SCENE I.—A Room at the Toy.

ANY of our lads up here at the Toy ſince, Ned?

Yes, your Honor; the crew of your cutter dined with us laſt Sunday.

Is old Alibi the attorney down here much?

Yes, Sir; he's over at his houſe.

Have you ſeen his ward, Miſs Sophia Seymour, lately?

Ah! poor young lady! he ſeldom let's her go out but to church—A charity for ſome gentleman, like your Honor, to whip off to church with her.

Why, Ned, I have ſome notion—but to give you a ſimile in your own way—the old black [4] raſcal keeps her as cloſe as a cork in a bottle; which, to get out, I muſtn't bolt inward, but turn ſcrew round and round, and then cluck's the word. Get me a room and put my things in it.

How ſhall I get to ſee her? My new rival too! Who can he be?—Let's ſee—Where did Sophia ſay ſhe firſt ſaw him?

‘Noticed his watching me at the gate of Sir Aſhton Lever's Muſeum—heavy ſhower at Chelſea—brought guardian and I to town in his hackney-coach—A monſtrous fool!’—Yes; but if this monſtrous fool ſhou'd prove an over-match for all my wit—If I cou'd only contrive to ſee her.

Pleaſe, Sir, to walk into this room.

O'Donovan!

Aircourt! Who'd have thought of meet⯑ing you here at Hampton-Court?

Why, but what the deuce brought you here?

I'm here upon a love-ſcheme—incog.—huſh! you remember I told you over the laſt bottle we crack'd together at the Bedford—

True; our candles went out, and your ſtory ſet me aſleep

Well, rouſe now—You know Alibi the attorney—he's guardian to the moſt lovely—the ſweeteſt—

Zounds, my Sophia!

I'll have her,

Will you, faith?

What, then, you're acquainted with her?

The firſt time I ſaw my charmer, ſhe was engaged in a wrangle with her guardian at the gate of the—Muſeum—in—a—Leiceſter-fields.

Leiceſter-fields! Oh, ho!

She would ſee the butterflies, ha, ha, ha! He in a rage ſlapping his cane on a ſhow-glaſs of watch-ſtrings, ſeals, and ſleeve-buttons—cries, "Zounds, it's half-a-crown"—‘The exact price of that pane,’ ſays the man of the ſhop—"Jack, fetch the glazier"—The expence of this accident determined the affair; and the generous attorney, inſtead of Sir Aſhton's, propoſing a trudge to Don Saltero's, I whip'd in a hack before them to Chelſea—Returning home, down comes an auſpicious ſhower, and, to ſave eighteen-pence, Alibi accepts of part of my coach.

What, your own hack, Ha, ha, ha!—Yes, this is Sophia's monſtrous fool

I throw a tender glance—Sophia bluſhes, and we exchange hearts through our eyes—Such ogles!

Damn your ogles!

What!

That is, I want to know your ſcheme.

Will you help?

With pleaſure—to cut your throat

Vaſtly good! That letter

‘To Capias Alibi, Eſquire—Dear Sir, the bearer is a young man from Yorkſhire, being deſirous to improve himſelf in the profeſ⯑ſion of an attorney, I recommend him to you; and think a dealing in this caſe will be to the advantage of both. Yours, Nol Proſs,’—Well, what of this?

Ha, ha, ha! Can't you ſee? That, I procured for a little caſh, of a brother rogue of Alibi's—I deliver it—it gains me free acceſs to Sophia; of which, if I don't avail myſelf—

Muſt turn him off from this

Won't Alibi remember you in the Chelſea ſhower? Ha, ha, ha! won't he?

No, he won't; ha, ha, ha!

For, to get the worth of his money in gaping about, he ſcarce look'd at me at Don Saltero's—And then, to face my charming Sophia, I ſat beſide him in the coach; beſides, I ſhall change my voice; and, to provide for that, I've made Nol ſay I am from Yorkſhire—Oh, you'd laugh to ſee—I ſhall be clerkified all over

.

But really now, do you think old Alibi is ſuch a blockhead as not to perceive from your air, perſon, addreſs—the faſhion that is in your manner altogether! What! take you for a ſordid, ſhabby Curſitor-ſtreet ramſkin ſcribbler? Ha, ha, ha! never! The gentleman in your coat wou'd belie Nol Proſs's letter, and get you and it kicked out of the houſe, to the eternal diſgrace of St. James's, and the triumph of Chancery-lane.

Egad, Aircourt, I believe you're right.

Depend upon't, the old attorney wou'd perceive the diamond, though ſet in copper.

Hang it! this air of travel which we ac⯑quire abroad—I wiſh I wasn't ſo—elegant in my manière—I wiſh I had a little of the common—vulgar—Now you, Aircourt, how natural you'd look the ramſkin ſcribbler!

D'ye think ſo? you flatter me.

O, you'd top the character!

Then, dem'me, I'll appear in it. I will ſecure this letter—that will do—and for change of [7] dreſs, Ned the Waiter will equip me!

Zounds, it is two o'clock! but I can get to Drury⯑lane by the ſecond act.

'Sdeath! don't think of town or play⯑houſes to-night!

Her Caliſta is one of the moſt capital—When ſhe tears the letter—‘To atoms thus let me tear the wicked, lying evidence of ſhame’—

Why, zounds, you've torn my letter!

And then her ſmile of contempt upon Horatio, after—

Damn you and Horatio, Sir! D'ye ſee what you've done? Knock'd up my whole affair!

'Pon my ſoul I aſk pardon—I did not think what I was about.

The devil! What am I to do now? This is cruel of you, Aircourt.

Come, O'Donovan, though I've deſtroyed your paſſport, no harm done. For any project to gain Sophia, I'm yours—from a ſpank to Scot⯑land, burning old Alibi's houſe, or any miſchief of that ſort.

My dear Aircourt, I thank you heartily—I'll go dreſs, and then for Lady Arable's, a charm⯑ing young widow here at Hampton Court—Has been over in Ireland to view ſome of her eſtates there, and my father has ſquir'd her back again—Deſigns her as a match for me—Ha, ha, ha!. Rather a nice thing to match me, Eh, Aircourt?

Yes; but I think I'll match you, ha, ha, ha!

My father don't know I have been five months diverting myſelf in England under an aſſumed name—Dad thinks I'm ſtill on my Italian [8] travels—my bills will come pelting in upon him rarely—An't I right, my boy? Lovely Sophia!—Love, fire, and frolick, that's my motto!

Plague of your frolicks!

—Sophia, perhaps, is at home now?—That is—he keeps her cloſe.

Cloſe! ſhe ſaves him the expence of a clerk. But, Aircourt, don't think of London to⯑night.

Well, I won't.

Honeſt Nol Proſs's letter—What the devil's to be done?

Oh, Nol Proſs's letter

; it will do ſomething yet, ha, ha, ha!

SCENE II.—An Office in ALIBI's Houſe.

I will not write any more of his law-gibberiſh! Was ever poor girl ſo uſed as I am by this wicked old attorney! Cruel mamma! to make ſuch a wretch her execu⯑tor; and condemn me to the guardianſhip of one who will never ſuffer me to be united to the man I love, whilſt it's his intereſt to keep my fortune in his hands. O, my beloved Aircourt! (ſings) "Young Harry's the lad for me!"

. Yes, the very thing I wanted.

Sophy, look at my forehead—any blood come? I only wiſh it wou'd! I've been endeavouring to provoke the exciſeman, and abuſing him theſe ſix [9] weeks; but at laſt he has given me a choice knock on the pate—The rogue's worth money, and I'll have ſwinging damages!

Lord, Sir! Do you go out to quarrel with the people only on purpoſe that they may beat you?

To be ſure! Beat! Why, I have made 50 l. out of the wag of a finger, and have earned a hundred guineas of a morning, only by ſingle tweaks by the noſe.—Now, Miſs, have you drawn up the bill of indictment? Egad! child, you'll have no uſe for your fortune! By the Lord! you'll make a choice chamber counſel.—

‘Pariſh aforeſaid—county aforeſaid—did make an aſſault upon one—and did then and there beat, wound, and cruelly illtreat—againſt the peace of our ſovereign lord the king—But of all the fine wreſtlers that dance on the green, young Harry's the lad for me!’—Oh, the devil! here's a bill of indictment to come before a grand jury!—So, the exciſeman breaks my head with his gauging ſtick, and then ‘Young Harry's the lad for me!’

Well; and ſo Harry Aircourt is the lad for me, in ſpite of you or all Weſtminſter-hall, with Lord Chief Juſtice at your head.

I wiſh I could but once ſee this fine Mr. Harry Aircourt in the ſtreet though, only to ſee if he's ſuch a prime ſerjeant as you make him.

He a prime ſerjeant! No! heaven made my Aircourt handſome, witty, gay, elegant, generous, and good natur'd.

It's his good nature that ſhoves him on to make ballads about me, and ſet all his drunken companions at the Anacreontic roaring out in [10] chorus "O rare old Alibi!"—But if he comes, if I don't ſet my bull dog at him—

O, then, from your bull dog Heaven defend me—ha, ha, ha!

Who are you? What do you want?

I want to larn the laa.

You want to larn the laa! I wiſh you'd larn manners.

Oh I have—for I daunce mortiſhly weel.

You daunce! Then, perhaps, you come here for a partner

Yez.

What do you want?

I want—that letter

You want—this letter?—then what the devil do you give it me for?

Look at the outſide.

‘Capias Alibi—Bearer—from York⯑ſhire—attorney—recommend—dealing—this caſe—advantage—Yours, Nol Proſs.’—Well Yorkſhire's a good country to produce an attor⯑ney. My friend Nol Proſs gives you a good character.

Oh yez, Sir—I'm a very honeſt lad.

Honeſt! and want to be an attorney! Hem! I don't think I can do anything with you.

No! Then what am I to do with the money feyther ſent up wi' me for it?

You have money! Now I look at you again, you're a very promiſing lad.

Couſin Nol ſaid I might larn, board, and ſleep here.

Ecod! if you ſleep here, you muſt board; for I've no bed for you

You ſee my money is ready, ſo I hope, you'll afford me a good bed?

Why, you dog!—your ready money ſhews you don't want to lie upon tick, ha, ha, ha? Hark ye! Perhaps I ſha'n't beat you above once before you commit a fault.

Before!

Yes; I may thraſh you out of pure good nature, only to ſhew you what you are to expect if you deſerve it.

Oh, then I'm to be beat to ſave me from a threſhing! Good natur'd indeed, he, he, he!

You're not given to girls, are you?

I ſometimes play in the meads a wi' bit.

Well ſaid, Yorkſhire! But you wont dare to ſpeak to a young lady?

Not for the vorld! I'd bluſh ſo hugely.

That's right—I like a modeſt youth—be⯑cauſe I have a young Miſs within here.

Lacka-daiſy! do you keep a Miſs?

Ha, ha, ha! What a ſimpleton! Before I determined to retain him, I'll firſt ſee their be⯑haviour together—Miſs Sophy!

My beloved girl! I hope ſhell know me

Well, Sophy, I've got a new clerk.

This muſt be the fop that followed me to Chelſea—He ſaid he'd viſit me in ſome diſguiſe; [12] but I'll diſcourage his impertinence in time

. Ha, ha, ha! my very wife, vigilant, ſhrewd, ſa⯑gacious guardian! A clerk! ha, ha, ha! This is a very facetious gentleman, that's come hither on a ſcheme to run away with me! ha, ha, ha!

S'death! what can ſhe mean?

How! an impoſtor!

Look! You can't know the polite Srephon that brought us from Chelſea in his hack⯑ney coach?

This!

What! I!—he, he, he!

Bleſs me! it's my Aircourt himſelf

Why, Sophy, you're the moſt conceited—When, neither you nor I ever ſaw this young man before. That coxcomb Aircourt has blown you up ſo with his love nonſenſe, that you imagine all the young men in the town are laying plans and ſtratagems, ha, ha, ha! You are welcome, my lad, and ſo is your money!

Now I look at him again, he's vaſtly like Aircourt.

She only ſays this to vex me. He ſhall be my clerk above all the clerks in Chriſtendom.

He, he, he! Thank you, Sir

.

"He, he, he! thank you, Sir"—Oh, you ſhock!

He's no ſhock! he's a pretty boy, and will be Lord Chancellor, won't you, Robin?

Ecod, that's my name ſure enough.

Well, mind, Jack Robin—ſince guardian will keep you, you ſhall be my beau, and make love to me.

Love! Oh Miſs!

Get you in.

Now pray—

Go—

Don't mind her, Robin—Her heart's ſo full of this Aircourt, that I believe ſhe'd deſpiſe even a Judge upon the bench.

What, then ſhe loves one Aircourt?

But, my young clerk, by way of begin⯑ning, I'll ſet you a taſk—Step into that room there, and ingroſs this deed

—Stop—that door

.

I thought I was to ingroſs there, he, he, he!

Robin, you're a good lad; but for a lawyer, heaven ſave us!

Then you think my coming here anſwers the purpoſe.

Oh, yes, your coming here anſwers the purpoſe!

And that by this means I ſhall get all I want

.

Yes; by this means we get all we want—Go yonder.

Dear, how much I am obliged to Mr. Nol Proſs!

Write away, my boy! and I warrant you'll be Lord Chief Baron ſome Sunday or other—Dam'me, I'll dreſs my wig on your pate next Sa⯑turday evening. As I am going out, no harm to lock up my ward—The key gone! How's this? Soft!

One key is as good as another. Good bye, Robin.

SCENE III.—The Coffee Room at the Toy.

Never mind, young man? I don't want any refreſhment—I've ſet Lady Arable down at her houſe, and am only walking about to ſee your town and palace. And, Joy, ſo this is your coffee-room? Oh, newſpapers! Let's peep at the ‘Lie of the Day’

.

Did your Honor call?

'Twas I that rung—A little wine and water.

Coming, Sir.

I ſpoke to you.

This room is only for gentlemen—Coming.

Sir, I aſk pardon

.

Stop, Sir.—

Hark ye, friend! remember, as you live by the public libera⯑lity, your gueſt, be his appearance what it may, [15] has a claim, at leaſt, to your civility. You ſay this room is appropriated to gentlemen—I am one, and maſter of a parlour in Ireland to the full as good as this: and by my ſoul, I cou'd never think it more highly honor'd than by giving a welcome to the weary traveller. Go.

I aſk pardon, Sir—whence are you?

Sir, I came from London now, and got there only laſt night from Ireland.

Then you're Iriſh?

Sir, I have that honor.

And pray, my young traveller—excuſe my queſtions; but I feel myſelf intereſted in your concerns, though a ſtranger to them. Tell me, what are your views?

In my infancy, my father, Sir, (I never knew the cauſe,) came over to England, and thus deſtitute, Providence raiſed a friend, who placed me at Dublin College. The death of this bene⯑factor ſtopping my reſources, obliged me to quit my ſtudies, and I have been drawn to Hampton-Court on the credit of a disjointed kind of ſtory, that my father had retired here in the enjoyment of an ample fortune, which he had acquired by the practice of an attorney: but after a long journey, and every poſſible inquiry, I can hear of no ſuch perſon.

Povot! bring a glaſs—Such an abomin⯑able room to dreſs in! For a glaſs you thought, I ſuppoſe, Narciſſus-like, I was to ſet my face in a baſon of water.

Hah! this is ſomething!

There you are, from toupee to ſhoe—ſtring—As this lady's houſe is ſo near—Povot, another volley from your powder-puff.

Why, you ſcoundrel! what, do you mean to make a barber's ſhop of a coffee-room?

A little more on this curl, Povot.

Take that, ſirrah!

Ventre bleu!

And your maſter's a puppy, whoever he is.

Can you fence, old Touchwood?

I. can a little, Sir.

You—ah!

Tol, lol, lol!

Oh, what a bitter miſtake has fortune made! Now that thing, void of manners and humanity, may have a worthy father, who, while he ſup⯑plies with a liberal hand, little thinks he's throw⯑ing his money away upon a raſcal! Ah, this is your home-education! I have a ſon abroad that I expect in a few days, ſtay till you ſee him, my ge⯑nerous lad—he ſhall thank you for your ſpirited politeneſs to me.—Since you have loſt your friend, and can't find your father, inquire for me at Lady Arable's—Something may be done—Hold!—I'll perform firſt, and that ſaves the trouble of a promiſe, and precludes even a chance of diſappoint⯑ment

.

I thank you, Sir; but it's too ſoon to accept of favors, even when we ſtand in need of them

.

Well, well, my boy—I—I—like your—ſpirit—I was abrupt—I aſk your pardon.

Sir, Lady Arable has ſent over.

Very well. Aſk for Sir Carrol O'Do⯑novan—(a fine young man!) What an unhappy father muſt he be, that could abandon ſuch a ſon.

Sir Carrol O'Donovan! Then the ſon that he ſpeaks of muſt be the child my mother nurſed—Now I ſhall know if ſhe's yet living.—But alienated by her neglect, as I never knew the tender care of a parent, I don't feel that impulſe of filial affection—Sir Carrol ſhan't know who I am—The meanneſs of my birth might add con⯑tempt to the compaſſion that my poverty has already excited.

Now, Sir Carrol, with thanks for your hoſpi⯑tality to me at your houſe in Ireland, I bid you welcome to my houſe in England.

Well, Lady Arable, recollect that your wiſe, old, and very good friends adviſed you to put yourſelf and fortune under the protection of an huſband—I am entirely of their opinion; beſides waſting the charming bloom of life in lonely widowhood, your property requires an hearted ſolicitude to manage it—If on ſight (as you pro⯑miſed your relations) you ſhou'd like my ſon well enough to bleſs him with your fair hand—Oh, you will make me happy! I have never ſeen Edward no more than you, my Lady, as 'twas my father ſent him abroad for education; but I expect you'll ſoon behold in my boy an accompliſhed gentleman.

Sir, a young man inquires for you.

Shew him up—With your permiſſion, Madam.

Sir, in obedience to your commands—

Lady Arable, a boon. As you'll have a good deal of ſtewardſhip and ſettling your affairs with old Alibi your attorney, ſome employment may be found for this young man.—Till I can do ſomething for him, you'll oblige me by taking him under your protection: though he's a ſtranger, I'll ſtake my fortune on his honeſty.

The very young man! Can he for⯑get me? He come to England!

)

She's aſhamed to recollect me: but ſhe's right

Sir, Mr. O'Donovan is arrived.

Hah! my ſon!

As I never had the honour of paying my duty to a father, I preſume, Sir, you are—How!

Edward! this!—My Lady, my ſon has paid his duty to me before in a powder puff!

I'm ſhock'd, Sir—with—ſuch awe—

Pray, can you fence, old Touchwood?

Sir—I—I—

He can a little.

Then this is my foſter brother

.

I aſk pardon, Sir; but at the firſt tran⯑ſient glance, I miſtook you for a—ſome me⯑chanic.

Did you, faith?—Ah, then at my firſt glance, I proteſt I miſtook you for a—gentleman—So we were both miſtaken

. Son, this is Lady Arable, whom I ſo often mentioned in my letters

.

Sir, you are welcome.

Edward, though your marriage with this Lady is rather to be hoped than expected, try if you can win her heart; for, Sir, the affection of an amiable woman is the firſt ſupreme delight that can poſſeſs the ſoul of man.—With all the ſhining, foreign education, a few home-ſpun do⯑cuments are wanting here

.—A few words with you, Sir.

This ſtill life! no dem it, the ſprightly Sophia for me

. Tol, lol, lol.

Pray, Sir, how have you left our amiable friend?

Madam!

Then you don't recollect ever hav⯑ing ſeen me in an agreeable party one evening?

I hadn't a thought that the pleaſure of that honor could be ſucceeded by the honor of this!

Excuſe me—but do you know any thing of this Mr. O'Donovan?

Only, Madam, that he's the happieſt of mankind.

Oh, if married to me!—Vaſtly obliging!—But I am apprehenſive, that where a miſtreſs is the object, your judgment of happineſs [21] is not very extenſive. Devoted to the Muſes, you are, I preſume, only their humble admirer.

Madam, was there a Muſe for every ſtar, and that ſtar like Lady Arable, the odds would ſtill be in her favour

.

Oh, Ma'am! Ma'am!

Well?

Lord, that's a very handſome young man! but they're all deceitful creatures!

I'm in no humour now—

Ma'am, only think of Mr. O'Donovan's pretending to his father that he will marry you, and yet all the while going on with an underhand ſcheme to carry off a young lady in the neighbour⯑hood.

Paying'his addreſſes to another! O, if I can but bring this to a proof, it will juſtify to Sir Carrol a refuſal that I'm now determined upon

.

Ay, and I can tell you more of his ſcan⯑dalous goings-on my Lady.

Sophia knows everybody; I may hear from her who my rival is—But to employ this dear ſtranger as Sir Carrol requeſted. My ſteward Metheglin's neglecting my affairs, and gal⯑lanting about with this fine Iriſh belle that he has brought over, gives a colour for taking ſome of my papers out of his hands. Send Metheglin to me, and fetch my cloak.[

Come in, I tell you, Mrs. Katty; this room and furniture is worth your ſeeing above all the reſt.

Yes, Mr. Metheglin; but if your Lady ſhould catch you bringing folks all about her houſe, I ſhou'd die with ſhame.

My Lady! ah, my dear, when ladies have taſte, and butlers have—

Certainly, Mr. Metheglin, you. are a very comely man, to give the devil his due.

My Lady's going to be married to an⯑other—therefore—honor—if ſhe wasn't quite in love with me, ſhe'd have turned me out of the houſe long ago, I'm grown ſo idle—Cou'dn't part with me, ſo took me over to Ireland with her, where I met you, my deareſt Katty!

But, Mr. Metheglin, as I have had one bad husband already, the trifle I bring you, you muſt ſettle upon me in caſe I ſhou'd outlive you, honey.

I hope there's no fear of that, my ſweeteſt.

Mr. Metheglin!

Do you hear? theſe women won't let me alone.

Pray come, my Lady wants you.

Oh this jealouſy!—So here my Katty ſays, "Sit with me my comfort"—and my Lady ſends word that ſhe wants me.—If we're ordinary, we're ugly fellows; if beautiful, we are cruel ſouls and barbarous gentlemen—and from the lady in [23] the drawing-room to the maids in the garret, they buz about us like flies round a honey-pot.

My Lady ſent me to—

Yes, your Lady ſent you to me, I ſend you to my Lady, and ſo return the compliment.

Ah, if you go on this way, you'll get the wrong ſide of the door.

The ſide of the door, Madam Fib?—here's my thanks for not telling when I caught you daubing my Lady's tooth-powder on your cheeks, and cribbing her imperial tea.

Upon my word, you take an immenſe many airs upon you ſince you have brought over your bog-trotter. Ha, ha, ha!

Bog-trotter! only ſtop a moment, Mrs. Minikin, and I'll give you a mighty handſome ſlap on the forehead.

She wou'dn't ſtop, Katty, if you'd even give her two.

Bog-trotter, indeed! I'll ſoon ſhew the proudeſt of them all—Oh, ſtay till they ſee my ſon Larry maſter of Sir Carrol's eſtate!

A ſon of yours maſter of Sir Carrol O'Do⯑novan's eſtate!

Since you and I are ſo ſoon to be one, You ſhall know all about it—I'll ſoon ſhew them who I am, and who my ſon Larry is.

Who is he pray?

You all think I only nurſed this fine young gentleman that arrived an hour ago, but that's my own child.

Yours! the devil he is!

Mine. Sir Carrol making a ſtolen match, his father on hearing it ſent him abroad, and the poor young lady his wife lying-in privately at my houſe, died in child-birth; ſo faith my [24] huſband, (poor man,) who was a little bit of a lawyer, made me ſend our own infant to the grandpapa inſtead of Sir Carrol's baby, and by this my ſon Lawrence is bred up like a fine gen⯑tleman, and 'tother poor fellow was placed at the college of Dublin as a fizer, or ſomething of that ſort.

How! ſhall I be matter of Sir Carrol's great eſtate? ſee, Katty, if I don't manage it tightly for him. Steward, agent, and bailiff—en⯑courage him to run out—lend him his own money—borrow myſelf of everybody—get into Parlia⯑ment, and—

Lord a mercy! what was I going to ſay?

SCENE II.—Alibi's Office.

Mr. Aircourt! my guardian's gone out.

But how ſhall I get out?

What a malicious old creature to lock you in. Can't you puſh back the lock!

I have already broke his penknife at⯑tempting it.

Try my ſciſsars

. There, take them—Lord! man! try. What the deuce, have you fallen aſleep? how pro⯑voking! Aircourt!

Ah! you're a pretty Pyramus! Why don't you try my ſciſſars?

What, to cut love or to kill the lion, my Thiſbe!

Ah! how the deuce did you get there?

Popped out of the back window—perched upon a cucumber frame—hopped up ſtairs—and here I am your own poor Robin!

Ah, "You fooliſh fluttering thing"

"Sweet Robin, ſweet Robin!"

Now do I ſuſpect this Robin to be a ca⯑nary

The old one! but mind me

. Yes, Miſs, I think I could teach you to play at cribbage after dinner, for I was counted a dab at it in our parts.

Thank you, Robin.

Now this muſt be Robin Goodfellow! and has whipped through the key-hole. I won't ſeem to know he's got out, only to try how he'll carry it off

. Well, Robin, have you engroſſed that? Come here my lad!

Ha, ha, ha!

Eh! that's one way of coming out.

The Yorkſhire way; whenever we'd come out of a room, we always go in firſt. V

Your hand, you'll make a damned good lawyer! But I left you in that room, and I locked the door.

Yes, Sir, but you didn't lock the window!

He'll do. A queer beginning though! no doing without application, my friend! I ſet you about an affair of conſequence within there, and I find you with my ward without here.

O, my poor guardian! ſo when you thought you had Robin in crib, here was he teach⯑ing me to play cribbage—He, he, he!

How dare you quit your ſtation?

Oh, Sir, I thought it was dinner-time.

No danger from this fellow—I never heard or read of a lover that was hungry

.

Sir, I'd have you take care of one Air⯑court, her head runs on nothing but him—he'll certainly carry her off.

Oh, that nothing may hinder him!

Yes, but ſomething ſhall hinder him—my wit, my vigilance ſhall.

But what's your wit to a young fellow with ſtrength in his arm and the devil in his head?

What do you mean—to talk, ſo, boy?

Guardian! in ſpite of all your art and cunning, if my Aircouit, inſpired by love and ſu⯑perior wit, had by an ingenuity of ſtratagem got in here, what would you do?

Aye, Sir, what would you do?

Cou'dn't he puſh a little feeble old quizby like you down into a—chair?

How, pray?

Shew him how, Robin.

Why, there

Well, now what would he do then?

Why he'd carry the girl off.

If theſe are your notions, your friends did well to have you "larn the laa" if only to ſave you from being hanged ſome time or other! A good occaſion this to give him his firſt leſſon

— [27] Well, honeſt Robin, you ſuppoſe it a very eaſy pleaſant thing for a young fellow to run away with a lady from her guardian?

Quite eaſy, and vaſtly pleaſant mayhap.

Then I'll ſhew you, how for ſuch a plea⯑ſant trick, you may hop and dance too. Sophy, hand me down that Coke yonder.

Stop, Miſs, I'm taller nor yow

.

Why, you dog, do you want to kill the girl?

Yes, he's quite a killing creature.

Now, my boy, I've ſomething here un⯑der my thumb, that will open your eyes to the danger of breaking the laws of your country!

But a true lover deſpiſes law and danger.

Deſpiſe law! that's a decent word out of your mouth, Miſs, before my pupil

—Now, Robin, for argument's ſake, we'll ſuppoſe that this young lady has 30,000/.—I don't ſay ſhe has, only putting a cafe—and here I am her guardian; and we'll ſay, ſtill for argument's ſake, you are Aircourt.

Aye, you are my Aircourt.

And you my Sophia; and there ſits your gentle old quizby with Lord Coke under his thumb.

Now, Robin—I beg your pardon, Mr. Aircourt—only juſt take that lady out of that door, and if you can read I'll after that ſhew you a few lines here that will convince you what a hopeful hobble one of us will be in.

But let's underſtand—Oh! I'm to make believe to run away with her, and we're to leave you in a hobble.

What a ſtupid—he, he, he!—Sophy, carry it on with him.

Me go out with him! Silly! indeed I ſhan't.

Why, you perverſe girl! muſtn't I give the lad ſome inſight of the profeſſion ſince I've touched his money? and no conviction like ex⯑ample—do it

Take Sophy away.

I woll, I woll. But, Sir, if Aircourt even had carried off Miſs in the manner I'm going to do, nobody would believe it—its ſo comical—he, he, he!—They'd only think it the "Lie of the Day."

Aye, Robin! the "Lie of the Day!"—There, go.

Well then, good bye—till we ſee you again.

Ha, ha, ha! Oh, you ignoramus!—the fool little thinks that a man can't even run away with his own wife without being puniſhed for it.—Now, where is the chapter?—don't come in yet—I'll ſhew him that he may get hanged for what he now whiſtles at—Oh, here it is—Robin!—Sophy!—Come, don't ſtand grinning out there at each other—Robin! Zounds! come in

Eh! the door bolted!—Treachery!—Sophy!—Mur⯑der!—I'm robbed—Plague of Lord Coke—I'm nonſuited—that villain Nol Pros—Oh! damn Yorkſhire!

SCENE III—A Room at the Toy.

My dear Aircourt! make haſte; get us a good chaiſe and fine horſes!—By this my guar⯑dian's in a precious fury—Heigho! Eh! Is'nt that Lady Arable?

Dear! I'm like a poor bird juſt got looſe, can ſcarce believe my own happi⯑neſs.

Sophia! what can have brought you to ſuch a houſe as this? I could ſcarce believe it was you.

O, Lady Arable! I've done the maddeſt thing—I've eloped from my guardy.

Eloped! but with who, and what, and how?

As to your who, it is with Mr. Air⯑court; your how, he came and got me off diſ⯑guiſed like a Yorkſhire clerk; the what, we'll be married directly.

Diſguiſed like a clerk! the very cir⯑cumſtance Fib told me! Are you ſure your lover's name is—What do you call him?

Aircourt.

Don't be ſurprized, my dear, if I aſſure you that your very Mr. Aircourt is no other than my Mr. O'Donovan, that was to have been married to me directly.

Dear Lady Arable, how can ſuch a thing come into your head?

Wasn't his letter of introduction from a Mr. Nol Pros?

The very ſame.

Believe me it's beyond a doubt; yet when you beckoned me I hadn't an idea that you were my triumphant rival, ha, ha, ha!

No, but ſeriouſly, can this be true?

Moſt indubitable!—Fib got the whole affair from Povot his valet, ha, ha, ha!

Nay, but don't laugh at me, Lady Arable, for I'm exceedingly hurt.

Pray, what introduction? how came you acquainted?

Mere accident; at the dancing maſter's ball at the London tavern—happened to be my partner.

Yes; his man told Fib that he had been dancing about London under a fictitious name, and his father Sir Carrol thinks he is juſt arrived from Paris.

Oh, he's one of the moſt diſſembling, cruelleſt—

I requeſt my dear Sophia won't ima⯑gine that I made the diſcovery out of jealouſy, envy, or any other pretty little female principle of good nature.

I'll never ſee him more—I deſpiſe—I'll try to hate him—

Cruel Aircourt! he's gone for a chaiſe—but let him go by himſelf for a traitor—I'll go directly back to my priſon—I'm ſo vexed!

I'll meet Mr. O'Donovan and bring conviction to his face.

Come, my love! the chaiſe is ready.—

I'm glad to hear it, Sir

Sir, I beg ten thouſand pardons—I expectcd another gentleman.

And I, Madam, expected another lady.

Pray, Sir, is your name Aircourt?

At your ſervice, Madam.

O! what an egregious blunder have I made! my poor Sophia! Sir, I can't wait now for an explanation—As I was the cauſe, though in⯑nocently, of your loſing the lady, you ſhall com⯑mand every effort of mine to regain her.

What magic could have transformed Sophia to Lady Arable?—Here comes this fool!

Aircourt, I've been affronted ſo by Lady Arable—Do you know that ſhe laughed at me this moment as I paſſed her?

No!

She did!—think of laughing at me! Damn me, I'll give her up—with all her beauty and fortune ſhe is only a widow!

Aye, a ſecond-hand wife. You're a fine fellow O'Donovan, and ſhould have a new one.

I will—I'll make formal propoſals for Sophia. I had the ſweeteſt ſmile from her window juſt now.

Gone home?

Was ever ſuch a little twirlabout tee-to-tum.

I have ſent my man to Alibi's to requeſt an interview—but, Aircourt, you told me you were on a love ſcheme here? What are you about with your girl?

I don't know

Don't know! don't bite me, ha, ha, ha! I ſee it, you've a puppy rival in the way.

I have, and a damned troubleſome puppy he is—juſt as you intend to Sophia, I am told he [32] deſigns to make propoſals for my miſtreſs to her guardian.

But what objection has this guardian to you?

Why, I don't know: ſome buſy body has been chattering that I wrote a ſong upon him, or I intended to have him caricatured in the print⯑ſhops; the thing above all others it ſeems he's moſt afraid of.

Gad! I have it—Send an anonymous line to the guardian, that a moſt notorious hummer has laid a plan to come as a ſuitor to his ward, but his real purpoſe to get his perſon and manner for a caricature print or ſong to turn him into ridi⯑cule; and if he is ſuch an unique he'll take the alarm at once—I warrant your rival trundled out of the houſe without a hearing, ha, ha, ha!

And ſo, O'Donovan, this is your com⯑fortable advice?

I only wiſh I had a rival with my Sophia that I might put the joke in practice. What a curſed fooliſh figure he'd cut!

You really think he would?

Oh, by Heaven! it would be the higheſt—only do try it.

Well, perhaps I may—You've ſent your man you ſay to Alibi?

Yes, and in three minutes time I ſhall be there myſelf and make propoſals. But never mind me, Aircourt; do ſend the letter to your old lad; you may ſign yourſelf "unknown friend" or "Q. in the corner"—ha, ha, ha! 'twill make a ſcreeching laugh.

Gad! I think it will—I'll try it however.

SCENE IV.—ALIBI's Houſe.

Don't mention him; I hate him now as much as ever I loved him.

I thought you'd repent of your fondneſs for your charming Aircourt.

Do now let's hear no more of him; and upon my honour I won't run away again.

'Pon my honour, I don't think you will my little Soph! if a wife brain, brick wall, ſtrong bolt, and double lock can prevent it.

Ah, guardian, if a woman's mind is ſet upon a young fellow with a true heart, handſome face, and elegant perſon, your wall's a cobweb—bolt, ſtraw—lock, pie cruſt—and your brain, ſyllabub!

Don't tell me of cobweb—pie cruſts!—You ſhall find me a Spider, Mrs. Lady-bird

Oh that ſomebody was to ſee you, ha, ha, ha! I'd have you taken off juſt as you are now.

Take me off! If they gibbet me in their print ſhops I'll bring my action for a libel! their windows are a nuiſance, exhibitions of ſcandal and indecency, to block up the footpaths and make a harveſt for pick—pockets.

Mr. Alibi—Ma'am, you moſt—ha! charming by heaven!

Sir!

This Chelſea fop to plague me!

I have taken the liberty to wait upon you in hopes that my addreſſes to this lady may [34] prove agreeable to her tender inclination and your ſage opinion

Why, Sir, as to the tenderneſs of that lady's inclinations, that's a matter with me of juſt—about three halfpence

And, Sir, the ſagacity of that gentle⯑man's opinion with me juſt—about—a penny far⯑thing under that ſum

As I have totally forgot the multiplication table, Gad curſe me! if I can ſtrike a balance upon this buſineſs—But, Sir, I love, and will marry this lady! that's my ſum total.

A man left that for you, Sir.

‘An unknown friend warns you againſt! a deſign to turn you into ridicule by cari⯑caturing you for the print-ſhops; the perſon is a noted hummer, and introduced himſelf to you at Chelſea.’—Chelſea! the very fellow!

—‘And to finiſh. his outre picture, he's to obtain an interview as a man of fortune in love with your ward Miſs Sophia!’—Oh, oh, my friend!—"Take this hint from yours—Q.in the Corner."

Well, look! have you got a likeneſs?

Eh!

I've a ſtriking phiz, an't I?

You have a very good phiz indeed, Sir.

But when I've the pipe—

What the devil has he got at now?

The tune of the ballad I ſuppoſe will be bow wow!—or, ſtop—Derry down's a good tune.

Sir, I don't know what you mean by derry downs.

Don't you? then I'll ſpeak. plainer—there's the ſtairs, and pray, Sir, do you walk down, down, down derry, derry down!

Ha, ha, ha! this is the very thing I was wiſhing for—I gueſs how it is—ha, ha, ha!

The laugh is againſt ſomebody, but dam'me if I can tell who.

There, Sir, you ſee the attorney to ad⯑vantage. Guardian, make a face for the gentleman.

Ma'am, do you ſtep in

and, Sir, do you ſtep out.

Sir, I'm a perſon of rank and conſe⯑quence, and muſt deſire—

And I deſire you'll pack up your conſe⯑quence, be your own porter, and carry it out of my houſe.

Are you above Maſter Alibi?

Oh, Lady Arable's butler; he can tell you that I'm a perſon of faſhion.

Ah! what are you here Larry?—Gad I forgot.

So then, Larry! you're a man of faſhion?

Fellow! I'll ſee if your lady authorizes this inſolence to her gueſts; and as for you, I'll carry your ward by all the powers of love and ſtratagem.

A gooſe quill for your ſtratagem—Damn the fellow! Did you ever ſee ſuch a puff-crack? Who is he, Metheglin?

Can't reveal that without my wife's leave.

Wife! Zounds! you hav'n't married her yet?

No.

Where is ſhe?

So eager to have her little penny ſettled upon her before our marriage, that ſhe would come with me—ſhe 's in the next room.

Mr. Metheglin!

Her very voice! It is my dear wife!

Has ſhe much money?

A power!

I feel all my conjugal tenderneſs revive. Metheglin reach the ink-ſtand off the deſk yonder.

She's a jolly body! be civil to her—the pen and ink, ay, ay!

It is ſhe—I gave her time to roll; and the prudent creature in purſe and perſon has gathered like a ſnow—ball.

Pray, Mr. Counſellor, do you know much of this huſband I am going to marry?

I know a huſband you did marry

And is it! are you alive, my Bryan! my own honey?

Kate! Katty! O my Catherine!

Mr. Methegiin, though now you and I are two, I believe you're an honeſt man.

Mr. Metheglin, your wife turns out to be my wife!

Is the world at an end? am I myſelf? Quit me in half a minute for this big little villain! becauſe he has money—for this falſe woman to re⯑ject my lady!—I'll—I'll lay my heart at her feet and make her happy!—Yes, I'll go to the drawing room!—No—firſt to the wine cellar!—Cruel Katty! barbarous—hem!

SCENE—Outſide of the Toy.

Ha, ha, ha! what, trundled you down without a hearing?

Gad! as you ſay, trundled me down without a hearing; but held up his phiz as he called it, and in the moſt rude and ill bred manner fairly derry-down'd and bow-wow'd me out of his houſe.

Well ſaid, Q. in the corner

And yet in my vexation I can ſcarce help laughing—for—bruſhing through Alibi's hall in my fury, who ſhould I ſee ſitting in the parlour very ſtately, but my Iriſh nurſe. Prompted by cu⯑rioſity and another peep at Sophy—

Sophy! well!

I popped into the adjoining room and overheard—Why ſhe's Alibi's wife! and old petti⯑fog is in horrid dread of a moſt tremendous Iriſh admirer, who paid his addreſſes on the ſuppoſition of her being a rich widow.

Ay, well!

Alibi fears he'll follow her from Ireland and cut his throat, ha, ha, ha! he is called Cap⯑tain Kilmeinham O'Squramough!

Pſha! Damn your grinning, let's hear.

Why this hero is really it ſeems a devil of a wicked fellow—has been in the German ſer⯑vice, and in ſome of the moſt dangerous actions on the Turkiſh frontiers.

Alibi in dread of this formidable Hiber⯑nian Hector! this may prove a coup-de-main

But, Aircourt, about your miſtreſs—What have you done with your fool of a rival?

As great a fool as ever—he has been juſt now communicating a circumſtance to me that I hope will put it into my power to jockey him once for all, ha, ha, ha!

Why, what a curſed blockhead muſt he be, to make you of all men his confidante.

A curſed blockhead!

Jockey him.

I will—ha, ha, ha!

But you promis'd to aſſiſt me in getting Sophia out.

If I don't get her out may I be—Well, good bye! when next we meet, you ſhall hear ſomething of your girl that will aſtoniſh you.

Thankye—Adieu!

I'll about it, my boy—I'll jockey him, ha, ha, ha!

SCENE I.—A Room at Lady ARABLE'S.

PERFIDIOUS Katty! But let her go to the—In⯑deed the black gentleman has got her already—Ah, for—

ſweet revenge—I cou'd quaff aquafortis—My lovely miſtreſs, Lady Ara⯑ble, I'm now all yours—I'll return your ſmiles with ogles, your leers with kiſſes, your money with—myſelf. But Sir Carrol ſeems ſo bent upon his ſon's marrying her—How to ward that! If I diſcover to Sir Carrol that Larry's not his ſon—But Katty told me that under the ſeal of ſecreſy—Honor—honor—honor! As I'm ſure of my Lady's heart, what if I ſtart this young ſtranger at her—Sir Carrol perceives it; his proud Iriſh blood is up, and he commands his ſon to think no more of her. In ſteps I, and all's my own. Oh, the beagle! Hip, boy, holloa!

I've a ſecret for you: take a drop out of the bot⯑tom of that glaſs.

I thank you; but you ſee I'm in a hurry

Stop—A falſe woman's worſe than—an empty glaſs—"Adieu to the cellar delights!"—As I've mace up my mind to marry my miſtreſs, I muſt hire a butler of my own.

You marry your Lady! Very good in⯑deed, ha, ha, ha! Pray, isn't the match con⯑cluded between Lady Arable and Mr. O'Donovan?

Yes; it's at an end, if that's a conclu⯑ſion

—Aye, pull away now, my Lady; but preſently, when I'm your lord and maſter, I'll teach you to knock my bells about in that manner.

If Lady Arable's refuſal of Sir Carrol's ſon is true, though I cou'dn't rejoice at her union with O'Donovan, yet I moſt ſenſibly feel at every cauſe of uneaſineſs to his worthy father

It's not birth; beauty is the mark women look at—it is not pedigree—not for the root, but the fruit of the tree their mouths water.—Lady Arable has caſt an eye upon you—and two upon me

How!

Fib told me that her Ladyſhip ſwore this morning you were the prettieſt man in the houſe—except me

I'll bring you together—you ſhall jink Larry—Hem! I mean, 'Squire O'Do⯑novan.

But, Metheglin, juſt now you were go⯑ing to marry your miſtreſs, ha, ha, ha!

Never mind—I'll tell her how you love her.

Me! I don't—Did I ever tell you any ſuch thing? Lady Arable loſe a thought upon me!—If I cou'd think it poſſible, ſooner than diſtreſs the worthy Sir Carrol, by being the cauſe that ſhe rejects his ſon, I'd quit the houſe immediately

Go to her, go, go.

Now I've prim'd him with love, he'll be talking ſoft: then I'll ſend Sir Carrol in upon them; but if the beagle ſhou'd jink me in this affair

—There, ſhe can't do without Metheglin! How do I look?

That glaſs of red mantles in my cheek and ſparkles in my eye—Smile, you monkey!

The other cor⯑ner—the other eye—Oh, bravo! I'll put on my wedding clothes, white fring'd gloves, bag wig, and clap my head in a new brigadier—then have at her noble countenance—I'll go to Alibi's, and ſee that the marriage articles are drawn up—Soon ſhall I be lord of all her houſes, conſuls, hogſheads, jointures, mills, meadows, plate, and puncheons.

Lady Arable?

Where can ſhe be?

where's your Lady?

I'm looking for her, Ma'am—The jeweller has brought home her picture—I believe 'twas in⯑tended for Sir Carrol to give to Mr. O'Donovan.

What, the flaſhy fool that's teazing me?

Dear! its very like Lady Arable—Oh! here ſhe is—Fib, go; I want to conſult your Lady about my love-affairs.

Ah, my poor Lady, I fancy, has love-affairs of her own!

Sophia! why, you fly in and out like a bird from the neſt!

Lord, my guardian has got a new wife—She let me eſcape—I told her I knew where there was real genuine Iriſh ſnuff to be ſold, and that I'd go and buy her ſome—But, dear, it wou'd be very wicked in me to ſet the poor old ſoul ſneezing, he, he, he!—Lady Arable, I came to aſk about Aircourt—I ſuppoſe you think me very forward?

We muſt be blameleſs ourſelves be⯑fore we cenſure others—But, Sophia, you found I was wrong; that your Aircourt and Mr. O'Donovan are diſtinct perſons.

Yes, yes; oh, ſuch a trick as Aircourt ſerved him, ha, ha! But yet I fear my lover, from thinking himſelf ſure of my heart, will grow care⯑leſs—If I cou'd but make him jealous—He deſpiſes his preſent rival too much for that—Lord, Lady Arable, if that handſome young man you've here would walk before my windows, ſighing and kiſſing his handkerchief, it wou'd be ſuch a ſpur to Air⯑court—Oh, he'd whip me off to Gretna Green at once.

But, Sophia, what if that hand⯑ſome young man ſhould not be quite indifferent to me.

You're in love with him; I ſee it in your face—Lord, never mind his being poor—have him, and we'll all four run away together.

Though I flatter myſelf he's touch'd with mutual tenderneſs, yet the diſparity of our ſituation can't ſuffer him to diſcloſe it.

O the fate of us poor women! We muſt walk round about the dear object, and, like a troubled ghoſt, never ſpeak till we're ſpoken to; whilſt the men can ſpout away—‘Oh, never, my moſt adorable creature!’—"I die for you!"—"My angel!"—"I languiſh!"—!"Pon my ho⯑nor!"—" My love!"—"Oh! oh!"

Ha, ha, ha! As you ſay, Sophia, it never can come from me, therefore we muſt both pine in thought.

It ſhall come from you though; you're a friend to my love, and I'll be a friend to yours, he, he, he!—Lady Arable, ſince you're out of all hope with this young man, tell him I have a pen⯑chant for him—it will make Aircourt ſo jealous.

Well, Sophia, I will—It may at leaſt be a trial how his heart is really affected to⯑wards myſelf.

Lady Arable, ſhew him this; it's my picture

Lord, you've ſeen it a thouſand times. Tell him that's a ſtrong likeneſs of a lady that admires him.—Here he is—Now, now!

Madam, as Sir Carrol deſired, I have looked over thoſe papers.

Well, well.—I'm entruſted, Sir, with a ſtrange kind of commiſſion—You'll not be very ſurprized; for theſe things are more common than they ſhould be—There is a certain lady who, if your heart is quite diſengaged, is inclin'd to en⯑tertain ſome ideas in your favour.

Madam! (ſurprized and hurt.)

The lady is a very particular friend of mine, and will have a very ample fortune.—Now, if that and Sophia's pretty features captivate him, farewell my ſilly hopes!

Your Ladyſhip is inclin'd to amuſe yourſelf at the expence of my vanity.

I aſſure you ſhe is not a mean con⯑queſt—You may judge of her charms from this, her picture; with which, to ſpare her the indelicacy of a declaration, ſhe deſired me to preſent you

How!

Impoſſible! Oh, Lady Arable! my heart, while I confeſs it ſenſibly awake to each perfection, never harboured a thought of the divine original

Then he knows Sophia! Her money muſt have been his firſt attraction, and doubtleſs brought him to this neighbourhood—Divine!

She's offended—Firſt try, and then puniſh my preſumption! Cruel of you, Madam, to betray me into a confeſſion that before I could make, I'd have periſh'd—Pardon my audacity—I return you your picture, and relinquiſh every hope—I can never ſhew my face again—to you—or my benefactor—Heaven protect—my heart is full! Adieu, moſt honored Lady!

Heavens! my own picture! What a prank has Sophia play'd me—What muſt he think of me? And I to wrong his purity by my doubts—Yes, I have‘blaſ⯑phemed the god of my idolatry’—but was I quite certain that he entertain'd one tender thought for me, for the firſt time in my life I'd rejoice at being born to a ſplendid fortune.

SCENE II—A Hall with ſeveral Doors at ALIBI's—Wine and Tea.

Lord, what a fool was I to let that young creature go out and buy me ſnuff, and it already to cauſe a quarrel between me and my little old huſband—He ſaid, ‘the devil's in your noſe, Katty,’ and that's what he ſaid, ſure enough.

Go in, I ſay.

She run out to buy ſnuff, indeed! And there I find her walking about the palace gardens—Zounds! I never knew they ſold ſnuff in the pa⯑lace gardens.

Let me peep at this letter the man ſlipt me—I'm ſure he was a waiter at the Toy

It is from my dear Aircourt.

But, my pretty ſoul, where's the Iriſh ſnuff.

Get along, you old fool

Running about after you has made me ſo thirſty

[46]Oh, Sophy! Oh, Katty! here had I retired after all my turmoils to enjoy the ſnug-chimney corner of life; yet, on a ſudden, I'm wound up in cares like a ſilk-worm in his woof—all of my own ſpin⯑ing too—In this country, I'm ſure I can't ſtay long; and if I were to venture back to Ireland, there I have ready before me that damn'd terrible Iriſh coſſack—Katty, my love, what is that hector's name, the captain that lov'd you ſo much in Ireland?

Captain Kilmeinham O'Squramough! Faith, and he did love me! If he was to come over he'd ſhoot me in your arms.

I'd as lief he wou'd' ſhoot you anywhere elſe.

Tell her it's her friend Captain Kilmeinham O'Squramough! juſt come from Dublin

What!

My dear Aircourt keeps his promiſe to free me

Oh, huſband! 'tis Captain Kilmeinham O'Squramough; and ſeems to have been at his bottle—Here will be cutting and ſhooting!

Cutting and ſhooting!

A Captain! Perhaps he will take a diſh of tea with us, ha, ha, ha!

Tea! give him ſome aquafortis!

Zounds! if he hasn't broke the lamp in the hall! Who's there?

Sir, as I am a gentleman, I think it rude⯑neſs to force into any man's houſe.

Really, Sir, I am ſomewhat of your way of thinking.

I find you are, Sir; as we both think of having the ſame woman—With ſubmiſſion, I think that's damn'd impudent in one of us.

I think ſo too, Sir; but pray, to whom am I indebted for the honor of this viſit?

To that amiable inconſtant, the widow Kavanagh.

The very deſperado! Sir, I imagine you deſign to affront me.

I came on purpoſe.

Civil creature!

Look you, Sir; I have had the honor to ſerve at home and abroad—Ockzakow and Bal⯑briggin—the Danube and the Liffey—Volunteer Reviews, and Bellgrade ſieges—all one to Kilmein⯑ham O'Squramough—And I have learnt in Ire⯑land and Germany by tactic, theoretic and practic that there are two ways of doing things. The firſt is

—health

—that's one way! The ſe⯑cond is

—Sir, your health

—that's another way!

Now, Sir, with deference to your tactics, thoſe two ways ſeems to me but one.

Right, Sir;

—two and one make three

—You ſee, Sir, how I love my bottle.

I ſee how you love my bottle!—The greateſt marauder I ever ſaw

How can you keep ſuch wine?

It's very difficult.—I wiſh I had a con⯑ſtable

Now, our Iriſh claret glides down like new milk—makes a man ſprightly and good-na⯑tur'd; but your damn'd gunpowder port ſets my kiln aſire

, and makes me aſ [48] hot and as wicked—It has juſt primed me for bu⯑ſineſs; and now for the buſineſs that brought me before your citadel.—Hark'e, friend, as I doat on Mrs. Kavanagh, the man that loves her is a ſcoundrel!

Sir, we ſtill agree in opinion; but this widow happens to be my wife.

What! then you've married her, hah! O you moſt outrageous—

But, Sir, long before you ever ſaw her.

Then you didn't give me fair chance—election or rejection, that's the word! But it can't be! She was never before in England.

But I was in Ireland.

Sir, I have done—I aſk pardon for all favours!

Now you're cool, Sir—if I ſhou'd thruſt myſelf into your houſe, break your glaſs-lanthern, and make all this uproar, what wou'd you ſay?

Faith, Sir, I'd ſay nothing at all, at all; but I'd like a crow, have the honor to take you up to the garret-window, decently drop you down upon the flags, and crack you like a cockle—Oh, I'd knock your head againſt the walls of Bender, as Charles the XIIth did the Janiſſaries!—I'd kick you juſt ſo

I'd turn you out of my houſe juſt ſo—Get along, you ſcoundrel!—I'd demo⯑liſh all your aiders and abetters—

I'd ſlay you and every ſcoundrel who'd take a lady from Captain Kilmeinham O'Squramough!

Sophia! The marauder's gone down the road—Stop him, and I'll give you a hundred guineas!

Me! Wou'dn't ſtop a man on the King's highway for five thouſand!

O my ward!—Get along, you muzzy-headed fool—If you won't help to recover Sophia, get home to your ſideboard—Furies! if ſhe meets Aircourt, ſhe's irrecoverably loſt!—Sophy!

Muzzy-headed!—Fool!—Sideboard!—Very well—Yes, I think I'll introduce one Sir Carrol O'Donovan into this houſe.—Yes, he may be liſten'd to, though I can't—I will—Maſter Larry—Oh, ho!—Ay, ay—Maſter Alibi—I'll diſcover—Aye—aye—

SCENE—As before.

How unlucky this miſchievous fool Metheglin to acquaint Sir Carrol of my paſſion for Lady Arable; hers for me I have proved was entirely his own fancy. My benefactor muſt think me preſumptuous and ungrateful. No; I'll re⯑turn no more—This lawyer may afford me at leaſt a temporary employment—if not I'll directly for London. Sir Carrol ſeems diſturbed—

May I believe Metheglin's ſtory—this young Larry as he calls him, whom I considered my ſon, really Alibi's!—Would they graft their [50] raſcally bramble on the noble ſtock of the O'Dono⯑vans! Then, my poor unhappy child, whoever he is, muſt go by their name—Lawrence Ka⯑vanagh! Perhaps they have abandoned him, and, he now languiſhes in penury—perhaps—dead!

Ha! my lad, we were all ſurprized at your abrupt departure.

Sir Carrol, though I confeſs myſelf un⯑worthy of your bounty, I'm not yet ſo baſe as to accept obligations from the perſon I have injured.

Why. Metheglin has been telling us—

Truth! By inſidiouſly cheriſhing a paſ⯑ſion for your ſon's intended lady, I fear I have fruſ⯑trated your favourite wiſh.

So a point of gratitude impelled him to relirquiſh the affluence that probably offered a reward to his merit—A noble-minded youth

—How you firſt became acquainted with Lady Arable I do not aſk; but had ſhe been more can⯑did, you ſhould not have been hurt, nor her Lady⯑ſhip troubled by my propoſals for my ſon. The opinion I conceived of you at firſt ſight has not deceived me. You have intereſted me to a more particular inquiry; and firſt tell me what is your name?

Kavanagh.

How! your Chriſtian name?

Lawrence!

Who are your parents?

Sir, I have juſt now ſeen my mother in, this houſe. but I think ſhe did not know me.

She nurſed my ſon!

It is—my Edward!—my generous boy!

—ſo long the forlorn child of indigence—alike an unhappy ſubject for the ſcorn of pride and the tear of pity

Can this be?

No, wife, you ſhan't prevail upon me to connive at your impoſition.

Since Katty has ſqueaked, I'll ſlip my own neck out of the nooſe

Well, Mr. Alibi, alias Kavanagh!

I left you in Ireland twenty years ago a profligate young man, and now I find you in England a hardened old knave.

Sir!

In youth, when the paſſions take the rein, vice may be the effect of folly; but when judgment is matur'd by age, a vicious man is a confirmed ſoundrel! Where's my ſon, raſcal?

Indeed, Sir Carrol, I'd my⯑ſelf give a thouſand pounds to find him.

Look, honor—and aſk his pardon.

Merciful heaven! I came hither to ſeek—but to find ſuch a father!

Riſe, my dear ſon; I'm not more re⯑joiced at finding you, than by fortune's knocking at the door of poverty to ſee it opened by an honeſt man.

This gentleman your ſon, Sir Car⯑rol! This I hope may in ſome meaſure juſtify what I dreaded would prove the inexcuſabl error of my heart.

Your choice of me, error, my Lady!

Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Metheglin, I fear you've been in a litte miſtake here; but as it has diſcovered your perfidious Katty and her huſband's impoſture upon me, you ſhan't loſe your place at the ſideboard.

Sideboard! My wedding ſuit, new white gloves and brigadier wig!—Ah, you'll be yet Sir Edward! Title turns it—Oh, woman! ſacrifice happineſs to vanity!

Ah, my haughty goddeſs! your conſent comes now too late—Upon my honor you cannot have me!

Well ſaid, Larry!

Larry!

Thank Heaven you are no ſon of mine! There is your father!

Sir Carrol's right. This is his young gentleman, and you are mine.

How do you do, Larry?

Larry! what the devil do you Larry me for?—Your ſon! Eh?—Old Alibi's ſon!

—What is the meaning of all this?

The Captain again! Hide that bottle and lock the china cupboard.

Give me the bottle and lock us up to⯑gether.

Be it known from Belgrade to Balbriggin that old gentlemen may keep their widows! for this lady is now the wife of Captain Kilmeinham O'Squramough.

Your wife! And who are you?

Mr. Alibi; I ſuppoſed from the known venality of your character, had I aſked your con⯑ſent fairly and openly, I never ſhould have gained it; but inſtead of a needy adventurer, my Sophia ſhall prove, that to obtain her charming ſelf was the ſole object of her affectionate Aircourt.

No my dear fellow, you took her off for me!

No, my dear fellow, I took her off for myſelf!

But you ſaid for me.

Pho! 'twas only the "Lie of the Day!"—With any other motive I'd ſcorn to circumvent a friend; but in love all ſtratagem is allowable.

Ha, ha, ha! how do you do, Larry?

This Aircourt!

Aye, poor clerk Robin! who uſed to play with the maids!

Mind, her fortune is ſtill in my hands—I'm her guardian!

No, Sir, you are not. The name for executor in my mother's will is Alibi; now, as I underſtand that yours is Kavanagh, we ſhall make your part in the truſt void by the miſnomer!

Here's petticoat pleading! I muſt make her a chamber council, and be curſt to me!

He, he, he! How did you like my picture, Sir?

Ah, you arch one!

Reimburſe the four thouſand it has coſt me in the training of your ſon Lawrence! and give this lady her fortune; or for your fraud on me I'll proſecute you to beggary! To acquire riches was the cauſe of your crime; the loſs of them now be your puniſhment—The events of this day have proved, that the Eye which ſees all, directs an un⯑erring hand, to give vice the laſh, and drop on the brow of honour the blooming wreath of unfading happineſs.