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FRANK MARCHAM
It* ,
TIMERS A TELL-TALE:
A CO MEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE- ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
>/
' /ILL / .. /
H. Bryer, Printer, Bridge-Street, Blackfriars.
TIME'S A TELL-TALE
A COMEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE-ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
-Qu d\ fjLifoi,XnTOf» Svpov-j
I?X*.» h r»0Ej-crt* <pi\o<P(o>n»ri y»g otftdnn' HOM. II.
Bv henry siddons.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, RFES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1807.
%
TO THE READER.
DURING a short residence in France, thirteen or four-
teen years ago, I amused myself with forming a little
serious drama from a story by M. Marmontel, Bland-
ford and Coraly appearing to me two very interesting
characters. These scenes lay long neglected iii my port-
folio.
When I made the stage my profession, I was prompted
to review them, but found my hero by far too grave for a
Comedy. The part of Benedick was one that I had ever
contemplated with delight, and it struck me that a na-
val character of the description might combine eccen-
tricity with the most exalted generosity.
The play of the Stranger had then rendered the wri-
tings of Kotzebue extremely popular ; and on perusing
his works, I found that he had also made both Shakes-
pear and Marmontel his models : — it occurred to me,
that by paraphrasing a few of his speeches, I might
give a degree of sprightliness to my principal character,
and I felt assured that what I was doing would be new
to an English audience ; the nautical phrases however,
which form the allusions and constitute the aggregate
were of my own suggestion.
The father of Coraly in Marmontel is destroyed at
the commencement of his story. To heighten the dra-
matic effect, I embodied him in the character of the
elder Hardacre. The genuine applause of tears at the
end of the fourth act have convinced me that I was not
mistaken. No man of education or liberality has blamed
me for making an elegant novel the" foundation on
M240O74
PREFACE.
which I have erected the Delmar Family, well knowing
that the most excellent writers in the English language,
availed themselves of these resources. The busy
Morris, the proud Delville, and the dissipated Harrel are
calculated for an excellent moral ; indeed I have long
wondered that the attempt has never been made by
abler pens than mine. I am willing to allow that I have
availed myself of every advantage which my reading,
my reflection, or experience in my profession, may have
placed within my reach. I may at least hope that the an -
nexed Comedy is written in the spirit of a man, anxious
to serve the cause of truth. I believe this, because it has
been criticised with candour (a solitary exception can-
not change my opinions) and with impartiality. Even
those who have censured it, have expressed themselves
in the language of gentlemen, and I was never foolish
enough to imagine that my production was a perfect one.
Public approbation must ever be the dearest wish of
my heart, but I trust that I shall never forget the re-
spectful deference by which alone it is to be both ob-
tained and preserved.
To Mr. Graham who accepted my play in the most
gentlemanly manner, I return my sincere thanks ; also
to Mr. Wroughton, who superintended it with a con-
summate skill, joined to an unremitted attention. All
my brother performers exerted the most brilliant ta-
lenis, with all the zeal of the most unaffected friend-
ship ; — this last consideration would have sweetened
even the defeat of all my hopes. The song (the
four concluding lines excepted', is a translation from
Anaereon, ode XL. Theocritus, Idyll XIX. has treated
the same subject, but in a measure entirely different.
H. SIDDONS.
PROLOGUE TO TIME'S A TELL-TALE.
(Written by the Author of the Comedy. Spoken by
Mr. Eyre.)
That Time's a Tell-Tale you will all allow,
A truth, each anxious author must avow :
This hour arrived, what fears what doubts destroy
The fabrick of his visionary joy.
Hope's drooping pinions scarcely cleave their way,
The buds of Promise wither and decay,
While all the baseless structures of the mind
Dissolve like dreams — nor leave a wreck behind.
How shall the Prologue then in pleading strain
Implore your suffrage, or your favour gain.
Vain the attempt, of confidence bereft,
At least one manly bold attempt is left ;
One never yet in vain to you preferr'd
The charter of our freedom, to be heard ;
Then if stern justice can afford no plea
To sooth the rigour of her firm decree,
We are prepared the sentence to admit,
And boast, at least, the courage to submit.
Who shall complain, or murmur when he hears
The honorable fiat of his Peers!
In suppliant verse we ask no critic spare
The sacred task allotted to his care,
But own the critic's office well applied,
A frowning Friend, but an unerring Guide,
Healthful tho' bitter, wholesome tho' severe,
Like winter's frost, most searching when most clear
If then our author aims a feeble blow
To lay the follies and the vices low,
To tear from Fashion's eye the flimsy shroud
That turns domestic sun-shine to a cloud,
To check the errors which thro' social life
Sow the rank seeds of bitterness and strife,
Distract the husband and afflict the wil
Then should you praise, he'll feel the poet's fire —
Should you condemn — respectfully retire.
1 life •)
ife, [
ife, )
DRAMATIS PERSONS
MEN.
Sir Arthur Tessel •• Messrs. Russel.
Sir David Delmar - - - - Raymond.
Blandford - - Elliston.
Query ------ Matthews.
Record - Palmer.
Hardacre Dowton
Young Hardacre - Decamp.
McGregor Mad d ox.
Toby Tokely.
WOMEN.
Lady Delmar Miss Mellon.
Zelidy Mrs. H, Siddons.
Miss Laurel ----- Mrs. Sparks.
Olivia Wyndham - Miss Duncan.
SCENE— Surrey TIME— A Dai/.
TIME'S A TELL-TALE.
ACT I.
SCENE l.—Jn Inn.
Enter Mc Gregor, and Toby his Walter.
Mc Gregor. Hoot Toby Lad— ye maun bustle
boot bairn, Sir David's house over the way is
quite crammed, some o the company to the — the — ■
aye ! the Fete Cha?n/ietre, ye ken will want beds
wi us.
Toby. I'll take care measter.
Mc. Greg. Gin we should stand in need o ony
thing, only step to neighbour Hardacre, it is but
twa miles off ye ken, and I am sure he will obleege
us.
Toby. They say in these parts, that Farmer Har-
dacre be but a cross grained sort of a mon, neither,
measter.
Mc. Gregor. Ah he kens the difference o perso-
nages, he kens the world ! He and I ha baith been
weel eeducated — baith come o guede families, but
" temfiora mutantur" times are changed wi me
Toby 1 Mr. Hardacre has been a traveller.
Toby. So they do say. Neighbour Thatch do tell
I that he has bought his son measter Phillip a army
commission.
Mc. Gregor. And why for no ?
Toby. Nothing : only the young officers that do
B
2 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
come recruiting here do look so grand and so fine,
and it was but the last year I saw measter Phillip,
helping his Feyther, to dig their own field.
Mc. Gregor. Why for no bairn ? ye ha nae ony
leeterature, or you would ken that mony an unco
muckle general, has digged potatoes on his ain
ground. [A knock at the door.
Gang Toby; gang and speef wha's at the door.
[Exit Toby.
He returns conducting C a jit ain Blandford and Mr.
Query.
Welcome your honors ! welcome to the Grey
Hound !
Query. A good smart house ! Landlord ! what
county ?
Mc. Gregor. Surrey, an like your honour.
Query, Surrey ! so it is. Had any rain lately ?
How far to Sir David Delmar's ? got a newspaper in
the house ? Landlord what's o'clock ? are you
married ?
Mc. Gregor. Deel tak me gin I ken which o'these
questions I ought to answer first. [Aside.
Query. Why so gloomy Blandford ? — got the
tooth ache, head ache ? can I be. useful ?
Blandford. Now comes my turn, prithee be quiet !
Landlord !
Mc. Gregor. Here an like your honor !
Blandford. Send this letter to Sir David DelmarV
directly.
Mc. Gregor. You shall be obey'd, sair. [Going.
Query. Stop a moment Mr. Landlord: I want
to ask you a question. — Pray have you ever — that
is — I mean — couldn't you ? never mind — it does
not signify — you may go. \_Exit Mc. Gregor.
Blandford. What a iellow is this ! will you never
Ned get rid of this cursed habit of asking ques-
tions ?
A COMEDY. 3
Query. Nay ! upon my soul you are too severe ;
what's the haim of a little curiosity ? without
questions, how would you get at information ?
would not society stagnate without it ? our assem-
blies be mute, our newspapers insipid ? What gives
slander the true piquant inuendo? Question, for
instance — who is the fair lady D., that has lately
eloped from the Earl of F., with the gallant Major
E. ? — question, question, question. A skilful
Query can save a character, sink a character, re-
cover a character, and after all the questions that
are made about questionable circumstances, the
only question is, whether there was ever an atom
of foundation for the circumstance in question,
Blandford. Thou art an odd animal Ned ! but
having brought thee down with me upon an affair
in which my honour and my peace are both con-
cerned, I entreat thee to check these wild sallies
of that inquisitive disposition.
Query. Peace ? Honour concerned ? Pray my
dear George give me leave to ask are you going
to marry that little ^vild girl, you have brought up
so slily in a Welch cottage, and left under the
care of Sir David before your last voyage ?
Blandford. Have you any reason to think so ?
Query. No — not exactly — you have resolved
against matrimony you know — but every body
has been wondering who she is — what she is, and
where she came from. A man now that was fond
of prying into other people's concerns, would have
teazed you to death about all this — you see how
indifferent I am about it. Is she pretty ? what's
her name ?
Blandford. Oh yes — that is quite evident.
Query. To be sure when a man is about to —
when he keeps a pretty girl snug in the country
and at last places her under the care of his own
B2
4 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
relative — Now come, my dear dear fellow, who is
she ? — What is she ?— Any fortune ? — Good family?
only answer me this time, and I'll never, never
teaze you again.
Blandford. On that condition Ned I will own
that I have something to tell you.
Query. Out with it : nay, hang ceremony, friends
like us should have' none — your secret ?
Blandford. Is this, where the name of a lady is
concerned —
Query. Well.
Blandford. Never to allow it to be endangered
by ridiculous vanity, or impertinent curiosity:
Hang ceremony Ned : friends like us should have
none you know.
Query. I see : I see you are laughing at me, and
look ye George ! If ever again I meddle with your
concerns — may I I'll never ask another ques-
tion as long as I live.
[Sulkily, his back turned to Blandford.
Enter Mc Gregor.
Mc Gregor. Ain Mr. Record, Sir David's steward,
desires to ken, whether he may speak wi Captain
Blandford.
Blandford, My old friend Record! admit him
instantly.
Query. Up, and pray who /> this Mr.
mum.
Enter Record.
Record. My ever valued sir !
Blandford. In tears old honesty ! is this the
welcome you give to the man you have so often
dandled a boy in your arms.
A COMEDY. 5
Record. Ah those were happy days, they'll never
return ! \ Sighs.
Blandford. Life's a voyage — Keep hope in the
ferspective — Well what news with the family —
hear my uncle has married during my last voyage.
Well, well, its too late to repent now — What sort
of a woman is my lady pray ?
Query. Aye, honest Mr. Record, pray what
sort of a woman is my lady ? is she young ? rich ?
gqod looking ? how long has she been married ?
Blandford. At it again.
Query. Oh no — no, its no concern of mine —
thought you might like to hear — that's all.
Record. Ah sir, my lady is a thorough bred wo-
man of fashion, and the encumbered estate of Sir
David was never equal to his ideas of the family
dignity, I have told him so a hundred times, and
mark the end oiit.
Blandford. That's a tender subject Record.
Record. I can't help speaking sir when I see all
going to wrack and ruin. A gala one night in
London, a fete champetre the other, here, in
Surrey, and my lady's sister too, Miss Laurel,
giving large dinner parties every day to all who
call themselves the wits and geniuses of the age, a
set of hungry gentlemen who eat us out of house
and home, and devour more good things in a
quarter of an hour, than they write in a quarter
of a year.
Query. But why don't you ask after the young
ladies, eh Blandford ?
Blandford. Right ! my lovely play-fellow Olivia
Wyndham, is she with her guardian Hardacre.
Record. No sir, it is Sir David's year. He and
o'd Hardacre are greater enemies than ever. They
have never seen or spoken to each other in their
lives. Sir David thinks Hardacre wants to secure
6 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Miss Wyndham's fortune by a marriage with
his son Phillip, but so far from it, he has sent
him to his regiment, that his Honor might not be
brought into a moment's question.
Blandford. Well, well ! but there is another of
whom you say nothing ; I am sure, my uncle and
his lady have both been kind to the poor girl I
brought from Wales.
Record. Every body must be kind to her. She
is so mild, so modest, and so grateful for what you
have done.
Blandford. Nonsense ! trifles not worth remem-
bering.
Query. I dare say not : pray what were they ?
Record. I know sir that your uncle would fain
unite you to Miss Wyndham — yet when I look
at the other poor girl —
Blandford. Why hark ye friend Record, you
need not distress yourself on that subject. My
•shift is my wife, and while I live I am resolved to
have no other. Marriage ! in such times as these
a sailor must not think on't.
Record. Yet she thinks some return for your
goodness —
Blandford. Well, let her return it, by saying
nothing about the matter. Sheer compassion was
my only motive, I merely did my duty, and if I
save a little pinnace from foundering in the ocean
of adversity, I am not bound to tow it after me
for life, am I, honest messmate ?
Record. I have done sir. Your uncle is anxious-
ly expecting you at Delmar Hall.
Blandford. I attend. As my friend, you Ned
will be sure of a hearty welcome (to Query.)
Lead the way old acquaintance. Marriage t psha,
put it out of your head man, and when you hear
pf my being married — but. why waste time in
A COMEDY. 7
talking of impossibilities, come — (he is going, Query
stops Record.)
Query. Pray, Mr. Record, who is this Miss £eli-
dy that
Blandford (returns quick) "What makes you loiter?
Query. Nothing ; Mr. Record was asking a ques-
tion, that was all. I follow you.
Blandford. Come then, I know you Ned — nay,
you don't quit me. Come, come.
Querij. I follow ; Pray Mr. Record allow me to
ask — no answer ! waiter ! waiter ! what a house,
not a waiter to speak to one. — I will have an an-
swer, I am determined, (looks at his watch) What's
o'clock ? past eight ! thank ye. [Exit.
SCENE II.
Sir David Delmar's private Study. He is read-
ing a packet of Letters, in evident perturbation.
Sir David. Will these torments never end. (reads)
" Sir the money which has been due since" — psha !
" Honoured sir, you were pleased to say I should
be paid," " large family," " rent due," (throws
down the letters.) The life of a galley-slave would
be a state of ease to mine, would I could retreat,
retrench ! retrench ! humiliating thought ! — I see
the upstarts of the day erect their crests, point
the finger at the diminished equipage, the lessen-
ing retinue — I see my wife reduced to
Zelidy enters.
Ha ! who's there ? I'll have no spies upon my con-
duct, (angry).
Zelidy. Oh dear Sir David! you frightened me
so ! it's only Zelidy.
Sir David. Be not alarmed my pretty charge,
come hither : what would you say now, had I
something to tell you which would make you
happy ?
* TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Zelidy. Words are too poor for the expressions
of my grateful feelings to you, your lady, and the
sweet Miss Wyndham.
Sir David. Nay Zelidy, it is the duty of high
rank to give protection wheresoever 'tis needed.
(firoudly) Blandford will be here this morning. —
(Gives her a note which she eagerly kisses.)
Zelidy. My preserver ! my guardian angel ! —
and shall I then at last behold him ?
Sir David, (alarmed at her emotion?) You express
yourself with warmth.
Zelidy. Ah ! how can I refrain ? what other hu-
man being has so strong a claim on my affection ?
Sir David, Affection I affection Zelidy is a term
that
Zelidy. Forgive, forgive me dear Sir David, I
am a wild girl, by nature and by birth. 'Tis now
eight years since last I saw the Captain ; I was
then a prattling girl, yet has his image still been
stamped upon my heart. I repose on the little
bench beneath his favourite tree, and as the waving
boughs of the majestic oak shade me from the
scorching sun-beam, I exclaim in grateful fervour,
generous! noble-minded Blandford! here is the
emblem of thyself and Zelidy ! oh ! still defend
her from the ills of life ! still protect the humble
flower, torn 'ere it blossomed from the parent
branch, and but for thee had withered, drooped,
and died upon its stem !
Sir David. Poor girl : but I must check this sym-
pathy, or all my schemes are fruitless, (aside.) Ze-
lidy it is my duty to warn you of your danger : a
union between Blandford and yourself is made by
many circumstances^, a thing imfiossible : your future
peace demands that you should banish these ro-
mantic notions from your mind and heart.
Zelidy. I must, 1 ought, I will. To pray for my
preserver, to implore of Providence eternal bless-
A COMEDY. 9
ings on his head, that consolation surely may be
mine ! The sun turns not from the grateful flower
that blooms and fades in gazing on his fostering
brightness, nor will Blandford, placed by fortune,
far, far above his lowly Zelidy, reject the simple
homage of a thankful heart. — The subject affects
me- sir ; some one approaches — permit me to re-
tire. [Slw goes out.
Sir David. Poor artless girl. — But I must steel
my heart against these claims. The fortune of
my ward Olivia, can alone preserve me from dis-
grace and ruin : a marriage with my nephew might
secure it ; but then the cottager — this Hardacre,
whom Olivia's father degraded me by making my
joint guardian. I see his aims, he means his son
Philip! aye, there's the stumbling-block, but I shall
counteract their plots. Now Mr. Record.
Enter Record.
Record. According to your commands Sir Da-
vid, I have been to the inn, and your nephew is
now arrived ; he and his friend are changing their
travelling dresses, that they may have the honour
of paying their respects to you and to my lady.
Sir David. 'Tis well : Should my present plans suc-
ceed, Record, my difficulties will be at an end.
A marriage between Blandford and my ward,
Miss Wyndham, aided by my sister-in-law's union
with Sir Arthur Tessell, will set me above the ma-
lice of my fate. — I hope Lady Delmar does not
suspect my involvements.
Record. All hitherto is safe; how long it may
continue so, Heaven only knows.
Sir David. Only save me till Sir Arthur and
my nephew are united to my sister in-law and
Miss Wyndham — you shall see me reform com-
pletely.
Record. Such hopes are fruitless, Sir. Captain
10 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Blandford's aversion to matrimony is more rooted
than ever : were it otherwise, Hardacre would not
give his consent ; and as for Sir Arthur Tessel's
attachment to your sister-in-law —
Sir David. Can you doubt it ? his attentions at
Bath — his eagerness to be invited here —
Record. Remember, Sir, that Miss Venusia is nei-
ther young nor rich : your ward is both. — Sir Ar-
thur is what is called a man of leisure, (sneering.)
Sir David. What do you mean ?
Record. I mean that your men of leisure do many
things, that would startle a plain, drudging, plod-
ding fellow like myself. The town is full of 'em.
It is men of leisure fill the card-table and the ga-
ming-table. — Leisure sends the senator to the horse-
race, and the peer to the boxing-ring ; the daugh-
ters of industry are seduced by men of leisure^ the
sons of plain citizens are corrupted by men of lei-
sure, and it is high time for you my master to
exert yourself and give a proof, that spite of the
prevalence of idleness and fashion, the commercial
genius of this Country shall never be crushed by
the vices, follies, and debaucheries of men of lei-
sure.
Sir David. Record, you have ever been the
friend of my family : your blunt sincerity con-
vinces me you still are mine. The desperate state
of my affairs- —
Record. Call them not so. Do you and my Lady
make a noble effort, all may yet go well. If not,
I fear that you will find too late, your substance
has been wasted on flatterers and sycophants, whilst
you have forfeited the real pride of independency,
and put your meanest creditor upon a level with
yourself. For how Sir David can you ever call that
man an inferior^ who can justly accuse you of with-
holding the hard-earned profit of his industry from
his little family.
A COMEDY. 11
Sir David. You go too far — you presume on
your past services ; leave me, Mr. Record. For the
future, when I need your counsel, I shall ask it.
£ Record bows and retires.
Sir David. And am I then truly so los: ? are the
honours, the dignities of my family really so di-
minished in my person? I feaf they are. — Hark!
Sir Arthur and my ward Olivia : Record wrongs
the Baronet, I cannot, will not doubt his honour.
Enter Sir Arthur and Ouvia.
Sir Arthur. Stop, stop, my dear Miss Wyndham,
or my Lady Delmar will set me down for the most
unpolite, unfashionable fellow in the whole world.
Olivia. My Lady Delmar ! what then Sir Ar-
thur, is it modern good breeding to pay all your
attentions to the married dames, and leave us poor
unfortunate spinsters to pine in seclusion, or sit
"like patience on a monument," oh fie!
Sir David. Well urged my dear ward.
Sir Arthur. Why, 1 can't exactly say, whether
it be good breeding or no, but I assure you upon
my honour, it's the way we have in London. It
would there for instance be quite unfashionable to
be seen in a curricle, with any woman under forty,
if she happens to be fifty, so much the better ;
and if she chances to be married, \x\vy^jo much the
better still.
Olivia. But pray do not the ladies' husbands
sometimes object to their wives driving in cur-
ricles with such facetious gentlemen as yourself, Sir
Arthur ?
Sir Arthur. Oh no'! not in London, I assure you.
Ask the husband after his lady, he stretches, yawns,
and cries, she was very well the d^y before yes-
terday. — Ask my lady after her husband, she takes
12 TIME'S A TELL-TALE
out her visiting pocket-book. — Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday ! oh yes it was Wednesday that I saw
him last ! and on Friday I shall perhaps see him
again. — Bon jour Colonel, we shall meet at the
new play : — and this madam is a sample of matri-
monial life in London, led by all fashionable couples
from the Park and St, James's to the sound of
Bow bells.
Sir David. And pray where have you left my
Lady Delmar, and her sister ?
Olivia. Oh we left her in the beach-grove read-
ing Xenophon's expedition of Cyrus.
Sir Arthur. Oh Sir David you should rouse her
energies. She is too much of a recluse, too fond
of shady groves and purling streams; they are
quite out of taste, quite exploded. We hurry to our
rural retreats to taste the fogs of November, and
crowd to the metropolis when the leaves bud, to
enjoy the beauties of Pall-Mali, Bond-street, and
the two Parks, and to say the truth, I have seen
more beauties in those few places, than I ever beheld
at Vienna, Paris, Petersburgh, Madrid, Naples,
Venice, Spa, or Rome.
Sir David. Venusia would be quite vain if she
heard you I fancy you are not quite of Sir Arthur's
opinion, Miss Wyndham ?
Olivia. .gWhy I can not say I am, I detest
crowds anasqueezes of all sorts and kinds.
Sir Arthur. What ! not love a route, Miss
Olivia.
Olivia. I can't endure it.
Sir David. Why! may one ask ?
Olivia- Perhajis from passing so much of my
time with my rural guardian, Mr. Hardacre : how-
ever that may be, I am perpetually at a loss in your
crovvded assemblies Sir David, and find myself com-
pelled either to say nothing, or else talk nonsense.
A COMEDY. 13
Sir Arthur. So much the better, so much the
better, my dear Miss Wyndham, most of our fa-
shionable conversationes in London, are composed of
those who talk nonsense, and nothing but non-
sense. We take our degrees and have our regular
professors of the art. We have for instance, the
scandalous nonsense, the slip slop nonsense, and
the philosophical nonsense.
Sit David. How — the Philosophical Nonsense !
Sir Arthur. Yes, Sir David, nothing can be
more simple ; the philosophical nonsense merely
consists in doubting every thing. Trying to com-
prehend a system we find we cannot account for —
the growth of a flower — what we don't understand
we never admit possible — and so begin again, philo-
sophising and fihilosojihising in an agreeable see-saw
of continual doubt, and, and metaphysical uncer-
tainty, till we are able at last to dispute the self
evident proposition of our own existence, and this
is the true " darkness visible" which modern illu-
mines would wish to fspread over our fashionable
horizon.
Enter Lady Delmar.
Sir David. Emily ! what has so long detained
you ?
Lady Delmar. Oh my sister Venusia, with one
of her classical illustrations as she calls them. I hope
you don't feel offended at —
Sir David. Offended, Emily ? what a thought !
Ladu Delmar. Sir Arthur, my love, has been
proposing a kind of naval fete champetre in honour
of your nephew Captain Blandford's arrival. I have
spoken to La Jeunesse, he tells me a few hundreds
will do it, all will be prepared, and La Jeunesse will
come to you for the money to-morrow.
14 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Sir David. Confusion ! I dare not own my em-
barrassments, and — [aside] well, Well, my dear !
Ladij Delmar. Have we your consent ?
Sir Arthur. Oh Fll answer for Sir David.
Sir David. I fear you must, [aside.]
Sir Arthur. Shall I hope the honour of your
ladyship's hand at the ball ?
Lady Delmar. Fie, Sir Arthur, what would
my sister say?
Sir Arthur. Oh she will never dance I am sure,
Miss Wyndham will perhaps favour me ?
Olivia. Oh by all means, Sir Arthur, we have a
plentiful lack of young men in this part of the
world, and as they are equally inanimate automa-
tons, mere wire moved puppets — one may do just as
well as another for a country dance ; and for this
reason — I have no objection to go down one with ycu
— allons Sir Arthur. [Exit OuviAand Sir Arthur,
with Olivia, singing,]
Follow me and I will show,
Where the rocks of coral grow.
Lad i) Delmar. Shall we follow ?
Sir David. Shall I avow my situation, explain
my difficulties — pride — pride and shame constrain
my tongue. [aside.
Lady Delmar. Oh a-propos my dear. La Jeu-
nesse tells me, we must cut down the hawthorn, as
it will impede the preparation for the fete.
Sir David. I must not, will not have that tree
molested, it was planted, when my father lived, by
my poor sister.
Ladij Delmar* Sister— have you a sister then?
Sir David. I had — I had — but unhappy girl
Lady Delmar, And never mentioned her tome?
Sir David. I wished to banish her my memory
for ever. She married a man every way beneath
A COMEDY. 1<T
her rank — we abandoned, gave her up — she fled
the country, and I fear —
Enter Williams.
Williams. Csptain Blandford's respects and he is
now ready to wait on you, Sir,
Sir David. I come, [bows, exit.'] Oh Lady
Delmar ! amidst all the gaiety with which you have
long beheld me surrounded, I have been a prey to
feelings which —
Lady Delmar. Pray droop not thus my love,
few in this world are free from such upbraidings. — .
If we could judge ourselves with half the rigour we
exert towards others, the self accusing blush would
mantle o'er the cheek of many a rugged moralist,
and the angel of pity dropping a tear upon the cata-
logue of human failings would avow, none are
themselves so pure, as to deny indulgence to the er-
rors of a fellow creature. [Exeunt,
16 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
ACT II.
SCENE. Sir David's Study. \_as before'] (Enter
Blandford dressed in full uniform, with Williams.)
Williams.
MY master will be here directly, sir.
Blandf§rd. Nay, let him not hurry : I can
anchor here awhile, by the way, now my friend is
adorning his person, you may inform me how my
little Zelidy goes on — she must be much taller than
when I left her last.
Williams. Aye sir, and she is good as she is beau-
tiful, and beautiful as good — the whole family doat.
upon her.
Blandford. I rejoice to hear it, you have a great
deal of company I see.
Williams. Our house is never empty sir — my mas*
ter — but I hear him coming.
Sir David enters, Williams bows, retires.
Sir David. Dear Blandford.
Blandford. After all my perils, kind sir, trust me, I
truly rejoice to find myself safe in your hospitable
port once more ; but you seem a little weather
beaten : no rough gales I hope, since you ventured
on the dangerous voyage of matrimony ?
Sir David. None George, none ; and do you my
young son of Neptune, still hold your resolution
against the happy state.
Blandford. Fixed Sir David. Constant, as the
needle to the jiole. I've made many a false tack in
A COMEDY. 17
my life it must be confessed ; but matrimony ! — of
that quicksand, thank Heaven, I have contrived to
steer clear.
Sir David. Nay, be serious. I have urgent rea-
sons for wishing you to be so.
Blandford Well then I am — I am serious, and
ask me any questions you think proper, 1 will an-
swer them with all the plain blunt sincerity, that
belongs to my profession.
[Sir David here assumes an air of the most serious
earnestness.']
Sir David, You promise me to be direct in your
answer.
Blandford. Try me.
Sir David. What then, George, can be a wiser
/dan, for a fellow at your time of life, than to
marry ?
Blandford. To shoot himself.
Sir David. I fear all my hopes are vain. [aside.]
Blandford. Look ye, Sir David — Matrimony is
your harbour, and I give you joy of it ; for my own
part I have told you often, and I tell you again and
again, its a voyage I have no mind to — at four and
thirty years of age, I have four and thirty little
whims — and customs — and custom is a second na-
ture. For instance I have a favourite walk, a fa-
vourite book, a favourite chair — in comes a wife —
and East, West, North, and South, cannot blow
from more different quarters than our inclinations.
I am inured to hardship, she pines for delicacies ;
J love walking, she must have a carriage to loll in ;
madam dies for the opera, I had rather see a dancing
bear than a dancing coxcomb ; she loves foreign
music, I am for a sailor's artless ballad ; she has the
head-ache — grows nervous — enter doctors, apothe-
caries, salts, phials, cordials and restoratives, fits,
faintings and histerics, — and so you have the whole
log-book of the cruize of matrimony.
Sir David. Were we born to please ourselves
C
IS TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
alone, such maxims might be encouraged ; but in all
families where the pride of ancestry is to be sup-
ported — sacrifices must be made. Since you saw her
last Miss Wyndham is improved in every virtue, and
in every grace. [earnestly. ~]
Blandford. I truly rejoxe to hear it, she has been
good to my poor Zelidy whom I left under her care
and yours. [Sir D vid is here abstracted.]
Sir David. It is natural that her thoughts should
now be directed to a change of situation. Her
Fortune is IMMENSE George! I have loved you
from infancy. If — I say, if you saw me surrounded
by perils, encumbered by difficulties, would — would
you not do somewhat to relieve me ?
Blandford. The question hurts me. My element
is a rough one i own, but I never saw the sinking
inemy to whom 1 would not stretch a helping hand;
the friend who doubts me then, affronts my feelings
as a man, a sailor, and a christian.
Sir David. My noble boy ! this day will I entrust
you with a secret which must place my happiness,
ard v, hat is dearer far than happiness — my honour,
in your keeping — meantime regard Miss Wyndham
as a lady dear to the interests of your family.
Blandford. If you desire it, she shall find a bro-
ther in me.
Sir David. A brother ! — and why — why not a —
husband ? [With great vehemence. ~\
Blandford. A husband. \_Recoili?ig.~]
Sir David. Blandford, my only hope remains with
you. No more at present, my Lady Delmar waits
impatient to congratulate your return, with her you
will find Miss Wyndham.
Blanaford. I attend her ladyship.
SirlJavid. Williams. {Enter Williams.]
Conduct the Captain to her Ladyship — [Exit Wil-
liams.] — And when you see Olivia, think Ueorge,
A COMEDY. 19
think what I have said, I have cause to imagine
the poor girl loves you. and you are bound in ho-
nour
Blandford. Not to deceive her. No uncle, no !
The scoundrel that beneath false colours captures a
weaker vessel than his own, is a robber and a pirate,
a villain, and a coward. What should J be if, pro-
fessing to love no woman, I cheated any, with a hand
without a heart.
Sir David. Hear me George
Blandford. No uncle, try me any way but this.
If I wrong a man he calls me to account, and none
but a dastard will wound that sex, who have our
own sensibilities to feel an injury though they may not
have the same strength to resent it — you will feel my
argument, and I trust the decision to your own
bosom. [Exit Blandford.
Sir David. And that decision must condemn me.
Blandford refuses then, and on Sir Arthur all my
hope must rest. He has written to the Colonel of
young Hardacre —and in such terms that if all my
projects are not formed to be defeated, he is no
longer with his regiment. Have I then added ty-
ranny — oppression — to my failings ? but where can
that man hope to stop, who once has listened to
the dictates of an unfeeling prodigality ? [Exit.
The Cottage of Hardacre, neat and plain, Record
reading, Hardacre at a Table smoaking his Pi/ie.
Hardacre. Well, Record, have you finished the
letter from my boy Philip ?
Record. He here informs you that having quar-
relled with his Colonel, he has left his regiment.
Hardacre. Right. [_Smokes.~\
Record. He is afraid that some concealed enemy
has done him this ill turn.
Hardacre. Yes. [Coolly.']
Reord. And that scanty as he knows your means
C 2
20 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
to be, he is now returning to share them, assured
that you would never again admit him to your pre-
sence if he stooped to an act of servility.
Hardacre. Right! right! quite right I
Record. And all these ill tidings you hear with
the most complete unconcern ?
Hardacre. Why should it concern me ?
Record. Philip has been bred like a gentleman,
Hardacre. Granted.
Record. How is he to support himself now ?
Hardacre. Why, like a gentleman.
Record. But how ?
Hardacre, By Independence.
Record. What Independence?
Hardacre. The best — his own exertions.
Record. We are Friends !
Hardacre. True.
Record. I suspect foul play has been used.
Hardacre. Urn!
Record. Sir David likes you not.
Hardacre. May be so ! 'Tis strange to hate a mar*
one never saw.
Record. He is proud.
Hardacre. So am I.
Record. Miss Wyndham's father left you joint
guardian with him.
Hardacre. He did.
Record. This hurt his dignity. The will which
I have before me, ordains that she should pass the
summer with you at your cottage, and the winter
with Sir David at his house in town.
Hardacre, He had his reasons. Wyndham was
an odd fellow like myself. 1 knew him from early
life.
Record. Indeed!
Hardacre Poor as I seem, I did ; and rendered
him a service he has not forgotten: — you ever thought
mean oddity-- 1 am so.
A COMEDY. 21
Record. Colonel Wyndhim was rich — If you
served him, how comes it that he left you none of
his wealth?
Hardacre. I am an oddity I tell you, he knew I
was so ; he knew likewise that the services the he"art
lenders, the heart and not the hand must tepay —
money can buy many things — but the fri nd
that money can buy is hardly worth the purchas-
ing.
Record. I comprehend : — Colonel Wyndhim wish*
ed his daughter to pass her time equally becwe^n
ilk to i n and country — because —
Hardacre Both have their vices you have hit
it; and by seeing them, she might avoid their ex-
tremes.
Record. Sir David susfiects that you intend your
son for Miss Wyndham's husband.
Hardacre. Does he ?
Record. I know he does — if you could convince
him of ycur innocence — he would be ) our friend.
Hardacre. My what ? [Laying down his hipc and
rising with ajool ddcun.~}
Record. Your friend.
Hardacre- And what right can Sir David Delmar
have to the name of old Philip Hardacre's friend ?
a name he never wastes on every new comer, who
can scrape a tune on a fiddle, or make a leg like a
dancing master — not carelessly given, or wantonly
withdrawn — but once pledged with the rough grasp
of an honest hand, held firm and fast, till the last
struggle of expiring mortality.
Record. How.
Hardacre. For you Mr. Record is my attachment
firm and real — but your master must deserve my
esteem before he can gain my friendship,.
Record. Recollect Sir David s interest in the coun-
try.
22 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Hardacre. I hope he does his best to serve it, and
while life and strength is left me, so will I. In
peace I will serve it by my example to my poorer
neighbours round me, and in war I will unite my
arms to theirs against invading violence. I am Sir
David's equal here — I want not his favors. I am
loved by those round me — smoke a pipe with the
curate — club a joke with the apothecary — talk of
pronouns and participles with the school-master — ■
and condemn smuggling with the exciseman — every
face in the village meets me with a smile— I want
not his friendship.
Enter Philip.
Hardacre. My boy!
Philip. Dear, dear father! Mr. Record!
Record. Welcome home, young gentleman.
Philip,. Home would indeed be welcome to me,
sir — Did I not come to overcharge a father — You
received my letter?
Record. Yes, and your father approves.
Philip. Then am I blest. I know not wherefore
I have been thus treated : long was I honoured with
my commander's confidence, and proud to hold, en-
deavoured to preserve it.
Record. His temper perhaps was overbearing.
Philip. Let me do justice to his character; as a
soldier, he is an honour to his country and profes-
sion ; as a man, he is an ornament to the society of
which he is a member. He has an eye to discern
merit, and under him the meanest private in his
ranks has only to deserve, to find protection, friend-
ship and promotion.
Hardacre. You have been slandered, boy.
Philip. Alas ! I fear so father
Hardacre. You've not been treated with indig-
nity.
A COMFDY. 23
Philifi. I stan J before my father ; that is at once
an answer to your question; had I endured the
slightest insult, I would have fled to the earth's ex-
tremest verge ere I ventured to a roof where poverty
has dwelt, but where disgrace has never dared to
enter.
Hardacre. Your hand —your hand — excuse the
old man, Record— tears are not constant visitors
with me, and when they come, I welcome them as
strangers and as guests.
Philifi. No, father, no — my resignation sprung
from chilling apathies, from cold neglects, felt
easier than described. They pierced my heart, used
to the glow of social friendship; and finding it
withdrawn, I come again to my parental roof; my
former occupation. Convinced, that though no
laurel graces my brow, as I return with an unsullied
heart, a father's arms will be — as now I see they are,
open to welcome, chear and bless me. {Embrace,
Record. Your hand — Hardacre, you called me
friend. I'll prove so. — I suspect treacnery — I'll find it.
Hardacre, Will you ?
Record. To be sure I will. I had as soon give
in a false account, as not do justice to my neighbour's
character — your's young man ! ' [Shakes Philifi' s
hand heartily and Exit.
Hardacre. And now, my boy, you must turn the
sword to the sickle. Stop : one word — it is suspected
that Miss Wyndham — you turn pale — to-morrow
she sets out to London, I shall resign my guardian-
ship, and you must — aye must promise me, never
to see her more.
Philifi. If it is your pleasure. ^faltering.
Hardacre. It's my command—Sir David thinks I
have encouraged you — Did the proud man know —
Well, no matter — Rouse yourself; if you indulge a
•iofie, remember that you wrong Olivia — Your fa-
24 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
ther and— my boy I know the task is hard — I feel
— I feel for you. [ fend "ly
Philifu Yes, sir, I will exert myself, and strive
to find in labour and activity an antidote to a
passion, weakly, vainly cherished.
Hardacre. Why, that's well said, we'll toil again
together, and affluence shall envy us our occupation ;
my little lands have been neglected in thy absence ;
they now again shall smile and flourish — we'll —
we'll help the poorer cottagers about us — di-
vide our crust with the needy, — administer to the
afflicted — divide the burthen with the weary, and
make the grateful hamlet bless, and laugh around us.
\JLxeuht affectionately,
SCENE III.
Sir David Delmar s House.
The general Afiartment.
Zllidy — Drawing at a Table.
He has forgotten me ; I know, I feel he has — Pie
has been with Lady Delmar and Olivia ; yet he asks
not for me ? I have finished my picture— AV ill it
please him ? Here is a little vessel agitated by a
storm ; that will serve as an emblem of poor Ze-
lidy — Here a majestic bark hastening to its re-
lief ; that is an emblem of Blandford — And here
is Hope smiling upon her anchor ; ah for whom
will that serve ? Not for Zelidy !
Enter Bl .ndp ord.
Blandford. What a confounded noise in every
part of this mansion ! This it is to be married. — ■
Marriage ! — quiet ? pretty quiet state, forsooth !
there must be great fiafifiiness to be sure when all
these noises of routs, and balls, and fete champetres
A COMEDY. 25
are necessary to keep the heavy machine in motion ;
thank heaven and thy stars, Blandford, ///ow art teaz^d
with no (lifting but the piping of the storm ; subject
to no caprices but the ic of the elements — ■
Matrimony !— Love! — Away with 'em ! — I'll none
on't !
Zelidy. [Starting ufi.~] Tis he! that voice! my
grateful heart cannot delude — deceive me ; oh my
guardian ! my preserver ! [bursts into tears and
kneels before him.
Blandford. Zelidy ! why, yes — yes. it must ; well, if
it be so, I'm heartily glad to see [kisses her'] I feel an
odd sensation that — marriage! why the plague
should people marry I
Zelidy. My benefactor ! my father!
Blandford. Nay, nay, you need not call me father,
Sir David is much older than I am, and you may
call him father if you please.
Zelidy. Your goodness. —
Blandford. Well, never mind my goodness now,
you haven't wanted any thing in my absence I
hope — come, don't call me father again — I don't like it.
Zelidy. Brother, then.
Blandford. Yes, that's a little better, and more
like the fact. Well, you have been in London — like
it I suppose— dress, equipage, jewels — eh ?
Zelidy. Ah, no ! ill would it become an orfihan,
from ciiildhood a dependant on thegenerous bounties
of another, to vie in splendour with the affluent, the
prosperous, and the happy!
Blandford 1 understand — but take one truth
from him who never flattered in his life. The sim-
ple pinnace floating down life's tide, with the
white pendant of truth and innocence, need never
strike its modest flag to any painted gaudy vessel,
that, decked in gew-gaw colours, rides in affected
26 TIME'S A TELL TALE,
arrogance before it. Here, here is some worthless
ballast of which it will be kind to lighten me.
[offers money.
Zelidy. Ah no ! no ! no i you hurt, you digress
me. I have h'therto received your b unties in
silence and vvithout a blush — should .hey assume
a pecuniary form, I could no longer accept them,
with .other sensations than those of sorrow and
uneasiness.
Blandford. Rather than so, may every guinea
I possess be burled in the ocean where I earned it.
I now find that to give is in the power of every
stupid fellow — to give firo/ierly is a science — and
we sailors generally understand the liberal arts much
better than the fine ones.
Zelidy. Ah, sir ! you have already done too
much for Zelidy. My wishes should be humble as
my fortunes ; my parents are perhaps in poverty, in
want.
Blandford. Be satisfied, my dear Z?lidy, your pa-
rents can now need no assistance from you — your
father was —
Zelidy. Was — who — speak — oh speak, and I
will bless you — oh, yes! doubly bless you. When
last we saw you here, I was a child too young to be
entrusted with my own sad story — but, when re-
flection dawned, my busy fancy drew the mournful
picture of my parents sufferings Memory retraced
the image of my father, my mother's person too I
never can forget — pale was her cheek, and she
would sit and weep — Oh, hear me, bounteous Hea-
ven ! thou who didst spread thy sheltering arm in
infancy ! if yet my parents live— oh ' guide me,
guide me to them! these hands shall toil to aid,
these active limbs shall bound with more than
youthful vigour to rep.y the pious debt of grati-
tude, of feeling, and of nature !
A COMEDY. 27
Blandford. Rise, Zelidy — your supplications are
no longer to be resisted. Listen to me.
Zelidy. Oh, I am all attention.
Blandford. The ship, which, in the absence of
our Captain, I fourteen years since commanded,
was ordered on an expedition to the place of your
nativity. One night, when all was dark, and silent,
except the sullen wave, which dashed against the
vessel's side — I heard
Enter Query, curiously coming towards him.
Query. Aye, my dear fellow, what did you hear ?
Blandford. Provoking !
Zelidy. Cruel interruption !
Query. Beg pardon, fear I come a little mal-a-
jirojios.
Blandford. Where the deuce have you been loiter-
ing?
Query. Couldnt be introduced en deshabille, Miss.
Zelidy. Sir.
Query. Madam ; is it Miss Zelidy ? [aside to Bland-
U»rd.
Blandford. No, no.
Query. Miss Venusia?
Blandford. O no ! — no, 1 tell you.
Query. Miss Olivia ?
Blandford. No.
Query. Lady Delmar, mayhap ? [Blandford
makes a sign to Zelidy, who retires unseen
by Query.
Blandford. Why you seem to know the names of
the whole family before you have set eyes upon one
of them.
Query. Let me alone for that — hate to lose time ;
while my coiffeur equipped me, got it all out of
him. Don't let me neglect the young lady, though :
25 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
pray, Miss, give me leave to ask. [turns rouncf] Hey,
gone.! what couia drive her away i
Blandford. Your questions would drive away the
very devil himself.
Query Come, come — now do ; do be good na-
tured, and I won't plague you any more : never ask
a single question till supper time. 1 say, who do
you think is down on a visit here.
Blandford. I know not, I care not.
Query. My old London acquaintance, Sir Arthur
Tessel — on a love affair to one of the ladies of
this mansion ; don't know which — ask him though
the first time I see him, since you wish it
Blandford. Why should 1 wish it ? I've nothing
to do with love or marriage.
Query You remember Sir Arthur's uncle, the
Colonel — I've heard you speak of him. Could you
introduce me to him ; he's a brave fellow they say.
Blandford. They do him justice then ; I know
him to be so.
Query. Ask Sir Arthur to introduce me. The
Colonel will thank him : know 1 shall ben favourite —
flatter myself few fieofile more so in London. Al-
ways do my best to please the good folks there ;
I've one certain way of being agreeable — have you
found it out ?
Blandford. Upon my soul, I have not.
Query. No ? tell you my secret then ; always make
myself useful. Any thing lost, I enquire — any re-
ports going abroad ; I enquire — any news stirring ;
I enquire — thus by little and little, I gather like a
snow-ball ; every body is glad to employ me, every
body is glad to see me, and useful Ned Query can
make his way into a drawing room, nine times out
of ten, when a poor poet, a celebrated general, or
a man of family is told, not at home, for four and
twenty times together.
A COMEDY. 29
Blandford. Indeed, then I'm heartily glad, Ned,
that it has been my good fortune to spend so much
of my time at sea.
Query. Why so ?
Blandford. Because, I should be sorry to see
noise and impudence admitted to any house where
genius, worth and virtue, were kept waiting fit the
door ; but follow me to the ladies, and mind you
are upon your good behaviour.
Query. Hut pray, did you ever — «
Blandford. Psha— [Exit.
Query. Here's treatment ; I'll never ask another
question as long as I live — never, never, never ! [Ser-
vant fiasses the stage.^ Ah, John, how's your wife ? —
Dumb — plague take it, people now a days would
rather talk of any body's wives than their own.
[Exit.
SCENE—//** Fete Chamjietre.
A grand Naval Trophy erected in the middle of ike
Stage; various Arbours filled with elegant Company \ Sis.
David and Ms Party ; Sir Arthur and Olivia
come forward.
Sir Arthur. Positively, Miss Wyndham, you must
preside at this fete champetre ; I cannot prevail on
your aunt Venusia to do the honours, because she
says a fete champetre, was a thing unknown to
the ancient dames of Greece and Rome. Ha ! ha ! ha !
Olivia. Yet, Sir Arthur, you can flatter the
woman you laugh at ; and pray give me leave to
ask your motives for a constant attendance on her
you are perpetually endeavouring to render ridi-
culous.
Sir Arthur. Can my motives be unknown to Miss
Wyndham ? for whom I have deserted dear, dear
London, and all its charming ways? — ah, Miss
Wyndham, Miss Wyndham ! will you never under-
stand me ?
iO TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Olivia. Oh yes, Sir Arthur, I understand you too
well ; I see that your pretended regards to my aunt
are so many affronts in disguise.
Sir Arthur. Oh no '• no affront, I do quiz her
a little to be sure, its a way we have in London.
Olivia. I know it, worthy Baronet, I know it.
Quiz is an elegant term, which supplies, in your
vain ideas, those superior qualifications you only
ridicule because you cannot imitate.
Sir Arthur. Hold ! hold ! my dear Miss Wynd-
ham, if you put on the armour of Minerva, I
shall never venture to attack you.
Olivia. Nay, be not afraid Sir Arthur, a choice
spirit like yourself should never be alarmed at any
thing ; I have observed your whole fraternity in
London, have waited hours in patient expectation
of their lively sallies, and found them languid
when not noisy, saying any thing for the mere
purpose of saying any thing, and eager to gain
the applauses, of coxcombs, empty as themselves,
though on such terms as would cover an honest
man with confusion, or a delicate woman with
blushes. — Oh fie ! fie ! Sir Arthur !
{Goes uji the stage — Music.)
Sir Arthur. 'Tis plain, she suspects my designs :
can I then give her up with such grace, such viva-
city, and such fortune? forbid it Love! Is there
any harm in making this antiquated spinster the
means of obtaining snch a treasure ? none. She
watches me closely though. — Let me see, how to
get rid of her r I have it, the obsequious Mr. Query
will stand in good stead. I will introduce him as
a scholar and a wit, the good old lady will swal-
low the bait, he will engross some of her atten-
tions, and thus I hope to make him useful every
way, (Qu lry comes foryjard).
A COMEDY. Si
Query. Who useful, my dear Sir Arthur ? only
make me so, I shall be the happiest fellow in the
world.
Sir Arthur. You might now be of the greatest
service to me.
Query. As how? you rejoice my heart ! as how ?
Sir Arthur. Come to our table, I'D tell you my
scheme.
Query. Scheme ! what scheme ? heard Lady Del-
mar ask for you— darted off like an arrow from a
bow — are you a toxopholite ? —
Sir Arthur. Psha ! we are staid for. [Retire.
Enter Record.
Record. Here is the temple of dissipation.
Sir David. Now Record, what news ?
Record. The old news, sir, the old visitors.
Sir David. "Sdeath, have they presumed to ven-
ture here?
Record. Yes sir, and threaten to expose you be*
fore all your company, unless
Sir David. Hush ! how much will satisfy their
clamours ?
Record. Not less than 5001.
Sir David. Confusion ! I borrowed that sum of
Miss Wyndham yesterday, for a debt of honour ;
I must again apply to her : for the present take
this {gives a bank-note,) silence the harpies. — I would
not have Lady Delmar know it for a thousand
worlds.
Record. And how is Miss Wyndham to be—
Sir David. No matter ; do your duty, sir: leave
me to 1 cannot think leave me, leave me
to to-morrow all shall be set to rights, (retires
and joins his fiarty )
Record. My duty ! yes, painful as that duty is, it
must, it -shall be done. Miss Wyndham must not
32 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
fall a sacrifice to her own goodness. On this note,
which I have been requested by Philip to deliver
to her, I may pencil a few lines to warn her of
her danger. Ha ! they rise.
Sir David and Lady come forward i Sir Arthur and
Query converse ; Rlandfqrd and Zelidy engaged
likewise in conversation : while all are occupied,
Record secretly slips a letter into the hand of
Olivia.
Lady Delmar. My dear, you are thoughtful ?
Sir David. Oh no ! 1 was absorbed in — no mat-
ter — are the dancers ready ?
Query. Oh ! yes, all ready. I have seen to that,
Sir David.
Sir David. Let them commence.
Lady Delmar. My dear !
Sir David. Pray see to our friends, I, I will fol-
low.— I like not the attentions of my nephew to
this orphan girl, pity they say is a kin to love :
this must be looked to, and
The music here strikes up. Village girls dance y
and fire sent Blandford with flewers, then re-
tarn with naval fags, laurels, &c. which they
likewise lay at his feet.
A COMEDY. 3.3
ACT III,
SCENE I.— Sir David's Borne,
Enter Sir Arthur, musing.
Sir Arthur.
SURELY, surely of all plagues with which a man
can be tormented, none was ever greater than
being trusted with the secrets of a family. Sir
David tells me, that spite of the brilliant figure
he has so long been making, he is worried to
death by the demands of creditors — Strange ! psha !
not at all so, the thing is common enough in every
circle in London, and were none there to ride in
their own carriages but those who have paid for
them/ we might lounge down Bond-street with as
much ease and as little difficulty, as we stroll
through a church-yard in a country-village.
Enter Record with a bundle of bills.
Record. Sir David informs me sir, that you have
kindly undertaken to settle with a few gentlemen
who are to call here for money this morning.
Sir Arthur. Oh ! yes, yes ; Sir David tells me
these people have been very troublesome, and as I
am so soon to have the honor of being nearly re-
lated to him, its my duty to do ail I can to set
his mind at rest: send them to me, I'll settle them.
Record. If you would encharge me with the
money sir, it would save you much trouble.
Sir Arthur. Money! oh! never mind the money
D
Si IIME'S A TELL-TALE,
my dear fellow, with us men of fashion money is
neither here nor there. When they call, only let me
know, and Flattery's the word. You shall hear
me praise the colouring of the painter, till instead
of payment, he begs me to sit for the exhibition;
and tickle the wine -merchant over a bottle of his
own Chamfiagne, till he forgets what he came for,
and begs a fresh order, with a bow down to the
ground. This is the London style of living, my
old boy, and without it, we have a number of
very dashing fellows who would not know how to
live at all.
Record. I am astonished !
Sir Arthur. Are you ? that's a sign you know
very little of high life then ; any stupid fellow
can manage these matters with money, the real art
of the business is to settle them without it, only
send them to me, and you shall see me put my
theory in practice. [Exit Record.
Sir Arthur. So! when I have accommodated mat-
ters with these gentry, I have promised Sir David
to call this young Hardacre to an account.— My
letter to the Colonel has taken effect it seems, I
hope he did not suspect the writer. Oh - [taking out
a memorandum book) here is my young spark's ad-
dress ; 1 was to drive Miss Wyndham in my cur-
ricle to-day, and with all this business on my hands,
how shall I contrive to
Enter Query.
Query. My dear Sir Arthur, can I drive the cur-
ricle for you ? I am a dead good whip.
Sir Arthur. Are you ?
Query. Am I ! d'ye know Bob Squareweil r he
taught me the. rules, snug, short, concise-—
A COMEDY. SJ
The rule of the road is a paradox quite,
While driving your carriage along.
If you keep to the left, you are sure to go right,
And if you go right, you go wrong.
Sir Arthur. Well ! that will answer, go and pre-
pare.
Query. I am gone ; but stay — Sir Arthur where
, do you live in London? you keep a great deal of
company ?
Sir Arthur. Well, what then ?
Query. Ah '• if you would but introduce me to
some of your parties. I'm a useful fellow, will you ?
its of no great consequence, only it gives a man
an air, to have a large acquaintance : will you in-
troduce me some morning to all your fashionable
friends ?
Sir Arthur. Any thing, zounds ! you'll keep
Miss Wyndham waiting
Query. I am gone, only give me leave to ask
one question, do you know the marquis of
Sir Arthur. 'Sdeath and plagues, ask me any
thing when you come back ; only go now. [retires ufi.)
Query. I'm gone, noble baronet, I'm gone.
[Exit Query.
Sir Arthcr. Now then for my defiance, my
heart upbraids me when I think : think, beware of
that Sir Arthur Tessel. — Reflection is the very
•Worst friend a duellist can cherish.
[During his soliloquy, Olivia appears advancing
through the folding-doors, so earnestly employed
in reading a letter, that she docs not observe his
exit.']
But see, my charming Olivia comes this way, I
will instantly dispatch the business of Sir David,
and return to her immediately. [Exit Sir Arthur.
Olivia. Generous Philip ! this noble effort for
your father adds esteem to pity : pity ! beware
D2
56 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Olivia — Pity is a dangerous word — Heigho !
{looks at the letter) what have we here, lines on the
back in pencil writing. " Beware Miss Wynd-
ham," " beware of the immense sums Sir David \h
daily borrowing." — This hint confirms my former
suspicions — ha Miss Venusia.
Seeing Miss Venusia Laurel advancing slowly down
the stage, with a book in her hand, her air pensive,
solemn, and absorbed.
Miss Venusia. These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
Miss Wyndham '.jaded to death with that foolish
feminine amusement, dancing, I suppose — Cor-
nelia never danced — a mere loco motive exercise !
I marvel my sister Lady Delmar has not more
taste than to encourage it.
Olivia. It is a harmless diversion, at least my dear
Madam, promotes society, and brings young
people together.
Miss Venusia. Fie, fie, Miss Olivia! You have
caught up these notions in the mansion of that
visigoth, that Hardacre.
Olivia. Would you then have a young woman
totally lay aside the graces that characterise her
own sex ?
Miss Venusia. The graces — ridiculous ! No Miss
Olivia, no. Even when a child, I was admired
for the gravity of my looks.
Olivia. Indeed Madam.
Miss Venusia. Aye indeed ; as I grew to riper
years, I never consulted the idle variations of
fashion ; for the last twenty years, I have dressed
with the same pure simplicity in which you see
me now — ever keeping in my mind, the favourite
line of my favourite poet —
« Where half the skill is decently to hide."
A cautious maxim, that has been out of date for these
six years past.
A COMEDY. el
Olivia. And yet my dear Madam, I have observed
that there is nothing in this world of which the men
have so great an horror as a learned lady.
Miss Venusia. Mere ignorance child ! Sheer
envy, and malevolence !
Olivia. A mistake, a mistake — I can assure you ;
no miser grudges his neighbour a supernumerary
shilling with more grumbling reluctance, than a
husband envies a wife, one single atom of superior
intellect.
Miss Venusia. However it may be in the country,
amongst ignorant rustics like old Hardacre — it is
quite a different case in London I assure you Miss.
For I think you yourself will agree with me in a
firm opinion, that in London, a woman of genius
and talent never yet went unnoticed or unrewarded.
Olivia. You are as partial to London as your ad-
mirer Sir Arthur, who will not allow the least
shadow of merit to any thing, that does not bear
the stamp of the metropolis.
Miss Venusia. Sir Arthur is a man of sense, a
great admirer of the classics. He likes to hear me
read Milton, and the poets of old times. Hush !
sure I hear his step — will you do me the favour to
see my dear ?
Olivia. With all my heart Madam, but you must
excuse my returning, as I have to prepare myself
for an airing in the curricle.
Miss Venusia. Oh, just as you please Miss
• Olivia. [Exit Olivia.
Miss Venusia. If, as I suspect, Sir Arthur should
disclose his long smothered passion, how am I to
behave ? My acquirements seem to have made an
impression on his friend Mr. Query too, who he
tells me is one of the most inquiring geniuses of
the age. — He comes.
** TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Enter Sir Arthur.
Sir Arthur. S'death ! MissWyndham gone ! (aside)
To interrupt Miss Venusia Delmar is an act of sa-
crilege to the interests of literature — how then am
I to sue for forgiveness ?
Miss Venmia. The interruptions of some persons
are indeed intolerable, but a man like you, who
has such an esteem for —
Sir Arthur. "What does she mean now ? I must
humour her this time, however, (aside. J Madam.
Miss Venusia. Tou I say, Sir Arthur, never pay
a female so ill a compliment, as to be attentive to
so ridiculous an exterior, as beauty, your present
ideas are derived from a different source.
Sir Arthur. By my honour madam you do me
justice. No Miss Venusia, beauty is in my eyes,
a mere chimera ; give me the female whose mental
graces can charm the imagination, and captivate
the understanding, as my friend Mr. Query says.
Miss Venusia. Mr. Query makes me proud. The
approbation of such a scholar as you say your
friend is —
Sir Arthur. Oh ! one of the first in the world,
the most inquiring genius I ever met with in the
whole course of my life.
Miss Venusia. He has. promised me the honour
of an hour's conversation this morning. Ah ! Sir
Arthur, how futile are all other entertainments
compared with the interchange of intellect.
Sir Arthur. The union of minds,
Miss Venusia. There is no accounting for the
vanity of some females you know Sir Arthur, how-
ever, I must leave you for the present.
Sir Arthur. Oh madam ! why so ?
Miss Venusia. I must finish my nine and thirtieth
Ibook of my poem with satirical notes.
A COMEDY. 39
Sir Arthur. I would not for worlds, madam, do
literature such an injury as to detain you — besides
I see Mr. Query coming this way, and he would
interrupt us.
Miss Venusia. For the present — adieu then, Sir
Arthur.
[Sir Arthur hands her to the door in centre, she curt-
seys and goes off.
Enter Query at the wing.
Sir Arthur. How Query ! not started yet ?
Query. The carriage is this moment at the door,
and I only come to ask —
Sir Arthur. Zounds ! — I can't stay to be asked
any tiling now — only take care that no accident —
Query. Depend on me Sir Arthur, never met
with an accident in all my life, so careful that when
I took lady Highflyer's little son an airing, kept
stead)' as possible, looked at nothing but the horses
heads, for twelve miles together — brought the car-
riage quite safe home — to be sure Master Highflyer
was missing, for being cautious not to frighten him,
never once perceived that the little gentleman had
popped out on the other side of me. My lady in
a great rage when I came back — but no harm
done — Master Highflyer returned safe and sound
the next morning in the basket of the Windsor
coach.
Sir Arthur. A mighty careful fellow, truly so —
it's lucky, now I remember, that you have not set
out — my dear Query !
Query. Well.
Sir Arthur. As you say you wish to be useful
to me, here is a letter to ^oung Hardacre, you
guess its contents, and shall be my friend in this
affair.
Query. Yes, yes, Baronet—I do guess its con-
tents, and I will be your friend in the affair —
40 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
but not by carrying the letter — plague take such
officious friends — what are they like — why — the —
the comtl full of fire superfluous, heat unnecessary —
gazed at by the curious — safest at a distance.
Sir Arthur. Very well sir — since you refuse me —
I must send my letter by —
Query. Any body but Ned Query — I am a
strange fellow — I have spent my life in making
people laugh— it never hurts me — the more they
laugh at me, the better I like it. I love to be
useful — I'd sail to Russia — make a voyage to
Abyssinia — any thing to be useful — but the medler
who runs about to set two fellows cutting each
others throats, is not only the most useless, but the
most mischievous being on the face of the
earth. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Hard acre's Cottage.
Enter Philip in his rustic Dress through the Cottage
Door in centre.
Philifi. The day grows late — yet my father re-
turns not : the heavy rustling of the leaves too,
seem to forelei a coming storm. Well, let it rage :
it can not drown the tempest here, [strikes his heart.']
Olivia ! beloved Olivia ! flush presumptuous heart !
lie still. Crus % thes^ aspiring hopes, be faithful to
thy promise given, and sacrifice thy happiness to
hers — [A crash heard at the door of the Cottage.] —
What noise is this }—[A servant enters rafiidhj.] —
Ha ! who are you ?
Servant. Oh sir, make all the haste you can, a
gentleman has just overturned a curricle at the
door, and we fear the lady who was in it is severe-
ly hurt.
A COMEDY. 14
. Philifi. "Where is the gentleman ? with his assist-
ance I may
Servant* He ran oft' for help directly sir, bidding
me say, he hoped you would give the lady the shel-
ter or' this house from the storm which is coming
on.
Philifi. To any human being in distress the shel-
ter of this house was never yet refused — no words,
but follow me.
[They rush out ; noise of falling rain, flashes of lightning
seen through the Cottage -window. PniLip and servant
re-enter with On via, who is too. much agitated to take
notice of what is going forwards. They seat her in a
chair. Servant retires — and Philip speaks.
Madam, may I presume. (Catching her eye, ) — -Olivia.
Olivia. Where am I? sure I should know this
house, this Philip — clear Philip.
[Afi^rouching hun y he averts his face.
Philifi. Where will the malice of my fortune end ?
To see — to love — and yet be forced to shun her !
Olivia ! you received my letter ?
Olivia. I did : and it has both alarmed and terri-
fied me. You tell me there that we must meet no
more. Could Philip be in earnest ?
Philifi. Honour, justice, humanity — all — all de-
mand the paintul sacrifice. Too long already has
the baleful presence of an unhappy man clouded
your prospers and destroyed your hopes — go — go
enjoy the fortune heaven has blessed you with— -
leave me to my fate.
Olivia. Unkindly said ! if you forget your gene-
rous acts, 'tis fit that I refresh your memory. vVh..n
in our childish rambles, arm in arm we climbeo yon
precipice, my dizzy sight betrayed my faltering
step, when Philip boldly plunged the steep and saved
Olivia at the hazard of his life.
*2 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Phili/i. Forbear ! recal not thus the scenes of happy
infancy — they make life's landscape darken round
me — and memory adds fresh pangs to one so lost —
so wretched — and so hopeless — my conscience is as
yet unsullied ; let me retain that consolation, and
Olivia, I know your heart is pure dear Philip —
look up then — look proudly up while here Oiivia
owns her sentiments to thee and all the world — tell-
ing the sneering, idle herd of coxcombs, that flutter
round her person, she prizes the friendship of one
honest, honourable man, before a tribe of those un-
feeling rakes 9 who falsely would be reckonedmen of
honour.
Enter Hard acre, his pipe in his Mouthy on seeing them,
starts — throws it to the ground, and advances towards them
Hardacre. What do I see ? Is this your promis e
Philip ?
Philifi. Sir— Sir— I
Hardacre. You have hurt me. The toil of the
day had overpowered me — and you — you have
completed it. [wifiing his brow.
Phillip. I am innocent, sir.
Hardacre. What brings Olivia here then.
Olivia. Hear me, sir.
Philifi. Place yourself in my situation, father, tell
me then how you would have acted.
Hardacre. In all situations I trust old Hardacre
would have acted like an honest man, you know
me, Miss Wyndham, you know me. Sir David
has insulted mewith a suspicion that — he looks down
upon the rustic — 1 am rough, I am plain — but he
shall one day know, though the bark of the tree is
rugged, and the top somewhat withered, the root
is still sound, and the core as vigorous and as un-
tainted as his own \ you— you have grieved me,
boy.
A COMEDY. 43
Philifi. Then am I the most unfortunate as well
as the most wretched of men.
Olivia. Hear me guardian — or if you persist in
denying me that title, Hear me friend of ?ny father.
Hardacre. Friend of Wyndham — well — go on — ■
speak.
Olivia. Philip is not to blame — a gentleman broke
down our carriage at this door — when he sheltered
an unprotected female — indeed — indeed he did not
know that female was Olivia.
Hardacre. Is it so — Philip forgive me. As your
guardian, dear Olivia, 1 must now resign my right.
Olivia. Dear sir, have I offended ?
Hardacre. No, bless thee, no, but I am forced to
beg your absence from my house. I am thought
to have designs upon your fortune — this I cannot
submit to. The poor man's probity is all that he
can call his own — and J cannot afford to part with
it — it is the harvest of a sixty years of toil, and thanks
to heaven and my country, there is no man on
earth that can prevent my reaping it.
Olivia. Thejustice of your sentiments have pierced
me to the soul. Oh Philip !
Philip. Olivia. [Here re-enter servant.']
Servant. Sir Arthur, madam, attends you with my
Lad) r Delmar's chariot.
Olivia. I come — farewell my guardian — Philip
adieu.
[To Philip, who throws himself in a chair and covers
his face with his hands — Olivia looks at him
and rushes out. The servant s'ai/s.
Servant. I had forgot — Sir Arthur desired me to
give this letter to young Mr. Hardacre.
Philiji. To me i
Servant. To you, sir — if you are the gentleman.
Philiji. I am. [Servant gives him the letter and exit,
Philifi is agitated as he reads it.
44 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Hardacre. The contents affect him— my son !
give me that paper.
Philifi. Your pardon, sir.
Hardacre* I entreat.
Philifi. Excuse me, I
Hardacre I COMMAND.
Philifi. I dare not disobey— but remember the
honour of a son is in a father's hands, [gives the let-
ter,
Hardacre. And where shall it be safer ? — where
shall the ivy find more firm support than clasping
the rough trunk where first it grew ? How's this !— :
a challenge — oppression on oppression ! — well boy !
■ — how do you mean to act ?
Philifi. I am a soldier, and your son — do you de-
cide.
Hardacre. 'Tis hard — but yet- yes — you shall
meet him, Philip. {He reads the note.
" Since Sir David's commands have nc effect —
answer me — though the difference of our ranks
makes it a condescension," what ! — " to put you
on a level' 1 — indeed !
Philifi. Does he insult our poverty ?
Hardacre. No. He insults his country I Whoever
breaks the peaceful order of society has no rank in
it, he has forfeited his claim ; come, come, my Philip
— thou art the only prop of my declining day —
when in distant cihne; my other blossom, thy poor
sister, perished— when she was lost to me for ever
— thou yet remaindst to comfort me — and now —
now — [Grasfis his hand and bursts into tears ; after a
struggle Philifi khcels to him.
Philifi. Father! If you would have me shun this
fatal meeting teach me but how I can with honour
— a soldier's honour.
A COMEDY. 45
Hardacre. [firmly raises then embraces him,] No 1
no ! That must not be : yet something shall be done.
For fourteen years I've shunned Sir David Delmar —
this day I'll see him and all mystery shall end — my
selfish feelings shall be sacrificed. Philip, thy hand
— woe to the wretch who seeks these bloody trials
— a professed duellist is a mildew and a blight upon
the fairest works of heaven — he is a savage bird of
prey, and like kites and vultures should be hunted
by general consent from that harvest which he was
only born to ruin and deface — come, come, my son.
f Exeunt with firm resolution.
46 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
ACT IV.
SCENE I.— Sir David's Study*
Sir David and Record — Record has his Book of
Accounts,
Sir David.
Again tormented ! and am I never to be free from
these devouring cormorants?— Is this your vigi*
lance ?
Record. You know how often I have told you
that it must come to this at last.
Sir David. Well, Mr. Record— it's very, very
well, sir.
Record. I can no longer answer the many demands
that every hour press in — I have done all I could —
and must now beg you to "examine my accounts,
and take my resignation.
Sir David. 'Tis well, 'tis very well, Mr. Record —
you see me in the toils of misery, and take that op-
portunity to insult, a?d to desert me.
Record. Insult ! Desert you. — Sir David Delmar,
when I do a kind act, I do not wish to talk about
it. I have served your family these five and thir-
ty years — I have during that time saved up one
thousand pounds — I have this very morning disbursed
the last remaining guinea of it among your credi-
tors — if this is either to insult or to desert you, I ask
your pardon — Desert you in your need !
Sir David. Then quit me not.
Record. Yes — as your Steward this very day. la
A COMEDY. 47
In poverty I would serve you, with all my heart,
and all my strength — but pardon me when I res*
pectfully repeat that I will never contribute to the
flattering luxury, that ruins while it smiles upon
you. [Bows and retires*
Sir David. My hopes are past — my friends de-
sert — my heart upbraids me ! Blandford stedfastly
refuses the marriage with Olivia, and all my hopes
now rest upon Sir Arthur. Still while Miss Wynd-
ham remains in my house, my ruin may be prevent-
ed ; her fortune may amuse my creditors a while
— s'death ! what a state is mine I obligation on
obligation !
Enter Miss Wyndham.
Olivia. I come, Sir David, before I set out, to re-
turn my grateful thanks for the many civilities I
have received, both from yourself and Lady Del-
mar.
Sir David. Set out I — Miss Wyndham {--are-
are you then going to leave us ?
Olivia. I informed you sir, last week, that I had a
visit to pay to —
Sir David. To Philip Hardacre, perhaps.
- [Bitterly.
Olivia. Sir.
Sir David, Your father, madam, thought proper
to make me an associate with this Mr. — Mr. Harda-
cre — a name 1 never thought to have seen conjoin-
ed with mine even in a writing.
Olivia. Mr. Hardacre, sir, was my late father's
friend, and he has acted towards 77?^ with a noble
integrity that must ever claim my gratitude.
Sir David. Her words upbraid me ! — [Aside.] —
Miss Wyndham, I have a request to make.
Olivia. Sir, if in my power — [Hesitating.
Sir David. It ?V$a few days cannot possibly in-
49 TIMES A TELL-TALE,
commode your plans : grant me the favour of re-
maining one week more with Lady Delmar.
Olivia. I will deal candidly with you sir ; young
and thoughtless as I may appear I have long observed
you struggling with pecuniary difficulties — nay, be
not angry— hear me with patience. When at age
my fortune will be at my own disposal ; and if that
fortune can be the means of restoring the lost com-
forts of an amiable woman, or a misguided man, I
shall think it has wandered to me as a providential
gift from heaven, and hail it as the smiling herald of
the purest earthly happiness.
Sir David. You have touched, affected me. Of
this hereafter : you consent then to remain one
week ?
Olivia. If that will contribute to your peace, I
do.
Sir David. It will most seriously; two things
more ; not a word of your suspicions to my Lady —
let me next hope that you will think no farther of
this Philip — this —
Olivia. On that subject I must entreat you to ex-
cuse me.
Sir David. By your father's will, my consent is
requisite to your marriage , and though this artful
rustic, under the specious semblance of blunt ho-
nesty
Olivia. Again — again you allow your reason to
be blinded by your prejudice ; permit me to retire.
Reflect, dear sir, on that which I have said : and
think me not intrusive when I add, that in keep-
ing your embarrassments a secret from Lady Del-
mar, you wrong yourself and her. Believe me,
when I assure you, that she who has shared the
splendour of your fortunes, will esteem it an ill
compliment, to be held incapable of supporting
A COMEDY. 49
your trials of adversity, or of partaki ng the sor-
rows of your bosom. [Exit Olivia.
Sir David. Again, again perplexed, defeated,
and confounded. 'Tis plain she loves this Philip,
then ! she owned it not, 'tis true, but she did not
deny it — my affairs draw to a crisis — all doubts must
end this night. Ha, Zelidy !
Zelidy enters.
Zelidy. Your pardon, if I intrude, but — -
Sir David. Another bar to all my projects but for
her Blandford might have entered into my schemes.
[Aside.
Zelidy. I thought Captain Blandford had been
here, sir, he has something to communicate that —
Sir David. 'Tis plain — 'tis plain, and every
hope is wrecked — yet do not think, rash girl —
what am I about to say, my feelings all grow cal-
lous, and I have reached the last step of the ladder
of oppression, by outraging the sensibilities of an
orphan and a woman. [Aside*
Enter Blandford.
Bland. Sir — you look disturbed — you tremble —
can I do any thing to aid, assist, or
Sir David. You once might have done so
George, but now it is too late, {wildly)
Zelidy . 1 1 , h e a ve n s !
Sir David. Excuse me George ! something has
happened, which has ruffled my disposition — let
me see you in the course of an hour, when I shall
have something to communicate of the greatest
consequence. Now then the die is cast — irrevoca-
bly. [Aside and Exit.
Zelidy. What can he mean ? he alarms — he
terrifies me. _
E
50 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
Blandford. Fear not, dear Zelidy, you shall ne-
ver want a protector.
Zelidy. Why did you bring me from the cot-
tage of poor Ellen ? there infancy was past in pla-
cid, gentle joys.
Blandford. That Ellen was my mother's trusted
friend. Exposed to a dangerous profession, my
uncle was the only living being to whom, before
my last voyage, I could entrust you. This night
all shall be explained.
Zelidy. But —
Blandford. Nay, Zelidy, I pledge my word—
my uncle's looks alarm me — watch him, I conjure
you, and should any thing occur, speak to my
friend Query, and he will immediately bring you
tome, at the cottage of old Hardacre : the servants
will direct you — leave me now, dear Zelidy, as I ex-
pect Sir Arthur every moment upon business of
importance.
Zelidy. I will not then detain you- — adieu my
benefactor — wherever you may go, may heaven
protect and bless you. [affectionately kisses his hand
and exit.
Blandford. Now then for the Baronet. The letter
to the Colonel then was his. Record I fear is right
in his suspicions. At all events this brave young
soldier shall net meet him — no — though I run the
risk myself: an aged parent depends on Philip's
assistance: but I — what am If nobody cares for
me — nobody? yes, poor Zelidy, she esteems and
lovss me — and I love her, and — Love ! what have
I to do with Love ? I have forsworn it — if Zelidy
was to marry another would it concern me ? — not a
whit — I would go to sea again and hope — that
the first bullet might — Zounds 1 this looks plaguy
like Love too — Psha ! I'll have nothing to do with it
■ — it's a dangerous enemy, and there's honor in con-
quering it — so I'll see Sir Arthur — Set poor old
A COMEDY. 51
Hardacre's heart at rest — and then, and then haste
back to Zelidy as fast as my heels will carry me —
Jove ! — nonsense ! [Exit.
SCENE, Hardacre's Cottage.
Hardacre, Record — Record with writings and
a casket in his hand.
Hardacre. Thus, Mr. Record, have I fully told
you all my purposes.
Record. I trust you never will repent your con-
fidence.
Hardacre. For that, old honesty, I will be sworn*
Sir David and I at last must meet. You have ex-
amined those papers and the casket I intrusted
to your care — You are a man of business, and can
inform me whether the are correct.
Record. Nothing can be more so I shall see
the casket, and return your papers, wishing you a
prosperous issue to your hopes.
Hardacre. That must be left to time, the Hus-
bandman may sow the grain, but 'tis not allotted to
mail to answer for its growth.
Record. At my request Captain Blandford wrote
to Philip's Colonel — he has received an answer
with the slanderous note enclosed — I know the
hand — I'll swear it is Sir Arthur's — it insinuates that
Philip had spoken disrespectfully of his Colonel.
Hardacre. And this Sir Arthur Tessel, did at Sir
David's suggestion —
Record. Even so — the young gentleman's attach-
ment to the sister was all a feint — Olivia was his
aim — to gain her he would have comply'd with any
request her guardian could have made — but Bland-
ford has thus put the black scrawl into my hands —
I place it xwyours — take it — and may it confound its
author.
E 2
J2 TIME'S A TELL-TALE.
Hardacre. It shall — be sure of that — shame on
such cowardly practices. " The plunderer that
" robs my farm, pleads want as his excuse — but
" the midnight incendiary that wantonly fires my
" corn-field in the dark, has all the guilt of the thief
" to create my contempt, without the pretence of
" temptation to justify my compassion. By Bland-
" ford's opinion we will stand or fall — he is a noble
" fellow, and will come, you say."
Record. I expect him every moment — oh I had
forgot to tell you — I have left Sir David.
Hardacre. Will you share my purse ?
Record. Excuse me, I am an oddity as well asr
yourself.
Hardacre. I know you are.
Record. When you barely do an act of justice;
would you choose to be paid for it ?
Hardacre. No.
Record. No more do I ; judge of your neighbour
by yourself — a knock — it is the captain — Farewell,
for a time. - [Exit Record.
Hardacre. Now let any one dare to say, that
there is no Friendship, no Honesty in this world — I
answer it is false, there is abundance to be found for
those who choose to seek for them, " a few tares
" will start up in the finest soil, but none but a fool
<l would burn a whole fieid because a weed or two
" has grown among the crop*
Enter Blandford.
Your servant, sir, will you be seated?
Blanclford. Nay, nay, honest Farmer — -no cerev
mony, that is out of the line of either of us ; at my
old friend Record's request I have written to Colo-
nel Tessd. I have likewise seen Sir Arthur and
shewn him his uncle's letter. I told him all I
thought upon the subject, confounded, shamed, con-
vinced, and am proud to be the bearer of his ample
apology to you, and to your son.
A COMEDY. 5*,
Hardacre. And how is Pliiip now to act ?
Blandford. As I would do, accept the offered
hand of his enemy, and feci prouder of having con-
vinced one man by the rational appeal of merey,
than to have punished an hundred by the argument
of brutal violence.
Hardacre. Sir, your voice decides it : you interest
me much, one doubt alone — excuse me — but Miss
Wyndhain informs me you have for many ) ears
had a young lady under jjour protection.
Blandford. Hold, my good friend, this is a point
on which 1 have refused to answer the interrogato-
ries of my dearest relatives — they have indulged my
humor, and a stranger will surely clo me the same
favour.
Hardacre. I was wrong, and ask your pardon — we
all have secrets. — Captain Blandford i shall soon
leave this country --should your fortunes not chance
to be equal to your merits — I am a plain man — but
write to Mr. Osborne, at St. Domingo,and you shall
never want a friend.
BiandJ'ord. [starting] At Si. Domingo, did you say
— Excuse me, sir — but you interest me deeply, and
tjfcte young person you have just named, may have
cause to bless \ ou.
Hardacre. Her blessing would console me. I
have known happier days. I wi hing ih m i
you. In an insurrection of our Colony 1 v . sum-
moned some miles off in order to defend our pro-
perty — my son was young, but he marched cl
by my side — my wife, the best that ever blessed the
nope of man — had died about that time— rexcuse — ■
excuse me — [weeps.]
liland'o)-(L Proceed I conjure you.
daere On our return all was a scene of ter-
• rcr — the insurrection had raged in our absence —
my faithful servants had all fallen in the defence of
$* TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
my lands — and my poor child — was — was heard no
more of — she — she — Oh heart ! [In anguish.
Blandford Take comfort, sir — she lives.
Hardacre. Lives! lives! it cannot — Oh yes!
yes ! yes ! you are too good to mock me.
Blandford. Nay, be firm, and listen.
Hardacre. 1 will endeavour, sir, to — Lives ! Oh
mercy !
Blandford. About fourteen years since —
Hardacre. [Clasping his hands. ! The time, the
very time !
Blandford. The ship in which I served was sta-
tioned for awhile at St. Domingo. One night we
saw the town in flames, and heard the shrieks of
violence and murder — we ordered out the boat —
our men were few — but they were Englishmen.
Hardacre. Still — still — my girl — my child.
Blandford. We gained the land, and found a large
plantation blazing — then a scene of carnage I shudder
to remember — a desperate savage ran with an in-
fant shrieking in his arms — her cries struck on my
ear — I flew like lightning, with one hand snatched
the baby from his grasp, and with the other felled
him to the ground.
Hardacre. Oh ! — oh ! — [Grasping his hand and
choaked with his emotions.']
Blandford. I bore her to the ship, which was next
morning to set sail for England, the insurrection
raged— nor could I trust my little charge on shore —
I was a stranger there.
Hardacre. You brought her home ?
Blandford. I did, and tried in vain all means to
find her friends — no one in St. Domingo answered
my enquiry.
Hardacre. Alas! it must be so. Thinking her
dead, I changed my name, and came, unknown to
<every one, to this my native land — Wyndham, my
A COMEDY. 55
Only living friend, was privy to the secret — he died
and kept it — the infant you have reared with so
much care is mine — I have so long been near her
then, yet my old heart never once whispered
Zelidy speaks without.
Zelidy. I must see Captain Blandford. — [She en-
ters.} — Oh hasten to Sir David's — all there is a scene
of terror, I flew to tell you, my dear — dear protector,
that— [Hardacre here gazes on her} — why does
this gentleman so earnestly regard me ?
Blandford. Now— now, sir, summon all the forti-
tude — all the resolution of a man.
Hardacre. How mean you that — young lady j — \
Blandford! tell me — is it ? — [Blandfor® affirms.] —
I cannot be deceived — fly to these weak old arms my
long lost — darling child.
Zelidy. Child did he say ? Oh yes ! I feel — I know
him — I remember him — Father ! Oh Father ! —
[Rushes to embrace him.
Hardacre. Mr. Blandford — Sir — Thanks, bless-
ings — _
[Tries to speak — sinks dozvn embracing the knee
of Blandford — Zelidy kneels on the other
side of her Protector — and the Act ends.
•56 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
ACT V.
SCENE I. Olivia's Chamber in Sir David's House,
A Lute and Music on the Table.
Olivia, seated in a /tensive Posture,
Olivia.
I Cannot read, I cannot play; music has lost
its magic influence : why was I born an heir-
ess ? what have I gained by fortune ? the confes-
sion of Sir Arthur, ere he left this house, too clearly
proves, that it is only destined to expose me to
the mercenary designs of mercenary men: world,
world!! I m weary of thee. How do I regret the
simple cottage of my rural guardian ! when it was
thought no harm of me to think of Philip; to
sing to him his favourite ballad — ha ! {takes ufi a
song) here it is — yes-, I will try if yet I can remem-
ber it.
[Sings an artless ballad. — Philip e fliers in his uni-
form, towards the conclusion.']
SONG.
Little Cupid, one day, o'er a myrtle bough stray'd,
Among the sweet blossoms he wantonly play'd.
Plucking many a thorn, 'mid the buds or" the tree,
He felt that his finger was stung by a bc;e.
Little Cupid then whimpered; he sobb'd and he sigh'd,
Then ran to his mother, and pettishly cry'd,
" Ah Venus! dear Mother ! I'm wounded, you see,
And I ask for revenge on the mischievous bee."
His mother then laughed at the story he told,
O'er his forehead of snow stro&'d his ringlets of gold.
A COMEDY. 57
fC Now, when vou wound anotlK.*r,n»y Lad," answered she,
" Ere your arrows are pointed, you'll think on the bee ;
A lesson of love let the story impart,
Ere :he beam of the.eje light the flame of the heart.
Ye fair ones, remember, while yet ye are free.
That the rose hoius the thorn, but the myrtle the bee.**
P/iili/i. Olivia.
Olivia. Heavens, you here! how you have
frightened me ! and does your father —
Philiji. Be not alarmed ; I wait on you by his
command, to inform you, that in few hours an exe-
cution will be in this house, and to remove you
to his own, should you think proper.
Olivia* And is my guardian still so kind, then ?
Philip. Under these circumstances, he holds it
an imperious act of duty. You wonder at my present
appearance: know then, dear Olivia, Sir Arthur Tes-
sel, at the instigation of Sir David, sent me that sort '
of appeal, no man of honour can refuse.
Olivia. At the instigation of Sir David? un-
happy man!
Philiji. Even so, my opponent affected to doubt
whether he could meet me upon equal terms ; X
therefore resumed this garb, to set his mind at rest
upon that subject, since whoever appears as a soldier,
must appear as a gentleman.
Olivia. Oh, heavens ! and have you met ?
Philiji. We have, when instead of a pistol he
tendered an apology ; gave me a letter for Sir Da-
vid, another for his sister-in-law, and then immedi-
ately set out for London.
Olivia. And your father ?
Philiji. Of him I have much to tell you. I must
now fulfil my commissions, if you will then leave
this house — •
Olivia. Not till I have first rendered every as-
sistance to poor Lady Delmar. Whatever her
58 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
husband's errors may have been, her misfortunes
are unmerited. She shall share my home — for of
what value can fortune be to me, except when it
offers these golden opportunities of comforting the
wretched. [Exeunt.
Enter Miss Venusia, ofifiosite side to which they exit.
Miss Venusia. It must be so, Sir Arthur will
soon come to the critical question. Yes, Miss
Olivia shall soon perceive that the spear of Minerva
may sometimes inflict as deep a wound, as the
arrows of Cupid.
Enter Maid.
Maid. Mr. Query, Madam.
Miss Venusia. Bless me, the great scholar — I must
put on my best appearance — a man of his critical
sagacity will give a piercing glance, even at first
sight — Dorothea ■, reach me down the Pursuits of
Literature — So, now you may go. [She shews in
Query,
Query. Sir Arthur was right — she does regard me
with an eye of favour ( aside. ) Happy at this oppor-
tunity of being introduced to a Lady of whom the
world talks so highly.
Miss Venusia. Such elegant praises from a man
of your celebrity must be ever flattering — the little
I have done to oblige the world, the opinion of
such a judge must amply overpay.
Query. Oblige the world ? judge ? what does
that mean ? [aside.'] Pray ma'am is there any thing
new ? any thing stirring ?
Miss Venusia. No, sir, a mere dearth in the lite-
rary hemisphere ; few people now a days are of
your inquisitive turn of mind.
Query. Inquisitive ! oh, she's found me out, Bland-
ford has betrayed me, and I shall never be abe to
make myself useful here. — I see that. [aside.
A COMEDY. 59
Miss Venusia. You are silent, sir ; most of our
modern wise men are so : they say but little, but
they think more. Happy would it be for the
world, if all like us spoke in their works alone.
Query. AVorks ? yes, madam, yes. I am a great
admirer of works ; pray, what may your's be ?
Miss Venusia. Oh ! mere private ones, I assure
you, but my motives are the best, and the end is
for posterity.
Query, Indeed, madam, and if 1 may be so bold,
what may be your favourite work ?
Miss Venusia. The Pleasures of Imagination.
Query. Really! an odd amusement for a lady
at her time of life, (aside.)
Miss Venusia. Though I dare say, you prefer
the Pleasures of Hope ?
Query. A broad hint that, I see I am a favourite.
(aside.)
Miss Venusia. You must indulge me by consult-
ing your taste ; pray then do you give the pre-
ference to the Rise and Progress, or to the Decline
and Fall ?
Query, (bowing) To the Decline and Fall, by all
means, madam, out of compliment to you.
Miss Venusia. I am happy to find that we amaU •
gamate so well, your enquiries must have been un-
ceasing.
Query. Some of my friends tell me a little too
much so, madam.
Miss Venusia. Ignorant souls ! no man can enr
quire too much.
Query. A sensible woman !
Miss Venusia. You have the Pursuits no doubt?
Query. Never without them. She and I have
changed characters I think, she's plaguy inquisi-
tive, (aside).
Miss Venusia. Any thing you admire, must be
60 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
excellent ; and when you come to London, I hope
you will make one of my celebrated society. I
assure you I have people of the highest eminence
at my dub, we have the most delightful entertain-
ment, the very first characters in the land, Lords,
Doctors, Generals, and Reviewers.
Query The reviewing Generals, you mean per-
haps, madam ?
Miss Venusia. Exactly so: opinions.are discussed,
merits adjudged, and many who little suspect it,
find their bad works most curiously carved, I pro-
mise you.
Query. Carved!
Miss Venusia Cut up root ana branch.
Query. And if they cut up bad works, I sup-
pose they are equally ready to encourage good
ones ; and if any bad works spread abroad iikeiy
to do injury to man, woman, or child, your re-
viewing generals have my free consent to cut and
lop away while they can hold a weapon in their
hands ; such works are as gangrenes on the bodies
of good taste and good sense, and none but fools
or knaves can complain of the operation.
Enter. Philip.
Phil! ft. I beg pardon, madam, but Sir Arthur
Tessel requested me to deliver this letter into your
hands alone, (gives a letter.)
Miss Venusia. J lone, sir !
Philip., Alone, Madam ; I have executed my
commission, and now respectfully take leave. .
[Exit
Miss Venusia. A very extraordinary youth, well
looking, and retiring ! and possesses the ancient
quality of modesty — a rare gem which has been
lost among many other valuable antiquities for seve-
ral centuries past. But now for my letter — it must
A COMEDY. 61
be the declaration — a truly classical hand — the cha*
racters bear a strong similitude to the Grecian. ^
Query. Oh yes, Madam, its quite the thing, the
writing of most ladies and gentlemen in modern
days, is very like the Greek — Perhaps you mayn't
have your spectacles about you, Madam — pray allow
me to decypher — always proud to be useful.
[reads,
" Madam,
" Ere this letter arrives, I shall have quitted this
" house, and shall most probably never see you
<c more.
Miss Fenusia. What ! [Query reading.
H From motives of the worst nature, I have long
*' been both trifling with, and imposing on you,
" The only reparation 1 can make, is to fly a spot,
" where every thing reproaches — the guilty but
" penitent Arthur Tessel."
Miss Venusia The base man ! but I will rise su-
perior to my fall ! I will expose him —I will publish
my life — and you, learned sir — you shall be my
biographer.
Query. Why, look ye, madam, to serve and please
has ever been the business of my life, and if my ex-
ertions sometimes happen to fall short of my in-
tentions, I argue thus — what was my motive ?
good nature — my fear ? censure — who washes suc-
cess ? Every body — who can commend it ? nobo-
dy — what was my plea ? necessity — my excuse ?
friendship — I promise to do my best — no man on
earth can promise more, so madam, have with
you. [hands her in*
6*2 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
SCENE II. — The general room wJiich must liave
a folding door in its centre.
Lady Delmar and Williams.
Lady Delmar. What do you tell me ? a chaise
ordered ? hurry and confusion in his looks ?
Williams. Too true, indeed, Madam — my master
desired me to order the horses to be put to imme-
diately.
Lady Delmar. Fly to him instantly, I entreat you :
tell him I entreat, I supplicate a moment's audi-
ence. [Exit Williams) No, generous Olivia ! — I am
grateful for your noble offer, but a commanding
duty now requires my presence here.
Enter Sir David.
Sir David. Emily !
Lady Delmar. My love !
Sir David. I have not deserved that name — •
Oh Emily ! victim of false pride, I have ruined
thee, and all thy flattering train of smiling hopes.
The sister I deserted is avenged ! Her husband now
may triumph, but that's my least of pangs; for thee,
for thee I feel !
u Lady Delmar. For me ! my husband, rouse,
exert your energies — speak comfort to your heart."
" 5;>' David. Where shall I hope to find it ?
Driven from my native land, a prey to folly, shame,
remorse, and guilt — where shall I fly for refuge ?"
'*' Lady Delmar. To these arms."
" Sir David. Such blessings I deserve not —
'* No, no, my wife — the generous Olivia has con-
** sented to receive, to cherish you—with her forget
" my follies, and my sorrows."
" Lady Delmar. Hear me, my husband ! when
" we fcredded first, joy strewed our path with
A COMEDY. 63
*' flowers. My happiness — my pleasures were
" your cares — you could not see your wife outshone
" by others of her sex — for her you struggled, and
<c for her you fell — you knew me not — now put me
" to the proof — go where you will — I'll never,
" never quit you — I will divide your sorrows, chace
" your cares, wipe off the upbraiding tear of an-
" guish from your cheek, and be, what every faith-
" ful wife has sworn to prove — your servant, guide,
" your counsellor, and friend." [embracing him.
" Sir David. Friend of my bosom — Hide thee
" ever there, prepare thee then, an hour will bring
" the carriage that bears me off from England, and
" a prison — what will become of thee — remain,
" my Emily — I cannot bear the thought — in
" foreign lands, a fugitive — a wanderer."*
Lady Delmar. No earthly power can change my
resolution — doubt not my fortitude or faith. En-
riched by a husband's affection, what woman can
be poor ? possessed of a husband's heart, what wife
can want a home ? [Exit Lady Delmar.
Sir David. How have I trifled with each blessing
life afforded. Still, still, the carriage comes not —
it must be near the hour — hark i I hear it.
Enter Williams.
Williams. The chariot, sir.
Sir David. 'Tis well, acquaint your lady, and say
I earnestly entreat her utmost speed. [Exit Williams.
Ha ! who comes here ? Some creditor— unlucky 1
now. Enter Hardacre.
Friend your pleasure ?
Hardacre. Excuse me, sir, I have taken the li-
berty of arresting the horses at the door, while I sav
afezvwoids to you.
Sir David. Arrest my horses. The measure was a
* The lines marked with inverted commas, are omitted in th^>.
representation.
64 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
strong one, but I presume, you knew your power t
and have thought proper to exert it.
Hardacre* My fiower !
Sir David. There are doubtless some accounts
between us, you wish immediately to be settled —
I confess — 1 confess my inability — so use your
pleasure.
Hardacre. Yes, Sir David Delmar, there arc
some accounts between us, which must immedi-
ately be settled.
<Sir David. I have told you, sir, it is out of my
fiower.
Hardacre. Excuse me, give me a patient hear-
ing, and you wili find that it is in your power, if it is
in your inclination, to strike the balance of every
difference between us.
Sir David. Speed, sir, is necessary, pray be seated.
[They sit.
Hardacre. As I am but a bad orator, I shall
.merely state a plain story.
Sir David. Weil, sir.
Hardacre. Many years ago, a man of conse-
quence, in this part of the world, left his eldest
son with a title; an encumbered estate; and an
inly sister to protect.
Sir David. Proceed.
Hardacre. The young man being then absent
on his travels, the sister formed an attachment
to a neighbouring yeoman's son. He had saved
her from the fury of an intoxicated ruffian. Gra-
titude struck root in her heart, blossomed, and the
fruit was love ; the brother's pride, on his return,
was wounded, he abandoned the newly married
couple, and never would admit them to his pre-
sence.
Sir David. He acted rightly— tho' you may
despise rank.
A COMEDY. 65
Hardacre. You wrong me — I respect it — I con-
sider the nobility of my country as the lordly Trees
of the forest, engrafted there to shelter all the
humnler shrubs around them. But to my tale —
abandoned by their brother, they sought a foreign
land, where two young cherubs crowned their hap-
piness — the climate carried off the wife, who dying
in her husband's arms, implored upon her bro-
ther's head —
Sir David. What r her maledictions ? [Shuddering.
Hardacre. Oh no, no, her blessing and forgive-
ness.
Sir David. Oh memory — Oh poor Cecilia. [Aside.
Hardacre. The husband mourned her virtues
o'er her grave — His daughter's loss ensued — with
wealth immense, converted into jewels, he returned
to England, to sow the seeds of virtue in the mind
of his remaining child — he bred him in adversity's
rude school, a school that learns him to feci for
others, a lesson of more value than all that pamper-
ed luxury can teach the dissipated sons of idleness
and folly.
Sir David. Your words u/ibraid me sir.
Hardacre. Nay, mark the end. Much has my
boy endured the treasure of an honest name tra-
duced, his father scorned and hated, [though un-
known] by him he wished to serve and love ; op-
pression on oppression, slander ufion slander, roused
his resentment for awhile, but, when he saw the
aggressor beat to the ground like a fallen tree —
he sought his dwelling — resolved to make his
story known, and gratify the only vengeance an ho-
?iest mind can harbour, the severe revenge of —
doing good for evil !
Sir David. Osborne !
Osborne. Osborne ! the Farmer Osborne, in Re-
cord's hands placed sums, which have retrieved
F
66 TIME'S A TELL-TALE,
your debts — discharged your creditors — restored
you to your rights, and now Sir David, the balance
is struck — and our accounts are settled.
While this speech is going on, TMy Dclmar and
Olivia advance through the centre door.
Sir David. My benefactor ! Oh my wife— thank,
thank your preserver. [Philifi enters.
_ Hardacre. Madam, his friend — I wish no other
title. Philip my boy ! we need but little, what re-
mains of my wealth, shall be the grateful, but ina-
dequate reward of him who saved my darling dear
Cecilia.
Sir David. For Philip's virtue, one recompense
remains Olivia — you understand me, and are above
all narrow vanity.
Philifi. It, dear Olivia—
Lady -Dclmar. Nay, no denial, [joins their hands.
Osborne. Bless ye both.
Enter Blandford.
Phillifi, Behold the man to whom we owe our
happimss.
Osborne. How — How shall we reward him ?
Blandford. The reward is easy sir — It may seem
a little odd uncle — but I have lately found reason
for altering some of my opinions.
Sir David. I guess 1 d as much.
Blandford. I once held the marriage state in-
compatible with the duties of my profession. I am
now convinced to the contrary; the dearer the
objects for whom we contend, the more ardent our
exertions — nothing can be so dear to a man, as the
wife of his' heart, and the armies and navies w!. ; ch
are filled with husbands and with parents, form
the surest and most effective bulwarks of a country.
Zelidy ! you once called me father — 1 must now
A COMEDY. 67
resign that title, but there still remains another
which —
Osborne. Which her heart confirms, I have it
from her own lips — f here — (gives her to Blandford).
Thus prosperous in the happiness of those dearest
to my heart, the < c< ipations of my farm again re-
quire my presence.
Zelidy. Na v, dear father !
Olivia. You shall wot leave us.
Osborne. Oh bless you — hJess you girls — you shall
see enough of me I warrant you. (taking one in each
hand.) The old man shall pay his annual visit, and
as he waters the little shrubbery growing up
around him with the tears of fond affection — pray
that they may grow with all the virtues at their
mothers, and all the vigorous bravery of their fa- ■
thers. The harvest of my toil at last is ripe, but
I can never hope to gather it, unless our friends will
lend their hands and helfi to bring it in.
END OF THE COMEDY.
EPILOGUE TO TIME'S A TELL-TALE.
Written by C. Lamb, Esq.
JjOUND for the port of matrimonial bliss,
Ere I hoist sail, I bold it not amiss,
(Since prosp'rous ends ask prudent introductions)
To take a slight peep at my written instructions.
There's nothing like determining in time
AH questions marital or maritime.
In all seas, straits, gulphs, ports, havens^ lands, creeks.
Oh ! Here it begins.
" Season, spring, wind standing at point Desire —
«' The good ship Matrimony — Commander. B.andford, Esq.
Art. I.
" The captain that has the command of her,
u Or in his absence, the acting officer,
" To see her planks are sound, her timbers tight." —
That acting officer I don't relish quite,
No, as I hope to tack another verse on,
I'll do those duties in my proper person.
Art. II.
" All mutinies to be suppress'd at first.''
That' a good caution to prevent the worst.
Art. III.
" That she be properly victual'd, mann'd and stor'd,
" To see no foreigners are got aboard "
That's rather difficult — do what we can —
A vessel sometimes may mistake her man.
The safest way in such a parlous doubt,
Is steady watch and keep a sharp look out.
Art. IV
" Whereas their Lords Commissioners (the church)
" Do strictly authorise the right of search :
** As always practis'd — you're to understand
* By these what articles are contraband ;
" Guns, mortars, pistols, halberts, swords, pikes, lances,
*' Ball, powder, shot, and the appurtenances.
f< "Videlicet — whatever can be sent
" To give the enemy encouragement.
" Ogles are small shot (so the instruction runs)
,*• Touches hand grenades, and squeezes rifle guns."
EPILOGUE.
Ait. V.
" That no free-bottom'd neutral waiting maid
" Presume to exercise the carrying trade :
" The prohibition here contained extends
" To all commerce cover'd by the name of Friends.
" Heaven speed the good ship well" — and so it ends.
Ch with such wholesomejealousies as these
May Albion cherish his old spouse the seas,
.Keep over her a husband's firm command,
Not with too rigid nor too lax a hand.
Be gently patK nt to her swell and throws
When big with safeties to himself she goes ;
Nor while she clips him in a fast embrace,
Stand for some female frowns upon her face,
But tell the rival world4-and tell in Thunder,
Whom Nature joined, none ere shall put asunder.
}.A,
1 *jfri$jf"& l
H. Bryer, Printer, Bridge-Street, Blaekfri
A
NEW BRITISH THEATRE.
WITH
BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL REMARKS,
ON EACH PLAY,
By MRS. INCHBALD;
TO BE PUBLISHED WEEKLY,
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Just published,
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It is intended to comprise the Work in Twenty-five Volumes,
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pieces to (he volumes of the fine Edition, Portraits of Au-
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The Embellishments will be executed in the very best manner,
by '
ALKEADV PUBLISHED ARE,
47 The West Indian
■IS Julius Ca^ar
jf-9 L\ erv One has his Fault
50 The Jealous Wife;
5 I The Tempest
.52 The Orphan
.>:; Cato
5-1- The Belle Stratagem
55 Zara
56 The Fair Penitent
51 The Deserted Daughter
,58 First Love
59 The Siege of Damascus
60 The Provoked Wife
61 The Rival Queens
62 Lady Jane Grey
03 Love makes a Man
64 The Roman Father
65 The Point of Honour
66 Barbarossa
21 Such Things are 67 The Merchant of Venice
68 Wives as the} were
69 King Lear
7 The Constant Couple
71 The School of Reform
7 2 ToMarrv, <;rnoi to Marry
73 King Henry VIII.
74 King Henry V.
75 The Good-natured \ian
76 Ar.tr.nv and Cleopatra
7 7 The Recruiting Officer
78 The Counters of Salisbury
19 The Wii.lciVf.do
"lonfort
Jouni of Narbonne
Lovers 82 The Cattle of Andalusia
Suspicious Husband
till] Stfokefbra Husband
PCew Way to pay old..
Debts
86 FiUl Curio : ty
Juiiet 87 Tli- Pari of Warwick
•s Hi -band 88 Fontainbfeau
swell 89 The Honey Moon
itaeetn 90 The Vv 'under
the first Artists.
THE PL AYS
1 Mountaineers
2 Sp^al the Plough
3 Whpel of fortune
4 Lovers' Vou s
5 Inkle and Yarico
6 Isabella
7 Wiid'Oals
S Douglas
9 Tiie Stranger
10 Country Girl
] 1 Dramatist
Flamiet
Grecian Daughter
Busy Bony
John Butt
Jancred and Sigiamunda
Ml in the Wrong
IS Macbeth
19 A Bold Stroke tor a Wife
20 The Poor Gentleman
I Such Thir
22 Oroonoko
23 Love in a- Village
24 Road to Ruin
'25 Jane Shore
26 Clandestine Marriage
27 Edward the Black Prince
25 Merry WiY^ of Windsor
29 RuleaWifeand have a Wife
30 Mourning B, ide
31 Cure for the Heart Ache
32 .Alitor Love
33 The Way to keep Him
34 king John
35 She Stoops to Conq
ciou-
m Tie c
31 The Revel
38 Love iorL
39 live; v Mai
40 Co,io!..IH4S
41 The Jeiv
42 Romeo nnc
43 The CauL
44 (i'-ost-e Barn
■1,5 Tii Be,ir S
46 Gustavus Ya
80 D
r
81 Tj
82 71
h3 Tl
S4 A
amour
8o A
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