I PR 4859 
 
 .K3 
 
 1832 
 [Copy 1 
 
MORAL PLAYSj 
 
 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! or KNOW 
 WHOM YOU MARRY; 
 
 A COMEDY: 
 
 THE FATE OF IVAN; 
 
 A N HISTORICAL TRA GED Y • 
 
 AND 
 
 MISS BETSY BULL; or THE 
 JOHNNIES IN SPAIN; 
 
 A MELO-DRAMA. 
 BY A LADY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CALKINandBUDD, 
 
 BOOKSELLERS TO THE KING; 
 
 PALL-MALL. 
 
 1832. 
 

 T. C. Hansard, Printer, Paternoster-n 
 
MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY, 
 
 THE COMEDY 
 
 OF 
 
 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 OR, 
 
 KNOW WHOM YOU M A R R Y, 
 
 IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 MADAM ;— 
 A KNOW not to whom I can more appro- 
 priately offer in the way of dedication, this 
 a 2 
 
IV DEDICATION. 
 
 trifling performance of the Comedy of KEEP 
 YOUR TEMPER! than to your Majesty. 
 The patient, the silent forbearance which your 
 Majesty on many late and most trying occa- 
 sions has uniformly preserved, as it cannot 
 be too much respected and admired, proves 
 your Majesty to be highly gifted in this 
 most excellent and desirable of all qualifica- 
 tions. 
 
 In the effervescence of the public mind at 
 this eventful period, when hundreds (forget- 
 ting how difficult it is to judge of the truth, 
 placed at so great a distance from them) 
 have made your Majesty perpetually busy 
 with the great political question ; I have 
 dared to presume your Majesty calmly and 
 confidently, and uointerferingly reposing on 
 the exertions of the enlightened and patriotic 
 body of the people. I have fancied you 
 submitting to the repeated fatigues of draw- 
 ing-rooms, solely to give a little additional 
 spirit to trade in general, and as a pre- 
 liminary commanding that the manufactures 
 of England should alone be resplendent at 
 your Court. I have imagined you turning 
 with eagerness from the brilliant festivities at 
 
D E D I C A T I O N. V 
 
 St. James's, and the ceremonies attendant on 
 your exalted station, to fulfil the tender 
 home-duties of relation, nurse, friend, and 
 physician ; anxiously flying with all the speed 
 of maternal affection, to watch the sick couch 
 of an amiable and interesting niece. Example 
 in all ages has been said to be more persuasive 
 than precept, so we may now reasonably 
 hope, that from general State reform, we 
 shall proceed to private and individual amend- 
 ment, and looking to the " very root of all 
 evil, quietly search into our own hearts," and 
 earnestly pray and endeavour after that moral 
 and spiritual perfection which must make us 
 rise still higher in the scale of surrounding 
 nations — which may preserve to us the espe- 
 cial blessing and protection of divine Pro- 
 vidence, that we have so long, so eminently, 
 so graciously shared and enjoyed : that we 
 may hence, by our united efforts, be saved 
 from all the horrors of civil commotion — all 
 internal discord and rebellious strife — that 
 we may feel assured that revolutions are the 
 scourges of humanity — that they annihilate 
 where amelioration is but wanting — that they 
 purchase trifling, often merely contemptible 
 privileges at the expense of the blood of 
 
VI DEDICATION. 
 
 thousands, and injure on the side of perfec- 
 tion in strengthening some unimportant weak 
 part — but here, perhaps, if I go on, I may 
 be digressing into matters equally unsuited 
 to my capacity and inclination ; I will, there- 
 fore, retreat whilst it is yet time, and sin- 
 cerely wishing your Majesty all peace, health, 
 and prosperity, 
 
 I have the honor to remain, 
 
 Your Majesty's 
 
 Most devoted and obedient subject, 
 
 H. St. A. K. 
 
 May 20. 
 
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 PRINCESS VICTORIA, 
 
 THE HISTORICAL PLAY 
 
 THE FATE OF IVAN, 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 A HIS being the anniversary of your Royal 
 Highness's birth-day, amongst the many 
 
Vlli DEDICATION, 
 
 testimonies of sincere affection which jour 
 Royal Highness will receive from friends and 
 relations, allow me to congratulate your 
 Royal Highness on this important occasion, 
 and to introduce to your particular notice in 
 the Palace of Kensington, Catharine the 
 Great, and the Princess Dashkoff; with 
 whose history, I presume, your Royal High- 
 ness is already well acquainted ; your Royal 
 Highness will believe me when I say, I hope 
 from my heart that they may meet with a 
 gracious reception — but, however that may 
 be, I shall not the less earnestly pray that 
 your Royal Highness may see many, many 
 happy returns of the day ; that every year, 
 as it adds to your Royal Highnesses general 
 information and amiable qualities, may add 
 to your happiness and the happiness of every 
 one deeply interested in your present and 
 future destiny. 
 
 I have the honor to be, 
 With sincerity, 
 Your Royal Highness's most devoted, 
 
 H. St. A. K, 
 
 May %UK 1832, 
 
THE MAJORS, 
 
 DRURY LANE AND COVENT GARDEN, 
 
 AND TO 
 
 ALL THE MINORS, 
 
 THE MELO-DRAMA 
 
 OF 
 
 MISS BETSY BULL; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE JOHNNIES IN SPAIN, 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INTRODUCED 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 A HE many difficulties attendant on private 
 introductions of candidates to your notice ; 
 
DEDICATION, 
 
 the numerous applications which doubtless 
 you receive ; the general hurry of universal 
 business, may frequently occasion different 
 pieces to be overlooked, which, on leisure- 
 consideration, might be deemed very appro- 
 priate for representation. I have selected 
 this little drama from the three in this volume, 
 as the one, in my mind, the most calculated 
 for scenic display ; and very glad I certainly 
 should have been, to make Miss Betsy 
 Bull profitable to myself in this way, but 
 the chances are as a-thousand-to-one in such 
 speculations, and I, therefore, give her to 
 general notice, wishing that if ever she should 
 make her appearance on the boards of any of 
 your theatres, that she may be received with 
 that indulgence and good humour so pecu- 
 liarly characteristic of a British audience. 
 
 I have the honour to be, 
 
 H. St. A. K. 
 
 June 1st, 1832. 
 
INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 
 
 A O extenuate some failure in the execution of the 
 design ; to prepossess the mind of the reader in 
 favour of the work he is about to undertake ; or to lead 
 him to search into the nature of that kind of writing 
 which it is possible he may not previously have 
 considered, (thereby the better to enable him to form 
 a precise judgment of the matter in question) we 
 all know to be the general business of an introduc- 
 tory discourse, a ceremony, with regard to the latter, 
 not perhaps wholly unnecessary ; but with respect to 
 the former, a useless preliminary, since there are few 
 persons who have read a little generally, who are 
 not capable of forming an opinion, independent of 
 any prelusive argument, and who moreover, have 
 not the inclination to judge for themselves — withal, 
 it is a something expected — an established custom 
 — a -sort of frame to a picture — a binding to a 
 work. 
 
 Voltaire observes that, " in a certain branch of 
 literature, we cannot constantly have new works. 
 
Xll INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 
 
 that nature herself does not afford more than a 
 dozen different characters :■' but is it not rather true 
 that there is as great a variety in the character of 
 the human species, as in their very countenances, 
 and as in the common productions of nature ? 
 Again, to form a good drama, it is not absolutely 
 necessary that we should find beings of an extra- 
 ordinary and novel cast. Let us place the twelve 
 different characters which he admits, in situations 
 contrary to those which have been their previous 
 routine of action ; and we shall find that casualties, 
 localities, varying circumstances, will call forth in 
 those minds powers, talents, traits, qualities, and 
 proceedings, which otherwise would not have dis- 
 played themselves, been remarked, or even excited ; 
 and may it not be as much the peculiar circum- 
 stances in which the characters are placed, as any 
 standard peculiarity in the characters themselves, 
 which may give interest to the piece, and a stamp 
 of originality and genuine merit to the production ? 
 Some of our best English comedies will, I think, 
 abundantly prove my supposition. In these trifling 
 productions, no attempt has been made to introduce 
 remarkable or ridiculous personages, yet there are 
 some which may be called original ; to form variety 
 in their company dramatic writers often find them- 
 selves obliged to have recourse to delineate pecu- 
 liarities of dress, of profession, of dialect, &c. ; 
 these in some degree are subterfuges, very well ad- 
 mitted as subservient to principals, but sometimes 
 
INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. Xlll 
 
 injudiciously made the first persons in the drama. 
 To develope those gradations of character which 
 escape common observation, were, perhaps, more 
 worthy the attention of authors of this cast; the 
 shades are innumerable, the variety endless, the 
 work never-failing : we all, generally speaking, pro- 
 fess one system of divine law, we universally ac- 
 knowledge a Supreme Power; but in the moral 
 code almost every individual has a separate divinity, 
 and what is precisely the god of one person's 
 idolatry, is as frequently the object of another's in- 
 difference, contempt, or aversion ; — here every man 
 establishes a certain law of his own ; here, in a very 
 small circle, we may find a great diversity, a decided, 
 at the same time an amiable, dissimilarity, equally 
 consistent as circumstances influence, equally conso- 
 nant with the higher principles of right and wrong. 
 Johnson has said so much, and remarked so wisely, 
 on the breach of the unities, that it seems little 
 necessary to apologize for the non-observance of 
 them ; I have availed myself of the indulgence 
 granted by so high an authority, of a few short 
 weeks, but such is the unmerciful stretch now made 
 on the privilege, that years and ages are galloped 
 over from scene to scene, and from act to act ; and 
 it may very fairly be presumed, that if we go on 
 thus encroaching, in a short time we shall not only 
 find heroes and heroines commencing and ending 
 their own career with the piece, but living through- 
 out the annual revolving drama, to establish their 
 
XIV INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 
 
 great-grand-children. It has become an invariable 
 custom with those venders of medicines denomi- 
 nated quacks, when they have any thing new to 
 offer to the public, to send forth with their adver- 
 tisements of the article they wish to recommend 
 some credentials of the efficacy of their potions, to 
 give a few letters gratis, as proof of their virtue, 
 and, what is very convincing, from living and reno- 
 vated subjects. In the introduction of the follow- 
 ing letter, it may very well be said, that I consider 
 the precedent in question a most judicious one, by 
 following it so closely ; or being a novice in the 
 business of publication, I foresee there is much to 
 contend with, and, like a poor man drowning, am 
 glad to catch at every straw, to save myself from 
 sinking into the abyss of a long bill from the printer, 
 to which otherwise the sale of the work might not 
 be commensurate. To return — the comedy in ques- 
 tion having been sent some few years ago, to one 
 of the managers of Drury Lane, when only 
 sketched out, as it were, he returned for answer : — 
 
 " Mr. * * * * * presents his respectful compliments 
 to the author of " Keep your Temper, &c., J ' has 
 read with much pleasure the sketch, as she calls it, 
 of her comedy. Mr. ***** particularly recommends 
 the author to finish it according to her own sug- 
 gestions ; the character of Roll and is original, and 
 an excellent comic character. There is something 
 very happily turned in Mrs. Woodly's excuse to 
 
INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. XV 
 
 Lady Aubrette of Sir John's conduct — the subor- 
 dinate persons are faithfully drawn. Mr. * * * * * 
 advises the author to continue writing, as he feels 
 persuaded that," &c. &c. 
 
 This complimentary manager being dead, I have 
 not the same advantage as the doctors, to whom I 
 have just alluded, of referring to such a number, such 
 a street, in support of the truth : the piece, however, 
 was finished according to the advice given, and some 
 time afterwards was sent to the Inspector of all 
 Plays, in the presumption that he might have it in 
 his power to promote its interests with some of the 
 managers in the way of representation, if, on reading 
 it, he should approve the comedy ; having examined 
 it, he procured the licence of the Lord Chamberlain, 
 for its being performed at any theatre ; but as 
 managers are not obliged to have the same taste as 
 those who look into the merits of such productions, 
 ex officio, and as they are some seasons so completely 
 stocked, that they cannot give promises as to any time 
 of bringing out plays offered to them, I presume the 
 routine of the business should have been for the 
 comedy to. have been accepted by some of the 
 theatres in the first instance, and the licence to have 
 been solicited in the second. 
 
 And now having said all that I can through the 
 medium of others in favour of this trifling perform- 
 
 * Sec page 3. 
 
XVI INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE. 
 
 ance, I think it advisable to reserve as concluding 
 matter, any thing that I may have to say against it, 
 for to give an unfavourable impression in the first 
 instance is in all concerns an injudicious proceed- 
 ing, it is what no one is expected to do expressly 
 of himself, and true policy in such a case prompts 
 the candidate either for fame or for profit, cautiously 
 to avoid the path of singularity. 
 
 KEEP 
 
KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 OR, 
 
 KNOW WHOM YOU M A R R Y. 
 
 & Otomrtrp, in ffti>% &ct£* 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 Sir Rupert Gainsford. 
 
 Gilbert, his soyi. 
 
 Sir John Aubrette. 
 
 Rolland. 
 
 Arthur. 
 
 Dr. Linton. 
 
 FlELDtNG. 
 
 Tom, Servant to Fielding. 
 Richard, Servant to Sir John Aubrette. 
 Patrick, Servant to Mrs. Woodly. 
 Doctors boy, other Servants, <^c. 
 
 Lady Aubrette, wife to Sir John. 
 
 Lucy, daughter to Sir Rupert Gainsford. 
 
 Mrs. Woodly, sister to Sir Rupert Gainsford. 
 
 Gertrude, her Protegte. 
 
 Mrs. Roper, Housekeeper to Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 Scene lies at Richmond, at London, and at a village 
 distant from town. 
 
JLT having been represented to me, by the 
 Examiner of all Theatrical Entertainments, 
 that a Manuscript entitled " Keep your Tem- 
 per, or Know whom you Marry," being a 
 Comedy, in 'Five Acts, does not contain in it 
 anything immoral, or otherwise improper for 
 the Stage, I, the Lord Chamberlain of His 
 Majesty's Household, do, by virtue of my Office, 
 and in pursuance of the Act of Parliament in 
 that case provided, allow the said Manuscript 
 to be performed at your Theatre, zvithout any 
 variation whatsoever, unless such variation be 
 likewise approved of by me in due form. 
 
 MONTROSE. 
 
 B 2 
 
KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 ACT T. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Sir Rupert Gainsford's 
 house. 
 
 Enter Sir Rupert, Gilbert following. 
 
 Sir Rupert. PsHAW, pshaw ! I tell thee, Gil- 
 bert, every thing there displeased me — I never 
 met with any thing worthy of notice, nothing to 
 attract the attention of a rational and well-in- 
 formed mind. 
 
 Gil. Pardon me, Sir, if I presume to think that 
 is utterly impossible ; grant, indeed, that you had 
 frequently visited these scenes, and that mere 
 familiarity might have rendered uninteresting to 
 you, all those exhibitions, which must have a thou- 
 sand charms for a young, and ardent mind. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Ardent ! aye, aye, there's the 
 danger ; now come my punishments. [Apart] I 
 tell you, it is a filthy place, this same London that 
 you are so mad after, why, there is no seeing 
 through their dirty windows. 
 
 Gil. I shall be always outside. 
 
6 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Sir Rupert. There thou wilt find tubs of rose- 
 trees, pots of myrtle, boxes of mignionette, plates 
 of daisies, dishes of mary golds, oh! mockery of 
 the beauties of nature, besmeared with the dust 
 which the wind hourly and liberally pours upon 
 them ; this constitutes the flower-garden, and then, 
 if there fortunately be a yard of ground at the back 
 part of the dwelling, it is as regularly set with cab- 
 bage plants and potatoes, mint, parsley, sage, and 
 thyme ! and this forms the kitchen-garden. 
 
 Gil. But I am not in the search of gardens of 
 any description. It is the advancement of the arts, 
 the progress of science, the perfection of Genius, 
 the 
 
 Sir- Rupert. Perversion of man's taste, that 
 leads him to prefer the pollution of cities, to the 
 unsophisticated charms of rural life. 
 
 Gil. But by practically proving the vanity and 
 insufficiency of the one, are we not more likely to 
 become immutably enamoured of the other ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Aye, Gilbert, I see thou canst be 
 eloquent enough in a bad cause, but, in forcing 
 upon ourselves experimental conviction, how often 
 do we plant in the bosom a thorn, which we cannot 
 afterwards eradicate ? 
 
 Gil. Tell me, Sir, frankly, are not the public 
 buildings worthy my attention ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Fudge ! fudge ! there's scarcely a 
 mansion in the whole metropolis, to be compared 
 with this ; why my very pigs are better lodged than 
 many fine people in that great city. And as for 
 that huge pile called St. Paul's, can any body say 
 
A COMEDY. 7 
 
 for what purpose it was made so big ; why, it is 
 a fact, Sir, that the part in this immense Church 
 allotted for the service is not much larger than the 
 vestry room of this parish. 
 
 Gil. The religious part of the community was 
 not so numerous, probably, in former days, as it now 
 is ; it appears we improve. 
 
 Sir Rupert. In short, this same London is a 
 rigmarole overgrown place, without either form or 
 fashion ; I doubt if any one can tell on what plan it 
 was originally built, or if it was built on any plan at 
 all. 
 
 Gil. But what is that to the purpose ? Why 
 give me books, pictures of mankind, and not allow 
 me to see the real representation ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Books, son, have not given thee 
 this taste, it is the idle conversation of the wander- 
 ing multitude that has seduced thee ; fools, and worse 
 than fools, who, on returning from the great city, 
 puff every block which they have met, to escape the 
 censure of having travelled far and seen nothing ; 
 thus, are the minds of youth inflamed with a passion 
 for novelty which, in the end, fails not to disgust 
 them with home scenes, and domestic enjoyment. 
 
 Gil. Would you have me then, Sir, stuck up in 
 this corner of the world all my life, like one of your 
 cabbage plants ? are not my principles fixed, Sir ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. I hope so, Gilbert, I hope so. 
 
 Gil. Could any thing on earth induce me even 
 to enter a gaming-house 1 
 
 Sir Rupert. I believe not, Gilbert, I believe 
 not. 
 
8 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Gil. I have made a solemn promise to myself, 
 that no mortal ever shall persuade me to approach 
 such a door — I will make you the same promise. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Well, well. 
 
 Gil. You know my opinion of duelling. 
 
 Sir Rupert. True, true, but the wisest will 
 sometimes err ; happy is he who is not exposed to 
 temptation. 
 
 Gil. I do not say so, Sir ! radicate principle, 
 expose it to trial, and you then perfect the man. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Or ruin him, perhaps beyond re- 
 demption ! prevention is my maxim. 
 
 Gil. Perseverance my motto. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Alas, alas ! 
 
 Gil. I know that I am sanguine, perhaps what 
 some persons may call hot-headed, but, have I ever 
 once in my life, given you any serious cause of 
 uneasiness ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Not as yet — not as yet. 
 
 Gil. Of what, then, are you afraid ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Ah ! my son, there are so many 
 evil accidents befalling us, on the high road of life, 
 that no mortal wisdom can foresee, no human pru- 
 dence avert, that with the best dispositions we may 
 be overthrown ; let us not, therefore, court danger, 
 let us not presume too much on our own strength. 
 
 Gil. Oh ! all this is making of a simple jour- 
 ney, a matter of too serious import. 
 . Sir Rupert, [apart.'] Ah ! I must be punished. 
 
 Enter Lucy, a basket of fruit in her hand. 
 
 Lucy. Oh papa! see what the last night's 
 
A COM ED V. 9 
 
 storm has done for us, all these, and they are but 
 half ripe. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Take 'em away ! take 'em away ! 
 
 [Sir Rupert walks about in evident emotion. 
 Gil. This is unfortunate. 
 
 [Gilbert signs to "Lucy— -she retreats hiding 
 the basket as she moves, and puts it into a 
 closet. 
 
 Enter Roll and, a whip in his hand. 
 
 Roll. Tantivy ! tantivy ! [perceiving Lucy, 
 then turning to Sir Rupert — ] Ha, my Gracia, 
 Fallacia ! is it you ? What is your daughter's 
 name, Sir Rupert? — so much enamoured of her 
 various perfections, I always forget the little no- 
 minative indicative of the charming superlative ! 
 
 Sir Rupert. Fudge ! 
 
 Lucy. Some call me Rose, the poets Delia fair ; 
 
 Some swains less courteous, boldly oft declare, 
 Nor wit nor grace doth simple Lucy boast, 
 
 And wonder how she grew the village toast. 
 
 Roll. Well, then, my Delia bright, my Rose, I 
 say; 
 
 Does my friend Gilbert dine at home to-day ? 
 
 [turning to Gilbert. 
 Your rhyme is quite infectious, Miss Gainsford. 
 
 [Lucy and Gilbert converse. 
 
 Sir Rupert. , Pray, Sir, is your father at home ? 
 
 Roll. Certainty, Sir, I believe I can answer for 
 that ; he is at home at all times, frequently before he 
 puts his stockings on in a morning, he is very glad 
 
JO KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 of the assistance of any of his neighbours in cutting 
 his corns ; so that if you are at all accomplished in 
 the art 
 
 Sir Rupert. Tell him, I shall dine with him to- 
 day, [impatiently. 
 
 Roll. Most obliging ! by all means ! tantivy, 
 tantivy ; a fine stag is to be turned out to-day ; 
 you'll go, won't you, Gilbert ? 
 
 Gil. No, it is quite impossible ; in three minutes 
 I shall be on the high road to London. 
 
 Roll, [to Sir Rupert.] Is it possible, Father 
 Cautious, you can have been persuaded to give 
 consent to that ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. To what, pray Sir? 
 
 [Lucy signs to Rolland to be silent. 
 
 Roll. Why, Sir, to pay the powder-tax these 
 hard times. 
 
 [Rolland lightly touches Sir Rupert's wig, 
 from which the powder abundantly flies. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Pray, Sir, tell your father I wish to 
 investigate with him the title-deeds to the estate of 
 Beekelfield, and that I shall come early. 
 
 [Edit Gilbert. 
 
 Roll. Most obliging ! the sooner the more 
 agreeable, doubt not. [apart.] The old rogue 
 wants me gone already — this estate of Beekelfield, 
 I presume, may be thought of as a marriage settle- 
 ment ; you contemplate the purchase in case I 
 should determine, you understand ? I say, Lucy, 
 my love 
 
 Sir Rupert. How, Sir ? 
 
 Roll. You will dine with us also ? 
 
A COMEDY. 11 
 
 Sir Rupert. No, Sir, slie will not. 
 Lucy. No ; certainly not ; I have not studied at 
 the feet of Gamaliel, I have no acquaintance with 
 Blackstone ; I have no opinion on the dull subject 
 of title-deeds. 
 
 Roll. But we can parley apart, my beloved, 
 
 [Sir Rupert walks impatiently about. 
 Lucy. What of hunting the stag ; I have no 
 taste that way either. 
 
 Roll. Can one talk of the stag or the law when 
 you are present ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. If you cannot immediately take my 
 message, pray say so, and I will send a servant. 
 
 Roll. Very proper, indeed ! but, however, I am 
 going home — with a heigh — [goings returns.'] ho ! 
 chevy ! hark forward ! hark forward tantivy ! Shall 
 I tell dad you'll come at four ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. No, in an hour I shall be with him. 
 Roll. Very good ! [going, returns.'] What 
 shall we have for dinner ? 
 Sir Rupert. Fudge ! 
 Roll. Adieu, my Arethusa bright, 
 
 Your bloom, without your wealth, a weaker 
 
 wight 
 Than Hercules, might tempt to knock the 
 
 dragon down, 
 A better prize than his, the toil would crown ! 
 
 [to Lucy. 
 See how you have inspired me. 
 Lucy. Go, Sir ! get you gone, 
 Or you will find more dragons here than one. 
 Roll. True love is all obedience. [going. 
 
12 keep Your temper ! 
 
 Sir Rupert. . Prfthee dream no more of tliat.-- 
 Roll. I lov'd a maid, she me betray 'd, 
 Good care I'll take so don't another. 
 
 The chace shall be my mistress, she 
 Will prove more kind than any other ! 
 With a heigh ho ! chevy, hark forward ! hark 
 forward, tantivy ! [Exit Roll a nix. 
 
 [Sir Rupert holds up his cane in a menacing 
 manner after Roll and as he is going out. 
 Sir Rupert. Come, Rose, we will take a turn 
 round the shrubbery, and see what the last night's 
 storm has done there. 
 
 Lucy. Lean on my arm, papa, you are still a 
 little lame from your last attack of the gout. 
 
 [As they are going out on one side, Roll a nit 
 enters at the other. 
 Roll. I say Lucy, my love, shall I call upon 
 you this evening ? 
 
 [Sir Rupert hurries away ; Roll and affects 
 to pursue them. 
 
 SCENE \\.—An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
 House. 
 
 Mrs. Woodly reading a Letter. 
 
 [Mrs. Woodly reads] — " In short, I can no longer 
 resist his pressing importunities, ardent, and half- 
 ignorant of the world as he is, I tremble for the 
 event ; I must, therefore, entreat you to watch over 
 him with parental anxiety, for were I to accompany 
 
A COMEDY. 13 
 
 him, I should only be considered as a spy upon his 
 actions, and that might, eventually, lessen the con- 
 fidence which has hitherto subsisted between us, 
 I depend, however, much on your care and affection. 
 Be not surprised if he should arrive a few minutes 
 after the receipt of this letter. 
 
 I remain, in the utmost affliction, 
 
 GAINSFORD." 
 Oh ! what an unexpected stroke is this ! which 
 way shall I turn ? what is to be done ? what plan 
 shall I adopt ? shall I declare to him the 
 whole truth ? the painful truth ! No ! I cannot— 
 yet, when I consider the power of virtue, intelli- 
 gence, and beauty, on an unsophisticated mind, I 
 
 feel it would be best alas! alas! could I dream 
 
 that this anxiety was to be the fruit of my cares ? 
 
 Enter Patrick. . ."..» 
 
 Pat. Lady Aubrette, your honor. [Exit Patrick. 
 Mrs. Wood. It is well, a thought, a happy 
 thought occurs. 
 
 Enter Lady Aubrette. 
 
 Lady Anb. Ah, my dear Mrs. Woodly, how d'ye" 
 do ? I am come to claim your promise 
 
 Mrs. Woodly. And I must again have recourse 
 to your indulgence to plead my excuse, I am not 
 sufficiently recovered to leave home at present. 
 
 Lady Aub. Is this really the case ?— and Ger- 
 trude ? 
 
 . Mrs. Woodly. She is quite at your, service for 
 the whole of the summer. 
 
14 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Lady Aub. I am delighted with that arrange- 
 ment, for securing the one is half gaining possession 
 of the other. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. And where is Sir John ? 
 
 Lady Aub. He stopt at the door to speak to 
 young Melville, but already I hear him. 
 
 Enter Sir John, bowing. 
 
 Sir John. I have the pleasure to see Mrs. 
 Woodly better ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Though by no means recovered — 
 I thank you, Sir John. 
 
 Lady Aub. [Throws herself into a chair, .] Ah ! 
 misericorde ! how fatigued I am ! that rugged ride 
 you made me take yesterday, Sir John. 
 
 Sir John. I thought twould have prevented 
 your having the vapours to-day, my Lady. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Allow me to offer you some re- 
 freshment. 
 
 Lady Aub. Excuse me, madam, I cannot take 
 any thing. I see, Sir John, one may die very 
 quietly in your presence. 
 
 Sir John. Surely I could not think of disturb- 
 ing the last moments of one so dear to me. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, Sir John, you are the most pro- 
 voking of men. 
 
 Sir John. I think we might both improve our- 
 selves. Excuse the liberty we take in your pre- 
 sence, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. No ceremony, I entreat. 
 
 Lady Aub. I shall return home immediately. 
 [Lady Aubrette rings. 
 
A COMEDY. 15 
 
 Sir John. But compose your spirits, my love — 
 be a little calm. 
 
 Lady Aub. I hate calmness, and all calm 
 people. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 Call my carriage immediately. [Patrick going. 
 
 Sir John. Order mine to wait till I come. 
 
 . [Patrick going, returns. 
 
 Lady Aub. Obey my orders ! 
 
 Sir John. You have heard me ? 
 
 Pat. Sure, your honor, I can obey both, first 
 I will call the coach for my lady, and then tell 
 him to wait for his lordship. [Exit Patrick. 
 
 Lady Aub. [to Mrs. Woodly.] Is this to be 
 endured ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. My dear Lady Aubrette, let me 
 entreat you 
 
 Lady Aub. No, no ! we shall see who will be 
 obeyed. [Exit hastily Lady Aubrette. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Lady Aubrette is very young. 
 
 Sir John. True, true, I have not to complain 
 exactly of her being a termagant, but she is a com- 
 position of extravagancies infinitely more difficult 
 of cure, and if the evil be not rooted out in the 
 beginning, it is evident no social happiness can be 
 expected in the end. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. I hope much from time and your 
 good management ; and then Lady Aubrette pos- 
 sesses a superior understanding. 
 
 Sir John. I am satisfied as to that, and am, 
 
16 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 therefore, encouraged to proceed — 'but. I 'hear 'her 
 returning — I will, if you please, retire by this door, 
 and in the moment take possession of the disputed 
 vehicle. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. By all means, Sir John, and my 
 carriage is at her ladyship's service. 
 
 Sir John. In the interim, I leave her to your 
 very good counsel. [Exit Sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Depend upon me. I hope this 
 delay may not prove unfortunate to my plans. 
 
 Re-enter hastily Lady Aubrette looking about. 
 
 Lady Aub. Where is the monster, madam ? 
 . Mrs. Wood. Oh, he very calmly left me by that 
 door. 
 
 , Lady Aub. Tell me, madam, is this treatment to 
 be endured ? 
 
 . Mrs* Wood. Certainly, it ought not to be con- 
 tinued. 
 
 Lady Aub. There have I been sitting all this 
 time in the carriage, and the creature would not 
 move a jot ; in vain I threatened and abused him, 
 he remained like a cucumber in its bed ; obeyed im- 
 plicitly the orders of his tyrannical master, and 
 fearful of a mob gathering round me, I was at last 
 obliged to return — tell me, madam, was this right ? 
 
 Airs. Wood. Very far from it, indeed ! and, tho' 
 we do promise a sort of obedience at the altar 
 
 Lady Aub. We do not vow to obey, if the men 
 should be unreasonable in commanding us. 
 
A COMEDY. ]? 
 
 ]\Irs. Wood. Good ! yet we cannot marry on 
 conditional terms, and 
 
 Lady Aub. Truly, the marriage act has great 
 need of amendment ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood, Let us sit — you are fatigued [Mrs. 
 Woodly draws chairs and they sit.] Sir John 
 appears to be incessantly reproving you. 
 
 Lady Aub. Continually, my dear Mrs. Woodly, 
 everlastingly ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. And, perhaps, frequently condemns 
 you without any just reason. 
 
 Lady Aub. Every hour of his life, madam ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. To what may we attribute all this ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh ! to the caprice, the madness, 
 the overbearing spirit of the sex. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. I think not, exactly : it arises partly, 
 I believe, from his excessive vanity. 
 
 Lady Aub. My dear Mrs. Woodly, I am charmed 
 with your penetration — excessive vanity, indeed. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. And still more from his extreme 
 love for 
 
 Lady Aub. For whom, in the name of pity ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. His very great love for you. 
 
 Lady Aub. How can that be ? explain. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Such is his extraordinary attach- 
 ment, that he never appears to abstract his mind a 
 moment from you — not a syllable you utter escapes 
 him — and of the most trifling inadvertencies, that a 
 being to whom you were perfectly indifferent would 
 scarcely discover if pointed out, Sir John seizes 
 the moment, and investigates each error with all the 
 scrutiny of an alchymist ; this certainly proves the 
 
18 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 strength of his attachment, and the height of his 
 vanity is equally manifested, or he would not be so 
 very anxious to render superior to the slightest 
 mortal imperfection the person thus nearly related 
 to himself, and thus tenderly beloved. 
 
 Lady Auk Ah, could I think so— but yet what a 
 strange method he takes to make me superior: but— 
 
 Airs. Wood. The best artists often err in the ex- 
 ecution, when they have not been faulty in tli£ 
 design. 
 
 Lady Aub. But seriously now, Mrs. Woodly, 
 what do you consider my most remarkable fail- 
 ings ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh, excuse me, I must leave them 
 for Sir John to discover. 
 
 Lady Aub. With a microscopic eye ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. True ! but if one could prevent him 
 discovering any 
 
 Lady Aub. Ah, that, indeed, were an utter im- 
 possibility, and certainly the gross exists in the 
 man's imagination. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. He determines, however, to root 
 out the evil which he fancies he sees, and how 
 calmly persevering he is. 
 
 Lady Aub. A perfect mule ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Whom it is in vain to attempt to 
 lead or drive ; nothing moves him. 
 
 Lady Aub. It is precisely that which pro- 
 vokes me ! if I could but once put him out of hu- 
 mour 
 
 Mrs. Wood. I think it is hardly possible. 
 
 Lady Aub. Well, if ever it should be my fate to 
 
A COMEDY. 19 
 
 be left a widow, never, no, never will I marry 
 again ! 
 
 JMrs. Wood. But, when once one has entered 
 the state, it is as well to seek contentment in it, 
 and 
 
 Lady Aub. How, in the name of reason ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. By mutual endeavours to oblige ; 
 one must be • 
 
 Lady Aub. So ridiculously obedient ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. No, no ! only amiably attentive ; 
 patient, when reproved ; not bearing in mind little 
 trifling offences, and, by way of prefatory practice, 
 promise to say nothing of this affair of the coach on 
 your return home ; endeavour 
 
 Lady Aub. I will; but, upon my honor, it is 
 so very impudent an affair ! [looking at her ivatch.~] 
 It is late ; I will just leave an order at the mercer's, 
 and return for Gertrude. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Do, my dear friend ; you shall not 
 have to wait one moment for her ; pray use all dis- 
 patch to precede Sir John. 
 
 Lady Aub. I saw your carriage at the door. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. It is quite at your service ; I rely 
 on your promptitude, and will instantly hasten 
 Gertrude. 
 
 Lady Aub. In the mean time, should Sir John 
 return hither, do not fail to lecture him on his 
 vanity. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. I will not forget. 
 
 [Exeunt together. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 SCENE HI.— 4 Library. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. How thankful I am that Lady 
 Aubrette is gone, and that Gertrude will soon be 
 out of this house ! Yet how oppressed I feel — what 
 a prophetic sadness sits at my heart ! — alas, if this 
 simple concealment, originating from the best 
 motives, can thus affect me, what must be their 
 feelings who are burdened with the consciousness 
 of guilt ? [Rings. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 Pray where is Mrs. Roper? 
 
 Pat. Your pardon, madam, but that is quite 
 impossible to tell ; gossiping, I dare say, in some 
 corner of the town, talking scandal of every body 
 in the house, not accepting even your honor. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Desire her to come to me as soon 
 as she returns. [Sits to a table and begins to write. 
 
 Pat. I will, your honor — but there never was 
 such a wasp as Madam Roper. 
 
 [Exit Patrick ; as he is going out, Mrs. Roper 
 enters from the opposite side, and overhears 
 - the last words. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Now to think of the impudence of 
 that plebeian, he has been abusing me slily. 
 
 Mrs. Wood, [looking up.] Oh ! you are here, 
 then, Roper? 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Your pardon, madam ; I have not 
 
A COMEDY. 21 
 
 been out ten minutes, but there is such a set of 
 mischievous people in this place. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Roper, I do not complain, it is of 
 no consequence so lam satisfied. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. It is impossible for a gentlewoman 
 to brook it, and 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Hear me now, Roper, I wish to 
 have the two spare rooms in the left wing imme- 
 diately prepared, they will, probably, be wanted 
 this very evening. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Very well, madam, it shall be done 
 immediately ; only I was going to observe, that I 
 could not live with that piece of vulgarity. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Another time I will attend to your 
 grievances — but now there must not be any delay — 
 order dinner an hour earlier than usual — and, if 
 any stranger should arrive before I return, shew him 
 into this room, and say I shall be at home very 
 soon. [Apart.'] I pray that he may not arrive this 
 day. [Exit Mrs, Woodly. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Very well, madam, [looking out 
 after her.] Let herself out ! What can be in the 
 wind ? Humph ! humph ! humph ! really my lady 
 begins to command me like a common servant in 
 the house — but I see how it is, that low-bred creature 
 has been forging a packet of lies of me to my mistress, 
 and she, poor easy woman, believes all she hears — 
 well, ladies are strange sort of ladies now-a-days, to 
 be listening to the tales of such varlets — but I 
 wonder what can be in the wind, now ? both bed- 
 rooms to be got ready ! — first, however, let me be 
 
22 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 even with my gentleman, I'll give him a drubbing, 
 or my name's not Roper. [She rings very loudly. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 So, Sir, for once you have condescended to answer 
 my bell ? [Patrick looking about him with surprise. 
 
 Pat. What, then, is not her honor here ? 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Yes, Sir, her honor is here ! 
 [drawing herself up.] And so, Mr. Impudence, you 
 call me a wasp, do you ? 
 
 Pat. And did her honor really tell you that ? 
 
 Mrs. Roper. And so you thought I was not in 
 the confidence of my Mistress, eh ? but I'll teach 
 you to tell lies of me, you ungrateful — have I not, 
 time after time, given you of the sweets of the 
 store-room ? 
 
 Pat. Ah, yes, indeed, Madam Roper, but that 
 was to qualify the pickles you obliged me to 
 swallow. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. How many a cordial glass have 
 you had from me ? 
 
 Pat. Whenever I caught you taking a sly drop, 
 as your ill luck would have it. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Will you promise never to talk 
 scandal of me again ? Will you, I say 1 
 
 [Shaking his shoulders. 
 
 Pat. Ods my life, without— [a loud knocking 
 and ringing.! all this ceremony. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Alack a day ! I shall be caught. 
 
 [Running about 
 
A COMEDY. 23 
 
 Pat. And that in a vile bad action, Madam 
 Roper — [Knocking and ringing again. 
 
 ]\lrs. Roper. Where are my keys ? Where are 
 my keys ? [running about.] Is the porter at the 
 door ? Blockhead, what are you doing here ? 
 
 Pat. Your honor forgets that she rang for me. 
 Sure your honor sometimes forgets herself like 
 many other great folks. [Exit Patrick. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Stupid fool ! — this comes of stop- 
 ping here to take revenge ! My keys, my keys, 
 what shall I do ? Suppose the strangers should be 
 come. {Exit hastily, Mrs. Roper. 
 
 ! Pat, [speaking without.] This way, your honor, 
 this way ! 
 
 Enter Patrick, Gilbert following. 
 
 Gil. Be so -good as to tell my servant to give 
 you the paper- case at the back of the carriage. 
 [Exit Patrick.] So far, friend Rolland, I am safe, 
 in spite of your prophecies, and my father's fore- 
 bodings. 
 
 Re-enter Patrick with a small Portfolio, which lie 
 places on a Table. 
 
 GiL At what time do you expect Mrs. Woodly 
 home ? 
 
 Pat. Every moment, sure, your honor, for 
 dinner is ordered an hour sooner than usual, only 
 Madam Roper has lost her keys, and that may put 
 us all back, perhaps, and 
 
 Gil. Who is Madam Roper? 
 
24 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Pat. The housekeeper here, Sir, who will soon 
 scrape acquaintance with you— but I would have 
 you beware of her, she is deep. 
 
 Gil. Thank you, friend ! thank you ! [apart.]' 
 From the Green Isle, I presume. 
 
 Pat. Ah, believe me, she's a wasp, that has- not 
 a civil word for any one, except my lady's Prodijay. 
 
 Gil. Now what can that be 1 some parrot, or 
 monkey, I suppose. 
 
 Pat. Then, if it is not the prettiest and quietest 
 of the kind, Patrick O'Laughligan never saw the 
 land of Saints. 
 
 Gil. He seems inclined to communicate, if he 
 did but know how. [apart.] In plain English, 
 who, or what is it ? 
 
 Pat. To be sure, your honor, it is a young lady. 
 
 Gil. But what is her name ? [impatiently.'] Has 
 she no name ? 
 
 Pat. No ! never a one, your honor. 
 
 Gil. A very extraordinary lady indeed! no 
 name ! [apart.] This fellow's intelligence only 
 serves to put one more in the dark. You mistake, 
 friend ! she must have a name ! 
 
 Pat. Oh, yes, yes ! Have a little patience ; I do 
 recollect more about it, she has a name ; but nobody 
 believes it to be her true name, they say it is a 
 sham — they call her Stanley, sometimes. 
 
 Gil. Stanley, Stanley ! I do not recollect such 
 a name in any of Mrs. Woodly's letters, but has 
 she no relations, no friends — no father — no mother ? 
 
 Pat. [earnestly.'] No, your honor, I don't hear 
 that ever she had. 
 
A COMEDY. 'CO 
 
 Gil. Good ! — what can I make of all this? It 
 appears, then, that there is some mystery about this 
 young lady ? 
 
 Pat. Oh ! a very great deal ? for I don't find 
 that Mrs. Roper with all her learning has been able 
 to find it out, and every body seems mighty curious 
 about her, and I think, Sir, as how you are pretty 
 much infected in the same way. 
 
 Gil. Be that as it may, I shall hear the whole 
 story from Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 Pat. No you wont, sure, your honor, and, as I 
 see you are a stranger here, let me give you a bit 
 of advice. 
 
 Gil. Thank you, friend ! thank you ! proceed. 
 
 Pat. Take care, then, what questions you ask 
 about young Miss, if you would keep in with the 
 old lady, my very good mistress, whom I love with 
 all my shoul. 
 
 Gil. Proceed with 
 
 Pat. Her honor has offended many of her 
 quality friends, because they asked questions that 
 were not quite agreeble, you understand ? 
 
 Gil. Perfectly ! perfectly ! and thank you for 
 the hint. [A knock at the door. 
 
 Pat. Your lordship will excuse me for a minute, 
 you see the porter is out. [Exit Patrick. 
 
 Gil. This man is, certainly, one of his own 
 country, and a very agreeable natural, in truth — but 
 who comes this way ? [looking out.] I will retreat 
 a little, for this, if I mistake not, must be the 
 prodigy or protegee. 
 [Gilbert retires to the further part of the Stage. 
 
26' KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Enter Gertrude, who, not perceiving Gilbert, 
 throws herself into a Chair. 
 
 Gert. Well, well, I am prepared according to 
 order, but oh, my heart, I feel as if I were never to 
 return here ! I feel as if I could not survive the 
 grief that oppresses me — when I entreated to stay, 
 Mrs. Woodly insisted in the most peremptory 
 manner — I never knew her insist before — forbid to 
 wait her return ! What can all this mean ? 
 
 Gil. [advances and bows.] Pardon me, madam, 
 I ought sooner to have apologized for this intrusion, 
 
 but the surprise of the moment 
 
 . Gert. [looking astonished.] I, I do not recol- 
 lect 1 mean 
 
 Gil. If you are an inmate of this house, 
 madam, I presume you will readily guess who 
 I am ? 
 
 Gert. I am, indeed, Sir, an inmate here, yet I 
 am totally ignorant who it is I have the honor to 
 address. 
 
 Gil. Then it is evident Mrs. Woodly did not 
 expect her nephew in town so soon ? 
 
 Gert. Mrs. Woodly's nephew ! you, Sir ! par- 
 don me, I did not know that you were expected at 
 all. 
 
 Gil. Ah ! I see how it is, my father's letter 
 apprising my aunt of my intention, has not reached. 
 In fact, I set off almost at an hour's notice. 
 . Gert. Certainly, certainly, she cannot know of 
 your coming, or, perhaps, she might not have 
 insisted on my leaving at this precise time- 
 
A COMEDY. 27 
 
 Gil. [apart."] Excellent! You have, then, 
 been some time resident with Mrs. Woodly, 
 madam ? 
 
 Gert. Oh yes ! many, many happy years ; I 
 have read to her, have written for her, have visited 
 with her the sick and the needy — and now, for the 
 first time, I am to leave her — perhaps for ever ! 
 
 Gil. But I will plead with Mrs. Woodly for 
 your remaining, she cannot refuse a nephew whom 
 she has not seen these fourteen years. 
 
 Gert. Oh ! no, no, no ! I believe it will be 
 best to be silent — a second thought convinces me it 
 will be in vain — she has insisted so peremptorily, I 
 must not urge ! 
 
 Gil. Would she would return ! But is it a great 
 distance, is it a long journey you are about to 
 take ? {Earnestly. 
 
 Gert. Ten miles ! 
 
 Gil. Ho, ho, ten miles, only ten miles! why 
 that is nothing. Oh compose your spirits. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Roper, hastily crossing the Stage. 
 
 Gert. Stay, Roper, only one moment, I entreat 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. My dear Miss, I am in so much 
 haste. 
 
 Gert. Tell me, then, in one word, did you know 
 that this gentleman was to be here to day? 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Yes, to be sure, dear Miss Ger- 
 trude, it is that which makes me run so fast. 
 
 [Exit hastily, Mrs. Roper. 
 
 Gert. I am lost in astonishment ! 
 
28 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Gil. Upon my honor, I begin to consider myself 
 of less importance amongst my relations than I had 
 presumed. So my aunt has received the news, and 
 did not think it worth communicating to her most 
 particular friend. 
 
 Gert. The more I think, the more I am per- 
 plexed. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 Pat. Lady Aubrette., your honor. [Exit Patrick. 
 
 Enter hastily Lady Aubrette. 
 
 Lady Aub. My dear Gertrude, I have been 
 
 detained rather longer 
 
 [Perceiving Gilbert, she stops. 
 
 Gert. Mr. Gainsford, Mrs. Woodly's nephew > 
 Lady Aubrette. [Introducing them. , 
 
 Lady Aub. Mrs. Woodly's nephew ! how's this? 
 I did not know Mrs. Woodly expected her nephew 
 in town? Only think, my dear, how we married 
 women are kept in the dark. 
 
 Gert. And I can prove to you, my dear Lady 
 Aubrette, that the single ones are not better treated^ 
 for I knew not a syllable that this gentleman was 
 expected, and yet it appears that Mrs. Roper was 
 fully informed. 
 
 Lady Aub. How incomprehensible ! there must 
 be some mystery in all this ; some plot ■ 
 
 Gert. But I cannot imagine what. 
 
 Lady Aub. Ah, that will come out presently ; 
 now I am determined to be even with them — a 
 
A COMEDY. 29 
 
 thought strikes me ! a good idea — Mr. Gainsford, I 
 trust you will frequently honor us with your visits 
 at Richmond — I will introduce you to the ty, ty, to 
 Sir John Aubrette ; [apart] (tho', by the bye, not 
 immediately.) It is a charming ride from town. 
 
 Gil. Your ladyship does me infinite honour, and 
 I know not how better to express my gratitude than 
 by accepting your invitation the very first oppor- 
 tunity ; I hear we have an early dinner ; this very 
 evening, then, perhaps ■ 
 
 Lady Anb. Do, pray, my dear Sir, I am certain 
 you will be enchanted with the neighbourhood. 
 
 Gil. I feel assured I should, were it even like 
 the vale of Cimmeria. 
 
 Lady Aub. He is really quite charming. [Apart. 1 
 On second thoughts, Mr. Gainsford, not a word of 
 this intended visit to Mrs. Woodly ; enjoin all the 
 servants to secresy ; and, for the present, I shall not 
 notice it to Sir John. I intend to surprise them all 
 as much by our acquaintance, as they have thought 
 proper to astonish us, by bringing you here. 
 
 Gil. Oh, I am dumb, I am dumb. 
 
 Gert. But, my dear Lady Aubrette, this is a plan 
 which, in the end, I fear will be disagreeable to 
 Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 Lady Aub. Pshaw, child ! now do not unsettle 
 my charming speculations. I really do not wish to 
 consult anybody's fancy but my own. Pray, my 
 dear, of whom did you buy that witch of a hat ? 
 
 Gert. I forget, but I think it was Mrs. Woodly 's 
 taste. 
 
30 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Exactly what the dear creature 
 herself wears. 
 
 Gert. Excuse me, but your own 
 
 Lady Aub. True, I had forgotten, but I recollect 
 now, that I put on this ridiculous-looking thing to 
 put my spouse out of countenance. 
 
 Gert. Indeed ! I do not think that quite right. 
 
 Lady Aub. But I'm sure you'll think so before 
 you've been a year married. 
 
 Gert. Then truly it were better to remain single. 
 
 Lady Aub. Positively, now, we must go. [look- 
 ing at her watch.'] Mr. Gainsford, one word — when- 
 ever you come to see us, send in your card, no name 
 upon it, your initials only — when I shall return for 
 answer, admit the stranger. 
 
 Gil. Mighty good ! I am all obedience, madam. 
 [Lady Aubrette going.] Allow me the honor 
 to attend you to your carriage. [Exeunt together. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
A COMEDY. 31 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A rural Scene. Lucy and Arthur 
 seated. 
 
 Lucy. I say, my dear Arthur, that Gilbert is 
 mad ; that Rolland is mad ; in short, that there is 
 scarcely a reasonable person in the village, except 
 Sir Rupert, and Charles, the vicar's son. 
 
 Arthur, [starting from his seat.'] And Charles ! 
 confusion 
 
 Lucy. Aye, there it is, let me but say Charter, 
 Charlemagne, or anything like Charles, your eyes 
 start, you look so wild, I am sure you would terrify 
 a stranger ; then there is Gilbert, talk to him of the 
 metropolis, he is on fire ! talk to Rolland of the 
 chace, and he flies over chairs and tables, with a 
 heigh, ho ! chevy ! and all this in a room where one 
 is reading or working. 
 
 Arthur. And Simon ? 
 
 Lucy. Mixes food for the body, with physic for 
 the soul, and tells Jenny Spruce, if she puts two 
 eggs into a pudding, she will never go to heaven. 
 
 Arthur. Ha, ha ! poor Simon. 
 
 Lucy. Which makes me seriously think that 
 there is scarcely a reasonable person in the place, 
 except Charles. 
 
32 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Arthur. Oh, Lucy ! you play with me. 
 
 Lucy. And have we not played together all our 
 lives, Arthur ? why, then, should the game be now 
 so serious ? 
 
 Arthur. Have I not cause to be serious, when 
 the very echoes are mocking me with the name of 
 Charles ? 
 
 Lucy. Why, truly, you don't pay attention to 
 what you read, or disregard the opinion of the wise 
 and the experienced. 
 
 Arthur. Explain ■ 
 
 Lucy. Did not that author you were reading to 
 me last night declare, that it was very difficult for 
 any one to pronounce the name of the person that 
 most interested him or her ? 
 
 Arthur. Then my Lucy does not seriously think 
 Charles superior to every other ? 
 
 Lucy. Pshaw ! how could you suppose so, or 
 even think that I had any preference for any one ? 
 
 Arthur. Would you lead a single, dreary, and 
 unsocial life ? 
 
 Lucy. Oh, no ! I will not be dreary or unsocial, 
 you shall come and see me very often, and Gilbert, 
 and Rolland, and Cha — Cha — 
 
 [Stopping, as she pronounces Charles. 
 
 Arthur sings. 
 
 When the chill blasts of winter prevail, 
 When the dark night of age shall appear, 
 
 Think, Lucy, how soothing the tale 
 Of affection — of friendship sincere ! 
 
A COMEDY. oo 
 
 If sickness your form should assail, 
 
 With your grief should my sympathy be, 
 
 When your roses, my Lucy, turn pale, 
 The lily shall charms have for me ! 
 
 Ah, then ! how sincerely I'd prove 
 
 My esteem cannot change, cannot die ; 
 
 Independent of seasons, my love 
 
 Lives on worth still more bright than your eye. 
 
 Lucy sings. 
 
 So all lovers say, my dear Arthur, 
 But papa tells me none to believe, 
 
 So I turn a deaf ear to their stories, 
 And then they can never deceive. 
 
 I ne'er was in love yet — however 
 
 I won't say I never will be, 
 For the god that has wounded young Colin, 
 
 May, perchance, throw an arrow at me. 
 
 [Exit Lucy. 
 
 Arthur sings. 
 
 Sweet hope ! I will cherish thee, then ; 
 
 Yes, time on my cares may improve, 
 Away from me, fears of hard fate, 
 
 I shall win the bright smile of my love. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— ,4 rural Scene. 
 Enter Roll and singing. 
 Roll. I lov'd a maid, she me betray 'd, 
 Good lack, I ne'er shall love another, 
 
 D 
 
34 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 The chace shall be my mistress, she 
 Will prove more kind than any other ; 
 
 Oh ne er shall I coquet again, 
 For t' would remind me of the pain 
 That Dolly gave her luckless swain ; 
 So, though by Dolly I was crost, 
 Community has nothing lost. 
 With a heigh ho chevy ! [Looking out, he per- 
 ceives Sir Rupert.] Ah, here comes a suspicious 
 old soul, who, by the distrust he entertains ot 
 every one that addresses his daughter, has cer- 
 tainly acted, at some time of his life, a very 
 busy part in the gay world ; and then he is so very 
 avaricious that he cannot resolve to secure her in 
 wedlock, and, though he approves of the suit of 
 young Arthur, and though the attachment is mutual, 
 I perceive they may grow grey in waiting his con- 
 sent, if I do not help them by frightening him into 
 compliance, and true charity that might, perhaps, 
 be to him, for the old soul would then sleep in peace 
 — with a heigh ho chevy ! 
 
 Enter Sir Rupert. 
 
 Moll. Ah, how do you do, father ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. You vainly flatter yourself, Sir. 
 
 Roll. No, I don't though ; but setting aside 
 a certain expectation, you are, positively, so like my 
 old dad, that it is with difficulty I can tell to which 
 I belong. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Thank Heaven ! you don't belong 
 to me. 
 
A COMEDY. OJ 
 
 Roll. Most obliging ; more of that hereafter — 
 for the present I must tell you that a fine sleek stag- 
 is to be turned out to-day, which, from the strong- 
 resemblance it bears to your daughter, and the love 
 I bear to her, I have christened Lucy. 
 
 Sir Rupert. I beg, Sir, you will not make quite 
 so free with my daughter's name. 
 
 Roll. Excuse me, Sir, but in a free country like 
 this, a man has certainly a right to call his dog, or 
 his horse, his cow, or his ass, by any name he 
 pleases; besides, if you had any taste, you would 
 have considered it the highest compliment I could 
 possibly pay your daughter — all the ladies of my 
 acquaintance would like it abominably. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Your acquaintance being, I doubt 
 not, of the abominable order. 
 
 Roll. You have hit it; abominably stupid. With 
 a heigh ho chevy, hark forward, hark forward, tan- 
 tivy — this day must Lucy fly. 
 
 Sir Rupert. [Apart.'] I'll have a care of you, Sir. 
 
 Roll. Do you know, Sir, I was once on the eve 
 of running off with a pretty girl, and just as I was 
 stepping into the carriage that was to convey me on 
 the wings of impatience to Gretna, I most unfor- 
 tunately, as then it appeared to be, broke my leg, 
 and before I could get the pieces put together again, 
 the old father came up and arrested our course — 
 but I'll take care my leg don't break a second time. 
 
 Sir Rupert. [Apart.] Thank you for the hint. 
 
 Roll. Yes, yes, this accident has made me care- 
 ful, and I hope for a better bargain than the last ; 
 no more fathers shall interrupt me again. 
 d 2 
 
36 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. I'll beware of you. 
 
 [ WW/w # fowf disturbedly. 
 
 Roll. I presume, Sir, you are going to dine with 
 my father to-day ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Pray, Sir, what reason have you to 
 presume that? 
 
 Roll. La, Sir, I read it in your all-expressive 
 phiz. 
 
 Sir. Rupert. Give me leave to assure you, you have 
 totally misconstrued the language of my looks, I 
 am not going to see your father, nor is your father's 
 son coming to see my daughter. 
 
 Enter hastily Lucy with a letter. 
 
 Lucy. Papa, papa, another letter from Gilbert ; 
 you may equally depend upon all his promises. 
 
 [Giving the letter. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Ah, Rose, that is yet to fear. 
 
 [He begins to read. 
 
 Lucy. All good news, papa ? 
 
 Roll. I say, Lucy, my love, will you be at home 
 this evening ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. [Turning from the letter.'] No. 
 S'death ! in my presence. 
 
 Lucy. No, no, no ; to be sure not. 
 
 Roll. What not for a single hour ? 
 
 Lucy. No, no, no, no, not for a single moment. 
 [Sir Rupert holds up his cane. 
 
 Roll. But you don't tell us what Trim, there, is 
 about, I wager he'll come home without a sixpence 
 in his pocket, or a shoe to his foot. 
 
 Sir Rupert. [Groaning.] That I dread ! [Apart.] 
 I dread my punishments. 
 
A COMEDY. 3( 
 
 Lucy. Dear papa, don't be concerned at his non- 
 sense. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Let's see, let's see, I must answer 
 this; this is good at least for the present; it shall be 
 answered. 
 
 Lucy. Pray, papa, set about it immediately. 
 
 Roll. [Going] Adieu, my Helen bright, re- 
 member thy adoring Paris ! remember ere the 
 officious night, and envious sleep those azure eyes 
 shall seal, I must, I will again behold them ! 
 
 Sir Rupert. But I'll take care of that. 
 
 [Exit Lucy and Sir Rupert. 
 
 Roll. Ha ha ha ! the old soul is afraid of his 
 own shadow, and success must attend my pursuit. 
 [Looking out.] Ah, a propos ! here comes that love- 
 sick dog, young Arthur, just as I was thinking of 
 him ; I do believe I can serve him in a double 
 way, nevertheless, I abominate these languishing 
 creatures — Oh ! I must cure him — it is time he was 
 cured ; — notwithstanding the damsel never gives the 
 slightest encouragement to any other man, he can 
 hardly persuade himself that she prefers him — so 
 now, to bring his disorder to a head, give him a 
 complete fit of jealousy, and finally establish his 
 future happiness. 
 
 [Rolland retreats into the back ground. 
 Enter Arthur, a book in his hand. 
 
 Arthur. She is right, it is precisely what he has 
 said — but, alas ! 
 
 " Where'er we go, whatever state we prove, — 
 Rolland coming forward. 
 
 Roll. "One is each season when we trulv love." 
 
58 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 But, my dear Arthur, what's the matter ? how pale 
 you look — are you ill ? 
 
 Arthur. No, not exactly, yet I believe this 
 weather does not agree with me. 
 
 Roll. It has, I know, a very unpleasant effect 
 upon me. 
 
 Arthur. As how ? you look very well. 
 
 Roll. My complexion, indeed, seldom changes, 
 yet I cannot help recollecting that it was just at 
 this unfortunate season that I experienced one of 
 the greatest calamities that could possibly happen to 
 a man of my sensibility. 
 
 Arthur. May I inquire farther ? 
 
 Roll. In truth, I am loth to tell you, for, as you 
 seem to be in a melancholy mood, you will, pro- 
 bably, be assimilating a sort of something in my fate 
 with your own situation, and yet, my dear fellow, we 
 rarely hear of the same accidents occurring to two 
 different persons. 
 
 Arthur. Very rarely, indeed ! and therefore 
 you need not be so delicate about my feelings. 
 
 Roll. It is, indeed, a common case enough ; to 
 be brief — three years ago, just at this very season, I 
 fell seriously in love, and I was fool enough to 
 believe that the girl loved me equally — and yet I 
 cannot say that she ever told me so — but this, you 
 know, we men frequently think unnecessary, for we 
 have an unfortunate habit of translating cant kind 
 words and insignificant smiles, into important pre- 
 ference, and yet, to say truth, she did not trouble 
 me much with these, but, on the contrary, would 
 often call me fool, madman, and the like. 
 
 Arthur. Ah, indeed ! 
 
A COM ED V. 39 
 
 Roll. Blockhead that I was, I really thought 
 that when she most abused, the most she loved me. 
 False woman ! mistaken Rolland ! I should have 
 continued thus dreaming on, for many a month, had 
 I not been awakened one morning by the loud 
 ringing of the parish bells. 
 
 Arthur. And that ? 
 
 Roll. Was but to tell me, Arthur, she was 
 wedded to another. 
 
 Arthur. Perfidious woman ! false sex ! 
 
 Roll. He who has ever truly loved, may guess 
 what then I felt— what now I feel — at this unlucky 
 season ; excuse my saying any more. The parish 
 bells ! the parish bells ! I hear them jingling in my 
 ears at every corner. [Exit hastily Rolland. 
 
 Arthur. Poor Rolland, how I pity you ; but 
 your case makes me revert to myself. Yes, your tale 
 revives in me ! I will leave this place ; I will not 
 see this girl any more, she trifles with me — I was 
 not originally a fool, however this idle passion may 
 have metamorphosed me — I will make one resolve 
 and be myself again ! 
 
 Lucy is heard singing behind the .scenes. 
 
 Ah ! whither, all ! whither, can Damon be gone, 
 My true love, the gentle, the ruddy, the young ? 
 I could think 'twas an age, tho' I saw him to-day, 
 I could think 'twas an age since the youth fled 
 
 away. 
 Ah, haste thee, return ! dear Damon, here fly, 
 Let me read of thy truth, in thy soul-beaming eye, 
 
40 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 I ask no professions less truly they prove 
 That the youth whom I love, loves the girl I most 
 love. 
 Arthur. Now to beware the magic of that voice, 
 she sings of Damon and little thinks the hapless 
 Arthur is so near. 
 
 Enter Lucy, who looks surprised on seeing Arthur. 
 
 Lucy. Now who would have dreamt of your 
 being here ? 
 
 Arthur. Not Lucy, I am certain. [Gravely. 
 
 Lucy. Why, how now, Arthur ? what's your 
 humour now 1 
 
 Arthur. Not to be pleased with that which, from 
 the beginning, was always satisfied with itself. 
 
 Lucy. Ho, ho ! does Arthur rail against the 
 sex ? 
 
 Arthur. Perfidious sex ; there is no sincerity 
 amongst them, no dependance to be placed on the 
 faith of any of them. 
 
 Lucy. Dear Arthur, what is it has disturbed you 
 so much ? 
 
 Arthur. [Apart.] Trust not that deceitful voice. 
 
 Lucy. Say, I entreat you, are you ill ? do speak. 
 
 Arthur. Of Damon ? 
 
 Lucy. [Apart.'] Oh, ho ! I have him now. 
 But what of him ? 
 
 Arthur. May he be blasted with keen dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Lucy. Ho, ho ! what, dear Damon ? 
 
 Arthur. Who is this Damon? 
 
A COMEDY. 41 
 
 Lucy. What, not know Damon ? I'll describe 
 him then ; neither is he too tall, nor yet too short, 
 nature has cast him in that happy mould which 
 pleases every mind — [apparently admiring Arthur 
 as she .speaks.] — his eyes are black as Arthur's, and, 
 for the round luxuriant curls that grace his manly 
 forehead, what can compare with them ? 
 
 Arthur. S'death ! can I hear more and brook 
 the insult ? 
 
 Lucy. Why, Arthur, surely you are mad. 
 
 Arthur. Mad! Oh, Rolland, it was thus — but 
 no more ; farewell, and for ever, I say. 
 
 {Exit Arthur. 
 [Lucy looks after him some moments in astonish- 
 ment, then supports herself against a tree, 
 
 Lucy. Ah, what can all this mean ? My heart 
 sinks within me — my head turns round — can he be 
 mad, indeed? I tremble in astonishment. Oh, dis- 
 traction ! What must I think ? 
 
 Rolland comes forward. 
 
 Roll. That the men were deceivers ever, and 
 that the woman who constantly distrusts them can 
 never go wrong ; this is the first principle I shall 
 instill into the minds of my daughters, if ever I 
 should have any, and depend upon it they will never 
 be guilty of a false step — be assured a woman is 
 very silly whenever she puts any confidence in 
 man, 
 
 Lucyi And, believe me, I never shall again, no, 
 never. 
 
42 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Roll. But, is it of Arthur you complain ? 
 
 Lucy. Alas ! I fear, indeed, that 
 
 Roll. Oh, I have said too much against my own 
 sex ; he being in question, I do not intend, by any 
 means, to include him with my evil brethren. 
 
 Lucy. You might not be much in error if you 
 had done so. [Going. 
 
 Roll. Lean on my arm, you seem very faint. 
 
 Lucy. I wish to return home. 
 
 Roll. Come, come, do not droop; I seriously 
 think that Arthur is a very good young man — 'tis 
 nothing but a fit of jealousy this — you know his 
 temper. [Exit Lucy, leaning on Rolland's arm. 
 
 SCENE III.— The inside of a doctors shop. Dr. 
 Linton busily employed in making up medicines — 
 a boy waits ^ and puts letters and bottles into a basket. 
 
 Dr. L. Here, take these draughts as directed ; 
 then call at Brown's with this blister ; afterwards, 
 carry the strengthening plaister to Miss Jenny 
 Heartless, the leeches to the Alderman's, the cor- 
 rective pills to the lawyer's ; the balsam to the 
 curate's. 
 
 Boy. Yes, Sir. Let me see ; Brown's blister; 
 Jenny Heartless's plaister; leech for the Alderman ; 
 correction for the deevil, say lawyer ; drop of 
 comfort for the poor parson ; shan't forget, all right. 
 
 Dr. L. Sirrah, there must be no mistake ; then, 
 when you have delivered the medicines, call at Lady 
 Vapor's, and tell her the steam-bath will be ready at 
 six. 
 
A COMEDY. 43 
 
 Boy. Very well, Sir. [Boy takes the basket, re- 
 peating as he goes out.] My Lady Steam Vapor 
 Bath -all right. [Exit. 
 
 Dr. L. Now for the poor widow ; by my holy 
 art I will make a cure of her, and let her prayers be 
 my reward : it is, I believe, the frequent prayers of 
 the widow and the orphan that make me so happy ; 
 [making up medic'uies.] were it not, as friend 
 Rolland says, that I am somewhat impatient, I do 
 not think that there would be a happier man in ex- 
 istence — but here I see him coming for more 
 medicine ; I presume he pretends to take physic for 
 the good of my family, and it is true that the half of 
 that which I send him has not the honour of reach- 
 ing his palate, for such is his faith in my medicines, 
 that he cures himself with the very sight of the 
 pills. 
 
 Enter Rolland, a whip in his hand. 
 
 Roll. With a heigh ho chevy ! no more 
 bolusses, the whole village will be poisoned, all 
 these should have been made into pills, as small as 
 pins heads. 
 
 [Rolland whips off the counter several balls 
 which the doctor had been preparing. 
 
 Dr. L. S'death, Sir, this is too much ; do you 
 know what you have done here? — all these were 
 for the widow Bentley, and I have no more of these 
 ingredients in my shop — she will now be obliged to 
 wait for several days for a supply, in the mean time, 
 at the hazard of her life. Is this your charity to 
 the community ? 
 
44 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Roll. That's right, doctor, talk calmly, ancl you 
 shall send the old woman a few golden pills from 
 me by way of indemnification. 
 
 . Enter hastily, and in agitation, a Servant. 
 
 Servant. Sir, your attendance is immediately 
 required at Mr. Robinson's, Mr. Arthur is taken 
 suddenly ill ; pray be quick, we think he is dying. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Roll. Ha, indeed ! 
 
 Doctor L. [running hastily about.'] Where is 
 my case, where is my case ? — dying ! [Going. 
 
 Roll. Stop, stop ; hear what I have to say, or 
 you may kill him. [Preventing him going. 
 
 Doctor L. What do you mean, young man ? 
 Have you not heard that I am wanted on life and 
 death ? 
 
 Roll. I tell you, you cannot save his life if you 
 do not hear me. 
 
 Dr. L. No, patience itself were madness now. 
 [The Doctor takes pistols from the corner of his 
 shop, and presents one to Rolland. 
 
 Roll. Keep your temper. 
 
 Dr. L. I demand the satisfaction of a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Enter hastily, and in evident alarm, another Servant. 
 
 Servant. Oh, Sir ! make haste ! 
 
 Dr. L. What, what is it ? 
 
 Servant. Miss Gainsford,_ Sir, is dead, or very- 
 near it. 
 
A COMEDY. 45 
 
 Dr. L. Oh, this is too much ! [the pistols drop 
 from the Doctor s hands.] too much ! 
 
 S t rvant. Fly, clear Sir, I must fly. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Dr. L. Where is my partner ? where is my as- 
 sistant ? 
 
 Roll. Here, Sir, — come with me, I will lead you 
 to your patients — I will tell you what has happened 
 — I see a man may carry a joke too far, but you can 
 remedy all by one word — here is your case — we 
 will go together, only keep your temper. 
 
 Dr. L. I am quite calm, indeed I am, I hope I 
 may not be too late. [Going. 
 
 Roll. I will ensure you — fear nothing — only 
 keep your temper ; all will still be well ; poor 
 Arthur, poor Lucy. [Exeunt together. 
 
 SCENE IV. — An apartment in Sir John Au- 
 brette's house. Sir John, Lady Aubrette, 
 Gertrude netting. Lady Aubrette holds a 
 ridiculous-looking hat in her hand. 
 
 [Sir John writing. 
 
 Lady Aub. And you will really swear that this 
 witch of a hat was very becoming? 
 
 [Sir John looks up. 
 
 Sir John. I swear you looked bewitching in it. 
 
 Gert. And so you think, Sir John, with every- 
 thing Lady Aubrette wears. 
 
 Sit John. You are right, she would please me 
 in the witch of Endor's garb. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh! Sir John, you are the most 
 provoking of men ! [Pulling the hat to pieces. 
 
46 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Sir JoJm. I will endeavour to improve, my love. 
 [Continuing to write. 
 
 Lady Aub. All this will not do, Sir John, this 
 foolish calmness 
 
 Sir John. I can be in a passion if provoked. 
 
 Lady Aub. Be assured you will never rule me, 
 Sir John. 
 
 Sir John. My first wife and my second used to 
 say the same. 
 
 Lady Aub. Now what can I do with this Blue- 
 beard. [Turning to Gertrude. 
 
 Gert. Let me entreat — — 
 
 Enter Richard. 
 
 Richard. Your horse is quite ready, Sir John. 
 
 [Exit Richard. 
 
 Sir John. Mighty good ! I do not think that I 
 shall be at home for some hours — [looking at his 
 watch.] — compose your spirits, my love, for I re- 
 peat, I am afraid of your health suffering from these 
 exertions. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, be assured I shall not live long, 
 and, therefore, I recommend you to choose out of 
 some collection of statues, your fourth wife, that 
 there may be some similarity between you. 
 
 Sir John. Oh, as for that, minds may be similar 
 without being congenial, and vice versa — but I will 
 not keep my horse waiting any longer, for fear he 
 should lose his temper. Good morning ! 
 
 [Bows and exit. 
 
A COMEDY. 47 
 
 Lady Aub. Now tell me, sweet Gertrude, do you 
 think that such another icicle is to be found in this 
 world ? 
 
 Gert. Sir John is certainly the best tempered 
 man in Christendom, he is never disturbed. 
 
 Lady Aub. Yes, it is that which provokes me so 
 much ; if I could but once succeed in putting him 
 out of humour, I should feel myself indemnified for 
 a world of chagrin. I am determined to aggravate 
 him in some way or other. 
 
 Gert. And when you have done that 
 
 Lady Aab. I may, perhaps, be inclined to follow 
 good Mrs. Woodly's advice. 
 
 Gert. The sooner the better, I am persuaded, for 
 all parties. 
 
 Lady Aub. Surely, his first wives must have been 
 very easily managed, or he never would have ven- 
 tured on a third ; now I will make the task so 
 difficult to him, that if I die, never, no, never will 
 he wed again ! 
 
 Enter Richard. 
 
 Richard. My lady, the stranger again requests 
 to see your ladyship, and has given me this card. 
 
 [Giving a card. 
 
 Lady Aub. Shew him into the library imme- 
 diately. Charming Mr. Gainsford — [Exit Richard.] 
 I like this ardour and impatience above all tempers ; 
 how different is this from my icicle of a spouse. 
 
 Gert. Oh ! my dear Lady Aubrette, let me 
 entreat you — consider a moment what may be the 
 consequence of all this trifling. 
 
48 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Yes, indeed, I have considered in a 
 moment — we shall have the most charming ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 Gert. Adventures ! How, what sort of adven- 
 tures ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Not exactly bearing on the fashion 
 of the day — something admirable ! something new ! 
 
 Gert. Explain. 
 
 Lady Aub. Why, perhaps I shall have a certain 
 old father's consent to a projected marriage, before 
 he even hears of the name of his intended daughter- 
 in-law ; ha, ha, ha ! ha, ha ! 
 
 Gert. Am I awake ? I tremble, [in the utmost 
 astonislunent.'] Oh, Lady Aubrette, what can all 
 this mean ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Only that you must lend me a little 
 assistance in plaguing Sir John. 
 
 Gert. I see no wisdom in that ; I beg to be ex- 
 cused. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, that is utterly impossible. 
 
 Gert. I am determined not to be concerned in 
 any plot — I don't like adventures, 
 
 Lady Aub. But, my angelic Gertrude, you like 
 to oblige your friends ; come with me, then, and be 
 assured you will rejoice in the end that you lent me 
 your assistance in the beginning. 
 
 [Lady Aubrette takes Gertrude by the arm 
 and leads her out. 
 
 END OE ACT JI. 
 
A COMEDY. 49 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — An apartment in Sir John Aubrette's 
 house. 
 
 Sir John entering, Richard folloioing. 
 
 Sir John. I must change these boots, set me an- 
 other pair in the library — this is not all— stay one 
 moment ; [Richard going'] you have packed up the 
 wrong papers, and it is on this account that I have 
 returned so immediately. 
 
 Richard. Sir John, I perceived the mistake a 
 very short time after you left, and 
 
 Sir John. As I passed the wall at the end of my 
 grounds, I thought I perceived a stranger walking 
 about, a person whom I never recollect having 
 seen before ; has any one entered my house since 
 I went out ? 
 
 Richard. Entered, Sir ! 
 
 ■Sir John. Yes, Sir, do I not speak intelligibly ? 
 
 Richard. Sir, yes, Sir, I quite understand, but 
 pray do you mean any company, Sir John ? 
 
 Sir John, [apart] I must keep my temper, 
 patience ! I mean. Has any one, man, woman, or 
 child, entered this house since I went out ? speak 5 
 instantly, why do you hesitate ? 
 
 Richard. Oh ! yes, indeed, Sir, there has been 
 both and all, men, women, and children. 
 
50 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Sir John. And who, then, is that person that 
 has been admitted into my grounds, that stranger ? 
 
 Richard. I don't know, Sir, indeed, Sir. 
 
 Sir John. Speak the truth, Sir, at the peril of 
 your place, I command you ; have you opened 
 the door to any stranger this day? 
 
 Richard. No, Sir, no, indeed— the porter opened 
 the door, and I shewed him into my Lady's library, 
 and this is truth, as I hope to keep my place. 
 
 Sir John. Very good — and now, what is this 
 stranger's name ? 
 
 Richard. I don't know, indeed, Sir John ; upon 
 my honor, I don't know his name, neither does the 
 porter, and this is true, as I hope to keep my place. 
 
 Sir John. I shall certainly lose all patience. 
 I believe, Sir, you know that I am a man of calm 
 mind, but not the less determined ; I have already 
 said, that if I find any falsehood, you leave my 
 house immediately. By what name is this stranger 
 admitted ? 
 
 Richard. By no name at all, Sir, indeed, upon 
 my honor ! upon my knees, I assure you, Sir 
 John [Richard kneels. 
 
 Sir John. Rise, Sir, and tell me briefly, how, 
 then, does he get in ? 
 
 Richard. Why, Sir, just this way- he knocks at 
 the door, with a kind of gentle sly tap, not at all 
 like your honor's knock 
 
 Sir John. Go on. 
 
 Richard. The porter opens the door, the young 
 man gives a card, and he says take that to Lady 
 Aubrette ; and so the porter gives it to me, and I give 
 it to my Lady, and my Lady says shew the stranger 
 
A COMEDY. 51 
 
 into the library, and so, your honor, I shew him there, 
 and sometimes they go directly into the grounds, 
 and sometimes they stay in the library 
 
 Sir John. Proceed. 
 
 Richard. Then, after a short time, Sir, 1 run up 
 stairs into the store-room, and there I look out for 
 your horse or carriage, and I stand so, your honor, that 
 it any body past close to the house, they could not 
 see that any one was on the watch, I stand so 
 amazing cleverly. 
 
 [Putting himself half behind a door to explain 
 how he stands. 
 
 Sir John. And, when you see my horse or 
 carriage, what do you do then ? 
 
 Richard. Then, Sir, I run hard drive above 
 stairs, frequently in danger of breaking my neck, 
 to tell the ladies you are coming, and then the 
 stranger is let out through the garden, that's all. 
 
 Sir John. Very ridiculous, indeed. 
 
 Richard. So I think, Sir; and as it has hap- 
 pened, that you, Sir, returned, even before I got into 
 my watch-room — well, of course, I had not time to 
 let them know, and so, Sir, you got a sight of him. 
 
 Sir John. I certainly should be glad to know 
 this stranger's name. [Alusing. 
 
 Richard. So should I, Sir, for there is some- 
 thing very particular in him, indeed. 
 
 Sir John. How particular ? 
 
 Richard. Why, Sir, I don't much think he's 
 English, and yet if he be a foreigner, he's the hand- 
 somest foreigner I ever set eyes upon ; I don't think 
 I ever saw so handsome a young fellow in my life. 
 e 2 
 
52 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Sir John. Humph ! And now I think of it, what 
 is the reason you never informed me of this 
 stranger's visits ? 
 
 Richard. Her Ladyship, .Sir, forbad us, at the 
 peril of our lives. 
 
 Sir John. She did ! 
 
 Richard. And if she should now discover that I 
 have told, what may become of me ? 
 
 Sir John. Trust me for that — upon my word this 
 is a most ridiculous business, but I see how it is', 
 this is some secret lover of Miss Stanley's, yes, yes, 
 this is the reason why I am not to be informed. 
 
 Richard. I don't know how that may be, Sir, but, 
 indeed, it is my Lady who always seems the most 
 pleased to see the young gentleman, and Miss 
 Stanley looks as if she did not half like my Lady's 
 going on. 
 
 Sir John. Humph ! humph ! I should be glad to 
 be acquainted with this stranger, for if indeed he be 
 a foreigner, he may not be a proper acquaintance 
 for Miss Stanley. Lady Aubrette must always have 
 some adventure on the carpet ; and this gentleman, 
 I suppose, has been introduced by her Ladyship to 
 Miss Stanley. 
 
 Richard, [apart] A good way of turning the 
 business. 
 
 Sir John. And he is very frequent in his visits 
 here ? 
 
 Richard. Oh la ! yes, Sir, he is never out of the 
 house; always three minutes after you set out, Sir, 
 he arrives * so I think, Sir John, he keeps as close 
 watch over you as I do. In short, he seems as if he 
 could not live away from us ; and this is all, indeed, 
 
A COMEDY. OS 
 
 Sir John, that I know of this business, as I hope to 
 keep my place. 
 
 Sir John. I am perfectly satisfied that you have 
 spoken the truth, I will now change my boots, these 
 are much too tight, set me another pair immediately, 
 1 will then introduce myself to the gentleman. 
 
 Richard. I will, Sir, immediately. [Apart.] Very 
 easy indeed in the tight boots. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Jo/in. This is the most incomprehensible, 
 the most mysterious affair ! — thank heaven, I have 
 not betrayed myself to my servant ! — let out at the 
 garden gate — handsome young man— forbid to in- 
 form me at the peril of his life ! but let me be calm, 
 let me be patient — yet, indeed, these adventures be- 
 come so very general in this age, that a man cannot 
 be too prompt in looking about him. I must inves- 
 tigate the business without delay. I will change 
 these boots, and instantly set about it. [Edit. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Garden Scene. Gertrude and 
 Giebert walking— they stop in front of the Scene. 
 
 Gil. Just so, my dear Gertrude, are the walks 
 laid out at Comberley ; and at this very season, 
 at this very hour, Lucy, my father and myself are 
 accustomed to stroll, and 
 
 Gert. Is the surrounding landscape equal to 
 this ? 
 
 Gil. The landscape, the air, the society, all is 
 inferior. 
 
 Gert. Which way has Lady Aubrette turned ? 
 Let us look for her. 
 
54 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Gil. No, no, she fatigues me to death ; I am not 
 well enough to bear her excessive spirits. 
 
 Gert. You have, indeed, some fatigue in coming 
 here, but tell me, does not Mrs. Woodly complain 
 of your repeated absence ? 
 
 Gil. She thinks I am paying my devotions at 
 the shrine of inanimate beauty, at the feet of the 
 statues of the Venus di Medicis, the Apollos, the 
 Antinous, the Laocoon ! — she forgets that I am her 
 nephew, that I have a heart, that ■ 
 
 Gert. Pardon me, Sir, if I wish that you re- 
 sembled her more ; then, I am certain, you would not 
 so long submit to Lady Aubrette's folly in clan- 
 destinely coming here — how may all this end ? 
 
 Gil. How should it end but well ? besides, did 
 she not bind me in the first instance to secrecy ? — 
 and, in the meantime, can I forget my obligations to 
 her ? — can I forget that whilst I am, indeed, 
 fatiguing myself on the one side in contributing to 
 her amusement, I am, on the other hand, procuring 
 for myself the greatest of all earthly blessings ? — 
 Sweet Gertrude, ask your own heart how you would 
 have acted in such a case. 
 
 Gert. Like you, I might have been guilty of an 
 error in the first instance, but in the second, I would 
 perceive it, I would acknowledge, I would correct 
 it. 
 
 Enter hastily Lady Aubrette. 
 
 Lady Aub. Dear Gerljpude, retire a little, Sir 
 John is unexpectedly returned ; he will be coming 
 here ; leave Mr. Gainsford to my care a few minutes. 
 
A COMEDY. D3 
 
 Gcrt. ! most willingly, dear madam. 
 
 [Exit Gertrude. 
 
 Gil. [apart] S'death and confusion to Sir John. 
 
 Lady Aub. Sir John is inquiring for me — I expect 
 
 him every moment — now I shall certainly provoke 
 
 him, and if his attachment is as Mrs. Woodly 
 
 pretends, he must certainly have a fit of jealousy. 
 
 [Gilbert muttering in evident impatience. 
 
 Lady Aub. Yes, he must be out of humour for 
 
 once in his life. [Turning to Gilbert.] My dear 
 
 Sir, we will enter this shady walk, you must talk and 
 
 laugh very loud. My maid has overheard some 
 
 discourse, he intends to play the scout. 
 
 Gil. Madam, I cannot laugh. [Very gravely. 
 Lady Aub. Mighty good ! I will laugh for you, 
 then : ha, ha, ha ! come along, ha, ha, ha ! 
 Gil. S'death and confusion to Sir John ! 
 Lady Aub. Ha, ha, ha! excellent! that is just 
 what you should say, that will do exactly. 
 
 [Lady Aubrette takes Gilbert's arm, and 
 apparently dragging him along, they enter a 
 shady walk. 
 
 Enter Sir John. 
 
 Sir John. I have secured the gates, but let me 
 proceed softly, for he might, in an emergency, leap 
 the wall. 
 
 [Sir John listens attentively, and hears l\ady 
 Aubrette laughing and talking very loud. 
 Lady Aub. My dear Sir, this project is the most 
 
56 KEEP YOUR TEMPER.' 
 
 delightful in the world, I do not expect the tyrant 
 home to-night ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Sir John, [apart] Good ! but I have resolved 
 to keep my temper. 
 
 Gil. S 'death and confusion to Sir John ! Would 
 there were no such person ! 
 
 Sir John, [apart] Better still. 
 
 Lady Aub. And, were he unexpectedly to arrive 
 this evening, before he has time to take off his boots, 
 I can secret you in a closet which he never enters, 
 and where you may repose very comfortably all 
 night. 
 
 Sir John, [apart] Indeed ! 
 
 Gil. I pray heaven he may not stay. 
 
 Lady Aub. And to-morrow, being levee day, 
 he must be very early in town, and then we shall 
 have full opportunity to decamp — ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Sir John, [apart] If this be not enough to 
 provoke a man — but, perhaps, I dream. 
 
 Gil. Oh my angelic friend ! perverse interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 Lady Aub. I wonder if the creature would feel 
 his misfortune. 
 
 Gil [not attending to her] Torture inexpress- 
 ible, to be deprived of your sight, even for an hour 
 — confusion to Sir John. 
 
 Sir John, [apart] I can scarcely believe my senses, 
 but I will see by whom I am likely to be so much 
 honored. 
 
 Lady Aub. His case is by no means an uncom- 
 mon one, he will have that consolation — ha, ha ! 
 
A COMEDY. 57 
 
 Sir Jo Jm. [apart] Heaven and earth ! is it possible ? 
 [6'//' John bursts into the walk from which the 
 voices proceed. — Lady Aubrette is seen to 
 run from ivalk to walk, as if endeavouring to 
 conceal herself Sir John still pursuing, at 
 length they all meet in front of the Stage — 
 Gilbert is confused — Lady Aubrette af- 
 fects to be so. 
 Sir John. I must confess a very handsome sub- 
 ject, as my servant said, [apart. — Looking at them 
 stedfastly .~\ " To-morrow being Levee day, we shall 
 have full opportunity to decamp together ! ,J — 
 Young man ! let me instantly know your name, if 
 your respectability be such as to entitle me to take 
 the satisfaction of a gentleman. 
 
 Lady Aub. [to Gilbert] Do not, do not be- 
 tray me ! 
 
 Gil. What can I say ? Would to heaven he 
 had not come ! 
 
 Sir. John. I demand to be informed, by what 
 means you got introduced to this house ; and, un- 
 less you wish that certain officers should take you 
 into custody, you will do well to let me hear the 
 truth : who are you ? what motives led you here ? 
 
 Gil. The most sincere — the most ardent — the 
 most unconquerable passion .! 
 
 Lady Aub. Bravissimo ! there's the truth, as you 
 would have it. 
 
 Sir John. Merciful heaven ! can man be so be- 
 witched ? 
 
 Gil. I know no pleasure but in her society, and 
 if I am to be z deprived of. that, death at your 
 
OS KEEP YOUIl TEMPER ! 
 
 hands, death in any shape would be welcome to 
 me. 
 
 Lady Aub. Charming, [apart] This is much 
 better than I expected. 
 
 Sir John. Oh my heart ! Is this to. be endured 
 with calmness ? 
 
 Gil. What is life, without the object that we 
 love? 
 
 Sir John. Young man, hear me ; in any other 
 situation, under any different circumstances, your 
 countenance would have pleaded for you — even now 
 I feel for you a sentiment of pity — yes, this mad 
 woman has seduced you from the path of virtue. 
 I am sensible of my misfortune ; I regret that you 
 are her dupe. 
 
 Gil. Ah ! how can that be ? how can that be ? 
 
 Sir John. Promise me never to see her more ! 
 
 Gil. What ? abandon her ! no never '. never ! 
 never ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Ha, ha, ha ! [apart] This is charm- 
 ing. 
 
 Sir John. Reflect, young man, a few moments 
 on the consequence of an intercourse of this kind. 
 
 Gil. I have reflected, have maturely weighed, 
 and I see nothing less than a heaven upon 
 earth in the union of two hearts that were evidently 
 formed for each other. 
 
 Lady Aub. Are you content with the truth ? 
 
 Sir John. " S'death and confusion to Sir John," 
 indeed ! 
 
 Gil, [turning to Lady Aubrette] Madam, what 
 is this? explain, how does it so concern him? 
 
A COMEDY. 5.9 
 
 Sir John. You feel, then, no reproach of con- 
 science ; you see no guilt in your passion ? 
 
 Gil. Guilt! astonishing! guilt! oh perversion 
 
 of that sacred emanation of all that breathes of 
 
 heaven ! what madness ! can an attachment like mine 
 
 thus be construed ? what does he mean by guilt ? 
 
 [To Lady Aubrette. 
 
 Sir John. I mean, Sir, that though her husband 
 is a man of a calm mind, he knows how to resent 
 an injury as a man of honor, nor will he be tardy in 
 seeking that redress which such injuries demand, 
 and which justice, the laws of his country, will not 
 fail to give him. You will, I presume, Sir, leave 
 me your address, before you take your depar- 
 ture. 
 
 [Exit Sir Johx. 
 
 Lady Aub. Ha, ha, ha! was ever any thing so 
 excellent ? oh, how much I am obliged to you — 
 how much better you have performed than I ex- 
 pected ! 
 
 [Gilbert appears lost in thought, and, not 
 hearing her, exclaims- 
 
 Gil. Resent an injury ! her husband a man of 
 honor ! — husband ! oh, distraction ! can it be pos- 
 sible ? yes, it is, doubtless, too true — does any one 
 even know her name, or history ? oh, I am lost ! 
 undone ! 
 
 Lady Aub. [approaching him in great surprise. 
 In the name of pity, Mr. Gainsford, what is the 
 matter with you ? what can you mean ? 
 
 Gil. Mean, Madam ! I mean that if Gertrude be 
 already married as he pretends, what have I more to 
 do in this world? 
 
60 KEEP YOUR TEMPEIl! 
 
 Lady Aub. Ho, ho, ho ! I shall certainly expire 
 — why you have totally forgotten the whole plot- 
 it is Sir John Aubrette who has just left us — my very 
 immaculate spouse ! it is I that am married, it is you 
 of whom he is jealous, and when you talked of the 
 most amiable and intelligent of beings, he thought 
 that you meant his wife all the time, and so did I, 
 upon my honor ! ha, ha, ha, ha ! there never was 
 any thing better than this. 
 
 Gil. Oh, my heart ! can I have been so much 
 bewildered ? could I so far forget myself? 
 
 Lady Aub. Ah, you see what it is to be seriously 
 in love ! — but, only recollect, that I engaged you to 
 act with me to make Sir John jealous ; and I most 
 heartily thank you, you have done it to admiration ! 
 
 Gil. Ah, now, indeed, I have some recollection, 
 but do you not fear the consequences for yourself? 
 
 Lady Aub. The consequence will be, that I shall 
 have to laugh at Sir John and his jealousy all the 
 rest of my life ; ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Gil. Still, Lady Aubrette, I have some doubts 
 — some apprehension on my mind— you know that 
 there is something mysterious in the fate of your 
 friend ; and then, from the manner in which she 
 receives my attentions, I hardly dare flatter myself 
 that they are agreeable to her. 
 
 Lady Aub. But you must make some allowances 
 for a certain timidity of character, which makes her 
 doubly interesting, and then your short acquaint- 
 ance 
 
 Gil. All that I could admit, were I but assured 
 that I am not indifferent to her. 
 
 Lady Aub. Then be assured from me ; you may 
 
A COMEDY. 6l 
 
 very well suppose that I am in her confidence, and, 
 entre nous, she has told me fifty times, that, should 
 tin re be any family objections, she could not survive 
 the disappointment. 
 
 Gil. Then, by all that earth contains, there shall 
 not bo any ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Hush, hush, be calm, not a word of 
 this to her, she would never forgive me. 
 
 Gil. Bat, do you not deceive, do you not flatter 
 me ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Why, what an incredulous being* 
 thou art ! but come, let us look for her, she can at 
 least convince you that that person is my husband, 
 and who, I suppose, is now puzzling his brains to 
 find out your name in vain — what a charming ad- 
 venture we shall have. 
 
 Gil. I am confused at all this « 
 
 Lady Aub. Come along ; I see you are musing 
 again. 
 
 [Exeunt together, Lady Aubrette taking 
 Gilbert by the arm. 
 
 SCENE III.— An Apartment in Sir John Au- 
 brette 's house. The library. Sir Jo hx, Richard. 
 
 ■Sir John. And they have not yet entered the 
 house ? 
 
 Richard. No, Sir John ; but I observed them 
 turn into the avenue, as if intending to come in. 
 
 Sir John. ^Tis well, hasten with this card you 
 have given me to Miss Stanley, marked G. G., say 
 merely, the . gentleman waits in the library — [Ed-it 
 
6'2 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Richard.] if, after what has passed, a shadow of 
 doubt could remain upon my mind, I should find 
 truth and conviction here. What an unexpected 
 blow ! giddy, violent, and capricious, I dreamt nol 
 of guilt ! yet fiercely to rage will not alleviate the 
 weight of my misfortune. 
 
 Enter hastily Gertrude, speaking as she enters. 
 
 Gert. Oh, Mr. Gainsford, I must entreat 
 
 Sir John. Ah, indeed ! Gainsford is then his 
 name, I now know against whom I have to act. 
 
 Gert. Oh ! pardon me, pardon me, Sir John, 
 indeed these clandestine proceedings were very 
 contrary to my wishes ; I have a thousand times 
 requested Lady Aubrette would cease. 
 [Throws herself into a chair in an agitated manner. 
 
 Sir John. Compose yourself, Miss Stanley, and 
 understand me — that you should be found abetting 
 a system of conduct like this, excites my astonish- 
 ment, my pity, my indignation ; you, whom I 
 imagined so superior to all that I had hitherto met 
 with — what excuse can you offer ? what atonement 
 can you make ? 
 
 Gert. Oh, Sir John ! pity me, pardon me ; you 
 cannot be more offended with me than I am with 
 myself; I beseech you forbid Mr. Gainsford's visits 
 here, or allow me immediately to return to Mrs. 
 Woodly — but no ! I cannot, I dare not, I dread her 
 resentment — where shall I fly ? which way shall I 
 turn ? [Bursts into tears. 
 
 Sir John. Yes, this distress is more than all con- 
 
 
A COMEDY. 6*3 
 
 vincing ; let me recommend you, Miss Stanley, to 
 compose yourself, and consider that I am the 
 greatest sufferer— all that you can now do is, to 
 remain with that unfortunate woman till you have 
 my further orders. I must now consult my solicitor^ 
 and you shall soon know my determination — you 
 have acted improperly, but your mind is not cor- 
 r upted — [Sir John, as he is going out.] — tell Lady 
 Aubrette, if we meet again, it will be to part for 
 ever. 
 
 Gert. What can this mean ? what do I hear ? 
 stay, Sir John, I entreat you — [endeavouring to 
 detain him.] — only one word. 
 
 Sir John. No, I cannot hear any more, you 
 have convinced me of everything. [Exit Sir John. 
 
 Gert. What strange conviction darts across my 
 mind ! Oh, Lady Aubrette, you are lost for ever — 
 he is deceived. I have contributed to strengthen his 
 error — my heart will break, but let me fly — let me 
 send some one after him to tell him ; [going, meets 
 Richard entering.] Oh, run, Sir, I beseech you ; 
 fly after Sir John ; tell him he is deceived, tell him 
 it is I that 
 
 Richard. Deceived ! la, ma'am, Sir John knows 
 that to his cost ; besides, his horse was waiting for 
 him, and he set off full gallop, I doubt if anything- 
 human could overtake him. 
 
 Gert. Oh, my unfortunate friend ! what will 
 become of you ? — this is all my fault — why did I 
 not in the first instance apprise Sir John— I shall 
 lose my senses ! 
 
 Richard. Indeed, ma'am, I think we were all to 
 
6*4 KEEP YOUR TEMPER.' 
 
 blame there, [Exit Gertrude, unperceived by 
 Richard, who continues, as he thinks, to address her.~\ 
 but my lady is so very headstrong, one never knows 
 what to do for the best ; but, were I in Sir John's 
 place, I would not, by any means, have a divorce ! 
 I don't approve of these divorces — no doubt it is 
 what she aiid Mr. G. would most like, and really it 
 is encouraging these mischiefs — I would just allow 
 her ladyship a scanty separate maintenance, and, if 
 starving would not do more towards bringing them 
 to their senses, than all the laws and divorces, my 
 name's not Richard ; and, between you and I, 
 ma'am, it was always my opinion that my lady was 
 a little too free with the bottle, that is, I mean if she 
 took a little less, we servants should not be battered 
 about so much, that's all — pray, ma'am, can you tell 
 me the name of this gentleman who has raised such 
 a hurly-burly here ? [he stops a moment, then looks 
 round icitli surprise.'] Hey day ! what, gone ! run 
 after Sir John, I wager ; why we shall have nothing 
 but elopements. Molly, Jenny, Betty, Billy, Sally, 
 Polly, Tommy, Harry, here's news for you ! 
 
 [Exit Richard. 
 
 SCENE IV. — An Apartment in Sir John Au- 
 brette's house. 
 
 Enter Gertrude, Gilbert following, 
 
 GiL Come, come, let us talk no more of Sir 
 John, it is time enough to be miserable when as- 
 sured he cannot be convinced. 
 
A COMEDY. 65 
 
 Gert. But if, before he has seen Mrs. Woodly 
 — before you have seen her — before any explanation 
 can have taken place — he should send you a chal- 
 lenge 
 
 Gil. As I live to adore you, I will not accept it 
 — I swear ! 
 
 Gert. That all appaling word, coward 
 
 Gil. Has no terrors, when your happiness is in 
 question. 
 
 Gert. But it is Lady Aubrette's peace of mind 
 that is now the question ; fly, then, I entreat you, 
 to Mrs. Woodly, beg her instantly to see Sir John — 
 she alone can convince him — tell her all the truth. 
 
 Gil. I will do all ; I will do every thing that 
 you wish. 
 
 Gert. Then I am persuaded you will not clan- 
 destinely come here again. 
 
 Gil. Why so harshly stigmatize a conduct, 
 which you know in the first instance was inevitable. 
 Sweet Gertrude, ask your own heart what you 
 would have done in such a case, 
 
 Gert. I would retrieve it — but tell me candidly, 
 do you not doubt that Mrs. Woodly will disapprove 
 of your visits ? 
 
 Gil. No ! I have no doubt, I am too well con- 
 vinced ! Why did she conceal from you that I was 
 expected at her house ? Why did she send you 
 away on my arrival ? Why, but for this reason ? 
 I suspect you have no fortune — she thinks I have a 
 heart to appreciate excellence, an understanding to 
 discern it — she, with a thousand good qualities, has, 
 perhaps, one failing, avarice, the vice of the age. 
 
66 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Gert. I tremble as I think ; I cannot help re- 
 marking with you the peculiarity of her conduct of 
 late — but be persuaded she has some solid reasons 
 — our mutual interest is so concerned. 
 
 Gil. Be persuaded ! No, by all that earth con- 
 tains, nor man nor woman shall persuade me ! 
 
 Gert. Ah, reflect a moment ; may there not be 
 some mysterious cause ? Do I know at this moment 
 who I am ? Is not my very name called in question ? 
 
 Gil. Pshaw, pshaw ! a name's a name. What 
 do I care for a name ? Black, Brown, or White, it 
 is my sole, my whole ambition still to change it. 
 
 Gert. I have but one remark more to make — in 
 all sincerity I ought to make it — I feel assured that 
 there must be some secret attached to my history 
 — I have repeatedly resolved to inquire of Mrs. 
 Woodly the particulars of my story, and as re- 
 peatedly my words have faltered on my tongue — 
 tears have interrupted my purpose, whilst my bene- 
 factress has always appeared to guess the cause of 
 my concern, and has hastily left the room. 
 
 Gil. 'Tis very strange ! very strange ! [Apart.] 
 Suppose it should be as some persons have hinted — 
 my fair cousin ! 
 
 Gert. It confounds conjecture itself — but hasten 
 to Mrs. Woodly, perhaps she may think proper to 
 confide to one of her own family what she does 
 not seem willing to communicate to me. 
 
 Gil. Yes, I will fly ! she must speak ! this sus- 
 pense cannot be endured ! 
 
 Gert. And oh ! remember first Lady Aubrette. 
 It is I who am accountable for all the evil that may 
 
A COMEDY. 67 
 
 hence occur to her ; if I had had the courage to 
 inform Mrs. Woodly of these proceedings, the con- 
 Bequences, the still uncertain consequences might 
 have been evaded — I feel it is possible I may still 
 be your murderer — Sir John Aubrette's — per- 
 haps both! I feel, that every moment's delay 
 endangers the happiness — -the lives of all — of 
 every one in this house ! I cannot close my eyes 
 till I know that Sir John Aubrette is informed of the 
 real cause of your visits here. 
 
 Gil. I understand — no more ! Farewell— I will 
 
 return promptly, or write — farewell 
 
 [Exit, hast Hi/, Gilbert. 
 
 Gert. Farewell ! there's death in that same 
 word ; — return quickly, did he say ? — what strange 
 forebodings seize me ! I know not what to think — 
 have I raised a hope in the bosom of another, which 
 imperious duty may, in the end, oblige me to dis- 
 appoint ? — but peace, my heart, I cannot, I must 
 not be led by any selfish feeling to interrupt the 
 happiness of my more than parent ! No, my dear 
 benefactress, sooner than betray you in an affair so 
 near and dear to you as the honor, the respect- 
 ability of your nephew, I would fly from that 
 society in which you have taught me so much good, 
 so much happiness ! I may, perhaps, be the off- 
 spring of some unfortunate being, whom pure 
 charity may have caused you to pity and protect, 
 but whom to ally with one of your family were 
 indeed to degrade your dignity — virtue, it is true, 
 can ennoble us all ; education, talent, merit, 
 equalize conditions — but that is not to be my ar- 
 f 2 
 
68 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 gument; no ! it is gratitude that I owe you; it is 
 respect for your very prejudices, that I am to 
 cherish ; and, whoever I am, my obligations to you 
 are the same. Your daughter I cannot be ; no, no • 
 that is utterly impossible ! you lament, it is true, 
 when I mourn, you rejoice if any circumstance 
 gives a new spring to my happiness ; but it is 
 because associated with your cares and your 
 pleasures, existing only in your smiles, I am become 
 a link in the chain of your being, and the long ex- 
 ercise of your tenderness has refined your affection 
 to the very subtilty of maternal feeling. 
 
 [Exit Gertrude. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
A COMEDY. 69 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in Sir Rupert Gains- 
 ford's house. Sir Rupert and Lucy. A 
 servant brings in a letter and exit — Sir Rupert 
 takes the letter. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Let's see, let's see. 
 
 [Lucy looking at the direction. 
 
 Lucy. Is that Mrs. Woodly's writing? yes — no 
 — yes it is. 
 
 Sir Rupert. That of course, as I have not any 
 other correspondent in that quarter. [Reads.] 
 
 "My very dear Sir Rupert, — [coughs'] I must re- 
 quest you will not be surprised or alarmed at what 
 I have to communicate, I say alarmed, as I well 
 know your parental anxiety mightlead you, beforeyou 
 had well considered circumstances, to conclude the 
 business in question a hasty inconsiderate proceed- 
 ing — I have, however, much pleasure in informing 
 
 you, that your son is going to be married ■ " 
 
 What, without my consent ? and to some poor 
 orphan, may be ! [apart] now come my punish- 
 ments ! 
 
 Lucy. Oh, papa, pray go on, her fortune will be 
 coming. 
 
 Sir Rupert. [Continuing] " Going to be married 
 to a very amiable young lady whom I have known 
 
70 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 for many years, no one can be more calculated to 
 render him happy." Fudge, fudge, fudge — what's 
 her fortune ? 
 
 Lucy. How charming it will be to have a sister ! 
 go on, papa ; 
 
 Sir Rupert. " At the death of a certain old lady, 
 who is now advanced in years, she will inherit 
 an immense property.'' — Oh, ho, ho, so, so ! 
 
 [Takes a pinch of snuff. 
 
 Lucy. Certainly, papa, that will do. 
 
 Sir Rupert. But these old women live for ever ! 
 
 Lucy. La, papa ! 
 
 Sir Rupert, [reads'] — "her father and mother 
 are dead, and she lives with this same old lady, my 
 most particular friend. All parties are perfectly 
 agreeable to the match, and we only wait your much 
 desired consent, for Gilbert to espouse the amiable 
 Gertrude. You will, perhaps, object to the short- 
 ness of this acquaintance ; but you must consider, 
 my dear Sir, that as I have known the lady these 
 twenty years, I speak from conviction, that the 
 choice which Gilbert has thus made so decidedly in 
 the first instance, could never be improved by a ten 
 years dilly-dally shilly-shally courtship in the 
 second. Excuse all incorrectness, I write in the 
 greatest haste. Direct to me under cover, to Sir 
 John Aubrette, M. P., Belle Vue Lodge, Richmond, 
 where we shall probably remain all the summer. 
 
 " April 1st. " Yours very truly, 
 
 M. W." 
 Lucy. Delightful, papa ! 
 
A COMEDY. 71 
 
 Sir Rupert. Dilly-dally shilly-shally ! — why 
 surely this mad boy has infected his aunt. 
 
 Lucy. Dear papa, do sit down and write an an- 
 swer immediately, delays are dangerous, here is 
 some paper, and here is a most excellent pen. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Let me see then. [Sir Rupert 
 
 sits and begins to write] " My very dear madam" — 
 
 [Writing and speaking. 
 
 Lucy. Here are your spectacles, papa. 
 
 [Sir Rupert puts them on. 
 
 Enter Rolland and Dr. Linton. — Lucy signs to 
 them to keep in the back ground 
 
 Sir Rupert. " As throughout your life you have 
 been considered to have acted with the greatest 
 prudence, I scruple not to leave you sole arbitress 
 with regard to the fate of my son, in this most im- 
 portant of all concerns, the choice of a wife, and 
 with your usual discretion, see that no imposition 
 be practised with regard to the fortune of my in- 
 tended daughter-in-law — for you must feel assured, 
 that when once the knot is tied, it is for better, and 
 for worse. Depending, therefore, entirely on your 
 great foresight, experience, and caution, I give my 
 formal consent to the marriage, and in the hope of 
 speedily seeing you all in this part of the world, I 
 remain, my dear sister, 
 
 " Your very affectionate brother, 
 
 GAINSFORD.' , 
 
 [Lucy rings a bell previous to the conclusion of the 
 
 letter, she speaks to a Servant, who goes out and 
 
72 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 returns with a light, which he places on the 
 
 back ground, and remains there himself. 
 
 Lacy. Charming, papa ! nothing can be better 
 
 penned, let us immediately send it ; here is my seal. 
 
 [Sir Rupert folds the letter. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Pooh, pooh, that will not do, where 
 
 are my arms ? 
 
 Lucy. [Looking about.'] Oh ! where in the 
 
 name of pity shall I find the arms ? [Moving about. 
 
 Sir Rupert. " To Mrs. Woodly— To Sir John 
 
 Aubrette, M.P., Belle Vue Lodge, Richmond. 
 
 Lucy. Here they are, here they are ! 
 
 [Lucy giving the seal and the light, Sir Rupert 
 
 seals the letter. 
 Sir Rupert. [Repeating, ,] " At the death of an 
 old lady, she will inherit an immense property ! " 
 [Gives Lucy the letter, she gives it to the Servant 
 
 in waiting; exit 1 tastily Servant. 
 Lucy. Fly, fly, it is post time. 
 Sir Rupert. A plum at least I suppose — O Gil- 
 bert ! thou lucky boy ! [Looking out after Servant. 
 Lucy. Now it is safe. 
 
 Sir Rupert. But I ought to know in what this 
 immense property consists, whether in land, free- 
 hold, copyhold, in the four per cents, or if it lies — 
 
 Roll and coming forward. 
 
 Roll. At the bottom of the ocean. 
 
 [Lucy and Dr. Linton converse. 
 Sir Rupert. Why, what are you doing here ? 
 Roll. I am just come on the most benevolent 
 
A COMEDY. 73 
 
 errand possible, yes, rattle as I am, when doing a 
 real service is in question I know how to lay aside 
 all trilling, and, as I suppose no one else will dare 
 
 to tell you 
 
 Sir Rupert . Tell what? out with it; what 
 is it? 
 
 Roll. Your son, Sir Rupert, I hear is going to 
 be married to a lady of 50,000/. per ann., some 
 people would have you believe, but the general 
 opinion is, that she has not fifty pence. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Oh, woe is me ! woe is me ! and I 
 have given my consent — where is my letter, give me 
 my letter. 
 
 Lucy. Oh, papa ! it is all false — the letter is in 
 the post. [Rolland motions to Lucy. 
 
 Roll. It is confidently reported that the story of 
 the fortune is a mere humbug, trumped up to de- 
 ceive some avaricious relations. I call upon you, 
 Sir, to assert, if you have not heard word for word, 
 the story I have just related. 
 
 {Turning to Dr. Linton who comes forward. 
 Dr. L. Word for word, precisely as it has been 
 told to the present company. 
 
 Sir Rupert. I shall go mad ! Oh Gilbert, thou 
 degenerate boy! 
 
 Roll. Thus the business is detailed : he fell in 
 love at the first sight, the second made a declaration 
 of his passion on his knees, the third offered his 
 hand, the fourth obtained the lady's consent, the 
 fifth bought the licence, the sixth — I will not vouch 
 for the truth — they say he wedded ! 
 
 [Sir Rupert rings the bell in great agitation. 
 
74 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Let my travelling carriage be got 
 ready instantly, there must not be any delay ! 
 [Exit Servant.'] I will be there before the letter, if 
 possible — I will know the truth — I will stop these 
 proceedings. 
 
 Dr. L. But, Sir Rupert, may not all this be 
 village slander ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Prove that it is so, I will set off the 
 same. 
 
 Lucy. Dear papa, consider my aunt's letter. 
 
 Roll. Give me leave to look at that, it will 
 enable me to contradict the statement at least, and, 
 if true, it is his father's business only. 
 
 [Rolland takes the letter and reads. 
 
 Lucy. My aunt would not deceive you, papa. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Thy aunt, good-tempered woman, 
 has been imposed upon — be directly ready to set off 
 with me. Doctor, I pray your attendance — my 
 daughter's sudden recovery may be followed by a 
 relapse as extraordinary. 
 
 Dr. L. You do me honor, Sir Rupert, I shall 
 have much pleasure in attending you. 
 
 Roll. Excuse me, Sir, but will you swear that 
 this is Mrs. "Woodly's writing ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. I will swear nothing, but that I am 
 undone ! 
 
 Roll. No one at least can be taxed here for a 
 forgery, for the devil of any proper signature is to 
 be found, save and excepting the 1st of April, and 
 two crooked initials, that may pass for any thing. 
 
A COM ED V. 75 
 
 Lucy. Upon my honor it is so ! 
 
 [Looking at the letter. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Well, well, I will travel all night. 
 [Looking also at the letter. 
 
 Lucy, Dear papa, let Arthur go with us; he 
 will, perhaps, persuade my brother to return. 
 
 Sir Rupert. I care not, so there be no delay ; fly, 
 then, — [Exit Lucy.] — would I could fly. Oh, 
 Gilbert, thou degenerate boy ! [Exit Sir Rupert. 
 
 Roll. Gad ! I shall be there as soon as any of 
 you ; — now for a coup de main — one frolic more, 
 and then you are all settled. 
 
 Dr. L. This letter is a most incomprehensible 
 business after all. 
 
 Roll. Very strange, indeed, I can only swear it 
 is not my writing. 
 
 Dr. L. But I must wish you good morning, I 
 must seek my portmanteau and my pistols. 
 
 Roll. No, no ! give me the pistols, you are not 
 quite cured ; with a heigh, ho, chevy ! hark forward, 
 hark forward, tantivy ! [Exeunt together. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Gilbert, Patrick following. 
 
 Pat. This is all, your honor, that ever I heard 
 of the matter. 
 
 Gil. I am satisfied of that,— tell Mrs. Woodly 
 I must speak to her immediately. 
 
 Pat. Your honor is heartily welcome ; sure she 
 will come directly. [Exit Patrick. 
 
76 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Gil. Be still, my fears ; what is the worst that 
 can be expected in this case ? poverty — poverty ! I 
 am enamoured of the very sound for her sake. Of 
 the cousinship I must still take leave to doubt, — but 
 what if that were possible — there would not, in that 
 case, be any obstacle, the very law allows it, blessed 
 be the law ! I shall not have to contend with that 
 in this instance ; [walks about in an agitated man- 
 ner] yet, spite of all these self-evident consola- 
 tions, I still feel like a condemned criminal a few 
 hours before execution ; she delays, can she be gone 
 out. [Rings the bell hastily. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 Is not Mrs. Woodly at home ? 
 
 Pat. Sure, your honor, I saw her on the stairs 
 this minute, coming down to you. [Exit Patrick. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 Airs. Wood. Dear Gilbert, I rejoice to see you : 
 his town has, of course, so many attractions for an 
 inquiring mind, that till you have seen all that is to 
 be seen, I suppose we must not hope for more o 
 your society. 
 
 Gil. I am obliged for your so accounting for 
 my absence, but 
 
 Mrs. Wood. You do not seem well, I am afraid 
 you over-fatigue yourself in your daily researches. 
 
 Gil. I am oppressed with the weight of my 
 own, and other people's business. 
 
A COMEDY. 77 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Pray explain. 
 
 Gil. I think it very probable that a challenge 
 may be sent for me to this house. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. You alarm me ■ 
 
 Gil. Dismiss all apprehension on that head, and 
 be assured I am not mad enough to accept it ; no 
 sentiment of fictitious honor shall ever tempt me to 
 raise my hand in such a way against the life of 
 another ! If I am the aggressor, ought I to add to 
 the injury given, by attempting to murder the being 
 I have aggrieved ? If, on the contrary, I am the 
 insulted person, am I to be so devoid of Christian 
 charity and forgiveness, that nothing but a life 
 atonement will satiate my vengeance ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh ! you relieve my mind. 
 
 Gil. The true hero knows how to brave public 
 opinion in such a case, to despise all those self- 
 created maxims of fashionable morality, which have 
 no origin in reason, which are at variance with the 
 common laws of humanity. I would prove my 
 valour in facing the foes of my country, and fools 
 may mock if they will, at my declining to murder 
 in cool blood an irritated or offended neighbour. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. With such sentiments, I can fear 
 nothing for you. 
 
 Gil. And when the life of such a man as Sir 
 John Aubrette is in question 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Sir John Aubrette ! I am lost in 
 astonishment — explain, I entreat you. 
 
 Gil. It is a ridiculous business— you perhaps 
 already know that Lady Aubrette ■ 
 
78 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Lady Aubrette ! 
 
 [Appearing alarmed. 
 
 Gil. Yes, Lady Aubrette — Sir John I find has 
 not yet been here, but he preceded me into town ; 
 I am just returned from his house. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Did I hear right ? from his house — 
 from Richmond ? . [Very much agitated. 
 
 Gil. From his house— from Richmond, madam ! 
 [Mrs. Woodly leans against the side of the stage.] 
 
 Gil. [Apart.'] Oh ! this strange alarm doubles 
 my anxiety like a death-stroke, and chills my very 
 utterance. Indeed you are ill ! shall I call for 
 assistance ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. No ! it is nothing, a sudden faint- 
 ness— you spoke of Lady Aubrette. 
 
 [Gilbert draws chairs and they sit. 
 
 Gil. She has long wished to put her husband 
 out of humour, doubting if it were possible — and 
 very opportunely to serve her purpose, I arrived 
 from the country, and every day, and sometimes 
 every hour, I have been her visitor. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh ! 
 
 Gil. Incapable of giving him any real cause of 
 jealousy, she has only been the more active and in- 
 genious in performing the part of the faithless wife. 
 Sir John has this morning taken the alarm, and you, 
 madam, are perhaps the only person that can con- 
 vince him of the real state of the case— tell him all 
 the truth. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Indeed I shall have much pleasure 
 in undeceiving him ; I am persuaded, too, I shall be 
 the first whom he will consult on the business. 
 
A COMEDY. 79 
 
 Gil. Tell him that I submitted to his wife's 
 fully, to procure myself the society of another in- 
 dividual — that the real — the only object of all my 
 visits to his house 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh, my presaging heart ! oh deadly 
 
 thought, who can it be but 
 
 [In the greatest agitation. 
 
 Gil. Gertrude ! Who should it be but Gertrude? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh ! horror ! horror ! speak — ease 
 my bursting heart — Oh ! say you are not married ! 
 
 Gil. I am not married, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Thank heaven ! thank heaven ! I 
 am most thankful. Oh say ! pronounce that word 
 again ; is it true ? is it most true ? 
 
 Gil. I have said it is true ! true that I am come 
 this very morning to seek a licence, to inquire of you 
 her name ; but what do I care for a name ? to-mor- 
 row it is mine ! I'll take her with the one you have 
 been pleased to let her have these two and twenty 
 years. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. [Not appearing to hear him.] Oh 
 pitying fate, we have escaped ! all, all escaped ! 
 
 Gil. Hear me, madam, and explain why all this 
 rejoicing that I am not married — hear me, and be- 
 lieve ; I am deaf to the calls of ambition, to the 
 subterfuges of avarice, to the threats of disinherit- 
 ance ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Alas ! indeed it cannot be ! 
 
 Gil. Tell me that she is destitute of all worldly 
 goods, all earthly possessions — tell me that this im- 
 maculate being whom you have so long protected, 
 is the offspring of some humble menial, whom you 
 
80 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 thought proper to adopt from pure charitable 
 motives — tell me, I say, that she is destitute of 
 all worldly goods — that the wide canopy of heaven 
 will be my only covering — tell me — but why do 
 I delay ? I came here to inquire her real name ; 
 madam, I care no more about it, to-morrow it 
 is mine ! [Going. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh rash ! Oh madly rash ! it can- 
 not be ! {detaining him] she is, indeed, your sister ! 
 
 Gil. No, no, no, no, no, no ! 
 
 [Starting back in horror and beating his fore- 
 head distractedly. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Ah ! I have been too abrupt — dear 
 Gilbert, pardon me ; only think we have escaped 
 the evil. 
 
 Gil. Ah ! I feel I have not escaped ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. How can I forgive myself? what 
 can I do ? 
 
 Gil. Speak ; I am calmer, let me hear the story, con- 
 vince me beyond all hope or doubt of my misfortune. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. But how shall I relate the failings 
 of a father to his son ? 
 
 Gil. Were they not already half proclaimed ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Let it be sufficient to say I marked 
 the distant spot, where the deluded, mourning, and 
 repentant wanderer strayed, and sent repeatedly as- 
 sistance to her. 
 
 Gil. Excellent friend ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. And when I found that the cares 
 of a nurse were no longer necessary ; I sent for the 
 child, resolved most strictly to perform the duty 
 so shamefully evaded by the father ! 
 
A COMEDY. 81 
 
 Gil. Oil ! that was kind and generous ; Heaven 
 will reward the deed. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Sir Rupert thinks me ignorant of 
 the whole affair ; it was on this account that you were 
 also unacquainted, Oh ! but I must be thankful that 
 my good intentions have not been fatal to us all ! I 
 breathe again — I am most thankful ! 
 
 Gil. Can that man think there is an after- 
 reckoning, who thus can act? give an existence, 
 and leave it all the evil chance of perishing 
 eternally, nor make one feeble effort to preserve it 
 from destruction ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Alas, indeed ! 
 
 Gil. Then there's the wretched mother from her 
 home seduced, abandoned by all her natural pro- 
 tectors, the path of reformation half closed upon her; 
 oh ! my father, it is not I that should reproach 
 you, but may my sins never be sins like these. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Amen ! 
 
 Gil. Oh Gertrude ! proud had I been to own 
 you as my sister — unhappy Gilbert, that can never 
 be. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. [Apart] I tremble to hear him. 
 
 Gil. Did I tell you that I would return quickly ? 
 did I dream that I was so near all that my fancy had 
 formed of happiness in this world? did I hope for a 
 moment, only to despair for ever ? Sir John Au- 
 brette, I am ready at least to meet your fire, if not to 
 return it. Oh ! I think I could joyfully receive it — 
 mine is a calamity without hope — an affliction for 
 which no remedy can be found ! 
 
 [Ewit Gilbert, 
 g 
 
82 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh ! this seeming state of calmness 
 is beyond all alarming — to what may it not lead ? 
 I must hasten to send some one after him, to observe 
 his steps — my heart sinks within me — I must send 
 for Sir John. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Servant. Sir John Aubrette, madam, requests to 
 have some private conversation with you imme- 
 diately, if you please — he waits in the library. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Mrs. Wood. He can, perhaps, direct me. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Apartment in Sir John Au- 
 
 brette's House. 
 
 Enter Lady Aubrette ; she ?ings a bell, and enter 
 Richard. 
 
 Lady Aub. Pray did Sir John leave any orders 
 with regard to his return when he went away ? 
 
 Richard. Not any, my lady ; he only desired me 
 not to sit up. 
 
 Lady Aub. Send Miss Stanley here. [Exit 
 Richard.] It will be a little ridiculous, if he begins 
 to make the matter public without farther inquiry. 
 I am convinced I have carried the joke too far 
 
 Enter Gertrude. 
 
 Oh, patience ! you have been weeping ! 
 
A COMEDY. 83 
 
 Gert I am shocked to think that we have not 
 yet had any tidings of Sir John. 
 
 Lady Aub. Come, come, do not distress your- 
 self about Sir John, he has long- been trying to con- 
 quer me, and, at the last, you will see that I shall 
 come oft" victorious. 
 
 Gcrt. Pardon me, Lady Aubrette, but I do not 
 think Sir John will ever return to this house. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, I dare say he will be returning 
 in a few hours, and, in the mean time, I intend that 
 you and Mr. Gainsford shall be clandestinely 
 married, by way of crowning the joke against him. 
 
 Gert. Clandestinely, married, Lady Aubrette ! 
 I revolt at the thought ! — no, believe me, I would 
 never enter that family, where I could not be re- 
 ceived with open arms. 
 
 Lady Aub. Ho, ho ! what a natural it is ! but 
 be assured that these sentiments will not do for real 
 life. 
 
 Gert. I can, however, act most strictly in con- 
 sonance. 
 
 Lady Aub. That, indeed, I do not doubt — yet } 
 to prove to you how little exercise there will be for 
 your delicate scruples, look here, [taking a letter 
 out of her pocket] here is the old papa's consent 
 point blank ! what do you think of that ? look at 
 the signature, — Gainsford, — away now with 
 all romantic negatives ; can you suppose that the 
 old baron would desire any thing but the happiness 
 of an only son ? 
 
 Gert. Lady Aubrette, you alarm me ! I am 
 thunderstruck ! are you indeed in your senses ? 
 g 2 
 
84 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Truly, yes, you will find I have all 
 my wits about me ; -ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Gert. No, no ! it is impossible— I will return to 
 Mrs. Woodly immediately ; I will openly declare 
 every thing, and, tho' she may be lost to me for 
 ever, yet she must know the truth. 
 [Gertrude going, Lady Aubrette retaining her. 
 
 Lady Aub. And would you abandon me at this 
 crisis ? consider, my dear friend, there is only you 
 that can convince Sir John. 
 
 Gert. Oh ! how sincerely I wish that I had 
 never come here ! 
 
 Lady Aub. But tell me candidly, what have you 
 done with Mr. Gainsford ? why did you send him 
 away at this precise time ? 
 
 Gert. I have sent him, madam, to Mrs. Woodly, 
 to tell her from first to last of your invitations here ; 
 to declare his intentions to her— to inquire my little 
 history. 
 
 Lady Aub. Ho, ho, ho ! thou art to be sure a 
 superlative creature, to think of sending a handsome, 
 elegant, accomplished, rich young lover, to consult 
 with his avaricious, cool-thinking, prudent old aunt, 
 on the propriety of marrying a girl, without fortune 
 it may happen to be ; and now that I have obtain- 
 ed the old father's consent, what a superfluous cere- 
 mony was that ! If this be your idea of managing 
 an affair of the heart, it is time I give you' a lesson. 
 
 Gert. It is true, I am a novice, but pardon me 
 if I have no faith in your instructions. 
 
 Lady Aub. Come, come, let me point out to you 
 that you have really committed a very great error in 
 
A COMEDY. 85 
 
 sending this young man to consult Mrs. Woodly ; 
 she is, to be sure, a very excellent creature, but I 
 susp< ct may have a superabundance of family pride ; 
 and she knowing nothing of the father's consent, 
 will so preach to the young man, that, what between 
 sentiments of fictitious honor and sincere attach- 
 ment to you, I should not be surprised, seeing his 
 ardent temper, if in the transport of passion, he 
 should shoot or drown himself. 
 
 Gert. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 [Gert rvde faints, and Lady Atjbrette sup- 
 ports her. 
 
 Lady Aub. What have I done ? who ever dreamt 
 of attachment like this ? I am certain I never felt 
 anything of this kind for Sir John. My angelic 
 friend ! look up — fear nothing ! all will yet be well. 
 
 Gert. [recovering] No ! I never can be for- 
 given. 
 
 Lady Aub. Come, come! keep up your spirits, 
 you know my manner of expressing myself — I am 
 fond of superlatives. 
 
 Gert. And when these are used for probable 
 consequences, they properly make a double im- 
 pression. 
 
 [A loud knocking and ringing is heard, the ladies 
 tremble, and one involuntarily seizes the arm 
 of the other. 
 
 Loth. What can that be ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Don't faint again, I entreat you. 
 [Lady Aubrette places chairs, Gertrude sits. 
 
 [A voice within] — Where is she ? send her to me 
 immediately. [The ladies tremble. 
 
86 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 Gert. What a rage he is in. 
 
 Lady Aub. You will see how I shall perform. 
 
 Enter Richard. 
 
 Richard. Sir John requests to speak with your 
 ladyship immediately, in the library. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh mighty good ! Is any one with 
 him? 
 
 Richard. A gentleman in black, my lady, a 
 stranger. 
 
 Lady Aub. Say I am coming this moment. 
 
 [Exit Richard. 
 Gert. A gentleman in black — now who can that 
 be but the lawyer ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Or the Diable ? 
 Gert. I tremble to think ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Lean on my arm ; but let me have 
 no tears — no faintings ; innocence like ours should 
 be courageous — you will see how I shall perform. 
 [D?*awbig herself up proudly. 
 Gert. Be assured this is no time for trifling. 
 [Exeunt together, Gertrude leaning on the 
 arm of Lady Aubrette. 
 
 SCENE IV. — The Library. Sir John and a 
 Gentleman in black seated before a table on which 
 are spread several papers. 
 
 Enter Lady Aubrette and Gertrude. 
 Sir John, [to the Gentleman] I will thank you to 
 
A COMEDY. 87 
 
 retire a few moments. Sir, and if you will wait for 
 me in the drawing-room, we will return to town to- 
 gether : Miss Stanley will oblige me also by re- 
 tiring, as I must speak to Lady Aubrette in private. 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 Gert. Oh Sir John ! if I might but speak one 
 
 word, first 
 
 - Sir Jo/in. My amiable friend, it must be at an- 
 other time. [Exit Gertrude, weeping. 
 
 Lady Aub. Well, Sir John, what are your com- 
 mands with me ? 
 
 Sir John. Commands that will not be very 
 agreeable to you, madam. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh ! pardon me, Sir John, anything 
 in which you have any concern must be very agree- 
 able and interesting to Lady Aubrette. 
 
 Sir John. Away with all trifling, it is time to be 
 serious. Of young Gainsford I would speak, whom 
 you secretly led here, and led to his destruction ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Why I don't know how that may be, 
 but I think it is moderate enough for a beauty to 
 kill but one in her time. 
 
 Sir John. Ridiculous woman ! you have little 
 idea of the business which leads me here. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh ! excuse me ; my penetration 
 tells me a divorce is in question, and that gentle- 
 man in black is one of the amiable fraternity em- 
 ployed on these occasions. 
 
 Sir John. Mad woman, you deceive yourself, a 
 divorce is not intended, but a proper keeper. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh the monster! He is a very 
 elegant, handsome, accomplished young man, this 
 Mr. Gainsford • 
 
88 KEEP YOUR TEMPER ! 
 
 'Sir' John. And but for Lady Aubrette might 
 have lived a valuable member of society. 
 
 Lady Aub. Ha, ha, excellent ! upon my honor. 
 
 Sir John. Hear me, madam ! you chose to in- 
 vite to your house Sir Rupert Gainsford's only son ; 
 the consequence of which is 
 
 Lady Aub. You are very jealous. 
 
 .S7>* John. Be convinced — I know all the truth 
 — ■ I know that a serious attachment has taken 
 place 
 
 Lady Aub. Between two of the most amiable 
 and interesting persons in the world. 
 
 Sir John. To prevent the very possibility of 
 which, Gertrude was sent here 
 
 Lady Aub. That no offence might be given to 
 an avaricious old father and aunt. 
 
 Sir John. And your ladyship has obtained con- 
 sent of the father for Gilbert to marry this lady of 
 immense property. 
 
 Lady Aub. The written consent, which all the 
 world can tell you, is fully binding. 
 
 Sir John. The unfortunate young man is made 
 acquainted with Gertrude's history — he knows that 
 she is his own sister, and he has not been heard of 
 since he learnt the truth ; and it is apprehended, 
 for you know his ardent character, that he has shot 
 or drowned himself. 
 
 Lady Aub. [Appearing horror-struck] Oh, oh ! 
 what do I hear ? [Bursts into tears. 
 
 Sir John. [Producing a newspaper] See, look 
 here ! he is every where advertised — an immense 
 reward is offered for him, dead or alive — the Bow- 
 street officers are in search of him — inquiries went 
 
A COMEDY. 89 
 
 abroad from the very moment lie left the house, and 
 I am come here to know if your ladyship can give 
 any information to his afflicted relations. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, Sir John ! pity me, pardon me. 
 
 Sir John. I pardon ! —what will that avail ? the 
 father — the whole family are arrived, and though 
 they are not yet informed that Gilbert is missing, 
 you must expect the consequence ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh ! horror ! horror ! hide me from 
 myself — believe me, Sir John, my repentance is 
 sincere. 
 
 Sir John. Unfortunate woman — what reparation 
 will that make the injured family ? Is your crime 
 less than murder ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, Sir John ! I give myself up to 
 justice — I ask no mercy ! 
 
 Sir John. Is your ladyship's passion for adven- 
 tures fully satisfied ? have you sufficiently provoked 
 your husband ? Can one sin, or even err, in the 
 slightest degree, with impunity ? Will your reputa- 
 tion escape this outrage ? 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, I cannot survive this shock ! 
 
 Sir John. You must return with me to town — 
 Miss Stanley must also go and remain under Mrs. 
 Woodly's care — Sir Rupert Gainsford must see you' 
 — Gertrude must not be named, she will keep ex- 
 clusively to her own apartment — -the gentleman you 
 have just seen will attend us. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, save me ! hide me from 
 
 Sir John. Compose yourself — I will not aban- 
 don you at this awful crisis ; but, before I set off, I 
 must inquire if there be any tidings of the young 
 
90 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 man in this neighbourhood— if the corpse be found 
 — perhaps he may have sought his death in this 
 river at the foot of your garden, within sight of the 
 cause of his destruction. 
 
 Lady Aub. I feel I am dying 
 
 Sir John. Be calm — we must exert ourselves to 
 the utmost. [Exit Sir John. 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh, my unfortunate friend ! oh, 
 Gertrude ! what will become of you when you hear 
 this story ? What have I done ? My blood freezes 
 in my veins. If he is dead, indeed, may swift 
 justice overtake me. 
 
 [She falls fainting on a sofa, and the curtain 
 drops. 
 
 SCENE V.— An Apartment at an Hotel. 
 
 Enter Fielding and a Servant, other Servants bring 
 in different parcels ; amongst other articles a pair 
 of pistols, which are placed on a table. Exit all 
 but Fielding, and Tom, his Servant. 
 
 Field. Thank kind fate, I am at length arrived 
 in this glorious capital. Merciful providence, thou 
 who hast conducted me safe through so many 
 dangers, grant that I may find the object of my 
 wishes alive, in health, and oh, above all things, 
 virtuous ! 
 
 Tom. I hope, Sir, we have not to travel any 
 farther to-night. 
 
 Field. No, no ! we must take some hours repose 
 — our travels are very nearly ended, friend. 
 
A COMEDY. 91 
 
 Tom. Oh, kind fate be praised! it is a long lane, 
 they say, which never has a turning, and I began a 
 lew days ago to think much the same of our 
 journey. 
 
 Field. 1 admit, that you do not complain without 
 reason — but see now, order my usual evening's 
 refreshment, and take care of yourself. [Exit Tom.] 
 How my heart beats ! the nearer I approach, the 
 stronger grows my agitation — time that represses 
 the ardour of the ruder passions, to pure affection 
 gives increase of force. Oh, heaven ! thou who 
 allottest to all men in this vale their portion of 
 calamity, let not this grief, which most I dread, fall 
 to my lot ! already I have paid some heavy forfeits 
 in probation's school — sometimes I fancied that 
 those letters — oh, if I must experience disappoint- 
 ment at this pass, what is to me this world, my 
 wealth, my honors, and my life ? 
 
 Enter Tom. 
 
 Tom. May it please your honor, the old priest, 
 the doctor, the woman, and all the company, is just 
 arrived — I have ordered them other rooms, as I 
 thought you would not like to be disturbed here. 
 
 Field. It is well ; see that they have every 
 comfort and attendance ; I must, however, speak to 
 them myself before I take my rest ; there is but one 
 step more, and all is happiness, or all despair ! 
 
 {Exit Fielding. 
 
 Tom. Oh dear me, what a novelty it will be to 
 have a whole night's rest ! my bones do so ache, I 
 
92 KEEP YOUIi TEMPER! 
 
 am afraid they are all out of joint ; rattle, rattle, 
 day after day, night after night ; I wish I could 
 find out what my master has upon his mind, for 
 something he must have ; he has brought with him 
 many rich bags, which I hope were all had honestly, 
 but la ! money is such a temptation ; and then, what 
 can be the meaning of this crowd of gentry that we 
 have brought with us ? parson, parish clerk, sexton, 
 and one or two old nurses ; well, I dare say there is 
 some woman in the case ; poor fellow, he has been 
 crost in his youthful days ; lucky it is for me, that 
 never a one of these women ever set eyes upon me, 
 for so sure as ever they do, there is an end of you ; 
 but now I suppose my supper must be ready and my 
 master's, and we may all go to bed and dream 
 quietly for the first time this year. [Edit Tom. 
 
 END OF ACT 
 
A COMEDY. 93 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same Apartment in the Hotel 
 which Fielding had entered ; the table with the 
 pistols lying upon it ; different parcels, 8$c. 
 
 Enter Gilbert, his dress disordered ; he has a 
 letter in his hand which he puts on the table ; 
 perceiving the pistols, he starts back astonished. 
 
 Gil. Ha, where am I ? Do my eyes deceive me ? 
 What, do ye tempt me ? — but no, no, no ! Should 
 he who has never injured mortal man — never dis- 
 graced himself in any way — should he allow the 
 caprice of fortune to make a coward of him ? oh, 
 Thou Omnipotent ! support me in the trial thou hast 
 given. But could you, my father, know at this 
 moment what a dagger you have planted in your 
 son's breast, surely you could not have a heart, and 
 live and reflect on your crime. 
 
 [He takes up one of the pistols, and coming to 
 
 the front of the stage examines it. In the 
 
 mean time Fielding enters wiper ceived by 
 
 him. 
 
 Field. Who can this be ? some one who has 
 
 mistaken his room, perhaps. [Fielding, seeing a 
 
 letter on the table, looks at the direction^ and, in great 
 
 surprise, reads it, and appears more astonished.'] It 
 
 is open, it is for me to take to her ! 
 
94 KEEP YOUR TEMPER.' 
 
 Gil. It feels heavy ! it is already loaded ! Oh, 
 Gertrude ! the very recollection of you, would be 
 sufficient to check every thought that hovered on an 
 act of madness ! Who pretends to respect your hap- 
 piness, and thus prepare for you a long life of 
 affliction? [Fielding has approached, and atten- 
 tively listens.'] I have sent her a last farewell ! — 
 have told her — what have I told her ? Oh had it 
 been some deadly foe that brought this evil on me, 
 could I resist the temptation ? perhaps my hand had 
 struck a murderous blow. 
 
 [He liaises his hand as if in the act of firing 
 at something before him — Fielding grasps 
 his arm — in the mean time the pistol dis- 
 charges, and he starts looking in wild 
 amazement at Fielding. 
 
 Field. Oh, speak ! tell me I conjure you — is it 
 indeed my child that causes your distress 1 — my long 
 lost child, my Gertrude ! is she well — is she 
 happy ? 
 
 Gil. Who dares to mock at my calamity ? Who 
 dares to call her any thing but 
 
 Field. Fielding's daughter, who now addresses 
 you, as certain it is, as that I see Sir Rupert Gains- 
 ford's son — be calm, be satisfied, you have been 
 deceived. 
 
 Gil. Deceived ! Impossible ! Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Field. Merciful Providence ! that broughtest 
 me at this very moment here to save him from de- 
 struction — to save, I trust, my only child — how can 
 I prove my gratitude ? 
 
A COMEDY. 95 
 
 Gil. Man ! can you tamper with a grief like 
 mine ? [Looking at him very earnestly. 
 
 Field. Yes, look at me, would you could look 
 into my very inmost soul ! but try if you can dis- 
 cover some lineament — some little time-worn, but 
 persuasive trait, that may plead better for me than 
 my words— [throwing off his cap and turning to Gil 
 bert] does she not resemble me ? 
 
 Gil. It may be, oh, I fear ! yes, yes, it must be ! 
 [Falls on his shoulder. 
 
 Field. Now tell me that no dark intelligence has 
 reached her ; [holding up the letter'] this letter 
 
 Gil. Is in your hands ; she has not seen it. 
 
 Field. For all is false! Mrs. Woodly has de- 
 ceived you, because she is deceived herself. 
 
 Gil. Swear you can prove it ! 
 
 Field. As I hope for mercy at the throne of 
 Grace ! 
 
 Gil. And be assured ! for in this agonizing 
 state, I feel that heaven and earth alike are flying 
 from me ! And could I spare him that could now 
 betray me ? 
 
 Field. Be satisfied ; for if I could not prove 
 the sacred truth, my grief were even deeper than 
 your own ! 
 
 * Gil. And yet she made the deadly tale so plain, 
 ^twould seem that nothing mortal could confound 
 the statement. 
 
 Field. Let us be calm ! my heart, like yours, is 
 torn. Oh, have I travelled so far, and so fast, to be 
 just within one moment of perdition ? — Is every step 
 on the common road of life so exactly measured ?— 
 
96 KEEP YOUR TE.MPER ! 
 
 Awful contemplation ! hair breadth escape ! Is my 
 child safe ? Is she well, indeed ? 
 
 Gil. And happy ; for she knows not my dis- 
 tress. 
 
 Field. Oh ! all this is wonderful ; what but an 
 all-directing hand could have preserved us ? And 
 were you, young man, on the point of condemning 
 yourself eternally ? what might have been the con- 
 sequence, had you been left another hour ? and was 
 it, too, at the very time that the Almighty was 
 stretching forth his hand to shower his blessings on 
 you ? spite of those specious arguments I heard, I 
 trembled for you. Oh ! let this be an everlasting 
 lesson to you — to every one whom despair has 
 seized —let him ask himself, if, at the very moment 
 whilst he is madly contemplating self-destruction, 
 if the hand of Providence may not just then be 
 raised to save him in the storm ! 
 
 Gil. Oh ! my more than father ! if I can but be 
 assured of your regard, there is no more adversity 
 for me in this world ! 
 
 Field. Are you indeed corrected ? 
 
 Gil. And for ever ! 
 
 Field. We will proceed to business, then ; take 
 this disguise, [throwing a cloak over him] you 
 must attend me to Mrs. Woodly's ; in proving the 
 facts to her, I shall establish your conviction ; but 
 do not betray yourself till she is satisfied. 
 
 Gil. I promise ! 
 
 Field. First, however, I must see nry child for a 
 moment, and be satisfied that she is well — what a 
 moment for a father ! dare you accompany me ? 
 
A COMEDY. 97 
 
 (HI. Ah, do not doubt me 
 
 Enter Tom. 
 
 Tom. Please you, Sir, the coach is at the door, 
 and I met at the house an Irishman, who told me as 
 bow that the young lady I inquired about was just re- 
 turned from the country, that the old lady was out, 
 I mt expected in every hour. 
 
 Field. That is fortunate. 
 
 Tom. And, Sir, before this Irishman would an- 
 swer me any one question, I was always obliged to 
 answer what he asked first, or I should not have 
 brought back any news for you, Sir. 
 
 Field. You have done well ; now take care of 
 every thing here till I return : we will go. 
 
 Gil. So fate preserve us. 
 
 [Exeunt together Fielding and Gilbert. 
 
 Tom. So there goes my love and perplexity, with 
 another stranger, too, and now must I go on like a 
 dutiful servant with my story, and if my master 
 would not stay to hear the truth, it cannot be said 
 that I have not spoken it ; — I am afraid then, Sir, 
 that I have made a very great blunder with this here 
 Irishman — [continuing as if addressing his master, 
 and turning his head occasionally that way] — but I 
 hope, Sir, this confession will gain my pardon. 
 This fellow contrived to worm out of me, I cannot 
 tell how, all that I had got out of the gentry that 
 we have brought with us from the west of England, 
 Sir ; and so, Sir, don't be surprised if you hear the 
 whole of your own story as soon as you make your 
 11 
 
98 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 appearance; how many bags of gold you have 
 brought with you, how many fine things of all sorts, 
 in short, Sir, don't be surprised at any thing — and 
 now, Sir, having settled my conscience on this 
 point, I'll go look about for your keys, or, mayhap, 
 when we have got some miles farther, I shall hear 
 less of my love, and more of perplexity. First, I'll 
 turn the key of this here door, while I goes see if 
 all be safe at that there ; for they say there's a 
 rogue at every comer in this same Lunnon. 
 
 [Locks a door, and goes into another room. 
 
 SCENE II.— An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
 house. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 Pat. They talk of a Jew's eye, but sure it will 
 now be an Irishman's eye that will be all the go ; 
 for if that be not our young master's buckles upon 
 that gentleman's feet, Patrick O'Laughligan never 
 saw the Land of Saints. £500 reward for him ; 
 ah, indeed, if the John Bulls allow me to catch it, 
 I shall drink long life to your honors for ever 
 [approaching, and bowing to the audience']. £500 ! 
 what an elegant estate that will buy me in the Green 
 Isle, and, gentlemen, as we fly every day faster and 
 faster in our steam- carriages, I hope before I 
 have cultivated my lands two years, to be able to 
 send you the most beautiful potatoes all hot to mar- 
 ket ! Exquisite Mrs. Roper, if you did but know 
 of this blessed windfall ! how many a pretty thing 
 
A COMEDY. 99 
 
 would you have to say to Master Patrick. Oh 
 elegant buckles ! it was not for nothing that I took 
 so much pains with you, and never allowed any one 
 to touch them but myself; so true it is that a good 
 turn is never lost — soon as ever I opened the door, 
 I espied them, and all muffled as he was, I thought 
 I caught his eye ; but the diamond buckles shall be 
 my guide, for sure we all know that never a thief in 
 Christendom would come to the house he had 
 robbed with the goods on his back ! 
 
 [On hearing Mrs. Roper, he retreats a little. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Roper. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. I have now spent three, four, five, 
 six pounds, after this £500, and no tidings of him. 
 It would try the patience of a saint to have fortune 
 so thrown before one, to be within one inch of 
 catching, and yet, perhaps, after all, lose it. But 
 what can all this crowd of people be come here 
 about if not after him ? most likely it is a party from 
 the Humane Society, come to ask pay for their 
 trouble, at least, if they have not brought any 
 tidings about him ; or why not to say where the 
 body is now lying ? Have I, then, been travelling- 
 far north, whilst the prize is at my elbow ? I will 
 hasten into the Steward's room and sift the attend- 
 ants, and I will begin the ceremony with a little of 
 my cherry brandy ; if that will not do, I despair for 
 ever ! [Exit, hastily, Mrs. Roper. 
 
 Patrick advancing. 
 
 Pat. Very wisely said, indeed, Mrs. Roper! 
 h 2 
 
100 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 "to be within one inch of catching, and yet lose 
 the game after all ;" that remark is worth a tin- 
 penny piece, and will put me instantly on the alert. 
 Yes, yes, whilst you go and sift the good people 
 below stairs, I will go to her honor above, and 
 honestly and openly win the prize ! [Exit Patrick. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Woodly, Servant following. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Two strangers ! whom you never 
 recollect seeing here before, you say ? 
 
 Servant. Never, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Say I will attend them immediately. 
 [Exit Servant.'] Oh ! these persons must bring me 
 some fatal intelligence ; I seek, but tremble to hear 
 the truth ; good intelligence it cannot be ! alas ! 
 how can I longer conceal from my brother the 
 cause of the grief that is destroying me ? how shall 
 I be able longer to account for his son's absence ? 
 What can all this crowd of persons mean, attending 
 those who ask for me ? but I must see them, tho' 
 the word be death ! [Exit Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
 
 House. A Servant shewing in Fielding and 
 Gilbert. 
 
 Servant. Mrs. Woodly will attend you in this 
 room, in a few minutes, gentlemen. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Gil. Have I, then, performed my promise well ? 
 
 Field. To admiration ! happy hour ! angelic 
 sweetness ! it is Maria's self restored to me — one 
 little trial to your patience more, be calm, whatever 
 be the event ! I hear Mrs. Woodly 
 
A COMEDY. 101 
 
 Enter Mrs. Woodly. 
 
 {They bow. 
 
 Field. I have the honor to address Mrs. 
 Woodly? — The important business which has led 
 me here 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Speak, Sir, without farther preface, 
 I entreat you. 
 
 Field. Do not be alarmed, madam, I have 
 nothing to communicate of an unfortunate nature. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Is he, then, living ? His father, his 
 family, are arrived, but as yet they know nothing. 
 
 Gil. {Apart.'] That is fortunate. 
 
 Field. Be satisfied, madam, you will soon have 
 intelligence of the most agreeable nature. 
 
 Enter Patrick, looking cautiously about. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. I will be assured, then 
 
 Pat. Save me, St. Patrick, I am first ; I have 
 you, madam Roper : [he approaches Mrs. Woodly] 
 one word in your honor's ear. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Do not you see, Patrick, I am 
 engaged ? 
 
 Pat. It is on that account, my lady, I am come 
 so to the pint at once ; [lowering his voice and ap- 
 proaching nearer] your honor is £500 in my debt, 
 I have found out young master. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. And alive ? [Starts. 
 
 [Fielding and Gilbert converse. 
 
 Pal. As ever he was in his life, your honor ! 
 
102 KEEP YOUR TEMPER 
 
 was it not right, your honor, to tell you without 
 delay ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Very right, indeed ! I am most 
 thankful. 
 
 Pat. And sure, as your honor promised £500 
 for him dead, you will split the difference, and make 
 golden guineas, now that he is alive ? 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh, most willingly ! and to a 
 faithful servant, only let me be assured 
 
 Pat. That be he ! but mum ! [pointing to Gil- 
 bert] sure, your honor, he'll spake presently ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Retire ! and depend upon my 
 honor. [Exit Patrick.] What can this mean ? 
 
 Fielding r/w/ Gilbert approach. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. I sincerely entreat your pardon, Sir, 
 for this interruption ; you were going to speak 
 of 
 
 Field. Gertrude. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. How! 
 
 Field. The facts I have to tell, are strange ; to 
 gain your credit I must relate the little story of 
 my life. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Proceed, Sir, I entreat you. 
 
 Field. It was my fate to marry early, madam ; a 
 younger son of rank, with little fortune or pre- 
 ferment, ardent and enthusiastic, I never doubted 
 that success would follow every aspiring effort, that 
 I should quickly raise above capricious fortune the 
 woman I adored ; but disappointment every where 
 pursued me ; and oh ! how doubly galling is the 
 
A COMEDY. 103 
 
 smart in that same age when hope will natter most ; 
 when a beloved object, too, must share the evil, how 
 doubly keen is every wound of fate ! 
 
 Mrs, Wood. I sincerely sympathize in your 
 concern, Sir, but 
 
 Field. A better fortune seemed to be destined 
 for us in a foreign clime ; we only waited for the 
 birth of Gertrude to quit the kingdom ; oh, wretched 
 hour for me ! heart-rending stroke ! the mother of 
 my child survived the event but three short weeks ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Alas, indeed ! but then 
 
 Field, Ah ! then I placed my infant with a poor 
 female who had just lost her child, and when I saw 
 she fostered mine with care, I hastened to depart, 
 resolved to seek for fortune for my daughter's sake. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Still I imagine some mistake — your 
 child might be named Gertrude. The nurse, who 
 was she ? 
 
 Field. The story told abroad, she had lost her 
 husband shortly after her marriage. The decent 
 sorrow in her looks expressed, and her retired be- 
 haviour seemed to confirm, a tale which in itself was 
 not remarkable ; pardon me now, if the necessity for 
 speaking strictest truth, obliges me to state un- 
 pl easing facts, — she came from the west of Eng- 
 land, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Ha, indeed ! 
 
 Field. Alike to escape reproach herself, and 
 screen from public censure Sir Rupert Gainsford — ■ 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Proceed, Sir ; I entreat you, in all 
 haste proceed ! [In an agitated manner. 
 
 Gil. [Apart] Merciful providence ! 
 
104 KEEP Yt)UR TEMPER 1 . 
 
 Field. This woman, it appears, received from 
 you a quarterly allowance ; she, fearing that your 
 bounty might diminish, were you informed that she 
 had lost her child, neglected to apprize you. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh, welcome news ! oh, blest dis- 
 covery ! oh, unexpected hour ! 
 
 Field. Appointing as I thought a worthy agent, 
 I left my country : but I was most deceived in him I 
 trusted ; from time to time remitting money, the 
 villain frequently contrived to give me different as- 
 surances as from my daughter's self; he heard of 
 my approach, and fled inquiring justice : — to return, 
 the infant grew, and you most unexpectedly de- 
 manded her ; the nurse, perplexed, and hearing 
 nothing from me, resolved, after some self-debate, 
 to keep the secret, and happy to resign the child to 
 one so truly worthy, she brought her to this house, 
 and, as she says, you asked no questions, and she 
 told no falsehood. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. 'Tis true as wonderful ! had your 
 child any mark by which you could farther re- 
 cognize her, if it were not already sufficiently 
 proved ? 
 
 Field. She was born with a deep brown circle 
 on her left arm. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Farther proofs are not necessary^ 
 witnesses are superfluous. 
 
 Field. Excuse me, madam, you must examine 
 them all, I trust you will, if only to oblige me — I 
 have brought the nurse herself — the village doctor, 
 too, is here, in whose arms your real niece expired 
 three weeks before my child was born ; and next, 
 
A COMEDY. 105 
 
 the reverend vicar who registered the birth of 
 Gertrude; and other witnesses I have assembled. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Why you have acted as one accus- 
 tomed to such suits ! 
 
 Field. Ah, madam, what sits so near the heart, 
 is always nicely measured by the head. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. To whom, Sir, may I now inquire, 
 must I resign this precious charge ? 
 
 Gil. To me ! to me ! I have heard the sacred 
 truth, she is mine for ever ! 
 
 [Throwing off his cloak. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Was ever happiness like this ? 
 
 [Falls on his shoulder embracing him. 
 
 Gil. You know not how much we owe to our 
 benefactor here ; blessed meeting ! 
 
 Mrs. TVood. I am not yet favoured with his 
 name. 
 
 Field. 5 Tis Edward Fielding, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. And, if I mistake not, you mar- 
 ried 
 
 Field. Maria Went worth. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Oh, strange coincidence! blessed 
 discovery ! then in my bosom I have lodged your 
 child, my early friend Maria! 
 
 Field. Ha, indeed ! I have often heard her re- 
 gret the interruption of your correspondence — now 
 let us proceed to the witnesses. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Woodly, Fielding, and Gil- 
 
106 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 SCENE IV. — An Apartment in Mrs. Woodly's 
 house. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 Pat. Her honor lias passed her word, and will 
 never be after drawing back ; and though it be true that 
 she would have heard the good news half an hour after 
 I brought it ; sure we all know what half a second 
 is, when life or death is in question : well, by this 
 time madam Roper's company from the Humane 
 Society have made an elegant dinner, and the 
 cream of the jest, the bottle of cherry brandy is 
 half emptied ; some news, I think, must be forth- 
 coming, ah, here she is. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Roper, a bottle in her hand, holding it up. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Scarce three glasses left, never in 
 my life did I meet with such a set of stupid animals ; 
 after wasting my bottle, all the tidings they pretend 
 to have, is about a young lady. Can he have 
 changed his dress ? I never thought of that. 
 
 Patrick coming forward. 
 
 rat. Mrs. Roper, I was just thinking it would 
 be a shocking thing if this money were to go out of 
 the family. Can you tell me if the Serpentine has 
 been dragged yet, or whether the body be found, 
 dead or alive ? 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Stupid fool ! if thou hadst had a 
 
A COMEDY. 107 
 
 grain of common sense, thou would'st have taken 
 thy long-hooked shillaly, and have dragged him out 
 thyself. 
 
 Pat. Ah ! but thinks I, what is the use of my 
 troubling myself to go so far, when, perhaps, the 
 prize is at my elbow ; and, as all this company must 
 be come about young master, I have made up my 
 mind, whilst my half-witted fellow-servants are 
 running after tag-rag and bob-tail, in the steward's 
 room, cracking, perhaps, a bottle of their mistress's 
 best, by way of sifting out the poor people's ho- 
 nesty, I have made up my mind, I say, like a true 
 gentleman, like a true-born Irishman, with my new 
 wig to proceed to the fountain head, to the two 
 gentlemen in the drawing-room, who came with the 
 company, and ask them in an open honest manner, 
 of they are after bringing any news of young master. 
 There is nothing like going to the fountain head, 
 Mrs. Roper. 
 
 Mrs. Roper. Dip thy own stupid head into the 
 fountain, and I'll dip this into the fire. 
 
 [Mrs. Roper snatches off the wig, and exit 
 hastily. Patrick very composedly takes 
 a kerchief from his pocket, and puts it on 
 his head. 
 
 Pat. Ha, ha, ha ! madam Roper, what would 
 thy vengeance be if thou wert to know all the luck 
 that has showered on my pate this morning ? But 
 merit and virtue will have their reward in this world, 
 and so they will in the next, says St. Patrick. And 
 now must I go after my other wig, that I may not 
 have to shew my face like Johnny Gilpin's. 
 
108 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Enter, hastily, Sir Rupert Gainsford, Lucy, 
 Arthur, Dr. Linton. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Where is lie ? 
 
 [Sir Rupert runs up to Patrick without 
 waiting to look at him, and throwing his 
 
 arms round him, exclaims 
 
 Sir Rupert. Oh thou lucky boy ! 
 Pat. Ah ! lucky, indeed, your honor, though I 
 have lost my wig this morning. 
 
 [Sir Rupert starting back — the whole company 
 laughing. 
 Sir Rupert. Why, what mistake is this ? they 
 told me my son was here. 
 
 Pat. Never mind, your honor, it is all very right, 
 when fortune smiles upon us, it becomes quite asy 
 for the great to caress us — sure, your honor, I expect 
 to be very often hugged in this way now. 
 
 Sir Rupert. But where is he ? lead me to him, 
 let me see him ; I have received this note saying 
 
 he would be here, the lady — all friends 
 
 Pat. This way if you please, Sir, I believe they 
 are in the next room ; your honor will excuse my 
 head, I was just going after my old wig ; madam 
 Roper, the housekeeper here, having stolen my new 
 one. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Never mind, friend, we will find 
 you another. 
 
 [Exit Patrick, Sir Rupert and others follow- 
 ing. 
 
A COMEDY. 10£) 
 
 SCENE V.— The Library. J/r*. Woodly, Field- 
 ing, Gilbert. 
 
 Mrs. Wood. I trust you will detain your com- 
 pany for a few days, 1 would have them share in 
 our rejoicings. 
 
 Sir Rap. (entering) Where is he ? Where is 
 my son Gilbert? 
 
 [Sir Rupert falls on Gilbert's neck. 
 
 Gil. Dear Sir, this unlooked for happiness, the 
 distance so great 
 
 Enter Lucy. 
 
 Sweet sister, so much felicity in one day ! 
 
 [Embracing Lucy. 
 
 Enter Dr. Linton and Arthur, Gertrude, 
 Lady Aubrette, and Sir John. 
 
 Gert. [To Mrs. Woodly] My dear, dear 
 benefactress ! 
 
 Mrs. Wood. Do I see you again ? and happy 
 as my heart could wish ? 
 
 Gert. My father ! how long have these few 
 moments appeared to me ! 
 
 Field. My child, what do I owe to Mrs. 
 Woodly's care ! 
 
 Gert. If to devote my life to you and Mrs. 
 Woodly 
 
110 KEEP YOUR TEMPER 
 
 Field. And another claimant here, whose merits 
 I support. 
 
 [Fielding joins the hands of Gilbert and 
 Gertrude. 
 Gil. Dear Gertrude, it were vain to seek for 
 words to express our thanks to our friends, our 
 happiness, our gratitude. 
 
 Gert. Our happiness will be their best reward. 
 Gil. Lucy, this day the happiest of my life. 
 
 [Joins the hands of Lucy and Gertrude. 
 Lucy. Sweet sister, I do rejoice, and thank my 
 brother most sincerely for thus enriching me ; [em- 
 bracing] how charming it is to have a sister ! 
 
 Gert. How fully blest it makes me 
 
 [Gilbert looking significantly at Lady Au- 
 
 BRETTE. 
 
 Gil. My father, you have heard of her perfec- 
 tions? [Gilbert presenting her to Sir Rupert. 
 
 Sir Rupert. I am sure she is an angel ! [Sir 
 Rupert embraces Gertrude] the portrait was 
 most faithful. 
 
 Sir John. Spare my wife's blushes, [to Gil- 
 bert] she is quite reformed ! 
 
 Lady Aub. Oh ! would we were all so, and as 
 easily. 
 
 Enter, hastily, Holland. 
 
 Roll. "Where is my charmer? [running up to 
 Lucy] Do I at last behold her ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. S'death, Sir, what do you mean ? 
 
A COMEDY. Ill 
 
 Roll. In few words, that I have posted after you 
 on the wings of impatience, fully determined to 
 decamp with this lady, and not being able to over- 
 take you on the road here, I have found you out ; 
 the coach is at the door — four fleet horses — and 
 now, who shall dare to dispute with me ? 
 
 Sir Rupert. Madman, be gone, or I shall in- 
 stantly send for Bow Street officers. 
 
 Roll. I can save you that trouble ; they are, 
 great and small, in previous requisition ; I have sent 
 them after some highwaymen who stopped me on the 
 road, and prevented my overtaking you. 
 
 [Si?" Rupekt rings. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Turn this madman out ! 
 
 [Mrs. Woodly rings. 
 
 Enter Patrick. 
 
 Mrs. Wood, Turn this madman out, and give 
 him to the police ! 
 
 Roll. No, turn that madman out, he has long 
 been a barrier to my happiness — at the peril of your 
 lives, gentlemen ! 
 
 [Both Servants approach him, and he presents a 
 pistol to each in a menacing manner, on which 
 they start back. 
 Dr. L. Let me persuade you to retire. 
 Gil. Let me advise you, Rolland. 
 [Points at the Doctor — Sir Rupert rings 
 again. 
 
112 KEEP TOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Enter more Servants. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Instantly dispatch some one to Bow- 
 street for officers. 
 
 Mrs. Wood, Let there be no delay. 
 
 [Exit one of the Servants. 
 
 Sir John. Why don't you boldly turn him out, 
 
 now there are half a dozen of you, for if the Officers 
 
 are not to be found' ■ 
 
 Sir Rupert. We may have this annoyance the 
 whole day : what are you afraid of? 
 
 [The Servants approach and struggle with him, 
 he fires over the head of one, and they all run 
 
 off scared, calling out 
 
 Servants. Oh ! I am shot ! I am shot ! I am a 
 dead man ! 
 
 Pat. Why don't you boldly stand fire, gentle- 
 men, like a true Irishman ? 
 
 [Patrick runs after the others as fast as possi- 
 ble. 
 Roll. Now nothing remains but a coup de main, 
 come along wife. 
 
 [Roll and attempts to move off with Lucy, 
 taking her arm— she disengages herself. 
 Arthur. S'death, Sir, I challenge you to answer 
 this. 
 
 Lucy. Be assured, Sir, I have been silent so long, 
 only from the positive conviction that you are mad 
 indeed. 
 
 Field. It appears to me, Sir Rupert, that this 
 contest might be very quietly ended— dispose of the 
 lady to one of the candidates. 
 
A COM ED V. 115 
 
 Roll. You are a reasonable man — that is all I 
 require — only let there be no delay ; I abominate 
 all shilly-shally. 
 
 Lady Aub. Now I like him for that, Sir John. 
 
 Roll. If I had not met with bad horses on the 
 road, Sir Rupert should have surrendered long ago. 
 I have known him these thirty years, I know we may 
 all grow grey in waiting for his consent, I will say 
 more, I know that if I were the King's son, he would 
 not give it — therefore what can a sincere lover do in 
 such a case. [Sir Rupert walks about disturbedly. 
 
 Gil. Dear sister, make your choice. 
 
 Gert. Sir Rupert cannot on this happy day 
 
 Roll. Neglect to make you happy — tell him how 
 long in secret you have adored me. 
 
 Arthur. Oh ! speak now, and free me from this 
 cruel suspense. 
 
 Roll. Silence, all the world over gives consent ; 
 come, dearest spouse. 
 
 [Arthur places himself at the door as if to 
 guard it. 
 
 Lucy. Dear papa, your choice must be mine. 
 
 Sir Rupert. Take her, she is yours by right of 
 constancy. [Sir Rupert gives Lucy to Arthur. 
 
 Arthur. How shall I express my gratitude ! 
 
 Lucy. My dear father, you confirm our hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Roll. SMeath and confusion, am I thus foiled ? 
 Here's a deep coquette ! Oh false sex ! perfidious 
 woman ! Have I travelled so far and so fast after 
 you, to be betrayed at the end. 
 
 Dr. L. Keep your temper ! 
 
114 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 Sir John. No occasion now, I believe, for any- 
 official member, save and excepting the old priest 
 which our noble friend Fielding has brought 
 with him from the west of England. 
 
 Field. You are right, Sir John ; and, with Sir 
 Rupert's permission, we will immediately employ him. 
 Sir Rupert. Oh, by all means, we will spare 
 Mr. Madcap here any farther flights after us. 
 
 [Roll and sings. 
 I lov'd a maid, she me betray'd, 
 
 Good care I'll take so don't another- 
 
 Sir John. Then we shall have three weddings 
 on this day. 
 
 Lady Aub. How, Sir John, three ? 
 Sir John. Why, yes ; a new wife I have gained 
 in thee ! 
 
 And now 'bove all things let me recommend 
 To each whom it concerns, or foe, or friend ; 
 To keep your temper in this world of strife ! 
 Be calm to rule, be calm to improve a wife. 
 Gil. Let him rejoice who never rashly ties 
 The marriage knot ; — 
 
 Sir Rupert. — There my son's merit lies. 
 Roll. 
 Let him rejoice, who makes each folly prove, 
 A delegate of friendship or of love ! 
 Who, acting wildly, has a sober end, 
 Who plays the fool mad folly to amend, 
 Whose final interest in the present game 
 Your smile to win — to consummate his fame. 
 
 [To the audience. 
 The curtain falls. 
 
THE FATE OF 
 
 IVAN. 
 
 % ©vageuj?, in dft&e 8cto< 
 
 i2 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Count Panim, Prime Minister. 
 
 The Hetman Razumoffsky. 
 
 Orloff, favourite of Catharine. 
 
 Passick. 
 
 Gleboff. 
 
 Odart. 
 
 The Archbishop of Novgorod. 
 
 IsMAEL. 
 
 Adherents to Catharine at the time of the revolu- 
 tion which placed her upon the throne. 
 Paul Petrovitch, Catharine's son. 
 Guards, Soldiers, Sfc. 
 
 The Czar. 
 General Munich. 
 Baron Korf. 
 Baron Sternberg. 
 Volkoff. 
 Prince Ivan. 
 Count Leof. 
 
 Adherents of the Czar. 
 Berednikoff. 
 
 Vlassief and Ischekin, Guards to Ivan. 
 Lieutenant Mirovitch. 
 
 Catharine, Empress of the Russians, 
 
 Princess Dashkoff, her friend. 
 
 Countess Yorothtzoyt, favourite of the Czar. 
 
 Catharine Ivanofna, attendant and confidante of the 
 
 Empress. 
 Pages, Sfc. 
 
 *#* In the general parts of this piece, close regard is 
 paid to historical facts, and the lines in inverted 
 commas are the literal speeches of the persons at the 
 time of action. 
 
THE FATE OF IVAN. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— The front of the Imperial Palace of 
 Peterhoff. 
 
 Enter Catharine Ivanofna 'one way, meeting 
 Orloff from the opposite side. 
 
 Kate. Ha, Orloff! by thy good stars, thou 
 art the very person of whom Pm sent in quest. 
 
 Orloff. And by anticipation here I come. 
 
 Kate. Aye, indeed? 
 
 Orloff. Most true ; but look out there, shrewd 
 nymph ! can thy lynx eye ; dost think, discover what 
 those courtiers have in plot 1 [Pointing out. 
 
 Kate. Had'st thou but shewn me eyes instead of 
 heels — a formidable tribe at least : eagles in mul- 
 titudes are seldom found ; when the thing happens, 
 e'en wise men think it ominous; so far I see, and 
 farther still presage, thou wilt be wanted for some 
 mighty deeds ; thy valour Catharine knows ; mis- 
 chief is on the wing ! 
 
 Orloff. Where women are, there ne'er is lack of 
 that. 
 
 Kate. Look well, then, to thyself ! the favourite 
 of a royal fair needs more than mortal caution to 
 
118 THE TATE OF IVAN: 
 
 preserve him, and every ray in the bright halo 
 round him is but a pointed dart that threats at every 
 turn; wise men ne'er seek the danger; for thee, I do 
 sincerely give thee credit, thou didst not court it ; 
 our mistress honors every sort of merit, and none so 
 prompt as she to mark its growth, so 
 
 Orloff. Hist ! prithee, hist ! and be upon thy 
 wont discretion ; this way those giants in the sphere 
 of power are moving, and should they see us, they'll 
 set their heads to work, nor rest till they determine 
 the cause of converse 'twixt us. 
 
 Kate. To prevent which I'll cover my retreat, 
 so thou'lt perceive I'm not a general merely for the 
 hour of conquest ; in half an hour do thou pursue 
 my path. 
 
 Orloff. I will not fail thee, for depend upon't — 
 
 Kate. He is but half a lover who does not time 
 outstrip in his appointment. 
 
 Orloff. I understand, and scarcely can determine 
 which is the fittest for plodding through this life, or 
 Catharine Empress, or subject Kate, or which, in 
 self-esteem, is most a Queen ! 
 
 Kate. I'll aid thy judgment as I see the cause ; 
 she who must him and him admire, may wear a 
 crown, but is withal a slave ; and she may reign, 
 indeed, if all around her, like myself, be faithful, 
 but there's no if or but with one like me ; swayed 
 by no passion, no caprice directed, myself I govern, 
 all about me rule ; so thereof think, and let thy 
 honest thought decide, which, in effect and truth, is 
 most a queen ! \_Exit Kate. 
 
 Orloff. To have chosen thee for confidante in 
 
A TRAGEDY. 119 
 
 Cupid's train, and me for General in the field of 
 Mars, doth in thy mistress give all title to supre- 
 macy, and thy self-love and mine should be content 
 — but let me save myself the hearing of those 
 fellows, who would pretend to have no other idol 
 than their country, no music dearer than the clang 
 of arms, the drum's proud rattle, and the dancing 
 fife — yet place these busy praters in the field, hush'd 
 is their din, their pleasure and their prowess vanish ; 
 present the danger, and their virtue flies, 'tis chaff 
 before the wind ! Nature has made me plain in- 
 deed in phrase, denied me power to parley with the 
 statesman, or to advance my cause by any art of 
 soft persuasion, yet, as they say, she has so moulded 
 me, that where I am but seen, I cannot fail to please ; 
 how that may be I know not — care not — thankful I 
 am, she has bestowed a heart that never shrinks at 
 any form of danger, that if there be a peril to be 
 sought, will, with all ardour, all impatience, seek in 
 the thickest oft the foremost place. 
 
 [Exit Orloff. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace of 
 Peterhoff — Catharine, and Princess Dash- 
 koff — a table, on which are spread papers. 
 
 Enter Kate. 
 
 Kate. Your Majesty will be obeyed most 
 speedily, I have this moment seen the person you 
 require. 
 
120 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Cath. Tis well, my friend, I have no further 
 orders at this moment. [Exit Kate. 
 
 Dash. Gone, you say, and no one whither 
 knows ? 
 
 Cath. Not so, in truth, I am informed of all ; 
 doubtless, Vorontzoff has accompanied him. 
 
 Dash. Had I but seen her, she should have con- 
 fessed. 
 
 Cath. Poor soul ! she does not then resemble 
 Princess DashkofF. 
 
 Dash. Nature, who loves variety, ne'er formed 
 two beings so exactly opposite. 
 
 Cath. Now mark my thought — Peter, all honest 
 as he seems, can with the most profound intriguer 
 turn and wind, and give by his deeds the lie to his 
 assertions ; know, then, this day the Czar is gone to 
 Schusselberg — hence, hence, the secresy. 
 
 Dash. But for what purpose is he gone ? 
 
 Cath. One motive only can there be for such 
 proceeding, and that the blackest a Herod could 
 devise ; Paul Petrovitch, the life-blood of my 
 heart — our only son — him, even him, he means to 
 exclude the throne — me to imprison in the very cell 
 that now holds Ivan — the next step — but need I 
 mention Vorontzoff ? 
 
 Dash. Ah, indeed ! 
 
 Cath. Such is the present plot, e'en ripe for exe- 
 cution — think, then, what speedy measures must be 
 ours to arrest the evil ; how prompt must I be to 
 design — how full of danger must each purpose be ? 
 and last, how unsuccessful may each project prove ? 
 
 Dash. I cannot think. 
 
A TRACED V. 121 
 
 Cath. Hast thou never heard the supposition of 
 a plan like this ? 
 
 Dash. No, no, I thought that she like you 
 would be excluded, that Peter was to espouse a 
 certain Princess. 
 
 Cath. Ah ! that was but the rumour of a day, 
 which rose in consequence, of some slight umbrage 
 VorontzorT had given the Czar ; soon was the offence 
 forgotten, and present death the sickly fancy found. 
 A gain that Princess has been long betrothed to one 
 she dearly loves. 
 
 Dash. Shall she, shall VorontzorT be one day 
 seated on the Imperial throne of Russia ? Shall 
 she preside o'er this vast empire, and when the fate 
 of millions is in question, shall it be her voice that 
 shall balance in the question ? 
 
 Cath. [apart] I like this indignation. 
 
 Dash. Ah ! then what dread perversion in the 
 land shall be, for when the women once become 
 depraved, then may we bid adieu to virtue in the 
 men : already fallen is that state, where our sex 
 violate their marriage vows, and blooming virgins 
 openly transgress the laws of nice discretion. Im- 
 mortal Peter ! shall thy beloved country, for which 
 thou did'st so much, be governed thus ?■ Am I the 
 sister of this woman, too ? 
 
 Cath. Good Dashkoff, tell me, what would thy 
 noble soul in such a case ? 
 
 Dash. Whatever might become the mother of 
 the emperor, that would I instantly resolve to do. 
 
 Cath. To be the mother of the emperor is the 
 grand summit of my soul's ambition — our first step 
 
122 THE TATE OF IVAN I 
 
 now must be to prove our friends, next see who will 
 become our partizans ; Panin, I know, is ours ; tho* 
 the first politician in our empire, Peter has never 
 deigned once to consult him ; tho' the politest 
 scholar Russia boasts, no deference has been paid 
 to his opinion ; 'tis true, that he is biassed to his 
 systems, but yet • 
 
 Dash. A perfect diamond to the crown. 
 
 Cath. The Hetman Razumoffsky, boldly avows 
 himself our friend, and he has power which lends 
 our cause no common force. Gleboff we must dis- 
 pose, and use him cautiously — who has betrayed one 
 master can deceive another. 
 
 [Catharine writes in a book. 
 
 Dash. There is one OrlofF, in the Guards, most 
 noted for his bravery, no danger can affright him, 
 no peril check him in pursuit of glory. 
 
 Cath. He is a soldier for our cause, I have en- 
 rolled him. The Frenchman, Odart, who never 
 speaks without convincing metaphor, nor ever turns 
 to do the simplest thing, but by some artful means, 
 he is most fitted for intrigue, and being poor enough, 
 will condescend to any work for gain. Passick, 
 rude and ferocious as the untamed bear, for every 
 office of sedition might be hired. 
 
 Dash. The Prince Volkonsky inherits from his 
 kinsman, Bestuchoff, fierce hatred 'gainst the Czar. 
 
 Cath. Hate such as his at nothing stops to 
 satiate its vengeance — I set him down. 
 
 [Marks in her book. 
 
 Dash. The Archbishop of Novgorod, tho' late 
 in exile, he retains some powerful influence. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 123 
 
 Catlt Aye, on the circumstance of that same 
 exile I build my hopes of him. You know for 
 what offence the Czar had banished him, you have 
 heard how raved the prelate when condemned ; 
 scarce three months had he been proscribed, when 
 the relenting Peter from captivity recalled him, and 
 now that he has proved the monarch's clemency so 
 speedily on the keen-felt severity, 'tis more like 
 human nature, and the Bishop, to feel the sting of 
 deep resentment 'gainst the offence, rather than 
 aught of gratitude for mercy born of rigour. 
 
 Dash. We have him ours ! I will return im- 
 mediately to Petersburgh, where all is now in train 
 to favour Catharine, where every one looks expect- 
 ation of some great commotion, where many 
 valiant regiments await my word, to know which 
 way to turn. 
 
 Cath. Tis true, that many of these men are men, 
 in fact, on whom Pd not rely for more than passing 
 services ; incapable of nice fidelity ; fit they may be 
 to serve an hour's necessity, and 'tis for that we 
 want them. 
 
 Dash. Your Majesty must haste to plan the 
 means of your escape ; if you reach Petersburgh 
 before the Czar returns, the troops will rise and 
 instantly proclaim you ! 
 
 Cath. These last three days, I have devised, 
 reflected, and concluded, and now I only wait the 
 coming of the minister and others I have named, 
 to fix the moment, and speedily they will be here. 
 
 Dash. I'll lose no time, but instantly return to 
 meet them. [Edit Dashkoff. 
 
124 THE FATE OF IVAN I 
 
 Cath. My foes are feathers, — yet these in mul- 
 titudes weigh mightily ; let me not forget fools can 
 use weapons, the weak will find supporters ; happy 
 the monarch who possesses courage, and who re- 
 solves to persevere on every intricate occasion. 
 
 [Exit Catharine. 
 
 SCENE III.— The outside of the Castle of Schus- 
 selberg. Soldiers on guard: amongst them Lieu- 
 tenant Mirovitch. 
 
 Mirov. Some strangers, I perceive, have entered 
 the town. 
 
 1st Sol. Indeed ! what can lead strangers here ? 
 
 2nd Sol. This being a strange place, thick 
 head ! 
 
 1st Sol. Can it be to see the prisoner, Lieu- 
 tenant ? 
 
 Mirov. "lis not unlike, and not unfit. 
 
 2nd Sol. I'll tell thee better, 'tis to make an 
 exchange, — relieve guard ; Peter intends to tame 
 the lady Catharine in Ivan's cell. 
 
 Mirov. He dares not. 
 
 2nd Sol. So much the worse for him. 
 
 1st Sol. 'Tis time there were some change. 
 
 3rd Sol. Aye, fifteen years this very day, Ivan 
 has been a prisoner here. 
 
 Mirov. Poor youth ! once Russia's Emperor 
 proclaimed. 
 
 2nd. Sol. A change, indeed ! the very thought 
 should reconcile thee to thy fate, Lieutenant ? 
 
A TRAGEDY. 125 
 
 Mirov. Thou mule ! dost think that minds like 
 mine can peace extract from such a morbid source? 
 say that the thought should give me double motive 
 for rebellion ; say I have more than selfish reasons 
 to revolt against injustice ; say that I look upon his 
 darker fate ; say that I add his sorrow to my own, 
 and have a twofold cause in which to move ! 
 
 2nd Sol. Dost thou know what thou'rt called in 
 the regiment, when they don't chuse to mention thy 
 name ? 
 
 Mirov. That which I am, perhaps. 
 
 2nd. Sol. Right ;— Master Mysterious ! 
 
 Mirov. Granted, — too good for vice to spell my 
 very name, and too profound for shallow-sighted 
 things like thee, to see what lies beneath the surface 
 of my brain. 
 
 2nd Sol. Some men there are that grow too deep 
 to understand themselves ; thou takest me in good 
 part, Lieutenant ? 
 
 Mirov. I take thee as I should, well-meant, and 
 better understood. 
 
 1st Sol. To your posts, instantly ; the strangers 
 are moving this way, gentlemen. 
 
 Mirov. 'Tis, certe ! retire, my friends, [to some 
 soldiers in the back ground] You keep on watch 
 with me ; [to the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Soldier] we'll 
 reconnoitre 'bout the fortress, to hear what we can 
 hear, and see what we can see. 
 
 3rd Sol. 'Tis all within the line of duty. 
 
 Mirov. In truth, they are of very portly appear- 
 ance ! 
 
 1st Sol. They are here. 
 
126 THE PATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Mirov. Haste, let us cover our retreat. 
 
 [Exeunt Mirov itch and Soldiers, 
 
 Enter Czar, attended by Count Leof, Volkoff, 
 Baron Sternberg, Baron Korf, and General 
 Munich. 
 
 Czar. ' Now, Gentlemen, attend, I pray you, to 
 ' my injunctions ; this paper, signed by my hand, 
 ' gives to the bearers of it, free access to every part 
 ' of this same castle Schusselberg. I will conceal 
 ' the ensigns of my dignity, and Leof to the prince 
 ' shall represent me ; but first, we'll make our local 
 ' observations. In this disguise, Berednikoff may 
 ' fail to know us ; but if it fit the occasion, ere we 
 ' depart we may proclaim ourselves.' 
 
 Korf. ' And I presume I, too, may pass un- 
 ' noticed ; he has not seen me for these fourteen 
 * years.' 
 
 Yolk. ' I would not wager that, good Korf, the 
 1 more confined the sphere of observation, the more 
 ■ exact is its direction ; and the less charged the 
 1 memory, the deeper graven are the events which it 
 c records.' 
 
 Czar. You may be right, friend Volkoff, but we 
 will try the event ; haste, let us look about the fort. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Mirovitch and Soldiers. 
 
 Mirov. Scarce could I catch a word, the plotters 
 spoke so low. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 127 
 
 1st Sol. I do believe the Czar is one amongst 
 them. 
 
 Mirov. I think so too. 
 
 Enter the Governor Berednikoff. 
 
 2nd. Sol. Aye, and 'tis he that is the most dis- 
 guised. 
 
 Mirov. [to Beredntkoff] How now, Governor, 
 that you are not at your corner-post, when visitors 
 of so much importance come about you ? 
 
 Gov. How ! what visitors, say Mirovitch ? 
 
 Mirov. What think you of the Czar himself? 
 
 Gov. The Czar ! is't possible ? 
 
 [Exit, hastily > Governor. 
 
 1st Sol. In truth, you've scared him. 
 
 2nd Sol. Should it not be the Czar ? 
 
 Mirov. I long to be assured ; for if it is, 'twere 
 now, perhaps, a happy time to ask the restitution of 
 the forfeited estates of Mirovitch, which have so 
 long been due to me. 
 
 1^ Sol. I wish you all success, Lieutenant, but 
 for my part I doubt it much. 
 
 Mirov. I'll persevere, till they are wearied out 
 by my petitions, and grant my prayer in pity to 
 themselves. 
 
 1st Sol. I would not hazard one day's pay upon 
 thy chance ; audacious Kate gains every day more 
 power. 
 
 Mirov. The lands are fat, indeed. 
 
 2nd Sol. And she is thrifty. 
 
 3rd. Sol. Subjects like thee, 'tis policy to starve. 
 
128 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 2nd Sol. When the bold lion feels the qualms of 
 hunger, he seeks with dauntless toil and keen avidity 
 his prey ; but feed him well, and give him all the 
 creature needs, in royal ease he readily reposes, as 
 graciously as any lady's lap-dog. 
 
 1st. Sol. Aye, sooth, indeed, for some bold en- 
 terprise, thou'rt fit and ready, when Catharine finds 
 some apt occasion for thy arm. 
 
 2nd Sol. And then, mayhap, she will most 
 graciously reward thee, by giving to thee that which 
 is already thine ; or shouldst thou lose thy life in 
 the achievement, she'll keep the lands, and set upon 
 thy grave a stone, that will declare with as much 
 feeling as herself for what thou didst, thy merit, and 
 misfortunes. 
 
 Mirov. If 'tis for this she keeps me in subjec- 
 tion, then let her learn to feel ; lions there are, 
 which, in undue restraint, live patient and sub- 
 missive for a time, but, in the end, collecting all 
 their fire, turn with fierce rage against their sordid 
 keeper. 
 
 1st. Sol. But try the temper of the Czar ; perhaps 
 he's sober. 
 
 Mirov. And if at night he drown the thoughts 
 of Mirovitch, what will avail, that now he hear me ; 
 yet as I have proposed, I will petition ; they come 
 this way again, let us retire and watch our oppor- 
 tunity. [Exeunt Mirovitch and Soldiers. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 
 
 V29 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Cell— The interior of the Fortress 
 of Schusselberg— Prince Ivan seated on a bundle 
 of straw, a lamp burns near him, he has a leaf in 
 his hand on which he appears to have been making 
 some calculation. 
 
 Iran. Yes, 'tis fifteen years to-day ! full fifteen 
 years I have been here a prisoner, full fifteen years, 
 thou glorious sun, since I have hailed in thy fair 
 light the morn ! Oh potent source of health, of life, 
 of joy, must thou then never shine again for me ? 
 shall this pale lamp be still my sole companion? 
 Well, well, 'tis light enough to shew me all the 
 horrors that surround me ; e'en here, there may be 
 mercy ; yes, idle fancy is at least arrested, and true it 
 is, that she can ever wrap the unseen in darker 
 colours than the truth has drawn it. Ah, I remem- 
 ber (as I was hither led), a haggard wretch who sat 
 beneath a hawthorn bush, on which, in sparkling 
 beauty, had the frost of keen December set the 
 pearly icicle— like the declining year the creature 
 seemed ; yet I could see a smile upon that face, 
 and the bright glow of heaven-born peace, and in- 
 ward hope, and joy, shot like a sun-beam from his 
 hollow eye, gladdening the very desolation time had 
 made upon him — his beard was long, and with sur- 
 rounding snows in whiteness vied— scarce was he 
 covered from the piercing cold, he held upon his 
 knee a broken platter, where bones, and crusts, and 
 many-coloured scraps were mingled ; and in the 
 luxury of full content he ate his meal, whilst in the 
 
130 THE FATE OF IVAN I 
 
 bounty of his soul he threw a morsel to the faithful 
 dog, which crouched beside him, looking, expecting, 
 patient, waiting still the welcome tribute. Blest 
 was this man, for the wide canopy of heaven to him 
 displayed its glories, happy was he, for he could 
 claim a friend, and was not separated from him ! 
 
 Enter Vlassief, and Ischekin — Vlassief takes up a 
 pitcher and looks within it. 
 
 Vlass. Ha! there's enough to serve him two 
 days longer. Ivan is not so fond of drink as 
 Peter. 
 
 Isch. He who rejects the grape, will sometimes 
 like to quaff the stronger juice, and who preserves 
 his moderation, occasion lacking him to sin, may be, 
 where opportunity occurs, as deep a sinner as the 
 murderer Cain. 
 
 Vlass, Let's try how he will like the smell of 
 something good. 
 
 Isch. You draw the reins too tight, good 
 Master Vlassieff. 
 
 Ivan. Oh would I knew the hour ! 
 
 Isch. Poor soul, he talks of time. 
 
 Ivan. Still forbid to speak to me ? 
 
 Vlass. I cannot talk the finger-tongue, can'st 
 thou? 
 
 Isch. Not a jot, not a jot, but by great Peter I 
 will tell him ! 
 
 Vlass. Better not open thy mouth for that pur- 
 pose — to-morrow is examination day. 
 
 Isch. What's become of the old time-piece he 
 used to hug so closely. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 131 
 
 Vlass. The hungry vermin, finding nothing bet- 
 ter, devoured it ; as if they thought time was no 
 friend to Ivan. 
 
 Isc/i. Why, dull pate, didst not sooner think upon 
 the means ? 
 
 [Ischekin writes the hoar on a piece of paper, 
 and presents it to Ivan, Ivan kisses the 
 paper. 
 
 Ivan. Tis twelve ! the sun has reached his 
 greatest height o'er Petersburgh ! Generous man ! 
 I thank you ! Oh how delightful is the smallest par- 
 ticle of aught that borders on intelligence, to him 
 who lives in utter darkness of all that passes round 
 him. Generous man ! I know thy kindness cannot 
 reach me further, yet for this simple act, I'll give 
 thee credit for a world of favour, and with a grateful 
 heart, the debt of the intention pay. 
 
 Vlass. What a wild joy lights in his eye, and all 
 about the hour. 
 
 Isch. Poor youth ! doubtless he sighs to know 
 how long 'twill be, ere he shall be released from this 
 hard life, to share a better fate hereafter. 
 
 Vlass. Who likes to sink on such a chance, so let 
 him ; for my own part, I'd rather have a crampt exist- 
 ence in a cockle-shell, than die to seek a wider scale 
 of being. 
 
 Isch. So every knave and every coward would ; 
 not that I mean to say thou art or one or t'other. 
 
 Vlass. The one confess'd, and t'other is to try ; 
 
 hence, on the doubt it is, I choose a mixture of the 
 
 good and evil here, to the sad chance of losing all 
 
 hereafter. [The drum beats. 
 
 K 2 
 
i32 THE FATE OF IVAN I 
 
 Isch. Hark, they are drawing up, we must pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 Ivan. Oh ! would I might obey the cheerful 
 summons. 
 
 Vlass. 'Tis earlier than usual. 
 Isch. To-day thou knowest there is a change of 
 guard. 
 
 Vlass. Ah true, I had forgotten. 
 
 [The drum again. 
 Ivan. Can I not be a servant to the call ? 
 
 [Ivan rises and appears agitated. 
 Isch. Alas, indeed ! 
 Vlass. Move on. 
 
 Isch. Would Heaven that I had never had this 
 place ! each time we turn the key, he feels a mortal 
 pang. 
 
 Vlass. We shall be nobly pensioned, think of 
 
 that. [Exeunt Vlassief and Ischekin. 
 
 [The sound of the drum and trumpet continues, 
 
 I van rises and follows them with the utmost 
 
 emotion to the farthest part of the Stage. 
 
 Ivan. Oh could I follow them ! could I but see 
 
 a glimpse of day-light — ah ! now they turn the key. 
 
 It opens, alas ! it opens, but not for me ! *tis shut 
 
 again — all, all is dark, dark as the fate of Ivan. 
 
 [He sighs, and stretches himself on the straw, 
 the scene closes. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
A TRACEDY. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Cell of Ivan.— Ivan stretched 
 on his couch. Enter Vlassief and Ischekin, Ivan 
 raises himself on their entering. 
 
 Vlass. -Tis rather strange that the order should 
 extend to the visiting this cell. 
 
 Isch. With half an eye thou mightest perceive 
 that is their only object in coming here. 
 
 Vlass. Aye, indeed ! I thank thee for the 
 thought, dost know any of the strangers ? 
 
 Isch. No, but I suspect them ; something may 
 be done, perhaps, to soften the fate of the prisoner. 
 
 Ivan. Ah, indeed ! can I hope any thing ? 
 
 Vlass. I hear them coming, we must proceed to 
 the outer guard. {Exeunt Vlassief and Ischekin. 
 
 Enter the Czar, Count Leof, Munich, Korf, 
 Volkonsky, Sternberg. 
 
 Czar, [apart to officers'] ' Do not seem to ob- 
 
 1 serve him yet. [Czar looking about] Oh Munich! 
 
 ' what a place is this for one who once was Russia's 
 
 1 emperor proclaimed.' [Appearing affected. 
 
 Munich. ' My heart bleeds for him.' 
 
 Ivan, [apart] ' Oh Heaven i thou dost inspire 
 
 ' me with the thought ! Yes, yes, it must be so —the 
 
 ' portrait Ischekin shewed me but a few days ago, 
 
 ' clearly in this obscurity I recognise the features/ 
 
 [Kor.f speaks apart to the Czar. 
 
134 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Czar. ' I long to speak to him, but my heart 
 1 sinks.' 
 
 Korf. l He appears to consider us very atten- 
 ' tively.' 
 
 Ivan. ' Oh Thou All-gracious ! let me not plead 
 - in vain.' 
 
 Munich. ' Shall I address him, Sire ? ' 
 
 Czar. l Wait— in a moment — the sight has over- 
 1 powered me.' 
 
 Ivan, [advances and kneels to the Czar] ' Oh 
 ' pitying Heaven ! let me not plead in vain ! My 
 ' prince, I know you — -you are the master here — you 
 ' can redress me, you can mitigate the hardships of 
 ' my fate, deign, then, my gracious sovereign, to 
 
 * consider my complaint — fifteen long years I have 
 ' been here a prisoner — the light of day and the 
 
 * untainted breath of nature alike are strangers to me ; 
 ' and yet Heaven knows that mortal man I never 
 ' yet offended, that my high birth alone is all my 
 ' crime.* 
 
 Czar. ' Rise, dearest Ivan, I cannot see you 
 
 * thus ; my soul is torn, — it is too much V 
 
 [Raises and embraces him. 
 
 Ivan. ' You weep ! and does my fate affect 
 ' you ? 'tis a long time since man has wept for me.' 
 
 Czar. ' Oh, Leof, why did I not come sooner 
 ' here V 
 
 Ivan. l I sigh not, Czar, for any outward pomp • 
 ' let me but breathe the common breath of nature ; 
 ' let me but see the glorious daylight, and all my 
 ' wishes with my self connected are exhausted.' 
 
 [The Officers appear affected. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 135 
 
 Czar. ' Have I, then, had the power to mitigate 
 ' his sufferings and have neglected it ? Oh ! 'tis a 
 
 * crying sin of deep omission 'gainst me, that may 
 1 condemn me in eternal records/ 
 
 Vo/k. ' I can defend your majesty in that, you 
 ' never had the power till now/ 
 
 Korf. ' No, no ! Elizabeth, your aunt, took care 
 ' of that/ 
 
 Ivan. ' Oh happy hour V 
 
 Czar. ' Good Ivan, be consoled : be witness, 
 ' gentlemen, here on my sword I swear to make the 
 ' prince henceforth my first concern. Oh ! how I 
 ' curse that proud abuse of power, that thus has 
 ' dared inhume a royal offspring whose right but — ' 
 
 Ivan. l Forget the past, my gracious sovereign ; 
 ' in your high presence, in your pitying assurances, 
 ' already my afflictions are subdued/ 
 
 Munich. ' It was not here, I think, the Prince's 
 ' infant years were past.' 
 
 Czar. ' Have you, dear Ivan, any recollection of 
 
 * what befel you in your earliest life V 
 
 Ivan. ' Alas ! my honored liege, from the first 
 ' moment I became acquainted that I was made the 
 e offence for which my parents were oppressed, I 
 ' have not ceased to mourn for them, who yet have 
 ' never ceased to mourn for me ; and till at Schus- 
 ' selberg they stationed me alone, from fortress here 
 
 * to fortress there perpetually they led us, and ever 
 1 were our guards the most inhuman of mankind !' 
 
 Czar. Tell me the names of some of these if yet 
 they have existence, I still will make them feel I am 
 
136 THE FATE OF IVAN I 
 
 an Emperor, who will have justice tho' I mercy- 
 love ! 
 
 Ivan. ' Believe me, Sire, they have been long 
 ' forgotten/ 
 
 Czar. ' And were they all alike? all equally un- 
 ' merciful V 
 
 Ivan. ' Oh, no, no, no, no ! there was one, 
 1 who, like a pitying angel, waited on us ; who 
 1 would devote each leisure moment to instruct my 
 ' infancy,' — correct each vagrant and impatient 
 thought, — bid me look up to yon bright throne for 
 hope, for patience, consolation, rest, and glory ! 
 Oh, dearly-cherished lessons ! 1 have remembered, 
 have recounted, soothed myself, and tried to prac- 
 tise every honored precept! oh God! could I but 
 see that good man's face again ! 
 
 Czar. ' And he V 
 
 Ivan. ' Was soon displaced for his compassion.' 
 
 Czar. ' But is his name forgotten too V 
 
 Ivan. ' Ah, Sire ! if it were possible to look 
 ' into my heart, that honored name were found en- 
 * graven on it. They called him Korf !' 
 
 [Korf bursts into tears. The Czar presses 
 his hand and weeps. 
 
 Czar. ' Generous Korf ! see now how true it is, 
 ' a good deed rarely is forgotten. Oh ! 'tis too much.' 
 
 Ivan. Oh, gracious Providence ! can it indeed 
 be ? Do my senses deceive me ? can there be so 
 much bliss for Ivan ? can it be possible ? [looking 
 attentively at Korf] It is, it is ! my prayers are 
 heard ! [Falls on his neck weeping. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 137 
 
 Korf. ' My Prince ! my long lost Ivan !' 
 
 Czar. ' Come with me, Leof, I must retire a 
 ' little, I'm not heart-proof to this/ 
 
 [Exeunt Czar, Leof, and Volkonsky; 
 
 Ivan. ' My friend ! my kind instructor ! my 
 ' second father ! 
 
 Korf. ' Generous youth ; still to remember, 
 ' through fifteen years captivity, those trifling 
 ' services, that scarcely merited thy passing thanks.' 
 
 Ivan. ' Ah ! when I never knew a friend except 
 i in thee, strange it had been if, in my morning or 
 ' my even prayers, thy honored name were ever once 
 ■' omitted !' 
 
 Korf. ' Shall so much promise still be here im- 
 1 mured ? No, no, the heart of Peter is as noble as 
 i 'tis guileless— thou hast affected him/ 
 
 Ivan. ' Can I rely, then, on his future favour V 
 
 Korf. l Yes, rest assured of that.' 
 
 Ivan. ' I will believe it ; the being that could 
 i me this delight, has not a common soul ; but yet 
 1 I sometimes overhear a word that makes me doubt- 
 1 ful of his better fate.' 
 
 Korf. l From thence, and from your interview, 
 ' tho' short, indeed, what would you argue of the 
 1 Emperor. 
 
 Ivan. ' Alas, my friend ! 'tis not for me to say ; 
 1 all in my mind must wear a tincture of the gloom 
 ' by which I live enveloped — but if my countrymen 
 1 can tamely see me wronged, may we not equally 
 ' suppose that rebel vice, and mad ambition, they'll 
 * not dare to oppose, when these may seek occasion 
 
138 THE FATE OF IVAN*. 
 
 ' to subdue an emperor, whose greatest fault seems 
 ■ but too much indulgence for his subjects.* 
 
 Korf. ' It is enough — nor bolts nor bars can 'rest 
 ' the mind's enlargement;' and it would seem that each 
 oppressive circumstance has equally respected thy 
 outward form, such seeming vigour,* growth, and 
 beauty, in a clime like this, old as I am, I look and 
 wonder still. 
 
 Ivan. Why thou hast taught me, Korf, that 
 certain plants, deprived of yon bright beam, would 
 lose their gentle tender existence ; man, of a nobler 
 nature, bears a ray of that divinity within him ; 
 hope, reason, and religion, lighten every gloom, the 
 mind, supported hence, the inferior mortal frame is 
 influenced in the mean, it lives, it combats with the 
 evil, and, from long habit, reconciles the bane. 
 
 Korf. Oh happiest moment of my life ! 1 see, I 
 hear thee, all thy infant bloom and promise ripened 
 into excellence. Come, let us join the Czar, and 
 look about the Fort, perhaps he'll take thee with 
 him to the capital. 
 
 Ivan. Lead, lead the way, good Korf ! Boun- 
 teous Heaven ! angels have visited me ! The day- 
 light beams in Schusselberg. 
 
 Korf. Thou shalt be happy, Ivan, and be free. 
 [Exeunt together. 
 
 * Prince Ivan was above six feet high, of an elegant figure, and 
 possessed a fine open engaging countenance. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 139 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace of 
 Peterhoff. Catharine on an elevated chair of 
 State. Princess Dashkoff, the Hetman Razu- 
 
 MOFFSKY, PANIN, OdART, PaSSICK, GlEBOFF, 
 
 Orloff, the Archbishop of Novgorod, fyc. &;c. 
 
 Cath. The Czar, my friends, is still at Schussel- 
 berg, but for this paper, what think ye of it ? 
 
 Raza. [rising] Why it confirms the keen sus- 
 picions of the friends of Russia ; slight is the veil 
 that would conceal the intentions of the Emperor • 
 your majesty, in speed, to imprison, to exclude Paul 
 Petrovitch the throne, in short, to place the im- 
 perial crown on Ivan's brow — how best to baffle a 
 plot so iniquitous, here are we met to take into 
 request ; and first, I vote to seize the person of the 
 Czar — till that pass be effected, all other efforts will 
 be found abortive. [Sits. 
 
 Pan. [rises] That measure I support, secure 
 the Czar, let him be closely guarded till ye've ar- 
 ranged your plans, and brought him to consent to 
 terms more advantageous to the welfare of the 
 nation than those he now proposes. 
 
 Orloff. [rises] I urge the same necessity. 
 
 Pan. These terms if he refuse, you must decide 
 and act against him like a rebel subject. 
 
 Nov. And think you Peter will consent to that? 
 can he be made to compromise ? he who, perhaps ? 
 this moment fixes on the spot in which our Empress 
 is to be inhumed ; already dips in deadly poison 
 the dagger that shall drink the blood of Paul ? 
 
140 THE TATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Gods ! can my countrymen thus tamely meditate, and 
 indolently let this second Herod stride on to the 
 bloody execution ? why not, whilst the occasion 
 offers of his absence, seize the time, resolve the in- 
 stant, and immediate act ? 
 
 Cath. 'Twill be too late when Peter is returned : 
 what you neglect to do for him, he will not fail to 
 do for you. 
 
 Razu. Let, then, the Czar be instantly arrested, 
 and for that purpose, let us send a trusty guard to 
 meet him midway, as he here returns, so is his 
 purpose foiled, and we have leisure to reflect a 
 moment, to think what ought to follow. 
 
 Pass. ' No, I say no ! let us dispatch him.' 
 [Catharine appears to shudder] ' Is none here 
 ' bold enough ? I am the man, then, and I will do it 
 1 in the face of all his court ; whilst Peter lives, Paul 
 ? Petrovitch is not. Think you this Emperor has 
 ' no friends in Russia 1 think of those acts which at 
 ' the first made him so popular ; think of those men 
 ' whom he has raised to power, whose interest 'tis 
 1 to keep the Czar in place ; these can persuade the 
 ' multitude, and keep in pay and arms a powerful 
 ' host ; yet, independent of this selfish crew, Peter 
 ' all indolent, averse to business as he is, has 
 ' stronger partisans at home, and e'en abroad; so, 
 ' whilst he is allowed to live in prison, Russia will 
 ' still be drenched in civil wars — do what ye do 
 ' effectually — to spare the million sacrifice the man, 
 1 a man than none I know can better now be spared.' 
 [Catharine appears to be shocked. 
 
 Pan. Away, away ! we want no butcherings in 
 
A TRAGEDY. 141 
 
 Russia, when prisons fail to keep the peace, 'tis then 
 too soon to do a deed like this. 
 
 Pass, [apart] Aye, but I'll set about it, and 
 the instant. 
 
 Cath. ' Howe'er essential to the well-being of 
 ' our rising state, however much we sigh for home 
 * tranquillity and foreign friendship, we do sincerely 
 ' feel, too zealous Passick, our pitying heart grief- 
 ' struck, that we must of necessity so far arrest the 
 1 senseless progress of the Czar, as now to seek to 
 1 make him prisoner ;' no, tho' 'tis certain that he 
 would deprive his son of life, and would imprison 
 me, yet, yet, forgive me, Russia, I cannot all at once 
 forget I am a wife, that Peter is the father of Paul 
 Petrovitch. Let our first deeds be signalized by 
 mercy, so may the God of Justice prosper us ! 
 
 [Weeps. 
 
 Orloff. And so say I, my gracious Sovereign ; 
 effect from hence your own escape, your noble 
 friends will hasten to protect you, molest not Peter 
 now, let him like you collect his troops, and let our 
 courage and the sword decide it. 
 
 Dash. Well said, my friend — in every varied 
 commerce of society, I see no interest but in open 
 dealing. 
 
 Pan. I pray Heaven spare our countrymen in 
 the event. 
 
 Orloff. In thus determining our sovereign's fate, 
 'tis my belief there will be less of bloodshed, than if 
 we leave to dull delays, and foreign interference, 
 our country's cause to settle. 
 
142 THE TATE OF IVAN! 
 
 Odart. Twice is the battle won, 
 
 That ends e'er rises twice on it the sun. 
 
 Razu. I grant the probability of that our Ge- 
 neral urges. 
 
 Pan. And that determined, what's the next 
 step expedient to be taken ? 
 
 Odart. In the successful termination of the 
 combat, to vest supreme authority in Catharine's 
 hands', should it not be 1 [apart] At least 'tis that 
 at which she aims. 
 
 Nov. That's a pretension I'll most ardently 
 support. 
 
 Orloff. And I with my heart's blood defend. 
 
 Pan. And I, I stedfastly oppose it ; let Catharine, 
 as 'tis meet she should, be made the Regent of the 
 Russias, and let the title Emperor devolve on Paul. 
 
 Razu. Why that doth seem, indeed, most safe. 
 
 Pan. ' By holy Paul, all other measures may 
 ' betray the cause they're meant to serve.' 
 
 Razu. ' He rises most securely, who gains the 
 ' pinnacle of glory step by step.' 
 
 Cath. l In arts mechanical, my Lord, that maxim 
 
 • always must be good, but there's no intermediate 
 *' path to royalty from whence I tower — the difference 
 ' of a name is all the question.' 
 
 Pan. l Pardon me, madam, that I now perceive 
 ' your aims, and I can measure to a hair, your 
 
 • power's extent, aye every tittle that same power can 
 c work, and, seeing that, I know where you should 
 
 • pause. You have repeated it a hundred times, to 
 1 be the mother of the Emperor was the grand sum- 
 ' mit of your soul's ambition — does that seem now 
 
A TRAGEDY. 143 
 
 ' too little for your wishes ? You would remove your 
 ' son from empire, but say, what right have you to 
 ' rule alone ? Think you this ancient warlike nation 
 ' will acknowledge a simple Countess of Anhalt? 
 ' Think you our hardy sons will not be plotting in 
 1 favour of great Peter's race, whilst one of them is 
 ' held in prison, and groans another in a lonesome 
 > dungeon ? I am your friend, my country's friend, 
 • so far an enemy to Peter, as I consider him unfit 
 1 to wield the sceptre of a realm like this ; but his 
 ■ posterity, to whom it may please Heaven to grant 
 ' more skill for government, their interest in your 
 ' cause I'll still maintain. Give up, then, madam, 
 ' your extreme pretensions, think it no* common for- 
 1 tune if ye evade the danger that presses on you ; 
 1 convince the world you have an honest motive to 
 ' justify these violent proceedings ; prove to them 
 ' that your son, Paul Petrovitch, is the first object of 
 ' your high concern.' 
 
 \_A pause ensues, and all appear surprised. 
 Dash. * What says your Majesty to this ? ' 
 Cath. ' I grant the arguments of our enlight- 
 ' ened friend seem full of truth, of powerful reason, 
 ' and persuasive justice, but yet permit me to ob- 
 ' serve, I know the Russians, know if they be but 
 ' governed 'tis little question with them the origin 
 4 of those who rule — nor would I seek in this 
 ' respect to change them — administering with lenity 
 1 what justice prompts, I would not leave them 
 ' e'en a shadow of pretext to murmur at the legisla- 
 ' tion. You talk of dread revolts, my Lord ; have 
 ' you forgotten history records, 'tis most in Re- 
 
144 THE FATE OF IVAN". 
 
 < gencies rebellion fattens, and widest spreads the 
 ' pestilence of discontent, where lives no power 
 ' determinate V so is he twice a king, who, reigning 
 but by proxy, governs well ; and doubly fortunate 
 that state should deem itself, thus being circum- 
 stanced, which, in the mean, escapes the storms of 
 civil discord, and of foreign strife. Ask your own 
 heart, my Lord, should we have needed to resort to 
 this, had Peter guided with a steady hand the reins 
 of government ? If to supremacy we tower our 
 wishes, is't not the common welfare we've in view ? 
 Is't not the more securely to preserve the rights of 
 Paul ? too young himself, he long shall be in fitting 
 judgment our realm to rule ; and in discernment, 
 giving him to see in whom he should confide ; and 
 who, my lord, so little likely to abuse the power 
 transferred, as one so near allied to him as I am ? 
 and finally, I seek to nobly recompence those friends 
 who all like you assist me to defend him. 
 
 Pan. To prove the gratitude you owe the states- 
 man, 'twere wretched policy to make the state de- 
 pendent. 
 
 Razu. The intention may be good ; the mischief 
 that may hence arise, is first to be considered. 
 
 Nov. Even from ill-intentioned deeds heaven 
 sometimes works effectual good, therefore we ought 
 to hope what is well meant, well managed, well 
 designed, should, in the execution, good produce. 
 
 Pan. Yet lacking wisdom, or experience want- 
 ing, we may do wrong, however pure the thought ; 
 'tis to contest the wisdom of the measure, not to 
 dispute the grace of the design, we now are met. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 14.3 
 
 Razu. But to our judgment as we good discern, 
 so we should work. 
 
 Or/off. Else we forget our final interest 
 
 Odart. To serve the prince of darkness, who, for 
 some purpose that, we know not yet, must have 
 his subjects as well as other mighty potentates. 
 
 Dasli. Aye, but the grievance, Odart, there, 
 work as you will, and serve him as you can, perpe- 
 tual anguish is the sole reward. 
 
 Nov. Such recompense we often meet from 
 earthly rulers. 
 
 Odart. For our best actions are susceptible of 
 foul interpretation, and there's a vice in some men's 
 minds, that never fails with nicest skill to blacken 
 excellence, and that so subtilly, and so darkly, it 
 would require something 'bove common sight to 
 pierce the veil they make, and see a ray of virtue in 
 the cloud ; heaven is not greatness in their murky 
 thought ; Sol has no splendour in their jaundiced 
 eye, and all creation's wonders are as naught before 
 them. 
 
 Pan. But if we fail to serve the cause of virtue, 
 because, forsooth, here we can have no sacred credit 
 for it, we make a very vain pretence to worth, we 
 seek the applause of men, before our own respect, 
 above approving heaven. 
 
 Cath. My generous friends, I do intreat you 
 once more think amongst yourselves, and let me be 
 apprised of the result. I seek in all things to be 
 guided by your counsels, but in this one distinction 
 of a name, in which we see the dearer interest of our 
 son concerned, for that maternal duty still will lead 
 
146 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 us to contend — fixed are our sentiments as this great 
 empire in the spacious earth — according to our fore- 
 sight and most impartial judgment, predetermined 
 are our plans. If built in vanity, in pride, in mad 
 ambition these, soon must the fragile fabric totter in 
 decay; no maxim general currency can gain that 
 has not sprung in truth ; no pile can stand, that 
 wants a just foundation. This night at Petersburgh 
 I hope to meet you — to-morrow, may it please 
 heaven to decide our cause, and in the event spare 
 our beloved countrymen. 
 
 Pan. We are your Majesty's devoted subjects, 
 I dare believe her happiness is what we all have 
 most at heart — we'll meet again ere you reach 
 Petersburgh. 
 
 Pass, [apart] And Pll to work the instant. 
 {Exeunt all but Catharine and Dashkoff ; 
 as Orloff is going out, Catharine recalls 
 him. 
 
 Cath. [to Orloff] General, one word with 
 you. 
 
 Orloff. My pleasure to obey your Majesty, I 
 seek some opportunity for proof. 
 
 Cath. [to Dashkoff] In all haste, Princess, 
 I'll despatch my business here, and meet you in the 
 study. 
 
 Dash. I'll wait your leisure, madam. 
 
 [Exit Dashkoff. 
 
 Cath. This night, good Orloff, as I have said, 
 'tis my intent to try to effect my escape to Peters- 
 burgh ; I well perceive there's not an hour to lose. 
 Return this instant to the capital, there raise your 
 
A TKAC.r.DV, 14? 
 
 faithful regiment; that done, ye shall be joined by 
 others, whom Dashkoff, Novgorod, and the Hetman 
 Razumoffsky have been disposing — take this key, 
 the admittance into the summer house that skirts the 
 garden, at the foot of which the Neva runs — in this 
 same house, foreseeing all, some nights past I've 
 reposed ; hither, soon as the occasion shall be ripe, 
 (soon as you shall proclaim me Empress of the 
 Russias) send, with a brief intelligence, some trusty 
 persons; with them I will return, and, when ex- 
 pedient, will appear amongst you. 
 
 Or/off. Your Majesty needs only courage ; I will 
 be prompt, be secret, and be bold ; when daring en- 
 terprise has fixed her flight, the sooner that she 
 spreads her eagle wing the better. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis on thy courage most I build my 
 hopes. 
 
 Orloff. Your Majesty shall speedily be served 
 — rely on my good fortune. [Exit Orloff. 
 
 Cath. Now for the Princess ! 
 
 [Exit Catharine- 
 
 SCENE III.— Study at the Palace of Peterhoff— 
 Princess Dashkoff, a book in her hand. 
 
 Enter Catharine. 
 
 Cath. Now, Dashkoff, tell me, friend, what 
 thinkest thou of this Panim ? 
 
 Dash. So bold, I must confess, I did not think 
 to find him, yet I was pleased with his sincerity. 
 l 2 
 
148 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Cath. True ; but the dearer interest which in_ 
 spired him 
 
 Dash. There seemed much justice in his argu- 
 ment. 
 
 Cath. First hear what I've to urge : to place 
 Paul Petrovitch upon the throne, I know he wishes ; 
 but mark me, to occupy himself the second place, 
 or rather first except in nomination, is the next step 
 he languishes to take ; yes, he would govern in the 
 name of Paul. 
 
 Dash. Ah, ah ! I failed to see that ; and con- 
 strued all his warmth pure patriotic zeal. 
 
 Cath. And sooner than I that would suffer, I'd 
 let the sluggard Peter drone upon the royal couch, 
 imprison me, and Petrovitch abandon. It is not 
 that I do not think the Count a man of passing 
 honesty ; yes, yes, I grant him that, whilst I per- 
 ceive his mind of that same stamp, that having been 
 unused to sovereign power, the "circumstantial 
 difference, the local cause, would so far change the 
 creature, that perched upon the royal pinnacle, I see 
 him giddy with the mighty height, and tempted to 
 betray his own salvation, or yet worse, the happiness 
 of Russia. Oh ! 'tis a soul, than none less fitted 
 for supremacy, and yet withal an instrument, with 
 which supremacy can ne'er dispense ; kept as a sub- 
 ject, he, like the pendent arm, the body serving, is 
 grace, is use, is vigor ! is necessity ! a noble pillar of 
 the state, that ornaments the prouder weight it 
 bears. 
 
 Dash. Faithful to every trust in which engaged, 
 
A TRAGEDY. J 49 
 
 there is not ought could bribe him to forsake the in- 
 terest of his master. 
 
 Cath. Nor do I mean to say, that prompted by a 
 thirst of sway, or by ungovernable ambition led, 
 the Count is aiming to be first, amongst us ; no, 'tis 
 a certain prepossession of his superior skill for go- 
 vernment which leads him on ; he is for ever form- 
 ing plans, grand innovations, and extraneous systems, 
 and long with Peter has essayed in vain to carry into 
 effect his novel projects, but the weak monarch's in- 
 dolence still foiled him, so now, with ardent hope, 
 he seeks the grand accomplishment with Paul. 
 
 Dash. That nice discrimination was bestowed for 
 highest purposes. 
 
 Cath. And I, whilst I abet his wiser views, must 
 check, for Russia's sake, his speculative flights ; for 
 infant states, and barbarous realms, kingdoms like 
 this, bear not with sudden changes in their customs, 
 we must proceed with cool discretion, sturdy is 
 ignorance in every clime ; 'tis only where refine- 
 ment has enlarged, and shed around intelligence her 
 light, that long-established forms may be invaded, 
 even when most assuredly for the general benefit. 
 
 Dash. Seen, then, the present disposition of the 
 Count, what must be done to make him think as we 
 do, in short, to render him the passive subject ? 
 
 Cath. To gain that pass, my friend, would be 
 the very summit of our policy. 
 
 Dash. Shall I attempt, then, his conversion ? 
 
 Cath. But how ? 
 
 Dash. The motive you're assured 
 
 Cath. Is purest friendship. 
 
150 THE FATE OF IVAN! 
 
 Dash. You know how much the Count esteems 
 me ; and though I am, compared with him in years, 
 a very infant, yet his respect for my opinion 
 amounts almost to veneration. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis true ; and I have heard, indeed, for 
 eyes it boots a woman nought, so she can talk ; and 
 praise, is never more acceptable than when address'd 
 to one like Panim, somewhat advanced in years, by 
 youth and beauty ; but yet I doubt, my friend, the 
 very virtue of your character, that reputation you 
 enjoy so singular withal, will raise a barrier to that 
 project. 
 
 Dash. Your Majesty mistakes the matter totally, 
 'tis on that very character that I presume ; and trust 
 me, madam, where vice in woman can make one honest 
 votary, in wiser men, virtue shall form the thousand ! 
 
 Cath. But yet I cannot understand what you 
 propose. 
 
 Dash. Simply, to speak the truth as I behold it ; 
 if that effect our purpose, good are the means em- 
 ployed, and good may be the end attained ; but if 
 this fail, other adoption must be had, or failure be 
 endured ; your Majesty may know, that to the truth 
 I'd sacrifice my life. 
 
 Cath, Dear Princess, brightest jewel of my 
 crown, go on and prosper. I see without thee 
 Catharine were not Catharine. 
 
 Dash. In the mean time, take care, your Majesty, 
 that brutal Passick nothing shall attempt to make 
 your name contemptible for ever — let not the example 
 of your husband prompt you to any measure you 
 would blush to see recorded. 
 
A TIIAGKDV. 151 
 
 Catli. Trust me for that, my friend, though well 
 'tis known the Czar's design with us is nothing less 
 than murder, yet, if on our side he be made a 
 prisoner, we will a just example set, how kings so 
 circumstanced should be respected. 
 
 Dash. That thought is worthy Catharine. I 
 will proceed the instant — already I've secured the 
 regiment of Preobajensky, they wait my instant 
 warning. [Exit Dashkoff. 
 
 CatJi. And now for action. When daring enter- 
 prise has fixed her flight, the sooner that she spreads 
 her eagle wing the better — so says the valiant OrlofT! 
 — so thinks determined Catharine ! 
 
 [Exit Catharine. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
152 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— An Apartment at Peterhoff. 
 
 Enter the Czar, Munich, Korf, Leof, Stern- 
 berg ; Is ma el meeting them. 
 
 Ism. Your Majesty is welcome back to Peter- 
 hoff, most opportunely is he now arrived ; the 
 Empress has disappeared, and whither gone we 
 know not. 
 
 Omnes. Gone ! gone ! 
 
 Czar. The Empress gone ! how, how has she 
 escaped ? 
 
 Ism. ' Your Majesty well knows, that on ac- 
 ' count of the great festival here to be celebrated of 
 ' Peter and of Paul, the Empress has, for some 
 • nights past, slept in the summer house, and thence 
 1 she has effected her escape ; and it is evident, the 
 ' means concerted during your absence at Schussel- 
 c berg, for here, not many hours ago, was held a 
 ' formidable council, present at which, I learnt for 
 ' satisfaction of your Majesty, was Panin, Razu- 
 ' moffsky, Odart, Novgorod, Passick, Gleboff, and 
 ' many others.' 
 
 Czar. Which render our case dangerous enough 
 — my Lords, what's to be done in this predicament? 
 
 Stern. I know well what ought to have been 
 done some weeks ago — your Majesty was ever too 
 confiding. 
 
 
A TRAGEDY. 153 
 
 Enter a Messenger, disguised as a Peasant, with a 
 paper, which he gives to the Czak. 
 
 Messenger. I am charged, in all haste, to give 
 this to your Majesty, it comes from faithful Bressen. 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Czar. From faithful Bressen ! 'tis well said, 
 let's hear what new disasters, [reads'] ' " Your 
 ' Majesty must haste to arm — all Petersburgh is in 
 ' commotion, the troops are fighting 'gainst the 
 ' people, nothing but cries are heard of " Long live 
 1 Catharine" — haste, Sire, to march against the 
 ' rebels ; you still have many friends in Petersburgh ; 
 'I fly to exert myself in your defence ; I will be 
 ' ready to meet you with all the force I can collect. 
 
 'Signed, BRESSEN.' » 
 What an unexpected stroke is this ? what's your 
 advice, my friends, what's to be done 1 
 
 Munich. There is but one thing that a king 
 should do in such a case — call up the guards that 
 now surround you, march on to Cronstadt, secure 
 that port, and you are safe, and may then go to 
 Petersburgh; I will this instant animate the troops; 
 we need but shew ourselves, the day is ours ! 
 
 Stern. I long to shew the rebels what a few 
 loyal subjects can effect. 
 
 Czar. Will it be right to expose my person to 
 the foe ? 
 
 Munich. It is impossible that Catharine can 
 have won already to her cause all Petersburgh, she 
 who has no just pretension to the crown — away, 
 
154 THE TATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Sire, with all idle fancies ; cowards would only 
 hesitate in such a case. 
 
 Czar. Let us prepare, at least, my friends — in 
 the mean time I will reflect upon it. 
 
 Korf. But rest, your Majesty, at PeterhofF, if 
 more secure you think it ; only remember, Sire, your 
 faithful subjects who have your interest most sincere 
 at heart, will go without you. 
 
 Czar. Alas ! poor Ivan ! 
 
 Leof. [apart] Alas ! poor Peter ! 
 
 Czar. Korf, you must tell him our misfortune. 
 
 Korf. No doubt, your Majesty, he will proceed 
 with us. 
 
 Enter hastily Countess Vorontzoff. 
 
 Countess. My Lord, what means this clamour 
 'bout the palace ? All is not well at Petersburgh, I 
 fear. 
 
 Czar. AH is not well at Peterhoff, I'm sure. 
 
 Stem. The fact is, Madam, Catharine has escaped, 
 and alPs in arms. 
 
 Countess. Escaped ! Distraction ! Then are we 
 lost, indeed. 
 
 Czar. Did I not tell you 'twas a woman capable 
 of any thing? "Long live the Empress Catherine" is 
 all the cry. 
 
 Countess. Ah, woe is me ! My mortal foe the 
 wicked Dashkoff is concerned in this. What has 
 your Majesty resolved to do ? 
 
 Czar. Immediately to summon all the guards, to 
 march to Cronstadt, secure that pass, then on to 
 Petersburgh. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 155 
 
 Countess. What, with a hundred men, presume to 
 meet perhaps a hundred thousand ? Oh what unheard 
 of madness this, to expose your sacred person to a 
 tribe of ruffians — who can have counselled this ? 
 
 Omnes. We, we, madam, in our reverence for 
 the Czar. 
 
 Countess, Thou hast, then, no friend left, un- 
 happy Peter ! 
 
 Munich. See now, my friends, where women 
 are concerned, what good can be effected ? 
 
 Korf. [apart] Say, too, where women of a 
 certain cast have sway, will Heaven befriend our 
 steps ? 
 
 Munich. How many kings have thus been over- 
 thrown ! 
 
 Czar. Do not believe, my friends, that I can be 
 so easily persuaded. 
 
 Countess. Oh, wretched that I am ! 
 
 Munich. Fond madam, deign but to consider 
 the danger that awaits his Majesty in staying here, 
 where, in a few short hours, the enemy may reach 
 him — he has no friends to join him here, no succours 
 to depend upon. 
 
 Countess. At all events, we are undone, then. 
 
 Korf. Fie on't, let not your Majesty be thus be- 
 trayed by female weakness. How many instances his- 
 tory records of kingdoms that have thus been lost ; of 
 kings untimely ruined, that else had lived a blessing 
 to their country. 
 
 Munich. Come, then, my honored Liege, let 
 us proceed ; no sword shall reach your heart, till 
 thro' my body it has pierced. What can I say 
 
156 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Leof. Your vessel ready lies at anchor. 
 
 Stem. Sire, if you let the women now prevail, 
 you are lost for ever. 
 
 Czar. Good friends, your faithful services, your 
 long experience, demand my gratitude and my 
 obedience ; I yield implicitly to your advice. 
 
 Munich. Then we will move the instant. 
 
 Czar. Oh, faithless fortune, 'tis thy design, I 
 half foresee, to jilt me— happy the man who never 
 wore a crown ! 
 
 Countess. And happy she who never loved a 
 king. 
 
 Omnes. To arms ! to arms ! our country and our 
 king ? [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The front of the Imperial Palace of 
 Petersburgh — Catharine's arrival— she ascends 
 a balcony in the front of the Palace, accompanied 
 by Princess Dashkoff. Troops of Soldiers 
 crowd in to welcome her with loud hurras. 
 
 Enter Orloff, Gleboff, Passick, Novgorod, 
 and Prince Potemki^. 
 
 Orloff. Your Majesty has been expected with 
 impatience two hours, your faithful troops have been 
 in arms. 
 
 Cath. My generous countrymen ! your unhappy 
 Empress flies to you to 'scape destruction; flies 
 from the palace of the Emperor ! a deadly plot has 
 been concerted 'gainst us ; this night it was intended 
 to murder me and Petrovitch together. Oh ! do I 
 live to tell it, the husband and the father are the 
 
A TRAGEDY. 157 
 
 instigators. To you, brave Russians, I submit my 
 cause, to you I come for shelter and protection ; to 
 you I dare confide myself, my darling child : ye will 
 not, valiant countrymen, forsake the rightful heir of 
 Russia ; ye will not, in an hour like this, the mother 
 of your future Emperor abandon ? 
 
 Omnes. No, no, we swear to die in your defence f 
 Or /off. Hurra ! long live the Empress Catharine » 
 Omnes. Long live the Empress Catharine ! 
 
 Enter Razumoffsky with more troops, and a 
 chaplain bearing a crucifix, on which the Soldiers 
 take the oath of allegiance. 
 
 Omnes. We swear to die in your defence. Long 
 live the Empress ! 
 
 Enter hastily Panin, with the young Paul 
 Petrovitch in his arms. 
 
 Pan. Behold, my countrymen, your future Em- 
 peror ! this moment have I snatched him from a 
 cruel death ; scarce had I entered his apartment, 
 when a ruffian band, armed for the purpose of de- 
 struction, rushed in upon us— my valiant troops 
 quickly dispersed them ; fortune is on our side, the 
 day is ours, my friends ! 
 
 Omnes. Long live Paul Petrovitch ! 
 
 Pan. Will ye not on, my countrymen, to battle, 
 to save the heir of Russia ; will ye not, for his sake, 
 guard, fight for, and defend the mother's sacred 
 
158 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Omnes. To conquer or to die ! 
 Cath. Haste, let us meet our foes; let's see what 
 justice in our cause, what heaven, our courage, 
 conduct, and our troops can do for us. In this our 
 deed of deep necessity, we seek no power unlimited, 
 no arbitrary sway for the brave sons of Russia ; 'tis 
 we fight, and when we fail their interest to consult, 
 their happiness to prize, then may they hurl us head- 
 long from that throne where now they seek to fix 
 us ; — yes, my beloved people ! as I shall make your 
 dear prosperity my first concern, so may the All- 
 righteous lead us on to conquest or destruction ! 
 Omnes. Hurra ! to arms ! to arms ! 
 
 [Catharine and Princess Dashkoff descend 
 
 from the balcony, and mount a light carriage. 
 
 Prince Potemkin, perceiving Catharine 
 
 has no plume on her head, takes his own from 
 
 his cap, and presents it to her. 
 
 Pot. ' Permit the most devoted of her Majesty's 
 
 ' liege subjects, to make his sovereign more con- 
 
 ' spicuous.' 
 
 Cath. Thanks to your courtesy, good Ensign, 
 one day we must be more acquainted. 
 
 [CATHARiNE^res the plume on her head. 
 Omnes. Hurrah ! long live the Empress Catha- 
 rine—to arms ! to arms ! 
 
 [Catharine and Princess Dashkoff ride 
 through the ranks — loud hurras —the drums 
 beat, the band plays, shouts of " long live 
 Catharine!" the procession moves out — the 
 scene changes, and the army is seen at a 
 distance. 
 
 
A TRAGEDY. 159 
 
 SCENE III.— A Plain-General Munich— Baron 
 
 Korf, Count Leof, Ivan — surrounded by the 
 
 Holstein troops. 
 
 Munich. Brave Holsteiners ! you know me, 
 know that I have served the state of Russia for 
 thirty years. 
 
 1st Sol. And how rewarded ? 
 
 Munich. We will not talk of that, our country 
 is the question. Will you rely upon me, soldiers ? 
 
 Omnes. For ever and for ever ! 
 
 Munich. Behold the good descendant of the 
 immortal Peter, now in the last extremity, his faith- 
 ful subjects all are made acquainted what are the 
 bold designs of his ambitious wife, the throne to 
 exclude him, to immure him in a loathsome dun- 
 geon ; but my heart sinks within me ; — you cannot 
 doubt the sad conclusion of the tragedy — and shall 
 we tamely rest and suffer this ? Shall we thus shew 
 our gratitude to ancestors to whom we owe so much ? 
 We are six hundred men ; but if our souls are fitted 
 for the occasion, we are six thousand strong ; 
 courage will serve us in the place of numbers ; and 
 in our actions we will prove our might— let's haste 
 to meet them, friends, our standard shall be joined 
 at every turn— and " long live Peter " we shall hear 
 again. 
 
 Omnes. Hurrah ! Long live Peter ! Long live 
 our virtuous Emperor ! Hurrah ! 
 
 Ivan. Pray Heaven our efforts be successful. 
 
 Korf. Pray Heaven we come to battle. 
 
 Omnes. To arms ! to arms ! Long live Peter ! 
 Long live the Emperor ! 
 
160 
 
 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Enter Baron Sternberg, a paper in his hand. 
 
 Stem. Alas ! that cry is out of tune, my friends — 
 this moment I have left the Fortress — Peter is gone 
 — Ismael has persuaded him to put himself in 
 Catharine's power. [The soldiers lower arms, and a 
 groan e?isues.] Here is a written message to inform 
 us, he hopes to get safe conduct into Holstein, and 
 there reward us. 
 
 Ivan. Oh fate perverse ! Is there no hope for 
 him ? Can we not follow, Korf? 
 
 Korf. Alas, my king ! 
 
 Soldiers. Speak, General — shew us the way. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, he approaches Mun: 
 
 CH. 
 
 Mes. It grieves me, General, to be the herald of 
 bad tidings ; but ye are Peter's friends, and may, 
 perhaps, yet rescue him ; a few miles from this place 
 an armed force attacked the carriage of the Czar, 
 and turning from the road of Peterhoff, cried out, "to 
 Ropseha lead him, lead him to prison! to Ropseha, 
 friends ! long live the Empress ! " 
 
 Korf. S'death t'was a concerted plan — so soon 
 betrayed ! 
 
 Munich. Oh ! had I but the traitor Ismael in 
 my power. 
 
 Ivan. Let us pursue him, friends, what should 
 we fear ? 
 
 Korf. Yes, let us pursue ; good Munich, we are 
 all prepared ; let us confound the traitor Ismael if 
 possible, let us united make one effort more to rescue 
 him from prison, then if we have him 'mongst us, 
 
A TRAGEDY. l6l 
 
 we may, at least, oblige the dame to make conditions 
 suiting to our Emperor. 
 
 Ivan. Ah ! let us haste, the strongest guard 
 most like surrounds herself. 
 Omnes. Aye, let us haste. 
 
 Korf. For me, I swear to perish in the field, 
 e'er I will turn my back upon the foe. 
 
 Omnes. So we all swear ! to arms ! to arms ! 
 [The drums beat, the trumpet sounds, the band 
 plays, the soldiers march — they are heard for 
 some time t and the march is seen at a distance. 
 
 SCENE IV '.—An Apartment at Ropseha— the Czar 
 stretched on a couch asleep. 
 
 Enter Count Panin — he contemplates the Czar 
 a moment in silence. 
 
 Pan. Poor soul ! he sleeps : 'tis more, I much 
 suspect, than Catharine can. Oh pomp of pride 
 and vanity, how little wert thou made for this 
 estate! What man — what foe would not stop here to 
 apostrophize ? Behold me sent to tamper with an 
 Emperor ; yes, it may be most grossly to deceive 
 him : an Emperor, than whom two days ago in out- 
 ward circumstance, none was more great — and now 
 he droops without a friend to raise him. 
 
 Czar, [asleep'] The tide will rise, and rise, and 
 fall again. 
 
 Pan. Poor man ! 'twill never rise again for 
 thee! 
 
 Czar, [rising] Who calls ? 
 
 M 
 
162 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Pan. I am sent from Catharine. 
 
 Czar. And to Peter — what wills your mistress ? 
 
 Pan. Catharine requests me to inform you, Sire, 
 she will not fail to meet you here, the first occasion 
 that shall offer. 
 
 Czar. Oh ! she grows too kind, too con- 
 descending. 
 
 Pan. She adds, unwilling still to doubt your 
 Majesty, she is yet fearful you are not sincere in 
 your professions of acquiescence to her proposi- 
 tions. 
 
 Czar. Away, away ! can she suspect a man in 
 prison, unarmed, and unattended by a friend ? 
 
 Pan. Your Majesty has many friends in Russia. 
 
 Czar. Did I not set off from Oranembaum with- 
 out a guard ? Have I not every fortress dismantled, 
 in proof I would not carry arms against my wife ? 
 Now, Panin, friend, or foe, what better testimony 
 could I give, that my first wish is only for retire- 
 ment ? 
 
 Pan. Sire, I believe 'tis not yourself so much 
 the Empress suspects, as those whom well she 
 knows are adverse to her; and as a proof of her sin- 
 cerity, that with those foes you never will commu- 
 nicate, so to preserve the order of the realm, and to 
 convince her, beyond all doubt, of your intentions, 
 she humbly asks your Majesty to sign this paper. 
 
 [Shewing a paper. 
 
 Czar. What is this paper, then ? 
 
 Pan. Observe, Sire, I know not if it is, or if it is 
 not, Catharine's intention to make it public : here am 
 I sent charged to present it to you, to say for why 
 
A TRAGEDY. 
 
 163 
 
 she makes this same request, unknowing I repeat, if 
 what the Empress asserts, be false or true. 
 
 Czar. Is the request so very villainous, my Lord, 
 that thus you find it requisite to preface ? 
 
 Pan. It makes your Majesty confess himself 
 unfit to reign — in fact, unfit for anything, and, there- 
 fore, seems too gross e'er to gain credit as your own 
 suggestion, and thence, I argue, Catharine is too 
 politic to publish it. 
 
 Czar. That Heaven may have appointed, that 
 this woman shall be supreme in Russia, I do not 
 doubt ; and that she is more fitted than myself to 
 tread the thorny path of government, I question not : 
 but when two roads are open to the goal, if from 
 pure wantonness of spirit, she must pursue the evil 
 way, think you that Heaven will fail to judge her 
 for the choice ? 
 
 Pan. It is to be inferred, Sire. 
 
 Czar. Come, let us hear this thing, I do com- 
 mand you ! read it fully, without abridgement, or 
 any modest softening of what looks blackest in 
 your eye. 
 
 Pan. Sire, you shall have it, as I have it. 
 
 Czar. That is our pleasure. 
 
 Pan. [reads] ' During the short space of my 
 ' absolute reign over the empire of Russia, I became 
 ' sensible that I was not able to support so great a 
 1 burden, and that my abilities were not equal to the 
 ' task of governing so great an empire, either as a 
 ' Sovereign, or in any other capacity. I also fore- 
 \ saw the great trouble which must thence have 
 1 arisen, and have been followed with the total ruin 
 M 2 
 
164 THE FATE OF IVAN *. 
 
 ' of the empire, and my own eternal disgrace; 
 ' after seriously reflecting thereon, I declare, without 
 ' constraint, and in the most solemn manner, to the 
 1 Russian empire, and to the whole universe, that I 
 ' for ever renounce the government of the said 
 1 empire, never desiring hereafter to reign therein, 
 ' either as an absolute Sovereign, or in any other 
 c form of government.' 
 
 ' Signed by my hand, the 29th June, 1762.' 
 
 Czar. Ha, ha! . Go tell your mistress,, if she 
 will add to that, that I was born with asses ears, 
 with every outward sign of inward vice, that 
 thus being born, so on I grew defective, nought 
 differing from the stupid mule, but in the two-legged 
 gait; and being taught, after much tedious toil, and 
 many years of painful tutoring, I was unfit to wear 
 a crown, that now, being so convinced, I humbly do 
 submit myself to those superior creatures, whom 
 Heaven has wisely fitted to be lords o'er all inferior 
 kind ; tell her, if this will give me conduct into 
 Holstein, I'll kneel and thank her for the grace so 
 purchased, subjoining with all eagerness my name. 
 
 Pan. Sire, I protest most honestly, I cannot an- 
 swer for the Empress's intentions, yet 
 
 Czar. Oft when the question has arisen of plots, 
 of treasons, and of secret councils, I have dis- 
 missed the busy praters of them with this remark, 
 I do all good to every one that lies within the com- 
 pass of my power — therefore I never fear that any 
 one will seek to injure me : mistaken man! adversity 
 has shewn me there is a principle in human nature 
 which little tallies with this same presumption. 
 
A TRAGEDY. l65 
 
 They love to oppress the inoffensive man, who, dig- 
 nified in office, lets them not feel the weight of his 
 importance, but as an equal lives amongst them, in- 
 dulgent to their foibles, forgetting their misdeeds, 
 and scorning to revenge when most they wrong him : 
 whilst oft, oh ! how perversely strange, they'll bend 
 in fearful reverence to him, who o'er them waves the 
 rod of sterner justice, and oppression. Princes ! 
 trust not to your virtues altogether for protection 
 and respect ; mine are not great, but they, and not 
 my vices, have betrayed me ! 
 
 Pan. Sire, I regret, but 
 
 Czar. There is in some base minds a vice which 
 more than others I detest ; it is that dirty spirit of 
 revenge, which, when a man has slain his enemy, 
 makes him sit coolly down to mangle his dead body ! 
 — such is this paper act. 
 
 Pan. To sign or not to sign, rests with your 
 Majesty alone. I seek not to persuade you, Sire, 
 'tis what, so circumstanced, I would not do. 
 
 Czar. Ha, ha, ha ! — but to procure a passport 
 into Holstein — let's try, let's see where this deep 
 farce will end. Follow me, Sir ; here is no instru- 
 ment wherewith to finish the affair. 
 
 [Exit Czar, followed by Pan in. 
 
166 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 SCENE V.— The inside of the Palace; Catha- 
 rine seated in a royal chair. The council assem- 
 bled. Princess Dashkoff, Odart, Panin, 
 Razumoffsky, Novgorod, Passick, Gle- 
 roff, potemkin, orloff, &fc. 8$c. catharine 
 holds some papers. 
 
 Cath. As herein stated, to these our erring- 
 subjects let it be speedily proclaimed — to every 
 rebel to our honest cause, to each deluded person 
 who has fought against us — we pitying grant to 
 these permission to retire from Petersburgh, or to 
 enlist themselves beneath our sheltering banners, as 
 many, we presume, will wisely do ; for seeing, all 
 must see, not our own valour, or our skill hath won 
 the day, these but for farther grace had inefficient 
 proved ; the god of armies went out with us, and 
 we returned victorious ! He blessed the great oc- 
 casion, and spared the blood of our beloved 
 countrymen ; never was change so happily effected, 
 we have not lost one soldier in a hundred — of our 
 prosperity this augurs well — for Russia's good let 
 us hope every thing in future ! These papers to 
 your care, good Orloff. [Orloff takes the papers. 
 
 Enter hastily Ism a el. 
 
 Ism. Good news, your Majesty, the scattered 
 remnants of the Holstein troops are taken, and 
 hither I have brought the General Munich, guarded • 
 he waits within the Palace, for I presumed your 
 
A TRAGEDY. 167 
 
 Majesty might like to see him ; he was the foremost 
 in the attempt to free the Emperor at Ropseha. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis well done, let him be conducted to 
 our presence. [E.vit Ismael. 
 
 Dash. Doubtless it is your Majesty's intention 
 to include the veteran in your clemency 1 
 
 Cath. The virtue of necessity had never better 
 food for policy. 
 
 Re-enter Ismael, Field Marshal Munich, and 
 Guards. 
 
 Cath. Think not, great General, I have hither 
 called you meanly to triumph o'er a fallen foe — no 
 Sir, 'tis publickly to own we bear no keen resent- 
 ment in our royal bosom ; men who have served 
 their country, as Munich oft has done, should never 
 be forgotten by her friends. Field Marshal, you 
 are free ! 
 
 Munich. For who shall dare to make me other- 
 wise ? Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Cath. This is too much. 
 
 Pan. The General speaks, your Majesty, in ag- 
 gravation of disappointment. 
 
 Munich. He speaks as every honest man should 
 speak, who feels his own importance — who feels 
 himself surrounded by a troop who want that nice 
 integrity he makes his proudest boast ! 
 
 Pass. But why should all this blustering be 
 made ? Peter has formally resigned. 
 
 Munich. Catharine has published so, what good 
 man will believe it ? 
 
168 
 
 THE FATE OF IVAN *. 
 
 Ism. Permit, your Majesty, we lead this mis- 
 creant to prison 1 
 
 Munich. Traitor ! whilst yet I have an arm, 
 take care thou do not come within its reach, else it 
 may chance I shall be tempted to revenge on thy 
 base head the imprisonment of Peter. 
 
 Nov. This is no place, at least, for your disputes. 
 
 Cath. General, we condescend again to tell you 
 you are free — or serve your country, or retire, as fits 
 your inclination; it is our royal pleasure to dispense 
 with your attendance here ! 
 
 Munich. To serve my country! why yes, 'tis 
 still my country ; I may still try to serve her ; but 
 when I draw my sword in her defence, how hard 
 will be the task to bury in forgetfulness their vices 
 who command it. 
 
 [Exit Munich and Guards. 
 
 Cath. All this I must confess is more than I ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Pan. Oh ! as for him, your Majesty has nothing 
 more to fear. 
 
 Odart. Who vents his indignation in resentful 
 speech, seldom preserves his passion for malignant 
 action. 
 
 Nov. Your Majesty must now and then expect 
 these same rebuffs, — must take them patiently. 
 
 Cath. Oh ! most assuredly, they are the most 
 unfit to reign o'er others, who have not so far learnt 
 to rule themselves. 
 
 Pan. The bold and honest lion is an open foe, 
 a foe we meet on equal chances, and such a foe is 
 Munich. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 16'9 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Messenger. The Baron Korf, your Majesty, a 
 prisoner, and with him led the young prince Ivan. 
 
 Cat/i. Ivan with Korf ? [Rising with surprise. 
 
 O nines. Ivan ? [All rising. 
 
 Cath. Did I hear right ? how's this ? can I 
 believe my senses ? 
 
 Messenger. It is most true, your Majesty ; the 
 Czar brought him from Schusselberg, and now he 
 wears a soldier's uniform ; and, if your Majesty will 
 deign to see him, I do believe she'll think all Russia 
 cannot boast an equal youth. 
 
 Dash. I do entreat, your Majesty, we see the 
 Prince. [Earnestly. 
 
 Cath. But what may be your motive, friend ? 
 
 Dash. Pure female curiosity — it is a sight I never 
 yet have seen. 
 
 Cath. I own I have the wish to see him, too, but 
 yet 
 
 Razu. Your Majesty, perhaps, anticipates a 
 second Munich. 
 
 Cath. No, good Razumoffsky, a twenty years 
 captivity would tame the ardour of the fiercest 
 spirit — [to the Messenger] — conduct the prisoners to 
 our presence. 
 
 Nov. Poor youth, to have been released, and 
 then so soon a prisoner made again. 
 
 Dash. My heart bleeds for him. 
 
 Pass. I long to see how he will bear the in- 
 terview. 
 
170 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Enter Baron Korf, Ivan, and Guards. Ivan looks 
 around him with composure. 
 
 [The Princess Dashkoff rises on their enter- 
 ing. Orloff and Pantn also rise. 
 
 Korf. [to Ivan] I pray you, Prince, be calm. 
 
 Cath. Prince, you are here an unexpected 
 person. 
 
 Ivan. Nought could to me, your Majesty, be 
 more unlooked for. How many strange vicissitudes 
 in this life ! 
 
 Dash. Alas, indeed ! or had not Ivan now been 
 here — poor Prince ! 
 
 [Ivan looks at the royal chair on which Catha- 
 rine is seated. 
 
 Korf. Thanks to your pity. 
 
 [To Princess Dashkoff. 
 
 Dash. What simple grace ! what unaffected 
 dignity ! [To Catharine. 
 
 Ivan, [still looking calmly at the regal chair] Oh 
 fatal state of greatness ! woe that I was born with just 
 pretensions to thee ! Oh that my mother had never 
 set upon my brow the sparkling diadem, that in the 
 moment when the States proclaimed me Emperor, 
 she had fled with me to some distant country, where 
 we unknown had lived in obscure liberty, then had I 
 made the comfort of her age, and in her smiles, 
 had been in happiness a king. Oh ! hapless, honored 
 father, thou, I know, dost nourish in thy bosom still 
 a thousand hopes for Ivan ; paternal love will make 
 the wisest vain, and renders many of the best am- 
 
A TRAGEDY. 171 
 
 bitious ; yes, at this moment I can read thy soul, 
 e'en now, thou flatterest thyself in secret — one day, 
 thou sayest, or why does he yet live — one day my 
 son shall have again his right, and our long-suffer- 
 ings shall be all avenged ! Oh pitying Heaven ! 
 let but my parent dream of the destruction that 
 awaits me, let him believe what he shall see in sleep, 
 so may he prepare himself to bear the evil, so may 
 he not, in the impatience of calamity, grow impious 
 in his grief, and rise to murmur 'gainst All-righteous 
 Providence ! [Princess Dashkoff weeps. 
 
 Cath. Dismiss your fears, my Prince, and be 
 assured it is not our design to play the Empress 
 Elizabeth at Schusselberg. 
 
 Ivan. Fears I have none, your Majesty, for 
 minds unused to hope, are never swayed by sickly 
 apprehensions ; but simple foresight is the offspring 
 of reflection, and he who is debarred the liberty of 
 action, finds, it is plain, more leisure to exert the 
 privilege of thought. 
 
 Cath. Young man, you reason clearly, plainly, 
 simply; we will appoint you masters, that you may 
 study and improve those talents with which high 
 Heaven has gifted you. 
 
 Ivan. I thank your Majesty. 
 
 Pass. I should be glad to know why you have 
 fought against the Empress ? 
 
 Ivan. You mistake, Sir; I fought not 'gainst the 
 Empress, but for the Czar. That coward — [pointing 
 to Ismael] — who can still, it seems, look honest 
 men unblushing in the face, pretended to the 
 Emperor, he would conduct him to your Majesty, 
 
172 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 who was most anxious to make terms of peace, but 
 he (the traitor) was resolved, it seems, to disappoint 
 your Majesty's good wishes ; and with a treacherous 
 band, who laid in ambush for the occasion, the Czar, 
 instead of meeting with your Majesty, was led a 
 prisoner to Ropseha, we fled to his deliverance — 
 and say, your Majesty, was it not right ? 
 
 Cath. Young man, we will not question that ; at 
 present cares of magnitude engross our thought. 
 
 Ivan. Ah ! can it be on my account he is de- 
 tained ? Was it his pity for the prisoner hastened 
 his destruction? Oh! lead me to the gloom of 
 Schusselberg again, but oh ! release, preserve my 
 gracious Sovereign ! His heart, all kindness, and 
 all charity, may err, indeed, yet cannot grossly sin. 
 Did he not every fortress dismantle, to prove he 
 would not carry arms against a wife ? Oh ! by that 
 dear example — [kneeling to Catharine] — by the 
 sacred names of husband and of father, let me not 
 plead in vain ! by every tie of truth and honor 
 kings should make their proudest boast, by yon un- 
 fading and eternal crown that waits the good and 
 merciful, let not your evil councillors prevail, let my 
 life only be the forfeit ; perhaps the peace of Russia, 
 your security, may ask that sacrifice ; but nobly dare 
 dismiss each selfish fear, your husband in the ques- 
 tion — do not! oh do not give consent to murder 
 him. [Ivan rises, the courtiers look astonished. 
 
 Dash. Amen ! 
 
 Cath. How's this ? what strange delusion seizes 
 on you, youth? I trust, at least, my generous 
 people will respect my feelings, and not betray me 
 
A TRAGEDY. 1 73 
 
 in a cause that sits so near my heart — who dares to 
 raise his hand 'gainst Peter's life is Catharine's 
 deadliest foe — secure to meet all that resentment, 
 injured honor, royal hate combined, can meditate 
 against him — enough of this. Count Panin, you I 
 charge with the safe conduct of Prince Ivan .hence ; 
 to your abode let him be led ; and there appoint a 
 trusty guard, that no one may attempt to annoy him 
 — the times are critical, so act with all your wont 
 discretion, waiting our farther orders, and if the 
 Baron Korf do feel disposed, he has permission to 
 attend him thither. 
 
 Ivan, [embracing Korf] Generous Korf ! 
 
 Korf. I do sincerely thank your Majesty ! 
 
 Ivan. The gloom of Schusselberg in thy society 
 were more than courts and palaces without thee. 
 
 Korf. Ah ! youth of too great promise here to 
 blossom long. 
 
 Ivan, [to Panin] Let us haste, my Lord, for 
 my weak optics, unused to scenes like this, already 
 are fatigued with over-exercise. 
 
 Pan. Prince, I attend you, pleased and honored, 
 to my residence. 
 
 Ivan. I thank your Majesty ! [pressing the hand 
 of Korf to his heart] — but do not part us more. 
 
 [Exit Ivan, Korf, Panin, and Guards. 
 
 Razu. Tis somewhat strange, that one who has 
 past his life within a dungeon, should feel so much 
 at home on his first visit to a court. 
 
 Odart. [aside] And feeling, too, that court by 
 right his own — his native soil. 
 
 Cath. I must confess, the perfect calmness of his 
 manner somewhat surprised me. 
 
174 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Dash. The truly dignified in mind, the noble, 
 virtuous, and enlightened being, feels conscious of 
 his own importance every where. 
 
 Odart. And he who never has done wrong, 
 should never be ashamed to shew his face. 
 
 Cath. Tis well observed, withal misfortune often 
 makes the wisest bashful. 
 
 Nov. All that composure seemed to me as of a 
 spirit long subdued, that looked beyond this world 
 for its supremacy. 
 
 Dash. 'Tis one of Heaven and nature's choicest 
 subjects ; I pray our future monarch, our dear Paul 
 Petrovitch, may but resemble him. 
 
 Nov. Amen ! 
 
 Cath. My generous friends, at seven we'll meet 
 again, when I intreat ye to prefer your best requests, 
 for my soul longs to make you some acknowledg- 
 ment, to shew you I desire your future favour and 
 protection. 
 
 Dash. By way of precedent, your Majesty, I 
 will prefer the first. 
 
 Cath. I do commend the good example. 
 
 [They all retire. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 175 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the House of Princess 
 Dashkoff. 
 
 Enter Panin. 
 
 Pan. Now for one last essay, and then, perhaps, 
 adieu to hope for ever. 
 
 Enter Princess Dashkoff. 
 
 Dash. Welcome, my friend, what news ? 
 
 Pan. Should Catharine die to-morrow, and 
 Petrovitch cease to exist, would Princess Dashkoff 
 have a voice for Ivan 1 
 
 Dash. Ah, do not tempt me ; full many an hour 
 the fate of that unfortunate has occupied my mind. 
 
 Pan. You know that now he is a prisoner in my 
 power, but in an hour 
 
 Dash. He may no more be so — what are your 
 intentions toward the prisoner ? let us be prompt. 
 
 Pan. Deign but to dictate to your slave, speak 
 but the word. 
 
 Dash. What are the Empress's designs X 
 
 Pan. Doubtless, to send him instantly to Schus- 
 selberg. 
 
 Dash. Can Catharine be so cruel ? 
 
176 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Pan. Where pity, reason, justice plead, and 
 plead with strongest eloquence, 
 
 Dash. Oh ! His a subject, too, of matchless 
 promise, that after Catharine's self who were so 
 fit? 
 
 Pan. The jealousy of woman, the fears of 
 sovereignty have full excuse in Ivan's merit ; but 
 let us dare protect him for the cause of virtue. 
 What shall we do ? 
 
 Dash. Ah, quick, convey him to some foreign 
 country, where he may taste the sweets of liberty, 
 and hail the generous blessings of instruction ; that 
 if some evil chance remove the Empress, should 
 Paul in early life expire, thousands might wish to 
 see this youth in power — all Russia might rejoice to 
 find an heir. 
 
 Pan. Oh, as for heirs, should Catharine marry 
 Orloff. 
 
 Dash. My Lord! what is it that you would 
 insinuate ? 
 
 Pan. I spoke too plainly to insinuate. 
 
 Dash. Catharine and Orloff! what can all this 
 mean ? what vile discordance in the very sound ! 
 
 Pan. You think, perhaps, you introduced this 
 Orloff at the revolution. 
 
 Dash. Most true ! 
 
 Pan. Ha, ha! Orloff, since that affair of Princess 
 Caroukin, has been the tender confidante of Catha- 
 rine. 
 
 Dash. Oh ! 'tis impossible ! you are deceived, 
 my Lord ! I know that she esteems Count Ponia- 
 
A TRAGEDY. 1?7 
 
 towsky, I know that politics and human nature 
 studying fill every thought and purpose of her soul 
 — it cannot be, you are deceived ! 
 
 Pan. And who can but admire the address of 
 Catharine, who blinds adoring Russia to her passion 
 for the General, and publicly pretends her heart all 
 constancy to absent Poniatowsky, for all must deem 
 that sentiment platonic ; so, with nice art, when she 
 receives a letter from the Pole, she weeps before us 
 all. Oh ! 'tis most admirably thought; we see, we 
 comment on these tears, and, in the mean, forget on 
 whom she smiles ! 
 
 Dash. Ah ! can this indeed be true ? 
 
 Pan. Why all this deep astonishment, my 
 Princess ? surely you must have heard, whilst yet 
 grand Duchess, Catharine in vulgar fame but lightly 
 treated ■ 
 
 Dash. But ever I was led to imagine Vorontzoff 
 the fabricator of each calumny, and merely thought 
 her friendship for the Pole, a friendship just like 
 ours, good Count. 
 
 Pan. [apart] What have I now to hope ? 
 
 Dash. Oh ! but I am indignant with the woman, 
 thus to have been insulted and deceived. Yes, I 
 will reproach her, and teach her, howe'er expedient 
 it may be for monarchs to dissemble, friendship 
 should claim exemption of the foul prerogative. 
 
 Pan. Perhaps you have also yet to learn, that 
 she intends to recompence the Princess Dashkoff's 
 services, by giving her a spouse, [Princess starts] 
 and then, to shew to all the world, that to the truly 
 noble mind the greatest sacrifice is possible, this 
 
 N 
 
178 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 same Count Poniatowsky is the destined bright 
 reward ! — so will she prove to Russia, that she 
 respects a husband's death, whom only Russia's 
 good obliged her to dethrone. 
 
 Dash. Am I indeed awake ? reward me with a 
 spouse ! 
 
 Pan. Why, 'tis not for a mind like Catharine's 
 to guess that such reward could be unwelcome ; and 
 then, where shall we find united such perfections 
 as in the Pole ? [apart] She hears not. 
 
 Dash. This night I promised to prefer a small 
 request. — It shall be so. 
 
 Pan. My friend, what shall be done with Ivan ? 
 
 Dash. Deep policy, to send at distance those 
 whose services no longer are required ; and potent 
 friends, by evil chance, may potent foes become. 
 
 Pan. Let us forget the Empress — time flies, and 
 hope escapes us in the flight — what shall we do with 
 Ivan ? 
 
 Dash. Haste, then, do all that justice in your 
 mind shall prompt. 
 
 Pan. Draw out for me that nice, that delicate 
 degree of justice — so shall respect for you and virtue 
 make me preserve the line. 
 
 Dash. Count, you have chosen an unhappy 
 moment to tax me with the thoughts of this un- 
 fortunate, — -they are bad counsellors whom injury 
 excites. 
 
 Pan. There is a hope for every wretch but me. 
 
 Dash. I must forget this woman — good my 
 Lord, do you forget each sordid interest, every 
 selfish feeling. Remove, at all events, this injured 
 
A TRAGEDY. 179 
 
 youtli — lose not a moment to secure him from the 
 jealous guardianship of Catharine ; you know the 
 magic nature of her mind ; perhaps e'en now, our 
 thoughts half formed, she has anticipated, and 
 raised a barrier to our unborn plans. Oh ! save him, 
 then, my Lord, by any sacrifice ; stop not to think, 
 but fly to act ; you are a patriot, what can I say 
 more ? [Exit Dashkoff. 
 
 Pan. Russia, thou future idol of my worship, 
 shall I not prove thee like the mistress I adore, cold, 
 and incapable of every sympathetic feeling ? Yet, 
 if thou art but served, Dashkoff would say, what 
 boots it to the patriot, whether his country finds a 
 coffin for the corpse of him who fell a noble victim 
 in her cause, or lets the body rot unshrouded where 
 it fell, for hungry vultures to get fat upon— now for 
 the Prince, to save him if I can — if not for Dash- 
 koff, yet for Russia's sake ! 
 
 SCENE 11.— An Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter Catharine and Orloff. 
 
 Orloff. Six regiments, your Majesty, in best 
 array, and four not to complain of. 
 
 Cath. J Tis well ; I hear the Princess Dashkoff's 
 voice — retire, good Orloff. 
 
 Orloff. Already she is here. 
 
 Cath. Then stay one moment after she has 
 entered. 
 
 n 2 
 
180 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Enter Dashkoff, who, on seeing Orloff, looks 
 indignant. 
 
 Cath. I do rejoice to see the Princess Dashkoff 
 first arrived. 
 
 Dash. Hence may your Majesty interpret I 
 am most eager to prefer my poor petition ; but 
 now, perhaps, I interrupt this gentleman, and you 
 may 
 
 Cath. I will despatch my business here this 
 moment. Good Orloff, take these papers, see that 
 immediately they be dispersed throughout the city. 
 [Giving him papers. 
 
 Orloff. Your Majesty shall be obeyed, and 
 speedily. 
 
 [Orloff takes the papers; as he is going 
 out. Princess Dashkoff looks stedfastly 
 after him for some moments without speaking. 
 
 Dash. I must confess the man is not ill made, 
 his eyes are black, his cheek is ruddy, and his teeth 
 look white. 
 
 Cath. Doth your request respect our General, 
 then? 
 
 Dash. No, no, your Majesty, it towers a little 
 higher. 
 
 Cath. So much, the happier shall I be to grant 
 it. 
 
 Dash. Your Majesty will own, I've been a little 
 useful in your cause. 
 
 Cath. Indeed, I feel you cannot ask a due ac- 
 knowledgement, 
 
A TRAGEDY. 181 
 
 Dash. All good my heart desires, your Majesty, 
 is but to be appointed Colonel of the regiment of 
 Preobajensky. 
 
 Cath. I cannot understand. 
 
 [Appearing surprised. 
 
 Dash. * ' Name me the Colonel of the regi- 
 1 ment, 'tis all I ask.' 
 
 Cath. [apart] Who gains the army can com- 
 mand the nation. 
 
 Dash. Jealous, I see. 
 
 Cath. ' The Colonel of the regiment, my friend, 
 ' you are not serious — a place in the academy would 
 4 suit you better/ 
 
 Dash. Can there be greater folly to bear the 
 name, than in effect to act the character. 
 
 Cath. Ah, that was for an hour ; in moments of 
 necessity such things have been, and still may be 
 again ; but now that we're at peace, what would it 
 avail? you'll find no precedent for such proceed- 
 ing. 
 
 Dash. Do minds like mine need precedents to 
 act ? am I not blest with reason of my own ? was 
 strength bestowed upon the mighty oak that it might 
 lean upon its fellow oak ? 
 
 Cath. That's not the question — 'twas well when 
 Russia's glory was at stake, but now, I should be 
 most ashamed to see my friend in man's attire, 
 parading thro' the streets. 
 
 Dash. Ashamed! do I hear right ? Can it be 
 possible that Catharine's cheek can glow with 
 
 * The actual request of the Princess* 
 
182 THE FATE OF IVAN ! 
 
 shame? She who now seated on the imperial 
 throne of Russia, deigns with complacent smiles to 
 look upon a man, who but the other day was one of 
 fortune's humblest soldiers ! Is this a conduct for 
 an Empress ? Oh woman ! woman ! had I sooner 
 known thee, I had not moved a step to set thee on 
 the royal pinnacle-— this is an error in my life I may 1 
 deplore, but never can atone. Oh ! how far-famed 
 shall Russia's court be found ! E'en now I see the 
 banished vicious of the other courts of Europe, 
 seek refuge 'neath thy canopy, these thou shalt be 
 obliged to welcome, or hear them boldly tell thee to 
 thy face unseemly truths, and when unfriendly 
 faction spreads her fire, and discontents on every 
 side prevail, wilt thou not be obliged to hear thy 
 frailty made the excuse of mutinies ? May not good 
 men in reason spurn at thy proceedings ? Wilt thou 
 not be indignant to read in this and that recording 
 tale thy private history? and when was't that a 
 Monarch's actions were concealed ? when was't, 
 that being great in some respects gave to the mind 
 a privilege unkindly, to descend to sin in others ? 
 
 Cath. Away, away ! and learn to measure better 
 thy discourse to royal ears — and what is't, with the 
 which thou darest reproach me ? Who told thee 
 this ? What, then, shall I not hold converse with 
 my Statesmen, because, forsooth, envy will tell that 
 which she never heard, and busy slander fancy in 
 the very zephyr's breath an outrage ? But e'en 
 suppose it, as thou dost pretend, that I love OrlofF ; 
 would'st thou for this presume to criminate me ? 
 My heart I own is formed for social ties, merit I 
 
A TRAGEDY. 183 
 
 estimate, in whatever state I find it, or man or 
 woman ; there is of that degree which equalizes all, 
 nor shall the brilliants which encircle Russia's 
 crown, blind me to that which every soul enhances. 
 Orloff has served me with unequalled zeal ; his 
 courage I admire ! I owe him gratitude ! what next 
 may follow in my heart is not for thee to question, 
 me to say ; howe'er it be, thou'lt find Catharine, still 
 reigns in Russia, still holds a power supreme to 
 punish the audacity of those, who dare with her 
 contest the right and wrong. 
 
 Dash. Tis well defended, noble Princess, but 
 for aught I see, I might as well have aided Voront- 
 zoflf to mount the throne. 
 
 Cath. And not unlike it might be meaner 
 jealousy of her apparently approaching greatness, 
 that caused thee first to move in my support. 
 
 Dash. After what is, I cannot be surprised at 
 this ; and never, never, was there yet on earth a 
 virtuous action, for which a vicious soul could not 
 find out some deep unworthy motive. 'Twas well 
 observed by Panin in the council. 
 
 Cath. If thou hast sworn to all mankind decided 
 enmity, I tell thee thou art free so to conform — I 
 shall not seek to tax thee with a spouse ; let that 
 content thee. 
 
 Dash. To tax me with a spouse ! forsooth, thy 
 better judgment doth forsake thee ! Are hearts like 
 mine to be commanded to esteem, or threatened into 
 love ? or for state policy shall I be sold ? thy shoe, 
 thy glove, is thine, use and abuse them as thou wilt ; 
 but learn to know thy subjects better, and better, 
 what befits thee ! 
 
184 THE PATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Cath. Thank Heaven I have no other subjects 
 like thyself. 
 
 Dash. No! sooner than I would be made thy 
 tool in such a case, I tell thee truly, for I love the 
 truth, that thou should'st doom me to perpetual 
 exile, in all the horrors of Siberia, or at one stroke 
 possess thee of my head — but hearts are free, and 
 mine is firm and bold ! 
 
 Cath. If thou hast been informed such were my 
 views, 'tis false ; courtiers will lie, and, say, can 
 kings prevent them ? 
 
 Dash. What, did I seek the burden of a spouse, 
 must I have thy direction in the choice ? or are the 
 men of Russia so devoid of grace, that they require 
 to be instructed, that virtue in a wife is seemly ? or 
 do they lack discernment, and need the eyes of 
 Catharine to discover where merit has existence ? 
 or what is't that our royal mistress thinks ? 
 
 Cath. I think the man who'd venture to espouse 
 thee, should have a heart of brass, and be encircled 
 in a coat of mail. 
 
 Dash. And let me tell thee more ; the man thou 
 wouldst commend to my regard, would need 
 no other vice to assure my strongest hate, than 
 sharing thy protection. Will this convince thee ? 
 
 Cath. I am convinced thou art more fitted to 
 excite astonishment, and terror, than to inspire 
 esteem, and admiration. 
 
 Dash. Or art thou one of those plebeian souls so 
 prone to self-assimilate, that thou must give to me 
 thy grosser failings, forgetting in the mean, there 
 never yet was found two faces, or two minds alike. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 185 
 
 Cath. Like thee, I am assured, none can be 
 found ! 
 
 Dash. Thou knowest, that e'er my judgment was 
 matured, or I could well appreciate the worth of 
 others, in pure obedience to a father's will, I married. 
 The spouse he chose for me had noble qualities, and 
 soon I learnt to honor him ; and having once be- 
 stowed in full sincerity my heart, his is that heart to 
 all eternity ! Oh 'twas not formed of stuff so vile, 
 that I could give, and take it back, and give it to 
 another; 'tis not for death itself to separate two 
 souls which virtue and approving reason joined in 
 consonance — dead is my lord ; yet still his bright 
 remembrance lives within my heart, nor can I doubt 
 that to his thought, I still am ever present ; and in 
 that sacred dear assurance here it is, that I support 
 with cheerfulness existence. How could I meet 
 thee, friend, in yon bright realms, polluted with the 
 thoughts of other's love?— but no, it could not be, I 
 could not be admitted to the same degree of happi- 
 ness hereafter, if I had learnt on earth forgetfulness 
 of thee ! Marry again ! my soul revolts, and loathes 
 thee for the thought ! 
 
 Cath. 'Tis time shall prove, and not mere pomp 
 of words, the truth of thy professions. 
 
 Dash. Yes, time shall prove, and whilst it 
 stamps on the historic page in lasting characters 
 great Catharine's vices, the name of Dashkoff shall 
 be honored — be unsullied still ! 
 
 Cath. Away ! 'tis not my royal pleasure to bear 
 thee more. 
 
 Dash. One admonition for our friendship past, 
 
186 the fate or IVAN : 
 
 which never cart revive to second life ; reflect, I 
 charge thee well, on thy proceedings : consider 
 seriously for what thou art responsible — dare not to 
 let thy failings meet too broadly the public eye—, 
 thou know'st how easily a faction's raised, how 
 quickly spreads the plague of discontent, how dif- 
 ficult it is to root the vice that once has spread itself 
 throughout the body politic — faults of such magni- 
 tude need a thick veil— then watch, and closely, o'er 
 thy people's happiness ; be ever studious of their 
 general improvement — cease not to occupy the mul- 
 titude with plans of aggrandizement here, and com- 
 merce there, so shall they, in the thoughts of 
 universal 'vantage, forget to look at thy obscurer 
 actions, so may'st thou reign securely, and fame and 
 glory spread their halo round thee ! take this, the 
 testament of sacred friendship ! 
 
 [Exit Princess Dashkoff. 
 Cath. What may all this mean ? Why there are 
 subjects now in Russia, which only Catharine's self 
 can calmly view — how easy faction may be raised, 
 she says, and I have fully proved : to spare again the 
 trial of her prowess, I will this moment send an 
 order for her to depart to Moscow. Thank Heaven ! 
 no other Dashkoff will be left in Petersburgh. 
 
 SCENE III. — Tlie Library in the Palace — Catha- 
 rine seated at a table. 
 
 Enter Kate. 
 
 Kate. This moment may it please your Majesty, 
 I have seen Odart, and promptly he'll pursue me here. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 187 
 
 Calk. Thou hast been most diligent. 
 • Kate. Now I will hasten to commission Orloff, 
 and as I think the Minister may follow 
 
 Enter Odart one way, and exit Kate another. 
 
 Catli. Odart, I am already half informed that 
 you would speak of Ivan. Is he secure — still 
 Panin's guest ? 
 
 Odart. And Dashkoffs protegee — the minister 
 breathes nothing but her pleasure — then there's a 
 certain something 'bout this Princess, that let her 
 but suppose a shadow of injustice, without or social 
 tie, or tie of consanguinity, or e'en the dearer bonds 
 of social interest, she sets to work, nor rests till she 
 destroys what in her mind appears the abusive 
 power. 
 
 Catli. 'Tis well defined the Princess Dashkoff's 
 character. 
 
 Odart. Now should the plot be for the Princess 
 Dashkoff to marry Ivan ? 
 
 Cath. To marry Ivan ? [Starting. 
 
 Odart. To give the Prince legitimate pretence to 
 usurp your place. 
 
 Cath. Pm lost in wonder, can such, a thing have 
 risen, indeed, to thought? 
 
 Odart. Panin and Dashkoff in close concert — 
 
 Cath. But, whilst we speak, quick she departs 
 for Moscow. 
 
 Odart. And may return, your Majesty, escorted 
 by the regiment of Preobajensky — e'en now per- 
 haps they march — say, shall I haste, your Majesty, 
 
188 THE FATE OF IVAN*. 
 
 Cath. Can all this be ? 
 
 Odart. I trust your Majesty is most assured of 
 my devotion to your cause. 
 
 Cath. Odart, I give you credit for your zeal, and 
 trust your secresy, but scarce can I recover my 
 amazement. 
 
 Odart. I will be Argus for your Majesty, and 
 hasten with the first intelligence : already round the 
 palace I behold the troops of Dashkoff with the 
 aspiring Ivan at their head. 
 
 [Exit Odart. 
 
 Cath. Marry the Prince ! I'm lost in wonder 
 still — two subjects fit for sovereignty indeed ! e'en 
 Russia's interest could not suffer here. Can such a 
 measure well-concerted fail to prosper ? Marry the 
 Prince ! yes, yes, persuade her ^tis for Russia's 
 good, and e'en to take a spouse you might persuade 
 her. Why I am obliged myself to admire the great 
 projection ; but, can it be the subtle Odart's own 
 erection ? withal so possible. Oh royalty ! thou 
 must not nurse the virtues which adorn humanity in 
 humble state — 'tis not for thee reposing confidence 
 and calm security in others friendship, no, thou must 
 sleep with thy eyes open, learn cool distrust of all 
 and deep suspicion, for thou must be the tool of 
 others passions, and feel severely when courtiers most 
 pretend devotion to thy cause, they fight for thee 
 but to avenge their private injuries and selfish 
 wrongs. Nothing remains for policy in deep un- 
 certainty but to conform, as if the evil had in truth 
 existence. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 189 
 
 Enter a Pas;e. 
 
 Page. Count Panin waits, your Majesty. 
 
 Cath. Instantly admit him [Exit Page] — so, 
 if it be a dream, or stronger fact, alike the mischief 
 is arrested. 
 
 Enter Count Panin. 
 
 Pan. I came, your Majesty, to speak 
 
 Cath. Of Ivan, is it not ? it was expressly on 
 that subject I sent to give you counsel. 
 
 Pan. Your Majesty anticipates me well, [apart] 
 and but too promptly. 
 
 Cath. It is a talent I'm remarked for. 
 
 Pan. Your Majesty has, doubtless, well con- 
 sidered what measures it were best to adopt. 
 
 Cath. Oh ! in a moment, that was settled in 
 my mind. 
 
 [Approaches a table and ivrites a note, rings, and 
 enter a Page. 
 
 Pan. [apart] Measures so prompt, are seldom 
 marked by mercy. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis not for monarchs to delay and 
 hesitate, [to the Page] Take this — dispatch it 
 instantly to Orloff. [Exit Page] Your guests, 
 [to Panin] my friend, young Ivan and the Baron 
 Korf, must be this night, this very hour, to Schus- 
 selberg conducted. 
 
 Pan. To Schusselberg, your Majesty ! 
 
 Cath. Aye, to Schusselberg, so prompt is 
 
190 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 always Orloff to execute our orders, that soon as 
 thou shalt reach again thy mansion, thou'lt find 
 the guards assembled, ready to conduct them 
 thither. 
 
 Pan. But then a moment think, your Majesty, 
 should any evil chance deprive us of your son, the 
 hope of Russia 
 
 Cath. Go, go, blind politician ! Should I not, 
 for the present, secure the youth from a temptation 
 to betray his dearest interest ? can I not, whilst in 
 Schusselberg he lodges, reflect what measure's best 
 to be pursued with his regard ? think'st thou I'm so 
 bewitched with royalty, that I must hence bear 
 deadly, envious hate 'gainst every one that has a 
 moderate chance of being heir to my possessions ? 
 and that because this youth has just pretensions to 
 the regal chair, him I should single out from every 
 other to put aside ? Has he not brothers, sisters, 
 too, and, should he fall, do they not heirs become 
 to Russia's throne ? What would avail to crop the 
 head, and leave the potent root and the supported 
 branches ? away, my Lord, these mean suspicions do 
 me much injustice. I am, Sir, newly risen into 
 power — I have my enemies — yes, some dispute my 
 claim, and some, yet more, resolve I shall not calmly 
 sit upon the height. My honest purpose now with 
 Ivan is but to place a barrier to the idle plans of 
 those, who, for to better, reek their vengeance on my 
 head, might make the Prince the suffering instrument 
 against me, so that his very life might be endangered, 
 and every plan we have in agitation for his advan- 
 tage, fatally evaded. The times are critical, and 
 
A TRAGEDY. 191 
 
 whilst abroad he is allowed to move, all is at stake ; 
 again, I cannot answer what a blind zeal for my 
 security might prompt some ardent partizans to do 
 towards him, for you are well assured, my Lord, 
 when revolutions once take place, the change ef- 
 fected, the fever of the public mind does not im- 
 mediately subside ; and for their favourite party 
 then, e'en good men startle not at those same 
 crimes, which, in a tranquil state of politics, they 
 shudder barely to contemplate in the pale records of 
 the past ; all is delirium, doubt, uncertainty, and the 
 physician's nicest skill is needed to palliate, prevent, 
 and temporize. The case, my Lord, is urgent — at 
 Schusselberg, I may presume, as hitherto, the 
 Prince will be secure — there, soon as the times 
 permit, procure him every meet instruction ; let him 
 be properly attended ; let him within the fortress 
 breathe the purer air, and lodge him where the light 
 of Heaven may shine upon him — 'tis not my future 
 purpose to punish even crime with darkness ; the 
 God who gave us eyes, intended man should up- 
 wards look for mercy ; the humble mole he doomed 
 to live inhumed, and therefore was the creature 
 taxed with blindness — enough of metaphor, in 
 plainer phrase, this hour the Prince must be to 
 Schusselberg conducted, for that, I well perceive, 
 is most expedient for our mutual safety. 
 
 Pan. Herein I see the wisdom of your Majesty, 
 and I will hasten to assure the Prince of your 
 benevolent intentions towards him, else might he 
 too severely feel the seeming harshness of that fate 
 which sends him back to Schusselberg, where he 
 
192 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 already has endured, for fifteen years, the darkest 
 horrors of captivity. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis well ! all haste, my Lord, the troops 
 are on their way. [Exit Pan in] So, so, the 
 Princess DashkofT has performed her promises, and 
 Panin long has lived a captive to her charms, and 
 the despised and jealous Odart, knowing the Count 
 more reverenced than himself, came here to excite 
 my fears to their destruction — truth pierces through 
 the murky cloud — what renders common minds so 
 base as love despised ? I am convinced she would 
 not marry Ivan — were that the project in debate 
 Panin, the infatuated Panin ! had not come here to 
 plead his rival's cause. [Edit Catharine. 
 
 end of act IV. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 193 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — The outside of the Prison at Schussel- 
 berg — Moonlight — Guards at the door of the 
 Prison, the bridge in the back ground— Miro- 
 vitch pacing backwards and forwards near the 
 
 ■ Fortress— Vlassief and Tschekin come forward 
 with a paper and a light— Mirovitch attends to 
 them unobserved. 
 
 Vlass. [reading the paper~\ " Expect the Prince 
 each moment ; the Baron Korf returns with him — 
 they must be lodged in separate cells— let them have 
 lights — our further orders ye shall have to morrow, 
 one thing herewith you're charged, so need we not 
 repeat; should ever an attempt be made to set the 
 prisoner at liberty, mark how we charge you, as you 
 value life {Reading with a low voice. 
 
 Vlass. and Tsch. Humph ! humph ! mark that 
 indeed ! — " We charge you on the very first appear- 
 ance of a rupture of this nature " 
 
 [Vlassief looks about him, and seeing Miro- 
 vitch, reads the remainder of the paper to 
 himself, Tschekin looks over him with horror. 
 < Tsch. A pretty charge, forsooth, is this become, 
 I'll have no more on't. 
 
 Vlass. Would'st thou be safe, stay where thou 
 art. Kate's a usurper, so she's afraid of every 
 blast of wind ; besides, with all state prisoners this 
 o 
 
194 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 is the charge in Russia, and who will give them- 
 selves the trouble now to set at liberty a man who has 
 been left to languish in a prison these twenty 
 years ? 
 
 Tsch. Alas ! poor Ivan ! 
 
 Vlass. But light and better food it seems are 
 granted. 
 
 Tsch. I hear some tumult on the bridge; the 
 prisoners are coming, let us proceed. 
 
 [Exeunt together. 
 
 Mirovitch and Soldiers come forward. 
 
 Mirov. So, gentlemen, the prisoner is returning, 
 that I have overheard ; hard fate enough an iron 
 heart would own. Oh ! would I could effect some 
 change in Russia ! 
 
 1st. Sol. Poor Peter is dispatched already; the 
 change, for aught we know, is sad enough for him, 
 and not much better for poor Ivan. 
 
 Mirov. There was something in that letter, 
 friends, which filled the guards with deep astonish- 
 ment, and the good-natured man looked horror- 
 struck. 
 
 2nd Sol. That bodes no good. 
 
 Mirov. 'Twere no great enterprise to place this 
 youth where Catharine now sits. 
 
 1st Sol. For, say they, she's not liked too 
 much. 
 
 Mirov. Never was revolution brought about so 
 easily as this. 
 
 2nd Sol. It is encouragement, thou mean'st, to 
 act another, and a better piece. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 195 
 
 1st Sol, Why, it cost Russia nothing but a few 
 casks of brandy. 
 
 Mirov. And what if this be heavier taxed, let 
 Catharine pay the cost. 
 
 2nd Sol. For if she pays not here, she must 
 hereafter. 
 
 1st Sol. Hark'ye, Lieutenant, what noise ? 
 
 Mirov. Heavens ! they are already coming 1 . 
 
 2nd Sol. So thou mayest see this woman executes 
 before she draws her plans. 
 
 1st Sol. And we've a chance of being hanged 
 before we can be tried. 
 
 Mirov. They are crossing the bridge — let us re- 
 treat, my friends; I've something to propose to you; 
 meet me in half an hour, behind the fortress — this 
 way, this way. 
 
 [Exit hastily, Mlrovitch and troop. 
 [The noise of feet is heard, a troop of guards 
 is seen to cross the bridge; Ivan and Korf 
 guarded, pass with them. 
 
 SCENE II.' — The inside of the Prison at Schusselberg 
 — a Cell lighted. 
 
 Enter Ivan, Korf, and Guards — Ivan looks about 
 him with emotion. 
 
 Ivan, [throwing his arms round Korf] Oh 
 Korf 1 I, then, was taken from this place, but to in- 
 volve my only friend in my misfortune — there lives 
 no Czar thy age to honor and redress our wrongs. 
 
 Korf Be comforted ; e'en yet the time may 
 come. 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Ivan. Oh pitying Heaven ! If I had any wish 
 for a small portion of what the world considers bless- 
 ings here, it was alone to give some pleasure to a 
 father's heart, to assure a mother's latter end, some 
 balm of consolation — forgive, All-righteous, if this 
 a fault could be. 
 
 Korf. {kneeling] O Thou Supreme ! whom 
 for near seventy years, I have been essaying, not in 
 vain I trust, to serve, give ear, I pray thee, to the 
 mourner's voice — ward off the wicked purpose of the 
 foe, turn, Thou Omnipotent, the purpose of their 
 hearts, and save from further injury thy servant Ivan. 
 
 Guards. Amen ! 
 
 Korf. So Korf will die contented. 
 
 Ivan. Release, All-gracious Providence, my 
 friend, and I can thank thee for my prison still. 
 
 Enter more Guards. 
 
 Guards. We are commanded to separate the 
 prisoners immediately 
 
 Ivan. Oh ! for pity leave us but a day together. 
 Guard. My Prince, we dare not disobey. 
 Korf. Dear Ivan, we must submit. 
 Ivan. Oh ! that submission to the Almighty's will 
 should now be painful, 
 
 Korf. We shall meet again ! 
 Ivan. In Heaven, indeed ! 
 Korf. Farewell, my Prince, my son ! 
 Ivan. My second father. 
 
 {Exit Korf, and Guards — Iv an follows them 
 to the farthest part of the Cell, and the Scene 
 closes. 
 
A TRAGEDY 197 
 
 SCENE III. — An Apartment in the Archbishop of 
 Novgorod's Palace. The Archbishop of Nov- 
 gorod, Gleboff, Passick, Teploff, Buloff, 
 Kradock, and several others — several armed men 
 in waiting. 
 
 Nov. [to the armed men] Secure the outer gate, 
 and watch the southern port, and then send 
 Kradock's troop to wait our orders ; we must an- 
 ticipate our foes, or all is lost. [Exit armed men. 
 
 Gleb. For who so prompt to dream of danger- 
 plotting as Catharine ? 
 
 Enter Odart. 
 
 Odart. Ye wise, ye crafty, penetrating Gentle- 
 men, who, it appears, but little dream of what the 
 fates are now preparing for you, I haste to warn you 
 of your danger, that, if ye're valiant, ye may the 
 occasion seize, and seek revenge — Catharine, my 
 friends, knowing that Peter's cause you once for- 
 sook, has ever looked suspiciously on your proceed- 
 ings, and want of time, not lack of inclination, has 
 hitherto prevented your arrest : — expect it now each 
 hour. 
 
 Nov. How's this ? 
 
 Odart. You all do know, that I in some oc- 
 casions have been useful to the State. 
 
 Gleb. Most certainly, 
 
 Odart. Now see how I'm rewarded [taking 
 
198 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 out a paper], c Within twelve hours/ this paper says, 
 ' depart from Petersburgh; you shall be speedily re- 
 1 called/ the artful Catharine adds, of which I credit 
 nought ; and then, by way of pure confession that 
 she wrongs me, she here incloses me some precious 
 stones. 
 
 Gleb. Food indigestible, after a physic so out- 
 rageous. 
 
 Nov. Ha, ha ! 'tis just as I presumed, here is a 
 double plea for us to act. 
 
 Gleb. I'll 'scape the meditated fate, or I no more 
 am Gleboff. 
 
 Pass. ' Well says the secretary Brodorf, this 
 ' new-sprung Empress serves her choice friends, as 
 1 we serve oranges, she sucks the juice, and throws 
 1 the rest away/ 
 
 Odart. The fool who brought me this, declared 
 it was not I alone on whom the lot was cast. 
 
 Pass. Haste, then, evade her purpose — be bold 
 — set Ivan on the throne, and use her proper 
 weapons 'gainst herself. 
 
 Gleb. Had Peter's troops once reached the 
 capital, Catharine had never sat upon the throne. 
 
 Nov. What honest man would live beneath 
 such rulers? what is this Orloff, whom, perhaps, 
 she means to espouse ? what are all those that now 
 surround the throne ? 
 
 Pass. And what is she that sits upon it ? 
 
 Gleb. Let us not see the power we've given 
 abused. 
 
 Odart. No, 'tis not thus that patriots serve their 
 country. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 199 
 
 Pass. Let us this very hour surround the Palace ; 
 your regiment, Archbishop, is sufficient ; we can 
 proceed without disturbance — 'tis dark — the road is 
 safe — we know the path, and may secure this woman 
 in a moment. 
 
 Nov. I like the advice. 
 
 Pass. That done, we may proclaim an Em- 
 peror. 
 
 Nov. I am prepared for that, too. 
 
 Odart. I vote for Ivan, only! 
 [The Archbishop knocks three times at a door in 
 the back ground. 
 
 Enter twelve men bearing standards, on six of the 
 standards are marked in large characters, " For 
 Justice and for Ivan!" "Down with the Usurper !" 
 On the others, "For Liberty and Paul !" " Down 
 with the Empress ! " 
 
 Omnes. Hurra ! Hurra ! 
 
 Nov. Now haste, proclaim yourselves, my 
 friends. 
 
 Pass. I vote for Ivan only ! what if ye should 
 exalt the nursling Paul, the artful Catharine still 
 would meddle, still contrive to govern. 
 
 Odart. And skilful men would still the Court 
 be banished ; my vote shall be for Ivan ! 
 
 Gleb. And mine ! and mine ! 
 
 Pass. Then down with Paul and Catharine ! 
 
 Omnes. Long live the virtuous Ivan ! 
 [Passick knocks down the standards on ivhich 
 Paul is written. 
 
200 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Omnes. Down with the Usurper ! 
 
 Nov.- Nothing so easy as to stir up strife in 
 Russia. 
 
 Gleb. And well 'tis known, that drops of brandy 
 in the last revolt, paid and repaid the exertions of 
 the mob. 
 
 Nov. Three regiments are in my power, and 
 wait my instant warning. 
 
 Pass. And when bold Catharine is secured, we 
 must proceed to Schusselberg. 
 
 Gleb. A simple guard of but a hundred men 
 waits at the fortress. 
 
 Odart. And but one regiment is stationed in the 
 town. 
 
 Nov. I have often heard that Mirovitch, Lieu- 
 tenant in it, is dissatisfied. 
 
 Pass. He would espouse the cause. 
 
 Gleb. 'Tis somewhat doubtful, as Catharine 
 artfully pretends the great estates of Mirovitch shall 
 be restored to him. 
 
 Odart. The question is to know, whether he 
 hopes upon that subject still, or meditates revenge 
 in deep despair. 
 
 Nov. The man's a mystery, forsooth, which 
 nothing can unriddle. 
 
 Gleb. But yet by no means wanting/to our 
 cause. 
 
 Odart. As ye are rich in troops, your best ex- 
 pedient will be to divide. 
 
 Nov. True — send the one-half direct to Schus- 
 selberg, to set at liberty the Prince ; so, whilst 
 we're making Catharine prisoner, our Emperor may 
 
A TKAGEDY. 201 
 
 appear amongst us to dignify the cause ; the dis- 
 content is general — we shall be joined by thousands. 
 
 Omnes. Long live the Emperor Ivan ! 
 
 Gleb. 'Tis half-past nine ; at ten, [looking at 
 his ivatcli] dame Kate retires — if we begin our 
 work in Petersburgh precisely at eleven 
 
 Pass. Kate will be snugly dreaming of our ban- 
 ishment. 
 
 Odart. And the proud lion Orloff will have 
 sheathed his sword, to drink success to Catharine 
 and to Russia ! aye, and perhaps subdued by 
 Bacchus' self, the potent gift we may exert against 
 the coxcomb's self, and leave him, like a second 
 Holofernes, in his tent 
 
 Omnes. Hurrah ! Long live the valiant Odart ! 
 
 Enter hastily Ism a el, and an immense troop of 
 Guards — whilst the Guards of the Empress are 
 securing the standard bearers of the Bishop, 
 Odart draws his sword cm Ismael; Ismael 
 draws, they fight. In the mean time a scuffle 
 ensues between the Guards of the Empress i and 
 the Guards of the Bishop. 
 
 Ismael. \fghting] Thus thou requit'st the 
 favour of thy Mistress, thou had'st permission to 
 depart in peace. 
 
 Odart. And thus thou pay'st thy treachery to an 
 honest man. Die traitor ! home to thy heart — this 
 for the Emperor ! 
 
 [The Guards interfere, but before they are 
 parted, Ismael is wounded and falls. 
 
202 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Ism. Oh, oh ! what have I gained, then ? 
 . Odart. What thou, *bove all men in this empire 
 dost deserve, preferment with the Prince of dark- 
 ness, and positive destruction here ! It is as it 
 should be. 
 
 Ism. Oh! Oh! [Dies. 
 
 [The Guards, after a struggle, seize o« Novgo- 
 rod, Gleboff, Passick, aud others. 
 
 Omnes. Is there no way to escape ? 
 
 1st Guard. Rely upon the mercy of the 
 Empress. 
 
 Pass. Damned be her mercy ! 
 
 2nd Guard. Bear the body away, friends ! 
 
 [Some of the Guards remove Ismael. 
 
 Gleb. So may thy mistress perish, and all her 
 cursed agents ! 
 
 1st Guard. Better, my friends, submit and ask 
 for mercy. 
 
 Pass. Perdition seize her ! furies will ever haunt 
 her here, and seize her to destruction in eternity ! 
 
 Omnes. Amen ! 
 
 1st Guard. Lead out, gentlemen. 
 
 Odart. Courage, my friends, she dares not 
 touch a hair upon our heads. 
 
 Omnes. [except Catharine's parti/] Long 
 live the Emperor Ivan ! Down with the usurper ! 
 Ivan for ever ! Long live the injured Ivan ! 
 
 [As they are led out by the Guards. 
 
A TRAGEDY - . 203 
 
 SCENE IV.— An Apartment in the Palace— 
 Catharine and Orloff. 
 
 Cath. This insurrection quelled by thy skill so 
 readily, I may hope more security in future. 
 
 Orloff. Has your Majesty as yet considered what 
 punishment to inflict upon your prisoners ? 
 
 Cath. With a choice guard, Odart must be im- 
 mediately conducted out of the kingdom, according 
 to my first command — to inflict on him a punish- 
 ment more capital were but to loudly publish every 
 circumstance which policy directs me to conceal; so 
 true 'tis often found, one treason draws another on 
 — the more ye publish of the vice of men, but the 
 more bold they grow in evil. 
 
 Orloff. And for the others, they're secure in 
 prison. 
 
 Cath. And may remain there, for my second 
 thought. Thou know'st the Princess Dashkoff was 
 recalled, e'er scarce the route to Moscow she 
 beheld. 
 
 Orloff. Has then your Majesty been pleased to 
 pardon her ? 
 
 Cath. Why, for state reasons, it did seem the 
 best ; because, forsooth, without that radiance, the 
 minister is like our earth deprived of yon bright 
 beam, a dark, a vapid, cheerless, lifeless form. 
 
 Orloff. And I sincerely think all that she said, 
 was the mere effervescence of her rage, when you 
 refused her strange request — the impulse of the 
 moment 
 
204 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Cath. Aye, and the dread that I should seek to 
 recompense her services by giving her a spouse. 
 
 Orloff. According to report, a most unwelcome 
 proposition. 
 
 Cath. True, I believe it now ; but cannot think 
 the whim will be of long duration. 
 
 Orloff. [smiling] Humph ! There is no place on 
 earth which she abhors so much as Moscow. Has 
 she consented to be reconciled ? 
 
 Cath. The minister assures me so, and yet, per- 
 haps, he does deceive himself; and hopes, and 
 speaks, and thinks that which he most desires. If 
 it be true, indeed, I shall learn further of these same 
 conspirators, I have already written to inquire if she 
 had any knowledge of them. 
 
 Enter Kate Ivanovitch. 
 
 Kate. May it please your Majesty, the Princess 
 Dashkoff is arrived, and waits your pleasure in the 
 library. 
 
 Cath. Go send her here, good Kate, the instant. 
 
 {Exit Kate. 
 
 Orloff. I will retire a moment, if it please your 
 Majesty. 
 
 Cath. A moment be it then ; the intelligence 
 she brings, perhaps, may need your ready notice. 
 
 [Exit Orloff. 
 
 Enter Princess Dashkoff, holding in her hand a 
 paper. 
 
 Dash. Is this the writing of your Majesty ? 
 
 [Giving the paper. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 205 
 
 Cath. Most true, my Princess. 
 
 Dash. Indeed ! indeed ! 
 
 Cath. Do, then, the characters seem different to 
 you? 
 
 Dash. In truth, that sun of Moscow glared so 
 boldly in my face, my eyes are dimmed, scarce can 
 I see in Petersburgh what passes round me. 
 
 Cath. I cannot understand these tropes, my 
 Princess. 
 
 Dash. Will, then, your Majesty be pleased to 
 understand plain phrase, and simple truth ? I bear 
 no malice in my heart, nor ever stoop to mean 
 revenge ; but to forget an insult, or an injury, I want 
 the inclination, and lack as much the power. 
 
 Cath. Such feeling who can reprobate ? 'tis 
 what I most admire. 
 
 Dash. So far we sympathize. 
 
 Cath. And not in that alone, I trust. 
 
 Dash. Actions determine more than words. 
 
 Cath. But of this plot, I wish to speak 
 
 Dash. * ' Madam, to answer that on purpose 
 
 • I am come, and, in plain words, I have heard 
 ' nothing : if I had, good care I'd take to whom I 
 1 spoke of it — what is it that your Majesty requires 
 
 * of me— to expire upon a scaffold ? Woman, behold 
 '.me ready, then, to mount it.' 
 
 [She throws the letter down and. exit. 
 
 Cath. The sun of Moscow ! never did I feel so 
 
 fierce its power. Am I an Empress, then, thus to 
 
 * The real answer of the Princess. 
 
206 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 be braved ? not yet secure I sit — but yet — I dare not 
 think — she bears no malice, stoops to no revenge, in 
 sooth, that is a needy consolation. Oh, painful 
 royalty ! each diamond that adorns a crown, is 
 pointed with a thorn, that, inward turning, festers in 
 the head of him that wears it ; — friend, thou hast 
 none, for none thou darest to have. 
 
 [Exit Catharine. 
 
 SCENE V.— The outside of the Fortress of Schus- 
 selberg. Mirovitch pacing backwards and 
 forwards. 
 
 Mirov. My time of guard expires to-morrow 
 — can I, then, proceed ? have I not engaged to 
 do it ? what ? then it is not done, therefore re- 
 pentance cannot be too late, and what the con- 
 sequence may be it is not easy to assure — suppose 
 the Prince should, I must advance — here is my 
 troop. [Enter a party of Soldiers. 
 
 Will ye all swear, now, to a man ? 
 
 1st Sol. Before we advance, let us see the order 
 which you say you have received from Petersburgh, 
 else we will not swear, or stir a jot in this business. 
 
 Omnes. So we have all determined. 
 
 Mirov. Friends, that is reasonable ; and as I 
 have the mandate now about me, you shall have 
 instant proof of the authority on which I move ; so 
 if we are but bold, we must effect our purpose, and 
 
A TRAGEDY. 207 
 
 for the consequence, the glory and the gain alike 
 are ours ! here it is. 
 
 [Taking out of his pocket a paper, at which the 
 Soldiers look. 
 
 1st Sol. [reads'] " In the name of the august 
 Senate of Petersburgh, we, the under-written mem- 
 bers, do herein enjoin Lieutenant Mirovitch to exert 
 himself to the utmost to release Prince Ivan — to aid 
 him in effecting this, we will meet him with a 
 powerful force on the South of the bridge, on the 
 night of the sixth ult., at eleven ; this done, he 
 must proceed immediately to the capital, which will 
 be under arms waiting his approach ; for, seeing 
 that Catharine the Usurper is now gone into 
 Livonia, to marry Count Poniatowski, we take this 
 opportunity of excluding her for ever from the 
 throne of Russia, and we swear not to rest until we 
 have placed the imperial crown on the brow of him, 
 to whom it in right belongs, and so Heaven prosper 
 us.'* (Signed this day.) 
 
 Mirov. These are men, my friends, the most 
 respectable in the Empire, one of whose sanction 
 would be enough for me to proceed upon. 
 
 1st Sol. We can have no doubt now. 
 
 2nd Sol. This woman long has given umbrage. 
 
 3rd Sol. It is not fit that she should reign. 
 
 Mirov. Think of this youth, how hard has been 
 his fate. 
 
 1st Sol. Once Emperor proclaimed, then twenty 
 years a prisoner. 
 
 2nd Sol. Heaven looks with pity on his cause at last. 
 
208 THE FATE OF IVAN : 
 
 Mirov. Will you now swear with me to set him 
 free — not to recede a step when on the way ? as I 
 do now. 
 
 [Mirovitch draws his sivord, and they all 
 draw. 
 . Omnes. We swear ! 
 
 Mirov. Swear, at eleven. 
 
 Omnes. Eleven, we swear ! 
 
 Mirov. Now to the bridge, my friends/ to leave 
 a message and provide our arms. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Before the prison of Schusselberg — 
 night. As Mirovitch and his troop are advanc- 
 ing, Berednikoff, the Governor, enters and 
 meets them. 
 
 Mirov. 'Sdeath to my hopes ! here is the Go- 
 vernor. 
 
 Bered. How now, Lieutenant Mirovitch, at the 
 head of his troop at this hour, and in arms. 
 
 Mirov. So thou may'st feel ! 
 
 [Knocks him down with the butt-end of his gun. 
 
 1st Sol. You have done for him. 
 
 Mirov. No, no, he is only confounded, but 
 before he can give any alarm, we shall have com- 
 pleted our enterprize : lay him behind that wall, 
 friends. [Two of the Soldiers bear him off. 
 
 2nd Sol. If we should happen to lose the fight, 
 and the Governor gets on his legs again, we shall 
 all be handsomely paid for our trouble. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 209 
 
 Mirov. Ye are all sworn. 
 Omnes. Sworn ! sworn ! sworn ! 
 
 [Exit Mirovitch and Soldiers. 
 
 Enter Baron Korf. 
 
 Korf. What can this mean ? my guard has left 
 his post ; the prison door was open to my touch — 
 alas ! I am very faint. Oh, liberty ! thou common 
 idol of mankind, too late for me thou spread'st a 
 lure on this side of the grave — scarce will my limbs 
 support me — the vapors of the prison, the fate of 
 Ivan, all conspire to unnerve me ; which way can I 
 turn ? could I but find the door which leads to 
 Ivan's cell; perhaps — ah, that I dare not hope — all 
 is not well — the cloud bedims the moon, I cannot 
 see which way to turn me. [moves, feeling] I hear 
 a noise, I'll try to follow ; 'tis strange at this late 
 hour about the fort. [Exit Korf. 
 
 The Scene changes to the door of Ivan's prison. 
 Mirovitch and his troop attack the centinel at 
 the door, who endeavours to repulse them. 
 
 Sol. We did not expect this. 
 Soldiers. Let us return. 
 
 Mirov. Courage, my friends ! do not yield, we 
 soon shall overcome them — we are six times their 
 number. 
 
 [The troops of Mirovitch continue some 
 moments fighting the centinel; Mirovitch 
 and his troops are obliged to give back, they 
 
210 THE FATE OF IVAN: 
 
 retreat with their faces towards the enemy, 
 they are heard fighting behind the scenes — 
 Mirovitch is heard inspiring them. 
 
 Mirov. Courage, my friends, 'tis all we want. 
 
 Soldiers. They fall ! they fly ! 
 
 Omnes. Hurra ! hurra ! 
 
 Mirov. We gain the day — victory ! 
 
 Omnes. Victory ! hurra ! 
 
 SCENE V.— -The inside of Ivan's Prison— Ivan 
 stretched, and asleep. Vlassief and Tschekin are 
 also reposing — the sound of soft music — first 
 distant, then approaches — a flash of light — a 
 winged Spirit hovers over the coach of Ivan. 
 
 [Spirit speaks] " Look up, thou long-afflicted ! 
 thou well prepared for yonder blissful realms — thou 
 art no more to live a prisoner ; the chain is broken 
 — 'tis over! all is over ! Thou shalt be happy, Ivan, 
 and be free ! Once in this nether world I was a 
 Prince, an exile, and a captive — look on my form 
 and see the glorious change ; for thee alike the un- 
 fading diadem is wrought — round thy fair brow 
 shall glow celestial halos — for in thy praise, in thy 
 submission here, thy triumph 'midst the holy is 
 complete ! I am the highly favoured spirit always 
 sent to virtuous royalty ; the final hour, I wait to 
 lead them o'er the vast abyss which separates eter- 
 nal night, from our unceasing day ; no power of 
 darkness can approach whilst I am near; safe in a 
 moment we shall reach the blissful seat ; myriads 
 
A TRAGEDY. 211 
 
 already chaimt thy welcome home. Ivan the chosen 
 one approaches, welcome, thou long-afflicted ! Ivan, 
 be happy, and be free ! 
 
 [The Spirit vanishes with soft music. 
 
 Ivan, [awaking] Tis early, as I think, yet I 
 have slept and dreamt — a gentle cherub seemed to 
 hover round me, and three times called on Ivan — 
 Ivan, be happy and be free ! Be free ! whilst 
 Catharine lives, can that be possible ? or is it that 
 my earthly course is almost now expired ? But no ! 
 the gentle spirits of the night are pleased to soothe 
 the wretched in their dreams, that all may not be 
 total darkness with them. Ah ! [A noise without. 
 [Tschekin and Vlassief suddenly awaking. 
 
 Tsch. What can that be at this late hour ? 
 
 Vlass. Ah what, indeed ? The ending of the 
 chapter now I see — there was some reason for your 
 fears, our heads are both at stake. 
 
 Tsch. Aye, the injunction said, should an at- 
 tempt be made to set the Prince at liberty, we must 
 dispatch him, or our life's the forfeit. Oh ! is there 
 not a hole through which to creep ? 
 
 [The noise louder. 
 
 Ivan. Dispatch him ! Do I hear right, can this 
 be woman's thought ? 
 
 Tsch. Defend me Heaven ! I will not stir in 
 this, so let her take my life. [Noise louder. 
 
 Mirov. [speaking without] Beat down the door, 
 my friends. 
 
 Vlass. Fire on them, Guards. 
 
 Ivan. Who can this generous being be, who 
 would deliver Ivan ? 
 
 p 2 
 
212 THE TATE OF IVAN: 
 
 Vlass, Your life, your life, good Ivan, is de- 
 manded. 
 
 Ivan. Hast thou no mercy ? 
 Vlass. None will be shewn to me. 
 
 [They begin to beat down the door. 
 
 Ivan. I'll parry then thy blows, and save thee if 
 
 I can, the crime of murder. So let the sins be on 
 
 her head alone, whose guilty soul conceived the 
 
 deadly thought. 
 
 [Vlassief draws his sioord, and they contend — 
 
 Tschekin covers his face, and retreats into a 
 
 corner. The door begins to fall in — Ivan 
 
 wrests the sword from Vlassief. 
 
 Tsch. Pray Heaven they gain an entrance e'er 
 
 he perish! 
 
 [Vlassief seizes Tschekin's sword, Ivan wounds 
 
 Vlassief in the arm; Ivan is wounded and 
 
 falls. Vlassief binds up his arm which Ivan 
 
 h ad wounded ; Ivan groans. 
 
 Vlass. This is proof positive that I have fought 
 
 for it. 
 
 [The door falls, Mirovitch and his troops 
 rush in, Mirovitch exclaims as he enters — 
 Mirov. Ivan, be happy and be free ! 
 
 [Mirovitch starts astonished on seeing Ivan ; 
 the Soldiers utter a deep groan, and lower arms. 
 Ivan. In a few moments, friends, I shall be free t 
 Oh! Oh! 
 
 Enter hastily Korf, trembling as he enters. 
 Korf Oh Heaven ! What is't I see ? Is this 
 the cause the guard had left my prison ? Oh horror ! 
 Oh horror ! 
 
 [Korf falls on his knee by the side of Ivan. 
 
A TRAGEDY. 213 
 
 Ivan, [attempting to raise himself] Kind Heaven ! 
 *tis then permitted me to die in thy paternal arms. 
 Tschekin, thou hast been kind, I thank thee. Gene- 
 rous friends, would Heaven I could have recom- 
 pensed your zeal ! Oh Vlassief ! I do forgive. 
 Tschekin farewell — take this request to Catharine, 
 
 ask her to spare these valiant no, 'tis vain ; 
 
 haste, save yourselves, and save the generous Korf. 
 Farewell, generous friends. 
 
 [Ivan embracing Korf. 
 
 Korf. Alas, the hand of death already is upon 
 me. 
 
 Mirov. [to the Soldiers'] Save yourselves; I 
 care not for my life, I will remain, and let my 
 forfeit head now pay for all. [ The Soldiers groan. 
 
 Ivan. "lis over ! All is over ! We shall be 
 happy 
 
 Korf. Ivan, and be free ! 
 
 [Korf and Ivan both fall together* 
 
 Omnes. Amen ! 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
MISS BETSY BULL; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE JOHNNIES IN SPAIN. 
 
 a JWelo^rama, in ©in** &ct$* 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Count Oviedo. 
 Don Callanda. 
 Don Sebastian. 
 Vincent, a child. 
 Valentia, a traveller. 
 Rodrigo, an old servant. 
 Sandino, servant to Callanda. 
 Lopez, servant to the Count. 
 
 Fishermen, sailors, dancers] fyc. 
 Frio, a Gypsey robber. 
 1st 2nd and 3rd Gypsey man. 
 
 Donna Sebastian, wife to Don Sebastian. 
 
 Leonora, their daughter. 
 
 Mariana, her friend. 
 
 1st 2nd and 3rd Gypsey woman. 
 
 Men, women, and children, dancers, fyc. fyc. 
 
 First Scene lies on the south side of Cadiz — view of 
 the Forts Puntal, and Matagorda, which guard 
 the entrance into the Harbour. Several rocks in 
 the distance — the other Scenes are on the borders of 
 Castile, Sfc. 
 
MISS BETSY BULL. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — The sea-shore — rocks at a distance — 
 view of a figure on the rock, with a signal ; 
 several men, women, and children, on the shore ; a 
 boat passes with the Pilot, Lopez, Sandino, and 
 Sailors. 
 
 Omnes. HASTE, pilots ! haste! 
 
 [Boat moving towards the rock on which is seen 
 the figure. 
 Children. Haste, good pilots, haste ! 
 
 Men and women sing. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell what fear is, 
 Ah ! who can tell what joy ! 
 Till they know what 'tis to save 
 The fragile bark from being wreck'd, 
 To save the sailor, from a wat'ry grave ! 
 
 Omnes. He faints ! he faints ! haste, pilots, 
 haste ! 
 
 [The figure on the rock appeals to droop,, the 
 boat reaches the rock, and one man from the 
 
218 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 boat ascends, and returns bearing the ship- 
 wrecked person in his arms — a moment's 
 silence ensues, as the man descends from the 
 rock — the boat is seen returning, and the men 
 and women begin to sing as it leaves the rock. 
 
 Men and women sing. 
 
 Now we hail the happy land ! 
 
 The sight of all that's dear ; 
 Wives, mothers, children, on the strand, 
 
 We hear them ! we hear ! 
 
 Welcome, Pilots ! welcome ! 
 
 Ye guardians, angels, ye, 
 Who bring us back our kindred, 
 
 Oh, welcome ! ever welcome be ! 
 Chorus. Welcome, welcome, ye ! 
 
 [The boat approaches, and passes the stage, the 
 crowd pursue with loud hurras, and " Wel- 
 come ye /" which continue to be heard some 
 moments. 
 
 Enter Pilot, followed by Lopez, and Sandino, who 
 bear in their arms the shipwrecked person ; part 
 of the crowd follow in silence. 
 
 Pilot. This way, friends, to my cottage ; Roddy 
 shall make him up the best bed in all Spain. 
 
 San.. And that, with a drop of cordial, will make 
 him as brisk as young Sandino. 
 
 [Exit Sandino, Lopez, and Sailors, bearing the 
 person. 
 
A M ELO-DRAMA. 219 
 
 Pilot sings. 
 
 Who would not be a pilot ? 
 
 A pilot bold to save 
 The lovers, for the ladies waiting, 
 
 Waiting for the brave ? 
 
 Pilot. And now for the drop of cordial. 
 
 [Singing as he goes out. 
 
 A cordial for the brave ! [Exit Pilot, 
 
 [A group that remain of metf, women, and 
 
 children, dance a Spanisli dance ; a second 
 
 group enter, as the others move off, and dance 
 
 a different dance. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The wreck of a vessel is seen, boats 
 surrounding the wreck, some returning to the shore 
 laden. 
 
 Enter Pilot, who takes a basket from a boat by the 
 shore, which he throws over his shoulder, singing. 
 
 Pil. Who'll buy my fine fish, who'll buy ? 
 
 I like to be a fisherman, a fisherman, do I, 
 
 For myself, before I send to the market, 
 
 I pick what I chuse to fry. 
 
 You know, my dear, says my wife, 
 
 What we send to the market 
 
 People are not obliged to buy ; 
 
220 MISS BETSY BULL : 
 
 And who ought to have the first choice 
 
 Of all that is good 1 
 
 Why, my wife, Rodina, and I ! 
 
 If the nets should want mending, 
 
 'Tis Roddy gives the stitch ; 
 
 If there's nought in the market to fry, 
 
 Then I'm sent on the wide sea, 
 
 As if I were a witch, 
 
 The little fish, and the great ones to spy. 
 
 So who, should have the first choice 
 
 Of all that is good ? 
 
 Why, my wife, Rodina, and I ! 
 
 Who'll buy my fine fish, who'll buy ? 
 
 [Exit Pilot. 
 
 SCENE III. — The inside of the Fisherman's hut. 
 Valentia stretched and asleep. 
 
 Enter the Fisherman, followed by Sandino. Fish- 
 erman singing. 
 
 Fisherman. I like to be a fisherman. 
 
 San. Peace ! hast forgotten what lies there ? 
 
 Fisherman. Why, sure Roddy has made the 
 potion too strong for him. 
 
 Val. [speaking in his sleep] To thee that future 
 life I now devote. 
 
 San, Thanks to my tackle, and my father's 
 boat. 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 221 
 
 Fisherman. Ha, ha ! I see thou'rt thy father's 
 own son, that cannot be silent when there's any- 
 thing good to be said, 
 
 San. Softly, he begins to move. 
 Val. [awaking] My friends, I have slept well 
 — I am quite refreshed. 
 
 Fisherman. Aye, did I not tell your honour, that 
 Dame Roddy's cordial, of her own making, was the 
 finest thing in all Spain for composing troubled 
 spirits. 
 
 Val. Thank your bounty, generous strangers ; I 
 feel I am quite revived by it ; I can proceed with- 
 out delay — I trust I shall soon reach my native 
 place ! 
 
 San. But, Sir, I have something pleasant to say 
 before you go, and I love, with all my soul, to say 
 a pleasant thing — I am come from my master, Sir, 
 and he wishes to know if there be anything in his 
 house, anything in his purse 
 
 Fisherman. Anything in his heart you are 
 heartily welcome to, as if you were his own son. 
 
 San. Hold your tongue, you can't speak at all, 
 father. 
 
 Val. But what does your master know of me, 
 friend ? 
 
 San. Oh, Sir, he knows your whole history. 
 
 Fisherman. No ! goose-cap, he only knows that 
 the gentleman has had the good fortune to be ship- 
 wrecked within sight of old Sandino's boat — that's 
 the way to make a speech. 
 . San. And, Sir, you need no other recommenda- 
 
222 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 tion to gain the favour of his excellency, Don Cal- 
 landa of Talavera, and my master. 
 
 Val. Don Callanda of Talavera ! 
 
 Fisherman. I dare say you have heard of the 
 good man before ; every body knows him. 
 
 Val. I have heard of him, and I sincerely thank 
 him for his benevolent intentions ; but I have saved 
 sufficient from the wreck to enable me to reach my 
 native place, and there I am not poor — take this, 
 my friends, till I can see you again and reward you. 
 [Taking from a book a small piece of paper. 
 
 Fisherman. I hope it a'n't money, I can't take 
 any money for saving a sailor, or any other gentle- 
 man from the sharks, I shall never catch another 
 fish if I do. 
 
 Val. It is a memorandum which will inform you 
 who I am, Callanda will tell you how it may be 
 used, and should you preserve any thing from the 
 wreck, bearing this name upon it, you will keep it : 
 we shall meet again. [Giving the paper. 
 
 San. That's right, my dear boy, always look to 
 the bright side. You will see my face again, de- 
 pend upon it. Callanda shall spell all this for me. 
 [Taking the paper and putting it in his pocket. 
 
 Val. Do Thou, All-gracious Providence, who hast 
 preserved me from the wreck in which so many of 
 my hapless fellow-creatures have perished ; do thou 
 vouchsafe to guide me on, preserve me to the end ; 
 let me behold my father's house again ! Let me — 
 but kind friends farewell, farewell. You shall hear 
 from me. [Going. 
 
 Fisherman. Aye do, my dear boy, drop us a line. 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 223 
 
 San. Farewell, and a pleasant journey to your 
 honor. 
 
 Val. Farewell, friends, and peace and prosperity 
 attend you. [Exit Valentia. 
 
 San. The same to your excellency, I wish you 
 the same with all my heart. 
 
 [Fisherman goes to a closet, and takes out a 
 small bottle. 
 
 Fisherman. Here, here, thou hast sent him off 
 with fair words only, and who knows how far the 
 poor fellow may have to travel, whether, indeed, he 
 has got enough to carry him to his own land, or is 
 but too modest to tell us his wants ; run after him, 
 and make him pocket this. [Giving the bottle. 
 
 [Sandino looking out of the window. 
 
 San. I see him, I'll soon be after him. 
 
 Fisherman. Sure the John Bulls have been long- 
 enough in Spain to teach thee the use of a private 
 bottle. [Exit hastily Sandino. 
 
 Fisherman 
 
 sings. 
 
 Bless the ladies great and small ! 
 
 Long may I be bold to save 
 Lovers, for the beauties waiting, 
 
 Waiting for the brave ! 
 
 Now the dear angelic creatures 
 
 Gathering round us, weep, and pray, 
 
 Heaven preserve you ! Pilots, hasten ; 
 
 Winds, and waves and all confounding, 
 Still we hear them on the way ! 
 
224 MISS BETSY BULL Z 
 
 Now they shower their blessings on us. 
 
 Bless the pretty souls, I say 
 Nought so sure as earnest prayers 
 
 To save us in a stormy day ! 
 
 Bless the ladies great and small ! 
 
 Long may I be bold to save, 
 For the beauties still in waiting 
 
 All the faithful ! all the brave ! 
 
 [Loud knocking at the door, and enter several 
 men, women, and children. 
 Men and women. Out with your boat again, 
 Sandino, there are more poor fellows alive in the 
 wreck. 
 
 Pilot. Never a doctor in all Spain saves so 
 many lives as my boat — so off we go ; lend a hand, 
 friends. Bless the pilots great and small ! 
 Omnes. Bless them all ! 
 
 [Exeunt Pilot, men and women following. 
 
 SCENE IV. — An Apartment. Count Oviedo 
 putting on his boots, and admiring his legs as he 
 draws them on. 
 
 Count. Oh ! this indigestible pill ! would it 
 were the fashion for individuals, as well as princes, 
 to be married by proxy. I certainly have an elegant 
 pair of legs, one of the numerous perfections, I 
 presume that makes me so much admired by the 
 ladies. Never was man so persecuted with the at- 
 tentions of the other sex, it is quite a fatality 
 
A MELODRAMA. 225 
 
 attending me ; three times, oh, Oviedo !• hast thou 
 been on the very precipice of wedlock ! the last 
 was, in truth, a narrow escape ; just as the priest 
 pronounced the formidable words " Wilt thou have 
 this woman ?" I very courageously took to my heels ; 
 the damsel, all sympathy, fled in pursuit of me, but 
 in vain, neither the prayers of the priest, nor the 
 tears of the fair one, could prevail on me to return ; 
 and yet here again I am once more, on the high 
 road, and under the existing circumstances, what 
 man so invited, would not summon resolution ? 
 Youth, beauty, high rank, and wealth — what man 
 would not ? How many at this moment are envy- 
 ing Oviedo ! how many shall envy him still more 1 
 Happy Oviedo ! already tingles in my ear ! 
 
 Enter Callanda, overhearing the last words. 
 
 Call, [apart] Ho, ho, the tune is changed, I 
 find : I have got a most difficult commission — it ap- 
 pears you have some very agreeable speculation, 
 Count? 
 
 Oviedo. On the contrary : — but it is time, my dear 
 fellow, I apprise you of the real business which 
 leads me to take this journey. 
 
 Call. Very good — I'm all attention. 
 
 Oviedo. You are perfectly well acquainted with 
 the all-accomplished Leonora ? 
 
 Call. The only daughter of Don Sebastian, and, 
 probably, sole heiress to his immense possessions. 
 
 Oviedo. Whom I am invited, in the most flatter- 
 ing way, to marry. [Conceitedly. 
 Q 
 
226 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Call. And you, of course, are all eagerness to 
 set off. 
 
 Oviedo. [shrugging up his shoulders'] Why, as 
 to that, I cannot say ; it has ever been my fate, on 
 going on such an expedition, to be seized with an 
 invincible inclination to return. Did you not hear 
 of the last affair which befel me ? 
 
 Call. I do recollect ; but the family of Don 
 Sebastian being in question, it is not to be sup- 
 posed 
 
 Oviedo. Why, as to that, the lady is certainly 
 charming, possessed of every good quality that can 
 possibly adorn the sex ; yet it appears to me, that a 
 man is not always master of his actions, and 
 
 Call. Come, come, Count, let me advise you 
 not wantonly to throw away the superior fortune 
 now offered you ; how many dukes in Spain would 
 rejoice to be in your situation — you are assured I 
 cannot have any interest in the business, if I plead 
 for the ladies. 
 
 Oviedo. You are honored and dignified in the 
 cause. 
 
 Call. Is this a match of the father's proposing ? 
 
 Oviedo. In the first instance, perhaps ; but soon 
 as I was introduced to the daughter, she fell pas- 
 sionately in love with me. 
 
 Call. What makes you imagine that ? How 
 does she betray that deep interest ? 
 
 Oviedo. She blushes when I address her, some- 
 times turns pale; she starts, trembles; she cannot 
 answer me a single question ; in short 
 
 Call. I should interpret all these symptoms, 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 22? 
 
 proofs of confirmed hatred, horror, aversion, con- 
 tempt, preference for some other ! 
 
 Ovkdo. Ho, ho, ho ! what a novice thou art ! 
 horror ! contempt ! aversion ! [looking at himself] 
 the man is mad to be sure. 
 
 Call. You may laugh, but I am still very in- 
 credulous. 
 
 Oviedo. Never woman in this world was so 
 enamoured, the dear creature frequently writes me 
 six epistles for one. 
 
 Call. She certainly thinks you very much in need 
 of good advice ; she has some charitable motive for 
 doing it, she imagines her letters will interest and 
 employ you, that they will keep 
 
 Oviedo. Me from the devil I suppose. 
 
 Call. Exactly so. 
 
 Oviedo. My dear fellow, I see you know nothing 
 of the human heart, all these things are every-day 
 occurrences with me. 
 
 Call. Well, well, be it so then ; I recommend 
 you at least, for this once, to take advantage of your 
 good fortune, and, above all things, let us not delay 
 setting off, official business demands my immediate 
 presence in that neighbourhood, and we ought to 
 reach Bianchellino before Don Sebastian. 
 
 Oviedo. Such an arrival, I presume, would be 
 expected of the intended spouse of Leonora. 
 
 Call. I suppose a priest will accompany the 
 family. 
 
 Oviedo. Don't mention it, pray, there is some- 
 thing in that very word which inclines me to decamp. 
 a 2 
 
228 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Call. I shall give my final orders and depart. 
 
 [Exit Callanda. 
 Oviedo. And I believe I am quite ready to ac- 
 company you. I suppose I must go, and myself be 
 witness of the very tears I feel I shall have to 
 occasion. Now where is that honest dog Lopez ? 
 
 [Rings. 
 
 Enter Lopez. 
 
 Am I ready, Lopez ? 
 
 Lopez. Yes, my lord, you are, but I am not. 
 
 Oviedo. Begone, then, and see that you are pre- 
 pared in three minutes. 
 
 Lopez. Five, please your Lordship. [Going. 
 
 Oviedo. And hear me, charge my best pistols, 
 and take another pair under your own care. 
 
 Lopez. What, are we going to be robbed or 
 murdered, my Lord ? 
 
 Oviedo. Going to the devil ; make haste, I say. 
 
 Lopez. There needs be no such hurry-scurry in 
 going there, methinks. [Exit hastily Lopez. 
 
 Oviedo. There goes an original, who scarcely 
 knows if his head stands on his shoulders or his 
 haunches, and yet, I presume, can occasionally 
 correct me. But let me consider, what else shall I 
 require ? Oh ! my case of cordials, that will be 
 above all things necessary. Poor Leonora! thou 
 little dreamest of the disappointment about to await 
 thee ! Poor girl, poor girl ! Upon my soul I can- 
 not help pitying her. 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 22Q 
 
 lie- enter Lopez. 
 
 Lopez. All ready, my Lord, I have tied up my 
 portmanteau. 
 
 Oviedo. That's right, I like dispatch. {Exit 
 Lopez] Poor Leonora ! [Exit Count Oviedo. 
 
 SCENE V. — An Apartment. — Bon Sebastian, 
 Donna Sebastian. 
 
 Don. Seb. Madam, madam, I will not hear any 
 more of the Count's eccentricities — according to the 
 common understanding, every one who possesses 
 any superiority must be eccentric. But I do not 
 wish my daughter to marry any of your common- 
 place characters, and let me tell you, he who dares 
 not to deviate from the track beaten by the vulgar, 
 can have no pretension to merit, can never gain any 
 distinction. 
 
 Donna Seb. But is it not an objection which 
 ought to supersede all others, that Leonora dislikes 
 him above all the world ? 
 
 Don Seb. Dislikes him ! pshaw ! it is quite im- 
 possible ; is he not young, handsome, elegant, ac- 
 complished, witty, of high rank ? in short the very 
 man whom all women particularly admire ? 
 
 Donna Seb. All vain and frivolous women, 
 perhaps. 
 
 Don Seb. Besides, I am in some degree indiffer- 
 ent as to whether she likes him or not ; I am not at 
 all afraid of their future happiness. 
 
230 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Donna Seb. Alas, alas ! I see I am likely to be 
 deprived of both my children ! 
 
 Don Seb. Madam, you know my determination is 
 to marry Leonora immediately ; how should I an- 
 swer to myself should some ignoble villain tear her 
 from my arms, and with Leonora's fortune, inde- 
 pendent of her beauty, a misfortune so overwhelm- 
 ing is to be feared. Chance, an accident, fatality, call 
 it what you will, has deprived me of one child, it 
 shall be my especial care to prevent any thing of a 
 similar nature bereaving me of the other. 
 
 Donna Seb. I am satisfied there is no hope. 
 
 Don Seb. No, indeed, there is no hope; you 
 cannot now unite your daughter to the son of the 
 exiled Alvarez, since they are both at peace in the 
 same grave. 
 
 Donna Seb. And now that they can no longer 
 offend you with their misfortunes, you will perhaps 
 allow that the father's fame was most honorably 
 cleared of every aspersion. 
 
 Don Seb. No, I cannot allow that ; for in my 
 mind, the fame that has once been blistered, always 
 retains a scar. 
 
 Donna Seb. You are too cruel. 
 
 Don Seb. Prepare my daughter for the Count's 
 arrival ; I expect he will use all diligence to meet 
 us at my villa ; perhaps we may all arrive at the 
 same instant. In the mean time I shall order a 
 strong guard, for we have a very dangerous road to 
 pass. 
 
 Donna Seb. Oh Leonora ! how hard is your 
 fate. [Exit Donna Sebastian. 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 231 
 
 Don Seb. How silly are those women ! how 
 diligently do they always persuade themselves that 
 happiness is quite independent of all circumstantial 
 aid, of all the gifts of fortune ; this comes of reading 
 French romances, and tales of knight-errantry — 
 howbeit I shall not rest till I have put all these 
 sickly fancies out of my daughter's head, and that 
 by uniting two of the noblest and most ancient 
 families in Spain. [Exit Don Sebastian. 
 
 SCENE VI. — The entrance into a Wood; Leonora 
 disguised as a Student of Salamanca — Mariana. 
 
 Leon. It is for you, dear Mariana, the painful 
 task, to apprise my mother of my final determina- 
 tion, and of the route I have taken — to bid her 
 farewell — perhaps an eternal farewell — no, I cannot 
 — I know my heart, my resolution would fail me. 
 Soothe, then, her anxiety, assure her of my safety, 
 persuade her, as I hope reason may return to my 
 father, that we may soon meet again ! 
 
 Mar. But dear Leonora, can you really confide 
 in the Abbess ? May she not inform your father of 
 your retreat ? 
 
 Leon. Sooner, I am convinced, she would allow 
 me to take the veil. 
 
 Mar. Ah ! beware of that ! Remember you 
 cannot be Oviedo's wife, though dragged to the 
 very foot of the altar. You could even there claim 
 the protection of the priest, and appeal against the 
 cruelty and injustice of the proceeding. 
 
232 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Leon. Ah ! but to proceed so far, to be obliged 
 to be arrayed in bridal pomp, to see Oviedo at 
 my side, to approach the altar, to be so near the 
 brink of what I consider all moral destruction ; I 
 shudder at the bare perspective ! I feel I might be 
 tempted to some fatal purpose ; it is to avoid the 
 temptation that I fly, my senses bewildered at the 
 moment, might lead me to question which were the 
 greater crime ! 
 
 Mar. I promise, and will keep my word. But 
 were I you, I would write the Count a letter before 
 I went away ; tell him that you hate him with all 
 your heart and soul, and beg him to remain just 
 where he is, and then if that experiment fail, you 
 would still have the Convent of La Guarda. 
 
 Leon. And where should I be if the letter were 
 never to reach him, and if he were to persist, even 
 after receiving it ? No, no, my determination can- 
 not be shaken. Ha ! what noise is that ? 
 
 Mar. [looking out] Be composed, it is old 
 Rodrigo — you can fully depend upon his integrity ? 
 
 Leon. As on my own ; my foster-father, who, 
 perhaps, may offend Heaven by his idolatry of me. 
 
 Mar. But I fear his age, and the banditti which 
 infest the roads. All Spain is in commotion, not- 
 withstanding the many Johnnies who are come to 
 our assistance ; indeed I am not without fear of 
 your being attacked by some of their hovering com- 
 panies, you might be taken for some spy in disguise. 
 
 Leon. I fear nothing but to be wedded to one I 
 hate, whilst I consider myself in honor and reason, 
 the wife, the widow of another. I promised, 
 
A MELO-DRAMA, 235 
 
 sacredly promised you, Alfonso, never, never to 
 marry another, and though you cease to exist, I do 
 not live to forget. 
 
 Enter Rodrigo, equipped for travelling. 
 
 Rod. An' please my young master, all is ready, 
 and the sooner we depart the better. My wife is to 
 drown me to-night in the river, and, I suppose, my 
 body is not to be found, nor allowed Christian burial, 
 now if I should happen to die twice on the same 
 night, it will be an odd story. 
 
 Leon. Courage, my good friend, Heaven will 
 preserve the faithful ! 
 
 Mar. Dear Rodrigo, I have a thousand fears, 
 are you well acquainted with the roads, and with the 
 parts which the Banditti most infest ? 
 
 Rod. The lady banditte, I think, will be the 
 most ready to attack us, I and my young master 
 will, I doubt not, make sad havoc in their 
 hearts. 
 
 Leon. Ah, what do you think of that, Mariana ? 
 
 Mar. I do think the dress is mighty becoming, 
 and that there is some reason for Rodrigo's ap- 
 prehensions. 
 
 Leon. Farewell — console my mother — I still 
 hope much from Don Callanda's efforts with the 
 Count. 
 
 Mar. And he knows the united wishes of three 
 poor disconsolate women ! 
 
 Rod. It almost makes me cry, and yet I had a 
 fine dream last night. 
 
234 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Mar. Stop, Rodrigo, one word of advice to you 
 —be sure you do not enter into any contention with 
 the John Bulls, if you should meet any ; always 
 endeavour to make friends of them, Rodrigo, for 
 you must have heard what wonderful creatures these 
 Johnnies are. 
 
 Rod. Ah, yes, indeed ! I have heard my great 
 grand-dame say, that there was one Miss Betsy Bull, 
 that blew up the grandest fleet that ever Spain sent 
 forth — A woman ! so what may be expected from 
 the master Johnnies ? 
 
 Leon. Let us haste, Rodrigo, [looking out] the 
 very breeze that agitates the leaves, alarms my fears, 
 I mistake every sound for the approach of footsteps 
 — farewell! [Embracing Mariana. 
 
 Mar. And may good angels guard you ! 
 
 Rod. Farewell to my wife ; alack-a-day, the 
 mules are at this corner. 
 
 {Exit Leonora and Rodrigo. 
 
 Mar. To-morrow morning, Don Sebastian will 
 learn he has lost his daughter ; we must make him 
 sleep as late as we can, otherwise she will be pur- 
 sued to the very gates of the convent. Well, I do 
 hope that Leonora may meet with some charming 
 knight-errant on the way, who may make her repent 
 of her vows of eternal celibacy. It is all very well 
 to hate the Count Oviedo, but then not to like any 
 body else in this world, is what I do not under- 
 stand, and what I am sure I do not wish to learn ; 
 heigh ho ! I still seem to expect some comical ad- 
 venture, some gallant knight will be attacking or 
 defending the young student — the whole story will 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 235 
 
 be discovered, and then it follows, as a matter of 
 course, that Leonora becomes interested in her 
 preserver, and I shall not be surprised if she should 
 be married the day after myself ; and yet she is in 
 a strange contrary mind at present. [Sings. 
 
 A lady there was lost her lover, 
 
 I hope that will ne'er be my fate, 
 For, perhaps, I might not find another, 
 
 All the world knows the chances are great ! 
 
 This was not the case with this lady, 
 Away from them all she would go, 
 
 And from one, too, a handsome young lord, 
 Why, I don't think that I could do so. 
 
 'Tis a fine thing, indeed, to be constant, 
 
 But when a man dies, it is plain, 
 If you hear the soft tale of another, 
 
 He cannot come back to complain. 
 
 [Exit Mariana. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
236 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Forest Scene, moonlight. Valen- 
 tia sleeping under a tree. 
 
 Enter Frio, a gypsey man. 
 
 Frio. Bad luck! no game all night — nought but 
 a capon all day ; I shall make a sorry appearance 
 amongst the company. 
 
 Val. [sighing] [Frio starts. 
 
 Frio. Ha, mercy ! what can that be ? 
 
 Val. Oh ! I have slept most soundly ; [awaking] 
 but how I could so far have lost my way, and been 
 here benighted, I know not ; it would seem a 
 perverse interruption — a day, an hour's delay, in the 
 scale of destiny ; how important, how fatal may 
 they be ! but shall I complain ? preserved through 
 so many dangers; reposing confidence should be 
 my staff. 
 
 Frio, [advances towards him] I think you say, 
 Sir, you have slept very soundly ; I am very glad to 
 hear it, Sir, and now I recommend you to pay for 
 your lodging : [Valentia looking surprised] you 
 would not go away, like a sorry dog, in debt — your 
 money instantly, young man ! 
 
 Val. I carry very little of that about me. 
 
A MELODRAMA. 237 
 
 Frio. It is certain, however, that people cannot 
 travel about in this world without it, and you, Sir, I 
 am well assured have lost your way, or you would 
 not be reposing in this particular spot — your mule, I 
 suppose, has been stolen, too, for there is not one to 
 be seen near you ; but out with your money, I 
 cannot wait, time flies. 
 
 Val. If you are in distress, and half of the little 
 
 I possess will content you 
 
 Frio. No, Sir ! no halvings, I have got nothing- 
 all day — your money, instantly ! 
 
 Val. No ! then a wretch induced by necessity 
 only would never be so far rapacious ; [apart] if 
 I lose this, I am again shipwrecked. 
 
 Frio. If you will not give, I must take. 
 
 [Frio begins to wrestle with Valentia ; Frio, 
 in the struggle, falls, and Valentia makes 
 his escape. Frio, quickly rising, pursues 
 Valentia — the report of pistols is heard, 
 and a groan succeeds. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Gypseys Hovel represents a Cave. 
 Cliff rising perpendicularly above the group ; 
 several men, women, and children, seated round a 
 jire, some eating, some drinking, some singing. 
 
 1st Man. 
 
 Come fill the sparkling glass again, 
 'Tis night, and pleasure's festive reign ! 
 Each man's a subject, each a king ! 
 
238 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Oh, the merry merry lives of gypsies sing ! 
 
 2nd Man. 
 
 Peace ! there are horses trampling near, 
 Conceal your lights, ^tis wise to fear ! 
 
 [They cover the fire ; a silence of a few 
 moments — the wind, and the rustling of 
 leaves, is heard. 
 
 1st Woman. 
 
 Your fears are fools ! 'tis but the rain 
 
 That beats upon the thirsty plain, 
 
 And with the dead leaf strews the ground ; 
 
 What music's in the rustling sound ! 
 
 Oh ! I could ever, ever listen ! 
 3rd Man. 
 
 Silence, all ! a foot is nigh, 
 
 Silence, till it passes by. 
 
 [Silence of a few minutes, a man and a woman 
 are seen to walk fearfully along the top of 
 the cliff. 
 
 3rd Woman. 
 
 Such is your ever boasted joy. 
 
 2nd Man. 
 
 Good wife, what state's without alloy ? 
 
 3rd Woman. 
 
 Tho' you scorn your country's laws, 
 And sing of bolder freedom's cause, 
 Slaves, you live, to servile fear, 
 The breath of day is danger here ! 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 239 
 
 1st Mai?. 
 
 Well, I am king ! and my decree 
 
 Is this, that all who dare to rail at me 
 
 And my good laws, shall banished be ! 
 
 Omnes. Bravo ! 
 1st Man. 
 
 I'll have no scorpions in the state, 
 To sting the good, and bite the great ; 
 I say I'm king ! and king I'll be, 
 The world is wide, and you are free ! 
 
 Omnes. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a happy thing to be, 
 Like the merry merry gypsies, free ! 
 
 1st Man. 
 
 So, chuse your path, nor dare again 
 To bring into contempt our reign ; 
 Such rebel spirits shall not share 
 With better men my royal care ; 
 Enough of mercy ^tis I shew, 
 To give you freely leave to go. 
 More were pernicious ; doctors all agree 
 That summer suns may pestilence increase: 
 Who crops the evil in its birth, may hope to 
 find it cease ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 " Long live our noble king !" 
 Oh ! 'tis a happy state to be, 
 Like the merry merry gypsies, free ! 
 
 3rd Woman. 
 
 Sure, one might speak without so much ado, 
 I'm as content as other folks, I trow ! 
 
240 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 1st Woman. 
 
 Away with discord, cheer the night, 
 Where's Castel, Blanco, Frio, Sprite? 
 
 2nd Man. 
 
 We'll drink to Frio. 
 
 1st Man. 
 
 Here's to Frio — he is brave ! 
 
 Omnes. To Frio, all. 
 
 1st Woman. 
 
 But t'other day a cheese he brought 
 Large as my head, with maggots fraught ! 
 
 2nd Woman. 
 
 Aye, that is truth, thou hast well said, 
 
 'Twas filled with maggots, like thy crazy head ! 
 
 1st Man. 
 
 Thou ever wert, old Peg, a witty lass, 
 Here's to thy cheese, and thee, another glass ! 
 
 3rd Man. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a happy thing to be, 
 Like the merry merry gypsies, free ! 
 
 [A report of pistols is heard. 
 
 Enter hastily Valentia, pursued by Frio. 
 
 Frio. Seize on him, gentlemen, he would have 
 taken my life. 
 
 [As they are rising to seize on Valentia, a 
 
 great noise of firing approaches, on which they 
 
 all take flight, one child excepted, who is 
 
 sleeping on the ground. 
 
 Val. 'Sdeath, where am I ? Ha, 'tis a gypsey's 
 
A 5IELO-DRAMA. 241 
 
 hovel ! which way shall I turn 1 [looks about and 
 starts] Merciful Providence, what do I see ? here 
 is a child left behind them in their haste ; perhaps, 
 too, the child of some despairing' mother — what can 
 it be ? [approaches it] Can it be indeed possible ? 
 do I dream ? is it a delusive resemblance? No, no, 
 no ! it is, it is he ! [taking the child in his 
 arms] Be calm, my heart ! sleep on, blest innocent. 
 Do Thou, All-guiding Providence ! do Thou direct 
 me to the path of safety — preserve me, oh I preserve 
 me this night from every farther danger ! See, it is 
 not for myself that I ask for thy protection; look on 
 this helpless, this unoffending, this precious charge! 
 [Exit hastily Valentia, carrying the child. 
 Soldiers on a distant mountain seen passing. 
 
 Re-enter a Man and a Woman belonging to the Gyp- 
 sies, they look fearfully about them. 
 
 3rd Woman. What can have become of the 
 child ? he was sleeping here. 
 
 Man. Most like he followed us, and is now in 
 the crowd. 
 
 3rd Woman. If I should quit your honorable 
 company, 'tis my determination to take him with 
 me, if I can find him. 
 
 [A distant cannonading is heard. 
 
 Man. We had best make our escape. 
 
 3rd Woman. Thou need'st not fear, His nothing 
 but the Johnnies fighting with one another about 
 their sweethearts ; my opinion of them is, that they 
 like to fight each other as well as their enemies. 
 
 R 
 
242 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Man. I have picked up all that I see worth 
 taking, so I'm off. 
 
 3rd Woman. Ah, ha ! dost see — that is some- 
 thing like the lad that fought with Frio, and, if I 
 mistake not, he has the boy in his arms. 
 
 [Valentia seen in the distance on a mountain. 
 
 Man. I dare say he is one of the Bulls, for he 
 seems to be going towards the soldiers. 
 
 [Noise of arms louder. 
 
 3rd Woman. Then, sooth, I will not follow him 
 there. 
 
 Man. Pll be content to save myself, and, if 
 thou'rt wise, thou'lt do the same ; thou hast heard of 
 Miss Betsy Bull. [Noise louder. 
 
 3rd Woman. In truth, I think she is coming 
 again. 
 
 [E.vit hastily Gypsies, Man carrying basket. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Forest Scene, mountains, fyc. 
 
 Enter Valentia, leading Vincent, moonlight. 
 
 Val. Come, come, do not tremble, sweet in- 
 nocent ! [child looks fearfully about] We have 
 escaped them, they will not pursue us farther ; if 
 they do, we must fly to the English. 
 
 Vin. And who are the English ? 
 
 Val. The friends of humanity ! the friends of 
 every nation in distress ! and now fighting for us. 
 
 Vin. Ah ! let us fly to them, then. [Going. 
 
A MKLO-DItAMA. 243 
 
 Val. But this way, I suspect, will lead us home ; 
 yonder some of the English are encamped — banish 
 all fear — I will restore you to the arms of your 
 mother. 
 
 Vin* Will you indeed, and indeed? then you 
 are a true friend, and I have often, very often said 
 my prayers to find such a friend, and now kind- 
 Heaven has heard me ! 
 
 Val. His ears are always open to the prayers of 
 the good. 
 
 Vin. Look out there — are those the brave Eng- 
 lish ? [Soldiers seen on a distant mountain. 
 
 Val. Yes, that way lies the English encamp- 
 ment ; let us proceed. 
 
 Vin. And are you very sure I shall not be lost 
 again ? 
 
 Val. Will not that kind Providence that directed 
 me to find you, still protect us on the way ? 
 
 Vin. Oh, yes ! he will, he will ! and I will pray 
 again and again, that he may preserve your life, and 
 that you may see my dear mama ; but, perhaps, she 
 is dead, sometimes I have dreamt so, and then I 
 wished I was dead, too, my heart was so sad ! 
 
 Val. Fear nothing, my good child ; I dare 
 believe she still lives. 
 
 Yin. And when I tell her a friend saved me, 
 what must I say if she asks his name. 
 
 Val. A friend without a name is often the best 
 of friends. 
 
 Vin. Ah ! but she will not be pleased with me 
 if I cannot tell her yours. 
 
 Val. My name is Valentia. 
 ii 2 
 
244 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Vin. Dear, kind Valentia ! [the report of arms 
 at a distatice~\ that noise does not make me tremble 
 now ; I have heard of guardian angels, and I believe 
 that you are one. [Embracing him. 
 
 VaL Sweet cherub ! Heaven will watch over 
 us ; we will climb that mountain, and on the other 
 side. we shall find an inn. [Noise louder. 
 
 Vin. And if the gypsies come after us, we will 
 fire upon them and frighten them away. 
 
 [Exit Valentia, leading Vincent, they 
 ascend a mountain. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Forest, and Mountains in the 
 
 distance — Moonlight. 
 
 Enter Rodrigo leading two Mules, which he fastens 
 to a tree, — Leonora seating herself. 
 
 Leon. Oh Rodrigo ! I faint with this quick tra- 
 velling ; I wish I had taken your advice and 
 stopped at the last inn — the dread of being pursued 
 has made me proceed too far. 
 
 Rod. Aye, but my dear master, they would never 
 think of pursuing this road, and nobody could know 
 either you or I — but do lean against that tree, try to 
 take a little nap. 
 
 Leon. I am already overpowered with sleep. 
 
 Rod. I will keep watch at this corner, and the 
 mules may browse a little at that. 
 
 Leon. Do you think we are safe here ? 
 
 [She leans against a tree. 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 245 
 
 Rod. Ah! dear me, there is no protection like 
 poverty, and travelling like two poor fellows as we 
 are, I trust we shall not be disturbed. [Leon oh a falls 
 asleep] Ah ! that's right, go to sleep, that's a dear boy; 
 for my own part, now I am all alone, I can hardly 
 help crying. What will become of me if any mis- 
 fortune should befal him? — [looking out cautiously] 
 — and at the best I know not how I must re- 
 turn to this world, that is what has never been once 
 thought of; my wife must be a widow, or, for any- 
 thing I know, my boat, and my wife, and my cot 
 may fall to the lot of some of the Johnnies, who 
 are now swarming in Spain ; and for me to attempt 
 to fight them, after the story that I learnt from my 
 grandame Miss Betsy Bull, I cannot do it, and, 
 therefore, I cannot help crying, I cannot ! 
 
 [Valentia is seen descending a mountain with 
 Vincent in his arms; some persons ap- 
 pear to pursue him ; the flash of a pistol, the 
 fire reaches Valentia ; he arrives at the 
 foot of the mountain and sits down ; he binds 
 his arm. Rodrigo on perceiving him, puts 
 himself in an attitude of defence, and takes 
 out a pistol; Valentia groans slightly, 
 Rodrigo returns the groan. 
 Vin. Dear Valentia, you will not die. 
 Val. No, no, fear nothing, it is but a scratch. 
 Rod. I am sure he is a gentleman, I am not 
 frightened now, he speaks like a good man. 
 
 Val. What have we here ? a traveller, and asleep 
 too, apparently a student of Salamanca ; and who 
 are you, my friend ? 
 
246 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Rod. Sir, I beg your honor's pardon, but that is 
 my mistr— master ; we have travelled rather too 
 far without resting, he's a very delicate youth, and 
 being very eager to reach the end of his journey, 
 has come too many miles at a stretch. Pray take 
 care not to disturb him, Sir. 
 Val. Oh ! not for the world. 
 Vin. We will help to guard you. 
 Leon, [speaking in her sleep] Could you at this 
 moment read my heart, this faithful heart ! 
 
 Val. [starts in amazement, and unconsciously 
 grasps the arm of Rodrigo] What is that ? From 
 whence did that voice proceed ? 
 
 Rod. Oh ! lud, lud ! Sir, don't be frightened, 
 it is only my young master, he often talks in his 
 sleep, no robbers here just now, I'll keep watch. 
 
 Vin. Dear Valentia, I fear your arm is very 
 painful. 
 
 Val. My brain's bewildered ! that fever has not 
 yet left me ; let me listen again, I deceive myself. 
 
 Rod. You do, my dear fellow, we are all angels 
 about you. 
 
 Leon. Tell him all that I have suffered, tell 
 him. 
 
 Val. Where am I ? Do my senses forsake me ? 
 I tremble ! Am I really in existence, on earth ? 
 
 [ Beating h is for eh ead. 
 Vin. Good old man ! what shall we do ? he is 
 very ill. 
 
 Leon, [ivaking] Oh ! Rodrigo, what noise was 
 that ? 
 
 Rod. Nothing, nothing ! my good master ! all 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 247 
 
 friends about us ; two gentlemen, travellers exactly 
 like ourselves, and they will help us to fight. 
 
 Yin. That we will, indeed, Sir, don't be afraid. 
 
 Val. This wound maddens me ! Oh ! torture 
 inexpressible ! but I must be ■ 
 
 Leon. Alas, I hope we shall arrive soon. 
 
 Vin. This gentleman has saved my life, and I am 
 sure he will fight for you. [Approaching Leonora. 
 
 Leon. [?'ising] You ! who are you, sweet cherub ? 
 Oh ! what do I see ? What is your name ? quickly 
 tell me. 
 
 Vin. Vincent Sebastiano ; I was stolen by the 
 gypsies, and it is he, that good gentleman, who has 
 saved me, and who is taking me home to my dear 
 mother, my father, and my sister. 
 
 Leon. It is, it is himself ! my long lost brother ! 
 [Embracing him. 
 
 Rod. Oh ! dear, dear ! we shall all be found 
 out, I cannot help crying ! 
 
 Vin. What, and have I a brother ? how is this ? 
 say, Valentia ? 
 
 Val. Oh! strange fate! wonder-working Pro- 
 vidence ! [apart] Be calm my heart ! 
 
 Leon. What have I said ? 
 
 Rod. All friends — take courage. 
 
 Vin. Tell me, good old man ! how is this ? I 
 never knew I had a brother. I had a sister, and I 
 think, indeed, I think this gentleman must be 
 Leonora, she calls me brother, and speaks so 
 sweetly. Oh ! I do remember you ! 
 
 [Throwing Ms arms round her neck. 
 
 Rod. Oh ! lud, lud ! we are all discovered ! 
 
248 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Val. Rapturous moment ! 
 
 Leon. Oh Rodrigo ! I am lost for ever ! One 
 of the most seemingly fortunate events, has per- 
 versely ruined, perhaps, all my projects. 
 
 Vin. Dear sister, be not afraid, tell me, shall I 
 see my dear dear mother very soon, is she near us ? 
 or are we still very far from home ? 
 
 [Leonora retiring in confusion. 
 
 Leon. Alas ! I cannot speak ! 
 
 Rod. Do not say any more at present, my dear 
 boy. [Speaking softly to Valentia. 
 
 Vin. [to Valentia] Tell Leonora you will 
 take care of her as well as me, speak to her kindly, 
 she seems afraid. 
 
 Val. Surprise has made me silent, [approaching 
 Leonora] Can you, then, fear to be betrayed by 
 the guardian, the deliverer of that child ? Would 
 he who has risked his life to save the brother, not 
 shed the last drop of his blood to preserve the sister 
 from every danger ? wounded, suffering, and in 
 affliction, my heart, my arm, shall be strong to 
 protect you from all approach of evil. 
 
 Rod. Ah ! my dear mistress, I am sure we are 
 all friends well met, and Don Wollentia will help us 
 to the end of our journey. 
 
 Val. To the most remote corner of the earth, if 
 that were your destination ! 
 
 [Vincent takes hold of Leonora's cloak, ap- 
 pearing to draw her towards Valentia. 
 
 Leon. Generous stranger ! I know not how to 
 thank you ; I cannot, no, I cannot ! 
 
 Val. Your secret is safe with me, as in the 
 
A MELODRAMA. 249 
 
 bosom of the ocean — could he be man that could 
 betray you at such an hour. 
 
 Leon. Ah ! but to be called upon to place a con- 
 fidence in one to whom I am a total stranger, who 
 is equally unknown to me ; how can I reconcile all 
 this ? Alfonso, what would you say ? Is it not an 
 offence, an injury to your esteem ? and tho', indeed, 
 you cease to exist 
 
 Val. Cease to exist ! What do I hear ? 
 
 [Agitated. 
 
 Leon. Stranger ! my tale is short ! I am ac- 
 quainted with the Abbess of the Convent of La 
 Guarda ; I fly to her for shelter and protection — 
 this old man, my foster-father, attends me on the 
 way, and my disguise is intended as a second pro- 
 tection. 
 
 Rod. Yes, this is" all true, as I hope to see my 
 wife again. 
 
 Vin. Don't cry, good old man. 
 
 Rod. My dear boy, I cry for joy, to think you 
 are found again, and that we have another guard for 
 our travels. 
 
 Val. But from what tyranny, what oppression 
 do you fly 1 [apart] Oh ! I am very ill. 
 
 Leon. Can I, indeed, go on ? 
 
 Val. Some urgent cause there must be. 
 
 Leon. Alas, Sir ! it is not, perhaps, for you to 
 judge my heart — you, perhaps, cannot guess the 
 tortures of a mind under such circumstances. It is 
 my misfortune — misfortune, did I say? no! my 
 pride, my glory to have been betrothed to one 
 
250 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 whom every sentiment of honor, reason, and re- 
 ligion have taught me to reverence and esteem — 
 whose adversity endeared him doubly to me, whose 
 injuries I have felt as my own ; whose respect I 
 valued next to Heaven — whose death I mourn 
 eternally ! 
 
 Val. His death ! indeed, this is too much ! 
 
 [Appealing very much agitated. 
 
 Leon. But my story distresses you 
 
 Val. May I intreat you to proceed. 
 
 Leon. My father, I spare him ; I fly to avoid his 
 will — an odious marriage with the Count Oviedo ! 
 [Rodrigo and Vincent talk apart. 
 
 Val. Oh ! 'tis madness ! 'tis — pardon me, but 
 indeed I feel your misfortunes — I do severely feel 
 them. 
 
 Leon. You said you were in affliction ; yet I am 
 sorry if my tale should revive your griefs — but be 
 composed, you see I am comparatively calm ; the 
 thought of having escaped this, as I trust, this last 
 calamity, has given to my very grief a new character 
 — has sanctified my sorrow — has made me look 
 forward to my retreat in the Convent of La Guarda, 
 as to a temporary rest on the road to Heaven. 
 
 Val. Blessed escape ! I dare believe you will 
 reach unmolested to that happy shelter— fear nothing. 
 
 Leon. But, should farther persecution pursue 
 me, I have still one resource ; — I can take the veil. 
 
 Val.. [starts] Ah ! beware of that ! but now it 
 is time we seek some other shelter — this child must 
 soon require rest — we must cross the mountain. 
 
A MELODRAMA. 251 
 
 Vin. Now, dear brother, fear nothing, we will all 
 fight for you. 
 
 Leon. Heaven will guard your inocence ! 
 
 Rod. I believe I shall see my wife again, I 
 cannot help crying. 
 
 Val. Lean on my arm ; that All-seeing Pro- 
 vidence who watches unceasingly over the virtuous, 
 will spread his sacred iEgis round you, no danger 
 shall approach you. [Leonora takes his arm. 
 
 Rod. Now must I see after the mules. 
 
 Leon. Forgive, Alfonso, if I take the protection 
 of a stranger to aid me to preserve my life, to devote 
 it eternally to you ! [Going. 
 
 Val. To be the protector of the injured ! of 
 celestial innocence ! oh, moment that repays me for 
 a world of suffering ! 
 
 Leon. Oh, Alfonso ! were you but alive and here 
 now. 
 
 Val. Was he not the son of the noble and 
 greatly-injured lord Alvarez ? 
 
 Leon. It is true ! but spare me farther ! 
 
 Rod. Now, my dear friends, the mules are ready 
 there ; come, my brave boy. 
 
 [Taking Vincent by the hand. 
 Vin. Take courage, sister ; brother, I mean. 
 Val. The sky is clouded, but the storm will soon 
 pass. [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
252 MISS BETSY BULL : 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Forest Scene. A shattered Cottage, 
 Valenti a seated against the door — Rodrigo near 
 him, Mules, 8<;c. — a storm; the thunder is heard, 
 and the lightning succeeds. 
 
 Rod. Oh, dear me ! I cannot help crying ; to be 
 sure, if we had not missed our way, we should not 
 have been overtaken by the storm. 
 
 Val. Courage, my good Rodrigo, this will not 
 last more than two minutes ; I am so well ac- 
 quainted with the seasons, I can foretell with ease 
 fine weather or the contrary ; thank kind fate, our 
 youthful travellers are completely sheltered. 
 
 Rod. Ah ! indeed I am thankful, and sure, there 
 would not have been any harm if we had been in- 
 side also. \a loud report of pistols is heard, and 
 voices'] Oh ! lud, lud ! so we are only getting rid 
 of one thunder, to be beset with another. 
 
 Val. There may be noise without danger — all 
 Spain is in commotion. 
 
 A voice without. This way, friends, I am per- 
 suaded the villain fled into this covert. 
 
 [Vale ntt a rises hastily, and takes his pistols. 
 
 Rod. [speaking through a crevice into the cot] 
 Keep still, my dear boys, it is nothing but the mules 
 
A MLLO-DRAMA. 253 
 
 grumbling at the thunder— don't be afraid, we are 
 quite awake, and Don Wollentia has all his pistols 
 safe. 
 
 Val. Peace ! some one approaches. 
 
 Enter hastily Don Callanda, followed by 
 Servants, 8$c. 
 
 Cal. I think my fire must have reached him, and 
 certainly this must be he with his arm bound. 
 
 [Approach big Valentia. 
 
 Val. You mistake your object, Sir. 
 
 Call. But I followed some one down the moun- 
 tain into this very covert, and your being wounded, 
 and in this particular spot, seems 
 
 Val. Seems ! indeed you judge too rashly ; I 
 have been robbed, as you, perhaps, have been ; and 
 not impossible, — perhaps the very same hand may 
 have attacked both ; however that may be, I strug- 
 gled to defend myself, and thus received this 
 wound. 
 
 Rod. And that's all true, as I hope to. see my 
 wife again. 
 
 Call. Well, Sir, I beg your pardon if I have un- 
 justly accused you, but allow me to be fully con- 
 vinced, by looking into this cottage, the entrance of 
 which you appear to guard so very closely. 
 
 Val. Look there ? no, no ! my boy, perhaps, 
 sleeps — you may disturb him —if the word of a 
 gentleman is not sufficient, my arm, my honor, and 
 my life shall protect the pass ! 
 
 Call. Ah, indeed ! so much ardour, and for a 
 
254 MISS BETSY BULL I 
 
 boy ! one might think there was a lady in the case ; 
 but, however [Attempting to go. 
 
 Rod. It is, indeed, a boy, upon my honor — you 
 ought to believe two gentlemen. 
 
 Call. I will believe, only let me be assured, that 
 I may not attack any other person unjustly, I will 
 proceed very gently, I will not disturb him, 
 
 [Attempting to go in. 
 
 Val. Villain, stand off, or your life pays the 
 forfeit ■! [Valentia draws his sword. 
 
 Call. I am loth to revenge, but thus called 
 
 upon [Callanda draws. 
 
 [The door of the Cottage hastily opens; 
 Leonora jmshes between them, Vincent 
 clings to Valentia. 
 
 Ijeon. Spare our deliverer ! Save the preserver 
 
 of my brother — Callanda, it is Leonora sues to you ! 
 
 [Throwing off her hat. 
 
 Call, [the sword falls from Call and a's hand] 
 Leonora ! blessed chance ! unlooked for happiness ! 
 Mariana has informed me of all. Can you, Sir, 
 forgive ? Can I make any atonement ? 
 
 [Turning to Valentia. 
 
 Val. I gave the offensive word ; I crave your 
 pardon, I solicit your friendship. 
 
 Call. And this lost treasure restored to our 
 hopes ! [Embracing Vincent. 
 
 Vin. Yes, it is the good Valentia who has saved 
 me ! 
 
 Call. Sweet cherub ! I am overpowered with 
 gratitude to this gentleman, with surprise, with joy ! 
 
A MELODRAMA. 255 
 
 Rod. I can't help it, but I don't think I shall 
 have an eye to see with, when I get home again. 
 
 Call. Leonora, I have most agreeable news for 
 you respecting the Count. 
 
 Leon. Ah ! do not flatter me. 
 
 Call. No, not for the world ! You must pre- 
 serve your disguise a little longer — we all shall 
 very soon be in our proper places. 
 
 Rod. Ah ! dear me, I think I see my wife 
 again. 
 
 Vin. Do not cry, Roddy, you have not been so 
 long lost as I have. 
 
 Enter hastily, Sandino and others. 
 
 San. Good luck, your honor ! I have had a fine 
 gallop after you, for the old mule would not conde- 
 scend to come down the mountain. [Sandino, per- 
 ceiving Valentia is extravagantly delighted] By 
 all the fish in the salt ocean, your honor, this is the 
 very gentleman ! Od's my life, my dear boy ! 
 how d'ye do ? [Hugging him. 
 
 Val. Well met, my honest friend, well met ! 
 
 Call. Well met, indeed ! Fortune, Leonora, is 
 showering her favours round us. 
 
 San. The paper is quite safe, my master under- 
 stands it. 
 
 Val. We will talk of that hereafter, friend. 
 
 [Moving to him to be silent. 
 
 Call. I believe, Sir, I can be of great use to you 
 in many respects. 
 
 [Callanda and Valentia retire. 
 
%56 MISS BETSY BULL: 
 
 San. [approaching Leonora] Pray, Sir, can 
 you tell me who this young master is ? 
 
 Leon. Wait a little, my friend, and your master 
 will inform you. 
 
 San. Does he belong to my friend there ? 
 
 Vin. Do you mean me ? I belong to the great 
 and the good, and so do you. 
 
 [Looking up to Heaven. 
 
 Rod. Ah ! there's the mystery. 
 
 Callanda and Valentia coming forward. 
 
 Call. Friends, we must now proceed in all haste 
 — one short turn on the left of the mountain will 
 bring us direct to the well-known inn of Casteretto, 
 where our party is likely to be increased. Our 
 mules are well laden. 
 
 Rod. Oh dear ! I shall see my wife again. 
 
 Call. Valentia, you will guard Leonora, whilst 
 I command my troops here. [Moving. 
 
 San. My dear boy, I will be your mule, and now 
 you belong to me. 
 
 [Hastily taking Vincent in his arms. 
 
 Vin. Take care then. [A loud firing. 
 
 Rod. Aye, pray don't go near the Johnnies — 
 when I think of Miss Betsy Bull, I always begin to 
 quake like an aspen leaf. [Exeunt. 
 
A MELODRAMA. 2 51 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in an Inn; Count Oviedo 
 meeting Lopez. 
 
 Oviedo. Have you seen nothing of Callanda and 
 his train yet ? 
 
 Lopez. No, your honor, I dare say they have 
 been robbed, or murdered instead of us. 
 Oviedo. Good ! 
 
 Lopez. Or, perhaps, as his honor is fond of a 
 little argumentation, he stopped at the last post, to 
 give the mules a lecture. 
 
 Oviedo. I cannot imagine how we could possibly 
 miss each other. 
 
 Lopez. Nothing more easy, my lord, where 
 there are so many cross roads — you took one turn, 
 and he took another — thus it is with man, and wife, 
 if they do not go hand, in hand, why then, your 
 honor, they are sure to get wrong. 
 
 Oviedo. Apropos of that subject ; what wouldst 
 thou do, what would'st thou think, suppose thou 
 wert going to be married to-morrow, that is to say, 
 expected, invited, to be married 1 
 
 Lopez. Think, my Lord? I think — indeed if that 
 were my case, whether it is from living so long in 
 your honor's service, for they say, like master like 
 man, I think I should be inclined to look at the 
 bottom of the ocean first. 
 
 Oviedo. This is much my way of considering 
 the business. 
 
258 MISS BETSY B U I*L *. 
 
 Enter hastily Callanda. 
 
 Call. Have I at last overtaken you ? 
 
 Oviedo. Thank kind fortune you are safe I but 
 what has detained you so long ? 
 
 Call. Verily, I believe, not less than fifty mira- 
 culous adventures — but I hasten to apprise you, that 
 on entering this house I met an express from Don 
 Sebastian — the whole family will meet us very 
 speedily, they are not two miles distant. 
 
 Oviedo. Not two miles distant ! distraction ! 
 
 Call. What now ? 
 
 Oviedo. Can he have received my letter of re- 
 jection which I sent not many hours ago ? 
 
 Call. Of course, that is one reason of his tra- 
 velling so fast ; so now prepare yourself, Heaven 
 knows with what temper of mind he may meet you. 
 But possibly you regret that you wrote at all, and 
 now wish to fulfil your engagement. 
 
 Oviedo. Yes, by taking to my heels. 
 
 Call. Pray what do you suppose will be the 
 consequence of your conduct to Leonora ? 
 
 Oviedo. Death, or a fever at least. 
 
 Call. And you feel no compunction for this 
 diabolical conduct ? 
 
 Oviedo. Patience, patience ! Do I command, or 
 even solicit, the ladies to love me ? 
 
 Call. True, true — I had forgotten, it is that 
 charming person of yours — it is nature we must 
 condemn. [Looking at him from head to foot. 
 
 Oviedo. You never said any thing better in your 
 life, I certainly am not to blame. 
 
A MELO-DRAMA. 259 
 
 Call. You have no idea that the lady can pos- 
 sibly prefer any other ? 
 Oviedo. Pshaw ! you really grow quite an old woman. 
 
 Call. It may be so, and I have brought an old 
 woman's story with me, that will not a little surprise 
 you. In the first place to begin, the charming 
 Leonora has really run away 
 
 Oviedo. To meet me of course. 
 
 Call. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Oviedo. Why the man is mad ! 
 
 Call. Don Sebastian is in pursuit, despairing 
 and distracted, having as yet no tidings. 
 
 Oviedo. But hopes to find her in my arms ? 
 
 Call. Ha, ha, ha! I presume you have heard 
 of the house of Valentia ? 
 
 Oviedo. Some years ago I was very intimate 
 with the heir at law. 
 
 Call. Ha, ha, ha ! There are several families of 
 that name. 
 
 Oviedo. Will you be pleased to go on with your 
 old woman's story. 
 
 Call. Certainly, certainly ! Well, Leonora, in 
 her flight to the Convent of La Guarda, where she 
 intended to take the veil, to escape everlastingly a 
 marriage with the Count Oviedo, accidentally met 
 with this same Valentia ; [Oviedo shrugs up his 
 shoulders in unbelief] he has twice rescued her 
 from the hovering banditti at the risk of his life. 
 
 Oviedo. Poor fellow ! I ought to thank him. 
 
 Call. And more than that, he has discovered, 
 has saved her only brother, the long-lost hope of a 
 glorious line of ancestors ! 
 s 2 
 
260 MISS BETSY BULL! 
 
 Oviedo. Ha, ha, ha ! pray go on. 
 
 Call. You may very well imagine, that the 
 amiable Leonora has, in consequence, become very 
 much interested in the person to whom she and her 
 family are so much obliged. 
 
 Oviedo. Gratitude, of course, for so many benefits. 
 
 Call. Added to this she returns to her father, 
 bringing her brother in her hand, to solicit a recom- 
 pense for the brave Valentia — the reward she intends 
 him is her own incomparable self. 
 
 Oviedo. Excellent ! excellent ! Egad you shall 
 write a second Don Quixote : pray go on. 
 
 Call. This young man, on returning from his 
 native country was shipwrecked ; he has also brought 
 tidings of the family of the lord Alvarez. You 
 may perhaps recollect, that Leonora was once be- 
 trothed to the son of the exiled lord, but as it has 
 been presumed that he never will return to Spain — 
 
 Oviedo. As he died last year ; young Valentia 
 appears very opportunely to take the field, and de 
 camp with the lady ; why you have the merit of 
 winding up a novel, without fatiguing one with 
 half a dozen volumes. 
 
 Call. There still remains for one of the heroes 
 of the romance another adventure — what do you say, 
 then, to a rencontre with Don Sebastian, as he has 
 received your letter, informing him that you decline 
 fulfilling your engagement with his daughter ? 
 
 Oviedo. I shall certainly return immediately, 
 there is no occasion for me to proceed any farther. 
 
 [Going. 
 
 Call. Ha, ha, ha ! what without the lady ? — 
 
 \a noise without] — Sure Don Sebastian is even now 
 
A MELODRAMA. 26 1 
 
 arriving — [more noise] — what a confusion ! it almost 
 makes me tremble. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 [Exit hastily Count O vie do one way, Don 
 Callanda another. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Apartment at the Inn — 
 Donna Sebastian and Mariana meeting. 
 
 Donna Seb. Dear Mariana, I still tremble for the 
 event — I begin to shudder at the very danger of the 
 Count's situation, for after all, it is to him that we 
 are the most obliged. 
 
 Mar. Yes, but the reason and eloquence of 
 Callanda must prevail, besides, if they do draw 
 swords on each other, we must step in between. 
 
 Donna Seb. Dear Leonora ! had you trusted in 
 Providence, flight, it is evident, had been quite un- 
 necessary. 
 
 Mar. Believe me, it is all for the best, and a 
 correction Don Sebastian most required ; and now 
 that we are assured from Callanda that she is safe. 
 
 [Noise without. 
 
 Donna Seb. I hear Don Sebastian in a great 
 rage. Heaven preserve my child ! 
 
 Enter Don Sebastian, Servant following. 
 
 Don Seb. Where is the villain ? where is the 
 Count Oviedo? 
 
 Servant. He is this moment setting off, Sir. 
 
 Don Seb. Stop him, stop him, instantly, or your 
 life pays the forfeit — deprived of both my children 
 
262 
 
 MISS BETSY BULL'. 
 
 — insulted and betrayed — I will tear him to atoms ! 
 Villain ! villain ! where is the Count Oviedo ? 
 
 [Stamping with rage. 
 
 Enter hastily Count Oviedo, C ah atsi> a following. 
 
 Oviedo. [as he enters] Who calls the Count 
 Oviedo ? 
 
 Don Seb. Draw, and give me the satisfaction of 
 a gentleman ! 
 
 Call. Hear me one moment, I entreat you, Se- 
 bastian, as a man of honor I beseech you hear me. 
 
 Don Seb. Quickly explain, what is it you would 
 say ? My rage knows no bounds ! 
 
 Call. This gentleman feels the most sincere con- 
 trition, he is ready to fulfil his engagement, and to 
 beg your pardon ; he was not himself when he wrote 
 that letter. Spare his life I beseech you ! 
 
 [Don Sebastian draws. 
 Don Seb. I receive no apology, I parley not 
 with him who insults me : draw, Sir ! 
 
 Call. Make a public example of him, only 
 spare his life. 
 
 Don Seb. Draw, villain ! Villain ! do you hear 
 that word ? 
 
 Oviedo. Ha, villain ! it is enough ! have at you, 
 then ! [ They both draw. 
 
 [Callanda ?noves to one side of the Stage. 
 Enter running the young Vincent elegantly 
 dressed, he throws himself on his knees before 
 Sebastian ; Valentia follows in disguise 
 — the sword falls from the hand of Sebas- 
 tian — Donna Sebastian faints, and 
 Mariana supports her. 
 
A MEIO-DRAMA. 263 
 
 Vin. Papa, papa ! let this be a day of peace ! 
 
 I have at last found my dear papa ! [Clasping him. 
 
 Don Seb. Oh ! unlooked-for joy ! Do I dream ? 
 
 A day of peace indeed! It is my long-lost boy, it is 
 
 my Vincent ! 
 
 Vin. Mama, mama ! look up, my dear, dear 
 mama ! 
 
 Donna Seb. [recovering] It is, indeed, my Vin- 
 cent ! my long lost child, my Vincent ! 
 
 [Embracing him. 
 Vin. It was that good gentleman, papa, [point- 
 ing to Valentia] who saved me from the gypsies, 
 and they have almost killed him. 
 
 Don Seb. Oh ! generous stranger ! I want words 
 
 now to express all I feel, but 
 
 Donna Seb. Words are vain ; when, where, how 
 was it ? what can we do to acknowledge ? 
 
 Ovieclo. [apart] I suppose I may now very 
 quietly put up this little instrument. 
 
 [Putting up his sword. 
 Val. To be accessary to so much happiness, is 
 more a cause of rejoicing to myself than can be 
 supposed. 
 
 Donna Seb. Tell us, Callanda, all the story. 
 Call. This generous stranger, having been ship- 
 wrecked, was travelling towards his native place, 
 was attacked by some of the gypsey tribe, and 
 pursuing them into their deep retreats, he found 
 him there, and rescued him at the peril of his 
 life. 
 
 Donna Seb. Oh, Leonora ! were you but here at 
 this moment. 
 
264 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 Don Seb. Am I, indeed, restored to one child, 
 only to mourn the loss of another ? 
 
 Call. To this same generous stranger, you are 
 still more indebted, your daughter was on the point 
 of taking refuge in a convent; on her way thither, 
 she was preserved from many dangers by this pro- 
 tecting hand — she waits your forgiveness. 
 
 Donna and Don Seb. How shall we ever suf- 
 ficiently reward you ? 
 • Call. Let Leonora name his reward. 
 
 [Exit Call and a. 
 
 Vol. Generous friends, my reward is your hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Re-enter Callanda, leading in Leonora elegantly 
 attired. 
 
 Leon. My father, have I your forgiveness 1 my 
 
 mother, pardon ■ 
 
 [Embracing Donna Sebastian. 
 Don. Seb. My injured child, forgive your father! 
 [Embracing Leonora. 
 Mar. Oh ! the wonder, I expected the wonder. 
 [Mariana embraces Leonora. 
 Val. Oh day that pays me for a world of suf- 
 fering ! [Callanda and the Count converse. 
 Don Sebas. Noble stranger ! let me know your 
 story, and if there be anything within the power of 
 my fortune, that I promise ! 
 
 Val. Alas ! I fear to ask too much. 
 Don Seb. Impossible ! 
 
A MELODRAMA. 265 
 
 Val. But I am paid a thousand, and a thousand 
 times ! fortune has frowned, 'tis true 
 
 Donna Seb. But if it is not painful to relate — 
 
 Don Seb. Let us hear to whom we are so much 
 obliged. 
 
 Val. Courage, my heart*! indeed, my friends, 
 my case is one of every day. My father, suffice to 
 say, was once the favourite of the state, and he had 
 merit strong enough to raise him enemies in place ; 
 in times like these, his wisdom and his worth might 
 have availed his country much, but domineering 
 faction, as you know, had seized the helm, and 
 party rage confounding all the plans of better 
 policy, weak heads, with strong armed hands, per- 
 verting solid judgment's just decrees, he fell, that 
 might have freed his country from the dominion of 
 usurping foes, and he was banished, innocent of 
 all offence — his undeserved misfortunes, proved 
 my bane — I hence was banished from the very 
 presence of her to whom I was betrothed ; [Do?i 
 Sebastian walks about in an agitated manner] and 
 in the impulse of despair, I bound myself to 
 harshest slavery and toil, hoping, perhaps, the 
 body's sufferings, might blunt the keener tortures of 
 the mind ! 
 
 [Mariana draws chairs, Leonora sits. 
 
 Oviedo. [to Callandra] The supplement, 
 eh? 
 
 Val. Fallacious hope ! tho' my commander 
 proved like the power with which he buffeted, a 
 power that never yielded to distress, tho' storms 
 beset us and war our course impeded, I only dreamt 
 
26*6 MISS BETSY bull: 
 
 of broken promises and faith betrayed ! they called 
 me valiant, for foremost still I pressed, wounds 
 dealing, death hailing, death thirsting after ! yet 
 largely as he dealt his shafts around, still, still my 
 course was spared ; oh ! wherefore, Heaven, I often 
 would inquire — but I trespass on your patience. 
 
 Donna Seb. Proceed, I intreat you, Sir. 
 
 Veil. We crossed the wide Atlantic — I escaped 
 the fever in yon Western isles, which crops so many 
 of our country's pride ; and in returning to my native 
 land, when all around me perished in the storm that 
 wrecked our vessel, 'twas strange, I thought, that I 
 was still preserved ! was it to save your house, 
 Sebastian ? was it that that Supreme, that All-direct- 
 ing power had predetermined my revenge, and you 
 the chastisement of mercy ? He has, indeed, re- 
 venged ! he has rewarded, the injured Alfonso 
 Roderigo Valentia di Guadarama, lord of Alvarez ! 
 [Valentia throws off his disguise, and appears 
 splendidly drest] Leonora, I can die content. 
 
 [Leonora faints, Mariana supports her. 
 
 Don Seb. Oh, hide me ! spare me ! 
 
 Donna Seb. Alfonso ! dear Alfonso ! Is it to 
 the injured Alfonso, that I am indebted for the pre- 
 servation of both my children ? 
 
 [Leonora recovering. 
 
 Vin. Yes, indeed, and indeed, mama ! 
 
 Don Seb. Can you forgive the man who yet has 
 never kneeled to any one on earth ? [kneeling] In- 
 jured Alfonso, can you forgive me ? 
 
 Alfonso Val. Rise, rise my lord, the past is now 
 forgotten. 
 
A MELODRAMA. 267 
 
 Leon. Oh ! my father, what a day is this ! 
 [Don Sebastian joins the hands of Alfonso 
 and Leonora. 
 
 Call. How do you like the old woman's story ? 
 [to Oviedo] you see, you are of mighty import- 
 ance to the piece. 
 
 Oviedo. Who is that pretty girl, who talks so 
 gravely to my late intended ? 
 
 Call. You are in love with her, I presume ? 
 
 Oviedo. Rather she with me, by her side glances. 
 
 Call. What not yet corrected ? ha, ha, ha ! that 
 lady and I are to be married to-morrow, and so now 
 you may go back as you came, solus. 
 
 Oviedo. Ho, ho ! is it so, Mr. Benedict ? well, 
 good bye to you, then ; good bye, dear ladies. 
 
 Oviedo sings. 
 
 Oh ! when one love doth run away, 
 
 Doth run away, d^ye see, 
 There is another, there is another, 
 
 Another will have me ! 
 
 I lost my heart with Miss Betsy Bull, 
 
 And fifteen stone weighed she, 
 And yet, all solid as she was, 
 
 She ran away from me ! 
 
 I lost my heart, with a French ma'm'selle, 
 
 And four foot two was she ; 
 I lost my heart, with a Spanish girl, 
 
 But it came back to me ! 
 
268 MISS BETSY BULL. 
 
 Oh ! who would be the fool to grieve 
 
 For only one, d'ye see, 
 When there's a dozen poor damsels sighing, 
 Weeping, wailing, sighing, 
 
 Dying, dying all for me ! 
 
 [The Curtain falls, as Count Oviedo is going 
 out. 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 
 
 W ITH all due deference to that most sapient, 
 and, certainly, most useful class of the literary 
 world, the critics, the writers of reviews, &c, I have 
 to observe, that, perhaps, there are few authors or 
 artists, who on coolly considering any work they may 
 have finished, cannot perceive its defects, equally 
 with those whose occupation is criticism. Grant, 
 indeed, that the genius of the artist is one thing, 
 and the judgment of the critic another; yet no- 
 thing in this world is so easy, as to descry existing 
 defect ; it is true, too, that the will to perform is 
 having only half the power to execute, and that in 
 possessing the skill to take away a bad agent, we 
 often want address to supply a better. Again, as 
 every good action is susceptible of vicious inter- 
 pretation, inspected through the microscopes of 
 " envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness," 
 so will there be parts in the most brilliant works 
 susceptible of the shafts of misrepresentation, ridi- 
 cule, and condemnation : — 
 
 The sun has specks, which every fool may see, 
 Yet, in these seeking, he will dazzled be. 
 
270 CONCLUDING REMARKS. 
 
 Sometimes a poor author flatters himself that the 
 errors which he himself perceives, may escape the 
 notice of others ; this is, of all hopes, the most 
 vain ; he feels he is not expected to lay before the 
 public an account of his own discrepancies ; never- 
 theless he may be assured, that there is no chance 
 of escape for him, but in the very nothingness of 
 his performance — he has entered a field where there 
 is no respect of persons, no extra complaisance to- 
 wards the lady-candidates. For myself, screened 
 in the panoply of my own conscious insignificance, 
 I presume on escaping all fearful condemnation ; 
 unless, indeed, there should happen to be an un- 
 heard-of barren season in the land of letters, then, 
 perhaps, for mere idle pastime, and in something 
 like vexation of spirit that nothing better has 
 blossomed on the bourn, they will run over the 
 pages, and say of 
 
 KEEP YOUR TEMPER! 
 
 " The author of this Comedy, I suppose we must 
 call it, has, at least, been very happy in the choice 
 of a title to her work, and we hope she will keep 
 her temper, whilst we condescend to make a few 
 remarks on her Play, the end of which has cer- 
 tainly no correspondence with the beginning ; we 
 are led from the first scene to presume a conse- 
 quence from the sanguine expectations of a young, 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 271 
 
 ardent, and impassioned mind, entering with avidity 
 the great world, of which it had formed to itself 
 ideas, perhaps, of the most extravagant kind : but 
 of the expected moral, of the disappointments we 
 had looked for, of the accomplishment of an 
 anxious father's predictions, we find nothing ; it is 
 true that these predictions flow rather from the 
 consciousness of guilt in the bosom of the parent, 
 from the dread, that usually attends evil deeds, of 
 their punishment, than from a just apprehension of 
 the dangers of the gay world — we suspect she 
 sat down with the idea of manufacturing some- 
 thing of this sort, but getting entangled on 
 the outset, not knowing how to proceed in, much 
 less finish, the projected course, she has turned 
 into another road, and brought us by a cross- 
 path into a common-place sort of love story. 
 There is also an under-plot, which seems a little 
 irrelevant to the first design, though it certainly 
 winds in, and connects tolerably with the second ; 
 Sir John Aubrette undertakes to correct the failings 
 of his wife, by preserving his patience, his temper 
 unchanged, his perseverance unrelaxing ; he cer- 
 tainly would convince us, that by constantly op 
 posing capricious folly with reason, and good 
 humour, we may in the end correct it ; yet finally 
 it is not so much all this which effectually produces 
 the desired change, as the supposed self-destruction 
 of young Gilbert — we felt ourselves rather alarmed 
 at the liberal use our author makes of pistols, they 
 
272 CONCLUDING REMARKS. 
 
 are lying about, tumbling down, and cracking off 
 at every corner ; it gave us some regret, too, to find 
 the Bow Street officers called in amongst a party of 
 happy young lovers, but she, no doubt, thinks pre- 
 vention better than cure, and to guard a lady from 
 being run away with, a more consistent measure 
 than sending an armed force after the party, when, 
 perhaps, eighty miles on the road to Gretna ; and 
 as after all these official gentlemen did not appear, 
 being in previous requisition, we suppose we must 
 not say any more on that subject — the servants are 
 a very busy set of people, who pretend to have a 
 great deal to do, whilst in reality they do nothing ; 
 this we will admit frequently occurs in great houses 
 — two of them, we presume, are near relations, they 
 appear to have precisely the same sort of tastes and 
 habits, particularly that of making long speeches, 
 nobody being present to hear them. 
 
 But let us proceed to the most remarkable part of 
 this publication, the Introductory Discourse ; the 
 dead man's commendation of this comedy ; surely 
 this part of the story supersedes anything, and 
 everything that ever came from the living ; we do 
 not pretend to say that such a letter never was re- 
 ceived, but at the best, we can only call it an error 
 of judgment ; we are, however, completely shut out 
 from all inquiry into the truth in this case, and 
 certainly the author would have been equally safe 
 with us, had the name of this complimentary 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 2?3 
 
 manager been given, so indisputable it is, that the 
 grave is silent, that no reference can be taken in 
 such a court, no cheat of this kind discovered, 
 which, after all, is, as we have already said, a mere 
 matter of opinion; the concluding part of the 
 eulogium, no doubt the very best, is suppressed ; 
 this may be called a little affectation of modesty — 
 we might as well have had the whole story, for 
 availing ourselves of her own very a-propos simile, 
 how should quacks sell their medicines, unless they 
 can give us certain proofs that Mrs. Brown, Mrs. 
 Black, &c, have swallowed their pills — we have 
 not time to waste in continuing to point out a 
 hundred other faults which we perceive ; we will, 
 therefore, take our leave of this article, by candidly 
 saying that we do not think the reading of it will 
 poison any body's mind, and if it is trash, it is not 
 spun out into four long volumes ; finally, whatever 
 we chuse to say, the author seems determined to 
 respect herself and her work, possibly on account 
 of some motives which have led her to appear 
 before the public, and with which she may think 
 we have as little to do as she with the Reform 
 Bill. 
 
 One word more ; it is not by turning my own 
 censurer that I politically presume to evade other 
 critique ; no ! but severity itself must acknowledge, 
 that to perceive one's defects, to be sensible of one's 
 errors, to confess one's failings, are proofs of being 
 
274 CONCLUDING REMARKS. 
 
 not altogether incorrigible ; it is giving a hope of 
 being more successful in future ; verily, it is the 
 first step on the high road to improvement ! 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FATE OF IVAN. 
 
 The writer of an historical play, tho' he has his 
 subject prepared for him, experiences, perhaps, 
 more difficulty to perfect his work, than one who 
 pourtrays from his imagination solely ; or than one 
 who draws from some ready-made romance. If he 
 attach himself to the truth, in which the virtue of 
 the historic page consists, he almost necessarily 
 deviates from the rules prescribed to dramatic 
 writers, and, consequently, may become defective in 
 stage effect, in interest, and in execution. If, on 
 the contrary, he here give the reins to his fancy, 
 he may be stigmatized for his disregard of plain 
 facts, and contempt of the supreme certainty of 
 past positive existence. For my own part, I have 
 adhered very closely to the plain matter of fact 
 throughout ; probably, because I found it most con- 
 venient — in one or two unimportant circumstances, 
 I have deviated — as, for instance, I have sent Baron 
 Korf to the fortress of Schusselberg with Prince 
 Ivan, and thought I might allow him to die there, 
 
CONCLUDING REMARKS. 275 
 
 for most authors say, it is very uncertain what did 
 become of him ; but from his very great age, it 
 may be inferred that he did not long survive the 
 revolution — with regard to the ignorance of Princess 
 DashkofF respecting Catharine's amours, it is well 
 known that the Empress long succeeded in de- 
 ceiving her nearest friends on these subjects, and 
 that the Princess DashkofF, tho' the principal actress 
 in the revolution, tho 5 , in every other respect, the 
 confidante of Catharine, had not for a length of 
 time any suspicion of the private intrigues of the 
 court. The visit of the Czar to Prince Ivan, is 
 treated almost verbatim, and the councils were 
 called at Peterhoff in train as narrated. 
 
 The personages of the drama are more in number 
 than necessary to the piece, as, however, those I 
 have introduced were actual performers in the plots 
 of the day, I was unwilling to deny them a place 
 in the present representation. 
 
276 CONCLUDING It EM AUKS. 
 
 MISS BETSY BULL; or, THE JOHNNIES 
 IN SPAIN. 
 
 This little piece may, perhaps, be remarked for 
 the very great rapidity of the incident, which does 
 not allow the interest to pause for a moment. The 
 third scene of the first act may be considered tame, 
 but with spirited acting might not be tedious. The 
 introduction of the gypsies accords well with the 
 localities of Spain, that country being overrun with 
 those wandering tribes. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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