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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 
 
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 Just published, 
 BY LONGMAN, HURST, R£ES, AND ORME, 
 
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 Numbers 1 to 91, (to be continued weekly) 
 
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 *** This 'York, being intended as a Companion lo the Theatres 
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 berland, Holcroft, Inchbald, 0'Keefe, Morton, Reynolds, and 
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BRITISH THEATRE, 
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 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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