m: miu ^a..c^< (^cd//./u^ ^^^^ fh.1,1 ,1,1 /•r/,,i/i,,/ l\,i„ll,l,i l,y M _I.,\'/l,;- F..ni''ltJ. Jj?;iiiii and £ri/)niritJ />]• IflXnytoti R LITERARY RELICS OF THE LATE JOSEPH RICHARDSON, ESQ. (FORMERLY OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,) BARRISTER, AND MEMBER FOR NEWPORT IN CORNWALL: DcHicateli, bp permission, TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND : CONSISTING OP THE COMEDY OF THE FUGITIVE, AND A FEW SHORT POEMS; WITH A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR BY AN INTIMATE FRIEND ; IN WHICH THOSE NUMBERS OF THE ROLLIADS AND PROBATIONARY ODES WRITTEN BY MR. RICHARDSON ARE PARTICULARIZED. THE WHOLE COLLECTED AND PREPARED FOE THE PRESS BY MRS. RICHARDSON, HIS WIDOW. LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. RIDGWAY, NO. 170, OPPOSITE OLD BOND STREET, PICCADILLT. 1807. Printed by S. Gosnell, Little Queen Street. TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND, KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, i^c. isfc. isfc. isfc. MY LORD, Indulged with Permission to inscribe these Compositions of my late Husband to Your Grace, I feel at once impressed with a deep Sense of the Honour, and a Consciousness of my own Inability to avail myself of it to my Wish. The World is so accustomed to consider Dedications as mere Vehicles for Adulation, that a Fear accompanies even the Mention of simple Truths which are honourable a 2 IV to the Person addressed, lest they should bear the Imputa- tion of Flattery ; and the genuine Expressions of the Heart are frequently withdrawn from an Apprehension of their being supposed the Result of Study, or perhaps of a sordid Endeavour to conciliate Favour. How then shall I address Your Grace, from whom my lamented Husband received such important Obligations, and who, with the Protection of the Patron, blended the Intimacy of the Friend ? From his first being honoured with an Introduction to Northumberland House, Mr. Richardson was distin- guished by those Attentions which are the most flattering to a delicate and cultivated Mind to experience, and which none but Minds truly elevated and delicate can ever con- sistently bestow : and it was not long before he was favoured with the highest and most enviable Testimony of political Confidence. Forgive me here, my Lord, if, whilst I am adverting to those various Instances of your LiberaHty, 1 venture, with mingled Pride and Gratitude, to add that the unde- viating Kindness which marked Your Grace's Conduct towards the Father, has survived him, and been extended to his Children. On Mr. Richardson's being chosen Member for New- port in Cornwall, the Opening which that Event afforded for bringing the Powers of his Mind into Action, was hailed by his Friends in general, who, in some Measure, participated in the grateful Emotions felt on that Occasion by his nearer Connexions. Unhappily, however, a Com- bination of unpropitious Circumstances, added to a parti- cular Dislike to attract public Notice, defeated the Ex- pectation which his obtaining a Seat in Parliament had excited, and prevented the Hopes entertained by his Friends from being realized ; yet will those to whom his Memory is dear never cease to venerate the noble Spirit which fostered Genius, and sought to clear its Way to Fame. VI The highly esthnable and honourable Attributes which belong to Your Grace's character are too widely- known, and too loudly proclaimed, for my weak Breath to swell their Praise : I will not, therefore, make the vain Attempt. — The Public observe with united Admiration and Attachment, that, though precluded by the frequent Interruptions of Indisposition from giving your Attendance as a Peer in Parliament, yet that, ever studious for the Good of others. Your Grace, with the indefatigable Ardour of a truly exalted Mind, is unceasingly promoting every Undertaking that may be of Advantage to your Country ; and that the constant Stream of your Munificence flows with a Current no less ample in Acts of individual Bene- volence-. But lest, led away by a Theme at once so copious, and so accordant with my own Feelings, it should be imagined that I am idly endeavouring " to gild refined Gold," I will conclude this Address; and fervently wishing vu all Happiness to Your Grace, and to every Branch of your illustrious Family, of whom it may with the strictest Justice be recorded, that Dignity of Birth and Extensive- jiess of Possessions are its most inferior Advantages, I have the Honour to subscribe myself, My Lord, Your Grace's ever grateful And most respectful Servant, SARAH RICHARDSON. 12, Berners Street, 0.']th. July 1807. LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES, Ten Copies. Right Hon. Sir John Anstruther, Bart. M. P. Five Copies. Sir John Aubrey, Bart. M. P. Robert Adair, Esq. M. P. William Adam, Esq. M. P. Wilham Geoige Adam, Esq. Barrister. Robert Alderson, Esq. Recorder of Ipswich. John Allen, Esq. Banister. Miles Peter Andrews, Esq. M. P. Thomas Aston, Jun. Esq. Upper Guilford Street B. His Grace the Duke of Bedford. Her Grace the Duchess of Bedford. Right Hon. Earl of Besborough. Sir Charles Bampfylde, Bart. M. P. Sir Robert Barclay, Bart. Sir Patrick Blake, Bart. Sir Charles Buubui^, Bart. M. P. Sir Francis Burdett, Bart. M. P. Right Hon. Charles Bragge Bathurst, M. P. Right Hon. Nathaniel Bond, M. P. Hon. Mrs. A. Boscawen. Hon. Thomas Brand, M. P. John Barnes, Esq. Lansdown Place. John Beardmorc, Esq. Queen Street, May Fair. Mrs. Beaumont, Hexham Abbey, Nor- thumberland. Hugh Bell, Esq. Aldersgate Street. John Bell, Esq. Lincoln's Inn. John Bell, Esq. R. H. A. Bennet, Esq. M. P. C. Bicknell, Esq. Spring Garden Terrace. Robert Myddleton Biddiilph, Esq. M. P. John T. Bigge, Esq. Barrister. John Birch, Esq. Chancery Lane. Robert Blake, Esq. Essex Street. J. Blewart, Esq. Frederic Booth, Esq. Lincoln's Inn. William Bosville, Esq. Barrister. William Bowden, Esq. George Bramwell, Esq. Lincoln's Inn Fields, Charles Brandling, Esq. M. P. Gosforth House, Northumberland. E. A. Bray, Esq. Barrister. James Brogden, Esq. M. P. Ten Copies. John Bruckshaw, Esq. Stock Exchange. Joseph Burchell, Esq. Bedford Row. H. Burgess, Esq. Curzon Street. Burton, Esq. James Bury, Esq. Guilford Street. George Byng, Esq. M. P. Wrotham Park, Herts. Mrs. Byng, Ditto. LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. C. Right Hon. Earl CoMper. Kiillit lion. Jolni Couitcnay, iSF. P. John CanccUor, Esq. (lowcr Street. John Capel, Esq. Artillery Place. Thomas William Carr, Esq. Thomas Chaldecott, Esq. Dover Place. Robert Chambers, En\. Lincoln's Inn Fields. Joseph Childs, Esq. Liskeard, Cornwall. Edward Christian, Esq. Barrister. Rev. Robert Clark, M. A. Hexham, Nor- thumberland. Romaiiie W. Clarkson, Esq. Henry Clifford, Esq. Barrister. James Cobb, Esq. Guilford Street. D. P. Coke, Esq. M. P. Thomas Collins, Esq. Berners Street. Mrs. Collins, Ditto. Harvey Christian Combe, Esq. M. P. Harvey Combe, Jun. Esq. Matthew Combe, Esq. Dr. Combe, Bloomsbury Square. T.aylor Combe, Esq. British Museum. Charles Combe, Esq. James Connie, Esq. Southampton Buildings. ZSathaniel Cunant, Esq. Portland Place. Francis Const, Esq. Barrister. John Cooper, Esq. Finsbuiy Square. J.ohn Coppiiigcr, Esq. 1st Registrer in Chancery. ^^ illiani Courtenay, Esq. Barrister. Thomas Coutts, Esq. Piccadilly. William Cruise, Esq. Lincoln's Inn, Stone Buildings. A^;chibald Cidler, Esq. Lincoln's Inn. D. His Grace the Duke of Devonshire. General Debbeig. Robert Dallas, Esq. K. C. D. B. Daly, Esq. M. P. Alfred Daniel, Esq. Stock Exchange. Thomas Davidson, Esq. Newcastle. Twa Copies. John Davidson, Esq. Newcastle. Alexander Davison, Esq. St. James' Square. D. M. De Leon, Esq. Stock Exchange. Mrs. Dinham, Kensington. James Dover, Esq. F. H. Dubruley, Esq. Rev. H. B. Dudley, Sloane Street. Mrs. H. B. Dudley, Ditto. Right Hon. Lord Eldon. Right. Hon. Lord Erskine. Sir Frederic Morton Eden, Bart. John Elwes, Esq. Portman Square. Lady Elizabeth Forster. Right Hon. General Fitzpatrick, M. P. Sir Henry Fletcher, Bart. James Slater Fell, Esq. William Broughton Flexney, Esq. Chancery I^ane. A\ illiam Flower, Esq. Hackney. Thomas Flower, Esq. Ellis Street. Thomas Foley, Esq. M. P. John Foublanque, Esq. K. C. John Forster, Esq. Egham, Surrey, LIST OF SUBSCRIBEKS. XI George Forster, Esq. Egliam, Surrey. Francis Freeling, Esq. Two Copies. G. Right Hon. Earl of Guilford. Right Hon. Lord Grantley. Two Copies. Right Hon. Lord Glenbervie. Two Copies. William Gcirrow, Esq. K. C. T. Sherlock Gooch, Esq. M. P. George Goodenough, Esq. Hertford Street, ^lay Fair. William Gorton, Esq. St. James's Palace. Aaron Graham, Esq. Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. William Graves, Esq. War Office. John Gurney, Esq. Barrister. H. Right Hon. Lord Holland. Sir Christopher Hawkins, Bart. Sir Charles Hastings, Bart. Thomas Halford, Esq. Newington. Charles H. Hancock, Esq. Hackney. Tliomas Harris, Esq. Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. Johji Heriot, Esq. Hendon, Middlesex. Walter Heron, Esq. Newcastle. Hewson, Esq. Friern Barnet. Mr. Serjeant Heywood. Isaac Hinsby, Esq. Clapton. B. Hobhouse, Esq. M. P. John Hodges, Esq. Tooting, Surrey. George Hodgson, Esq. Charles Street, St. James's Square. Georges Sowley Holroyd, Esq. Gray's Inn. J. Hosier, Esq. Great George Street, West- minster. Henry Howard, Esq. M. P. Rev. John Hulls, M. A. Appleby Castle, Westmoreland. J. Randle Jackson, Esq. Barrister. Joseph Jekyll, Esq. M. P. Thomas Jervis, Esq. K. C. M. P. Jervoise Clark Jervoise, Esq. M. P. Henry Joddrell, Esq. Barrister, ^L P. K. Mrs. Kemble, Russell Street, Bloomsbury Square. Thomas King, Esq. Bolton Street, Picca- dilly. Rev. John Kipling, Chilton, Bucks. Joshua Knowles, Esq. Lombard Street. Her Grace the Duchess of Leeds. Right Hon. Earl of Leicester. Lady Elizabeth Loftus. Sir William Lorraine, Bart. Kirkharle, Northumberland. Right Hon. Charles Long. Sir William Leighton. Abraham Lalande, Esq. Queen's Place, Ken- sington. James Lr.wson, Esq. BouveYie Street. Charles Shaw Lefevre, Esq. M. P. John Leigh, Esq. New Bridge Street, Black Fi'iars. John Leigh, Esq. Comb-hay, Bath. Mr. Serjeant Lens. Rev. Charles IjCthbridge, Cornwall. Christopher Lethbridge, Esq. Launceston, Cornwall. Launcelot Liddell, Esq. Hexham, Nor- thumberland. b 2 lai LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Joseph Littledale, Esq. G raj's Inn. John Ingram Lockliart, Esq. M. P. George Lorraine, Esq. M. Sir WiUiam Mihier, Bart. M. P. Sir Ralph Milbanke, Bart. M. P. Colonel Mac Mahon, M. P. Five Copies. Colin Mackenzie, Esq. Queen Square. Robert Makepeace, Esq. William Manning, Esq. M. P. Henry Martin, Esq. Lhicoln's Inn. James Meux, Esq. Robert Michell, Esq. Canterbury Place. Thomas Milles, Esq. K. C. James ISIiugay, Esq. K. C. Ashfield Lodge, Suffolk. Edward Monis, Esq. M. P. Five Copies. Horatio Mucklow, Esq. Highbury Terrace, Islington. N. His Grace the Duke of Northumberland. Six Copies. Her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland. Four Copies. Hon. General Norton. Richard Neville, Esq. M. P. John Henry Newbolt, Esq. Stone Build- ings, Lincoln's Inn. Michael Nolan, Esq. King's Bench Walk. Dudley North, Esq. M. P. James Northcote, Esq. R. A. Argyll Street. William Northey, Esq. M. P. O. Denis O'Brien, Esq. George Ogllvie, Esq. D. C. I^. N. Ogle, Esq. H. Ogle, Esq. Rev. John Ogle. Mr. Serjeant Onslow. Mrs. Opie. Francis Osgood, Esq. King's Bench Walk. P. Right Hon. Earl of Portsmouth. Right Hon. Countess of Portsmouth. Right Hon. Earl Percy. Four Copies. Rev. Dr. Pearcc, Dean of Ely. Two Copies. Sir Arthur Piggott, M. P. '' John Palmer, Esq. M. P. Five Copies. Sir Thomas Plumer. Robert Padmore, Esq. Chingford. Rev. Paget. Christopher Parker, Esq. Sloane Street. Richard Peake, Esq. Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square. John Pearson, Esq. Barrister. Thomas Penrice, Esq. Thomas Penrice, Jun. Esq. James Perry, Esq. Merton, Surrey. William Peters, Esq. Newcastle. William Phillips, Esq. Grosvenor Place. Two Copies. John Piatt, Esq. Stock Exchange. J. Bellamy Plowman, Esq. Wimbledon. Joseph Puley, Esq. Stoke Newington. R. Lord William Russell. Sir Matthew White Ridley, Bart. M. P. Two Copies. LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Xlll Sir Samuel Romilly, M. P. Jonathan Raine, Esq. M. P. Jolui Reeves, Esq. Barrister. David Ricardo, Esq. Richard Richards, Esq. K. C. Thomas Roberts, Esq. Charter House Square. R. B. Robson, Esq. M. P. WiUiam Thomas Roe, Esq. K. C. James Rosier, Esq. W. F. Rosier, Esq. WiUiam Ross, Esq. Nicholas Ruddock, Esq. Hexham, Nor- thumberland. John Ruddock, Esq. Hexham. Miss Ruddock, Hexham. Mark Ruddock, Esq. Sedgefield, Northum- berland. Mr. Rumney, Warden Paper Mill, Hexham, Northumberland. Right Hon. Lord St John. Lord Robert Spencer, M. P. Right Hon. Sir William Scott, M. P, Sir Walter Stirling, Bart. M. P. Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan, M. P. Right Hon. Thomas Steele, M. P. Hon. Lumley St. George Skeffington. Nathaniel Saxon, Esq. M. P. Thomas Scott, Esq. Grafton Street, Picca- dilly. Samuel Scott, Esq. Bath. James Scott, Esq. Hammersmith. George Scott, Esq. Ditto. Mr. Francis Scott, Hexham, Northumber- land. Richard P. Scudamore, Esq. M. P. Arthur Sliakespear, Esq. M. P. Alexander Shearer, Esq. Woburn Place. M. A. Shee, Esq. R. A. Cavendish Square. Joseph Shee, Esq. Vauxhall. Mr. Seijeant Shepherd. William Shepherd, Esq. Russell Square. Thomas Sheridan, Esq. William Shield, Esq. Berners Street. Richard Shipley, Esq. York Place. Miss Skinner. Robert Stokes Sloper, Esq. Russell Street, Bloomsbury. Richard Smales, Esq. Stock Exchange. William Smith, Esq. M. P. William Smith, Esq. Houghton Castle, Nor- thumberland. Thomas Smith, Esq. Russell Square. Hugh Smith, Esq. Barrister. W. Snaith, Esq. Two Copies. John Spicer, Esq. George Street, Hanovei Square. James Steers, Esq. Tottenham. James Stephens, Esq. Barrister. Charles Stephenson, Esq. Custom House. Mis. Stewart, Kensington. Hon. Mrs. St. Leger. Charles Stokes, Esq. Stock Exchange. Edward Stracey, Esq. Barrister. Robert Sutton, Esq. Henry Swann, Esq. ^L P. The Most Noble the Marquis Townsliend. The Most Noble the Marchioness Towns- hend. The Right Hon. the Earl of llianet. Right Hon. Lord John Towushcnd. Right Hon. Lady John Townshend. XIV LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Right Hon. George Tieiney, M. P. Hon. Mrs. Taylor. Sir T. B. Thompson, Bart. M. P. M. A. Taylor, Esq. M. P. John Taylor, Esq. Hatton Garden. William Taylor, Esq. King's Theatre. Richard Teasdale, Esq. Guilford Street. Miss Tilbury, Welbeck Street. Charles Terry, Esq. Miss Thompson, Welbeck Street. George Booth Tindal, Esq. Lincoln's Inn Fields. Thomas Tooke, Esq. Russell Squaie. Mrs. G. Torrane, Brighton. Hutches Trower, Esq. St. Alban's Street. WUliam Tuffnell, Esq. M. P. Henry Tulip, Esq. Fallowfield, Northum- berland. V. George Vandiest, Esq. Stockwell. J. Taylor Vaughan, Esq. Grafton Street, Piccadilly. William Vazie, Esq. Hexham, Northum- berland. Mrs. Venner, W^orcester. W. William Walker, Esq. Lincoln's Inn. F. T. Walsh, Esq. Parliament Street. Two Copies. James Walsh, Esq. Henry Townly Ward, Esq. Willows, near W^indsor. William Watson, Esq. Barrister. John W^ear, Esq. Barrister. Charles Welstead, Esq. Custom House. Augustus Welstead, Esq. Ditto. C. C. Western, Esq. M. P. Charles Wetherell, Esq. Barrister. John Whishaw, Esq . Lamb's Conduit Street. Samuel Whitbread, Esq. M. P. Ten Copies, Caleb Whitefoorde, Esq. Richard W^iliiams, Esq. Lincoln's Inn. Richard Wilson, Esq. M. P. Lincoln's Inn Fields. Mrs. Richard Wilson, Ditto. Miss Wilson, Ditto. John Wilson, Esq. Morpeth, Northum- berland. George Wilson, Esq. Lincoln's Inn. George Wilson, Esq. Matthew \\'inter, Esq. George W'oodfall, Esq. Nathaniel W^right, Esq. Mrs. Wright. LIST OF ADDITIONAL SUBSCRIBERS, RECEIVED SINCE THE FOREGOING WAS PRINTED. Thomas Bell, Esq. Alnwick, Northum- berland. Dixon Brown, Esq. Newcastle upon Tyne. Joseph Biilmer, Esq. Cox Lodge, North- umberland. William Clarke, Esq. Wall's End, Ditto. Lieut. Colonel Coulson, Northumberland Militia. John Davidson, Esq. Newcastle upon Tyne. Thomas Davidson, Esq. Ditto. William Row Dunbar, Esq. Liverpool. Thomas Fenwick, Esq. Newcastle upon Tyne. Joseph Forster, Esq. Ditto. Thomas Gibson, Esq. Ditto. Rev. Henry D. Griffith, Ditto. Major Hedley, Northumberland Militia. Launcelot Heron, Esq. Morpeth, Northum- berland. Heron, Esq. Newcastle upon Tyne. Miss Heron, Ditto. John Hodgson, Esq. Elswick House, North- umberland. Anthony Lambert, Esq. Alnwick, Ditto. George Anthony Lambert, Esq. Gateshead, Durham. A. M. De Cardoimell Lawson, Jun. Esq. Chirton House, Northumberland. Mrs. Linley. ^ William Loraine, Esq. Newcastle upon Tyne. James Losh, Esq. Ditto. Thomas Maude, Esq. Ditto. Miles Monkhouse, Esq. Ditto. William Mosman, Esq. Ditto. Robert Nicholson, Esq. Ditto. Daniel Ord, Esq. Longridge, Ditto. Samuel Walker Parker, Esq. Low Elswick, Northumberland. Richard Plummer, Esq. Shiremoor House, Morpeth, Northumberland. Archibald Reed, Esq. Newcastle upon Tyne. Thomas Selby, Jun. Esq. Biddleston, Northumberland. Miss Selby, Henderside House. Miss Selby, Twizell House, Alnwick, Northumberland. Rev. John Smith, Vicar of Newcastle. Rev. William Joseph Wilton, Newcastle upon Tyne. ADVERTISEMENT. I HE testimony of regard for Mr. Richardson s memory which the foregoing list of illustrious and distinguished names exhibits, demands from his widow the tribute of grateful and respectful achiowledgment : it has rendered the book ichat she wished it to be, an honourable monurnent of sicrviving esteem. The celebrity of the tvorJc might, it is true, have beeji increased by the insertion of those of the Rolliads and Probationary Odes tvhich tvere of Mr. Richardson s writing, as well as by the introduction of various other political effusions, of tvhich he was the author ; but though by him it was felt as a patriotic duty to level the shafts of satire at certain public characters whilst capable of defending them" selves, yet as several of them now repose, like himself, in the quiet grave, Mrs. Richardson is persuaded, that every thing ivhich wears but the aspect of personal severity is much better omitted in a work that, it is her hope, tvill aivakcn none but kind recollections. SHORT SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF THE LATE J O S E FM EICM^MBSOJV, JB S BARRISTER, AND MEMBER FOR NEWPORT IN CORNWALL. WRITTEN BY AN INTIMATE FRIEND. MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH RICHARBSON, ESQ. The advantages resulting from Biography have been often illustrated, and it has generally been considered as a source both of amusement and instruction, but has never been properly inculcated as a moral duty. Yet to ortiit paying a tribute to the memory of those whose talents have height- ened the pleasure and contributed towards the improvement of mankind, is to show a want of justice and of gratitude. It is to be observed also, that in doing honour to departed merit, an incentive is held forth to Emulation, and an encou- ragement to Genius, which may naturally be expected to exert all its powers to gain the approbation of the world, and to secure a distinguished place in the Temple of Biography. It must however be acknowledged that some, by the nature of their characters, and the scenes in which they have been engaged, have become subjects pecuHarly suited to this province of literature, which derives its most alluring features from enterprising adventure and heroic achievement. Yet the calm pursuits of science, the charms of poesy, and the agitations of political rivalry, have their respective powers of affording entertainment, as well as of extending knowledge, and may each have substantial claims to bio- graphical distinction. Amongst those who have raised themselves above the ordinary level of mankind, at a time when learning and talents are more generally diffused than they were at any former period of our history, the subject of this biogra- phical sketch has peculiar pretensions to have his name and character recorded. Mr. Richardson was born in the year 1755, at Hexham, in the county of Northumberland ; and being an only child, his father, who very early discovered in him extraordinary powers of mind, determined to give him all the advantages of education, and for that purpose placed him at the first schools in that vicinity, where he made a very rapid progress in his studies. From thence he was, at the age of eighteen, sent to St. John's College, Cam- bridge, and intended for the church. In this situation he had the good fortune to have his talents aided by such eminent scholars as Dr. Ferris, Dean of Battle, and Dr. Pearce, Dean of Ely, who were both (Dr. Pearce in particular) much attached to Mr. Richardson, as well for the amiable qualities of his private character, as for those abilities which promised to do honour to himself and his country. Here too his acquaintance with the Right Honour- able Lord John Townshend took its rise, and formed the basis of that sincere and steady friendship which was supported by political sympathy, as well as by conformity of taste, and reciprocal esteem. B 2 Mr. Richardson pursued his studies with ardour and success, and, turning his attention towards the Muses, pro- duced many compositions which were highly admired by those who were best able to appreciate their merit. His college exercises (two of which, written at the particular instance of Dr. Pearce, have been inserted in this publica- tion) were highly commended. The circumstance which occasioned the first was somewhat singular, and gave an early indication of that acute sensibility which marked Mr. Richardson's character in his progress through life : — Having been accustomed to constant approbation at the places of his earlier studies, where the juvenile efforts of his Muse were enthusiastically applauded, young Richardson insensibly acquired a confidence in his own powers, and had naturally become careless. Soon after his arrival at college he wrote an exercise, which being somewhat inac- curate. Dr. Pearce animadverted upon its errors, and gave him for a theme, Iterare cursus cogor relictoSy which occa- sioned the elegant and pathetic little poem so inscribed. It is scarcely necessary to add, that by this effusion of genius and feeling, he not only acquired considerable credit with his fellow-students, but was completely reinstated in the favour of his learned tutor. One of Mr. Richardson's college productions, on the death of Dr. Powell, the former Master of St. John's College, Cambridge, written in the manner of Milton's Nativity, which begins " It was the winter wild,'' was particularly admired ; but having none of the vanity of an author, Mr. Richardson was little solicitous to preserve his compositions ; and hence, though great pains have been taken to recover a copy of the beautiful poem just mentioned, only a small fragment of it has hitherto been obtained. Whilst in this state of literary progression, he, amongst others of the university, was allured by the fame of Garrick to visit the metropolis, for the purpose of seeing that unri- valled actor take his farewell of the stage. In this, and subsequent trips to London, he was by no means insensible to the attractions of the gay and busy capital ; and the death of his father, whilst he was yet at college, having left him at liberty to pursue his own inclinations, he began to listen with a desire of conviction to the arguments of those who advised him to relinquish his intentions of enter- ing into holy orders, and to turn his thoughts to the bar. As he possessed extraordinary powers of conversation ; as his reasoning was close and clear ; his language flowing, elegant, and correct ; possessing also an intuitive knowledge of mankind (no man penetrating more readily into the motives of conduct, or tracing more accurately to their source the true principles of action), there cannot be a doubt, but that, if he had steadily prosecuted the study of the law, he would have risen to the greatest eminence in the profession. The exhortations of his friends therefore prevailed. In the year 1778 Mr. Richardson quitted the university, and in the following year entered himself a stu- dent of the Middle Temple, began a due course of prepara- tory studies, put himself under a special pleader of emi- nence, and in the year 1784 was called to the bar. Pre- viously to that event, he had become acquainted with several of the most distinguished members of that Opposition which, supported by the genius of a Burke, a Fox, a Sheridan, and many other men of resplendent talents, might be considered as the most formidable band of politicians that ever made a stand against the measures of any Admi- nistration in this country. Mr. Richardson's political principles being the same with those of the celebrated characters just mentioned, he became exceedingly zealous in their cause, and exerted those literary talents with which he was so amply endowed in supporting it. These avocations, however, interrupted his studies, and by degrees entirely alienated him from his professional pursuits. Hence the law was deprived of a member, who, if his application had corresponded with his inherent powers, might have risen to its highest honours. During the contest between the two political parties of the day all the talents of those who maintained the same principles with Mr. Fox were exerted both in poetry and prose against the minister : Mr. Richardson partook of the enthusiasm which prevailed amongst the brilliant characters with whom he associated, forgot his graver studies, and most unfortunately " To party gave up what was made for mankind." One of the most distinguished literary engines em- ployed by the Opposition was " The Rolliad." This 8 humorous work however was confined to four persons, of whom Mr. Richardson was one, and his contributions to it, namely, Nos. 4, 10, and 11, in the first part of it, and Nos. 3 and 4 in the second, were peculiarly ad- mired. Another entertaining and ingenious expedient adopted by the political party whose interests Mr. Richardson espoused, was The Probationary Odes ; and of these Nos. 4 and 19 were productions of Mr. Richardson j as was also The Delavaliad : together with several other poems, as well as much of the prose contained in that publication : all of which were eminently distinguished amonsst these effusions of wit, humour, and satire. It was at first intended to insert Mr. Richardson's share of those productions in this collection ; but on farther consideration it was deemed better to refer to them in their present situation, than to separate them from the others with which they are connected. Of the popularity of The RoLLiAD and Probationary Odes, there needs no greater evidence than that they have passed through twenty- one editions. Mr. Richardson likewise wrote a great number of temporary compositions, well calculated to give credit to his party, and to raise them high in public estimation for talents far above their competitors in general ; and though many of those compositions might have been added to the specimens contained in the following pages, yet as they were not all equally traceable to their source, it was thought proper to omit such as had only appeared through the medium of the public papers. Not suffering his powers, however, to be wholly de- voted to political warfare, Mr. Richardson turned his atten- tion to the drama, and in the year 1792 brought forward his comedy of the Fugitive ; of which it is but poor praise to say that it is far superior to most compositions of the same kind that the modern stage has produced ; the fable is inte- resting, and well conducted ; the characters are happily di- versified, and judiciously supported; the sentiments just, natural, and impressive ; the language is neat, correct, elegant, and animated ; and the play altogether abounds in strokes of humour and touches of unaffected pathos. 10 There is one scene in which the contrasted characters of Old Manly and Admiral Cleveland form a masterpiece of dramatic humour: and let it be recorded in mu::ual testi- mony to the merit of the comedy, and the liberality of Lord Rolle, then member for Devon, and the person from whom The Rolliad derived its name, that being in the stage box at the first representation of the Fugitive, and well know- ing one of the authors of the celebrated satire just mentioned to have been Mr. Richardson, Mr. Rolle displayed through the whole performance the utmost interest for the success of the piece, and was one of its most warm and zealous ap- plauders. The prologue was written by the late Richard Tickell, Esq. a particular friend of the author : the epilogue by General Burgoyne. This comedy was so well received, and afforded so much scope for a variety of theatrical talents, that it is sur- prising it should not have been ranked amongst what are called the stock-pieces, or established acting dramas: and there scarcely can be a doubt that it might be revived with great advantage to the theatre. II Nearly about this time, Mr. Richardson made a second effort to rescue himself from the allurements of con'- vivial society, and the harassing entanglements of politics. He attended the courts of justice, went the circuit, and placed himself under the instruction of an eminent ser- geant at law. But unfortunately Mr. Richardson's turn of mind was rather calculated to do credit to a large fortune, than to acquire one ; and again he relinquished that pursuit in which had he persevered he would assuredly have at- tained both wealth and honour. Richard' Wilson, Esq. the present member for Ipswich, the early and intimate friend of Mr. Richard- son, anxious to serve that companion of his boyish days, whose talents he admired, and whose worth he esteemed, took the best opportunity of bringing his abilities into public notice, and of rendering them of general utility, by introducing him to the present Duke of Nor- thumberland; his Grace manifested the most liberal kind- ness towards Mr. Richardson, and conceiving that his talents would be conspicuous in the senate, honoured him with his patronage and friendship, and shortly after Mr. c 2 12 Richardson was chosen one of the representatives for New- port in Cornwall. Here was a field opened the best suited to the displ ly of Mr. Richardson's intellectual powers; and all who knew him, entertained the strongest persuasion of his becoming one of the most distinguished parliamentary orators. Qualified nevertheless as he was, both by nature and edu- cation, to fulfil those expectations, a diffidence in his own powers unhappily precluded him from availing himself of those high advantages which his situation as a senator held out to him ; and the few light effusions contained in this publication, will be the only memorials upon record of a genius, which, had it been ushered into the world with the invigorating support of an easy fortune, would in all proba- bility have placed him amongst the foremost characters of his age and country. Mr. Richardson having at length abandoned the idea of legal practice, being a great admirer of the drama, and extremely intimate with Mr. Sheridan, the proprietor of Drury Lane theatre, entertained hopes that he 13 might, by the assistance of friends, purchase such a share of that property as would afford him a respectable income, and be a future provision for his family. — Mr. Sheridan, natu- rally wishing for a colleague in whom would be united the various advantages of high intellectual powers, refined taste, clear judgment, and particularly a friendly regard for himself, met his views very readily ; and after several inter- mediate arrangements, Mr. Richardson's friends came forward in so liberal a way, as to enable him to purchase a fourth part of the theatre. After becoming a proprietor, it is highly probable, not- withstanding his extreme reluctance to submit his works to public notice, that Mr. Richardson's dramatic powers would have again shone forth upon the stage ; but his health had suffered several severe attacks, and the rupture of a blood-vessel had endangered his life. The comedy of the Fugitive, therefore, was his only dramatic work. He wrote, however, a beautiful prologue to an after-piece performed for the benefit of the widows and children of those who perished in the action which produced 14 the glorious naval victory obtained under the command of Lord Howe, on the first of June 1 794. This prologue was considered as one of the happiest effusions to which that memorable event gave birth, and was universally admired for its simple and pathetic elegance. Mr. Richardson's political character was marked by an inflexible attachment to the British constitution; and nothing could have tempted him to desert the party whose principles first induced him to unite himself to their cause : nor can there be any reason to doubt, that, had he lived to see that party in power, the estimation acquired by his talents and undeviating integrity, would have placed him in some official situation that would have enabled him to promote the honour and welfare of his country. Mr. Richardson, whose health had for some time been gradually declining, was taken dangerously ill at a place called Virginia Water, in the neighbourhood of Egham in Surry. He had retired to this place for a few days for the purpose of recovering himself after the fatigue which he had endured in attending his parliamentary duty whilst 15 in a very exhausted state of health, contrary to the earnest remonstrances of his valuable friend and physician, Dr. Combe ; and particularly by remaining to the end of a very long and interesting debate upon a message from the King, for the purpose of giving his vote with Mr. Fox's minority. The debate did not close till five in the morning, and took place within a week of Mr. Richardson's death, which me- lancholy event was doubtless accelerated by his attendance on that occasion. This exertion at a pei-iod when his constitution de- manded every support that care and indulgence could afford, overpowered him, and he was seized with a return of that dangerous disorder which had so frequently attacked him, and which, notwithstanding every medical assistance, was so rapid in its progress, that in about twenty-four hours it ter- minated fatally ; and Mr. Richardson was torn from a family with whom his heart was lodged, and who, with affection and respect not to be abated by time, look to that period when they may hope to experience a happy and permanent reunion. i6 Mr. Richardson died on the 9th of June 1803, at the age of forty-seven. He was buried in Egham Church, and was attended to the grave by four of his particular friends. Thus, in the prime of life, expired a man who was an ornament to society, who possessed those virtues that en- dear domestic life, and those talents which gave him indis- putable claims to the admiration of the public, whilst the disinterested firmness of his political conduct, com- manded its respect. The benevolence that warmed his heart imparted a conciliating yet dignified urbanity to his manners ; and the amiable qualities of his disposition were so well known, that he was characterized as the " well-natured Richardson" in a work entitled The Anti-Jacobin Examiner, which was patronized by the Administration of the day, and was the most able weapon it ever wielded against its ad- versaries. The zeal even of political competition, therefore, did not deprive Mr. Richardson of the esteem due to the merits of his private character, both parties uniting in rendering their testimony in his favour. Mr. Richardson was in stature above the middle size. His figure was manly and well-proportioned, with a countenance strongly expressive of intelligence and benignity. Perhaps these Memoirs cannot be closed more appropriately than by the concluding stanza of that Poem of his to which we have heretofore alluded : " He 's gone, alas ! — but shall not die. Thus from the oozy bed Sol lifts his brighten'd head. And shines again in blazon'd majesty. Pure as himself, his goodly fame shall live. And in remembrance dear. The tribute of a tear. The learned long in sympathy shall give ; Shall mourn him dead who, living, ne'er deny'd His tender pity when the unhappy sigh'd." 18 Mr. Richardson married a lady of the family of the learned and reverend Dr. Isaac Watts; by her he had five daughters, four of whom, vi^ith their mother, sur- vive him. THE FUGITIVE, COMEDY. PERFORMED BY HIS MAJESTY'S COMPANY OF COMEDIANS, lying's C()eatre, IDapmarliet ^therias, lascive cupis, volitare per auras I, FUGE, Bed poteris, tutior esse dom't. MARTIAL. D 2 ADVERTISEMENT. Perhaps there is no expression of gra- titude at once so necessary and so suspicious as that which the author of a dramatic performance pays to the several Ladies and Gentlemen who supported him in its repre- sentation. — He must possess much more confidence in himself than belongs to the author of The Fugitive, who believes he can insure success upon the Stage, without the concurrence of their kindest and most active exertions — and yet in proportion as acknowledgments are warmly and vividly given, they are obnoxious to this possible imputa- tion — that they are the insidious vehicle of furtive praise to the author, and nothing more in their substance and intention than a circuitous tribute to his own merits — for, if all this excellence was exhibited in the representation, what are we to say of the person who laid the foundation ')•> for it by his Work ? Does not the author then introduce himself amongst the Dramatis Personce^ and by a natural inference does he not seem to say — " You hear what " eulogies have been pronoimced upon the perform- " ance — admirable character — chaste but lively acting, " &c. &c. Ecce homo! — look at me — I am the man " whose composition was the basis of their merits, and *' to whose fine writing, in the first instance, they owe " their successful performance in the last." — For ex- ample, when it is afiirmed, which is nothing more than common justice and strict truth, that the per- formance of Miss Farren was at once elegant and intel- ligent, feminine and sensible, gracefully serious and im- pressively gay — that Mrs. Jordan completely demonstrated that parts of tender interest are as congenial to her powers, and more cannot be said, as characters of the most lively and effective comedy ; or that Miss Pope, with an admi- rable dexterity peculiar to herself, shewed that she could exhibit the humour of vulgar life, unpolluted by the strained and offensive vulgarity of its manners — that Mrs. Hopkins, Mrs. Kemble, and Mrs. Ward, did 23 ample justice to their parts — that, to use the words of a living writer unrivalled in this department of literature — " no language could do justice to the merits of Mr. King" — that the varied whim and rich luxuriance of Parsons have not been often more successfully displayed — that the great and superior powers of Messrs. Palmer, Dodd, Bensley, Wroughton, and Wewitzer, so well known in the distinct branches of their art, and so justly- admired by the Town, were exhibited with their usual felicity, and that all the performers had the justest claims on the approbation and kindness of the author — when all this has been said, the question at last recurs, whether or no the just praise which the author has bestowed does not find its source in insinuated egotism, and that under the presentation of gratitude he has been contriving a crafty panegyric for himself. The author will not contend with logicians of this suspicious cast; and as he cannot prove the opinion which he entertains of himself, will rest content with the con- scious encouragement of his own mind, which persuades and assures him that it is possible for an author to do 24 justice to others without the subtlety of self-adulation ; and that there is at least one instance of gratitude which is not the irregular progeny of conceit. The author has a distinct acknowledgment to make for the liberal attention, the criticism, and the friendly zeal of Mr. Kemble. — He has also to return his best thanks to the same gentleman for the kind promptitude with which he undertook the performance of Admiral Cleveland at a very short notice, and for the able manner with which he acquitted himself*. * During the indisposition of Mr. King, who originally performed that character. PROLOGUE. WRITTEN BY RICHARD TICKELL, ESQ. SPOKEN BY MR. BANNISTER, JlXNIOR. What perturbation flutters in the breast Of the fair Novice, for St. James's drest ! What almost equal hopes and fears transport The matron friend that chaperons her to court ! Close to the Palace, as her chair draws near. The very tassels seem to quake with fear. — On moves her friend, amid the gathering bands Of stars, gold sticks, blue ribands, and white wands. With looks that canvass and with pleading air, Bespeaking favour for the stranger there ; Who, close behind, while fearfully she goes, Peeps through her fan, and eyes th' observing beaux. As down the labyrinth of silk and lace. They catcli a vista vision of her face. — Such are tlie terrors untried bards dismay ; Thus to this Court, the Prologue leads the Play ; E 20 Actor and author in one panic join'd ; I quake before the curtain ; he behind. — And yet, in modern times, th' aspiring Wit Braves but few perils from the well-dress'd Pit : Not as of old, when, train' d to frown and fret. In murky state, the surly synod met ; Vain of half learning and of foreign rules, Vamp'd from the jargon of the ancient schools. In black full-bottom'd wig, the Critic God Shook his umbrageous curls, and gave the nod ! The Pit was then all men — how shrunk the Muse From those bleak rows of overhanging yews ! Unlike the gay parterre we now salute. That shines at once with blossoms and with fruit ; With chequer' d crouds that mingled taste dispense ; With female softness join'd to manly sense. — Here, if ungenerous spleen should strive for vent. Some fair associate soothes it to content ; Its rage with promissory looks beguiles. And checks th' incipient hiss by well-tim'd smiles — The vanquish' d critics frown, but soften fast ; Hiss and look — hiss and look — hiss and look — and clap at last. Oh ! if each sterner judge thus mildly view The poet's toils, what can he dread from you ? From forms with sympathetic softness join'd; From features fasbion'd to the lovelier mind ; n 27 From eyes, where gentleness has fix'd her throne ; From roseate lips, that move in smiles alone — Well may The Fugitive v^^ith hope appear. When every blended grace gives refuge here. £2 DRAMATIS PERSONS. Lord Dartford Sir William Wingrove Mr. Wingrove Old Manly Young Manly Admiral Cleveland Mr. Welford Jenkins Larron O'Donnel William Servant Mr. DoDD. Mr. Bensley, Mr. Wroughton. Mr. Parsons. Mr. Palmer. Mr. King. Mr. Barrymore. Mr. Maddox. Mr. Wewitzer. Mr. Phillimore. Mr. Benson. Mr. Banks. Mrs. Manly Miss Herbert Miss Julia Wingrove Miss Manly Mrs. Larron Mrs. Rachel Cleveland Mrs. Hopkins. Miss Farren. Mrs. Jordan. Mrs. Kemble. Miss Pope. Mrs. Ward. THB FUGITIVE € O M B JD Y. ACT I. SCENE I. — A)i Apartment in Sir IVilliam IViyigroves House. Enter Sir Wili^iam and Miss Julia Wingrove. JULIA. Let me entreat you. Sir, to hear me ! — let reason be my advocate. SIR WILLIAM. Reason, Julia ! — You know 't is my delight, my glory. What constitutes the pre-eminence of man, but his reason ? .'T is, like the sacred virtue of high blood, a natural exaltation, of which we 30 can never lose the advantage, but by voluntary degradation, or per- verse misuse — ^What but reason is the foundation of my preference for Lord Dartford ? — Is he not of a family as ancient even as my own ? JULIA. Did Lord Dartford inherit any of the virtues, which, probably, acquired those highly valued honours of his ancestry, my father might have some cause to regret that his daughter's inclinations were at enmity with her duty. SIR WILLIAM. And where, Madam, have you learnt, that the splendour of Lord Dartford's family suffers any diminution in his own person ? JULIA. Where some of the happiest years of my life have been passed. Sir — at my dear deceased aunt's. SIR WILLIAM. Mr, Manly, now, I dare say, had not the least share in pro- ducing this aversion to Lord Dartford. JULIA. Mr. Manly, Sir ! — ^Mr. Manly would scorn — nor can it ever be necessary for him to raise his own character by aspersing that of Lord Dartford. 31 SIR WILLIAM. Aye, aye, now we have it — I thought what share the elo- quence of your aunt had had in this apostacy from the faith of your ancestors — Mr. Manly, it seems, has contrived to make so successful a monopoly of all the virtues, that there does not remain even the leavings of an accomplishment for any other person. — But since I despair of making you enter into the just views of your family, by dutifully consenting, as you ought, to marry a man for the revered merit of his blood, your brother shall try, whether your young spark be not composed of more practicable materials. JULIA. For Heaven's sake, dear Sir, forego this ! — ^What must be the consequence of their meeting ? SIR WILLIAM. If you have any objection to the interview, you know how to prevent it. JULIA. Oh, Sir, do not force me to so dreadful an alternative ! I will, if you require it, bind myself by the most solemn engagements to give up all thoughts of Mr. Manly, only let me no more be perse- cuted with the addresses of Lord Dartford. SIR WILLIAM. Nay, now I must believe you ; for where has it been recorded ihat an enamoured damsel ever broke a promise to an old father, 32 when given at the expense of a young lover ? — For once, hov^^ever, you must excuse me, if I am a little disobedient to the authority of precedent, and endeavour to find some better security for the honour of my family, even than your love-sick renunciation of the object of your affections. JULIA. Yet, Sir, hear me. SIR WILLIAM, I do hear you — But first tell me why have I preserved you, since the decease of your aunt, from all intercourse with the world, with the single exception of the friendship of Miss Herbert, whose ap- proaching alliance with your brother gives her a common interest in the lustre of our house ? — Why have I, like a fond parent, forbid you society? — kept you sacred from the arts of our sex, and the more dangerous follies of your own — locked you up and guarded you, like the archives of my own family, that you might increase in value, as you advanced in years ? — Why ? but to secure you from the contagion of a degenerate world — who feel more anxiety about the means of supporting new families, than awful reverence for the names of old ones, and would meanly thrive by plebeian industry, rather than diet on the rich recollection of their immortal ancestry. JULIA. But my dear father, just now, kindly condescended to say he would suffer me to reason with him on this subject. Can birth, alone, entitle a man to the high distinction you speak of? — And surely Lord Dartford 3a SIR WILLIAM. Grant me patience. Heaven ! Do you call in question the pru- dence of my choice ? Ungrateful Julia, never more will I hear you on this subject — and now attend my final determination — ^To-mor- row you marry Lord Dartford. JULIA. To-morrow, Sir ! — You will not SIR WILLIAM. Positively to-morrow — neither remonstrances, nor tears, shall sway me from my determined purpose. I leave you now to your reflections, and go to adjust the necessary preliminaries of a cere- mony, that will recall you, inconsiderate girl, to duty and to reason. [Exit. JULIA. Is it possible ! — Can my father thus shut his heart to the distresses of his Julia ! — My brother too, happy in his own affections, not only abandons me to the interested rigour of my father's cruel ambition, but assists and animates him in the prosecution of his views. — Wretched, friendless Julia — whither wilt thou turn! — Ah, Manly, that amidst the various excellencies of thy heart there is yet a careless generosity in thy nature — an irregular, though not ungraceful excess in thy very virtues, which, though it neither forbids esteem, nor damps affection, yet gives the alarm to delicacy, and checks the full 34 pleasure of a fearless, unsuspecting confidence! — Were it not for this, I think I could not deny myself with thee a willing asylum from the severities of this domestic persecution. [Exit. SCENE II. — Sir Willianis Garden. Enter Young Manly. YOUNG MANLY. Thus far I have achieved my purpose without discovery — What a devil of a wall have I had to scramble up to obtain even the chance of an interview ! — ^The sulky grandeur of your ancient battlements was always the difficulty and the glory of an enamoured hero — But what can the maddest of the most venerable lads of chivalry lay claim to, that does not to the full as reasonably belong to me? I have all their hopes with all their apprehensions — all their fears with all their confidence — all their weakness with all their fortitude — So I think it cannot be denied that I possess as many good sound contradictions in my character as the best of them — I have not in- deed the gift of waiting that those gentlemen had, for I begin already to feel impatient at Julia's delay. Would I could gain but a distant glimpse of her, or hear one strain of her enchanting voice — dear melodious voice! soft as a lover's sigh embodied into music, and sweet as the inspired eloquence of a consenting smile — But soft, soft ! she approaches: — And in tears ! let me endeavour to learn the cause of them before I make my appearance: — What must he be composed of. 35 and what does he not deserve, who has been profane enough to excite them ! \Retires behind a tree. Enter Julia, and seats herself in an Alcwe. JULIA. Here let me rest awhile, and endeavour to collect my scattered thoughts. — Could it be believed that my father, strict as his general notions of honour are, should think of forcing me to become the wife of a man whom my soul abhors ! YOUNG MANLY. Forcing thee! JULIA. When, too, he is convinced of my being attached to another. YOUNG MANLY. To another ! JULIA. I think he loves me. YOUNG MANLY. I am sure he does — that is, if I am he. JULIA. He is kind and generous, capable of the most ardent and dis- interested passion. E 2 30 YOUNG MANLT. It must be me. JULIA. But he has faults, great faults. YOUNG MANLY. Now I am sure 'tis me. JULIA. I dread the levity of his nature — Oh Manly, Manly, why can- not I trust thee ! YOUNG MANLY. I am sure I can't tell. JULIA. How gladly could I owe the relief of my present afflictions to thy kindness, but for the dread of being afterwards exposed to the severer calamity of thy indifference. Oh why, why. Manly, can- not I confide in thee ! Young Manly comes fo7tvard. Why indeed ! Dear generous Julia, banish these apprehensions. I never can injure truth, innocence, and beauty like thine. JULIA. Mr. Manly ! How you have alarmed me ! — What a rash step is this!— But fly, I conjure you ; if you have any regard for my happi- ness — fly. 37 YOUNG MANLY. Fly, Julia ? Yes, swifter than a lover's thought ; but you must be the partner of my flight, JULIA. You cannot surely be serious ? YOUNG MANLY. So serious that I shall not stir one single step without you — Julia, Julia, this is no time for trifling or for ceremony. To be candid with you, I have overheard you; and if I deserve punishment for the involuntary offence, reserve it till the danger is over that threatens you. JULIA. Indeed, Mr. Manly, your generous concern for me leaves me as little right, as I have inclination, to be severe ; but therefore it is I entreat you to quit this scene of danger — ^You know the fury of my relations. YOUNG MANLY. Nay, Julia, I care not how soon I go — As we depart together you cannot reasonably suspect me of being an advocate for delay. JULIA. What can you mean ? 3-8 yoUNG MANLY. Mean! — Why, to decide my fate on the instant — Either to follow you as your humble slave through the wide world of happiness, for it can have no place in it forbidden to delight whilst you are with me; or to meet with resignation, on the spot, the bitterest resentment of your vindictive family. JULIA. Oh, Manly ! give me not such a fatal proof of your affection — I will consider of your proposal by to-morrow — but go now, I beseech you! YOUNG MANLY. Not a step — If I am stubborn, Julia, you are my example — I have not often such authority for my conduct. I will not quit you till I am assured of your deliverance from this unnatural tyranny. JULIA. Hear me for a moment — I do not wish to conceal from you how much my gratitude is interested in your safety — The embarrassment of my present situation, added to this dangerous evidence of your attachment, will, I hope, in some measure, excuse me for the con- fession I am about to But indeed. Sir, indeed — What shall I say ? A womanish apprehension prevails over my tongue, and sways it from the direction of my heart, in spite of me — Indeed, I cannot go with you — Character, prudence, duty forbid it. YOUNG MANLY. I confess, Madam, I was prepared to expect more candour, and more decision, from the lips of Miss Wingrove. JULIA. Dear Manly, I thank you for this rebuke— it brings me back to myself— Something must be allowed to the fond agitation of a woman's fears— but they are gone ; Love himself, unfriendly as he is to truth, yet smiles propitiously upon a slow obedience to it at last. —Meet me at One, in the avenue before our house, and then with more safety to my Henry, as well as more security to our enterprise, I will resign myself and all my hopes to your faithful guidance. YOUNG MANLY. Dearest Julia, on my knees I thank you— I am oppressed at once with love and gratitude— It is needless to say with what anxious, vi- gilant punctuality I will obey your mandate— with what idolatry of submissive affection, I will watch over every rising thought, and half-formed object of your future Wfe. -[Rises.] From this moment then, dismiss all apprehension of your Henry's levity, and be satisfied that JULIA. I am satisfied-Surely, 1 have proved I am so ! But interesting as your conversation always is, and on this theme fraught with pecu- liar endearment, I must deprive myself of it-You must go-pray ^ obey me now— My turn for obedience approaches fast. Remember— 40 YOUNG MANLY. Can I forget the consecrated moment ! Adieu ever dearest, till then. JULIA. Adieu, dear Manly ! [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Lord Dartfords House. Enter Lord DartforDj followed hy Jenkins. LORD DARTFORD. Jenkins, does Sir William know of my arrival here ? JENKINS. He does, my Lord. LORD DARTFORD. Well, I suppose I must pay the first visit — But hold, should not I brush up my style a little, to enable me to undergo this encounter of genealogy ? No — I believe there is no occasion ; the secret lies in a short compass — Pedigree 's the word — and one of your real accurate lovers of historical virtu will believe any thing. — And so we '11 trust to chance, and the assistance of such convenient absurdities as may happen to arise. — [A knocking at the door.] But see who 's there, Jenkins. [Jenkins goes, and ititroduces Sir William Wingrove. 41 SIR WILLIAM. I hope, my Lord, my presence thus unannounced, does not interrupt any of your Lordship's weightier concerns. LORD DARTFORD. It is impossible that the favour of Sir William Wingrove's company can ever be felt as an intrusion. SIR WILLIAM. Your Lordship is kindness itself. — ^riicy sit dow7i.] It is a doubtful point with me, my Lord, in the alliance which is upon the eve of ac- complishment, by which party the honour will be given or received. LORD DARTFORD. [Aside.] So he's off already — there 's but oneway for me — I should ill deserve my good fortune, Sir William, were I not sensible that the honour and the happiness are both eminently mine. SIR WILLIAM. Why, my Lord, that is by no means a clear case — I perceive that your Lordship possesses a very competent knowledge of the antiquity of our family ; but to deal candidly with you, I believe yours takes its rise nearly about the same time — pretty nearly, that is to say — I mean within a century of us, or some such trifle — I dare say it does ; for the Dartford family may be very clearly traced to the Conquest. 42 LORD DARTFORD. The Conquest, Sir William, is modern — It is not long since I perused a valuable manuscript, that makes very honourable mention of the Wingroves, in one of the remoter reigns of the Saxon Hep- tarchy. SIR WILL lA . Could your Lordship procure me a sight of that manuscript ? The favour will be infinite. LORD DARTFORD. Sir William may rely upon it that if my friend can be prevailed upon to resign the parchment, I shall be happy in promoting his wish. — [Aside.] And if he does, his politeness must positively be of a most superior cast, to enable him to part with what he never had. SIR WILLIAM. In one of the remoter reigns of the Saxon Heptarchy ! Is it possible ! But why not possible ? — To what times may not the fa- mily of the Wingroves be traced by the laudable diligence of learned inquiry ? Even up to the dark periods of early nature, of rudeness, ignorance, and barbarity, where knowledge fails us, and History herself is lost in the confusion of her materials. [Muses. LORD DARTFORD. [Aside.] Now will he not be content till he has pursued his high birth to the illustrious parentage of a savage, and drawn the boasted stream of his pure blood from the polluted leavings of the deluge. 43 SIR WILLIAM. Now, my Lord, to business — The fifty thousand pounds which I purpose as my daugliter's dower, is but a small, and indeed inade- quate compensation for the honour of your dignified alliance — Happy, but too happy, should we all feel ourselves, if her inclina- tions accorded with our wishes, and acquiesced in the brilliant provi- sion we have made for her — But she is perverse, my Lord, unaccount- ably perverse — Yet submit she shall, and that without delay — I am fixed, immutably fixed — But if your Lordship will do me the honour to accompany me to my house, I will there explain to your Lordship the difficulties we have to encounter, and the expedients we have provided to overcome them — Nay, my Lord — [Contending on the etiquette of precedency. LORD DARTFORD. Impossible, Sir William ! mere title is adventitious, birth in- herent. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— T/ie Road, tvith a distant View of Sir JnUiam Wingrove' s House. Enter Young Manly, singing. YOUNG MANLY. Was there ever such a happy, unlucky dog as myself ! — happy beyond the narrow bounds of mortal imagination in the love of my G 2 44 Julia — but horribly unlucky, that the certainty and near approach of my felicity has quite bereft me of my senses — Just as I had aban- doned myself to despair, to be raised in one delicious half-hour to the summit o f Oh ! egad there 's no bearing it ! I shall run mad — I am mad, that 's certain. [Sings and dances. Enter Admiral Cleveland. ADMIRAL. So, so — there's young Frolicksome in his whirhgigs — What, 'Squire Madcap, are you practising how to make a fool of yourself? — ^Don't take so much trouble, young man ; you can succeed pretty well without so much pains. YOUKG MANLY. Ha! my old man of war — give me your hand — When shall you and I go upon a voyage to the ADMIRAL. To the moon, eh! young Freshwater? Why, you seem to be in her latitude already ; or have you been stowing in a fresh lading of champagne ? YOUNG MANLY. Your first conjecture is perhaps a little near the mark ; for my understanding, I beheve, is rather upon the go ; but as for cham- pagne — curse champagne. 45 ADMIRAL. What then, you have been in a tight engagement at play, and have brought the enemy to A'nt that it, my young shark ? YOUNG MANLY. No, no, my heart of oak ; I defy the power of gold to disorder my senses — But, vv^hat do you think, my noble commander, of gaining the w^oman one loves ? Can your old weatherbeaten fancy conceive any joy equal to that ? ADMIRAL. Why I don't think I can ; unless it be seeing an enemy's ship strike ; and that does give the senses a whirl that none but a seaman can be a judge of. YOUNG MANLY. Why then, as I am a stranger to naval sensations, the pleasure of being beloved by an angel, must serve my turn — When con- quered beauty prepares to yield — when willing love strikes the flag — that 's the whirl for my money. ADMIRAL. Well, that 's good-natured, however, to rejoice at the thoughts of an engagement, where you are sure to have the worst on't. 46 YOUNG MANLY. Dear Admiral, had I but known you when I was a boy ! ADMIRAL. What then ? YOUNG MANLY. Then ? do you ask me what then ? Oh JuUa ! " My soul hath her consent so absolute, " That not another comfort like to this " Succeeds in unknown fate !" ADMIRAL. Poor young man — Well, my lad, when your wits are at anchor, though I fear the vessel 's too crazy ever to see port again, you and I may drink a can together — till then, your servant. YOUNG MANLY. Nay, nay, don't go yet. [Dancing. ADMIRAL. Why, you veer about so, one might as well look for anchorage in a whirlpool, as think to hold a parley with you. YOUNG MANLY. Well, come then, I will, be serious — Do you ever pray at sea. Admiral ? 47 ADMIRAL. Why, what should we pray for ? Except, indeed, when there 's danger in the wind, and then, to be sure, that alters the case. YOUNG MANLY. Well, now, there lies your error. ADMIKAL. Error ! — meaning me. — You ? YOUNG MANLY. Aye ! — I hold it such an abominable ignorance of duty. ADMIRAL. Ignorance of duty !— why, you palavering whipper-snapper, am I to be taught my duty, after having had the command of a fleet, by such a sneaking YOUNG MANLY. Nay, but why so hot, my good friend ? You cannot think I meant to offend you ? ADMIRAL. Not mean to offend, when you tell me I don't know how to command ? Ignorance of duty, indeed — Out of my way, you live lumber — Damn it, I only thought you were mad, but now I find you 're a fool. [Exit. 48 YOUNG MANLY. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — At any other time I should have been a good deal vexed to have offended old True Blue, that 's certain ; but at this moment my heart's so crouded with sensations of mirth and joy — with such a confused jumble of contending raptures — with so much delight o I what has already passed, and such a maddening anticipation of what is yet to come, that no thought of apprehensive care can obtain sanctuary in my bosom. My dear Julia, my own Julia ! Oh, that idea overpowers me with transport — Gad so, there's Sir William — If I stay here much longer, playing the fool, I shall be observed by some of the family, and then — adieu to all my hopes — What shall I do ? — I '11 return to the Star Inn, which is just in view of the house, and deceive the tedious interval with the friends whom I left there, till my fair day-star arises, that leads me to new life, to happiness and love ! [Exit. END OF ACT 1. 49 ACT II. SCENE I. — A nearer Fietu of Sir William Wlngroves House.-— (Moon-light. J Enter Julia. She opens the Door gently ; and after an appearance of irresolution, shuts it after her. She then comes forward. JULIA. So, now my fate 's decided ! — What have I done ? — I dare not think upon it — If Manly now deceives me, I am undone — Shall I go back? And consent to be the wife of Lord Dartford ? — That must follow for but too well I know, that tenderness never yet prevailed upon the stern ambition of my father's nature — But why should I doubt my Henry's unstained honour? — Though he is wild, whom did he ever wrong ? — Pardon, dear Manly — pardon the unjust suspicion of thy Julia — And see he comes to clear my heart of doubt ! [Manly sings uithout. Oh, gracious Heaven — Is this the man I have chosen to be the guardian of my honour! — Fly, fly, my feet — let me but reach my father's! — The door is fast — I have now no hope left, unless the wild confusion that wine has made him in, should prevent his observing me. Heaven grant it may ! [Conceals herself behind a tree, and draivs a veil over her face. H 50 Enter Young Manly singing. " Heighten every joy to-day, and never mind to-morrow." Aye, so say I — ^The present — the present is the only time that 's worth a vrise man's concern — Why should we give ourselves any trouble about to-morrow, when we don't know that to-morrow will ever reach us ? — or that we shall reach it, which is pretty nearly the same thing, I take it ; and then there is just so much good care thrown away. — 'Fore Heaven, the man that wrote that song must have been a most profound person — ^That single line ought to have immortalized him — It shall be my motto. [Siiigs. " Why the plague should we be sad. Whilst on earth we moulder ; "Whether we 're merry, or grave, or mad. We every daj grow older." 'Sdeath, the ground 's full of rocks and quicksands, I think ; my feet either sink or stumble at every step — What can be the reason ? I that am so steady a goer — always, always was — all my life— Egad, I believe the thickets are going to dance ! — May be, they mistake me for Orpheus? — Nay, gentlemen, if you pay such a compliment to my singing, I can do no less than take a turn with you — I am as frolick- some as you can be for the soul of you — So now, let me choose my partner. — [Catches at a tree behind tvhich Julia is concealed, ivho shrieks.] By all the sylvan powers, another Daphne! — [Kneels.] Madam, behold a swain, not altogether so musical as Apollo, I grant you, but a good honest fellow for all that — So, Madam, so — Psha, never mind more words — let us go. Oh, my hard fortune ! 51 JULIA. YOUNG MANLY. What do you say ? — Speak out, my angel — I know that your voice is more tuneful than Philomel's, or mine — that your eyes are the sparkling harbingers of love — that your dimples are the chosen hiding-places of all the Cupids — and those lips ! — But hold — rot it — I had forgot — I can't see e'er a one of them — Never mind — no matter for that — I dare say it 's all true ; and if it is n't, why then we must mend the matter with thinking. JULIA. Oh Heavens ! is it possible ! YOUNG MANLY. No, certainly — it cannot be possible — it is n't possible — Come, come, I know you are kind as you are beautiful, and so it is possible — and so, without more waste of time, come to my arms, and [Tries to catch her; she avoids him. JULIA. It is in vain to reason with him in this state — I must endeavour to divert his attention, and by that means escape him if I can ! — If you will permit me to be your guide II 2 52 YOUNG MANLY. Enough, my pretty pilot ; take me where you will. We will never part any more, shall we? No, never. JULIA. I dare say not, Sir. YOUNG MANLY. Not, Sir ? — Why to be sure not. Sir — Never, never, never. JULIA. Let us walk quickly. — [Aside.] Oh! Heaven, assist me. YOUNG MANLY. As quick as you please, my angel — I '11 fly, if you choose, for 1 'm very steady, and very loving. [Exeunt. SCENE ll.—J Wood. Enter Julia. JULIA. At length, thank Heaven, I have escaped ! — Escaped ! — but is this a place of safety! What will become of me? Yet 't is some comfort, that the day appears — Oh, Manly, thou hast made life hateful to me ! Who comes here ? — I have surely seen his face. Oh ! I remember, I have seen him sometimes at my aunt's, with lace and gauzes — If he 53 should not krn-,v mc, perhaps I may prevail on him to conceal me — He has a wile, T know. Let me consider what I shall say to him. Enter Larron (^ivith biindlesj. Dese villain Custome-house Officers give von honest man no reste — You go to bed late — ^\'ou rise early — pardie — you sit up all night — it make no difference, dey vil be vid you — Mafoi, I believe dey tink sleep contrahande. — \Sees Julia.] Ah ! par St. Dominique, here be von young ladi en great agitation — Ah ! par hazard her equipage est un peu derang^, and she be retire here till tout soit ajnste — a littel civilite de ma part, me produira peutetre beaucoup de pratique on dat of de ladi — En veriti de torough-bred trader know how to J'aire son profit de chaque circonstance — Madame, excusez — but you seem beau- coup qffiigee — Si Madame— rif I can by de utmost exertion of mine contribuer en de smallest instance to votre accommodation, I shall consider die fortune vich led me dis vay, as de plus grande felicitd de ma vie, de greatest happiness of my life. JULIA. He speaks very civilly ; I think I may venture to tell him so much of my unhappy situation, as may let him know how much I need his assistance. LARRON. Madame, you no ansere — May I beg defaveur to be ivformer if I can meriter Vbonneur de voiis rendre le moindre service P Your 54 servants, Madame, ave you any littel message to convey to dem? May I hope you will permit a me de vous escorter d, voire carosse P JULIA. Sir, you mistake the matter entirely— I have neither coach, servants, nor friends at present— The cruelty of one in whom I most confided, has involved me in this calamity ; and I must thankfully avail myself of your obliging offers of service, by entreating the shelter of your roof till I can dispose of myself so as not to be an incumbrance to any one. LARRON. Eh, my dear — vat you say?— You no coche, no servantes, no friend, no house, no home, you vant to come and live a vid me?— NoJi, non, ma Jille—dat vill not do— wo/?, no)i — Dere be de vat do you call? de maison d' Industrie, de vork house for de poor girl— Personne go to my house, but such as pent f aire line helle depense. JULIA. [Aside.'] Mercenary wretch ! [Going. LARRON. Holla ! you littel girl — you tell me, can you vorke ? Suppose dat I was to take pitie upon your condition, can you pay me veil derefore ? ss JULIA. What shall I say ! I must bear with his low impertinence, to induce him to give me a shelter.— [To Larron.] I can. Sir, em- broider neatly, and make lace. larron. Oh pardie, you be von littel busy bee! — You can make love, too. Can you not, my dear? JULIA. Insupportable ! — If, Sir, you consider the favour you seemed inclined to confer, as a sanction for your impertinent freedom, I must beg you to leave me to my misfortunes. LARRON. Comme vous voulez, majille — dere not be many dat vill take you in — You may meet vid some, if you stay here long, dat vill make you vorse offer. JULIA. That is too true! — If I get to his houbc, his wife will protect me from his odious familiarity — I must try to make my peace ! — \To Larron.] Perhaps, Sir, I have been too hasty. If you will conduct me to your house, I shall consider it as an obligation which I shall endeavour by my utmost industry to repay. 56 LARRON. Ha, hah ! — You say so? — Veil den I vill tink about it.— [Jside.] She poor, she pretty, she vovke—Mah elle est fiere comme une pri7i- cesse — ^Vell, I vill have her— She be von flic dat know^ de vorld, it save so much trouble — She be von pauvre innocente, my glory vill be de greater. — [To Julia,] You be good girl, and I vill take you — I rill inform you vat you say to my vife as ve go along. JULIA, Hov*^ one rash step has involved me in a labyrinth of difficulties! — I see no end to it ; yet dare not tread back the way I have gone. — \To Larron.] Very w^ell, Sir. LARRON. Veil, you hold up your head — You not be so cast down. — Tenez— yon carry dis bondel— you valk first — If you see un homme dat look like von qffickr dcs custome, you run straight forward till you come to de stile, and vait dere for me. JULIA. Excuse me. Sir ; I cannot consent to be employed in any unfair transaction. LARRON. Vat you no smogel for me, petite ingrafeP — JNIust I not smogel for you ? Must I not run you upon my vife? Are you not von littel 57 piece of contrabandc vous mcme^ — You see, ni}- dear, you have to deal vid von bel cspint — but prenez courage, I ^^ill not be too hard vid vou — A fa — you vill do ver veil by and by. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — Sir Jf"illiam Wingroves House. Enter Mr. Wingrove. MR. Vi^INGROVE. How pow^erful is the influence of prejudice! My reason con- vinces me that there is no other just criterion for deciding upon the merits of men, but such as growls out of their own personal good or ill properties. — If it were true, that the qualities of the parent were transmitted to the progeny, then, indeed, it might be as necessary to establish the genealogy of a man, as to ascertain the pedigree of a horse. But the properties of the mind elude the frail laws of here- ditary descent, and own no sort of obedience to their authority — How is it, then, that, with this distinct light before me, I cannot help falling into my father's prejudices? — I feel them to be unjust; I know them to be absurd; and yet, unjust and absurd as they are, they influence my conduct in spite of me. — I love my sister — I know her affections are engaged to Young Manly — I am satisfied he is worthy of her — Yet I am adverse to the match, and conspire with my father in throwing every obstacle in the way of its com- pletion — And in favour of whom? Of Lord Dartford, a man void of feeling, sentiment, or sincerity — uniting in him every contra- I 58 diction of depravity; cold, gay, ostentatious, and interested— But he is a man of birth— Despicable distinction ! Enter O'Donnel. O DONNEL. Oh, Sir, Sir! — my young master — the house is in an uproar. Sir, Sir! MR. WINGROVE. Well, Sir, what 's the matter ? o'donnel. Oh! I don't know what's the matter. Sir; my young lady's the matter. Sir— We 're all undone. Sir— She 's gone, Sir — ^Nobody knows where. Sir. MR. WINGROVE. My sister gone! Impossible — Degenerate Julia! Is it thus you reward the kind, the anxious zeal of your friends to place you in a situation worthy the exalted regard they entertained for you ; to throw yourself away upon the mean pretensions of a plebeian ! — But where is my father ? — Let me fly to him with the news of this disaster. [Exit. 59 Enter Sir William, with Set^atits. SIR WILLIAM. I '11 not believe that she is gone— gone \— What— my daughter eloped at midnight ! Go all of you and search again— I am certain she is hid somewhere. o'donnel. Suppose your Honour then was to order the canal and the fish- ponds to be sarched, for I am sartain if she be hid, it must be at the bottom of one of them. SIR WILLIAM. Be dumb, horrible brute '.—Would you have me think— Did I ever give her cause— Was I not ever the fondest of parents ? o'donnel. Sartinly, your Honour meant it all for her good. But when a young lady finds nothing to plase her in this world, she is apt some- times to take a peep into the other to try the difference. SIR WILLIAM. Begone I say— find her, or I '11 discharge you all for your negli- gence in suffering her to cscaipe.—[Exeu7it O'Donnel, a7id Servants.] The conjectures of this blundering blockhead terrify me— I hope Julia has not in a fit of rash perverseness Yet I think her piety I 2 Go Re-enter Mr. Wingrove. Well, William, any news of your sister ? MR. WINGROVE. No, Sir, no news — but of her dishonour — Disgraceful girl f SIR WILLIAM. O'Donnel alarms me exceedingly — he thinks that in a frenzy of disappointed passion she has fatally MR. WINGROVE. No, my dear Sir, Julia is not so weary of life — The porter tells me he found all the doors leading to the road unbarred this morning. Would I could discover whether she had a companion in her flight ! —If she be not recovered speedily, the disgrace will be indelible — Lord Dartford will be here soon. What shall we say to him ? Oh! shameless Julia. SIR WILLIAM. Forbear, my son — these violent transports distress me even more than your sister's flight — Consider that it is through you the pure blood of our family must descend to posterity — that through you the name of Wingrove must be transmitted to ages as distant and unknown as those from whence it sprang. Reflect a little, my son, bring reason to your aid, and consider how trifling and in- significant are the misfortunes of your sister, compared to objects so important, and so sacred as these— Be calm then, William. Gi MR. WINGROVE. I will endeavour it, Sir. SIR WILLIAM. If you were to go to Miss Herbert's, her acquaintance is so extensive, you perhaps may obtain some information of Julia there — Go, go, my son ! MR. WINGROVE. I obey you. Sir. [Exit. Enter O'Donnel. o'donnel. Lord Dartford, your Honour. SIR WILLIAM. He has not been informed of my daughter's absence ? o'donnel. No, your Honour ; not a syllable has been spoken to him since he entered the house. SIR WILLIAM. Where is he now? 62 o'donnel. In the saloon, Sir, in arnest discourse with your Honour's chaplain. SIR WILLIAM. Blockhead! — I '11 go to him then. [Exit. o'donnel. Oh! 't is a pretty blundering piece of business, fait. — Devil burn me, but if I didn't tink how it would end. There 's nothing so sure to make a young lady run away, as keeping her fast by the heels — Oh, if I had a wife that I wanted to get rid of, fait, I would keep her safe under lock and key, [Exit. SCENE IV.— Mm Herberfs House. Enter Miss Herbert, and Mrs. Rachel Cleveland. MISS HERBERT. Miss Wingrove eloped, aunt? Heaven grant it maybe true! and that those to whom she has fled for refuge may be sensible of her merit— though I think I can guess the person. MRS. RACHEL. I have heard it supposed that young Mr. Manly had a place in her affections — if he is the protector she has made choice of, I fear the lady's character, and the young man's life, are in equal danger. 63 MISS HERBERT. The adventure wears a much less formidable aspect to me, I confess, provided she escapes her father's pursuit— Oh, how I shall enjoy the vexation of Sir William and his son, at finding all the views of their persecuting ambition, thus happily disappointed ! MRS. RACHEL. Nay, Harriet, now I think you do not speak with your usual sincerity— Mr. Wingrove, I am persuaded, is not indifferent to you. Miss HERBERT. Dear aunt, you are partly right, and partly wrong. Mr. Wingrove has, I acknowledge, touched my heart a little, but the contagion has not yet made its way to my head-for though the little god may have thrown away upon me, an idle arrow, or so, he has kept his bandage as an embellishment to his own person: I can see the failings of my swain as well as another MRS. RACHEL. You're a mad girl. Enter a Servant. SERVANT Mr. Wingrove, Madam. 64 MISS HERBERT. Desire him to walk up. — [Exit Servant.] — Now I must tease him a little — do not oppose me, my dear aunt. I have a mind to lead him to believe, that his sister is under my protection — this will serve her, by stopping farther pursuit for a while, and at the same time put him into a most entertaining rage with me. Erifer Mr. Wingrove. But, dear Madam, have you been kind enough to see that every avenue to the east wing of the house is secured ? — Has good care been taken that the postern gate at the lower end of the western parterre is properly fastened ? — Are the man-traps all ready for snapping ? — Are the spikes new sharpened on the south wall ? — Have orders been given that if any of the inquisitive family of the Win- groves Oh ! Mr. Wingrove ! — you come upon one so suddenly — but, I am overjoyed to see you. Sir. MR. WINGROVE. I am bound in politeness. Madam, to return the compliment; yet after what I heard at my entrance, it would perhaps be no great offence to truth, if the expression of joi/ were suppressed on both sides. MISS HERBERT. You do well. Sir, not to express more than you feel. 65 MR. ■WINGROVE. If I did, Madam, it appears I should not want a precedent for my justification. MISS HKUBERT. But why, Mr. Wingrove, if, as you are constantly telling me, I use you so very, very ill, v^^hy will you throw yourself perpetually in my way? — I don't recollect that I sent for you — Did I, aunt.^ — Did any body go to desire dear Mr. Wingrove to come to us .'' — I forget, I vow. — And yet perhaps I might — for 1 know it does him a world of good, poor dear man ! — He is fond of primitive times, and, like all your good people of those days, loves to throw himself in the way of a little wholesome persecution — But now. Sir, answer me this, you unjust — you ungrateful man, — Did I ever disappoint you whenever you came here for a little healthful mortification in a morning ? — Was I ever the person to send you away without your errand ? — No, Sir, with all your malice, I defy you to lay that to my charge. MR. WINGROVE. Madam, I have many obligations, to be sure, to the gentleness of your nature ; but I entreat you not to add one more to the many kindnesses I owe it, — that of driving me to distraction I — Will you have the goodness to answer me, Madam — Is not my sister here } K CG MISS HERBERT. Bless me. Sir, and suppose she is! — But it is all of a piece — You set out with informing me you were very sorry to see me, and now you would forbid me all intercourse with the only part of your family I have any desire to be acquainted with. MR. WINGROVE. Let me conjure you, my dear lovely tyrant, not to play with my anxiety ! — Suspend awhile the triumphs of your sarcasm — you cannot misunderstand the agitations of my heart at this moment — you know the cause of them — If you have given my sister an asylum MISS HERBERT. Then, Sir, Avith equal solemnity, I desire you to believe, that if I have given your sister the shelter you imagine, I shall not withdraw it to gratify the prejudices of any of her relations ; besides. Sir, were your sister assured she should be secure from the odious danger that threatens her from a man she detests, she would, I am convinced, be happy to throw herself at her father's feet, and on that condition MR. AVINGROVE. It is a condition, however, that will not be granted her. Madam. What! when our honour, when the dignity of our house are com- mitted — shall all be sacrificed to the frivolous partiality of a dis- obedient girl ! MISS HERBERT. Give me leave, Sir, to tell you, that you seem to me to mistake this honour for which you declaim so warmly; honour holds no society with injustice. MR. WINGROVE. Injustice ! Madam ! MISS HERBERT. Yes, Sir ; there can be no injustice equal to that of compelling a woman to so sacred a connection as a married union against the known and settled preference of her heart. It is besides, Sir, acting a very ungenerous part towards Lord Dartford himself. MR. WINGROVE. Not at all, Madam ; Lord Dartford knows of her aversion, and has spirit enough to disregard it. MISS HERBERT. Does he. Sir ? Then indeed there can be no doubt, with all due deference to his spirit, but he merits it — But in the mean time, Mr. Wingrove, permit me to embrace the very earliest opportunity K 2 68 of expressing my gratitude for this new philosophy you have been kind enough to teach us. You are the first lover, I believe, who ever told his mistress to her face, that a union of the atfections was a superfluous ingredient in the composition of matrimony — You made the discovery, Sir — You will leave it to me, to make the proper use of it. MR. WINGROVE. Nay, Madam, if you are determined to make no other use of what I say, but to pervert it into ridicule or injury, I know nothing that is left me, but to use the only privilege which I think you will not deny me, that of making a speedy departure. I have long despaired of exciting any sympathy in you towards myself; yet the distresses of an afflicted brother, I had fondly believed, would have inclined you to forbearance at least, if they had failed to produce any more active effect upon your humanity. [Exit Miss HERBERT. Haughty to the last — Well, thank Heaven this interview is over ! — Julia, I have fought hard for you. MRS. RACHEL. Indeed, my dear niece, you carry matters too far ; you will certainly lose Mr. Wingrove some of these days, if you persevere ia your present treatment of him. 00 MISS HERBERT. No, my dear Madam — certainly no — The symptoms of love vary with the difFerences of constitution : — in a lively nature there is no surer proofof it, than a little playful malignity — and that the man ought to have sense enough to understand ; or, wanting that, I am sure he has too little to entitle him to become the lord and master of a young woman of my spirit and pretensions. MRS. RACHEL. Aye, but have a care, Harriet! MISS HERBERT. Well, Madam, I 'H do my best— but, indeed, if I cannot laugh and tease him out of some of his faults, we shall make a miserable couple. I can be a willing slave to a gentle master, but I should prove a most rebellious subject to a tyrant, I am certain. [Exeunt. SCENE Y.—Mr. Manly s. Enter Young Manly. YOUNG MANLY. Heigh-ho ! What is 't o'clock— I wonder ?— My head aches horridly— perhaps a little tea timely administered will set all to rights; we '11 ivy.— {Rings.] 70 Enter William. William, how came I to have no better accommodation than the sopha last night ? — I suppose I was a little gone, but you might have put me to bed, sirrah. WILLIAM. Sir, you know I was Ji't at home, you employed me elsewhere. YOUNG MANLY. Elsewhere ? Hang me if I remember — Why, how did I employ you ? WILLIAM. You know, Sir, when I called upon you at the Star Inn, you sent me to hire a little vessel to carry you and Miss Wingrove to France. YOUNG MANLY. Miss Wingrove and me to France !— Peace, you profane rascal ! "WILLIAM. Dear Sir, I wonder you should forget — You know you was ahnost beside yourself for joy yesterday, and told me that Miss had consented to be your's, and that you should marry her in France first, for fear of accidents, and then you bid me hire a good tight vessel, and to tell the master, that if he would bring to, in the west 71 creek, and put to sea directly upon your getting on board, you would give him a hundred guineas as soon as he had landed you upon the coast of France. YOUXG MANLY. Eh !— how ?— Miss Wingrove— Coast of France ! WILLIAM. But it growing daylight, and the captain getting sulky, think- ing as I had made a fool of him, I made the best of my way home to see what was the matter, and now it's all the talk this morning that Miss Wingrove is run away. YOUNG MANLY. What 's that? Julia left her father's!— And where is she ? Tell me this instant. WILLIAM. Dear heart. Sir! Why, how should I know! I thought she nad been with you. YOUNG MANLY. This is most unintelligible— William, are you sure I am awake now ? Don't laugh, you rascal— Speak, fool, are you certain I am awake, I say ?— I believe I had better convince myself by beating the fellow handsomely. — What say you. Sir ? WILLIAM. AVhy, Sir, only— that if it be the same thing to your Honour, I would as lieve you would be so good as try some other experiment. 72 TOUNG MANLY. Heavens ! What a confusion of horrors breaks in upon mj mind ! — My Julia fled, and I not the partner of her flight ! — Oh ! I dare not speak my apprehensions even to myself! — If they are true, I am undone — Wretch that I am, were that all, it would be a trifle ; but, Julia, my life, my soul, my love, I have ruined thee ! I feel it all come rushing o'er my mind ; yet still it has the wildness of a dream — 1 recollect something of a fair ci-eature weeping and entreating me to let her go — Was it possible, that in any state I could let her sue in vain ! WILLIAM. I hope. Sir, you '11 forgive me for being so bold, but I am afraid Miss and you have had some difference. YOUNG MANLY. What 's that to you. Sir ? — Contemptible villain that I am, I blush that my own servant should guess at my conduct — Yet she has escaped Lord Dartford— How know I what she has escaped, or what endured ? Those heavenly charms of her's may have exposed her to worse than robbery ! Yet surely her melodious tongue would subdue a tiger!— Did it soften thee, thou more obdurate far than any other of thy kindred savages in the forest ? — And yet 't is hard — 'Tvvas to her own dear health I sacrificed my reason— Oh! Julia, —if I had loved thee less, I had not deserved to have lost thee !— ^ Perhaps William might get some intelligence — I cannot let him 73 know how I have acted — Selfish wretch, dost thou start at shame ? — May he not bring word where she has taken refuge ? — Possibly I can serve her — Not for myself — I renounce all hope — Yet if F can but serve her ! — VVilHam. WILLIAM. Sir ? YOUNG MANLY. I have behaved like a scoundrel, William— worse than a brute. I went to meet Miss Wingrove, and you find how I qualified myself to be her protector. — Where she is, I know not — Go, inquire, good William — and be speedy — Go to her father' s^-every where — and bring me word before I 'm quite distracted ! — Stay, I '11 go too — We '11 divide, and meet at the post-house an hour hence. WILLIAM. Sir, you're so much flurried, you had better stay here till I come back. YOUNG MANLY. Don't talk. Sir — And do you hear ? — ^Take care you don't get drunk. Sir — I know your failing, rascal ; but when matters of im- portance are in agitation, none — No, none but a scoundrel like myself would degrade his nature by basely unfitting it for all the functions which render it either useful or respectable. [Exeu7if. END OF ACT II. L 74 ACT III. SCENE I. — Larrons House. Enter Mrs. Larron and Julia. MRS. LARRON. So, my pretty young Madam, I have found you out, have I ? But I guessed how it wa.s from the first, hussey. JULIA. Is there any thing I can say that v^ill convince you ? MRS. LARRON. Why no, to be sure there an't — Don't you think as all you says must go for nothing, after all that fine masquerading story trumped up between my husband and you ? He said you was just com'dout of a nunnery. What sort of a nunnery was it, I wonder? JULIA. Good Madam, let me prevail on you to listen to my unhappy story ! MRS. LARRON. Well, child, you may go on,. I hears you. 75 JULIA. Your husband found me this morning, deprived (by a most unlooked-for accident) of friends, of home, of every thing ! MRS. LARROX. You must be a good un by that!— Well, let's hear— go on, child. JULIA. I made him acquainted with my distress, and he agreed to afford me shelter, till I could form some plan, adapted to my melancholy situation. MRS. LARRON. And SO you 'd have me believe, as you and my husband know'd nothing of one another before this morning ?— Hey ? JULIA. I can solemnly assure you, that this morning was the first of our acquaintance. MRS. LARRON. Well, have a care that you does n'tequivikit now— If I finds you equivikiting, you shall dearly repent it, I promise you !-And so you say as you wants work ?-Why, if I thought you would behave yourself as you should do, may be I 'd find you a friend L 2 76 myself, that would n't require much of you ; and I suppose you don't care how little you does — But I should like to know how you lost your last friend? JULIA. Let me entreat you, Madam, to spare me upon that point ! MRS. LARRON. Aye, you none on you likes to tell — I suppose it wa'n't for no good as he turn'd you off. — [Julia turns aside and tveeps.] What a poor little whimpering thing it is! — I wonders where she can have been, as I have never seen her afore ? — If I can get her off to old 'Squire Manly, who is a little like my husband for goodness, it will be putting her out of Larron's way, and be something into my pocket — Well, well, adone crying, do — I suppose you 're not so dilliket as to object to a middle-aged gentleman ? JULIA. Has he any family, Madam ? MRS. LARRON. Oh, yes — he 's a son, and a daughter, and a wife into the bargain ! — but you know that 's no hobsticle to the likes of you. JULIA. Quite the contrary, Madam ; I am glad to hear it. 77 MRS. LARRON. Well, that 's as much as ever I hard — But that 's none of my business. JULIA. Is the gentleman an embroiderer. Madam, or what ? MRS. LARRON. Embroiderer ! — No — the gentleman 's a gentleman. JULIA. Then, Madam, I should prefer going into a family where I might be useful, rather than to become an idle dependent on any one. MRS. LARRON. What the deuce is in the wind now, I wonders ? Well, the gentleman is an embroiderer; so let 's have no more of your hums, and haws, but get up to your own room, and be sure you does n't stir till I calls you. — [Exit Julia.] If I can tell what to make of her, she 's so full of her fine words, and things — As I lives, there 's the old 'Squire going by ! I '11 bring him back. Mr. Manly, Mr. Manly ! — It 's a pity he 's so old ; for he has faults enough to make him agreeable to any woman. E7ifcr Old Mr. Manly. So you forgets your old acquaintance, Sir ; I warn't worth thinking on ; you goes by the doorj without ever axing how one does. 7» OLD MANLY. What, do you think I can ever forget my durable blossom of five-and-forty ? MRS. LARKON". Five and Forty ! Lord, Sir ; why you reckons every body's years by your ovv^n lady's — I shan't be the age you mention these five years. OLD MANLY. You mean you have n't been the age I mention these five years — ^The register can add nothing to the evidence of your face — which proclaims fifty as strongly as if it was in black and white in the parish books. MRS. LARRON. Ah! you're a merry man. No wonder Madam is so jealous of you. OLD MANLY. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Larron, I never thought of roving till she put it in my head by her doubts of my constancy. MRS. LARRON. Why, Sir ; contradiction 's as nataral to gentlemen as to ladies, for any thing as I see— —Now there is up stairs 70 OLD MANLT. What, what is there up stairs ? MRS. LARRON. As pretty a young creter as ever you set eyes on. OLD MANLY. Let me go and look at her directly. MRS. LARRON. Nay, but stay — She 's as full of freaks as she can hold. I hardly knows how to deal with her — She says she wants to work at embroidering — But that 's all a purtence — Howsoever, I must tell her at first, you wants to employ her that way. — I'll bring her down in a minute. [Exit. OLD MANLY. Hang her — I wish she had not call'd me in. I begin to be too old for these follies, I have half a mind to be off— Yet when a man has continued in a bad practice for a length of time, it almost costs him as much shame to make good a reformation, as it did at first to venture on the transgression — But I hear a lighter foot on the staircase than Dame Larron's; and so for the present good-bye, morality — We '11 call upon you another time. 80 Enter Miss Julia Wingrove, and Mrs. Larron. OLD MANLY. By all that 's lovely, an angel ! — [Stat^ts.] Miss Wingrove! JULIA. Mr. Manly ! OLD MANLY. Madam, you must think it very odd — very strange, I say, and very odd — to see me here upon such an occasion — Appearances, I confess, make against me. — Yet upon a proper explanation. Madam, I don't fear being able to set all to rights. JULIA. Sir, to see you here, vi^as v^^hat indeed I did not expect — By some means, I find the place of my concealment is discovered — But, Sir, though I cannot deem it otherwise than amiable in you to attempt some apology for the conduct of your son, yet I must tell you, in the anguish of my heart, that I would sooner become the wife of the man I once most abhorred, than unite myself to him, or even listen to the smallest palliation of his perfidy. — And now, Sir, excuse my abrupt departure. [Exit. OLD MANLY. Why, Mrs. Larron, are we awake here ? — Is there nothing of enchantment in all this? Egad, I hope it's no trick of your's, Mistress. 81 MRS. LARRON. Trick ? — Deuce take me if I knows of any, I have n't been able to find what you and she meant, for my part. OLD MANLY. As to what she meant, that does not appear so difficult to unravel — How she came here is what puzzles me. MRS. LARRON. Why, my husband brought her— He found her like a strayed sheep, and so seized her for his own. OLD MANLY. Your husband must be a courageous sort of a man, I think, to steal a young lady of her pretensions — And you 're a pretty gentle- woman, to come and draw a man in to make a fool of himself Here did I expect to find a pretty little good-humoured, good- natured, insignificant sort of a good-for-nothing play- thing; when, instead of that, I am exposed to encounter the reproachful glances of Miss Julia Wingrove. MRS. LARRON. Miss Wingrove ! My stars ! Why is she the runaway lad^ that all the country 's up in arms about ? — [Aside.] I am glad to M 82 hear this — ^Well, Sir, I 'm a little in a hurry, and so I knows you '11 excuse me. OLD MANLY, Oh, with all my soul — I can find excuses enough for going away. The only difficulty is, how to discover an apology for coming in. [Exit. MRS. LARRON. Well, sure some luck '11 come of this at last. Who 'd have thought she'd been such a proud man's daughter, so as she be- humbled herself to me? — I hope she ha' n't given me the slip, though. — If she is fairly out of the house, I dares not follow her. But I warrant she 's gone back to the room — She 's too genteel to have sense enough to take care of herself. [Exit. SCENE n.—Manly's House. Enter Mrs. and Miss Manly. MRS. MANLY. Surely, Emma, it was very indiscreet to give Mr. Welford permission to wait on you, at a time when your brother and he are at variance. MISS MANLY. Well, Madam, let him be refused admittance. I find every caprice of Henry's is to be complied with, however it may interfere 83 with any prospects of mine. But I dare say he will have the goodness to repay your tenderness with his usual gratitude ; for, if I mistake not, there is some new adventure in agitation. MRS. MANLY. Don't speak with so much asperity of your brother, Emma ! If I seem to feel a particular interest about him, it is not that I entertain a greater afFection for Henry than I do for you. But where a young man's imprudences are constantly exposing him to danger, there the anxiety of common humanity is added to the apprehension of motherly afFection; so that it is only the same regard more powerfully awakened, and pity taking part with duty. — But what makes you imagine that he is at present engaged in some new adventure ? Miss MANLY. Indeed, my dear Madam, I am sorry I spoke so harshly ; but my reason for apprehending that he has some wild scheme on foot, is, that yesterday evening his servant told my maid, that his master would soon be a happy man. William staid out all night; and this morning they went abroad with a sort of mystery together, when William told my woman, that his young master had, according to custom, been cutting out vexation for himself. MRS. MANLY. Never, sure, had any woman so much to disturb her peace as M 2 84 I have! What with Harry's imprudence, and Mr. Manlj's neglect of me, it is a miracle how I support it. MISS MANLY. Dear Madam, your own apprehensions create all your affliction in that quarter. Indeed, I have heard my father say as much. MRS. MANLY. What ! could not he be satisfied with disregarding me himself, but he must endeavour to prejudice your mind against me ? MISS MANLY. Oh, you mistake my father's meaning entirely. Madam. He was only lamenting your want of confidence in him, and saying, that had he never been causelessly suspected, he should never have given you cause of suspicion. MRS. MANLY. So then, he owns he has wronged me? He confesses his infidelity, and makes no scruple of avowing it to you, too ! This is beyond even what I ever supposed. I did, indeed, think there was a little inconstancy in his nature — I confess I had some slight suspicions of that sort — Now I find I am justified in all my con- jectures. Oh, Mr . Manly, you have much to answer for on my account ! 85 MISS MANLY. I hope not, my dear mother ! — I am sure he always speaks of you with great tenderness. MRS. MANLY. Does he, my dear Emma ? Well, and what does he say ? MISS MANLY. I have heard him say. Madam, that could you but confide in him, you would be one of the happiest couples in the world. MRS. MANLY. And did he, indeed, my dear girl, say this ? Don't you flatter me now, my child ? Miss MANLY. Be assured. Madam, that he said every syllabic I have related to you. MRS. MANLY. How could I ever make him uneasy ! Enter Old Manly. OLD manly. Mrs. Manly, my dear — Emma, my child ! have you heard 80 MISS EMMA. Oh, yes. Sir ; that Miss Wingrove has left her father's, and my mother is alarmed, lest my brother OLD MANLY. No, no, my dear, I can ease you of your apprehensions respect- ing Henry : Miss Wingrove is not with him, I can assure you. MRS. MANLY. How do you know that, my dear Mr. Manly? OLD MANLY. Why I saw her about an hour ago. MRS. MANLY. You saw Miss Wingrove ! You surprise me ! Where ? OLD MANLY. At Mr. Larron's. MRS. MANLY. And pray, Mr. Manly, what business carried you there ? OLD MANLY. No, 'twas not at Mr. Larron's neither — Yes, now I recollect it was there too. 87 MRS MANLY. 'T is very strange, Mr. Manly, that you should be at such a loss to know where it was you saw her. OLD MANLY. Why, I remember now very well it was at Mrs. Larron's. I happened to be there, and she came in.— Psha !— how I blunder.— T mean she went in there, and MRS. MANLY. You followed her!— Yes, I begin to guess how it was. OLD MANLY. This is ever the way! Perpetually cross-examined, and con- tradicted. MRS. MANLY. It is you that contradict yourself, Mr. Manly. OLD MANLY. Why, will you give me leave to tell my own story my own way ? MRS. MANLY. Another time, Sir, it wUl be better policy to determine what way you choose to tell your stories before you begin to relate them : 88 you will be less perplexed — less puzzled with the variety of your inventions — But pray let us hear the sequel. OLD MANLY. Nay, you may guess the remainder ; if you will not listen to the beginning of my story, I '11 be curs'd if you shall hear the con- clusion of it. [Exit. MRS. MANLY. Oh ! Emma, child, what a life is mine, just to be relieved from one apprehension by being plunged into another ! — \^^ho could have believed your father would so forget himself as to seduce MISS MANLY. Dear Madam, 'tis impossible your fears should be true! — If you will give me leave I '11 follow my father — I dare say he will acquaint me with the whole atiair. MRS. MANLT. Go, my dear Emma, go. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— .:^w Inn. Ei^ter Young Manly. YOUNG manly. No tidings to be gained of my Julia ! Where can she be ? Wandering perhaps— Perhaps !— Oh ! I dare not trust myself with 80 the suggestions of my own thoughts ! How shall I avoid them ? — Oh! Manly ! thou wert to have met a trembling angel kindly ready to have thrown herself into thy arms for ever — and Enter William. Will ! — What news ? Does she live ? Where is she ? Is she married ? WILLIAM. Sir, I hope at last to bring some comfort. YOUNG MANLY. Honest William ! — ^Well, your news, my good friend ? WILLIAM. About half an hour ago, I began to be quite out of hope ; but thinks I, I '11 not return to master till I 've got some account to carry him, come on 't what will. YOUNG MANLY. That 's a good fellow — Well ? WILLIAM. And so 1 went from barber's to barber's, and from baker's to baker's, and from inn to inn, and from alehouse to alehouse — — N 00 YOUNG MANLY, Are you sure you hav' n't been drinking, Will ? If you havCj you know it 's what I 've sworn never to forgive, WILLIAM. Lord, Sir, drinking! — No, Sir, no more than in a reasonable way — Not to disguise myself, an like your Honour. YOUNG MANLY. Tell me of my Julia, you blockhead ! WILLIAM. Why, your Honour 's so touchy you see — If you 'd ha' been' pleas' d to have heard me YOUNG MANLY. AVell, well, that 's a good Will — Go on — go on. WILLIAM. Well, pray Sir, be pacified — Well, and so. Sir, as I was sitting at the Fox and Gridiron in West-lane, who should come in pro- miscusly, but Larron the smuggler, as conceited as you please — so I never much cared for having any talk with the fellow, being as he's a foreigner, and a great rogue. However, thinks I, all your French folk have woundy long tongues, and if he knows any thing, . fifty to one but he pops it out. 91 YOUNG MANLY. Psha ! Curse your tedious introductionsi WILLIAM. So says I — Mr. Larron, have you heard what a stir there is in our village? — Such a to do YOUNG MANLY. Pish ! — Go on — I say — go on, WILLIAM. There — there's a young lady lost, says I — " /ffee" says he, and there be one young ladie found too. YOUNG MANLY. What 's that ! — Go on, good William. WILLIAM. What, says I, have you had the luck to find her then ? says I. " Wee," says he again, spluttering out a French oath, and she have the luck to find me as well — Oh, oh, says I, you 'd make me believe that she run away for your sake, would you ? Make a believe, says lie, she not be the first young ladi, that run away for my sake — Young ladies have droll fancies then, says I. — But mayhap she mayn't be the same that all the rout is about — She that I mean, is a raw- boned gawky girl, pretty round shouldered, (just to sift him, you N 2 02 see, Sir.) — Round shoulder, says he, round shoulder ? More blue f — She one model! — She one Venus! — So then I knew we were right, for I 've heard your Honour say. Miss was as like Venus as two pease» YOUNG MANLY. Will, you have conducted the whole affair like a complete orator, and profound politician. "WILLIAM. Very like, Sir, but had n't we better go after Miss for fear of her father's getting her back again ? YOUNG MANLY. Certainly — Yet now that my fears for her safety are somewhat abated, the recollection of my offence places itself between us as an insurmountable obstacle to our ever meeting again ! WILLIAM. Lord, Sir, why to my thinking you had better go and ask her pardon, and then there '11 be an end on 't. YOUNG MANLY. Never!— I can never think of asking her to pardon me.. WILLIAM. Why, dear Sir, how hard-hearted you are I 93 YOUNG MANLY. [Speakwg to himself tvithout regarding the presence of his Servatit.] I have given her such cause of resentment, that it v^ould be an affront to her justice, as well as her delicacy, even to supplicate forgiveness ! WILLIAM. Aye, aye, see what good '11 come of these megrims. YOUNG MANLY. Any common penitent may took with a rational confidence for pardon, but he who has sinned against the sanctity of beauty, and the religion of a sworn and plighted aiFection, cannot, ought not, to expect remission. WILLIAM. Nay sure. Sir, do listen to a YOUNG MANLY. But come — Though I must now for ever forego the dear hope of calling Julia mine, yet if she will but suffer me to possess the soothing reflection of having rescued her from the persecutions of her family ! I will bear my loss without a murmur, and resign my future days to patient suffering and unavailing regret. — Follow me. Sir ! lExit. 04 WILLIAM. Certainly, Sir— How difficult it is to make two people think, alike in this world — I cannot bring myself to be of my master's mind for the soul of me. \Exit SCENE IV.— ^ JFood. Enter Mr. Welford. WELFORD. What an unlucky fellow thou art, Welford — Here have I by my Emma's order been wandering this hour in pursuit of Manly ! — —One would think that he knew my intentions, and had hid himself to avoid me. Ha !— Who can this be whose looks betray so much agitation and distress ? The grief must be of magnitude indeed that thus presents itself to the licentious comment of every unfeeling passenger — What can be the cause that has reduced love- liness like this [Uetires.'] to so cruel an affliction } Enter Julia. JULIA. Whither shall I fly ? — What refuge is there left me? — Injured — insulted — pursued — persecuted every way— What more could vice itself endure ! And what indeed have I not sustained of its torments, saving only the pang of consciousness ? Yet that 's some- 95 thing — Whither shall I now direct my trembling feet ? Where, where hope to meet a friend ! WELFORD. That friend is made, Madam, if he is happy enough to be accepted — Pardon me, for thus intruding on your griefs, and only rejoice me by saying in what way I can be accessary to your service. JULIA. May I believe you, Sir ? — I have of late been so much the sport of cruelty, that I dare hardly think any one sincere that approaches me with the voice of kindness — Yet your countenance indicates compassion. WELFORD. It would be false to my nature. Madam, if it indicated any thing less on the present occasion. But, Madam, you talked of being pursued — If so — permit me for the present to conduct you to my house — I have some female relations there, with whom a tempo- rary residence can reflect no disgrace to your reputation — INIay I, Madam, be favoured by your compliance? JULIA. My tears must thank you. Sir ! — I have no words to do it. WELFORD. This way if you please, Madam. lExeunf- SCENE V. — Larrons House. Enter Mr. Larron, and Young Manly. LARRON. Sir, vat yOu vant ? Pardie vat you make noise in my house ?— De house in England you call de chateau, de castel — vat you mean, you besiege my castel, Sir ? — Vat you vant, hey? YOUNG MANLY. Want ! — Must I repeat it to you a hundred times, you block- head? I want Miss Wingrove — Where is she? Miss Wingrove, Sir, Miss Wingrove !— Is the fellow dumb ? Produce Miss Win- grove— Produce the young lady you brought home this morning — Let me see her instantly ! LARRON. De young ladi, qui ni accompagnoit ce matin, — Vat right have you to make question of me, Sir? I know noting of de young ladi — I no lock de ladi up, Monsieur ! — ^You say she Miss Wingrove. If Miss Wingrove shose rader to come to my house den go to her fader's, ce nest pas mafaute ; if she take into her head to go away again, ce nest pas, mafaute neider. YOUNG MANLY. I would advise you, Sir, not to be altogether so indifferent upon this occasion — You may not perhaps be aware that I possess 07 a most excellent remedy for a certain complaint called in your country, sangfroid — and if your symptoms should continue so very stubborn, I fancy I shall feel myself under the necessity of applying it. — [S/wu'ii/g his cane.] LARRON. Monsieur ! You not take a me right — my deficience of de langiic Angloise must sil vous plait be mon excuse— Veritablemcnt , I not know vere de young ladi be, more den yourself, Sir. f'ous plait il — ^you please to make demande of my vife. Monsieur. Enter Mrs. Larron. Elle aura peutitre, so much complaisance for you to inform you of de cause of de ladi's departure, but pour moi, she vil not have de condescension de niinstruire par une seule syllabe. YOUNG MANLY. Well, Mrs. Larron, you hear I am referred to you — Will you favour me with some account of Miss Wingrove ? MRS. LARRON. Dear heart a day— Here 's a racket and a fuss indeed ! I wishes she 'd been fur enough before she set her foot within my doors, I knows. YOUNG MANLY. Nay, but Mrs. Larron, I must know immediately where she is. Q8 MRS. LA.URON. INIust you, Sir ? — Why then you must know more than I can tell you — Your father came to visit her. YOUNG MANLY. My father ! MRS. LARRON. Yes, Sir — and so she went away — That's all I knows. YOUNG MANLY. Did she go with him ? MRS. LARRON. Why yes, Sir. — I suppose so — Lord, you axes one so many questions ! YOUNG MANLY. My dear Mrs. Larron, why would not you make me happy sooner, by saying so at once! MRS. LARRON. Lord, one should have a fine life on 't indeed, if one was to do nothing but make every body happy ! YOUNG MANLY. Your economy in that respect. Madam, is at least good natured to your visitors, and as I have no inclination to disturb so laudable a cruelty, I will wish you a good morning. [Exit. MRS. LARRON. And a good riddance of you then, if you goes to that. This 99 comes all along of you, Larron ; I 'm sure I may say it 's a judg- ment upon you for thinking to serve me so. LARRON. It be von jugcmcnt done upon via folie, to keep in de house von termagante like yourself — De young ladi like ver well to come to my house — She beg, she pray to come — I bring her to you — I leave her vid you — \'at she do den ? Ma foi, she run away (lirecfemmf. MRS. LARROX. Was it so indeed ? And so I was in INIadam's way, was I ? Oh this is pretty usage indeed! to me who have been the making of you. LARRON. You not hold your tongue, begar, I fourne you out of doors, tout de suite. MRS. LARRON. You turn me out of doors, Larron ? I dares you to do it — You knows as I knows enough to hang you if I pleases — You forgets who broke open LARRON. Vat you keep quarrel, quarrel for } You know I not like de querellc — You and I be good friend — A fa— Give me your hand — ^ardie — I vill set all right — I vill make you my vife. o 2 100 MRS. LARUON. Will you ? But I am grown a little too wise for that now ; I sees your aim well enough ; you only wants to get clear of my evi- dence, and to have the law of your side, for using me ill — No, no, Lewy, I am not such a fool as you thinks me. LARRON. Vill any ting please you ? You juste now complain MRS. LARRON. Aye, but now d' ye see, I will keep my freedom as a security for your good behaviour — You are in my power now, and so I will keep you — I knows you have no love for me, but I will make you fear me. LARRON. Eh bien, my dear, ve understand one anoder now — ^}ou now be ma maitresse en toutes choses ct pour toujours. MRS. LARRON. What 's that you are jabbering ? LARRON. I say, my dear, dat you ave so convince me of your great dis- cretion dat you now be my mistress in all tings, and for ever. MRS. LARRON. Oh ! why that 's very well — Come in to dinner then like a good creter as you are ; and never, my dear Lewy, never, never forget, that it is in my power to hang you. [Exeunt. END OF ACT III. 101 ACT IV. SCENE I. — Miss Herbert's House. Enter Miss Herbert, and Lord Dartford. MISS HERBERT. I AM happy to see your Lordship — I hope you bring good tidings of Miss AVingrove. lord dartford. Indeed, my dear Madam, you flatter yourself and me : I was sent here, in pursuit of good tidings, or of any tidings — for after the most prodigal expense of bodily fatigue, we are just as much in the dark as ever. MISS HERBERT. What, no intelligence ? LORD dartford. None — none — I have just left her fantastic father, and her imperious brother, almost as anxiously on the hunt for this modern relation, as if they were persecuting an old parchment, to bring forth a lurking morsel of ancient kindred in the reign of king T.ud or queen Boadicea. It is very unaccountable. Miss HERBERT. Unaccountable indeed ! 102 LORD DARTFORD. I mean every way unaccountable— The motives that could have led to her escape, as well as the success with w hich she has ac- complished it. Women are not apt to misunderstand their happiness in these matters — I cannot lay that to their charge, positively. MISS HERBERT. [Jside.] Coxcomb !— a thought occurs to me, by which, if I succeed, I shall be better enabled to reconcile matters with my haughty lover, and to rescue Julia from her embarrassments should she be discovered — I '11 make him beUeve 1 have a fancy for him myself. — [To Lord Dartfoiid.] Indeed, my Lord, as your Lord- ship very justly observes, women are but seldom guilty of such extravagant inattention to their own interests — Giddy girl — what would she have aspired to ? — Such rank — such accomplishments ! LORD DARTFORD. Yes — and such a rooted — such a disinterested, such an inviolable attachment ! MISS HERBERT. To be sure, my Lord. Obdurate Julia! Where were vour eyes .'' Where was your sensibility ? AMiere had you mislaid your understanding? LORD DARTFORD. Very true! Where indeed ? I that lived but for her. 103 MISS HERBERT. That an affection so ardent— a constancy so noble, should receive so ill a return— Unkind Miss Wingrove! [Sighs heavily. LORD DARTFORD. [Adde.] Eh ! What 's this ?— 1 begin to perceive something here, and the best of it is, she has a greater fortune than the other — I wish I had not talked so much of my constancy. I must wheel about though.— [To Miss Herbert.] And yet. Miss Herbert, I cannot help thinking that, latterly. Miss Wingrove hardly appeared to me to preserve that MISS HERBERT. No, indeed, my Lord — I have partly thought so too. LORD DARTFORD. That kind of suavity, as it were— that inexpressible something. MISS HERBERT. That plaintive delicacy— that deprecating eye- those imploring smiles — that persuasion which carried with it the authority of con- quest, and that gentle command which turned enforced captivity, into voluntary submission. — [Jside.] Dear girl ! I cannot help doing her justice in the very heat of this feigned hostility LORD DARTFORD. And then her spirits — have some how or other 104 MISS HERBERT. Yes, her spirits too, have lost that elegant dejection, that pensive apathy — that graceful mope — if one may so express it, that used to shed the soft benignant influence of an autumn evening over everv thing around her. How blind have I been! Now thrt your Lordship suggests it, I see it all. — [jhide.'] I am obliged to help him out in his very abuse, for he knows too little of love's rhetoric, even to hate with eloquence. LORD DARTFORD. Now there is a person, in whose radiant eyes, and sparkling decorums, the majesty of imperial Cupid sits in state, and dispenses innocuous glories with the careless profusion of a city feast, or the dazzling splendour of a courtly gala. — There is a person Miss HERBERT. Your Lordship means Miss Manly ? — Yes, indeed, she is a fine young woman enough LORD DARTFORD. Miss Manly ! Miss Manly, IVFadam, is as a scin;illating link to the gorgeous orb of day, compared to the ineffable divinity of my prostrate adoration. Miss HERBERT. Whom can your Lordship mean? 105 LORD DARTFORD. Mean! WTiom should I mean— whom must I mean, whom can I mean, but the celestial Phoenix of her sex, the divine Miss Herbert ? MISS HERBERT. Me, my Lord ! — Good Heaven ! — I am so confused all on a sudden — Did your Lordship say me ? LORD DARTFORD. Yes, yes, your adorable, everlasting self. Miss HERBERT. If your Lordship really entertains— If your Lordship has indeed, done me the honour to have conceived a passion LORD DARTFORD. A passion !~a flame— a conflagration— a volcano! Miss HERBERT. Nay now, my Lord, I can no longer doubt the plain sincerity of your professions— But as it is a fixed rule with me, rather to follow than to lead, in events of this awful importance, I should wish to avoid any further communication with a person of your Lordship's dangerous eloquence, till the proper sanction of my relations has been previously obtained— My aunt would be too happy 106 to receive any proposals of your Lordship's; till then permit me to take my leave. — [As'ide.1 Successful even beyond my hopes ! [Exit. LORD DARTFORD. Hah, hah ! Now this I call being in luck — Just as one had lost scent in one quarter, to have a nobler game started in another. — ^Now gad take me, 'tis very odd, but what a blunderbuss I am at a speech — I mean in the love way — for on other subjects I can deliver myself with a becoming intelligibility enough ; but we higher order of beings who have too much sense ever to be more than merely artificial lovers, as we never understand the real or- thodox gibberish of the passion, so when we once get to talk upon it, we never know when to stop — Now that scintillating link ' — gorgeous orb — conflagration, and volcano, were not at all to my liking, but what could I do ? I must say something — But above all, what had I to do with an allusion to a city feast ? What had a city feast to do amongst the delicacies of a lover's commons ? Well, I must read for it — at least till I am married, and then indeed, it will be full time to discard both the passion and the language of it in amicable indifference together. Well, I will lose no time in preparing my proposals. [Exit. 107 SCENE II.— Mr. Manly's. Enter Miss Manly. MISS MANLY. Could I have suspected Welford of infidelity ! Happy, happy Miss Wingrove ! So vanish all my hopes ! Etiter Young Manly. Y^OUNG MANLY. Emma, what means this agitation ? Whence these tears ? Is my mother vsrell ? Where is my father ? Speak, dear Emma. Enter Mrs. Manly'. MRS. MANLY. Oh Harry ! what uneasiness has your absence occasioned ! — Why will you pay so little attention to your family? YOUNG MANLY. Dear Madam, I deserve more reprehension than I ever meet with, yet let me entreat your present forbearance. My heart since last I saw you has been torn by such a variety of anguish, that I have not been master of my conduct — But why is Emma thus uneasy ? p 2 108 MRS. MANLY. Dear girl, I believe her uneasiness results from mine — Could you have thought it, Harry ? I scarcely knov^^ how to tell you, but your father has seduced Miss Wingrove from her friends — Where he has placed her I know not — but YOUNG MANLY. Thank Heaven, then, I have beea truly informed, and she is with my father ! MRS. MANLY. Thank Heaven, Henry ! Do you thank Heaven that your father wrongs me ? Your behaviour shocks me, Harry — It is even worse than his. YOUNG MANLY. Dear mother, do not indulge such suspicions. My father steal Miss Wingrove from her friends ? — No, no, indeed he did not : that she is with him truly rejoices me. . Enter Old Manly. YOUNG MANLY. Dear Sir, where is Miss Wingrove ? Where is my lovely Julia ! Will she permit me to behold her face again } Yet how dare I hope it ! OLD MANLY. Ought I to permit you to behold my face again, Sir; how log dare you hope that ? Instead of asking impertinent questions about what does not concern you, have the goodness to account for your own conduct. Sir — You leave your family — fill them with appre- hensions for your safety, and at your return, instead of meeting us with proper submission, you begin by hectoring your poor inno- cent father, and bullying him with a long string of saucy inquiries — " Where is Miss AVingrove ? — Where is my Julia ?" — [Mimicking him.] What have you to da with Miss Wingrove ? Who made her your Julia ? MRS, MANLT, Who indeed ! She is differently disposed of. YOUNG MANLY. Dear Sir, how could I possibly imagine that what I said would give the slightest ground of offence ? The Larrons as- sured me she went away with you. MRS. MANLY, There, Mr. Manly, there ! I am jealous now without a cause ! I have no foundation for my suspicions ! MISS MANLY. Dear Madam — dear Sir I Hear me one moment : I can too certainly inform you where Miss Wingrove is» 110 All at once. MRS. MANLY. Where Emma— where ? YOUNG MANLY. Dear, dear Emma, tell me instantly ! OLD MANLY. Aye, let us hear, child — let us hear it. MISS MANLY. The report we heard. Madam, was too well founded; Miss Wingrove is indeed with Mr. Welford. YOUNG MANLY. With Welford ! MRS. MANLY. • Ridiculous child 1 mere jealous apprehension. YOUNG MANLY. Madam ! MRS. MANLY. Ask your father whose suspicions are the wildest, hei-'s or mine —he can set you right at once if he chooses it — but I '11 stay no longer to endure such treatment. OLD MANLY. Don't my dear, don't. Ill MRS. MANLY. Your indiiferencc, Mr. Manly, is even more injurious than your infidelity. ^ExiL OLD MAXLY. Before I go to appease your mother, who is as absurd as you are protiigate, let me caution you, young man, how you practise such another frolic in a hiwry — The wicked story that you have so ingeniously trumped up about my being at such a place as Larron's — this excellent joke, I say. Sir, which owes all its genius, to its being a falsehood, and its wit to the certain mischief it was sure to produce in your family, will not be passed over unpunished, I assure you — Have you no duty ? — No regard for truth ? — But it was ever thus with you, you prodigal — The best example I have ever been able to set you, either for truth or modesty, never produced the slightest effect upon your vile, impenetrable nature, and the mildest language, you rascal, was always thrown away upon you. — [IFalh up and doivn hastily at the bach of the stage.] YOUNG MANLY. Dear Emma, imravel if you can, this knot of perplexities ; my father answers me with anger, my mother w ith tears, and you, my dear sister, start an idea, which is one of the last that would have entered my imagination ; yet, being once presented, love will not suffer it to repose in idleness — Tell me, my Emma, — Can Julia be with Welford ? Can she — can he ! — Can both be so in- constant ? 112 MISS MANLY. Oh Harry, why did I mention it ! — This may be the source of fresh affliction — ^Think if it is so — that I endure enough, and do not increase my misery — You know my fears ! YOUNG MANLY. Lay them aside, dear Emma ! Be assured I shall act with mo- deration — I know I shall— (Oh Julia !) — But you must tell me all you know, respecting her, and the villain — I will not name him, that has stolen her from me. Come to my study, Emma; nay, dry your eyes — you shall see what an example of patience I will exhibit — I shall quarrel with no one but myself; for in myself alone is the foundation of all the miseries I am exposed to ! [Exeunt Young Manly and Emma. Enter Servant to Old Manly. SERVANT. Miss Herbert, Sir, desires to know if she can have the pleasure of half a minute's conversation with you ? OLD MANLY. With me ! — Shew her in. [Exit Servant. Enter Miss Herbert. OLD MANLY. This is indeed a kindness, my dear Miss Herbert ; your visits 113 are valuable in proportion to their rarity, like winter suns — or — or — No — like MISS HERBERT. Nevermind, my dear Mr. Manly, what they are like; we will settle the impromptu upon more mature deliberation another time. OLD MANLY. Egad, and so we will, for nothing requires so much time as an ofF-hand speech. Miss HERBERT. Now, Sir, to the object of my visit — Report says, that you have seen Miss Wingrove, and I am anxious to hear how the charming creature endures her misfortunes ? OLD MANLY. Very true. Madam ; but where should I see Miss Wingrove ? MISS HERBERT. Why, report does say. Sir, that you met her at a place where it would have been equally for her happiness, and your reputation, that you had never met at all — At Mrs. Larron's. OLD MANLY. It 's a falsehood — a confounded falsehood — I go to Mrs. Larron's ! But, dear Miss Herbert, how can a young lady of your candour and Q 114 good sense give credit to such a thing, particularly when you had such good reason for disbelieving it, as its being the general report ? MISS HERBERT. Why, indeed, Mr. Manly, as you say, what should you do at such places ? You know you are subsiding into the calm evening of life, when the tempestuous passions gently sink into a soft un- disturbed repose — I dare say now you feel this sweet cheerful twilight of your days to be attended with more substantial comfort, and much more real happiness, than the gaudier scenes of your meridian life, when every thing was brilHant, and nothing solid; every thing gay, but nothing rational. OLD MANLY. Twilight ! Gadso ! — None of your twilights neither. Miss — This is the way — there is no such thing as purchasing impunity in this world, for one offence, but by pleading guilty to a worse — Well, Miss ; and suppose I was at Mistress Larron's ? MISS HERBERT. [j4side.] O ho ! I thought I should bring him to confession ; he will acknowledge any vice, but age — So, Sir, you were there, then, after all ? OLD MANLY. Gad's life. Ma'am, don't ask so many questions ; I understand you well enough, Miss — You would insinuate that I am a helpless 115 old fellow — that you can sec no great use in my living, and that the sooner I am hanged out of the way, the better ; But give me leave to tell you. Madam Enter Admiral Cleveland. ADMIRAL. Hey day ! What storm is brewing now ? Why, neighbour Manly, this is a rough gale upon so fair a coast — What, quarrelling with my niece ? MISS HERBERT. Dear uncle, I am quite rejoiced to see you ; you never came so seasonably to the rescue of a poor little disabled frigate in your life — Mr. Manly, here OLD MANLY. Your niece is an impertinent, forward, malicious young v^'oman. Admiral Cleveland, and I never desire to see her face again — I '11 never, never forgive her — No, if I were to live till I was sixty ! MISS HERBERT. What a formidable resentment ! Why, the period of it has expired these three years. ADMIRAL. [Aside.] Leave him to me, I '11 tease the old fellow — I came on purpose. Q 2 no MISS HERBERT. [Aside.] I will. ADMIRAL. But how did the brush happen ? What is the cause of it ? MISS HERBERT. Why, Sir, I spoke, I am afraid, somewhat too justly of your friend's age, and appeared to entertain too favourable an opinion of his morality — offences which a lively, determined rover, in hr& climacteric, can never reconcile to his forgiveness. ADMIRAL. Oh, is that all ! MISS HERBERT. So, good Mr. gallant, gay Lothario of sixty- three. Adieu! [Exit Miss Herbert^ OLD MANLY. A saucy minx ! ADMIRAL. Come, Manly, you have too many of the substantial afflictions of life to contend with at |)resent, to be ruffled by little breezes of this sort — But I am your friend, and I thought it my duty as such to call upon you, and to do what a friend ought — To comfort you. OLD MANLY. Why that was very kind, my old neighbour, very kind indeed — be seated I beseech you — Yes, indeed, it is very true, as you say. Admiral, I am a wretched, miserable, unhappy man, oppressed with sorrows, laden with affliction — overtaken before my time, by many cares ! Yet it is something, my worthy neighbour, to have a trusty friend, to take a kind interest in one's misfortunes — to share, as it were, the sad load of life — to ride and tie with one in the weary pilgrimage — Oh, 't is a charming thing to have a friend ! ADMIRAL. I think so indeed, and hope to prove as much — I have no other object but to comfort you — None, none. — You are indeed very unhappy. OLD MANLT. Very, very! ADMIRAL. Why there 's your wife, now OLD MANLY. Aye — my wife — Oh ! Oh ! [J long sigh.] ADMIRAL. Nay, be comforted, my friend — be comforted — Why, she is of herself a sufficient load of misery for any one poor pair of mortal shoulders. Always fretful, her suspicions never asleep — and her 118 tongue always awake — constantly making her observations, like a vessel sent out upon discovery — ever on the watch, like an armed cutter, to cut off any little contraband toy, and to intercept any harmless piece of smuggled amusement. OLD MANLY. Oh ! 't is dreadful, neighbour, quite dreadful indeed. ADMIRAL. Take comfort, my friend — What did I come here for ? Take comfort, I say — There is your son too OLD MANLY. Yes, my son too, an abandoned profligate ! ADMIRAL. Nay, if that were all, there might be hopes — the early little irregularities that grow out of the honest passions of our nature, are sometimes an advantage to the ripened man ; they carry their own remedy along with them, and when remedied, they generally leave the person wiser and better than they found him — wiser for his experience, and better for the indulgence which they give him towards the infirmities of others — But a canting, whining, preaching profligate — a sermon-maker at twenty ! — a fellow that becomes a saint, before he is a man — a beardless hypocrite — a scoundrel that cannot be content with common homely sinning, but must give it 119 a relish by joining a prayer with it in his mouth ! — Of such a fellow- there can be no hopes — no hopes indeed. OLD MANLY. None, none. Oh miserable that I am, where will my affliction end ! Where shall I find consolation ! ADMIRAL. Consolation ? — In me, to be sure ! — ^What else was the purpose of my visit ? I forbear to say any thing of your daughter, poor unhappy girl ! OLD MANLY. Conceal nothing from me. What has happened to my poor child — what has befallen her ? She was my favourite. Miserable man ! Oh miserable Manly! ADMIRAL. Nay, if it will give you any comfort, I will tell you. It is my duty to do so — why, she, you know, was desperately in love with Charles Welford. He has turned her off, I find — discharged her the service, and has fallen in with somebody else ; so that I suppose by to-morrow morning we may look for her berth, poor girl, in the ambush of a willow, or the retirement of a fish-pond. OLD MANLY. Now the sum of my calamities is complete. — [JFeeps.] Now, 120 indeed, the cup is full — poor undone man — miserable husband — wretched father ! ADMIRAL. Aye, and all to come upon you at your time of life too — Had your misfortunes reached you when you were in the vigour of your days — [Old Manly dries his eyes, and looks resejitfu lit/.]— when you retained enough of bodily strength and force of mind to cope with them — But at your time of day, when the timbers are approaching fast towards decay — when the lights of the understanding are upon the glimmer, and the reckoning of life is pretty nearly out — Oh ! 't is too horrible. Faith, after all, I don't know how to comfort you. OLD MANLY. [In a rage.] — [Both rising.] I believe not, indeed; you fusty, musty, old, foul-mouthed, weather-beaten coxcomb — ^Timbers ap- proaching fast to decay ! — Whose timbers do you mean, old Jury-mast ? Look at your own crazy hulk — do — and don't keep quoting your damn'd log-book criticisms upon your juniors and your betters. ADMIRAL. Nay, my good friend ! OLD MANLY. Damn your friendship, and your goodness too ! I don't like friendship that only wants me to hate myself— and goodness that only goes to prove every thing bad about me. So, good Mr. Yellow 121 Admiral, sheer off— do — and till you can stuff your old vessel witli a cargo of more commoditable merchandise, don't let me see you in my latitude again, ADMIRAL. Sir, let me tell you, you may repent of this language ; and were it not for pity of your age and your misfortunes OLD MANLY. Oh curse your pity ; and as for misfortunes, I know of none equal to your consolation. ADMIRAL. You shall hear more of this, Mr. Manly. OLD MANLY. Not for the present, if you please — If you want my life, take it — take any thing — only take yourself off, ADMIRAL. Very well. Sir. You shall hear from me at a proper time. — [Aside.] I have made the old fool nobly miserable ; that 's some comfort, however. OLD MANLT. [Solus.] What an ass was I, to listen so long to the hollow croakings of this melancholy sea monster — a rusty old weather- cock ; always pointing one way, and that to the quarter of mis- R 122 fortune I miserable! — What should make me so?— Is not my wife kind and faithful, and only a little troublesome now and then for rny good? — Is not my son generous and gay — and — and like his father as a son should be ? — And a' n't I stout in body, and sound in mind, and is not every thing as I would have it ? — A dismal old 1 Now has he given me a sample of the view with which advice is always bestowed, and I him a proof of the effect which it generally produces — He came to me to increase my distresses by consolation, and I have made use of his counsel as a new argument for pleasing myself. [Lxtt^ SCENE III.— i\iis5 Herbert's. Enter Miss Herbert, a7id Mrs. Rachel. MISS HERBERT. Well, my dear aunt, have you been more successful in your enquiries after the unfortunate Miss Wingrove than I have been ? MRS. RACHEL. I do not know how to say I have been more successful, but from your account, I have collected more particulars — I understand she was accidentally encountered by Mr. Welford, who kindly offered her the asylum of his house, which she accepted — but learning, by conversation with his relations, that her reception there had produced a quarrel between him and his mistress, the generous girl scorned to consult her own comfort at the expense of her 123 protector, and having contrived to change her own clothe^ tor those of a younger brother, of Mr. Welford's, she quitted her asykim. Enter Servant. Mr. Wingrove, Madam. MISS JIERBERT. Admit him. Oh, he shall receive no mercy at my hands whilst he continues the persecutor of his sister ! — Will you give me leave. Madam, to receive him alone ? MRS. RACHEL. Certainly, my dear. \^Exit. Enter Mr. Wingrove. WINGROVE. Will Miss Herbert permit a penitent to approach her ? MISS HERBERT. Oh ! by all means — a real penitent — But are you quite sure that you come under that description, or is your's like the common repentance of the world, which consists rather in a prejudice against punishment, than a sincere contrition for the otFence ? R 2 124 "WINGROVE. Dear, charming Harriet, how can you question it ! — I am ashamed of the violence of my behaviour at our last interview ; yet you must acknowledge that you drew me into that suspicion by your ambiguous deportment. Surely, my Harriet could not find entertainment in the uneasiness of the man who adores her? MISS HERBERT. [Aside.] Bless me, if he continues in this strain of humility, I shall never be able to punish him as he deserves ! — Yet I must. WINGROVE. What 's that, my Harriet ? You cannot doubt the sincerity and devotion of my love ? MISS HERBERT. Apropos — Was it you that fell in love with me, or your father ? WINGROVE. My father ! Harriet ? MISS HERBERT. Aye, you or your father; which of you is it that I have had the good fortune to inspire with so favourable an opinion of me ? I am inclined to think it is to the elder gentleman I owe the obligation. 125 WINGROVE. Nay, now, Madam, I do not understand you. MISS HERBERT. In plain English, then, had you your instructions from your father to undergo the labour of wooing, or did you come of your own accord? WINGROVE. Can my Harriet entertain so humiliating an opinion of me as to suppose I would be actuated in so dear a concern as that, by anj influence but the impulse of my own affection ? Miss HERBERT. Take care, Mr. Wingrove — take care — there Is nothing so tempting, I admit you, as those pretty words that fall gracefully in to close the procession of an ambitious sentence. But let me ask you plainly, Sir, Whether, if your father should now, even now, lay his commands upon you to relinquish the passion with which you affect to regard me, you would not instantly obey him, and leave me forsaken and forlorn, to transfer your obedient ardours to any new lady of his choice ? WINGROVE. 'T is true, I feel the most sincere respect for my father ; yet had he thought proper to interpose his influence in a case where nature claims a paramount authority, I had renounced a submission which I should have held to have been unjustly exacted. 126 MISS HERBERT. Are you sure of it ? WINGROVE. Quite sure, MISS HERBERT. Dear Mr. Wingrove ! — [Ta¥wg his hand.\ WINGROVE. My lovely, my adoi'able Harriet ! — Sure of it ! Am I sure of my existence ? Am I sure of your being the most lovely of your own sex — or I the happiest of mine ? — [^Kisses her hand.'] Am I sure that we shall never exchange another harsh word, or unkind look ? Am I sure- Miss HERBERT. Nay, now, Sir, you are fairly caught. WINGROVE. Hey-day! What frolic is in the wind now? MISS HERBERT. If all this be true, Mr. Wingrove, tell me. Sir, what it is that constitutes the offence of your sister? Why is she driven out a disgraced wanderer to encounter all the unknown hazards of a merciless world, when one of her persecutors not only acknowledges that he shares in all her guilt — if guilt it be — but glories in the sympathy he feels in her disobedience, because he considers it as 12T a just tribute to the object of his affections, and a proof of his independence? WIXGROVE. My sister, Madam, is a w^oman — and — and MISS HERBERT. " My sister, IVIadam, is a \\oman — and — and " That is, my sister is an interdicted being — disinherited by nature of her common bounties — a creature, with regard to whom, engagements lose their faith, and contracts their obhgations. In your fictitious characters as lovers, you endeavour to make us believe that we are exalted above human weaknesses ; but, in your real characters, as men, you more honestly demonstrate to us, that you place us even below your own level, and deny us the equal truth and justice that belongs alike to all intelligent beings. This language, Sir, is new, at least in the vocabulary of love ; I wish I could say the sentiments it conveys were equally so in the hearts of your most imperious sex. WINGKOVE. Before I was interrupted. Madam, by this torrent of modest rhetoric on the merits of your most unimpa'ious sex (for so, in particular, I am bound to think them), I meant merely to have said, that I can probably aggrandize the woman with whom it may be my fate to be united. — Whereas, if my sister joined herself with an inferior, she would necessarily become degraded to the level of her husband. But I find. Madam, these insults are calculated merely to gratify your pride, by proving to what extremity of meanness 128 your power can reduce me. I blush at the serviUties to which it has ah-eady exposed me, and now throw off the yoke for ever. [Going. MISS HERBERT. Stay, Sir ; before you go, let me beg you to favour this letter with a perusal. Read it at your leisure ; and now — " A long fare- well to all my greatness!" VV^INGROVE. Damnation ! Laugh'd at too — Farewell, Madam, and 1 swear MISS HERBERT. Nay, " Do not swear, or if thou wilt — swear by thy gracious self!" WINGROVE. [In a fury of passion.] Madam, I go — for ever! [Exit. Miss HERBERT. To have convinced me of that, your coiigd, my rebellious cap- tive, should have been taken with somewhat less emotion. I am glad I had recollection enough to give him Lord Dartford's letter of proposals before he went. He was in a terrible rage, to be sure — so much the better — while a woman retains power enough over a man to make him lose his temper, he is not yet in that state of healthy indifference that entitles him to bid defiance to a relapse of affection. [Exit. END OF ACT IV. i:>0 ACT V. SCENE I. — Admiral Cleveland's Garden. Enter Julia (in boys clothes, looking hack) . Yonder is my brother, and his servant, as I hve! — Perhaps in pursuit of me! I dare not meet them — Yet sure they could not know me ? — I hardly know myseh' — Their eyes seem directed this way — I 'II shut the gate till they have passed. — [Shuts the gate.] Ha! Who comes here ? Perhaps the owner of this place. From my long residence with my aunt, I am almost a stranger in my native village — Bless me, he has a stern countenance ! I had best conceal myself till he quits the garden. [Retires. Enter Admiral Cleveland. ADMIRAL. Why what a pack of idle fellows I keep about me ! When I 'm laid up with the gout these rascals do nothing — See what a fine jessamine here is almost spoilt for want of tying up — let's try what I can do. — [Goes to tic it, Julia shifts her pi ace. \ What's that shakes the leaves so ? — ITey ! Is not that a man ? Oh ho ! There 's the way my nectarines fall so short. — [Goes and brings Julia for- luard.] Here! Here! No resistance — Come out, and let us see what we can make of you. V^^ell, young graceless, and w hat do 130 you do b^^re? Come, let us hear what account you can give of vour^eif ? JULIA. I do assure you. Sir, I came in by accident I ADMIRAL, By accident ! Well, that 's a good beginning enough : What,^ do you shut your eyes as you go along, that you can't tell the highway ftom an enclosure ? JULIA. I mean. Sir, I just stepped in to avoid a person I wished not to see me. ADMIRAL. Yery like. Sir ; but pray, Sir, will you have the goodness to tell us who you may happen to be. Sir ? JULIA.. Pray, Sir, excuse me ! ADMIRAL. Indeed, Sir, I shall do no such thing — Come, Sir, who is your father ? JULIA. I cannot tell you, indeed, Sir I 131 ADMIRAL. Indeed, Sir ? — Well, after all, it might puzzle a wiser head than your's to do that ; hut possibly you may have better luck with regard to your mother — Who is she ? JULIA. My mother, Sir, is dead. ADMIRAL. Dead, is she ? But had she no name when she ^^•as alive ? Egad you shuffle so, that 1 fancy you have been longer at the trade than I at first imagined. You are a gay spark for the profession too — If Rachel had been a young woman, I should have suspected something else ; but perhaps the coat may have been stolen too ; these gentry now-a-days think nothing they can get too good for them, and the finger is only an accomplice to the felonious pride of the back. " Win gold, and wear it?" — Hey! Is that your maxim, my young poacher ? Gadso, now 1 remember, I have seen Sam Welford in those very clothes ! — I shall secure you, my lad ; you shall answer all this. JULIA. I beseech you. Sir, not to expose me ! ADMIRAL. Not expose you — What! Do you think I shall connive at felony? s 2 132 Here, Tom, Simon, Ralph — (Attempt to move, and you 're a dead man.) Here, will nobody help me to secure this villain? Enter Mrs. Rachel Cleveland, and Servants. ADMIRAL. Here, seize that fellow, and tie his hands behind him — Keep ofi^ Rachel ; I dare say he has got pistols in his pockets — Lead him directly to a magistrate, I '11 follow. JULIA. Dear Madam, I implore you to plead for me to that gentleman — your looks speak benevolence — I entreat you, Madam, to have pity on me ! ADMIRAL. There 's a young artful dog now, beginning to coax and flatter Rachel about her good looks; aye, that 's the way with these hand- somer sprigs of the fraternity, they are sure to attack the women : but 'tis such a snivelling puppy ! — Why, hang it, my lad, you must expect these rubs in the way of your business, it 's only a misfortune in trade — Come, man, behave yourself a little more like a rascal of spirit. RACHEL. Brother, I entreat you to send your servants in. ADMIRAL. Send 'em in, Rachel ! Why how is this ? Do you want him to 133 make his escape ? Has he softened you with his whimpering ? You know if he takes to his heels, I can't follow him. RACHEL. I have particular reasons for my request. ADMIRAL. Well, he it so then — Wait in the house till I call you. — [Exeunt Servants.] Don't you think to get off though — If you attempt to stir JULIA. Tou may rely upon it. Sir, I will not move. Oh, Madam, may I hope that you will befriend me in this dreadful exigency ! ADMIRAL. No, no, my lad, you are dipping into the wrong pocket there ; Rachel is not like most of her sex, to be won over by wheedling ; you do but fling away your skill. But why was I to dismiss those fellows, Rachel ? RACHEL. Brother, if what I have already said has surprised you, I shall encrease your astonishment still farther, by desiring to have a short conversation with this stranger, while you walk aside. ADMIRAL. What, leave you alone with a pickpocket, a housebreaker ? I 134 tell you, he has pistols hi his pockets, or a swashing cutlass in hia coat-hning! Rachel, Rachel, you are a poor ignorant woman, you can't tell what instruments these fellows may have about them. RACHEL. You are mistaken, brother ; this is no robber, I am persuaded, ADMIRAL. Oh Rachel, Rachel, is it come to this after all ! — I did think for your sake, that there might be such a thing as a woman without folly or frailty ; but you are determined that I shall not die with too favourable an opinion of your sex— For shame, Rachel, for shame— 'T is too bad — too bad indeed ! RACHEL. A few minutes will convince you, brother, that if I merited your good opinion before, I shall not be likely to forfeit it on the present occasion. ADMIRAL. May be so, may be so, Rachel: It has an odd look hoAvever ; have a care of yourself, old girl — If you should do a foolish thing, it won't be taken as if one of your prudes had been guilty of a little trespass, who prepare people for their fall, by the fuss they make about their virtue. You '11 have a hot birth on 't, my old lass, you M ill— but however mind I give you fair warning. [Retires. 13i^ Bear Madam, vouchsafe to hear wj wretched story RACHEL. As I know not what impression my brother's strange con- jectures may have made on your opinion, suffer me to gain a Uttle credit, by sparing you the trouble of informing me that you are Miss Wingrove, JULIA, Madam ! RACHEL. Dear young lady, be not alarmed at this discovery, for never was there more sincere commiseration than what your sufferings have produced in me. JULIA. Oh, Madam, how has my wretched situation been made known to you ? And by what means may I obtain your friendship ! RACHEL. I have but one condition to propose, and that is an unreserved communication of the circumstances that have involved you in this distress — That made, for I cannot admit an idea of criminality in you, I can assure you not only of my own protection, but my brother's ; who is as \varm in his attachments, as he is rash and hasty in forming conclusions from first appearances — But he returns ; 130 I would not meet him till I can inform him of the whole affair. This waj, dear Miss Wingrove. [Retires to an alcove. Enter Admiral Cleveland. ADMIRAL. What, is not this tete-a-tete over yet ! So, they retire at the sight of me? — Oh, guilt ! guilt! I'll observe you though — Why she seems to be courting him! I '11 be sunk if it is not so — Aye, Rachel, now you have flung aside propriety, decency, 1 fancy, will soon follow. Women, I find, never love to do silly things by halves ; when once they slip cable on a voyage of folly, let them bring them to, that can. Particularly your reasoning sort of sensible, elderly gentlewomen— for when they have fairly passed the equinox of life, they know they sail with a trade wind, and the devil can't stop them, till they are snug in harbour with a yoke-fellow, after a tedious passage of difficult virginity. By all that 's scandalous she takes his hand! — Oh sit down, sit down, my gentle swain — Why he 's weeping still ! — Sink me if ever I saw such a watery-eyed puppy ! Not but there was something in his distress that moved me — If circumstances had not been so strong against him, I should no more have taken him for a thief than for a sailor — What, must he have your smelling-bottle too ! — Why, she has left him in the arbour, and comes this way — She looks as if she saw me too — Can she face me ? W\\\ she brazen out her folly? — [RxcHEL ailva)ices.] Well, Mrs. Rachel Cleveland? 137 RACHEL. Well, brother, I come to clear up all your doubts and difficulties. ADMIRAL. Oh don't take so much trouble, INIadam ; the matter is sufficientlj clear already, I give you my word. RACHEL. Nay, then I perceive 3'ou are under your old mistake, so I shall explain all at once. This way, my dear ! — [To Julia.] ADMIRAL. My dear ! By Heaven that 's too much — What, no shame, Rachel! RACHEL. Now learn your error, brother, and give me leave to recommend to your protection — [Julia advances, Rachel fakes her hand, ths ^Admiral going out in a rage.^ Miss Julia Wingrove. admiral. What 's that, Rachel ! Who did you say ? RACHEL. This young lady, brother, whose misfortunes you have heard T 138 in part, is INIiss Julia Wingrove ; I am convinced she deserves your friendship, and it is evident she is much in need of it. ADMIRAL. And she shall have it, cost what it will. Young lady ! Why, what a fool have I made of myself — Can you excuse an old fellow. Madam, who frequently lets his hasty temper run away with his slow wits ? JULIA. Your present kindness. Sir, infinitely overpays the fears occa- sioned by your misconception. ADMIRAL. You must seal my pardon, Miss, by a salute, or I sha'nt think we are fairly reconciled. Rachd, I don't apologize to you, as I know your forgiveness is always close in tow of my repentance ; but as for you, lady fair, since you have been forced upon my coast, they must fight through fire and water for you that drive you out to sea again. JULIA. Do not, I beseech you. Sir, let your generous compassion for me lead you into danger; the bare idea of such a consequence would compel me to forego the comfort of your hospitable protection! ADMIRAL. Oh don't let your little fearful heart begin conjuring up vexations. 139 it will do me a great deal of good — make my blood circulate — I have been too long out of action — a vast while too long — I am mere still water — spoiling for want of motion — A little hurricane or two will shake me clear again. I want a bit of a storm for the quiet of my old days, and a little wholesome danger will promote the safety of my health, so away with your fears, my little light-fing 'Sblood, I was getting on the old tack again. JULIA. But, dear Sir ! *-" -^ ADMIRAL. Do, Rachel, tell her what an obstinate old fellow I am, and that it is only wasting her ammunition to oppose me. s. RACHEL. There is so much generosity, brother, in the substance of what you say, that I have no inclination to dispute about the expression of it. Miss Wingrove, if you please, you shall lay aside this dress. JULLV. Gladly, iMadam. ADMIRAL. Come, young lady, let mc be your conductor ; and they that can make prize of British beauty w hen under the convoy of a British Admiral, must have more weight of metal about them than the whole bulk of your lubberly rolaticii.-*, sa\ ing your presence, in a T 2 140 "body — so cheerly, my little angel— bear up !— " Blest isle with beauty, &icr—[S'n!giiig.] [Exeu7it. Scene changes to Lord DartforcVs House. — Lord Dartford and Jenkins. lord dartford. So this triumph of my attractions, as I had so naturally be- lieved, was a sham after all — 'Sdeath, how dared the saucy baggage Ycnture to set her pert wits on so hazardous a deception ! — But my turn may come, and if she should marry this bouncer Wingrove, and grow disgusted with him, which of course must be the case, it will be in vain that she turns her ejes to me, I assure her — But what 's to be done in this affair ? JENKINS. Might not your Lordship disown having sent any proposal to Miss Herbert ? LORD DARTFORD. How can I do that ? you delivered the letter, didn't you? JENKINS. Yes, my Lord, but he must be a very indifferent servant whose memory cannot fail him a little, for the advantage of his master. 141 LORD DARTFOKD. Well, we must consign that difficulty to the eclaircisscment o time and better fortune — but in the interim INIiss Herbert's refusal makes it of importance to recover this wandering nymph as soon as possible. Did Thomas, do you say, trace a young gentleman, resembling Miss Wingrove, to Admiral Cleveland's? JENKINS. He did, my Lord, and was almost certain it was herself. LORD DARTFORD. If it should prove so, and she obtains shelter there, I think it might be easy to watch for her in the garden, and steal her thence: But first the Admiral must be watched out though— remember that ; — there may be danger else. JENKINS. That is one of the cases, my Lord, in which my memory never /ails me. LORD DARTFORD. Well then, let's about it instantly— If I could meet with the ladv, there is no harsh treatment to her that the old Baronet \\'\\\ not interpret into respect for him ; and as for the swaggerer, his son, let him know of my attempt upon his mistress, when I am married to his sister, with all my heart — Decency will prevent him 142 from killing me then ; and as for his opinion, as that is innocent of anv eiFect upon the body, we must endeavour to endure it. [Exeunt. SCENE in.~Mm Herbert's. MISS HERBERT. I don't know how it is, but I feel a sort of uneasiness about me, as if something had happened to vex me. What can it be ? Forgetful creature that 1 am — Miss Wingrove's distresses, to be sure ! Yet that is not a novelty at the present moment ; and then the per- severing absurdity of her lofty brother — Ha, ha ! — Sits the wind in that quarter? Well, I can't help it. I am afraid he is not quite indifferent to me ; yet I must tame him out of this unreasonable haughtiness before marriage, that he may be entitled to the just pride of a husband when he becomes one. Enter Wingrove. Bless me, how came you here ! — Always steahng upon one ? wingrove. I am so truly ashamed, Madam, — I cannot- MISS HERBERT. Come, Sir, there is an eloquent humility in your manner that speaks for you. I have once before to-day construed your meaning ; and I begin to flatter myself I shall not be a less faithful interpreter 143 now, when I suppose that you are indeed a penitent for the treat- ment to which jou have exposed your sister. WINGROVE. Indeed, indeed, I am so, MISS HERBERT. I am rejoiced to hear it! You have read the letter I gave you? WINGROVE. I have, ISIadam. MISS HERBERT. Well, in all this wide world of caprice and uncertainty there is but one thing infallible, WINGROVE. What is that ? MISS HERBERT. That! — Why, that a man of rank never violates his plighted honour, and that birth involves in it every human virtue. WINGROVE. Perfidious scoundrel! — I '11 tear him piece-meal ! MISS HERBERT. Tear your own prejudices from your heart, INIr. Wingrovc. 144 WIxNTGROVE. They are gone, JSIadam ; and I have no other proof that thej ever had an existence in my bosom, but the mortified sensibiUty which they have left behind them.. MISS HERBERT. Come, Sir, keep up your spirits ; you will do charmingly, I am convinced. WINGROVE. Nay ; I am not now a convert to your opinion, my Harriet. MISS HERBERT. What, a relapse ? WINGROVE. No, I only mean to say, this is not the first time of my life in which I have thought as you do. Reason has had many ineffectual struggles with prejudice in my mind upon this subject before. But, henceforth, I disclaim all reverence for such idle superstitions — I despise birth, and all the vanities which attend it. MISS HERBERT. Now, Mr. Wingrove, I do not think so well of your case as I did. I am, myself, no peevish, morose caviller at birth. It is always graceful, and often useful, when it operates as a motive to a kind and honourable emulation with the illustrious dead ; but when those who possess the advantage, endeavour to make it a substitute 145 for every other excellence, then indeed I think the ofTcnder is entitled to no gentler sentiment than my contempt, or my pity. WINGROYE, My Harriet shall, from this time, regulate my opinions in every thing — And now may I hope Miss HERBEKT. Not now ! Not now — Go home and be upon the watch to avail yourself of the first opportunity to reconcile every thing. Let this be the first probation of your recovery ; and if, when next we meet, I should find matters in a way that promises general happiness, perhaps I may not be so cruel to myself as to deny you the civility of partaking in it. WINGROVE. Charming Harriet ! [Exeu7if separately. SCENE IV.— Admiral Cleveland's Garden. Enter Mrs. Rachel Cleveland, Welford, and Young Manly. RACHEL. Excuse me, Mr. Manly ; Miss Wingrove's feelings have been lately too much agitated for me to sutTer her to be exposed to new conflicts. u 146 YOUNG MANLY. Madam, 1 came here to satisfy my anxious doubts about Miss Wingrove's safety ; being once assured of that, I resign myself to the despair I have so justly merited. [JFalks off. WELFORD. Nay, but Madam, do not let your generous compassion for the fair sufferer entirely prevail over the penitent misery of the offender — Let them but meet, and leave the rest to chance. - RACHEL. Well, Sir, if I can prevail, Mr. Manly shall see Miss Wingrove. — But let him understand, I w^ill not have her urged upon any point, and the length of the interview must be entirely left to her own pleasure and discretion. WELFORD. It shall. Madam — I engage for his obedience in every thing. — [Exit Rachel.] Come, Manly, throw away your despair. Mrs. Cleveland is gone to bring in your Julia. YOUNG manly. Call her back, 1 beseech you ! I dare not meet my injured love. — Call her back, I intreat you ! — Though I feel this kindness from jou, Welford, with double force, after my late behaviour to you — How could I suspect you? 147 WELl'ORD. No more of that — Here she comes without my trouble, aud M-ith her — Shall I send them back ? Enter Mrs. Rachel Cleveland, atid Julia. [As soon as they see each other Manly hieels, and Julia reclines on Mrs. Rachel.] YOtTNG MANLY. Oh ! Julia. JULIA. Mr. Manly ! YOUNG MANLY. Oh I my loved Julia, I dare not approach you; yet let me survey that form where every virtue claims its own impression. Let me see anger aggravated by sweetness, and justice in her most awful form, invested in all the terrors of oiFended beauty. Look on me but whilst I describe the agonies I have endured for your sufferings, and the pangs I have undergone for my inexpiable guilt ! I do not expect to be forgiven — only say you will endeavour not to hate me ; and I go, my Julia — if you will have it so, for ever! JULIA. Mr. Manly, I cannot very easily hate — nay, Sir, I even forgive u 2 148 you — but if your hopes, which I can hardly suppose, should exceed this prudent limit, they deceive you. WELFORD. Come, Miss Wingrove, let me hope you will consider this matter. I will not press it now — but JULIA. My obligations to you. Sir, have been important indeed ; but this is not a topic even for the claims of gratitude. Mr. Manly, I am sure, will not oppose the only plan of comfort that is left me — a quiet, peaceful seclusion. YOUNG MANLY. No, my Julia, no — never will I disturb your repose. JULIA. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cleveland ; but indeed I am not well. RACHEL. Be seated, my dear. I intreat you to take your leave for the present, gentlemen. YOUNG MANLY. Rascal that I am ! [Exemit Manly and Welford. RACHEL. Keep up your spirits. I '11 step into the house and fetch some- thing for your relief, my dear. [Exit. 140 JULIA. I am sorry. Madam. Enter Lord Dartford and Jenkins, zvith Servants behind. LORD DARTFORD. There she is— and alone, by all that 's lucky ! Lose no time.— You are sure the Admiral is not at home? JENKINS. Quite sure, my Lord. . LORD DARTFORD. Very well ; lose no time; advance. {They seize Julia. JULIA. What means this rudeness?— Help! help! Oh help me, or I am lost! Re-enter Manly, Welford, and Mrs. Rachel Cleveland. TOUNG MANLY. My Julia's voice ! [JexNkins runs away LORD DARTFORD. Take care, Mr. Manly — we are well armed — take care, I say ! YOUNG MANLY. Dastardly villain — a pistol }— [Strikes it out of his hand.— The 150 Darfford party escape.] How is my Julia >— Thank Heaven that has afforded me an opportunity of being serviceable to her in any thing ! WELFORD. How fare you» Madam ? JULIA. Much beholden, gentlemen, to you both ; but weary of this life of alarms and rescues. E7iter Admiral Cleveland's Servant. SERVANT. Your father, Sir William, Madam, is within, enquiring for you. JULIA. I will intrude upon you so much farther as to beg you will lead me to him instantly. rOUNG MANLY. To your father ! — Must it be so, Julia ? JULIA. Do not oppose my request, Mr. Manly ; I am resolved to throw myself upon his mercy. — My misfortunes may have softened him. Will you be kind enough. Madam, to accompany me } I shall need your friendly offices. 151 RACHEL. Miss Wingrove may command me in any thing. YOUNG MANLY. Come then, my Julia, and let me deliver you up to that father from whose capricious cruelty I so lately thought to have given you a happy and a lasting freedom ! [Exeunt. SCENE Y.—The AdmiraTs House. Enter Sir William Wingrove, Cleveland, Julia, Mrs. Rachel, Young Manly, and Mr. AVelford. SIR WILLIAM. I am overjoyed at your safety, Julia; but yet your leaving me RACHEL. Nay, Sir William, if the step your daughter took was imprudent, who forced her to it? Who was it that compelled her to seek an uncertain refuge among strangers? SIR WILLIAM. 'Sdeath, Madam, what had my conduct to do with her dis- obedience? 'Tis true. Lord Dartford's proposals to Miss Herbert render him unworthy my alliance ; but is not this man a plebeian —a fellow of yesterday ? 152 "WELFORD. Here, Sir, you must allow me the liberty of observing, that Mr. Manly's recent services to your daughter, of which you have just heard, merit a more liberal return. SIR WILLIAM. That's very true, indeed — very true — I am sorry, indeed. I beg you ten thousand pardons, upon my word, Sir. Enter Mr. Wingrove WINGROVE. Where, where is she? [Runs to Julia. sir WILLIAM. 'Gad, I must retrieve my dignity in time, or William will be in a tremendous fury — I say. Sir, for any thing I know, you may be a very good sort of person, but you will excuse me if I decline disgracing my family by a connection with one of your condition. WINGROVE. What 's that ? SIR WILLIAM. I say, young gentleman, you have done my family a service — I acknowledge it — I am grateful for it — but 153 WINGROVE. Nay, Sir, now let me interpose. I have long been sensible of Mr. Manly's worth, yet have myself been a bar to the accomplish- ment of his wishes, from causes which at this moment I feel no delight in contemplating. SIR WILLIAM. Why, what is all this } Why, William, is it you ? — Are you sure it is you ? WINGROVE. If identity depends upon the mind. Sir, I glory in saying it is not — But, permit me to tell you, Sir, we have been too long unjust to the merit of Mr. Manly, and to the preference of the unhappy Julia — besides, Sir, after what has happened it will be necessary, even to the pride of your house, that an immediate union should take place between Julia and Mr. Manly. SIR WILLIAM. Well, if the necessity of the case forbids the possibility of a choice, I desire it to be understood — I give my free consent. YOUNG MANLY. Do you hear this, my Julia ! Pardon me, but can I be blamed if I am astonished into audacious hope } 154 JULIA. Do not, Mr. Manly, renew a solicitation that may tend to plunge me into the guilt of disobedience a second time. Enter Old Manly, Miss Manly, and Miss Herbert. OLD MANLY. INIrs. Cleveland, you will excuse an impatient set of people who have too much affection for that inconsiderate fellow there ; but hearing something of a skirmish here, in v/hich he had borne a part, we could not resist a kind of curiosity to know the particulars. I would have come by myself ; but though my wife was too much frightened to be able to stir abroad, my daughter was too much alarmed to be able to stay at home, and so here we are together. MRS. CLEVELAND. You are heartily welcome. Sir. WINGROVE. I hope. Sir, we shall all be better friends before we part. MR. WELFORD. \To Miss Manly.] Dare I flatter myself now, that my Emma has dismissed her doubts ? MISS MANLY. Name them not, dear Mr. Welford, I beseech you ! 155 Enter Admiral Cleveland. ADMIRAL. Why, hollo, Rachael ! What 's all this ? There was I gone to attend the examination of that smuggling dog Larron, and the woman he lives with, for receiving stolen goods, when in comes a hue and cry after me, with a Canterbury tale of your being run away with — I confess I did not give much credit to that part of the story, because thinks I, " an old maid, whatever may be the. value of her lading, is a sort of neutral vessel, that all nations, to do them justice, hold very sacred from attack." I am glad, however, to see you all at my house. — Well, Sir William, may an old seaman, who boasts no other store of arms than the short allowance which nature gave him, presume to strike hands with a man whose ancestry bore command while Noah was a midshipman ? Eh ? SIR WILLIAM. I do not very well understand the intention of your speech. Admiral, but your kindness to my daughter spoke a language that could not be misinterpreted. I hope you will excuse our breaking in upon you in this manner. Enter O'Donnel. Who sent for you. Sir ? o'donnel. An plase your Honour, they have secured the smart little jan- X 2 15C tleman below, that made such a dirdum about Miss — and we want to know what your Honour intends to do wid him ? Wheder your Honour wou'd give him de liberty to be set in de stocks, or wou'd like better that he shou'd take a pritty little walk in de horse-pond. 3^our Honour ? SIR WILLIAM. Who is it the fellow means ? YOUNG MANLY. Lord Dartford, I suppose. YOUNG W^INGROVE. Oh, let him go — [Exit O'Donnel.] You cannot punish him -he is above your ridicule — for he is below your contempt. OLD MANLY. But, I say, Admiral- ADMIRAL. Well, my friend ? OLD MANLY. I was only going to say, that as this Lord cannot but feel himself at this juncture in a sort of an aukward kind of a taking, it would be good-natured in you, and I am sure very agreeable to the company, if you were to go to him and give him a little of your comfort — He's only vexed now at his disappointment — but go to him, worthy Admiral — do — and console him into perfect misery. 15; ADMIRAL. Nay, my worthy friend, no more of that, I beseech you ; it was only a small splice of forecastle merriment — the last faculty an old seaman parts with is a httle sort of a sneaking fondness for a joke — and as it is often the only comfort that sticks to him after a life of service, it would be hard to deprive him of that OLD MANLY. So, when you are no longer fit for duty, you kindly turn the hulk into a tender, and make it a crazy receptacle for forced jokes, and pressed witticisms ? Well, I forgive you. ADMIRAL, [To Old Manly.] Thank you, thank you— and now. Manly, I give you joy. OLD MANLY. Eh ! — What — Joy ! — I intreat you, my good friend — Joy from you! ADMIRAL. Nay, I am serious now — I heartily congratulate you on the approaching happiness, I hope, of this wicked, honest fellow of a son of your's — the conduct of this Lord has brought him into the wind of my favour again. — Well, they may say what they will about the degeneracy of the times, and the falling off of our morals, and all that ; but, to my thinking, we improve in every thing, except in fighting, and in that — though we may equal — damn me. 158 if we can better, the good old model of our forefathers. I remember in my younger years, there were some few scattered remnants of such chaps as his Lordship — some remains of your old school of beaux, who had been the insects of the former century, and which I had hoped were all extinct by this time ; who, like him, were showy and dangerous, fitter for manoeuvring than for action, and more gaudy in their tackle, than sound in their bottom — whereas, for aught I see, the striplings of these days, like this pickle Manly, have all the gaiety of their predecessors, with not a quarter of their foppery ; and with less vice in their hearts, have more of nature in their follies. Miss WiNGROVE advances. JULIA. I can deny nothing, Madam, to the kind eloquence of such an advocate ; the more so, when, all-powerful as it is, it receives some small assistance, I fear, from the persuasions of my own heart. — And now, Manly, may a poor, persecuted Fugitive, hope at last for a happy asylum from the severities of her fortune ? Shall I trust myself again to the precarious direction of so fickle a guide? — Yes, I will trust, most confidently trust thee! For where there is gene- rosity as the foundation virtue in a man's natm-e, the memory of a woman's sorrows will secure her against a repetition of the cause of them ; nor with such a mind, can her affection fondly bestowed ever be quite hopeless of a return. 159 YOUNG MANLY. Dearest Julia, I will not injure either my gratitude or my love, by any attempt to convey them through the feeble vehicle of ■wrords — Let my life speak the sincerity of my repentance, and the homage of my devoted affection !— And as for that vice in particular which has portracted my happiness, and, but for the generous kindness of your brother, might have intercepted it for ever, I renounce it to the end of my life — I abjure it — No, never shall I offend by intemperance again ! Unless JULIA. Unless, Manly! WINGROVE. Unless, Mr. Manly! YOUNG MANLY. Unless one favouring smile from this company should hurry us all into an unexpected excess— an intemperance of Honest Gratitude. END OF ACT V. lOi EPILOGUE. WRITTEN BY THE RIGHT HON. LIEUT. GENERAL BURGOYNE. SPOKEN BY MRS. JORDAN. Many a shop hangs forth in Wit's behalf, Fugitive Pieces — neatly bound in calf: With better hopes inspir'd, our Author sues Refuge in this Asylum of the Muse : One little corner of this ample space. Where Fugitives by hundreds shall have place. For instance, now — each class in order due. Fugitive Critics — I begin w^ith you. To you, who migrate from that cruel school Wliich tries an author, but to prove him fool ; Who quit the path by partial rigour trod ; More pleas'd to weave the bays than lift the rod ; To you, our judges in the last resort, Wide fly our doors — behold your sov' reign court ; T 102 O'er Tragic rights, o'er Comic laws preside, Temper your monitor, and taste your guide. To those who bear not from mere trill of tongue, Words of soft nothing, by soft nothing sung ; [Siwor^,] But one dull chime in Solo, Duo, Trio, Ah ! Mio Bel, to— Ah, Bel Idol Mio ; Who by no sorcery of fashion bound. Listen for sense ere they applaud the sound ; We offer shelter in well-hearing seats. And our best promise of united treats. Next for friend Jolm, this country's strength and pride, Plain, frugal, competent, and satisfied ; Who flying alehouse, ribaldry and strife. Takes Sue in arm, for John ne'er flies his wife — And dedicates to an inviting play. The extra gainings of a lucky day : To yonder harbour may they press in crowds. Our faithful overseers in the clouds! Sometimes, 'tis true, for Music eager grown, Whevgh goes an overture in notes their own; And sometimes, sterling joke appearing scarce. They roar for hornpipe to eke out a farce ; But still true nature, be it laugh or tear. Finds with electric touch its centre there. The pregnant sense of right disdains control. And the rough hand reports the honest soul. 1 l63 Now for that speaking look of gay sixteen, A look so arch, what breadth of fan can screen ? Though timid, curious — innocent — but sly — It asks, in speech call'd Whisper of the Eye — Sister — dear me — what — what are we to fly ? Man — Monster man — in specious colours hid — I mean not all the race, no. Heaven forbid! I mean the wretch who sighs but to betray ; Take flight before temptation checks your way. Hard is the trial 'gainst a traitor's art, A heedless moment and a tender heart — ■ Take flight from these — of the mere breeze beware, §tart like the frighted dove that gains the air. Nor trusts her wing to flutter o'er the snare. Welcome, sweet Fugitives ; there (to the Boxes) fearless sit. Where Beauty's girdle binds the realm of wit: And virtue breath'd from your bright forms below. Shall waft its essence to our topmost row. Such are the Fugitives whom we invite. To aid the humble brother of to-night. He in your justice may securely trust. But mij hopes tell me, you '11 be more than just, And spare one precious moment of applause, £'en to the Fugitive who pleads his cause. } Y 2 PO E T R Y, DETACHED PIECES: SOME WRITTEN WHEN AT COLLEGE. PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. KEMBLE, TO AN AFTER-PIECE, ENTITLED, "THE GLORIOUS FIRST OF JUNE," PERFORMED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE WIDOWS AND ORPHANS OF. THOSE SEAMEN WHO FELL DURING THE ACTION, IN WHICH THE ENGLISH FLEET, UNDER THE COMMAND OF LORD HOWE, OBTAINED A SIGNAL VICTORY OVER THE FRENCH. Of all the virtues which enamour'd Fame Connects for ever with a Briton's name. None sounds more sweetly from her trump than thee. Thou first, best excellence, Humanity ! Say, shall a light which from its beaming sphere Dispels the mist of sad Misfortune's tear ; Pierces the worst abodes which Miseries haunt. And cheers the languid eye of drooping Want ; Shall it to-night with feebler lustre shine. When Justice joins her rites at Pity's shrine ? 168 No — every eye with generous drops bedew' d. Shall own that bounty here, is gratitude. Ye hapless Orphans, doom'd no more to share The fond protection of a father's care ; Ye widow'd mourners doom'd no more to know The sheltering kindness which the brave bestow ; To-night our tenderest sympathy shall prove, (Our sympathy ! — a sad exchange for love,) That when those slaughter'd heroes you bemoan, Your sacred griefs you do not bear alone. For in each British heart your sorrows are their own. , Ye gallant spirits who to Heaven arc fled. Now rank'd, now honour'd, with the glorious dead ; If of your former Being aught survive, And Memory hold her fond prerogative ; How will your heighten'd natures joy to see Old England safe ! — Old England safe and free ! Sav'd by that Valour, which, dismiss'd from earth. Claims from above, the meed of patriot worth. — These the grac'd ornaments that deck your bier. The brave man's sigh and gentle beauty's tear; Glory herself at such a shrine may bow — And what is glory, but a name for Howe ! Pity's sweet records still shall bear his name, Exalting conquest into nobler fame: Touch' d by her hand, the Victor's wreaths assume A softer verdure, and a richer bloom. ® As, when the Sun impetuous pours his ray, And dazzles nature with redundant day. If on some lonely spot his beams he throws, Where, dress'd in sweets, retires the bashful rose. We feel his gentler virtue in the flower. And love his mildness, while we own his power. Divided eulogy this night imparts. To British spirit, and to British hearts ; Those who assert their injur'd Country's cause. Those who crown Valour with its best applause : Alike in cherish'd memory shall live. They who have won the Laurel, you who give. 170 SONG INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN INTKODUCED IN THE BEFORE-MENTIONED AFTER-PIECE. I. Say what is love so widely prais'd In tuneful lay and cadence rude ? 'Tis just esteem by passion rais'd, 'T is tender ardent gratitude. Then British maids shall ever prove That honour is the soul of love. II. 'T is not the flame that feebly plays In hearts benumb'd by wealth and rest ; 'T is not the fierce relentless blaze That transient fires the wanderer's breast : Nought such do British maids approve. Or sanction with the name of love. III. The gallant sailor braves the main. Forgetting danger, death, and fear ; Yet still his faithful hopes retain The cherish'd image of his dear. To him then beauty's smiles shall prove That valour bears a claim to love. 171 WRITTEN AT COLLEGE. Iterare cursus cogor relictos. I. O WELCOME ye grots and ye bowers Whence I have been absent so long ; Where oft I deceiv'd the dull hours, And time did beguile with my song. II. Blest there above human condition. What mortal but I would have stray'd. Misguided by headstrong ambition — Forsaken the joys of the shade ? . III. On the verge of yon musical stream. How sweet were the songs of the seer ! How charming was then my lov'd theme. How grateful did science appear ! z 2 172 n\ But 't was not enough, that I knew The blessings the Muses supply ; Like Wharton, the world I must shew The extent of my skill, " or I die." Abstracted I liv'd, and recluse. Where none with my art were to vie ; And thought, of the sons of the muse. That none was more favour'd than L VI. But, alas ! sad experience has taught, I partially judg'd of my skill ; Nor else, but with proof, had I thought The pipe I had handled so ill. vii. Compell'd to return with disgrace. Ye sweet holy grottos, to you, I '11 there (for ye see not my face) My long-forgot labours renew. WRITTEN AT COLLEGE. Virtutem videant^ intahescantque relida. Where the brown trees a darker shade compose, And, friend to woe, the murm'ring rivulet flows. Oppress' d with grief, the hapless Delia sat. And mourn'd the rigours of a cruel fate. I. " Ye gloomy scenes that sympathize with grief. With kindred horror soothing the distrest, From you the wretched find a sure relief. With you the guilty in repose may rest. II. " Here let me sit, and, since my joys are flown, Indulge in thought the dear delusive theme. Enjoy again the pleasures that are gone. And once more find my innocence in dream. III. " Blythe as the fields that gentle showers regale, Soft as the lambkins in their evening play, Sweet as the lily in the fragrant vale, Was Delia once — for she was pure as they. 174 IV. " Still to my steps obedient was delight, (Such is the power where innocence prevails ;) Alike I found it on the mountain's height. And felt its influence in the flowery dales. V. " One only task solicited my care. Delightful labour ! with a filial love To watch with duty o'er an aged pair, Their joys to brighten, and their pains remove. VI. " But here ! ah, here I the tale of joy must end — The rest for guilt and misery to fill ; For those whom nature orders us to tend. My impious guilt contributed to kill. VII. " 'Twas love, soft source of many a maiden's tear, That led my steps from virtue's paths astray, 'T was Edwin's grace — 't was Edwin's form and air. That charm'd my soul from innocence away. 175 VIII. " Skill'd in the arts that faithless swains pursue, Endow'd with all that tempts the mind from grace. In luckless hour — what could not Edwin do ? He stole at once my virtue and my peace. IX. " Stung with his falsehood, but more stung with guilt. In vain I seek for shelter and repose ; The virtuous pleasures which I once have felt. Render but now more exquisite my woes." TO ROSALIND. In loftier verse and moral strain Let wiser poets sing, " How circling years come round again. What varied joys they bring." II. To Time no wreath my muse shall bear. No chaplet gay from me ; For 't is to Time that yet I 'm far. Ah ! Rosalind, from thee. t/0 III. Would he but mend his tardy pace, And move more swift along, Then would I join his power to bless, His godhead own in song. IV. The power of Time they say will melt All human things away ; But sure who say so never felt Imperial Beauty's sway : For though the mouldering touch of age To worlds may fatal prove, Though meaner things may feel its rage, It but increases love. THE END. S. GosNCLL, Printer, Little Queen Street. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-20m-7,'61(C1437s4)444 jj y . n . Tr rT-ci- . . ' ■ -. J - 1 1 \nn