SCENE I.—A Farm Yard. House on one Side, a neat Flower Garden on the other. The Bells of a Team jingling.

WOYH! Whoh! Smiler.

So Feyther be not come home from the Nabob's house yet. Eh! bean't that sister Jessy in her garden, busy among the poseys?—Sister Jessy!

Ah, Frank. so soon returned from Gloucester? have you sold the corn?

Ees.

And how did you like the town? you were never there before?

Loike it—I doant know how I loik'd it, not I; zomehow cou [...]dn [...]t zee the town for the housen: desperate zight of 'em, to be sure—But, Jessy, you who went to Lunnun Town to take in your learing, can tell me, be there as many houses in Lunnun?

A hundred times the number.

And do your 'squires there▪ like Sir Hubert Stanley and the Nabob here, keep fine coaches?

Yes, Frank; there are some thousands round St. James [...]s Gate.

St. James's Geat! Dong it; it wou'd be wort [...] a poor man's while to stand and open that geat—Pray you, where do that geat lead to?

The road to preferment Frank.

Ecod, if your road to preferment be so cramm'd wi' your coaches and great folk no wonder a poor man be run down when he tries to get a bit.

Ha! ha!

[Page 6]

You seem to be in terrible good spirits, Jessy.

I have reason, Frank, I have just received a letter from my dear Edward, who has left London on business with his father, Mr. Rapid, and will be here to-day.

I suppose it be a desperate long letter, and cruel sweet. Full of kisses and voluntines.—Nine sheets, I war­rant.

Hardly nine words. The truth is, that Edward, tho' handsome, generous, and I hope sincere, is impatient, and hasty to a degree, that—

Hasty! What then? When a man be on the road to do good, he can't go too fast, I say.—Bean [...]t that Feyther coming thro' Wheat Ash? He have been drinking and gamestring all good Sunday night wi' Nabob's sarvants, —how whitish and deadly bad he do luck. He us'd to be as comely and handsome as either of us, wasn't he now? Do you know, Jessy, at church yesterday, Sir Hubert looking round, as he always do, to see if his tenants be there, miss'd Feyther, and gave me such a desperate look, that I dropt prayer book out of my hand; and truly, when Feyther do go to church, I be always sham'd, he never knows where to find the collect—never—I'm sure it be not my fault, he be so full of prodigality—never son set Feyther better exam­ple than I do [...]s mine; what can I do more for 'un? it wou [...]dn [...]t be becoming in me to leather Feyther, would it, Jessy?

Here he comes—I'll return to my garden—to con­verse with him is to me dreadful; for while my breast rises with indignation at his conduct as a man, it sinks again in pity for the misfortunes of a parent.

Now, that's just like I—I feels as if I shou'd like to lick 'un and cry all the time—but what will be the end on't, Jessy?

Ruin, inevitable ruin

Well, don [...]t thee be cast down—thee knows I be cruel kind to thee; at meals, I always gis thee the desperate n [...]ce bits, and if thy lover prove false hearted, or Feyther shou'd come to decay, I be a terrible strong lad, I'll work for thee fra sun-rise to down, and if any one offer to harm thee, I'll fight for thee till I die.

Thanks, my good lad; thanks, dear brother.

As nice a bit of a sister that, as in our country round.

Ba viamo tutti tra.—Dom it this be what I call loife! Have you sold the wheat?

Ees.

How much?

Two load.—Six and twenty pound.

Exactly the trifle I lost last night.

What?

Take it to the Nabob's gentleman.

I were going, Feyther, to the castle, to ge [...] it to Sir Hubert's steward for rent.

Rent, you bore! That for Sir Hubert

Ah! Nabob's sarvants be the tippy—Every thing be done by them so genteely.

Ecod▪ you be done by them genteely enough! I be sure that house have brought the country round to ruina­tion. Before this Nabob come here wi' all his money, and be doom'd to 'un, every thing were as peaceable and deceant as never was;—not a lawyer within ten miles; now there be three practizing in village; and what's ameast as bad, there be three doctors; and the farmers so consated, drive about in their chay carts, eat lump sugar every day, and g [...] balls.

To be sure.

And what's the upshot? why that they jig it away to county jail.

Tezez vous! Let me see—Great cassino be ten o' diamonds. Well, then, I play—

Play! ecod, if you go on so, you mun work tho'.

Next I mun take care of the speads.

No, Feyther, a spade mun take care o' you; by gol▪ here be Mr. Heartley, Sir Hubert's steward;—now doan't you be saucy to 'un, Feyther;—now do behave thy zelf —now that's a man, Feyther, do.

Good day, Farmer Oatland; how dost do, honest Frank?

Desperate pure, thank ye, fur.

Well, farmer, once more I have call [...]d respecting your arrear of rent—Three hundred pound is a long sum.

Three hundred pound!

[Page 8]

And unless it be immediately discharg'd, Sir Hubert is resolv'd to—

That for Sir Hubert—He shall have his rent—Frank, send your sister Jessy to the Nabob [...]s, he'll let me have the money.

No! I won't—What business have sister at such a desperate prodigal place! Na, na, I [...]ll go myzelf.

You are in the right▪ honest Frank.

Yes, sur▪ I always am.

Ugh! You vulgar mongrel—Well, desire the Na­bob's gentleman to desire the Nabob to let me have three hun­dred pounds.

He won't gi' thee a brass farthing.

Sir Hubert shall have his money—Ha! ha! ha! my notion is▪ he wants it sad enough, ha! ha!

Sirrah!

Don't you mind 'un, sur don't ye, he be's into­sticated. Dong thee, beheave thyzelf

Silence▪ you hound! and obey▪—Bon jour, Mr. Steward—I [...]ll to bed— Pon honour, I must cut Champaigne, it makes me so narvous—Sir Hubert shall have his money, let that satisfy—Follow me, cur.

Sad doings, Frank.

SCENE II.—A Room in the Nabob [...]s House.

Good Mr. Bronze, have you been at Sir Hubert Stanley [...]s?

Yes, ma'am.

Is Charles Stanley arrived?

No, ma'am; but he is hourly expected.

Do they say he is well—quite recovered?

I don't know ma'am —upon my soul.—I beg pardon, but really the Baronet [...]s house is horrid vulgar, compared to your uncle's, the Nabob's here; I peep [...]d thro' my glass into an old hall, and beheld fifty paupers at dinner, such wretches, and the Baronet himself walking round the table to see them properly fed.— How damn'd low!—Ugh! I wou [...]d bet a rump and dozen our second table is more gen­teelerer than Sir Hubert [...]s own—But I must away, for we [Page 9] expect the rich Miss Vortex—I beg pardon; but your name and the Nabob [...]s daughter being the same, we call her the rich▪ to distinguish—

And you do wisely—No term of distinction could possibly be more significant or better understood by the world than that you have adopted.

Hope no offence, ma'am.

None, Bronze, go in—

The last man on earth to offend a fine woman.

The rich Miss Vortex—most true.—But now dear Charles Stanley is returned, I claim the superior title of the happy. Oh! Charles, when we parted last at Spa, how great the contrast; thy animated form was prison [...]d in the icy fetters of disease, thy pase and quiv'ring lip refus'd a last adieu;—but ah! a smile, that seem'd borrow'd from a seraph, who waited to bear thee up to Heaven, swore for thee everlasting love. That smile supported me in solitude— but to solitude I have now bid adieu: and to be near the lord of my heart, have again enter'd this house, the palace of ruin­ous luxury and licentious madness:—but here comes its whim­sical proprietor.

Sublime!—Oh the same of this speech will spread to Indostan. Eh!—don't I smell the pure air in this room? Oh! you villains, would you destroy me, throw about the perfumes. For legislative profundity, for fancy and decora­tion—'tis a speech—

What speech is it, sir?

Ah! Ellen, why my maiden speech in Parlia­ment.—It will alarm all Europe;—I [...]ll speak it to you—

No, my dear uncle, not just now.—I hear you've been ill.

Oh! very. A strange agitation at my heart and such a whizzing and spinning in my head—

I hope you've had advice?—

Oh, yes I've had them all —One physician told me it was caused by too brilliant and effervescent a genius;— the next said, it was the scurvy;—a third, it proceeded from not eating pepper to a melon; another had the impudence to hint it was only little qualms that agitated some gentlemen [Page 10] who had made fortunes in India;—one recommended a s [...] voyage—another a flannel night-cap;—one prescrib'd water, —the other brandy; but, however, they all agreed in this essential point, that I'm not to be contradicted, but have my way in every thing.

An extremely pleasant prescription, certainly. But under these circumstances do you hold it prudent, uncle, to become a parliamentary Orator? I believe a little gentle con­tradiction is usual in that House.

I know it—but if you will hear my speech, you will see how I manage—I begin—"Sir—"

Your daughter, sir, is arrived from town.

Thank you, cousin, for this relief.—

Zounds! I'm not to be interrupted.

She is here, sir.

My dear Nabob, uncommon glad to see you. Ah! Ellen; what, tired of seclusion and a cottage?

I hope, cousin, I am welcome to you.

Certainly; you know we are uncommon glad to see any body in the country—but, my dear Nabob, you dont't inquire about the opening of our town-house.

I was thinking of my speech.

The most brilliant house-warming—uncom­mon full, above a thousand people—every body there.

Pray, cousin, do you then visit every body?

Certainly, they must ask me.

Must! I should imagine that wou'd depend on in­clination.

Inclination! Pshaw! I beg your pardon, but you are really uncommon ignorant, my dear. They must ask me, I tell you.—Now suppose a Duchess rash enough to shut me from her parties;—very well.—She names a night—I name the same, and give an entertainment greatly surpassing her's in splendor and profusion.—What is the consequence? —why, that her rooms are as deserted as an Ex-minister's levee▪ and mine cramm [...]d to suffocation with her Grace's most puissant and noble friends.—Ha! ha! my dear Ellen, the court of St. James's run after a good supper as eagerly as the Court of Aldermen.—Ha! ha! your being in this coun­try, [Page 11] Nabob, was thought quite charming.—A host not be­ing at home to receive his guests is uncommon new and ele­gant, isn't it.—Here we improve, my dear, on ancient hos­pitality—those little memorandums, Nabob, will give you an idea of the sort of thing.

"March"—Oh! that's a delightful month, when Nature produces nothing, and every thing is forced.—Let me see— "50 quarts of green peas at five gui­neas a quart," — that was pretty well:—"500 peaches"— at what?—"a guinea each."—Oh! too cheap.

'Tis very true; but I assure you I tried every where to get them dearer, but cou'd not.

And I suppose the new white satin furniture was all spoil'd.

Oh! entirely—and the pier glasses shivered to pieces so delightfully.

Well, I hope you had the whole account put in the papers?

Certainly, else what would have been the use of giving the fete? Then the company; such charming ec­centricity, such characters out of character.—We had a no­ble Peer bowing for custom to his shop, and an Alderman turning over the music leaves for the celebrated Soprano; an Orator's lady detailing her husband's three hours speech in Parliament, and the Orator himself describing how puppets are managed at the Fantoccini; we had grandmothers mak­ing assignations with boys, and the children of Israel joining the host of Pharoah.—Oh! my dear Miss Vortex, why don't you partake in these charming scenes?

My dear Miss Vortex, six suppers would annihilate my fortune.

Oh! true; I forg [...]t your small fortune: but I don't think it much signifies, I swear people of fashion in town seem to do as well without money as with it. You might be successful at play—there are points to be learnt which certainly do not give you the worst of the game. Come, will you be my protege?

Excuse me, cousin. I dare say I ought to be co­vered with blushes when I own a vulgar detestation of the character of a female gamester; and I must decline the honour of your [...]ntroduction to the ha [...]t ton, till at least they have justice on their side.

An uncommon odd girl, Nabob.

[Page 12]

Heavens! to what state of [...]bject degradation must fas [...]onable society be reduced, when officers of police are as much [...] by ladies in the purli [...]s of St. James's, as they are by cut-purses in the [...] of St. Giles's.

For shame, Ellen, to censure your own sex.

Nor Madam, I am it's advocate—and in that sex's name protest an abhorrence of those wo [...]en who do not con­sider any thing shameful but to be ashamed of anything—whose resemblance to nature and innocence exists but in their na­kedness, and to whom honour is only known as a pledge at a gaming-table.

Did you ever hear, Nabob?

I did not hear a word she said—I was thinking of my speech.

A pert, Gothic, low-bred creature! But her contemptible fortune suits uncommon well with her gro [...]elling ideas.

Don't you talk of her fortune, it always makes m [...] poor [...]ead worse. You know at the time I gave her fi [...]e thousand pounds in lieu of what I call'd her expectations. I had in my hands an [...]. O dear! I'm afraid the doctor was right—ah! [...] are certain East India [...]—I wonder if giving her fifty thousand back again wou [...]d do my heart any good.

What! my dear Nabob? I declare you quite shock me.

Oh conscience!

Conscience! he! he! a thing so uncommon vulgar, a thing so completely [...]; besides, you know very well it is absolutely impossible to exist under 20,000 l. a year.

That's very true.

Some people certainly do contrive to [...] on with ten thousand, but how they do it is to [...]; th [...] think of your intention of marrying me to the son of your great rival the B [...]ronet; think of his borough.

Ah! very true.—Conscience avaunt; I have made a motion on matrimony to Sir Hubert.

And young Stanley's arrival; Oh! what a sweet youth!

Oh! what a sweet borough interest! [...] I'm glad your heart is interested.

[Page 13]

Heart interested! Lud, how can you suspect me of so uncommon vulgar a sensation. I trust my joy is occasion'd by ideas more becoming a woman of fashion—I am charm'd because his fortune is large▪ his family ancient; and because my marriage will render all my female friends so uncommon miserable; and because I suspect that Ellen met young Stanley at Spa, and that she dares aspire to—

I wish she were out of the house.

No—she shall stay to witness my triumph.

Shall stay—I'm not to be contradicted, you know—my physicians—

Certainly not, my dear Nabob; but I may re­commend; I'm sure no physician would object to your taking advice. Ah! does Ellen love you as I do?—will she listen to your speech as I intend to do?—would she throw away thousands for you in a night as I do?

Very true! very true!

SCENE III.—A Pleasure Ground, and View of an ancient Castle.

Good Heartly, is all prepar'd for my boy's re­ception, his favourite study on the southern battlement?— Are his dogs train'd—his hunters well condition'd?

To say truth, Sir Hubert, the castle has been all day in quarrel, each servant claiming the right of exclusive attendance on his dear young master.

I thank their honest loves. He writes me he is well, good Heartly; quite well.—Ha! the village bells proclaim my boy [...]s arrival.—Dost thou hear the people's shouts?

Aye, and it revives my old heart.

These welcomes are the genuine effusions of love and gratitude—Spite of this Nobob [...]s arts, you see how my loving neighbours respect me.

Where is my boy?

Not yet arriv'd, sir.

No!

These rejoicings are for the Nabob's daughter, who is just come from London.

[Page 14]

Indeed!

Well, well.

My young master will alight privately at Oatland's farm, and walk through the park.

The Nabob's daughter!—Well, let it pass.— Heartly, what said farmer Oatland?

Nothing but what profligacy and insolence dictated —he defied your power, and sent to the Nabob

Ungrateful man! let a distress be issued.—Hold; no, no.

Indeed Sir Hubert, he is undeserving your lenity.— Besides, sir, your mortgage; Mr. Rapid, the wealthy tay­lor, will be here to day—the interest on the mortgage must be paid—some of your election bills remain unliquidated, and I fear, without a further mortgage—

Don't torture. Pardon me, good old man.

Truly, Sir Hubert, what might have been effected with 5000 l. some years ago, will now require ten—you must retrench your hospitable benevolence.

My worthy steward, my head has long acknow­ledg'd the truth of your arithmetic—but my head could never teach it to my heart.

And, sir, you may raise your rents.

Never, Heartley—never.—what! shall the many suffer that I may be at ease!—But away with care—this is a moment devoted to exstasy—this is the hour a doating father is to clasp an only child, who, after combating with disease and death, returns triumphant to his arms in lusty health and manhood.—Ah! he approaches; 'tis my boy—Dost thou not see him in the beechen avenue.—Dull old man, advance thine hand thus—

—See how his eyes wander with delight, and renovate the pictures of his youth.—Ah! now he sees his father, and flies like lightning.

My honour'd—my lov'd father!

Rise to my heart.—Stand off, and let my eyes gloat upon thee—thou art well.—Thy arm good Heartley— Nay, do not weep, old honesty, twill infect me.

Ah▪ my excellent old friend—in health I hope?

Aye, good master, and this day will make me young again.

Dear father, already must I become a suitor to [Page 15] you.—Passing Oatland's farm, I found his lovely daughter Jessy in tears, occasion'd by her father's inability to pay his rent. I dried them with a promise—

—Ha! your brow is clouded with unhappiness;—pray sir—

Good Heartley, leave us—

—Charles, so mix'd is the cup of life, that this day, the happiest thy old father can e'er hope to see, is dash'd with bitterness and sorrow, boy. I've been a very unthrift to thee.

Oh, sir!

Listen to me.—You have heard how my father kept alive the benevolent hospitality that once distinguish'd old England, and I not finding in modern ethics aught likely to improve either the morals or happiness of mankind, deter­min'd to persevere in the ways of my fathers. Soon after you went abroad, the adjoining estate was purchas'd by an East Indian, groaning under wealth produc'd by groans. Like the viper, after collecting in the warm sunshine his bag of venom, he came to the abode of peace and innocence, and disseminated his poison. But mark me—think me not so un­just, boy, as with random slander to censure any body of men. No, thank heaven; there are numbers whom Providence, in addition to the power, has added the will, to render wealth a blessing to all around them.

You are ever just and liberal.

But for this vile exception, this Mr. Vortex, I tell thee, riot, contention▪ indolence, and vice succeeded. I struggled against this mischief, which spurr'd him on to op­pose me in my election. This contest [I trust, Charles, you think the dignity of our family demanded it]—this contest, I say, oblig'd me to mortgage my estate to a considerable amount; and I fear, boy, even that will not suffice. Dost thou not blame th [...] father?

Blame, sir? my fortune nay, my life, is he [...]d but to promote your happiness.

Glorious boy! then all will be well again; thy estate restor'd, thy wealth enlarg'd.

How?

By marriage, Charles.—

Marriage, sir! To conceal the passion that tri­umphs here were but to deceive a father, and injure the bright [Page 16] excellence I love. When I was ill at Spa, the votaries of pleasure avoided me as the harbinger of melancholy, and I was despis'd as a thing passing into ob [...]ivion by all but one fair creature. I obtain [...]d an opportunity to thank her for the charitable pity her eye had beam'd on me. Love soon kin­dled his torch at Pity [...]s altar, for I found in Miss Vortex such excel [...]ence—

Who?

Miss Vortex, sir.

From India?

The same.

She that is now propos'd for your alliance.

Is it possible?

And awaits your arrival in the neighbourhood.

Oh! let me haste to her.—Yet hold! Frank Oatland attends to hear your determination.

At present, Charles, I cannot grant your suit. —

—Young man, tell your Father the law must take its course. When I see in him symptoms of contrition and amendment, I may restore him.

Thank ye,—thank ye, sur.

How came this distress to fall on him?

Why, sur, he went on farmering pretty tightish, did'nt he, sur? till he keep't company wi' Nabob's sarvants; then, all of a sudden, he took to the gentleman line. I conceats, sur, he did'nt much understand the trim on't, for the gentleman line didn't answer at all. I hope your honour bean't angry wi' I for speaking to young 'Squire; your worship to know I were a bit of a playfellow w' un, and we followed our studies together.

Indeed!

Ees, sur, we went through our letters—and a-b ab—e-b eb—there somehow I stuck, and 'Squire went clean away into abrevivation and abomination; and then I never cou'd take much to your pens, they be so cruel small; now a pitch-fork do fit my hand so desperate kindly as never was.

Ha! ha! Come, my boy, you [...]ll want refresh­ment.

What, honest Frank, will you not walk with me to the castle;

If your honour be so gracious.

Nay, wear your hat.

O dear! O dear! what a pity nobody do see I.

[Page 17]

Come, brother student, your hand.

My hand! Lord dong it, only think o' I:

SCENE I.— A Room in an Inn.

Coming, sir▪

Zounds, why don't you come? Why don [...]t all of you come, eh?

Waiter, who are these people?

I don [...]t know. Mr. Bronze.—The young one seems a queer one; he jump [...]d out of the mail ran into the kitchen, whipp [...]d the turnspit into a gallop, and bade him keep moving; and tho not a minute in the house, he had been in every room, from the garret to the cellar.

Father and son, I understand.—The name on the luggage I see, is Rapid.

Rapid!

Perhaps it is my old master the great taylor and his harum-scarum son—I'll observe.

Here he comes full dash, and the old man trotting after him like a terrier.

Come along, dad—push on, my dear dad. Well, here we are—keep moving.

Moving! Zounds havn't I been moving all night in the mail-coach, to please you?

Mail! famous thing, isn't it? Je [...]up! whip over counties in a hop, step and jump—dash along

Od rot such hurry-scurry doings, I say. Here have I ground my old bones all night in the mail, to be eight hours before my appointment with Sir Hubert Stanley—and now I must sit biting my fingers.

Biting your fingers! No, no, I [...]l find you some­thing to do. Come, we [...]ll keep moving!

Gentlemen, I beg leave—

No prosing—to the point.

For shame—don [...]t interrupt the gentleman.

Gently dad. Dash away sir.

servant of Sir Hubert Stanley has been inquir­ing for Mr. R [...]id.

Push on!

[Page 18]

And expects him at the castle.

That will do—push off—brush—run!

That's the thing—keep moving. I say, dad!

What do you say, Neddy?

Neddy! dam it, don't call me Neddy. I hate to be call'd Neddy.

Well, I won't.

That's settled. I say, What's your business with Sir Hubert?—Some secret, eh?

I won't tell you. Oh no—a bill he owes me for making his cloaths and liveries.

Pugh! he's a ready-money man. I never made a bill out for him in my life.—It won't do.

Well, then, sit down, and I [...]ll tell you

Can you sit still a moment?

To be sure I can—Now tell me briefly—briefly.

Indeed I will not, you must know—

Aye—

You must know—

Zounds! you have said that twice—now don't say it again.

Well, I won't—You must know—'tis a very long story.

Then I'll not trouble you.

I thought so. And pray what might induce you to come with me?

Won't tell him of Jessy. Oh, as we had given up trade, left off stitching—you know my way—I like to push on—change the scene, that's all—keep moving.

Moving!

Oh, my poor old bones! Wa [...]ter, bring me a night-gown.

What are you at, dad?

Going to take a nap on that sofa.

A nap—pugh!

Zounds! I've no comfort of my life with you.

Say no more.

But I will tho'—hurry, hurry—od rabbit it, I never get a dinner that's half dressed; and as for a comfort­able sleep, I'm sure—

You sleep so slow.

[Page 19]

Sleep slow! I [...]ll sleep as slow as I please; so at your peril disturb me. Sleep slow indeed!

Now to visit Jessy. Waiter!

Sar

That's right—sir—short—you're a fine fellow.

Yes, sar.

Does Farmer Oatland live hereabouts?

Yes, sar.

How far?

Three miles.

Which way?

West.

That will do—get me a buggy.

Yes, sar.

Oh, if my old dad had left off business as some of your flashy taylors do, I might have kept a curracle, and liv'd like a man. Is the buggy ready?

No, sar.

But to cut the shop with paltry five thousand. —Is the buggy ready?

No, sar.

Or to have dash'd to Jessy in a curracle.—Is the buggy ready?

No, sar.

To have flank'd along a pair of blood things at sixteen miles an hour

What the devil's that? Zounds, something has run into my back I [...]ll bet a hundred tis a needle in Father's pocket Confound it! what does he carry needles now for?

Sure enough, here it is—one end stuck into a letter, and the other into my back I believe. Curse it! Eh! what [...]s this?

"To Mr. Rapid— Free—Hubert Stanley. Ha ha, ha! here's dad [...]s secret —Now for it!

‘Sir Hubert Stanley will expect to see Mr Rapid at the Castle and would be g [...]ad to extend the mortgage, which is now 50,000 l.’ What's this?

‘—Extend the mortgage, which is now 50,000 l to seventy.’ Fift [...] thousand! huzza! 'tis so—my old dad worth fifty thousand—perhaps seventy—perhaps—I'll—no—I'll—

The buggy's ready, sar.

Dare to talk to me of a buggy, and I'll—

Perhaps you wou'd prefer a chaise and pair?

No, I'll have a chaise and twelve Abscond!

I must—I must keep moving.—I must tra­vel for improvement First I [...]ll see the whole of my native country, its agriculture and manufactories That, I think, will take me full four days and a half Next I [...]ll make the tour of Europe; which, to do properly, will, I dare say, employ three weeks or a month. Then returning as complete­ly vers'd in foreign manners and languages as the best of them, I'll make a push at high life. In the first circles I [...]ll keep moving. Fifty thousand! perpaps more—perhaps—oh!

You can't come in.

I tell you I will come in.

Will come in!—that [...]s right—push on, whoever you are.

I thought so. How do you do Mr. Rapid? Don [...]t you remember Bronze, your father's foreman, when you were a boy?

Ah, Bronze! how do you do, Bronze? Any thing to say, Bronze? Keep moving. Do you know, Bronze, by this letter I have discover'd, that my father is worth—how much think you?

Perhaps ten thousand.

Push on.

Twenty.

Push on.

Thirty.

Keep moving.

Forty.

Fifty—perhaps—sixty—seventy—oh! I'll tell you. He has lent 50 000 l. on mortgage, to an old Baronet.

Sir Hubert St—

I know his name as well as you do.

Here [...]s news for my master! Well sir, what do you mean to do?

Do! Push on—become a man of fashion, to be sure

What wou'd you say, if I were to get you intro­duced to a Nabob?

[Page 21]

A Nabob! Oh! some flash-in-the-pan chap.

Oh▪ no!

What, one of your real, genuine, neat-as-im­ported Nabob's?

Yes; Mr. Vortex.—Did you never hear of him?

To be sure I have. But will you?

Yes.

Ah! but will you do it directly?

I will.

Then push off—Stop—stop—I beg your pardon —it cuts me to the heart to stop any man▪ because I wish every body to keep moving. But won't dad's being a taylor make an objection?

No; as you never went out with the pattern-books.

Oh! yes, I did.

That's aukward—But you never operated?

What do you say?

I say you never.—

Oh! yes I did.

That's unlucky.

Very melancholy, indeed!

I have it. Suppose I say you are merchants.

My dear fellow, sink the taylor, and I'll give you a hundred.

Will you? thank you.

Now push off.

But don't be out of the way.

Me! Bless you, I'm always in the way.

Don't move.

Yes, I must move a little—away you go—

Huzza! now to awake old dad▪

Come along dad.

Yes, sir,—yes, sir—I'll measure you directly—I'll measure you directly.

He's asleep.—Awake!

What's the matter, eh? What's the matter?

What's the matter! I've found fifty thousand in that letter?

Indeed!

Ah! Neddy, have you found out—

I have—that you are worth—how much?

Why, since what's past—

[Page 22]

Never mind what's past.

I [...]ve been a fortunate man. My old partner us'd to say, ‘Ah! you are lucky, Rapid. Your needle always sticks in the right place.’

No, not always

But how much?

Why, as it must out, there are fifty thousand lent on mortgage. Item fifteen thousand in the Consols—Item—

Never mind the Items.—The total my dear dad —the total.

What do you think of a plum?

A plum! Oh, sweet, agreeable, little short word!

Besides seven hundred and ninety—

Never mind the odd money—that will do. But how came you so rich, dad? Dam'me, you must have kept moving.

Why, my father, forty years ago, left me five thousands pounds; which, at compound interest, if you multiply—

No; you have multiplied it famously. It's my business to reduce it

Now, my dear dad, in the first place▪ never call me Neddy.

Why, what must I call you

Ned—short—Ned.

Ned! O Ned!

That will do. And in the next place, sink the taylor Whatever you do, sink the taylor.

Sink the taylor! What do you mean?

I [...]ve news for you. We are going to be intro­duced to Mr. Vortex▪ the rich Nabob.

You don't say so! Huzza; it will be the mak­ing of us.

To be sure. Such fashion! such stile!

Aye, and such a quantity of liveries, and—Oh dear me!

What's the matter?

I forgot I had left off business.

Business! Confound it! Now, pray keep the taylor under, will you? I [...]ll—I [...]ll send an express to Lon­don

An express for what?

I don't know.—

The bill of fare, gentlemen.

[Page 23]

Bring it here

‘Turbots—Salmon— Soles—Haddock—Beef—Mutton—Veal—Lamb—Pork Chickens—Ducks—Turkies—Puddings—Pyes.’ —Dress it all—that [...]s the short way.

All!

Every bit.

No, no, nonsense.—The short way indeed! Come here, sir.—Let me see—

"Um—Um.— Ribs of beef" —That [...]s a good thing;—I'll have that.

What?

Ribs of beef, sir.

Are they the short ribs?

Yes, sir.

That's right.

What liquor wou'd your honour like?

Spruce beer.

Very well, sir.

I must have some clothes.

I'm sure that's a very good coat.

Waiter!—I must have a dashing coat for the Nabob. Is there a rascally taylor any where near you?

Yes, sir;—there are two close by

Umph! Then tell one of them to send me some clothes.

Sir, he must take your measure.

To be sure he must.

Oh, true! I remember the fellows do measure you somehow with long bits of—Well—send for the scoun­drel.

Oh, for shame of yourself? I've no patience.

Like you the better—Hate patience as much as you do,—ha! ha!—Must swagger a little.

Ah! I am too fond of you, I am, Ned. Take my fortune; but only remember this—By the faith of a man I came by it honestly—and all I ask is, that it may go as it came.

Certainly. But we must keep moving you know.

Well, I don't care if I do take a bit of a walk with you.

Bit of a walk! Dam'me, we'll have a gallop together. Come along, dad.—Push on dad.

SCENE II.—A Room in Mr. VORTEX'S House.

Married to Charles Stanley! You, Madam?

Yes, I.

I'll not believe it.

Well, I vow that's uncommon comic. And why not, my forsaken cousin?

First, madam, I know Charles Stanley would only form so sacred an alliance where his affections pointed out the object. Secondly, I feel those affections to be mine.

Thirdly, an inconstant swain was a thing never heard of; and to conclude, pray peruse that letter—

‘Sir Hubert Stanley informs Mr. Vortex that his son embraces with eager joy the proposals for his marriage with Mr. Vortex's daughter.’

Then every thing is possible. Oh, love!

Nay, don't you abuse poor Cupid—his conduct has been perfectly parliamentary. Self-interest has made the little gentleman move over to the other side, that's all.

Heavens! should this be—

Young Mr. Stanley, sir.

My soul sinks within me.

Upon my honour, my dear, you had better retire.—Your agitation—

I thank you, madam

Hold.—No;— with your permission I'll remain

Just as you please. What a triumph! Oh, how uncommon delicious!

Now, heart, be firm!

How he [...]s struck!

Exceedingly.

What can this mean?

Ma—mad—madam —the confusion that —that—that—

I must cheer him with a smile.

Ah! what heaven of brightness [Page 25] breaks in upon me! Lovely Miss Vortex, can I believe my happiness? Will those arms receive me?

My Ellen!

Oh▪ Charles▪ the sufferings my heart underwent this moment and the joy it now feels is such, I cannot speak.

Nabob! Nabob!

What's the matter?

The matter! won't you resent this?

Oh dear! not I.

Will you bear an insult?

My physicians order me not to mind being insult­ed at all; nothing is to provoke me.

Provoke you!—If I were a man I would—Oh!

I don't like his looks—he seems a desperate—

What do you mean to do?

Why▪ as this is a very extraordinary case—

Certainly

I think it best to—adjourn

I perceive the mistake; but my heart confess'd but one Miss Vortex.—I thought the name, like the supe­rior virtues you adorn it with attach'd alone to Ellen. The embarrassments of my paternal estate demanded a marriage with a woman of fortune.

What do I hear?

Why this alarm?

Alarm! Must not those words terrify which sepa­rate me from you for ever?

What means my Ellen?

Oh, Stanley, hear me On my return to England, Mr. Vortex, to whom the care of my property was entrusted, was ever pressing on my mind the difficulty of recovering my father's India possessions. Each messenger that arrived from you, confirmed the melancholy tale▪ that my Stanley was sinking into an early grave. Oh! what then was fortune or the world to me? I sought out solitude, and willingly [...] to Mr Vortex what he called my expectations, [...] thousand pounds.

[Page 26]

Yet you shall be mine.

No, Charles, I will not bring you poverty. I'll return to solitude and endeavour to teach this lesson to my heart, ‘that it will be joy enough to know that Stanley is we [...]l and happy,’

Stay, Ellen—think deeply before you consign the man that loves you to certain misery.

True—in a few hours let me see you again. The opposing agitations my mind has suffered unfit me for further conversation.

In a few hours, then, you'll allow me to see you?

Allow you to see me!—Oh! Stanley, fare­well!

Now speak.

We had better pair off.

No—speak with spirit.

I will—Sir, I cannot help saying, that every man▪ that is, every man of honor—

That [...]s right!—say that again.

That every man of honor

Well, sir?

Is—is—the—the—best judge of his own actions.

I perfectly agree with you—and wish you a good morning.

So, then, I'm to be insulted, despis'd and laugh [...]d at, and no duel is to take place—no body is to be kill'd—my tender heart is to feel no satisfaction—

I fight!—Do you consider the preciousness of a legislator's life?

"A country suffers when a Member bleeds."

Oh, sir, such news!

What! is parliament convened?

No, sir; but I have found out that the Baronet is—

What of him?

Ruin'd!

Well! that's some satisfaction.

I met at the inn the Mr. Rapids, merchants I [...] liv'd with, who have a large mortgage on his estate, and he wants to borrow more—So, sir, I told them I was [Page 27] sure my master would be proud to see them at Bangalore H [...]l, because I thought, sir—

I know—I have it. I'll shew them every atten­tion; and if I can but get hold of the mortgage, I'll—

Oh! uncommon charming!

Now do you go and write a note, and say we will wait on them.—Ah! use policy instead of pistols, and I would fight any man—for, as I say in my speech, "Policy, Mr. Speaker, is—"

Exactly, Nabob—but I must write the letter, you know. Is the young merchant handsome?

Yes, madam.

So much the better.

You see, Bronze, the turn I give it is this— "Policy, Mr. Speaker▪ says I—"

Very true, sir; but I believe my mistress calls—I attend you, madam.

Confound it! Will nobody hear my speech? then I'll speak it to myself.—"Policy Mr. Speaker—"

How do you do, sur.

What! interrupted again?—Approach, don't be afraid.

Lord, sur, I bean't afeard: Why should I?—I defies the devil and all his works.

If this be what is called rough honesty, give me a little smooth-tongu'd roguery. I don't know you, fellow!

Ees, sur, you do—I be's Frank Oatland.

Begone! I know nothing of you.

Ees, sur, you do—I've a bit of a sister call'd Jessy.

Eh! ah!

Dom um, he knaws me well enough now.

Oh! very true—Frank Oatland, aye! Well, good Frank▪ how is Jessy?

Charming sur! charming!

Aye, that she is, lovely and charming, indeed!

—And how are you, Frank?

I be's charming too, sur!

But why don't Jessy visit my people here? I should be always happy to see her.

Should you, sur? Why, if I may be so bold as [...] ax, why, sur?

[Page 28]

Because—because—she is—a—farmer Oatland's child.

So be I, sur How comes it, then, that you never axes I to your balls and ostentations? I can dance twice as long as sister can.

Cunning fellow this!—I must buy him. Well, Frank, what are your commands?

Why, sur, Feyther do command you to lend him three hundred pounds—no, sur, I mean he supplicates.

Three hundred pounds!

I'll tell you, sur, all about it.—You knaw, sur, Feyther have been knuckled out of a most cruel sight of money by you at weagering and cards.

By me fellow! Do you think I associate with such reptiles?

Ecod it was either you or t'other gentleman.

T'other gentleman!

I dan't knaw which be which, not I.—There be two of you.

Two of us!

Ees; there be you—that be one;—and there be your gentleman—he do make the pair.

The pair!—and have I been buying a hundred thousand pounds worth of respect for this? Have I become a Member to pair off with my valet?

Ecod, and a comical pair you be!—T'other gen­tleman be's a tightish, conceated sort of a chap enough;— but you be a little—he! he!

Upon my soul, this is very pleasant—You are quite free and easy.

Quite, sur; quite. Feyther do tell I it be all the fashion.

He does! Then you may tell Feyther, that if he has lost his money at play, the winners won't give him six­pence to save him from starving, and that be all the fashion. —By their distress the pretty Jessy will be more in my power, and then I can reinstate them in a farm upon terms

Go, fellow! I shall not send your Father sixpence.

The words I told um—the very words I told um. —Says I— "Feyther he bean't the man will gi' thee a brass fa [...]thing. Dong it, he hasn't it here, says I"

You said so▪ did you?

Ees—so you see, sur, what a desperate cute lad I be.

[Page 29]

I [...]ll set a trap for you, you dog—I'll have you in my power, however; I [...]ll drop my purse—he'll take it—and then—

—A pair of us! I'll lay you by the heels, desperate cute as you are.

Poor Feyther, poor sister, and poor I! Feyther will go broken hearted, for [...]artain;—and then, sister Jessy's coming to labour.—I can't bear the thought on [...] Od dom thee if I could but get hold of some of thy money I [...]d teak care thee should not get it again — Eh!

Well, now, I declare that do look for al the world like a purse How happy it would make poor Feyther and sister▪ I conceates there wou [...]d be no harm just to touch it;—

it be cruel tempting. No­body do see I —I wonder how it wou [...]d feel in my pocket

Wouns! how hot I be! Cruel warm to be sure. Who's that? Nobody.—Oh! l— l—l-u-d, lud! and I ha' gotten such a desperate ague all of a sudden,—and my heart do keep j—jump—jumping—I be­lieve I be going to die

Eh!—Eh!—May­hap it be this terrible purse. Dom thee, come out

Ees, now I is better.—Dear me, quite an alteration.—My head doant spin about soa, and my heart do feel as light, and do so keep tittuping, tittuping, I can't help crying.

Now I have him.—

What, he has not stole it, tho' his own Father's in want!—Here's a precious rascal for you!

Mr. Nabob, you have left your purse behind you

and you ought to be asheamed of yourself, so you ought, to leave a purse in a poor lad [...]s way, who has a Feyther and a Sister coming to starving.

My purse! True; reach in me.

Noa, thank you for nothing —I've had it my hand once.—Ecod, if having other people [...]s money do make a man so hot, how desperate warm some folks mun be!

Warm.—foolish fellow▪

Fugh! quite a Bengal day, I declare.

Od dang it! how their wicked heads [...] round!

[Page 30]

Spin round! I never heard such a simpleton.— Spin, indeed! ha! ha! God bless my soul, I'm quite giddy! Oh Lord! Oh dear me! Help! help!

What's the matter, sir.

Only a little touch of my old complaint.—Send that fellow away.

Oh, this be t'other gent [...]eman. Sur, I ha' gotten twenty-six pound that Feyther lost to you at gamestering.

Where is it?

In my pocket.

That's lucky! give it me.

Gi' it thee! Ees, dom thee, come out, and I'll gi' it thee

Begone!

Gentlemen, I wish you both a good morning.

What a dunderhead that is! To suppose that a little tenderness of conscience wou'd make a man's head turn round.—Pugh! 'tis impossible;—or how the devil wou [...]d the Lawyers find their way from Westminster­hall? Giddy, indeed! Ha! ha!—Bronze, take care I don't fall.

SCENE I.—A Room in an Inn.

What! a real letter from the real Nabob—Dear me! where is Neddy?—Make my humble duty to your master; proud to serve him—no—very proud to see him;— grateful for the honour of his custom—no—no—for his company.—I wish you a pleasant walk home sir—The Nabob coming here directly. Oh dear me! where's Neddy? —Waiter!

Do you know where my boy is?

Not a minute ago I saw him fighting in a field behind the house

Fighting!—Oh, dear where is he?

Here am I, dad.—

[Page 31]

What has been the matter?

Only a small rumpus;—went to peep at the castle, —pushing home,—the road had a bit of a circumbendibus— hate corners,—so I jumped the hedge—cut right across,— you know my way,—kept moving,—up came a farmer,— wanted to turn me back,—would not do,—tussled a bit —carried my point,—came straight as an arrow.

Fie, fie!—But read that letter.

What! the Nabob coming her directly, and I in this pickle.—Waiter, are my c [...]othes come home?

No, sir.

Why, the fel [...]ow gave his word—

Yes, sir;—but what can you expect from a tay­lor?

That's very true.

Impudent rascal!

What the devil shall I do? The most important moment of my life.—

'Tis unlucky.

Unlucky?—'Tis perdition—annihilation—a misfortune, that—

I can mend.

How?

By mending the coat.

An excellent thought.—Come help me off▪— quick,—quick!

[...] always have a needle in my pocket.

I know you have.

Now give it me.

What! suffer my Father to mend my coat?— No,—no;—not so bad as that neither.—As the coat must be mended,—damn it, I [...]ll mend it.

Will you tho?—Ecod, I should like to see you; —here's a needle ready threaded—and a thimble;—you can't think how I sha [...]l like to see you;—don [...]t hurry, that [...]s a dear boy

Now mind, dad, when—Damn the needle!

That [...]s because you are in such a hurry.

When the Nabob comes,—sink the taylor.—

I will;—but that [...]s a long stitch.

[Page 32]

Be sure you sink the taylor;—a great deal de­pends on the first impression;—you shall be reading a grave book with a melancholy air.

Then I wish I had brought down my book of bad debts;—that would have made me melancholy enough.

I.—ha! ha! I say, dad, if the Nabob was to see us now,—ha! ha!

Ha! ha! True;—but mind what you're about.

I'll be discovered in a situation that will surprize —a striking situation, and in some damn'd elegant attitude

Why don [...]t you finish the job!—why don't you?

Gentlemen,—I and my daughter, Miss Vortex, have done ourselves the honour of waiting upon you, to—

But I beg we may not interrupt your amuse­ment;—'tis uncommon whimsical!

Yes ma'am, very whimsi­cal,—I must keep moving

Ha! ha! You see, dad. 've won,—I [...]ve won—ha! ha!

He says he has won—

Oh! he has won, has he?

Yes, you know I've won; he! he! why don't you laugh?

Ha he!

You see, ma [...]am the fact is,—I had torn my coat; so says I to my father, I [...]ll bet my bays against your opera box that I mend it; and so—ha! ha!

laugh again.

I can't—indeed I can't.

And so I—I won—upon my soul I was doing it very well.

No, you were not,—you were doing it a shame to be seen

Hush!—Ah▪ father you don't like to lose.

We [...]l, gentlemen, now this very extraordinary frolic is over—

[Page 33]

Yes, sir,—it is quite over,—

thank Heaven!

Suppose we adjourn to Bangalore Hall?

Sir. I'll go with you directly with all the plea­sure in life

I believe my curricle is the first carriage.

Dear me!

My daughter seems to please you, sir.

What a shape!

Oh, sir, you're uncommon polite.

He's remarkably gallant, ma'am.

What elegance!—what fashion!—upon the whole, it's the best made little spencer I've seen for some time.

Oh, the devil!—The fact is, ma'am, my father is the most particular man on earth about dress—the beau of his time—Beau Rapid.—You know, father, they always call'd you Beau Rapid.—I dare say he's had more suits of clothes in his house than any man in England.

An uncommon expensive whim!

I don't think his fortune has suffer'd by it.

Shall I have the honour of driving you?

Oh, madam, I can't think of giving you so much trouble as to drive me.

My dear sir▪—I shall be uncommon happy!

Oh, madam!

We'll follow.

If you please;—not that I particularly like to follow.

I suppose sir, now summer approaches, London begins to fill for the winter.

Yes, sir.

Any thing new in high life?—what is the pre­sent rage with ladies of fashion?

Why, sir, as to the ladies;—

What shall I say?—Oh, the ladies, sir—why, heaven bless them, [...]! they—they keep moving;—but, to confess the truth, sir; my fashionable education has been very much neglected.

That's a pity.

Very great pity, sir.

[Page 34]

Suppose I become your preceptor.

If you wou'd be so kind—I wou'd treasure any little short rule.

Why there is a short rule necessary for every man of fashion to attend to.

What is it?

Never to reflect.

Never reflect!—what, push on—keep moving! —My dear sir—that's my way—suits me exactly.

Then you must be known.

To be sure;—I'll give away thousands in cha­rities.

Charities!—You wou'd be forgot in a week.— To be known, you must be mischievous;—malice has a much better memory than gratitude;—and then you must be gal­lant.—Are there no pretty girls you should like to be well with, eh?

A very extensive assortment, sir.

And perhaps there may be a married woman you would like to intrigue with.

A very large quantity.—Oh, how I long to begin!—Are you married, sir!

Why, no!

The carriage is ready.

So am I; come, sir,—four horses, I hope.

No, sir.

That's a great pity. Pray, sir, will you have the goodness to tell your coachman to drive like the devil?

Sir▪ to oblige you.

Sir, I ll be very much obliged to you.

Your clothes are come, sir.

That's lucky.

Then I ll wait for you.

Wait for me! nobody need wait for me—I ll be with you in a crack—Do you push on—I ll keep mov­ing—I ll take care nobody waits for me.

SCENE II.—A Room in the Nabob's House.

Be comforted, Father.

[Page 35]

To see thee brought to service!

—I've done this; I that should have—

Never mind—we be young and healthy, and don't heed it—do us, Jessy?

To be asham [...]d to look my own chi [...]dren in the face —I, who ought to have been the fore-horse of the team, to be pull'd along through life by this young tender thing!

Don [...]t despond, Father — Sir Hubert will see your contrition, and restore you to his favour.

When the hen sees the hawk ready to pounce, she gather's her young ones under her wing—when misfortune hovers over my sweet chicken here, I leave her to shift for herself.

Come, no more of this

Even the savage hawk takes care of its nestlings— what then am I?—Children, do you hate me?

Hate thee! pugh, Feyther, dan't thee talk so— good bye to thee— cheer up— Thee has long been a Feyther to me, now it [...]s my turn, and I'll be a Feyther to thee.

I cannot speak—take care of my girl, Frank.

Care of her!—though she be a sarvant, let me catch any body striking her, that's all.—Well▪ Jessy, we mun not be sheam'd—I know poverty be no sin, because par­son said so last Sunday. Talk of that—I do hear that your sweetheart, Mr. Rapid, be worth such a desperate sight of money as never was!

If his fortunes are so prosperous, brother, he is exa [...]ted above my hopes—if his heart be mercenary, he is sunk below my wishes.—Heigh-ho! yet he might have sent to know if I were well, he might—no matter!

He be coming to Neabob's here, on a visitation.

Ah! coming here!

Ees—and Mr. Bronze do say while he be here I am to be his sarving man.

You his servant!

Don't thee cry, Jessy!

I won't; it was weak, it was wrong.—Frank▪ be sure you conceal from Mr. Rapid who you are—I have reasons for it.—Edward here!—when we meet it will be a hard trial. Yet why should I dread it?— let perfidy and pride shrink abash'd, virtuous integrity will support me.

[Page 36]

That's right. Jessy, shew a proper spirit—Ecod, if he were to pull out his purse and to offer to make thee a present of five guineas, don't thee take it.—

—Here be the new mistress.

Leave me.

Dost thou hear? Dom it, dant't thee take it!

Oh! my new attendent, I suppose!—What's your name, child.

Jessy Oatland, Madam.

We [...]l, Oatland,

look at me.—Umph—not at all contemptible.—That's a charming nosegay—

—all exotics, I declare.

No, Madam, neglected with wild flowers—I took them from the bed of weeds, bestowed care on their culture, and, by transplanting them to a more genial soil, they have flourished with luxuriant strength and beauty.

A pretty amusement.

And it seem [...]d, madam▪ to convoy this lession— Nor to despise the lowly mind, but rather, with fostering hand to draw it from its chill obscurity, that, like those humble flowers▪ it might grow rich in [...] native energy

Oh!

—mind energy!—What's the▪ matter with the poor girl I wonder! uncommon odd!—I hear, Oat and you are reduced in your circumstances.

Yes, madam.

That [...]s very lucky, because it will make you humb [...]e, child!—Well, and what are your qualifications?

Cheerful industry, madam. I can read to you, write for you, or converse—

Converse with me! I dare say you can.— No, thank you, child instead of my listening to your voice, you will be polite enough to be as silent as convenient▪ and do me the honour of listening to mine—Oh! here comes Mr Rapid.

Ah!

May I retire, madam?

Yes; I shall follow to dress. No, stay. Yes, you may go.

Oh, thank you! thank you, dear madam!

That poor girl appears to me rather crazy.

Welcome to Bangalore Hall, gentlemen.

Charming house! plenty of room!—

A very spacious apartment, indeed.

Yes, sir; but I declare I forgot the dimensions of this room.

Sir, if you please, I ll measure it—my cane is exactly a yard, good honest measure—'tis handy—and that mark is the half yard, and—

Con­found it!—The pictures, father—look at the pictures

did you ever see such charming—

Do you like pictures?

Exceedingly, ma'am; but I should like them a great deal better if they just moved a little.

Ha! ha! I must retire to dress—till dinner, gentlemen, adieu.

Zounds! you'll ruin every thing! —Can't you keep the taylor under.

Your son seems rather impatient.

Very, sir—always was.—I remember a certain Duke—

That's right, lay the scene high; push the Duke; push him as far as he'll go.

I will, I will.—I remember a certain Duke used to say, Mr. Rapid, your son is as sharp as a needle.

At it again!

As a needle—

Is true to the pole. As a needle is true to the pole, says the Duke; so will your son, says the Duke, be to every thing spirited and fashionable, says the Duke.—Am I always to be tortured with your infernal needles?

Now to sound them.—I hear, gentlemen, your business in this part of the country is with Sir Hubert Stanley, respecting some money transactions.

'Tis a secret, sir.

Oh! no—the Baronet avows his wish to sell his estate.

Oh! that alters the case.

[Page 38]

I think that it would be a desirable purchase for you—I should be happy in such neighbours—and if you should want forty or fifty thousand, ready money, I'll sup­ply it with pleasure.

Oh, Sir, how kind!—If my son wishes to purchase, I would rather leave it entirely to him.

And I would rather leave it entirely to you.

Very well, I'll propose for it·—

This will cut Sir Hubert to the soul.—There is a very desirable borough interest—then you could sit in Parliament.

I in Parliament? ha! ha!

No; that would be a botch.

No▪ no, I was once in the gallery—crammed in—no moving—expected to hear the great guns—up got a litt [...]e fellow, nobody knew who, gave us a three hours speech —I got dev'lish fidgetty—the House called for the question, I join'd the cry—"The question, the question!" says I — A Member spied me—clear'd the gallery—got hustl'd by my brother spectators—obliged to scud—Oh! it would never do for me.

But you must learn patience.

Then make me Speaker—if that wou'dn't teach me patience, nothing would.

Do you dislike, sir, Parliamentary eloquence?

Sir, I never heard one of your real downright Parliament speeches in my life—never

By your yawning I shou'd think you had heard a great many.

Oh, how lucky!—At last I shall get my dear speech spoken.—Sir▪ I am a Member, and I mean to—

Keep moving.

Why, I mean to speak, I assure you; and—

Push on, then.

What, speak my speech?—That I will—I'll speak it.

Oh, the devil!—Don't yawn so—

I never get a comfortable nap, never!

You have a dev [...]lish good chance now—Con­found all speeches — Oh!—

Pray be seated—

— Now we'll suppose that the chair—

—

[Page 39]

Suppose it the chair! why it is a chair, an't it?

Pshaw! I mean—

He knows what you mean—'tis his humour.

Oh, he's witty!

Oh, remarkably brilliant indeed!—

What, you are a wit, sir!

A what? Yes, I am—I am a wit.

Well, now I'll begin.—Oh, what a delicious moment!—The House when they approve cry, "Hear him! hear him!" —I only give you a hint in case any thing should strike—

Push on.—I can never stand it—

Now I shall charm them—

— "Sir, Had I met your eye at an earlier hour, I should not have blink'd the present question—but having caught what has fallen from the other side, I shall scout the idea of going over the usual ground." —What! no applause yet?

— "But I shall proceed, and, I trust, without interruption"—

Upon my soul this is—What do you mean, sir? —

What's the matter?—Hear him! hear him!

Pray, sir, don't you blush —

—What the devil!—

Hear him! hear him!

By the soul of Cicero, 'tis too much.

Oh, Neddy▪ for shame of yourself to fall asleep! —I mean to look out of the window—I am very sorry, sir, any thing should go across the grain.—I say, Ned, smooth him down!

I wil [...]—What the devil shall I say?—The fact is, sir▪ I heard a cry of fire—upon—the—the—the water, and—

Well, well—But do you wish to hear the end of my speech?

Upon my honour, I do.

Then we'll only suppose this little interruption a message from the Lords, or something of that sort.—

[Page 40]

Where did I leave off?

Oh! I recollect; at — "I therefore briefly con­cluded with moving—an Adjournment"—

Nonsense! no such thing—

—Oh I remember! "I shall therefore proceed, and, I trust, without interruption—"

Dinner's on the table, sir.

Get out of the room, you villain!—"Without interruption—"

I say, sir—

Hear him! hear him!

Dinner is waiting.

Dinner waiting!—Come along, sir.

Never mind the dinner.

But I like it smoking.

So do I—Be it ever so little, let me have it hot.

Won't you hear my speech?

To be sure we will—but now to dinner.—Come, we'll move together. Capital speech! Push on, sir. Come along, dad. Push him on, dad.

SCENE III —An ancient Hall.

Take comfort, sir.

Where shall I find it, boy? To live on my estate, is ruin—to part with it, death My heart is twin'd round it. I've been the patriarch of my tribe—the scourge of the aggressor—the protector of the injur'd! Can I forego these dignities? My old grey-headed servants too, whose only remaining hope is to lay their bones near their lov'd master, how shall I part with them? I prate, boy, but 'tis the privi­lege of these white hairs.

Oh! say on, sir.

All! all is dear to me! these warlike trophies of my ancestors! Charles, thou see'st that goodly oak, 'twas planted at my birth Would'st thou think it? In the late hurricane when the tempest humbled with the dust the proudest of the forest, it bravely met the driving blast—my people, with shouts of joy, hail [...]d the auspicious omen, and au­gur'd from it prosperity to me and mine. Fondly I believ'd it—fondly I thought it. Fie! fie! I doat—

[Page 41]

My Father, I doubt not but they augur'd truly. I must to the active world. Why should I fear that the virtue and independence you have inspir [...]d—

Ah, boy! but while licentiousness and party zeal command the choicest gifts of fortune, virtue and genius must be content with their leavings.

Ah! what i [...] it shakes you, sir?—That letter!

Nothing, my dear boy!—'tis infirmity!—I shall soon be better.

Excuse me, dear sir

"Mr. Vortex, at the request of Mr. Rapid, informs Sir H. Stanley, it is inconvenient to advance more money on mort­gage. Mr. Vortex laments Sir Hubert's pecuniary embar­rassments" —damnation"— "to relieve which, he will purchase the castle and estate." —Sooner shall its massy ruins crumble me to dust —Don't despond, my father: bear up!

Oh, sir! At Neabob's table they have been so abusing your feyther!

Ah!

And I've been fighting—

Hush!

What's his business?

Oh, sir!

My friend Frank consults me on a love affair; and I must not betray his confidence —In his hurry he fell. Was'nt it so

Ees, sur, ees.

You are not hurt, young man?

No, sur. Thank heaven, my head be a pure hard one.

Within.

Attend my father.

My boy, don't stay from me long.

Now, good Frank, ease my tortur'd mind.— What of my father?

Why, your honour, Mr Bronze came laughing out of dining-room, and says, "Daame, how the old Baro­net had been roasted." So, sur, I not knowing what they could mean by roasting a Christian, axed. "Why," say [...] [Page 42] he, grinning, "they voted, that it was a pity, the dignity of the bloody hand interfer'd, or the old beggar might set up a shop."

What!

The old beggar might set up a shop.

Unmanner'd, cowardly babblers!

And that you sur, would make a dapper 'prentice.

I heed not that. But, when I forgive a father's wrongs—

So says I, Domme, if young 'squire had been a­mong them, he would have knocked all their heads together? Now wouldn [...]t you, sur, have knock'd their heads together? Then they all laugh'd at me: which somehow made all the blood in my body come into my nuckles. So says I, "Mr. Bronze, suppose a case—suppose me young 'squire Stanley: now, say that again about his honour'd father." —So he did; and I lent him such a drive o'the feace. And I was knocking all their heads together pretty tightish, till the cook laid me flat wi [...] the poker; then they all fell upon me; and when I could fight no longer, I fell a crying, and run to tell your honour.

Thanks, my affectionate lad! Return to the Nabob's to-day.

I be sartain I shall never do any good there.

To-morrow you shall live with me. I shall dis­miss all my servants—my circumstances require it.

What! all but me —What! I do all the work? —Lord, Lord, how glad I be, sur, you can't afford to keep any body but I.

Good Frank, farewell!—Hold—here

Nay, prayee, sur, dan't you beheave unkind to me—I be a poor lad, that do worship and love you —not a spy for the lucre of gain—pray use me kindly, and don't gi' me a farding.

Frank. I beg your pardon.—Farewell!

Lord, how glad I be he can only afford to keep I.

Insult my father!—unmanly villain!—whoe'er thou art, thy life shall answer it!

SCENE I.—Enter VORTEX, in great terror, reading a Letter.

Dear me!—here's a terrible affair!

[Page 43] "Give me up the author of the slander on my father" — that was myself. I never can find in my heart to give myself up; "or personally answer the consequences; CHARLES STANLEY." Oh dear! since I find my words are taken down, I must be more parliamentary in my language. What shall I do? I can't fight; my poor head won't bear it; it might be the death of me.

Huzza, my fine fellows! Bravo!

Eh! egad, a fine thought. Young Rapid is loaded muzzle high with Champaigne. I'll tell him he said the words, and make him own them. I've persuaded him into a marriage with my daughter: after that, the devil's in't if I can't persuade him into a duel.

Here I am tip-top spirits; ripe for any thing.

How did you like my Champaigne?

Oh! suits me exactly; a man is such a damn'd long while getting tipsy with other wine. Champaigne settles the business directly; it has made me—

Lively, I see.

Lively! it has made me like a sky-rocket. Well, how did I behave? Quite easy wasn't I? Push'd on—at every thing—barr'd prosing. Jolly dogs within—the fat parson's a fine fellow—kept the bottle moving—said a nice short grace.

Well, and did you lose at play the five hundred pounds I ent you?

As easy as could be.

That was lucky.

Very; particularly for those who won it—

Well, now you [...]ll do.

Huzza! I'm a finish'd man

You only want a quarrel to make you—

A what? A quarrel. Damme, I'll settle that in two minutes

Stop. You need not go out of the room for that.

What! will you quarrel with me, eh?—With all my heart

Me! Oh no!—I say I could get you such fame.

How, my dear fellow? Dash on.

Why, at dinner you reflected on the Baronet.

[Page 44]

No, it was you.

No, not I.

Yes, it was you.

Well, it might be I; but I don't say it was—

I do. Push on.

Young Stanley has demanded the author. Now, if you were to own the words—how the news-papers would teem with— "The elegant Charles Stanley was called out by the dashing Young Rapid about some trifle."

Bravo!

Any thing does for a duel now a days. The length of a dancer's great toe; an election leg of mutton and trimmings.

Say no more. I'll do it. By heavens no man of fashion shall be more infamous—I mean more famous.— I'll go write to him directly.

First take another bottle of Champaigne. You can't think what a free dashing style it will give you.

I will

No, I can't take up this quarrel.

Oh dear! Why not?

Because I'm sure I'm depriving you of pleasure.

Oh, don't mind me! I give it you, to shew my re­gard for you. Indeed, I've had so much fighting in my time, that with me it really ceases to be a pleasure; the sweetest things will cloy; so the quarrel's your's. I wash my hands of it.

You're a damn'd good-hearted, generous fellow!

Then you'll return triumphant, and marry my daugh­ter.

To be sure; keep moving

I hope he'll fight directly [...]ike a sailor, I hate a calm, particularly when an enemy's in sight. Hold; what must we fight with? I can fence.

You have no objection to pistols and bullets?

I like bullets; they come so quick. But I must push on; the other bott [...]e, and then—I'm a first-rate fe [...]low —Champaigne for ever!

You shall have my pistols—they've never been used

Here's policy. "Crown me, shadow me, with [...]aurels." —Oh my dear, I've atchiev'd two such difficult points!

[Page 45]

How, my dear Nabob?

In the first place, I've persuaded Young Rapid to marry you.

Was that so difficult?

No▪ no, certainly. But the next will delight you.—Rapid is going to have an affair of honour with Young Stanley.

A duel! and about me!

Yes▪—

I may as well tell her so.

Charming!

Now an't I a kind father, to set two young men fighting about you?

Ah! that is, indeed, acting like a parent?

Egad, I must look after Rapid, though.

But how did you manage it?

By policy to be sure: for, as I observe in my speech— 'Policy is—"

And a very good observation it is.

How do you know, till you hear it?—"Policy—"

But Pray go to Mr Rapid

"Po [...]icy—'

Nay, [...] must insist—

Oh delightful!—Oatland!

—I [...]m in such uncommon spirits, Oatland!

May [...] inquire the cause madam?

Certainly. A duel is going to be fought about me.

A due [...] —Horrible thought!

Sensibi [...]ity▪ I vow! Too comic, a vast deal! Ha! ha! cottage pathos must proceed from a source un­know to me, I [...]m sure!

It proceeds, madam, from the heart.

Umph!—Let me have no more of it

I beg your pardon—I forgot the extent of a ser­vant's duty▪—I forgot that servants have no right to feel pleasure or pain, but as their employers please; and that suppressing the sensibilities of Nature is consider'd in their wages

No doubt of it.—That's so very sensibly ob­serv'd, that I'll forgive you Oatland.—The pride of Young Stanley will be so humbled—

Is the safety of that noble youth implicated?

What —A lover, I suppose—came to the farm, I warrant—attended Miss Jessy in the dairy—ruffl'd [Page 46] the cream with his sighs—talked of Arcadia, and sipped butter-milk —Ha! ha! I should not wonder, after what I've seen of his taste—Yes, he is implicated — I dare say Mr. Rapid will—

Heavens! Is Edward

Edward!

I mean, Madam,

is Mr. Rapid [...]s life involved?

Upon my honour, you seem to have an uncom­mon sensibility for all mankind!—Do you mean to sit down in my presence?

No, madam!

Oh, Ed­ward! unkind as thou art, how gladly would I resign my life, to save thee!

In tears, Jessy? Sweet girl, tell me—

Oh madam! the most dreadful event is about to take p [...]ace. Mr. Stanley is engaged in a duel with—

Forbid it, Heaven.—Let us fly to his Father: he may prevent it.

Alas, madam! I fear he regards not his father's injunctions.

Not regard his Father! Who, child?

Mr. Rapid, madam!

Mr. Rapid?

Oh!

Is it so, sweet Jessy? But has he deserv'd thy love? Is he not unkind?

Oh! true, madam! But is not his life in danger?

We will not lose a moment. Let us seek Sir Hub.

I'm very faint.

I'll support thee; for in addition to the oppression of our common grief, thou, sweet girl, must bear the ago­nising weight of disappointed love. Come, rest on my arm.

Oh, such kindness! I cannot speak—but indeed my heart feels it.

SCENE II.—Another Apartment in VORTEX'S House.

Got the pistols, eh?

[Page 47]

Here they be

Your Feather were axing for you sur.

My father! Should any thing happen—when I reflect—Reflect? Zounds, that won't do. Some Cham­paigne!

"If a man can then die much bolder with brandy"

I'll write to him, however; a few words on a scrap of paper may cheer him

What!

"Dear Edward, your faithful Jessy Oatland"

Jessy Oat [...]and! What a scoundrel I am!

Oh, Jessy, what an infernal pain at my heart!— More Champaigne!

A letter, sir, from Young Stanley.

Then the die is cast

"You are a scoun­drel; meet me immediately, or," —Um, um, a decisive short letter enough. Damn this pain. Quick! my pistols! Take them to Stanley Park: there wait for me.—Oh, Jessy!

Ecod, he'll kill thee. I'll lay half-a-crown 'Squire Stanley hits thee the first shot.

Pistols—kill Stanley? Ned, tell me—

My father here. Oh, sir, nothing. Come, drink.

Look at me. Ah, that agitation! Tell me the cause! A parent commands you. Your old doating father intreats it!

I must deceive him. Sir, I've receiv'd an insu [...]t, that no gentleman of fashion can submit to.

Gent [...]eman of fashion!—Need a man resent it!

Read that letter, and judge.

Lack-a-day! Consider you're only a taylor's son.

"You're a scoundrel."—That's a hard word—

Would you have me submit to be called scoundrel?

No, I wou'dn't—

Yes, I wou'd.

Sir, you don't feel like a man.

I'm sure I feel like a father!

Read on, sir.

'And unless'

'unless'—I can't—

[Page 48]

"And unless you immediately give me the satisfaction of a gentleman, expect the chastisement due to a coward."

Chastisement! Chastisement! Coward!

We are flesh and blood, Ned.

Wou [...]d you see me spurn'd?

No!

Pray leave me, sir.

Where shall I go?—What shall I do?—What will become of me? Oh, boy, try to avoid it. Remem­ber your o [...]d fat [...]er,—remember his life hangs on your's. But, Ned—don't forget you're a man!

Pray leave me, sir.

I will. Farewell, my dear boy, 'twill break my old heart But remember you're a man, Ned.

So, I [...]m proceeding full tilt to murder; have planted a dagger in a kind father's heart. But here goes

Its power is gone. Oh! This infernal pain! Could I with honour avoid?

Chastisement! Coward! Damnation! I must push on. Fool! Dolt! Villain that I am!

SCENE III—A retired place in Stanley Park.

What can it mean?—Charles parted from me in an agony the ingeniousness of his nature had not art to conceal;—he grasp'd my hand,—bade me farewell, as if it were for ever —then broke away— [...]eaving me a prey to wi [...]d conjecture and despair;—soon shall I be at peace,—infirmity, when goaded on by sorrow, presses to the goal of life with doub [...]ed speed.—Sure'y thro' that laurel grove, I see two female figures g [...]ide along? my eyes are not of the best, and the sorrow I have felt for my dear boy has not strengthened them;—they approach.—

Pardon, Sir Hubert, this intrusion. My name, sir is Ellen Vortex.

Madam, I welcome you as my daughter.

Oh, sir! the urgency of the moment will not al­low me to thank such goodness as I ought; your son, sir—

Ah! What of him?

I saw him pass along—he fled from my outstretch'd arms—was deaf to my cries—e'en now he's engaged in a duel.

[Page 49]

Ha!

My functions are suspended!—Oh nature! dost thou desert me at this moment?—Who is the vi [...]ain that has caused it?

Ah, my poor Edward!

Oh that I cou [...]d rush before my child, and re­ceive the fatal ball in this old broken heart!—Perhaps— dreadful thought —e'en now the deadly tube is evelled at his manly breast

Bear up I cannot support thee.

—Horrible suspence!—what a death­like silence!

Death▪—Oh, my adored Charles!

Ah, my poor Edward!

Huzza! huzza!

Huzza!— He's safe—he's safe.—

Who?—

'Squire Char [...]es — Squire Charles,—Huzza!

Ah, my poor Edward!

Your son is safe;—heard you the words?

They have shot life thro' me.

Jessy! rejoice with me. Seeing her dejected Wretch that I am, to forget thy sorrows!—Take comfort, sweet girl!—perhaps—

Tol de rol lol—Safe and sound—safe and sound— tol de rol lol.—

Who?

My boy Neddy,—my darling Neddy, safe and sound,—tol de rol [...]ol.

So, Mr. Rapid!—How happened this, sir?

Really. Sir Hubert, I don't understand the cut of it; all I can say is▪ your son's behaviour was—oh— super-fine;— when they had fired their pistols—they drew out their swords▪ and your son disarm [...]d Neddy, and then he generously gave him his sword again, which was extremely genteel.— for it was a brand new silver-hilted sword and, I suppose by the laws of honour, he might have kept it.—

Mr. Rapid, why did you break your appointment?

[Page 50]

Mr. Vortex, sir—

Mr. Vortex.—I fear your son has selected an im­prudent preceptor.

Chose a bad pattern you think, sir?—I am afraid he has.—

Will you, sir, favour me with a few minute's conversation?

You know, Sir Hubert I [...]m your faithful servant to command.—

Come, let us to our hero. Will you fair creature, condescend to be a crutch to an old man?

I shall expect you▪ si [...].

Jessy!

I follow, mada [...].

Do address the father of Mr. Rapid?

You do, pretty one!

I beg your pardon; but are you sure your son's life is safe— quite safe?

Yes —A very charming gir [...], I declare!—I'm very much oblig'd to you for taking notice of my Neddy!— Poor fellow! Nobody seem [...]d to care what became of him.— I [...]m very much oblig'd.—A sweet pretty-spoken creature as ever I saw! But I must away to the [...], or I shall be too late for the wedding.

Wedding! whose, sir?

Whose! why, my boy Neddy's with Miss Vor­tex to be sure!

Married! Edward married! 'Tis too much—

Eh! what! speak —tell me!

Oh, Edward! is this the return for my love? Have [...] merited this cruel desertion?

Desertion!—What!—has the rasca [...]—I shall choak myself—Has he behaved ill to so sweet a creature? Your tears tell me so.—I'll kill him.—He [...]s my own son, and I have a right to do it.—Your name, your name! pretty soul!

Jessy Oatland.—The indiscretion of my Father has made me a servant.

And the discretion of his Father has made him a gentleman—But [...]'ll make the rasca [...] know you are not humbled by your father [...]s conduct, nor is he exalted by his, a [Page 51] villain!—Can he hope to be ca [...]l'd a man of honour for op­posing his head to a pistol while himself levels the shaft of anguish at an innocent woman's heart!—But [...]'ll kill him, that [...]s one comfort.—Come with me, sweet one!

Sir, I must attend my mistress—I am servant to his bride—

I shall go mad!—Don't cry—If he by marriage, won't make you my daughter—I by adoption, wil [...] —Good bye, sweet Jessy!—Oh, the rascal!—Cheer up!—The scoundrel▪—Pretty creature!—The dog! What a shape! —I'll kill him!

SCENE I.—RAPID discovered, and Hair-dresser.

Dispatch! Why don't you dispatch?

Done in a moment sir,—pray keep your head still.

Oh, Jessy Oat [...]and!—S'death— have not you done?

Sit down, sir—done in a moment.

Wel [...] ▪ well; I [...]m as patient as—

— Well! speak—quick!

Sur— [...]—that is—s [...]e—no, I—went—?

You tedious blockhead— [...]s she gone? Is Jessy gone

Ees, sur.

What! left her Father's!—Where is she?

I don't know—that is, I won [...]t tell—

What must she think me? What I am—a rascal.

Sit down, sir;—done in a moment.

Yes, yes; I am as calm as—

What do you want?

Sir, my master and Miss Vortex wait for you.

Aye, to fulfil that infernal marriage promise.—Oh, Jessy▪— to FRANK What are you at?

Sur, I were only twiddleing about my thumbs.

You are always twiddling about your thumbs. What shall I do? Go to them.—No, I'll write—I want to write.

Oh, you do?

I tell you I want to write.

I'm sure I don't hinder you.

S'death! then don't stand there.

[Page 52]

It be a [...]l the same to me where I stand

Thickhead, bring pen and ink.

Why did not you tell I so?

Oh, this infernal pain? —A candle to seal a letter

—Zounds! it is not lighted!

You didn't tell I to light it.

Was ever man plagu [...]d with such a hollow-headed ninny hammer

May be that be better that a hollow-hearted one!

Well!

My master has sent you those parchments to peruse.

I wouldn't read them for his estate.

He wi [...]l wait on you, sir, directly.

Begone all of you —Stop

Give me my coat

—Bring the g [...]ass!—

—Leave me, dund [...]rhead!

Bravo, my fine fellow! You fought nobly!—I say, who fir [...]d first?

Never mind, that's past!

Well now I must intrust you with a little secret —

I have no objection to a little secret.

In the first place, then, I [...]ll read this paper.

No; I'll read it—shall read it much quicker.

—"Receiv'd of Mr Vortex the sum of five thou­sand pounds, in consideration of which I assign over all my right and title to hum um, um—Signed, ELLEN VOR­TEX." I understand—

Now you must know the father of my niece—

Jessy Oatland▪

No her name is Ellen.

I know it I know it—I know it—

Her father died in India.

[Page 53]

W [...]h all my heart!

With all your heart!

Zounds! keep moving, will you?

Yes if you [...]ll keep still.

Then be quick

Why I am quick an't I?—Died in India, and left her to my care. All was in—

Confusion

You are right, a [...]l was in confusion. So I pre­vail'd on —

Jessy Oatland!

No no, El [...]en—to sign that paper; since which, indeed, her affairs have [...]urn [...]d out pretty lucky. I pur­chas'd this estate with her fortune, which will be your's, my boy —It was a very snug bargain.

What a horrible thing is the gift of speech!

Speech —Did you say any thing about a speech? Ah▪ had you heard mine out.—Do you remember how it began?— "Had I met your eye at an earlier hour, I should"

S [...]death and fire! Is this a time for speeches▪ Is not your daughter waiting?—Is not?—Oh, Jessy!

True▪ another opportunity! But, oh! 'tis a pretty speech.—Well, now give me back the paper.

The paper!

Yes, now you have thoroughly digested the con­tents of the paper, give it me again.

Oh▪ the—the—the paper

Yes; that precious scrap that secures us a hundred thousand pounds, you dog!—Come, give it me.

My dear fellow! you gave me no paper.

But I did, though.

Yes, you certainly did; but then—you—you— did not—

But I'll take my oath I did!—Come, give it me directly.— You—

Eh! what!—No;—yes. I'm undone, I'm ruin [...]d. Oh, my head! I'm going, I'm going

Upon my soul I [...]m very sorry, but—

[Page 54]

But what?

That infernal speech!

Oh!

—Eh, but hold! when he marries my daughter he'll keep the secret for his own sake. Oh dear! I must lose no time.

I'm very sorry; I'm sure if hearing your speech will be any compensation—

—

No, no, not now—come with me, all the law­yers are waiting. Oh, pray come!

I'm coming, but you're always in such a hurry.

I [...]ll send my daughter to him—I must push him. Pray come directly.

Upon my soul you'll break your neck, if you hurry. so. Am I always to have this infernal pain?

Behold a high-finished rascal at full length.— Curse me, if I can look myself in the face.

There he stands!—Now, heart, be firm. Virtuous indignation, support me! Sir, my mistress waits for you.

Don't plague me about your mistress. I [...]ll come by and by.

Heaven and hell; Jessy Oatland!

My mistress! sir, waits for you.

Your mistress!—A servant! Jessy Oatland a ser­vant! A servant to—And I—Jessy!—my life!—my soul! —will you forgive—?

Wretch!

I am.—I despise myself. On my knees, only listen to me.

Mr. Rapid!

What's the matter?

How can you debase yourself—to—

How dare he debase me, madam, by offering to an honest heart the affections of a villain?

Sir!

Madam!

leave the room!

Now, poor heart! having pass'd thy pride's probation, retire to a corner, and break with weeping.

Sir! what am I to understand?

That I'm crazy.

[Page 55]

Have I deserv'd insult?

Upon my soul, I don [...]t mean to insult you—I ask your pardon upon my knees.

You, sur!

What't the matter?

Well, I [...]ll forgive you, if you'll come directly.

What do you want?

You be [...]s a desperate villain!

Come, dan't you do that—it won [...]t do. Poor sister, if you dad drawn a harrow across her heart, you could not have hurt her so.

Damn't—I know nothing of your sister! Who the devil is your sister? you—

Why, Jessy Oatland!

What! your sister—the brother of Jessy my servant? Damnation? why did not you tell me so? To raise my hand against the brother of Jessy? I sha [...]l go mad! Frank will you forgive me? I love Jessy—by my soul I do! And may heaven desert me, if—

Heyday!

What's the matter?

Leave the room!

— Insult upon insult! What satisfaction—

I know what you want. Come along; I [...]ll fight you directly.

Fight! Nonsense.

Then I'll ask your pardon.

But what the devil [...]s the meaning of all this?

Why, don't you see I'm mad—stark staring mad!

Mr. Rapid!

What do you want?

Oh, Lord how fierce Stanley looks at me. Pray come, Mr. Rapid.

Sir, your most obedient.

That little fellow will break his neck to a certainty.

I have just seen a lovely girl that you have wrong'd.

[Page 56]

I know I have; and I'll fight you again, if you like it.

Could the result benefit Jessy Oatland, I would accept your invitation.

The fact is, I am the most unhappy—the—What do you charge for shooting a man? I [...]ll give you a thousand to blow my brains out. I [...]m the most miserable dog.—Pray, sir, will you tell me one thing? Are you a man of fashion?

[...] trust I [...]m a gentleman.

That's pretty much the same thing—an't it, sir?

It ought to be

Pray sir, how did you become a gentleman?

[...]imply, by never committing an action that would not bear reflection

Can I be a gentleman and an honest man?

Can you be a gentleman, and not an honest man?

Pray, sir, have you always an inferna [...] pain at your heart?

No, sir.

No—Huzza! Thank you. By heav'n I'll— Now don't hurry yourself.—If I don [...]t, may I—

Ah Mr Rapid, how different are our situations! You possessing the love of a most charming and fascinating girl dash the cup of happiness away.

May be not, my dear fellow Push on.

I, possessing the heart of my dear Ellen, am mi­serable; because, on account of the narrowness of her for­tune she compels me to abandon her.

What The narrowness of her fortune compels—

Yes, I say—

No! Don't say it again. Don [...]t despair, that's all.

She has given a fata [...] paper.

A paper! Yes, I know I know.

And I'm come to take eave of her.

No, you are not—I [...]ll show you such a scene—Nay, don't ask me any questions; follow me, that [...]s al. Wait at the door; and when I cry, Hem come in But don [...]t be in such a hurry. By heavens, the pain in my side is better already; Huzza Come along.

How do you do? How do you do? What! you rascal! you can grin again can you? Come along; but don [...]t hurry; because my dear fellow! 'tis im­possible [Page 57] to do any thing well in a hurry Come along! but zounds! never hurry.

SCENE II.—Another Apartment in VORTEX's House.

How bee [...]st thee now, Jessy?

Better. Quite recover [...]d. What pass'd between you and Edward?

Why, at first, he were in a desperate passion; but when [...] told him I were thy brother, he were so humble, and did ax I so to forgive un, that I could say no more to un. Dom it, I could not hit him, when he were down; and I [...]ve a notion his conscience was pegging him about pretty tightish. He swear'd he did love thee!

Did he, Frank? Did he say he lov'd me?

What! torn the paper!—A hot-headed—only wait till he's my husband—

Egad, I wish he would come, tho'—

Oh! here he is.

How my poor frame trembles!

I vow I feel uncommon discompos'd—Oat­land! your arm, child!

Heavens, how interesting! the languor of those love [...]y eyes—

Flattering creature!

My senses are restor'd. Oh, will you pardon— will you again receive a heart ful [...] of love and adoration?

What shall I do?— [...] must pardon him.

Edward▪ what shall I say?—your love has been too long my joy.—my pride —to be torn from my heart with­out many a bitter wound;—

—but your late conduct has been—

Detestable?—But I'm pardon'd, your eyes tell me so. Thanks, my angel!

[Page 58] I'm so oppress'd with joy▪—Ma'am, will you have the good­ness to help me up?—

Help you up▪—

He! he'l he Gi me a buss, Jessy! he! he! thee be [...]s a domn [...]d honest fellow

I'll run and tell poor Feyther.—Now I shall have a farm of my own!

—Dong it, how I will work —He! he▪ he!

To be us'd so twice in one day!—it is not to be borne.—Nabob! won [...]t you fight him?

No, not I.

Coward!

You [...]d better be quiet, or I'll convince you I'm none, however.

He! he! I declare it is so uncommon ridicu­lous!—so comic!—He! he!—I [...]m quite faint with laugh­ing.

Shall I assist you?

No.

I must retire, or I shall ex­pire with laughing.—he! he!—Oh!—

Heaven! what's the matter?

Al [...]ow me to introduce Mrs Rapid, madam.—

Sweet Jessy —Sir, I thank you for giving my heart a pleasurable sensation, which I thought it had for ever taken leave of.

Bless your heart! perhaps I may tickle it up a little more.—

Now, stand out of the way, wi [...]l you?

You're quite free and easy.

My way.

You forget 'tis my house.

No, I don't;—you bought it with her money, you know.—

Umph!

Mum, now for young Stanley's cue.

Pon my honour ma'am, any man might be proud to —Hem He doesn [...]t hear me—Such beauty!—such a shape! —such a—Hem—

Zounds! he's here again

What does he want?

Shall ask him?

Do. I [...]ll be very much obliged to you

I will.—I [...]ll manage

Oh, thank you!

Once more, my E [...]len! supported by an indulgent parent's b [...]essing on our union, I entreat—

Oh Char [...]es! shal then return your father's good­ness by destroying his hopes for ever? Shall I repay my Stan­ley [...]s love by inflicting on him penury and sorrow? In pity, no more!

What may be your business here sir?

[...] came to take leave.—

Hush

—To inquire respecting that lady [...]s fortune. We'l soon answer all that, wont we?

I say, sir—

We grant it,—we grant Mr. Vortex has recover'd property to a considerable amount, but what signifies that? She assigned it for five thousand pounds! —You see how I [...]m going on

Oh, thank you, my dear friend!

I've seen the paper; haven [...]t I?—

And I shou'd be satisfied —

You wou [...]d be satisfied if you saw it.—Certainly —very proper—nothing in nature can be more reasonable; so Nabob shew him the paper, and settle the business at once

Shew him the paper —don [...]t keep the gentleman waiting al [...] day.—Shew him the paper. My dear fellow what [...]s the use of walking after me? Shew him the paper.

I say my dear friend hush! Be quiet! I want to speak to you; you forget you destroyed it.

I destroyed it!

Hush!

[Page 60]

He says I destroyed it!

I did not▪ —I [...]ll take my oath I did not.

And it is true.

What?

True, upon my honour! He has no more hold on your estates, mad [...], than I have.

Will you now allow the humble Stanley to destroy the hopes of wealthy Ellen? Will you permit me to repay your love with penury and sorrow?

Oh, chide on!

Dear Stanley, my happiness is now complete.

This is your house, ma'am.—I give you joy!— Sir, I give you joy!—Nabob I give you joy!

Oh, my head! You villian!

Don't talk about villany,—it will make you worse. Sit down, my dear fe [...]low!

He's justly punished for the falsehood of the story he told—

I say, he's justly punished for the length of the story he told.

Mr. Rapid, in expressing my oblig [...]tions, allow me to be—

Not more than a minute, I entreat.

Where is he?

Be patient.

I won't.—Let me come at him.

Your blessing, sir.

What? Oh!

Mr. Rapid▪ by asserting your character as a man of honour, in rewarding the affections of this amiab [...]e woman, you command my praise; for bestowing happiness on my dear Charles, receive an old man's b [...]essing.

Approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley is praise indeed.

[Page 61]

Dam me▪ there's the son of a taylor for you!

What, a taylor!

Yes; and let me tell you that one guinea ho­nestly gotten by blood drawn from the finger, is sweeter than a million obtained, by blood drawn from the heart!—so take that.

Well, Nabob, how do you feel?

Egad tis very odd;—but I declare I feel light and comfortable since Ellen has got her Estate▪ and I some­how breathe more free▪ I've a notion the last line of my speech is true

Come, I'l hear the last line.

Why, "that the first step towards securing the esteem of others, is to secure your own."

Stick to the last line.

And, dear uncle take Sir Hubert Stanley for your Physician Follow his prescuption of justice and bene­vo [...]ence, and my life on it, you will soon thank me for my recommendation.

We, to show the sincerity of my intentions, al­low me, Ellen, to present you these parchments, the title-deeds of this Estate

I say, Ned, what nice measures they would make!

And Sir▪ allow me to shew you the true value of riches—

Convert them into happiness

Well, I've only one observation to make.

I hope it is a short one.

What, impatient again?

I am, and if I err,