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Bel. sen. Sir, I have a most profound veneration for your principles, and am happy to find your understanding so much cultivated by travel; but, in spite of your address, you will, find it rather difficult to induce me to wave my right in Miss Dove in favour of a professed adventurer.

Bel. jun. Shameless, unfeeling man! an adventurer do you call me? You whose unbrotherly persecution drove me to this hazardous, this humiliating occupation!

Iron. Sirrah! Bob! no reflections upon privateering; it has lined your pockets well, you young rogue; and you may tell your fine brother there, that we have landed treasure enough upon his estate to buy the fee-simple of it; ay, and, for what I know, of Sir Wiseacre's here, into the bargain.

Sir Ben. What's that you say, Captain Ironsides? Let's have a word in a corner with you. Bel. sen. Look'e, sir, if you conceive yourself wronged by me, there is but one way--You know your remedy.

Bel. jun. I know your meaning, brother; and, to demonstrate how much greater my courage is than yours, I must confess to you, I dare not accept your proposal.

Sir Ben. No, no, I've given him enough of that, I believe.

Iron. Bob Belfield, if I did not know thee for a lad of mettle, I shou'dn't tell what to make of all this :-for my own part, I understand none of your scruples and refinements, not I; a man is a man; and ifI take care to give an affront to no man, I think I have a right to take an affront from no man.

Sir Ben Come, gentlemen, suspend your dispute; here comes my daughter, let her decide betwixt you.

Bel.jun. Let me receive my sentence from her lips, and I will submit to it.

Enter SOPHIA, PATERSON, and Lady DOVE.

Sir Ben. Here's a young gentleman, daughter, that will take no denial; he comes to forbid the banns just when you are both going into the church to be married.

Soph. Upon my word, this is something extraordinary. What are the gentleman's reasons for this behaviour?

Sir Ben. He claims a sort of promise from me that he should be indulged in an hour's conversation with you before you give your hand to his brother.

Soph. An hour's conversation! What little that gentleman can have to say to me, I believe, may be said in a very few minutes.

Bel. sen. I think, brother, this conversation don't promise a great deal.

Soph. In the first place, then, I own to this gentleman and the company present, that there was a time when I entertained the highest opinion of his merit. Nay, I will not scruple to confess that I had conceived a regard for him of the tenderest sort.

Iron. And pray, young lady, how came my nephew to forfeit your good opinion?

Soph. By a conduct, sir, that must for ever forfeit not my esteem only, but yours and all mankind's: I am sorry to be his accuser, but I will appeal to you, Mr Belfield, who are his brother, whether it is reconcileable either to honour or humanity to prosecute an affair of marriage with one woman, when you are previously and indispensably engaged to another? Bel. sen. Humph!

Soph. Yet this, sir, is the treatment I have received: judge, therefore, if I can desire or consent to have any long conversation with a gentleman who is under such engagements; nay, whom I can prove actually married to another woman in this very house, and ready to vouch the truth of what I assert. Judge for me, Mr Belfield, could you believe any man capable of such complicated, such inconceivable villainy?

Bel. sen. Heavens! This touches me too closely.

Sir Ben. Sir, I would fain know what excuse you can have for this behaviour? I can tell you, sir, I don't understand it.

Lady Dove. Oh! fie! fie upon you, Mr Belfield! I wonder you are not ashamed to show your face in this family.

Sir Ben. Who desired you to put in your oar? Iron. Why, sirrah, would not one wife content you? 'Tis enough in all reason for one man; is it not, Sir Benjamin?

Bel. jun. Sir, when it is proved I am married,

accuse me.

Iron. Look'e, Bob, I don't accuse you for marrying ; 'twas an indiscretion, and I can forgive it; but to deny it is a meanness, and I abhor it.

Soph. Mr Belfield, do you say nothing upon this occasion?

Bel. sen. Paterson, I am struck to the heart; I cannot support my guilt: I am married to Violetta; save me the confusion of relating it: this dishonourable engagement for ever I renounce; nor will I rest till I have made atonement to an injured wife.-Madam, I beg leave to withdraw for a few minutes.

Bel. jun. Hold, sir! this contrivance is of your forging; you have touched me too near; and now, if you dare draw your sword, follow

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find your quarters too hot to hold you: I never yet found my boy out in a lie, and sha'n't tamely see a lie imposed upon him; for, while he is honest, and I have breath, he shall never want a friend to stand by him, or a father to protect him.

Bel. sen. Mr Paterson, explain my story; I will depart this instant in search of Violetta.

Enter SOPHIA and VIOLETTA. Soph. Stay! I conjure you stay, turn, and look back upon this lady before you go.

Bel. sen. My wife!

[Presenting V10.

Sir Ben. Hey-day! here's a turn. Iron. I thought how 'twould be. Vio. Yes, sir, your faithful, your forsaken wife. Bel. sen. How shall I look upon you? What shall I say? Where shall I hide my confusion? Oh! take me to your arms, and in that soft shelter let me find forgiveness and protection.

Vio. Be this your only punishment! and this! Bel. jun. Was it then a sister I preserved from death?

Bel. sen. What's this I hear? Oh! brother, can you pardon too?

Bel. jun. Be indeed a brother, and let this providential event be the renovation of our friendship.

Bel. sen. What shall I say to you, madam? [To SOPHIA.] Paterson, you know my heart: bear witness to its remorse. By Heaven, my secret resolution was instantly to have departed in search of this my injured wife; but I'm not worthy even of your resentment here is one that merits and returns your love.

[Turning to his Brother. Iron. Come, god-daughter, we can never say

the fleet's fairly come to anchor, while the admiral's ship is out at sea. [Presenting BELFIELD Junior.] My nephew here is as honest a lad as lives, and loves you at the soul of him: give him your hand, and I'll broach the last chest of dol lars to make him a fortune deserving you. What say you, my old friend?

Sir Ben. Here's my hand! I've spoke the word; she's his own. Lady Dove, I won't hear a syllable to the contrary.

Iron. Then the galleon is thy own, boy.— What should an old fellow like me do with mo ney? Give me a warm night-cap, a tiff of punch, and an elbow chair in your chimney corner, and I'll lay up for the rest of my days.

Bel. jun. How shall I give utterance to my gratitude or my love?

Enter GOODWIN, FANNY, FRANCIS, PHILIP, and LUCY.

Sir Ben. So, so! more work for the parson. Iron. What! Francis, hast thou chosen a mate, and art bound upon a matrimonial cruise as well as thy master?

Fran. Ay, sir; so he is happy as well as myself, and has no objection to my choice.

Bel. sen. What are you all assembled to overwhelm me with confusion? Like some poor culprit, surrounded by a crowd of witnesses, I stand convicted and appall'd. But all your wrongs shall be redressed; your's, Goodwin; Philip's; Lucy's: my whole life shall be employed in acts of justice and atonement. Virtue, and this virtuous woman, were my first ruling pas sions.

Now they resume their social soft controul,
And love and happiness possess my soul.

[Exeunt omnes

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MRS YATES.

WHO but has seen the celebrated strife,
Where Reynolds calls the canvass into life;
And, 'wixt the tragic and the comic muse,
Courted of both, and dubious where to choose,
Th' immortal actor stands?-Here we espy
An awful figure, pointing to the sky;

A grave, sublime, commanding form she bears,
And in her zone an unsheathed dagger wears.

On t'other side, with sweet attractive mien,
The playful muse of comedy is seen;
She, with a thousand soft bewitching smiles,
Mistress of love, his yielding heart beguiles;
(For where's the heart so hardened, to withstand
The fond compulsion of so fair a hand?)
Oh! would she here bestow those winning arts!
This night we'd fix her empire in your hearts;

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The list of placets, and of placet-nons;
The mobbing vulgar, and the ruling great,
And all who storm, and all who steer the state;
Here should forget the labours of the day,
And laugh their cares and their complaints away.
The wretch of Jonathan's, who, crushed with
shame,

Crawls lamely out from India's desperate game,
Safely might speculate within these walls;
For here, while you approve, stock never falls:
Pleased then indulge the efforts of to-night,
Nor grudge to give, if you've received delight.

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SCENE I.-A Merchant's Counting-house. In an inner Room, set off by Glass-doors, are discovered several Clerks, employed at their desks. A writing-table in the front room. STOCKWELL is discovered reading a letter; STUKELY comes gently out of the back room, and observes him some time before he speaks.

Stuke. He seems disordered: something in that letter, and I'm afraid of an unpleasant sort. He has many ventures of great account at sea; a ship richly freighted for Barcelona; another for Lisbon; and others expected from Cadiz, of still greater value. Besides these, I know he has many deep concerns in foreign bottoms, and under

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Stuke. I have, sir; here's the bill of lading, and copy of the invoice: the assortments are all compared: Mr Traffick will give you the policy upon 'Change.

Stock. 'Tis very well; lay these papers by; and no more of business for a while. Shut the door, Stukely. I have had long proof of your friendship and fidelity to me; a matter of most infinite concern lies on my mind, and 'twill be a sensible relief to unbosom myself to you. I have just now been informed of the arrival of the young West

Indian, I have so long been expecting; you know whom I mean?

Stuke. Yes, sir; Mr Belcour, the young gentleman who inherited old Belcour's great estates in Jamaica.

Stock. Hush, not so loud; come a little nearer this way. This Belcour is now in London; part of his baggage is already arrived; and I expect him every minute. Is it to be wondered at, if his coming throws me into some agitation, when I tell you, Stukely, he is my son!

Stuke. Your son!

Stock. Yes, sir, my only son. Early in life I accompanied his grandfather to Jamaica, as his clerk; he had an only daughter, somewhat older than myself, the mother of this gentleman: it was my chance (call it good or ill) to engage her affections; and, as the inferiority of my condition made it hopeless to expect her father's consent, her fondness provided an expedient, and we were privately married: the issue of that concealed engagement is, as I have told you, this Belcour.

Stuke. That event, surely, discovered your connexion?

Stock. You shall hear. Not many days after our marriage, old Belcour set out for England; and, during his abode here, my wife was, with great secrecy, delivered of this son. Fruitful in expedients to disguise her situation, without parting from her infant, she contrived to have it laid and received at her door as a foundling. After some time, her father returned, having left me here; in one of those favourable moments, that decide the fortunes of prosperous men, this child was introduced: from that instant, he treated him as his own, gave him his name, and brought him up in his family.

Stuke. And did you never reveal this secret, either to old Belcour, or your son ?

Stock. Never.

Stuke. Therein you surprise me; a merchant of your eminence, and a member of the British parliament, might surely aspire, without offence, to the daughter of a planter. In this case too, natural affection would prompt to a discovery.

Stock. Your remark is obvious; nor could I have persisted in this painful silence, but in obedience to the dying injunctions of a beloved wife. The letter, you found me reading, conveyed those injunctions to me; it was dictated in her last illness, and almost in the article of death (you'll spare me the recital of it ;) she there conjures me, in terms as solemn as they are affecting, never to reveal the secret of our marriage, or withdraw my son, while her father survived.

Stuke. But on what motives did your unhappy lady found these injunctions?

Stock. Principally, I believe, from apprehension on my account, lest old Belcour, on whom, at her decease, I wholly depended, should withdraw his protection: in part, from consideration of his repose, as well knowing the discovery would deeply affect his spirit, which was haughty, vehement, and unforgiving; and lastly, in regard to the interest of her infant, whom he had warmly adopt

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ed, and for whom, in case of a discovery, every thing was to be dreaded from his resentment. And, indeed, though the alteration in my condition might have justified me in discovering myself, yet I always thought my son safer in trusting to the caprice, than to the justice, of his grandfather. My judgment has not suffered by the event; old Belcour is dead, and has bequeathed his whole estate to him we are speaking of.

Stuke. Now, then, you are no longer bound to secrecy.

Stock. True: but, before I publicly reveal myself, I could wish to make some experiment of my son's disposition. This can only be done by letting his spirit take its course without restraint; by these means, I think I shall discover much more of his real character, under the title of his merchant, than I should under that of his father. A Sailor enters, ushering in several black servants, carrying portmanteaus, trunks, &c. Sai. Save your honour-is your name Stockwell, pray?

Stock. It is.

Sai. Part of my master Belcour's baggage, an't please you: there's another cargo not far a-stern of us, and the cockswain has got charge of the dumb creatures.

Stock. Prithee, friend, what dumb creatures do you speak of? Has Mr Belcour brought over a collection of wild beasts?

Sui. No, Lord love him! no, not he: let me see; there's two green monkies, a pair of grey parrots, a Jamaica sow and pigs, and a Mangrove dog; that's all.

Stock. Is that all?

Sai. Yes, your honour; yes, that's all; bless his heart, a'might have brought over the whole island if he would; a didn't leave a dry eye in it.

Stock. Indeed! Stukely, shew them where to bestow their baggage. Follow that gentleman. Sai. Come, bear a hand, my lads; bear a hand.

[Exit with STUKELY and Servunts. Stock. If the principal tallies with his purveyors, he must be a singular spectacle in this place: he has a friend, however, in this sea-faring fellow : 'tis no bad prognostic of a man's heart, when his shipmates give him a good word. [Exit.

SCENE II.-Changes to a Drawing-room. A Servant discovered setting the Chairs by, &c. A Woman Servant enters to him. House. Why, what a fuss does our good master put himself in about this West Indian! See what a bill of fare I've been forced to draw out: seven and nine, I'll assure you, and only a family dinner, as he calls it: why, if my lord mayor was expected, there couldn't be a greater to do about

him.

Ser. I wish to my heart you had but seen the loads of trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus he has sent hither. An ambassador's baggage, with all the smuggled goods of his family, does not exceed it.

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