Roch. It is.
Wal. Then is it mine they stop!
Tin. I told your lordship
You should not keep a Hunchback for your agent.
Wal. Thought like my father, my good lord, who said
He would not have a Hunchback for his son—
So do I pardon you the savage slight.
My lord, that I am not as straight as you,
Was blemish neither of my thought nor will,
My head nor heart. It was no act of mine.—
Yet did it curdle Nature’s kindly milk
E’en where ’tis richest—in a parent’s breast—
To cast me out to heartless fosterage,
Nor heartless always, as it proved—and give
My portion to another! the same blood—
But I’ll be sworn, in vein, my lord, and soul—
Although his trunk did swerve no more than yours—
Not half so straight as I.
Tin. Upon my life
You’ve got a modest agent, Rochdale! Now
He’ll prove himself descended—mark my words—
From some small gentleman
Wal. And so you thought,
Where Nature played the churl, it would be fit
That fortune played it too. You would have had
My lord absolve me of my agency!
Fair lord, the flaw did cost me fifty times—
A hundred times my agency:—but all’s
Recovered. Look, my lord, a testament
To make a pension of his lordship’s rent-roll!
It is my father’s, and was left by him,
In case his heir should die without a son,
Then to be opened. Heaven did send a son
To bless the heir. Heaven took its gift away,
He died—his father died. And Master Walter—
The unsightly agent of his lordship there—
The Hunchback whom your lordship would have stripped
Of his agency—is now the Earl of Rochdale!
Tin. We’ve made a small mistake here. Never mind,
’Tis nothing in a lord.
Julia. The Earl of Rochdale!
Wal. And what of that? Thou know’st not half my greatness!
A prouder title, Julia, have I yet,
Sooner than part with which I’d give that up,
And be again plain Master Walter. What!
Dost thou not apprehend me? Yes, thou dost!
Command thyself; don’t gasp. My pupil—daughter!
Come to thy father’s heart!
[Julia rushes into his arms.]