ing innocence, he, in his humble post, is secretly supporting it. If you come under that description, madam, I am your defender; if not, I have no further business here.

Aug. Why should I urge my innocence? I am unfortunate, I'm poor; your nephew, sir, will tell you that is cause sufficient for abandoning me.

Lord A. This grows too serious; I scorn to steal that from you half my fortune could not purchase. I believe you are as innocent as heaven first form'd you; and to convince the world in what esteem I hold your virtues, here, before Mortimer, I offer you my hand, and lay my title, rank, and fortune at your feet.

Aug. No, there may be a legal prostitute as well as a licentious one; had you a world to give, after your base experiment, you cannot offer any thing that I shall take. You may find others less exceptious; but in a noble family, though stripped of fortune, there will still be pride.

Lord A. I see my fate; I see a prepossession in your heart too strong for me to shake: I plainly perceive that Mr. Tyrrel can offend with more impunity than I can; however, Mortimer, you are a man of honour: I resign miss Aubrey into your hands for the present, and shall expect you will avail yourself of no unfair advantages over me. -Macleod, I find miss Aubrey is to thank you for this seasonable visit of Mr. Mortimer's. [Exit. Mort. Come, madam, you are now my ward; Bridgemore must struggle hard to get you back again.

Aug. Sir!-Mr. Mortimer! You'll pardon me, but must I think you serious? If what you now propose is meant in kindness to me, I must say the world has not done justice to your character: I have been taught to look upon you as no friend to our sex in particular.

Mort. Nor am I; your sex have broke treaty with us, pass'd the bounds betwixt us, forc'd into our very taverns, and from being once the glory of my country are become its shame.

Aug. But all have not done this

Mort. Nor am I then at enmity with all: a virtuous individual is of no sex, no country.

Colin. No country? Hoot! A true North Britain will give up his virtue afore his country at any time.

Aug. Yes, and I think it was a partiality to your country, rather than to virtue, which determin'd you to put me into this house.

Colin. De'il take me now, and all my kindred with me, if I knew ought about the house, more than the name of Macintosh upon the door.

Mort. Time will clear all things up: a general misconception is gone forth; my nephew, I perceive, has fallen under it. As for poor Colin, his design in bringing you hither was more than innocent, depend upon it, it was noble; I have heard his story, and at my request he brings me here: commit yourself therefore to my protection, and rely upon my justice.

Aug. How shall I answer you? Your generosity o'erwhelms me.

Mort. I generous! No, I am a mere voluptuary; I study luxury by principle, and am as sensual on the side of virtue, as Abberville, or any other fashionable rake, on that of vice. Colin, you'll settle matters with your countrywoman, and come to us at my house.

[Exeunt.

Colin. My countrywoman! The fiend a bit! I never will believe she has a drop of Scottish blude in aw her composition; as I shall answer I never blush'd before for any of the name: there must be something spurious in her genealogy: I'll have a little serious talk with her on that; I've got the pedigree of the Macintoshes at my fingers ends, and if there's e'er a flaw in her descent 'twixt this and Noah, gadzooks, I'll wager a hundred pounds I prove her an impostor. [Exit.

SCENE I. FISHSTREET-HILL.
Enter AUBREY.

Aub. If Bridgemore hasn't shifted his abode, that is the house; 'twas there that eighteen years ago I lost a wife, and left an infant daughter. All-disposing Providence, who hast ordain'd me to this hour, and through innumerable toils and dangers led me back to this affecting spot, can it be wondered at, if I approach it with an anxious, aching heart, uncertain as I am if I have still a child or not? What shall I do? If my Augusta's lost, 'twere better I should never enter those ill-omen'd doors; if she survives, how shall I disclose myself, and tell her she has still a father? Oh, that unkown and unperceiv'd, I could but catch a sight of her, gaze till I'd gratified my longing, and till this throbbing might abate! I'll watch the door till somebody comes out, that may speak to. [Steps aside.

I

Enter COLIN.

Colin. The murrain light upon this Fishstreet-bill, wherever it may be: I would it had na' got its name for nought, that I might fairly small it out, for I am clear bewalder'd. Johnny Groat's house would as soon be found as this same Bradgemore's. One cries, tura

o'this honde, one o'that, and t'other stares and grins forsooth because I hanna' got the modern gabble on my tongue, but speak the language in its auncient purity. Hoot! this mon seems of a batter sort, and peradventure would concede an answer. Speed you, gentleman, I pray you whuch way leads to Fishstreet-hill.

Aub. You are there already; this is Fishstreet-hill. Colin. Gadzooks! and that's the reason I could find it na' where alse. Ken you one Bradgemore's, may I ask? Aub. He had us'd to live in yonder house with the great gates; but it is many years since I have been in England.

Colin. I'faith, you need na' tell me that; I apprehend / as much from your civility.

Aub. Give me leave now in my turn to ask you a few questions.

Colin. With aw my heart; you have gude right; you may interrogate me freely.

Aub. You are acquainted with this Bridgemore
Colin. I am.

Aub. And with his family—

Colin. I am.

Aub. And what does it consist of?

Colin. Troth, of a spouse and daughter.
Aub. Are they all?

Colin. Ay, and enough in aw gude reason; the de'il, sir, in his vengeance need na' add a third.

Aub. But to be serious; tell me, I beseech you, do you know of no one else in Mr. Bridgemore's family. Colin. Of none.

Aub. What do I hear? Pray recollect yourself: you don't seem to know his house; perhaps you are not well acquainted with his family.

Colin. Aw that he owns I know; what base-begotten brats he may have sculking up and down in holes and corners, troth, I can't pretend to say. These city cattle sometimes will break pasture.

Aub. You misconceive me, honest friend: has no young lady of the name of Aubrey come within your knowledge?

Colin. Ay, ay, poor lassie, she once liv'd with Bradge

more; the worse luck her's, but that is over; she has got her liberty; she's now releas'd. -She is dead.

Aub. I understand you

Colin. Dead! Heaven forefend! An you would give me time, I would ha' told you she's released from yon fat fellow's tyranny; na' more: out on him, filthy porpoise, aw the bowels in his belly, though he has got gude store, dunna' contain one grain of pity: troth, with his gude will she might ha' starv'd and perish'd in the streets.

Aub. What is't you tell me? In the same breath you bring my hopes to life and murder them again.-Starv'd in the streets! I thought she had an affluent fortune.

Colin. In virtue, sir, nought else; and that will not pass current for a dinner. Zooks, and I mysall, by heaven's gude providence, had na' stapt in upon the very nick of time, my life upon't she had been lost.

Aub. Come to my arms then, whosoe'er thou art, and wonder not, for thou hast sav'd my daughter.

Colin. Daughter! Gadzooks, you make my heart jump to my laps for joy. Are you miss Aubrey's father? Aub. am her father.

Colin. An if I'd found mine awn I could na' been more happy. Wall, wall, I hope you'll merit your gude fortune; by my sol you've got an angel of a child-But where have you been buried aw the while? for we believ'd you dead.

Aub. You shall hear all my story, but this is no fit place to tell it in: satisfy me first if my poor child is safe. Colin. Fear nought, she's safe with maister Mortimer; I laft her but this moment.

Aub. Who is Mr. Mortimer?

Colin. Why, maister Mortimer is one who does a thousand noble acts without the credit of one; his tongue wounds and his heart makes whole; he must be known and not describ'd: an you will bait awhile in yonder tavern till I come from Bradgemore's, I'll accompany you to where your daughter is.

Aub. Agreed! I fear I've been mistaken in this Bridgemore; three years ago I consign'd to him a cargo of great value from Scanderoon; if he has robb'd me But till I've seen my daughter, I'll suspend my inquiry.