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Robert.(Clapping on his bat and strutting.) It's she !-cousin Bell's my lady !-and Idang it-I wonder what I be; I suppose a sort of a man of honour at least-mayhap, a kind of a half lord; fomething like the mayor of our town here. Bus stop now, Bob-don't you be counting your eggs before you are sure the thr. g's fartain. ---And where to learn this? --Oh-from his uncle-l'll
ask him directly ; and if I find I'm really of this pretty koind of pedigree, and you come cuffing and collaring, Mister Sapling
I'd better take care though-what with practice and leffons, I dare fay Bell has taught him to try my sensibility that way also.
SCENE.- An Apartment in Delauny House.
In the Flat three Gothic Windows formed of Transparencies--the Centre Window exhibiting the Painting of the “ Vestal buried alive,” very large and marking—the two other Windows of a less fize, with any fancied Transparencies. Being Night, the Windows are not illuminated. On one side is a Picture not finished, with Appa. ratus for Painting; on the other a Table, with Books, Papers, and Candles upon it.-Sir EDWARD DELAUNY and Paul POSTPONE discovered fitting near it.
Sir Edw. Yes, Sir,-my conduct needs not vindication; I can avow it to the world.-On my acceflion to the title and estate, I found this wretch impriloned for atrocious murder his wife confin'd for lunacy incurable ; and whilst respect for him I represent bids me feek vengeance on the vile affaflin, humanity still prompts me to secrete the wretched loft Amelia. -Am I not justified in both ? Paul. Why, I don't like off-hand opinions, Sir
Edward; my plan is to recur to law books :- but I rather fancy you've no power over the lunatic.
Sir Edw. No! Then read Sir Frederick's will-made on the morning of his death. (Reads.) “I die in peace with my unhappy daughter, and “ in the case of her recovery, bequeath her my “eftate for life ;--but to preserve it from her "husband's power, I nominate my nephew her “ trustee, and on her death, devise the whole to « him.”-Now, is she not at my disposal ?-and if the villain should escape from justice, shall he e'er know the place of her confinement ?--Nom never.
Sir Edw. No-till they can prove she's restor’d to reason—and that's a hopeless prospect : none dare arraign me!-But to prevent his ever interfering, let us secure conviction; and this witnefs--on whose scle evidence his fate dependsthis stage-ftruck daughter, who professionally knows all arts, all fratagems--oh! if the 'scape our search, is there no other way?
Paul. None! no witness- no verdict.
Sir Edw. Then let me hafte again to seck her ; and if found of course you have prepar’d the necessary process.
Paul. What pro-oh! aye :-- the subpæna. No;-I've been so taken up with other parts of the cale--but I'll tell you what--l'll fill it up this moment (going lawards the table)-this moment(music wilbout). Heh! where's that delightful music?
Sir Edw. In the next room--and they'll disturb and interrupt you.-I'll stop them as I pass.
Paul. Dün’t, cn my account. I like mulicoften ing a merry fong myself--and as there's no hing elle, after filling up this little affair—’gad I'll make one amongst them (fitting down and beginning to write).
Sir Edw. You forget-the pleadings are not half prepar’d, and every moment of your time is precious (as be is going, enter Honoria). Honoria! what brings you here?
Honoria. I come by Mrs. Sapling's orders, to paint a copy of that representation of the “ Vestal buried alive."
Sir Edw. Well, well, dispatch—for it shall be remov'd-the sight is hateful to me.
Honoria. Why hateful, Sir ?
Sir Edw. Why?-Oh nothing, nothing but yonder's my folicitor, and mind that you disturb him not. And now, Sir,-be but as active and as zealous as the cause deserves, and our success is certain. (Exit. Honoria previously seats herself, and begins painting unseen by Paul,-be during the time is writing.)
Paul. I'll be active-I'll now that I call a complete idle country gentleman, who will let nobody have any pleasure but himself; however, only let me fill up this infernal process, and see if I a’n’t in the thick of the musical party; for after such a fag as this, devil's in’t if I mayn't enjoy myself, and music's a thing I'm dotingly fond of. Som Herefordshire to wit" (writing). “Lovely, lovely Chloe !" (singing.)
Honoria. (Painting.) Upon my word-extremely well-pray sing on, Sir.
Paul. Sing on! (Looks up, sees her, and smiles.) Bless my soulmanother thing I'm so doatingly fond of !--and look here now I hav'n't even time to oh you little rogue!-I only wish it were the long vacation-but as it is" Herefordshire to wit,". “Lovely, lovely Chloe !” (writing and singing.)
Honoria. That's right, you've an excellent voice, and I'd rather you'd do any thing than carry on this cruel prosecution, (rises and comes down the
ftage). Perhaps by fome neglect of his, St. Orme might still be sav’d-I'll try-Oh! Lord, here's my guardian.
Enter SAPLING with manuscript music in his hand.
Sapling. Oh, my dear Honoria !- what shall I do ?-where shall I go?—whom shall I apply to ? -- Poor Mrs. Sapling, -and poor Mr. Privilege !
Honoria. What's the matter, Sir ?-any accident?
Paul. (Putting the subpæna in bis pocket, and coming on the other side of Sapling.)-Aye, what's the matier, Sir ?-any accident?
Sapling. Dreadful-he's taken hoarse! now-an hour before the fylvan fêre, Mr. Privilege is taken hoarse, and there's an end of his and my wife's duet.
Paul. An end of their duet !
Sapling. Yes: I offer'd to take his part here (pointing to the paper); but it seems my voice is too natural. They say I'm no singer, because I don's quaver, and jerk, and cwist my body, and make horribly ugly faces--and it's very wrong of them-I know it's all affectation for I'm fure in Their hearts, they'd rather hear such a queer fellow as I am, fing “Old Ramjudrah," than all the fine flourishing longs in the universe.
Paul. So they wou'd--and at the enci, applaud, as I applaud at the opera.
. Sapling. What! do you applaud at the opera ?
Paul. Always—for joy that it's over. -Buc you want a substiture, do you ? (Looking at the music -chuckling and smiling.)
Honoria. He does: and can't you recommend one, Mr. Postpone ?
Paul. I!-Oh fie, Ma'am !-I hope you don't infinuate
Honoria. Speak to him, guardian--his voice is only equalid by his modeliy.--Nay: you know
it's true :—and by your own account you've toild enough for this day.
Paul. I have, I've work'd like a horse; and if I thought the ladies wilh'd ic(going to take the music from SAPLING)—but no-Sir Edward will be angry.
Sapling. Nonsense !--as master of the house 'twill be doing him a favour.
Paul. Will it?
Honoria. To be sure, and you won't be out of the way, you know.
Paul. No more I shall. (still chuckling.)
Sapling. And if you refuse, a great finger must be sent for at a great expence.
Paul. So there mustmand if I sing a hundred fongs, I can but charge 6s. and 8d. each ;-come along-give me the part-let somebody play it over -and, once in my life, I will relax for half an hour.
Sapling. There's a noble lawyer for you ;--Oh I wish I had known you sooner-you should have drawn my marriage settlement.
Paul, Never mind where there's law and parchment before marriage, there's generally law and parchment after ; and if any liccle accident should happen-(whispers bim-between our. felves, now-a-days married people are the best clients. But come ;-and don't be afraid of my being natural-no-my voice is like an instrum
Sapling. Ah! that's the true style. But, begging your pardon, if it be the fashion for fine fingers to resemble instruments, I wish there were instruments to resemble fine fingers :-then they might be had at a less price-would be free from colds and hoarsenesses--and instead of Venice and Naples, they might be manufactur'd at Sheffield and Birmingham.