SCENE I. an Apartment in Debenture's Houſe,

AND you really think, Mr. Bronze, that I believe what you tell me?

Not I, upon my ſoul; I only hope you'll make your miſtreſs believe it.

Why have you no more conſcience, ſirrah! than to expect I'll tell my miſtreſs lies for you?

What elſe ſhould you tell her, huſſy, if you have a mind to keep your place? A fine woman, has nothing but lies told her from morning till night, and expects nothing elſe from her lover, or her chamber⯑maid.

Well, I proteſt, its enough to corrupt any vartuous girl to converſe with your London ſarvants.

Why, I don't know but you are right, Fanny; eſpecially, if it be a vartuous girl like yourſelf, who has beauty enough to be worth taking pains with— [2] But tell me, is your miſtreſs dreſt? How does ſhe look in her uniform?

Ay, ſhe is dreſt, and if ſhe'd take my advice, ſhe'd undreſs again.

And my maſter's too; but all in good time, Fanny; I am now come to tell you, to be ready, to let him in, at the back ſtairs, in about ten minutes; he has a chaiſe and four ready, and will whiſk you and your miſtreſs off, you jade in—

Hold, hold, my good friend! won't the wheels of his carriage want a little greaſing—When I ſaw you both in Liverpool laſt, you were not much encum⯑bered with the weight of your purſes.

'Sdeath! I had like to have forgot my princi⯑pal argument, with a chambermaid.

Look at this little ſmiling rogue; we have two hundred of the ſame pat⯑tern; and my maſter deſired I would make a preſent of this, to his good friend, and my adorable Fanny, as an earneſt of future favours.

Well, I proteſt this is very pretty of him; and I am ſure I am glad, that he's taking her off from that great ugly monſter, Teneriffe; I have always ſaid, it was a pity, they ſhould not come together. The lieutenant, you know, is her couſin, he loves her; and, I'm ſure, there's no love loſt, indeed, Mr. Bronze. If you have many ſuch arguments, Bronze, as your laſt, there will be no reſiſting you.

Many, huſſey! my maſter and I, have an unlimited credit on the bank of Iſrael.

The bank of Iſrael! I never heard of ſuch a bank in my life.

It is a ſign you are a good chriſtian, and never wanted money: Abraham, Jacob, and Co. are the only bankers we can draw upon now: Heaven help us, ſince I and my maſter became poor, nobody, but [3] infidels, will credit us.—But how is old Debenture? Is he ſcrewed up with the rheumatiſm, or bound hand and foot with the gout?

Neither—He has both hands and feet at liber⯑ty, and is now ſitting with his conſtant companion, Captain Teneriffe, over his evening pipe.

Is not that the great ſea calf, that is intended for our divine little Harriet?

The very ſame—Well, I proteſt, Mr. Bronze, its enough to make one die with laughing, to hear them both talk; they rave of nothing but their privateer from morning till night, and the prizes ſhe's to bring in; the only thing, which troubles me, is Captain Wilmot, that's gone in her.—Oh! the ſweet, fellow! He did not leave a dry eye in Liverpool, when he went away. I do believe he might have manned his ſhip with women, if he had a mind.

Well blundered, my ſweet little bull-maker—Lord! how a pretty face does ſanctify nonſenſe.

Oh! Mr. Bronze, you are ſuch a wit, there's no ſuch thing as ſpeaking before you, you are ſo ſophi⯑ſtical in your reflections.

Dear me, let me be gone; there's my miſtreſs's bell. Let me go, you devil, or you'll ruin me.

What at your years, Fanny?

Pſhaw! let me go, I beg of you.

But firſt, take this, and this;

theſe are the only guineas I can give you now.

But don't think I take them as ſterling cur⯑rency?

If you did, huffy, I'd impeach you of high treaſon in the court of love, and have you puniſhed for clipping them.

SCENE II. changes to a Parlour in the ſame Houſe.

Debenture and Teneriffe, diſcovered at a Table, with Pipes, and a Bowl of Liquor before them. Midſhips in waiting.

How is the wind, Midſhips?

It blows right in the harbour, your honour.

Then who knows, but we may have them in to⯑night?

Like enough.

I have been thinking, friend Teneriffe, how many prizes ſhe muſt have taken, in the ten days ſhe has been out. Let me ſee now—ſhe has been out ten days—The firſt day, I remember, was as fine a day as ever came out of the heavens—But then ſhe could not have got very near the French coaſt the firſt day; and if ſhe took one, it was not bad,—No, no, one was the moſt ſhe took the firſt day.

Stave in my head rails, how you do talk.

Avaſt, Midſhips, don't fire the chaſe guns too ſoon, we'll bring him up with a wet ſail preſently.

But what a terrible day was the ſecond; the chimney of the Golden Lion was blown down; you may remember the circumſtance very well; for we were to have dined there, and our dinner was ſpoilt by the accident—a fine gooſe was knockt of the ſpit by the fall of a brick-bat; a large pot, with a plumb pud⯑ding in it, clean overturned; and the cook ſcalded in ſo terrible a manner, ſhe was obliged to be ſent to the hoſpital.

If only a dinner was overſet, in that day's gale, brother Debenture, we have no right to complain of [5] the weather—but poor Sally, I hope ſhe rid it out—Every blaſt went to my heart.

But what was that gale to the one we had in our laſt voyage to the coaſt of Guinea?

Right, Midſhips, not a capfull—Damme, I had forgot that gale; but do you remember our battle next day with the Spaniſh frigate?

Do I? We were upon the larboard quar⯑ter, as it might be here—ſo I whips up my helm a weather, ſhoots under her counter, and we raked her fore and aft, with a whole broadſide of round, double, and grape.

Oh! now they have got fighting the Spaniards on the coaſt of Guinea, we ſhan't have them in the Channel theſe two hours.

Now, friend Debenture, an account of this battle is worth hearing.

Why, you know, you have told it to me above twenty times.

Suppoſe this here bowl now, do you ſee me, the enemy, and my pipe the Bonny.

You know, your honor, we had got the wea⯑ther gage of them—now this here tobacco-pouch.

Avaſt, you lubber, do you think I want your aſſiſtance to fight a ſhip?

I wiſh to the lord, this battle was well over, for it threatens to prove a deviliſh obſtinate one.

The enemy, I ſay, bore right down upon us, as this here bowl may do, do you ſee.

But, my good friend, don't overſet our punch in the heat of the action, you may chance to need it to recruit your ſpirits, when the battle is over.

We received two broadſides from her without firing a ſingle ſhot, till luffing up right under her ſtern, [6] as you ſay, Midſhips, we raked her fore and aft the firſt broadſide.

Away went her mizen-maſt.

Next goes the main-maſt by the board.

Grapple, damme, is the word, and pepper them; and in leſs than a ſhake of her main top fail, there was not a ſtick of timber left ſtanding between the poop lanthorn and the bees of her bowſprit.

Deben.

Zounds! the fight grows deviliſh hot. I had better get out of the way, or I ſhall come in for my ſhare of the action.

Now we come cloſe along ſide, yard arm and yard arm; clear the decks, boys! and Spaniſh gold was the word. We boarded them with five and twen⯑ty choice hands, and before you could upſet a ſerving mallet, we had every Spaniſh dog upon his beam end, damn me!

I ſee her ſtrike. Damme, I ſee her ſtrike.

Heaven be praiſed, for now I hope the bat⯑tle is over.

Ay, midſhips, the lubbers ſtruck, juſt as my boys found themſelves in a trim for fighting.

I never was ſo ſorry for any thing in all my born days, your honour.

And I was never better pleaſed at any thing in the courſe of my life. In the devil's name, how long would you continue fighting?

How long would we continue fighting?—What a queſtion to aſk an Engliſhman and a ſailor!—How long would we continue fighting! Till the blood ran out of our ſcuppers; till we had not a rag of can⯑vaſs, or a ſplinter of wood to hang it on; ay, damme, till we had died, and then—why we ſhould have fought like Engliſhmen.

You ſee, maſter Debenture, he underſtands a thing or two. But come, now the battle's over, let us ſtow our grog.

Come, here's the king! Bleſs his heart, I have loſt two legs in his ſervice.

No, no; only one, Midſhips.

I ſay two; one of 'em (as hearty a piece of oak as ever was ſtumped upon) I lent to a brother ſea⯑man, and it was burnt in the fire at Greenwich-Ho⯑ſpital; and the other was diſabled by a two and for⯑ty pounder, in the laſt war, with as brave a fellow as ever pricked for his beef—Commodore Keppel.

But hark'ee, neighbour Teneriff, ſuppoſe whilſt you are fighting this Spaniſh frigate, a pirate ſhould take poſſeſſion of your beſt prize—Have you forgot Harriet? Did not I tell you, that my graceleſs nephew George Belford it ſtationed here; I wiſh from my heart, he had been ſent to fight the French; that fellow it as dangerous amongſt women as a kite in a hen-rooſt, and will ſnap her up in ſpite of us, if we have not our eyes about us.

Odds bobs! I had forgot my little frigate: but ſuppoſe we croud all the ſail we can for the port of matrimony, there we ſhall have ſafe riding.

Ay, your honour, if there's no damn'd ſqualls off Cuckold's Point.

You ſhall marry her to-morrow, neighbour Teneriffe, for that raſcal will ſtick at nothing to get her; he'd hang his uncle for her ſake, ay, his father, if he's not hang'd already, for, heaven be praiſed, he has not been heard of theſe eighteen years; when he married my poor ſiſter, he was as wild and extrava⯑gant as that fellow now is.

Oh! they are come, they are come, they an come, Sir.

What, the Charming Sally! Is ſhe come?

Yes, Sir; yes, Sir; ſhe and her prizes are all now laying at the quay.

Here's news, neighbour Teneriffe!—But, Jonathan, my good lad, did you reckon the prizes? I hope you took care of that.

I did try, your worſhip; but, ecod, there was ſo many of them, I was always out before I had done counting: but every body ſaid there was not leſs than four French Eaſt-Indiamen, a Spaniſh galleon, laden with dollars, and a ſnow from Bourdeaux, full of ex⯑cellent claret.

Four French Eaſt-Indiamen prizes, a galleon, and a ſnow from Bourdeaux—Damme, its impoſſible, one of them would blow her our of the water.

Why you'll believe nobody; don't you hear every body ſay four Eaſt-Indiamen, and a ſnow from Bourdeaux? Only I know you love money, I ſhould ſuppoſe that you grudg'd yourſelf this piece of good fortune—but come, we'll ſet of ourſelves and ſee her.

Not I. I'll not budge the length of a hand⯑ſpike. If ſhe's coming in, I ſhall be ſoon ſaluted with a meſſage from the pilot.

I am deaf; I don't hear a word you ſay. I won't believe a word you ſay, for I'm determined to have the four Eaſt-Indiamen, the galleon, and the Bourdeaux-man, in ſpite of you, and our enemies to⯑gether. This is all my boy Wilmot's doing, my own nephew, Ruſſel Cloudeſly Wilmot—Damme, his ve⯑ry name was enough to make prizes of a whole fleet.

Sir, there's a ſailor without, who deſires to ſee yon and Captain Teneriffe.

Let him come in, let him come in, by all means.

Now we ſhall ſee who is right; we ſhall have ſome news now of the Eaſt-In⯑diamen, and the galleon—mind, I ſay four, beſides the galleon and the Bourdeaux-man.

What, Breeze! I am glad to ſee thee, boy; why you have brought 'em to, I find.

Yet, your honour; we have made a trip that will lay us up ſafe in dock for the reſt of our lives. I have juſt ſtept out of the pilot boat, ſent by Captain Wilmot, to tell you, all aboard is well, and that he'll have the prize at the dock in half an hour.

The prizes you mean, my good friend.

He meant the prize, I tell you. Can't you be ſatisfied with one good one?

Pr'y thee, my honeſt fellow, do you unde⯑ceive this obſtinate man, and let him know, how many prizes you have taken.

How many we have taken!

I'll ſtake my ſhare againſt yours, that he has taken but one, tho' I believe that to be a good one, from all the fuſs that it made about it.

Now, have not you taken four Eaſt-India⯑men, a galleon, and a ſnow from Bourdeaux? Anſwer me directly, and ſtop the fooliſh man's mouth.

Four Eaſt-Indiamen, a galleon, and a ſnow [10] from Bonrdeaux! Why, zounds, Sir, do you think we had a ſquadron of firſt rates with us?

Why, I confeſs, it was a very great capture: but, perhaps, we have been miſinformed, as to the galleon; however, I am certain there can be no mi⯑ſtake as to the four Eaſt-Indiamen and the Bourdeaux-man—then I have as good as promiſed a tun of the claret to an acquaintance, and ſure you would not have me worſe than my word.

Unſhip my binnacle, I don't know what you'd be at.

Why, damme, he'd have you take the whole French navy in a cockle ſhell.

Your honour, it would be a damn'd hard thing to do that; but if I had room to work my guns in one, I'd engage to fight them till they either beat or ſunk me.

Well ſaid, my heart of oak! But what prizes have you taken?

The third day we were out, we took a Bour⯑deaux-man, laden with claret, and ſent her into Wa⯑terford in Ireland.

I am very glad of that. Go on, my friend, go on, don't be tedious.

Yeſterday morning, we fell in with this here Indiaman, now coming into the harbour, which Captain Wilmot, and every hand aboard, ſays, is worth half a million.

It ſhe's worth half that, Breeze, ſhe's a noble prize. Now, my old boy, what do you ſay? Sure you are not diſſatisfied, though you have got but the one Indiaman.

But how did the other three eſcape, Breeze? Did'nt you meet eyer a galleon in your way?

Why you know, maſter, we have no right [11] to meddle with a galleon, the Spaniards and we are very good friends.

I had forgot that—but I wiſh you had ſnap⯑ped her up for all that.

What not content yet? Damme, you're a true Nabob, all the riches of the eaſt would not ſatisfy you.

But I have a another meſſage for you, Sir. There are ſome great folks taken a-board the French⯑man, which Captain Wilmot deſires you'll provide lodgings for.

They ſhall lodge at my own houſe till they are better provided for. But tell me their names and quality, that I may know how to conduct myſelf, and make ſuitable preparations.

Why, in the firſt place, there's a Dutch merchant, who has ſent a power of money over to Europe; he muſt have a good birth, for Captain Wil⯑mot is very fond of him, I ſuppoſe, becauſe he ſpeaks Engliſh.

I'll take care of him, he ſhall have the beſt bed in my houſe.

Then there's a French general and his cop⯑per coloured wife.

Oh, zounds! I'll get them private lodgings. Any more?

Theſe are all he ſpoke to me about.

Pray what is the Dutch merchant and the French general's names?

The Dutch merchan's name I have forgot; but the French general's name is Moonſheer Coro⯑mandel.

Upon my word, it has a fine rumbling ge⯑neral-like found. But harkee, Breeze, go you in and get ſome refreſhment. Here, Jonathan!

Here, take this honeſt fellow; give him whatever he pleaſes to eat and drink.

I ſhall drink the Charming Sally and her prize in a bumper.

In a dozen, Breeze; ay, you dog, till your underſtanding ſtrikes to the brandy bottle.

Now ſuppoſe you were to ſtep into Harriet's apartment, and under pretence of ſhewing your gal⯑lantry, watch that ſhe receives or ſends no letters from or to that dog Belford.

With all my heart; I'll e'en finiſh my pipe with her.

Zounds, man! don't take your pipe with you; women hate the ſmell of tobacco worſe than a water-ſide warehouſe.

I want to aſk Breeze ſome queſtions, and then I'll go court a bit.

Do ſo, do ſo.

SCENE III. Harriet's Apartment.

Harriet (in a Naval Officer's uniform) and George Belford diſcovered.

Well, George, how do I look? Very fierce and ſailor-like?

You look bewitchingly terrible; as formi⯑dable as beauty and a cockade can make you.

Pſha! I don't like that; if I were a man, I [13] could ſay fifty times a handſomer thing to my mi⯑ſtreſs. But can you ſay nothing to me now upon the figure I cut? Is there nothing ſtrikes you, ha! in this martial air, this quarter-deck ſtrut, or the eaſy dangle of this well-hung ſword? Oh, heavens! if I were a man, and had my miſtreſs in the ſame ſituation you now have, I'd have ſomething to ſay to every part about her, even her cockade ſhould not eſcape me; I'd tell her, that engineer Cupid had lain perdu in that little ambuſh of black ribband, in order to level the artillery of her eyes with more certain aim againſt her ſighing admirer.

Oh, dear ma'am! I have bad news and good news to tell you all in a breath.

Then let us have the good news firſt, dear Fanny, to give us ſpirits to ſupport the bad which is to follow.

My ſweet Captain Wilmot is coming into the harbour with Lord knows how many French prizes and Spaniſh rigadoons, and all the world is running to ſee him.

But are you ſure that this is true?

Lord bleſs me, Sir, there's Mr. Breeze, one of his own ſailors, below with Captain Teneriffe in the back parlour; it is from him I learn'd it.

This is news indeed, my Harriet. You know Wilmot's friendſhip for me; I could depend up⯑on his aſſiſtance to the utmoſt.

Yes, Sir, and they took an old Dutch gentle⯑man, who knows your father, Sir, and ſays, that he's [14] hearty and well, ſomewhere over the ſea, and as rich as a Jew.

Gracious heaven! What do I hear? My father ſtill living, after an abſence of eighteen years from his friends and his country!

I haven't time now to tell you any more, for as I am a living Chriſtian, I hear Captain Teneriffe's foot on the ſtairs. What ſhall we do?

Can't we get in here till he's gone?

That won't ſignify, Sir, a pin, for he's com⯑ing to ſee Miſs Harriet, and he muſt ſee her, and he will ſee her. Oh, I have it. Get you in.

Zounds! ſure you won't leave Harriet out; won't he know her?

Get in, I tell you, he won't know her. She looks more like an officer than you do.

Now, Madam, you are my ſweetheart; that's enough.

Ha! who have we here? By his uniform he ſhould belong to the navy. Damme, ſure he has not had a ſignal to come into my little frigate's wake.

Ah, Sir! how you fine gentlemen do talk, and promiſe us poor girls, who have nothing but our vartues and out characters to depend upon.

Then you are damn'd badly off, let me tell you, young woman.

Why, huffy, I'll take you into keeping, buy you a gold watch, and more ſilk gowns than you'll be able to wear out theſe ſeven years.

What a confounded extravagant young dog it is!

But how ſhall I be able to reconcile ſuch a thing to my conſcience?

Her conſcience! I ſee how the land bears. Her conſcience will be ſent on the ſame cruiſe with her vartue preſently.

I think I hear my miſtreſs; if we ſhould di⯑ſturb her, we ſhould be undone. I'll ſee if ſhe's ſtir⯑ring.

Oh, heavens! we are ruined for ever! my character's gone.

Let me ſee who dares ſay a word againſt your character. I'll be thro' his body in a ſingle lunge,

damme.

Why, I won't tell, you fool.

'Sblood and fire, Sir! If I thought you would ever breathe an accent which might caſt a ſha⯑dow of reproach on this adorable and virtuous crea⯑ture's character, by the love and tenderneſs I bear her, I'd ſacrifice you this moment to my reſentment.

Why, unbend my top-ſails, what do you mean, you young lubber, to jaw me at this rate? Do you think I am afraid of your ſpit? Damme, but if you heave out any more of this ſlack jaw, yon whey-faced milk⯑ſop, I'll ſhatter your ginger-bread upper-works for you, and teach you better manners.

For heaven's ſake, Madam, don't be too bold; if he was to get your ſword, what would become of us?

I had beſt make it up with him.—Bleſs me, Captain, what has put you in this rage? I never ſuſpected that you would diſcover us. No, Sir, I knew Captain Teneriffe to be a man of too much gallantry himſelf, to blab on theſe delicate occaſions.

I don't rightly, for my part, underſtand you, [16] young fellow; but I'd adviſe yon to keep a civil tongue in your head, if you have a mind to ſleep in a whole jacket. But now I look at you again, though well-rigg'd, you are deviliſh ſlightly built; thoſe tim⯑bers don't ſeem fit for rough weather. Damme, if I believe you ever had your bows ſcrap'd yet.

Your chin is as bare as a biſcuit.

I am frightened out of my wits, for fear he ſhould know her.

But pr'y thee, my old friend, ar'n't you going to be married?

Yes, my young friend, I have ſome notion of being ſpliced.

A little this way, that the girl might not over hear as.

I wonder what ſhe is going to ſay to him.

Do you ſee that door yonder?

Ay.

It's the door of your miſtreſs's bed-chamber.

I believe it may.

I lay there laſt night.

The devil you did!

I did, by all that's falſe in woman.

And did the ſtow in the ſame hammock?

I don't know whether I make myſelf under⯑ſtood: but to ſpeak as plain as man can, I tell you for all together, that ſhe and I lay in the ſame room, and in the ſame bed laſt night; to which room, and which bed, I have free acceſs, whenever I pleaſe to viſit them.

Why, choke my chain pumps, what a diſcove⯑ry is here?

But I muſt inſiſt upon your ſecrecy; my ho⯑nour is at ſtake. I confeſs, I conceived a friendſhip for you, the moment I ſaw you, and determined to tell you the ſecret, to prevent your being impoſed upon.

Give me your hand. I take you to be a damn'd honeſt little fellow: but to ſhew you that I am none of your falſe-hearted ungrateful lubbers, as I have pretry good intereſt with a certain great man, I'll endeavour to get you a ſhip, you dog.

That will make me happy, indeed.

Stow all the general's cheſts and trunks below ſtairs.

Oh, Lord! we are undone! Here comes my maſter.

Here comes Debenture. Now you ſhall ſee how I'll accoſt him.

But, my dear friend, I ſhall be ruined if he finds me here. Suppoſe you were to tell him, I am a relation of yours, invited here to ſee your wedding.

But do you think he'll believe me?

Never doubt it.

Do you take a turn or two to leeward, and I'll try if I can't get to windward of him.

They can't come up to the quay for want of water this half hour; but General Coromandel and the ſwarthy lady, and Mynheer Van Slopen, are all com⯑ing a-ſhore in the barge, Ha! who the dickens have we yonder? What brings him here? Do you know him, friend Teneriffe?

Very well; he's my kinſman.

Oh, is he? Sir, your moſt humble ſervant.

You are welcome to Liverpool. It is really a pretty young fellow. I ſuppoſe he's come to be preſent at your wedding.

He is; but he'll be diſappointed.

Why, has Harriet told you, ſhe won't have you?

No. But I tell you, but I won't have her.

Ha! what's this I hear? Won't have her!

No, I tell you. I am an old ſeaman, and have no mind for a voyage round cape Horn.

But what is the meaning of all this? Where is Harriet?

I tell you what; I won't have your daughter, and I tell you why; I don't love to have the cargo of a veſſel charged to my account, when I have no hand in the freighting her.

I don't know what you mean; what have you to ſay againſt my daughter?

Aſk my kinſman; he'll tell you.

What, that jackanapes ſtrutting about there? Is it he has made all this miſchief?

He knows your daughter.

Well, and what then?—Do you know my daughter, Sir?

I have that honour, Sir.

—Oh, Fanny, I wiſh I was out of the houſe.

I wiſh to the Lord you were, Ma'am.

And pray, Sir, how long have you known her?—Harriet herſelf, as I'm alive!—

As long as I can remember, Sir. I know all and every thing about her.

What do you ſay to this?—But he'll tell you more preſently.

Moſt noble Sir, your very humble ſervant. Pray, Sir, what is your rank in the navy? Admiral, I ſuppoſe? Why, friend Teneriffe, I find your kinſ⯑man is a near relation of mine.

Eh!—Why ſure it can't be.—Yes, but it is.

Oh, thou wiſe head! to be ſo groſsly impoſed upon. Now, Sir, as I have a great regard for my daughter's character; and as, I underſtand, you have [19] been taking great liberties with it, I'll take care to confine you, till I have ſecured her a huſband.

Here, you baggage, give me the key of this door.

I have it not, Sir.

Who has it then?

I don't know; its loſt, Sir; my miſtreſs does not lie there now.

You lie, huffy, in every part of the houſe, and therefore ſhould give an account of every thing miſſing. Give it me this moment, or I'll turn you out of doors.

With all my heart.

It is locked on the inſide, Ma'am, don't mind him.

I am terrified to death, for fear they ſhould attempt to break it open.

Here, Robin, William, Jonathan. Come up all of you here, and break open this door for me; there's more yet in the wind; this door has not been locked for nothing.

Break it open, I ſay.

What, George!

Spare your ſeverity, Sir, for a moment. Captain Teneriffe, a word with you.

A word! a whole log book, if you pleaſe.

Eh!—What the devil can he want with him?

Support me, Fanny, or I ſhall faint. Will you give me leave to retire?

Ay, ay, you ſhall retire. Come along—What, huffy, do you think to go in with her?

Lud! don't you ſee the poor young lady is ſcarce able to ſtand upon her legs.

Then I am ſure you are a damned bad prop to ſave any woman from falling. But get along in, for this time, and I'll take care you ſhall pack off, bag and baggage, as ſoon as ſhe is recovered a little.

Oh, fortune! this is one of thy ſevereſt ſtrokes.

So, the bird is caged again.

Damme! I am too old and weather-beaten, to fight now.

As a man of honour, you can never be too old to fight, though as a man of ſenſe, you have been long too old to marry. But, Sir, I have done; you know my fixed, my determined reſolution; and as you value your reputation, direct your conduct.

What does he want you to fight him? Has he challenged you?

Yes; he has challenged me.

But ſure, you are not fool enough to mind that.

Why, lookee friend, I am not afraid, do you ſee, of any man, or any ſhip that ſails the ſalt ſeas; but I don't think it right to venture my life for a wo⯑man: beſides, if it is to be loſt, my king and country have the beſt right to the firſt offer of it.

Make yourſelf eaſy, for I'll go immediately, and have you both bound over. Come along; the barge is coming by this time.

SCENE a Street.

MY dear Ruſſel Cloudeſly, give me your hand—How fares it after all your fighting?

Sound, uncle; have not loſt a yard, or tim⯑ber—Ha! my old pike of Teneriffe, I am glad to ſee thee well.

Give me hold of your grappling irons! you're a fine lad, and a good ſeaman; I wiſh you were an ad⯑miral; if you were an Engliſh admiral, you'd be one of the greateſt men living.

Have I brought you riches enough, uncle?

Ah! Ruſſel, you know I never was covetous, I have but a ſhort time to live; a ſmall matter will ſerve me for the remainder of my days; and if I never want, I ſhall be ſatisfied. How much do you think ſhe'll bring?

Half a million.

That is as well as you can judge in the groſs; but ſhe may turn out to be worth more—Eh, Ruſſel?

Monſieur Coromandel, this is Mr. Deben⯑ture, and Captain Teneriffe, my joint owners.

Meſſrs. je ſuis charme de vous voir—I am ver prode to ſee you.

And I aſſure you, Sir, we are very proud to ſee you; eſpecially when we reflect on the cauſe of our acquaintance.

Sir, this is the general's lady.

Me be very glad to ſee you vit all my heart.

And this, Sir, is Mynheer Van Slopen.

Sir, you are welcome to England; I am proud to hear you have ſent your money home before to Holland.

Sir, I thank you; my property has fortu⯑nately arrived long ſince in Europe.

Why, Sir, you ſpeak Engliſh—We were told you were a Dutchman.

Sir, I received the early and greater part of my education in England.

He has no recol⯑lection of me, I perceive.

Sir, I'll endeavour to make your ſtay in England as agreeable as poſſible. We Engliſh, love the Dutch, and, I hope, ſhall continue always on good terms. And now, Madam, and you, gentlemen, will you give me leave to ſhew you your apartments, poor accommodation, but the beſt I have. Friend Tene⯑riffe, you'll have the goodneſs to take care of Mr. Slopen.

Come, Sir, we are under ſailing orders.

I have a few words to ſay to Captain Wil⯑mot, and ſhall follow you.

Well, I ſhall make ſail a-head, but don't let that ſeparate you from the body of the fleet.

You have written to young Belford.

I have, Sir, and expect him here every mo⯑ment.

I eſteemed his father, and promiſed him, when I was quitting India, upon my arrival in Europe, to make enquiries into the ſtate of his family.

It is ſomewhat extraordinary, Sir, that he never wrote to his ſon.

He heard that he died ſoon after his mother; I myſelf have paid a tear more than once to their me⯑mory, when my friend, in the anguiſh of recollection, has related the misfortunes of his youth to me.

Here is Mr. Belford's ſervant.

Sir, you are welcome home—I wiſh you joy [23] with all my heart; I hope to ſee you a Nabob, before you have done with the Mounſieurs.

Thank you, thank you, Bronze. But where's your maſter?

What has not he been here?

No.

Ay, Sir, at his old tricks; ſome game has ſtarted; and as he knows you, Captain, to be a keen ſportſman, he thinks he may break an appointment with you, on certain occaſions. 'Sdeath, Sir, don't you know him of old; no magnet ever miſled ſteel, as a petticoat will my maſter—But, lord Sir, what need I ſay any thing to you, who, from your own expe⯑perience, muſt have ſuch a fellow feeling for him?

I am ſorry, Captain Wilmot, to hear this man ſpeak thus of my friend's ſon; you taught me to believe, that he was prudent and ſober, free from the vices, which in general taint youth.

Prudent and ſober! and ſo he is, Sir; as prudent and ſober as any young gentleman in Eng⯑land: but you judge of him, Mynheer, by the ſtan⯑dard of Dutch conſtitution; in which all the philoſo⯑phers agree, that the blood freezes before twenty.

I am determined to know more of my ſon's character before I diſcover myſelf.—Is there no poſſibility, friend, of ſeeing your maſter?

Not, I fancy, till he has diſpatched his pre⯑ſent buſineſs, though you were a prime miniſter.

I fear, Captain Wilmot, I ſhall have but an unfavourable account to tranſmit to India, of young Belford.

'Sdeath, Sir! ſure this is not the old gentleman who knows my maſter's father in India!

Yes, but it is, Bronze, and you ſhould have ſpoke with leſs levity of him.—But I hope, Sir, you [24] will take my word before this fellow's, for my friend's character.

Do, I beſeech you, Sir, for I have got ſuch a damn'd habit of lying and ſlandering, by living in great families, that I can't give a good character of anybody.—Sober and prudent did I ſay! my maſter's as regular as a time-piece, never out of order, unleſs when he threſhes me; his pulſe does not quicken two ſtrokes in a month; his blood is all iced cream; no⯑thing warm about him except his heart; and that, Sir, I aſſure you, is every fibre Engliſh.

But yonder comes George, let him ſpeak for himſelf.

What, is that he?

You ſeem moved, Sir.

His mother's dear image at once ſoftens and reproaches me in his looks.—I confeſs I am moved, Sir. His father I have the ſtrongeſt friend⯑ſhip for, and he reſembles him much.

Dear Wilmot, I am rejoiced to ſee you.

I think, George, you'll believe me, When I ſay, the pleaſure is mutual: but, my boy, I can ſerve you with old Hunks; I have two powerful advocates to back my petition in your behalf, gold and ſucceſs, George, which never plead in vain with your uncle.

Nature is at this moment ſo power⯑ful with my ſpirit, my greateſt efforts can ſcarce hide the tumult.

But give me leave, George, to introduce you to this gentleman, Mynheer Van Slopen, he knows your father, and aſſures me he is ſtill living.

With eſteem and reſpect I meet a gentle⯑man who is my father's friend.

I have lived, Sir, in the ſtricteſt intimacy with your father for many years, and ſlender as my knowledge of his ſon is, I feel I muſt regard him.

I hope, Sir, fortune has not been unkind to him.

Liberal to a degree, his fortune is immenſe.

Ecod, that's good hearing, we ſhall touch ſoon, I perceive.

Pray, Sir, if I may be ſo bold as to aſk, when do you think the old gentleman will return to Europe?

I can't tell you, friend; however, this much I can tell you, that you have no reaſon to deſire his arrival; for whenever he comes, he'll make your ma⯑ſter part with you.

Lord, Sir! what unforgiving tempers you Dutch gentlemen have! Why, Sir, nobody minds what I ſay. I am ſo poor, Sir, that they call me a wit, and by that charter, I ſpeak ill of every body.

I ſhall go this moment, George, to my un⯑cle's, and if I find argument to be loſt on him, will aſſiſt you in getting Harriet away; thanks to fortune, my friend, I am rich enough to make us both happy.

I think, Sir, I could powerfully aſſiſt your cauſe, by letting him know your father's riches.

You are right, indeed, Sir; tell him my ma⯑ſter's father is rich, and he'll prefer him to the wiſeſt ſon-in-law in England.

I'll meet you within an hour on board the prize.

Till then, adieu! in the mean time I ſhall beg to know of this gentleman more of my father's fate.

So, I am to be turned off, as ſoon as the old gentleman returns! A pretty requital truly, for toil⯑ing and hurrying ſo long with the young one!—Damme, if ſuch ingratitude is n't enough to put a man out of conceit with the world, and make him re⯑tire like Diogenes to a tub, or rather, a caſk—a full [26] one though, for I'll be hanged, Bronze, if thou couldſt ever play Diogenes from an empty one. Well then, to a full caſk will I retire; and ſince I can't rail the world into gratitude, like a wiſer philoſopher than Diogenes was, I'll drink myſelf into patience.

SCENE changes to an Apartment in Debenture's Houſe. Harriet and Debenture diſcovered.

So, General Coromandel has been making love to you?

He has teazed me ſo, Sir, I could ſcarce get rid of him.

Zounds! Is not his Nankin-coloured lady enough for him?

He's more intolerable than even the monſter Teneriffe.

Let me not hear a word in diſparagement of my friend Teneriffe; any woman in England might like him, for he's worth above a hundred thouſand pounds.—Ha! Egad I believe Monſieur is coming to aſk my conſet already. Get you to your chamber, and prepare yourſelf to receive Captain Teneriffe. Come, Madam, none of your pouting and black looks; ſmile and look pleaſant, or, damme, you'll find me look like the devil.

I am very unfortunate.

Oh! here comes my ſon-in-law that wou'd be.

Monſieur Debenture, eſt vous [...]? Are you dere? Vous avez m'enfranchiſe; you ave ſet a me free, by your politeſſe. Ah! Mon Dieu! Je ſuis captive encore. I am taken priſoner again.

The devil you are!

Corom. Ah, Monſieur! J'ai perdu mon appetit, [27] me cannot eat; je ne puis pas dormir, me cannot ſleep; je ne puis pas rien, me can do noting at all.

You cannot ſleep, you cannot eat, why what does the fellow mean? He has not been an hour in my houſe, and he talks of eating and ſleeping already.

Que voulez vous que je faſſe, Monſieur? Vat I muſt do?

What muſt you do? Why wait till ſupper is ready, and I'll engage you'll eat a belly-full, and ſleep like a top after it.

Ecoutez, Monſieur; j'ai une petite choſe à propoſer, me ave ſomenting to propoſe to you. J'aime votre fille, me love a your daughter; & s'il vous plait, if you like, me trow at her foot ma fortune and perſon.

Ay, but, Monſieur, in that caſe, what is to become of the dingy lady?—To be plain with you, Monſieur, I will not give you my daughter; no, though I had a dozen, I would not give you one of them.

Quelle ſauvage! Mais ſa fille! Oh, Mon Dieu! his daughter be von angel. Suppoſe me offer le diamant, he vil not diſcover, pour ſon advan⯑tage, for his own ſake.

Monſieur ſeems in a brown ſtudy.

Well, Monſieur, make yourſelf eaſy and content with your dark-complexion'd lady, for you ſhall never have my daughter.

Attendez un peu; ſtay a little, if you pleaſe.

What have you to ſay to me?

Aimez. vous l'argent? Do you love money?

Does a Frenchman love ſoup?

Sans doute. Eh! bien, attendez. Now me vill diſcover von ſecret—J'ai caché deux gros dia⯑mants; me have ſecrete von two diamonds, worth de half of de whole ſhip's cargo.

What, have you ſecreted two diamonds, you rogue?

Attendez, Monſieur; Je les cache pour vous, me ave ſecrete dem for you.

Oh! that alters the caſe quite, my honeſt fellow—but where are they? Have you got them about you?

Me vil ſpeak a no more, till me know, if you vil marry me your daughter.

Give me your hand—you ſhall have her—provided you give me up the diamonds, and conceal this from my partners.

Je les apporterai, tout maintenant—I vil bring dem dis inſtant—provided you keep a your vord.

Keep yours, and never fear me. Oh, I find Monſieur Coromandel is a very honeſt fellow—

Oh! here is Mynheer Van Slopen; I am' wonderfully taken with this Dutch merchant; I un⯑derſtand he has lodged upwards of 300,0001. in the Dutch funds. What a fine underſtanding he muſt poſ⯑ſeſs to have made ſuch a fortune.

Dear Sir, you are kindly welcome to my houſe; I beg you'll conſider it your home; you ſhall have as hearty a welcome as you'd meet with in Holland.

Sir, you oppreſs me with civilities; I fear it will exceed my power to make you any thing like a ſuitable return.

If you ſay a word more of a return, it will make me angry with you—when I hear you talk ſo, it makes me think you ſuppoſe me avaricious—but, my good Sir, how can I ſerve you? Do you want money? I know you have enough of it, or I would not aſk you the queſtion, for fear of offending you.

Sir, I heartily thank you for your obliging offer; but I am amply ſupply'd for my preſent occa⯑ſion.

But Mynheer, where is Captain Wilmot? Hadn't he the good manners to ſhew you to my houſe?

I left him this moment talking to Adelaide, Monſieur Coromandel's Gentoo wife. She was in tears, and I overheard her ſay ſhe had a ſecret to communicate to him.

The murder's out then, I find; ſhe has heard of the General's intended marriage with Harriet. But do you think, Mynheer, that this brown woman is really the General's wife?

It was ſo ſaid in India; and that ſhe had brought him an immenſe fortune in jewels.

O, ho! theſe are part of her fortune I am going to get.

Pray, Sir, who is that young lady I ſee yonder?

What, that's leaning upon her elbow, with the book in her hand? That, Sir, is my daughter.

She's exceedingly handſome.

O! Sir, you ſee her at a diſtance—well enough to paſs.

I never beheld any thing ſo bewitchingly handſome.

Why ſure Mynheer has'nt fall'n in love with her. I wiſh he would; he'd make a better ſon-in-law than either of 'em; then the Frenchman will be glad to give me one of the diamonds to keep me ſilent, which is my intereſt, as one is more than would fall to my ſhare, ſhould I diſcover.

There is ſomething in that young lady I am particularly taken with.

Why, Sir, I'll call her in, and introduce you to her.

By no means; ſhe appears intent upon ſome favourite author, and I would not diſturb her for the world.

Favourite fiddleſtick!—I'll call her.

I beg, my good friend, you'd ſit down; I have ſomething to ſay to you.

Ay, ay, I ſee ſhe has done Mynheer's buſi⯑neſs. Give me leave, Mynheer.

I have a great notion of ſettling in Eng⯑land, Mr. Debenture.

And I adviſe you to it by all means; our climate is a great deal better than yours; we have ſcare half a dozen fogs in the year; and even theſe we im⯑port by an eaſterly wind from Holland; but I'd adviſe you to marry. A young wife would prolong your life twenty years.

I confeſs to you, Sir, I have no objection to the married ſtate, provided I could meet with a part⯑ner ſuitable to my fancy.

Will you take one of my recommending?

With all my heart.

What do you ſay to that girl yonder?

That I am ready to lay my fortune at her feet.

I'll call her in this moment.

Hold a moment—Is not ſhe on the point of marriage with another?

It is no ſuch thing—Monſieur Coromandel, indeed, propoſed for her; but I have more conſcience than to conſent to ſuch a union, whilſt the ſaffron-faced lady is living.

But I underſtood, that the young lady's af⯑fection were actually engaged to Mr. Belford.

What, my nephew? I'd as ſoon marry her [31] to old Midſhips, as to that fellow. Why, Sir, if it was only for his father's ſake, he ſhould not have her.

I fancy you forget, Mr. Debenture, that his father was my friend.

I am very ſorry you had ever any connection with him; I was in hopes he was hanged.

He's certainly much obliged to you.

But I'll bring in Harriet, and introduce you to her; ſhe ſhall ſing you a ſong, and play you a tune upon the harpſichord; On! ſhe thrums rarely upon the harpſichord.

If I had unmaſked, and avowed myſelf at once an advocate for my ſon, I find, I ſhould not have ſucceeded. I'll diſcover myſelf to Harriet, and make no doubt, but her father will overlook all objections, when he finds that I really poſſeſs Mynheer Van Slo⯑pen's property.

Oh! you obſtinate baggage, are you deter⯑mined to put your kind, indulgent father in the grave? One, who never croſſes you in any thing, you un⯑grateful ſlut you.

I beſeech you, Sir, on my knees, not to preſs me farther.

Mynheer, I'll be with you preſently; I am only giving Harriet a bleſſing before I introduce her. 'Sdeath, Madam, what do you mean?

Well, Sir, ſince you are determined upon making me wretched, I reſign myſelf, as I have been taught to think it is my duty to do ſo.

What a ſweet dutiful, good girl it is. Here, Mynheer, is a pattern for daughters: but I'll leave you together. Harkee, Mynheer

—Preſ, the marriage, ſhe'll excuſe your im⯑patience, [32] as you are juſt arrived from the Eaſt-Indies.

I am ſorry, Madam, my preſence, diſtreſſes you ſo much.

Oh! Sir, I underſtand that you know Mr. Belford's father; that you had a friendſhip for him; how then can you be the inſtrument of making your friend's ſon miſerable?

What, Madam! are you ſo ſtrongly attached to this young Belford?

Attached, Sir! his happineſs and mine are in⯑ſeparably united; I live only in the expectation of being his.

Then, Madam, I can hardly ſuppoſe, he de⯑ſerves a bad character.

A bad character! The breath of malice could never glance upon his reputation. The amiable⯑neſs of his manner, the ſweetneſs of his temper, have gained him the affection of every body, except my unrelenting father.

I muſt believe you, for your words give me rapture.

Why can you receive pleaſure from the praiſes of a rival?

A rival! he's my ſon, and can you wonder at my tranſports?

Am I awake!

My dear girl, conceal your emotion as much as poſſible, and appear reſigned to comply with your father's requeſt; I have not yet diſcovered myſelf to George, but promiſed to intercede for him. I'll put him a little to the rack, to render his pleaſure after⯑wards the more, exquiſite.

You ſhall not go in, Wilmot. Mynheer Van Slopen is very buſy, he can't ſpeak to you.

But I will; I am determined to know the bottom of all this.

What can be the meaning of this confuſion?

Mynheer Van Slopen, do you not know that Adelaide is the legal wife of Coromandel?

I heard as much in India—I can even go ſo far at to declare ſhe was publicly received as his wife.

Me vas, indeed! My father gave him two grands diamants for my fortune.

Two great diamonds for your fortune! and what's become of them?

He has dem here

in his beſt of coat.

Pho, pho, pho. Do you mind what ſhe ſays, after the falſhood ſhe has told you? He got diamonds concealed! not he, poor fellow. I look upon the General to be a very honeſt man, one that would not wrong us of a ſixpence.

It would be the very devil, if the diamonds ſhould be diſ⯑covered.

As for your part, Mr. Debenture, I am aſtoniſhed at you, how could you think of giving your daughter to a man, who has a wife already?

Why now! here it is. Why that circum⯑ſtance alone might convince you. Did not I tell you before, that this was all an invention of this woman's, (the mere effect of jealouſy, I ſuppoſe) juſt of a piece with the tale of the diamonds—But aſk Mynheer, he can acquit me of this charge.

I think, Captain Wilmot, I can aſſure you, that Mr. Debenture, has other views for his daughter.

Ay; other views, for my daughter! Zounds, do you think I'd give her to a copper-coloured raſcal, [34] upon half an hour's acquaintance—A fellow ſprung from the lord knows who! and come from the lord knows where!

Truly, this is moſt extraordinary.

I never met with any thing ſo extraordinary in the courſe of my life. But harkee, Wilmot, is ſhe accuſtomed to drink? ſhe does not appear to me to be perfectly ſober.

Where is the General, Adelaide?

At de ſhip, to get de diamant.

Then, Mr. Debenture, will you accompany me ſo far? Your intereſt, as well at mine, is con⯑cerned.

My dear friend, ſure I know that—I know what I have to loſe, if the diamonds be diſcovered.

You'll come, Mynheer.

With all my heart; I ſhould be glad to know the truth.

But, Harriet, how do you like him?

Sir, you have made me happy, by introducing me to him.

My dear girl, you tranſport me—But its no wonder ſhe likes him—He's a fine looking old fel⯑low—Damme, I ſhall ever think well of a Dutch⯑man's gallantry.

SCENE changes to a view of the harbour; the French Eaſt-Indiaman and the Privateer riding at anchor.

We'll crui [...]e in company, my boy; and who⯑ever ſhe ſtrikes to firſt, he ſhall have her.

Then from this moment, all animoſity ceaſes between us, as rivals.

Sir, I have the ſtrangeſt news for you—there's a treaty of alliance, going to be ſtruck between France and England.

Damme, impoſſible; you may as well tell me of a treaty of alliance between ſalt water and freſh; but this is news brought by the Bruſſels Gazette pac⯑ket, which ought to be ſunk long ago, for it's damn'd cargo of lying intelligence.

Explain, Bronze, I don't underſtand you.

Then Sir, to deſcend to the humble phraſe of comprehenſion, I have the infelicity to inform you, Sir, and you too, Captain, that Miſs Harriet Deben⯑ture is going to be married to General Coromandel.

What, the French General taken in the prize?

The ſame, Sir.

He's Wilmot's priſoner, we'll clap him in irons if he does not reſign her.

Where is he, Bronze?

I am told that he and his valet are on board the prize, concealing, no doubt, what they can, as this, I underſtand, is to be their laſt viſit to it. Stand back, here he comes; let me have the rumaging of him.

Avaſt, I won't have his lockers meddled with; though he fights under an enemy's flag, he's an of⯑ficer, and a gentleman, and ſhall be treated with honour and reſpect.

Let General Coromandel and his valet be ſecured.

[To G. Belford.] S'death, Sir, here comes your uncle! ſtep into that coffee-houſe, and if any thing happen which ſhould require your pre⯑ſence, I'll be with you in a trice. Away, they are here.

Secure me, and my valet—pourquoy? For vat, mon Dieu!

Ah! mon chere ami—Ecoutez, ici, dis vay.

Eh! why what does the fellow mean? well, what have you to ſay to me?

Mon Dieu! avez vous oublié? have a you forget?

Forgot!

I'm in the moon! I can't comprehend, for my part, what you'll be at.

And hope every body preſent will be in the ſame ſituation.

Come, Adelaide, let me ſee now if you have ſpoken truth; make good your charge.

He has dem here.

Diable! que faites vous—vat you do, damn'd vomans?

Come, come, Monſieur, no reſiſtance.

Damme, he has 'em ſure enough; who could have ſuppos'd this now? General! henceforth I'll ne⯑ver truſt to the honour of a French one.

Well, I proteſt, I could never have ſuſpect⯑ed this! Why now, General, do you think this it be⯑having like a gentleman, to conceal theſe diamonds after our civil treatment of you?

Eh! bien, Monſieur—Did a you not know it yourſelf?

I know it! who the devil ſhould tell me? Here's a fellow for you! Damme, he wants to make me an accomplice in his villainy.

Mais, Monſieur Debenture, avez vons ou⯑blie, votre promeſſe? You no remember your pro⯑miſe?

Upon my word, my good friend, I am quite in the dark—I don't recollect any promiſe I ever made you.

Non! did you no ſay you would marry me your daughter pour ceux diamants?

Who I! Do you think I have taken leave of my ſenſes? Beſides, ar'nt you married already—do you think you are in Turkey, where you may have as many wives as you pleaſe? But I ſee how it is—all this miſtake, I perceive, is owing to my not under⯑ſtanding French.

Now I perceive the reaſon I was turn'd adrift, he had a better prize in view.

Oh fie! fie! fie! Coromandel! this gen⯑tleman, ſo far from intending his daughter to you, has already diſpoſed of her to me.

Damme, ſure you don't ſay ſo.

There's ſome ſoul play going for⯑ward; I'll call my maſter.

But, is this fair? Is this honourable, Myn⯑heer? Did you not promiſe my friend to exert your intereſt in his behalf?

This fellow's a true Dutchman, ſhews fair co⯑lours to all nations, but under deck fomenting their quarrels: ſo, by his neutral flag, he's always ſure of bringing his cargo to the beſt market.

Where is the man, who under the ſpecious title of my father's friend, has aim'd ſuch a blow at [38] my happineſs? Have you acted well, Sir, it this your promiſe to ſerve me?

Will you be calm for a moment, Sir?

Is this, Sir, your friendſhip for my father? baſely to take advantage of the influence your immo⯑derate wealth gave you to render his ſon the moſt mi⯑ſerable of mankind! But what are my ſufferings! I feel moſt for my poor Harriet, who is thus ſacrificed.

Hold, hold, Sir; I fancy you miſtake: perhaps you will find this young lady not altogether ſo averſe to this match as you may imagine; undeceive him, my dear Harriet, and let him know your regard for me.

Her regard for you!

Yes, George, it is very true—my regard for him—don't blame me now, for I proteſt I can't help it.

I am in a dream, ſurely.

Who the devil would have ſuppoſed a girl of her age and ſpirit would have choſen an old fellow inſtead of a young one!

Mynheer, give me your hand. I forgive you from the bottom of my heart; I do, by heaven!—Oh! woman, woman!

His agitation touches me to the ſoul. Mr. Belford, a word with you.

With me, Sir!

Sir, to ſhew you that I don't want genero⯑ſity, I'll reſign you your miſtreſs.

What, without my conſent, Mynheer? Do you think I'll give my daughter to a beggar?

A beggar, Sir! I'll ſettle half my fortune upon him immediately, and the remainder at my death.

I don't believe a word of it.

In the name of all that's noble and gene⯑rous, [39] who are you, that rack me thus alternately with hope and deſpair?

Who am I? Look in my face, George, and tell me if you read nothing there warmer than bene⯑volence, or friendſhip? Do you not read in theſe tears, in this wild, this ungovernable tumult of ſpirit, the fond affection of a parent?

It is, it is my father! Nature tells me ſo!

Riſe, George; now I am truly happy.

His father! I am in a fine ſcrape then: but it is no matter, I muſt brazen it out.—My dear brother, you are welcome to Europe; how re⯑joiced I am to find you returned ſo well!—

And with, ſo much money!—

Why, Belford, you young dog, I was all along determined nobody but you ſhould have my daughter; there hea⯑ven bleſs you together, and now let us ſee who dare ſeparate you.

My dear George, I want words to expreſs the pleaſure I feel.—

But why, dear Sir, would you conceal yourſelf from me?

You know, Wilmot, I was a ſtranger to your character. I had determined to conceal myſelf from every body, in order to come with more eaſe and certainty at a knowledge of my ſon's diſpoſition; and had he not proved what I wiſhed and what I find him, I would have buried myſelf in ſome obſcure re⯑treat, and conceal'd my chagrin and diſappointment for ever.

Mr. Belford, give me your hand; you are welcome to England, I had forgot your face: but you know we were once meſſmates; we have peppered the Monſieurs before now in company.

And, young fellow, I wiſh you joy with all my heart, I now begin to think it better for all parties, that you have got the girl. As for you, Mr. Debenture—

Ay, here it is; now we ſhall never hear the laſt of this ſtory of the diamonds.

I tell you what, friend, I have done with you, and never will ſail a cable's length more in your com⯑pany.

Well, well, as I ſaid before, all this miſtake has been owing to my not underſtanding French.

Ho! Captain Teneriffe, a-hoy!

Holloa!

The priſoners are going a-ſhore.

That's right.

Zounds! I'm glad of this we ſhall now have a full view of a ragged regiment. The firſt time I ever ſaw a proceſſion of French priſoners, it fright⯑ed me. I thought the world was at end, when I beheld ſo many ſkeletons in motion, and that the gibbets had reſigned their dead, as a warning to the graves follow their example.

Come on, my noble fellows, lodge ſafe your priſoners, ſee them well treated, then all hands aboard, and once more have at the French.