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Enter JERRY, R.

Jer. Somerset's ready, sir.

Sir G. Then, dam'me, we'll have a gallop for it. Broad. [Stopping him.] But stop--you forget gentleman locked up in room.

Sir G. Let him stay there-I shall be back in a day or

two.

Broad. But he's a foreigner, and don't understand the law.

Sir G. Then tell him, to comfort him, that I'm a native, and pretty much in the same situation. Oh! that my own flesh and blood should run away from me! Why, such an atrocious thing, farmer, has not happened in the county. Broad. No, never, Sir Guy, since you ran away with your lady.

Sir G. Zounds!

[Exit hastily, R. Broad. He he! dam'me, that touched him a little matter in the wither; he! he'!-Made the odd one kick up a bit; he he!

[Exit, R. SCENE II-A Stone Roon, unfurnished, except with a

chair.

VILLARS discovered.

Count V. Why should I longer struggle with my fate? Cleveland's death dooms me to wretchedness;—my lost, unhappy child dooms me to dishonour. Well, soon or late, the common friend of misery will call me to his cold embrace; and then, my sainted wife-yes, then we meet again! In that hope my soul reposes; and he whose vile philosophy shuts from the human breast the Christian's hope, inflicts a curse on man more heavy than ever tyrant could impose. [A harp plays withoutRosine sings, L,

Rosine

Ah! vous dira je, Maman,

Ce que cause mon torment :-
Depuis que j'ai vu Silvandre
Me regardant d'un œil tendre,
Mon cœur dit à chaque instant,
Peut-on vivre sans amant.

Count V. Hark! Ah, that well-known strain! hush, my heart, still those tumultuous throbs!-[Rosine sings again.] Those words-that voice-it is—it is my child! Rosine, thy

father calls! A female shriek is heard.] She hears meOh, give her to my arms! Stained, lost as she is, let me but hold her to my heart, I'll bless-forgive

[The door is unlocked.

Enter ROSINE, L., who rushes into his arms.

My child!

Ros. My father!

Count V. Stand off, and let me gaze on thee, image of thy departed mother! Oh! where in that form can guilt find an habitation? Swear that thou art innocent! in-inercy deceive me, and let me die in the blest delusion.

Ros. By my mother's revered name!

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Count V. Ah! her name has roused me to the call of injured honour-yes, degenerate girl, I will speak of her. In prison, she was my deliverer; in sickness, my solace in battle, my preserver-wounded, and confounded with the dead and dying, her eager eye sought and found me. The plunderers came to rifle and destroy; the deadly tube was levelled at my life; her faithful bosom was my shield, and received the fatal wound. Oh, what a moment! I called on death to join us. She, expiring, cried, "We have a child-live! a father's hope shall sustain you!" Ros. My mother! Oh, my mother!

[Clasps her hands, and looks up in fixed devotion. Count V. Yes, Rusine, it did sustain me. What made light the chain of slavery, that corroded to the bone this soldier's arm?-A father's hope.-When famine convulsed my frame, what gave impulse to the stream of life? A father's hope. When the waves overwhelmed me, what made me with gigantic strength grapple the naked rock? -A father's hope.-Naught, naught could bow ine down with shame and sorrow, but an ingrate daughter; naught break this heart, but the deadly woundings of a child's dishonour!

Ros. Oh, hear me! In justice, I demand-in mercy, I implore!

Count V. Why cling to me? What would'st thou of a wretched beggar?-What have I to bestow ?-Yes, a father's curse!

[Going to kneel, he raises his hand to heaven. Ros. [Seizing it.] It will not be recorded!-the sainted spirit of my mother, that knows my innocence, will shield me from a father's malediction.

Count V. Innocence! say on.

Ros. Oh, were I the guilty thing my tongue disdains to name, could I meet the dreadful vengeance of your eye? Should I not grovel on the earth, and with these hands dig out a grave to hide my guilty head? Could I, my father, stand thus erect, proudly demanding the strictest scrutiny of man-challenging, if I lie, the avenging bolt of heaven? Count V. It is the voice of truth-it is the confidence of purity-it is the consummation of a father's hope-I must, I will believe thee.

[Rushes into her arms; he staggers from weakness. Ros. Ah! that death-like paleness! you tremble! Within there! help!

Enter BROADCAST, L.

Broad. Ah! Miss Rosine; then all comes right.

Count V. A frame, worn down by misery, is unfitted to bear the extremes of good or ill. Come next my heart— nearer-nearer-I have much to learn of thee; for they told me a tale.

Ros. You shall know all, my father-all my imprudence -all my sorrow; but I have found such kind, and noble friends!

Count V. Beggar that I am, how shall I reward them, how provide for thee?

Ros. I am young and able.

Broad. Yes, and so am I, Sir-strong as a bull, and I'll work this flesh off my bones

Count V. I must not live on charity.

Broad. No, Sir-but though you won't accept charity, you might be pleased to shew some; and I'm sure it would be charity to let me rub out some of the debt that's scored up against me. Indeed, Sir, I can't eat, or sleep, till you are so kind and magnanimous to enter the door that this hand shut against you.

Count V. My worthy Englishmau, believe me, with every consideration of gratitude, to be your friend.

Broad. And, noble Sir, believe me to be yours, without any consideration at all.

Ros. Come, Sir, let me lead you hence. Oh, how I long for my dear friends to partake my happiness! how my heart pants to repeat to each, and to all" I've found a father." [Exeunt, L

SCENE II. Another Apartment at Sir Guy's. Sir G. [Without.] Come along, you runaway baggage!

[Pushing in Ellen, R.] Bread, water, and a bed-post, shall

be your portion.

Ell. I'm very sorry, papa.

Sir G. That you were stopped.

Ell. Yes, papa.

Sir G. That is my reward for all my care;

such care,

that I defy you to prove, in a single instance, that I ever allowed you to follow your inclinations.

Ell. Very true, papa.

Sir G. Then what have you to say for yourself?

Ell. That I would rather be chosen by the humblest, thau offered to the noblest. You had better turn me into the paddock, with your colts and fillies, to be viewed and knocked down to the best bidder.

Sir G. That would not do, my dutiful daughter, because all there are warranted free from vice and blemish. Oh! here comes your blushing companion.

Enter SUCKLING, R., dressed in a fashionable great coat, boots, and a white cockade in his hat.

We come back, sweet, modest Mr. Suckling!

Suck. Thank you, Guy, thank you-your hand, old boy. Pshaw! anger's vulgar, and penitence pitiful. Upon my soul, you old ones should make allowances for the erratic flights of us young devils; for somehow, curse it! we can't help it. Come, won't you? [Offering his hand.] Oh! as you like. Ah! Ellen! my adored!

Sir G. His impudence confounds me!

Ell. [To Suckling.] It was all your fault we were stopped.

Suck. Don't say so, my darling. Now, damn it, Guy, you shall judge. Just as we were stepping into the chaise, the landlord popt the Bill of fare into my hand,-turtle in the van; and I thought it would be generalship to lay in an ample supply to assist bivouacking in our retreat. At that moment, who should pass the inn but my tutor, Parsou Porker; the scented gale attracted his well-informed nose, and he demanded admittance; and the landlord unluckily saying that the room contained a pair of turtles going to Scotland, he, mistaking us for Calipash and Calipee, rushed in-Ellen swore, and I fainted-I mean, I swore, and Ellen fainted. But, reckless of both, he apathematised the blacksmith, vowed the church should not be cheated of its dues, and before my eyes voraciously devoured the contents of the interesting tureen my care had provided.

Enter ROSINE, running, L.

Ros. Oh, my dear Ellen, I'm so rejoiced at your return! -[To Sir Guy.] You now see, Sir, the effects of your severity But, may not I sue for pardon?

Sir G. No, never. D

Ros. [Stopping his mouth.] Oh, fie! Come, you would not frown, if you knew how a smile becomes y u.

Sir G. Nonsense! A smile become me! [Simpering. Ros. And so, because you have always been su correct, so scrupulously accurate with the sex yourself, you make no allowances

Sir G. [Smothering a laugh.] I correct!

Ros. Yes; I say, because you, Sir, married a lady with the consent of friends, and

Sir G. [Chuckling.] No-I say-hush! a word-[In a loud whisper.]-I ran away with her. Ros. Oh, you dangerous man!

you.

I declare I'm afraid of [Motions Ellen and Suckling to keep back. Sir G. Hush! Nonsense! Come here,-there was a time you understand

Ros. Ah, that roguish eye!-But how did you persuade her?

Sir G. I had a way with me-Says I, "There stands your family, that want to make you miserable; here stands your lover, that will make you happy."

Ros. Bravo! Excellent! and what did she do?

[Beckons down Ellen and Suckling. Sir G. What did she do? Why, was it likely, that, encircled in the arms of the man of her heart, she would mind what a damned old fool of a father said?

[In saying this he turns round, and sees Ellen and Suckling in the situation he has described.] Ros. Ha ha! Come, own you're caught-no escapeconfess!

Ell. Ah, my dear papa!

Suck. What do you say now, Sir Guy?

Sir G. Fairly.beat, I own, and I forgive you.

Ros. And now, my kind, my generous friends, rejoic with me, for I have found a father-not St. ClermontCount Villars is my father.

Sir G. Count Villars? What, is Rosine the poor and neglected heiress of Cleveland?

Ros. Even so; but sorrow shall not deform this happy day.

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