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 The Sailor's Daughter 
 
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 )RARY FAC 
 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 ENDOWMENT FUND
 
 THE 
 
 atlor'a Baugfrter. 
 
 Price Half a Cream.
 
 THE 
 
 SAILOR'S DAUGHTER; 
 
 A COMEDY, 
 IN FIVE ACTS, 
 
 NOW PERFORMING AT THE 
 
 ^(jcattevEopal, SDrur^lUn** 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND, Esq. 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Luke Hanfuri, 
 
 FOR LACKING TON, ALLEN, AND CO. 
 
 FINSIlUHY-lgUitf, 
 
 18 4.
 
 Luke Han fun), Printer, 
 Gre Turnrtiie, Linc!/i's-lan Fit> ,
 
 PR 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 I present this Comedy to the Public, trusting 
 it may find favour in the closet, whatever it may 
 be likely to experience on the Stage. Perhaps I 
 have not been so studious of the reignine: taste 
 as I ought to have been, had I looked to tem- 
 porary success only, and disregarded all those 
 principles of composition, for which I still main- 
 tain a respect, and upon which I long since en- 
 deavoured to form my character as a dramatic 
 writer. I have lived to see a good old practice 
 thrown aside, and a new one introduced; but 
 as I cannot think a cap and bells any ornament 
 to the head of Apollo, I confess I am not dis- 
 posed to be a partner in that bufToonciy. 
 
 To the Performers, w1k> fill'd the Characters 
 in this Comedy, I beg leave to acknowledge 
 my obligations, and return my warmest thanks. 
 In (.'very department of the Theatre I expe- 
 rienced the most cordial support ; and 1 venture 
 
 to 

 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 to predict an auspicious aera to the Stage of 
 Drury Lane, under its present direction, though 
 m^ efforts should fail to contribute to the 
 success of it. I know there are men who will 
 not prostitute their genius to the meretricious 
 taste of the time, and to their candour, with every 
 earnest wish for their success, I humbly recom- 
 mend this Comedy. 
 
 Richard Cumberland.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Two Neighbours John and Giles agreed to take 
 
 A friendly tour for recreation sake; 
 
 Their fimple object, to see something new, 
 
 The better fliould it prove amusing too. 
 
 So out they set the roads were somewhat rough, 
 
 .Small inns, plain fare, and cookery coarse enough,, 
 
 Poor sport you'll fay ; but still they jumbled on, 
 
 Giles growl'd, but nothing disconcerted John. 
 
 Giles left at every baiting-place a curse, 
 
 If bad it was, his temper made it worse: 
 
 John, who saw all things in their fairest light, 
 
 Thought wisely, if he would be pleas'd, he might. 
 
 So Giles return'd with time and cash mis-spent: 
 
 John set out cheerful, and came back content. 
 
 Thus, if the great Majority, from whom 
 The Scenes now opening must receive their doom, 
 Should, in the spirit of this fimple tale, 
 Praise where we strike, and pardon where we fail, 
 The humble efforts of our veteran Muse 
 Some gleam of comic humour may diffuse ; 
 Proud, if her harmless pleasantries shall cheer 
 The deling heart, nor pain the critic ear; 
 lilcst, if hcrSAlLOU'S DAIGIITEK shall display 
 In their true light the heroes of our day; 
 lleroi , hv whom d< fended, Albion braves 
 The (iiillic ! , i'it and his hordes of slaves; 
 I nciinoi : ':':> !-,.! ! whose mighty ilag unfurl'd, 
 Triumphs: ' * ; vc n: L lie- fullering World.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Sir Mathew Moribund Mr. WROUGHTON. 
 
 Mandeville Mr. DWYER. 
 
 Captain Sentamour Mr. POPE. 
 
 Varnish Mr. RUSSELL. 
 
 Singleton Mr. CAULFIELD. 
 
 Hartshorn, an Apothecary . . . Mr. BANNISTER, jun. 
 Lindsay Mr. BARTLEY. 
 
 RAVEN, Sir Mathew'i servant .... Mr. DOWTON. 
 
 Shopman to Hartshorn Mr. EVANS. 
 
 Servant to Varnish Mr. RHODES. 
 
 Servant to Sir Malhew . . . Mr. WEBB. 
 
 Louisa Davenant Mrs. JORDAN. 
 
 Julia Clareville Mrs. H. JOHNSTON. 
 
 Mrs. Hartshorn Mrs. SPARKS. 
 
 Nurse Mrs. MADDOCKS. 
 
 Scene BATH.
 
 THE 
 
 SAILORS DAUGHTER 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE, the back room of an Apothecary* s Shop 
 Hartshorn comes hastily out of the Shop, 
 followed by Airs. Hartshorn. 
 
 Hartshorn, Mrs. Hartshorn. 
 
 JV1 r s. II a iri's. Sam Hartshorn, Sam Hartshorn I 
 will yon hear me, or will you not? 
 
 Harts. I do hear you. Everybody hears you. 
 Did 'nt you observe that deaf old fellow in the 
 shop ? I should have held him by the ears this 
 week ; von brought him to his hearing with a 
 word. He "s curd ; 1 've lost a patient by you, 
 Mrs. Hartshorn. 
 
 Mrs. H. How many have you gain'd by m^ 
 Mr. Apothecary ? Whose business have you 
 stept into ? My husband's poor dear man, 
 
 B I?
 
 1 'TUT. SAILOR'S r>AUGHTER: 
 
 Is there any thing in or about this house that 
 I, weak woman as I was, did not bestow on 
 
 YOU ? 
 
 Harts. Yes, there is. 
 
 Mrs. II. What is there, I would know? 
 
 Ha ins. The golden mortar over the door. 
 
 Mrs. II. Aye, truly, it has been a golden 
 mortar to you. Why then have you admitted 
 a lodger into my house, without my leave; and 
 why do you persist to keep her in it, without 
 my liking ? 
 
 Harts. Who is it that you do like? 
 
 Mrs. II. Not your Julia Clareville for one. 
 I desire to have no more of her company : none 
 of your Irish misses in my family. I know 
 nothing of her, or her connections. 
 
 Harts. Then Til tell you Her father, Captain 
 Edmund Clareville, was as brave a man as Ire- 
 land ever bred ; and that is not saying a little 
 for his courage. I was surgeon of his ship for 
 six good years, and saw plenty of sharp service 
 in the time. When his leg was shattcr'd by a 
 ball, I cut it off. It was like cutting my own 
 heart out of my body ; for he died under the 
 knife, tluf il was ;:.> masterly an amputation as 
 ever was pcrfonu'd. lie was a i'riend and a 
 father to me ; and can you think Sam Hartshorn 
 will desert the orphan daughter of Ins brave old 
 Captain? No, dammee, no; that scurvy prac- 
 tice never shall be mine, 
 
 JMli. ix.
 
 A COMEDY. s 
 
 Mrs. H. So much for your story: but there 
 are more stories than your's; and some that don't 
 tell to your Miss Julia's credit. 
 
 Harts. That may depend upon who has the 
 telling of them. 
 
 Mrs. H. She is the talk of the whole place. 
 All the idle fellows in Bath hover about the 
 house, in hopes to spy her pretty face forsooth 
 at the window. 
 
 Harts. Pat your own face out, and dis- 
 appoint them. 
 
 Mrs. H. No people of fashion countenance 
 her. None of them visit her. 
 
 Harts. No, they visit the street. There 
 they get colds and coughs, and then I viiit 
 them. 
 
 Mr?. II. Aye, you vifit ! Where's the good 
 of that ? When my first husband was alive, he 
 knew something. What do you know? Ship- 
 practice. 
 
 Harts. Well ! that is a practice pretty much 
 in credit. 1 am not asham'd of it. 
 
 Mrs. II. You are asham'd of nothing, I ac- 
 know ledge that You are not asham'd of harbour- 
 ing a Miss in my house, to be the gazing stork 
 of the whole citv. Tis making yourself a 
 mountebank, a show-man. Therefore, a-, you 
 took your Julia in, I desire you'll turn your 
 Julia out. 
 
 Harts. 'Soitv I can"', oblige vc:i. 
 
 B 2 Mrs 11.
 
 4 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER : 
 
 Mrs. II. Then, if you won't do it, I will. 
 
 Harts. Indeed you will not, 
 
 Mrs. H. Who '11 prevent me : 
 
 Harts. Conscience not your conscience, 
 but mine. 
 
 Mrs. H. Oh! what? You've a conscience; 
 have you ? 
 
 Harts. A tolerably easy one. I have a wife 
 also : I wish I could say as much for her. 
 
 Mrs. II. You have a memory too, I hope, 
 and can recollect what you were when I de- 
 rnean'd myself to marry 3*011 An understrapper 
 in the shop, a whack urn to my poor dear hus- 
 band. 
 
 Harts. Take care I'm not a whackum to 
 your poor clear husband's wire. Recollect I 
 carry a cane not only for ornament but use. 
 
 M rs. H. Ah, you sea monster ! do you threaten 
 me ? 
 
 Harts. No. I hint it to you in time, because 
 that "s fair. I have a tolerable good temper 
 while it lasts ; but as it is just now a-'oin<r, you 
 had best be gone first. 
 
 Mrs. II. Oh, that you wen VI take your own 
 phybic, and give me a chance to outlive you ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Harts. Come, come; that's pretty well. 
 Take my own physic ! That "s not much amiss. 
 My dame has some wit in her malice, and no 
 VfdvX of malice in her wit. 
 
 Julia,
 
 A COMEDY, | 
 
 Julia enters. 
 
 Julia. Ah, now, my good Mr. Hartshorn, 
 what have I done to displeasure your spouse, 
 that she looks so black upon me all on a 
 sudden? 
 
 Harts. Does she look black ? Let her have 
 a care she don't look black and blue too. 
 
 Julia. Ah, but look ye now, Mr. Hartshorn, 
 You are my own kind friend, that is (rue; but 
 that is no reason I should tarry in your house, 
 when your spouse don't like my company. 
 She is your wife; I am only your encumbrance. 
 
 Halts. Say no more about that; you are 
 neither one nor the other, and she is both. 
 
 Julia. Well, but hear reason. You can't 
 get rid of one, and you can of the other. I'll 
 be looking out for another apartment. 
 
 Harts. Don't lookout at all; but look to 
 me for your protection. Your father's daughter 
 shall not be the prey of libertines. 
 
 Julia. What libertines want to make a prey 
 pf me? 
 
 Uabts, Varnish, for one. lie is a puppy, and 
 a prig; I fell you that. 1 know him well. 
 I wiih you had never let him into the house. 
 
 Julia. The house is not mine, neither is Mr. 
 Varnish my visitor. Mr>. Hartshorn must re- 
 ceive what company she pleases. 
 
 Harts.
 
 C THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Harts. Ah, Julia, you know why he visits 
 Mrs. Hartshorn; therefore listen and attend to 
 me, thou orphan relict of the hest of friends! 
 There is a man somewhere, upon sea or land, 
 I know not which I never saw him to whom 
 you should be kind ; to whom you should be 
 grateful. 
 
 Julia. Grateful! Explain yourself. 
 
 Harts. A man your father form'd, pro- 
 tected, trainVl to his profession : whom he 
 lov'd, approval, confided in; and to whom 
 (mark me, Julia) in his dying moments, (I wag 
 present at the time) amidst prayers nnd bless- 
 ings (I held him up in his cot at . .at awful 
 moment) Julia, your expiring father devoted 
 you. That man is Sentamour, a gallant Cap- 
 tain in the British Navy. 
 
 Julia. Heaven protect him ! (weeps.) 
 
 Harts. Amen, with all my soul. 
 
 Julia. Why have I never seen him? 
 
 Harts. A seaman's duty makes all else give 
 way: His Country has 'had need of him. 
 
 Julia. Why have I never heard from him? 
 
 Harts. I think you do hear from him. 
 
 J u i i a. What do you mean ? 
 
 Harts. Are you not regularly supplied with 
 money for your accommodation and support? 
 
 Julia. Ah, now, my dear good Sir, inform 
 
 me, if you can, who is that unknown friend to 
 
 J mv
 
 A COMEDY: 7 
 
 my necessities, whose bounties, so mysteriously 
 convey'd, I never have been able yet to trace? 
 
 Harts. Nor have I; therefore I will not 
 swear that Sentamour is the man ; but I think 
 I was not mistaken in my conjecture, when I 
 said that you do hear from him. In short, 
 Julia, I have a stump of the sea oak in me still; 
 and when I hear of a generous action, which 
 nobody fathers, I am apt to suspect that the 
 heart which inspired it, will be found to beat 
 under an anchor button : Therefore, again I 
 say keep your heart for Sentamour, and beware 
 of Varnish 
 
 Varniih enters unohferved. 
 
 Varn. Varnish, at your service to that 
 name I answer, worthy Mr. Hartshorn; and 
 beg to know, if, when you warn this ladv to 
 beware of me, it is because you think me a 
 notorious scoundrel. If that is your concep- 
 tion of me, only be pleas'd to say so, and give 
 me an opportunity of correcting your mis- 
 take. 
 
 Harts. Sir! Mr. Varnifh. 
 
 Yarn. I am all attention. 
 
 Harts. When you enter a man's hous-c 
 without any introduction, and break in upon 
 his private conversation without any ceremony, 
 you mull take your chance for what you hear, 
 and seek your remedy as you sec (it. 
 
 Yarn.
 
 & THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Vaunt. And for efficacious remedies (T speak 
 upon experience) Mr. Hartshorn the apothecary 
 is outdone by no man. The golden mortar 
 that adorns your door, is at once the symbol 
 of your profession, and the safeguard of your 
 person. I have frequently calfd you in, Mr. 
 Hartshorn; I shall never call you out. 
 
 IIahts. If you never call again, I shall not 
 break my heart. [E.rit. 
 
 Vaunt. You see, Miss Clareville, what I 
 submit to for your sake. Rescue me onty from 
 the humiliating necessity of visiting you in this 
 filthy drug-shop, give me but one endearing 
 proof of your confidence, and behold me at 
 your feet. 
 
 Julia. What proof do you require of me ? 
 
 Vakn. Simply to assume a station worthy of 
 yourself, an independent and respectable esta- 
 blishment, for which you shall be supplied with 
 money to satisfy all possible demands. 
 
 J u i . i a . I am supplied to s a t i s ! : y a 11 reason - 
 able demands ; I have no ambition lo enlarge 
 them. I subsist upon the bounty of an un- 
 known friend. 
 
 Varn. But you can trace conjecture to that 
 unknown friend ? 
 
 Julia. Truly, Sir, I cannot; Mr. Harts- 
 horn has his own ideas ; but they seem to me s :> 
 perfectly romantic, I can hardly credit them. 
 They point at one far distant, whom I never 
 saw. 
 
 Yarn.
 
 A COMEDY. 9 
 
 Varn. I am Mr. Hartshorn's most obedient 
 humble servant ; he has warn'd you against 
 trusting me ; I now caution you against be- 
 lieving him. Let him amuse himself with his 
 idle conjectures, but don't permit him to mis- 
 lead and puzzle you. 
 
 Julia. Ah, now, Mr. Varnish, be sincere. 
 Could not you direct me better ? 
 
 Varn. I profess nothing but to admire and 
 serve you. I can enjoy the luxury of be- 
 friending innocence and beauty without the 
 vanity and parade of publishing it. 
 
 Julia. I understand you now moft perfect- 
 ly ; and the nature of my obligations being 
 such, you will give me leave to consider how 
 the daughter of a noble and distinguished of- 
 ficer ought in honour to conduct herself Wc 
 must converse no longer. [Exit. 
 
 Varn. So ! here's a turn I have borrow'd a 
 feu* favours of the unknown friend, and the fruit 
 of my manoeuvre is We must converse no 
 longer She must deliberate, it seems. ]}e it so ! 
 She is a woman, and The woman that deli- 
 berates is lost. [Exit. 
 
 Scene changes ty Mandeville's Apartment. 
 
 Mandevillj; and Singleton. 
 
 Mand. Friend Tom, friend Singleton, I want 
 to have a little serious talk with you. 
 
 C Sing.
 
 19 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 Sing. Out with it! and as serious as you 
 please. 
 
 Mand. Yes ; I didn't come to this giggling' 
 place to be merry; I came to meditate. Pry thee, 
 Tom, didst ever meditate upon matrimony? 
 
 Sing. Often; always. Therefore I never 
 undertook it. 
 
 Mand. Right. Now I meditate upon it also, 
 but can come to no conclusion. 
 . Sing. No, you will marry first, and come 
 to your conclusion afterwards. 
 
 Mand. Would not that be very foolish? 
 
 Sing. Not altogether so. If you very much 
 approve of a woman, you may marry ; but if 
 you are very much in love with her, you don't 
 know whether you approve of her or not. 
 
 Mand. But how if I do not approve of her, 
 and yet am very much in love with her? There 
 is Louisa Davenant, for instance ; I can't ap- 
 prove of her, you know ; nobody can approve 
 of her. 
 
 Sing. A little volatile, perhaps a little vain. 
 
 Mand. No, she's not vain; there you are 
 out ; she's not vain ; but she rallies without 
 mercy, prattles without mitigation. 
 
 Sing. Come, come, she prattles very plea- 
 santly ; has a great deal of wit, and an abund- 
 ance of good humour. 
 
 Mand. Wi'J not a grain, not an atom, as lam 
 a living man; no wit but affectation, vanity, 
 as much as you can aiford her. 
 
 Sing.
 
 A COMEDY. 11 
 
 Si kg. I thought you maintained she was not 
 vain. 
 
 Mand. That was because you maintained 
 she was. I don't like to hear her found fault 
 with. 
 
 Sixg. Well then, my good friend, we will 
 say no more of her wit; you are not extra- 
 vagantly witty yourself, so we will put that 
 aside, and take for granted you admire her for 
 her talents and accomplishments. 
 
 Mand. She has no talents ; never could be 
 taught any thing. We are sister's children ; 1 
 have known her from a child. She can't play a 
 tune ; no more music in her than a mile-stone ; 
 but then you know, Tom, I hate music. 
 
 Sing. That's lucky. I hope you don't hate 
 beauty too, for then I think you hardly cou'd 
 like her. 
 
 Mand. I like her because she professes so 
 fixt an aversion to me, and seems to hold me 
 in such sovereign contempt. That you know is 
 so amusing, so animating before marriage, and 
 so natural after, that we cannot fail to be good 
 company. 'Sdeath! here she is ! 
 
 Louisa enters. 
 
 Louisa. Cousin Mandpeville, I have brought 
 my M'ork, and am come to sit with you. 
 Mand. Are vou indeed? 
 
 c '2 
 
 Louisa.
 
 12 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Louisa. Your apartment is so shady and so 
 sombre. We are burnt out of our lodgings on 
 the hill. 
 
 Mand. Yes, you lodge upon the very top of 
 the hill ; that may be one reason why I lodge 
 at the very bottom of it. 
 
 Louisa. Oh you odious creature ! Why don't 
 you set chairs for us? 
 
 Sing. None for me. I never make a third 
 in such parties. I am for the pump-room. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Mand. There! he's for the pump-room. Are 
 you not for going there too ? If you are, don't 
 mind me. 
 
 Louisa, (sits dozen) Well, I don't mind 
 you. But I am weary, and here I can rest both 
 body and mind at the same time. 
 
 Mand. And cou'dn't you have done that at 
 homer I wonder, cousin Louisa, you don't 
 sometimes try how comfortable it is to sit still 
 and be quiet. 
 
 Louisa. I am trying it just now. When I 
 want nothing else but to do nothing, and to 
 think of nothing, you see I come to you ; when 
 I would seek pleasure and amusement, why 
 then, cousin John, I go elsewhere. 
 
 Mand. Thank you; I am obliged to you. 
 You are quiet here, I confess ; perfectly still and 
 quiet. You certainly are in no danger tte-a-tet 
 with me. 
 
 Louisa.
 
 A COMEDY. is 
 
 Louisa. None in life. I bless the fates, 
 cousin John, I can rub on as I am for some 
 time to come yet. 
 
 Mand. Yes, yes, you can rub on very well 
 as you are. You know you are not dying for 
 me, and I am quite convinced I can live with- 
 out you. 
 
 Louisa. Very true. We can live tolerably 
 well asunder : 1 am far from sure we could 
 live so well together. 
 
 Mand. No, no. Perfect happiness is not 
 the lot of mortals. If we live single, you see 
 we have cares ; if we marry 
 
 Louisa. Heavens! how they are multiplied! 
 Pick up my thread-paper. Don't you see I 
 have dropt it ? 
 
 Ma xd. Yes, but don't drop it any more. I 
 hate trouble. 
 
 Louisa. Then you must never marry. That 
 is nothing else but trouble without termination. 
 
 Mand. And yet, Louisa, I cannot tell how 
 it is, you seem to have fewer of those positives, 
 that give trouble, and more of the negatives 
 that prevent it. than anybody I am acquainted 
 with. 
 
 Louisa. Oh, yes; 1 have negatives in plenty, 
 and for all occasions. 
 
 Mand. 1 don't doubt it; and if you was 
 called upon just now. you have one in readi- 
 ness. 
 
 Lo \: i >a
 
 14 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 Louisa. At your service one, and only 
 one; for should you be importunate, and put 
 me to repeat it, you know what two negatives 
 make r and will interpret accordingly. 
 
 Mand. There, there you drop something I 
 am eager to lay hold of 
 
 Raven enters unobserved. 
 
 Raw Nothing is dropt. Here it is a letter 
 from your uncle. 
 
 Mand. I receive no letters. 
 
 Raw What ! not from your poor dear dying 
 uncle? Not from Sir Mathew Moribund? 
 Oh, fie. 
 
 Mand. Dying, do you say : What is the 
 matter with him ? 
 
 Raw Nothing is the matter with him ; yet 
 he can't last long ; for he takes oceans of physic, 
 has a whole host of doctors, drinks no wine, 
 reads good books, and moralizes most inordi- 
 nately. 
 
 Louisa. Yes, yes, friend Raven, he is doing 
 penance for his past excesses. Your master 
 has been a hard goer, and is now pulling up at 
 the end of his journey. 
 
 Raw He has had some amiable failings, sure 
 enough ; some elegant irregularities ; but pray 
 you now, Mr. Mandeville, be pleased to read 
 his letter. 
 
 Mandevills
 
 A COMEDY. 15 
 
 Mandeville reads^ 
 
 Mand. " Dear Jack, 
 
 " It's all over with me. I have thrown off 
 " seven doctors arid eleven apothecaries " 
 
 Rav. Seven and eleven That's a nick. 
 
 Mand. " I have now sent my rascal Raven 
 ' to call in Hartshorn. There is but that one 
 ' cast upon the dye for me." 
 
 Rav. Then he'll throw crabs, and there's an 
 end of him. 
 
 Mand. " I have still some hopes in Harts- 
 " horn, not only because I hear a good report 
 " of his practice, but because his name is so 
 " comfortable." 
 
 Louisa. I wonder then he keeps his rascal 
 Raven still about him. 
 
 Mand. ''I hear also that Hartshorn has 
 " the finest girl in Bath, a lodger in his house 
 " but what of that ? I have done with all fuch ; 
 '' they are evil spirits, imps of the old one. 
 " Come to me however, dear Jack, whilst it is 
 " yet in my power to call myself Your's, 
 
 " Matiiew Moribund."" 
 
 Louifa, how do you feel about this letter? You 
 and I are equally allied to the writer of it. 
 
 Lor is.\. Take your hat, and go to him. 
 That is all you have to do. 
 
 Rav. Any answer? 
 
 Mand.
 
 16 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER : 
 
 Mand. None. 
 
 Raw Any further commands ? 
 
 Mand. Not any. 
 
 Rav. Adieu! The rascal Raven humbly takes 
 his leave, and will forthwith go in search of the 
 rascal apothecary; that being done, nothing 
 will remain but to shut the doctor's book, and 
 open an account with the undertaker. [Exit. 
 
 Louisa. Come, set out, and be off to your 
 uncle. 
 
 Mand. Why in such haste ? All this is no- 
 thing. A meer fit of the meagrims, the old 
 bachelor's disease. 
 
 Louisa. Then look well to yourself, and 
 take care you don't inherit something more than 
 his estate. 
 
 Mand. Nobody but yourself can save me; 
 you only have the remedy. 
 
 Louisa. Ah, Mandeville, my remedy might 
 be worse than your disease. 
 
 Mand. Don't say so; don't be so provoking, 
 I can counterfeit no longer. The secret must 
 come out : I am in love with you to distrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Louisa. I know that very well; I see that 
 very plainly, and pity you very sincerely. 
 
 Ma xd. Pity ! What's that? Pity is not love. 
 
 Louisa. No, but it is one of the family. 
 Now don't say another word, but to your 
 uncle. Good bye ! A pleasant walk to you. 
 
 Mand.
 
 A COMEDY. 17 
 
 Maxd. There, now you are laughing at me. 
 That is always your way. I dorft like it, 
 Louisa: I fairly tell you I don't like it. And 
 (what is more) I don't love you half so well as 
 I did ; nay, I am not sure if I love you at all. 
 
 Louisa. Yes, yes, you do. Let us part 
 friends at least. Give me your hand. 
 
 Maxd. I can't tell whether I shall or not. I 
 am extremely angry with you. However, there 
 is my hand : my heart is with it. Ah, Louisa, 
 Louisa! you are at once the idol of my soul, and 
 the torment of my life. Adieu. [Exit. 
 
 Louisa. Farewell So! what's the mat- 
 ter with me now? Oh lud, Oh lud ! Thank 
 heaven, the man is more than sand-blind, and 
 not blest with intuition, or he would inevitably 
 find me out. [Exit. 
 
 End of the First Act. 
 
 1)
 
 18 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Hartshorn's House; the room as before. 
 
 Hartshorn enters, followed by his Shopman. 
 
 Shopman. 
 Ax ill-looking fellow in the shop wants to 
 speak with you. 
 
 Harts. 1 hope he is as ill as he looks to be. 
 Send him in. 
 
 Siiopm. Oh, but, Sir, Squire Varnish has 
 order'd in his bill. You have lost a customer. 
 
 IL\rts. Let him cro. The devil doctor him 
 for an unclean whelp. I care not. 
 
 Shop.m. What! don't you care when youi 
 palients drop off? 
 
 Ha hts. Mo: 'Tis the nature of 'em. My 
 patients have a trick of dropping off. Send the 
 ill-looking fellow in. (Exit Shopman.) I sup- 
 ( >se he will drop off next. 
 
 Raven enters. 
 Ray. Sol 
 
 Harts. Well! So and so ! What more? 
 R.-\v. Is thai yo U r golden mortar over the 
 hop doer f 
 Hari s. That is my mortar, 
 
 Rav.
 
 A COMEDY. 19 
 
 Raw And the name underneath it, Samuel 
 Hartshorn, is that your name? 
 
 Harts. Samuel Hartshorn is my name. Put 
 apothecary, surgeon, and man-midwife to it, 
 you have all that you can want of me. 
 
 Rav. I want nothing of vou as man-mid- 
 wife. My master Sir Matthew Moribund is not 
 breeding Hold ! don't let me quite say that 
 lie breeds meagrims and maggots, begot upon 
 him by blue-devils, who ride him night and 
 day in the ihapes of gallipots and glass phials, 
 with halters of white paper round their necks ; 
 whereby they stand as thick in his bed-chamber, 
 as the frogs did in Pharoalfs. 
 
 Harts. Before you go any farther, is he 
 alive ? 
 
 Rav. Alive ! what a question is that ? 
 Harts. A very natural one, after your ac- 
 count of him. A very necessary one also ; for, 
 if he is not alive, I can be of no service to 
 him. 
 
 Rav. Well, he is alive; and yet it remains 
 to be prov'd it" you can be of any service to 
 him. However, I must do as he bids me; I am 
 told to call you in ; so take notice, I have call'd 
 vou. 
 
 Harts. Take notice I will come. I under- 
 stand he has seen a pretty man}' physicians. 
 
 Rav. Yes, and swallow'd all the physic they 
 prescrib'd for him. 
 
 d 2 Hah i\s.
 
 20 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Harts. That is his fault, and not theirs. 
 Has not your master been a remarkable free- 
 liver ? 
 
 Rav. A damnable one. 
 
 Harts. And do his physicians allow him 
 wine now ? 
 
 Rav. The devil a drop. 
 
 Harts. Well, we shall see. Reach me that 
 cane, if you please I'll trouble you for my 
 hat. Now tell Sir Matthew Moribund I will 
 have the honour to attend upon him; and harkee. 
 friend, walk leisurely home; take your time? 
 The hills are steep, and you seem very feeble. 
 
 Rav. Yes, I am married. 
 
 Harts. So am I. 
 
 Rav. The worse luck ours. Good bye to 
 you. [Goes out. 
 
 Harts. 'Sdeath, if I don't fetch this Sir 
 Moribund up with a wet sail, I have learnt my 
 practice in a King's ship for nothing. 
 
 Raven re-enters. 
 
 Rav. O I forgot to ask you where the sexton 
 lives. I take it for granted he's a friend of 
 your's. 
 
 Harts. A near neighbour. You'll find him 
 vtt work in the church-yard close by. Suppose 
 you let him take measure of yon : it may save 
 jttyine time. 
 
 Rav
 
 A COMEDY. 21 
 
 Rav. It may, it may; I thank you for the 
 hint. [Exit, 
 
 Harts. There's a death-watch. There's a 
 memento mori for a poor hipt devil dying of 
 the meagrims. 
 
 Julia enters. 
 
 Julia. One word before you go out, my 
 good Mr. Hartshorn. 
 
 Harts. Let it be one word. I'm in great 
 haste. 
 
 Julia. You are wrong in your conjectures 
 about Captain Sentamour. It is not he, but 
 Mr. Varnish; that has administerd to my ne- 
 cessities since my father's death. 
 
 Harts. 1 don't believe a word of it. 
 
 Julia. You won't believe a word of it. lie 
 has all hut confess'd it. 
 
 Harts. If he had quite confess'd it, if he 
 had sworn it, I would 'nt listen to him. Julia, 
 it's a flam, a trap, a false pretence to ensnare 
 you. '1 here is no trust in his word, no honour 
 in his heart. 
 
 Ji; ha. Nay, but be candid, my good friend; 
 be just. 
 
 Harts. I am just; but I can't sta-v to talk 
 with you; 1 expect a gentleman from London 
 by this day's coach, \\\\o is an intimate of Cap- 
 tain Sentamour's; wait only his arrival, and a 11 
 shall be made clear !o you. [Exit. 
 
 Julia.
 
 *2 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Julia. He is obstinate against conviction. 
 Tis in vain to talk to him. [Edit. 
 
 Scene changes to Sir Mathew MoribuncFs sick 
 chamber. He is discovered sitting in his 
 night-gown and cap. Nurse attending. 
 
 Sir Math. Nurse, wheel the chair a little 
 onwards Any message from my nephew Man- 
 deville ? 
 
 Nurse. None, Sir Mathew. 
 
 Sir Math. Is Raven returned yet? 
 Raven enters. 
 
 Rav. Here am I. 
 
 Sir Math. You've been a Ion q- time c:one. 
 You see I am still alive. 
 
 Rav. Are you indeed? I could *nt have be- 
 lie v'd it. 
 
 Sir Math. Rascal, you are always croak- 
 ing. 
 
 Rav. Yes, I do that by instinct. 
 
 Sir Math. Have you seen my nephew John ? 
 
 Rav. Yes, and your niece, Louisa. I gave 
 them your letter. 
 
 Sir Math. Did they read it? 
 
 Rav. With difficulty. 
 
 Sir Math. Much affected by it'- 
 ll a v. Prodigiously. 
 
 Sir Math. What answer? 
 
 Rav. They nre coming Lo dine, and pass Lhr 
 evening with you. 
 
 Sir
 
 A COMEDY. 25 
 
 Sir Math. They are mad, and you're a fool. 
 Will this apothecary with the fine name come ? 
 Will he draw his cork, and comfort me with a 
 taste of his spirit ? 
 
 Raw Yes, you'll have taste and smell too, 
 when he draws his corks, never fear. Oh ! hers 
 he is ; this is the golden mortar. 
 
 Hartshorn enters. 
 
 Harts. Very hot quite sultry. Bad wea- 
 ther for sick folks ; not so for doctors. 
 
 Sir Math. Sit down, Sir; sit down, Mr. 
 Hartshorn, and recollect yourself. Take your 
 time to consider of my case, and enquire into 
 .symptoms. 
 
 Harts. How do you do? That's the first 
 enquiry. If well, that's the best .symptom. 
 
 Sir Math. What are you talking of? If I 
 were well, I would not send for you. 
 
 Harts. And if I were no worse than you are, 
 I would n't send for anybody. 
 
 Sir Math. You are beside yourself. I can't 
 be worse. 
 
 Harts. Proud to hear it. Anv change must 
 be for the better. 
 
 Sir Math. Sir, you talk a very odd language 
 to a patient you never visited before Neither 
 have yon touclfd my pulse. 
 
 Harts. Gadso ! I forgot that. Give me 
 your hand. 
 
 Sir
 
 34 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER : 
 
 Sir Math. Well ! How do you find it? 
 
 Harts. Just as I exp cted Can't find it at 
 all. But never mind that; I'll soon conjure up 
 a pulse. Is this fellow your butler ? 
 
 Rav. Yes I am the butler. 
 
 Sir Math. What is that to the purpose ? 
 
 Harts. Is he a good hand at drawing a 
 cork. 
 
 Rav. I've been out of practice lately. 
 
 Harts. How much physic have you taken? 
 
 Sir Math. Oceans. 
 
 1 1 \ UTS. Perhaps you havrft taken enough. 
 
 Sir Math. Look at those phials. 
 
 Harts. Phials I What are they good for? I 
 administer my doses in quarts rare old Ma- 
 deira; Last India physic, brought it home 
 with mc ; drink a good deal of it myself. I'll 
 pen d you some in ; you must finish a whole 
 bottle before you go to bed. 
 
 Sir Math. Are you m earnest? Nothing 
 else ? 
 
 Harts. You want nothing- else. 
 
 Sir Math. Yf hat i Will you send me in no 
 
 i ? 
 
 Harts. Plenty, if you'll promise not to take 
 it. To be serious Invite your friends, drink 
 your *ine, cl.eer your spirits, throw that old 
 night-cap into the lire, and my physic out 
 of Liie window You'll be well to-morrow. 
 
 Sir Math. You are a comforter indeed! I 
 f-ee you are no friend to physic. 
 
 i Harts.
 
 A COMEDY. 5 
 
 Harts. O yes, I am a great friend to phy- 
 sic. Live by selling* it more than they do 
 that swallow it. Adieu ! 
 
 Sir Math. Hold, hold ! Don't run off in 
 such a hurry. Touch my pulse once more. 
 
 Harts. Damn your pulse ! Never think 
 about it. Must be gone Good day to you ! 
 
 [Exit hastily. 
 
 Sir Math. Damn my pulse ! 
 
 Rav. Yes, damn your pulse. That goes for 
 nothing, you know, for you have no pulse. 
 
 Sir Math. 'Tis false : I have a pulse. Hope 
 raises it ; expectation quickens it. Give me 
 your arm. Richard 's himself again. No phy- 
 sic a bottle of Madeira ! 
 
 Rav. Huzza ! Hartshorn and the golden 
 mortar for ever ! [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene changes to a street. 
 Captain Scntamour and Lindsay. 
 
 Sent. Now, shipmate here we are in Bath, 
 and in this street, at the golden mortar, dwells 
 Hartshorn the apothecary, on whom 1 have a 
 design, in which, friend Lindsay, you must 
 assist me. So, be prepared. 
 
 Lixd. I hope I shall be always prcpai'd to 
 obey the commands of Captain Scntamour. 
 
 ."sent. Spoke like a seaman, and a seaman's 
 friend I presume you notie'd the conversation 
 
 ]: ot-
 
 C6 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER : 
 
 of a communicative gentleman in the mail 
 coach Math us, who talk'd much about a certain 
 Julia Clareville, whom he call'd the Beauty of 
 Bath. He gave us a list of her admirers, hut 
 insinuated that a young- man of fashion, a Mr. 
 Varnish, was the favour'd lover. In that lady's 
 fame and fortune I am most particularly inte- 
 rested. 
 
 Lind. So indeed you seem'd to be. 
 Sent. Yes, Sir, Julia Clareville is the orphan 
 daughter of a naval hero, who was a father to 
 me, when I had neither parent nor friend on 
 earth to help me. She is now as destitute and 
 dependent as I was when her father protected 
 and supported me. Can there be a duty more 
 sacred than I owe to her, the relict of my bene- 
 factoi ! None; and the reflection how imper- 
 fectly I have fulfill'd it weighs heavy on my 
 conscience : But my Country call'd me forth, 
 call'd me to distant seas, detain'd me there, 
 possess'd me wholly. How cou'd I obey two 
 calls, as wide asunder as the poles. 
 
 Lind. You have fulfill'd the greater duty. 
 Sfnt. And have not absolutely neglected the 
 lesser. 1 have kept off indigence; she has not 
 ill! those wants, that monev could supply. 1 
 wou'd now do inure; I wou'd look into her heart, 
 and convince myself how far the virtues of hci 
 father have been infus'd and foster' d in her 
 bosom.
 
 A COMEDY. 27 
 
 Lind. You will have opportunity for that. 
 
 Sent. "Tis that I am contriving-. Sue lodges 
 with this very Mr. Hartshorn, to whom you 
 are recommended as a partner in his house and 
 business. Your person is unknown to him, and 
 my project is to pass myself upon him in your 
 character, for the purpose above mentioned 
 You smile, Lindsay. I can read your thoughts. 
 You think my project is ridiculous. 
 
 Lind. Romantic perhaps; you cannot be 
 ridiculous. 
 
 Sent. Hear me. I want your name for little 
 else than as an introduction, and you know we 
 hold it fair to reconnoitre under false colours, 
 tho' not so to engage. Do vou conceive me 
 now, or shall I open myself farther? I wou'd 
 not approach her as Sentamour, because I wou'd 
 make no claim upon her gratitude; I would not 
 puichase an opinion from her by moncv, bv 
 worldly prudence, or even by filial duty and obe- 
 dience to her lather's wishes. If she prefers 
 Varni ,h, and he honorably proposes, let her 
 many him: As Lindsav, I obstruct her not; 
 as Sentamour she shall never know me. Nov 
 have 1 explain'd myself? 
 
 Li\j). Clearly. Your motives are, as they 
 ever will be, noble and ingenuous. IJul Senta- 
 mour is a gallant captain, Lindsay an humble 
 surgeon ; how can you assume a character so 
 opposite to your own ? 
 
 L, '1 Si: NT.
 
 23 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Sext. For the moment only. I don't mean 
 to make up medicines, nor pass an examina- 
 tion with your intended partner. Hartshorn is 
 a brother seaman, and a worthy fellow: if he 
 finds me out, he will not betray me; and I have 
 reason to know he will neither be offended with 
 me for the imposition, nor with you for acquies- 
 cing in it. Does this content you? 
 
 Lino. Perfectly. 
 
 Se xt. Now then for the golden mortar 
 up anchor, and away ! \Exennt. 
 
 Scene changes to Hartshorn's House. 
 Mrs. Ha r t shorn; J u l i a . 
 
 Mrs. II. Miss Julia; Miss Julia Clareville, 
 I say, answer me, in one word will you, 01 
 will you not, see Mr. Varnish : 
 
 Julia. In one word no. Mr. Hartshorn 
 has forbidden it, and I will not disobey him in 
 Ins own holism. 
 
 Mrs. II . Then will you, Miss Julia, be so very 
 obliging to me, and fo very much your own 
 friend, as to quit this house, and put your- 
 self under Mr. Varnish's protection, by whose 
 bounty you are maintain'd ? 
 
 Julia.' Madam, as to quitting this house, 
 
 that fhall be as you and Mr. Hartshorn may 
 
 agree; but to your question, if I will put myfelf 
 
 under Mr. Varnish's protection, I should sup- 
 
 , . c von liardiy can expect an answer. 
 
 Mrs, II.
 
 A COMEDY. 39 
 
 Mrs. H. Allow me to say you are under 
 very great obligations to Mr. Varnish. 
 
 Julia. If I am under obligations to Mr. 
 Varnish, it is for favors unsolicited on my part; 
 and if in return for those favors he requires of 
 me any sacrifice of character, or even of ap- 
 pearances that might create suspicion, his favors 
 become insult, and his friendship a pretence. 
 
 Shopman enters. 
 
 Shop at. A gentleman to wait upon you. 
 Julia. Tis' Mr. Varnish. I won't stay in 
 
 the room, if he attempts to enter it Ah ! 
 
 (meets Sentamour at the door.) 
 
 Sentamour enters as Lindsay. 
 
 Mrs. II. Who are you, Sir? 
 
 Sent. Lindsay, at your service. I believe 
 I was expected by Mr. Hartshorn. 
 
 Mrs. II. Oh, aye, Lindsay is the person's 
 name, who was recommended to him as an assist- 
 ant in the shop : sit down, sit down : he will 
 presently be at home. 
 
 Sent. Pardon me, Madam; I cannot sit 
 whilst you and this lady are standing. 
 
 Mrs. II. Well, as you will for that ; but I 
 supposed you might be tired with jolting in the 
 mail coach. I conclude that was your con- 
 veyance. 
 
 Si- nt.
 
 so THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Sf.nt. You conclude very truly. 
 
 Mrs. II. I presume, by the information of 
 your anchor-buttons, you are one of my hus- 
 band's sort, a brother of the cockpit. 
 
 Sent. Exactly as you state it. I have serv'd 
 in a ship of war; as Captain Sentamour's cer- 
 tificate will testify. 
 
 Mrs. II. Aye, very well ; you are to sleep in 
 ihe house. I shall order you an apartment in 
 the attic. [K.rii. 
 
 J ima. Mrs. Hartshorn is not extremely 
 polisht. You will meet a more agreeable re- 
 I ion from her husband. 
 
 Sl xr. Have I the honour to be in company 
 with Miss Clareville ? 
 
 Julia. I am that person. 
 
 Sf.nt. Then I am to assure you of the most 
 sincere respect and good wishes of Captain 
 Sentamour. 
 
 Julia. Is he in good health : 
 
 Sent. lie is in perfect health. 
 
 J u i ia. I am rejoie'd to hear it. Has he been 
 fortunate at sea ? 
 
 Si vt. He thinks himself extremely fortunate. 
 
 Julia. Of his gallant services we have had 
 frequent accounts. Is he humane as wcl4 as 
 brave? Do his people love him ? 
 
 Sf.nt. Such as he is, your father made him. 
 His instructions are his guides, his example 
 never out of his sight. The nearer he approael 
 
 to
 
 A COMEDY. 31 
 
 to that model, the better officer and man he will 
 approve himself. Xo one more reveres the me- 
 mory of your father than Captain Sentamour. 
 
 Julia. It docs him credit. Gratitude be- 
 comes a hero. Did you know my father ? 
 
 Se xt. I had that honour. 
 
 Julia. When did you last see him, and 
 where ? 
 
 Sent. The last time I saw him was in the 
 evening before the fight oft* Copenhagen. 
 
 Julia. Alas, alas ! In that action he received 
 his fatal, fatal wound. 
 
 Sent. It is a melancholy subject. Let me 
 beg you to enquire no further. 
 
 Julia. One question more My father 
 languished under his wound some days. Did 
 Sentamour see him in that period ? 
 
 Si xt. Sentamour himself was wounded. He 
 cou'ti not leave his ship. 
 
 Julia. So far he stands acquitted ; but you 
 said that Sentamour reveres mv father's memory; 
 if so, was it never told him what, were the last 
 words and wishes of his dying friend? Did he 
 never recollect that there was a wretched orphan 
 in existence, who, if Hartshorn reports truly, 
 Mas bequeathed to his protection ? 
 
 Sent. Certainly he well knew and recollected 
 every thing as you state it. 
 
 Julia. How hard then is the fate of thai- 
 orphan now to u'i' '. c ' n --ec; < ! ly 
 
 supported
 
 32 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 supported by the bounty of one, who never knew 
 her father, never saw him, and to whom she can- 
 not say " This is a tribute of gratitude to my 
 departed father : This remuneration it does not 
 humble me to accept of." 
 
 Sent. And who is the person that has secretly 
 convey'd to you those supplies, which Senta- 
 nioiir, as you conceive, so ingratefully neglected 
 to provide? 
 
 Julia. That person is Mr. Varnish. 
 
 Sent. Then I have been rightly inform *d 
 that Mr. Varnish is. the favour'd lover, the ac- 
 cepted proponent for the honour of your hand. 
 
 Julia. No, Sir, I will never favour that man's 
 proposal, who may have it to say lie has pur- 
 chas'd me with money, or supported me upon 
 charity. I will sooner work for my bread than 
 accept another farthing from Mr. Varnish. 
 
 Shopman enters. 
 
 Suoi'M. A letter for you, Miss. [Exit. 
 
 Julia. {Opens the letter and reads) : <; Lest 
 'Sour last remittance should be expended, I beg 
 ''leave to present you with the inclos'd."' A 
 bank bill for one hundred pounds. Again horn 
 Varnish! What can he mean? I will not keep 
 it : I will not accept of it. 
 
 Sent. Hold, if you please 1 Hear reason, 
 
 and be just. If this bounty comes from Mr. 
 
 Varnish, if every aid you have received since 
 
 "' you
 
 A COMEDY. 33 
 
 you lost your father has been bestow'd upon 
 you by him, and nothing by Sentamour, is it 
 not fit and right you should give Mr. Varnish 
 an opportunity of exhibiting his proofs, and al- 
 low Captain Sentamour a chance of accounting 
 for appearances that are now so much against 
 him? But we are interrupted Put up your 
 letter. We shall rind a time 
 
 Hartshorn followed by Mrs. Hartshorn. 
 
 Harts. My dear Mr. Lindsay, I rejoice to 
 see you. Give me your hand. Welcome to 
 Bath ! Here Ave are Just come from my round 
 of vifits ; up hill and down hill. Sultry hot> 
 quite a siroque; south-east wind ; thunder in 
 the air; sour the beer bowel complaints 
 swell the sick list work enough for both; holi- 
 days for neither of us. 
 
 Sent. Well, Mr. Hartshorn, mine has not 
 been a lite of ease. I am us'd to work. 
 
 Harts. So much the better. Walk'd the 
 hospitals work'd in the cockpit All creden- 
 tials ready Captain's certificate good recom- 
 mendations nothing wanting. 
 
 Sent. Nothing of that sort, I flatter mvself. 
 
 Harts. Pleas'd to find you tete-a-tete with 
 my sweet Julia. Hope you have brought a pac- 
 quet of good news from Captain Sentamour 
 long to hear all about it. No time for questions 
 now. 
 
 F Mrs. H.
 
 34 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 Mrs. H. Nor any for answers it shou'd seem, 
 Mr. Hartshorn. Your tongue runs too fast for 
 the gentleman to put in a word. 
 
 Harts. Gadso I I forgot. Hav'nt intro- 
 due'd you to Mrs. Hartshorn hav'nt made you 
 known to my dear Dolly (Introduces Lindsay.} 
 Fine woman; amiahie creature; happy couple- 
 perfect sample of true nuptial felicity. 
 
 Mrs. H. Don't believe him, Mr. Lindsay. 
 He gabbles without thought. There is no con- 
 tinuity, as my first husband us'd to say, in his 
 discourse. 
 
 Sent. Pardon me, Madam, when I have such 
 evidence of your powers to make him happy, 
 why should not I believe that he is happy? 
 
 Mrs. H. Sam Hartshorn, a vord with you ! 
 -Lindsay is a very fine fellow, but take my 
 word for it he is no apothecary. 
 
 Harts. No apothecary ! Well, to be sure, you 
 have had pretty good experience in apothecaries. 
 I'll try him. Brother Doctor, I wish to have 
 your iudo-ement in the case of a certain Baronet 
 I have just now visited Patient hypochondriac, 
 pulse feeble, small, compressible, hardly to be 
 felt nerves derang'd, solids relax'd, debility 
 universal. What would you prescribe? 
 
 Sent. Oh the vengeance! To a patient in 
 that state, what wou'd I prescribe? 
 
 Harts. Yes ; that's the question What wou'd 
 you administer? 
 
 Sent,
 
 A COMEDY. 35 
 
 Sent. Grog. 
 
 Harts. Grog! thafs a dose for a boatswain. 
 What wou'cl you take yourself, or give to your 
 friend? 
 
 Sent. Good old Madeira, if I cou'd get it. 
 
 Harts. Give me your hand ! You've hit it; 
 by the powers, you have hit it. Exactly my 
 process with Sir Matthew Moribund. Good old 
 Madeira, if you cou'd get it and you shall get 
 it; so come along, for 1 have the best in Eng- 
 land, and the ladies shall partake of it. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 End of the Second Act. 
 
 f a
 
 sfi THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Sir Mathew Moribund, Mandeville, Singieton x 
 and Varniili. (An apartment in Sir Ma- 
 thew's house.) 
 
 Sir Math. Moribund. 
 lM ow, gentlemen, learn by my example to 
 cherish your genius with a generous glass, and 
 keep off the foul fiend of melancholy. 
 
 Man p. I protest, uncle, I fhou'd hardly 
 know you. It seems as if you had undergone a 
 new creation. 
 
 Sir Math. Yes, Sir, a new creation brought 
 about by an old recreation. Therefore look to 
 yourself, John; don't dream of my estate, fori 
 mean to outlive you, marry, and raise up heirs 
 to the expiring breed of the Moribunds. 
 
 Sixo. And I, who am in no such haste to be 
 married, will lie by for your widow, Sir Ma- 
 th cw. 
 
 Sir Math. You'll find that a long waiting 
 job, friend Singleton. As for you, Varnish, 
 who have youth, fortune, pleasure, at your beck; 
 make haste and enjoy them. I have heard won- 
 ders of your fair Hibernian. If you mean to snap 
 her, be quick. I am thinking to throw out my 
 hook. 
 
 Yarn.
 
 A COMEDY. S7 
 
 V411X. Your hook is not yet baited, Sir, and 
 mine is tak,en. 
 
 Mand. Are you quite sure of that? 
 
 Yarn. Are you quite sine of any thing? But 
 unless you fhou'd take a fancy to propose to her, 
 I think I may be sure. 
 
 Ma. yd. You may chance upon a much more 
 formidable rival in Captain Sentamour. 
 
 Yarn. Captain Sentamour ! Who is he? 
 
 Sing. Nay, Varnish, don't ask that question. 
 Ail the world knows him for a very brave and 
 successful sea officer. 
 
 Varn. Well, Sir, let him succeed at sea, and 
 let me triumph on the land. But since Mande- 
 ville thinks so favourably of his cause, and is so 
 warm in his support of it, I confess that if I ex- 
 perience any change in the sentiments of Julia 
 Clareviile, I shall begin to apprehend I have 
 more opponents than one to contend with. 
 
 Ma.nb. Mr. Varnish will understand, that as 
 I profess all possible esteem for Captain Senta- 
 mour, I am free to own that my good wishes will 
 be evermore in concert witli my good opinion; 
 but as I am incapable of taking unfair measures 
 in hi<. or any other man's, behalf, 1 must insist 
 upon it that none such mail be imputed to me. 
 
 Varx. Mr. Mandeville, Sir, with all possible 
 veneration for your principles, I have the honour 
 to be your most obedient humble servant. 
 
 [Exit.
 
 38 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Sir Math. John, John, why will you provoke 
 a quarrel with that petulant young man? 
 
 M and. Judge me, gentlemen, am I in fault? 
 Sir Math. No, but the fellow's an egregious 
 
 puppy- 
 
 Maxd. Then I muft wonder, uncle, why 
 you live with him. 
 
 Sir Math. Whom must I live with, Sir, if 
 not with puppies? 
 
 (Hartshorn runs in.) 
 
 Harts. Just pop in to see how we are. Oho ! 
 convalescent, come about again. That's well. 
 Visit of form glad there's no occasion for me. 
 
 Sir Math. Pardon me, my good friend, there 
 is great occasion for you. 
 
 Harts. How so ! What's the matter? let me 
 feel your pulse. 
 
 Sir Math. No, no, just now I want to feel 
 your's. In the first place, accept this for your 
 excellent Madeira. 
 
 Harts. Won't take it. Put it down in the 
 bill, Comforting cordial Overcharged already. 
 Won't be tip'd. Pestle and Mortar take no 
 tips. Leave them for the doctors. 
 
 Sir Math. But you have done me more good 
 than all the doctors, therefore I don't see why 
 you should be so disinterested. 
 
 Harts. Can't help it. Every man has his 
 
 faults Humble servant, Mr. Singleton happy 
 
 2 to
 
 A COMEDY. 3D 
 
 to see you look so well. A sign you are not 
 my patient. 
 
 Sing. Tis a sign I don't want a doctor, 
 when I am not your patient. Is your expected 
 partner Lindsay yet arrived ? 
 
 Harts. Apropos ! I have a note for you, (to 
 Mandevilk) from Mr. Lindsay. I told him I 
 Uiould see you, (gives it.) Sir Mathew, I mall 
 take my leave. You are now in right train; 
 live generously but avoid excess, and you will 
 be perfectly well. 
 
 Sir Math. My dear, dear Golden Mortar, I 
 must and will embrace you. 
 
 Harts. Have a care of my wig : Doift spoil 
 my wig. 
 
 Sir Math. Henceforward be my oracle, my 
 great Apollo ! 
 
 II arts. Yes, I serv'd some time in the 
 Apollo. Good day to you ! \E.rit. 
 
 Maxd. Uncle, I must take my leave of you. 
 
 Louisa enters as lie is goiwz out. 
 
 Louisa. Stay, Mandeville Halt ! for I have- 
 something to inform you of. 
 
 Sir Math. Ah, Lady-bird, can you find time 
 to visit an old sick relation r 
 
 Louisa. That you are old I deny ; that you 
 are sick I can't find out ; that you are my rela- 
 tion is the only excuse I can make, for visiting 
 the greatest rake upon record in all England. 
 
 Sir Math.
 
 40 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Sir Math. Fie on you, slanderer; I am no 
 rake. I am a poor easy soul, that am some- 
 times led astray by my good nature to consort 
 with rakes. 
 
 Louisa. For the purpose of reforming them. 
 
 Sir Math. Not altogether. Whilst they are 
 sober, I 6ay nothing ; when they are tipsey, 
 they won't hear me; if they are for gambling, 
 what avails my preaching ? And when they are 
 for quarrelling, it's not safe to come between 
 them. 
 
 Louisa. So much for your gentlemen rakes ; 
 but the ladies do none of these things, yet they 
 sometimes want a little of your advice, I dare 
 say. 
 
 Sir Math. And some o^ them take my ad- 
 vice. 
 
 Louisa. In what particulars? 
 
 Sir Math. For instance I have lengthened 
 their waists, deepen'd their tuckers, cover'd 
 their elbows, and burnt their wigs. 
 
 Louisa. You have burnt your fingers I be- 
 lieve, and nothing else. Now, Mandeville, for 
 you I call'd, as you desir'd me, upon Julia 
 Clarcville, and was let in. She was greatly agi- 
 tated, and had been in tears : She affected to 
 say it was in consequenee of her meeting with 
 a gentleman, who knew her father, and had 
 been talking to her about him; but I suspect 
 that coxcomb Varnish is the cause of it. 
 
 Maxd.
 
 A COMEDY. 41 
 
 Mand. I rather suspect no coxcomb is the 
 c:ausc of it, but a very brave and honourable 
 fellow, whom I have the happiness to call my 
 friend, and for whom i should suppose it very 
 natural for that )Oung lady to conceive a tender 
 sentiment. 
 
 Lou isa. A tender sentiment for the honour 
 of plain Fmjish, tell me what you mean by a 
 tender sentiment. 
 
 Mand. Love. 
 
 Louisa. Thank you. I am further off than 
 ever. Love is a puzzle I know nothing of. 
 
 Maxd. True, your acquaintance is with one 
 of the family, called Pity. 
 
 Louisa. Well, that's a tender sentiment, is 
 it not ? 
 
 Maxd. A convenient one, so long as \ ou 
 can pas-, it off in exchange for love. Counters 
 for current coin Else 1 alone have demands 
 enough upon you to break your bank. 
 
 Louisa. Iiring them in then. -Make out 
 your account ngainft me. I warrant 1 can iind 
 tif( '. is to satisfy and escape the statute. 
 
 Sir Math. Ilarkye, John; when v ou carry 
 in your account, take my Lord Archbishop's 
 licence with it, and then let's see how she'll 
 d< ei !e i>. i.we -i\ the:n. 
 
 Louusa. Oil, friglitful ! Thai, would be a 
 choice oi diit'icailics truly. 1 am verv much 
 "i'iieid lo vou, uncle Moiibund. Tor the- hint. 
 
 ( i
 
 42 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 If I copy your example, and neglect your pre- 
 cept, shan't you think I act at least as wisely as 
 my adviser. 
 
 Sir Math. No; for though I never married 
 myself, I have a great deal to say in favour of 
 the married state. 
 
 Louisa. More, 1 can believe, than if you 
 had made trial of it. 
 
 Sir Math. It matters little what I have made 
 trial of an idle, silly, dissipated blockhead as 
 T have been, and now you see what I have 
 brought myself to he a wayward, whimsi- 
 cal, windmill- headed hypocondriac this hour 
 among the tombs, the next upon the house-top : 
 a fellow well to pass, as nature made me; as I 
 made myself, intolerable, capricious as a spoil'd 
 child, and pettish as a lady's lap-dog. Marry, 
 marry, my dear children; marry, and clubyoui 
 wits to make each other happy; for, depend 
 upon it, 't is your only chance. An old bachelor 
 is the most melancholy, poor devil in creation, 
 and an old maid is 
 
 Louisa. Never mind what she is, uncle, 
 have pity upon the poor old maids, and say no 
 more upon the subject. 
 
 Raven steps in. 
 
 Hav. No, you must say no more upon the 
 subject. Your chaise is at the door, and you 
 
 must"
 
 A COMEDY. 43 
 
 must take a turn upon Lansdown, to brace your 
 nerves, and whet your appetite. 
 
 Sir Math. Who says I must do that ? 
 
 Hav. The Golden Mortar. He charged me to 
 tell you so ; he has taken your case into deep 
 consideration, and has found out that air and 
 exercise are absolutely necessary for you. 
 
 Sir Math. A notable discovery truly. 
 
 Raw Yes, and he charges nothing for it: 
 he says, moreover, you must pay down all your 
 subscriptions without loss of time, and present 
 yourself at all balls, concerts, gardens, play- 
 houses and public-places, for the good of your 
 health, and benefit of those who conduct them. 
 
 Sir Math. Hold; not so fast. One prescrip- 
 tion at a time. Louisa, will you trust yourself 
 with me upon Landsdown, or has my lecture 
 frighten'd you ? 
 
 Louisa. Xot at all ; rather amus'd me ; but 
 I hear so many recommend matrimony to 
 other.-., without venturing upon it themselves, 
 that 1 begin to think those who know least, 
 talk most, and those who know all, keep their 
 own counsel and say nothing. Now, uncle, 
 if you arc ready 1 am with you. Mandeville 
 will cither .slay at home and meditate, or take 
 his horse and follow us. Well ! why don't you 
 hand me to the carriage : Heaven help the man, 
 he looks as dull as if he had come from Doctors 
 Commons. 
 
 (i '1 Ma\ i).
 
 44 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 Man p. Ah, Louisa, Louisa ; I am dull, not 
 because I come from Doctors Commons, but 
 because I can't find my way to it. [Exeunt. 
 
 Raw O ! Once get married, and you'll find 
 your way to Doctors Commons, no doubt on't. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Scene changes to Hartshorn's house. 
 Sehtamour, Lindsay following. 
 
 Sent. Come in Lindsay! We shan't be in- 
 terrupted. Hartshorn is not at home. 
 
 Lind. Well, Sir, how docs your experiment 
 succeed? 
 
 Sent. I have just parted from Miss Clarc- 
 villc, and shou'd have put an end to my experi- 
 ment, as you call it, by discovering myseit to 
 her, but that there is a secret smctner'd in her 
 heart, that puzzles me to guess at. 
 
 Lixd. Do you suspect her of an attachment? 
 
 Sent. Certainly not to Varnish. He is en- 
 tirely out of the question. But when 1 began to 
 sound how her inclinations might be disposal 
 towards Sentamour, and what reception I, as 
 Lindsay, might encourage him to expect, her 
 repugnance was so mark'd, and her agitation so 
 evident, that 1 said no more upon the subject. 
 
 Ltnd. Permit me to observe, that I rather 
 wonder you did not instantly discover yourself 
 to her, state what you have been doing for her, 
 
 and
 
 A COMEDY. 45 
 
 and apnol to her gratitude for the preference 
 that ves you. 
 
 f - vr. Lindsay, where have you serv'd? Not 
 with me, I shou'd think, but on board some 
 Guineanriaii, wiio trades for slaves, and, so he 
 does ! l buy the body's use, cares little for the 
 feeli <js of the soul. Have we so long been. 
 shipmates, William, and don't you know me 
 better? 
 
 Ltxd. Sir, recollect you bade me call vou 
 Lindsay. If then I gave you sentiments that 
 fit that humble character, it was because I did 
 not think for you, but for myself. 
 
 Sk.vt. Enough, enough! I wou'd not hurt 
 vou, Lindsay, for the world. Prepare yourself 
 for Hartshorn. I shall give up Julia. I will be 
 no man's second in her heart. 
 
 Lixd. It is not lit you shou'd. Is she as 
 handsome as report gives out : 
 
 Si \"i. "When you ask that, I scarce know 
 v hat to answer. I never found that beauty of 
 itself was all-sufficient to enslave my heart: there- 
 fore I think it is not .Julia's beauty, but some- 
 thing more impressive that has found so sudden 
 and so deep a lodgement here- But this is 
 M'hining, lubber's language; so no more of it. 
 (iive me your hand. Don'l think of what 1 said; 
 let it pass off as my infirmity. 
 
 Lixd. O Sir, 'tis pa>t, and li.it no other 
 trace but of my faults, and \ our forgiveness of 
 them. 
 
 Si.xr.
 
 46 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 Sent. Hark! some one's at the door! Be 
 off at once. We shall soon meet again. 
 
 (Exit Lindsay, and at the same time, 
 Varnish enters to Sentamour.^ 
 
 Varn. Do you belong to this house, Sir? 
 
 Sent. For the present I do. Mr. Hartshorn 
 is not at home. What are your commands, 
 Sir ? 
 
 Varn. None for Mr. Hartshorn. My busi- 
 ness is with Miss Clarevillc. 
 
 Sent. You wish to speak with Miss Julia 
 Clarevillc ? 
 
 Varn. Precisely that and nothing else. I 
 wish to speak with Miss Julia Clarevillc; and if 
 you will be so infinitely condescending as to 
 tell her so, I shall be indebted to your polite- 
 ness. 
 
 Sent. She is at home. What name must I 
 announce you by ? 
 
 Varn. Varnish, at her service. I presume 
 you have now your lesson. Mr. Varnish de- 
 sires to speak with Miss Julia Clareville; and be 
 pleas'd to add to it with her alone. 
 
 Sent. Here comes the lady. 
 
 Varn. You will leave us. 
 
 Sent. Excuse me, Sir. In Mr. Hartshorn's 
 house I am at home. 
 
 Julia, to them. 
 
 Julia. Mr. Varnish, I am fortunate in 
 meeting you. I have some property of yours 
 
 in
 
 A COMEDY. 47 
 
 in my hand which as I have no present occasion 
 for, I must beg you will permit me to return. 
 
 Varx. Madam, I don't know what you 
 mean. 
 
 Julia. Ah now, don't deny it. You have 
 taught me to believe I am so deeply indebted to 
 you already, and money, Mr Varnish, is so suspi- 
 cious a thing to pass between a fine, rich gen- 
 tleman like you, and a poor destitute young 
 woman like me, that, for my honor's sake, I must 
 desire you in the first placeto release me from this 
 hundred pound bank bill ; and in the next place 
 let me know the extent of my obligations to 
 you, and whether all or any of those secret sup- 
 plies, which I regularly have received, and on 
 which I have of late subsisted, were, as you led 
 me to believe, actually furnish'd and supplied 
 by you. 
 
 Varx". Miss Clarcville, you will draw no such 
 declaration from me, neither mall I make an- 
 swer to anv one particular, till you tellinc who 
 this gentleman, a perfect stranger to me, is, and 
 by what right he is made a party in our con- 
 ference. 
 
 Jim a. Oh, Sir, that is soon done. The gen- 
 tleman is Mr. Lindsay, and my very particular 
 friend. Pray make no M ranger of him; he 
 knows the stiuation I am in, and the business w 
 are upon. 
 
 Vaiix". Does he so: then he will receive no 
 
 t hi ! Ik i
 
 48 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 further information from me, he may assure him- 
 self; and as for the questions you have urg'd on 
 me, you will do well to warn your promptci 
 (for I'm persuaded you have a prompter) to take 
 care I don't find him out; for if I shoifd 
 
 Sent. What will you do to him? 
 
 Vaux. Treat him as his impertinence de- 
 serves. Let it be known to you, Sir, (since you 
 are so curious to enquire) I will suffer no under- 
 hand intermeddlers to escape with impunity. 
 
 Sen t. Indeed ! 
 
 Yarn. Make yourself certain of that. I 
 have declared myself the admirer of this lady ; 
 my pretensions cannot subject me to a refusal, 
 my spirit will not bear an insult; my honour 
 will not truckle to a rival. Therefore I let 
 you knov, (and you may govern yourself ac- 
 cordingly), no man living, least of all Captain 
 Sentamour, shall venture to address Miss Clare - 
 ville without accounting" to me for his pre- 
 sumption. 
 
 Sent. Now, I should make no account of 
 all those menaces, if I were worthy to address 
 that ladv. 
 
 Var.v. I admit your unworthincss, and you 
 are indebted to it for your protection. 
 
 Sent. Hold, Sir! I bar all conclusions of 
 that insulting sort. I maybe, as lam, unworthy 
 of i\L Clareville, and yet in no respecL inferior 
 to Mr. Varnish. 
 
 Vaux.
 
 A COMEDY. 49 
 
 Vary. Who are you then, and what? 
 
 Sent. The prompter, whom you threaten so 
 severe!}-. To spare you the trouble of seeking 
 me out, I present myself to you. 
 
 Julia. Gentlemen, gentlemen! for heaven's 
 sweet sake 
 
 Varx. Don't he alarmed, Madam ; where 
 you are present, the prompter is not seen. 
 
 Sent. Hear me, however; for I now speak 
 to you on the part of Captain Sentamour, and 
 require you to renounce all claim upon the gra- 
 titude of this young lady on account of those 
 assum'd benefactions, not one doit of which 
 came from you, but every one from Sentamour, 
 as this deed of gift under his hand and seal will 
 testify. There it is, Sir : the evidence is con- 
 clusive ; and now what right have you to say, 
 that no man living, least of all Captain Sent- 
 amour, shall address this lady without account- 
 ing to you for his presumption? 
 
 Yaks'. You will attend to the lady, Sir, who, 
 I perceive, is under some degree of trepidation, 
 for which, as far as it nut}' have a reference to 
 mv sensibility as to what you have been saying, 
 there is not the slightest occasion. 1 lie urbanity 
 of you! manners, the natural case and familiar 
 turn of your conversation, so forcibly impress 
 me with the desire of knowing you better, that 
 T shall seize the very earliest opportunity of 
 inviting you to u renewal of our acquaintance, 
 
 II and
 
 50 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 and of atoning to myself for the very short 
 leave I am now constrain d to take of you 
 for a time, and of Miss Julia Clareville for 
 
 ever. [Exit. 
 
 Sentamour and Julia. 
 
 Sent. My dear Miss Clareville, what are 
 you alarm'd at ? 
 
 Julia. At your danger. I am sure that man 
 has mischief in his heait. Have no more to do 
 with him. He is a terrible man. 
 
 Sent. Fear nothing ; I have a way of dealing 
 with terrible men, that is apt to make them 
 very tame. 
 
 Julia. Why deal with him at all? 'Tis Cap- 
 tain Sentamour's affair, and he is absent. 
 
 Sent. That he cannot be whilst I am pre- 
 sent. 
 
 Julia. True; you are his friend. I never 
 saw him. 
 
 Sent. Never? 
 
 Julia. Never, to my knowledge. 
 
 Sent. Rm-ht! To your knowledge you have 
 never seen him ; but you'll receive this token 
 by my hands, (gives the Deed.) 
 
 J u li a. Alas ! alas ! that I must live on gifts ! 
 
 Sent. Miscal it not a gift ; accept it as the 
 legacy of your father, and consider Sentamour 
 not as the bestower of a bounty, but the exe- 
 cutor of a trust. 
 
 Julia.
 
 A COMEDY. 51 
 
 Julia. May his benevolence be his reward? 
 May Heaven shower down it's blessings on his 
 head; may victory crown him, and protecting 
 angels shield him from danger, wheresoe'er he 
 goes ! He has my prayers. I have nothing else 
 to offer. 
 
 Sent. He founds no claims upon you, im- 
 poses no restraints. Sentamour disdains the 
 thought. Eeauty like yours must needs at- 
 tract admirers If amongst these there is a 
 favoured and a happy lover 
 
 Julia. If there is, Mr. Lindsay if there is 
 a luckless prepossession at my heart 
 
 Sent. What then ; what then ? 
 
 Julia. You are the last man living that shall 
 know it. 
 
 Sext. Why so? What have I done? And 
 why am I so pointedly excluded from your con- 
 fidence ? 
 
 Julia. Ijecause Dear me ! because Can't 
 you guess the reason ? 
 
 Sent. Indeed I cannot ; at least I won't at- 
 tempt it. Come, lovely, but mysterious tanta- 
 lizer, tell me the man at once. I'll not lictray 
 you, and I pledge myself that Captain Senta- 
 mour shall not oppose your inclinations. 
 
 Julia. Xow then 1 understand you II', un- 
 fortunately for my repose, I may have ii\t my 
 affections otherwise than my father wi.>h'd and 
 recommended, you will pledge yourself for 
 u 'J Captain
 
 ot THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Captain Sentamour, that he shall not oppose 
 them. 
 
 Sent. I will. 
 
 Julia. Very good. So much for your friend 
 for yourself, T understand you will be my 
 advocate with him for setting me at liberty ; 
 you, like Captain Sentamour, wish me to fol- 
 low, where my inclinations would lead me, and 
 without any remonstrance as to the object of 
 my choice, wave all opposition to the freedom 
 of it. Now, then, to your question, if there is a 
 favourd lover ; I answer you at once, and 
 peremptorily There is not. Unknown as Cap- 
 tain Sentamour is by me, I have no remarks to 
 make upon his motives for releasing me ; but 
 when you, whom I do know, can be so accom- 
 modating to my caprices, so ready to subscribe 
 to my entire emancipation, I have only to thank 
 you for the offer of your services, but am per- 
 fectly determin'd never to resort to them. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Sent. There spoke the daughter of my gal- 
 lant friend ! This open display of her character 
 cannot be mistaken. This interesting discovery 
 I owe to my disguise. Now, if I lose her, I am 
 of all most wretched. [Exit. 
 
 End of the Third Act.
 
 A COMEDY 5s 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Hartshorn and Mrs. Hartshorn. 
 
 Hartshorn. 
 
 All this is well; all this is as it should be. 
 Didn't I tell Lindsay we Mere the happiest 
 couple in creation, and behold we are so ! Good 
 humour is a blessed thing; Good humour in a 
 wife, my dear Dolly, is like gold leaf upon a 
 pill; it docs not alter the dose, but it makes it 
 go down. 
 
 Mrs. H. Very true, my dear Sam; very well 
 compar'd. And when I see a smile upon nw 
 husband's face, as I do now, it seems to me like 
 sunshine in a prison; it does not set me free, 
 but it makes confinement bearable. 
 
 Harts. You are right; it does all that; and 
 1 shall always smile whilst you look kind. 
 
 Mrs. II. Tis your own fault whenever I look 
 otherwise. 
 
 Harts. Not always, Dolly. 
 
 Mrs. IT. Always, Mr. Hartshorn. 
 
 Ha ins. Come, come, lambkin, there are 
 faults on both sides ; bul we'll not talk of faults: 
 we will forget I hem. 
 
 Mrs. H. But you do talk of faults : aye, and 
 
 \ el!
 
 54 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 you commit so many, 'tis impossible to forget 
 them. 
 
 Harts. What faults have I committed juft 
 110 w ? You have such a gentle way of bringing 
 them to my recollection, I mall not be sorry to 
 be told of them. 
 
 Mrs. H. Look at your pretended partner Lind- 
 say. What do you know of him? What does 
 he know of his business? Have you ever ex- 
 amin'd him? Not you. Are you sure he is 
 what he pretends to be? I much doubt it. Not 
 one feature of the Apothecary can I see in his 
 face, not one trace of the Hospital in his conver- 
 sation and appearance. 
 
 Harts. What then do you take him to be? 
 
 Mrs. II. A very handsome fellow he certainly 
 is ; and without any compliment to his under- 
 standing, I take him to be very capable of out- 
 witting you, and making off with your modest 
 and immaculate Miss Julia. lie is much more 
 likely to be her partner than yours. 
 
 Harts. Say no more; 1*11 be up to him. 
 Outwit me indeed! No, no, he'll not do that. 
 Mum ! not another word. 
 
 Sentamour enters. 
 
 Glad to see you, brother Doctor ; glad to see 
 
 you. Dolly, my love, my life, we are upon 
 
 business. {Exit Mrs. Hartshorn.) There ! do 
 
 you see that? A word, a look, amotion of my 
 
 8 eye
 
 A COMEDY. 65 
 
 eye does it. Docile and obedient as a tame she 
 bear. Now to business. I can assure you Mr. 
 Lindsay, my expectations are rais'd very high 
 by the terms in which Captain Sentamour and 
 others have reported you to me. I flatter myself 
 I shall not be disappointed. 
 
 Sext. I am vain enough to think you Mill 
 not. 
 
 Harts. Very good, very good. A little self- 
 confidence in our way is not ami.ss but to the 
 point. My practice, Mr. Lindsay, you observe, 
 comprises all the three branches, Surgery, Phar- 
 macy, and the Obstetric Department: In the 
 two former well establish'd fall employment; 
 in the latter, rising, growing, mending every dav 
 Now there it is, brother Lindsay, there it is that 
 I muft look to you. When ladies cry out, it is 
 but fit and right the young and able should at- 
 tend the call, and take that duly from the old 
 and feeble. 
 
 Sext. Wit!) reason, Mr. Hartshorn, and they 
 commonly do. 
 
 IIakts. Good; very good again. Then you'll 
 turn out, when Obadiah comes full lilt upon the 
 coach-horse, and Til keep snug the- whilst. 
 
 Sext. Yes, I'll turn out if 1 hear him ; but I 
 am us'd to sleep iu a ship. Noises don't easily 
 waken me. 
 
 Hants. Xol such noises perhaps as you are 
 iii'd to in a ship ; but there are some that I am 
 
 u> (i
 
 56 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 us'd to in this house will do it effectually, if 
 others fail. You are handy enough no doubt 
 in mixing up medicines, labelling phials, rolling 
 up pills, construing prescriptions, weighing out 
 drugs, and infusing them in their proper 
 vehicles. 
 
 Sent. O yes, all that is very easy. 
 
 Harts. I am glad you find it so : I can't 
 say I always do. Of chemicals and galenicals 
 1 need not speak diffusely. 
 
 Sent. You need not speak a word about 
 them. We'll agree to pass them over. 
 
 Harts. We'll agree to no such thing. Pass 
 them over indeed i I hope you understand 
 their several powers, properties, and proportions ; 
 their compositions and decompositions, acids 
 and alcalies, bracers and relaxers, quickeners 
 and quieters, Ionics and ante-tonics 
 
 Sent. Understand them all What is an 
 apothecary that does not ? 
 
 Harts. What is he : Why, he is what many 
 apothecaries arc ; what I have been, and what I 
 am now puzzled. 
 
 Sent. I perceive it ; instead of puzzling 
 me, brother Hartshorn, you have puzzled your- 
 self. 
 
 Harts. I)- -ee, if I know whereabouts you 
 are. Apothecary, or no apothecary will you 
 turn out, and take the round of the patients with 
 this afternoon r 
 
 Sent.
 
 A COMEDY. .57 
 
 Sext. As I can be of no manner of service 
 to you or to them, I had rather be excus'd. 
 
 Harts. You had rather be excus'd! What 
 the pestilence did you come here for? 
 
 Sext. For an experiment. 
 
 Harts. I'm oblig'd to you You came for 
 an experiment ! Be so good to try the experi- 
 ment of going away again. 
 
 Sent. Bear with me a little longer, and I will 
 give you perfect satisfaction. 
 
 Harts. Give me the satisfaction of getting 
 rid of you. If you will not go out and visit 
 the patients, go out and visit where you like, 
 only don't let me be favoured with your com- 
 pany any longer. 
 
 Sent. If I were Sentamour, wou'd you say 
 this ': 
 
 Harts. Xo, d ee, no! To Sentamour my 
 aims are open'd thus, as wide as I can stretch 
 them To Sentamour I say Here is my heart, 
 command il ; it is yours ! 
 
 Sf.nt. I take you at vour word, for I am 
 Sentamour. Forgive me, my dear fellow. I was 
 anxious to know the real character of Julia. I 
 v. i.dfd to see her under no restraint, and sound 
 l he secret, feelings of her heait. I borrow d 
 Lindsay's name, not in the hope I eou'd impose 
 oil your sagacity, but as a cover only tor the 
 moment, t ill I eou'd find how her affections stood, 
 and w here thev pointed. 
 
 I JIucis.
 
 58 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER : 
 
 Harts. Stop there, and tell me M'hether those 
 supplies, which have subsisted her, were your's 
 or not. 
 
 Sent. All mine, and Varnish is dismiss'd 
 for ever. 
 
 Harts. There, there ! I said it. Now my 
 word comes true. Varnish has kick'd me out 
 of his employ. Now I'll take in his bill, return 
 his visit, and civilly congratulate him on his 
 disgrace. 
 
 Sent. 'Tis dangerous playing with edg'd- 
 tools, my friend. Take care of Varnish. Above 
 all, remember that I am Lindsay still ; there yet 
 remains one conference more with Julia, 'ere I 
 drop the mask, and resume my proper person. 
 Will you consent to this, and keep the secret ? 
 
 Harts. Yes, and because my Dolly bears me 
 out that you are no apothecary, I'll go and 
 swear you are the very best that ever grasp'd a 
 pestle. [Exeunt. 
 
 An apartment in Louisa's house. 
 
 Louisa and Julia. 
 
 Louisa. Come, my dear Julia, lay aside re- 
 serve. Let me have no apologies. My time is 
 perfectly at your command : My heart is warmly 
 interested in your happiness, and to render you 
 any service wou'd afford me the sincerest plea- 
 sure, 
 
 Julia,
 
 A COMEDY. 59 
 
 Julia. Ah, that is kind indeed! I feel your 
 goodness ; but as you cannot mitigate my sor- 
 rows, why shou'd I trouble you with the recital 
 of them ? 
 
 Louisa. I can t ondole with you at least, and 
 that is in some slight decree a comfort. 
 
 Julia. My story is soon told. My dying 
 father bequeathed me to the protection of Captain 
 Sentamour Nay more, he breath'd his life out 
 in a prayer, that Providence wou'd so dispose 
 our fate, as might unite us heart and hand for 
 life. 
 
 Louisa. Well! what prevents it .? 
 
 Julia. On the part of Sentamour nothing 
 has been omitted. I have subsisted, and do 
 still subsist, upon his bounty But I never saw 
 him 
 
 Louisa. And you have seen Lindsay Is it 
 not so ? 
 
 Julia. Yes, it is so. 
 
 Louisa, Well ! Lindsay is the friend of Sen- 
 tamour, his advocate ; and pleads so movingly, 
 that your soft heart is melted by his suit Am I 
 not right? 
 
 Julia. Oh yes, you are very right. 
 
 Louisa. And you are very much in love, my 
 dear, or I am very wrong. 
 
 Julia. Ah now, don't say so. What a sho< '. 
 ing creature must I appear to you, ii' that w r 
 true ! 
 
 I 2 Louis v
 
 60 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Louisa. Unfortunate perhaps, not shocking. 
 
 Julia. Ingrateful, base, unnatural! What 
 right have I, who live upon the bounty of Sen- 
 tamour, to think of any else ? What wou'd my 
 father say, were he alive ? 
 
 Louisa. Love little cares what living- fathers 
 say, or dead one's dictate in their parting hours- 
 Love turns the benefactor from the door, and 
 lets in the betrayer : so high Love holds his own 
 supremacy, that he makes every passion own his 
 powers. 
 
 Julia. Heavens ! what a horrid picture do 
 you paint of my incurable and desperate case! 
 
 Louisa. No, no, your case is not quite despe- 
 rate. Love, like the viper, carries its own cure. 
 Time will draw out the venom from your wound; 
 but 'tis a tedious process. There is a quicker 
 remedy in your reach. 
 
 Julia. Aye! what is that ? 
 
 Louisa. Marriage an authoriz'd and sove- 
 reign remedy all other practice is but quackery 
 and dangerous dabbling with the constitution. 
 
 Enter Mandeville, Scntumour folloza??g. 
 
 Well ! why do you come here ? what do you 
 want with me ? 
 
 Man p. Nay, I don't know. I come here 
 I believe only because I can't help it . 
 
 Louisa. Who is this gentleman? 
 
 Mand.
 
 A COMEDY. 61 
 
 Maxd. Mr. Lindsay, a particular friend of 
 mine. Give me leave to present him to you. ' 
 
 (Presents him.) 
 
 Louisa. You have been one of England 
 some time, Mr. Lindsay. 
 
 Sj;\"j\ Some years, Madam. 
 
 Louisa. And with Captain Sentamour all 
 the time ? 
 
 Sent. "We have never been separated. 
 
 Louisa. So I understand from Mandevillc 
 and is the Captain coming to Bath ? 
 
 Sent. Xot coming. 
 
 Louisa. Humph! I understand he has been 
 very successful. 
 
 Sent. He has avail'd himself of some lucky 
 opportunities. 
 
 Louisa. And some that might be lucky, I 
 perceive, he overlooks. He may have taken 
 prizes enough to make his fortune; there is yet 
 one wanting to complete his happiness. 
 
 Si n t t. I am perfectly of your opinion, 
 Madam. 
 
 Louisa. I perfectly believe you. Nobody 
 can live in the near contemplation of such 
 charms, and be insensible to their influence. 
 
 Si'nt. (aside) Mandcville, for heaven's sake 
 bring me off. 
 
 .Man u. Come, Louisa, vou must release this 
 lady and gentleman : I believe they are cn- 
 trae-'d. 
 
 Lou ISA.
 
 <32 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Louisa. And so agreeably engag'd, it would 
 be cruel to detain them. Adieu, my dear Julia, 
 a good walk to you : shall I wait upon you 
 down the stairs ? 
 
 Julia. Oh, by no means. Mr. Lindsay will 
 take care of me. 
 
 [Exeunt Julia and Sentamour. 
 
 Louisa. " Mr. Lindsay will take care of 
 me !" Yes, excellent care such care as a hawk 
 takes of a dove, or an alderman of a turtle. 
 Lord help us, us poor women out of love, say I ! 
 Soft, simple, silly souls as we are, it makes dread- 
 ful havoc with our slender wits. 
 
 Mand. Ah Louisa, Louisa ! I doubt much if 
 it will ever get into your heart, or mount up to 
 your head. O'my conscience I believe you 
 know no more of love than I do of theSanchrite 
 language. 
 
 Louisa. How should I, when nobody is at 
 the pains to teach me, and I can't acquire it by 
 inspiration ? I have been flatter'd by the men 
 that is not love : envied and abused by the 
 women that is not flattery. I should laugh at 
 the coxcomb, who prais'd my beauty; I should 
 despise the booby, who complimented me for 
 my wit. I Mould be treated by the world as if 
 I had common sense ; nobody does that, there- 
 fore I treat every body as they treat me; and 
 because I generally lind fair appearances to 
 
 be
 
 A COMEDY. cs 
 
 be false upon trial, I get the character of a 
 jilt and a coquette but this is an old story, 
 and I am tird of it. I'll sing you a Song. 
 
 SON G. (Louisa.) 
 
 Tell me, tell me truly, gentle cousin John, 
 
 He is blind, but you can see, 
 Where is little Cupid flown ? 
 Let him Jly, but not to me 
 When that nicked brat is gone, 
 Then good-morrow, con. si?/, cousin John, 
 
 Love has bow and arrows, gentle cousin John. 
 
 Should he aim a shaft at you, 
 Arrows mortal ever// one ; 
 
 That same shaft may wound me too. 
 J Then that cruel deed is done, 
 1 hen good evening cousin, cousin John. 
 
 Love has chains and fetters, gentle cousin John, 
 
 IIy>?ie?i is a cruel knave, 
 Tor he puts those fetters on ; 
 
 Makes his best of friends his slave. 
 I'arewel love when this is done ; 
 Then good night dear const//, cousin John. 
 
 ]\Jam>.
 
 6-t THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 Mand. Let me prevail with you this once 
 to have patience to listen to me, and charity 
 not to laugh at me. I would fain say a few 
 
 words to you just now about a poor awkward 
 honest fellow of your acquaintance 
 
 Louisa. Meaning yourself say on ! 
 
 Mand. I shall make a blundering business 
 of it, for I am not eloquent, and if once you 
 put me down, there's an end of me. I shall 
 never rally. 
 
 Louisa. Well: anything: to accommodate 
 you. Let me see. Can't I contrive to carry 
 on a discourse with you, and not speak a word? 
 
 Mand. How can that be done? 
 
 Louisa. For instance When you put a 
 question, or advance a sentiment, and I nod, 
 it means yes 
 
 j\Iaxd. Very good. 
 
 Louisa. When 1 shake my head, it means 
 no. 
 
 Mand. Yes; but nothing is so ugly as a 
 shaking head. 
 
 Louisa. Well then, when I do neither one 
 nor the other, it means nothing. 
 
 3,1 a \ d. Agreed ! and now to put your tokens 
 to the test Louisa, charming, captivating 
 Louisa ! J )o you not perceive I am irrecoverably 
 in love with your (nods) Very good; that 
 means, yes. You have found out I am in love 
 with you. Once more Ilav'nt you found out 
 5 also
 
 A COMEDY. 65 
 
 also I am a very silly fellow for my pains? 
 (Shakes her head.) Better still ; that means, 
 no. I am not a silly fellow for being in love 
 with you Then what prevents me from pro- 
 posing to you? (Does neither.) Why that is 
 best of all, for that means nothing. Nothing 
 prevents my absolutely proposing. Now then 
 for the important, the conclusive question 
 If I propose, will you consent ? Death to my 
 hopes! (Shakes her head.) You Mill not con- 
 sent. Have you no pity for the man that loves 
 you? Have you so long known me, Louisa, and 
 can you now renounce me? 
 
 Louisa. Can I renounce the world, audits 
 allurements ? that is the question. 
 
 Maxd. No, no; renounce it! Live, and 
 be still its grace and ornament. 
 
 Louisa. That is a lover's, not a husband's 
 speech. I must dismiss my follies, and be wise. 
 How long do yon thin]; t'will take to work 
 that change- At least a twelvemonth? 
 
 M \nd. I shan't live out hair" the time. 
 
 Sir Mathew enters. 
 
 Sir Math. What are you talking of? Von 
 won't live out hall" the day, lor Varnish sweai 
 vengeance agains! you for driving him out oi 
 
 !,' Julia
 
 66 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 Julia Clareville's good graces, only because you 
 want to gain her to yourself. 
 
 Louisa. That is a gross falsehood, and I can 
 give proof positive to the contrary. 
 
 Sir Math. What proof? Assertions are no 
 proofs. "Words will not pass. Every body be* 
 lieves he is making court to Julia: The whole 
 place has it that you have positively refus'd 
 him. 
 
 Louisa. The whole place is mistaken: I 
 have done no such thing ; and you may tell that 
 fellow Varnish, if he dares to propagate such 
 calumnies against me, I will confute him, and 
 bring him to public shame, by marrying Mande- 
 ville to-morrow. 
 
 Sir Math. There, there, John Mandeville, 
 do you hear that? If you don't run mad for joy, 
 it can only be, because you have no senses to 
 lose. 
 
 Lot; isa. Hold! not so fast. Poift start 
 false premises and then draw rash conclusions. 
 You have trap'd me into a sort of a promise, 
 which I am neither equitably bound to fulfil, 
 nor spitefully determined to revoke. In the 
 first place Mandeville is to wait a whole twelve- 
 month, till I am completely metamorphos'd 
 into a good kind of body, and thoroughly re- 
 conciTd to live in his execrable old castle in 
 Glamorganshire That will take six months at 
 least. 
 
 Maxd.
 
 A COMED Y. G7 
 
 Hand. I'll pull it down, and build anew one 
 in half" the time. 
 
 Louisa. No, you must not touch it. I shall 
 be very fond of it when I have got other castles 
 out of my head. I must have six months 
 more to learn all the elegant and ornamental 
 arts. 
 
 Maxd. You have them all: You possess 
 every one of them You are elegance itself. 
 
 Louisa. Not a grain of it. I know nothing 
 of the elegant oeconomy of a chicken-yard or 
 a dairy : of the ornamental art of making pyes 
 and puddings I am profoundly ignorant. I 
 have not yet familiariz'd myself to the pleasant 
 odour of tobacco, and not a single move at 
 backgammon do I know, so help me truth. 
 
 Maxo. Pooh, pooh, Louisa, now you are 
 turning every thing to joke and ridicule. 
 
 Louisa. It is no joke let me tell you. What 
 am I to do with the Parson ? How am I to 
 entertain the Exciseman, and recommend my- 
 self to the Natives? All these things, and a 
 hundred others, noL forgetting my abhorrence 
 of Welch ale and toasted cheese, can't he got 
 over in less than a twelvemonth Can they, 
 uncle ? 
 
 Sir Math. In something less, according to 
 my calculation : 
 
 Louisa. What is your calculation? 
 
 Sir Math. Come home with me, Louisa, and 
 k u I m ill
 
 68 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 I will shew it you delineated to the life. In 
 the fore-ground there is an honest virtuous 
 husband In the middle space a smiling scene 
 of peace and plenty And, in the back ground, 
 an enchanting groupe of blooming cherubs, 
 your posterity, in long and indeterminate per- 
 spective. 
 
 Louisa. A family-piece I perceive. 
 
 Sir Math. It is a family piece, and you must 
 beware how you look at it with an eye of 
 ridicule ; for that, like the camera obscura, 
 turns every thing upside down. 
 
 Louisa. Never fear; we will be very seri- 
 ous. Mandeville, this family-piece will be a 
 most valuable ornament to your old castle. 
 You must take care to hang it in a good 
 light. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Varnish, followed by a Servant. 
 
 Seuv. Mr. Hartshorn the apothecary is wait- 
 ing, Sir, and desires to speak with you. 
 
 Vaihst. What does he want with me? Bid 
 him leave his bill, and be gone; I have nothing 
 more to do with him Stop ! where are you go- 
 ing? Tell him to come up. (Exit Servant.) He 
 must have some commission for this visit some 
 overture perhaps from Julia Clareville, who 
 may have seen her folly and repented.
 
 A COMEDY. 69 
 
 (Hartshorn otters.) 
 
 Harts. Humble servant, Mr. Varnis b, 
 
 Varx. Your most obedient, Air. Hartshorn! 
 To what happy chance am I indebted for the 
 honor of this visit? 
 
 Harts. I understand you call'd at my house 
 when I was from home. Having- ceas'd my 
 visits to you as a patient, I did not quite expect 
 you would return them to me as an apothecary. 
 Beg to know your commands. 
 
 Varx. None for you Mr. Hartshorn, none 
 in life. Your door stood open, and I turned into 
 your house. 
 
 Harts. There are many gentlemen welcome 
 to turn into my house, as often they see fit : 
 there are others in the world as welcome to turn 
 out of it. 
 
 Varx. I understand you, Sir. All dealings 
 between you and me are at an end. 
 
 Harts. Entirely, and I flatter myself I can 
 say you are the first living patient that ever put 
 me out of your employ. Some indeed have 
 taken leave of me for a very natural reason, and 
 the rest have still a kindness for the Golden 
 Mortar. I had the honor of being of some ser- 
 vice to you, and carrying von through a dan- 
 gerous attack. I never eharg"d vou even the 
 fraction of a pill or potion, that I did not send in, 
 
 1 1 1 1 s t i n or
 
 70 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 trusting it might do you good, if you took it 
 and very sure it could not do you harm if you 
 did not take it. 
 
 Vabn. I have no fault to find with you as 
 an apothecary. It is when you step out of that 
 character, and instil evil thoughts of me into 
 Julia Clareville, that I have just reason to com- 
 plain of you, and consider your interference as 
 officious and impertinent. 
 
 Harts. Gall it what you will, you can't deny 
 that it was honest. 
 
 Varx. And if you had not been what you 
 are, when I overheard you warning her against 
 me, I should have treated you as you deserve. 
 
 Harts. Treat every man as he deserves, and 
 what would have been your situation, when you 
 was detected in taking credit for benefactions 
 you never had beftow'd ? 
 
 Vakn. Intolerable insolence ! must I bear 
 such language from an apothecary ? 
 
 Harts. Can you justify such conduct as a 
 gentleman ? If you had kept to your character, 
 I had not gone out of mine. If you had been 
 as careful of your honor, as I have been of your 
 health, you wou'd never have heard this lan- 
 guage from an apothecary. 
 
 Yarn. Who waits? (Servant enters) Turn 
 that insolent fellow out of my doors (Servant 
 makes an offer) 
 
 Hart. Have a care, friend, what you do. I 
 
 don't
 
 A COMEDY. 71 
 
 don't mean to be turn'd out either by you or 
 your mafter. If you attempt to lay hands upon 
 me, I ihall lay my cane upon you, and probably 
 make a worse crack in your scull than I shall 
 be able to cure, (Servant draws back) There, Sir, 
 your servant prudently declines the attempt ; 
 will you be pleas'd to undertake it yourself? 
 
 Varx. No, Sir ; if I must be concern'd with 
 the firm of the Golden Mortar, I shall take out 
 your partner Lindsay, who has at least the ap- 
 pearance of a gentleman, and treat you, as I 
 ever have done, with indifference and contempt. 
 Now will you be pleas'd to walk quietly out of 
 my house ? 
 
 Harts. As quietly as you can desire; only 
 remember, Mr. Varnish, that a man, who has 
 fac'd the perils of the sea, and the cannon of 
 the enemy, is not to be frighted by a few windy 
 words ; for tho' I put a Mortar on my door, 
 with Surgeon, Apothecary, and Man-midwife 
 under it, I write Gentleman over all, and will 
 not be treated with contempt. So, now I am 
 off, and that you may know where to find me, 
 here's my bill Pay it at your leisure. [Exit. 
 Vahv. Insolent savage! Take up his dirty 
 bill, and follow me. [Exit, uitli Servant 
 
 End of Ac: the Fourth.
 
 7* THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Sir Mathew and Raven. 
 
 Sir Mathew. 
 Raven, I am going to talk to you more like 
 a friend than a master. 
 
 Rav. I'm glad of it. I hope it won't be all 
 talk, and nothing- else. 
 
 Sir Math. I am this day made the happiest 
 fellow in existence. Mandeville is to be married 
 to Louisa Davenant. 
 
 Rav. And why does that make you so happy? 
 
 Sir Math. Because if he had not taken a wife. 
 I must. 
 
 Rav. You have had an escape. 
 
 Sir Math. 1 have been making my will, and 
 settling my estate. 
 
 Rav. Very proper. He may have heirs and 
 keep it in the family. 
 
 Sir Math. And because you are an idle, good- 
 for-nothing scape-grace, whom I have spoifd, 
 and nobody after me will endure, I have hook'd 
 you into a small nook of my will, and left you 
 a wherewithal when I am gone. 
 
 Rav. Aye, Sir; when you are gone. Heaven 
 
 knows I shall wan! a. wherewithal to comfort 
 
 i me
 
 A COMEDY. 73 
 
 .me; but pray don't be in any hurry to go on my 
 account; and above all, don't stint yourself in 
 your legacy, as supposing I have sav'd any 
 money in your service. No, Sir, I have copied 
 your example in most things. You liv'd well, 
 and spent your income; so did I, and spent my 
 earnings. You lov'd wine and women; I had 
 no disiike to either. You was a little given to 
 quarelling, turn'd out in three duels, and was 
 whip"! thro' the small guts in the last; I fought 
 my way thro' the whole Free ami Lay Club, 
 and was kick'd down stairs with two broken 
 ribs at the concluding battle. 
 
 Sir Math. Reprobate! Don't boast of your 
 enormities, and then say you copied them from 
 me. 
 
 Raw I wish I had copied you a little closer; 
 you have liv'd single; I married. 
 
 Sir Math. Well, Sirrah, I am going to re- 
 form ; copy me in that. I shall pass the remain- 
 der of my days with my nephew John in Gla- 
 morganshire, repose myself in the veinnble 
 mansion of my ancestors, lead a quiet moral life, 
 and emulate the simplicity of their manners. 
 Leave me. [Kill Raven. 
 
 Louisa mid Mandeville enter. 
 Louisa. Ah my dear uncle, it is all ovcrwilh 
 me if you don't stand my friend. This man will 
 hear no reason. I have abuud him eleven 
 
 L months
 
 74 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 months out of the twelve, and now he wants vac 
 to give up the poor little honey moon, which I 
 have reserv'd to mj'self before marriage, as a 
 qualifier for all the vinegar moons that will fol- 
 low after it: Is that fair? 
 
 Sir Math. Perfectly otherwise, and I advise 
 you not to give up an atom of your right, un- 
 less you are disposed to do it as your own free 
 gift. 
 
 Louisa. I don't believe I shall be so dispos'd, 
 hut I won't be positive, and put him out of all 
 hope. I'll consider of it. 
 
 Sir Math. Do so, my dear; 'tis as much as 
 he can expect. 
 
 Louisa, lie knows how I hate noise and 
 hustle, and a fuss about things of small con- 
 sequence; therefore I bar all bell-ringers, bawl- 
 ing flower- women, city music, and the intoler- 
 able din of marrow- bones and cleavers : I de- 
 nounce all while cockades, wedding favours, 
 and surfeiting plumb- cake: If he ventures to 
 present himself to me upon the fatal day in a 
 new glossy suit of bottle-green, and a staring- 
 tuft of hair, cockatoo fashion, on the crown of 
 his head, I'll swear the peace against him 
 but if all things are done silently and quietly, 
 then perhaps 
 
 Mand. What then? 
 
 Louisa. Why then perhaps they can't he 
 
 done too quickly So here's mv hand in pledge 
 
 - of
 
 A COMEDY. 75 
 
 of faith, in token of affection. From this mo- 
 ment, M anile vi lie, I am yours for life; on you 
 I will depend. When the church has join'd us, 
 let the chaise take us orrj and the castle take 
 ns in. 
 
 Maxd. Oh! my soul's better part ; myjov, 
 my blessing ! 
 
 Louisa. Hold, hold, hold! No raptures, if 
 you please. Order yourself quietly, and give 
 me no fine names till I have deserved them. 
 
 Servant enters. 
 
 Slrv. Mr. Varnish desires leave to speak 
 with you in private. 
 
 Louisa. Let Varnish have his conference, 
 and we will take our walk. I have prom is 'd 
 myself to poor lovesick Julia, and have Man- 
 deville's permission to impart to her a secret, 
 oil the discovery of which her happiness de- 
 pends. [ live u tit Louisa and Mandeville. 
 
 Sir Math. Tell Mr. Varnish I am at his 
 
 vice. ( Kik Servant) This coxcomb either has 
 
 .some project in his head, or fome quarrel on his 
 
 hands, I am illdifpofed to help him on with either. 
 
 Varnish enters. 
 
 Vakn'. Sir Mathew Moribund, I resort to 
 yo . : . to a gentleman, whose friendship I have 
 long experienced, and whose courage no man 
 ever doubted, i am just now in that predica- 
 ment, in which you, Sir, more than once have 
 i. r z found
 
 7G THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER* 
 
 found yourself, and applied no doubt to your 
 friends for assistance, as I am now compelled to 
 do to mine. 
 
 Sir Math. An affair of honour, I presume ; in 
 plainer words a duel. 
 Varn. Precisely that. 
 Sir Math. I'm sorry for it. 
 Varx. With an obscure fellow, I confess 
 by profession, a surgeon by name, Lindsay 
 I have call'd him out to atone for his scurrility 
 he has promis'd himself to the meeting. It is 
 now drawing near to the hour, and I am unpro- 
 vided with a second. 
 
 Sir Math. Perhaps \ ou look to me for that 
 office. 
 
 Varn. To whom can I so worthily entrust 
 mv honour and my life ? 
 
 Sir Math. I must absolutely decline it. I am 
 past the age of chivalry. One mistake 1 lose 
 no time to set you right in : The gentleman 
 you conceive to be a surgeon, and describe as 
 an obscure fellow, is an officer high in character; 
 his name is not Lindsay; it is Stntamour. 
 Varn. Sir, are you sure of this ? 
 Sir Math. There is no doubt; and whatever 
 may have been his reasons hitherto for conceal- 
 ing himself, I am persuaded he will not meet 
 you under any other name or character than his 
 true one. Now, Sir, let me counsel you to re- 
 collect yourself in time, and in that case, if you 
 will accept of me as your mediator, a mutual 
 
 explanation.
 
 A COMEDY. 77 
 
 explanation may do every thing away, and I 
 will most readily undertake it. 
 
 Varn. Sir Mathew, I comprehend both the 
 letter and the spirit of your proposal. The 
 letter, give me leave to say, does not exactly 
 apply to my case; and the spirit, under favour, 
 does by no means meet my expectations. I have 
 the honour to wish you a good dav. 
 
 Sir Math, Who waits? Attend upon Mr. 
 Varnish. [E.veuut, 
 
 SCENE II A Grove, 
 Si nt am or r and Lindsay. 
 
 Sent. 'Tis not a pleasant business, T/ndsav, 
 I must own; but there is no avoiding it; say 
 no more upon the sub jeer. We are a little 
 before our time. Who is tins that follows us? 
 (Hartshorn altera.) Iiaitdiorn, what brings 
 you hit! id' r 
 
 Maris. Give me time to fetch my breath. 
 'Sdeath, Sir, I have huist ibi vry braces of my 
 lieai t, and cariied aw.ij dl nv running tackle 
 in < hue of \ on. 
 
 Sknt. And now yon have f >'iud me, what 
 is vour li .i.>itu>s \\\ . ii me r 
 
 iiAicTs. What i> my business \s i nyour Duty. 
 
 Wit is vouisv.it!] s !ini-,li : 'mil,\t, Here 
 
 air l in* instruim nls to . ..i\v \ - 1 ; i lilt ; these are 
 
 the weapons to lcvcngf your c,.:ui. 
 
 Si: nt.
 
 78 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Sent. No, no; take notice, I declare against 
 revenge. I am provided with a second. This 
 gentleman is my friend. 
 
 Harts. It's very well; it's mighty well. I 
 mean the gentleman no offence, but I must say, 
 Captain Sentamour, I think it rather hard in 
 you to overlook a poor old seaman, who would 
 die a thousand deaths for you, and take a 
 youngster for your second, who can die but 
 once, and perhaps had rather not die at all. 
 
 Sent. You ought to know him, and I ought 
 to introduce him to you as Mr. Lindsay ; hut 
 this is no time for that, especially as I perceive 
 Mr. Varnish is approaching. 
 
 Varnish enters. 
 
 Vaen. Captain Sentamour, I presume. 
 
 Sent. At your service. You arc alone, Sir, 
 
 Va3n. lam. as you sec, unprovided with a 
 second. The time was short, and I have been 
 disappointed in my application. 
 
 Sent. Use your pleasure, Mr. Varnish. Ap- 
 point another time; and if your anger cools, I 
 shan't be sorry. 
 
 Va UN. i his gentleman, I conclude, is your 
 second. Mr. Hartshorn, I take for granted, 
 attends in his professional capacity. I am in 
 your hands, Captain Sentamour; but I dare 
 say I may rely upon your honour in every 
 possible event. 
 
 Sent.
 
 A COMEDY. 79 
 
 Sent. You will make your option. I repeat my 
 offer; and you will either adjourn our meeting till 
 you are better provided, or come to an explana- 
 tion on the spot, as you see fit. Gentlemen, be 
 pleased to step aside, and withdraw yoursclvesout 
 of hearing. (Hartshorn and Lindsay exeunt.) 
 Mr. Varnish, as I now present myself to you by 
 a different name and character from what I 
 fictitiously assumed at our first meeting, I hold 
 myself bound so far to atone to you for the 
 deception, as to assure you, 1 can retain no 
 resentment as Captain Sentamour for any ex- 
 pressions you made use of towards me as Mr. 
 Lindsay. I beg therefore to be understood, 
 that, ai'houivli I meet, you in this place, I have 
 r.o quarrel witii you, no desire to aitempt your 
 life, ii ;r .uiv wish to risk my own. 
 
 Va : .\. Captain Senlamour. I nourish no 
 I ticular inveteracy a aiii.it \a u in mv heart, 
 i e alwa v r s com hicied \w\< f according 
 to tiie rules ;;' howm; :;;! 1 \ ot, how 
 
 they ran v.et! !-e di -/ 'i i ri w it! ; en ibis o< - 
 cation. 
 
 !"".' v r. I i von have posi[ i \a !v made \ orr 
 l. ision, i^ir, yon I ion quickly ; 
 
 tor the I' *.i'.' t Lime . . !;' far r< i!ci i 
 
 iiv.r upon sanguinan i m . '' '->s ,, jj| be 
 
 your chance for cxtu.!: at ;-.;, \ j; n \ on rire 
 bronchi lo an ; eei . . u. A !': n:e, Mi. 
 
 Varni.ii, belonging as I do to another service, 
 
 . 
 
 j. .'.
 
 so THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER : 
 
 I confess I have ever held it as a matter of duty 
 to avoid all private quarrels. To my Country 
 1 have pledg'd my life ; and, if you did the same, 
 your courage wou'd be well applied, for believe 
 me she has need of every one of us. 
 
 Varn. Yes, and your public services have 
 made your honour safe ; I perhaps, have not 
 the same resource. You have secur'd the good 
 opinion of the world ; I have to guard myself 
 against it's censure and contempt. 
 
 Sent. Granted. I have exonerated my con- 
 science. I tender you perfect reconciliation, 
 and engage, if you agree to it, to guarantee 
 your honour. You are here alone ; refer your- 
 self to your friends, and consult their judgment 
 on the case. You hardly will object to that 
 proposal. 
 
 Var.v. No, Sir, 1 do not object to that propo- 
 sal, neither can I scruple to leave my honour in 
 your hands, when you engage to guarantee it. 
 I now perceive, Captain Scntamour, that true 
 courage cannot consist in my past notions of 
 false honour. I thank you for the lesson you 
 have given me : There are few men living, per- 
 haps, from whom I wou'd have taken it ; and 
 now to make the best atonement in my power 
 to Miss Juiia Clareville, I will instantly take 
 my departure from Bath ; and, as the strongest 
 proof I can give you of a perfect reconciliation, 
 here is my hand, sincerely tender'd ; and with 
 
 it
 
 A COMEDY. si 
 
 it a wish, not less sincere, that you may he 
 happy in the possession of the most amiable 
 woman in existence. 
 
 Sent. Stop, if you please. Your motives for 
 leaving- Bath, as far as they respect Miss Clare- 
 ville, 1 perfectly understand. They do honour 
 to your sensibility ; but as the guardian of your 
 reputation in this affair, which we have now 
 dismissal, I must advise you to revoke your 
 purpose ; as, by staying with us sometime longer, 
 you will make that clear to all the world, which 
 a hasty departure might leave doubtful, and 
 subject to malicious misinterpretation. Am I 
 not right ? 
 
 Varx. You are perfectly right, and I am 
 oblig'd to you for the advice. 
 
 Sent. Let us then walk home together, and, 
 with your permission, we will take my friends 
 with us by the way. 
 
 Yarn. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 
 
 Hartshorn's House. 
 
 Julia alone. 
 
 Alas ! Alas ! how my sad heart is tor tin "d with, 
 distracting thoughts ! Lindsay must be insen- 
 hiblc and blind, if he does not discover how I 
 love him. He does, he does, and cruelly con- 
 trives to bind those fetters every moment faster,
 
 88 THE SAILORS DAUGHTER: 
 
 from whs \\ h? should assist me to break loose, 
 I must, I will exert one timely effort, or I am 
 lost for ever ! 
 
 Louisa enters. 
 
 Louisa. Julia, my dear, I bring you a pro- 
 posal, which you mi st positively not refuse me. 
 Nay, don't put on that grave discouraging face. 
 It offers pleasure to you, my fweet girl, because 
 it calls you to an entertainment, where all are 
 friends ; and Lindsay will be present. 
 
 Julia. Ah, Madam ! were I not the weakest 
 "wretch that ever doated on her awn destruction, 
 Lindsay's the very man I should avoid. 
 
 Louisa. That would be mere coquetry, my 
 dear; you must perceive that he's in love with 
 you. 
 
 Julia. With me ? 
 
 Louisa. With you. 
 
 Julia. Impossible ! 
 
 Louisa. Decidedly; desperately with whom 
 else do you suppose him to be in love? With 
 dame Hartshorn ? With the dirty drug shop ? 
 Which is it, think you, your pretty lace, or the 
 golden gallipot over your door, that alluies 
 him to play the part of the apothecary, when 
 all the while his real cast is that of Romeo, the 
 god of your idolatry ? 
 
 Julia. What, do you mean? You puzzle 
 me, my dearest madam, vou bewilder me : I 
 
 am
 
 A COMEDY. 85 
 
 am giddy with conjecture. Is he, or is he not, 
 the man he passes for r 
 
 Lou isa. The man he passes for ! No, surely ; 
 he would pass on nobody for an apothecary, 
 that was not in want of hellebore and a strait 
 waistcoat. Open your eyes, unless love has 
 blinded them ; and the next time you see Lind- 
 say, you Mill discover Sentamour. 
 
 Ju lta. Oh! my dear madam, tell me, tell me 
 truly. May I believe it? Are you well in- 
 formed r 
 
 Mandcville enters. 
 
 Louisa. Here's my informer. Mandeville 
 will tell you. 
 
 M \ n i). You speak of Sentamour. The 
 secret's out. He no longer wishes to disguise 
 himself. I met him in full uniform with Lind- 
 say not long ago. 1 think he'll soon be here. 
 
 Julia. Heaven grant he may ! 
 
 Sir Mathew Moribund enters. 
 
 Sir Math. My visit is to Captain Sentamour. 
 Who can direct me to him ? 
 
 Julia. Ave, who indeed- You, Sir, per- 
 haps can tell me if Varnish has not challenged 
 him to tight. 
 
 Sir Math. I wish that I could tell you he 
 has not 
 
 Ml J u- L I A
 
 84 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER: 
 
 Julia. There, there! I am the fatal cause. 
 Unhappy Sentamour ! for me he bleeds ! 
 
 Sentamour enters, and runs to Julia. 
 
 Sent. Julia, my beloved Julia ! I now address 
 you in my real character; and if, as Lindsay, 
 I have happily gain'd an interest in your heart, 
 I hope I shall not forfeit it, as Sentamour, the 
 friend of your father, honoured by his approba- 
 tion, and in his latest moments recommended 
 \o your choice. 
 
 Julia. How happy I must be to find the 
 friend of my father, and the man of my heart, 
 one and the same person, may be conceived, 
 but cannot be express'd. Captain Sentamour 
 will draw his conclusions, and spare me the con- 
 fusion of a more explicit declaration. 
 
 Sir Math. Here, here ! come the rest of the 
 parties. (Varnish, Hartshorn, and Lindsay 
 enter.) Varnish, give me your hand; this is 
 as it should be. Now we meet in peace to shut 
 the temple of Janus, and stick the olive branch 
 in the Golden Mortar over the door of it. 
 Hartshorn, my dear fellow, though I wish you all 
 possible good luck in your vocation, lam glad to 
 see these gentlemen have cut you out no custom. 
 
 Harts. Thank the fates, brother Lindsay, 
 
 we have no surgeon's work on this occasion. I 
 
 had better have been your patient, than Senta- 
 
 mour's should have been mine; for tho' there 
 
 C is
 
 A COMEDY. 35 
 
 is no scarcity of brave officers in our Navy, 
 there is a lumping overplus of apothecaries, and 
 1 should not have been miss'd amongst the 
 number. 
 
 Var.v. Captain Sentamour, have I your per- 
 mission to address a few words to that much in- 
 jured lady, and humbly intercede for pardon ? 
 Miss Clareville, I am too deeply sensible of my 
 errors to attempt any defence of them. The 
 only claim I can make to your forgiveness, is, 
 that being now convinced I did not deserve 
 you, and that Captain Sentamour does, I am 
 thoroughly asham'd of the unfair means I 
 took to mislead your attention, and beg leave 
 to congratulate you on the happy choice you 
 have made. 
 
 Julia. Ah, now, Mr. Varnish, this is all too 
 much, lor any thing you may think I had occa- 
 sion to resent. Believe me, Sir, when you are 
 pleasd to charge yourself, you for ever do 
 away all remembrance of oifence, and leave 
 me only sensible to your candour and conde- 
 scension. 
 
 Sir Math. Come, my good friends, we have 
 happily dismiss 'd the business of this dav: To- 
 morrow business of a better sort auspiciously 
 awaits us. Let us devote some portion of the 
 interval to good fellowship, and join our wishes 
 for a happy union of devoted hearts, ilow stand 
 
 your
 
 *6 THE SAILOR'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 your inclinations, gallant Sir, to this proposal r 
 {To Sentamour.) 
 
 Sent. Most cordially I close with it; and if 
 my charming Julia will consider how precious 
 to a Seaman every moment is, that duty spares 
 him to devote to love, she will consent to let to- 
 morrow be alike auspicious to me as to my 
 friend. 
 
 Louisa. I hope you don't expect an answer. 
 Her silence and her blushes speak consent. Trust 
 me for deciding upon symptoms. 
 
 Harts. Ihope that I can give some little guess 
 at symptoms also. Therefore, if you, my Patients 
 and kind Customers this night will but bestow 
 some token of your favour, and dismiss your 
 humble servant to my bed in peace, I will recruit 
 my spirits for to-morrow, and with your per- 
 mission inscribe upon my labels, in the true style 
 of the shop The same to be repeated. 
 
 XD OF THE COMEDY.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 1 every one, that is the Muse's friend, 
 Lowly, devoutly, gratefully I bend; 
 In humble hope you'll fliow the culprit mercy, 
 J, for the culprit, drop the bench a curtfey. 
 
 My Lords the Ju dgf.s ! Gentlemen o'th' Jury ! 
 1 move you for th' acquittal of Old Drury 
 \ name well known she keeps a public itage 
 for actor folks, and has this live-long age^ 
 The wits frequent her house, and the good dame 
 !!;>> dandled many a puling babe of fame; 
 Oar Bard for one near forty years ago 
 She nurs'd his Belcour, as her books will show-** 
 And now the hoarv veteran has brought her 
 To answer queries for his SAILOR'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 My Lords ! 1 own that in an Author's cause 
 I've oftner gain'd than merited applause; 
 PI ; -writing is like fencing in the dark, 
 A man may *hut his eyes and hit the mark. 
 \ ' .. advocate I am Don't run us down, 
 x i ou Gentlemen of Counsel for the Town : 
 Don't catch us out on every little Haw, 
 Give us your Equity, and spare your Law; 
 U j) a good tongue f you nmli cross-examine 
 And above all things let us have no damning. 
 
 !>!. ,1 moment ! when o'er every smiling face 
 Good humour fpreads her animating grace; 
 Tin ii, then you show, as true-born Britons fliou'd 
 Hound rosy cheeks of honest flesh and blood: 
 I 'nit when you curl your noses up, and sneer 
 Jlyana like, how ugly you appear! 
 \\ hen you bc-i/m to pish, and pout, and crv 
 Oil', off! I'd rather you were oil' than 1. 
 Hare fun, to gigu and worry a poor plav; 
 Suppov you'd written it, what wou'd von say? 
 Suppose your own small modicum of \*it 
 LauiM hM like a tub before this whale, the Pit, 
 OfhL life, you'd soon confess the saving true, 
 That wh.it to them was sport was death to you. 
 
 < 'ome tlnn, my candid friends, with kindness come,. 
 Briiuj; your hearts here, and leave your lieadi at home !
 
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