapting myſelf to the whims of one, ſubmitting to the jeſt of another, aſſiſting the little plots of a third, and taking part againſt the huſbands with all, I am become an abſolute eſſential in the polite world; the very foul of every faſhionable party in town or country.
The country! Pſhaw! Time thrown away.
Time thrown away! As if women of faſhion left London, to turn freckled ſhep⯑herdeſſes. [13] —No, no; cards, cards and backgam⯑mon, are the delights of rural life; and ſlightly as you may think of my ſkill, at the year's end I am no inconſiderable ſharer in the pin-money of my ſociety.
A paltry reſource — Gambling is a damn'd trade, and I have done with it.
Indeed!
Yes, 'twas high time.—The women don't pay.— And as for the men, the age grows circumſpect in proportion to it's poverty: It's odds but one loſes a character to eſtabliſh a debt, and muſt fight a duel to obtain the payment. I have a thouſand better plans, but two principal ones — And I am only at a loſs, which to chuſe.
Out with them, I beſeech you.
Whether I ſhall marry my friend's in⯑tended bride, or his ſiſter.
Marry his intended bride? — What pig-iron and uſury? — Your opinion of her muſt advance your addreſſes admirably.
My Lord's opinion of her will advance them; he can't bear the ſight of her, and defiance of his uncle, Sir Clement Flint's eagerneſs for the match, is running mad after an adventure, which I, who am his confidant ſhall keep going till I determine.—There's news for you.
And his ſiſter, Lady Emily, the alternative! The firſt match in England in beauty, wit, and accompliſhment.
Pooh! A fig for her perſonal charms, ſhe will bring me connexion that wou'd ſoon ſup⯑ply fortune; the other wou'd bring fortune enough to make connexion unneceſſary.
And as to the certainty of ſucceſs with the one or the other.—
Succeſs!—Are they not women? Why even you can cajole them—What then muſt I do who have advantage of ſex, and am equally ready to adore every feature of the face, or to fall incor⯑poreally in love with the mind.—But no more of theory, I muſt away to practiſe.—And firſt for Gayville, and his fellow ſtudent Clifford, who is come home with a wiſe face, and a conceited con⯑fidence in his old aſcendancy over his Lordſhip; but thanks to the accident that kept him two months behind, Mr. Monitor will find himſelf miſtaken.
Beware of the Monitor notwith⯑ſtanding in another quarter. Lady Emily and he were acquainted at the age of firſt impreſſions.
I dare ſay he always meant to be the compleat friend of the family, tho' without a ſingle talent for the purpoſe. I queſtion whether he ever made a compliment in his life.
Oh, the brute.
His game I find, has been to work upon Lord Gayville's underſtanding; he thinks he muſt finally eſtabliſh himſelf in his eſteem, by in⯑exorably oppoſing all his follies—Poor ſimple⯑ton!—Now my touch of oppoſition goes only to inhance the value of my acquieſcence. So adieu for the morning—You to Miſs Alſcrip with an unction of flattery fit for a houſe painter's bruſh; I to Sir Clement, and his family, with a compo⯑ſition as delicate as aether, and to be applied with the point of a feather.
Hark you, Blandiſh, a good wiſh before you go: To make your ſucceſs compleat, may you find but half your own vanity in thoſe you have to work on!
Thank you, my dear Letty; this is not the only tap you have hit me to-day, and you are right; for if you and I did not ſometimes ſpeak truth to each other, we ſhould forget there was ſuch a quality incident to the human mind.
SCENE II. Lord Gayville's Apartment.
My dear Clifford, urge me no more. How can a man of your liberality of ſentiment deſcend to be the advocate of my uncle's family avarice?
My lord, you do not live for yourſelf. You have an ancient name and title to ſupport.
Prepoſterous policy! Whenever the father builds, games, or electioneers, the heir and title muſt go to market. Oh the happy families Sir Clement Flint will enumerate, where this practice has prevail'd for centuries; and the eſtate been improved in every generation, tho' ſpecifically ſpent by each individual!
But you thought with him a month ago, and wrote with tranſport of the match — ‘"Whenever you think of Miſs Alſcrip, viſions of equipage and ſplendor, villas and hotels, the delights of independance and profuſeneſs, dance in your imagination."’
It is true, I was that diſſipated, faſhionable wretch.
Come, this reſerve betrays a conſciouſ⯑neſs of having acted wrong: You wou'd not hide what wou'd give me pleaſure: But I'll not be officious.
Hear me without ſeverity, and I'll tell you all — Such a woman, ſuch an aſſemblage of all that's lovely in the ſex!—
Well but—the who, the how, the where?
I met her walking, and alone; and indeed ſo humbly circumſtanced as to carry a parcel in her own hand.
I cannot but ſmile at this opening of your adventure—how many ſuch charmers have we met in our former excurſions from Cambridge! I warrant ſhe had a ſmart hat, and a drawn up pet⯑ticoat, like a curtain in feſtoons, to diſcover a new buckle, and a neat ancle.
No, Clifford, her dreſs was ſuch as a judicious painter wou'd chuſe to characterize modeſty. But natural grace and elegance, ſtole upon the obſervation, and through the ſimplicity of a Quaker, ſhew'd all we cou'd conceive of a Goddeſs. I gazed and turn'd idolater.
You may as well finiſh the deſcription in poetry at once; you are on the very verge of it.
She was under the perſecution of one of thoſe beings peculiar to this town, who aſ⯑ſume the name of gentlemen upon the ſole cre⯑dentials of a boot, a ſwitch, and round hat—The things, that eſcape from counters and writing deſks to diſturb public places, inſult foreigners, and put decent women out of countenance. I had no difficulty in the reſcue.
And having ſilenced the dragon, in the true ſpirit of chivalry, you conducted the damſel to her caſtle.
The utmoſt I could obtain was, leave to put her into a hackney coach, which I followed unperceived and lodged her in the houſe of an obſcure milliner in a bye ſtreet.
The ſweet Cyprian retreat! Such a prieſteſs of your goddeſs, I dare ſay, did not refuſe acceſs to the ſhrine.
It is true a few guineas made the milliner my own. I almoſt liv'd in the houſe; and often, when I was not ſuſpected to be there, paſſed whole hours liſt'ning to a voice, that wou'd have captivated my very ſoul, tho' it had been her only attraction. At laſt—
What is to follow!
By the perſuaſions of the woman, who laugh'd at my ſcruples with an unknown girl, a lodger upon a ſecond floor, I hid myſelf in the cloſet of her apartment. And the practiced trader aſſured me I had nothing to fear, from the inter⯑ruption of the family.
Oh for ſhame, my Lord: whatever may be the end of your adventure, ſuch means were very much below you.
I confeſs it, and have been pu⯑niſh'd. Upon the diſcovery of me, fear, indig⯑nation and reſolution agitated the whole frame of the ſweet girl by turns—I would ſooner have com⯑mitted ſacrilege than have offered an affront to her perſon—Confuſed—overpower'd—I ſtammer'd out a few incoherent words—Intereſt in her for⯑tune—reſpect—entreaty of forgiveneſs—and left her, to deteſt me.
You need go no farther. I meant to rally you, but your proceedings and emotion alarm me for your peace and honour. If this girl is an adventurer, which I ſuſpect, you are [18] making yourſelf ridiculous—If ſhe is ſtrict⯑ly innocent, upon what ground dare a man of your principle think farther of her? you are on a double precipice; on one ſide impell'd by folly, on the other—
Hold, Clifford, I am not pre⯑par'd for ſo much admonition. Your tone is changed ſince our ſeparation; you ſeem to drop the Companion and aſſume the Governor.
No, my Lord, I ſcorn the Sycophant, and aſſert the Friend.
My Lord, Mr. Blandiſh
I hope every man will do the ſame.
Mr. Clifford do not let me drive you away—I want to learn your power to gain and to preſerve dear Lord Gayville's eſteem.
Sir, you are quite accom⯑pliſh'd to be an example.—
I have been at your apartment to look for you—we have been talking of you with Sir Clement—Lady Emily threw in her word.—
Oh, Sir; you make me too proud.
Practiſed Paraſite!
Sneering Puppy—
My Lord you ſeem diſconcerted, has any thing new occur'd?
No, for their is nothing new in being diſappointed in a friend.
Have you told your ſtory to Mr. Clifford?
I have, and I might as well have told it to the Cynic, my Uncle: he cou'd not have diſcourag'd, or condemn'd me more.
They are both in the right. I ſee things exactly as they do—but I have leſs fortitude, or more attachment than others:—The inclinati⯑ons of the man I love are ſpells upon my oppo⯑ſition.
Kind Blandiſh! you are the confidant I want.
What has happen'd ſince your diſ⯑covery in the cloſet?
The lovely wanderer left her lodgings the next morning—but I have again found her—ſhe is in a houſe of equal retirement, but of very different character, in the city, and inacceſſable. I have wrote to her, and knowing her to be diſtreſs'd, I have enclos'd Bank Bills for two hundred pounds, the acceptance of which I have urged with all the delicacy I am maſter of, and by heaven without a purpoſe of corruption.
Two hundred pounds, and Lord Gayville's name—
She has never known me, but by the name of Mr. Heartly. Since my ambi⯑tion has been to be loved for my own ſake, I have been jealous of my title.
And prithee by what diligence or chance, did Mr. Heartly trace his fugitive?
By the acuteneſs of Mr. Prompt, your Valet de Chambre. You muſt pardon me for preſſing into my ſervice for this occaſion, the fellow in the world fitteſt for it.
You know I am incapable of being angry with you,—but that dog to practice upon my weakneſs, and engage without my conſent!
The blame is all mine. He is now waiting an anſwer to my letter—how my heart palpitates at the delay.—
Are you alone my Lord?
Don't be afraid Prompt—your peace is made.
Then there is my return for your Lordſhip's goodneſs.
This letter was juſt now brought to the place appoint⯑ed by a porter.
By a Cupid, honeſt Prompt, and theſe characters were engraved by the point of his arrow!
"To —Heartly, Eſq." Blandiſh, did you ever ſee any thing like it?
If her ſtyle be equal to her hand⯑writing—
If it be equal!—Infidel! you ſhall have proof directly.
Hey day! what the Devil's here? my bills again and no line—not a word—Death and diſ⯑appointment, what's this?
Gad it's well if ſhe is not off again— faith I never aſk'd where the letter came from.
Should you know the meſſenger again?
I believe I ſhould, my Lord. For a Cupid he was ſomewhat in years, about ſix feet high, and a noſe rather given to purple.
Spare your wit, Sir, till you find him.
I have a ſhorter way—my life upon it I ſtart her myſelf.
And what is your device, ſirrah?
Lord, Sir, nothing ſo eaſy as to bring [21] every living creature in this town to the window: a tame bear, or a mad ox; two men, or two dogs fighting; a balloon in the air—(or tied up to the ceiling 'tis the ſame thing) make but noiſe enough and out they come, firſt and ſecond childhood, and every thing between—I am ſure I ſhall know her by inſpiration.
Shall I deſcribe her to you?
No, my lord, time is too precious— I'll be at her laſt lodgings, and afterwards half the town over before before your Lordſhip will travel from her forehead to her chin.
Away then, my good fellow. He cannot miſtake her, for when ſhe was form'd na⯑ture broke the mould.
Now for the blood of me, cannot I call that fellow back; it is abſolute infatuation: ah! I ſee how this will end.
What are your apprehenſions?
That my ferret yonder will do his part completely, that I ſhall ſet all your uncle's doctrine at nought, and thus lend myſelf to this wild intrigue, till the girl is put into your arms.
Propitious be the thought, my beſt friend—my uncle's doctrine! but adviſe me, how ſhall I keep my ſecret from him for the pre⯑ſent? He is ſuſpicion perſonified: the eye of Sir Clement is a very probe to the mind.
Yes, and it ſometimes gives one a curſed deal of pain before he is convinced of touching a ſound part.
Your beſt chance would be to double your aſſiduities to Miſs Alſcrip. But then diſſimulation is ſo mean a vice.—
It is ſo indeed, and if I give into it for a moment. It is upon the determina⯑tion [22] of never being her huſband. I may deſpiſe and offend a woman; but diſguſt wou'd be no ex⯑cuſe for betraying her. Adieu, Blandiſh; if you ſee Prompt firſt, I truſt to you for the quickeſt communication of intelligence.
I am afraid you may—I cannot reſiſt you
—Ah! wrong—wrong —wrong; I hope that exclamation is not loſt. A blind compliance with a young man's paſſions, is a poor plot upon his affections.
SCENE III. Mrs. Sagely's Houſe.
Indeed, Miſs Alton, (ſince you are reſolved to continue that name) you may bleſs yourſelf for finding me out in this wilderneſs— Wilderneſs! this town is ten times more dangerous to youth and innocence: every man you meet is a wolf.
Dear Madam, I ſee you dwell upon my indiſcretion in flying to London, but remember the ſafeguard I expected to find here. How cruel was the diſappointment! how danger⯑ous have been the conſequences! I thought the chance happy that threw a retired lodging in my way: I was upon my guard againſt the other ſex, but for my own to be treacherous to an unfortu⯑nate, cou'd I expect it?
Suſpect every body, if you wou'd be ſafe—but moſt of all ſuſpect yourſelf. Ah, my pretty truant—the heart that is ſo violent in it's averſions, is in ſad danger of being the ſame in it's affections, depend upon it.
Let them ſpring from a juſt eſteem and you will abſolve me; my averſion was to the character of the wretch I was threaten'd with— can you reprove me?
And tell me truly now; do you feel the ſame deteſtation for this worſe character you have made acquaintance with? This rake— this abominable Heartly?—Ah, child, your look is ſuſpicious.
Madam, I have not a thought, that I will not ſincerely lay open to you. Mr. Heartly is made to pleaſe, and to be avoided; I deſire never to ſee him more—his diſcovery of me here; his letters, his offers, have greatly alarmed me. I conjure you loſe not an hour in placing me under the ſort of protection I ſolicited.
If you are reſolved, I believe I can ſerve you. Miſs Alſcrip, the great Heireſs, (you may have heard of the name in your family) has been enquiring among decay'd gentry for a companion. She is too fine a lady to bear to be alone, and perhaps does not look to a huſband's company as a certain dependance. Your muſical talent will be a great recommendation—She is al⯑ready apprized, and a line from me will introduce you.
I will avail myſelf of your kind⯑neſs immediately.
I tell you I have buſineſs with Mrs. Sagely—I muſt come in.
As I live here is an impudent fel⯑low forcing himſelf into the paſſage.
Oh heaven! if Mr. Heartly ſhou'd be behind!
Get into the back parlour; be he who he will, I'll warrant I protect you.
Who are you, Sir? What are you looking for?
Madam, I was looking—I was look⯑ing—for you.
Well, Sir, and what do you want?
Madam, I want— I want—I want—
To rob the houſe, perhaps.
Juſt the contrary, Madam—to ſee that all is ſafe within it.—You have a treaſure in your poſſeſſion that I wou'd not have loſt for the world—A young Lady.
Indeed!—begone about your bu⯑ſineſs, friend—there are no young ladies to be ſpoke with here.
Lord, Madam, I don't deſire to ſpeak with her—My attentions go to ladies of the elder ſort—I come to make propoſals to you alone.
You make propoſals to me? Did you know my late huſband, Sir?
Huſband! My good Mrs. Sagely— be at eaſe—I have no more views upon you, that way, than upon my grandmother—My propoſals are of a quite different nature.
Of a different nature! Why you audacious varlet! Here, call a conſtable—
Dear Madam, how you continue to miſunderſtand me—I have a reſpect for you, that will ſet at nought all the perſonal temptations about you, depend upon it, powerful as they are —And as for the young Lady, my purpoſe is [25] only that you ſhall guard her ſafe.—I wou'd offer you a pretty ſnug houſe in a pleaſant quarter of the town, where you two wou'd be much more com⯑modiouſly lodg'd—the furniture new, and in the prettieſt taſte—A neat little ſideboard of plate—a black boy, with a turban, to wait upon you.—
And for what purpoſe am I to be bribed,—I am above it, ſirrah. — I have but a pittance, 'tis true, and heavy out⯑goings—My huſband's decayed bookkeeper to maintain, and poor old Smiler, that ſo many years together drew our whole family in a chaiſe.— Heavy charges—but by cutting off my luxuries, and ſtopping up a few windows, I can jog on, and ſcorn to be beholden to you, or him that ſent you.
What wou'd the impertinent fellow be at now? Keep the door bolted, and don't ſtand in ſight.
Oh! oh!—She is here I find, and that's enough—My good Mrs. Sagely— your humble ſervant— I woud fain be better acquainted with you—in a modeſt way—but muſt wait, I ſee, a more happy hour.
When honeſty and poverty do happen to meet, they grow ſo fond of each other's company, it is labour loſt to try to ſeparate them.
Shut the ſtreet door after him, and never let him in again.
For mercy, Madam, let me begone immediately. I am very uneaſy—I am certain Mr. Heartly is at the bottom of this.
I believe it, my dear, and now ſee the neceſſity of your removal. I'll write your let⯑ter [26] —and heaven protect you. Remember my warning, Suſpect yourſelf.
In truth I will. I'll forget the forbearance of this profligate, and remember only his intentions. And is Gratitude then ſuſpi⯑cious? Painful leſſon! A woman muſt not think herſelf ſecure becauſe ſhe has no bad impulſe to fear: ſhe muſt be upon her guard, leſt her very beſt ſhould betray her.
ACT II.
[27]SCENE I. An apartment in Sir Clement Flint's houſe.
CHECK—If you do not take care, you are gone the next move.
I confeſs, Lady Emily, you are on the point of compleat victory.
Pooh, I wou'd not give a farth⯑ing for victory without a more ſpirited defence.
Then you muſt engage with thoſe (if thoſe there are) that do not find you irreſiſtible.
I cou'd find a thouſand ſuch; but I'll engage with none whoſe triumph I could not ſubmit to with pleaſure.
Pretty ſignificant on both ſides. I wonder how much farther it will go.
Uncle, did you ſpeak?
"And the parties to this indenture do farther covenant and agree, that all and every the ſaid lands, tenements, and hereditaments—um—um"—How uſe⯑ful ſometimes is ambiguity!
A very natural obſervation of Sir Cle⯑ment's upon that long parchment.
To what a dilemma have you reduced [28] me, Lady Emily. If I advance, I periſh by my temerity; and it is out of my power to retreat.
Better and better!—To talk in cypher is a curious faculty.
Sir?
"In witneſs where⯑of the ſaid parties have hereunto interchangeably ſet their hands and ſeals this—um—um—day of um—um.—."
Come, I trifle with you too long—There's your coup de grace.—Uncle, I have conquer'd.
Niece, I do not doubt it—and in the ſtyle of the great proficients, without look⯑ing upon the board. Clifford, was not your mo⯑ther's name Charlton?
It was, Sir.
In looking over the writings Al⯑ſcrip has ſent me, preparatory to his daughter's ſettlement, I find mention of a conveyance from a Sir William Charlton of Devonſhire. Was he a relation?
My grandfather, Sir: The plunder of his fortune was one of the firſt materials for raiſing that of Mr. Alſcrip, who was ſteward to Sir William's eſtate, then manager of his difficul⯑ties, and laſtly his ſole creditor.
And no better monopoly than that of a man's diſtreſſes. Alſcrip has had twenty ſuch, or I ſhould not have ſingled out his daughter to be Lord Gayville's wife.
It is a compenſation for my family loſſes, that in the event they will conduce to the intereſt of the man I moſt love.
Hey day, Clifford!—take care, don't trench upon the Blandiſh—Your cue, you know, is Sincerity.
You ſeem to think, Sir, there is no ſuch quality. I doubt whether you believe there is an honeſt man in the world.
You do me great injuſtice—ſeve⯑ral—ſeveral—and upon the old principle that— "honeſty is the beſt policy."—Self-intereſt is the great end of life, ſays human nature—Honeſty is a better agent than craft—ſays proverb.
But as for ingenuous, or purely diſ⯑intereſted motives—
Clifford, do you mean to laugh at me?
What is your opinion, Lady Emily?
That there may be ſuch: but it's odds they are troubleſome or inſipid. Pure ingenuouſneſs, I take it, is a rugged ſort of thing, which ſcarcely will bear the poliſh of common civility; and for diſintereſtedneſs—young people ſometimes ſet out with it; but it is like travelling upon a broken ſpring—one is glad to get it mended at the next ſtage.
Emily, I proteſt you ſeem to ſtudy after me; proceed child and we will read toge⯑ther every character that comes in our way.
Read one's acquaintance—de⯑lightful! what romances, novels, ſatires, and mock heroics preſent themſelves to my imagina⯑tion! Our young men are flimſy eſſays; old ones, political pamphlets; coquets fugitive pieces; and faſhionable beauties, a compilation of advertized perfumery, eſſence of pearl, milk of roſes, and Olympian dew.—Lord, I ſhould now and then [30] tho' turn over an acquaintance with a ſort of fear and trembling.
How ſo?
Leſt one ſhould pop unaware upon ſomething one ſhould not, like a naughty ſpeech in an old comedy; but it is only ſkipping what wou'd make one bluſh.
Or if you did not ſkip, when a woman reads by herſelf and to herſelf, there are wicked philoſophers who doubt whether her bluſhes are very troubleſome.
Do you know now that for that ſpeech of your's—and for that ſaucy ſmile of yours
I am ſtrongly tempted to read you both aloud!
Come try—I'll be the firſt to open the book.
A treatiſe of the Houyhnhnms after the manner of Swift, tending to make us odious to ourſelves, and to extract moroſe mirth from our imperfections—
Con⯑traſted with an expoſition of ancient morality addreſs'd to the moderns: a chimerical attempt upon an obſolete ſubject.
Clifford! we muſt double down that page. And now we'll have a ſpecimen of her Ladyſhip.
I'll give it you myſelf, and with juſtice; which is more than either of you wou'd.
And without ſkipping.
Thus then,—a light, airy, fantaſ⯑tic ſketch of genteel manners as they are; with a little endeavour at what they ought to be—rather entertaining than inſtructive, not without art, but ſparing in the uſe of it—
But the paſſions, Emily. Do not [31] forget what ſhould ſtand in the foreground of a female treatiſe.
They abound: but mixed and blended cleverly enough to prevent any from pre⯑dominating; like the colours of a ſhot luteſtring, that change as you look at it ſideways or full: they are ſometimes brighten'd by vivacity, and now and then ſubject to a ſhade of caprice—but meaning no ill—not afraid of a critical review: and thus gentlemen I preſent myſelf to you freſh from the preſs, and I hope not inelegantly bound.
Altogether making a perfectly de⯑ſireable companion for the cloſet: I am ſure Clif⯑ford you will agree with me. Gad we are got into ſuch a pleaſant freedom with each other, it is a pity to ſeparate while any curioſity remains in the company—Prithee Clifford ſatisfy me a little as to your hiſtory. Old Lord Hardacre, if I am rightly informed, diſinherited your father, his ſecond ſon.
For the very marriage we have been ſpeaking of. The little fortune my father could call his own was ſunk before his death as a proviſion for my mother; upon an idea that whatever reſent⯑ment he might perſonally have incurred—it would not be extended to an innocent offspring.
A very ſilly confidence. How readily now, ſhould you and I, Emily, have diſco⯑ver'd in a ſenſible old man, the irreconcilable of⯑fence of a marriage of the paſſions—You under⯑ſtand me?
Perfectly!
Old petrifaction, your hints always ſpeak forceably.
But your uncle, the preſent Lord, made amends?
Amply. He offer'd to ſend me from Cambridge to an academy in Germany, to fit [32] me for foreign ſervice: Well judging that a can⯑non ball was a fair and quick proviſion for a poor relation.
Upon my word I have known un⯑cles leſs conſiderate.
When Lord Gayville's friendſhip, and your indulgence, made me the companion of his travels, Lord Hardacre's undivided cares devolved upon my ſiſter; whoſe whole independant poſſeſſion at my mother's death, was five hundred pounds— All our education had permitted that unhappy parent to lay by.
Oh, for an act of juſtice and bene⯑volence to reconcile me to the odious man! Tell me this inſtant what did he do for Miſs Clifford?
He beſtow'd upon her forty pounds a year, upon condition that ſhe reſided with a family of his dependants in a remote county, to ſave the family from diſgrace; and that allowance, when I heard laſt from her, he had threaten'd to withdraw, upon her refuſing a deteſtable match he had en⯑deavour'd to force upon her.
Poor girl!
Upon my word an intereſting ſtory, and told with pathetic effect.—Emily, you look grave child.
I ſhall not own it how⯑ever.
For once, my dear uncle, you want your ſpectacles. My thoughts are on a di⯑verting ſubject—My firſt viſit to Miſs Alſcrip; to take a near view of that collection of charms deſtined to my happy brother.
You need not go out of the room for that purpoſe. The ſchedule of an Heireſs's fortune is a compendium of her merits and the true ſecurity for marriage happineſs.
I am ſure I gueſs at your ſyſtem— That union muſt be moſt wiſe which has wealth to ſupport it, and no affections to diſturb it.
Right.
That makes a divorce the firſt promiſe of wedlock; and widowhood, the beſt bleſſing of life; that ſeparates the intereſt of huſ⯑band, wife and child—
To eſtabliſh the independent com⯑fort of all—
Upon the broad baſis of family ha⯑tred. Excellent, my dear Uncle, excellent in⯑deed; and upon that principle, tho' the Lady is likely to be your niece, and my ſiſter, I am ſure you will have no objection to my laughing at her a little.
You'll be puzzled to make her more ridiculous than I think her. What is your plan?
Why tho' her pride is to be thought a leader in faſhions, ſhe is ſometimes a ſervile co⯑pyiſt. Blandiſh tells me I am her principal model; and what is moſt provoking, ſhe is intent upon catching my manner as well as my dreſs, which ſhe exaggerates to an exceſs that vexes me. Now, if ſhe will take me in ſhade, I'll give her a new outline, I am reſolved; and if I do not make her a caricature for a printſhop—
Will all this be ſtrictly conſiſtent with your good nature, Lady Emily?
No, nor I don't know when I ſhall do any thing conſiſtent with it again, except leav⯑ing you two critics to a better ſubject than your humble ſervant.
Well, Clifford! What do you think of her?
That when ſhe profeſſes ill-temper, ſhe is a very aukward counterfeit.
But her beauty, her wit, her improve⯑ment ſince you went abroad? I expected from a man of your age and taſte, ſomething more than a cold compliment upon her temper—Could not you compatibly with the immaculate ſincerity you poſſeſs, venture as far as admiration?
I admire her, Sir, as I do a bright ſtar in the firmament, and conſider the diſtance of both as equally immeaſureable.
Specious rogue!
Well, leave Emily then to be wink'd at through teleſcopes; and now to a matter of nearer obſer⯑vation—What is Gayville doing?
Every thing you deſire, Sir, I truſt; but you know I have been at home only three days, and have hardly ſeen him ſince I came.
Nor I neither; but I find he has profited wonderfully by foreign experience—After rambling half the world over without harm, he is caught like a travell'd woodcock, at his landing.
If you ſuſpect Lord Gayville of indiſ⯑cretion, why do you not put him candidly to the teſt? I'll be bound for his ingenuouſneſs not to with-hold any confeſſion you may require.
You may be right, but he'll confeſs more to you in an hour, than to me in a month for all that; come, Clifford, look as you ought to do at your intereſt—Sift him—Watch him—You cannot gueſs how much you will make me your friend, and how grateful I may be if you will diſ⯑cover.—
Sir, you miſtake the footing upon which Lord Gayville and I live —I am often the partner of his thoughts, but never a ſpy upon his actions.
Well, play'd Clifford! Good air and emphaſis, and well ſuited to the trick of the ſcene—He wou'd do, if the practical part of deceit were as eaſy at his age, as diſcernment of it is at mine. Gayville and Emily, if they had not a vigilant guard, would be his ſure prey; for they are the examples of the generous affections coming to maturity with their ſtature; wh [...]le ſuſ⯑picion, art and intereſt are ſtill dormant in the ſeed. I muſt employ Blandiſh in this buſineſs—A raſcal of a different caſt—Below Clifford in hypocriſy, but greatly above him in the ſcale of impudence— They ſhall both forward my ends, while they think they are purſuing their own. I ſhall ever be ſure of a man's endeavours to ſerve me, while I hold out a lure to his knavery and intereſt.
SCENE II. An Antichamber.
Dinner not order'd till ſeven o'clock—Bid the kitchen maid get me ſome eggs and bacon.—Plague, what with the time of dining and the French cookery, I am in the land of ſtar⯑vation, with half St. James's-Market upon my weekly bills.
What a change have I made to pleaſe my un⯑pleaſeable daughter? Inſtead of my regular meal at Furnival's-Inn, here am I tranſported to Berk⯑ley-Square, to faſt at Alſcrip Houſe till my fine company come from their morning ride, two hours after dark—Nay its worſe, if I am carried among my great neighbours in Mi [...]s Alſcrip's ſuite, as ſhe calls it. My Lady looks over me; my Lord walks over me; and ſets me in a little tottering cane chair, at the cold corner of the table—Tho' I have a mortgage upon the houſe and furniture, and [36] arrears due of the whole intereſt. It's a pleaſure tho' to be well dreſſed. My daughter maintains all faſhions are founded in ſenſe—Icod the tight⯑neſs of my wig, and the ſtiffneſs of my cape, give me the ſenſe of the pillory — Plaguy ſcanty about the hips too—And the breaſt ſomething of a merry thought reverſed— But there is ſome ſenſe in that, for if one ſex pares away in proportion where the other ſwells, we ſhall take up no more room in the world than we did before.
Sir, Miſs Alſcrip wiſhes to ſee you. She is at her toilet.
Who is with her?
Only Mrs. Blandiſh, Sir.
She muſt content herſelf with that com⯑pany 'till I have had my whet—order up the eggs and bacon.
SCENE III.
And ſo Blandiſh, you really think that the introduction of Otahaite feathers in my trimming ſucceeded?
Oh, with the mixture of thoſe charming Italian flowers, and the knots of pearl that gather'd up the feſtoons, never any thing had ſo happy an effect—It put the whole ball-room out of humour, and that's the ſureſt teſt of good taſte. Monſieur Chignon, that pin a little more to the front.
And what did they ſay?
You know it is the firſt ſolicitude of my life to ſee the friend of my heart treated with juſtice—So when you ſtood up to dance, I [37] got into the thick of the circle—Monſieur don't you think this large diamond wou'd be well placed juſt in the middle.
Eh! non, Madame; ce na releve pas— Dat give no relief to de weight of de curl — Full in de front un gros bouton von great nob of dia⯑mend, pardie ce ſeroit un accommodage a' la Po⯑lyphéme de big eye of de geante in de centre of de forehead.
Chignon is right in point of taſte, tho' not quite ſo happy in his alluſions as he is ſometimes.
Ah! Madame, you have done von grande injure to my contrie: You go for von monthe, and bring avay all de good taſte—At Paris—All von ſide—de diamond, de cap—de glance—de bon mot même—All von ſide, nothing direct â Paris.
Well!——And ſo—
So it was all admiration! Ele⯑gant, ſays Lady Spite— It may do very well for Miſs Alſcrip, who never looks at expence. The dreſs of a bridal princeſs! cries Mrs. Scanty, and for one night's wear too?
Delightful! The very language I wiſh'd for—Oh, how charmingly apropos was my accident, did you ſee when my trimming in the paſſe-pied of a cotillion came luckily in con⯑tact with Billy Skim's great ſhoe buckle—How it ripp'd away?
Did I ſee it?
One of the great feathers ſtuck faſt on the ſhoe and looked for all the world like the heel wing of a Mercury in a pantomime.
Oh! you witty creature, how you deſcribe!
It was a moſt becoming rent!
And what a diſplay of indiffe⯑rence; what an example for a woman of fortune, did you exhibit in the buſtle of picking up the ſcattered fragments!
When the pearls were trundling about and I inſiſted upon the company being no longer diſturbed, but wou'd leave what remained for fairy favours to the maid who ſwept the room. He! he! he!—Do you think Lady Emily wou'd have done that better?
Lady Emily? poor girl!—How ſoon muſt ſhe ſubmit to be the humble ſecond of the family.
He! he! he! Do you ſincerely think ſo, Blandiſh? And yet it wou'd be ſtrange if it were otherwiſe, for I cou'd buy her ten-times over.
Madame, vat humeure vould you wear to day?
Humour! Chignon? What am I dreſſed for now?
The parfaite aimble, Madame; but by bringing de point of de hair more down to de eyebrow, or adding a littel blowſe to de ſides, I can give you de look ſevere, capricieuſe—vat you pleaſe.—
We'll put it off for half an hour, I am not quite decided. I was in the capricieuſe yeſterday—I believe I ſhall keep on the perfect amiable.
Tiffany, take off my powdering gown—Ah! ho!—How the wench tugs—do you think you are pulling off the coach⯑man's great coat?
My dear amiable!—do not let that ſweet temper be ruffled—Why will you not employ me in theſe little offices. Delicacy [39] like your's ſhould be waited upon by the ſoftneſs of a ſylph.
I am promiſed a creature to be about me out of the common way.
A new woman?
No, ſomething to be raiſed much higher, and at the ſame time fitted better to re⯑ceive one's ill-humour. An humble companion, well born, well educated, and perfectly depend⯑ant, is a moſt uſeful appurtenance in the beſt families.
Well, do not raiſe her to the rank of a friend, leſt I ſhould be jealous.
You may be perfectly ſecure— I ſhall take particular care that friendſhip ſhall be out of the queſtion on both ſides. I had once thought of a reſtoration of pages to ſit in ſcarlet and ſilver (as one reads in former times) upon the forepart of the coach, and to hold up one's train—but I have a new male attendant in a Valet de Chambre, who has poſſeſſion of my buſt—My two women will have the charge from the point of the ſhoulder to the toe—So my perſon being provided for— the Counteſs of Gayville ſhall have an attendant to wait upon her mind.
I vow a moſt elegant and un⯑common thought.
One that can pen a note, in the familiar, the punctilious, or the witty—It's quite troubleſome to be always writing wit for one's ſelf—But above all ſhe is to have a talent for muſic.
Aye, your very ſoul is framed for harmony.
I have not quite determin'd what to call her—Governante of the private cham⯑ber, keeper of the boudoir with a ſilver key at her breaſt.
Madame, a young lady beg to know if you be viſible.
A young lady—It is not lady Emily Gayville.
Non, Madame; but if you were ab⯑ſente and I had the adjuſtment of her head, ſhe wou'd be the moſt chamante perſonne I did ever ſee.
Introduce her.
Who can this be?
Some woman of taſte to enquire your correſpondent at Paris—or—
Of taſte indeed by her appear⯑ance!—Who's in the anti-chamber? Why did they not open the folding doors?—Chignon, approach a fauteuil for the lady.
Madam, I come!—
Madam, pray be ſeated—
—Excuſe me, Madam—
Madam, I muſt beg—
Madam, this letter will inform you how little pretenſions I have to the honours you are offering.
‘Miſs Alton, the bearer of this is the perſon I recommend as worthy [41] the honor of attending you as a companion eyes her ſcornfully. She is born a gentlewoman, I dare ſay her talents and good qualities will ſpeak more in her favour, than any words I could uſe—I am Madam, your moſt obedient —um—um—’ Blandiſh, was there ever ſuch a miſtake?
Oh! you dear, giddy, abſent creature, what could you be thinking of?
Abſent indeed. Chignon give me the fauteuil,
young woman, where were you educated?
Chiefly, Madam, with my parents.
But finiſh'd, I take it for granted, at a country boarding ſchool; for we have, "young ladies," you know Blandiſh, ‘"boarded and educated,"’ upon blue boards in gold let⯑ters in every village; with a ſtrolling player for a dancing maſter, and a deſerter from Dunkirk, to teach the French grammar.
How that genius of your's does paint! nothing eſcapes you—I dare ſay you have anticipated this young lady's ſtory.
It is very true, Madam, my life can afford nothing to intereſt the curioſity of you two ladies; it has been too inſignificant to merit your concern, and attended with no circumſtances to excite your pleaſantry.
I hope, child, it will be attended with ſuch for the future as will add to your own—I cannot bear a mope about me.—— I am told you have a talent for muſic—can you touch that harp—It ſtands here as a piece of fur⯑niture, but I have a notion it is kept in tune, by the man who comes to wind up my clocks.
Madam, I dare not diſobey you. But I have been us'd to perform before a moſt partial audience; I am afraid ſtrangers will think my talent too humble to be worthy attention.
A SONG.
I declare not amiſs, Blandiſh: only a little too plaintive—but I dare ſay ſhe can play a country dance, when the enlivening is re⯑quired—So Miſs Alton you are welcome to my protection; and indeed I wiſh you to ſtay from this hour—My toilette being nearly finiſh'd, I ſhall have a horrid vacation till dinner.
Madam, you do me great honour, and I very readily obey you.
I wiſh you joy, Miſs Alton, of the moſt enviable ſituation a young perſon of ele⯑gant talents could be raiſed to—You and I will vie with each other to prevent our dear counteſs ever knowing a melancholy hour—She has but one fault to correct—the giving way to the ſoft effuſions of a too tender heart.
Madam, a letter—
It's big enough for a ſtate pac⯑quet—Oh! mercy, a petition—for heav'n's ſake Miſs Alton, look it over.
I ſhould as ſoon read one of lady Newchapel's methodiſt ſermons—What does it contain?
Madam, an uncommon ſeries of calamities, which prudence cou'd neither ſee, nor prevent: the reverſe of a whole family from af⯑fluence and content, to miſery and impriſonment; and it adds, that the parties have the honour, re⯑motely, to be allied to you.
Female relations! aye, they al⯑ways think one's made of money.
That ſome years ago—
A meſſenger, Madam, from the animal repoſitory, with the only puppy of the Peruvians, and the refuſal at twenty guineas.
As I live the offspring of the beauteous Aza who has ſo long been thought paſt hopes of continuing his family! Were he to aſk fifty I muſt have him.
I vow I'll give him the firſt kiſs.
I'll ſwear you ſhan't.
Madam, I was juſt finiſhing the petition.
It's throwing money away—but give him a crown.
"The ſoft effuſions of a too tender heart." The proof is excellent, That the covetous ſhould be deaf to the miſerable I can conceive, but I ſhould not have believed, if I had not ſeen, that a taſte for profuſion did not find its firſt in⯑dulgence in benevolence.
ACT III.
[45]SCENE I. Miſs Alſcrip's dreſſing room continued.
THANKS to Mrs. Blandiſh's inexhauſtible talent for encomium, I ſhall be relieved from one part of a companion that my nature re⯑volts at. But who comes here? It's well if I ſhall not be expoſed to impertinences I was not aware of.
Ma foi, la voila—I will loſe no time to pay my addreſſe—Now for de humble maniere, and de unperplex aſſurance of my contrée
Madamoiſelle, eſt il permis? may I pre⯑ſume, to offer you my profounde homage
Madamoiſelle—if you vill put your head into my hands, I vill give a diſtinction to your beauty, that ſhall make you and me, de converſation of all de town.
I requeſt Mr. Chignon, you will devote your ambition to your own part of the compliment.
Where is my daughter?
Is that Mr. Alſcrip's voice, Mr. Chignon? It's aukward for me to meet him be⯑fore I'm introduc'd.
Keep a little behind, Madamoiſelle; he vill only paſſe de room — He vill not ſee through me.
Hah, my daughter gone already, but
there's a new ſpecimen of foreign vir⯑min—A lady's valet de chambre—Taſte for ever! —Now if I was to give the charge of my perſon to a waiting maid, they'd ſay I was indelicate,
What the devil is Mounſeer at? I thought all his agility lay in his fingers: what anticks is the monkey practiſing? He twiſts and doubles him⯑ſelf as if he had a raree-ſhow at his back.
Be gar no raree-ſhow for you, Monſieur Alſcrip, if I can help.
Ah! ah! What have we got there? Monſieur who is that?
Sir, my lady wiſh to ſpeak to you in her bondoir. She ſent me to conduct you, Sir.
Yes Sir, but I will firſt con⯑duct myſelf to this lady—Tell me this minute, who ſhe is.
Sir, ſhe come to live here, companion to my lady—Madamoiſelle ſtudy ſome muſique— ſhe muſt not be diſturb'd.
Get about your buſineſs Monſieur, or I'll diſturb every comb in your head—Go tell my daughter to ſtay till I come to her. I ſhall give her companion ſome cautions againſt ſaucy Frenchmen, ſirrah!
Cautious! peſte! you are ſub⯑ject a' cautions yourſelf—I ſuſpecte you to be von old rake, but no ver dangerous rival.
The devil is never tired of throwing baits in my way.
By all that's delicious I muſt be better acquainted with her.
But how to begin—My uſual way of attacking my daughter's maids will never do.
My ſituation is very em⯑barraſſing.
Beauteous ſtranger, give me leave to add my welcome to my daughter's. Since Al⯑ſcrip Houſe was eſtabliſh'd, ſhe never brought any thing into it to pleaſe me before.
Sir, it is a great additional honour to that Miſs Alſcrip has done me, to be thought worthy ſo reſpectable a pro⯑tection as your's.
I cou'd furniſh you with a better word than reſpectable. It ſounds ſo diſtant, and my feelings have ſo little to do with cold reſpect—I never had ſuch a deſire—to make myſelf agree⯑able.
A very ſtrange old man.
Sir, you'll pardon me, I be⯑lieve Miſs Alſcrip is waiting.
Don't be afraid my dear, enchanting, diffident (zounds what a flutter am I in) don't be afraid—my diſpoſition to be ſure is too ſuſceptible; but then it is likewiſe ſo dove-like, ſo tender, and ſo innocent. Come, play me that tune, and en⯑chant my ear, as you have done my eye.
Sir, I wiſh to be excuſed, indeed it does not deſerve your attention.
Not deſerve it! I had rather hear you, than all the Italians in the Hay-market, even when they ſue the managers, and their purſes chink the ſymphony in Weſtminſter Hall.
Sir, it is to avoid the affectation of refuſing what is ſo little worth aſking for.
Oh! the ſweet little twiddle-diddles!
For ſhame, Sir, what do you mean.
Help!
I wonder what my papa is doing all this time?
Oh, child! I have got ſomething in my eye, that makes me almoſt mad.—A little midge—I believe.—Gad, I caught hold of this young lady's hands in one of my twitches, and her nerves were as much in a flutter as if I had bit her.
Yes, my dear papa, I perceive you have ſomething in your eye, and I'll do my beſt to take it out immediately—Miſs Alton, will you do me the favour to walk into the drawing-room?
I hope, Madam, you will permit me, at a proper opportunity, to give my expla⯑nation of what has paſſed.
There's no occaſion—
Let it reſt among the cata⯑logue of wonders, like the Glaſtonbury thorn, that blooms at Chriſtmas.—To be ſerious, papa— Though I carried off your behaviour as well as I cou'd, I am really ſhock'd at it—A man of your years, and of a profeſſion where the opinion of the world is of ſuch conſequence—
My dear Molly, have not I quitted the practice of attorney, and turned fine gentleman, to laugh at the world's opinion; or, had I not, do you ſuppoſe the kiſs of a pretty wench wou'd hurt a lawyer? My dear Molly, if the fraternity had no other reflections to be afraid of!—
Oh! hideous, Molly indeed! you ought to have forgot I had a chriſten'd name long ago; am not I going to be a counteſs? If you did not ſtint my fortune, by ſquand'ring your's away upon dirty trulls, I might be call'd your grace.
Spare your lectures, and you ſhall be call'd your highneſs if you pleaſe.
Madam, lady Emily Gayville is in her carriage in the ſtreet, will your ladyſhip be at home?
Yes, ſhew her into the drawing-room.
I entreat, Sir, you will keep a little more guard upon your paſſions; con⯑ſider the dignity of your houſe, and if you muſt be cooing, buy a French figurante.
Well ſaid, my lady counteſs! well ſaid quality morals! What am I the better for bury⯑ing a jealous wife? To be chicken-peck'd is a new perſecution, more provoking than the old one—Oh Molly! Molly!—Plague upon the ex⯑ample of an independent heireſs.
SCENE II. The Drawing Room.
What perplexing ſcenes I already meet with in this houſe? I ought, how⯑ever, to be contented in the ſecurity it affords [50] againſt the attempts of Heartly. I am con⯑tented—But, oh Clifford! It was hard to be left alone to the choice of diſtreſſes.
My Lady Emily Gayville—Ma⯑dame no here! Madamoiſelle, announce if you pleaſe my lady.
Did my ears deceive me? ſurely, I heard the name of Clifford—and it eſcaped in an accent—Pray Sir, who is that?
Madamoiſelle Alton, confidante of my lady, and next, after me, in her ſuite.
There ſeems to be conſiderable difference in the decorum of her attendants. You need not ſtay, Sir.
Ma foi, ſa tête eſt paſ⯑ſable—her head may paſs.
How my heart beats with curioſity!
Miſs-Al⯑ton, I am in no haſte. On the contrary, I think the occaſion fortunate that allows me to begin an acquaintance with a perſon of ſo amiable an ap⯑pearance. I don't know whether that pert fo⯑reigner has led me into an error—but without being too inquiſitive, may I aſk if you make any part of this family?
Madam, I am under Miſs Alſcrip's protection. I imagine I am repreſented as her de⯑pendant: I am not aſhamed of humble circum⯑ſtances, [51] that are not the conſequences of indiſcre⯑tion.
That with ſuch claims to reſpect, you ſhould be in any circumſtances of humiliation, is a diſgrace to the age we live in.
Madam, my humiliation (if ſuch it be) is juſt. Perhaps I have been too proud, and my heart required this ſelf-correction. A life of retired induſtry might have been more pleaſing to me; but an orphan—a ſtranger—ignorant and diffident, I preferr'd my preſent ſituation as one leſs expoſed to miſrepreſentation.
I can no longer detain Miſs Alſcrip from the ho⯑nour of receiving your Ladyſhip.
There is ſomething ſtrangely myſ⯑terious and affecting in all this—what delicacy of ſentiment—what ſoftneſs of manners! and how well do theſe qualities accord with that ſigh for Clifford! ſhe had been proud—proud of what?— of Clifford's love. It is too plain. But then to account for her preſent condition?—He has betrayed and abandoned her—too plain again I fear.—She talk⯑ed too of a ſelf corrected heart—take example, Emily, and recal thine from an object, which it ought more than ever to renounce. But here come the Alſcrip and her friend: lud! lud! lud! how ſhall I recover my ſpirits! I muſt attempt it, and if I loſe my preſent thoughts in a trial of extra⯑vagance, be it of their's or my own, it will be a happy expedient.
I aſk your pardon, Madam, for be⯑ing ſo aukward, but I confeſs I did not expect ſo elevated a ſalute.
Dear Lady Emily, I had no no⯑tion of its not being univerſal. In France, the touch of the lips juſt between the eyebrows has been adopted for years.
I perfectly acknowledge the pro⯑priety of the cuſtom. It is almoſt the only ſpot of the face where the touch wou'd not riſk a con⯑fuſion of complexions.
He! he! he! what a pretty thought!
How I have long'd for this day! —Come let me put an end to ceremony, and join the hands of the ſweeteſt pair that ever nature and fortune marked for connection.
Thank you, my good Blandiſh, tho' I was determined to break the ice, Lady Emi⯑ly, in the firſt place I met you. But you were not at Lady Doricourt's laſt night.
No, I went home di⯑rectly from the Opera: projected the revival of a cap; read a page in the trials of Temper; went to bed and dream'd I was Belinda in the Rape of the Lock.
Elegant creature.
I muſt have that air, if I die for it.
I too came home early; ſupped with my old gentleman; made him explain my marriage articles, dower, and heirs entail; read a page in a trial of Divorce, and dream'd of a roſe colour equipage with emblems of Cupids iſſuing out of Coronets.
Oh, you ſweet twins of perfec⯑tion! what equality in every thing! I have thought of a name for you—The inſeparable in⯑imitables.
I declare I ſhall like it exceed⯑ingly [53] —one ſees ſo few uncopied originals—the thing I cannot bear—
Is vulgar imitation—I muſt catch the words from your mouth to ſhew you how we agree.
Exactly. Not that one wiſhes to be without affectation.
Oh! mercy forbid!
But to catch a manner, and weave it, as I may ſay, into one's own originality.
Pretty! pretty!
That's the art—Lord, if one liv'd entirely upon one's own whims, who would not be run out in a twelve-month?
Dear Lady Emily, don't you doat upon folly?
To extacy. I only deſpair of ſeeing it well kept up.
I flatter myſelf there is no great danger of that.
You are miſtaken. We have, it's true, ſome examples of the extravaganza in high life that no other country can match; but withal, many a falſe ſiſter, that ſtarts as one wou'd think, in the very hey day of the fantaſtic, yet comes to a ſtand-ſtill in the midſt of the courſe.
Poor ſpiritleſs creatures!
Do you know there is more than one ducheſs who has been ſeen in the ſame car⯑riage with her huſband—like two doves in a baſket in the print of Conjugal Felicity; and another has been detected! I almoſt bluſh to name it.
Bleſs us, where? and how? and how?
In nurſing her own child.
Oh! barbariſm!—For heaven's [54] ſake let us change the ſubject. You were men⯑tioning a reviv'd cap, Lady Emily; any thing of the Henry quatre?
Quite different. An Engliſh mob under the chin, and artleſs ringlets in natural co⯑lour, that ſhall reſtore an admiration for Prior's Nut Brown Maid.
Horrid! ſhocking!
Abſolutely neceſſary. To be different from the reſt of the world, we muſt now revert to nature: Make haſte, or you have ſo much to undo, you will be left behind.
I dare ſay ſo. But who can vul⯑garize all at once? What will the French ſay?
We are to have an interchange of faſhions and follies upon a baſis of unequi⯑vocal reciprocity.
Faſhions and follies—oh, what a promiſing manufacture!
Yes, and one, thank heaven, that we may defy the edict of any potentate to pro⯑hibit.
He! he! he! he! he! he!
My dear Miſs Alſcrip, what are you doing? I muſt correct you as I love you. Sure you muſt have obſerved the drop of the under ſip is exploded ſince Lady Simpermode broke a tooth—
—I am preparing the caſt of the lips for the enſuing winter—thus —It is to be call'd the Paphian mimp.
I ſwear I think it pretty—I muſt try to get it
Nothing ſo eaſy. It is done by one cabaliſtical word like a metamorphoſis in the fairy tales. You have only, when before your glaſs, [55] to keep pronouncing to yourſelf nimini-primini— the lips cannot fail of taking their plie.
Nimini-pimini—imini, mimini— oh, it's delightfully enfantine—and ſo innocent, to be kiſſing one's own lips.
You have it to a charm—does it not become her infinitely, Mrs. Blandiſh?
Our friend's feature muſt ſuc⯑ceed in every grace; but never ſo much as in a quick change of extremes.
Madam, Lord Gayville deſires to know if you are at home?
A ſtrange formality!
No brother ever came more opportunely to a ſiſter's relief, "I have fool'd it to the top of my bent."
Deſire Miſs Alton to come to me
Lady Emily you muſt not blame me; I am ſupporting the cauſe of our ſex, and muſt puniſh a lover for ſome late inattentions— I ſhall not ſee him.
Oh cruel!
Miſs Alſcrip you have certainly the moſt elegant companion in the world.
Dear, do you think ſo? an ungain, dull ſort of a body, in my mind; but we'll try her in the preſent buſineſs. Miſs Alton, you muſt do me a favour. I want to plague my huſband that is to be—you muſt take my part— you muſt double me like a ſecond actreſs at Paris, when the firſt has the vapours.
Madam!
Oh never look alarmed—It is only to convey my refuſal of his viſit, and to ſet his[56] alarms afloat a little—particularly with jealouſy, that's the maſter torment.
Really Madam, the taſk you wou'd impoſe upon me—
Will be a great improvement to you, and quite right for me. Teaſe—teaſe, and tame, is a rule without exception from the keep⯑er of the lions to the teacher of a piping bulfinch.
But you hard hearted thing, will you name any object for his jealouſy?
No, keep him there in the dark— Always keep your creature in the dark—That's another ſecret of taming—Don't be grave, Lady Emily.—
Your brother's purgatory ſhall be ſhort, and I'll take the reconciliation ſcene upon myſelf.
I cannot but pity him; eſpecially as I am ſure, that do what you will, he will always regard you with the ſame eyes. And ſo, my ſweet ſiſter, I leave him to your mercy, and to that of your repreſen⯑tative, whoſe diſpoſition, if I have any judgment, is ill ſuited to a taſk of ſeverity.
Dear Lady Emily carry me away with you. When a lover is coming, it ſhall never be ſaid I am in the way.
I am at your orders
What a ſuſpenſe am I to ſuffer? a moment more and I ſhall betray myſelf—adieu, Miſs Alſcrip.
Call Lady Emily's ſervants.
You ſha'n't ſtir—remember ni⯑mini—primini.
She'd give her eyes to be like you.
Now for it, Miſs Alton—Only re⯑member that you are doubling me the woman he adores.
Indeed, Madam, I am quite inca⯑pable of executing you orders to your ſatisfaction. The utmoſt I can undertake is a ſhort meſſage.
Never fear.
There he comes—Step aſide and I'll give you your very words.
So, now to get thorough this piece of drudgery. There's a meanneſs in my proceeding, and my compunction is juſt. Oh, the dear loſt poſſeſſor of my heart! loſt, irreco⯑verably loſt!
A pretty employment I am ſent upon.
Could ſhe but know the ſacrifice I am ready to make?
The very picture of a lover, if abſence of mind marks one. It is unplea⯑ſant for me to interrupt a man I never ſaw, but I ſhall deliver my meſſage very conciſely.— My Lord.—
Madam.
Aſtoniſhment! Miſs Alton! my charming fugitive!
How! Mr. Heartly—Lord Gayville!
My joy and my ſurprize are alike unutterable. But I conjure you, Madam, tell me by what ſtrange circumſtance do I meet you here?
Now aſſiſt me, honeſt pride!— aſſiſt me reſentment.
You ſpoke to me — Did you know me?
No otherwiſe, my Lord, than as Miſs Alſcrip's lover. I had a meſſage from her to your lordſhip.
For heaven's ſake, Madam, in what capacity?
In one, my Lord, not very much above the claſs of a ſervant.
Impoſſible, ſure!— It is to place the brilliant below the foil—to make the inimita⯑ble work of nature ſecondary to art and defect.
It is to take refuge in a ſituation that offers me ſecurity againſt ſuſpicious obliga⯑tion; againſt vile deſign; againſt the attempts of a ſeducer—It is to exerciſe the patience, that the will, and perhaps the favor of heaven, meant to try.
Cruel, cruel to yourſelf and me— Could I have had a happineſs like that of aſſiſting you againſt the injuſtice of fortune—and when to be thus degraded was the alternative.—
My Lord, it is fit I ſhould be ex⯑plicit. Reflect upon the language you have held to me; view the character in which you preſent yourſelf to this family; and then pronounce in whoſe breaſt we muſt look for a ſenſe of degra⯑dation.
In mine, and mine alone. I confeſs it—Hear nevertheleſs my defence—My actions are all the reſult of love. And culpable as I may ſeem, my conſcience does not reproach me with—
Oh, my Lord, I readily believe you—You are above its reproaches — Qualities that are infamous and fatal, in one claſs of life, create applauſe and conſcientious ſatisfaction in another.
Infamous and fatal qualiites! What means my lovely accuſer?
That to ſteal or ſtab is death in common life: but when one of your lordſhip's degree ſets his hard heart upon the deſtruction of a woman, how glorious is his ſucceſs! How con⯑ſummate his triumph! When he can follow the theft of her affections by the murder of her honour.
I wonder how it goes on.
Exalted! Adorable woman!
Adorable! Aye, I thought how 'twou'd be!
Hear me! I conjure you—
Not a word, if ſhe knows her buſineſs.
My Lord! I have heard too much.
Brava! I cou'd not have play'd it better myſelf.
Oh! Sill more charming than ſevere.
Humph! I hope he means me though.
The character in which you ſee me here, makes me appear more odious to myſelf, if poſſible, than I am to you.
By all that's treacherous I doubt it.
Deſiſt my Lord — Miſs Alſcrip has a claim.—
Aye, now for it.
By heav'n ſhe is my averſion. It is my family on whom I am dependant that has betray'd me into theſe curſed addreſſes—Accept [60] my contrition—pity a wretch ſtruggling with the complicated torments of paſſion, ſhame, penitence and deſpair.
I never ſaw a part better doubled in my life!
Confuſion! What a light do I appear in to them both. How ſhall I redeem myſelf, even in my own opinion?
Ex⯑preſſive dignity
Sweet ſim⯑plicity! Amiable diffidence!—‘She ſhould exe⯑cute my commands moſt aukwardly.’
There is but one way.—
Madam, your ſudden entrance has effected a diſcovery which with ſhame I con⯑feſs ought to have been made before — The lady who ſtands there is in poſſeſſion of my heart. If it is a crime to adore her, I am the moſt guilty wretch on earth—pardon me if you can; my ſin⯑cerity is painful to me—But in this criſis it is the only atonement I can offer.
Admirable!—Per⯑f [...]ct! The moſt finiſh'd declaration I am con⯑vinc'd, that ever was made from beggarly nobility to the woman who was to make his fortune—the Lady who ſtands there—the lady—Madam—I am in patient expectation for the ſincerity of your ladyſhip's atonement.
I am confounded at the ſtrange oc⯑currences that have happen'd; but be aſſured you ſee in me an innocent, and moſt unwilling rival.
Rival! Better and better!—You— you give me uneaſineſs! You moppet—you co⯑quet of the ſide table to catch the gawkey heir of the family, when he comes from ſchool at Chriſt⯑mas—You—you—you vile ſeducer of my good [61] old, honour'd father!
What, is my lady dumb? Huſſey? Have you the inſolence to hold your tongue.
Madam, I juſt now offer'd to juſti⯑fy this ſcene; I thought it the part of duty to my⯑ſelf, and reſpect to you. But your behaviour has now left but one ſentiment upon my mind.
And what is that, Madam?
Scorn.
Was there ever any thing like this before — and to a woman of my fortune— I to be robb'd of a lover—and that a poor Lord too—I'll have the act reviv'd againſt witchcraft; I'll have the minx tried—I'll—I'll—I'll verify the proverb of the tragedy—
Hell has no fury like a woman ſcorn'd.
SCENE III. Alſcrip's room of buſineſs.
Upon all theſe matters, Mr. Alſcrip, I am authorized by my client, Sir Clement Flint, to agree. There remains nothing but your fa⯑vouring me with the inſpection of the Charlton title deeds, and your daughter's ſettlements may be engroſſed.
I cannot conceive, my friend Rightly, any ſuch inſpection to be requiſite. Have not I been in conſtant quiet poſſeſſion?
Sir Clement inſiſts upon it.
A client inſiſt! and you an old practi⯑tioner, ſuffer ſuch a demur to your infallibility!— Ah! in my practice I had the ſure means of diſ⯑appointing ſuch dabblers and divers into their own caſes.
How, pray?
I read his writings to him myſelf— I was the beſt reader in Chancery-lane for ſetting the underſtanding at defiance—Drew breath but once in a quarter of an hour, always in the wrong place, and made a ſingle ſentence of ſix ſkins of parchment—Shall I give you a ſpecimen?
I have no doubt of your talent.
Then return to Sir Clement, and follow my example.
No, Mr. Alſcrip, tho' I acknowledge your ſkill, I do not ſubſcribe to your doctrine. The Engliſh law is the fineſt ſyſtem of ethics, as well as government, that ever the world produced, and it cannot be too generally underſtood.
Law underſtood! Zounds! wou'd you deſtroy the profeſſion?
No, I wou'd raiſe it. Had every man of ſenſe the knowledge of the theory, to which he is competent; the practice wou'd revert to the purity of its inſtitution, maintain the rights, and not promote the knavery of mankind.
Plaguy odd maxims.—Sure he means to try me.—
Brother Rightly, we know the world, and are alone—I have lock'd the door
A very uſeleſs precaution. I have not a principle nor a proceeding that I wou'd not pro⯑claim at Charing-croſs.
No! then I'll pronounce you the moſt ſilly, or the moſt impudent fellow of the fraternity.
But where are theſe writings? You can have no difficulty in laying your hand upon them, [63] for I perceive you keep things in a diſtinguiſh'd regularity.
Yes, I have diſtinct repoſitories for all pa⯑pers, and eſpecially title deeds—Some in drawers— Some in cloſets—
and a few under ground.
What makes you lock the door, Sir? I muſt ſpeak to you this inſtant.
One moment child, and I'll be ready for you.
Don't tell me of moments—let me in.
Wheugh! What impatient devil poſ⯑ſeſſes the girl—Stay a moment I tell you—
If the thoughts of the wedding-day makes any part of the young Lady's impati⯑ence, you take a bad way, Mr. Alſcrip, to ſatisfy it; for I tell you plainly our buſineſs cannot be compleated till I ſee theſe writings.
Confound the old hound—how he ſticks to his ſcent.
I am coming I tell you.
There, if this whim muſt be indulged, ſtep into the next room — You who know the material parts of a parchment lie in a nutſhell, will look it over in ten minutes.
I won't wait another inſtant what⯑ever you are about—Let me in.—
Sex, and vehemence! What is the matter now?
So, Sir; yes, Sir; you have done finely by me indeed, you are a pattern for fa⯑thers—a precious match you had provided.
What the devil's the matter?
I that with 50,000 independant pounds left myſelf in a father's hands— a thing unheard of, and waited for a huſband with unparalleled patience till I was of age—
What the devil's the matter?
I that at fourteen might have married a French Marquis, my governeſs told me he was—for all he was her brother—
Gad a mercy, governeſs—
And as for commoners, had not I the choice of the market? And the handſome Iriſh Colonel at Bath, that had carried off ſix heireſſes before, for himſelf and friends, and wou'd have found his way to Gretna-green blind⯑fold!
Gad I wiſh you were there now with all my heart—What the devil is at the bot⯑tom of all this?
Why Lord Gayville is at the bot⯑tom—And your huſſey that you were ſo ſweet upon this morning, is at the bottom! a treacher⯑ous minx!—I ſent her only for a little inno⯑cent diverſion as my double—
Your what?
Why my double, to vex him.
Double! this is the moſt uſeleſs attend⯑ant you have had yet.—Gad I'll ſtart you [65] ſingle handed in the art of vexation againſt any ten women in England.
I caught them, juſt as I did you.
Is that all? Gad I don't ſee much in that.
Not much? what, a woman of my fortune and accompliſhments turn'd off—re⯑jected—renounc'd—
How! renounc'd? has he broke the contract!—Will you prove he has broke the contract?
Aye. Now my dear papa, you take a tone that becomes you; now the blood of the Alſcrip's riſes;—riſes, as it ought; you mean to fight him directly, don't you?
Oh yes, I'm his man—I'll ſhew you a lawyer's challenge, ſticks and ſtaves, guns, ſwords, daggers, poinards, knives, ſciſſars and bodkins. I'll put more weapons into a bit of paper, ſix inches ſquare than wou'd ſtock the armory of the tower.
Piſtols!—Don't talk to me of any thing but piſtols,—my dear papa, who ſhall be your ſecond?
I'll have two — John Doe, and Richard Roe—as pretty fellows as any in England to ſee fair play, and as us'd to the dif⯑ferences of good company.—They ſhall greet him with their fieri facias—ſo don't be caſt down, Molly, I'll anſwer for damages to indemnify our loſs of temper and reputation—he ſhall have a fi-fa before to-morrow night.
Fiery faces and damages—What does your Weſtminſter-hall gibberiſh mean?— Are a woman's feelings to be ſatisfied with a [66] fie-fa—you old inſenſible—you have no ſenſe of family honour—no tender affections.
Gad you have enough for us both, when you want your father to be ſhot through the head—but ſtand out of the way, here's a ſpecies of family honour more neceſſary to be taken care of—If we were to go to law, this wou'd be a precious ſet off againſt us.
This—why what the devil—I hope I don't ſee clear—Curſe and confuſion, I have given the wrong one—Here's fine work—Here's a blunder—Here's the effect of a woman's im⯑petuoſity.
Lord, what a fuſs you are in; what is in the old trumpery ſcroll?
Plague and parchment, old Rightly will find what's in it, if I don't interrupt him— Mr. Rightly—Mr. Rightly—Mr. Rightly—
Sir, Mr. Rightly is gone.
Gone! whither?
Home, I believe, Sir—He came out at the door into the hall, and bade me tell your ho⯑nor you might depend upon his reading over the deed with particular care.
Fire, and fury, my hat and cane—
Here, my hat and cane
Sir, I expect, before you come home—
Death and devils, expect to be ruin'd —this comes of liſt'ning to you—The ſex hold [67] the power of miſchief by preſcription—Zounds —Miſchief—Miſchief—is the common law of womankind.
Mercy on us—I never ſaw him more provok'd, even when my mother was alive.
ACT IV.
[68]SCENE I. Alſcrip's Room.
QUE diable vent dire tout ca—vat devil, all dis mean?—Monſieur Alſcrip enrage'—Ma⯑damoiſelle Alſcrip fly about like de dancing fury at de Opera—My littel muſicienne, ſhut up, and in de abſence of Madame, I keep de key of de littel Baſtille—By gad, I vou'd rader have de cuſtody of my pretty priſoniere than the whole college of cardinals—but vat have we here?
Mr. Alſcrip not at home, no matter—we'll wait his return— The French Valet de Chambre
—It may be of uſe to make acquaintance with him— Monſieur, how do you like this country?
Ver good contree Sire, by and bye— when you grow a little more poor.
Is that a Pariſian rule for im⯑provement?
Yes, Sir, and we help you to follow our example—In good times you hang, and you drown—In bad time you vill be like us.—Al⯑way poor—alway gay—forget your politics— laugh at your grievances—take your ſnuff, vive la diſſipation,—ver good country.
Thanks for your kind advice, Mon⯑ſieur, you Frenchmen are ſo obliging, and ſo communicative to ſtrangers—I hear there is a [69] young lady come into this family—we don't exactly know in what capacity—could not you contrive that ſhe ſhou'd paſs through this room— or—
By gar here be one more old rake after de littel muſicienne.
Only for curioſity,—we never ſaw her, and have particular reaſons—
Ma foi, your reaſons be ver expreſſive
—but vat devil ſhall I do—open de cage of my little Roſignol—my pretty nightingale—no. Chignon—no—
ah, hah! La Tiffany —Now for de politique—begar I undertake your buſineſs—and make you de dupe of de per⯑formance.
So—Clifford—There goes as diſ⯑intereſted a fellow now as any in Europe.—But hark you—Can you yet gueſs the purpoſe for which I brought you here?
I profeſs, Sir, I am in the dark. If it concerns Lord Gayville's ſecret.—
Namely, that I have diſcovered, without your aſſiſtance, that this Dulcinea has ſtarted up in the ſhape of Miſs Alſcrip's muſical companion—Her name is Alton,
I tell it you, becauſe I am ſure you did not know it—or if you had—a friend's ſecret ought to be ſacred; and to keep it from the only perſon, who by knowing it cou'd ſave him from deſtruc⯑tion, would be a new exerciſe of your virtue.
Sir, you will not know me.—
Tut, tut, don't do me ſuch in⯑juſtice — Come, all delicacy being over by my having made the diſcovery, will you talk to this girl?
For what end, Sir.
If you ſtate yourſelf as Lord Gay⯑ville's friend, ſhe will converſe with you more readily, than ſhe wou'd with me—Try her— find out what ſhe is really at—If ſhe proves an impoſtor of the refined artifice I ſuſpect, that puts on humility to veil her purpoſe, and chaſtity to effect it—leave her to me—if ſhe has no hold upon him but her perſon, I ſhall be eaſy.
Sir, let my compliance convince you how much I wiſh to oblige you. If I can get a ſight of this wonder, I promiſe to give you my faithful opinion of my friend's danger.
Leave her with this gentleman— Come Monſieur, you ſhall ſhew me the new room.
Vid dis gentleman—Vid all my heart—La Tiffany vill anſwer his purpoſe, and mine too.
What does the Frenchman mean by gentlemen wanting me, and his gibberiſh of mak⯑ing ſoft eyes—I hope I know the exerciſe of my eyes without his inſtruction — hah! I vow, a clever looking man.
A good ſmart girl; but not altogether quaker-like in her apparel, nor does her air quite anſwer my conception of a goddeſs.
How he examines me! ſo much the better—I ſhall loſe nothing by that, I believe.
Faith a pretty attracting countenance —but for that apprehenſive and timid look— that awe impreſſing modeſty, my friend ſo for⯑cibly deſcrib'd.
There is no judging of that wonderful ſex by rational rules—Her ſilence marks diffidence; deuce take me if I know how to begin for fear of offending her reſerve.
I have been told pertneſs be⯑came me—I'll try, I'm reſolved.
I hear, Sir, you had ſomething to ſay to a young perſon of this houſe—that—that—
I cou'd not but take the deſcrip⯑tion to myſelf—I am ready to hear any thing a gentleman has to ſay.
Thank my ſtars, my ſcruples are relieved.
Am I miſtaken, Sir? Pray whom was you enquiring after.
Oh! certainly you, my pretty ſtranger. A friend of mine has been robbed of his heart, and I ſee the felony in your looks.
Lord, Sir, if I had ſuſpected you had come with a ſearch war⯑rant for hearts, I wou'd have been more upon my guard.
Will you confeſs, or muſt I arreſt you?
Innocent, Sir, in fact, but not quite ſo in inclination—I hope your own is ſafe.
And were it not, my ſmart unconſcion⯑able, would you run away with that alſo.
Oh yes, and an hundred more; and melt them all down together as the Jews do ſtolen goods [72] to prevent their being reclaim'd—Gold, ſilver and lead; pray, Sir of what metal may your's be?
Aſtoniſhing! Have I hit upon the moment when her fancy outruns her art! — Or has it been Gayville's amuſement to deſcribe her by contraries? And are you really the young Lady that is the companion of Miſs Alſcrip, that makes ſuch conqueſts at firſt ſight.—
Sir, if you mean the young Lady who has been named, however undeſervedly, the flow⯑er of this family; that appears ſometimes at theſe windows; and to be ſure has been followed home by gentlemen againſt her inclinations—Sir, you are not miſtaken.
It has been Gayville's madneſs or amuſement then to deſcribe her by contraries.
I hope, Sir, you are not offended, I wou'd not be impertinent, tho' I am not ſo taſte⯑leſs as to ſhy.
Offended, my dear? I am quite charm'd I aſſure you. You are juſt what I did not expect, but wiſhed to find you. You had been repreſented to me ſo improperly.—
Repreſented impro⯑perly! Pray, Sir, what do you mean?
To rejoice in my miſtake I promiſe you—Nay, and to ſet my friend right in his opi⯑nion, and ſo without further ſhyneſs on either part, let us be free upon the ſubject I had to talk over with you. You ſurely are not looking to laſting connections.
Sir, I don't underſtand you—I am not what you ſuppoſe, I aſſure you— Connections indeed—I ſhould never have thought of that—my character — my behaviour, con⯑nexions, I don't know what the word ſignifies.
Clifford—are you ready?
I am at your orders, Sir.
Deuce take this interruption!
I ſhall not wait for Mr. Alſcrip any longer.
Lud, lud, he gives me no time to come round again.
It's very true, Sir, I wou'd not do ſuch a thing for the world, but you are a man of honour, and I am ſure wou'd not give bad advice to a poor girl who is but a novice—and ſo, Sir.
Put your propoſal in writing and you may depend on having an anſwer.
Well, Clifford, what do you think of her?
Make yourſelf perfectly eaſy, Sir: This girl when known can make no impreſſion on Lord Gayville's mind; and I doubt not but a ſilk gown and a lottery ticket, had they been offer'd as an ultimatum, wou'd have purchaſed her perſon.
Don't you ſome⯑times, Clifford, form erroneous opinions of peo⯑ples' pretenſions? Intereſt and fooliſh paſſion in⯑ſpire ſtrange notions—as one or the other prevails, we are brought to look ſo low, or ſo high—
That we are compell'd to call reaſon and honour to our aid—
And then—
We loſe the intemperance of our incli⯑nations in the ſenſe of what is right.
Sententious impoſtor!
But to the point.
Sir, I wou'd pleaſe you, if I cou'd—I am thinking of a ſcheme to reſtore Lord Gayville to his ſenſes, without violence or injury to any one of the parties.
Let me hear it.
Why the wench being cut ſhort of marketing by word of mouth (which ſhe was doing in all due form when you came in) deſired me to write propoſals. I am inclined to do ſo. We will ſhew the anſwer to Lord Gayville, and depend upon it, there will be character enough diſplay'd to cure him of the ſentimental part of his attach⯑ment.
I like your idea—Sit down and put it into execution immediately—
He is quick at inven⯑tion—has a pretty turn at profeſſion—A proud and peremptory ſhew of honour that wou'd over⯑power prejudices—Thank heaven, my opinions of knavery are convictions.
I am ſorry to detain you, Sir.
Oh! I am amuſing myſelf better than you think—In⯑dulging an edifying contemplation among the tombs of departed eſtates—
What mouldered ſkins that will ne⯑ver ſee day-light again, and that with a good he⯑rald wou'd vie with Weſtminſter-abbey in holiday entertainment. For inſtance now, what have we here?—Hah! The laſt remains of Fatland priory— Once of great monaſtic importance: A proverb of pride, ſloth, and hypocriſy. After the reforma⯑tion the ſeat of old Engliſh hoſpitality and bene⯑volence [75] —In the preſent century, altered, adorned, pull'd down, and the materials ſold by auction.
Edifying indeed, Sir; your comments are not loſt.
Here lie undiſturbed in duſt, the relicks of Court-baron caſtle, granted at the con⯑queſt to the family of Loftimount. The laſt of this ancient race having won twenty-ſeven king's plates, and repreſented the county in ſix parlia⯑ments, after many ſtruggles died of the piſtol fe⯑ver—a diſconſolate annuitant inſcribed this box to his memory.
Ha! ha! ha!
I am quite concern'd to interrupt you, Sir, but you ſhall hear my letter,
You have captivated a young man of rank and fortune, but you are diſcover'd, and his ruin and yours wou'd be the conſequence of purſuing any deſigns, that cou'd impede his propoſed marriage with Miſs Alſcrip—Throw yourſelf upon the generoſity of his family, and your fortune's made — Send your anſwer (and let it be immediate) to me at Sir Clement Flint's houſe—Yours, &c. &c. —
It will do very well, our French friend is the man to deliver it, and to bring the anſwer. I am going home, you'll overtake me.
You come apropos. Monſieur
Have the goodneſs to put this letter into Miſs Alton's own hands.
Madamoiſelle Alton▪ Peſte! My trick has not paſſed.
To Miſs Alton by herſelf—I am in all the ſecret.
Devil take Tiffany for making you ſo wiſe.
And you ſerve your Lady, when you ſerve me with Miſs Alton—Monſieur, an anſwer as quick as poſſible—You will find me at Sir Cle⯑ment Flint's—it is only in the next ſtreet—and— you underſtand me—
Alerte, Monſieur.
Underſtand you—Oui! da you talk de language univerſal
I'entre vois, I begin to ſee ſomething—By gad I vill give de letter, and try de inclination of Made⯑moiſelle la Muſicienne—if dis be de duette ſhe vill play, it take her out of the vay of Alſcrip, of Gayville, and of myſelf alſo—Vo la le malheur— there—de misfortune—eh bien—when love and intereſt come acroſs—alway prefer de intereſt for to-day and take de chance of de love to-morrow— dat is de humour of France.
SCENE II. Sir Clement Flint's houſe.
I am reſolved to ſee Miſs Alſcrip, no more.
And I hope you are prepared with arguments to juſtify the cauſe of this breach, to me, and to the world.
For my reconciliation with you I hope your former partiality will return to my aid; and as for the world I deſpiſe it. The mul⯑titude look at happineſs thro' the falſe glare of [77] wealth and pomp: I have diſcovered it, tho' yet at a diſtance, thorough the only true medium, that of mutual affection.
No common place book formed from a whole library of plays and novels could furniſh a better ſentence. Your folly wou'd ſhame a ſchool boy — even of the laſt age—In the preſent he learns the world with his grammar, and gets a juſt no⯑tion of the worthleſsneſs of the other ſex before he is of an age to be duped by their attractions.
Sir, your prejudices.—
My prejudices?— will you appeal to Clifford—here he comes—your friend—your
And will Clifford, condemn the choice of the heart?
Never, my lord, when juſtly placed—In the caſe I perceive you are arguing, I am ready to bluſh for you—nay, don't look grave—I am ac⯑quainted with your inchantreſs.
You acquainted with her?
Yes, and if I don't deceive myſelf, ſhall make her break her own ſpell. I am in correſ⯑pondence with her.
You in correſpondence with Miſs Alton!—when? where? What am I to think of this?
My dear Lord, that ſhe is the moſt errant coquette, the moſt accompliſhed jilt, the moſt ready trafficker of her charms—
Phrenzy and profanation—Such dignity of virtue, ſuch chaſtity of ſentiment—
Ha! ha! ha!
Phrenzy indeed! You have formed a creature of imagination, and like a true Quixote think it real; you have talked to her of dignity, of virtue and chaſtity, of ſentiment, till you have taught her a lure ſhe never dreamt of—Had you treated her at firſt as I did, ſhe wou'd have put a card into your hand to inform you of her lodg⯑ing.
Clifford, what has betray'd you into calumny ſo unwarrantable and deſpicable?
Come, Gayville, I'll be plain with you, you have ſillily let the girl raiſe her price upon you—but if nothing elſe will ſatisfy you, e'en pay it, and have done with her.
Sir, her price is an unadulte⯑rated heart: I am afraid we cannot pay it betwixt us.
Alerte, Monſieure, I repete your word—Madamoiſelle Alton, be all your own.
Come, Clifford, the contents: his Lordſhip braves the trial.
What is this mighty ſcheme? and what is that paper to diſcover?
Your Lord⯑ſhip ſhall be informed word for word.
Amazement! do I dream! can it be? who wrote this letter?
Oh! ſpeak out Monſieur, we are all friends.
De true Madamoiſelle Alton to whom you charge me to give your letter—ſhe open it— ſhe turn pale—den red—den confuſe—den kiſſe your name—den write, and bid me fly.
Confuſion, on confuſion, what does all this mean? explain.
You muſt pardon me, I am diſcon⯑ſerted—confounded—thunder-ſtruck—This letter is indeed of a different nature, from that I ex⯑pected—I am more intereſted in Miſs Alton's fate, than your Lordſhip—my perplexity is not to be endur'd; friend, come with me inſtantly.
Myſtery, and torture! what am I to collect from this? He intereſted in the fate of Miſs Alton? he her former acquaintance?
Why not—and her dupe alſo?
Is Mr. Clifford gone, Sir?
Who wants him?
A chairman with a letter, he will not deliver to a ſervant.
Call the fellow in.
Who knows but he may help us in our difficulties.
Whom did you bring that letter from?
Pleaſe your honor, I don't know; paſſing through the ſquare, a ſaſh flew up, and down came this letter and half a crown upon my head. It could not have fallen better, there's not a fellow in town more expert than I am at private buſineſs—So I reſolved to deliver it ſafely—Is your honor's name Clifford?
No indeed, friend, I am not ſo happy a man.
That letter muſt not be loſt though. Here, my friend—I'll take charge of [80] your letter.
Something for your pains.
God bleſs your honor, and if you want to ſend an anſwer, my number is forty ſeven in Bond-ſtreet—your honor, I am known by the name of ſecret Tom.
What is the uſe of this deceit? ſtrong as my ſuſpicion is, a ſeal muſt be ſacred.
Our circumſtances make an ex⯑ception to your rule: when there is treaſon in the ſtate, wax gives way.
Faith this is beyond my expectation—tho' the myſtery is unfathomable, the aptneſs of it to my purpoſe is admirable—Gayville—I wiſh you joy.
Of what?
Of conviction! if this is not plain! only hear
"ſince my confuſed lines of a few minutes paſt, my perplexities redouble upon my ſpirits—I am in momentary appre⯑henſion of further inſult from the Alſcrip family; I am ſtill more anxious to avoid Lord Gayville"
: "do not ſuſpect my ſincerity—I have not a thought of him that ought to diſturb you."—Here ſhe is Gayville, look at her, through the true medium of mutual affection—"I have not a thought of him that ought to diſturb you"—Fly to me, ſecure me, my deareſt Henry.
Deareſt Henry!
"Deareſt Henry—In this call, the danger of your Harriet unites with the impatience of her affection."
Hell, and fury! this muſt be ſome trick, ſome forgery
No, by all that's perfidious it is that exquiſite hand that baffles imitation.
All, regular, ſtrict, undeviating modern morals—common property is the firſt principle of friendſhip; your horſe, your houſe, your purſe, your miſtreſs—nay, your wife wou'd be a better example ſtill of the doctrine of this generous age. Bleſs fortune, Gayville, that has brought the fidelity of your friend and your girl to the teſt at the ſame time.
Sir, I am not in a humour for any ſpleen but my own. What can this mean?— It muſt have been a ſecret attachment for years— but then the avowal of a correſpondence and the confuſion at receiving it—his coldneſs in traducing her; the paſſionate intereſt he expreſs'd in her fate; the conviction of his ſecond letter—It is all delirium. I'll ſearch the matter to the bottom, tho' I go to Clifford's heart for it.
I'll after the precious fellow too— He is a rogue above my hopes, and the intricacy of his ſnares excite my curioſity.
SCENE III. Lady Emily's Apartment.
It will not do. My eyes may run over a thou⯑ſand ſubjects, but my thoughts centre in one. Ah! that ſigh! that ſigh from the fair ſufferer this morning—I have found it echo in my own heart ever ſince.
Madam, Mr. Blandiſh.
Pooh! did you ſay I was at home?
Your Ladyſhip gave no orders to the contrary.
Shew him in.
I muſt take up my air of levity again—It is the [82] only humour for a fellow who I ſometimes allow to entertain me, but who never can get my eſteem. I have more calls upon my affectation this un⯑lucky day, than my real diſpoſition would exe⯑cute in a long life.
Blandiſh, I am horridly peeviſh; have you any thing diverting in news or flattery?
In the latter, Madam, nothing. My admiration has all the dullneſs of truth: but ſhew me what you think a flaw, and I'll try without flattery to convince you it is a beauty.
Tolerably expreſs'd—but the idea of a faultleſs woman is falſe in point of enco⯑mium, ſhe wou'd be reſpectable, aweful, and un⯑attracting. Odd as it may ſeem, a woman, to charm, requires a little daſh of harmleſs imper⯑fection. I know I've a thouſand amiable faults that I wou'd not part with for the world. So try again: Something more new and refined.
Examine my heart, Lady Emily, and you will find both: The novelty of diſintereſted paſſion, and refinement acquired by the ſtudy of you.
Rather better: but that does not pleaſe me much; the leſs, perhaps, as it is rather out of your way, and more in that of my friend your ſiſter, who, I obſerve, always put a compli⯑ment in full view—Yours generally come more forcibly, by affording us the pleaſure of finding them out—It is the excellency of a brilliant to play in the dark.
Allow yourſelf to be the brilliant and attend to another alluſion. With trembling am⯑bition, [83] I confeſs, that not content with admiring the jewel, I would wear it.
Wear it?
As an appendage to my heart—Con⯑ſcious of it's value, proud of its diſplay, and de⯑voted to its preſervation.
Riddles, Mr. Blandiſh—but ſo let them remain—I aſſure you this hour is very in⯑auſpicious for explanation.
I fear ſo. For in an hour, when Clifford proves treacherous, who can eſcape ſuſ⯑picion.
Clifford? for what purpoſe is he in⯑troduced in this converſation?
You aſk'd me for intelligence, the lateſt is, that Clifford has been detected in a clandeſtine intercourſe with the object of Lord Gayville's ſecret paſſion; that he has betray'd the confidence of his friend and patron, and actually carried her off.
Which Gayville knows by this time with all its aggravations, or Prompt has not been as active as he us'd to be.
Blandiſh, this is a poor project. Clifford treacherous to his friend! You might as ſoon make me believe Gayville diſpaſſionate, my uncle charitable, or you in⯑genuous.
His conduct does not reſt upon opi⯑nion, but proof; and when you know it you muſt think of him with averſion.
Muſt I? Then don't let me hear a word more—I have averſions enough already—
It is impoſſible you can apply that word to one whoſe only offence is to adore you.
Blandiſh ſo favour'd?
Perverſe accident: what miſtakes now will he make!
The enemy has ſurprized me— but the only remedy in ſuch emergencies, is to ſhew a good countenance.
I fear I have been guilty of an unpar⯑donable intruſion.
Mr. Clifford never can intrude, but though you had not come ſo apropos yourſelf— Lady Emily will bear teſtimony, I have not ſpared my pains to remove any prejudices ſhe might have entertained.
Had you not better repeat in your own words, Mr. Blandiſh, all the obliging things you have ſaid of this gentleman?
It is not neceſſary, Madam—If without robbing you of moments that I perceive are pre⯑cious—
Sir!
I might obtain a ſhort audience,
He's deviliſh impudent—but he cannot ſoon get over facts, and I'll take care the conference ſhall not be long.
—Lady Emily; hear Mr. Clifford, and judge if I have miſrepreſented him—
When you want a friend you know where to find him.
This is an interview, Mr. Clif⯑ford, that I deſire not to be underſtood to have authoriſed. It is not to me, you are accountable for your actions—I have no perſonal intereſt in them.
I know it too well.
Do not run away with the notion neither, that I am therefore intereſted in any other perſon's — You have among you, vex'd, and diſconcerted me, but there is not a grain of partiality in all my embarraſſment—if you have any eyes you may ſee there is not.
Happy Blandiſh, your triumph is evi⯑dent.
Blandiſh, the odious creature— He is my abhorrence — You are hardly worſe yourſelf in my bad opinion, tho' you have done ſo much more to deſerve it.
How cruel are the circumſtances that compel me to leave you under theſe impreſſions —nay more—at ſuch a time to urge a requeſt, that during your moſt favourable thoughts of me wou'd have appear'd ſtrange if not preſumptu⯑ous. This is the key of my apartment. It con⯑tains a ſecret that the exigency of the hour ob⯑lig'd me, againſt inclination or propriety, to lodge there. Should Sir Clement return before me, I implore you to prevent his diſcovery, and give to what you find within, your confidence and protection. Lord Gayville—but I ſhall go too far—the moſt anxious event of my life preſſes on me. I conjure you to comply, by all the com⯑paſſion and tenderneſs nature has treaſured in your heart—not for me—but for occaſions worthy their diſplay.
Heigho! — Its well, he's gone without inſiſting on my anſwer: I was in a ſad flutter of indeciſion. What myſterious means he takes to engage me in a confidence which I could not directly accept!—I am to find a letter, I [86] —the ſtory of his heart—Its errors and defence—My brother's name, alſo—to furniſh me with a new intereſt in the ſecret, and one I might avow—One may diſlike this art, but muſt be ſenſible of his delicacy.—Ah, when thoſe two qualities unite in a man, I am afraid he is an over-match for the wiſeſt of us—Hark!— ſure that is the ſound of my Uncle's coach —
'Tis he—and now for the ſecret—Curioſity!—Curioſity! innate irre⯑ſiſtible principle in womankind, be my excuſe, before I dare queſtion my mind upon other mo⯑tives.
SCENE IV. Another apartment.
Oh! lud, I cou'd hardly tremble more at opening this man's apartment, were there a poſ⯑ſibility of finding him within ſide. How do peo⯑ple find courage to do a wrong thing, when an innocent diſcovery cannot be proſecuted without ſuch timidity.
Amazement. Miſs Alton! what brought you here?
Madam, I was brought here for an hour's concealment; who I really am, I wou'd not, if poſſible to avoid it, divulge in this houſe. When you ſaw me laſt, you honour'd me with a favourable opinion—My ſtory not explained at full, might ſubject me to doubts, that wou'd [87] ſhake your candour. The circumſtances in which I am involved, are ſtrange, and have ſucceeded with the rapidity and confuſion of a dream— Suffer me to recover for a moment my diſorder'd ſpirits, and I will ſatisfy you farther.
What ſhall I do?—She is pale and ready to faint—I cannot let her be expoſed in ſuch a ſituation—Retire—You may rely upon me for preſent ſecurity—You know beſt your pre⯑tenſions to my future opinion—
begone, or you are diſcover'd—
Oh! the triumph of honour! Oh the ſincerity of friendſhip, how my opinions are ratified—how my ſyſtem is proved.
Oh, ſpirits, ſpirits, forſake me not—oh, for a moment's diſſimulation!
There are ſome now who wou'd feed moroſeneſs and miſanthropy with ſuch events; to me they give delight as convictions and warnings to mankind.
Of how ſuperior a quality, my good Uncle muſt be to the benevolence you poſ⯑ſeſs! it riſes with the progreſs of miſchief; and is gratified (upon principles of general good) by finding confidence abuſed, and eſteem miſplaced. Am I not right in attributing your joy at preſent so that ſort of refinement?
Hah! and to what ſenſations, my good niece, ſhall be attributed the preſent ſtate of your ſpirits? To the diſguſt you took to Clifford almoſt at firſt ſight. It will not be with indiffe⯑rence, but pleaſure, you will hear of his turning [88] out the verieſt raſcal, the moſt compleat impoſtor, the moſt abandon'd — but hold! hold—I muſt not wrong him by ſuperlatives——he is match'd too.
Really!—I congratulate you upon ſuch a check of charity.
And I wiſh you joy, my pretty pert one, upon the credit your ſex has acquired, in producing this other Chef-d'ouvre—Such a compoſition of the higheſt vices and the loweſt—
I know it will be in vain to op⯑poſe the pleaſure you take in colouring, by my want of taſte to enjoy it; but you may ſpare your preparatory ſhading, and come to the points with which I am not acquainted.
And pray my incurious niece, with what points are you acquainted?
That, before Mr. Clifford went abroad, it is ſuſpected his paſſions betray'd him into a fault that muſt be ſhocking to your mora⯑lity, and that I'm ſure it is not my intention to juſtify. He ought to have reſiſted. It's a ſhame we have not more examples of young men cor⯑recting the frailties of womankind—I dare ſay he neglected a fair opportunity of becoming a pro⯑digy.
I proteſt you have a pretty way of dreſſing up an apology for the venial faults of youth—and it comes with a peculiar grace from a delicate lady of twenty.
Come, Sir; no more of your ſar⯑caſms. I can treat wrong actions with levity, and yet conſider them with deteſtation. Prudes and pretenders condemn with auſterity. To the collection of ſuſpicions you are maſter of, let me add one—In a young lady of the delicacy—and [89] age you have deſcribed, always ſuſpect the virtue that does not wear a ſmile.
And the ſincerity that wears one aukwardly—If you wou'd know the hiſtory of Clifford, aſk but your brother; if of the precious adventurer he has carried off, enquire of Miſs Alſcrip—We ſhall come up with her yet—woe be to any one who harbours her.
Joy to your honour, I ſee you have caught her.
Her!—who?
I aſk your lady⯑ſhip's pardon—Having only the glimpſe of a pet⯑ticoat, and knowing the object of my chaſe was in this houſe, I confeſs I miſtook you.
In this houſe?
As ſure as we are—She came in thorough the garden, under Mr. Clifford's arm— up the other ſtairs, I ſuppoſe—If my lady had been hereabouts—ſhe muſt have ſeen her.
Yes, but unluckily, I was quite out of the way.
Such audaciouſneſs paſſes credibi⯑lity—Emily what do you think of him?
That he is a monſter
How my dilemmas multiply.
What, to my houſe! to his apart⯑ment here! I wonder he did not aſk for pro⯑tection in your's — What ſhould you have ſaid?
I don't know; but, had I been ſo impoſed upon as to receive her, I ſhould ſcorn to betray even the criminal I had engaged to protect.
Emily, my dear, do ring the bell to know if the houſekeeper has a ſecond key to this lock.
What ſhall I do?
She is certainly there, Sir, and cannot eſcape. Where can ſhe better remain, till you can aſſemble all parties, confront them face to face, and bring every thing that has paſs'd to a full explanation?
With all my heart; ſend and col⯑lect every body concerned as faſt as poſſible— How I long for ſo complicated an exhibition of the purity of the human heart—Come with me, Emily, and help to digeſt my plan—Friends and lovers, what a ſcene ſhall we ſhew you.
ACT V.
[91]SCENE I.
YOUR knowledge in the profeſſion, Mr. Right⯑ly, is as queſtionleſs as your integrity; but there is ſomething ſo ſurprizing in the diſcovery of the Charlton eſtate.
It is ſo ſtrange, that I will not pro⯑nounce a poſitive opinion, till I have read again the collateral papers, and conſider'd fully the de⯑ſcents in your family. Your grandfather, I think, was deceived in ſuppoſing he had a right to ſell that part of the Charlton eſtate, which Alſcrip propoſes for his daughter's portion. The ſtrength of this old ſettlement muſt have eſcaped my brother lawyer, or he was mad when he put it into my hands.
If you knew too, how the value of the acquiſition is enhanced, by the opportune mo⯑ment in which it preſents itſelf—I am in too much emotion to thank you as I ought.
Sir, I want neither compliment, nor acknowledgement, for revealing what I ſhould be a party to diſhoneſty to conceal—but that duty done, wou'd it be an abuſe of benevolence, un⯑worthy as ſome of the parties may be, to preſerve the peace of all concerned.
In what manner.
Sir Clement Flint will renounce the Alſcrip alliance, at the firſt appearance of this defalcation, and if I am well informed, Lord [92] Gayville will not lament the loſs of his intended bride. The young lady is therefore free and ſtill poſſeſſed of a great inheritance.
I do not yet perceive what you aim at.
She has the faults that wealth and a falſe education create, but they are not incurable. Marry her yourſelf. By ſinking the claim in the union with his family, you command the father's approbation; and the daughter muſt be of a ſtrange mould indeed, if the ſame obligation does not become a corrective of her pride, and an excitement to her gratitude.
I give ſome token of my friendſhip, when, as a lawyer, I propoſe you a wife inſtead of a ſuit in chan⯑cery.
I feel all the kindneſs of your ſuggeſ⯑tion; but if my claim is precarious, it is as re⯑pugnant to my delicacy as to my inclination, to realize it upon ſuch terms; if it is ſubſtantial, I have ſuch a diſpoſition to make—you have a right to all my thoughts; but I have an appoint⯑ment to obey, that admits no time for explana⯑tion; favor me for a moment with your pencil,
And a blank page in that memorandum book.
My life on't, his head is turn'd upon ſome girl not worth a ſhilling——There is an amiable defect, but a very obſervable one in the nature of ſome men. A good head and heart operate as effectually as vice or folly could do to make them improvident.
Mr. Rightly, I confide to your hands a new ſecret relative to the Charlton eſtate; do not read it till you return home,
There, Gayville, is one reply to your challenge—and now for another.
One moment, Sir—I engage for no ſecrecy that my own judgment ſhall not warrant.
And the benevolence of your heart ap⯑prove—Thoſe are my conditions.—
SCENE II. Hyde-Park.
Not here! I am ſure I marked the hour as well as the place, preciſely in my note,
Had I been told three days ago, that I ſhould have been the appellant in a premeditated duel, I ſhould have thought it an inſult upon my princi⯑ples—That Clifford ſhould be the cauſe of my tranſgreſſing the legal and ſacred duties, we have ever both maintained—oh, it would have ſeemed a viſionary impoſſibility—But he comes, to cut re⯑flection ſhort—
I waited for you, Sir.
That ceremonial would grace an encounter of punctilio, but applies ill to the terms upon which I have call'd you here.
What terms are thoſe, my Lord.
Vengeance! Ample, final ven⯑geance! Draw, Sir.
No, my Lord, my ſword is reſerved for more becoming purpoſes: It is not the inſtru⯑ment of paſſion; and has yet been untried in a diſpute with my friend.
But why is it not ready for a dif⯑ferent trial, the vindication of perfidy, the blackeſt ſpecies of perfidy, that ever the malignant enemy of mankind infuſed into the human breaſt—per⯑fidy to the friend who loved and truſted you, and in the neareſt intereſts of his heart.
Take care, my Lord; ſhould my blood boil like your's, and it is riſing faſt, you know not the puniſhment that awaits you. I came tempe⯑rate, your groſs provocation and thirſt of blood make temperance appear diſgrace—I am tempted to take a revenge—
The means are ready. Come, Sir, you are to give an example of qualities generally held incompatible — bravery and diſ⯑honour.
Another ſuch word, and by heaven!— How have I deſerv'd this opinion?
Aſk your conſcience—Under the maſk of friendſhip you have held a ſecret inter⯑courſe with the woman I adore; you have ſup⯑planted me in her affections, you have robb'd me of the very charm of my life—can you deny it?
I avow it all.
Unparalleled inſolence of guilt.
Are you ſure there is nothing within the ſcope of poſſibility, that wou'd excuſe or atone—
Death—Death only—no abject ſubmiſſion—no compromiſe for infamy — chuſe inſtantly—and ſave yourſelf from the only ſtretch of baſeneſs left—the invention of a falſehood to palliate —
Falſehood!—You ſhall have no other ex⯑planation. [95]
Stand upon your defence, Sir— What do you mean?
You ſaid nothing but my life wou'd ſatisfy you, take it, and remember me.
I ſay ſo ſtill—but upon an equal pledge—I am no aſſaſſin.
If to ſtrike at the heart of your friend, more deeply than that poor inſtrument in your hand could do, makes an aſſaſſin, you have been one already.
That look, that tone, how like to innocence? Had he not avow'd ſuch abominable practices—
I avow them again: I have rival'd you in the love of the woman you adore—her affections are rivetted to me. I have removed her from your ſight; ſecured her from your recovery—
Damnation!
I have done it to ſave unguarded beauty; to ſave unprotected innocence; to ſave a ſiſter.
A ſiſter!
Vengeance! Ample, final vengeance!
It is accompliſh'd— over him—and over myſelf—my victory is com⯑pleat.
Where ſhall I hide my ſhame!
We'll ſhare it, and forget it here.
Why did you keep the ſecret from me?
I knew it not myſelf, till the ſtrange concurrence of circumſtances, to which you were in part witneſs a few hours ſince, brought it to light. I meant to impart to you the diſcovery, [96] when my temper took fire—Let us bury our mu⯑tual errors in the thought, that we now for life are friends.
Brothers, Clifford—Let us inter⯑change that title and doubly, doubly ratify it. Unite me to your charming ſiſter; accept the hand of Lady Emily in return—her heart I have diſcover'd to be yours—We'll leave the world to the ſordid and the taſteleſs; let an Alſcrip, or, a Sir Clement Flint, wander after the fantom of happineſs, we ſhall find her real retreat, and hold her by the bonds ſhe covets, virtue, love and friendſhip.
Not a word more, my lord; the bars againſt your propoſal are inſuperable.
What bars?
Honour! propriety—and pride.
Pride, Clifford?
Yes, my Lord; Harriet Clifford, ſhall not ſteal the hand of a prince; nor will I—tho' doating on Lady Emily, with a paſſion like your own, bear the idea of a clandeſtine union in a family, to whom I am bound by obligation and truſt. Indeed, my lord, without Sir Clement's conſent, you muſt think no more of my ſiſter.
Stern Stoic, but I will, and not clandeſtinely; I'll inſtantly to Sir Clement.
Do not be raſh—Fortune or ſome bet⯑ter agent, is working in wonders—Meet me pre⯑ſently at your Uncle's; in the mean while promiſe not to ſtir in this buſineſs.
What hope from delay.
Promiſe—
I am in a ſtate to catch at ſha⯑dows—I'll try to obey you.
Farewel!—
SCENE III. Sir Clement's houſe.
[97]I am delighted at this ſummons from Sir Clement, Blandiſh; poor old clear-ſight, I hope he has projected a reconciliation.
How I rejoice to ſee thoſe ſmiles returned to the face that was made for them!
Return'd, Blandiſh? I deſire you will not inſinuate it ever was without them — Why ſure, you would not have the world imagine the temper of an Heireſs of my claſs, was to be ruffled by the loſs of a paltry earl—I have been highly diverted with what has paſſed from begin⯑ning to end.
Well, if good humour can be a fault, ſure the exceſs you carry it to muſt be the example.
I deſire it may be made known in all companies, that I have done nothing but laugh —nay, it is true too.
My dear creature, of what con⯑ſequence is the truth, when you are charging me with the execution of your deſires.
Could any thing be more divert⯑ing than my Lord's intriguing with my chamber⯑maid before marriage, that muſt be your cue.
Excellent!
The deſign was in rule, and found⯑ed upon the beſt precedents—only the time, in the news-paper phraſe, was premature, he! he! he!
He! he! he!
And then the airs of the moppet— Could any thing be more ridiculous?
The rivalſhip you mean—Rival, Miſs Alſcrip—He! he! he!
Yes, but when you take this tone in public, laugh a little louder.
Rival, Miſs Alſcrip, ha! ha! ha!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
For mirth's ſake, what is become of the rival? — Who will you chuſe ſhe ſhall have run away with?
Leave it in doubt as it is; fixing circumſtances confines the curioſity to one ſtory which may be diſproved; uncertainty leaves it open to an hundred, and makes them all probable. But I hear ſome of the company upon the ſtairs: Now, Blandiſh—You ſhall be witneſs to the tem⯑per and dignity, with which a woman of my con⯑ſequence can diſcard a quality courtſhip that of⯑fends her—Having ſufficiently mortified the Un⯑cle and Nephew, with a triumphant raillery all my own, I ſhall requeſt Lady Emily to ſet the Paphian mimp upon the family diſappointment, and leave them together to the exerciſe of the patience that uſually attends the loſs of a hundred thouſand pounds.
Sweet temper'd ſoul!
Miſs Alſcrip, your—
The duel's over, and the combatants in whole ſkins— Never ran ſo faſt ſince I was born—
—To be too late by ſome mi⯑nutes in your intelligence. I know you feel the diſappointment from the ſincere affection you bear all parties.
Duel!—Pray let us hear the par⯑ticulars—As there is no miſchief I ſhall not faint.
I gueſs it has been of the common place kind.—Hats over the brows—glum ſilence— thruſt— parry—and ripoſte— Explain, and ſhake hands: Your man of honour never ſets his friend right, till he has exchang'd a ſhot—or a thruſt: Oh, a little eſſence of ſteel or gunpowder, is a morning whet to the temper: It carries off all qualms, and leaves the digeſtion free for any thing that is preſented to it.
Dear, how fortunate! Conſidering the pills ſome folks have to ſwallow.
Blandiſh, ſee if the door of Clifford's room is yet unlocked, there is a perſon within you little expect to find, and that it may be pro⯑per for this lady, and me to interrogate together.— I don't know what to call her—Inexplicability in petticoats.
Lady Emily!
Inexplicable, with a vengeance.
Lady Emily, ſhut up in Clifford's apartment! Beyond my expectation, indeed.
Lady Emily I know you were always cautious whom you viſited, and never gave a better proof of your diſcernment.
Never—oh! my poor dear uncle you little think what is going to befall you.
Not a diſappointment in love, I hope.
No, but in ſomething much nearer your heart—your ſyſtem is threaten'd with a blow, that I think, and from my ſoul I hope, it never will recover: would you gueſs that the ſagacious obſervations of your whole life are upon the point of being confounded by the produc⯑tion—
Of what?
A woman of ingenuous diſcre⯑tion, and a man of unaffected intregrity.
Hah!
What can ſhe mean?
Nothing good—ſhe looks ſo pleaſant.
Come forth, my injur'd friend. Our perſonal acquaintance has been ſhort, but our hearts were intimate from the firſt ſight
Your priſoner, Sir, is Miſs Harriot Clifford.
Clifford's ſiſter!
What, the run-away Alton, turned into a ſprig of quality.
The humble dependant of Alſcrip's houſe—The wan⯑ton—the paragon of fraud—the only female that can equal Clifford
She is indeed!
Oh, rot the ſource of the family fondneſs—I ſee I have no card left in my favour—but the Heireſs.
"Ingenuous diſcre⯑tion!"
My deareſt Harriot! the joy I pur⯑poſed in preſenting you here, is anticipated; but, my blameleſs fugitive! relate the tale of your diſtreſſes, and my pride in you will not be a won⯑der.
They have been ſhort—and are overpaid by your indulgence. Inſulted by the fami⯑ly I liv'd with; made more wretched by a deteſted purſuit which my uncle's violence enforc'd, and confident of your being returned, I fled to Lon⯑don for an aſylum.
Which has been admirably choſen in my houſe.
Sir, I really think ſo. Lady Emily's generoſity, your juſtice, and my ſiſter's honour make it ſacred.
And peculiarly ſecure againſt the viſits of this deteſte [...] purſuer.
Her perſecutor and her convert. Her virtues which no humility could conceal, and every trial made more reſplen⯑dant, diſcover'd, diſgraced, and reclaimed a liber⯑tine.
How am I diſtreſs'd—what ought I to anſwer?
Impreſſed ſentiment upon de⯑ſire, gave honour to paſſion, and drew from my [102] ſoul a vow, which heaven chaſtiſe me when I vio⯑late, to obtain her by a legal, ſacred claim, or renounce fortune, family and friends, and become a ſelf-devoted outcaſt of the world.
Oh! brother, interpoſe.
My Lord, your fortune, family, and friends are much oblig'd to you. Your part is perfect—Mr. Clifford you are call'd upon. Miſs, in ſtrict propriety, throws the buſineſs upon her relations—Come finiſh the comedy; join one of her hands to the gallants, while, with the other, ſhe covers her bluſhes—and he in rapture delivers the moral. All for Love, or, the World well Loſt.
Be patient, my Harriot, this is the ſchool for prejudice, and the leſſon of its ſhame is near.
I vow theſe ſingular circumſtan⯑ces give me quite a confuſion of pleaſure. The aſtoniſhing good fortune of my late Protegée in finding ſo impaſſion'd a friendſhip in her brother's bed-chamber; the captivating eloquence of Lord Gayville in winding up an eclairciſſement which I admire—not for the firſt time—to day—and the ſuperlative joy, Sir Clement muſt feel at an union, [...]ounded upon the purity of the paſſions, are ſub⯑jects of ſuch different congratulation, that I hardly know where to begin.
Charming!—her inſolence will juſtify what ſo ſeldom occurs to one—a ſevere retort without a poſſible ſenſe of com⯑punction.
But in point of fortune—don't imagine, Sir Clement, I wou'd inſinuate that the Lady is deſtitute—oh Lord, far from it. Her [103] muſical talents are a portion—I can't ſay I have yet ſeen a counteſs open a concert for her own benefit; but there can be no reaſon why a woman of the firſt quality ſhould not be directreſs of the Opera—Indeed, after all that has happen'd, it is the beſt chance I ſee for a good adminiſtration there.
Why ſtop a moment—Mr. Rightly; 'Death after chaſing you all over the town, don't be ſo impatient the inſtant I overtake you.
What have we here—the lawyers in diſpute?
You have not heard my laſt word yet.
You have heard mine, Sir.
I'll make the five thouſand I offer'd, ten.
Millions wou'd not bribe me—
When I detect wrong, and vindicate the ſufferer, I feel the ſpirit of the Law of England, and the pride of a practitioner.
Lucifer confound ſuch practices.
That curſed! curſed flaw.—
Flaw! who has dared to talk of one? not in my reputation, Sir?
No, but in my eſtate, which is a damn'd deal worſe.
How! what?—when!—where? —The eſtate that was to be ſettled upon me?
Yes, but that me, turn'd topſy turvey —when me broke into my room this morning, and the devil followed to fly away with all my faculties at once—I am ruin'd—Let us ſee what you will ſettle upon your poor father.
I ſettle upon you?
This is an embarraſſing acci⯑dent.
Yes, and a pretty help you are, with a drop chin like a frontiſpiece to the lamen⯑tations.
I ſtated this with ſome doubt this morning, but now my credit as a lawyer upon the iſſue.—The Heireſs falls ſhort of the terms in your treaty by two thouſand pounds a year—which this deed, lately and providentially diſcover'd, entails upon the heirs of Sir William Charlton, and con⯑ſequently, in right of his mother, upon this gentleman.
How!
Happy diſappointment.
Two thouſand a year to Clifford! It's pity for the parade of diſintereſted⯑neſs, that he open'd his deſigns upon Emily, be⯑fore he knew his pretenſions.
Now, if there were twenty ceilings, and as many floors, could not I find a ſpot to ſettle my ſilly looks upon.
Palm a falſe title upon me? I ſhou'd have thought the attempt beyond the collective aſſurance of Weſtminſter-hall—and he takes the loſs as much to heart as if he bought the eſtate with his own money.
Sir Clement — what think you—of an amicable adjuſtment of all theſe buſineſſes?
Nothing can be more reaſonable. The value of Miſs Alſcrip's amiable diſpoſition, placed againſt the abatement of her fortune, is a matter of the moſt eaſy computa⯑tion; and to decide the portion, Mr. Clifford ought to relinquiſh of his acquiſition — Lady Emily—will you be a referée?
Yes, the Lynx has me—I thought I ſhould not eſcape—
No, Sir; my poor abilities only extend to an amicable en⯑deavour here.
And really, Miſs Alſcrip, I ſee no reaſon for your being diſpirit⯑ed, there may be many ready made titles at market, within the reach of your purſe. Or, why ſhould not a woman of your conſequence originate her own ſplendour? there's an old ad⯑mirer of mine—He wou'd make a very pretty lord—and indeed, wou'd contribute ſomething on his own part to eaſe the purchaſe—The Blan⯑diſh family is well with all adminiſtrations, and a new coronet is always as big again as an old one. I don't ſee how you cou'd lay out part of your independency to more advantage.
Yes, but ſince flaws are in faſhion, I ſhall look a little into things before I agree to the bargain.
And if you replace this part of your family,
by mak⯑ing an humble companion of your old gentle⯑man, I proteſt, I do not ſee any great alteration in your affairs.
I'll die before I'll diſcover my vexation—and yet,
no title—no place.
Depend upon it, Miſs Alſcrip, your place will be found exactly where it ought to be. The public eye in this country is never long deceiv'd —Believe me—and cheriſh ob⯑ſcurity—Title may bring forward merits, but it alſo places our defects in horrid relief.
You ſeem to expect ſomething from me, Miſs Alſcrip—Be in no pain for any thing that has paſs'd between us—My pity has entirely overpower'd my reſentment.
Molly, the ſooner we get out of court the better—we have damnably the worſt of this cauſe, ſo come along Molly
—and farewel to Berkley-ſquare. Whoever wants Alſcrip's houſe, will find it in the neigh⯑bourhood of Furnival's-Inn, with the noble title of Scrivener, in capitals —Blank bonds at the windows, and a braſs knocker at the door
Come along Molly.
Oh! the barbarous metamorphoſis—but his fluſterums for a week, will ſerve my temper, as a regimen. I will then take the management of my affairs into my own hands, and break from my cloud anew: and you ſhall find
there are thoſe with⯑out a coronet, that can be as ſaucy, and as loud, and ſtop the way in all public places as well as the [107] beſt of you.
Yes, Madam, and without borrowing your Ladyſhip's airs.
Come along, Molly.
Oh you have been a jewel of a fa⯑ther.
What a curſed turn things have taken! My ſchemes evaporate like inflam⯑mable air, and down drops poor adventurer.
Mrs. Blandiſh, ſure you do not leave your friend, Miſs Alſcrip, in diſtreſs?
We'll not diſturb the aſhes of the dead—my ſweet Lady Emily—
None of your flouriſhes, my dear ſiſter —they already think you a walking dedication— When we can't eſcape a ſituation, the only way is to brave it—So let them tell us we are ſycophants. —be it ſo—then we are the beſt friends ſociety has. Flattery is the diet of good humour, and not one of you can live without it, and when you quarrel with the family of Blandiſh, you leave refin'd cookery to be fed upon ſcraps, by a poor couſin, or a led captain —
Oh the two charming pair.
Precious groupe, fare ye well
And now, Sir, whatever may be your determinations towards me—here are pretenſions you may patronize without breach of diſcretion. The eſtate which devolves to my friend—
To prevent errors, is not his to be⯑ſtow.
What now—more flaws?
The eſtate was his beyond the reach of controverſy: but before he was truly ſure of it, on his way to Hyde-Park did this ſpendthrift, by a ſtroke of his pen, diveſt himſelf of every ſhil⯑ling—Here is the covenant by which he binds himſelf to execute proper conveyances as ſoon as the neceſſary forms can be gone through.
And in favour of whom is this deſperate act?
Of a moſt dangerous ſeducer—a little mercenary, that when ſhe gets hold of the heart, does not leave an atom of it our own.
How!
And there ſhe ſtands;
with a look and an emo⯑tion that wou' d condemn her before any court in the univerſe.
Glorious—matchleſs Clifford!
Brother, this muſt not be.
Your pardon, my dear Harriet, it is done. Sir Clement, my ſiſter's fortune is ſtill far ſhort of what you expected with Miſs Alſcrip; for that deficiency, I have only to offer the virtues, Lord Gayville has proved, and the affection ſhe found it eaſier to control than to coneeal. If you will receive her, thus circumſtanced, into your family, mine has been an acquiſition indeed.
Now, Sir, where's ſuſpicion! Where is now the ruling principle that governs mankind! Thro' what per⯑ſpective, by what trial, will you find ſelf-intereſt here? What, not one pithy word to mock my credulity!—Alas! poor Yorick—quite chop-fallen. —Forgive me, Sir, I own I am agitated to ex⯑travagance—You thought me diſconcerted at the [109] firſt diſcovery; I am delighted at the laſt, there's a problem in my diſpoſition worthy your ſolving.
Mr. Rightly, favour me with that paper in your hand.
Mr. Clifford's engagement, Sir,
What do you mean, Sir?
To cancel the obligation, and pay the equivalent to Gayville, or if Clifford will have his own way and become a beggar by renewing it, to make an heireſs of my own for his reparation— and there ſhe ſtands
With ſenſibility and vivacity ſo uncommonly blended, that they extract benevolence where ever it exiſts, and create it where it never was before—Your point is carried—You may both fall upon your knees, for the conſent of ladies.
In this happy moment, let my errors be forgot, and my love alone remember'd.
With theſe ſanctions for my avowal—I will not deny that I ſaw and felt the ſincerity of your attachment, from the time it was capable of being reſtrained by reſpect.
Words are wanting, Lady Emily —
I wiſh they may with all my heart, but it is generally remarked that wanting words, is the beginning of a florid ſet ſpeech—To be ſeri⯑ous, Clifford—We want but little explanation on either ſide—Sir Clement, will tell you how long we have converſed by our actions.
My dear Uncle, how a ſmile becomes you in its natural meaning.
If you think me a convert, you are miſtaken, I have ever believ'd ſelf to be the pre⯑dominant [110] principle of the human mind—My heart at this inſtant confirms the doctrine—There's my problem for yours, my dear Emily, and may all who hear me agree in this ſolution—to reward the deſerving, and make thoſe we love happy, is ſelf-intereſt in the extreme.
Appendix A EPILOGUE. Spoken by Miſs FARREN.
[]- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3990 The heiress A comedy in five acts As performed at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-61AD-4