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know what commands you have for me? Mr Bel Pat. Sir! field has made me acquainted with some circum Bel. jun. Nay, Mr Paterson, don't assume stances relative to your story: and, for his sake, such a menacing air ; nor practise on my temper madam, I shall be proud to render you any ser too far in this business. I know both your situavice in my power.

tion and my own. Consider, sir, mine is a cause Vio. For Mr Belfield's sake, did you say, ma- that would animate the most dastardly spirit; dam? Has Mr Belfield named me to you, ma- your's is enough to damp the most courageous. dam?

[Exit Bel. jun. Sophia. Is there any wonder in that, pray? Pat. A very short and sententious gentleman :

Vio. No; none at all. If any man else, such but there is truth in his remark. Mine is but a confidence would surprise me; but, in Mr Bel- sorry commission, after all. The man is in the field, 'tis natural; there is no wondering at what right to fight for his mistress; she's worth the he does.

venture; and, if there was no way else to be Sophia. You must pardon me: I find we think quit of mine, I should be in the right to fight, differently of Mr Beltield. He left me but this too: egad, I don't see why aversion should not minute, and, in the kindest terms, recommended make me as desperate as love makes him. Hell you to my friendship.

and fury! here comes my Venus ! Vio. 'I'was he, then, that parted from you as

Enter Lady Dove. I caine up? I thought so; but I was too much agitated to observe him--and I am confident he Lady Dove. Well, Paterson, what says the felis too guilty to dare to look upon me.

low to my message? Sophia. Why so, madain? For Heaven's sake, Pat. Says, madam! I'm ashamed to tell you inform me what injuries you have received from what he says: he's the arrantest boatswain that Mr Belfield; I must own to you, I am much in ever I conversed with. terested in finding him to be a man of honour. Lady Dove. But tell me what he says.

Vio. I know your situation, madam, and I pity Pat. Every thing that scandal and scurrility it. Providence has sent me here, in tiine to save can utter against you. you, and to tell you

Lady Dove. Against me! What could he say Sophia. What? To tell me what? Oh! speak, against me? or I shall sink with apprehension !

Pat. Modesty forbids me to tell you. Vio. To tell you, that he is—my husband ! Lady Dove. Oh! the vile reprobate ! I, that

Sophia. Husband ! your husband? what do I have been so guarded in my conduct, so discreet hear! ungenerous, base, deceitful Belfield! I in my partialities, as to keep them secret, even thought he seemned confounded at your appear from my own husband; but, I hope, be did not ance; every thing confirms his treachery; and I venture to abuse my person? cannot doubt the truth of what you tell ine. Pat. No, madam, no; had he proceeded to

Vio. A truth it is, madam, that I must ever such lengths, I could not in honour have put up reflect on with the most sorrowful regret. with it; I hope I have more spirit than to suffer

Sophia. Come, let me beg you to walk to any reflections upon your lady ship's personal acwards the house. I ask no account of this tran- complishments. saction of Mr Belfield's. I would fain banish his Lady Dove. Well; but did you say nothing in name from my memory for ever; and you shall defence of my reputation ? this instant be a witness of his peremptory dis

Pat. Nothing. mission.


Lady Dove. No?

Pat. Not a syllable! Trust me for that; 'tis

the wisest way, upon all tender topics, to be siEnter Belfield jun. and Paterson.

lent; for he, who takes upon bin to defend a Bel. jun. And so, sir, these are her ladyship’s lady's reputation, only publishes her favours to commands, are they?

the world; and, therefore, I would always leave Pat. This is what I am commissioned by lady that office to a husband. Dove to tell you : what report shall I make to Lady Dove. Tis true; and, if sir Benjamin her?

had any heartBel. jun. Even what you please, Mr Paterson; Pat Come, come, my dear lady, don't he too mould it and model it to your liking; put as severe upon sir Benjamin: many men, of nu betmany palliatives, as you think proper, to sweeten ter appearance than sir Benjamin, have shown it to her fadyship's taste; so you do but give her themselves perfect heroes: I know a whole fato understand, that I neither can, nor will abandon mily, that, with the limbs of ladies, have the my Sophia. Cease to think of her, indeed! hearts of lions. Who can tell but your husband What earthly power can exclude her idea from may be one of this sort? my thoughts? I am surprized lady Dove should Lady Dove. Ah! think of sending me such a message ; and I won Pat. Well, but try him; tell him how you have der, sir, that you should consent to bring it. been used, and see what his spirit will prompt Vol. II.

5 X

him to do. A-propos ! here the gentleman lieve this, sir Benjamin ; you could not bear to comes : if he won't fight, 'tis but what you ex- see me ill used; Ïm positive you could not. pect; if he will, who can tell where a lucky ar Sir Ben. "Tis as well, however, not to be too rów may hit? [Exit Par. sure of that.

[Aside. Lady Dove. You could not be so mean-spiritEnter Sir BENJAMIN DOVE.

ed, as to stand by and hear your poor dear wife Lady Dove. Sir Benjamin, I want to have a abused and insulted, andlittle discourse in private with you.

Sir Ben. Oh! no, by no means; 'twould break Sir Ben. With ine, my lady?

my heart; but, who has abused you and insulted Lady Dove. With you, sir Benjamin ; 'tis upon you, and, a matter of a very serious nature; pray, sit down Lady Dove. Who? Wby, this young Belfield, by me. I don't know how it is, my dear, but I that I told


of. have observed, of late, with much concern, a

Sir Ben. Oh! never listen to him! A woman great abatement in your regard for me.

of your years should have more sense than to mind Sir Ben. Oh! fic, my lady, why do you think what such idle young fleerers can say of you. so? What reason have you for so unkind a sus Lady Dove. [Rising.) My years, sir Benjapicion?

min! Why, you are more intolerable than he is ! Lady Dove. 'Tis in vain for you to deny it; I but let him take his course; let him run away am convinced you have done loving me.

with your daughter; it shall be no further conSir Ben. Well now, I vow, my dear, as I am a cern of mine to prevent him. sinner, you do me wrong.

Sir Ben. No, my dear, I've done that effecLady Dove. Look'e, sir Benjamin, love, like tually. mine, is apt to be quick-sighted; and, I am per Lady Dove. How so, pray? suaded, I am not deceived in my observation. Sir Ben. By taking care he shan't run away Sir Ben. Indeed, and indeed, my lady Dove, with my estate at the same time.

Some people you accuse me wrongfully.

lock their daughters up to prevent their eloping, Lady Dove. Mistake me not, my dear, I do I've gone a wiser way to work with mine ; let her not accuse you; I accuse myself; I am sensible go loose, and locked up her fortune. there are faults and imperfections in my temper. Ludy Dove. And, on my conscience, I believe

Sir Ben. Oh! trities, my dear, mere trifles. you mean to do the same by your wife; turn her

Lady Dove. Come, come, I know you have led loose upon the world, as you do your daughter; but an uncomfortable life of late, and, I am leave her to the mercy of every free-booter; let afraid, I've been innocently, in some degree, the her be vilified and abused; ber honour, ber repucause of it,

tation, pangled and torn by every paltry privaSir Ben. Far be it from me to contradict your teering fellow that fortune casts upon your coasts. ladyship, if you are pleased to say so.

Sir Ben. Hold, my lady, hold young Belfield Lady Dove. I am sure it has been as I say; I did not glance at your reputation, I hope ! did my over-foudness for you has been troublesome he? and vexatious; you hate confinement, I know Lady Dove. Indeed, but he did though; and you do; you are a man of spirit, and formed to therein, I think, every wife has a title to her figure in the world.

husband's protection. Sir Ben. Oh, you flatter me !

Sir Ben. True, my dear; 'tis our duty to plead, Lady Dove. Nay, nay, there's no disguising it; but your's to provide us with the brief. you sigh for action ; your looks declare it: this Lady Dove. There are some insults, sir Benalteration in your habit and appearance, puts it jamin, that no man of spirit ought to put up with; out of doubt : there is a certain quickness in and the imputation of being made a wittol ot, is your eye; 'twas the first symptom that attracted the most unpardonable of any. my regards; and, I am mistaken, sir Benjamin, Sir Ben. Right, my dear; even truth, you know, if you don't possess as much courage as any man is not to be spoke at all times. Sir Ben. Your ladyship does me honour. Lady Dove. How, sir! would you insinuate any Lady Dove. I do you justice, sir Benjamin. thing to the disparagement of my fidelity? but

Sir Ben. Why, I believe, for the matter of choose your side; quarrel you must, either with courage, I have as much as my neighbours; but him, or with me. ’tis of a strange perverse quality; for, as some Sir Ben. Oh! if that's the alternative, what a spirits rise with the difficulties they are to en- deal of time have we wasted ! Step with me counter, my courage, on the contrary, is always into my library, and I'll pen him a challenge imgreatest when there is least call for it.


[Ereunt. Lady Dove. Oh! you shall never make me be


protect me!


SCENE I.—The cabin, with a view of the sea, the door of your cabin; there's a young woman as before.

within I must have a word with.

Phi. If 'tis Lucy Waters you would speak PHILIP, Lucy WATERS.

withPhi. How I have loved you, Lucy, and what Bel. sen. If, rascal ! It is Lucy Waters that I I have suffered on your account, you know well would speak with; that I will speak with; and, enough; and you should not now, when I am spite of your insolence, compel to answer what.. struggling to forget you, come to put me in mind ever I please to ask, and go with me wherever I of past alfictions: go, go; leave me: I pray you, please to carry her. leave me.

Phi. Then, sir, I must tell you, poor as I am, Lucy. Nay, Philip, but hear me !

she is under my protection : you see, sir, I am Phi. Hear you, ungrateful girl ! you know it armed; you have no right to force an entrance has been all my delight to hear you, to see you, here; and, while I have lise, you never shall. and to sit by your side ; for hours have I doné Bel. sen. Then, be it at your peril, villain, if it; for whole days together : but those days are you oppose me.

[They fight. past; I must labour now for my livelihood; and, if you rob me of my time, you wrong me of my

Enter PATERSON, who beats down their swords. subsistence.

Pat. For shame, Mr Belfield! what are you Lucy. O! Philip, I am undone, if you don't about? Tilting with this peasant !

Bel, sen. Paterson, stand off!. Phi. Ah ! Lucy, that, I fear, is past preven

Pat. Come, come; put up your sword. tion!

Bel. sen. Damnation, sir! what do you mean? Lucy. No, Philip, no; I am innocent! and, Do you turn against me? Give way, or, by my therefore, persecuted by the most criminal of soul, I'll run you through!

I have disclosed all Mr Belbela's artifices to Miss Sophia, and now am terrified to death;

Enter CAPTAIN IRONSIDES and SKIFF. I saw him follow me out of the Park, as I was Iron. Hey-day, what the devil ails you all? I coming hither, and I dare not return home alone; thought the whole ship’s company bad sprung a indeed, Philip, I dare not.

mutiny. Master and I were taking a nap together Phi. Well

, Lucy, step in with me, and fear for good fellowship; and you make such a damnnothing; I see the 'squire is coming, Hle, who ed clattering and clashing, there's no sleeping in can refuse his protection to a woman, may he peace for you. pever taste the blessings a woman can bestow! Bel. sen. Come, Mr Paterson, will you please

[Exeunt. to bear me company, or stay with your new acSCENE II.


Iron. Oh ho! my righteous nephew, is it you Enter BELFIELD sen.

that are kicking up this riot? Why, you ungra

cious profligate, would you murder an honest lad Bel. sen. Ay, 'tis she ! Confusion follow her! in the door of his own house ?-his castle-his - How perversely has she traversed my projects castellum-Are these your fresh-water tricks? with Sophia !-By all that's resolute, I'll be re Bel. sen. Your language, Captain Ironsides, savenged.--My brother, too, returned. Vexatious vours strongly of your profession; and I hold circumstance! there am I foiled again--Since first both you, your occupation, and opinion, equally I stepped out of the path of honour, what have vulgar and contemptible. I obtained ?

-O treachery! treachery! if thou Pat. Come, Mr Belfield, come: for learen's canst not in this world make us happy, better sake let us go home. have remained that dull formal thing, an honest Iron. My profession! Why, what have you to man, and trusted to what the future might pro- say to my profession, you unsanctified whelp you? duce.

I hope 'tis an honest vocation to fight the enemies Enter PHILIP.

of one's country. You, it seems, arc for murder

ing its friends. I trust, it is not for such a skipSo, fellow, who are you?

jack as thee art, to fleer at my profession. MasPhi. A man, sir; an honest man !

ter, did'st ever hear the like? Bel. sen. A saucy one, methinks.


. Never, Captain, never. For my own Phi. The injurious are apt to think so; how- part, I am one of few words ; but, for my own ever, I ask pardon : as your riches make you too part, I always thought, that to be a brave seaproud, my honesty, perhaps, makes me too bold. man, like your honour, was the greatest title an

Bel. sen. O! I know you now; you are son to Englishwan can wear. that old fellow I thought proper to discharge Iron. Why, so it is, Skill: ahem ! from my farm; please betake yourself from Bel. sen. Well

, sir, I learç you to the enjoy

with you.


ment of your honours; so your servant. Sirrah, | ous of Violetta ! that grateful woman has been I shall find a time for you.

warm in her commendations of me, and her dis[BELFIELD is going out. tempered fancy turns that candour into criminaIron. Hark'e, sir, come back; one more word lity.

Sophia. Ha! he seems confounded ! guilty Bel. sen. Well, sir

beyond all doubt. Iron. Your father was an honest gentleman : Bel. jun By Heaven I'll no longer be the dupe your mother, though I say it, that should not say to these bad humours ! Lucy Waters, Violetta, it, was an angel; my eyes ache when I speak of every woman she sees or hears, alarms her jeaher : ar'n't you ashamed, sirrah, to disgrace such lousy, overthrows my hopes, and rouses every parents? My nephew Bob, your brother, is as passion into fury. Well, madam, at length I see honest a lad, and as brave, as ever stept between what you allude to; I shall follow your advice, stem and stern; a' has a few faults indeed, as and consult my Violetta; nay, more, consult my who is free? But you, Andrew, you are as false happiness ; for with her, at least, I shall find reas a quick-sand, and as full of mischief as a file pose; with you, I plainly see, there can be none. ship.

Sophia. 'T'is very well, sir; the only favour Bel. sen. Captair. Ironsides, I have but little you can now grant me, is never to let me see time to bestow on you; if you have nothing else you again ; for, after what has passed between to entertain me with, the sooner we part the bet- us, every time you intrude into my company, you

will commit an insult upon good breeding and Iron. No, sir, one thing more, and I have done humanity. with you. They tell me you're parliament-man Bel. jun. Madam, I'll take care to give you here for the borough of Knavestown: the Lord no further offence.


. have mercy upon the nation, when such fellows

Sophia. Oh! my poor heart will break ! as thou art are to be our law-makers—For my

Enter SIR BENJAMIN Dove. own part, I can shift ; I'll take shipping, and live in Lapland, and be dry nurse to a bear, rather Sir Ben. Hey-day, Sophia, what's the matter? than dwell in a country where I am to be govern- What ails my child? Who has offended you? ed by such a thing as thou art.

Did not I see the younger Belfield part from you Bel. sen. By your manners, I should guess you just now? had executed that office already: however, lose Sophia. O, sir! if you have any love for me, no time, fit out a new Charming Sally, and set don't name that base, treacherous wretch, to me sail for Lapland; 'tis the properest place for any more.

(Erit. you to live in, and a bear the fittest companion Sir Ben. Upon my word, I am young Mr Belfor you to keep

field's most obsequious servant ! a very notable (Ereunt Belfield and Paterson. confusion truly has be been pleased to make in Iron. Hark'e, Philip? I forgot to ask what all my family! Lady Dove raves, Sophia cries; my this stir was about.

wife calls him a saucy, impudent fellow; my Phi. Sir, if you please to walk in, I will in- daughter says he's a base, treacherous wretch;

from all which I am to conclude, that he has Iron. With all my heart. A pragmatical, im- spoke too plain truths to the one, and told too pertinent coxcomb! Come, master, we'll fill a many lies to the other. One lady is irritated be pipe, and hear the lad's story within doors. I cause he has refused favours; the other, pernever yet was ashamed of my profession, and I'll haps, is afflicted because he has obtained them. take care my profession shall have no reason to Lady Dove has peremptorily insisted upon my be ashamed of me. [Exeunt. giving him a challenge ; but, to say the truth

, I had no great stomach to the business, till this SCENE III.

fresh provocation. I perceive now, I am grow

ing into a most unaccountable rage; 'tis some Enter BelField jun. and Sophia.

thing so different from what I ever felt before, Bel. jun. Madam, madam, will you not vouch- that, for what I know, it may be courage, and safe to give me a hearing ?

I mistake it for anger. I never did quarrel with Sophia. Unless you could recal an act, no any man, and, hitherto, no man ever quarrelled earthly power can cancel, all attempt at explana- with me. Egad, if once I break the ice, it shan't tion is vain.

stop here: if

young Belfield doesn't prove me Bel. jun. Yet, before we part for ever, ob coward, lady Ďove shall see that I ain a man of stinate, inexorable Sophia ! tell me what is my spirit.-Sure I see my gentleman coming hither offence ?

again. Sophia. Answer yourself that question, Mr Beltield; consult your own heart; consult your

Enter BelFIELD jun. Violetta,

Bel. jun. Wbat meanness, what infatuation Bel. jun. Now, on my life, she's meanly jeal- possesses me, that I should resolve to throw my

form you.

(Steps aside.

self once more in her way! but she's gone, and I injured in this matter, and, as such, have a right yet I may escape with credit.

to be in a passion; but I see neither right nor Sir Ben. Ay, there he is, sure enough: by the reason why you, who have done the wrong, should mass, I don't like him : I'll listen awhile, and dis- be as angry as Í, who have received it. cover what sort of a humour he is in.

Bel. jun. I suspect I have totally mistaken this Bel. jun. I am ashamed of this weakness : I honest gentleman; he only wants to build some am determined to assume a proper spirit, and reputation with his wife upon this rencounter, act as becomes a man upon this occasion. and 'twould be inhuman not to gratify him. Sir Ben. Upon iny soul I'm very sorry for it!

[Aside. Bel. jun. Now am I so distracted between Sir Ben. What shall I do now? Egad I seem love, rage, and disappointment, that I could find to have posed him : this plaguy sword sticks so in my heart to sacrifice her, myself, and all man hard in the scabbard-Well, come forth, rapier; kind.

'tis but one thrust; and what should a man fear, Sir Ben. Lord have mercy upon us ! I'd bet- that has lady Dove for his wife? ter steal off, and leave him to himself.

Bel. jun. Hey-day! Is the man mad? Put up Bel. jun. And yet, perhaps, all this may pro- your sword, sir Benjamin; put it up, and don't ceed from an excess of fondness in my Sophia. expose yourself in this manner.

Sir Ben. Upon my word you are blest with a Sir Ben. You shall excuse me, air; I have had most happy assurance.

some difficulty in drawing it, and am determined Bel. jun. Something may have dropped from now to try what metal it's made of. So come Violetta to alarm her jealousy; and, working on, sir. upon the exquisite sensibility of her innocent Bel. jun. Really this is too ridiculous; I tell mind, may have brought my sincerity into ques you, sir Benjamin, I am in no humour for these tion.

follies. I've done no wrong to you or yours : on Sir Ben. I don't understand a word of all this. the contrary, great wrong has been done to me;

Bel. jun. Now could I fall at her feet for par- but I have no quarrel with you; so, pray, put up don, though I know not in what I have offended; your sword. I have not the heart to move. Fy upon it! Sir Ben. And I tell you, Mr Belfield, 'tis in What an arrant coward has love made me! vain to excuse yourself. The less readiness he

Sir Ben. A coward does he say? I am hearti- shews, so much the more resolution I feel. ly rejoiced to hear it: if I must needs come to

[Aside. action, pray Heaven it be with a coward ! I'll Bel. jun. Weli, sir knight, if such is your hueven take him while he is in the humour, formour, I won't spoil your longing. So have at fear he should recover his courage, and I lose you! mine. [Aside.] -So, sir, your humble servant,

Enter LADY Dove.
Mr Belfield ! I'm glad I have found you, sir.
Bel. jun. Sir Benjamin, your most obedient. Lady Dove. Ah!

[Shrieks. Pray, what are your commands, now you have Bel jun. Hold, hold, sir Benjamin !' I never found me?

fight in ladies' company. Why, I protest you are Sir Ben. Hold! hold! don't come any nearer: a perfect Amadis de Gaul; a Don Quixotte in don't you see I am in a most prodigious passion ? | heroism; and the presence of this your

dulcinea Fire and fury! what's the reason you have made renders you invincible. all this disorder in my house? my daughter in Sir Ben. Oh! my lady, is it you? don't be tears; my wife in fits; every thing in an uproar; alarmed, my dear; 'tis all over : a small fracas and all your doing ! Do you think I'll put up between this gentleman and myself; that's all; with this treatment? If you suppose you have a don't be under any surprize; I believe the gentlecoward to deal with, you'll find yourself mista- man has had enough; I believe he is perfectly ken; greatly mistaken, let me tell you, sir! Mer- satisfied with my behaviour, and I persuade mycy upon me, what a passion I am in! In short, self you will have no cause for the future to Mr Belfield, the honour of my house is concern- complain of his. Mr Belfield, this is lady Dove. ed, and I must, and will have satisfaction. I Bel. jun. Madam, to a generous enemy, 'tis think this is pretty well to set out with. l'ın hor mean to deny justice, or with-hold applause. ribly out of breath. I sweat at every pore. What You are happy in the most valiant of defenders

. great fatigues do inen of courage undergo ! Gentle as you may find him in the tender pas

Bel. jun. Look'e, sir Benjamin, I don't rightly sions, to a man, madain, he acquits himself like conprehend what you would be at; but, if you Sir Benjamin Dove, in justice to your think I have injured you, few words are best; merit, I am ready to make any submission to this disputes between men of honour are soon ad- lady you shall please to impose. If you suffer justed ; I'm at your service, in any way you think her to bully you after this, you deserve to be fit.

benpecked all the days of your life. [Aside. Sir Ben. How you Aly out now! Is that giving Sir Ben. Say no more, my dear Bob; I shall me the satisfaction I require? I am the person love you for this the longest hour I have to live.

a man.

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