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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' ing; but, on these occasions, I would manage fairly washed any hands of 'em! I ha' nothing to myself as I would my ship; not by running her say to none of 'em.
into every odd creek and cranny, in the smugSkiff Mercy be good unto us! that my wife gling fashion, as if I had no good credentials to could but hear your worship talk.
produce; but, play fairly, and in sight, d'ye ee; Bel. jun. Oh, my dear uncle !
and whenever a safe harbour opeus, stand boldIron. But I'll veer away no more good advice ly in, boy, and lay her up snug, in a good birth, after you; so even drive as you will under your once for all. petticoat-sails; black, brown, fair, or tawny, 'uis Bel. jun. Come, then, uncle, let us about it; all tish that comes in your net: Why, where's and you may greatly favour my enterprize, since your reason, Bob, all this here while? Where's you can keep the father and mother in play, your religion, and be damned to you?
while Bel. jun. Come, come, my dear uncle, a Iron. Avast, young man ! avast! the father, truce to your philosophy. Go, throw your dol- if you please, without the mother; sir Benjalars into yonder ocean, and bribe the tempest to min's a passable good companion, for a landbe still; you shall as soon reverse the operations man; but for my lady I'll have nothing to of nature, as wean my heart from my Sophia. say to my lady; she's his wife, thank the stars,
Iron. Hold, hold ! take me right; if, by So- and not mine. phia, you mean the daughter of sir Benjamin Bel. jun. Be it as you will; I shall be glad of Dore,'I don't care if I make one with you; your company on any terms. what say'st thou, boy ? shall it be so?
Iron. Say no morc, then. About ship; if Bel. jun. So, then, you think there may be one you are bound for that port, I'm your mate :good woman, however?
master, look to the wreck; I'm for a fresh cruize. Iron. Just as I think there may be one honest
SCENE I. The outside of Sir BENJAMIN to expel his father from your farm; to perseDove's house.
cute him and his innocent family, till you had Enter BELFIELD, sen. and Lucy WATERS.
accomplished their ruin, and driven them to
the very brink of the ocean for their habitation Lucy. What, don't I know you? haven't you and subsistence ? been to me of all mankind the basest?
bel. sen. Your questions, Miss Lucy, begin to Bel. sen. Not yet, Lucy.
be impertinent. Lucy. Sure, Mr Beltield, you won't pretend to Lucy. Oh, do they touch you, sir? but I'll denr it to my face.
waste no more time with you; my business is Bel. sen. To thy face, child, I will not pretend with your Sophia. Here, in the very spot which that I can deny any thing; you are much too you hope to make the scene of your guilty trihandsome to be contradicted.
umphs, will I expose you to her; set furth your Lucy. Pish!
inhuman conduct to your unhappy brother; and Bel. sen. So! so!
detect the mean artifices you have been driven 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. You will ? Bel. sen. Repeatedly.
Lucy. I will, be assured; so let them pass. Lury. And you have now engaged yourself to Bel. sen. Stay, Lucy; understand yourself a the daughter of sir Benjamin Dove, have you little better. Didu't you pretend to Sophia, that not?
my brother paid his addresses to you; that he Bel. sen. Assuredly.
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 to Lucy. Hold, Mr Belfield, nor further explain wards me yourself, why you prevented those of a transaction, which, though it reflects shame an humbler lover, young Philip, the son of your enough upon me, tliat was your instrument, late tenant, poor Goodwin?
ought to cover you, who was principal in the Bel. sen. For the very reason you state in crime, with treble confusion and remorse. your question; because I had no honourable de Bel. sen. True, child; it was rather a disreputasigns, and he bad: you disappointed my hopes, ble transaction; and 'tis, therefore, fit no part and I was resolved to defeat his.
of it should rest with me: I shall disavow it alLucy. And this you thought reason sufficient together. Vol. II.
Lucy. Incredible confidence!
with life has shewn me how impracticable these Bel. sen. We shall see who will meet most be principles are. To live with mankind, we must live lief in the world; you or I. Choose, therefore, like mankind : was it a world of honesty, I should your part: if you betray it, you have ne for an blush to be a map of art. enemy; and a fatal one you shall find me. Put. And do you dream of ever reaching Now, enter,
you think fit; there lies your way your journey's end by such crooked paths as these to Sophia. [She goes into the house.) So! how are? am I to parry this blow? what plea shall I use Bel. sen. And yet, my most sage moralist, with Sophia ? 'twas the ardour of my love-any wonderful as it may seem to thee, true it is, not. thing will find pardon with a woman, that con- withstanding, that, after having threaded all veys flattery to her charins. After all, if the these by.ways and crooked allies, which thy rightworst should happen, and I be defeated in this lined apprehension knows nothing of; atter hamatch, so shall I be saved trom doing that, ving driven iny rival froin the field, and being alwhich, when done, 'tis probable I may repent of; most in possession of the spoil, still I feel a reand I have some intimation from within, which pugnance in me that almost tempts me w retells me that it will be so : I perceive that, in this nounce my good fortune, and abandon a victory life, he, who is checked by the rubs of compunc-| I have struggled so hard to obtain. tion, can never arrive at the summit of prospe Pat. I guessed as much; 'tis your Violetta; rity.
'tis your fair Portuguese, that counterworks your
good fortune; and I must own to you, it was Enter PATERSON.
principally to save you from that improvident atPat. What, melancholy, Mr Belfeld! So near tachment, that I wrote so pressingly for your reyour happiness, and so full of thought?
turn; but though I have got your body in safe Bel. sen. Happiness ! what's that?
holding, your heart is still at Lisbon; and if you Pat. I'll tell you, sir; the possession of a love marry Miss Dove, 'tis because Violetta's fortune ly girl, with fifty thousand pounds in her lap, and was demolished by the earthquake ; and sir Bentwice fifty thousand virtues in her mind ; this I jamin's stands safe upon terra firma. call happiness, as much as portal inan can me Bel. sen. Prithee, Paterson, don't be too hard rit : and this, as I take it, you are destined to upon me: sure you don't suspect that I am marenjoy
ried to Violetta? Bel. sen. That is not so certain, Mr Paterson. Pat. Married to Violetta! Now you grow
believe it, that perverse hussy, Lucy much too serious, and 'tis time to put an end to Waters, who left me but this minute, threatens the discourse.
[Erit. to transverse all my hopes, and is gone this in Bel.sen. And you grow much too quick-siyhted, stant to Sophia with that resolution?
Mr Paterson, for my acquaintance. I think he Pat Impossible! how is Miss Waters provided does not quite suspect me of double dealing in or provoked to do this !
this business ; and yet I have my doubts; his reBel. sen Why, 'tis a foolish story, and scarce ply to my question was equivocal, and his deparworth relating to you ; but you know, when your ture abrupi-I know not what to think, l'his I letters called me home from Portugal, I found know, that Love is a deity, and Avarice a devil; my younger brother in close attendance on Miss that l'ioletta is my lawful wife; and that Andrew Dove; and, indeed, such goud use ban the tel-Beltield is a villain.
[Erit. low made of his time in my absence, that I found it impossible to counterwork bis operations by
SCENE II. fair and open approaches; so, to make short of the story, I took this girl, Lucy Waters, into part
Paterson passes over the stage. nership; and, by a happy device, ruined him with Pat. Ali,abroad this fine day—not a creature Sophia.
within doors. Pat. This, Mr Belfield, I neither know, nor wish to know.
Enter Kitty. Bel. sen. Let it pass, then. Defeated in these Kitty. Mr Paterson ! bist, Mr Paterson! a views, my brother, as you know, bctook himself word in your car, sweet sir. to the desperate course of privateering, with that Pat, Curse on't, she has caught me-Well, old tar-barrel, my uncle : what may have been Mrs Kitty? his fate, I know not, but I have found it conve kitty. Why, I have been hunting you all the nient to propagate a report of his death. house over; my lady's impatient to see you. Pat. I am sorry for it, Mr Belford: I wish
Pat. Oh, I'in my lady Dove's most obedient nothing was convenient, that can be thought dis- servant-And what are her ladyship’s commands honourable.
Bel. sen. Nature, Mr Paterson, never put into Kitty. Fy, Mr Paterson! how should I know a huinan composition more candour and credu- what her ladyship wants with you? but a secret lity than she did into mine; but acquaintance it is, no doubt, for she desires you to come to her
immediately in the garden, at the bottom of the me any further, at present; I must leave you; yew-tree walk, next the warren.
remember the condition of our agreement, and Pat. The devil she does ! - What a pity it expect my friendship-Oh, I could tear your is, Mrs Kitty, we can't cure your lady of this turn
[Erit. for solitude. I wish you would go with me; your Bel. jun. Well, sir Benjamin, keep your own company, probably, will divert her from her con- counsel, if you are wise; I'll do as I would be templations : besides, I shall certainly mistake done by. Had I such a wife as lady Dove, I
should be very happy to have such a friend as Kitty. I go with you, Mr Paterson! a fine Mr Paterson.
[Erit. thing truly: I'd have you to know, that my
character is not to be trusted with young fellows in
SCENE IV. vew-tree walks, whatever my lady may think of the matter-Besides, l’ve an assignation in ano
Enter Sophia Dove, and Lucy WATERS. [Erit.
Lucy. If there is faith in woman, I have seen Pat. What a devilish dilemma am I in! Why young Belficld; I have beheld his apparition; for this is a peremptory assignation-Certain it is, what else could it be? there are some ladies that no wise man should Sophia. Ilow? when? where? I shall faint with be commonly civil to—Here have I been flat-surprise. tering myself that I was stroaking a termagant Lucy. As I crossed the yew-tree walk, I saw 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 ladysbip'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 Sophia. Injuries, Miss Waters! what injuries to run away from a victory; but 'tis frequently have you done him? Tell me; for therein, perthe case in precipitate successes; we conquer braps, I may be concerned. more than we have wit to keep, or ability to en Lucy. Deeply concerned you are; with the joy.
[E.rit. most penitent remorse I confess it to you, that
his affections to you were pure, bonest, and sinSCENE III.—Changes to the yeu-tree walk. cere. Yes, amiable Sophia, you was unrivalled
in his esteem; and I, who persuaded you to the Enter BelField junior.
contrary, am the basest, the falscst of womanBel.jun. Now, could I but meet my Sophia ! - kind; every syllable I told you of his engageWhere can she have hid herself?-Ilush; lady ments to me, was a malicious invention : how Dove, as I live!
could you be so blind to your own superiority, to
give credit to the imposition, and suffer him to Enter Lady Dove.
depart without an explanation? Oh, that villain, Lady Dove. So, Mr Paterson, you're a pretty that villain, his brother, has undone us all! gentleman, to keep a lady waiting here! Why, Sophia. Villain, do you call biin? Whither how you stand ?---Come, come, I shall expect a would you transport my inagination? You burry very handsome atonement for this indecorum- me with such rapidity from one surprise to anoWhy, what, let me look-Ah! who have we ther, that I know not where to fix, how to act, or here?
what to believe. Bel. jun. A man, madam; and though not Lucy. Oh, madam! he is a villain, a most acyour man, yet one as honest, and as secret : complished one; and, if I can but snatch you come, come, my lady, I'm no tell-tale; be you from the share he has spread for you, I hope it but grateful, this goes no further.
will, in some measure, atone for the injuries I Lady Dove. Lost and undone! •young Bel- have done to you, and to that unhappy youth, field !
who now - Heavens! I see him again ! he Bel. jun. The same; but be not alarmed; we comes this way! I cannot endure his sight! alive both have our secrets; I am, like you, a votary or dead, I must avoid him.
[Runs out. to love: favour but my virtuous passion for Miss Dove, and take you your Paterson; I shall be si
Enter BELFIELD junior. lent as the grave.
Bel. jun. Adorable Sophia ! this transport overLady Dove. Humph!
Bel. jun. Nay, never hesitate; my brother, I Sophia. Sir! Mr Belfield, is it you? Oh, support know, had your wishes: but wherein has nature favoured him more than me? And, since fortune Bel. jun. With my life, thou loveliest of wohas now made my scale as heavy as his, why men ! Behold your poor adventurer is returned ; should you partially direct the beam?
happy past compute, if his fate is not indifferent Lady Dove. Weil, if it is so, and that you pro- to you; rich beyond measure, if his safety is wormise not to betray me- But this accident has thy your concern. so discomposed me (plague on't say I), don't press Sophia. Release me, I beseech you : what have
pays my labours.
I done! Sure you are too generous to take any dyship has so liberally equipped him with weaadvantage of my confusion.
[Exeunt severally. Bel. jun. Pardon me, my Sophia! the advan
SCENE V.-A hall. tages I take from your confusion are not to be
Enter JONATHAN and FRANCIS. purchased by the riches of the east: I would not forego the transport of holding you one minute Jon, And so, sir, 't's just as I tell you; every in my arms, for all that wealth and greatness have thing in this family goes according to the will of to give.
the lady: for my own part, I am one of those
that bate trouble; I swiin with the stream, and LADY Dove enters, while BELFIELD junior is
make my place as easy as I can. kneeling, and embracing Sophia.
Fran. Your looks, Mr Jonathan, convince me
that you live at your ease. Lady Dove. Hey-day! what's here to do with Jon. I do so; and therefore, in spite of the
old proverb, “ Like master, like man,") you teSophia. Ah!
[Shrieks. ver saw two people more different than I and Bel. jun. Confusion ! Lady Dove here? sir Benjaının 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 both became widowers at the same time; I knew was not half so civil to me. (Aside.]—-Ridicu- when I was well, and have continued single eve lous! a poor beggarly swabber truly ! -As for since. He fell into the clutches of —Hark, sure
I hear my ladyBel. jun. Hold, madam! as inuch of your fury Fran. No, it was nothing. When did the poor and foul language as you please upou me; but gentleman light upon this termagant ? not one hard word against that lady, or by Hea 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 inessenmy first busband was alive! I would he was, for ger, as they call it, and came down express from your sake! I am surprised, Miss Dove, you have a great man about court during the pull; he no more regard for your reputation; a delicate caught a surfeit, as ill luck would have it, at the swain truly you have chosen; just thrown ashore election-dinner; and, before he died, his wife, from the pitchy bowels of a shipwrecked priva- that's now my lady, came down to see bim; then teer! Go, go; get you in; for shame! your father it was master fell in love with her: egad, 'twas shall know of these goings on, depend on't: the unluckiest job of all his life. as for you, sir
[Exit Sophia. Sir Ben. [Calls without.] Jonathan! why, JoBel. jun. (Stopping Lady Dove.) A word with nathan! you, madam! Is this fair dealing? What would Fran. Hark, you are called. you have said, if I had broke in thus upon you Jon. Ay, ay; 'tis only my master; my lady tells and Mr Paterson?
the servants not to mind what sir Benjamio says, Lady Dove. Mr Patersoy ! why, you rave; and I love to do as I am bid. what is it you mean?
Fran. Well, honest Jonathan, if you won't Bel. jun. Come, come, this is too ridiculous ; move, I inust; by this time I hope my young you know your reputation is in my keeping; call master is happy with your young muistress. to mind what passed between us a while ago, and
[Erit FRANCIS. the engagement you are under on that account. Lady Dove. Ha, ha, ha!
Enter Sir BENJAMIN Dove. Bel. jun. Very well, truly; and you think to Sir Ben. Why, Jonathan, I say? Oh, are you brave this matter out, do you
here? Why cou'dn't you come when I called Lady Dove. Most assurediy; and shall make you? sir Benjamin call you to account, if you dare to Jon. Lackaday, sir! you don't consider how breathe a word against my reputation: incor- much easier it is for you to call, than for me to rigible coxcomb! to think I would keep any come. 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 yo!l, 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 deliance : take heed to you up in a farm. of my ow; steched it; you what you say, or look to hear froin sir Benja- | paid me no rent; I received you again into my min.
service, or rather, I should say, wuv 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?
Jon. Why, to be sure, I partly remember some Iron. And so, sir knight, knowing I was welwhat of what your worship mentions.
come, and having met with a mishap here, upon Sir Ben If you partly remember all this, your coast, 1 am come to taste your good Jonathan, don't entirely forget to come when cheer, and pass an evening with you over a tiff call.
of punch. Iron. (Without.] Hoy there! within ! what! Sir Ben. The devil you are ! [Aside. This nobody stirring ? all hands asleep? all under is very kind of you: there is no man in England, the hatches?
captain Ironsides, better pleased to see his friends Sir Ben. Hey-day, who the dickens have we about him than I am. got here? Old captain Ironsides, as I am a sin Iron. Ay, ay; if I did'nt think I was welcome, ner! who could have thought of this? Run to I shou’dn't ha' the door, good Jonathan-nay, hold; there's no Sir Ben. You may be assured you are welcome. escaping now :-what will become of me!-he'll Iron. I am assured. ruin every thing; and throw the whole house Sir Ben. You are, by my soul ! take my word into confusion.
for it, you are. Iron. ( Entering.] What, sir Ben! my little Iron. Well, well; what need of all this cereknight of Malta ! give me a buss, my boy. Hold, mony about a meal's meat? who doubts you? hold ! sure I'm out of my reckoning : let me look Sir Ben. You need not doubt me, believe it a little nearer; why, what mishap has befallen I'll only step out, aud ask my lady what time she you, that you heave out these signals of distress ordered dinner; or whether she has made any
Sir Ben. I'm heartily glad to see thee, my old engagement I'm not apprized of. friend; but a truce to your sea-phrases, for I Iron. No, no; engagement ! how can that be, don't understand them: what signals of distress and you in this pickle ? Coine, come, sit down; have I about me!
dinner won't come the quicker for your inIron. Why that white flag there at your main quiry: and now tell me, how does my god-daughtop-mast head: in plain English, what dost do ter Sophia? with that clout about thy pate?
Sir Ben. Thank you heartily, captain, my Sir Ben. Clout, do you call it? 'Tis a little daughter's well in health. en dishabille, indeed; but there's nothing extra Iron. That's well; and how fares your fine ordinary, I take it, in a man's wearing his gown new wife? How goes on matrimony? Fond as and cap in a morning ; 'tis the dress I usually ever, my little amorous Dove? always billing, alcbuse to study in.
ways cooing? Iron. And this hall is your library, is it? Ah! Sir Ben. No, captain, no; we are totally almy old friend, my old friend ! But, come, I want tered in that respect; we shew no fondness now to have a little chat with you, and thought to before company; my lady is so delicate in that have dropt in at pudding-time, as they say; for particular, that from the little notice she takes of though it may be inorning with thee, sir Ben, 'tis me in public, you would scarce believe we were mid-day with the rest of the world.
man and wife. Sir Ben. Indeed! is it so late? -But I was Iron. Ha, ha, ha! why 'tis the very circumfallen upon an agreeable téte à tête with lady stance that would confirm it; but I'm glad to Dore, and hardly knew how the time passed. hear it: for, of all things under the sun, I most
Iron. Come, come ; 'uis very clear how your nauseate your nuptial familiarities; and, though time has passed—but what occasion is there for you remember I was fool enough to dissuade you this fellow's being privy to our conversation ?- from this match, I am rejoiced to hear you maWhy don't the lubber stir? What does the fat, nage so well and so wisely. lazy oaf stand staring at?
Sir Ben. No man happier in this life, captain ! Sir Ben. What shall I say now? Was ever any no man happier ! one thing only is wanting; thing so distressing ! Wby that's Jonathan, had the kind stars but crowned our endear. captain; don't you remember your old friend, mentsJonathan?
Iron. What, my lady don't breed, then ? Jon. I hope your honour's in good health; I'm Sir Ben. Hush, hush ! for Heaven's sake don't glad to see your honour come home again. speak so loud! should my lady overhear you, it
Iron. Honest Jonathan, I came to visit your might put strange things into her head; oh! she master, and not you; if you'll go and hasten is a lady of delicate spirits, tender nerves quite dinner, and bring sir Benjamin his periwig and weak and tender nerves--a small matter throws clothes, you'll do me a very acceptable piece of her down-gentle as a lambstarts at a strawservice; for, to tell you the truth, my friend, I speak loud, and it destroys her: Oh! my friend, haven't had a comfortable meal of fresh provi- you are not used to deal with wonien's constitusion this many a day.
tions—these hypochondriac cases require a deal
[Erit Jonatuan. of management-'tis but charity to humour them; Sir Ben. 'Foregad, you're come to the wrong and you cannot think what pains it requires to house to find one.
[Aside. keep them always quiet and in temper!