TJfee«%ri:ca 1 -Galle c t ion 
 
fd »v CSotth 
 
THB 
 
 HEIR AT LAW; 
 
 A COMEDY, 
 IN FIVE acts; 
 BY GEORGE COLMAN, the younger j 
 
 AS PERFORMED AT THE 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET. 
 
 PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS 
 FROM THE PROMPT BOOK. 
 
 WITH REMARKS \ 
 
 BY MRS. INCHBALD. 
 
 XONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES,ORM£; AND BROWN ^ 
 "^ PATERNOSTER-ROW, 
 
As the following Address, by Mr. Colman, the 
 younger y was written purposely to appear with the 
 '^ The Heir at Law," in this weekly publication of 
 Plays, though accidental circumstances affixed it 
 first to that Comedy published singly, it is now re- 
 printed here, both in compliance with the original 
 design of the author, and to render intelligible the 
 Reply which follows it. 
 
 TO 
 
 isms. INCHBALD. 
 
 MadaMj 
 
 When I, lately, sold the copy-right of 
 '* The Heir at Law/* (with two or three other dra- 
 matic manuscripts,) I required permission to publish 
 any prefatory matter, which might appear eligible to 
 me, in the first genuine impression of the plays in 
 question. I had reason to suppose that they would 
 be put forth in a series of dramas, with Critical Re- 
 marks, by Mrs. Inchbald.* On this account I more 
 
 • Tlie publishers had, certainly, expressed their intention 
 to publish these pieces in their British Theatre; but have been 
 induced by circumstances,* with which Mr. Cohuan has no 
 concern, to alter their determination, and to print them in 
 octavo. 
 
 L. & CO. 
 
 ♦ The above note ii my due; — but I should not have trou- 
 bled my readers, nor Mrs. Inchbald, had I not addressed her 
 in consequence of the intentions originally expressed by the 
 booksellers. — Having written the letter, before they altered 
 their minde, e'en let k go to press, 
 
particularly urged my postulatum, — I make no apo- 
 logy for writing Latin to you, madam 3 for^ as a 
 scholiast, you, doubtless, understand it, like the 
 learned Madame Dacier, your predecessor. 
 
 Did not the opportunity thus occur of addressing 
 you; — did it not, absolutely, fall in my way 5— I 
 should have been silent : — but, as your critique on 
 the present play will, probably, go hand in hand with 
 this letter, I would say a little relative to those dra- 
 mas of mine which have, already, had the honour to 
 be somewhat singed, in passing the fiery ordeal of 
 feminine fingers : — fingers which it grieves me to 
 fiee destined to a rough task, from which your manly 
 contemporaries in the drama would naturally shrink. 
 Achilles, when he went into petticoats, must have 
 made an awkward figure among the females ; — but 
 the delicate Deidamia never wielded a battle-axe to 
 slay and maim the gentlemen. 
 
 My writings (if they deserve the name) are replete 
 with error : — but, dear madam I why would you not 
 apply to me ? — I should have been as zealous to save 
 you trouble as a beau to pick up your fan. — I could 
 have easily pointed to twenty of my blots, in the 
 right places, which have escaped you in the labour 
 of discovering one in the wrong. 
 
 But, madam, I tire you. — A word or two, first, 
 for my late Father ; — then for myself, — and I have 
 done. "^^In your criticism upon " The Jealous fVife,** 
 (a sterling comedy, which must live on the Enghsh 
 stage tiU taste and morality expire,) you say, that, 
 after this play, '' it appears Mr. Colman's talents 
 for dramatic writing failed ; or, at least, his ar- 
 dour abated,'* — ^Fy, on these bitters, madam, which 
 you sprinkle with honey! — ^Whether his talent did 
 or did not fail, (I presume to say 720/,) is no point in 
 question : but you have gone out of the way to as- 
 sert it 3 mixing, ad libatum, the biographer with the 
 critic.— Oh, madam ! — is this grateful P — is it grace* 
 
Jul, from an ingenious lady, who was originally en- 
 couraged, and brought forward, as an authoress, by 
 that very man, on whose tomb she idly plants this 
 poisonous weed of remark, to choke the laurels 
 which justly grace his memory? 
 
 As to the history of my father's writing " The 
 Clandestine Marriage," jointly with Mr. Garrick, it 
 is a pity, (since you chose to enter into it,) that you 
 had not proceeded to all the enquiry within your 
 reach, instead of trusting to vague report, or your 
 own conjecture. I should have been gratified, ma- 
 dam, in giving you every information on that sub- 
 ject, which 1 received from my father's lipsj and 
 you have no reason, I trust, to suspect that I should 
 desert from his known veracity. — How happened, 
 madam, this omission of duty to your publishers 
 and the public ? 
 
 As to my own trifling plays, which you have done 
 me the honour to notice, allow me merely to ask a 
 few questions. 
 
 Inkle and Yarico. — Pray, madam, why is it an 
 '^ important fault" to bring Yarico from America 
 instead oi /Ifricaj when Ligon, (whence the story in 
 the Spectator is taken,) records the circumstance as 
 a fact ?* — Pray, madam, why did you not, rather, 
 observe, that it is a worse fault (excusable only in 
 the carelessness of youth) to put lions and tigers in 
 the woods of America, and to give Wowski a Polish 
 denomination ? 
 
 * Yarico is not a solitary evidence to clear me from tliis 
 important fault of resorting to the Main of America for a 
 slave. — " A.s for the Indians^ we ha /e but few, and those 
 fetched from other countries; some from tlie nciglibouring 
 islands, some from the umhiy which we made slaves^" &c. &c, 
 Ligon' s History of Barbadoes. 
 
 After this, it would be well for Mrs. Inchbald to reflect that 
 it may, sometimes, be necessary for a Critic on one book to have 
 read another I G. C, 
 
Mountaineers. — Pray, madam, why should you 
 kill the Mountaineers with Mr. Kemhle? — Pray, ma- 
 dam, has not Otavian been a^ted repeatedly (though, 
 certainly, never so excellen.ly as by Mr. Kemble) 
 to very full houses without him? — Pray, madam, 
 did you ever ask the Treasurer of the Haymarket 
 Theatre this question ? 
 
 Poor Gentleman. — Pray, madam, do you mean a 
 compliment, or rebuke, when you say this comedy 
 exacts rigid criticism? — ^' not from its want o/* inge- 
 nuity or POWERS OF AMUSEMENT, but that hoth these 
 requistes fall infinitely, here, below the talents of 
 the author." — Pray, do not the subjects which pre- 
 sent themselves to all authors, make all authors, 
 sometimes, appear unequal r — And when you, madam, 
 as an author, have shown ingenuity, and powers of 
 amusement, to '* auditors and readers," have they 
 not been content, — and have not you been content 
 too? 
 
 John Bull. — You have taken him only by the tip 
 of his horns, madam : — but if Irish bog-trotters and 
 Yorkshire clowns were (according to your prescrip- 
 tion) to talk like gentlemen, pray, madam, might 
 not a lady invite them very innocently some after- 
 noon, to a ball and supper ? 
 
 You really clothe your Remarks, madam, in very 
 smooth language. — Permit me to take my leave in a 
 quotation from them, with some little alteration : — 
 
 ^* Beauty, with all its charms, will not constitute 
 a good Remarher. A very inferior Dramatic Critique 
 may be, in tlie nighest degree, pointed," 
 
 I have the honour to be. 
 Madam, 
 (with due limitation,) 
 Your admirer, and obedient servant, 
 GEORGE COLMAN, 
 January^ 1808. the younger. 
 
TO 
 
 GEORGE COLMAN, the younger. 
 
 HY DEAR iSIR^ 
 
 T As I have offended you, I take it kind 
 that you have publicly told me so, because it gives 
 me an opportunity thus openly to avow my regret, 
 and, at the same time, to offer you all the atonement 
 which is now in my power. 
 
 In one of those unfortunate moments, which leaves 
 us years of repentance, I accepted an overture, to 
 write from two to four pages, in the manner of pre- 
 face, to be introduced before a certain number of 
 plays, for the perusal, or information, of such per- 
 sons as have not access to any diffuse compositions, 
 either in biography or criticism, but who are yet very 
 liberal contributors to the treasury of a theatre. — 
 Even for so humble a task I did not conceive myself 
 competent, till I submitted my own opinion to that 
 of the proprietors of the plays in question, v-- 
 
 To you, as an author, I have no occasion to de- 
 srcribe the force of those commendations which come 
 from the lips of our best patrons, the purchasers of 
 our labour. Dr. Johnson has declared — '* An author 
 is always sure to hear truth from a bookseller ; at 
 least, as far as his judgment goes, there is no flat- 
 tery " — The judgment on which I placed my reliance 
 on th^s occasion was — that many readers might be 
 amused and informed, whilst no one dramatist could 
 possibly be offended, by the cursory remarks of a fe- 
 male observer, upon works which had gone through 
 various editions, had received the unanimous applause 
 of every British theatre, and the final approbation or 
 
VI 
 
 censure of all our learned Reviews ; — and that, any 
 injudicious critique of such female might involve her 
 own reputation, (as far as a woman's reputation de- 
 pends on being a critic,) but could not depreciate the 
 worth of the writings upon which she gave her brief 
 intelligence, and random comments. 
 
 One of the points of my agreement was, that I 
 should have no controul over the time or the order 
 in which these prefaces were to be printed or pub- 
 lished, but that I should merely produce them as 
 they were called for, and resign all other interference 
 to the proprietor or editor of the work. — You ask 
 me, " Do not the subjects, which present themselve 
 to all authors, make all authors, sometimes, appea: 
 unequal ?'' — I answer, yes 5 and add — that here, ii 
 the capacity of a periodical writer, I claim indul 
 gence upon this your interrogation, far more thai 
 you. Confined to a stated time of publication, sucl 
 writers may be compelled, occasionally, to write in 
 haste 3 in ill health 5 under depressed spirits j with 
 thoughts alienated by various cares, or revolting from 
 the subject before them. The Remarks on your 
 " Mountaineers" were written beneath the weight of 
 almost all those misfortunes combined. The play 
 was sent to the press, whilst not a sentence could my 
 fancy suggest, which my judgment approved to send 
 after it. — In this perplodty, recollection came to my 
 aid, and I called to mind, and borrowed in my ne- 
 cessity, your own reported words to Mr. Kemble, 
 upon the representation of this identical drama — 
 As I speak only of report, should your memory sup- 
 ply no evidence in proof of what I advance, ask 
 yourself, whether it was not probable, that, on some 
 occasion, during a season of more than hoped-for suc- 
 cess, such acknowledgments, or nearly such, as I have 
 intimated, might not have escaped you, towards the 
 evident promoter of your good fortune ? — or if, at 
 any period of a later date^ you can bring to your 
 
remembrance the having lavished unwary compi' 
 ments even on minor actors, and upon minor events, 
 do not once doubt but that you actually declared your 
 sentiments, to the original performer of Octavian, in 
 eulogiums even more fervid than those which I took 
 the liberty to repeat. 
 
 The admiration I have for *' Inkle and Yarico," 
 rendered my task here much lighter. Yet that very 
 admiration warned me against unqualified praise, as 
 the mere substitute for ridicule 5 and to beware, lest 
 suspicions of a hired panegyrist should bring disgrace 
 upon that production, which required no such nefa- 
 rious help for its support. — Guided by cautions such 
 as these, I deemed it requisite to discover one fault in 
 this excellent opera. You charge me with having 
 invented that one which never existed, and of passing 
 over others which blemish the work — yet you give 
 me no credit for this tenderness 5 — though, believe 
 me, dear sir, had I exposed any faults but such as you 
 could easily argue away, (and this, in my Preface, 
 I acknowledged would be the case,*) you would 
 have been too much offended to have addressed the 
 present letter to me ; your anger would not have been 
 united with pleasantry, nor should I have possessed 
 that consciousness which I now enjoy — of never hav- 
 ing mtended to give you a moment's displeasure. 
 
 Humility, and not vanity, I know to be the cause 
 of that sensation which my slight animadversions have 
 excited : but this is cherishing a degree of self-con- 
 tempt, which I may be pardoned for never having 
 supposed, that any one of my " manly contempora- 
 ries in the drama'* could have indulged. 
 
 Of your respected father, I have said nothing that 
 he would not approve were he living. He had too 
 high an opinion of his own talents, to have repined 
 under criticisms such as mine 3 and too much respect 
 
 • Sec Preface to Inkle and Yarico. 
 
viii 
 
 fbr other pursuits^ to have blushed at being cloyed 
 with the drama : — ^Yet you did me justice, when you 
 imagined that the mere supposition of my ingrati- 
 tude to him would give me pain. This was the de- 
 sign meditated in your accusation ; for, had 1 either 
 wronged or slighted his memory, you would have 
 spared your reproach, and not have aimed it at a 
 heart too callous to have received the impression. — 
 But, in thus acknowledging my obligations to Mr. 
 Colman, the elder, let it be understood, that they 
 amounted to no more than those usual attentions 
 which every manager of a theatre is supposed to con- 
 fer, when he first selects a novice in dramatic writ- 
 ing, as worthy of being introduced, on his stage, to 
 •he public. 
 
 I should thank you for reminding me of my duty to 
 my employers, but that it has been the object of my 
 care, even to the most anxious desire of minutely 
 fulfilling the contract between us 3 in which, as you 
 were not a party consulted, you cannot tell but that 
 I might stipulate, to give no other information in 
 those prefaces, but such as was furnished me from 
 their extensive repository of recorded facts. Nor 
 did the time or space allotted me for both observa- 
 tions and biography, (for biography of the deceased 
 was part of my duty, and not introduced at my dis- 
 cretion,) admit of any farther than an abridgement, 
 or slight sketch, of each. — ^Your attention and wishes 
 of having been applied to on this subject, however, 
 give a value to , these trifles, I never set on them 
 before. The novelty of the attempt was their only 
 hoped-for recommendation. The learned had for 
 ages written criticisms — the illiterate were now to 
 make a trial — and this is the era of dramatic prodi- 
 gies ! — Adventurers, sufficiently modest, can be easily 
 enticed into that field of speculation, where singu- 
 larity may procure wealth, and incapacity obtaia 
 fame. 
 
Permit me, notwithstanding this acquiescence in 
 your contempt for my literary acquirements, to ap- 
 prize you — that, in comparing me, as a critic, with 
 Madame Dacier, you have, inadvertently, placed 
 yourself, as an author, in the rank with Homer. I 
 might as well aspire to write remarks on *' The Iliad," 
 as Dacier condescend to give comments on '' The 
 Mountaineers.*' — ^Be that as it may, I willingly sub- 
 scribe myself an unlettered woman 5 and as willingly 
 yield to you, all those scholastic honours, which you 
 have so excellently described in the following play. 
 
 I am. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 (With too much pride at having been admitted 
 a dramatist along with the two Colmans, 
 father and son, to wish to diminish the re- 
 putation of either,) 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Most truly and sincerely, 
 
 ELIZABETH INCHBALD 
 March, 1818. 
 
REMARKS. 
 
 This comedy will be found highly entertaining, both 
 on the stage and in the closet : yet, compared with 
 some of Mr. Colman's former works — ^* Surrender 
 of Calais," '' Inkle and Yarico," et cetera — it is 
 but his '' Night-gown and Slippers,*' opposed to 
 thdr fiill dress of original thought, elevated senti- 
 ment, and natural occurrence. 
 
 Pangloss is, however, so happy a satire upon pe- 
 dantry, that it is impossible not to pardon him the 
 caricature which he gives of real pedants ^ and to 
 suffer his distortion of mind and manners to over- 
 whelm, with farcical humour, the more cha«t« a^d 
 natural habits of the persons with whom he keeps 
 company. 
 
 This humorous extravagance is, peihaps> the very 
 best method by which the follies and vices of the 
 times can be reformed : — for, when solemn sentences 
 and sprightly wit are found ineffectual, the ludicrous 
 will often prove of import 5 '—and laudable design, 
 with skilful execution, on the part of the author, have 
 here placed this laughable and immoral scholar^ by 
 
4 KEMARKS. 
 
 exciting the derision of an audience, among the most 
 genuine moral characters of the drama. 
 
 The remainder of the characters are true pictures 
 of common life ; but, except two or three of them, 
 (who have little character at all,) their language is 
 too much deformed by dialect, to produce that lite- 
 rary entertainment, which is always to be expected 
 and desired from the perusal of a book. An intended 
 translator and foreigner might be compelled, in con- 
 sequence, to cast the present work aside in despair j 
 — and, though it is proper that such persons as the 
 author has introduced should speak in exactly such 
 provincial style as they do, yet, surely,- a paucity of 
 ill-taught rustics would render their ignorance less 
 burthensome, and more conducive to mirth, than 
 when a continual round of bad spelling or uncouth 
 sounds pervade, without mercy, the eye or the ear. 
 
 Invention, observation, good intention, and all the 
 powers of a complete dramatist, are perhaps in this 
 comedy displayed, except one — taste seems wanting j 
 — ^but this failure is evidently not an error in judg- 
 ment, but an escape from labour. — ^The finer colours 
 for more polished mankind, would demand the artist's 
 more laborious skill. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 Daniel Dowlas^ alias Baron? 
 
 DUBERLY 3 
 
 Dick Dowlas 
 
 Doctor Pangloss 
 
 Henry Morland 
 
 Stedfast 
 
 Zekiel Homespun 
 
 Kenrick 
 
 John 
 
 Waiter (at the Hotel) 
 
 Waiter (at the Blue Boar) 
 
 Mr. Suett 
 
 Mr. Palmer. 
 Mr. Fawcett. 
 Mr. C. Kemble. 
 Mr. AUcin. 
 Mr, Munden. 
 Mr. Johnstone, 
 Mr. Abbot. 
 Mr. Chippendale. 
 Mr. Waldron, jun,, 
 
 Deborah Dowlas, alias Lady \ 
 Duberly 3 
 
 Caroline Dormer 
 Cicely Homespun 
 
 Mrs. Davenport. 
 
 Miss De Camp. 
 Mrs. Gibbs. 
 
 Scene— London, 
 
THIS 
 
 HEIR AT LAW. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST, 
 
 An Apartment in Lord Duberly's House, 
 Lord and Lady Duberz^y discovered at Breakfasts 
 
 Lord D. But what does it matter, my lady, whe- 
 ther I drink my tea out of a cup or a saucer ? 
 
 Lady D. A great deal in the polite circles, my 
 lord. We have been raised by a strage freak of for- 
 tune, from nothing, as a body may say 5 and — 
 
 Lord D. Nothing ! — as rejiu table a trade as any 
 in all Gosport. You hold a merchant as cheap as if 
 he trotted about with all his property in a pack, like 
 a pedlar. 
 
 Lady D. A merchant, indeed! Curious merchan- 
 dize you dealt in, truly ! 
 
 Lord D. A large assortment of articles : — coals, 
 cloth, herrings, linen, candles, eggs, sugar, treacle, 
 tea, bacon, and brick-dust j — with many more, too 
 tedious to mention, in this here advertisement. 
 
8 THE HEIR AT LAW. [ACT I. 
 
 Lady D. Well^ praise the bridge that carried you 
 over J but you must now drop the tradesman, and 
 learn life. Consider, by the strangest accident, you 
 have been raised to neither more nor less than a peer 
 of the realm. 
 
 Lord D, Oh ! 'twas the strangest accident, my 
 lady, that ever happened on the fece of the universal 
 yearth. 
 
 Lady D. True, 'twas indeed a windfall : and you 
 must now walk, talk, eat, and drink, as becomes your 
 station. *Tis befitting a nobleman should behave as 
 sich, and know summut of breeding. 
 
 Lord D. WeU, but I ha*n't been a nobleman more 
 nor a week^ and my throat isn't noble enougl^yet to 
 be proof against scalding. Hand over the milk, my 
 lady. 
 
 Lady D, Hand overl-r-Ah ! what*s bred in the 
 bone will never come out.of the flesh, my lord. 
 
 Lord D. Pshaw ! here's a fuss, indeed ! When I 
 was plain Daniel Dowlas, of Gosport, I was reckoned 
 as cute a dab at discourse as any in our town. No- 
 body found fault with me, then. 
 
 Lady D. But, why so loud ? I declare the servants 
 will hear. 
 
 Lord D, Hear ! and what will they hear but what 
 they know ? Our story a secret ! — Lord help you ! 
 — tell *em Queen Anne's dead, my lady. Don't 
 every body know that old Lord Duberly was sup- 
 posed to die without any hair to his estate — ^as the 
 doctors say, of an implication of disorders ; and that 
 his son, Henry Morland, was lost, some time ago, in 
 the salt sea ? 
 
 Lady D. Well, there's no occasion to — , 
 
 Lord D, Don't every body know that lawyer Fer- 
 ret, of Furnival's Inn, owed the legatees a grudge, 
 and popt a bit of an advertisement into the news ? — 
 *^ Whereas, the hair at law> if there be any reviving. 
 
iCENB I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. !j 
 
 of the late Baron Duberly, will apply — so arid so — 
 he'll hear of summut greatly to his advantage.'* 
 
 Lady D. But^ why bawl it to the — 
 
 Lord D. Didn't he hunt me out, to prove my title ? 
 and lug me from the counter to clap me into a coach ? 
 a house here in Hanover-square, and an estate in the 
 country^ worth fifteen thousand per annum ? — Why, 
 bless you, my lady, every little bkck devil, with a 
 soot-bag, cries it about the streets, as often as he 
 says sweep. 
 
 Lady D. 'Tis a pity but my lord had left you some . 
 manners with his money. 
 
 Lord D. He ! what my cousin twenty thousand 
 times removed ? He must have left them by word of 
 mouth. Never spoke to him, but once, in all my 
 born life — upon an electioneering matter : — that's a 
 time when most of your proud folks make no bones 
 of tippling with a tallow-chandler, in his back-room, 
 on a melting-day : but he ! — except calling me cou- 
 sin, and buying a lot of damaged huckaback, to cut 
 into kitchen towels, he was as cold and stiff, as he is 
 now, though he has been dead and buried these nine 
 months, rot him ! 
 
 Lady D. There, again, now ! — Rot him! 
 
 Lord D. Why, blood and thunder ! what is a man 
 to say, when he wants to consecrate his old stiff- 
 rumped relations ? IR'ff^gs the hell. 
 
 Lady D. Why, an oath, now and then, may sli]) 
 in, to garnish genteel conversation : but, then, it 
 should be done with an air to one's equals, and with 
 a kind of careless condescension to menials. 
 
 Lord D. Should it? — well, then— here, John ! — 
 
 Enter John. 
 
 My good man, take away the tea, and be damn'd 
 to you. 
 
 John. Yes, my lord. [Exi/. 
 
10 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I. 
 
 Lady D, And now, my lord, I must leave you 
 for the concerns of the day. We elegant people are 
 as full of business as an egg's full of meat. 
 
 Lord D. Yes, we elegant people find the trade 
 of the tone, as they call it, plaguy fatiguing. What, 
 you are for the wis a wis this morning ? Much 
 good may do you, my lady. Dam' me, it makes me 
 sit stuck up, and squeezed, like a bear in a bathing- 
 tub. 
 
 Lady D. I have a hundred places to call at. — 
 Folks are so civil since we came to take possession ! 
 There's dear Lady Littlefigure, Lord Sponge, Mrs. 
 Holdbank, Lady Betty Pillory, the Hon. Mrs. Cheat- 
 well, and — 
 
 Lord D. Ay, ay 5 you may always find plenty in 
 this here town, to be civil to fifteen thousand a-year, 
 my lady. 
 
 Lady D. Well, there's no learning you life. I'm 
 sure they are as kind and friendly. The supper Lady 
 Betty gave to us, and a hundred friends, must have 
 cost her fifty good pounds, if it cost a brass farden 5 
 and she does the same thing, I'm told, three times a 
 week. If she isn't monstrous rich, I wonder^ for my 
 part, how she can afford it. 
 
 Lord D. Why, ecod, my lady, that would have 
 puzzled me too ; — if they hadn't hooked me into a 
 damned game of cocking and punting, I think they 
 call it J where I lost as much, in half an hour, as 
 would keep her and her company in fricassees and 
 whip sullibubs for a fortnight. But I may be even 
 with her some o' these a'ternoons. Only let me 
 catch her at Put 3 — that's all. 
 
 Enter John. 
 
 John. Doctor Pangloss is below, my lord. 
 Lord D, Odsbobs, my H^W! that's the man as 
 learns me to talk English, 
 
SCENE I.] THE HEim AT LAW. 11 
 
 Lady D, Hush ! consider — 
 
 {^Pointing to the Servant. 
 
 Lord D. Hum ! I forgot — Curse me, my honest 
 fellow, show him up stairs^ d'ye hear ? ^Exit John. 
 There, was that easy ? 
 
 Lady D. Tolerable. 
 
 Lord D. Well, now, get along, my lady 5 the doc- 
 tor and I must be snug. 
 
 Lady D. Then I bid you a good morning, my lord. 
 As Lady Betty says, I wish you a bon repos. lExit, 
 
 Lord D. A bone repos ! I don't know how it is, 
 but the women are more cuter at these here matters 
 nor the m^en. My wife, as every body may see, is 
 as genteel already as if she had been bom a duchess. 
 This Dr. Pangloss will do me a deal of good in the 
 way of fashioning my discourse. So — here he is. 
 
 Enter Pangloss. 
 
 Doctor, good morning — I wish you a bone repos t — 
 Take a chair, doctor. 
 
 Pang. Pardon me, my lord 5 I am not inclined to 
 be sedentary ) I wish, with permission, *' erectos ad 
 sidera tollere vultus." — Ovid. — Rem ! 
 
 Lord D. Tollory vultures ! — I suppose that mean 
 you had rather stand ? 
 
 Pang. Fie, this is a locomotive morning with me. 
 Just hurried, my lord from the Society of Arts ; 
 whence, I may say, '^ I have borne my blushing 
 honours thick upon me.** — Shakspeare. — Hem ! 
 
 Lord D. And what has put your honours to the 
 blush, this morning, doctor } 
 
 Pang. To the blush ! — A ludicrous perversion of 
 the author's meaning. — He, he, he ! — Hem ! you 
 shall hear, my lord, — '' Lend me your ears." — Shaks- 
 peare, again. — Hem ! — 'Tis not unknown to your 
 lordship, and the no less literary world, that the 
 Caledonian University of Abeideen long since con- 
 ferred upon me the dignity of L.L.D. 5 and, as I 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
1^ THE HEIR AT LAW. ^PT I. 
 
 never beheld that erudite body, I may safely say 
 they dubbed me with a degree from sheer consider- 
 ation of my celebrity. — 
 
 Lord D. True. 
 
 Pang, For nothing, my lord, but my own innate 
 modesty, could suppose the Scotch college to be 
 swayed by one pound fifteen shillings and three- 
 pence three-farthings, paid on receiving my diploma, 
 as a handsome compliment to the numerous and 
 learned heads of that seminary. 
 
 Lord D, Oh, damn it, no, it wasn't for the matter 
 of money. 
 
 Pang. I do not think it was altogether the '^ auri 
 sacra fames." — Virgil. — Hem ! But this very day, 
 my lord, at eleven o'clock A.M. the Society of Arts, 
 in consequence, as they were pleased to say, of my 
 merits, — He, he, he ! — my merits, my lord — nave 
 admitted me as an unworthy member 5 and I have, 
 henceforward, the privilege of adding to my name 
 the honourable title of A double S. 
 
 Lord D. And I make no doubt, doctor, but you 
 have richly deserved it. I warrant a man doesn't get 
 A double S tacked to his name for nothing. 
 
 Pang, Decidedly not, my lord. — ^Yes, I am now 
 Artium Societatis Socius. — My two last publications 
 did that business. — *' Exegi monumentum aere peren- 
 nius." — Horace. — Hem ! 
 
 Lord D. And what might them there two books 
 be about, doctor } 
 
 Pang, The first, my lord, was a plan to lull the 
 restless to sleep, by an infusion of opium into their 
 ears : the efficacy of this method originally struck 
 me in St. Stephen's chapel, while listening to the 
 oratory of a worthy country gentleman. 
 
 Lord D. I wonder it wa'n't hit upon before by the 
 doctors. 
 
 Pang, Physicians, my lord, put their patients to 
 sleep in another manner. He, he, he ! — *' To die — 
 
flCBNB I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 13 
 
 to sleep ; no more." — Shakspeare. — Hem ! My 
 second treatise was a Proposal for erecting Dove- 
 houses, on a Principle tending to increase the Pro- 
 pagation of Pigeons. This, I may affirm, has re- 
 ceived considerable countenance from many who 
 move in the circles of fashion. — *' Nee gemere ces- 
 sabit turtur.** — Virgil. Hem 1 — I am about to pub- 
 lish a third edition, by subscription. May I have the 
 honour to pop your lordship down, among the 
 pigeons ? 
 
 Lord D. Ay, ay j down with me, doctor. 
 
 Pang. My lord, I am grateful. I ever insert names 
 and titles at full length. What may be your lord- 
 ship's sponsorial and patronymic appellations ? 
 
 ^Taking out his pocket-book. 
 
 Lord D. My what? 
 
 Pang. I mean, my lord, the designations given to 
 you by your lordship's godfathers and parents. 
 
 Lord D. Oh ! what my christian and surname } 
 — I was baptized Daniel. 
 
 Pang, '^ Abolens baptismate labem." — I forgot 
 where — no matter — Hem ! the Right Honourable 
 Daniel — {Writing, 
 
 LordD. Dowlas. 
 
 Pang. [Writing^ Dowlas ! '^ Filthy Dow ....'* 
 Hem ! — Shakspeare. — The Right Honourable Daniel 
 Dowlas, Baron Duberly. — And now, my lord, to your 
 lesson, for the day. [They sit. 
 
 Lord D. Now for it, doctor. 
 
 Pang. The process which we are now upon, is to 
 eradicate that blemish in your lordship's language, 
 which the learned denominate cacalogy, and which 
 the vulgar call slip-slop. 
 
 Lord D. I'm afraid, doctor, my cakelology will 
 give you a tolerable tight job on't. 
 
 Pang. '^ Nil desperanclum." — Horace. — Hem! 
 We'll begin in the old way, my lord. Talk on ; — 
 when you stumble, I check. Where was your lo»^* 
 ship yesterday evening ? 
 
14 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT. I. 
 
 Lord D. At a consort. 
 
 Pa7ig. Umph ! T^te-a-t^te with Lady Duberly, I 
 presume ? 
 
 Lord D. T^te-^-t^te with five hundred people, 
 hearing of music. 
 
 Pang. O, I conceive : — ^your lordship would say a 
 concert. Mark the distinction : — a concert, my lord, 
 is an entertainment visited by fashionable lovers of 
 harmony. Now a consort is a wife -, little conducive 
 to harmony, in the present day 3 and seldom visited 
 by a man of fashion, unless she happens to be his 
 friends or his neighbour's. 
 
 Lord D. A devil of a difference, indeed ! — Be- 
 tween you and I, doctor, (now my lady's out of 
 hearing,) a wife is the devil. 
 
 Pang. He, he, he I — There are plenty of Jobs in 
 the world, my lord. 
 
 Lord D. And a damned sight of Jezabels too, 
 doctor. But patience, as you say, for I never give, 
 my lady no bad language. Whenever she gets in 
 her tantrums, and talks high, I always sits mum- 
 chance. 
 
 Pang. ^^ So spake our mother Eve, and Adaa 
 heard." — Milton. — Hem ! — IThey rise.'] —Silence is 
 most secure, my lord, in these cases 5 for if once your 
 lordship opened your mouth, 'tis twenty to one but 
 cad language would follow. 
 
 Lord D. O4, that*s a sure thing ; and I never liked 
 to disperse the women. 
 
 Pang. As-perse. 
 
 Lord D. Humph ! — There's another stumble ! — 
 A'ter all, doctor, I shall make but a poor progress in 
 my vermicular tongue. 
 
 Pang. Your knowledge of our native, or vernacu- 
 lar language, my lord, time and industry may me- 
 liorate. Vermicular is an epithet seldom ap})lied to 
 tongues, but in the case of puppies who want to be 
 wormed. 
 
aCENE I.J THE HEIR AT LAIT^ ^^. 16, 
 
 A./ti. 
 
 Lord D. Ecod, then, I a*n't so much bj 
 I've met plenty of puppies since I came to town, 
 whose tongues are so troublesome, that worming 
 might chance to be of service. But doctor, I've a 
 bit of a proposal to make to you concerning of my 
 own family. 
 
 Pang. Disclose, my lord. 
 
 Lord D. Why you must know, I expect my son, 
 Dicky, in town this here very morning. Now, doc- 
 tor, if you would but mend his cakelology, mayhap, 
 it might be better worth while than the mending of 
 mine. 
 
 Pang. I smell a pupil. [Aside^ Whence, my lora, 
 does the young gentleman come ? 
 
 Lord D. You shall hear all about it. You know, 
 doctor, though I'm of a good family distraction — 
 
 Pang. Ex. 
 
 Lord D. Though I'm of a good family extraction 
 'twas but t'other day I kept a shop at Gosport. 
 
 Pang. The rumour has reached me. — '' Fama vo- 
 lat, viresque** 
 
 Lord D. Don't put me out. 
 
 Pang. Virgil — Hem ! — Proceed. 
 
 Lord D. A tradesman, you know, must mind the 
 main chance 3 so when Dick began to grow as big as 
 a porpuss, I got an old friend of mine, who lives in 
 
 Derbyshire, close to the Devil's humph ! close to 
 
 the Peak — to take Dick 'prentice at half price. He's 
 just now out of his time 5 and, I warrant him, as 
 wild and as rough as a rockj — now, if you, doctor, 
 — ^if you would but take him in hand, and softeu 
 him a bit 
 
 Pang. Pray, my lord — *^^ To soften rocks!'* — 
 Congreve. — Hem ! — Pray, my lord, what profession 
 may the Honourable Mr. Dowlas have followed ? 
 
 Lord D. Who, Dick ? He has served his clerkship 
 to an attorney at Castleton. 
 
16 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I. 
 
 Pang. An attorney! — Gentlemen of his profession, 
 my lord, are very difficult to soften. 
 
 Lord D. Yes, but the pay may make it worth 
 while. I'm told that Lord Spindle gives his eldest 
 son. Master Drumstick's tutorer, three hundred 
 a-year^ and, besides learning his pupil, he has to 
 read my lord to sleep of an afternoon, and walk out 
 with the lap-dogs and children. Now, if three 
 hundred a year, doctor, will do the business for Dick, 
 a sha'n't begrudge it you. 
 
 Pang. Three hundred a-year! — say no more, my 
 lord. LL. D. A double S. and three hundred 
 a-year! — I accept the office. — '^ Verbum sat." — 
 Horace. — Hem! — I'll run to my lodgings — settle 
 with Mrs. Sudds — put my wardrobe into a — no, 
 I've got it all on, and IGoing, 
 
 Lord D. Hold ! hold ! not so hasty, doctor 5 I 
 must first send you for Dick to the Blue Boar. 
 
 Pang. The Honourable Mr. Dowlas, my pupil, at 
 the Blue Boar ! 
 
 Lord D. Ay, in Holborn. As I an't fond of tell- 
 ing people good news before hand, for fear they may 
 be baulked 5 Dick knows nothing of my being made 
 a lord. 
 
 Pang, Three hundred a-year ! 
 
 '^ I've often wish'd that I had, clear. 
 
 For life, six" no 3 three — 
 
 '' three hundred " 
 
 Lord D. I wrote him just afore I left Gosport, to 
 tell him to meet me in London with — 
 
 Pang, '' Three hundred pounds a-year !" — Swift. 
 —Hem! 
 
 Lord D. With all speed upon business, d'ye mind 
 me? 
 
 Pang. Dr. Pangloss with an income of! no 
 
 lap-dogs, my lord ? 
 
 Lord D. Nay, but listen, doctor ^ — and as I did'nt 
 
SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. if 
 
 know where old Ferret was to make me live in Lon- 
 don, I told Dick to be at the Blue Boar this morn- 
 ing by the stage-coach. — Why, you don't hear what 
 I'm talking about, doctor. 
 
 Pang, O, perfectly, my lord — three hundred — 
 Blue Boars — in a stage-coach ! 
 
 Lord D. Well, step into my room, doctor, and 
 I'll give you a letter which you sheill carry to the 
 inn, and bring Dick away with you. I warrant the 
 boy will be ready to jump out of his skin. 
 
 Pang. Skin ! jump ! — zounds, I'm ready to jump 
 out of mine ! I follow your lordship — Oh. Doctor 
 Pangloss ! Avhere is your philosophy now ? — I attend 
 you, my lord. — " jJEquam memento . . ." — Horace. 
 •— '*^ Servare mentum . . ." — Hem ! Bless me, I'm 
 all in a fluster. — LL. D. A double S, and three hun- 
 dred a 1 attend your lordship. \Exeuni 
 
 A Room in the Blue Boar Inn, Holborn. 
 
 Enter Waiter, showing in Zekiel Homespun, and 
 Cicely Homespun ; Zekiel carrying a Portman- 
 teau. 
 
 Waiter. This way, if you please, sir. 
 
 Zek. So here we be, at last, in London^ at the — 
 What be your sign, young man ? 
 
 Waiter. The Blue Boar, sirj one of the oldest 
 houses in Holborn. 
 
Ih THE HUIR AT LAW. [aCT I. 
 
 Zek. Oldest ! why, as you do say, young man, it 
 do seem in a tumble-downish kind of a condition, 
 indeed ! 
 
 Waiter. Shall I put your portmanteau on the 
 table, sir? [Offering to take it. 
 
 Zek. [Jerking it from him^ No, but you don't 
 tho*. I ha' heard o' the tricks o' London, though I 
 ne'er sat foot in't afore. Master Blue Boar, you ha* 
 gotten the wrong sow by the ear, I can tell ye. 
 
 Cicely. La ! brother Zekiel 1 I dare say the young 
 man is honest. 
 
 Zek. Haply he may be. Cicely 5 but the honest 
 chaps o' this town, as I be told, do need a deal o* 
 looking a'ter. Where can Dick Dowlas now be a 
 loitering so long in in the yard \ 
 
 Waiter. The gentleman that came in the coach 
 with you, sir } 
 
 Zek. Yes, yes 5 the gentleman wi' all his clothes 
 in his hand, tied up in a little blue-and- white pocket 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Waiter, Shall I bid him come up, sir ? 
 
 Zek. Ay, be so kind, will ye ? 
 
 Waiter. I shall, sir. [Exit, 
 
 Zek. I ha' nothing left but this portmanteau and 
 you. Cicely : if I was to lose either of you, what 
 would become of poor Zekiel Homespun ? 
 
 Cicely. Dear, now! this was the cry all along 
 upon the road. Don't be down-hearted, brother 5 
 there be plenty of ways of getting bread in London. 
 
 Zek. Oh, plenty, plenty ! — but many of the ways, 
 they do say, be so foul, and the bread be so dirty, it 
 would turn a nice stomach to eat on't. 
 
 Cicely. Well, I do declare, it seems a pure place ! 
 with a power of rich gentlefolks, for certain 3 fcr I 
 saw No. 945 upon one of their coach-doors as we 
 came along j and no doubt there be more of them 
 still. I do so like it, Zekiel ! 
 
 Zek. Don't ye, now — don't ye. Cicely — pray don't 
 
SCENE I. THE HEIR AT LAW. 19 
 
 ye be so merry ! You scare me out o* my senses ! 
 Think what a charge I have of ye. Cicely. Father 
 and mother dead — no kin to help us — both thrown 
 a top of the wide world to seek our fortunes, — and 
 only I to take care of ye. — Indeed, indeed, 1 do love 
 ye. Cicely ! You would break your poor brother's 
 heart if any harm was to befall you. You wouldn't 
 do that, would you, Cicely? 
 
 Cicely. I, Zekiel ! I wou'dn't hurt a hair of your 
 head if I was to be made my Lord Mayor's lady for 
 it. You have been a kind brother to me, Zekiel j 
 and if I have the luck to get a service first, I'd work 
 my fingers to the bone to maintain you. 
 
 Zek. Buss me. Cicely. — Od rabbit it, girl I I be 
 only chicken-hearted on your account. 
 
 Cicely. Well, but let us hope for the best, Zekiel. 
 Poor father has followed mother to the cold grave, 
 sure enough 5 and the squire, out of the spite he 
 owed us, has turned us out of the Castleton farm 5 
 but— 
 
 Zek. That were bad enough ! — though I could ha* 
 stomached that — but damn him! (Heaven forgive 
 us) he spoke ill o' father's memory. I'd as big a 
 mind to lick 'squire as ever I had i' my life 5 and 
 then, as you do say, to turn us adrift I 
 
 Cicely. But we are young and strong, brother 
 Zekiel, and able to get our living, 
 
 Zek. Why that be true enough, Cicely, 
 
 Cicely. Well, then, come now, pluck up a spirit ! 
 Be lightsome and jovial a bit, Zekiel, — do now ! 
 
 Zek. AVell, I — I'll do my best. Dang it, if we 
 had but a friend now ! 
 
 Cicely, Why, haven't we? 
 
 Zek. None that I do know of, bating Dick Dow- 
 las, who be come up wi' us in the Castleton coach. 
 
 Cicely. Well, brother, I'm sure he'd go through 
 fire and water to serve us. He has told me so, 
 c2 
 
^ THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I. 
 
 Zekiel, fifty good times, by the side of old Dobbin's 
 pond by moonlight. 
 
 Zek. Ay, I do know he ha' kep you company. 
 Cicely. I told him, wlien father died, that I was 
 agreeable to his liaving of you, provided matters got 
 a little more smoothish with you. 
 
 Cicely. Did you ? — La, Zekiel ! 
 
 Zek. Dick be an honest fellow. 
 
 Cicely. That he is, indeed, brother ! [Eagerly, 
 
 Zek. I lia' known him now seven good years,, 
 since first he came to Castleton j and we ha' been 
 for all the world like brothers. Dick be a little 
 rantipolish, but as generous a lad 
 
 Diciv Dowlas singing and talking without, 
 
 *^ London is a fine town, 
 
 A very famous city T 
 
 Take care of my bundle, d'ye hear ? 
 
 Enter Dick, s'mging. 
 
 '* Where all the streets are paved with gold. 
 And all the maidens pretty.'* 
 
 Well, sha'n't we have a bit of something to eat ? — 
 just a snack, Zekiel, eli ? — Here, you Waiter ! [En- 
 ter Waiter with a bundle.'] What, Cis, my girl ? — 
 Comie, get some cold beef, you. — How dost do, after 
 the journey ? — Ay, cold beef — put down the buixlle ; 
 — mustard, vinegar, and all that, you know 3 — Cis 
 likes a relish. 
 
 Waiter. Directly, sir. 
 
 [Puts Dick's bundle doivn and exit, 
 
 Dick. Ay, jumj) al)out, my tight fellow. — Zounds ! 
 how the rumbling of the old coach keeps whirling 
 in my head ! 
 
[feCENK II.] THK BBIR AT LAW, ^1 
 
 Zek. I do think, Dick, your head be always jv lit- 
 tle upon the whirligig order. 
 
 Dick. If I hadn't got out to take the reins in 
 hand now and then, 1 should have been as muzzy as 
 a methodist parson. Didn't 1 knock the tits along 
 nicely, Cis ? 
 
 Cicely, Ay, indeed, Dick> — except bumping us up 
 against the turnpike-gates, we went a-j pure and 
 pleasant ! 
 
 Dick. Pshaw ! that was an accident. ^Vell, old 
 Domine hasn't call'd for me here yet. — Can't think 
 what the old boy wants with me in London 3 — bad 
 news, I'm afraid. 
 
 Cicely. No, don't you say so, Dick! 
 
 Zek. Hap what will, Dick, Fll stand by ye. I be 
 as jjoor as Job, but — 
 
 Dick. Tip us your daddle, Zekiel j you've as ten- 
 der a heart as ever got into the tough carcase of a 
 Castleton farmer. — Yes, the old boy's last letter but 
 one told me that things were going on but badly. 
 Damn that chandler's shop ! —bacon, eggs, coals, 
 and candles, have laid him low. A bankruptcy, I 
 warranty and he is come up to town to whitewash. 
 
 Zek. And to consult wi' you, mayhap, as you be 
 in the laa, about the business. 
 
 Dick. Gad, then, it will be like consulting most 
 people in the law — he'll get nothing from me that's 
 satisfactory. Old Latitat had as little business as I 
 had inclination in the practice. 
 
 Zek. Well, but Dick, sure you can do somewhat 
 m your calling. You can draw up a w ill, or a lease 
 of a farm, now r 
 
 Dick, I can shoot a wild duck with any lawyer's 
 clerk in the country. — I can fling a bar — play at 
 cricket — 
 
 Zek. That you can 3 — I used to notch for you, 
 you do know. 
 
 Dick. I can make a bowl of punch — 
 
22 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I. 
 
 Zek, That you can: — I used to drink it wi' you, 
 you do know. 
 
 Dick. I can make love — 
 
 Cicely. That you can, Dick. 
 
 Dick. I can catch gudgeons — 
 
 Zek. Ay, ay, that be part o' your trade. Catching 
 o' gudgeons be a lawyer's chiefest employment, they 
 do say. 
 
 Dick, Well, now to business : — ^here's a news- 
 paper I picked up at the bar 5 — there is something 
 in it, I think, that will suit Cis. Read it. 
 
 Zek. [Reading^ Wanted — a maid — 
 
 Dick. That's a difficult thing to be found in Lon- 
 don, I take it. 
 
 Zek. So far 'twill do for our Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. Yes: — I'd better make haste and get the 
 place, for fear any thing should happen, you know. 
 
 Zek. Let's read it. Cicely. Wanted a maid-servant^ 
 by a young lady — 
 
 Cicely. Dear! — a young lady! — 
 
 Zek. Who lives very retired at the west-end of the 
 town — must be clean in her person ; — Cicely be very 
 clean. 
 
 Dick. As any lass in Derbyshire. 
 
 Zek. And good natured — Cicely be as good na- 
 tured a girl as ever — umph ! Well, let's see — and 
 willing to do what is required. 
 
 Cicely. Well, I am very willing, you know^ Dick, 
 an't I ? 
 
 Dick. That you arc, Cis. Kiss me. 
 
 Cicely. La ! Dick, this will just do ! I'm so 
 pleased ! 
 
 Zek. If from the country, the better. — Rabbit it. 
 Cicely, this be the very thing ! Tol, de rol, lol ! or 
 if any farmer, in difficulties, from a numerous family, 
 wishes to put his daughter to a service — Oh, my poor 
 old father! — this be the thing! — she will meet the 
 tenderest care from the lady, who has herself known 
 
SCENE II.] TUB HEIR AT LAW. 23 
 
 what it is to be unfortunate. Tol. de rol, lol ! Buss 
 me. Cicely ! — Hug me, Dick Dowlas ! — I shall pro- 
 vide for sister, — the care next my very heart. Tol, 
 de rol, lol ! — Rabbit it ! I be ready to choke for joy ! 
 
 Cicely. Dear, now I this is the rarest luck '.-—Live 
 with a young lady ! — I shall be so great and grand — 
 
 Dick. And grow giddy with good fortune, and 
 forget your poor friends, Cis. 
 
 Zek. No, no — Cicely be too good for that. — For- 
 get a poor friend ! — When such giddy folks do 
 chance to get a tumble, they may e'en thank them- 
 selves if nobody be ready to help them up. 
 
 Cicely. Now, I wouldn't have said such words to 
 you, Dick. — You know, so you do, if I was to be 
 made a queen, it would be my pride, Dick, to share 
 all my gold with brother and you. 
 
 Dick. My dear Cis ! — well, I'm sorry j 'faith I am : 
 and if ever I, or my family, should come to fortune, 
 — but, pshaw ! — damn it, my fatrher keeps a chand- 
 ler's shop without custom. 
 
 Enter Waiter. 
 
 Waiter. The cloth is laid for you in the other 
 room, gentlemen j for you can't dine here. 
 
 Dick. Why so? 
 
 Waiter. The churchw^ardens come to eat a great 
 dinner here, once a month, for the good of the poor. 
 -—This is their day. 
 
 Zek. That's as they do down wi' us : — but I could 
 never find out why stuffing a churchwarden's guts 
 was for the good of the poor o' the parish. 
 
 Dick. Nor I, neither ^ unless he got a surfeit that 
 carried him off. Come, Zekiel ; you shall go pre- 
 sently after the place j but first let us refresh — What 
 we eat will be for the good of the poor, I'm certain. 
 — Cis, your arm. — Take my bundle, you dogj [To 
 the Waiter,] and don't drop any thing out, for I've 
 no linen to spare. — Come^ Cis ! [Exeunt. 
 
24 TUB UEI« AT LAW. [aCT II 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 ^n Apartment. 
 
 Enter Caroline Dormer. 
 
 Car. I wish Kenrick were come back. My last 
 hope hangs upon the answer he will bring me. — 
 World ! world ! — when affluence points the telescope 
 how closely does it attract thy venal inhabitants ! — 
 how magnified are all their smiles ! Let poverty re- 
 verse the glassj far distant does it cast them from 
 us, and the features of friendship are dwindled into 
 nothing. — I hear him coming. 
 
 Enter Kenrick. 
 
 Well, Ke»rick, you have carried the letter ? 
 Ken. Indeed, and I have. Miss Caroline- 
 Car. And what answer from my father's old 
 friend, Kenrick ? 
 
 Ken, 'Faith, now, your father's old friend, beg- 
 ging your pardon, answered like a big blackguard. 
 
 Car. Surely, Kenrick, he could not look surj)rised 
 at my application ? 
 
 Ken. 'Faith, he looked for all the world as if he 
 had swallowed a bottle of vinegar. When I was his 
 honour's (your poor deceased father's) butler, and 
 helped this dear old friend to good bumpers of Ma- 
 
SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 25 
 
 deira, and be hanged to him, he made clean another 
 sort of a face of it. 
 
 Car. And has he sent no letter in answer ? 
 
 Ken, Not a syllable at this present writing; it 
 was all by varbal word of dirty mouth. 
 
 Car. Insulting! 
 
 Ken. Give my compliments to Miss Caroline Dor- 
 mer, says he, and tell her I'm sorry for her mis- 
 fortunes : — Bless you, says I. — But 1 cannot be of 
 the smallest service to her. — The devil fly away with 
 you, thinks I. 
 
 Car. Did he assign no reason? 
 
 Ken. Och! to be sure, an ould Skinflint doesn't 
 always give you plenty of reasons for being hard- 
 hearted ! — 'Tis fitting he should. Miss, because the 
 case requires it 3 — but compassion is compassion; 
 and that's reason enough for showing it in all con- 
 science. 
 
 Car. But what said he, Kenrick? 
 
 Ken. Her father, Mr. Dormer's bankruptcy, says 
 he, has made a terrible deal of noise in the world. — 
 Ay, and a terrible deal of work, too, says I ; for you 
 know. Miss Caroline, my poor old master, rest his 
 soul ! was one of the biggest merchants in the city 
 of London. 
 
 Car. True, Kenrick; but died almost one of its 
 poorest inhabitants. 
 
 Ken. That*s what the ould fellow said. — Her fa- 
 ther has died so involved, says he, that no prudent 
 man can concern himself for the daughter, or run the 
 risk of meddling with his affairs. — And so he ended, 
 with his respects, and a parcel of palaver, to you; 
 and an offer of half a crown to your humble servant, 
 as an ould acquaintance. 
 
 Car, And yet, had my father's prudence been of 
 his complexion, I doubt, Kenrick, whether this 
 man would now have had half-a-crown to offer you. 
 
 Ken. Och ! now, if 1 had but minted to teli him 
 
2ff THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT II 
 
 that! — But I made the half crown tell it him, as 
 plain as it could speak; — for I threw it upon the 
 ould miser's table with a great big whacli ; and by 
 my soul he never jumped so high at two-and-six- 
 pence before in all his beggarly born days. 
 
 Car. Then there is no hope from that quarter, 
 Kenrick. 
 
 Ken. No more hope than there is in a dead coach- 
 horse. 
 
 Car. I would wish to be alone, Kenrick: — pray 
 leave me. 
 
 Ken. Leave you ! and in griefs Miss Caroline ! 
 
 Car. I would not have you, my good old man, a 
 witness to my atHiction. 
 
 Ken. What, and wasn't my poor, dear, departed 
 wife, Judith, your own nurse — wet and dry — for 
 many a good year ? and isn't myself, Felix Kenrick, 
 your own' foster-fiither, that have dandled you in 
 these ould arms when you were the size of a dump- 
 ling? and will I leave you to take on, after this 
 fashion, all alone, by yourself? 
 
 Car. Pray, pray be silent, Kenrick! — Oh, nature! 
 — spite of the inequalities which birth or education 
 have placed between thy children, — still, nature, 
 with all thy softness, I own thee ! — The tear of an 
 old and faithful servant, which bedews the ruins 
 of his shelter, is an honest drop that penetrates the 
 heart. 
 
 Ken. Ay, cry away, my poor Miss Caroline ! cry 
 away ! — I shared the sun-shine of your family, and 
 it is but fair that I should go halves in the rain. 
 
 Car. A poor two hundred pounds, Kenrick, are 
 now all that remain to me. 
 
 Ken. Well, come, two hundred pounds, now-a- 
 days, are not to be sneezed at. Consider how con- 
 soling it is, my dear Miss, to think that, with good 
 maneigement, it may be a matter of two years before 
 you are left without a penny in the whole wide 
 
SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 2*^ 
 
 world ! — and that s four-and-twenty kalendar months, 
 you know. 
 
 Car. Had this Jiollow friend of m^ father's exerted 
 himself, in the wreck of our house's fortune, he might 
 probably, have averted the penury which threatens 
 me. 
 
 Ken. Och ! if I could but beat humanity into his 
 heart, through his carcase, I'd make him as tender 
 as a sucking pig. 
 
 Car. Lord Duberly's death, too, in the moment of 
 my difficulties ! — In him I might, still, have found a 
 protector. 
 
 Ke7i. Ay, and his brave son, too, the Honourable 
 Mr. Henry Morland, that was to have married you. 
 — Well, be of good heart, now — for he's dead ! — tlie 
 poor drowned youth ! 
 
 Car. Desist, Kenrick, I beseech you ! 
 
 Ken. Ay, well, now, you are unhappy ; but you 
 see I'm after making you easy. — Just as the two 
 families had popped down the man of your heart 
 for your husband, 'faith he popped himself into his 
 decent watery grave ; and I am left the only tender 
 friend you have in the world, to remind you of it. 
 
 Car. Remind me no more, Kenrick. Your inten- 
 tion is good, but this is torment to me, instead of-^ 
 
 Zek, IWithout.'] Above stairs ! — Oh ! very well, 
 ma'am ! — thank you, ma'am ! 
 
 Car. Hark ! — I hear somebody enquiring for me, 
 on the stairs. 
 
 Ken. Now, that's the worst of these lodgings. 
 'Faith, the people come into your house before you 
 have opened the door. 
 
 lA knock at the door of the room. 
 
 Car. Come in. 
 
 Enter Zekiel and Cicely Homespun. 
 
 Have you any business with me, friend ? 
 p 
 
^8 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT II 
 
 Zek. AVhy, yes, madam, — it be a smallish bit of 
 business, as a body may say. 
 
 Car. Well, young man ? 
 
 Zek. Why, madam, I be come to — Pray, if I may 
 make so bold, isn't your name A. B. ? 
 
 Car, Oh ! I understand ; — you come in conse- 
 quence of an Jidvertisement. — I believe you may 
 leave us, Kenrick. — It was I who advertised for a 
 maid-servant. 
 
 Zek. And, with submission, madam, I be come to 
 oiTer for the place. 
 
 Ken. This is the first time I ever saw a servant- 
 maid in a pair of leathern breeches, in all my life. 
 
 \_Exit Kenrick. 
 
 Car. You, honest friend, as a maid-servant I 
 
 Zek Yes, for Cicely. — Curt'sey, Cicely. 
 
 Cicchj. I do, brother Zekiel. 
 
 Zek. This be my sister, madam. — We be newly 
 come from Derbyshire 3 and, lighting at the Blue 
 Boar — the great inn — in — Holbourn — that — ^but 
 perhaps, you may frequent it, madam ? 
 
 Car. A\'ell, friend ! 
 
 Zek. Why, we stumbled upon your notice in the 
 news, matlam ; and so — and so here we be, madam. 
 
 Car. [To Cicely.] Have you ever been in service 
 before, child ? 
 
 Cicely. No, never, if you please, madam. — I was 
 -always with father, and minded the dairy. 
 
 Car. And why did you quit your father, pray? 
 
 Cicely. lie died, if you please, madam. — It was a 
 sad day for brother and I. — Tis a cruel thing, ma- 
 dam, to lose a good father. 
 
 Car. It is, indeed, child — I can well feel it. 
 
 Cicely. And wken he die? in distress, too, ma- 
 dam 
 
 Car, Did your father die so, child > 
 
 Zek. All along o' that damned 'squire. — Mothe 
 ware gone long ago 3 — and^ when children be left 
 
SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 29 
 
 destitute, it be hard to find a friend to compassionate 
 them. 
 
 Car. I — I will be that friend. — My power is little 
 — almost nothing — butj as far as it can go, you shall 
 find a protection. • 
 
 Cicely. Oh, the gracious ! — What a pure lady ? 
 
 Car. But, can you refer me to any one, for a cha* 
 racter ? 
 
 Zek. I ha gotten a character in my pocket, ma- 
 dam. — They tell me that be the way they do take 
 most characters in London. — Here be a certificate, 
 from Parson Brock, of our parish. {^Giving it. 
 
 Car. I see. — What can you do to be useful. Cicely ? 
 
 Cicely. Oh, a power of things ! — I can churn, and 
 feed ducks ; milk cows, and fatten a pig, madam. 
 
 Zek. Yes, yes, — ^you will find sister Cicely handy 
 enough, I warrant her. 
 
 Car. All this will be of little service in London. 
 
 Zek. Od rabbit it, madam, she will soon learn here 
 to put her hand to any thing. — Won't you. Cicely ? 
 
 Cicely. If I don't, it sha'n't be for want of inclina- 
 tion, so please you, my lady. 
 
 Car. Well, child, come in the evening, and you shall 
 begin your service. We shall not disagree about 
 wages : and you will be treated more like an humble 
 friend than a servant. — Kenrick ! — I shall have only 
 yourself and a poor faithful Irishman. 
 
 Zek. \_Aside?^ An Irishman ! — dang it, these Irish- 
 men, as I be told, be devils among the girls. — My 
 mind do misgive me 5 for Cicely be young, and 
 thoughtless. 
 
 Enter Kenrick. 
 
 Car. Show these good people down, Kenrick 3 and 
 take this bill to Lombard Street. 
 
 Ken. I shall do that thing. Miss Caroline. 
 
 Zek. Oh ! then this be the Irishman. He be a 
 plaguy old one, indeed ! Come, there be nothing to 
 
30 THE HEIR AT LA\f. fACt II. 
 
 fear about he. [Aside.'] — ^A good day to you, madam 
 — Curt'sey, Cicely. 
 
 Ken. Come, you two go first'; for I mast be after 
 showing you the way, you know. 
 
 [^Exit^ following Zekiel and Cicely 
 
 Car. This simple girl's story approaches so near 
 to my own, that it touches me. Poor innocence ! — 
 mine is a sorry shelter in your wanderings j yet, it 
 may be warmer than one more splendid 3 for opulence 
 relieves, sometimes with coldness, sometimes with 
 ostentation, sometimes with levity 5 but sympathy 
 kindles the brightest spark that shines on the altar of 
 compassion -, and tenderness pours on it the sweetest 
 balm that charity produces, when the afflicted admi- 
 nister to the aflflicted. lExiL 
 
 SCENE n. 
 
 A Room in the Blue Boar Inn, 
 
 Enter Dr. Panoloss and Waiter. 
 
 Pang. Let the chariot turn about. — Dr. Pangloss^ 
 in a lord's chariot ! — " Curru portatur eodem." — 
 Juvenal. — Hem ! — ^Waiter ! 
 
 Waiter. Sir. 
 
 Pang, Have you any gentleman here who arrived 
 this morning ? 
 
 Waiter. There's one in the house now, sir. 
 
 Pang. Is he juvenile ? 
 
 Waiter. No, sir ; he's Derbyshire. 
 
 Pang. He ! he ! he ! — Of what appearance i« th^ 
 gentleman ? 
 
joi..'**!:. i,.j THE HEIR AT LAW. 51 
 
 Waiter. Why, plaguy poor, sir. 
 
 Pang. '^ I hold him rich, al had he not a sherte." 
 — Chaucer. — Hem ! — Denominated the Honourable 
 Mr. Dowlas } 
 
 Waiter. Honourable! — He left his name plain 
 Dowlas, at the bar, sir. 
 
 Pang. Plain Dowlas, did he ? — ^That will do,— 
 ^' For all the rest is leather, — " 
 
 Waiter. Leather, sir ! 
 
 Pang. — '' and prunello." — Pope. — Hem ! — Tell 
 Mr. Dowlas, a gentleman requests the honour of an 
 interview. 
 
 Waiter. This is his room, sir. — He is but just 
 stept into our parcel warehouse ) he'll be with you 
 directly. [Exit. 
 
 Pang. Never before did honour and affluence let 
 fall such a shower on the head of Doctor Pangloss ! 
 — Fortune, I thank thee ! — Propitious goddess, I am 
 grateful ! — I, thy favoured child, who commenced his 
 career in the loftiest apartment of a muffin-maker, in 
 Milk-alley. — Little did I think, — '' good easy man," 
 — Shakspeare. — Hem ! — of the riches, and literary 
 dignities, which now — 
 
 Enter Dick Dowlas. 
 
 My pupil ! 
 
 Dick. [^Speaking while e?itering.'] Well, where is the 
 man that wants Oh ! 3^ou are he, I suppose — 
 
 Pang. I am the man, young gentleman ! — '' Homo 
 sum." — ^Terence. — Hem ! — Sir, the person who now 
 presumes to address you, is Peter Pangloss j to whose 
 name, in the college of Aberdeen, is subjoined LL.D. 
 signifying Doctor of Laws j to which has been re- 
 cently added the distinction of A double S ; — the 
 Roman initials for a Fellow of tiie Society of Arts.. . 
 
 Dick. Sir, I am your most obedient Richard Dow- 
 las ', to whose name, in his tailor's bill, is subjoined 
 D. R. signifying Debtor; to which are added 
 
351 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT tr, 
 
 L. S. D. ; — the Roman initials for pounds, shillings^ 
 and pence. 
 
 Pang, Ha I — this youth was doubtless designed 
 by destiny to move in the circles of fashion; for 
 he's dipt in debt, and makes a merit of telling it. 
 
 Dick, But what are your commands with me, doc- 
 tor ? 
 
 Pang. I have the honour, young gentleman, of 
 being deputed an ambassador to you from your 
 father. 
 
 Dick. Then you have the honour to be ambassa- 
 dor of as good-natured an old fellow as ever sold a 
 ha' porth of cheese in a chandler's shop. 
 
 Pang. Pardon me, if, on the subject of your fa- 
 ther's cheese, I advise you to be as mute as a mouse 
 in one, for the future. 'Twere better to keep that 
 *^ alta mente repostum." — ^Virgil. — Hem. 
 
 Dick. Why, what's the matter ! — Any misfor- 
 tune ? — ^Broke, I fear ! 
 
 Pang. No, not broke : — but his name, as 'tis 
 customary, in these cases, has appear'd in the Ga- 
 zette. 
 
 Die A:. Not broke, but gazetted ! — Why, zounds, 
 and the devil ! 
 
 Pang. Check your passions ; — learn philosophy. — 
 When the wife of the great Socrates threw a — hum ! 
 — threw a tea-pot at his erudite head, he was as cool 
 as a cucumber. — When Plato — 
 
 Dick. Damn Plato!-— What of my father > 
 
 Pang. Don't damn Plato ! — The bees swarmed 
 round liis melliiluous moutli as soon as he was swad- 
 dled. — '' Cum in cunis apes in labellis consedissent, 
 . . ." — Cicero. — Hem ! 
 
 Dick. I wish you had a swarm round yours, with 
 all my heart. — Come to the point. 
 
 Pang. In due time. But calm your cholcr. — 
 " Ira furor brevis est . . .'* — Horace. — Hem! — Read 
 this. IGivcs a letter. 
 
SCENE II.J THE HEIR AT LAW. 33 
 
 Dick, [Snatches the letter, breaks it open, and 
 reads.] Dear Dick, — This comes to inform you lam in 
 a perfect state of health, hoping you are the same. — Ay, 
 that's the old beginning. — It was my lot, last week, to 
 he made — ay, a bankrupt, I suppose — to be made a . ,, 
 — ^what ? — to he made a P, E, A, R ; — a pear ! — to be 
 made a pear ! — what the devil does he mean by that ? 
 
 Pang. A peer — a peer of the realm. — His lord- 
 ship's orthography is a little loose, but several of his 
 equals countenance the custom. Lord Loggerhead 
 always spells physician with an F. 
 
 Dick. A peer ! — what, my father !— I'm electrified ! 
 — Old Daniel Dowlas made a peer ! — ^But let me see 
 — [Reads on.] — A pear of the realm. — Lawyer Ferret 
 got me my tittle . . . — titt — Oh, title ! — and an estate oj 
 fifteen thousand per ann. — by making me out next oj 
 kin to old Lord Duberly, because he died without — 
 without hair. — 'Tis an odd reason, by the by, to be 
 next of kin to a nobleman, because he died bald. 
 
 Pang. His lordship means heir — ^heir to his estate. 
 —We shall meliorate his style speedily. — *' Reform 
 it altogether." — Shakspeare. — Hem ! 
 
 Dick. / send my carrot . . . — Carrot ! 
 
 Pang, He ! he ! he ! — Chariot, his lordship means^ 
 
 Dick. With Dr. Pangloss in it. 
 
 Pang. That's me. 
 
 Dick. Respect him, for he's an LL.D., and more- 
 over an A double S. [They bow 
 
 Pang, His lordship kindly condescended to inseri 
 that at my request. 
 
 Dick. A7id I have made him your tutorer, to mend 
 your cakelaLogy. 
 
 Pang. Cac£dogy; — '' from Kaxo; *' malus," and 
 Aoyo^, '' verbum.^' — Vide Lexicon. — Hem ! 
 
 Dick. Come with the doctor to my house in Hanover 
 Square. — Hanover Square ! — I remain your affec- 
 tionate father , to command, Duberly. 
 
 Pang. That's his lordship*s title. 
 
S4 THE HEIR AT LAv». ^_AC1 . . 
 
 Dick. It is > 
 
 Pan<^. It is. 
 
 Dick. Say, sir, to a lord's son. — ^Youhave no more 
 manners than a bear ! 
 
 Pang. Bear ! — under favour young gentleman^ I 
 am the bear-leader j being appointed your tutor. 
 
 Dick. And what can you teach me ? 
 
 Pang. Prudence. — Don't forget yourself in sudden 
 success. — ''' Tecum habita." — Persius. — Hem ! 
 
 Dick. Prudence, to a nobleman's son, with fifteen 
 thousand a year ! 
 
 Pang. Don't give way to your passions, 
 
 Dick. Give way! — Zounds! — I'm wild; — mad! 
 — You teach me ! — Pooh — I have been in London 
 before, and know it requires no teaching to be a 
 modern fine gentleman. Why, it all lies in a nut- 
 shell : — sport a curricle — walk Bond Street — play at 
 Faro — get drunk — dance reels — go to the opera — 
 cut off your tail — pull on your pantaloons — and 
 there's a buck of the first fashion in town for you. — 
 Dam'me ! d'ye think I don't know what's going } 
 
 Pang. Mercy on me ! — I shall have a very re- 
 fractory pupil ! 
 
 Dick. Not at all. — We'll be hand and glove to- 
 gether, my little doctor. I'll drive you down to all 
 the races, with my little terrier between your legs, in 
 a tandem. 
 
 Pang. Doctor Pangloss, the philosopher, with a 
 terrier between his legs, in a tandem ! 
 
 Dick. I'll tell you what, doctor — I'll make you 
 my long-stop at cricket — you shall draw corks, when 
 I'm president — laugh at my jokes before comj)any — 
 squeeze lemons for punch — cast up the reckoning — 
 and wo betide you, if you don't keep sober enough 
 to see me safe home, after a jollification ! 
 
 Pang. Make me a long-stop, and a squeezer of 
 lemons I — Zounds ! — this is more fiitiguing than 
 
fCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW, 35 
 
 walking out with the lap-dogs ! — ^And are these the 
 qualifications for a tutor^ young gentleman ? 
 
 Dick. To be sure, they are. 'Tis the way that half 
 the prig parsons, who educate us Honourables, jump 
 into fat livings. 
 
 Pang, 'Tis well they jump into something fat, at 
 last, for they must wear all the flesh off their bones 
 in the process. 
 
 Dick, Come now, tutor, go you and call the 
 waiter. 
 
 Pang. Go, and call ! — Sir, sir ! — I'd have you to 
 understand, Mr. Dowlas — 
 
 Dick. Ay, let us understand one another, doctor. 
 — ^My father, I take it, comes down handsomely to 
 you, for your management of me ? 
 
 Pang. My lord has been liberal. 
 
 Dick. But, 'tis I must manage you, doctor. — Ac- 
 knowledge this, and, between ourselves, I'll find 
 means to double your pay. 
 
 Pang. Double my — 
 
 Dick, Do you hesitate ? — Why, man, you have set 
 up for a modern tutor without knowing your trade \ 
 
 Pang, Double my pay ! — say no more — Done. 
 '^ Actum est." — Terence. — Hem ! — Waiter ! IBawU 
 ing.'] — Gad, I'vereach'd the right reading at Izist — 
 *' I've often wish'd that I had, clear. 
 
 For life, six hundred pounds a year " 
 
 8wift.— Hem !— Waiter ! 
 
 Dick. That's right ; tell him to pop my clothes 
 and linen into the carriage 5 — they are in that 
 bundle. 
 
 Enter Waiter. 
 
 Pang. Waiter ! — Here, put all the Honourable 
 Mr. Dowlas's clothes and linen into his father's^ 
 Lord Duberly's, chariot. 
 
 Waiter, Where are they all, sir ? 
 
36 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT. II. 
 
 Pang. All wrapt up in the Honourable Mr. Dow- 
 las's pocket handkerchief. [feiMVAiTER with bundle. 
 
 Dick. See 'em safe in, doctor, and I'll be with you 
 directly. 
 
 Pang. I go, most worthy pupil. — Six hundred 
 pounds a year ! — However deficient in the classics, 
 his knowledge of arithmetic is admirable ! — 
 *' I've often wish'd that I had, clear. 
 For life,—" 
 
 Dick. Nay, nay, don't be so slow. 
 
 Pang. Swift. — Hem ! — I'm gone. [Exit. 
 
 Dick. What am I to do with ZeV.iel and Cis ! — 
 — When a poor man has grown great, his old ac- 
 quaintance, generally, begin to be troublesome. 
 
 Enter Zekiel. 
 
 Zek. Well, I han't been long. 
 
 Dick. No, you are come time enough, in all con- 
 science. [Cooly. 
 
 Zek. Cicely ha' gotten the place. — I be e'en almost 
 stark wild wi' joy. — Such a good-natured young ma- 
 dam ! — Why, you don't seem pleased, man •, — sure, 
 and sure, you be glad of our good fortune, Dick ? 
 
 Dick. —Dick 1— Why, what do you— Oh ! but he 
 doesn't know, yet, that I am a lord's son — I rejoice 
 to hear of your success, friend Zeliiel. 
 
 Zek. Why, now, that's hearty. — But, eh ! — Why, 
 you look mortal heavy and lumpish, Dick. No bad 
 tidings, since we ha' been out, I hope? 
 
 Dick. Oh, no ! 
 
 Zek. Eh ? —Let's ha' a squint at \ou. Od rabbit 
 it, but summut have happened. — You have seen your 
 father, and things ha' gone crossish. — Who have been 
 here, Dick ? 
 
 Dick. Only a gentleman, who had the honour of 
 being deputed ambassador from my father. 
 
 Zek. What a dickens, an ambassador ! — Pish, now 
 you be a queering a body. — An ambassador, sent 
 
SCENE IlJ THE HEIR AT LAW. 37 
 
 from an old chandler, to Dick Dowlas, lawyer Lati- 
 tat' s clerk ? — Come, that be a good one, fegs ! 
 
 Dick. Dick Dowlas ! and lawyer's clerk ! — Sir, 
 the gentleman came to inform me that my father, 
 by being proved next of kin to the late lord, is now 
 Lord Duberly ; by which means I am now the 
 Honourable Mr. Dowlas. 
 
 Zek. Ods flesh ! — gi' us your fist, Dick ! — I ne'er 
 shook the fist of an Honourable afore, in all my born 
 days. — Old Daniel made a lord ! — I be main glad to 
 hear it. — This be news, indeed ! But, Dick, — ^1 hope 
 he ha* gotten some ready along wi' his title 5 for a 
 lord without money be but a foolish, wishy-washy 
 kind of a thing, a'ter all. 
 
 Dick. My father's estate is fifteen thousand a-year. 
 
 Zek. Mercy on us ! — you ha ta'en away my breath ! 
 
 Dick. Well, Zekiel, Cis and you shall hear from 
 me soon. 
 
 Zek. Why, you ben't a going, Dick ? 
 
 Dick. I must pay my duty to his lordship 3 his 
 chariot waits for me below. — We bave been some 
 time acquainted, Zekiel, and you may depend upon 
 my good offices. 
 
 Zek. You do seem a little flustrated with these 
 tidings. Dick — I — I should be loth to think our 
 kindness was a cooling. 
 
 Dick. Oh, no ! — rely on my protection. 
 
 Zek. Why, look ye, Dick Dowlas : — as to protec- 
 tion, and all that, we ha' been old friends 3 and, if I 
 should need it from you, it be no more nor my right 
 to expect it, and your business to give it me : — but 
 Cicely ha' gotten a place, and I ha' hands and health, 
 to get a livelihood. Fortune, good or bad, tries the 
 man, they do say 5 and, if I should hap to be made a 
 lord to-morrow, (as who can say what may betide, 
 since they ha' made one out of an old chandler) ^- 
 
 Dick. Well, sir, and what then } 
 
 Zek, Why, then, the finest feather in my lordshio> 
 
38 THB HEIR AT LAW. [aCT II. 
 
 cap would be, to show that there would be as much 
 shame in slighting an old friend, because he be poor, 
 as there be pleasure in owning him, when it be in 
 our power to do him service. 
 
 Dick. You mistake me, Zekiel. I — I — 'Sdeath ! 
 I'm quite confounded ! — I'm trying to be as fashion- 
 able, here, as my neighbours, but nature comes in, 
 and knocks it all on the head. \_Asid'e.'] Zekiel, give 
 me your hand. 
 
 Zek. Then there be a hearty Castleton slap for 
 you. — The grasp of an honest man can't disgrace the 
 hand of a duke, Dick. 
 
 Dick. You're a kind soul, Zekiel. I regard you 
 sincerely j I love Cicely, and— damn it, I'm going too 
 far, now, for a lord's son. Piide and old friendship 
 are, now, fighting in me, till I am almost bewildered. 
 [Aside.'] You shall hear from me in a few hours. — 
 Good by'e, Zekiel j — good by'e ! . lExit. 
 
 Zek. I don't know what ails me, but I be almost 
 ready to cry. — Dick be a high-mettled youth, and 
 this news ha* put him a little beside himself. — I 
 should make a bit of allowance. His heart, I do 
 think, be in the right road 5 and when that be the 
 case, he be a hard judge that won't pardon an old 
 friend's spirits, when they do carry him a little way 
 out on't. [£a?i^ 
 
SCENE I."] THE HBIH AT LAW. 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 j4ri Hotel. 
 
 Enter Henry Morland, Stedfast, and a Waiter, 
 
 Waiter. These are the apartments, gentlemen© 
 
 Henry. They will do. Leave us. 
 
 Waiter. Would you choose any refreshment, geiK 
 tlemen? — Our hotel provides dinners. 
 
 Sted. No chattering : — we have business — [Exit, 
 Waiter.] Welcome, at last, INIr. Morland, to Lon- 
 don. After wandering over foreign lands, with what 
 joy an Englishman sets his foot on British ground ! 
 His heart swells with pleasure, as he drives through 
 his fat, nj^e soil, which ruddy labour has cultivated, 
 till he reaches this grand reservoir of opulence : — 
 an opulence which may well make him proud, for its 
 honourable source is his countrymen's industry. 
 
 Henry. To you, Stedfast, who have no private fears 
 — no anxieties for your family, the satisfaction must 
 be exquisite. 
 
 Sted. Why, I am an old bachelor, 'tis true, and 
 without relations : but the whole country is my fa- 
 mily. I could not help thinking as we posted to 
 town, that each jolly peasant, and each cherry- 
 cheeked lass^ was a kind of humble brother and sis- 
 
 £ 
 
40 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III. 
 
 ter to me 5 — and they called forth my affections ac- 
 cordingly. Rich or poor, great or small, we all form 
 one chain, Henry. May the larger and lesser links 
 hold kindly together, till time slides into eternity ! 
 
 Henry. Truce to these reflections, now, my dear 
 Stedfast 5 — they do your heart honour 5 but mine is 
 filled with a thousand apprehensions. My father, — 
 Caroline 
 
 Sted, A father, and a mistress ! Duty and love. — 
 That's a slow fire, and a fierce blaze j — and, doubt 
 blowing the bellows upon them, — 'tis enough to 
 scorch a young soul to a cinder. 
 
 Henry. 'Tis strange I have never heard from either 
 of them. After escaping the perils uf shipwreck ! — 
 after the sufferings which followed, — a father — and a 
 mistress, soon to be made my wife, — might, surely, 
 have sent one line to testify their pleasure at my pre- 
 servation. 
 
 Sterl. Ay, now make yourself miserable. — ^A young 
 mind is too soon sanguine, and, therefore, too soon 
 depressed. 
 
 Henry. Why, what can be the reason that they 
 have never noticed my letters ? 
 
 Sted. Um I — there is one reason, indeed, that 
 
 Henry. You alarm me ! — What can that be ? 
 
 Sted. That they have never received them. 
 
 Henry. Impossible! 
 
 Sted. Nothing more likely. Consider, your last 
 letter, from Quebec, told your father. Lord Duberly, 
 that you had arranged all the business which had 
 called you there, and that in three days, you should 
 embark for England. 
 
 Henry. Well, that he never answered. 
 
 Sted. I can't tell. — Probably not. Most people 
 think it somewhat superfluous to write to a corre- 
 spondent at Quebec, after he has left the place. 
 
 Henry. Pshaw! — I'm bewildered. — But, since — 
 
 Sted, Why, since, the chances have been against 
 
SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 41 
 
 you. Wrecked on our passage — thrown upon the 
 uninhabited part of the island of Caps Breton 
 
 Henry. I shall never think of it without horror : 
 — nor without gratitude, Stedfast. To your friendly 
 care, (strangers as we, then, were to each other,) 
 on that frozen shore of desolation, I owe my life. 
 
 Sted. Pshaw ! — nonsense — we both met as fellow- 
 passengers, and were fellow-sufferers ; and I happened 
 to be the toughest, that's all. — To do as we would be 
 done by is merely a part of our duty. — But, there is 
 so much fuss made about it now, that I am afraid, 
 the duty is too often neglected. I suppose we shall 
 thank our shoe-black for brushing our boots, though 
 we reward him for his business. 
 
 Henry. Yet humanity, Stedfast — 
 
 Sted. Is every man's business : — and the reward 
 he will ultimately receive for it, is far above human 
 calculation. — But come, — thank Providence and not 
 me. — To survive at the end of two months, when 
 most of the small parcel of our comrades were dead, 
 or dying, about us, with cold and hunger, is no com- 
 mon escape. 
 
 Henry. And, then, in a desperate hope, to launch 
 our shattered boat in quest of an inhabited country ; 
 and to toss about, for two months more, till, be- 
 numbed and perishing, we were discovered by the 
 native and friendly Indians. — All this, Stedfast, was, 
 indeed, a stout trial 
 
 Sted, Then away with trifling fears, now. Since 
 our deliverance, we have changed our ground, daily, 
 on our return to England. The time — the distance 
 *— your letters — theirs — all may have miscarried. 
 
 Henry. May it prove so ! — But, let me hasten to 
 my fathers, and clear my doubts. 
 
 Sted, Stay, stay, stay ! — You know 'twas at mv 
 request you drove to this hotel: — now, pray, at my 
 request, let me wait on Lord Duberly, to prepare 
 him for your appearance. 
 
4^ THfi HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III. 
 
 Henry, But for what purpose ? 
 
 Sted, A very evident one. — ^The wreck of our ship 
 has, doubtless, long been public in London ; and, as 
 the crew and passengers are, probably, all supposed 
 to have perished, your abrupt entrance at your fa- 
 ther's might be too much for him. 
 
 Henry. You are perfectly right. — In the moment 
 when our passions are afloat, how beneficial is the 
 cool judgment of a friend to direct us ! — But, shou'dn't 
 I give you a line of introduction to my father } 
 
 Sted, Umph ! — why, according to usual form, in- 
 deed 5 — but I was never good at forms ; and, in this 
 case, it may be better to let me introduce myself, in 
 my own way. I hope Lord Duberly is no stickler for 
 ceremonies. 
 
 Henry, He has the manliest virtue, and the warm- 
 est heart, in the world, my friend 5 but, I confess, to 
 those who are unacquainted with him, these qualites, 
 at first, are a little concealed, by a coldness in manner 
 that— 
 
 Sted. Oh ! I understand ; — a little stately or so 
 
 Henry. Only a little of the vielle cour about him. 
 — ^A long habit of haranguing in parliament gives a 
 man a kind of dignity of deportment, and an eleva- 
 tion of style, not met with every day, you know. — 
 But gentleman is written, legibly, on his brow, — 
 erudition shines through every polished period of his 
 language, — and he is the best of men^ and fathers, 
 believe me. 
 
 Sted. Ay, ay ! I see, I see ! — Grand and stiff, but 
 of sterling value, like an old-fashioned silver candle- 
 stick. — Well, I'll soon bring you an account of my 
 embassy. ■ 
 
 Henry. And, while you are at my father's, I will 
 walk to Mr. Dormer's. — My suspense about Caroline 
 is intolerable. I must see the good old gentleman, 
 and he will break my arrival to his daughter. 
 
 Sted. Meet me, then, here in a couple of hours. 
 
(SCENE Il.j THE HEIR AT LAW. 43 
 
 Henry Be ii so> — ^A thousand thanks^ my dear 
 Stedfast i 
 
 Sted, A. thousand dfiddlesticks \ — I hate to be 
 thanked, a thousand times, for a trifle. I know 'tis 
 the language of the day 3 — but modern compUment- 
 ary cant is the coinage of dishonesty, — for the pro- 
 fession exceeds the feeUng :— and, nine men in ten, 
 who give it under their hands that they are your most 
 devoted humble servants, pledge themselves to you 
 for much more than they ever mean to perform. 
 
 [^Exeunt, 
 
 An Apartment in Lord Duberly's House. 
 
 Lady Duberly and Dr. Pangloss, discovered. 
 
 Lady B. And, how does my lord come on in his 
 learning, doctor ? 
 
 Pang. Apt, very apt, indeed, for his age. — Defec- 
 tive in nothing, now, but words, phrases, and gram- 
 mar. 
 
 Lady D, I wish you could learn him to follow my 
 example, and be a little genteel: — but there is no 
 making a silk purse out of a sow's ear, they say. 
 
 Pang. Time may do much. — But, as to my lord, 
 every body hasn't your ladyslnp's exquisite elegance. 
 — '' Upon my soul, a lie." — Shakspeare. — Hem ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lady D. A mighty pretty-spoken man ! — ^And, you 
 are made tutorer, I'm to d, doctor, to my Dicky , 
 
 e2 -^ 
 
44 THE HEIR AT ULW. [aCT III. 
 
 Pang. That honour has accrued to your obsequious 
 servant, Peter Pangloss. I have nov^ the felicity of 
 superintending your ladyship's Dicky. 
 
 Lady D. I must not have my son thwarted, doc- 
 tor 'y — for, when he has his way in every thing, he's 
 the sweetest- tempered youth in Christendom. 
 
 Fang. An extraordinary instance of mildness ! 
 
 Lady D. Oh ! as mild as mother's milk, I assure 
 you. — And what is he to learn, doctor ? 
 
 Fang. Our readings will be various. — ^Logic, 
 Ethics, and Mathematics j History, Foreign and Do- 
 mestic 5 Geography, Ancient and Modern ; Voyages 
 and Travels 3 Antiquities, British and Foreign ; Na- 
 tural History 3 Natural and Moral Philosophy 3 
 Classics 5 Arts and Sciences 3 Belles Lettres, and 
 Miscellanies. 
 
 Lady D. Bless me ! — 'tis enough to batter the poor 
 boy's brains to a mummy. 
 
 Fang. " A little learning—" 
 
 Lady D. Little !--a load ! 
 
 Fang. — '^ Is a dangerous thing." — Pope. — Hem* 
 
 Lady D, And you have left out the main article. 
 
 Fang. What may your ladyship mean ? 
 
 Lady D. Mean ? — Why, dancing, to be sure. 
 
 Fang. Dancing r — Dr. Pangloss, the philosopher^ 
 teach to dance I 
 
 Lady D. Between whiles, you might give Dick a 
 lesson or two in the hall : — as my lord's valet plays 
 on the kit, it wiU be quite handy to have you both 
 in the house, you know. 
 
 Fang. This is a damned barbarous old woman ! 
 lAside."] — With submission to your ladyship, my 
 business is with the head, and not the heels, of my 
 pupil. 
 
 Lady D. Fiddle, faddle !•— Lady Betty tells me 
 that the heads of young men of fashion, now a-days, 
 are by no means overloaded. They are all left to 
 the barber and dentist. 
 
SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 45 
 
 Pang, 'Twould be daring to dispute so self-evident 
 an axiom. — But, if your ladyship 
 
 Lady D. Look ye, doctor ; — he must learn to 
 dance and jabber French 5 and I wouldn't give a brass 
 farden for any thing else. — I know what's elegance -, 
 — and you'U find the grey mare the better horse^ 
 in this house, I promise you. 
 
 Pang. Her ladyship, I perceive, is paramount. — 
 *^ Dux foemina facti." — Virgil. — Hem ! ^Aside 
 
 Lady D. What's your pay here, Mr. Tutorer r 
 
 Pang, Three hundred pounds per annum : — that 
 is — six — no, three — no — ay — no matter : — the rest 
 is between me and Mr. Dowlas. [^Aside. 
 
 Lady D. Do as I direct you, in private, and, to 
 prevent words, I'll double it. 
 
 Pang. Double it! — AVhat^ again! — Nine hundred 
 per annum ! [Aside.'] — I'll take it. — *' Your hand^ 
 a covenant." — Shakspeare. — Hem ! — Zounds ! — I've 
 got beyond the reading at last ! 
 
 ^^ I've often wish'd that I had, clear. 
 For life," — [Lord D. speaks without. 
 
 — I hear, my lord — 
 
 '' — Nine hundred pounds a-year." 
 Swift.— Hem ! 
 
 Enter Lord Duberly ajid Dick Dowlas. 
 
 Lord D. Come along, Dick ! — Here he is again, 
 my lady. — Twist, the tailor, happened to come in 
 promiscuously, as I may say, and — 
 
 Pang. Accidentally, my lord, would be better. 
 
 Lord D. Ay, accidentally ; — with a suit of my 
 Lord Docktail's under his arm ; — and, as we was in 
 a bit of a rumpus to rig out Dick, why — 
 
 Pang. Dress, — not rig — unless metaphorically. 
 
 Lord D, Well — to dress out — why, we — humph ! 
 Doctor, don't bother. — In short, we popped Dick 
 into 'em j and. Twist says, they hit to a hair. 
 
 Dick. Yes, they arc quite the dandy : — aren't they. 
 
46 THK HEIR AT LAW. {aCT **. 
 
 mother? — This is all the go, they say ! — cut straight 
 that's the thing: — square waist — wrapt over the knee 
 — and all that. — Slouch is the w^ord, now, you know. 
 
 Lad?j D. Exceeding genteel, I declare ! Turn 
 about, Dick ; — they don't pinch, do they r 
 
 Dick. Oh no ! — lust as if I'd been measured. 
 
 Lord D. Pinch ! — Lord love you, my lady, they 
 sit like a sack. — But, why don't you stand up ? — 
 The boy rolls about like a porpus in a storm. 
 
 Dick. That's the fashion, father 5 — that's modern 
 ease. — Young Vats, the beau brewer, from the Bo- 
 rough, brought it dow n last Christmas, to Castleton. 
 A young fellow is nothing, now, without the Bond- 
 Street roll, a tooth-pick between his teeth, and his 
 knuckles cramm'd into his coat-pocket. — Then, away 
 yon go, lounging lazily along — Ah, Tom ! — What, 
 Will ! — rolling away, you see ! — How are you. Jack ? 
 
 —What, my little Dolly ! That's the way, isn't 
 
 t^ mother ? 
 
 Lady D. The very air and grace of our young 
 nobility ! 
 
 Lord D. Is it } — Grace must have got plaguy lim- 
 ber, and lopt, of late. — There's the last Lord Du- 
 berly's father, done in our dining-room, with a wig 
 as wide as a wash-tub, and stuck up as stiff as a 
 poker. He was one of your tip-tops, too, in his 
 time, they tell me 3 — he carried a gold stick before 
 George the First. 
 
 Lady D. Yes j and looks, for all the world, as 
 straight as if he had swallowed it. 
 
 Lord D, No matter for that, my lady. What 
 signifies dignity without its crackeristick ? A man 
 should know how to bcmean himself when he is as 
 rich as Pluto. 
 
 Pang. Plutus, if you please, my lord. — Pluto, no 
 doubt, has disciples, and followers of fashion ; Plu- 
 tus is the ruler of riches : — '' ArjjttyjTyjp fxev UKoutov 
 syuvuTo!* — Hesiod. — Hem I 
 
8C£NE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 47 
 
 Lord D. There, Dick ! — d'ye hear how the tutorer 
 talks ? — Od rabbit it ! — he can ladle you out Latin 
 by the quart; and grunts Greek like a pig*. — I've gin 
 nini three hundred a-year, and settled all he's to lam 
 you. — Ha' n't I, doctor ^ 
 
 Pang. Certainly, my lord. — '^ Thrice to thine" — 
 Dick, Yes, we know all about that. Don't we, 
 doctor ? 
 
 Pang. Decidedly, — '' and thrice to thine'* — 
 Lachj D. Ay, ay; — clearly understood. Isn't it,, 
 doctor ? 
 
 Pang. Undoubtedly. — '' And thrice again to make 
 up nine." — Shakspeare. — Hem ! 
 
 [^These three quotations aside. 
 
 Enter John. 
 
 John, A cati, my lord. The gentleman waits ire 
 the eating-room, and wishes to see your lordship, on 
 particular business. ^Gives a card, 
 
 '^ Lord D. Muster Stedfast! — never heard of the 
 name. — Curse me, my lad, tell him, I'll be with him 
 in the twinkling of a bed-post. [Exit John. 
 
 Lady D. 1 shall go with your lordship through the 
 gallery ; for I must dress, to attend Lady Betty. 
 
 Lord D. Come along, then, my lady. — ^Dick, go with 
 the tutorer 5 he'll give you a lesson in my library. 
 Plenty of learning there, I promise you. I was look- 
 ing at if^> all of a row, this here very morning. There's 
 all Horace's Operas, doctor, — ^and such a sight of 
 French books ! — but, I see by the backs, they are all 
 written by Tom. — Come along, my lady. J 
 
 [Exeunt Lord and Lady Duberly. 
 
 Pang, On what subject, Mr. Dowlas, shall we 
 commence our researches this evening } 
 
 Dick, Tell 'em to light up the billiard-room. — 
 We'll knock about the balls a little. 
 
 Pang, Knock about the balls ! — ^An admirable en- 
 trance upon a course of studies ! 
 
48 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT. III. 
 
 Dick. Do you know any thing of Ihe game ? 
 
 Pang. 1 know how to pocket, young gentleman. 
 
 Dick. So do most tutors, doctor. 
 
 Pang. If I could but persuade you to peep inco a 
 classic 
 
 Dick. Peep ! — ^Why, you prig of a fellow, don't I 
 pay you, because I won't peep ? — Talk of this again, 
 and I'm off our contract. 
 
 Pang. Are you ? — I'm dumb. — '' Mammon leads 
 me on." — ^Milton. — Hem ! — I follow. lExeunt. 
 
 SCENE iir. 
 
 Another Apartment in Lord Duberly's House. 
 
 Enter Stedfast. 
 
 Sted. A noble house, 'faith, — and bespeaks some 
 of that stately dignity in the owner, which my friend 
 Harry hinted to me. His lordship, I warrant, is as 
 stiff as buckram 5 with a pompous display of lan- 
 guage, that puzzles a plain man to keep pace with 
 him. 
 
 Enter John. 
 
 John. My lord's compliments, sir, and he'll be 
 with you in the twinkling of a bed -post. [Exit. 
 
 Sted. Zounds ! That's the oddest phrase, for a fine- 
 spoken peer, I ever met with. The ignorance of the 
 servant, I suppose. These blockheads never know 
 how to deliver a message. — Oh ! here he comes ! 
 
 Enter Lord Duberly. 
 Your lordship*s most obedient servant. [Bows, 
 
SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 49 
 
 Lord D. [Bowing vulgarly.'] Sir, youYe kindly 
 welcome. 
 
 Sted. Kindly welcome ! — Condescending, at least; 
 but not quite so dignified as I expected, [jlside.'] — 
 I am a rough traveller, my lord, ungifted with your 
 lordship's flow of diction ; and, having real business, 
 I trust, that, without further preface, it may plead 
 my apology. 
 
 Lord D. Ay, ay, business is business 3 — and 
 words, you know, butter no parsnips. 
 
 Sted. Butter no parsnips ! — Why, he's sneering at 
 my plainness: — or, I have mistaken the person — or 
 
 1 have the honour, I think, of addressing Lord 
 
 Duberly ? 
 
 Lord D. To be sure you have 3 as sure as eggs is 
 eggs. — Come, take a chair, muster. — Mayhap you 
 may choose a morsel of summut ? 
 
 Sted. Not any thing ; 1 — 
 
 Lord D. Don't say no. — A drop of wine, now, — 
 or a sneaker of punch ; or — 
 
 Sted. Nothing, my lord — I am thunderstruck ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lord D. Well, now then, for this here bit of 
 business. 
 
 Sted. I have had some fears, my lord, that I might 
 be too abrupt in the disclosure 5 but since this intro- 
 duction — 
 
 Lord D. Oh, rot it ! I was never for no long rig- 
 maroles, not I ! — An honest man's meaning needs no 
 flourishes. Honesty is like a good piece of English 
 roast-beef. Muster Stedfast 5 it lacks little garnish ; 
 and, the more plainer, the more palatabler. — ^That's 
 my sentiment. 
 
 Sted. I admire your sentiment, my lord ; — ^but I 
 can*t say much for your language. [Aside.] — I must 
 inform your lordship, that no great length of time 
 has elapsed since I left — do not be agitated — Quebec, 
 in America. 
 
59 THE HEIR AT L\W. [^CT III. 
 
 Lord D. A Yankee Doodle, mayhap } 
 
 Sted. A Yankee doo — ! — I am not an American, 
 my lord. \Rises. 
 
 Lord D. No offence to you ; — ^but seeing you have 
 got a tawnyish tinge, [Uwe«.] I thought you might 
 be a little outlandish. 
 
 Sted, I shall ever be proud, my lord, in being able 
 to say that I am an Englishman ; but I should sup- 
 pose any person, recently arriving from the country, 
 I have named, must sensibly interest your feelings. 
 
 Lord D. Interest my — Why, what's he at ? — If I 
 seem not to understand, now, I shall make some 
 plaguy hole in my manners, I warrant. [Aside, 
 
 Sted, I perceive, by your silence, that your lord- 
 ship is affected. A person in your situation cannot 
 naturally be otherwise. 
 
 Lord D. Then it's the fashion, I find, for a peer 
 to be in a pucker when any body comes from Que- 
 bec, in America. [Aside, 
 
 Sted. Pray inform me, my lord, have you re-« 
 ceived any letter from your son since he wrote to ad- 
 vise you that he had finished the business which in- 
 duced you to send him from home, and that he was 
 immediately preparing to meet you in London ? 
 
 Lord D. Since that } — No, to be sure. — Why, 
 Lord love you, he set out directly a'ter it, on piu-pose 
 to come. 
 
 Sted. And your lordship has heard no news from 
 any of his fellow-passengers ? 
 
 Lord D. Fellow-passengers ? — no, not I,—- neither 
 inside nor out. 
 
 Sted. Inside nor out ? — 'Tis plain, however, that 
 we are all supposed to have gone to the bottom. 
 [Aside.'] — Know then, my lord, — I was his fellow- 
 passenger. 
 
 Lord Z>. Was yQU?-^You are just come up, then, 
 it seems. 
 
 Sted, Come up ! — This is an easy way of talking 
 
SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 51 
 
 to a man supposed to be drowned. lAside.'] I am 
 here, you see, my lord : but. Providence be praised, 
 it was never my fate to go down. 
 
 Lord D. Well, well, that's no matter of mine. — 
 Your fate may have laid another way, to be sure, as 
 you say. 
 
 Sted. Another way ! — Zounds ! he can't dare to 
 insinuate that I was born to be hanged. {^Aside.'] — 
 
 He appears the most ignorant, unfeeling Hear 
 
 me, my lord — Has your son ever been dear to you ? 
 
 Lord D. Plaguy dear, indeed. Muster Stedfast. — 
 Only ax Dr. Pangloss. 
 
 Sted. An intimate, I suppose, to whom your lord- 
 ship has unburdened your mind in private ? 
 
 Lord D. Yes : — he mends my cakelology every 
 morning: — and is, moreover, a great philosopher. 
 
 Sted. On such an occasion a father might well 
 call in philosophy to his assistance. 
 
 Lord D. I hired him o' purpose. 
 
 Sted. Hired him! — Hired a philosopher to con- 
 sole him for the death of his son ! Delicacy is super- 
 fluous here, I see. ^Aside.'] — In short, my lord, I 
 come to inform you, that your son, lost as he has 
 been to the world, has newly and unexpectedly en- 
 tered into life. 
 . Lord D. Well, and what then ? 
 
 Sted. What then ! — The brutal apathy in this post 
 of a peer makes me ready to beat him. [^Aside.] — 
 Why, then, he has this day arrived in town : — here, 
 —in this very metropolis. 
 
 Lord D. Why, what signifies a cock and a bull 
 story about what I know already } 
 
 Sted. Know it ! — It must then be by inspiration. 
 By what supernatural sign have you discovered his 
 arrival ? 
 
 Lord D. What sign? — ^Why, damme, a Blue Boar. 
 
 Sted. My lord ! my lord ! — Ignorance, — little, in- 
 deed, from the account I received from a blindly 
 
52 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III, 
 
 affectionate youth, did I expect to find it here;— Ig- 
 norance may palliate meanness and buffoonery, and 
 merely meet contempt ; but want of feeling excites 
 indignation. You have shocked me, and I leave you. 
 From exalted rank, like yours, my lord, men look 
 for exalted virtue 3 and when these are coupled, they 
 command respect, and grace each other ; but the 
 coronet which gives and receives splendour when 
 fixed on the brow of merit, glitters on the worthless 
 head like a mark of disgrace, to render vice, folly, 
 and inhumanity conspicuous. \^Exit. 
 
 Lord D. That there chap's mad. — He has put me 
 all of a twitter. If my lady had happened to be here 
 I'm sure she'd have perspired with fear. — John I 
 
 Enter John. 
 
 John. My lord ! 
 
 Lord D. Has the porter let out that there man ? 
 
 John. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Lord D, Never let him clap his damned ugly mug 
 into these here doors again. — He's as mad as any 
 poor soul under a statue of lunacy. — Shut the doors, 
 d'ye hear. — [_Exit Servant.] — Od rabbit it ! If 
 peers are to be frightened in this here fashion, I'd 
 rather serve soap and candles again in comfort at 
 Gosport. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Another Apartment in Lord Duberly's House. 
 Enter Dick Dowlas and Zekiel Homespun. 
 
 Dick. Well, but at this unseasonafc^ time, to — 
 Zek. I cou'dn't help it, Dict^ 
 
SCENE IV.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 53 
 
 Dick. Tisn't the fashion to pay a visit at this 
 time in the evening. — Who let you in ;• 
 
 Zek. Why, a fat man in the hall, that ])opped out 
 of a leather chair that comes all over his head like a 
 tub. 
 
 Dick. The porter, I suppose. 
 
 Zek. Belike it was. — He has tassels a'top of his 
 shoulders; and a sight of binding, that looks like 
 parsley and butter, about iiis waistcoat. 
 
 Dick. But why did you come now ? 
 
 Zek. Why, I do tell ye, I was uneasy about ye, 
 Dick. — I cou'dn't ha staid away if I was to be 
 hanged for it. You did promise to meet us this 
 a'ternoon. 
 
 Dick. I have been prevented. We young fellows 
 of fashion can't answer for our hours. 
 
 Zek. Ah I Dick, London fashions and friendship, 
 I do fear, do seldom, long go cheek by jowl. — I lia* 
 just left Cicely at the place. 
 
 Dick. Well, and what of her, Zekiel ? 
 
 Zek. Poor soul! she ha' been sobbing ready to 
 burst her heart. 
 
 Dick. Cicely in tears! — for what? 
 
 Zek. All along o' you, man. You did promise to 
 come; and she do tell me she ne'er know'd you 
 break your word till you were made a gentleman. I 
 said all I cou'd think of to comfort her. 
 
 Dick. Well, and what did you say ? 
 
 Zek. Why, I told her that you had always dealt 
 fair and open with her till now; — and if you could 
 be honest to her when you were a lawyer, there 
 might be some hope of your being so now, even 
 though you be made an honourable. 
 
 Dick. Well, well, I shall see her to-morrow, — 
 and see you too, Zekiel; — and settle some plan for 
 her, and 
 
 Zek. Plan ? — why, the plan be settled already, you 
 do know. She be in place, and — 
 
1^ TBE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III, 
 
 'Dick. Psha ! — In place will never do. I have a 
 liking for her, you know , and when 
 
 Zek. A liking ! 
 
 Dick. Yes, — that's a love, 70U know; — and a 
 
 regard for you, Zekiel 5 — and In short, a girl on 
 
 whom Lord Duberly's son has fixed his affections 
 must not remain in service ; — it would disgrace one 
 of us. 
 
 Zek. It can't disgrace one of us, Dick. — A good 
 girl, who have lost her parent's support, and do get 
 her bread in honest industry, be a pride, instead of 
 a disgrace, to any that loves her, you do know. 
 
 Dick. I did'nt mean that — I — 
 
 Zek. Noa — noa : — bless you, 'tware only your 
 good heart run away wi' you. You do wish us weU, 
 Dick — you do wish to serve us, and overshot your- 
 self a little in what you said, that be all. 
 
 Dick. Why, look you^ Zekiel. You are a well- 
 meaning lad — 
 
 Zek. Ay, and so be you, Dick. I ware getting a 
 bit tiffish wi' you at the Blue Boar. I did think 
 sudden pride were going to turn you topsey-turvey. 
 — I was angry at myself a'terwards ; but I do beg 
 your pardon — heartily, my good friend, — faith, 
 heartily. 
 
 Dick. Nay, hear me ; — 'tis fit we should under- 
 stand one another 3 which we do not seem to do at 
 present. 
 
 Zek. Don't us I — Ecod ! I should be grieved at 
 that, Dick ! 
 
 Dick. Listen to me : — My situation, you see, is 
 much altered. 
 
 Zek. Woundily, indeed ! Here be a house ! — and 
 what a brave coat you ha' gotten on, Dick ! 
 
 Dick. No matter: — but there are situations in the 
 world, Zekiel, that do not always tally. Chance may 
 remove one man so far from another, in the rank of 
 life, that, though their good-will may continue the 
 
SCENE IV.] THE HEIR AT LAXV, 55 
 
 samC;, custom requires that they should not live 
 exactly — mind^ I say, — not exactly, on the same 
 footing. 
 
 Zek. I see what you be a-driving at, Dick: — I see 
 it 3 — I did fear it all along. Well, well, I — I do 
 know I ben't company for a lord's son 3 — but when 
 a lord was once a chandler I thought, indeed — no 
 matter. Bless thee, Dick 5 — I shall always wish 
 thee well ! 
 
 Dick. Nay, nay, I don't mean that we should se- 
 parate. On tiie contrary, I wish we may be closer 
 in friendship than ever. 
 
 Zek. Ah, Dick ! I have loved thee — I'd ha parted 
 with my last f^irthing to — no matter. 
 
 Dich, There is no occasion to take it in this man- 
 ner. We may both be rich — ^both happy, Zekiel : — 
 but you know how impossible it is for the son of a 
 peer to marry your sister. 
 
 Zek. Ay, ay, I do see it : it be all over. 
 
 T>ick. No reason for that on earth ; — for though 
 the world places a distance between Cis and me as 
 to matrimony, yet it makes an allowance for every 
 thing else. 
 
 Zek. I don't understand ye, Dick. 
 
 Dick. Why, my rank not permitting the usual 
 forms between us, which my regard for her happi- 
 ness makes me wish could take place, all I can now 
 do is to raise her from future fear of poverty , — and 
 w^e may be man and wife in every thing but the 
 ceremony. 
 
 Zek. Oh ! now I do understand ye — You be a 
 rascal — Ods flesh ! — I shall choke. — A damned ras- 
 cal ! — Keep out o' my way, or I may do ye a mis- 
 chief. 
 
 Dick. Nay, out 
 
 Zek. Dick, Dick ! — Had a stranger done this, I'd 
 na' knock'd him down : but for a dear friend to turn 
 
56 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III. 
 
 traitor {^Bursts into tears^ Damme, it's too 
 
 much 5 — I can't stand it ! 
 
 Dick. Well, but only hear me 
 
 Zek. I ha' heard too much already. Rot, it ! I be 
 ashamed to be such a blubberer 5 — ^but the greatest 
 shame do light upon you. 
 
 Dick, I begin to feel that it does, Zekiel. 
 
 [Abashed, 
 
 Zek. And well you may. If it be the part of a 
 lord's son to stab his friend to the heart by robbing 
 his sister of her honesty, much good may do you wi' 
 your grandeur. But let me tell your grandeur this, 
 Mr. Dowlas: — You do know some'at (little enow 
 to be sure) of the law ; — and the law of the land do 
 make no difference 'twixt a peer and a ploughman. 
 ■ — If you do dare to hurt Cicely, the law shall lay 
 you flat in the first place, and my ploughman's fist 
 will lay you flat in the second : and so my service to 
 you. [Exit, 
 
 Dick. My heart upbraids me. — ^I have wounded, 
 at one blow, an honest man and an innocent girl, 
 whom reason and inclination tell me to love. Now, 
 am I so mere a beginner, that whether this is or is 
 not fashion, curse me if I know: — but I have been 
 told it is. I must go deeper into its mysteries, or 
 abstain from it altogether : — and I feel so much pain 
 already that, in this same career of fashion, where 
 feeling, they say, is banished, I shall make a very 
 awkward figure. [Exit, 
 
ACT IV,] THE HEIR AT LAW. 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Caroline's Lodgings. 
 
 Zekiel and Cicely Homespun discovered seated. 
 
 [Cicely crying and leaning on Zekiel.] 
 
 Zek. Do ye, do ye cheer up a bit, sister Cicely ! 
 Don't ye take on so j — don't ye, now ! 
 
 Cicely. O, Zekiel! — For certain my poor heart 
 will break. 
 
 Zek. Don't ye say so. Cicely 5 for that would go 
 nigh to break mine. 
 
 Cicely. I never will give ear to a lovyer's vows 
 again as long as I do breathe. 
 
 Zek. Ay, that be what all the girls do say over 
 and over. 
 
 Cicely. A base, perjury man ! 
 
 Zek. That he be. — He ha' stung me to the quick. 
 
 — A viper ! — And to offer to abuse you! Damn 
 
 him ! [Rises. 
 
 Cicely. Oh ! don't you say that of him, Zekiel. I 
 can't bear that, though he has been so cruel to me. 
 
 Zek. Then pluck up a bit of a spirit now : — pray 
 you do. You ha gotten a good place, you do know ; 
 and things will go well enough, I warrant us. How 
 dost like madam ^ eh. Cicely ? 
 
58 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IT 
 
 Cicely, Purely ! — she is so tender and kind to me, 
 Zekiel. — Heigho ! 
 
 Zek. Come, dry your eyes, now. Cicely. I be 
 main glad to hear madam be so good to you. What 
 did you do a'ter I left you last night ? 
 
 Cicely. Why, I was but poorly, Zekiel. — I had 
 been crying, you know. 
 
 Zek. Yes, yes j — but don't ye cry any moi-e. 
 Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. And when Madam Caroline saw it, she 
 was so kind and so comfortable to me ! 
 
 Zek. Was she ? — good soul ! 
 
 Cicely. And she bid me go to rest 3 — and spoke as 
 sweet, and took as much care of me, — as poor mo- 
 ther used to do. 
 
 Zek. Bless her for it ! If I ever be able to make 
 a return, I'll 
 
 Cicely. Dear, I hear her in next room! — She is 
 up 5 and if she should catch us here ^There now I 
 
 Enter Caroline. 
 
 Car. Cicely, cliild ! — I thought you had not risen. 
 — I did'nt wish you to attend if you were unwell, 
 my poor girl. 
 
 Cicely. Thank you, madam. 
 
 Zek. Thank you, very kindly, madam. 
 
 Car. O ! your brother, I see. 
 
 Zek. At your humble service, madam. I made 
 bold to call, to see how sister were, and to make my 
 humble duty to you, madam. Cicely do tell me you 
 ha' been main kind to her. We be jmor, madam, 
 but I do hope you will be pleased to take our thanks 
 without offence. 
 
 Car. Offence! honest friend. To merit and re- 
 ceive the thanks of the poor is one of the heart's best 
 gratifications. 
 
 Zek. She be main good-natured, indeed ! I — I had 
 a — a little bit of a favour to ask, madam. 
 
SCENE 1.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 69 
 
 Car. What is it, friend ? 
 
 Zek. Why, here be a scrap of paper, here: — it 
 ware poor father's. If you would be pleased to tell 
 me if it be worth any thing now it be so old. 
 
 ^Giving it. 
 
 Car. It is worth enquiring after. — 'Tis an old lot- 
 tery ticket. [Returning it, 
 
 Zek. Psha ! — then it be of little good. — Father had 
 no luck that way ; — but, for all mother could say, he 
 was always a-dabbling, and a-dabbling. — I'll seek 
 about it at shop, though. I do wish you a dutiful 
 good morning, madam. 
 
 Car. A good-day, friend. 
 
 Zek. [Apart to Cicely.] Pluck up a spirit, do ye 
 now. Cicely. — Gi' me a buss. — ^There now, let tiuit 
 comfort ye a bit — I'll call by an by. — A good day to 
 you, madam. [Exit, 
 
 Car. You do not look recovered yet, Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. I shall be better in time, if you please, 
 madam. 
 
 Car, Come, child, you must not give way to low 
 spirits. Your situation is new to you, indeed 3 but 
 this fickle world is full of changes. Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. [Crying^^ Oh, dear me ! — Sure enough this 
 world is full of fickleness and change ! 
 
 Car, Well, but do not cry thus, child. 
 
 Cicely, I must cry, if you please, madam. — I can't 
 help it! — indeed, I can't. 
 
 Car, Poor girl ! — Does any thing press heavy on 
 your mind. Cicely? 
 
 Cicely. Ye yes, madam. 
 
 Car, What is it? — Is it in my ability to relieve 
 you? 
 
 Cicely, Oh, no, madam. — 'Tis quite out of your 
 power to give me what I have lost. 
 
 Car. Lost, child ! — Have you lost any thing since 
 you came to London ? 
 
60 I'HE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IV. 
 
 Cicely, Yes, madam. 
 
 Car. Your clothes ?— or a parcel? — or— 
 
 Cicely, No, madam. 
 
 Car. What then, child? 
 
 Cicely. A young man, madam. 
 
 Car. Lost a young man. Cicely ! 
 
 Cicely. He was once the truest hearted youth! 
 Lawyer Latitat's clerk, of our town, if you please, 
 madam. — We were to be married, — brother was 
 agreeable to it, — and now he has basely left me : — 
 and all because lie has grown rich and great. 
 
 Car. What, since last night ? — that is somewhat 
 sudden, indeed ! 
 
 Cicely. Ay, I should as soon have looked to be 
 queen, as to think my Dick would be made a lord's 
 son. 
 
 Car. Made a lord's son ! — How, Cicely ? 
 
 Cicely. I don't know how they make lords' sons, 
 madam ; — but his father has had a good fortune by 
 a death ; and so Dick is now son to Lord Duberly. 
 
 Car, Lord Duberly! — Good Heaven I — how that 
 name agitates me ! — ^The — the present Lord Du- 
 berly, you TTieaii, Cicely? 
 
 Cicely. Yes, if you please, madam. — The last lord 
 — Zekiel heard it all from the porter — the last lord's 
 son was drowned at sea, they say. — Perhaps you 
 may have heard on't, madam? 
 
 (hr. I have — I have, indeed. Cicely ! [Agitated. 
 
 Cicely. Oh, dear! — aren't you well, madam ? 
 
 Car. Yes — I — I 'tis nothing, Cicely. — And so your 
 lover, my poor wench, has deserted you ? 
 
 Cicely. Oh ! worse than that, madam. — Brother is 
 almost out of his wits about it : for he said — a base 
 cruel man! — he would make my fortune, by ruin- 
 ating me. 
 
 Car. Poor simplicity ! — Dry your tears, my good 
 girl 5 — and rather rejoice that you have escaped the 
 
5JCENK III.] THK HEIK AT LAW. 61 
 
 snares of a profligate. — ^You shall not want protec- 
 tion while I can give it you. 
 
 CiceUj. Heaven bless you! — You are very, very 
 kind^ madam. 
 
 Enter Kenrick hastily. 
 
 Ken. Och, Miss Caroline ! 
 
 Car. Well, Kenrick ! 
 
 Ken, Och, why didn't I die before I was born io 
 see this ill-looking day ! 
 
 Car. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 Ken. The matter ! — And haven't I trotted into 
 Lombard-street to get your draught turned into 
 money ? 
 
 Car, To be sure : — for there lies the little which 
 I now possess, Kenrick. 
 
 Ken. 'Faith, and it lies there like my old uncle, 
 Dennis, in Carrickfergus church- yard; for we shall 
 never see it again as long as we live. 
 
 Car. Good heaven ! — you alarm me ! — Surely the 
 house has not failed ? 
 
 Ken. No, 'faitli! — the house stands plump and 
 upright, just where it did ; but the ould thief of a 
 banker hasn't a thirteen left to cross his rogue's 
 hand with. 
 
 Car. Broke ! 
 
 Ken. By my soul, all to shivers ^ and so bad, they 
 say, that all the devils can't mend him. 
 
 Car. Then, indeed, I am completely ruined ! 
 
 Cicely. [Running up to her^ No, don't you say 
 so, madam ! [Caroline sinks on a chair. 
 
 Ken. Don't grieve, my sweet Miss Caroline, don't 
 grieve! — Och, the devil ! my ould heart is as full as 
 a basket of eggs. — Pray now, keep a good spirit ; 
 for yo\7 have lost every farthing you have in the 
 world. 
 
6^ THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IVr 
 
 Cicely. Ob, the gracious ! — is that it } — ^pray, if 
 you please, madam, don't take on so, then, for I 
 have money. 
 
 Ken. What, have you money ? 
 
 Cicely. Ay, that I have: — and while I have ten 
 good pounds, that poor mother left me, in my box, 
 and a silver watch, it shall never be said that I kept 
 it from one in distress who has been so kind to me. 
 
 Ken. Bless your pretty little soul ! — ^What a pity 
 it is now that a generous heart hasn't always a 
 heavy purse to keep it company. 
 
 Car. My poor girl! — your grateful attachment 
 touches me. — I must retire, and think of — Do not 
 follow me. Cicely. — I must consult on measures to— 
 Oh, Providence ! for what misery am I ordained ? 
 
 » lExit, 
 
 Ken. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Cicely. Dear, I hope I haven't given madam 
 offence by what I said. 
 
 Ken. No, my sweet one ! — you're a little cheru- 
 bim in a mob-cap. — ^What will I do now ? — 'Faith, 
 I haven't a brother, nor a nephew, nor a cousin- 
 german, nor a father, nor any little bit of a kinsman 
 left, to assist in this botheration. — Come, little one ! 
 —There's my watch, and my buckles, and my — By 
 my soul, I'd pledge myself, if the pawnbroker would 
 lend me any thing upon me. [^Exeunt, 
 
SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 63 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Hotel. 
 
 Enter Henry Morland and Stedfast. 
 
 Sted. Be more yourself, Henry. — Firmness, in the 
 moment of disappointment 
 
 Henry. Disappointment ! — 'Tis torture -, — it racks 
 me. — Caroline fled, no one knows whither ^ — unprd- 
 tected ! — perhaps, exposed to want, too ! — to biting 
 penury ! '—The account, though confused, which I 
 gathered, last night, from the unfeeling wretch in 
 
 possession of the late Mr. Dormer's house Why 
 
 not have gone to my father's ? — Caroline might, 
 there have relied on an asylum. 
 
 Sted, Umph ! — perhaps not. 
 
 Henry. Oh, Stedfast ! how little you know of my 
 Worthy father's heart ! 
 
 Sted, Yet, I have had a specimen. 
 
 Henry, Why did you prevent me from going to 
 him, last night ? 
 
 Sted. After the ill news you had just received at 
 the late Mr. Dormer's, your mind was too much agi- 
 tated for such an encounter. 
 
 Henry. Well, well, — you see I followed your com- 
 , .mands. You rule me as a child, Stedfast. — I went 
 ' to bed — but not to rest ! — Why wouldn't you, then^ 
 J explain any. thing ? 
 
 Sted. You were unfit to hear any thing : — you 
 ] were almost distracted. Twas sufficient, that I sent 
 word to Lord Duberly, that you would pay your 
 duty to him to-day, after breakfast. 
 
 G 
 
64 THE HSIR AT LAW. [aCT IV. 
 
 Henry. Well, but, you saw my father ? 
 Sted. I did. 
 
 Henry. And he received you with that compla- 
 cency so friendly a messenger deserved ? 
 
 Sted. Why, to say the truth, I found none of that 
 stately dignity about him which you led me to ex- 
 pect. 
 
 Henry, To you, of course, when you explained 
 the purpose of your visit, he would throw that 
 aside. The tenderness of the father softened the 
 austerity of his habits ; and his language came warm 
 from the heart. 
 
 Sted. Upon my soul, 'twould puzzle me to tell 
 where his language came from : — but, to do him 
 justice, (notwithstanding his liarangiies in the House 
 of PeerS; which you talked of,) his language was as 
 little parliamentary, as auy language I ever heard in 
 my life. J 
 
 Henry. Oh, yours was no meeting of formality ! 
 — Business, like yours, called for no pomp of words 
 on either side. 
 
 Sted. Words ! — no ; — so his lordship seemed to 
 think, when he told me they buttered no parsnips. 
 Henry. My father ! — you jest, sure. 
 Sted. Indeed, I do not : — and, I am afraid, my 
 dear young friend, your ardent feelings have painted 
 the parental affection of Lord Duberly in warmer 
 colours than it merits. 
 
 Henry. Good heaven ! — What do you mean ? 
 Sted. To be plain ^ — he received the account of 
 his lost son's arrival, with more than coldness. 
 
 Henry. Oh ! you mistook my dear father's 
 manner. 
 
 Sted. Nothing could be less equivocal. He treated 
 me with but that doesn't signify. When I in- 
 troduced myself, by informing him that I came 
 from Quebec 
 
SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 6S 
 
 Henry. Ay, that must have excited his attention — 
 He made a thousand enquiries ? 
 Sted. No, 'faith, only one. 
 
 Henry. What was that ? 
 
 Sted. Pshaw ! — trivial — mere ribaldry. — Damn it,, 
 I'm ashamed, for his sake, and yours, to mention it. 
 
 Henry. Nay, nay, — I entreat you, tell me. 
 
 Sted. Why, he asked if — pshaw ! — if I was a 
 Yankee Doodle, if you must ha^ e it. 
 
 Henry. You astonish me ! 
 
 Sted. Not more than I was astonished. — In short, 
 instead of finding the fond, anxious, agitated father, 
 I met a man, reckless of his child's fate ; and treat- 
 ing the friend, who brought the news of his son's 
 preservation, with levity and insult. 
 
 Henry. Impossible ! 'tis not in his nature. 
 
 Sted, Nay, even with buffoonery. 
 
 Henry. Take care, Stedfast ! — you may have mis- 
 conceived } — but I must not have my father's cha- 
 racter made an ill-timed sport. 
 
 Sted, Nayj 'tis sportive enough in itself, for that 
 matter. 
 
 Henry. Sportive ! 
 
 Sted. Yes, — beyond comprehension. He deals in 
 witchcraft, it seems j — for, he was even jocular 
 enough to tell me, that he had a familiar, in the shape 
 of a Blue Boar, who had given him intelligence of v 
 your arrival. — I confess, I was shocked. 
 
 Henry. As I am, Mr. Stedfast, shocked at your 
 attempt, in a moment like this, to trifle with tlie 
 feelings of a friend, and endeavour to sully a vene- 
 rable character, too well established to be tainted 
 by the breath of misrepresentation. 
 
 Sted, Why, — zounds ! — I tell you that Lord Du- 
 berly 
 
 Henry. Lord Duberly, sir, is as incapable of the 
 conduct and language you have described, as I am 
 incapable of hearing you, without resentment. 
 
66 THE ITEIR AT LAW. [Atjf IV. 
 
 Sted, Resentment ! — You are warm, Mr. Mor- 
 land. 
 
 Henry. I have reason, sir. — Look at the man ;— 
 look at Lord Duberly 3 — his very countenance con- 
 tradicts the assertion. 
 
 Sted. Why, I don't know. I believe, since you 
 say it, that gentleman was once written legibly on 
 his brow J but, dam'me if time has not scratched out 
 the writing, as thoroughly as ever writing was 
 scratched out in the world. 
 
 Herinj. This conduct of yours shall not go un- 
 punished, Mr. Stedfast. 
 
 Sted. Unpunished, young man ! 
 
 Hennj. No, by heaven ! — Such a gross aspersion 
 of my good and worthy father shall be answered 
 
 with the life of tliat man 
 
 , Sted. Who lately saved yours, Henry ! 
 
 Henry. Mr. Stedfast, I~I 
 
 Sted. Young man, 'tis well for us that winters 
 enough have passed over my head to make my blood 
 flow in a temperate current. Did it run riot, like 
 yours, we might now b^ cutting one another's throats, 
 — ^Would it please you, think you, to have done me 
 that office ? 
 
 Henry. Please me ! — it makes me shudder. 
 
 Sted. Yet, this, now, is what the world calls satis- 
 faction. — I trust, I am as little daunted with big 
 words, and a stern look, as most men j but the truest 
 courage, Henry, is founded on reason 5 — and, were 
 the head oftener permitted to check the passions of 
 the heart, there would be fewer fatal encounters, on 
 foolish causes, and the peace of many a parent. Wife, 
 and child, might remain unbroken. 
 
 Henry. Oh, Stedfast! — the man who reasons thus, 
 could, surely, never mean to sport with my anxieties, 
 — There must be some mistake. — Pray, pardon me, 
 — and accompany me to my father's. — ^Assist me in 
 
8CENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 67 
 
 unravelling this mystery, which confounds me. — Can 
 you forgive my heat ? 
 
 Sted. From the very bottom of my heart, Henry ; 
 for, however rash in itself, the impulse was filial 
 piety J and that, with me, will amply excuse it. 
 
 {^Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Street. 
 
 Enter Dick Dowlas and Dr. Pangloss." 
 
 Dick, It don't sigviify, doctor j I can't rest till I 
 have seen ( icely. 
 
 Pang. VVhfit's i\ tutor's power over a pupil in love ? 
 — Annihilated. — True, though trite, that '* Omnia 
 vincit amor/' — Ovid — Ucni ! — Is she pretty ? 
 
 Dick. What's that to you ? 
 
 Pang. Nothing. — I'm dead to the fascinations of 
 beauty 5 since tliat unguarded day of dalliance, when 
 being fdll of Bacchus, — " Bacchi plenus." — Horace 
 — Hem ! — my pocket was picked of a metal watch, 
 at the sign of the Sceptre, in Shoe Lane. 
 
 Dick. This is the house : — I've told you my story. 
 — and, as you value my three hundred a-year, doc- 
 tor, be ready to assist me, either by message, letter, 
 or But, what a damn'd gig you look like. 
 
 Pang. A gig ! — Umph -, — that's an Eton phrase : 
 — the Westminsters call it, quiz. 
 
 Dick. And you are the greatest, sure> that ever 
 was dispatched, on Love's embassies, from the court 
 of Cupid. 
 
68 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IV. 
 
 Pang. I'm not proud of the pdst. — Take my coun- 
 sel^ and drop the pursuit. ^' Refrain, desist, — de- 
 sine." — ^Terence. — Hem ! 
 
 Dick. Why, look ye, doctor : — I've done an injury 
 to two worthy souls, and I can't rest till I've made 
 reparation. We are all of us wrong at times, doc- 
 tor -y but a man doubles his ill conduct, when he is 
 too proud to make an apology for it. 
 
 Fang. Yet, confessing our faults, Mr. Dowlas — 
 
 Dick. Is only saying, in other words, doctor, 
 '' that we are wiser to-day than we were yester- 
 day." 
 
 Pang. Swift. — Hem ! Plenty of precedents, how- 
 ever, for your conduct. — " At lovers' peijuries, they 
 say- 
 
 Dick. Well, what do they say ? 
 
 Pang. '' They say Jove laughs." — Shakspeare. — 
 Hem! — Phaon left Sappho j Theseus, Ariadne 3 De- 
 mophoon, Phyllis 5 ^neas. Dido : — 
 
 Dick. Oh, damn Dido ! 
 
 Pang. Damn Dido ? — Well, damn Dido ! — ^with 
 all my heart. — She was the daughter to King Belus^ 
 of Tyre 3 but as very a virago — 
 
 Dick. Well, we need not go So far for examples. 
 — Now, knock at that door. 
 
 Pang. Double? 
 
 Dick. Zounds ! no 3 you'll spoil all. A sneaking, 
 single tap, like a dun, doctor. 
 
 Pang. Like a dun } — I know the knock weD, Mr. 
 Dowlas. 
 
 Dick. And, when 'tis given, get out of the way for 
 a while. 
 
 Pang. My constant custom, on such an occasion. 
 [Knocks at the door.'] — ^There's the thorough thump 
 of a creditor. ^' I never heard it but I ran away upoii 
 instinct."— Shakspeare.— Hem ! lExit. 
 
CKNK III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 69 
 
 Enter Cicely at the Door. — Dick is with his Back 
 towards her. 
 
 Cicely. Dear ! sure somebody knocked. I see 
 nobody but that gentleman, neither. It could not 
 be he ; — for, if footmen thump so loud, for certain 
 your gentlefolks must always beat the door down. 
 Was it you that knocked, pray, sir ? — [Dick turns 
 round, and Cicely screams.'] — Don't come near me ! 
 Dick. My dear Cicelv, I — 
 Cicely. Oh, Dick ! Dick ! 
 
 \_Cries, and falls into his arms. 
 Dick. I cannot bear this. — Your tears go to my 
 rery soul. Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. 'Tis you have been the cause of them. 
 7ou have almost cut my poor heart in two. 
 
 Dick. My own suffers for it sufficiently, believe 
 ne. 
 
 Cicely. How could you be so barbarous to me ? 
 But, indeed, indeed, I forgive you. — Your cruelty 
 will cost me many a tear j — ^but this is the last time 
 I shall ever upbraid you. 
 
 Dick. Oh ! I deserve all your reproaches. 
 Cicely. If I had come to fortune, and you had been 
 poor, Dick, I would have flown to you, and cheered 
 you in your poverty j — I would have poured my 
 gold at your feet j — I would have shared all my joys 
 with you, and told you, that riches could never 
 change my heart. 
 
 Dick. And I come, now, to share all mine vdth 
 you. Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. Oh, no, Dick ! — ^IVIy lot is very humble, 
 but I scorn the gold that would buy my honesty. 
 We must never meet any more : — but, indeed, in- 
 deed, I do truly wish you may be prosperous, though 
 you sought my ruin. Bless you, Dick ! — and, if 
 ever poor Cicely comes into your mind, think, that 
 she prays to heaven to forgive you, jfor trying to 
 
70 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IV. 
 
 harm her innocence, whose greatest blessing: would 
 have been to make you happy, \_Going. 
 
 Dick. Stay — stay, and hear me, I entreat you ! 
 I come to sue for pardon j — I come in repentance. 
 Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. And do you repent ? 
 
 Dick. I^do, most earnestly. 
 
 Cicely. That is some comfort to me j — for your 
 own heart will be easier. — And I shall bear my hard 
 lot better, now j — for I know your great friends will 
 never let you stoop to one in my station. — Ah, times 
 are much changed with us, Dick ! 
 
 Dick. However changf fl, tliey shall not, now, alter 
 my purpose. Cicely. 1 have ham dazzled, and I 
 have wounded you. — 1 liave covered myself, too, witli 
 shame and confusion ; — but, if thoy can make atone- 
 ment, my fortune, my lieart, and my hand, are all 
 at your service. 
 
 Cicely. Your hand ? — I — I shall be able to speak 
 more soon. — Oh, Dick ! 
 
 Dick. My dear, dear Cicely I — I rose strangely to 
 rank, and I shall, now, perhajjs, in the eyes of the 
 great world, strangely sup})ort it; — for, I am afraid, 
 Cis, that half your young follows of fashion would 
 rather seem wicked than ridiculous ; but, I shall 
 never, for the future, think, that marrying a worthy 
 woman, whom chance has placed beneath us in life, 
 can be any disgrace, while seducing her is reckoned, 
 among profligate fops, a matter of triumph. Dry 
 your tears, Cicely ! 
 
 Cicely. These are not like the tears I shed a while 
 
 ago. — They are tears of joy, Dick. \_Bell rings.'] 
 
 Hark ! I am called. 
 
 Dick. One moment ! — Tell me you forgive me. 
 
 Cicely. Forgive you ! — Oh, Dick ! you have made 
 me happy. — How this will comfort my poor Zekiel ! 
 
 Dick. I shall be ashamed to meet him again. 
 Cicely. 
 
oCENE III.] THBf HBIR AT LAW. 7*1 
 
 Cicely. Oh ! I will tell him aDj— and— [Be Wring* 
 again.'] — Hark ! I am call'd again. 
 
 Dick, Adieu ! — I will see you very, very soon. — 
 Farewell. 
 
 Cicely. Good b'ye, and — 
 
 Dick. One kiss, and — Good b'ye ! ^Exit Cicely.] 
 —That one kiss of lovely virtue is worth a million 
 timeaf more than all the blandishments that wealth 
 and luxury can purchase. Where the devil now is the 
 doctor? — I am brimful of joy, and I have nobody to 
 communicate my — 
 
 Enter Pangloss. 
 
 Oh ! you are returned. Embrace me, doctor ! 
 
 Pang. Embrace you ! 
 
 Dick. Open wide thy arms, in friendly congratu- 
 lation, and embrace, you prig of a tutor, the hap- 
 piest fellow in Christendom ! [,T/iey embrace. 
 
 Pang. Bless me ! — Why, we're in the middle of 
 the street. Decorum, Mr. Dowlas, — 
 
 Dick. Damn decorum ! I'm out of my senses. 
 
 Pang. Heaven forbid ! — for, it would be as clear 
 a nine hundred pounds a-year out of my pocket, as 
 ever man lost in his life. ^Jside.'] — What's the news ? 
 
 Dick. The news ? — Why, that I am going to be 
 married. 
 
 Pang. Married ! — Mercy on me ! — Then he is mad, 
 indeed ! — *' Tribus anticyris caput insanabile." — 
 Horace. — Hem ! — Consider the — 
 
 Dick. Pshaw ! — I have no time to — Come, — 
 come with me to my father's, I'll explain all to him, 
 and — 
 
 Pang. Only reflect on — 
 
 Dick. Reflect ! — ^Look ye, you grave mustard-pot 
 of a philosopher! — You shall dance a jig down the 
 street with me, to show your sympathy in my hap- 
 piness. 
 
72 THE HBIR AT LAW. [aCT U 
 
 Pang, A doctor of laws Sancc a jig, in the open 
 street, at noon-day ! 
 
 Dick, Foot it. — " Over the hills and far away.** 
 
 ISinging. 
 
 Pang. I wish I were far away, with all my heart. 
 
 Dick. Dance — dance ! — or, dam'me, I cut oflf your 
 three hundred a-vear in a twinkliner. 
 
 Patig. Will you r — Oh then — '* A flourish of trum- 
 pets." — Shakspeare. — Hem I — '^ Over the hills and 
 far away !" 
 
 lExeunt, hand in hand, dancing and singings 
 
 ACT THE FIFTH 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Street 
 
 Enter Kenrick, 
 
 Ken. To be sure, misfortune isn't a neat touch- 
 stone, to try friendship upon I — Faith, now, all my 
 loving friends deserve a decent kicking ; and, by my 
 soul, I believe they expect it from my hands , for, 
 I no sooner said the word lend, but they all turned 
 t'neir backs to me. Och, my poor Miss Caroline 1 
 what will I do, now you are a-groimd, to keep your 
 
8CKNK I.J THE HEIR AT LAW. 73 
 
 pretty little chin above vvatef ! If we could have 
 kept the brave Mr. Henry Morland's chin above 
 water, now ! — but he's gone ; — he's gone j — and 
 twenty Humane Societies couldn't bring him back. 
 How my poor ould bones ache ! — and sure the big- 
 gest bone about me is in my heart, for tliat aches 
 more than all the other half of my body. — I'll make 
 bold just to rest me a bit at this door. Don't be 
 frightencvl, good gentlemen within, for I a' n't com- 
 ing to borrow of you. iSUting down on the steps at 
 a door.'] — Faith, this step is like my dear friends* 
 hearts ; for, by St. Patrick, 'tis as cold, and as hard, 
 as a hailstone. 
 
 Enter Henry TnIimm^axd mid Stedfast. 
 
 Sled. Nay, nay, be patient, Henry ! 
 
 Henry. ?Jy dear friend, 'tis impossible ! — The 
 blow is too great. — So good, so kind a father, lost ! 
 
 — and his death so strangely explained to me ! 
 
 Indeed, indeed, Stedfast, my spirit is now almost 
 broken. 
 
 Ken. I can't see their faces, now ; but, sure, 
 these two must be a rich man, that wont lend, and 
 a borrow^er; for one is trotting about in great dis- 
 tress, and t'other stands as cool as a cucumber. 
 
 Sted. Come, come, Henry 5 — the encounter has 
 been a strange one, 'tis true 3 and the shock sudden. 
 When you entered a father's house, and prepared to 
 leap into a father's arms, to meet that low wretch, 
 who has caused all our mistakes, was, indeed — 
 
 Henry. Oh, it distracts me ! — So many things are 
 floating in my disordered mind, I — 
 
 Sted. But, 'tis necessary you should be collected, 
 now ', — absolutely necessary. You must do speedy 
 justice to yourself 3 — to the memory of your departed 
 fether. How came you not to discover yourself to 
 
74 TJFE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT V, 
 
 that lump of ignorance, who has jumped into your 
 inheritance? 
 
 Henry. I was staggered. — I heard enough from 
 Anm to unravel all -, and 'tis well, perhaps, we with- 
 drew so abruptly. I might have done something 
 rash at the moment. Oh, Stedfast, I shall sink 
 under it ! 
 
 Sted. For shame, Henry ! — Fie on this weakness ! 
 ' — Sink under it ! — Decent sorrow for a near loss is 
 amiable ; — and modest nature never looks more 
 lovely than when the filiid tear steals gently on the 
 tomb of a parent : — but desj^erate grief outrages 
 inauhood and religion; — for, in the trials which we 
 are all born to undergo, Henry, the man, and the 
 Christian, forgets his duty to Providence, and to 
 himself, wlien he loses his resignation, and his for- 
 titude. 
 
 Henry. You are an able and a kind counsellor, my 
 fri^^od ! — I will endeavour to be more firm. 
 
 Sted. Come, let us get back to our hotel. — You 
 may, there, compose yourself. 
 
 Ken. \_Gets up.'] So, having taken a rest, I'll go 
 home, with my bad news, to console poor Miss Ca- 
 roline. {^Coming forward, 
 
 Henry. I cannot be mistaken in that face. — Ken- 
 rick ! 
 
 .Ken. Eh ? — Why sure it can't be ! — Sure, my ould 
 .eyes are so bad, that I see what's invisible ! 
 
 Henry. It is he. — IRunuing to him.'] — Oh, Ken- 
 rick, my good old man ! — tell me, where, where is 
 my Caroline ? 
 
 Ken. Och, 'faith, 'tis himself! — 'tis himself! — 'tis 
 himself! — safe, sound, and dry, without a wet rag 
 about him ! 
 
 Henry. But, inform me, my honest Kenrick, 
 of 
 
 iKen, Hubbidaoo ! hubbaboo ! hubbaboo ! Ocb 
 
8CENK 1.] THE flEIR AT LAW. 7^ 
 
 I'll go Avild! — I'll go Iliad! — Don't spake to me yet, 
 my dear, s'weet Mr. Henry ! — Och, good luck to the 
 day when your honour walked ashore after you were 
 dro^vned ! 
 
 fhnrrj. But tell me, Kenrick, of 
 
 • Ken. Yes, I'll tell you— I'll tell you of OcW 
 
 iij>on my soul y(ni must wait a bit. — 1 believe I've 
 been drowned myself, for the salt-water runs out of 
 my eyes by pails-full. 
 
 Sfed. Poor fellow ! — An old servant of Mr. Dor- 
 mer's, I perceive. 
 
 Henry. Well, now, speak, speak, Kenrick. — Only 
 tell me, — is Caroline safe? 
 
 Ken. Indeed, now, and she is. 
 
 Henry. Thank heaven ! — and in London ? 
 
 Ken. Yes, in this wide dirty town j and, big as it 
 is, there isn't a thirteen to be had, for love nor 
 money, to help her out of her distress. 
 
 Henry. Her distress > — but 1 feared it. Let me 
 
 fly to her, and You are surely with her still, 
 
 Kenrick r 
 
 Ken. With her! — And is it yourself, Mr. Henry, 
 that can ask Kenrick that question? — Could I leave 
 my sweet young mistress? — or, would I leave any 
 friends, in their need, that supported me in their 
 prosperity ! — Och, the devil fly away with him that 
 would, I sav ! 
 
 Sted. Honest fellow ! 
 
 Henry. Pardon me, my good Kenrick j I know 
 not what I say. Conduct me to her 3 and you shall 
 explain all by the way. 
 
 Ken. Conduct you ? — 'Faith, ould as I am, I'll go 
 hopping over all the kennels home with you as nim- 
 ble as a jackdaw. 
 
 Henry. Come then Stedfast ? 
 
 Sted. Come, Heniy -, I'll see you to the door of 
 Miss Dormer, and then I'll leave you ; — and on this 
 
76 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT 7 
 
 occasion, my clear friend, let me heartily congratu- 
 late you. Such an event as this comes most oppor- 
 tunely; and it may prove to you, Henry, that, in 
 this chequered life of joy and sorrow, Providence 
 has ever some balm in store to pour into the wounds 
 which it inflicts ; and that the worst of griefs may 
 be assuaged by the pitying Power who chastens us. 
 
 \_Exeunt, 
 
 An Apartment in Lord Duberly's House, 
 
 Enter Lord and Lady Duberly. 
 
 Lord D. But Listen, mv lady, to reason. 
 
 Lady D. Then I mustn't listen to you, my lord. 
 
 Lord D. Um ! — Why, I've been almost scared 
 out of my seven senses. The old madman, who was 
 here last night, rushed in,, with another young one 
 with him, this morning. I can't make head nor tail 
 of what he wants, for my part. But, as to Dick, my 
 lady, he'll certainly break his heart, if he doesn't 
 marry this here wench. 
 
 Lady D. I wonder, my lord, you can think or 
 such a thing ! — a peer's son marry a maid-servant ! 
 
 Lord D. Od rabbit it ! my lady, now don't be so 
 obstropulous. You know, when his father married 
 yoUj you was but a clear-starcher. 
 
SCENE II. THE HEIR AT LAW. 77 
 
 f Lady D. That's quite another sort of an affair -, — 
 and you might have more manners than to mention 
 it now. But as to learning you elegance, — ah ! — we 
 may lead the horse to the water, my lord, but there's 
 no making him drink. 
 
 Lord D. Nay, I'm sure, my lady, I didn't mean 
 no disparagement to you j — for you was counted, on 
 all hands, the best getter-up of small linen in our 
 town. — Here's the doctor. — Let's ax his advice in 
 this here business. 
 
 Enter Doctor Pangloss, 
 
 Pray now, doctor ^You must know we're in a oit 
 
 of a quandary, doctor. 
 
 Pang, Your lordship had better be in an uncer- 
 tainty. 
 
 Lord. D. Why, lord love you, so I am, mun. 
 
 Pray, didn't you never hear of no great man as was 
 married to a farmer's daughter ? 
 
 Pang. Walter 5 a Marquis of Lombardy. 
 
 Lord D. There, my lady ! — The IMarquis of Lom- 
 bardy ! — That's the place where all the poplars come 
 from. He's a tip-top I war'n't him. Mayhap you 
 may have lit on him in your visits, my lady ? 
 
 Lady D. Frequently. 
 
 Pang. *' 'Tis false." — Rowe. — Hem ! [Aside. 
 
 Lady D. But you have heard nothing yet of the 
 high tone, my lord. 
 
 Lord D. High tone ! — Rot it, I hear nothing else 
 but the high tone when you're in the house, my 
 lady. — ^And who did he marry, doctor? 
 
 Pang. Grizzle ; a perfect pattern of patience ; — 
 
 daughter to his tenant, Jacolina ; and " This 
 
 markis hath here spoused with a ring." — Chaucer. — 
 Hem! 
 
 Lord D. There, my lady! ^Vhat do you think 
 
78 TOE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT V. 
 
 of that? — Damn it, if the marquis smoused Grizzle, 
 Dick may marry the maid-servant. 
 
 Pang. My pupil! — Zounds, my salary ! — '^ Tre- 
 mor occupat artus." — Virgil. — Hem! — My incoHae 
 totters ! lAside 
 
 Lord D. And in that there case, doctor, your 
 three hundred a-year must go to the mending of my 
 cakelology. 
 
 Fang. Yes, but I shall lose No, nothing 5 — 
 
 a lapsus linguae. — One annuity gone with my pu- 
 pil ! — Then I've only clear, for hfe, *' six hun- 
 dred " 
 
 Lady D, Doctor 
 
 Pang, ^' Pounds a year." — Swift. — Hem! — Ma- 
 dam ! 
 
 Lady D. [Apart to Pang loss.] You know, doc- 
 tor, my three hundred stops the moment my son 
 marries. 
 
 Pang. What, stop your three! — ^' Thrice the 
 
 brinded cat has mew'd." — Shakspeare. — Hem! • 
 
 Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Dick Dowlas. 
 
 Dick. Well, father, has my mother made up hsr 
 mind ? 
 
 Lord D. Why, I can't tell, Dick. My lady seems 
 betwixt and betweenish, as a body may say. But it 
 all depends upon her vardick. 
 
 [Dick takes his motlier apart. 
 
 Pang. Does it ! — Oh, Jupiter, if ever contradic- 
 tion crept into the bosom of a beauteous woman, — 
 '' Mulier formosa." — Horace. — Hem! — stuff a dou- 
 ble dose into that terrible old wouian, and save the 
 fortunes of Peter Pangloss ! 
 
 Lady D. Well, but she is only a farmer's daugh- 
 ter, they say — And what's a farmer, my dear ? 
 
SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 79 
 
 Dick. Why, an English farmer, mother, is one 
 who supports his fanuly, and serves his country, 
 by his own industry. — In this land of commerce, 
 mother, such a character will be always respect- 
 able. 
 
 Lord D. That's right, Dick. — Father's own son 
 to a hair. — When I kep my shop at Gosport, I 
 
 Lady D. Hush, my lord I — A Veil, you — you were 
 always my darling, you know, Dick ; and I can't 
 find in my heart to give you a denial. 
 
 Pang. Can't you? — I wish you could find it in 
 your tongue. Six hundred a-ycar blown away by 
 the breath of that Sibil I [Aside. 
 
 Dick. That's my good mother! you've made me 
 so happy! — I — Zounds, I shall run mad ! 
 
 Pang. Zounds ! and so shall I. 
 
 Dick. A thousand thanks, my dear mother ! — and 
 my dear father too ! — I'll get as drunk to-night as 
 . . . .Wish me joy, doctor 3 wish me joy 3 — v/ish me 
 joy a hundred times ! 
 
 Pang. A hundred times ! I feel, Mr. Dowlas, on 
 this occasion, six hundred times more than I know 
 Vow to express. 
 
 Dick. And if you would but indulge mc now in 
 letting me conduct you to Cicely — 
 
 Lord D. Od rot it, my lady ! let's humour Dick 
 for once. — The young ones loves to be cooing and 
 building you know. 
 
 Lady D. Why, the coach, I believe, is at the 
 door, my lord. 
 
 Lord D. Is it? — Sbol)s ! then, my lady, let's bun- 
 dle. — Dick! — Come, doctor. Now, you mustn't 
 make me ride backwards, my lady 3 for you know I 
 ha'n't been used to a coach, and I shall certiiinly be 
 qualmish if you do. — Come, my lady. 
 
 {^Exeunt Lord and Lady Dubehia'. 
 
 Dick. Come, doctor, we lose time. 
 
 Pang. Time? lose! — I've lost a3 pretty a pair of 
 h2 
 
JO THE HEIR AT LAW. [aGT ¥. 
 
 snug annuities as ... . Let me see^ — take six from 
 nine 
 
 Dick. Why, doctor ? 
 
 Pang. " And three remain.'* — Cocker. — Hem I 
 
 Dick. Come, come — 'tis late. 
 
 Pang. Only three. 
 
 Dick. Only three ! Why, 'tis only twelve, man. 
 But come ; if you don't attend to my father better, 
 I can tell you he'll kick you and your three hundred 
 a-year to the devil. 
 
 Pang. WiU he ? ^^ O, for a horse with wings !'* — 
 Shakspeare. — Hem ! — I fly, Mr. Dowlas. 
 
 \_Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE HI. 
 
 Caroline's Lodging. 
 
 Caroline and Cicely. 
 
 Cicely. Indeed^ I truly hope you are better, ma- 
 dam. 
 
 Car. I have little reason to be so. Cicely, 
 
 Cicely. Oh, but I hope you have : — and if the 
 worst comes to the worst .... But I am almost 
 ashamed to tell you, madam. 
 
 Car. Innocence like yours, my good girl, can know 
 nothing it should fear to reveal. 
 
 Cicely. Why, I need't be much afraid, neither; 
 for 'tis what a power of folks, both rich and poor, 
 do all come to at last. 
 
SCSNS III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 81 
 
 Car. What is that. Cicely > 
 
 Cicely. Wedlock, madam. 
 
 Car. Indeed ! — This is unexpected after what you 
 told me this morning. 
 
 Cicely. Ay, but you know, madam, as to wedlock, 
 and all that, many things fall out between the cup 
 and the lip, as they say. 
 
 Car. ^Sighing.'] 'Tis too true, indeed. Cicely! 
 
 Cicely. And so my Dick came to our door, ma- 
 dam 5 — 'tis but a little while agone; — and his dear 
 eyes were as full of tears ! — and you know that was 
 a pity, madam -, for his eyes are so fine, and so blue, 
 'tis a shame any thing should spoil 'em. 
 
 Car. Well, Cicely? 
 
 Cicely And so we soon brought matters to bear, 
 ^adam. 
 
 Car. How, Cicely^ 
 
 Cicely, Why, he looked so sorry that it made my 
 heart bleed to see him : — and, when I love him so 
 dearly, it would be cruel not to marry him when he 
 asked me. — Don't you think so, madam ? 
 
 Car. May you be very, very happy. Cicely ! Tis 
 an ease to my mind, in the midst of my misfortunes, 
 to know that you will be provided for. I was on the 
 point of telling you. Cicely, that my reduced cir- 
 cumstances would not permit me to keep you with 
 me any longer. 
 
 Cicely. Oh, dear ! — ^And was you going to be so 
 unkind to me, madan ? 
 
 Car. Unkind to you, my good girl ! — Oh, no! It 
 would have touched me sensibly to have sent forth 
 simplicity, like yours, unprotected. — But hard neces- 
 sity! — I rejoice, my good Cicely, rejoice sincerely, 
 in your ^ Dod fortune. 
 
 Cicely. Ail, madam ! I should rejoice more at my 
 good fort.me :f you would but let me do what I have 
 been thinking on. 
 
TIJ13 IIEJR AT LAW. [aC* w 
 
 Crtr, What is tluit, Cieoly? 
 
 C'i eiy. 1 hope you won't be angry at -vhat I'm 
 going to say, madam 'i 
 
 Ca? Oh, impossible ! — Speak freely. 
 
 Cicely. Why, you know, madam, Dick's a lord's 
 son; and when I'm his wife I may do just ivhat I 
 please : — for rich folks' wives, I have heard -^y. do 
 just what they please in London. — Now -f vou 
 would but be so good, when I'm married^ us to let 
 me ser ve you for nothing ! 
 
 Car. No more, — no more, Cicely! — I 
 
 Cicely. And when my husband gives me any 
 money, if you wouki but be so kind as to borrow it 
 of me, I should be very much obliged to you indeed, 
 madam ! 
 
 Car. Oh ! — You have overpowered me ! {^Falls on 
 Cicely's neck.'] Oh, heaven ! — how pure are all thy 
 creatures endowed with reason till worldly habits 
 corrupt them ! 
 
 Zelc. [Without.'] Tol, lol, de rol, lol! 
 
 Car, What is that ? 
 
 Cicely. 'Twas brother Zekiel's voice. — Sure he 
 can't think to make such a noise here ? 
 
 Enter Zekiel capering and singing. 
 
 Zek. Tol, lol, de rol, lol! Tol, lol, de rol, lol! 
 
 Cicely. Why, Zekiel ? — Why, you must be crazy, 
 sure? 
 
 Zek. Zooks, and so I be^ sister ! — ^Tol, lol, de rol, 
 loir 
 
 Cicely, Think where you are, brother. There's 
 madam ! 
 
 Zek. Rabbit it, madam, I do humbly crave par- 
 don j^ — but I be in such a frustration! — I ha' got 
 — Tol, lol de rol, lol! — I ha' got twenty thousand 
 pounds I 
 
, €CENE HI.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 88 
 
 Cicely. Mv gracious ! — Twenty thousand pounds! 
 
 Zek. Tol/lol (le rol, lol ! 
 
 Cicely, liut stand still now, brother Zekiel. Where 
 did you get such a sight of money ? 
 
 Zek. r the lottery, lass ! — I' the lottery. — Let me 
 take a bit of breath. — I do crave pardon, madam ! — 
 father's ticket — let me take a bit of — have come a 
 
 prize of — a bit of breath — of Dear, dear! hea- 
 
 \en send this luck do not set my simple brain a 
 madding ! 
 
 Car. Compose yourself, honest friend. 
 
 Zek. I do humlDly thank you, madam. — I ha' run 
 all the way from lottery-office, and 
 
 Cicely. Well, and what will you do with all this 
 money, Zekiel? 
 
 Zek. What will I do v/i' it, sister Cicely ? — Why, 
 what siioiiicl a man do wi' his riches? — I will first 
 jwovide for such as I do love 5 and then lend a help- 
 ing hand to them as be poor about me. 
 
 Cicely. Dear brother that's just the thing. Come 
 here, Zekiel. — Poor madam has fallen into great 
 trouble. 
 
 Zek. Has she? — How? 
 
 Cicely. M'hy, all her friends arc dead, it seems; — 
 
 Zek. Poor soul ! 
 
 Cicely, And her banker stole all the money she 
 had this very moruingj and 
 
 Zek. Don't you say any more, sister Cicely. — 
 Hum! — Madam, I — be main glad to hear you be 
 tumbled into misfortunes, madam. 
 
 Car. Glad, friend ! 
 
 Zek. Main glad, indeed ! — because you ha beea 
 so kind to sister 3 and I be able now to return you 
 the favour. 
 
 Car. Oh ! no more of that, Zekiel : you distress 
 me. 
 
 Zek. With s-ubmission^ madam, I do want to take 
 
84 IIEIR AT LAW. [act V. 
 
 away your distress. Here, madam, IPulling out 
 notes.'} — here be a hundred — and there be a five 
 hundred — and here be a— -Rabbit it, my hand do 
 shake too much to stand a counting. 1 will spread 
 *em all upon table, here. Take what you do want, 
 and welcome J and thank you too, madam. 
 
 [^Spreading all on the table in a great jiurry. 
 
 Car, I cannot — I cannot think, friend, of 
 
 Zek, and Cicely. Pray ye do now, madam ! — Pray 
 ye do! [Bowing and courtesying. 
 
 Enter Lord and Lady Duberly, 
 
 Car. Bless me! — Who's this? 
 
 Lord D. Beg pardon, ma'am ; but the landlady 
 bid us bundle up. 
 
 Car. Your commands with me, sir? 
 
 Lord D. Why, the whole preamble of this here 
 affair is, that my lady and I Speak to the gentle- 
 woman, my lady. 
 
 Lady D. Ah ! you have a head, and so has a pin ! 
 — AVe made bold to pay our respects, madam, having 
 a little business concerning a female of your family. 
 
 Lord D. Yes, and 
 
 Car. To whom have I the honour of speaking, 
 sir? 
 
 Lord D. Why, you've the honour of speaking to 
 Lord Duberly, madam. 
 
 Zek. What? 
 
 [Gathers up the notes hastily, and comes forward. 
 
 Car. To Lord Duberly ! 
 
 Lord D. But Dick's coming up, with Dr. Pan- 
 gloss hat-d at his heels, and they'll tell you the long 
 and the short on't. 
 
 Zek. What, Dick Dowlas !— Then you be the old 
 chandler they ha' made a lord on ? 
 
 Lady D. Old chandler, indeed ? 
 
-SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 85 
 
 Zek, Look ye now, my Lord Soap and Candles — 
 Lady D. Soap and candles ! 
 
 Zek. Your son had better keep clear o' vn^^J^ can 
 tell him that. ^^ 
 
 Enter Dick Dowlas and PANoLd^ 
 
 Dick. Cicely, let me — \_Running toward 
 
 Zek. [^Interposing.'] Stand off, Mr. Dowlas ! — 
 
 Stand off! — to think to come here to Od rabbit 
 
 , ! my fingers do itch to be at you. Keep you be- 
 ind me, sister Cicely. 
 
 Dick. My dear Zekiel, I 
 
 Zek. Don't you dear me. I put little trust in fair 
 
 )rds with foul actions. 
 . Cicely. Dear now, you are so hasty, Zekiel 1 
 
 Zek. Hold your peace. Cicely. The best he that 
 wears a head had better be hanged than venture to 
 harm you. 
 
 Dick, Cicely, I find, has riot explained. I am 
 here, Zekiel, to make reparation. 
 
 Zek. You have stung me to the quick. You do 
 know you have. 
 
 Dick. I share with you in all the pain, Zekiel, 
 which I have so wantonly inflicted. My heart smote 
 me, even before you left me -, and very little reflec- 
 tion convinced me that, in the vanity of sudden for- 
 tune, I had offered you and the woman of my heart, 
 a bitter injury. I am thoughtless, Zekiel, but not 
 deliberately base -, and if you can once more take to 
 your bosom a guilty, but repentant friend, 
 
 Zek. Oh, Dick I Dick ! — [Runs and embraces him.'] 
 — my dear, — my old companion! — Ah, Dick! that 
 be a stony bosom that can shut out an old friend 
 who be truly grieved for his faults, and do sue for 
 mercy. — It be more than I can do. 
 
 Cicely. Dear, I am so happy ! 
 
so Tin-: Hi.iR AT LAW. [act v. 
 
 '. You have iDade my heart many and many j 
 the liah^er, Dick. 
 
 pound iiic iit^i 
 
 ■Dick. And my own too, Zekiel. — And, to prove 
 my sincerity, my fatlier and mother here are come 
 with an offer of my hand to Cicely. — Fathei 
 
 Lord D. Why, my hidy here is a little upon the 
 grumpy order for his calling* us chandlers — But, for 
 my part, I don't value that not of a button. A man 
 needn't take no aiiiont to be told he was born low 
 when he has got better in the world without no dis- 
 honesty. — There, children, be happy together. 
 
 Zek. Why, now, that's hearty. And as luck be 
 apt to turn wi' us all, — why, I ha' now gotten twenty 
 thousand pounds 
 
 Lord and Lady D. How ? 
 
 Zek. And I warrant sister Cicely shall ha* stun- 
 mut handsome toss'd in at the wedding. 
 
 Cicely. Ay, all in the lottery. — I'll tell you. 
 
 \_They go apart 
 
 Pang. Twenty thousand pounds! [Goes forward 
 to Zekiel.] — Sir, — as you will now need a tutor to 
 usher you into life, three hundred per annum are the 
 trifling terms of your obedient servant, Peter Pan- 
 gloss, LL.D. and A double S. 
 
 Enter Kenrick. 
 
 Ken. Stand out of the way I — He's coming*, my 
 dear Miss Caroline ! He's coming ! 
 
 Car. Who, Kenrick ? 
 
 Ken. 'Tis himself — 'Tis himself! — He's alive, and 
 leaping up stairs, like a young salmon out of the 
 water. 
 
 Car. Who do you mean } 
 
 Ken. My dear, young, lost master.— 'Tis Mr. 
 Henry himself, madam. 
 
 Car, My Henry ! — Oh, support me I 
 
SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW . 0/ 
 
 Enter Henry Morland. 
 
 Henry. My Caroline— Oh, let me clasp you to my 
 heart, and shelter you there for ever. 
 
 [Caroline /ain<5 in his arms. 
 
 Lord D. Why, zounds ! that's the young sucking 
 madman as scared me out of my senses, with the old 
 one, this morning. 
 
 Car, [Recovering.'] This is too much ! — Oh, Hen- 
 ry ! do we once more meet I-^— and after such By 
 
 what miracle have you escaped ? 
 
 Ken. Be satisfied, ma'am 5 for he's too much 
 bothered now to talk. — ^But you see he's here, and 
 that's enough. — ^The true, long-lost Mr. Henry Mor- 
 land. 
 
 Lord D. Eh !-— What !— Henry Morland !— Why, 
 zounds !— the late Lord Duberly's lost hair ! 
 
 Henry. Son and heir to that revered and respect- 
 able man, be assured, sir. You have done me the fa- 
 vour to be my locum tenens in my absence, and I am 
 now returned to relieve you from further trouble. 
 
 Lord D. Why, what the devil! — Have I only 
 been a kind of a peer's warming-pan after all! — 
 Just popp'd in, to keep his place from getting cold, 
 till he jumped into it ! 
 
 Henry. Nothing more, believe me. I have wit- 
 nesses sufficient, should it be necessary, to identify 
 my person in a minute. 
 
 Lord D. Od rabbit it ! then old Daniel Dowlas is 
 no longer a lord 
 
 Lady D. Nor Deborah Dowlas a lady 
 
 Dick. Nor Dick Dowlas an honourable 
 
 Pang. Nor Peter Pangloss a tutor. — Now, thank 
 heaven ! 
 
 Lord D. Thank heaven ! for what ? 
 
 Pang. " That I am not worth a ducat." — Otway. 
 —Hem ! 
 
 Zek, Then it do seem at last, Dick, that I be the 
 
$8 .THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT V. 
 
 rich man, and you be the poor. — Od rabbit it I be 
 glad on't ; for I can now please myself wi' serving 
 my friends. 
 
 Henry. Who is this, Caroline? 
 
 Car, An honest creature, Henry j — ^brother to this 
 simple girl. Their affection to me, in my distress, 
 has been most piercing. 
 
 Henry, Then it shall not go unrewarded, my 
 Caroline. 
 
 Zek, Wi' humble submission, sir, kindness to a 
 fellow-creature in distress do reward itself. Thanks 
 to the lottery, we be rich enow. But, as Dick Dow- 
 las be to marry sister Cicely, if you would just 
 lend me a helping hand, for his father and mother 
 here 
 
 Henry, Oh ! rest contented, honest friend ; I shall 
 not dispossess them without making a proper })ro- 
 vision. 
 
 Pang, My lord : — hem ! — If a boy should bless 
 your nuptials, which I conjecture are about to 
 take place, he will, doubtless, need a tutor. — ^Three 
 hundred per annum are the terms of your lordship's 
 obsequious servant, Peter Pangloss, LL. D. and 
 A double S. 
 
 Henry, You are not one of those, it seems, sir, 
 who lose an appointment for want of an early appli- 
 .cation. 
 
 Pang, The human mind, my lord, naturally looks 
 forward — '' Animus praevidet futura." — Cicero. — 
 Hem] 
 
 Henry. If I should need such a person, sir, dej)end 
 upon it, I should be very particular in my choice 5 
 for I suspect there are some among those to whom 
 youth is entrusted, who bring the character of tutor 
 into disrepute 5 and draw ridicule upon a i»spectabJe 
 situation, in which many men of learning, and pro- 
 bity are placed. 
 
 Pang. This man will never do for me. Again must 
 
SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 89 
 
 I retire to Milk Alley, and spin my brains for a sub- 
 sistence. — '' Pangloss's occupation's gone." — Shak- 
 spear. — Hem ! 
 
 Henry. In calmer moments, my Caroline, I vniQ 
 explain the circumstances of my preservation j — and 
 when I have paid the mournful tribute due to a 
 much-lamented father let me call you mine, and 
 place you above the reach of future sorrow. 
 
 Car. Little sorrow can reach me when you are 
 safe, Henry. 
 
 Zek, And we'll get into the country, take a bit of 
 a farm, and all be as merry as grigs, Dick. 
 
 Dick. Agreed, Zekiel. — Come, Cicely! 'I have 
 seen enough already of splendour to seek for happi- 
 ness in quieter scenes ; and I have learnt, Zekiel, 
 that, in spite of all the allurements which riches or 
 titles may boast, the most solid and valuable posses- 
 sion is a true friend. 
 
 THE ENI>. 
 
 Printed by A. iiud R. Spottisuoodc, 
 IVlntcTji-iJlrctt, Lomiuii. 
 
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