 Act four of The Conscious Lovers by Richard Steele. This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act the fourth. Scene one, Bevel Junior's Lodgings. Bevel Junior, with a letter in his hand, followed by Tom. Upon my life, sir, I know nothing of the matter. I never opened my lips to Master Myrtle about anything of your honour's letter to Madame Lucinda. What's the fool in such a frightful? I don't suppose you did. What I would know is whether Mr Myrtle shows any suspicion or asked you any questions to lead you to say casually that you had carried any such letter for me this morning. Why, sir, if he did ask me any questions, how could I help it? I don't say you could, Oaf. I'm not questioning you, but him. What did he say to you? Why, sir, when I came to his chambers to be dressed for the lawyer's part, your honour was pleased to put me upon, he asked me if I had been at Master Seelence this morning. So I told him, sir, I often went dither, because, sir, if I had not said that, he might have thought there was something more in my going now than at another time. Very well. Aside. The fellow's caution, I find, has given him this jealousy. Did he ask you no other questions? Yes, sir. Now I remember. As we came away in the hackney-coach from Master Seelence, Tom, says he, as I came into your master this morning, he bade you go for an answer to a letter he had sent. Pray did you bring him any, says he. Our, says I, sir, your honour is pleased to joke with me. You have a mind to know whether I can keep a secret or no. And so, by showing him you could, you told him you had one? Sir. What mean actions does jealousy may a command stoop to? How poorly has he used art with a servant to make him betray his master. Well, and when did he give you this letter for me? Sir, he ridded the thought he pulled off his lawyer's gown at his own chambers. Very well, and what did he say when you brought him my answer to it? He looked a little out of humour, sir, and said it was very well. I knew he would be grave a punt. Wait without. Good, I don't mind this. I'm afraid we're all in the wrong box here. Exit, Tom. I put on a serenity while my fellow was present, but I have never been more thoroughly disturbed. This hot man to write me a challenge on supposed artificial dealing when I professed myself his friend I can live contented without glory, but I cannot suffer shame. What's to be done? But first let me consider Lucinda's letter again. Read. Sir, I hope it is consistent with the laws a woman ought to impose upon herself to acknowledge that your manner of declining a treaty of marriage in our family and desiring the refusal may come from me has something more engaging in it than the courtship of him who, I fear, will fall to my lot, except your friend exerts himself for our common safety and happiness. I have reasons for desiring Mr. Myrtle may not know of this letter till hereafter, and I am your most obliged humble servant, Lucinda Seeland. Well, but the Post Script. Read. I won't upon second thoughts hide anything from you, but my reason for concealing this is that Mr. Myrtle has a jealousy in his temper, which gives me some terrors, but my esteem for him inclines me to hope that only an ill effect which sometimes accompanies a tender love and what may be cured by careful and unblameable conduct. Thus has this lady made me her friend and confident, and put herself in a kind under my protection. I cannot tell him immediately the purport of her letter, except I would cure him of the violent and untractable passion of jealousy, and so serve him and her by disobeying her in the article of secrecy, more than I should by complying with her directions. But then this dueling, which custom is imposed upon every man who would live with reputation and honour in the world, how must I preserve myself from imputations there? He'll, forsooth, call it or think it fear, if I explain without fighting. But his letter. I'll read it again. Read. Sir, you have used me basely in corresponding and carrying on a treaty where you told me you were indifferent. I have changed my sword since I saw you, which advertisement I thought proper to send you against the next meeting between you and the injured. Charles Myrtle. Enter Tom. Master Myrtle, sir, would your honour please to see him? Why, you stupid creature, let Mr. Myrtle wait at my lodgings. Show him up! Exit Tom. Well, I am resolved upon my carriage to him. He is in love, and in every circumstance of life a little distrustful, which I must allow for, but here he is. Enter Tom, introducing Myrtle. Sir, I am extremely obliged to you for this honour. To Tom. But sir, you, with your very discerning face, leave the room. Exit Tom. Well, Mr. Myrtle, your commands with me. The time, the place, our long acquaintance, and many other circumstances which affect me on this occasion, oblige me, without further ceremony or conference, to desire you would not only, as you already have, acknowledge the receipt of my leather, but also comply with the request in it. I must have farther notice taken of my message than these half-lines. I have yours. I shall be at home. Sir, I own, I have received a letter from you, in a very unusual style, but as I design everything in this matter shall be your own action, your own seeking. I shall understand nothing but what you are pleased to confirm face to face, and I have already forgot the contents of your epistle. This cool manner is very agreeable to the abuse you have already made of my simplicity and frankness, and I see your moderation tends to your advantage, and not mine, to your own safety, not consideration of your friend. My own safety, Mr. Myrtle. Your own safety, Mr. Bevel. Look you, Mr. Myrtle, there's no disguising that I understand what you would be at. But, sir, you know I have often dared to disapprove of the decisions a tyrant custom has introduced to the breach of all laws both divine and human. Mr. Bevel, Mr. Bevel, it would be a good first principle in those who have so tender a conscience that way to have as much abhorrence of doing injuries as— As what? As fear of answering for him. As fear of answering for him. But that apprehension is just or blamable according to the object of that fear. I have often told you, in confidence of heart, I abhorred the daring to offend the author of life and rushing into his presence. I say, by the very same act, to commit the crime against him, and immediately to urge on to his tribunal. Mr. Bevel, I must tell you this coolness, this gravity, this show of conscience, shall never cheat me of my mistress. You have, indeed, the best excuse for life. The hopes of possessing Lucinda. But, consider, sir, I have as much a reason to be weary of it, if I am to lose her, and my first attempt to recover her shall be to let her see the dauntless man, who is to be her guardian and protector. Sir, show me but the least glimpse of argument that I am authorized by my own hand to vindicate any lawless insult for this nature, and I will show thee, to chastise thee hardly deserves the name of courage, slight inconsiderate man. There is, Mr. Myrtle, no such terror in quick anger, and you shall, you know not why, be cool as you have, you know not why, been warm. Is the woman one loves so little an occasion for anger? You, perhaps, who know not what it is to love, who have your ready, your commodious, your foreign trinket, for your loose hours, and from your fortune, your specious outward carriage, and utter lucky circumstances, as easy a way to the possession of a woman of honor. You know nothing of what it is to be alarmed, to be distracted with anxiety and tear of losing more than life. Your marriage, happy man, goes on like common business, and in the interim you have your rambling captive, your Indian princess, for your soft moments of dalliance, your convenient, your ready Indiana. You have touched me beyond the patience of a man, and I am excusable in the guard of innocence, or from the infirmity of human nature, which can bear no more, to accept your invitation and observe your letter. Sir, I'll attend you. Enter Tom. Did you call, sir? I thought you did. I heard you speak aloud. Yes, go call a coach. Sir, Master, Master Myrtle, friends, gentlemen, what do you mean? I am but a servant, or? Call a coach. Exit Tom. A long pause, walking sullenly by each other. Aside. Shall I, though provoked to the uttermost, recover myself at the entrance of a third person, and at my servant, too, and not have respect enough to all I have ever been receiving from infancy, the obligation to the best of fathers, to an unhappy virgin, too, whose life depends on mine. Shutting the door to Myrtle. I have, thank heaven, had time to recollect myself, and shall not, for fear of what such a rash man as you think of me, keep longer unexplained the false appearances under which your infirmity of temper makes you suffer, when perhaps too much regard to a false point of honour makes me prolong the suffering. I am sure Mr. Bevel cannot doubt, but I had rather have satisfaction from his innocence than his sword. Why, then, would you ask it first that way? Consider! You kept your temper yourself no longer till I spoke to the disadvantage of her you loved. True, but let me tell you, I have saved you from the most exquisite distress, even though you had succeeded in the dispute. I know you so well that I am sure to have found this letter about a man you had killed would have been worse than death to yourself. Read it. Aside. When he is thoroughly mortified, and shame has got the better of jealousy, when he has seen himself throughly, he will deserve to be assisted towards obtaining Lucinda. Myrtle, aside. With what a superiority he has turned the injury on me. As the aggressor I begin to fear I have been too far transported. A treaty in our family is not that saying too much. I shall relapse, but I find on the post-script something like jealousy. With what face can I see my benefactor, my advocate whom I have treated like a betrayer? Oh, Bethel, with what words shall I? There needs none to convince his much more than to conquer. But can you? You have all paid the inquiritude you gave me in the change I see in you toward me, alas, what machines are we? Thy face is altered to that of another man, to that of my companion, my friend. That I could be such a precipitant wretch. Pray no more. Let me reflect on how many friends have died by the hands of friends for want of temper. And you must give me leave to say again, and again, how much I am beholden to that superior spirit you have subdued me with. What had become of one of us, or perhaps both, had you been as weak as I was, and as incapable of reason? I congratulate to us both the escape from ourselves, and hope the memory of it will make us dearer friends than ever. Dear Bethel, your friendly conduct has convinced me that there is nothing manly but what is conducted by reason, and agreeable to the practice of virtue and justice. And yet how many have been sacrificed to that idol, the unreasonable opinion of men. Nay, they are so ridiculous in it that they often use their swords against each other with disassembled anger and real fear. Betrayed by honour and compelled by shame, they hazard being to preserve a name, nor dare inquire into the dread mistake till plunged in sad eternity they wake. Exceint. Scene two, St. James's Park. Enter Sir John Bethel and Mr. Seeland. Give me leave, however, Mr. Seeland, as we are upon a treaty for uniting our families, to mention only the business of an ancient house. Genealogy and descent are to be of some consideration in an affair of this sort. Genealogy and descent. So there has been in our family a very large one. There was Galfred, the father of Edwood, the father of Ptolemy, the father of Cressus, the father of Earl Richard, the father of Henry the Marquis, the father of Duke John. What! Do you rave, Mr. Seeland? All these great names in your family? These? Yes, sir. I've heard my father name them all, and more. Aye, sir. And did he say they were all in your family? Yes, sir. He kept them all. He was the greatest cocker in England. He said Duke John won him many battles, and never lost one. Oh, sir, you're a servant. You are laughing at my laying in his dress upon descent. But I must tell you, sir. I never knew any one but he that wanted that advantage turned it into ridicule. And I never knew any one who had better advantages put that into his account. But, sir John, value yourself as you please upon your ancient house, and to talk freely of everything you are pleased to put into your bill of rates on this occasion. Yet, sir, I made no objections to your son's family. This is morals that I doubt. Sir, I can't help saying that what might injure a citizen's credit may be no stain to a gentleman's honour. Sir John, the honour of a gentleman is liable to be tainted by as small a matter as the credit of a trader. We are talking of a marriage, and in such a case the father of a young woman will not think it an addition to the honour or credit of her lover that he is a keeper. Mr. Seeland, don't take upon you to spoil my son's marriage with any woman else. Sir John, let him apply to any woman else and have as many mistresses as he pleases. My son, sir, is a discreet and sober gentleman. Sir, I never saw a man that wenched soberly and discreetly that ever left it off. The decency observed in the practice hides, even from the sinner, the iniquity of it. They pursue it. Not that their appetites hurry him away, but I warrant you, because it is their opinion they may do it. Were what you suspect a truth? Do you design to keep your daughter a virgin till you find a man unblemished that way? Sir, as much as it does you take me for, I know the town and the world. And give me leave to say that we merchants are a species of gentry that have grown into the world this last century, and are as honourable and almost as useful as you learned folks that have always thought yourselves so much above us. For your trading, forsooth, is extended no farther than a load of hay or a fat ox. You are pleasant people indeed, because you are generally bred up to be lazy. Therefore, I warrant you, industry is dishonourable. Be not offended, sir. Let us go back to our point. Oh, not at all offended, but I don't love to leave any part of the account enclosed. Look you, Sir John, comparisons are odious, and more particularly so on occasions of this kind when we are projecting races that are to be made out of both sides of the comparisons. But my son, sir, is, in the eye of the world, a gentleman of merit. I owned you, I think him so. But, Sir John, I am a man exercised and experienced in chances and disasters. I lost in my earlier years a very fine wife, and with her a poor little infant. This makes me perhaps over cautious to preserve the second bounty of prevalence to a me, and be as careful as I can of this child. You pardon me. My poor girl, sir, is as valuable to me as your boasted son to you. Why, that's one very good reason, Mr. Seeland, why I wish my son had her. There is nothing but this strange lady here, this incognita, that can be objected to him. Here and there a man falls in love with an artful creature, and gives up all the motives of life to that one passion. A man of my son's understanding cannot be supposed to be one of them. Very wise men have been so enslaved, and when a man marries with one of them upon his hands, whether moved from the demand of the world, or slighter reasons, such a husband soils with his wife for a month, perhaps, and then could be way, madam, the show's over. Ah, John Dryden points out such a husband to a hair when he says, and while abroad so prodigal the adult is, poor spouse at whom as ragged as a cult is. Now, in plain term, sir, I shall not care to have my poor girl turned a-greasing, and that must be the case when— But, pre-consider, sir, my son— Look, you, sir, I'll make the matter short. This unknown lady, as I told you, is all the objection I have to him. But, one way or other, he is, or has been, certainly engaged to her. I am therefore resolved this very afternoon to visit her. Now, from her behavior, or appearance, I shall soon be let into what I may fear or hope for. Sir, I am very confident there can be nothing inquired into relating to my son that will not, upon being understood, turn to his advantage. I hope that, as sincerely as you believe it, Sir John Bevel, when I am satisfied, in this great point, if your son's conduct answers the character you give him, I shall wish your alliance more than that of any gentleman in Great Britain. And so, your servant, exit. He is gone in a way but barely civil. But his great wealth and the merit of his only child, the heiress of it, are not to be lost for a little peevishness. Enter Humphrey. Ah, Humphrey, you are come in a seasonable minute. I want to talk to thee, and to tell thee that my head and heart are on the rack about my son. Sir, you may trust his discretion. I am sure you may. Why, I do believe I may, and yet I am in a thousand fears when I lay this vast wealth before me. When I consider his prepossessions, either generous to a folly in an honorable love, or abandoned past redemption in a vicious one, and from the one or the other, his insensibility to the fairest prospects towards doubling our estate, a father who knows how useful wealth is and how necessary even to those who despise it. I say a father, Humphrey. A father cannot bear it. Be not transported, sir. You will grow incapable of taking any resolution in your perplexity. Yet, as angry as I am with him, I would not have him surprised in anything. This mercantile rough man may go grossly into the examination of this matter, and talk to the gentlewoman so as to— No, I hope not in an abrupt manner. No, I hope not. Why, does thou know anything of her, or of him, or of anything of it, or all of it? Oh, my dear master, I know so much that I told him, this very day, you had reason to be secretly out of humor about her. Did you go so far? Well, what said he to that? His words were looking upon me steadfastly. Humphrey says he? That woman is a woman of honor. How? Do you think he is married to her? Or designs to marry her? I can say nothing to the latter, but he says he can marry no one without your consent while you are living. If he said so much, I know he scorns to break his word with me. I am sure of that. You are sure of that? Well, that's some comfort. Then I have nothing to do but to see the bottom of this matter during this present ruffle. Oh, Humphrey! You are not ill, I hope, sir. Yes, a man is very ill that's in a very ill humor. To be a father is to be in care for one whom you often are disablaged, then pleased by that very care. Oh, that sons could know the duty to a father before they themselves are fathers. But, perhaps, you'll say now that I am one of the happiest fathers in the world? But, I assure you, that how the very happiest is not a condition to be envied. Sir, your pain arises not from the thing itself, but your particular sense of it. You are over-fond. Nay, give me leave to say you are unjustly apprehensive from your fondness. My master Bevel never disablaged you, and he will, I know he will, do everything you ought to expect. He won't take all this money with the girl. For ought I know, he will, forsooth, has so much moderation as to think he ought not to force his liking for any consideration. He is to marry her, not you. He is to live with her, not you, sir. I know not what to think. But, I know, nothing can be more miserable than to be in this doubt. Follow me, I must come to some resolution. Exceint. Scene three. Bevel, Jr.'s lodgings. Enter Tom and Phyllis. Well, madam, if you must speak with Master Myrtle, you shall. He is now with my master in the library. But you must leave me alone with him. For he can't make me a present, nor I so handsomely take anything from him before you. It would not be decent. It will be very decent indeed for me to retire and leave my mistress with another man. He is a gentleman, and will treat one properly. I believe so. But, however, I won't be far off, and therefore will venture to trust you. I'll call him to you. Exceint. What a deal of pothor and sputter here is between my mistress and Mr. Myrtle, from mere punctilio. I could any hour of the day get her to her lover, and I would do it. But she, for Soothe, will allow no plot to get him. But if he can come to her, I know she would be glad of it. I must therefore do her an acceptable violence, and surprise her into his arms. I am sure I go by the best rule imaginable. If she were my maid, I should think her the best servant in the world for doing so by me. Enter Myrtle and Tom. Oh, sir, you and Mr. Bevel are fine, gentlemen, to let a lady remain under such difficulties as my poor mistress, and no attempt to set her at liberty, or release her from the danger of being instantly married to Simburton. Tom has been telling. But what is to be done? What is to be done when a man can't come at his mistress? Why, can't you fire our house or the next house to us? To make us run out and you take us? How, Mrs. Phillips? Aye, let me see that rogue deny to fire our house, make a riot, or any other little thing, when there were no other way to come at me. I am obliged here, madam. Why, don't we hear every day of people hanging themselves for love, and won't they venture the hazard of being hanged for love? Ah, were I a man. What manly thing would you have me undertake, according to your ladieship's notion of a man? Only be at once what, one time or other, you may be, and wish to be, or must be. Dear girl, talk plainly to me, and consider I, in my condition, can't be in very good humor. You say to be at once what I must be. Aye, aye, I mean no more than to be an old man. I saw you do it very well at the masquerade. In a word, old Sir Jeffrey Simburton is every hour expected in town, to join in the deeds and settlements for marrying Mr. Simburton. He is half blind, half lame, half deaf, half dumb, though has to his passions and desires. He is as warm and ridiculous as winning the heat of youth. Come to the business, and don't keep the gentleman in suspense for the pleasure of being courted as you serve me. I saw you at the masquerade act such a one to perfection. Go and put on that very habit, and come to our house as Sir Jeffrey. There's not one there, but myself knows his person. I was born in the parish where he is lord of the manor. I have seen him often, and often at church in the country. Do not hesitate, but come hither. They will think you bring certain security against Mr. Myrtle, and you bring Mr. Myrtle. Leave the rest to me. I leave this with you and expect—they don't, I told you, know you. They think you are out of town. Would you had as good be forever if you lose this opportunity? I must be gone. I know I am wanted at home. My dear Phyllis. Catches and kisses her, and gives her money. Ah, fly! My kisses are not my own. You have committed violence, but I'll carry them to the right owner. Tom kisses her, to Tom. Come see me downstairs, and leave the lover to think of his last game for the prize. Exeunt Tom and Phyllis. I think I will instantly attempt this wild expedient. The extravagance of it will make me less suspected, and it will give me opportunity to assert my own right to Lucinda, without whom I cannot live. But I am so mortified at this conduct of mine towards poor Bevel. He must think meanly of me. I know not how to reassume myself, and be in the spirit enough for such an adventure as this. Yet I must attempt it, if it be only to be near Lucinda under her present perplexities, and sure, the next delight to transport with the fair is to relieve her in her house of care. Exit. End of Act Four. Act Five of The Conscious Lovers by Richard Steele. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act the Fifth. Scene One. Selen's House. Enter Phyllis with lights, before Myrtle disguised like old Sir Geoffrey, supported by Mrs. Selen, Lucinda, and Symboton. Now I have seen you thus far, Sir Geoffrey. Will you excuse me a moment, while I give my necessary orders for your accommodation? Exit, Mrs. Selen. I have not seen you, cousin Symboton, since you were ten years old, and as it is incumbent on you to keep up our name and family, I shall, upon very reasonable terms, join with you in a settlement to that purpose. Though I must tell you, cousin, this is the first merchant that has married into our house. Lucinda. Aside. Do Sonam. Am I a merchant because my father is? What is he directly a traitor at this time? There's no hiding the disgrace, Sir. He trades to all parts of the world. We never had one in our family before who descended from persons that did anything. Sir, since it is a girl that they have, I am, for the honour of my family, willing to take it in again and to sink her into our name, and no harm done. Disprudently and generously resolved. Is this the young thing? Yes, Sir. Phyllis to Lucinda. Good madam, don't be out of humour, but let them run there at most of their extravagance. Hear them out. Can't I see her nearer? My eyes are but weak. Phyllis to Lucinda. Beside, I am sure the uncle has something worth your notice. I'll take care to get off the young one and leave you to observe what may be wrought out of the old one for your good. Exit. Mum, this old gentleman, your great uncle, desires to be introduced to you and to see you nearer. Approach, Sir. By your leave, young lady. Puts on spectacles. Cousin Sembotin. She has exactly that sort of neck and possum for which my sister Gertrude was so admired in the year 61, before the French stressors first discovered anything in women below the chin. Lucinda. Beside. What a very odd situation I am in. Though I cannot but be diverted at the extravagance of their humours equally unsuitable to their age. Chin quota. I don't believe my passionate lover there knows whether I have one or not. Madam, I would not willingly offend, but I have a better glass. Pulls out a large one. Enter Phyllis. Phyllis, to Sembotin. Sir, my lady desires to show you the apartment that she intends for Sir Geoffrey. Well, sir, by that time you will have sufficiently gazed and sunned yourself in the beauties of my spouse there. I will wait on you again. Exit Sembotin and Phyllis. We're at night, madame, that I might be troublesome. There is something of importance, though we are alone, which I would say more safe from being heard. Lucinda. Beside. There is something in this old fellow me thinks that raises my curiosity. To be free, madame, I as heartedly condemn this kinsman of mine as you do, and I am sorry to see so much beauty and merit devoted by your parents to so insensible a possessor. Surprising. I hope then, sir, you will not contribute to the wrong you are so generous as to pity, whatever may be the interest of your family. This hand of mine shall never be employed to sign anything against your good and happiness. I am sorry, sir. It is not in my power to make you proper acknowledgments. But there is a gentleman in the world whose gratitude will, I am sure, be worthy of the favor. All the thanks I desire, madame, are in your power to give. Name them, and command them. Only, madame, that the first time you are alone with your lover, you will, with open arms, receive him. As willingly as his heart could wish it. Thus, then, he claims your promise. Oh, Lucinda. Oh, a cheat! A cheat! A cheat! Hush! Tis' I. Tis' I. Your lover. Myrtle himself, madame. Oh, bless me. What a rashness and folly to surprise me so. But hush, my mother! Enter, Mrs. Seeland, Simpeton, and Phyllis. How now? What's the matter? Oh, madam, as soon as you left the room, my uncle fell into a sudden fit, and so I cried out for help to support him and conduct him to his chamber. That was kindly done. Alas, sir, how do you find yourself? Never was taken in so odd away in my life. Pray, lead me. Oh, I was talking here. Pray, carry on, to my cousin Simpeton's young lady. Mrs. Seeland, aside. My cousin Simpeton's young lady. How zealous he is, even in his extremity for the match. A rightful man. Simpeton and the Cinder lead him, as one in pain. Pawks, uncle, will you pull my ear off? Pray, uncle, you will squeeze me to death. No matter, no matter. He knows not what he does. Come, sir, shall I help you out? By no means. I'll trouble nobody but my young cousin's here. They lead him off. But pray, madam. Does your ladyship intend that Mr. Simpeton shall really marry my young mistress at last? I don't think he likes her. That's not material. Men of his speculation are above desires. But be as it may. Now I have given old sir Jeffrey the trouble of coming up to sign and seal with what countenance can I be off? As well as with twenty others, madam. It is the glory and honour of a great fortune to live in continual treaties and still to break off. It looks great, madam. True, fillies, yet to return our blood again into the Simpetons is an honour not to be rejected. But were you not saying that Sir John Beville's creature, Humphrey, has been with Mr. Sealand? Yes, madam. I overheard them agree that Mr. Sealand should go himself and visit this unknown lady that Mr. Beville is so great with. And if he found nothing there to fright him, then Mr. Beville should still marry my young mistress. How? Nay, then he shall find she is my daughter as well as his. I'll follow him this instant and take the whole family along with me. The disputed power of disposing of my own daughter shall be at an end this very night. I'll live no longer in anxiety for a little hussy that hurts my appearance wherever I carry her. And for whose sake I seem to be at all regarded. And that in the best of my days. Indeed, madam. If she were married, your ladyship might very well be taken from Mr. Sealand's daughter. Nay, when the chit has not been with me, I have heard the man say as much. I'll no longer cut off the greatest pleasure of a woman's life, the shining in assemblies, by her forward anticipation of the respect that's due to her superior. She shall down to Simbotten Hall. She shall. She shall. I hope, madam, I shall stay with your ladyship. Thou shalt, Phyllis, and I'll place thee then more about me. But order chairs immediately. I'll be gone this minute. Excellent. Scene two, Charing Cross. Enter Mr. Sealand and Humphrey. I am very glad, Mr. Humphrey, that you agree with me that it is for our common good. I should look thoroughly into this matter. I am indeed of that opinion. For there is no art of us. Nothing can seal than our family which ought injustice to be known. I need not desire you, sir, to treat the lady with care and respect. Master Humphrey, I shall not be rude, though I desire to be a little abrupt, and come into the matter at once, to see how she will bear upon a surprise. That's the door, sir. I wish you success. While Humphrey speaks, Sealand consults his table-book. I am less concerned what happens there because I hear Mr. Myrtle is well lodged as old Sir Geoffrey, so I am willing to let this gentleman employ himself here to give them time at home. For I am sure it is necessary for the quiet of our family Lucinda were disposed of out of it, since Mr. Bevel's inclination is so much otherwise engaged. Exit. I think this is the door. Nooks. I'll carry this matter with an air authority to inquire into it. I'll carry this matter with an air authority to inquire, though I make an errand to begin discourse. Nooks again, and enter a foot-boy. So, young man, is your lady within? A laxer. I am but a country boy. I don't know whether she is or no, but you stay a bit. I'll go away and ask the gentlewoman that's with her. Why, sirrah, though you are a country boy, you can see, can't you? You know whether she is at home when you see her, don't you? Nay-nay, I'm not such a country lad neither, master, to think she's at home because I see her. I have been in town but a month, and I lost one place already for believing my own eyes. Why, sirrah, have you learnt to lie already? Ah, master, things that arise in the country are not lies at London. I begin to know my business a little better than so. But, um, you please to walk in. I'll call a gentlewoman to you that can tell you for certain. She can make bow to ask my lady herself. Oh, then she is within, I find, though you dare not say so. Nay-nay, that's neither here nor there. What's matter whether she is within or no, if she has not a mind to see anybody? I can't tell, sirrah, whether you are arch or simple. But, however, get me a direct answer, and here's a shilling for you. Will you please walk in? I'll see what I can do for you. I see you will be fit for your business in time, child. But I expect to meet with nothing but extraordinary in such a house. Such a house? Sir, you haven't seen it yet. Pray, walk in. Sir, I'll wait upon you. Excellent. Scene three, Indiana's house. Enter Isabella. What anxiety do I feel for this poor creature? What will be the end of her? Such a languishing, unreserved passion for a man that at last must certainly leave, or ruin her, and perhaps both. Then the aggravation of the distresses that she does not believe he will. Not but, I must own, if they are both what they would seem. They are made for one another, as much as Adam and Eve were, for there is no other of their kind but themselves. Enter Boy. So, Daniel, what news with you? Madam, there's a gentleman below who would speak with my lady. Sir, don't you know Mr. Bevel yet? Madam, this not the gentleman who comes every day and asks for you, and won't go in till he knows whether you are with her or no. Ha! That's a particular I did not know before. Well, be it who it will, let him come up to me. Exit Boy. Unreent is with Mr. Sealand. Isabella looks amazed. Madam, I can't blame your being a little surprised to see a perfect stranger make a visit and— I am indeed surprised. Aside. I see he does not know me. You are very prettily lodged here, madam. In truth it seems you have everything in plenty. Aside and looking about. A thousand a year I warrant you upon this pretty nest of rooms and the dainty one within them. Isabella apart. Twenty years, it seems, have less effect on the alteration of a man of thirty than of a girl of fourteen. He's almost still the same. But alas, I find, by other men, as well as himself, I am not what I was. As soon as he spoke, I was convinced to see, how shall I contain my surprise and satisfaction? He must not know me yet. Madam, I hope I don't give you any disturbance, but there is a young lady here with whom I have a particular business to discourse, and I hope she will admit me to that favour. Why, sir, have you had any notice concerning her? I wonder who could give it you. That, madam, is fit only to be communicated to herself. Well, sir, you shall see her. Aside. I find he knows nothing yet, no shall from me. I am resolved I will observe this interlude, this sport of nature and of fortune. You shall see her presently, sir, for now I am as a mother, and will trust her with you. Exit. As a mother? All right. That's the old phrase for one of these commode ladies, who lend out beauty for hire to young gentlemen that have pressing occasions. But here comes the precious lady herself. In truth a very sightly woman. Enter, Indiana. I am told, sir, you have some affair that requires your speaking with me. Yes, madam. They came to my hands a bill drawn by Mr. Bevel, which is payable tomorrow, and he, Indiana course of business, sent it to me, who have cash of his, and desired me to send a servant with it. But I have made bold to bring you the money myself. Sir, was that necessary? No, madam, but to be free with you, the fame of your beauty, and the regard which Mr. Bevel is a little too well known to have for you, excited my curiosity. Too well known to have for me? Your sober appearance, sir, which my friend described, made me expect no rudeness, or absurdity at least. Who's there? Sir, if you pay the money to a servant, it will be as well. Pray, madam, be not offended. I came hither on an innocent, nay, a virtuous design, and if you will have patience to hear me, it may be as useful to you as you are in a friendship with Mr. Bevel as to my early daughter, whom I was this day disposing of. You make me hope, sir, I have mistaken you. I am composed again. Be free. Say on. Aside. What I am afraid to hear. I feared indeed an unwarranted passion here, but I did not think it was inabuse of so worthy an object, so accomplished a lady as your sense and mean bespeak. For the youth of our age care not what merit or virtue they bring to shame, so they gratify. Sir, you are going into very great errors, but as you are pleased to say you see something in me that has changed at least the colour of your suspicions, so has your appearance altered mine, and made me earnestly attentive to what has anyway concerned you to inquire into my affairs and character. How sensibly and with what an air she talks! Good sir, be seated, and tell me tenderly, keep all your suspicions concerning me alive, that you may in a proper and prepared way acquaint me why the care of your daughter obliges a person of your seeming worth and fortune to be thus inquisitive about a wretched, helpless, friendless— Weeping. But I beg your pardon, though I am an orphan, your child is not, and your concern for her it seems has brought you hither. I'll be composed, pray, go on, sir. How would Mr. Bevel be such a monster to injure such a woman? No, sir, you're wrong him. He has not injured me. My support is from his bounty. Bounty? When glottons give high prices for delicates, they are prodigious bountiful. Still, still you will persist in that error, but my own fears tell me all. You are the gentleman, I suppose, for whose happy daughter he is designed a husband by his good father, and he has perhaps consented to the overture. He was here this morning, dressed beyond his usual plainness, nay, more sumptuously, and he is to be perhaps this night a bridegroom. I own he was intended such. But, madam, on your account I have determined to defer my daughter's marriage, till I am satisfied, from your own mouth, of what nature are the obligations you are under to him. His action, sir. His eyes have only made me think he designed to make me the partner of his heart. The goodness and gentleness of his demeanor made me misinterpret all. Choose my own hope, my own passion that deluded me. He never made one amorous advance to me. His large heart and bestowing hand have only helped the miserable, nor know I why, but from his mere delight and virtue that I have been his care and the object on which to indulge and please himself with boring favors. Madam, I know not why it is, but I, as well as you, am me thinks afraid of entering into the matter I came about. But is the same thing as if we had talked never so distinctly. He know shall have a daughter of mine. If you say this from what you think of me, you wrong yourself and him. Let not me, miserable though I may be, do injury to my benefactor. No, sir, my treatment ought rather to reconcile you to his verges, if to bestow without a prospect of return. If to delight in supporting what might perhaps be thought an object of desire, with no other view than to be her guard against those who would not be so disinterested, if this action, sir, can in a careful parent's eye commend him to a daughter. Give your, sir, give her to my honest generous bevel. What have I to do but sigh and weep and rave, run wild, a lunatic in chains, or hid in darkness, mutter in destructed studs and broken accents my strange, strange story. Decomfort, madam. All my comfort must be to expostulate in mudness, to relieve with frenzy my despair and shrieking to demand of fate. Why, why was I born to such variety of sorrows? If I have been the least occasion. No, to a heaven's high will I should be such. To be plundered in my cradle, tossed on the seas, and even there an infant captive. To lose my mother, here but of my father. To be adopted, lose my adopter, then plunged again into worse calamities. An infant captive? Yet then to find the most charming of Mankind, once more to set me free from what I thought the last distress. To load me with his services, his bounties, and his favours, to support my very life in a way that stall, at the same time, my very soul itself from me. But has young Bevel been this worthy man? Yet then again, this very man to take another, without leaving me the right, the presence of easing my fond heart with tears. For, oh, I can't reproach him, though the same hand that raised me to this height now throws me down the precipice. Dear lady, oh, yet one moment's patience, my heart grows full with your affliction. But yet there's something in your story that... My portion here is bitterness and sorrow. Do not think so. Pray answer me, does Bevel know your name and family? Alas, too well! Could I be any other thing than what I am? I'll tear away all traces of my former self, my little ornaments, the remains of my first state, the hints of what I owed to have been. In her disorder she throws away a bracelet, which Thelon takes up and looks earnestly on it. Ah! What's this? My eyes are not deceived. It is, it is the same, the very bracelet which I bequeathed to my wife at her last mournful parting. What said you, sir? Your wife? Wither does my fancy carry me. What means this unfelt motion at my heart? And yet again my fortune but deludes me, for if I are not, sir, your name is Thelon, but my lost father's name was... Danvers, was it not? What new amazement? That is indeed my family. New then, when my misfortunes drew me to the Indies, for reasons too tedious now to mention, I changed my name of Danvers into Sealand. Enter Isabella. If yet there wants an explanation of your wonder, examine well this face. Your, sir, I well remember. Gaze on and read in me your sister, Isabella. My sister? But here is a claim more tender yet. Your Indiana, sir. Your long-lost daughter. Oh, my child! My child! O gracious heaven! Is it possible? Do I embrace my father? And I do hold thee. These passions are too strong for utterance. Rise, rise, my child, and give my tears their way. Oh, my sister! Embracing her. Now, dearest niece, my groundless fears, my painful cares no more shall vex thee. If I have wronged thy noble lover with too much suspicion, my just concern for thee, I hope, will plead my pardon. Oh, make him then the fuller men's and be yourself the messenger of joy. Fly, this instant, tell him all these wondrous turns of providence in his favour. Tell him I have now a daughter to bestow, which she no longer will decline. That this day he still shall be a bridegroom, nor shall a fortune the merit which his father seeks be wanting. Tell him the reward of all his virtues waits on his acceptance. Exit, Isabella. My dearest Indiana! Turnes and embraces her. Have I then at last a father's sanction on my love, his banjo's hand to give, and make my heart a present worthy of bevel's generosity? Oh, my child! How are our sorrows past or paid by such a meeting? Though I have lost so many years of soft paternal delights with thee, yet in one day to find thee thus, thus bestow thee in such perfect happiness is ample, ample reparation, and yet again the merit of thy lover. Oh, how thy spirits left to tell you of his actions! How strongly filial duty has suppressed his love, and how concealment still has doubled all his obligations! The pride, the joy of his alliance, sir, would warm your heart as he has conquered mine. How lordable his love when born of that shoe! I burn to embrace him! See, sir, my aunt already has succeeded and brought him to your wishes. Enter Isabella, with Sir John Bevel, Bevel Jr., Mrs. Seeland, Symboton, Myrtle, and Lucinda. Sir John Bevel, entering. Where? Where is this scene of wonder? Mr. Seeland, I congratulate you on this occasion, our mutual happiness. Your good sister, sir, has, with the story of your daughter's fortune, filled us with surprise and joy. Now all exceptions are removed. My son has now avowed his love and turned all former jealousies in doubts to approbation, and, I am told, your goodness has consented to reward him. If, sir, a fortune equal to his father's hopes would make this object worthy his acceptance. I hear your mention, sir, of fortune, with pleasure only as it may prove the means to reconcile the best of fathers to my love. Let him be provident, but let me be happy. My ever-dastened, my acknowledged wife. Embracing Indiana. Wife! Oh, my ever loved! My lord, my master! I congratulate myself, as well as you, for I had a son who could, under such disadvantages, discover your great merit. Oh, sir John! How vain! How weak his human prudence! What care! What foresight! What imagination could contrive such blessed events to make our children happy, as providence, in one short hour, has laid before us! Simburton to Mrs. Sealand I am afraid, ma'am, Mr. Sealand is a little too busy for our affair. If you please, we'll take another opportunity. Let us have patience, sir. But we make, sir, Jeffrey wait, ma'am. Oh, sir, I am not in haste. During this, Bevel Jr. presents Lysinda to Indiana. But here, here's our general benefactor, excellent young man, that could at once be a lover to her beauty and a parent to her virtue. If you think that an obligation, sir, give me leave to overpay myself in the only instance that can now add to my felicity by begging you now to bestow this lady on Mr. Myrtle. She is his, without reserve. I beg you may be sent for. Mr. Simburton, notwithstanding you never had my consent, yet there is, since I last saw you, another objection to your marriage with my daughter. I hope, sir, your lady has concealed nothing from me. Truths are nothing but what was concealed from myself. Another daughter who has an undoubted title to half my estate. How, Mr. Sealand? Why, then, if half Mrs. Lysinda's fortune is gone, you can't say that any of my estate is settled upon her. I was in treaty for the whole. But if that is not to be come at, to be sure there can be no bargain. Sir, I have nothing to do but take my leave of your good lady, my cousin, and beg pardon for the trouble I have given this old gentleman. That you have, Mr. Simburton, with all my heart. Myrtle, discovers himself. Mr. Myrtle. Mr. Myrtle. Mr. Myrtle. And I beg pardon of the whole company that I assume the person of Sir Jeffrey, only to be present at the danger that this lady being disposed of and in her utmost exigence to assert my rights to her, which, if her parents will ratify as they once favored my pretensions, no abatement of fortune shall lessen her value to me. Generous man. If, sir, you can overlook the injury of being in treaty with one who has meanly left her, as you have generously asserted your right in her, she is yours. Mr. Myrtle, though you have ever had my heart, now I find I love you more because I bring you less. We have much more than we want, and I am glad any event has contributed to the discovery of our real inclinations to each other. Mrs. Seeland, aside. Well, however, I am glad the girls disposed of anyway. Myrtle, no longer rivals now, but brothers. Dear Bevel, you are born to triumph over me, and now our competition ceases. I rejoice in the preeminence of your virtue, and your alliance adds charms to Lucinda. Now, ladies and gentlemen, you have set the world a fair example. Your happiness is owing to your constancy and merit, and the several difficulties you have struggled with evidently show what ere the generous mind itself denies the secret care of Providence supplies. Excellent. Epilogue Our author, whom in treatise cannot move, spite of the dear cockatry that you love, swears he'll not frustrate so he plainly means by a loose epilogue his decent scenes. Is it not, sir, as hard fate I meet today, to keep me rigid still beyond the play, and yet I'm saved a world of pains that way? I now can look, I now can move at ease, nor need I torture these poor limbs to please, nor with a hand or foot attempt surprise, nor rest my features, nor fatigue my eyes. Bless me, what freakish gumballs have I played? What motions tried and wanton looks betrayed? Out of pure kindness all, to overrule, the threatened hiss and screams I'm scribbling for. With more respect I'm entertained tonight? Our author thinks I can, with ease, delight. My artless looks, while modest grace his arm, he says, I need but to appear in charm. A wife so formed by these examples bred, pours joy in gladness round the marriage-bed, soft source of comfort, kind relief from care, and is her least perfection to be fair, the nymph with Indiana's worth of eyes, her passion will be hauled with bevel's eyes.