from their duty? O' my conscience, they do more Dutchman, one sober German, or one righteous mischief to the king's navy in one twelvemonth, methodist. Look'e, Bob, so I do but keep sinthan the French have done in ten; a pack of-gle, I have no objection to other people's marrybut I ha' done with them; thank the stars I ha' fairly washed my hands of 'em! I ha' nothing to say to none of 'em. Skiff. Mercy be good unto us! that my wife could but hear your worship talk. Bel. jun. Oh, my dear uncle ! Iron. But I'll veer away no more good advice after you; so even drive as you will under your petticoat-sails; black, brown, fair, or tawny, 'tis all fish that comes in your net: Why, where's your reason, Bob, all this here while? Where's your religion, and be damned to you? Bel. jun. Come, come, my dear uncle, a truce to your philosophy. Go, throw your dollars into yonder ocean, and bribe the tempest to be still; you shall as soon reverse the operations of nature, as wean my heart from my Sophia. Iron. Hold, hold! take me right; if, by Sophia, you mean the daughter of sir Benjamin Dove, I don't care if I make one with you;what say'st thou, boy? shall it be so ? Bel. jun. So, then, you think there may be one good woman, however? Iron. Just as I think there may be one honest ing; but, on these occasions, I would manage myself as I would my ship; not by running her into every odd creek and cranny, in the smuggling fashion, as if I had no good credentials to produce; but, play fairly, and in sight, d'ye see; and whenever a safe harbour opeus, stand boldly in, boy, and lay her up snug, in a good birth, once for all. Bel. jun. Come, then, uncle, let us about it; and you may greatly favour my enterprize, since you can keep the father and mother in play, while I Iron. Avast, young man! avast! the father, if you please, without the mother; sir Benjamin's a passable good companion, for a landman; but for my lady- I'll have nothing to say to my lady; she's his wife, thank the stars, and not mine. Bel. jun. Be it as you will; I shall be glad of your company on any terms. Iron. Say no more, then. About ship; if you are bound for that port, I'm your mate:master, look to the wreck; I'm for a fresh cruize. [Exeunt. ACT II. to expel his father from your farm; to persecute him and his innocent family, till you had accomplished their ruin, and driven them to the very brink of the ocean for their habitation and subsistence? Bel. sen. Your questions, Miss Lucy, begin to be impertinent. Lucy. Oh, do they touch you, sir? but I'll waste no more time with you; my business is with your Sophia. Here, in the very spot which you hope to make the scene of your guilty triumphs, will I expose you to her; set forth your inhuman conduct to your unhappy brother; and detect the mean artifices you have been driven Bel. sen. You will? Lucy. Haven't you, faithless as you are, pro- to, in order to displace him in her affections. mised me marriage over and over again? Bel. sen. Repeatedly. Lucy. And you have now engaged yourself to the daughter of sir Benjamin Dove, have you not? Bel. sen. Assuredly. Lucy. I will, be assured; so let them pass. Bel. sen. Stay, Lucy; understand yourself a little better. Didn't you pretend to Sophia, that my brother paid his addresses to you; that he had pledged himself to marry you; nay, that he Lucy. Let me demand of you, then, Mr Bel-hadfield, since you had no honourable designs towards me yourself, why you prevented those of an humbler lover, young Philip, the son of your late tenant, poor Goodwin? Bel. sen. For the very reason you state in your question; because I had no honourable designs, and he bad: you disappointed my hopes, and I was resolved to defeat his. Lucy. And this you thought reason sufficient Lucy. Hold, Mr Belfield, nor further explain a transaction, which, though it reflects shame enough upon me, that was your instrument, ought to cover you, who was principal in the crime, with treble confusion and remorse. Bel. sen. True, child; it was rather a disreputable transaction; and 'tis, therefore, fit no part of it should rest with me: I shall disavow it altogether. 5 Մ Lucy. Incredible confidence! : with life has shewn me how impracticable these principles are. To live with mankind, we must live like mankind: was it a world of honesty, I should blush to be a man of art. Pat. And do you dream of ever reaching your journey's end by such crooked paths as these are? Bel. sen. And yet, my most sage moralist, wonderful as it may seem to thee, true it is, notwithstanding, that, after having threaded all these by-ways and crooked allies, which thy rightlined apprehension knows nothing of; after ha Bel. sen. We shall see who will meet most belief in the world; you or I. Choose, therefore, your part if you betray it, you have me for an enemy; and a fatal one you shall find me.Now, enter, if you think fit; there lies your way to Sophia. [She goes into the house.] So! how am I to parry this blow? what plea shall I use with Sophia? 'twas the ardour of my love-any thing will find pardon with a woman, that conveys flattery to her charins. After all, if the worst should happen, and I be defeated in this match, so shall I be saved from doing that,ving driven my rival from the field, and being alwhich, when done, 'tis probable I may repent of; and I have some intimation from within, which tells me that it will be so I perceive that, in this life, he, who is checked by the rubs of compunction, can never arrive at the summit of prosperity. Enter PATERSON. Pat. What, melancholy, Mr Belfield! So your happiness, and so full of thought? Bel. sen. Happiness! what's that? most in possession of the spoil, still I feel a repugnance in me that almost tempts me to renounce my good fortune, and abandon a victory I have struggled so hard to obtain. Pat. I guessed as much; 'tis your Violetta; 'tis your fair Portuguese, that counterworks your good fortune; and I must own to you, it was principally to save you from that improvident atneartachment, that I wrote so pressingly for your return; but though I have got your body in safe holding, your heart is still at Lisbon; and if you marry Miss Dove, 'tis because Violetta's fortune was demolished by the earthquake; and sir Benjamin's stands safe upon terra firma. Pat. I'll tell you, sir; the possession of a lovely girl, with fifty thousand pounds in her lap, and twice fifty thousand virtues in her mind; this I call happiness, as much as mortal inan can merit and this, as I take it, you are destined to enjoy. Bel. sen. That is not so certain, Mr Paterson. Would you believe it, that perverse hussy, Lucy Waters, who left me but this minute, threatens to transverse all my hopes, and is gone this instant to Sophia with that resolution? Pat Impossible! how is Miss Waters provided or provoked to do this! Bel. sen Why, 'tis a foolish story, and scarce worth relating to you; but you know, when your letters called me home from Portugal, I found my younger brother in close attendance on Miss Dove; and, indeed, such good use had the fellow made of his time in my absence, that I found it impossible to counterwork his operations by fair and open approaches; so, to make short of the I took this girl, Lucy Waters, into partstory, nership; and, by a happy device, ruined him with Sophia. Pat. This, Mr Belfield, I neither know, nor wish to know. Bel. sen. Let it pass, then. Defeated in these views, my brother, as you know, betook himself to the desperate course of privateering, with that old tar-barrel, my uncle: what may have been his fate, I know not, but I have found it convenient to propagate a report of his death. Pat. I am sorry for it, Mr Belford: I wish nothing was convenient, that can be thought dis honourable. Bel. sen. Nature, Mr Paterson, never put into a human composition more candour and credulity than she did into mine; but acquaintance Bel. sen. Prithee, Paterson, don't be too hard upon me sure you don't suspect that I am married to Violetta? Pat. Married to Violetta! Now you grow much too serious, and 'tis time to put an end to the discourse. [Exit. Bel. sen. And you grow much too quick-sighted, Mr Paterson, for my acquaintance. I think he does not quite suspect me of double dealing in this business; and yet I have my doubts; his reply to my question was equivocal, and his departure abrupt-I know not what to think-This I know, that Love is a deity, and Avarice a devil; that Violetta is my lawful wife; and that Andrew Belfield is a villain. [Exit. SCENE II. PATERSON passes over the stage. Pat. All abroad this fine day-not a creature within doors. Enter KITTY. Kitty. Mr Paterson! hist, Mr Paterson! a word your car, sweet sir. Pat. Curse on't, she has caught me-Well, Mrs Kitty? Kitty. Why, I have been hunting you all the house over; my lady's impatient to see you. Pat. Oh, I'm my lady Dove's most obedient servant-And what are her ladyship's commands, pray? Kitty. Fy, Mr Paterson! how should I know what her ladyship wants with you? but a secret it is, no doubt, for she desires you to come to her immediately in the garden, at the bottom of the yew-tree walk, next the warren. Pat. The devil she does!- -What a pity it is, Mrs Kitty, we can't cure your lady of this turn for solitude. I wish you would go with me; your company, probably, will divert her from her contemplations: besides, I shall certainly mistake the place. me any further, at present; I must leave you; Bel. jun. Well, sir Benjamin, keep your own SCENE IV. Enter SOPHIA DOVE, and LUCY WATERS. Lucy. If there is faith in woman, I have seen young Belfield; I have beheld his apparition; for what else could it be? Sophia. How? when? where? I shall faint with surprise. Kitty. I go with you, Mr Paterson! a fine thing truly: I'd have you to know, that my character is not to be trusted with young fellows in yew-tree walks, whatever my lady may think of the matter-Besides, I've an assignation in another place. [Exit. Pat. What a devilish dilemma am I in! Why this is a peremptory assignation-Certain it is, there are some ladies that no wise man should be commonly civil to-Here have I been flattering myself that I was stroaking a termagant into humour, and all the while have been betray-him pass by the head of the canal, towards the ing a tender victim into love. Love, love, did I house. Alas! poor youth, the injuries I have say? her ladyship's passion is a disgrace to the done him have called him from his grave. name-But what shall I do?-'tis a pitiful thing to run away from a victory; but 'tis frequently the case in precipitate successes; we conquer more than we have wit to keep, or ability to enjoy. [Exit. SCENE III.-Changes to the yew-tree walk. Enter BELFIELD junior. Bel. jun. Now, could I but meet my Sophia!— Where can she have hid herself?—Hush; lady Dove, as I live! Enter LADY DOVE. Lucy. As I crossed the yew-tree walk, I saw Sophia. Injuries, Miss Waters! what injuries have you done him? Tell me; for therein, perhaps, I may be concerned. Lucy. Deeply concerned you are; with the most penitent remorse I confess it to you, that his affections to you were pure, honest, and sincere. Yes, amiable Sophia, you was unrivalled in his esteem; and I, who persuaded you to the contrary, am the basest, the falsest of womankind; every syllable I told you of his engagements to me, was a malicious invention: how could you be so blind to your own superiority, to give credit to the imposition, and suffer him to depart without an explanation? Oh, that villain, that villain, his brother, has undone us all! Lady Dove. So, Mr Paterson, you're a pretty genticman, to keep a lady waiting here! Why, Sophia. Villain, do you call him? Whither how you stand?--Come, come, I shall expect a would you transport my imagination? You hurry very handsome atonement for this indecorum-- me with such rapidity from one surprise to anoWhy, what, let me look-Ah! who have wether, that I know not where to fix, how to act, or here? what to believe. Bel. jun. A man, madam; and though not your man, yet one as honest, and as secret: come, come, my lady, I'm no tell-tale; be you but grateful, this goes no further. Lady Dove. Lost and undone! young Belfield! Bel. jun. The same; but be not alarmed; we both have our secrets; I am, like you, a votary to love: favour but my virtuous passion for Miss Dove, and take you your Paterson; I shall be silent as the grave. Lady Dove. Humph! Bel. jun. Nay, never hesitate; my brother, I know, had your wishes: but wherein has nature favoured him more than me? And, since fortune has now made my scale as heavy as his, why should you partially direct the beam? Lady Dove. Well, if it is so, and that you promise not to betray me-But this accident has so discomposed me (plague on't, say I), don't press Lucy. Oh, madam! he is a villain, a most accomplished one; and, if I can but snatch you from the snare he has spread for you, I hope it will, in some measure, atone for the injuries I have done to you, and to that unhappy youth, who now -O Heavens! I see him again! he comes this way! I cannot endure his sight! alive or dead, I must avoid him. [Runs out. Enter BELFIELD junior. Bel. jun. Adorable Sophia! this transport overpays my labours. Sophia. Sir! Mr Belfield, is it you? Oh, support me! I done! Sure you are too generous to take any | dyship has so liberally equipped him with weaadvantage of my confusion. Bel. jun. Pardon me, my Sophia! the advantages I take from your confusion are not to be purchased by the riches of the east: I would not forego the transport of holding you one minute in my arms, for all that wealth and greatness have to give. LADY DOVE enters, while BELFIELD junior is kneeling, and embracing SOPHIA. Lady Dove. Hey-day! what's here to do with you both? Sophia. Ah! [Shrieks. pons? [Exeunt severally. SCENE V.-A hall. Enter JONATHAN and FRANCIS. Jon. And so, sir, 't's just as I tell you; every thing in this family goes according to the will of the lady for my own part, I am one of those that bate trouble; I swim with the stream, and make my place as easy as I can. Fran. Your looks, Mr Jonathan, convince me that you live at your ease. Jon. I do so; and therefore, (in spite of the old proverb, "Like master, like man,") you never saw two people more different than I and Bel. jun. Confusion! Lady Dove here? sir Benjamin Dove. He, Lord help him! is a Lady Dove. Yes, sir; lady Dove is here; and little peaking, puling thing! I am a jolly, portwill take care you shall have no more garden-able man, as you sce. It so happened, that we dialogues. On your knees, too!- -The fellow was not half so civil to me. [Aside.]--Ridiculous! a poor beggarly swabber truly!- As for you, Mrs Bel. jun. Hold, madam! as much of your fury and foul language as you please upon me; but not one hard word against that lady, or by Heavens! both became widowers at the same time; I knew when I was well, and have continued single eve since. He fell into the clutches of Hark, sure I hear my lady. Fran. No, it was nothing. When did the poor gentleman light upon this termagant? Jon. Lackaday! 'twas here at the borough of Knavestown, when master had the great contest Lady Dove. Come, sir, none of your reprobate with 'squire Belfield, about three years ago: her swearing; none of your sea-noises here. I would first husband, Mr Searcher, was a king's messenmy first husband was alive! I would he was, forger, as they call it, and came down express from your sake! I am surprised, Miss Dove, you have no more regard for your reputation; a delicate swain truly you have chosen; just thrown ashore from the pitchy bowels of a shipwrecked privateer! Go, go; get you in; for shame! your father shall know of these goings on, depend on't :as for you, sir [Exit SOPHIA. Bel. jun. [Stopping LADY DOVE.] A word with you, madam! Is this fair dealing? What would you have said, if I had broke in thus upon you and Mr Paterson? Lady Dove. Mr Paterson! why, you rave; what is it you mean? Bel. jun. Come, come, this is too ridiculous; you know your reputation is in my keeping; call to mind what passed between us a while ago, and the engagement you are under on that account. Lady Dove. Ha, ha, ha! Bel. jun. Very well, truly; and you think to brave this matter out, do you? a great man about court during the poll; he caught a surfeit, as ill luck would have it, at the election-dinner; and, before he died, his wife, that's now my lady, came down to see him; then it was master fell in love with her: egad, 'twas the unluckiest job of all his life. Sir Ben. [Calls without.] Jonathan! why, Jonathan! Fran. Hark, you are called. Jon. Ay, ay; 'tis only my master; my lady tells the servants not to mind what sir Benjamin says, and I love to do as I am bid. Fran. Well, honest Jonathan, if you won't move, I must; by this time I hope my young master is happy with your young mistress. [Exit FRANCIS. Enter SIR BENJAMIN DOVE. Sir Ben. Why, Jonathan, I say? Oh, are you here? Why couldn't you come when I called you? Jon. Lackaday, sir! you don't consider how much easier it is for you to call, than for me to come. Lady Dove. Most assuredly; and shall make sir Benjamin call you to account, if you dare to breathe a word against my reputation: incorrigible coxcomb! to think I would keep any terms with you after such an event. Take my Sir Ben. I think, honest Jonathan, when I first word for it, Belfield, you are come home no wiser knew you, you was a parish orphan; I 'prenthan you went out; you missed the only advan- ticed you out; you run away froin your master; tage you might have taken of that rencounter, I took you into my family; you married; I set and now I set you at defiance: take heed to you up in a farm of my own; stocked it; you what you say, or look to hear from sir Benja-paid me no rent; I received you again into my service, or rather, I should say, my lady'sBel. jun. Oh, no doubt on't: how can sir Ben-Are these things so, or does my memory fail me, jamin avoid fighting for your sake, when your la- Jonathan? min. Iron. [Without.] Hoy there! within! what! nobody stirring? all hands asleep? all under the hatches? Sir Ben. Hey-day, who the dickens have we got here? Old captain Ironsides, as I am a sinner! who could have thought of this? Run to the door, good Jonathan-nay, hold; there's no escaping now-what will become of me!-he'll ruin every thing; and throw the whole house into confusion. Iron. [Entering] What, sir Ben! my little knight of Malta! give me a buss, my boy. Hold, hold! sure I'm out of my reckoning: let me look a little nearer; why, what mishap has befallen | you, that you heave out these signals of distress? Sir Ben. I'm heartily glad to see thee, my old friend; but a truce to your sea-phrases, for I don't understand them: what signals of distress have I about me? Iron. Why that white flag there at your main top-mast head: in plain English, what dost do with that clout about thy pate? Sir Ben. Clout, do you call it? 'Tis a little en dishabille, indeed; but there's nothing extraordinary, I take it, in a man's wearing his gown and cap in a morning; 'tis the dress I usually chuse to study in. Iron. And this hall is your library, is it? Ah! my old friend, my old friend! But, come, I want to have a little chat with you, and thought to have dropt in at pudding-time, as they say; for though it may be morning with thee, sir Ben, 'tis mid-day with the rest of the world. Sir Ben. Indeed! is it so late?-But I was fallen upon an agreeable tête à tête with lady Dove, and hardly knew how the time passed. Iron. Come, come; 'tis very clear how your time has passed-but what occasion is there for this fellow's being privy to our conversation? Why don't the lubber stir? What does the fat, lazy oaf stand staring at? Sir Ben. What shall I say now? Was ever any thing so distressing!Why that's Jonathan, captain; don't you remember your old friend, Jonathan? Jon. I hope your honour's in good health; I'm glad to see your honour come home again. Iron. Honest Jonathan, I came to visit your master, and not you; if you'll go and hasten dinner, and bring sir Benjamin his periwig and clothes, you'll do me a very acceptable piece of service; for, to tell you the truth, my friend, I haven't had a comfortable meal of fresh provision this many a day. [Exit JONATHAN. Sir Ben. 'Foregad, you're come to the wrong house to find one. [Aside. Iron. And so, sir knight, knowing I was welcome, and having met with a mishap here, upon your coast, I am come to taste your good cheer, and pass an evening with you over a tiff of punch. Sir Ben. The devil you are! [Aside.]—This is very kind of you: there is no man in England, captain Ironsides, better pleased to see his friends about him than I am. Iron. Ay, ay; if I did'nt think I was welcome, I shou'dn't ha' come. Sir Ben. You may be assured you are welcome. Iron. I am assured. Sir Ben. You are, by my soul! take my word for it, you are. Iron. Well, well; what need of all this ceremony about a meal's meat? who doubts you? Sir Ben. You need not doubt me, believe itI'll only step out, aud ask my lady what time she ordered dinner; or whether she has made any engagement I'm not apprized of. Iron. No, no; engagement! how can that be, and you in this pickle? Come, come, sit down; dinner won't come the quicker for your inquiry: and now tell me, how does my god-daughter Sophia? Sir Ben. Thank you heartily, captain, my daughter's well in health. Iron. That's well; and how fares your fine new wife? How goes on matrimony? Fond as ever, my little amorous Dove? always billing, always cooing? Sir Ben. No, captain, no; we are totally altered in that respect; we shew no fondness now before company; my lady is so delicate in that particular, that from the little notice she takes of me in public, you would scarce believe we were man and wife. : Iron. Ha, ha, ha! why 'tis the very circumstance that would confirm it; but I'm glad to hear it for, of all things under the sun, I most nauseate your nuptial familiarities; and, though you remember I was fool enough to dissuade you from this match, I am rejoiced to hear you manage so well and so wisely. Sir Ben. No man happier in this life, captain! no man happier! one thing only is wanting; had the kind stars but crowned our endearments Iron. What, my lady don't breed, then? Sir Ben. Hush, hush! for Heaven's sake don't speak so loud! should my lady overhear you, it might put strange things into her head; oh! she is a lady of delicate spirits, tender nerves-quite weak and tender nerves-a small matter throws her down-gentle as a lamb-starts at a strawspeak loud, and it destroys her: Oh! my friend, you are not used to deal with women's constitutions-these hypochondriac cases require a deal of management-'tis but charity to humour them; and you cannot think what pains it requires to keep them always quiet and in temper! |