SCENE 11.

Enter BELFIELD Senior, and PATERSON. Pat. What, melancholy, Mr. Belfield? So near your happiness, and so full of thought? Bel. sen. Happiness, what's that?

Pat. I'll tell you, sir; the possession of a lovely girl, with fifty thousand pounds in her lap, and twice fifty thousand virtues in her mind; this I call happiness, as much as mortal man can merit: and this, as I take it, you are destin'd to enjoy.

Bel. sen. That is not so certain, Mr. Paterson; would you believe it, that perverse hussy, Lucy Waters, who left me but this minute, threatens to transverse all my hopes, and is gone this instant to Sophia with that resolution ?

Pat. Impossible! how is Miss Waters provided or provoked to do this?

Bel. sen. Why, 'tis a foolish story, and scarce worth relating to you; but you know, when your letters call'd me home from Portugal, I found my younger brother in close attendance on Miss Dove; and, indeed, such good use had the fellow made of his time in my absence, that I found it impossible to counterwork his operations by fair and open approaches; so, to make short of the story, I took this girl, Lucy Waters, into partnership; and, by a happy device, ruin'd him with Sophia.

Pat. This, Mr. Belfield, I neither know, nor wish to know.

Bel. sen. Let it pass, then; defeated in these views, my brother, as you know, betook himself to the desperate course of privateering, with that old tar-barrel, my uncle: what may have been his fate, I know not, but I have found it convenient to propagate a report of his death.

Pat. I am sorry for it, Mr. Belfield; I wish nothing was convenient that can be thought dishonourable.

Bel. sen. Nature, Mr. Paterson, never put into a human composition more candour and credulity than she did into mine; but acquaintance with life has shewn me how impracticable these principles are; to live with mankind, we must live like mankind: was it a world of honesty, I should blush to be a man of

art.

Pat. And do you dream of ever reaching your journey's end by such crooked paths as these are

Bel. sen. And yet, my most sage moralist, wonder. ful as it may seem to thee, true it is notwithstanding, that after having threaded all these by-ways and crooked alleys, which thy right-lin'd apprehension knows nothing of; after having driven my rival from the field, and being almost in possession of the spoil, still I feel a repugnance in me that almost tempts me to renounce my good fortune, and abandon a victory I have struggled so hard to obtain.

Pat. I guess'd as much; 'tis your Violetta; 'tis your fair Portuguese that counterworks your good fortune; and, I must own to you, it was principally to save you from that improvident attachment, that I wrote so pressingly for your return; but though I have got your body in safe holding, your heart is still at Lisbon; and if you marry Miss Dove, 'tis because Violetta's fortune was demolished by the earthquake; and Sir Benjamin's stands safe upon terra firma.

Bel. sen. Pr'ythee, Paterson, don't be too hard upon me: sure you don't suspect that I am married to Violetta.

Pat. Married to Violettal Now you grow much too serious, and 'tis time to put an end to the dis[Exit.

course.

Bel. sen, And you grow much too quick-sighted, Mr. Paterson, for my acquaintance. I think he does not quite suspect me of double dealing in this business; and yet I have my doubts; his reply to my question was equivocal, and his departure abrupt-I know not what to think-This I know, that love is a deity; and avarice a devil; that Violetta is my lawful wife; and that Andrew Belfield is a villain. [Exit.

1

SCENE III.

PATERSON passes over the Stage.

Pat. All abroad this fine day-not a creature within doors,

Enter KITTY.

Kitty. Mr. Paterson! hist, Mr. Paterson, a word in your ear, sweet sir.

Pat. Curse on't, she has caught me-Well, Mrs. Kitty.

Kitty. Why, I have been hunting you all the house over; my lady's impatient to see you.

Pat. Oh, I'm my Lady Dove's most obedient ser. vant-And what are her ladyship's commands, pray? Kitty. Fye, Mr. Paterson; how should I know what her ladyship wants with you; but a secret it is, no doubt, for she desires you to come to her immediately in the garden, at the bottom of the yew-tree walk, next the warren.

Pat. The devil she does ! - What a pity it is, Mrs. Kitty, we cann't cure your lady of this turn for solitude; I wish you would go with me; your company, probably, will divert her from her contemplations; besides, I shall certainly mistake the place.

Kitty. I go with you, Mr. Paterson! a fine thing truly: I'd have you to know that my character is not to be trusted with young fellows in yew-tree walks, whatever my lady may think of the matter-Besides, I've an assignation in another place. [Exit.

Pat. What a devilish dilemma am I in! Why, this is a peremptory assignation-Certain it is, there are some ladies that no wise man should be commonly civil to Here have I been flattering myself that I was stroaking a termagant into humour, and all the while have been betraying a tender victim into love. Love, love did I say? her ladyship's passion is a disgrace to the name-But what shall I do?-'tis a pitiful thing to run away from a victory; but 'tis frequently the case in precipitate successes; we conquer more than we have wit to keep, or ability to enjoy.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Changes to the Yew-tree Walk. Enter BELFIELD Junior. Bel. jun. Now could I but meet my Sophia-Where can she have hid herself?-Hush; Lady Dove, as I live.

Enter Lady DOVE.

Lady Dove. So, Mr. Paterson, you're a pretty gentleman to keep a lady waiting here: why how you stand?-Come, come, I shall expect a very handsome atonement for this indecorum-Why, what, let me look-Ah! who have we here?

Bel. jun. A man, madam; and though not your man, yet one as honest and as secret: come, come, my lady, I'm no tell-tale; be you but grateful, this goes no further.

Lady Dove. Lost and undone: young Belfield! Bel. jun. The same; but be not alarm'd; we both have our secrets; I am, like you, a votary to love: favour but my virtuous passion for Miss Dove, and