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Tem. He has a noble property, a capital estate.
Emi. Thanks to his ancestors !-he'll never mend it by discovery of the longitude.
T'em. Emily, Emily, do you think I have no eyes ? what do you take me forma mole, a bat, a beetle, not to see where your perverse affections point? You are never out of Mrs. Woodville's house.
Emi. Can that be a wonder, when persecution drives me out of your doors, and pity draws me into her's ? Here I am baited by the silliest animal Folly ever lent her name to, there I am received by the gentlest being Heaven ever formed.
Tem. Come, come, whilst you are talking thus of the mother, I know to a certainty it is the son you are thinking of; and positively, Emily, you must banish Henry Woodville from your thoughts.
Emi. Then I must lose the faculty of thinking.
Tem. Don't tell me of your faculties ; mine will never consent to marry you to a ruined man.-Sir David is no gamester
Emi. Perhaps not.
Emi. No, nor the son of any thing, I should think, that Nature ever owned; for he is so far from being in the likeness of a man, that it would be libelliug a monkey to mistake them for each other.
Tem. Hold your tongue. I never said Sir David was a wit.
Emi. No, o' my conscienee, a tailor might as well look for custom in the court of Pelew, as you for wit in the empty pericranium of my Monmouthshire lover.
Tem. And if he had wit, what would you do with it? Who would put a naked sword in the hands of a child ? I like him the better for his being without it; I have none myself. I had sooner mess with the savages in Africa than be shut into a room with a company of wits. Your downright stupid fellow is the repose of all society; like a soft cushion in an easy chair, he lulls you into gentle slumbers, and lays all your cares to rest.
Enter SERVANT, L. Ser. Sir David Daw.
[Exit Servant, L. Tem. Now, now, Emily, behave as you should do, or by the living
Enter Sir David Daw, L. Welcome, Sir David ! [Crosses, c.] welcome, my good knight of Monmouth!
Sir D. Worthy Governor, I am your devoted servant Sweet paragon of beauty, I am your humbled slave.
T'em. Heyday, iny friend, where have you cullid these flowers of rhetoric ?
Sir D. Pick'd a small posey from Parnassus, to lay it at the feet of the loveliest of the Muses.
[Crosses, Emi. Upon my word, Sir David, your periods are the very embrios of poetry; a kind of tadpoles, more than half frogs, and just ready to hop.
Sir D. So they cau but hop into your good graces, I care not.
Tem. Right, my gallant heart, that's the way to treat her. -Emily is for ever giggling.
Sir D. She is not singular in that : go where I will, they giggle; that is rather daunting, you must think. Amongst our Monmouthshire Jasses who but I ? Not that I am conscious of more wit than my neighbours, but my jokes always tell; they do so titter when I am in my merry vein, and the servants grin, and the tepants roar, and then my poor dear mother taps me on the cheek, and calls me her dainty Davy..Oh! we are so merry in the castle!
Emi. Aye, to be sure; there's room enough for your wit to escape without ruuning foul of any body's understanding.
Sir D. Yes, yes, 'tis a bouncer, and such a hall for battledore and shuttle-cock
Emi. Garnish'd round with pikes, and gauntlets, and 'branching horns, the trophies of the family
Sir D. Yes, and in the great parlour such a string of Daws hanging by the wall-
Emi. In ruffs and bands, and peaked chins from all antiquity, like the whole court of France in a puppet-shew, with dainty David in the character of Punchinello to close the cavalcade.
Sir D. Not so ; but in the place of it your own fair portrait, if you please, and under it, in letters of gold, “ Emi. ly, consort of Sir David Daw.”- Lilies and roses ! what a lovely piece will that be!
Emi. Let it be a family piece then, and we may all have a part in it.
T'em. Aye, aye, that's a hook to haul me in with ; I
know it is : but let us hear, let us hear what part you have laid out for me.
Emi. An heroic one, be sure ; you shall be-let me conşider-you shall be drawn in the character of Agamemnop.
Tem. Agamemnon! Why in the character of Agamemnon, I would fain know.
Emi. Because he was a warrior like you, and a governor: but principally because, if I remember his historyhe sacrificed his daughter.
Tem. Heh! how ! there I'm thrown out: that is a history I know nothing of.
šir D. Nor I neither.-Ah! mny good governor, speak a kind word for me, all my hopes are in you.
Tem. Fear nothing, my man of mettle; keep a stout heart, and there's none of 'em can resist the allurements of your fortune, though they may all be insensible to the beanties of your person.
Emi. No, to be sure ; if you make love like an elephant, with your castle on your back, who can stand against you ?
Sir D. I don't know how it is, Governor Tempest, but though 'tis well known that the first man Nature ever made was a Welshman, and though I flatter myself I am pretty nearly on the same model, yet here every ragged-headed fellow, with a mahogany face, because he can slip into an eel-skin, and I canpot, slips into favour before me; whilst the ladies stare at me, as if I had dropt out of the moon amongst them.
Tem. That is because they lay aside the sight they were born with, and have eyes, like their complexions, of their own making.
Emi. Ah! Sir David, you do not understand them; you are the happiest with the good old lady in the country ; your education has been private.
Sir D. Quite snug and private ; always at home, always with my mother.
Emi. And your amusements
Sir D. Never went abroad for them; we had plenty of pastime amongst ourselves and the servants-cards I never touch ; drinking 1 have no head for : and as for naughty women, I can faithfully assure you, I never come near one of em.
Tem. Keep that to yourself, my friend, if you are wise ; for this world is so wicked, that a man is forced to counterfeit vices in order to keep well with it.
Enter Sydenham, L. Ah! Charles, how wears this wicked world with you ?
Syd. Wears apace, frets itself out, grates most confound. edly upon the hinges : I almost think I shall live to see the end of it.- [Crosses to Emily.]—Don't go away, I want to have a word with you.
[Aside to Emily. Sir D. Oh! Mr. Sydenham, I rejoice to see you. Syd. How fares my venerable Cambro-Briton ?
Sir D. Terrible ill, for want of you ; house, equipage, every thing is at a dead stop, till you set us going.- I called at your lodgings, and they told me you was out of town.
Syd. They did right; I educate my servants in all inno. cent untruths. Tem. They gave me the same answer.
[Crosses to Sydenham. Syd. They did wrong: to tell one and the same lie to two several visitors, betrays a poverty of invention.
Emi. Avd hav'nt you been out of town all this while ?
Syd. Hush! hush! ask no questions.—How can I quit the town with an affair of honour on my hands : did'nt you challenge me to a game at chess ? and here I am ready to decide it.
T'em. Oh! that dull, dilatory, dreaming game, how I detest it!--Any news, Charles, of the poor Woodvilles ?
Syd. That is the very question I was about to ask of you.
Tem. 'Sblood, you are as mysterious as a privy counsellor : they say Woodville is gone off; pay, they circulate a very black and dismal story about him.
Syd. As you have been governor of the blaeks, I wish you would put the sooty slaves to death that circulate such stories.
Sir D. I hear Sir George Penruddock has made a cari. ous will, and given his whole property to a madman, who has been shut up in a cottage for these twenty years.
Syd. And do you suppose it would have brought him to his senses if he had lived in a castle ?
Tem. Come, come, Sir David ; don't you see that cuckoo won't be caught by you ? Zooks, man, the thumbscrew would not make him plead ; though, let me tell you, when I've been set upon it, I have put tongues as stubborn as his into motion before now. As for E.nily, leave her to her drowsy game at chess ; for, depend upon it, my friend, that any thing which tends to stupify her imagination will
be a point gained in your favor. (Exeunt Tempest and Sir Duvid, R.
Syd. (L.) His Excellency is in one of his accommodating humours, and gives me an opportunity of telling you that I have brought Woodville back with me; I knew his point, and overtook him after about twelve miles riding, in the very crisis of his fate.
Emi. (R.) Did you so ? then here's my hand! for thou art the best soul living ; with a heart of gold, and heels of feather, in the service of humanity. Ah! why did cruel Fortune cramp thy powers, when Nature so enriched thee with benevolence ?
Syd. Don't complain of Fortune in my case; perhaps the best fortune that can befal me is, that I have nothing to do with her: having little to bestow, I make up for it with good-will; had I abundance to give, the good-will might be wanting,
Emi. If Fortune, however, would but put you to the trial, I should not tremble for the issue of it. Had Pen: ruddock made you his heir, happy would it have been for poor Woodville.
Syd. For himn (to own the truth to you) I have very little compassion, some old habits of good fellowship perhaps I can't quite shake off; but a gamester is in nature such a fool, in character so little of a gentleman, and by profession so very close approaching towards a highwayman, that I am ashamed of his acquaintance ; yet, for my dear Mrs. Woodville's sake-for my brave Henry's sake—and, through them, by implication, for my sweet Emily's, I have shel. tered that poor worthless desperado in my lodgings ; which is a secret you must keep close, for all their sakes.
Emi. Doubt me not, for I can well suppose the cousequences would be fatal. In one word, is there any hope for him ?
Syd. I could not answer that in a thousand words ; for I have seen this strange Penruddock, and kuow not what to make of him.
Emi. Is he a madman, as they report of him?
Syd. That I can't tell ; for so many people are mad, who yet have senses enough to conceal it, that he may be so without my discovering it. He is as sullen as a bear, and inveterate against Woodville to the length of any species of revenge.
Emi. This is not the character Mrs. Woodville describes : shé conceires better of him.