Wild Oats Part 16

_Harry._ Yes, my conscience wou'dn't let me carry it through.

_Rover._ "Ay, his conscience hanging about the neck of his heart, says, good Launcelot, and good Gobbo, as aforesaid, good Launcelot Gobbo, take to thy heels and run."

_Sir Geo._ Why, my lady! explain, scoundrel, and puppy unknown.

_Lady Am._ Uncle, I've heard thy father was kind to thee, return that kindness to thy child. If the lamb in wanton play doth fall among the waters, the shepherd taketh him out, instead of plunging him deeper till he dieth. Though thy hairs now be grey, I'm told they were once flaxen; in short, he is too old in folly, who cannot excuse it in youth. [_Exit._

_Sir Geo._ I'm an old fool! Well, that's d.a.m.n'd civil of you, madam niece, and I'm a grey shepherd--with her visions and her vines, and her lambs in a ditch; but as for you, young Mr. Goat, I'll b.u.t.t you----

_Rover._ My dear Abraw.a.n.g, give up the game--her ladyship, in seeming to take you for her uncle, has been only humming you! What the devil, don't you think the fine creature knows her own true born uncle?

_Sir Geo._ Certainly; to be sure she knows me.

_Rover._ Will you have done? Zounds, man, my honoured father was here himself to-day--Her ladyship knows his person.

_Sir Geo._ Your honoured father! and who's your honoured self?

_Rover._ "Now by my father's son, and that's myself, it shall be sun, moon, or a Cheshire cheese--before I budge--still crossed and crossed."

_Sir Geo._ What do you bawl out to me of a Cheshire cheese, I say--

_Rover._ "And I say, as the saying is"--your friend d.i.c.k, has told me all; but to convince you of my forgiveness, in our play, as you're rough and tough, I'll cast you Charles the Wrestler, I do Orlando; I'll kick up your heels before the whole court.

_Sir Geo._ Why, dam'me, I'll--And you, you undutiful chick of an old pelican--[_Lifting up his cane, to strike_ HARRY.

_Enter_ JOHN, _who receives the blow_.

_John._ What are you at here? cudgelling the people about? But, Mr.

Buckskin, I've a word to say to you in private.

_Sir Geo._ Buckskin! take that. [_Beats him._

_Enter_ LAMP, TRAPP, _and two female_ SERVANTS.

_Lamp._ "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women"----

_Sir Geo._ The men are rogues, and the women hussies--I'll make a clear stage.

[_Beats them off--amongst the rest, strikes_ ROVER.

_Rover._ "A blow! Ess.e.x, a blow"--An old rascally impostor stigmatizing me with a blow--no, I must not put up with it.--Zounds!

I shall be tweaked by the nose all round the country--I'll follow him.--"Strike me! so may this arm dash him to the earth, like a dead dog despised--blindness and leprosy, lameness and lunacy, pride, shame, and the name of villain light on me, if I don't" bang--Mr.

Abraw.a.n.g. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_Another Apartment._

_Enter_ LADY AMARANTH, _and_ BANKS.

_Banks._ Madam, I could have paid the rent of my little cottage; but I dare say 'twas without your ladyship's knowledge, that your steward has turned me out, and put my neighbour in possession.

_Lady Am._ My steward oppress the poor! I did not know it indeed.

_Banks._ The pangs of adversity I could bear; but the innocent partner of my misfortunes, my unhappy sister--

_Lady Am._ I did desire Ephraim to send for thy sister--Did she dwell with thee, and both now without a home? Let her come to mine.

_Banks._ The hand of misery hath struck us beneath your notice.

_Lady Am._ Thou dost mistake--To need my a.s.sistance is the highest claim to my attention; let me see her. [_Exit_ BANKS.] I could chide myself that these pastimes have turned my eye from the house of woe.

Ah! think, ye proud and happy affluent, how many, in your dancing moments, pine in want, drink the salt tear; their morsel, the bread of misery, and shrinking from the cold blast into their cheerless hovels.

_Enter_ BANKS, _leading in_ AMELIA.

_Banks_. Madam, my sister. [_Bows and retires._

_Lady Am._ Thou art welcome--I feel myself interested in thy concerns.

_Amelia._ Madam!

_Lady Am._ I judge, thou wert not always unhappy.--Tell me thy condition, then I shall better know how to serve thee. Is thy brother thy sole kindred?

_Amelia._ I had a husband, and a son.

_Lady Am._ A widow! If it recall not images thou wouldst forget, impart to me thy story--'Tis rumoured in the village, thy brother is a clergyman--tell me.

_Amelia._ Madam, he was; but he has lost his early patron, and is now poor and unbeneficed.

_Lady Am._ But thy husband--

_Amelia._ By this brother's advice, now twenty years since, I was prevailed on to listen to the addresses of a young sea officer, (for my brother has been a chaplain in the navy) but to our surprise and mortification, we discovered by the honesty of a sailor, in whom he put confidence, that the captain's design was only to decoy me into a seeming marriage; he ordered him to procure a counterfeit clergyman; our humble friend, instead of us, put the deceit upon his master, by concealing from him that my brother was in orders; he, flattered with the hopes of procuring me an establishment, gave in to the supposed imposture, and performed the ceremony.

_Lady Am._ Duplicity, even with a good intent, is ill.

_Amelia._ Madam, the event has justified your censure; for my husband, not knowing himself really bound by any legal tie, abandoned me--I followed him to the Indies, distracted, still seeking him--I left my infant at one of our settlements; but, after a fruitless pursuit, on my return, I found the friend, to whose care I had committed my child, was compelled to retire from the ravages of war, but where I could not learn. Rent with agonizing pangs, now without child or husband, I again saw England, and my brother; who, wounded with remorse, for being the cause of my misfortunes, secluded himself from the joys of social life, and invited me to partake the comforts of solitude in that humble asylum, from whence we've both just now been driven.

_Lady Am._ My pity can do thee no good, yet I pity thee; but as resignation to what must be, may restore peace, if my means can procure thee comfort, they are at thy pleasure. Come, let thy griefs subside, instead of thy cottage, accept, thou and thy brother, every convenience that my mansion can afford.

_Amelia._ Madam, I can only thank you with----[_Weeps._

_Lady Am._ My thanks are here--Come, thou shalt be cheerful. I will introduce thee to my sprightly cousin Harry, and his father, my humourous uncle; we have delights going forward that may amuse thee.

_Amelia._ Kind lady!

_Lady Am._ Come, smile--though a quaker, thou seest I am merry--the sweetest joy of wealth and power is to cheer another's drooping heart, and wipe from the pallid cheek the tear of sorrow. [_Exeunt._