END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Enter Sir PERTINAX, and BETTY HINT.
Sir Per. Come this way, Betty—come this way:—you are a guid girl, and I will reward you for this discovery.—O the villain! offer her marriage!
Bet. It is true, indeed, sir;—I wou'd not tell your honour a lie for the world: but in troth it lay upon my conscience, and I thought it my duty to tell your worship.
Sir Per. You are right—you are right;—it was your duty to tell me, and I'll reward you for it. But you say Maister Sidney is in love with her too.—Pray how came you by that intelligence?
Bet. O! sir, I know when folks are in love, let them strive to hide it as much as they will.—I know it by Mr. Sidney's eyes, when I see him stealing a sly side-look at her,—by his trembling,—his breathing short,—his sighing when they are reading together. Besides, sir, he has made love-verses upon her in praise of her virtue, and her playing upon the music.—Ay! and I suspect: another thing, sir,—she has a sweetheart, if not a husband, not far from hence.
Sir Per. Wha? Constantia?
Bet. Ay, Constantia, sir.—Lord! I can know the whole affair, sir, only for sending over to Hadley, to farmer Hilford's youngest daughter, Sukey Hilford.
Sir Per. Then send this instant and get me a particular account of it.
Bet. That I will, sir.
Sir Per. In the mean time, keep a strict watch upon Constantia,—and be sure you bring me word of whatever new matter you can pick up about her, my son, or this Hadley husband or sweetheart.
Bet. Never fear, sir. [Exit.
Sir Per. This love of Sidney's for Constantia is not unlikely.—There is something promising in it.—Yes! I think it is nai impossible to convert it intill a special and immediate advantage. It is but trying. Wha's there?—If it misses, I am but where I was. [Enter Tomlins.] Where is Maister Sidney?
Tom. In the dining room, Sir Pertinax.
Sir Per. Tell him I wou'd speak with him. [Exit Tomlins.] 'Tis more than probable.—Spare to speak and spare to speed. Try—try—always try the human heart:—try is as guid a maxim in politics as in war.—Why, suppose this Sidney now shou'd be privy till his friend Charles's love for Constantia.—What then? guid traith, it is natural to think that his ain love will demand the preference,—ay, and obtain it too.—Yes, self—self is an eloquent advocate on these occasions, and seldom loses his cause. I have the general principle of human nature at least to encourage me in the experiment;—for only make it a man's interest to be a rascal, and I think we may safely depend upon his integrity—in serving himself.
Enter SIDNEY.
Sid. Sir Pertinax, your servant.—Mr. Tomlins told me you desired to speak with me.
Sir Per. Yes, I wanted to speak with you upon a vary singular business. Maister Sidney, give me your hand.—Guin it did nai look like flattery, which I detest, I wou'd tell you, Maister Sidney, that you are an honour till your cloth, your country, and till human nature.
Sid. Sir, you are very obliging.
Sir Per. Sit you down, Maister Sidney:—Sit you down here by me. My friend, I am under the greatest obligations till you for the care you have taken of Charles.—The principles—religious, moral, and political— that you have infused intill him, demand the warmest return of gratitude both fra him and fra me.
Sid. Your approbation, sir, next to that of my own conscience, is the best test of my endeavours, and the highest applause they can receive.
Sir Per. Sir, you deserve it,—richly deserve it.—And now, sir, the same care that you have had of Charles,—the same my wife has taken of her favourite Constantia.—And sure, never were accomplishments, knowledge or principles, social and religious, infused intill a better nature.
Sid. In truth, sir, I think so too.
Sir Per. She is besides a gentlewoman, and of as guid a family as any in this county.
Sid. So I understand, sir.
SirPer. Sir, her father had a vast estate; the which he dissipated and melted in feastings, and friendships, and charities, hospitalities, and sic kind of nonsense.—But to the business.—Maister Sidney, I love you,— yes,—I love you,—and I have been looking out and, contriving how to settle you in the world.—Sir, I want to see you comfortably and honourably fixt at the head of a respectable family,—and guin you were mine ain son, a thousand times,—I cou'd nai make a more valuable present till you for that purpose, as a partner for life, than this same Constantia,—with sic a fortune down with her as you yourself shall deem to be competent,—and an assurance of every canonical contingency in my power to confer or promote.
Sid. Sir, your offer is noble and friendly:—but tho' the highest station would derive lustre from Constantia's charms and worth, yet, were she more amiable than love could paint her in the lover's fancy,—and wealthy beyond the thirst of the miser's appetite,—I could not—would not wed her. [Rises.
Sir Per. Not wed her! odswunds, man! you surprise me!—Why so?—what hinders?
Sid. I beg you will not ask a reason for my refusal,—but, briefly and finally—it cannot be; nor is it a subject I can longer converse upon.
Sir Per. Weel, weel, weel, sir, I have done,—I have done.—Sit down, man;—sit down again;—sit you down.—I shall mention it no more;—not but I must confess honestly till you, friend Sidney, that the match, had you approved of my proposal, besides profiting you, wou'd have been of singular service till me likewise.—However, you may still serve me as effectually as if you had married her.
Sid. Then, sir, I am sure I will most heartily.
Sir Per. I believe it, friend Sidney,—and I thank you.—I have nai friend to depend upon, but yourself. My heart is almost broke.—I cannot help these tears,—And, to tell you the fact at once—your friend Charles is struck with a most dangerous malady,—a kind of insanity.—You see I cannot help weeping when I think of it;—in short this Constantia, I am afraid, has cast an evil eye upon him.—Do you understand me?
Sid. Not very well, sir.
Sir Per. Why, he is grievously smitten with the love of her;—and, I am afraid, will never be cured without a little of your assistance.
Sid. Of my assistance! pray, sir, in what manner?
Sir Per. In what manner? Lord, Maister Sidney, how can you be so dull? Why, how is any man cured of his love till a wench, but by ganging to bed till her? Now do you understand me?
Sid. Perfectly, sir—perfectly.
Sir Per. Vary weel.—Now then, my very guid friend, guin you wou'd but give him that hint, and take an opportunity to speak a guid word for him till the wench;—and guin you wou'd likewise cast about a little now,—and contrive to bring them together once,—why, in a few days after he wou'd nai care a pinch of snuff for her. [Sidney starts up.] What is the matter with you, man?—What the devil gars you start and look so astounded?
Sid. Sir, you amaze me.—In what part of my mind or conduct have you found that baseness, which entitles you to treat me with this indignity?
Sir Per. Indignity! What indignity do you mean, sir? Is asking you to serve a friend with a wench an indignity? Sir, am I not your patron and benefactor? Ha?
Sid. You are, sir, and I feel your bounty at my heart;—but the virtuous gratitude, that sowed the deep sense of it there, does not inform me that, in return, the tutor's sacred function, or the social virtue of the man must be debased into the pupil's pander, or the patron's prostitute.
Sir Per. How! what, sir! do you dispute? Are you nai my dependent? ha? And do you hesitate about an ordinary civility, which is practised every day by men and women of the first fashion? Sir, let me tell you,—however nice you may be, there is nai a client about the court that wou'd nai jump at sic an opportunity to oblige his patron.
Sid. Indeed, sir, I believe the doctrine of pimping for patrons, as well as that of prostituting eloquence and public trust for private lucre, may be learned in your party schools:—for where faction and public venality are taught as measures necessary to good government and general prosperity—there every vice is to be expected.
Sir Per. Oho! oho! vary weel! vary weel! fine slander upon ministers! fine sedition against government! O, ye villain! you—you—you are a black sheep;—and I'll mark you.—I am glad you shew yourself.—Yes, yes,—you have taken off the mask at last;—you have been in my service for many years, and I never knew your principles before.
Sid. Sir, you never affronted them before:—if you had, you should have known them sooner.
Sir Per. It is vary weel.—I have done with you.—Ay, ay; now I can account for my son's conduct—his aversion till courts, till ministers, levees, public business, and his disobedience till my commands.—Ah! you are a Judas—a perfidious fellow;—you have ruined the morals of my son, you villain.—But I have done with you.—However, this I will prophecy at our parting, for your comfort,—that guin you are so very squeamish about bringing a lad and a lass together, or about doing sic an a harmless innocent job for your patron, you will never rise in the church.
Sid. Though my conduct, sir, should not make me rise in her power, I am sure it will in her favour, in the favour of my own conscience too, and in the esteem of all worthy men;—and that, sir, is a power and dignity beyond what patrons, or any minister can bestow. [Exit.
Sir Per. What a rigorous, saucy, stiff-necked rascal it is! I see my folly now.—I am undone by mine ain policy.—This Sidney is the last man that shou'd have been about my son:—The fellow, indeed, hath given him principles, that might have done vary weel among the ancient Romans,—but are damn'd unfit for the modern Britons.—Weel, guin I had a thousand sons, I never wou'd suffer one of these English, university-bred fellows to be about a son of mine again;—for they have sic an a pride of literature and character, and sic saucy, English notions of liberty continually fermenting in their thoughts, that a man is never sure of them. Now, if I had had a Frenchman, or a foreigner of any kind, about my son, I cou'd have pressed him at once into my purpose,—or have kicked the rascal out of my house in a twinkling.—But what am I to do?—Zoons! he must nai marry this beggar;—I cannot sit down tamely under that.—Stay,— haud a wee.—By the blood, I have it.—Yes—I have hit upon it.—I'll have the wench smuggled till the highlands of Scotland to-morrow morning.—Yes, yes,—I'll have her smuggled—
Enter BETTY HINT.
Bet. O! sir,—I have got the whole secret out.
Sir Per. About what?
Bet. About Miss Constantia. I have just got all the particulars from farmer Hilford's youngest daughter, Sukey Hilford.
Sir Per. Weel, weel, but what is the story? Quick, quick—what is it?
Bet. Why, sir, it is certain that Mrs. Constantia has a sweetheart—or a husband,—a sort of a gentleman—or a gentleman's gentleman, they don't know which—that lodges at Gaffer Hodges's—and it is whispered all about the village that she is with child by him; for Sukey says she saw them together last night in the dark walk—and Mrs. Constantia was all in tears.
Sir Per. Zoons! I am afraid this is too guid news to be true.
Bet. O! sir, 'tis certainly true, for I myself have observed that she has looked very pale for some time past—and could not eat,—and has qualms every hour of the day.—Yes, yes, sir—depend upon it, she is breeding, as sure as my name is Betty Hint..—Besides, sir, she has just writ a letter to her gallant, and I have sent John Gardener to her, who is to carry it to him to Hadley.—Now, sir, if your worship would seize it— See, see, sir,—here John comes with the letter in his hand.
Sir Per. Step you out, Betty, and leave the fellow till me.
Bet. I will, sir. [Exit.
Enter JOHN, with a Packet and a Letter.
John. [Putting the packet into his pocket.] There—go you into my pocket.—There's nobody in the library, so I'll e'en go thro' the short way.—Let me see, what is the name?—Mel—Meltil—O, no!—Melville, at Gaffer Hodges's.
Sir Per. What letter is that, sir?
John. Letter,sir!
Sir Per. Give it me, sir.
John. An't please you, sir, it is not mine.
Sir Per. Deliver it this instant, sirrah, or I'll break your head.
John. [Giving the letter.] There, there your honour.
Sir Per. Begone, rascal.—This, I suppose, will let us intill the whole business.
John. [Aside..] You have got the letter, old surly, but the packet is safe in my pocket. I'll go and deliver that, however, for I will be true to poor Mrs. Constantia in spite of you. [Exit.
Sir Per. [Reading the letter.] Um—um 'and bless my eyes with the sight of you.'—Um—um 'throw myself into your dear arms.' Zoons! 'this letter is invaluable.—-Aha! madam—yes—this will do—this will do, I think.—Let me see, how is it directed—'To Mr. Melville.' Vary weel. [Enter Betty.] O! Betty, you are an excellent wench,—this letter is worth a million.
Bet. Is it as I suspected?—to her gallant?
Sir Per. It is—it is.—Bid Constantia pack out of the house this instant—and let them get a chaise ready to carry her wherever she pleases.—But first send my wife and son hither.
Bet. I shall, sir.
Sir Per. Do so—begone. [Exit Betty.] Aha! Maister Charles,—I believe I shall cure you of your passion for a beggar now.—I think he cannot be so infatuated as to be a dupe till a strumpet.—Let me see—how am I to act now?—Why, like a true politician, I must pretend most sincerity where I intend most deceit.
Enter EGERTON, and Lady MACSYCOPHANT.
Weel, Charles, notwithstanding the misery you have brought upon me,—I have sent for you and your mother in order to convince you both of my affection and my readiness to forgive,—nay, and even to indulge your perverse passion:—for, since I find this Constantia has got hold of your heart, and that your mother and you think that you can never be happy without her, why, I'll nai longer oppose your inclinations.
Eger. Dear sir, you snatch me from sharpest misery;—on my knees let my heart thank you for this goodness.
Lady Mac. Let me express my thanks too,—and my joy;—for had you not consented to his marrying her, we all should have been miserable.
Sir Per. Weel; I am glad I have found a way to please you both at last.—But, my dear Charles, suppose now that this spotless vestal,—this wonder of virtue,—this idol of your heart—shou'd be a concealed wanton after aw,—or shou'd have an engagement of marriage or an intrigue with another man,—and is only making a dupe of you aw this time:—I say, only suppose it, Charles—what wou'd you think of her?
Eger. I should think her the most deceitful, and the most subtle of her sex, and, if possible, would never think of her again.
Sir Per. Will you give me your honour of that?
Eger. Most solemnly, sir.
Sir Per. Enough.—I am satisfied,—You make me young again.—Your prudence has brought tears of joy fra my very vitals.—I was afraid you were fascinated with the charms of a crack.—Do you ken this hand?
Eger. Mighty well, sir.
Sir Per. And you, madam.
Lady Mac. As well as I do my own, sir.—It is Constantia's.
Sir Per. It is so; and a better evidence it is than any that can be given by the human tongue. Here is a warm, rapturous, lascivious letter under the hypocritical syren's ain hand—her ain hand, sir.
Eger. Pray, sir, let us hear it.
Sir Per. Ay, ay;—here—take and read it yourself.—Eloisa never writ a warmer nor a ranker to her Abelard—but judge yourselves.
Eger. [Reads.] 'I have only time to tell you, that the family came down sooner than I expected, and that I cannot bless my eyes with the sight of you till the evening.—The notes, and jewels, which the bearer of this will deliver to you, were presented to me, since I saw you, by the son of my benefactor'—
Sir Per. [Interrupts him by his remarks.] Now mark.
Eger. [Reads.] 'All which I beg you will convert to your immediate use'—
Sir Per. Mark, I say.
Eger. [Reads.] 'For my heart has no room for any wish or fortune, but what contributes to your relief and happiness'—
Sir Per. Oh! Charles, Charles, do you see, sir, what a dupe she makes of you? But mark what follows.
Eger. [Reads.] 'O! how I long to throw myself into your dear, dear arms; to sooth your fears, your apprehensions, and your sorrows'—
Sir Per. I suppose the spark has heard of your offering to marry her, and is jealous of you.
Eger. Sir, I can only say I am astonished.
Lady Mac. It is incredible.
Sir Per. Stay, stay, read it out—read it out, pray: ah! she is a subtle devil.
Eger. [Reads.] 'I have something to tell you of the utmost moment, but will reserve it till we meet this evening in the dark walk'—
Sir Per. In the dark walk—in the dark walk—ah! an evil-eyed curse upon her! yes, yes! she has been often in the dark walk, I believe:—But, read on.
Eger. [Reads.] 'In the mean time banish all fears, and hope the best from fortune, and your ever dutiful CONSTANTIA HARRINGTON.'
Sir Per. There—there's a warm epistle for you! in short, the hussy, you must know, is married till the fellow.
Eger. Not unlikely, sir.
Lady Mac. Indeed, by her letter, I believe she is.
Sir Per. Nay, I know she is: but look at the hand—peruse it—convince yourselves.
Eger. Yes, yes, it is her hand; I know it well, sir.
Sir Per. Madam, will you look at it? perhaps it may be forged.
Lady Mac. No, sir, it is no forgery.—Well! after this, I think I shall never trust human nature.
Sir Per. Now, madam, what amends can you make me for countenancing your son's passion for sic a strumpet? And you, sir, what have you to say for your disobedience and your frenzy? O! Charles, Charles—
Eger. Pray, sir, be patient; compose yourself a moment: I will make you any compensation in my power.
Sir Per. Then instantly sign the articles of marriage.
Eger. The lady, sir, has never yet been consulted; and I have some reason to believe that her heart is engaged to another man.
Sir Per. Sir, that is nai business of yours.—I know she will consent and that's aw we are to consider.—O! here comes my lord.
Enter Lord LUMBERCOURT.
Lord Lum. Sir Pertinax, ever thing is ready, and the lawyers wait for us.
Sir Per. We attend your lordship. Where is Lady Rodolpha?
Lord Lum. Giving some female consolation to poor Constantia.—Why, my lady, ha, ha, ha! I hear your vestal has been flirting.
Sir Per. Yes, yes, my lord, she is in vary guid order for any man that wants a wife and an heir till his estate intill the bargain.
Enter SAM.
Sam. Sir, there is a man below that wants to speak to your honour upon particular business.
Sir Per. Sir, I cannot speak till any body now—he must come another time;—hand—stay—what—is he a gentleman?
Sam. He looks something like one, sir—a sort of a gentleman—but he seems to be in a kind of a passion, for when I asked his name, he answered hastily, it is no matter, friend,—go, tell your master there is a gentleman here that must speak to him directly.
Sir Per. Must! ha? vary peremptory indeed; pr'ythee, let's see him for curiosity sake. [Exit Sam.
Enter Lady RODOLPHA.
Lady Rod. O! my Lady Macsycophant, I am come an humble advocate for a weeping piece of female frailty, wha begs she may be permitted to speak till your ladyship, before you finally reprobate her.
Sir Per. I beg your pardon, Lady Rodolpha, but it must not be: see her she shall not.
Lady Mac. Nay, there can be no harm, my dear, in hearing what she has to say for herself.
Sir Per. I tell you, it shall not be.
Lady Mac. Well, my dear, I have done.
Enter SAM and MELVILLE.
Sam. Sir, that is my master.
Sir Per. Weel, sir, what is your urgent business with me?
Mel. To shun disgrace, and punish baseness.
Sir Per. Punish baseness! what does the fellow mean? Wha are you, sir?
Mel. A man, sir—and one, whose fortune once bore as proud a sway as any within this county's limits.
Lord Lum. You seem to be a soldier, sir.
Mel. I was, sir; and have the soldier's certificate to prove my service—rags and scars. In my heart, for ten long years in India's parching clime I bore my country's cause; and in noblest dangers sustained it with my sword: at length ungrateful peace has laid me down where welcome war first took me up,—in poverty, and the dread of cruel creditors.—Paternal affection brought me to my native land, in quest of an only child:—I found her, as I thought, amiable as parental fondness could desire; but lust and foul seduction have snatched her from me, and hither am I come, fraught with a father's anger, and a soldier's honour, to seek the seducer and glut revenge.
Lady Mac. Pray, sir, who is your daughter?
Mel. I blush to own her—but—Constantia.
Eger. Is Constantia your daughter, sir?
Mel. She is; and was the only comfort that nature, fortune, or my own extravagance had left me.
Sir Per. Guid traith, then, I fancy you will find but vary little comfort fra her, for she is nai better than she shou'd be.—She has had nai damage in this mansion. I am told she is with bairn, but you may gang till Hadley, till one farmer Hodges's, and there you may learn the whole story, and wha the father of the bairn is, fra a cheeld they call Melville.
Mel. Melville!
Sir Per. Yes, sir, Melville.
Mel. O! would to heaven she had no crime to answer, but her commerce with Melville.—No, sir, he is not the man; it is your son, your Egerton, that has seduced her; and here, sir, are the evidence of his seduction.
Eger. Of my seduction!
Mel. Of yours, sir, if your name be Egerton.
Eger. I am that man, sir; but pray, what is your evidence?
Mel. These bills, and these gorgeous jewels, not to be had in her menial state, but at the price of chastity.—Not an hour since she sent them— impudently sent them—by a servant of this house—contagious infamy started from their touch.
Eger. Sir, perhaps you may be mistaken concerning the terms on which she received them.—Do you but clear her conduct with Melville, and I will instantly satisfy your fears concerning the jewels and her virtue.
Mel. Sir, you give me new life: you are my better angel. I believe in your words—your looks:—know then, I am that Melville.
Sir Per. How, sir! you that Melville, that was at farmer Hodges's?
Mel. The same, sir: it was he brought my Constantia to my arms; lodged and secreted me—once my lowly tenant—now my only friend. The fear of inexorable creditors made me change my name from Harrington to Melville, till I could see and consult some who once called themselves my friends.
Eger. Sir, suspend your fears and anger but for a few minutes; I will keep my word with you religiously, and bring your Constantia to your arms, as virtuous, and as happy as you could wish her. [Exit with Lady Mac.
Sir Per. The clearing up of this wench's virtue is damned unlucky: I am afraid it will ruin aw our affairs again:—However, I have one stroke still in my head that will secure the bargain with my lord, let matters gang as they will. [Aside.] But I wonder, Maister Melville, that you did nai pick up some little matter of siller in the Indies; ah! there have been bonny fortunes snapt up there, of late years, by some of the military blades.
Mel. It is very true, sir: but it is an observation among soldiers, that there are some men who never meet with any thing in the service but blows and ill fortune.—I was one of those, even to a proverb.
Sir Per. Ah! 'tis pity, sir, a great pity now, that you did nai get a Mogul, or some sic an animal, intill your clutches. Ah! I should like to have the strangling of a Nabob, the rummaging of his gold dust, his jewel closet, and aw his magazines of bars and ingots. Ha, ha, ha!—guid traith naw, sic an a fellow would be a bonny cheeld to bring till this town, and to exhibit him riding on an elephant: upon honour, a man might raise a poll-tax by him, that would gang near to pay the debts of the nation.
Enter EGERTON, CONSTANTIA, Lady MACSYCOPHANT, and SIDNEY.
Eger. Sir, I promised to satisfy your fears concerning your daughter's virtue; and my best proof to you, and all the world, that I think her not only the most chaste, but the most deserving of her sex, is, that I have made her the partner of my heart, and the tender guardian of my earthly happiness for life.
Sir Per. How! married!
Eger. I know, sir, at present we shall meet your anger; but time, reflection, and our dutiful conduct, we hope, will reconcile you to our happiness.
Sir Per. Never, never—and could I make you, her, and aw your issue, beggars, I would move hell, heaven, and earth, to do it.
Lord Lum. Why, Sir Pertinax, this is a total revolution, and will entirely ruin my affairs.
Sir Per. My lord, with the consent of your lordship, and Lady Rodolpha, I have an expedient to offer, that will not only punish that rebellious villain, but answer every end that your lordship and the lady proposed by the intended match with him.
Lord Lum. I doubt it much, Sir Pertinax—I doubt it much:—But what is it, sir?—What is your expedient?
Sir Per. My lord, I have another son, and, provided the lady and your lordship have nai objection till him, every article of that rebel's intended marriage shall be amply fulfilled upon Lady Rodolpha's union with my younger son.
Lord Lum. Why that is an expedient indeed, Sir Pertinax.—But what say you, Rodolpha?
Lady Rod. Nay, nay, my lord, as I had nai reason to have the least affection till my cousin Egerton, and as my intended marriage with him was entirely an act of obedience till my grandmother, provided my cousin Sandy will be as agreeable till her ladyship as my cousin Charles here wou'd have been,—I have nai the least objection till the change. Ay, ay! one brother is as guid till Rodolpha as another.
Sir Per. I'll answer, madam, for your grandmother.—Now, my lord, what say you?
Lord Lum. Nay, Sir Pertinax, so the agreement stands, all is right again. Come, child, let us begone.—Ay, ay, so my affairs are made easy, it is equal to me whom she marries.—I say, Sir Pertinax, let them be but easy, and rat me, if I care if she concorporates with the Cham of Tartary. [Exit.
Sir Per. As to you, my Lady Macsycophant, I suppose you concluded, before you gave your consent till this match, that there wou'd be an end of aw intercourse betwixt you and me.—Live with your Constantia, madam, your son, and that black sheep there.—Live with them.—You shall have a jointure, but not a bawbee besides, living or dead, shall you, or any of your issue, ever see of mine;—and so, my vengeance light upon you aw together. [Exit.
Lady Rod. Weel, cousin Egerton, in spite of the ambitious frenzy of your father, and the thoughtless dissipation of mine, Don Cupid has at last carried his point in favour of his devotees.—But I must now take my leave.—Lady Macsycophant, your most obedient.—Maister Sidney, yours.— Permit me, Constantia, to have the honour of congratulating myself on our alliance.
Con. Madam, I shall ever study to deserve and to return this kindness.
Lady Rod. I am sure you will.—But ah!—I neglect my poor Sandy aw this while! and, guid traith, mine ain heart begins to tell me what his feels, and chides me for tarrying so long.—I will therefore fly till him on the wings of love and guid news;—for I am sure the poor lad is pining with the pip of expectation and anxious jeopardy. And so, guid folks, I will leave you with the fag end of an auld North-Country wish:—'May mutual love and guid humour be the guests of your hearts, the theme of your tongues, and the blithsome subjects of aw your tricksey dreams through the rugged road of this deceitful world; and may our fathers be an example till ourselves to treat our bairns better than they have treated us.' [Exit.
Eger. You seem melancholy, sir.
Mel. These precarious turns of fortune, sir, will press upon the heart,—for, notwithstanding my Constantia's happiness, and mine in hers— I own I cannot help feeling some regret, that my misfortunes should be the cause of any disagreement between a father, and the man to whom I am under the most endearing obligations.
Eger. You have no share in his disagreement; for had not you been born, from my father's nature, some other cause of his resentment must have happened.—But for a time at least, sir, and, I hope, for life, affliction and angry vicissitudes have taken their leaves of us all.—If affluence can procure content and ease, they are within our reach.—My fortune is ample, and shall be dedicated to the happiness of this domestic circle.—
My scheme, tho' mock'd by knave, coquet, and fool,
To thinking minds will prove this golden rule;
In all pursuits, but chiefly in a wife,
Not wealth, but morals, make the happy life.