SCENE I. An Officer's Mess-room, Major Bromfield, Ensign Beauclerc, and a large Party of Officers—Wine, &c. on the Table.

COME, gentlemen, I'll give you the British arms all over the world.

The British arms, &c.

If the fleet have left England, the blockade by sea will be soon over; for when our admirals are in earnest, they generally make quick work on't.

How soon do you think St. Rocque will open her batteries?

Towards evening, I imagine.

Then here's a speedy demolition to them.

A speedy demolition, &c.—

They can raise no batteries to make any impression; our works are actually impregnable, and if the strength of this fortress be consider'd, it may without fable be call'd one of the pillars of Hercules.—

It is a pillar of the British empire, and therefore should be defended 'till made the monu­ment of its protectors.

A serjeant, gentlemen, is come with or­ders from the Governor.

Tell him to come in.

What! O' Bradley, is it you? It's a wonder to see you sober just before an engagement!

Why in troth your honour, it was not for want of good will, but there's no such thing as getting a drop for love or money.

Come, let's see your book,

Give him some wine—We'll prime you, O' Bradley.

As your honour's hand's in, I wish to he Lord you'd load me, and you'd see how fine I'd go off against the Spaniards.

Here, O' Bradley.

Och! your ho­nour, I wish you would change the wine into brandy, for I am afraid the wine is too strong for me.

By all means;—fill him some brandy.

Here, O' Bradley;

and now your toast.

A toast! by my soul, your honour, as I am a great way from it, I don't think I can give you a better toast than my native country; and so here's the land we live in.

Hh! ha! ha!

Faith, I thought you would laugh at me; for the last time I gave the land we live in, I was at sea, and they sarved me in the same manner.

Why you live in Gibraltar: how the devil can you give that as your native country?

I am sorry to contradict your honour, but I never think I live any where but in England or Ire­land.

Gentlemen, this is no time for con­tinuing at the bottle; the Governor expects us upon duty in less than two hours.

By the sweet smell of the shamrock, it is the joyfullest tidings I have heard this twelvemonth: there's not a gun in the garrison but will thank me when I carry the news to him: but I hope, your ho­nour, there's no fear of a disappointment.

Why are you afraid we shant beat 'em?

Och hone! I am sure of that; I was only afraid that they would not stay 'till we did them the favour.

Well we have no farther occasion for you, O' Bradley.

I hope your honour won't think me too bold if I ask a favour before I go.

What is it?

Why if your honour pleases, I should have no objection to the second part of the same tune.

The same tune! What tune do you mean?

The tune, jewel, upon the musical glasses.

O, you want another glass of brandy! Here;

but take care so much spirits don't get into your head.

What, is it the Brandy you mean? By my soul, there's no danger of that: brandy's a French spi­rit, and that never got into an Englishman's head or his heart either when he was going to battle; therefore as I am an Irishman, there's no fear of me; so here goes, I am sure it won't choak me.

Ha! ha! ha!

Before we go, one parting glass to England and victory.

Dear Major, will you indulge me with a moment's conversation?

What's the matter, Frank?

You were my father's friend; he put me under your care when I came into the army, and I have ever looked up to you as to himself.

This is very true, but what does it preface?

You know my passion for old Ben Hassan's daughter; indeed you approved of it.

And is this a time to think of such sol­lies? just when you are going to action! Recollect yourself, boy, you are a soldier, your father was one; dishonour never changed his cheek, and don't you bring a blush there in his old age.

Your reproach stings me to the very soul; I have done with her, I'll tear her from my heart for ever.

Your hand, Frank; now you are a man again.

But give me leave to do away the very shadow of cause for this degrading notion being enter­tained of my nature. I meant only to have told you, that the lovely woman in whom my whole life and happiness are wrapped up, is this very night to be conveyed privately to Barbary, in order to be married to Solomon the Jew, whom you have often seen at her father's.

But are you sure of this?

An Arabian slave, in whom she places great confidence, told me of it; but it is no matter, you have convinced me of the impropriety of my passion, and I resign her.

She's a devilish fine woman, Frank.

I have drove her from my thoughts, sir.

No, no, Frank, you shan't lose her neither, if in my power to prevent it. Let me see;

I'll give you an hour; go see her, and learn the time, and in what manner she and her Hebrew partner set off.

Dear sir, are you serious?

Unless we silence the Spanish batte­ries, the old Moor will hardly venture his daughter out this night. If we should, you shall patrole the very hour they are going off, and stop her.

But, sir, can I be so long absent from my post, without injury to my reputation?

Poh, poh! you are a blockhead; if the story was published all over the garrison, it would not [Page 6] [...] [Page 7] [...] [Page 8] hurt you, for I never knew a brave fellow, (notwith­standing what I said to you) who did not acknowledge that beauty reigned by right divine, and that there was no resisting the supremacy of a petticoat.

SCENE II. Ben Hassan's House. Zayde and Jenny are discovered.

Dear madam, I am ready to faint with fright; I hear they are just going to carbonade us.

You are a great coward, Jenny.

Lord, ma'am, how can I help it? this is the first time I was ever besieged in my life.

Is Muley returned?

I don't know, indeed, your ladyship. O what would I give to be with my poor mother in Turnagain-lane at Wapping!

I wish, Jenny, I could inspire you with a little of my resolution.

O, ma'am, you make a perfect Nero of me.

O lord, ma'am, they are come!

O lord, ma'am, they are not come; pluck up your spirits; you'll not be shot—perhaps these two hours.

Have you seen him, Muley?

And expect his signal at the lattice every moment; but remember you resign yourself entirely to my direction.

It is strange my father should place so im­plicit a confidence in you.

Not at all; he purchased me at Cairo from an Arabian merchant when I was but four years old. I never saw the father who begat me, nor the mother who brought me into the world. He knows I have no brother, no sister, no tie of kindred upon earth, to make my affections wander from this spot. He thinks I look up to him as my only relation, but my attachment to my dear mistress, united to the natural passion of man for liberty, which only with life leaves us, makes me do a violence to my nature, and for the first time deceive him.

He took uncommon pains with your edu­cation.

I am an Arabian, madam, and perhaps may thank my faculties more than my preceptors.

I vow, Mr. Muley, this is the first time I ever knew you was a Barbarian.

And it is the first time I knew it myself.

I thought you Barbarians had generally two heads at least.

Two heads, to be sure, would be a great ornament to a man, but with the additions generally made by a fashionable wife, they are more, I am sure, than any man could carry upon his shoulders—but you'll not forget your promise, madam?

I certainly will take you with me to Eng­land; [Page 11] with regard to your freedom, I may be silent; the moment you set your foot on the island, you are no longer a bondsman; the charter of England is Li­berty; you cannot breath its air and be a slave.

O heavens I here he is; let him in imme­diately.

Go you, Jenny.

I must stand centinel, to prevent your father's stealing a march upon us.

At the risque of my life, at the risque of my reputation, which I hold dearer, I am come to you; when, my angel, are you to go off? in what disguise? let me know every particular without delay; not a moment I am here but is big with danger.

Fear and joy almost rob me of utterance! We are, if possible, to leave this about twelve, dressed in coarse Moorish habits; a little red cross, the em­blem of your faith, I'll wear upon my breast to di­stinguish me.

Your father, madam, is coming.

Let me out instantly!

You must not go yet, sir; I was prepared for this: here, clap on this turban and this habit—(Beauclerc puts on the habit and turban)—now don't open your lips, but nod and make signs—leave the rest to me.

Daughter Zayde.

I attend your pleasure, sir.

By the tomb of Mahomet, she shall go this night—

—What, a stranger in my house! Who is this fellow, Muley?

Lord, sir, don't you know him?

Know him! how the devil should I know him! who is he?

That's my brother, sir.

Your brother, you dog! you never saw one of your family in your life, and how have you found out that this fellow is your brother?

By the meerest accident in the world: you must know, sir (for I never knew it 'till my brother here told me of it) that I was stolen from my parents, at two months old, by a Gypsey, who sold me, at Cairo, to the merchant of whom you bought me; my father, who loved his children dearer than his life, had six sons besides myself—

seven! I beg your pardon, my father, sir, had seven sons beside myself.

Damn your father and his seven sons; rascal, who are you talking to?

My brother, sir; did'nt you see how angry he was at the mistake I made?

Why, the fellow has'nt open'd his lips.

Dear sir, let me go on with my story, and you shall know all by-and-by: my father, sir, who had seven sons besides myself, and loved his chil­dren dearer than his life, left it, upon his death bed, that a third of the estate, together with the family pictures—

Family pictures!

Yes, sir, (which were very valuable) should go to whoever found his lost sheep; for you must know, sir, he used always to call me his lost sheep.

Your sleece, Mr. Lost Sheep, is in great danger of a good threshing, I can tell you that.

Fortunately, sir, this brother, whose name is Sinbad, after numberless perils and hardships, put up at the very inn at which you lodged at Cairo; the landlord, who had heard of the misfortunes of my [Page 14] family, introduced him to the merchant of whom you bought me; the merchant kindly introduced him to your broker, and the good-natured broker never rested, night or day, 'till he actually found out the identical ship and captain in which, sir, you sailed with me from Cairo; on board this, sir, he embarked about a fortnight since; and, after a short passage, arrived at Algiers in Barbary, from which place he came, last night, with a fresh supply of cabbages, live oxen, and fat turkies.

Such a cargo of lies, I believe, never were jumbled together in so small a compass: why, you dog, I'll have you impaled alive for bringing a male into my house.

A male! dear sir, look at this upper lip.

Eh! why, he has got no mustachios.

Mustachios, sir, he was ten years in the seraglio at Constantinople.

Come, I'll ask the fellow some questions myself.

You may spare yourself the trouble, sir, for (poor fellow) he is dumb.

Dumb!

Dumb, sir.

Then how the devil could he have given you this circumstantial account of your lost sheep, and your estate, and your family pictures, you dog!

By signs;—do but look at him, sir, what do you think he is saying now?

Why, nothing.

He says that, in his travels through the different parts of the globe, he never met a gentleman [Page 15] of such a mild, humane and winning disposition, or one in whose service he would be more willingly em­ployed.

Why, truly, he is not an ill-looking fellow; but it is a great pity he is dumb.

Sir, you'll understand him, as well as I do, in less than a fortnight; he was in great repute at the court of Persia, for several years, as a dumb in­terpreter.

Well, take hi [...] in, and give him some re­freshment; I don't know but I may employ him.

Look at him, do but look at him, sir; if you did but understand him, you'd be delighted with his gratitude.

Ay! what does he say?

Say, sir! it would keep me here this hour if I was to tell you all; but, sir, in a word, he says his gratitude has struck him dumb.

Truly, this is an odd adventure; come Hither, Zayde; I hope, child, you are better recon­ciled to your duty than I found you this morning?

Sir, I am ready to obey your pleasure, and long for the night.

You transport me, my dear girl!

And I'll go with her with a joyful, heart.

O, then you are reconciled, Mrs. Pert, to Visit Barbary.

Barbary, sir! I'll go to the Antidotes with her.

And this morning you would go to the devil sooner than you would go to Barbary; but I expect [Page 16] no more regularity from a woman than a weather­cock.

SCENE III. The Inside of the Garrison.

A very strange command this;—dam'me, I wish I was governor.

Then I should wish myself out of the garrison.

But why should he let them raise their batteries?

For the pleasure of knocking them down again.

That is something to be sure; but, in the mean time, we are doing nothing, and I hate to be idle.

You know nothing of the matter; Touchwood, the governor, is a brave fellow, and a fine officer; he knows the true English way of fight­ing; he wants a mark to level at; they are raising their works now like children building houses of cards; the moment they are finished, puff from the garrison—and they are down again.

Come, pull away, my hearty cocks, we'll be at them presently.

Stay one minute, my dear lads, 'till I take a little refreshment: I have not wet my lips the Lord knows when.

Wet your lips! you have done nothing but drink all the morning—and let me tell you, Woolwich, it's not the part of a good soldier to get drunk when he's just going to engage an enemy.

It's a damn'd lie, I am not drunk; I know my duty better than to get drunk. If I was to drink the sea at a time like this, it would have no kind of effect upon me: Come, will you taste?

Not I.

More fool you! for if you happen to be killed by and by, you'll have lost a taste of the finest Nantz ever was swallowed.

Well, gemmen, Heaven be praised, we are going to be at the villains at last.

Well said, Old Brandy Bottle; are you come to see the sport?

That I am: I am an English woman every inch of me.

Come, pull away, my lads, we lose time.

Stay one minute 'till I take leave of an old acquaintance: this is Moll Trumpet, gentlemen, a lady I have known for many years, and one who has lived in great credit, considering her age and occupa­tion.

Aye, that I have, Mr. Woolwich; I am an old standard in Gibraltar.

An old standard indeed, Moll; for your staff is almost worn out in the service, and your ban­ner here before you

is as vene­rably ragged as any in St. Paul's jubilo.

Ah, Mr. Woolwich, it's hard times with me during a siege; I have not had a gentleman in my house since it began, and yesterday morning the Go­vernor threatened to shut it up, only because a lady was seen going out of it a little overtaken in liquor—the best of houses may be ruined for want at custom­ers.

Don't cry, Polly; things must come round again: we shall see the Eagle-and-Child flourish again [Page 19] in spite of France and Spain united. I remember what you have done; I look upon you like an old mortar that had been in Marlbro's wars, and would wish to see you after all your campaigns, laid up snug in the warren. Come, one parting drop with your old friend, Tom Woolwich.

That I will with all my heart; here's a health to the garrison, and all the gentlemen soldiers in it; and may we beat the Spaniards home again!—

Why, there's a loyal soul for you; but this is all owing to the Nantz she has drank in her time; then, see what a fine complexion it has given her: she's as rosy as the gills of a Barbary Cock.

Ah, good Nantz is an excellent cordial.

Come, tip us a stave, Moll.

Lord! Mr. Woolwich, I can't sing; it's all over with me.

Can't you? why, you used to have a fine pipe; it was clear as good Holland's, and as strong as good brandy—what! and all over? Well, if you won't sing, I will.

What the devil! the enemy have opened their batteries; let's be gone.

Pull away, my lads, pull away; that's my hearts of gold, pull away: oh, we'll fight, dam'me! 'till we're not able to stand.

You seem much in that state already, Woolwich; but pull away, my lads.

There they go, there they go, dam'me! this is the soldier's music, and the Spaniards shall dance to some tune before we have done playing it.

What the de'el can't ye stand back a wee? there's nae sic a thing as ganging for ye.

Ah, Master Serjeant, we are glad to see you come back safe.

By my soul, and so we are ourselves; not that I cared a trawneen how things went; for if I had been killed in the action, the devil fire the word I would ever have said about it afterwards.

Gentlemen and fel­low soldiers, I thank you in the name of my king and country, for your spirit, your zeal, and you bravery: the Governor will transmit an immediate account to England, of the success which has attended his Ma­jesty's arms, in which every justice shall be done to the conduct of the troops during the action.

Soldiers and Populace. Huzza! huzza! huzza!

SCENE I. The Inside of the Garrison.

HOOT awa, mon; though We hae demo­lished St. Rocque, you dinna ken how long the siege may last.

It will last 'till it is over, to be sure, my jewel.

It may last sax months for aught ye can de­veen; therefore it becomes you to be frugal of your allooance.

Poh! what the devil would you have me starve myself!

Ye have nae kind of aiconomy, nae fore­cast; you dinna heed the proverb—clap your hand twice to your bonnet for once to your pouch; aw gangs oot, naething gangs in.

Och that's true enough, for the devil a thing has gone into my mouth this morning but a glass of brandy—

—I won't tell this Scotch thief I have had two glasses, for may be he'd be for having one of them.

Ye should nae ha da drank it.

What the devil, would you have me re­fuse it!

I would nae have ye refuse any thing that's guid; but ye should ha saved part oot; a wise man will always save a part oot of his income, be it ever so small; and if I had nae mair than a Scotch poond a-day—

Arrah how much is a Scotch pound?

A Scotch poond is an English penny.

So you'd have me live upon a penny a-day!

I ha' mair alconomy, friend; I'd live upon hauf on't, upon a bawbee, and save the residue for further exigencies.

What the deel's here to do?

Come along, my boys, here's the stuff. Ah, Serjeant O' Bradley! are you there? I have a great respect for you and for your country; you are an Irishman, I think.

So they tell me, Mr. Woolwich; but it is so long since I was there that I may be mistaken.

My dear lad, let nobody persuade you to the contrary; Saint Patrick himself could not speak the language in greater purity;

Huzza! long life to the General.

He has given us something for demolish­ing St. Rocque.—

There, there, there, you see how eager they all are; these are brave fellows, but they have no conduct; every soul of them would get drunk if I did not prevent them.

And who the devil would blame them? Upon such a day as this, I'd drink 'till I was not able to speak; and afterwards give the British Arms in a bumper.

Serjeant O' Bradley, I have a great respect for you and for your country, damn me if I ha'n't; but the worst of the Irish is, they are terribly given to drinking.

By the lord this is the pot slan­dering the kettle; I wish I had the cawsk in my ain possession, and the de'el a drop either should hae.

I see you are all bent upon intoxication, but if possible I will prevent your making beasts of your­selves. So here, my dear hearts, here, soberly, so­berly; place the cask here, place it here, I say.

What the de'el! have a care you do nae spill the liquor.

Spill the liquor! no, no, I'd spill my heart's blood first—keep it steady, steady, my dear hearts—

—now I have every thing snug, under my own eye.

SCENE II. Ben Hassan's House.

Mr. Muley, Mr. Muley.

What's the matter, my little English Rose?

Did not my master say he would go with us?

Yes; a'n't you glad of it?

Won't it spoil all?

By no means; I wanted him to go with us.

I wish to the lord I was once out of Gi­braltar; though, indeed, Mr. Muley, I don't like to go to Barbary; pray, what kind of a place is it? do the people eat, and drink, and sleep as we do?

Eat and drink, and sleep as we do, Jenny! why, to be sure, there is this observation I have made on the people of Barbary: they never eat when they have got nothing to sit down to; as to drinking, it's much the same; and as to sleeping, in the whole course of my travels through the country, I never met with man, woman or child, able to get a wink of sleep, who was not extremely drowzy.

Dear me, dear me, what a terrible account do you give of them!

SCENE III. A Moon-light View of the Streight and Part of the Rock of Gibraltar; a dead Calm, a small Vessel in view at Anchor, supposed to be waiting to carry Ben Hassan, Zayde, &c. to Barbary.

Station yourselves here; yonder is the vessel they mean to go off in. Bring them to Major Brom­field directly; put the old man into the dark room, and tell him it is a dungeon—the young lady and her slave you must conduct to me.

Guid sir, say nae mair; your orders shall be obeyed impleacitly.

But don't think I expect your services for nothing; if you succeed, I will reward you amply.

Do you hear that, friend O'Bradley? A mon loes a thing with a guid heart, when there's a prospect of advantage. Ha! by my saul, here they come; haud back awee and observe them.

When, ma'm, do you think we shall disem­bark?

Hold your cursed tongue, hussey; we shall alarm the patrole.

Ecod, sir, that's done already; I think I see 'em yonder; retire, retire a little, while I recon­noitre them.—

Stand! wha gangs there?

A friend.

We do no ken that; 'tis nae aw gold that glisters; call to mind the proverb, friend; "a blawck hen may lay a white egg, and many a fair ap­ple wi a speckled bonny cheek, is unsound at the kernel."

Where did you come from?

I was born in Africa.

You blockhead, I don't ask where you was born, I only want to know what countryman you are.

I am an Arabian.

An Arabian! oh, by my soul, I knew a great many of your countrymen at the Curragh of Kil­dare, and at Newmarket likewise. What is your name?

Muley.

Muley! As sure as a gun, this fellow is half-brother to Gimcrack or Sweepstakes.

I know no Gimcrack or Sweepstakes.

The more's the pity; but as it is a fa­mily known to be fine runners, I'll secure you before you put in for the plate.

Yonder's more of 'em, and I believe they are all traitors, conveying intelligence to the enemy.—

Oh dear gentlemen, I am no traitor, I am a poor little English girl, and love my country better than all the world; I would not hurt a worm, if it came from England.

It's nae matter, ye mun gang before the Governor, to be examined; we have certain informa­tion of your being spies.

Spies! oh lord, it is no such thing; I am a poor harmless old man, who was going to Barbary with his daughter to avoid the danger of the siege.

To avoid danger! why, if there was no­thing else against you, that's enough to prove you a traitor. What right have you, you old Moorish Spal­peen, to run away to save your life, when I and my comrades are obliged to stand to have my brains knock'd out fresh and fasting every morning?

I'll give you a thousand pistoles and let me [...]o.

What, a bribe! there's more in this, friend O' Bradley, than we deveen'd; it will be a bonny piece of work, my lads: bring them away; I'll shew no mercy to sic abominable traitors.

Zayde and her slave are to be brought back immediately; I suppose you were particular in your order about the room he is to be confined in; I hope it is dark enough.

He shall not have a ray of light; though his own fears would cast gloom enough about him.

Oh, charming, lovely woman, I adore you for your spirit as much as your beauty; how near was I losing you!

My dear Beauclerc, use my father gently; he is terrified to death.

I'll go, sir, instantly, and conclude the business.

Not without me, friend; I am now Governor, and you must have my passport to your prisoner.

Then take me too, sir, I am sure I am no traitor.

With all my heart, my little countrywo­man. Frank, "how sweet the moonlight sleeps upon that bank!" "In such a night as this!"—Ha! ha! ha! Good night, Troilus and Cressida.

The success of my project, your beauty and this charming night, give such a delicious move­ment to my spirits, as I never felt before.

DUET. ZAYDE and BEAUCLERC.

Duetto, How sweet, &c.

SCENE IV. A Room in Major Bromfield's House. The Stage dark—Ben Hassan discovered.

What a terrible condition has my rashness reduced me to! and because I was a state prisoner, I must come here blind-solded. Here I am in a dun­geon! Lord knows how many feet deep in the rock of Gibraltar! How could they find me out? sure that damned Jew has not betrayed me! It is very strange I was not put in irons; and, what's more extraordinary in a dismal place like this, they have left me a chair to sit on. I fain would examine the walls of my prison to try if there is any hole left; but what if I tumble into some terrible cavern! I'll [Page 33] grope my way as well as I can.

—Mercy on me, what a clash of chains was there! I wish I could get to my chair again, I'd not budge from it 'till my keeper brought me my bread and water. Oh, I have got it.

Where is my dear master? O that I could glad my eyes with a sight of him!

Oh! that I could glad my eyes with a sight of you, Muley! how long, poor fellow, have you been here?

I am just come, sir; as it was known that I was an old faithful servant, the Governor has granted me permission to take my leave of you.

What, am I so soon to die!

I can't bear to answer you, sir,

Ah, my poor Muley! and I suppose your fate is not far off ?

No, sir, I was pardoned; the laws of England could not punish me without a new act of parliament.

Eh! how was that?

Why, sir, the laws of England say no man is a slave; I was one, and consequently out of their jurisdiction.

Then, my good lad, I'll till you how you can serve me.

I'll do it most chearfully.

Why as you can't be punished, suppose we change clothes, and let me escape? my clothes are worth a great deal more than your's.

That would never do, sir; your imprison­ment has set me free, and I am now as liable to be hanged as any body else.

That's a great pity, Muley.

Ah, sir, you had a number of friends upon your trial.

My trial! why zounds I have not been tried yet.

Consider you are a spy, and a spy is never tried like another criminal—the Governor was for breaking you upon the wheel immediately. Ah! thinks I, this will remind my poor master of the bro­ken bones he has often given me.

And was there nobody spoke for me?

Oh yes, sir; you had a staunch friend, a friend indeed, sir, one who obtained a great favour for you, a favour seldom granted to state criminals—that you should only—

What! what! what!

Be hanged, sir.

Only be hang'd! and do you call that a fa­vour, you dog?

I don't know what you think, sir; but, I am sure, your family will be greatly rejoiced at it. But, sir, as you are now in your last moments, what am I to say to your daughter?

O my poor child! she never came into my head.

I suppose, sir, you'll leave her every thing?

Every pistole; I can take nothing with me. Remember her poor old father's love to her.

Your love! there's something else should be remember'd; I suppose you would not have your strong box broke open, sir?

Break open my strong box, you rascal! who dare break open my strong box?

See what it is to love money! It goes to your heart to part with a pistreen, though it can be of no longer use to you.

True, Muley, I can take nothing with me.

'Sdeath, sir, you'd make a man mad; the executioner will be here in a few minutes, and if you don't give me the key, and let me know what it con­tains, your daughter will be wrong'd of half her pro­party.

Why will you disturb me in my dying mo­ments? you know the key will be found in my pocket when I am hanged.

In that case, every shilling will be con­siscated for the use of government.

That's very true, and as I can take nothing with me, here it is—

—give it into her own hand; the box contains eighteen thousand pistoles, besides three brilliants of immense value, and a topal I purchased at Genoa, that was stole from the Doge of Venice.

Ah, sir, you see no good comes of such things; but I have secured your key; and so come in, come in, all is settled.

What, my daughter and Beauclerc to see me?

Here, madam, is the passport to your fortune, and your father may rail as fast as he pleases.

Why I am in no dungeon, I find.

I'll tell you better news, sir; you've got a reprieve.

Ah, villain, I perceive how every thing is now; this is all a trick to cheat me of my daughter; but though I am a Moor, and you call me Infidel, your laws breathe a more humane spirit than your re­ligion, and I will have recourse to them.

Ben Hassan, you may thank the hour your daughter married this gentleman; it has saved your life. I am at this moment in possession of secrets would undo you; then take them home without a a murmur; act in future with integrity to the state, and all shall be overlooked.

All my correspondence with the Spaniards I find is discovered, and I must make the best of it. (To the Major.) Dear Major, you are too hasty; I protest to you I never was better pleased, never in my life; but consider I have just escaped a gibbet, and you must allow a little for surprize.

Sir, the Governor desires a party of men may be sent instantly to keep the populace in order [Page 37] there's a mutiny in the garrison about the fresh provi­sions just arrived.

My dear Beauclerc, we must be gone; but trust your mistress to her father's care; I dare say we may depend upon him. Eh, Ben Hassan, you understand me?

Perfectly! yes, yes, we are all come to a right understanding at last,—but mum—and so come along, Zayde:

SCENE V. The Inside of the Garrison. A tumul­tuous Noise heard.

We will have fresh provisions.

Why not as well as the governor?

Finer turkies never came from Barbary.

Finer turkies! ay, ay, my friend, but that is leather of too fine a grain for our palates. Turkies! no, no; we must feast upon salted pork and buffaloes, as dry and as tough as an old heel-tap; a man should have teeth like an awl to mumble it.

Nine tailors of us clubb'd for a goose, and could not purchase it.

Let us all go to the governor's in a body, and force him to do us and our families justice.

Ay, come along, come along.

Where the de'el are ye aw ganging in sic haste?

We are going to the governor's, to de­mand our share of the fresh provisions just come from Barbary; we can hold out no longer.

Ye are aw a parcel of feuls, and do no ken what you wauld be at.

Ay, master Serjeant, you may talk; you have no cause to complain of salt provisions; you have always a belly-full.

It's a damn'd see; I scorn to think of my wem, when the honour of my country is at stake.

But why does not the governor divide all fair with the whole garrison?

We are all flesh and blood as well as he.

Hav'n't we wives and children to main­tain?

Why, ye mek sic a damn'd clatter, there's nae sic a thing as spearly a wee wi' you rationally; will you hear me?

Hear him, hear him.

In aw them ten years the famous toon of Troy was besieged, I do nae believe there was sic a riot as the present.

Ay, master Serjeant, but Troy, I sup­pose, is some town upon the 'Mericant continent, like Rhode-Island, or the Gulph of Florida, or some of those places.

Ah, friend, as the proverb gangs, whoever burns you for a witch, will lose all his coals. Ye are nac geographer, friend, I find.

Come, master Serjeant, don't call names; I am as good a man as yourself, though I don't wear a red coat.

He! what the de'el's that for?

O, by my shoul, it is what I told you a little while ago, though I did not mention it; the peppering bout is just going to begin; and if you are so hungry, you may stay your stomachs with a belly­full of fighting.

Serjeants, for shame! away to arms; the Spanish flag is flying in the harbour.

What, are the Spaniards come! then, dam'me, we'll think no more of fresh provisions.

We'll fight, if you'll give us arms.

Ay, dam'me, 'till we die.

Why, there you spoke like a true En­glishman! we'll all fight 'till we die; and then there will be fresh provisions enough for every one of us.

SCENE the last. A View of the Rock and Streight of Gibraltar; Rodney's Fleet in the Bay, after the Action; the Spanish Admiral dismasted, &c. riding with national Colours; the Army all drawn out with Artillery, &c. prepared for Action; a Boat is seen to come from one of the Ships; a Lieutenant and several Sailors come on Shore afterwards.

A Spanish admiral's flag flying, and all the rest English colours; what can be the mean­ing?

It was done to deceive the garrison; it is an enemy; and, take my word, the governor will repent his not firing at them.

We shall soon know that, for here comes the boat dispatched to us.

What cheer! what cheer, my hearts of oak?

How am I to re­ceive you—as a prisoner, sir?

A prisoner! what do you mean?

Is not that the Spanish fleet yonder under English colours?

The Spanish fleet! ay, to be sure it is.

I understand you; we lost the day.

Why yes, we lost the day to be sure; but then we took 'em in the night for all that.

Took 'em in the night! you deal in mysteries.

Ay, master, and the Spaniards deal in mi­racles; so we are even with them.

As a soldier and an Englishman, you may suppose me anxious for the honour of my country; answer me, sir, at once, if we are victors, why does that Spanish ensign insult the flag of my country?

Why, if I may speak, your honour, before my superiors, it's a kind of dulgence we shewed them; for the Spanish Monsieurs fought damn'd well this bout; and then you know a man has some pleasure in beating 'em.

What this honest tar has told you, sir, is true; the fleet you see yonder belongs to the King of England, and perhaps no fleet, for some centuries, have won greater glory.

What is our advantage, sir?

Vantage! why we have taken five, sunk two, and blown up one; that's all. It's a great pity there were not a few more to give a good account of.

I request, sir, you would go instantly with your dispatches to the Governor: this is a piece of intelligence which once more dispels the gloom from Gibraltar. Let the whole garrison salute the fleet, for the strength and bulwark of England at all times has proved her navy.

By my shoul, your honour, if I may speak without offence, the devil a word of lie in what you say; for the firmest ground an Englishman ever stood upon is the ocean.