never have it to say she broke my heart. If I hang myself for grief, she sha'nt know she made me. Bur. Well, but, master Fob. And reason told me to take you into my shop when the fat church-wardens starved you at the workhouse-hang their want of feeling for it ;-and you were thumped about, a poor unoffending, ragged rumped boy, as you were-I wonder you hav'n't run away from me, too. Bur. That's the first real unkind word you ever said to me. I've sprinkled your shop two-and-twenty years, and never miss'd a morning. Job. The bailiffs are below, clearing the goods;you won't have the trouble any longer. Bur. Trouble! look ye, old Job ThornberryFob. Well! What, are you going to be saucy to me, now I am ruined? Bur. Don't say one cutting thing after another. You have been as noted, all round our town, for being a kind man, as being a blunt one. Job. Blunt or sharp, I've been honest. Let them look at my ledger-they'll find it right. I began upon a little: I made that little great, by industry; I never cringed to a customer, to get him into my books, that I might hamper him with an overcharged bill, for long credit; I earned my fair profits; I paid my way; I break by the treachery of a friend, and my first dividend will be seventeen shillings in the pound. I wish every tradesman may clap his hand on his heart, and say as much, when he asks a creditor to sign his certificate. Bur. 'Twas I kept your ledger all the time. Bur. From the time you took me out of the workhouse. Job. Psha! rot the work house! Bur. You never mentioned it to me, yourself, till to-day. Job. I said it in a hurry. Bur. And I've always remembered it at leisure. I don't want to brag, but I hope I've been found faithful. It's rather hard to tell poor John Bur, the work-house boy, after clothing, feeding, and making him your man of trust, for two-and-twenty years, that you won. der he don't run away from you, now you are in trouble. Job. (Affected) John, I beg your pardon. (Stretches out his hand.). Bur. (Taking his hand.) Don't say a word more about it. Fob. I Bur. Pray, now, master, don't say any more! come, be a man! get on your things; and face the bailiffs, that are rummaging the goods. Job. I can't, John: I can't. My heart's heavier than all the iron, and brass, in my shop. Bur. Nay, consider what confusion !-pluck up courage; do, now! Job. Well, I'll try. Bur. Aye, that's right: here's your clothes. (Taking them from the back of a chair.) They'll play the deuce with all the pots and pans, if you aren't by. -Why, I warrant you'll do! bless you, what should ail you ? Job. Ail me? When you have a daughter, John Bur, and she runs away from you, you'll know what ails me. Bur. Come here's your coat and waistcoat. (Going to help him on with his clothes.) This is the waistcoat young mistress worked, with her own hands, for your birth day, five years ago. Come, get into it as quick as you can. Fob. (Throwing it on the floor violently.) I'd as lieve get into my coffin. She'll have me there soon. Psha! rot it! I'm going to snivel. Bur, go, and get me another. Bur. Are you sure you won't put it on? Job. No, I won't. (Bur pauses. No I tell you. [Exit Bur.] How proud I was of that waistcoat, five years ago! I little thought what would happen, now, when I sat in it, at the top of my table, with all my neighbours, to celebrate the day;-there was Collop, on one side of me, and his wife on the other; and my daughter, Mary, sat at the further end-smiling so sweetlylike an artful, good-for-nothing-I shou'dn't like to throw away a waistcoat neither: I may as well put it on.-Yes-it would be poor spite not to put (Putting his arms into it.)-She's breaking my heart: but, I'll wear it, I'll wear it. (Buttoning it, and crying involuntarily.) It's my child's -She's undutiful-ungrateful-barbarous-but she's it on my child-and she'll never work me another. Section V. CONJUGAL LOVE. DUKE, JULIANA, AND BALTHAZER. Duke.Put up you weapon, Sir- In which your whole authority is sunk- Balth. Lawful!-his lawful wife! I shall go mad. Did you not basely steal her, Duke. What I have done I'll answer to the law. Of what do you complain? Balth. Are you not A most notorious and self-confess'd impostor? Duke. True! I am somewhat dwindled from the state In which you lately knew me ; nor alone Should my exceeding change provoke your wonder, ful. 'Tis indeed most true. I left you, Sir, a froward foolish girl, But I have learnt this truth indelibly That modesty, in deed, in word, and thought, Balth. Amazement! Why, this metamorphosis Exceeds his ownWhat spells, what cunning, What witchcraft has he employ'd! ful. None he has simply taught me To look into myself: his powerful rhetoric. Balth. Are you content to live with him? Balth. Can you forget your crying wrongs? They sometimes serve us to make merry with. Balth. Never! Duke. Why, then, 'tis plain, you seek your own revenge, And not your daughter's happiness! Balth. No matter: I charge you on your duty as my daughter, follow me! Duke. On a wife's obedience, I charge you, stir not! Ful. You, Sir, are my father; At the bare mention of that hallow'd name, A thousand recollections rise within me, To witness you have ever been a kind one :This is my husband, Sir! Balt. Thy husband: well- And when he pluck'd me from my parent tree And, by adoption, I am bound as strictly To do his reasonable bidding now, Section VI. SPEECH OF ROLLA, FROM SHERIDAN'S PIZARRO. My brave associates-partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame! Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts? No you have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you,--Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours.-They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder and extended rule -we for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate; we serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we adore. Where'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress! Whene'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns her friends. They boast, they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error!-Yes-they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride. They offer us their protection-Yes such protection as vultures give to lambs, covering and devouring them. They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited and proved, for the desperate chance of something better which they promise. Be our plain answer this: The throne we honour is the people's choice;—the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy;-the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this, and tell them too, we seek no change; and least of all such change as they would bring us. |