after the many pressing letters you received from me, how came this truth concealed? But I guess your motive. Dry up your tears, Lucinda; at last you have found a father. Hence, ye degenerate, ye abandoned wretches, who, abusing the confidence of your country, unite to plunder those ye promise to protect. [Exeunt MR. and MRS. Subtle. Luc. Am I then justified? Sir John. You are: your father was my first and firmest friend; I mourned his loss; and long have sought for thee in vain, Lucinda. Buck. Pray, han't I some merit in finding her? she's mine by the custom of the manor. Sir John. Yours! First study to deserve her; she's mine, sir; I have just redeemed this valua ble treasure, and shall not trust it in a spendthrift's hands. Buck. What would you have me to do, sir? Sir John. Disclaim the partners of your riot, polish your manners, reform your pleasures, and, before you think of governing others, learn to direct yourself. And now my beauteous ward, we'll for the land where first you saw the light, and there endeavour to forget the long, long bondage you have suffered here. I suppose, sir, we shall have no difficulty in persuading you to accompany us; it is not in France I am to hope for your reformation. I have now learned, that he, who transports a profligate son to Paris, by way of mending his manners, only adds the vices and follies of that country to those of his [Exeunt omnes. own. SCENE I.-A Room. HARTOP and JENKINS discovered. ACT I. Jen. I should not chuse to marry into such a family. her. You are no stranger to the situation of my circumstances: my neighbourhood to Sir Penurious Trifle, was a sufficient motive for his advancing what money I wanted by way of mortgage; the hard terms he imposed upon me, and the little regard I have paid to economy, Har. Choice, dear Dick, is very little con- has made it necessary for me to attempt, by some cerned in the matter; and, to convince you that scheme, the re-establishment of my fortune. love is not the minister of my counsels, know, This young lady's simplicity, not to say ignothat I never saw but once the object of my pre-rance, presented her at once as a proper subject sent purpose; and that too at a time, and in a for my purpose. circumstance, not very likely to stamp a favourable impression. What think you of a raw boarding-school girl at Lincoln-Minster, with a mind unpolished, a figure uninformed, and a set of features tainted with the colour of her unwholesome food? Jen. No very engaging object indeed, Hartop. Har. Your thoughts now were mine then; but some connexions I have since had with her father, have given birth to my present design upon Jen. Success to you, Jack, with all my soul! a fellow of your spirit and vivacity, mankind ought to support, for the sake of themselves. For whatever Seneca and the other moral writers may have suggested in contempt of riches, it is plain their maxims were not calculated for the world as it now stands. In days of yore, indeed, when virtue was called wisdom, and vice folly, such principles might have been encouraged: but as the present subjects of our inquiry are, not what a man is, but what he |nal, nor the Worcester Courant, nor the Northhas; as to be rich, is to be wise and virtuous, and to be poor, ignorant, and vicious—I heartily applaud your plan. Har. Your observation is but too just. Jen. But, pr'ythee in the first place, how can you gain admittance to your mistress? and, in the second, is the girl independent of her father? His consent, I suppose, you have no thought of obtaining? ampton Mercury, nor the Chester? Mr. Jenkins, Har. But last night. Sir Gre. Lack-a-day, that's wonderful! Mr. Jenkins, introduce me. Sir Gre. Good lack! may be, belong to the Har. Some farther proposals concerning my Jen. Mr. Hartop, Sir Gregory Gazette. estate; such as an increase of the mortgage, or Sir Gre. Sir, I am proud to -Well, sir, and an absolute sale, is a sufficient pretence for a vi- what news? You come from—Pray, sir, are sit; and, as to the cash, twenty to my know-you a parliament-man? ledge; independent too, you rogue! and besides, Har. Not I, indeed, sir. an only child, you know: and then, when things are done, they can't be undone and 'tis well 'tis no worse-and a hundred such pretty proverbs, will, 'tis great odds, reconcile the old fellow at last. Besides, my papa in posse, has a foible, which, if I condescend to humour, I have his soul, my dear. Jen. Pr'ythee, now you are in spirits, give me a portrait of Sir Penurious; though he is my neighbour, yet he is so domestic an animal, that I know no more of him than the common country conversation, that he is a thrifty, wary man. law? Har. Nor that. Sir Gre. Oh, then in some of the offices; the treasury, or the exchequer ? Har. Neither sir. Sir Gre. Lack-a-day, that's wonderful! Well, but Mr-Pray, what name did Mr. Jenkins, Ha, Ha Har. No. Sir Gre. May be not. There is, Mr. Hartop, one thing that I envy you Londoners in muchquires of news-papers! Now I reckon you read a matter of eight sheets every day? Har. Not one. Sir Gre. Wonderful!--Then, may be, you are about court; and so, being at the fountainhead, know what is in the papers before they are printed. Har. I never trouble my head about them.— An old fool! [Aside. Sir Gre. Good Lord! Your friend, Mr. Jenkins is very close. Har, The very abstract of penury! Sir John Cutler, with his transmigrated stockings, was but a type of him. For instance, the barber has the growth of his and his daughter's head once a-year, for shaving the knight once a fortnight; his shoes are made with the leather of a coach of his grandfather's, built in the year One; his maleservant is footman, groom, carter, coachman, and tailor; his maid employs her leisure hours in plain work for the neighbours, which Sir Penurious takes care, as her labour is for his emolument, shall be as many as possible, by joining with his daughter in scouring the rooms, making the beds, &c. Thus much for his moral characThen, as to his intellectual, he is a mere charte blanche; the last man he is with, must afford him matter for the next he goes to: but a story is his idol; throw him in that, and he swallows it; no matter what, raw or roasted, savoury or insipid, down it goes, and up again to the first person he meets. It is upon this basis I found my favour with the knight, having acquired patience enough to hear his stories, and equipped myself with a quantity sufficient to furnish him. His manner is indeed peculiar, and, for once or twice entertaining enough. I'll give you a specimen―Is not that an equi-macy there. page? ter. Jen. Hey! yes, faith; and the owner an acquaintance of mine: Sir Gregory Gazette, by Jupiter! and his son Tim with him. Now I can match your knight. He must come this way to the parlour. We'll have a scene: but take your cue; he is a country politician. SIR GREGORY entering, and Waiter. Jen. Why, Sir Gregory, Mr. Hartop is much in the secrets above; and it becomes a man so trusted, to be wary, you know. Sir Gre. May be so, may be so. Wonderful! Ay, ay; a great man, no doubt. Jen. But I'll give him a better insight into your character, and that will induce him to throw off his reserve. Sir Gre. May be so; do, do; ay, ay. Jen. Pr'ythee, Jack, don't be so crusty: indulge the knight's humour a little! Besides, if I guess right, it may be necessary for the conduct of your design to contract a pretty strict inti Har. Well, do as you will. Jen. Sir Gregory, Mr. Hartop's ignorance of your character made him a little shy in his replies; but you will now find him more communicative; and, in your ear-he is a treasure; he is in all the mysteries of government: at the bottom of every thing. Sir Gre. Wonderful! a treasure! ay, may be so. Jen. And, that you may have him to yourself, I'll go in search of your son. Sir Gre. Do so, do so: Tim is without; just come from his uncle Tregegle's, at Menegizy, in Cornwall. Tim is an honest lad- do so, do so-[Erit JENK.]-Well, Mr. Hartop, and so we have a peace, lack-a-day! longlooked-for come at last. But, pray, Mr. Hartop, how many news-papers may you have printed in a-week? Har. About an hundred and fifty, Sir Gregory. Sir Gre. Good now, good now! and all full, I reckon; full as an egg; nothing but news! Well, well, I shall go to London one of these days. A hundred and fifty? Wonderful! And pray, now, which do you reckon the best? Har. Oh, Sir Gregory, they are various in their excellencies, as their uses. If you are inclined to blacken, by a couple of lines, the reputation of a neighbour, you may do it for two shillings in one paper: if you are displaced, or disappointed of a place, a triplet against the ministry will be always well received at the head of another; and then, as a paper of morning amusement, you have the Fool. Sir Gre. The Fool? good lack! and pray who and what may that same fool be? Har. Why, Sir Gregory, the author has artfully assumed that habit, like the royal jesters of old, to level his satire with more security to himself, and severity to others. Sir Gre. May be so, may be so! The Fool! ha, ha, ha! Well enough; a queer dog, and no fool, I warrant you. Killigrew; ah, I have heard my grandfather talk much of that same Killigrew, and no fool. But what's all this to news, Mr. Hartop? Who gives us the best account of the king of Spain, and the queen of Hungary, and those great folks? Come now, you could give us a little news, if you would; come now-snug! -nobody by. Good now, do; come, ever so little. Har. Why, as you so largely contribute to the support of the government, it is but fair you should know what they are about. We are at present in a treaty with the pope. Sir Gre. With the pope! Wonderful! Good now, good now! How, how! Har. We are to yield him up a large track of the Terra-incognita, together with both the Needles, Scilly-rocks, and the Lizard-point, on condition that the pretender has the government of Laputa, and the bishop of Greenland succeeds to St. Peter's chair; he being, you know, a protestant, when possessed of the pontificals, issues out a bull, commanding all catholics to be of his religion; they, deeming the pope infallible, follow his directions; and then, Sir Gregory, we are all of one mind. Sir Gre. Good lack, good lack! Rare news, rare news, rare news! Ten millions of thanks, Mr. Hartop. But might not I just hint this to Mr. Soakum, our vicar? 'twould rejoice his heart. Har. O fie, by no means! Sir Gre. Only a line-a little hint—do now? | Har. Well, sir, it is difficult for me to refuse you any thing. Sir Gre. Ten thousand thanks. Good now! the pope-Wonderful! I'll minute it downBoth the Needles? Har. Ay, both. Sir Gre. Good now; I'll minute it-the Lizard-point-both the Needles-Scilly-rocksbishop of Greenland-St. Peter's chair-Why then, when this is finished, we may chance to attack the great Turk, and have holy wars again, Mr. Hartop. Har. That's part of the scheme. Sir Gre. Ah, good now! You see I have a head! Politics have been my study many a day. Ah, if I had been in London to improve by the news-papers,! They tell me Dr. Drybones is to succeed to the bishoprick of Wisper? Har. No; Doctor Sir Gre. Indeed! I was told by my landlord at Ross, that it was between him and the dean of— Hur. To my knowledge. Sir Gre. Nay, you know best, to be sure. If it should-Hush! here's Mr. Jenkins and son Tim-mum!-Mr. Jenkins does not know any thing about the treaty with the pope? Har. Not a word. Sir Gre. Mum! Enter TIM and MR. JENKINS. Jen. Mr. Timothy is almost grown out of knowledge, Sir Gregory. Sir Gre. Good now, good now! ay, ay; Ill weeds grow a-pace. Son Tim, Mr. Hartop; a great man, child! Mr. Hartop, son Tim, Har. Sir, I shall be always glad to know every branch that springs from so valuable a trunk as Sir Gregory Gazette. Sir Gre. May be so. Wonderful! ay, ay. Har. Sir, I am glad to see you in Herefordshire-Have you been long from Cornwall? Tim. Ay, sir, a matter of four weeks or a month, more or less. Sir Gre. Well said, Tim! Ay, ay, ask Tim any questions, he can answer for himself. Tim tell Mr. Hartop all the news about the elections, and the tinners, and the tides, and the roads, and the pilchards. I want a few words with Mr. Jenkins. Har. You have been so long absent from your native country, that you have almost forgot it. Tim. Yes sure. I ha' been at uncle Tregegle's a matter of twelve or a dozen year, more or less. Har. Then I reckon you were quite impatient to see your papa and mamma? Tim. No sure, net I. Father sent for me to uncle.-Sure Menegizy is a choice place! and I could a staid there all my born days, more or less. Har. Pray, sir, what were your amusements? Har. How did you divert yourself? Tim. Oh, we ha' pastimes enow there ;-we ha' bull-baiting, and cock-fighting, and fishing, and hunting, and hurling, and wrestling. Har. The two last are sports, for which that country is very remarkable;-in those, I presume, you are very expert? Tim. Nan! What? Har. I say you are a good wrestler. Tim. Oh, yes sure, I can wrestle well enow: --but we don't wrestle after your fashion; we ha' no tripping, fath and sole! we go all upon close hugs, or the flying mare. Will you try a fall, inaster?--I won't hurt you, fath and sole. Har. We had as good not venture though. But have you left in Cornwall nothing that you regret the loss of more than hurling and wrestling? Tim. Nan! What? Har. No favourite she! Jen. Mr. Hartop, Sir Gregory will be amongst us some time-he is going with his son to Sir Penurious Trifle's-there is a kind of a treaty of marriage on foot between Miss Sukey Trifle and Mr. Timothy. Har. The devil! [Apart.] I shall be glad of every circumstance that can make me better acquainted with Sir Gregory. Sir Gre. Good now, good now! may be so, may be so! Tim. Father, sure the gentleman says as how mother and he are a-kin! Sir Gre. Wonderful! Lack-a-day, lack-aday! how, how? I am proud to—but how, Mr. Hartop, how? Har. Why, sir, a cousin-german of my aunt's first husband intermarried with a distant relation of a collateral branch by the mother's side, the Apprices of Lantrindon; and we have ever since quartered in a 'scutcheon of pretence the three goat's tails rampant, divided by a cheveron, field-argent; with a leek pendant in the dexter point, to distinguish the second house. Tim. Arra, I coupled Favourite and Jowler together, and sure they tugged it all the way up. Part with Favourite! no, I thank you for nothing. You must know I nursed Favourite myself: uncle's huntsman was going to Mill- Sir Gre. Wonderful! wonderful! nearly, pond to drown all Music's puppies; so I saved nearly related! Good now, good now; if dame she. But fath, I'll tell you a comical story; at Winnifred was here, she'd make them all out Lanston, they both broke loose, and eat a with a wet finger-but they are above me. whole loin-a'-veal, and a leg of beef: Crist! Pr'ythee, Tim, good now, see after the horses How landlord sweared! fath the poor fellow-and, d'ye hear? try if you can get any newswas almost amazed; it made me die wi' laughing. But how came you to know about our Favourite? Har. A circumstance so material to his son, could not escape the knowledge of Sir Gregory Gazette's friends. But here you mistook me a little, 'Squire Tim; I meant whether your affections were not settled upon some pretty girl.Has not some Cornish lass caught your heart? Tim. Hush! cod, the old man will hear; jog a tiny bit this way-won't a' tell father? Har. Upon my honour! Tim. Why then, I'll tell you the whole story more or less. Do you know Mally Pengrouse? Har. I am not so hppy. papers. Tim. Yes, father-But, cousin what-d'ye-callum, not a word about Mally Pengrouse! Har. Mum! [Exit TIM. Sir Gre. Good now, that boy will make some mistake about the horses now! I'll go myself. Good now, no farther cousin; if you please, no ceremony-A hundred and fifty news-papers a week! the Fool! ha, ha, ha! wonderful! an odd dog! [Exit SIR GREGORY. Jen. So Jack, here's a fresh spoke in your wheel. Har. This is a cursed cross incident! Jen. Well, but something must be done to frustrate the scheme of your new cousin's. Can Har. I have been hammering: pray, are the two knights intimate? are they well acquainted with each other's person? Jen. Faith, I can't tell; but we may soon know. Tim. She's uncle's milk-maid ;-she's as hand-you think of nothing? some, Lord! her face all red and white, like the inside of a shoulder of mutton: so I made love to our Mally and just, fath, as I had got her good-will to run away to Exeter and be married, uncle found it out, and sent word to father, and father sent for me home-but I don't love her a bit the worse for that. But i'cod, if you tell father, he'll knock my brains out; for he says, I'll disparage the family, and mother's as mad as a March hare about it-so father and mother ha' brought me to be married to some young body in these parts. Har. What, is my lady here? Tim. No, sure; dame Winnifred, as father calls her, could not come along. Har. I am sorry for that; I have the honour to be a distant relation of your ladyship's. Tim. Like enough, fath!—she's a-kiu to half the world, I think. But don't you say a word to father about Mally Pengrouse, Hush! Har. Could you recommend me a good spirited girl, who has humour and compliance to follow a few directions, and understanding enough to barter a little inclination for 30001. ayear and a fool? Jen. In part I guess your design; the man's daughter of the house is a good lively lass, has a fortune to make, and no reputation to lose: I'll call her-Jenny! but the enemy's at handI'll withdraw, and prepare Jenny. When the worshipful family are retired, I'll introduce the wench. [Exit JENKINS. Enter SIR GREGORY and TIM. Sir Gre. Pray, now, cousin, are you in friendship with with Sir Penurious Trifle? |