Mary. He that brought you here?

Job. Ay, he. I don't know what he intends—but I trust all to him;—and when he returns, we'll have such a merry-making! Hollo! house! Oh, damn it, I'll be good to the landlord; but I'll play hell with his wife! Come with me, and let us call about us a bit. Hollo!—house! Come, Mary! odsbobs, I'm so happy to have you again! House!—Come, Mary, [Exeunt.

* * * * *

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

The Outside of the Red Cow.

DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY before the Door.

Dennis. I've stretched my neck half a yard longer, looking out after that rapscallion, Dan. Och! and is it yourself I see, at last? There he comes, in a snail's trot, with a basket behind him, like a stage coach.

Enter DAN, with a Basket at his Back.

Dan, you devil! aren't you a beast of a waiter?

Dan. What for?

Dennis. To stay out so, the first day of company.

Dan. Come, that be a good un! I ha' waited for the company a week, and I defy you to say I ever left the house till they comed.

Dennis. Well, and that's true. Pacify me with a good reason, and you'll find me a dutiful master. Arrah, Dan, what's that hump grown out at your back, on the road?

Dan. Plenty o' meat and drink. I ha'n't had such a hump o' late, at my stomach. [Puts the Basket on the Ground.

Dennis. And who harnessed you, Dan, with all that kitchen stuff?

Dan. He as ware rack'd, and took I wi' un to Penzance, for a companion. He order'd I, as I said things were a little famish'd like, here, to buy this for the young woman, and the old man he ha' brought back wi' un.

Dennis. Then you have been gabbling your ill looking stories about my larder, you stone eater!

Dan. Larder! I told un you had three live pigs as ware dying.

Dennis. Oh fie! Think you, won't any master discharge a man sarvant that shames him? Thank your luck, I can't blush. But is the old fellow, our customer has brought, his intimate friend, he never saw but once, thirty years ago?

Dan. Ees; that be old Job Thornberry, the brazier; and, as sure as you stand there, when we got to his shop, they were going to make him a banker.

Dennis. A banker! I never saw one made. How do they do it?

Dan. Why, the bum baileys do come into his house, and claw away all his goods and furniture.

Dennis. By the powers, but that's one way of setting a man going in business!

Dan. When we got into the shop, there they were, as grum as thunder.—You ha' seen a bum bailey?

Dennis. I'm not curious that way. I might have seen one, once or twice; but I was walking mighty fast, and had no time to look behind me.

Dan. My companion—our customer—he went up stairs, and I bided below;—and then they began a knocking about the goods and chapels.—That ware no business o' mine.

Dennis. Sure it was not.

Dan. Na, for sartin; so I ax'd 'em what they were a doing;—and they told I, wi' a broad grin, taking an invention of the misfortunate man's defects.

Dennis. Choke their grinning! The law of the land's a good doctor; but, bad luck to those that gorge upon such a fine physician's poor patients! Sure, we know, now and then, it's mighty wholesome to bleed; but nobody falls in love with the leech.

Dan. They comed down stairs—our customer and the brazier; and the head baily he began a bullocking at the old man, in my mind, just as one christian shou'dn't do to another. I had nothing to do wi' that.

Dennis. Damn the bit.

Dan. No, nothing at all; and so my blood began to rise. He made the poor old man almost fit to cry.

Dennis. That wasn't your concern, you know.

Dan. Bless you, mun! 'twould ha' look'd busy like, in me, to say a word; so I took up a warming pan, and I bang'd bum bailey, wi' the broad end on't, 'till he fell o' the floor as fat as twopence.

Dennis. Oh, hubaboo! lodge in my heart, and I'll never ax you for rent—you're a friend in need. Remember, I've a warmingpan—you know where it hangs, and that's enough.

Dan. They had like to ha' warm'd I, finely, I do know. I ware nigh being haul'd to prison; 'cause, as well as I could make out their cant, it do seem I had rescued myself, and broke a statue.

Dennis. Och, the Philistines!

Dan. But our traveller—I do think he be the devil—he settled all in a jiffy; for he paid the old man's debts, and the bailey's broken head ware chuck'd into the bargain.

Dennis. And what did he pay?

Dan. Guess now.

Dennis. A hundred pounds?

Dan. Six thousand, by gum!

Dennis. What! on the nail?

Dan. Na; on the counter.

Dennis. Whew!—six thousand pou——! Oh, by the powers, this man must be the philosopher's stone! Dan——

Dan. Hush! here he be.

Enter PEREGRINE, from the House.

Per. [To DAN.] So, friend, you have brought provision, I perceive.

Dan. Ees, sir;—three boil'd fowls, three roast, two chicken pies, and a capon.

Per. You have considered abundance, more than variety. And the wine?

Dan. A dozen o' capital red port, sir: I ax'd for the newest they had i' the cellar.

Dennis. [To himself.] Six thousand pounds upon a counter!

Per. [To DAN.] Carry the hamper in doors; then return to me instantly. You must accompany me in another excursion.

Dan. What, now?

Per. Yes; to Sir Simon Rochdale's. You are not tired, my honest fellow?

Dan. Na, not a walking wi' you;—but, dang me, when you die, if all the shoemakers shouldn't go into mourning. [DAN takes the Hamper into the House.

Dennis. [Ruminating.] Six thousand pounds! by St. Patrick, it's a sum!

Per. How many miles from here to the Manor house?

Dennis. Six thousand!

Per. Six thousand!—yards you mean, I suppose, friend.

Dennis. Sir!—Eh? Yes, sir, I—I mean yards—all upon a counter!

Per. Six thousand yards upon a counter! Mine host, here, seems a little bewildered;—but he has been anxious, I find, for poor Mary, and 'tis national in him to blend eccentricity with kindness. John Bull exhibits a plain, undecorated dish of solid benevolence; but Pat has a gay garnish of whim around his good nature; and if, now and then, 'tis sprinkled in a little confusion, they must have vitiated stomachs, who are not pleased with the embellishment.

Enter DAN, booted.

Dan. Now, sir, you and I'll stump it.

Per. Is the way we are to go now, so much worse, that you have cased yourself in those boots?

Dan. Quite clean—that's why I put 'em on: I should ha' dirted 'em in t' other job.

Per. Set forward, then.

Dan. Na, sir, axing your pardon; I be but the guide, and 'tisn't for I to go first.

Per. Ha! ha! Then we must march abreast, boy, like lusty soldiers, and I shall be side by side with honesty: 'tis the best way of travelling through life's journey, and why not over a heath? Come, my lad.

Dan. Cheek by jowl, by gum! [Exeunt PEREGRINE and DAN.

Dennis. That walking philosopher—perhaps he'll give me a big bag of money. Then, to be sure, I won't lay out some of it to make me easy for life: for I'll settle a separate maintenance upon ould mother Brulgruddery.

JOB THORNBERRY peeps out of the Door of the Public House.

Job. Landlord!

Dennis. Coming, your honour.

Job. [Coming forward.] Hush! don't bawl;—Mary has fallen asleep. You have behaved like an emperor to her, she says. Give me your hand, landlord.

Dennis. Behaved!—Arrah, now, get away with your blarney. [Refusing his Hand.

Job. Well, let it alone. I'm an old fool, perhaps; but, as you comforted my poor girl in her trouble, I thought a squeeze from her father's hand—as much as to say, "Thank you, for my child."—might not have come amiss to you.

Dennis. And is it yourself who are that creature's father?

Job. Her mother said so, and I always believed her. You have heard some'at of what has happen'd, I suppose. It's all over our town, I take it, by this time. Scandal is an ugly, trumpeting devil. Let 'em talk;—a man loses little by parting with a herd of neighbours, who are busiest in publishing his family misfortunes; for they are just the sort of cattle who would never stir over the threshold to prevent 'em.

Dennis. Troth, and that's true;—and some will only sarve you, because you're convenient to 'em, for the time present; just as my customers come to the Red Cow.

Job. I'll come to the Red Cow, hail, rain, or shine, to help the house, as long as you are Landlord. Though I must say that your wife——

Dennis. [Putting his Hand before JOB'S Mouth.] Decency! Remember your own honour, and my feelings. I mustn't hear any thing bad, you know, of Mrs. Brulgruddery; and you'll say nothing good of her, without telling damn'd lies; so be asy.

Job. Well, I've done;—but we mustn't be speaking ill of all the world, neither: there are always some sound hearts to be found among the hollow ones. Now he that is just gone over the heath——

Dennis. What, the walking philosopher?

Job. I don't know any thing of his philosophy; but, if I live these thousand years, I shall never forget his goodness. Then, there's another;—I was thinking, just now, if I had tried him, I might have found a friend in my need, this morning.

Dennis. Who is he?

Job. A monstrous good young man; and as modest and affable, as if he had been bred up a 'prentice, instead of a gentleman.

Dennis. And what's his name?

Job. Oh, every body knows him, in this neighbourhood; he lives hard by—Mr. Francis Rochdale, the young 'squire, at the Manor-house.

Dennis. Mr. Francis Rochdale!

Job. Yes!—he's as condescending! and took quite a friendship for me, and mine. He told me, t'other day, he'd recommend me in trade to all the great families twenty miles round;—and said he'd do, I don't know what all, for my Mary.

Dennis. He did!—Well, 'faith, you may'nt know what; but, by my soul, he has kept his word!

Job. Kept his word!—What do you mean?

Dennis. Harkye—If Scandal is blowing about your little fireside accident, 'twas Mr. Francis Rochdale recommended him to your shop, to buy his brass trumpet.

Job. Eh! What? no!—yes—I see it at once!—young Rochdale's a rascal!—Mary! [Bawling.

Dennis. Hush—you'll wake her, you know.

Job. I intend it. I'll—a glossy, oily, smooth rascal!—warming me in his favour, like an unwholesome February sun! shining upon my poor cottage, and drawing forth my child,—my tender blossom,—to suffer blight, and mildew!—Mary! I'll go directly to the Manor-house—his father's in the commission.—I may'nt find justice, but I shall find a justice of peace.

Dennis. Fie, now! and can't you listen to reason?

Job. Reason!——tell me a reason why a father shouldn't be almost mad, when his patron has ruin'd his child.—Damn his protection!—tell me a reason why a man of birth's seducing my daughter doesn't almost double the rascality? yes, double it: for my fine gentleman, at the very time he is laying his plans to make her infamous, would think himself disgraced in making her the honest reparation she might find from one of her equals.

Dennis. Arrah, be asy, now, Mr. Thornberry.

Job. And, this spark, forsooth, is now canvassing the county!—but, if I don't give him his own at the hustings!—How dare a man set himself up for a guardian of his neighbour's rights, who has robbed his neighbour of his dearest comforts? How dare a seducer come into freeholders' houses, and have the impudence to say, send me up to London as your representative? Mary! [Calling.

Dennis. That's all very true.—But if the voters are under petticoat government, he has a mighty good chance of his election.

Enter MARY.

Mary. Did you call, my dear father?

Job. Yes, I did call. [Passionately.

Dennis. Don't you frighten that poor young crature!

Mary. Oh, dear! what has happened?—You are angry; very angry. I hope it isn't with me!—if it is, I have no reason to complain.

Job. [Softened, and folding her in his Arms.] My poor, dear child! I forgive you twenty times more, now, than I did before.

Mary. Do you, my dear father?

Job. Yes; for there's twenty times more excuse for you, when rank and education have helped a scoundrel to dazzle you. Come! [Taking her Hand.

Mary. Come! where?

Job. [Impatiently.] To the Manor-house with me, directly.

Mary. To the Manor-house! Oh, my dear father, think of what you are doing! think of me!

Job. Of you!—I think of nothing else. I'll see you righted. Don't be terrified, child—damn it, you know I doat on you: but we are all equals in the eye of the law; and rot me, if I won't make a baronet's son shake in his shoes, for betraying a brazier's daughter. Come, love, come! Exeunt JOB and MARY.

Dennis. There'll be a big boderation at the Manor-house! My customers are all gone, that I was to entertain:—nobody's left but my lambkin, who don't entertain me: Sir Simon's butler gives good Madeira:—so, I'm off, after the rest; and the Red Cow and mother Brulgruddery may take care of one another. [Exit.



SCENE II.

Enter FRANK ROCHDALE.

Frank. Shuffleton's intelligence astonishes me!—So soon to throw herself into the arms of another!——and what could effect, even if time for perseverance had favoured him, such a person's success with her!

Enter SIR SIMON ROCHDALE.

Sir Simon. Why, Frank! I thought you were walking with Lady Caroline.

Frank. No, sir.

Sir Simon. Ha! I wish you would learn some of the gallantries of the present day from your friend, Tom Shuffleton:—but from being careless of coming up to the fashion, damn it, you go beyond it? for you neglect a woman three days before marriage, as much as half the Tom Shuffletons three months after it.

Frank. As by entering into this marriage, sir, I shall perform the duties of a son, I hope you will do me the justice to suppose I shall not be basely negligent as a husband,

Sir Simon. Frank, you're a fool; and——

Enter a SERVANT.

Well, sir?

Serv. A person, Sir Simon, says he wishes to see you on very urgent business.

Sir Simon. And I have very urgent business, just now, with my steward. Who is the person? How did he come?

Serv. On foot, Sir Simon.

Sir Simon. Oh, let him wait. [Exit SERVANT.

At all events, I can't see this person for these two hours.—I wish you would see him for me.

Frank. Certainly, sir,—any thing is refuge to me, now, from the subject of matrimony. [Aside, and going.

Sir Simon. But a word before you go. Damn it, my dear lad, why can't you perceive I am labouring this marriage for your good? We shall ennoble the Rochdales:—for, though my father,—your grandfather,—did some service in elections (that made him a baronet), amassed property, and bought lands, and so on, yet, your great grandfather—Come here——your great grandfather was a miller. [Half whispering.

Frank. [Smiling.] I shall not respect his memory less, sir, for knowing his occupation.

Sir Simon. But the world will, you blockhead: and, for your sake, for the sake of our posterity, I would cross the cart breed, as much as possible, by blood.

Frank. Is that of consequence, sir?

Sir Simon. Isn't it the common policy? and the necessities of your boasters of pedigree produce a thousand intermarriages with people of no pedigree at all;—till, at last, we so jumble a genealogy, that, if the devil himself would pluck knowledge from the family tree, he could hardly find out the original fruit. [Exeunt severally.

Enter TOM SHUFFLETON, from the Park, following LADY CAROLINE BRAYMORE.

Shuff. "The time is come for Iphigene to find, "The miracle she wrought upon my mind;"

Lady Car. Don't talk to me.

Shuff. "For, now, by love, by force she shall be mine, "Or death, if force should fail, shall finish my design."

Lady Car. I wish you would finish your nonsense.

Shuff. Nonsense:—'tis poetry; somebody told me 'twas written by Dryden.

Lady Car. Perhaps so;——but all poetry is nonsense.

Shuff. Hear me, then, in prose.

Lady Car. Psha!—that's worse.

Shuff. Then I must express my meaning in pantomime. Shall I ogle you?

Lady Car. You are a teasing wretch;—I have subjected myself, I find, to very ill treatment, in this petty family;—and begin to perceive I am a very weak woman.

Shuff. [Aside.] Pretty well for that matter.

Lady Car. To find myself absolutely avoided by the gentleman I meant to honour with my hand,—so pointedly neglected!——

Shuff. I must confess it looks a little like a complete cut.

Lady Car. And what you told me of the low attachment that——

Shuff. Nay, my dear Lady Caroline, don't say that I told you more than——

Lady Car. I won't have it denied:—and I'm sure 'tis all true. See here—here's an odious parchment Lord Fitz Balaam put into my hand in the park.—A marriage license, I think he calls it—but if I don't scatter it in a thousand pieces——

Shuff. [Preventing her.] Softly, my dear Lady Caroline; that's a license of marriage, you know. The names are inserted of course.—Some of them may be rubbed a little in the carriage; but they may be filled up at pleasure, you know.——Frank's my friend,——and if he has been negligent, I say nothing; but the parson of the parish is as blind as a beetle.

Lady Car. Now, don't you think, Mr. Shuffleton, I am a very ill used person?

Shuff. I feel inwardly for you, Lady Caroline; but my friend makes the subject delicate. Let us change it. Did you observe the steeple upon the hill, at the end of the park pales?

Lady Car. Psha?—No.

Shuff. It belongs to one of the prettiest little village churches you ever saw in your life. Let me show you the inside of the church, Lady Caroline.

Lady Car. I am almost afraid: for, if I should make a rash vow there, what is to become of my Lord Fitz Balaam?

Shuff. Oh, that's true; I had forgot his lordship:—but as the exigencies of the times demand it, let us hurry the question through the Commons, and when it has passed, with such strong independent interest on our sides, it will hardly be thrown out by the Peerage. [Exeunt.



SCENE III.

Another Apartment in SIR SIMON ROCHDALE'S House.

Enter PEREGRINE.

Pereg. Sir Simon does not hurry himself; but 'tis a custom with the great, to make the little, and the unknown, dance attendance. When I left Cornwall, as a boy, this house, I remember, was tenanted by strangers, and the Rochdales inhabited another on the estate, seven miles off.—I have lived to see some changes in the family, and may live, perhaps, to see more.

Enter FRANK ROCHDALE.

Frank. You expected, I believe, Sir Simon Rochdale, sir;—but he will be occupied with particular business, for some time. Can I receive your commands, sir?

Pereg. Are you Sir Simon Rochdale's son, sir?

Frank. I am.

Pereg. It was my wish, sir, to have seen your father. I come unintroduced, and scurvily enough accoutred; but, as I have urgent matters to communicate, and have suffered shipwreck, upon your coast, this morning, business will excuse my obtrusion, and the sea must apologize for my wardrobe.

Frank. Shipwreck! That calamity is a sufficient introduction to every roof, I trust, in a civilized country. What can we do immediately to serve you?

Pereg. Nothing, sir—I am here to perform service, not to require it. I come from a wretched hut on the heath, within the ken of this affluent mansion, where I have witnessed calamity in the extreme.

Frank. I do not understand you.

Pereg. Mary!—

Frank. Ha.!—Now you have made me understand you. I perceive, now, on what object you have presented yourself here, to harangue. 'Tis a subject on which my own remorse would have taught me to bend to a just man's castigation; but the reproof retorts on the reprover, when he is known to be a hypocrite. My friend, sir, has taught me to know you.

Pereg. He, whom I encountered at the house on the heath?

Frank. The same.

Pereg. And what may he have taught you?

Frank. To discover, that your aim is to torture me, for relinquishing a beloved object, whom you are, at this moment, attaching to yourself;—to know, that a diabolical disposition, for which I cannot account, prompts you to come here, without the probability of benefiting any party, to injure me, and throw a whole family into confusion, on the eve of a marriage. But, in tearing myself from the poor, wronged, Mary, I almost tear my very heart by its fibres from the seat;——but 'tis a sacrifice to a father's repose; and—

Pereg. Hold, sir! When you betrayed the poor, wronged, Mary, how came you to forget, that every father's repose may be broken for ever by his child's conduct?

Frank. By my honour! by my soul! it was my intention to have placed her far, far above the reach of want; but you, my hollow monitor, are frustrating that intention. You, who come here to preach virtue, are tempting her to be a confirmed votary of vice, whom I in penitence would rescue, as the victim of unguarded sensibility.

Pereg. Are you, then, jealous of me?

Frank. Jealous!

Pereg. Aye: if so, I can give you ease. Return with me, to the injured innocent on the heath: marry her, and I will give her away.

Frank. Marry her! I am bound in honour to another.

Pereg. Modern honour is a coercive argument; but when you have seduced virtue, whose injuries you will not solidly repair, you must be slightly bound in old-fashion'd honesty.

Frank. I———I know not what to say to you. Your manner almost awes me; and there is a mystery in——

Pereg. I am mysterious, sir. I may have other business, perhaps, with your father; and, I will tell you, the very fate of your family may hang on my conference with him. Come, come, Mr. Rochdale, bring me to Sir Simon.

Frank. My father cannot be seen yet. Will you, for a short time, remain in my apartment?

Pereg. Willingly;—and depend on this, sir—I have seen enough of the world's weakness, to forgive the casual faults of youthful indiscretion;—but I have a detestation for systematic vice; and though, as a general censor, my lash may be feeble, circumstances have put a scourge in my hand, which may fall heavily on this family, should any of its branches force me to wield it.—I attend you. [Exeunt.

* * * * *

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

A Hall in the Manor-house.

Voices wrangling without.

Job. I will see Sir Simon.

Simon. You can't see Sir Simon, &c. &c. &c.

Enter JOB THORNBERRY, MARY, and SIMON.

Job. Don't tell me;—I come upon justice business.

Simon. Sir Simon be a gentleman justice.

Job. If the justice allows all his servants to be as saucy as you, I can't say much for the gentleman.

Simon. But these ben't his hours.

Job. Hours for justice! I thought one of the blessings of an Englishman, was to find justice at any time.

Mary. Pray don't be so——

Job. Hold your tongue, child. What are his hours?

Simon. Why, from twelve to two.

Job. Two hours out of four and twenty! I hope all that belong to law, are a little quicker than his worship; if not, when a case wants immediate remedy, it's just eleven to one against us. Don't you know me?

Simon. Na.

Job. I'm sure I have seen you in Penzance.

Simon. My wife has got a chandler's shop there.

Job. Haven't you heard we've a fire engine in the church?

Simon. What o' that?

Job. Suppose your wife's shop was in flames, and all her bacon and farthing candles frying?

Simon. And what then?

Job. Why then, while the house was burning, you'd run to the church for the engine. Shou'dn't you think it plaguy hard if the sexton said, "Call for it to-morrow, between twelve and two?"

Simon. That be neither here nor there.

Job. Isn't it! Then, do you see this stick? [Menacing.

Simon. Pshaw! you be a foolish old fellow.

Job. Why, that's true. Every now and then a jack-in-office, like you, provokes a man to forget his years. The cudgel is a stout one, and som'at like your master's justice;—'tis a good weapon in weak hands; and that's the way many a rogue escapes a dressing.—What! you are laughing at it?

Simon. Ees.

Job. Ees! you Cornish baboon, in a laced livery!—Here's something to make you grin more—here's half a crown. [Holding it up between his Finger and Thumb.

Simon. Hee! hee!

Job. Hee, hee!—Damn your Land'send chops! 'tis to get me to your master:—but, before you have it, though he keeps a gentleman-justice-shop, I shall make free to ring it on his counter. [Throws it on the Floor.] There! pick it up. [SIMON picks up the money.] I am afraid you are not the first underling that has stoop'd to pocket a bribe, before he'd do his duty.—Now, tell the gentleman-justice, I want to see him.

Simon. I'll try what I can do for you. [Exit.

Job. What makes you tremble so, Mary?

Mary. I can't help it:—I wish I could persuade you to go back again.

Job. I'll stay till the roof falls, but I'll see some of 'em.

Mary. Indeed, you don't know how you terrify me. But, if you go to Sir Simon, you'll leave me here in the hall;—you won't make me go with you, father?

Job. Not take you with me.—I'll go with my wrongs in my hand, and make him blush for his son.

Mary. I hope you'll think better of it.

Job. Why?

Mary. Because, when you came to talk, I should sink with shame, if he said any thing to you that might——that——

Job. Might what?

Mary. [Sighing, and hanging down her Head.] Make you blush for your daughter.

Job. I won't have you waiting, like a petitioner, in this hall, when you come to be righted. No, no!

Mary. You wouldn't have refused me any thing once;—but I know I have lost your esteem, now.

Job. Lost!—forgive is forgive, all the world over. You know, Mary, I have forgiven you: and, making it up by halves, is making myself a brass teakettle—warm one minute, cold the next; smooth without, and hollow within.

Mary. Then, pray, don't deny me!—I'm sure you wouldn't, if you knew half I am suffering.

Job. Do as you like, Mary; only never tell me again you have lost my esteem. It looks like suspicion o' both sides.—Never say that, and I can deny you nothing in reason,—or, perhaps, a little beyond it.—

Enter SIMON.

Well, will the justice do a man the favour to do his duty? Will he see me?

Simon. Come into the room next his libery. A stranger, who's with young master, ha' been waiting for un, longer nor you; but I'll get you in first.

Job. I don't know, that that's quite fair to the other.

Simon. Ees, it be; for t'other didn't give I half a crown.

Job. Then, stay till I come back, Mary.—I see, my man, when you take a bribe, you are scrupulous enough to do your work for it; for which, I hope, somebody may duck you with one hand, and rub you dry with the other. Kindness and honesty, for kindness and honesty's sake, is the true coin; but many a one, like you, is content to be a passable Birmingham halfpenny. [Exeunt JOB THORNBERRY and SIMON.

Mary. I wished to come to this house in the morning, and now I would give the world to be out of it. Hark! here's somebody! Oh, mercy on me, 'tis he himself! What will become of me! [Retires towards the Back of the Scene.

Enter FRANK ROCHDALE.

Frank. My father, then, shall see this visitor, whatever be the event. I will prepare him for the interview, and—— [Sees MARY.] Good Heaven! why—why are you here?

Mary. [Advancing to him eagerly.] I don't come willingly to trouble you; I don't, indeed!

Frank. What motive, Mary, has brought you to this house? and who is the stranger under whose protection you have placed yourself, at the house on the heath? Surely you cannot love him!

Mary. I hope I do.

Frank. You hope you do!

Mary. Yes; for I think he saved my life this morning, when I was struggling with the robber, who threatened to kill me.

Frank. And had you taken no guide with you, Mary?—no protector?

Mary. I was thinking too much of one, who promised to be my protector always, to think of any other.

Frank. Mary——I——I——'twas I, then, it seems who brought your life into such hazard.

Mary. I hope I haven't said any thing to make you unhappy.

Frank. Nothing, my dearest Mary, nothing. I know it is not in your nature even to whisper a reproof. Yet, I sent a friend, with full power from me, to give you the amplest protection.

Mary. I know you did:—and he gave me a letter, that I might be protected, when I got to London.

Frank. Why, then, commit yourself to the care of a stranger?

Mary. Because the stranger read the direction of the letter—here it is, [Taking it from her Pocket.] and said your friend was treacherous.

Frank. [Looking at the Letter.] Villain!

Mary. Did he intend to lead me into a snare then?

Frank. Let me keep this letter.—I may have been deceived in the person I sent to you, but—damn his rascality! [Aside.] But, could you think me base enough to leave you, unsheltered? I had torn you from your home,—with anguish I confess it—but I would have provided you another home, which want should not have assailed. Would this stranger bring you better comfort?

Mary. Oh, yes; he has; he has brought me my father.

Frank. Your father!—from whom I made you fly!

Mary. Yes; he has brought a father to his child,—that she might kiss off the tears her disobedience had forced down his aged cheeks, and restored me to the only home, which could give me any comfort, now.—And my father is here.

Frank. Here!

Mary. Indeed, I cou'dn't help his coming; and he made me come with him.

Frank. I—I am almost glad, Mary, that it has happened.

Mary. Are you?

Frank. Yes—when a weight of concealment is on the mind, remorse is relieved by the very discovery which it has dreaded. But you must not be waiting here, Mary. There is one in the house, to whose care I will entrust you.

Mary. I hope it isn't the person you sent to me to-day.

Frank. He! I would sooner cradle infancy with serpents.—Yet this is my friend! I will, now, confide in a stranger:—the stranger, Mary, who saved your life.

Mary. Is he here!

Frank. He is:—Oh, Mary, how painful, if, performing the duty of a son, I must abandon, at last, the expiation of a penitent! but so dependent on each other are the delicate combinations of probity, that one broken link perplexes the whole chain, and an abstracted virtue becomes a relative iniquity. [Exeunt.



SCENE II.

The Library.

SIR SIMON ROCHDALE and his STEWARD, who appears to be quitting the Room. JOB THORNBERRY standing at a little Distance from them.

Sir Simon. Remember the money must be ready to-morrow, Mr. Pennyman.

Steward. It shall, Sir Simon. [Going.

Sir Simon. [To JOB.] So, friend, your business, you say, is—and, Mr. Pennyman, [STEWARD turns back.] give Robin Ruddy notice to quit his cottage, directly.

Steward. I am afraid, Sir Simon, if he's turned out, it will be his ruin.

Sir Simon. He should have recollected that, before he ruin'd his neighbour's daughter.

Job. [Starting.] Eh!

Sir Simon. What's the matter with the man? His offence is attended with great aggravation.—Why doesn't he marry her?

Job. Aye! [Emphatically.

Sir Simon. Pray, friend, be quiet.

Steward. He says it would make her more unfortunate still; he's too necessitous to provide even for the living consequence of his indiscretion.

Sir Simon. That doubles his crime to the girl.—He must quit. I'm a magistrate, you know, Mr. Pennyman, and 'tis my duty to discourage all such immorality.

Steward. Your orders must be obeyed, Sir Simon. [Exit STEWARD.

Sir Simon. Now, yours is justice-business, you say. You come at an irregular time, and I have somebody else waiting for me; so be quick. What brings you here?

Job. My daughter's seduction, Sir Simon;—and it has done my heart good to hear your worship say, 'tis your duty to discourage all such immorality.

Sir Simon. To be sure it is;—but men, like you, shou'dn't be too apt to lay hold of every sentiment justice drops, lest you misapply it. 'Tis like an officious footman snatching up his mistress's periwig, and clapping it on again, hind part before. What are you?

Job. A tradesman, Sir Simon. I have been a freeholder, in this district, for many a year.

Sir Simon. A freeholder!—Zounds! one of Frank's voters, perhaps, and of consequence at his election. [Aside.] Won't you, my good friend, take a chair?

Job. Thank you, Sir Simon, I know my proper place. I didn't come here to sit down with Sir Simon Rochdale, because I am a freeholder; I come to demand my right, because you are a justice.

Sir Simon. A man of respectability, a tradesman, and a freeholder, in such a serious case as yours, had better have recourse to a court of law.

Job. I am not rich, now, Sir Simon, whatever I may have been.

Sir Simon. A magistrate, honest, friend, can't give you damages:—you must fee counsel.

Job. I can't afford an expensive lawsuit, Sir Simon:—and, begging your pardon, I think the law never intended that an injured man, in middling circumstances, should either go without redress, or starve himself to obtain it.

Sir Simon. Whatever advice I can give you, you shall have it for nothing; but I can't jump over justice's hedges and ditches. Courts of law are broad high roads, made for national convenience; if your way lie through them, 'tis but fair you should pay the turnpikes. Who is the offender?

Job. He lives on your estate, Sir Simon.

Sir Simon. Oho! a tenant!—Then I may carry you through your journey by a short cut. Let him marry your daughter, my honest friend.

Job. He won't.

Sir Simon. Why not?

Job. He's going to marry another.

Sir Simon. Then he turns out. The rascal sha'n't disgrace my estate four and twenty hours longer.—Injure a reputable tradesman, my neighbour!——a freeholder!—and refuse to——did you say he was poor?

Job. No, Sir Simon; and, by and by, if you don't stand in his way, he may be very rich.

Sir Simon. Rich! eh!—Why, zounds! is he a gentleman?

Job. I have answer'd that question already, Sir Simon.

Sir Simon. Not that I remember.

Job. I thought I had been telling you his behaviour.

Sir Simon. Umph!

Job. I reckon many of my neighbours honest men, though I can't call them gentlemen;—but I reckon no man a gentleman, that I can't call honest.

Sir Simon. Harkye, neighbour;—if he's a gentleman (and I have several giddy young tenants, with more money than thought), let him give you a good round sum, and there's an end.

Job. A good round sum!—Damn me, I shall choke! [Aside.] A ruffian, with a crape, puts a pistol to my breast, and robs me of forty shillings;—a scoundrel, with a smiling face, creeps to my fireside, and robs my daughter of her innocence. The judge can't allow restitution to spare the highwayman;—then, pray, Sir Simon,—I wish to speak humbly—pray don't insult the father, by calling money a reparation from the seducer.

Sir Simon. This fellow must be dealt with quietly I see—Justice, my honest friend, is——justice.—As a magistrate, I make no distinction of persons.—Seduction is a heinous offence: and, whatever is in my power, I——

Job. The offender is in your power, Sir Simon.

Sir Simon. Well, well; don't be hasty, and I'll take cognizance of him.—We must do things in form:—but you mustn't be passionate. [Goes to the Table, and takes up a Pen.] Come, give me his christian and surname, and I'll see what's to be done for you.—Now, what name must I write?

Job. Francis Rochdale.

Sir Simon. [Drops the Pen, looks at JOB, and starts up.] Damn me! if it isn't the brazier!

Job. Justice is justice, Sir Simon. I am a respectable tradesman, your neighbour, and a freeholder.—Seduction is a heinous offence; a magistrate knows no distinction of persons; and a rascal musn't disgrace your estate four and twenty hours longer.

Sir Simon. [Sheepishly.] I believe your name is Thornberry?

Job. It is, Sir Simon. I never blush'd at my name, till your son made me blush for yours.

Sir Simon. Mr. Thornberry—I—I heard something of my son's—a—little indiscretion, some mornings ago.

Job. Did you, Sir Simon? you never sent to me about it; so, I suppose, the news reach'd you at one of the hours you don't set apart for justice.

Sir Simon. This is a——a very awkward business, Mr. Thornberry. Something like a hump back;—we can never set it quite straight, so we must bolster it.

Job. How do you mean, Sir Simon?

Sir Simon. Why—'tis a—a disagreeable affair, and—we—must hush it up.

Job. Hush it up! a justice compound with a father, to wink at his child's injuries! if you and I hush it up so, Sir Simon, how shall we hush it up here? [Striking his Breast.] In one word, will your son marry my daughter?

Sir Simon. What! my son marry the daughter of a brazier!

Job. He has ruined the daughter of a brazier.—If the best lord in the land degrades himself by a crime, you can't call his atonement for it a condescension.

Sir Simon. Honest friend—I don't know in what quantities you may sell brass at your shop; but when you come abroad, and ask a baronet to marry his son to your daughter, damn me, if you ar'n't a wholesale dealer!

Job. And I can't tell, Sir Simon, how you may please to retail justice; but when a customer comes to deal largely with you, damn me if you don't shut up the shop windows!

Sir Simon. You are growing saucy. Leave the room, or I shall commit you.

Job. Commit me! you will please to observe, Sir Simon, I remember'd my duty, till you forgot yours. You asked me, at first, to sit down in your presence. I knew better than to do so, before a baronet and a justice of peace. But I lose my respect for my superior in rank, when he's so much below my equals in fair dealing:—and, since the magistrate has left the chair [Slams the Chair into the middle of the Room.] I'll sit down on it. [Sits down.] There!—'Tis fit it should be fill'd by somebody—and, dam'me if I leave the house till you redress my daughter, or I shame you all over the county!

Sir Simon. Why, you impudent mechanic! I shou'dn't wonder if the scoundrel call'd for my clerk, and sign'd my mittimus. [Rings the Bell.] Fellow, get out of that chair.

Job. I sha'n't stir. If you want to sit down, take another. This is the chair of justice: it's the most uneasy for you of any in the room.

Enter SERVANT.

Sir Simon. Tell Mr. Rochdale to come to me directly.

Serv. Yes, Sir Simon. [Sees JOB.] Hee! hee!

Sir Simon. Don't stand grinning, you booby! but go.

Serv. Yes, Sir Simon. Hee! he! [Exit.

Job. [Reaching a Book from the Table.] "Burn's Justice!"

Sir Simon. And how dare you take it up?

Job. Because you have laid it down. Read it a little better, and, then, I may respect you more.—There it is. [Throws it on the Floor.

Enter FRANK ROCHDALE.

Sir Simon. So, sir! prettily I am insulted on your account!

Frank. Good Heaven, sir! what is the matter?

Sir Simon. The matter! [Points to JOB.] Lug that old bundle of brass out of my chair, directly. [FRANK casts his Eyes on THORNBERRY, then on the Ground, and stands abashed.

Job. He dare as soon jump into one of your tin-mines. Brass!—there is no baser metal than hypocrisy: he came with that false coin to my shop, and it pass'd; but see how conscience nails him to the spot, now!

Frank. [To SIR SIMON.] Sir, I came to explain all.

Sir Simon. Sir, you must be aware that all is explained already. You provoke a brazier almost to knock me down; and bring me news of it, when he is fix'd as tight in my study, as a copper in my kitchen.

Frank. [Advancing to JOB.] Mr. Thornberry, I——

Job. Keep your distance! I'm an old fellow; but if my daughter's seducer comes near me, I'll beat him as flat as a stewpan.

Frank. [Still advancing.] Suffer me to speak, and—

Job. [Rising from the Chair, and holding up his Cane.] Come an inch nearer, and I'll be as good as my word.

Enter PEREGRINE.

Pereg. Hold!

Job. Eh! you here? then I have some chance, perhaps, of getting righted, at last.

Pereg. Do not permit passion to weaken that chance.

Job. Oh, plague! you don't know;—I wasn't violent till——

Pereg. Nay, nay; cease to grasp that cane.—While we are so conspicuously bless'd with laws to chastise a culprit, the mace of justice is the only proper weapon for the injured.—Let me talk with you. [Takes THORNBERRY aside.

Sir Simon. [To FRANK ROCHDALE.] Well, sir; who may this last person be, whom you have thought proper should visit me?

Frank. A stranger in this country, sir, and——

Sir Simon. And a friend, I perceive, of that old ruffian.

Frank. I have reason to think, sir, he is a friend to Mr. Thornberry.

Sir Simon. Sir, I am very much obliged to you.—You send a brazier to challenge me, and now, I suppose, you have brought a travelling tinker for his second. Where does he come from?

Frank. India, sir. He leap'd from the vessel that was foundering on the rocks, this morning, and swam to shore.

Sir Simon. Did he? I wish he had taken the jump with the brazier tied to his neck. [PEREGRINE and JOB come forward.

Pereg. [Apart to JOB.] I can discuss it better in your absence. Be near with Mary: should the issue be favourable, I will call you.

Job. [Apart to PEREG.] Well, well! I will. You have a better head at it than I.——Justice! Oh, if I was Lord Chancellor, I'd knock all the family down with the mace, in a minute. [Exit.

Pereg. Suffer me to say a few words, Sir Simon Rochdale, in behalf of that unhappy man. [Pointing to where JOB was gone out.

Sir Simon. And pray, sir, what privilege have you to interfere in my domestic concerns?

Pereg. None, as it appears abstractedly. Old Thornberry has just deputed me to accommodate his domestic concerns with you: I would, willingly, not touch upon yours.

Sir Simon. Poh! poh! You can't touch upon one, Without being impertinent about the other.

Pereg. Have the candour to suppose, Sir Simon, that I mean no disrespect to your house. Although I may stickle, lustily, with you, in the cause of an aggrieved man, believe me, early habits have taught me to be anxious for the prosperity of the Rochdales.

Sir Simon. Early habits!

Pereg. I happened to be born on your estate, Sir Simon; and have obligations to some part of your family.

Sir Simon. Then, upon my soul, you have chosen a pretty way to repay them!

Pereg. I know no better way of repaying them, than by consulting your family honour. In my boyhood, it seem'd as if nature had dropp'd me a kind of infant subject on your father's Cornish territory; and the whole pedigree of your house is familiar to me.

Sir Simon. Is it? Confound him, he has heard of the miller! [Aside.] Sir, you may talk this tolerably well; but 'tis my hope—my opinion, I mean, you can't tell who was my grandfather.

Pereg. Whisper the secret to yourself, Sir Simon; and let reason also whisper to you, that, when honest industry raises a family to opulence and honours, its very original lowness sheds lustre on its elevation;—but all its glory fades, when it has given a wound, and denies a balsam, to a man, as humble, and as honest, as your own ancestor.

Sir Simon. But I haven't given the wound.—And why, good sir, won't you be pleased to speak your sentiments! [To FRANK, who has retired, during the above Conversation, to the Back of the Room.

Frank. The first are, obedience to my father, sir; and, if I must proceed, I own that nothing, in my mind, but the amplest atonement, can extinguish true remorse for a cruelty.

Sir Simon. Ha! in other words, you can't clap an extinguisher upon your feelings, without a father-in-law who can sell you one. But Lady Caroline Braymore is your wife, or I am no longer your father.

Enter TOM SHUFFLETON and LADY CAROLINE BRAYMORE.

Shuff. How d'ye do, good folks? How d'ye do?

Sir Simon. Ha! Lady Caroline!—Tom, I have had a little business.—The last dinner-bell has rung, Lady Caroline; but I'll attend you directly.

Shuff. Baronet, I'm afraid we sha'n't be able to dine with you to-day.

Sir Simon. Not dine with me!

Lady Car. No;—we are just married!

Sir Simon. Hell and the devil! married!

Shuff. Yes; we are married, and can't come.

Pereg. [Aside.] Then 'tis time to speak to old Thornberry. [Exit.

Sir Simon. Lady Caroline!

Lady Car. I lost my appetite in your family this morning, Sir Simon; and have no relish for any thing you can have the goodness to offer me.

Shuff. Don't press us, baronet;—that's quite out, in the New School.

Sir Simon. Oh, damn the New School!—who will explain all this mystery?

Frank. Mr. Shuffleton shall explain it, sir; and other mysteries too.

Shuff. My dear Frank, I have something to say to you. But here comes my papa; I've been talking to him, Sir Simon, and he'll talk to you. He does very well to explain, for the benefit of a country gentleman.

Enter LORD FITZ BALAAM.

Sir Simon. My Lord, it is painful to be referred to you, when so much is to be said. What is it all?

Lord Fitz. You are disappointed, Sir Simon, and I am ruin'd.

Sir Simon. But, my lord—— [They go up the Stage.

[LADY CAROLINE throws herself carelessly into a Chair. SHUFFLETON advances to FRANK.

Shuff. My dear Frank, I——I have had a devilish deal of trouble in getting this business off your hands. But you see, I have done my best for you.

Frank. For yourself, you mean.

Shuff. Come, damn it, my good fellow, don't be ungrateful to a friend.

Frank. Take back this letter of recommendation, you wrote for Mary, as a friend. When you assume that name with me, Mr. Shuffleton, for myself I laugh; for you I blush; but for sacred friendship's profanation I grieve. [Turns from him.

Shuff. That all happens from living so much out of town.

Enter PEREGRINE, JOB THORNBERRY, and MARY.

Pereg. Now, Sir Simon, as accident seems to have thwarted a design, which probity could never applaud, you may, perhaps, be inclined to do justice here.

Job. Justice is all I come for—damn their favours! Cheer up, Mary!

Sir Simon. [To PEREG.] I was in hopes I had got rid of you. You are an orator from the sea-shore; but you must put more pebbles in your mouth before you harangue me into a tea-kettle connexion.

Shuff. That's my friend at the Red Cow. He is the new-old cher ami to honest tea-kettle's daughter.

Frank. Your insinuation is false, sir.

Shuff. False! [Stepping forward.

Lady Car. Hush! don't quarrel;—we are only married to-day.

Shuff. That's true; I won't do any thing to make you unhappy for these three weeks.

Pereg. Sir Simon Rochdale, if my oratory fail, and which, indeed, is weak, may interest prevail with you?

Sir Simon. No; rather than consent, I'd give up every acre of my estate.

Pereg. Your conduct proves you unworthy of your estate; and, unluckily for you, you have roused the indignation of an elder brother, who now stands before you, and claims it.

Sir Simon. Eh!—Zounds!—Peregrine!

Pereg. I can make my title too good, in an instant, for you to dispute it. My agent in London has long had documents on the secret he has kept; and several old inhabitants here, I know, are prepared to identify me.

Sir Simon. I had a run-away brother—a boy that every body thought dead. How came he not to claim till now?

Pereg. Because, knowing he had given deep cause of offence, he never would have asserted his abandon'd right, had he not found a brother neglecting, what no Englishman should neglect—justice and humanity to his inferiors.

Enter DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY.

Dennis. Stand asy, all of you; for I've big news for my half-drown'd customer. Och! bless your mug! and is it there you are?

Sir Simon. What's the matter now?

Dennis. Hould your tongue, you little man!—There's a great post just come to your Manor-house, and the Indiaman's work'd into port.

Job. What, the vessel with all your property? [To PEREG.

Dennis. By all that's amazing, they say you have a hundred thousand pounds in that ship.

Pereg. My losses might have been somewhat more without this recovery. I have entered into a sort of partnership with you, my friend, this morning. How can we dissolve it?

Job. You are an honest man; so am I; so settle that account as you like.

Pereg. Come forth, then, injured simplicity;—of your own cause you shall be now the arbitress.

Mary. Do not make me speak, sir, I am so humbled—so abash'd——

Job. Nonsense! we are sticking up for right.

Pereg. Will you then speak, Mr. Rochdale?

Frank. My father is bereft of a fortune, sir; but I must hesitate till his fiat is obtained, as much as if he possess'd it.

Sir Simon. Nay, nay; follow your own inclinations now

Frank. May I, sir? Oh, then, let the libertine now make reparation, and claim a wife. [Running to MARY, and embracing her.

Dennis. His wife! Och! what a big dinner we'll have at the Red Cow!

Pereg. What am I to say, sir? [To SIR SIMON.

Sir Simon. Oh! you are to say what you please.

Pereg. Then, bless you both! And, tho' I have passed so much of my life abroad, brother, English equity is dear to my heart. Respect the rights of honest John Bull, and our family concerns may be easily arranged.

Job. That's upright. I forgive you, young man, for what has passed; but no one deserves forgiveness, who refuses to make amends, when he has disturb'd the happiness of an Englishman's fireside.

THE END