Sev. Why, I have been thinking that over and over; and it is so hard to look into another's breast, that one may, after all appearances, be mistaken; and, therefore, I have resolved upon the only man who I was sure was honest—even my own proper self.
Hum. You are most conscientiously impartial and disinterested.
Sev. I think myself conscientious, though neither impartial nor disinterested. I consider that he would certainly sell her elsewhere on his own terms, without regard to her happiness. In my hands she will have her estate her own, with the incumbrance only of a man who loves her, and whom I believe she loves, and who may increase that estate for her. Consider, he would do what he designed, whether I would or not.
Hum. I consider you will do what you design, whether I will or not. Nay, further, I cannot but own the circumstances much alleviate the guilt on your part. Nay, if you fairly get the girl's good-will, I will allow your attempt not only excusable, but praiseworthy.
Sev. There spoke my good genius.—In the country, as much as he trusted me in the secret of cheating her, he never let me see her alone, or without witnesses; his wife, the maid, or man, or all of them, were constantly present. But, as she is a great lover and reader of plays, and of a great deal of wit and humour, we could speak one language and look another, above their knowledge or observation. I sent for him to town in order to marry her, insisting on my five hundred pounds; for he would not trust me, did he not know my price. I have lodged all here, whence they shall never go out till dear miss implores it of me, or has justice done her by me or somebody to her liking.
Hum. There you justify all the art you can use for yourself. And may you win and wear her, since you plot her redemption though yourself should not succeed!
Sev. Well, we have done talking; let us to action. My business is to review my forces, and not neglect my main plot, but consider my playhouse and my mistress at the same time; and, while I am preparing the one, make love to the other.—Here, Jack, call all the actors—let the whole house march.—Tragedy drums and trumpets, fifes, kettledrums and clarions shall wake my country lodgers, fright my old parchment, and charm my little northern pilgrim—my dear refugee—I will understand her no other. Beat, sound, and play. Make all people be in their posts round the stage, and answer in all parts to the stage.—All shall be done that can be to make her pass her time pleasantly. She shall always expect to see me, but not see me till I have abundant convincing proofs that I am in her favour. Thus if I can save her, and save her for myself, it will be an exquisite happiness; if not, to save her from this rascal is but my duty. Oh! I should have told you that when Miss Dolly came in, I conveyed a letter into her pocket, intimating where she was, that she may be surprised at nothing; for I love the dear thing so tenderly that I could not give her the shortest uneasiness, to purchase the most lasting good or pleasure to myself. [Here begins the march.] Hist!
Pin. [Within.] Ho! chamberlain, bring me my boots—where is the chamberlain?—What is the noise?——
Ralph [Within.] The drums.