Scene 3.-Sir Stephen Bertram's House.

[Enter Sir Stephen Bertram and Saunders.]

Sir S. Well, Saunders, what news have you been able to collect of my undutiful son?

Saun. I have not seen Mr. Bertram, but I am told he has settled himself in very handsome lodgings, and is gone to remove his lady to them.

Sir S. His lady, do you call her? Can you find no fitter term? Where should he get the means to settle? He was not furnished with them by me: who else will do it? If he attempts to raise money upon expectancies, be it at their peril who are fools enough to lend him; no prudent man will be his bubble. If I were sure that was his practice, I should hold it matter of conscience to advertise against his debts.

Saun. Perhaps there may be some persons in the world, who think you will not always hold out against an only

son.

Sir S. Then let those persons smart for their opinion. They little know the feeling of an injured father: they cannot calculate my hopes, my disappointments, my regret. He might have had a lady with an ample fortune. A wife without a shilling is -but what avails complaint? Could you learn nothing further-who supplies him, who holds him up?

Saun. I hear that he had money of your broker, Sheva. Sir S. That must be false intelligence. He will as soon make gold by transmutation, as wring it from the gripe of that old usurer. No, no, Sheva is too wary, too much a Jew, to help him with a shilling.

Saun. Yet I was so informed by his servant, Jabal. He says, Mr. Bertram came to old Sheva's house by appointment; that he overheard their whole conversation. in which your son very honorably stated the utter ruin your displeasure had brought upon him, and would have refused the money, but that old Sheva forced it upon him.

Sir S. It mocks all belief; it only proves that Sheva, the most inveterate miser in existence, has a fellow Jew for his servant, one of the completest liars in creation.

Saun. I am apt to give him credit for the fact, notwithstanding.

Sir S. Then give me leave to say, you have more faith

than most men living. Were I to give so much credit, Mr. Saunders, I should soon stop.

Saun. I am not quite so fixed in my persuasion of old Sheva's character, as you are. In his dealings, all the world knows he is punctually honest; no man's character stands higher in the All y; and his servant tells me, though he starves himself, he is secretly very charitable to others.

Sir S. Yes, this you may believe, if you are disposed to take one Jew's word for another Jew's character. I am obstinate against both; and if he has supplied the money, as I am sure it must be on usurious principles, as soon as ever I have the old miser in my reach, I will wring either the truth from his lips, or the life out of his carcass.

[Enter Sheva.]

Sheva. How does my worthy master? I am your very humble servant, goot Sir Stephen Bertram. I have a little private business to impart to you, with your goot leave, and your leisure serves.

if

Sir S. Leave us, if you please. [Exit Saunders.]

Sheva Aha! I am very much fatigued. There is a great throng and press in the offices at the Bank, and I am aged and feeble.

Sir S. Hold, sir. Before I welcome you within these doors, or suffer you to sit down in my presence, I demand to know, explicitly, and without prevarication, if you have furnished my son with money secretly, and without my leave?

Sheva. If I do lend, ought I not to lend in secret? If I do not ask your leave, Sir Stephen, may I not dispose of my own moneys according to my own liking? But if it is a crime, I do wish to ask you who is my accuser? That, I believe, is justice everywhere; and in your happy country I do think it is the law likewise.

Sir S. Very well, sir; you shall have both law and justice. The information comes from your own servant. Jabal.

Can you controvert it?

Sheva. I do presume to say, my servant ought not to report his master's secrets; but I will not say he has not spoken the truth.

Sheva. I humbly think there is no call for that; you have the information from my footboy. I do not deny it.

And the sum

Sir S. Sheva. I do not talk of the sum. Sir Stephen, that is not my practice; neither, under favor, is my footboy my cashier.

If he be a knave, and listen at my key-hole, the more shame his; I am not in the fault.

Sir S. Not in the fault! Wretch, miser, usurer! You never yet let loose a single guinea from your gripe, but with a view of doubling it at the return. I know what you are.

Sheva. Indeed! it is more than I will say of myself. I pray you, goot Sir Stephen, take a little time to know my heart, before you rob me of my reputation. I am a Jew, a poor defenseless Jew; that is enough to make me miser, usurer. Alas! I cannot help it.

One

Sir S. No matter: you are caught in your own trap. I tell you now, my son is ruined, disinherited, undone. consolation is, that you have lost your money.

Sheva. If that be a consolation, you are very welcome to it. If my moneys are lost, my motives are not.

Sir S. I'll never pay one farthing of his debts. He has offended me for life; refused a lady with ten thousand pounds, and married a poor iniss without a doit.

Sheva. Yes, I do understand your son is married.

Sir S. Do you so? By the same token I understand you to be a villain.

Sheva. Aha! that is a very bad word; villain! I did never think to hear that word from one who says he knows me. I pray you, now, permit me to speak to you a word or two in my own defense. I have done great deal of business for you, Sir Stephen; have put a pretty deal of moneys in your pocket by my pains and labors; I did never wrong you of one sixpence in my life; I was content with my lawful commission; how can I be a villain?

Sir S. Do you not uphold the son against the father? Sheva. I do uphold the son, but not against the fader; it is not natural to suppose the oppressor and the fader one and the same person. I did see your son struck down to the ground with sorrow-cut to the heart; I did not stop to ask whose hand had laid him low; I gave him mine, and raised him up.

Sir S.
Sheva.

Sir S.

You! you talk of charity!

I do not talk of it: I feel it.

What claim have you to generosity, humanity, or any manly virtue ? Which of your money-making tribe ever had a sense of pity? Show me the terms on which you have lent this money, if you dare! Exhibit the dark deed, by which you have meshed your victim in the snares of usury;

but be assured, I'll drag you to the light, and publish your base dealings to the world. [Catches him by the sleeve.]

Sheva. Take your hand from my coat; my coat and I are very old, and pretty well worn out together. There, there! be patient. Moderate your passions, and you shall see my terms: they are in little compass; fair dealings may be comprised in few words.

Sir S. If they are fair, produce them.

Sheva.

Let me see, let me see !

Ah! poor Sheva: I do so tremble, I can hardly hold my papers. So, so! Now I Aha! here it is.

am right.

Sir S. Let me see it.

Sheva.

Take it. Gives a paper.] Do you not see it now? Have you cast your eye over it? Is it not right? I am no more than broker, look If there is a mistake,

you.

point it out, and I will correct it.

Sir S. [Reads.] Ten thousand pounds, invested in the three per cents money, of Eliza, late Ratcliffe, now Bertram. Sheva. Even so. A pretty tolerable fortune for a poor disinherited son, not worth one penny.

Sir S. I am thunderstruck!

Sheva. Are you so? I was struck too, but not by thunder. And what has Sheva done to be called a villain? I am a Jew, what then? Is that a reason none of my tribe should have a sense of pity? You have no great deal of pity yourself, but I do know many noble British merchants that abound in pity, therefore I do not abuse your tribe.

Sir S. I am confounded and ashamed; I see my fault, and most sincerely ask your pardon.

Sheva. Goot lack, goot lack that is too much. I pray you, goot Sir Stephen, say no more; you will bring the blush upon my cheek, if you demean yourself so far to a poor Jew, who is your very humble servant to command.

Sir S. Did my son know Miss Ratcliffe had this fortune? Sheva. When ladies are so handsome, and so goot, no generous man will ask about their fortune.

Sir S.

Sheva.

Sir S. by it?

'Tis plain I was not that generous man.
No, no; you did ask about nothing else.

But how in the name of wonder did she come

Sheva. If you did give me moneys to buy stock, would you not be much offended were I to ask you how you came by it?

H

Sir S. Her brother was my clerk. I did not think he had a shilling in the world.

Sheva. And yet you turned him upon the world, where he has found a great many shillings. The world, you see. was the better master of the two. Well, Sir Stephen, I will humbly take my leave. You wished your son to marry a lady with ten thousand pounds; he has exactly fulfilled your wishes I do presume you will not think it necessary to turn him out of doors, and disinherit him for that.

Sir S. Go on! I merit your reproof. I shall henceforward be ashamed to look you or my son in the face.

Sheva. To look me in the face, is to see nothing of my heart; to look upon your son, and not to love him, I should have thought had been impossible. Sir Stephen, I am your very humble servant. Sir S. Farewell, friend Sheva! Sheva. I can forgive my enemy;

Can you forgive me? much more, my friend. [Exeunt.]

Scene 4.-Sheva's house.

[Enter Sir S. Bertram, Frederick Bertram, and Sheva.] Fred. This, father, this is the man. My benefactor-all mankind's. The widow's friend. the orphan's father, the poor man's protector, the universal philanthropist.

Sheva. Hush, hush! you make me hide my face.

[Covers his face with his hands.] Fred. Ah, sir! 'tis now too late to cover your good deeds. You have long masked your charities beneath this humble seeming, and shrunk back from actions princes might have gloried in. You must now face the world, and transfer the blush from your own cheeks to theirs, whom prejudice had taught to scorn you. For your single sake we must reform our hearts, and inspire them with candor toward your whole nation.

Sheva. Enough, enough! more than enough! I pray you spare me: I am not used to hear the voice of praise, and it oppresses me: I should not know myself if you were to describe me: I have a register within, in which these merits are not noted. Simply, I am an honest man, no more; fair in my dealings, as my goot patron here, I hope, can witness.

Sir S. Ah! now the mystery's solved. The ten thousand pounds were yours; give them to Ratcliffe; I am ashamed of my own conduct; am satisfied with my son's; above all, I have seen his sweet Eliza, and she will derive nothing from fortune, where nature has given so much.