[7] PAMELA.

ACT I. SCENE I.

MERCY on us! why this Houſe is going to be turn'd topſy-turvy, to be ſure!

Why did not I tell thee ſome ſtrange Combuſtion would happen from my Dream?

Nay, to be ſure, Dreams, Dreams are great Prognoſticators.

Prognoſticators!—Ay, marry, be they; they never fair'd me yet.

Nor me—for ye all know the very next Day after I dream'd I fell into the Horſe-pond, and Arthur here took me out half drown'd, and brought me to the Kitchen Fire, and, methought, being mortal weak, I fell out of the Chair, and was ſcorch'd moſt fearfully; and to be ſure the next Day—ay—the very next Day—was I taken with the Ague and Fever.

Why my Book of Dreams gives 'mazing Ac⯑counts [8] of Robbers being taken, and Murders brought to light ſeven Years after they were done.

To be ſure—to be ſure—But, prithee, Harry, tell us thy Dream.

—Ay, let's hear it, let's hear it.

Why laſt Market-day I came home, as 'twere a little tipſy, and laid me down i'th' Stable, on a Truſs of Straw, and fell faſt aſleep; and there, what ſhould I dream, but that our Houſe was turn'd into a Windmill.

Merciful, Sirs!

Ay, a Windmill,—and that Mrs. Jewkes, Maſter's Lincolnſhire Houſe keeper, was the Miller's Man, and we four, to be ſure, turn'd into Aſſes—and—murrain take her—nothing would ſerve her turn, but ſhe would have us to draw in place o'th' Horſes;—but methought we were plaguy reſty—for, to be ſure, never was the like heard of; and jirk us about ſhe did moſt cruelly.—

Ay, they ſay ſhe's a mortal croſs Woman—Well, well, but ſo.

So methought, at a little Diſtance from the Mill, was good Mrs. Jervis, our Houſe-keeper here, and pretty Mrs. Pamela, my late Lady's waiting Wo⯑man, with each a Bundle under their Arms, as if ſo be they were going to ſeek their Fortunes—And is not all this now plainly made out—is not the whole Houſe in a Quandary, and a terrible Uproar? Is not the 'Squire, as it were, turn'd to another ſort of a Man, and mainly alter'd for the worſe? And are not Mrs. Jervis and Mrs. Pamela diſcharged out of their Service, and ordered to gather up their Things and provide them⯑ſelves?—

Ay, and does not Maſter Longman, the Ste⯑ward, ſay the 'Squire talks of ſending for that ſame Mrs. Jewkes?

Ay, and then comes our Share of this woeful Dream.—

Well, but, my Lads, I have ſome ſweet [...] bitter too—I overheard Maſter Longman [9] tell Mrs. Jervis, the 'Squire was looking out for a Wife, and that will be a rare Time for Vails, for to be ſure we ſhall have more Comers and Goers than a Beehive in a Summer's Day.

Ay, marry, thoſe wou'd be joyful Times, in⯑deed, and I wiſh, with all my Heart, the poor dear Souls Mrs. Jervis and Mrs. Pamela were to ſtay and take part.

What a murrain makes the 'Squire in ſuch a Fluſter with them tho'?

Why you muſt know Mrs. Pamela, they ſay, has been a little too bold, and given Maſter untoward Anſwers and you know he's deadly haughty and paſ⯑ſionate but, poor Soul, I wonder how it ſhould chance ſo, for to be ſure I never heard her give any living Soul in the Houſe a wry Word.

Nor I—ſhe's as gentle as a Lamb.

No more Gall than a Pidgeon.

Why ſo Mrs. Jervis told Maſter, and talk'd a little roundly they ſay, which made his Honour in ſuch a deſperate Paſſion, that he ordered her to pro⯑vide too—Odsheart, that ſame Pamela's a dainty Girl—but deadly ſhy; I don't think a Ser⯑vant in the Houſe durſt ever give her ſo much as a ci⯑vil Salute.

Well, well, no matter for that, ſhe's a pre⯑cious good-natur'd Soul—Odſo, here's the Steward and Mrs. Jervis—ſhe's giving up her Charge,—and 'twon't become us to be ſeen loitering here.

Away, away.—

SCENE II.

I hope, Mr. Longman, you find every Thing properly and juſtly accounted for?

So juſtly, good Mrs. Jervis, that I am under great Concern to find my Maſter's Warmth of Temper ſo little conſiſtent with his Intereſt, to diſcharge a Perſon from his Family who has many Years with [10] ſuch Prudence and Juſtice ſo well acquitted her Truſt.

Your Approbation of my Conduct, Mr. Longman, (next to that of our Maſter's) is its beſt Juſtification.

You have more than that, good Mrs. Jervis, the Approbation and good Wiſhes of the whole Family, which ſeldom go hand in hand with a Fruga⯑lity like yours, for the good Opinion of the lower Ser⯑vants in a Family is rarely obtain'd but by Indulgencies hurtful to the Intereſt of its Maſter—And I cou'd wiſh you'd give me Leave (for the Advantage and Plea⯑ſure of our's) to ſolicit Mr. Belvile for your Continu⯑ance.

Why, Mr. Longman, there are many prevailing Reaſons to accept with Pleaſure your kind offer—And what I am apt to think may induce his Honour not to reject it, is the Removal of the dear, un⯑happy, tho' innocent Occaſion of his Reſentment to me.

The lovely Pamela you mean! Oh, Mrs. Jervis! there is I fear another Motive which your Diſcretion and Regard to my Maſter's Honour has con⯑cealed, that renders his Reſentment, as you call it, in⯑excuſable to both.

But his complying with the good Girl's earneſt Requeſt to be ſent home to her Father and Mo⯑ther, is, I think, a ſufficient Proof of his Reſolution no longer to entertain ſuch Thoughts that might (as you but too juſtly ſuſpect) prove hurtful to dear Pamela's Virtue and his own Honour.

'Tis true—and I am heartily re⯑joiced to find the Temptation will be remov'd from both, for 'twou'd be a hard Task, Mrs. Jervis, for poor Pamela, ſtrong as ſhe is in Virtue, to withſtand the artful inſinuating Snares of a handſome wealthy Man, like our Maſter, and I fear a much harder for him to overcome his too warm Deſire for ſo tempting an Object, were they to have conſtant Opportunities of ſeeing each other.

I ſhou'd have few Fears of her Side, were I certain he would employ no other Power than Perſuaſion.

Why I think the young Creature's al⯑moſt unequall'd, by any of her tender Years, in the Principles of Piety and Virtue—And it warms my very Heart, that one ſo young ſhould ſo earneſtly pre⯑fer ſharing the Poverty of her good Parents, with the Preſervation of her Honeſty, to all the enticing Baits of Finery and Grandeur, with the Loſs of it—but, however, 'tis better as it is—But it is now pretty near the Time his Honour order'd me to attend him in his Cloſet with your Accounts, and then I'll make bold to tell him my Opinion, in relation to you. Mrs. Jervis, a good Day to you.

And to you, worthy Mr. Longman.

SCENE III.

How weakly founded is the Opinion that Happineſs is ſeated in large Poſſeſſions; tho' till lately I have had but little Reaſon to diſſent from that Opinion, and have ever made my Fortune ſubſervient to my Pleaſures—and ſhall I now ſuffer a peeviſh low born Girl to inter⯑rupt their Courſe, and with the muſty Principles of Virtue preach me from my Purpoſe?—No! I am de⯑termin'd not to ſacrifice my Purſuits of Pleaſure and ſubſtantial Joy to her wild imaginary Notions of Virtue and Honour.—'Tis certainly the firſt Time they ever took ſuch deep Root in a Cottage, and I'll yet try if I have not Force enough to deſtroy theſe wondrous rural Battlements, and reduce the romantic Governor to capitulate.

SCENE IV.

Well, Mr. Longman, have you look'd over this inſolent Houſe-keeper's Accounts?

Yes, Sir, and find them in every Article juſt to a Tittle—and I hope, Sir, you'll not be offended if [12] I preſume to ſay, I fear 'twill be difficult for your Ho⯑nour to meet with a Servant with leſs Inſolence and ſo much Fidelity.

Why thou imagineſt the chief Merit of Ser⯑vants conſiſts in their Honeſty.

I confeſs, Sir, I think it is ſo in all Man⯑kind.

'Tis a Sign thou haſt convers'd but little with the gay World.—Amongſt them the ſtrongeſt Ce⯑ment of Regard is the mutual Indulgence of each o⯑thers Pleaſures—and Morals make up no Part of their Friendſhips—but in Servants 'tis an abſolute Duty, to conform to their Maſter's Foibles, and ſhew an implicit Obedience to all his Commands—.

May I take the Liberty, Sir, of giving my Opinion on this Head, tho' it differs from your's?

Ay, freely.

Why then, Sir, were it poſſible, and I think it hardly ſo, that your Honour ſhould impoſe any Com⯑mands on me, which my little Portion of Reaſon inform⯑ed me would prove prejudicial to your Morals, Cha⯑racter, and Reputation, I ſhould think myſelf as much bound in Duty to reject ſuch Commands, and uſe my weak Endeavours to convince you of their Conſequence, as I have thought myſelf bound to obey you in all you have hitherto been pleas'd to honour me with.

Sure this old Fellow has no Suſpicion of my Attempts on Pamela

But, Mr. Longman, do you think me capable of impoſing any Commands on Mrs. Jervis that might prove pernicious to my Ho⯑nour?

Pardon me, good Sir—You were pleaſed to mention an implicit Duty neceſſary in Servants, and that drew from me my Opinion.

Perhaps I might—but as the Sentiments of others, not my own—and I am ſo well convinced of Mrs. Jervis's Regard both to my Honour and Inte⯑reſt, that now Paſſion has ſubſided, were ſhe to make a Conceſſion I would reſtore her.

Sir, ſhe makes the humbleſt, and by me in⯑treats your Goodneſs to replace her.

Did ſhe employ you for that Purpoſe?

She did, Sir; and I hope not in vain.

Well, ſhe may continue—but I'll be ſworn you have no ſuch Commiſſion from that obſtinate Baggage Pamela.

No, Sir,—the poor young Creature is ſo much tranſported with the Thoughts of returning, and paying her Duty to her good Parents, ſhe ſeems little employed about any other Concern, yet often expreſſes the moſt grateful Acknowledgments for the bountiful Favours beſtowed on her by you, Sir, and my good Lady your Mother.

You miſtake her, Longman—ſhe's quite in⯑ſenſible to all Gratitude, and looks upon 'em merely as due to her great Merit.

Merit, Sir! With Submiſſion, I have always obſerv'd in her the greateſt Meekneſs and Humility, and that's the Character the whole Family gives her.

Ay, ſhe's a very Idol with you all—but no more of her.—Order Robin, my Lincolnſhire Coach⯑man, to attend me an Hour hence.

I ſhall, Sir—

SCENE V.

I find, in ſpite of all my Pride and Reſolution, this little Gipſey is ſtill fluttering round my Heart—have her I muſt—yet I ſee but ſlender Hopes of a Com⯑pliance—and Force is baſe and brutal—nor would I give Six-pence for her Perſon without her Inclina⯑tion—Ah! I am far gone, that's plain—heretofore Minds had no Share in my Amours—'Sdeath, I ſhall turn an errant whining Coxcomb—Well!—and perhaps that may ſooner bring Madam about, than the haughty commanding Airs I have given myſelf—for ſhe has a gentle Softneſs about her.

SCENE VI.

I'th' Name of ill Luck, how came the 'Squire to pick me out for this untowardly Job—A murrain on't, to be ſure he read in my face, I was falſe-heart⯑ed—tho'f I can't call to mind any foul play—ſave this—I ever did to the pooreſt mortal breathing—and this,—more out of Fear, than any ill will to⯑wards the Parties—for to be ſure they ne'er de⯑ſerv'd it at my Hands—for to ſay Truth, there is not a better well-natured young Body in this County, or the next, than Mrs. Pamela—and 'twou'd melt a Heart of Stone to ſee the good old Folks her Parents, take on about her—and good notable Folk they are Adod! the old Man wou'd ha' made a ſpecial Parſon! Well! to be ſure if any of 'em ſhould do otherwiſe than well, for want of theſe plaguy Letters his Honour has ta'en from me, I ſhall never be able to ſleep in a Room by myſelf—Hey day! why what a dickens be all the wenches got together for, I trow—I'll ſtep a⯑ſide, and hearken—

SCENE VII.

Well to be ſure, this is joyful News?—

By my troth, the beſt News we've had t'Year.

I ſhould not be more overjoy'd at a new Sweet⯑heart.

Sweetheart! I fakins, I don't think I ſhould have been half ſo merry had I been married.

May I never be married if I believe thee.

Nor I.

For certain, Mrs. Jervis is a mighty good ſort of a woman, and we are all overjoy'd ſhe ſtays; but [15] there's no manner of Compariſon between a Man, and a Woman.

None at all, none at all.

I cant make out what they are in this taking for—

How now my Laſſes! what's all this Merriment about?

To be ſure he has not heard it.

Why, where haſt thou been moping—not to hear the happieſt Tidings, that e'er came to Hall?

What Tidings?

Why Mrs. Jewkes—

Is dead I hope—

No, no, no, no.

One at a time, good Laſſes, one at a time.

Why then Mrs. Jewkes—who put us all in ſuch a diſmal Pucker about his Honour's ſending for her thither, is to ſtay where ſhe is, and Mrs. Jervis holds her own, and keeps her place.

Why marry theſe are joyful Tidings indeed for that ſame Mrs. Jewkes would have made fearful work—for my part, I'd have look'd out for a new Service.

And I.

Now if Mrs. Pamela were but to ſtay too, we ſhou'd be as happy as the Day's long.

Ah! ſhe'll ne'er bring her proud Heart down to ask.

Why I wonder, Jane, how it ſhou'd fall out ſo, but the poor young Body never had half ſo good a Word from thee, as from all the reſt of her Fellow Servants.

Why becauſe ſhe's envious, and can't endure to hear all the Servants praiſe the young Woman, her Good-nature, and her featly Perſon.

Perhaps there are people who may think others as fearly as ſhe.

And if there were, poor ſoul, I'll be ſworn ſhe'd bear 'em no malice.

Ay, but you know, Jane has a ſneaking kind⯑neſs for our Harry, and ever ſince he praiſed Mrs. Pa⯑mela ſo hugely one night in the kitchen, Jane cou'd ne'er endure the ſight of her.

Who told you forſooth, I had a ſneaking kindneſs for Harry?

Why the Fortune-teller told us all ſo, for ſhe deſcrib'd Harry to a hair, and you redden'd up to the Eyes, and was as ſhameface'd, as if ſhe had told you you were breeding.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

The Father! why you're all full of your jeers and may hap I could jeer upon others if I was minded to't.

Say your worſt of me, I put you to the de⯑fiance.

And I.

Come, come, Laſſes, ne'er wrangle who has a mind to fall too firſt—I'll paſs my word none of you deſign to lead Apes in Hell, as they ſay—Come, let's go and take part of the Bowl Maſter Jona⯑than, the Butler, has prepared for us all, to drink a good journey to Mrs. Pamela, and her well-being with her Father and Mother.

ACT II. SCENE I.

WELL! my dear Father and Mother, thank Heaven, this will be the laſt Scrowl you'll be troubled with from your poor Pamela! and I have no Fears about me, but that I ſhall return to you, innocent as your Wiſhes, and my own—Tho' Heaven has [17] been pleaſed to put me upon the ſevereſt Trials for its preſervation—but let me not repine! No, my heart ſhould rather overflow with thankfulneſs at my happy, bleſt deliverance, and my Maſter's Reſolution, in permitting me to return to my dear Parents, with that Bleſſing which will cheer their honeſt Minds, and make 'em ſhed Tears of Joy and Gladneſs over their innocent Child, tho' almoſt beat down with poverty and old Age.

SCENE II.

What ſtill diſconſolate, my dear Pamela? I thought thy Heart had now been eaſy, and thou hadſt done with Tears.

With all that gave me pain, I hope I have; but theſe, Mrs. Jervis, fall from a quite different cauſe; the reflecting on the comfortable Joy, I ſhall both give and receive, in meeting my good old Parents.

Well thou art a miracle of innocence and duty, I ſhall never be able to bear the Houſe when thou art gone—'twill break my Heart—but let me hear from thee, my deareſt Pamela, and don't forget me.

Dear Mrs. Jervis, I ſhould have little Title to that Goodneſs and merit you have often praiſed in me, cou'd I be capable of forgetting that tender, and even motherly affection you have always ſhewn me; and be aſſured, next the Love and Duty I owe my dear Parents, you have the largeſt ſhare in the heart of poor Pamela, who can only teſtify her Gratitude by Words.

Deareſt Child, I want no other Proofs; but my good Girl, why doſt thou keep on theſe Cloaths ſtill? are you reſolved to go in them?

Ay, no doubt—they are the propereſt; theſe I can wear without reproach from my poor neigh⯑bours or to myſelf, at the Fruit of innocence alone, and honeſt induſtry.

Why ſo you may many others, my good old Lady gave you.

No, they'll all appear too fine and flaunting for my humble Station; nor when they are gone can the circumſtances of my poor Parents afford me any like 'em.

Thou art a dear prudent Soul—Well, Pamela, his honour has ordered the Travelling-Chariot to carry you, and Lincolnſhire Robin to drive; but he directed me to tell you, he muſt ſee you before you go and that he has ſomething particular to adviſe you about.

What! am I to undergo more perſecution? I hoped he wou'd have ſuffered me to depart, with that Eaſe and Quietneſs of mind into which I had compoſed myſelf.

Don't be alarm'd, my Dear—he ſeems quite changed, and reflected with great concern upon the injuries he had offered you; and I verily think you might even venture to ſtay, which with a very ſerious, grave Look, he ordered me to tell you, you might, if you thought fit, without the leaſt apprehenſions of his renewing his Attempts upon you.

That may be true—and for his Sake, I hope it is; but ſtaying, I am ſure, would be a ſtrong In⯑ducement to the renewing his Attempts, ſince that would give him ſufficient Reaſon to conclude, my re⯑ſenting his Treatment was, (what I have heard it cal⯑led) the little Artifice and Cunning of my Sex—and not a determined Reſolution to preſerve my Innocence.

Well, thou art beſt able to diſtinguiſh, and I'll not pretend to give my Advice, where there's ſuch Prudence and Underſtanding—but I think, however, 'twill be right to ſee him, ſince he has requeſted it in ſuch a manner.

Wou'd he had not requeſted it, for notwith⯑ſtanding this Alteration of Behaviour, you deſcribe, my Apprehenſions of ſeeing him, bring back, to my Remembrance, all his pernicious Plots, and barbarous Uſage of me—and yet, if I refuſe it, he'll reproach [19] me with Inſolence and Ingratitude, and a Multitude of Crimes my poor Heart's a Stranger to.

Come Come, my dear Pamela, be comforted; I am certain you may ſee him ſafely, and that his Re⯑pentance is ſincere.

Heav'n grant it may.

SCENE III.

If I can't prevail upon this little Baggage to ſtay, I ſhall have a rare ringing Lecture from my outrageous Siſter; ſhe'll conclude I have ſtormed the Fort, and not finding the Plunder anſwer my Expectation, have juſt carried off what I thought moſt valuable, and left the commanding Officer to diſpoſe of what remains in the beſt Manner ſhe can.—But 'tis a Queſtion, faith, whether the Lady will think fit to do me the Honour of an Interview—and to confeſs the Truth, I have given her pretty ſubſtantial Reaſons to be alarmed—O! here comes Mademoiſelle la Governante.

Well, Mrs. Jervis, did you let Mrs. Pamela know I deſired to ſee her before ſhe went?

Yes, Sir, and ſhe attends without to wait your Commands.

Bid her come in—Stay—I'll go myſelf.

Wou'd to Heav'n the poor Creature were ſafe at Home.

SCENE IV.

Prithee, dear Pamela, what needs all this Ce⯑remony now? You ſhould no longer look upon yourſelf in the Character of a Servant.

It would be the higheſt Preſumption, Sir, to conſider myſelf in any other Character, and the Re⯑membrance of it will always fill me with the moſt grateful, pleaſing Thoughts.

If the bare Recollection can furniſh ſuch pleaſing Ideas, I ſhould conclude the Continuance of the Poſſeſſion might be more deſireable—and that—Pamela, wholly depends upon your own Choice.

Perſons in my humble State of Life, Sir, ought very ſeldom, if at all, to govern their Actions by their Choice; nay, ſometimes even thoſe of high Con⯑dition, are apt to make very fatal Miſtakes by a too blind Obedience to their Choice, in the Purſuit of what they call Pleaſures.

Ha; well ſaid, my little Remembrancer—I aſſure you, canted forth with great Solemnity—Egad, I fancy the good old Lady my Mother, miſtook both thy Sex and Genius, and inſtead of teaching thee to raiſe Paſte, and make Cordials, thou ſhouldſt have been inſtructed in adminiſtring ſpiritual Comforts—and a ſmart pretty Levite thou hadſt been, S'death, you Baggage, what Havock you'd have made among the Maids?

Mrs. Jervis informed me, Sir, you had ſome⯑thing to ſay to me of a more ſerious Sort.

Why you little wicked Slut, can any thing be more ſerious than turning Parſon; but I have ſome⯑thing very ſerious to ſay to thee, 'tis upon Matrimony, and if that is not a ſerious Subject, I am at a Loſs to furniſh one. In ſhort, Pamela, I have been thinking to make thee ſome Amends, for all the Rogues Tricks I have play'd thee, by getting thee a good Husband; I have a Chaplain in Lincolnſhire, I have promiſed to provide for, one Williams, he's a likely young Fellow, if you'll ſtay, I'll ſend for him directly, the Parſon has Taſte, and I'm ſure muſt be ſtruck with all this Youth and Beauty.

—S'death, I could almoſt marry thee myſelf.

Sir, I beg you'll give me Leave to with⯑draw.

You ſhan't ſtir, by Heaven!

Then I muſt take the Liberty to inſiſt, Sir, upon a different Behaviour.

Well, well, it ſhall have its own Humour; but what ſay you to this Parſon, Child?

I ſay, Sir, I think the Subject in general of too ſolemn a kind, to be treated of, in the light man⯑ner you are pleaſed to expreſs yourſelf; and as to my particular Thoughts of it—I have never yet en⯑tertain'd any, nor could I ſuppoſe you ſerious in what you ſay, have I a right to entertain ſuch Thoughts, without firſt receiving the Approbation of thoſe, who have an undoubted Power over my Mind and Perſon.

Well, I'll immediately ſend Word to your Father of my Intention, and, if he concurs, deſire him to come hither directly.

Sir, in an Act of ſuch Importance, 'tis cer⯑tainly my Duty firſt to make a perſonal Application, and 'twill be neceſſary I ſhould myſelf have ſome longer Time to reflect upon an Act, on which the fu⯑ture Happineſs or Miſery of my Life depends; there⯑fore, Sir, I hope I have Leave to purſue my Reſolu⯑tion of returning home.

Well, Madam, ſince my Friendſhip meets with ſo ungrateful a Reception, you are at Liberty to purſue what Reſolutions you pleaſe.

I humbly thank you, Sir; but let me intreat you not to think ſo hardly of the unhappy Pamela, low as ſhe is, to interpret that ungrateful, which was the Effect of Duty, and a Deſire to enjoy that Liberty which even Slaves are allow'd on ſuch Occaſions.

Come, come, Inſolent; I ſee plainly, under all this Mask of Duty, there lurks a baſe arrogant Suſpi⯑cion of my Sincerity in the Propoſal—but be aſſured—

Lady Davers, Sir, is juſt alighted.

I'll wait upon her.

The Chariot, Madam, is ready to wait upon you when you pleaſe.

My humbleſt Acknowledgments, Sir, for this, and every other bounteous Favour I have received; I have no Power to expreſs, but by theſe ſilent Witneſſes of their Sincerity and Truth.

Certainly, Art and Nature were never ſo agreeably blended, as in this Creature; every Mo⯑ment, I find myſelf more deeply affected by her, and the oftner I turn, am but the farther entangled in this Labyrinth—'Slife, I had forgot my Siſter—O! here ſhe comes, and, if I'm not miſtaken, in a Diſ⯑poſition to refreſh my Memory a little.

I am extremely ſorry, Sir, my impertinent Viſit has broke in upon your more agreeable Amuſe⯑ments, and a Converſation ſo polite as that of your Servants muſt neceſſarily afford—but I only juſt ſtep'd up, to convince you—

That you are in a violent Warmth, without one Jot of Reaſon; prithee, dear Child, endeavour to ſubdue theſe boiſterous Paſſions, and recollect the Advice I have often given you: Ever to diſtinguiſh between the eaſy diſpaſſionate Behaviour, proper for a Woman of Quality, and the clamorous turbulent Outrages of the Ladies, who have received their Edu⯑cation about Covent-Garden.

I gad! that's a Stinger. Ha, ha, ha!

By the Company that juſt now left you, Sir, and the extraordinary Delicacy in expreſſing yourſelf, one might reaſonably conclude truly, the Creatures you mention had engroſſed the largeſt Share of your Converſation.

Why ay, Child, you know one can't avoid giving great Part of one's Time to ſo near a Relation as a Siſter. Ha, ha, ha!

Sir!—

Nay, nay, my dear Lady Davers, you muſt be laugh'd out of theſe ridiculous Flights.

Why, upon my Soul, Sir,—

Sir, pray excuſe me, upon my Word I did not ſee you.

Why, 'faith, Sir, I did imagine the lively Brilliancy of my Lady's Fire, had, as it were, ſtruck upon the viſionary Nerves, and obſcured me from Ob⯑ſervation.

Inſolent Coxcomb! dar'ſt thou to affront me with thy ſaucy Raillery?

Let me periſh, Madam, but 'tis extremely ſevere to conſtrue the Effects of Wit and Genius into an Affront.

Upon my Word, my dear, this Reſentment is moſt unreaſonably founded—Pamela, who is returning to her Father, juſt before your Coach ſtop'd was come to pay her Compliment of Leave, and I was only juſt giving her a ſhort Leſſon of Inſtruction for her future Conduct, and—

Yes, yes, I make no doubt, ſhe has re⯑ceived very notable Leſſons of Inſtruction, which will ſhortly produce ſpeaking Inſtances of her Tutor's Care.

Upon my Honour, you injure both the Girl and me; I think her ſincerely virtuous, and poſſeſſed of every other Quality that ſhould compoſe the amia⯑ble and good, and more particularly ſo, in her high Senſe of Duty to her Parents, which ſo remarkably appears, in giving up her advantageous Situation in my Family, to return to their Comfort and Aſſiſtance, who it ſeems are in a very advanced and declining Age.

Nay, I promiſe you I have a much better Opinion of the Girl than you, and if ſhe has preſerv⯑ed her Innocence, 'tis wholly owing to her Conduct and Prudence.

Well, I'll not diſpute the Point with you; what think you of a turn in the Garden before Tea?

No, I chuſe to ſee the Girl before ſhe goes—Pray order ſomebody to ſend her to me.

With all my Heart—Sir, do you chooſe walking?

By all means, Sir, I wait upon you with in⯑finite Pleaſure.

Notwithſtanding this ſeeming Indifference I am convinced, there muſt be ſome very particular Reaſons for this Girl's leaving the Family, more than he cares I ſhould be acquainted with; my Authority over her may perhaps influence her, to give me ſome farther Light into this Affair.

Has your Ladyſhip any Commands for me?

Ay, Child, my Brother tells me you are leaving the Family, I am concerned at the Occaſion.

'Tis an Occaſion, Madam, that to me affords a double Motive for Concern, the leaving a Family where I have rather been indulged like Child, than treated as a Servant, and the unhappy melancholy Cauſe that renders my leaving it unavoidable.

Why, ay, I'm afraid 'tis an unhappy me⯑lancholy Cauſe indeed—But, Child, is it not rather of the lateſt to reflect upon that now?

The lateſt! Heav'n forbid!

Invoking Heav'n is preſumptious, while we are apparently under its Reſentment.

Surely, Madam, 'tis no Preſumption in a Child to ſupplicate Heav'n in the Defence of its afflict⯑ed Parents.

Ha! ſhe has her Leſſon thoroughly per⯑fect, why that's mighty pretty truly; but, Child, thoſe little Arts won't do with me, I ſee thro' 'em.

I am ſorry, Madam, you think me fall'n ſo deep in Wickedneſs, to effect a Sorrow, where the ſtrongeſt Ties of Duty and Religion enforce the tender⯑eſt and moſt ſincere.

You wou'd then really perſuade me, that you have no other Motive for leaving this Family, but Duty to your Parents, forſooth?

Your Ladyſhip muſt think me guilty of the higheſt Ingratitude and Folly, to be induced to leave it from any Reaſons that ariſe from Want of Counte⯑nance or Indulgence.

No, no—I'm only afraid you've had too much Countenance and Indulgence.

I hope, Madam, that has not appear'd in any Part of my Behaviour.

Then plainly—I imagine my Brother and you—

Madam, I muſt humbly take the Liberty to interrupt your Ladyſhip, and prevent a Charge, which nothing but the Guilt of, cou'd ſo ſenſibly ſhock me, as the bare Suſpicion—and I hope my Innocence will plead for my Preſumption.

Mrs. Pamela, Mrs. Jervis order'd me to let you know the Chariot is ready.

Indeed!

Madam, I humbly take my Leave.

Well, Pamela, I hope my Suſpicions are without Foundation; and that you deſerve my beſt Wiſhes for your Welfare, which you may always de⯑pend upon, while you maintain your Character of In⯑nocence.

Madam, your Ladyſhip's moſt obedient Ser⯑vant.

The Chariot!—This particular Mark of Favour is not without its particular Motives, I am convinc'd; and yet in the Girl's Behaviour there really appear'd no ſigns of Guilt—However, I am determin'd to make a ſtrict Enquiry after her Ladyſhip's Conduct at her Father's, and what Rambles and Jaunts my good Brother takes—They ſhall manage their Affairs cunningly indeed, if they diſguiſe them from my Knowledge—And if they do carry on any ſe⯑cret [26] Correſpondence—I'll take care it ſhan't long con⯑tinue ſo, I warrant me.

Ha, ha, ha! Yonder's poor Belvile, dying for Love of his own Maid, and can't ſubdue her harden'd Heart; Ha, ha, ha!—What weak trifling Mortals ſome Men of Fortune are—If this Abigail is really coy, ſhe has certainly ſeen ſome more deſireable Object—A Girl, with a Country Education, may have Taſte, and who knows what Effects my frequent Viſits may have had upon her—I'll purſue the Thought, faith—But then Belvile is my Friend—True—But then Pamela is warm, young, and tempting; and the Faſhion, thanks to the polite Taſte of the Age, will excuſe the Conſe⯑quences; ſo, my dear Pammy, have at you—Ha! here ſhe comes a propos.

So, my little Pammy! What! equipp'd for thy Jour⯑ney? And art thou really, Child, ſo extremely ſtupid, to leave the Pleaſure and Gaiety of this Family, for thy old Daddy's thatch'd Hovel, and the comfortable Diet of brown Bread and ruſty Bacon?

My Pleaſures, Sir, thank Heaven, have turn'd more upon the Improvement and Correction of my Mind, than the Gratifications of my Appetite.

Harkee Child, what Religion is your Father of?—A rank Papiſt I'll hold fifty Pound! and my little Pammy here intended for a Nun—for ſuch Doctrire, Child, is fit only for a Convent, or a ſtale Maid of five and thirty.

I think it, Sir, a Doctrine ſuitable to every Religion and Age; and if the young Gentlemen of Condition would practiſe it a little more, they might often preſerve a good Conſtitution, at the Expence of a very bad Faſhion.

Rat me, Child, but thy Head's ſtuff'd with mighty odd Conceits.—But, barkee, Pammy—

Sir, I muſt beg Pardon, I am waited for—.

Egad! if I had you a Month in London, I'd give you a ſmart Leſſon or two, ſhould quickly convert all this muſty Prudery, into the moſt ſprightly Coque⯑try that ever ſhew'd off at high Mall in the Park.

I'm better pleas'd, Sir, with my own homely Behaviour—Your very humble Servant, Sir.

Well, thou art a moſt extraordinary Creature, and ſuch a one, that has not fall'n in the Courſe of my Ac⯑quaintance; if I were to deſcribe this Girl's odd Prin⯑ciples to the Smarts of the Town, they'd ſwear I only intended to bam 'em, and could never form the moſt diſtant Idea of ſuch an amazing Compoſition, as Beauty, Senſe, Sixteen, and profound Gravity.

You perfectly underſtand your Inſtructions?

Yes, an't pleaſe your Honour.

Well, diſcharge 'em properly, and I'll re⯑ward you—but take particular Care in being punc⯑tual to the Time, I have directed you to deliver the Letter to Pamela.

I ſhall, Sir.

Well, I believe ſhe now only waits for you, be gone.

This Scheme I think can't but prove effectual;—at my Lincolnſhire Houſe, ſhe'll be removed from the prying Jealouſy of my inquiſitive Siſter, and the im⯑pertinent Obſervation of ſuch a Number of Servants: And, if I'm not miſtaken, my Friend Mrs. Jewkes has not altogether ſo many Qualms, as the ſanctify'd Mrs. ervis—Ay—I think 'twill do—but the Pleaſure of conſidering, I ſhall ſo entirely have her in my Pow⯑er, is not a little diſturb'd, by reflecting how terribly [28] the poor Creature will be ſhock'd, at finding that In⯑nocence betray'd, ſhe has ſo long, and worthily de⯑fended—Ha,—worthily! and am I endeavouring to deſtroy that Worth, I cannot Help admiring?—To what irrational Lengths does this Paſſion hurry us? What is this Medley of Honour and impetuous Inclina⯑tion,

ACT III. SCENE I.

WEll, Robert, I profeſs thou haſt brought me a delicate tender Lambkin, and a careful diligent Shepherd, I'll prove to't, I'll warrant me—but alack, it does ſo bleet, and bleet—as if the little Heart on't wou'd burſt—ah! the 'Squire, Robert, loves a young Tit Bit; but I vow he's a ſinful Man to undo ſuch a young innocent Body—let him look to that, tho'—we are but Servants.

Althouf I am but a Servant, an I had not be⯑lieved he deſigned for Matrimony, I wou'd not have underta'en the Job of bringing her off.

Matrimony—alack a day, Robert, doſt thou think ſo fine a Gentleman as our Maſter wou'd undervalue his Family ſo much to marry his Mother's Waiting-woman? no, no, perhaps he may deſign in⯑deed to give out they are married, to quiet the young Woman's Mind a little, but I'll warrant he'll ne'er let the Nooſe be drawn ſo tight, but he may ſlip it when⯑ever he pleaſes.

For my Part, if any thing amiſs ſhou'd happen to the poor young Woman, I ſhall never be my own Man again—and ſhe's mortal fearful on't—poor Soul twou'd make one's Heart bleed to ſee her take on ſo.

I warrant when the 'Squire comes, he'll change her Note—young Girls are always ſqueam⯑iſh and coy beforehand—I remember I was ſo myſelf—Good lack! good lack! what a Racket did I keep! and, to ſay truth, I wou'd I had been more chary than I was—for a faithleſs Wretch I met with—well!—he has a deal to anſwer for.

I cod, ſo he has, if he has all your Sins to an⯑ſwer for.

Well, Ann, how didſt thou leave my little Charge? what in the Mopes ſtill?

Why, forſooth?

Forſooth! why how now Minks! wilt thou never be the better for all the wholeſome inſtructions I have given thee? how often have I told you, that all we grave Gentlewomen at the Heads of Families are called.—Madam—

Why Madam, the young Body is in a fearful Taking—madam—ſhe ſobs and cries, and ſobs—Madam—I'm afraid ſhe'll go beſide her Wits, for my part, for ſhe talks to herſelf a huge pace—Madam.

Well, go you and get the Chamber ready, I'll go in and comfort her.

A liitle of my agreeable Chat will revive her Spirits I warrant.

I'll paſs my word ſhe'd rather have your Room than your Company, as they ſay—But I mun go and look after my poor Tits, for I drove 'em at a woundy Rate.

Unhappy Pamela! what ſecret Crime haſt thou committed againſt Heaven, that it ſhou'd thus provoke its vengeance to afflict thee? Examine well thy inmoſt thoughts, 'tis ſaid, content's the Child of Innocence—if ſo—ſome hidden Guilt muſt ſurely lurk within my breaſt, that fatally, tho' juſtly robs me of the bleſs⯑ing; [30] and yet does Heaven afflict thus heavily for crimes unknown? ſuch I could conceive are almoſt uncom⯑mitted—but 'tis Preſumption, in minds beſt qua⯑lified to judge, vainly to ſearch the immeaſurable De⯑crees of Heaven; what then is thine, thou weak, thou daring wretch? ceaſe thy complainings therefore; ſearch the cauſe that thus abandons thee to Ruin, that robs thee of the promiſed joys thou fondly hop'ſt to meet from thy dear expecting diſappointed Parents—that has betrayed thee to thy approaching Miſery, will utterly deſtroy thy everlaſting Peace—and ſink their Age with bittereſt Anguiſh to the Grave.

Why what Chicken! nothing but ſighing and ſobbing, to which of the Bedfordſhire Boys haſt thou diſpoſed thy little Heart, that thus it mopes, and pants to be with him.

Whatever, Madam, the Motives are of this unhappy Grief, Solitude will beſt aſſwage, and conver⯑ſation but indulge and more provoke.

Good lack! good lack! my very Caſe to a Tittle; in my Youth and Days of Love, I cou'd never endure Company—but wou'd ſit, you, alone up⯑on a Bank by a Pond-Side for Hours together—and to be ſure, one Day was juſt upon the Point of throwing myſelf in—but a brisk young Fellow happened to paſs by the Moment I was going to take the fatal Leap, catched me in his Arms, and prevented me; and I aſſure you, uſed ſuch prevailing Arguments with me, I never thought of Drowning, or my Sweet⯑heart afterwards.

Too, too well, you know the Sorrows that afflict my Heart, and may, if you are endued with that Regard to Innocence and Virtue your Sex and Years demand, remove the fatal Cauſe.

Odsbodikins! and will, my Child, I'll take Care thy Innocence and Virtue ſhan't be betray'd by e'er a Country Booby of 'em all—I'll preſerve 'em ſafe I warrant thee.

All gracious Heaven ſhower down its choiceſt Bleſſings on your Head.

Ay, Chicken, never fear, thou ſhalt not fall into ſuch lubberly Hands; I'll bolt, and bar, and lock, to ſecure thee—thou ſhalt not ſtir a Foot out of this Houſe, nor the Face of a Stranger peep within the Gates.

O! you miſtake my Meaning much; will you, with Heaven, aſſiſt the pious Act of ſending me forthwith to my diſtreſs'd unhappy Parents, to calm their Doubts, and quiet all their anxious Fears?

Ods my life, why thou miſtak'ſt my Meaning—ſend thee;—No, no, not for all the Tythes of this Pariſh and the next, why I muſt nurſe thee, and feed thee, and cocker thee up Child—I am order'd to let thee command all the Houſe, but the Doors, and thoſe remain under my Direction.

Why did I fondly hope Relief from one grown old in Sin, and harden'd in Iniquity.

Mrs. Jewkes, your Servant.

My young Levite, I'm glad to ſee thee; come I'll preſent you to this pretty little Stranger—anon I'll inform you who ſhe is—Mrs. Pamela, the 'Squire's Lincolnſhire Chaplain, Mr. Williams.

Madam, you're welcome to Pleaſant-Hall.

I thank you, Sir—but—

Some heavy Melancholy hangs on her Spirits, ſhe ſeems affected with a Grief that riſes from no com⯑mon Cauſe.

Common to all Girls in Chriſtendom of her Age—ſhe's in Love, my young Chaplain.

Madam—

Nay, nay, never mince the Matter—'tis no ſuch mighty Crime—only a little ill judg'd, Mr. Williams, in making an improper Choice—when ſhe has it in her Power elſewhere, to make herſelf the happieſt Woman in the King's Dominions; I'll leave you to give her a little wholſome Advice, while I ſtep to give ſome Orders about the Family— [32] Chicken, I'll be with thee again in a Twinkling—in the mean time obſerve the Doctor's Inſtructions, my little Roſebud—obſerve 'em I ſay.

Sure 'tis impoſſible he can be made an Agent in this foul Conſpiracy.—No, 'twere an Impi⯑ety to Heaven, to ſuppoſe that one devoted to its Ser⯑vice by his holy Office, could be prevail'd on to be⯑come an Inſtrument in ſo black a Deed.

Pardon me, fair One, if I'm deceiv'd—but in your looks, methinks, there ſeems a kind of doubtful Apprehenſion of ſome approaching Danger.—Emotions rather cauſed by Terror, than the ſoft Languiſhments deſcrib'd from Loveſick Pains.

Alas, too well you are acquainted, Sir, with the diſtreſs'd Condition of my Heart—indeed I am beſet with Terrors, Terrors that wou'd beſpeak a Breaſt endued but with the ſlighteſt Touches of Hu⯑manity in my Behalf; a Grief more ſolid than the fantaſtick Lover's Pain creates, a Violation of the firſt, the tendereſt Law great Nature from our Infan⯑cy directs—I am divided, torn from my diſtreſ⯑ſed and moſt indulgent Parents, forc'd hither with an impious black Deſign to have my Innocence and Youth become the Sacrifice of brutal Violence.

There is an artleſs Fervour in your Grief, that might awake Compaſſion even in the cruel Au⯑thors of your Woe—what then muſt be its power⯑ful Influence on Minds that ſhrink with Horror at the hateful Deed? Minds enlarged by the engaging ge⯑nerous Sentiments of ſoft Humanity, confirm'd and ſtrongly rooted in thoſe Sentiments, by the more binding Laws of Duty, and reverential Love for an all-good diſpenſing Providence.

Surely, that Providence, ſtill watchful over injur'd Innocence, intends the Merit of its Reſcue from your Hands; for I perceive there is an open ho⯑neſt tender Feeling in your Eyes at the unfolding of my Sorrows, which, when occaſion ſuffers me more amply to relate, will cheriſh ſtill, that Softneſs in your [33] Soul, to undertake, if poſſible, my Flight from the approaching Miſery that threatens.

That will require farther Time to deliberate on, than now we can afford; but be aſſured, I'm bound to you in every Wiſh that you can form for your Deliverance; but pray, is Mrs. Jewkes concern'd as an Abettor in this deteſted Scheme?

Chiefly, chiefly—to her I am conſign'd by—I hear her coming; I'll retire, and wait ſome favourable Occaſion for your friendly Counſel and Aſſiſtance.

Depend on both.

This injur'd Creature's Story, and her affecting Man⯑ner in relating it, awake a tender Softneſs in my Breaſt, beyond the uſual Motives to Compaſſion.

Well, where's my Chicken? gone! in the Sullens, I'll lay my Life.

She ſeem'd much diſorder'd, and retired.

Diſorder'd! Marry come up, ſhe has much Cauſe to be diſorder'd indeed, when ſuch a young handſome wealthy Gentleman as the Squire talks of making her his Wife—at leaſt you muſt not know to the contrary.

His Wife! the [...]quire!—meaning Mr. Belvile.

Ay. Mr. Belvile—the Squire! our Maſter.

Impoſſible!

Pſhaw, Pſhaw! nothing's impoſſible in Love, Man; he wants no Money, you know; and, by my Troth, I ſee no Reaſon why a young Man, with ſuch a Heap of Wealth, ſhould not pleaſe his Fancy.

Ay, but People of Condition have a Regard to Family and Blood.

Pſhaw! a Fig's End of Family and Blood; I know no Difference in Blood, but what a Fever makes—and for Family, are not we all deſcended from the good old Family of Adam and Eve; but, my [34] young Doctor, concern not thyſelf about the Matter, thou may'ſt get a new Gown and Caſſock by binding the Bargain—therefore, Mum, and mind thy Prayers.

This Marriage is the meer Invention of thy fertile Brain, to palliate and blind thy baſe Deſigns, to me—for 'tis impoſſible the young Creature can be poſſeſſed with ſuch a Thought—if ſhe were—her Fears and dreadful Apprehenſions would be groundleſs—No, 'tis all an Artifice; which I will uſe my utmoſt Power to deſtroy, nor ſhall the Fear of incurring Mr. Belvile's Diſpleaſure ſtop me in ſo commendable a Purſuit, as the Defence of injured Truth and Innocence.

This Garden, to Minds poſſeſs'd with eaſy tran⯑quil thoughts, would laviſhly afford variety of Objects, to indulge a pleaſing Contemplation; but my affec⯑tions, all o'ercome by Fear, ſhrink with that Coward Paſſion from their Office, and meerly are become but frighted infants of the Mind; thro' all the former Shocks I have ſuſtained from this unworthy Man againſt my innocence, ſtill has that trembling, [...]ning Paſſion, alone poſſeſs'd my Heart, while ſtrong re⯑ſentment and determin'd Hate have ſeem'd to ſlumber there; is it the D [...]ſtance Fortune throws between us, b [...]s my Hatred againſt the Offender, while I reflect with honeſt ſcorn and indignation on the Offence? Ha, be watchful Pamela, nor let this ſoft inſinuating Paſſion ſteal into thy Boſom, leſt angry Heav'n, of⯑fended at thy bold Pre [...]umption, decree thy Innocnce, a victim to thy Pride. But ſee—the Inſtrument it graciouſly has ſent kindly diſpos'd for my Deliverance.

Madam, the inquietude of Mind I have ſuf⯑fer'd in reflecting upon the melancholy Tale, you thought fit to entruſt me with, made me impatient for an Opportunity of asking a few neceſſary Queſti [...]ns, [35] which when anſwered, will immediately confirm, or elſe remove my Fears in your Behalf—Pray has Mr. Belvile, in the general of his Conduct, given you any ſolid reaſons to believe his Deſigns were honour⯑able.

Too, too many to convince me they were otherwiſe, nor cou'd my humble Heart once entertain a thought ſo daringly preſumptuous.

I did believe indeed, this evil Woman had devis'd it, only to colour her pernicious Part, in this intended Scene of black iniquity, from me.

Oh, Sir, 'tis all Deluſſon, and too ſoon, alas, will the deſtructive Plan take Place, for every moment my dreadful apprehenſion is renew'd of the expected, near Approach of this Invader, who doubleſs will be ſpeedy to execute his impious Purpoſe.

Your Fears too much alarm you, the Coach⯑man who brought you hither, tells me Mr. Belvile in⯑tended ſetting out for London, the Day you left the Houſe.

Alas, they are all Confederates in this hate⯑ful Scheme, and Falſhood is their only practice; but Sir, there is another, preſſing, tender Motive heightens my impatience, the anxious Terrors of my deceiv'd, unhappy Parents, whoſe Age and ſha [...]p Infirmities can⯑not ſuſtain the Shock my Danger muſt alarm them with.

Are they acquainted with Mr. Belvile's Con⯑duct towards you?

Yes, Sir, and therefore had commanded my Return to 'em.

And do they know whe [...]e you are now diſpos'd of?

Oh, no. I was ſurpris'd and baſely hurried hither, even on the very Day their Expectations had been fondly rais'd, to have receiv'd me, ſtill happy in Poſſeſſion of the only, but to them ineſtimable Dowry, my Tru [...]h and Innocence.—

And to pr ſerve 'em ſtill inviolate, I will concert ſome Means, this Night, if poſſible, for your Eſcape, [56] and make myſelf, if you approve it, the Conductor of your Flight.

I cannot but approve the Guard of one, ſo ſtrongly influenc'd, in the Cauſe of helpleſs, injur'd Virtue.

Forſooth, Madam ſays, ſhe fears you'll take harm, the Wind blows ſo deadly ſharp—'tis beſt you ſhou'd bide in the Houſe.

Diſſembling Courteſy! ſoothing while it wounds—Come—

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Ods my Life, Monſieur, I profeſs you are come in Time—Had not his Honour ſent you to aſſiſt, 'tis ten to one the Bird had been Flown, nay, out of the Cage it was, and all ſo faſt, going to Mate I warrant you, with a ſly treacherous Blackbird.

Hay, Vat, vat is dat Black-bird—Je ne vous pas entens, B [...]gar me no underſtand the Black⯑bird.

Why ſhe was running away with the Parſon.

Oh Parſon, De Parſon be de Black bird, begar in my Country, de Pa [...]ſon be de grand prodigieuſe Black bird, dad fly after all de pretty Girl dere—and vila he pretenda, begar, to ſhelter dem under his wing [37] to ſhew dem de vay to Heaven, begar he ſend dem Poſt to de Diable.

Ay Monſieur, but our Parſons are not ſo wick⯑ed, they marry and live virtuouſly.

But begar, your Parſon muſt no marry Mada⯑moiſelle Pamela—upon my Vard, I muſt marry her myſelf—and den, I ſall ſell her upon de Vedding day, for two or tree hundred Pound to Monſieur Bel⯑vile, and den I ſall go to Paris, and buy myſelf de grand Title of de French Marquis.

Marry her, and ſell her to Mr. Belvile upon the Wedding day, and ſo cure all her ſqueamiſh qualms:—well, for a notable Contrivance, let his Ho⯑nour alone, I ſay—Oh, he's a moſt ingenious Perſon.

Upon my Vard, 'tis de grand Politique to have de firſt Night's Lodgment vid de Bride, and not have de Incumbrance of de Viſe. O, Ceſt fort agreeable.

Well, I vow 'tis a comfortable Thing when a Man of Senſe pays his Devoirs to us,—A Hum⯑drum Fool now, would have loſt you a Score of Girls, and ne'er have dream'd of ſuch a ſprightly Scheme.

Upon my Vard, Madam, Monſieur Belvile had never arrive at dis grand Refinement in dis Amour, if he had not live ſo long in France—dere de-de-de—Vat you call de Blackbird?

Oh, the Parſon.

Ouy, Ouy, en Verite, de Parſon—de Parſon in France, de Parſon teach Monſienr Anglois all de belle Artifice to procure de fineſt Ladies of Qualitie der [...] but Begar, 'tis after they have ſerve themſelves.

Odsbodlikins, I had forgot his Honour's Let⯑ter—let me ſee, let me ſee

Dear Pamela, undone, undone, ru⯑in'd and undone.

Hay, vat, vat be all dis grand Exclamation?

Oh; his Honour has miſtaken the Direction of the two Letters, this in my Hand is for Pamela and that I have ſent up to her, is mine—O miſera⯑ble Misſortune.

Miſerable, Begar it is nothing at all, 'tis only her be acquainted vid the Sentence a little time before de Execution, for Monſieur Belvile will very ſoon be here—et d [...] ne l'aſſaire et faite.

Ay, but this Notice will certainly put the young Baggage upon ſome new Plot for an Eſcape; and if ſhe ſlips through our Hands—

O impoſſible he vill be here to Day, and Be⯑gar, till he come, I vll vatch her ſo cloſe, dat all de Blackbirds in your Country ſall not fly away vid her—for pardie, if dey ſhould, I loſe my Revard and my Vife too.

Well, let's be gone, let's be gone—

O vid all my Heart, en Verite it be very pro⯑per, you introduce me to pay my Compliments—becauſe 'tis poſſible, I fall marry her to Night—Allons, Allons.

Sir,—pray Sir,

O pardonez moy, Madame.

I profeſs, you deſtroy me with this Exceſs of Complaiſance.

Now my Ruin is inevitable, this Diſcovery of my Attempt to eſcape, will double all this evil Woman's Vigilance, and render my Confinement almoſt inſup⯑portable, and what I am every Moment to expect more fatal, this ſhameleſs Letter has too well informed me, here comes the hateful Monſter 'twas intended for—and by the futtering Haſte ſhe's in, no doubt has found the Erro [...] in directing it.—Ha, what fellow Fiend is this comes with her?

So Mrs. Flirt, I ſuppoſe yon have read it.

D [...]ubtleſs—'tis directed to me.

Directed, what of that! within Side you ſee 'tis directed to me, and mannerly Decency ſhould have prevented your Impertinence.

Decency, indeed, muſt bluſh to read ſuch hi⯑de us Schemes, 'gainſt helpleſs Innocence.

Here's a Racket indeed, about your flippery Innocence; but this Gentleman will remove your fool⯑iſh Qualms, by making you a Wife.

Heav'n protect me, what means ſhe?

Ouy, Madame, en Verité, I ſall teach you de French Politeſſe, in making de Grand ſolemn Engage⯑ment, vid no oder View in de Varld, but to break it immediately.

You, Madam, I ſuppoſe, are able to explain this Jargon.

It needs no great Explanation I think,—but your perverſe little Head won't underſtand—ſo if you muſt have it explain'd, Monſieur here is to marry you.

Ouy, Madame.

And when the Ceremony is over, give up all Right and Title in you, to Mr. Belvile, now you un⯑derſtand me.

Yes, thou abandon'd Wretch; but Heav'n be prais'd, our equal Laws are free from ſuch deteſted Wiles—ſuch baſe diſpenſing Powers—nor arro⯑gantly aim to force the Will

But you'll find, Miſtreſs, they give a Hus⯑band ſufficient Power over his Wife; and had not I been well acquainted with their having ſuch Power, I had not liv'd a ſingle Life till now, and refuſed ſuch advantageous Offers.

Upon my Vard it muſt be de gra [...]d Mortifica⯑tion to Mankind, to be robb'd of de Offering of ſo fine a Lady.

O Monſieur, Had I been honoured with the Addreſſes of a Gentleman of your Merit and polite Behaviour, I muſt have broke through the moſt obſti⯑nate Reſolution.

O Madam, Madam, my Maſter's juſt lighted at the Gate.

Ha.

Bleſs us, let's be gone, and pay our Devoirs.

Madame—Je ſuis votre tres humble.

Now, gracious Heaven, aſſiſt me, or I am loſt. Thy Power alone can ſtem this Torrent, and ſave me from approaching Ruin.

I am proud to ſee your Honour at Pleaſant-Hall.

Mrs. Jewkes your Servant—how does your Charge, the lovely Pamela?

Oh, your Honour, ſhe does not deſerve ſo much Goodneſs at your Hands—

What ſtill perverſe and ſullen?

I dread to tell your Honour.

She's not eſcap'd I hope.

No, if ſhe was, I had not dared to look your Honour in the Face—but ſuch Plots, ſuch Con⯑trivances, to bring it about, and then ſo powerful an Accomplice.

Who? what Accomplice?

No leſs than your Honour's Chaplain.

How.

Upon my Vard, Sir, ceſt ſort veritable—inſtead of his marrying me to Madamoiſelle Pamela, as your Honour gave me Direction, he had form'd une grand Deſigne to rob me of my Vife, and marry her himſelf.

Inſolent Folly! I'll cure his amorous Fever.

Begar, Sir, if you pleaſe, I vil let him Blood under de left Breaſt, and cure him preſently.

Hence, from my Sight! how dare you har⯑bour ſuch a Thought, and add to your Preſumption, by boldly making me the Hearer—Be gone.

En verite, I wou'd only moderate his Paſſion.

Order Pamela to attend me.

I ſhall, Sir.

And has this little Hypocrite thus long ap⯑pear'd inſenſible and cold to every Thought of Love, while I addreſs'd her, and now e'er ſhe cou'd well com⯑mence a ſlight Acquaintance, broke looſe even to ſuch Extravagence of Paſſion? 'tis plain the Fire only lay obſcur'd, and wanted but a Breath more powerful to fan it to a Flame—'Sdeath, to be ſupplanted by a low mean dependant on me! Deſpicable! her Perſon tho' is ſtill within my Power, and ſince ſhe will not gra⯑tify the ſofter Wiſhes of my Heart, and cheriſh 'em with Love—I'll ſubſtitute Revenge—at leaſt, to cool its warmer Tranſports—here ſhe comes—

I'm ſorry to hear, Madam, the forward Impertinence of my Servants interrupted you in the Execution of your late important Scheme.

Alas, Sir, I wanted not this Triumph o'er my Diſappointment, to enlarge my Griefs.

O doubtleſs, Madam, they muſt be great, to be excluded from the lovely Object of our Wiſhes; is certainly of all others the ſharpeſt Puniſhment: I can form a tolerable Judgment of your Pain, ſince I was myſelf, but lately, pretty much in your Situation.

Why, Sir, will you deſcend ſo low, to inſult the weak and wretched?—there is a Pride more ſuit able to noble Minds—a Pride that truly is eſteem'd a Virtue—the heavenly Pride of juſt Compaſſion.

O, 'tis infinitely juſt, no doubt, I ſhou'd ex⯑tend my utmoſt Compaſſion, for the leaſt Impediment your Ladyſhip meets in your Amours.

I am as little capable, Sir, to underſtand theſe Taunts, as to prevent 'em if I did.

This inſolent Preſumption of pleading Igno⯑rance is not to be borne—You have not, by the Advice and Help of Williams, my Chaplain, attempted your Eſcape from hence, and, as a Recompence for his worthy Service, promiſed to reward him with your Perſon.

That I ſolicited, and he conſented, to aid my Eſcape, is true;—but that he was induced by me, from any other Motives, than the virtuous Merit of the Act, I ſolemnly deny.

I thought, Madam, after the repeated Aſſu⯑rances I had ſent you, you might ſecurely have relied u on my Honour, and baniſh'd all your Fears; but they, I am convinc'd, were only ſlight Pretences, to diſguiſe more ſolid Dangers you apprehended from the Loſs of this new Admirer.

I had no other View, than my Removal from this hateful Priſon, to ſhun the Dangers, Sir, I had but too ſufficient Cauſe to fear from your Arrival here

Be aſſur'd, your late extravagant Conduct has made thoſe Dangers unavoidable, however diſtant they might before have been; but yet, to palliate your migh⯑ty Scruples, I have determin'd my Valet de Chambre-Colebrand, ſhall marry you, and immediately transfer, his Right to me.

Remember, Sir, that my Aſſent to this moſt previouſly be had—and here, in Heavén's awful face I vow, my Tongue ſhall rather loſe its Office, than I'll conſent to this deteſted Scheme

By Heaven, this obſtinate Reſiſtance of my Will, but more determines me to put it into Execution. Retire, I'll give you ſome little Time to reflect, whe⯑ther this peeviſh Oppoſition, or the Merit of a compli⯑ance, will prove moſt advantageous.

I do, and ever will, contemn every Advantage purchaſed at the expence of Truth and Innocence.

H [...]dſt thou not rais'd this Storm of Jealouſy within me, that Truth and Innocence might ſtill have been preſerved, and on conditions too, perhaps, beyond the bounds of thy Ambition; but ſince another takes up all your Heart, I muſt repay the Sighs and Lan⯑guiſhments thou haſt coſt me, at leaſt with the poſſeſ⯑ſion of thy Perſon—and yet—but hence Re⯑flection—

Well, I vow Monſieur Colebrand, you are a moſt engaging Perſon, and if this young Minx conti⯑nues her obſtinate Airs, and refuſes marrying you—I have a wife in my Eye for you, with whom you may have a more conſiderable Fortune—tho' I con⯑feſs, ſhe does not quite come up to her in Youth and Beauty.

Upon my Vard, Madame, de Money compre⯑hend all de charm of Youth and Beauty, beſide, what ſignify to me all de Charm of Madamoiſelle Pamela, begar it be de ſame ting as to have de grand Eſtate in France, and Monſieur le Roy he take half de Profit.

Well, well, if this ſhou'd chance to be a match that I propoſe—you ſhall ſtay in England, and pre⯑ſerve both Fortune and Wife, and I warrant we ſhall be the Envy—Bleſs me—what did I ſay—we! Oh! I die with Confuſion!

Pardie! den it be herſelf ſhe mean! Oh, de damn'd ugly Vitch—but 'tis no matter—begar I vil get de Money, and then ſhe may go to her Fader de Devil

O Madame, dis Confuſion fill me vid Surpriſe! it be de grand Honour, it raviſh-me vid Sur⯑priſe.

Let me go, let me go,—I have not Spirits to ſupport the ſhock! Bleſs me who's here? how ſhall I cover this Diſorder?

Mrs. Jewkes, his Honour has ſent for you high and low—he's in main haſte to ſpeak with you—Adod, here he comes himſelf.

Mrs. Jewkes, I have an Affair of Conſequence to confer with you upon—Monſieur withdraw—our Buſineſs requires Privacy.

Privacy: Pardie has he d' Inclination to dis Vife too—Vid all my Heart begar.

Arnold, wait without—I have Directions to ſend by you to the Attorney about Williams.

I find this Creature's abſolutely reſolv'd againſt this intended Marriage.

Fortunate Accident.

Therefore I am determined no longer to let her Sighs and Tears prevail, but this Night—poſſeſs myſelf of that Bleſſing, ſhe fondly had deſign'd anothers Prize.

By my troth, and I commend your Honour; I think you greatly demean'd yourſelf in condeſcend⯑ing to humour her Nicety with this Marriage, if ſhe had conſented.

Do you take particular Care the Servants are all diſpatch'd to Bed betimes, and, for a reaſon, tell 'em I am retir'd to my Chamber indiſpos'd, and muſt not be diſturb'd with any noiſe.

Your Honour need not doubt my Diligence and Care.

Do you attend below with Colebrand, if they ſhou'd be alarm'd by any outcry, to prevent their com⯑ing up the ſtairs that lead to Pamela's Bed Chamber; I'll defer ſending Arnold till the Morning, and pr⯑ſently retire the back Way; beſure punctually obſerve my Directions.

I warrant your Honour—well, I'll go in, and find out Monſieur Colebrand, and inform him this Wedding's off—and our's may come on whenever he pleaſes—but hold—I'll be a little upon the re⯑ſerve, that I may oblige him to addreſs me with that polite Softneſs ſo peculiar to his Country.

A murrain on thee for an old Beldam; what a plaguy Harridan 'tis; if Beelzebub don't lay his Claws upon thee for thy baſeneſs to poor Mrs. Pamela—but [45] haud you, haud you, John, haſt thou deſerv'd much bet⯑ter at his hands? by my troth but little—nay thou'ſt be every whit as bad, if thou doſt not let the poor young Body know the dreadful Plot thou haſt overheard—but what will that avail, alack a day, but little—but may hap if I were to acquaint Maſter Williams of it, he might overthrow it by his Learning—I' th' Name of Goodneſs, I'll find him out, and disburthen my Conſcience to him.

Oh, Madame; this News make me all Rapture 'tis impoſſible to keep my paſſion from Extravagance—

O fie, Monſieur if you ſhou'd offer any thing againſt the Rules of Decorum, I ſhould not be able to ſupport it; my Delicacy cou'd never endure a boiſt'rous Lover; and if hereafter you ſhou'd prove inconſtant, my tender Heart wou'd pine itſelf to Death.

Begar ſo much de better

Oh; Madame; if you make proper Eſtimation of your charm, 'tis im⯑poſſible you can have Suſpicion of my Conſtancy.

Well that was moſt engagingly ſaid; O Mon⯑ſieur, I find 'tis impoſſible to reſiſt your perſuaſive Elo⯑quence; I will—how ſhall pronounce the Word? I will, I will be your's.

Begar, and ſo fall your Money too

but ven, ven my Charmer fall be de happy Day, you muſt not prolong my impatience.

Well, I wont my dear irreſiſtible Creature, it ſhall be done with all the convenient Haſte—but ods my life, tis time we were at our poſts, for his Honour, I warrant him, is full as impatient as you are.

Dat is impoſſible, he has not half de Temp⯑tation.

Go you naughty Flatterer.

Upon my Vard, ven I ſhall have you, I vill be even vid you.

Come, lead me down Stairs, and there you ſhall give me your Fancy for my Wedding-Suit.

O de tout mon coeur—and begar I hope [46] your next Suir vil be de Coffin.

Why are our giddy Sex ſo vainly fond of Beauty? wou'd they reflect upon the various Dangers it involves 'em in, their Prudence wou'd deſtroy the little Pride, that glaringly obſcures the Ills of Flattery's ſoothing Tongue, that certain Bane of an unguarded Innocence. Ha! what can this mean! my Maſter here—O Hea⯑ven protect and ſave me now, or I am loſt for ever.

So, Madam, you are alone it ſeems.

Wou'd I were.

I thought I ſhou'd have found your Lover in your Arms, curſing the haſty Night that forces him to leave you; but know, ungrateful Girl, I am come de⯑termin'd now, to be reveng'd for all the Wrongs you've done my Love—I'll beg no more for that which I may ſeize—but thus—

You cannot mean it, Sir; for Heaven's ſake!

Nay, no coying now, I have you in my Power; this Night ſhall make me bleſs'd.

Come, come, you ſtrive in vain.

You cannot ſurely, nay, I think you dare not mean it—Conſider, Sir, one Act like this, for ever ſtains your Honour, and leaves a Mark of Infamy on all your Race to come—

Remember who you ſpeak to—

Sir, do you remember who you ſpeak to—Had you ne'er ſunk beneath the Maſter—I never had forgot the Duty of a Servant; but now, by Na⯑ture prompted, I muſt exert myſelf in the Defence of that Innocence, which ought to be a Guard againſt your brutal Fury.

Come, come, no more, I am not to be trifled with, nor preach'd from what I've once determin'd—No—your Sex's little Atts, which you preſume upon, and call 'em by the ſpecious Name of Virtue, are all too thinly cover'd to deceive me longer; the Mask is [47] off, and now you ſtand confeſs'd, like Sin abandon'd by Hypocriſy.

I'm ſorry, Sir, a juſt Contempt of Infamy is conſtrued into Art and mean Hypocriſy—but know, an honeſt Mind's above 'em both, and cannot volunta⯑rily act repugnant to itſelf—therefore, good Sir, reflect, and think with Caution, your Paſſion robs you of your Reaſon; but when that Paſſion is ſubdued, by what Reaſon can you then be juſtify'd?—Your Heart condemns itſelf—for Vice will ever be purſued (even in the moſt abandon'd Minds) by Con⯑ſcience and Remorſe.

How ſhe diſarms my Reſolution!—Come my Pamela—I own I've been too boiſtrous—Nay, I'll now lay by Authority, and ſue for Pardon too—forgive the Folly of ungovern'd Paſſion, and imitating that Heav'n you are like, acquit the Wretch that can't excuſe himſelf.

Nay, now, Sir, you deſcend too low and—

By Heaven, I cannot, your Beauty makes you equal to the greateſt, and Love like mine throws all Diſtinction down. Oh! if you knew with what a Warmth, with how much Tenderneſs I languiſh for you, your ſoftning Heart wou'd teach you to be kind in Pity to the Fate of one, that cannot live without you Come, come, this Night ſhall make me happy, and then Tomorrow binds me your's eternally.

Why now indeed you throw diſtinction down in trying to deceive ſo mean a thing as me; what: pawn your Honour to your ſervant, to give the fool a flattering Pretence to believe you, and then, thro' cuſ⯑tomary Pride, abandon her and Honour too—No, Sir, my innocence is all the Wealth I have to boaſt, and that, I'll be a thrifty Miſer of, nor credulouſly lend it out on Promiſes:

By Heav'n, this ſcorn has turn'd my Love to Rage; and now on my own Terms you ſhall be mine my Heart was quick relapſing into fondneſs, but this laſt Folly has recovered me, and ruin'd you.

O: Heav'n aſſiſt, and help me now.

You call in vain for Help, there's no protector near.

Behold one here.

Ha!—

Now, Sir,—nay, look not angrily—but rather, thank that Heav'n, whoſe providential Care, by me, has ſav'd you from a Crime.—

Confuſion!—What! you have your Pa⯑ramour! your Bravoe cloſeted at Midnight—O! thou wrong'd—Innocence, thou virtuous—Hypo⯑criſe—

Have a Care, Sir, nor meanly take ſuch low Revenge as every common Wretch employs—Deſtrac⯑tion—'tis poor, beneath yourſelf, almoſt as much as, having done the Deed.

Good Heav'n! How came he here?

How came he! O! well diſſembled ignorance: But my Revenge ſhall be as real as my Wrong; no doubt you are impatient for my abſence: It is, indeed, beneath me to rival ſuch a Wretch; I will oblige you: My Love is like a long forgotten Dream; but yet, by Heav'n, its Conſequence ſhall prove fatal.

Hold, Sir, you muſt not leave me with this baſe aſperſion; for know my honeſt Heart diſdains the foul reproach with which you'd ſully it:

Diſdains: You mean it fears; for now I find that you can like the Love, but wou'd conceal the Shame.

You wrong me, Sir, for had my diſpoſition been inclin'd to Vice, it is ſo tottering a Foundation, it muſt have fallen to you; you who have uſed ſo many arts to win me to your wicked Purpoſe—As for the conſequence of your mad Revenge—leave me but ſpotleſs, and the reſt's indifferent to me.

As ſpotleſs as you are, I'm ſure I ſhall—

Stay, Sir, and hear—

Your inſolent Excuſes; no, I have not room for any Thought, but my Revenge, which I will pro⯑ſecute—

On whom?—For what? Alas, Sir, turn your Revenge upon yourſelf, chaſtiſe your Heart, and call it to a ſtrict Account, for having dar'd to entertain a Thought to your Diſhonour; there your Revenge is due, and only there your Puniſhment is juſt.

Why thou diſſembling Wretch: How canſt thou dare to think that I'll be thus abuſed—Go, follow her, and in her wanton Arms try to pro⯑long the laſt indulgent Night, you ever ſhall enjoy to⯑gether.

Raſh Man forbear, nor think the Gifts of giddy Fortune, can licenſe thy ungovern'd Tongue, to wrong the Innocent.

The Innocent:

Be cautious, Sir,—nor let your Paſſion be the mad forerunner of Repentance; your Power I know can ruin me, but cannot ſtrip my Mind of Honeſty, which, while I wear, though in a loathſome Dungeon, ſets me above that Wretch, who diſcontented ſtalks in Palaces, puruſed by Guilt, and its black Follower, re⯑flection.

Can'ſt thou ſuppoſe this weak Pretence to ho⯑neſty, this dull ſcholaſtick Pedantry, will ſave thee from my reſentment? S'death; had I not ſeen thee break from thy Concealment, yet I had Proofs before, too ſtrong to leave a Doubt, but that her mock inno⯑cence deceiv'd me.—A Miſtreſs—'faogh—'tis ful⯑ſome, and a rank Satire on your Function.

Your Function, Sir, enjoins Protection to your Servant, and your Authority, which you have proſti⯑tuted in undermining Innocence, had better, and with Juſtice, been employ'd in its Defence—As for me, I am griev'd at your Diſpleaſure, but more at the un⯑happy Cauſe.

Yes, you ſhall have Cauſe for Grief, and quick⯑ly find the Folly of intruding on thy Maſter's Plea⯑ſures—Who waits there—

Hold, Sir,—you need not call for Witneſ⯑ſes to your Intemperance, one is too many to ſo bad an Act; but to preſerve your Honour, and my Honeſty, which you have been regardleſs of, I muſt preſume to call one—Come forth there—

Ha:

O! Sir, I pray your Honour wou'd forgive me:

Forgive thee! What:

O! Sir, I am the Occaſion of all this Noiſe and Anger.

Thou the Occaſion!

Indeed I'd never have offended your Honour ſo: but that my Conſcience drove me to't, whether I wou'd or no.

Why, what haſt done?

Why, Sir, this Man moſt fortunately overheard your Directions, to that wicked Inſtrument Mrs. Jewkes, and touch'd by Conſcience for his Concern, in what might happen diſcover'd the vile plot to me, and this was the occaſion (which your Jealouſy and Paſſion has ſo far miſtaken) of my Concealment.

Ha! Is this Truth?

Yes, indeed it is, and if your Honour pleaſes, I'll take my Bible-oath-on't.

Well, leave us.

Heav'ns! what an Eſcape Iv'e had from Rage and violent Deſire; to think upon it, is looking down a Precipice, from whence to have fall'n, I muſt have cruſh'd myſelf, and all beneath me.

I find he's mov'd, I hope with juſt Remorſe.

And then this honeſt Man:—How has my ungovern'd Paſſion injur'd him, who has ſnatch'd me from the Depth of Guilt? How can I look on him?

Sir—

Mr. Williams, I wou'd ask your Pardon, but that I am too well convinc'd what I have done, won't bear Excuſe—therefore

No more of that, Sir; as all the Merit of what I've done, is in the Deed itſelf, ſo your contrition brings with it an excuſe

Thou excellent Man: What do I owe thee for thy hone [...] help? Not leſs than if you'd ſnatcht me from the Hands of Death—Nay, I was dead to Vir⯑tue—but thus recover'd, I muſt repent—but firſt I muſt repair—or elſe my penitence deceives myſelf, and is but Mockery to Heaven.

It ſhall be ſo.—Mr. Williams, as you have been ſo great an in⯑ſtrument of my growing happineſs, I know your honeſt Nature cannot be more rewarded, than by compleating what you have ſo generouſly begun.

How mean you, Sir:

There's now no way left me to make amends for all the Wrongs I've done the virtuous Pamela, but by making her eternally my own.

Sir, I applaud your reſolution, aad may Hea⯑ven make yon happy.

It will not fail—my heart too prompts me to it—And then her beauty, and tranſcendent innocence, a re a large equivalent to Wealth and Title, and far out⯑weigh their Worth.

ACT V. SCENE I.

EITHER I am deceived, or yonder is the Pri⯑ſon that confines my Pamela. I ſcarce have ſtrength [52] to reach it, and when I have, my Age and Circum⯑ſtances bring but ſmall Aſſiſtance—And who, alas? will ſide with injured Poverty againſt rich oppreſſion. Suppoſe I have recourſe to Mr. Belvile himſelf, and upon my knees beg him to reſtore my Daughter to her unhappy Father—if this imperious Fire of wan⯑ton youth has not wholly conſumed his Honour and Humanity, my Tears and Age perhaps may prove ſuc⯑ceſsful Pleaders, and all be ſaved from Ruin? the Thought tranſports my Soul, and gives freſh Vigour to my wearied Body—Here comes onr may give me farther information.

What a plague does that old Fellow there, 'tis no Road I'm ſure, and none but Rogues wou'd make it one—I loſt ſome ſheep herabouts, laſt Midſummer was two years, and ten to one but this is the Man that ſtole 'em—Ecod I don't like his looks, and had I my Gun with me, I'd venture to ſhoot at 'en without examin⯑ation, I wou'd—but I'll be ſharp and find 'en out.

Pray, honeſt Friend, is this the Road to Mr. Belvile's Houſe?

Eh.

Is that Mr. Belvile's Houſe, Friend?

Why do you think I'm Fool enough to tell you? Eh?

You have Humanity enough, I hope, to in⯑form a Stranger, without being guilty of Folly?

I won't tell you for all that; I am ſharp, Mun—You'll not get any thing from me, I can tell you but that: But pray you now, what may you want with 'Squire Beluile's Houſe?

I have particular Buſineſs there.

I don't doubt it, and every Rogue may have the ſame Buſineſs there for ought I know.

I never was uſed to ſuch Language.

Noa; then you never had your deſerts before; He, he.

You miſtake me, Friend, indeed; tho' I ap⯑pear poor and unhappy, yet I am honeſt.

Ecod, and ſo he is, I warrant him, may I be hang'd if I have not brought Tears into the Old 'en's Eyes; I'm ſorry I have been ſo harſh; pray you, don't take to Heart my Merriment; I'm ſorry I've wronged you, Father; but there are Rogues about, and I am a ſort of a Deputy-keeper to the 'Squire, and examine all ſuſpicious Perſons.

Pray, honeſt Friend, ſhew me the Houſe, for my Buſineſs with Mr. Beluile is very urgent.

Ay, but be it as urgent as it will, you'll find it hard Work to get him from the Buſineſs he's about; there's a tight Laſs in the Caſe, and the 'Squire is young and loveſome, and when a keen Stomach falls to good Meat, 'twill be hard to get him from it, till his Belly's full you know.

Oh, my Fears! Pray explain yourſelf.

Why, you muſt know; you're old enough to hold your Tongue, if I ſhould tell you?

You may depend upon me.

The young 'Squire has been deeply ſmitten with one of his own Maids, and all as he could ſay or do, the Wench kept her own till Yeſterday.

And what of Yeſterday?

Why all was over, I ſuppoſe, by the great Change; for ſhe has thrown away her home ſpun Country-dreſs, and is as fine as an Empreſs; (a bad Sign let me tell you) and he has thrown away his melancho⯑ly Humour, and is as skitiſh as a Colt; but ſhe'll tame him, eh, eh.

Enough; Farewell my Life and Cares; Pa⯑mela's undone; I'm no more.

What a murrain, is the Man out of his Senſes; what, old Friend, you are not dead ſure; I ſhall be brought into a fine Quandary here, an he dies without telling ſomebody I have not murdered him: Hold ye, his Breath comes and goes; there's Hopes yet.

When ſhall I be at Reſt? Can I ſurvive my [54] Daughter's Infamy? All gracious Heav'n, let me not linger thus.

There's ſomething preſſes him mightily; pray riſe, Maſter, and let me take you to the Hall, and get you ſomething to comfort you—Pray do.

All Help is vain, 'tis Death alone can give me Peace; but I accept your kind Aſſiſtance

If Age and Wretchedneſs deſerve Compaſſion, your Charity is well beſtow'd.

I never was ſo moved and terrified in all my Life.

Pray, Friend, direct me thither; and yet I dread to ſee her! But I muſt on, for Doubt but more perplexes and diſtracts my feeble Mind; if ſhe is ruin'd, I ſhall not long endure the Pain of thinking her Vir⯑tue was the laſt and only Prop of my declining Age, and both muſt ſink together.

Now, Pamela, guard well thy Mind; let not this ſudden, this amazing Turn of thy deſpairing Fortune—the pompous Height to which thou art rais'd—thro' gorgeous Dreſs—let 'em not throw upon thy former State a darkning Veil to hide its View—leſt Inſolence and Pride ſhou'd baniſh gentle Gratitude and fair Humility.

Good morrow, dear Madam—Well, if his Honour had choſe out of the Drawing room, on a Birth-night, I'll defy him to have brought home ſuch a Preſence for the Head of his Table—ſuch a deli⯑cate white and red, ſuch an Air, ſuch—

Forbear—nor fondly hope to throw a Gloſs upon your former Conduct, by only changing Hands with Vice, and ſubſtituting in the Place of purpos'd Ruin, hateful Flattery.

Let me intreat your Ladyſhip to believe, whatever I have done was more thro' Fear of diſo⯑beying his Honour, than any vicious Diſpoſition.

The moſt vicious Diſpoſition is Want of Fear in diſobeying Heaven; and can there riſe a ſtronger Proof of ſuch a Want, than impiouſly attempting to draw others in to violate its ſacred Laws?

Dear Madam, the whole Service of my Life to come, ſhall be devoted to deſerve your Ladyſhip's Forgiveneſs.—

We'll wave this Subject for the preſent; and be aſſur'd, no proper Clemency from me ſhall be ever wanting, that your future Conduct may deſerve.

I humbly thank your Ladyſhip—has your Ladyſhip any Commands.

I have this Requeſt—that henceforth you decline beſtowing Titles I have neither Right or In⯑clination to—Supper muſt be deferr'd an Hour be⯑yond the uſual Time, for the coming of Sir Simon Darnford, and his Family, whom Mr. Belvile is gone to invite.

I ſhall obſerve, Madam.

Odsheart, Madam, here's Lady Davers and her Nephew come—ſhe's in a main Heat—and ask'd for you Madam, as tho' ſhe were in a deſ⯑perate Paſſion.

Ha!—I thank you for this Notice. John—Conduct her in.

This ſomewhat ruffles me—wou'd Mr. Belvile were at home! I dread this haughty Woman's Taunts—I think 'twere beſt to avoid her, till his Return—But wherefore ſhould I fear—the Guilty only fear; my Innocence is my Guard, which, if I had loſt, Shame, as well as Fear, indeed might juſtly have alarm'd me.

Protect us in the Name of Vanity, what nave we here? am I awake? Oh! I ſhall ſwoon.

I am proud, Madam, of the Honour of ſee⯑ing your Ladyſhip.

Oh: ſupport me.

Rat me, Madam, but I am debelitated with Surpriſe, equal to your Ladyſhip's.

Is not your Ladyſhip well?

Well, no, I have the Vapours to Extrava⯑gance.

Shall I order your Ladyſhip any thing?

Order any thing, and why not fetch it thy⯑ſelf, Mrs. Pert.

I hop'd, Madam, paying my Duty here might be more agreeable.

No, if thou wou'dſt have me recover, re⯑move thyſelf in the Name of Decency, I conjure thee.

I am ſorry, Madam, I ſhould occaſion this Diſorder—I'll retire

Stay.

Ay, ay, I beſeech your Ladyſhip let her ſtay, for now I have recover'd my firſt Blaſt of Aſto⯑niſhment, let me periſh, but I'll ſupply the Want of Salvolatile and Hartſhorn for your Ladyſhiy, with a few Strokes of Wit and Humour upon this exotic Fi⯑gure—Hearkee, Child, prithee do us the Favour of taking a turn or two croſs the Room, that we may arrive at ſome Degree of Certainty, whether or no thou art the identical little Pammy, formerly ſo famous for thy melifluous Structures of modern Tarts and Cheeſecakes?

I am ſorry, Sir, my Merit or your Capacity is ſo extremely ſlender, I can't be remembred for any thing more meritorious.

Aſtoniſhing Inſolence, I'm out of Patience, why thou gew-gaw Ideot, doſt thou imagine the fine Trappings Belv. has trick'd thee up in,—or the arrogant Pride of becoming his Miſtreſs—give thee a Pretence to this ſaucy Liberty with his Rela⯑tions.

Madam, I equally abhor the Thought of ei⯑ther, and wiſh this young Gentleman was as nearly re⯑lated [57] to Mr. Belvile in his Senſe of Decency and good Manners, as he is by Blood or Marriage.

Well, throughout the whole Race of female Delinquents, henceforth I'll eternally celebrate the non-pareil of kept Abigail.

Remember, Sir, this wanton Licence, with my Character and Reputation, equally reflects upon Mr. Belvile's.

Now that, Child, is what I can't ſo readily comprehend—becauſe, you muſt know, we young Fellows think our Reputation's as little concern'd in debauching every Girl we like, as in beating every Drawer or Hackney-Coachman we do not like.

Shameleſs and abandon'd Principles!

Ay, that may be; but they are the Principles of moſt of the ſmart young Fellows in Town.

But know, Sir, they are ſuch as Mr. Belvile's Honour and good Senſe deteſts and loaths.

What, what, Madam, are you pleas'd to inſinuate relating to Mr. Belvile's Senſe and Honour—good Mrs. Forward, none of thy Works of Superero⯑gation, that is, to come down to the Level of thy Underſtanding; don't meddle in Defence of his Ho⯑nour, till you have a better Right, and are properly call'd upon; thy Underſtanding, Child, as well as thy Perſon, is in Maſquerade.

Dear Lady Davers, you never were more out in your Life—the Deſign of Maſquerades is to conceal Perſons, you know—Now Pammy's Dreſs is quite the contrary; for it very plainly diſcovers who ſhe is, and what ſhe is—Ha, ha, ha!

Why, Sir, what am I?

As fine a Woman as e'er my Eyes beheld; by all that's exquiſite, Tom Belvile's a moſt happy Mortal, or may I ſuffer Annihilation.

Sir—

Pretty Dear: I'll aſſure you it has got a Spirit with its fine Cloaths—what are you painted too, Cherubim? 'Gads, my life: 'tis very neceſſary— [58] you'll be pale and ſickly by-and-by—Qualms, Qualms, my Dear, will ſoon fetch out the Ruddineſs of your Cheeks—I beg ten thouſand Pardons—the Roſes I wou'd ſay.

Upon my Soul, Lady Davers, I think Pam⯑my has a very pretty Fancy; I never ſaw Cloaths more Alamode in my Life; the Colour, Silk, and Trim⯑mings, quite genteel—white, white, you know, is quite apropos for Pammy, and emblematical—ha, ha, ha.

Ay, ay, the Virgin Colour—I always thought Pamela would die a Veſtal—ſhe's a very Martyr to Virtue, and the very Picture of Purity—

Oh fort bien—fort bien, Madam—

This Treatment is inſupportable.

My Pamela in Tears? What has diſturb'd my Love?

Why you muſt know, Sir, my Lady here, and I, being enlighten'd with the Brilliancy of Pam⯑my's Figure, have been ſomewhat ſprightly in our Re⯑marks upon her Tranſmutation—and ſhe, poor Thing, not uſed to that Spirit in Converſing, had no other Hope to extinguiſh the Fire of our Raillery, but by Tears—ha, ha, ha.

What you term Raillery—I find was In⯑ſolence; for, all thy poor Attempts toward Wit, her ſlighteſt Breath had blaſted in their Birth.

Brother, Brother,—I am ſorry to find in Relations are thus treated with Contempt for this worthleſs—

Hold, Madam—By Heaven, the Worth of half your Sex, weighed in the Ballance againſt her's, is light and inconſiderable—

O doubtleſs, Sir, the Worth of a favourite Miſtreſs is ineſtimable, in the Opinion of her Admirer, at leaſt while the deluding Bait of Novelty continues, and the Nymph's adorable Charms remain in Bloom, and unfaded.

Tho' Female Envy muſt allow the perſonal Charms of Pamela, yet the Beauties of her Mind ſo far exceed 'em, they ſtand in Rivalſhip with the moſt Correct and truly Elevated of our Sex.

Yes, yes, ſhe has given elevated Proofs in⯑deed of a prodigious correct Mind, in chooſing rather to make you Guardian of her Honour and Innocence, than keep Poſſeſſion of 'em herſelf.

She has, Madam, in the juſteſt Senſe, made me Guardian of her Honour: I am her Husband.

Husband.

Yes, Madam, and prouder of the Name, than all the empty Pomp that Fortune, Birth, or Title, can beſtow.

Sir, I go Poſt for London To-morrow Morn⯑ing; do you chooſe Lodgings in Moorfields, Chelſea, or Bednal-Green?

Hence, thou Trifler.

Raving, by Endymion; and poſitively may be miſchievous, therefore 'tis prudect to withdraw, tii is fit cools, 'egad.

My Preſence, Sir, I perceive, but more in⯑creaſes the Indignation Lady Davers is thus ſuddenly alarm'd with; therefore beg Leave to withdraw, leſt I prevent a Reconciliation I moſt ardently deſire.

Your Prudence and good Senſe have only prevented my Requeſt—that you might not be diſ⯑turb'd with her outrageous Inſolence and Pride—I'll wait on you in the Garden immediately, my Life.

What! is ſhe gone? You did well to ſend her out of the Way—for by the Infamy ſhe throw [...] upon our Blood— [...]— [...]—

Ceaſe your idle Threats—Virtue and Innocence add Luſtre to the nobleſt Blood.

I hope, Sir, our's wanted no ſuch Addition.

Your Part on't wants Meekneſs and Humility—they would make you new, like me: This lovely Creature's Merit, as it ſtands enrich'd by Na⯑ture, is regardleſs of the Gifts of Accident or Fortune.

Provoking Folly; and do you really ima⯑gine, Sir, this pretty romantick Encomium upon Na⯑ture, and her fiddle-faddle Gifts, will make any A⯑tonement for the eternal Blemiſh thrown on the Ho⯑nour of our Name and Family?

I well know you have been fatally miſled, by too many Precedents, to conclude Pride and Haughti⯑neſs the chief Charactericks of Name and Family.

Yes, Sir, I ſhall ſo far perſevere in that Error—never meanly to acknowledge as my Re⯑lation any mean pitiful—

By Heaven! if you but whiſper one the ſlight⯑eſt Accent may reflect on her I have thought fit to ſhare my Name and Fortune with, that Moment is the laſt you ever ſhall be called, or even remember'd as a Siſter—Farewell,

Stay, I conjure you

Alas, my Brother, you too ſeverely load me with the Charge of Pride—while thus, behold, your warm Concern, and ſharp Reſentment, ſubdues its utmoſt Force, and change to Tenderneſs its boaſted Strength.

Prithee no more; I am convinced thoſe Vio⯑lences of Temper, that ſo frequently break out, are more contracted by Habit and ill Example, than any natural Tendency in your Diſpoſi ion; and be aſſured, my Dear, when you are thoroughly acquainted with Pamela's great Worth and Merit, you will readily confeſs I have the faireſt Proſpect for a continual Se⯑ries of ſocial Happineſs, the chief Bleſſing of the mar⯑ried State.

I have, as well as you, a very high Opinion of Pamela's Merit—Yet—

Beware of a Relapſe, let me entreat you, fol⯑low her into the Garden, and now your Paſſion ſome⯑what [61] ſubſides, I am convinced the Force of her good Senſe, and winning Affability in conveying that Senſe, will quickly baniſh your falſe Punctilios of Birth and Family.

If they ſhould fail, the tender Wiſhes I muſt ever have, to hold a Place in your Affections, ſhall henceforth govern all my Thoughts.

May it pleaſe your Honour, Maſter Andrews is without, and preſſes very hard to ſee your Honour.

Ha, Mr. Andrews, admit him immediately.

This good old Man, no doubt, is come with a heavy anxious Heart, apprehenſive of his Daughter's Ruin, 'twere beſt I think to leave the Pleaſure of undeceiving him to her, becauſe 'twill ſo agreeably increaſe the Joy.

Good Mr. Andrews, your Servant; I am extremely glad to ſee.

I thank you Sir,—Pardon my Impati⯑ence, Sir, where is my Child?

I believe, i'th' Garden.

She's well, I hope?

O never better—gay as the Spring, and beautiful as ever.

I am not ſolicitous to know in what Condi⯑tion the Beauty of her Perſon ſtands, provided that of her Mind is ſtill preſerv'd unblemiſh'd.

Sure, Mr. Andrews you don't imagine ſhe has any Examples in my Family to corrupt it?

I hope there are not, Sir, but pardon me, if the fond Tears of an indulgent Father ſtruggle againſt that Hope, and guſh with ſilent Anguiſh from my Eyes.

'Twere cruel longer to continue him under this Anxiety.

Let Pamela know I deſire to ſee her.

She and Lady Davers, Sir, are here.

Here's a Stranger, Pamela—

My Father;

Wou'd I were not.

Alas, what mean you, Sir?

View thy own ſumptuous Dreſs—and tell thyſelf my Meaning.

Oh, my lov'd Father, baniſh your Fears, nor think your Daughter's Innocence the hateful Barter for this coſtly Habit; 'tis made the Purchaſe, not the Exchange: for know, this worthy Gentleman, won by my conſtant Firmneſs to the virtuous Principles your Goodneſs early taught me, has rais'd me juſtly to the Honour of his Bed; I am his Wife.

How ſhall my ſudden declining Strength ſup⯑port this ſudden Flood of Joy? O my Child, my Child;

Is not the Power of thus rewarding virtuous Truth, my Siſter, the nobleſt Pride the Heart can boaſt?

Believe me, Brother, I want no Arguments to enforce its Truth.

My Surpriſe and Joy too long prevent my Gratitude—O worthy Sir, what Words, what Thoughts ſufficiently can pay—?

The ampleſt Payment is the Bleſſing of that honeſt upright Heart upon this happy Union.

Spare me this Confuſion, Sir, receive it in my Wiſhes, I have not Words.

Ha, ha, ha, by Aſtraea and her Scales, ha, ha, ha, the drolleſt and moſt conſummate Piece of Juſtice, ha, ha, ha, the Goddeſs, Madam,

points you out as her peeuliar Favourite; for ſhe has not only wrought the Confuſion of your inveterate [63] Enemy, but alſo the Converſion of your moſt devoted humble Servant.

What mean you, Sir?

Why, in the firſt Place, Sir, a worthy Gen⯑tleman, by giving me the moſt prevailing as well as pleaſing Detail of this Lady's amiable Conduct and Qualities, has made me a ſincere Convert to Women of Honour and Virtue. And this Paper, Sir,—this Pa⯑per, left by your Valet de Chambre, Colebrand, will hu⯑mourouſly deſcribe the Puniſhment ſo juſtly inflicted on that venerable Matron Madamoiſelle Jewkes.

Pray oblige us, Sir, with reading it.

I cou'd wiſh this evil Woman's Puniſhment had been accompliſhed, without the Addition of another's Crime.

Give me Leave to intercede, ſhe may not, Sir, be wholly deſtitute—leſt Want prevent that Peni⯑tence your Clemency may win.

How exalted is the Mind prefering Mercy to Revenge.

Sir, that I might contribute as much as poſſible to enlarge the Pleaſure ſo general in your Family, I have prepared a little muſical Entertainment, in which your Neighbours and Servants have deſired to be employ'd as Performers, and they now wait your Commands.

Whenever they pleaſe, Mr. Williams.

Sir, I am greatly obliged to you, and moſt particular⯑ly ſo, in becoming the happy Inſtrument of diſcover⯑ing to me, the ineſtimable Merit of this lovely Wo⯑man, which I had before too lightly view'd.