ACT I.

BUT I won't be told; I won't reaſon about it; I won't be anſwered; I won't hear a word.

I have done, Sir—you have proved it to demonſtration, by the ſame ſort of logick that was uſed by one of the wits of Charles the lld's. time to his dog, when he was too lazy to beat him, "I wiſh you well married, and ſettled in the country"—

There again now; don't enrage me; I have ſome whimſical humours about me, that let me tell you, Sir—and I can be very peremptory, if I pleaſe—What? when my neighbour Strickland and I have agreed the matter!—a young lady with a fair fortune in hand, and ſeven hundred a year in expect⯑ancy, as pretty a reverſion as any in Hampſhire!— and am I now to be told, "She does not ſuit my taſte,—ſhe is not handſome?" and ſo I am to be [2] waſting my breath with you, about a complection, a noſe, and a lip!—

If you would but leave thoſe matters to me, Sir—

But I tell you no; I won't leave thoſe matters to you—Beauty is the laſt thing I deſire to ſee in my family—Your mother, peace be to her, was as ugly a woman as you ſhall ſee in a ſummer's day; and what do you think I married her for?— for your good, Sir—for the good of my children—

And pray, Sir, which of ye does this ſide-box face of mine take after?

You ſhall take nothing after me, that you may depend upon, unleſs you prove obedient to my will and pleaſure.—I'll not leave you a foot of land—

I hope you'll live to enjoy it yourſelf, Sir—

I'll give my fortune to found a new college, where it is not wanted—

I hope you'll live to enjoy it yourſelf, Sir.

I'll cut you off with a ſhilling to buy you an halter—

I hope you'll live to enjoy it yourſelf, Sir—

I hope I ſhall, tho' you ſay it with a ſort of a dry look between juſt and earneſt—But don't talk to me of beauty again; I never knew any good come of it; beauty is like fine fruit, only fit to draw a parcel of flies about it—

And ſo I muſt ſet my teeth on edge with crab-tree apples—But where would be the harm, Sir, if purely for the good of my family, I were to marry a lady of ſome ſhare of beauty, only juſt to croſs the ſtrain a little, and ſettle a ſhape and a feature upon the iſſue of our marriage?

Settle your wife's fortune upon 'em—Look ye, Sir;—my purſe ſtrings will never open,— [3] not a ſhilling of my money ſhall you touch, till you pay your reſpects to Miſs Strickland—now you know my reſolution—What a graceleſs look there is! ruin yourſelf if you will—follow your own courſes, Sir,—

Your moſt obedient very humble ſer⯑vant, Sir,—you may depend that—I ſhall chuſe for myſelf—Briſk! why don't you anſwer, ſirrah!—Why Briſk!—

We have been pretty handſomely lec⯑tured here this morning, Briſk!—

Yes, Sir, we have had wherewithal to edify by—I ſuppoſe, we ſhall lie at Tom Tilbury's at Bag⯑ſhot to-night, Sir—

Where?

Tom Tilbury's, Sir—only juſt to break the neck of our journey, for I ſuppoſe now, you'll drop all thoughts of this other lady—I forget her name—Ay! miſs Mary Ann Richley—She has no chance now, I reckon, Sir—

Why, you ſenſeleſs numſkull!—as ſure as I am Charles Brumpton, Eſq ſhe ſhall be Mrs. Brumpton; and upon the death of my very good fa⯑ther, ſhe'll be a baronet's lady, that's all—

And yet there is ſome truth in what Sir Theodore ſays—Beauty is but a frail periſhable ſort of a commodity; and if you are diſinherited for it, the lady's charms will not pay your poor ſervant, Briſk, his board-wages; a feature, or a ſmile can't go to market; a pawn-broker will lend nothing upon the tip of an ear: though indeed ſhe may mortgage her perſon; but that I take it will be for her own advan⯑tage; we ſhall get nothing but a comely pair of horns by it, Sir, with ſubmiſſion—

Why you talk a frothy kind of nothing at a tolerable rate, Briſk—

I have ſhewn you one ſide of the medal, now behold the reverſe, Sir—When you marry an ugly woman, there is no great pleaſure in beholding her, and to be ſure when you look at her, you'll be apt to murmur to yourſelf—for all purpoſes of joy one may cut as deſirable an object out of an old tapeſtry-hanging—but then the woman has ſome valuable parchments, ſuch as leaſes, bonds, and mortgages; and I, Sir, ſhall live in tolerable plight with you, which to ſo good a maſter—

Leave prating, ſirrah, and do as I or⯑dered you—put on your farmer's dreſs, go directly to the object I adore—let her know you are come from her guardian in the country, and have his or⯑ders to take her home under your care—convey her ſafe to my arms, and I ſhall reward you—

But, Sir—

No arguing with me—about it ſtreight—

You know how many blanketings and blows I have ſuffered in your ſervice, Sir—

Sirrah, no words—go and ſee who's at the door—

You have marred many an excellent plot of mine, Sir—you know you cannot help meddling, when I undertake a ſcheme—If you'll promiſe me, Sir, not to—

Will you ſee who's at the door?

I am gone, Sir—

Ha! ha!—I ſhall moſt certainly carry her off—How Sir Theodore will be aſtoniſhed when he finds ſhe is an heireſs!—Ha! ha!—it is the pleaſanteſt adventure—

Brumpton, good morrow!—always in ſpirits, I ſee.

My dear Belford, nothing depreſſes my ſpirits—though you thought they were too high laſt night, and were for letting me a little blood. Death! [5] man, you make nothing of diſplaying an ell of ſword⯑blade in defence of your miſtreſs's top-knot.

Why you know I love too tenderly to bear the teſt of raillery—it is the infirmity of my temper; why would you put me to it?—

And you that know my turn of mind, why would you be angry with me?—I am happily a follower of the laughing philoſopher—

Po! prithee, man, don't be ſuch a cox⯑comb.—

Prithee, don't you be ſo moroſe, ſo ſour, ſo diſcontented a ſpirit—But if in your phraſe I am a coxcomb, with all my heart, i'faith: but take this along with you—what you mean as a term of reproach, I receive as a compliment to the materials nature has been pleaſed to compound in this happy frame of mine—

Po! Po! running on at the old rate—If ſelf-applauſe be philoſophy, you have a comfortable ſhare.

I have, Sir, and while my happineſs is preſerved by it, keep you the gravity and good ſenſe, that make you too refined to be pleaſed, too wiſe to be merry, and too knowing to be contented.—I am in a fair way to be ſucceſsful, without any trouble at all;—you are likely to be moſt ſcurvily diſappointed after a world of pains—An humble bow, which my dancing-maſter taught me, while I laughed at him, a faſhionable coat, for which, if my taylor is ever paid he will laugh at me,—an intriguing ſnuff-box,— and an apt valet de chambre, all theſe make love for me, and—.

And you aſſume the merit of the con⯑queſt—

Oh! yes, when the trouble is over, I take the reward.—Did you ever know a general officer, who, when the horſe and the foot, and the right and left wing have carried the day for him, did not claim to himſelf both the honour and the booty? [6] But you make a toil of a pleaſure—love, which to me is a ſcene of delight, to you is a drudgery; your temper grows as ſour, as a prude's when the ſermon is long; and as hot as a Welſhman's, if you laugh at his pedigree; or a profeſſed ſharper's, if you doubt his honour, after he has cogged the dice, and picked your pocket of your money.

Why I own I am piqued and naturally. If any friend of mine, out of mere ſpleen, ſpeak de⯑tractingly of the perſon I admire: it were baſe infi⯑delity in love not to defend her, when ſhe is diſpa⯑raged—my every thought is dedicated to her.—Abſent I ſee her, hear her, and my imagination gloats for ever on her charms.

And you are ſo eaſily alarmed, that little difficulties are the Alps and Pireneans in your way—Now my faith in theſe matters removes mountains—But indeed in all things we are oppoſite characters—If a tradeſman brings you in a bill and preſſes for payment, ‘'Sdeath! does the ſcoundrel doubt my honour? does he mean to affront me?’—Now I, when my father ſuffered me to be arreſted, went cheerfully into con⯑finement, and diverted myſelf for three weeks together with the bum-bailiff's character—In the buſineſs of our ſofter paſſions, the ſame humour purſues us—you write ſtudied letters to your Dulcinea, I am written to;—you ſigh, I ſing;—you fret I am gay;—you, upon a diſappointment, ‘Furies, death, and rage—there is no enduring this—life is grown a burden—damnation!’ I burſt into a laugh, and what a whimſical world we live in—ha! ha!—But come, I will hear your melancholy ſtory,—Well, the old dragon I ſuppoſe watches the Heſperian fruit.

He does, Sir—he keeps her locked up as a miler does his gold, not to be made uſe of till his death, and then to fall into hands that won't know the value of it—Its love's laſt ſhift with me; ſhe is inacceſſible, and her guardian, old Lovibond, pro⯑poſes to marry her himſelf.

And ſo, like the tyrant of old, intends to tack a living and dead body together.

Even ſo—my dear Brumpton, there ſhould be an act of parliament to hinder theſe old fellows from ſtopping the propagation of the ſpecies.

You are too hard upon 'em—they are ſeldom guilty of that miſchief;—I have known 'em have twins at a birth; that is, when ſome ſuch cox⯑comb as myſelf gives them a helping hand;—and then the old fellow cocks his hat upon it, and totters about ſo vigorouſly, wondering how the babes reſem⯑ble him in every particular; whilſt the mother knows, that ſhe followed the example of the Grecian painter, and took a feature from every one of her acquaint⯑ance.—If he prevents your marrying her, take your revenge that way.

Prophanation!—her virtue, Sir—beſides the world could never repair the loſs—her heart I am ſure is mine—I uſed to viſit there—but now no admittance; an evidence on the crown ſide in a meſ⯑ſenger's hands is not better ſecured.

Now my buſineſs goes on without any trouble or difficulty. My old dragon is in the coun⯑try, and has left his fair ward, the ſweeteſt girl, my dear Belford.

You deſcribed her yeſterday but few re⯑moves from a downright idiot.

Pardon me—ſhe is ſimple indeed—But ſuch a ſimplicity!—It juſt ſerves to ſhew that in⯑juſtice has been done her in her education, but in her every turn ſhe gives ſuch tokens of ſenſibility!—She has beauty without knowing it;—certain wild graces, rather than accompliſhments, and talents inſtead of ſenſe.

Po! Po!—a mere ruſtic beauty.

There now, derogating from her merit, and yet I am calm!—the truth is ſhe has been brought up in the country, and wickedly kept in ignorance, [8] that ſhe might fall an eaſy prey to her guardian—But I have raiſed a ſpirit in her.

And how the devil did you gain acceſs to her?

I was going to tell you—Old Neſtor's out of town, and has left her in the care of the two verieſt ſimpletons that ever whiſtled for want of thought at a country fair—But gold, Sir, gold, that ſpeaks all languages, and adapts itſelf to all capacities, has pleaded moſt eloquently for me—But, come, I poſitively muſt leave you.

Nay, if it muſt be ſo—

My dear Belford, Cupid direct your arrows—

And but this moment returned, Mr. Oldcaſtle!

Juſt this moment ſtepped out of the machine—

Well! and now I ſuppoſe you have prudently laid aſide all thoughts of matrimony.

Ha! you are a comical man, brother Lo⯑vibond,—I have taken my meaſures; to-morrow makes me a bridegroom, and my fair ward Miſs Mary Ann, a bride—

And a little time will make you—

Happy—tho', by that ſignificant look, you have your doubts.

I have Sir—I have a ſhrewd gueſs that—

Then you'll be out in your gueſs—

I wiſh your horns a'n't out firſt—

Well ſaid, and without any apprehenſion for yourſelf; you are ſtill determined to marry Mary Ann's ſiſter Harriet I ſuppoſe.

That's quite another buſineſs; what I do, is no rule for your actions—

It is as I ever ſaid—each man is ſtill look⯑ing at the hump upon his neighbour's back, but never thinks of caſting an eye over his own ſhoulder—I warrant me now you, in your grand climacteric, will tell me I am old—

Full ten years before me in the race of life—beſides, you are an old batchelor;—a ſtranger to the ways of wedlock—I am enured to the ſervice—your ſiſter, Mr. Oldcaſtle, could have told you what a deſperate good huſband I was—But, lack a day!— you begin late—mercy on your forehead, ſay I, mercy on your forehead!—

Ha! ha! how blind ſome people are when they have taken a thing in their heads!—ha! ha!

Well! well! laugh on—but you that have been for ever a cenſor of your neighbours, for ever fleering and jibing at the married life—

And a pleaſant topic it is!—Why matri⯑mony affords a little comedy in every family one knows—But the education I have given Mary Ann—

Is the worſt in the world—

The very beſt!—I have trained her up in plain ſimplicity—woman's wit teems with contriv⯑ances to diſgrace her huſband—yet you would educate Harriet in this profligate town!—

Ay, and I have taught her to know right from wrong.—

Right from wrong! you have ruined the girl—have not you indulged her in every whimſy this fertile town affords?

I have ſhewn her the world—

Have not you carried her to plays?

To ſee folly ridiculed—

To profligate comedies?

The ſtage is the ſchool of virtue—

The ſchool of ſin and impudence!

Where vice undergoes the laſh of ſa⯑tire—

Where vice is made alluring, provok⯑ing—

Where young ladies may learn—

The uſe of dark-cloſets, back-ſtairs, and ladders of rope.

Where they may learn to put on the veil of modeſty.

To put on the breeches, and eſcape from their guardians!—

Where they are taught to reſpect grey-headed authority!

To make a cuckold of authority!—I know the ways of 'em all!—their cards, routs, operas, Soho-aſſemblies, all contrivances to excite cu⯑rioſity, kindle deſire, prompt inclination, and ſend 'em all dancing a jig to deſtruction.

Common-place invective!—Harriet will know how to avoid—

She will know how to deceive you—

She will have too much honour —

She will have too much wit—now Mary Ann has no wild notions, and of courſe no dangerous curioſity.

Her curioſity is to come—ſhe'll fall a prey to the firſt powdered coxcomb that bows to her—

Her ſimplicity will preſerve her—

But when the ſerpents of this town be⯑gin to whiſper in her ear—

They'll have no opportunity—She is ſnug in a little box of an houſe, which I have taken in the name of Mr. Biddulph. I have another lodging in my own name, where I do buſineſs.—Nobody will ſee her; and when the nine day's wonder is over, [11] I ſhall pack off to the country, and ſo eſcape from impertinence.

Well! well!—I can't but laugh at your ſyſtem of education! ha! ha!—Marry her if you will;—and then on account of your age and infirmi⯑ties, you may do the buſineſs of your office by de⯑puty—Ha! ha! a plan of ſimplicity!

Brother Lovibond, a good day to you—I wiſh you ſucceſs—Ha! ha! a town-education for a young girl!—

Ha! ha! poor man tottering to bed to a young wife—I'll go home to my own Harriet—

'Sdeath and confuſion! my dull brain can deviſe nothing—hey! is not that old Argus Centoculi with all his eyes out?—Mr. Lovibond,—a ſight of you—what have you been out of town?

No, the builders are carrying the town out of town I think, and ſo, a body need not move out of London for country air—

How charmingly you look!

What you call a green old age—I am not like the young rakes about this town, who decay in their prime, and are fourſcore at five and twenty.

Ay! you have lived upon the intereſt of your conſtitution, and have not out-run the princi⯑pal—I have had the honour of knocking at your door ſeveral times—

I know it—

But no body at home—

I know that too—

I want to loſe a little more money to you at back-gammon—

I have left it off—

Well! well! I'll come and eat a bit of mutton with you—How ſtand you for to-day?

What an hurry he is in?

I have an unlucky engagement—

Well! I'll take a morſel of ſupper—

Well puſhed!

I have left off ſuppers—

So beſt—I'll be with you at breakfaſt in the morning—

I have taken to breakfaſting at the coffee-houſe—One meets with very ſenſible people at the coffee-houſe, and hears men praiſed for being out of place, and abuſed for being in place,—and a huge deal of news, that's very entertaining in the morning; and all a damned lie in the evening.—Your ſer⯑vant—

But the fair Miſs Harriet—how does ſhe do?

There he has touched the right ſtring at laſt

I'll let her know how kind you are.

Nay, don't fly ſo ſoon—I am to give you joy, I hear—you are to make Miſs Harriet happy, I underſtand.

Oh! no; they talk at random—

Yes, yes; come, you have taught her all her accompliſhments, and are now to teach her the art of love—ha! ha! Mr. Lovibond—

I profeſs no ſuch thing.

Yes, yes, come—ſhall I dance at your wedding—you'll truſt her with me in a country dance, and ſee that lovely boſom heave in ſweet diſ⯑order, and riſe as if it wooed your hand to touch it, e'er it fails again—

Ha! ha!—you talk looſely—

Then when muſick wakens every gentler paſſion, and the ſprightly romping has called forth all her bloom; then you'll lead her off, conſenting trem⯑bling, doubting, bluſhing—

Ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha!—come, I'll go and dine with you—"The world muſt be peopled, you know"— Ha! ha! ha!

Well! well! let him be obſtinate, if he will—I muſt ſtep, and ſee how Mary Ann has fared theſe ten days, ſince I have been in the country.—Let me ſee, what's o'clock?—

How her old gaoler will look when he returns to town, and finds ſhe has broke priſon! I ſhall be deemed the very Machiavel of intrigue!—Hey! is not that Mr. Oldcaſtle?—

Mr. Brumpton!—I rejoice to ſee you—

My dear friend, you are come in the very criſis of my fate, in that dear extatic moment, when to the natural vivacity of a gay, giddy tem⯑per like mine, ten thouſand circumſtances conſpire to lift me to the upper regions of delight, which, toge⯑ther with the felicity of encountering the only man in the world, that—I muſt take breath—I am faint with bliſs—it is too much—

Ay! your fever is pretty high, I ſee—recover your ſenſes a little—and tell me at your leiſure what is this mighty buſineſs—

Oh! buſineſs of ſuch a nature—the Gods are now in council upon it,—I expect Mercury every moment in the ſhape of my man Briſk, to let me know that the nectared ſweets that dwell upon the lips of a certain lady are intended for a wild un⯑thinking coxcomb, as the world is pleaſed to call me—

To be ſure—you are in requeſt among the ladies, no doubt—Now will he lie like an at⯑torney's clerk

You are going to help ſome worthy gentleman to an heir to his eſtate, I warrant me—

I have done ſome ſervice in that way; but the truth is, I am now going to help my father to a grandſon.

Going to be married!—

This day may perhaps crown my joys—ſome certain fumblers at this end of the town, who were a little alarmed at the proportions of this leg, intend to light their windows upon it; the court of aldermen are preparing all demonſtrations of joy; and their unhappy wives are going into deep mourn⯑ing upon the occaſion!—

The ſame confident fop he ever was! well, and my friend Sir Theodore, what ſays he to all this?

You know his way; the ſame old crab⯑ed humour—he has made a match for me elſewhere with one that—I would not deny the lady her merit—ſhe preſerves pickles well, and is a very notable keeper of accounts—the woman will do very well of a long winter's evening to ſay, Bleſs you when you ſneeze—but—

She has a fortune, I preſume—

Does not want acres—

And you prefer one without any

You miſtake me! ſhe's an heireſs; it is not clear that ſhe is of age, but as ſoon as ſhe comes to years of diſcretion—

Then ſhe may play the fool as faſt as ſhe will—

By chuſing me, you think, ſhe will give a ſpecimen of her folly.—Ha! ha! I have paſſed many hours with her of late; ſhe is beautiful as an angel—Now, my dear Sir, you can do me the moſt eſſential ſervice—you have great influence over Sir Theodore,—I dare not break this matter to him myſelf, but a word from you—

And has ſhe really an eſtate?

A very fine one;—a large number of acres, and a coal-pit upon one of the manors—

I profeſs I like your taſte—ha! ha! The coal-pit whitens her ſkin, and ſhe may hereafter wear a few of her own acres in each ear—I will ſee my old friend about this, and will poſitively promote your welfare.—He ſhall agreee to it, and—But how did you bring this about, pray?

An old way that I have—I came, ſaw, and conquered—I ſaw her at her window—ſuch blooming ſweetneſs! Her eyes were through my heart at once—love inſpired me with due courage—

That was right—a bold ſtroke for a wife—

I drank tea with her the very next even⯑ing—I muſt indeed admit, that her underſtanding is not the moſt accompliſhed—

So beſt—never marry a wit—

She is at preſent rather in a ſtate of igno⯑rance; but from thoſe blue eyes ſhe occaſionally darts ſuch glances, as beſpeak a mind ſuſceptible of the higheſt refinement.

Where does ſhe live?

In the very next ſtreet—

What that ſtreet there?

Yes, that—under the care of the verrieſt muck-worm—

He means me, I fear

and her name, pray—

Miſs Mary Ann Richley—

Wounds! what a diſcovery here is!

Her guardian's name is Biddulph—per⯑haps you may know him—

No, not I—the young rake-hell!

He means to abuſe his truſt, and con⯑fine youth and beauty within the arms of age and uglineſs.—There's an old rogue for you!—Does not he deſerve to be hanged?

What a young villain!

I beg your pardon—I did not hear—

I am ſeized with an ugly fit of cough⯑ing—

But you ſhould conſider—the mar⯑riage-act is very ſtrict, and requires the conſent of prudent people—

Po! that's nothing—abuſe Scotland as they will, it enables us to evade the laws of Eng⯑land.—My dear Mr. Oldcaſtle, you have promiſed me you'll ſpeak to my father—

Ay! I'll keep my word—He ſhall cer⯑tainly know how you are going on—I'll do you that good turn, you may depend—

My dear good friend, it is ſo lucky that I met with you—

I am heartily glad I met you, indeed—

Well now, adieu!—Oh! but I forgot to tell you—She'll be mine this very day.—Briſk, my fellow,—who is a footman of talents, is to go to her as a tenant from the country, come to town with old Biddulph's commands to carry her down with him in the fly.—She is ſo ſimple ſhe will believe it; and the oafs about her will bite like gudgeons—and ſo—ha! ha!—I kindle into rapture;—I muſt fly to know the happy tidings—and ſo fare ye well—you'll ſpeak to my father—

I'll do for you there—

A million of thanks to you—Ha! ha! is not this a charming adventure?—Ha! ha!—Did you ever know ſo happy a rogue?

I never knew ſo abandoned a young profligate, nor ſo damned an adventure!—If the fellow is lurking about my doors, I'll ſwear a robbery againſt him—If I get ſight of him, I'll de⯑ſcribe him from head to foot; and ſwear he ſtole a horſe in Northamptonſhire—I have not a moment to loſe,—and then, my young madam, bag and baggage away into the country.

ACT II.

HO! ho! ye powers of laughter, you will ſhake me to pieces one day or other!—Poor Briſk!— What a jade's trick madam Fortune has play'd him!—He writes me here—

All the poor devil's ill ſtars muſt have been combined againſt him!—

Yes, all my ill ſtars are combined, ſure enough!—Oh! Brumpton! I have ſeen her guardian, that ſuperannuated iniquity! but he defeats my hap⯑pineſs, and croſſes all my ſchemes.

You were admirably employed, my dear Belford—Ha! ha!—"Cato's a proper perſon to entruſt a love-tale with."

You mirth is unſeaſonable, Sir,—

Nay, if you will run about like a great boy to catch old birds with chaff, when you ought to ſeize the young unfledged one in its neſt; why the conſequence will be, that, like a great blubbering boy, you'll come back with your finger in your eye, "I don't know what to do—I can't catch it—I can't—

'Sdeath! inſulted thus—draw, Sir—

Not I, truly—I am otherwiſe diſpoſed—

Defend yourſelf, or I'll diſpoſe of you—

Well! kill me, if you will—I'll die laughing like Pierre in the tragedy—

Po! your meanneſs and your folly make you unworthy of my ſword—

Ay! that's right—and now in due form, what has provoked you?

'Sdeath! Sir, becauſe your affairs are in a tolerable train, am I to be made your ſport? Oh! you don't know what it is to be diſappointed in the tendereſt paſſion—

But I am diſappointed, and in the ten⯑dereſt paſſion too; and yet it was that very diſap⯑pointment I was laughing at; and not my friend—

And are your purpoſes croſſed too?—My dear brother ſufferer—

Ay! now I am unfortunate—Oh! the human mind!—Yes, Sir, I am diſappointed—Ha! ha!—Briſk is in a devil of a pickle! He went in diſ⯑guiſe to carry off my little goddeſs for me—Some⯑body that reſembles him has committed a robbery in Northamptonſhire—They have charged Briſk, and he writes me here, that they have carried him before Mr. Carbuncle, the wine-merchant, who deals out bad law, and adulterate port, to all St. Anne's pariſh—Briſk will be chronicled in miſerable elegy, clubbed by two poets upon a flock-bed in the Old Jewry;—the hiſtorians of Grub-ſtreet are already preparing "The Life and Converſation of Jeremy Briſk, who was born of honeſt parents"—Ha! ha! poor devil! I muſt go to his aſſiſtance—

Here, bring the priſoner this way—A great pity, maſter Squeezum, that Mr. Carbuncle is not at home—This fellow will be carried to another ſhop, I fear—

No, no; that ſhan't be—I have found another juſtice to ſit for him—a gentleman who has [19] been in the commiſſion many years—He was going by in his chariot, but I ſtopped him—Here, bring in the priſoner—

Nay, good chriſtian people—gentlemen—neighbours—I never was in Northamptonſhire in my life—I am a poor, harmleſs, innocent fellow—I al⯑ways had a mortal averſion to a cart—I never ſaw one in my days but it was better than a ſermon to me—

Well! well! I am not fond of act⯑ing, but rather than juſtice ſhould be at a ſtand—The fellow anſwers the deſcription!—Sirrah, what can you ſay for yourſelf?

Hi! hi! what ſhall I ſay?—your hum⯑ble ſervant, Sir—

Free and familiar!—mind what you ſay, this is a ſerious buſineſs—

Dear heart, Sir, does not your honour know me?—your ſon's faithful and honeſt ſervant, Briſk—

Briſk!—what rogue's trick have you been playing, ſirrah?

Your honour knows, Sir, I have not been out of your houſe any time theſe ſix weeks paſt—

And why in this diſguiſe, ſirrah?

Nothing but a frolick, Sir—a mere freak of my young maſter's, Sir, and nothing more—

Commit him for further examina⯑tion—Raſcal, I will know the whole—make out a warrant—

Sir, Sir,—I—you ſhall hear it all—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—

Very well, and if you dare attempt to deceive—Clear the room, and leave us to our⯑ſelves

If you tell me a ſingle falſehood—

Not a tittle, Sir—the fact is, Sir—my maſter is in love deſperately with a young lady from the country—He ſays ſhe is an heireſs, Sir, but I own I don't believe it—

Go on—

And, Sir, I was to go in this dreſs, and ſo to carry her off, and deliver her over to him—That's the ſhort and the long of it, Sir, as I am a ſinner.—

And as you value your ears, this is the truth?

Oh! upon honour, Sir—

Hark-ye, ſirrah!—you know the oak that ſtands near my houſe in the country—

Perfectly well, Sir—

It has been the reformer of manners twenty miles round the country—

Ay! Sir, it has been felt with a vengeance.

I have ordered a good cudgel to be lopped for me, and, if there is any deception in this, thy ſhoulders ſhall anſwer.

Every word moſt religiouſly true, Sir,—

Very well! may be ſo—it has an air—I am glad I have found this out—The prodigal! the blockhead!—you may go home, Sir—I can take upon me to diſcharge you from the ſuſpicion you ſtand under here—

Yes, Sir—and I ſhall ever—

And if I ever detect you in any more plottings—if you are again the confederate of that abſurd blockhead!

Tranſport me, Sir, if ever again—Well off, Briſk, well off!—

So—ſo—I have found out the young graceleſs, have I?—mighty well! and if I don't exert the authority of a father—

To be locked up in this manner with an old rogue of a guardian!—Mr. Belford! Mr. Bel⯑ford! why won't you be my deliverer?—He knows I like him; I have told him ſo a thouſand times; that is my eyes have told him ſo—And yet he under⯑takes nothing—One would think the young men of this age have not hearts in their boſoms bigger than pin's heads!—Ah! my dear protector!

My bloſſom!—my lovely little ward! to-morrow makes you the queen of my heart; and your will ſhall be a law to me.

You only flatter me;—you won't let yourſelf be ruled by me—

I ſhall live under your abſolute com⯑mand, roſe-bud!—But you muſt be mild in autho⯑rity, for you know—

Yes, I know how tender you have been—your confining me here for ſo many days is to me a proof of the tendereſt love.

Yes, it is a mark of my affection—

There are many reaſons why I ſhould not venture abroad—more than you deam of—

You alarm me—what reaſons?

Why the danger is—no—you'll be for fighting the odious man—

No—I'll not fight—I'll live for you—

But will you follow my advice, and ſpeak to him calmly, without paſſion?

I will—Let me hear—what's the mat⯑ter?

Why that Mr. Belford, whoſe viſits you uſed to encourage—

I have not liked him a good while—what of him?

Oh! he's a wicked man—He has vile deſigns in his head, and would fain have me liſten to his propoſals—

The impudence of the young men of this age!

Your back is no ſooner turned, than he raps at the door, and at the windows, and diſgraces me with all the neighbours—my character will be ruined

unleſs you find ſome me⯑thod to—

Don't be alarmed, my ſweet—I'll bar my doors, and you ſhan't ſtir out this twelvemonth—

That won't do—

Then you ſhall never go out at all—

That's ſome comfort—But in the mean time to have my reputation blaſted by an abandoned libertine

Caeſar's wife ſhould not only be virtuous, but free from ſuſpicion—

The ſenſible girl! this is owing to her education—her ſiſter Mary Ann could not make ſuch a remark—

Well! well!—you don't love me—

Yes, but I do—I'll go and ſwear the peace againſt him—

I wiſh you would—

I'll do it directly—I'll let him know by a juſtice's warrant that Caeſar's wife is not to be trifled with—

And pray tell him, I hate him—that he may come as often as he will under my window, but it will be to no purpoſe, for I ſhall not endeavour to let him in—

He ſhall hear it—

Let him know that tho' he is young and handſome, that all his charms are loſt upon me—

I'll do it—

Tell him you have been a father to me,— [23] that I conſider you ſtill as my father, and that I think it unnatural to love giddy young men, when I can be ſo much better off with you.

He ſhall hear it on every ſide of his ears—

Ay, but without loſs of time, if you love me—I ſhan't be eaſy till he knows my mind—

Nor I—it is fit he ſhould know your mind—

Yes, and tell him, if he ſhould come when you are out, not all his winning ways ſhall prevail on me run away with him—

You have charmed me; tranſported me; raviſhed me; get up-ſtairs—I'll ſeek him this moment—ha! ha!—this all ſprings from her good ſenſe—this is knowing right from wrong—ha! ha!

Be ſure you tell him every word—and if Mr. Belford does but underſtand every word, as I intend it, then I may ſtill wing my flight to his dear arms—A new ſcheme this of mine!—But love in⯑ſpired it, and love may crown it with ſucceſs—

Yes, yes, Bridget—the gentleman's gene⯑rous enow, for a matter o'that.

And pray, Peter, do the London folk always give money to the like of we, as often as they come in or out of the houſe?

Ay! zure, and the ſarving folk call it vails. Why, Bridget, poor ſervants would not be able to ape all their maſter's follies, and powder like fine gentry, and curſe and ſwear like lords, an ſo be every body did not give at ſtreet door more than any thing they get in the houſe is worth.

La! well that's pure, ſure enow!

As to me, do ye zee, I does not care how often the gentleman comes, and for a matter o'that, I does not care how long maſter ſtays in the coun⯑try—

Theſe London ways are comical, that's for ſure.

More griſe to the mill—go and open the door, Peter—

Go yourſelf, an you go to that—

I ſhall budge none, not I.—

Nor, I, faith and troth!

Law, how can you be ſo croſs—

You put all upon me, that's your way—who's at the door—

open the door, you varlets, open the door.

Oh! it's maſter—I'll go—

Maſter!—then I'll go—

Stand out of the way, can't you?

Stand away yourſelf—I be ready—ben't I!

Farther a field, will you?

Within there, open the door, I ſay—

Call here to Peter—he won't let a body—

No body ſhall but I—

Ser⯑vant maſter.

Welcome home, maſter.

Why am I to wait thus?

It was all his doings—

It was all her doings as well as I.

Peace, numſkulls!—how is every body at home?

Charmingly well.

All in pure health, praiſe for every thing; and Miſs Mary Ann ſings about the houſe like a little bird in a cage.

Has not ſhe been melancholy ſince I went into the country?

No, Lord love her, not ſhe—

No!

Yes!—how terrible he looks!—

Did not ſhe long for my return?

Hugeouſly! ſo we did all—

Vixen! jade! villain! raſcal!

I'm down o'my knees—

So be I—merciful father, how—

You have obeyed my orders, have you? That ſcoundrel that was lurking here about my houſe, he is ſent to Newgate by this time

Don't ſend I to Newgate, pray—

He'll murder us both, as ſure as a gun—

What you are a ſneaking away, are you? Oh! it's all too true—come back, or—

Yes, Sir—

No, Sir—

Oh! Mary Ann! Mary Ann!—I could never have imagined—call Mary Ann hither—

Yes, Sir

Now will they plot, and put their heads together—Mary Ann!—Marry Ann!—Oh! here ſhe comes.

‘Three children ſliding on the ice’—ſo, you be come, I ſee—

Yes, I am come home—

Better late than never—I began to think as how you had forgot poor I—I expected you all the live long, long day, ſo I did, and there did not go by a coach or a cart, or an horſe or an aſs, but I thought it was you—ah! I am glad you're come—what's the matter?—ben't you well?—

Fatigued after my journey—you have been very well, I hope, ſince I left you—

Oh! yes, purely—neither ſick nor ſorry not I—by goles, that is not true neither, for laſt night—

Laſt night!—what of laſt night?

Little Pompey barked ſo all night long, I could not ſleep a wink—

Is that all?—you have not been out any where, have you?

Out!—law, where ſhould I go?— I don't like going out in this ſtrange outlandiſh place—I like the country better by half—

Well! well! you ſhall go back ſoon.

But then mayn't I go and ſee ſiſter Harriet firſt?—an ill natured thing that's what ſhe is—ſhe has not been to ſee poor I ever ſince I came to the great town.

You ſhall ſee her—ſo you paſſed your time very merrily!

Oh! never better in all my days—but you don't ſeem glad to ſee a body—

Yes, yes; I am glad to ſee you—the little Jezabel won't tell me a word

—ſhall I tax her with it directly, or wait a little longer to ſee her cunning?—let you and I go and chat a little together above ſtairs.

Ah! you look croſs—with all heart I'll go—one two, three, and away—

The little frippery, how ſhe carries it off!—Oh! the devil! I burn, I'm in a fever—I have had the graſs cut under my feet—Oh! the young Magdalen!—the ſly iniquity!—

Nature never deſigned me for a knight errant—Don Quixote would have ſtormed fifty caſ⯑tles, while my dull brain is hatching one poor pro⯑ject—what muſt be done?—

Ay! ay! there he is, I ſee—

'Sdeath no way to convey a meſſage to her!—

Full of miſchief!—your ſervant, Sir—

Mr. Lovibond!

I was in queſt of you.

'Tis a mark of your friendſhip—

I mean to prove my friendſhip, do you ſee—I don't like to ſee young men loſing their time—it is now fit you ſhould underſtand yourſelf, and fix upon ſomething that may ſettle your head a little—

Ah! Sir!—'tis in your power—

Ay! much is in my power—I have a fair ward, Mr. Belford—

He is going to propoſe her to me

I know her perfectly, Sir—

Then I don't inform you of it—ſhe is handſome, ſpirited, and ſenſible—

I am no ſtranger to her merit—

Then I don't inform you of that nei⯑ther; to-morrow I intend to gratify the wiſhes of her heart, and make her mine by marriage—

What ſo ſoon, Sir?—this is news—

Then I inform you of it—and I will in⯑form you of another thing too—She has a mortal averſion to you, and deſires you will trouble her no more —

You amaze me, Sir—the devil! ſhe has not blabbed to him, I hope.

What a mortified countenance he puts on!

This is all an abſolute riddle, Mr. Lovi⯑bond.

Then I'll unriddle it to you—ſhe per⯑ceived you dangling after her in all public places, whenever I took her abroad with me;—ſhe under⯑ſtood thoſe artful glances you caſt towards her; ſhe [28] could interpret every amourous ſigh;—ſhe bid me tell you ſo—

She did?—then perhaps I know how to interpret her meaning.

She ſays you may think her a melan⯑choly priſoner, but you may ſpare your walks up and down the ſtreet; and ſo ſhe would have acquainted you long ago, but ſhe wanted a proper perſon to convey her ſentiments to you.

She has found a truſty meſſenger at laſt.

Ha! ha! ſo ſhe has—ſhe knows ſhe could truſt me—ha! ha!—I thought it a pity you ſhould loſe any more time, and ſo now you may go and bow, and kneel, and make a monkey of your⯑ſelf before ſome other window—

Since is ſo, Sir, I muſt ſubmit—her mean⯑ing is deeper than he is aware of.

Don't be diſhearten'd—you may ſucceed elſewhere—ſhe allows you to be of a very comely figure; a well proportioned perſon; but 'tis all loſt upon her; ſhe conſiders me as her father, and has no unnatural paſſion for profligate youngſters.—

I believe you, Sir—I deſiſt from all pre⯑tenſion;—I ſee this matter now in its true light;—and, Sir, I ſhall moleſt you no more; and in that determination I take my leave.

Not ſo faſt;—another word—tho' you were to watch your time, and in my abſence ſcale the wall, and get in at the window, and entreat her to elope with you, ſhe ſtill would cleave to me.

That I dare ſay—I'll try her tho'—

—I am perfectly ſatisfied, Sir—

And harkye;—you may come as often as you will about the houſe, ſhe will not exchange a word with you out of the window—nor ſettle any ſcheme with you—ha! ha! you ſee you are fully underſtood—

I ſhall ever eſteem you as my friend, and I ſhall loſe no more time, that you may tell the lady [29] —ſhe ſhall never have reaſon to upbraid me again—and ſo you may aſſure her—ten thouſand bleſſings on her for this ſtratagem;—ſhe ſhall be mine this very night.

What a look of chagrin there was!—I have trained the girl up to this—ha! ha! Mary Ann will never have ſenſe enough to behave in this manner—ha! ha!—

A pretty ſort of jeopardy I have been in, maſter!

Traitor! let me ſee no more of you.

And are thoſe my thanks, Sir?—You'll be ſo good as to give me a diſcharge—

I wiſh I could give you a diſcharge of a culverin—

I am not ſo extravagant in my expectations as to deſire that favour, Sir—Heav'n help me! I am more eaſily contented—Only juſt a ſmall arrear of wages, if you pleaſe, with a little daſh of a character for diligence, fidelity, and a ſmattering of what you call parts, if my maſter did not mar all upon occa⯑ſion, and leave now and then in danger of dangling by the neck for attempting to ſerve him—

You are a villain!

I am a fool!—

Have not you betrayed me to Sir The⯑odore?—let him into my whole ſecret?—He knew nothing of my being in love in town here, but you muſt divulge it, and I muſt have him ſtorming at me in a rage and fury—I muſt have my beſt con⯑certed ſchemes diſappointed by you—Begone, raſcal, I have done with you—

Mighty well, Sir!—what poſſeſſes him? only pleaſe, Sir, to ſettle that trifling balance—

Ha! Brumpton! give me joy—things begin to wear a better aſpect—I'll ſwear you are right—ha! ha! I intend for the future to be a laugh⯑ing philoſopher too—

Philoſophy may go to Bridewell for ought I care, unleſs philoſophy could pimp for a body—

Hey! what's the matter?

Every thing's the matter—aſk that treacherous—

Mr. Belford, believe me, Sir—

Hold you your tongue, Sir—no more of your—

Ha! ha!—what out of temper! My af⯑fairs, Brumpton, are in a fair way—you, after a great deal of pains, may poſſibly be diſappointed, but I—

Po! po! this is all—

I have meſſages ſent me from the girl I adore, you rogue—ſhe points out my road to hap⯑pineſs.

I'm not diſpos'd to laughter—

Pſhaw! man, never fret for little diſap⯑pointments—have you any difficulties? you have ſtrength to remove mountains—Ha! ha!—my dear Brumpton, you ſend meſſages, I am ſent to—you are diſappointed,—I am likely to ſucceed—

'Sdeath, Sir, what do you mean?

Not I, truly—If I muſt die, I'll die laugh⯑ing, like Pierre in the tragedy, ha! ha!—You make a toil of a pleaſure, Brumpton; and love, which is to me joy and rapture, is to you—

Damnation!—draw this moment—

No—no—our tempers are very different—what, I'm in too high ſpirits, and you want to let me a little blood—you fret, I laugh—ha! ha!— [31] I'll leave you to recover your uſual ſpirits—ha! ha!

'Sdeath, this is inſupportable!—I have but one ſcheme left—Briſk, you muſt execute it di⯑rectly—

There is no diſguiſe neceſſary, I hope, Sir—

No murmuring, ſcoundrel; follow me this inſtant—

This will be an horſepond buſineſs, I fear, and a ducking will ſpoil my livery.

It was well ſaid by an old philoſopher, when you are in a paſſion con over your alphabet.—I have done ſo, and have recovered my temper—walk in Mary Ann, walk in—

Ah!—you have not taken any notice of me ſince you came home—ah! I ſee you don't love me—

You are much miſtaken—I love you ex⯑ceedingly—draw a chair—ſit down—Well! and how have you paſſed your time in my abſence?—

As well as any thing.

Have you any news?

News!—law, not I—fikins, I fib tho'—I have news to tell you—

Have you?—what is it, chicken?

Little kitten's dead.—

Indeed!—

Ah! if you had ſeen all its pretty little tricks, and how it played about—It grieved me to loſe ſhe—but ſquirrel's well—

Is he?

Yes, and ſo is mackaw—

Ay, that's good news—

Yes, and I have marked three ſhirts, and hemmed five handkerchiefs—

Mighty well!

Mary Ann,—this is a wide and dangerous world we live in—ſcandal, malice, and detraction are ever flying about,—conſtantly on the wing, and ſpreading pernicious tales to the ruin of every cha⯑racter.

You frighten a body, you talk ſo—

Draw near, ſweet, draw near—you look charmingly—mind what I ſay—ſome impertinent neigh⯑bours have whiſpered—but I did not believe 'em—they have ſaid, that while I was in the country, a young gentleman frequented here, and was well re⯑ceived, Mary Ann—But I have laid a wager there was no foundation for any ſuch idle givings out—

How much have you laid?—

Five pounds to four—

All that!—make a hedge of it, as you did at the horſe-race—

Why ſo?

Cauſe, you'll loſe—

Then there was a young gentleman here—

As ſure as a gun—He was here for ever and for ever—morning, noon, and night—

But, my little lambkin, did not I forbid any viſits?—I won't be certain, but if my memory does not fail me—

Oh! for a matter o'that, you may be certain—you did forbid it, ſure enough.

And why was I diſobeyed, my dear?

Ah! you would have done the ſame yourſelf—as the ſong ſays

Very prettily ſung—but explain, my ſweet—

It's the ſurpriſingeſt thing in the world—I'll tell you all about it—

That's right; let us hear—

I was ſitting in the balcony, thinking of no earthly thing, and he paſſed by on the other ſide of the way—Ah! he looked as handſome as an angel—and ſo he made me a low bow—I bluſhed up to my very ears, and ſo I got up, and made a low curteſy—and ſo he kiſſed his hand, and I could not help ſmiling at that, and ſo he bowed again and again, and I curteſyed again and again, and then he walked up the ſtreet, and down the ſtreet, and to and fro, and backwards and forwards; and would you believe it?—He did not miſs a time making me a bow with all the good nature in the world, and ſo I was as good natured as he, and if he had ſtaid all night long, I ſhould have ſtaid too, for I thought it would not be right to be out done in civility—

Oh! thoſe damned bal [...]nies, I always hated them—well! well! go on, Mary Ann.

Well, and ſo the next day a large, comely fat gentlewoman came to me, and ſhe had three or four band-boxes full of fine things, and ſhe ſaid ſhe had orders to give me my choice of charm⯑ing lace, and charming ribbons,—Ay! and ſhe ſeemed very good-natured, and ſpoke in the prettieſt manner—

Oh! the execrable bawd!—

You are very pretty, my dear, ſays ſhe, but it's a pity you ſhould be mewed up here—and then ſhe offered me to take me home to her own houſe, and ſaid ſhe would dizen me out with dia⯑monds, and then a lord would fall in love with me—

The infernal ſorcereſs!

And then ſhe ſaid I had done a great deal of miſchief, and that I wounded a young gen⯑tleman terribly—Who, I wound any body, ſays I?—Yes, the gentleman I ſaw in the balcony—I was as ſorry as any thing I had hurt him, but I could not tell how it was, and ſhe ſaid it was my eyes, and that he [34] was ſhot thro' the heart, and would be dead and buried in two days time, if I did not ſee him—

Oh! the damned agent of hell.

And then, could you think of her good⯑neſs? Indeed I can't help loving her for it—She offered me to go and meet the young gentleman at her houſe—I thanked her, and took it very kind—but I did not care to go to ſtrange places, and ſo I ſaid the gentleman might come here if he would—

Oh! the travelling milliner!

Well, and did he come?

That he did ſure enough—and he ſaid the very ſight of me cured him of his wounds—Ah! I am ſure you can't blame me, for I could not let him die, ſo I could not—I almoſt cried my eyes out when little kitten died—

Brother Lovibond is right—ſhe has it I fear;—Oh! I dread the reſt.

Ah!—but you are angry now—

No—not angry—well—how did he be⯑have?—

Ah! he had ſuch a pretty ſmile—and he gave me this twee—and he gave Bridget and Peter whole handfuls of money.

What did he ſay?

Oh! the prettieſt words in the world.

But he did not touch you?—

By goles, I beg your pardon for that, but he did, though—

I gueſſed ſo—

—Go on—

He kiſſed one a thouſand and a thou⯑ſand times—

Daggers! daggers! daggers!

And ſqueezed my hand ſo tenderly.

Poiſon! wormwood! wormwood!

He took one round the neck—

I thought as much

—proceed—

And round the waiſt, and he—

Now—now—it's all over—how I trem⯑ble!

What's the matter with you?

Nothing—we ſhall have ſome rain—my corn ſhoots; that's all—

And he

Ah! but I won't tell you—you'll be angry—

No—no—no—I love you dearly, Mary Ann;

I do indeed—go on with your ſtory, go on—

Why then, he took my glove off, and almoſt eat my hand up with kiſſes—

But was that all?—did you do nothing more to cure his wounds?—

Look you there now—you are angry—ought I to have done more?

No;—enough of all conſcience;—but, are you ſure this was all?—

He gave me this fan, and a pair of ear-rings; and I am ſure it was very civil of him to ſhew ſo much good nature to a ſtranger.

Mary Ann, Mary Ann, all his ſmooth words, all his tenderneſs, all his ſmiles, were baits to entrap you, to enſnare, to deceive you, abuſe you, ruin you—

Ah! but he told me to the contrary, over and over, and over again—

I know the world, child—it was all for your deſtruction, to ſwallow you up in the jaws of ruin—go up to your room—all this ſhall be ex⯑plained to you—

Ah! but you are out of humour with a body.

Do as I bid you—

Yes, that's what I will—By goles, he's a ſweet gentleman, for all you, that's what he is

What an eſcape have I had! and yet her ingenuous manner of confeſſing all, gives me ſome hopes—I'll read her a lecture, and then I'll go and let Sir The⯑odore Brumpton know what a villain his ſon is—Oh! Mary Ann, Mary Ann.

ACT III.

MY dear good nature, hold you your tongue!—You plead in vain, not a ſtep will I budge.

I am rock, and will be made a dupe no more;—well ſaid, my juſt reſentment; we know the world now, and will be led a devil's dance no longer—Bravo Briſk, now you are free, and your own man again—Service is a very unthankful office, and for the mere honour of—Pſhaw! pox!—now my honour muſt be heard—What will the world ſay of you, Mr. Briſk, you that have hitherto been the firſt footman in England, renowned for your parts and your abilities!—what give way now to a trifling difficulty? money is abſolutely neceſſary for your maſter's affairs, Mr. Oldcaſtle is his only reſource, and you have orders to apply for it directly—But my dear honour, you know what an empty bubble you are, and how often I have been kicked in your ſer⯑vice—The more glory, man;—If any body thinks it [37] worth his while to kick you, it's a ſign you are riſing in the world—thoſe are the true marks of a footman's genius; thoſe are the things that will raiſe you in the world, and make an exciſeman of you at laſt! Bravo! I kindle at the thought—I muſt go on; one effort more, Briſk, and then—But how! how! touch the caſh!—"My maſter is in the utmoſt diſtreſs, Sir, and will be for ever obliged to you"—Pſhaw! that will never do—I have a ſtratagem, and if I can but meet with maſter Oldcaſtle—ha! as luck will have it—courage Briſk!—here he comes—

What a diſcovery have I made!—I'll let his father, I'll let Sir Theodore know—

Oh! Sir!—I am glad I have met you at laſt—I have ſought you thro' the whole town—

You live with young Brumpton, don't you?

The ſame, Sir—ſuch a tide of affairs coming upon him—ſuch an unforeſeen accident—poor Sir Theodore, Sir!—the good worthy gentle⯑man, on his way from the country—

I underſtood he was in town—

He was coming to town, Sir; we expected him every hour—and now the fatal news is arrived—He was taken ſuddenly ill, too great a fulneſs of blood—no aſſiſtance near—it happened on the road—no ſurgeon—no barber to bleed him—the poor gen⯑tleman expired—and in the moſt critical moment—

Carried off in this manner you ſay, and without having time to be ill!—

Yes, Sir;—without a ſingle conſultation of phyſicians!—It's very hard!—It's a pity he was in ſuch a haſte to die—but good ſometimes comes of evil, they ſay—The news has wrought a wonderful change in my young maſter—Sir Theodore had made a match for him in the country—a great match in⯑deed!

Ay! I heard of it—

And yet the ſon, perverſe and obſtinate, was in love here in town,—that is, he fancied he was—with an inſignificant huſſey, and was determined to marry her, in oppoſition to his poor father.

I have heard of that too—

But he is now ſhocked that he ſhould be ſuch a monſter of diſobedience, and he gives up all thought of this town lady—

That's right—the good young man—

Ay! the good young gentleman, indeed—He renounces her for ever, Sir, and is reſolved to go off immediately for the country, and after he has per⯑formed the laſt duty to the beſt of men, who is now no more, he is determined to pay that regard to his me⯑mory which he refuſed to his authority, when living, and marry no woman in the world but the woman de⯑ſigned for him by his father.

The good young man!—this is the beſt news I ever heard in my life

the good young man!

But then his intention of going out of town, I fear, may be fruſtrated.

As how! that muſt not be—

Why we were kept a little bare of caſh lat⯑terly, juſt to reduce him to a ſenſe of his duty—and now he wants wherewithal to diſcharge ſome little bills, before we ſet out for the country—

Why, I am indebted to Sir Theodore's eſtate—the intentions of the young man muſt not be fruſtrated—

Heaven forbid!

Here, I have in a purſe here—Ha! ha! I ſhall get rid of a plague and a torment

—I can let him have a couple of hundreds—

and tell him he can't go out of town too ſoon—good lack! poor Sir Theodore—

My ſon bid me ſpeak to him, and luckily here he is—

Ye powers of heaven!—ye guardian Gods!—aſſiſt me! help me!—

Angels and miniſters of grace! what a damned accident is this!—let us run away, Sir—

Hey! what's the matter?—what do the people ſtare at?—

I am all over in a jelly!

Briſk, ſupport me, lend me your arm—

I have not ſtrength—but crawling on the ground—he'll carry away your purſe—you know he always loved money—

Ha! ha!—in the name of wonder, what poſſeſſes you?—

Diſappear, for heaven's ſake, diſappear—I never did you wrong—I'll pay the money to your executor—I was advancing your ſon two hundred pounds in part-payment; I never ſaw a ghoſt in all my days before—

What! do you think I'm dead, Mr. Oldcaſtle?—Ha! ha!

And be you alive?

As ſure as you are alive man—Ha! ha!—

I took you for a ghoſt

Sirrah, let that money alone—hold me, Sir Theodore, hold me,—I am ready to ſink into the earth

they told me you was dead—that fellow Briſk—Hey! what are you running away with my money—ſcoundrel! villain! robber!

May be you are uſed to ghoſts, Sir; I can't ſtay in a place that's haunted.

Compoſe yourſelf; and let me under⯑ſtand this buſineſs—

I proteſt you are a⯑live—that ſon of yours! he kills his father, before he is dead—that abettor of his miſchiefs!—he told me you was carried off ſuddenly, and now my two hun⯑dred pounds is carried off ſuddenly.

I am thunder-ſtruck!—I am as much amazed as you was this moment!—You ſhock me, Mr. Oldcaſtle—Could my ſon engage in ſuch a ſcene of wickedneſs?

I am ſorry to ſay it; but I fear he is a very wicked young man—they have impoſed upon me; he has robbed me—this money is got for the vi⯑leſt purpoſes, to enable him to fly in your face, and carry off a little wench that is not worth a groat.

Not worth a groat!—and he had the aſſurance to refer me to you-ſaid ſhe had an eſtate, that there was a borough upon it, and that you knew all the particulars.

Borough upon her eſtate!—ha! ha! yes, yes, I know the particulars; lackaday, Sir Theodore, who do you think ſhe is?—a milliner's 'prentice that has eloped from her miſtreſs.

My blood fires at him—I am out of all patience Mr. Oldcaſtle—thus my family is to be diſgraced by a worthleſs hair-brained blockhead!—a milliner's 'prentice!

Even ſo!

The fool! the coxcomb! the—here, I'll pay you back your money—

No, you need not do that—get it back from him—it will burn in his pocket—the ſooner he leaves the town the better; I ſhall be at eaſe, if I once hear he is gone—

Mr. Oldcaſtle, you are very good to feel ſo much concern in this affair—

Yes, I have a deep concern in it; but hark ye, Sir Theodore—don't let him know you had your information from me—

No—you may depend upon me—not a ſyllable.

When he is gone, I ſhall ſleep in peace—I ſaid I would do him a good turn with his father.

How my heart it beats!—poſt haſte—gallop! gal⯑lop! and no wonder; it's a dangerous experiment I have tried—could I but convey this letter—Mr. Belford then would know my meaning—huſh! here comes my turn-key!—

Well Harriet, I have executed your com⯑miſſion—

How did he receive it?

He was very much mortified, tho' I thought I marked, as he went off, an odd ſort of a dry conſtrained ſmile.

But I ſhall have no more reaſon to com⯑plain of him, I hope.—

Ha! ha! I almoſt pitied the poor devil—

He deſerves no pity, Mr. Lovibond—he is a ſad wretch—

I believe it—But he knows he was enga⯑ged in a vain purſuit;—he ſaid ſo himſelf, and bid me aſſure you he would loſe no more time.

That revives me;—

No—no—he will hardly come this way again.

I don't know what to ſay to that—I dread the contrary—I am afraid he will not renounce me for ever ſo eaſily as you may imagine—

And, pray, what reaſon have you for thinking ſo?

I have terrible proofs againſt him—while you was out he came again under my window.

Ay!

I ran away at the ſight of him—but the window being open, he flung this little box into the room with a letter in it.

A letter in it!—

Yes, the wicked contriver! a letter in it—I ran to the window to throw it to him again, but he was gone, and then it occurred to me that it might not be quite ſo prudent to throw it into the ſtreet, leſt it ſhould fall into the hands of malicious people, who might miſinterpret appearances to my diſadvantage.

That was wiſely judged.—

I have been ever ſince thinking that it ought to be returned, and if I had a proper perſon—

Who ſo proper as myſelf? let me have it.

No—no—it would affront him more if delivered by a common porter.

Excuſe me, I am the fitteſt perſon—a letter in a box!—what contrivances they have!—I'll take care he ſhall have it, and he will look ſo ſilly when he perceives all his ſchemes are blaſted.

Why indeed, it will aſtoniſh him the more, if you deliver it—

So it will—ha! ha!—it will be a rare ſtroke of revenge—ha! ha!

The neweſt that ever was—

I like it of all things—but firſt let me ſee the contents of his letter—

Dear heart, not for the world—would you give the horrid man room to imagine that a girl of character would ſo much as open the ſeal of his filthy letter?—let me adviſe, Mr. Lovibond; to return it unopened will be the ſtrongeſt mark of contempt, and the greateſt affront that can be put upon him—

There is ſomething in that—your wiſdom charms me—you endear yourſelf to me more and more every hour—

You'll uſe your own diſcretion whether to open it or not—But the reaſons I have given—

Are to me concluſive—I'll about this bu⯑ſineſs directly—ha! ha! we'll put the greateſt affront in the world upon him—ha! ha! the trueſt mark of contempt, ha! ha! good-by, roſe-bud, good-by.

Yes, yes, let him have it unopened—If this plot takes, I ſhall have my utmoſt wiſh—and making him my convenient, my go-between in the buſineſs, gives life and ſpirit to the plot—I'll outwit him, if I can—

Admirably managed, Briſk! now I have the ſinews of war —

It was got out of the fire, I promiſe you, Sir—

Your ſervices are of higher value for it—

And yet I fear my ſervices may one day or other bring me to—What do you think your fa⯑ther will ſay to me?

Po! abſurd—Mr. Oldcaſtle will talk matters over with him—I deſired my father to make it his buſineſs to ſee my friend Oldcaſtle—

You deſired him to do that, did you?—

Yes, I deſired him—

And his coming was owing to you—

Yes, yes;—ha! ha!—it was I occa⯑ſioned that—I deſired him to go—

Then pray deſire any body elſe but Briſk to go on your errands for the future—more misfortunes!—here comes Sir Theodore; ſettle it as well as [44] you can with him—I waſh my hands of it, and now legs do your office.

So, Sir!

Thou graceleſs!—thou ungrateful!

What's in the wind now?

Eaſy, calm unfeeling prodigal!—

Sir, theſe are words that—

That you deſerve, and worſe, if in⯑dignation did not choak them here—look ye, Sir, I ſpared no pains in your education;—expence, indul⯑gence, care, affection, all that a fond father could be⯑ſtow, were yours—I hoped to ſee you a young man of principle, governed by ſentiments of honour, a credit, and a comfort to me—but what a ſad reverſe of all this!—Your reputation gone, your character blaſted, and vile expedients every day made uſe of.

Upon my word, Sir, this bitterneſs of reproach—how have I deſerved—

How deſerved!—

and dare you aſk the queſtion?—refund that money, Sir,—the two hundred pounds, out of which you have gulled an eaſy worthy friend of mine—reſtore it this moment, or perhaps it may be the laſt you will ever handle—

And where is the mighty harm, Sir.

I have no patience with you—I have lived too long for you, have I?—The ſand lingers in the glaſs, and you want to ſhake it out!—return that money this inſtant, or never look me in the face again—

If it muſt be ſo, Sir,—but if you will pleaſe to hear me—

Po! po!—I have full conviction—for the meaneſt purpoſes too this ſtratagem was con⯑trived!—to run counter to my will, and carry off a little obſcure girl—and ſo live deſpiſed—a ſcandal to your father, and a laughing ſtock to all your ac⯑quaintance [45] —go, and reform, ſet out for the country directly, or never darken my doors again—

What the devil can I make of all this!—I am certainly out of luck to-day—It does not ſig⯑nify—I'll purſue Mary Ann with more ſpirit than ever—I'll to her houſe this moment,—ſince diffi⯑culties come in my way, genius muſt ſurmount them, that's all.

A mortal ſin!

Yes, a mortal ſin!—you are unexperi⯑enced in theſe matters—It is a ſin, child, to accept of preſents from men, twees, fans, and Bruſſels lace,—Bruſſels lace has done as much miſchief as the for⯑bidden fruit—I wiſh I had bred her up a Quaker

mind my words—to indulge wanton young men in liberties with your perſon,—to let 'em fold you round the waiſt, play with your neck, and print laſcivious kiſſes on your lips, 'tis the ſure road to de⯑ſtruction—'tis horrible, Mary Ann, horrible and abominable—

Ah! but I don't believe that—and a pity it ſhould, for

it's very agreea⯑ble—I am ſure I like it better than queſtions and com⯑mands, or the fool in the middle, or hide and go ſeek, either —

I tell you they are all abominable things till the marriage-ceremony is performed—

And is it allowed then?

Then, and then only, Mary Ann—

By goles, I am glad to hear that, and ſo marry me as ſoon as you will—I ſhall be pure and happy with him, then—

With whom?

Why, with that ſweet charming young—Ah! look you there—

Hold, beware, Mary Ann—I marry you for myſelf only—you muſt deſpiſe and deteſt all others—

Ah! I never ſhall find it in my heart to hate him—

It will be the deſtruction of you even to think of him—Look you, child; mark well my ad⯑monitions—

Come hither—hold up your head, child,—Liſten attentively—

I take you to my bed, Mary Ann, my true and law⯑ful wife—But take heed—for but now you was tum⯑bling headlong down the gulph of perdition—

I wiſh you would let me go and feed my birds.

Compoſe your thoughts, I ſay—Mar⯑riage is an holy inſtitution, and exacts rigorous duties on the part of the wife—you muſt love, honour, and obey your huſband, therefore be upon your guard—the enemy of womankind is for ever prowling about in queſt of prey, always ready to ſeduce, to mur⯑der, and devour, and ſwallow up in the jaws of ruin every frail young creature that comes in his way—

But they ſhan't ſwallow me up, ſo they ſhan't—

Ay! ay! this will do her good—Come, come, dry up your tears

I did not do any thing to be run away with in the jaws of ruin, ſo I did not—

No—no—all will be well—'tis for your good I ſpeak—ſo—ſo—ſo—have done crying—I know you'll be good—there—make me a curteſy—mighty well—be a good girl—

Ah! but they ſhan't murder, and devour me, for there are folks enough in London all hours of the day to aſſiſt a body; and if he comes in the night, I can call the watch, ſo I can—

I am pleaſed with her ſimplicity—This young profligate that you have let into my houſe, if he ſhould c [...]me under your window again—That's right—I have a thought—you ſhall fling him out all his preſents—you ſhall write him a letter, and tell him what a monſter he is,—Come, take that chair—ſit down—take that pen, and write as I dictate to you—

Law! I does not un⯑derſtand all this—

Write as I dictate—Come, begin—Mr. Brumpton

Peter, bring me up a candle—

"Dear Mr. Brumpton!—

Mr. Brumpton, and no more—

—Very well—

You are a vile man, and your viſits I now ſee ſprung from a bad deſign—

Ah! I don't like thoſe words—By goles

I know what I'll do—

I have wrote it—

To ruin my future happineſs—

Happineſs—

Your intention is baſe,—and unworthy of a gentleman—

Very well—

You are odious in your perſon;—deteſta⯑ble in your morals—and the ſcorn of all our ſex—have you wrote it?

Stay—ſtay—then—all our ſex—

I am in love with Mr. Biddulph.

Who?

Write as I bid you—I am in love with Mr. Biddulph,—a worthy good gentleman—and out of his hands—it never ſhall be in your power—to ſeduce me—

Very well—

Therefore let me never ſee you any more—Mary Ann Richley.

Mary Ann Richley—

Now let me read it—

Ah!—ſtay, ſtay a moment—Not quite done—

Here be the candle, maſter—the gentleman is walking under the window now—

Is he?—make haſte—fold up the let⯑ter—let me do it—let me do it, make haſte—come, come, diſpatch, he'll be gone, elſe—you ſhall throw it to him now, and all his preſents—come, come, make haſte.

Ah! I am ready—I like this of all things—

Once more well met, Sir.—You can write I fancy, can't you?—

The drift of that queſtion, Sir?—

I fancy you know this little bauble—

You don't know it to be ſure, no, nor the letter in the inſide—here take it back—I charge nothing for the poſtage—you have it un⯑opened, in ſtatu quo—

Look ye here; ha!—no direction upon it—that was cunning—here, here, you have it in good order, and well conditioned as it came—ha! ha!—Harriet will not read a word of it—ſhe had no curioſity about it—

But I have

heavens bleſs her wit—

Ay! You know the hand-writing—Take notice you broke the ſeal yourſelf—none of us read a word of it—We return it unopened, to make the affront the deeper.

I believe you, Sir—I ſee you never read a word of it—

Not a ſyllable—her pride would not ſuf⯑fer it—

Well, ſince it is come to this, being out of humour will avail nothing—Ha! ha! I can't help laughing—

That's pleaſant of you—Ha! ha! ha!—

Yes, very pleaſant—Ha! ha! ha!

See what your intrigues are come to—

Yes, Sir,—you have brought 'em to a fine paſs—

Ay!—you ſee I am not to be tricked—

Mr. Lovibond, I am wild with joy—

And ſo am I—

Who is that old fellow?

I have managed matters charmingly—Who is that ſpark?—

You need not be ſhy of him—I'll ven⯑ture to ſay you have not managed as well as I have, Mr. Old—

Call me Biddulph.

Well! I fancy you will toſs no more let⯑ters in at the window.

No truly, Sir, not I—and I beg you will aſſure the lady that—

Ay! let us hear—you need not mind this gentleman—come, come, let us hear—now bro⯑ther Old—

Call me Biddulph—

Ay! now hear him, Mr. Biddulph.

I beg the lady's pardon, Sir—I reſign, myſelf to her inclinations, and ſhall obey her com⯑mands—

Very well—

You are too powerful a rival, and ſince it is ſo, you will be pleaſed to tell her I moſt heartily approve of the choice ſhe has made—

Do you hear that?—

Her ſuperior ſenſe ſhines forth in every action of her life, and, Sir, I will only add that I ſhall never give her cauſe to complain again—you will report me to the lady, and, Sir, I take my leave.

There, there, you ſee what an happy man I am—

Well, and now let me tell you

I can't ſtay to hear—I am in the ele⯑ments with joy—brother Oldcaſtle, your ſervant—

But, brother Lovibond, let me tell you—po! an envious man, he can't bear a neighbour's hap⯑pineſs—lackaday! I wiſh he had ſtaid, for here comes that graceleſs young—

Well, Mr. Brumpton—the young dog, nothing affects him

Well, and your intrigues, how go they on?

Oh!—I longed to ſee you—you have not been able to reconcile my father, I find—

No, I did all I could—I ſpoke very hand⯑ſomely of you to Sir Theodore, I aſſure you—

And yet he is worſe than ever—

He is very poſitive—well! but the buſineſs of your love—

Why, it was likely to be ſomewhat embarraſſed—

I long to hear it.

As how pray?

The old curmudgeon is returned from the country—

Ay!

The ſervants have changed their tone, and the door is ſhut in my face.

I can't help laughing—ha! ha! this Mr. Biddulph knows what he is about, I fancy—

Po!—the fellow is fitter to have the funeral ſervice read over him than the marriage ce⯑remony—he made her come to the balcony—

Well! and how was that?

He muffled himſelf up behind the cur⯑tain,—I could not diſtinguiſh him—ſhe threw me out ſome trinkets, I had given her—But, my dear friend, ſhe flung a letter with 'em—

I long to hear about that—

The contents of it amazed me—

I dare ſay—ſhe told you her mind, I reckon—

Moſt freely, moſt openly—ha! ha! old Noſtrodamus is outwitted—for, look you here—here in her own fair hand—ten thouſand bleſſings on her

Here, Sir, the genuine dictates of her heart—

He is mad, ſure!—let me ſee it—

‘Dear Mr. Brumpton, you are a charming man, and your civilities, I am ſure ſprung, from an honeſt deſign, for my future happineſs.’

In the name of wonder, what is all this!

‘Your intentions are generous, and worthy of a gentleman—’

The little hypocritical ſorcereſs!

‘You are handſome in your perſon,—and your manners alſo; and the admira⯑tion of all our ſex—’

Oh! the Jezebel!

‘I hate Mr. Biddulph, an odious old wretch; and’

The vile harlotry!

‘And out of my guardian's hands, it is in your power to relieve me—Yours [52]indeed, and indeed, until death us do part—Mary Ann Richley.’

—She has reverſed every word of it!

There's an adventure! ha! ha! ha!—is not ſhe a charming girl? you don't partake of my joy.—

Partake of your joy—I—I—I—yes.

What a way old Biddulph will be in!—

Why, I muſt ſay I feel for him—

Feel for him! a wretch like that!—ſo ungenerous a guardian,—ſo baſe a betrayer of his truſt! who could offer his withered ſuperannuated love to the ſweeteſt girl, and with the winter of old age nip ſo much beauty in its bud!—January and May joined together!—does not that make you laugh?—

I am afraid of laughing, tho' I love it of all things—it ſets me a coughing always—well! but trouble may come of all this—

Never be uneaſy—an't you amazed at my ſucceſs?

I am, indeed—I never was ſo confounded in all my days

I wiſh as heartily as a miniſter of ſtate that there was not ſuch a thing as pen, ink, and paper in the kingdom.

What's the matter with you?—

A megrim has ſuddenly taken me—take care what you do—Mr. Oldcaſtle, you are a block⯑head, an overweening, cuckoldy blockhead!

—I wiſh your father mayn't hear of this—Oh! the vile baggage, I muſt run home directly—

How indifferent the old muckworm is grown!—but this dear enchanting letter!—Oh! this joy is too powerful—Sir Theodore never made this leg—ha! ha!—

Brumpton, are you in good humour? May I venture to—

Belford, let me embrace you—I tread in air—

My dear Brumpton, I too am wild with joy—I am out of my ſenſes—

—Oh! ſuch an unexpected, tranſporting, raviſhing event—

Such a ſurprize, above all romance—

Oh! Belford, I am the happieſt rogue.

Such unutterable bliſs, my dear boy—

Her wit is equal to her beauty—

The greateſt ſtroke of invention,—Ha! ha!

Such a ſweet epiſtle—

So divine a letter—and the old fellow brought it himſelf—

No—no—you miſtake; ſhe flung it out of the window.

Po!—I tell you he was the bearer of it himſelf—

You are quite wrong; ſhe was in the balcony, and—

Pſhaw! give me leave to know—did not I ſee him?

There was no ſeeing him diſtinctly;—he was ſkulking behind the curtain—and then ſhe threw the letter down to me,—Oh! the idol of my heart!—the lovely Mary Ann!—

Mary Ann!—you are the moſt perplex⯑ing—'ſdeath! I was telling you how my ſweet god⯑deſs contrived to ſend me a letter by her very guar⯑dian—

I did not hear a ſyllable of that mat⯑ter—I was telling you—

Then I'll tell you how it was—

No—no—hear the ſtory of my happi⯑neſs.

Nay, nay; mine is the moſt ſurprizing.

Look ye here, my boy

—the work of her own fingers!

There, there—

more eloquence than in all Cicero.

Dear Mr. Brumpton, you are a ſweet man, and your civilities—

You will be ſurprized at this letter; and more ſo at the manner of convey⯑ing it.

The admiration of all our ſex.

But I muſt hazard all, or fall a ſacrifice to the avarice of my guardian—

And out of his hands it is in your power to relieve me—

I love you, Mr. Belford; will you deſpiſe me for telling you ſo? I hope not.

Yours indeed, and in⯑deed, until death us do part, Mary Ann Rich⯑ley.

Contrive ſome means for my eſcape, and heaven and earth combined ſhall not keep you from me—the diſconſolate Harriet.

ACT IV.

YES, ſhe told me all about the young rake-hell's viſits, gave me back his letter unopened, to return it to him with my own hands—Is not ſhe a miracle of goodneſs and ſuperior ſenſe?

It was very ſenſible—how often will you aſk me?

Is not ſhe trained up in the paths that ſhe ſhould walk?—When will Mary Ann do as much?—

Ay! there it ſtings!—He has heard all, and I am blown!

I have ſeen my gentleman ſince—I have given him his letters;—told him what a mor⯑tal averſion ſhe has to him; and I warrant me, I have ſent him off with a flea in his ear.

I thought to ha' done the ſame by young Brumpton—but the minx has ſo bamboozled me!

You ſeem diſturbed—ha! ha! mor⯑tified at my ſucceſs, I ſuppoſe—ha! ha!—or ſome fly-flap has caught Mary Ann, and ſhe, poor thing—

He has hit the nail o'the head

—You need not trouble your head about Mary Ann—leave her to my care, Sir—

But, Mr. Oldcaſtle—

But, brother Lovibond—

You are the ſtrangeſt man—

Po! po! you have no friendſhip for any body.

No friendſhip!

None—all for yourſelf, and wiſhing for other people's misfortunes—

This is your gratitude, Mr. Oldcaſtle—Did not I help you to a rich young ſpendthrift, who wanted a thouſand pounds; and did not he give you his bond, and then did not I make him draw a bill upon you for the money, and did not I bid you ſue him for both the bond and the bill? was not I a wit⯑neſs in the cauſe for you?—I'll have you indicted for ſubornation of perjury—

If you go to that, who taught you to ſink ſhips in the chops of the channel?

And who ſhewed you the way to be an engroſſer of corn, and a foreſtaller of markets?

Your ſmuggling, Mr. Lovibond—

Your uſury, Mr. Oldcaſtle—

Mighty well—I ſee what it's come to—Theſe are the thanks I meet with—I, that firſt laid the ſcheme of keeping theſe girl's fortune all to our⯑ſelves—Here ends all intercourſe between us; I break off; I have no more to ſay to you—and ſo now you know my reſolution—

Ha! ha! what a turmoil the poor man has put himſelf in!—ha! ha! Things are going wrong with him—I never ſhall be at reſt, till I ſee the bottom of all this—

And look ye, Sir—If ever you pre⯑ſume to meddle again between father and ſon—

I meddle, Sir, between—

If ever again I lay my finger upon a ſingle act of yours—

Sir, if you would permit me, all this expence of paſſion might be ſaved—I have to be ſure been caught tripping a little or ſo; but it is never too late to take up; I have reflected upon the matter, and without any great pretence to more wiſdom than falls to the ſhare of the like of me—I have obtain'd [57] my diſmiſſion, and bid adieu to my maſter's ſervice for ever—

Quitted his ſervice, have you?

Yes, Sir, I am going down to my father's in the country—My father's in a very pretty way; has ſome very good farms, and ſo I think to ſettle there for the reſt of my days—

I am glad of this, ſirrah, and ſince you have left him, I forgive you, do you ſee;—here, here's ſomething to bear your expences down—I com⯑mend your reſolution much—But hark ye, Briſk—now you are going,—it will be honeſt of you to in⯑form me,—it will make ſome amends for what is paſt—is my ſon really in love with this girl?

At preſent he is, but law! Sir, if ſhe were once remov'd out of his way—

That is what I have been thinking of—that would do the buſineſs, would not it?—

Moſt clearly, Sir—out of ſight, out of mind with him—If in return for your honour's goodneſs, by any little ſervice in my poor way—

I thank you, Briſk, I thank you—but there will be no occaſion for you—I have employed an elderly body, a good cunning matron-like wo⯑man, who underſtands the whole art of laying ſpringes for young damſels.

Nothing can be better imagined, Sir—

She is to inſinuate herſelf into the houſe, as ſuch people know how to do—

No doubt, Sir—

And then when ſhe has allured my young madam abroad with her, ſhe ſhall then be ſo diſpoſed off, that he may beat the buſh long enough, before he finds her, I warrant him—

You have hit upon the only way in the world, Sir—

It is an honeſt artifice, Briſk, to reſ⯑cue the coxcomb from deſtruction—I wiſh you well, Briſk, I wiſh you well.

Health attend your honour!—So, here's a mine detected!—and my maſter is flying wild about the town, thinking it's all enchanted ground he treads, and at laſt he'll be blown up in the air—with all my heart let him; let him ſee how he looks when he comes down again—and yet—there again now, temptations are beginning their old trade—well, ſomething muſt be done, and ſo now mine away, Sir Theodore;—be as good a pioneer as you will, I warrant me I'll coun⯑termine you—

It's pure lucky, Bridget, he did not find the gentleman in the cloſet—

He lay cloſe all the time like a mouſe in a cheeſe—and maſter walked about the room, and gnaw⯑ed his lip, and gnaſhed his teeth,—and gave the ta⯑ble an hugeous rap with his ſtick,—and fetched a deep groan, and did not ſay ſo much as one word, and then led Miſs Mary Ann out of the room—

I'll tell you what, Bridget, it's all owing to his finding out the young gentleman's viſits here to miſs Mary Ann—

Yes, yes;—it ſtands to reaſon how it muſt be that—dear me! he locks poor miſs Mary Ann up here for all the world like an horſe in a pound, and I can't tell why or by reaſon whereof, not I—

I'll tell you, Bridget—I underſtand theſe matters—he locks her up do you ſee, becauſe as why he is troubled with jealouſy—

But how ſhould that enter his head?

Oh! that pops into his head, becauſe—

What is jealouſy pray, Peter?

Dear heart, you are ſuch another—jealouſy, you may know, won't let a body ſleep—it's for all the world, like ſo many rats behind the wainſcot-,-I'll tell [59] you now by way of likeneſs—the gentleman you know gaved you a guinea—now putting caſe, any body was to come for to take away your guinea, do you ſee—that would put you in a paſſion would not it?—

Oh!—I underſtand it now—

It's as like it as any thing—for ſee but here—Miſs Mary Ann is his guinea—and you know when a body wants to be fingering another man's mo⯑ney, what does he do then?—why he brings you down to ſizes an whole heap of London counſel, to quarrel about it, and abuſe one another, and be together by the ears for ever ſo many hours—

I remember all that, and it's as like miſs Mary Ann as it can ſtare—but then I want to know why does not every body make the ſame fuſs, and lock his wife up too?

Po! you fool! that's becauſe every body does not love his wife as well as a guinea—

Then I underſtands the whole git of it—but law!—look ye there—

It's maſter, as ſure as a gun—how he looks, Bridget!—let us get out of his way—

The perfidious jade!—what a trick ſhe has played me!—Oh! the little, treacherous—

Law! you look ſo ſtrange, you are enough to frighten a body—

Mary Ann, I have ſeen Mr. Brumpton—

Have you?

He was wonderfully pleaſed with your letter—

By goles, I know why.

What did you ſay to him?

Say to him!

Did you write what I bid you?

Altered it a little bit!

A good deal, I fancy.

By gingo, I played you that trick—

And was not it baſe, to deceive your guardian, who loves you dearly, and intends to make you his wedded wife?

I could not find it in my heart to ſay the things you wanted me—

And don't you conſider what a crime it is!—

It was only to play upon you—

But ſuch wicked letters, Mary Ann—

It was you ſhewed me the way—how ſhould I have thought of ſuch a thing?

That ſtings, that galls—

But there are women, Mary Ann, who can write without be⯑ing bid—

What, all out of their own heads!

Even ſo—

And what do they write?

They make aſſignations; inform their gallants, when their huſbands are to be from home;—they fix the time for amorous meetings, at routs and drums—

Routs and drums!—What be they?

Wicked aſſemblies!—where women loſe more than they can pay, and then pawn their perſons together with the huſband's honour, and ſo infamouſly pay off the debts they have contracted.

And then do the men toy and play, and take 'em round the waiſt—

Ay!—then their point is gained—

That's comical enough.

And then they fly wild about this town;—to the ſeducing gaieties of Vaux-hall and Ranelagh—

Law! I never heard of thoſe—

Ranelagh, child, is a wicked round of ſin, intrigue, and clandeſtine love; where crowds [61] gather together, ſtealing glances, exchanging letters, negotiating riotous pleaſures—Vaux-hall is a very Paradiſe of forbidden fruits, where ſhady walks ex⯑clude the conſcious day, and every blandiſhment of ſenſe, muſick, wine, and opportunity, conſpire to waken the voluptuous paſſions.

And muſt not Mary Ann ſee thoſe places?

No—never—never, Mary Ann—Here—here is the marriage act for you to read—all young girls ought to have it by heart—This will teach them how unnatural it is to fall in love without the conſent of king, lords, and commons!

Ah! but I can't ſtay for their leave—thy are too great folks for me to think of!—

Take it up-ſtairs with you—It is a very edifying tract!—

Very well, I'll go—

I'll go and try if I can't write a letter out of my own head—

When ſhe has read the marriage act, ſhe will have a proper ſenſe of her duty. So Peter!—ſo Bridget!—walk in—

Now if I can tutor theſe to my mind—

For the love of mercy, Sir,—

I'll never do ſo any more, maſter—

Come hither both—I am not angry—you are no ſtrangers to the affection I bear Mary Ann—

No, that's for ſure—you love her as well as you do a guinea—

How now, Malapert!

I am ſure Peter ſaid ſo—

No—not I—for the varſal world!—

What's the matter, Numſkulls!—Liſten to me—watch my houſe well;—and be ſure you neve let any powdered fops put a foot over the threſhold of my door—

Yes, Sir!

No, Sir!

But the wily arts of young men;—Think of a gay embroidered coxcomb coming to you with a piteous look: "I languiſh for your miſtreſs; I die in her abſence; let me but ſee her, or elſe I have one foot in my grave already"—

Be gone about your buſineſs, fellow, ſays I—this is no place for you—My young miſtreſs de⯑ſires no ſuch trumpery.

Mighty well, Peter, it can't be better—But you, Mrs. Bridget, will take ſome compaſſion upon a poor dying ſwain—

Go farther a field, and ſet up the ſign of the horns ſomewhere elſe—do—no admittance for you here—

Charming, Bridget, charming—you do it wonderfully—But then ſays he "I'll lie down in the ſtreet, and there breathe my laſt—

And then I run up to the garret-window, and ſouce a bucket of water on his head—

Excellent! excellent!—it will cool his paſſion for him—have a bucket of water always ready—Ha! ha! I ſhould like to ſee him ſtreaming like a river god in the ſtreet—I am delighted with you both—But then he comes with his damned be⯑witching gold—Here, Peter, to drink my health—Here Mrs. Bridget, to buy you ſome tea.

We want none of your droſs—

No—not we—

That's right—ſhove me—puſh me away.

Go about your buſineſs, I ſay—

Money is the root of all evil

As I could wiſh—that's right—never ſpare me—

We hate you as we do a toad.

You vile ugly thing.

We can't endure the ſight of you—

You midnight owl! you griping, miſerly, old—

There, there, hold, hold—But here, ſays he, here's the money for you

I humbly thank your honour

Villain! traitor!

Is this your virtue at laſt?

Law! what's the matter? was not I to take it?

What have I been labouring all this time?—

But you did not ſhew the money at firſt—I could have refuſed it ever ſo long, if I had not ſeen the colour of it.—

The way of the world—But you are never to take it—Money is the ruin of the world—It declares war,—it patches up a peace,—it makes lawyers ſpeak,—it makes ſome folks hold their tongues,—Go, and think of all this—

Yes, Sir!

And remember you have no buſineſs with money—Come, and ſhut the ſtreet-door after me.

Yes, Sir,—

I muſt pay a friendly viſit to brother Old⯑caſtle—Ha! ha! I know things are going wrong with him—I muſt gratify my curioſity—

Brother Lovibond! I go on as I could wiſh—my family is all as exact as clock-work—

I am glad of it, for the laſt time I met you—

I beg your pardon,—but now, loll toll loll! I am completely happy.

My dear old friend, I am glad I have met you—Oh! ſuch plague! ſuch vexation!

Mind him, brother Lovibond—you'll ſee what order my family is in—

I was at the houſe but a little while ſince, and—

And no admittance, I warrant—

Oh! the damndeſt adventure—

A bucket of water upon your head I rec⯑kon—ha! ha!—

Not ſo bad as that—I got over the gar⯑den wall, and—the adventure is whimſical too—the ſervants immediately conducted me up ſtairs, and—

Conducted you up ſtairs!—

Ha! ha!—mind him brother Biddul—

Call me Oldcaſtle—

Come, come, liſten to this—

But, pox take it—my uſual good fortune failed me—I was not in the room two minutes when old Stiff-rump came tottering up—no way for a retreat—I was obliged to ſkulk in a dark nook, where I was almoſt ſtifled—In he came, and the lovely an⯑gel immediately accoſted him in ſuch a tone of ſim⯑plicity—

Simplicity—ha! ha!—well, well,—let us hear—

The curmudgeon did not utter a ſyl⯑lable—walked about the room, fetched a deep groan,—banged the table with his cane,—took her by the arm,—and led her away with him—

Ha! ha! a narrow eſcape—brother Bid⯑dulph—

Call me Oldcaſtle, I ſay.

Ha! ha! — Simplicity is an admirable preſervative of young girls—Ha! ha! well, young gentlemen, and how did all this end?

His back was no ſooner turned, than I ſtole down ſtairs, tipt the ſervant a couple of guineas, and ſo got clear off.

The old gentleman is going on delight⯑fully — his family is all like clock-work!—ha! ha! ha! — I have ſatisfied my curioſity — a good day to you.

This is a mortal ſtroke!—Oh! Peter! Peter! Is this his virtue? — this his contempt of money!—this his bucket of water!

What a cruſty old Cent. per Cent. it is!

Brumpton! — Well encountered—I have been in queſt of you this hour.—This is the very criſis of your fate, man.

Hey! how! what's the matter?

A train of gunpowder is laid, and there is Sir Theodore with a lighted match ready to blow you to the moon.

Explain, my dear boy, explain.

Why then, in plain Engliſh—your fa⯑ther has hired one of the good women who are ſkilled in the trade of leading young virgins aſide:—She, by his directions, is to tempt the miſtreſs of your heart abroad, and then to convey her out of the kingdom, where ſhe will be loſt to you for ever.

'Sdeath! it ſhan't be. — I'll watch the houſe day and night. Where's that ſcoundrel Briſk?

Poor fellow, it was from him I had this information; he is out of his wits about this buſi⯑neſs!—

Out of his wits! he is always out of the way.—Not a moment to be loſt—I'll to my poſt directly.—

My affairs are in a thriving way—

I am glad to hear it—

Succeſs attend you.

Oh! the devil! here's a piece of buſi⯑neſs.

One puſh more, and then, Briſk, your toils are over—Come, that's the houſe.—As my maſter knows nothing of what I am about, I may have ſome chance to ſucceed here.—Now for a few ſuperannuated matron-like airs—

—I found out her mantua-maker by good luck, and ſo now I know my cue—

Did you want any body, pray? No admit⯑tance here!

Yes, truly, young man—La!—I am ſo jaded with walking—Oh! ſuch a pain in my ſide—and my head! it perfectly ſwims again—I muſt in and reſt a bit—I have brought your young lady's wedding-gown.

How! is not that ſhe?—Oh! the de⯑ceitful Machiavel in petticoats.

Why an you bring home her geers, that alters the caſe—walk in, Mrs.—

Ay! the little lady-bird will be as fine as an angel, I warrant her.

Oh! the damned decoy-duck, there ſhe goes ſure enough—I'll wait for her in the ſtreet—'Sdeath! ſhe may get her out of the back-door—I'll alarm the old fellow directly—

—The old bawd ſhall be put in the ſtocks—

—Fire, fire, fire! Maſter Biddulph—

What's the matter there?—Who raps at my door in this—

Mr. Biddulph, Mr. Biddulph—

What do you want?—

You'll be robbed of your treaſure, of all your heart holds dear — Miſs Mary Ann will be ſtole from you—an old bawd will carry her off—ſhe's in your houſe now—now—now—now—

A bawd in my houſe? — I'll ferret her out, I warrant me—

Now, Sir Theodore, what becomes of your intrigue?—Bravo, Brumpton!—this is well managed.

Abominable procureſs! — Horrible ſor⯑cereſs!—

Agent of darkneſs!—Miniſter of iniquity!

Nay, good gentlemen—

Vile ſeducer!—Deteſtable pandar!

Poacher of young game!—Kidnapper of innocence!

For heaven's ſake!—I'm down o' my knees—have a little mercy!—

Thou gipſy!—Thou witch of Endor!—

Get upon your broomſtick and fly away to Lapland!—

The devil's in the man, he will ſpoil all—

—Nay, then, ſince you go to that—your ſervant, maſter!—

Confuſion! what have I been doing?

You have been in luck as well as I, maſ⯑ter!

A footman in petticoats all this time! Thou vile impoſtor!—Thou Newgate-bird.

Wounds! maſter Oldcaſtle all this time! nay, then I muſt pretend—

—How dare a ſervant of mine, raſcal—

Wounds! Sir, it was in your ſervice.

Who gave you orders, villain!—

That's right!—Who gave you orders!

By what authority!

Produce your authority!

To take ſuch liberties with your maſ⯑ter.

I ſhall take the liberty to leave him for ever!—

This is delightful! this is charming! The villain will come no more—he has paid the piper!

A ſcoundrel to behave in this manner! Oh, ho, ho! ſuch an incident!—

—An unlucky dog I am—Poor Briſk, oh, ho!

Mr. Brumpton!

Mr. Oldcaſtle! What, are you Mr. Bid⯑dulph all this time?

You ſee what plague and vexation you was bringing upon your friend—

My dear ſir, why did you not tell me at firſt!—If I had known that I was all this time treſpaſſing upon your ground—

You ſee what a ſcene of iniquity you have been engaged in!—But ſince you perceive [69] your error, I am pacified.—This diſcovery is lucky—it will make an end of all.—I'll tell you what, you ſhall come and explain your miſtake to Mary Ann this moment.

With the utmoſt pleaſure, Sir, and wiſhing her all happineſs, I will bid her farewel for ever.

That will be right—you ſhall tell her that you repent, — that you now renounce all wicked projects, and are convinced it would be the ruin of her to marry you.

Lead the way, Sir; I am ready to obey your commands.

Very well! enough ſaid—

One dear interview!—Bravo! Brump⯑ton! you're in luck.

What do you ſay?

Only that—you'll make a fair report of me to Sir Theodore—

Ay! ay! that I'll do—come along—

La!—there's Mr. Brumpton with him—

You baggage, what do you do there?—Get you in—Did not you hear the people cry fire?

Aye!—but they cry ſo many things in London, I did not mind that—

Get you in, and never be ſeen in a bal⯑cony again!—It was there you ſaw her firſt, Mr. Brumpton;—ha! ha!—I'll have it taken down—Come along.

By goles this is pure—he is bringing him to ſee me—I have writ another letter ſince he has taught me that trick himſelf!—and now I'll give it him if I can—

Mary Ann, I have brought the gentle⯑man with me.—He came to aſk your pardon, and to tell you that he was going to be the ruin of you—Tell it to her yourſelf, Mr. Brumpton.

I am ſure I forgive him with all my heart, ſo I do.

Speak to her, Mr. Brumpton, ſpeak to her—

Madam, I did not know what liberties I was taking with my friend,—and though my conduct was inſpired by real love, and your reſiſtleſs charms—

Pſhaw! that's all preamble—to the point at once—You had a mind to ruin her, ſay ſo without mincing it—

I muſt now renounce all farther pre⯑tenſions,—ſince to adore you any longer would be a violation of friendſhip, and an injury to this worthy gentleman, who has been intimate with my father for fifty years—

You may paſs that by—

Ah! he's a falſe man, and I don't love him—

So that I moſt humbly beg your par⯑don—

Go on, go on—

And though I ſhall never efface your loved idea from my mind—

You have my pardon, I told you ſo already.

Oh! lord! lord!

Well, have you told her you have done with her for ever?

Yes, I have got ſo far—

Very well! Now, Mary Ann, on your part, let him know your mind.

Muſt I ſay all out of my own head?

Ay! ay! tell him all—I wiſh brother Lovibond was witneſs to this!

I am very glad you came to ſpeak to me, Sir, and I underſtand you very well.

But a little more at large—Tell him whom you chuſe for an huſband.

Why, here are two lovers, for whom I have very different ſentiments—I love one of them—

—and—

—I hate the other. The company of one is al⯑ways agreeable—

—and—

—I don't care if I never ſee the other's face.—I ſhould like to be married to one of them—

—and—

—I had as ſoon be gibbetted, as be mar⯑ried to the other.—But my own Mr. Oldcaſtle—

—I love you of all things.

You have won my heart.

But do you forgive I every thing now?—Ah! you don't love me.

I do—in troth I do—ha! ha! ha!—Mr. Brumpton, you ſee I have not ſuggeſted a word—all the dictates of her own heart—

All from the very bottom of my heart!

Since I underſtand you, Ma'am, I ſhall remove the hated object from your ſight.

The ſooner the better.

Mr. Oldcaſtle, I have the honour, Sir, to wiſh you all happineſs.—And I fly this moment to put your commands in execution, Ma'am—

You can't go about it too faſt.

You may rely upon my honour.

And don't let me be unhappy any more.

You may depend upon me.

So—ſo—now I'll attend you down.—Po!—no ceremony.—You have made me happy, Mr. Brumpton—you have made Mary Ann happy.—Come, I'll let you out, Mr. Brump⯑ton.

I attend you, Sir.

By goles, he has taught me a little wit himſelf; and if Mr. Brumpton follows my directions, I ſhall be pure and happy at laſt.

ACT V.

HUSH!—don't ſpeak ſo loud, you'll give the alarm elſe to my keepers be⯑low ſtairs, and all is ruin'd—I don't know what to ſay, Mr. Bellford;—my heart begins to fail me—

But after ſurmounting every difficulty, now in this laſt ſtage of the buſineſs to let your ſpirits ſink, would be ſuch a falling off from the character you have ſupported this day;—a character that ſur⯑paſſes all the heroines in romance, both for ſpirit and contrivance.

The difficulties I had to encounter rouzed my ſpirits for a while, juſt as fits give us for the time, more than our natural ſtrength;—but now the conflict's over, my reſolution ſtaggers, and I am at full leiſure to feel the weakneſs of my condition—I can't go through it, Mr. Bellford, I can't indeed—

Nay, ſummon up your reſolution—Our mutual vows, the happineſs that waits us, every motive, a thouſand things conſpire, and call for all the conſtancy you are miſtreſs of—

But then to break through all the pro⯑prieties of conduct—all the decencies which my ſex requires—

In a caſe like yours, the means are juſt which ſave you from deſtruction—

I tremble for the event—I ſhan't be able to eſcape—

Truſt yourſelf to me, my love—'tis but an eaſy ſtep out of the window down upon the leads, and then through the neighbouring houſe—the peo⯑ple [74] are in my intereſt—come, reſume your cou⯑rage—you cannot doubt my honour—

But the cenſure of the world—nay, your own opinion of me—

The world will admire your ſpirit, and when 'tis known, that the old gentleman was your dupe, and carried on the plot himſelf, your inven⯑tion will be applauded every where—

Why, I can almoſt laugh at him even now—

Deliver me!—what ſhall I do? undone!—detected!—

This is the conſequence of delaying too long—

Run into this room;—make haſte—diſ⯑patch

and to make ſafe work—

Harriet, I am never happy but in your company—the minutes move with leaden feet, when I am out of your preſence—

And yet, you ill-natured man!—you can contrive to be out more than half the day—

Chide me not;—you'll break my heart if you do—every frown on that face is a death-warrant, and every ſmile is benefit of clergy—come, come, brighten up into happineſs and love.

You know your power over me—you can do what you pleaſe with your own Harriet!—

Can I?—you are too good.—

Where have you been all this time?

I have been—but you look pale—what is the matter?

Occaſioned by fretting at your abſence—and that hideous man keeps me in a conſtant alarm—

Don't waſte a thought on him—he'll trouble you no more—tho', to do him juſtice, I be⯑lieve his intentions were honourable—poor devil!— [75] ha! ha! I fancy he loves you dearly—Well! but—poor brother Oldcaſtle!—your ſiſter has ſo bam⯑boozled him—

My ſiſter!

She has admitted a young gentleman to viſit her—

She could not be ſo wicked!—

The girl has not erred ſo much from an evil diſpoſition, as from ignorance—

A very ſmall ſhare of ſenſe, Mr. Lovi⯑bond, will give ſufficient intimations of our duty—

Very true—now the like of you, would not have done ſuch a thing for the world!—

Not to be empreſs of the univerſe—The young men of this age are ſuch a profligate race.—

You are fit to inſtruct grey hairs—the young gentleman—one Mr. Brumpton—a wild fiery young ſpark—he was in the very houſe with her, and ſhe hid him in the cloſet—ha! ha!

In the cloſet! well! after that, I will never own her for my ſiſter!—the wicked girl!—I am glad I have not viſited her—

Ha! ha! ha!—poor man!—he never ſuſpected any thing—had it been my caſe, I ſhould have ſmoked it in a moment—

Without doubt!—there is no impoſing upon you—

Oh! no—no ſuch thing—ha! ha! I can ſee thro' a millſtone—the eye of an eagle for a plot!—But come—come—it begins to grow late—come, let me hand you to your chamber, and then I'll lock you in ſafe from all harm till morning.

Heavens! what ſhall I do now?

Huſh!—let me ſay a word to you firſt—don't ſpeak loud.—My ſiſter is indeed much worſe than you can conceive—I wiſh you would ſtep and bring Mr. Oldcaſtle hither directly.

Now! what occaſion can there be—

She loves that Mr. Brumpton to diſtrac⯑tion, and has actually made her eſcape, to follow the vile man.

Made her eſcape!

She is in that room now—I have lock⯑ed her in—ſuch wicked ſchemes as ſhe has in her head! She has told me all, and intends to marry this Mr. Brumpton: ſhe has found out that ſhe is of age, and ſays ſhe will be made a fool of no longer!—there's a ſpirit for you!—

A ſpirit indeed!

But I have ſecured her to prevent the diſgrace, to ward off the ruin—and—

That was conſiderate of you—let me go and talk to the young vixen.

No—no—that will ſpoil all—I have pretended to connive at all this—But the moſt prudent ſtep,—I have learned all my prudence, you know, from you—

Ay! an apt ſcholar you have been!

You are very good—but there is no time to be loſt—I would have you bring Mr. Old⯑caſtle here directly, that he may find her in the very fact.

Very good!—and then I ſhall be able to do the poor man a ſervice, and make a jeſt of him into the bargain!—Keep her ſafe;—don't let her out—this will ſo torment him!—ha! ha!

I am glad my ſiſter has found a lover, and I hope ſhe'll marry him with all my heart.—Is he gone?

Ay! I hear him lock the ſtreet-door after him—and now I'll venture to unlock this door.

Thou charming contriver!

Oh!—this new danger has given freſh vigour to my ſpirits.

And now, my angel, we'll make ſure of our happineſs—come, truſt yourſelf to my care—

And yet—

Nay,—no more doubts—our paſſage to the next houſe is without difficulty, and then li⯑berty is ours.

I never was better pleaſed in all my life—I burn with impatience to ſee him—ha! ha! I ſhall never be able to walk faſt enough—ha! ha! ha!—

Well met! I wanted to ſee you.

Oh! I am now the happieſt man on earth. My troubles with young Brumpton are all at an end, and Mary Ann is ſafe at home.—

Ay! as he thinks, poor man! — ha! ha!

You may laugh, but I ſhall like to ſee your plan ſucceed as well—what a dupe you will prove at laſt!—

What a dupe you are now!—the bird is flown, man; Mary Ann has eloped—

Ha! ha! ha! you make me laugh.

How ſecure he is! ha! ha! he little dreams—I tell you ſhe is gone—

Always abſurd!

You are ruined, I tell you.

Ha! ha!—do you think I don't know better.

Don't alarm yourſelf, my angel—this is my houſe—

Oh! I ſhall certainly faint—

My dear Bellford—

Heavens! what's the matter?

Don't be frightened, Ma'am—

No—this is a friend of mine—well! Brumpton, the buſineſs!

My deareſt Bellford, this is the moſt critical moment of my life—I have bribed the ſer⯑vants—carried her off—ſhe is mine—mine for ever—will you give me a room in your houſe for this one night?—

Why this ceremony? you know you may command in my houſe—

What noiſe is that?—

That's Brumpton, I know his voice—

I am frightened to death.

The door opens, walk in, ma'am, walk in—

Light the lady up ſtairs!—

Huſh! Let us hear him—

I am wild with love, with rapture, and ſucceſs!—I have carried her fairly off, in triumph, my dear boy! She was locked up in a cloſet, but I broke open the door—

I give you joy—but my own happineſs calls—bring the lady as ſoon as you will—

A thouſand thanks, my dear Bellford—Victoria! the prize is mine.

Are you convinced now!

I am thunderſtruck—Robbery! Mur⯑der! I'll break open the door—Watchman, call a juſtice of peace—call Sir Theodore Brumpton—he lives juſt by—Mr. Oldcaſtle wants him—his ſon has robbed me—I'll alarm all the world!

Robbery! ſhipwreck! deſtruc⯑tion! ruin!

Ha! ha!—he feels it now, and I am not ſorry for him—ha! ha!

I am mad, I ſhall go diſtracted;—I ſhall end my days in Bedlam—

I would fain ſpeak a word here in the houſe.

Sir, my maſter is ſomewhat buſy, and—

I am plundered—I muſt go in—oh! villain! villain!

Ha! ha!—now will he ſee which can train up a young girl beſt.

What's all this noiſe!—

—Ay! I hear his voice—How could my booby let him in? But I have lodged her ſafe, and this ſword ſhall maintain poſſeſſion—

Where is ſhe?—Where is the unfortu⯑nate!—Reſtore her directly, reſtore her to her two guardians—We come to demand her of you.

Yes, we demand her, Sir—we know ſhe is here—and therefore—

My houſe is my caſtle, gentlemen, and nobody muſt offer—

I'll ſearch your houſe—I'll get a general warrant—She is an heireſs—a ward of the high court of Chancery—'tis a contempt; you'll be committed for it;—ſhe is our property, in law and equity—I claim her, I demand her; and I will have her.

This is an unſeaſonable hour, gentle⯑men; to-morrow I ſhall be ready to anſwer your complaints; in the mean time, I muſt beg you will leave me in quiet poſſeſſion of my own houſe.

But we are her guardians, Sir—both her guardians—the girl is under age!—

Mr. Lovibond, you are her guardian; and what then, Sir?—Both of ye ſcandalous betray⯑ers of your truſt!-I know it all—each circumſtance—You would impoſe upon her tender years, that you may infamouſly plunder that property which was confided to your care!—

There is a cloud gathering!—We ſhall both be brought to a ſtrict account—I had better make up this matter, that I may enjoy my own Harriet in ſecurity—

You have run away with an heireſs, and by the law of the land—

I have a right to her;—I know ſhe is of age, Sir, and it is my fixed reſolution to marry her; ſhe has declared in my favour, and nothing ſhall be a bar to my happineſs!

She is of age ſure enough; how did he find that out?

Better make the beſt of a bad bargain—

— But let me underſtand you, Mr. Bellford;—do you intend to marry her yourſelf?

It is my peremptory reſolution.—But all in honour, Sir—marriage articles, for the purpoſe of ſettling her whole fortune upon herſelf, are now drawing in the next room.

I ſee what courſe I muſt take.—If he marries her, I ſhall live in peace.—

—Mr. Old⯑caſtle, the girl is of full age.—Let me ſay a word in your ear—

—conſent to the marriage, and get a handſome allowance for the trouble and ex⯑pence of her education—That word makes me laugh—ha! ha! ha!

I am diſtracted; what ſhall I do?—

—I thought young Brumpton was to marry her?

No Brumpton on earth ſhall rob me of her!

The trouble, and the fondneſs with which we have reared her—

He will allow for that—

I have long lov'd her—Can't you reſign her now,—you will be the death of me elſe?

Think no more of her—ſhe is not wor⯑thy of your regard. Mr. Bellford will behave like a gentleman in matters of account, and—

Preſcribe your terms—I am ready to agree the matter this moment—

A releaſe for the intereſt of rents and pro⯑fits—a cool five thouſand for extraordinary trouble, and for her muſic-maſter and her dancing-maſter—

He was her only maſter himſelf—ha! ha!

Agreed!—

Cloſe with him—cloſe with him di⯑rectly—

I wiſh you would reſign her to me—

I will not defer my happineſs beyond to⯑morrow morning!—My lawyer is in the next room; let him draw up a memorandum between us, and your conditions are granted.

It ſhall be done—we will both ſign—Come, don't heſitate.

I ſhall break my heart!—

Po!—no heſitating,—come and finiſh the buſineſs!

It is a terrible ſtroke!—

Never ſtand debating—you have made the beſt of a bad bargain—loſe no time—

But, Mr. Bellford—

We muſt reſign her—we muſt give her up—Come along, man.

I attend you, gentlemen—I agree to your propoſals.

Walk in, my angel; you are ſecure here.

Ha! Brumpton—I give you joy—I con⯑gratulate you too, ma'am—and—

I thank you kindly, ſir.

And now, Bellford, thro' the perils of this day we have both at laſt attained our utmoſt wiſhes. I could be merry about it, but I muſt give my fellow Briſk ſome directions. I have ſuch a ſtory to tell you—ha! ha!—I ſhall be with you in an in⯑ſtant.

La! what a pretty room here is!

Your appearance tells me, ma'am, that my friend Brumpton has found a treaſure.

I am ſure, I am fortunate in finding him—for I led ſuch a life; you can't think how diſ⯑mal!—

The ſcene will now be changed, and the pleaſures of life will court you on every ſide.

Oh! the little compound of treachery and fraud!

I was kept from morning to night mew⯑ed up at home, and he talked ſuch a parcel of bug-bears to frighten a body—

Oh the traitreſs!

And he ſaid if I looked at a ſweet [...] ⯑ing young gentleman, that I ſhould be [...], and devoured, and ſwallowed up!

An old blockhead!—

Yes, I thought as much—But I am ſure I am obliged to Peter and Bridget for letting me out, and they ſhall come and live with me, ſo they ſhall—Do you know our Peter and Bridget?—

They ſhall both be hanged.

And my old guardian wanted to marry me himſelf, but—

—he talked in ſuch a [83] manner, and ſaid ſuch ſtrange things—But—

—the joke was, he taught me how to write letters, and I ſhould never have thought of ſuch a thing had he not put me in the head on't—And he is ſo old, and totters about ſo; and he calls me his lambkin; and bids me read the marriage act, and a heap of trum⯑pery.—An hideous, ugly, old ſcare crow!—La! there he is.

I have ſigned, Mr. Bellford, and they wait for you.

I ſhall give you no delay, Sir.

Thou ſerpent, whom I have warmed and cheriſhed in my boſom!—you muſt ſting your bene⯑factor at laſt, muſt you?—Did not I promiſe to mar⯑ry you?

Yes, but by goles, I thank you for that tho'—

And will you deſert me for a ſtranger?

He's a ſweet man!

Viper!—this is your ſimplicity, is it?—I, who loved you ſo—

Ah!—but his love is more agreeable by half.

Well! now every thing is ſettled.—So, madam, you are there, are you?—ha! ha! Brother Oldcaſtle, I always told you how this would end—ha! ha! ha!

If ſhe had minded my inſtructions—

Ha! ha! Inſtructions!—You brought it all upon yourſelf—but 'tis better as it is—your head would have ached all the reſt of your days—ha! ha! ha!—I am heartily glad of this—ha! ha!—Come, Mr. Bellford, I'll give her away—here, take your wife—

Wounds! I can't ſtand this—I'll not be a witneſs.

But you ſhall be a witneſs; you are a party concerned—you muſt come back.

Since they have agreed the matter, Harriet ſhall make her appearance.

What does all this mean!—Sure it can't be ſiſter Harriet he talks of.

You muſt, you ſhall come back.

Don't be frightened—you are the object of my heart, and they will give you away.

You are a party to the agreement—you muſt ſee her given away.

Here's the lady.

Ay! ay! give me her hand—

—you ſhall ſee the buſineſs done, Mr. Old⯑caſtle.—Here, here—wounds! what's all this?—Harriet!

Huzza!—a reprieve!

Ah! ſiſter there—what have you been writing letters too!

I be glad to ſee you—

What does all this mean?—what brought you hither, Madam?

My love for this gentleman.

Ha! ha! ha!—ſhe is his wife all this time—

I was not by any means worthy of you, Sir—and ſo I have transferred my affections where I think they will be placed to advantage!—

I am ready to ſink into the ground with amazement!—

Loll, toll, loll!—brother Lovibond!—you brought it all upon yourſelf—ha! ha! ha!— [85] I pity and laugh at you—ha! ha! this is the educa⯑tion you have given her—ha! ha!

I ſhall die upon the ſpot—

Ha! ha!—I ſaw what it would all end in—

She would have been too young a wife for you, man—ha! ha!—I am heartily glad of it—here, here, I'll give her away—here Mr. Bellford, take your wife—

I accept her at your hand—

And I give you mine, with all my heart!

Now, who underſtands education?—Come, madam, come you home with me—

Ah! but I can't do that, for I be married as well as you, ſiſter —

he carried me to a parſon, and it was for all the world, like what you uſed to ſay

about love, honour, and obey—

What do I hear?

Oh! ho! ho!—what a day of adven⯑tures have I had! but fortune has at laſt crowned me with ſucceſs—My good genius has attended me throughout—my ſweet, my lovely bride!

Oh! Mr. Brumpton!—what a life you have led me!

Where is the graceleſs, the profli⯑gate, the abandoned!—So Sir!

why am I to be called out of my houſe on account of your midnight practices!

Oh! Sir Theodore, I am glad you are come—your ſon will be the death of me!—

What does all this mean, Sir!

That I am married to this lady, Sir—

He has robbed me of her;—plundered me;—he will go to the gallows for it—ſhe is an heireſs!

Well! this is ſome comfort—ha! ha! brother Oldcaſtle, we are both in the ſame predica⯑ment.

An heireſs ſay you?—George, give me your hand, ſince you have not thrown yourſelf away—and was it your ward all this time?

Yes, Sir,—ha! ha! ha!—this is the lady whom he called a milliner's prentice—ha! ha!

Ha! ha!—and that was his fetch to deceive me, was it?—ha! ha!

Ha! ha!—you have managed it charmingly—ha! ha!

You'll drive me mad all of you—

Ha! ha! ha!

This is pure comical;—

Oh! I ſhall never ſurvive this!

Nay, no uneaſineſs, Mr. Old⯑caſtle.

I fancy we need not think any more of Hampſhire now. Sir Theodore!—

What are you there, Briſk?—You have been a ſad rogue.

I have been working for the good of your family, Sir!—

So you have; I forgive you all—George, I give you joy with all my heart.

You ſee, Sir, I have married a for⯑tune for the good of my children; and the lady's beauty I fancy won't offend you.

No, I embrace her as my daughter.

Ah! you are very good, Sir—

Come, Mr. Oldcaſtle, never be de⯑jected—

Oh! I have loſt a treaſure—

Yet you muſt excuſe me, Sir, when you recollect the letter the lady flung me out of the window!—

Flung him a letter!—ha! ha!

And when you reflect, that you your⯑ſelf brought me into her preſence to receive this let⯑ter, in which ſhe prays me to be her deliverer!

Ha! ha! the contriver of his own mis⯑fortunes!—Gave her the opportunity himſelf—ha! ha!

And when you conſider, Mr. Lovibond, that you brought me Harriet's meſſages, and delivered me this letter with your own hand!

How is this!—

A declaration of my heart—I had no⯑body to carry it but you!—

The contriver of his own ruin! deliver⯑ed her letter himſelf! ha! ha! how well he knows the world!—

Bellford, give me your hand—and ſo we have been ſtruggling hard for two ſiſters all this time!—

We have, and from henceforth ſhall live both friends and brothers!

Oh! Mary Ann!—you have deceived me, but I ſhall be glad to ſee you happy.

And I am ſure, I ſhall be always glad to ſee you, if you live theſe three years to come—Here's your marriage act for you! Siſter Harriet, la! I longed like any thing to ſee you—and I am glad we are both happy at laſt—

A right uſe made of this event, will be of general ſervice to us all—To theſe gentlemen it may prove a School for Guardians, where they will [88] learn not to bring upon themſelves the reproach of a diſhoneſt, an amorous, and contemptible old age—We, Bellford, and theſe ladies, who are now em⯑barked on a voyage for life,—we cannot fail of happineſs—