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ACT V

SCENE I. – An apartment at sir Willoughby Worret’s. Enter sir Willoughby and lady Worret

Sir W. Lady Worret! lady Worret! I will have a reform. I am at last resolved to be master of my own house, and so let us come to a right understanding, and I dare say we shall be the better friends for it in future.

Lady W. You shall see, sir Willoughby, that I can change as suddenly as yourself. Though you have seen my delicate system deranged on slight occasions, you will find that in essential ones I have still spirit for resentment.

Sir W. I’ll have my house in future conducted as a gentleman’s should be, and I will no longer suffer my wife to make herself the object of ridicule to all her servants. So I’ll give up the folly of wishing to be thought a tender husband, for the real honour of being found a respectable one. I’ll make a glorious bonfire of all your musty collection of family receipt-books! and when I deliver up your keys to an honest housekeeper, I’ll keep one back of a snug apartment in which to deposit a rebellious wife.

Lady W. That will be indeed the way to make yourself respectable. I have found means to manage you for some years, and it will be my own fault if I don’t do so still.

Sir W. Surely I dream! what? have you managed me? Hey? Zounds! I never suspected that. Has sir Willoughby Worret been lead in leading-strings all this time? Death and forty devils, madam, have you presumed to manage me?

Lady W. Yes, sir; but you had better be silent on the subject, unless you mean to expose yourself to your daughter and all the world.

Sir W. Ay, Madam, with all my heart; my daughter and all the world shall know it.

Enter Helen

Helen. Here’s a pretty piece of work! – what’s the matter now, I wonder?

Lady W. How dare you overhear our domestic dissentions. What business have you to know we were quarrelling, madam?

Helen. Lord love you! if I had heard it, I should not have listened, for its nothing new, you know, when you’re alone; though you both look so loving in public.

Sir W. That’s true – that is lamentably true – but all the world shall know it – I’ll proclaim it; I’ll print it – I’ll advertise it! – She has usurped my rights and my power; and her fate, as every usurper’s should be, shall be public downfall and disgrace.

Helen. What, papa! and won’t you let mamma-in-law rule the roast any longer?

Sir W. No, – I am resolved from this moment no longer to give way to her absurd whims and wishes.

Helen. You are!

Sir W. Absolutely and immovably.

Helen. And you will venture to contradict her?

Sir W. On every occasion – right or wrong.

Helen. That’s right – Pray, madam, don’t you wish me to marry lord Austencourt?

Lady W. You know my will on that head, Miss Helen!

Helen. Then, papa, of course you wish me to marry Charles Austencourt.

Sir W. What! no such thing – no such thing – what! marry a beggar?

Helen. But you won’t let mamma rule the roast, will you, sir?

Sir W. ’Tis a great match! I believe in that one point we shall still agree —

Lady W. You may spare your persuasions, Madam, and leave the room.

Sir W. What – my daughter leave the room? Stay here, Helen.

Helen. To be sure I shall – I came on purpose to tell you the news! oh, tis a pretty piece of work!

Sir W. What does the girl mean?

Helen. Why, I mean that in order to ruin a poor innocent girl, in our neighbourhood, this amiable lord has prevailed on her to consent to a private marriage – and it now comes out that it was all a mock marriage, performed by a sham priest, and a false license!

Lady W. I don’t believe one word of it.

Sir W. But I do – and shall inquire into it immediately.

Lady W. Such a match for your daughter is not to be relinquished on slight grounds; and though his lordship should have been guilty of some indiscretion, it will not alter my resolution respecting his union with Helen.

Sir W. No – but it will mine – and to prove to you, madam, that however you may rule your household, you shall no longer rule me– if the story has any foundation – I say – she shall not marry lord Austencourt.

Lady W. Shall not?

Sir W. No, Madam, shall not – and so ends your management, and thus begins my career of new-born authority. I’m out of leading-strings now, and madam, I’ll manage you, damn me if – I – do – not! [Exit sir Willoughby.

Helen. (to Lady W) You hear papa’s will on that head, ma’am.

Lady W. I hear nothing! – I see nothing! – I shall go mad with vexation and disappointment, and if I do not break his resolution, I am determined to break his heart; and my own heart, and your heart, and the hearts of all the rest of the family. [Exit.

Helen. There she goes, with a laudable matrimonial resolution. Heigho! with such an example before my eyes, I believe I shall never have resolution to die an old maid. Oh, Charles, Charles – why did you take me at my word! – Bless me! sure I saw him then – ’tis he indeed! So, my gentleman, are you there? I’ll just retire and watch his motions a little (retires.)

Enter Charles Austencourt, cautiously

Charles. What a pretty state am I reduced to? though I am resolved to speak with this ungrateful girl but once more before I leave her for ever; here am I, skulking under the enemy’s batteries as though I was afraid of an encounter! – Yes, I’ll see her, upbraid her, and then leave her for ever! heigho! she’s a false, deceitful – dear, bewitching girl, and – however, I am resolved that nothing on earth – not even her tears, shall now induce me to forgive her. (Tiffany crosses the stage.)

Charles. Ha! – harkye, young woman! pray are the family at home?

Tiffany. My lady is at home, sir – would you please to see her?

Charles. Your lady – do you mean your young lady?

Tiffany. No, sir, I mean my lady.

Charles. What, your old lady? – No – I don’t wish to see her. Are all the rest of the family from home —

Tiffany. No, sir – sir Willoughby is within – I’ll tell him you are here. (going.)

Charles. By no means – stay – stay! what then, they are all at home except Miss Helen.

Tiffany. She’s at home too, sir – but I suppose she don’t wish to see you.

Charles. You suppose!

Tiffany. I’m sure she’s been in a monstrous ill-humour ever since you came back, sir.

Charles. The devil she has! – and pray now are you of opinion that my return is the cause of her ill-humour?

Tiffany. Lord, sir – what interest have I in knowing such things? —

Charles. Interest! – oh, ho! the old story! why harkye, my dear – your mistress has a lord for her lover, so I suppose he has secured a warmer interest than I can afford to purchase – however, I know the custom, and thus I comply with it, in hopes you will tell me whether you really think my return has caused your young mistress’ ill-humour – (gives money).

Tiffany. A guinea! well! I declare! why really, sir – when I say Miss Helen has been out of humour on your account, I don’t mean to say it is on account of your return, but on account of your going away again —

Charles. No! my dear Tiffany!

Tiffany. And I am sure I don’t wonder at her being cross about it, for if I was my mistress I never would listen with patience (any more than she does) to such a disagreeable creature as my lord, while such a generous nice gentleman as you was ready to make love to me.

Charles. You couldn’t?

Tiffany. No, sir – and I’m sure she’s quite altered and melancholy gone since you quarrelled with her, and she vows now more than ever that she never will consent to marry my lord, or any body but you – (Helen comes forward gently.)

Charles. My dear Tiffany! – let me catch the sounds from your rosy lips. (Kisses her) —

Helen. (separating them) Bless me! I am afraid I interrupt business here!

Charles. I – I – I – Upon my soul, Madam – what you saw was —

Tiffany. Ye – ye – yes – upon my word, ma’am – what you saw was —

Helen. What I saw was very clear indeed! —

Charles. Hear me but explain – you do not understand. —

Helen. I rather think I do understand.

Tiffany. Indeed, Ma’am, Mr. Charles was only whispering something I was to tell you —

Helen. And pray, ma’am, do you suffer gentlemen in general to whisper in that fashion? – what do you stand stammering and blushing there for? – why don’t you go?

Tiffany. Yes, ma’am, – but I assure you —

Helen. What! you stay to be whispered to again, I suppose. [Exit Tiffany.

Charles. Let me explain this, – oh, Helen – can you be surprised?

Helen. No, sir, I can’t be surprised at any thing after what I have just witnessed —

Charles. On my soul, it was excess of joy at hearing you still lov’d me, that led me into this confounded scrape.

Helen. Sir, you should not believe it – I don’t love you. I wont love you, – and after what I have just seen, you can’t expect I should love you —

Charles. Helen! Helen! you make no allowance for the fears of a man who loves you to distraction. I have borne a great deal, and can bear but very little more —

Helen. Poor man! you’re sadly loaded with grievances, to be sure; and by and by, I suppose, like a horse or a mule, or some such stubborn animal, having more than you can bear, you’ll kick a little, and plunge a little, and then down on your knees again!

Charles. I gloried even in that humble posture, while you taught me to believe you loved me.

Helen. ’Tis true, my heart was once your own, but I never can, nor ought to forgive you – for thinking me capable of being unfaithful to you.

Charles. Dearest dear Helen! and has your anger then no other cause? surely you could not blame a resentment which was the offspring of my fond affection?

Helen. No! to be sure I couldn’t, who could! – but what should I not have to dread from the violence of your temper, if I consented – to run away with you?

Charles. Run away with me! – no! – zounds I’ve a chaise in waiting —

Helen. Have you? – then pray let it wait, – no! no! Charles – though I haven’t scrupled to own an affection for you, I have too much respect for the world’s opinion, – let us wait with patience, – time may rectify that impetuosity of character, which is now, I own, my dread; think of it, Charles, and beware; for affection is a frail flower, reared by the hand of gentleness, and perishes as surely by the shocks of violence as by the more gradual poison of neglect.

Charles. Dearest Helen! I will cherish it in my heart – ’tis a rough soil I own, but ’tis a warm one; and when the hand of delicacy shall have cultivated this flower that is rooted there, the blossom shall be everlasting love!

Helen. Ah you men! – you men! but – I think I may be induced to try you. – Meantime, accept my hand, dear Charles, as a pledge of my heart, and as the assurance that it shall one day be your own indeed (he kisses her hand.) There you needn’t eat it – there! – now make your escape, and farewell till we meet again. – (They are going out severally)

Enter sir Rowland and sir Willoughby, at opposite sides

Charles. Zounds! my father!

Helen. Gad-a-mercy! my papa!

Sir R. So, sir! you are here again I find!

Sir W. So! so! Madam! together again, hey? sir Rowland, your servant.

Sir R. I need not tell you, sir Willoughby, that this undutiful boy’s conduct does not meet with my sanction.

Char. No! sir Willoughby – I am sorry to say my conduct seldom meets with my father’s sanction.

Sir W. Why look ye, sir Rowland, there are certain things that we do like, and certain things that we do not like – now sir, to cut the matter short, I do like my daughter to marry, but I do not like either your son or your nephew for her husband.

Sir R. This is a very sudden change, sir Willoughby —

Sir W. Yes, sir Rowland, I have made two or three sudden changes to day! – I’ve changed my resolution – I feel changed myself – for I’ve changed characters with my wife, and with your leave I mean to change my son-in-law.

Sir R. Of course, sir, you will give me a proper explanation of the last of these changes.

Sir W. Sir, if you’ll meet me presently at your attorney’s, the thing will explain itself: this way, young lady if you please – Charles, I believe you are a devilish honest fellow, and I want an honest fellow for a son-in-law – but I think it is rather too much to give twelve thousand a year for him – this way Miss Helen. [Exit sir Willoughby and Helen.

Sir R. This sudden resolution of sir Willoughby will still more exasperate him – I must seek him instantly, for the crisis of my fate is at hand; my own heart is witness against me – Heaven is my judge, and I have deserved my punishment! [Exit sir R.

Char. So! I’m much mistaken, or there’ll be a glorious bustle presently at the old lawyer’s – He has sent to beg I’ll attend, and as my heart is a little at rest in this quarter, I’ll e’en see what’s going forward in that– whether his intention be to expose or to abet a villain, still I’ll be one amongst them; for while I have a heart to feel and a hand to act, I can never be an idle spectator when insulted virtue raises her supplicating voice on one side, and persecution dares to lift his unblushing head on the other. [Exit.

SCENE II. – O’Dedimus’s Office

Enter O’Dedimus and Ponder

O’Ded. You’ve done the business, you say!

Pon. Ay, and the parties will all be here presently.

O’Ded. That’s it! you’re sure you haven’t blabbed now?

Pon. Blabbed! ha, ha, ha! what do you take me for?

O’Ded. What do I take you for, Mr. Brass? Why I take you for one that will never be choked by politeness.

Pon. Why, Lord, sir, what could a lawyer do without impudence? for though they say “honesty’s the best policy” a lawyer generally finds his purpose better answered by a Policy of Assurance.

O’Ded. But hark! somebody’s coming already, step where I told you, and make haste.

Pon. On this occasion I lay by the lawyer and take up the Christian. Benevolence runs fast – but law is lazy and moves slowly. [Exit.

Enter Falkner as Abel Grouse

Abel Grouse. I have obeyed your summons. What have you to say in palliation of the injury you have done me?

O’Ded. Faith and I shall say a small matter about it. What I have done I have performed, and what I have performed I shall justify.

Ab. Gr. Indeed! Can you justify fraud and villany? To business, sir; wherefore am I summoned here?

O’Ded. That’s it! Upon my conscience I’m too modest to tell you.

Ab. Gr. Nature and education have made you modest: you were born an Irishman and bred in attorney —

O’Ded. And take my word for it, when Nature forms an Irishman, if she makes some little blunder in the contrivance of his head, it is because she bestows so much pains on the construction of his heart.

Ab. Gr. That may be partially true; but to hear you profess sentiments of feeling and justice reminds me of our advertising money-lenders who, while they practise usury and extortion on the world, assure them that “the strictest honor and liberality may be relied on;” and now, sir once more, your business with me.

O’Ded. Sure, sir, I sent for you to ask one small bit of a favour.

Ab. Gr. From me!

O’Ded. Ay, from you; and the favour is, that before you honor me with the appellation of scoundrel, villain, pettyfogger, and some other such little genteel epithets, you will be pleased to examine my title to such distinctions.

Ab. Gr. From you, however, I have no hopes. You have denied your presence at the infamous and sacrilegious mockery of my daughter’s marriage.

O’Ded. That’s a mistake, sir; I never did deny it.

Ab. Gr. Ha! you acknowledge it then!

O’Ded. That’s another mistake, sir; for I never did acknowledge it.

Ab. Gr. Fortunately my hopes rest on a surer basis than your honesty. Circumstances have placed in one of my hands the scales of Justice, and the other her sword for punishment.

O’Ded. Faith, sir, though you may be a fit representative of the old blind gentlewoman called Justice, she showed little discernment when she pitched upon you, and overlooked Mr. Cornelius O’Dedimus, attorney at law. And now, sir, be pleased to step into that room, and wait a moment, while I transact a little business with one who is coming yonder.

Ab. Gr. I came hither to obey you; for I have some suspicion of your intentions; and let us hope that one virtuous action, if you have courage to perform it, will serve as a sponge to all the roguery you have committed, either as an attorney or as a man. [Exit to an inner room.

O’Ded. That blunt little fellow has got a sharp tongue in his head. He’s an odd compound, just like a great big roasted potato, all crusty and crabbed without, but mealy and soft-hearted within. He takes me to be half a rogue and all the rest of me a scoundrel – Och, by St. Patrick! I’ll bother his brains presently.

Enter sir Rowland, lord Austencourt, and Charles

Lord A. Further discussion, sir, is useless. If I am to be disappointed in this marriage, a still more strict attention to my own affairs is necessary.

Sir R. I appeal fearlessly to this man, who has betrayed me, whether your interest was not my sole motive in the appropriation of your property.

Lord A. That assertion, sir, I was prepared to hear, but will not listen to.

Sir R. Beware, lord Austencourt, beware how you proceed!

Lord A. Do you again threaten me? (to O’Dedimus) are my orders obeyed? is every thing in readiness?

O’Ded. The officers are in waiting!

Charles. Hold, monster! Proceed at your peril. To me you shall answer this atrocious conduct.

Lord A. To you!

Charles. Ay, sir, to me, if you have the courage of a man.

Lord A. I will no longer support these insults. Call in the officers.

Enter sir Willoughby, lady Worret, and Helen

Sir W. Hey! zounds! did you take me and my lady Worret for sheriff’s officers, my lord?

Lord A. I have one condition to propose – if that lady accepts my hand, I consent to stop the proceedings. That alone can alter my purpose.

Charles. Inhuman torturer!

Helen. Were my heart as free as air I never would consent to a union with such a monster!

Sir W. And if you would, curse me if I would – nor my lady Worret either.

Sir R. Let him fulful his purpose if he dare! I now see the black corruptness of his heart; and though my life were at stake I would pay the forfeit, rather than immolate innocence in the arms of such depravity.

Lord A. Call in the officers, I say!

O’Ded. (without moving.) I shall do that thing.

Lord A. ’Tis justice I demand! Justice and Revenge alike direct me, and their united voice shall be obeyed.

Falkner. (enters suddenly.) They shall! behold me here, thou miscreant, to urge it! justice and revenge you call for, and they shall both fall heavily upon you.

Sir. R. Falkner!

O’Ded. What! Abel Grouse, Mr. Falkner! here’s a transmogrification for you!

Sir R. How! Falkner and the unknown cottager the same person!

Falk. Ay, sir; the man who cautioned you today in vain; who warned you of the precipice beneath your feet, and was unheeded by you —

Sir R. Amazement! what would you have me do?

Falk. Before this company assist me with the power you possess (and that power is ample) to compel your haughty nephew to repair the injury, which, in a humbler character, he has done me —

Lord A. He compel me! ridiculous!

Falk. (to sir Rowland.) Insensible to injury and insult, can nothing move you? Reveal your secret!

Lord A. I’ll hear no more. Summon the officers I say. I am resolved.

Sir R. I too am at last resolved! at length the arm is raised that, in descending must crush you.

Lord A. I despise your united threats! am I to be the sport of insolence and fraud? What am I, sir, that thus you dare insult me! Who am I?

Sir R. No longer the man you seem to be! hear me! before grief and shame shall burst my heart, hear me proclaim my guilt! When the late lord Austencourt dying bequeathed his infant son to my charge, my own child was of the same age! prompted by the demons of ambition, and blinded to guilt by affection for my own offspring —I changed the children.

Charles. Merciful Heaven!

Sir R. (to lord A.) Hence it follows that you, unnatural monster, are my son!

Sir W. Ods life! Hey! then there is something in the world to astonish me, besides the reformation of my lady Worret.

Lord A. Shallow artifice! Think you I am weak enough to credit this preposterous fiction, or do you suppose the law will listen to it?

Falk. Ay, sir; the law will listen to it, shall listen to it. I, sir, can prove the fact, beyond even the hesitation of incredulity!

Lord A. You!

Falk. I. You have seen me hitherto a poor man and oppressed me; you see me now rich and powerful, and well prepared to punish your villany; and thus, in every instance, may oppression recoil on the oppressor.

Lord A. Then I am indeed undone!

O’Ded. Shall I call the officers now, my lord? Mr. Austencourt, I should say; I ask pardon for the blunder: and now, ladies and gentlemen, be pleased to hear me speak. This extraordinary discovery is just exactly what I did not expect. It is true I had a bit of a discovery of my own to make: for I find that the habits of my profession though they haven’t led me to commit acts of knavery, have too often induced me to wink at them. Therefore as his quandam lordship has now certainly lost Miss Helen, I hope he’ll have no objection to do justice in another quarter. [Exit.

Sir R. Oh, Charles! my much injured nephew! how shall I ever dare to look upon you more?

Charles. Nay, nay, sir, I am too brimful of joy at my opening prospects here (taking Helen’s hand) to cherish any other feeling than forgiveness and good humour. Here is my hand, sir, and with it I pledge myself to oblivion of all the past, except the acts of kindness I have received from you.

Sir W. That’s a noble generous young dog – My lady Worret, I wonder whether he’ll offer to marry Helen now?

Lady W. Of course, after what has passed, you’ll think it decent to refuse for a short time: but you are the best judge, sir Willoughby, and your will shall in future be mine —

Sir W. Shall it – that’s kind – then I will refuse him to please you: for when you’re so reasonable, how can I do otherwise than oblige you.

Lady W. (aside.) Leave me alone to manage him still.

Enter O’Dedimus, introducing Fanny

Lord A. (seeing Fanny.) Ah, traitor!

O’Ded. Traitor back again into your teeth, my master! and since you’ve neither pity for the poor innocent, nor compassion for the little blunt gentleman her father, ’tis time to spake out and to tell you that instead of a sham priest and a sham license for your deceitful marriage as you bid me, I have sarved the cause of innocence and my own soul, by procuring a real priest and a real license, and by St. Patrick you are as much one as any two people in England, Ireland, or Scotland!

Fanny. Merciful powers! there is still justice for the unfortunate!

Lord A. (after a conflict of passion.) And is this really so?

O’Ded. You’re man and wife, sure enough. We’ve decent proof of this, too, sir.

Lord A. You no doubt expect this intelligence will exasperate me. ’Tis the reverse. By heaven it lifts a load of guilty wretchedness from my heart.

Fanny. Oh, my lord! my husband!

Falk. Can this be genuine? Sudden reformation is ever doubtful.

Lord A. It is real! my errors have been the fruits of an unbridled education. Ambition dazzled me, and wealth was my idol. I have acted like a villain, and as my conduct has deserved no forgiveness, so will my degradation be seen without compassion; but this weight of guilt removed, I will seek happiness and virtue in the arms of my much-injured Fanny.

Fanny. Silent joy is the most heartfelt. I cannot speak my happiness! My father!

Falk. This is beyond my hopes; but adversity is a salutary monitor.

Sir R. Still, Charles, to you I am indebted beyond the power of restitution.

Char. My dear father – no – no dear uncle, I mean, here is the reward I look for.

Helen. Ah, Charles – my lord, I mean, I beg pardon – to be sure papa, ay, and mamma-in-law too, will now no longer withhold their consent.

Sir W. Who, me? Not for the world – hey! mercy on us! I forgot your ladyship (aside) do you wish me to decline the honor?

Lady W. (aside.) Why no, as matters have turned out.

Char. Then Fortune has indeed smiled on me today!

Falk. The cloud of sorrow is passed, and may the sun of joy that now illumines my face, diffuse its cheering rays on all around us.

O’Ded. And sir Willoughby and her ladyship will smile most of us all; for every body knows they’re the happiest man and wife among us.

Helen.

 
And while amongst ourselves we anxious trace
The doubtful smile of joy in every face,
There is a smile, which doubt and danger ends —
The smile of approbation from our friends.
 

THE END