I will not furnish you with a licensed power to keep alive an incorrigible fault, at the expense of one, who never would contend with you. Faulk. Nay, but, Julia, by my soul and honour!— If, after this Julia. But one word more.-As my faith has once been given to you, I never will barter it with another. I shall pray for your happiness with the truest sincerity; and the dearest blessing I can ask of heaven to send you, will be, to charm you from that unhappy temper, which, alone, has prevented the performance of our solemn engagement. All I request of you is, that you will yourself reflect upon this infirmity; and when you number up the many true delights it has deprived you of, let it not be your least regret, that it lost you the love of one, who would have followed you in beggary through the world! [Exit. Faulk. She's gone!—for ever!-There was an awful resolution in her manner, that rivetted me to my place. O fool!-dolt!-barbárian! Cursed as I am, with more imperfections than my fellow wretches, kind fortune sent a heaven-gifted cherub to my aid, and, like a ruffian, I have driven her from my side!—I must now haste to my appointment.-Well, my mind is tuned for such a scene !—I shall wish only to become a principal in it, and reverse the tale my cursed folly put me upon forging here. O Love!-tormenter!-fiend! whose influence, like the moon's, acting on men of dull souls, makes idiots of them, but meeting subtler spirits, betrays their course, and urges sensibility to madness! Enter MAID and LYDIA. [Exit. Maid. My mistress, ma'am, I know, was here, just now-perhaps she is only in the next room. [Exit. Lydia. Heigho!-Though he has used me so, this fellow runs strangely in my head. I believe, one lecture from my grave cousin, will make me recal him. Enter JULIA. Oh, Julia, I am come to you with such an appetite for consolation! Lud, child! what's the matter with you? You have been crying!—I'll be hanged if that Faulkland has not been tormenting you! Julia. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness: Something has flurried me a little.-Nothing that you can guess at. Lydia. Ah! whatever vexations you may have, I can assure you mine surpass them.-You know who Beverley proves to be? Julia. I will now own to you, Lydia, that Mr. Faulkland had before informed me of the whole affair. Lydia. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every one! but I don't care, I'll never have him. Julia. Nay, Lydia—— Lydia. Why, is it not provoking, when I thought we were coming to the prettiest distress imaginable, to find myself made a mere Smithfield bargain of at last?— There had I projected one of the most sentimental elopements!-so becoming a disguise!-so amiable a ladder of ropes!-Conscious moon-f -four horses-Scotch parson-with such surprise to Mrs. Malaprop! and such paragraphs in the newspapers!--Oh, I shall die with disappointment! Julia. I don't wonder at it. Lydia. Now-sad reverse!--what have I to expect, but, after a deal of flimsy preparation, with a bishop's licence, and my aunt's blessing, to go simpering up to the altar; or perhaps, be cried three times in a country church, and have an unmannerly, fat clerk, ask the consent of every butcher in the parish, to join John Absolute, and Lydia Languish, spinster! Oh, that I should live, to hear myself called spinster! Julia. Melancholy, indeed! Lydia. How mortifying, to remember the dear, deli cious shifts, I used to be put to, to gain half a minute's conversation with this fellow!-How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night in January, and found him in the garden, stuck, like a dripping statue !-There would he kneel to me in the snow, and sneeze and cough, so pathetically! he shivering with cold, and I with apprehension! and while the freezing blast numbed our joints, how warmed would he press me, to pity his flame, and glow with mutual ardour !—Ah, Julia, that was something like being in love! Julia. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should chide you only by laughing heartily at you; but it suits more the situation of my mind, at present, earnestly to entreat you, not to let a man, who loves you with sincerity, suffer that unhappiness from your caprice, which I know too well caprice can inflict. Lydia. Oh, Lud! what has brought my aunt here? Enter MRS. MALAPROP and DAVID. Mrs. M. So! so! here's fine work!-here's fine suicide, paracide, and simulation, going on in the fields! and Sir Anthony not to be found, to prevent the antistrophe! Julia. For heaven's sake, madam, what's the meaning of this? Lydia. Oh, patience!-Do, ma'am, for heaven's sake! tell us what is the matter? Mrs. M. Why, murder's the matter! slaughter's the matter! killing's the matter!—But he can tell you the perpendiculars. Julia. Do speak, friend. [To DAVID. David. Lookye, my lady by the mass, there's mischief going on. Folks don't use to meet for amusement, with fire-arms, firelocks, fire engines, fire screens, fire office, and the devil knows what other crackers beside! This, my lady, I say, has an angry favour.-To sure, Captain Absolute be Julia. But who is there beside Captain Absolute, friend? David. My poor master-under favour for mentioning him first. You know me, my lady-I am Davidand my master, of course, is, or was, 'Squire Acres.→ Then comes 'Squire Faulkland. Julia. Do, ma'am, let us instantly endeavour to prevent mischief. Mrs. M. Oh, fie! it would be very inelegant in us: we should only participate things. David. Ah, do, Mrs. Aunt, save a few lives!-they are desperately given, believe me.-Above all, there is that bloodthirsty Philistine, Sir Lucius O'Trigger. Mrs. M. Sir Lucius O'Trigger!-O mercy! have they drawn poor little dear Sir Lucius into the scrape?— Why, how you stand, girl! you have no more feeling than one of the Derbyshire putrefactions! Lydia. What are we to do, madam ? Mrs. M. Why, fly with the utmost felicity, to be sure, to prevent mischief!-here, friend-you can show us the place? David. Oh, never fear; we shall find it out by the report of the pistols. [Exeunt, he talking. Scene II.-King's Mead-fields. SIR LUCIUS and ACRES, with pistols. Acres. By my valour, then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance-Odds levels and aims!—I say, it is a good distance. Sir L. Is it, for muskets, or small field-pieces? upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave these things to me.-Stay, now-I'll show you. [Measures paces along the stage.] There, now, that is a very pretty dis tance-a pretty gentleman's distance. Acres. Z-ds! we might as well fight in a sentry box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the further he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. Sir L. 'Faith, then, I suppose you would aim at him best of all, if he was out of sight! Acres. No, Sir Lucius-but I should think forty, or eight and thirty yards Sir L. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. Acres. Odds bullets, no!-by my valour, there is no merit in killing him so near! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot:-a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me! Sir L. Well-the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute. for you ? Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius-but I don't understand Sir L. Why, you may think there's no being shot at without a little risk—and, if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it-I say, it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters. Acres. A quietus! Sir L. For instance, now-if that should be the case -would you choose to be pickled, and sent home ?—or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey ? -I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey, Acres. Pickled!-Snug lying in the Abbey!-Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don't talk so! Sir L. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before? Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. Sir L. Ah, that's a pity!-there's nothing like being used to a thing.-Pray, now, how would you receive the gentleman's shot? Acres. Odds files! I've practised that-there, Sir Lucius, there-[Puts himself in an attitude.]—a side |