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Belfield jun. } the Brothers
Sophia, Sır BENJAMIN's daughter,
VIOLETTA, wife to BELFIELD sen. CAPTAIN IRONSIDEs, uncle to BELFIELD sen. and Fanny Goodwin. jun.
KITTY, LADY Dove's maid:
Scene—The sea coast of Cornwall.
SCENE I.-A rocky shore, with a fisherman's Phi. To my thoughts, now, we live as happily
cabin in the cliff*: a violent tempest, with thun- in this poor hut, as we did yonder in the great der and lightning : a ship discovered stranded house, when you was 'squire Belfield's principal on the coast. The characters enter, after ha- tenant, and as topping a farmer as any in the ving looked out of their cabin, as if waiting whole county of Cornwall. for the abatement of the storm.
Good. Ah, child !
Phi. Nay, never droop; to be sure, father, Goodwin, Purlip, and Fanny.
the 'squire has dealt hardly with you, and a mighty Phi. It blows a rank storm; 'tis well, father, point, truly, he has gained ! the ruin of an howe hauled the boat ashore before the weather
If those are to be the uses of a great came on; she's safe bestowed, however, let wharestate, Heaven continue me what I am ! will happen
Fun. Ay, ay, brother, a good conscience in a Good. Ay, Philip, we had need be provident : coarse drugget, is better than an aching heart in except that poor skilf, my child, what have we
a silken gown. left in this world that we can call our own? Good. Well, children, well, if you can bear
misfortunes patiently, 'twere an ill office for me , well, there's an end of her - The Charming Sally to repine; we have long tilled the earth for a privateer !-Poor soul; a better sea boat never subsistence; now, Philip, we must plough the swam upon the salt sea. ocean; in those waves lies our harvest; there, 3d Sai. I knew we should have no luck after my brave lad, we have an equal inheritance with we took up that wonnan there from the packet the best.
that sunk along side us. Phi. True, father; the sea, that feeds us, pro- 1st Sai. What, madam Violetta, as they call vides us an habitation here in the hollow of the her? Why, 'tis like enough—But hush, here cliff. I trust, the 'squire will exact no rent for this comes our captain's nephew; he's a brave lad, and dwelling—Alas ! 'that ever two brothers should a seaman's friend, and, between you and me have been so opposite as our merciless landlord, [Boatswain's whistle.]— But hark, we are called and the poor young gentleman, they say, is now -Come along!
[Ereunt Sailors dead. Good. Sirrah, I charge you, name not that un
SCENE IV. happy youth to me any more; I was endeavouring to forget bim and his misfortunes, when the sight
BELFIELD jun. and FRANCIS. of that vessel in distress brought him afresh to Bel. jun. That ever fortune should cast us upon my remembrance; for, it seems, he perished by this coast !- Francis ! sea : the more shame upon him, whose cruelty Fran. Sir! and injustice drove him thither. But come, the Bel. jun. Have the people landed those chests wind lulls apace; let us launch the boat, and we brought off with us in the boat? make a trip to yonder vessel : if we can assist in Fran. They have, sir; an old fisherman, whom lightening her, perhaps she may ride it out. we met, has shewn us here to a cavern in the
Phi. 'Tis to no puipose; the crew are coming cliff, where we have stowed them all in safety. ashore in their boat; I saw them enter the creek. Bel. jun. That's well. Where's any uncle? Good. Did you so ? Then, do you
your Fran. On board; no persuasions can prevail sister step into the cabin; make a good fire, and on him to quit the ship, which, he swears, will provide such fish and other stores as you have lift with the tide; his old crony, the master, is within : I will go down, and meet them: who with him, and they ply the casks so briskly, that ever they may be, that have suffered this misfor- it seems a moot point, which fills the fastest, tune on our coasts, let us remember, children, they, or the wreck. never to regard any man as an enemy, who stands Bel. jun. Strange insensibility! but you must in need of our protection. [Erit Good. bring him off by force, then, if there is no other
Phi. I am strongly tempted to go down to the way of saving him. I think, on my conscience, creek, too; if father should light on any mischief he is as indifferent to danger as the plank he
--well, for once in my life, I'll disobey him; treads on. We are now thrown upon my unnatusister, you can look to matters within doors; ral brother's estate ; that house, Francis, which I'll go round by the point, and be there as soon you see to the left, is his; and what may be the
consequence if he and my uncle should meet, I Fun. Do so, Philip; 'twill be best.
know not; for such has been captain Ironsides [Exeunt severally. resentment on my account, that he has declared
war against the very name of Belfield; and, in SCENE II.-Continues.
one of his whimsical passions, you know, insisted Goodwin re-enters, followed by Francis, and have been known on board by no other name
on my laying it aside for ever; so that hitherto I several sailors carrying goods and chests from than that of Lewson. the wreck.
Fran. 'Tis true, sir; and, I think, 'twill be adGood. This way, my friends, this way! there's viseable to continue the disguise as long as you stowage enough within for all your goods.
As for the old captain, from the life he alFran. Coine, bear a hand, my brave lads, ways leads on shore, and his impatience to get there's no time to lose; follow that honest man, on board again, I think, 'tis very possible an inand set down your chests where he directs you. terview between him and your brother may be
Sai. Troth, I care not how soon I'm quit of prevented. mine; 'tis plaguy heavy. [Ereunt. Bel. jun. I think so, too.
Go then, Francis,
and conduct the old gentleman hither ; I see l'ioSCENE III.-Continues.
letta coming: Enter other Sailors.
Sure there is something in that woman's story
uncommonly mysterious—of English parents, 1st Sai. Here's a pretty spot of work ! plague | born in Lisbon-her family and fortune buried on't, what a night has this been! I thought this in the carthquake—so much she freely tells; but damped lee-shore would catch us at last. more, I am convinced, remains untold, and of a 2d Sai. Why, 'twas impossible to claw her off; melancholy sort : she has once or twice, as I
thought, seemed disposed to unbosom herself to Is this the way you reconcile me to your nation? me; but it is so painful to be told of sorrows one Are these the friends of human kind? Why don't has not power to relieve, that I have hitherto we fly from this ungenerous, this ungrateful counavoided the discourse.
Bel. jun. Hold, madam! one villain, however Enter VIOLETTA.
base, can no more involve a whole nation in his Bel. jun. Well, madam, melancholy still ? still | criines, than one example, however dignified, that face of sorrow and despair? twice ship can inspire it with his virtues: thank Heaven, the wrecked, and twice rescued from the jaws of worthless owner of that mansion is yet without a death, do you regret your preservation ? and rival. have I incurred your displeasure, by prolonging Vio. You have twice directed my attention to your existence?
that house; 'tis a lovely spot; what pity that so Vio. Not so, Mr Lewson; such ingratitude be delicious a retirement should be made the resifar from me.
Can I forget, when the vessel, in dence of so undeserving a being ! which I had sailed froni Portugal, foundered by Bel. jun. It is, indeed, a charming place, and your side, with what noble, what benevolent ar- was once the seat of hospitality and honour; but, dour, you flew to my assistance? Regardful only | its present possessor, Andrew Belfield--Maof my safety, your own seemed no part of your dam, for Heaven's sake, what ails you ? you seein
suddenly disordered-Have I saidBel. jun. Oh! no more of this; the preserva- Vio. No, 'tis nothing; don't regard me, Mr tion of a fellow-creature is as natural as self-de- Lewson. I am weak, and subject to these surfence. You now, for the first time in your life, prizes; I shall be glad, however, to retire. breathe the air of England-a rough reception it Bel. jun. A little repose, I hope, will relieve has given you; but be not, therefore, discoura- you ; within this hut, some accommodation may ged; our learts, Violetia, are more accessible be found : lean on my arm. than our shores; nor can you find inhospitality in
[Leads her to the door of the cabin, Britain, save in our climate only.
Enter GoodwIX. Vio. These characteristics of the English may be just. I take my estimate from a less favoura- Good. Heaven defend me! do my eyes deble example.
ceive me? 'tis wondrous like his shape, his air, Bel, jun. Villainy, madam, is the growth of his look-every soul; nor can I, while yonder babitation is Bel. jun. What is your astonishment, friend? in my view, forget, that England has given birth Do you know me? If it was not for that habit, I to monsters that disgrace liumanity; but this I should say your name is Goodwin. will say for my countrymen, that, where you can
Good. 'Tis he! he is alive! my dear young point out one rascal with a heart to wrong you, I master, Mr Belfield ! Yes, sir, my name is Good will proluce fifty honest fellows ready and reso- win: however changed my appearance, my heart lute to redress you.
is still the same, and overflows with joy at this Vio. Ah !-- But on what part of the English unexpected meeting. coast is it that we are landed?
Bel. jun. Give me thy hand, my old, my hoBel. · jun. On the coast of Cornwall.
nest friend; and is this sorry hole thy habitaVio. Of Cornwall is it? You seem to know the tion? owner of that house: are you well acquainted Good. It is. with the country hereabouts ?
Bel. jun. The world, I see, has frowned on Bel. jun. Tutimately; it has been the cradle thee since we parted. of my infancy, and, with little interruption, my Good. Yes, sir: but what are my misfortunes? residence ever since.
you must have undergone innumerable hardships; Vio. You are anongst your friends, then, no and now, at last, shipwrecked on your own doubt; how fortunate is it, that you will have coast! Well, but your vessel is not totally lost; their consolation and assistance in your
distress. and we will work night and day in saving your Bel. jun. Madam-
effects. Vio. Every moment will bring them down to Bel. jun. Oh, as for that, the sea gwe all, let the very
shores; this brave, humane, this hospita- it take back a part; I have enough on shore not ble people, will flock, in crowds, to your relief; to envy my brother his fortune. But there is your friends, Mr lewson
one blessing, master Goodwin, I own I should Bel. jun. My friends, Violetta! must I con- grudge him the possession of-There was a young fess it to you, i have po friends--those rocks, ladythat have ihus scattered my treasures, those waves,
Good. What, sir, have not you forgot Miss that lave devoured them, to me are not so fatal, Sophia? as hath been that man, whom Nature meant to Bel. jun. Forgot her! my heart trembles while be my nearest friend.
I ask you, if she is indeed, as you call her, Miss Vio. What, and are you a fellow-sufferer, then? Sophia.
Good. She is yet unmarried, though every day | part, I'll sail with captain Ironsides as far as we expect
there's water to carry ine. Bel. jun. 'Tis enough; Fortune, I acquit thee! Omnes. So we will all. Happy be the winds that threw me on this coast, Iron. Say ye so, my hearts? if the wind sits and blest the rocks that received me! Let my that way, hoist sail, say I; old George will make vessel go to pieces; she has done her part in one amongst you, if that be all; I hate an idle bearing me hither, while I can cast myself at the life--$o, so; away to your work; tv-morrow feet of my Sophia, recount to her my unabating we'll make a day on't. [Ereunt Sailors. passion, and have one fair struggle for her heart. Iron. Skiff!
[Ereunt. Skiff. Here, your honour !
Iron. I told you, Skiff, how 'twould be; if you SCENE V.
had luffed up in tine, as I would have had you,
and not made so free with the land, this mishap Enter VIOLETTA.
had never come to pass. Vio. Once more I am alone. How my heart Skiff. Lord love you, captain Ironsides ! 'twas sunk, when Lewson pronounced the name of Bel- | a barrel of beef to a biscuit, the wind had not field! it must be he, it must be my false, cruel, shifted so direct contrary as it did; who could yet (spite of all my wrongs) beloved husband : have thought it? yes, there he lives, each circumstance confirms Iron. Why, I could have thought it; every it; Cornwall, the county; here the sea-coast, body could have thought it: do you consider and these white craggy cliffs; there the disposi- whereabouts you are, mun? Upon the coast of tion of his seat; the grove, lake, lawn; every England, as I take it. Every thing here goes feature of the landscape tallies with the descrip- contrary both by sea and land- Every thing tions he has given me of it. What shall I do, whips, and chops, and changes about, like mad, and to whom shall I complain? when Lewson in this country; and the people, I think, are as spoke of him, it was with a bitterness that shock-full of vagaries as the climate. ed me; I will not disclose myself to him ; by Skiff. Well, I could have swore what fell from him, I suspect he is related to Mr Iron. Ay, so you could, Skiff; and so you did, Belfield-But, hush! I talk to thesc rocks, and pretty roundly, too ; but for the good you did by forget that they have ears.
it, you might as well have puffed a whiff of to.
bacco in the wind's face. Enter FANNY.
Skiff. Well, captain; though we have lost our
ship, we haven't lost our all: thank the fates, Fan. Are you better, madam? Is the air of we've saved treasure enough to make all our forany service to you?
tunes notwithstanding. Vio. I am much relieved by it: the beauty of Iron. Fortunes, quotha? What have two such that place attracted my attention, and, if you old weather-beaten fellows, as thee and I are, tu please, we will walk further up the hill to take a do with fortune; or, indeed, what has fortune to nearer view of it.
[Exeunt. do with us? Flip and tobacco is the only luxury
we have any relish for: had we fine houses, could SCENE VI.
we live in them? a greasy hammock has been
our birth for these fifty years; fine horses, could Part of the crew enter, with IRONSIDES and
we ride them ? and, as for the fair ses, there, Skiff in the midst of them.
that my nephew makes such a pother about, I Omnes. Hluzza ! huzza ! huzza !
don't know what thou may'st think of the mat1st Sui. Long life to your honour! welcome ter, Skiff; but, for my own part, I should not ashore, noble captain !
care if there were no such animals in the crea2d Sai. Avast there, Jack; stand clear, and tion. let his old honour pass. Bless his heart, he looks cheerly howsomever; let the world wag as it
Enter BELFIELD, jun. will, he'll never flinch.
Bel. jun. Uncle, what chear, man? 3d Sai. Not he! he's true English oak to the Iron. Oh, Bob! is it thee? whither bound heart of him; and a fine old seaman-like figure now, my dear boy? he is.
Bel. jun. Why, how can you ask such a quesIron. Ah, messmates, we are all aground; I tion? We have landed our treasure; saved all our have been taking a parting cup with the Charm- friends, and set foot upon English ground, and ing Sally -She's gone; but the stoutest bark what business, think you, can a young fellow, like must have an end; master, here, and I, did all me, have, but one ? we could to lighten her; we took leave of her in Iron. Pshaw, you are a fool, Bob; these an officer-like manner.
wenches will be the undoing of you—a plague of 1st Sai. Hang sorrow! we know the worst them altogetber say I : what are they good for, on't; 'tis only taking a fresh cruize; and for my but to spoil company, and keep brave fellows
from their duty? O’my conscience, they do more, Dutchman, one sober German, or one righteous mischiet to the king's navy in one twelvemonth, methodist. Look'e, Bob, so I do but keep sinthan the French have done in ten; a pack of-gle, I have no objection to other people's marrybut I ha' done with them; thank the stars I ha' ing; but, on these occasions, I would manage fairly washed my hands of 'em! I ha' nothing to myself as I would my ship; not by running her say to none of 'em.
odd creek and cranny, in the smugSkiff: Mercy be good unto us! that my wife gling fashion, as if I had no good credentials to could but hear your worship talk.
produce; but, play fairly, and in sight, d’ye see; Bel . jun. Oh, my dear uncle !
and whenever a safe harbour opeus, stand boldIron. But I'll veer away no more good advice ly in, boy, and lay her up snug, in a good birth, after you; so even drive as you will under your once for all. petticoat-sails; black, brown, fair, or tawny, 'tis Bel. jun. Come, then, uncle, let us about it; all fish that comes in your net: Why, where's and you may greatly favour my enterprize, since your reason, Bob, all this here while? Where's you can keep the father and mother in play, your religion, and be damned to vou ?
while IBel. jun. Come, come, my dear uncle, a Iron. Avast, young man ! avast! the father, truce to your pbilosophy. Go, throw your dol- if you please, without the mother; sir Benjalars into yonder ocean, and bribe the tempest to min's a passable good companion, for a landbe still; you shall as soon reverse the operations man; but for my lady- l'll have nothing to of nature, as wean my heart from my Sophia. say to my lady; she's his wife, thank the stars,
Iron. Hold, hold ! take me right; if, by So- and not mine. phia, you mean the daughter of sir Benjamin Bel. jun. Be it as you will; I shall be glad of Dore, I don't care if I make one with you;- your company on any terms. what say'st thou, boy ? shall it be so ?
Iron. Say no more, then. About ship; if Bel. jun. So, then, you think there may be one you are bound for that port, I'm your inate :good woman, however?
inaster, look to the wreck'; I'm for a fresh cruize. Iron. Just as I think there may be one honest
SCENE I.The outside of Sir BENJAMIN to expel his father from your farm; to perseDove's house.
cute him and his innocent family, till you had
ccomplished their ruin, and driven them to Enter BELFIELD, sen. and Lucy WATERS.
the very brink of the ocean for their habitation Lucy. What, don't I know you? haven't you and subsistence ? been to me of all mankind the basest?
bel. sen. Your questions, Miss Lucy, begin to Bel. sen. Not yet, Lucy.
be impertinent. Lucy. Sure, Mr Belfield, you won't pretend to Lucy. Oh, do they touch you, sir? but I'll deny it to my face.
waste no more time with you; my business is Bel. sen. To thy face, child, I will not pretend with your Sophia. Here, in the very spot which that I can deny any thing ; you are much too vou hope to make the scene of your guilty trihandsome to be contradicted.
umphs, will I expose you to her; set forth your Lucy. Pish!
inhuman conduct to your unhappy brother; and Bel, sen, So! so!
detect the mean artifices you have been driven Lucy. Hlaven't you, faithless as you are, pro- to, in order to displace him in her affections. mised me marriage over and over again ?
Bel. sen. You will ? Bel. sen. Repeatedly.
Lucy. I will, be assured; so let them pass. Lucy. And you have now engaged yourself to Bel. sen. Stay, Lucy; understand yourself a the daughter of sir Benjamin Dove, have you little better. Didn't you pretend to Sophia, that not?
my brother paid his addresses to you; that he Bel. sen. Assuredly.
bad pledged himself to marry you; nay, that he Lucy. Let me deinand of you, then, Mr Bel- hadfield, since you had no honourable designs to- Lucy. Hold, Mr Belfield, nor further explain wards me yourself, why you prevented those of a transaction, which, though it reflects shame an humbler lover, young Philip, the son of your enough upon me, that was your instrument, late tenant, poor Goodwin?
ought to cover you, who was principal in the Bel. sen. For the very reason you state in crime, with treble confusion and remorse. your question ; because I had no honourable de- Bel.sen. True, child; it was rather a disreputasigns, and he had : you disappointed my hopes, ble transaction; and 'tis, therefore, fit no part and I was resolved to defeat his.
of it should rest with me : I shall disavow it alLucy. And this you thought reason sufficient together. Vol. II.