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observed, and I must needs confess; yet, bad is capable of any action, though ever so vile; you asserted your authority, and insisted on and yet what pains will they not take, what à parent's right to be obeyed, 1 bad submitted, arts noi use, to seduce us from our innocence, and to my duty sacrificed my peace. and make us contemptible and wicked, even

Thorox. From your perfect obedience in in their own opinion? Then is it not just, the every other instance, I feared as much; and villains, to their cost, should find us so ? But therefore would leave you without a bias in guilt makes them suspicious, and keeps them an affair wherein your happiness is so imme- on their guard; therefore we can take advandiately concerned.

tage only of the young and innocent part of Maria. Whether from a want of that just the sex, who never having injured women, ambilion that would become your daughter, apprehend no danger from them. or from some other cause, I know not; but I Lucy. Ay, they must be young indeed! find high birth and titles don't recommend the Mili. Such a one I think I have found. As man who owns them to my affections. I have passed through the city, I have often

Thorow. I would not that they should, un-observed him receiving and paying considerless his merit recommends him more. A no- able sums of money; from thence I conclude ble birth and fortune, though they make not he is employed in affairs of consequence. a bad man good, yet they are a real advan- Lucy. Is he handsome? tage to a worthy one, and place his virtues in Mill. Ay, ay, the stripling is well made, and the fairest light.

has a good face. Maria. I cannot answer for my inclinations; Lucy. Aboutbut they shall ever be submitted to your wis- Mill. Eighteen. dom and authority. And as you will not com- Lucy. Innocent, bandsome, and about eighpel me to marry' where I cannot love, love teen! You'll be vastly happy. Why, if you shall never make me act contrary to my duty. manage well, you may keep him to yourself Sir, have I your permission to retire? these two or three years. Thorow. I'll see you to your chamber. Mill. If I manage well, I shall have done

[Exeunt. with him much sooner. Having long had a Scene" II.- A Room in Millwood's House. design on him, and meeting bim yesterday, I

made a full stop, and gazing wishfully on his Enter MilLWOOD and Lucy.

face, asked his name. He blushed, and, bowMill. How do I look to-day, Lucy? ing very low, answered George Barnwell. I

Lucy. O, killingly, madam! A little more begged his pardon for the freedom I had red, and you'll be irresistible!—But why this taken, and told him that he was the person I more than ordinary care of your dress and had long wished to see, and to whom I had complexion ? What new conquest are you an affair of importance to communicate at a aiming at?

proper time and place. He named a tavern; Mill. A conquest would be new indeed! talked of honour and reputation, and in

Lucy. Not to you, who make 'em every vited him to my house. He swallowed the day—but to me-Well, 'tis what I'm never to bait, promised to come, and this is the time I espect-unfortunate as I am-But your wit expect him. [Knocking at the Door] Someand beauty

body knocks. D'ye hcar, I'm at home to Mill. First made me a wretch, and still con- nobody to-day, but him. [Exit Lucy] Less tinue me so. Men, however generous and affairs must give way to those of more consincere to one another, are all selfish hypo- sequence; and I am strangely mistaken if this crites in their affairs with us;

no does not prove of great importance to me, otherwise esteemed or regarded by them, but and him ioo, before I have done with him. as we contribute to their satisfaction.

Now, after what manner shall I receive him? Lucy. You are certainly, madam, on the Let me consider-What manner of person am wrong side of this argument. Is not the ex- I to receive? He is young, innocent, and bashpense all theirs ? And I am sure it is our own ful; therefore I must take care not to put him fault if we han't our share of the pleasure. out of countenance at first.

Mill. We are but slaves to men.

Lucy. Nay, 'tis they that are slaves most Enter BARNWELL, bowing very low. Lucy certainly, for we lay them under contribution.

at a Distance. Mill. Slaves have no properly; no, not eren Mill

. Sir, the surprise and joy! in themselves: all is the victor's.

Barn. Madam! Lucy. You are strangely arbitrary in your Mill. This is such a favour [Advancing principles, madam.

Barn. Pardon me, madam! Mill. I would have my conquest complete, Mill. So unboped for! [Still advances. like those of the Spaniards in the new world; Barnwell salutes her, and retires in conwho first plundered the natives of all the fusion.] To see you here –Excuse the conwealth they had, and then comdemned the fusionwretches to the mines for life, to work for Barn. I fear I am too bold.

Mill. Alas, sir, I may justly apprehend you Lucy. Well, I shall never approve of your think me Please, sir, to sit. I am scheme of government; I should think it much much at a loss how to receive this honour as more politic, as well as just, to find my sub- I ought, as I am surprised at your goodness jects an easier employment.

in conferring it. Mill. It is a general maxim among the know- Barn. I thought you had expected me: I ing part of mankind, that a

woman without promised to come. virluc, like a man without honour or honestý, Mill. That is the more surprising: few men

we

are

morc.

SO.

as vours.

friend.

are such religious observers of their word. forgive me, I should never forgive myself. Barn. All who are honest are.

Mill

. Am I refused by the first man, the Mill. To one another; but we simple wo- second favour I ever stooped to ask? Go then, men are seldom thought of consequence enough thou proud hard-hearted youth; but know, to gain a place in their remembrance. you are the only man that could be found, [Laying her Hand on his, as by ac- who would let me sue twice for greater fa

cident. Barn. Her disorder is so great, she don't Barn. What shall I do? How shall I go or perceive she has laid her hand on mine. stay ? Hearens! how she trembles! What can this Mill. Yet do not, do not leave me. I with mean?

[ Aside. my sex' pride would meet your scorn; but Mill. The interest I have in all that relates when I look upon you, when I behold those to you (the reason of which you shall know eyes-Oh! spare my tongue, and let my bereafter) excites my curiosity; and were 1 blushes-this flood of tears too, that will force sure you would pardon my presumption, 1 its way, declare—what woman's modesty should should desire to know your real sentiments bide. on a very particular subject.

Barn. Oh, heavens! she loves me, worthless Barn. Madam, you may command my poor as I am. Her looks, her words, her flowing thoughts on any subject. I have none that I tears confess it. And can I leave her then? would conceal.

Oh, never, never! Madam, dry up your tears; Mill. You'll think me bold.

you shall command me always. I will stay Barn. No, indeed.

here for ever, if you would have me. Mill

. What then are your thoughts of love? Lucy. So, she has wheedled him out of his Barn. If you mean the love of women, I virtue of obedience already, and will strip hare not thought of it at all. My youth and him of all the rest, one after another, till she drcumstances make such thoughts improper has left him as few as her ladyship, or myin me yet. But if you mean the general love self.

TAside. pre owe to mankind, I think no one has more Min. Now you are kind indeed; but I mean of it in bis temper than myself. I don't know not to detain you always; I would have you that person in the world, whose bappiness 1 shake off all slavish obedience to your master; don't wish, and wouldn't promote, were it in but you may serve bim still. by power. In an especial manner, I love Lucy. Serve bim still! Ay, or he'll have no my uncle and my master; but above all, my opportunity •of fingering his cash; and then

he'll not serve your end, I'll be sworn. Mill . You have a friend then, whom you

[ Aside,

Enter BLUNT. Barn. As he does me, sincerely,

Blunt. Madam, supper's on the table. Min. He is, no doubt, often bless'd with Mill

. Come, sir, you'll excuse all defects. Four company and conversation.

My thoughts were too much employed on my Barn. We live in one house, and both guest to observe the entertainment. serve the same worthy merchant.

[Exeunt Barnwell and Millwood. Vill. Happy, happy youth! Whoe'er thou Blunt. What, is all this preparation, this at I envy thee; and so must all who see and elegant supper, variety of wines, and music, know this youth. What have I lost by being for the entertainment of that young

fellow? krmed a woman! I hate my sex, myself. Had Lucy. So it seems. I been a man, I might perhaps have been as Blunt. How! is our mistress turned fool at happy in your friendship, as he who now en-last? She's in love with him, I suppose. Prs it is; but as it is-Oh!

Lucy. I suppose not. But she designs to Barn. I never observed woman before; or make him in love with her, if she can. is is, sure, the most beautiful of her sex. Blunt. What will she get by that? He seems iside] You seemn disordered, madam;-may under age, and can't be supposed to have I know the cause ?

much money. Mill. Do not ask me,I can never speak it, Lucy. But his master has, and that's the whiteser is the cause. I wish for things im- same thing, as she'll manage it. possible. I would be a servant, bound to the Blunt. I don't like this fooling with a handune master, to live in one house with you. some young fellow; while she's endeavouring Barn. How strange, and yet how kind her to ensnare him she may be caught herself. Fords and actions are! and the effect they Lucy. Nay, were she like me, that would hare on me is as strange. I feel desires 1 certainly be the consequence; for, I confess, frier knew before; I must be gone, while there is something in youth and innocence Laate power to go. (Aside] Madam, l'humbly that moves me mightily. my leave.

Blunt. Yes, so does the smoothness and Vill. You will not, sure, leave me so soon! plumpness of a partridge move a mighty desire Barn. Indeed I must.

in the hawk to be the destruction of it. Mill

. You cannot be so cruel! I have pre- Lucy. Why, birds are their prey, and men a poor supper, at which I promised ours: ihough, as you observed, we are some

times caught ourselves. But that, I dare say, Barn. I am sorry I must refuse the honour will never be the case with our mistress. you designed me; but my duty to my master Blunt. I wish it may prove so;, for you calls me hence. I never yet neglected his ser- know we all depend upon her. Should she rice. He is so gentle, and so good a master

, trifle away her time with a young fellow that that should I wrong him, though he might there's nothing to be got by, we must all starre.

9

lore?

myself your company;

observed, and I must needs confess; yet, bad is capable of any action, though ever so vile; you asserted your authority, and insisted on and yet what pains will they `not take, what à parent's right to be obeyed, I had submitted, arts noi use, to seduce us from our innocence, and to my duty sacrificed my peace. and make us contemptible and wicked, even

Thoron. From your perfect obedience in in their own opinion? Then is it not just, the every other instance, I feared as much; and villains, to their cost, should find us so? But therefore would leave you without a bias in guilt makes them suspicious, and keeps them an affair wherein your happiness is so imme- on their guard; therefore we can take advandiately concerned.

tage only of the young and innocent part of Maria. Whether from a want of that just the sex, who never having injured women, ambition that would become your daughter, apprehend no danger from them. or from some other cause, I know not; but I Lucy. Ay, they must be young indeed! find high birth and titles don't recommend the Mill. Such a one I think I have found. As man who owns them to my affections. I have passed through the city, I have often

Thorow. I would not that they should, un- observed him receiving and paying considerless his merit recommends him more. A no- able sums of money; from thence I conclude ble birth and fortune, though they make not he is employed in affairs of consequence. a bad man good, yet they are a real advan- Lucy. Is he handsome ? tage to a worthy one, and place his virtues in Mill. Ay, ay, the stripling is well made, and the fairest light.

has a good face. Maria. I cannot answer for my inclinations; Lucy. Aboutbut they shall ever be submitted to your wis- Mill. Eighteen. dom and authority. And as you will not com- Lucy. Innocent, handsome, and about eighpel me to marry' where I cannot love, love teen! You'll be vastly happy. Why, if

you shall never make me act contrary to my duty. manage well, you may keep him to yourself Sir, have I your permission to retire?

these two or three years. Thorow. I'll see you to your

chamber. Mill. If I manage well, I shall have done

[Exeunt. with him much sooner. Having long had a Scene" II.- A Roon in Millwood's House. design on him, and meeting him yesterday, I

made a full stop, and gazing wishfully on his Enter MilLWOOD and Lucy.

face, asked his name. He blushed, and, bowMill. How do I look to-day, Lucy? ing very low, answered George Barnwell

. I Lucy. O, killingly, madam! A little more begged his pardon for the freedom I had red, and you'll be irresistible!—But why this taken, and told him that he was the person I more than ordinary care of your dress and had long wished to see, and to whom I had complexion ? What new conquest are you an affair of importance to communicate at a aiming at?

proper time and place. lle named a tavern; Mill. A conquest would be new indeed! talked of honour and reputation, and in

Lucy. Not to you, who make 'em every vited him to my house. lle swallowed the day—but to me-Well, 'tis what I'm never to bait, promised to come, and this is the time I espect-unfortunate as I am—But your wit expeci bim. [Knocking at the Door] Someand beauty

body knocks. D'ye hear, I'm at home to Mill. First made me a wretch, and still con- nobody to-day, but him. [Exit Lucy] Less tinue me so. Men, however generous and affairs must give way to those of more consincere to one another, are all selfish hypo- sequence; and I am strangely mistaken if this crites in their affairs with us;

no does not prove of great importance to me, otherwise esteemed or regarded by them, but and him ioo, before I have done with him. as we contribute to their satisfaction. Now, after what manner shall I receive him?

Lucy. You are certainly, madam, on the Let me consider-What manner of person am wrong side of this argument. Is not the ex- I to receive? He is young, innocent, and basbpense all theirs ? And I am sure it is our own ful; therefore I must take care not to put him fault if we han't our share of the pleasure. out of countenance at first.

Mill. Ve are but slaves to men.

Lucy. Nay, 'tis they that are slaves most Enter BARNWELL, bowing very low. Lucy certainly, for we lay them under contribution.

al a Distance. Mill. Slaves have no property; no, not even Mill. Sir, the surprise and joy! in themselves: all is the victor's.

Barn. Madam! Lucy. You are strangely arbitrary in Mill. This is such a favour- [Advancing. principles, madam.

Barn. Pardon me, madam! Mill. I would have my conquest complete, Mill. So unhoped for! [Still adoances. like those of the Spaniards in the new world; Barnwell salutes her, and retires in conwho first plundered the natives of all the fusion.] To see you here - Excuse the conwealth they had, and then comdemned the fusionwretches to the mines for life, to work for Barn. I fear I am too bold.

Mil. Alas, sir, I may justly apprehend you Lucy. Well, I shall never approve of your think me Please, sir, io sit. I am as scheme of government; I should think it much much at a loss how to receive this honour as more politic, as well as just, to find my sub- I ought, as I am surprised at your goodness jects an easier employment.

in conferring it. Mill. It is a general maxim among the know- Barn. I thought you had expected me: ! ing part of mankind, that a woman without promised to come. virtuc, like a man without honour or honesty, Mill. That is the more surprising: few men

we

are

more.

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vours.

are such religious observers of their word. forgive me, I should never forgive myself. Barn. All who are honest are.

Mill. Am I refused by the first man, the Mill. To one another; but we simple wo- second favour I ever stooped to ask? Go then, men are seldom thought of consequence enough thou proud hard-hearted youth; but know, to gain a place in their remembrance. you are the only man that could be found, [Laying her Hand on his, as by ac- who would let me sue twice for greater fa

cident. Barn. Her disorder is so great, she don't Barn. What shall I do? How shall I go or perceire she has laid her hand on mine. stay ? Heavens! how she trembles! What can this Mill. Yet do not, do not leave me. I with mean?

[Aside. my sex' pride would meet your scorn; but Mill. The interest I have in all that relates when I look upon you, when I behold those to you (the reason of which you shall know eyes—Oh! spare my tongue, and let my bereafter) excites my curiosity; and were 1 blushes-this flood of tears too, that will force sure you would pardon my presumption, 1 its way, declare—what woman's modesty should should desire to know your real sentiments hide. on a very particular subject.

Barn. Oh, heavens! she loves me, worthless Barn. Madam, you may command my poor as I am. Her looks, her words, her fowing thoughts on any subject. I have none that 1 tears confess it. And can I leave her then? would conceal.

Oh, never, never! Madam, dry up your tears; Mill. You'll think me bold.

you shall command me always. I will stay Barn. No, indeed.

| here for ever, if you would have me. Mill

. What then are your thoughts of love? Lucy. So, she has wheedled him out of his Barn. If you mean the love of women, I virtue of obedience already, and will strip have not thought of it at all. My youth and him of all the rest, one after another, till she circumstances make such thoughts improper has left him as few as her ladyship, or myin me yet. But if you mean the general love self.

[Aside. we owe to mankind, I think no one has more Mill. Now you are kind indeed; but I mean of it in bis temper than myself

. I don't know not to detain you always; I would have you that person in the world, whose happiness 1 shake off all slavish obedience to your master; doni wish, and wouldn't promote, were it in but you may serve him still. my power.

In an especial manner, I love Lucy. Serve bim still! Ay, or he'll have no my uncle and my master; but above all, my opportunity 'of fingering his cash; and then friend.

he'll not serve your end, r'll be sworn. Mill. You have a friend then, whom you

[ Aside, love?

Enter BLUNT. Barn. As he does me, sincerely,

Blunt. Madam, supper's on the table. Mill. He is, no doubt, often bless'd with Mill. Come, sir, you'll excuse all defects. Four company and conversation.

My thoughts were too much employed on my Barn. We live in one house, and both guest to observe the entertainment. serve the same worthy merchant.

[Exeunt Barnwell and Millwood. Min. Happy, happy youth! Whoe'er thou Blunt. What, is all this preparation, this art, I envy thee; and so must all who see and elegant supper, variety of wines, and music, know this youth. What have I lost by being for the entertainment of that young

fellow? formed a woman! I hate my sex, myself. Had Lucy. So it seems. I been a man, I might perhaps have been as Blunt. How! is our mistress turned fool at happy in your friendship, as he who now en- last? She's in love with him, I suppose. joys it is; but as it is-Oh!

Lucy. I suppose not. But she designs to Barn. I never observed woman before; or make him in love with her, if she can. this is, sure, the most beautiful of her sex. Blunt. What will she get by that? He seems (Aside] You seem disordered, madam;-may under age, and can't be supposed to have know the cause?

Mill. Do not ask me I can never speak it, Lucy. Bút bis master has, and that's the whatever is the cause. I wish for things im- same ihing, as she'll manage it. possible. I would be a servant, bound to the Blunt. I don't like this fooling with a handsame master, to live in one house with you. some young fellow; while she's endeavouring

Barn. How strange, and yet how kind her to ensnare him she may be caught herself. words and actions are! and the effect they Lucy. Nay, were she like me, that would bave on me is as strange. I feel desires 1 certainly be the consequence; for, I confess, never knew before; I must be gone, while there is something in youth and innocence I have power to go. (Aside] Madam, l'humbly that moves me mightily. take my leave.

Blunt. Yes, so does the smoothness and Mill. You will not, sure, leave me so soon! plumpness of a partridge move a mighty desire Barn. Indeed I must.

in the bawk to be the destruction of it. Mill. You cannot be so cruel! I have pre- Lucy. Why, birds are their prey, and men pared a poor supper, at which I promised ours: ihough, as you observed, we are somemyself your company;

times caught ourselves. But that, I dare say, Barn. I am sorry I must refuse the honour will never be the case with our mistress. you designed me; but my duty to my master Blunt. I wish it may prove so;, for you calls me hence. I never yet neglected his ser- know we all depend upon her. Should she vice. He is so gentle, and so good a master, trifle away her time with a young fellow that that should I wrong him, though he migbí ihere's nothing to be got by, we must all starve.

much money:

66
GEORGE BARNWELL.

Lucy. There's no danger of that; for I am alone ; you have no interest in them, nor ought sure she has no view in this affair but interest. your concern for me to give you a moment's

Blunt. Well, and what hopes are there of pain. success in that?

True. You speak as if you knew of friendLucy. The most promising that can be. 'Tis ship nothing but the name. Before I saw true, the youth has his scruples; but she'll your grief I felt it. E'en now, though ignosoon teach him to answer them, by stilling rant of the cause, your sorrow wounds me to his conscience. Oh, the lad is in a hopeful the heart. way, depend upon it.

[Exeunt. Barn. Twill not be always thus. Friend

ship and all engagements cease as circumACT II.

stances and occasions vary; and since you Scene 1.-A Room in ThorowGood's House for us both that now you loved me less.

once may hate me, perhaps it might be better Enter BARNWELL.

True. Sure I but dream! Without a cause Barn. How strange are all things round would Barnwell use me thus ? Ungenerous me! Like some thief who treads forbidden and ungrateful youth, farewell; I shall enground, and fain would lurk unseen, fearful deavour to follow your advice. [Going] Yet, I enter each apartment of this well-known stay ; perhaps I am too rash and angry, when house. To guilty love, as if that were too the cause demands compassion. Some unforelittle, already have I added breach of trust, seen calamity may have befallen him, too great A thief! Can I know myself that wretched to bear. thing, and look my honest friend and injured Barn. What part am I reduced to act ? master in the face? Though hypocrisy may 'Tis vile and base to move his temper thus, awbile conceal my guilt, at length it will be the best of friends and men. [Aside. known, and public shame and ruin must ensue. True. I am to blame; pr’ythee forgive me, In the mean time, what must be my life? Ever Barnwell

. Try to compose your ruffled mind; to speak a language foreign to my heart; to and let me know the cause that thus transhourly add to the number of my crimes, in order ports you from yourself; my friendly counsel to conceal 'em. Sure such was the condition may restore your peace, of the grand apostate, when first he lost his Barn. All that is possible for man to do purity. Like me, disconsolate he wandered; for man your generous friendship may effect; and while yet in heaven, bore all his future but here, even that's in vain. hell about him.

True.' Something dreadful is labouring in

your breast; oh, give it vent, and let me share Enter TRUEMAN.

your grief;' 'twill ease your pain, should it True. Barnwell, oh bow I rejoice to see admit no cure, and make it lighter by the you safe! So will our master, and his gentle part I bear. daughter; who, during your absence, often Barn. Vain supposition! My woes increase inquired after you.

by being observed : should the cause be known, Barn. Would he were gone! His officious they would exceed all bounds. love will pry into the secrets of soul. True. So well I know thy honest heart,

[Aside. guilt cannot harbour there. True. Unless you knew the pain the whole Barn. Oh, torture insupportable! [Aside. family has felt on your account, you can't True. Then why am I excluded ? Have I a conceive how much you are beloved. But thought I would conceal from you? why thus cold and silent?—When my heart Barn. If still you urge me on this hated is full of joy for your return, why do you subject, I'll never enter more beneath this roof, turn away–why thus avoid me? What bave nor see your face again. I done? How am I altered since you saw me True. 'Tis strange-but I have done-say last? Or rather, what have you done-and but you hate me not. why are yoù thus changed? for I am still the Burn. Hate you! I am not that monster yet.

True. Shall our friendship still continue? Barn. What have I done, indeed! [ Aside. Barn. It's a blessing. I never was worthy True. Not speak!—nor look upon me!- of, yet now must stand on terms; and but

Barn. By my face he will discover all 1 upon conditions can confirm it. would conceal. Methinks already I begin to True. What are they? hate him.

[ Aside. Barn. Never hereafter, though you should True. I cannot bear this usage from a friend; wonder at my conduct, desire to know more one whom till now I ever found so loving; than I am willing to reveal. whom yet Ilore; though bis unkindness strikes True. 'Tis hard; but upon any conditions at the root of friendship, and might destroy I must be your friend. it in any breast but mine.

Barn. Then, as much as one lost to himself Barn. I am not well. [Turning to him] can be another's, I am yours. [Embracing. Sleep has been a stranger to these eyes

since True. Be ever so;

and
may

heaven restore you beheld 'em last.

your peace! But business requires our attenTrue. Heavy they look, indeed, and swoln dance: business, the youth's best preservative with tears;—now they overflow. Rightly did from ill, as idleness his worst of snares. Will my sympathizing heart forebode last night, you go with me? when thou wast absent, something fatal to our Barn. I'll take a little time to reflect on peace.

what

has passed, and follow you. [Exit TrueBarn. Your friendship engages you too far. man] I might have trusted Trueman, and enMy troubles, whate'er they are, are mine gaged him to apply to my uncle to repair the

my

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same.

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