WIT's LAST STAKE.
ACT I. SCENE I.

MR. Martin, good morning! you are abroad very early. Have you alter'd your hour of riſing, or are you troubled with a bad conſcience?

I make you as early a viſit as this is, my dear girl, each morning of my life—in imagi⯑nation;—but I now pay my duty to you in per⯑ſon, and by order of my maſter. He, poor ſoul! full of anxiety, bad me attend your levée for an account of the health of that ſweet ſwain his uncle, How has he paſſed the night?

Never worſe.

Heav'n be praiſed! The old fellow muſt have had a noble conſtitution, or he never could have ſtood buff; at once to ſo many diſeaſes.

Very true. He has twice within theſe two days fallen into my arms in a profound lethargy: [2]and, I believe, no earthly care but mine could have revived him.

O curſe your care! And pray how are you rewarded?

Why, I can't ſay I have either preſent pay, or good quarters. He ſeems ſenſible of my good offices; but begs to be excuſed the paying for them.—He, indeed, promiſes faithfully to remem⯑ber me in his Will.

What, is he going to make one at laſt?

Immediately—where my name, I believe, will make no ſmall figure.

Heav'n ſend it, ſay I!—the old fellow muſt be very rich.

Rich! ſo he had need be to ſatisfy all thoſe who are gaping for his death.

He'll treat them with a mouthful of moonſhine. My maſter flatters himſelf the beſt part of the wealth will fall to his lot. I think, I, as a relation, am entitled to a legacy.

A relation! You!

Yes I—My maſter and his uncle are re⯑lations, that can't be deny'd.—My late wife was as obliging as ſhe was handſome—indeed we were look'd on as the moſt agreeable couple in the pa⯑riſh—but let that paſs. She, I ſay, by a ſmall ex⯑ertion of that good nature for which ſhe was re⯑markable, took care that my maſter and I ſhould be kin. O, I'm certainly one of the family.—

At that rate, I believe, you are related to more families than this. O wedlock would be a wealthy ſtate indeed if huſbands could inherit by ſuch a title.

True, true—but joking apart—'tis ne⯑ceſſary that we ſhould do every thing in our power to forward this will, get it made, and to our [3]liking too—for if my maſter ſhould not be remem⯑bered by the old gentleman, he muſt, the reſt of his days, take up with very ſpare diet. But what is moſt materially to be conſidered, is the reward of five hundred, which he has promiſed to give you and me, as ſecret ſervice money, on the day of his marriage with Myra: and which, to avoid diſputes concerning dividends, you have conſented ſhall be common ſtock, and we are to follow their example. O, here comes my maſter.—

Well, my dear Lucetta, what news? af⯑ford me ſome comfort! How is my poor uncle? How has he paſſed the night? Can he bear com⯑pany? May I be permitted to ſee him this morn⯑ing?

Really, Sir, he has paſſed the night very ill; and, if I can form any judgment, he has not a right to expect many more on this ſide the grave.

Good heav'n! What ſay you, Lucetta? Notwithſtanding my great expectations, duty and nature are very powerful in me; and his approach⯑ing end cauſes certain emotions, which you cannot feel, or I deſcribe.

I cannot anſwer for her feelings, or your deſcriptions; but as to emotions, I believe they are ſuch as I felt when I paid the laſt duties to my poor dear wife of pious memory. I found myſelf attacked by a kind of a certain fort of a—flow—pungent—pleaſing—melancholy—that had ſuch an effect on my ſpirits, that—as if—in ſhort, as you ſay, Sir, it is a ſituation eaſier felt than told, and what many a married man wiſhes to experi⯑ence, [4]that he may become a more competent judge.

—I believe the old gentleman begins to think himſelf in a bad way at laſt; for he has or⯑dered me to provide two proctors.

My heart throbs to find my fate ſo near its criſis.

Be of good cheer, Sir; I believe all will go well: within theſe two days he and your mi⯑ſtreſs's mother, Mrs. Watchly, were laying their heads together, and in deep muttering for ſome time—Deeds—legacies—marriages, and ſo forth; and I make no doubt the main point was making a conditional match for you and the young lady.

Don't flatter me, Lucetta. Heaven is my witneſs, I ſhould not think wealth worth a wiſh, did it not ſhorten the journey of my deſires to my dear Myra.

Come, come, Sir, you are in a fair way of having both—Nay, I make no doubt of your being ſole heir.—Troth 'twould grieve me to ſee the ſtock divided: for, Sir, I know you would do a world of good with it.—Now, as to your pro⯑miſe to Martin and me, I know—

Say no more of that, Lucetta: I remem⯑ber my promiſe, and will be even better than my word.

O, Sir, I don't doubt your generoſity: and I hope I may venture to ſay, I ſhall not be al⯑together unworthy. I have always kept praiſing you and your good qualities to the old gentleman. —Lord, Sir, ſays I, how happy are you in ſuch a nephew! ſo ſweet a diſpoſition! ſo complaiſant! ſo reſpectful! not urged to attend you, like moſt of your relations, from a principle of ſelfiſhneſs, but by a regard of the moſt delicate and tender nature.

You hear, Sir, how well ſhe knows and deſcribes you—to ſay the truth, Sir, I think you can no more over-rate her merit, than ſhe can over⯑praiſe yours.

I think her deſert is great—and I'll tell you what elſe I think—

What, Sir?

That you are not quite diſintereſted in your recommendation.

Why the truth is, Sir, the poor girl has caſt a favourable eye on the perſon and good qua⯑lities of your humble ſervant, and I have con⯑ſented to follow your example. I'm ſure, Sir, you can't blame me for taking pity on her.

Pity, Sauce-box! pity!

O, that diſſembled anger becomes you mightily. You ſee, Sir, ſhe has her attractions; ſhe's young, handſome, en bon point; and—I had better not be too laviſh neither, leſt he ſhou'd take a fancy to her too.

Huſh! I hear the old gentleman. You have detain'd me ſo long here, I ſhan't be able to go to the Proctors. Run you, Martin, directly, and tell them to come hither; they both live in Doctor's Commons; one is named Caveat, the other Item.—go.—

I fly.

Ah, Nephew! good-morrow!

Dear Sir, how do you find yourſelf? ſit down, Sir—Lucetta, draw forward the arm-chair, that my uncle may be more at his eaſe.

So—ſo—ſo—

I think, Sir, you look much better than when I ſaw you laſt—But, Sir, I really think you don't do yourſelf juſtice; your frame muſt be much weaken'd by your diſorder, and you neglect the proper applications to reſtore it.

They are not to be had, nephew, without a conſiderable expence. Thoſe props for the conſtitution are very dear; and I think the building ſo crazy, 'tis hardly worth repairing— But, dear Charles, I'm glad you call'd; for I have ſome thoughts of ſettling my ſmall worldly matters—Have you ſent for the Proctors?

Yes, Sir; and expect them here very ſoon.

My good Charles, I ſhall take care of thee.

I have no cauſe to doubt it, Sir.

You know that I have relations, that— euh, euh—

Yes, in troth, a hopeful pack, and a com⯑fortable number.

Who watch my door as eagerly as the undertaker.

I hope my uncle knows me too well to put me in the liſt.

Heaven be praiſed! I ſhall ſee the harpies fitted for their avarice. Such a crew! hungry as wolves, and cunning as foxes. O, what raiſing of ſhoulders, and dropping of jaws there will be, whenever the will's produc'd, and the long ex⯑pected ticket proves a blank. Never ſtir, Sir, but I think it wou'd be worth a trip from the other world to behold their diſappointment.

May be ſo, Lucetta—But as I am not got there yet, I need not at preſent think about making the experiment. However I'll put my [7]affairs in order, and have ſent for the Proctors to take my inſtructions.

Sir, you act as a prudent man ought—

Nephew, you have now and then ſeen our neighbour, Mrs. Watchly?

Yes, Sir.

And her daughter, Myra,—euh, euh—you have ſeen her too?

Yes, Sir; and have been much pleas'd with her eaſe, affability, and amiable manners.

Very amiable! I am glad, Charles, we think ſo near alike—for—I am going to marry her.

You, uncle!

I, nephew.

I wiſh you happy—Heaven's what a turn! But I muſt diſſemble.

O, phials and crutches, marry!—you mar⯑ry Miſs Myra?—you, Sir—

Ay, why not, Sir?

My ſtars!—you;—what you marry? ſo old, ſo feeble, ſo, ſo, ſo, every thing—is that proper?

No prating, huſſy! I beſt know my own concerns, and what is proper for me; ſo pray keep your impertinent remarks to yourſelf—old and fee⯑ble quotha!

Sir, Mrs. Watchly and Miſs Myra are below.

Nephew, do you conduct them up.

I will, Sir—

what a taſk have I to go through?

Here, Lucetta! my wig quickly

—there, there, ſettle my neckcloth—ſo, how do I look, Lucetta—Eh?

Enchantingly—If you were my huſband, I would not deſire you to look better.

D'ye hear! not a word of my lethargy.

Mighty well.

Nor of my age, Mrs. Flippant.

If I can hold my tongue, I will, Sir; but 'tis rather upon the gallop to-day.

Mr. Linger, your moſt obedient. How are you, Sir? I did not expect, after what I heard this morning, to find you ſo well. We were alarmed with a report that you had had a bad night, and were given over.

Oh, Madam, thoſe reports are ſpread by my vile relations, who ſpeak as they wiſh.—I was never better.

I think, Madam, my uncle's countenance is a confirmation of it: he really looks like a man of thirty.

Yes, in a coffin.

My caſe muſt be deſperate indeed, if thoſe bright eyes could not work a cure. Euh, euh!

You ſee, my dear Myra, the man I have fix'd on as your future huſband; and I am convinced you are too well acquainted with your duty, to diſpute my pleaſure.

It is true, Madam, my duty urges a con⯑ſent; but believe me, my compliance can anſwer no other end than to convince the gentleman of [9]his miſtake and make me unhappy.—He will find, upon a ſhort trial, my eyes will not have the won⯑derful effect his preſent partiality aſcribes to them.

That, Madam, muſt be according as they are applied. I dare ſay, when rightly uſed, they have a very healing quality.

Ah, well ſaid, Charles! I believe I ſhall prove the truth of what you ſay; and in a few months give occaſion for a report that will not be ſo pleaſing to my hungry relations—as—Euh, euh!

Lord, Madam, how melan⯑choly you look! you don't ſeem in the leaſt to be ſenſible of your felicity—why, you'll be the envy of your ſex—Pin-money for the preſent! a fine jointure in future! a charming equipage! a hand⯑ſome man! a parcel of ſweet babes! and the curſes of all your huſband's relations—I know no happi⯑neſs like it.

Thank you, Lucetta, thank you!

I can't bear this impertinence. Why, Sir,

they are laughing both at you and me.—

Laughing at us!—who is it, my ſweet Myra, that dares to laugh at us? What, is it you, nephew?—

Heaven forbid, Sir—I was never more ſe⯑rious than I am at preſent. Were I in your place I would do juſt the ſame. Warm paſſions require a wife, and a good eſtate wants an heir; the young lady's mother gives her conſent, and I would marry the ſweet, young, amiable creature directly.—

You mean me, nephew?

To be ſure, Sir.—

Is it then your advice, Sir, that I obey my mother's commands?

'Sdeath, what ſhall I ſay—O, hy⯑pocriſy!—

Sir!

Madam, duty would ſpeak ſhould I be ſilent.

I ſay no more, Sir; you have proved your duty by pleading for your uncle and adviſing me. I, for my part, Madam, ſhall prove mine by an immediate compliance with your will when⯑ever called upon.

For heaven's ſake, Lu⯑cetta, follow her down and explain matters. You ſee my miſerable ſituation—but I'll forfeit every hope rather than ſuffer her to entertain ſuſpicions of my fidelity.

So, ſo—here will be fine work.—

You ſee, Sir, it is as I told you; my daughter yields to me in all things: and when I have transferred my right, I dare ſay ſhe will as chearfully ſubmit to yours.

O, Madam, there is not the leaſt ground for doubt.

I will immediately follow Myra, and have no doubt of ſettling every thing to your wiſh; you ſhall hear from me by to-morrow morning. In the mean time you may proceed in regard to the writings.—

I ſhall think every moment an age.— Dear Madam, yours.

A very diſcreet, well-bred, diſcerning wo⯑man, indeed.—But I have really ſo exhauſted my ſtrength and ſpirits on this occaſion, that I want recruiting.—Euh—Euh—

You had better lie down a little, Sir. Come, I'll raiſe you and wait on you in.—

O, no, here comes Lucetta, and I'll not trouble you.

Charles, fare thee well awhile—I'll ſend to thee when I've had a little reſt; if I can take any till I hear from my dear Myra—Euh, euh— Time will move but ſlowly till I have reached the end of all my wiſhes.—

I ſhall be ready to attend you, Sir;—and that I may be ready I ſhall wait within call.—

I vow, Lucetta, the tumult my heart has been in, at the thoughts of poſſeſſing that ſweet young creature, has quite overpowered me—I am afraid my paſſion has gone too far, and has un⯑dertaken more than my ſtrength can ſupport.— Lead me to my bed—I ſhall faint, Lucetta, be⯑fore I get to my chamber.—What a perverſe, en⯑vious diſorder this is, that will not let me reap the harveſt of love, without putting me in mind of mortality.—Euh—Euh—Sick—Sick—very ſick, indeed!—

What a compleat huſband is here for a girl of two and twenty—Lord help his poor head!

"Time will move but ſlowly till he has reached the end of all his wiſhes!"—He moves ſo ſlowly that I ſhould rather think he'll ſooner reach the end of all his cares another way—A pleaſant ſituation this [12]of mine! Was ever poor devil betrayed into ſuch a ſcene of complicated hypocriſy? What violence have I done myſelf theſe few laſt minutes! and for what? The old lady, I know is pretty poſitive— She does not give her daughter to the man but to the fortune; and I ſeem to ſtand a worſe chance for that than ever—Then what hope have I? None—but in the chapter of accidents, which as often befriends poor young fellows, as poor poli⯑ticians.—

Well, Martin, what have you been doing?

Tiring my legs, and breaking my wind, by running to and again—after your buſineſs—I have at laſt got to the ſpeech of the proctors—and they have promiſed to be here in leſs than an hour.

Mighty well. But can you gueſs how my uncle intends to employ them when they arrive?

Yes, to make his will; and, by ſo doing, to fulfil ours.

What do you think of making a marriage contract?

No, ſure! who, in the name of cuck⯑oldom, is to be the happy woman?

No other than my own dear Myra. What do you think of that?

Why, I think, if the wedding takes place, Mrs. Watchly will be a cruel avaritious je⯑zabel; that e'er long the old man will be heartily tir'd, and Miſs heartily mortified—that you will run diſtracted; theſe put together will make up a bad piece of news for your creditors, and I ſhall run away, which I may ſay without vanity, Sir, will be a very ſevere ſtroke upon you.

Sir, your ſervant. I wiſh they may bear their loſs with half the patience that I ſhall mine.

Well, Lucetta, what news?

The beſt in the world. I think your uncle grows worſe and worſe; and his wiſhes for the match ſeem to give way with his health. I did as you deſired with Miſs Myra.—I am con⯑vinced all the old lady's rhetoric will be thrown away—this I have told the old gentleman, not omitting a few aggravating circumſtances which invention ſupplied me with, and he as good as ſays he has no hopes.—Now if we can but—

Hark, his bell rings—I'll go to him, and make the beſt uſe of my time, ay, and my tongue too—Courage, Sir, we ſhall come through at laſt never fear.

So, ſo, ſo.

Huzza! things begin to look as they ſhould do. Farewel expectation and welcome re⯑gular meals. Ah, my dear Sir, we ſhall yet be made men. Exit penury, enter generoſity. The caſh will tumble into proper hands—conſent will follow caſh, and matrimony follow conſent. My good fortune depends on your marriage, and my marriage on your good fortune. You will—

Hold, hold! not quite ſo faſt! you ſeem to be reckoning without your hoſt. I will, how⯑ever, run and acquaint my dear Myra with the preſent poſture of affairs, and try what I can do with the old lady.—Do you ſtay in the way to uſher in the proctors; and if any thing extraordi⯑nary happens, you know where to find me.

O heav'ns! the moſt unfortunate accident!—O, worthy Sir, you are undone—Martin's wretched, and I am miſerable.—

What's the matter, Lucetta? has my uncle changed his reſolution? don't keep me in ſuſ⯑pence.—

O, dear Sir, our hopes are all vaniſhed— your uncle's dead.

Dead, Lucetta!

Dead, Sir. The moment I got into his room, I ſaw every token of life forſaking him— he juſt muttered ſomething, that he wiſhed for the proctors, that he would now leave you ſole heir. O, what a time to be taken off! ſole heir, Sir, only think of that! ſo—ſo—ſo—ſole heir! O—o—o—

Then fate has done its worſt.

Come, come, this is no time for re⯑flection—the holes made by fate, we muſt patch up with induſtry—ſelf preſervation is the firſt law of nature. Secure all the old gentleman's move⯑ables before his death is made public. You have equity on your ſide; for you know in your con⯑ſcience, nay ſhe, you find, abſolutely heard him de⯑clare, he intended to make you his heir.

I am thunderſtruck! I know not how to turn!

Sir, Mr. Item, and Mr. Caveat, the proctors from Doctors Commons, are below.

Shew them into the parlour.—

Now, Sir, determine quickly as to your conduct in this affair—Your uncle's death muſt be imme⯑diately [15]known.—Stay—I have a thought.—Sup⯑poſe we darken the room as much as will ſerve our purpoſe, put your uncle's cap, one of his old gowns and ſo forth on Martin; throw him on the ſettee, and then let him, as your uncle, dictate the heads of a will, which can never be diſputed, and conſequently put you in poſſeſſion of all your preſent wiſhes.

What ſay you, Martin, to this expedient?

Say! That I am ready to march when⯑ever you give the word of command. Our temp⯑tations are woman and gold, ſo far we are even— but as you are commander and I only a common ſoldier, I muſt run into the thick of the danger, while you are little more than an humble ſpec⯑tator.—But—produce the materials, and advance proctors!—

Follow me to the proper apartment, and I'll equip you.—

Pleaſe to walk in, gentlemen—my maſter will ſee you preſently.

Very well.

Pray, Brother Caveat, is there likely to be an accommodation in that affair between Lord Doublematch and the relations of Miſs Underage?

I can't ſay—My Lord has a great deal of underſtanding and but little money; the lady's friends a great deal of money, and a very ſmall ſhare either of right or underſtanding—ſo—but as I have told you the ſituation of both parties, I dare ſay, Brother Item, we may both gueſs how it will end.

Gentlemen, your moſt obedient—

Sir yours—pray how is good Mr. Linger?

Why, Sir, in a very diſagreeable ſituation and I fear near his end.—When he ſent to you we had very little expectation of his living till you came—but he has taken a little nap ſince, and ſeems tolerably refreſh'd. He is preparing to re⯑ceive you.

See, Sir, how contrary to his intentions things might have ended.—A man who has any thing to leave, ſhould not defer ſettling his affairs till the laſt moment. Some idle people will tell you, that a man may often change his mind as to the diſpoſal of his property. So let him, ſo let him—he can alſo change the form of his will as often; and might I adviſe, a man of fortune ſhould rather make ten wills a month, than live a month after he's of age without one.

Sir, my uncle, without hearing your opi⯑nion ſeems conſcious of his error, and wants to do all in his power to prevent the inconveniencies you ſeem to apprehend from his neglect. He is wholly unable to bear much light or talk—therefore I muſt beg you will put up with as little of one, and provoke as little of the other, as the nature of the caſe will admit. Come, gentlemen, I'll ſhew you the way.

Gentlemen, I'm glad you are here and in health; I really don't envy you, though I can⯑not [17]help wiſhing that I had as good a ſtock, that making a will might not be ſo immediately ne⯑ceſſary.

Courage, my good Sir; a man is not a bit nearer death for making his will; nay, I affirm the very contrary.—Nothing ſo likely to give re⯑poſe as eaſing the mind; nothing ſo likely to eaſe the mind, as ſettling one's worldly affairs; nothing ſo abſolute a ſettlement of worldly affairs as a well made will—ergo—a well made will is the likelieſt medicine to re-eſtabliſh health.—

Heaven ſend I may find it ſo!

I warrant you.—Neighbour Item, you have the materials,—let us begin.—But firſt it may be proper that theſe parties quit the room.

O, I cannot leave my dear maſter!

Nay, Lucetta, my uncle muſt determine for us both.

O, gentlemen, I am under great obli⯑gations to them; and as they are pretty well ap⯑priſed of my intentions, their retiring will be un⯑neceſſary.

We ſhall proceed then immediately. The common preamble, In the name and ſo forth, we may ſuppoſe—now, Sir, to the ſubſtance of the buſineſs,—

After the diſcharge of my debts, which I deſire may be paid forthwith.

Dear Sir, thoſe are but ſmall I am ſure, and not worth the mention.

Nay, I owe to Bob Mixum, at the Sun Tavern, above fifty pounds for wine.—

Very well, Sir;—have you a deſire to be interred at any particular place.

No, no;—I have but one injunction to lay on that particular;—which is, that I may be buried at as little an expence as poſſible.

Ah! my dear maſter retains his prudence to the laſt.

Well, Sir, pleaſe to let us know what legacies are to be ſet forth in your will.

I ſhall, I ſhall,—euh—euh—After pay⯑ment of a few trifles, which I ſhall mention pre⯑ſently, I make my worthy and valued nephew, my ſole heir and executor.—

Heart-rending generoſity!

Leaving to his uſe, all my eſtates real and perſonal; goods, chattels, money, &c. wholly cutting off every other relation or dependent, their relations or dependants; their children legitimate or mine illegitimate, now in being, or that may be by me begot and produced as mine, before or after my deceaſe.

If any ſuch ſhould appear, heaven forbid but that I ſhould remember your generoſity, and let them be, in ſome meaſure, partakers.—

Item, I give and bequeath to my faithful ſervant, Lucetta Sharp, here preſent—

Oh!

Who has attended me with great care— on condition ſhe marries Martin Sly, and not otherwiſe—

Eh! how!

Mark this, my dear Charles!—I ſay as a reward for her attention and zeal—

Oh! ſhall I loſe ſo good a maſter!

One thouſand pounds ſterling.—

Heaven reward you, dear Sir! 'tis too much! too much! your kindneſs ſo overwhelms [19]me, I ſhall never live to enjoy it. The dear ſoul always ſaid I ſhould be well remembered.

O, the raſcal! this is a ſpice of his old trade which I was not prepared for.— Well, Sir, I fancy this is the whole of your inſtructions.

No, no, I have two or three more words to ſay.—Item, I give and bequeath unto the ſaid Martin Sly—

The ſcoundrel is making a will with a witneſs.

Whether he marries the ſaid Lucetta or not—for his good and faithful ſervices to me and his maſter—

Services! why, dear Sir, you are con⯑ſcious there is not a more worthleſs fellow—

O nephew, you don't know his merits ſo well as I do. I ſay, in conſideration of his good qualities, exerted in favour of me and mine, I bequeath him two hundred pounds per annum during his natural life, to be ſecured to him in what manner he, after my deceaſe, ſhall chooſe.—

O, the dog!

What is the matter, nephew? is it not enough think you?

Enough! Sir, in my opinion, it is by far too much, and that he ought to think himſelf more than paid with a ſmall part of it.—

No, the full two hundred a year—this article neglected, I declare the whole will null and void.—

But, dear uncle, to a footman; a fellow that you know—

Another word, Charles, and I make it a thouſand.

The villain won't leave me a penny if he goes on.

Dear Sir, do not oppoſe my good maſter. You know his obſtinate diſpoſition; a haſty word from you may overturn what he has done for us all.

I muſt curb my anger for the preſent.

Any thing more, Sir?

No, I have done.

Heaven be praiſed!—

Well, Sir, theſe inſtructions my brother Item and I will take into another room; they ſhall be drawn out in proper form, and we will return as ſoon as poſſible, and put the finiſhing ſtroke to our buſineſs. Gentlemen, your moſt obedient.

So!—that's over; and I think I have play'd my part tolerably well.

Too well for me. Pray, tell me, Sir!— you muſt have loſt your wits or all ſenſe of ſhame. How could you think of giving Lucetta ſuch a ſum? a thouſand pounds!

The poor girl ſhould be made eaſy, Sir. I could not in conſcience leave her leſs.

Conſcience!—it was to eaſe that very conſcience too, raſcal, that you gave yourſelf the moderate reward of two hundred a year.—

I am ſorry you are diſpleaſed, Sir. But we can ſet it all to rights. The will is not yet executed. When the proctors return you may diſmiſs them—or let me execute it, and afterwards put it in the fire, and let matters ſtand as your good uncle left them.

The arch raſcal has me ſecure on every ſide. Well, Martin, I've done!—you [21]ſhall have your annuity; but you muſt deſerve it by ſome further aſſiduity in the affair: I cannot leave the houſe, and as it will be ſome time before the proctors can finiſh their buſineſs, you muſt, to anſwer preſent occaſions, put yourſelf in ſtatu quo; then ſend the boy to Mrs. Watchly. Let him tell her and my dear Myra I am impatient to ſee them, and beg they will pay me a viſit here. He muſt ſay, my uncle is confined to his room, ſo they will run no hazard of ſeeing him.

No ſooner ſaid than done, Sir.—I fly.

After all, I cannot reconcile myſelf to the having been a party in executing this decep⯑tion; 'tis true my uncle promiſed to leave all to me, in preference to every other relation. But tho' he had an undoubted right ſo to give it, I have by no means a privilege thus to take it—I will, however, ſo far make uſe of the fraud, as to blind Mrs. Watchly; and when Myra and I are ſettled, I make no doubt of gaining her pardon for the deceit, and liberty to make ſatisfaction to all parties.—

O, unhappy me!—O heaven!—what have I ſeen? what will become of me—oh—oh— undone!—oh—oh!—

What's the matter, Lucetta? tell me!

Oh!—I can't—I'm choak'd—but—but—

But what, Lucctta.

Oh! I have ſeen!—

What the devil have you ſeen?

Worſe than the devil.—Your uncle, Sir, alive and on his legs.—

How, Lucetta!

Oh, too fatally true. After placing the proctors at the table in the parlour, and ſupplying them with neceſſaries for the work, I was going up the back ſtairs to my own apartment the gar⯑ret, when, bleſs my eyes! what ſhould I ſee but your uncle. A ſcream teſtified my ſurprize, and my immediately running from him muſt have encreaſed his. I believe he will follow me if he can muſter ſo much ſtrength.

Oh—he's—coming—

O, Lucetta, I find myſelf unable to face him for the preſent.—Do you keep him in conver⯑ſation, while I retire to recollect myſelf, and in⯑form Martin what has happen'd, if I can find him.

Was there ever any thing ſo unfortunate! that a ſcheme ſo quickly plann'd, ſo perfectly well executed—but no reflection—for here comes the old gentleman, and I muſt to buſineſs.

Oh, my dear Sir, are you reſtor'd to us? heav'n be praiſed! who only can truly know, the ſorrow the whole family felt at your late ſevere ſtroke and ſuppoſed death.

Eh—what?—death, Lucetta!

Ay, Sir, you was dead to all appearance; witneſs the ſighs and groans of thoſe you left behind! O, the ſcene of woe, from which your recovery has happily releaſed us.

Eh—how—dead! aſtoniſhing—well— but where's my nephew?

Oh, Sir!

What's oh Sir? he is not dead too, is he?

Truly, Sir, I would not ſwear the contrary, for he was no ſooner convinced, as he thought, of your death, but he ran and threw himſelf—

Threw himſelf! what,—out of the win⯑dow?—

No, Sir, on the bed; where he has re⯑mained bath'd in tears; we have not prevailed on him to eat or drink.—But, Sir, I'll go and inform him of your recovery, and make him as happy as you have made me.—O dear, O dear, O dear!

According to this girl's account, mine has been a ſurprizing recovery—if I may ſo call it in my preſent ſtate. I find myſelf extremely weak ſtill—I can hardly bear the light—my head ſwims —I have a miſt before my eyes—I'm ſtrangely vapour'd—and—in ſhort I am convinced I muſt have been a long time in this ſame lethargy.

Now, Sir, will you believe me?

Unexpected happineſs! Oh, my dear un⯑cle! has Heaven then, in pity to my grief, re⯑ſtored you to me once more?

O, Sir, could I but deſcribe how tenderly he loves you! O, had you ſeen his tears, and heard his ſighs, his ſobs, his groans—But to ſay the truth, there was not one of the family who did not ſympathize with him.

I believe it, Lucetta. Charles, thou art a good lad; and one of my greateſt comforts is, that I ſhall now have time and power to make [24]ſuch a will as will reward thy tenderneſs.—Apropos, here come the proctors.—

The devil they do!

Welcome, Gentlemen—I have been ex⯑pecting you a long time—But—better late than never.

A long time! Nay, I think we have been very expeditious—Sir, I am glad to ſee you ſo recovered—But I knew it would be ſo. I told you making your will would give you new ſpirits, and now you find the effects of my preſcription.—

Your preſcription! Pray when did you tell me ſo?

When we were laſt in this room: when we took your inſtructions.

Inſtructions! what inſtructions? What paper is that?

Your will; which we come to put the finiſhing ſtroke to.

What! have I made my will?

Undoubtedly.

We ſhall certainly be diſcovered—O, how my heart thumps!

I can never ſtand this: I ſhall die with confuſion.

I give inſtructions! I make my will!— you are diſtracted.—

Sir, I am afraid you are ſo. I ſhould be heartily ſorry, after this trouble, to find you non compos mentis.—But here are the parties who were preſent; and here comes that fellow that fetch'd me to you.—

Eh, alive! O, the devil! what is all this!

There is no retreat; therefore ſtand your ground, and let us fight it out. The old gentle⯑man ſeems confuſed, and ſomething may perhaps ſtart in our favour.—

More and more ſurpriſing! And my ne⯑phew, ſay you, preſent?

On my credit he was.—

Speak, nephew, I conjure you.

Oh, Sir, I am not able! the thoughts of the will rive my very heart.

Martin, did you fetch theſe gentlemen? By whoſe order, pray?

By your own.

Hey-day!

By the ſame token you was then lying on this couch, and bad me make haſte.

And on the couch we found you.

This is all very ſtrange. I recollect no⯑thing of it. It muſt have been in my lethargy—

Nothing more likely.

It was certainly ſo.—But let me know how my will ſtands.

Willingly—

—In the name, and ſo forth—"I Humphry Linger, of the pariſh of—

Well, well, never mind the unneceſſary jargon, but come to particulars.—

So be it—Liſten then—‘After paying all my juſt debts—’

Debts! I don't owe a ſhilling.

O, yes; fifty pounds, you know, to Bob Mixum at the Sun.

I owe him fifty pounds! I never had an accompt with him in my life.—

No, Sir! why you bad me call on him in my way to theſe gentlemen, and order him to write it out.

This muſt have been in my lethargy— go on—

‘I hereby appoint my well beloved ne⯑phew Charles Saville, my whole and ſole exe⯑cutor—’

Eh! that's juſt as I intended. I am half inclined to think I was in my ſenſes after all.

‘Leaving to his uſe, after payment of certain legacies herein after-mentioned, all my eſtates real and perſonal, goods, chattels, mo⯑ney, &c.—wholly excluding from benefit thereof all other relations or dependents, their relations or dependents, their children legitimate, or mine illegitimate, now in being, or—’

Illegitimate! illegitimate! what I have baſtard children?

Ay, Sir, that muſt have been in your lethargy.

‘I give and bequeath to my faithful ſer⯑vant Lucetta Sharp—’

Good creature!

‘On condition ſhe marries Martin Sly, and not otherwiſe—’

How's this!

"One thouſand pounds ſterling.—

Dear Sir, how ſhall I acknowledge—Be⯑lieve me, Sir—my gratitude—that—in caſe—all that—if—ſpeak Martin, for my heart's too full.

A thouſand pounds—will you perſuade me I could be guilty of ſuch a folly?—

Why not, Sir?—In your lethargy.

Let me hear the reſt of this wonderful teſtament.—

‘Item, I give and bequeath unto the ſaid Martin Sly—’

To Martin!

‘Whether he marries the ſaid Lucetta Sharp, or not—’

O, the conſiderate good man!

‘For his good and faithful ſervices to me and his maſter—’

Services to me!

‘Two hundred pounds per annum during his natural life—’

On my knees, Sir, let me thank you! Heaven only knows how often and fervently I prayed for you, when I thought you dead, and how much I rejoice to find you reſtored to us.

How, Mr. Caveat! Two hundred a year? Why this could not—

No, as you ſay, Sir, this could not be in your lethargy.—

Lethargy or no lethargy, I am glad the will was not executed. I deſire, Mr. Caveat, it may be immediately burnt. I would not have ſuch a teſtimony of my folly in being. Two hun⯑dred a year!—O burn it, burn it.

Burn it, mercy forbid, Sir! Deſtroy all my hopes at once! Conſider how kind providence has been in reſtoring you, and don't begin your new life in an ill humour.

Dear Charles, there is nothing convinces me of the reality of this will, but my having taken [28]notice of thee in it; nor indeed is there any thing which prevents my confirming it, but the ſums mentioned to be left to thy injury in favour of theſe two—who, however deſerving—

His tender concern for me deprives me of the power of carrying on the deceit.—Pray, Gentlemen,

for a moment leave the room; I have ſomething to give vent to, or my heart will burſt.—

O, by all means.

Lucetta, let the Gentlemen have ſome toaſt and ſack in the next room.—

I don't like his looks.

If he peaches we are all undone.

I cannot longer deceive ſo kind and affectionate an uncle—Will you forgive me?

What is the matter, nephew? you kill me with apprehenſion.

Pray heaven he do! that you may not hear what is coming.

The will is all a falſhood and deceit.

Wough!—

How!—

We have deceived both you and the law⯑yers. This fellow, miſchievous and ſelfiſh, taking the advantage of your ſuppoſed death, took upon him to counterfeit you, and dictated that wicked abſurd will which you have heard.

I am in a cold ſweat!

And I in a colder!

My offences are greater than his—for I, who ought to have had feeling and honour to for⯑bid the deceit, hurry'd on by the Devil, intereſt, and that paſſion Love (for Myra's charms had [29]bewitched me) gave way to the temptation, and now ſtand before you, with the moſt keen, con⯑trite feeling of my offence, but without the leaſt hope of your forgiveneſs.—

But you ſhall have hope; for I do, and will forgive thee. 'Twas my abominable prepo⯑ſterous love that drove thee to deſpair.—I ſee, I confeſs, my errors, and will attone for them im⯑mediately. Call Lucetta, call the proctors, call every body.—

Lucetta! Proctors! Every body.—

O dear! this rapture will overpower me.

O, Mr. Caveat, I am too full of joy to talk about my will now—But ſend me a blank li⯑cence; come to me in the evening, and I will ſa⯑tisfy you all.

Nephew, run this moment to Mrs. Watchly and her daughter Myra; bring them to me directly!— Lucetta! do you and Martin get all the aſſiſtance you can, and procure me a wedding feaſt in a hurry. If I don't ſee you married, nephew, be⯑fore I die, I ſhan't die in peace; and that I may die in peace, I muſt ſee you wedded and bedded directly. Ah Martin, you have been a great rogue to be ſure, but I forgive you, I'm in a humour now to forgive every body.

Indeed, Sir, it is more than he deſerves; but after the indulgence ſhewn to me, I think I muſt forgive him.

Forgive me! is that all?—ſo the beſt of my ſituation is likely to be that of wearing this [30]livery during pleaſure;—a vile exchange for two hundred a year and my wife's portion!—I am now oblig'd to return to the comb and the cloath bruſh —tho' tis hardly a minute ago that my head was full of nothing but lands, tenements and proviſion for younger children,—however I ought not to complain, 'tis a proper puniſhment for my eager deſire of growing rich too ſoon;—but—courage! give me thy hand, Lucetta!—I am not yet afraid to follow my maſter in matrimony; and will hence⯑forward endeavour to imitate him in every virtue.