SCENE I. An Officer's Meſs-room, Major Bromfield, Enſign Beauclerc, and a large Party of Officers—Wine, &c. on the Table.

COME, gentlemen, I'll give you the Britiſh arms all over the world.

The Britiſh arms, &c.

If the fleet have left England, the blockade by ſea will be ſoon over; for when our admirals are in earneſt, they generally make quick work on't.

How ſoon do you think St. Rocque will open her batteries?

Towards evening, I imagine.

Then here's a ſpeedy demolition to them.

A ſpeedy demolition, &c.—

They can raiſe no batteries to make any impreſſion; our works are actually impregnable, and if the ſtrength of this fortreſs be conſider'd, it may without fable be call'd one of the pillars of Hercules.—

It is a pillar of the Britiſh empire, and therefore ſhould be defended 'till made the monu⯑ment of its protectors.

A ſerjeant, gentlemen, is come with or⯑ders from the Governor.

Tell him to come in.

What! O' Bradley, is it you? It's a wonder to ſee you ſober juſt before an engagement!

Why in troth your honour, it was not for want of good will, but there's no ſuch thing as getting a drop for love or money.

Come, let's ſee your book,

Give him ſome wine—We'll prime you, O' Bradley.

As your honour's hand's in, I wiſh to he Lord you'd load me, and you'd ſee how fine I'd go off againſt the Spaniards.

Here, O' Bradley.

Och! your ho⯑nour, I wiſh you would change the wine into brandy, for I am afraid the wine is too ſtrong for me.

By all means;—fill him ſome brandy.

Here, O' Bradley;

and now your toaſt.

A toaſt! by my ſoul, your honour, as I am a great way from it, I don't think I can give you a better toaſt than my native country; and ſo here's the land we live in.

Hh! ha! ha!

Faith, I thought you would laugh at me; for the laſt time I gave the land we live in, I was at ſea, and they ſarved me in the ſame manner.

Why you live in Gibraltar: how the devil can you give that as your native country?

I am ſorry to contradict your honour, but I never think I live any where but in England or Ire⯑land.

Gentlemen, this is no time for con⯑tinuing at the bottle; the Governor expects us upon duty in leſs than two hours.

By the ſweet ſmell of the ſhamrock, it is the joyfulleſt tidings I have heard this twelvemonth: there's not a gun in the garriſon but will thank me when I carry the news to him: but I hope, your ho⯑nour, there's no fear of a diſappointment.

Why are you afraid we ſhant beat 'em?

Och hone! I am ſure of that; I was only afraid that they would not ſtay 'till we did them the favour.

Well we have no farther occaſion for you, O' Bradley.

I hope your honour won't think me too bold if I aſk a favour before I go.

What is it?

Why if your honour pleaſes, I ſhould have no objection to the ſecond part of the ſame tune.

The ſame tune! What tune do you mean?

The tune, jewel, upon the muſical glaſſes.

O, you want another glaſs of brandy! Here;

but take care ſo much ſpirits don't get into your head.

What, is it the Brandy you mean? By my ſoul, there's no danger of that: brandy's a French ſpi⯑rit, and that never got into an Engliſhman's head or his heart either when he was going to battle; therefore as I am an Iriſhman, there's no fear of me; ſo here goes, I am ſure it won't choak me.

Ha! ha! ha!

Before we go, one parting glaſs to England and victory.

Dear Major, will you indulge me with a moment's converſation?

What's the matter, Frank?

You were my father's friend; he put me under your care when I came into the army, and I have ever looked up to you as to himſelf.

This is very true, but what does it preface?

You know my paſſion for old Ben Haſſan's daughter; indeed you approved of it.

And is this a time to think of ſuch ſol⯑lies? juſt when you are going to action! Recollect yourſelf, boy, you are a ſoldier, your father was one; diſhonour never changed his cheek, and don't you bring a bluſh there in his old age.

Your reproach ſtings me to the very ſoul; I have done with her, I'll tear her from my heart for ever.

Your hand, Frank; now you are a man again.

But give me leave to do away the very ſhadow of cauſe for this degrading notion being enter⯑tained of my nature. I meant only to have told you, that the lovely woman in whom my whole life and happineſs are wrapped up, is this very night to be conveyed privately to Barbary, in order to be married to Solomon the Jew, whom you have often ſeen at her father's.

But are you ſure of this?

An Arabian ſlave, in whom ſhe places great confidence, told me of it; but it is no matter, you have convinced me of the impropriety of my paſſion, and I reſign her.

She's a deviliſh fine woman, Frank.

I have drove her from my thoughts, ſir.

No, no, Frank, you ſhan't loſe her neither, if in my power to prevent it. Let me ſee;

I'll give you an hour; go ſee her, and learn the time, and in what manner ſhe and her Hebrew partner ſet off.

Dear ſir, are you ſerious?

Unleſs we ſilence the Spaniſh batte⯑ries, the old Moor will hardly venture his daughter out this night. If we ſhould, you ſhall patrole the very hour they are going off, and ſtop her.

But, ſir, can I be ſo long abſent from my poſt, without injury to my reputation?

Poh, poh! you are a blockhead; if the ſtory was publiſhed all over the garriſon, it would not [6] [...] [7] [...] [8] hurt you, for I never knew a brave fellow, (notwith⯑ſtanding what I ſaid to you) who did not acknowledge that beauty reigned by right divine, and that there was no reſiſting the ſupremacy of a petticoat.

SCENE II. Ben Haſſan's Houſe. Zayde and Jenny are diſcovered.

Dear madam, I am ready to faint with fright; I hear they are juſt going to carbonade us.

You are a great coward, Jenny.

Lord, ma'am, how can I help it? this is the firſt time I was ever beſieged in my life.

Is Muley returned?

I don't know, indeed, your ladyſhip. O what would I give to be with my poor mother in Turnagain-lane at Wapping!

I wiſh, Jenny, I could inſpire you with a little of my reſolution.

O, ma'am, you make a perfect Nero of me.

O lord, ma'am, they are come!

O lord, ma'am, they are not come; pluck up your ſpirits; you'll not be ſhot—perhaps theſe two hours.

Have you ſeen him, Muley?

And expect his ſignal at the lattice every moment; but remember you reſign yourſelf entirely to my direction.

It is ſtrange my father ſhould place ſo im⯑plicit a confidence in you.

Not at all; he purchaſed me at Cairo from an Arabian merchant when I was but four years old. I never ſaw the father who begat me, nor the mother who brought me into the world. He knows I have no brother, no ſiſter, no tie of kindred upon earth, to make my affections wander from this ſpot. He thinks I look up to him as my only relation, but my attachment to my dear miſtreſs, united to the natural paſſion of man for liberty, which only with life leaves us, makes me do a violence to my nature, and for the firſt time deceive him.

He took uncommon pains with your edu⯑cation.

I am an Arabian, madam, and perhaps may thank my faculties more than my preceptors.

I vow, Mr. Muley, this is the firſt time I ever knew you was a Barbarian.

And it is the firſt time I knew it myſelf.

I thought you Barbarians had generally two heads at leaſt.

Two heads, to be ſure, would be a great ornament to a man, but with the additions generally made by a faſhionable wife, they are more, I am ſure, than any man could carry upon his ſhoulders—but you'll not forget your promiſe, madam?

I certainly will take you with me to Eng⯑land; [11] with regard to your freedom, I may be ſilent; the moment you ſet your foot on the iſland, you are no longer a bondſman; the charter of England is Li⯑berty; you cannot breath its air and be a ſlave.

O heavens I here he is; let him in imme⯑diately.

Go you, Jenny.

I muſt ſtand centinel, to prevent your father's ſtealing a march upon us.

At the riſque of my life, at the riſque of my reputation, which I hold dearer, I am come to you; when, my angel, are you to go off? in what diſguiſe? let me know every particular without delay; not a moment I am here but is big with danger.

Fear and joy almoſt rob me of utterance! We are, if poſſible, to leave this about twelve, dreſſed in coarſe Mooriſh habits; a little red croſs, the em⯑blem of your faith, I'll wear upon my breaſt to di⯑ſtinguiſh me.

Your father, madam, is coming.

Let me out inſtantly!

You muſt not go yet, ſir; I was prepared for this: here, clap on this turban and this habit—(Beauclerc puts on the habit and turban)—now don't open your lips, but nod and make ſigns—leave the reſt to me.

Daughter Zayde.

I attend your pleaſure, ſir.

By the tomb of Mahomet, ſhe ſhall go this night—

—What, a ſtranger in my houſe! Who is this fellow, Muley?

Lord, ſir, don't you know him?

Know him! how the devil ſhould I know him! who is he?

That's my brother, ſir.

Your brother, you dog! you never ſaw one of your family in your life, and how have you found out that this fellow is your brother?

By the meereſt accident in the world: you muſt know, ſir (for I never knew it 'till my brother here told me of it) that I was ſtolen from my parents, at two months old, by a Gypſey, who ſold me, at Cairo, to the merchant of whom you bought me; my father, who loved his children dearer than his life, had ſix ſons beſides myſelf—

ſeven! I beg your pardon, my father, ſir, had ſeven ſons beſide myſelf.

Damn your father and his ſeven ſons; raſcal, who are you talking to?

My brother, ſir; did'nt you ſee how angry he was at the miſtake I made?

Why, the fellow has'nt open'd his lips.

Dear ſir, let me go on with my ſtory, and you ſhall know all by-and-by: my father, ſir, who had ſeven ſons beſides myſelf, and loved his chil⯑dren dearer than his life, left it, upon his death bed, that a third of the eſtate, together with the family pictures—

Family pictures!

Yes, ſir, (which were very valuable) ſhould go to whoever found his loſt ſheep; for you muſt know, ſir, he uſed always to call me his loſt ſheep.

Your ſleece, Mr. Loſt Sheep, is in great danger of a good threſhing, I can tell you that.

Fortunately, ſir, this brother, whoſe name is Sinbad, after numberleſs perils and hardſhips, put up at the very inn at which you lodged at Cairo; the landlord, who had heard of the misfortunes of my [14] family, introduced him to the merchant of whom you bought me; the merchant kindly introduced him to your broker, and the good-natured broker never reſted, night or day, 'till he actually found out the identical ſhip and captain in which, ſir, you ſailed with me from Cairo; on board this, ſir, he embarked about a fortnight ſince; and, after a ſhort paſſage, arrived at Algiers in Barbary, from which place he came, laſt night, with a freſh ſupply of cabbages, live oxen, and fat turkies.

Such a cargo of lies, I believe, never were jumbled together in ſo ſmall a compaſs: why, you dog, I'll have you impaled alive for bringing a male into my houſe.

A male! dear ſir, look at this upper lip.

Eh! why, he has got no muſtachios.

Muſtachios, ſir, he was ten years in the ſeraglio at Conſtantinople.

Come, I'll aſk the fellow ſome queſtions myſelf.

You may ſpare yourſelf the trouble, ſir, for (poor fellow) he is dumb.

Dumb!

Dumb, ſir.

Then how the devil could he have given you this circumſtantial account of your loſt ſheep, and your eſtate, and your family pictures, you dog!

By ſigns;—do but look at him, ſir, what do you think he is ſaying now?

Why, nothing.

He ſays that, in his travels through the different parts of the globe, he never met a gentleman [15] of ſuch a mild, humane and winning diſpoſition, or one in whoſe ſervice he would be more willingly em⯑ployed.

Why, truly, he is not an ill-looking fellow; but it is a great pity he is dumb.

Sir, you'll underſtand him, as well as I do, in leſs than a fortnight; he was in great repute at the court of Perſia, for ſeveral years, as a dumb in⯑terpreter.

Well, take hi [...] in, and give him ſome re⯑freſhment; I don't know but I may employ him.

Look at him, do but look at him, ſir; if you did but underſtand him, you'd be delighted with his gratitude.

Ay! what does he ſay?

Say, ſir! it would keep me here this hour if I was to tell you all; but, ſir, in a word, he ſays his gratitude has ſtruck him dumb.

Truly, this is an odd adventure; come Hither, Zayde; I hope, child, you are better recon⯑ciled to your duty than I found you this morning?

Sir, I am ready to obey your pleaſure, and long for the night.

You tranſport me, my dear girl!

And I'll go with her with a joyful, heart.

O, then you are reconciled, Mrs. Pert, to Viſit Barbary.

Barbary, ſir! I'll go to the Antidotes with her.

And this morning you would go to the devil ſooner than you would go to Barbary; but I expect [16] no more regularity from a woman than a weather⯑cock.

SCENE III. The Inſide of the Garriſon.

A very ſtrange command this;—dam'me, I wiſh I was governor.

Then I ſhould wiſh myſelf out of the garriſon.

But why ſhould he let them raiſe their batteries?

For the pleaſure of knocking them down again.

That is ſomething to be ſure; but, in the mean time, we are doing nothing, and I hate to be idle.

You know nothing of the matter; Touchwood, the governor, is a brave fellow, and a fine officer; he knows the true Engliſh way of fight⯑ing; he wants a mark to level at; they are raiſing their works now like children building houſes of cards; the moment they are finiſhed, puff from the garriſon—and they are down again.

Come, pull away, my hearty cocks, we'll be at them preſently.

Stay one minute, my dear lads, 'till I take a little refreſhment: I have not wet my lips the Lord knows when.

Wet your lips! you have done nothing but drink all the morning—and let me tell you, Woolwich, it's not the part of a good ſoldier to get drunk when he's juſt going to engage an enemy.

It's a damn'd lie, I am not drunk; I know my duty better than to get drunk. If I was to drink the ſea at a time like this, it would have no kind of effect upon me: Come, will you taſte?

Not I.

More fool you! for if you happen to be killed by and by, you'll have loſt a taſte of the fineſt Nantz ever was ſwallowed.

Well, gemmen, Heaven be praiſed, we are going to be at the villains at laſt.

Well ſaid, Old Brandy Bottle; are you come to ſee the ſport?

That I am: I am an Engliſh woman every inch of me.

Come, pull away, my lads, we loſe time.

Stay one minute 'till I take leave of an old acquaintance: this is Moll Trumpet, gentlemen, a lady I have known for many years, and one who has lived in great credit, conſidering her age and occupa⯑tion.

Aye, that I have, Mr. Woolwich; I am an old ſtandard in Gibraltar.

An old ſtandard indeed, Moll; for your ſtaff is almoſt worn out in the ſervice, and your ban⯑ner here before you

is as vene⯑rably ragged as any in St. Paul's jubilo.

Ah, Mr. Woolwich, it's hard times with me during a ſiege; I have not had a gentleman in my houſe ſince it began, and yeſterday morning the Go⯑vernor threatened to ſhut it up, only becauſe a lady was ſeen going out of it a little overtaken in liquor—the beſt of houſes may be ruined for want at cuſtom⯑ers.

Don't cry, Polly; things muſt come round again: we ſhall ſee the Eagle-and-Child flouriſh again [19] in ſpite of France and Spain united. I remember what you have done; I look upon you like an old mortar that had been in Marlbro's wars, and would wiſh to ſee you after all your campaigns, laid up ſnug in the warren. Come, one parting drop with your old friend, Tom Woolwich.

That I will with all my heart; here's a health to the garriſon, and all the gentlemen ſoldiers in it; and may we beat the Spaniards home again!—

Why, there's a loyal ſoul for you; but this is all owing to the Nantz ſhe has drank in her time; then, ſee what a fine complexion it has given her: ſhe's as roſy as the gills of a Barbary Cock.

Ah, good Nantz is an excellent cordial.

Come, tip us a ſtave, Moll.

Lord! Mr. Woolwich, I can't ſing; it's all over with me.

Can't you? why, you uſed to have a fine pipe; it was clear as good Holland's, and as ſtrong as good brandy—what! and all over? Well, if you won't ſing, I will.

What the devil! the enemy have opened their batteries; let's be gone.

Pull away, my lads, pull away; that's my hearts of gold, pull away: oh, we'll fight, dam'me! 'till we're not able to ſtand.

You ſeem much in that ſtate already, Woolwich; but pull away, my lads.

There they go, there they go, dam'me! this is the ſoldier's muſic, and the Spaniards ſhall dance to ſome tune before we have done playing it.

What the de'el can't ye ſtand back a wee? there's nae ſic a thing as ganging for ye.

Ah, Maſter Serjeant, we are glad to ſee you come back ſafe.

By my ſoul, and ſo we are ourſelves; not that I cared a trawneen how things went; for if I had been killed in the action, the devil fire the word I would ever have ſaid about it afterwards.

Gentlemen and fel⯑low ſoldiers, I thank you in the name of my king and country, for your ſpirit, your zeal, and you bravery: the Governor will tranſmit an immediate account to England, of the ſucceſs which has attended his Ma⯑jeſty's arms, in which every juſtice ſhall be done to the conduct of the troops during the action.

Soldiers and Populace. Huzza! huzza! huzza!

SCENE I. The Inſide of the Garriſon.

HOOT awa, mon; though We hae demo⯑liſhed St. Rocque, you dinna ken how long the ſiege may laſt.

It will laſt 'till it is over, to be ſure, my jewel.

It may laſt ſax months for aught ye can de⯑veen; therefore it becomes you to be frugal of your allooance.

Poh! what the devil would you have me ſtarve myſelf!

Ye have nae kind of aiconomy, nae fore⯑caſt; you dinna heed the proverb—clap your hand twice to your bonnet for once to your pouch; aw gangs oot, naething gangs in.

Och that's true enough, for the devil a thing has gone into my mouth this morning but a glaſs of brandy—

—I won't tell this Scotch thief I have had two glaſſes, for may be he'd be for having one of them.

Ye ſhould nae ha da drank it.

What the devil, would you have me re⯑fuſe it!

I would nae have ye refuſe any thing that's guid; but ye ſhould ha ſaved part oot; a wiſe man will always ſave a part oot of his income, be it ever ſo ſmall; and if I had nae mair than a Scotch poond a-day—

Arrah how much is a Scotch pound?

A Scotch poond is an Engliſh penny.

So you'd have me live upon a penny a-day!

I ha' mair alconomy, friend; I'd live upon hauf on't, upon a bawbee, and ſave the reſidue for further exigencies.

What the deel's here to do?

Come along, my boys, here's the ſtuff. Ah, Serjeant O' Bradley! are you there? I have a great reſpect for you and for your country; you are an Iriſhman, I think.

So they tell me, Mr. Woolwich; but it is ſo long ſince I was there that I may be miſtaken.

My dear lad, let nobody perſuade you to the contrary; Saint Patrick himſelf could not ſpeak the language in greater purity;

Huzza! long life to the General.

He has given us ſomething for demoliſh⯑ing St. Rocque.—

There, there, there, you ſee how eager they all are; theſe are brave fellows, but they have no conduct; every ſoul of them would get drunk if I did not prevent them.

And who the devil would blame them? Upon ſuch a day as this, I'd drink 'till I was not able to ſpeak; and afterwards give the Britiſh Arms in a bumper.

Serjeant O' Bradley, I have a great reſpect for you and for your country, damn me if I ha'n't; but the worſt of the Iriſh is, they are terribly given to drinking.

By the lord this is the pot ſlan⯑dering the kettle; I wiſh I had the cawſk in my ain poſſeſſion, and the de'el a drop either ſhould hae.

I ſee you are all bent upon intoxication, but if poſſible I will prevent your making beaſts of your⯑ſelves. So here, my dear hearts, here, ſoberly, ſo⯑berly; place the caſk here, place it here, I ſay.

What the de'el! have a care you do nae ſpill the liquor.

Spill the liquor! no, no, I'd ſpill my heart's blood firſt—keep it ſteady, ſteady, my dear hearts—

—now I have every thing ſnug, under my own eye.

SCENE II. Ben Haſſan's Houſe.

Mr. Muley, Mr. Muley.

What's the matter, my little Engliſh Roſe?

Did not my maſter ſay he would go with us?

Yes; a'n't you glad of it?

Won't it ſpoil all?

By no means; I wanted him to go with us.

I wiſh to the lord I was once out of Gi⯑braltar; though, indeed, Mr. Muley, I don't like to go to Barbary; pray, what kind of a place is it? do the people eat, and drink, and ſleep as we do?

Eat and drink, and ſleep as we do, Jenny! why, to be ſure, there is this obſervation I have made on the people of Barbary: they never eat when they have got nothing to ſit down to; as to drinking, it's much the ſame; and as to ſleeping, in the whole courſe of my travels through the country, I never met with man, woman or child, able to get a wink of ſleep, who was not extremely drowzy.

Dear me, dear me, what a terrible account do you give of them!

SCENE III. A Moon-light View of the Streight and Part of the Rock of Gibraltar; a dead Calm, a ſmall Veſſel in view at Anchor, ſuppoſed to be waiting to carry Ben Haſſan, Zayde, &c. to Barbary.

Station yourſelves here; yonder is the veſſel they mean to go off in. Bring them to Major Brom⯑field directly; put the old man into the dark room, and tell him it is a dungeon—the young lady and her ſlave you muſt conduct to me.

Guid ſir, ſay nae mair; your orders ſhall be obeyed impleacitly.

But don't think I expect your ſervices for nothing; if you ſucceed, I will reward you amply.

Do you hear that, friend O'Bradley? A mon loes a thing with a guid heart, when there's a proſpect of advantage. Ha! by my ſaul, here they come; haud back awee and obſerve them.

When, ma'm, do you think we ſhall diſem⯑bark?

Hold your curſed tongue, huſſey; we ſhall alarm the patrole.

Ecod, ſir, that's done already; I think I ſee 'em yonder; retire, retire a little, while I recon⯑noitre them.—

Stand! wha gangs there?

A friend.

We do no ken that; 'tis nae aw gold that gliſters; call to mind the proverb, friend; "a blawck hen may lay a white egg, and many a fair ap⯑ple wi a ſpeckled bonny cheek, is unſound at the kernel."

Where did you come from?

I was born in Africa.

You blockhead, I don't aſk where you was born, I only want to know what countryman you are.

I am an Arabian.

An Arabian! oh, by my ſoul, I knew a great many of your countrymen at the Curragh of Kil⯑dare, and at Newmarket likewiſe. What is your name?

Muley.

Muley! As ſure as a gun, this fellow is half-brother to Gimcrack or Sweepſtakes.

I know no Gimcrack or Sweepſtakes.

The more's the pity; but as it is a fa⯑mily known to be fine runners, I'll ſecure you before you put in for the plate.

Yonder's more of 'em, and I believe they are all traitors, conveying intelligence to the enemy.—

Oh dear gentlemen, I am no traitor, I am a poor little Engliſh girl, and love my country better than all the world; I would not hurt a worm, if it came from England.

It's nae matter, ye mun gang before the Governor, to be examined; we have certain informa⯑tion of your being ſpies.

Spies! oh lord, it is no ſuch thing; I am a poor harmleſs old man, who was going to Barbary with his daughter to avoid the danger of the ſiege.

To avoid danger! why, if there was no⯑thing elſe againſt you, that's enough to prove you a traitor. What right have you, you old Mooriſh Spal⯑peen, to run away to ſave your life, when I and my comrades are obliged to ſtand to have my brains knock'd out freſh and faſting every morning?

I'll give you a thouſand piſtoles and let me [...]o.

What, a bribe! there's more in this, friend O' Bradley, than we deveen'd; it will be a bonny piece of work, my lads: bring them away; I'll ſhew no mercy to ſic abominable traitors.

Zayde and her ſlave are to be brought back immediately; I ſuppoſe you were particular in your order about the room he is to be confined in; I hope it is dark enough.

He ſhall not have a ray of light; though his own fears would caſt gloom enough about him.

Oh, charming, lovely woman, I adore you for your ſpirit as much as your beauty; how near was I loſing you!

My dear Beauclerc, uſe my father gently; he is terrified to death.

I'll go, ſir, inſtantly, and conclude the buſineſs.

Not without me, friend; I am now Governor, and you muſt have my paſſport to your priſoner.

Then take me too, ſir, I am ſure I am no traitor.

With all my heart, my little countrywo⯑man. Frank, "how ſweet the moonlight ſleeps upon that bank!" "In ſuch a night as this!"—Ha! ha! ha! Good night, Troilus and Creſſida.

The ſucceſs of my project, your beauty and this charming night, give ſuch a delicious move⯑ment to my ſpirits, as I never felt before.

DUET. ZAYDE and BEAUCLERC.

Duetto, How ſweet, &c.

SCENE IV. A Room in Major Bromfield's Houſe. The Stage dark—Ben Haſſan diſcovered.

What a terrible condition has my raſhneſs reduced me to! and becauſe I was a ſtate priſoner, I muſt come here blind-ſolded. Here I am in a dun⯑geon! Lord knows how many feet deep in the rock of Gibraltar! How could they find me out? ſure that damned Jew has not betrayed me! It is very ſtrange I was not put in irons; and, what's more extraordinary in a diſmal place like this, they have left me a chair to ſit on. I fain would examine the walls of my priſon to try if there is any hole left; but what if I tumble into ſome terrible cavern! I'll [33] grope my way as well as I can.

—Mercy on me, what a claſh of chains was there! I wiſh I could get to my chair again, I'd not budge from it 'till my keeper brought me my bread and water. Oh, I have got it.

Where is my dear maſter? O that I could glad my eyes with a ſight of him!

Oh! that I could glad my eyes with a ſight of you, Muley! how long, poor fellow, have you been here?

I am juſt come, ſir; as it was known that I was an old faithful ſervant, the Governor has granted me permiſſion to take my leave of you.

What, am I ſo ſoon to die!

I can't bear to anſwer you, ſir,

Ah, my poor Muley! and I ſuppoſe your fate is not far off ?

No, ſir, I was pardoned; the laws of England could not puniſh me without a new act of parliament.

Eh! how was that?

Why, ſir, the laws of England ſay no man is a ſlave; I was one, and conſequently out of their juriſdiction.

Then, my good lad, I'll till you how you can ſerve me.

I'll do it moſt chearfully.

Why as you can't be puniſhed, ſuppoſe we change clothes, and let me eſcape? my clothes are worth a great deal more than your's.

That would never do, ſir; your impriſon⯑ment has ſet me free, and I am now as liable to be hanged as any body elſe.

That's a great pity, Muley.

Ah, ſir, you had a number of friends upon your trial.

My trial! why zounds I have not been tried yet.

Conſider you are a ſpy, and a ſpy is never tried like another criminal—the Governor was for breaking you upon the wheel immediately. Ah! thinks I, this will remind my poor maſter of the bro⯑ken bones he has often given me.

And was there nobody ſpoke for me?

Oh yes, ſir; you had a ſtaunch friend, a friend indeed, ſir, one who obtained a great favour for you, a favour ſeldom granted to ſtate criminals—that you ſhould only—

What! what! what!

Be hanged, ſir.

Only be hang'd! and do you call that a fa⯑vour, you dog?

I don't know what you think, ſir; but, I am ſure, your family will be greatly rejoiced at it. But, ſir, as you are now in your laſt moments, what am I to ſay to your daughter?

O my poor child! ſhe never came into my head.

I ſuppoſe, ſir, you'll leave her every thing?

Every piſtole; I can take nothing with me. Remember her poor old father's love to her.

Your love! there's ſomething elſe ſhould be remember'd; I ſuppoſe you would not have your ſtrong box broke open, ſir?

Break open my ſtrong box, you raſcal! who dare break open my ſtrong box?

See what it is to love money! It goes to your heart to part with a piſtreen, though it can be of no longer uſe to you.

True, Muley, I can take nothing with me.

'Sdeath, ſir, you'd make a man mad; the executioner will be here in a few minutes, and if you don't give me the key, and let me know what it con⯑tains, your daughter will be wrong'd of half her pro⯑party.

Why will you diſturb me in my dying mo⯑ments? you know the key will be found in my pocket when I am hanged.

In that caſe, every ſhilling will be con⯑ſiſcated for the uſe of government.

That's very true, and as I can take nothing with me, here it is—

—give it into her own hand; the box contains eighteen thouſand piſtoles, beſides three brilliants of immenſe value, and a topal I purchaſed at Genoa, that was ſtole from the Doge of Venice.

Ah, ſir, you ſee no good comes of ſuch things; but I have ſecured your key; and ſo come in, come in, all is ſettled.

What, my daughter and Beauclerc to ſee me?

Here, madam, is the paſſport to your fortune, and your father may rail as faſt as he pleaſes.

Why I am in no dungeon, I find.

I'll tell you better news, ſir; you've got a reprieve.

Ah, villain, I perceive how every thing is now; this is all a trick to cheat me of my daughter; but though I am a Moor, and you call me Infidel, your laws breathe a more humane ſpirit than your re⯑ligion, and I will have recourſe to them.

Ben Haſſan, you may thank the hour your daughter married this gentleman; it has ſaved your life. I am at this moment in poſſeſſion of ſecrets would undo you; then take them home without a a murmur; act in future with integrity to the ſtate, and all ſhall be overlooked.

All my correſpondence with the Spaniards I find is diſcovered, and I muſt make the beſt of it. (To the Major.) Dear Major, you are too haſty; I proteſt to you I never was better pleaſed, never in my life; but conſider I have juſt eſcaped a gibbet, and you muſt allow a little for ſurprize.

Sir, the Governor deſires a party of men may be ſent inſtantly to keep the populace in order [37] there's a mutiny in the garriſon about the freſh provi⯑ſions juſt arrived.

My dear Beauclerc, we muſt be gone; but truſt your miſtreſs to her father's care; I dare ſay we may depend upon him. Eh, Ben Haſſan, you underſtand me?

Perfectly! yes, yes, we are all come to a right underſtanding at laſt,—but mum—and ſo come along, Zayde:

SCENE V. The Inſide of the Garriſon. A tumul⯑tuous Noiſe heard.

We will have freſh proviſions.

Why not as well as the governor?

Finer turkies never came from Barbary.

Finer turkies! ay, ay, my friend, but that is leather of too fine a grain for our palates. Turkies! no, no; we muſt feaſt upon ſalted pork and buffaloes, as dry and as tough as an old heel-tap; a man ſhould have teeth like an awl to mumble it.

Nine tailors of us clubb'd for a gooſe, and could not purchaſe it.

Let us all go to the governor's in a body, and force him to do us and our families juſtice.

Ay, come along, come along.

Where the de'el are ye aw ganging in ſic haſte?

We are going to the governor's, to de⯑mand our ſhare of the freſh proviſions juſt come from Barbary; we can hold out no longer.

Ye are aw a parcel of feuls, and do no ken what you wauld be at.

Ay, maſter Serjeant, you may talk; you have no cauſe to complain of ſalt proviſions; you have always a belly-full.

It's a damn'd ſee; I ſcorn to think of my wem, when the honour of my country is at ſtake.

But why does not the governor divide all fair with the whole garriſon?

We are all fleſh and blood as well as he.

Hav'n't we wives and children to main⯑tain?

Why, ye mek ſic a damn'd clatter, there's nae ſic a thing as ſpearly a wee wi' you rationally; will you hear me?

Hear him, hear him.

In aw them ten years the famous toon of Troy was beſieged, I do nae believe there was ſic a riot as the preſent.

Ay, maſter Serjeant, but Troy, I ſup⯑poſe, is ſome town upon the 'Mericant continent, like Rhode-Iſland, or the Gulph of Florida, or ſome of thoſe places.

Ah, friend, as the proverb gangs, whoever burns you for a witch, will loſe all his coals. Ye are nac geographer, friend, I find.

Come, maſter Serjeant, don't call names; I am as good a man as yourſelf, though I don't wear a red coat.

He! what the de'el's that for?

O, by my ſhoul, it is what I told you a little while ago, though I did not mention it; the peppering bout is juſt going to begin; and if you are ſo hungry, you may ſtay your ſtomachs with a belly⯑full of fighting.

Serjeants, for ſhame! away to arms; the Spaniſh flag is flying in the harbour.

What, are the Spaniards come! then, dam'me, we'll think no more of freſh proviſions.

We'll fight, if you'll give us arms.

Ay, dam'me, 'till we die.

Why, there you ſpoke like a true En⯑gliſhman! we'll all fight 'till we die; and then there will be freſh proviſions enough for every one of us.

SCENE the laſt. A View of the Rock and Streight of Gibraltar; Rodney's Fleet in the Bay, after the Action; the Spaniſh Admiral diſmaſted, &c. riding with national Colours; the Army all drawn out with Artillery, &c. prepared for Action; a Boat is ſeen to come from one of the Ships; a Lieutenant and ſeveral Sailors come on Shore afterwards.

A Spaniſh admiral's flag flying, and all the reſt Engliſh colours; what can be the mean⯑ing?

It was done to deceive the garriſon; it is an enemy; and, take my word, the governor will repent his not firing at them.

We ſhall ſoon know that, for here comes the boat diſpatched to us.

What cheer! what cheer, my hearts of oak?

How am I to re⯑ceive you—as a priſoner, ſir?

A priſoner! what do you mean?

Is not that the Spaniſh fleet yonder under Engliſh colours?

The Spaniſh fleet! ay, to be ſure it is.

I underſtand you; we loſt the day.

Why yes, we loſt the day to be ſure; but then we took 'em in the night for all that.

Took 'em in the night! you deal in myſteries.

Ay, maſter, and the Spaniards deal in mi⯑racles; ſo we are even with them.

As a ſoldier and an Engliſhman, you may ſuppoſe me anxious for the honour of my country; anſwer me, ſir, at once, if we are victors, why does that Spaniſh enſign inſult the flag of my country?

Why, if I may ſpeak, your honour, before my ſuperiors, it's a kind of dulgence we ſhewed them; for the Spaniſh Monſieurs fought damn'd well this bout; and then you know a man has ſome pleaſure in beating 'em.

What this honeſt tar has told you, ſir, is true; the fleet you ſee yonder belongs to the King of England, and perhaps no fleet, for ſome centuries, have won greater glory.

What is our advantage, ſir?

Vantage! why we have taken five, ſunk two, and blown up one; that's all. It's a great pity there were not a few more to give a good account of.

I requeſt, ſir, you would go inſtantly with your diſpatches to the Governor: this is a piece of intelligence which once more diſpels the gloom from Gibraltar. Let the whole garriſon ſalute the fleet, for the ſtrength and bulwark of England at all times has proved her navy.

By my ſhoul, your honour, if I may ſpeak without offence, the devil a word of lie in what you ſay; for the firmeſt ground an Engliſhman ever ſtood upon is the ocean.