thought, seemed disposed to unbosom herself to me; but it is so painful to be told of sorrows one has not power to relieve, that I have hitherto avoided the discourse. Enter VIOLETTA. Bel. jun. Well, madam, melancholy still? still that face of sorrow and despair? twice shipwrecked, and twice rescued from the jaws of death, do you regret your preservation? and have I incurred your displeasure, by prolonging your existence? Vio. Not so, Mr Lewson; such ingratitude be far from me. Can I forget, when the vessel, in which I had sailed from Portugal, foundered by your side, with what noble, what benevolent ardour, you flew to my assistance? Regardful only of my safety, your own seemed no part of your care. Is this the way you reconcile me to your nation? Are these the friends of human kind? Why don't we fly from this ungenerous, this ungrateful country? Bel. jun. Hold, madam! one villain, however base, can no more involve a whole nation in his crimes, than one example, however dignified, can inspire it with his virtues: thank Heaven, the worthless owner of that mansion is yet without a rival. Vio. You have twice directed my attention to that house; 'tis a lovely spot; what pity that so delicious a retirement should be made the residence of so undeserving a being! Bel. jun. It is, indeed, a charming place, and was once the seat of hospitality and honour; but, its present possessor, Andrew Belfield—Madam, for Heaven's sake, what ails you? you seem suddenly disordered-Have I said Vio. No, 'tis nothing; don't regard me, Mr Lewson. I am weak, and subject to these surprizes; I shall be glad, however, to retire. Bel. jun. A little repose, I hope, will relieve within this hut, some accommodation may be found: lean on my arm. Bel. jun. Oh! no more of this; the preservation of a fellow-creature is as natural as self-defence. You now, for the first time in your life, breathe the air of England-a rough reception it has given you; but be not, therefore, discoura-you; ged; our hearts, Violetta, are more accessible than our shores; nor can you find inhospitality in Britain, save in our climate only. Vio. These characteristics of the English may be just. I take my estimate from a less favourable example. Bel. jun. Villainy, madam, is the growth of every soul; nor can I, while yonder habitation is in my view, forget, that England has given birth to monsters that disgrace humanity; but this I will say for my countrymen, that, where you can point out one rascal with a heart to wrong you, I will produce fifty honest fellows ready and resolute to redress you. Vio. Ah!-But on what part of the English coast is it that we are landed? Bel. jun. On the coast of Cornwall. Vio. Of Cornwall is it? You seem to know the owner of that house: are you well acquainted with the country hereabouts? Bel. jun. Intimately; it has been the cradle of my infancy, and, with little interruption, my residence ever since. Vio. You are amongst your friends, then, no doubt; how fortunate is it, that you will have their consolation and assistance in your distress. Bel. jun. Madam Vio. Every moment will bring them down to the very shores; this brave, humane, this hospitable people, will flock, in crowds, to your relief; your friends, Mr Lewson Bel. jun. My friends, Violetta! must I confess it to you, I have no friends-those rocks, that have thus scattered my treasures, those waves, that have devoured them, to me are not so fatal, as hath been that man, whom Nature meant to be my nearest friend. [Leads her to the door of the cabin. Enter GOODWIN. Good. Heaven defend me! do my eyes deceive me? 'tis wondrous like his shape, his air, his look- Bel. jun. What is your astonishment, friend? Do you know me? If it was not for that habit, I should say your name is Goodwin, Good. Tis he! he is alive! my dear young master, Mr Belfield! Yes, sir, my name is Goodwin: however changed my appearance, my heart is still the same, and overflows with joy at this unexpected meeting. Bel. jun. Give me thy hand, my old, my honest friend; and is this sorry hole thy habitation? Good. It is. Bel. jun. The world, I see, has frowned on thee since we parted. Good. Yes, sir: but what are my misfortunes? you must have undergone innumerable hardships; and now, at last, shipwrecked on your own coast! Well, but your vessel is not totally lost; and we will work night and day in saving your effects. Bel. jun. Oh, as for that, the sea gave all, let it take back a part; I have enough on shore not to envy my brother his fortune. But there is one blessing, master Goodwin, I own I should grudge him the possession of-There was a young lady. Good. What, sir, have not you forgot Miss Sophia? Bel. jun. Forgot her! my heart trembles while 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 there's water to carry me. we expect Bel. jun. 'Tis enough; Fortune, I acquit thee! Happy be the winds that threw me on this coast, and blest the rocks that received me! Let my vessel go to pieces; she has done her part in bearing me hither, while I can cast myself at the feet of my Sophia, recount to her my unabating passion, and have one fair struggle for her heart. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter VIOLETTA. Omnes. So we will all. Iron. Say ye so, my hearts? if the wind sits that way, hoist sail, say I; old George will make one amongst you, if that be all; I hate an idle life-So, so; away to your work; to-morrow we'll make a day on't. [Exeunt Sailors. Iron. Skiff! Skiff. Here, your honour! Iron. I told you, Skiff, how 'twould be; if you had luffed up in time, as I would have had you, and not made so free with the land, this mishap had never come to pass. Skiff. Lord love you, captain Ironsides! 'twas a barrel of beef to a biscuit, the wind had not shifted so direct contrary as it did; who could have thought it ? Vio. Once more I am alone. How my heart sunk, when Lewson pronounced the name of Belfield! it must be he, it must be my false, cruel, yet (spite of all my wrongs) beloved husband: 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 what fell from him, I suspect he is related to Mr Belfield-But, hush! I talk to these rocks, and forget that they have ears. Enter FANNY. Fan. Are you better, madam? Is the air of any service to you? Vio. I am much relieved by it: the beauty of that place attracted my attention, and, if you please, we will walk further up the hill to take a nearer view of it. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Skiff. Well, I could have swore Iron. Ay, so you could, Skiff; and so you did, pretty roundly, too; but for the good you did by it, you might as well have puffed a whiff of tobacco in the wind's face. Skiff. Well, captain; though we have lost our ship, we haven't lost our all: thank the fates, we've saved treasure enough to make all our fortunes notwithstanding. Iron. Fortunes, quotha? What have two such old weather-beaten fellows, as thee and I are, to do with fortune; or, indeed, what has fortune to do with us? Flip and tobacco is the only luxury we have any relish for: had we fine houses, could we live in them? a greasy hammock has been our birth for these fifty years; fine horses, could we ride them? and, as for the fair sex, there, that my nephew makes such a pother about, I don't know what thou may'st think of the matwelcometer, Skiff; but, for my own part, I should not care if there were no such animals in the creation. Part of the crew enter, with IRONSIDES and Omnes. Huzza! huzza! huzza! 2d Sai. Avast there, Jack; stand clear, and let his old honour pass. Bless his heart, he looks cheerly howsomever; let the world wag as it will, he'll never flinch. 3d Sai. Not he! he's true English oak to the heart of him; and a fine old seaman-like figure he is. Enter BELFIELD, jun. Bel. jun. Uncle, what chear, man? Iron. Oh, Bob! is it thee? whither bound now, my dear boy? 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 SallyShe'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 an officer-like manner. 1st Sai. Hang sorrow! we know the worst on't; 'tis only taking a fresh cruize; and for my Iron. Pshaw, you are a fool, Bob; these wenches will be the undoing of you-a plague of them altogether say I: what are they good for, but to spoil company, and keep brave fellows from their duty? O' my conscience, they do more Dutchman, one sober German, or one righteous mischief 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' fairly washed my hands of 'em! I ha' nothing to say to none of 'em. Skiff Mercy be good unto us! that my wife could but hear your worship talk. Bel. jun. Oh, my dear uncle ! Iron. But I'll veer away no more good advice after you; so even drive as you will under your petticoat-sails; black, brown, fair, or tawny, 'tis all fish that comes in your net: Why, where's your reason, Bob, all this here while? Where's your religion, and be damned to you? Bel. jun. Come, come, my dear uncle, a truce to your philosophy. Go, throw your dollars into yonder ocean, and bribe the tempest to be still; you shall as soon reverse the operations of nature, as wean my heart from my Sophia. Iron. Hold, hold! take me right; if, by Sophia, you mean the daughter of sir Benjamin Dove, I don't care if I make one with you;what say'st thou, boy? shall it be so? Bel. jun. So, then, you think there may be one good woman, however? Iron. Just as I think there may be one honest ing; but, on these occasions, I would manage myself as I would my ship; not by running her into every odd creek and cranny, in the smuggling fashion, as if I had no good credentials to produce; but, play fairly, and in sight, d'ye see; and whenever a safe harbour opens, stand boldly in, boy, and lay her up snug, in a good birth, once for all. Bel. jun. Come, then, uncle, let us about it; and you may greatly favour my enterprize, since you can keep the father and mother in play, while I Iron. Avast, young man! avast! the father, if you please, without the mother; sir Benja min's a passable good companion, for a landman; but for my lady- I'll have nothing to say to my lady; she's his wife, thank the stars, and not mine. Bel. jun. Be it as you will; I shall be glad of your company on any terms. Iron. Say no more, then. About ship; if you are bound for that port, I'm your inate:master, look to the wreck; I'm for a fresh cruize. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I- -The outside of SIR BENJAMIN Enter BELFIELD, sen. and LUCY WATERS. Lucy. WHAT, don't I know you? haven't you been to me of all mankind the basest? Bel. sen. Not yet, Lucy. Lucy. Sure, Mr Belfield, you won't pretend to deny it to my face. Bel. sen. To thy face, child, I will not pretend that I can deny any thing; you are much too handsome to be contradicted. Lucy. Pish! Bel, sen. So! so! to expel his father from your farm; to persecute him and his innocent family, till you had accomplished their ruin, and driven them to the very brink of the ocean for their habitation and subsistence? Bel. sen. Your questions, Miss Lucy, begin to be impertinent. Lucy. Oh, do they touch you, sir? but I'll waste no more time with you; my business is with your Sophia. Here, in the very spot which you hope to make the scene of your guilty triumphs, will I expose you to her; set forth your inhuman conduct to your unhappy brother; and detect the mean artifices you have been driven Lucy. Haven'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. Repeatedly. Lucy. And you have now engaged yourself to the daughter of sir Benjamin Dove, have you not? Bel. sen. Assuredly. Bel. sen. You will? Lucy. I will, be assured; so let them pass. Bel. sen. Stay, Lucy; understand yourself a little better. Didn't you pretend to Sophia, that my brother paid his addresses to you; that he had pledged himself to marry you; nay, that he Lucy. Let me demand of you, then, Mr Bel-hadfield, since you had no honourable designs towards me yourself, why you prevented those of an humbler lover, young Philip, the son of your late tenant, poor Goodwin? Bel. sen. For the very reason you state in your question; because I had no honourable designs, and he had: you disappointed my hopes, and I was resolved to defeat his. Lucy. And this you thought reason sufficient Lucy. Hold, Mr Belfield, nor further explain a transaction, which, though it reflects shame enough upon me, that was your instrument, ought to cover you, who was principal in the crime, with treble confusion and remorse. Bel. sen. True, child; it was rather a disreputable transaction; and 'tis, therefore, fit no part of it should rest with me: I shall disavow it altogether. 5 U Lucy. Incredible confidence! Pat. And do you dream of ever reaching your journey's end by such crooked paths as these are? with life has shewn me how impracticable these Bel. sen. We shall see who will meet most be-principles are. To live with mankind, we must live lief in the world; you or I. Choose, therefore, like mankind: was it a world of honesty, I should your part: if you betray it, you have me for an blush to be a man of art. enemy; and a fatal one you shall find me. Now, enter, if you think fit; there lies your way to Sophia. [She goes into the house.] So! how am I to parry this blow? what plea shall I use Bel. sen. And yet, my most sage moralist, with Sophia? 'twas the ardour of my love-any wonderful as it may seem to thee, true it is, notthing will find pardon with a woman, that con- withstanding, that, after having threaded all veys flattery to her charms. After all, if the these by-ways and crooked allies, which thy rightworst should happen, and I be defeated in this fined apprehension knows nothing of; after hamatch, so shall I be saved from doing that,ving driven my rival from the field, and being alwhich, when done, 'tis probable I may repent of; and I have some intimation from within, which tells me that it will be so I perceive that, in this life, he, who is checked by the rubs of compunction, can never arrive at the summit of prosperity. Enter PATERSON. most in possession of the spoil, still I feel a repugnance in me that almost tempts me to renounce my good fortune, and abandon a victory I have struggled so hard to obtain. Pat. I guessed as much; 'tis your Violetta; 'tis your fair Portuguese, that counterworks your good fortune; and I must own to you, it was principally to save you from that improvident at Pat. What, melancholy, Mr Belfield! So near tachment, that I wrote so pressingly for your reyour happiness, and so full of thought ? Bel. sen. Happiness! what's that? Pat. I'll tell you, sir; the possession of a lovely girl, with fifty thousand pounds in her lap, and twice fifty thousand virtues in her mind; this I call happiness, as much as mortai man can merit and this, as I take it, you are destined to enjoy. Bel. sen. That is not so certain, Mr Paterson. Would you believe it, that perverse hussy, Lucy Waters, who left me but this minute, threatens to transverse all my hopes, and is gone this instant to Sophia with that resolution? Pat. Impossible! how is Miss Waters provided or provoked to do this! Bel. sen. Why, 'tis a foolish story, and scarce worth relating to you; but you know, when your letters called me home from Portugal, I found my younger brother in close attendance on Miss Dove; and, indeed, such good use had the fellow made of his time in my absence, that I found it impossible to counterwork his operations by fair and open approaches; so, to make short of the story, I took this girl, Lucy Waters, into partnership; and, by a happy device, ruined him with Sophia. Pat. This, Mr Belfield, I neither know, nor wish to know. Bel. sen. Let it pass, then. Defeated in these views, my brother, as you know, betook himself to the desperate course of privateering, with that old tar-barrel, my uncle: what may have been his fate, I know not, but I have found it couvenient to propagate a report of his death. turn; but though I have got your body in safe holding, your heart is still at Lisbon; and if you marry Miss Dove, 'tis because Violetta's fortune was demolished by the earthquake; and sir Benjamin's stands safe upon terra firma. Bel. sen. Prithee, Paterson, don't be too hard upon me sure you don't suspect that I am married to Violetta? Pat. Married to Violetta! Now you grow much too serious, and 'tis time to put an end to the discourse. [Exit. Bel. sen. And you grow much too quick-sighted, Mr Paterson, for my acquaintance. I think he does not quite suspect me of double dealing in this business; and yet I have my doubts; his reply to my question was equivocal, and his departure abrupt-I know not what to think-This I know, that Love is a deity, and Avarice a devil; that Violetta is my lawful wife; and that Andrew Belfield is a villain. [Erit. SCENE II. PATERSON passes over the stage. Pat. All abroad this fine day—not a creature within doors. Enter KITTY. Kitty. Mr Paterson! hist, Mr Paterson! a word in your ear, sweet sir. Pat. Curse on't, she has caught me-Well, Mrs Kitty? Kitty. Why, I have been hunting you all the house over; my lady's impatient to see you. Pat. Oh, I'm my lady Dove's most obedient Pat. I am sorry for it, Mr Belford: I wish nothing was convenient, that can be thought dis-servant-And what are her ladyship's commands, honourable. Bel. sen. Nature, Mr Paterson, never put into a human composition more candour and creduhity than she did into mine; but acquaintance pray? Kitty. Fy, Mr Paterson! how should I know what her ladyship wants with you? but a secret it is, no doubt, for she desires you to come to her immediately in the garden, at the bottom of the yew-tree walk, next the warren. Pat. The devil she does!What a pity it is, Mrs Kitty, we can't cure your lady of this turn for solitude. I wish you would go with me; your company, probably, will divert her from her contemplations: besides, I shall certainly mistake the place. me any further, at present; I must leave you; Bel. jun. Well, sir Benjamin, keep your own SCENE IV. Enter SOPHIA DOVE, and LUCY WATERS. Lucy. If there is faith in woman, I have seen young Belfield; I have beheld his apparition; for what else could it be? Sophia. How? when? where? I shall faint with Kitty. I go with you, Mr Paterson! a fine SCENE III.-Changes to the yew-tree walk. Bel. jun. Now, could I but meet my Sophia!- Enter LADY DOVE. Lucy. As I crossed the yew-tree walk, I saw him pass by the head of the canal, towards the house. Alas! poor youth, the injuries I have done him have called him from his grave. Sophia. Injuries, Miss Waters! what injuries have you done him? Tell me; for therein, perhaps, I may be concerned. Lucy. Deeply concerned you are; with the most penitent remorse I confess it to you, that his affections to you were pure, honest, and sincere. Yes, amiable Sophia, you was unrivalled in his esteem; and I, who persuaded you to the contrary, am the basest, the falsest of womankind; every syllable I told you of his engagements to me, was a malicious invention: how could you be so blind to your own superiority, to give credit to the imposition, and suffer him to depart without an explanation? Oh, that villain, that villain, his brother, has undone us all! Lady Dove. So, Mr Paterson, you're a pretty genticman, to keep a lady waiting here! Why, Sophia. Villain, do you call him? Whither how you stand?-Come, come, I shall expect a would you transport my imagination? You hurry very handsome atonement for this indecorum— me with such rapidity from one surprise to anoWhy, what, let me look-Ah! who have wether, that I know not where to fix, how to act, or here? what to believe. Bel. jun. A man, madam; and though not your man, yet one as honest, and as secret: come, come, my lady, I'm no tell-tale; be you but grateful, this goes no further. Lady Dove. Lost and undone! young Belfield! Bel. jun. The same; but be not alarmed; we both have our secrets; I am, like you, a votary to love: favour but my virtuous passion for Miss Dove, and take you your Paterson; I shall be silent as the grave. Lady Dove. Humph! Bel. jun. Nay, never hesitate; my brother, I know, had your wishes: but wherein has nature favoured him more than me? And, since fortune has now made my scale as heavy as his, why should you partially direct the beam? Lady Dove. Well, if it is so, and that you promise not to betray me- But this accident has so discomposed me (plague on't, say I), don't press Lucy. Oh, madam! he is a villain, a most accomplished one; and, if I can but snatch you from the snare he has spread for you, I hope it will, in some measure, atone for the injuries I have done to you, and to that unhappy youth, who now -O Heavens! I see him again! he comes this way ! I cannot endure his sight! alive or dead, I must avoid him. [Runs out. Enter BELFIELD junior. Bel. jun. Adorable Sophia! this transport overpays my labours. Sophia. Sir! Mr Belfield, is it you? Oh, support me! Bel. jun. With my life, thou loveliest of women! Behold your poor adventurer is returned; happy past compute, if his fate is not indifferent, to you; rich beyond measure, if his safety is wo thy your concern. Sophia. Release me, I beseech you: what have |