An extensive view of a cultivated country—A ploughed field in the centre, in which are seen six different ploughs and horses—At one side a handsome tent—A number of country people assembled.
EnterAshfieldandDame.
Ash.Make way, make way for the gentry! and, do ye hear, behave pratty as I do—Dang thee, stond back, or I'll knack thee down, I wool.
EnterSir Abel,andMiss Blandford,with Servants.
Sir Abel.It is very kind of you to honour our rustic festivities with your presence.
Miss B.Pray, Sir Abel, where is your son?
Sir Abel.What! Bob? Oh, you'll see him presently—[Nodding significantly.]—Here are the prize medals; and if you will condescend to present them, I'm sure they'll be worn with additional pleasure.—I say, you'll see Bob presently.—Well, Farmer, is it all over?
Ash.Ees, zur; the acres be plough'd and the ground judg'd; and the young lads be coming down to receive their reward—Heartily welcome, miss, to your native land; hope you be as pleased to zee we as we be to zee you, and the like o'that.—Mortal beautizome to be sure—I declare, miss, it do make I quite warm zomehow to look at ye. [A shout without.] They be coming—Now, Henry!
Sir Abel.Now you'll see Bob!—now my dear boy, Bob!—here he comes.
[Huzza.
EnterHenryand two young Husbandmen.
Ash.'Tis he, he has don't—Dang you all, why dan't ye shout? Huzza!
Sir Abel.Why, zounds, where's Bob?—I don't see Bob—Bless me, what has become of Bob and my plough?
[Retires and takes out his glass.
Ash.Well, Henry, there be the prize, and there be the fine lady that will gi' it thee.
Henry.Tell me who is that lovely creature?
Ash.The dater of Sir Philip Blandford.
Henry.What exquisite sweetness! Ah! should the father but resemble her, I shall have but little to fear from his severity.
Ash.Miss, thic be the young man that ha got'n the goulden prize.
Miss B.This! I always thought ploughmen were coarse, vulgar creatures, but he seems handsome and diffident.
Ash.Ees, quite pratty behaved—it were I that teach'd un.
Miss B.What's your name?
Henry.Henry.
Miss B.And your family?
[Henry, in agony of grief, turns away, strikes his forehead, and leans on the shoulder ofAshfield.]
Dame.[Apart toMiss B.] Madam, I beg pardon, but nobody knows about his parentage; and when it is mentioned, poor boy! he takes on sadly—He has lived at our house ever since we had the farm, and we have had an allowance for him—small enough to be sure—but, good lad! he was always welcome to share what we had.
Miss B.I am shock'd at my imprudence—[ToHenry.] Pray pardon me; I would not insult an enemy, much less one I am inclined to admire—[Giving her hand, then withdraws it.]—to esteem—you shall go to the Castle—my father shall protect you.
Henry.Generous creature! to merit his esteem is the fondest wish of my heart—to be your slave, the proudest aim of my ambition.
Miss B.Receive your merited reward. [He kneels—she places the medal round his neck—the same to the others.]
Sir Abel.[Advances.] I can't see Bob: pray, sir, do you happen to know what is become of my Bob?
Henry.Sir?
Sir Abel.Did not you see a remarkable clever plough, and a young man——
Henry.At the beginning of the contest I observed a gentleman; his horses, I believe, were unruly; but my attention was too much occupied to allow me to notice more.
[Laughing without.
Handy, jun.[Without.] How dare you laugh?
Sir Abel.That's Bob's voice!
[Laughing again.
EnterHandy, jun.in a smock frock, cocked hat, and a piece of a plough in his hand.
Handy, jun.Dare to laugh again, and I'll knock you down with this!—Ugh! how infernally hot!
[Walks about.
Sir Abel.Why, Bob, where have you been?
Handy, jun.I don't know where I've been.
Sir Abel.And what have you got in your hand?
Handy, jun.What! All I could keep of your nonsensical ricketty plough.
[Walks about,Sir Abelfollowing.
Sir Abel.Come, none of that, sir.—Don't abuse my plough, to cover your ignorance, sir? where is it, sir? and where are my famous Leicestershire horses, sir?
Handy, jun.Where? ha, ha, ha! I'll tell you as nearly as I can, ha, ha! What's the name of the next county?
Ash.It be called Wiltshire, zur.
Handy, jun.Then, dad, upon the nicest calculation I am able to make, they are at this moment engaged in the very patriotic act of ploughing Salisbury plain, ha ha! I saw them fairly over that hill, full gallop, with the curricle plough at their heels.
Ash.Ha, ha! a good one, ha ha!
Handy, jun.But never mind, father, you must again set your invention to work, and I my toilet:—rather a deranged figure to appear before a lady in. [Fiddles.] Hey day! What! are you going to dance?
Ash.Ees, zur; I suppose you can sheake a leg a bit?
Handy, jun.I fancy I can dance every possible step, from thepas ruseto the war-dance of the Catawbaws.
Ash.Likely.—I do hope, miss, you'll join your honest neighbours; they'll be deadly hurt an' you won't gig it a bit wi' un.
Miss B.With all my heart.
Sir Abel.Bob's an excellent dancer.
Miss B.I dare say he is, sir? but on this occasion, I think I ought to dance with the young man, who gained the prize—I think it would be most pleasant—most proper, I mean; and I am glad you agree with me.—So, sir, if you'll accept my hand—
[Henrytakes it.
Sir Abel.Very pleasantly settled, upon my soul!—Bob, won't you dance?
Handy, jun.I dance!—no, I'll look at them—I'll quietly look on.
Sir Abel.Egad now, as my wife's away, I'll try to find a pretty girl, and make one among them.
Ash.That's hearty!—Come, Dame, hang the rheumatics!—Now, lads and lasses, behave pratty, and strike up.
[A dance.
[Handy, jun.looks on a little, and then begins to move his legs—then dashes into the midst of the dance, and endeavours to imitate every one opposite to him; then being exhausted, he leaves the dance, seizes the fiddle, and plays 'till the curtain drops.]
An Apartment in the Castle.
Sir Philip Blandforddiscovered on a couch, reading,Servantsattending.
Sir Philip.Is not my daughter yet returned?
Serv.No, Sir Philip.
Sir Philip.Dispatch a servant to her.
[ExitServant.
Re-enterServant.
Serv.Sir, the old gardener is below, and asks to see you.
Sir Philip.[Rises and throws away the book.] Admit him instantly, and leave me.— [ExitServant.
EnterEvergreen,who bows, then looking atSir Philip,clasps his hands together, and weeps.
Does this desolation affect the old man?—Come near me—Time has laid a lenient hand on thee.
Everg.Oh, my dear master! can twenty years have wrought the change I see?
Sir Philip.No; [Striking his breast.] 'tis the canker here that hath withered up my trunk;—but are we secure from observation?
Everg.Yes.
Sir Philip.Then tell me, does the boy live?
Everg.He does, and is as fine a youth—
Sir Philip.No comments.
Everg.We named him—
Sir Philip.Be dumb! let me not hear his name. Has care been taken he may not blast me with his presence?
Everg.It has, and he cheerfully complied.
Sir Philip.Enough! never speak of him more. Have you removed every dreadful vestige from the fatal chamber? [Evergreenhesitates.]—O speak!
Everg.My dear master! I confess my want of duty. Alas! I had not courage to go there.
Sir Philip.Ah!
Everg.Nay, forgive me! wiser than I have felt such terrors.—The apartments have been carefully locked up; the keys not a moment from my possession:—here they are.
Sir Philip.Then the task remains with me. Dreadful thought! I can well pardon thy fears, old man.—O! could I wipe from my memory that hour, when—
Everg.Hush! your daughter.
Sir Philip.Leave me—we'll speak anon.
[ExitEvergreen.
EnterMiss Blandford.
Miss B.Dear father! I came the moment I heard you wished to see me.
Sir Philip.My good child, thou art the sole support that props my feeble life. I fear my wish for thy company deprives thee of much pleasure.
Miss B.Oh no! what pleasure can be equal to that of giving you happiness? Am I not rewarded in seeing your eyes beam with pleasure on me?
Sir Philip.'Tis the pale reflection of the lustre I see sparkling there.—But, tell me, did your lover gain the prize?
Miss B.Yes, papa.
Sir Philip.Few men of his rank—
Miss B.Oh! you mean Mr. Handy?
Sir Philip.Yes.
Miss B.No; he did not.
Sir Philip.Then, whom didyoumean?
Miss B.Did you say lover? I—I mistook.—No—a young man called Henry obtained the prize.
Sir Philip.And how did Mr. Handy succeed?
Miss B.Oh! It was so ridiculous!—I will tell you, papa, what happened to him.
Sir Philip.To Mr. Handy?
Miss B.Yes; as soon as the contest was over Henry presented himself. I was surprised at seeing a young man so handsome and elegant as Henry is.—Then I placed the medal round Henry's neck, and was told, that poor Henry—
Sir Philip.Henry!—So, my love, this is your account of Mr. Robert Handy!
Miss B.Yes, papa—no, papa—he came afterwards, dressed so ridiculously, that even Henry could not help smiling.
Sir Philip.Henry again!
Miss B.Then we had a dance.
Sir Philip.Of course you danced with your lover?
Miss B.Yes, papa.
Sir Philip.How does Mr. Handy dance?
Miss B.Oh! he did not dance till—
Sir Philip.You danced with your lover?
Miss B.Yes—no papa!—Somebody said (I don't know who) that I ought to dance with Henry, because—
Sir Philip.Still Henry! Oh! some rustic boy. My dear child, you talk as if you loved this Henry.
Miss B.Oh! no, papa—and I am certain he don't love me.
Sir Philip.Indeed!
Miss B.Yes, papa; for, when he touched my hand, he trembled as if I terrified him; and instead of looking at me as you do, who I am sure love me, when our eyes met, he withdrew his and cast them on the ground.
Sir Philip.And these are the reasons, which make you conclude he does not love you?
Miss B.Yes, papa.
Sir Philip.And probably you could adduce proof equally convincing that you don't love him?
Miss B.Oh, yes—quite; for in the dance he sometimes paid attention to other young women, and I was so angry with him! Now, you know, papa, I love you—and I am sure I should not have been angry with you had you done so.
Sir Philip.But one question more—Do you think Mr. Handy loves you?
Miss B.I have never thought about it, papa.
Sir Philip.I am satisfied.
Miss B.Yes, I knew I should convince you.
Sir Philip.Oh, love; malign and subtle tyrant, how falsely art thou painted blind! 'tis thy votaries are so; for what but blindness can prevent their seeing thy poisoned shaft, which is for ever doomed to rankle in the victim's heart.
Miss B.Oh! now I am certain I am not in love; for I feel no rankling at my heart. I feel the softest, sweetest sensation I ever experienced. But, papa, you must come to the lawn. I don't know why, but to-day nature seems enchanting; the birds sing more sweetly, and the flowers give more perfume.
Sir Philip.[Aside.] Such was the day my youthful fancy pictured!—How did it close!
Miss B.I promised Henry your protection.
Sir Philip.Indeed! that was much. Well I will see your rustic here. This infant passion must be crushed. Poor wench! some artless boy has caught thy youthful fancy.—Thy arm, my child.
[Exeunt.
A Lawn before the Castle.
EnterHenryandAshfield.
Ash.Well! here thee'rt going to make thy bow to Sir Philip. I zay, if he should take a fancy to thee, thou'lt come to farm, and zee us zometimes, wo'tn't, Henry?
Henry.[Shaking his hand.] Tell me, is that Sir Philip Blandford, who leans on that lady's arm?
Ash.I don't know, by reason, d'ye zee, I never zeed'un. Well, good bye! I declare thee doz look quite grand with thic golden prize about thy neck, vor all the world like the lords in their stars, that do come to theas pearts to pickle their skins in the zalt zea ocean! Good b'ye, Henry!
[Exit.
Henry.He approaches! why this agitation? I wish, yet dread, to meet him.
EnterSir PhilipandMiss Blandford,attended.
Miss B.The joy your tenantry display at seeing you again must be truly grateful to you.
Sir Philip.No, my child; for I feel I do not merit it. Alas! I can see no orphans clothed with my beneficence, no anguish assuaged by my care.
Miss B.Then I am sure my dear father wishes to show his kind intentions. So I will begin by placing one under his protection [Goes up the stage, and leads downHenry.Sir Philip,on seeing him, starts, then becomes greatly agitated.]
Sir Philip.Ah! do my eyes deceive me! No, it must be him! Such was the face his father wore.
Henry.Spake you of my father?
Sir Philip.His presence brings back recollections, which drive me to madness!—How came he here?—Who have I to curse for this?
Miss B.[Falling on his neck.] Your daughter.
Henry.Oh sir! tell me—on my knees I ask it! do my parents live! Bless me with my father's name, and my days shall pass in active gratitude—my nights in prayers for you. [Sir Philipviews him with severe contempt.] Do not mock my misery! Have you a heart?
Sir Philip.Yes; of marble. Cold and obdurate to the world—ponderous and painful to myself—Quit my sight for ever!
Miss B.Go, Henry, and save me from my father's curse.
Henry.I obey: cruel as the command is, I obey it—I shall often look at this, [Touching the medal.] and think on the blissful moment, when your hand placed it there.
Sir Philip.Ah! tear it from his breast.
[Servantadvances.
Henry.Sooner take my life! It is the first honour I have earned, and it is no mean one; for it assigns me the first rank among the sons of industry! This is my claim to the sweet rewards of honest labour! This will give me competence, nay more, enable me to despise your tyranny!
Sir Philip.Rash boy, mark! Avoid me, and be secure.—Repeat this intrusion, and my vengeance shall pursue thee.
Henry.I defy its power!—You are in England, sir, where the man, who bears about him an upright heart, bears a charm too potent for tyranny to humble. Can your frown wither up my youthful vigour? No!—Can your malediction disturb the slumbers of a quiet conscience? No! Can your breath stifle in my heart the adoration it feels for that pitying angel? Oh, no!
Sir Philip.Wretch! you shall be taught the difference between us!
Henry.I feel it now! proudly feel it!—You hate the man, that never wronged you—I could love the man, that injures me—You meanly triumph o'er a worm—I make a giant tremble.
Sir Philip.Take him from my sight! Why am I not obeyed?
Miss B.Henry, if you wish my hate should not accompany my father's, instantly begone.
Henry.Oh, pity me!
[Exit.
[Miss Blandfordlooks after him—Sir Philip,exhausted, leans on his servants.
Sir Philip.Supported by my servants! I thought I had a daughter!
Miss B.[Running to him.] O you have, my father! one that loves you better than her life!
Sir Philip.[ToServant.] Leave us. [ExitServant. Emma, if you feel, as I fear you do, love for that youth—mark my words! When the dove wooes for its mate the ravenous kite; when nature's fixed antipathies mingle in sweet concord, then, and not till then, hope to be united.
Miss B.O Heaven!
Sir Philip.Have you not promised me the disposal of your hand?
Miss B.Alas! my father! I didn't then know the difficulty of obedience!
Sir Philip.Hear, then, the reasons why I demand compliance. You think I hold these rich estates—Alas, the shadow only, not the substance.
Miss B.Explain, my father!
Sir Philip.When I left my native country, I left it with a heart lacerated by every wound, that the falsehood of others, or my own conscience, could inflict. Hateful to myself, I became the victim of dissipation—I rushed to the gaming table, and soon became the dupe of villains.—My ample fortune was lost; I detected one in the act of fraud, and having brought him to my feet, he confessed a plan had been laid for my ruin; that he was but an humble instrument; for that the man, who, by his superior genius, stood possessed of all the mortgages and securities I had given, was one Morrington.
Miss B.I have heard you name him before. Did you not know this Morrington?
Sir Philip.No; he, like his deeds, avoided the light—Ever dark, subtle, and mysterious. Collecting the scattered remnant of my fortune, I wandered, wretched and desolate, till, in a peaceful village, I first beheld thy mother, humble in birth, but exalted in virtue. The morning after our marriage she received a packet, containing these words: "The reward of virtuous love, presented by a repentant villain;" and which also contained bills and notes to the high amount of ten thousand pounds.
Miss B.And no name?
Sir Philip.None; nor could I ever guess at the generous donor. I need not tell thee what my heart suffered, when death deprived me of her. Thus circumstanced, this good man, Sir Abel Handy, proposed to unite our families by marriage; and in consideration of what he termed the honour of our alliance, agreed to pay off every incumbrance on my estates, and settle them as a portion on you and his son. Yet still another wonder remains.—When I arrive, I find no claim whatever has been made, either by Morrington or his agents. What am I to think? Can Morrington have perished, and with him his large claims to my property? Or, does he withhold the blow, to make it fall more heavily?
Miss B.'Tis very strange! very mysterious! But my father has not told me what misfortune led him to leave his native country.
Sir Philip.[Greatly agitated.] Ha!
Miss B.May I not know it?
Sir Philip.Oh, never, never, never!
Miss B.I will not ask it—Be composed—Let me wipe away those drops of anguish from your brow.—How cold your cheek is! My father, the evening damps will harm you—Come in—I will be all you wish—indeed I will.
[Exeunt.
An Apartment in the Castle.
EnterEvergreen.
Everg.Was ever any thing so unlucky! Henry to come to the Castle and meet Sir Philip! He should have consulted me; I shall be blamed—but, thank Heaven, I am innocent.
[Sir AbelandLady Handywithout.]
Lady H.I will be treated with respect.
Sir Abel.You shall, my dear.
[They enter.
Lady H.But how! but how, Sir Abel? I repeat it—
Sir Philip.[Aside.] For the fiftieth time.
Lady H.Your son conducts himself with an insolence I won't endure; but you are ruled by him, you have no will of your own.
Sir Abel.I have not, indeed.
Lady H.How contemptible!
Sir Abel.Why, my dear, this is the case—I am like the ass in the fable; and if I am doomed to carry a packsaddle, it is not much matter who drives me.
Lady H.To yield your power to those the law allows you to govern!—
Sir Abel.Is very weak, indeed.
Everg.Lady Handy, your very humble servant; I heartily congratulate you, madam, on your marriage with this worthy gentleman—Sir, I give you joy.
Sir Abel.[Aside.] Not before 'tis wanted.
Everg.Aye, my lady, this match makes up for the imprudence of your first.
Lady H.Hem!
Sir Abel.Eh! What!—what's that—Eh! what do you mean?
Everg.I mean, sir—that Lady Handy's former husband—
Sir Abel.Former husband!—Why, my dear, I never knew—Eh!
Lady H.A mumbling old blockhead!—Didn't you, Sir Abel? Yes; I was rather married many years ago; but my husband went abroad and died.
Sir Abel.Died, did he?
Everg.Yes, sir, he was a servant in the Castle.
Sir Abel.Indeed! So he died—poor fellow!
Lady H.Yes.
Sir Abel.What, you are sure he died, are you?
Lady H.Don't you hear?
Sir Abel.Poor fellow! neglected perhaps—had I known it, he should have had the best advice money could have got.
Lady H.You seem sorry.
Sir Abel.Why, you would not have me pleased at the death of your husband, would you?—a good kind of man?
Everg.Yes; a faithful fellow—rather ruled his wife too severely.
Sir Abel.Did he! [Apart toEvergreen.] Pray do you happen to recollect his manner!—Could you just give a hint of the way he had?
Lady H.Do you want to tyrannize over my poor tender heart?—'Tis too much!
Everg.Bless me! Lady Handy is ill—Salts! salts!
Sir Abel.[Producing an essence box.] Here are salts, or aromatic vinegar, or essence of—
Everg.Any—any.
Sir Abel.Bless me, I can't find the key!
Everg.Pick the lock.
Sir Abel.It can't be picked, it is a patent lock.
Everg.Then break it open, sir.
Sir Abel.It can't be broke open—it is a contrivance of my own—you see, here comes a horizontal bolt, which acts upon a spring, therefore—
Lady H.I may die, while you are describing a horizontal bolt. Do you think you shall close your eyes for a week for this?
EnterSir Philip Blandford.
Sir Philip.What has occasioned this disturbance?
Lady H.Ask that gentleman.
Sir Abel.Sir, I am accused—
Lady H.Convicted! convicted!
Sir Abel.Well, I will not argue with you about words—because I must bow to your superior practice—But, Sir—
Sir Philip.Pshaw! [Apart.] Lady Handy, some of your people were inquiring for you.
Lady H.Thank you, sir. Come, Sir Abel.
[Exit.
Sir Abel.Yes, my lady—I say [ToEvergreen.] cou'dn't you give me a hint of the way he had—
Lady H.[Without.] Sir Abel!
Sir Abel.Coming, my soul!
[Exit.
Sir Philip.So! you have well obeyed my orders in keeping this Henry from my presence.
Everg.I was not to blame, master.
Sir Philip.Has Farmer Ashfield left the Castle?
Everg.No, sir.
Sir Philip.Send him hither. [ExitEvergreen.] That boy must be driven far, far from my sight—but where?—no matter! the world is large enough.
EnterAshfield.
—Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine.
Ash.Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice.
Sir Philip.I hope a profitable one?
Ash.Zometimes it be, zur. But thic year it be all t'other way as 'twur—but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightish big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind hearted as to take a little bit of the bad.
Sir Philip.It is but reasonable—I conclude then you are in my debt.
Ash.Ees, zur, I be—at your zarvice.
Sir Philip.How much?
Ash.I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds—at your zarvice.
Sir Philip.Which you can't pay?
Ash.Not a varthing, zur—at your zarvice.
Sir Philip.Well, I am willing to give you every indulgence.
Ash.Be you, zur? that be deadly kind. Dear heart! it will make my auld dame quite young again, and I don't think helping a poor man will do your honour's health any harm—I don't indeed, zur—I had a thought of speaking to your worship about it—but then, thinks I, the gentleman, mayhap, be one of those that do like to do a good turn, and not have a word zaid about it—zo, zur, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, I am zure I never should—should not, indeed, zur.
Sir Philip.Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on condition—
Ash.Ees, zur.
Sir Philip.On condition, I say, you instantly turn out that boy—that Henry.
Ash.Turn out Henry!—Ha, ha, ha! Excuse my tittering, zur; but you bees making your vun of I, zure.
Sir Philip.I am not apt to trifle—send him instantly from you, or take the consequences.
Ash.Turn out Henry! I do vow I shou'dn't knaw how to zet about it—I should not, indeed, zur.
Sir Philip.You hear my determination. If you disobey, you know what will follow—I'll leave you to reflect on it.
[Exit.
Ash.Well, zur, I'll argufy the topic, and then you may wait upon me, and I'll tell ye. [Makes the motion of turning out.]—I shou'd be deadly awkward at it, vor zartain—however, I'll put the case—Well! I goes whiztling whoam—noa, drabbit it! I shou'dn't be able to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well! I goas whoam, and I zees Henry zitting by my wife, mixing up someit to comfort the wold zoul, and take away the pain of her rheumatics—Very well! Then Henry places a chair vor I by the vire zide, and says—-"Varmer, the horses be fed, the sheep be folded, and you have nothing to do but to zit down, smoke your pipe, and be happy!" Very well! [Becomes affected.] Then I zays—"Henry, you be poor and friendless, zo you must turn out of my houze directly." Very well! then my wife stares at I—reaches her hand towards the vire place, and throws the poker at my head. Very well! then Henry gives a kind of aguish shake, and getting up, sighs from the bottom of his heart—then holding up his head like a king, zays—"Varmer, I have too long been a burden to you—Heaven protect you, as you have me—Farewell! I go." Then I says, "If thee doez I'll be domn'd!" [With great energy.] Hollo! you Mister Sir Philip! you may come in.—
EnterSir Philip Blandford.
Zur, I have argufied the topic, and it wou'dn't be pratty—zo I can't.
Sir Philip.Can't! absurd!
Ash.Well, zur, there is but another word—I wont.
Sir Philip.Indeed!
Ash.No, zur, I won't—I'd zee myself hang'd first, and you too, zur—I wou'd indeed.
[Bowing.
Sir Philip.You refuse then to obey.
Ash.I do, zur—at your zarvice.
[Bowing.
Sir Philip.Then the law must take its course.
Ash.I be zorry for that too—I be, indeed, zur, but if corn wou'dn't grow I cou'dn't help it; it wer'n't poison'd by the hand that zow'd it. Thic hand, zur, be as free from guilt as your own.
Sir Philip.Oh!
[Sighing deeply.
Ash.It were never held out to clinch a hard bargain, nor will it turn a good lad out into the wide wicked world, because he be poorish a bit. I be zorry you be offended, zur, quite—but come what wool, I'll never hit thic hand against here, but when I be zure that zumeit at inside will jump against it with pleasure. [Bowing.] I do hope you'll repent of all your zins—I do, indeed, zur; and if you shou'd, I'll come and zee you again as friendly as ever—I wool, indeed, zur.
Sir Philip.Your repentance will come too late.
[Exit.
Ash.Thank ye, zur—Good morning to you—I do hope I have made myzel agreeable—and so I'll go whoam.
[Exit.
A room inAshfield'sHouse.
DameAshfielddiscovered at work with her needle,Henrysitting by her.
Dame.Come, come, Henry, you'll fret yourself ill, child. If Sir Philip will not be kind to you, you are but where you were.
Henry.[Rising.] My peace of mind is gone for ever. Sir Philip may have cause for hate;—spite of his unkindness to me, my heart seeks to find excuses for him—oh! that heart doats on his lovely daughter.
Dame.[Looking out.] Here comes Tummas home at last. Heyday what's the matter with the man! He doesn't seem to know the way into his own house.
EnterAshfield,musing, he stumbles against a chair.
Tummas, my dear Tummas, what's the matter?
Ash.[Not attending.] It be lucky vor he I be's zoo pratty behaved, or dom if I—
[Doubling his fist.
Dame.Who—what?
Ash.Nothing at all; where's Henry?
Henry.Here, farmer.
Ash.Thee woultn't leave us, Henry, wou't?
Henry.Leave you! What, leave you now, when by my exertion I can pay off part of the debt of gratitude I owe you? oh, no!
Ash.Nay, it were not vor that I axed, I promise thee; come, gi'us thy hand on't then. [Shaking hands.] Now, I'll tell ye. Zur Philip did send vor I about the money I do owe 'un; and said as how he'd make all straight between us——
Dame.That was kind.
Ash.Ees, deadly kind. Make all straight on condition I did turn Henry out o'my doors.
Dame.What!
Henry.Where will his hatred cease?
Dame.And what did you say, Tummas?
Ash.Why I zivelly tould un, if it were agreeable to he to behave like a brute, it were agreeable to I to behave like a man.
Dame.That was right. I wou'd have told him a great deal more.
Ash.Ah! likely. Then a' zaid I shou'd ha' a bit a laa vor my pains.
Henry.And do you imagine I will see you suffer on my account? No—I will remove this hated form—— [Going.]
Ash.No, but thee shat'un—thee shat'un—I tell thee. Thee have givun me thy hand on't, and dom'me if thee sha't budge one step out of this house. Drabbit it! what can he do? he can't send us to jail. Why, I have corn will zell for half the money I do owe'un—and han't I cattle and sheep? deadly lean to be zure—and han't I a thumping zilver watch, almost as big as thy head? and Dame here a got——How many silk gowns have thee got, dame!
Dame.Three, Tummas—and sell them all—and I'll go to church in a stuff one—and let Mrs. Grundy turn up her nose as much as she pleases.
Henry.Oh, my friends, my heart is full. Yet a day will come, when this heart will prove its gratitude.
Dame.That day, Henry, is every day.
Ash.Dang it! never be down hearted. I do know as well as can be, zome good luck will turn up. All the way I comed whoam I looked to vind a purse in the path. But I didn't though. [A knocking at the door.]
Dame.Ah! here they are, coming to sell I suppose—
Ash.Lettun—lettun zeize and zell; we ha gotten here [Striking his breast.] what we won't zell, and they can't zell. [Knocking again.] Come in—dang it, don't ye be shy.
EnterMorringtonandGerald.
Henry.Ah! the strangers I saw this morning. These are not officers of law.
Ash.Noa!—Walk in, gemmen. Glad to zee ye wi' all my heart and zoul. Come, dame, spread a cloth, bring out cold meat, and a mug of beer.
Gerald.[ToMorrington.] That is the boy. [Morringtonnods.]
Ash.Take a chair, zur.
Mor.I thank, and admire your hospitality. Don't trouble yourself, good woman.—I am not inclined to eat.
Ash.That be the case here. To-day none o'we be auver hungry: misfortin be apt to stay the stomach confoundedly—
Mor.Has misfortune reached this humble dwelling?
Ash.Ees, zur. I do think vor my part it do work its way in every where.
Mor.Well, never despair.
Ash.I never do, zur. It is not my way. When the sun do shine I never think of voul weather, not I; and when it do begin to rain, I always think that's a zure zign it will give auver.
Mor.Is that young man your son?
Ash.No, zur—I do wish he were wi' all my heart and zoul.
Gerald.[ToMorrington.] Sir, remember.
Mor.Doubt not my prudence. Young man, your appearance interests me;—how can I serve you?
Henry.By informing me who are my parents.
Mor.That I cannot do.
Henry.Then, by removing from me the hatred of Sir Philip Blandford.
Mor.Does Sir Philip hate you?
Henry.With such severity, that even now he is about to ruin these worthy creatures, because they have protected me.
Mor.Indeed! misfortune has made him cruel. That should not be.
Ash.Noa, it should not, indeed, zur.
Mor.It shall not be.
Ash.Shan't it, zur? But how shan't it?
Mor.I will prevent it.
Ash.Wool ye faith, and troth? Now, dame, did not I zay zome good luck would turn up?
Henry.Oh, sir, did I hear you rightly? Will you preserve my friends?—will you avert the cruel arm of power, and make the virtuous happy? my tears must thank you.
[Taking his hand.
Mor.[Disengaging his hand.] Young man, you oppress me—forbear! I do not merit thanks—pay your gratitude where you are sure 'tis due—to Heaven. Observe me—here is a bond of Sir Philip Blandford's for 1000l.—do you present it to him, and obtain a discharge for the debt of this worthy man. The rest is at your own disposal—no thanks.
Henry.But, sir, to whom am I thus highly indebted?
Mor.My name is Morrington. At present that information must suffice.
Henry.Morrington.
Ash.[Bowing.] Zur, if I may be so bold—
Mor.Nay, friend——
Ash.Don't be angry, I hadn't thanked you, zur, nor I won't.—Only, zur, I were going to ax, when you wou'd call again. You shall have my stamp note vor the money, you shall, indeed, zur. And in the mean time, I do hope you'll take zomeit in way of remembrance as 'twere.
Dame.Will your honour put a couple of turkies in your pocket?
Ash.Or pop a ham under your arm? don't ye zay no, if it's agreeable.
Mor.Farewell, good friends, I shall repeat my visit soon.
Dame.The sooner the better.
Ash.Good bye to ye, zur,—Dame and I wool go to work as merry as crickets. Good bye, Henry.
Dame.Heaven bless your honour—and I hope you will carry as much joy away with you, as you leave behind you—I do indeed.
[ExeuntAshfieldand Dame.
Mor.Young man, proceed to the Castle, and demand an audience of Sir Philip Blandford. In your way thither, I'll instruct you further.—Give me your hand.
[ExeuntMorrington,looking stedfastlyonHenry,Geraldfollowing.
An Apartment in the Castle.
Sir Philip Blandforddiscovered—Miss Blandfordreading.
Miss B.Shall I proceed to the next essay?
Sir Philip.What does it treat of?
Miss B.Love and friendship.
Sir Philip.A satire?
Miss B.No, father;—an eulogy.
SirPhilip.Thus do we find, in the imaginations of men, what we in vain look for in their hearts.—Lay it by. [A knocking at the door.] Come in—
EnterEvergreen.
Everg.My dear master, I am a petitioner to you.
Sir Philip.[Rises.] None possesses a better claim to my favour—ask, and receive.
Everg.I thank you, sir. The unhappy Henry—
Miss B.What of him?
Sir Philip.Emma, go to your apartment.
Miss B.Poor Henry!
Sir Philip.Imprudent man!
Everg.[Sir Philipturns from hint with resentment.] Nay, be not angry; he is without, and entreats to be admitted.
Sir Philip.I cannot, will not, again behold him.
Everg.I am sorry you refuse me, as it compels me to repeat his words: "If," said he, "Sir Philip denies my humble request, tell him, I demand to see him."
Sir Philip.Demand to see me! well, hishighcommand shall be obeyed then [Sarcastically]. Bid him approach.
[ExitEvergreen.
EnterHenry.
Sir Philip.By what title, sir, do you thus intrude on me?
Henry.By one of an imperious nature, the title of a creditor.
Sir Philip.Iyourdebtor!
Henry.Yes; for you owe me justice. You, perhaps, withhold from me the inestimable treasure of a parent's blessing.
Sir Philip.[Impatiently.] To the business that brought you hither.
Henry.Thus then—I believe this is your signature.
[Producing a bond.
Sir Philip.Ah! [Recovering himself.] it is—
Henry.Affixed to a bond of 1000l. which, by assignment, is mine. By virtue of this I discharge the debt of your worthy tenant Ashfield! who, it seems, was guilty of the crime of vindicating the injured, and protecting the unfortunate. Now, Sir Philip, the retribution my hate demands is, that what remains of this obligation may not be now paid to me, but wait your entire convenience and leisure.
Sir Philip.No! that must not be.
Henry.Oh, sir! why thus oppress an innocent man?—why spurn from you a heart, that pants to serve you? No answer, farewell.
[Going.
Sir Philip.Hold—one word before we part—tell me—I dread to ask it [Aside.]—How came you possessed of this bond?
Henry.A stranger, whose kind benevolence stepped in and saved—
Sir Philip.His name?
Henry.Morrington.
Sir Philip.Fiend! tormenter! has he caught me!—You have seen this Morrington?
Henry.Yes.
Sir Philip.Did he speak of me?
Henry.He did—and of your daughter. "Conjure him," said he, "not to sacrifice the lovely Emma, by a marriage her heart revolts at. Tell him, the life and fortune of a parent are not his own; he holds them but in trust for his offspring. Bid him reflect, that, while his daughter merits the brightest rewards a father can bestow, she is by that father doomed to the harshest fate tyranny can inflict."
Sir Philip.Torture! [With vehemence.] Did he say who caused this sacrifice?
Henry.He told me you had been duped of your fortune by sharpers.
Sir Philip.Aye, he knows that well. Young man, mark me:—This Morrington, whose precepts wear the face of virtue, and whose practice seems benevolence, was the chief of the hellish banditti that ruined me.
Henry.Is it possible?
Sir Philip.That bond you hold in your hand was obtained by robbery.
Henry.Confusion!
Sir Philip.Not by the thief who, encountering you as a man, stakes life against life, but by that most cowardly villain, who, in the moment when reason sleeps, and passion is roused, draws his snares around you, and hugs you to your ruin.
Henry.On your soul, is Morrington that man?
Sir Philip.On my soul, he is.
Henry.Thus, then, I annihilate the act—and thus I tread upon a villain's friendship.
[Tearing the bond.
Sir Philip.Rash boy! what have you done?
Henry.An act of justice to Sir Philip Blandford.
Sir Philip.For which you claim my thanks?
Henry.Sir, I am thanked already—here. [Pointing to his heart.] Curse on such wealth! compared with its possession, poverty is splendour. Fear not for me—I shall not feel the piercing cold; for in that man, whose heart beats warmly for his fellow creatures, the blood circulates with freedom—My food shall be what few of the pampered sons of greatness can boast of, the luscious bread of independence; and the opiate, that brings me sleep, will be the recollection of the day passed in innocence.
Sir Philip.Noble boy!—Oh Blandford!
Henry.Ah!
Sir Philip.What have I said?
Henry.You called me Blandford.
Sir Philip.'Twas error—'twas madness.
Henry.Blandford! a thousand hopes and fears rush on my heart. Disclose to me my birth—be it what it may, I am your slave for ever. Refuse me, you create a foe, firm and implacable as——
Sir Philip.Ah! am I threatened? Do not extinguish the spark of pity my breast is warmed with.
Henry.I will not. Oh! forgive me.
Sir Philip.Yes, on one condition—leave me.—Ah! some one approaches. Begone, I insist—I entreat.
Henry.That word has charmed me! I obey: Sir Philip, you may hate, but you shall respect, me. [Exit.
EnterHandy,jun.
Handy, jun.At last, thank Heaven, I have found somebody. But, Sir Philip, were you indulging in soliloquy?—You seem agitated.
Sir Philip.No, sir; rather indisposed.
Handy, jun.Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to find you. Compared with this castle, the Cretan labyrinth was intelligible; and unless some kind Ariadne gives me a clue, I shan't have the pleasure of seeing you above once a-week.
Sir Philip.I beg your pardon, I have been an inattentive host.
Handy, jun.Oh, no; but when a house is so devilish large, and the party so very small, they ought to keep together; for, to say the truth, though no one on earth feels a warmer regard for Robert Handy than I do—I soon get heartily sick of his company—whatever he may be to others, he's a cursed bore to me.
Sir Philip.Where's your worthy father?
Handy, jun.As usual, full of contrivances that are impracticable, and improvements that are retrograde; forming, altogether, a whimsical instance of the confusion of arrangement, the delay of expedition, the incommodiousness of accommodation, and the infernal trouble of endeavouring to save it—he has now a score or two of workmen about him, and intends pulling down some apartments in the east wing of the Castle.
Sir Philip.Ah! ruin!—Within there!—Fly to Sir Abel Handy—Tell him to desist! order his people, on the peril of their lives, to leave the Castle instantly! Away!
Handy, jun.Sir Philip Blandford, your conduct compels me to be serious.
Sir Philip.Oh, forbear! forbear!
Handy, jun.Excuse me, sir,—an alliance, it seems, is intended between our families, founded on ambition and interest. I wish it, sir, to be formed on a nobler basis, ingenuous friendship and mutual confidence. That confidence being withheld, I must here pause; for I should hesitate in calling that man father, who refuses me the name of friend.
Sir Philip.[Aside.] Ah! how shall I act?
Handy, jun.Is my demand unreasonable?
Sir Philip.Strictly just—But oh!—you know not what you ask—Do you not pity me?
Handy, jun.I do.
Sir Philip.Why then seek to change it into hate?
Handy, jun.Confidence seldom generates hate—Mistrust always.
Sir Philip.Most true.
Handy, jun.I am not impelled by curiosity to ask your friendship. I scorn so mean a motive. Believe me, sir, the folly and levity of my character proceed merely from the effervescence of my heart—you will find its substance warm, steady, and sincere.
Sir Philip.I believe it from my soul.—Yes, you shall hear my story; I will lay before your view the agony, with which this wretched bosom is loaded.
Handy, jun.I am proud of your confidence, and am prepared to receive it.
Sir Philip.Not here—let me lead you to the eastern part of the castle, my young friend—mark me: This is no common trust I repose in you; for I place my life in your hands.
Handy, jun.And the pledge I give for its security is, what alone gives value to life, my honour.
[Exeunt.
A gloomy Gallery in the Castle—in the centre a strongly barred door.—The gallery hung with portraits.
Henrydiscovered examining a particular portrait, which occupies a conspicuous situation in the gallery.
Henry.Whenever curiosity has led me to this gallery, that portrait has attracted my attention—the features are peculiarly interesting. One of the house of Blandford—Blandford—-my name—perhaps my father. To remain longer ignorant of my birth, I feel impossible. There is a point when patience ceases to be a virtue—Hush! I hear footsteps—Ah! Sir Philip and another in close conversation. Shall I avoid them?—No—Shall I conceal myself, and observe them?—Curse on the base suggestion!—No—
EnterSir PhilipandHandy,jun.
Sir Philip.That chamber contains the mystery.
Henry.[Aside.] Ah!
Sir Philip.[Turning round.] Observe that portrait. [SeeingHenry—starts.] Who's there?
Handy, jun.[ToHenry.] Sir, we wish to be private.
Henry.My being here, sir, was merely the effect of accident. I scorn intrusion. [Bows.] But the important words are spoken—that chamber contains the mystery.
[Aside.—Exit.
Handy, jun.Who is that youth?
Sir Philip.You there behold his father—my brother—[Weeps.]—I've not beheld that face these twenty years.—Let me again peruse its lineaments. [In an agony of grief.] Oh, God! how I loved that man!—
Handy, jun.Be composed.
Sir Philip.I will endeavour. Now listen to my story.
Handy, jun.You rivet my attention.
Sir Philip.While we were boys, my father died intestate. So I, as elder born, became the sole possessor of his fortune; but the moment the law gave me power, I divided, in equal portions, his large possessions, one of which I with joy presented to my brother.
Handy, jun.It was noble.
Sir Philip.[With suppressed agony.] You shall now hear, sir, how I was rewarded. Chance placed in my view a young woman of superior personal charms; my heart was captivated—Fortune she possessed not—but mine was ample. She blessed me by consenting to our union, and my brother approved my choice.
Handy, jun.How enviable your situation!
Sir Philip.Oh! [Sighing deeply.] On the evening previous to my intended marriage, with a mind serene as the departing sun, whose morning beam was to light me to happiness, I sauntered to a favourite tree, where, lover-like, I had marked the name of my destined bride, and, with every nerve braced to the tone of ecstasy, I was wounding the bark with a deeper impression of the name—when, oh, God!——
Handy, jun.Pray proceed.
Sir Philip.When the loved offspring of my mother, and the woman my soul adored—the only two beings on earth, who had wound themselves round my heart by every tie dear to the soul of man, placed themselves before me; I heard him—even now the sound is in my ears, and drives me to madness—I heard him breathe vows of love, which she answered with burning kisses—He pitied his poor brother, and told her he had prepared a vessel to bear her for ever from me.—They were about to depart, when the burning fever in my heart rushed upon my brain—Picture the young tiger, when first his savage nature rouses him to vengeance—the knife was in my gripe—I sprang upon them—with one hand I tore the faithless woman from his damned embrace, and with the other—stabbed my brother to the heart.
Handy, jun.The wretched woman——
Sir Philip.Was secretly conveyed here—even to that chamber.—She proved pregnant, and in giving birth to a son, paid the forfeit of her perjury by death. My task being ended, yours begins.
Handy, jun.Mine!
Sir Philip.Yes, that chamber contains evidence of my shame; the fatal instrument, with other guilty proofs, lie there concealed—can you wonder I dread to visit the scene of horror—can you wonder I implore you, in mercy, to save me from the task? Oh! my friend, enter the chamber, bury in endless night those instruments of blood, and I will kneel and worship you.
Handy, jun.I will.
Sir Philip.[Weeps.] Will you? [Embraces him.] I am unused to kindness from man, and it affects me. Oh! can you press to your guiltless heart that bloodstained hand!
Handy, jun.Sir Philip, let men without faults condemn—I must pity you.
[ExeuntHandy, jun.leadingSir Philip.