ACT II. SCENE.-Infide of the County Gaol. Enter ST. ORME. St. Orme. I cannot reft. Now as the awful hour approaches, my fears accumulate beyond endurance. Life I could yield up manfully; but to part with thofe, that once-and ftill might render life a bleffing-my wife !-my child!-fhall I ne'er more behold them? HENRY SAPLING (without). Where is he?-Where is Lieutenant St. Orme ? Enter HENRY and GAOLER. St. Orme. 'Tis Henry, 'cis my friend! Gaoler. There fir-there is the prifoner. [Exit. Henry. Charles! (takes his band and bursts into tears.) Damnation!-I meant to behave like a man, but the word "prifoner"come back you rafcal, and I'll teach you to make a British failor expose himself. St. Orme. Nay: your tears become you, Henry; and if now they fall, what will they do when in a few short days Henry. Don't-if you are guilty, don't utter it. I won't hear it won't bear it-never will believe that Charles St. Orme-that my friend, would feek the life of any man. St. Orme. Then you're deceiv'd-I fought Sir Frederick's life, and by this arm he fell. 13 Henry. Henry. Indeed! St. Orme. Hear-hear my vindication !-'Tis now near eighteen years fince my Amelia chofe me for her husband; and for this high offence, fhe was deferted by her father-the rafh, yet wrong'd Sir Frederick. We left the country-fed to America—and, by the fale of my commiffion, purchased an humble farm; which till a year ago fupplied our moderate wants.-Then illness drove me from my avocation; and though Lauretta labour'd for our aid, diftrefs fo rapidly pursued us, that my fond wife-ftill clinging to the wretch her family defpifed-set forth for England; and not ten months past, arriv'd alone, a beggar at that gate, that but for me had ne'er been shut against her. Henry. Well: go on.-On feeing her, did her father perfift? St. Orme. Oh, yes: with unabating ranconr-he never could forgive my poverty and birth. And now observe, and fhudder as you hear it-In a few weeks he wrote me to America, that his wrong'd daughter had detected my intrigues-knew I had fent her home, to carry on a low clandeftine love-and maddening at my falfehood and deceit, was fever'd to delirium-was infane! I anfwer'd haftily I knew not what, and flew to her affiftance. I arriv'd-I afk'd for her abode-when-death and fhame!-he faid the care of her was his alone, and that a perjur'd husband should not fee her! Henry. Not fee her! St. Orme. No; his aim was feparation and to fecure it, he defam'd me first-then robb'd me of the power to justify myself, and folace her.-What could I do? I knew the law would give me ample juftice; but burning with impatience and revenge, was I to wait a form fo tedious?-No-I rush'd into his prefence-my daughter follow'd to detain me-I perfifted in my refolution, and demanded fatis B 3 fatisfaction-this he declin'd-I prefented him a piftol-he grafp'd it to defend his life-which I. conceiving an acceptance of my challange, and wild with fury and with wrongs, fir'd!-he fell; and in a few short months-Oh my friend! I see you tremble at my rafhnefs; he was Amelia's father, and I deserve a death more terrible than his ! Henry. No; I tremble from another caufe-the proof: who can give proof against you? St. Orme. None, but my daughter; and the is purposely concealed: if the remain fo till the trial's paft, I'm free to trace and rescue her I love; but if fhe's found, I fall-and fhe, poor girl-her mother robb'd of reason, and her father by her own evidence!-Oh! I can bear all but this. Henry. And fo can I therefore good b'w'ye. St. Orme. Why-where are you going? Henry. To Sir Edward-to your new antagonist; and I'll afk him civilly-very civilly-not to fearch after Lauretta ;-but if that won't do, and he perfifts in forcing a daughter to convict her own father-talk of pistols, my dear fellow-I'll fire off all the cannon in the navy. So go; retire to your chamber, and rely on me.But ftop-stop-as I can't get on quickly, owing to this infernal ballaft (pulling out a purfe)-do lighten me, will you -do take part of a friend's load, Charles. St. Orme. I thank you: but a ftranger has foreftalled your generofity (produces a letter).See-not an our ago, I received this letter. Henry. From a ftranger! (reads)" One, who "pities the unfortunate, who was the friend of "Mrs. St. Orme, and fufpects that the prefent "baronet profecutes you and fecretes her, folely "to keep poffeflion of the large eftate-fends you "the enclosed, in the wifh that it may leffen your "afflictions, and affift in restoring you to her, whofe best hope is in your affections."-Upon my my word, a charming correfpondent!-can't you guefs? St. Orme. Oh, yes: her meffenger betrayed herher name's Honoria Pembroke. Henry. Honoria! my Honoria!--don't fancy I'm in love with her, Charles-because, you fee, I'm in love with fomebody elfe;-but I tell you what I wish you'd let me keep this letter-I fhould like to look at it now and then ;-and if I thought nobody look'd at me, I fhould like-(looking round with anxiety) Oh, blefs her! (kiffing the letter violently)-and if he were prefent, and the whole world prefent, I'd ferve her in the fame manner. adieu-and with fuch friends fear not fuccefs. But St. Orme. And with fuch friends I've confolation if I fail; for the best passport to a happier world is approbation from fuch hearts as yours. Farewell! [Exit. Henry. (ftill gazing on the letter.) Oh! who elfe can write fuch lovely, fuch bewitching-what other female hand can-Damme, there I go again I forget her ladyfhip; and though fhe never honour'd me with any fpecimens of her penmanfhip,-further than merely writing "Pay the bearer"-yet with her elegant, accomplish'd mindOh! if the writes but as fhe talks-then is her ftyle all tenderness-all-(as he is going). Enter ROBERT GRANGE. Robert. Sir, your very humble fervant. They told me you were here, and fo I did come to ax your honour a bit of a queftion. Henry. What! a poor prifoner ! Robert. No;-thank you kindly, fir-at prefent I do outdoor work with farmer Nightfhade at Ivyfarm; and he did fend me this morning to ax for a new ferving lad; and fo I did think the best place to hear of fuch a thing was the public-house-and B 4 who who should I meet there, but Thomas !-your man Thomas-and fo over a mug of alehe! he ! -by gom!-if it's fhe, fhe's a lucky lafs ! Henry. Who?-who is lucky fir? We Robert. Why Bell-coufin Bell to be fure. do think after getting her name chang'd to Mifs This, and Mistress That, and Widow T'other, that at laft fhe be come a real downright lady; my lady-oh ay-my Lady Senfible; and you fee, I fhould like to know the truth of the matter: becaufe if Bell a got this prefarment, it wasn't koind and pretty of her, to let poor I ftay at plough-or her fifter Sal cry matches and fell alincompain-or her brother Jack, for a flight pig affair, be fent out of this very place to Botany-bay. Henry. Blockead!-Lady Senfitive yourwhy, fhe'd faint at the idea! Robert. Faint! Henry. Ay: 'twould fo fhock her fenfibility Robert. Senfibili-what! fhe do fob and fcream and laugh and tumble?—by gom! it's fhe! -Bell always had a deadly turn for fits and feeling and flourishing, owing to-(making figns of drinking)-that's the fact-I know it, you fee, because fince the left the farm I've been fomewhat in the flourishing way myfelf; but whilft fhe ftaid, I had no chance of any fenfibility at all. Henry. Rafcal! (collaring him.)-If I wer'n't this moment call'd away, I'd-but I know your mafter well; and if he don't punifh you for this audacious libel on the idol of my affections-on the lovely-the divine Honoria ! Robert. Honoria !-nan! Henry. On Lady Senfitive I mean-plague on't! -to be between wind and water, is one thingbetween two fires, another-but between two women!-oh Belzebub himfelf could not be cool inthe conteft! [Exit. Robert. |