Lady Alt. What does he mean? Free. No, it is not there.- -It is in t'other pocket, I believe. Here, sir William! [Producing a parchment.] Ask the gentleman, if that will not do. But, first of all, read it yourself, and let us hear how you like the contents. Sir Wil. What do I see! [Opening and perusing it.] My pardon! the full and free pardon of my offences! Oh heaven! and is it to you then, to you, sir, that I owe all this?---Thus, thus let me shew my gratitude to my benefactor! [Fulling at his feet. Free. Get up, get up, sir William! Thank Heaven, and the most gracious of monarchs. You have very little obligation to me, I promise you. Ame. My father restored! Then I am the happiest of women! Lord Fal. A pardon! I am transported. Lady Alt. How's this? a pardon! Free. Under the great seal, madam. Lady Alt. Confusion! what! am I baffled at last then? Am I disappointed even of my revenge?-Thou officious fool! [To FREEPORT.] May these wretches prove as great a torment to you, as they have been to me! As for thee, [To LORD FALBRIDGE.] thou perfidious monster, may thy guilt prove thy punishment! May you obtain the unworthy union you desire! May your wife prove as false to you, as you have been to me! May you be followed, like Orestes, with the furies of a guilty conscience; find your error when it is too late; and die in all the horrors of despair! [Exit. Free. There goes a woman of quality for you! what little actions! and what a great soul!Ha! Master Spatter! where are you going? [To SPATTER, who is sneaking off. Spat. Following the Muse, sir! [Pointing after LADY ALTON.] But if you have any further commands, or his lordship should have occasion for me to write his epithalamium- Lord Fal. Peace, wretch! sleep in a whole skin, and be thankful! I would solicit mercy myself, and have not leisure to punish you. Be gone, sir! Spat. I am obliged to your lordship-This affair will make a good article for the EveningPost to-night, however. [Aside, and Exit. Sir Wil. How happy has this reverse of fortune made me !-But my surprise is almost equal to my joy. May we beg you, sir, [To FREEPORT.] to inform us how your benevolence has effected what seems almost a miracle, in my favour? Free. In two words then, sir William, this happy event is chiefly owing to your old friend, the late lord Brumpton. Sir Wil. Lord Brumpton! Free. Yes; honest Owen there told me, that his lordship had been employed in soliciting your pardon. Did not you, Owen? Owen. I did, sir. Free. Upon hearing that, and perceiving the danger you were in, I went immediately to the present lord Brumpton; who is a very honest fellow, and one of the oldest acquaintance I have in the world. He, at my instance, immediately made the necessary application; and guess how agreeably we were surprised to hear that the late lord had already been successful, and that the pardon had been made out, on the very morning of the day his lordship died. Away went I, as fast as a pair of horses could carry me, to fetch it; and should certainly have prevented this last arrest, if the warrant to apprehend you, as dangerous persons, had not issued under your assumed names of William Ford and Amelia Walton, against whom the information had been laid. But, however, it has only served to prevent your running away, when the danger was over; for at present, sir William, thank Heaven and his majesty, you are a whole man again; and you have nothing to do but to make a legal appearance, and to plead the pardon I have brought you, to absolve you from all informations. Lord Fal. Thou honest, excellent man! How happily have you supplied, what I failed to accomplish! Free. Ay, I heard that your lordship had been busy.-You had more friends at court than one, sir William, I promise you. Sir Wil. I am overwhelmed with my sudden good fortune, and am poor even in thanks. Teach me, Mr Freeport, teach me how to make some acknowledgement for your cxtraordinary generosity! Free. I'll tell you what, sir William. Notwithstanding your daughter's pride, I took a liking to her, the moment I saw her. Lord Fal. Ha! What's this! Free. Why, then, to confess the truth, I am afraid that my benevolence, which you have all been pleased to praise so highly, had some little leaven of self-interest in it; and I was desirous to promote Amelia's happiness more ways than one. Lord Fal. Then I am the veriest wretch that ever existed.—But take her, sir! for I must confess that you have deserved her by your proceedings; and that I, fool and villain that was, have forfeited her by mine. [Going. Free. Hold, hold! one word before you go, if you please, my lord! You may kill yourself for aught I know, but you shan't lay your death at my door, I promise you. I had a kindness for Amelia, I must confess; but, in the course of my late negotiation for sir William, hearing of your lordship's pretensions, I dropt all thoughts of her. It is a maxim with me, to do good wherever I can, but always to abstain from do ing mischief. Now, as I can't make the lady happy myself, I would fain put her into the hands of those that can.-So, if you would oblige me, sir William, let me join these two young folks together, [Joining their hands.] and do you say Amen to it. Sir Wil. With all my heart!-You can have no objection, Amelia? [AMELIA bursts into tears. Lord Ful. How bitterly do those tears reproach me! It shall be the whole business of my future life to atone for them. Ame. Your actions this day, and your solicitude for my father, have redeemed you in my good opinion; and the consent of sir William, seconded by so powerful an advocate as Mr Freeport, cannot be contended with. Take my hand, my lord! a virtuous passion may inhabit the purest breast; and I am not ashamed to con fess, that I had conceived a partiality for you, till your own conduct turned my heart against you; and if my resentment has given you any pain, when I consider the occasion, I must own that I cannot repent it. Lord Fal. Mention it no more, my love, I beseech you! You may justly blame your lover, I confess; but I will never give you cause to complain of your husband. Free. I don't believe you will. I give you joy, my lord! I give you all joy! As for you, madam, [To AMELIA.] do but shew the world that you can bear prosperity, as well as you have sustained the shocks of adversity, and there are few women, who may not wish to be an Amelia. [Exeunt omnes. SIR BENJAMIN Dove, henpecked by his wife. BELFIELD sen. the Brothers. BELFIELD jun. S jun. LADY DOVE. SOPHIA, SIR BENJAMIN's daughter. CAPTAIN IRONSIDES, uncle to BELFIELD sen, and FANNY GOODWIN. SKIFF, master of the privateer. PATERSON, servant to SIR BENJAMIN. LUCY WATERS. KITTY, LADY DOVE's maid. OLD GOODWIN, a fisherman. PHILIP, his son. FRANCIS, servant to BELFIELD jun. JONATHAN, servant to SIR BENJAMIN. Scene-The sea coast of Cornwall. ACT I. 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. The characters enter, after having looked out of their cabin, as if waiting for the abatement of the storm. GOODWIN, PHILIP, and FANNY. Phi. Ir 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. 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? misfortunes patiently, 'twere an ill office for me | well, there's an end of her-The Charming Sally to repine; we have long tilled the earth for a privateer!-Poor soul; a better sea boat never subsistence; now, Philip, we must plough the swam upon the salt sea. ocean; in those waves lies our harvest; there, my brave lad, we have an equal inheritance with the best. Phi. True, father; the sea, that feeds us, provides us an habitation here in the hollow of the | cliff. I trust, the 'squire will exact no rent for this | dwelling-Alas! that ever two brothers should have been so opposite as our merciless landlord, and the poor young gentleman, they say, is now dead. 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 lulls 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. Phi. 'Tis to no purpose; the crew are coming ashore in their boat; I saw them enter the creek. 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 GooD. Phi. 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. Fan. Do so, Philip; 'twill be best. [Exeunt severally. 3d Sai. I knew we should have no luck after we took up that woman there from the packet that sunk along side us. 1st Sai. What, madam Violetta, as they call her ? Why, tis like enough-But bush, 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! [Ereunt Sailors. Bel. jun. Have the people landed those chests we brought off with us in the boat? Fran. 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. Bel. jun. That's well. Where's my uncle? Fran. 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. Bel. jun. Strange insensibility! but you must | bring him off by force, then, if there is no other way of saving him. I think, on my conscience, he is as indifferent to danger as the plank he treads on. We are now thrown upon my unnatral brother's estate; that house, Francis, which you see to the left, is his; and what may be the consequence 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. can. Fran, 'Tis true, sir; and, I think, 'twill be adviseable to continue the disguise as long as you 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. Bel. jun. I think so, too. Go then, Francis, and conduct the old gentleman hither; I see Violetta coming. [Erit FRAN. Sure there is something in that woman's story uncommonly mysterious-Of English parentsborn 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. Bel. jun. 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 only of my safety, your own seemed no part of your care. Bel. 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 in our climate only. Vio. These characteristics of the English may be just. I take my estimate from a less favourable example. 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? Bel. jun. Hold, madam! one villain, however hase, 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! Bel. 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 surprizes; I shall be glad, however, to retire. Bel. jun. A little repose, I 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 GOODWIN. Good. Heaven defend me! do my eyes deceive me? 'tis wondrous like his shape, his air, his look Bel. jun. What is your astonishment, friend? Do you know me? If it was not for that habit, I should say your name is Goodwin. Bel. jun. Villainy, madam, is the growth of every soul; 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 Good. 'Tis he! he is alive! my dear young point out one rascal with a heart to wrong you, I master, Mr Belfield! Yes, sir, my name is Goodwill produce fifty honest fellows ready and reso-win: however changed my appearance, my heart lute to redress you. is still the same, and overflows with joy at this unexpected meeting. Vio. Ah!-But on what part of the English coast is it that we are landed? Bel. 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? Bel. jun. Iutimately; 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. Bel. jun. Madaın 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 Bel. 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 so fatal, as hath been that man, whom Nature meant to be my nearest friend. Bel. jun. Give me thy hand, my old, my honest friend; and is this sorry hole thy habitation? Good. It is. Bel. jun. The world, I see, has frowned on thee since we parted. 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. Bel. 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 him the possession of-There was a young lady Good. What, sir, have not you forgot Miss Sophia? Bel. jun. Forgot her! my heart trembles while I ask you, if she is indeed, as you call her, Miss Vio. What, and are you a fellow-sufferer, then? Sophia. |