PR 3392 .W4 1809 Copy 1 HE WEST INDIAN; A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS J By RICHARD CUMBERLAND, Esq, AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL DRURY LANE, AND BOSTON THEATRE. WITH REMARKS BY MRS. INCHBALD. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY JOHN WEST and CO, NO. 75, CORNHILL. £. O, HOUSE, PRINTER, 1809. IN EXCHANUM &3 ( 0Q » REMARKS- A good play, like a female beauty, may go out of fash- ion before it becomes old. Men may admire, till admi- ^ ration is exhausted, and forsake both the one and the oth- er, for that novelty, which has less intrinsic worth. This is exactly the case with u The West Indian." Its attraction has been so powerful, that the custom of seeing it has weakened its force. Still its value is acknowledged. Every one commends it as a most excellent comedy ; but i it is no longer for the advantage of the theatre to perform it often. Mr. Cumberland, in his Memoirs, lately published, say* —He wrote this play in Ireland; at the house of his fath- er, the Bishop of Kilmore, to whom he jvas on a visit ; and, that h© chose a room for this task, which had a pros- pect no more inviting than a haystack or a barn, that his attention might not be seduced from his literary employ- ment. It was a fortunate room ; and if equal success were attached to the spot, it would be worth the pains of a voyage to Ireland, over a stormy sea, with a view to such another composition. " The West Indian" was produced in the year 1771 ; and it must be consoling for the outhors of the present day, to read these lines in the prologue, addressed to the audience — " You say we write not like our fathers — true : Nor were our fathers half so strict as you." By this passage it may be concluded, that certain critics 4 REMARKS. had the same heavy charges against the dramatists of that period, as of the present time : and yet, as a proof of the general injustice of their accusation, the following are a- mongst the very excellent dramas, which just then had made their appearance. The elder Coleman's" Jealous Wife'' and" Clandestine Marriage." — Murphy's "Way to keep Him" and " All in the Wrong." — Home's " Douglas," and Bickerstaff's " Love in a Village." A quotation from the prologue leads to one from the epilogue ; in which it will be seen, that bad habits have also descended from mother to daughter, as they have done from father to son " Now let the modern modish fair appear ; Till noon they sleep, from noon till night they dress ; From night till morn, they game it more or less. Next day, the same sweet course of joy run o'er, Then the night after, as the night before, And the night after that, encore, encore !" Remarks, which precede a work, must be written with infinite restraint, lest i.n observation carried too far upon any one part of the fable or characters, should reveal se- crets which it is the reader's chief amusement, in the pe- rusal of the play . himself to find out. It cannot be, how- ever, any dinvnution of the pleasure of reading this com- edy to be told — that, although it may bestow no small degree of entertainment in the closet, its proper region is the stage. — Many of the characters require the actor's art, to fill up the bold design, where the author's pen has not failed, but wisely left the perilous touches of a finish- ing hand, to the judicious comedian. Of the persons, who acted originally in this play, it is REMARKS. 5 melancholy to reflect how few are now living : yet its an thor not only survives but flourishes ! — King was the ori- ginal Belcour ; and strange to say, that, although the play had brilliant success, the hero was not properly represent- ed. King was, at that time, above fifty years of age, and looked to be so — he had other impediments to prevent his exactly personating the young, high spirited, open- hearted, inconsiderate, West Indian ; though, in almost all the other characters which he performed, he was per- fectly a good actor. Moody's O'Flaherty was in high repute — Johnstoue's can scarcely be thought superior by the audiences of the present century. Yet Johnstone's Irishmen, Patrician or Plebeian, are so excellent, they are in danger of bringing the whole group into disrepute ; for they tempt authors to write bad parts, in imitation of good ones, and to com- prise every degree of Irish character, in the mere tone of the voice. Mr. Cumberland has not always the talent to make his female characters prominent. Elegance in Charlotte Rus- port, and beauty in Louisa Dudley, are the only qualities which the two actresses, who represent those parts, re- quire ; and these gifts were perfectly in the possession oi the original performers — Mrs. Abington and Mrs. Lad dely. In the Spectator is a letter with this question — " Mj Spectator, be so kind as to let me know, what vou esteem to be the chief qualification pf a good poet, especially of one who writes pla} s ?" Answer- - to be a well bred man." On tl " . Cumberland i« a man of perfecj A 2 DRAMATIS PERSONS Stockwell Bei.cour Major O'Flaherty Captain Dudley Charles Dudley Varland Stukely FuLMER DRURY LANE. Mr. Dotvton Mr Elliston. Mr. 'Johnstone. Mr, Dormer. Mr. De Camp. Mr. Cherry Mr. Maddoch. Mr. Purser. BOSTON. Mr. CaulJUld. Mr Mills. Mr. Bernard. Mr. Johnston. Mr Taylor. Mr. Dykes. Mr. Morgan. Mr. Dickenson. Lady Rusport Mrs. Sparks. Mrs. Cunningham. Charlotte Rusport Miss Duncan. Mrs. Woodham* Louisa Dudley Miss Mellon. Mrs. Turner. Mrs. FuLMER Miss Tidsivcll. Mrs. Graupner. " LUCY Mrs. Scott. Mrs. Barnes. SCENE,— London, THii WEST INDIAN ACT THE FIRST, SCENE I, A Merchant's Cempting House. In an inner Room, set off by Glass Doors, are discover- ed 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 let- ter ; and, I'm afraid, of an unpleasant sort— He has many ventures of great account at sea : a ship richly- freighted for Barcel ona ; 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 underwriting to a vast amount^ I'll accost him— Sir— Mr. Stockwell ! Stock, Stukely !— Well, have you shipped the cloths ? Stuke. I have, sir ; here's the 'Hill of lading, and 3 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. copy of the invoice; the assortments are all com- pared: Mr. Traffic will give you the policy upon 'Change. Stock. Tis very well — lay these papers by : and no more business for a while. Shut the door, Stukely ; I have had long proof of your friendship and fidelity to me : a matter of mo^t intii.ite concern lies on my mind, and 'twill be a sensible relief to unbosom my- self to you ; I have just now been informed of the ar- rival of the young West Indian, I have so long been expecting — you know who I mean ? Stuke. Ye3, sir; Mr.Belcour, the young gentle- man, who inherited old Belcour's great estate in Ja- maica 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, Stuke- ly, he is my son ? Stuke. Your son ! Stock. Yes, sir, my only son. Early in life, I ac- companied his grandfather to Jamaica as his clerk ; he had an only daughter, somewhat older than my- self ; the mother of thi.-: 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 ex- pect her farther 's consent, her fondness provided an ex- pedient, and we were privately married ; the i: sue of that concealed engagement is, as I have told you, this Belcour. Stuke. That event surely discovered your con- nexion. Stock. You shall hear. Not many days after our marriage, old Belcour set out for England ; and, dur- ing hh abode here, my wife wa^', with great secrecy, ddivereddfthmon, J expedients t6 disguise Act L\ THE WEST INDIAN. 9 her situation without parting from her infant, she con- trived to have it laid and received at her door as a foundling. After _-ome time her father ret urned, hav- ing left me here ; in one of those fa\ otfj able moments that decide the fortune of prospcou 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 Parlia- ment, might sureiy aspire, without offence, to the daughter of a planter. In this case too, natural affec- tion would prompt to a discovery. Stock. Your remark is obvious ; nor could I have persisted in this painful silence, but in obedi ence to the dying injunctions of a beloved wife. This letter you found me reading, conveyed tho^e injunctions to me ; it was dictated in her last illness, and a.most in the article of death ; (you '11 bpare me the recital of it) she there conjures me, in terms as solemn as they are affecting, never to reveal the secret of our mar- riage, or withdraw my 3 on, while her father sur- vived. Stuke. But on what motives did your unhappy lady found the^e injunctions ? Stock. Principally, I believe, from apprehension on my account, lest old Belcour, on whom at her decease I wholly depended, should withdraw hi 3 protection. My judgment ha not suffered by the event : old Bel- cour is dead, and has bequeathed his whole estate to him we are -peaking of. Stuke. Now then you are no longer bound to se- crecy. Stock. True : but before I publicly reveal my elf, I could wish to make some experiment of my son's 10 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. disposition : this can only be done by letting his spirit take its course without restraint ; by these means, I think I shall di cover much more of his real charac- ter under the title of his merchant, than I should un- der that of his father. Enter a Sailor, ushering in several Black Ser- vants, carrying Portmanteaus, Trunks, &c. Sail. 'Save your honour ! is your name Stockwell, pray ? Stock. It is. Sail. Part of my master Belcour's baggage, an't please you : there's another cargo not far a-stern of us ; and the coxswain has got charge of the dumb creatures. Stock. Pr'ythee, friend, what dumb creatures do> you .peak of ; has Mr. Belcour brought over a col- lection of wild beasts ? Sail. No, lord love him ; no, not he ; let me see ; there's two green monkeys, a pair of grey parrots, a Jamaica jow and pigs, and a mangrove dog ; that's all. Stock. Is that all ? Sail. 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, show them where to be- stow their baggage. Follow that gentleman. Sail. Come, bear a hand, my lads, bear a hand. [Exit roughly to bru;-h them away with my 14 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. rattan ; the sturdy rogues took this in dudgeon, and beginning to rebel, the mob chose different sides, and a furious scuffle ensued ; in the course of which, my person and apparel suffered so much, that I was obliged to step into the first tavern to refit, before I could make my approaches in any decent trim. Stock. All without is as I wish ; dear nature, add the rest, and I am happy. (Aside.) Well, Mr. Belcour, 'tis a rough sample you have had of my countrymen's spirit ; but, I trust, you'll not think the worse of them for it BeU Not at all, not at all ; I like them the bet- ter ; Was I only a visitor, I might, perhaps, wish them a little more tractable ; but, as a fellow subject, and a sharer in their freedom, I applaud their spirit, though I feel the effects of it in every bone of my skin Stock. That's well ; I like that well. How -gladlf I could fall upon his neck, and own myself hi=. father I [Aside.. Bel. Well, Mr. Stockwell, for the first time in m\ life, here am I in England ; at the fountain head of pleasure, in the land of beauty, of arts, and elegancies . My happy stars have given me a good estate, and the- conspiring winds have blown we hither to spend it. Stock. To use it, not to waste it, I should hope ; to treat it, Mr. Belcour, not as a vassal, over whom you have a wanton and^a despotic power ; but as a sub- ject, which you are'bound to govern, with a temper- ate and restrained authority. Bel. True, sir, most truly said ; mine's a commr-- sion, not a right ; I am the offspring of di tress, and every child of sorrow is my brother ; while I have hands to hold, therefore, 1 will hold them open to mankind ; but, sir, my passions are my masters , they take me where they will; and oftentimes they leave to reason and to virtue nothing bat mv wishes and my sighs, Act I.] THE WEST INDIAN. 15 Stock. Come, come, the man, who can accuse, cor- rects himself. Bel. Ah ! that's an office I am weary of : I wish a friend would take it up ; I would to ' Heaven you had leisure for the employ ; but, did you drive a trade to the four corners of the world, you would not find the task so toilsome as to keep me free from faults. Stock. Well, I am not discouraged ; this candour tells me I should not have the fault of self conceit to combat, that, at least, is not amongst the number. Bel. No ; If I knew that man on earth who thought more humbly of me than I do of myself, I would take up his opinion, and forego my own. Stock. And was I to chuse a pupil, it should be one of your complexion ; so if you'll come along with me we'll agree upon admission, and enter on a course of lectures directly. Bel. With ail my heart. (Exeunt. scene in. A Room in Lady Rusport's House. Enter Lady Rusport and Miss Rusport. Lady R. Miss Rusport, I desire to hear no more of Captain Dudley and his destitute family ; not a shil- ling of mine shall ever cross the hands of any of them ; because my sister chose to marry a beggar, am I bound to support him and his posterity ? Miss R. I think you are. Lady R. You think I am ! and pray where do yon find the law that tells you so. Miss R. I am not proficient enough to quote chap- 16 THE WEST INDIAN. Cumberland. ter and verse ; but I take chanty to be a mean clause in the great statute of Christianity. Lady R. I say charity, indeed ! I am apt to think the distresses of Old Dudley, and of his daughter in- to the bargain, would never break your heart, if there was not a certain young fellow of two and twenty in the case ; who by the happy recommendation of a good person, and the brilliant appointments of anen- signcy, will, if I am not mistaken, cozen you out of a fortune of twice twenty thousand pound, as soon as ever you are of age to bestow it upon him. Miss R. A nephew of your ladyship's can never want any other recommendation with me : and, if my partiality for Charles Dudley is acquitted by the rest of the world, I hope Lady Rusport will not con- demn me for it. Lady R. I condemn you ! I thank Heaven, Miss Rusport, I am no ways responsible for your con- duct ; nor is it any concern of mine how you dis- pose of your elf : you are not my daughter, and, when I married your father, poor Sir Stephen Rusport, I found you a forward spoiled miss of fourteen, far a- bove being instructed by me. Miss R. Perhaps your ladyship calls this instruc- tion. Lady R. You are strangely pert ; but 'tis no won- der : your mother, I'm toid, wa£ a fine lady : and according to the modern style of education you was brought up. It was not so in my young day: ; there was then some decorum in the world, some subordi- nation, as the great Locke expresses it. Oh! 'twas an edifying sight, to see the regular deportment ob- served in our family ; no giggling, no gossiping was going on there ; my good father, Sir Oliver Round- head, never was seen to laugh himself, nor ever allow- ed it in his children. Miss jR. Ay ; those were happy times, indeed. Lady Ri But, in this forward age, we have coquettes Jet L] THE WEST INDIAN. 17 in the egg-shell, and philosophers in the cradle ; girl, of fifteen, that lead the fashion in new cap; and new opinions, that have their sentiments and their sen-ations ; and the idle fops encourage them in it : O'my conscience, I wonder what it is the men can see in such babies. Miss R. True, madam ; hut all men do not over- look the maturer beauties of your ladyship's age ; witness your admired Major Dennis O'Fiaherty ; there's an example of some discernment j I declare to you, when your ladyship is by, the Major takes no more notice of me than if I was part of the furniture of your chamber. Lady R. The Major, child, has travelled through various kingdoms and climates,and has more enlarged notions of female merit than falls to the lot of an Eng- lish home-bred lover ; in mou other countries, no woman on your side forty would ever be named in" a polite circle. Miss R. Right, madam ; I've been told that in Vi- enna they have coquettes upon crutches, and Venus- es in their grand climacteric ; a lover there celebrates the wrinkles, not the dimples in his mistress's face,. The Major, i think, has served in the imperial army. Lady R. Are you piqued, my young madam : Mad my sister, Louisa, yielded to the addresses of one of Major O'Fiaherty's person and appearance, she . would have had some excuse. But to run away, as she did, at the age of sixteen too, with a man of old Dudley's sort MiisR. Was, in my opinion, the most venial tres- pass that ever girl of sixteen committed ; of a noble family^ an engaging person, strict honour, and sound understanding, what accomplishment was there want- ing in Captain Dudley, but that which the prodigal- ity of his ancestors had deprived him of ? Lady Ji. They left him as' much as he deserves j B2 18 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. hasn't the old man captain's half pay? And is not the son an ensign ? Miss R. An ensign ! Alas, poor Charles ! Would to Heaven he knew what my heart feels and suffers for his sake. Enter Servant. Serv. Ensign Dudley, to wait upon your ladyship. Lady R. Who ! Dudley ! What can have brought him to town ? Miss R. Dear madam, 'tis Charles Dudley, 'tis your nephew. Lady R. Nephew ! I renounce him as my nephew ; Sir Oiiver renounced him as his grandson ; Didn't the poor dear good old man leave his fortune to me, except a small annuity to my maiden sister, who spoiled her constitution with nursing him ? And, de- pend upon it, not a penny of that fortune bhall ever be disponed of otherwise than according to the will jof the donor. Enter Charles Dudley, So young man, whence came you ? What brings you to town ? Charles. If there is any offence in my coming to town, your ladyship is in some degree responsible for it, for part of my errand was to pay my dufy here. Lady R. Coxcomb ! And where is your father, child ; and your sister ? Are they in town too ? Charles. They are. Lady R. Ridiculous ! I don't know what people do in London, who have no money to spend in it. Miss R. Dear madam, speak more kindly <:o your nephew ; how can ycu oppress a youth of his sensi- bility ? Lady R. Mis? Rusport. I insist upon rcurrc firing Act /.] THE WEST INDIAN. ie to your apartment ; when I want your advice, I'll send to you. [Exit Miss Ru sport.] So you have put on a red coat too, as well a. your father ; 'tis plain what value you et upon the good advice Sir Oli- ver used to give you ; how often has he cautioned you against the army ? Charles, Had it pi eased my grandfather to enable me to have obeyed his caution, I would have done it ; but you well know how destitute I am ; and "'tis not to be wondered at if I prefer the service of my king to that of any other master. Lady R. Well, well, take your own course ; 'tis no concern of mine : you never consulted me. Charles. I frequently wrote to your lady-hip, but could obtain.no ari.wer ; and, since my grandfather's death, this is the first opportunity I have had of wait- ing upon you. Lady R. I mu:-t de-ire you not to mention the death of that dear good man in my hearing ; my spir- its cannot support it. Charles- I shall obey you : permit me say, that, as that event has richly supplied you with the materials of bounty, the distresses of my family can furnish you with objects of it. Lady R. The distresses of your family, child, are quite out of the que tion at present; had Sir Oliver been pleased to consider them, I should have been well content ; but he had absolutely taken no notice of you in his will, and that to me must and shall be a law. Tell your father and your ti ter, I totally dis- approve of their coming up to town. Charles. Must I tell my father that, before your ladyship knows the motive that brought him hither ? Allured by the offer of exchanging for a commission on full pay, the veteran, after thirty year.; service, prepare:? to encounter the fatal heats of Senegambia ; hut wants a small supply to equip him for the expe- i, 20 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, Enter Servant. Serv. Major 0'Flaherty,to wait on your ladyship. Enter Major. O'Fla. Spare your ' speeches, young man ; don't you think her ladyship can take my word for that ? I hope, madam, 'tis evidence enough of my being pre- sent, when I have the honour of telling you so my- self. Lady R. Major O'Flaherty, I am rejoiced to see you. Nephew Dudley, you perceive I'm engaged* Charles- I shall not intrude upon your ladyship's more agreeable engagements. I presume I have my answer ? Lady R. Your answer, child ! What answer can you possibly expect ? or how can your romantic fa- ther suppose that I am to abet him in all bis idle and extravagant undertakings ? Come, major, let we show you the way into my dre -sing-room ; and let us leave this young adventurer to his meditations. [Exit. O'Fla. I follow you, my lady. Young gentleman, your obedient ! Upon my conscience, as fine a youngs fellow as I would wish to clap my eyes on : he might have answered my salute, however— '- well, let it pass ; Fortune, perhaps, frown.; upon the poor lad ; she's a dam'd slippery lady, and very apt to jilt us poor tellows, that wear cockades in our hats. Fare thee well, honey, whoever thou art. [Exit* Charles. So much for the virtues of a puri an — out upon it ; her heart is flint. Enter Miss Rusport. Miss R. Stop, stay a little, Charles ; whither are you going in such ha:te ? Charles-. Madam ; Miss Rusport ; what are your commands ? Act II.] THE WEST INDIAN. 21 MissR. Why so reserved? We had used to answer to no other names than those of Charles and Char- lotte. Charles. What ails you ? You hare been weeping. Miss R. No, no ; or if I have, your eyes are full too ; but I have a thousand things to say to you ; before you go, tell me, I conjure you, where you are to be found ; here, give me your direction ; write it upon the back of this visiting ticket — Have you a pencil ? Charles. I have : but why should you desire to find us out ? 'ti:;a poor little inconvenient place ; my sis- ter has no apartment fit to receive you in. Enter Servant. Sery. Madam, my lady desires your company di- rectly'. Miss R. I am coming—well, have you wrote it J . Give it me. O, Charles ! either you do not, or you will not, understand me. [Exeunt severally. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. A Room in Fulmer's House. Fulmer and Mrs. Fulmer. Mrs. Fal Why, how you sit, mu~ing and moping, sighing and desponding ! I'm ashamed of you, Mr, 22 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 'Fulmer : is this the country you described to me, a second Eldorado, rivers of gold and rocks of dia- monds ? You found me in a pretty snug retired way of life at Bologne, out of the noise and bustle of the world, and wholly at my ease. Fool that I was, to be inveigled into it by you ; but, thank Heaven our partnership is revocable ; I am not your wedded wife, praised be my stars! for what have we got,whom have we gulled but ourselves ? which of all your trains has taken fire ? Even this poor expedient of your book- seller's shop seems abandoned ; for if a chance cus- tomer drops in, who is there, pray, to help him to what he wants ? Ful. Patty you know it is not upon slight grounds that I despair ; there had used to be a livelihood to be picked up in this country, both for the honest and dishonest ? I have tried each walk, and am likely to Starve at last : there is not a point to which the wit and faculty of man can turn, that I have not set mine to ; but in vain, I am beat through every quarter of the compass. Mrs. Ful. Ah ! common efforts all : strike me a master-stroke, Mr. Fulmer, if you wish to make any figure in this country. Ful. But where, how, and what ? I have blustered ipr prerogative ; I have bellowed for freedom ; I have offered to serve my country ; I have engaged to be- tray it ; a master stroke, truly ! why, 1 have talked treason, writ treason, and, if a man can't live by that, he can live by nothing. Here I set up as a book- seller, why, men leave off reading ; and if I was to turn butcher, I believe, o'my conscience, they'd leave off eating. f aptain Dudley crosses the Stage. Mrs. Ful. Why, there now's your lodger, old Captain Dudley, as he calls himself ; there's no flint Act IL] THE WEST INDIAN. 23 without fire ; something might be struck out of hia, if you had the wit to find the way. Yul. Hang him an old dry-skinned curmudgeon ; you may as well think to get truth out of a courtier, or candour out of a critic : I can make nothing of him ; besides, he's poor, and therefore not for our purpose. Mrs. YuL The more fool he ! Would any man be poor, that had such a prodigy in his possession ? Yul. His daughter, you mean ; she is, indeed, un- commonly beautiful. Mrs. Yul. Beautiful ! Why, she need only be seen, to have the first men in the kingdom at her feet. Egad, I wish I had the leasing of her beauty ; what would some of our young Nabobs give ? Yul. Hush ! here comes the Captain ; good girl, leave us to ourselves, and let me try what I can make of him. Mrs. Yul. Captain, truly ! Tfaith I'd have a regi- ment, had I such a daughter, before I was three months older. [Exit. Enter Captain Dudley. ¥nl. Captain Dudley, good morning to you. Dud. Mr Fulmer, I have borrowed a book from your shop ! 'tis the sixth volume of my deceased friend Tristram : he is a flattering writer to us poor soldiers ; and the divine story of Le Fevre, which makes part of this book, in my opinion of it, does honour, not to its author only, but to human na- ture. Yul. He's an author I keep in the way of trade, but one I never relLhed : he is much too loose and pro- fligate for my ta te. Dud. That's being too severe : I hold him to be a moralist in the noblest sense ; he plays, indeed, with the fancy, and sometimes,perhaps,too wantonly ; but while he thus designedly masks his main attack. 24 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. he comes at once upon the heart ; refines, amends it, softens it ; beat:- down each selfish barrier from about it, and opens every sluice of pity and benevolence. Ful Well, sir, I shall not oppose your opinion ; a favourite author is like a favourite mistress ; and there, you know, captain, no man likes to have his taste arraigned. Dud Upon my word, sir, I don't know what a man likes in that case ; 'tis an experiment I never made. Ful. Sir ! — are you serious ? Dud. J Tis of little consequence whether you think so. Ful. What a formal old prig it is ! [aside.] — I ap- prehend you, sir ; you speak with caution ; you are married ? Dud. I have been. Ful. And this young lady, which accompanies you — Dud. Passes for my daughter. Ful. Passes for his daughter ! humph — [aside]— She is exceeding beautiful, finely accomplished, of a moit enchanting shape and air. Dud. You are much too partial ; she has the. greatest defect a woman can have. Ful. How so, pray ? Dud. She has no fortune. Ful. Rather say, that you have none ; and that's a sore defect in one of your years, captain - Dudley : you have served no doubt ? Dud. Familiar coxcomb! But I'll humour him. [aside, Ful. A close old fox ! but I'll unkennel him [.aside. Dud. About thirty "years I've been in the service, Mr. Fulmer. Ful. I guessed as much; I laid it at no less : why, rhall I do ? give the chase up ? hang it, that's cowardly : shall I, a true born son of Phoebus, suffer this little nimble-footed Daphne to escape me ?— " Forbid it,honour,and forbid it, love." Hu:rh i hush ! here she comes ! Oh ! the devil ! What tawdry thing have we got here ? Enter Mrs. FulmeH. Mrs Ful. Your humble servant, sir. Bel. Your humble servant, madam. Mrs Ful. A fine summer's day, sir. Bel. Ye-, ma'am ; and so cool, that, if the Calen- dar didn't call it July, I should swear it was January, Mn Ful. Sir ! 28 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. Bel. Madam ! Mrs Ful. Do you wish to speak to Mr Fulmer, sir ? Bel Mr Fulmer, madam ? I hav'nt the honour of knowing such a person. Mrs Ful. No,! 'Tis the Captain, I suppose, you are waiting for. Bel I rather suspect it is the Captain's wife. Mrs Ful. The Captain has no wife, sir. Bel No wife ! I'm heartly sorry for it ; for then she's his mistress j and that I take to be the more desperate ?a?e of the two. Pray, madam, wasn't there a lady ju t now turned into your house i 'Twas with her I wished to speak. Mrs Fu'.. What sort of a lady, pray ? Bel. One of the lovliest sort my eyes ever beheld 5 young, tall, fresh, fair ; in short, a goddess. Mrs Ful Nay, but dear, dear sir, now I'm sure you flatter; for 'twas me you followed into, the shop door this mmute. Bel. You ! No, no, take my word for it, it was not you, madam. Mrs Ful. BuL what is it you laugh at ? Bel. Upon my soul, I ask your pardon ; but it was not you, believe me ; be assured it wasn't Mrs Ful. Well, sir, I shall not contend for the honour of being noticed by you ; I hope you think you wou'dn't have been the first man that noticed me in the streets ; however, this I'm positive of, that no living woman but myself has entered these doors this morning. Bel. Why, then, I'm mistaken in the house, that's all ; for it is not humanly posJble I can be so far out in the lady. [Going. Mr: Ful. Coxcomb ! But hold — a thought oc- cur.- as urea, can be, he ha-j seen Mi Dudley., A word with you, young gentleman ; comeback. Mel. Well, what's your pleasure ? Act //.] THE WEST INDIAN. 29 Mrs Ful. You seem greatly captivated with this young lady ; are you apt to fall in love thus at first sight ? Bel. Oh, yes : 'tis the only way I can ever fall in love ; any man may tumble into a pit by surprise, none but a fool would walk into one by choice. Mrs Ful. You are a hasty lover, it seems ; have you spirit to be a generous one? They, that will please the eye, musn't spare the purse. Bel Try me ; put me to the proof ; bring me to an interview with the dear girl that has thus captivated me, and see whether I have spirit to be grateful. Mrs Ful. But how, pray, am I to know the girl you have set your heart on ? Bel. By an undescribable grace, that accompanies every look and action that falls from her ; there can be but one such woman in the world, and nobody can mistake that one. Mrs Ful. Well, if I should stumble upon this an- gel in my walks, where am I to find you ? What's your name ? Bel. Upon my soul I can't tell you my name. Mrs Ful. Not tell me ! Why so I Bel. Because I don't know what it is myself; as yet 1 have no name ! Mrs Ful. No name ! Bel. A one ; a friend, indeed, lent me his ; but he forbade me to use it on any unworthy occasion. Mrs Ful. But where is your place of abode ? Mel. I have none ; I never slept a night in England in my life. Mrs Ful. Hey day ? Enter Fulmer. Ful. A fine case, truly, in a free country ; a pretty pass things are come to, if a man is to be assaulted in his own house, C2 30 THE WIST INDIAN. [Cumberland, Mrs Ful. Who has assaulted you, my dear . ? Ful. Who ! why this Captain Drawcansir, thi old Dudley, my lodger; but I'll unlodgehim ; I'llunhar- bour him, I warrant. Mrs. F Hush! hush! hold your tongue man; pocket the affront, and be quiet ; I've a scheme on foot will pay you a hundred beatings. Why you sur- prise me, Mr. Fulrner ; Captain Dudley assault you ! Impossible. Ful. Nay, I can't call it an absolute assault ; but he threatened me. Mrs. Fid. Oh, wa; that all? I thought how it would turn out— A likely thing, truly, for a person of his obliging compassionate turn : no, no, poor Captain Dudley, he has sorrows and distresses enough of his own to employ his spirits, without setting them a- gainst other people. Make it up as fast as you can ; watch this gentleman out ; follow him wherever he goes, and bring me word who and what he is ; be sure you dont lose sight of him ; I've other business in hand. [Exit. Bel. Pray, sir, what sorrows and distresses have be- fallen this old gentleman you -peak of ? Ful. Poverty, disappointment, and all the distre ses attendant thereupon : sorrow enough of all con- science ; I soon found how it was with him, by his way of living, low enough of all reason ; but what I overheard this morning put it out of all doubt. Bel. What did you overhear this morning , ? FuL Why, it seems he wants to join his regiment, and has been beating the town over to raise a little money for that purpose upon his pay ; but the climate, I find, where he is going, is so unhealthy, that nobody can be found to lend him any. Bel. Why, then your town is a damned good-for- nothing town : and I wish I had never come into it. Ful, That's what I say, sir ; the hard heartedness of some folks is unaccountable. There's an old Lady Act II.] THE WEST INDIAN. Si Rusport, a near relation of this gentleman's ; she live:- hard by here, opposite to Stockwell'l* the great mer- chant ; he sent to her a-begging, but to no purpose ; though she is as rich as a Jew, she would not furnish him with a farthing. Bel. Is the Captain at home ? Ful. He is up stairs, sir. Bel. Will you take the trouble to desire him to step hither ! T want to speak to him. Ful. Pll send him to you directly. I oon't know what to make of this young man ; but, if] live, I will find him out, or know the reason why. [Eiiit. Bel. I've lost the girl it seems, that's clear : she was the first object of my pursuit ; but the case of this poor officer touches me ; and, after all, there may be as much true delight in rescuing a fellow creature from distre s, as there would be in plunging one into it But let me see : it's a point that must be man- aged with -orne delicacy — Apropo ; ! there's pen and ink— I've struck upon a method that will do [fPrites.] Ay, ay, thb is the very thing : 'twas devilish lucky I happened to have these bill; about me. There, there. fare you well ! I'm glad to be rid of you ; you stood a chance of being worse applied, I can tell you. [Encloses and Seals ike Paper. Fulmer brings in Dudley. Ful. That's the gentleman, sir. I shall make \ however, to lend an ear. Dud- Have you any commands for me, sir ? Bel. Your name is Dudley, -sir ? Dud. It is. Bel. You command a company, I think* Ca, Dudley ? Dud, I did : I am now upon half-pay. Bel. You have served some time I Dud. A pretty many years; long enough to see S2 THE WEST INDIAN. . [Cumber/and. some people of more merit, and better interest than myself, made general officers. Bel. Their merit I may have some doubt of ; their interest I can readily give credit to j there is little promotion to be looked for, in vour profession, I be- lieve, without friends, Captain ? Dud. I believe io too': have you fmy other business with me, may I ask ? Bel Your patience for a moment. I was informed you was about to join your regiment in distant quar- ters abroad. Dud. I have been soliciting an exchange to a com- pany on full pay, quartered at Jarnes/s Fort, in Sene- gambia ; but, I'm afraid, I must drop the undertak- ing, Bel. Why so, pray ? Dud. Why so, sir ? 'Tisa honic question, for a perfect stranger to put ; there is something very par- ticular in all this. Bel. If it is not impertinent, sir, allow me to a?k you what reason you have for despairing of success. Dud. Why, really, sir, mine is an obvious reason, for a soldier to have— — Want of money ; simply that. heL May I beg to know the sum you have occa- sion for ? Dud. Truly, sir, I cannot exactly tell you on a sud- den ; nor is it, I suppose of any great consequence to you to be informed: but I should guess, in the gi 05S, that two hundred pounds would serve. Bel. And c'o \ou find a difficulty in raising that sum upon your pay ? 'Ti done every day. Dud. The nature of the climate makes it difficult : I can get no one to insure my life. Bel. Oh ! that's a circum-tVnce may make for you, as well a-, against: in short, Captain Dudley, it »o happens, that I can command the sum of two hundred pounds: seek no farther j I'll accommodate you with it upon ea:;y terms. Act IL] THE WEST INDIAN, Dud. Sir ! do I understand you rightly ? — 1 beg your pardon ; but am I to believe that you are in earnest I Bel. What is your surprise ? Is it an uncommon thing for a gentleman to speak truth ? Or is it incre- dible that one fellow creature should a^ist an- other ? Dud. I ask your pardon — May I beg to know to whom ? — Do you propose this inthe way of business ? Bel. Entirely : I have no other business on earth. Dud Indeed ! you are not a broker, I'm persuaded. BeL I am not. Dud. Nor an army agent, I think I Bel. I hope you will not think the worse of me for being neither ; in ^hort, sir, if you will peruse this pa* per, it will explain to you who I am, and upon what terms I act ; while you read it, I will step home, and fetch the money : and we will conclude the bargain without loss of time. In the mean while, good day to you [Exit hastily. Dud. Humph ! there's something very odd in all thi? — let me aee what we've got here— This paper is to tell me who he fe, and what are his terms : in the name of wonder, why has he sealed it , ? Hey day ! what's here ? Two Bank note-, of a hundred each ! I can't comprehend what this mean .;. Hold ; here's a writing ; perhap that will show me. " Accept 'Jus trifle ; pursue your fortune, and prosper." Am I in a dream I Ij this a reality ? Enter Major O'Flaherty. O'Fla. 'Save you, my dear ! Is it you now that are Captain Dudley, I would a-k ? Whuh ! What's the hurry the man's h ? If 'tis the lad that run out' of the .hop you would ovel^^e^you-ATi^t^^^l stay where you are ; by my soul he's as nimble as a Groat, you are a full hour's march in his rear — Ay S4 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. faith, you may a> well turn back, and; gtve over the pursuit ; well, captain Dudley, if tbaVs your name, there's a letter for you. Read, man ; read it ; and I'll have a word with you after you have done. Dud. More miracles on foot! So»so> from Lady Hu^port O'F/a. You're right ! it's from her ladyship. Dud. Well, sir, I have ca tmy eyeoverit ;. 'tis short and peremptory ; are you acquainted with the con* tents? O'FIa. Not at all, my dear ; not at all. Dud. Have you any message from Lady Rusport ? O'F/rt. Not a syllable, honey : only, when you've digested the letter, I've a little bit of a message to de- liver you from myself. j Dud. And may I beg to know who yourself is ? CPYla. Denis O'Flaherty, at your service ; a poor Major of Grenadiers ; nothing better. Dud. So much for your name and title, sir ; now be so good a<> to favour me with your message O'F/a. Why then, Captain, I must tell you I have promiced Lady Ru.~port you shall do whatever it is she bids you to do in that letter there. Dud. Ay, indeed ; have you* undertaken so much, Major, without knowing either what she commands,, or what I can perform ? O'F/a. That's your concern, my dear, not mine ; I must keep my word, you know. Dud. Or else, I suppose, you and I must measure swords. OT/tf . Upon my soul you've hit it. Dud. That would hardly answer to either of us j you and I have, probably, had enough of fighting in our time before now. O'F/rt. Faith and troth, M3 ,ter Dudley, you may ^rv. .ftiyXiiiv, ' >*s t.hirty v yeac*,come the time, that I have iollowed the trade, and in a pretty many countiies.— Let me see— In the war before last I served in tfce Aft II.] THE WEST INDIAN. 35 Pri-h brigade, d'ye see ; there, after bringing off the French monarch, I left his service, with a British bul » let in my body, and this ribband in my button-hole. Lart war I foltowed the fortune, of the German eagle, in the corps of grenadiers ; there I had my bellyful of fighting, and a plentiful scarcity of every thing else. After six and twenty engagements, great and small, I Went off with this gash on my scull, and a kiss of the Empress Queen's *weet hand, (Heaven bless it !) for my pains. Since the peace, my dear, I took a little turn with the confederates there in Poland — but such another set of madcaps ! — by the Lord Harry, I never knew what it was they were scuffling about. Dud. Well, Major, I won't add another action to the list; you shall keep your promise with Lady Re- port ; she requires me to leave London ; I shall go in a few days, and you may take what credit you please from my compliance. O'F/tf. Give me your hand, my dear boy ! this will make her my own ; when that's the ca~e, we shall be brothers, you know, and we'll share her fortune be- tween u?. Dud. Not so, Major ; the man, who marries Lady Ru^port, will have a fair title to her fortune without divi^on. But, I hope your expectations of prevail- ing arc found-ed upon good reasons. 0'F/#. Upon the best grounds in the world; first, I think she will comply, because she is a woman : secondly, lam per:;uaded she won't hold out long, because she's a widow : and thirdly I make sure of ber, because I have married five wives, (en militairc, -Captain) and never failed yet ; and, for what I know, "hey are all alive and merry at this very hour. Dud. Well, sir, goon, and prosper ; if you can in- spire Lady RUsport with half your chaiity, I shall ihink you deserve all her fortune ; at present, I most b^ your excuse? good morning to you. [Exit* frtfa, A good sensil to man, and very much of & m THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, soldier; I did not care if I was better acquainted with him : bu*: 'ti an awkward kind of country for that ; the Bnglioh, I observe, are close friends, but di-tant acquainrance. I u pect the old lady has not been over generous to poor Dudley ! I shall give her a lit- tle touch about that : upon my soul, I know but one excuse a per. on can have for giving nothing, and that k, like myself, having nothing to give. [Exit, Lady Ru sport's House. A Dressing Room, Miss Rusport and Lucy. Miss R, Well, Lucy, you've dislodged the old lady at last ; but methought you was a tedious time about it. Lucy. A tedious time, indeed ; I thought I should never have got her out of the house. Miss R But where's Charles Dudley ? Run down, dear girl, and be ready to let him in ; I think he's as long in coming as she was in going. Lucy. Why, indeed, madam, you seem the more alert of the two, I must say. [Exit, Miss. ic.-Nowtheduce take the girl, for putting that notion into my head : I am sadly afraid Dudley doe-5 not like me ; so much encouragement as I have given him to declare himself, I never could get a word from him on the subject ! This may be very honour- able, but upon my life it's very provoking. By the way, I wonder how I look to day : Oh ! shockingly ! Act II] THE WEST INDIAN. 37 hideously pale ! like a witch ! — This is the old lady's glass, and she has left some of her wrinkles on it. — How frightfully have I put on my cap ! all awry ! and my hair dressed so unbecoming ! altogether, I'm a most complete fright Enter Charles, unobserved, Charles. That I deny. Miss R. Ah ! Charles. Quarrelling with your glass, cousin ? Make it up, make it up, and be friends ; it cannot compli- ment you more than by reflecting you as you are. Miss R. Well, I vow, my dear Charles, that is de- lightfully said, and deserves my very best courtesy : your flattery, like a rich jewel, has a value, not only from its superior iustre, but from its extraordinary scarceness : I verily think, this is the only civil speech you ever directed to my person in your life. Charles. And I ought to ask pardon of your good sense, for having done it now. Miss R. Nay, now you relapse again : don't you know, if you keep well with a woman on the great score of beauty, she'll never quarrel with you on the trifling article of good sense .?— But any thing serves to fill up a dull, yawning, hour, with an insipid cou- sin ; you have brighter moments, and warmer spirits, for the dear girl of your heart. Charles. Oh, fie upon you ! fie upon you ! Miss R. You blush, and the reason is apparent : you are a novice at hypocrisy ; but no practice can make a visit of ceremony pass for a visit of choice : love is ever before its time ; friendship is apt. to lag a little after it. — Pray, Charles, did you make any ex- traordinary haste hither. Charles By your question, I see, you acquit me of nence of being in love. But Why impertinence ? Why the imper* T> 36 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. tinence of being in love I — You have one language for me, Charles, and another foi the woman of your afFection. Charles. You are mistaken — the woman of my af- fection shall never hear any other language from me, than what Im e to you. Miss R I am afraid then, you'll never make your- self under, tood by her. Charles. It is not tit I should ; there is no need of love to make me miserable ; 'tis wretchedness enough to be a beggar. Miss R. A beggar do you call yourself ! O Charles* Charles, rich in every merit and accomplishment, whom may you not aspire to ? And why think you so unworthily of our sex, as to conclude there is not one to be found with sense to discern your virtue, and generosity to reward it ? Charles. You destress me ; — I must beg to hear no more. Miss i?. Well, I can be silent. Thus does he al- ways serve me, whenever I am about to disclose my- self to him. [Aside. Charles. Why do you not banish me and my misfor- tunes for ever from your thoughts ? Mm R. Ay, wherefore do I not, since you never allowed me a place in yours ? — But, go, dr ; I have no right to stay you ; go where your heart directs you ; go to the happy, the distinguished, fair one. Charles. Now, by all that's good, you do me wrong ; there is no such fair one for me to go to, nor have I an acquaintance among the sex, yourself ex- cepted, which answers to that description. Miss £. Indeed ! Charles. In very truth — there, then, let us drop the subject. — May you be happy, though I never can ! Mhs R. O Charles! give me your hand ; if I have ■offended you, I ask your pardon : you have been long Act II.} THE WEST INDIAN, 39 acquainted with my temper, and know how to bear with its infirmities. Charles. Thus, my dear Charlotte, let us seal our reconciliation ! — [Kissing her Hand.] Bear with thy infirmities ! By heaven, I know not any one failing in thy whole composition, except, that of too great a partiality for an undeserving man. Miss R: Ana you are now taking the very course to augment that failing. — A thought strikes me ; — 1 have a commfssion that you must absolutely execute for me ; — I have immediate occasion for the sum of two hundred pounds ; you know my fortune is shut up till I am of age ; take this paltry box, (it contain my ear- rings, and some other baubles I have no use for) carry it to our opposite neighbour, Mr. Stockwell^Idon't know where else to apply) leave it as a deposit in his hands, and beg him to accommodate tne with the sum. Charles. Dear Charlotte, what are you about to do ? How can you possibly want two hundred pounds ? Miss R. How can I possibly do without it, you mean ? Doesn't every lady want two hundred pounds ? Perhaps, I have lost it at play— perhaps, I mean to win. as much to it — perhaps, I want it for two hundred different uses. Charles. Pooh ! pooh! all this is nothing ; don't I know you never play ? Miss R. You mistake ; I have a spirit to : et, not only this trifle, but my whole fortune upon a stake ; therefore make no wry faces, but do as I bid you. You will find Mr. Stockwell a very honourable gen- tleman. Enter Lucy, in Haste. Lucy. Dear madam, as I live, here comes the old lady in a hackney coach. Miss R, The old chariot has given her a second 40 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, tumble : — away with you! you know your way out, without meeting her. Take the box and do as I de- sire you. Charles- I must not dispute your orders . Farewel ! [Exeunt Charles and Miss Rusport. Enter Lady Rusport, leaning on Major O'Fla^ herty's Arm. O'FIa. Rest yourself upon my arm; never spare it j 'tis strong enough ; it has stood harder service than you can put it to. Lucy, Mercy upon me, what is the matter ? I am frightened out of my wits — Has your ladyship had an accident? . Lady R. O Lucy, the most untoward one in nature . I know not how I shall repair it, O'F/a. Never go about to repair it, my lady even build a new one ; 'twas but a crazy piece of business at best. Lucy. Bless me, is the old chariot broke down with you again ? Lady R Broke, child ! I don't know what might have been broke, if by great good fortune, this obliging gentleman had not been at hand to assist me. Lucy Dear madam, let me run and fetch you a cup of the cordial drops. Lady R. Do, Lucy. [Exit Lucy.] Alas, sir ! ever since I lost my husband, my poor nerves have been shook to pieces : there hangs his beloved picture ; that precious relic, and a plentiful jointure, is all that remains to console me for the best of men. O'FIa. Let me see — i'faith a comely personage; by his fur cloak, I suppose, he wa? in the Russian service ; and by the gold chain round his neck, I should guess, he had been honoured with the order of St. Catha- rine. Lady R. No, no ; he meddled with no St. Catha- Act II.) THE WEST INDIAN. 41 vines — that's the habit he wore in his mayoralty ; Sir Stephen was Lord Mayor of London— but he h gone, and has left me, a poor, weak, solitary widow, behind him. O'F/a. By all means, then, take a strong, able, hearty, man, to repair his loss :— if such a plain fellow as one Denis O'Flaherty can please you, I think I may venture to say, without any disparagement to the gentleman in the fur gown there- — Lady R. What are you going to say ? Don't shock my ears with any comparisons, I desire. O'F/a. Not I, by my soul ; I don't believe there's any comparison in the case. Enter Lucy. Lady R. Oh, are you come ? Give me the drops — I'm all in a flutter. O'F/a. Harkye, sweetheart, what are those same drops ? Have you any more left in the bottle ? I didn't care if I took a little sip of them myself. Lucy. Oh, sir, they are called the cordial restora- tive elixir, or the nervous golden drops ; they are only for ladies' cases. O'F/a. Yes, yes, my dear, there are gentlemen as well as ladies, that stand in need of those same golden drops ; they'd suit my case to a tittle. Lady R. Well, Major, did you give old Dudley my letter, and will the silly man do as I bid him, and begone ? O'F/a. You are obeyed — he's on his march. Lady R. That's well; you have mannaged this matter to perfection ; I didn't think he would been so easily prevailed upon. O'F/a. At the fir t word : no difficulty in life ; 'twas the very thing he was determined to do, before I came ; I never met a more obliging gentleman . Lady R. Wei), 'tis no matter ; so 1 am but rid br' D 2 4J THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland him, and his distresses : would you believe it, Major O'Flaherty, it was but this morning he sent a-begging to me for money to fit him out upon some wild-goose expedition to the coa^t of Africa, I know not where. O'F/a Well, you sent him what he wanted ? Lady R. I sent him what he deserved, a flat refusal. O'F/tf. You refused him i Lady R. Mo^t undoubtedly, O'Fla. You sent him nothing J Lady R. Not a shilling. O'F/a. Good morning to you — Your servant— [Going. Lady R. Hey day ! what ails the man ? Where are you going ? O'F/a. Out of your house, before the roof falls on my head — to poor Dudley, to share the little modi- cum, that thirty years hard service has left me ; I wish it was more, for his sake. LadyK. Very well, sir ; take your course ; I shan't attempt to stop you ; I shall survive it ; it will not break my heart, if I never see you more. O'F/a. Break your heart ! No, o'my conscience will it not. — You preach, and you pray, and you turn up your eyes, and all the while you are as hardheart- ed as a hyena— A hyena, truly ! by my soul, there isn't in the whole creation, so savage an animal as a human creature without pity ! [Exit. Lady R. A hyena, truly ! [Exit. Act III.} THE WEST INDIAN. 4 upon all the great occasions of life. Stock. I persuade myself you will find Miss Rus- port an ingenious, worthy, animated, girl. Bel. Why, I like her the better, as a woman ; but name her not to me as a wife ! No, if ever I marry, it must be a stayed, sober, considerate, damsel, with blood in her veins as cold as a turtle's : with such e 44 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. companion at my elbow, for ever whispering in my ear — Have a care of this man, he's a cheat ; don't go near that woman, she's a gilt ; overhead there's a scaffold, underfoot there's a well, Oh, sir ! such a woman might lead me up and down this great city without difficulty or danger ; but with a girl of Miss Rusport's complexion, heaven and earth, sir ! we should be duped,undone, anddistracted in a fortnight. Stock. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Why, you are become won- derous circumspect of a sudden, pupil : and if you can find such a prudent damsel as you describe, you have my consent — only beware how you chuse ; dis- cretion is not the reigning quality amongst the fine ladies of the present time ; and, I think, in Miss Rus- port's particular, I have given you no bad counsel. Bel. Well, well, if you'll fetch me the jewels, I be- lieve, I can undertake to carry them to her : but. as for the money, I'll have nothing to do with that : Dudley would be your fittest ambassador on that oc- casion : and, if I mistake not, the most agreeable to the lady. Stock. Why, indeed, from what I know of the mat- ter, it may not improbably be destined to find its way mto his pockets. [ Exit. Bel. Then, depend upon it, these are not the only trinkets she means to dedicate to Captain Dudley. — As for me, Stockwell, indeed, wants me to marry ; but till I can get this bewitching gir), this incognita, out of my head, I can never think of any other wo- man. Enter a Servant, and delivers a Letter. Hey day ! Where can I have picked up a correspond- ent already r "lis a most execrable manuscript Let me see —Martha Fulmer — Who is Martha Ful- mer? — Pshaw ! I wont be at the trouble of decypher- ing her damned pothooks. — Hold, hold, hole! ; what have we got here ? Act ///.] THE WEST INDIAN. 45 Dear Sir, I have discovered the lady, you t clear \i up : three minutes conversation with him will pat evcty thing in a right train ; go, go, Charles, 'tL a brother's business ; about it in- stantly ; ten to one you'll find him over the way, at Mr. Stiockweli'.. Charles . I confer, I'm impatient to have the case cleared up ; I' 1 take your advice, and find him out : good bye to you Mis j R Your servant : my life upon it, you'll find Be cour a man of honour. Come, Louisa, let us ad- journ to my dressing-room ; I've a little private busi- "ne to transact with you, before the old lady comes up to tea, and interrupts us. [Exeunt* ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. A Room in Fulmer's House* Enter Charles Dudley and Louisa. Charles. Well, Louisa, I confess the force of what you say : i accept Miss Ru : port's bounty ; and, when you see my generous Charlotte, tell her but have 62 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. Miss R. Loui;a Dudley, you surprise me ; I never saw you act thus before : can't you bear a little in- nocent raillery before the man of your heart. Lou. The man of my heart madam? Be assured I never wa> so vissionary to aspire to any man whom Miss Rusport honours with her choice. ' Miss R. My choice, my dear ! Why, we are play- ing at cro 'S purpose:. : bow entered it into your head that Mr. Belcour was the man of my choice ? Lou. Why, didn't he present you with those dia- monds ? Mi// R. Well: perhaps he did— and pray, Louisa, have you no diamonds ? Lou. I diamonds, truly ! Who should give me dia- monds ? Miss R. Who, but this very gentleman : apropos ! here comes your brother Enter Charles I insist upon referring our dispute to him : your sis- ter and I, Charles, have a quarrel ; Belcour, the hero of your letter, has just left us — somehow or other, Louisa's bright eyes have caught him ; and the poor fellow's fallen desperately in love with her — (don't interrupt me, hussy) — Well, that's excusable enough, you'll say ; but the jest of the story is, that this hair- brained spark, who does nothing like other people, has given her the very identical jewels, which you pledged for me to Mr. Stockwell ; and will you be- lieve, that this little demure slut made up a face, and squeezed out three or four hypocritical tears, because I rallied her about it ? Charles. I'm all astonishment ! Louisa, tell me, without reserve, has Mr. Belcour given you any dia- monds ? Lou. None upon my honour. Charles, Has he made any professions to you ? Lou, He has ; but altogether in a style so whimsi- Jet IF.] THE WEST INDIAN. 63 cal and capricious that the best which can be said of £hem is to tell you, that they seemed more the result of good pirivs an good manners. Mz'.u R A- ay, now the murder's out ; he's in love with he r, and he has no very great dislike to him ; trust to my observations, Charles, for that : as to the diamonds, ere' some mistake about them, and y oil imibt cleat it up : three minutes conversation with him will put every thing in a right train ; go, go, Charles, 'tL a brother's business ; about it in- stantly ; ten to one you'll find him over the way, at Mr. Stockweft's. Charles . I confess, I'm impatient to have the case cleared up ; I' 1 take your advice, and find him out : good bye to you Mi/ j R- Your servant : my life upon it, you'll find Be cour a man of honour. Come, Louisa, let us ad- journ to my dresbing-ropm ; I've a little private busi- ne to transact with you„ before the old lady comes up to tea, and interrupts us. [Exeunt* ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. A Room in Fulmer's House. Enter Charles Dudley and Louisa. Charles. Well, Loui.a, I confess the force of what you say : i accep Miss Rusport's bounty ; and, when you see my generous Charlotte, tell her but have 64 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. a care, there is a selfishness even in gratitude, when jt is too profuse ; to be overthankful for any one fa- vour, is in effect to lay out for another ; the best re- turn I could make my benefactress would be, never to see her more. Lou. I understand you. Charles. We, that are poor, Louisa, should be cau- tious : for this reason. I would guard you against Belcour ; at least, till I can unravel the mystery of Mis ; . Rusport's diamonds : I was disappointed of finding him at Mr. Stockweli's, and am now going in search of him again : he may intend honourably ; but, 1 confess to you, I am staggered ; think no more of him, therefore, foi the present : of this be sure, while I have life, and you have honour, I will protect you, or perbh in your defence. [Exit. Lou. Think of him no more ! Well, I'll obey; but if a wandering uninvited thought should creep by chance into my bosom, must I not give the harmless wretch a shelter ? Enter Belcour. Bel. Alone, by all that's happy ! Lou. Ah ! Bel. Oh ! shriek not, start not, stir not, loveliest creature ! but let me kneel, and gaze upon your beauties. Lou. Sir ! Mr. Belcour, rise ! what is it you do ? Bel. See, I obey you ; mould me as you will, be- hold your ready servant ! New to your country, ig- norant of your manners, habits, and desires, I put myself into your hands for instruction ; make me only such as you can like yourself, and I shall be happy. Lou. I must not hear this, Mr. Itelcour ; go ; should he, that parted from me but this minute, now return, I tremble for the consequence. Act ir.] THE WEST INDIAN. c5 Bel. Fear nothing ; let him come: I love you, ma- dam ; he'll find it hard to make me unsay that. Lou. You terrify me ; your impetuous temper frightens me ; you know my situation ; it is not gen- rous to persuade me thus. |f Bel. True ; I do know your situation, your real one, Miss Dudley, and am resolved to snatch you from it ; 'twill be a meritorius act : the old Captain- shall rejoice, Mi 3 s Ru-port shall be made happy. ; and even he, even your beloved brother, with who-* re- sentment you threaten me, shall in the end applaud and thank me. Come, thou art a dear enchanting girl, and I'm determined not to live a minute longer without thee. Lou. Hold ! are you mad ? I see you are a bold assuming man, and know not whereto stop. Bel. Who, that beholds itich beauty can ? By hea» ven, you put my blood into a flame. Provoking girl ! is it within the stretch of my fortune to content you ? what is it you can further ask, that I am not ready to grant ? Lou. Yes with the same facility, that you bestowed upon me Miss Rusport's diamonds. For shame! for shame ! was that a manly story ? Bel. So ! so ! these devilish diamonds meet me every where — Oh ! I could tear my tongue out for saying a word about the matter. Lou. Go to her then, and contradict it ; till that is done, my reputation is at stake. Bel. Her reputation ! Now she has got upon that v she'll go on for ever. — What is there I will not do for your sake ? I will go to Miss Rusport.. Lou. Do so : restore her own jewels to her, which I suppose you kept back for the purpose of present- ing others to her of a greater value ; but for the fu- ture, Mr.Belcour, when you would do a gallant^ ac- tion to that lady, don't let it be at my expense. F2 66 THE WEST INDIAN- [Cumberland. Bel. I see where she points : she is willing enough to give up Miss Busporfs diamonds, now she finds she shall be a gainer by the exchange. Be it so ! tis what I wished. — Well, madam, I will return to Miss Rusport her own jewels, and you shall have others of tenfold their value. Lou. No, sir, you err most widely ; it is my good opinion, not my vanity, which you must bribe. Bel Why whatthe devil would she have now ? — Miss Dudley, it is my wish to obey and please you ; but I have some apprehension that we mistake each other. Lou. I think we do : tell me, then, in few words, what it is you aim at. Bel. In few word; , then, and in plain honesty, I mu-t tell you, so entirely am I captivated with you, that had you but been such as it would have become me to have called my wife, I had been happy in knowing you by that name; as it is, you are wel- come to partake my fortune, give me in return your person, give me pleasure, give me love ; free, disen- cumbered, antimatrimonial love; Lou. Stand off, and never let me see you more. Bel. Hold, hold, thou dear, tormenting, tantalizing, girl ! Upon my knees, I swear you shall not stir till you have consented to my bliss. Lou. Unhand me, sir : O, Charles ! protect me, rescue me, redress me. [Exit. Enter Charles Dudley. Charles. Draw, villain, and defend yourself. Bel. Villain ! Charles. The man, who wrongs that lady, is a villain — Draw i Bel. Never fear me, young gentleman j brand me for a coward, if I balk you. Act IF,} THE WEST INDIAN. gv Charles. Yet hold ! let me not be too hasty : your name, I think, is Belcour. Bel. Well, sir. Charles, How is it, Mr. Belcour, you have done this mean, unmanly, wrong ; beneath the mask of generosity, to give this fatal stab to our domestic peace I You might have had my thanks, my blessing : take my defiance now. 'Tis Dudley speaks to you : the brother, the protector, of that injured lady. Bel. The brother ! give yourself a truer title. Charles. What is't you mean ? Bel. You question me too late ; the name of Bel- cour and of villain never met before; had you in- quired of me before you uttered that rash word, you might have saved yourself or me a mortal error ; now, sir* I neither give nor take an explanation ; so, come on ! {They fight. Enter Louisa, and afterwards O'Flaherty. Lou. Holer,' hold, for heaven's sake hold ! O'Fla. rlell and confusion ! What's all this uproar for ? Can'tycu leave off cutting one another's throats, and miner' what the poor girl says to you ? You've done a notable thing, hav'nt you both, to put her into such a flurry ? I think, o'my conscience, she's the most frighted of the three. Char$$£ Dear Louisa, recollect yourself; why did you interfere ? 'tis in your cause. Bel.%\o\\' could. I kill him for caressing her. O'FJa* O, sir^jouK most obedient ! You are the gentleman I had tWironour of meeting here before; you was then runuing off at full speed, like a Cal* muck,, now you are)- tilting and driving like a bed- lamite, with this lacl here, that seems as mad as your- self : 'tis pity but your country had a little more em- ployment for you both. Bel. Mr. Dudley, when you have recovered the lady, you know where I am to be found. {E>- 68 THE WEST NDlAN. [Cumberland O'Fla. Well, then can't you stay where you are, and that will save the trouble of looking after you? Yon volatile fellow thinks to give a man the meeting by getting out of his way : by my soul, 'tis a round- about method that of his. But I think he called you Dudley ; harkye, young man, are you son of my friend, the old Captain. Charles. I am. Help me to convey this lady to her chamber, and I shall be more at leisure toanswer your questions. O'Fla. Ay will I : come along, pretty one ; if you've had wrong done you, young man, you need look no further for a second ; Dennis O'Flaherty's your man for that : but never draw your sword before a woman , Dudley ; damn it, never while you live draw your ipword before a woman, [Exeunt , SCENE II. Lady Rusport's House. Enter Lady Rusport and Servant. Serv. An elderly gentleman, who says his name h Varland, desires leave to wait on your ladyship. Lady R Show him in ; the very man I wish to «ee. Varland, he was Sir Oliver's solicitor, and privy to all his affairs : he brings some good tidings ; some fresh mortgage, or another bond come to light ; they start up everyday. Enter Varland. Mr. Varland, I'm glad to see you ; you are heartily welcome, honest Mr. Varland ; you and I hav'nt Act IF.} THE WEST INDIAN. 6B met since our late irreparable loss : how have you passed your time this age ? Far. Truly, my lady, ill enough : I thought I must have followed good Sir Oliver. Lady R. Alack-a-day, poor man ! Well, Mr. Var- land, you find me here overwhelmed with trouble and fatigue ; torn to pieces with a multiplicity of af- fairs ; a great fortune poured upon me, unsought for and unexpected : 'twas my good father's will and pleasure it should be so, and I must submit. Far. Your ladyship inherits under a will made in the year forty-five, immediately after Captain Dud- ley's marriage with your sister. Lady R. 1 do so, Mr Varland ; I do so. Par. I well remember it ; I engrossed every syl- lable ; but I am surprised to find your ladyship set to little store by this vast accession. Lady R. Why, you know, Mr. Varland, I am a moderate woman ; I had enough before ; a small matter satisfies me ; and Sir Stephen Report (Hea- ven be his portion !) took care I shou'dn't want that. Far. Very true, very true ; he did so ; and I am overjoyed to find your ladyship in this disposition ; for, truth to say, I w as not without apprehension the news I had to communicate would have been of some prejudice to your ladyship's tranquility. Lady R. News, sir ! what news have you for me. Far. Nay, nothing to alarm you ; a trifle, in your present way of thinking : 1 have a will of Sir Oliver's you have never seen. Lady R. A will ! impossible ! how came you by it, p ra y- Far. 1 drew it up, at his command in his last ill- ness : it will save you a world of trouble : it gives his whole estate from you to his grandson, Charles Dudley, 70 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. Lady R. To Dudley ? his estate to Charles Dud- ley ? I can't support it! I shall faint ! You have killed Hie, you vile man ! I never shall survive it ! Far. Lookye there now : I protest, I thought you ■would have rejoiced at being clear of the incum- brance. Lady R. 'Tis false ; 'tis all a forgery, concerted be- tween you and Dudley ; why else did I never Jiear of it before ? Far. Have patience, my lady, and I'll tell you : By Sir Oliver's direction, I was to deliver this will into no hands but his grandson Dudley's : the young gentleman happened to be then in Scotland ; 1 was despatched thither in search of him : the hurry and fatigue of my journey brought on a fever by the way, which confined me in extreme danger for several days ; upon my recovery, I pursued my journey, found young Dudley had left Scotland in the inte- rim, and am now directed hither ; where, as soon as I can find him, doubtless, I shall discharge my con- science, and fulfil my commission. Lady R. Dudley then, as yet, knows nothing of this will ? Far. Nothing ; that secret rests with me. Lady R. A thought occurs 5 by this fellow's talk- ing of his conscience, I should guess it was upon sale, [aside.] — Come, Mr. Varland, if 'tis as you say, I must submit. I was some what flurried at first, and forgot myself; I ask your pardon : this is no place to talk of business ! step with we into my room'; we will there compare the will, and resolve accord- ingly oh ! would your fever had you, and I had your paper i [Exeunt. Enter Miss Rusport, Charles, a«iO'FLAHERTY, Mhs R? So, so ! My lady and her lawyer have re* Act IF.] THE WEST INDIAN. 71 tired to close confabulation ; now, Major, if you are the generous man I take you for, grant me one fa- vour. r O'F/rt. 'Faith will I, and not think much of my ge- nerosity neither ; for, though it may not be in my power to do the favour you ask, look you, it can never be in my heart to refuse it. Charles Could this man's tongue do justice to his thoughts, how eloquent would he be ! [aside. Miss R- Plant yourself, then, in that room : keep guard for a few moments upon the enemy's motions, in the chamber beyond ; and, if they should attempt asally, stop their march a moment, till your friend h ere can make good his retreat down the back-stairs. O'F/tf. A word to the wise! I'm an old campaign- er ; make the best u.;e of your time ; and trust me for tying the old cat up to the picket. Miss R. Hush ! hush ! not so loud. Charles. 'Tis the office of a centinel, Major, you have undertaken, rather than that of a field officer. OFla. 'Tis the office of a friend, my dear boy; and, therefore, no disgrace to a general. [Exit. Miss R. Well, Charles, will you commit yourself to me for a few minutes ? Charles. Most readily ; and let me, before one goes by, tender you the only payment I can ever make for your abundant generosity Miss R. Hold, hold ! so vile a thing as money must not come between* us. What shall I say ! O, Charles ! O, Dudley ! What difficulties have you thrown upon me! Familiarly as we havelived, I shrink not at what I am doing ; and, anxiously as I have sought this opportunity, my fears almost persuade me to abandon it. Charles. You alarm me ! Miss R. Your looks and actions have been so dis- tant, and at this moment are so deterring, that, was it not for thekopethat delicacy,and not disgust, inspires 72 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. this conduct in you, I should sink with shame and apprehension ; but time presses ; and I must speak ; and plainly too — Was you now in possession of your grandfather's estate, as justly you ought to be ; and, was you inclined to seek a companion for life, should you, or should you not, in that case, honour your unworthy Charlotte with your choice ? Charles. My unworthy Charlotte ! So judge me heaven, there is not a circumstance on earth so valu- able as your happiness, so dear to me as your person ; but to bring poverty, disgrace, reproach from friends, ridicule from all the world, upon a generous bene- factress ; thievishly to steal into an open, and unre- served, ingenuous heart, O Charlotte ! dear, unhappy girl, it is not to be done. Miss R. Nay, now you rate too highly the poor advantages fortune alone has given me over you : how otherwise could we bring our merits to any bal- ance ? Come, my dear Charles, I have enough ; make that enough still move, by sharing it with me : sole heiress of my father's fortune, a short time will put it in my disposal ; in the mean while you will be sent to join your regiment ; let us prevent a separation, by setting out this very night for that happy country, where marriage is still free : carry me this moment to Belcour's lodgings. Charles Belcour's j 1 — The name is ominous ; there's murder in it : bloody, inexorable honour ! [Aside. Miss R. D'ye pause ? Put me into his hands, while you provide the means for our escape : he is the mo.t generous, the most honourable of men. Charles. Honourable ! most honourable ! Miss R. Can you doubt it ? Do you demur ? Have you forgot your letter ? Why, Belcour, 'twas that prompted me to this proposal, that promised to sup- ply the means, that nobly offered his unasked assist- ance Act IF] THE WEST INDIAN. 73 Enter O'Flaherty, hastily. O'FIa. Run, run ; for holy St. Anthony's sake, to hor-je, and away ! The conference is broke up, and the old lady advances upon a full Piedmontese trot, within pistol shot of your encampment. Miss R. Here, here, down the back stairs ! O C harles, remember me ! Cbar/es. Farewel ! Now, now I feel myself a cow- ard. [Exit. Miss R. What does he mean ? O'FIa. Ask no questions, but begone : she has cooled the lad's courage, and wonders he feels like a coward. There's a damned deal of mischief brewing between this hyena and her lawyer : egad I'll step be- hind this screen, and listen : a good soldier must some- times fight in ambush, as well as open field. [Retires. Enter VARLAND. Far. Let me consider-r-Five thousand pounds, prompt payment, for destroying this scrap of paper, not worth five farthings ; 'tis a fortune easily earned ; yes ; and 'tis another man's fortune easily thrown away ; 'tis a good round sum, to be paid down at once for a bribe ; but 'tis a damned rogue's trick in me to take it. O'FIa. So, so ! this fellow speaks truth to himself, though he lies to other people — but, hush ! [Aside. Far. 'Tis breaking the trust of my benefactor, that's a foul crime ; but he's dead, and never can re- proach me with it ; and 'tis robbing young Dudley of his lawful patrimony ; that's a hard case 5 but he's alive, and knows nothing of the matter. O'FIa. These lawyers are so used to bring off the rogueries of others, that they are never without an excuse for their own . [Aside . Far, Were I assured now that Dudley would give H 74 THE WEST INDIAN, [Cumberland. me half the money for producing this will, that Lady Rusport does for concealing it, I would deal with hitn, and be an honest man at half price ; I wish every gentleman of my profession could lay his hand on his heart, and say the same thing. O'FIa- A bargain, old gentleman ! Nay, never start, nor stare, you wasnt afraid of your own con- science, never be afraid of me. Far. Of you, sir ! who are you, pray ? O'FIa. I'll tell you who I am : you seem to wish to be honest, but want the heart to set about it ; now I am the very man in the world to make you so ; for, if you do not give me up that paper this very instant, by the soul of me, fellow, I will not leave one whole bone in your skin that shan't be broken. Far. What right have you, pray, to take this paper from me ? O'F/a. What right have you, pray, to keep it from young Dudiey 1 I don't know what it contains, but I am apt to think it will be safer in my hands than in your: ; therefore give it me without more words, and save yourself a beating : do now ; you had best. Far. Well, sir, I may as well make a grace of ne- cessity. There; I have acquitted my conscience, at the expense of five thousand pounds. O'F/a. Five thousand pounds ! Mercy upon me ! When there are such temptations in the law, can we wonder if some of the corps are a disgrace to it ? Far. Well, you have got the paper ; if you are an honcet man, give it to Charles Dudley. O'VIa* An honest man ! look at me, friend, I am a soldier, this is not the livery of a knave; I am an Irish- man, honey ; mine is not the country of dishonour. Now, sirrah, be gone ; if you enter these doors, or give Lady Rusport the least item of what has passed, I will cut offboth your ears and rob the pillory of its due. Far. I wish I was once fairly out of his sight. [Exeunt. Act IK] THE WEST INDIAN. M SCENE I'll. A Room in Stockwell's House. Enter Stockwell. Stock. I must disclose myself to Belcour ; this no- Me instance of his generosity, which old Dudley has been relating, allies me to him at once ; concealment becomes too painful ; I shall be proud to own him for my son But, see, he's here. Enter Belcour, and throws himself upon a Sofa, Bel. O my curs'd tropical constitution ! 'Would to heaven I had been dropped upon the snows of Lapland, and never felt the blessed influence of the sun, so I had never burnt with these inflammatory pas ions ! Stock. So, so, you seem disordered, Mr. Belcour. Bel. Disordered, sir ! Why did I ever quit the soil in which I grew ; what evil planet drew me from that warm, sunny region, where naked nature walks without disguise, into this cold, contriving, artificial country ? Stock. Come, sir, you've met a rascal ; what o'that ? general conclu ions are illiberal. Bel. No, sir, I have met reflection by the way ; I have come from folly, noise, and fury, and met a si- lent monitor — Well, well, a villain ! 'twas not to be pardoned — pray never mind me, sir. Stock. Alas! my heart bleed- for him. Bel. And yet, I might have heard him: now, plague upon that blundering Irishman, for coming in as he did; the hurry of the deed might palliate the event : deliberate execution has less to plead — Mr. Stockwell, I am bad company to you. Stock. Oh, sir ; make no excuse, if you think lean vender you any service, it may be worth your trial 16 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland* to confide in me ; if not, your secret is safer in your own bosom. Bel. That sentiment demands my confidence: pray, sit down by me. You must know I have an affair of honour on my hand,:-, with young Dudley ; and, though I put up with no man's insult, yet I wish to take away no man's life. Stock. I know the young man, and am apprised of your generosity to his father ; what can have bred a quarrel between you ? Bel. A foolish passion on my side, and a haughty provocation on his. There is a girl, Mr. Stockwelf, whom I have unfortunately seen, of most uncommon beauty ; he has withall an air of so much natural modesty, that, had I not had good assurance of her being an attainable wanton, I declare I should as soon have thought of attempting the chastity of Diana. Enter Servant. Stock. Hey day, do you interrupt us ? Serv Sir, there's an Irish gentleman, will take no denial: he say , hemu.t see Mr. Belcour directly, upon bu iness of the last con equence. Bel. Admit him ; 'tis the Irish officer, that parted lis, and brings me young Dudley's challenge; I should have made a long story of it, and he'll tell you in three words. Enter OTlaherty. Q'Fla. 'Save you, my dear ; and you sir, I have * little bit of a word in private for you. Bel. Pray deliver your commands: this gentleman is my intimate friend. O'Fla. Why, then, Ensign Dudley will be glad to measure swords with you, yonder, at the v London Tasern, in Bishopsgate Street, at nine o'clock— you know the place. BeL I do ; and shall observe the appointment- 4ct IV.\ THE WEST INDIAN. 77 O'F/a. Will you be of the party, sir? we shall want a fourth hand. Stock. Savage as the custom is, I close with your proposal ; and, though I am not fully informed of the occasion of your quarrel, I shall rely on Mr. Bel- cour's honour for the justice of it, and willingly stake my life in his defence. O'F/a. Sir, you are a gentleman of honour, and I shall be glad of being better known to you — But, harkye, Belcour, I had like to have forgot part of my errand ; there is the money you gave old Dudley : you may tell it over, 'faith : 'tis a" receipt in full ; now the lad can put you to death with a sate con- science, and when he ha? done that job for you, let it be a warning how you attempt the sister of a man of honour. Be/. The sister ? O'F/a. Ay, the sister ; 'tis English, is it not ? Or Irish ; 'tis all one ; you understand me, his sister, or Louisa Dudley, that's her name, I think, call her which you will. By St. Patrick, 'tis a foolish piece of business, Belcour, to go about to take away a poor girl's virtue from her, when there are so many to be met with in the town, who have disposed of theirs to your hands. [Exit, Stock. Why, I am thunderstruck ! what is it yoi' have done, and what is the shocking business in which I have engaged ? if I understand him right 'tis the sister of young Dudley you've been attempting : you talked to me of a professed wanton ; the girl he speaks of has beauty enough indeed to inflame your desires, but she has honour, innocence, and simplici- ty* te aw the most licentious passion ; if you have done that, Mr, Belcour, I renounce you, I abandon you, I forswear all fellowship or friendship with you for ever. Bel. Have p'atienge for a moment j- we do in H2 78 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. speak of the same person, but she is not innocent, she is not young Dudley's sister. Stock. Astonishing 1 who told you this ? Bel. The woman, where she lodges, the person, who put me on the pursuit, and contrived our meetings. Stock. What woman ? What person I Bel. Fulmer her name is, I warrant you I did not proceed without good grounds. Stock. Fulmer, Fulmer I who waits I Enter Servant. Send Mr. Stukely hither directly ; I begin to see my way into this dark transaction. Mr. Belcour, Mr. Belcour, you are no match for the cunning and con- trivances of this intriguing town. Enter Stukely. Pr'ythee, Stukely, what is the name of the woman and her husband, who were stopped upon suspicion of selling stolen diamonds at pur next door-neigh- tour's, the jeweller ? Stuke. Fulmer. Stock. So ! Bel Can you procure me a sight of those dia- monds ? Stuke. They are now in my hand ; I was desired to show them to Mr. Stockwell. Stock. Give them to me — what do I see ? — as I live, the very diamonds Miss Rusport sent hither, and which I entrusted to you to return. Bel. Yes, but I betrayed that trust, and gave them Mrs. Fulmer, to present to Miss Dudley. Stock. With a view, no doubtj to bribe her to com- pliance ? ; Bel. I own it. Act ///.] THE WEST INDIAN. 19 Stock. For shame, for shame ; — and' twas this wo- rn an'i intelligence you relied upon for Miss Dudley's character ? Bel. I thought she knew her 5 — by heaven, I would have died, sooner than have insulted a woman of vir- tue, or a man of honour. Stock. I think you would ; but mark the danger of licentious course .; you are betrayed, robbed, abused, and, but for this providential discovery, in a fair way of being :ent out of the world, with all your follies on your head. — Dear Stukely, go to my neighbour, tell him, I have an owner for the je web ; and beg him to carry the people under custody, to the London Ta- vern, and wait for me there. — (Exit Stukely.] I see it was a trap laid foi you, which you have narrowly escaped : you addressed a woman of honour, with all the loose incense of a profane admirer, and you have drawn upon you the resentment of a man of honour, who thinks him ; eif bound to protect her. Well, sir, you must atone for this mistake. Bel. To the lady, the most penitent submission I can make, is justly due ; but, in the execution of an act of justice, it never shall be said, my soul was swayed by the least particle of fear, I have received a challenge from her brother ; now, though I would give my fortune, almost my life itself, to purchase her happiness, yet I cannot abate her one scruple of my honour ; — I have been branded with the name of villain. Stock. Ay, sir, you mistook her character, and he mistook yours ; error begets error. Bel. Villain, Mr. Stockwell, is a harsh word. Stock. It is a harsh word, and should be unsaid. Bel. Come, come, it shall be unsaid. Stock. Or else, what follows ? Why, the sword is drawn ; and to heal the wrongs you have done to the reputation of the sister, you make an honourable amends, by murdering the brother. 80 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland Bel. Murdering ! Stock. 'Tis thus religion writes and speaks the word; in the vocabulary of modern honour, there is no such term. — But, come, I don't despair of satisfying the one, without alarming the other ; that done I have a discovery to unfold, that you will then, I hope, be fitted to receive. ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. Stockwell's House. Captain Dudley, Louisa, and Stukelv. Dud. And are those two wretches, Fulmer and his wife in safe custody ? Stuke. They are in good hands ; I accompanied them to the tavern, where your son was to be, and then went in search of you. You may be sure, Mr. Stockwell will inforce the law against them as far as it will go. Dud. What mischief might^heir cursed machina- tions have produced, but for this timely discovery ! Lou. Still I am terrified ; I tremble with appre- hension, lest Mr. Belcour's impetuosity, and Charles's spirit, should not wait for an explanation, but drive them both to extremes, before the mistake can be un- ravelled. Stuke. Mr. Stockwell is with them, madam, and you have nothing to fear ; — you cannot suppose he would ask you hither, for any other purpose, but to celebrate their reconciliation, and to receive Mr. Bel« cour's atonement. 4* r.] THE WEST INDIAN. 81 Dud. No> no, Louisa, Mr. StockwelPs honour and discretion guard you against all danger or offence. He well knows we will endure no imputation on the honour of our family j and he certainly has invited us to receive satisfaction on that score in an amicable way. Lou. Would to heaven they were returned ! Stuke. You may expect them every minute ; — and gee, madam, agreeably to your wish, they are here. [Exit* Enter Charles ; afterwards Stockwell and O Flaherty. . Lou. O Charles, O brother ! how could you serve me so ? how could you tell me, you was going to Lady Rusport's, and then set out with a deign of fighting Mr. Beicour ? But where is he j where is your anta- gonist I Stock. Captain, I am proud to see you ; and you, Miss Dudley, do me particular honour. We have been adjusting, sir, a very extraordinary ar.d danger* ous mistake, which, I take for granted, my friend Stukely has explained to you Dud. He has — I have too goGd an opinion of Mr. Beicour, to believe he could b; guilty of a designed affront to an innocent girl ; and I am much too well acquainted with your character, to suppo e you could abet him in such design ; I have no doubt, thei fore, all things will be set to right- in a ven few words, when we have the pleasure ot seeing ftftr. Beicour. Stock. He has only stepped .mo the ccmpting- house, and will wait upon you directly, You will not be over strict, madam, in weighing Mr Belcour's conduct to the minutest ^crupit , his manners, pas- sions, and opinions, are not a> yet assimilated to this climate; he comes among t you a new character, an inhabitant of a new world, and both ho pitality, as well as pity, recommend him to our indulgence. 82 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. Enter Belcour — bows to Miss Dudley. Bel. I am happy, and ashamed, to see you ; — no man in his senses would offend you ; I forfeited mine, and erred against the light of the sun, when I over- looked your virtues ; but your beauty was predomi- nant, and hid them from my sight ; — I now perceive, I was the dupe of a mot improbable report, and humbly intreat your pardon. Lou. Think no more of it ; 'twas a mistake. Bel. My life has been composed of little else ; 'twas founded in mystery, and has continued in error : — I was once given to hope, Mr Stockw ell, that you was to have delivered me from these difficulties, but either I do not deserve your confidence, or I was deceived in my expectations. Stock. When this lady has confirmed your pardon, I shall hold you deserving of my confidence. Lou. That wa5 granted the moment it was a^ked. Bel. To prove my title to his confidence, honour me so far with yours, as to allow me a few minutes conversation in private with you. [She turn} to her Father. Dud. By all meany, Louisa; — come, Mr. Stock well, let us go into another room. Charles And now, Major O' Flaherty, I claim your promise, of a sight of the paper, that is to unravel this conspiracy of my aunt Ru port's. I think I have waited with great patience. O'Fla. I have been endeavouring to call to mind what it was I overheard ; I have got the paper, and will give you the be t account I can of the whole transaction. [Exeunt. Bel. Miss Dudley, I have solicited this audience, to repeat to you my penitence and confusion : How shall I atone ? What reputation can I make to you and virtue ? Lou. To me there's nothing due, nor any thing de* Act V.] THE WEST INDIAN. 8S manded of you but your more favourable opinion for the future, if you should chance to think of me ; upon the part of virtue, lam not empowered tospcak', but if hereafter, as you range through life, you should surprise her in the person of some wretched female, poor as myself, and not so well protected, enforce not your advantage, complete not your licentious triumph ; but raise her, rescue her from shame and sorrow, and reconcile her to herself again. Bel. I will, I will. As I now cease to view you in that false light I lately did, can you cease also to reflect upon the libertine addresses I have paid you, and look upon me as your reformed your rational admirer ? Lou. Ate sudderf reformations apt to last ? and how can I be sure the first fair face you meet will not en- snare affections so unsteady, and that I shall not lose you lightly as I gained you ? Bel. I know I am not worthy your regard ; I know 1 am tainted with a thousand faults, sick of a thousand follies ; but there's a healing virtue in your eyes, that makes recovery certain ; I cannot be a villain in your arms. Lou. That you never can be : whomever you shall honour with your choice, my life upon't, that woman will be happy. Bel. Oh, .seal it with your hand, then, loveliest of women; confirm it with your heart: make me honour- ably happy, and crown your penitent, not with your pardon only, but your love. Lou. My love ! Enter O 1 Flaherty; afterwards Dudley and Charles, with Stockwell. O'Fla. Joy, joy, joy ! sing, dance, leap, laugh for joy. Ha'done making love, and fall down on your knees, to every saint in the calendar, for they are all on your side, and honest St. Patrick at the head of them. 84 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland, Charles O Louisa, such an event ! by the luckiest chance in life, we have di covered a wili of my grand- father's, made in hi;; last illness, by which he cut, off my aunt Rusport, with a small annuity, and leaves me heir to his whole estate, with a fortune of fifteen thou- sand pounds to yourself. Lou. What is it you tell me ? O sir, instruct me to support this unexpected turn of fortune. [To her Father. Dud. Name not fortune, 'tis the work of provi- dence ; 'tis the justice of heaven, that would not suf- fer innocence to be oppressed, nor your base aunt to prosper in her cruelty and cunning. {A Servant whispers Be lc our, and he goes out* O'Fla. You shall pardon me, Captain Dudley, but you must not overlook St. Patrick neither, for, by my soul, if he had not put it into my head to slip behind the screen, when your righteous aunt and the lawyer were plotting together, I don't see how you would ever have come at the paper there, that Master Stock- well is reading. Dud. True, my good friend, you are the father of this discovery, but how did you contrive to get this will from the lawyer ? O'Fla. By force, my dear, the only way of getting any thing from a lawyer's clutches. Stock. Well, Major, when he brings his action of assault and battery against you, the least Dudley can do is to defend you with the weapons you have put ' into his hands. Charles. That I am bound to do, and after the hap* piness I shall have in sheltering a father's age from the vicissitudes of life, my next delight will be in of- fering you an asylum in the bosom of your country. O'Fla. And upon my soul, my dear, 'tis high time 1 was there, for 'tis now thirty long years since I sat foot in my native country, and by the power of St. Patrick I swear I think its worth all the rest of the world put together. Act T.J THE WEST INDIAN. 8G Dud. Ay, Major, much about that time have I been beating the round of service, and 'twere well for us both to give over ; we have stood many a tough gale, and abundance of hard blow-, but Charles shall lay us up in a little private, but afe harbour, where we'll rest from our labours, and peacefully wind up the remainder of our days. O'YIa. Agreed, and you may take it as a proof of my esteem, young man, that Major O'Flaherty ac- cepts a favour at your hands, for, by heaven, I'd sooner starve than jay I thank you, to the man I des- pise : but I believe you are an honest lad, and I'm glad you've trounc'd the old cat, for, on my con- science, I believe I must otherwise have married her myself, to have let you in for a share of her fortune. Stock. Hey day, what's become of Belcour ? Lou. One of your servants called him out just now, and seemingly on some earnest occasion. Stock. I hope, Miss Dudley, he has atoned to you as a gentleman ought. Lou. Mr. Belcour, sir, will always do what a gen«« tleman ought, and in my case I fear only you will think he has done too much. Stock. What has he done ? and what can be too much ? Pray heaven it may be as I wish ! [Aside. Dud. Let us hear it, child. Lou. With, confusion for my own unworthiness, I confess to you he has offered me Stock. Himself. Lou. 'Tistrue. Stock. Then I am happy ; all my doubts, my cares are over, and I may own him for my son. Why, these are joyful tidings ; come, my good friend, assist me in disposing your lovely daughter to accept this returning prodigal ; he is no unprincipled, no har- dened libertine : his love for you and virtue is the same. Dud, 'Twere vile ingratitude in me to doufct his merit — what says my child ? I 86 THE WEST INDIAN. [Cumberland. 0"Fla. Begging your pardon now, 'tis a frivolous sort of a que rion, that of yours, for you may see plainly enough by the young lady's looks, that she gay.-, a great deal, though she speaks never a word„ Charles. Well, sister, I believe the Major has fairly interpreted the state of your heart. Lou. I own it ; and what must that heart be, which Jove, honour, and beneficence, like Mr. Belcour's, can make r.o impression on ? Stock. I thank you ; What happiness has this hour brought to pa s ! O Fla. Why don't we all sit down to supper, then* ana make a night on't. Stock. Hold, here comes Belcour. Enter Belcour, introducing Miss RusPORT. Bel. Mr. Dudley, here is a fair refugee, who pro* perly come., under your protection ; -he is equipped for Scotland, but your good fortune, which I have related to her, seems inclined to save you both the journey— Nay, madam, never go back: you are a- mong.st friends. Charles. Charlotte ! Mi j j R. The same ; that fond, officious, girl, that haunti you every where : that persecuting spirit — — Charles Say, rather, that protecting angel; >.uch you have been to me. Miss R. O, Charles, you have an hone-t, but proud heart. Charles. Nay, chide me not, dear Charlotte. Bel. Seal up her lips, then ; she is an adorable girl ; her arms are open to you ; and love and happi- ne- are ready to receive you. Charles. Thus, then I claim my dear, my destined wife. j Embracing her. Enter Lady Rusport. Lady R. Hey day ! mighty fine ! wife, truly ! mighty well ! kissing, embracing—did ever any thing Act *) THE WEST INDIAN, at equal this ? Why, you shameless hussy ! — But I won't condescend to waste a word upon you. You, sir, you, Mr. Stockwell ; you fine, sanctified, fair-deal- ing man of conscience, is this the principle you trade upon ? is this your neighbourly system, to keep a house of reception for runaway daughters, and young beggarly fortune hunters ? O'Fla. Be advistd now, and don't put yourself in such a passion ; we were all very happy till you came. Lady R. Stand away, sir ; hav'n't I a reason to be in a passion ? O'Fla. Indeed, honey, and you have, if you knew all. Lady R. Come, madam, I have found out your haunts ; dispose yourself to return home with me. Young man, let me never see you within my doors again : Mr. Stockwell, I shall report your behaviour, depend on it. Stock. Hold, madam, I cannot consent to lose Miss Ru -port's company this evening, and I am per- suaded you won't insist upon it ; 'tis an unmotherly action to interrupt your daughter's happiness in this manner, believe me it is. Lady R. Her happiness, truly ! upon my word ! and I suppose it's an unmotherly action to interrupt her ruin ; for what but ruin must it be to marry a beggar ? I think my bister had a proof of that, sir, when she made choice of you. [To Captain Dudley. Dud. Don't be too lavish of your spirits, Lady Ru sport. O'Fla. By my soul, you'll have occasion for a sip of the cordial elixir by and by. Stock. It don't appear to me, madam, that Mr. Dudley can be called a beggar. Lady R. ~ am apt to think a pair of colours cannot furnish set- tlement quite sufficient for the heir of Sir Stephen B.usport. 12 b* THE WEST INDIAN. {Cumberland Miss jR. But a good estate, in aid of a commission * may do something. Lady R. A good estate, truly ! where should he get a good estate pray ? Stock. Why, suppose now a worthy old gentleman, on his death-bed, should have taken it in his mind to leave him one Lady R. Hah ! what's that you say ? O'FIa. O ho ! you begin to smell a plot, do you ? Stock. Suppose there should be a paper in the world, that runs thus—" I do hereby give and be- queath all my estates, real and personal, to Charles Dudley son of my late daughter Loui?a, See. &c. &c." Lady R. Why, I am thunderstruck! by what con* trivance, what viliany did you get possession of that paper ? Stock. There was no viliany, madam, in getting possession of it ; the crime was in concealing it, none in bringing it to light. Lady jR. Oh, that cursed lawyer, Varland ! Q'Fla. You may say that, 'faith ; he is a cursed lawyer ; and a curbed piece of work 1 had to get the paper from him : your ladyship now was to have paid him five thousand pounds for it ; I forced him to give it me of his own accord, for nothing at all, at all. Lady R. Is it. you that have done this ? am I foil- ed by your blundering cotrivances, after all ? OFia. 'Twas a blunder, 'faith, but as natural a one as if I had made it o'purpose. Charles. Come let us not oppress the fallen ; do right even now, and yon shall have no cause to com- plain. Lady K. Am I become an object of your pity", then ? Insufferable ! confusion light amongst you ! marry, and.be wretched : let me never see you more. [Exit. Miss R. She is outrageous ; I suffer for her, and blush to see her thus exposed. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 005 661 313 4