that you are willing to give up your interest to Mr. Darnley. Dr. Cant. Hum!-stay-I agree to it; but, in the meantime, let me warn you, child, not to expect to turn that, or what has now passed between us, to my confusion, by sinister construction, or evil representation to your father. I am satisfied of the piety of my own intentions, and care not what the wicked think of them: but force me not to take advantage of Sir John's good opinion of me, in order to shield myself from the consequences of your malice. Charl. Oh! I shall not stand in my own light: I know your conscience and your power too well, dear Doctor! Dr. Cant. Well, let your interest sway you. Thank heaven! I am actuated by more worthy motives! Charl. No doubt on't. Dr. Cant. Farewell, and think me your friend. [Exit. Charl. What this fellow's original was I know not; but, by his conscience and cunning, he would make an admirable Jesuit. Enter Servant. [Exit Servant. Servant. Madam, Mr. Darnley. Charl. Desire him to walk in. Enter DARNLEY. Darn. To find you thus alone, madam, is a happiness I did not expect, from the temper of our last parting. Charl. I should have been as well pleased, now, to have been thanked, as reproached, for my good Bature; but you will be in the right, I find. Darn. Indeed you take me wrong. I literally meant that I was afraid you would not so soon think I had deserved this favour. Charl. Well, but were not you silly, now? Darn. Come, you shall not be serious: you can't be more agreeable. Charl. Oh! but I am serious. Charl. You can't conceive how pretty he makes love. Darn. Not so well as you make your defence, Charlotte. Charl. Lud, I had forgot! he is to teach me Greek, too. Darn. Trifling tyrant! how long, Charlotte, do you think you can find new evasions for what I say to you? Charl. Lud! you are horrid silly; but since 'tis love that makes you such a dunce, poor Darnley! I forgive you. The COLONEL enters, behind. Darn. That's kind, however. But, to complete my joy, be kinder yet, and— Charl. Oh! I can't! I can't! Lud! did you ever ride a horse-match? Darn. Was ever so wild a question? Charl. Because, if you have, it runs in my head that you galloped a mile beyond the winningpost, to make sure on't. Darn. Now I understand you. But since you will have me touch everything so very tenderly, Charlotte, how shall I find proper words to ask you the lover's last necessary question? Charl. Oh! there are a thousand points to be adjusted before that's answered. Col. Lamb. (Advancing.) Name them this moment; for, positively, this is the last time of asking. Charl. Psha! who sent for you? Col. Lamb. I only came to teach you to speak. plain English, my dear. Charl. Lud! mind your own business, can't you? Col. Lamb. So I will; for I will make you do more of your's in two minutes, than you would have done without me in a twelvemonth. Why, how now! do you think the man's to dangle after your ridiculous airs for ever? Charl. This is mighty pretty! Col. Lamb. You'll say so on Thursday se'nnight; Darn. Then I'll be so. Do you forgive me all? (for let affairs take what turn they will in the Charl. What? Darn. Are we friends, Charlotte? Charl. O lud! but you have told me nothing of poor seyward! Darn. Must you needs know that, before you answer me? Charl. Lud! you are never well 'till you have talked one out of countenance. Darn. Come, I won't be too particular; you shall answer nothing. Give me but your hand only. Charl. Psha! I won't pull off my glove, not I. Darn. I'll take it as it is, then. Charl. Lud! there, there, eat it, eat it. Darn. And so I could, by heaven! Charl. Oh, my glove! my glove! my glove! You are in a perfect storm! Lud! if you make such a rout with one's hand only, what would you do if you had one's heart? Darn. That's impossible to tell. But you were asking me of Seyward, madam? Charl. Oh, ay-that's true! Well, now you are very good again. Come, tell me all the affair, and then you shall see how I will like you. Darn. There is not much to tell; only this: we met the attorney-general, to whom he has given a very sensible account of himself, and the Doctor's proceedings. The attorney-general seems very clear in his opinion, that, as the Doctor, at the time of the death of Seyward's mother, was intrusted with her whole affairs, the court of equity will oblige him to be accountable. Charl. If Seyward does not recover his fortune, you must absolutely get him a commission, and bring him into acquaintance. Darn. Upon my word, I will. Charl. And shew him to all the women of taste; and I'll have you call him my pretty fellow, too. Darn. I will, indeed. But hear me. family) that's positively your wedding-day. (Charl. attempts to go. Nay, you shan't stir. Charl. Was ever such assurance? Darn. Upon my life, madam, I'm out of countenance: I don't know how to behave myself. Charl. No, no; let him go on only-this is beyond what ever was known, sure! Col. Lamb. Ha, ha! if I were to leave you to yourselves, what a couple of pretty out-of-countenanced figures you would make! humming and ha'ing upon the vulgar points of jointure and pinmoney! Come, come; I know what's proper on both sides; you shall leave it to me. Darn. Í had rather Charlotte would name her own terms to me. Col. Lamb. Have you a mind to anything particular, madam? Charl. Why, sure. What! do you think I'm only to be filled out as you please, and sweetened and sipped up like a dish of tea? Col. Lamb. Why, pray, madam, when your tea's ready, what have you to do but to drink it? But you, I suppose, expect a lover's heart, like your lamp, should always be flaming at your elbow; and when it's ready to go out, you indolently supply it with the spirit of contradiction. Charl. And so you suppose that your assurance has made an end of this matter? Col. Lamb. Not 'till you have given him your hand upon it. Charl. That, then, would complete it? Charl. Why, then, take it, Darnley. Now I presume you are in high triumph, sir. (To the Col.) Col. Lamb. No, sister; now you are consistent with the good sense I always thought you mistress of. Charl. And now I beg we may separate; for our being seen together, at this critical juncture may give that devil, the Doctor, suspicion of a confederacy, and make him set some engine to work that we are not aware of. Col. Lamb. It's a very proper caution. Come along, Darnley:-nay, you must leave her now, whatever violence you do yourself. Charl. Ay, ay, take him with you, brother;or stay, Darnley; if you please, you may come along with me. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. A Parlour in Sir John Lambert's house. Enter DARNLEY and CHARLOTTE. Charl. But really, will you stand to the agreement though, that I have made with the Doctor? Darn. Why not? You shall not break your word upon my account, though he might be a villain you gave it to. Suppose I should talk with Sir John myself? "Tis true, he has slighted me of late. Charl. No matter; here he comes. This may open another scene of action to that I believe my brother's preparing for. Enter SIR JOHN and LADY LAMBERT. Sir J. Lamb. Mr. Darnley, I am glad I have met you here. Darn. I have endeavoured twice to-day, sir, to pay my respects to you. Sir J. Lamb. Sir, I'll be plain with you; I went out to avoid you: but where the welfare of a child is concerned, you must not take it ill if we don't stand upon ceremony. However, since I have reason now to be more in temper than perhaps I was at that time, I shall be glad to talk with you. Darn. I take it as a favour, sir. Sir J. Lamb. You must allow, Mr. Darnley, that conscience is the rule which every honest man ought to walk by. Darn. 'Tis granted, sir. Sir J. Lamb. Then give me leave to tell you, sir, that giving you my daughter would be to act against that conscience I pretend to, whilst I thought you an ill lover; and consequently, the same tie obliges me to bestow her on a better man. Darn. Well, but, sir, come to the point. Suppose the Doctor (whom I presume you intend her for) actually consents to give me up his interest? Sir J. Lamb. But why do you suppose, sir, he will give up his interest? Darn. I only judge from what your daughter tells me, sir. Sir J. Lamb. My daughter! Charl. And I appeal even to yourself, sir. Has not the Doctor, just now, in the garden, spoken in favour of Mr. Darnley to you? Nay, pray, sir, be plain; because more depends on that than you can easily imagine or believe. Sir J. Lamb. What senseless insinuation have you got into your head now? Charl. Be so kind, sir, first to answer me, that I may be better able to inform you. Sir J. Lamb. Well, I own he has declined his interest in favour of Mr. Darnley; but I must tell you, madam, that he did it in so modest, so friendly, so good-natured, so conscientious a manner, that I now think myself more than ever bound in honour to espouse him. Charl. But now, sir, (only for argument's sake) suppose I could prove that all this seeming virtue was artificial; that his regard for Mr. Darnley was neither founded upon modesty, friendship, goodnature, nor conscience; or, in short, that he has, like a villain, bartered, bargained, to give me to Mr. Darnley for half the four thousand pounds you valued his consent at; I say, sir, suppose this could be proved, where would be his virtue then? Sir J. Lamb. It is impious to suppose it. Charl. Then, sir, from what principle must you suppose that I accuse him? Sir J. Lamb. From an obstinate prejudice to all that's good and virtuous. Charl. That's too hard, sir. But the worst your opinion can provoke me to, is to marry Mr. Darnley, without either his consent or your's. Sir J. Lamb. What! do you brave me, madam? Charl. No, sir; but I scorn a lie; and will so far vindicate my integrity, as to insist on your believing me; if not, as a child you abandon, I have a right to throw myself into other arms for protection. Darn. Dear Charlotte, how your spirit charms me! Sir J. Lamb. I am confounded! These tears cannot be counterfeit,--nor can this be true. Lady Lamb. Indeed, my dear, I fear it is. Give me leave to ask you one question. In all our mutual course of happiness, have I ever yet deceived you with a falsehood? Sir J. Lamb. Never. Lady Lamb. Would you then believe me, should I accuse him even of crimes which virtue blushes but to mention? Sir J. Lamb. To what extravagance would you drive me? Lady Lamb. I would before have undeceived you, when his late artifice turned the honest duty of your son into his own reproach and ruin; but knowing then your temper was inaccessible, I durst not offer it. But suppose I should be able to let you see his villainy, make him repeat his odious love to me in your own hearing; at once throw off the mask, and show the barefaced traitor?Sir J. Lamb. Is it possible? Lady Lamb. But then, sir, I must prevail on you to descend to the poor shifts we are reduced to. Sir J. Lamb. All; to anything, to ease me of my doubts; make me but witness of this fact, and I shall soon accuse myself, and own my folly equal to his baseness. Lady Lamb. Behind that screen you may easily conceal yourself. Sir J. Lamb. Be it so. Lady Lamb. Mr. Darnley, shall we beg your leave; And you, Charlotte, take the least suspected way to send the Doctor to me directly. Charl. I have a thought will do it, madam. Lady Lamb. Now, sir, you are to consider what a desperate disease I have undertaken to cure; therefore, be sure to keep close and still; and when the proof is full, appear at your discretion. Sir John Lamb. Fear not; I will conform myself. Yet be not angry, my love, if in a case like this, where I should not believe even him accusing you; be not angry, I say, if I have also charity enough to hope you may yet be deceived in what you charge him with, 'till the evidence of my own senses assure me to the contrary. Lady Lamb. 'Tis just. Sir J. Lamb. Hark! I think I hear him coming. Lady Lamb. Now, my dear, remember your promise to have patience. Sir J. Lamb. Rely upon't. Lady Lamb. To your post, then. (Sir John goes behind the screen.) Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL, with a book. Dr. Cant. Madam, your woman tells me, that being here, and alone, you desired to speak with me. Lady Lamb. I did, sir; but, that we may be sure that we are alone, pray shut the outward door; another surprise might ruin us; is all safe? Dr. Cant. (Fastens the door.) I have taken care, madam. Lady Lamb. But I am afraid I interrupt your meditations. Dr. Cant. No, madam, no; I was only looking over some pious exhortations here, for the use of a society of chosen brethren. Lady Lamb. Ah, Doctor, what have you done to me? The trouble of my mind, since our last unfortunate conference, is not to be expressed. You, indeed, discovered to me what, perhaps, for my own peace, 'twere better I had never been acquainted with; but I had not sufficient time to lay my heart open to you. Dr. Cant. Whither, madam, would you lead me? Lady Lamb. I have been uneasy, too, not knowing how far you might mistake my behaviour on the last accident that happened; but I was really so shocked, so terrified, I knew not what I was doing; only, had I joined in your defence against the Colonel, it would have been evident I was his enemy, and I have uses for his friendship. Silence, therefore, was my only prudent part; and I knew your credit with Sir John needed no support. Sir J. Lamb. Is this your sanctity? this your doctrine? these your meditations? Dr. Cant. Is, then, my brother in a conspiracy against me? Sir J. Lamb. Your brother! I have been your friend, indeed, to my shame; your dupe; but your spell has lost its hold: no more canting; it will not serve your turn any longer. Lady Lamb. Now heaven be praised ' Dr. Cant. It seems you want an excuse to part with me. Dr. Cant. Let me presume then to hope, that what I did, you judge was self-defence, and pure I necessity. Dr. Cant. But why, madam? let me beseech Lady Lamb. No; besides, why need you ask me? Dr. Cant. Ah! do not endeavour to decoy my foolish heart, too apt to flatter itself. You cannot, sure, think kindly of me? Lady Lamb. Well, well; I would have you imagine so. Dr. Cant. Besides, may I not with reason suspect, that this apparent goodness is but artifice, a shadow of compliance, meant only to persuade me from your daughter? Lady Lamb. Methinks this doubt of me seems rather founded on your settled resolution not to resign her; I am convinced of it. I can assure you, sir, I should have saved you this trouble, had I known how deeply you were engaged to her. (Weeps.) Dr. Cant. Tears! then I must believe you: but indeed you wrong me. To prove my innocence, it is not an hour since I pressed Sir John to give Charlotte to young Darnley. Lady Lamb. Mere artifice! you knew that modest resignation would make Sir John warmer in your interest. Dr. Cant. No, indeed, indeed. I had other motives, which you may hereafter be made acquainted with, and will convince you— Lady Lamb. Well, sir; now I'll give you reproach you? Had I not been the weakest of Sir J. Lamb. Ungrateful wretch!--but why do mankind, you never could have proved so great a villain. Get out of my sight! leave my house! Of all my follies, which is it tells you, that if you stay much longer, I shall not be tempted to wrest you out of the hands of law, and punish you as you deserve? Dr. Cant. Well; but first let me ask you, sir, who it is you menace? Consider your own condition, and where you are. Sir J. Lamb. What would the villain drive at? Leave me; I forgive you; but once more I tell you, seek some other place, out of my house. This instant be gone, and see my shameful face no more. Dr. Cant. Nay, then, 'tis my duty to exert myself, and let you know that I am master here. Turn you out, sir! This house is mine! and now, sir, at your peril, dare to insult me. shall I fly to hide me from the world? Sir J. Lamb. Oh, heavens! 'tis true! whither Lady Lamb. Whither are you going, sir? Sir J. Lamb. I know not; but here, it seems, I am a trespasser; the master of the house has warned me hence; and, since the right is now in him, 'tis just I should resign it. Lady Lamb. You shall not stir. He dares not act with such abandoned insolence. No, sir; possession still is your's. If he pretends a right, let him by open course of law maintain it. Dr. Cant. Ha!-Here! Seyward! Enter OLD LADY LAMBERT. Maw. He wants to know who I be! [Exit. What do Old Lady Lamb. The gentleman is a friend of reason to guess why, at our last meeting, I pressed mine, son. I was carrying him in a coach to attend you so warmly to resign Charlotte. Dr. Cant. Ah, dear! ah, dear! Lady Lamb. You cannot blame me for having opposed your happiness, when my own, perhaps, depended upon it. Dr. Cant. Spare me, spare me; you kill me with this kindness. Lady Lamb. But, now that I have discovered my weakness, be secret; for the least imprudenceDr. Cant. It is a vain fear. Lady Lamb. Call it not vain: my reputation is dearer to me than life. Dr. Cant. Where can it find so sure a guard? The grave austerities of my life will dumbfound suspicion, and your's may defy detraction. Lady Lamb. Well, Doctor, 'tis you must answer for my folly. Dr. Cant. I take it all upon myself. Lady Lamb. But there's one thing still to be afraid of. Dr. Cant. Nothing, nothing. Lady Lamb. My husband-Sir John. a controversy that's to be held this evening, at the reverend Mr. Scruple's, about an affair of simony, and called to take up the Doctor. But what strange tales are these I hear below? Sir J. Lamb. The Doctor is a villain, madam : I have detected him; detected him in the horrible design of seducing my wife. Maw. It's unpossible! Sir J. Lamb. What do you say, man? Maw. I say, it's unpossible! He has been locked up with my wife for hours together, morning, noon, and night; and I never found her the worse for him. Old Lady Lamb. Ah, son! son! Sir J. Lamb. What is your fadyship going to say now? Old Lady Lamb. The Doctor is not in fault. Old Lady Lamb. Oh! he swears! he swears! Years Sir J. Lamb. How! Charl. Oh! here he comes himself; he'll tell you more. Enter DR. CANtwell, DarnleY, SEYWARD, and Darn. (Speaking as he enters.) Here, bring in Sey. Don't be alarmed, madam; there is no mischief done; what was intended, the Doctor here can best inform you. Sir J. Lamb. Mr. Darnley, I am ashamed to see you. Maw. So you ought; but this good man is ashamed of nothing. Dr. Cant. Alas! my enemies prevail. Seyw. In short, gentlemen, the affair is circumstantially this: the Doctor called me out into the pavilion in the garden; appeared in great disorder; told me there was a sudden storm raised, which he was not sufficiently prepared to weather. He said, his dependance was upon me; and, at all events, I must be ready to swear, when he called upon me, I had seen him pay Sir John several large sums of money. He talked confusedly about giving value for an estate; but I boldly refused to perjure myself; and told him, on the contrary, I was satisfied he had fleeced Sir John of several large sums, under the pretence of charitable uses, which he secretly converted to his own. This stung him, and he fastened at my throat. Then, indeed, all temper left me; and, disengaging myself from his hold, with a home-blow I struck him down. At this, grown desperate, he ran with fury to some pistols that hung above the chimney; but, in the instant he reached one, I seized upon his wrist; and, as we grappled, the pistol firing to the ceiling, alarmed the family. Old Lady Lamb. This is a lie, young man; I see the devil standing at your elbow. Maw. So do I, with a great big pitchfork, pushing him on. Dr. Cant. Well, what have you more against me? Sir J. Lamb. Oh! I have seen too much. Sir J. Lamb. Let him go. Enter COLONEL LAMBERT and Attendants. Enter Tipstaff. Tipstaff. Is your name Cantwell, sir? Dr. Cant. What if it be, sir? Dr. Cant. Against me? Tipstaff. Yes, sir, for a cheat and impostor. Sir J. Lamb. Dear son, what is this? Col. Lamb. Only some actions of the Doctor's, sir, which I have affidavits in my hand here to prove, from more than one creditable witness; and I think it my duty to make the public acquainted with them: if he can acquit himself of them, so; if not, he must take the consequence. Dr. Cant. Well, but stay; let the accusations against me be what they will, by virtue of this conveyance (producing it) I am still master here; and, if I am forced to leave the house myself, I will shut up the doors; nobody shall remain behind. Sir J. Lamb. There! there indeed he stings me to the heart! for that rash act, reproach and endless shame will haunt me! Charl. No, sir! be comforted. Even there, too, his wicked hopes must leave him; for know, the fatal deed, which you intended to sign, is here, even yet unsealed and innocent! (Producing it.) Sir J. Lamb. What mean you? Charl. I mean, sir, that this deed, by accident, falling into this gentleman's hands, his generous concern for our family discovered it to me; and that, in concert, we procured that other to be drawn exactly like it; which, in your impatience to execute, passed unsuspected for the original. Their only difference is, that wherever here you read the Doctor's name, there you'll find my brother's. Dr. Cant. Come, sir, lead me where you please. [Exit, guarded. Old Lady Lamb. I don't know what to make of all this. Maw. They'll all go to the devil for what they are doing. Come away, my lady, and let us see after the good, dear Doctor. Ay, do laugh; you'll go to the devil for all that.-Come, my lady, you go first. [Exeunt Mawworm and Old Lady Lamb. Charl. Now, Darnley, I hope I have made some atonement for your jealousy. Darn. You've banished it for ever! This was beyond yourself surprising. Col. Lamb. Sister Charl. Come, no set speeches; if I deserve your thanks, return them in friendship to your first preserver. Col. Lamb. The business of my life shall be to merit it. Seyw. And mine to speak my sense of obligations. Sir J. Lamb. Oh, my child! for my deliverance I can only reward you here. (Giving her hand to Darnley.) For you, my son, whose filial virtue I have injured, this honest deed shall in every article be ratified. And, for the sake of that hypocritical villain, I declare, that from henceforward I renounce all pious folks; I will have an utter abhorrence for everything that bears the appearance Charl. Nay, now, my dear sir, I must take the liberty to tell you, you carry things too far, and go from one extreme to another. What! because a worthless wretch has imposed upon you under the fallacious show of austere grimace, will you needs have it, everybody is like him? confound the good with the bad, and conclude there are no truly religious in the world? Leave, my dear sir, such rash conclusions to fools and libertines. Let us be careful to distinguish between virtue and the appearance of it. Guard, if possible, against doing honour to bypocrisy; but, at the same time, let us allow there is no character in life, greater or more valuable than that of the truly devout; nor any Tipstaff. Then, sir, I have my lord chief thing more noble, or more beautiful, than the fer justice's warrant against you. vour of a sincere piety. A COMIC OPERA IN THREE ACTS.-BY R. B. SHERIDAN. Dou Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern. Lep. Past three o'clock! So! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be strolling like a bravo through the streets of Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young lover is the hardest: not that I am an enemy to love; but my love and my master's differ strangely. Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or sleep; now, my love gives me an appetite; then I am fond of dreaming of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her: this cannot be done without good sleep and good liquor; hence my partiality to a feather-bed and a bottle. What a pity now, that I have not further time for reflections! but thy master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess. (Music without.) Eh! sure I heard music. So, so! who have we here? Oh, Don Antonio, my master's friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose: so! we shall have the old gentleman up presently. Lest he should miss his son, I had best lose no time in getting to my post. [Exit. Enter ANTONIO and LORENZO, with masks and music. AIR. ANTONIO. Loren. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, while you sing so dolefully; love, like a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody. Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. Loren. The reason is, because you know she does not regard you enough to appear, if you awaked her. Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you. (Sings.) The breath of morn bids hence the night: LOUISA.-Replies from a window. Waking, the dawn did bless my sight; DON JEROME.-From a window. Lou. Ant. Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain Jer. So gently speak thy master's pain; So softly sing, so humbly sigh, That, though my sleeping love shall know Lou. Who sighs-who sighs below, Ant. Her rosy slumbers shall not fly? Lou. Thus may some vision whisper more Than ever I dare speak before. Ant. S |