PR4028 
 .A4M3 
 
 ARNOLD 
 
 MAM AND WlM 
 BOSTON [18551 
 
a™ T"i?4 0^R 
 Book JMl ±3_ 
 
SPENCER'S BOSTON THEATRE....N0. XVIII. 
 
 MAN AND WIFE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 MORE SECRETS THAN ONE. 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 BY SAMUEL JAMES ARNOLD, ESQ. 
 
 WITH EDITORIAL REMARKS, ORIGINAL CASTS, 
 
 SCENE AND PROPERTY PLOTS, 
 
 And the whole of the Stage Business. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 WILLIAM V. SPENCER, 
 
 128 Washington St., (corner op Water.) 
 
 1855. 
 
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REMARKS 
 
 Man and Wipe was first represented at Drury Lane Theatre, 
 London, in 1809, where it continued nightly to attract overflowing 
 audiences, until the destruction of that theatre, on the 24th of 
 February, subsequent. It was more respectably spoken of, and 
 more favorably received than any piece had been for many years. 
 The dialogue is considered highly commendable for its purity. 
 It does not sparkle with bon-mots ; it is not grossly familiar ; it is 
 easy and elegant, frequently energetic and enriched with just 
 and pleasing imagery ; nor is it devoid of wit, though it is com- 
 pletely free from the affectation of it. The characters are well 
 delineated and happily contrasted. The plot is conducted with 
 judgment — the situations well imagined — many scenes highly 
 comic, and others rich in the pathetic, yet not too much so to 
 lack justification. 
 
 Man and Wife was revived at the Boston Theatre last season, 
 with a success that warranted its repetition some half a dozen 
 times, — the performance was, in every respect, excellent, and the 
 mise en scene, perfect. Mr. Gilbert performed Sir Willoughbij with 
 a force and finish that entitles him to rank as an artist of ex- 
 traordinary power and skill. Messrs. Pauncefort, Howe, and 
 Fiske, rendered the respective parts of Charles, Lord Austencourt, 
 and Ponder, in a careful and judicious manner. We were much 
 pleased with the sprightliness of Mrs. Barrow, as Helen; the 
 character was happily conceived and well executed. Miss A. 
 Biddies looked, and played Fanny with great propriety ; the re- 
 maining characters were efficiently represented by Messrs. Daly, 
 G. W. Johnson, Biddies, and Mesdames Gilbert and Fiske. It 
 is seldom we see a better Comedy better acted ; but in this case, 
 the acting was worthy of the piece, and we may add, that the 
 piece was worthy of the acting. 
 
Bun rut it Wxit. 
 
 SCENERY. 
 
 ACT ONE. 
 
 Scene 1 — Interior of cottace 1 q. 
 
 2 — 2 door, paper, 2 g. 
 
 3 — 2 door, oak, 3 G. d. f. r. h. practical, b'k'd with plain 
 interior. Box pieces on flat, numbered and lettered, 
 (painted.) 
 
 ACT TWO. 
 
 Scene 1 — 2 door, paper, 2 o. 
 
 2 — Landscape, 4 g. 
 
 3 — Set Inn, on l. h., door practical, b'k'd with interior. Sign 
 of "Inn" over door. 
 
 ACT THREE. 
 
 Scene 1 — 2 door, oak, as before, 3 g. 
 2 — 2 door, paper, 2 g. 
 3—3 door, paper, 2 G. 
 
 ACT FOUR. 
 
 Scene 1 — 2 door, oak, (as before) 2 g. 
 
 2 — 3 door, paper, 2 and 3 g. c. door practical, b'k'd with 
 handsome chamber. Key in c. door. 
 
 act five. 
 Scene 1 — 2 door, paper, 2 g. 
 
 2 — 2 door, oak, (as before) 3 g. 
 
3San nui itfift. 
 
 PROPERTIES. 
 
 ACT ONE. 
 
 Scene 1 — Green cloth down. 
 
 2 — Handsome table, covered with clean white table cloth, on 
 it handsome urn, cream pitcher and milk, sugar bowl and 
 sugar, sugar tongs, slop bowl, three tea plates, three small 
 knives, three napkins, three China cups and saucers, three 
 tea-spoons, hand bell; three handsome chairs on; news- 
 paper for Sir W. ; tray ready, R. h., for William, on it tea- 
 pot with tea, plate of butter and plate of rolls ; handsome 
 nosegay for Helen. 
 
 Scene 3 — Oaken table c, on it a writing desk, with pens, inkstand, 
 writing paper; two bundles of letters, tied with red tape; 
 parchments; two blank letters, hand bell; two plain chairs 
 on; snuff-box, written lettej and spectacles, for O'Dedi- 
 mus; pen for Ponder; cane for Abel Growse. 
 
 ACT TWO. 
 
 Scene 1 — Handsome table cov'd in c. ; two good chairs on; clear. 
 2 — Portmanteau, for Ponder. 
 
 ACT THREE. 
 
 Scene 1 — Properties, same as Scene 3, Act 1. 
 
 2 — 2 handsome chairs on ; salver, with a written letter for 
 William. 
 
 3 — 2 handsome chairs on. 
 
 ACT FOUR. 
 
 Scene 1 — Properties, as in Scene 3, Act 1. 
 
 2_ Key in c. doors; blank letter for Sir W.; bolt ready, O. 
 
 D. R. H. 
 
 ACT FIVE. 
 
 Scene 1— Handsome table in c, covered; two handsome chairs on; 
 purse with guinea, for Charles. 
 
 2 — Properties, as in Scene 3d, Act 1. 
 1* 
 
SUit nnl Will. 
 
 COSTUME. 
 
 Lord Austencourt — Rich embroidered court suit; black dress shoes; 
 white silk stockings ; dress sword; bag wig and chapeau; diamond 
 buckles for shoes, &c. 
 
 Sir Rowland — Rich embroidered suit; black shoes; white silk 
 stockings; dress sword; bag wig and chapeau; diamond buckles for 
 shoes, &c. 
 
 Charles — Naval coat, white facing ; epaulets; white cassimere 
 vest and breeches; black shoes and white silk stockings. 
 
 Sir Wilhughby — Square cut coat ; gold latchets and knee buckles ; 
 three cornered hat, trimmed with gold loop and cockade ; damask 
 silk stockings and breeches ; shoes and buckles ; full curled wig. 
 
 Abel Growse — Drab coat and breeches ; red vest ; grey stockings » 
 white hat, turned up at sides ; countryman's shoes and metal buckles. 
 
 Falhner — Plain gentleman's suit, reign of George III; dress sword 
 and bag wig; shoes and buckles; hat. 
 
 O'Dedimus — Black square cut coat; French grey buttons and holes; 
 black breeches ; grey vest, with black holes ; black stockings ; black 
 6hoes and buckles, and Pangloss wig. 
 
 Ponder — Black square cut coat; black breeches; vest, with black 
 holes; black stockings; black shoes and metal buckles; brown 
 George wig; three cornered hat. 
 
 William — Livery, bag wig. 
 
 John — Livery, bag wig. 
 
 Lady Worrett — Brocade dress; white" wig; high heeled shoes. 
 
 Helen Worrett — Light silk. 
 
 Fanny — Country girl's tuck-up dress ; black silk round bonnet and 
 mitts. 
 
 i Tiffany — Sprig muslin, tuck-up. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 A C T I. 
 
 SCENE I. Interior of Abel Growse's Cottage, 1 g. 
 Enter Abel Growse and Fanny 1, e. r. 
 
 Abel G. Don't tell me of your sorrow and repentance, girl — 
 you've broke my heart — married hey 1 and privately too — and 
 to a lord into the bargain ! So, when you can hide it no longer, 
 you condescend to tell me — think you that the wealth and title of 
 Lord Austencourt, can silence the fears of a fond father's heart 1 
 "Why should a lord marry a poor girl like you in private, if his 
 intentions were honorable? Who should restrain him from 
 publicly avowing his wife ? 
 
 Fanny. My dearest father — have but a little patience, and I'll 
 explain all — * 
 
 Abel G. Who was present besides the parson at your wed- 
 ding? 
 
 Fanny. There was our neighbor, the attorney, Sir — and one 
 of his clerks — and they were all — 
 
 Abel G. My heart sinks within me— but mark me. You may 
 remember I was not always what now I seem to be. I yesterday 
 received intelligence, which but for this discovery, had shed a 
 gleam of joy over my remaining days — as it is, should your 
 husband prove the villain I suspect him, that intelligence will 
 afford me an opportunity to resume a character in life, which 
 shall make this monster lord tremble ! — the wrongs of Abel 
 Growse, the poor but upright man, might have been pleaded in 
 vain to him, but as I shall soon appear, it shall go hard, but I 
 
8 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 will make the great man shrink before me, even in his plenitude 
 of pride and power. 
 
 Fanny. You terrify me, Sir — indeed you do ! 
 
 Abel G. And so I would — I would prepare you for the worst 
 that may befall us — for should this man, this lord, who calls 
 himself your husband — 
 
 Fanny. Dearest father what can you mean ? who calls himself 
 my husband ; he is my husband. 
 
 Abel G. If he is your husband, how does he dare to pay his 
 addresses, as he now publicly does, to the daughter of Sir Wil- 
 loughby Worrett, our neighbor. I may be mistaken ; I'm in the 
 midst here of old acquaintances, though in this guise they know 
 me not, they shall soon see me amongst them ; not a word of this 
 I charge you; to your faithful friend, Mrs. Richland, alone con- 
 fide my doubts, and act as she directs ; come, girl, this lord shall 
 own you. If he does not, we will seek our remedy in those 
 laws which are at once the best guardians of our rights and the 
 surest avengers of our wrongs. Ext unt, 1 e. l. 
 
 SCENE II. A parlor in Sir W. Worrett's house. 
 
 {The Breakfast pnp, i ii d — Urn, <$•<:., Sir "Willougiiby seated, 
 L. table reading the newspaper. lie rings the bell — then 
 pulls out his ivatch.) 
 
 Sir W. Three quarters of an hour since breakfast was first 
 announced to my wife ! — my patience is exhausted. Oh wed- 
 lock, wedlock ! why did I ever venture again into thy holy state 
 — of misery ! — of all the taxes laid on mankind by respect to 
 society and the influence of example, no one is so burthensome 
 as that which obliges a man to submit to a thousand ills at home 
 rather than be suspected of being a bad husband abroad ! 
 
 Enter AVilliam, 1 e. r. 
 
 Go to your lady — 
 
 William. I told her ladyship five times before, Sir Willough- 
 by, that breakfast was waiting. 
 
 Sir \V. Then tell her once more and that will make six, and 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 9 
 
 say I earnestly request the favor she will hasten to breakfast, as 
 while she stays, I starve. 
 
 William. Yes, Sir Willoughby— but she'll stop the longer for 
 Ae message. {Aside, going out.) Exit, 1 e. e. 
 
 Sir W. My wife is the very devil — it seems that she'd be 
 miserable if she didn't think me happy — yet her tenderness is my 
 eternal torment ; her affection puts me in a fidget, and her fond- 
 ness in a fever. 
 
 Enter William, 1 e. r. 
 
 Wil. My lady says she won't detain you a moment, Sir Wil- 
 loughby. Exit, 1 e. e. 
 
 Sir W. The old answer ! — Then she's so nervous ! A ner- 
 vous wife is worse than a perpetual blister ; and then, as the man 
 says in the play, your nervous patients are always ailing but 
 never die! Zounds ! why do I bear it 1 'tis my folly, my weak- 
 ness, to dread the censure of the world, and to sacrifice every 
 comfort of my fire side, to the ideal advantage of being esteemed 
 & good husband. 
 
 Lady W. (Without, 1 b. k.) William, will you come here 1 ? 
 
 Sir W. Hark"? — now she begins her morning work, giving 
 more orders in a minute than can be executed in a month, and 
 teazing my daughter to death to teach her to keep her tem- 
 per ! — yet every body congratulates me on having so good a 
 wife ! — every body envies me so excellent an economist ! — every 
 body thinks me the happiest man alive ! and nobody knows what 
 a miserable mortal I am ! 
 
 (Enter Lady W. with two volumes in her hand, followed by Wil- 
 liam, 1 E. E.) 
 
 Lady W. And harkye, William ; tell the coachman to bring 
 the chariot in a quarter of an hour — and, William — ( Gives him two 
 books.) — run with these books immediately to the Rector's — and, 
 William — bring up my breakfast this moment. 
 
 Wil. Yes, my lady — (Aside.)— Lord have mercy upon us ! 
 
 Exit, 1 E. E. 
 
 Lady W. ( On e. H.J My dear Sir Willoughby, I beg a thou- 
 sand pardons, but you are always so indulgent that you really 
 spoil me, I am sure you must think me a tiresome creature. 
 
 Sir W. No— no, my life— not at all. I should be very un- 
 
10 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 grateful if I didn't value you just exactly as highly as you de- 
 serve. (Down on l. h.) 
 
 Lady W. I certainly deserve a good scolding — I do, indeed. 
 I think if you scolded me a little I should behave better. 
 
 Sir W. Well, then, as you encourage me, my love — I must 
 own that a little more punctuality would greatly heighten the 
 zest of your society. 
 
 Lady W. And yet, Sir Willoughby, you must acknowledge that 
 my time is ever dedicated to that proper vigilance which the 
 superintendence of so large an establishment undoubtedly re- 
 quires. 
 
 Sir W. Why, true, my love — but somehow, I can't help 
 thinking, that as my fortune is so ample, it is quite unnecessary 
 that you should undergo so much fatigue : for instance, I do think 
 that the wife of a baronet of £12,000 a year owes it to her rank 
 to be otherwise employed than in hunting after the house-maid, 
 or sacrificing her time in the store-room in counting candles, or 
 weighing out soap, starch, powder-blue, aud brown sugar ! 
 
 Lady W. (In tears.) This is unkind, Sir Willoughby — this is 
 very unkind — 
 
 Sir W. So ! as nsual, here's a breeze springing up ! — What 
 the devil shall I say to soothe her ? Wife ! wife ! you drive me 
 mad! You first beg me to scold you, and then you are offended 
 because I obligingly comply with your request. 
 
 Lady W. No, Sir Willoughby — I am only surprised that you 
 should so little know the value of a wife, who daily degrades 
 herself for your advantage. 
 
 Sir W. That's the very thing I complain of. You do degrade 
 yourself — your economy, my life, is downright parsimony ; your 
 vigilance is suspicion; your management is meanness; and you 
 fidget your servants till you make them fretful, and then pru- 
 dently discharge them because they will live with you no longer. 
 Hey ! odslife, I must soothe her ! for if company comes and 
 finds her in this humor, my dear-bought reputation as a good 
 husband is lost for ever. (They sit at table, c.) 
 
 Enter Joiin, 1 e. r., with salver with rolls, §-c. 
 
 Come, come — my dear Lady Worrett, let us go to breakfast — 
 
MAN AND WIPE. 11 
 
 Come (Sitting clown to breakfast.) let us talk of something else — 
 Come, take your tea. 
 
 Lady W. ( To John.) Send "William to speak to me. 
 
 Exit John, 1 e. e. 
 
 Sir W. Where's Helen? 
 
 LiDY W. 
 
 Sir W. 
 
 Lady W. I have desired her to copy a few articles into the 
 family receipt book, before breakfast ; for, as her marriage will 
 so shortly take place, it is necessary she should complete her 
 studies. 
 
 Sir W. What — she's at work, I suppose, on the third folio 
 volume. 
 
 Lady W. The fifth I believe. 
 
 Sir W. Heaven defend us ! I don't blame it — I don't cen- 
 sure it at all — but I believe the case is rather unprecedented for 
 an heiress of £12,000 a year to leave to posterity in her own 
 hand writing, five folio volumes of recipes, for pickling, pre- 
 serving, potting, and pastry, for stewing and larding, making 
 ketchup and sour krout, oyster patties, barbecued pies, jellies, 
 jams, soups, sour-sauce and sweetmeats. 
 
 Lady W. Oh, Sir Willoughby, if young ladies of the present 
 day paid more attention to such substantial acquirements, we 
 should have better wives and better husbands. 
 
 Sir W. Why, that is singularly just — 
 
 Lady W. Yes, if women were taught to find amusement in 
 domestic duties instead of seeking it at a circulating library, as- 
 semblies and balls, we should hear of fewer appeals to Doctor's 
 Commons and the Court of King's Bench. 
 
 Sir W. Why, that is undeniably true, (Aside.) and now as 
 we have a moment uninterrupted by family affairs — 
 
 Enter William, 1 e. k. 
 
 Lady W. Is the carriage come ? 
 Wil. No, my lady. 
 
 Lady W. Have you carried the books ? 
 Wil. No, my lady. 
 
12 MAX AND -WIFE. 
 
 Lady W. Then go and hasten the coachman. 
 777/. No, my lady — yes my lady. 
 
 Lady W. And William— send up Tiffany to Miss Helen's 
 room, and bid her say we expect her at breakfast. 
 
 Wil. Miss Helen has been in the Park these two hours. 
 
 Sir W. {Laughs aside.) 
 
 Lady W. How ! in the Park these two hours ? Impossible ! 
 send Tiffany to seek her. 
 
 Wil. Yes, my lady. Exit, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Sir W. So, as usual, risen with the lark, I suppose. 
 
 Lady W. Her disobedience will break my heart ! 
 
 Sir W. Zounds, I shall go mad ! here's a mother-in-law going 
 to break her heart, because my daughter prefers a walk in the 
 morning to writing culinary secrets into a fat folio receipt 
 book ! 
 
 Lady W. Sir TVilloughby ! Sir Willoughby ! it is you who en- 
 courage her in disregarding my orders. 
 
 Sir W. No such thing, Lady Worrett, no such thing ! but if 
 the girl likes to bring home a pair of ruddy cheeks from a morn- 
 ing walk, I don't see why she is to be balked of her fancy. 
 
 Lady W. Ruddy cheeks indeed ! such robust health is becom- 
 ing only in dairy-maids. 
 
 Sir W. Yes, I know your taste to a T ; a consumption is al- 
 ways a key to your tender heart — and an interesting, pallid coun- 
 tenance will at any time unlock the door to your best affections — 
 but I must be excused if I prefer seeing my daughter with the 
 rosy glow of health upon her cheek, rather than the sickly imi- 
 tations of art, which bloom on the surface alone, while the fruit 
 withers and decays beneath — but zounds, don't speak so loud — 
 here's somebody coming, and they'll think we are quarrelling. 
 (Helen sings behind, I B. l.) So here comes our madcap. 
 
 Enter Helen, 1 e. l. with a bunch of flowers in her hand. 
 
 Helen. Good morning— good morning. Here papa, look 
 what a beautiful posy of wild flowers I have gathered. See ! the 
 dew is still upon them — how lovely they are ! — to my fancy now, 
 these uncultivated productions of nature have more charms than 
 the whole garden can equal — why can we not all be like these 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 13 
 
 flowers, simple and inartificial, with the stamp of nature and 
 truth upon us ? 
 
 Lady W. Romantic stuff, — but how comes it, Miss Helen, 
 that my orders are thus disobeyed ? 
 
 Helen. Why lord, mamma, I'll tell you how it was — but first 
 I must eat my breakfast — so I'll sit down and tell you all about 
 it. (Sits down, head of table c, Sir W. l., Lady W. r.) In the 
 first place, I rose at six — and remembering I was to copy out 
 the whole catalogue of sweetmeats, and as I hate all sweet things 
 — some sugar, if you please, papa — I determined to take one run 
 round the park before I sat down to my morning's work — so 
 taking a crust of bread and a glass of cold water, which I love 
 better than — some tea if you please mamma — any thing in the 
 world! — out I flew like a lapwing — stop'd at the Dairy, and — 
 some cream if you please, papa — down to the meadows and 
 gathered my nosegay, and then bounded home, with a heart full 
 of gaiety, and a rare appetite — for — some roll and butter, if you 
 please, mamma. 
 
 Lady W. Daughter, this levity of character is unbecoming 
 your sex, and even your age — you see none of this offensive 
 flightiness in me — 
 
 Sir W. Come, come, my dear Lady Worrett, Helen's gaiety 
 is natural — Helen, my love — I have charming news for you — 
 every thing is at last arranged between Lord Austencourt and 
 me respecting your marriage. 
 
 Helen. Why, now, if mamma-in-law had said this, I should 
 have thought she meant to make me as grave as herself. 
 
 Lady W. In expectation that Helen will behave as becomes 
 her in this most important affair of her life, I consent to pass over 
 her negligence this morning in regard to my favorite receipts. 
 
 Helen. I hate all receipts — sweet, bitter, and sour. 
 
 Lady W. Then we will now talk of a husband. 
 
 Helen. I hate all husbands — sweet, bitter, and sour. 
 
 Sir W. Whoo ! Helen, my love, you should not contradict 
 your mamma. 
 
 Helen. My dear papa — I don't contradict her ; but I will not 
 marry Lord Austencourt. 
 
 Lady W. (Rising.) This is too much for my weak nerves— 
 2 
 
1-i MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 I leave you, Sir Willoughby to arrange this affair, while I hasten 
 to attend to my domestic duties. 
 
 Sir W. (To Lady W. Aside.) That's right — you*d better 
 leave her to me — I'll manage her, I warrant — let me assist 
 you — there — I'll soon settle this business. (Hands Lady Wok- 
 
 RETT off.) 1 E. B. 
 
 Helen. (Coming forward, l. h.) Now, my dear papa, are you 
 really of the same opinion as her ladyship 1 
 
 Sir W. Exactly. 
 
 Helen. Ha! Ha! Lud ! but that's comical. What, both 
 think alike ? 
 
 Sir W. Precisely ! 
 
 Helen. That's very odd ! I believe it's the first time you've 
 agreed in opinion since you were made one ! But I'm quite 
 sure you can never wish me to marry a man I do not love. 
 
 Sir W. Why no — certainly not — but you will love him — in- 
 deed you must. It's my wife's wish you know, and so I wish it 
 of course — Come, come, in this one trifling matter you must 
 oblige us. 
 
 Helen. Well", as you think it only a trifling matter, and as I 
 think it of importance enough to make me miserable, I'm sure 
 you'll give up the point. 
 
 Sir W. Why no — you are mistaken — to be sure I might have 
 given it up — but. my Lady Worrett, you know — but that's no 
 matter — marriage is a duty, and 'tis incumbent on parents to see 
 their children settled in that — happy — state. 
 
 Helen. Have you found that state so happy, Sir? 
 
 Sir W. Why — yes — that is — Hey? happy! certainly — 
 doesn't every body say so 1 And what every body says must be 
 true. However, that's not to the purpose — a connection with 
 the family of Lord Austencourt is particularly desirable. 
 
 Helen. Not to me, I assure you, papa ! 
 
 Sir W. Our estates join so charmingly to one another. 
 
 Helen. But sure, that's no reason we should be joined to one 
 another ! 
 
 Sir W. But their contiguity seems to invite a union by a 
 marriage between you. 
 
 Helen. Then, pray, papa, let the stewards marry the estates 
 and give me a separate maintenance. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 15 
 
 Sir W. Helen, Helen ! I see you are bent on disobedience 
 to my Lady Worrett's wishes — Zounds ! you don't see me diso- 
 bedient to her wishes — but I know whereabouts your objection 
 lies ; — that giddy, dissipated young fellow, his cousin Charles, 
 the son of Sir Rowland Austencourt, has filled your head with 
 nonsensical notions and chimeras of happiness — thank heaven, 
 however he's far enough off at sea. 
 
 Helen. And I think, Sir, that because a man is fighting our 
 battles abroad, he ought not to be the less dear to those whom 
 his courage enables to live in tranquility at home. 
 
 Sir W. That's very true — (Aside.) but I have an unanswera- 
 ble objection to all you can say. Lord Austencourt is rich, and 
 Charles is a beggar! besides, Sir Rowland himself prefers Lord 
 Austencourt. 
 
 Helen. More shame for him — his partial feelings to his 
 nephew, and unnatural disregard of his son, have long since made 
 me hate him — in short — you are for money, and choose Lord Aus- 
 tencourt — I am for love, and prefer his poor cousin. 
 
 Sir W. Then, once for all — (as my Lady Worrett, must be 
 obeyed) — I no longer consult you on the subject, and it only re- 
 mains for you to retain the affection of an .indulgent father by 
 complying with my will — (I mean my wife's) or to abandon my 
 protection. Exit, 1 b. e. h. 
 
 Helen. I won't marry him, papa, I won't — nor I won't cry, 
 though I've a great mind — A plague of all money, say I. Oh •' 
 what a grievous misfortune it is to be born with £12,000 a year ! 
 but if I can't marry the man I like, I won't marry at all, that's 
 determined; and everybody knows the firmness of a woman's 
 resolution, — when she resolves on contradiction. 
 
 Exit, 1 E. K. H. 
 
 CLEAR STAGE. 
 
16 MAN AND "WIFE. 
 
 SCENE III. — O'Dedimus' Office. 
 
 {Boxes round the shelves — O'Dedimus discovered writing at an 
 office table — a few papers and parchments — hand bdl, Qx., 
 in c.) 
 
 Wed. There ! I think I've expressed my meaning quite 
 plainly — (Reads.) "Earmer Flail — I'm instructed by Lord Aus- 
 tencourt, your landlord, to inform you, by word of letter, that if 
 you can't afford to pay the additional rent for your farm, you 
 must turn out." (I think that's clear enough.) " As to your 
 putting in the plea of a large family, we cannot allow that as a 
 set off; because, when a man can't afford to support seven 
 children with decency, he ought not to trouble himself to get 
 them." I think that's plain English — 
 
 " Your humble servant, 
 
 Cornelius O'Dedimus, 
 
 Attorney at Law." 
 
 "P. S. You may show this letter to his lordship, to convince 
 him I have done my duty ; but as I don't mean one word of it, 
 if you'll come to me privately, I'll see what can be done for you 
 without his knowing any thing of the matter," — and I think 
 that's plain English. (O'Dedimus rings a beU.) Ponder ! Now 
 will this fellow be thinking and thinking till he quite forgets 
 what he's doing— Ponder, I say — 
 
 Enter Ponder, 1 e. r. 
 
 Here Ponder, take this letter to Farmer Flail's, and if you see 
 Mrs. Muddle, his neighbor, give my love and duty to her. 
 
 Ponder, (r. h.) Yes, yes, Sir — but at that moment, Sir, I was 
 immersed in thought, if I may be allow'd the expression — I was 
 thinking of the vast difference between lore and law, and yet, how 
 neatly you've spliced them together in your last instructions to 
 your humble servant, Peter Ponder — Clerk ! — Umph ! 
 
 O'Ded. (r. h.) Umph ! is that your manners, you bear- 
 garden 1 Will I never be able to lam you to behave yourself ? 
 Study me, and talk like a gentleman, and be damn'd to ye. 
 
 (x. to r. and back to c.) 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 17 
 
 Ponder, (l. h.) I study the law — I can't talk it! 
 
 O'Ded. Can't you 1 Then you'll never do— If your tongue 
 don't ruu faster than your client's, how will you ever he able to 
 bother him, you booby 1 
 
 Ponder. I'll draw out his case — he shall read, and he'll bother 
 himself! 
 
 O'Ded. You've a notion — mind my instructions and I don t 
 despair of seeing you at the bar one day — was that copy of a 
 writ sarved yesterday upon Garble, the tailor ? 
 
 Ponder. Aye. 
 
 O'Ded. And sarve him right too— that's a big rogue that runs 
 in debt wid his eyes open, and though he has property, refuses to 
 pay — Is he safe ? 
 
 Ponder. He was bailed by Swash, the brewer. 
 
 O'Ded. And was the other sarved on Shuttle, the weaver — 
 
 Ponder. Aye. 
 
 O'Ded. Who bailed him ? 
 
 Ponder. Nobody, he's gone to jail. 
 
 O'Ded. Gone to jail ! Why his poverty is owing to misfor- 
 tune — he can't pay — well that's not our affair — the law must have 
 its course. 
 
 Ponder. So Shuttle said to his wife, as she hung crying on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 O'Ded. That's it, he's a sensible man — and that's more than 
 his wife is — we've nothing to do with women's tears. 
 
 Ponder. Not a bit — so they walked him off to jail in a jiffey, 
 if I may be allowed the expression. 
 
 O'Ded. To be sure, and that was right — they did their duty — 
 though for sartiu if a poor man can't pay his debts when he's at 
 liberty, he won't be much nearer the mark when he's shut up in 
 idleness in a prison. 
 
 Ponder. No ! 
 
 O'Ded. Though when he that sent them there comes to make 
 up his last account, 'tis my belief that he won't be able to shew 
 cause why a bill shouldn't be filed against him for barbarity ! 
 Are the writings all ready for Sir Rowland ? 
 
 Ponder. AH ready — shall I go now to Farmer Flail's with the 
 letter? (x. to l. h.) 
 
 2* 
 
18 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 O'Ded. Aye, and if you see Shuttle's wife in your way, give 
 my service to her, and d'ye hear — as you're a small talker, don't 
 let the little you say be so cursed crabbed ; and if a few kind 
 words of comfort should find their way from your heart to your 
 tongue, don't shut your ugly mouth and keep them within your 
 teeth: you may tell her that if she can find any body to stand up 
 for her husband, I sha'nt be over nice about the sufficiency of the 
 bail — get you gone. 
 
 Ponder. I shall — Let me see ! Farmer Flail! Mrs. Muddle, 
 his neighbor ! Shuttle's wife ! and a whole string of messages 
 and memorandums — here's business enough to bother the brains 
 of any ordinary man ! — you are pleased to say, Sir, that I am too 
 much addicted to thinking — I thiuk not. 
 
 Exit Ponder, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 O'Ded. By my sowl if any attorney wasn't sometimes a bit 
 of a rogue, he'd never be able to earn an honest livelihood — Oh, 
 Mr. O'Dedimus! why have you so little, when your heart could 
 distribute so much ? 
 
 Sir Rowland, without, 1 e. l. 
 
 Sir R. Mr. O'Dedimus — within there ! 
 O'Ded. Yes ! I'm within there. 
 
 Enter Sir Rowland, 1 e. l. 
 
 Sir R. Where are these papers 1 I thought the law's delay 
 was only felt by those who could not pay for its expedition. 
 
 O'Ded. The law, Sir Rowland, is a good horse, and his pace 
 is slow and sure, but he goes no faster because you goad him 
 with a golden spur ; but every thing is prepared, Sir — and now, 
 Sir Rowland, I have an ugly sort of an awkward affair to men- 
 tion to you — 
 
 Sir R. Does it concern me ? 
 
 O'Ded. You know, Sir Rowland, at the death of my worthy 
 friend, the late Lord Austencourt, you were left sole executor 
 and guardian to his son, the present Lord, then an infant of three 
 years of age. 
 
 Sir R. What does this lead to ? (Starting.) 
 
 O'Ded. With a disinterested view to benefit the estate of the 
 
MAN AND "WIFE. 19 
 
 minor, who came of age the other day ; you some time ago em- 
 barked a capital of £14,000 in a great undertaking. 
 Sir R. Proceed. * 
 
 O'Ded. I have this morning received a letter from the agent, 
 stating the whole concern to have failed — the partners to be bank- 
 rupts — and the property consigned to assignees not to promise, 
 as a final dividend, more than one shilling in the pound — this 
 letter will explain the rest. 
 
 Sir R. How ! I was not prepared for this ? What's to be 
 done* 
 
 O'Ded. When one loses a sum of money that isn't one's own, 
 there's but one thing to be done. 
 
 Sir R. And what is that ? 
 
 O'Ded. To pay it back again ! 
 
 SirR, You know that to be impossible — utterly impossible. 
 
 O'Ded. Then, Sir Rowland, take the word of Cornelius 
 O'Dedimus, attorney at law, his lordship will rigidly exact the 
 money to the uttermost farthing. 
 
 Sir R. You are fond, Sir, of throwing out these hints to his 
 disadvantage. 
 
 O'Ded. I am bold to speak it — I am possessed of a secret, Sir 
 Rowland, in regard to his lordship. 
 
 Sir R. (Alarmed ) What is it you mean ? 
 
 O'Ded. I thought I told you it was a secret. 
 
 Sir R. But to me you should have no secrets that regard my 
 family. 
 
 O'Ded. With submission, Sir Rowland, his lordship is my 
 client, as well as yourself, and I have learned from the practice 
 of the courts, that an attorney who blabs in his business, has soon 
 no suit to his back. 
 
 Sir R. But this affair perhaps involves my deepest interest — 
 my character — my all is at stake. 
 
 O'Ded. Have done wid your pumping now — d'ye think I am 
 a basket full of cinders, that I'm to be sifted after this fashion ? 
 
 Sir R. Answer but this — does it relate to Charles — my son ? 
 
 O'Ded. Sartinly, the young gentleman has a small bit of in- 
 terest in the question. 
 
 Sir R. One thing more. Does it allude to a transaction 
 which happened some years ago — am I a principal concerned 
 in it? 
 
20 MAN AND •WIFE. 
 
 O'Ded. Devil a ha'porth — it happened only six months past. 
 
 Sir R. Enough — I breathe again, (x. to r. h.) 
 
 O'Ded. I'm glad of that, for may-be you'll now let me breathe 
 to tell ye that as I know Lord Austencourt's private character 
 better than you do— my life to a bundle of parchment, he'll even 
 arrest ye for the money. 
 
 Sir R, Impossible ! he cannot be such a villain ! 
 
 Abel Growse, without, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 Abel G. What ho ! is the lawyer within ? 
 
 Sir R. Who interrupts us 1 
 
 O'Ded. 'Tis the strange man that lives on the common — his 
 name is Abel Growse ; he's coming up. 
 
 Sir R. I'll wait till you dismiss him, for I cannot encounter 
 any one at present ; misfortunes crowd upon me — And one act 
 of guilt has drawn the vengeance of heaven on my head, and 
 will pursue me to the grave. 
 
 Exit to an inner room^ R. D. F. 
 
 O'Ded. Och, if a small gale of adversity blows up such a 
 storm as this, we shall have a pretty hurricane by-and-bye when 
 you larn a little more of your hopeful nephew, and see his new 
 matrimonial scheme fall to the ground like butter-milk through 
 a sieve. 
 
 Enter Abel Growse, 1 e. l. 
 
 Abel G. Now, Sir — You are jackall, as I take it, to Lord 
 Austencourt. 
 
 O'Ded. I am his man of business, sure enough ; but didn't 
 hear before of my promotion to the office you mention. 
 
 Abel G. You are possessed of all his secret deeds. 
 
 O'Ded. That's a small mistake ; I have but one of them, and 
 that's the deed of settlement on Miss Helen Worrett, spinster. 
 
 Abel G. Leave your quibbling, sir, and speak plump to the 
 point — if habit hasn't hardened your heart, and given a system 
 to your knavery, answer me this — Lord Austencourt has private- 
 ly married my daughter ? 
 
 O'Ded. Hush ! 
 
 Abel G. You were a witness. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 21 
 
 O'Ded. Has any body told you that thing ? 
 
 Abel G. Will you deny it ? 
 
 O'Ded. Will you take a friend's advice ? 
 
 Abel G. I didn't come for advice. I came to know if you 
 will confess the fact, or whether you are villain enough to con- 
 ceal it. 
 
 O'Ded. Have done with your bawling — Sir Rowland's in the 
 next room ! 
 
 Abel G. Is he ? then Sir Rowland shall hear me — (x. to r. h.) 
 Sir Rowland ! he shall see my daughter righted — Ho there ! Sir 
 Rowland ! 
 
 O'Ded, [Aside.) Here '11 be a divil of a dust kicked up pres- 
 ently about the ears of Mr. Cornelius O'Dedimus, attorney at 
 
 law! 
 
 Enter Sir Rowland, d. e. r. h. 
 
 SirR. (r.) Who calls me? 
 
 Abel G. (c.) 'Twas I ! 
 
 Sir R. What is it you want, friend ? 
 
 Abel G. Justice ! 
 
 Sir R. (r.) Justice ! then you had better apply there. {Point- 
 ing to Dedimus, who comes doion, L. H.) 
 
 Abel G. (c.) That's a mistake — he deals only in law, 'tis to 
 you that I appeal — your nephew, Lord Austencourt, is about to 
 marry the daughter of Sir Willoughby Worrett. 
 
 Sir R. He is ! 
 
 Abel G. Never ! I will save him the guilt of that crime at 
 least ! 
 
 Sir R. You are mysterious, Sir. 
 
 Abel G. Perhaps I am. Briefly — your nephew is privately 
 married to my daughter — this man was present at their union — 
 will you see justice done me, and make him honorably proclaim 
 his wife. 
 
 Sir R. Your tale is incredible, Sir — It is sufficient however 
 to demand attention, and I warn you lest by your folly you rouse 
 an indignation that may crush you. 
 
 Abel G. Hear me, proud man, while I warn you ! my daughter 
 is the lawful wife of Lord Austencourt — double is the woe to me 
 that she is his wife — but as it is so, he shall publicly acknowledge 
 
22 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 her — (x. l. h.) to you I look for justice and redress — see to it, 
 Sir, or I shall speedily appear in a new character, with my 
 wrongs in ray hand, to hurl destruction ou you ! 
 
 Exit, 1 E. L. H. 
 
 Sir R. What docs the fellow mean ? 
 
 O'Ded. That's just what I'm thinking — 
 
 Sir R. You, he said, were privy to their marriage. 
 
 O'Ded. Bless ye, the man 's mad ! 
 
 Sir R. Ha ! you said you had a secret respecting my nephew. 
 
 O'Ded. Sir, if you go on so, you'll bother me ! 
 
 Sir R. The fellow must be silenced — can you not contrive 
 some means to rid us of his insolence ? 
 
 O'Ded. Sir, I shall do my duty, as my duty should be done, 
 by Cornelius O'Dedimus, attorney at law. 
 
 Sir R. (x. to l. h.) My nephew must not hear of this accursed 
 loss — be secret on that head, I charge you ! But in regard to 
 this mans bold assertion, I must consult him instantly — haste 
 and follow me to his house. Exit, I.e. l. h. 
 
 O'Ded. Take me wid ye, Sir ; for this is such a dirty busi- 
 ness, that I'll never be able to go through it unless you shew me 
 the way. Exit, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 END OF ACT ONE. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 23 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A library at Sir Willoughby's. 
 
 (Table and two chairs, c. Helen discovered seated R. oj 
 table, with William in attendance, l.) 
 
 Helen. Lord Austencourt — true — this is his hoar for perse- 
 cuting me — very well, desire Lord Austencourt to come in. 
 
 Exit William, 1 E. l. 
 
 Helen. I won't many ! They all say I shall. Some girls 
 now would sit down and sigh, and moan, as if that would mend 
 the matter — that will never suit me ? Some indeed would run 
 away with the man they liked better — but then the only man I 
 ever liked well enough to marry — is — I believe, run away from 
 me. Well ! that won't do ! — I'll e'en laugh it off as well as I 
 can; and though I won't marry his lordship, I'll tease him as 
 heartily as if I had been his wife for twenty years. 
 
 Enter Lord Austencourt, 1 e. l. 
 
 Lord A. Helen ! too lovely Helen ! once more behold before 
 you to supplicate for your love and pity, the man whom the 
 world calls proud, but whom your beauty alone has humbled. 
 
 Helen. They say, my lord, that pride always has a fall some 
 time or other. I hope the fall of your lordship's hasn't hurt you. 
 
 Lord A. Is it possible that the amiable Helen, so famed for 
 gentleness and goodness, can see the victim of her charms thus 
 dejected stand before her"? 
 
 Helen. Certainly not, my lord — so pray sit dawn. {They sit 
 in c.) 
 
 Lord A. Will you never be for one moment serious 1 
 
 Helen. Oh, yes, my lord — I am never otherwise when I think 
 of your lordship's proposals — but when you are making love 
 and fine speeches to me in person, 'tis with amazing difficulty I 
 can help laughing. 
 
 Lord A. Insolent vixen, ( Aside.) I had indulged a hope, ma- 
 dam, that the generosity and disinterested love I have evinced — 
 
 Helen. Why as to your lordship's generosity in condescend- 
 
24 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 ing to marry a poor solitary spinster, I am certainly most duly 
 grateful — and no one can possibly doubt your disinterestedness, 
 who knows I am only heiress to 12,0001. a year — a fortune which, 
 as I take it, nearly doubles the whole of your lordship's rent 
 roll! 
 
 Lord A. Really, madam, if I am suspected of any mercenary 
 motives, the liberal settlements which are now ready for your 
 perusal, must immediately remove any such suspicion. 
 
 Helen. Oh, my lord, you certainly mistake me — only as my 
 papa observes, our estates do join so charmingly to one anoiht r ! 
 
 Lord A. Yes: — that circumstance is certainly advantageous 
 to both parties. (Exultingly.) 
 
 Helen. Certainly! — only, as mine is the bigest, perhaps your's 
 would be the greatest gainer by the bargain. 
 
 Lord A. My dear Madam, a title and the advantages of ele- 
 vation in rank amply compensate the sacrifice on your part. 
 
 Helen. Why. as to a title, my lord fas Mr. O'Dedimus, your 
 attorney observes,) there's no title in my mind better than a good 
 title to a fine estate— and I see plainly, that although your lord- 
 ship is a peer of the realm — you think this title of mine no mean 
 companion for your own. 
 
 Lord A. Nay, Madam — believe me— I protest, I assure you, 
 solemnly, that those considerations have very little, indeed, no 
 influence at all with me. 
 
 Helen. Oh, no ! — only it is natural that you should feel (as 
 papa again observes) that the contiguity of these estates seems to 
 invite a union by a marriage between us. 
 
 Lord A. And if you admit that fact — why do you decline the 
 invitation 1 
 
 //■ It a. Why, one doesn't accept every invitation that's offered, 
 you know — one sometimes has very disagreeable ones ; and then 
 one presents compliments, and is extremely sorry that a previous 
 engagement obliges us to decline the honor. 
 
 Lord A. (Aside.) Confound the satirical hussey. But should not 
 the wishes of your parents have some weight in the scale ? 
 
 Helen. Why, so they have ; their wishes are in one scale, and 
 mine are in the other; do all I can, I can't make mine weigh 
 most, and so the beam remains balanced. 
 
MAN AND "WIFE. 25 
 
 Lord A. I should be sorry to make theirs preponderate, by 
 calling in their authority as auxiliaries to their wishes. 
 
 Helen. Authority !— Ho ! what, you think to marry me by 
 force ! do ye my lord ? 
 Lord A. They are resolute— and if you continue obstinate— 
 Helen. I dare say your lordship's education hasn't precluded 
 jour knowledge of a very true, though rather vulgar proverb— 
 " one man may lead a horse to the water, but twenty can't make 
 him drink." 
 
 Lord A. The allusion may be classical, Madam, though cer- 
 tainly it is not very elegant— nor has it even the advantage of 
 being applicable to the point in question. However, I do not 
 despair to see this resolution changed. In the mean time, I did 
 not think it in your nature to treat any man who loves you with 
 cruelty and scorn. 
 
 Helen. Then, why don't you desist, my lord ? If you'd take 
 an answer, you had a civil one ; but if you will follow and teaze 
 one, like a sturdy beggar in the street, you must expect at last a 
 reproof for your impertinence. 
 
 Lord A. Yet even* in their case perseverance often obtains 
 what was denied to poverty. 
 
 Helen. Yes. possibly, from the feeble or the vain. But gen- 
 uine Charity, and her sister, Love, act only from their own gen- 
 erous impulse, and scorn intimidation. 
 
 Enter Tiffany, 1 e. e. 
 Tiffany. Are you alone, Madam ? 
 Helen. No ; I was only wishing to be so. 
 Ti ff- A young woman is without, enquiring for Sir Willough- 
 by, Ma'am ; I thought he had been here. 
 Helen. Do you know her ? 
 
 Tiff. Yes, Ma'am; 'tis Fanny, the daughter of the odd man 
 that lives on the common. 
 Helen. I'll see her myself — desire her to walk up. 
 
 Exit Tiffany, 1 e. e. 
 Lord A. (Seems uneasy.) Indeed ! what brings her here ? 
 Helen. Why, what can be the matter now, your lordship seems 
 quite melancholy on a sudden. 
 3 
 
26 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Lord A. I, madam ! oh no ! — or if I am— 'tis merely a head 
 ac he — or some such cause — or perhaps owing to the influence of 
 the weather. 
 
 Helen. Your lordship is a very susceptible barometer — when 
 you entered this room your countenance was set fair — but now I 
 see the index points to stormy. 
 
 Lord A. Madam, you have company, or business — a good 
 morning to you. 
 
 Helen. Stay, stay, my lord. 
 
 Lord A. Excuse me at present, I have an important affair — 
 another time. 
 
 Helen. Surely, my lord, the arrival of this innocent girl does 
 not drive you away ? 
 
 Lord A. Bless me, madam, what an idea ! certainly not — but 
 
 1 have just recollected an engagement of consequence — some 
 
 other time — Madam, your most obedient — 
 
 Exit, 1 E. L. H. 
 
 Enter Fanny, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Fanny. I beg pardon, madam, I'm fearful I intrude — but I en- 
 quired for Sir Willoughby, and they shewed me to this room — 
 I wished to speak with him on particular business — your servant, 
 madam. 
 
 Helen. Pray stay, my good girl ; I rejoice in this opportunity 
 of becoming acquainted with you ; the character I have heard of 
 you. has excited an affectionate interest — you must allow me 
 to become your friend. 
 
 Fanny. Indeed, indeed, madam, I am in want of friends ; but 
 you can never be one of them. 
 
 Helen. No ! Why so ? 
 
 Fanny. You, madam ! Oh no — you are the only enemy I ever 
 had. 
 
 Helen. Enemy ! This is very extraordinary ! I have scarce 
 ever seen you before — assuredly I never injured you. 
 
 Fanny. Heaven forbid I should wish any one to injure you as 
 deeply ! 
 
 Helen. I cannot understand you ; pray explain yourself? 
 
 Fanny. That's impossible, madam — my lord would never for- 
 give me ! 
 
MAN AND "WIFE. 27 
 
 Helen. Your lord ! Let me entreat you to explain your 
 meaning. 
 
 Fanny. I cannot, madam ; I came hither on business of im- 
 portance, and no trifling business should have brought me to a 
 house inhabited by one who is the cause of all my wretchedness. 
 
 Helen. This is a most extraordinary affair ! There is a mix- 
 ture of cultivation and simplicity in your manner that affects me 
 strongly — I see, my poor g:rl, you are distressed ; and though 
 what you have said leaves on my mind a painful suspicion — 
 
 Fanny. Oh heavens, madam ! stay, I beseech you ! I am not 
 what you think me, indeed I am not ; I must not, for a moment, 
 let you think of me so injuriously — Yet I have promised secrecy ! 
 but sure no promise can be binding, when to keep it we must 
 sacrifice all that is valuable in life — Hear me, then, Madam — 
 The struggle is violent, but I owe it to myself to acknowledge 
 all. 
 
 Helen. No, no, my dear girl ! I now see what it would cost 
 you to reveal your secret, and I will not listen to it ; rest assured, 
 I have no longer a thought to your disadvantage : Curiosity 
 gives place to interest, for though 'tis cruelty to inflict a wound, 
 'tis still more deliberate barbarity to probe when we cannot hope 
 to heal it. (x. to r. h.) 
 
 Fanny, (l. h.) Stay, madam, stay — your generosity overpowers 
 me ! oh, madam ! you know not how wretched I am. 
 
 Helen, (r. h.) What is it affects you thus ? Come, if your 
 story is of a nature that may be revealed, you are sure of sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 Fanny. I never should have doubted ; but my father has 
 alarmed me sadly — he says, my Lord Austencourt is certainly on 
 the point of marriage with you. 
 
 Helen. And how, my dear girl, if it were so, could that affect, 
 you ; come, you must be explicit. 
 
 Fanny. Affect me ! merciful heaven ! can I see him wed 
 another 1 He is my husband by every tie sacred and human. 
 
 Helen. Suffering, but too credulous girl ! have you then trust- 
 ed to his vows ? 
 
 Fanny. How, madam ! was I to blame — loving as I did — to 
 trust in vows so solemn : could I suppose he would dare to 
 break them, because our marriage was performed in secret? 
 
28 MAN AND ^VIFE. 
 
 Helen. Your marriage, child ! good heavens, you amaze me ! 
 but here we may be interrupted — this way with me — If this in- 
 deed be so, all may be well again ; for though he may be dead 
 to feeling, be assured he is alive to fear : the man who once 
 descends to be a villain is generally observed to be at heart, a 
 coward. Exeunt, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 SCENE II. — A landscape, 4 G. A Country Inn, on l. h. 3 E. 
 
 (Ponder discovered sitting on a portmanteau, in c.) 
 
 Ponder. I've heard that intense thinking has driven some 
 philosophers mad ! now if this should happen to me, 'twill never 
 be the fate of my young patron, Mr. Charles Austencourt, whom 
 I have suddenly met on his sudden return from sea, and who 
 never thinks at all — Poor gentleman, he little thinks what 
 
 Enter Charles Austencourt, from Inn, 3 e. l. 
 
 Charles. Not gone yet 1 How comes it you are not on the 
 road to my father ? Is the fellow deaf or dumb. Ponder ! are 
 ye asleep 1 
 
 Ponder. I'm thinking, whether I am or not. 
 
 Charles. And what wise scheme occupies your thoughts 1 
 
 Ponder. Sir, I confess the subject is beneath me. (Pointing to 
 the portmanteau.) 
 
 Charles. The weight of the portmanteau, I suppose, alarms 
 you. 
 
 Ponder. If that was my heaviest misfortune, Sir, I could 
 carry double with all my heart. No, Sir — I was thinking that 
 as your father, Sir Rowland, sent you on a cruise for some cause 
 best known to himself; and as you have thought proper to return 
 for some cause best known to yourself, the chances of war (if I 
 may be allowed the expression) are, that the contents of that 
 trunk will be your only inheritance — or in other words, that your 
 father will cut you off with a shilling — and now I'm thinking — 
 
 Charles. No doubt — thinking takes up so many of your wak- 
 ing hours, that you seldom find time for doing. And so you 
 have, since my departure, turned your thinking faculties to the 
 law. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 29 
 
 Ponder. Yes, Sir; when you gave me notice to quit, 1 found 
 it so hard to live honestly, that lest the law should take to me, I 
 took to the law ; and so articled myself to Mr. O'Dedimus, the 
 attorney in our town : but there is a thought unconnected with 
 law that has occupied my head every moment since we met. 
 
 Charles. Pr'ythee dismiss your thoughts, and get your legs in 
 motion. 
 
 Ponder. Then, Sir, I have really been thinking, ever since I 
 saw you, that you are a little — ( Going off to a distance.) a little 
 odd hereabouts, Sir? (Pointing to his head.) a little damned mad, 
 if I may be allowed the expression ! 
 
 Charles. Ha ! ha ! very probably ! my sudden return, without 
 a motive as you suppose, has put that wise notion in your head. 
 
 Ponder. Without a motive ! No, sir, I believe I know tolerably 
 well the motive. The old story, Sir — Ha ! — Love ! 
 
 Charles. Love ? And pray, sirrah, how do you dare to pre- 
 sume to suppose, that I — that I can be guilty of such a folly — 
 I should be glad to know how you dare venture to think that I — 
 
 Ponder. Lord bless you, Sir, I discovered it before you left 
 the country. 
 
 Charles. Indeed ! and by what symptoms, pray t 
 
 Ponder. The old symptoms, Sir — In the first place, frequent 
 fits of my complaint. 
 
 Charles. Your complaint ! 
 
 Ponder. Yes — thinking ! — long reveries— sudden starts — sen- 
 timental sighs — fits of unobserving absence — fidgets aDd fevers — 
 orders and counter-orders — loss of memory — loss of appetite — 
 loss of rest, and loss of your senses, if I may be allowed the 
 expression. 
 
 Charles. No, Sir — you may not be allowed the expression — 
 'tis impertinent, 'tis false. I never was unobserving or absent — 
 I never had the fidgets — I never once mentioned the name of 
 my adored Helen ; and, heigho ! I never sighed for her in my 
 life! 
 
 Ponder. Nor I, Sir ; though I've been married these three 
 years, I never once sighed for my dear wife in all that time — 
 heigho ! 
 
 Charles. I mustn't be angry with the fellow. Why, I took you 
 
 3* 
 
30 MAN AND "WIFE. 
 
 for an unobserving blockhead, or I never would have trusted you 
 so near me. 
 
 Ponder. Then, Sir, you ?w's-took rue — I fancy it was in one of 
 your most decided unobserving fits that you took me for a block- 
 head. 
 
 Charles. "Well, Sir — I see you have discovered my secret ; act 
 wisely, and it may be of service to you. 
 
 Ponder. Sir, I haven't studied the law for nothing. I'm no 
 fool, if I may be allowed the expression. 
 
 Charles. I begin to suspect you have penetration enough to be 
 useful to me. 
 
 Ponder. And craving your pardon, Sir, I begin to suspect 
 your want of that faculty, from your not having found out that 
 before. 
 
 Charles. I will now trust you, although once my servant, with 
 the state of my heart. 
 
 Ponder. Sir, that's very kind of you to trust your humble ser- 
 vant with a secret he had himself discovered ten months ago. 
 Charles. Keep it with honor and prudence. 
 Ponder. Sir, I have kept it — nobody knows of it that I know 
 of, except a few of your friends — many of your enemies — most 
 travelling strangers, and all your neighbors. 
 
 Charles. Why, Zounds ! — you don't mean to say that any 
 body, except yourself, suspects me to be in love. 
 
 Ponder. Suspects ! no, Sir ! — Suspicion is out of the question ; 
 it is taken as a proved fact in all society — a bill found by every 
 grand jury in the county. 
 
 Charles. The devil it is ! — Zounds ! — I shall never be able to 
 show my face — this will never do — my boasted disdain of ever 
 bowing to the power of love — How ridiculous will it now render 
 me — While the mystery and sacred secrecy of this attachment 
 constituted the chief delight it gave to the refinement of my feel- 
 ings — ! (x. to r. h.) I'll off to sea again ! — I won't stay here 
 — Order a post-chaise — No — Yes — Achaise-and-four — d'ye hear ? 
 Ponder. Yes, Sir — but I'm thinking — 
 Cliarlcs. What 1 
 
 Ponder. That it is possible you may alter your mind. 
 Charles. No such thing, Sir — I'll set off this moment — order 
 the chaise, I say — 
 
MAN AND WIPE. 31 
 
 Ponder. Thinking of it again, Sir. 
 
 Charles. Will you obey my orders, or not ? 
 
 Ponder. I think I will. (Aside.) Poor gentleman, now I could 
 blow him up into a blaze in a minute, by telling that his mis- 
 tress is just on the point of marriage with his cousin, but tho' 
 they say " ill news travels apace," they shall never say that I 
 rode postillion on the occasion. (Exit into Inn, 3 e. l. h.) 
 
 Charles. Here's a discovery ! — all my delicate management 
 destroyed — known all over the country — I'm off! and yet to have 
 travelled so far, and not to have one glimpse of her ! but then to 
 be pointed at as a poor devil in love — a silly inconsistent boaster 
 — no that won't do — but then I may see her — yes — I'll see her 
 once— just once — for three minutes — or three minutes and a half 
 at most — no longer, positively — Ponder, Ponder! 
 
 Enter Ponder, 3 e. l. h. 
 
 Ponder, I say — 
 
 Ponder. I wish you wou'dn't interrupt me, for — I'm think- 
 ing— 
 
 Charles. Damn your thinking, Sir. 
 
 Ponder. I was only thinking that you may have altered your 
 mind already. 
 
 Charles. I have not altered my mind. But since I am here, I 
 should be wanting in duty not to pay my respects to my father ; 
 so march on with the trunk, Sir. 
 
 Ponder. Yes, Sir; (x. to r.) but if that's all you want to do, 
 Sir, you may spare yourself the trouble of going further, for 
 most fortunately here he comes, and your noble cousin, Lord 
 Austencourt, with him — 
 
 Charles, (l. h.) The Devil ! 
 
 Ponder, (e. h.) Yes, Sir — the devil— and his uncle, your 
 father, if I may be allowed the expression. 
 
 Enter Sir Rowland and Lord Austencourt, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 (Ponder bows as they pass him, then goes off a. with port- 
 manteau.) 
 
 Charles, (l. h.) My dear father, I am heartily glad to see 
 you — 
 
32 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Sir R. (c.) How this, Charles ! Returned thus unexpect- 
 edly? 
 
 Charles. Unexpected pleasure, they say, Sir, is always most 
 welcome ; I hope you find it so. 
 
 Sir R. This conduct, youngster, requires explanation. 
 
 Charles. Sir, I have it already at my tongue's end. My lord 
 I ask your pardon ; I'm glad to see you too — (x. to centre.) 
 
 Lord A. (r.) I wish, Sir, I could return the compliment; 
 but this extraordinary conduct — 
 
 Charles, (c.) No apologies, my lord, for your civil speech; 
 you might easily have returned the compliment in the same 
 words, and, believe me, with as much sincerity as it was ottered. 
 
 Sir R. (l. h.) This is no time for dissension, Sir. 
 
 Lord A. My cousin forgets, Sir Rowland, that although united 
 by ties of consanguinity, birth and fortune have placed me in a 
 station which commands some respect. 
 
 Charles. No, my lord, for I also am in a station where I too 
 command respect — where I respect and am respected. I therefore 
 well know what is due to my superiors ; and this duty I never 
 forget, till those above me forget what they owe to themselves. 
 
 Lord A. (e. h.) I am not aware, good cousin, that I have 
 ever yet forfeited my title to the respect 1 claim. 
 
 Charles. You have, my lord; for high rank forfeits every 
 claim to distinction when it exacts submissive humility from 
 those beneath it, while at the same time it refuses a graceful con- 
 descension in exchange. 
 
 Sir R. Charles, Charles, these sentiments but ill become the 
 dependent state in which fortune has placed you. 
 
 Charles. Dependent state ! Dependent upon whom ? What, 
 on him — my titled, tawdry cousin there ? What are his preten- 
 sions that he shall presume to brand me as a poor dependent ? 
 What are his claims to independence ? How does he spend the 
 income fortune has allotted to him ? Does he rejoice to revive 
 in the mansion of his ancestors the spirit of old English hospi- 
 tality — do the eyes of aged tenants twinkle with joy when they 
 hope his coming — do the poor bless his arrival ? I say no ; he 
 is the lord of land, and is also, what he seems still more proud 
 of, a lord of parliament; but I will front him in both capacities, 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 33 
 
 and frankly fell him, that in the first he is a burthen to his own 
 estate, and not a benefactor — and in the second, a peer, but not a 
 prop. 
 
 Sir R. (l. n.) Charles, how dare you thus persevere 1 You 
 cannot deny, rash and foolish boy, that you are in a dependent 
 state — your very profession proves it. 
 
 Charles, (c.) O, father, spare that insult — the profession I 
 glory to belong to, is above dependence. Yes ! while we live and 
 fight, we feel, and gratefully acknowledge, that our pay depends 
 on our king and country, and therefore you may style us depend- 
 ent ; but, in the hour of battle, we wish for nothing more than to 
 show that the glory and safety of the nation depends on us — and 
 by our death or blood to repay all previous obligation. 
 
 Sir R. Dismiss this subject. 
 
 Charles. With all my heart. My cousin was the subject, and 
 he's a fatiguing one. 
 
 Sir R. (l. h.) Though you do not love your cousin, you 
 ought to pay that deference to his rank, which you refuse to his 
 person. 
 
 Charles, (c.) Sir, I do — like a fine mansion in the hands of a 
 bad inhabitant — I admire the building, but despise the tenant. 
 
 Lord A. (r. h.) This insolence is intolerable, and will not 
 be forgotten ! You may find, hot Sir, that where my friendship 
 is despised, my resentment may be feared. I well know the 
 latent motives for this insult — it is the language of a losing 
 gamester, and is treated with deserved contempt by a successful 
 rival. (Exit, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Charles. Ha! successful rival ! — is this possible 1 ? 
 
 Sir R. It is — the treaty of marriage between Lord Austen- 
 court and Helen is this morning concluded. 
 
 Charles. And does she consent ? 
 
 Sir R. There can be little doubt of that. 
 
 Charles. But little doubt ! False Helen ! — Come ! Come ! I 
 know my Helen better. 
 
 Sir R. I repeat my words, Sir. It is not the curse of every 
 parent to have a disobedient child. 
 
 Charles. By heaven, Sir, that reflection cuts me to the heart ; 
 you have ever found in me the obedience, nay more, the affection 
 
34 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 of a son, 'till circumstance on circumstance convinced me, I no 
 longer possessed the affection of a father. 
 
 Sir R. Charles, we are too warm, I feel that I have in some 
 degree merited your severe reproof; give me your hand, and to 
 convince you that you undervalue my feelings towards you, I 
 will now confess that I have been employed during your absence, 
 in planning an arrangement which will place you above the malice 
 of fortune. You know our neighbor, Mrs. Richland ? 
 
 Charles. What, the gay widow with a fat jointure ? "What 
 of her ? 
 
 Sir R. She will make not only a rich, but a good wife. I 
 know she likes you — I'm sure of it. 
 
 Charles. Likes me ? 
 
 Sir R. I am convinced she does. 
 
 Charles. But — what the devil — she doesn't mean to marry 
 me, surely ? 
 
 Sir R. That will, I am convinced, depend upon yourself — 
 
 Charles. "Will it? — then by the Lord, though 1 sincerely 
 esteem her, I shall make my bow, and decline the honor at once. 
 No, Sir ; the heart is my aim, and all the gold I care for in the 
 hand that gives it, is the modest ring that encompasses the finger, 
 and marks that hand as mine for ever. (x. to l. ii.) 
 
 Sir R. Thus I see another of my prospects blighted ! unduti- 
 ful, degenerate boy ! your folly and obstinacy will punish them- 
 selves — answer me not — think of the proposal I havo made 
 you ! obey your father's will, or for ever I renounce you. 
 
 Exit, 1 E. L. H. 
 
 Charles. Whoo ! here's a whirligig ! — I've drifted on to a 
 pleasant lee shore here ! Helen betrothed to another ! ! — Impos- 
 sible — Oh, Helen ! Helen ! Zounds ! I'm going to make a solilo- 
 quy! this will never do — no — I'll see Helen — upbraid her false- 
 hood — drop one tear to her memory — regain my frigate — seek 
 the enemy — fight like a true sailor — die like a man, and leave my 
 character and memory to my friends — and my blessings and for- 
 giveness to Helen. Exit, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 END OF ACT TWO. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 35 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 O'Dedimus' Office — Ponder discovered seated, R. v. table. 
 
 Ponder- So ! having executed my commission, let me think 
 a little — (Sits doion) for certain I and my master are two pre- 
 cious rogues. (Pauses.) I wonder whether or not we shall be 
 discovered as assistants in this sham marriage. (Pauses.) If 
 we are, we shall be either transported or hanged, I wonder 
 which : — My lord's bribe, however, was convenient ; and in 
 all cases of conscience versus convenience, 'tis the general rule of 
 practice to nonsuit the plaintiff. Ha ! who's here ? The poor 
 girl herself. 
 
 Enter Fanny, 1 e. l. 
 
 I pity her ; but I've been bribed ; so I must be honest. 
 
 Fanny. Oh, Sir, I'm in sad distress — my father has dis- 
 covered my intercourse with Lord Austencourt, and says, he 
 is sure my lord means to deny our marriage ; but I have told 
 him, as you and your master were present, I am sure you will 
 both be ready to prove it, should my lord act so basely. 
 
 Ponder. I must mind my hits here, ^ r j s h a u g e t myself into 
 a confounded scrape — ready to do what, did you say, ma'am ? 
 to prove your marriage ? 
 
 Fanny. Yes — as you both were present — 
 
 Ponder. Present ! me ! Lord bless me, what is it you mean ? 
 Marriage ! prove ! me ! present ! 
 
 Fanny. Why do you hesitate — come, come — you do but 
 jest with me — you cannot have forgotten it — 
 
 Ponder. Hey ? why no ! but I can't say I remember it — 
 
 Fanny. Sure, sure, you cannot have the barbarity to deny 
 that you were a witness to the ceremony ! 
 
 Ponder. I may be mistaken — I've a remarkably short mem- 
 ory — but to the best of my recollection, I certainly — 
 
 Fanny. Aye — you recollect it — 
 
 Ponder. I certainly never was present — 
 
 Fanny. Cruel — you were — indeed, indeed you were. 
 
36 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Ponder. But at one wedding in my life. 
 
 Fanny. And that was mine — 
 
 Ponder. No, that was mine. 
 
 Fanny. Merciful heaven ! I see my fate — it is disgrace and 
 misery ? 
 
 Ponder. Bless you, if I could remember it — but I can't — 
 however I'll speak to my master about it ; if he recollects it, I 
 dare say / shall. 
 
 Fanny. I have then no hope — and the fate of the hapless 
 Fanny is decided. 
 
 Ponder. Ha! yonder I see comes my master and his lord- 
 ship. I wonder what they are thinking of — they're coming 
 this way — / think we had better retire. 
 
 Fanny. Oh hide me, hide me ! in any corner let me hide 
 my head, from scorn, from misery, and-most of all, from him — 
 
 Ponder. You can't escape that way, so you must come this 
 — they won't think of coining here. (Puts her into room, ». f. 
 e. u.) Poor girl ! I've a great mind to confess the whole 
 affair. What shall I get by that ? Nothing ! oh ! that's con- 
 trary to law ! Exit, 1 e. r. 
 
 Enter Lord Atjstencoum and O'Dedimus, 1 e. l. 
 
 Lord A. (l. h.) Are you certain no one can overhear us ? 
 
 O'Ded. There's nobody can hear us except my old house- 
 keeper, and she's as deaf as St. Dunstan's clock strikers. 
 
 Lord A. There is no time to be lost. You must imme- 
 diately repair t~> Fanny — tell her my affection is unabated — tell 
 her I shall ever love her, and make her such pecuniary offers, 
 as shall convince her of my esteem and affection ; but we must 
 meet no more. (Fanny utters a cry behind, d. f. r. h.) 
 
 O'Ded. What's that? 
 
 Lord A. We are betrayed ! 
 
 O'Ded. Och ! 'tis only my old housekeeper. 
 
 Lord A. Your housekeeper ! I thought you told me she was 
 deaf. 
 
 O'Ded. Yes — but she isn't dumb — divil a word can she hear 
 for sartin, but she's apt to say a great many, and so we may 
 proceed. 
 
MAN AND "WIFE. 
 
 37 
 
 Lord A. You will easily accomplish this business with 
 Fanny. 
 
 O'Ded. I am afraid not— to tell you the truth my lord, I 
 don't like the job. 
 
 Lord A. Indeed— and why, Sir ? 
 
 O'Ded. Somehow, when I see a poor girl with her pretty 
 little eyes brim full of tears, which I think have no business 
 to be there, I'm more apt to be busy in wiping them away, 
 than in saying cruel things that will make them flow faster— 
 you had better tell her all this yourself, my lord. 
 
 Lord A. That, Sir, is impossible— if you decline it, I shall 
 find some one less delicate. 
 
 O'Ded. There's reason in that, and if you send another to 
 her, he may not be quite so delicate, as you say ; so I'll even 
 undertake it myself. 
 
 Lord A. The poor girl disposed of— If the old fool, her 
 father, will be thus clamorous, we must not be nice as to the 
 means of silencing him— money, I suppose, is his object. 
 
 O'Ded. May be not— if a rich man by accident disables a 
 poor man from working, money may make him easy— but 
 when his feelings are deliberately tortured, devil fly away with 
 the mercenary miser, if he will take shining dirt as a compen- 
 sation for cruelty. 
 
 Lord A. I can dispense with moral reflections— It may 
 serve your purpose elsewhere, but to me, who know your 
 practice, your preaching is ridiculous. What is it you pro- 
 pose ? If the fellow won't be satisfied by money he must be 
 removed. 
 
 O'Ded. Faith, 'tis a new way, sure enough, to make repara- 
 tion to the feelings of a father, after having seduced his daugh- 
 ter under the plea of a false marriage— performed by a sham 
 priest, and a forged license ! 
 
 Fanny. (Behind, d. f. k. h.) Oh, heaven ! let me pass— I 
 must and will see him — 
 
 (Enter Fanny, d. f. e. h., rushes down to centre to Lord A., 
 O'Dedimus on u. h.) 
 Oh, my lord ! my lord ! my husband \— (She falls at Ms feet.) 
 4 
 
38 MAN AND AVIFE. 
 
 Surely my ears deceived me — you cannot, cannot, mean it — a 
 false marriage ! a pretended priest ! "What is to become of 
 me ? In mercy, kill me ! Let me not live to see my broken- 
 hearted father expire with grief and shame, or live to curse 
 me ! Spare me but this, my lord, and I will love — forgive — 
 will pray for you. 
 
 Lord A. (l. h.) (Raises Fanny.) This is a plot against me. 
 You placed her there on purpose to surprise me in the mo- 
 ment of unguarded weakness. 
 
 O'Ded. (R. h.) By St. Patrick, how she came there is a 
 most mysterious mystery to Cornelius O'Dedimus, attorney 
 at law. 
 
 Lord A. Fanny, I intreat you, leave me. 
 
 Fanny. (Tn c.) Oh, do not send me from you ! Can you, 
 my lord, abandon thus to shame and wretchedness, the poor 
 deluded victim of your treachery ! 
 
 Lord A . Ha ! leave me, I charge you ! 
 
 Fanny. No, no, my dearest lord ! I cannot leave you ! 
 Whither shall I fly, if these arms deny me refuge ! Am I not 
 yours ? What if these wicked men refuse me justice ! There 
 is another witness who will rise in dreadful evidence against 
 you ! 'Tis heaven itself! "lis there your vows were heard ! 
 'tis there, where truth resides, your vows are registered ! 
 Then, oh ! reflect before you plunge too deep in guilt for 
 repentance and retreat — reflect, that we are married ! 
 
 Lord A. I cannot speak at present — leave me, and we will 
 meet again. 
 
 Fanny. Do not command me from you — I see your heart is 
 softened by my tears. Cherish the stranger, pity, in your 
 breast — 'tis noble ! excellent ! Such pity, in itself, is virtue ! 
 Oh, cherish it, my lord ! nor let the selfish feelings of the 
 world step in to smother it ! Now ! — now, while it glows un- 
 stifled in your heart. Now, ere it dies, to be revived no more 
 — at once proclaim the triumph of your virtue, and receive 
 into your arms a fond and an acknowledged wife ? 
 
 Lord A. Ha ! impossible. Urge me no more ! I cannot — 
 will not hear you. My heart has ever been your own — my 
 hand must be another's — still we may love each other — still we 
 may sometimes meet. 
 
MAN AND "WIFE. 
 
 3* 
 
 Fanny. {After a struggle.) I understand you. No, Sir ! 
 Since it must be, we will meet no more! (x. 1 i. h.) I 
 know that there are laws — but to these laws I disdain to fly. 
 Mine is an injury that cannot be redressed, for the only mortal 
 Avitnesses to our union you have suborned — the laws therefore 
 cannot do me justice, and I will never — inhuman as you are — 
 I will never seek them for revenge. Exit, 1 e. l. 
 
 O'Ded. {Aside.) I'm thinking, that if I was a lord, I should 
 act in a clean contrary way. By the powers now, that man has 
 got what I call a tough constitution — his heart's made of stone, 
 like a brick-wall — ah, that a man should have the power of a 
 man, and not know hew to behave like a man ! 
 
 Lord A. "What's to be done ! speak — advise me ! 
 
 O'Ded. That's it — have you made up your mind already, 
 that you ask me to advise you ? 
 
 Lord A. I know not how to act. 
 
 O'Ded. Wken a man's in doubt whether he should act a 
 an honest man or a rogue, there are two or three small reasons 
 for choosing the right side. 
 
 Lord A. What is't you mean, Sir ? 
 
 O'Ded. I mean this thing — that as I suppose you're in 
 doubt, whether to persecute the poor souls, or to marry the 
 sweet girl in right earnest. 
 
 Lord A. Marry her ! I have no such thoughts — idiot ! 
 
 O'Ded. Ideot ! That's no proof of your lordship's wisdom 
 to come and ask advice of one. Ideot, by St. Patrick ! — an 
 ideot' s a fool, and that's a christian name was never sprinkled 
 upon Cornelius O'Dedimus, attorney at law ! 
 
 Lord A. I can feel for the unfortunate girl as well as you, 
 but the idea of marrying her is too ridiculous. 
 
 O'Ded. The unfortunate girl never knew misfortune 'till 
 she knew you, my lord — and I heartily wish your lordship 
 may never look more ridiculous than j-ou would do in perform- 
 ing an act of justice and mercy. 
 
 Lord A. You presume strangely, Sir, on my confidence 
 and condescension ! 
 
 O'Ded. AVhat ! Are you coming over me now with the 
 pride of your condescension. That for your condescension ! 
 
40 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 — when a great man, my lord, does me the honor to confide in 
 me, he'll find me trusty and respectful — but when he con- 
 descends to make me an agent and a partner in his inquity, by 
 your leave, from that moment there's an end of distinction 
 between us. 
 
 Lord A. There's no enduring this ! Scoundrel ! 
 
 O'Ded. Scoundrel! ditto, my lord, ditto! If I'm a scoun- 
 drel, it was you that made me one, and by St. Patrick, there's 
 a brace of us. 
 
 Lord A. (Aside.) The fellow has me in his power at 
 present — you see me irritated, and you ought to bear with me 
 — let us think of this no more. The father and daughter must 
 both be provided for out of that money which Sir Rowland 
 still holds in trust for me. 
 
 O'Ded. And if you depend upon that money to silence the 
 old man, you might as well think to stop a mouse-hole with 
 toasted cheese. 
 
 Lord . t. Pray explain, Sir. 
 
 OTkd. Devil a penny of it is there left. Sir Rowland ven- 
 tured it in a speculation, and all is lost — Oh ! blister my 
 tongue, I've let out the secret, sure enough — 
 
 Lord A. Indeed ! and what right had Sir Rowland to risk 
 my property — be assured I will exact every guinea of it. 
 
 O'Ded. That's just what I told him. Sir, says I, his lord- 
 ship is one of the flinty-hearted ones, and devil a thirteener 
 will he forgive you — but, my lord, it will utterly ruin Sir Row- 
 land to replace it. 
 
 Lord A. Sir Rowland should have thought of that before 
 he embarked my property in a hazardous enterprise. Inform 
 him, Sir, from me, that I expect an instant account of it. 
 
 O'Ded. I shall do that thing, Sir. But please to reflect a 
 little — the money, so laid out, was honestly intended for your 
 advantage. 
 
 L.ord A. Another word, Sir, and I shall think it necessary 
 to employ another attorney. 
 
 O'Ded- Sir, that's a quietus — I've done — only remember — 
 that if you proceed to extremities, I warrant you'll repent it. 
 
 Lord A. You warrant — 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 41 
 
 O'Ded. Aye, Sir, and a -warrant of attorney is reckoned 
 decent good security. 
 
 Lord A. Since my uncle has so far forgotten his duty as a 
 guardian, I have now an opportunity, which I shall not neg- 
 lect, to bring him to a proper recollection — you have nothing 
 to do but to obey my orders ; and these are, that the fourteen 
 thousand pounds, of which he has defrauded my estate, shall 
 be immediately repaid — look to it, Sir, and to the other affair 
 you are entrusted with, and see that the law neglects no 
 measures to recover what is due to me. Exit, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 O'Ded. And by St. Patrick, if the law gives you what is 
 due to you — that's — what I'm too polite to mention — you've 
 had your swing in iniquity long enough, and such swings are 
 very apt to end in one that's much too exalted for my notions. 
 
 Exit, 1 E. R. H. 
 
 SCENE II. — An apartment at Sin "Willouhby's. 
 
 Enter Sir "Willoughby, 1 e. r. h., and William, 1 e. l. h., 
 the latter delivers a letter. 
 
 Will. The gentleman desired me to say he is below, Sir. 
 Sir W. Hey ? {Reads.) " My dear Worrett, I hope that a 
 long absence from my native land has not obliterated the recol- 
 lection of our friendship. I have thought it right to adopt this 
 method of announcing my return, lest my too sudden appear- 
 ance should hurt your feelings by deranging the delicate nerves 
 of your — amiable — lady. Hey ! 
 
 "Ever your's, 
 
 Frederick Falkner." 
 
 Bless my soul ! Falkner alive — show the gentleman up ! 
 Will. He's here, Sir. 
 
 Enter Falkner, 1 E. L. H. 
 
 (William bows and goes offl e. l.) 
 
 Falk. My old friend, I rejoice to see you. 
 
 Sir W. Friend Falkner, I shan't attempt to say how welcome 
 
 4# 
 
42 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 your return is — we all thought you dead and buried — where 
 have you been all these years 1 
 
 Fall;. A wanderer. Let that suffice. 
 
 Sir W. I see you still retain your old antipathy to answering 
 questions, so I shall ask none. Have you been in Trance or 
 among the savages 1 Hey ? I remember you had a daughter at 
 school — is she alive 1 Is she merry or miserable ? Is she mar- 
 ried 1 
 
 Fall:. Zounds what a medley ! France and Savages ! mar- 
 riage and misery ! 
 
 Sir W. Ods life I'm happy to see you ! I hav'nt been so 
 cheerful or happy for many a day. 
 
 Folk. How 's your wife ? 
 
 Sir W. Hey! thankye, Sir! why that excellent, good woman, 
 is in high health, in astonishing health ; by my troth I speak it 
 with unspeakable joy, I think she's a better wife now than she 
 was when I married her! (In a melancholy tone.) 
 
 Folk. That must be a source of vast comfort to you ; I don't 
 wonder at your being so cheerful and happy. 
 
 Sir IF. True — but it is'nt that — that is, not altogether so — no 
 — 'tis that I once more hold my friend Falkner by the hand, and 
 that my daughter — you remember your little favorite Helen — 
 
 Folk. I do indeed ! 
 
 Sir W. You are arrived at a critical moment — I mean shortly 
 to marry her — 
 
 Folk. I forbid the banns ! 
 
 Sir W. The devil you do ! 
 
 Fall: Pshaw ! (aside), my feelings o'erstep my discretion. 
 Take care what you're about. If you're an honest man, you'd 
 rather see her dead than married to a villain. 
 
 Sir W. To be sure I would ; but the man I mean her to 
 marry — 
 
 Fall. Perhaps will never be her husband. 
 
 Sir W. The devil he wont ! — why not ? 
 
 Folk. Talk of something else — you know I was always an 
 eccentric being. 
 
 Sir W. What the devil docs he mean 1 — yes, yes, you was 
 always eccentric — but do you know — 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 43 
 
 Falh. I know more than I wish to know ; I've lived long 
 enough in the world to know that roguery fattens on the same 
 soil where honesty starves ; and I care little whether time adds 
 to information which opens to me more and more the depravity 
 of human nature. 
 
 Sir W. Why, Falkner, you are grown more a misanthrope 
 than ever. 
 
 Falh. You know well enough I have had my vexations in 
 life — in an early stage of it I married — 
 
 Sir W. Every man has his trials ! 
 
 Falk. About two years afterwards I lost my wife. 
 
 Sir W. That was a heavy misfortune ! however, you bore it 
 with fortitude. 
 
 Falk. I bore it easy. My wife was a woman without feelings 
 — she had not energy for great virtue, and she had no vice, 
 because she had no passion — life with her was a state of stagna- 
 tion. 
 
 Sir W. How different are the fates of men ! 
 
 Falk. In the next instance I had a friend whom I would havo 
 trusted with my life — with more— my honor — I need not tell you 
 then I thought him the first of human beings — but I was mis- 
 taken — he understood my character no better than I knew his — 
 he confided to me a transaction which proved him to be a villain, 
 and I commanded him never to see me more. 
 
 Sir W. Bless me ! what was that transaction ? 
 
 Falk. It was a secret, and has remained so. Though I should 
 have liked to hang the fellow, he had trusted me, and no living 
 creature but himself and me at this day is possessed of it. 
 
 Sir W. Strange indeed ; and what became of him 1 
 
 Falk. I have not seen him since, but I shall see him in a few 
 hours. 
 
 Sir W. Indeed ! is he in this neighborhood ? 
 
 Falk. That circumstance of my friend, and a loss in the "West 
 Indies, which shook the fabric of my fortune to its foundation, 
 drove me from the world — I am now returned to it with better 
 prospects — my property which I then thought lost is doubled — 
 circumstances have called me hither on an important errand, and 
 before we are four-and-twenty hours older, you may see some 
 
44 MAN AND -WIFE. 
 
 changes which will make you doubt your own senses for the re- 
 mainder of your days — 
 
 Sir W. You astonish me mightily. 
 
 Falk. Yes — you stare as if you were astonished : but why do 
 I stay chattering here ? I must be gone. 
 
 Sir W. Nay, pr'ythee now — 
 
 Falk. Pshaw ! I have paid my first visit to you, because you 
 are the first in my esteem — don't weaken it by awkward and un- 
 seasonable ceremony — I must now about the business that brings 
 me here — no interruption — if you wish to see me again let me 
 have my own way, and I may, perhaps, be back in half an hour 
 
 Sir W. But I want to tell you that — 
 
 Falk. I know — I know — you want to prove to me that you're 
 the least talker, and the best husband in the county ; but both 
 secrets must keep till my return, when I shall be happy to con- 
 gratulate you — and so farewell — Exit, 1 e. l. 
 
 Sir W. Bless my soul ! what can he mean 1 "I forbid the 
 banns — lost my wife — horrid transaction — back again in half an 
 hour " — dear me — John — Thomas ! Lady Worrett ! Helen ! 
 
 Exit, 1 E. R. 
 
 SCENE II. — A room in Sir "Willougiiby "Worrett's house. 
 
 [Enter Helen, 1 e. r., and Charles, from 1 e. l. Helen 
 screams — they run towards each other as if to embrace • — 
 Charles stops sudden///.) 
 
 Helen, (r. h.) Charles ! is it you, or is it your spirit ? 
 
 Charles. 'Tis I, madam, and you'll find I have brought my 
 spirit with me. 
 
 Helen. Hey ! why what the deuce ails the man ? 
 
 Charles, (l. h.) My presence here, no doubt, astonishes you. 
 
 Helen. Yes, sir, your presence does astonish me, but your 
 manner still more. 
 
 Charles. I understand you — you would still keep a poor devil 
 in your toils, though in his absence you have been sporting with 
 nobler game. 
 
 Helen. My good friend, will you descend from your heroical 
 stilts, and explain your meaning in plain English 1 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 45 
 
 Charles. There needs no explanation of my conduct — call it 
 caprice — say, if you please, that / am altered — say I have changed 
 my mind, and love another better — 
 
 Helen. Indeed ! and is it come to this ! He shall not see he 
 mortifies me, however — (Aside.) Since you are in this mind, sir, 
 I wish you had been pleased to sign ify the same by letter, sir— 
 
 Charles. By letter ? 
 
 Helen. Yes, Sir — for this personal visit being rather unex- 
 pected, docs not promise to be particularly pleasant — 
 
 Charles. I believe so, madam — you did not calculate, I fancy, 
 on this sudden return. 
 
 Helen. No indeed, sir — and should have shewn all Christian 
 patience if this sudden return hadn't happened these twelve months. 
 
 diaries. The devil you would ! madam ! — but I'll be cool — 
 I'll cut her to the heart with a razor of ice — I'll congeal her with 
 indifference — you must know, madam — • 
 
 Helen. Bless me, Charles, how very strangely you look — you're 
 pale and red, and red and pale, in the same moment ! why, you 
 can scarcely breathe ! and now you tremble so ! I'm afraid you 
 are very ill. 
 
 Charles. Sarcastic ! 
 
 Helen. You move all over like a ship in a storm ! 
 
 Charles. Vastly well, madam — and now — 
 
 Helen. Your teeth chatter ! — 
 
 Charles. Fire and faggots, madam. I will speak. 
 
 Helen. Do, dear Charles, while you are able — your voice will 
 be gone in a minute or two, and then — 
 
 Charles, (l. h.) I will be heard ! (Bawling.) 
 
 Helen, (e. h.) That you will indeed— and all over the house, 
 too. 
 
 Charles. Madam, will you hear me or not ? 
 
 Helen. I am glad to find there's no affection of the lungs ! 
 
 Charles. Death and torments ! may I be allowed to speak — 
 yes, or no ? ( They x. to and fro.) 
 
 Helen. Yes, but gently, and make haste before they call the 
 watch. ( They x. to and fro. ) 
 
 Charles. Madam, madam — I wish to keep my temper — I wish 
 to be cool. (x. to and fro.) 
 
46 MAN AND "WIFE. 
 
 Helen. Perhaps this will answer the purpose. [Fanning him.) 
 
 Charles. (On r. h. In confusion after a pause, aside.) Is she 
 laughing at me now — or trying to wheedle me into a good 
 humor ? I feel, Miss Worrett, that I am expressing myself with 
 too much warmth — I must therefore inform you that being or- 
 dered home with dispatches, and having some leisure time on 
 my hands on my return, I thou ght it but proper as I passed the 
 house to call at your door — just to say — a — a — just civilly to 
 say — false! cruel! perfidious girl! you may break the tough 
 heart of a sailor, but damn me if he will ever own it broke for 
 love of you ! (x. to l. n.) 
 
 Helen. (On r. h.) On my honor, Sir, I do not understand 
 what all this means. 
 
 Charles. You don't ? — 
 
 Helen. No, Sir — if your purpose here is insult, you might, 
 methinks, have found some fitter object than one who has so 
 limited a power to resent it! (Going.) 
 
 Charles. Stay, madam — stay — what a face is there ! a smile 
 upon it too — Oh, Helen — spare those smiles — they once could 
 wake my soul to extasy ; but now they rouse it into madness : 
 save them, madam, for a happier lover — save them for Lord 
 Austencourt. 
 
 Helen. Charles — Charles ! you have been deceived ; but 
 come — (Ciiarles brings forward chairs, they sit, Helen on r. n., 
 Charles on t,. h.) sit down and hear me. 
 
 Charles. I am all attention, and listen to you with all that 
 patience which the subject demands. 
 
 Helen. As you know the world, Charles, you cannot wonder 
 that my father, (in the main a very good father, but in this re- 
 spect, like all other fathers) should wish to unite his daughter to 
 a man whose rank and fortune — 
 
 Charles. (Rising in anger.) Spare yourself the trouble of fur- 
 ther explanation, madam; I see the whole at once — you are now 
 going to tell me about prudence, duty, obedience, filial affection, 
 and all the canting catalogue of fine phrases that serve to gloss 
 over the giddy frailty of your sex, when you sacrifice the person 
 and the heart at the frequented shrine of avarice and ambition ! 
 
 Helen. (Rising also.) When I am next inclined to descend to 
 
MAN AND ■WIFE. 47 
 
 explanation, sir, I hope you will be better disposed to attend to 
 me. (Going, e. h.) 
 
 diaries. A moment, madam! The whole explanation lies in 
 a word — has not your father concluded a treaty of marriage be- 
 tween you and Lord Austencourt ? 
 
 Helen. He has — 
 
 Charles. There — 'tis enough ! you have confessed it — 
 
 Helen. [Stifling her tears.) Confessed what? you monster! 
 I've confessed nothing. 
 
 Charles. Haven't you acknowledged that you are to be the 
 wife of another? 
 
 Helen. No ! 
 
 Charles. No ! won't you consent then ? 
 
 Helen. Half an hour ago nothing on earth should have in- 
 duced me to consent — but since I see, Charles, of what your 
 temper is capable, I shall think it more laudable to risk my hap- 
 piness by obedience to my father, than by an ill-judged constancy 
 to one who seems so little inclined to deserve it. 
 
 Exit, 1 E. E. H. 
 
 Charles. Hey? where am I ? Zounds ! I see my whole error 
 at once ! Oh, Helen, Helen ! for mercy's sake one moment 
 more ? She 's gone — and has left me in anger ! — but I will see 
 her again, and obtain her forgiveness — fool, idiot, dolt, ass, that 
 I am, to suffer my cursed temper to master reason and affection 
 at the risk of losing the dearest blessing of life — a lovely and 
 an amiable woman. Exit, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 END OF ACT THEEE 
 
48 MAN AXD WIPE. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — O'Dedimus' Office. 
 Enter Charles pulling in Ponder by the collar, 1 e. l. n. 
 
 Charles. This way, Sirrah, this way, and now out with your 
 confessions if you expect mercy at my hands. 
 
 Ponder. I will, Sir, I will — but I expect no mercy at your 
 hands, for you've already handled me most unmercifully — 
 (Chaki.es shakes him.) what would you please to have me con- 
 fess, Sir ? 
 
 Cfiarles. I have seen old Abel Growse — he has told me the 
 story of his daughter's marriage with this amiable cousin of mino 
 — now, Sirrah, confess the truth — were you present — or were you 
 not 7 out with it. (Shakes him.) 
 Ponder. Now pray recollect yourself — do, sir — think a little. 
 
 Charles. Recollect myself ? — 
 
 Ponder. Aye, Sir — if you will but take time to reflect, you'll 
 give me time to collect my scattered thoughts, which you have 
 completely shaken out of my pericranium. 
 
 Charles. No equivocation, answer directly, or though you are 
 no longer my servant, by heavens I'll — 
 
 Ponder. Sir — for heaven's sake ! — you'll shake nothing more 
 out of me, depend on 't — If you'll be pleased to pause a moment 
 I'll think of an answer. 
 
 Charles. It requires no recollection to say whether you were 
 a witness — 
 
 Ponder. No indeed, sir — ask my master if I was — besides if 
 I had been, my conscience wouldn't let me disclose it. 
 
 Charles. Your conscience 1 good, and you're articled to an 
 attorney ! 
 
 Ponder. True, Sir — but there's a deal of conscience in our 
 office — if my master knew I betrayed his secrets even to you, I 
 believe (in conscience) he'd hang me if he could. 
 
 Charles. If my old friend, O'Dedimus, proves a rogue at last, 
 I shan't wonder that you have followed his example. 
 
 Ponder. No, sir, for I always follow my master's example, 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 49 
 
 even though it should be in the path of roguery-compliment 
 
 apart, sir, I always followed yours 
 
 Charles. Puppy— you trifle with my patience ! 
 Ponder. No indeed, sir, I never play with edged tools. 
 Charles. You wont acknowledge it then. 
 Ponder. Yes, sir, I'll acknowledge the truth, but I scorn a lie. 
 Charles. 'Tis true I always thought you honest— I have ever 
 trusted you, Ponder, even as a friend — I do not believe you 
 capable of deceiving me. 
 
 Ponder. Sir, {Gulping.) I can't swallow that! it choaks mci 
 {Falling on Ms knees.) forgive me, dear master that was; your 
 threats I could withstand— your violence I could bear, but your 
 kindness and good opinion there is no resisting ; promise you 
 wont betray me — 
 
 Charles. So ; now it comes — I do — 
 ^ Ponder. Then, sir, the whole truth shall out— they are mar- 
 ried, sir — and they are not married, sir — 
 Charles. Enigma, too ! 
 
 Ponder. Yes, sir— they are married— but the priest was or- 
 dained by my master, and the license was of his own granting— 
 and so they are not married, and now the enigma's explained— 
 Charles. Your master then is a villain 1 
 
 Ponder. I don't know, sir— that puzzles me— but he's such an 
 honest fellow I can hardly think him a rogue— though I fancy 
 sir, between ourselves, he's like the rest of the world— half-and- 
 half— or, like punch, sir, a mixture of opposites 
 
 Charles. So ! villany has been thriving in my absence. If 
 you feel the attachment you profess, why did you not confide 
 this to me before 1 
 
 Ponder. Sir, truth to speak, I did not tell you, because, know- 
 ing the natural gentleness of your disposition, which I have so 
 often admired— I was alarmed lest the sudden shock should 
 cause one of those irascible fits, which I have so often witnessed, 
 and produce some of those shakes and buffets, which to my un- 
 speakable astonishment, I have so often experienced. 
 I Charles. And which, I can tell you, you have now so nar- 
 rowly escaped — 
 
50 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Ponder. True, sir, I have escaped as narrowly as a felon who 
 gets his reprieve five minutes after execution. 
 
 Charles. Something must be done — I am involved in a quar- 
 rel with Helen, too ! — curse on my irritable temper — 
 
 Ponder. So I say, sir — try and mend it — pray do — 
 
 Charles. I am resolved to have another interview with her; 
 to throw myself at her feet, and sue for pardon ! Though fate 
 should oppose our union. I may still preserve her from the 
 arms of a villain, who is capable of deceiving the innocent he 
 could not seduce ; and of planting a dagger in the female heart> 
 where nature has bestowed her softest attributes, and has only 
 left it iveak, that man might cherish, shelter, and protect it — 
 
 Exit, 1 E. L. H. 
 
 Ponder. So! Now I'm a rogue both ways — If I escape 
 punishment one way, I shall certainly meet it the other — But if 
 my good luck saves me both ways I shall never more credit a for- 
 tune-teller — for one once predicted, that I was born to be hanged. 
 
 Exit, 1 E. R. 
 
 SCENE II.— Sir Rowland's.* 
 Enter Sir Rowland, and O'Dedimus, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Sir R. You have betrayed me then! Did I not caution 
 
 you to keep secret from my nephew this accursed loss. 
 
 O'Ded. And so you did, sure enough — but somehow it slipt 
 out before I said a word about it: but I told him it was a secret, 
 and I dare say he wont mention it 
 
 Sir R. But you say, that he demands the immediate liquida- 
 tion — 
 
 O'Ded. Aye, sir, and has given me orders to proceed against 
 you 
 
 Sir R. Is it possible — in a moment could I arrest his impious 
 progress — but I will probe him to the quick — did he threaten me, 
 say you ? There is, however, one way to save him from this 
 public avowal of his baseness, and me from his intended perse- 
 cution — a marriage between Charles and Mrs. Richland. 
 
 * This Scene is omitted in representation. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 61 
 
 G'Ded. The widow's as rich as the Wicklow mines ! 
 
 Sir R. The boy refuses to comply with my wishes ; we may 
 find ways, however, to compel him — 
 
 G'Ded. He 's a sailor; and gentlemen of his kidney are gener- 
 ally pretty tough when they take a notion in their heads. 
 
 Sir R. I am resolved to carry my point. I have reason to 
 believe you advanced him a sum of money. 
 - G'Ded. I did that thing — he's a brave fellow — I'd do that 
 thing again — 
 
 Sir R. You did wrong, sir, to encourage a young spendthrift in 
 disobedience to his father. 
 
 G'Ded. I did right, sir, to assist the son of a client, and the 
 nephew of a benefactor, especially when his father hadn't the 
 civility to do it. 
 
 Sir R. Mr. O'Dedimus, you grow impertinent. 
 
 G'Ded. Sir Rowland, I grow old ; and 'tis one privilege of 
 age to grow blunt. I advanced your son a sum of money, be- 
 cause I esteemed him. I tacked no usurious obligation to the 
 bond he gave me, and I never came to ask you for security — 
 
 Sir R. You have his bond then — 
 
 G'Ded. I have, sir ; his bond and judgment for two hundred 
 pounds. 
 
 Sir R. It is enough — then you can indeed assist my views, — 
 the dread of confinement will, no doubt, alter his resolutions, 
 you must enter up judgment, and proceed on your bond — 
 
 G'Ded. If I proceed upon my bond, it will be very much 
 against my judgment — 
 
 Sir R. In order to alarm him, you must arrest him imme- 
 diately — 
 
 GDed. Sir Rowland, I wish to treat you with respect— but 
 when without a blush on your cheek you ask me to make myself 
 a rascal, I must either be a scoundrel ready-made to your hands, 
 for respecting you, or a damn'd hypocrite for pretending to do 
 it — (x. to i>. h.) I see you are angry, sir, and I can't help that ; 
 and so, having delivered my message, for fear I should say any 
 thing uncivil or ungenteel, I wish you a most beautiful good 
 morning. Exit, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 Sir R. Then I have but one way left— my fatal secret must 
 
62 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 be publicly revealed — oh horror ! ruin irretrievable is preferable ; 
 never — never — that secret shall die with me ! 
 
 Enter Falknee, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 as 'tis probably already buried in the grave with Falkner. 
 
 Fall: 'Tis false — 'tis buried only in his heart ! 
 
 Sir R. Falkner ! 
 
 Folk. 'Tis eighteen years since last we met. You have not, 
 I find, forgotten the theme on which we parted. 
 
 Sir R. Oh, no ! my heart's reproaches never would allow me ! 
 Oh, Falkner — I and the world for many years have thought you 
 numbered with the dead ! 
 
 Falk. To the world I was so — I have returned to it to do an 
 act of justice. 
 
 Sir R. Will you then betray me ? 
 
 Falk. During eighteen years, sir, I have been the depositary 
 of a secret, which if it docs not actually affect your life, affects 
 what should be dearer than life, your honor. If, in the moment 
 that your ill-judged confidence avowed you as the man you are, 
 and robbed me of that friendship which I held sacred as my 
 being — If in that bitter moment I concealed my knowledge of 
 your guilt from an imperious principle of honor. It is not like- 
 ly, that the years which time has added to my life, should have 
 taught me perfidy — your secret still is safe 
 
 Sir R. Oh, Falkner — you have snatched a load of misery 
 from my heart — I breathe — I live again 
 
 Falk. Your exultation flows from a polluted source — I return 
 to the world to seek you — to warn and to expostulate — I come to 
 urge you to brave the infamy you have deserved — to court dis- 
 grace as the punishment you merit — briefly to avow your guilty 
 secret. 
 
 Sir R. Name it not for mercy's sake! It is impossible; 
 How shall I sustain the world's contempt — its scorn — revilings 
 and reproaches — ? 
 
 Falk. Can he, who has sustained so long the reproaches of his 
 conscience, fear the world's revilings ? — Oh, Austencourt ! Once 
 you had a heart. 
 
 Sir R. Sir — it is callous now to everything but shame, when 
 
MAN AND "WIFE. 53 
 
 it lost you, its dearest only friend, its noblest feelings were ex- 
 tinguished — my crime has been my punishment, for it has 
 brought on me, nothing but remorse and misery — still is my fame 
 untainted by the world, and I will never court its contumely — 
 
 Folk. You are determined — 
 
 Sir R. I am ! 
 
 Falk. Have you no fear from me 1 
 
 Sir R. None ! You have renewed your promise, and I am safe. 
 
 Falk. Nothing then remains for me but to return to that 
 obscurity from whence 1 have emerged — had I found you barely 
 leaning to the side of virtue, I had arguments to urge that might 
 have fixed a wavering purpose, but I find you resolute — hardened 
 and determined in guilt, and I leave you to jour fate — 
 
 Sir R. Stay, Falkner — there is meaning in your words — 
 
 Falk. A dreadful precipice lies before you, be wary how you 
 
 tread ! there is a being injured by your by Lord Austencourt — 
 
 see that he makes her reparation by an immediate marriage — 
 look first to that — 
 
 Sir R. To such a degradation could 7 forget my noble ances- 
 try, he never will consent. 
 
 Falk. Look next to yourself — he is not a half villain — and it 
 is not the ties of consanguinity will save you from a jail. 
 Beware how you proceed with Charles — you see I am acquainted 
 with more than you suspected — look to it, sir, for the day is not 
 yet passed that by restoring you to virtue, may restore to you a 
 friend ; or should you persevere in guilty silence, that may draw 
 down unexpected vengeance on your head — 
 
 Exit, 1. E. L. H. 
 
 Sir R. Mysterious man ! a moment stay ! I cannot live in 
 this dreadful uncertainty ! whatever is my fate, it shall be decided 
 quickly. Exit, 1. e. r. h. 
 
 5* 
 
54 MAN AND "WIFE. 
 
 SCENE III. — An apartment at Sir Willoughby's. 
 C. DOORS, practical. 
 
 Enter Helen and Charles. 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Helen. I tell you, it is useless to follow me, sir. The proud 
 spirit you evinced this morning, might have saved you methinks 
 from this meanness of solicitation — 
 
 Charles. Surely now a frank acknowledgment of error de- 
 serves a milder epithet than meanness — 
 
 Helen. As you seem equally disposed, sir, to quarrel with my 
 words, as you are to question my conduct, I fear you will have 
 little cause to congratulate yourself on this forced and tiresome 
 interview — 
 
 Charles. Forced interview ! Did ever woman so consider the 
 anxiety of a lover to seek explanation and forgiveness ! — Helen, 
 Helen, you torture me — is this generous? — is it like yourself? 
 surely if you lov'd me 
 
 Helen. Charles — I do love you — that is — I did love you, 
 
 but 1 don't love you — but (aside) ah ! now I am going to 
 
 make bad worse — 
 
 Charles. But what, Helen ? 
 
 Helen. The violence of temper you have discovered this 
 morning, has shewn me the dark side of your character ; it has 
 given a pause to affection, and afforded me time to reflect — now 
 tho' I do really and truly believe that — you — love me Charles — 
 
 Sir W. ( Without 1. e. l. h.) I must see my daughter di- 
 rectly — where is she ? 
 
 Enter Tiffany running. 1. e. l. h. 
 
 Tiff. Ma'am, ma'am, your father's coming up stairs, with a 
 letter in his hand, muttering something about Mr. Charles ; as 
 sure as life you'll be discovered. — Exit, 1. e. l. h. 
 
 Helen. For heav'n's sake hide yourself — I would not have him 
 find you here for worlds — here, step into the music-room — 
 
 Charles. Promise me first your forgiveness — 
 
 Helen. Charles, retire, I entreat you — make haste — he is 
 here — 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 55 
 
 Charles. On my knees 
 
 Helen. Then kneel in the next room. 
 
 Charles. Give me but your hand 
 
 Helen. That is now at my own disposal — I beseech you go — 
 
 (Charles just gains the door in the centre when enters Sib 
 Willoughby with a letter in his hand, and lady Wor- 
 
 RETT 1. E. L. H.) 
 
 Sir W. Gadzooks ! Here's a discovery ! 
 Helen. A discovery, sir ? 
 
 (Helen on a little r. c. looks at the door.) 
 
 Sir W. (r.) Aye, a discovery indeed ! — Odslife ! I am in a 
 furious passion ! — 
 
 Helen. (Comes down c.) Dear Sir — not with me I hope 
 
 Lady W. Let me entreat you Sir Willoughby to compose 
 yourself — recollect that anger is very apt to bring on the gout. 
 
 Sir W. (r. h.) Damn the gout — I must be in a passion — 
 — my — life — harkye, daughter — 
 
 Helen, (c.) They know he's here ! so I may as well own it 
 at once. 
 
 Lady W. (l. h.) Pray compose yourself, remember we hav e 
 no proof. 
 
 Sir W. Why that's true — that is remarkably true — I must 
 compose myself — I will — I do — I am composed — and now let me 
 open the affair with coolness and deliberation ! Daughter, come 
 hither. 
 
 Helen. Yes, sir, — now for it! — 
 
 Sir W. Daughter, you are in general, a very good, dutiful, 
 and obedient child — 
 
 Helen. I know it, papa — and was from a child, and I always 
 will be. 
 
 Lady W. Allow me, Sir Willoughby — you are in general a 
 child, a very headstrong, disobedient, and undutiful daughter. 
 
 Helen. I know it, mamma — and was from a child, and always 
 will be. 
 
 Lady W. (l. h.) How, madam ! — Kemember, Sir Willough- 
 by — there is a proper medium between too violent a severity, and 
 too gentle a lenity. 
 
56 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Sir W. Zounds, madam, in your own cursed economy there is 
 medium — but don't bawl so, or we shall be overheard — 
 
 Lady W. Sir Willoughby, you are very ill I"m sure — but I 
 must now attend to this business — daughter, we have heard that 
 Charles 
 
 Sir W. Lady Worrett, my — love — let me speak — you know, 
 child, it is the duty of an obedient daughter, to obey her parents. 
 
 Helen. I know it, papa — and when I obey you, I am, generally 
 obedient. (Churtseys.) 
 
 Lady W. In short, child, I say again, — we learn that Charles 
 (Helen courtseys and goes up.) 
 
 Sir W. (k. h.) Lady Worrett, Lady Worrett, yon are too 
 abrupt — odrabbit it, madam. I will be heard — this affair concerns 
 the honor of my family, and on this one occasion, I will be my own 
 spokesman. 
 
 Lady W. (l. h.) Oh heavens! Your violence affects my 
 brain. 
 
 Sir W. Does it ? I wish it would affect your tongue, with 
 all my heart — bless my soul, what have I said ! Lady Worrett ! 
 Lady Worrett ! you drive me out of my senses, and then wonder 
 that I act like a madman — 
 
 Lady W. (x. to r. h.) Barbarous man — your cruelty will 
 break my heart, and I shall leave you, Sir Willoughby, to de- 
 plore my loss, in unavailing despair, and everlasting anguish. 
 
 Exit, 1. E. R. H. 
 
 Sir W. {Aside.) I am afraid not — such despair and anguish 
 will never be my — happy — lot ! — bless me how quiet the room is 
 — what can be — oh my wife's gone ! — now then we may proceed 
 
 to business and so daughter, this young fellow, Charles, has 
 
 dared to return in direct disobedience to his father's commands. 
 
 Helen. I had better confess it all at once — he has, he has — my 
 dear papa, I do confess, it was very, very wrong — but pray now 
 do forgive — 
 
 Sir W. 1 — forgive him — never — nor his father will never for- 
 give him, Sir Rowland writes me here, to take care of you, I 
 have before given him my solemn promise to prevent your 
 meeting, and I am sorry to say, I hav'nt the least doubt that yon 
 know he is here, and will — 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 57 
 
 Helen. I do confess he is here, papa — 
 
 Sir W. Yes, you'll confess it fast enough, now I've found it 
 out. 
 
 Helen. Indeed I was so afraid you would find it out, that 
 I 
 
 Sir W. Find it out ! — his father writes me word, he has been 
 here in the village these three hours ! 
 
 Helen. In the village! — Oh, what you heard he was in the 
 village 1 
 
 Sir W. Yes, and being afraid he should find his way to my 
 house, egad I never was brisker after the fox-hounds, than I was 
 after you, in fear of finding you at a fault, you puss — 
 
 Helen. Oh ! you were afraid he should come here, were you ? — 
 
 Sir W. Yes, but I'll take care he shan't, however — as my 
 maxim is (now my wife doesn't hear me), to trust your sex no 
 farther than I can possibly help — I shall just put you, my dear 
 child, under lock and key, 'till this young son of the ocean, is 
 bundled off to sea again. 
 
 Helen. What ! lock me up ? 
 
 Sir W. Damme if I don't — come walk into that room, and 
 I'll take the key with me. [Pointing to the room in the centre where 
 Charles entered.) 
 
 Helen. Into that room ? 
 
 Sir W. Yes. 
 
 Helen. And do you think I shall stay there by myself? 
 
 Sir W. No, no — here Tiffany (Enter Tiffany 1. E. l. h.) 
 — Miss Pert, here, shall keep your company — I'll have no whis- 
 perings through key-holes, nor letters thrust under doors. 
 
 Helen. And you'll really lock me up in that room 1 
 
 Sir W. Upon my soul I will. 
 
 Helen. Now, dear papa, be persuaded — take my advice, and 
 don't — 
 
 Sir W. If I don't, I wish you may be in Charles Austencourt's 
 arms in three minutes from this present speaking. 
 
 Helen. And if you do, — take my word for it I might be in his 
 
 arms if I chose, in less than too minutes from this present warning. 
 
 Sir W. Might you so ? Ha ! ha ! I'll give you leave if you 
 
 can — for unless you jump into them out of the window, I'll defy 
 
 the devil and all his imps to bring you together. 
 
58 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Helen. We shall come together without their assistance de- 
 pend on it, papa. 
 
 Sir W. Very well — and now, my dear, walk in. 
 
 Helen. With all my heart, only remember you had better not. 
 He puts her in. c. door. Enter Tiffany. 1. e. l. h. 
 
 Sir W. That's a good girl — and you, you baggage, in with 
 you (to Tiffany, who refuses to go — Sir W. goes down r.. n. to 
 Tiffany, puts his hand round her neck — pushes her up the stage in- 
 to C. door — then shuts the door, and locks it. 
 
 Sir W. " Safe bind, safe find," is one of my Lady Worrett's 
 favorite proverbs ; and that's the only reason why I in general 
 dislike it. {Going, l. h.) 
 
 Enter Falkner, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 Sir W. (r. h.) Once more welcome, my dear Falkncr. What 
 brings you back so soon ? 
 
 Falk. (l it.) You have a daughter — 
 
 Sir W. Well, I know I have. 
 
 Falk. And a wife — 
 
 Sir W. I'm much obliged to you for the information — You 
 have been a widower some years I believe. 
 
 Falk. What of that, d o you envy me 1 
 
 Sir W. Envy you ! what, because you are a widower ? Eh ! 
 Zounds, I believe he is laughing at me. {Aside.] 
 
 Falk. I am just informed that every thing is finally arranged 
 between your lady and his lordship respecting Helen's marriage. 
 
 Sir W. Yes, every thing is happily settled. 
 
 Falk. I am sincerely sorry to hear it. 
 
 Sir W. You are ! I should have thought, Mr. Falkner, that 
 my daughter's happiness was dear to you. 
 
 Falk. It is, and therefore I do not wish to see her married to 
 Lord Austencourt. 
 
 Sir W. Why then what the devil is it you mean ? 
 
 Falk. To see her married to the man of her heart, with whom 
 I trust to see her as happy — as you are with Lady Worrett. 
 
 Sir W. Yes, ha ! ha ! ha ! yes ! but you are in jest respecting 
 my daughter. 
 
 Folk. No matter ! where is Helen ? 
 
 Sir W. Sale under lock and key. 
 
MAN AND "WIPE. 59 
 
 Folk. Under lock and key ? 
 
 Sir W. Aye, in that very room — I've locked her up to keep 
 her from that hot-headed young rogue. Charles Austencourt; 
 should you like to see her 1 she's grown a fine young woman ! 
 
 Folk. "With all my heart ! 
 
 Sir W. You'll he surprised, I can tell you — 
 
 Falk. I dare say — 
 
 Sir W. We '11 pop in upon her when she least expects it — I'll 
 bet my life you'll be astonished at her appearance. 
 
 Falk. Well, I shall be glad to see your daughter— but she 
 must not marry this lord. 
 
 Sir W. No ! who then ? 
 
 Falk. The man she loves — 
 
 Sir W. Hey ! Oh, yes ! but who do you mean ? Charles 
 Austencourt ? ( Opening the door.) 
 
 Enter Ladt Worrett, suddenly, 1 e. r. 
 
 Lady W. Charles Austencourt ! 
 
 Falk. {Aloud and striking the floor ivith his stick.) Aye — 
 Charles Austencourt — 
 
 Charles. [Entering.) Here am I. Who calls 1 
 (Helen and Tiffany comes forward and Tiffany goes 
 off, 1 E. L. H.) 
 
 Sir W. (r- c.) Fire and faggots ! what do I see — 
 
 Lady W. (R. n.) Ah ! heaven defend me ! what do I be- 
 hold ? 
 
 Falk. (l. h.) Why, is this the surprise you promised me ? 
 the astonishment seems general. Pray, Sir Willoughby, explain 
 this puppet show! 
 
 Lady W. Aye ! pray, Sir Willoughby, explain — 
 
 Sir W. Curse me if I can ! 
 
 Helen. (Up c.) I told you how it would be, papa, and you 
 would not believe me ! ( Comes forward, r. c.) 
 
 Sir W. So ! pray, sir, condescend to inform Lady Worrett 
 and me, how you introduced yourself into that most extraordi- 
 nary situation. 
 
 dy W. Sir W. 
 
 Helen. 
 
 Charles. Falkner. 
 
 * 
 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 (R. H.) 
 
 
 (L. H.) 
 
60 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Charles. (Comes forward, L. c.) Sir, I shall make no mystery 
 of it, nor attempt to screen you from your ladyship's just re- 
 proaches, by concealing one atom of the truth. The fact is, 
 madam, that Sir Willoughby not only in my hearing, gave Miss 
 Helen his unrestricted permission to throw herself into my arms, 
 but actually forced her into the room where I was quietly seated, 
 and positively and deliberately locked us in together. 
 
 Lady W. Oh ! I shall expire ! {Falls into Sir W's arms.) 
 
 Sir W. (Thrusts Lady W. off.) You must get somebody else 
 to expire on ! I've heard of matchless impudence, but curse me 
 if this isn't the paragon of the species! Zounds! I'm in a wonder- 
 ful passion ! Daughter I am resolved to have this affair explain- 
 ed to my satisfaction. 
 
 Helen. You may have it explained, papa, but I fear it wont 
 be to your satisfaction. 
 
 Charles- No, sir — nor to her Ladyship's cither — and now, as 
 my situation here is not remarkably agreeable I take my leave — 
 madam, your most obedient — and Sir Willoughby, the next time 
 you propose an agreeable surprise for your friends 
 
 Sir W. Harkye, sir — how you came into my house I can't tell 
 — but if you don't presently walk out of it — 
 
 Charles. I say — I heartily hope that you may accomplish 
 your purpose 
 
 Sir W. Zounds, sir, leave my house ! (x to Charles.) 
 
 Charles. Without finding yourself the most astonished of the 
 party ! Exit, 1. e. l. 
 
 Sir W. (x to C.) Thank heaven my house is rid of him. 
 
 Lady W. (r. h.) As usual, Sir Willoughby, a precious busi- 
 ness you've made of this ! 
 
 Sir W. (l. c.) Death and furies, my Lady Worrett 
 
 Falk. (l. h.) Gently, my old friend, gently — I'm one too 
 many here during these little domestic discussions — but before 
 I go, on two points let me caution you ; let your daughter choose 
 her own husband if you wish her to have one without leaping out 
 of the window to get at him ; and be master of your own house and 
 your own wife if you do not wish to continue, what you now are, the 
 laughing-stock of all your acquaintance. Exit, 1. E. L. n. 
 
 Lady W. Ah ! the barbarian ! 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 61 
 
 Sir W. (Appears Astonished.) I'm thunder-struck — (makes 
 signs to Helen to go before.) 
 
 Helen. Won't you go first, papa ? 
 
 Sir W. Hey? If I lose sight of you till you've explained this 
 business, may I be laid up with the gout while you are galloping 
 to Gretna Green ! " Be master of your house and wife if you 
 don't wish to continue, what you now are ! — Hey ? the laughing- 
 stock of all your acquaintance ! Sir Willoughby Worrett the 
 laughing-stock of all his acquaintance ! — I think I see myself the 
 laughing-stock of all my acquaintance ! — (pointing, 1. E. K.) I'll 
 follow you ladies ! I'll reform ! 'tis never too late to mend ' 
 
 Exeunt, 1 E. E. 
 
 END OF THE FOURTH ACT. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment at Sir Willoughby Worrett's. 
 Enter Sir "Willoughby and Lady Worrett, 1. e. r. h. 
 
 Sir W. (l. h. ) Lady Worrett ! Lady Worrett ! I will have 
 a reform. I am at last resolved to be master of my own house, 
 and so let us come to a right understanding, and I dare say we 
 shall be the better friends for it in future. 
 
 Lady W. (r. h.) You shall see, Sir Willoughby, that I can 
 change as suddenly as yourself. Though you have seen my 
 delicate system deranged on slight occasions, you will find that 
 in essential ones I have still spirit for resentment. 
 
 Sir W. I'll have my house in future conducted as a gentle- 
 man's should be, and I will no longer suffer my wife to make 
 herself the object of ridicule to all her servants. So I'll give 
 6 
 
62 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 up the folly of wishing to be thought a tender husband, for the 
 real honor of being found a respectable one. I'll make a glorious 
 bonfire ! of all your musty collection of family receipt-books ! 
 and when I deliver up your keys to an honest housekeej^er, I'll 
 keep one back of a snug apartment in which to deposit a rebel- 
 lious wife. 
 
 Lady W. That will be indeed the way to make yourself 
 respectable. I have found means to manage you for some 
 years, and it will be my own fault if I don't do so still. 
 
 Sir W. Surely I dream ! what i have you managed me ? 
 Hey ? Zounds ! I never suspected that. Has Sir Willoughby 
 Worrett been lead in leading-strings all this time ? Death and 
 forty devils, Madam, have you presumed to manage me ? 
 
 Lady W. Yes, Sir ; but you had better be silent on the sub- 
 ject, unless you mean to expose yourself to your daughter and 
 all the world. 
 
 Sir W. Aye, Madam, with all my heart ; my daughter and 
 all the world shall know it. 
 
 Enter Helen, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Helen. (R. h.) Here's a pretty piece of work ! — what's the 
 matter now, I wonder ? 
 
 Lady W. (c.) How dare you overhear our domestic dissen- 
 tions. "What business have you to know we were quarrelling 
 Madam ? 
 
 Helen. Lord love you ! if I had heard it, I should not have 
 listened — for its nothing new, you know, when you're alone; 
 though you both look so loving in public. 
 
 Sir W. (l. h.) That's true — that is lamentably true — but 
 all the world shall know it — I'll proclaim it — I'll print it — I'll 
 advertise it ! — She has usurped my rights and my power ; and 
 her fate, as every usurper's should be, shall be public downfall 
 and disgrace. 
 
 Helen, (x. to c.) "What, papa ! and won't you let mamma-in- 
 law rule the roast any longer ? 
 
 Sir W. No ! I am resolved from this moment no longer to 
 give way to her absurd whims and wishes. 
 
 Helen. You are ! 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 63 
 
 Sir W. Absolutely and immoveably. 
 
 Helen. And you will venture to contradict her ? 
 
 Sir W. On every occasion — right or wrong. 
 
 Helen. That's right— Pray, Madam, don't you wish me to 
 marry Lord Austencourt ? 
 
 Lady W. You know my will on that head, Miss Helen. 
 
 Helen. Then, papa, of course you wish me to marry Charles 
 Austencourt. 
 
 Sir W. What ! no such thing — no such thing — what ! mar- 
 ry a beggar ? 
 
 Helen. But you won't let Mama rule the roast, will you, 
 Sir? 
 
 Sir W. 'Tis a great match ! I believe in that one point we 
 shall still agree — 
 
 Lady W. You may spare your persuasions, Madam, and leave 
 the room — 
 
 Sir W. What — my daughter leave the room ? Stay here, 
 Helen. 
 
 Helen. To be sure I shall — I came on purpose to tell you 
 the news ! oh, 'tis a pretty piece of work ! 
 
 Sir W. What does the girl mean ? 
 
 Helen. Why, I mean that in order to ruin a poor innocent 
 girl, in our neighbourhood, this aimable lord has prevailed on 
 her to consent to a private marriage — and it now comes out 
 that it was all a mock marriage, performed by a sham priest, 
 and a false license ! 
 
 Lady W. I don't believe one word of it. 
 
 Sir W. But I do — and shall inquire into it immediately. 
 
 Lady W. Such a match for your daughter is not to be relin- 
 quished on slight grounds ; and though his lordship should 
 have been guilty of some indiscretion, it will not alter my reso- 
 lution respecting his union with Helen. 
 
 Sir W. (x. to c.) No — but it will mine — and to prove to 
 you, Madam, that however you may rule your household, you 
 shall no longer rule me — if the story has any foundation — I say 
 — she shall not marry Lord Austencourt. (x. r. h. 
 
 Lady W. Shall not ? 
 
 Sir W. No, Madam, shall not — and so ends your manage- 
 
64 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 ment, and thusbegins my career of new-born authority. I'm 
 out of leading-strings now, and Madam, I'll manage you, 
 dam'me if I do not. Exit Sir Willoughby, 1 e. r. 
 
 Helen (to Lady W.) You hear papa's ivill on that head, 
 Ma'am. 
 
 Lady W. I hear nothing ! — I see nothing ! — I shall go mad 
 with vexation and disappointment, and if I do not break his 
 resolution, I am determined to break his heart ; and my own 
 heart, and your heart, and the hearts of all the rest of the 
 family. 
 
 Exit, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Helen. There she goes, with a laudable matrimonial resolu- 
 tion. Heigho ! with such an example before my eyes, I believe 
 I shall never have resolution to die an old maid. Oh, Charles, 
 Charles — why did you take me at my word ? — Bless me ! sure 
 
 1 saw him then — 'tis he indeed ! So, my gentleman, are you 
 there ? I'll just retire and watch his motions a little (retires.) 
 
 2 E. R. H. 
 
 Enter Charles Austengourt, cautiously, 1 e. l. h. 
 
 Charles. What a pretty state I am reduced to ? though I am 
 resolved to speak with this ungrateful girl but once more before 
 I leave her for ever, here am I, skulking under the enemy's 
 batteries as though I was afraid of an encounter ! — Yes, I'll 
 see her, upbraid her, and then leave her for ever ! heigho ! 
 she's a false, deceitful — dear, bewitching girl, and — however, 
 I am resolved that nothing on earth — not even her tears, shall 
 now induce me to forgive her. ( Tiffany crosses the stage,) R. to 
 
 L. H. 
 
 Cliarles. Ha ! — hark ye, young woman ! pray are the family 
 at home ? 
 
 Tiffany, (l. h.) My lady is at home, Sir — would you please 
 to see her ? 
 
 Charles, (r. h.) Your lady — do you mean your young lady ? 
 
 Tijfany. No, Sir, I mean my lady. 
 
 Charles. What, your old lady ? — No — I don't wish to see her. 
 Are all the rest of the family from home — 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 65 
 
 Tiffany. No, Sir— Sir Willoughby is within— I'll tell him 
 you are here, {going.) 
 
 Cliarles. By no means— stay— stay ! what then, they are all 
 at home except Miss Helen. 
 
 Tiffany. She's at home too, Sir — but I suppose she don't 
 wish to see you. 
 
 Cliarles. You suppose ! 
 
 Tiffany. I'm sure she's been in a monstrous ill-humor 
 ever since you came back, Sir — 
 
 Charles. The devil she has ! — and pray now are you of 
 opinion that my return is the cause of her ill-humor ? 
 
 Tiffany. Lord, Sir— what interest have I in knowing such 
 things ? 
 
 Charles. Interest !— oh, ho ! the old story ! why hark ye, 
 my dear — your mistress has a lord for her lover, so I suppose 
 he has secured a warmer interest than I can afford to purchase 
 — however, I know the custom, and thus I comply with it, in 
 hopes you will tell me whether you really think my return has 
 caused your young mistress' ill-humor -(gives money.') 
 
 Tiffany. A guinea ! well ! I declare ! why really, Sir- 
 when I say Miss Helen has been out of humor on your ac- 
 count, I don't mean to say it is on account of your return, but 
 on account of your going away again — 
 
 Charles. No ! my dear Tiffany. 
 
 Tiffany. And I am sure I don't wonder at her being cross 
 about it, for if I was my mistress I never would listen with 
 patience (any more than she does) to such a disagreeable crea- 
 ture as my lord, while such a generous nice gentleman as you 
 was ready to make love to me. 
 
 Charles. You couldn't ? 
 
 Tiffany. No, Sir — and I' am sure she's quite altered and 
 melancholy gone since you quarrelled with her, and she vows 
 now more than ever that she never will consent to marry my 
 lord, or any body but you — (Helen comes forward gently in 
 centre.) 
 
 Charles. My dear Tiffany !— let me catch the sound from 
 your rosy lips. (Kisses her.) — 
 
 6* 
 
66 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Helen (c. separating them.) Bless me ! I am afraid I interrupt 
 business here ! 
 
 Charles, (r. h) I — I — I — Upon my soul, Madam — what you 
 saw was — 
 
 Tiff. (L. h.) Ye — ye — yes — upon my word, Ma'am — what 
 you saw was — 
 
 Helen. What I saw was very clear indeed ! — 
 
 Charles. Hear me but explain — you do not understand, — 
 
 Helen. I rather think I do understand — 
 
 Tiffany. Indeed, Ma'am, Mr. Charles was only whispering 
 something I -was to tell you — 
 
 Helen. And pray, Ma'am, do you suffer gentlemen in general 
 to whisper in that fashion ? — what do you stand stammering 
 and blushing there for ? — why don't you go ? 
 
 Tiffany. Yes, Ma'am, — but I assure you — 
 
 Helen. What ! you stay to be whispered to again I suppose. 
 
 {Exit Tiffany, 1 e. l. h.) 
 
 Charles. Let me explain this, — oh, Helen — can you be sur- 
 prised ? — 
 
 Helen. No, Sir, I can't be surprised at any thing after what 
 I have just witnessed — 
 
 Charles. On my soul, it was excess of joy at hearing you 
 still lov'd me, that led me into this confounded scrape. 
 
 Helen. Sir, you should not believe it — I don't love you. I 
 won't love you, — and after what I have just seen, you can't 
 expect I should love yotf — 
 
 Charles. Helen ! Helen ! you make no allowance for the 
 fears of a man who loves you to distraction. I have borne a 
 great deal, and can bear but very little more — 
 
 Helen. Poor man ! you're sadly loaded with grievances, to 
 be sure ; and by and by, I suppose, like a horse or a mule, or 
 some such stnbborn animal, having more than you can bear, 
 you'll kick a little, and plunge a little, and then down on your 
 knees again ! 
 
 Charles. I gloried even in that humble posture, while you 
 taught me to believe you lov'd me. 
 
 Helen, lis true, my heart was once your own, but I never 
 can, nor ought to forgive you — for thinking me capable of being 
 unfaithful to you. 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 67 
 
 Charles. Dearest, dear Helen ! and has your anger then no 
 other cause 1 surely you could not blame a resentment which 
 was the offspring of my fond affection ? 
 
 Helen. No ! to be sure I couldn't, who could ! — but what 
 should I not have to dread from the violence of your temper, if 
 I consented — to run away with you ? 
 
 Charles. Run away with me ! — no ! — zounds I've a chaise in 
 waiting — 
 
 Helen. Have you? (runs x. to l. h.) then pray let it wait, — 
 no ! no ! Charles — tho' I haven't scrupled to own an affection 
 for you, I have too much respect for the world's opinion, — let 
 us wait with patience, — time may rectify that impetuosity of 
 character, which is now, I own, my dread ; think of it, Charles, 
 and beware ; for affection is a frail flower, and is reared by the 
 hand of gentleness — it perishes as surely by the shocks of vio- 
 lence as by the more gradual poison of neglect. 
 
 Charles. Dearest Helen ! I will cherish it in my heart — 
 'tis a rough soil I own, but 'tis a warm one ; and when the hand 
 of delicacy shall have cultivated this flower that is rooted there, 
 the blossom shall be everlasting love ! 
 
 Helen. Ah you men ! — you men ! but — I think I may be in- 
 duced to try you. Meantime, accept my hand, dear Charles, 
 as a pledge of my heart, and as the assurance that it shall one 
 day be your own indeed, (he kisses her hand.) There you needn't 
 eat it — there ! (x. to R. h.) now make your escape, and farewell 
 till we meet again. 
 
 ( They are going out severally, R. and t,.) 
 
 Charles. Zounds ! my Father ! 
 
 Enter Sir Rowland, 1 e. l. h. and Sir Willoughby, 1 e. r. h. 
 
 Sir "Will. Helen. Charles. Sir Rowland. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (R H.) (L. H.) 
 
 Helen. Gad a mercy ! my papa ! 
 Sir R. So, Sir ! you are here again I find ! 
 Sir W. So so ! Madam ! together again, hey ? Sir Row- 
 land, your servant. 
 
68 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Sir R. I need not tell you, Sir Willougliby, that this un- 
 dutiful boy's conduct does not meet -with, my sanction. 
 
 Charles. No ! Sir Willoughby — I am sorry to say my con- 
 duct seldom meets -with my father's sanction. 
 
 Sir W. Why look ye, Sir Rowland, there are certain thingg 
 that we do like, and certain things we do not like — ( Helen and 
 Charles up stage (c.) Charles kisses Helen,) I don't like that ! 
 
 Helen. But I do papa? 
 
 Sir W. Pushes Helen to his (R. h.) (she goes behind to Cliarles 
 again) — now, Sir. to cut the matter short, I do like my daugh- 
 ter to marry, but I do not like either your son, or your 
 nephew for her husband. 
 
 Sir R. This is a very sudden change, Sir Willoughby — 
 
 Sir W. Yes, Sir Rowland, I have made two or three sudden 
 changes to day ! — I've changed my resolution — I feel changed 
 myself — for I've changed characters with my wife, and with 
 your leave I mean to change my son-in-law. 
 
 *S'/V J!. Of course, Sir, you will give me a proper explanation 
 of the last of these changes. 
 
 Sir W. Sir, if you'll meet me presently at your attorney's 
 the thing will explain itself. This way, young lady, if you 
 please. (Charles and IIklen up c. Sir. W. passes her over to r. 
 h.) Charles, I believe you are a devilish honest fellow, and I 
 want an honest fellow for a son-in-law — but I think it is rather 
 too much to give twelve thousand a year for him — this way 
 Miss Helen. 
 
 Exit Sib Willoughby and Helen, 1 e. it. h. 
 
 Sir R. This sudden resolution of Sir Willoughby will still 
 more exasperate him — I must seek him instantly, for the crisis 
 of my fate is at hand ; my own heart is witness against me — 
 Heaven is my judge, and I have deserved my punishment! 
 
 Exit Sir R. 1 e. l. h. 
 
 Charles. So ! I'm much mistaken, or there'll be a glorious 
 bustle presently at the old lawyer's. He has sent to beg I'll 
 attend, and as my heart is a little at rest in this quarter, I'll 
 e'en see what's going forward in that — whether his intention be 
 to expose or to abet a villain, still I'll be one amongst them ; for 
 while I have a heart to feel and a hand to act, I can never be 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 69 
 
 an idle spectator when insulted virtue raises her supplicating 
 voice on one side, and persecution dares to lift his unblushing 
 head on the other. Exit lis. l. h. 
 
 SCENE II.— O'Dedimus^ Office. 
 
 O'Dedimtjs and Ponder discovered. 
 
 O'Ded. You've done the business, you say ! 
 
 Ponder. Aye, and the parties will all be here presently. 
 
 O'Ded. That's it ! you're sure you haven't blabbed now ? 
 
 Ponder. Blabbed ! ha, ha, ha ! what do you take me for 1 ? 
 
 O'Ded. What do I take you for, Mr. Brass ? "Why I take you 
 for one that will never be choaked by politeness. 
 
 Ponder. Why, lord, sir, what could a lawyer do without impu- 
 dence ? for though, they say, " honesty's the best of policy," a 
 lawyer generally finds his purpose better answered by a " policy 
 of assurance." 
 
 O'Ded. But hark ! somebody's coming already, step where I 
 told you, and make haste. 
 
 Ponder. On this occasion I lay by the lawyer and take up the 
 Christian. Benevolence runs fast — but law is lazy and moves 
 slowly. Exit. 1. e. L. h. 
 
 Enter Falkner as Abel Growse. I.e. l. h. * 
 
 Abel G. (l. s.) I have obeyed your summons ! what have 
 you to say in palliation of the injury you have done me ! 
 
 O'Ded. (r. h.) Eaith and I shall say a small matter about it. 
 What I have done I have performed, and what I have performed 
 I shall justify. 
 
 Abel G. Indeed ! can you justify fraud and villany — To busi- 
 ness, sir — wherefore am I summoned here ? 
 
 O'Ded. That's it ! upon my conscience I'm too modest to 
 tell you. 
 
 Abel G. Nature and education have made you modest, you 
 were born an Irishman and bred an attorney — 
 
 O'Ded. And take my word for it, when nature forms an Irish- 
 
 * This Scene begins with Abel Growse entrance, L. h. 
 
70 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 man, if she makes some little blunder in the contrivance of his 
 head, it is because she bestows so much pains on the construction 
 of his heart. 
 
 Abel G. That may be partially true — but to hear you profess 
 sentiments of feeling and justice reminds me of our advertising 
 money-lenders who, while they practice usury and extortion on 
 the world, assure them that " the strictest honor and liberality 
 may be relied on ; " — and now, sir— once more — your business 
 with me — 
 
 O'Dtd. Sure, sir, I sent for you to ask one small bit of a favor. 
 
 Abel G. From me ? 
 
 O'Ded. Aye — from you — and the favor is, that before you 
 honor me with the appellation of scoundrel, villain, pettifogger, 
 and some other such little genteel epithets, you will be pleased to 
 examine my title to such distinctions. 
 
 Abel G. From you, however, I have no hopes. You have de- 
 nied your presence at the infamous and sacrilegious mockery of 
 my daughter's marriage. 
 
 ODed. That's a — mistake, sir — I never did deny it — 
 
 Abel G. Ha ! you acknowledge it then ! 
 
 O'Ded. That's another mistake, sir, for I never did acknow- 
 ledge it. 
 
 Abel G. Fortunately, my hopes rest on a surer basis than your 
 honcstv ; circumstances have placed in one of my hands the scales 
 of justice, and the other her sword for punishment. 
 
 O'Ded. Faith, sir, though you may be a fit representative of 
 the old blind gentlewoman called Justice, she showed little dis- 
 cernment when she pitched upon you and overlooked Mr. Corne- 
 lius 0"Dedimus, attorney at law. (Pointing to room, r. f.) And 
 now, sir, be pleased to step into that room and wait a moment 
 while I transact a little business with one who is coming yonder. 
 
 Abel G. I came hither to obey you, for I have some suspicion 
 of your intentions ; and let us hope that one virtuous action, if 
 you have courage to perform it, will serve as a spunge to 
 all the roguery you have committed, either as an attorney or as a 
 man. Exit, d. f. r. h. 
 
 O'Ded. That blunt little fellow has got a sharp tongue in his 
 head. He's an odd compound; just like a great big roasted 
 potatoe all crusty and crabbed without, but mealy and soft-heart- 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 71 
 
 ed within — He takes me to be half a rogue and all the rest of me 
 a scoundrel — och ! by St.Patrick ! I'll bother his brains presently. 
 
 Enter Sir Rowland, Lord Austencourt and Charles. 
 
 1 E. L. H. 
 
 Lord A. (l. c.) Further discussion, sir, is useless. — If I am 
 *o be disappointed in this marriage, a still more strict attention to 
 my own affairs is necessary. 
 
 Sir R. (r. c.) I appeal fearlessly to this man, who has be- 
 trayed me, whether your interest was not my sole motive in the 
 appropriation of your property. 
 
 Lord A. That assertion, sir, I was prepared to hear but will 
 not-listen to — 
 
 Sir R. Beware, Lord Austencourt, beware how you proceed ! — 
 
 Lord A. Do you again threaten me? (To O'Dedimus on r. h.) 
 are my orders obeyed ? is every thing in readiness ? 
 
 CDed. (r. h.) The officers are waiting! 
 
 Charles, (l. h.) Hold, monster — proceed at your peril. — To 
 me you shall answer this atrocious conduct. 
 
 Lord A. To you ? 
 
 Charles. Aye, sir, to me, if you have the courage of a man ! 
 
 Lord A. I will no longer support these insults — call in the 
 officers ! 
 
 Enter Sir Willoughby, Ladt Worrett, and Helen, 1 e.l.h. 
 
 Sir W. (l. h.) Hey ! Zounds, did you take me and my Lady 
 Worrett for sheriff's officers, my lord ? 
 
 Lord A. I have one condition to propose — If that lady accepts 
 my hand I consent to stop the proceedings — that alone can alter 
 my purpose. 
 
 Helen. Were my heart as free as air, I never would consent 
 to a union with such a monster ! 
 
 Sir W. .And if you would, curse me if/ would — nor my lady 
 Worrett either. 
 
 Sir R. Let him fulfil his purpose if he dare ! I now see the 
 black corruptness of his heart ; and though my life were at stake 
 I would pay the forfeit, rather than immolate innocence in the 
 arms of such depravity. 
 
 Lord A. Call in the officers, I say ! 
 
72 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 O'Ded. ( Without moving.) I shall do that thing ! 
 
 Lord A. 'Tis justice I demand — justice and revenge alike di- 
 rect me, and their united voice shall be obeyed. 
 
 Folk. (Enters sudden!)/, d. f. k. h.) They shall ! behold me 
 here, thou miscreant to urge it ! justice and revenge you call for, 
 and they shall both fall heavily upon you. 
 
 Sir R. Falkner ! 
 
 O'Ded. What ! Abel Grouse, Mr. Falkner here's a trans- 
 mogrification for you ! 
 
 Sir R. How ! Falkner and the unknown cottager the same 
 person ? — 
 
 Fallc. Aye, sir ! the man who cautioned you to-day in vain — 
 who warned you of the precipice beneath your feet, and was 
 unheeded by you — 
 
 Sir R. Amazement ! what would you have me do ? 
 
 Falk. Before this company assist me with the power you pos- 
 sess (and that power is ample), to compel your haughty nephew 
 to repair the injury, which in an humbler character, he has done 
 me — 
 
 Lord A. He compel me ! ridiculous ! 
 
 Falk. {To Sir Rowland) Insensible to injury and insult; 
 can nothing move you 1 — Reveal your secret ! 
 
 Lord A. I'll hear no more. Summon the officers, I say, I am 
 resolved. 
 
 Sir R. I too am at last resolved ! at length the arm is raised 
 that in descending must crush you. 
 
 Lord A. I despise your united threats. Am I to be the sport 
 of insolence and fraud 1 What am I, sir, that thus you dare in- 
 sult me ! Who am I? 
 
 Sir R. No longer the man you seem to be — hear me before 
 grief and shame shall break my heart — hear me proclaim my 
 guilt : — When the late Lord Austencourt dying, bequeathed his 
 infant son to my charge, my own was of the same age : prompt- 
 ed by the demons of ambition, and blinded to guilt by affection 
 for my own offspring, I changed the children. 
 
 Charles. Merciful heaven ! 
 
 Sir R. (to Lord A.) Hence it follows that you, unnatural 
 monster, are my son ! 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 73 
 
 Sir W- Ods life ! Hey ! then there is something in the world 
 to astonish me besides the reformation of my Lady Worrett. 
 
 Lord A. Shallow artifice. Think you I am weak enough to 
 credit this preposterous fiction, or do you suppose the law will 
 listen to it. 
 
 Folk. Ay, sir, the law will listen to it, shall listen to it, / sir 
 can prove the fact, beyond even the hesitation of incredulity, 
 
 Lord A. You ! 
 
 Folk. I. You have seen me hitherto a poor man and oppress- 
 ed me. You see me now rich and powerful, and well prepared 
 to punish your villany, and thus in every instance, may oppres- 
 sion recoil on the oppressor. 
 
 Lord A. Then I am indeed undone. 
 
 O'Ded. (down l. h.) Shall I call the officers now, my lord ? 
 Mr. Austencourt, I should say. I ask pardon for the blunder, 
 and now ladies and gentlemen be pleased to hear me speak. 
 This extraordinary discovery is just exactly what I did not ex- 
 pect. It is true I had a bit of a discovery of my own to make, 
 for I find that the habits of my profession though they hav'nt led 
 me to commit acts of knavery have too often induced me to 
 wink at them. Therefore as his quondom Lordship has now cer- 
 tainly lost Miss Helen, I hope he'll have no objection to do 
 justice in another quarter. Exit, 1. b. l. h. 
 
 Sir R. Oh ! Charles, my much injured nephew — how shall I 
 ever dare to look upon you more. 
 
 Charles. Nay, nay, sir, I am too brimful of joy at my opening 
 prospects here (takes Helen's hand) to cherish any other feelin^ 
 than forgiveness and good humor. Here is my hand, sir, and 
 with it I pledge myself to oblivion of all the past, except the acta 
 of kindness I have received from you. Up stage with Helen. 
 
 Sir W. That's a noble generous young dog. My Lady Wor- 
 rett I wonder if he'll offer to marry Helen now. 
 
 Lady W. Of course, after what has passed — you'll think it 
 decent to refuse for a short time ; but you are the best judge, Sir 
 
 Willoughby, and your will shall in future be mine 
 
 Sir W. Shall it — that's kind — then I will refuse him to please 
 you ; for when you're so reasonable how can I do otherwise than 
 oblige you. 
 
 7 
 
74 MAN AND WIFE. 
 
 Lady W. ( Aside.) Leave me alone to manage him still. 
 Enter O'Dedimus introducing Fanny. 
 
 Lord A. (Seeing Fanny.) Ah, traitor ! 
 
 O'Ded. Traitor back again in your teeth, my master, and since 
 you've neither pity for the poor innocent, nor compassion for the 
 little blunt gentleman her father, 'tis time to speak out and tell 
 you that instead of a sham priest and a sham license for your de- 
 ceitful marriage as you bid me, I have saved the cause of inno- 
 cence and my own soul by procuring a real priest and a real li- 
 cense, and by St. Patrick you are as much one as any two people 
 in England, Ireland or Scotland. 
 
 Fanny. Merciful Powers, there is still justice for the unfortu- 
 nate. 
 
 Lord A. (Ajter a conflict of passion.) And is this really so ? 
 
 O'Ded. You're man and wife sure enough, we've dacent proof 
 of this, too, sir. 
 
 Lord A. You no doubt expect this intelligence, will exasper- 
 ate me. "lis the reverse. By heaven ! it lifts a load of guilty 
 wretchedness from my heart. 
 
 Fanny. Oh, my Lord, my husband ! 
 
 Folk. Can this be genuine ? sudden reformation is ever doubt- 
 ful. 
 
 Lord A. It is real! my errors have been the fruits of an un- 
 bridled education; ambition dazzled me, and wealth was my idol. 
 I have acted like a villain ; and as my conduct has deserved no 
 forgiveness, so will my degradation be seen without compassion ; 
 but this weight of guilt removed, I will seek happiness and vir- 
 tue in the arms of my much injured Fanny. 
 
 Fanny, (x. to him b. h.) Silent joy is the most heartfelt. I 
 cannot speak my happiness ! my father! 
 
 Falh. (e. h.) This is beyond my hopes ; but adversity is a 
 salutary monitor. (Chaeles and Helen come forward centre.) 
 
 Sir R. Still Charles to you I am indebted beyond the power 
 of restitution. 
 
 Charles. My dear father, no — no — dear uncle I mean, here is 
 the reward I look for. 
 
 Helen. Ah Charles, my lord, I mean— I beg pardon, to be 
 
MAN AND WIFE. 75 
 
 sure papa, ay, and ma'ma-in-law too, will now no longer withhold 
 their consent. 
 
 Sir W. (l. c) Who, me ? not for the world, hey ! mercy on 
 us. I forgot your Ladyship (aside) do you wish me to decline 
 the honor. 
 Lady W- (Aside.) Why no, as matters have turned out. 
 Charles. Then fortune has indeed smiled on me to-day. 
 Folk. The cloud of sorrow is past, and may the sun of joy 
 that now illumines my face, diffuse its cheering rays on all 
 around us. 
 
 O'Ded. And Sir Willoughby aud her Ladyship's will smile 
 the most of us all. For everybody knows they're the happiest 
 man and wife amongst us. 
 Helen — 
 
 And while amongst ourselves we anxious trace 
 The doubtful smile of joy in every face, 
 There is a smile, which doubt and danger ends — 
 The smile of approbation from our friends. 
 
 END. 
 
 Lord A. Fan. Faulk. Sib R. Hbl. Chas. Lady W. Sir Wat. O'Dbd. 
 
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