matters whuch distemper laid him there. brey does not sign my pardon, I am disposed Bridge. That's true, that's true enough. not only to condemn, but execute.

Pray you sit down; I'll just run up and tell Mort. Away then, and throw yourself upon my wife and daughter-Zooks! suppose I the mercy of the court; it is the fate of bungbrought them with me; will they meet a wel-lers to be asking pardon.

come, think you?

Enter COLIN.

Colin. Ay, sic a one as you don't look for, take my word. Colin. Bless you, gude maister Mortimer, 1 Bridge. I'm a new man; I walk upon the hanna' slept in your commission: yon fat fel[Exit hastily. low upon Fishstreet-hill is on his march with

air.

Colin. Ecod, the project takes; I drew for bag and baggage. the cock bird, and have taken the whole covey.

Enter NAPTHALL, hastily.

Napth. Odds my life, Mr. Bridgemore, I forgot-Who's there? that devil Scotchman. Colin. Hold, hold! friend Napthali; you aud I munna part; you must keep pace wi' me to maister Mortimer's.

Mort. What mean you? Does he bring his wife with him?

Colin. Troth does he, and his daughter too; the plot is thick'ning you mun know apace, and yon same buzzard canna' spy it out. Mort. What plot is thick'ning?

Colin. Zooks, mon, you shall behold as pretty a discovery, come the time, as ever your eyes

Napth. To Mr. Mortimer's? Impossible: look'd upon; but aw things in their course; I why I must be at Bank, sir, I must be at Jo-mun gang home the whilst, but I'll be quickly nathan's: I've forty bargains to settle. I shall bock again, d'ye see.

have half the Coffee-house on my back. Would you make me a lame 1) duck?

Colin. Duck, or no duck, ecod, sir, you must travel. [Drags him out.

Enter LUCINDA.

Mort. Do so, my friend; and hark'e, tell your lord I beg half an hour's conversation with him, when and where he pleases.

Colin. I shall do that; but you mun know, while I was on my way, I cross'd upon a gentleman of no vulgar presence, and consi

Luc. Hey-day! I never saw the like before; dering he has sojourned for a pretty many I can't think what possesses my father; he's years with none but such as we denominate intoxicated; quiet beside himself with this con- barbarians, as courteous in his manners as firmation of Mr. Aubrey's death: for my part, your heart could wish.

I derive no particular gratification from it; so Mort. Why that accounts for it. Well, that Augusta had but one lover less, I care what of him?

not if she had forty fathers living: Tyrrel's

Colin. With your leave, maister Mortimer, the man of her heart, and in truth he is an he'll tell you his own errand: troth, he wull'd1) object worthy any woman's preference; If 1 me introduce him to you: he's without. could draw him from her 'twould be full re- Mort. Admit him. taliation for lord Abberville-I'll go to MortiColin. Gude faith, he has done that for mer's; 'tis an untoward visit; but I'll go there. himsall; he's not habituated to our ceremo

nies. Maister Mortimer, I pray heaven take you to its holy keeping till I see you again. [Exit.

Enter AUBREY.

Aub. Sir, your most humble servant. Can you forgive the intrusion of a stranger? Mort. A stranger, sir, is welcome: I cannot always say as much to an acquaintance. Aub. I plainly see your experience of mankind by the value you put upon them.

Mort. True, sir; I've visited the world from arctic to ecliptic, as a surgeon does an hospital, and find all men sick of some distemper: the impertinent part of mankind are so busy, the busy impertinent, and both incurably addicted to lying, cheating, and be

SO

50

Mort. Never tell me, you've acted like a traying, that their case is desperate: no corgiddy hot young man; put a few hear-say rosive can eat deep enough to bottom the corcircumstances together, shook 'em in an empty ruption. noddle, and so produced a compound of nonsense and suspicion.

Aub. Well, sir, with such good store of mental provision about you, you may stand

Tyr. I plainly see I've judg'd too hastily. out a siege against society; your books are Mort. Judg'd! pooh, I would not give a companions you never can be tir'd of. rush for such a judge: a magpie in a cage, Mort. Why truly their company is more that chatters out whore to every woman that tolerable than that of their authors would be; goes by, will be as often right as you, and I can bear them on my shelves, though I judge as wisely: never talk to me of judging should be sorry to see the impertinent pupothers, till you've condemn'd yourself.

pies who wrote them: however, sir, I can

Tyr. I do condemn myself; and if miss Au-quarrel with my books too, when they offend 1) Afame duck is one who does not fall his engage my virtue or my reason.-But I'm taking up your time; the honest Scotchman, who an-honest man, I am best pleased with the connounc'd you, told me you had something of fusion of a rascal.

importance to communicate to me.

Aub. I have: I'm told I am your debtor, and I came with a design to pay you down such thanks as your benevolence well merits; but I perceive already you are one, whom great professions would annoy, whose principle is virtue, and whose retribution rises

from within.

Mort. Pray, sir, no more of this; if you have any thing to request, propose it: I'd rather much be told what I may do for you, than reminded of what I may have done.

Enter TYRREL, hastily.

Tyr. Dear uncle, on my knees-what am I doing?

Mort. You thought I was alone.
Tyr. I did.

Mort. And what had you to tell me in such haste?

Tyr. I had a petition to prefer, on which my happiness in life depends. Aub. I beg I may retire: I interrupt you. Mort. By no means: I desire you will not stir; let him make his request; if it is not fit

Aub. I readily believe you, and according to your humour will address you: I own you for you to hear, it is not fit for me to grant. may confer a benefit upon me: 'tis in your Speak out: nay, never hesitate. power, Mr. Mortimer, to make me happiest Tyr. What can I ask of you but to conof all mankind. firm my hopes, and make miss Aubrey mine?

Mort. Give me your hand; why now you Mort. Was ever the like heard? Pray whence speak good sense; I like this well: let us do do you derive pretensions to miss Aubrey? good, sir, and not talk about it: show me but Tell me in presence of this gentleman. how I may give happiness to you, with in- Tyr. Not from my own deservings, I connocence to myself, and I shall be the person fess; yet, if an ardent, firm, disinterested pasunder obligation.

sion, sanctified by her consent, can recom

Aub. This then it is; you have a young mend me, I am not without some title.

person under your protection, a lady of the name of Aubrey

Mort. I have.

Aub. Resign her to my care.
Mort. Sir!

Aub. Put her into my hands: I am rich, sir,
I can support her.

Mort. Look you there now: this fellow you shall know, sir, is my nephew; my sister's son; a child of fortune.-Hark'e, with what face do you talk of love, who are not worth a groat?

Tyr. You have allow'd me, sir, to talk of love; openly, beneath your eye, I have solicited miss Aubrey's consent and gain'd it; as

Mort. You're insolent, or grossly ignorant, to think I would betray a trust, a sacred trust: for my poverty, in that I glory, for therein I she is a ward of virtue; 'tis from want, 'tis resemble her whom I adore; and I should hope, from oppression, I protect miss Aubrey-who though fortune has not favour'd us, we have are you, that think to make a traitor of me? not lost our title to the rights of nature.

Aub. Your zeal does honour to you; yet Mort. Pooh! the rights of nature! While if you persist in it, and spite of my protest you enjoy it's rights, how will you both prohold out, your constancy will be no virtue; vide against its wants?

it must take another name.

Tyr. Your bounty hitherto has let me feel Mort. What other name, and why? Throw no wants; and should it be your pleasure to

off your mystery, and tell me why.

Aub. Because

Mort. Ay, let us hear your cause.
Aub. Because I am her father.

withdraw it, thanks to Providence, the world is not so scantily provided but it can give to honest industry a daily dinner.

Mort. Do I live?

Aub. Yes, in my heart, while I have life or

Mort. Fine words! But I'll appeal to this good gentleman; let him decide betwixt us. Aub. In truth, young gentleman, your uncle

memory; that dear injur'd girl, whom you so has good reason on his side; and was I he, honourably protect, is my daughter. The I never would consent to your alliance with overflowings of a father's heart bless and re-miss Aubrey, till she brought a fortune large ward you! You whom I know not, and that enough to keep you both. poor Highlander, out of his small pittance, Tyr. These are your maxims I've no doubt; have under Providence preserv'd my child; they only prove to me that you love money

whilst Bridgemore, whom I rais'd from penury and trusted with the earnings of my travel,

has abandoned and defrauded her.

Mort. O mother nature, thou'lt compel me to forswear thee.

more than beauty, generosity, or honour. Aub. But is your lady in possession of all these? Let me be made acquainted with with her, and perhaps I may come over to your sentiments. Aub. Ah, sir, you feel the villany of man Mort. Ay, Frank, go fetch your girl, and in every vein; I am more practised, and be- let my friend here see her; I'm in earnest. hold it only with a sigh: Colin and I have Upon my honour, nephew, till you've gain'd laid a little plot to draw this Bridgemore hi- this gentleman's consent, you never can have ther; he believes me dead, and thinks he is mine; so go your ways, and let us see if you to meet a person at your house, who can re- have interest enough to bring her hither. late particulars of my death; in which case Tyr. Oh! if my fate depends upon her it is clear he means to sink a capital consign- looks, they must be iron hearts that can withment I sent him about three years since, and stand 'em. [Exit. turn my daughter on the world.

Aub. The manly and disinterested passion Mort. Well, let him come; next to the sa- of this youth, while it prepossesses me strongly tisfaction I receive in the prosperity of an in his favour, gives an assurance of a virtu

singled her out from all womankind; but it Luc. Go, go, another time; I'm busy. was ever thus; she's born to be my evil ge- Serv. I've done a wicked thing; and if I nius; sure the men are mad-Tyrrel-lord don't discharge my heart, 'twill break, it is so Abberville-one touch'd my heart, the other full.

wounds my pride.

Bridge. Why, ay; there is a fine estate,

Mrs. B. What have you done? Speak out.
Sero. Why, I have been the means of ruin-

a noble title, great connexions, powerful in-ing an innocent person; for such miss Au

terest.

brey is.

Luc. Revenge is worth them all; drive her Bridge. How so? Go on. but out of doors, and marry me to a convent. Serv. 'Twas I that brought lord Abberville Bridge. But let us keep some show of ju-last night into her chamber, unknown to her: stice; this may be all a frolic of lord Abber- I thought it was a little frolic to surprise her; ville's; the girl, perhaps, is innocent.

Luc. How can that be, when I am miserable? Mrs. B. Come, she's been suffer'd in your house too long; had I been mistress, she should have quitted it last night upon the instant: would she had never entered it.

but, when I heard her scream, I was alarmed,
and ran and listened at the door.
Luc. Well, and what then?

Sero. Why, then I heard her chide him, and desire him to be gone; yes, and but just before you came up stairs, I heard the poor

Bridge. There you make a bad wish, Mrs. young lady reproach him bitterly for his baseBridgemore; she has proved the best feather ness in making love to her, when he was enin my wing; but call her down; go, daughter, gaged to you, madam: indeed, she is as incall ber down.

nocent as the babe unborn.

Luc. I'll send her to you: nothing shall Luc. Go your way for a simpleton, and prevail with me to speak to her, or look upon say no more about the matter. the odious creature more.

[Exit. Sero. To be sure I was a simpleton to do Mrs. B. What is it you are always hinting as I did; but I should never survive it, if any at about this girl? She's the best feather in mischief was to follow.

your wing. Explain yourself.

[Exit.

Bridge. What's to be done now? Bridge. I can't; you must excuse me; 'tis Mrs. B. What's to be done? why let her better you should never know it. take her course; guilty or not, what matters Mrs. B. Why, Why, where's the fear; what can it, if every man who offers for your daughter, you have to dread from a destitute girl, with- is to turn aside and follow after her? out father, and without friend? Luc. True, where's the woman who can Bridge. But is she really without a father? pardon that? indeed, had she been really criWas I once well assured of that-But hush! my minal, I could have endur'd her better, for

daughter's here--Well, where's miss Aubrey?

Re-enter LUCINDA, followed by a Maid-ser

vant.

Luc. The bird is flown.

Bridge, Hey-day, gone off!
Mrs. B. That's flat conviction.

Bridge. What have you there? A letter?
Luc. She found it on her table.

Bridge. Read it, Lucy.

Luc. I beg to be e excused, sir; I don't choose to touch her nasty scrawl.

Bridge. Well, then, let's see; I'll read it myself.

then I had had one qualification, which she had wanted; now she piques me every way. Enter Servant.

Sero. Lord Abberville, madam, desires to be admitted to say a word to you. Luc. Who? Lord Abberville?

Mrs. B. Oh, by all means admit him; now, Lucy, show yourself a woman of spirit; receive him, meet his insulting visit with becoming contempt.-Come, Mr. Bridgemore, let us leave them to themselves.

[Exeunt Mr. and Mrs. Bridgemore.

Luc. Ahem; now, pride support me.

Enter LORD ABBERVILLE.

[Reads] Sir-Since neither lord Abberville's testimony, nor my most solemn protestations can prevail with you to believe Lord A. Miss Bridgemore, your most obeme innocent, I prevent miss Bridgemore's dient; I come, madam, on a penitential erthreaten'd dismission by withdrawing my-rand, to apologize to you and miss Aubrey self for ever from your family: how the for the ridiculous situation in which I was world will receive a destitute, defenceless surprised last night.

orphan I am now to prove; I enter on my trial without any armour but my innocence; which, though insufficient to secure to me your our confidence, will,

the continuance

of

by the favour of Providence, serve, I hope, to support me under the loss of it.

So! she's elop'd

AUGUSTA AUBREY.

Mrs. B. Ay, this is lucky; there's an end of her: this makes it her own act and deed; give me the letter; go, you need not wait. [To the Servant.

Sero. Madam!

Luc. Don't you hear? Leave the room. Serc. Pray don't be angry; I beg to speak a word to you,

ACT III.

Lord A. None in life; I know him intimately; but if you please, I'll take my leave; you SCENE I.- The Street, with a distant View

may have business-Curse on't, he is the la-
dy's lover.
[Aside.

Luc. Nay, I insist upon your staying-Now malice stand my friend! - Good morning to you, sir, you're welcome to town.

Enter TYRREL

of the Square.
Enter COLIN.

Colin. Ah, Colin, thou'rt a prodigal; a thriftless loon 1) thou'st been, that could na' keep a little pelf to thysall when thou hadst got it; now thou may'st gang in this poor geer 2) to thy life's end, en and worse too for

Tyr. I thank you-I am wrong, I believe; aught I can tell; 'faith, mon, 'twas a smeart your servant should not have shown me in little bysack of money thou hadst scrap'd here: 'tis with miss Aubrey I request to together, and the best part of it had na' been speak. laft amongst thy kinsfolk, in the Isles of Skey Luc. Lord Abberville, you can direct Mr. and Mull; muckle gude may it do the weams Tyrrel to miss Aubrey; she has left this fa- of them that ha' it! There was Jamie Mac mily, sir. Grejor, and Sawney Mac Nab, and the twa Tyr. Madam-My lord-I beg to know-braw lads of Kinruddin, with old Charley I don't understandMac Dougall, my mother's first husband's seLord A. Nor I, upon my soul: was ever cond cousin: by my sol I could na' see such any thing so malicious? [Aside. near relations, and gentlemen of sich auncient Luc. My lord, why don't you speak? Mr. families, gang upon bare feet, while I rode a Tyrrel may have particular business with miss horseback: I had been na' true Scot, an I

Aubrey
ubrey:
Lord A. Why do you refer to me? How
should I know any thing of miss Aubrey ?
Luc. Nay, I ask pardon; perhaps Mr. Tyr-
rel's was a mere visit of compliment.

Tyr. Excuse me, madam; I confess it was an errand of the most serious sort.

Luc. Then it's cruel not to tell him where

you've plac'd her.

Tyr. Plac'd her!

Lord A. Ay, plac'd her indeed! For heaven's sake, what are you about?

Luc. Nay, I have done, my lord; but after last night's fatal discovery, I conceived you would no longer affect any privacy as to your situation with miss Aubrey.

Tyr. What did you discover last night, madam? tell me; I have an interest in the question.

could na' ge'en a countryman a gude laft 3) upon occasion.

[As he is going out Miss Aubrey enters. Aug. That house is Mr. Mortimer's; and yet I can't resolve to go to it: to appeal to Tyrrel is a dangerous step; it plunges him again in my unprosperous concerns, and puts his life a second time in danger; still, still I know not how to let him think me guilty: wretched, unfriended creature that I am, what shall I do? [As she is going out Colin advances.

Colin. Haud 4) a bit, lassie, you that are bewailing; what's your malady? Aug. Sir! Did you speak to me? Colin. Troth, did 1; I were loath to let affliction pass beside me, and not ask it what it ail'd.

Aug. Do you know me then?

Colin. What need have I to know you? An you can put me in the way to help you, isn't that enough?

Aug. I thank you: if I have your pity, that is all my case admits of.

Luc. I'm sorry for't, for then you'll not be pleas'd to hear that she admits lord Abberville by night into her bedroom, locks him up in it, and on detection the next morning, openly avows her guilt, by eloping to her Colin. Wha' can tell that? I may be better gallant. than I seem: as sorry a figure as I cut, I have Tyr. What do I hear?-My lord, my lord, as gude blude in my veins, and as free of it too, as any Briton in the lond; troth, an you Lord A. What then? - What if it is? Must be of my country, madam, you may have I account to you? Who makes you my in- heard as much. quisitor?

if this is true

Aug. I do not question it; but I am not of

Tyr. Justice, humanity, and that control Scotland. which virtue gives me over its opposers: if Colin. Well, well, an if you had the de'il more you would, with anguish I confess, my a bit the worse should I ha' lik'd you for it; heart unhappily was plac'd on her whom you but it was not your lot; we did na' make have ruin'd; now you'll not dispute myoursalls; 5) Paradise itsal would na' hald 6) right. all mankind, nor Scotland neither; and let me Lord A. This is no place to urge your tell you, there's na' braver or more auncient right; I shall be found at home. people underneath heaven's canopy; no, nor

Tyr. I'll wait upon you there. [Exit Tyrrel. a nation of the terrestrial globe wha have Lord A. Do so-your servant-Miss Bridge- more love and charity for one another. more, I am infinitely your debtor for this Aug. Well, sir, you seem to wish to do agreeable visit; I leave you to the enjoyment me service: I've a letter here; I cannot well of your many amiable virtues, and the pleas- deliver it myself; if you are of this neighing contemplation of what may probably bourhood, perhaps you know the house of ensue from the interview you have provided Mr. Mortimer.

for me with Mr. Tyrrel.

[Exit. Exit

Colin. Hoot! hoot! I ken him well; I came

Luc. Ha, ha, ha! I must be less or more fra' thence but now.

than woman, if I did not relish this reta- 1) Rascal. 2) Dress. 3) Lift. 4) Hold, 5) OurAug. Will you take charge of this, and Aug. I readily believe you; and to convince give it as directed? the gentleman will be found you of it, put me, I beseech you, in some at Mr. Mortimer's. present shelter, till the labour of my hands

Colin. To Francis Tyrrel, esquire-Ah! an can keep me, and hold me up but for a 'tis thereabouts you point, gadzooks, your breathing-space, till I can rally my exhausted labour's lost; you may ev'n wear the willow, spirits, and learn to struggle with the world. as they say, for by my troth he'll play the loon wi' you.

Colin. Ay, will I by my sol, so heaven gives life; and woe betide the child that does you Aug. Is that his character? wrong! I be na' smuthly 1) spoken, but you Colin. No; but he canna' well be true to shall find me true. And look, the first door twa at the same time. that I cast my ey'n upon, I ken the name of Aug. His heart's engag'd it seems: what is Macintosh: troth, 'tis a gudely omen and the lady's name? prognostic; the Macintoshes and Macleods are Colin. Woe worth her name! I canna' re-aw of the same blood fra' long antiquity: had collect it now; an it had been a Scottish we search'd aw the town we could na' find a name, I should na' let it slip so; but I've no better. [Knocks at the Door] Odzooks, fear mighty memory for your English callings; nothing, damsel, an she be a true Macintosh, they do na' dwell upon my tongue: out on't! you need na' doubt a welcome. [Mrs. Ma'tis with a grete fat lubber yonder in the city cintosh comes to the Door] Gude day to you,

that she dwells; a fellow with a paunch below his gullet, like the poke of a pelican; and now I call to mind, 'tis Aubrey is her name; ay, ay, 'tis Aubrey; she's the happy woman.

madam, is your name Macintosh, pray you? Mrs. M. It is: what are your commands? Colin. Nay, hau'd a bit, gude child, we command nought; but being, d'ye see, a Scottish

SO

Aug. Is she the happy woman? Well, sir, kinsman of yours, Colin Macleod by name, if you'll deliver that letter into Mr. Tyrrel's I crave a lodgment in your house for this hands; there is no treason in it against miss poor lassie.-Gude troth you need na' squant 2) Aubrey; she herself is privy to the contents. at her so closely; there's nought to be suColin. You need na' doubt but I shall honde spected; and though she may na boast long it to him; I were a sorry child an I could a pedigree as you and I do, yet for an English grudge you that: where shall I bring his answer? family, she's of no despicable house; and as Aug. It requires none. for reputation, gude faith the lamb is not more Colin. But an he craves to know your house, innocent: respecting mine own sall I will na' where mun I say you dwell? vaunt, but an you've any doubts, you need Aug. I have no house, no home, no father, na' gang a mighty length to satisfy 'em: I'm friend, or refuge in this world; nor do I at no impostor. this moment, fainting as I am with affliction Mrs. M. I see enough to satisfy me; she is and fatigue, know where to find a hospitable a perfect beauty:-pray, young lady, walk in;

door.

Colin. Come with me then, and I will show you one; ah! woe is me, we hanna' all cold hearts, that occupy cold climates: I were a graceless loon indeed, when Providence ha' done so much for me, an I could not pay bock a little to a fellow creature.

Aug. Who you may be I know not; but that sentiment persuades me I may trust you: know, in this wretched person you behold her whom you think the envied, the beloved miss Aubrey.

pray walk up stairs, you are heartily welcome; lack-a-day, you seem piteously fatigu'd. Aug. Indeed I want repose.

Colin. Rest you awhile; I'll deliver your letter, and call on you anon. Aug. I thank you. [Enters the House. Mrs. M. Heavens, what a lovely lovely girl! Colin. Haud you a bit, you've done this kindly, cousin Macintosh, but we're na' come a bagging, d'ye see; here, take this money in your honde, and let her want for nought. Mrs. M. You may depend upon my care.

Colin. Miss Aubrey! you miss Aubrey! His Colin. Ay, ay, I ken'd you for a Macintosh presence be about us! and has that grete fat at once; I am na' apt to be mistaken in any fellow in the city turn'd his bock upon you? of your clan; and 'tis a comely presence that Out on him, ugly hound, his stomach be his you have; troth 'tis the case with aw of you; grave! I could find in my heart to stick my the Macintoshes are a very personable people. dirk into his weam. [Exit.

Aug. Have patience; 'tis not he, lord Abberville's the source of my misfortunes.

Colin. Ah, woe the while the more's his shame, I'd rather hear that he were dead. Aug. Do not mistake affliction for disgrace; I'm innocent.

Colin. I see it in your face: would I could say as much of him.

Ang. You know him then.

Mrs. M. Another of my Scottish cousinsOh, this new name of mine is a most thriving invention; a rare device to hook in customers. [Exit.

SCENE II. - A Room in LORD ABBERVILLE'S
House.

Enter LORD ABBERVILLE, followed by several

Servants.

Colin. Ay, and his father afore him: Colin Lord A. You are a most unreasonable set

Macleod's my name.

Aug. Colin Macleod!

of gentry truly; I have but one Scotchman in my family, and you are every one of you, cook, valet, butler, up in arms to drive him out of it.

Colin. What do you start at? Troth, there's no shame upon't; 'lis nought a bit the worse for my wear; honesty was aw my patrimony, and, by my sol, I hanna' spent it: I serve lord sieur Colin is a grand financier; but he has Abberville, but not his vices.

La Jeu. And with reason, my lord; mon