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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 Pulip, LUCY WATERS.
with Phi. How I have loved you, Lucy, and what Bel. sen. If, rąscal ! 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 whatstruggling to forget you, come to put me in mind ever I please to ask, and go with me wherever I of past afflictions: 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 life, you never shall. and to sit by your side ; for hours have I done 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 dou't about? Tilting with this peasant ! protect me!
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 iny therefore, persecuted by the most criminal of soul, I'll run you through! men. I have disclosed all Mr Belfield's artióces to Miss Sophia, and now am terrified to death;
Enter CAPTAIN IRONSIDES and Skirt. 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,Ile, who ed clattering and clashing, there's no sleeping in cau refuse his protection to a woman, naay be peace for you. never 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 vephew, 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— bis - How perversely has she traversed my projects castellum-Are these your fresh-water tricks? with Sophia –By all that's resolute, Il 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 night 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, are 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.
Skiff. 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 Englishman can wear. that old fellow I thought proper to discharge Iron. Why, so it is, Skiff: ahem! from my farm; please to betake yourself from Bel. sen. Well, sir, I leave you to the enjoy.
ment of your honours; so your servant. Sirrah, ous of Violetta ! that grateful woman has been I shall and a tipe for you.
warm in her comniendations 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 Bei. 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 jea her: 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 howest a lad, and as hrave, as ever stept between what you allude to; I shall follow your advice, sten, 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 fire pose; with you, I plainly see, there can be none. ship.
Sophia. 'l'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 in 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 comınit an insult upon good breeding and Iron. No, sir, one thing more, and I have done humanity. with you. They tell me you're pariiament-man Bel. jun. Madam, I'll take care to give you here for the borough of Knavestown : the Lord no further offence.
[Erit. 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 thig 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 tittest companion Sir Ben. Upon my word, I am young Mr Belfor you to keep
tield's most obsequious servant ! a very notable (Exeunt BELFIELD and PATERSON. confusion truly has he 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;
fronı 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 bepipe, 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.
[E.reunt. giving him a challenge ; but, to say the truth, I
had no great stonnach to the business, till this SCENE III.
fresh provocation. I perceive now, I am grov
ing into a most unaccountable rage; 'tis someEnter BELFIELD jun. and SOPIIA.
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 quarrelied 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 Belfeld doesn't prove me a Bel. jun. Yet, before we part for ever, ob coward, lady Dove shall see that I am a man of stinate, inexorable Sophia! tell me what is my spirit. --Sore I see my gentleman coming hither offence?
(Steps aside. Sophia. Answer yourself that question, Mr Belfieid; consult your oun heart; consult your
Enter BELFIELD jun. Violetta.
Bel. jun. What meanness, what infatuation Bel. jun. Now, on my life, she's meanly jeal- possesses me, that I should resolve to throw my
self once more in her way! but she's gone, and 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 I, 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 my soul I'ın very sorry for it!
(Aside. Bel. jun. Now ain 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 bimself.
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.
1. 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 ! l'il Bel. jun. Weli, sir knight, if such is your
hueven take him while he is in the humour, for mour, 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.
[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 any behaviour, and I persuade mycy upon me, what a passion I am in! I 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. Madain, to a generous enemy, 'tis think this is pretty well to set out with. I'm hor- mean to deay 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 men 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, inadam, he acquits himself like comprehend what you would be at; but, if you
Sir Benjamin Dove, in justice to your think I have injured you, few words are best ; inerit. 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.
henpecked all the days of your life. [ Aside. Sir Ben. How you fy out now! Is that giving Sir Pen. 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.
Bel. jun. If I have done you any service, pro- | is here ! Egad, I'm very glad on't—I've no nomise me only one hour's conversation with your tion of a female administration.
[Erit. lovely daughter, and make what use of me you Lady Dove. What insolence is this, sir Benjaplease.
min? what ribaldry do you shock my ears with? Sir Ben. Here's my hand, you shall have it; Let me pass, sir; I'll stay no longer in the same leave us.
[Exit Bel. jun. room with you. Lady Dove. What am I to think of all this? Sir Ben. Not in the same room, nor under the It can't well be a contrivance; and yet 'tis strange, same roof, shall you long abide, unless you rethat yon little animal should have the assurance form your manners. However, for the present, to face a man, and be so bashful at a rencounter you must be content to stay where you are. with a woman.
Lady Dove. What, sir ! will you imprison me Sir Ben. Well, lady Dove, what are you mu- in my own house? I'm sick ; I'm ill; l'm suffosing upon ? you see you are obeyed; the honour cated; I want air; I must and will walk into the of your family is vindicated. Slow to enter into garden. these affairs; being once engaged, I pertinaciously Sir Ben. Then, madam, you must find some conduct them to an issue.
better weapon than your fan to parry my sword Lady Dove. Sir Benjamin- -I- with : this pass I defend: what! do'st think, af
Sir Ben. Here, Jonathan! do you hear? set ter having encountered a man, I shall turn my my things ready in the library; make haste. back upon a woman? No, madam ; I have venLady Dove. I say, sir Benjamin, I think- tured my life to defend your honour; 'twould be Sir Ben. Well, let's hear what it is you think. hard if I wanted spirit to protect my own.
Lady Dove. Bless us all, why you snap one up Lady Dove. You monster! would you draw 80—1 say, I think, my dear, you have acquitted your sword upon a woman? yourself tolerably well, and I am perfectly satis- Sir Ben. Unless it has been your pleasure to fied.
make me a monster, madam, I am none. Sir Ben. Humph! you think I have done to- Lady Dove. Would you murder me, you inhulerably well? I think so too; do you apprehend man brute? Would you murder your poor, fond, nie? Tolerably! for this business that you think defenceless wife? tolerably well done, is but half concluded, let me Sir Ben. Nor tears, nor threats, neither scoldtell you: nay, what some would call the toughest ing, nor soothing, shall shake me from my purpart of the undertaking remains unfinished; but, pose : your yoke, lady Dove, has laid too heavy i dare say, with your concurrence, I shall find it upon my shoulders; I can support it no longer : easy enough.
to-morrow, madam, you leave this house. Lady Dove. What is it you inean to do with Lady Dove. Will you break my heart, you tymy concurrence; what mighty project dues your rant? Will you turn me out of doors to starve, wise brain teem with?
you barbarous man? Sir Ben. Nay, now I reflect on't again, I don't Sir Ben. Oh! never fear; you will fare to the think there will be any need of your concurrence; full as well as you did in your first husband's for, nolens or volens, I'm determined it shall be time; in your poor, dear, dead, Mr Searcher's done. In short, this it is; I am unalterably re- time. You told me once you prized the paltry solved, from this time forward, lady Dove, to be greyhound that hung at his button-hole, more sole and absolute in this house, master of my than all the jewels my folly had lavished upon own servants, father to my own child, and sove you. I take you at your word. You shall have reign lord and governor, madam, over my own your bawble, and I will take back all mine; wife.
they'll be of no use to you hereafter. Lady Dove. You are?
Lady Dove. O! sir Benjamin, sir Benjamin! Sir Ben. I am. Gods! gods! what a pitiful for mercy's sake, turn me not out of your doors! contemptible figure does a man make ander pet- I will be obcdient, gentle, and complying, for the ticoat government ! Perish he that's mean enough future; don't shame me; on my knees, I beseech to stoop to such indignities ! I am deterruined to you don't. be free
Enter BELFIELD senior. PATERSON enters, and whispers Lady Dove.
Sir Ben. Mr Belfield, I am heartily glad to see
you; don't go back, sir; you catch us indeed a Ha! how's this, Mr Paterson? What liberties little unawares; but these situations are not unare these you take with my wife, and before my common in well-ordered families. "Rewards and face? no more of these freedoms, I beseech you, punishments are the life of government; and the sir, as you expect to answer it to a husband, who authority of a husband must be upheld. will have no secrets whispered to his wife, to Bel. sen. I confess, sir Benjamin, I was greatly which he is not privy; nor any appointments surprised at finding lady Dove in that attitude : niade, in which he is not a party.
but I never pry into family secrets; I had much Pat. Hey-day! what a change of government rather suppose your lady was on her knees to intercede with you or my behalf, than be told she Bel. sen. Come, sir Benjamin, I must speak to was reduced to that humble posture for any rea- you now as a friend in the nearest connexion. I son that affects herself.
beg you will not damp our happiness with so meSir Ben. Sir, you are free to suppose what you lancholy an event: I will venture to pledge myplease for lady Dove; I'm willing to spare you self for her ladyship. that trouble on my account; and therefore, I tell Sir Ben. Well, for your sake, perhaps I may you plainly, if you will sign and seal your articles prolong her departure for one day; but I'm deihis night, to-morrow morning Sophia shall be termined, if she does stay to-morrow, she shall yours : I'm resolved, that the self-same day which set the first dish upon the table; if 'tis only to consecrates the redemption of my liberty, shall shew the company what a refractory wife, in the confirm the surrender of yours.
hands of a man of spirit, may be brought to subLady Dove. O! Mr Belfield, I beseech you, mit to. Our wives, Mr Belfield, may teaze us, intercede with this dear, cruel man, in my behalf! and vex us, and still escape with impunity; but would you believe, that he harbours a design of if once they thoroughly provoke us, the charm expelling me his house, on the very day, too, breaks, and they are lost for ever. when he purposes celebrating the nuptials of his
SCENE 1.—The sea-coast, as before. the man I took you for, and cannot discommend
your caution; so that, if you like my daughter, Enter GOODWIN and FANNY.
and Fanny is consenting-But, soft! who have Good. What you tell me, Fanny, gives me
we got here? great concern; that Mr Francis should think to Fran. I wish Mr Paterson was further for inseduce the innocence of my child for a paltry terrupting us just now. bribe! what can have passed to encourage him
Enter PATERSON. to put such an affront upon you?
Fan. Till this proposal, which I tell you of, I Pat. Pray, good people, isn't there a lady with always took Mr Francis for one of the best be- you of the name of Violetta ? haved, modestest young men, I had ever met with. Good. There is. Good. To say the truth, Fanny, so did I; but Pat. Can
you direct me to her? I have busithe world is full of bypocrisy, and our acquaint- ness with her of the utmost consequence. ance with him has been very short
Good. Fanny, you and Mr Francis step in and
let the lady know. Enter Francis.
[Ereunt Fanny and Francis, Hark'e, young man, a word with you! What is it If its no offence, Mr Paterson, allow me I or my children have done to offend you? to ask you, whether there is any hope of our
Fran. Offend ine! what is it you mean? young gentleman here, who is just returned, suc
Good. When your vessel was stranded upon ceeding in his addresses to Miss Dove? our coast, did we take advantage of your dis- Pat. Certainly none, Mr Goodwin. tress? On the contrary, was’nt this poor hut Good. I'm heartily sorry for it. thrown open to your use, as a receptacle for your Pat. I find you are a stranger to the reasons treasures, and a repose for your fatigues? llave which make against it: but how are you interesteither those treasures, or that repose, been in- ed in his success? vaded? Whom amongst you have we robbed or Good. I am a witness of his virtues, and condefrauded?
sequently not indifferent to his success. Fran. None, none--your honesty has been as
(Exit Goodwin. conspicuous as your hospitality. Good. Why, then, having received no injury,
Enter VIOLETTA. do you seek to do one ? an injury of the basest Pat. Madam, I presume your name is Vionature-You see, there, a poor girl, whose only letta? portion in this world is her innocence, and of Vio. It is, sir. that you have sought to
Pat. I wait upon you, madam, at Miss Dove's Fran. Hold-nor impute designs to me which desire, and as a particular friend of Mr Andrew I abbor. You say your daughter has no portion Belfield's. but her innocence-assured of that, I ask none Vio. Sir ! else; and, if she can forgive the stratagem I Pat. Madam! have made use of, I am ready to atone for it by Vio. Pray, proceed. a life devoted to her service.
Pat. To intreat the favour of your company Good. Well, sir, I am happy to find you are at Cropley-castle upon business, wherein that