her. Fear nothing, fet her at defiance; refign yourself to my protection; you fball face your tyrant, out-face her,' fhine above her, put her down in fplendor as in beauty; be no more the fervile thing her cruelty has made you; but be the life, the leader of each public pleasure, the envy of all womankind, the miftrefs of my happinessAug. And murderer of my own. No, no, my Lord, I'll perish first: the laft furviving orphan of a noble houfe, I'll not difgrace it: from these mean, unfeeling people, who to the bounty of my ancestors owe all they have, I fhall expect no mercy; but you, whom even pride might tech fome virtue, you to tempt me, you with unmanly cunning to feduce diftress yourself created, finks you deeper in contempt than Heaven finks me in poverty [Exit.

and fhame.

L. Abb A very unpromising campaign truly one lady loft, and the other in no way of being gained, Well, I'll return to my company; there is this merit however in gaming, that it makes all loffes appear trivial but its own,

END OF THE FIRST ACT,

ACT

ACT II.

A Library in MORTIMER'S Houfe.

MORTIMER alone.

O! fo! another day; another twelve hours round of folly and extravagance: 'pfhaw! I am fick on't. What is it our men of genius are about? Jarring and jangling with each other, while a vaft army of vices over-runs the whole country at difcretion (Jarvis enters.) Now, Jarvis, what's your news?

Jar. My morning budget, Sir; a breakfast of good deeds; the offerings of a full heart and the return of an empty pure. There, Sir, I've done your errand; and with hereafter you could find another agent for your charities.

Mort. Why fo Charles?

Jar. Because the task grows heavy; befides, I'm old and foolish, and the fight is too affecting.

Mort. Why doesn't do like me then? Sheath a foft heart in a rough cafe, 'twill wear the longer; fineer thyfelf, good Jarvis, as thy mafter does, and keep a marble outfide to the world. Who dreams that I am the lewd fool of pity, and thou my pandar, Jarvis, my provider? You found out the poor fellow then, the half-pay officer I met laft Sunday

Jar. With difficulty; for he obtruded not his forrows on the world; but in defpair had crept into a corner, and, with his wretched family about him, was patiently expiring.

Mort. Pr'ythee no more on't: you fav'd him; you reliev'd him; no matter how; you made a fellow-creature happy, that's enough.

far. I did, Sir; but his ftory's fo affecting-

Mort. Keep it to thyfelf, old man, then; why muft my heart be wrung? I too am one of Nature's fpoilt children, and havn't yet left off the tricks of the nursery.

Servant

SERVANT enters.

Serv. Sir, Mr. Tyrrel's come to town, and begs to fee you.

Mort. Let him come in (Tyrrel enters.) So, nephew, what bring's you to town? I thought you was a prifoner in the country.

Tyr. I was; but now my Lord Courtland has obtained his liberty, no reafon holds why I should not recover mine. Mort. Well, Sir, how have you fill'd up your time? In practifing fresh thrufts, or repenting of that which is paft? You've drawn your fword to fatisfy one man, now think of fatisfying the reft of mankind.

Tyr. You know my ftory, Sir: I drew my fword in the defence of innocence: to punifh and repel the libertine attempts of an ennobled ruffian; every man of honour would have done the fame.

Mort. Yes, honour: you young men are fubtle arguers; the cloak of honour covers all your faults, as that of paffion all your follies.

!

Tyr. Honour is what mankind have made it; and as we hold our lives upon these terms, with our lives it behoves us to defend them.

Mort. You have made it reafon then it feems; make it religion too, and put it out of fashion with the world at once of this be fure, I would fooner caft my guineas in the fea, than give 'em to a duellift. But come, Frank, you are one from prejudice, not principle; therefore we'll talk no more on't. Where are you lodged?

Tyr. At the hotel hard by.

Mort. Then move your baggage hither, and keep house with me: you and I, nephew, have fuch oppofite pursuits that we can never juftle; befides, they tell me you're in love; 'twill make a good companion of you; you fhall rail at one fex, while I'm employed with t'other, and thus we both gratify our spleen at once.

may

Tyr. O, Sir, unless you can confent to hear the praifes of my lovely girl, from hour to hour, in endless repetition, never fuffer me within your doors.

Mort. Thy girl, Frank, is every thing but rich, and that's a main blank in the catalogue of a Lady's per-. fections.

Tyr. Fill it up then, dear uncle; a word of your's will do it.

Mort. True, boy, a word will do it; but 'tis a long word; 'tis a lafting one; it fhould be, therefore, a deliberate one but let me fee your girl; I'm a four fellow; fo the world thinks of me; but it is against the proud, the rich I war: poverty may be a misfortune to Mifs Aubrey ; it would be hard to make it an objection.

Tyr. How generous is that fentiment!-Let me have your confent for my endeavours at obtaining her's, and I hall be moft happy.

Mort. About it then; my part is foon made ready; your's is the talk: you are to find out happiness in marriage; I'm only to provide you with a fortune. (Exit Tyr.) Well, Frank, I fufpected thou hadft more courage than wit, when I heard of thy engaging in a duel; now thou art for encount'ring a wife, I am convinc'd of it. A wife! 'fdeath, fure fome planetary madness reigns amongst our wives; the dog-ftar never fets, and the moon's horns are fallen on our heads.

COLIN MACLEOD enters.

Colin. The gude time o'day to you, gude Maister Mor timer.

Mort. Well, Colin, what's the news at your house ?

Colin. Nay, no great fpell of news, gude faith; aw things with us gang on after the auld fort. I'm weary of my life amongst 'em; the murrain take 'em all, fike a family of free-booters, Maifter Mortimer; an I fpeak a word to 'em, or preach up a little needful ceconomy, hoot! the whole clan is up in arms. I may speak it in your ear, an' the de'il himfell was to turn housekeeper, he cou'd na' pitch upon a fitter fet; fellows of all trades, countries, and Occupations; a ragamuffin crew; the very refufe of the mob, that canna' count paft twa generations without a gibbet in their fcutcheon.

Mort. Ay, Colin, things are miferably chang'd fince your old mafter died.

Colin. Ah, Maifter Mortimer, it makes my heart drop blude to think how much gude counfel I ha' caft away upon my Laird; 'faith I hanna' ftinted him o' that; I gee'd him rules and maxims of gude hufbandry in plenty, but aw in vain; the dice ha' deafen'd him.

Mort. Yes, and destroyed; his head, heart, happiness

are gone to ruin; the leaft a gamefter lofes is his money. Colin. Ecod and that's no trifie in his cafe: laft night's performanees made no fmall hole in that.

Mort. Whence learn you that?

Colin. From little Napthali of St. Mary Axe: when a man borrows money of a Jew, 'tis a prefumption no Chriftian can be found to lend him any.

Mort. Is your Lord driven to fuch wretched shifts?

Colin. Hoot! know you not that every lofing gamefter has his Jew? He is your only doctor in a defperate cafe; when the regulars have brought you to Death's door, the quack is invited to ufher you in.

Mart. Your Jew, Colin, in the prefent cafe, favours more of the lawyer than the doctor: for I take it he makes you fign and feal as long as you have effects.

Colin. You've hit the nail o' the hede; my Laird will fign to any thing; there's bonds, and blanks, and bargains, and promifary notes, and a damn'd fight of rogueries, depend on't. Ecod he had a bundle for his breakfaft, as big as little Napthali cou'd carry; I wou'd it had braken his bock; and yet he is na' half the knave of yon fat fellow upon Fish-Street-Hill.

Mort. Bridgemore, you mean.

Colin. Ay, ay, he's at the bottom of the plot; this little Hebrew's only his jackall.

Mort. I comprehend you: Bridgemore, under cover of this Jew, has been playing the ufurer with Lord Abberville, and means to pay his daughter's portion in parchment; this must be prevented.

Colin. You may fpare your pains for that; the match is off.

Mort. Hey-day, friend Colin, what has put off that? Colin. Troth, Maifter Mortimer I canna' fatisfy you on that hede; but yefternight the job was done; methought the lufinefs never had a kindly afpect from the first.

Mort. Well, as my Lord has got rid of Mifs, I think he may very well spare her fortune.

Colin. Odzooks, but that's no reafon he fhou'd lose his

own.

Mort. That, Colin, may be paft my power to hinder; yet even that shall he attempted: find out the Jew that Bridgemore has employed, and bring him hither, if you

can.

Colin.