alienated his affections, and banished me his house, distrest and destitute. Sir Geo. Would no friend receive you? Lucy. Alas, how few are friends to the unfor tunate! Besides, I knew, sir, such a step would be considered by my father as an appeal from his justice. I, therefore, retired to a remote corner of the town, trusting, as my only advocate, to the tender calls of nature, in his cool reflecting hours. Sir Geo. How came you to know this wo Lucy. A shameful one. I know it all; and man? yet believe me, sir, I am innocent. Lucy. Accident placed me in a house, the with my infamous conductress. There, as enthu Sir Geo. Oh, I don't question that. Your pi- mistress of which professed the same principles ous patroness is a proof of your innocence. Lucy. What can I say to gain your credit?-siasm is the child of melancholy, I caught the inAnd yet, sir, strong as appearances are against me, by all that's holy, you see me here, a poor, distrest, involuntary victim! Sir Geo. Her style's above the common class; her tears are real. Rise, child! How the poor creature trembles ! Lucy. Say, then, I am safe. Lucy. May Heaven reward you! I cannot. Lucy. None. Sir Geo. You know Mrs Cole? Sir Geo. How came you, then, to trust her? Sir Geo. Not, if it be true. Be just, and you will find me generous. Lucy. On that, sir, I relied, in venturing hither. Sir Geo. You did me justice. Trust me with all your story. If you deserve, depend upon my protection. Lucy. Some months ago, sir, I was considered as the joint heiress of a respectable wealthy merchant; dear to my friends, happy in my prospects, and my father's favourite. Sir Geo. His name? Lucy. There you must pardon me. Unkind and cruel though he has been to me, let me discharge the duty of a daughter; 'suffer in silence, nor bring reproach on him. who gave me being. fection. A constant attendance on their assemblies procured me the acquaintance of this woman, whose extraordinary zeal and devotion first drew my attention and confidence. I trusted her with my story, and, in return, received the warmest invitation to take the protection of her house. This I unfortunately accepted. Sir Geo. Unfortunately, indeed! Lucy. By the decency of appearances, I was some time imposed upon; but an accident, which you will excuse my repeating, revealed all the horror of my situation. I will not trouble you with a recital of all the arts used to seduce me: happily they hitherto have failed. But this morning I was acquainted with my destiny; and no other election left me, but immediate compliance, or a jail. In this desperate condition, you cannot wonder, sir, at my choosing rather to rely on the generosity of a gentleman, than the humanity of a creature insensible to pity, and void of every virtue Sir Geo. The event shall justify your choice. You have my faith and honour for your security. For, though I can't boast of my own goodness, yet I have an honest feeling for afflicted virtue; and, however unfashionable, a spirit that dares afford it protection. Give me your hand. As soon as I have dispatched some pressing business here, I will lodge you in an asylum, sacred to the distresses of your sex, where indigent beauty is guarded from temptations, and deluded innocence rescued from infamy. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Shift. Zooks, I have toiled like a horse; quite tired, by Jupiter! And what shall I get for my pains? The old fellow here talks of making me Sir Geo. I applaud your piety. easy for life. Easy! and what does he mean by Lucy. At this happy period, my father, judg- easy? He'll make me an exciseman, I suppose? ing an addition of wealth must bring an increase and so, with an inkhorn at my button-hole, and of happiness, resolved to unite me with a man, a taper switch in my hand, I shall run about sordid in his mind, brutal in his manners, and gauging of beer barrels. No, that will never do. riches his only recommendation. My refu-This lad, here, is no fool. Foppish, indeed. He sal of this ill-suited match, though mildly given, does not want parts, no, nor principles neither. I inflamed my father's temper, naturally choleric, overheard his scene with the girl; I think I may trust him. I have a great mind to venture it.-out dice.] Pretty implements! The fruits of It is a shame to have him duped by this old don. your leisure hours! they are dexterously done. It must not be. I'll in, and unfold-Ha! Egad, You have a fine mechanical turn. Dick, secure I have a thought too, which, if my heir apparent the door. can execute, I shall still lie concealed, and perhaps be rewarded on both sides. I have it; 'tis engendered, piping hot. MRS COLE, speaking as entering. Mrs Cole. Here I am at last. Well, and how is your honour, and the little gentlewoman?Bless me! what is the matter here? Sir Geo. I am, madam, treating your friends with a cold collation, and you are opportunely come for your share. The little gentlewoman is safe, and in much better hands than you designed her. Abominable hypocrite! who, tottering under the load of irreverent age and infamous diseases, inflexibly proceed in the practice of every vice, impiously prostituting the most sabro-cred institutions to the most infernal purposes. Mrs Cole. I hope your honour Enter SIR WILLIAM and RICHARD WEALTHY. R. Weal. Well, I suppose, by this time, you are satisfied what a scoundrel you have brought into the world, and are ready to finish your foolery? Sir Wil. Got to the catastrophe, good ther. R. Weal. Let us have it over, then. Sir Wil. I have already alarmed all his tradesmen. I suppose we shall soon have him here, with a legion of bailiffs and constables. Oh, have you my will about you? R. Weal. Yes, yes. Sir Wil. It is almost time to produce it, or read him the clause that relates to his rejecting your daughter. That will do his business. But they come. I must return to my character. Enter SHIFT. Sir Geo. Take her away! As you have been singular in your penitence, you ought to be distinguished in your penance; which, I promise you, shall be most publicly and plentifully bestowed. [Exit MRS COLE. Enter DICK. Dick. The constables, sir. Enter Constables. Sir Geo. Let them come in, that I may consign these gentlemen to their care. [To SIR WILShift. Sir, sir, we are all in the wrong box-LIAM.] Your letters of nobility you will produce our scheme is blown up; your son has detected Loader and Tally, and is playing the very devil within. Sir Wil. Oh, the bunglers! Sir Geo. And can youth, however cautious, be guarded against such deep-laid, complicated villainy? Where are the rest of your diabolical crew? your auctioneer, usurer, and O, sir, are you here? I am glad you have not escaped us, however. Sir Wil. What de devil is de matter? Sir Geo. Your birth, which I believe an imposition, preserves you, however, from the discipline those rogues have received. A baron! a nobleman! a sharper! O, shame! It is enough to banish all confidence from the world. On whose faith can we rely, when those, whose honour is held as sacred as an oath, unmindful of their dignity, descend to rival pick-pockets in their infamous arts. What are these? [Pulls in a court of justice. Though, if I read you right, you are one of those indigent, itinerant nobles of your own creation, which our reputation for hospitality draws hither in shoals, to the shame of our understanding, the impairing of our fortunes, and, when you are trusted, the betraying of our designs. Officers, do your duty. Sir Wil. Why, don't you know me? Sir Geo. Just as I guessed. An impostor.He has recovered the free use of his tongue already. Sir Wil. Nay, but George Sir Geo. Insolent familiarity! away with him! Sir Wil. Hold, hold a moment! Brother Richard, set this matter to rights. R. Weal. Don't you know him? Sir Geo. Know him! the very question is an affront. R. Weal. Nay, I don't wonder at it. Tis your father, you fool! Sir Geo. My father? Impossible! Sir Geo. My father alive! Thus let me greet the blessing. Sir Wil. Alive! Ay, and I believe I shan't be in a hurry to die again. Sir Geo. But, dear sir, the report of your death—and this disguise-to what the scheme. Sir Wil. Don't ask any questions. Your un- | your parental roof. Want, pining want, anguish, cle will tell you all. For my part, I am sick of and shame, have been my constant partners. Sir Wil. Brother! Sir Geo. Sir! Lucy. Father! R. Weal. I told you what would become of your politics. Sir Wil You did so; but if it had not been for those clumsy scoundrels, the plot was as good a plot-0, George! such discoveries I have to make. Within, I'll unravel the whole. Sir Geo. Perhaps, sir, I may match them. [Pulls him by sleeve. Sir Geo. Never fear. It is impossible, gentlemen, to determine your fate, till this matter is more fully explained; till when, keep him safe in custody. Do you know them, sir? Sir Wil. Yes, but that's more than they did me. I can cancel your debts there, and, I believe, prevail on those gentlemen to refund, too But you have been a sad profligate young dog, George. Sir Geo. I can't boast of my goodness, sir, but I think I could produce you a proof that I am not so totally destitute of Sir Wil. Ay! why, then, prithee do. Sir Geo. I have, sir, this day, resisted a temptation, that greater pretenders to morality might have yielded to. But I will trust myself no longer, and must crave your interposition and protection. Sir Wil. To what? Sir Geo. I will attend you with the explanation in an instant. [Exit SIR GEO. Shift. I suppose the affair I overheard, just now; a prodigious fine, elegant girl, faith, that, discarded by her family, for refusing to marry her grandfather, fell into the hands of the venerable lady you saw; who, being the kind caterer for your son's amusements, brought her hither for a purpose obvious enough. But the young gentleman, touched with her story, truth, and tears, was converted from the spoiler of her honour, to the protector of her innocence. Sir Wil. Look'e there, brother, did not I tell you that George was not so bad at the bottom? R. Weal. This does indeed atone for half the -But they are here. Enter SIR GEORGE and LUCY. R. Weal. Rise, child; 'tis I must ask thee forgiveness. Canst thou forget the woes I've made thee suffer? Come to my arms once more, thou darling of my age! What mischief had my rashness nearly completed! Nephew, I scarce can thank you as I ought, but Sir Geo. I am richly paid, in being the happy instrument-Yet, might I urge a wishR. Weal. Naine it. Sir Geo. That you would forgive my follies of to-day; and, as I have been providentially the occasional guardian of your daughter's honour, that you would bestow on me that right for life. R. Weal. That must depend on Lucy; her will, not mine, shall now direct her choiceWhat says your father? Sir Wil. Me! Oh, I'll show you in an instant. Give me your hands. There, children; now you are joined; and the devil take him that wishes to part you! Sir Geo. I thank you for us both. Sir Wil. Now, brother, I hope you will allow me to be a good plotter. All this was brought to bear by my means. Shift. With my assistance, I hope, you'll own, sir? Sir Wil. That's true, honest Shift, and thou shalt be richly rewarded; nay, George shall be your friend, too. This Shift is an ingenious fellow, let me tell you, son. Sir Geo. I am no stranger to his abilities, sir. But, if you please, we will retire. The various struggles of this fair sufferer require the soothing softness of a sister's love. And now, sir, I hope your fears for me are over; for, had I not this inotive to restrain my follies, yet I now know the town too well to be ever its bubble, and will take care to preserve, at least, Some more estate, and principles, and wit, Than brokers, bawds, and gamesters shall think fit. SHIFT, addressing himself to SIR George. And what becomes of your poor servant, Shift? Your father talks of lending me a liftA great man's promise, when his turn is served; Sir Geo. Fear nothing, madam, you may safe- Capons, on promises, would soon be starved: ly rely on the Lucy. My father! R. Weal. Lucy! Lucy. O, sir, can you forgive your poor distrest, unhappy girl? You scarce can guess how hardly I've been used since my banishment from No; on myself alone I'll now rely: And live a rent-charge upon Providence. [Child. What matters that? Why, Providence an't dead! With reason good, this truth the child might say, SCENE I. ACT I. Enter MRS HARLOW and MISS HARLOW. Mrs Har. My dear sister, let me tell you— Miss Har. But, my dear sister, let me tell you it is in vain; you can say nothing that will have any effect. Mrs Har. Not, if you won't hear me; only hear me Miss Har. Oh! madam, I know you love to hear yourself talk, and so please yourself—but I am resolved Mrs Har. Your resolution may alter. Mrs Hur. Upon a little consideration. Miss Har. Upon no consideration. Mrs Har. You don't know how that may be; recollect, sister, that you are no chicken-you are not now of the age that becomes giddiness and folly. VOL. III. Miss Har. Age, madam Mrs Har. Do but hear me, sister; do but hear me: A person of your years Miss Har. My years, sister! Upon my word— Mrs Har. Nay, no offence, sister Miss Har. But there is offence, madam: I don't understand what you mean by it-always thwarting me with my years-my years, indeed! when, perhaps, madam, if I was to die of old age, some folks might have reason to look about them. in Mrs Har. She feels it, I see. Oh! I delight mortifying her. [Aside.] Sister, if I did not love you, I am sure I should not talk to you in this manner. But how can you make so unkind a return now, as to alarm me about myself? In some sixteen or eighteen years after you, to be sure, I own I shall begin to think of making my will. How could you be so severe ? Miss Har. Some sixteen or eighteen years, madam! If you would own the truth, madam2 N |