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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.
Lucy. Incredible confidence !
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.— Put. And do you dream of ever reaching Now, enter, if you think fit; there lies your way your journey's end by such crooked paths as these to Sophia. (She goes into the house.] Šo ! how are? 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 lined 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; most in possession of the spoil, still I feel a reand I have some intimation from within, which pugnance in me that almost tempts me to retells me that it will be so : I perceive that, in this nounce my good fortune, and abandon a victory life, he, who is checked by the rubs of compunc- I have struggled so hard to obtain. tion, can never arrive at the summit of prospe Pat. I guessed as much; 'tis your Violetta ; rity.
’tis your fair Portuguese, that counterworks your
good fortune ; and I must own to you, it was Enter PATERSON.
principally to save you from that improvident atPat. What, melancholy, Mr Belfield! So near tachment, that I wrote so pressingly for your reyour happiness, and so full of thought ?
turn; but though I have got your body in safe Bel. sen. Happiness! what's that?
holding, your heart is still at Lisbon ; and if you Pat. I'll tell you, sır; the possession of a love marry Miss Dove, 'tis because Violetta's furtune ly girl, with fifty thousand pounds in her lap, and was demolished by the earthquake ; and sir Bentivice fifty thousand virtues in ber mind; this I jamin's stands safe upon terra firma. call happiness, as much as mortai inan can me Bel. sen. Prithee, Paterson, don't be too hard rit: and this, as I take it, you are destined to upon me : sure you don't suspect that I am marenjoy.
ried to Violetta? Bel. sen. That is not so certain, Mr Paterson. Pat. Married to Violetta! Now you grow Would you believe it, that perverse hussy, Lucy much too serious, and 'tis time to put an end to Waters, who left me but this minute, threatens the discourse.
[Erit. to transverse all my hopes, and is gone this in Bel. sen. And you grow much too quick-sighted, stant to Sophia with that resolution?
Mr Paterson, för my acquaintance. I think he Pat. Iinpossible! how is Miss Waters provided does not quite suspect me of double dealing in or provoked to do this!
this business ; and yet I have my doubts; his reBel
. sen. Why, 'tis a foolish story, and scarce ply to my question was equivocal, and his depar, worth relating to you; but you know, when your ture abrupt-I know not what to think-This I letters called me home from Portugal, I found know, that Love is a deity, and Avarice a devil; my younger brother in close attendance on Miss that Violetta is my lawful wife; and that Andrew Dove; and, indeed, such good use had the fel- Belfield is a villain. low made of his time in my absence, that I found it impossible to counterwork his operations by
SCENE II. fair and open approaches; so, to make short of the story, I took this girl, Lucy Waters, into part
PATERSON passes over the stage. nership; and, by a happy device, ruined him with Pat. All abroad this fine day-not a creature Sophia.
within doors. Pat. This, Mr Belfield, I neither know, nor wish to know.
Enter Kitty. Bel. sen. Let it pass, then. Defcated in these Kitty. Mr Paterson ! bist, Mr Paterson! a views, my brother, as you know, betook himself, word in your ear, sweet sir. to the desperate course of privateering, with that Pat. Curse on't, she has caught me-Well, old tar-barrel, my uncle : what may bave been Mrs Kitty? his fate, I know not, but I have found it couve Kitty. Why, I have been hunting you all the nient to propagate a report of bis death. bouse over; my lady's impatient to see you.
Put. I am sorry for it, Mr Belford : I wish Pat. Oh, I'm my lady Dove's most obedient 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 Kitty. Fy, Mr Paterson ! how should I know a human composition more candour and credu- what her ladvship wants with you. but a secret hty than she did into mine; but acquaintance it is, no doubt, for she desires you to come to her
immediately in the garden, at the bottom of the me any further, at present; I must leave you ; yew-tree walk, next the warren.
remember the condition of our agreement, and Pat. The devil she does ! - What a pity it expect my friendship-Oh, I could tear your is, Mrs Kitty, we can't cure your lady of this turn
[Exit. for solitude. I wish you would go with me; your Bel. jun. Well, sir Benjamin, keep your own company, probably, will divert her from her con- counsel, if you are wise; I'll do as I would be templations : besides, I shall certainly mistake done by. Had I such a wife as lady Dove, I
should be very happy to have such a friend as Kitty. I go with you, Mr Paterson! a fine Mr Paterson.
[Exit. thing truly: I'd have you to know, that my character is not to be trusted with young feliows in
SCENE IV. yew-tree walks, whatever my lady may think of the matter - Besides, I've an assignation in ano
Enter Sophia Dove, and Lucy Waters. ther place.
[Erit. Lucy. If there is faith in woman, I have seen Pat. What a devilish dilemma am I in! Why young Belfield; I have beheld his apparition; for this is a peremptory assignation-Certain it is, ivhat else could it be? there are some ladies that no wise man should Sophia. How? when? where? I shall faint with be commonly civil to -Here have I been flat surprise. tering myself that I was stroaking a termagant Lucy. As I crossed the yew-tree walk, I saw into humour, and all the while have been betray him pass by the head of the canal, towards the ing a tender victim into love. Love, love, did I house. Alas! poor youth, the injuries I have say? her ladyship's passion is a disgrace to the done him have called him from his grave. name--But what shall I do ?—'tis a pitiful thing Sophia. Injuries, Miss Waters! what injuries to run away from a victory; but 'tis frequently bare you done him? Tell me; for therein, perthe case in precipitate successes ; we conquer haps, I may be concerned. more than we have wit to keep, or ability to en Lucy. Deeply concerned you are; with the joy.
[Erit. most penitent remorse I contess it to you, that
his affections to you were pure, honest, and sinSCENE III.-Changes to the yew-tree walk. cere. Yes, amiable Sophia, you was unrivalled
in his esteem; and I, who persuaded you to the Enter BELFIELD junior.
contrary, am the basest, the falsest of womanBel. jun. Now, could I but meet my Sophia! - kind; every syllable I told you of his engageWhere can she have hid herself?-Blush; lady ments to me, was a malicious invention : how Dove, as I live!
could you be so blind to your own superiority, to
give credit to the imposition, and suffer him to Enter Lady Dove.
depart without an explanation? Oh, that villain, Lady Dove. So, Mr Paterson, you're a pretty that villain, his brother, has undone us all! gentleman, 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 bave we ther, that I know not where to fix, bow to act, or here?
what to believe. Bel. jun. A man, madam; and though not Lucy. Oh, madam! he is a villain, a most acyour man, yet one as honest, and as secret : complished one; and, if I can but snatch you come, come, my lady, I'm no tell-tale; be you from the snare he has spread for you, I hope it but grateful, this goes no further.
will, in some measure, atone for the injuries I Ludy Dove. Lost and undone! young Bel have done to you, and to that unhappy youth, field !
who now Heavens! I see him again ! he Bel. jun. The same; but be not alarmed; we comes this way! I cannot endure his sight! alive both have our secrets; I am, like you, a votary or dead, I must avoid him. [Runs out. to love: favour but my virtuous passion for Miss Dove, and take you your Paterson; I shall be si
Enter BELFIELD junior. lent as the grave.
Bel. jun. Adorable Sophia ! this transport overLady Dove. Humph!
Bel. jun. Nay, never hesitate; my brother, I Sophia, Sir! Mr Belfield, is it you? Oh, support know, had your wishes: but wherein has nature favoured him more than me? And, since fortune Bel. jun. With my life, thou loveliest of wohas now made my scale as heavy as his, why men ! Bebold your poor adventurer is returned ; should you partially direct the beam?
happy past compute, if his fate is not indifferent, Lady Dove. Well, if it is so, and that you pro to you; rich beyond measure, if his safety is wormise not to betray me But this accident has thy your concern. so discomposed me (plague on't say I), don't press Sophia. Release me, I beseech you: what have
pays my labours.