I done! Sure you are too generous to take any advantage of my confusion. Bel. jun. Pardon me, my Sophia! the advantages I take from your confusion are not to be purchased by the riches of the east: I would not forego the transport of holding you one minute in my arms, for all that wealth and greatness have to give. LADY DOVE enters, while BELFIELD junior is kneeling, and embracing SOPHIA. Lady Dove. Hey-day! what's here to do with you both? Sophia. Ah! [Shrieks. dyship has so liberally equipped him with wea- SCENE V.-A hall. Enter JONATHAN and FRANCIS. Jon. And so, sir, 'tis just as I tell you; every thing in this family goes according to the will of the lady for my own part, I am one of those that hate trouble; I swim with the stream, and make my place as easy as I can. Fran. Your looks, Mr Jonathan, convince me that you live at your ease. Jon. I do so; and therefore, (in spite of the old proverb, "Like master, like man,") you never saw two people more different than I and Bel. jun. Confusion! Lady Dove here? sir Benjamin Dove. He, Lord help him! is a Lady Dove. Yes, sir; lady Dove is here; and little peaking, puling thing! I am a jolly, portwill take care you shall have no more garden-able man, as you see. It so happened, that we dialogues. On your knees, too!- -The fellow both became widowers at the same time; I knew was not half so civil to me. [Aside.]- -Ridicu- when I was well, and have continued single eve lous! a poor beggarly swabber truly!- -As for since. He fell into the clutches of Hark, sure you, MrsI hear my lady———— Bel. jun. Hold, madam! as much of your fury and foul language as you please upon me; but not one hard word against that lady, or by Heavens! Lady Dove. Come, sir, none of your reprobate swearing; none of your sea-noises here. I would my first husband was alive! I would he was, for your sake! I am surprised, Miss Dove, you have no more regard for your reputation; a delicate swain truly you have chosen; just thrown ashore from the pitchy bowels of a shipwrecked privateer! Go, go; get you in; for shame! your father shall know of these goings on, depend on't:as for you, sir[Exit SOPHIA. Bel. jun. [Stopping LADY DOVE.] A word with you, madam! Is this fair dealing? What would you have said, if I had broke in thus upon you and Mr Paterson? Lady Dove. Mr Paterson! why, you rave; what is it you mean? Bel. jun. Come, come, this is too ridiculous; you know your reputation is in my keeping; call to mind what passed between us a while ago, and the engagement you are under on that account. Lady Dove. Ha, ha, ha! Bel. jun. Very well, truly; and you think to brave this matter out, do you? Fran. No, it was nothing. When did the poor gentleman light upon this termagant? Jon. Lackaday! 'twas here at the borough of Knavestown, when master had the great contest with 'squire Belfield, about three years ago: her first husband, Mr Searcher, was a king's messenger, as they call it, and came down express from a great man about court during the poll; he caught a surfeit, as ill luck would have it, at the election-dinner; and, before he died, his wife, that's now my lady, came down to see him; then it was master fell in love with her: egad, 'twas the unluckiest job of all his life. Sir Ben. [Calls without.] Jonathan! why, Jonathan! Fran. Hark, you are called. Jon. Ay, ay; 'tis only my master; my lady tells the servants not to mind what sir Benjamin says, and I love to do as I am bid. Fran. Well, honest Jonathan, if you won't move, I must; by this time I hope my young master is happy with your young mistress. [Exit FRANCIS. Enter SIR BENJAMIN DOVE. Sir Ben. Why, Jonathan, I say? Oh, are you here? Why cou'dn't you come when I called you? Jon. Lackaday, sir! you don't consider how much easier it is for you to call, than for me to come. Lady Dove. Most assuredly; and shall make sir Benjamin call you to account, if you dare to breathe a word against my reputation: incorrigible coxcomb! to think I would keep any terms with you after such an event. Take my Sir Ben. I think, honest Jonathan, when I first word for it, Belfield, you are come home no wiser knew you, you was a parish orphan; I 'prenthan you went out; you missed the only advan- ticed you out; you run away from your master; tage you might have taken of that rencounter, I took you into my family; you married; I set and now I set you at defiance: take heed to you up in a farm of my own; stocked it; you what you say, or look to hear from sir Benja-paid me no rent; I received you again into my service, or rather, I should say, my lady'sAre these things so, or does my memory fail me, Jonathan? min. Bel. jun. Oh, no doubt on't: how can sir Benjamin avoid fighting for your sake, when your la Sir Ben. Hey-day, who the dickens have we got here? Old captain Ironsides, as I am a sinner! who could have thought of this? Run to the door, good Jonathan-nay, hold; there's no escaping now what will become of me!-he'll ruin every thing; and throw the whole house into confusion. Iron. [Entering.] What, sir Ben! my little knight of Malta! give me a buss, my boy. Hold, hold! sure I'm out of my reckoning: let me look a little nearer; why, what mishap has befallen you, that you heave out these signals of distress? Sir Ben. I'm heartily glad to see thee, my old friend; but a truce to your sea-phrases, for I don't understand them: what signals of distress have I about me? Iron. Why that white flag there at your main top-mast head: in plain English, what dost do with that clout about thy pate? Sir Ben. Clout, do you call it? 'Tis a little en dishabille, indeed; but there's nothing extraordinary, I take it, in a man's wearing his gown and cap in a morning; 'tis the dress I usually chuse to study in. Iron. And this hall is your library, is it? Ah! my old friend, my old friend! But, come, I want to have a little chat with you, and thought to have dropt in at pudding-time, as they say; for though it may be morning with thee, sir Ben, 'tis mid-day with the rest of the world. Sir Ben. Indeed! is it so late?-But I was fallen upon an agreeable tête à tête with lady Dove, and hardly knew how the time passed. Iron. Come, come; 'tis very clear how your time has passed-but what occasion is there for this fellow's being privy to our conversation?Why don't the lubber stir? What does the fat, lazy oaf stand staring at? Sir Ben. What shall I say now? Was ever any thing so distressing!-Why that's Jonathan, captain; don't you remember your old friend, Jonathan? Jon. I hope your honour's in good health; I'm glad to see your honour come home again. Iron. Honest Jonathan, I came to visit your master, and not you; if you'll go and hasten dinner, and bring sir Benjamin his periwig and clothes, you'll do me a very acceptable piece of service; for, to tell you the truth, my friend, I haven't had a comfortable meal of fresh provision this many a day. [Exit JONATHAN. Sir Ben. 'Foregad, you're come to the wrong house to find one, [Aside. Iron. And so, sir knight, knowing I was welcome, and having met with a mishap here, upon your coast, 1 am come to taste your good cheer, and pass an evening with you over a tiff of punch. Sir Ben. The devil you are! [Aside.]—This is very kind of you: there is no man in England, captain Ironsides, better pleased to see his friends about him than I am. I Iron. Ay, ay; if I did'nt think I was welcome, shou’dn't ha' come. Sir Ben. You may be assured you are welcome. Iron. I am assured. Sir Ben. You are, by my soul! take my word for it, you are. Iron. Well, well; what need of all this ceremony about a meal's meat? who doubts you? Sir Ben. You need not doubt me, believe it— I'll only step out, and ask my lady what time she ordered dinner; or whether she has made any engagement I'm not apprized of. Iron. No, no; engagement! how can that be, and you in this pickle? Come, come, sit down; dinner won't come the quicker for your inquiry: and now tell me, how does my god-daughter Sophia? Sir Ben. Thank you heartily, captain, my daughter's well in health. Iron. That's well; and how fares your fine new wife? How goes on matrimony? Fond as ever, my little amorous Dove? always billing, always cooing? Sir Ben. No, captain, no; we are totally altered in that respect; we shew no fondness now before company; my lady is so delicate in that particular, that from the little notice she takes of me in public, you would scarce believe we were man and wife. : Iron. Ha, ha, ha! why 'tis the very circumstance that would confirm it; but I'm glad to hear it for, of all things under the sun, I most nauseate your nuptial familiarities; and, though you remember I was fool enough to dissuade you from this match, I am rejoiced to hear you manage so well and so wisely. Sir Ben. No man happier in this life, captain! no man happier! one thing only is wanting; had the kind stars but crowned our endearments Iron. What, my lady don't breed, then? Sir Ben. Hush, hush! for Heaven's sake don't speak so loud! should my lady overhear you, it might put strange things into her head; oh! she is a lady of delicate spirits, tender nerves—quite weak and tender nerves-a small matter throws her down-gentle as a lamb-starts at a straw— speak loud, and it destroys her: Oh! my friend, you are not used to deal with women's constitutions-these hypochondriac cases require a deal of management-'tis but charity to humour them; and you cannot think what pains it requires to keep them always quiet and in temper! Iron. Ay, like enough-but here comes my lady, and in excellent temper, if her looks don't belie her. Enter LADY DOVE. Lady Dove. What's to do now, sir Benjamin? What's the matter that you send for your clothes? Can't you be contented to remain as you are? Your present dress is well enough to stay at home in, and I don't know that you have any call out of doors. Iron. Gentle as a lamb, sir Benjamin! Sir Ben. This attention of yours, my dear, is beyond measure flattering! I am infinitely beholden to you; but you are so taken up with your concern on my account, that you overlook our old friend and neighbour, captain Ironsides. Lady Dove. Sir Benjamin, you make yourself quite ridiculous: this folly is not to be endured; you are enough to tire the patience of any woman living. Sir Ben. She's quite discomposed; all in a flutter for fear I should take cold by changing my dress. Iron. Yes, I perceive she has exceeding weak nerves. You are much in the right to humour her. Lady Dove. Sir Benjamin Dove, if you mean that I should stay a minute longer in this house, I insist upon your turning that old porpoise out of it is it not enough to bring your nauseous sea companions within these doors, but must I be compelled to entertain them? Foh! I shan't get the scent of his tar-jacket out of my nostrils this fortnight. Sir Ben. Hush, my dear lady Dove! for Heaven's sake, don't shame and expose me in this manner! how can I possibly turn an honest gentleman out of my doors, who has given me no offence in life? Lady Dove, Marry, but he has though, and great offence, too. I tell you, sir Benjamin, you are made a fool of. Sir Ben. Nay, now, my dear sweet love! be composed. Lady Dove. Yes, forsooth, and let a young, rambling, raking prodigal, run away with your daughter! Sir Ben. How, what! Lady Dove. A fine thing, truly, to be composed Iron. Who is it your ladyship suspects of such a design? Lady Dove. Who, sir? why, who but your nephew Robert? You flattered us with a false hope he was dead; but, to our sorrow, we find him alive, and returned; and now you are cajoling this poor, simple, unthinking man, while your Lady Dove. Insolent, unmannerly brute! was ever the like heard? And you to stand tamely by! I declare I've a great mind to raise the servants upon him, since I have no other defenders. Thus am I for ever treated by your scurvy companions! Sir Ben. Be pacified, my dear! am I in fault? But for Heaven's sake, what is become of my daughter? Lady Dove. Yes, you can think of your daughter; but she is safe enough for this turn; I have taken care of her for one while, and thus I am rewarded for it. Am I a vixen? am I a termagant? Oh, had my first husband, had my poor, dear, dead Mr Searcher heard such a word, he would have rattled him-But he-What do I talk of? he was a man! yes, yes, he was, indeed, a man-As for you Sir Ben. Strain the comparison no farther, lady Dove; there are particulars, I dare say, in which I fall short of Mr Searcher. Lady Dove. Short of him! I tell you what, sir Benjamin; I valued more the dear grey-hound that hung at his button-hole, more than I do all the foolish trinkets your vanity has lavished on me. Sir Ben. Your ladyship, doubtless, was the paragon of wives: I well remember, when the poor inan laid ill at my borough of Knavestown, how you came flying on the wings of love, by the Exeter waggon, to visit him before he died. Lady Dove. I understand your sneer, sir, and despise it: there is one condition only, upon which you may regain my forfeited opinion.— Young Belfield, who, with this old fellow, has designs in hand of a dangerous nature, has treated me with an indignity still greater than what you have now been a witness to. Shew yourself a man upon this occasion, sir Benjamin. Sir Ben. Any thing, dearest, for peace sake. Lady Dove. Peace sake! It is war, and not peace, which I require-But come, if you will walk this way, I'll lay the matter open to you. [Exeunte ACT III. SCENE I-The sea-shore before GOODWIN'S cabin. Enter VIOLETTA and FANNY. Vio. Fair, or dark complexioned? Fanny. Of a most lovely complexion; 'tis her greatest beauty, and ail pure nature, I'll be answerable; then, her eyes are so soft, and so smi Vio. AND when is this great match of Mrling; and as for her hairBelfield's to be? Fanny. Alas, madam! we look to hear of it every day. Vio. You seem to consider this event, child, as a misfortune to yourself: however others may be affected by Mr Belfield's marrying Miss Dove, to you I conceive it must be matter of indiffer ence. Fanny. I have been taught, madam, to consider no event as matter of indifference to me, by which good people are made unhappy.Miss Sophy is the best young lady living; Mr Belfield is Vio. Hold, Fanny! do step into the house; in my writing-box you will find a letter sealed, but without a direction; bring it to me. [Exit FANNY.] I have been writing to this base man, for I want fortitude to support an interview. What if I unbosomed myself to this girl, and entrusted the letter to her conveyance? She seems exceedingly honest, and, for one of so mean a condition, uncommonly sensible; I think I may safely confide in her. Well, Fanny! Enter FANNY. Fanny. Here is your letter, madam. Vio. I thank you; I trouble you too much; but thou art a good-natured girl, and your attention to me shall not go unrewarded. Funny. I am happy to wait on you; I wish I could do or say any thing to divert you; but my discourse can't be very amusing to a lady of your sort; and taiking of this wedding seems to have made you more melancholy than you was before. Vio. Come hither, child; you have remarked my disquietude; I will now disclose to you the occasion of it: you seem interested for Miss Dove; I am touched with her situation: you tell me, she is the best young lady living. Fanny. Oh, madam! if it were possible for an angel to take a human shape, she must be Vio. Hey-day! why, where are you rambling, child? I am satisfied; I make no doubt she is a consummate beauty, and that Mr Belfield loves her to distraction. [Aside.] I don't like this girl so well as I did; she is a great talker; I am glad I did not disclose my mind to her; I'll go in, and determine on some expedient. [Exit. Fanny. Alas, poor lady! as sure as can be, she has been crossed in love; nothing in this world besides could make her so miserable. But sure I see Mr Francis; if falling in love leads to such misfortunes, 'tis fit I should get out of his [Exit. way. SCENE II. Enter FRANCIS and PHILIP. Fran. Wasn't that your sister, Philip, that ran into the cabin? Phi. I think it was. Fran. You've made a good day's work on't: the weather coming about so fair, I think we've scarce lost any thing of value, but the ship;didn't you meet the old captain as you came down to the creek? Phi. I did; he has been at sir Benjamin Dove's, here, at Cropley-castie, and is come back in a curious humour. Fran. So! so! I attended my young master thither at the same time; how came they not to return together? Phi. That I can't tell. Come, let's go in, and refresh ourselves. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Enter SOPHIA DOVE, and LUCY WATERS. Sophia. Indeed, and indeed, Miss Lucy Waters, these are strong facts which you tell me; and, I do believe, no prudent woman would engage with a man of Mr Andrew Belfield's disposition: but what course am I to follow? and how am I to extricate myself from the embarrassments of my situation?" Lucy. Truly, madam, you have but one refuge that I know of. Sophia. And that lies in the arms of a young adventurer. O, Lucy, Lucy! this is a flattering prescription; calculated rather to humour the patient, than to remove the disease. Lucy. Nay, but if there is a necessity for your taking this step Sophia. Ay, necessity is grown strangely com modious of late, and always compels us to do the very thing we have most a mind to. Lucy. Well, madam, but common humanity to young Mr Belfield-You must allow he has been hardly treated. Sophia. By me, Lucy? Lucy. Madam! No, madam, not by you; but 'tis charity to heal the wounded, though you have not been a party in the fray. Sophia. I grant you. You are a true female philosopher; you would let charity recommend you a husband, and a husband recommend you to charity-But I won't reason upon the matter; at least, not in the humour I am now; not at this particular time: no, Lucy, nor in this particular spot; for here it was, at this very hour, yesterday evening, young Belfield surprised me. Lucy. And see, madam, punctual to the same lucky moment, he comes again! let him plead his own cause; you need fear no interruption; my lady has too agreeable an engagement of her own, to endeavour at disturbing those of other people. [Exit. Bel. jun. Because I have been ambitious, and cannot survive the pangs of disappointment. Sophia. Alas, poor man! but you know where to bury your disappointments; the sea is still open to you; and, take my word for it, Mr Belfield, the man who can live three years, ay, or three months, in separation from the woman of his heart, need be under no apprehension for his life, let what will befall her. Sophia. What, you've discovered it at last? Oh, fie upon you! Bel. jun. Thus, thus, let me embrace my unexpected blessing: come to my heart, my fond, overflowing heart, and tell me once again that my Sophia will be only mine! Sophia. O, man, man! all despondency one moment, all rapture the next. No question now but you conceive every difficulty surmounted, and that we have nothing to do but to run into each other's arms, make a fashionable elopement, and be happy for life? and I must own to you, Belfield, was there no other condition of our union, even this project should not deter me; but I have better hopes, provided you will be piloted by me; for, believe me, my good friend, I am better acquainted with this coast than you are. Bel. jun. I doubt not your discretion, and shall implicitly surrender myself to your guidance. Sophia. Give me a proof of it, then, by retreating from this place immediately; 'tis my father's hour for walking, and I would not have you meet; besides, your brother is expected. Bel. jun. Ay, that brother, my Sophia, that brother, brings vexation and regret whenever he is named! but I hope, I need not dread a second injury in your esteem; and yet I know not how it is, but if I was addicted to superstition Sophia. And if I was addicted to anger, I should quarrel with you for not obeying my injunctions with more readiness. Bel. jun. I will obey thee, and yet 'tis difficult. Those lips, which thus have blest me, cannot dismiss me without Sophia. Nay, Mr Belfield, don't you-well, then-mercy upon us! who's coming here? Bel. jun. How! oh, yes! never fear; 'tis a friend; 'tis Violetta; 'tis a lady that ISophia. That you what, Mr Belfield? What lady is it! I never saw her in my life before. Bel. jun. Cruel, insulting Sophia! when I last Bel. jun. No, she is a foreigner, born in Porparted from you, I flattered myself I had left tugal, though of an English family: the packet, some impression on your heart-But in every in which she was coming to England, foundered event of my life, I meet a base, injurious bro-along-side of our ship, and I was the instrument ther; the everlasting bar to my happiness-I of saving her life: I interest myself much in her can support it no longer; and Mr Belfield, ma- happiness, and I beseech you, for my sake, to be dam, never can, never shall be yours. kind to her. [Erit. Sophia. How, Sir! never shall be mine?What do you tell me? There is but that man on earth with whom I can be happy; and if my fate is such, that he is never to be mine, the world, and all that it contains, will for ever after be indifferent to me. Bel. jun. I have heard enough; farewell! Sophia. Farewell, sagacious Mr Belfield! the next fond female, who thus openly declares herself to you, will, I hope, meet with a more gallant reception than I have done. Bel. jun. How! what! is't possible? O, Heavens! Sophia. He interests himself much in her happiness; he beseeches me, for his sake, to be kind to her-What am I to judge of all this? Enter VIOLETTA. Vio. Madam, I ask pardon for this intrusion; but I have business with you of a nature that-I presume I'm not mistaken; you are the young lady I have been directed to, the daughter of sir Benjamin Dove? Sophia. I am, madam; but wont you please to repose yourself in the house? 1 understand you are a stranger in this country. May I beg to |