CUMBERLAND THE WEST INDIAN THE reader need be informed no further of the plot of this pedantic play, than that the West Indian, Mr. Belcour, a rich young gentleman from the West Indies has arrived by water in London and meets Mr. Stockwell, the merchant and man of business with whom his business has been chiefly transacted. Mr. Stockwell, through a most improbable concurrence of circumstances, happens to be the legitimate father of Mr. Belcour, though the young gentleman is ignorant of the fact. The scene sets forth the first meeting of father and son. A Drawing-room. Mr. STOCKWELL discovered. Enter Servant. Serv. Sir, the foreign gentleman is come. Enter BELCOUR. Stock. Mr. Belcour, I am rejoiced to see you; you are welcome to England! Bel. I thank you heartily, good Mr. Stockwell. You and I have long conversed at a distance; now we are met; and the pleasure this meeting gives me amply compensates for the perils I have run through in accomplishing it. Stock. What perils, Mr. Belcour? I could not have thought you would have made a bad passage at this time o' year. Bel. Nor did we: courier-like, we came posting to your shores upon the pinions of the swiftest gales that ever blew; 'tis upon English ground all my difficulties have arisen; 'tis the passage from the river-side I complain of. Stock. Ay, indeed! What obstructions can you have met between this and the river-side ? Bel. Innumerable! Your town is as full of defiles as the island of Corsica; and, I believe, they are as obstinately defended: so much hurry, bustle, and confusion on your quays; so many sugar-casks, porterbuts, and common-councilmen in your streets, that unless a man marched with artillery in his front, 'tis more than the labour of Hercules can effect to make any tolerable way through your town. Stock. I am sorry you have been so incommoded. Bel. Why, 'faith, 'twas all my own fault. Accustomed to a land of slaves, and out of patience with the whole tribe of custom-house extortioners, boat-men, tide-waiters, and water-bailiffs, that beset me on all sides, worse than a swarm of musquitoes, I proceeded a little too roughly to brush them away with my rattan. The sturdy rogues took this in dudgeon, and beginning to rebel, the mob chose different sides, and a furious scuffle ensued; in the course of which, my person and apparel suffered so much, that I was obliged to step into the first tavern to refit, before I could make my approaches in any decent trim. Stock. Aside. All without is as I wish: dear Nature, add the rest, and I am happy. Well, Mr. Belcour, 'tis a rough sample you have had of my countrymen's spirit; but, I trust, you'll not think the worse of them for it. Bel. Not at all, not at all; I like them the better. Were I only a visitor, I might, perhaps, wish them a little more tractable; but, as a fellow-subject, and a sharer in their freedom, I applaud their spirit, though I feel the effects of it in every bone of my skin. Stock. Aside. That's well; I like that well. How gladly I could fall upon his neck, and own myself his father! Bel. Well, Mr. Stockwell, for the first time in my life, here am I in England; at the fountain head of pleasure, in the land of beauty, of arts, and elegancies. My happy stars have given me a good estate, and the conspiring winds have blown me hither to spend it. Stock. To use it, not to waste it, I should hope; to treat it, Mr. Belcour, not as a vassal, over whom you have a wanton and despotic power, but as a subject, which you are bound to govern with a temperate and restrained authority. Bel. True, sir, most truly said; mine's a commission, not a right; I am the offspring of distress, and every child of sorrow is my brother: while I have hands to hold, therefore, I will hold them open to mankind. But, sir, my passions are my masters; they take me where they will; and oftentimes they leave to reason and to virtue nothing but my wishes and my sighs. Stock. Come, come, the man who can accuse, corrects himself. Bel. Ah! that's an office I am weary of; I wish a friend would take it up. I would to heaven you had leisure for the employ ! but did you drive a trade to the four corners of the world, you would not find the task so toilsome as to keep me free from faults. Stock. Well, I am not discouraged: this candour tells me I should not have the fault of self-conceit to combat; that, at least, is not amongst the number. Bel. No; if I knew that man on earth who thought more humbly of me than I do of myself, I would take up his opinion, and forego my own. Stock. And were I to choose a pupil, it should be one of your complexion; so if you'll come along with me, we'll agree upon your admission, and enter on a a course of lectures directly. Bel. With all my heart. Exeunt. |