Sir S. Do you not uphold the son against the father? Sheva. I do uphold the son, but not against the fader: it is not natural to suppose the oppressor and fader one and the same peron. I did see your son struck down to the ground with sorrow, cut to the heart: I did not stop to ask whose hand had laid him low; I gave him mine, and raised him up. Sir S. You! you to talk of charity? Sheva. I do not talk of it: I feel it. Sir S. What claim have you to generosity, humanity, or any manly virtue? Which of your moneymaking tribe ever had sense of pity? Shew me the terms on which you have lent this money, if you dare! Exhibit the dark deed, by which you have meshed your victim in the snares of usury; but be assured, I'll drag you to the light, and publish your base dealings to the world. [Catches him by the sleeve. Sheva. Take your hand from my coat; my coat and I are very old, and pretty well worn out together. There, there! be patient. Moderate your passions, and you shall see my terms: they are in little compass: fair dealings may be comprised in few words. Sir S. If they are fair, produce them. You wished your son to marry a lady winn thousand pounds; he has exactly fulfilled yar wishes: I do presume you will not think it neess sary to turn him out of doors, and disinherit bum for that. Sir S. Go on, I merit your reproof. I all henceforward be ashamed to look you or my s the face. Shera. To look me in the face is to see nothing of my heart; to look upon your son, and not to lo him, I should have thought had been impossible. Sir Stephen, I am your very humble servant Sir S. Farewell, friend Sheva! Can you forgin me? Sheva. I can forgive my enemy; much more my friend. ACT IV. SCENE I-A Chamber. Enter Sir STEPHEN BERTRAM and SAUNDERS. Sir S. I am wrong, Saunders, totally wrong, in So, the manner I have resented my son's marriage. Sheva, Let me see, let me see! Ah! poor Sheva! I do so tremble, I can hardly hold my papers. so! Now I am right. Aha! here it is. Sir S. Let me see it. Sheva. Take it. [Gives a paper.] Do you not see it now? Have you cast your eye over it? Is it not right? I am no more than broker, look you. If there is a mistake, point it out, and I will cor rect it. Sir S. [Reads.] Ten thousand pounds, invested in the three per cents, money of Eliza, late Ratcliffe, now Bertram. Sheva. Even so. A pretty tolerable fortune for a poor disinherited son, not worth one penny. Sir S. I'm thunderstruck! Saun. I am happy to hear you say so. I flattered myself you would not hold out long against a worthy son. It is not in the nature of a father to resent so deeply. Sir S. Very true, Saunders, very true; my heart is not a hard one; but the lady he has married has ten thousand pounds for her fortune. Saun. Oh! that indeed makes all the difference in life. This is a mollifying circumstance, I confess. Sir S. I know not how she came by it. It seems to be the work of magic; but so it surely is; I saw the stock in Sheva's hands. Saun. Well, sir, you could not have it from better hands than from the author himself. Sheva. Are you so? I was struck too, but not by thunder. And what has Sheva done to be called villain? I am a Jew, what then? Is that a reason none of my tribe should have a sense of pity? You have no great deal of pity yourself, but I do knowing the next time you meet. many noble British merchants that abound in pity, therefore I do not abuse your tribe. Sir S. How! What! from Sheva! Impossible! Ratcliffe is of a great family. Some sudden windfall; some relation dead. You'll see him in mourn Sir S. I am confounded and ashamed; I see my fault, and most sincerely ask your pardon. Sheva. Goot lack, goot lack! that is too much. I pray you, goot Sir Stephen, say no more; you'll bring the blush upon my check, if you demean yourself so far to a poor Jew, who is your very humble servant to command. Sir S. Did my son know Miss Ratcliffe had this fortune? Shera. When ladies are so handsome, and so goot, no generous man will ask about their fortune. Sir S. 'Tis plain I was not that generous man. Sheva. No, no; you did ask about nothing else. Sir S. But how, in the name of wonder, did she come by it? Sheva. If you did give me money to buy stock, would you not be much offended were I to ask you how you came by it? Sir S. Her brother was my clerk. I did not think he had a shilling in the world. Shera. And yet you turned him upon the world, where he has found a great many shillings. The world, you see, was the better master of the two. Well, Sir Stephen, I will humbly take my leave. Saun. He has not put it on yet, for I left him this minute in the counting-house: he is waiting to speak with you. Sir S. So, so, so! Now then the news will come out. But, pr'ythee, don't let the gentleman wat We must make up for past slights by don de con ity. Pray inform Mr. Ratcliffe I shall be mas happy to receive his commands. Saun. O, money! money! what a quai.fer that art! Sir S. Now I shall be curious to see how tha young man will carry himself in prosperity. Had I but staid one day longer without discharging ham, I could have met him with a better face. Enter CHARLES RATCLIFFE. Char. Sir Stephen Bertram, I shall not engra much of your time. My business will be despatches in a very few words. Sir S. Whatever commands you may have fir me, Mr. Ratcliffe, I am perfectly at your service Char. I don't doubt it, sir; but I shall 24: your spirit to any great trial. My explanasi not be a hostile one, unless you choose to understand it as such. Sir S. Far be it from me to wish it. Good between near connexions, you know, sir, should al- toes: shall I serve them up at once, or make two ways be cultivated courses of them? Char. You are pleased to be facetious; but your irony will not put me by from telling you, that your son's connexion with my family is no match of my making. If my sister has dishonoured herself, it be hoves me to say, and to say it on my solemn word, that the whole transaction was kept perfectly secret from me, and has received every mark of my displeasure and resentment that I, as yet, had an opportunity to give it. Sir S. Proud as Lucifer himself! [Aside.] Well, sir, if you are dissatisfied with the match, I can only say I am not in the fault of it: but when you say your sister is dishonoured, I protest I do not perfectly understand you; nor did I quite expect such an expression from you. Char. Probably you did not; your studies, perhaps, have laid more in the book of accounts than in the book of honour. Sir S. You are very high, sir; I am afraid your unexpected good fortune has rather intoxicated you. Char. No, sir; the best good fortune I have known this day, was that which discharged me from your connexion; not this which unwillingly imposes it upon me. Sir S. Very well, Mr. Ratcliffe. It was not with this sort of conversation I was prepared to entertain you; the sooner we put an end to it the better: only this I must take leave to tell you, that the fortune of the family into which your sister has married, is by no means overbalanced by the fortune she has brought into it. Sheva. How now, you jackanapes? One egg-shell is not thing goot for a hungry man. Have you left some of the potatoes in the skins? Jabal. Not an atom; you may have the broth they were boiled in. Sheva. You are a saucy knave, to make a joke of your master. Do you think I will keep a jackpudding in my house like you, to listen at my keyhole, and betray my conversation? Why did you say I gave away my monies? Jabal. What harm hid I do? Nobody, believed me. Shera. Go your ways, go your ways; you are not for my purpose-you are not fit to be trusted: you do let your idle tongue run away with you. Jabal. That is because you won't employ my teeth. Sheva. You do prate too much; you do chatter, and bring your poor master into great straits: I have been much maltreated and abused. Jabal. Have you so? I wish to goodness I had been by. Sheva. Sirrah! you wish you had been by, to hear your master abused! Jabal. Yes; for I would have dealt the fellow that abused you, such a recompense in the fifth button, that my friend Mendoza should not have placed it better. D-n it! do you think I would stand by, and hear my master abused? Shera. Don't you swear, don't you swear? that is goot lad, but don't you swear. Jabal. No, by the living - though I may be Char. Ay, now your heart's come out that mer-starved in your service, I will die in your defence. cenary taunt is all you have to say. But had my wish prevailed, you never should have had it in your power to utter Ratcliffe's name, without a blush for your unwarranted suspicions of his honour. [Erit. Sir S. He's mad; his head is turned: prosperity has overset him. If the sister of the same blood is provided with no better brains, poor Frederick has made a precious bargain. We shall breed candidates for Bedlam. [Exit. SCENE II.-Sheva's House. Enter SHEVA. go Shera. Aha! Very goot! very goot! I am at home. Now I will sit down in my own parlour, and not ask leave of anybody. I did not think I could have given so large a sum away, and yet outlived it; but I am pretty well. There is but one man in the world poorer than he was, and he is ing out of it: and there is a couple, at least, a great deal happier, and they are coming into it. Well, well! that is two for one,-cent per cent, so I have made a pretty goot bargain. Now I will ring my bell, and order my dinner: yes, yes, I will eat my dinuer, for I am hungry. [Sits.-Rings. Enter JABAI.. Oh! you knave! Oh! you picklock! how dare you listen at my door, and hear my secrets? Sirrah, II will have your ears nailed to it!-Don't you speak, don't you speak: you will make me angry, and that will spoil my appetite. What have you got in the house for my repast? Jabal. Plenty, as good luck will have it. Sheva. Plenty, say you! What is it? Let me hear. Jabal. One egg-shell, and the skins of three pota-] Shera. Well, well; you are a merry knave. But my eyes do water a little the air is sharp, and they are weak. Go your ways, go your ways;send Dorcas to me. [Erit JABAL.] I cannot tell what ails my heart all this day long, it is so troublesome. I have spent ten thousand pounds to make it quiet; but there must be a little fraction more; I must give the poor knave something for his goodwill. Oh dear, oh dear! what will become of me? Enter DORCAS. So, so! Come hither, Dorcas. Why do you look sad? What ails you, girl? Why do you cry? Dor. Because you are going to turn away Jabal. He is the kindliest, willingest, good-naturedest sou! alive; the house will be a dungeon without Jabal. Shera. Then tell him, 'tis at your request I let him stay in this dungeon. Say, that I was very angry with him, but that you pacified my anger. Dor. Lord love your heart! that is so like you. Shera. Hark you, Dorcas; I will give you this piece of money to make the poor knave merry; but mind that you bestow it on him as your own little present, and promise not to say it comes from me. Dor. Well; to be sure you do not give your money like other people. If ever I do a good turn, I take care the person I favour should know from whence it comes, that so he may have the pleasure of returning it. Sheva. Well, Dorcas, you take your course, and take mine. Now I will go and beg a bit of dinner of a friend. You are a very good housewife, Dorcas; you do keep an empty kitchen and a clean cupboard. Dor. And whose fault is toat? How many people are feasting abroad at your cost, whilst you have a famine at home?-But here comes your friend ana neighbour, Mrs. Goodison; she will take care of you. [Exit. Euter Mas. GOODISON. Mr. G. Ah! my good sir, I perceive you are at yar est sport; no ke in your chimney-no kta apka your takas-full coders, and an empty Surra. No, no; my coffers are not full; I am very poor Just DUN. 6. C. me, then, and partake with one whom your bounty has made rich. Stera. De not talk of my bounty; I do never give away for bounty's sake. If pity wrings it from my heart, whether I will or not, then I do give. bow can I bop it? Mr. G. We, sir, I can be silent, but I cannot And now, if you will come and share my grated meal, perhaps I can show you one of the Luuest .tects in er at in a beautiful and amiable young bride, who, with her husband and mother, is She was married this very morning toy ur friend, Sir Stephen Bertram's son, who, between y u and me, has drought himself into sad trutie with his father by the match. But surely, if there is a woman upon earth worth a man's being ruined for, it must be this young creature. So modest—so sweet-tempered-so engaging! Oh! that .refera hai yar beart Shera. It might be inconvenient to him if he bad it is not kept for nothing. I assure you. Mrs. G. Yu would not turn such a daughter-in Shea. Nor will be, perhaps, Mrs. G. Aà, sir: I know a little better: this For young gentleman himself told me he was But don't be afraid to take me into your house,” added he, with a sigh that went to my heart; * I am provided with the means of doing justice to you, by a generous friend,' shewing me a bank bill ef one hundred pounds. Heaven bless the generous friend quoth 1; and at that moment I thought of ya, my god Mr. Sheva, who rescued me from the Lke distress when my poor husband died. Shed. You may think of me, Mrs. Goodison; but I beg you will not speak of me in the hearing of your bagers. Mrs. G. Well, well, sir; if I must not speak, I must not. Yet a stranger thing came out in conversation with the mother of the bride, a very excellent lady, from whom I found out that she is the widow of that very gentleman we knew at Cadiz, by the name of Don Carlos only, and to whom, I behieve, you think yourself under some obligations in your escape from that country. but I'll do as you would have me, and be reag the door, to receive and welcome you. Shera. The widow of my preserver frath quisitors of Cadiz, and the mother of my war Dear me, dece from the mob of London! How Providence disposes all things! The al that's dead wants nothing; the friend that is am shall likewise want nothing that I can give for I will die quickly myself and give him allGoot lack! goot lack! when I did heap up mums with such pains and labour, I did always think me I should find a use for them at last. SCENE III-Mrs. Goodison's Exe. MRS. RATCLIFFE, ELIZA, and CHARLES. Char. I have cleared myself to his father, and I'll clear myself to all the worid. Ne man shaw say I lay traps for heirs. Mrs. R. Charles, Charles, you soar too high. Char. Madam, madam, you stoop too low. Mrs. R. How is your honour slighted, when yor friend did not even consult his father? Char. He knew his father's mind too well Mr. R. And what would you have done? Char. I would have saved my friend. Eina. And sacrificed your sister. That, let me say, is a high strain of friendship, but no great procí of brotherly affection. Char. Sister, there is more peace of mind sacrificed by indulging in an act to be repented of, than by foregoing a dishonourable propensity. The woman without fortune, that consents to a clandes tine marriage with a man whose whole dependance is upon an unforgiving father, never can be justified. Fiza. You argue from the unforgiving nature of Sir Stephen Bertram: you had experience of it, I had none. Char. You might have had, by an appeal to his consent before you gave your own. Mrs. R. You bear too hard upon your sister. You forget her sex, her situation, your own tenderness, and the affection you have ever borne ber. Char. No, madam; if I could forget how prendiy I have thought of her, I should not be so humbied by her conduct as I am. I own I stand in amare at your indifference. You think I am too sensitive -too proud: you tell me, that I soar too high. How was it when I was this Bertram's clerk? I bore my lot with patience; I submitted without murmuring to poverty: I cannot brook disgrace. Elisa. Well, Charles, if you could love me caly whilst you thought me faultless, I must water boar was that we were friends so long: and new you bave said all that rigid justice can enforce against me; had you said less, I should have feit it more. Shera. Mercies upon his heart! he was the pre-it server of my life: Eut for his baritable suceur, this poor body would have fed the fires of an Auto Is it possible Mrs. Ratcliffe is the widow of my benefactor? da te. Mrs. G. Most certain that she is, which you may son be convinced of; but I perceive you know the la iy's name. Siera. Did you not name the lady yourself? Mrs. G. No, on my word. Ah, sir! you are fairly caught; yon have betrayed yourself. Ill deeds, they say, will come to light, and so will good ones, it should seem. Sheta. Hold your tongue, hold your tongue; you forget that I am fasting, and without a dinner. Go your ways, and I will follow; you are nimble. I am slow you will be shamed with your lodgers, if they see you with a poor old jew like me. Enter FREDERICK. Fred. Charles-Brother-Friend!-Will you m give me joy? Come, man, shake off this cand, and smile upon my happiness; we catch it but by gleams. Char. Yes, sir, we sometimes catch it by surprise and stealth; we catch it by a breach of prese and good faith: then to congratulate a man en sach a catch, in my sense of the word, would be wel him. Fred. I have frequently seen cause to appland your philosophy, Charles; now I must think you carry it too far. Char. It touches you too near; therefore, y Mrs. G. Ah! You are cunning in your charities; | like it not. Eliza. Heaven grant such rest to yours! Eliza. What says my Frederick? You are still discomposed. Your colour comes and goes. Oh, that my arms could give you rest!-Nay, what now, my Frederick? you struggle to get loose !-Are these soft toils uneasy to you? will not your proud, swelling heart endure such gentle, fond imprisonment? Fred. Oh, thou angelic virtue!-soul-dissolving softness! would I might thus expire, enfolded in these arms! Love, I conjure thee to bear up! I am sure my father will take pity, and be kind to thee: I shall assail his feelings in a manner that no parent can resist. I am going now to put it to the proof. Farewell! Eliza. Stop, I conjure you both! Charles! Charles! if you have love or pity left, let this dissention go no further. And you, Frederick-husband!-You, whose generous heart has put to hazard every hope for me, add yet another proof of love, by suffering these rebukes with patience: they are but flashes of a temper warm in friendship, glowing with honour, impatient of neglect. Perhaps my brother thinks ambition, meanness, artifice, might have some part, some influence in moving me to what I've done. I spurn such motives-disavow them all. Were I in Frederick's place, and he in mine, I should have done as he did; I should have thought no sacrifice too great to have secured a lasting in-calm as water. terest in a heart like his. Char. This had been only ruin to yourself, and would have had the plea of spirit, therefore more excusable but this no man of honour would have suffered; therefore 'tis only said, not done. Fred. Whatever my Eliza says is done; her acions verify her words; and he, that doubts them, would dispute against the light of heaven. 'Tis Í that am advanced, she is abased; 'tis I that am enriched, Eliza is impoverished. I only risk a few sharp words from an ungentle father; she suffers keen reproaches, undeserved, from an injurious brother. Char. Urge me no further; I can bear no more. [Falls into her arms. Fred. There! there! you've struck her to the heart, and that's a coward's blow. [Apart to CHARLES, in an under voice.] My life, my soul! look up! Dear madam, take her hence. [MRS. RATCLIFFE takes ELIZA out. Char. A coward's blow! you recollect those words; and know their meaning, I suppose. Fred. Yes; and will meet your comment when you will, and where you will. Char. Then follow me, and we'll adjust that matter speedily. Fred. I will but drop a tear upon the ruin you have made, and then be with you. Char. I'll wait for you below. Enter ELIZA, hastily. [Exit. Eliza. Where are you both, rash men? Ah, Frederick! alone! What is become of Charles? Why is he gone away? What have you said to him? I did not hear it, I was lost in terror. I am sure you have quarrelled. Fred. No, no, not quarrelled-only jarred, as friends will sometimes do: all will be set to rights. Eliza. How? when? why not this moment, in my hearing? I shall be happy to make peace between you. Fred. Peace will be made, assure yourself, sweet love; these little heats are easily adjusted. Eliza. But I could do it best; you are too hot, both, both too hot and fiery. Fred. We shall be cooler soon: such heats soon pend themselves, and then the heart is laid to rest. Eliza. Why in such haste? Stay yet a little you'll meet with Eliza. Some fatal accident will be the issue of it. Alas! you know not what his passions are when once inflamed: let them burn out, and then he's as Fred. Where does this tend? You would not make a coward of your husband? Eliza. No nor would you make a distracted wretch of your poor Eliza; therefore, I will not let you loose, till you have promised me not to provoke him to more violence: promise me this, and you shall go. Fred. Well, then, if that will set your mind at rest, I promise you I'll have no further altercation with him, not another word to gall him. Eliza. You'll not renew your quarrel? Eliza. Then all my fears are over. Now you may go.—Well! what withholds you? What more do you wish than freedom and release from my fond arms? Fred. To snatch one last, dear moment; and then die within them. Oh! my soul's better part! may heaven preserve and bless you! [Exit. Eliza. Now I am happy, now I am secure this breach once healed, I can face all alarms. [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I-A Tavern. Enter FREDERICK, attended by a Waiter. Fred. Is the porter returned who went with my message to Mr. Saunders, at Sir Stephen Bertram's? Wait. He is, sir; the gentleman will be with you presently. Fred. Shew him up as soon as he comes. There will be another gentleman call; I believe you know Mr. Ratcliffe? Wait. Yes, we know Mr. Ratcliffe very well. Fred. If he comes while Mr. Saunders is with me, request him to wait a few minutes till he is gone. Wait. I shall, sir; any other commands? Fred. None. [Erit Waiter.] I scarce know what I've written to my father; yet, perhaps, these few unstudied lines, dictated in such a moment, may dispose him to protect the widow, if fate will have it so, of a discarded son.-Now I am ready for this 761 angry champion; and since he is resolved to vindi- | cate his courage by his sword, let him produce his weapons when he will, I'll not refuse the satisfaction he demands. Enter JABAL, hastily. Jabal. Oh! sir, sir! I'm overjoyed to find you Come, I pray you; come away to my old master, who is pining till he sees you. Fred. Who is your master, and who are you? Jabal. As if you did not know Jabal, who lives No, hold there, who does not live, but starves with your old friend, in Duke's Place. Why, lud-amercy! I knew your honour at the length of the street, and saw you turn into this tavern; the puppily waiter would have stopped me from coming up to you. Fred. I wish you had taken his advice. Jabal. That would not be your wish, if you knew all. Sure enough I must hunt up Mr. Ratcliffe also: for there is an iron in the fire for each of you. Master is making his will. Lawyer Dash is at his elbow. Fred. If the devil was at his elbow, I cannot come to him. a Jabal. Oh! the living! I would not carry such message back for all the world. Why, when Lawyer Dash has pen and ink in hand, and a will under his thumb, he'll dash you in, or dash you out, in a crack. Fred. Then temper the apology to your taste; only let your master know I cannot come. Jabal. I'll tell him, then, you are married; that will be a silencer at once. Fred. Begone! make haste! [Erit JABAL.]Married! how cutting is that recollection! Joys just in sight, shewn only to be snatched away. Dear, lost, undone Eliza! But I won't think, for that is madness,-inexorable honour must be obeyed. Enter Mr. SAUNDERS. Saun. Mr. Bertram, I came to you the first mo ment I could get away; for I longed to give you joy. Fred. Joy! name it not. Saun. Well, if your joy was somewhat damped at first, you may now take it without any drawback. Fred. I know not what you mean, nor do I wish to inquire; be silent on that subject, I conjure you. The favour I have to ask you is simply this: here is a letter for my father; deliver it to him with your own hands. You seem surprised. Saun. I am indeed. The impatience of your look; the hurry of your speech; the place in which I meet you Fred. The letter will explain all that; I could not give it you in presence of my-Well, no matter, I take you for a man of honour, and my friend. Will you give the letter? you? Saun. Assuredly; but, if I am a man of honour, and your friend, why will not you let me stay with In truth, dear Frederick, I am a friend that, if you want him, will not flinch. Fred. The friend I want, is one that will not force his services upon me when I can't accept of them; but take my word at once, and leave me. Saun. Enough! I am gone. [Exit. Fred. I have been harsh with that good man; but this suspense is terrible. Enter Waiter. Wait. Mr. Ratcliffe desires to know if you are at leisure. Fred. Perfectly; let him know I'm at his avis. (Eral Wall Enter CHARLES RATCLIFFE. Char. I have brought my sword; compare à with your own, and, if you have a preference make your choice. I presume you have no objectum the weapon? Fred. None on my own account; a little, pe haps, on the score of vanity, as thinking I have sim advantage over you in point of skill and practice. Char. As far as that opinion goes, you are we come to all the advantage it gives you. O this is a sorry business. Will nothing else convince you I am incapable of giving a coward be! Fred. You have offered nothing else: it sa mode of your own choosing. Char. Your language forced it on me; you have touched my feelings to the quick. Words, such a you made use of, cannot be passed over with out absolute disgrace, unless you will revoke them by apology. Fred. You may well conceive, Mr. Ratcliffe, with what repugnance I oppose myself to you on the occasion. Whether the event be fatal to you or to myself, small consolation will be left for the sarvivor. The course you take is warranted by every rule of honour, and you act no otherwise than as I expected; but, as my expression justifies your challenge, so did your provocation justify my expres sion; and your language being addressed to a lady, whom I have the honour to protect, it is net in my power to retract one tittle of what I said; for was you to repeat the same insult, I should follow it with the same retort. Char. If you hold to the words, I know not how we can adjust it amicably. Fred. There is a way; you must find it out. Char. Suppose, then, that my language had been addressed to any other person than Eliza, would you in that case have apologized for your expres sion? as I am now, perhaps, speaking to you for the last Fred. I will speak plainly to you, and the rather time. Admitted by your sister's faroar into a family, whose representative resents her conduct, I will not so disgrace her choice in your eyes, who have opposed it, as to submit, in the first instance, to the most distant hint at an apology. Char. I understand you now; you would have spring from me.-Impossible! Fred. Then, no more is to be said. [CHARLES drops his word Char. It is too true: your point has hit me through the guard: I'm at your mercy. Fred. I am at yours, dear Charles, for pard blush for having used them. Let me bind to and forgiveness; now I retract my word ni wrist here is a handkerchief. Shall I call for us sistance? Char. No, no: a scratch; 'tis nothing. It bleeds. Hark! somebody is at the door; tak: the swords. Sheva. [Without.] Let me in; I pray you Sheva. Dear me dear me what have you bea |