my love for you, my lord? Have I not given up my birth-right? put it wholly in your power to alienate for ever, if you please, my family inheritance, and leave me a beggar Is not this a substantial proof? My lord, I beg your pardon; but you have wrung my very heart. Lord Med. And you have wrung mine-for, Medway, with equal grief and shame I speak it, I have made you a beggar; I have mortgaged the last foot of land I was possessed of in the world, and the only prospect I had of redeeming it was by this lady's fortune; that would have recovered all, and restored you to the estate of your ancestors. I thought a boyish passion might have been overcome, when such important motives for it were united, as your own interest, and the honour of your family. Col. Med. As for my own interest, my lord, it is but a feather in the scale; and for the rest, I think my own honour (which you yourself taught me to prize) is more concerned in this event, than that of my family can possibly be. Lord Med. You told me you were not engaged by promise to the lady. Col. Med. I am not, my lord; but are there no ties but what the law can vindicate? Oh, my lord, you forget the lessons you have given me on other occasions! Lord Med. Well, well-I acknowledge the justness of your reproach; but it comes like a bearded arrow from a child's lips-But I have done-I give up the cause -Had this affair, on which I had set my heart, succeeded, I should perhaps have been happier than I desire to be.I had this morning been laying down a plan but no matter, it is all over-I am sorry your mother should be a sufferer with me-I have not been the kindest husband-but I did intend, after I had seen you and my daughter settled, to have retired into the country on a moderate annuity; and there, Medway, I might perhaps have led a very different life from what you have been used to see; but I must struggle with ill-fortune as well as I can-You have been a worthy son, I acknowledge it-You have done enough-You shall not charge me with making you miserable for life. Col. Med. Oh, my lord, I wish you had kept up your resentment; I cannot bear to hear you talk in this strain. Lord Med. Why not, man? 'tis nothing but the truth. Col. Med. My lord, I would do any thing to pre vent Lord Med. What? Speak, George. Col. Med. I cann't, my lord. Lord Med. A father's ruin, you would say-L know the tenderness of your nature, Medway, and therefore I will not urge you; your father is not such a tyrant; I have always considered you as my friend. Col. Med. My lord, to deserve that title still, I must not see you unhappy. "Lord Med. Why willingly, I think you would not "-nor would I make you so for the world-I have "already hurt you but too much. I will not wrong you every way. I deserve the ruin I have brought upon myself, and am content to sink under it. "Col. Med. My lord, that must not be while I "have power to help it. "Lord Med. I cannot ask it, son." Col. Med. I'll give up all-even my love, to save you. Lord Med. You cannot mean it, sure! Col. Med. I'll do as you would have me. Lord Med. Give me your hand-Oh, George, what a triumph is yours !-You make me ashamed. [Breaks away. Col. Med. My lord, since your affairs are urgent, I will not trust to the wavering of my own heart; I will visit her this morning; but it will be proper first to apprise poor Miss Richly of this sudden change. Lord Med. By all means; but take my advice, Medway, and do not trust yourself to see her. Write what you have to say, for sighs and tears are infec tious things. But all, I hope, will soon blow over; and when you are married, you may then have it in your power to make her amends for the fortune she has lost. Col. Med. Oh, my lord, you little know the heart of Clara, it is not in the power of riches to heal a wounded mind! But I must not trust myself to think upon the subject; I'll write to her whilst my resoluIf she lives and can forget me, 'tis all tion's warm. I dare to hope. [Exit. Lord Med. Worthy creature! it almost goes against me to let him complete this match. Yet what other resource have I left? I hope this lady may make him happier than he expects-But I must haste and write to her directly, to request that as a favour, which I am sure she will think her greatest happiness. [Exit. SCENE II. Changes to Mrs. KNIGHTLY's House. Mrs. KNIGHTLY, as just coming in, giving her Capuchin, &c. to her Maid. Mrs. Knight. Has any one been here since I went but? Maid. No, madam. Mrs. Knight. Nor any letter or message? Maid. Not that I know of, madam. Mrs. Knight. Go and send Miss Richly to me. [Exit Maid.] What a mortifying situation am I in! to have made advances to a man, who, instead of stepping forward to receive them, shrinks backMy Lord Medway, I know, would gladly promote a union between his son and me. The backwardness on his side then, can proceed from no other cause but a pre-engagement of his heart. Yet that may be got 1 over; but if (as I fear) my sister loves him, I must not come to any explanation with her; for whilst I seem ignorant of it, I am not obliged to compliment her at the expence of my own quiet-I begin to wish her out of my sight. Enter Miss RICHLY. Have you done the work I left with you, Clara ì Miss Rich. I did not imagine you had given it to me as a task, sister-I have done nothing to it yet. Mrs. Knight. I cannot conceive what you have got into that head of yours, child; for of late you never do any thing that I desire-I think I never saw so strange an alteration. Miss Rich. Excuse me, sister, the alteration is in you. Mrs. Knight. Oh, your servant, ma'am, you have learnt to contradict too-but it would become you, Clara, to remember I am your elder sister; and though there is no great difference in our years, yet I think the state you are in should teach you a little more respect to me. Miss Rich. Indeed, sister, I do not want to be hourly reminded of that; I am sufficiently humbled already. Mrs. Knight. Upon my word, Clara, I believe you will find humility the most useful virtue you can practise; and that you may have a better opportunity of doing so, I have thought of placing you in a sober retired family in the country; and who knows but |