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COH&ADy JKD CO'S. KBlYlOS 0* $ 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 A COMEDY, 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS, 
 AS PERFORMED AT THE 
 
 NEW-THEATRE, PHILADELPHIA. 
 By FREDERICK"*REYNOLD3. 
 
 FIRST AMERICAN, 
 MOM THE SIXTH BRITISH EDITION* 
 
 Philadelphia : 
 
 Published by John Conrad, & Co. No. 30, 
 
 Chesnut Street — Michael, fcf John Con- 
 
 rad, t^Co. No. 140, Market Street, 
 
 Baltimore— & Rapin, Conrad, 
 
 43* Co. Washington City. 
 
 1802. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
.TT3 Lr 
 
3&<&3&^&^&^&3&<&<&<&<&^&<&^&^&0<3&€& 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Sir Harry Torpid, Messrs. Bernard, 
 Gabriel Lackbrain, - Blisset. 
 
 Primitive, - Warren. 
 
 Marchmont, - - Fuller ton. 
 
 Craftly, - Francis* 
 
 Clifford, ... Jones. 
 
 Waiter, - Milbourne. 
 
 William, - Dxjrang. 
 
 Jenkins, - Prig more, 
 
 Jonathan, - - - Usher. 
 
 James, ... Hammond. 
 
 Servant, - Master Lynch. 
 
 Mrs. Belford, - Mrs. Shaw. 
 
 Rofa, - - Miss We stray. 
 
 Mrs. Decoy, - Mrs* Oldmixon. 
 
 Betty, - - Mrs. Lynch. 
 
 SCENE— A Sea-Port Town, and the Neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 &®&&©&000^>^0&&^0^^ 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 WniffEX BT J FRIEND, 
 
 N. 
 
 i ature's a worn-out coat — her comic vein 
 Bards following bards haveturn'd and turn'd again — 
 Can you expetSt it as bran new — as when 
 'Twas firft cut out by Shakfpeare and old Ben ? 
 They had in aid of their fupericr art, 
 The nap of novelt/ on every part. 
 Would we a braggart paint, abfurd and vain, 
 We can but drefs up Piftol o'er again ; 
 And change, like variations to old tunes, 
 His old flafh'd breeches into pantaloons ; 
 Or would we reftlefs jealoufy attack, 
 Kitely's turn'd coat muft fit a, modern back. 
 Will you not therefore fpare us, who tho' lothj 
 Muft cut our coat according to our cloth. 
 Full fifteen years has your refponfive fmile 
 And cheering roar repaid our author's toil. 
 Think what laborious pangs, what lols of reft: 
 To furnifh out an annual crop of jeft— 
 iC If jeft it can be call'd, which jeft is none," 
 Till your kind hands its dubious merits own. 
 But fhould, perchance, one year of dreary dearth 
 To dullneis turn our author's wifh'd for mirth; 
 Tho* now condemn'd by your impartial laws, 
 His grateful homage own your paft applaufc. 
 
L I 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE — Outside of CraftLy',s Library y 
 View of the Toivn y the Sea, be. 
 
 Enter Marchmont (with a Manuscript in his 
 Hand) and Rosa. 
 
 ROSA* 
 
 V-^HEER up, cheer up, my father! surely 
 this should be a day of joy. 
 
 March, It should ; but 'twill not be ; I have 
 out-toiled my strength. 
 
 Rosa. You have. For ten long years the 
 produce of your pen has been our sole sup- 
 port ; and for these six months past the la- 
 bour of the brain has been unceasing ; night 
 after night has been devoted to that one com- 
 position (pointing to the manuscript in March- 
 mont's hand J. But now the book is finished* 
 and yonder lives the gentleman who by the 
 purchase of it will recompense you amply* 
 Look, there's the library ; will not that re- 
 vive you, father? 
 
 March. It will ; for thence will come forth 
 gold ; and, oh ! my child, you know too well 
 how much we stand in need of it. 
 A2 
 
6 LIFE. 
 
 Rosa. I do indeed ; and, if I dare advise, 
 out of the little profit that produces, store 
 up a part, my father. 
 
 March. No ; 'tis already disposed of— all 
 devoted, and to the best of purposes — to 
 make you happy, Rosa ; to place you far a- 
 bove the frowns of fortune. There (giving 
 her a newspaper), read ; read that advertise- 
 ment ; 'tis of my inserting* 
 
 Rosa, (reading). " Wanted, as a teach- 
 " er to a young person of the age of sixteen, 
 w a lady who will instruct her in music and 
 « drawing, on moderate terms. Apply at 
 " the Priory, near Ashdown." — How I this 
 for me, my father ? 
 
 March. Yes ; 'tis for you I have encoun- 
 tered such unusual toil. Think not that van- 
 ity's my motive : but consider, child, my 
 health's precarious ; and when I am gone, 
 what will become of thee ? 
 
 Rosa. O i cease, Sir, cease to talk thus. 
 
 March. Nay, we are now prepared : for 
 mistress once of these fine arts, you may in- 
 sure a livelihood by instructing others : as 
 tutoress, you may procure an honest, ample 
 income ; and your father — yes, my Rosa> 
 death will lose half its terrors at recollection 
 that my child's provided for. 
 
 Rosa. Death 1— oh ! in pity, Sir — I can't 
 exist without you — what, what will money 
 yield me ? — remember, when I've lost you, 
 I am bereft of all that's dear to me on earth 
 — I have no mother to— 
 
 March. Mother !— have a care ! — have I 
 not charged you on your life never to breathe 
 that deadly, harrowing word ? 
 
LIFE. 7 
 
 Rosa. You have; but the occasion called 
 it forth; but 'tis indeed most hard that I'm 
 to know no more, than that she's in her grave. 
 O ! let me once again entreat you to impart 
 her history ; give me each circumstance ; or, 
 if you will not tell me how she lived, inform 
 me how she died. 
 
 March, (sternly.) Well then, she died of a 
 broken heart. 
 
 Rosa. What ! she was wronged ? 
 
 March. She was ; by a villain, a most aban- 
 doned villain. • 
 
 Rosa. Oh ! may Heaven pour down its choi- 
 cest vengeance — 
 
 March. ( laying hold of her hand. ) Hold! his 
 punishment is equal to his crimes — 'tis in his 
 head! his heart!— it gnaws, it maddens, it 
 consumes him! — Fear not, my girl, I — I can 
 answer for his sufferings; hell knows no tor- 
 ments like them. 
 
 Rosa. What i you avenged her wrong ?•— ~ 
 noble, virtuous man! 
 
 March. Virtuous ! — death and shame ! — 
 Hear me, Rosa; hitherto I have commanded 
 silence on this subject, now I implore it ; if 
 you've one spark of pity for your distracted 
 father, never, never, name your mother. 
 Virtuous ! — oh ? my child (weeps and lays his 
 head on her neck.) 
 
 Rosa. Weil, well, compose yourself: from 
 this hour depend upon my silence. 
 
LIFE. 
 
 Enter Craftly and Jenkins, from the 
 Library* 
 
 Craft. Come along, Jenkins ; come from 
 the crowd in the library, and I'll tell you such 
 a secret. — Heh ! that scribbler Marchmont \ 
 what brings him here ? 
 
 March, Mr. Craftly, may I entreat a word 
 with you?— I must inform you, Sir, that hi- 
 therto I have maintained myself and this un- 
 equalled child, by what my publications have 
 produced from men of your profession in the 
 capital. 
 
 Craft. Well, Sir, and what's this to me I 
 
 March, You shall hear, Sir. This day I 
 have completed a new work, which, from the 
 nature and locality of the subject, I offer first 
 to you. It is a Satire on Extortioners ; and 
 is intended to expose that selfish, ravenous 
 set, who, pirate-like, plunder each stranger 
 that frequents our coast. 
 
 Craft, And you want me to buy it ?— ha I 
 ha !— Do you hear him, Jenkins ? he supposes 
 I deal in books. 
 
 March, Why, don't you keep a library, Sir? 
 
 Craft, To be sure I do ; but there's every 
 thing going forward in it but reading Look, 
 take a peep at them. One half of the com- 
 pany, you see, are making love, or talking 
 scandal ; and the other buying trinkets, or 
 shaking the dice-box. Books indeed! why 
 one would be enough for your frequenters of 
 a watering-place ; first, because most of them 
 
LIFE. 9 
 
 Eever read at all ; secondly, because I doubt 
 whether many of them can re< 1 ; and third- 
 ly, because those who do, so soon forget eve- 
 ry line of the author, that one volume is a 
 library to them. 
 
 March. Nay, Sir, but when you reflect on 
 the tendency of the production — 
 
 Craft. Psha ; hang the tendency : write a pa- 
 negyric on the glorious art of raining, and 
 then perhaps I'll talk to you. See ! see how 
 the flats bite ! — all pulling out their cash, all 
 putting down their names :— that's the ma- 
 nuscript, that's the real productive writing ; 
 and I'll bet, I get more by my evening raffles 
 than ever booksellers got by Milton or Shaks- 
 peare. Besides, you are alive : if you want 
 your book to sell, you should shoot your- 
 self. An author never lives till he dies. So, 
 to London — send your work back to London, 
 
 March. I will ; for there (thank Heaven !) 
 a library is still the seat of study and of learn- 
 ing:, and never was yet prostituted to gaming 
 and chicanery. — Come, Rosa, let us return to 
 the Priory. 
 
 Craft. Take care, Sir - 9 remember that Pri- 
 ory belongs to my ward Gabriel ; that the 
 rent is small, in consideration of its ruinous 
 state ; recollect there are arrears. 
 
 March, I know ; but he's too liberal—. 
 
 Craft. He! what has he to do with it? don't 
 I turn him round my finger ? So be on your 
 guard, Sir ; and instead of satirizing extor- 
 tioners, extol raining. 
 
 March. Never, Sir; for though my toil's 
 incessant, and my gains small, I will not pro- 
 fit by corrupting morals; and I would rather 
 
10 LIFE. 
 
 welcome beggary or famine, than pen a line 
 to injure virtue, or degrade myself. Come, 
 my child ; we've been perhaps too sanguine ; 
 but we will not despair, 
 
 [Exit with Rosa. 
 
 Craft. Insolent gazeteer! — but I'll humble 
 him; yes, yes, I've already laid a train for 
 him. — 'And now for the secret ; what new 
 master-stroke do you think this clever little 
 o6lavo ( pointing to his head) has atchieved 
 this morning ? Mrs. Decoy, a widow of fa- 
 mily and fashion, first cousin to a baronet of 
 ten thousand a year, has consented to mar- 
 ry Gabriel. 
 
 Jenk. What, your ward ? 
 
 Craft. Aye : Mr Primitive, his rich uncle 
 in Jamaica, desired me to select a wife for 
 him, and I've done it : the widow has consent- 
 ed, and Gabriel is at this moment paying his 
 first addresses to her. 
 
 Jenk. Impossible : a woman of family and 
 expectations marry such a rustic ! 
 
 Craft. That's it — that's the very reason. 
 She says she is tired of town life, and town 
 lovers ; and therefore selects Gabriel for his ru- 
 ral simplicity \ But I don't care about the 
 motive : she's to give me twelve hundred 
 pounds for my consent, and a third of what 
 Mr. Primitive settles on her into the bargain ; 
 now that's what I call a good morning's raffle. 
 
 Gabr. (without.) " Come, let us dance 
 and sing — " 
 
 Craft. He comes, the enamoured swain ap* 
 pears. Now we shall hear how the courtship 
 went on. 
 
X 
 LIFE. H 
 
 Enter Gabriel, singing. 
 
 Gabr. " While all the village bells shall 
 ring — It's a match, guardy !— the great lady- 
 consents : I'm a great man, you're another, 
 and you shall be another Jenkins. 
 
 Craft. Bravo i excellent! — What, and you 
 like the thoughts of matrimony now ? 
 
 Gabr. Hugely— I thought at first it would 
 lead to wrangling and quarrelling ; but — he ! 
 he ! he 1 — I find that's all a mistake ; for 
 the moment we are united, that moment we 
 are divided. 
 
 Craft. Divided ! 
 
 Gabr. Yes : a husband mustn't sit next to 
 his'.wife at table, nor hand her out of a room, nor 
 dance with her. In short, he must'ntbe seen 
 with her : — •"■ So," says she, u we can't quar- 
 " rel if we don't meet, you know." — u No," 
 says I ; " and, at that rate, if a* man wishes 
 never to see a woman, " ecod! he can't do 
 better than marry her ; so, send for the par- 
 son, become Mrs. Gabriel Lackbrain ; and 
 u then, you know, I bid you good-bye for 
 life." 
 
 Craft. Well, and what did she say then ? 
 
 Gabr. Why, she laughed, and talked of her 
 accomplishments ; reminded me of her finish- 
 ed education, and spoke a good deal of one 
 Meters and one Tasio, 
 
 Craft. Psha ! it's the same person— -Metas- 
 tasio, — Dolt ! blockhead ! 
 
 Gab. Blockhead! how could I help it? didn't 
 you bring me up among the mountains? And 
 
12 LIFE. 
 
 ■ i 
 
 so I told her — says I — u I know nothing of 
 either of these Roman warriors, and I don't 
 see why I should • Latin won't teach me to 
 sow barley, or Greek to fatten a pig." — Says It 
 " I'm no foreigner ; I can write and read my 
 native language ; and I wish, with all my 
 soul, your great scholars could say the same." 
 
 Craft. You did, did you ? — then she laugh- 
 ed again, I suppose ? 
 
 Gabr. She did consumedly. But to con- 
 clude, she told me, though she preferred the 
 country, I might visit London ; and that her 
 cousin the rich baronet, would introduce me to 
 all the first circles. This, you may be sure, 
 won my heart ; for I had always a buckish 
 turn, you know. So weftruckthe match; she 
 sent for the Clergyman — 
 
 Craft. Sent for the Clergyman ! — We'll go 
 directly, and, by way of settlement, read the 
 letter of Mr. Primitive. Odsheart! she's the 
 very woman he'd select ; so disgusted with 
 London ! so devoted to the country !— Oh ! 
 she'll have a thousand charms for him ; — and 
 what's better, she'll have more than twelve 
 hundred for me (aside. J — So, come, you 
 rogue, come and be married. 
 
 Gabr. Aye, the sooner the merrier, I say ; 
 for I do so long to see the baronet, and visit 
 London : and when I get there, dang it, how 
 I'll astonish these cocknies ! I know they look 
 upon us countrymen as a parcel of comeys 
 and doeyes, that can only clap our hands up- 
 on our hearts and talk of conscience, inno- 
 cence, and nature : but they shan't wrong us 
 in that manner ; they shan't suppose us so 
 much behindhand ; for I'll convince them 
 
LIFE. 
 
 15 
 
 there's more love-making in our woods than 
 in their squares ; more drinking in our ale- 
 houses than in their taverns ; and for speculat- 
 ing, and shaking a dice-box, you can satisfy 
 
 them about that you know, guardy But now 
 
 for the great lady.—" Come let us dance and 
 sing, &c. 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE — A room in the Hotel. 
 Enter Clifford and Waiter, 
 
 Clif. You're sure there's no such person 
 just arrived? 
 
 Wait. I'm sure there's no lady in the house 
 of that description : but if such a one should 
 arrive you may depend on the earliest intelli- 
 gence from the best of waiters in the best of 
 hotels in the best of watering places. 
 
 Cli f- That's right; and here's an earnest 
 ot my future bounty (giving him money). Be 
 wary now, for my existence depends upon re- 
 covering her. I came from London in pur- 
 suit of her, and she certainly took this very 
 road. But, in the mean time, lay the cloth 
 in the dining-room (opens door in back scene). 
 Why, here's company .—(Sir Harry Tor- 
 pid discovered sitting in a chair, with a 
 newspaper in his hand, fast asleep. A table close 
 to htm, with wine and glasses on it.) 
 
 Wait. No Sir, the gentleman's just going. 
 He came here about two hours ago, intending 
 to enjoy our sea breezes for a fortnight ; but* 
 B 
 
14 LIFE. 
 
 as usual, he is already tired, and will be off 
 again in a moment. 
 
 Clif. Indeed !— Why, 'tis Sir Harry Torpid. 
 
 Wait, It is, Sir: and between ourselves* I 
 fancy he is a little tired of himself, for he 
 bribes the post -boys to drive like madmen till 
 he gets to a place ; and, when there, behold 
 how it ends ! — in snoaring over a newspaper, 
 whilst the same boys are preparing to drive 
 him equally fast back again. 
 
 Clif. Yes, I've known him long ; and the 
 cause of all this is, his having nothing to do. 
 ——But he wakes ; I'll talk to him ; leave us. 
 
 [Exit Waiter. 
 
 Sir H. (Yawning and stretching out his arms) 
 Aw 1 aw ! — still in this infernal place 1 still 
 alone ! still — (rises) — Damme ! I'll be off. 
 I'll try Tunbridge again : to be sure I've been 
 there already twice this summer : however, 
 any where but where I am. Here, waiter, a 
 chaise and four again. 
 
 Clif. What, Sir Harry, have you forgotten— 
 
 St* H. What, Jack! Jack Clifford !— my 
 dear fellow, you've just come in time ; I was 
 reduced to the last extremity ; had taken my 
 after-dinner snooze, read the advertisements 
 twice over ; and, except paying the bill and 
 wrangling with the waiter, had'nt a single 
 hope on earth. — But now ! sit down and finish 
 the bottle, my boy. 
 
 Clif Why, you're a strange creature, Sir 
 Harry 1 but yesterday I saw you in Pall Mall. 
 
 Sir H. Yes, and very likely there you may 
 see me again to-morrow. I'm sick to death 
 of these sea-port towns* One goes to the li- 
 braries, the card-rooms, and the tea-rooms j 
 
LIFE. 15 
 
 unci nothing interests, nobody seems alive*— 
 Upon my soul, Jack, if these sea cormorants 
 didn't continually compel me to pat my hands 
 in my pockets, I should'nt know that I was 
 alive myself. But you, what is your pursuit 
 here ? 
 
 Clif The most tormenting one in the world 
 •—love, Sir Harry. 
 
 Sir H. Love ! Oh, how I envy you ! what 
 would I give to be in love ! 
 
 Clif. Don't, don't think of it ; it has made 
 me miserable. 
 
 Sir H. So much the better : that's what \ 
 want : and if I could but work myself into 
 a most unhappy passion — .no matter with 
 whom— «were she ever so ugly or ill-temper- 
 ed, it would still answer my purpose. 
 
 Clif. What i would a scolding wife an- 
 swer your purpose ? 
 
 Sir H. To be sure : instead of sitting a- 
 lone in a coffee-room, picking my teeth, or 
 yawning over a^newspaper ; think of having 
 a fine, active, cheerful companion, who will 
 scowl at me, snarl at me, and set my whole 
 soul in a delicious ferment ! — then, Jack, af- 
 ter an hour of delightful quarrelling, what 
 say you to the reconciliation, to the kissing 
 and making up again ? — And, to complete 
 the charming fire-side, call to mind half a 
 dozen little Sir Harries ; think of their noise^ 
 their [nursing, their expence. — Oh ! all this 
 must produce agitation ? and, were I as mi- 
 serable as you are, I should be the happiest 
 dog in England. 
 
 Clif. Psha ! you know not what you talk 
 of. Do you call it happiness to lose the ob- 
 ject you are attached to ? 
 
16 LIFE. 
 
 St* H. Lose her! 
 
 Clif. Yes, that is my case. My aunt, Mrs- 
 Clifford, lately brought with her from Swit- 
 zerland a lady of the name of Belford. At 
 first sight I loved her ; but on declaring my 
 affection, she treated me with scorn : howe- 
 ver, I persisted; and, aided by my aunt's en- 
 treaties, hoped for success ; when suddenly 
 she left the house, and fled I know not whi- 
 ther. 
 
 Sir H. What, and you pursued her? 
 
 Clif. Yes ; but hitherto in vain ; cursed 
 chance ! I can gain no tidings of her. 
 
 Sir If. All the better again : the pursuit, my 
 boy, the pursuit is every thing; and I only 
 wish somebody would run away from me. 
 
 Clif* 'Sdeath ! this trifling is ridiculous : 
 were I as weary of myself, would I not seek 
 out some employment ? 
 
 Sir H, I have ; I have tried every thing ; 
 devoted half my life, and nearly all my for- 
 tune, to racing, hunting, drinking, gaming, 
 volunteering ; in short, at the age of thirty, 
 I've so outlived every enjoyment, that if I 
 can't contrive to fall desperately in love, that 
 I may run after somebody— to be sure, there's 
 one other prospect — my creditors grow so 
 pressing, that probably I shall have to run 
 away from somebody ; and then, you know, 
 I'm comfortable; for, next to love, certainly 
 debt is most likely to keep a man in hot wa- 
 ter. 
 
LIFE. ir 
 
 Enter William. 
 
 'Clif. Well, Sir, have you been more fortu- 
 nate than your master ! have you any news 
 of the runaway I 
 
 Will. Yes, Sir; a lady answering Mrs. Bel* 
 ford's description, was seen this morning at 
 a farm-house about eight miles off. 
 
 Clif. Indeed !— my hopes revive, and she 
 shall answer for her haughty conduct. Come, 
 shew me the way. 
 
 Sir H. What, will you leave me alone, 
 Jack? 
 
 Clif. You ! why I thought you were going 
 to Tunbridge. 
 
 Sir H. Yes ; but I'd rather go with you* 
 It will be luxury to the solitude of a pos.t- 
 chaise ; and, besides, who knows but this is 
 the very woman I'm to fall in love with. 
 
 Clif. Have a care, Sir ; cross me in my 
 passion, and — 
 
 Sir H. You'll blow my brains out ? — There 
 I defy you ; for, if I thought I had any, I 
 should have done them that honour many 
 years ago. But come now, a friend may be 
 useful ; you may want. his advice, his assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Clif. Well, I don't like to part with you ; sa 
 allons. 
 
 Sir H. Allons : and now I start fair again. 
 
 —But hold, hold — all right and honourable, 
 
 I hope ? — One had better do nothing, than do 
 
 badly : and, to fight against time, a mart 
 
 B 2 
 
18 LIFE. 
 
 must sleep of nights— aye, and of days too :. 
 so remember, Jack, you found me sleeping ; 
 and don't, by drawing me into a bad action, 
 deprive me of the best friend I have in the 
 -world. 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 S C E N E — A room at Mrs. decoy's. 
 Enter Mrs. decoy, and betty. 
 
 Mrs. D. Ha I ha ! the day's our own:— 
 they're snared, they're caught ; and your ru- 
 in'd mistress will once more roll in wealth 
 and splendour. 
 
 Betty. She will, Madam ; and all owing to 
 your coming to this town on a matrimonial 
 speculation. 
 
 Mrs. D. Matrimonial speculation indeed, 
 Betty 1 — Yes, when a run of luck had redu- 
 ced me to the last shilling, didn't I tell you 
 I would go to a watering place, and save 
 myself by catching a golden calf ? — And I've 
 succeeded ; and how ! — simply, by telling 
 Mr. Craftly I was heiress to a rich baronet ; 
 devoted to retirement ; and would give him 
 twelve hundred pounds, and a third of what's 
 settled on me, merely for his trouble in con- 
 senting. 
 
 Betty. I know. But are you sure of your 
 husband's wealth. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, there you may trust me. 
 His uncle, now in Jamaica, lately changed 
 
LIFE. 19 
 
 m, ■ ■ II ill I ■■■ ■ I 
 
 his name to Primitive, for a fortune of two 
 hundred thousand pounds ; and, in conse- 
 quence of his daughter's death, adopted his 
 nephew Gabriel, and appointed Mr. Craftly 
 his guardian — and a rare guardian he is ! 
 While he is nightly picking up a few pounds 
 at his library, here have I, at one throw, 
 raffled myself into a provision for life. 
 
 Betty. You have, Ma'am ; and I'm sure 
 Mr, Gabriel's a lucky man, 
 
 Mrs. D. That's more than I know : he's 
 but the husband of necessity : my cousin, 
 my dear Sir Harry Torpid is the object of my 
 choice.— 'But silence ! here are the two Ga- 
 bies : I must support my character. 
 
 Enter Craftly and Gabriel. 
 
 Craft, {bowing all respect^ tsfc.) Madam, 
 my ward has told me of your condescen- 
 sion ; and though you laughed at him a- 
 bout Meters and Tasio — 
 
 Gabr. Laughed at me ! Lord help you ! 
 why Mrs, Decoy isn't singular there ; and, if 
 it wouldn't make her jealous, I could tell her 
 that all the women do the same :— yes, other 
 young bucks may boast that the dear crea- 
 tures smile upon them ; but, icod ! I never 
 look them in the face that they an't in an ab- 
 solute roar, he ! he ! 
 
 Craft. True ; Gaby's an eternal source of 
 good humour. And now, if you've nothing 
 further to propose — » 
 
'20 LIFE 
 
 Mrs. B. Nothing, Sir; only, to prevent 
 the possibility of any misunderstanding. I 
 hope, Mr. Gabriel has no objections to sepa- 
 rate servants, separate incomes,— -in short, a 
 separate establishment? 
 
 Gabr. None at all, Ma'am : if you wish it, 
 I'll sign articles of separation first, and mar- 
 ry you afterwards ; I will, with all my heart 
 and soul ; that is, if Guardy approves, for I 
 always obey him. 
 
 Craft, Good boy ! and this marriage is a 
 reward for your obedience. But now to read 
 Mr. Primitive's letter, in* lieu of settlement* 
 Listen, for 'tis most important. — {reads) 
 " Dear cousin Graftly, Although I disap- 
 " prove of early marriages, (having in the 
 " person of my unfortunate daughter seen 
 " the fatal effects of them,) yet as I intend 
 " shortly to return to England, I beg you 
 " will select for Gabriel a wife of a quiet re- 
 " tired disposition ; and if, after residing 
 " with them at the cottage one twelvemonth, 
 " I approve of their conduct, I hereby pledge 
 " myself to settle on them two thousand a 
 " year during my life, and the bulk of my 
 u fortune after my decease," 
 
 Gabr. Bravo, nunky ! Dang it, we shall be 
 up to cur chins in clover, Ma'am. 
 
 Craft. Stop ; here's an awful proviso. — 
 (reads J " But if, on the contrary, I find them 
 unworthy my esteem, I shall not only revoke 
 this promise, but consider myself at liberty 
 to adopt whoever I think proper. 
 
 Paul Primitive." 
 
 Gabr. That awful ! rot it, it's main hard if 
 we can't keep worthy for a twelvemonth. Be- 
 sides, who else is he to adopt ? 
 
LIFE: 21 
 
 Craft. Who ! why, the child of this unfor- 
 tunate daughter he speaks of. Though he 
 deserted her in consequence of her marrying 
 Marchmont, he was still doatingly fond of 
 her ; and if Rosa should throw herself in her 
 grandfather's way — 
 
 Mrs. D. True ; the sight of her might re- 
 vive sensations — 
 
 Croft* Never fear ; I've been aware of all 
 that ; and Marchmont and his daughter shall 
 be kept out of the way. There are arrears of 
 rent — and neither of them shall see Mr. Pri- 
 mitive. — Mum ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, the clergyman is this mo- 
 ment arrived. 
 
 Mrs. JD. The clergyman ! Lord ! I'm so 
 embarrassed : — ar'n't you, Mr. Gabriel ? 
 
 Gabr. Why, I do feel somewhat flurried ; 
 but it's because I'm not used to it ; if I was 
 like you, I should not mind it. Lord bless 
 you, I shall be quite bold and comfortable 
 the next time I marry. But come, first for 
 the ceremony, then for the cottage. 
 
 Mrs. D. Ay, then for the cottage ; and 
 when we get there, I hope Mr. Craftly will 
 recollect that we shall want several new and 
 additional articles of furniture. 
 
 Craft. I know ; and, as it will give me a 
 consequence in the town, I beg you'll so far 
 jndulge me, that whatever either of you want 
 I may bespeak of my own tradesmen in my 
 own name. 
 
62 LIFE. 
 
 Gabr. Icod, we'll indulge you ; and to be« 
 gin, bespeak us a set of high horses and low 
 carriages. 
 
 Mrs. D. Ay ; a dashing curricle, and a 
 gay sociable. 
 
 Gabr. No, not that; because, if we've a 
 separate establishment, any thing sociable 
 will knock all up, you know. No, if we must 
 travel together, we'll have such a carriage as 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jar have — a wide post-chaise, 
 with a fine thick partition between us ; that's 
 the way to prevent wrangling. But now for 
 it; now for the clergyman; and then, Gaby, 
 receive the reward of thy youth, thy beauty, 
 and thy accomplished manners. 
 
 *ND OF THE FIRST ACT* 
 
LIFE. 23 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE — 'Outside of the Priory; distant view 
 - of the Sea ; Garden Chair. 
 
 Enter Clifford and Sir Harry Torpid, 
 hastily* 
 
 Clif. Well, but I insist — listen— hear me, 
 Sir Harry. 
 
 Sir H. I tell you I'm not Sir Harry-— I'm 
 another person — new born — just come into 
 the world \ and till this moment, never was 
 alive. 
 
 Clif. Nay, but what has occasioned it ? is 
 it because you've found the object I'm in 
 search ©f? 
 
 Sir H. No ; 'tis because I've found the ob- 
 ject I'm in search of — the thing I've been 
 looking for all my life — a woman — a lovely, 
 agitating, tormenting woman. My dear fel- 
 low, give me joy ; I'm as miserable as your- 
 self. 
 
 Clif Psha I I almost wish you were. 
 
 Sir H. Why I am— I tell you I am. But 
 you shall hear whence my good fortune arose. 
 After we had searched in vain for your runa- 
 way, I went to Craftley's library ; and, as usu- 
 al, was sitting in that listless, lifeless state, 
 when yawning filled each pause the tooth-pick 
 
24 LIFE. 
 
 left; when (lucky chancel) I was awakened 
 from my torpor by the voice of a distressed 
 female : 1 looked up, and saw the most divine, 
 fascinating, attracting little angel I tears were 
 starting from her eyes ; and, with supplicat- 
 ing hands, she was entreating that rascal 
 Craftley not to send her father to prison. 
 
 Clif. What ! and you became interested 
 for her? 
 
 Sir H. Yes : how could 1 help it ? She told 
 him, he was a poor author ; wrote for his 
 bread ; and if he arrested him for the rent he 
 owed, in his present infirm state, he must pe- 
 rish. At this, my heart, which had hitherto 
 been a sleeping partner, began bounding about 
 like a tennis-ball ; and at the same moment f 
 before she could raise her handkerchief to her 
 eyes, one of her tears fell on my hand: I 
 looked at it, and soon saw another — it was 
 my own ! the first I had ever shed. I hailed 
 the sight; and only cursed my unlucky stars, 
 I had never before known the luxury of weep- 
 ing. 
 
 Clif. Why, heyday ! this is indeed a trans- 
 formation ! — And did you speak to her ? 
 
 Sir H. I did ; and to that savage Craftly ; 
 but he was inexorable. On which, I fairly 
 told her, I had nothing to do ; my time was 
 entirely on my hands ; and if she'd give me 
 leave, I'd horsewhip him through the world. 
 To this she objected ; and not daring to offer 
 her money— and indeed the sum I had in this 
 little gentleman (producing a pocket book) being 
 too insignificant to be useful — she went away 
 hopeless and disconsolate. I instantly inquir- 
 ed all about her ; and there she lives, and 
 
LIFE. 25 
 
 here I'll Jive; and let her treat me with indif- 
 ference, I shall still be grateful. 
 
 Clif* What ! if she don't return your pas- 
 sion? 
 
 Sir H, To be sure. She has made me a 
 most unhappy, agitated being ; and that's 
 conferring an obligation I never can repay. 
 
 Clif. Psha! I'll leave you to indulge your 
 folly. And now, mark the difference between 
 us : I have resources within myself; and if I 
 fail in obtaining the object I'm in search of, I 
 shall fly to solitude for consolation. 
 
 Sir H. Don't Jack, don't think of it ; I've 
 tried it. 
 
 Clif. You tried solitude ! 
 
 Sir H. Yes ; it won't do at all. For once, 
 when I found nothing else would answer, I 
 went alone to a remote part of the Isle of 
 Wight, hired a sort of hermitage, let my 
 beard grow, and determined to dig my own 
 grave, and howl if any body came near me. 
 Well, I couldn't dress my meat, or make my 
 bed, you know ; so I was obliged to hire a 
 kind of a laundress ; and though she was 
 both old and ugly, so tired was I of myself, 
 that the sound of her feet was music to me, 
 the sight of her face transporting to me, and 
 her conversation — Oh ! I used to listen to 
 her infernal nonsense with such rapture !■— * 
 Ah i Jack, Jack, you may talk of Petrarch 
 and other anchorets living alone ; but it's 
 all an imposition ; they never got on without 
 a Laura, or some other snug thing in their 
 hermitages, you may depend on't. 
 
 Clif. Well, you're incurable ; so adieu. 
 C 
 
26 LIFE. 
 
 When I want you, I shall know where to 
 find you. 
 
 Sir H. You will ; for here I sit for life 
 (sitting in garden chair). Exit Clifford. 
 And, thank Heaven ! now I can sit still a 
 little ; for hitherto I have, been so confound- 
 ed fidgetty, that, except when sleeping, I 
 could never bring myself to an anchor for 
 two minutes together.— -Gad ! I wonder whe- 
 ther she's got home : I suppose not ; for I 
 made so much haste from the library.— {Rises, 
 and gets behind a tree.) No, she comes ! the 
 lovely, agonizing angel comes ! 
 
 Enter Rosa. 
 
 Rosa. My poor father ! how shall I tell him 
 that the interview has failed ; that the un- 
 feeling man rejects my supplications, and 
 the reward of all his labours is a prison ? A- 
 las 1 I dread to impart it. 
 
 Sir H. (advancing and bowing.) Then let me 
 do it for you, Ma'am. 
 
 Rosa. The gentleman who was so kind to 
 me at the library i 
 
 Sir H. Yes, Ma'am ; and who from this 
 hour begs to be employed by you ; who will 
 go to London for letters for you, to India 
 for muslins for you, to the north pole for furs 
 for you. 
 
 Rosa. Sir, you're very good ; but I cannot 
 think of troubling—. 
 
 Sin H. I like trouble, Ma'am; and if your 
 father want assistance, if he want an aman- 
 
LIFE* 27 
 
 uensis — to be sure I can't give him thoughts 
 or jokes — but I'll copy for him till I'm as black 
 in the face as his own ink, Ma'am. 
 
 Rosa. Sir, this kindness from a stranger, 
 from one on whom we have no claim — 
 
 Sir H. You have the strongest claim, you 
 gave me life, Ma'am ; you found me in a 
 state of apathy, inanity ; but now ! think of 
 my enviable situation ; instead of coffee-rooms 
 club-rooms, and card-rooms, I shall live in 
 the open air, kneel all night under your win, 
 dow, and rend the sky with my despair and 
 rapture ! 
 
 Rosa. How ? what mean you ? 
 
 Sir H Mean ! that, doating as I do, I 
 shall love every thing around you ; reve- 
 rence the woods that shade you, worship the 
 winds that blow upon you, and idolize the 
 littte lap-dog that barks at you. 
 
 Rosa. Sir, I don't exactly understand you: 
 —but my father expects me — good day. 
 
 Sir H. What ! you cast me from you ? 
 — Well, no matter ; you've done my bufiness, 
 and I'm equally obliged to you. 
 
 Rosa* Sir, the obligation is on my part: 
 the interest you have shewn for a most un- 
 happy parent deserves my warmest gratitude ; 
 and though, from our different fituations, it 
 is too probable we may never meet again, 
 yet be allured, Sir, I shall often think of him, 
 who, in the hour of affliction mingled his 
 tears with mine. Farewell, Sir. [Exit. 
 
 Sir H. {taking out his handkerchiefs and 
 weeping.) Farewell ! Farewell ! — I'm choaked 
 with grief, and yet never was so happy in all 
 my life. — But what shall I do ? how employ 
 
28 LIFE. 
 
 myself to serve her? — Suppose I try to "pay 
 her father's debts? — Well, no bad beginning. 
 But how ? I've only these few notes {taking 
 out a small pocket-book) ; and if I offer them, 
 it may perhaps offend. — Distress — suppose—* 
 I have it- — she's returning, she's coming this 
 way ; I'll drop it purposely that she may find 
 it. My friend (to the pocket-book) ; I filled you 
 to lay out in pleasure ; half's already gone 
 in taverns and in travelling, and you've pro- 
 cured me not one atom ; but if the other half 
 snatches a needy author from a prison, you 
 will have done your duty nobly— -yes, that 
 will indeed give pleasure. But she comes— 
 {drops the book) : I'll to the woods, and give a 
 loose to fighs and tears, and happiness une- 
 qualled. [Exit m 
 
 Re-enter Rosa, 
 
 Rosa. Not there ! my father not in the Prio- 
 ry [—where, where, can he have gone ? Surely 
 they hav'n't already — {treads on pocket-book)—* 
 What's this? — a pocket-book, and open, and 
 bank notes ! — Heavens ! how came it here ? 
 —Oh ! no doubt it belongs to the stranger ; 
 he has lost it ; dropt it by accident ; and 
 perhaps already feels distress from wanting 
 it. Where shall I find him? for, after what 
 has pa.ffed, it would be gratifying to make even 
 this small return. Ha ! he comes— no, 'tis 
 my father — and in such haste 1 and looking 
 so disordered I — 
 
LIFE, 29 
 
 Enter Marchmont, hastily. 
 
 Speak, speak, Sir ! — what has happened ? 
 
 March. So — I have outrun —escaped them 
 — Oh! {faint and overcome.) 
 
 Rosa. Merciful powers ! how pale, how wan 
 you look 1 
 
 March. I have cause : for r even now, wait- 
 ing in yonder path for your return, two men 
 approached, and seized me. They said, I 
 was their prisoner, and for rent due from the 
 Priory ; and, what is most perplexing and 
 mysterious, they offered instant freedom, 
 provided I would sail with you to some far- 
 distant land. This staggered and enraged 
 me ; I struggled with them, and, in the con- 
 flict, I escaped. But, oh ! my child, my feeble 
 frame, already worn with labour and with 
 sorrow — your hand, your hand, sweet girl. 
 
 Rosa, {leading him towards the chair). Oh ! 
 is there no way to satisfy these most unfeeling 
 men ? the debt is but a trifle. 
 
 March, No ; but, poor and friendless as I 
 am, tis more than — soft! — assist me — I can 
 go no further {falls into the garden chair). 
 
 Rosa. And must I see you perish ? — Oh, 
 my father ! live, for my sake live ! Confider 
 now our hopes are vanished, and I left alone, 
 no friend, no mother — Oh ! pardon ! pardon ! 
 I forgot, I forgot. 
 
 March, [wildly,) No mother, said you ?— 
 and why, why, at this moment, is she not 
 here to succour and console vou ? — But she's 
 C 2 
 
30 LIFE. 
 
 revenged ; for could she see me thus reduced, 
 thus on the eve of being torn from the sole 
 pledge of our affeclion — 
 
 Rosa, (flying into his arms)* You shall not; 
 we will fall together.— {Turns from him) % 
 Heavens ! when money could reflore him, is 
 there no mode? — no. — Ha! what have I here? 
 (looking at the pocket-book, which has been ail 
 the time in her hand.) Enough ; more than 
 sufficient for the purpose. — Bleffed fight I 
 —I can save him (going hastily towards 
 Marchmont), — And yet — (pauses and recol- 
 /ecta)_what am I doing ? this money is ano- 
 ther's ; and I mull not — Oh ! no, I dare not 
 touch it. 
 
 March. Hark ! they are coming !— Rosa, 
 raise me ; help, help me to avoid them, (She 
 tries to raise him, he falls back in the chair.) 
 r -No, it will not be ; I am their victim. 
 
 Rosa, (kneeling*) Oh ! Thou who watchest 
 over trembling innocence ! infiruct, direct 
 me. — There, is a parent perishing from fick- 
 ness and diilress ; here, is the remedy to save 
 him. Am I, his child, to see him suffer on ; 
 or am I, by dishoneft means, to snatch him 
 from the grave ! — (Marchmont sighs, she flies 
 to him.) My father, speak — speak to me, 
 my father! 
 
 March. I do, I do. — ( Takes her hand.) Ha ! 
 what agitates you ? what makes you tremble 
 thus? 
 
 Rosa. Guilt, father, guilt. I have the power 
 to preserve you — look, here is the money — • 
 but it is not mine, father, it is not mine. 
 
 March. Not yours ! 
 
 Rosa* No ; I found it— -nay, worse, I know 
 
L I F E. 31 
 
 whom it belongs to. Pity me — spare me — I 
 could with joy lay down my life to serve you ; 
 but I cannot — no, not e'en to save a father, 
 can I descend to actions robber-like and base. 
 
 March. What ! this is your resolution ? 
 {rises.) 
 
 Rosa. It is ; and do not blame me, Sir ; I 
 act but from the lesson you have taught me. 
 You bade me die, rather than live dishonour- 
 ed ; and Pve to thank you for the precept ; 
 for though the sure result be fatal to us both^ 
 something within assures me I am right, and 
 that the father will applaud the child who 
 welcomes death in preference to dishonour. 
 
 March, (runs and embraces her.) Come to 
 my arms — you have revived, restored me ! 
 Now I can meet imprisonment, or death ; my 
 daughter's virtue will atone for all. 
 
 Rosa. You can forgive me then ? 
 
 March. More—I can worship you ! and 
 since returning strength invigorates my frame, 
 let us not sink beneath misfortune.- — 
 
 Enter Sir Harry Torpid behind* 
 
 No, though the agent is our foe, the principal 
 may still befriend us, What say you, Rosa, 
 shall we go instantly and apply to Mr. Lack- 
 brain ? 
 
 Rosa* Most willingly : but, alas ! he's guided 
 by his guardian. 
 
 March. True ; but he oft has served me, I 
 am his debtor for more than rent. Come, 
 come, let us not despond.— (As they are going) — 
 
32 L I F E. 
 
 •: ■ * t 
 
 Sir Harry advances. 
 
 Sir H. Sir, I beg pardon ; I hope I don't 
 intrude ; but, as you seem somewhat fatigued 
 and unwell, suppose you let me apply to this 
 Mr. Whats-his-name : upon my soul I've 
 nothing better to do. 
 
 March. Sir ! 
 
 Rosa. It is the gentleman who dropt the 
 pocket-book, and I'm most happy to restore 
 it. Sir, on my return I found this — 
 
 Sir H* It's not mine, Ma'am; by all that's 
 serious, it's not mine. 
 
 Rosa. Nay, I'm convinced that it is yours - y 
 and I request — 
 
 March. And so do I, Sir; my daughter 
 must not profit by any such accident. 
 
 Sir H. Well, as you please, Sir : — but it's 
 of no use to me ; it gives me no pleasure; and 
 therefore I shall only drop it again, you may 
 depend on it. 
 
 March. That concerns not me, Sir — Come, 
 my child, you see how you've restored me. 
 And thus it ever is; let honour triumph, and, 
 like the morning sun, it will dispel the 
 mists of sorrow and despair. 
 
 [Exit with Rosa. 
 
 Sir H. So ! as proud as Lucifer, I see that. 
 — But I'll lay him under an obligation, I'm 
 determined I will — if I set his house on fire, 
 only to put it out again.— Who can he be ? 
 where can he come from? I know my old 
 flame, Mrs. Decoy, is in the town; and I'll 
 gp inquire of her directly.-— And here the 
 chace begins; yes, now I perceive why every 
 thing was tedious and uninteresting — I never 
 hunted out the unfortunate— there is the se- 
 
LIFE. 33 
 
 cret. Let a man make virtue his pursuit, and 
 he'll find life a very pleasant sport, I promise 
 him. 
 
 \ExiU 
 
 SCENE — An Apartment at Mrs. Decoy's. 
 Enter Gabriel, dressed hi White* 
 
 Gahr. Ha ! ha ! ha! what a rare jolly thing 
 matrimony is ! — If I had known it had been 
 half so comical, to be sure I would'nt have had 
 a slice of it many years ago, — And then to get 
 such a wife! Oh, I'm the luckiest fellow !— I 
 must remember I'm married though? for my 
 guardian has so hurried me into it, and I've so 
 seldom seen my spouse, that, after a glass or 
 two at dinner, I did'nt recollect her — no, icod! 
 and I trod on the toe x>f another man's wife 
 instead of my own — I must also mind on ano- 
 ther account ; no longer, Gaby, must you be 
 a gay deceiver; no more with killing glances 
 murder every heart. 
 
 Enter Mrs, Gab. Lackbrain {late Mrs. Decoy) 
 
 Mrs. L. Come, my adorable ! the curricle's 
 waiting; and as the Cottage must be our place, 
 of residence, the sooner we get there the bet- 
 ter. But you must invite the baronet ; posi- 
 tively Sir Harry is the friend of all others to 
 pass the honey -moon with us. 
 
34 LIFE. 
 
 Gabr. No doubt ; and if so great a man will 
 condescend — I tell you what — suppose you get 
 pen and ink, and write to him directly ? 
 
 Mrs L. I get pen and ink ! I write! do you 
 imagine a person of my accomplished educa- 
 tion ever devotes a moment to writing ? 
 
 Gabr. Nan ! 
 
 Mrs L. No, Sir, that is your department; 
 and whilst you ar^ keeping accounts, manag- 
 ing the house, and looking after the servants, 
 I shall be employed in more important matters 
 — in dancing, singing, playing — in short, in 
 gratifying my husbands vanity, by making 
 myself adored by all mankind. 
 
 Gabr. What ! so when I want my dinner, 
 you'll be making yourself adored by all man- 
 kind ! upon my word ! — However, you know 
 best ; and if you are so accomplished that you 
 can't write a letter, why I must do it for you. 
 So come to the Cottage, and then-— 
 
 Enter a Servant with a letter* 
 
 Serv. From Mr. Craftly, Sir : he says it is 
 of the utmost consequence. 
 
 Gabr. Indeed ! (.opens it, and reads,") — " Dear 
 44 Gabriel, Marchmont having escaped from 
 44 the bailiffs, and being now in search of you 
 44 to entreat lenity, it is absolutely necessa- 
 44 ry you should see him, and confirm what 
 44 T. have done: therefore let Mrs. Gabriel go 
 44 alone to the Cottage, and you may follow 
 44 in a few hours : for, before Mr. Primitive 
 44 arrives, both Marchmont and his daughter 
 
LIFE. 35 
 
 " must be disposed of. P. S. I have ordered 
 " all the new furniture you and your wife de~ 
 " sired." Go alone I what! part already ? 
 
 Mrs. L. Nay, you never disobey your guar- 
 dian, you know ; and 'tis but for a few hours. 
 So, shew me to the curricle, Sir (to the Ser- 
 vant.) — -And don't now, pray don't hurry 
 yourself. — Heigho 1 I'll support your absence 
 as well as I can. 
 
 Gabr. And so will I yours. — Heigho ! (in 
 imitation,) — Don't be uneasy, I won't be long. 
 
 Mrs. L. Adieu ! 
 
 Gabr. Adieu! (again in imitation, and kiss- 
 ing her hand.) 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Lackbrain and Servant. 
 
 Gabr. Oh ! Gaby, Gaby, if marriage be a 
 lottery, for certain you've drawn the thirty 
 thousand pound prize. Dang it ! how all the 
 neighbouring squires will burst with envy, to 
 know that the u country put," as they please 
 to call me, is heir to a baronet of ten thousand 
 a year ! and to hear him call me cousin, dear 
 cousin ! — Oh, how I will strut, and cut them ! 
 — I'll speak to nobody but the mayor, and to 
 him only because he has a chance of being 
 luiighted. 
 
 Enter Sir Harry Torpid. 
 
 Sir H. Not here either ! why they certainly 
 told me this was her house. 
 
 Gabr. (strutting and not seeing him.) Room, 
 room for Sir Harry's cousin (coming against 
 Sir Harry.) 
 
35 LIFE. 
 
 1..I D . II ■ « ■■ " 
 
 Sir H. Sir, I beg pardon ; but pray doe* 
 Mrs. Decoy live in this house ? 
 
 Gabr. (pompously. ) Decoy ! there's no such 
 person. 
 
 Sir H. No ! 
 
 Gabr. No ! — Ask for Mrs. Lackbrain — Mrs. 
 Gaby Lackbrain. 
 
 Sk H. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Gabr. Why, what do you grin at ? have you 
 any objection, Sir ? 
 
 Sir H. None, none on earth ; I am very 
 glad to hear it. I knew she came down here 
 on a fortune-hunting scheme, but I little 
 thought any body would be fool enough to be 
 taken in by her. 
 
 Gabr. Taken in ! why, do you know who you 
 are talking -of? do you know she's cousin to 
 a baronet ? 
 
 Sif H. I do. 
 
 Gabr. That he means to leave her ten thou- 
 sand a year? that he's soon coming to visit 
 her ? and what with hard drinking, keeping 
 him up all night, and making him ride break- 
 neck fox-chases, it's main hard if they don't 
 bury him in a fortnight ? and then you know, 
 Mr. Gaby touches every shilling. 
 
 Sir H. No he don't. 
 
 Gabr. Why? 
 
 Sir H. Because there's no shilling to touch, 
 ha ! ha ! — The baronet's as poor as she is ; 
 and Mr Gaby may bury him, but, egad ! he 
 must pay for the funeral. 
 
 Gabr. Impossible. Odratten ! who told you 
 this ? 
 
 Sir H. Himself : and, what's better, now 
 he tells you so. Sir Harry Torpid in person 
 
LIF E. 37 
 
 informs you, that the late Mrs. Decoy's over 
 head and ears in debt ; and that whoever is 
 her husband, instead of possessing ten thou- 
 sand a year, he'll be soon peeping through 
 the bars of the county gaol. 
 
 Gabr. (half crying) County ga — ol I 
 
 Sir H. Yes, 'tis too true. But where is he ? 
 where is the poor devil ? Before he's caged, 
 I should like to have a peep at him. 
 
 Gabr. Sir — Sir Harry — I — I am he (crying)* 
 
 Sir H. You i 
 
 Gabr* (crying louder). Yes, I'm Gaby ; I'm 
 the poor devil that's to peep through the iron 
 bars. Rot it i only think now, she talk'd of 
 her family and fortune ; said she'd introduce 
 me to fashionable life, and promis'd to make 
 a buck of me. 
 
 Sir H. Well, and she will make a buck of 
 you. But don't take it so to heart — don't cry 
 so, there's a little dear — I dare say you won't 
 be arrested these two hours. 
 
 Gabr. It's all my guardian's fault, all owing 
 to his precious octavo. — And see here he is 
 [looking out.) Odrabit you t how I should 
 like to be even with you. 
 
 Sir H. So he is — and as I live, the poor 
 author and his daughter with him ! — Why, 
 what brings him here ? 
 
 Gabr. Why, Mr. Marchmont owes me for 
 rent, and money lent, about two hundred 
 pounds ; and so, by my guardian's order's 
 he's also to peep through the iron bars. — 
 Zounds ! if I wasn't afraid — but there it is, 
 Sir— he rules me with a rod of iron ; and at 
 the age of twenty-four, here am I, a full 
 grown baby in leading strings. 
 G 
 
38 LIFE. 
 
 Sir H. Psha ! rouse, exert yourself ; and, 
 if you wish to be revenged, liberate this poor 
 gentleman, release him from the debt he 
 owes you, and you'll not only be even with 
 your guardian, but feel what I never felt till 
 this morning, the pleasure of being in good 
 humour with yourself. 
 
 Gabr. I've a great mind — but will you stand 
 by me ? 
 
 Sir H. That I will ; and moreover, g» 
 with you to your wife, and accommodate and 
 arrange — 
 
 Gabr* Say you so ? then I'll work myself 
 up, and pay you off old scores, you old— * 
 
 Craft, (without.) Gabriel ! where are you, 
 Gabriel ? 
 
 Gabr. There, it's all over! his voice plumps 
 me down like a thunderbolt. 
 
 Sir H. Nonsense I I'll be at your elbow. 
 Come, come, 1 saw wine in the next room ; 
 a glass or two may rouze, inspire — come, 
 this way, this way. 
 
 [Exeunt at door in flat. 
 
 Enter Craftly, Marchmokt, and Rosa. 
 
 i 
 March. What, what can be the motive for 
 this persecution ? 
 
 Craft. No matter, Sir ; you know the 
 terms : instantly go abroad with your daugh- 
 ter, or hope not to escape a second time. 
 
 March. Abroad ! what can a foreign coun- 
 try yield me ?— Without friends, without mS- 
 
 \ 
 
LIFE. 39 
 
 ney, and dependent on the labour of the brain, 
 how can I support my self ? 
 
 Rosa. Aye ; consider, Sir, to leave the 
 Priory would be parting with the only friend 
 we have ; the garden we have reared with 
 our own hands, the trees we have planted to 
 shade us in old age. 
 
 Craft. Psha ! stuff, decide instantly, or the 
 bailiffs that are now in the house — 
 
 Rosa. Oh, for mercy !-— look at him, be- 
 hold his palid countenance, his languid form 
 
 is that an object of resentment ? — (Craftly 
 turns from her.) — Nay then, I will appeal to 
 another, the principal shall answer me. 
 
 [sir harry and gaeriel appear at the 
 door in flat.— .sir harry has a bottle 
 of wine in his hand) and is filling a glass 
 for Gabriel.] 
 
 Sir H. Bravo I capital I another glass, 
 and you'll do wonders. — (Gabriel drinks it 
 
 off-) 
 
 Craft. Ay, ay, ask Gabriel ; he'll give you 
 an answer, I warrant. 
 
 Rosa, (to Gabriel, who has now come for- 
 ward with Sir Harry. Oh I on my knees 
 let me entreat you, Sir, have compassion on 
 a most unhappy parent ; and if you are not 
 so far ruled by that unfeeling man — 
 
 Sir H. (the bottle and glass still in his hand.) 
 He ruled ! pooh 1 he's his own master now— 
 ar'n't yoa Gabriel ? 
 
 Gabr. (who has hold of Sir Harry's ar)n.) 
 —Yes, I'm no longer a full-grown baby, or 
 in leading-strings, or — (Leaves Sir Harry 
 and advances, Craftly comes up to him and 
 frowns) — Yes, I am though. — (Returns to 
 
40 LIFE. 
 
 Sir Harry.) — Another bumper, or it's all 
 over again. — (Sir Harry fills, Gabriel 
 drinks.) 
 
 Craft, (following Gabriel,) What do you 
 mean, Sir ? dare you for a moment dispute 
 my authority ? 
 
 Sir H. (£0 Gabriel, who finishes the glass.) 
 — And now, instead of sending Mr, March- 
 mont abroad, or to prison, he bids me say, 
 That he not only releases him from the debt 
 he owes him ; but as to his guardian and his 
 authority — Oh ! damme, he don't care that 
 for him (snapping his fingers). 
 
 Gabr. (snapping his.) No, I don't care 
 that for you, old octavo. — (Craftly advan- 
 cing in a menacing attitude, Gabriel runs be- 
 hind Sir Harry, and speaks over his shoulder.) 
 — I don't ; Mr. Marchmont is free ; and now 
 you're raffled in your turn. 
 
 Craft. Hear me, hear me, I command. 
 Instantly call up the bailiffs that are below 
 stairs, and order them to seize him, or by 
 heaven — 
 
 Sir H. Bailiffs below stairs ! — Come along, 
 friend Gabriel : you lay hold of Mr. March- 
 mont's arm, and conduct him through the 
 myrmidons, and I'll take care of the lady : 
 and, d'ye hear, bring the bottle along with 
 you ; and once arrived at the Priory, we'll 
 drink success to the sons of genius, and con- 
 fusion to those who oppress them. 
 
 Gabr. With all my heart. Here goes [fills 
 a glass, and drinks) ; Success to myself, and 
 confufion to those who oppress me. 
 
 Craft. Death and fire ! I'll go directly to 
 Mrs. Lackbrain ; I'll — • 
 
L I F E. < 1 
 
 Enter Jenkins. 
 
 Jenk. Fm sorry to be the bearer of unwel- 
 come news ; but several tradesmen are below, 
 who have sent in large lots of furniture to the 
 Cottage, and they infist on receiving their 
 money direclly. 
 
 Craft. Ay! I'm glad of that; now comes 
 my triumph. Pay, husband, pay for your 
 wife's furniture. 
 
 Jenk. No, Sir : they say Mrs. Lackbrain is 
 considerably in debt; that she came down 
 here on a matrimonial speculation ; and 
 therefore, as you ordered in the furniture in 
 your own name, they look to you, and you 
 alone, for payment. 
 
 Gabr. (spitting out wine he had been drinking.) 
 Icod ! he'll peep through the iron bars before 
 me, ha! ha ! 
 
 Sir H. Yes, and he may call up the bailiffs 
 to arrest himself now, ha! ha ! ha! — But lead 
 on, and don't despond, friend Gabriel. 
 
 Gabr. Not I: if I've got one troublesome 
 companion by the bargain, I'm sure he has 
 got a couple ; and a man may by accident get 
 rid of a wife, but the devil himself can't shake 
 off John Doe and Richard Roe ; icod ! they'll 
 stick to you. — And so, thank ye kindly for the 
 furniture, guardy. — And now, brother genius, 
 now for freedom and the Priory. [Exeunt* 
 
 THE END OF THE SECOND ACT, 
 
 D 2 
 
42 LIFE. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE— Outside of Hotel and View of the Town. 
 Enter Craftly and Jonathan. 
 
 Craft. Arrived ! my cousin Primitive, now 
 in the hotel. Why, zounds ! we didn't expect 
 him home these six weeks. 
 
 Jon. No, Sir ; but the fleet sailing sooner 
 than was intended, and the wind being pecu- 
 liarly favourable— 
 
 Craft. Well, but how is he ? and how are 
 you, Jonathan ? I'm heartily sorry — that is, 
 glad — that is — Death and fire 1 that he should 
 arrive when one's so perplexed and embar- 
 rassed ! 
 
 Jon. My master is all joy and expectation, 
 Sir— so anxious to behold the new married 
 couple, and the cottage, and the farm— he has 
 talked of nothing else all the voyage— but 
 you'll excuse me, Sir, I have a message to Mr. 
 Clifford. - 
 
 Craft. Clifford ! why what has your master 
 to do with Clifford ? 
 
 Jon. Why, Sir, his father, who resides in 
 Jamaica, has appointed Mr. Primitive his 
 guardian — the young gentleman is already 
 apprized of the circumstance by letter, and 
 
LIFE. 43 
 
 I'm now going to request an interview — but 
 see— there is my master, after an absence of 
 thirty years, you behold him come home to 
 share his fortune with the young couple. 
 
 Craft. So I do. [Exit Jonathan. 
 
 And as I mean to touch a third of his fortune, 
 I must keep him in the dark about the young 
 couple— yes ; much as I detest, I must not ex- 
 pose them — for, as the joke goes, if we don't 
 hang together, by Heavens we shall hang 
 separately. 
 
 Enter Primitive from the Hotel. 
 
 Welcome, my dear cousin— once more wel- 
 come to your native town. Why! you made 
 haste to get here. You did not stay long in 
 London. 
 
 Prim. London ! plague on the place, it's 
 worse than ever. — In point of heat, Jamaica's 
 cool to it — in point of noise, % hurricane is 
 silence to it — and for company and conver- 
 sation, certainly the crew of the ship I came 
 in, runs it very hard indeed, cousin. 
 
 Graft. Ha ! ha ! ha ! still devoted to a coun- 
 try life I see. 
 
 Prim. Oh, yes — I think of nothing else — 
 for there's the seat 6f purity and peace; and 
 now for it, coz — now for the darling theme 
 •—.Gabriel's married I find. 
 
 Craft. Yes, he's married. (sighs aside). 
 
 Prim. And to a woman of your chusing — to 
 a sweet innocent soul, that's as much attached 
 to rural life as her husband is. 
 
44 L I F E. 
 
 Craft. Yes, as much as he is. 
 
 Prim. And they're now at the cottage — and 
 lam come in time for the honey-moon — Oh, 
 my dear cousin, this is all your doing 1 — you 
 gave him a country education — you taught 
 him to manage the farm I purchased— and 
 now if I can but get rid of my old malady — 
 If I can but forget my poor, poor daughter! — 
 
 Craft. What 1 grieve for her when she has 
 been dead these twelve years ? and consider 
 you scarcely recollect her, for she was but a 
 child — only eight years old when yon sent 
 her from Jamaica to a London boarding 
 school. 
 
 Prim. That's it— sending her to London 
 was the cause of all— There Marchmont saw 
 her, eloped with her i Oh ! if I had but brought 
 her up in the country — But come — I'll do my 
 best — only in the midst of my happiness, if 
 now and then you see a tear trickle down my 
 cheek, you'll know it is for my lost, my 
 wronged Louisa. 
 
 Enter Jonathan and Clifford. 
 
 Jon. Here's Mr. Clifford, Sir. 
 
 Prim. Well, Sir, have you read your good 
 father's'letter ? 
 
 Clif I have, Sir, and I find my income is not 
 only to pass through your hands ; but in case 
 of my neglecting my studies, you have, the 
 power to withhold it altogether. 
 
 Prim. Even so, Sir — your father has heard 
 a bad account of you ; he has been informe 
 
LIFE. 45 
 
 that instead of studying Law in your chambers* 
 you are always idling and raking. And here—* 
 here's a proof of it — what brings you to this 
 gay, dissipated place, Sir ? 
 
 Ciif My physicians prescribed it, Sir. 
 
 Prim. Your physicians, Sir ? 
 
 Clif Yes, Sir, — fatigue from study, and the 
 bad air of London, produced such a pain in 
 my chest. 
 
 Prim* Pain in!— well come, that's not un- 
 likely ; for by the advertisements in the news- 
 papers, the bad air of London affects every 
 body's health. Faith, there is nothing going 
 forward but lumbagos, nervosities, catarrhs, 
 and imbecilities. 
 
 Craft. Psha, that's all an imposition— a 
 trick of the quack doctors. 
 
 Prim. Nay, don't tell me cousin ; for pas- 
 sing through the west end of the town, every 
 young man I met was debilitated, or short- 
 sighted, or ricketty, or had a defect in his 
 voice. Poor fellows, you can't think how sin- 
 cerely I pitied them ! I did indeed ; and if I 
 had not reserved all my fortune for Gabriel, 
 I'd build an hospital for the benefit of the in- 
 firm and decayed beaux of Bond-street. — But 
 come, the more I talk on't, the more I sigh 
 for the cottage— so we'll just go visit a few old 
 friends and relations, return and rest in the 
 hotel, and betimes in the morning set off, and 
 surprise the innocent, the Arcadian couple. 
 
 Craft. So we will ; and as to the settlement, 
 cousin— 
 
 Prim. Oh ! if they behave as I expect — I 
 shan't wait till the year's out — »and d'ye hear, 
 Mr. Clifford, do nothing dishonorable, and J 
 
46 LIFE. 
 
 shall neither controul you in your pleasures* 
 or your expences ; and if you delight in rural 
 scenery and innocent mirth, come and pass a 
 few weeks at the cottage— I'll warrant 'twill 
 
 cure your pain in the chest Now, cousin I 
 
 oddsheart ! I'm so pleased and so gratified* 
 that if it were not for some secret gnawings 
 about my poor daughter — but s'life 1 why do 
 I think of her ? as you say she was but a child 
 when I last saw her, and she's gone, and Pm 
 the happiest (half crying J, merriest old fellow 
 living. 
 
 [Exit ivhh Jonathan and Craftly. 
 CI if* S'death ! what can my father mean by 
 making me dependant on the caprice of an 
 old dotard ! — However, I see I can easily 
 dupe him, and in the end, I shall not only get 
 my own income, but part of his into the bar- 
 gain ; and now once more for the object of 
 my search, the disdainful Mrs. Belford— 
 zounds, shall I never recover her I 
 
 Enter William. 
 
 Will. Joy, Sir! she's found—the runaway's 
 Found I — not half an hour ago, I saw her en- 
 ter the Priory. 
 
 Clif. What, Mrs. Belford! 
 
 Will. Yes, Sir; she's gone there as a teach- 
 er of music and drawing to Mr. Marchmont's 
 daughter, — and knowing he was a strange 
 character, and might prevent your gaining 
 possession of her— .1 have already seen him, 
 and secured him in our interest. 
 
LIFE. 47 
 
 Clif. That's well, then she's for ever mine ; 
 but how — how did you contrive to deceive 
 Marchmont ? 
 
 Will. Why, Sir, I met him on the road, 
 and told him a person of very suspicious cha- 
 racter was now with his daughter — and if he'd 
 wait on you — -you'd give him information and 
 advice ; and see here he is, Sir. 
 
 Enter Marchmont hastily. 
 
 March. Mr. Clifford, am I to believe — 
 
 Clif. 'Tis too true, Sir ; the person now 
 with your daughter may not only corrupt her 
 young and inexperienced mind, but absolute- 
 ly decoy her from your protection. 
 
 March. Astonishing i who is she ? 
 
 Clif. To speak the truth, a lady who has 
 eloped from a most affectionate husband ; 
 and as she is a distant relation of mine, I'm 
 pursuing her to restore her to her family. 
 
 MarcK And being lost herself — she would 
 reduce all others to her level — Oh I she is the 
 agent of some villain I and now I recollect — the 
 pocket-book my daughter found, no doubt was 
 dropped by her, to aid their dark intentions. 
 
 Clif Pocket-book i ha ! that must have been 
 Sir Harry's — I'll work on this and turn it to 
 account [aside.) Now you mention it — I saw 
 in her possession a pocket-book of curious 
 workmanship ; — silver'd — blue. 
 
 March. The same — the same— Oh ! that is 
 ample confirmation ; and this is the result of 
 my too sanguine folly ; for, on a false and 
 Hiost precarious prospect, 1 advertised for a 
 
48 LIFE. 
 
 teacher for my child ; and now, she who ha* 
 nursed me, toil'd for me — nay, whose very 
 thoughts have saved me hours of labor, she's 
 to be corrupted and taken from me ! Come 
 let us lose no time in hastening to her — 
 
 Clif. No, but I hope you will not trust her 
 story — we've been too long acquainted, I pre- 
 sume — 
 
 March. We have, and you've no motive for 
 deceiving me — No — No — she is employed by 
 some seducer — and I would rather trust my 
 daughter with an host of men, than with one 
 woman of suspicious fame. But she's in dan- 
 ger, and let me fly to save her. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE — A Gothic apartment in the Priory, 
 
 Enter Rosa and Mrs. Belford— Mrs. B. in a 
 
 Hat and Veil. 
 
 Rosa. Oh! you do not know how deeply 
 you have interested me. Pray proceed with 
 your story — you lately came from Switzer- 
 lan d you say ? 
 
 Mrs. B. I did : under the protection of a 
 most kind and liberal lady — but on my arri- 
 val, being persecuted by the artful addresses 
 of her nephew ; and she, innocently becom- 
 ing his advocate ; I was compelled to leave 
 her. 
 
 Rosa. And have you no other friend ? 
 
 Mrs. B. None, none on earth ; and am re- 
 duced to such an abject state of poverty—- 
 
L I F E. 4* 
 
 that reading your advertisement for a teach- 
 ei in music, I thought I would apply for the 
 situation, as the last hope of saving me 
 from want, 
 
 Rosa. And Pm so glad you read it ! My fa- 
 ther will soon return, and then I hope he will 
 persuade you to live with us for ever, — He is 
 most tender and affectionate ; but, as he tells 
 me, I want afemale monitor, for, alas 1 I ne- 
 ver had a mother to instruct me, 
 
 Mrs. B. No !— 
 
 Rosa. No ! she died when I was yet an in- 
 fant ; poor woman ! I often shed tears to her 
 memory. I'd give the world were she alive — 
 
 Mrs. B, Would you ? good girl ! I have 
 been — nay, perhaps, am still a mother ; and 
 could I even hope, my child e'er thought, or 
 talked of me as you do — but no more of this — 
 let us to the theme on which we meet- — and be- 
 fore I venture to instruct you, give me a spe* 
 cimen of my scholar's talents. 
 
 Rosa. Most willingly — I'll sing my favorite 
 ballad. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Sweetly in Life's jocund morning, 
 
 Beam'd on me a father's fmile; 
 Joy with livelier charms adorning, 
 
 Cheering grave instruction's toil. 
 Cruel memory, too severely, 
 
 Tells me those blest hours are gone, 
 Which with him I priz'd so dearly, 
 
 He has frown'd, and they are flown ! 
 Love, which drew these sorrows on me, 
 
 Love alone can yield relief; 
 The pitying power that has undone me, 
 
 Pours the balm that heals my grief. 
 What though memory so severely, 
 
 Tells me that my joys are gone j 
 Let but him I love so dearly 
 
 Smile, and all my cares are flows, 
 
 E 
 
56 y LIFE. 
 
 Mrs. B. Merciful pow'rs ! — who taught 
 you this ? 
 
 Rosa. My father I 
 
 Mrs. B. Your father ! — speak — his name? 
 
 Rosa. Marchmont. 
 
 Mrs. B. And you ! — Oh, yes: I see it now 
 — 'tis she ! — 'tis she herself ! [weeps^ and kis- 
 ses Rosa's hand violently.) 
 
 Rosa. Bless me ! what agitatefs you ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Nothing ! pardon me — it is your 
 likeness to your mother that distracts me ! — 
 then these words — they were your mother's, 
 Rosa. 
 
 Rosa. Did you know her ? Oh ! speak of 
 her — inform me quick, tell me every thing 
 about her — I would walk barefoot through 
 the world, and think each pang that wrung 
 my weary feet were joy ! were ecstacy ! 
 could I but learn some tidings of my mother. 
 
 Mrs. B. What ! has your father never told 
 you ? 
 
 Rosa. Never : the subject is forbidden me ; 
 and if, perchance, 1 name her, he shews 
 such anger, and such secret horror ! 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh ! If I dared to reveal — but no, 
 still — I must still be mute ( aside) 
 
 March (without) Rosa ! Rosa Marchmont ! 
 
 Mrs* B. (trembling) Heaven's ! that voice 
 [aside)i 
 
 Rosa. It is my father. 
 
 Mrs.. B. I know — I recollect the sound — 
 and like the knell of death it strikes upon mf 
 heart ! what can I do ? where go ? I'll fly — and 
 — alas ! my limbs will not support me. 
 
 Rosa Nay, stay. Why — why be afraid to 
 see him ? 
 
 Mrs. B. True ; why should innocence de 
 
LIFE. 5 1 
 
 s-cend to fear — and yet 'tis most awful to en- 
 counter — >{trembiing and looking towards the 
 door). Ha ! he comes — hide, hide me from 
 his sight (pulls down her veil, and gets behind 
 Rosa). 
 
 Enter Marchmont and Clifford. 
 
 March, Look ! look were she stands, infu- 
 sing poison into the breast of innocence ! 
 
 CI if* Ay, that's she ; and if you value 
 your own or your daughter's honor, part them 
 this instant. 
 
 March. Rosa, shame on you, girl, to coun- 
 tenance, and be corrupted by a stranger. 
 
 Mrs. B. Corrupted ! I corrupt her I (aside.) 
 
 March, (to Mrs. Belford, who is still be- 
 hind Rosa, with her veil down. J Mark me, 
 Madam — You see before you one who, though 
 oppressed by fortune, scorns to infringe 
 the laws of hospitality, and willingly would 
 share his last sad pittance with the poor : — 
 but when he's told by him whom he respects 
 — that you have stolen to his house to spoil 
 and rob him of his only treasure, he must 
 and will be answered. lam above condemn- 
 ing you unheard, therefore explain — (Mrs. 
 Belford shews great agitation.) What ! not 
 a word ? (pauses J. Again I do entreat you — 
 still silent ? Nay, then, we part— -this is no 
 fit asylum for you. 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh, mercy ! mercy ! 
 
 Clif. I'll follow her. and take this opportuni- 
 ty to bear her quietly to her home. 
 
b2 LIF E. 
 
 March. Be it so, — but observe me, Clifford 
 — as I have done my duty, you do yours :— 
 though guilty, she is still an object of com- 
 passion ; and therefore, rather pity than re- 
 proach her. [Exit Clifford. 
 My daughter ! (resting his head on her shoulder). 
 
 Rosa. My father! what have you done ? 
 
 March. What I ought to do — saved my Ro- 
 sa from disgrace ; — and yet 1 know not why — 
 poor woman ! I feel as if I'd acted harshly to- 
 wards her. 
 
 Rosa. And well you may, Sir; for, if I dare 
 impart it, she was my mother's friend. 
 
 March. How? 
 
 Rosa. She knew her, loved her, and expres- 
 sed such admiration — 
 
 March. Peace, I command you ; — vile im- 
 postress ! this was an artifice so base, that I 
 no longer pity, but despise her. Nay : not 
 a word — Attend me to my study. — She your 
 mother's friend ! Oh, she was all innocence 
 and truth ! And at this moment I see her in 
 those eyes — that form — that — but what am I 
 conversing on ? where wandering ? to my 
 study — lead to my study. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE — A room in the Hotel. 
 
 Enter Primitive, Jonathan, and Waiter.* 
 
 Prim. There, there — this room will do, 
 waiter, this room will do. 
 
 Wait. But I tell you, Sir, it is bespoken 
 — and the hotel is so cramm'd with company, 
 I can't offer you another. 
 
LIFE, 5* 
 
 Prim. Call the landlord then ; he'll find 
 room for an old acquaintance, I warrant. 
 
 Wait. Sir, my master's not at home just 
 
 gone to the sailing match, in his ovvn yatch, 
 with Miss Laura Maria and Miss Anna Matilda! 
 
 Prim. Miss Laura Maria and Miss Anna 
 Matilda ! and pray who the deuce are they ? 
 
 Wait. My master's own daughters, Sir ; 'as 
 accomplished young ladies as a.ny in the 
 county, — just come down from Rantipole- 
 house Academy, near London, Sir. — But, 
 Sir, this room belongs to Mr. Clifford. 
 
 Prim. Mr. Clifford — Oh, then you may go 
 — he is my most intimate friend, and I'll an- 
 swer for the consequences. [Exit Waiter. 
 Why, Jonathan, this town is Londonized, 
 quite turned upside down ; — when I left En- 
 gland, this hotel was an ale-house, and the 
 landlord here a post boy — and now he goes 
 to sailing matches in his own yatch; sends 
 his daughters to Rantipole-house, and calls 
 them Miss Laura Maria and Miss Anna Ma- 
 tilda! mercy on me ! mercy on me ! 
 
 Jon. Strange alterations, indeed, Sir : — • 
 but about your cousins. After so long an ab- 
 sence, I warrant they were all glad to see you 
 
 Prim. Why, there again we are all meta- 
 morphosed, Jonathan* I found the alderman, 
 who is now in his sixtieth year, learning to 
 dance ; and on my expressing my astonish- 
 ment, he told me the dancing master owed 
 him thirty pounds for soap and candles ; and 
 the debt being a bad one, his wife insisted he 
 should take it out in lessons ; and there he 
 was — sa, sa, (mimicking) ha ! ha ! 
 
 Jon. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 E 2 
 
54 LIFE. 
 
 Prim. Then young Shiftly, whom I left a 
 plodding lawyer, is now a snug apothecary: 
 — he says physic is by far the finest trade go- 
 ing ; for the women, blessings on them 1 wear 
 such thin dresses, that, what with friendly 
 showers and propitious east winds, the whole 
 medical tribe getcloath'd by their nakedness ! 
 And I'm sure he speaks truth ; for, when we 
 landed, don't you remember, I was ashamed 
 to look about me ? Says I, " Fie, Jonathan, 
 ic don't you see the ladies are all in their 
 " bathing dresses: and if you peep at them, 
 you'll" But, however, 'tis a cursed deli- 
 cate subject ; and, upon my soul, shocks my 
 modesty only to talk on it. — Oh ! would I 
 were safely perched at the fire-side of the 
 cottage. 
 
 Jon. Aye, that will make you amends ; 
 there you will witnefs no folly nor dissipation. 
 — And what say you, Sir ? Suppose I go and 
 prepare for the morning ? 
 
 Prim. Do, Jonathan ; and d'ye hear, bestir- 
 ring as early as five — but don't trouble your- 
 self to call me. Joy and expectation will keep 
 me awake — » [Exit Jonathan. 
 
 Yes, there I shall sit down content for life, and 
 with the two unsophisticated cottagers, look- 
 ing up to me as a father-— Father ! Psha ! 
 I can't bear the word — it reminds me of my 
 poor dead — s'life ! I can't bear that word ei- 
 ther — Plague on't, why did she die ? What 
 right had she to leave me, who never wrong'd 
 her — did'nt I tho' ? Because she married the 
 man of her heart, didn't I, like an old worldly 
 savage, desert, abandon — I'll tell you what — 
 don't you talk of the vices of mankind, Mr. 
 
LIFE, 55 
 
 Primitive ; by Heaven, you're as great a pro- 
 fligate as any of them {stamping of feet is heard 
 without.) Heh ! what's that noise \ (looks out) 
 As i live, a man bearing a woman in his arms ! 
 another cousin, I suppose.— I'll observe (nv 
 tires up stage.) 
 
 Enter Clifford with Mrs. Belford. 
 
 CI if There — rest there awhile (placing her 
 in a chair.) Nay, nay ; resistance is in .vain, 
 the landlord and all his servants are at my 
 disposal ; (locks door, and puts the key into his 
 pocket ;) and in the morning we'll take a plea- 
 sant sail to Lisbon. 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh ! for mercy ! you know not 
 whom you force me from ! 
 
 Clif. Nay, nay ; 'tis all for your advantage i 
 but as 'tis necessary to make instant prepa- 
 rations for our voyage, I must to my chamber, 
 and get money and other articles ; now don't 
 be uneasy, 'tis all for your happiness, I assure 
 you. [Exit. 
 
 Prim, (advances, not seen by Mrs % B.) So 
 this is one way of curing the pain in the chest! 
 
 Mrs. B. Heavens ! but a few short minutes 
 past I was in sight ot all that's dear to me on 
 earth — of Rosa, and — yes, I am weak enough 
 to own it— of Rosa and her father. Where 
 am I now ? — imprisoned by a villain ! on the 
 point of being forced to a foreign country ! 
 without', hope, without friends 1 
 
 Prim. No, not without friends — you see one 
 before you. 
 
56 L I F E. 
 
 Mrs. B. Away — you're a confederate with 
 this vile seducer. 
 
 Prim, I a confederate ! I a seducer ! Bless 
 you, only look at these wrinkles [pointing to 
 his face;) and if that does not satisfy you, feel 
 if a seducer ever possessed this, a heart that 
 beats and sympathizes for the distresses of a 
 woman. 
 
 Mrs, B. It does. — And now I look again, I 
 think, oh, yes I I'm sure you will not add to 
 my afflictions. 
 
 Prim. No ; and to prove it, without asking, 
 or knowing who this Rosa is, I'll instantly 
 conduct you to her. 
 
 Mrs. B, No, not to her ; for kingdoms not 
 to her. 
 
 Prim. Why ? has she too been unkind to 
 you. 
 
 Mrs B % No, she never could — but her fa- 
 ther ! He who should protect nae with his life 
 — he banished me his house — he — Oh ! my 
 brain cannot support the recollection ! But I 
 will shew him — Yes, if I deign to think of him 
 again, 'twill be with scorn — with fixed deter- 
 mined scorn. 
 
 Prim. That's right, I applaud your spirit; 
 let him and Clifford cut each other's throats, 
 and do you go with me. — Harkye ! are you 
 fond of retirement? do you love pastoral life? 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh, yes ! that is what I sigh for — 
 retirement's all that's left me. 
 
 Prim. Say you so : then I'll conduct you to 
 such an Arcadian scene ! You must know, my 
 nephew and niece have got a cottage about 
 four miles off, and I'm going to live with 
 
LIFE. 57 
 
 them ; and you shall be of the party—and 
 we'll plant, sow, and feed the pigs and poultry 
 together — and then — for society 1 to be sure, 
 our live stock can't be so witty as the plea- 
 sant Mr. Clifford and his friend. However, 
 there is this consolation — sheep can't betray 
 us, nor cows tell lies of us — so, come, let us 
 be gone (trying to open the door, finds it locked.) 
 S'life I I forgot we are prisoners here. 
 
 Mrs, B. We are ; and so surrounded by 
 enemies, that tho* you have the wish, alas i 
 you've not the power to serve me ; and look, 
 kere he comes again. 
 
 Re-enter Clifford* 
 
 Clif My mind is alter'd. — There may be 
 danger in remaining here to night— therefore 
 we'll to the ship directly — and for old Primi- 
 tive 
 
 Prim. Well, Sir ; and what of old Primi- 
 tive? Your servant, Mr. Studious — Pm glad 
 your pain in the chest is better. 
 
 Clif. (much confused.) Better— Sir : I don't 
 understand — I assure you, at this moment I 
 don't feel very well, Sir. 
 
 Prim. No ! How should you, Sir ! I never 
 heard that ill treating a weman was for the 
 good of a man's health — but, come, Sir — favor 
 me with the key of that room. 
 
 Clif Certainly, Sir. — You may depart when 
 you please: but for this lady (taking hold of 
 her,} she must stay with me. 
 
 Prim. Must, Sir ! 
 
58 L I F E. 
 
 Clif. Aye, must Sir : we never part again. 
 
 Prim. So* you'd detain her [Clifford nods 
 assent.) Pray, Sir, give me leave to ask you 
 ■—What is your income ? 
 
 Clif. My income, Sir? 
 
 Prim. Aye : Have you any thing in houses, 
 lands, or the funds ? or, simply nothing more 
 than what your father allows you ? 
 
 Clif. Nothing, Sir. 
 
 Prim. Then I give you joy — persist in your 
 gentlemanly intentions, and your father will 
 disinherit you ; or, if that will content you, 
 I will annihilate you. Yes, Sir, tho' I never 
 betrayed innocence— I know too well what it 
 is to dtreerHH And the goauings I fell at this 
 instant for having abandoned my own child 
 
 I'll tell you what — rather than undergo 
 
 the agony of forsaking another female, I'd 
 inarch up to the mouth of a cannon, be shot 
 at by a whole regiment, or, what's more, sub- 
 mit to be hanged for ridding the world of the 
 decayed, the honourable Mr. Clifford. 
 
 Mrs. B. Nay, consider. Sir, we are in his 
 power. 
 
 Prim. Psha ! what should 1 be afraid of? 
 Tho' older than he is by 40 years — I'm still 
 the youngest of the two. My stamina is not 
 undermined by dissipation — I've got no pain 
 in the chest— r-and if exchanging shots is'nt 
 the modern mode of fighting, I'll go a step 
 lower and condescend to box him,— Yes, I 
 will — I'll box him — 
 
 Clif. Well, Sir, I acknowledge my depen- 
 dence ; and if you will but listen — 
 
 Prim. Not a word, Sir — First open the. 
 door ; and next, in person, conduct us safely 
 
LIFE. 59 
 
 out of this house. Nay, no demurring — do 
 it : I insist. 
 
 Clif. And if I do, I hope 
 
 Prim* Sir, I shall make no promises (Clif- 
 ford opens door and exit.) Come, Madam; 
 in my time gallantry was a very different sort 
 of business. Tho' we were cowardly enough 
 to avoid the dangers of seduction, we were 
 still bold enough, and I hope ever will be, 
 to protect innocence and punish villany, 
 
 \Exeunt* 
 
 THE END OF THE THIRD ACT. 
 
60 L I F E. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE — A small Room in the Cottage^ folding 
 Doors thrown open in the back Scene and varie- 
 gated Lamps hung round them ; also y Festoons 
 of Flowers — a short Dance — Voices are heard 
 singing, 
 
 11 Come, come, one and all, 
 
 " Attend to my call, 
 "And revel in pleafures rhat never can cloy ; 
 
 " Come see rural felicity, 
 c< Which love and innocence ever enjoy." 
 
 Enter Sir Harry Torpid from Ball Room. 
 
 Sir H. This retirement ! this pastoral life ! 
 Gad, instead of being inside of my friend Ga- 
 briel's cottage, one might fancy one's-self in 
 the purlieus of Covent Garden — for not an 
 hour ago, talking with Mrs. Lackbrain at the 
 paddock gate, I suddenly received a blow on 
 my head, which I as suddenly returned ; and, I 
 fancy, laid my adversary low : but it being 
 quite dark, and the lady wishing to be gone, 
 I havn't the honor of knowing to whom I am 
 indebted. — However, it was a glorious bang ! 
 it roused me i 'tis life ! agitation ! And who- 
 ever the gentleman is, I've to thank him for 
 bringing me into a fine whirligig state. 
 
LIFE. 6i 
 
 Enter Betty# 
 
 Ha ! Betty, what brings you here ? 
 
 Betty. My mistress, Sir, desired me to give 
 you this note the moment I found you alone. 
 
 Sir H. Indeed! (taking the letter, opening it, 
 and reading.) " Dear coz, I haven't yet been 
 " able to find out who the savage was that 
 " interrupted our little tete-a-tete at the pad* 
 u dock gate : but, if you wish to renew the 
 u conversation relative to providing for March* 
 " mont, meet me in my dressing-room in 
 " half an hour; and I'll do all in my power 
 " to serve him. Lydia Lackbrain." 
 
 So, more cottage diversion 1 However, if, 
 without injuring my honour, I can restore 
 Marchmont and the lovely Rosa to indepen- 
 dence, my time cannst be passed better. Tell 
 your mistress I'll be punctual ! 
 
 Betty. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Sir H. And for this affair at the paddock 
 gate, bid her hush it up, if she can. As I 
 could not distinguish my antagonist, I hope 
 he won't know me — for fighting with a man 
 in love is — but, go ; for here's my friend Ga- 
 briel. 
 
 [Exit Bettt, 
 
 Enter Gabriel, half drunk from the Ball room. 
 
 Gabr. Oh \ my dear, dear friend — you're 
 the very man I have been looking for. — Come 
 •—come with me this moment. 
 F 
 
62 LIFE. 
 
 Sir H. With you ! Where ? 
 
 Gabr. Where! Why, in search of the most 
 obstropulous, infernal — Dang it, would you 
 believe it, Cousin Baronet ? Mrs. Gaby's faith- 
 less ; and now, in the very middle of our 
 honey-moon — I do actually think that real 
 downright nem. con. is going forward. 
 
 Sir H. Fie ! impossible! 
 
 Gabr. Harkee ! You know Miss Sally Sassa- 
 fras, the apothecary's heart-breaking daughter 
 — who, if possible, kills more people than her 
 father : — well, I had peirced her to the soul 
 with one of my murdering glances ; and after 
 putting on her hat and cloak had persuaded her 
 to walk with me, when, as the devil would 
 have it, I overheard my wife whispering with 
 a man — Ay, and though it was too dark to see 
 him, ecod, I felt him- For thinks I, if you'll 
 plant lumps on my head, I'd better plant 
 bumps on yours ; so I gave him such a douce— 
 
 Sir H. (eagerlj.) My dear fellow, where— 
 where did this happen ? 
 
 Gabr. Where ! Why, at the paddock gate, 
 now, not an hour ago. ( Sir Harry looks 
 confused.) Good soul ! I knew you'd feel for 
 me consumedly. 
 
 Sir H. I do ! — and for myself too consum- 
 edly (aside.) 
 
 Gabr. I said he would take on as much as 
 if the case were Irs own : — but don't you, now 
 — don't be down-hearted. — You'll see that I'll 
 serve him just as I served Jemmy Swagger. 
 
 Sir B. And, pray, how did you serve Jem- 
 my Swagger ? 
 
 Gab. Why, I behaved very ill to Jemmy 
 Swagger, and he sent me a challenge ; so I 
 
LIFE; 63 
 
 took my friend with me — this young gentle- 
 man (pulling his stick from under his coat) ; 
 and so I thumpt him till he ask'd pardon : 
 and in the like manner I'll serve this pad- 
 dock hero, and you shall be by all the time. 
 Ha! ha! you like fun — you like life, you know. 
 
 Sir H. Yes : but I don't like death you 
 know — give it up, for your own sake — These 
 sort of rencontres always get into the public 
 prints. People just catch the names of the 
 parties, huddle the innocent with the guilty, 
 and coolly remark, a blackguardbusiness, and 
 a damned set of scoundrels altogether — give 
 it up therefore. - 
 
 Gabr. No, I won't — you have been very 
 kind to me, and I'll break his bones, if it is 
 only to amuse you, Cousin, — (loud knocking at 
 the door) — What's that ?■ — (more knocking,—* 
 Again ! and so early in the morning ! 
 
 
 Enter Betty. 
 
 Betty. Oh, Sir, my mistress is terrified out 
 of her senses ! Mr Craftly is below telling her 
 that Mr. Primitive is unexpectedly arrived 
 from Jamaica, and will be here in half an hour. 
 
 Gabr. My uncle here in half an hour ! Od 
 dang it — I'm sorry to disappoint you — but you 
 see I must postpone the operation. 
 
 Sir H. My dear Sir, don't mention it; if 
 you postpone it for ever, it will be no disap- 
 pointment to me, I promise you. Adieu ! 
 Now for the dressing-room ; and having served 
 Marchmont, then for the Priory I Gad, this 
 
64 LIFE. 
 
 is bustle ! this ia Life ! while it lasts, or the 
 devil's in it! [Exiu 
 
 Gabr. My uncle so near — so — 
 
 Enter Craftly and Mrs. Lackbraix. 
 
 Mrs* L. So, so! Here's a pretty business — 
 Mr, Primitive not half a mile off, and you're 
 in a fine state to receive him — with a head full 
 of wine at this time in the morning. 
 
 Gabr. And what are you? with a house full 
 of dancers and whisperers at this time in the 
 morning. 
 
 Craft. Psha ! wrangling won't help us. I fan- 
 cy we are none of us over fond of each other.—. 
 Indeed, for my part, I candidly acknowledge* 
 rather do you both a mischief than a — service. 
 
 Mrs. L< I am sure you're very kind, Sir ! 
 
 Craft. But as the old pigeon is arrived, we I 
 must combine to pluck him ; and, first, we 
 must undermine this favorite he has brought I 
 with him, 
 
 Mrs. L. What favorite ? 
 
 Craft. Why a lady he met with last night at 
 the hotel. He has already conceived a great re- 
 gard for her : but as he acknowledges he knofrs 
 nothing of her, and Clifford assures me she is 
 a woman of suspicious character, you'll give 
 hints on her introduction. 
 
 Mrs, L. Never fear, leave me alone*— I'll 
 say I know her. 
 
 Gabr. That's enough — if she s'ays she is one 
 of her acquaintances, 'tis all over with her—- 
 or if that fails I'll say she is one of mine. 
 
LIFE. 65 
 
 Craft. Good ! and now, while Mrs. Lack- 
 brain disposes of the company, and puts on a 
 more plain and appropriate dress, you and I 
 will go and receive the old gentleman. — And 
 remember, from this hour you are plain sim- 
 ple cottagers ; and, hard and irksome as it 
 is, you must henceforth appear a fond, loving- 
 couple. 
 
 Mrs. L, (sighing) 'Tis very irksome ! but 
 we must do it : but, go, go, and impose on 
 your credulous uncle. 
 
 Gabr % 1*11 do what my head will let me, for 
 at this moment there's more dancing in it 
 than in your ball-room. However, if there's 
 any danger, guardy here will lend me his little 
 octavo ; and, now I think on't, we must take 
 pains on his account, because he paid for all 
 this pretty furniture, you know. Ha 1 ha ! ha !-— 
 
 Craft. Psha 1 nonsense ; come along and try* 
 try to disguise your situation. 
 
 Gabr. Pooh ! don't my situation disguise 
 me ! Besides, what are you afraid of — re- 
 member the sons of genius. Didn't I, by 
 drinking a few generous bumpers, make a 
 i fool of him who has made a fool of thousands ? 
 1 — but now for it — now let me recollect — I am 
 ,a fond, steady — u— • u — uh \[hiccuping) That's 
 5|t, I'm the exact thing already. [Exit with 
 C R a F t L y , — M R s . L a c k b n a i n at folding Wobrs* 
 
 F 2 
 
66 LIFE. 
 
 
 SCENE — Outside of a Cottage, standing in a 
 romantic Vale surrounded by Mountains* 
 
 Enter Primitive and Mrs. Belford. 
 
 Prim. Huzza, there ! there it is, the end 
 of all my hopes and all my wishes 1 Delightful, 
 innocent, romantic sight ! 
 
 Mrs. B. This is, indeed, a spot more 
 lovely than e'en my fancy pictured. 
 
 Prim. Oh ! 'tis Arcadia ! Paradise ! And, 
 to make my joys unbearable, think that Na- 
 ture does not confine herself to the outside ; 
 no, she also dwells within. And the young 
 cottagers- — the dear the darling pair I but re- 
 present the spot around them. 
 
 Mrs. B % No doubt : for here is no tempta- 
 tion to be guilty, singing in cottage — ■" Come, 
 u come one and all," Sec.) Listen, what sing- 
 ing's that ? 
 
 Prim. Don't you know ? It is the plowman 
 as he trudges to his morning's work, carol- 
 ling his simple ditty ! Sweet fascinating 
 sound ! {Music in cottage.) And, hark again 1 
 Do you hear that music ? 
 
 Mrs. B. I do : to me it sounded like a 
 flute. 
 
 Prim. Flute ! bless you — it is the shepherd's 
 pipe — it is the music of Arcadia ! Oh ! if 
 this lasts, I shan't live to see the inside. 
 
LIFE, 6? 
 
 Enter James from the cottage. ' 
 
 Heh ? who comes here ? One of the servants 
 — mum ! He won't know me, so I'll be can- 
 ning and sift him — now mind— Good morn- 
 ing, Sir. 
 
 James. The same to you, Sir. 
 
 Prim. I wish to speak with Mr. or Mrs. 
 Lackbrain ; but 'tis too early, 1 suppose they 
 are neither of them out of bed yet. 
 
 James. Yes? Sir, they are both up^ 
 
 Prim. Up ! what, at five in the morning ! 
 
 James. Yes : and, what's more extraordi- 
 nary, they are up every morning at the same 
 hour. 
 
 Prim. There now, in London, who ever 
 hears ©f such early rising ? One question 
 more, if you please — pray where may you be 
 going ? 
 
 James. Why, if you must know, Sir, I am 
 going to leave these cards of invitation at 
 some great houses about twelve miles oft {pro- 
 duces them). 
 
 Prim. Cards of invitation I I don't like that ; 
 it smacks of the squares — the city — the — 
 give me leave [takes one and reads.) "Mrs, 
 " Gabriel Lackbrain, at home every evening 
 this week:" you may go — I'm satisfied !— 
 never — never was such an instance of domes- 
 tic and connubial happiness ! — at home every 
 evening ! come, let us enter and behold. 
 
 [Exit James* 
 
66 L I F E. 
 
 Enter Craftly and Gabriel, stMl drunk. 
 
 Craft, (speaking as he enters.) This way 
 Gabriel — this way — 
 
 Gabr. Softly, the air makes me worse— 
 your arm, lend me your arm — ( Lays hold of 
 Craftly's arm) 9 
 
 Prim. There he is ! there's the true, genu* 
 ine, and unadulterated child of nature — Come 
 to thy uncle's arms (Gas, is afraid to leave 
 CRAFT^'j^r^t.^Stlife^-what are you afraid of, 
 Gabriel ? come to thy uncle's arms, I say ! 
 (Gab. te^CRAFTLY'j arm, but finding he can*t 
 support himself staggers and reels back to 
 Craftly.) look! now, look at the rural em- 
 barrassment 1 don't be ashamed, boy, it is 
 worth all the ease and impudence of town-bred 
 ^puppies. 
 
 Gabr. I'm quite overcome, I assure you, 
 uncle. 
 
 Prim. Delightful diffidence! you rogue, I've 
 heard of your pranks, of your early rising every 
 morning, and of your being at home every 
 evening; and if I hadn't, your countenance 
 would have betrayed you : — look at that flush 
 of health (Gab. smiles.) — look at that rosy 
 hue (Gab. bursts out laughing) — ha! ha ! there 
 again l now that's the true broad laugh of in- 
 nocence and nature. 
 
 Gabr. (aside to Cray.) I say, guardy, there's 
 no fear of his finding me out — for ecod ! he's 
 as drunk as Chloe. 
 
 Prim, But come, where is your other half J 
 If she prove as uncorrupted as yourself, I 
 shan't wait till the years out, no — I'll sign the 
 settlement to-morrow. 
 
LIFE, 69 
 
 Enter Mrs. Lackbrain in a plain Chip Hat, 
 Cloaks life. 
 
 Craft. That's well, that's a neat cottage 
 dress. 
 
 Gabr. Ah! here she is, uncle here's the 
 sweet source of connubial joy. 
 
 Mrs. L. Dear Gabriel ! 
 
 Gabr, Divine Lydia ! {taking her hand and 
 kissi?ig it,) 
 
 Prim. Fond pair! the Golden Age is re- 
 turned, and I see — [taking out his handkerchief 
 and half crying) — I see they were born to make 
 ine the happiest of middle-aged gentlemen.—- 
 But now for it, now for the inside*- — Odsheart ! 
 I forgot though— I must particularly recom- 
 mend this lady to the attention of you both ; 
 she is an object of compassion {taking Mrs, B» 
 by the hand) ; and as such, I'm sure she must 
 be welcome* (Gabr. and Mrs, L. both draw 
 back.) — Why, what ~d*ye stare at ? — She de- 
 serves it, believe me, she deserves it, 
 
 Mrs. L. No doubt: but pray, Sir, have you 
 known the lady long ? 
 
 Prim. Till yesterday I never saw her. 
 
 Mrs. L, So I thought ?— but -this is not a 
 proper place for explanation - 9 pray walk in, 
 and we'll talk further. — .This way. Ma'am, this 
 way. 
 
 Prim. Aye, this way.— And now, #s the 
 song says. 
 
TO L I F E. 
 
 Henceforth I'll lead a village life, 
 
 In cottage most obscure-a ; 
 For, with this loving man and wife. 
 
 My joys are quite secure-a. 
 
 [Exeunt Primitive, Mrs. B. and Mrs. L. 
 
 Craf Well, Gabriel, what do you think ? 
 
 Gabr. Think, that he beats me hollow : — 
 I'm only a child of nature ; but damme ! he's 
 a natural. And now, if spouse undermines 
 the stranger- — 
 
 Craft. Aye, once get her out of the house, 
 and Clifford will instantly take her abroad. 
 You see that vessel yonder — .he's waiting for 
 me to bring him information. 
 
 Gabr. Indeed ! 
 
 Craft. Yes : and Marchmont and his daugh- 
 ter are for ever cut out of their chance. So 
 now all's safe ; and while I go to Clifford, do 
 you send for a lawyer to prepare the settle- 
 ment ; and then we'll say the Golden Age is 
 returned. 
 
 Gabr. We will ; and I'll go send for a law- 
 yer directly. — [Exit Craft.] — But now, first 
 for my paddock gentleman : by this time I 
 hope my servants have found him out, and-— . 
 dang it! nothing shall make me forget my pro.- 
 rnise to cousin baronet — and then, let nunky 
 once sign the settlement, and I'll also say, as 
 the song says — 
 
 The scene is chang'd, 'tis alter'd quite, 
 
 No more I'm simple Gaby ; 
 I'll learn to dance, to sing, and fight, 
 
 And ogle every lady. [Exit 
 
LIFE, ' r-i 
 
 SCENE — A small Room in the Cottage ; a Door 
 in the Flat, a Chair placed near it. Enter 
 Sir Harry Torpid from Door in Flat* 
 
 Sir H* 'Sdeath ! this will never do : I have 
 been alone in that dressing-room these two 
 hours ; and though I'm in love, I still can't 
 support solitude— -no, I shall certainly relapse, 
 if somebody don't come and rattle me into an 
 agreeable state of vexation* I feel all the 
 symptoms, the doze, the stupor, the numb- 
 ness. — Egad! I almost long for. my friend 
 Gabriel, and his lumps and bumps ; any 
 thing in preference to this dying style of living. 
 — Ha ! a reprieve ! I see the thing of all 
 others likely to produce agitation— «a petti- 
 coat 1 and, no doubt, Mrs. Gabriel. I'll re- 
 turn to the dressing-room.— [Re-enters.] 
 
 Enter Primitive and Mrs. Belford. 
 
 Prim. Now do, for my sake, pray, pray jus- 
 tify yourself. 
 
 Mrs. 3. Sir, I have told you I am slandered. 
 
 Prim. Well but consider, what Mrs. Ga- 
 briel says is perfectly true ; I know nothing 
 of your history, she docs ; and if I should de- 
 file this innocent abode, by introducing to it 
 a, person of suspicious character— 
 
 'Mrs* B* Suspicious ? 
 
72 LIFE. 
 
 Prim. Pardon me ; these were my niece's 
 words, not mine : and when she added, her 
 husband's constancy might be corrupted — 
 
 Mrs. B. Corrupted ! and by me ! — Sir, I 
 can only answer, I am innocent ; and if this 
 be doubted, let me be gone. I know, by 
 losing you, I've lost my best, my only friend ; 
 but if you think I'd be indebted for my safety 
 to those who say I would disgrace my bene- 
 factor, and mar connubial and domestic love, 
 you know but little of me. I cannot guess 
 the motive for their cruelty ; nor should I, 
 by accusing others, vindicate myself ; but let 
 me tell you, Sir, slander is a rank and poi- 
 sonous weed, and never yet took root in pure 
 unsullied ground. 
 
 Prim. Well then, why don't you explain 
 yourself? — Plague on't 1 why not tell me your 
 name, your family, your history? — Come now 
 do, do be good-natured. 
 
 Mrs. B. Alas ! I dare not. 
 
 Prim. Dare not ! 
 
 Mrs. B. No ; my pride won't, suffer me : 
 and my story would but expose one, whom, 
 spite of all my wrongs, I still am weak enough 
 to — {pulls out her handkerchief and weeps.)— 
 Ask me no more — pity me, and let me be gone. 
 
 Prim, (half crying.) 'Tis all over — I see 
 'tis all over.— Farewell i 
 
 Mrs. B. Farewell ! and, for the service you 
 have rendered me, my gratitude shall only- 
 die with me — {Going, she returns and kisses his 
 hand.)— Oh.\ I did hope you would have 
 proved a father to me. 
 
 Prim. Did you ? (weeps.) My poor daugh- 
 ter hoped the same — but I deserted her. I 
 
LIFE . 73 
 
 — go ; since you won't communicate, I entreat 
 you go : for pity's sake, don't let us be bidding 
 
 farewell all night {Takes out a purse, and puts 
 
 it in her hand.) There, you know where to 
 apply when you want more ; you understand 
 me ; whilst I have a guinea, you shall never 
 want a part of it. 
 
 Mrs. B. Bless you ! bless you, Sir !— But I 
 forgot ; I have left some drawings and manu- 
 scripts in the next room, may I venture to 
 return for them I 
 
 Prim. You may : but if you see me when 
 you come back, don't speak to me; we've had 
 enough of leave-taking— damn it ! another 
 farewell would choak me — [Exit Mrs. Bel- 
 ford.] — Poor soul! I hope tis no crime to 
 pity her. — And, spite of the chaste society of 
 the Cottage, I've a great mind to call'lier 
 back, and— no, no, I mustn't risk defiling 
 so spotless and immaculate *a scene. — Heighol 
 I'll sit down and compose myself.— {Looks 
 round.)— Ay, ay, in that chair I may rest un- 
 seen by her while she passes.— (Pomr//^ to the 
 chair near the Jat.)-~Yes, here I mav be quiet. 
 —(Sits in it.)— And if I can but 'sleep and 
 forget her,— Poor soul ! she hoped I might 
 have proved a father to her.— Poor soul !— 
 (falls back and dozes.) 
 
 (Sir Harry opens door, which is exactly 
 
 behind the chair, but don't push it far 
 
 enough to hit the chair.) 
 Sir. H. {peeping out.) No Mrs. Gabriel yet 
 —surely I heard somebody — soft, I'll peep 
 further.— (Pushes the door further open, and hits 
 
 against the back of the chair Mt a soul. Dam- 
 
 me i I'll bear it no longer.— (Bangs open the 
 G ' 
 
74 LIFE. 
 
 door, and it hits violently against the back of the 
 chair.) — Primitive jumps out, and, unseen 
 by Sir Harry, gets behind the door to watch.)—. 
 Rather than be left alone, and endure this tedi- 
 um, this inanity, I'll plunge into any society. 
 ~-(As he i s going)— 
 
 Enter Mrs. Lackbrain hastily. 
 
 Mrs. L. O, my dear Sir Harry ! I've run 
 mvself out of breath ; and I'm so frightened, 
 and so faint— so— I shall be able to speak in 
 a moment — there. 
 
 SirH. What's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. L. Why, Gabriel was the person^ at 
 the paddock-gate ; knows I've an assignation 
 in that dressing-room : he's coming here to 
 search ; and if you're discovered, he'll find 
 out that you were his assailant, and instantly 
 light you. 
 
 (Primitive watching all the time.) 
 
 Sir. H. Well, let him : damme i employ- 
 ment is the very thing I wanted. 
 
 Mrs. L. Nay, think of my reputation — my 
 hopes with Mr. Primitive — And, look ! see 
 what a tremendous cudgel he wields over his 
 head. 
 
 Sir, H. Gad! so he does; and that may 
 produce more employment than is necessary: 
 and since I am unarmed, and your reputation 
 is in danger, I tell you what— I was before 
 goins; ; and, if you'll promise to befriend 
 Marchmont, I'll fly so fast that time itself 
 han't overtake me. [ExiU 
 
LIFE. 75 
 
 Gabriel, singing and shaking cudgel* 
 
 Mrs* L. So, Sir, you think I've a lover 
 here ? but it's all a falshood, Sir : and I 
 should like to know if this is a return for se- 
 curing Mr. Primitive's fortune, by my scan- 
 dalizing this Mrs. Belford ? 
 
 Prim, (looking over door*) Scandalize her I 
 
 Gabr. You secured 1 why 'twas I — 'twas the 
 sweet child of nature that — 
 
 Mrs. L. Don't tell me, Sir ; I say it was 
 my doing. 
 
 Gabr. And I say it w T as mine ; wasn't it my 
 servant that made him believe cards of invi- 
 tation signs of domestic comfort ; being up 
 all night, a proof of early rising? and didn't 
 I convince old Hurlo-Thumbo that reeling 
 was rural awkwardness ; and the flush of cla- 
 ret, the rosy hue of health ? — But enough of 
 old Hurlo-Thumbo ! 
 
 Prim. Hurlo-Thumbo. 
 
 Gabr. Now for the dressing-room. 
 
 Mrs. L. O, pray do, Sir, pray search tk© 
 dressing-room. 
 
 Gabr. I will ; and Jemmy Swagger shall be 
 nothing to it. — But first I'll lock the door, 
 and then go bring cousin baronet to see me 
 perform such an operation — (Locks the door, 
 leaving Primitive standing up in the chair ; 
 who taps him on the. head, — Gabriel turns 
 round; and they meet face to face* J 
 
76 LIFE. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Belford. 
 
 Prim. Your servant, rural innocence !•— * 
 your most obedient, connubial love i 
 
 Gabr. What ! is it you uncle ? 
 
 Prim. Yes, it's old Hurlo-Thumbo . — For 
 you, wronged, injured lady, (£oMrs. B») with- 
 out prying further into your history, hence- 
 forth accept those favours I designed for 
 them ; henceforth let me be a father to you. 
 — And, d'ye hear, Sir ? (to Gabr.) if you 
 expect to profit by my future bounty, retire 
 — retire, and repent, 
 
 Gabr. Well, we'll go, uncle. — And I be- 
 gin to think I shall repent ; for I'm still so 
 much a child of nature as to feel sorry for 
 my behaviour to that lady ; I am indeed ; 
 for though my education has made me a fool, 
 I think I'm not quite a knave : though my 
 head is wrong my heart is right ; and I dare 
 say, when we're all sober, we shall still be 
 friends. Exeunt Gabr. and Mrs. L. 
 
 Prim. Psha ! away with you !— Gdsheart ! 
 town manners are to me unbearable, even in 
 their proper sphere ; but brought into the 
 country ; introduced into the calm, sequest- 
 ered vale 1- — Though J hope and trust the case 
 is singular; and that the English cottage is 
 and ever will be, the seat of peace, industry, 
 and virtue. [Exit with Mrs. B. 
 
LIFE. 7T 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE — The Inside of Craftly's Library , 
 filled with Toys, Jewellery, &c* as Libraries 
 are at Watering places — a Raffling Table in 
 the Centre. 
 
 Enter Sir Harry/tow Door in Flat % 
 
 Sir H. So — 'tis as poor Rosa expected - 
 Craftly has the appointment of the new stew- 
 ard, and her father is again at his mercy- 
 What's to be d©ne ? There is no way but to 
 expose him to Mr. Primitive. Gad, I'll try 
 hard for it — I don't mind trouble. That [snap- 
 ping his fingers) for content, and the placid 
 streams of life ! give me love and a little agree- 
 able hot-water. 
 
 Enter Primitive and Mrs. Belford. 
 
 Mrs. B. Alas ! that is his situation — a dis- 
 tressed author. By his pen he earns a scanty 
 pittance for himself and daughter ; and for 
 her sake I thus presume to recommend him 
 to the stewardship. 
 
 Sir H* (advancing to Prim,) And I pre- 
 G 2 
 
78 LIFE. 
 
 sutne to back that recommendation? The 
 gentleman at the Priory is a worthy man. 
 
 Prim. Why, that's true — and I certainly 
 am much indebted to you for bumping me out 
 of that chair, and I can't bear to deny my 
 clear adopted any thing. But you should con- 
 sider, my worthy friend, Craftly is the only 
 person who, from his experience, can select 
 a proper steward for me ; and, therefore, he 
 must have the nomination.— -Nay, I am pe- 
 remptory, Sir. — And now (to Mrs. Belford) 
 let me congratulate you on your arrival from 
 the dtns of Arcadia at the seat of learning and 
 rationality. 
 
 Sir H. Learning and rationality. 
 
 Prim. To be sure, Sir. What, with the 
 works of deceased authors, and the society of 
 living ones, 1 know no place more amusing 
 ?nd instructing than the house of a respectable 
 bookseller— and such a one is Craftly ! But 
 let me look about me (puts on his spectacles). 
 I'm told he has made great improvements 
 , since I went abroad. Bless me, what a noble 
 room ! And here (going towards the counters), 
 what's here? Children's riding horses, cricket 
 bats, powder, pomatum, candle-sticks, and tea- 
 pots ! Psha ! we've made a mistake, come along 
 — this is a toy-shop — this can't be a library. 
 
 Sir H. Not a library ! ha ! ha ! — that's good ! 
 — What, I suppose you thought Craftly dealt 
 in books ? 
 
 Prim. To be sure. What else should he 
 deal in. 
 
 Sir H. What ? Why, in raffling. 
 
 Prim. Now, what the devil is raffling? 
 
 Sir H. Ha! ha! ha! He don't know what 
 
LIFE. rs 
 
 raffling is (goes up to the table). Look, look at 
 this gaming-table. Behold this dice-box. 
 Here i here's the seat of learning and ration- 
 ality {throws dice). 
 
 Prim, Heaven defend me ! And you call this 
 raffling, do you ? 
 
 Sir II. Yes ; and trifling ond insignificant 
 as the sport may appear, I know no species 
 of gaming more fatal or pernicious. Mrs. 
 Lackbrain is at once an instance. She told 
 me herself, that when only nine years old, 
 Mr. Craftly persuaded her mother to let pret- 
 ty Miss throw for a pocket-book. — She grasp'd 
 the dice-box in her little hand, and being suc- 
 cessful, her passion for play became so uncon- 
 troulable, that she was never easy till she lost 
 every shilling of her fortune. 
 
 Prim. I won't believe a word on't.- — He is 
 too honourable — too prudent. 
 
 Sir H. Won't you ? then bet me a hundred 
 pounds, and he shall confess it to your face. 
 
 Prim. I bet — i commit the very crime ! — 
 
 Sir H. Nay, then humour me so far as to 
 say 'tis. a bet. See ! here he comes — and to 
 secure his confession, say you have betted 
 that raffling is a more productive trade than 
 bookselling. Come now — do — to indulge me. 
 
 Prim. Well, in order to convince you ©f 
 your error, I will humour you. 
 
 Enter Craftly. 
 
 Cousin, I rejoice to see you ; but before I say 
 a word on other subjects, you must decide a 
 
8© LIFE. 
 
 wager between me and this gentleman. Ha • 
 ha ! What do you think ? I have laid a hun- 
 dred pounds that you get more money by raf- 
 fling than bookselling. 
 
 Craft. Indeed ! and has he taken the bet ? 
 
 Sir II. I have — and be cautious — a hun- 
 dred pounds is an object to a poor Baronet ; 
 and remember, I am on the side of book-sel- 
 ling. 
 
 Prim. And I on raffling, and I'm most an- 
 xious to win. 
 
 Sir H. And so am. I. 
 
 Craft. You are, are you ! Then, in addition 
 to gratifying the ©Id gentleman, I'll work you 
 for the furniture {aside.) Joy, Cousin ! the 
 wager's yours ! I know no more of books than 
 he or any other man of fashion does. So, I 
 say {aside to Sir Harry.) who'll peep through 
 the iron bars first, now ? 
 
 Sir H. Psha! I'll have stronger demonstra- 
 tion — prove it — prove it, Sir. 
 
 Prim. Aye, prove it, Sir. 
 
 Craft, (elbowing Prim, and winking.) Don't 
 be afraid — I'll satisfy him (takes out a paper.) 
 Look here now — here are twelve names to 
 raffle for that silver tea caddee at half a guinea 
 a-piece. 
 
 Sir H. Well, where's your profit ? It costs 
 you six guineas. 
 
 Craft. No, it don't — it only costs me three 
 
 —so there you see {elbowing Prim, again) — ■ 
 
 *Tis two to one in our favour already ; ha! ha ! 
 
 [Primitive tries to laugh with him, but 
 
 cannot."] 
 
 Sir H. Ay : but another thing — All the 
 names are not paid for. 
 
LIFE. 81 
 
 Craft. I know — Mr. Wilkins isn't paid for 
 — and why ? Because I'm Mr. Wilkins. 
 
 Prim, You Mr. Wilkins ? 
 
 Craft. To be sure. The highest throw, you 
 see, wins the prize, and the filling a raffle is 
 the work of time. — Then one comes — throws 
 " thirty-five," and goes to town — another 
 " forty," and follows — -another " forty-five," 
 and he goes too. Very well ! Then, I'm to 
 inform them by letter who's the winner- 
 then, of course, you know I'm the winner, 
 for I throw " forty-seven," and write word, 
 Mr. Wilkins has won the cacklee. There— 
 now — now are you satisfied, or will you hear 
 more, simpleton? ha! ha! ha! {laughing and 
 s till elbowing Prim.) 
 
 Sir H. No — I'm quite satisfied— -ar'n't you, 
 Mr. Primitive ? 
 
 Prim. Quite— I never was more satisfied in 
 all my life, ha! ha ! ha! And, as I don't wish 
 to be raffled out of my property ; take notice, 
 that instead of accepting a person of your no-* 
 mination, I appoint the gentleman at the Pri- 
 ory sole steward of all my estate. 
 
 Craft. Hem ! appoint him steward ? 
 
 Sir H. Ay ; would you have hirn appoint 
 Mr. Wilkins? 
 
 Prim. Yes: would you have me appoint 
 Mr. Wilkins ? 
 
 Sir H. I say, who'll peep through the iron 
 bars first now ? 
 
 Prim. But come — let us go instantly, and 
 acquaint your friend with his appointment. 
 
 Craft* Nay, cousin, but hear me, upon my 
 word I meant no harm — 1 thought all was fair 
 in gaming. 
 
82 LIFE. 
 
 Prim. More shame for you — And thank 
 Heaven, I'm too old fashioned to countenance 
 such practices ! so preferring the distressed 
 author to the raffling bookseller, I take my 
 leave of you and Mr. Wilkins forever. 
 
 [Exit with Mrs. Belford. 
 
 Sir H. And pray, Sir, make my best res- 
 pects to Mrs. Wilkins ; and take my advice 
 improve young minds by the sale of good 
 moral publications, instead of corrupting 
 them in the woBst manner — by initiating 
 them to all the horrors of the gaming table 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE— A wood. 
 
 Enter Rosa. 
 
 Rosa. Where, where can my father have 
 wandered ? I tremble every moment for his 
 safety — for alas ! we are again in the power 
 of our persecutor ; and already, perhaps, he 
 has fallen a victim to his malice — and yet 
 there is one hope ; the kind the generous 
 Sir Harry Torpid promised he would see 
 Mr. Primitive. 
 
 Enter Sir Harry Torpid. 
 
 Sir H. And he has seen him, and its all 
 settled — no more fudging, copying, and com- 
 posing now : — No — instead of daughter to 
 
LIFE. 83 
 
 a poor poet, you are heiress to a gentleman 
 of three hundred a-yeai\ 
 
 Rosa, Nay, no tantalizing — But tell me, 
 who is the new steward ? 
 
 Sir H. Who ? Why, your father ! Aye, 
 things are as they ought to be. Mr, March- 
 mont is steward to Mr. Primitive's estates, 
 and Craftly and his dice-boxes, will be sent to 
 the round-house — But don't suppose you have 
 to thank me — Here comes your benefactress. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Belford. 
 
 Rosa. Heavens ! to her !— «The very person 
 I so longed to see— -Welcome — welcome ! 
 
 Mrs. B. (taking her hand and kissing it). 
 Do I again behold you ? — Pardon me ; but 
 I have thought of nothing else since I first 
 saw you. 
 
 Sir H. No more have I — that's my case 
 exactly — and for the service you have render- 
 ed— 
 
 Mrs. B. What I have done has been for 
 your sake, Rosa. We are compelled by 
 strong and cruel circumstances (ay, Heaven 
 has so decreed it (to live forever separate— 
 And had I left you in distress — but now the 
 dread of poverty is past — .and that thought, 
 perhaps, will cheer me in my hours of ab- 
 sense— perhaps may make the loss of you 
 supportable. 
 
 Rosa. The loss of me ! — what, now, when 
 you've so served, and so attached me, will 
 you leave me ? 
 
84 LIFE. 
 
 Mrs. B. Ay, for ever. — Ask me not why, 
 sweet girl 1 tempt me not to unfold a mystery 
 that will plant thorns in your breast, eoid ex- 
 pose — no, never, never can the mystery be 
 solved. 
 
 Rosa. Nay, but we will not separate. — And, 
 look! yonder's my father; I'll call him to 
 thank you {going). 
 
 Mrs. B. (holding her). Not for your life ! 
 not for your life ! 
 
 Rosa. Nay, do not deny me; let me admi- 
 nister relief to one who stands so much in 
 need of it. 
 
 Mrs. B. Mark ! what picture's that, he so 
 intently gazes on ? 
 
 Rosa. I know not: but 'tis connected with 
 his secret grief; for oft, when he conceived 
 himself unseen, I have observed him press it 
 to his lips, till he dissolved in tears.— .And 
 look again ! — see now how he devours it with 
 his kisses ! 
 
 Mrs. B. Maddening sight! — I know too 
 well who it resembles.— -Oh, villain ! villain ! 
 
 Rosa. Villain ! 
 
 Mrs. B, Yes; I have too long spared him; 
 too long in pity smother'd the dark tale. — But 
 now 'tis open enmity— avowed defiance — and 
 he shall feel an injured woman's vengeance. 
 
 Sir H. How ! 
 
 Rosa. Amazement ! 
 
 Mrs. B. Instantly conduct me to him ; and 
 tell him, she who conferred an accidental ser- 
 vice entreats no recompense but this : tell 
 him, last night I whiled away my hours in 
 composition of an artless tale ; and as an au- 
 thor of superior fame, I come to him for cen- 
 sure or for praise. — {Producing the manuscript.) 
 
LIFE, 85 
 
 —Give it— 'twill interest — 'twill instruct — oh 
 yes, 'twill strike him to the heart. 
 
 Sir H. Gad! I'm frightened out of my sen- 
 ses. I hope you'll let me join the party ; tor, 
 upon my soul there's no staying alone under 
 such mysterious circumstances. 
 
 Mrs. B. No, Sir ; these meetings must be 
 private — Come, Rosa. — Poor girl ! I tremble 
 for you : I see I have alarmed you ; and on 
 your account I could again be silent and dis- 
 creet: but the picture— you saw him press it 
 to his lips — you saw him hide it in his breast- 
 that rouses — fires me ! — while. I have strength 
 and life, conduct me to him. 
 
 {Exit with Rosa. 
 Sir H. And what is to become of me ?— - 
 Whilst I have life and strength I'll conduct 
 myself to Mr. Primitive, and we'll return and 
 oferhear all that passes. And now I ought 
 to be on the pinnacle of happiness, for I am 
 so choaked with agitation — but, however, I 
 see a man may have top much of a good thing. 
 
 SCENE— An Apartment in the Priory; painted 
 Windows,; a Gothic Table> and three Chairs. 
 
 Enter Marchmont <2nd Rosa— 'Rosa has the 
 manuscript in her hand). 
 
 March. Astonishing!— -Raised to prosperity 
 by one I so neglected, and ask no recompence 
 but the revision of a manuscript!— 'Slife, 'th 
 U 
 
86 LIFE. 
 
 incredible: and remember, Rosa, we hare 
 already had reason to suspect her ; and there- 
 fore, till I know the motive for her genero- 
 sity, I shall not condescend to profit by it. 
 
 Rosa. What I won't you see her ? will you 
 again dismiss her ? 
 
 March. Unthinking girl I why, wherefore 
 should she serve me ? — You are yourself, per- 
 i haps, the bribe : and shall 1 owe preferment 
 to my daughter's shame? — No, she mall not 
 enter.— And yet, if after all her motive should 
 be good ; if> to the only one who has stept 
 forth to serve me, I prove suspicious and un- 
 grateful—that must not be— give me the ma- 
 nuscript, and conduct her in. 
 
 Rosa. Here, here it is, Sir, [giving it.)— 
 And recollect, these are but the heads, the 
 outlines of the book ; and you are to decide, 
 whether the materials are sufficient to ground 
 a work upon, — And now look, Sir, (goes to 
 the nving) and leads on Mrs, Belford with her 
 veil doivn^J here is our benefactress. 
 
 March* Madam, after what passed when 
 last I saw you, I scarce know how to address 
 y 0U ,_Pray be seated.— 
 
 Rosa draws a chair ; Mrs. Belford sits. 
 
 I'm told you have conferred an everlasting fa- 
 vour on me ; and, as a recompense, you only, 
 ask what is mostflattering to an author's pride. 
 
 I shall not troubleyou with thanks, but will 
 
 proceed. — (Seats himself; Rosa sits by Mrs. 
 Belford,— Reads) "Sketch of a Romance, 
 
L I F E. 87 
 
 " to be called Henry and Eliza. — Eliza, a- 
 " gainst the consent of a parent as fond as 
 u affluent, married Henry. — Two years soon 
 " passed in harmony and joy, and Heaven 
 i( blessed them with a pledge of mutual love. 
 " — The third began with poverty and sorrow ; 
 u and to preserve her child and husband from 
 " distress, Eliza appealed to the feelings of 
 u her enraged father; who, in compassion 
 44 to her sufferings, supplied her with a remit- 
 u tance, as the last token of parental, love/' — 
 (Pauses and weeps. J 
 
 Rosa. ( rises. ) Go on, Sir : I feel as much 
 interested as yourself : pray go on. 
 
 March, (reading,) " Henry, though posses- 
 " sed of honor and of talent, could not resist 
 ri temptation : and allured to the gaming-ta- 
 " ble by the arts of a female seducer, lost the 
 *< remittance, sacrificed the sole mainte- 
 " nance of his family,-and left Eliza to the mer- 
 " cy of his creditors," — (Rises and goes for- 
 ward.) — u The house, and poor remains of 
 " their effects, were taken from her ; and 
 " when she sought the husband of her heart, 
 i( he was not to be found* — Lost in the vor- 
 " tex of dissipation, he had forgot the wife 
 " he once adored ; and \ revelling in luxury 
 " and guilt, thought not that Eliza was de- 
 
 " stitute and forsaken." Oh, horror I 
 
 horror ! — (Drops the book-) — Speak 1 who are 
 you ? whence came you ? 
 
88 LIFE. 
 
 Marchmont, whilst reading the abovc^ ist 
 much agitated, pauses often % and trembles 
 violently. Mrs. Belford also is much 
 agitated; apparently gazing intently on 
 Marchmont, half rising from herchair y 
 Ifc* Rosa observes them both with asto- 
 nishment) and- occasionally bursts into tears. 
 
 Rosa, (taking up the book and presenting it to 
 Marchmont.J Proceed ; for pity's sake pro- 
 ceed — nay, you must, you shall. 
 
 March. Oh ! I cannot, 
 
 Rosa, [reads*'] " Eliza thus reduced, thus 
 44 deserted both by parent and husband, no 
 44 longer could maintain the only comfort that 
 44 was left her. — Distress soon tore her from 
 « 4 her child : she placed it under the protec- 
 44 tion of a relation of its father ; and, to sup- 
 44 port herself, she changed her name ; and, 
 44 in a state of menial service, went to Switzer- 
 44 land.— There, woe-worn and forlorn, rob- 
 44 bed of all hope, a prey to anguish and des- 
 44 pair " 
 
 March. Distraction ! madness ! — I know 
 the rest — [snatching the book from Rosa, and 
 advancing towards Mrs. B.) — she died — -died 
 of a broken heart. 
 
 Mrs. B. (who has before risen from her seat % 
 throws up her veil.) No, she lives. — Behold 
 me, Marchmont, after an absence of twelve 
 cheerless years — behold that once loved wife, 
 who would have begged, starved, perished 
 with you.— (^M arch, staggers and faints in a 
 chair.) 
 
 Rosa. My mother! (runs and embraces her) 
 
LIFE. M< 
 
 Mrs. B. The story of my death was but an 
 artifice to save me from enquiry ; and now I 
 came, incensed with wrongs, to goad you to 
 the soul with my reproaches ; but the re- 
 membrance of our former love, that altered 
 look, that worn, exhausted frame— Poor 
 Marchmont ! I may avoid, but I cannot up 
 braid him.— Farewell!— (going, Rosa holds 
 her.) 
 
 March. O my torn heart \—(in turning in 
 
 the chair, the picture is discovered hanging from 
 his neck. J * J 
 
 Rosa. Look, look, my mother ! Is he not 
 
 now an object of compassion I 
 
 Mrs. B. He is.— But see ! he wears a ba- 
 silisk to strike me dead— the picture, Rosa 
 
 Rosa. Nay, but for my sake, mother: 
 though as a husband guilty, he has been the 
 best of fathers ; and since this hated object is 
 the bar, I will remove— (takes the picture.)^ 
 How! that— look— those eyes— merciful pow- 
 ers ! it is the portrait of my mother ! 
 m Mrs. B. Can it— ( trembling, and looking at 
 it J— yes, mine is the picture he devours with 
 kisses— mine the resemblance that he bathes 
 with tears ! 
 
 Marchmont, suddenly recovering and p u l- 
 
 ling Rosa forward, without seeing Mrs. 
 
 Marchmont. 
 
 March, (rises) She's gone !— fly — follow— 
 
 call her back : tell her, I am not so guilty as 
 
 she thinks me ; for, as I hope for happiness 
 
 to come, my heart was ever only hers ; and 
 
 though involved in blackest dissipation my 
 
 trutn and constancy were yet untainted : tell 
 
 her besides — 
 
 Rouu Look, father ! 
 H 2 
 
§0 L I F E. 
 
 March. Ah ! do I once more — ray child, 
 fall prostrate at her feet ; entreat, implore 
 forgiveness. — (They both kneel. J — My wife 1 
 
 Rosa. My mother ! can you pronounce a 
 pardon ? 
 
 Mrs. M. I would, but tears prevent me. — 
 (gets between them, and embraces them both. J 
 — Merciful heaven I receive a suppliant's 
 thanks ; for thus encircled by my child and 
 husband, what now is wanting, 
 
 Enter Primitive and Sir Harry Torpid. 
 
 Prim. What ? why a father — and here he 
 is. — That father who deserted you — who a- 
 dopted you — who — hang it ! why don't you 
 speak, Sir Harry ? you see my tongue sticks 
 to my mouth. 
 
 Sir H. Who took the name of Primitive 
 for an estate of two hundred thousand pounds 
 — who will share it with you ; raise you from 
 poverty and sorrow to joy and affluence, to — 
 damn it ? 1 copy your example ; my tongue 
 sticks to my mouth too. 
 
 Mrs. M. Heavens ! in my benefactor do I 
 behold a parent ! 
 
 Prim. You do ; and but for the cursed cir- 
 cumstance of changing names, we should 
 have known each other long ago — But now I 
 hold you to my heart. — You also, my little 
 grand-daughter — zooks ! I must give you a 
 kiss for your likeness to your mother (kisses 
 herj 
 
 Sir H. So must I (kisses her J. —I beg par- 
 ion, but I always copy Mr, Primitive, 
 
L I F E. 
 
 SI 
 
 Prim. For you, Mr. Marchmont, I was once 
 coming forward to throttle you ; but when I 
 recollected I deserved the same punishment, 
 I pitied and forgave you. Flenceforth I'll be 
 a friend to you, a father to your wife, a grand- 
 father to your daughter — and what's more, 
 with your leave, I'll be a grandfather to Sir 
 Harry. 
 
 Sir H. Ay do ; pray let me be one of the 
 family : I've long had a predilection for matri- 
 mony ; and, from what we've just witnessed, 
 I'm sure it will produce agitation in abun- 
 dance. 
 
 March. Then, Sir, if I'm to be consulted, I 
 can only say, you saved me once from ruin, 
 and I know no man that so well deserves my 
 daughter. 
 
 Prim* So he did me ; and I know no man 
 that so well deserves my grand-daughter.-— 
 And now, what does she say ? 
 
 Rosa. That to deserve him, who has so 
 served you and my dearest father, wall be 
 the future study of my life. 
 
 Sir H. (taking her hand and kissing it.) 
 Then, thus I seal the bargain — and now, I 
 only beg one thing — after marriage don't let 
 us be too happy — you must now and then 
 differ with me to keep me alive, for there is 
 only one place in which I dread a difference, 
 —and that is here, 
 
 You who can save, or kill us with a breath, 
 Stamp our existence, don't put life to deaf 
 Impatient now we wait your dread comnu 
 So let us live, for Life is in your hands 
 
 THE END. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 Written by James Cobb, Esq. and spoken in tin 
 character of Primitive. 
 
 J\i 
 
 i ll things arc changed fince I was laffc in town. 
 
 And a 1 1 (hat's in it feems turn'dupfide down, 
 Farewell .the flowing wig, the fnuflf-box, cane, 
 Emblems of wifdom ! ye no longer reign ! 
 Where'er I go, I've fome new c'aufe for wonder, 
 And what's (till worse, each hour begets a blunder. 
 
 'Twas but laft week as travelling to town, 
 Meaning to give the pott-boy half a crown, 
 The Inn being full, all riot, noife and pother, 
 And really one fhock* head's fo like another, 
 I, chancing near Lord Daihaway tw ftand, 
 Wnipt my half-crown into his Lordfhip's hand. 
 His gig he call'd fur, dar'd me to deride him ; 
 Then whirl 'd away, his fervant clofe befide him ; 
 And there again, ye moderns. I reproach ye, 
 Once Coachy drove, tne Matter now drives Coachy, 
 Courtiers and Citizens, Law, PhyHc, Trade, 
 Now aredifguis'd in general maiquerade, 
 he cropping fyttcm over all prevails, 
 'i horfes, like their matters, dock their tails, 
 ' are unfkirted — Maps—the waittcoats loofe, 
 -*>oots cut down, arc bat high quarter'd {hoe 
 ■^ttreets, thisfaihicn too refines, 
 keepers have taken down their figns. 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 Nought die, indeed, comes down but thefo devices ; 
 
 Fur tho' they lower their figns, they raife thtir price* 
 
 O Tempora ! O Mures! men and Ihops, 
 
 Horfes, boots, coats, and waiftcoaU — all arc crops, 
 
 Fafhion has times and feafons alter'd quite ; 
 
 At dinner-time they breakfaft, dine at night. 
 
 And — if they can contrive to rife fo foon, 
 
 A morning's ride, take in the afternoon. 
 
 Our beaux and belles, November's fogs deride ; 
 
 Enjoy cold weather by the water fide; 
 
 And then, in Spring, to town return together; 
 
 To pafs, what they call winter, in warm weather*. 
 
 To other scenes shall Primitive retire ; 
 There while I chat, around my focial fire / 
 Tho* oft* o'er Fafhion's world fhall fancy range, 
 One obje& claims regard, that knows no change ', 
 Envy muft own, true to a Briton's name, 
 That Engiiflj Heart of Oak, remains the fame 
 
 JOHN BIQR&X) PRlXtMiU 
 
PUBLISHED 
 
 And for Sale by Conrad, & Co. No. 30, Chesnut 
 Street, Philadelphia — No. 140, Market Street, 
 Baltimore — And New-Jersey Avenue, City of 
 Vfashington* 
 
 SPEED THE PLOUGH, 
 A Comedy i 
 
 In five Acts. 
 By THOMAS MORTON, 
 
 Author of a Cure for the Heart Ache: Way to 
 get Married, Isfc. 
 
 — Price 25 Cents.— 
 
 THE PLAYS AND POEMS 
 
 of 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Corrected from the latest and best London 
 
 editions, with Notes by 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON, L. L. D. 
 
 In 8 Volumes. 
 
 — Price 10 Dollars.— 
 
 POEMS 
 On several occasions. 
 
 By the late Reverend 
 
 THOMAS BROWN. 
 
 — Price in boards > 1 Dollar.— 
 
 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 
 
 A Comedy. 
 
 By ALLAN RAMSEY. 
 
 — Price 25 Cents.— 
 
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