to be at home; nothing, I warrant, like old England. Ah! what's France, and Spain, and Burgundy, and Flanders? no; old England for my money; 'tis worth all the world besides. First, I'll secure the door: 'twill not be amiss to bar this retreat. [Locks the door.] Ay, there she is. How pensive is that posture! Musing on her condition; which, in truth, is melancholy enough-an humble cousin to a vulgar tyrant. 'Sdeath! she cannot choose but jump at my proposals. See, she weeps. I'm glad on't. Grief disposes to compliance: 'tis the very moment to assail her. Dr. D. Your pelly says as much; 'twill fill the pot, but starve the prain; 'tis full of corn, and sheep, and villages, and people. England, to the rest of be oorld, is like a flower-garden to a forest. Bridge. Well, what say you to the people? Miss A. Who's there? who's at the door? Ah!Dr. D. Nothing: I never meddle with the human Lord A. Hush, hush! your screams will rouse pecies; man, living man, is no object of my curi- the house. 'Tis I, Miss Aubrey; 'tis Lord Abbersity, nor ooman neither; at least, Mr. Pridge-ville. Give me your hand. Nay, be composed. nore, till she shall be made a mummies of. Bridge. I understand you; you speak in the way f trade: money's your object. Dr. D. Money and trade! I scorn 'em both; the eaten track of commerce I disdain: I've traced e Oxus and the Po; traversed the Riphæan fountains, and pierced into the inmost tesarts of almuc Tartary: follow trade, indeed! no; I've llowed the ravages of Kouli Chan with rapturous light: there is the land of wonders; finely depoilated; gloriously laid waste; fields without a of to tread 'em; fruits without a hand to gather m; with such a catalogue of pats, peetles, sernts, scorpions, caterpillars, toads-Oh! 'tis a creating contemplation to a philosophic mind! Bridge. Out on 'em, filthy vermin! I hope you ft 'em where you found 'em. Dr. D. No; to my honour be it spoken, I have aported above fifty different sorts of mortal poiOns into my native country. Bridge. Lack-a-day! there's people enough at me can poison their native country. Enter MRS. BRIDGEMORE and LUCINDA. o, ladies, have you finished your visit already? Mrs. B. We paid our respects, and came away. Dr. D. Marry, the fates and the fortunes forbid jat you should go, till my lord comes back. Luc. Why not? if my lord treats me already ith the freedom of a husband, shouldn't I begin to ractise the indifference of a wife? [Exit with Mrs.B. Dr. D. Well, but the supper, Mr. Pridgemore; ou a citizen, and leave the supper? Bridge. Your fifty mortal poisons have given me y supper: scorpions, and bats, and toads-Come, i's be gone. Exit. Exit. Dr. D. Would they were in your pelly! SCENE II.-An Apartment in Bridgemore's house. Enter MISS AUBREY and TYRREL. Miss A. How I am watched in this house you ell know, Mr. Tyrrel; therefore, you must not tay: what you have done and suffered for my sake never can forget; and 'tis with joy I see you now, last, surmount your difficulties by the recovery f Lord Courtland. May your life never be again xposed on my account. Tyr. I glory in protecting you: when he, or any ther rake, repeats the like offence, I shall repeat he like correction. I am now going to my uncle Mortimer, who does not know that I am in town. ife is not life without thee; never will I quit his eet, till I have obtained his voice for our alliance. Miss A. Alas! what hope of that from Mr. Morimer, whose rugged nature knows no happiness tself, nor feels complacency in that of others? Tyr. When you know Mr. Mortimer, you'll find 10w totally the world mistakes him. Farewell, my lear Augusta; backed with thy virtuous wishes, ow can I fail to prosper? [Exeunt. The Maid-servant introduces LORD ABBERVILLE. Serv. All's safe; follow me, my lord; she is in Lord A. Where? [her bed-chamber. Serv. There; where you see the light through the glass-door. If I thought you had any wicked designs in your head, I wouldn't have brought you here for the world; I should be murdered if the family were to know it: for pity's sake, my lord, never betray me. Lord A. Go, get you gone ; never talk of treason, my thoughts are full of love,' [Exit Maid-servant.] Let me set down the candle: you are safe. Miss A. Safe, my lord. Yes, I'm safe; but you are mistaken; Miss Bridgemore's not at home; or, if she were, this is no place to meet her in. Lord A. I am glad of that: blessed in Miss Aubrey's company, I wish no interruption from Miss Bridgemore. Miss A. I should be loath to think so; an avowal of baseness to one woman, should never be taken as flattery by another. My lord, I must entreat you to let the servants shew you to some fitter apartment. I am here in a very particular situation, and have the strongest reasons for what I request. Lord A. I guess your reasons, but cannot admit them. I love you, madam; let that declaration be my excuse. Miss A. Nay, now your frolic has the air of insult, and I insist upon your leaving me. (Knocking.) Luc. (Without.) Who's within there? Miss A. Hark, hark! Miss Bridgemore, as I live! Come in. [the door? Luc. (Without.) Come in! Why have you locked Miss A. Locked! Is it locked? For shame, for shame! thus am I sacrificed to your ungenerous designs! She must come in. Lord A. Stay, stay; she must not find me here; there's one retreat-your chamber; lock me in there: I may still escape. [brey? Let me in. Luc. (Without.) What are you about, Miss AuMiss A. Where shall I turn myself? You've ruined all: if you're discovered, I shall never gain belief. Lord A. Be advised, then: we have only this chance left. (Goes to the bed-room door.) Luc. (Without.) Miss Aubrey, if you don't let me in immediately, I shall call up mamma; so, pray, unlock the door. Miss A. I scarce know what I do. (After locking Lord A. in, opens the outer door. Enter LUCINDA.] There, madam, you're obeyed. Luc. Why, surely, you affect extraordinary privacy. It seems you've had your Tyrrel in our absence. Miss A. Yes, Mr. Tyrrel has been here. Luc. Humph! you're in mighty spirits. Miss A. No, madam; my poor spirits suit my poor condition: you, I hope, are rich in every sense. Luc. She's happy, I can see, though she attempts to hide it: I can't bear her. (Aside.) Pray, Miss Aubrey, what are your designs-to ruin this young [man? Miss A. Madam! Luc. Can you now in your heart suppose that Mortimer will let his nephew marry you? Depend upon't, (I tell you as your friend,) as soon as that old cynic hears of it, (which I have taken care he shall,) your hopes are crushed at once. Miss A. When were they otherwise? confused; her eyes wander strangely: watching the Luc. Going! Nay, no where-she's alarmedMiss Aubrey, I have a foolish notion in my head, that Mr. Tyrrel's in this house. [your room? Miss A. No, on my word. Shall I light you to Luc. So ready! No; your own will serve: I can adjust my head-dress at your glass. Heyday! all's fast! you have locked the door. Miss A. Have I, indeed? Luc. Yes, have you, madam; and, if my suspicion's trae, your lover's in it. Open it. Lord A.Mr. Mortimer, you was my father's executor; I did not know your office extended further. Mort. No: when I gave a clear estate into your hands, I cleared myself of an unwelcome oflice: I was, indeed, your father's executor; the gentlemen of fashion and spirit will be your lordship's. Lord A. Pooh! You've been black-balled at some paltry port-drinking club; and set up for a man of wit and ridicule. Mort. Not I, believe me: your companions are too dull to laugh at, and too vicious to expose. There stands a sample of your choice. Lord A. Doctor Druid? Where's the harm in him? Mort. Where is the merit? What one quality does that old piece of pedantry possess to fit him for the liberal office of travelling-preceptor to a man of rank? You know, my lord, I recommended you a friend, as fit to form your manners as your morals; but he was a restraint; and, in his stead, you took that Welshman, that buffoon, that antiquarian, forsooth, who looks as if you had raked him out of the cinders of Mount Vesuvius. Lord A. And so I did: but, pr'ythee, Mortimer, don't run away; I long to have you meet. Mort. You must excuse me. Lord A. Nay, I must have you better friends. Come hither, Doctor; harkye Mort. Another time: at present, I am in no humour to stay the discussion of a cockle-shell, or the dissection of a butterfly's-wing. [Exit. Enter DOCTOR DRUID. Dr. D. Putterflies! Putterflies in your teeth, Mr. Mortimer. What is the surlypoots prabbling about? Cot give her coot luck! will the man never leave off his flings, and his fleers, and his fegaries? packpiting his petters! Coot, my lord, let me call him pack, and have a little tisputes and tisputations with him, d'ye see? Lord A. Hang him, tedious rogue! let him go. Dr. D. Tedious! ay, in coot truth is he, as tedious as a Lapland winter, and as melancholy, too; his crotchets and his humours damp all mirth and merriment, as a wet planket does a fire: he is the very night-mare of society. Lord A. Nay, he talks well sometimes. Dr. D. Ay, 'tis pig sound and little wit; like a loud pell to a pad dinner. Lord A. Patience, good Doctor! Another time you shall have your revenge; at present, you must lay down your wrath, and take up your attention. Dr. D. I've done, my lord, I've done. Laugh at my putterflies, indeed! If he were as pig and as pold as King Gryffyn, Doctor Druid would make free to whisper an oord or two in his ear. [peace! Lord A. Peace, choleric king of the mountains, Dr. D. I've done, my lord; I say, I've done. Lord A. If you have done, let me begin. You must know, then, I expect my city madam from Fish-street-hill. came up with an address from the whole company of cordwainers. Dr. D. Out on it! you've some tevilish oomans in the wind; for when the tice are rattling above, there's nothing but teath, or the tevil, could keep you below. Lord A. You've guest it: such a divine, delicious, little devil lurks in my heart; Glendower himself could not exorcise her: I am possessed; and from the hour I saw her by surprise, I have been plotting methods how to meet her: a lucky opening offers; the mine is laid, and Bridgemore's visit is the signal for springing it. Dr. D. Pridgemore's! How so? Lord A. Why, 'tis with him she lives: what else could make it difficult, and what but difficulty could make me pursue it? They, prudently enough, would have concealed her from me; for who can think of any other, when Miss Aubrey is in sight? But, hark! they're come; I must escape. Now, love and fortune stand my friends! [Exit. Dr. D. Pless us, what hastes and hurries he is in! and all for some young hussy. Ah! he'll never have a proper relish for the venerable antique: I never shall bring down his mercury to touch the proper freezing point, which that of a true virtuoso ought to stand at sometimes, indeed, he will contemplate a beautiful statue as if it were an ooman; I never could persuade him to look upon a beautiful ooman as if she were a statue. - Enter BRIDGEMORE, MRS. BRIDGEMORE, and LUCINDA. Bridge. Doctor, I kiss your hands; I kiss your hands, good Doctor. How these nobles live! Zooks! what a swinging chamber! Mrs. B. Why, Mr. Bridgemere, sure, you think yourself in Leathersellers'-hall. Luc. Pray, recollect yourself, papa; indeed this is not Fish-street-hill. Bridge. I wish it were; I'd soon unhouse this trumpery; I'd soon furnish it with better goods: why, this profusion, child, will turn your brain. Mrs. B. La! how you stand and stare at things! stopping in the hall to count the servants; gaping at the lustre there, as if you'd swallow it. I suppose our daughter, when she's a woman of quality, will behave as other women of quality do. Lucinda, this is Doctor Druid, Lord Abberville's travelling tutor; a gentleman of very ancient family in North Wales. [of it. Luc. So it should seem, if he's the representative Dr. D. Without flattery, Mrs. Bridgemore, miss, has very much the behaviours of an ooman of quality already. [Abberville will think us late. Mrs. B. Come, sir, we'll join the company; Lord Dr. D. Yes, truly, he's impatient for our coming; but you shall find him not at home. Mrs. B. How! Not at home? Luc. A mighty proof of his impatience, truly! Dr. D. Ay, ay; the rich pig-pellied fellow's Dr. D. Why, 'twas some plaguy business took daughter, young madam Pridgemore, my Lady Ap-him out; but we'll despatch it out of hand, and wait perville, that is to be; pless her, and save her, and make her a coot wife, say I. upon you quickly. Bridge. Well, business, business must be done. Mrs. B. I thought my lord had been a man of fashion, not of business. Lord A. Pr'ythee, good Doctor, don't put a man in mind of his misfortunes. I tell you, she is coming here by appointment, with old Bridgemore and her Luc. And so he is; a man of the first fashion; mother; 'tis an execrable group; and, as I mean to you cannot have a fresher sample: the worst gallant make all things as easy to me as I can, I am going in nature is your macaroni; with the airs of a coout to avoid being troubled with their impertinence.quette you meet the manners of a clown: fear keeps Dr. D. Going out, my lord, with your house full of company? Lord A. Oh! that's no objection; none in the least; fashion reconciles all those scruples: to consult your own ease in all things is the very first article in the recipe for good breeding: when every man looks after himself, no one can complain of neglect; but, as these maxims may not be orthodox on the eastern side of Temple-bar, you must stand gentleman-usher in this spot; put your best face upon the matter, and marshal my citizens into the assembly-room, with as much ceremony as if they him in some awe before the men, but not one spark of passion has he at heart, to remind him of the ladies. Mrs. B. Well, we must make our courtesy above stairs. Our card was from Lady Caroline; I sup pose she is not from home, as well as her brother. Dr. D. Who waits there? shew the ladies up. to be at home; nothing, I warrant, like old England. Ah! what's France, and Spain, and Burgundy, and Flanders? no; old England for my money; 'tis worth all the world besides. Dr. D. Your pelly says as much; 'twill fill the pot, but starve the prain; 'tis full of corn, and sheep, and villages, and people. England, to the rest of the oorld, is like a flower-garden to a forest. First, I'll secure the door: 'twill not be amiss to bar this retreat. [Locks the door.] Ay, there she is. How pensive is that posture! Musing on her condition; which, in truth, is melancholy enough-an humble cousin to a vulgar tyrant. 'Sdeath! she cannot choose but jump at my proposals. See, she weeps. I'm glad on't. Grief disposes to compliance: 'tis the very moment to assail her. Bridge. Well, what say you to the people? Miss A. Who's there? who's at the door? Ah!Dr. D. Nothing: I never meddle with the human Lord A. Hush, hush! your screams will rouse species; man, living man, is no object of my curi- the house. 'Tis I, Miss Aubrey; 'tis Lord Abberosity, nor ooman neither; at least, Mr. Pridge-ville. Give me your hand. Nay, be composed. more, till she shall be made a mummies of. Let me set down the candle: you are safe. Bridge. I understand you; you speak in the way of trade: money's your object. Dr. D. Money and trade! I scorn 'em both; the beaten track of commerce I disdain: I've traced the Oxus and the Po; traversed the Riphæan Mountains, and pierced into the inmost tesarts of Kalmuc Tartary: follow trade, indeed! no; I've followed the ravages of Kouli Chan with rapturous delight: there is the land of wonders; finely depopulated; gloriously laid waste; fields without a hoof to tread 'em; fruits without a hand to gather 'em; with such a catalogue of pats, peetles, serpents, scorpions, caterpillars, toads-Oh! 'tis a recreating contemplation to a philosophic mind! Bridge. Out on 'em, filthy vermin! I hope you left 'em where you found 'em. Dr. D. No; to my honour be it spoken, I have imported above fifty different sorts of mortal poisons into my native country. Bridge. Lack-a-day! there's people enough at home can poison their native country. Enter MRS. BRIDGEMORE and LUCINDA. So, ladies, have you finished your visit already? Mrs. B. We paid our respects, and came away. Dr. D. Marry, the fates and the fortunes forbid that you should go, till my lord comes back. Luc. Why not? if my lord treats me already with the freedom of a husband, shouldn't I begin to practise the indifference of a wife? [Exit with Mrs.B. Dr. D. Well, but the supper, Mr. Pridgemore; you a citizen, and leave the supper? Bridge. Your fifty mortal poisons have given me my supper: scorpions, and bats, and toads-Come, let's be gone. [Exit. Dr. D. Would they were in your pelly! [Exit. SCENE II.-An Apartment in Bridgemore's house. Enter MISS AUBREY and TYRREL. Miss A. How I am watched in this house you well know, Mr. Tyrrel; therefore, you must not stay what you have done and suffered for my sake I never can forget; and 'tis with joy I see you now, at last, surmount your difficulties by the recovery of Lord Courtland. May your life never be again exposed on my account. Tyr. I glory in protecting you: when he, or any other rake, repeats the like offence, I shall repeat the like correction. I am now going to my uncle Mortimer, who does not know that I am in town. Life is not life without thee; never will I quit his feet, till I have obtained his voice for our alliance. Miss A. Alas! what hope of that from Mr. Mortimer, whose rugged nature knows no happiness itself, nor feels complacency in that of others? Tyr. When you know Mr. Mortimer, you'll find how totally the world mistakes him. Farewell, my dear Augusta; backed with thy virtuous wishes, how can I fail to prosper? [Exeunt. The Maid-servant introduces LORD ABBERVILLE. Serv. All's safe; follow me, my lord; she is in Lord A. Where? [her bed-chamber. Serv. There; where you see the light through the glass-door. If I thought you had any wicked designs in your head, I wouldn't have brought you here for the world; I should be murdered if the family were to know it: for pity's sake, my lord, never betray me. Miss A. Safe, my lord. Yes, I'm safe; but you are mistaken; Miss Bridgemore's not at home; or, if she were, this is no place to meet her in. Lord A. I am glad of that: blessed in Miss Aubrey's company, I wish no interruption from Miss Bridgemore. Miss A. I should be loath to think so; an avowal of baseness to one woman, should never be taken as flattery by another. My lord, I must entreat you to let the servants shew you to some fitter apartment. I am here in a very particular situation, and have the strongest reasons for what I request. Lord A. I guess your reasons, but cannot admit them. I love you, madam; let that declaration be my excuse. Miss A. Nay, now your frolic has the air of insult, and I insist upon your leaving me. (Knocking.) Luc. (Without.) Who's within there? Miss A. Hark, bark! Miss Bridgemore, as I live! Come in. [the door? Luc. (Without.) Come in! Why have you locked Miss A. Locked! Is it locked? For shame, for shame! thus am I sacrificed to your ungenerous designs! She must come in. Lord A. Stay, stay; she must not find me here; there's one retreat-your chamber; lock me in there: 1 may still escape. [brey? Let me in. Luc. (Without.) What are you about, Miss AuMiss A. Where shall I turn myself? You've ruined all: if you're discovered, I shall never gain belief. Lord A. Be advised, then: we have only this chance left. (Goes to the bed-room door.) Luc. (Without.) Miss Aubrey, if you don't let me in immediately, I shall call up mamma; so, pray, unlock the door. Miss A. I scarce know what I do. (After locking Lord A. in, opens the outer door. Enter LUCINDA.] There, madam, you're obeyed. Luc. Why, surely, you affect extraordinary privacy. It seems you've had your Tyrrel in our absence. Miss A. Yes, Mr. Tyrrel has been here. Luc. Humph! you're in mighty spirits. Miss A. No, madam; my poor spirits suit my poor condition: you, I hope, are rich in every sense. Luc. She's happy, I can see, though she attempts to hide it: I can't bear her. (Aside.) Pray, Miss Aubrey, what are your designs-to ruin this young Miss A. Madam! [man? Luc. Can you now in your heart suppose that Mortimer will let his nephew marry you? Depend upon't, (I tell you as your friend,) as soon as that old cynic hears of it, (which I have taken care he shall,) your hopes are crushed at once. Miss A. When were they otherwise? Luc. I don't know what to make of her; she seems confused; her eyes wander strangely: watching the bed-room door-what is it she looks at? (Aside.) Miss A. Where are you going? Luc. Going! Nay, no where-she's alarmedMiss Aubrey, I have a foolish notion in my head, that Mr. Tyrrel's in this house. [your room? Miss A. No, on my word. Shall I Tight you to Luc. So ready! No; your own will serve : I can adjust my head-dress at your glass. Heyday! all's fast! you have locked the door. Miss A. Have I, indeed? Lord A. Go, get you gone; never talk of treason, Luc. Yes, have you, madam; and, if my suspimy thoughts are full of love, [Exit Maid-servant.]|cion's true, your lover's in it. Open it. Miss A. I beg to be excused. soft heart in a rough case, 'twill wear the longer; Luc. Oh! are you caught at last? Admit me. veneer thyself, good Jarvis, as thy master does, and Miss A. You cannot, sure, be serious-think I've keep a marble outside to the world. Who dreams the sanction of a guest.. [come to the bell. that I am the lewd fool of pity, and thou my pander, Luc. Ridiculous! I'll raise the house: let me Jarvis, my provider? You found out the poor felMiss A. Hold, hold! you don't know what you do. | low, then, the half-pay officer I met last Sunday. For your own sake desist: to save your own confusion, more than mine, desist, and seek no further. Luc. No, madam; if I spare you, may the shame that waits for you fall on my head. Miss A. At your own peril, be it then. Look there. (Opens and discovers Lord A.) Luc. Astonishing! Lord Abberville! This is, indeed, extraordinary; this, of all frolics modern wit and gallantry have given birth to, is the newest and the boldest style. Lord A. Upon my life, Miss Bridgemore, my visit has been entirely innocent. Luc. Oh, yes! I give you perfect credit for your innocence; the hour, the place, your lordship's character, the lady's composure, all are innocence itself. Can't you affect a little surprise, ma'am, at finding a gentleman in your bed-room, though you placed him there yourself? So excellent an actress might pretend a fit on the occasion. Oh! you have not half your part. [this in too serious a light. Lord A. Indeed, Miss Bridgemore, you look upon Luc. No: be assured, I'm charmed with your address; you are a perfect fashionable lover: so agreeable to invite us to your house, so well-bred to be from home, and so considerate to visit poor Miss Aubrey in our absence. I am puzzled which to prefer your wit, politeness, or your honour. Miss A. Miss Bridgemore, 'tis in vain to urge my innocence to you; heaven and my own heart acquit me; I must endure the censure of the world. Luc. Oh! madam, with Lord Abberville's protection you may set that at nought: to him I recommend you: your company in this house will not be very welcome. [Exit. Lord A. (To Luc.) Then, madam, she shall come to mine; my house, my arms are open to receive her. Fear nothing: set her at defiance; resign yourself to my protection; you shall face your tyrant, outface her, shine above her, put her down in splendour as in beauty; be no more the servile thing her cruelty has made you; but be the life, the leader of each public pleasure, the envy of all womankind, the mistress of my happiness Miss A. And murderer of my own. No, no, my lord, I'll perish first: the last surviving orphan of a noble house, I'll not digrace it: from these mean, unfeeling people, who to the bounty of my ancestors owe all they have, I shall expect no mercy; but you, whom even pride might teach some virtue, you to tempt me; you, with unmanly cunning, to seduce distress yourself created, sinks you deeper in contempt than heaven sinks me in poverty and [Exit. Lord A. A very unpromising campaign, truly; one lady lost, and the other in no way of being gained. Well, I'll return to my company; there is this merit, however, in gaming, that it makes all losses appear trivial but its own, [Exit. ACTII. SCENEI.—A Library in Mortimer's house. MORTIMER discovered. shame. Mort. So, so! another day; another twelve hours' round of folly and extravagance: psha! I am sick on't. What's our men af genius about? Jarring and jangling with each other, while a vast army of vices over-runs the whole country at discretion. [Enter JARVIS.] Now, Jarvis, what's your news? Jar. With difficulty; for he obtruded not his sorrows on the world; but in despair had crept into a corner; and, with his wretched family about him, was patiently expiring. Mort. Pr'ythee, no more on't: you saved him; you relieved him; no matter how; you made a fellow-creature happy, that's enough. Jar. I did, sir; but his story's so affectingMort. Keep it to thyself, old man, then; why must my heart be wrung? I, too, am one of nature's spoilt children, and haven't yet left off the tricks of the nursery. Enter a Servant. Serv. Sir, Mr. Tyrrel's come to town, and begs to see you. Mort. Let him come in. [Enter TYRREL.] So, nephew, what brings you to town? I thought you was a prisoner in the country. Tyr. I was; but now my Lord Courtland has obtained his liberty, no reason holds why I should not recover mine. Mort. Well, sir, how have you filled up your time? In practising fresh thrusts, or repenting of that which is past? You've drawn your sword to satisfy one man, now think of satisfying the rest of mankind. Tyr. You know my story, sir: I drew my sword in the defence of innocence; to punish and repel the libertine attempts of an ennobled ruffian; every man of honour would have done the same. Mort. Yes, honour! you young men are subtle arguers; the cloak of honour covers all your faults, as that of passion all your follies. Tyr. Honour is what mankind have made it; and as we hold our lives upon these terms, with our lives it behoves us to defend them. Mort. You have made it reason, then, it seems; make it religion, too, and put it out of fashion with the world at once; of this be sure, I would sooner cast my guineas in the sea, than give them to a duellist. But, come, Frank, you are one from prejudice, not principle; therefore, we'll talk no more on't. Where are you lodged? Tyr. At the hotel hard by. Mort. Then move your baggage hither, and keep house with me: you and I, nephew, have such opposite pursuits that we can never justle; besides, they tell me you're in love; 'twill make a good companion of you; you shall rail at one sex, I'm employed with t'other; and thus we may both gratify our spleen at once. while Tyr. Oh! sir, unless you can consent to hear the praises of my lovely girl, from hour to hour, in endless repetition, never suffer me within your doors. Mort. Thy girl, Frank, is everything but rich, and that's a main blank in the catalogue of a lady's perfections. [will do it. Tyr. Fill it up, then, dear uncle; a word of your's Mort. True, boy, a word will do it; but 'tis a long word; 'tis a lasting one; it should be, therefore, a deliberate one: but let me see your girl; I'm a sour fellow, so the world thinks me; but it is against the proud, the rich, I war: poverty may be a misfortune to Miss Aubrey, it would be hard to make it an objection. Tyr. How generous is that sentiment! Let me have your consent for my endeavours at obtaining her's, and I shall be most happy. Jar. My morning budget, sir; a breakfast of good deeds; the offerings of a full heart, and the return Mort. About it, then; my part is soon made of an empty purse. There, sir, I've done your er-ready; your's is the task: you are to find out hap rand; and wish hereafter you could find another agent for your charities. Mort. Why so, Charles? piness in marriage; I'm only to provide you with a fortune. [Exit Tyrrel.] Well, Frank, I suspected thou hadst more courage than wit, when I heard of thy engaging in a duel; now thou art for encoun tering a wife, I am convinced of it. A wife! 'sdeath' sure, some planetary madness reigns amongst our wives; the dog-star never sets, and the moon's horns are fallen on our beads. Enter COLIN MACLEOD. Colin. The gude time o'day to you, sair. Mort. Well, Colin, what's the news at your house? Colin. Nay, no great spell of news, gude faith; aw things with us gang on after the auld sort. I'm weary of my life amongst 'em; the murrain take 'em all! sic a family of freebooters, Maister Mortimer; an I speak a word to 'em, or preach up a little needful economy, hoot! the whole clan is up in arms. I may speak it in your ear, an the de'il himsel were to turn housekeeper, he could na' pitch upon a fitter set; fellows of all trades, countries, and occupations; a ragamuffin crew; the very refuse of the mob, that canna' count past twa generations, without a gibbet in their scutcheon. Mort. Ay, Colin, things are miserably changed since your old master died. Colin. Ah! Maister Mortimer, it makes my heart drop blude to think how much gude counsel I ha' cast away upon my laird; i'faith, I hanna' stinted him o' that; I gee'd him rules and maxims of gude husbandry in plenty, but aw in vain; the dice ha' deafened him. Colin. By heaven, you speak that like a noble gentleman. Ah! Maister Mortimer, in England, he that wants money wants everything; in Scotland, few have it, but every one can do without it. [Exit. SCENE II.-An Apartment in Bridgemore's house. Enter BRIDGEMORE and DR. DRUID. Bridge. But what is all this to me, Doctor? while I have a good house over my head, what care I if the pyramids of Egypt were sunk into the earth? London, thank heaven, will serve my turn. Dr. D. Ay, ay, lookye, I never said it wasn't coot enough for them that live in it. Bridge. Good enough? Why, what is like it? Where can you live so well? Dr. D. No where, coot truth; 'tis all cook-shops and putchers'-shambles; your very streets have savoury names; your Poultry, your Pie-corner, and Pudding-lane, your Bacon-alley, and Fishstreet-hill here; o' my oord, the map of London would furnish out an admirable pill of fare for a lord-mayor's dinner. Bridge. Well, Doctor, I'm contented with Fishstreet-hill; you may go seek for lodgings yonder in the ruins of Palmyra. Dr. D. Ruins, indeed! what are all your new Mort. Yes, and destroyed; his head, heart, hap-buildings, up and down yonder, but ruins? Impiness are gone to ruin: the least a gamester loses is his money. Colin. Ecod! and that's no trifle in this case: last night's performances made no small hole in that. Mort. Whence learn you that? Colin. From little Napthali of St. Mary Axe: when a man borrows money of a Jew, 'tis a presumption no Christian can be found to lend him any. Mort. Is your lord driven to such wretched shifts? Colin. Hoot! know you not that every losing gamester has his Jew? He is your only doctor in a desperate case; when the regulars have brought you to death's door, the quack is invited to usher you in. Mort. Your Jew, Colin, in the present case, favours more of the lawyer than the doctor: for, I take it, he makes you sign and seal as long as you have effects. Colin. You've hit the nail o' the hede; my laird will sign to anything; there's bonds, and blanks, and bargains, and promissory-notes, and a d-d sight of rogueries, depend on't. Ecod! he had a bundle for his breakfast, as big as little Napthali could carry; I would it had braken his bock; and, yet, he is na' half the knave of you fat fellow upon Fish-streetMort. Bridgemore, you mean. [hill. Colin. Ay, ay, he's at the bottom of the plot; this little Hebrew's only his jackall. Mort. I comprehend you: Bridgemore, under cover of this Jew, has been playing the usurer with Lord Abberville, and means to pay his daughter's portion in parchment; this must be prevented. Colin. You may spare your pains for that; the match is off. [that? Mort. Heyday! friend Colin, what has put off Colin. Troth, Maister Mortimer, I canna' satisfy you on that hede; but yesternight, the job was done; methought the business never had a kindly aspect from the first. Mort. Well, as my lord has got rid of miss, I think he may very well spare her fortune. Colin. Odzooks! but that's no reason he should lose his own. Mort. That, Colin, may be past my power to hiuder; yet even that shall be attempted: find out the Jew that Bridgemore has employed, and bring him hither, if you can. Colin. Let me alone for that; there never was a Jew since Samson's time that Colin could na' deal with; an he hangs bock, and will na' follow kindly, troth, I'll lug him to you by the ears; ay, will I, and his maister, the fat fellow, into the bargain. Mort. No, no; leave me to deal with Bridgemore; I'll scare away that cormorant. If the son of my noble friend will be outdone, it never shall be said he fell without an effort on my part to save him, [Exit. prove your town a little farther, and you'll drive every man of sense out of it; pless us and save us! by-and-by, not a monument of antiquity will be left standing from London-stone to Westminster-hall. Bridge. And if the commissioners of paving would mend the streets with one, and present t'other as a nuisance, bone-setters and lawyers would be the only people to complain. Dr. D. Down with 'em, then, at once; down with everything noble, and venerable, and ancient amongst you; turn the Tower of London into a Pantheon, make a new Adelphi of the Savoy, and bid adieu to all ages but your own; you will then be no more in the way of deriving dignity from your progenitors, than you are of transmitting it to your posterity. Bridge. Well, Doctor, well; leave me my opinion, and keep your own; you've a veneration for rust and cobwebs; I am for brushing them off wherever I meet them: we are for furnishing our shops and warehouses with good profitable commodities; you are for storing them with all the monsters of the creation. I much doubt if we could serve you with a dried rattlesnake, or a stuffed alligator, in all the purlieus of Fish-street-bill. Dr. D. A stuffed alligator! A stuffed alderman would be sooner had. Bridge. May be so; and let me tell you, an antiquarian is as much to seek in the city of London, as an alder.nan would be in the ruins of Herculaneum: every man after his own way, that's my maxim: you are for the paltry ore, I am for the pure gold: I dare be sworn, now, you are as much at home amongst the snakes and serpents at Don Saltero's, as I am with the Jews and jobbers at Jonathan's. Dr. D. Coot truth, Mr. Pridgemore, 'tis hard to say which collection is the most harmless of the two. Enter MRS. BRIDGEMORE. Mrs. B. I'm out of patience with you, Mr. Bridgemore, to see you stir no brisker in this business; with such a storm about your ears, you stand as idle as a Dutch sailor in a trade-wind. Bridge. Truly, love, till you came in, I heard nothing of the storm. Mrs. B. Recollect the misadventure of last night; the wickedness of that strumpet you have harboured in your house; that viper, which would never have had strength to sting, hadn't you warmed it in your bosom. Dr. D. Faith and truth, now, I haven't heard petter reasoning from an ooman this many a day: you shall know, Mr. Pridgemore, the viperous species love warmth; their sting, look ye, is then more venomous; but draw their teeth, and they are harmless reptiles; the conjurers, in Persia, play a thousand fancies and fagaries with them. |