SCENE I.—A Parlour in DICKINS'S; Break­fast things laid.

I'LL trust nothing to the errand cart, you must bring up my own waggon; cuts such a figure! a Gentleman's fine team ringing thro' a country town.

Why it does make folks stare.

There's the Duke's cart, Lord, Mar­quiss's cart, and why not his Worship's cart? and on it written in capitals, ‘Sir Hans Bur­gess! Samphire Hall.’ Go—

Late breakfast here. This little shop-keeper is quite spoilt by a Lord's taking notice of him—aping all the absurd im­pertinence of fashion; an insignificant cur mon­grel, setting himself up for a greyhound.

When one sups at the Castle, no rising next morning

The Castle! sup with Lord Viscount Torrendel.

His Lordship would make me bumper it last night, roasting such bundles of his fine girls; 'pon my soul I and Torrendel knock'd the bot­tle about rarely. How his Lordship stared at dinner when I hob nob'd him; says he, my dear Dickins, are you in earnest? 'pon my soul, said I, my dear Torrendel I am, that's poz. I'm used to good old black port, and his Lordship's pink Burgundy has given me an immense head-ach. No getring from him, he's such good company.

Then I'm not even to be asked to sit down?

Sir Hans Burgess! Oh, how do ye do?

Well, this is good, a Gentleman comes to talk about business, and its "Oh, how do ye do."

Business! true, I ride out with my Lord this morning.

Please, Sir, first to step into your shop, and weigh out the sugar and tobacco for my servant, Robin Hoofs.

Sir, if you don't know how to behave as a parlour visitor to me, as a customer, walk into my shop, and wait there till you are serv'd. Here, John, take this person's orders. Weigh tobacco! as you are [Page 3] now Sir Hans Burgess, I may yet be Sir An­thony Dickens; I may be knighted for bring­ing up an address. You made your money by a contract of hats, and an't I making mine by—

Your country merchant shop of all sorts.

My banking-house, agencies, receiver­ships, factorships—

And coal-ships. Now I have laid out my money in buying a scope of land, and my grand hobby is to turn it into a fashionable sea­bathing place. I have such a liberal mind to accommodate the publick, I built first there a beautiful house—

For yourself. As my Lord says, to serve a man's self, has been long the way of doing things for the public good.

I raised as pretty an hotel! and the neat row of lodging-houses!

But to give it a name, you must get a few of us people of fashion down to it. Suppose I say to his Lordship, 'pon my soul Torrendel, now you should take a house from my friend, Sir Hans, he's a good, honest, stupid sort of a soul—why then, says my Lord, nay my dear Dickens, you are too severe. Yes, perhaps I may prevail on Torrendel to take one of your new houses.

Not so much good in you, hem! a pity, friend Dickens, my Lord can't admit you for an hour to his table, but it makes you so cursed saucy.

Proud! a proof my Lord ca'n't do without me.

Why you are so clever that I will trust you, because I ca'n't do without you.

Very civil,

as my Lud says; then says I, oh, dem it my Lud—

Devils in you, and the Lud; I came to consult you. You know I design to bestow my ward Augusta Woodbine, with her whole fortune, on my son George; but I fear the re­port of her riches will bring all your flashy, high-titled gentry about her, then—

Ay! then, indeed, she may be for despising a son of yours. As my Lud was fil­ling his glass, my jogging his elbow, dem it, Dickens, said he, you are sull of mischief.

Oh, zounds!—

Hem! wa'n't Miss Augusta adopted by her uncle on his discarding his own daughter for a faux pas with some man of fashion two and twenty years back?

Devil's in your twenty years back! how to bring my son's marriage about now?

Make your ward think that her uncle has made a second will, and that she's not worth two-pence, then she'll be glad to snap at your George.

Eh! I expect her to-day from Lon­don. According to that plan, it will shew too much attention to go myself to meet her—I'll let her down—I'll send any body—will you go, my dear fellow?

Civil again;

its a doubt to me, if you know how to make a bow, Sir Hans, ha, ha, ha! this morning I, making my bow of leave to his Ludship, sliding back, stumbled upon the poor Chaplain's toe; my Lud laughed! [Page 5]Zounds! cries his Reverence, you've killed me! Huzza, says my Lud, then the parson's dead, and has lost his living, ha, ha, ha! Oh, but to meet this Lady I'll send my daughter Fanny. Here she is.

Why, Miss, isn't this your school hour?

Yes, papa, but I've stept home for a book; did you see my Pleasing Instructor?

My dear, you must step over to the inn to receive—

Lord! papa, what would our Go­verness say if a young Lady of her school was seen going into an inn? besides its now my reading time; then I have my embroidery; then I must practice my musick; then say my French lesson; then the dancing-master; then, papa—

I must not take her from her accom­plishments—I'll go, and in my way drop this parcel at my Lud's, a trivial thing, but was I to send it, it would be, ‘Eh, now, Dickens, why didn't you come yourself, my dear fel­low? always happy to see you.’ Must call, my Lord may think I'm getring proud, pride is so contemptible.

So it is, I despise it at this mo­ment.

Well, good bye.

Devil's in your good bye! Introduce me now to Lord Torrendel.

Why, I don't know, his Lordship sup­ports [Page 6]vast dignity; but never mind, tho' he is very difficult of access, I'll introduce you, for my Lud says, ‘Dickens, I'll be glad to see some of your people; from my respect to you, you may command any service—never mind their aukward want of breeding, if known to you.’ Sir Hans, I'll present you to my Lud; expect to see all the importance of genuine old nobility; yet I'm of that conse­quence with him, that once presented by me, his Lordship and you are hand and glove.

Ay! that you and I may be hand and purse.

SCENE II.—A Chamber in LORD TORREN­DEL'S Castle.

Then you think, L'Oeillet, Lady Torrendel is still in Cumberland. She is too good a wife—I use her ill.

Oui! mais, mi Lor, dat be de faute of la nature, vich did give your Lorship constitution galante amoureuse.

No interruption from my wife here, ha, ha, ha! good deception this of mine, to make her believe I'm at Lisbon for the re­establishment of my health; never was better in my life!

Your Lorship be robuste comme Hercule; vid your spindle shank.

Lady Torrendel, among the lakes, little imagines that I am retir'd hither to this scene of darling pleasures; a doubt to me if she even knows I've still a seat in this part of the country. She is truly amiable, her mind stored with every delicate refinement, and for per­sonal charms has few superiors; I like people should know so fine a woman chose me;—yes, she seems the only person unconscious of her shining qualities; but I cannot help my irre­sistible penchant for variety,

I'm not at home; the little girl, Dickins's daughter Fanny! isn't her name Fanny? an absolute Cherub!

Ah! oui milor—Fanny Dickins, Fanny Cherub!

But living beauty cannot banish the sweet remembrance of Emily Woodbine. If her father hadn't disinherited her for coming off with me, and adopted his niece, I shou'dn't now be troubled with this profligate boy of her's, this Lord Arthur, as he calls himself— presumes as if my son in real wedlock. My fitting him out for the Indies was doing very handsome for a chance child.

Milor, I did vid money, you give me, furnish him superbement for voyage de mer; but he did make such a sabat affreux in de ship, dat he vas turn'd out—

so I did tell you; but your money I have snug dans ma poche.

He's well enough, I hear, as to his person.

Oui! il est fait á peindre, l'image of your lorship!

But mad! I'm absolutely afraid of him.

Milor, here come de pretty girl.

L'Oeillet! how do I look this morning? candid now! I always like the truth.

Den, en enverité, milor, you look not above fifty, tho' you are a quarter past.

Fifty! L'Oeillet you are exceed­ingly coarse.

Ha, my charmer!

'Pon my word, Sir, my Lord I mean, if you talk that way to me, I won't come here any more; I didn't know you was in the room, or I shou'dn't have come in I assure you, Sir, my Lord I mean.

Ah, petite badine. Mamselle Fanny come purpose to see my Lor.

Monsieur, how can you tell such fibs.

Do now, my love, declare and make me happy.

Then I only came because—

What, my love?

Ah, pourquoi?

Because papa says its a boyish play, and all the rooms in our house are so small, and you've such a fine long gallery here, and Jenny the house-keeper's daughter is so smart at—he! he! he!

Va tén!

Oh, some beg­ging petition. How! my Lady Torrendel's hand! L'Oeillet do you read, and write some consistent answers; date the letters from Lisbon as usual.

Wile you, milor, play de raquette vid Miss Fanny.

What! can you play, Sir, my Lord I mean?

To win a girl one must comply with all her childish follies.

Say the sprain's not better—can't lift my arm—and all that.

Ca'n't lift you arm! you flourish it finely, Sir; my Lord I mean.

Come, my love.

Ah! bien—trés bien!

Oh! my Lord, what a rare old beau the King wou'd think you now, and if my papa was to see me—oh!

So, this is your "Pleasing In­structor".

The dignity of "genuine old no­bility!"

Ah, hem! what, Sir?

I beg you Lordship's pardon, but I brought a parcel, and am come up to save your Lordship's coming down.

Impudent intrusion this!

Miss, you step over to the Rose Inn to receive a young Lady just arrived from Lon­don—go.

Lord, Papa!—give my battledores to Jenny.

How finely she holds up her head.

All the good she's got at the board­ing school.

Dem it! once you make free with these kind of people.

The devil's in your strutting! why don't you present me?

Oh, true, my Lord give me leave to introduce—

Ah! hey! L'Oeillet!

Dickins, since I have been intro­duced by you, his Lordship and I are ‘hand and glove,’ ha, ha, ha!

Get drunk with a man over night, and in the morning its—

Ah! hey! L'Oeillet!

Hem!

Stop, my Lord ca'n't do with­out you.

Mon dieu! vere be my Lord to rell him of dis beauty lady stop at de Rose Inn?

I see the valet's the prime favourite after all.

Monsieur, please to accept—

Qu'est que c'est? vat's dis?

'Tis—you are so civil.

Ah! je vous entends—to make me civil.

Sir!

Two guinea! very polite! he vant ma protection. In his Lordship's service I have been but four year, yet have sav'd two thousand guinea; the guinea flow to my coffer in many channel. My Lor fancy watch, trinket to present as de­coy to Lady, I buy at ten guinea, charge him twenty. I wink at de tradesman's bill, ven paid he slip me de guinea:—if tenant want lease re­newed, I speak to my Lor, tenant mé donne the guinea. De maitre tink we be dere ser­vants, but when we have got into de love-secret, pardi! den de maitre become servant to de valet de chambre.

SCENE III.—A Room in an Inn.

This way, Madam.

How d'ye do, Ma'am, after your journey?

Tolerably well, Miss—but, pray, who am I to thank for this obliging enquiry?

Why, Miss, a'n't you the great heiress, Miss Augusta Woodbine, Sir Hans Burgess expected down here from London?

Where is the good old gentleman?

He good! brought papa upon me just how! he, he, he! I was caught—but pray don't you young Ladies in London sometimes play at shuttlecock?

Ha, ha, ha! why, Miss, you are very agreeable—what a simple thing!

but, how came you to know, or expect me?

Papa sent me to receive you.

I didn't know Sir Hans had a daughter—Miss Burgess I presume.

He, he, he! no! no! I am not Miss, but I may be Mrs. Burgess, for young George is quite partial to me; there he's now gone on his travels round Brighton, and Battle, and Hastings, Sandwich, and Margate, and Rams­gate. My dear soul, George Burgess is a very fine creature, I assure you.

I ca'n't doubt his taste, Miss, when I understand he's an admirer of your's.

Ah! now I see the difference between you and us down here. You are a true Lady, and we are only conceited figures, and so I'll tell all the Ladies in our school, and I don't care if my French teacher hears me too. 'Pon my honour, with all my finery, I'm but a shabby genteel.

If my scheme of letting down our young heiress, can bring about a match with Sir Hans's son George, by agreement I touch the handsome present.

La, papa! why don't you speak to the young Lady?

Welcome, Miss!

Sir.

I wish somebody would call my servant.

Miss, I'll run.

Stop. Now to let her down.

Miss, I've discharged your servant.

How, Sir!

And, my dear, instead of attendance on yourself, you must learn to attend on others, my dear.

Sir! very odd and mysterious; this brutal treatment—

—my guardian lives but a few miles—the carriage ready!

Never mind, my dear, you'll be able to walk as far as you've to go; you can walk!

Heavens! what can be the mean­ing!—

A word, Miss; you have been brought up with the idea of a great fortune. Smoke! your uncle has made a second will, and bequeath'd all his property to a—some Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, no matter who.

I don't know who you are, Sir, but if acquainted in my affairs, surely by my uncle's will I am—

A man's last will is the clincher, tho' he had made fifty before; you are left a trifling legacy, and a handsome education, so must now battle it out for yourself.

I could cry for her misfortune, if I wasn't glad at its making us more equal. Be­fore, I admir'd; but now, I shall love her dearly.

My generosity is such, that at Sir Hans's request, I'll take you into my house to be governess to my daughter Fanny, here.

Can this be possible?

Lawk! then I'm to leave school!

You shall have my protection, you may dine at my table when we have no parti­cular company. No occasion to acquaint you, my dear, of my property and fortune—first fashion.

My Lord may now have call'd at my house! but dem-it, let him call again!

Here, Sir Hans's man says you sold him better moist sugar for 6d. a pound.

Get you gone, you rascal!

La, papa, why don't you mind the business of the shop?

Hem! yes, I want a governess for my daughter. What say you, Miss?

Sir, I am a friendless orphan; no alternative—but such an asylum!

Come, young Lady, don't be cast down.

I am surprised—perhaps concern'd; but the prospect of riches gave me little plea­sure in the reflection that I was to possess what belong'd to an unfortunate relative; the unfor­giving spirit of her obdurate parent took the birth-right from his own lamented daughter, cast down! I could be happy was I sure my uncle's wealth would devolve on the offspring of his child's offence; the poor youth, who may at this moment be a wretched outcast, [Page 15]disown'd by an unprincipled father, and no in­heritance, but his mother's shame.

Why, a babe was, I heard, the con­sequence of your Cousin's slip; a boy—this young mand Lord Arthur D'Aumerle, as he calls himself;

but, dear, nobody knows any thing of the bantling; it may be dead or drowned, or—well, but, Miss, what think ye?

Sir, I accept your offer.

Now, I shall have you under my own eye, no more playing shuttlecocks with Lords— but, how are you qualified for this office? what is your idea of the duties, in bringing up a young woman?

Sir, by the mouth of a parent she receives admonition from Heaven itself; and when he commits that charge to another, it is indeed sacred. The care of youth is an ardu­ous, and delicate trust of confidence, and honor; I look upon truth, cleanliness, and frugality, to be the first principles in a lady's education. They preserve to her mind, person, and means, purity, health, and independence of obligation, which thro' the devious paths of her future life, to the unsuspecting female, is often the con­cealed adder, for the destruction of her in­nocence.

She set out pretty well about my heavenly authority, and my delicate mouth; but, lord, she has got quite out;

well, in truth, my dear, your quondam guar­dian, bid me break this affair in a rough way, to lower your spirit, to your situation; but it's my intention to treat you with kindness and respect.

This will do me no harm, when she finds she has still the fortune

Vraiment oui! here is de char­mante inconnue for milor;

and Miss Fanny! ah! ha!

And Miss Fanny's pa! pa!

Monsieur—you want now, I suppose, to engage my daughter in a match of cricket; but you shall get all the notches on your pate.

Non! Monsieur, I did come vid milor's compliments—you ride cavalcade vid him dis morning.

What! after his affronting me!

Affront pah! votre interêt.

True! interest is the gold-beater's leaf, for my wounded pride. Come, Miss, be chearful; you'll dine with us—dinner on table at six.

Why, papa, we always dine at one.

Fanny, to amuse you, will show you our town here.

I vill show de Lady de town.

Don't you believe it. After you, s'il vous plait, Monsieur.

Yes, papa, I'll take Miss Augusta to the cathedral, the play-house, and shambles, the beast-market, and assembly-room, and by— she shall see the fine gallery of pictures, in my Lord's castle too.

Give me my own big bottle of old claret, in my own fist.

A man! oh! Lord! I must take care of my governess.

Puppies! but they coudn't read in my face, that I was gentleman to a Lord.

Here, porters, fetch up his Lord­ship's, and the Gentleman's trunks, let Dick and Tom Ostler give a help; take care how you turn the stairs.

Here, Ma'am, is the luggage.

And call for claret!

Your master, Sir, is—?

The Honorable Lord Arthur D' Aumerle.

The Honorable Lord—

I hope my Lord wo'n't find out, that I collected all these tradesman's bills, which he ran up in London; he'd never have thought of them him­self. This claret is neat—since he did call for it, I may as well drink it; for he has run out of the house. If his father, this Lord Torrendel wo'n't do something, no going back to London, for us!

Sir, the other gentleman is calling for you, and making a great noise.

Noise! aye, that's quite himself. Then, Sir, this gentleman will wait on that gen­tleman, and that may happen to save all the bottles and glasses in your house.

He has just taken lodgings, at the jeweller's over the way.

What may the price be?

I think, they let them at three guineas a week.

Don't be frighten'd, it's only a little new tune I was humming.

Sir, he desires his luggage to be brought to him.

Sir!

What's the matter with you now? luggage! have you good strong porters here, and a big cart?

For what, Sir?

For—hem! only Sir—I'm afraid, our luggage will break down the landlady's stair-case. "And there was three travellers— travellers three."

SCENE I. Before the Castle.

No, the phaeton:

I may see this little girl in the evening, and after an hour on horseback; my limbs, not quite so sup­ple, appear rather older than such a young crea­ture should think one; but, true—I asked this Dickins to ride out with me to-day. One should hold these sort of people at arm's length, till we want to turn them into some use.

There! now you have the whole kit of them.

Who are you? what's all this? bills!

Yes, and by my soul they're not bank bills, and that's the worst of them; and, they're not play bills, and that's the best of them; for there's not a gaming debt in the whole cluster.

But, friend, you should have de­livered them to my banker, Mr. Dickins.

A banker! he'll give me the money!

by finding you so good, oh! how you've disappoined me.

Stop!

"Lord Torrendel, debtor, for goods delivered to Lord Arthur;" who the Devil's Lord Arthur D'Au­merle?

Now don't be in a passion, why, I am his servant.

But who is he himself?

Come, be aisy my Lord, don't go to pretend to know nothing of your own child.

How dare any fellow assume Lord Arthur!

He has the honor of being your son.

'Tis false.

Well, he has no honor in being your son.

An infernal rascal! run about, contract debts, send in his bills to me! I won't pay a shilling to save him from perdi­tion.

Perdition! some new-fashion'd name for the King's Bench.

My Lord, am I to saddle the ches­nut mare for Mr. Dickins? he insists upon hav­ing it.

Yes, yes, scoundrel!

She cost your Lordship two hundred guineas; he's a bad rider, and if she should get any hurt—

Dem it, don't trouble me with your quarrels.

Refuse his child a few pounds, a bit [Page 21]of beef, a feather bed, and a hat and a pair of shoes, or so; yet mounts a Mr. Dickins on a horse cost 200 guineas!

This damn'd—, can't keep within the allowance that I—

What allowance do you mean?

An extravagant—

He is extravagant; wicked; he's a devil! but, it's all your fault, my Lord, as a father; not noticing and bringing him up with a sense of duty to himself and his neighbours. Call to mind how you loved his mother, and inveigled her from her friends, tho' you wasn't married to the poor unhappy lady, that doesn't make the child's little finger a bit less your son.

Emily!

for her dear sake—

Then blessings on you! besides, Lord Arthur is such a gay—

Lord Arthur again! not a guinea!

And as like your lordship as a sprightly young buck is like—an auld sham­bling baboon.

I know nothing about him.

These they call gallantries, to bring a living creature into the world and then to leave him like a wild beast to prey upon society.

Now, my lord, only see him.

Begone.

I'll tell you what—you'll drive him desp'rate; he'll do some hellish thing or other; he'll commit a suicide upon either himself or me, for, when once he thinks any thing, he [Page 22]immediately does it, without thinking at all about it.

Harkye, you scoundrel! if I hear of your lord Arthur, or yourself, being seen about my door, I'll have you taken up.

Well, a small man taken up, doesn't cut such a pitiful figure, as a great man taken down.

This eternal torment!

Yes, John, I think I'm very well equipp'd to ride out with my lord.

Well, sir, you had a hundred guineas fee with me, and the day may yet come, for my crossing a hunter.

It may, John; when I was 'prentice in Barbican, and, like the house dog, slept in the shop; promis'd the watchman a pint, to rouse me, to go to the Easter Epping Hunt; "five o'clock and a fine morning!" thump comes the pole against the shop door; tingle, tingle, goes the little bell behind it; up starts me, from my bed under the counter; on with my buckskin and jemmy jacket; jumps into my two boots; mounts my three and sixpenny nag; but, first I put my spurs in my pocket; hey off we go, thro' Hackney, Hammerton—I saw the stag once, but then heard the hounds all the way; find I've a short and a long stirrup: dis­mount to put them even; forgetting to buckle the girt, down comes me, and the saddle at top of me; by this I was slung out; but, to prove [Page 23]I was in at the death, presents my kind mistress with a piece of the stag's horn, which horn she gives her husband for a tobacco stopper, with "ah my dear hubby, I wish you were as good a sportsman as your 'prentice Tony Dickins, ah he's the smart fellow," ha! ha! ha! and so I was, and dem it so I am still—John, you needn't wait dinner, I shall dine with Torrendel.

Sir Hans! curse it, I can't be plagued with such a silly old fool now.

Hollo, Dickins! so you have seen my ward, Miss Augusta.

Yes, yes, I have humbled her rarely, but pray don't delay me now, I'm engaged to ride out with my Lord. I, and Torrendel, may first take a turn or two down the Street, arm in arm, right side, so don't hide the star! my dear Hans don't stop to talk to me; if you've people with you, and should bow, I'll return it.

Scoundrel! call himself my son; keep servants too.

Well, my Lord, here I am: whip and spur.

Desire the porter not to admit either of them.

Not admit either of us!

Poh! hold your tongue.

My lud, I had a little head ache from our [Page 24]debauch last night; you look vastly well, but a little cherry will do us both good.

Pray, Sir, what are you talking about?

Why, my Lord, you sent for me to—

Poh! poh! man, I sha'n't ride out to-day.

Go to the expence of dressing! view'd by every body in the town, strutting out in my leathers, and—

Why, Sir, you're equipp'd in your leathers.

‘Poh! poh! man I sha'n't ride out to-day.’

And, pray, man, who cares whe­ther you ride or walk? big little nobody! I'll introduce myself—Gad's curse! a'n't I a Knight, and if I can effect this marriage with Augusta and my George—

Timolin!

Where's Timolin? Sir, I ask pardon. My rascal dare loiter and had only to come and bring me a couple of hundred guineas from my father; I'll see my Lord my­self.

Some young fellow of fashion!

I'm run out in slippers; all asleep here!

Yes, Sir, they were at a jollifica­tion last night; Mr. Dickins told me.

Who? aye, my father keeps it up here, and I without the price of a bottle.

A little civility might make this Gentleman take lodgings at Samphire-hall.

So, I'm not to be let in! then I'll have some of you out.

Are you in this way, Sir!

the devil's in you, Sir! what sort of mad trick's that, to knock a Gentleman's snuff-box.

Whose boots are these? what do you ask for these boots?

They are bought already, Sir, I'm bringing them home to my Lord Torrendel.

My father;

you could make me a pair?

Certainly, Sir.

These are about my size.

Don't put them on, Sir, I can take your measure.

My dear fellow, why should I give you that trouble, when here is a pair ready made? that fits, now this, the whole world is made up of this, that, and tother, I have this, and that, and tother I don't want, for two boots will do for me as well as fifty.

Lord, Sir, don't walk about in them, his Lordship wo'n't have them.

A paradox! his Lordship cannot have them, and his Lordship has them already.

Only the pebble knocked out of the lid! never saw such a strange—

The boots are now unsaleable, his Lordship wo'n't take them off my hands.

Nor off my lordship's feet.

Lord! then I'll pocket my broken box.

They are two guineas, Sir.

Sir, I beg you a thousand pardons for my inadvertency.

Inadvertency! a man of rank, by not knowing what he does.

We never book such trifles, Sir.

Well then set them down to me, to Lord Arthur D'Aumerle; or, carry the bill to my father; or, Timolin will pay you; or, any body will pay you.

I'll see if the law wo'n't make you pay me.

Sir, I presume you are Lord Arthur D'Aumerle.

Right—who are you?

oh! Sir Hans Burgess! that old fool they were laughing at—I hear an immense character of you, Sir Hans.

Pray, my Lord, what do they say of me?

Ha! ha! ha! what I ca'n't say to your face: that's my father's house.

Indeed! why we didn't know Lord Torrendel had a son.

He doesn't like my coming about him—he affects to be thought so very young, to recommend him to the Ladies; you understand me, Sir Hans?

Not see you! he's a very unnatu­ral father.

And yet I'm quite a natural son.

Sir, my Lord is very much alarm'd, and begs you will not commit any more outrage, or attempt to see him.

Did he give the money to my servant?

Why, Sir, I did see his Lordship's purse—

Then, he has my profound duty—I ask his pardon.

He's a very tolerable father after all—huzza! I'll now pay my debts and be a man again.

I with my son George had your fire.

You've a son? I'll shew him how to knock your cash about!

Good morning to you, Sir.

Not so, Sir Hans! come and take a Sandwich with me.

You hit my humour—I'm very wise and cunning—I'd do any thing to get money: but all only to see my son George make a blaze.

A conflagration! come—old Hock's the word. I have a bachelor's house— that is, I lodge at the jeweller's yonder; I like to have things about me; I've ordered in wines and relishes—I want your opinion of a horse I've bought just now. Dam me! how I'll curve it before noble dad's door! he shall see I can spend my money like a gentleman.

What a noble lad, I could never get my son George to buy a jack-ass.

Come, old hock's the word.

SCENE II. LORD ARTHUR'S lodgings. New cloaths, linen, saddle, hat, &c. lying on chairs.

Oh, melancholy is our new home here. I'd wish to keep up my poor master's spirits, but he'll see an empty pocket in my dismal countenance. If his papa had only given him as much as would have taken us back to London—well, well, we have no debts to lay hold on us in this town, however—

oh thunder and zounds! what's here;— been shopping on the strength of the expected money! Ordered in wine too! Oh, oh, then not a cork shall be drawn till it is paid for.

This way, Sir Hans. Oh, very well ma'am; but where's my ser­vant?

Bringing company too!

Pray, Sir, walk in—be seated. So we've touched.

Yes! we shall be touched.

Timolin, that old hock!

Timolin, that old hock! I believe you're jumping out of your leather.

Ha! ha! ha! very well, Ti­molin. Sir Hans, that fellow's a treasure: but, when he does any thing clever, such as bringing [Page 29]a man a couple of hundred guineas, it makes him so pert—

Yes! my Lord, when once a ser­vant knows he's an honest man, he begins to be an impudent rascal.

Poh! what talk's that! Was the devil busy with you, Sir, to send in all these new things from the tradesmen?

Ha! ha! ha! very well— Timolin, the wine!—unlock! No! Sir Hans, this is the secret history of old hock,

and this

is the key to it.

Broke open the cupboard—Oh, he'll get us both hanged.

Sir Hans, without expedient a man's nothing.

You and your servant, my Lord, put one in mind of a couple of ghosts. You are all spirit, and he is no body—ha! ha! ha!

Bravo!

My Lord, let me send these things back to the honest people.

Send yourself out of the room.

Only hear me.

I'll give you such a beating, you villain!

Well, so you do but hear me, beat me as long as you like.

Lay the money upon my bureau and go to the devil.

The fel­low is so puffed with doing a petty service—

My Lord, I hope for the honour of seeing you down at Samphire Hall, an infant [Page 30]scheme merely for the health and convenience of the gentry in this part of the country. I've converted a naked beech into as commodious a sea-bathing place—

Then your principal object is—

The main ocean!

Psha! you want to establish it into a fashion? its done, I'll be seen there upon your stein or esplanade; my physician shall re­commend all his patients from Brompton, and Paddington; a variety of gambling tabbies, honourable black legs, and rickety children.

You told him! then untell him; for he won't hear me talk at all at all.

There again! then, dam'me! now you shall bring me some brawn and an­chovies.

Now don't make quite a kiskawn of yourself.

Sir, I thought, when I told you that my Lord's purse—

Yes! I'm grateful for good news—you shall have a bottle.

. What! don't be quite so busy; sit still.—

You march.

What a fine model for my son George! Come, my Lord, I'll give you a patriotic toast—Here's success to all my un­dertakings.

Patriotic and disinterested in­deed, Sir Hans! here's—

Success to my undertakings!

Right, little pigeon—finish your bottle by yourself, and, if you quarrel with your company, I'll kick you both out of the room. Have you advertised this place at Samphire Hall?

I fancy advertising might make it better known; for newspapers are a sort of thing that's read.

Why, yes, Sir Hans, people do read newspapers; how the deuce did you find out that? Come, I'll draw you up a flourish­ing advertisement.

I employed a famous auctioneer to draw up one for me.

Mind how he describes the beauties— ‘To the right, the bold cliffs and high bluff heads —at the foot, Sir Hans has built an elegant strait row of houses, called the Crescent—’ Eh! that's very foolish.

Why, yes! your crescent is a little in the full moon order, ha! ha! ha!

What do you mean by walking in here with your executioner's face?

Well, I didn't run in debt for my face. Step in here, all of you.

Sir, the horse you bought—I'll be satisfied with a draught on Mr. Dickins, our banker, for the 50 guineas.

Neighbours, you can take back your goods undamaged: but, I insist on being paid for my boots.

Timolin!

Oh! I know nothing at all about it.

Pay the people this moment.

With what?

What! the two hundred my father gave you.

He didn't give me a Manx rap half­penny.

No! why, I thought—by Heavens! I'll get into the house myself.

Oh! my Lord, a thought strikes me of great consequence, in the present case.

Well—Sir—quick?

That here, instead of curlews, he should have said sea-gulls.

Damn your sea-gulls, Sir! see a nobleman baited, by a parcel of mecha­nical—

There's all your goods for you again—what more do you want?

Every one of you, lay down my property this moment, in the very spot from whence you took it. I'll pay you the first money I receive; but now, begone, or I'll murder you.

Go good people, whatever he says he'll do.

Here's gaiety and innocence!

True, it was you who told me first, that the money—I'll make you gay, you innocent dog.

Oh! what a model for my George.

SCENE III.—A Gallery in Lord Torrendel's hung with whole length Pictures of Women.

So very lovely!

Une beauté celeste! et pauvre— poor, derfore no danger from relations. So, my Lord, think no more of the rich mechanic Dickins's daughter.

Why, their sturdy Citizens may be troublesome; but you say this young Lady is coming with Fanny, to see my pictures.

Oui, my Lor.

This way, Miss Augusta.

L'Oeillet!

well, you have brought your new friend, to see my paintings?

Oh yes, Sir; my Lord I mean, but I didn't think you'd be in the way.

Don't let her be alarmed at my pr [...]sence.

Oh true, I'm not to let out you are a Lord? but she don't mind Lords, she's come from London; why, there's plenty of such stupid nonsense.

Fanny! I should like to have your picture here.

No, my Lord, sure you woudn't?

And you shall have mine for a locket.

You think me a silly girl, but I know enough, never to give tokens, or accept presents, but from my papa, and one besides, a certain— not an old Lord! but a young man. As my new song says,

Here, my Lord, be de beauté Lady.

What a monkey you are, I don't know what you mean, by making so much of my governess.

Oh, are you here Fanny, the pictures in that room are so fascinating.

L'Oeillet has good taste, she's a lovely creature;

servant ma'am.

Sir!

Miss! never mind this old gentleman, he's only the house steward.

Old!

Something in the manner of the beauties at Hampton Court— true, I've been told what he is.

What do they say of my Lord? he, he, he! she's going to abuse you.

Fancy habits, or drawn in their real characters?

Both, madam, they are Ladies that his Lordship's heart has at times been devoted to.

And his Lordship, I presume, has flattered himself into the idea, that he was at times in possession of their hearts.

Now, what do you bow for? Miss wasn't speaking of you, Mr. Old Steward.

I was told he's very vain.

Yes! he's quite a conceited figure, and as grey as a badger—isn't he, Mr. Old Steward?

I said she'd abuse you.

What a sweet expression in that coun­tenance!

Her loss, madam, makes a chasm in his Lordship's heart, never to be filled but by a face, the lovely emblem of this collected group of charms.

That is Miss Emily Woodbine.

My cousin! then am I in the house of her base destroyer!

What's the matter Madam?

Not much, Sir, I'm not very well. Come, Fanny! a star! heavens! have I been talking to—

Stay, my divine girl!

My Lord, it ill becomes my youth, and humble life, to offer admonition, where age should be the monitor of inexperience; and exalted rank only illustrious in virtuous example. The veil of delicacy drops between my mind and tongue—I cannot say what I think you: but the bitter reproach will yet reach your heart, when your only hope lies in pardon for a bad life, from perhaps, a too late repentance.

What, has my governess run away! why Miss! Miss.

Her words have piere'd me—but I must have her—the only being worthy to sup­ply the place of my lose Fanily, and banish all other pursuits from my mind; from her good [Page 37]sense I shall enjoy rational society—and from her beauty—yes, L'Oeillet must finish, what he has so well begun.

Prevent a dutiful son from seeing his honour'd parent! I'll convince him I'm a good boy—he shall see me, and I will be his comfort, and, though he commands me to be gone, I'll stay with him to prove my obedi­ence. What a pity that the omission of saying a few words, before I was born, should prevent me from being lawful heir to this castle! perhaps the pride of my father! the darling of the tenants! favourite of the neighbours, and friend to the poor! now, a wretched outcast, shunned like a savage, foe to mankind, and man at enmity with me! no establishment! profession! friend, or character. Oh! my father, where are you?

do not shun, I'll kneel, till you spurn me from you—that face! it is my mother. I heard of his Lordship's gallery of beauties—quite an exhibition for every starer: but my dear mother shall no more be dishonoured, by making one in this un­happy collection—no, by heavens! her misfor­tunes shall be no longer the topic, for the sneer­ing comments of vulgarity and ill nature.

Timolin! why don't you come up? Timolin!

What uproar is this in my house?

Sacristie! by dis meeting milor [Page 38]will find out, I did keep all de money, he did give me for his son's support.

Have you any business with me, Sir? who are you?

Sir, this was my mother.

Diantre! he is softened, and I am ruined—milor, here be Miss Augusta in de hall still.

Begone!

My son, the child of Emily!

This our first interview since my infancy! my father not speak to me! no gentle word, no complacent smile. Now I am poor! where to turn? every face meets me with a frown, a sea of horrors rush on me! the storm's up, and let it blow me as it will!

Well, and you saw your papa?

My heart was good, but now I'm all vexation, grief, and terror. A look now and then at this, might calm my mind. Timolin, take that picture to my lodgings.

What?

Take that picture to my lodgings.

SCENE I.—A Street.

Cram a fine dashing fellow into their prisons for hats and shoe-buckles! Sha'n't. What a bright model this Arthur for my son George! yet if he had but life and soul to shew it, George is a compleat and finish'd pattern for most of our young men now-a-days. I don't know any one thing that my boy is not perfect master of, music, dancing, fencing, lan­guages, a magazine of accomplishments: set him to country sports, he excels every body; he's as keen as an attorney, has the courage of a mastiff, generous as the Man of Ross! but hang it, all his shining qualities clouded by want of spirit to dash! Oh, if I could but see him a bold, free dasher!

Sir, who should pass me just now but the young squire.

What, my son George whisk'd by you in a phaeton? a chaise and four? a tandem?

George, why, what the devil's this sort of figure?

Sir, how are you?

Plague on it! spare no expence for you to appear like a prince; give you mo­ney to flash in a shining tour, to be here and there, before any body can tell where you are, and when I expected you to come, tearing up the pavement, in a phaeton as high as the clouds, over chickens, old women, and pigs, all the people jumping out of the way, with huzza for the young Squire, here you sneak into town, limp­ing like a lame beggar-man, covered with dust as if you had been dancing in a cannister of Scotch snuff. 'Sblood, Sir! what do you mean by this behaviour?

Sir, on my leaving home you gave me a two hundred pound note, and six guineas; there's your note—I've still one pound five and seven-pence in bank.

Devil's in you and your seven­pence! I wish you were both in the stocks you pitiful cur. Damn me if I havn't a mind to disinherit you, and adopt Robin. Robin you can drive six?

You knows, Sir, I drives eight in our waggon.

Psha! go to the Rose inn, and be­speak the best dinner they can provide for I and George, and the gallant Arthur, if we can find him.

Why, Sir, I am a little hungry.

By the Lord! a son of mine knaw­ing a crust in the open street!

Sir, as I paid for it at the last ale­house where I supp'd—

Supp'd at an alehouse!

Yes, Sir, a neat little place, sign of the Goat in Boots.

Oh, Lord! and perhaps some of my friends, in their coaches, saw you?

Yes, Sir, Lady Beechgrove and the two Miss Loftys, drove by in a coach and four; they didn't see me at first, but I saluted them.

Oh, the devil's in your politeness! salute ladies from the Goat in Boots! Where did your noble honour dine?

Upon the mile-stone this side Sa­lisbury.

Sir, I had no occa­sion to shut myself from the open air, as I had a couple of hard eggs in my pocket.

Zounds! and I suppose you brought salt in your pocket?

Yes, Sir, and a penny roll.

His penny roll has choak'd me! and where did your honour take your bottle?

True, Sir, I slipp'd off the bank into the river, as I was getting a little water in the brim of my hat.

The devil take them that took you out again!

Father, the walking got me an ap­petite; after my repast, I was neither dry nor hungry; I drank no wine; but then I was free from an head-ache, and, without mixing in com­pany, my heart was chearful.

This gay Arthur will make him another thing. Gadso! but Dickins will have the constables after him. George, you'll give me what information you've picked up in your tour; how they manage their machines [Page 42]and lodging-houses; what they do, and what they don't do, that I may know what I ought to do.

Ca'n't make up that other six-pence —oh! the halfpenny to the boy for opening the gate!

Dem the boy; come polish your­self up a little, my ward Miss Augusta Wood­bine's come from London, and I've a certain reason for her thinking well of you. If she should see you so—

—such an appearance by the Lord seems as easy and satisfied, as if drest for a ball. Can nothing make you ashamed?

Thanky, Sir, I'll take care to do nothing that shall make me ashamed. You shall never see a blush in my face.

Plague of your blushing face, I mean your dingy appearance. Here's the Lady —I'll try what effect an accidental meeting may have. Now to know what they have done with the gay Arthur!

I sear I've lost my clothes brush.

Bless me! where can she be? if she has run home, and told papa, I shall have it in stile.

Fanny! how do you do, my love?

My dear George! when did you come? Lord! I'm so glad!

You look as charming as ever.

Thankye; but, upon my word, you don't look so charming.

I should make myself a little decent.

Then run home, and change your dress.

Oh, no occasion, I've my clothes brush in my pocket.

Oh! governess, I've been running about after you.

What could induce you to bring me into Lord Torrendel's house? sure you know that he is a very dangerous character.

Lord, its no such thing, who could have told you such a fib? his Lordship has no more pride! he's not asham'd at making one in a game of romps, even with his own servant maids.

Ah, Fanny, when our superiors of the other sex condescend to affability, instead of exalting, it is for the purpose of degrading us to a state of the most pitiable humiliation.

Now don't snub me, I'll introduce you to—

Oh, no more of your introductions, pray.

I will, tho'; Miss Augusta, this is—

A Mr. Steward, I suppose.

Ha, ha, ha! George you don't know what we're laughing at.—

Miss, don't go tell him that I play at shuttlecock with my Lord in the great gallery.

A piece of his Lordship's condescen­sion [Page 44]I didn't know before. My guardian's son, I presume.

The description of Miss Augusta Woodbine falls short of what I have the happi­ness to behold.

There, I told you he was a smart fel­low sometimes. Come, George, you shall be our chaperon about the town, but you are an odd-looking beau.

Well, I'll attend you on your ram­bles —

though I've already walked twelve miles to-day.

Madam will you honour my arm.

Ha! here's odds. Madam, my arm is at your service.

Do you know this Gentleman?

Lord, true, this is Assembly night.

Gentlemen, treat the Ladies.

Hem! the Ladies don't want—shall we walk?

Quite a hound! ha! nectarines so early! Madam.

Six are a guinea.

There!

Oh! Sir, by no means.

Miss, an apple—Fanny!

Sir, these are Angels, not Eves, [Page 45]to be tempted by your paltry pippins.

Sir, what d'ye mean?

Good Gentlemen and Ladies, I've a sick husband lying in prison.

For debt? what is it?

Above eighteen shillings.

Pray go—don't teize people; their distress is only the consequence of idle­ness. I'd never encourage beggars—there, go—

plagueing one.

Sir, it's a guinea!

Well, don't trouble one now.

Get your husband out of prison, and comfort your child.

What's this?

Bless you, governess, George is al­ways doing these kind of things. He'd grudge himself a penny cheesecake, yet maintains and clothes half the poor round; he's king of a small island near his father's seat.

What a pitiful scoundrel am I. My guinea nectarines, and little penny-worth of pippins, with the benevolent heart of a god! Sir, if I dare beg the honour of your acquaint­ance—I haven't a card, but I'm over at—

Sir, I'll put down your address;

points broke

cutting it away—wastes—

Oh, Sir, I'll remember.

George, what signifies your bowing there? come and pay some attention to me.

How charming! what a block am I, talking half an hour to a Lady, and never look'd at her!

Fanny, we must be walking towards your papa's.

But you hav'n't seen our ball-room here.

Ball-room. Ladies, do you know I'm a most capital dancing-master? harkye, my worthy friend, a word.

Oh! Sir, as many as you please.

Lord! that rattle there has dragged George up into the Assembly-room; I hope its not to fight—ecod! if he goes to sight, George will kill him.

That's he! I know his sweet little finger.

What an astonishing resemblance! Fanny, did you ever see any likeness of this strange gentleman?

Ah! the image of Miss Woodbine's picture! its Lord Torrendel's great boy.

The neglected son of my un­happy cousin!

To drive him in sorrow from his doors! my poor master now is sunk in grief and woe.

Bravo!

Ladies, 'pon my word, my friend is an excellent stick; his respects to you, Miss, and my most humble adoration to you, Madam, we'll have a little dance above.

Oh, Sir! no, no! come Fanny.

Lud! it would be fine fun, governess don't you see how cloudy it gets; I'm sure there will be a shower, and if I walk thro' the rain, you, as my governess, ouglit to be very angry with me.

Fye, Ma'am, wou'd you spoil your dress? we shall have a dashing shower, a great drop fell on the tip of my nose.

No, indeed! come Fanny.

You, Sir, where's my mother?

With your father. I left the picture in the porter's lodge; for the Frenchman has turn'd away the porter for letting you in.

Go back, and bring it to my lodgings, or I'll massacre you.

Tol de rol lol! we'll be with you, boy.

But, Sir, as George plays, where's my partner?

I'll whistle, sing, and dance, all in a breath.

A pity that Christians hav'n't a laughing and crying side to their faces; for, in a comfortabe fit of sorrow, up starts something to give us an he, he, he! and when the mouth's opened for a nice grin, up goes the finger in the eye with an ho, ho, ho!—but my face must take the humour and fortunes of my master; in the road of life the small must follow the great, and that's the reason the big coach-wheel runs after the little one.

SCENE II.—The Inn.

Won't you please to rest, Ma'am?

I thank you, but so long shut up in a carriage, one should rest walking. Miss Clare, will you be so kind as to ask the footman if I've left my memorandum-book in the coach?

Some handsome equipages about here! have you many gentry in the town?

Oh, yes, Ma'am, we've a Lord, and Knight, and power of Squires.

Here, Ma'am, is the book.

Oh! I thank you.

I'll hasten the horses.

My Lord had a seat in this part of the country, and I think a banking agent of his lives in this town.

Mr. Dickins, yes, very true.

This seems a charming place, my Lady!

It is! I wish my Lord hadn't part­ed with it! the castle and its delightful envi­rons were the tranquil scenes of my most happy hours! after marriage our first years were pass'd here, and tho' there was title on his side, and great wealth on mine, yet ours was not a match of fashion! neither ambition on my part, or (I think) avarice on his; very young to be sure, [Page 49]but then I was a little philosopher, tho' bred in the full brilliant certainty of every dazzling joy that riches cou'd bestow, yet my sight was proof against the glare of splendor. My Lord was gay, accomplish'd, and the generosity of a youthful mind repell'd all idea of advantage in our union.

Ah, Madam! any Gentleman must think himself possess'd of every advantage in a union with your Ladyship.

I wish I had myself gone to Lisbon with my Lord; this journey seems so tedious, and then the uncertainty of the seas; thro' his indisposition he may want that tender cordiality, his claim from me; I'm all anxiety to proceed.

Madam, the horses are too, but does your Ladyship know my Lord's here?

Here! how! what do you mean?

In this very town my Lady, I met our old Martha.

Impossible! return'd to England! something very mysterious—

Well, what is it?

I cannot talk my Lor's business in public entré.

Eh, why—sure that is my Lord's valet.

It certainly is, Madam.

Hush, step this way, Heavens! oh, my heart will—Martha you say—tell me—

Really, since my Lord's losty con­duct to me, I shall give up his affairs. I've my agencies, and my bank to mind.

Bank! vat! de little till in your boutique? you had better send challenge to mi Lor—swell and puff! ma soi! c'est comique ca! let mi Lor take his money out of your bank, den vat is your bladder of consequence.

'Slbood I don't want any body to take their money out of my bank.

Here be a fresh pacquet of letters.

Which I am to forward, as usual, to Lady Torrendel in Cumberland.

I have date 'em, so as to make mi Lady believe my Lor still at Lishon.

To keep the unsuspecting wife cool amongst the lakes there, while the gallant husband enjoys his rose-buds in his pleasure grounds here.

Mi Lor, to spare himself, still finesse de sprain hand, and trouble me vid de vife—so dere I ave writ dat whole bundle for her at vonce. I ave upon my mind des affaires d'importance to get de pretty girl for mi Lor.

And I, as a magistrate, have to send this young dog to prison, who has been taking up the tradesmen's goods.

Magistrate! fi done! petit bour­geois —you huff abaut pah!

Who cares for your paw, or your four claws, you damned outlandish cockatoo! I must send these one by one, which first?

My Lord in England all this time!

Dated this day—"to Lady Tor­rendel."

How's this!

Then to give time for her to sup­pose it came from her Lord at Lisbon, where he has not been at all, her Ladyship shall have this in about a month.

A little sooner, if you please, Sir.

Lady Torrendel hereself!

Separate himself from me by such a complicated series of invention, and by fallacious accounts of his ill-health, keep me in perpetual uneasiness! cruel man! make me believe he had sold his estate here, yet re­tain it only for the base purpose of converting a spot (that brings to my mind the sweet re­collection of delight, and innocence) into a contaminated retreat for licentious, guilty, sor­did pleasures! you charg'd the coachman not to mention who I am? but I fear that now is too late.

No, Ma'am, for his own discre­tion suggested the necessity of that, before I mentioned it to him.

Do you think too, if the people of this house know it, I can engage them to keep my arrival a secret.

The woman promises that, for tho' my Lord spends so much money, he's no [Page 52]favourite in the town, from the knowledge of his ill usuage of your Ladyship.

I wou'dn't have him dispised; but how to gain full and certain proofs? to put be­yond all doubt his motive for secreting himself here?

So far I have taken the liberty of anticipating your Ladyship's wish. I have ask'd Martha—

My good friend! a thousand thanks! I'm charm'd with your zeal. Yes, it is my wish; what! Martha will convey me privately into the Castle? delightful! I think none of his servants know me here, but his French Secretary. Write to me by a servant! not open my Letters! unkind! ungrateful! but then, to steal upon him, its a severe trial—I'm faint! but I must summon fortitude! they'll see I've been weeping; come—

SCENE III. Dickins's parleur: large books lying on the table.

Step in, only stop a moment, my mas­ter will be in directly, and take all your infor­mations. You know I can do nothing in it.

The young Gentleman is thought­less and wild, but I believe there's not much harm in him.

I don't think I can find in my heart to prosecute, if the affair is likely to af­fect his life.

He's but a bad one I sear, yet I'd not hang a man for all the boots I'm worth.

So, the Lady has got into the Castle. Ecod! she'll trim his gay Lordship—yes, she has stole a march upon him—he sha'n't hear of it from one. Oh what curtain lectures, per­haps a divorce, then maybe he'll marry my Fanny. No, he's a damn'd impudent fellow; a pretty business, this young buck—

If he can raise the money to pay me I don't wish to hurt him.

Pay you, oh! the Devil, I shall lose my sees!

You selfish dog, would you compound a felony: Some revenge upon the father, to have the great family-name of D'Au­merle down in a Mittimus.

Fellow, where's your pris'ner?

Please your worship, he be daunc­ing— he desired me to gi' you this bit of pa­per.

What the devil! I send you for a thief, and you bring me a bit of paper—"he be dauncing."

"Lord Arthur D'Aumerle's compliments to Justice Dickins, is now engaged with some Ladies, but after another dance will wait upon"—dance!

Yez, there bes young Squire Bur­gess got fiddling, and Miss Fanny, ecod they be gigging it up rarely.

My daughter! is this the first lesson [Page 54]from her new Governess! but you stupid scoun­drel, I suppose you took a bribe.

Noa, Sir, I only took half-a-crown.

How dare you, only a Constable, meddle with the Justice's business. A notorious offender; charged with crimes of life and death! he come! no! he'll abscond—we sha'n't see him in a hurry.

I want the Justice!

Why, that's he, but damn me if you find Justice here

I must examine the cul­prit in form; you, sirrah! John, what the devil are you about in the shop, when I want you in my office? weighing raisins and pepper; down with the scales and balance, and bring my great books, and my ink-stand, and my wig, aye! and I'll take my chocolate here.

I've finished our Coranto in a quick step, and, with a kiss hand to the Ladies, have flown to receive your commands.

Now, is this folly, impu­dence, courage, or generosity?

Upon the information of the butter'd muffins, Justice Dickins, I presume—

What the devil! Sir, upon the infor­mation of the Constable, a great rogue I pre­sume— but pon honor I didn't expect you.

Oh! then, Sir, your most obe­dient!

Stop! stop! is this the man that took your goods?

Yes!

Enough! write his mittimus—you all prosecute; what's your name Mr.—

Lord Arthur D'Aumerle.

Alias Duke of Dunstable, alias Cap­tain, alias Major.

Was my father still in the army, I'd have enlisted a common soldier in his own regiment—then the world might have said, there's Lord Torrendel's son carrying a knap­sack— but now let it say, a parent suffers his child to lie in prison for the necessaries of life. Cou'dn't you carry me to gaol by the castle?

Constable, you have my authority, take him.

No man in England shall take him. So then, you've met with George—made him dance—bravo! but, my prince of bold actions, what are they going to do with you?

Conduct him to prison!

I'll bail him.

Pray be quiet, Sir.

I wo'n't be quiet, Sir.

But, here's an assault and battery— must be bound over to keep the peace for a year and a quarter—no, a year and a day.

I'll answer for him! aye, two thou­sand pounds! there's my name; fill up the instrument.

Oh! very well: he'll save his neck, [Page 56]and you'll lose your money—let him out now, and catch him again if you can.

Does your little rascally soul conceive I'd let a friend suffer for an act of be­nevolence, and to myself? No! human laws may punish other crimes; but, let the hottest bolt of heaven strike ingratitude.

Sweet Mr. Constable, 'pon my salvation I didn't—

Measter, here bes an accomplish.

I'm not accomplish'd, I'm quite a bog trotter.

The picture that was robb'd out of—

What, you found it upon him?

Upon his very head.

You notorious criminal!

My master to be jumping about with Ladies, and leave me—oh! my dear Sir!

did he! then plaise your honour, will you be bound bail for me too?

For you! pardon me.

No, Sir! ask them to pardon me.

I'll bail my servant.

You! a rare shadow! ah! friend, I know you. Thanks to the noble Lord Torren­del's gallantries, we've twenty such Lords cut­ting cabbages, and drudging for oysters down at Sandgate Island—but because your mother had a pretty face, a great fortune, and no vir­tue—

Throw a reflection on the me­mory of my honour'd parent! defame the sacred memory of the dead—the only universal epitaph—oblivion to the frailties of huma­nity!— I'll murder him, by heavens!

No occasion to swear, you've said it, and you'll do it.

Hold! the devil's in you; break the peace, and I lose my two thousand pound.

True, my dear friend—oh! I burn with fury—but your Worship's wig ca'n't swear a battery.

There's Burn's Justice, Blackstone, and Coke upon Littleton.

Come along, Timolin.

Master, stay for me—take me—

Oh! what a bright model for my son George!

SCENE I.—An antique Room in the Castle.

There, you stay fast, coquin! such audace—of robbery, take surniture and pictures out of my Lor's house!

I'm more guilty than my master, as the receiver is worse than the thief.

Who is your master, the receiver? speak!

Friend, you may take me for a rob­ber, if you will; but you shan't prove me an in­former, because I've a regard for my cha­racter.

Stay there till we find Mr. Dickin, de justice, to send you to jail; be merry with that table and chair; sorry to disgrace—make a brown bear of my chamber—there sit and sing —"de charge is prepared, de lawyers are met."

I wish they had crammed me into a jail at once, and not took me up in this dis­mal top of a castle. Oh did my poor mother ever think that, before I died, I should get my­self hanged for a thief? Lord Arthur! Lord Ar­thur! unlucky was the day that Mr. Felix Ti­molin hired to be your servant man.

Here's letters and papers, scribble scrabble, eh! why, this is my Lord's own hand, I remember it by one of his Franks— ‘To [Page 59]Monsieur Loeillet,’ what does he write to his servants; but what's all this to me; no way to get out of window, may be in this closet.

Why, I vow my Lady, this is the valet's room, and none of us ever knew this door to it.

I think, Martha, I remember the castle better than you, who have lived in it so long. Out of that door there's a stair-case to my Lord's dressing-room, where I'll wait till he comes in. I'd wish to know a little more be­fore I see him. Rather mean this lurking about and tampering with servants—but no hope of reclaiming him, except he's certain I know what then will be out of his power to deny.

My Lord rode out you say; formed discomposed? well, not a word that I'm here,

this house seems all wild, no regularity, peace, or the comforts of a home, but the gratification of passions which reason and nature now should subdue, reconciles him to inquietude, meanness, and dishonour. So, this room now belongs to his vile agent! it was formerly put to a better purpose—this is the very room I converted to a school for the poor infant rustics. Here the young mind was trained to virtue and industry—here now, are perhaps, plans laid to corrupt and destroy the sweet rose of innocence! Eh, who's here!

No, looks into a deep court. Oh, I'm very high up, they've double locked the door.

Oh dear! oh dear!

Dos'nt seem to be one of the fa­mily!

This letter, from my Lord to Mon­sieur, I've a strong curiosity to see.

How! as I'm here on a voyage of discovery, the sight of that might prepare me better for this dreaded interview with my Lord.

It's ungenerous to look into another man's letter, only I'd like to see the rastiest mode of writing. I'm told its not the fashion now to cross the t's, and put little tittles on the i's; no harm to see that sure—

‘The sight of this boy has troubled me exceedingly!—’ Boy! oh, that's my master;

‘Pro­bably, I shan't be home before evening, but if you can contrive to get Augusta into your power, the better. She may be brought down to Sandgate island’—Oh, here's villainy!

Some poor intended victim! My coming at such a time is highly fortunate.

‘Pray have an eye upon that Arthur's ill-looking Irishman’—Oh, that crowns his rogueries— ‘No harm to keep Augusta under lock and key.’ I'll keep this proof of their wickedness, and if they talk of hanging me for a bit of an old picture, I'll bring it out in the nose of their shabby red faces— ill looking Irishman—eh, one would think they took me for Miss Augusta.

[Page 61]Then they have locked you up? you most un­happy beautiful soul.

Why he takes me for the present object of pursuit! by giving into this mistake, I may discover some more of my husband's at­chievements.

Are you his Lordship's emissary?

I, Miss! I despise such doings.

I believe it; your sace speaks ho­nesty.

Then it speaks truth, and the devil himself shan't make it tell a lie.

But, who are you?

My master is his Lordship's son that's at this instant shifting about, and can't get a beef-steak without venturing his neck for it.

True—Martha told me of this un­happy destitute youth—Oh, husband! false to me, and unnaturally cruel to the offspring of your follies.

Miss, I'll assure you, Lord Arthur is as brave a little boy—

And bears his forlorn state with meekness and resignation?

Oh yes! Miss, he's as meek and gentle—ah, hem!

Poor youth, he has a fa­ther, and yet an orphan! Then he shall find a friend in me—though not mine, he belongs to the man I still love! but to continue this de­ception—cou'd you contrive any means for me to fly this mansion of shame and ruin?

Offer to come in to touch her, and, [Page 62]by the mighty powers of heaven, I'll slay you.

Oh!

Suffer me to perish, and im­prison my faithful squire for his attachment! Put your arms a-kimbo, sirrah, stump down those great stairs with your hat on, and let me see who dares squint at you—Oh! that lovely divine Augusta!

What! then you've seen her, Sir.

What do you stand winking and making faces there, sirrah? come out.

But there's somebody else lock'd up.

Kick up your legs boldly, no matter whose shins are in the way.

But, Sir—

B'y'r leave there for Mr. Fe­lix Timolin.

SCENE II. A Street.

Aye! and well George?

We had a dance, Sir.

As if he had said we had a funeral. 'Sblood! man, say—we had a dance.

Arthur was master of the ceremonies—you shuffled it away? eh, boy?

Yes, Sir, I was'nt afraid to shuffle, for I had my thick walking shoes on.

Shoes! asses' hoofs! I believe they're half an inch thick.

Yes, Sir, they're an inch.

I must see if the poor woman has released her husband.

George, so 'twas you rasp'd up the fiddle for them?

Yes, Sir, so we had no fiddler to pay.

Psha! I'd hire Handel's anniver­sary band to see you dance the Cameronian Rant with Augusta. This scheme of leaving her at large wo'nt do—she'll be snapt up. Gad, yon­der she is—I must clench this business. Why do you put on that dismal look, sirrah?

I was thinking, father, of the cruelty in keeping people in prison for small debts above a twelvemonth however; liberty's so sweet, they'd purchase it if in their power, if not, hard to punish a man for only being unfor­tunate.

Here comes Miss Augusta. Devil's in your thick soal'd shoes!

That man certainly whispered something disagreeable that caused the abrupt departure of Lord Arthur.

Dear no, he's a very civil soul, why 'twas papa's constable. Oh my good gracious, if here is'nt George.

Your waistcoat's buttoned all crooked —no powder in your hair—by the lord! you look like the dustman.

Well Miss, how do [Page 64]you like your new situation?—stop, I want to speak to you.

Stop, he wants to speak to us—how do you do, George?

Ha! very free with George!

Miss Woodbine, I've your good at heart. Your uncle's whim, in taking his fortune from you, makes you an object of compassion.

Many would rather be an object of envy—but, to my thinking, an humble state is preferable to affluence, built upon the ruins of unmerited adversity.

Made for each other!

George, to her in her own way—out with your handkerchief, and cry for the poor debtors. My son, Miss, is so happy to see—to be with you—

Happy to see her? but I'm sure its no such thing, old codger.

He expressed great joy at your coming so opportunely.

Opportunely indeed!

Miss, could you lend me a needle and thread?

Go along you rascal, sortune! I'll bind you apprentice to a taylor.

You're happy, Sir, in having a son of so much frugality for his years.

Frugal, ma'am! he's the most ex­travagant—

I see now he only wants them to like each other; I must prevent this.

Why, look now, with his coat over his knuckles; he has on lace ruffles at three guineas a pair. Pull down your ruffles.

By the lord! he has got into [Page 65]hopsack. What have you done with all the fine linen and lace I sent you?

The lace was too fine for use—but the Holland made soft child-bed linen for the curate's wife.

Yes, madam, the bishop's lady was the good woman in the straw. He is very frolicksome—it's a shame for you to be such a buck.

Lord, Miss, George is no buck! he's a mere milk sop, an't you George?

Get away you little devil, who wants your prate.

Miss, we'll conceal your loss from my son—he's so proud—see how he throws his head about.

George, with Augusta's cash, you can do such pretty charities! Son, this lady is worth one hundred thousand pound.

Lord, how can you tell such fibs— George, she's only my governess, and as poor —borrowed five shillings from me just now to release her box from the waggon—say you did.

Get along you little busy thing

. You know, ma'am, you're an im­mense fortune.

Sir, I am neither ambitious of com­passion or ridicule.

George, never mind—she's very rich.

Oh no, Sir!

Zounds! Madam, you're a Jew.

My governess is not a Jew, she has more religion than the bishop.

The devil's in me, if I don't make your father pull your ears!

Miss, my [Page 66]son has a most liberal mind, a soul of magnisi­cent extravagance.

Madam, my father is only jesting.

True, George, now that's very good, Sir Hans is always making his sun of every body.

By the Lord, overthrowing my whole scheme.

Hop home you little magpie.

Madam, be assured, I esteem oecono­my the first virtue.

Then the devil's in you both! but it's you, prating monkey, has done it all; you, you rascal, with your oeconomy and asses' hooss, truff down to Samphire Hall; and you, Miss, stalk with your poverty to Mr. Dickins, the banker's.

Madam, your humble servant!

Devil's in your humble servant, you civil scoundrel! some mad gander will tuck her and her fortune under his wing, and hop off to Gretna Green.

George sent down to the rocks, oh! oh! then I know where somebody will go.

Sir Hans, your most obedient, good morning to you, Sir!

Oh very polite Ma'am, but I wish you had dropt your curtsy half an hour ago.

The forlorn thought­less Arthur! Sir, tell me—is Miss Woodbine's son my uncle's heir? then why not instantly ex­tricate him, from the embarrassing perplexities that must end in his destruction.

What son?

The gay Arthur! true, Lord Torrendel's;

oh ho! [Page 67]I suspect there's love here—this was her dancing partner. My dear, as to affection and all that, this Arthur—

Sir, I am only interested for him, on account of my cousin Woodbine.

Right! for his heart is engaged to a girl, he told me all over a glass of hock.

Yes! she likes him— then, in one word, Miss Augusta, my dear, I'll not part with you, till I see you and my son fairly coupled.

Sir Hans!

Yes, Sir! past three.

Past three! Don't much like his avoiding me, and taking the lady. His bail­bond may keep me from limbo—but mustn't rob me of paradise either.

Run, sirrah, after Miss Augusta, and—

Back again to your father's?

You will persist, we left Miss Augusta there;

if I can but obtain the love of this charming girl, she's so beautiful, elegant—but then, very modest; I'll have her—oh! Timolin, I will have her, run with this letter.

With what?

Stop to ask questions with your hows and whats—run, take this letter to the young lady.

Oh! I'll give no letters to ladies. Do you want, Sir, to carry on your father's pro­fligate rigmarolds? but you don't make a French [Page 68]Mounseer of me—for the spirit of Mr. Felix Timolin is a peg above that, I assure you.

What! walk back, if you please, into Castle Quad.

Then 'pon my word, I won't.

How, you scoundrel! do you object to go into prison when I—? begone! I discharge you.

Oh! Sir, I discharge myself, and there's a receipt for my wages.

I'd hazard my life, to procure you what you might again repay—but, helping you to take the innocence you could never return, is beneath the soul of Mr. Felix Timolin.

Dem it! now I've lost him. I had no conception of this mighty Irish honour of his brave soul. He has had moral, from his rustic parent in his mud cabin; but, I never knew a father's kind precept or good example.

What does this fellow eye me for?

My Lady sent me to know his person—yes! that's he, very well.

You're no Coachman, my friend you're a bailiff—they take all disguises.

SCENE III. A walk near Lord Torrendel's

To divert mi Lor from de thought of dis tapageur, son of his, I must get off Miss [Page 69]Augusta for him; but, to see more of this letter of instruction—eh! oh! I have left it on the table in my room—Thomas have borrow Sir Hans's livery to carry her sham message; but if there be danger, we yet want some strong, able, desperate—

I could be contented with one dinner in three days, because it's a thing I've practis'd with some success—but, my poor dear mas­ter—

Oh! you be got out, where I did lock you—

Here, lock me up again; for I've lost my master, and I don't care how I am.

I suppose you be not overcharg'd vid money, and I take it you be fripon—in your character, roguery be the leading feature.

I judge that your nose is your lead­ing feature—so I take it.

I, a rogue! produce a proof that I'm one.

Here be a stirling proof.

So, because you've money, you've a right to call a poor man out of his name.

Dere now, call me out of my name.

Then, you're an ho­nest man a genteel noble lad. If I can find my lord, this will carry us back to town.

Arreté! dat is for service you vill do me.

Milor! go! dat footman vill tell you vat it be. Besides, more reward, [Page 70]if you should be taken up again for little pecca­dilloz, milor's interest vill release you. Allez!

Paid for doing good before hand! now I've gold and a clear conscience, two com­panions that are seldom together now a day's.

That fellow of Arthur's still lurk­ing about here!

Peste! quelle ballourdise! I have made fine confident in my Lord's scheme,

O! my Lord, he only ask—

I hope you have'n't let this affair go further than those already concerned?

Oh! no, my Lord! if he knew I had employed this Irishman, I am undone.

L'Oeillet, I've improved upon your plan. Thomas's being in Sir Hans's livery may not be sufficient to persuade Augusta, that she is really sent for by him—now if you could borrow Sir Hans's post chaise, that would ef­fectually remove suspicion—make any excuse, he'll be glad to oblige me.

Diantre! here I go for Sir Hans's coach to carry off Miss Augusta, and have set Thomas and the Irishman to take her off with horses.

Why, L'Oeillet, you don't seem over hearty in the cause now?

Oh! I'm devoted to your Lord­ship's service.

Once wheedled into the carriage, a pretext is soon found to get her to Sandgate Island.

Ah! mais cest que cest excellent ca!

About it now—I shall be there before you.

Pardi! dis is lucky—for now I vill do it myself. I vish tho' I cou'd meet vid dis maroufle, to hinder him meddle in de affair— dat malheureux Irish tief vill do me some mis­chief.

SCENE IV.—A Road.

Well, Mr. Thomas, I know all your plan, now you've told me. So here you've borrowed Sir Hans's livery from one of his ser­vants, and you're to go and tell Miss Augusta, he has sent you for her—but, as you may be a cowardly kind of chap, the Mounseer has bid me assist you with my tight bit of arm. Hush! here she comes

I thought she was a little girl just left school.

I don't know, whether she she goes to school or no—but, this is the very Miss Au­gusta, that was lock'd up in the castle with me.

Oh! I'll make a neat example of ye all.

My mind is in a state of the most tormenting solicitude! I wish I knew where to find [Page 72]this young lady, and apprize her of my Lord's designs. Whether to return and wait for him? I dread the interview, unkind upbraiding often shakes the very basis of affection. Yet I know he'll endeavour, by some artful evasion, to slip from my charge, except I can bring it to a full conviction—but first to afford this poor young man assistance.

Young man, that must be me—she saw I was in distress.

Deliver this to him, without let­ing him know who it comes from.

Stop! I'm here.

Oh, his servant.

Now, this goodness to me, has de­termined me, in what I was resolved upon; to save her from all danger.

Perhaps I may now learn, who this young lady is.

Go you, and stay with your horses—I'll deliver the message to her my­self.

But you're not in Sir Hans's livery —It wo'n't take her.

How d'ye do, Miss Augusta?

My trusty champion's mis­taking me for her, I find, continues.

Miss, your guardian, Sir Hans Bur­gess, hopes for your company down at Sam­phire-Hall—he has sent horses.

I'll whisper a few words, that shall bring her directly. Harkye, Miss! don't go, this is a rogue, that wants to coax you again into the mouse-trap.

You mistake—I'm not the person.

That's a good thought to deny your­self —I'll second it—are you sure you never saw Miss Augusta before now?

Not I.

Then this is not she—so go about your business.

What!

He wants to inveigle you, to Lord Torrendel.

Indeed! this is charming, as I supposed! the most lucky opportunity to do good, prevent evil, save the innocent from ruin, and overwhelm the guilty in the blushing shame of his own base intentions.

I was ap­prehensive of some error—you've brought horses you say—very well, I'll—wait on my guardian.

Then you are Miss Augusta. Why, what did you mean just now by—

Yes, yes, you're right enough.

If they take you for a Lady, that will fly off to an old libertine, they're right enough indeed; but I was wrong, when I thought you a bit of an angel.

Come.

A word, ma'am! your charitable intentions just now about me, were good—but, since you give yourself up to this old reprobate, I scorn your assistance, and, if a little turn of virtue, should ever make you repent of your non­sense, don't expect any defence from the soul of Mr. Felix Timolin.

Heavens! I leave a shocking impres­sion on the mind of this worthy creature.

[Page 74]Well, well, we shall find time to clear my cha­racter.

An old rotten potatoe for your cha­racter! bye and bye, when you're seen flourish­ing in curricles, with a different gallant every day, stuck up at your elbow, you'll still be chat­tering about your character, to all the turn­pike-men.

Yes! it is a baliss—he's at my heels. Timolin, do you see any door open? stand in that spot, you scoundrel.

Oh! if any more of those compli­ments pass between you and me, it's a toss up who's to pay them.

If he don't touch me, it's no caption.

He's returning with the money, the gay miss gave him for me.

I've had a good chace after you, Sir.

Attempt to give me the tip, and—

Here it is—this bill for three hundred pound.

If it was ten thousand, I wou'dn't ac­cept it.

You villain, do I want you to accept bills for me?

It's a good note, and your own too.

Well, I know I have notes and [Page 75]bonds enough out—but if I pay one of them, I'll be damn'd.

Sir, don't frighten yourself, about what doesn't concern you.

Hold your tongue, sirrah; of my own accord, I came from our dance, when old Wighum, the justice, sent for me; but, compell'd, I will not go; so let the plaintiff carry the bills in to my father.

Now, Sir, you're too nice. I promised to do the business, and I will.

Aye! he only wants to touch me.

Arrah! what signifies your dancing round me, like a couple of May-poles?

Oh, how my fingers—Ti­molin, knock him down—I wonder whether it's a capture if I touch him.

What are you at with your caps, and hats? The English of he thing is—Miss Au­gusta, I despise.

Speak o of my divine charmer.

Oh! if he discharges me, and comes once a day to give me a knock in my cheek, I'm to have a blessed life of it—tho' my honour wou'd not suffer me to take relief from this Miss Augusta, yet I'll try and get the reward from Mounseer. For, if I was to preach in a pulpit as high as Patrick's steeple, the ladies, and gentlemen, would be running after one another, and, till they give roast beef for nothing, to mere honesty, a guinea is convenient in an empty pocket.

SCENE I.—Samphire hall: Sir Hans's, and other Houses:—A view of the Sea, bathing Machines, &c.

A month since i've been down here at my favourite rocks. How do the lodging-houses go on? I hope they keep low with their prices, till the place is known. Aye! I may yet see Samphire-Hall, eclipse Brighton, Weymouth, and Scarborough.

Yez! your honour; for the young Squire has set up a staple commodity of trade, and already the volks bes so merry about'n. You know Humphry Grin, the stone mason, is famous in the letter cutting way—Measter George had gin the freedom of the quarry, and he has established a manufacture for tomb­stones.

Tomb-stones to make people merry!

He has finished half a dozen choice epitaphs with:

Devil's in his physicians!

That was certainly Lord Torrendel turn'd into the green lane—muffled up, and seem'd hiding his face. Robin gave me a hint of his designs upon Fanny.

A sweet morning concert for the rooms, of chipping and sawing! Tell Master Grin, he must depart in peace with his merry monuments, from this part of the world. Did you hire a new postillion?

Yez, sir.

Don't come near me—get a tin pot and a bit of stick, and pick up cockles on the beach—you haven't a soul above a cockle-gatherer, you cursed otter. Robin! have they put up the shelves in the raffling shop?

Sir, the men are working at their looms.

Looms!

Instead of encouraging frauds, cheat­ing strangers with paltry toys, I have erected looms, that will give bread to two industrious families.

Why, they're Weavers!

Yes, sir, weavers of stockings, gloves, and mittins.

A stocking loom in the place of my elegant raffling shop!

There's a ribband loom too. This was the first wove in it; for the motto's sake, put it in your hat.

"Success to Commerce, and lasting happiness to England." Well, let Industry throw the shuttle to this motto with all [Page 78]my heart. What smoke's that yonder? clink­ing of hammers! by the lord it's—

Yes, Sir, it's the forge I built for poor old Grimes.

What, a smith?

Yes, Sir, a worthy blacksmith.

Within the very walls of my cold bath, old Grimes blowing his bellows!

What use for a cold bath just on the verge of the ocean? and the farmers want the necessary tools for blessed agriculture.

I banish you for ever, from my fashionable bathing place. You barbarous young savage! after my high puff advertisements of cold larders, neat wines, circulating libraries, baths, concerts, balls, billiards, machines, and bathing-caps, to expect to drag people of fashion down here, amongst stocking-looms, tombstones, and bellows-clinkers!

Father, my little colony was famish­ing on Lord Torrendel's island. Since I have brought them here, in pity don't disturb them.

A fine ragged colony you've planted.

Consider, Father, industry is a flower that should be encouraged by the genial warmth of patronage.

By the lord! the fellow's only fit for a plowman, or a weaver.

Well, Sir, the one gives bread, the other cloathing; as a plowman and a weaver are the most useful characters, I know of none more noble.

Ah plague on it don't talk to me, my very servants will despise you you dog, I [Page 79]dare say not one of 'em would stir a stump to save your soul and body, you young Beaver.

Your purse, Sir—I found it on the road.

Thank you, Robin,

George's purse! how much was in it?

More than I can tell—once I knew it to be master George's, I never put finger on the cash it held.

Suppose it had been my purse?

Ecod! your honor, you might never have seen it again: Gold's a tempting thing, and I don't set up for more honesty than my neighbours; but young Squire's money already belongs to the poor, and he bez a bad man in­deed that wou'd take, what the generous heart is so ready to give.

Eh, now Robin, you've been playing tricks, knocking my purse about—its all broke —stupid fellow, I dare say you'd take better care of your own!

La, Sir, I have no purse, only a little bit of a leather bag, to divide a few shillings from the halfpence.

Whole, and sound, shou'dn't have thought of your impudence—tearing one's pro­perty—there's my broken one, I shall keep yours.

But, Sir, the gold's in it.

Never mind, keep it Robin, you're [Page 80]an honest fellow; honesty is a true diamond, and should be set in gold.

My generous boy, George, build up and pull down, just as you please;

the rich man's safest guard, is the blessings of charity; but gold is the grand staple of your trade of benevolence—I've brought Miss Wood­bine, and her fortune; go and entertain her.

Isn't that Lord Torrendel's French­man.

Your honor, Mounseer's come from his Lord, to borrow your post-chay—going on a visit, and his own be broke.

Here's an oportunity to oblige my Lord. He shall have it, and hansel my new postillion too.

Some knavery in this post­chaise! Robin, a word.

Here still; hop to the Lady, you curst curlew! hold, here she is.

'Twas certainly Arthur cross'd the road.

Sir, I've walk'd out, to see your charming place here.

Hem!—I bid him speak to the Lady, and by the lord he's whispering Robin; George, address her with rapture.

Yes, Sir! Madam, the—great—plea­sure of—Robin.

The great pleasure of—Robin! oh! the devil's in you, for a fine amorous scoundrel! Stop, you Sir.

This young gentleman is an unadorned casket, enclosing the most delicate springs of sensibility; but that heart is not for me; or rather mine is not for him. I must not cherish an hopeless passion for Arthur; if, as Sir Hans tells me, another possesses his affections.

Fanny!

My dear governess, I've got down to you; I'm only come, because you are here— where's George?

You only come because I'm here— "where's George!" Ah, Fanny!

I've made papa bring me too—by a monstrous fib though. I've told him, Sir Hans wants him on most prodigious business.

Distanced the nabber! my lovely partner! who could expect to find you here, like a sea-nymph sent from old Neptune's palace, to make mortals plunge into the ocean, enamoured from this divine specimen of aquatic beauty.

Most heroically gallant indeed, Sir.

Now for something gallant to me— How d'ye do, Sir?

Ah! little titmouse, suppose, my love, you step and gather a few honeysuckles from the hedge yonder.

George might have had the manners to meet, and make nymphs of other people. Titmouse, indeed!

Madam, you see before you, a fellow the most wretched—

shall I venture to declare my love? no—farewell.

Whither, Sir, are you going?

The truth is, Madam, tho' Great-Britain's large, I'm drove to the water's edge, where I'll step into, and push off the first fishing boat I can find; for abandon'd by my father, and pursued by—England, Ma­dam, is no home for me. If I can get across the channel, amongst camps, and batteries, my empty sconce may keep a bullet from a head that has brains in it.

Your fortunes, Sir, are not, per­haps, so desperate—your mother was—

How! Madam, have you heard?— she is I hope an angel—and you my heaven.

Overtaken you at last!

I'll be damn'd if you have though.

I'll be damn'd but I will though!

Unhappy youth! they'll pursue him to despair; but I'm usurping a concern that be­longs to the mistress of his heart; yet, tho' I must not love, am I to reject all feelings of humanity.

Oh! governess, I have asked the postillion to give us a roll on the beach—you don't know half this sweet place.

In the chaise I may have a better chance of seeing which way he takes.

Mustn't tell 'twas my Lord's valet proposed our ride, she's so squeamish.

Does Sir Hans know of this jaunt?

Very true—he may not let us go; I have if, sit in the chaise till I come; I'll fetch your hat and cloak.

Is this prudent, but no time for re­flection, Arthur may be lost for ever.

SCENE II.—A parlour in Sir HANS'S.

Devilish good place the Knight has got here; a fine prospect of the sea; a pretty mortgage; and I may pick up such a bit as this, with Torrendel's interest—what can this be, Sir Hans has sent for me!

My Governess is so giddy—where can she have lest her hat.

Oh, Fanny, where's your friend Au­gusta? you seem all upon the fidgets.

Oh no, Sir.—Lud! the two old boys will be running after us—what can I think of to keep them here? oh, true, my fine fib.

Papa, I wonder why Sir Hans has sent for you; do you know?

No, child, but I shall if I can get to see him.

Here he is, ha, ha, ha!

only look papa, what a fine prospect at that win­dow; you can see, I believe, to the Isle of Wight.

Oh no; but very fine.

Fanny, where's your papa?

He's there, Sir, but his head is so full of this serious affair, he's come down to tell you.

Oh, very well.

He, he, he; now each will be so full of expectation of the other telling, when there is nothing to tell, it may bring them into a squabble, and that will keep them as close as a game of backgammon—but deuce, where's Augusta's hat? he, he, he.

Ah, Dickins! how do you do?

Oh, Sir Hans, well, I've trundled down to you in a whiff.

Then the affair is very urgent? sit down.

Of consequence, I hope; for I had 2 good deal to do.

And so?

Well

Well? so sudden, I was alarmed? but does it concern me so much?

That you best know.

How the Devil should I know!

Well then, when you tell me, perhaps I may know.

When you tell me, perhaps I may not know. But come.

Ave?

The fellow's afraid of being over­heard I suppose; come, I'll fasten the door.

Oh, if it is of so much consequence, and secrecy, I'll fasten this door too.

There now, we are quite safe.

aye?

Aye?

What the devil do you fit gaping! why don't you out with it?

Why do you sit staring and stretch­ing your neck? why don't you tell it at once?

You sent for me down about your business—and, zounds! what is it? that I may go about mine.

I send for you! you came here to tell me of something of great importance—tell it, and shorten your visit, when you please, Sir.

Sir, your ill manners, in your own house, are equal to your impudence in bringing me into it for nothing.

Impudence, you vulgar man! it's well you are in my house, or, by the hand of this body, I'd have you pitched out of window.

Pitch me, you hard-headed old fool! if Torrendel was to behave so, I'd—

I shall choak.—

You're un­der my roof, you pleb—so say what you will— Robin Hoofs!

Damn your hoofs, and your horns, Sir! I can quit your house myself. You're as impudent as Torrendel.

Oh George! George! my Governess has run away with George! false fellow! to [Page 86]dress himself up as the new postillion, and drive off with my Governess, when I only turned to fetch her hat and cloak.

My son drive off with Augusta! Huzza! he's a dasher.

And then Lord Torrendel's valet, to jump up behind the chaise—'twas all a packd thing to deceive me.

What! zounds! the Frenchman gone off with my ward.

Yes, they'll surely be married.

What, the Frenchman?

No! George!

Did I know where, i'd stand up in the church, and forbid the banns.

But where are they gone?

Rattled down the beach, towards Sandgate Island.

Zounds! Robin Hoofs, John, the devil, I've lost my ward.

Yes, I heard Sir Hans brought her down here to marry George; a demure look­ing thing, she new better than to take the mad Lord, and I, myself to introduce her to my George; this is female friendship indeed, here's my friend's hat, and my friend's rib­bands, oh that I had herself here.

SCENE III; and last.—Sandgate Istland; one shattered house, and a few wretched cottages.

Damn the ferryman, not to run his boat boldly in the creek—oblige me to dash [Page 87]through the water! If I could but get over to the continent, I'd fight like a true volunteer—the first Ensign that dropt, pick up his colours— huzza! I wish I had a sew shillings, to pay my passage in some fishing smack.

There again—by heavens! you sha'n't have all the bailiff-work to yourself—we'll have a tussle for it—if you are stronger, I go—if not, I com­mit your body to master shark—begone, or into this sea I dash you.

Then, there Sir, is a three hun­dred pound Bank of England note—now I've at last done my job.

It is—and I to mistake my bright angel for the blackest of all imps, a catchpole! three hundred! now they shall see who is Lord Arthur D'Aumerle—who from? my kind father, doubtless. Now I've cash, where is my poor faithful Timolin.

A dreary Island, but one house—you live yon­der, master.

Live! ah, Sir.

Complain! Why, in the winter here, you've storms in high perfection—snow, hail, rain, lightning and thunder, neat as imported —no door to your house, and scarce a house to your door! the spangled canopy your bed-tes­ters, and for a clear prospect no glass to your windows! not a tree on your island, because you wou'd not harbour noisy rooks to discompose [Page 88]your slumbers!—nor even a bush! but that's vanity—that you might have it to say, you challenge the globe round to shew a spot more desolate.

Why, sir, but for the charity of Mr. George Burgess we should be worse. He has unpeopled our island tho', and settled them com­fortably near his father's. Since Lord Torren­del, our landlord, leaves us to his Frenchman and that Master Dickins, I wish they'd take the house off my hands.

They'll be taking it presently from about your ears—

Ha! ha! ha! I'm tickled with a strange ambition—I'll be king of this Island from my father's sole inheritance. Old Crusoe, I'll enchant your house from the court of poverty, to the castle of comfort.

You look comfort in you happy face. Welcome, sir, Dame!

This island is now my territory— here am I king! oh! for my queen! but plague of my palace.

Now dat your comrade has brought lady over in toder boat, let no one else cross but Milor.

Ah! quel bonheur to find Augusta myself! now Monsieur Thomas and dat villain Irish thief may hunt her for deir own recreation—la voice—dis solitary isle—here milor have no person to interrupt.—

The desire of seeing my cousin Arthur once again, before it is too late, can scarcely [Page 89]reconcile me to this step—altogether this island wears a most forbidding aspect—I'll return, and sit in the chaise, till Fanny comes.

Ah! ma chere

You must vait for Milor.

He here! heavens! I'm betrayed—I see my folly.

I was your laquais, mon ange, and did sit behind de chaise, and you did not know.

Pray, sir, suffer me to go.

Oui, to Londres! dere Milor vill buy you fine cloaths and jewels, and you vill shine at operas and ball and concert, and he will kiss your hand dus.

How!

Diantre!

Heavens! sir, what have you done?

Only cast my bait into the sea— Lucifer will always bite at a scoundrel.

Sir, he'll be drowned.

A souse, madam! he's already a pickled dog—don't be alarm'd—you're safe now from even the shadow of insult. How came you here in this remote place with that scoundrel? speak—but no matter—you seem distress'd.

Vice should not humble the father in the opinion of the son.

Lean upon me, ma'am—holloo! old Crusoe, where's your dame? come, madam.

Should Loeillet get my Augusta safe, here is no accommodation; I thought I had some tenants on this island! they've let the place run strangely to ruin. Confusion! Sir Hans!

But dem it squire, why disguise yourself; sure you coud'n't be a confederate with that French pandar, to steal my daughter's gover­ness?

Aye, George, where was the necessity of using artifice, to run away with Augusta, the very girl I wanted to give you.

Then to explain the mystery—some base designs of others, have sunk me into a schemer of stratagems. My lord, my name is Burgess.—I'm no profess'd knight-errant, yet I openly avow that I will endeavour henceforth to protect female innocence from your lordship's dishonourable purposes.

Bravo! George. He has been drinking hock wich Lord Arthur.—My lord, I'll talk to you.

My lord, to you I'll talk.

Then no shelter from open shame, but to turn champion myself! besides, the storm once blown over, my seeming her protector wins her love by gratitude.

Oh, my lord, here flies the sweet creature, with her character under her arm.

That villain, Loeillet, make my son's servant a party in this business.

Where's my guardian? how!

Aye, I told you, but you wou'd run head­long [...] the devil. And there he stands, ready to receive you.

What's your purpose, you scoun­drels, in bringing the lady to this lonely place?

Our purpose! well, that's very high!—

Madam, rely upon my protection. I am bound by honour to defend you from every insult.

Certainly, my lord! every gentle­man should be the protector of his wife.

Lady Torrendel! damnation!

The Lady herself! then 'twas to her husband she was running, oh! here's a wonder, and a blunder!

My Lord, I see you are confounded, yet could I hope your present humiliation pro­ceeded from a sorrow that promised repentance, and consequent reformation, my heart's feelings for the man I did love and honor, should melt me to compassion!

but no! my lord! take [Page 92]my resentment! my deserved, and bitter re­proach! grief cannot reach a breast so callous as yours! it is only the stings of a wounded pride, and disappointed purpose, that now agitates you; reflect! return an humble gratitude to heaven for having made my unexpected arrival here the means of snatching you from the repetition of a crime the most hostile to society. A selfish, transient gratification, that must banish for ever an unhappy female from the paths of honor! shun'd thro' life by the best part of her own sex! —and even despised by you! the author of her shame! your wrongs to me are nothing, but your meditated shifts, tricks, and plans, which you call gallantries, reflect only a disgrace on the dignity of manhood!

Lady Torrendel—I confess I'm al­together somewhat shocked, and wish—I say —I'm very unhappy to see—that is—I'm un­happy at your suspecting—

Oh, you mistake, my lord! I have no suspicions! mine are all certainties—but even if you consider my throwing the past into the shade of oblivion, any indulgence, I shall insist upon a few conditions, and the first—turn your countenance and protection to that poor deserted youth! you are, as a parent, responsible for every violation that your neglect has occasioned him to make on the laws of propriety; if you refuse, I will be his parent, and I henceforth re­gard your poor friendless son, with all the care and tenderness of maternal affection.

He too, a witness!

Huzza, the joy that laughs on me, shall smile on all around; sir, I thank you for your bounty, but—

My lady, I gave Lord Arthur the money, and—

Well! well!

How! from you, madam.

Did you give countenance and relief, where wives, in general, look with con­tempt and even hatred. Madam, can you par­don?

My lord, your conduct renders you rather an object of pity, than resentment—you have implicitly delivered up your fortune, your character, nay more, my lord, your honor, to be the sport and property of an infamous parasite— your confidential savourite, your French Valet, has counteracted the rectitude of your intentions, by embezzelling the sums he had for purposes dictated by duty and nature. O! why will those who possess the godlike power of doing good, delegate a base, unworthy agent, for the kind purposes of soft humanity.

Then, madam, 'twas you that relieved me. You're an angel—angel you shall see! where's my divine Augusta?

Here, boy, take Augusta,

Thank ye, Sir Hans!

Thank ye, indeed, for that! George, devils in you! will you lose your wife so?

I've one ready at hand—father, with your leave and her own consent.

To be sure, I consent—and we all consent.

Oh! yes! we all consent—my dear governess, are you going to be married? It seems I'm going to be married. He! he! he! eh! George?

To see my son taken before my face with an, he! he! he! s'blood, sir! let the girl go, he, he, he, indeed.

Then I discover your tricks, sir, oh! oh! oh! indeed!—madam, no matter what he says—you are still heiress to your uncle Woodbine's fortune. Throw it into my bank, chuse me your guardian, I'll recover—dem'me, I'll send Sir Nob a sheet of cracklin ramskin, that shall reach from Chancery-lane, to the "devil and bag of nails, at Chelsea."

Can this be!

Indeed! well, even so the property of the mother should devolve to the son, to him I resign it.

No! sooner than take it from you, my generous cousin, Timolin and I will buffet the world again—where are you, old Bagatrot Casile?

I'm here, your honour, dead or alive—we'll jump into our boots, before they're bought—and pull justice's wigs about—away, master! I'm your man thro' thick and thin, fire and smoke.

I could force myself to accept this fortune—that is, with a certain sweet'ner,— Will you, my Augusta, accompany it?

Then, sir, for paltry gold, you'd quit your love! oh! fie!

Devil's in you, child! I was only joking about the girl over the hock, to make you marry George.

Why, this is right. Lady Tor­rendel, your unexampled liberality will reclaim me into a husband and a father—my boy, were blessings mine, you should have one from me.

Then, as you're not worth a blessing, show'r a bundle of yellow-boys upon us both.

A good motion throw them into my bank.

My lord, father, and you most adored Augusta, if I am destined to affluence, here is my model,

who can forego the comforts of life to bestow its necessaries on the indigent!

Why, zounds! my most magnifi­cent, gay Arthur, I thought you was to be George's model, and that he'd have grace enough like you to play the devil.

So he shall—we'll kick Care out of the window, our abode shall be the House of Joy, and the first card of invitation shall be, to the Man of Sorrow.