Count. I am, sir. Count. For heaven's sake! tell your story straight Sir P. Recommended to me by Messieurs De- forward. What letter do you mean? Who? vigny, the great merchants at Marseilles? Count. The same, sir. Sir P. Why, then, what do you mean? Count. When I first paid my addresses to this lady, I imagined my rank and family were a sufficient counterpoise to wealth. Sir P. Ha! Gold in one scale, honour in t'other. Flimsy ware-No, no; kick the beam Count. But, ardent, violent, and eternal, as my love for your angelic daughter is, and must be, even the loss of her shall not tempt me, any longer, to practise the least imposition. Sir P. Well, but,-'Sblood! The steward-the family estates! Count. I have told you the truth, sir. Lucy. What's the matter, Lydia? Lydia. He has been in some fray, and is 30 bruised. Count. Bruised! Where is he? Mac D. [With great emotion.] I hope your lord ship will forget and forgive. It would have moved the bowels of your compassion to have seen the ould gintleman. Count. Is it possible? What can he mean?What old gentleman ? Mac D. [Enraged.] The dirty shaberoons took him by the threat-My vizy blood boiled-Upon my soul, my lord, I could not bear it! I hope you will forgive me! By the merciful father, I could not bear it! Count. Tell me this moment who you mean. Mac D. He came running back, out of breath, and asked for your lordship; and so, my lord, seeing a fillow-crater in distriss Count. Came where? Mac D. A couple of as ill-looking Tyburn-turnpike bum-baliffs as your lordship could wish, with a cowardly complotter at their back. It was he that came behind me with his shillalee, while I was hard at work with both. But the brave ould gentleman stepped in; and, by the virgin's night-cap! but he Lydia. Below, with a packet, which he wants to gave him his dose." deliver to Sir Paul. Sir P. To me? Lydia. Yes, sir. Pray go to him. Sir P. A packet for me! [Going.] I shall never hear the last of this from my lady. [Exit. Lucy. Brother, go to my mamma, and endeavour to keep her in temper.-[To the COUNT.] Be not dejected; I know my father's affection for me, and do not yet despair. [Exit. Count. Charming, generous girl! This poor Mac Dermot, Lydia. He is afraid of seeing you. He says you will never pardon him, for having taken the part of a man, whom you threatened to murder. Count. I! I threatened to murder no man.-Will you, madam, be so kind as to tell him I am here, and that I insist on seeing him? Lydia. With pleasure. [Exit. Count. Kingdoms should not tempt me to pass another day like this. Enter MAC DERMOT, with his left arm in a sling. How now, Mac Dermot! Where have you been? What's the matter with you? Mac D. No great matter, my lord; only a little bit of a joint here. [Pointing to his arm. Count. Broken? Mac D. A double tooth or two; not much, my lord. Count. Much! How? What have you been doing? Mac D. Pitifully.] I hope your lordship won't be angry-Enraged.] But the rascals sazed him neck and heels! Count. Seized who? Mac D. [Passionately.] He was as innocent as the babe unborn, my lord; and he tould 'em so, the dirty rapscallions! Count Who are you talking of? Count. Once more, tell me, instantly, what old gentleman? Mac D. Considering his age, he is as active and as brave a fillow, as ever handled a fist. Count. [Aside.] He cannot, surely, mean my father!-Mac Dermot, I entreat, I command you to tell me of whom you are talking. Mac D. If your lordship had but seen the noble ould soul, I'm sure you would have forgiven me. Count. But what letter? Mac D. Oh! the divel burn the letter! Now, my lord, don't mention it; pray, don't remember it, your lordship; pray, don't! By my soul, now, my lord, he is a fine ould fillow! Oh! how he laid about him! Count. Was it the person who came this afternoon? he himsilf. Call a chair! Run for a surgeon and a physician! the best that can be procured. Mac D. For me, my lord? Count. For you, my noble fellow! Mac D. Spare yourself the labour, young man. Mac D. Pitifully. To be sure, he sent your lord- Footman.-Mac Dermot, you must be put to bed. ship aa viry impartinent letter. Count. How? [The COUNT's perplexities and passions are here effectually roused, and increase through the scene. Mac D. There were three of them. Nivir did your lordship set your two good-looking eyes on Auch a pair of thieves" Muc D. To bed, my lord! Count. And lose some blood. Mac D. 'Faith, my lord, that will be a little too much; I've lost quite blood enough already. Count. Pray, I request,-I must have you do as I desire. I would not have any ill happen to you, for the world. Mac D. Oh! and the divle of ill or harm can happen to Mac Dermot, the while he has such a ginerous prince-royal of a master! though, I believe, the best thing that could happen to me, just now, would be a good supper, and a hearty tiff of whiskypunch. Count. Not for the Indies! the most absurd; wholly intent upon yourself; entemning others; exacting respect you did not mer 1; refusing ceremony where 'twas due; protuleraz: with pride, yet poorly carping at and holding id warfare with the pride of others; forgetful of the dignity of reason, but, with tenacious grasp, clinging Mac D. 'Faith, my lord, it was hard work, and to the ludicrous dignity of birth; the heir, incent, has given me a very craving kind of a call. Re-enter Footman. Foot. The chair is waiting, sir. Count. Go, my good fellow! Obey me but this cnce, and I'll never act the master to you more. Mac D. Well, well, my lord,-But I hope your lordship won't quite kill me with kindness. [Exit. Enter Sir PAUL PECKHAM and LUCY. Sir P. With the packet opened.] So, Count, I find, after all your pretended raptures, you never wished to marry my daughter. Count. Sir! Sir P. Why did not you retract like a man, and not make a paltry, false excuse of poverty? Count. Sir, I made no false excuse. Sir P. How, sir! Shall I not believe my eyes? and first-born of folly, ignorance itself has mocked and taunted at you! Lady P. Wery troo. Give him his own! Sir P. Zounds! My lady, I wish he would ge you your own a little: not but it's right enough. Lady P. To be sure! I knows wery vell I am right. Dori. Your father, too, has been avoided, nay, indigence, that he might secretly supply your wants, disowned; your father, who, for years, has lived support you in splendour, and preserve you? all the misery of which he made himself the willing Count. Sir,-You?-Was it you? Oh! ingratitude! victim. And what was it you despised! Why, this poor gart. Sir P. In your's; given me this moment by your the trappings of magnificence, I had received an own servant. Count. Impossible, sir! Sir P. Impossible, is it? Why, look you, here are the bills. And, hallo! Count. Stir not for your life, on such an errand! He must not, shall not be disturbed. Sir P. Nay, my word, it seems, is not to be believed; nor, perhaps, the bills themselves. But, sir, though you vaunt so highly of being a man of honour, the trick was beneath a man of honesty. Enter Lady PECKHAM and EDMUND. Enter DORIMONT and LYDIA. Sir P. Ah! what, my friend, the steward! I am glad you are come. Never was so amazed in my life. Your master, here, has been telling me he has no estates. Lady P. How! Dori. My master, sir! Count. The feelings of man cannot support this open shame! Dori. Whither now, sir? [Going. Sir P. Ay, talk to him. I'm in a mist. Count. Suffer me to pass, sir. [Going.] Speak the truth; render me contemptible,-abhorrent; but make me not a witness of my own disgrace! Dori. Stay, sir! Count. I cannot. Dori. Stay; or, dread a father's malediction! Lydia. Hush! open welcome. But, blessed be my penury, since it has been your punishment. Count. Sir, wrung as my heart is by remorse, and guilty as I know myself for I have still increase of guilt-no words can mitigate my crimes. Yet, though I have erred, I feel I have something in me capable of good; and strong propensities to all the tender ties, the filial duties, and the severer virtues, whica I have seemed to want; a mind, which, once convinced, has strength to shun and to subdue its master passion, renounce ts folly, and abhor its turpitude. Deep is my offence against you and nature; but let nature plead in my behalf. Here, at your feet, repentant for my faults, I claim that pity, which a father so good, and so affectionate, will not reuse. Dori. Oh! no; for now you speak like the son of my heart, the image of my brightest hopes. You have stood the fiery trial, and are pure. Lady P. Vhy, but, hark you me, mister,-vhy, vhat! you are not a count, too, to be sure! Dori. No, madam. Lady P. Vhy, then, Dori. If a title can flatter your ladyship, mine is something higher. Lady P. How! Dori. I am a marquis. Lady P. A marquis! You! Vell!—{Ande] For an outlandish marquis! Edmund. My lady Sir P. Well, but the bills? Count. Your's, sir! [Holding them out, Dori. Remittances for some recovered arrears. But, where is my brave protector,-my hero! Count. Safe, sir. Every care is taken of the gene rous fellow. Is the physician come? Sir P. Yes, yes; I have taken care of that I have sent him my own physician.-Hem!— 4side.] Lady P. Father, indeed! Vhat he! So, so! Here's My cook! a wirago; here's a chouse! Sir P. My lady Lady P. I thought vhat vould be the upshot on't! Dori. Spurred on by suppositions and conceits Count. You know not half his worth. Dori. We have now the means; we no longer are oppressed and poor. Count. Yet, are you not in present danger? Dor. No; malice has spent its last effort. Our ambassador has just sent me the final decision of the judges: my sentence is reversed, my whole estates ate restored, and the power of my persecutors is at an end. Count. Oh, fortune! Oh, my father!---And, may 1 bope it? My Lucy, mav I? Lucy. Yes; hope every thing. Lucy. Yours; heart and soul. Lady P. Hold a blow, if you please! Vhat! am I nobody? Count. Madam, to you a thousand excuses are due. Count. I am conscious of my past ridicule, and will no more contend with your ladyship for preju dices so false and weak. Lady P. I knoo I vus right; I knoo you made yourself ridiculous; I told you so often enough! Sir P. Well said, my lady. But, hark you, Miss Lydia,-And, sir, Dori. Count,-[Aside.] How shall I tell him?— My son, look at this charming, this virtuous young lady. Sir P. [Aside.] Zounds! what now? Count. I am conscious of having treated her with proud unkindness, at the very moment, too, when I perceived she was sincerely my friend. Dori. Your friend! Look at her. Does not your heart throb? Feel you not sensations more tender? Are you not all doubt, all hope, all fear, all pertur bation? Count. Sir!--What-Who! Dori. Con you not imagine? Look at her, I say; behold her agitation! Count. Merey! Dori. We ought not to forget the vices of age. Sir P. Hem!-We'll talk of them after supper, sir. [Looking round at Lady Peckham and the Com pany.] Dori. Well, sir, on condition Sir P. Oh! any condition you please, sir. Lydia. Somewhere in Mary-le-bone. Lydia. With a Sir P. Zounds!-Apart to LYDIA.] Hush! don't mention the back door. Lydia. [Apart to Sir P.] Then we are all friends ? Sir P. [part. To be sure. But, you may as well not tell Scapegrace. Lydia. [Apart.] Never fear. Sir P. Apart. Not a word of the new liveries. Dori. Chequered are the scenes of life; pleasure and pain, joy and grief, austerity and laughter, intermingling, weave a motley web. Our prejudices Dori. Open your arms, your heart, to receive her. are our punishments: they cling about us, warp our Count. Sir!--Madam!-Who? Dori. Your sister. Count. My sister! actions, distort our manners, render us the food of satire, the mockery of fools, and torture us, as wailing urchins are tormented to make sport for boys. Truth alone can make men wise and happy. Myself the sacrifice of falsehood and mistake, feebly have I striven to stem the torrent; and here my task, and Lydia. My dearest, best of brothers! [Running Error and folly impede the progress of perfection. into his arms. Lucy. My friend! my Lydia! Cont. Oh! how culpable have I been! Sir P. [ide.] 'Sblood! here's a pretty piece of here, I hope, my troubles end business! [Exeunt. LADY MORDEN MRS. MODELY MRS. PINUP HARRIET EMILY. ACT I. like white paint, are excellent promoters of cracked complexions Mrs. P. I declare, upon my honour, I am as tired as-as Lap. A hackney-coach horse, on a rainy Sunday Lap. An alderman at an oratorio. Your lady had a deal of company at her rout. Was Sir Frederick Fashion there? Mrs. P. To be sure. Lap. He is a prodigious favourite with your lady, I think. Mrs. P. Favourite! There are strange doings in this world!—Staid, I know not how long, after every body else was gone. Lap. What! alone with your lady? Mrs. P. Alone, with my lady. Lap. Indeed! Was Mrs. Modely at the rout? Mrs. P. Yes. But don't ask me any questions; it's impossible I should say ten words more: I am SCENE I.—A Drawing-room at Lord Morden's. talking in my sleep, now. When I get up, in the Enter LAPELLE. Lap. [Looking at his watch.] Twenty minutes past ten; a shameful time of the morning for a gentleman's gentleman to be disturbed. My lord has lost his money, can't sleep himself, and won't suffer others to take their natural rest. Enter Mrs. PINUP. Mrs. P. I declare, upon my honour, this is a most monstrous time of night for a lady's gentlewoman to be kept up; dozing over a dull novel, or nodding in an antichamber and an arm-chair, while others are taking their pleasure, and losing their estates, among their friends. Lap. Good morrow, Mrs. Pinup. Mrs. P. Good morrow, Mr. Lapelle! Good night, you mean. I have not been in bed yet. Lap. No! Mrs. P. That vile, bed-side bell! They'll wear me haggard before I am old. Knew I should not rest long, so threw myself down in my clothes; and, just as I was got into a sound sleep, tingle, tingle, tingle; up I must get to dress my lady, who for my part, I believe, never sleeps at all. Lap. Why, yes; your fashionable folks are a kind of ghosts, that walk of nights, and greatly trouble the repose of valets and ladies' maids; and late hours, | morning, (that is, about three o'clock in the afternoon,) I'll tell you all. So, good night. [Erit Lap. A wonderful change in a short time! Lady Morden, young, handsome, and full of spirits, was, not a month ago, reserved in her conduct, fond of her husband, contented with home,—and, indeed, a miraculous kind of exception among wives of quality; whereas, now, she has suddenly turned fantastical what we half-bred folks should call, light of carriage. in dress, capricious in temper, free of speech, and, She games with the women, coquettes with the men; and seems, in every respect, ambitious to become a woman of fashion. As for my lord, why, he is a— man of fashion. Enter General Burland. weeks since, I left so singular, so eminent an ex- Lap. He staid after every body else had retired. General. What! alone with Lady Morden? Lap. So her ladyship's woman, who is scarcely yet undressed, informed me. General. Why, then, all hopes of goodness, in this world, are vanished! Go; bid my daughter, my Emily, to come to me. Lap. She is not stirring, I faney, sir. General. But I fancy she is, sir; I am sure she is. What, sir, she had not a rout to keep her up all night! Lap. She was of my lady's party, I believe, sir. General. Go, go; pray, go, and do as I bid you. [Exit LAPELLE. "What will this town, this world, come to! The only perfectly amiable, the only enchantingly virtuous woman I knew, fascinated, at last, and sinking into the gulph of depravity! She will drag down my Emily too. No; I'll hide her in a forest, seclude her in a -cave, rather than suffer her to be infected by the pestiferous breath of this contagious town. But is she not already tainted? Of my lady's party! she that I left her with as a pattern; commanded her to observe, to study, to imitate, in all things! Re-enter LAPelle. Well, where is my daughter? Lap. I have called her woman, and she will call Miss Emily. General. I'll call her myself; and it shall be the most ungentle call she has long heard from me. [Ex. Enter HARRIET, disguised. Lap. Who comes here? Some foreign sharper, I dare say; one of my lord's morning duns for last night's debts. Har. With the brogue.] Harkye! young man, may be asking you where I will find my Lord Morden? Lap. He is not come down, sir. Har. Oh! that, I suppose, is because he is not up. Lap. My lord told me he expected a gentleman or two would call; but he has had so many calls lately Har. That he is a little slow in answering. Lap. Rather. Riches, regularity, and roast beef, will soon, I fear, take their leave of our house. Har. Faidth and that may viry will be; for they are all three become great vagabonds. Riches is turned Amirican pedler; regularity a Prussian grenadier; and, as for roast beef, why, the Frinch are now so fond of good ould English fashions, that poor roast beef is transported alive to Paris. Lap. My lord, I believe, is a little out of cash, at present. Har. Will, now, that is viry prudent of him to put it out; for, whin a man finds he can't keep his cash himself, he is viry right to lit odther people keep it for him. Lord M. [Speaking as he enters.] Lapelle! Lap. [Aside.] So, here he comes already.-My lord?" Lord M. What time is it? Lap. Eleven o'clock, my lord. Lord M. What a d-d night have I passed! Is my coffee ready? Lap. I'll go and see, my lord. [Exit. Lord M. [Throws himself on the sofa.] This headache!-No rest!-Oh! for half an hour's sleep! A cursed, silly course of mine! But, there is no ac. counting in the morning for the conduct of overnight. Re-enter LAPELLE, with coffee. This is not half strong enough. Get me some as strong as possible.-Any message? [Rises.] Lap. This letter, my lord. Lord M. From Lady Westbrook, I see.- Reads.] Um—“ A young Lady in disguise-Um-will relate her own story.-Um, um-Rely on your honour to keep her secret, and serve her cause.-Would have addressed myself to Lady Morden, but for reasons which you shall know hereafter." Enter LAPELLE, with more coffee. Who brought this letter? Lap. An Irish gentleman, in a foreign dress. Lap. Said he would call about one o'clock, my lord. Lord M. Shew him into my room, and inform me the instant he comes. Lap. General Burland is here. [Erit Lapelle. Must not let him see the present temper of my mind. My guardian once, he is determined never to think me of age. I need not his reproof to increase my present chagrin; my own follies, and Lady Morden's unexpected, unaccountable reverse of conduct, are sufficient. He will lay it all to me; and, perhaps, with reason. Heigho! Here he comes. Really, one of these very prudent, plain-speaking friends, is a very disagreeable person, in these our moments of folly. Well, I must assume a cheerfulness I don't feel, and ward off his wisdom with raillery. Enter General BURLAND. General, Good morrow, my lord. Lord M. General, good morrow. General. You seem scarcely awake. Lord M. [Stretchy.] Slept ill; troubled with the night-mare. General. Your troubles, I am afraid, are rapidly increasing. |