I was quite frightened. I was as much surprised as Sophy Western, when she saw Tom Jones in the looking-glass. Nur. Hush; you shall steal off immediately. Your papa is very busy with Mr. Ledger. Mr. Scribble is waiting with a hackney-chair but in the next street; you may slip slily into it, and be conveyed to his lodgings in a trice, chicken. Polly. And he strut before the chair all the way in his livery, and cry,-" By your leave, sir; by your leave, ma'am." Eh! admirable! Come, nursee, I long to be in his hands. [Exit, following the Nurse. SCENE IV. Mrs. Honeycombe's Apartment. MRS. HONEYCOMBE alone. Several phials on the table, with labels. Mrs. H. I am not at all well to-day. (Yawns, as if just waking.) Such a quantity of tea in a morning makes one quite nervous; and Mr. Honeycombe does not choose it qualified. I have such a dizziness in my head, it absolutely turns round with me. I don't think, neither, that the hysteric water is warm enough for my stomach. I must speak to Mr Julep, to order me something rather more comfortable. Enter Nurse. Nur. Did you call, ma'am? Mrs. H. Oh! nurse, is it you? No; I did not call. Where's Mr. Honeycombe? Nur. Below stairs, in the parlour, madam. I did not think she'd have wak'd so soon: If she should miss the key, now, before I've an opportunity to lay it down again! (Aside.) Mrs. H. What d'ye say, nurse? Nur. Say, madam? Say? I say, I hope you're a little better, ma'am. Mrs. H. Oh, nurse! I am perfectly giddy with my nerves, and so low spirited! Nur. Poor gentlewoman! Suppose I give you a sup out of the case of Italian cordials, ma'am, that was sent as a present from Mr.What-d'ye-call-him, in Crutched-Fryars; the Italian merchant, with the long name. Mrs. H. Filthy poison! don't mention it: faugh! I hate the very names of them. You know, nurse, I never touch any cordials, but what come from the apothecary's. What o'clock is it? Isn't it time to take my draught? Nur. By my troth, I believe it is! Let me see, I believe this is it. (Takes up a phial, and slips the key upon the table.) "The stomachic draught, to be taken an hour before dinner. For Mrs. Honeycombe." (Reading the label.) Ay, this is it. By my troth, I am glad I've got rid of the key again! (Aside.) Mrs. H. Come, then; give it me: I'm afraid I can't take it: it goes sadly against me. (Drinking.) Honey. (Without.) Run, John, run! after them immediately! Harry, do you run, too! Stick close to Mr. Ledger. Don't return without them, for your life! Nur. Good lack! good lack! they're discovered, as sure as the day! (Aside.) Mrs. H. Lord, nurse! what's the matter? Enter HONEYCOMBE. Mrs. H. O, my sweeting! I am glad you are come: I was so frighted about you! (Rises, and seems disordered.) Honey. Zounds! my dear Mrs. H. O! don't swear, my dearest. Honey. Zounds! it's enough to make a parson swear! You have let Polly escape: she's run away with a fellow. Mrs. H. You perfectly astonish me, my dear:— I can't possibly conceive-My poor head aches too, to such a degree-Where's the key of her chamber? (Seems disordered.) Nur. Here, madam; here it is. Mrs. H. Why, here's the key, my sweeting! It's absolutely impossible! it has lain here ever since you brought it me; not a soul has touched it, have they, Nurse? (Disordered.) Nur. Not a creature; I'll take my bible oath on't. Honey. I tell you, she's gone; I'm sure on't. Mr. Ledger saw a strange footman put her into a chair, at the corner of the street; and he and John, and a whole posse, are gone in pursuit of them. Mrs H. This is the most extraordinary circumstance! it's quite beyond my comprehension. But my sweeting must not be angry with his own dear wife; it was not her fault. (Fondling.) Honey. Nay, my love, don't trifle now. Ledg. (Without.). This way, this way; bring them along. Honey. Hark! they're coming: Mr. Ledger has overtaken them; they're here. Ledg. (Without.) Here! Mr. Honeycombe is in this room: come along. Enter LEDGER, POLLY, and SCRIBBLE, with Ledg. Here they are, Mr. Honeycombe: we've brought them back again: here they are, madam. Honey. Hussy! I have a good mind to turn you out of doors again immediately: you are a disgrace to your family. Mrs. H. Stay, my dear; don't put yourself into such a passion. Polly, let me know the whole circumstances of this affair. Honey. Where were you going? certain, who this fellow belongs to. he live? Who is he? Tell me, for Where does What! what would you run away with a fellow in Honey. Why, this is even worse than I expected. livery?-a footman?" Polly. A footman! ha, ha, ha! very good: and so, papa, you really believe he is a footman. A footman! A scoundrel fellow in livery! Yes; I am very like Scrib. A footman! eh, my dear? An errand boy! a footman, to be sure! (Laughing with Polly.) Polly. Why, papa, don't you know that every gentleman disguises himself in the course of an disguised himself like an old man? and Tom Ramble amour? Don't you remember that Bob Lovelace like an old woman? Honey. She's certainly mad-stark mad. Hark ye, sir! who are you? I'll have you sent to the compter. You shall give an account of yourself before my lord mayor. Scrib. What care I for my lord mayor? Honey. There! There's a fellow for you! Don't care for my lord mayor! Scrib. No, nor the whole court of aldermen.— Hark ye, sir! I am a gentleman; a gentleman as well known as any in the city. Mrs. H. Upon my word, I believe so. He seems a very proper gentleman-like-sort of a-kind of a of I knew your voice; ay, and your face, too. Pray, sir, don't you live with Mr. Traverse, the attorney, Gracechurch-street? Did not you come to me last week about a policy of insurance! Scrib. O, the devil! (Aside.) I come to you, sir! I never saw your face before. (To Ledger.) Honey. An attorney's clerk! Hark ye, woman! (To Nurse.) I begin to suspect. Have not I heard you speak of a kinsman, clerk to Mr. Traverse? Stop him! Scrib. Hands off, gentlemen! Well, then; I do go through a little business for Mr. Traverse. What then? What have you to say to me now, sir? Polly. Do, pray, mamma, take Mr. Scribble's part, pray do. Nur. Do, ma'am; speak a good word for him. Mrs. H. I understand nothing at all of the matter. Apart, while they are stopping Scribble. Honey. Hark ye, woman! He's your nephew: I'm sure on't. I'll turn you out of doors immediately. You shall be— Nur. I beg upon my knees that your honour would forgive me. I meant no harm, heaven above knows. (Kneeling.) Honey. No harm! What! to marry my daughter to-I'll have you sent to Newgate. And you, (To Polly.) you sorry baggage! d'ye see what you were about? You were running away with a beggar -with your nurse's nephew, hussy! Polly. Lord, papa! what signifies whose nephew he is? He may be ne'er the worse for that. Who knows but he may be a foundling, and a gentleman's son, as well as Tom Jones? My mind is resolved, and nothing shall ever alter it. [faith! Scrib. Bravo, Miss Polly! A fine generous spirit, Honey. You're an impudent slut! You're undone. Mrs. H. Nay, but look ye, Polly: mind me, child: You know that I Polly. As for my poor mamma here, you see, sir, she is a little in the nervous way this morning. When she comes to herself, and Mr. Julep's draughts have taken a proper effect, she'll be convinced I am in the right. Honey. Hold your impertinence! Polly. And you, my angelic Mr. Scribble! Polly. You may depend on my constancy and affection. I never read of any lady's giving up her lover, to submit to the absurd election of her parents. I'll have you, let what will be the consequence. I'll have you, though we go through as many distresses as Booth and Amelia. As for you, you odious wretch, (to Ledger) how could they ever imagine that I should dream of such a creature? A great he-monster! I would as soon be married to the Staffordshire giant. I hate you! You are as deceitful as Blifil, as rude as the Harlowes, and as ugly as Dr. Slop. [Exit. Honey. She's downright raving-mad as a March hare! I'll put her into Bedlam! I'll send her into the country! I'll have her shut up in a nunnery!I'll Mrs. H. Come, my sweeting, don't make your dear self so uneasy. Don't Honey. As for you, sir-(To Scribble.) Scrib. Sir, I know that I've done nothing contrary to the twenty-sixth of the king. Above a month ago, sir, I took lodgings in Miss Polly's name and mine, in the parish of St. George's in the Fields, The bans have been asked three times, and I could have married Miss Polly to-day: so much for that. And so, sir, your servant. If you offer to detain me, I shall bring my action on the case for false imprisonment, sue out a bill of Middlesex, and upon a non est inventus, if you abscond, a latitat, then an alias, a pluries, a non omittas, and so on. Or, per haps I may indict you at the sessions, bring the affair by certiorari into bancum regis, et cætera, et cætera, et cætera. And now, stop me at your peril! Exit. Honey. I am stunned with his jargon, and confounded at his impudence. Hark you, woman! (To the Nurse.) I'll have you committed to Newgate. I'll Nur. Mighty well, your honour! Fine treatment for an old servant, indeed! I, to be huffed and dinged about at this rate! But, 'tis an old saying, and a true one,-Give a dog an ill name, and hang him. Live and learn, as they say. We grow older and older every day. Service is no inheritance in these ages. There are more places than parish churches. So you may do as you please, your honour. But I shall look up my things, give up a month's wages, for want of a month's warning, and go my ways out of your house immediately. [Exit. Honey. Why, you old beldam, you shall be burnt for a witch: but I'll put an end to this matter at once. Mr. Ledger, you shall marry my daughter to-morrow-morning. Ledg. Not I, indeed, my friend. I give up my interest in her: she'd make a terrible wife for a sober citizen. Who can answer for her behaviour? I would not underwrite her for ninety per cent. [Exit. Honey. See there! see there! My girl is undone : her character is ruined with all the world. These d-d story-books! What shall we do, Mrs. Honeycombe? what shall we do? Mrs. H. Look ye, my dear, you've been wrong in every particular. Honey. Wrong? I wrong! Mrs. H. Quite wrong, my dear; I would not expose you before company; my tenderness, you know, is so great. But leave the whole affair to me: you are too violent. Go, my dear; go, and compose yourself, and I'll set all matters to rights. (Going, turns back.) Don't you do any thing of your own head, now: trust it all to me, my dear; and I'll settle it in such a manner, that you, and I, and all the world, shall be astonished and delighted with it. [Exit, muttering. Honey. Zounds! I shall run mad with vexation. Was ever man so heartily provoked? You see, now, gentlemen, (Coming forward to the audience.) what a situation I am in. Instead of happiness and jollity, my friends and family about me, a wedding and a dance, and every thing as it should be, here am I, left by myself;-deserted by my intended son-in-law, bullied by an attorney's clerk, affronted by my own servant, my daughter mad, my wife in the vapours, and all in confusion. This comes of cordials and novels. Zounds! your stomachics are the devil! And a man might as well turn his daughter loose in Covent Garden, as trust the cultivation of her mind to a circulating library. [Exit. A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.-BY RICHARD CUMBERLAND. ACT I. SKIFF PATERSON CHARACTERS. OLD GOODWIN PHILIP SCENE I.-A rocky Shore, with a Fisherman's Cabin in the Cliff: A violent tempest, with thunder and lightning: A Ship discovered stranded on the coast. After having looked out of their cabin, as if waiting for the abatement of the storm, Enter OLD GOODWIN, PHILIP, and FANNY. Philip. It blows a rank storm; 'tis well, father, we hauled the boat ashore before the weather came on; she's safe bestowed, however, let what will happen. O. Good. Ay, Philip, we had need be provident; except that poor skiff, my child, what have we left in this world that we can call our own? Philip. To my thoughts, now, we live as happily in this poor hut as we did yonder in the great house, when you was 'Squire Belfield's principal tenant, and as topping a farmer as any in the whole county of Cornwall. 0. Good. Ah, child! Philip. Nay, never droop; to be sure, father, the squire has dealt hardly with you, and a mighty point, truly, he has gained-the rain of an honest man. If those are to be the uses of a great estate, heaven continue me what I am! Fanny. Ay, ay, brother, a good conscience in a coarse drugget, is better than an aching heart in a silken gown. O. Good. Well, children, well, if you can bear misfortunes patiently, 'twere an ill office for me to repine; we have long tilled the earth for a subsistence; now, Philip, we must plough the ocean; in those waves lies our harvest; there, my brave lad, we have an equal inheritance with the best. Philip. True, father; the sea that feeds us, provides us an habitation here in the hollow of the eliff; I trust the squire will exact no rent for this dwelling. Alas! that ever two brothers should FRANCIS JONATHAN LADY DOVE SOPHIA VIOLETTA FANNY GOODWIN LUCY WATERS KITTY have been so opposite, as our merciless landlord, and the poor young gentleman they say is now dead! O. Good. Sirrah, I charge you, name not that unhappy youth to me any more. I was endeavouring to forget him and his misfortunes, when the sight of that vessel in distress brought him afresh to my remembrance; for, it seems, he perished by sea; the more shame upon him whose cruelty and injustice drove him thither.-But come, the wind fulls apace; let us launch the boat, and make a trip to yonder vessel; if we can assist in lightening her, perhaps she may ride it out. Philip. "Tis to no purpose; the crew are coming ashore in their boat, I saw them enter the creek. O. Good. Did you so? Then do you and your sister step into the cabin, make a good fire, and provide such fish and other stores as you have within; I will go down and meet them. Whoever they may be, that have suffered this misfortune on our coasts, let us remember, children, never to regard any man as an enemy, who stands in need of our protection. [Exit. Philip. I am strongly tempted to go down to the creek too. If father should light on any mischief,well, for once in my life, I'll disobey him; sister, you can look to matters within doors, I'll go round by the point, and be there as soon as he. Fanny. Do so, Philip, 'twill be best. [Exeunt, Enter OLD GOODWIN, followed by FRANCIS, and several Sailors, carrying goods and chests from the wreck. O. Good. This way, my friends, this way; there's stowage enough within for all your goods. Francis. Come, bear a hand, my brave lads; there's no time to lose follow that honest man, and set down your chests where he directs you. Sailor. Troth, I care not how soon I'm quit of mine; 'tis plaguy heavy. [Exeunt. Enter Sailors. 1 Sailor. Here's a pretty spot of work! plague on't, what a night has this been! I thought this d-d lee-shore would catch us at last. 2 Sailor. Why, 'twas unpossible to claw her off; well, there's an end of her-the Charming Sally privateer! Poor soul! a better sea-boat never swam upon the salt sea. 3 Sailor. I knew we should have no luck, after we took up that woman there from the packet that sunk alongside us. 1 Sailor. What, Madam Violetta, as they call cher? Why, 'tis like enough; but, husb, here comes our captain's nephew; he's a brave lad, and a seaman's friend; and, between you and me-(Boatswain's whistle.) But hark, we are called; come along. [Exeunt. Enter BELFIELD JUNIOR, and FRANCIS. Belf. jun. That ever fortune should cast us upon this coast, Francis. Francis. Sir? Belf. jun. Have the people landed those chests we brought off with us in the boat! Francis. They have, sir; an old fisherman, whom we met, has shewn us here to a cavern in the cliff, where we have stowed them all in safety. Belf. jun. That's well. Where's my uncle? Francis. On board; no persuasions can prevail on him to quit the ship, which he swears will lift with the tide; his old crony, the master, is with him, and they ply the casks so briskly, that it seems a moot point which fills the fastest, they or the wreck. Belf. jun. Strange insensibility! but you must bring him off by force then, if there is no other way of saving him; I think, o' my conscience, he is as indifferent to danger as the plank he treads on. We are now thrown upon my unnatural brother's estate; that house, Francis, which you see to the left, is his; and what may be the cousequence if he and my uncle should meet, I know not; for such has been Captain Ironsides' resentment on my account, that he has declared war against the very name of Belfield, and, in one of his whimsical passions, you know, insisted on my laying it aside for ever; so that, hitherto, I have been known on board by no other name than that of Lewson. Francis. 'Tis true, sir; and I think 'twill be advisable to continue the disguise as long as you can. As for the old Captain, from the life he always leads on shore, and his impatience to get on board again, I think 'tis very possible an interview between him and your brother may be prevented. Belf. jun. I think so too. Go then, Francis, and conduct the old gentleman hither; I see Violetta coming. [Exit Francis.] Sure, there is something in that woman's story uncommonly mysterious. Of English parents, born in Lisbon, her family and fortune buried in the earthquake; so much she freely tells, but more, I am convinced, remains untold, and of a melancholy sort; she has once or twice, as I thought, seemed disposed to unbosom herself to me; but it is so painful to be told of sorrows one has not power to relieve, that I have hitherto avoided the discourse. Enter VIOLETTA. Well, madam, melancholy still? still that face of sorrow and despair? twice shipwrecked, and twice rescued from the jaws of death, do you regret your preservation? and have I incurred your displeasure by prolonging your existence? Vio. Not so, Mr. Lewson; such ingratitude be far from me. Can I forget, when the vessel in which I had sailed from Portugal, foundered by your side, with what noble, what benevolent ardour, you flew to my assistance. Regardful ouly of my safety, your own seemed no part of your care. Belf. jun. Oh, no more of this; the preservation of a fellow creature is as natural as self-defence. You now, for the first time in your life, breathe the air of England; a rough reception it has given you; but be not, therefore, discouraged; our hearts, Violetta, are more accessible than our shores, nor can you find inhospitality in Britain, save only in our climate. Vio. These characteristics of the English may be just; I take my estimate from a less favourable example. Belf. jun. Villany, madam, is the growth of every soil; nor can I, while yonder habitation is in my view, forget that England has given birth to monsters that disgrace humanity; but this I will say for my countrymen, that where you can point out one rascal with a heart to wrong you, I will produce fifty honest fellows, ready and resolute to redress you. Vio. Ah! but on what part of the English coast is it that we are now landed? Belf. jun. On the coast of Cornwall. Vio. Of Cornwall is it? You seem to know the owner of that house; are you well acquainted with the country hereabouts? Belf. jun. Intimately; it has been the cradle of my infancy, and, with little interruption, my residence ever since. Vio. You are amongst your friends, then, no doubt; how fortunate is it, that you will have their consolation and assistance in your distress! Belf. jun. Madam Vio. Every moment will bring them down to the very shores; this brave, humane, this hospitable people, will flock in crowds to your relief; your friends, Mr. Lewson Belf. jun. My friends, Violetta! Must I confess it to you? I have no friends. Those rocks-that have thus scattered my treasures,-those waves, that have devoured them, to me are not se fatal as hath been that man whom nature meant to be my nearest friend. Vio. What! and are you a fellow-sufferer, then? Is this the way you reconcile me to your nation? Are these the friends of human kind? Why don't we fly from this ungenerous, this ungrateful country? Belf. jun. Hold, madam! one villain, however base, can no more involve a whole nation in his crimes, than one example, however dignified, can inspire it with his virtues. Thank heaven, the worthless owner of that mansion is yet without a rival. Vio. You have twice directed my attention to that house; 'tis a lovely spot; what pity that so delicious a retirement should be made the residence of so undeserving a being. Belf. jun. It is, indeed, a charming place; and was once the seat of hospitality and honour; but its present possessor, Andrew Belfield-Madam! for heaven's sake, what ails you? You seem suddenly disordered. Have I said Vio. No, 'tis nothing; don't regard me, Mr. Lewson; I am weak, and subject to these surprises; I shall be glad, however, to retire. Belf.jun. A little repose, hope, will relieve you; within this hut some accommodation may be found. Lean on my arm. (Leads her to the door of the cabin.) Enter OLD GOODWIN. O. Good. Heaven defend me! do my eyes deceive me? 'tis wondrous like his shape, his air, his look Belf. jun. What is your astonishment, friend? Do you know me? If it was not for that habit, I should say your name is Goodwin. O.Good. 'Tis he! he is alive! my dear young master, Mr, Belfield! Yes, sir, my name is Goodwin. However changed my appearance, my heart is still the same, and overflows with joy at this unexpected meeting, Belf. jun. Give me thy hand, my old, my honest friend; and is this sorry hole thy habitation? O. Good. It is. Belf. jun. The world, I see, has frowned on thee since we parted. 0. Good. Yes, sir; but what are my misfortunes? You must have undergone innumerable hardships; and now, at last, shipwrecked on your own coast. Well, but your vessel is not totally lost; and we will work night and day in saving your effects. Belf. jun. Oh! as for that, the sea gave all, let it take back a part; I have enough on shore not to envy my brother his fortune. But there is one blessing, Master Goodwin, I own I should grudge bim the possession of-There was a young lady0. Good. What, sir, haven't you forgot Miss Sophia? Belf. jun. Forgot her! my heart trembles while I ask you, if she is indeed as you call her, Miss Sophia? O. Good. She is yet unmarried, though every day we expect Belf. jun. 'Tis enough! Fortune, I acquit thee! Happy be the winds that threw me on this coast, and blest the rocks that received me. Let my vessel go to pieces; she has done her part in bearing me hither; while I can cast myself at the feet of my Sophia, recount to her my unabating passion, and have one fair struggle for her heart. [Exeunt. Enter VIOLETTA. Vio. Once more I am alone. How my heart sank, when Lewson pronounced the name of Belfield! It must be he? it must be my false, cruel, yet (spite of all my wrongs) beloved husband! Yes, there he lives, each circumstance confirms it: Cornwall the county; here the sea-coast, and these white craggy cliffs; there the disposition of his seat, the grove, lake, lawn; every feature of the landscape tallies with the deseriptions he has given me of it. What shall I do, and to whom shall I complain? When Lewson spoke of him, it was with a bitterness that shocked me. I will not disclose myself to him; by what fell from him, I suspect he is related to Mr. Belfield; but hush! I talk to these rocks, and forget that they have ears. Enter FANNY. Fanny. Are you any better, madam? Is the air of any service to you? Vio. I am much relieved by it; the beauty of that place attracted my attention; and, if you please, we will walk further up the hill to take a nearer view of it. [Exeunt. Enter Sailors. Omnes. Huzza! buzza! huzza! 1 Sailor. Long life to your honour! welcome ashore, noble Captain. 2 Sailor. Avast there, Jack! stand clear, and let his old honour pass; bless his heart, he looks cheerly, howsomever; let the world wag as it will, he'll never flinch. 3 Sailor. Not he; he's true English oak to the heart of him; and a fine old seaman-like figure he is. Enter IRONSIDES and SKIFF. Ironsides. Ah, messmates, we're all a-ground; I have been taking a parting cup with the Charming Sally: she's gone, but the stoutest bark must have an end; master, here, and I did all we could to lighten her; we took leave of her in an officer-like Ironsides. Skiff! Skiff. Here, your honour. Ironsides. I told you, Skiff, how 'twould be; if you had luff'd up in time, as I would have had you, and not made so free with the land, this mishap had never come to pass. Skiff. Lord love you, Captain Ironsides, 'twas a barrel of beef to a biscuit, the wind had not shifted so direct contrary as it did; who could have thought it? Ironsides. Why, I could have thought it; every body could have thought it. Do you consider whereabouts you are, mun? Upon the coast of England, as I take it. Everything here goes contrary both by sea and land. Everything whips, and chops, and changes about, like mad in this country; and the people, I think, are as full of vagaries as the climate. Skiff. Well, I could have swore Ironsides. Ay, so you could, Skiff, and so you did, pretty roundly too; but for the good you did by it, you might as well have puff'd a whiff of tobacco in the wind's face. Skiff. Well, Captain, though we have lost our ship, we haven't lost our all; thank the fates we've saved treasure enough to make all our fortunes, notwithstanding. Ironsides. Fortunes, quotha? What have two such old weather-beaten fellows as thee and I are, to do with fortune? or, indeed, what has fortune to do with us? Flip and tobacco is the only luxury we have any relish for; had we fine houses, could we live in them?-a greasy hammock has been our birth for these fifty years;-fine horses? could we ride them? and as for the fair sex there, that my nephew makes such a pother about, I don't know what thou may'st think of the matter, Skiff; but, for my own part, I should not care if there were no such animals in the creation. Enter BELFIELD JUNIOR. Ironsides. Oh, Bob, is it thee? whither bound now, my dear boy? Belf. jun. Why, how can you ask such a question? We have landed our treasure, saved all our friends, and set foot upon English ground; and what business, think you, can a young fellow like me have, but one? Ironsides. Psha! you're a fool, Bob; these wenches will be the undoing of you; a plague of them altogether, say I. What are they good for, but to spoil company, and keep brave fellows from their duty? O'my conscience, they do more mischief to the king's navy in one twelvemonth, than the French have done in ten; a pack of but I ha' done with 'em; thank the stars, I ha' fairly washed my hands of them; I ha' nothing to say to none of them. Skiff. Mercy be good unto us! that my wife could but hear your worship talk! Belf. jun. Oh, my dear uncle Ironsides. But I'll veer away no more good advice after you; so even drive as you will, under your petticoat-sails; black, brown, fair, or tawny, 'tis all fish that comes in your net; why, where's your reason, Bob, all this here while! Where's your religion, and be d-d to you? Belf. jun. Come, oome, my dear uncle, a truce to your philosophy. Go, throw your dollars into yonder ocean, and bribe the tempest to be still; you shall as soon reverse the operations of nature as wean my heart from my Sophia. Ironsides. Hold, hold, take me right; if, by Sophia, you mean the daughter of Sir Benjamin Dove, I don't care if I make one with you. What say'st thou, boy? shall it be so? Belf. jun. So, then you think there may be one good woman, however? Ironsides, Just as I think there may be one ho |