Col. O. But look who comes yonder-Ha, ha, ha! My son, picking his steps like a dancingmaster. Pr'ythee, Harman, go into the house, and let my wife and daughter know we are come, while I go and have some sport with him: they will introduce you to Sir John Flowerdale. Har. Then, Sir, I'll take the liberty Col. O. But, d'ye hear, I must have a little more discourse with you about this girl: perhaps she's a neighbour of mine, and I may be of service to you. Har. Well, remember, Colonel, I shall try your friendship. Indulgent powers, if ever You mark'd a tender vow, O bend in kind compassion, And hear a lover now! For titles, wealth, and honours, While others crowd your shrine, I ask this only blessing, Let her I love be mine. [Exit. Enter MR. JESSAMY and several Servants. Col. O. Why, zounds! one would think you had never put your feet to the ground before; you make as much work about walking a quarter of a mile, as if you had gone a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Mr. J. Colonel, you have used me extremely ill, to drag me through the dirty roads in this manner; you told me the way was all over a bowling-green; only see what a condition I am in! Col. O. Why, how did I know the roads were dirty? is that my fault? Besides, we mistook the way. Zounds, man, your legs will be never the worse when they are brushed a little. ; Mr. J. Antoine! have you sent La Roque for the shoes and stockings? Give me the glass out of your pocket-not a dust of powder left in my hair, and the frissure as flat as the foretop of an attorney's clerk-get your comb and pomatum you must borrow some powder: I suppose there is such a thing as a dressing-room in the house. Col. O. Ay, and a cellar too, I hope, for I want a glass of wine cursedly-but hold, hold, Frank, where are you going? Stay, and pay your devoirs here, if you please; I see there's somebody coming to welcome us. Enter LIONEL, DIANA, and CLARISSA. Lion. Colonel, your most obedient; Sir John is walking with my lady in the garden, and has commissioned me to receive you, Col. O. Mr. Lionel, I am heartily glad to see you come here, Frank-this is my son, Sir. Lion. Sir, I am exceeding proud to Mr. J. Can't you get the powder then? Col. O. Miss Clary, my little Miss Clary-give me a kiss, my dear-as handsome as an angel, by Heavens-Frank, why don't you come here? this is Miss Flowerdale. Diana. O Heavens, Clarissa! Just as I said, that impudent devil is come here with my father. Mr. J. Hadn't we better go into the house? FINALE. Mr. J. To be made in such a pickle! Will you please to lead the way, Sir? Col. O. No, but if you please you may, Sir. For precedence none will stickle. Diana. Brother, no politeness? Bless me! Clar. Mr. J. Col. O. Don't distress me; Clar. Cruel, must I, can I, bear? Oh, adverse stars! Lion. SCENE I-A Hall at SIR JOHN FLOWERDALE'S. Grand Staircase; two doors, from different Apartments. Enter LIONEL, followed by JENNY. consider now; how can you be so prodigious unJenny. Well but, Mr. Lionel, consider, pray discreet as you are, walking about the hall here, While the gentle folks are within in the parlour? Don't you think they'll wonder at your getting up so soon after dinner, and before any of the rest of the company? Lion. For Heaven's sake, Jenny, don't speak to me: I neither know where I am, nor what I am doing; I am the most wretched and miserable of mankind. I Jenny. Poor, dear soul, I pity you. Yes, yes, believe you are miserable enough indeed; and assure you I have pitied you a great while, and spoke many a word in your favour, when you little thought you had such a friend in a corner. Lion. But, good Jenny, since, by some accident or other, you have been able to discover what I would willingly hide from all the world; I conjure you, as you regard my interest, as you value your lady's peace and honour, never let the most distant hint of it escape you; for it is a secret of that importance Jenny. And perhaps you think I can't keep a secret; Ah! Mr. Lionel, it must be hear, see, and say nothing in this world, or one has no business to live in it; besides who would not be in love with my lady? There's never a man this alive but might be proud of it; for she is the hand No int'rest, no motive, but that would I own; somest, sweetest temper'dest, and I am sure one | By love, only love, should our souls ve cemented; of the best mistresses ever poor girl had. Lion. Oh, Jenny! she's an angel. Jenny. And so she is indeed. Do you know that she gave me her blue silk gown to-day, and it is every crum as good as new; and, go things as they will, don't you be fretting and vexing yourself, for I am mortally sartain she would liverer see a toad than this Jessamy. Though I must say, to my thinking, he's a very likely man; and a finer pair of eyebrows and a more delicate nose, I never saw on a face. Lion. By Heavens, I shall run mad. Jenny. And why so? It is not beauty that always takes the fancy: moreover, to let you know, if it was, I don't think him any more to compare to you, than a thistle is to a carnation: and so's a sign; for, mark my words, my lady loves you as much as she hates him. Lion. What you tell me, Jenny, is a thing I neither merit nor expect: no, I am unhappy, and let me continue so; my most presumptuous thoughts shall never carry me to a wish that may affect her quiet, or give her cause to repent. Jenny. That's very honourable of you, I must need's say! but for all that, liking 's liking, and one can't help it; and if it should be my lady's case it is no fault of yours. I am sure, when she called me into her dressing-room, before she went down to dinner, there she stood with her eyes brim full of tears, and so I fell a crying for company-and then she said she could not abide the chap in the parlour; and at the same time she bid me take an opportunity to speak to you, and desire you to meet her in the garden this evening after tea; for she has something to say to you. Lion. Jenny, I see you are my friend; for which I thank you, though I know it is impossible to do me any service; take this ring, and wear it for my sake. Jenny. I am very much obliged to your honour; I am your friend indeed-but, I say, you wont forget to be in the garden now; and in the mean time keep as little in the house as you can, for walls have eyes and ears; and I can tell you the servants take notice of your uneasiness, though I'm always desiring them to mind their own business. Lion. Pray have a care, Jenny, have a care, my dear girl; a word may breed suspicion. Enter COLONEL OLDBOY. Col. O. Very well, my lady, I'll come again to you presently, I am only going into the garden for a mouthful of air. Aha! my little Abigail! Here, Molly, Jenny, Betty! What's your name? Why don't you answer me, hussy, when I call you. Jenny. If you want any thing, Sir, I'll call one of the footmen. Col. O. The footmen! the footmen Damn me, I never knew one of them, in my life, that wouldn't prefer a rascal to a gentleman-Come here, you slut, put your hands about my neck, and kiss me. Jenny. Who, I, Sir? Col. O. Ay, here's money for you; what the devil are you afraid of? I'll take you into keeping; you shall go and live at one of my tenant's houses. Jenny. I wonder you aren't ashamed, Sir, to make an honest girl any such proposal; you that have a worthy gentlewoman, nay, a lady of your own-To be sure she's a little stricken in years; but why shouldn't she grow elderly as well as yourself? Col. O. Burn a lady, I love a pretty girl- Jenny. What do you pinch my fingers for? Yes, yes, I know you well enough, and your charekter's well known all over the country, running after poor young creatures as you do, to ruinate them. Col. O. What, then, people say Jenny. Indeed they talk very bad of you; and whatever you may think, Sir, though I'm in a menial station, I'm come of people that wouldn't see me put upon; there are those that would take my part against the proudest he in the land, that should offer any thing uncivil. Col. O. Well, come, let me know now, how does your young lady like my son? Jenny. You want to pump me, do you? 1 suppose you would know whether I can keep my tongue within my teeth. Col. O. She doesn't like him then? Jenny. Pshaw! have a care yourself; it is you that breeds suspicion, sighing and pining about; you look for all the world like a ghost; and if you don't pluck up your spirits, you will be a Jenny. I don't say so, Sir-Isn't this a shame ghost soon; letting things get the better of you. now-I suppose to-morrow or next day it will be Though to be sure when I thinks with myself, reported that Jenny has been talking; Jenny said being crossed in love is a terrible thing-There this, and Jenny said that, and Jenny said t'other was a young man in the town where I was born-But here, Sir, I ax you, did I tell you any such made away with himself upon the account of it. Lion. Things sha'n't get the better of me, Jenny. Jenny. No more they don't ought. And once again, I say, fortune is thrown in your dish, and you are not to fling it out; my lady's estate will be better than three livings, if Sir John could give them to you. Think of that, Mr. Lionel, think of that. Lion. Think of what? Oh talk not to me of the wealth she possesses, thing? Col. O. Why, yes, you did. Jenny. I-Lord bless me, how can you- Col. O. What do you bawl for? Indeed, forsooth, a pretty youth, Fy, let me go, Sir, You pull me and shake me, Lord, have you no shame, Sir Col. O. For shame, Dy, what mischief do you mean? How can you talk so tartly to a poor young fellow under misfortunes? Give him your hand, and ask his pardon.-Don't mind her, Harman.-For all this, she is as good-natured a little devil as ever was born. Har. You may remember, Sir, I told you before [Exit. dinner, that I had for some time carried on a private correspondence with my lovely girl; and that her father, whose consent we despair of obtaining, is the great obstacle to our happiness. Enter LADY MARY OLDBOY, DIANA, and HARMAN. Lady M. Mr. Oldboy, wont you give me your hand to lead me up stairs, my dear?-Sir, I am prodigiously obliged to you; I protest I have not been so well, I don't know when: I have had no return of my bilious complaint after dinner to day; and eat so voraciously! Did you observe, Miss? Doctor Arsenic will be quite astonished when he hears it; surely his new-invented medicine has done me a prodigious deal of service. Col. O. Ah! you'll always be taking one slop or other till you poison yourself. Give me a pinch of your ladyship's snuff. Lady M. This is a mighty pretty sort of man, Colonel, who is he? Col. Ó. A young fellow, my lady, recommended to me. Lady M. I protest he has the sweetest taste for poetry!-He has repeated to me two or three of his own things, and I have been telling him of the poem my late brother, Lord Jessamy, made on the mouse that was drowned. Col. O. Ay, a fine subject for a poem; a mouse that was drowned in a Lady M. Hush, my dear colonel, don't mention it; to be sure the circumstance was vastly indelicate; but for the number of lines, the poem was as charming a morsel-Pray, Sir, was there any news when you left London? any thing about the East Indies, the ministry, or politics of any kind? I am strangely fond of politics, but I hear nothing since my Lord Jessamy's death; he used to write to me all the affairs of the nation, for he was a very great politician himself. I have a manuscript speech of his in my cabinet-He never spoke it, but it is as fine a thing as ever came from man! Col. O. What is that crawling upon your ladyship's petticoat? Lady M. Where ! where! Col. O. Zounds! a spider with legs as long as my arm. Lady M. Oh, Heavens! Ah don't let me look at it! I shall faint, I shall faint! A spider! a spider! a spider! [Runs off. Col. O. Hold; zounds, let her go; I knew the spider would set her galloping, with her damned fuss about her brother, my Lord Jessamy-Harman, come here.-How do you like my daughter? Is the girl you are in love with as handsome as this? Har. In my opinion, Sir. Col. O. What, as handsome as Dy!-I'll lay you twenty pounds she has not such a pair of eves. He tells me he's in love, Dy; raging mad for love, and, by his talk, I begin to believe him. Diana. Now, for my part, papa, I doubt it very much! though, by what I heard the gentleman say just now within, I find he imagines the lady has a violent partiality for him; and yet he may be mistaken there too. Col. O. Why don't you carry her off in spite of him then?-I ran away with my wife-ask my lady Mary, she'll tell you the thing herself.-Her old conceited lord of a father thought I was not good enough; but I mounted a garden-wall, notwithstanding their chevaux-de-frize of broken glass bottles, took her out of a three-pair of stairs window, and brought her down a ladder in my arms. By the way, she would have squeezed through a cat-hole to get at me.-And I would have taken her out of the tower of London, damme, if it had been surrounded with the three regiments of guards. Diana. But surely, papa, you would not persuade the gentleman to such a proceeding as this is; consider the noise it will make in the country; and if you are known to be the adviser and abettor Col. O. Why, what do I care? I say, if he takes my advice he'll run away with her, and I'll give him all the assistance I can. Har. I am sure, Sir, you are very kind: and, to tell you the truth, I have more than once had the very scheme in my head, if I thought it was feasible, and knew how to go about it. Col. O. Feasible, and knew how to go about it! The thing 's feasible enough, if the girl's willing to go off with you, and you have spirit sufficient to undertake it. Har. O, as for that, Sir, I can answer. Diana. What, Sir, that the lady will be willing to go off with you? Har. No, Ma'am, that I have spirit enough to take her, if she is willing to go; and thus far I dare venture to promise, that between this and to-morrow morning I will find out whether she is or not. Col. O. So he may; she lives but in this county; and tell her, Harman, you have met with a friend who is inclined to serve you. You shall have my post-chaise at a minute's warning; and if a hundred pieces will be of any use to you, you may command 'em. Har. And are you really serious, Sir? Col. O. Serious; damme, if I an't. I have put twenty young fellows in the way of getting girls that they never would have thought of:-and bring her to my house; whenever you come you shall have a supper and a bed; but you must marry her first, because my lady will be squeamish. Diana. Well but, my dear papa, upon my word you have a great deal to answer for: suppose it was your own case to have a daughter in such circumstances, would you be obliged to any one Col. O. Hold your tongue, hussy, who bid you put in your oar? However, Harman, I don't want to set you upon any thing; 'tis no affair of mine to be sure; I only give you advice, and tell you how I would act if I was in your place. Har. I assure you, Sir, I am quite charmed Col. O. Say no more then here's my hand.You understand me-No occasion to talk any further of it at present. Diana. I don't believe she will, indeed. Mr. J. Go on, sister,-ha, ha, ha! Diana. I protest I am serious-Though I perceive you have more faith in the counsellor before you there, the looking-glass. But give me leave to tell you it is not a powdered head, a laced coat, a grimace, a shrug, a bow, or a few pert phrases, learned by rote, that constitute the power of pleasing all women. Mr. J. You had better return to the gentleman, and give him his tea, my dear. Diana. You had better not give this advice, papa. Col. O. Hold your tongue, hussy-Harman, if you don't carry her off, you dog, I'll never forgive you. [Exeunt COLONEL OLDBOY and DIANA. Har. Say'st thou so! then love renounce me, Diana. These qualifications we find in our if I drive not old Truepenny's humour to the ut- parrots and monkeys. I would undertake to teach termost-Let me consider ;-what ill consequence Poll, in three weeks, the fashionable jargon of can possibly attend it -The design is his own, half the fine men about town; and I am sure it as in part will be the execution.-He may per- must be allowed, that pug, in a scarlet coat, is a haps be angry when he finds out the deceit.-gentleman as degage and alluring as most of Well, he deceives himself; and faults we commit them. ourselves we seldom find much difficulty in pardoning. SCENE II-CLARISSA's Dressing-room. Enter DIANA and MR. JESSAMY. Diana. Come, brother, I undertake to be mistress of the ceremony upon this occasion, and introduce you to your first audience.-Miss Flowerdale is not here, I perceive; but no matter Mr. J. Upon my word, a pretty elegant dress ing-room this; but confound our builders, or architects, as they call themselves, they are all errant stone-masons; not one of them knows the situation of doors, windows, or chimneys; which are as essential to a room, as eyes, nose, and mouth to a countenance. Now if the eyes are where the mouth should be, and the nose out of proportion and its place, quelle horrible physiognomie! Diana. My dear brother, you are not come here as a virtuoso to admire the temple; but as a votary to address the deity to whom it belongs. Show, I beseech you, a little more devotion, and tell me how you like Miss Flowerdale? don't you think her very handsome? Ladies, pray admire a figure, Enter CLARISSA. [Erit. Clar. Sir, I took the liberty to desire a few moments' private conversation with you-I hope you will excuse it-I am really greatly embarrassed. But in an affair of such immediate consequence to us both [MR. JESSAMY places chairs, and seats himself. Mr. J. My dear creature, don't be embarrassed before me; Í should be extremely sorry to strike you with any awe; but this is a species of mauraise honte, which the company I shall introduce you to, will soon cure you of. Clar. Upon my word, Sir, I don't understand you. Mr. J. Perhaps you may be under some uneasiness lest I should not be quite so warm in the prosecution of this affair as you could wish: it is true, with regard to quality, I might do better; and, with regard to fortune, full as well-But you please me-Upon my soul, I have not met with any thing more agreeable to me a great while. Clar. Pray, Sir, keep your seat. Mr. J. Pale;-but that I am determined she shall remedy; for, as soon as we are married, I will make her put on rouge.-Let me see; has she got any in her boxes here? veritable toilet a l'Angloise. Nothing but a bottle of Hungary- Mr. J. Mauvaise honte, again. My dear, there water, two or three rows of pins, a paper of patches, is nothing in these little familiarities between you and a little bole-armoniac by way of tooth-powder. and me-When we are married, I shall do every Diana. Brother, I would fain give you something to render your life happy. advice upon this occasion, which may be of service to you. You are now going to entertain a young lady-Let me prevail upon you to lay aside those airs, on account of which some people are impertinent enough to call you a coxcomb; for I am afraid she may be apt to think you a coxcomb too, as I assure you she is very capable of distinguishing. Mr. J. So much the worse for me.-If she is capable of distinguishing, I shall meet with a terrible repulse. I don't believe she'll have me. [Ironically. Clar. Ah! Sir, pardon me. The happiness of my life depends upon a circumstance Mr. J. Oh! I understand you-You have been told I suppose of the Italian opera girl-rat people's tongues-However, 'tis true, I had an affair with her at Naples, and she is now here. But, be satisfied: I'll give her a thousand pounds, and I send her about her business. Clar. Me, Sir! I protest nobody told meLord! I never heard any such thing, or inquired about it. Mr. J. Nor have they not been chattering to you of my affair at Pisa, with the Principessa | keep out of my way; for, by 'gad, I will affront del Clar. No, indeed, Sir. Mr. J. Well, I was afraid they might, because in this rude country-But, why silent on a sudden?-don't be afraid to speak. Clar. No, Sir, I will come to the subject on which I took the liberty to trouble you.-Indeed, I have great reliance on your generosity. Mr. J. You'll find me generous as a prince, depend on't. Clar. I am blessed, Sir, with one of the best of fathers: I never yet disobeyed him; in which I have had little merit; for his commands hitherto have only been to secure my own felicity. Mr. J. Apres, ma chere. Clar. But now, Sir, I am under the shocking necessity of disobeying him, or being wretched for ever. Mr. J. Hark you, old gentleman; who are you? Jenk. Sir, my name is Jenkins. Mr. J. Oh! you are Sir John Flowerdale's steward; a servant he puts confidence in. Jenk. Sir, I have served Sir John Flowerdale many years. them in the first place I meet them-And, if your Jenk. Tomkins! Wilkins! Hopkins! and Simkins! what does he mean?—I must go and inform Sir John of what has happened, but I will not tell him of the outrageous behaviour of this young spark; for he is a man of spirit, and would resent it. 'Egad, my own fingers itched to be at him, once or twice; and, as stout as he is, I fancy these old fists would give him a bellyful. He complains of Miss Clarissa; but she is incapable of treating him in the manner he says. Perhaps she may have behaved with some coldness towards him; and yet that is a mystery to me too. We all say the man was exceedingly knowing, And knowing most surely was he, Who found out the cause of the ebbing and flow[ing, The flux and reflux of the sea. Nor was he in knowledge far from it, To what it was owing, Its coming and going, Its wanderings hither and thither; A lady's designs, Their cause or effect, Is wiser than both put together. [Exit. SCENE III-SIR JOHN FLOWERDALE'S Garden. Mr. J. Then, Mr. Je kins, I shall condescend to speak to you. Does your master know who View of canal, by moonlight; statues, flowering, I am? Does he know, Sir, that I am likely to be a peer of Great Britain? That I have ten thousand pounds a year; that I have passed through all Europe with distinguished eclat; that I refused the daughter of Mynheer Van Slokenfolk, the great Dutch burgomaster; and that, if I had not had the misfortune of being bred a protestant, I might have married the niece of his present holiness the Pope, with a fortune of two hundred thousand piastres, Mr. Jenkins? Jenk. I am sure, Sir, my master has all the respect imaginable Mr. J. Then, Mr. Tomkins, how comes he, after my showing an inclination to be allied to his family; how comes he, I say, to bring me to this house to be affronted? I have let his daughter go; but I think I was in the wrong; for a woman that insults me is no more safe than a man. I have brought a lady to reason before now for giving me saucy language; and left her male friends to revenge it, Mr. Wilkins. Jenk. Pray, good Sir, what's the matter? Mr. J. Why, Sir, this is the matter, Sir-your master's daughter, Sir, has behaved to me with damned insolence and impertinence; and you may tell Sir John Flowerdale, first, with regard to her, that I think she is a silly, ignorant, awkward, illbred, country puss, Mr. Hopkins. Jenk. Oh! Sir, for Heaven's sake Mr. J. And that, with regard to himself, he is, in my opinion, an old, doting, ridiculous, country squire; without the knowledge of either men or things; and that he is below my notice, if it were not to despise him, Mr. Jenkins. Jenk. Good lord! good lord! shrubs, &c. Enter LIONEL, leading CLARISSA. Lion. Hist-methought I heard a noise-should we be surprised together, at a juncture so critical, what might be the consequence-I know not how it is; but, at this the happiest moment of my life, I feel a damp, a tremor at my heart Clar. Then, what should I do? If you tremble, I ought to be terrified indeed, who have discovered sentiments, which perhaps I should have hid, with a frankness, that, by a man less generous, less noble-minded than yourself, might be construed to my disadvantage. Lion. Oh! wound me not with so cruel an expression-You love me, and have condescended to confess it-You have seen my torments, and been kind enough to pity them-the world indeed, may blame you Clar. And yet, was it proclaimed to the world, what could the most malicious suggest? They could but say, that truth and sincerity got the better of forms; that the tongue dared to speak the honest sensations of the mind; that, while you aimed at improving my understanding, you engaged and conquered my heart Lion. And is it, is it possible? Clar. Be calm, and listen to me: what I have done has not been lightly imagined, nor rashly undertaken: it is the work of reflection, of conviction; my love is not a sacrifice to my own fancy, but a tribute to your worth; did I think there was a more deserving man in the world Lion. If to dote on you more than life, be to deserve you, so far I have merit; if to have no Mr. J. And advise him and his daughter to wish, no hope, no thought, but you, can entitle |