Sir Ben. Who desired you to put in your oar? Iron. Why, sirrah, would not one wife content you? 'Tis enough in all reason for one man; is it not, sir Benjamin? Bel. jun. Sir, when it is proved I am married, accuse me. Iron. Look'e, Bob, I don't accuse you for marrying; 'twas an indiscretion, and I can forgive it but to deny it, is a meanness, and I abhor it. Sophia. Mr Belfield, do you say nothing upon this occasion! Bel. sen. Paterson, I am struck to the heartI cannot support my guilt-I am married to Violetta-save me the confusion of relating it: this dishonourable engagement for ever I renounce; nor will I rest till I have made atonement to an injured wife. Madam, I beg leave to withdraw for a few minutes. Bel. jun. Hold, sir! this contrivance is of your forging-you have touched me too nearand now, if you dare draw your sword, follow me! Sophia. Hold, gentlemen! you forget the lady is now in the house-she is a witness that will effectually put an end to your dispute--I will conduct her hither. [Exit SOPHIA. Bel. jun. I agree to it. : Iron. Hark'e, nephew? I shrewdly suspect you have been laying a train to blow yourself up: if once Bob comes fairly alongside of you, you'll find your quarters too hot to hold you I never yet found my boy out in a lie, and shan't tamely see a lie imposed upon him; for while he is honest, and I have breath, he shall never want a friend to stand by him, or a father to protect him. Bel. sen. Mr Paterson, explain my story-I will depart this instant in search of Violetta. Enter SOPHIA and VIOLETTA. Sophia. Stay! I conjure you-stay, turn, and look back upon this lady, before you go. [Presenting VIOLETTA. Bel. sen. My wife! Sir Ben. Hey-day! here's a turn. Iron. I thought how 'twould be. Vio. Yes, sir, your faithful, your forsaken wife. Bel. sen, How shall I look upon you? What shall I say? Where shall I hide my confusion? Oh! take me to your arms, and, in that soft shelter, let me find forgiveness and protection. Vio. Be this your only punishment! and this! Bel. jun. Was it, then, a sister I preserved from death? Bel. sen. What's this I hear! Oh! brother, can you pardon, too? Bel. jun. Be indeed a brother, and let this providential event be the renovation of our friendship. Bel. sen. What shall I say to you, madam?— [To SOPHIA.] Paterson, you know my heart: bear witness to its remorse. By Heaven, my secret resolution was, instantly to have departed in search of this my injured wife-but I'm not worthy even of your resentment: here is one that merits, and returns your love. [Turning to his brother. Iron. Come, god-daughter, we can never say the fleet's fairly come to an anchor, while the admiral's ship is out at sea. [Presenting BELFIELD junior.] My nephew here is as honest a lad as lives, and loves you at the soul of him give him your hand, and I'll broach the last chest of dollars, to make him a fortune deserving you.— What say you, my old friend? : Sir Ben. Here's my hand! I've spoke the word-she's his own. Lady Dove, I won't hear a syllable to the contrary. Iron. Then, the galleon is thy own, boyWhat should an old fellow like me do with money? Give me a warm night-cap, a tiff of punch, and an elbow-chair in your chimney-corner, and I'll lay up for the rest of my days. Bel. jun. How shall I give utterance to my gratitude, or my love! Enter GOODWIN, FANNY, FRANCIS, PHILIP, and LUCY. Sir Ben. So, so! more work for the parson! Iron. What, Francis! hast thou chosen a mate, and art bound upon a matrimonial cruize, as well as thy master? Fran. Ay, sir; so he is happy as well as myself, and has no objection to my choice. Bel. sen. What! Are you all assembled to overwhelm me with confusion? Like some poor culprit, surrounded by a crowd of witnesses, I stand convicted and appalled. But all your wrongs shall be redressed-yours, GoodwinPhilip's-Lucy's my whole life shall be employed in acts of justice and atonement. Virtue, and this virtuous woman, were my first ruling passions. Now they resume their social, soft controul, And love and happiness possess my soul. [Exeunt omnes. THE WEST INDIAN. BY CUMBERLAND. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. MEN. STOCKWELL, a merchant, father to BELCOUR. WOMEN. LADY RUSPORT, attached to MAJOR O'FLAHER TY. CHARLOTTE, her daughter. CHARLES DUDLEY, his son, attached to CHAR-LOUISA, daughter to DUDLEY. LOTTE RUSPort. MAJOR O'FLAHERTY, an Irishman. STUKELY, principal clerk to STOCKWELL. VARLAND, a lawyer. Sailor. Servant to STOCKWELL. Servant to LADY RUSPORT. MRS FULMER, wife to FULMER. LUCY, maid to CHARLOTTE RUSPORT. Clerks belonging to STOCKWELL, Servants, Sailors. Negroes, &c. Scenc-London, ACT I. SCENE I.-A merchant's counting-house. In an inner room, set off by glass-doors, are discovered several clerks, employed at their desks. A writing-table in the front room. STOCKWELL is discovered, reading a letter; STUKELY comes gently out of the back room, and observes him some time before he speaks. writings to a vast amount. I'll accost him.Sir! Mr Stockwell! Stock. Stukely!—Well, have you shipped the cloths? Stuke. I have, sir; here's the bill of lading, and copy of the invoice: the assortments are all compared: Mr Traffick will give you the policy upon 'Change. Stuke. He seems disordered: something in that Stock. 'Tis very well; lay these papers by; and letter, and I'm afraid of an unpleasant sort. He no more of business for a while. Shut the door, has many ventures of great account at sea; a ship Stukely. I have had long proof of your friendrichly freighted for Barcelona; another for Lis- ship and fidelity to me; a matter of most infinite bon; and others expected from Cadiz, of still concern lies on my mind, and 'twill be a sensible greater value. Besides these, I know he has ma-relief to unbosom myself to you. I have just now my deep concerns in foreign bottoms, and under-been informed of the arrival of the young West Indian, I have so long been expecting; you know I would deeply affect his spirit, which was haughty, whom I mean? Stuke. Yes, sir; Mr Belcour, the young gentleman who inherited old Belcour's great states in Jamaica. Stock. Hush, not so loud; come a little nearer this way. This Belcour is now in London; part of his baggage is already arrived; and I expect him every minute. Is it to be wondered at, if his coming throws me into some agitation, when I tell you, Stukely, he is my son ! Stuke. Your son! vehement, and unforgiving: and lastly, in regard to the interest of her infant, whom he had warmly adopted, and for whom, in case of a discovery, every thing was to be dreaded from his resentment. And, indeed, though the alteration in my condition might have justified me in discovering myself, yet I always thought my son safer in trusting to the caprice, than to the justice, of his grandfather. My judgment has not suffered by the event; old Belcour is dead, and has bequeathed his whole estate to him we are speaking of. Stuke. Now, then, you are no longer bound to secrecy. Stock. True: but before I publicly reveal my Stock. Yes, sir, my only son. Early in life I accompanied his grandfather to Jamaica, as his clerk; he had an only daughter, somewhat older than myself, the mother of this gentleman: it was my chance (call it good or ill) to engage herself, I could wish to make some experiment of affections; and, as the inferiority of my condition made it hopeless to expect her father's consent, her fondness provided an expedient, and we were privately married: the issue of that concealed engagement is, as I have told you, this Belcour. Stuke. That event, surely, discovered your connexion? Stock. You shall hear. Not many days after our marriage, old Belcour set out for England; and, during his abode here, my wife was, with great secrecy, delivered of this son. Fruitful in expedients to disguise her situation, without parting from her infant, she contrived to have it laid and received at her door as a foundling. After some time, her father returned, having left me here; in one of those favourable moments, that decide the fortunes of prosperous men, this child was introduced: from that instant, he treated him as his own, gave him his name, and brought him up in his family. Stuke. And did you never reveal this secret, either to old Belcour, or your son. Stock. Never. Stuke. Therein you surprise me; a merchant of your eminence, and a member of the British parliament, might surely aspire, without offence, to the daughter of a planter. In this case, too, natural affection would prompt to a discovery. Stock. Your remark is obvious; nor could I have persisted in this painful silence, but in obedience to the dying injunctions of a beloved wife. The letter, you found me reading, conveyed those injunctions to me; it was dictated in her last illness, and almost in the article of death (you'll spare me the recital of it); she there conjures me, in terms as solemn as they are affecting, never to reveal the secret of our marriage, or withdraw my son, while her father survived. Stuke. But on what motives did your unhappy lady found these injunctions? Stock. Principally, I believe, from apprehension on my account, lest old Belcour, on whom, at her decease, I wholly depended, should withdraw his protection: in part, from consideration of his repose, as well knowing the discovery my son's disposition. This can only be done by Stock. It is. Sai. Yes, your honour; yes, that's all; bless his heart, a'might have brought over the whole island if he would; a didn't leave a dry eye in it. Stock. Indeed! Stukely, shew them where to bestow their baggage. Follow that gentleman. Sai. Come, bear a hand, my lads; bear a hand. [Exit with STUKELY and servants. Stock. If the principal tallies with his purveyors, he must be a singular spectacle in this place: he has a friend, however, in this sea-faring fel low: 'tis no bad prognostic of a man's heart, when his shipmates give him a good word. [Exit, SCENE II.-Changes to a drawing-room. A woman servant enters to him. House. Why, what a fuss does our good master put himself in about this West Indian! See what a bill of fare I've been forced to draw out : seven and nine, I'll assure you, and only a family dinner, as he calls it: why, if my lord mayor was expected, there couldn't be a greater to do about him. BELCOUR enters. Stock. Mr Belcour, I'm rejoiced to see you; you're welcome to England. Bel. I thank you heartily, good Mr Stockwell: Ser. I wish to my heart you had but seen the loads of trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus he has sent hither. An ambassador's baggage, with all the smuggled goods of his family, does not ex-you and I have long conversed at a distance ; ceed it. House. A fine pickle he'll put the house into! had he been master's own son, and a Christian Englishman, there couldn't be more rout than there is about this Creolian, as they call them. Ser. No matter for that; he's very rich, and that's sufficient. They say he has rum and sugar enough belonging to him, to make all the water in the Thames into punch. But I see my master's coming. [Exeunt. STOCKWELL enters, followed by a Servant. Stock. Where is Mr Belcour? Who brought this note from him? Ser. A waiter from the London tavern, sir; he says the young gentleman is just dressed, and will be with you directly. Stock. Shew him in when he arrives. Ser. I shall, sir. I'll have a peep at him first, however; I've a great mind to see this outlandish spark. The sailor fellow says he'll make rare doings amongst us. [Aside. Stock. You need not wait-leave me. [Exit Servant.] Let me see[Reads. 'SIR, now we are met; and the pleasure this meeting gives me, amply compensates for the perils I have run through in accomplishing it. Stock. What perils, Mr Belcour? I could not have thought you would have made a bad passage at this time o' year. Bel. Nor did we: courier-like, we came posting to your shores, upon the pinions of the swiftest gales that ever blew; 'tis upon English ground all my difficulties have arisen; 'tis the passage from the river-side I complain of, you Stock. Ay, indeed! What obstructions can have met between this and the river-side? Bel. Innumerable! Your town's as full of defiles as the island of Corsica; and, I believe, they are as obstinately defended: so much hurry, bustle, and confusion on our quays; so many sugar-casks, porter-butts, and common-councilmen in your streets, that, unless a man marched with artillery in his front, 'tis more than the labour of a Hercules can effect, to make any tolerable way through your town. Stock. I am sorry you have been so incommo Bel. Why, faith, 'twas all my own fault. Accustomed to a land of slaves, and out of patience with the whole tribe of custom-house extortion 'I write to you under the hands of the hair-ers, boatmen, tide-waiters, and water-bailiffs, 'dresser. As soon as I have made myself decent, and slipped on some fresh clothes, I will have the honour of paying you my devoirs. Yours, BELCOUR." that beset me on all sides, worse than a swarm of musquetoes, I proceeded a little too roughly to brush them away with my rattan: the sturdy rogues took this in dudgeon, and beginning to rebel, the mob chose different sides, and a furious scuffle ensued; in the course of which, my person and apparel suffered so much, that I was obliged to step into the first tavern to refit, before I could make my approaches in any decent trim. Stock. All without is as I wish; dear Nature, add the rest, and I am happy! [Aside.] Well, Mr Belcour, 'tis a rough sample you have had of my countrymen's spirit; but, I trust, you'll not think the worse of them for it. He writes at his ease; for he's unconscious to whom his letter is addressed; but what a palpitation does it throw my heart into! a father's heart! 'Tis an affecting interview; when my eyes meet a son, whom yet they never saw, where shall I find constancy to support it? Should he resemble his mother, I am overthrown. All the letters I have had from him (for I industriously drew him into a correspondence with me), bespeak him of quick and ready understanding.- Bel. Not at all, not at all; I like them the All the reports I ever received, give me favoura-better. Was only a visitor, I might, perhaps, ble impressions of his character; wild, perhaps, as the manner of his country is; but, I trust, not frantic or unprincipled. Enter Servant. Ser. Sir, the foreign gentleman is come. Enter another Servant. Ser. Mr Belcour, wish them a little more tractable; but, as a fellow subject, and a sharer in their freedom, I applaud their spirit, though I feel the effects of it in every bone of my skin. Stock. That's well; I like that well. How gladly I could fall upon his neck, and own myself his father! [Aside. Bel. Well, Mr Stockwell, for the first time in my life, here am I in England; at the fountain head of pleasure, in the land of beauty, of arts, and elegancies. My happy stars have given me a good estate, and the conspiring winds have blown me hither to spend it. Stock. To use it, not to waste it, I should hope; to treat it, Mr Belcour, not as a vassal, over whom you have a wanton and despotic powers but as a subject, which you are bound to govern with a temperate and restrained authority." Bel. True, sir; most truly said! Mine's a Commission, not a right: I am the offspring of distress, and every child of sorrow is my brother. While I have hands to hold, therefore, will hold them open to mankind: but, sir, my passions are my masters; they take me where they will; and oftentimes they leave to reason and to virtue nothing but my wishes and my sighs, Stock. Come, come; the man, who can accuse, corrects himself. Bel. Ah! that's an office I am weary of: I wish a friend would take it up: I would to Heaven you had leisure for the employ ! but did you drive a trade to the four corners of the world, you would not find the task so toilsome as to keep me free from faults. certain young fellow of two and twenty in the case; who, by the happy recommendation of a good person, and the brilliant appointments of an ensigncy, will, if I am not mistaken, cozen you out of a fortune of twice twenty thousand pounds, as soon as ever you are of age to bestow it upon him. Char. A nephew of your ladyship's can never want any other recommendation with me; and, if my partiality for Charles Dudley is acquitted by the rest of the world, I hope lady Rusport will not condemn me for it. Lady Rus. I condemn you! I thank Heaven, Miss Rusport, I am no ways responsible for your conduct; nor is it any concern of mine how you dispose of yourself: you are not my daughter; and, when I married your father, poor sir Stephen Rusport, I found you a forward, spoiled miss of fourteen, far above being instructed by me. Char. Perhaps, your ladyship calls this instruction? Lady Rus. You're strangely pert; but 'tis no wonder. Your mother, I am told, was a fine Stock. Well, I am not d scouraged; this can- lady; and according to the modern style of edudour tells me, I should not have the fault of self-cation you was brought up. It was not so in conceit to combat; that, at least, is not among the number. LA Bel. No; if I knew that man on earth, who thought more humbly of me than I do of myself, I would take up his opinion, and forego my own. Stock. And, was I to choose a pupil, it should be one of your complexion: so, if you will come along with me, we'll agree upon your admission, and enter on a course of lectures directly. Bel. With all my heart. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Changes to a room in LADY RUSPORT's house. Enter LADY RUSPORT and CHARLOTTE. Lady Rus. Miss Rusport, I desire to hear no more of captain Dudley and his destitute family: not a shilling of mine shall ever cross the hands of any of them: because my sister chose to marry a beggar, am I bound to support him and his posterity? Char. I think you are. Lady Rus. You think I am? and, pray, where do you find the law that tells you so? Char. I am not proficient enough to quote chapter and verse; but I take charity to be a main clause in the great statute of Christianity. Lady Rus. I say charity, indeed! And pray, miss, are you sure that it is charity, pure charity, which moves you to plead for captain Dudley? Amongst all your pity, do you find no spice of a certain anti-spiritual passion, called love? Don't mistake yourself; you are no saint, child, believe me; and, I am apt to think, the distresses of old Dudley, and of his daughter into the bargain, would never break your heart, if there was not a my young days; there was, then, some decorum in the world, some subordination, as the great Locke expresses it. Oh! it was an edifying sight, to see the regular deportment observed in our family no giggling, no gossiping was going on there; my good father, sir Oliver Roundhead, never was seen to laugh himself, nor ever allowed it in his children. Char. Ay; those were happy times, indeed! Lady Rus. But, in this forward age, we have coquettes in the egg-shell, and philosophers in the cradle; girls of fifteen, that lead the fashion in new caps and new opinions; that have their sentiments and their sensations; and the idle fops encourage them in it. O' my conscience, I wonder what it is the men can see in such babies! Char. True, madam: but all men do not overlook the maturer beauties of your ladyship's age; witness your admirer, Major Dennis O'Flaherty: there's an example of some discernment. I declare to you, when your ladyship is by, the major takes no more notice of me, than if I was part of the furniture of your chamber. Lady Rus. The major, child, has travelled through various kingdoms and climates, and has more enlarged notions of female merit than falls to the lot of an English home-bred lover; in most other countries, no woman on your side forty would ever be named in a polite circle. Char. Right, madam; I've been told, that in Vienna they have coquettes upon crutches, and Venuses in their grand climacteric : a lover there celebrates the wrinkles, not the dimples, in his mistress's face. The major, I think, has served in the Imperial army. |