The heir at law : a comedy in five acts

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HEIR AT LAW;

A COMEDY,
IN FIVE acts;
BY GEORGE COLMAN, the younger j

AS PERFORMED AT THE

THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET.

PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS
FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

WITH REMARKS \

BY MRS. INCHBALD.

XONDON:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES,ORM£; AND BROWN ^
"^ PATERNOSTER-ROW,

As the following Address, by Mr. Colman, the
younger y was written purposely to appear with the
'^ The Heir at Law," in this weekly publication of
Plays, though accidental circumstances affixed it
first to that Comedy published singly, it is now re-
printed here, both in compliance with the original
design of the author, and to render intelligible the
Reply which follows it.

TO

isms. INCHBALD.

MadaMj

When I, lately, sold the copy-right of
'* The Heir at Law/* (with two or three other dra-
matic manuscripts,) I required permission to publish
any prefatory matter, which might appear eligible to
me, in the first genuine impression of the plays in
question. I had reason to suppose that they would
be put forth in a series of dramas, with Critical Re-
marks, by Mrs. Inchbald.* On this account I more

• Tlie publishers had, certainly, expressed their intention
to publish these pieces in their British Theatre; but have been
induced by circumstances,* with which Mr. Cohuan has no
concern, to alter their determination, and to print them in
octavo.

L. & CO.

♦ The above note ii my due; — but I should not have trou-
bled my readers, nor Mrs. Inchbald, had I not addressed her
in consequence of the intentions originally expressed by the
booksellers. — Having written the letter, before they altered
their minde, e'en let k go to press,

particularly urged my postulatum, — I make no apo-
logy for writing Latin to you, madam 3 for^ as a
scholiast, you, doubtless, understand it, like the
learned Madame Dacier, your predecessor.

Did not the opportunity thus occur of addressing
you; — did it not, absolutely, fall in my way 5— I
should have been silent : — but, as your critique on
the present play will, probably, go hand in hand with
this letter, I would say a little relative to those dra-
mas of mine which have, already, had the honour to
be somewhat singed, in passing the fiery ordeal of
feminine fingers : — fingers which it grieves me to
fiee destined to a rough task, from which your manly
contemporaries in the drama would naturally shrink.
Achilles, when he went into petticoats, must have
made an awkward figure among the females ; — but
the delicate Deidamia never wielded a battle-axe to
slay and maim the gentlemen.

My writings (if they deserve the name) are replete
with error : — but, dear madam I why would you not
apply to me ? — I should have been as zealous to save
you trouble as a beau to pick up your fan. — I could
have easily pointed to twenty of my blots, in the
right places, which have escaped you in the labour
of discovering one in the wrong.

But, madam, I tire you. — A word or two, first,
for my late Father ; — then for myself, — and I have
done. "^^In your criticism upon " The Jealous fVife,**
(a sterling comedy, which must live on the Enghsh
stage tiU taste and morality expire,) you say, that,
after this play, '' it appears Mr. Colman's talents
for dramatic writing failed ; or, at least, his ar-
dour abated,'* — ^Fy, on these bitters, madam, which
you sprinkle with honey! — ^Whether his talent did
or did not fail, (I presume to say 720/,) is no point in
question : but you have gone out of the way to as-
sert it 3 mixing, ad libatum, the biographer with the
critic.— Oh, madam ! — is this grateful P — is it grace*

Jul, from an ingenious lady, who was originally en-
couraged, and brought forward, as an authoress, by
that very man, on whose tomb she idly plants this
poisonous weed of remark, to choke the laurels
which justly grace his memory?

As to the history of my father's writing " The
Clandestine Marriage," jointly with Mr. Garrick, it
is a pity, (since you chose to enter into it,) that you
had not proceeded to all the enquiry within your
reach, instead of trusting to vague report, or your
own conjecture. I should have been gratified, ma-
dam, in giving you every information on that sub-
ject, which 1 received from my father's lipsj and
you have no reason, I trust, to suspect that I should
desert from his known veracity. — How happened,
madam, this omission of duty to your publishers
and the public ?

As to my own trifling plays, which you have done
me the honour to notice, allow me merely to ask a
few questions.

Inkle and Yarico. — Pray, madam, why is it an
'^ important fault" to bring Yarico from America
instead oi /Ifricaj when Ligon, (whence the story in
the Spectator is taken,) records the circumstance as
a fact ?* — Pray, madam, why did you not, rather,
observe, that it is a worse fault (excusable only in
the carelessness of youth) to put lions and tigers in
the woods of America, and to give Wowski a Polish
denomination ?

* Yarico is not a solitary evidence to clear me from tliis
important fault of resorting to the Main of America for a
slave. — " A.s for the Indians^ we ha /e but few, and those
fetched from other countries; some from tlie nciglibouring
islands, some from the umhiy which we made slaves^" &c. &c,
Ligon' s History of Barbadoes.

After this, it would be well for Mrs. Inchbald to reflect that
it may, sometimes, be necessary for a Critic on one book to have
read another I G. C,

Mountaineers. — Pray, madam, why should you
kill the Mountaineers with Mr. Kemhle? — Pray, ma-
dam, has not Otavian been a^ted repeatedly (though,
certainly, never so excellen.ly as by Mr. Kemble)
to very full houses without him? — Pray, madam,
did you ever ask the Treasurer of the Haymarket
Theatre this question ?

Poor Gentleman. — Pray, madam, do you mean a
compliment, or rebuke, when you say this comedy
exacts rigid criticism? — ^' not from its want o/* inge-
nuity or POWERS OF AMUSEMENT, but that hoth these
requistes fall infinitely, here, below the talents of
the author." — Pray, do not the subjects which pre-
sent themselves to all authors, make all authors,
sometimes, appear unequal r — And when you, madam,
as an author, have shown ingenuity, and powers of
amusement, to '* auditors and readers," have they
not been content, — and have not you been content
too?

John Bull. — You have taken him only by the tip
of his horns, madam : — but if Irish bog-trotters and
Yorkshire clowns were (according to your prescrip-
tion) to talk like gentlemen, pray, madam, might
not a lady invite them very innocently some after-
noon, to a ball and supper ?

You really clothe your Remarks, madam, in very
smooth language. — Permit me to take my leave in a
quotation from them, with some little alteration : —

^* Beauty, with all its charms, will not constitute
a good Remarher. A very inferior Dramatic Critique
may be, in tlie nighest degree, pointed,"

I have the honour to be.
Madam,
(with due limitation,)
Your admirer, and obedient servant,
GEORGE COLMAN,
January^ 1808. the younger.

TO

GEORGE COLMAN, the younger.

HY DEAR iSIR^

T As I have offended you, I take it kind
that you have publicly told me so, because it gives
me an opportunity thus openly to avow my regret,
and, at the same time, to offer you all the atonement
which is now in my power.

In one of those unfortunate moments, which leaves
us years of repentance, I accepted an overture, to
write from two to four pages, in the manner of pre-
face, to be introduced before a certain number of
plays, for the perusal, or information, of such per-
sons as have not access to any diffuse compositions,
either in biography or criticism, but who are yet very
liberal contributors to the treasury of a theatre. —
Even for so humble a task I did not conceive myself
competent, till I submitted my own opinion to that
of the proprietors of the plays in question, v--

To you, as an author, I have no occasion to de-
srcribe the force of those commendations which come
from the lips of our best patrons, the purchasers of
our labour. Dr. Johnson has declared — '* An author
is always sure to hear truth from a bookseller ; at
least, as far as his judgment goes, there is no flat-
tery " — The judgment on which I placed my reliance
on th^s occasion was — that many readers might be
amused and informed, whilst no one dramatist could
possibly be offended, by the cursory remarks of a fe-
male observer, upon works which had gone through
various editions, had received the unanimous applause
of every British theatre, and the final approbation or

VI

censure of all our learned Reviews ; — and that, any
injudicious critique of such female might involve her
own reputation, (as far as a woman's reputation de-
pends on being a critic,) but could not depreciate the
worth of the writings upon which she gave her brief
intelligence, and random comments.

One of the points of my agreement was, that I
should have no controul over the time or the order
in which these prefaces were to be printed or pub-
lished, but that I should merely produce them as
they were called for, and resign all other interference
to the proprietor or editor of the work. — You ask
me, " Do not the subjects, which present themselve
to all authors, make all authors, sometimes, appea:
unequal ?'' — I answer, yes 5 and add — that here, ii
the capacity of a periodical writer, I claim indul
gence upon this your interrogation, far more thai
you. Confined to a stated time of publication, sucl
writers may be compelled, occasionally, to write in
haste 3 in ill health 5 under depressed spirits j with
thoughts alienated by various cares, or revolting from
the subject before them. The Remarks on your
" Mountaineers" were written beneath the weight of
almost all those misfortunes combined. The play
was sent to the press, whilst not a sentence could my
fancy suggest, which my judgment approved to send
after it. — In this perplodty, recollection came to my
aid, and I called to mind, and borrowed in my ne-
cessity, your own reported words to Mr. Kemble,
upon the representation of this identical drama —
As I speak only of report, should your memory sup-
ply no evidence in proof of what I advance, ask
yourself, whether it was not probable, that, on some
occasion, during a season of more than hoped-for suc-
cess, such acknowledgments, or nearly such, as I have
intimated, might not have escaped you, towards the
evident promoter of your good fortune ? — or if, at
any period of a later date^ you can bring to your

remembrance the having lavished unwary compi'
ments even on minor actors, and upon minor events,
do not once doubt but that you actually declared your
sentiments, to the original performer of Octavian, in
eulogiums even more fervid than those which I took
the liberty to repeat.

The admiration I have for *' Inkle and Yarico,"
rendered my task here much lighter. Yet that very
admiration warned me against unqualified praise, as
the mere substitute for ridicule 5 and to beware, lest
suspicions of a hired panegyrist should bring disgrace
upon that production, which required no such nefa-
rious help for its support. — Guided by cautions such
as these, I deemed it requisite to discover one fault in
this excellent opera. You charge me with having
invented that one which never existed, and of passing
over others which blemish the work — yet you give
me no credit for this tenderness 5 — though, believe
me, dear sir, had I exposed any faults but such as you
could easily argue away, (and this, in my Preface,
I acknowledged would be the case,*) you would
have been too much offended to have addressed the
present letter to me ; your anger would not have been
united with pleasantry, nor should I have possessed
that consciousness which I now enjoy — of never hav-
ing mtended to give you a moment's displeasure.

Humility, and not vanity, I know to be the cause
of that sensation which my slight animadversions have
excited : but this is cherishing a degree of self-con-
tempt, which I may be pardoned for never having
supposed, that any one of my " manly contempora-
ries in the drama'* could have indulged.

Of your respected father, I have said nothing that
he would not approve were he living. He had too
high an opinion of his own talents, to have repined
under criticisms such as mine 3 and too much respect

• Sec Preface to Inkle and Yarico.

viii

fbr other pursuits^ to have blushed at being cloyed
with the drama : — ^Yet you did me justice, when you
imagined that the mere supposition of my ingrati-
tude to him would give me pain. This was the de-
sign meditated in your accusation ; for, had 1 either
wronged or slighted his memory, you would have
spared your reproach, and not have aimed it at a
heart too callous to have received the impression. —
But, in thus acknowledging my obligations to Mr.
Colman, the elder, let it be understood, that they
amounted to no more than those usual attentions
which every manager of a theatre is supposed to con-
fer, when he first selects a novice in dramatic writ-
ing, as worthy of being introduced, on his stage, to
•he public.

I should thank you for reminding me of my duty to
my employers, but that it has been the object of my
care, even to the most anxious desire of minutely
fulfilling the contract between us 3 in which, as you
were not a party consulted, you cannot tell but that
I might stipulate, to give no other information in
those prefaces, but such as was furnished me from
their extensive repository of recorded facts. Nor
did the time or space allotted me for both observa-
tions and biography, (for biography of the deceased
was part of my duty, and not introduced at my dis-
cretion,) admit of any farther than an abridgement,
or slight sketch, of each. — ^Your attention and wishes
of having been applied to on this subject, however,
give a value to , these trifles, I never set on them
before. The novelty of the attempt was their only
hoped-for recommendation. The learned had for
ages written criticisms — the illiterate were now to
make a trial — and this is the era of dramatic prodi-
gies ! — Adventurers, sufficiently modest, can be easily
enticed into that field of speculation, where singu-
larity may procure wealth, and incapacity obtaia
fame.

Permit me, notwithstanding this acquiescence in
your contempt for my literary acquirements, to ap-
prize you — that, in comparing me, as a critic, with
Madame Dacier, you have, inadvertently, placed
yourself, as an author, in the rank with Homer. I
might as well aspire to write remarks on *' The Iliad,"
as Dacier condescend to give comments on '' The
Mountaineers.*' — ^Be that as it may, I willingly sub-
scribe myself an unlettered woman 5 and as willingly
yield to you, all those scholastic honours, which you
have so excellently described in the following play.

I am.

Dear Sir,

(With too much pride at having been admitted
a dramatist along with the two Colmans,
father and son, to wish to diminish the re-
putation of either,)

Yours,

Most truly and sincerely,

ELIZABETH INCHBALD
March, 1818.

REMARKS.

This comedy will be found highly entertaining, both
on the stage and in the closet : yet, compared with
some of Mr. Colman's former works — ^* Surrender
of Calais," '' Inkle and Yarico," et cetera — it is
but his '' Night-gown and Slippers,*' opposed to
thdr fiill dress of original thought, elevated senti-
ment, and natural occurrence.

Pangloss is, however, so happy a satire upon pe-
dantry, that it is impossible not to pardon him the
caricature which he gives of real pedants ^ and to
suffer his distortion of mind and manners to over-
whelm, with farcical humour, the more cha«t« a^d
natural habits of the persons with whom he keeps
company.

This humorous extravagance is, peihaps> the very
best method by which the follies and vices of the
times can be reformed : — for, when solemn sentences
and sprightly wit are found ineffectual, the ludicrous
will often prove of import 5 '—and laudable design,
with skilful execution, on the part of the author, have
here placed this laughable and immoral scholar^ by

4 KEMARKS.

exciting the derision of an audience, among the most
genuine moral characters of the drama.

The remainder of the characters are true pictures
of common life ; but, except two or three of them,
(who have little character at all,) their language is
too much deformed by dialect, to produce that lite-
rary entertainment, which is always to be expected
and desired from the perusal of a book. An intended
translator and foreigner might be compelled, in con-
sequence, to cast the present work aside in despair j
— and, though it is proper that such persons as the
author has introduced should speak in exactly such
provincial style as they do, yet, surely,- a paucity of
ill-taught rustics would render their ignorance less
burthensome, and more conducive to mirth, than
when a continual round of bad spelling or uncouth
sounds pervade, without mercy, the eye or the ear.

Invention, observation, good intention, and all the
powers of a complete dramatist, are perhaps in this
comedy displayed, except one — taste seems wanting j
— ^but this failure is evidently not an error in judg-
ment, but an escape from labour. — ^The finer colours
for more polished mankind, would demand the artist's
more laborious skill.

DRAMATIS PERSONiE.

Daniel Dowlas^ alias Baron?

DUBERLY 3

Dick Dowlas

Doctor Pangloss

Henry Morland

Stedfast

Zekiel Homespun

Kenrick

John

Waiter (at the Hotel)

Waiter (at the Blue Boar)

Mr. Suett

Mr. Palmer.
Mr. Fawcett.
Mr. C. Kemble.
Mr. AUcin.
Mr, Munden.
Mr. Johnstone,
Mr. Abbot.
Mr. Chippendale.
Mr. Waldron, jun,,

Deborah Dowlas, alias Lady \
Duberly 3

Caroline Dormer
Cicely Homespun

Mrs. Davenport.

Miss De Camp.
Mrs. Gibbs.

Scene— London,

THIS

HEIR AT LAW.

ACT THE FIRST,

An Apartment in Lord Duberly's House,
Lord and Lady Duberz^y discovered at Breakfasts

Lord D. But what does it matter, my lady, whe-
ther I drink my tea out of a cup or a saucer ?

Lady D. A great deal in the polite circles, my
lord. We have been raised by a strage freak of for-
tune, from nothing, as a body may say 5 and —

Lord D. Nothing ! — as rejiu table a trade as any
in all Gosport. You hold a merchant as cheap as if
he trotted about with all his property in a pack, like
a pedlar.

Lady D. A merchant, indeed! Curious merchan-
dize you dealt in, truly !

Lord D. A large assortment of articles : — coals,
cloth, herrings, linen, candles, eggs, sugar, treacle,
tea, bacon, and brick-dust j — with many more, too
tedious to mention, in this here advertisement.

8 THE HEIR AT LAW. [ACT I.

Lady D. Well^ praise the bridge that carried you
over J but you must now drop the tradesman, and
learn life. Consider, by the strangest accident, you
have been raised to neither more nor less than a peer
of the realm.

Lord D, Oh ! 'twas the strangest accident, my
lady, that ever happened on the fece of the universal
yearth.

Lady D. True, 'twas indeed a windfall : and you
must now walk, talk, eat, and drink, as becomes your
station. *Tis befitting a nobleman should behave as
sich, and know summut of breeding.

Lord D. WeU, but I ha*n't been a nobleman more
nor a week^ and my throat isn't noble enougl^yet to
be proof against scalding. Hand over the milk, my
lady.

Lady D, Hand overl-r-Ah ! what*s bred in the
bone will never come out.of the flesh, my lord.

Lord D. Pshaw ! here's a fuss, indeed ! When I
was plain Daniel Dowlas, of Gosport, I was reckoned
as cute a dab at discourse as any in our town. No-
body found fault with me, then.

Lady D. But, why so loud ? I declare the servants
will hear.

Lord D, Hear ! and what will they hear but what
they know ? Our story a secret ! — Lord help you !
— tell *em Queen Anne's dead, my lady. Don't
every body know that old Lord Duberly was sup-
posed to die without any hair to his estate — ^as the
doctors say, of an implication of disorders ; and that
his son, Henry Morland, was lost, some time ago, in
the salt sea ?

Lady D. Well, there's no occasion to — ,

Lord D, Don't every body know that lawyer Fer-
ret, of Furnival's Inn, owed the legatees a grudge,
and popt a bit of an advertisement into the news ? —
*^ Whereas, the hair at law> if there be any reviving.

iCENB I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. !j

of the late Baron Duberly, will apply — so arid so —
he'll hear of summut greatly to his advantage.'*

Lady D. But^ why bawl it to the —

Lord D. Didn't he hunt me out, to prove my title ?
and lug me from the counter to clap me into a coach ?
a house here in Hanover-square, and an estate in the
country^ worth fifteen thousand per annum ? — Why,
bless you, my lady, every little bkck devil, with a
soot-bag, cries it about the streets, as often as he
says sweep.

Lady D. 'Tis a pity but my lord had left you some .
manners with his money.

Lord D. He ! what my cousin twenty thousand
times removed ? He must have left them by word of
mouth. Never spoke to him, but once, in all my
born life — upon an electioneering matter : — that's a
time when most of your proud folks make no bones
of tippling with a tallow-chandler, in his back-room,
on a melting-day : but he ! — except calling me cou-
sin, and buying a lot of damaged huckaback, to cut
into kitchen towels, he was as cold and stiff, as he is
now, though he has been dead and buried these nine
months, rot him !

Lady D. There, again, now ! — Rot him!

Lord D. Why, blood and thunder ! what is a man
to say, when he wants to consecrate his old stiff-
rumped relations ? IR'ff^gs the hell.

Lady D. Why, an oath, now and then, may sli])
in, to garnish genteel conversation : but, then, it
should be done with an air to one's equals, and with
a kind of careless condescension to menials.

Lord D. Should it? — well, then— here, John ! —

Enter John.

My good man, take away the tea, and be damn'd
to you.

John. Yes, my lord. [Exi/.

10 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I.

Lady D, And now, my lord, I must leave you
for the concerns of the day. We elegant people are
as full of business as an egg's full of meat.

Lord D. Yes, we elegant people find the trade
of the tone, as they call it, plaguy fatiguing. What,
you are for the wis a wis this morning ? Much
good may do you, my lady. Dam' me, it makes me
sit stuck up, and squeezed, like a bear in a bathing-
tub.

Lady D. I have a hundred places to call at. —
Folks are so civil since we came to take possession !
There's dear Lady Littlefigure, Lord Sponge, Mrs.
Holdbank, Lady Betty Pillory, the Hon. Mrs. Cheat-
well, and —

Lord D. Ay, ay 5 you may always find plenty in
this here town, to be civil to fifteen thousand a-year,
my lady.

Lady D. Well, there's no learning you life. I'm
sure they are as kind and friendly. The supper Lady
Betty gave to us, and a hundred friends, must have
cost her fifty good pounds, if it cost a brass farden 5
and she does the same thing, I'm told, three times a
week. If she isn't monstrous rich, I wonder^ for my
part, how she can afford it.

Lord D. Why, ecod, my lady, that would have
puzzled me too ; — if they hadn't hooked me into a
damned game of cocking and punting, I think they
call it J where I lost as much, in half an hour, as
would keep her and her company in fricassees and
whip sullibubs for a fortnight. But I may be even
with her some o' these a'ternoons. Only let me
catch her at Put 3 — that's all.

Enter John.

John. Doctor Pangloss is below, my lord.
Lord D, Odsbobs, my H^W! that's the man as
learns me to talk English,

SCENE I.] THE HEim AT LAW. 11

Lady D, Hush ! consider —

{^Pointing to the Servant.

Lord D. Hum ! I forgot — Curse me, my honest
fellow, show him up stairs^ d'ye hear ? ^Exit John.
There, was that easy ?

Lady D. Tolerable.

Lord D. Well, now, get along, my lady 5 the doc-
tor and I must be snug.

Lady D. Then I bid you a good morning, my lord.
As Lady Betty says, I wish you a bon repos. lExit,

Lord D. A bone repos ! I don't know how it is,
but the women are more cuter at these here matters
nor the m^en. My wife, as every body may see, is
as genteel already as if she had been bom a duchess.
This Dr. Pangloss will do me a deal of good in the
way of fashioning my discourse. So — here he is.

Enter Pangloss.

Doctor, good morning — I wish you a bone repos t —
Take a chair, doctor.

Pang. Pardon me, my lord 5 I am not inclined to
be sedentary ) I wish, with permission, *' erectos ad
sidera tollere vultus." — Ovid. — Rem !

Lord D. Tollory vultures ! — I suppose that mean
you had rather stand ?

Pang. Fie, this is a locomotive morning with me.
Just hurried, my lord from the Society of Arts ;
whence, I may say, '^ I have borne my blushing
honours thick upon me.** — Shakspeare. — Hem !

Lord D. And what has put your honours to the
blush, this morning, doctor }

Pang. To the blush ! — A ludicrous perversion of
the author's meaning. — He, he, he ! — Hem ! you
shall hear, my lord, — '' Lend me your ears." — Shaks-
peare, again. — Hem ! — 'Tis not unknown to your
lordship, and the no less literary world, that the
Caledonian University of Abeideen long since con-
ferred upon me the dignity of L.L.D. 5 and, as I

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

1^ THE HEIR AT LAW. ^PT I.

never beheld that erudite body, I may safely say
they dubbed me with a degree from sheer consider-
ation of my celebrity. —

Lord D. True.

Pang, For nothing, my lord, but my own innate
modesty, could suppose the Scotch college to be
swayed by one pound fifteen shillings and three-
pence three-farthings, paid on receiving my diploma,
as a handsome compliment to the numerous and
learned heads of that seminary.

Lord D, Oh, damn it, no, it wasn't for the matter
of money.

Pang. I do not think it was altogether the '^ auri
sacra fames." — Virgil. — Hem ! But this very day,
my lord, at eleven o'clock A.M. the Society of Arts,
in consequence, as they were pleased to say, of my
merits, — He, he, he ! — my merits, my lord — nave
admitted me as an unworthy member 5 and I have,
henceforward, the privilege of adding to my name
the honourable title of A double S.

Lord D. And I make no doubt, doctor, but you
have richly deserved it. I warrant a man doesn't get
A double S tacked to his name for nothing.

Pang, Decidedly not, my lord. — ^Yes, I am now
Artium Societatis Socius. — My two last publications
did that business. — *' Exegi monumentum aere peren-
nius." — Horace. — Hem !

Lord D. And what might them there two books
be about, doctor }

Pang, The first, my lord, was a plan to lull the
restless to sleep, by an infusion of opium into their
ears : the efficacy of this method originally struck
me in St. Stephen's chapel, while listening to the
oratory of a worthy country gentleman.

Lord D. I wonder it wa'n't hit upon before by the
doctors.

Pang, Physicians, my lord, put their patients to
sleep in another manner. He, he, he ! — *' To die —

flCBNB I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 13

to sleep ; no more." — Shakspeare. — Hem ! My
second treatise was a Proposal for erecting Dove-
houses, on a Principle tending to increase the Pro-
pagation of Pigeons. This, I may affirm, has re-
ceived considerable countenance from many who
move in the circles of fashion. — *' Nee gemere ces-
sabit turtur.** — Virgil. Hem 1 — I am about to pub-
lish a third edition, by subscription. May I have the
honour to pop your lordship down, among the
pigeons ?

Lord D. Ay, ay j down with me, doctor.

Pang. My lord, I am grateful. I ever insert names
and titles at full length. What may be your lord-
ship's sponsorial and patronymic appellations ?

^Taking out his pocket-book.

Lord D. My what?

Pang. I mean, my lord, the designations given to
you by your lordship's godfathers and parents.

Lord D. Oh ! what my christian and surname }
— I was baptized Daniel.

Pang, '^ Abolens baptismate labem." — I forgot
where — no matter — Hem ! the Right Honourable
Daniel — {Writing,

LordD. Dowlas.

Pang. [Writing^ Dowlas ! '^ Filthy Dow ....'*
Hem ! — Shakspeare. — The Right Honourable Daniel
Dowlas, Baron Duberly. — And now, my lord, to your
lesson, for the day. [They sit.

Lord D. Now for it, doctor.

Pang. The process which we are now upon, is to
eradicate that blemish in your lordship's language,
which the learned denominate cacalogy, and which
the vulgar call slip-slop.

Lord D. I'm afraid, doctor, my cakelology will
give you a tolerable tight job on't.

Pang. '^ Nil desperanclum." — Horace. — Hem!
We'll begin in the old way, my lord. Talk on ; —
when you stumble, I check. Where was your lo»^*
ship yesterday evening ?

14 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT. I.

Lord D. At a consort.

Pa7ig. Umph ! T^te-a-t^te with Lady Duberly, I
presume ?

Lord D. T^te-^-t^te with five hundred people,
hearing of music.

Pang. O, I conceive : — ^your lordship would say a
concert. Mark the distinction : — a concert, my lord,
is an entertainment visited by fashionable lovers of
harmony. Now a consort is a wife -, little conducive
to harmony, in the present day 3 and seldom visited
by a man of fashion, unless she happens to be his
friends or his neighbour's.

Lord D. A devil of a difference, indeed ! — Be-
tween you and I, doctor, (now my lady's out of
hearing,) a wife is the devil.

Pang. He, he, he I — There are plenty of Jobs in
the world, my lord.

Lord D. And a damned sight of Jezabels too,
doctor. But patience, as you say, for I never give,
my lady no bad language. Whenever she gets in
her tantrums, and talks high, I always sits mum-
chance.

Pang. ^^ So spake our mother Eve, and Adaa
heard." — Milton. — Hem ! — IThey rise.'] —Silence is
most secure, my lord, in these cases 5 for if once your
lordship opened your mouth, 'tis twenty to one but
cad language would follow.

Lord D. O4, that*s a sure thing ; and I never liked
to disperse the women.

Pang. As-perse.

Lord D. Humph ! — There's another stumble ! —
A'ter all, doctor, I shall make but a poor progress in
my vermicular tongue.

Pang. Your knowledge of our native, or vernacu-
lar language, my lord, time and industry may me-
liorate. Vermicular is an epithet seldom ap})lied to
tongues, but in the case of puppies who want to be
wormed.

aCENE I.J THE HEIR AT LAIT^ ^^. 16,

A./ti.

Lord D. Ecod, then, I a*n't so much bj
I've met plenty of puppies since I came to town,
whose tongues are so troublesome, that worming
might chance to be of service. But doctor, I've a
bit of a proposal to make to you concerning of my
own family.

Pang. Disclose, my lord.

Lord D. Why you must know, I expect my son,
Dicky, in town this here very morning. Now, doc-
tor, if you would but mend his cakelology, mayhap,
it might be better worth while than the mending of
mine.

Pang. I smell a pupil. [Aside^ Whence, my lora,
does the young gentleman come ?

Lord D. You shall hear all about it. You know,
doctor, though I'm of a good family distraction —

Pang. Ex.

Lord D. Though I'm of a good family extraction
'twas but t'other day I kept a shop at Gosport.

Pang. The rumour has reached me. — '' Fama vo-
lat, viresque**

Lord D. Don't put me out.

Pang. Virgil — Hem ! — Proceed.

Lord D. A tradesman, you know, must mind the
main chance 3 so when Dick began to grow as big as
a porpuss, I got an old friend of mine, who lives in

Derbyshire, close to the Devil's humph ! close to

the Peak — to take Dick 'prentice at half price. He's
just now out of his time 5 and, I warrant him, as
wild and as rough as a rockj — now, if you, doctor,
— ^if you would but take him in hand, and softeu
him a bit

Pang. Pray, my lord — *^^ To soften rocks!'* —
Congreve. — Hem ! — Pray, my lord, what profession
may the Honourable Mr. Dowlas have followed ?

Lord D. Who, Dick ? He has served his clerkship
to an attorney at Castleton.

16 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I.

Pang. An attorney! — Gentlemen of his profession,
my lord, are very difficult to soften.

Lord D. Yes, but the pay may make it worth
while. I'm told that Lord Spindle gives his eldest
son. Master Drumstick's tutorer, three hundred
a-year^ and, besides learning his pupil, he has to
read my lord to sleep of an afternoon, and walk out
with the lap-dogs and children. Now, if three
hundred a year, doctor, will do the business for Dick,
a sha'n't begrudge it you.

Pang. Three hundred a-year! — say no more, my
lord. LL. D. A double S. and three hundred
a-year! — I accept the office. — '^ Verbum sat." —
Horace. — Hem! — I'll run to my lodgings — settle
with Mrs. Sudds — put my wardrobe into a — no,
I've got it all on, and IGoing,

Lord D. Hold ! hold ! not so hasty, doctor 5 I
must first send you for Dick to the Blue Boar.

Pang. The Honourable Mr. Dowlas, my pupil, at
the Blue Boar !

Lord D. Ay, in Holborn. As I an't fond of tell-
ing people good news before hand, for fear they may
be baulked 5 Dick knows nothing of my being made
a lord.

Pang, Three hundred a-year !

'^ I've often wish'd that I had, clear.

For life, six" no 3 three —

'' three hundred "

Lord D. I wrote him just afore I left Gosport, to
tell him to meet me in London with —

Pang, '' Three hundred pounds a-year !" — Swift.
—Hem!

Lord D. With all speed upon business, d'ye mind
me?

Pang. Dr. Pangloss with an income of! no

lap-dogs, my lord ?

Lord D. Nay, but listen, doctor ^ — and as I did'nt

SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. if

know where old Ferret was to make me live in Lon-
don, I told Dick to be at the Blue Boar this morn-
ing by the stage-coach. — Why, you don't hear what
I'm talking about, doctor.

Pang, O, perfectly, my lord — three hundred —
Blue Boars — in a stage-coach !

Lord D. Well, step into my room, doctor, and
I'll give you a letter which you sheill carry to the
inn, and bring Dick away with you. I warrant the
boy will be ready to jump out of his skin.

Pang. Skin ! jump ! — zounds, I'm ready to jump
out of mine ! I follow your lordship — Oh. Doctor
Pangloss ! Avhere is your philosophy now ? — I attend
you, my lord. — " jJEquam memento . . ." — Horace.
•— '*^ Servare mentum . . ." — Hem ! Bless me, I'm
all in a fluster. — LL. D. A double S, and three hun-
dred a 1 attend your lordship. \Exeuni

A Room in the Blue Boar Inn, Holborn.

Enter Waiter, showing in Zekiel Homespun, and
Cicely Homespun ; Zekiel carrying a Portman-
teau.

Waiter. This way, if you please, sir.

Zek. So here we be, at last, in London^ at the —
What be your sign, young man ?

Waiter. The Blue Boar, sirj one of the oldest
houses in Holborn.

Ih THE HUIR AT LAW. [aCT I.

Zek. Oldest ! why, as you do say, young man, it
do seem in a tumble-downish kind of a condition,
indeed !

Waiter. Shall I put your portmanteau on the
table, sir? [Offering to take it.

Zek. [Jerking it from him^ No, but you don't
tho*. I ha' heard o' the tricks o' London, though I
ne'er sat foot in't afore. Master Blue Boar, you ha*
gotten the wrong sow by the ear, I can tell ye.

Cicely. La ! brother Zekiel 1 I dare say the young
man is honest.

Zek. Haply he may be. Cicely 5 but the honest
chaps o' this town, as I be told, do need a deal o*
looking a'ter. Where can Dick Dowlas now be a
loitering so long in in the yard \

Waiter. The gentleman that came in the coach
with you, sir }

Zek. Yes, yes 5 the gentleman wi' all his clothes
in his hand, tied up in a little blue-and- white pocket
handkerchief.

Waiter, Shall I bid him come up, sir ?

Zek. Ay, be so kind, will ye ?

Waiter. I shall, sir. [Exit,

Zek. I ha' nothing left but this portmanteau and
you. Cicely : if I was to lose either of you, what
would become of poor Zekiel Homespun ?

Cicely. Dear, now! this was the cry all along
upon the road. Don't be down-hearted, brother 5
there be plenty of ways of getting bread in London.

Zek. Oh, plenty, plenty ! — but many of the ways,
they do say, be so foul, and the bread be so dirty, it
would turn a nice stomach to eat on't.

Cicely. Well, I do declare, it seems a pure place !
with a power of rich gentlefolks, for certain 3 fcr I
saw No. 945 upon one of their coach-doors as we
came along j and no doubt there be more of them
still. I do so like it, Zekiel !

Zek. Don't ye, now — don't ye. Cicely — pray don't

SCENE I. THE HEIR AT LAW. 19

ye be so merry ! You scare me out o* my senses !
Think what a charge I have of ye. Cicely. Father
and mother dead — no kin to help us — both thrown
a top of the wide world to seek our fortunes, — and
only I to take care of ye. — Indeed, indeed, 1 do love
ye. Cicely ! You would break your poor brother's
heart if any harm was to befall you. You wouldn't
do that, would you, Cicely?

Cicely. I, Zekiel ! I wou'dn't hurt a hair of your
head if I was to be made my Lord Mayor's lady for
it. You have been a kind brother to me, Zekiel j
and if I have the luck to get a service first, I'd work
my fingers to the bone to maintain you.

Zek. Buss me. Cicely. — Od rabbit it, girl I I be
only chicken-hearted on your account.

Cicely. Well, but let us hope for the best, Zekiel.
Poor father has followed mother to the cold grave,
sure enough 5 and the squire, out of the spite he
owed us, has turned us out of the Castleton farm 5
but—

Zek. That were bad enough ! — though I could ha*
stomached that — but damn him! (Heaven forgive
us) he spoke ill o' father's memory. I'd as big a
mind to lick 'squire as ever I had i' my life 5 and
then, as you do say, to turn us adrift I

Cicely. But we are young and strong, brother
Zekiel, and able to get our living,

Zek. Why that be true enough, Cicely,

Cicely. Well, then, come now, pluck up a spirit !
Be lightsome and jovial a bit, Zekiel, — do now !

Zek. AVell, I — I'll do my best. Dang it, if we
had but a friend now !

Cicely, Why, haven't we?

Zek. None that I do know of, bating Dick Dow-
las, who be come up wi' us in the Castleton coach.

Cicely. Well, brother, I'm sure he'd go through
fire and water to serve us. He has told me so,
c2

^ THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I.

Zekiel, fifty good times, by the side of old Dobbin's
pond by moonlight.

Zek. Ay, I do know he ha' kep you company.
Cicely. I told him, wlien father died, that I was
agreeable to his liaving of you, provided matters got
a little more smoothish with you.

Cicely. Did you ? — La, Zekiel !

Zek. Dick be an honest fellow.

Cicely. That he is, indeed, brother ! [Eagerly,

Zek. I lia' known him now seven good years,,
since first he came to Castleton j and we ha' been
for all the world like brothers. Dick be a little
rantipolish, but as generous a lad

Diciv Dowlas singing and talking without,

*^ 0 London is a fine town,

A very famous city T

Take care of my bundle, d'ye hear ?

Enter Dick, s'mging.

'* Where all the streets are paved with gold.
And all the maidens pretty.'*

Well, sha'n't we have a bit of something to eat ? —
just a snack, Zekiel, eli ? — Here, you Waiter ! [En-
ter Waiter with a bundle.'] What, Cis, my girl ? —
Comie, get some cold beef, you. — How dost do, after
the journey ? — Ay, cold beef — put down the buixlle ;
— mustard, vinegar, and all that, you know 3 — Cis
likes a relish.

Waiter. Directly, sir.

[Puts Dick's bundle doivn and exit,

Dick. Ay, jumj) al)out, my tight fellow. — Zounds !
how the rumbling of the old coach keeps whirling
in my head !

[feCENK II.] THK BBIR AT LAW, ^1

Zek. I do think, Dick, your head be always jv lit-
tle upon the whirligig order.

Dick. If I hadn't got out to take the reins in
hand now and then, 1 should have been as muzzy as
a methodist parson. Didn't 1 knock the tits along
nicely, Cis ?

Cicely, Ay, indeed, Dick> — except bumping us up
against the turnpike-gates, we went a-j pure and
pleasant !

Dick. Pshaw ! that was an accident. ^Vell, old
Domine hasn't call'd for me here yet. — Can't think
what the old boy wants with me in London 3 — bad
news, I'm afraid.

Cicely. No, don't you say so, Dick!

Zek. Hap what will, Dick, Fll stand by ye. I be
as jjoor as Job, but —

Dick. Tip us your daddle, Zekiel j you've as ten-
der a heart as ever got into the tough carcase of a
Castleton farmer. — Yes, the old boy's last letter but
one told me that things were going on but badly.
Damn that chandler's shop ! —bacon, eggs, coals,
and candles, have laid him low. A bankruptcy, I
warranty and he is come up to town to whitewash.

Zek. And to consult wi' you, mayhap, as you be
in the laa, about the business.

Dick. Gad, then, it will be like consulting most
people in the law — he'll get nothing from me that's
satisfactory. Old Latitat had as little business as I
had inclination in the practice.

Zek. Well, but Dick, sure you can do somewhat
m your calling. You can draw up a w ill, or a lease
of a farm, now r

Dick, I can shoot a wild duck with any lawyer's
clerk in the country. — I can fling a bar — play at
cricket —

Zek. That you can 3 — I used to notch for you,
you do know.

Dick. I can make a bowl of punch —

22 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT I.

Zek, That you can: — I used to drink it wi' you,
you do know.

Dick. I can make love —

Cicely. That you can, Dick.

Dick. I can catch gudgeons —

Zek. Ay, ay, that be part o' your trade. Catching
o' gudgeons be a lawyer's chiefest employment, they
do say.

Dick, Well, now to business : — ^here's a news-
paper I picked up at the bar 5 — there is something
in it, I think, that will suit Cis. Read it.

Zek. [Reading^ Wanted — a maid —

Dick. That's a difficult thing to be found in Lon-
don, I take it.

Zek. So far 'twill do for our Cicely.

Cicely. Yes: — I'd better make haste and get the
place, for fear any thing should happen, you know.

Zek. Let's read it. Cicely. Wanted a maid-servant^
by a young lady —

Cicely. Dear! — a young lady! —

Zek. Who lives very retired at the west-end of the
town — must be clean in her person ; — Cicely be very
clean.

Dick. As any lass in Derbyshire.

Zek. And good natured — Cicely be as good na-
tured a girl as ever — umph ! Well, let's see — and
willing to do what is required.

Cicely. Well, I am very willing, you know^ Dick,
an't I ?

Dick. That you arc, Cis. Kiss me.

Cicely. La ! Dick, this will just do ! I'm so
pleased !

Zek. If from the country, the better. — Rabbit it.
Cicely, this be the very thing ! Tol, de rol, lol ! or
if any farmer, in difficulties, from a numerous family,
wishes to put his daughter to a service — Oh, my poor
old father! — this be the thing! — she will meet the
tenderest care from the lady, who has herself known

SCENE II.] TUB HEIR AT LAW. 23

what it is to be unfortunate. Tol. de rol, lol ! Buss
me. Cicely ! — Hug me, Dick Dowlas ! — I shall pro-
vide for sister, — the care next my very heart. Tol,
de rol, lol ! — Rabbit it ! I be ready to choke for joy !

Cicely. Dear, now I this is the rarest luck '.-—Live
with a young lady ! — I shall be so great and grand —

Dick. And grow giddy with good fortune, and
forget your poor friends, Cis.

Zek. No, no — Cicely be too good for that. — For-
get a poor friend ! — When such giddy folks do
chance to get a tumble, they may e'en thank them-
selves if nobody be ready to help them up.

Cicely. Now, I wouldn't have said such words to
you, Dick. — You know, so you do, if I was to be
made a queen, it would be my pride, Dick, to share
all my gold with brother and you.

Dick. My dear Cis ! — well, I'm sorry j 'faith I am :
and if ever I, or my family, should come to fortune,
— but, pshaw ! — damn it, my fatrher keeps a chand-
ler's shop without custom.

Enter Waiter.

Waiter. The cloth is laid for you in the other
room, gentlemen j for you can't dine here.

Dick. Why so?

Waiter. The churchw^ardens come to eat a great
dinner here, once a month, for the good of the poor.
-—This is their day.

Zek. That's as they do down wi' us : — but I could
never find out why stuffing a churchwarden's guts
was for the good of the poor o' the parish.

Dick. Nor I, neither ^ unless he got a surfeit that
carried him off. Come, Zekiel ; you shall go pre-
sently after the place j but first let us refresh — What
we eat will be for the good of the poor, I'm certain.
— Cis, your arm. — Take my bundle, you dogj [To
the Waiter,] and don't drop any thing out, for I've
no linen to spare. — Come^ Cis ! [Exeunt.

24 TUB UEI« AT LAW. [aCT II

ACT THE SECOND.

^n Apartment.

Enter Caroline Dormer.

Car. I wish Kenrick were come back. My last
hope hangs upon the answer he will bring me. —
World ! world ! — when affluence points the telescope
how closely does it attract thy venal inhabitants ! —
how magnified are all their smiles ! Let poverty re-
verse the glassj far distant does it cast them from
us, and the features of friendship are dwindled into
nothing. — I hear him coming.

Enter Kenrick.

Well, Ke»rick, you have carried the letter ?
Ken. Indeed, and I have. Miss Caroline-
Car. And what answer from my father's old
friend, Kenrick ?

Ken, 'Faith, now, your father's old friend, beg-
ging your pardon, answered like a big blackguard.

Car. Surely, Kenrick, he could not look surj)rised
at my application ?

Ken. 'Faith, he looked for all the world as if he
had swallowed a bottle of vinegar. When I was his
honour's (your poor deceased father's) butler, and
helped this dear old friend to good bumpers of Ma-

SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 25

deira, and be hanged to him, he made clean another
sort of a face of it.

Car. And has he sent no letter in answer ?

Ken, Not a syllable at this present writing; it
was all by varbal word of dirty mouth.

Car. Insulting!

Ken. Give my compliments to Miss Caroline Dor-
mer, says he, and tell her I'm sorry for her mis-
fortunes : — Bless you, says I. — But 1 cannot be of
the smallest service to her. — The devil fly away with
you, thinks I.

Car. Did he assign no reason?

Ken. Och! to be sure, an ould Skinflint doesn't
always give you plenty of reasons for being hard-
hearted ! — 'Tis fitting he should. Miss, because the
case requires it 3 — but compassion is compassion;
and that's reason enough for showing it in all con-
science.

Car. But what said he, Kenrick?

Ken. Her father, Mr. Dormer's bankruptcy, says
he, has made a terrible deal of noise in the world. —
Ay, and a terrible deal of work, too, says I ; for you
know. Miss Caroline, my poor old master, rest his
soul ! was one of the biggest merchants in the city
of London.

Car. True, Kenrick; but died almost one of its
poorest inhabitants.

Ken. That*s what the ould fellow said. — Her fa-
ther has died so involved, says he, that no prudent
man can concern himself for the daughter, or run the
risk of meddling with his affairs. — And so he ended,
with his respects, and a parcel of palaver, to you;
and an offer of half a crown to your humble servant,
as an ould acquaintance.

Car, And yet, had my father's prudence been of
his complexion, I doubt, Kenrick, whether this
man would now have had half-a-crown to offer you.

Ken. Och ! now, if 1 had but minted to teli him

2ff THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT II

that! — But I made the half crown tell it him, as
plain as it could speak; — for I threw it upon the
ould miser's table with a great big whacli ; and by
my soul he never jumped so high at two-and-six-
pence before in all his beggarly born days.

Car. Then there is no hope from that quarter,
Kenrick.

Ken. No more hope than there is in a dead coach-
horse.

Car. I would wish to be alone, Kenrick: — pray
leave me.

Ken. Leave you ! and in griefs Miss Caroline !

Car. I would not have you, my good old man, a
witness to my atHiction.

Ken. What, and wasn't my poor, dear, departed
wife, Judith, your own nurse — wet and dry — for
many a good year ? and isn't myself, Felix Kenrick,
your own' foster-fiither, that have dandled you in
these ould arms when you were the size of a dump-
ling? and will I leave you to take on, after this
fashion, all alone, by yourself?

Car. Pray, pray be silent, Kenrick! — Oh, nature!
— spite of the inequalities which birth or education
have placed between thy children, — still, nature,
with all thy softness, I own thee ! — The tear of an
old and faithful servant, which bedews the ruins
of his shelter, is an honest drop that penetrates the
heart.

Ken. Ay, cry away, my poor Miss Caroline ! cry
away ! — I shared the sun-shine of your family, and
it is but fair that I should go halves in the rain.

Car. A poor two hundred pounds, Kenrick, are
now all that remain to me.

Ken. Well, come, two hundred pounds, now-a-
days, are not to be sneezed at. Consider how con-
soling it is, my dear Miss, to think that, with good
maneigement, it may be a matter of two years before
you are left without a penny in the whole wide

SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 2*^

world ! — and that s four-and-twenty kalendar months,
you know.

Car. Had this Jiollow friend of m^ father's exerted
himself, in the wreck of our house's fortune, he might
probably, have averted the penury which threatens
me.

Ken. Och ! if I could but beat humanity into his
heart, through his carcase, I'd make him as tender
as a sucking pig.

Car. Lord Duberly's death, too, in the moment of
my difficulties ! — In him I might, still, have found a
protector.

Ke7i. Ay, and his brave son, too, the Honourable
Mr. Henry Morland, that was to have married you.
— Well, be of good heart, now — for he's dead ! — tlie
poor drowned youth !

Car. Desist, Kenrick, I beseech you !

Ken. Ay, well, now, you are unhappy ; but you
see I'm after making you easy. — Just as the two
families had popped down the man of your heart
for your husband, 'faith he popped himself into his
decent watery grave ; and I am left the only tender
friend you have in the world, to remind you of it.

Car. Remind me no more, Kenrick. Your inten-
tion is good, but this is torment to me, instead of-^

Zek, IWithout.'] Above stairs ! — Oh ! very well,
ma'am ! — thank you, ma'am !

Car. Hark ! — I hear somebody enquiring for me,
on the stairs.

Ken. Now, that's the worst of these lodgings.
'Faith, the people come into your house before you
have opened the door.

lA knock at the door of the room.

Car. Come in.

Enter Zekiel and Cicely Homespun.

Have you any business with me, friend ?
p

^8 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT II

Zek. AVhy, yes, madam, — it be a smallish bit of
business, as a body may say.

Car. Well, young man ?

Zek. Why, madam, I be come to — Pray, if I may
make so bold, isn't your name A. B. ?

Car, Oh ! I understand ; — you come in conse-
quence of an Jidvertisement. — I believe you may
leave us, Kenrick. — It was I who advertised for a
maid-servant.

Zek. And, with submission, madam, I be come to
oiTer for the place.

Ken. This is the first time I ever saw a servant-
maid in a pair of leathern breeches, in all my life.

\_Exit Kenrick.

Car. You, honest friend, as a maid-servant I

Zek Yes, for Cicely. — Curt'sey, Cicely.

Cicchj. I do, brother Zekiel.

Zek. This be my sister, madam. — We be newly
come from Derbyshire 3 and, lighting at the Blue
Boar — the great inn — in — Holbourn — that — ^but
perhaps, you may frequent it, madam ?

Car. A\'ell, friend !

Zek. Why, we stumbled upon your notice in the
news, matlam ; and so — and so here we be, madam.

Car. [To Cicely.] Have you ever been in service
before, child ?

Cicely. No, never, if you please, madam. — I was
-always with father, and minded the dairy.

Car. And why did you quit your father, pray?

Cicely. lie died, if you please, madam. — It was a
sad day for brother and I. — Tis a cruel thing, ma-
dam, to lose a good father.

Car. It is, indeed, child — I can well feel it.

Cicely. And wken he die? in distress, too, ma-
dam

Car, Did your father die so, child >

Zek. All along o' that damned 'squire. — Mothe
ware gone long ago 3 — and^ when children be left

SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 29

destitute, it be hard to find a friend to compassionate
them.

Car. I — I will be that friend. — My power is little
— almost nothing — butj as far as it can go, you shall
find a protection. •

Cicely. Oh, the gracious ! — What a pure lady ?

Car. But, can you refer me to any one, for a cha*
racter ?

Zek. I ha gotten a character in my pocket, ma-
dam.— They tell me that be the way they do take
most characters in London. — Here be a certificate,
from Parson Brock, of our parish. {^Giving it.

Car. I see. — What can you do to be useful. Cicely ?

Cicely. Oh, a power of things ! — I can churn, and
feed ducks ; milk cows, and fatten a pig, madam.

Zek. Yes, yes, — ^you will find sister Cicely handy
enough, I warrant her.

Car. All this will be of little service in London.

Zek. Od rabbit it, madam, she will soon learn here
to put her hand to any thing. — Won't you. Cicely ?

Cicely. If I don't, it sha'n't be for want of inclina-
tion, so please you, my lady.

Car. Well, child, come in the evening, and you shall
begin your service. We shall not disagree about
wages : and you will be treated more like an humble
friend than a servant. — Kenrick ! — I shall have only
yourself and a poor faithful Irishman.

Zek. \_Aside?^ An Irishman ! — dang it, these Irish-
men, as I be told, be devils among the girls. — My
mind do misgive me 5 for Cicely be young, and
thoughtless.

Enter Kenrick.

Car. Show these good people down, Kenrick 3 and
take this bill to Lombard Street.

Ken. I shall do that thing. Miss Caroline.

Zek. Oh ! then this be the Irishman. He be a
plaguy old one, indeed ! Come, there be nothing to

30 THE HEIR AT LA\f. fACt II.

fear about he. [Aside.'] — ^A good day to you, madam
— Curt'sey, Cicely.

Ken. Come, you two go first'; for I mast be after
showing you the way, you know.

[^Exit^ following Zekiel and Cicely

Car. This simple girl's story approaches so near
to my own, that it touches me. Poor innocence ! —
mine is a sorry shelter in your wanderings j yet, it
may be warmer than one more splendid 3 for opulence
relieves, sometimes with coldness, sometimes with
ostentation, sometimes with levity 5 but sympathy
kindles the brightest spark that shines on the altar of
compassion -, and tenderness pours on it the sweetest
balm that charity produces, when the afflicted admi-
nister to the aflflicted. lExiL

SCENE n.

A Room in the Blue Boar Inn,

Enter Dr. Panoloss and Waiter.

Pang. Let the chariot turn about. — Dr. Pangloss^
in a lord's chariot ! — " Curru portatur eodem." —
Juvenal. — Hem ! — ^Waiter !

Waiter. Sir.

Pang, Have you any gentleman here who arrived
this morning ?

Waiter. There's one in the house now, sir.

Pang. Is he juvenile ?

Waiter. No, sir ; he's Derbyshire.

Pang. He ! he ! he ! — Of what appearance i« th^
gentleman ?

joi..'**!:. i,.j THE HEIR AT LAW. 51

Waiter. Why, plaguy poor, sir.

Pang. '^ I hold him rich, al had he not a sherte."
— Chaucer. — Hem ! — Denominated the Honourable
Mr. Dowlas }

Waiter. Honourable! — He left his name plain
Dowlas, at the bar, sir.

Pang. Plain Dowlas, did he ? — ^That will do,—
^' For all the rest is leather, — "

Waiter. Leather, sir !

Pang. — '' and prunello." — Pope. — Hem ! — Tell
Mr. Dowlas, a gentleman requests the honour of an
interview.

Waiter. This is his room, sir. — He is but just
stept into our parcel warehouse ) he'll be with you
directly. [Exit.

Pang. Never before did honour and affluence let
fall such a shower on the head of Doctor Pangloss !
— Fortune, I thank thee ! — Propitious goddess, I am
grateful ! — I, thy favoured child, who commenced his
career in the loftiest apartment of a muffin-maker, in
Milk-alley. — Little did I think, — '' good easy man,"
— Shakspeare. — Hem ! — of the riches, and literary
dignities, which now —

Enter Dick Dowlas.

My pupil !

Dick. [^Speaking while e?itering.'] Well, where is the
man that wants Oh ! 3^ou are he, I suppose —

Pang. I am the man, young gentleman ! — '' Homo
sum." — ^Terence. — Hem ! — Sir, the person who now
presumes to address you, is Peter Pangloss j to whose
name, in the college of Aberdeen, is subjoined LL.D.
signifying Doctor of Laws j to which has been re-
cently added the distinction of A double S ; — the
Roman initials for a Fellow of tiie Society of Arts.. .

Dick. Sir, I am your most obedient Richard Dow-
las ', to whose name, in his tailor's bill, is subjoined
D. R. signifying Debtor; to which are added

351 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT tr,

L. S. D. ; — the Roman initials for pounds, shillings^
and pence.

Pang, Ha I — this youth was doubtless designed
by destiny to move in the circles of fashion; for
he's dipt in debt, and makes a merit of telling it.

Dick, But what are your commands with me, doc-
tor ?

Pang. I have the honour, young gentleman, of
being deputed an ambassador to you from your
father.

Dick. Then you have the honour to be ambassa-
dor of as good-natured an old fellow as ever sold a
ha' porth of cheese in a chandler's shop.

Pang. Pardon me, if, on the subject of your fa-
ther's cheese, I advise you to be as mute as a mouse
in one, for the future. 'Twere better to keep that
*^ alta mente repostum." — ^Virgil. — Hem.

Dick. Why, what's the matter ! — Any misfor-
tune ? — ^Broke, I fear !

Pang. No, not broke : — but his name, as 'tis
customary, in these cases, has appear'd in the Ga-
zette.

Die A:. Not broke, but gazetted ! — Why, zounds,
and the devil !

Pang. Check your passions ; — learn philosophy. —
When the wife of the great Socrates threw a — hum !
— threw a tea-pot at his erudite head, he was as cool
as a cucumber. — When Plato —

Dick. Damn Plato!-— What of my father >

Pang. Don't damn Plato ! — The bees swarmed
round liis melliiluous moutli as soon as he was swad-
dled.— '' Cum in cunis apes in labellis consedissent,
. . ." — Cicero. — Hem !

Dick. I wish you had a swarm round yours, with
all my heart. — Come to the point.

Pang. In due time. But calm your cholcr. —
" Ira furor brevis est . . .'* — Horace. — Hem! — Read
this. IGivcs a letter.

SCENE II.J THE HEIR AT LAW. 33

Dick, [Snatches the letter, breaks it open, and
reads.] Dear Dick, — This comes to inform you lam in
a perfect state of health, hoping you are the same. — Ay,
that's the old beginning. — It was my lot, last week, to
he made — ay, a bankrupt, I suppose — to be made a . ,,
— ^what ? — to he made a P, E, A, R ; — a pear ! — to be
made a pear ! — what the devil does he mean by that ?

Pang. A peer — a peer of the realm. — His lord-
ship's orthography is a little loose, but several of his
equals countenance the custom. Lord Loggerhead
always spells physician with an F.

Dick. A peer ! — what, my father !— I'm electrified !
— Old Daniel Dowlas made a peer ! — ^But let me see
— [Reads on.] — A pear of the realm. — Lawyer Ferret
got me my tittle . . . — titt — Oh, title ! — and an estate oj
fifteen thousand per ann. — by making me out next oj
kin to old Lord Duberly, because he died without —
without hair. — 'Tis an odd reason, by the by, to be
next of kin to a nobleman, because he died bald.

Pang. His lordship means heir — ^heir to his estate.
—We shall meliorate his style speedily. — *' Reform
it altogether." — Shakspeare. — Hem !

Dick. / send my carrot . . . — Carrot !

Pang, He ! he ! he ! — Chariot, his lordship means^

Dick. With Dr. Pangloss in it.

Pang. That's me.

Dick. Respect him, for he's an LL.D., and more-
over an A double S. [They bow

Pang, His lordship kindly condescended to inseri
that at my request.

Dick. A7id I have made him your tutorer, to mend
your cakelaLogy.

Pang. Cac£dogy; — '' from Kaxo; *' malus," and
Aoyo^, '' verbum.^' — Vide Lexicon. — Hem !

Dick. Come with the doctor to my house in Hanover
Square. — Hanover Square ! — I remain your affec-
tionate father , to command, Duberly.

Pang. That's his lordship*s title.

S4 THE HEIR AT LAv». ^_AC1 . .

Dick. It is >

Pan<^. It is.

Dick. Say, sir, to a lord's son. — ^Youhave no more
manners than a bear !

Pang. Bear ! — under favour young gentleman^ I
am the bear-leader j being appointed your tutor.

Dick. And what can you teach me ?

Pang. Prudence. — Don't forget yourself in sudden
success. — ''' Tecum habita." — Persius. — Hem !

Dick. Prudence, to a nobleman's son, with fifteen
thousand a year !

Pang. Don't give way to your passions,

Dick. Give way! — Zounds! — I'm wild; — mad!
— You teach me ! — Pooh — I have been in London
before, and know it requires no teaching to be a
modern fine gentleman. Why, it all lies in a nut-
shell : — sport a curricle — walk Bond Street — play at
Faro — get drunk — dance reels — go to the opera —
cut off your tail — pull on your pantaloons — and
there's a buck of the first fashion in town for you. —
Dam'me ! d'ye think I don't know what's going }

Pang. Mercy on me ! — I shall have a very re-
fractory pupil !

Dick. Not at all. — We'll be hand and glove to-
gether, my little doctor. I'll drive you down to all
the races, with my little terrier between your legs, in
a tandem.

Pang. Doctor Pangloss, the philosopher, with a
terrier between his legs, in a tandem !

Dick. I'll tell you what, doctor — I'll make you
my long-stop at cricket — you shall draw corks, when
I'm president — laugh at my jokes before comj)any —
squeeze lemons for punch — cast up the reckoning —
and wo betide you, if you don't keep sober enough
to see me safe home, after a jollification !

Pang. Make me a long-stop, and a squeezer of
lemons I — Zounds ! — this is more fiitiguing than

fCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW, 35

walking out with the lap-dogs ! — ^And are these the
qualifications for a tutor^ young gentleman ?

Dick. To be sure, they are. 'Tis the way that half
the prig parsons, who educate us Honourables, jump
into fat livings.

Pang, 'Tis well they jump into something fat, at
last, for they must wear all the flesh off their bones
in the process.

Dick, Come now, tutor, go you and call the
waiter.

Pang. Go, and call ! — Sir, sir ! — I'd have you to
understand, Mr. Dowlas —

Dick. Ay, let us understand one another, doctor.
— ^My father, I take it, comes down handsomely to
you, for your management of me ?

Pang. My lord has been liberal.

Dick. But, 'tis I must manage you, doctor. — Ac-
knowledge this, and, between ourselves, I'll find
means to double your pay.

Pang. Double my —

Dick, Do you hesitate ? — Why, man, you have set
up for a modern tutor without knowing your trade \

Pang, Double my pay ! — say no more — Done.
'^ Actum est." — Terence. — Hem ! — Waiter ! IBawU
ing.'] — Gad, I'vereach'd the right reading at Izist —
*' I've often wish'd that I had, clear.

For life, six hundred pounds a year "

8wift.— Hem !— Waiter !

Dick. That's right ; tell him to pop my clothes
and linen into the carriage 5 — they are in that
bundle.

Enter Waiter.

Pang. Waiter ! — Here, put all the Honourable
Mr. Dowlas's clothes and linen into his father's^
Lord Duberly's, chariot.

Waiter, Where are they all, sir ?

36 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT. II.

Pang. All wrapt up in the Honourable Mr. Dow-
las's pocket handkerchief. [feiMVAiTER with bundle.

Dick. See 'em safe in, doctor, and I'll be with you
directly.

Pang. I go, most worthy pupil. — Six hundred
pounds a year ! — However deficient in the classics,
his knowledge of arithmetic is admirable ! —
*' I've often wish'd that I had, clear.
For life,—"

Dick. Nay, nay, don't be so slow.

Pang. Swift. — Hem ! — I'm gone. [Exit.

Dick. What am I to do with ZeV.iel and Cis ! —
— When a poor man has grown great, his old ac-
quaintance, generally, begin to be troublesome.

Enter Zekiel.

Zek. Well, I han't been long.

Dick. No, you are come time enough, in all con-
science. [Cooly.

Zek. Cicely ha' gotten the place. — I be e'en almost
stark wild wi' joy. — Such a good-natured young ma-
dam ! — Why, you don't seem pleased, man •, — sure,
and sure, you be glad of our good fortune, Dick ?

Dick. —Dick 1— Why, what do you— Oh ! but he
doesn't know, yet, that I am a lord's son — I rejoice
to hear of your success, friend Zeliiel.

Zek. Why, now, that's hearty. — But, eh ! — Why,
you look mortal heavy and lumpish, Dick. No bad
tidings, since we ha' been out, I hope?

Dick. Oh, no !

Zek. Eh ? —Let's ha' a squint at \ou. Od rabbit
it, but summut have happened. — You have seen your
father, and things ha' gone crossish. — Who have been
here, Dick ?

Dick. Only a gentleman, who had the honour of
being deputed ambassador from my father.

Zek. What a dickens, an ambassador ! — Pish, now
you be a queering a body. — An ambassador, sent

SCENE IlJ THE HEIR AT LAW. 37

from an old chandler, to Dick Dowlas, lawyer Lati-
tat's clerk ? — Come, that be a good one, fegs !

Dick. Dick Dowlas ! and lawyer's clerk ! — Sir,
the gentleman came to inform me that my father,
by being proved next of kin to the late lord, is now
Lord Duberly ; by which means I am now the
Honourable Mr. Dowlas.

Zek. Ods flesh ! — gi' us your fist, Dick ! — I ne'er
shook the fist of an Honourable afore, in all my born
days. — Old Daniel made a lord ! — I be main glad to
hear it. — This be news, indeed ! But, Dick, — ^1 hope
he ha* gotten some ready along wi' his title 5 for a
lord without money be but a foolish, wishy-washy
kind of a thing, a'ter all.

Dick. My father's estate is fifteen thousand a-year.

Zek. Mercy on us ! — you ha ta'en away my breath !

Dick. Well, Zekiel, Cis and you shall hear from
me soon.

Zek. Why, you ben't a going, Dick ?

Dick. I must pay my duty to his lordship 3 his
chariot waits for me below. — We bave been some
time acquainted, Zekiel, and you may depend upon
my good offices.

Zek. You do seem a little flustrated with these
tidings. Dick — I — I should be loth to think our
kindness was a cooling.

Dick. Oh, no ! — rely on my protection.

Zek. Why, look ye, Dick Dowlas : — as to protec-
tion, and all that, we ha' been old friends 3 and, if I
should need it from you, it be no more nor my right
to expect it, and your business to give it me : — but
Cicely ha' gotten a place, and I ha' hands and health,
to get a livelihood. Fortune, good or bad, tries the
man, they do say 5 and, if I should hap to be made a
lord to-morrow, (as who can say what may betide,
since they ha' made one out of an old chandler) ^-

Dick. Well, sir, and what then }

Zek, Why, then, the finest feather in my lordshio>

38 THB HEIR AT LAW. [aCT II.

cap would be, to show that there would be as much
shame in slighting an old friend, because he be poor,
as there be pleasure in owning him, when it be in
our power to do him service.

Dick. You mistake me, Zekiel. I — I — 'Sdeath !
I'm quite confounded ! — I'm trying to be as fashion-
able, here, as my neighbours, but nature comes in,
and knocks it all on the head. \_Asid'e.'] Zekiel, give
me your hand.

Zek. Then there be a hearty Castleton slap for
you. — The grasp of an honest man can't disgrace the
hand of a duke, Dick.

Dick. You're a kind soul, Zekiel. I regard you
sincerely j I love Cicely, and— damn it, I'm going too
far, now, for a lord's son. Piide and old friendship
are, now, fighting in me, till I am almost bewildered.
[Aside.'] You shall hear from me in a few hours. —
Good by'e, Zekiel j — good by'e ! . lExit.

Zek. I don't know what ails me, but I be almost
ready to cry. — Dick be a high-mettled youth, and
this news ha* put him a little beside himself. — I
should make a bit of allowance. His heart, I do
think, be in the right road 5 and when that be the
case, he be a hard judge that won't pardon an old
friend's spirits, when they do carry him a little way
out on't. [£a?i^

SCENE I."] THE HBIH AT LAW.

ACT THE THIRD.

j4ri Hotel.

Enter Henry Morland, Stedfast, and a Waiter,

Waiter. These are the apartments, gentlemen©

Henry. They will do. Leave us.

Waiter. Would you choose any refreshment, geiK
tlemen? — Our hotel provides dinners.

Sted. No chattering : — we have business — [Exit,
Waiter.] Welcome, at last, INIr. Morland, to Lon-
don. After wandering over foreign lands, with what
joy an Englishman sets his foot on British ground !
His heart swells with pleasure, as he drives through
his fat, nj^e soil, which ruddy labour has cultivated,
till he reaches this grand reservoir of opulence : —
an opulence which may well make him proud, for its
honourable source is his countrymen's industry.

Henry. To you, Stedfast, who have no private fears
— no anxieties for your family, the satisfaction must
be exquisite.

Sted. Why, I am an old bachelor, 'tis true, and
without relations : but the whole country is my fa-
mily. I could not help thinking as we posted to
town, that each jolly peasant, and each cherry-
cheeked lass^ was a kind of humble brother and sis-

£

40 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III.

ter to me 5 — and they called forth my affections ac-
cordingly. Rich or poor, great or small, we all form
one chain, Henry. May the larger and lesser links
hold kindly together, till time slides into eternity !

Henry. Truce to these reflections, now, my dear
Stedfast 5 — they do your heart honour 5 but mine is
filled with a thousand apprehensions. My father, —
Caroline

Sted, A father, and a mistress ! Duty and love. —
That's a slow fire, and a fierce blaze j — and, doubt
blowing the bellows upon them, — 'tis enough to
scorch a young soul to a cinder.

Henry. 'Tis strange I have never heard from either
of them. After escaping the perils uf shipwreck ! —
after the sufferings which followed, — a father — and a
mistress, soon to be made my wife, — might, surely,
have sent one line to testify their pleasure at my pre-
servation.

Sterl. Ay, now make yourself miserable. — ^A young
mind is too soon sanguine, and, therefore, too soon
depressed.

Henry. Why, what can be the reason that they
have never noticed my letters ?

Sted. Um I — there is one reason, indeed, that

Henry. You alarm me ! — What can that be ?

Sted. That they have never received them.

Henry. Impossible!

Sted. Nothing more likely. Consider, your last
letter, from Quebec, told your father. Lord Duberly,
that you had arranged all the business which had
called you there, and that in three days, you should
embark for England.

Henry. Well, that he never answered.

Sted. I can't tell. — Probably not. Most people
think it somewhat superfluous to write to a corre-
spondent at Quebec, after he has left the place.

Henry. Pshaw! — I'm bewildered. — But, since —

Sted, Why, since, the chances have been against

SCENE I.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 41

you. Wrecked on our passage — thrown upon the
uninhabited part of the island of Caps Breton

Henry. I shall never think of it without horror :
— nor without gratitude, Stedfast. To your friendly
care, (strangers as we, then, were to each other,)
on that frozen shore of desolation, I owe my life.

Sted. Pshaw ! — nonsense — we both met as fellow-
passengers, and were fellow-sufferers ; and I happened
to be the toughest, that's all. — To do as we would be
done by is merely a part of our duty. — But, there is
so much fuss made about it now, that I am afraid,
the duty is too often neglected. I suppose we shall
thank our shoe-black for brushing our boots, though
we reward him for his business.

Henry. Yet humanity, Stedfast —

Sted. Is every man's business : — and the reward
he will ultimately receive for it, is far above human
calculation. — But come, — thank Providence and not
me. — To survive at the end of two months, when
most of the small parcel of our comrades were dead,
or dying, about us, with cold and hunger, is no com-
mon escape.

Henry. And, then, in a desperate hope, to launch
our shattered boat in quest of an inhabited country ;
and to toss about, for two months more, till, be-
numbed and perishing, we were discovered by the
native and friendly Indians. — All this, Stedfast, was,
indeed, a stout trial

Sted, Then away with trifling fears, now. Since
our deliverance, we have changed our ground, daily,
on our return to England. The time — the distance
*— your letters — theirs — all may have miscarried.

Henry. May it prove so ! — But, let me hasten to
my fathers, and clear my doubts.

Sted, Stay, stay, stay ! — You know 'twas at mv
request you drove to this hotel: — now, pray, at my
request, let me wait on Lord Duberly, to prepare
him for your appearance.

4^ THfi HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III.

Henry, But for what purpose ?

Sted, A very evident one. — ^The wreck of our ship
has, doubtless, long been public in London ; and, as
the crew and passengers are, probably, all supposed
to have perished, your abrupt entrance at your fa-
ther's might be too much for him.

Henry. You are perfectly right. — In the moment
when our passions are afloat, how beneficial is the
cool judgment of a friend to direct us ! — But, shou'dn't
I give you a line of introduction to my father }

Sted, Umph ! — why, according to usual form, in-
deed 5 — but I was never good at forms ; and, in this
case, it may be better to let me introduce myself, in
my own way. I hope Lord Duberly is no stickler for
ceremonies.

Henry, He has the manliest virtue, and the warm-
est heart, in the world, my friend 5 but, I confess, to
those who are unacquainted with him, these qualites,
at first, are a little concealed, by a coldness in manner
that—

Sted. Oh ! I understand ; — a little stately or so

Henry. Only a little of the vielle cour about him.
— ^A long habit of haranguing in parliament gives a
man a kind of dignity of deportment, and an eleva-
tion of style, not met with every day, you know. —
But gentleman is written, legibly, on his brow, —
erudition shines through every polished period of his
language, — and he is the best of men^ and fathers,
believe me.

Sted. Ay, ay ! I see, I see ! — Grand and stiff, but
of sterling value, like an old-fashioned silver candle-
stick.— Well, I'll soon bring you an account of my
embassy. ■

Henry. And, while you are at my father's, I will
walk to Mr. Dormer's. — My suspense about Caroline
is intolerable. I must see the good old gentleman,
and he will break my arrival to his daughter.

Sted. Meet me, then, here in a couple of hours.

(SCENE Il.j THE HEIR AT LAW. 43

Henry Be ii so> — ^A thousand thanks^ my dear
Stedfast i

Sted, A. thousand dfiddlesticks \ — I hate to be
thanked, a thousand times, for a trifle. I know 'tis
the language of the day 3 — but modern compUment-
ary cant is the coinage of dishonesty, — for the pro-
fession exceeds the feeUng :— and, nine men in ten,
who give it under their hands that they are your most
devoted humble servants, pledge themselves to you
for much more than they ever mean to perform.

[^Exeunt,

An Apartment in Lord Duberly's House.

Lady Duberly and Dr. Pangloss, discovered.

Lady B. And, how does my lord come on in his
learning, doctor ?

Pang. Apt, very apt, indeed, for his age. — Defec-
tive in nothing, now, but words, phrases, and gram-
mar.

Lady D, I wish you could learn him to follow my
example, and be a little genteel: — but there is no
making a silk purse out of a sow's ear, they say.

Pang. Time may do much. — But, as to my lord,
every body hasn't your ladyslnp's exquisite elegance.
— '' Upon my soul, a lie." — Shakspeare. — Hem !

[Aside.

Lady D. A mighty pretty-spoken man ! — ^And, you
are made tutorer, I'm to d, doctor, to my Dicky ,

e2 -^

44 THE HEIR AT ULW. [aCT III.

Pang. That honour has accrued to your obsequious
servant, Peter Pangloss. I have nov^ the felicity of
superintending your ladyship's Dicky.

Lady D. I must not have my son thwarted, doc-
tor 'y — for, when he has his way in every thing, he's
the sweetest- tempered youth in Christendom.

Fang. An extraordinary instance of mildness !

Lady D. Oh ! as mild as mother's milk, I assure
you. — And what is he to learn, doctor ?

Fang. Our readings will be various. — ^Logic,
Ethics, and Mathematics j History, Foreign and Do-
mestic 5 Geography, Ancient and Modern ; Voyages
and Travels 3 Antiquities, British and Foreign ; Na-
tural History 3 Natural and Moral Philosophy 3
Classics 5 Arts and Sciences 3 Belles Lettres, and
Miscellanies.

Lady D. Bless me ! — 'tis enough to batter the poor
boy's brains to a mummy.

Fang. " A little learning—"

Lady D. Little !--a load !

Fang. — '^ Is a dangerous thing." — Pope. — Hem*

Lady D, And you have left out the main article.

Fang. What may your ladyship mean ?

Lady D. Mean ? — Why, dancing, to be sure.

Fang. Dancing r — Dr. Pangloss, the philosopher^
teach to dance I

Lady D. Between whiles, you might give Dick a
lesson or two in the hall : — as my lord's valet plays
on the kit, it wiU be quite handy to have you both
in the house, you know.

Fang. This is a damned barbarous old woman !
lAside."] — With submission to your ladyship, my
business is with the head, and not the heels, of my
pupil.

Lady D. Fiddle, faddle !•— Lady Betty tells me
that the heads of young men of fashion, now a-days,
are by no means overloaded. They are all left to
the barber and dentist.

SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 45

Pang, 'Twould be daring to dispute so self-evident
an axiom. — But, if your ladyship

Lady D. Look ye, doctor ; — he must learn to
dance and jabber French 5 and I wouldn't give a brass
farden for any thing else. — I know what's elegance -,
— and you'U find the grey mare the better horse^
in this house, I promise you.

Pang. Her ladyship, I perceive, is paramount. —
*^ Dux foemina facti." — Virgil. — Hem ! ^Aside

Lady D. What's your pay here, Mr. Tutorer r

Pang, Three hundred pounds per annum : — that
is — six — no, three — no — ay — no matter : — the rest
is between me and Mr. Dowlas. [^Aside.

Lady D. Do as I direct you, in private, and, to
prevent words, I'll double it.

Pang. Double it! — AVhat^ again! — Nine hundred
per annum ! [Aside.'] — I'll take it. — *' Your hand^
a covenant." — Shakspeare. — Hem ! — Zounds ! — I've
got beyond the reading at last !

^^ I've often wish'd that I had, clear.
For life," — [Lord D. speaks without.

— I hear, my lord —

'' — Nine hundred pounds a-year."
Swift.— Hem !

Enter Lord Duberly ajid Dick Dowlas.

Lord D. Come along, Dick ! — Here he is again,
my lady. — Twist, the tailor, happened to come in
promiscuously, as I may say, and —

Pang. Accidentally, my lord, would be better.

Lord D. Ay, accidentally ; — with a suit of my
Lord Docktail's under his arm ; — and, as we was in
a bit of a rumpus to rig out Dick, why —

Pang. Dress, — not rig — unless metaphorically.

Lord D, Well — to dress out — why, we — humph !
Doctor, don't bother. — In short, we popped Dick
into 'em j and. Twist says, they hit to a hair.

Dick. Yes, they arc quite the dandy : — aren't they.

46 THK HEIR AT LAW. {aCT **.

mother? — This is all the go, they say ! — cut straight
that's the thing: — square waist — wrapt over the knee
— and all that. — Slouch is the w^ord, now, you know.

Lad?j D. Exceeding genteel, I declare ! Turn
about, Dick ; — they don't pinch, do they r

Dick. Oh no ! — lust as if I'd been measured.

Lord D. Pinch ! — Lord love you, my lady, they
sit like a sack. — But, why don't you stand up ? —
The boy rolls about like a porpus in a storm.

Dick. That's the fashion, father 5 — that's modern
ease. — Young Vats, the beau brewer, from the Bo-
rough, brought it dow n last Christmas, to Castleton.
A young fellow is nothing, now, without the Bond-
Street roll, a tooth-pick between his teeth, and his
knuckles cramm'd into his coat-pocket. — Then, away
yon go, lounging lazily along — Ah, Tom ! — What,
Will ! — rolling away, you see ! — How are you. Jack ?

—What, my little Dolly ! That's the way, isn't

t^ mother ?

Lady D. The very air and grace of our young
nobility !

Lord D. Is it } — Grace must have got plaguy lim-
ber, and lopt, of late. — There's the last Lord Du-
berly's father, done in our dining-room, with a wig
as wide as a wash-tub, and stuck up as stiff as a
poker. He was one of your tip-tops, too, in his
time, they tell me 3 — he carried a gold stick before
George the First.

Lady D. Yes j and looks, for all the world, as
straight as if he had swallowed it.

Lord D, No matter for that, my lady. What
signifies dignity without its crackeristick ? A man
should know how to bcmean himself when he is as
rich as Pluto.

Pang. Plutus, if you please, my lord. — Pluto, no
doubt, has disciples, and followers of fashion ; Plu-
tus is the ruler of riches : — '' ArjjttyjTyjp fxev UKoutov
syuvuTo!* — Hesiod. — Hem I

8C£NE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 47

Lord D. There, Dick ! — d'ye hear how the tutorer
talks ? — Od rabbit it ! — he can ladle you out Latin
by the quart; and grunts Greek like a pig*. — I've gin
nini three hundred a-year, and settled all he's to lam
you. — Ha' n't I, doctor ^

Pang. Certainly, my lord. — '^ Thrice to thine" —
Dick, Yes, we know all about that. Don't we,
doctor ?

Pang. Decidedly, — '' and thrice to thine'* —
Lachj D. Ay, ay; — clearly understood. Isn't it,,
doctor ?

Pang. Undoubtedly. — '' And thrice again to make
up nine." — Shakspeare. — Hem !

[^These three quotations aside.

Enter John.

John, A cati, my lord. The gentleman waits ire
the eating-room, and wishes to see your lordship, on
particular business. ^Gives a card,

'^ Lord D. Muster Stedfast! — never heard of the
name. — Curse me, my lad, tell him, I'll be with him
in the twinkling of a bed-post. [Exit John.

Lady D. 1 shall go with your lordship through the
gallery ; for I must dress, to attend Lady Betty.

Lord D. Come along, then, my lady. — ^Dick, go with
the tutorer 5 he'll give you a lesson in my library.
Plenty of learning there, I promise you. I was look-
ing at if^> all of a row, this here very morning. There's
all Horace's Operas, doctor, — ^and such a sight of
French books ! — but, I see by the backs, they are all
written by Tom. — Come along, my lady. J

[Exeunt Lord and Lady Duberly.

Pang, On what subject, Mr. Dowlas, shall we
commence our researches this evening }

Dick, Tell 'em to light up the billiard-room. —
We'll knock about the balls a little.

Pang, Knock about the balls ! — ^An admirable en-
trance upon a course of studies !

48 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT. III.

Dick. Do you know any thing of Ihe game ?

Pang. 1 know how to pocket, young gentleman.

Dick. So do most tutors, doctor.

Pang. If I could but persuade you to peep inco a
classic

Dick. Peep ! — ^Why, you prig of a fellow, don't I
pay you, because I won't peep ? — Talk of this again,
and I'm off our contract.

Pang. Are you ? — I'm dumb. — '' Mammon leads
me on." — ^Milton. — Hem ! — I follow. lExeunt.

SCENE iir.

Another Apartment in Lord Duberly's House.

Enter Stedfast.

Sted. A noble house, 'faith, — and bespeaks some
of that stately dignity in the owner, which my friend
Harry hinted to me. His lordship, I warrant, is as
stiff as buckram 5 with a pompous display of lan-
guage, that puzzles a plain man to keep pace with
him.

Enter John.

John. My lord's compliments, sir, and he'll be
with you in the twinkling of a bed -post. [Exit.

Sted. Zounds ! That's the oddest phrase, for a fine-
spoken peer, I ever met with. The ignorance of the
servant, I suppose. These blockheads never know
how to deliver a message. — Oh ! here he comes !

Enter Lord Duberly.
Your lordship*s most obedient servant. [Bows,

SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 49

Lord D. [Bowing vulgarly.'] Sir, youYe kindly
welcome.

Sted. Kindly welcome ! — Condescending, at least;
but not quite so dignified as I expected, [jlside.'] —
I am a rough traveller, my lord, ungifted with your
lordship's flow of diction ; and, having real business,
I trust, that, without further preface, it may plead
my apology.

Lord D. Ay, ay, business is business 3 — and
words, you know, butter no parsnips.

Sted. Butter no parsnips ! — Why, he's sneering at
my plainness: — or, I have mistaken the person — or

1 have the honour, I think, of addressing Lord

Duberly ?

Lord D. To be sure you have 3 as sure as eggs is
eggs. — Come, take a chair, muster. — Mayhap you
may choose a morsel of summut ?

Sted. Not any thing ; 1 —

Lord D. Don't say no. — A drop of wine, now, —
or a sneaker of punch ; or —

Sted. Nothing, my lord — I am thunderstruck !

[Aside.

Lord D. Well, now then, for this here bit of
business.

Sted. I have had some fears, my lord, that I might
be too abrupt in the disclosure 5 but since this intro-
duction—

Lord D. Oh, rot it ! I was never for no long rig-
maroles, not I ! — An honest man's meaning needs no
flourishes. Honesty is like a good piece of English
roast-beef. Muster Stedfast 5 it lacks little garnish ;
and, the more plainer, the more palatabler. — ^That's
my sentiment.

Sted. I admire your sentiment, my lord ; — ^but I
can*t say much for your language. [Aside.] — I must
inform your lordship, that no great length of time
has elapsed since I left — do not be agitated — Quebec,
in America.

59 THE HEIR AT L\W. [^CT III.

Lord D. A Yankee Doodle, mayhap }

Sted. A Yankee doo — ! — I am not an American,
my lord. \Rises.

Lord D. No offence to you ; — ^but seeing you have
got a tawnyish tinge, [Uwe«.] I thought you might
be a little outlandish.

Sted, I shall ever be proud, my lord, in being able
to say that I am an Englishman ; but I should sup-
pose any person, recently arriving from the country,
I have named, must sensibly interest your feelings.

Lord D. Interest my — Why, what's he at ? — If I
seem not to understand, now, I shall make some
plaguy hole in my manners, I warrant. [Aside,

Sted, I perceive, by your silence, that your lord-
ship is affected. A person in your situation cannot
naturally be otherwise.

Lord D. Then it's the fashion, I find, for a peer
to be in a pucker when any body comes from Que-
bec, in America. [Aside,

Sted. Pray inform me, my lord, have you re-«
ceived any letter from your son since he wrote to ad-
vise you that he had finished the business which in-
duced you to send him from home, and that he was
immediately preparing to meet you in London ?

Lord D. Since that } — No, to be sure. — Why,
Lord love you, he set out directly a'ter it, on piu-pose
to come.

Sted. And your lordship has heard no news from
any of his fellow-passengers ?

Lord D. Fellow-passengers ? — no, not I,—- neither
inside nor out.

Sted. Inside nor out ? — 'Tis plain, however, that
we are all supposed to have gone to the bottom.
[Aside.'] — Know then, my lord, — I was his fellow-
passenger.

Lord Z>. Was yQU?-^You are just come up, then,
it seems.

Sted, Come up ! — This is an easy way of talking

SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 51

to a man supposed to be drowned. lAside.'] I am
here, you see, my lord : but. Providence be praised,
it was never my fate to go down.

Lord D. Well, well, that's no matter of mine. —
Your fate may have laid another way, to be sure, as
you say.

Sted. Another way ! — Zounds ! he can't dare to
insinuate that I was born to be hanged. {^Aside.'] —

He appears the most ignorant, unfeeling Hear

me, my lord — Has your son ever been dear to you ?

Lord D. Plaguy dear, indeed. Muster Stedfast. —
Only ax Dr. Pangloss.

Sted. An intimate, I suppose, to whom your lord-
ship has unburdened your mind in private ?

Lord D. Yes : — he mends my cakelology every
morning: — and is, moreover, a great philosopher.

Sted. On such an occasion a father might well
call in philosophy to his assistance.

Lord D. I hired him o' purpose.

Sted. Hired him! — Hired a philosopher to con-
sole him for the death of his son ! Delicacy is super-
fluous here, I see. ^Aside.'] — In short, my lord, I
come to inform you, that your son, lost as he has
been to the world, has newly and unexpectedly en-
tered into life.
. Lord D. Well, and what then ?

Sted. What then ! — The brutal apathy in this post
of a peer makes me ready to beat him. [^Aside.] —
Why, then, he has this day arrived in town : — here,
—in this very metropolis.

Lord D. Why, what signifies a cock and a bull
story about what I know already }

Sted. Know it ! — It must then be by inspiration.
By what supernatural sign have you discovered his
arrival ?

Lord D. What sign? — ^Why, damme, a Blue Boar.

Sted. My lord ! my lord ! — Ignorance, — little, in-
deed, from the account I received from a blindly

52 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III,

affectionate youth, did I expect to find it here;— Ig-
norance may palliate meanness and buffoonery, and
merely meet contempt ; but want of feeling excites
indignation. You have shocked me, and I leave you.
From exalted rank, like yours, my lord, men look
for exalted virtue 3 and when these are coupled, they
command respect, and grace each other ; but the
coronet which gives and receives splendour when
fixed on the brow of merit, glitters on the worthless
head like a mark of disgrace, to render vice, folly,
and inhumanity conspicuous. \^Exit.

Lord D. That there chap's mad. — He has put me
all of a twitter. If my lady had happened to be here
I'm sure she'd have perspired with fear. — John I

Enter John.

John. My lord !

Lord D. Has the porter let out that there man ?

John. Yes, my lord.

Lord D, Never let him clap his damned ugly mug
into these here doors again. — He's as mad as any
poor soul under a statue of lunacy. — Shut the doors,
d'ye hear. — [_Exit Servant.] — Od rabbit it ! If
peers are to be frightened in this here fashion, I'd
rather serve soap and candles again in comfort at
Gosport. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Another Apartment in Lord Duberly's House.
Enter Dick Dowlas and Zekiel Homespun.

Dick. Well, but at this unseasonafc^ time, to —
Zek. I cou'dn't help it, Dict^

SCENE IV.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 53

Dick. Tisn't the fashion to pay a visit at this
time in the evening. — Who let you in ;•

Zek. Why, a fat man in the hall, that ])opped out
of a leather chair that comes all over his head like a
tub.

Dick. The porter, I suppose.

Zek. Belike it was. — He has tassels a'top of his
shoulders; and a sight of binding, that looks like
parsley and butter, about iiis waistcoat.

Dick. But why did you come now ?

Zek. Why, I do tell ye, I was uneasy about ye,
Dick. — I cou'dn't ha staid away if I was to be
hanged for it. You did promise to meet us this
a'ternoon.

Dick. I have been prevented. We young fellows
of fashion can't answer for our hours.

Zek. Ah I Dick, London fashions and friendship,
I do fear, do seldom, long go cheek by jowl. — I lia*
just left Cicely at the place.

Dick. Well, and what of her, Zekiel ?

Zek. Poor soul! she ha' been sobbing ready to
burst her heart.

Dick. Cicely in tears! — for what?

Zek. All along o' you, man. You did promise to
come; and she do tell me she ne'er know'd you
break your word till you were made a gentleman. I
said all I cou'd think of to comfort her.

Dick. Well, and what did you say ?

Zek. Why, I told her that you had always dealt
fair and open with her till now; — and if you could
be honest to her when you were a lawyer, there
might be some hope of your being so now, even
though you be made an honourable.

Dick. Well, well, I shall see her to-morrow, —
and see you too, Zekiel; — and settle some plan for
her, and

Zek. Plan ? — why, the plan be settled already, you
do know. She be in place, and —

1^ TBE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III,

'Dick. Psha ! — In place will never do. I have a
liking for her, you know , and when

Zek. A liking !

Dick. Yes, — that's a love, 70U know; — and a

regard for you, Zekiel 5 — and In short, a girl on

whom Lord Duberly's son has fixed his affections
must not remain in service ; — it would disgrace one
of us.

Zek. It can't disgrace one of us, Dick. — A good
girl, who have lost her parent's support, and do get
her bread in honest industry, be a pride, instead of
a disgrace, to any that loves her, you do know.

Dick. I did'nt mean that — I —

Zek. Noa — noa : — bless you, 'tware only your
good heart run away wi' you. You do wish us weU,
Dick — you do wish to serve us, and overshot your-
self a little in what you said, that be all.

Dick. Why, look you^ Zekiel. You are a well-
meaning lad —

Zek. Ay, and so be you, Dick. I ware getting a
bit tiffish wi' you at the Blue Boar. I did think
sudden pride were going to turn you topsey-turvey.
— I was angry at myself a'terwards ; but I do beg
your pardon — heartily, my good friend, — faith,
heartily.

Dick. Nay, hear me ; — 'tis fit we should under-
stand one another 3 which we do not seem to do at
present.

Zek. Don't us I — Ecod ! I should be grieved at
that, Dick !

Dick. Listen to me : — My situation, you see, is
much altered.

Zek. Woundily, indeed ! Here be a house ! — and
what a brave coat you ha' gotten on, Dick !

Dick. No matter: — but there are situations in the
world, Zekiel, that do not always tally. Chance may
remove one man so far from another, in the rank of
life, that, though their good-will may continue the

SCENE IV.] THE HEIR AT LAXV, 55

samC;, custom requires that they should not live
exactly — mind^ I say, — not exactly, on the same
footing.

Zek. I see what you be a-driving at, Dick: — I see
it 3 — I did fear it all along. Well, well, I — I do
know I ben't company for a lord's son 3 — but when
a lord was once a chandler I thought, indeed — no
matter. Bless thee, Dick 5 — I shall always wish
thee well !

Dick. Nay, nay, I don't mean that we should se-
parate. On tiie contrary, I wish we may be closer
in friendship than ever.

Zek. Ah, Dick ! I have loved thee — I'd ha parted
with my last f^irthing to — no matter.

Dich, There is no occasion to take it in this man-
ner. We may both be rich — ^both happy, Zekiel : —
but you know how impossible it is for the son of a
peer to marry your sister.

Zek. Ay, ay, I do see it : it be all over.

T>ick. No reason for that on earth ; — for though
the world places a distance between Cis and me as
to matrimony, yet it makes an allowance for every
thing else.

Zek. I don't understand ye, Dick.

Dick. Why, my rank not permitting the usual
forms between us, which my regard for her happi-
ness makes me wish could take place, all I can now
do is to raise her from future fear of poverty , — and
w^e may be man and wife in every thing but the
ceremony.

Zek. Oh ! now I do understand ye — You be a
rascal — Ods flesh ! — I shall choke. — A damned ras-
cal ! — Keep out o' my way, or I may do ye a mis-
chief.

Dick. Nay, out

Zek. Dick, Dick ! — Had a stranger done this, I'd
na' knock'd him down : but for a dear friend to turn

56 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT III.

traitor {^Bursts into tears^ Damme, it's too

much 5 — I can't stand it !

Dick. Well, but only hear me

Zek. I ha' heard too much already. Rot, it ! I be
ashamed to be such a blubberer 5 — ^but the greatest
shame do light upon you.

Dick, I begin to feel that it does, Zekiel.

[Abashed,

Zek. And well you may. If it be the part of a
lord's son to stab his friend to the heart by robbing
his sister of her honesty, much good may do you wi'
your grandeur. But let me tell your grandeur this,
Mr. Dowlas: — You do know some'at (little enow
to be sure) of the law ; — and the law of the land do
make no difference 'twixt a peer and a ploughman.
■ — If you do dare to hurt Cicely, the law shall lay
you flat in the first place, and my ploughman's fist
will lay you flat in the second : and so my service to
you. [Exit,

Dick. My heart upbraids me. — ^I have wounded,
at one blow, an honest man and an innocent girl,
whom reason and inclination tell me to love. Now,
am I so mere a beginner, that whether this is or is
not fashion, curse me if I know: — but I have been
told it is. I must go deeper into its mysteries, or
abstain from it altogether : — and I feel so much pain
already that, in this same career of fashion, where
feeling, they say, is banished, I shall make a very
awkward figure. [Exit,

ACT IV,] THE HEIR AT LAW.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

Caroline's Lodgings.

Zekiel and Cicely Homespun discovered seated.

[Cicely crying and leaning on Zekiel.]

Zek. Do ye, do ye cheer up a bit, sister Cicely !
Don't ye take on so j — don't ye, now !

Cicely. O, Zekiel! — For certain my poor heart
will break.

Zek. Don't ye say so. Cicely 5 for that would go
nigh to break mine.

Cicely. I never will give ear to a lovyer's vows
again as long as I do breathe.

Zek. Ay, that be what all the girls do say over
and over.

Cicely. A base, perjury man !

Zek. That he be. — He ha' stung me to the quick.

— A viper ! — And to offer to abuse you! Damn

him ! [Rises.

Cicely. Oh ! don't you say that of him, Zekiel. I
can't bear that, though he has been so cruel to me.

Zek. Then pluck up a bit of a spirit now : — pray
you do. You ha gotten a good place, you do know ;
and things will go well enough, I warrant us. How
dost like madam ^ eh. Cicely ?

58 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IT

Cicely, Purely ! — she is so tender and kind to me,
Zekiel. — Heigho !

Zek. Come, dry your eyes, now. Cicely. I be
main glad to hear madam be so good to you. What
did you do a'ter I left you last night ?

Cicely. Why, I was but poorly, Zekiel. — I had
been crying, you know.

Zek. Yes, yes j — but don't ye cry any moi-e.
Cicely.

Cicely. And when Madam Caroline saw it, she
was so kind and so comfortable to me !

Zek. Was she ? — good soul !

Cicely. And she bid me go to rest 3 — and spoke as
sweet, and took as much care of me, — as poor mo-
ther used to do.

Zek. Bless her for it ! If I ever be able to make
a return, I'll

Cicely. Dear, I hear her in next room! — She is
up 5 and if she should catch us here ^There now I

Enter Caroline.

Car. Cicely, cliild ! — I thought you had not risen.
— I did'nt wish you to attend if you were unwell,
my poor girl.

Cicely. Thank you, madam.

Zek. Thank you, very kindly, madam.

Car. O ! your brother, I see.

Zek. At your humble service, madam. I made
bold to call, to see how sister were, and to make my
humble duty to you, madam. Cicely do tell me you
ha' been main kind to her. We be jmor, madam,
but I do hope you will be pleased to take our thanks
without offence.

Car. Offence! honest friend. To merit and re-
ceive the thanks of the poor is one of the heart's best
gratifications.

Zek. She be main good-natured, indeed ! I — I had
a — a little bit of a favour to ask, madam.

SCENE 1.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 69

Car. What is it, friend ?

Zek. Why, here be a scrap of paper, here: — it
ware poor father's. If you would be pleased to tell
me if it be worth any thing now it be so old.

^Giving it.

Car. It is worth enquiring after. — 'Tis an old lot-
tery ticket. [Returning it,

Zek. Psha ! — then it be of little good. — Father had
no luck that way ; — but, for all mother could say, he
was always a-dabbling, and a-dabbling. — I'll seek
about it at shop, though. I do wish you a dutiful
good morning, madam.

Car. A good-day, friend.

Zek. [Apart to Cicely.] Pluck up a spirit, do ye
now. Cicely. — Gi' me a buss. — ^There now, let tiuit
comfort ye a bit — I'll call by an by. — A good day to
you, madam. [Exit,

Car. You do not look recovered yet, Cicely.

Cicely. I shall be better in time, if you please,
madam.

Car, Come, child, you must not give way to low
spirits. Your situation is new to you, indeed 3 but
this fickle world is full of changes. Cicely.

Cicely. [Crying^^ Oh, dear me ! — Sure enough this
world is full of fickleness and change !

Car, Well, but do not cry thus, child.

Cicely, I must cry, if you please, madam. — I can't
help it! — indeed, I can't.

Car, Poor girl ! — Does any thing press heavy on
your mind. Cicely?

Cicely. Ye yes, madam.

Car, What is it? — Is it in my ability to relieve
you?

Cicely, Oh, no, madam. — 'Tis quite out of your
power to give me what I have lost.

Car. Lost, child ! — Have you lost any thing since
you came to London ?

60 I'HE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IV.

Cicely, Yes, madam.

Car. Your clothes ?— or a parcel? — or—

Cicely, No, madam.

Car. What then, child?

Cicely. A young man, madam.

Car. Lost a young man. Cicely !

Cicely. He was once the truest hearted youth!
Lawyer Latitat's clerk, of our town, if you please,
madam. — We were to be married, — brother was
agreeable to it, — and now he has basely left me : —
and all because lie has grown rich and great.

Car. What, since last night ? — that is somewhat
sudden, indeed !

Cicely. Ay, I should as soon have looked to be
queen, as to think my Dick would be made a lord's
son.

Car. Made a lord's son ! — How, Cicely ?

Cicely. I don't know how they make lords' sons,
madam ; — but his father has had a good fortune by
a death ; and so Dick is now son to Lord Duberly.

Car, Lord Duberly! — Good Heaven I — how that
name agitates me ! — ^The — the present Lord Du-
berly, you TTieaii, Cicely?

Cicely. Yes, if you please, madam. — The last lord
— Zekiel heard it all from the porter — the last lord's
son was drowned at sea, they say. — Perhaps you
may have heard on't, madam?

(hr. I have — I have, indeed. Cicely ! [Agitated.

Cicely. Oh, dear! — aren't you well, madam ?

Car. Yes — I — I 'tis nothing, Cicely. — And so your
lover, my poor wench, has deserted you ?

Cicely. Oh ! worse than that, madam. — Brother is
almost out of his wits about it : for he said — a base
cruel man! — he would make my fortune, by ruin-
ating me.

Car. Poor simplicity ! — Dry your tears, my good
girl 5 — and rather rejoice that you have escaped the

5JCENK III.] THK HEIK AT LAW. 61

snares of a profligate. — ^You shall not want protec-
tion while I can give it you.

CiceUj. Heaven bless you! — You are very, very
kind^ madam.

Enter Kenrick hastily.

Ken. Och, Miss Caroline !

Car. Well, Kenrick !

Ken, Och, why didn't I die before I was born io
see this ill-looking day !

Car. Why, what's the matter?

Ken. The matter ! — And haven't I trotted into
Lombard-street to get your draught turned into
money ?

Car, To be sure : — for there lies the little which
I now possess, Kenrick.

Ken. 'Faith, and it lies there like my old uncle,
Dennis, in Carrickfergus church- yard; for we shall
never see it again as long as we live.

Car. Good heaven ! — you alarm me ! — Surely the
house has not failed ?

Ken. No, 'faitli! — the house stands plump and
upright, just where it did ; but the ould thief of a
banker hasn't a thirteen left to cross his rogue's
hand with.

Car. Broke !

Ken. By my soul, all to shivers ^ and so bad, they
say, that all the devils can't mend him.

Car. Then, indeed, I am completely ruined !

Cicely. [Running up to her^ No, don't you say
so, madam ! [Caroline sinks on a chair.

Ken. Don't grieve, my sweet Miss Caroline, don't
grieve! — Och, the devil ! my ould heart is as full as
a basket of eggs. — Pray now, keep a good spirit ;
for yo\7 have lost every farthing you have in the
world.

6^ THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IVr

Cicely. Ob, the gracious ! — is that it } — ^pray, if
you please, madam, don't take on so, then, for I
have money.

Ken. What, have you money ?

Cicely. Ay, that I have: — and while I have ten
good pounds, that poor mother left me, in my box,
and a silver watch, it shall never be said that I kept
it from one in distress who has been so kind to me.

Ken. Bless your pretty little soul ! — ^What a pity
it is now that a generous heart hasn't always a
heavy purse to keep it company.

Car. My poor girl! — your grateful attachment
touches me. — I must retire, and think of — Do not
follow me. Cicely. — I must consult on measures to—
Oh, Providence ! for what misery am I ordained ?

» lExit,

Ken. Oh, oh, oh !

Cicely. Dear, I hope I haven't given madam
offence by what I said.

Ken. No, my sweet one ! — you're a little cheru-
bim in a mob-cap. — ^What will I do now ? — 'Faith,
I haven't a brother, nor a nephew, nor a cousin-
german, nor a father, nor any little bit of a kinsman
left, to assist in this botheration. — Come, little one !
—There's my watch, and my buckles, and my — By
my soul, I'd pledge myself, if the pawnbroker would
lend me any thing upon me. [^Exeunt,

SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 63

SCENE II.

The Hotel.

Enter Henry Morland and Stedfast.

Sted. Be more yourself, Henry. — Firmness, in the
moment of disappointment

Henry. Disappointment ! — 'Tis torture -, — it racks
me. — Caroline fled, no one knows whither ^ — unprd-
tected ! — perhaps, exposed to want, too ! — to biting
penury ! '—The account, though confused, which I
gathered, last night, from the unfeeling wretch in

possession of the late Mr. Dormer's house Why

not have gone to my father's ? — Caroline might,
there have relied on an asylum.

Sted, Umph ! — perhaps not.

Henry. Oh, Stedfast ! how little you know of my
Worthy father's heart !

Sted, Yet, I have had a specimen.

Henry, Why did you prevent me from going to
him, last night ?

Sted. After the ill news you had just received at
the late Mr. Dormer's, your mind was too much agi-
tated for such an encounter.

Henry. Well, well, — you see I followed your com-
, .mands. You rule me as a child, Stedfast. — I went
' to bed — but not to rest ! — Why wouldn't you, then^
J explain any. thing ?

Sted. You were unfit to hear any thing : — you
] were almost distracted. Twas sufficient, that I sent
word to Lord Duberly, that you would pay your
duty to him to-day, after breakfast.

G

64 THE HSIR AT LAW. [aCT IV.

Henry. Well, but, you saw my father ?
Sted. I did.

Henry. And he received you with that compla-
cency so friendly a messenger deserved ?

Sted. Why, to say the truth, I found none of that
stately dignity about him which you led me to ex-
pect.

Henry, To you, of course, when you explained
the purpose of your visit, he would throw that
aside. The tenderness of the father softened the
austerity of his habits ; and his language came warm
from the heart.

Sted. Upon my soul, 'twould puzzle me to tell
where his language came from : — but, to do him
justice, (notwithstanding his liarangiies in the House
of PeerS; which you talked of,) his language was as
little parliamentary, as auy language I ever heard in
my life. J

Henry. Oh, yours was no meeting of formality !
— Business, like yours, called for no pomp of words
on either side.

Sted. Words ! — no ; — so his lordship seemed to
think, when he told me they buttered no parsnips.
Henry. My father ! — you jest, sure.
Sted. Indeed, I do not : — and, I am afraid, my
dear young friend, your ardent feelings have painted
the parental affection of Lord Duberly in warmer
colours than it merits.

Henry. Good heaven ! — What do you mean ?
Sted. To be plain ^ — he received the account of
his lost son's arrival, with more than coldness.

Henry. Oh ! you mistook my dear father's
manner.

Sted. Nothing could be less equivocal. He treated
me with but that doesn't signify. When I in-
troduced myself, by informing him that I came
from Quebec

SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 6S

Henry. Ay, that must have excited his attention —
He made a thousand enquiries ?
Sted. No, 'faith, only one.

Henry. What was that ?

Sted. Pshaw ! — trivial — mere ribaldry. — Damn it,,
I'm ashamed, for his sake, and yours, to mention it.

Henry. Nay, nay, — I entreat you, tell me.

Sted. Why, he asked if — pshaw ! — if I was a
Yankee Doodle, if you must ha^ e it.

Henry. You astonish me !

Sted. Not more than I was astonished. — In short,
instead of finding the fond, anxious, agitated father,
I met a man, reckless of his child's fate ; and treat-
ing the friend, who brought the news of his son's
preservation, with levity and insult.

Henry. Impossible ! 'tis not in his nature.

Sted, Nay, even with buffoonery.

Henry. Take care, Stedfast ! — you may have mis-
conceived } — but I must not have my father's cha-
racter made an ill-timed sport.

Sted, Nayj 'tis sportive enough in itself, for that
matter.

Henry. Sportive !

Sted. Yes, — beyond comprehension. He deals in
witchcraft, it seems j — for, he was even jocular
enough to tell me, that he had a familiar, in the shape
of a Blue Boar, who had given him intelligence of v
your arrival. — I confess, I was shocked.

Henry. As I am, Mr. Stedfast, shocked at your
attempt, in a moment like this, to trifle with tlie
feelings of a friend, and endeavour to sully a vene-
rable character, too well established to be tainted
by the breath of misrepresentation.

Sted, Why, — zounds ! — I tell you that Lord Du-
berly

Henry. Lord Duberly, sir, is as incapable of the
conduct and language you have described, as I am
incapable of hearing you, without resentment.

66 THE ITEIR AT LAW. [Atjf IV.

Sted, Resentment ! — You are warm, Mr. Mor-
land.

Henry. I have reason, sir. — Look at the man ;—
look at Lord Duberly 3 — his very countenance con-
tradicts the assertion.

Sted. Why, I don't know. I believe, since you
say it, that gentleman was once written legibly on
his brow J but, dam'me if time has not scratched out
the writing, as thoroughly as ever writing was
scratched out in the world.

Herinj. This conduct of yours shall not go un-
punished, Mr. Stedfast.

Sted. Unpunished, young man !

Hennj. No, by heaven ! — Such a gross aspersion
of my good and worthy father shall be answered

with the life of tliat man

, Sted. Who lately saved yours, Henry !

Henry. Mr. Stedfast, I~I

Sted. Young man, 'tis well for us that winters
enough have passed over my head to make my blood
flow in a temperate current. Did it run riot, like
yours, we might now b^ cutting one another's throats,
— ^Would it please you, think you, to have done me
that office ?

Henry. Please me ! — it makes me shudder.

Sted. Yet, this, now, is what the world calls satis-
faction.— I trust, I am as little daunted with big
words, and a stern look, as most men j but the truest
courage, Henry, is founded on reason 5 — and, were
the head oftener permitted to check the passions of
the heart, there would be fewer fatal encounters, on
foolish causes, and the peace of many a parent. Wife,
and child, might remain unbroken.

Henry. Oh, Stedfast! — the man who reasons thus,
could, surely, never mean to sport with my anxieties,
— There must be some mistake. — Pray, pardon me,
— and accompany me to my father's. — ^Assist me in

8CENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 67

unravelling this mystery, which confounds me. — Can
you forgive my heat ?

Sted. From the very bottom of my heart, Henry ;
for, however rash in itself, the impulse was filial
piety J and that, with me, will amply excuse it.

{^Exeunt

SCENE III.

The Street.

Enter Dick Dowlas and Dr. Pangloss."

Dick, It don't sigviify, doctor j I can't rest till I
have seen ( icely.

Pang. VVhfit's i\ tutor's power over a pupil in love ?
— Annihilated. — True, though trite, that '* Omnia
vincit amor/' — Ovid — Ucni ! — Is she pretty ?

Dick. What's that to you ?

Pang. Nothing. — I'm dead to the fascinations of
beauty 5 since tliat unguarded day of dalliance, when
being fdll of Bacchus, — " Bacchi plenus." — Horace
— Hem ! — my pocket was picked of a metal watch,
at the sign of the Sceptre, in Shoe Lane.

Dick. This is the house : — I've told you my story.
— and, as you value my three hundred a-year, doc-
tor, be ready to assist me, either by message, letter,
or But, what a damn'd gig you look like.

Pang. A gig ! — Umph -, — that's an Eton phrase :
— the Westminsters call it, quiz.

Dick. And you are the greatest, sure> that ever
was dispatched, on Love's embassies, from the court
of Cupid.

68 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IV.

Pang. I'm not proud of the pdst. — Take my coun-
sel^ and drop the pursuit. ^' Refrain, desist, — de-
sine." — ^Terence. — Hem !

Dick. Why, look ye, doctor : — I've done an injury
to two worthy souls, and I can't rest till I've made
reparation. We are all of us wrong at times, doc-
tor -y but a man doubles his ill conduct, when he is
too proud to make an apology for it.

Fang. Yet, confessing our faults, Mr. Dowlas —

Dick. Is only saying, in other words, doctor,
'' that we are wiser to-day than we were yester-
day."

Pang. Swift. — Hem ! Plenty of precedents, how-
ever, for your conduct. — " At lovers' peijuries, they
say-

Dick. Well, what do they say ?

Pang. '' They say Jove laughs." — Shakspeare. —
Hem! — Phaon left Sappho j Theseus, Ariadne 3 De-
mophoon, Phyllis 5 ^neas. Dido : —

Dick. Oh, damn Dido !

Pang. Damn Dido ? — Well, damn Dido ! — ^with
all my heart. — She was the daughter to King Belus^
of Tyre 3 but as very a virago —

Dick. Well, we need not go So far for examples.
— Now, knock at that door.

Pang. Double?

Dick. Zounds ! no 3 you'll spoil all. A sneaking,
single tap, like a dun, doctor.

Pang. Like a dun } — I know the knock weD, Mr.
Dowlas.

Dick. And, when 'tis given, get out of the way for
a while.

Pang. My constant custom, on such an occasion.
[Knocks at the door.'] — ^There's the thorough thump
of a creditor. ^' I never heard it but I ran away upoii
instinct."— Shakspeare.— Hem ! lExit.

CKNK III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 69

Enter Cicely at the Door. — Dick is with his Back
towards her.

Cicely. Dear ! sure somebody knocked. I see
nobody but that gentleman, neither. It could not
be he ; — for, if footmen thump so loud, for certain
your gentlefolks must always beat the door down.
Was it you that knocked, pray, sir ? — [Dick turns
round, and Cicely screams.'] — Don't come near me !
Dick. My dear Cicelv, I —
Cicely. Oh, Dick ! Dick !

\_Cries, and falls into his arms.
Dick. I cannot bear this. — Your tears go to my
rery soul. Cicely.

Cicely. 'Tis you have been the cause of them.
7ou have almost cut my poor heart in two.

Dick. My own suffers for it sufficiently, believe
ne.

Cicely. How could you be so barbarous to me ?
But, indeed, indeed, I forgive you. — Your cruelty
will cost me many a tear j — ^but this is the last time
I shall ever upbraid you.

Dick. Oh ! I deserve all your reproaches.
Cicely. If I had come to fortune, and you had been
poor, Dick, I would have flown to you, and cheered
you in your poverty j — I would have poured my
gold at your feet j — I would have shared all my joys
with you, and told you, that riches could never
change my heart.

Dick. And I come, now, to share all mine vdth
you. Cicely.

Cicely. Oh, no, Dick ! — ^IVIy lot is very humble,
but I scorn the gold that would buy my honesty.
We must never meet any more : — but, indeed, in-
deed, I do truly wish you may be prosperous, though
you sought my ruin. Bless you, Dick ! — and, if
ever poor Cicely comes into your mind, think, that
she prays to heaven to forgive you, jfor trying to

70 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT IV.

harm her innocence, whose greatest blessing: would
have been to make you happy, \_Going.

Dick. Stay — stay, and hear me, I entreat you !
I come to sue for pardon j — I come in repentance.
Cicely.

Cicely. And do you repent ?

Dick. I^do, most earnestly.

Cicely. That is some comfort to me j — for your
own heart will be easier. — And I shall bear my hard
lot better, now j — for I know your great friends will
never let you stoop to one in my station. — Ah, times
are much changed with us, Dick !

Dick. However changf fl, tliey shall not, now, alter
my purpose. Cicely. 1 have ham dazzled, and I
have wounded you. — 1 liave covered myself, too, witli
shame and confusion ; — but, if thoy can make atone-
ment, my fortune, my lieart, and my hand, are all
at your service.

Cicely. Your hand ? — I — I shall be able to speak
more soon. — Oh, Dick !

Dick. My dear, dear Cicely I — I rose strangely to
rank, and I shall, now, perhajjs, in the eyes of the
great world, strangely sup})ort it; — for, I am afraid,
Cis, that half your young follows of fashion would
rather seem wicked than ridiculous ; but, I shall
never, for the future, think, that marrying a worthy
woman, whom chance has placed beneath us in life,
can be any disgrace, while seducing her is reckoned,
among profligate fops, a matter of triumph. Dry
your tears, Cicely !

Cicely. These are not like the tears I shed a while

ago. — They are tears of joy, Dick. \_Bell rings.']

Hark ! I am called.

Dick. One moment ! — Tell me you forgive me.

Cicely. Forgive you ! — Oh, Dick ! you have made
me happy. — How this will comfort my poor Zekiel !

Dick. I shall be ashamed to meet him again.
Cicely.

oCENE III.] THBf HBIR AT LAW. 7*1

Cicely. Oh ! I will tell him aDj— and— [Be Wring*
again.'] — Hark ! I am call'd again.

Dick, Adieu ! — I will see you very, very soon. —
Farewell.

Cicely. Good b'ye, and —

Dick. One kiss, and — Good b'ye ! ^Exit Cicely.]
—That one kiss of lovely virtue is worth a million
timeaf more than all the blandishments that wealth
and luxury can purchase. Where the devil now is the
doctor? — I am brimful of joy, and I have nobody to
communicate my —

Enter Pangloss.

Oh ! you are returned. Embrace me, doctor !

Pang. Embrace you !

Dick. Open wide thy arms, in friendly congratu-
lation, and embrace, you prig of a tutor, the hap-
piest fellow in Christendom ! [,T/iey embrace.

Pang. Bless me ! — Why, we're in the middle of
the street. Decorum, Mr. Dowlas, —

Dick. Damn decorum ! I'm out of my senses.

Pang. Heaven forbid ! — for, it would be as clear
a nine hundred pounds a-year out of my pocket, as
ever man lost in his life. ^Jside.'] — What's the news ?

Dick. The news ? — Why, that I am going to be
married.

Pang. Married ! — Mercy on me ! — Then he is mad,
indeed ! — *' Tribus anticyris caput insanabile." —
Horace. — Hem ! — Consider the —

Dick. Pshaw ! — I have no time to — Come, —
come with me to my father's, I'll explain all to him,
and —

Pang. Only reflect on —

Dick. Reflect ! — ^Look ye, you grave mustard-pot
of a philosopher! — You shall dance a jig down the
street with me, to show your sympathy in my hap-
piness.

72 THE HBIR AT LAW. [aCT U

Pang, A doctor of laws Sancc a jig, in the open
street, at noon-day !

Dick, Foot it. — " Over the hills and far away.**

ISinging.

Pang. I wish I were far away, with all my heart.

Dick. Dance — dance ! — or, dam'me, I cut oflf your
three hundred a-vear in a twinkliner.

Patig. Will you r — Oh then — '* A flourish of trum-
pets."— Shakspeare. — Hem I — '^ Over the hills and
far away !"

lExeunt, hand in hand, dancing and singings

ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE I.

A Street

Enter Kenrick,

Ken. To be sure, misfortune isn't a neat touch-
stone, to try friendship upon I — Faith, now, all my
loving friends deserve a decent kicking ; and, by my
soul, I believe they expect it from my hands , for,
I no sooner said the word lend, but they all turned
t'neir backs to me. Och, my poor Miss Caroline 1
what will I do, now you are a-groimd, to keep your

8CKNK I.J THE HEIR AT LAW. 73

pretty little chin above vvatef ! If we could have
kept the brave Mr. Henry Morland's chin above
water, now ! — but he's gone ; — he's gone j — and
twenty Humane Societies couldn't bring him back.
How my poor ould bones ache ! — and sure the big-
gest bone about me is in my heart, for tliat aches
more than all the other half of my body. — I'll make
bold just to rest me a bit at this door. Don't be
frightencvl, good gentlemen within, for I a' n't com-
ing to borrow of you. iSUting down on the steps at
a door.'] — Faith, this step is like my dear friends*
hearts ; for, by St. Patrick, 'tis as cold, and as hard,
as a hailstone.

Enter Henry TnIimm^axd mid Stedfast.

Sled. Nay, nay, be patient, Henry !

Henry. ?Jy dear friend, 'tis impossible ! — The
blow is too great. — So good, so kind a father, lost !

— and his death so strangely explained to me !

Indeed, indeed, Stedfast, my spirit is now almost
broken.

Ken. I can't see their faces, now ; but, sure,
these two must be a rich man, that wont lend, and
a borrow^er; for one is trotting about in great dis-
tress, and t'other stands as cool as a cucumber.

Sted. Come, come, Henry 5 — the encounter has
been a strange one, 'tis true 3 and the shock sudden.
When you entered a father's house, and prepared to
leap into a father's arms, to meet that low wretch,
who has caused all our mistakes, was, indeed —

Henry. Oh, it distracts me ! — So many things are
floating in my disordered mind, I —

Sted. But, 'tis necessary you should be collected,
now ', — absolutely necessary. You must do speedy
justice to yourself 3 — to the memory of your departed
fether. How came you not to discover yourself to

74 TJFE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT V,

that lump of ignorance, who has jumped into your
inheritance?

Henry. I was staggered. — I heard enough from
Anm to unravel all -, and 'tis well, perhaps, we with-
drew so abruptly. I might have done something
rash at the moment. Oh, Stedfast, I shall sink
under it !

Sted. For shame, Henry ! — Fie on this weakness !
' — Sink under it ! — Decent sorrow for a near loss is
amiable ; — and modest nature never looks more
lovely than when the filiid tear steals gently on the
tomb of a parent : — but desj^erate grief outrages
inauhood and religion; — for, in the trials which we
are all born to undergo, Henry, the man, and the
Christian, forgets his duty to Providence, and to
himself, wlien he loses his resignation, and his for-
titude.

Henry. You are an able and a kind counsellor, my
fri^^od ! — I will endeavour to be more firm.

Sted. Come, let us get back to our hotel. — You
may, there, compose yourself.

Ken. \_Gets up.'] So, having taken a rest, I'll go
home, with my bad news, to console poor Miss Ca-
roline. {^Coming forward,

Henry. I cannot be mistaken in that face. — Ken-
rick !

.Ken. Eh ? — Why sure it can't be ! — Sure, my ould
.eyes are so bad, that I see what's invisible !

Henry. It is he. — IRunuing to him.'] — Oh, Ken-
rick, my good old man ! — tell me, where, where is
my Caroline ?

Ken. Och, 'faith, 'tis himself! — 'tis himself! — 'tis
himself! — safe, sound, and dry, without a wet rag
about him !

Henry. But, inform me, my honest Kenrick,
of

iKen, Hubbidaoo ! hubbaboo ! hubbaboo ! Ocb

8CENK 1.] THE flEIR AT LAW. 7^

I'll go Avild! — I'll go Iliad! — Don't spake to me yet,
my dear, s'weet Mr. Henry ! — Och, good luck to the
day when your honour walked ashore after you were
dro^vned !

fhnrrj. But tell me, Kenrick, of

• Ken. Yes, I'll tell you— I'll tell you of OcW

iij>on my soul y(ni must wait a bit. — 1 believe I've
been drowned myself, for the salt-water runs out of
my eyes by pails-full.

Sfed. Poor fellow ! — An old servant of Mr. Dor-
mer's, I perceive.

Henry. Well, now, speak, speak, Kenrick. — Only
tell me, — is Caroline safe?

Ken. Indeed, now, and she is.

Henry. Thank heaven ! — and in London ?

Ken. Yes, in this wide dirty town j and, big as it
is, there isn't a thirteen to be had, for love nor
money, to help her out of her distress.

Henry. Her distress > — but 1 feared it. Let me

fly to her, and You are surely with her still,

Kenrick r

Ken. With her! — And is it yourself, Mr. Henry,
that can ask Kenrick that question? — Could I leave
my sweet young mistress? — or, would I leave any
friends, in their need, that supported me in their
prosperity ! — Och, the devil fly away with him that
would, I sav !

Sted. Honest fellow !

Henry. Pardon me, my good Kenrick j I know
not what I say. Conduct me to her 3 and you shall
explain all by the way.

Ken. Conduct you ? — 'Faith, ould as I am, I'll go
hopping over all the kennels home with you as nim-
ble as a jackdaw.

Henry. Come then Stedfast ?

Sted. Come, Heniy -, I'll see you to the door of
Miss Dormer, and then I'll leave you ; — and on this

76 THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT 7

occasion, my clear friend, let me heartily congratu-
late you. Such an event as this comes most oppor-
tunely; and it may prove to you, Henry, that, in
this chequered life of joy and sorrow, Providence
has ever some balm in store to pour into the wounds
which it inflicts ; and that the worst of griefs may
be assuaged by the pitying Power who chastens us.

\_Exeunt,

An Apartment in Lord Duberly's House,

Enter Lord and Lady Duberly.

Lord D. But Listen, mv lady, to reason.

Lady D. Then I mustn't listen to you, my lord.

Lord D. Um ! — Why, I've been almost scared
out of my seven senses. The old madman, who was
here last night, rushed in,, with another young one
with him, this morning. I can't make head nor tail
of what he wants, for my part. But, as to Dick, my
lady, he'll certainly break his heart, if he doesn't
marry this here wench.

Lady D. I wonder, my lord, you can think or
such a thing ! — a peer's son marry a maid-servant !

Lord D. Od rabbit it ! my lady, now don't be so
obstropulous. You know, when his father married
yoUj you was but a clear-starcher.

SCENE II. THE HEIR AT LAW. 77

f Lady D. That's quite another sort of an affair -, —
and you might have more manners than to mention
it now. But as to learning you elegance, — ah ! — we
may lead the horse to the water, my lord, but there's
no making him drink.

Lord D. Nay, I'm sure, my lady, I didn't mean
no disparagement to you j — for you was counted, on
all hands, the best getter-up of small linen in our
town. — Here's the doctor. — Let's ax his advice in
this here business.

Enter Doctor Pangloss,

Pray now, doctor ^You must know we're in a oit

of a quandary, doctor.

Pang, Your lordship had better be in an uncer-
tainty.

Lord. D. Why, lord love you, so I am, mun.

Pray, didn't you never hear of no great man as was
married to a farmer's daughter ?

Pang. Walter 5 a Marquis of Lombardy.

Lord D. There, my lady ! — The IMarquis of Lom-
bardy ! — That's the place where all the poplars come
from. He's a tip-top I war'n't him. Mayhap you
may have lit on him in your visits, my lady ?

Lady D. Frequently.

Pang. *' 'Tis false." — Rowe. — Hem ! [Aside.

Lady D. But you have heard nothing yet of the
high tone, my lord.

Lord D. High tone ! — Rot it, I hear nothing else
but the high tone when you're in the house, my
lady. — ^And who did he marry, doctor?

Pang. Grizzle ; a perfect pattern of patience ; —

daughter to his tenant, Jacolina ; and " This

markis hath here spoused with a ring." — Chaucer. —
Hem!

Lord D. There, my lady! ^Vhat do you think

78 TOE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT V.

of that? — Damn it, if the marquis smoused Grizzle,
Dick may marry the maid-servant.

Pang. My pupil! — Zounds, my salary ! — '^ Tre-
mor occupat artus." — Virgil. — Hem! — My incoHae
totters ! lAside

Lord D. And in that there case, doctor, your
three hundred a-year must go to the mending of my
cakelology.

Fang. Yes, but I shall lose No, nothing 5 —

a lapsus linguae. — One annuity gone with my pu-
pil ! — Then I've only clear, for hfe, *' six hun-
dred "

Lady D, Doctor

Pang, ^' Pounds a year." — Swift. — Hem! — Ma-
dam !

Lady D. [Apart to Pang loss.] You know, doc-
tor, my three hundred stops the moment my son
marries.

Pang. What, stop your three! — ^' Thrice the

brinded cat has mew'd." — Shakspeare. — Hem! •

Here he comes.

Enter Dick Dowlas.

Dick. Well, father, has my mother made up hsr
mind ?

Lord D. Why, I can't tell, Dick. My lady seems
betwixt and betweenish, as a body may say. But it
all depends upon her vardick.

[Dick takes his motlier apart.

Pang. Does it ! — Oh, Jupiter, if ever contradic-
tion crept into the bosom of a beauteous woman, —
'' Mulier formosa." — Horace. — Hem! — stuff a dou-
ble dose into that terrible old wouian, and save the
fortunes of Peter Pangloss !

Lady D. Well, but she is only a farmer's daugh-
ter, they say — And what's a farmer, my dear ?

SCENE II.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 79

Dick. Why, an English farmer, mother, is one
who supports his fanuly, and serves his country,
by his own industry. — In this land of commerce,
mother, such a character will be always respect-
able.

Lord D. That's right, Dick. — Father's own son
to a hair. — When I kep my shop at Gosport, I

Lady D. Hush, my lord I — A Veil, you — you were
always my darling, you know, Dick ; and I can't
find in my heart to give you a denial.

Pang. Can't you? — I wish you could find it in
your tongue. Six hundred a-ycar blown away by
the breath of that Sibil I [Aside.

Dick. That's my good mother! you've made me
so happy! — I — Zounds, I shall run mad !

Pang. Zounds ! and so shall I.

Dick. A thousand thanks, my dear mother ! — and
my dear father too ! — I'll get as drunk to-night as
. . . .Wish me joy, doctor 3 wish me joy 3 — v/ish me
joy a hundred times !

Pang. A hundred times ! I feel, Mr. Dowlas, on
this occasion, six hundred times more than I know
Vow to express.

Dick. And if you would but indulge mc now in
letting me conduct you to Cicely —

Lord D. Od rot it, my lady ! let's humour Dick
for once. — The young ones loves to be cooing and
building you know.

Lady D. Why, the coach, I believe, is at the
door, my lord.

Lord D. Is it? — Sbol)s ! then, my lady, let's bun-
dle.— Dick! — Come, doctor. Now, you mustn't
make me ride backwards, my lady 3 for you know I
ha'n't been used to a coach, and I shall certiiinly be
qualmish if you do. — Come, my lady.

{^Exeunt Lord and Lady Dubehia'.

Dick. Come, doctor, we lose time.

Pang. Time? lose! — I've lost a3 pretty a pair of
h2

JO THE HEIR AT LAW. [aGT ¥.

snug annuities as ... . Let me see^ — take six from
nine

Dick. Why, doctor ?

Pang. " And three remain.'* — Cocker. — Hem I

Dick. Come, come — 'tis late.

Pang. Only three.

Dick. Only three ! Why, 'tis only twelve, man.
But come ; if you don't attend to my father better,
I can tell you he'll kick you and your three hundred
a-year to the devil.

Pang. WiU he ? ^^ O, for a horse with wings !'* —
Shakspeare. — Hem ! — I fly, Mr. Dowlas.

\_Exeunt,

SCENE HI.

Caroline's Lodging.

Caroline and Cicely.

Cicely. Indeed^ I truly hope you are better, ma-
dam.

Car. I have little reason to be so. Cicely,

Cicely. Oh, but I hope you have : — and if the
worst comes to the worst .... But I am almost
ashamed to tell you, madam.

Car. Innocence like yours, my good girl, can know
nothing it should fear to reveal.

Cicely. Why, I need't be much afraid, neither;
for 'tis what a power of folks, both rich and poor,
do all come to at last.

SCSNS III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 81

Car. What is that. Cicely >

Cicely. Wedlock, madam.

Car. Indeed ! — This is unexpected after what you
told me this morning.

Cicely. Ay, but you know, madam, as to wedlock,
and all that, many things fall out between the cup
and the lip, as they say.

Car. ^Sighing.'] 'Tis too true, indeed. Cicely!

Cicely. And so my Dick came to our door, ma-
dam 5 — 'tis but a little while agone; — and his dear
eyes were as full of tears ! — and you know that was
a pity, madam -, for his eyes are so fine, and so blue,
'tis a shame any thing should spoil 'em.

Car. Well, Cicely?

Cicely And so we soon brought matters to bear,
^adam.

Car. How, Cicely^

Cicely, Why, he looked so sorry that it made my
heart bleed to see him : — and, when I love him so
dearly, it would be cruel not to marry him when he
asked me. — Don't you think so, madam ?

Car. May you be very, very happy. Cicely ! Tis
an ease to my mind, in the midst of my misfortunes,
to know that you will be provided for. I was on the
point of telling you. Cicely, that my reduced cir-
cumstances would not permit me to keep you with
me any longer.

Cicely. Oh, dear ! — ^And was you going to be so
unkind to me, madan ?

Car. Unkind to you, my good girl ! — Oh, no! It
would have touched me sensibly to have sent forth
simplicity, like yours, unprotected. — But hard neces-
sity!— I rejoice, my good Cicely, rejoice sincerely,
in your ^ Dod fortune.

Cicely. Ail, madam ! I should rejoice more at my
good fort.me :f you would but let me do what I have
been thinking on.

TIJ13 IIEJR AT LAW. [aC* w

Crtr, What is tluit, Cieoly?

C'i eiy. 1 hope you won't be angry at -vhat I'm
going to say, madam 'i

Ca? Oh, impossible ! — Speak freely.

Cicely. Why, you know, madam, Dick's a lord's
son; and when I'm his wife I may do just ivhat I
please : — for rich folks' wives, I have heard -^y. do
just what they please in London. — Now -f vou
would but be so good, when I'm married^ us to let
me ser ve you for nothing !

Car. No more, — no more, Cicely! — I

Cicely. And when my husband gives me any
money, if you wouki but be so kind as to borrow it
of me, I should be very much obliged to you indeed,
madam !

Car. Oh ! — You have overpowered me ! {^Falls on
Cicely's neck.'] Oh, heaven ! — how pure are all thy
creatures endowed with reason till worldly habits
corrupt them !

Zelc. [Without.'] Tol, lol, de rol, lol!

Car, What is that ?

Cicely. 'Twas brother Zekiel's voice. — Sure he
can't think to make such a noise here ?

Enter Zekiel capering and singing.

Zek. Tol, lol, de rol, lol! Tol, lol, de rol, lol!

Cicely. Why, Zekiel ? — Why, you must be crazy,
sure?

Zek. Zooks, and so I be^ sister ! — ^Tol, lol, de rol,
loir

Cicely, Think where you are, brother. There's
madam !

Zek. Rabbit it, madam, I do humbly crave par-
don j^ — but I be in such a frustration! — I ha' got
— Tol, lol de rol, lol! — I ha' got twenty thousand
pounds I

, €CENE HI.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 88

Cicely. Mv gracious ! — Twenty thousand pounds!

Zek. Tol/lol (le rol, lol !

Cicely, liut stand still now, brother Zekiel. Where
did you get such a sight of money ?

Zek. r the lottery, lass ! — I' the lottery. — Let me
take a bit of breath. — I do crave pardon, madam ! —
father's ticket — let me take a bit of — have come a

prize of — a bit of breath — of Dear, dear! hea-

\en send this luck do not set my simple brain a
madding !

Car. Compose yourself, honest friend.

Zek. I do humlDly thank you, madam. — I ha' run
all the way from lottery-office, and

Cicely. Well, and what will you do with all this
money, Zekiel?

Zek. What will I do v/i' it, sister Cicely ? — Why,
what siioiiicl a man do wi' his riches? — I will first
jwovide for such as I do love 5 and then lend a help-
ing hand to them as be poor about me.

Cicely. Dear brother that's just the thing. Come
here, Zekiel. — Poor madam has fallen into great
trouble.

Zek. Has she? — How?

Cicely. M'hy, all her friends arc dead, it seems; —

Zek. Poor soul !

Cicely, And her banker stole all the money she
had this very moruingj and

Zek. Don't you say any more, sister Cicely. —
Hum! — Madam, I — be main glad to hear you be
tumbled into misfortunes, madam.

Car. Glad, friend !

Zek. Main glad, indeed ! — because you ha beea
so kind to sister 3 and I be able now to return you
the favour.

Car. Oh ! no more of that, Zekiel : you distress
me.

Zek. With s-ubmission^ madam, I do want to take

84 IIEIR AT LAW. [act V.

away your distress. Here, madam, IPulling out
notes.'} — here be a hundred — and there be a five
hundred — and here be a— -Rabbit it, my hand do
shake too much to stand a counting. 1 will spread
*em all upon table, here. Take what you do want,
and welcome J and thank you too, madam.

[^Spreading all on the table in a great jiurry.

Car, I cannot — I cannot think, friend, of

Zek, and Cicely. Pray ye do now, madam ! — Pray
ye do! [Bowing and courtesying.

Enter Lord and Lady Duberly,

Car. Bless me! — Who's this?

Lord D. Beg pardon, ma'am ; but the landlady
bid us bundle up.

Car. Your commands with me, sir?

Lord D. Why, the whole preamble of this here
affair is, that my lady and I Speak to the gentle-
woman, my lady.

Lady D. Ah ! you have a head, and so has a pin !
— AVe made bold to pay our respects, madam, having
a little business concerning a female of your family.

Lord D. Yes, and

Car. To whom have I the honour of speaking,
sir?

Lord D. Why, you've the honour of speaking to
Lord Duberly, madam.

Zek. What?

[Gathers up the notes hastily, and comes forward.

Car. To Lord Duberly !

Lord D. But Dick's coming up, with Dr. Pan-
gloss hat-d at his heels, and they'll tell you the long
and the short on't.

Zek. What, Dick Dowlas !— Then you be the old
chandler they ha' made a lord on ?

Lady D. Old chandler, indeed ?

-SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 85

Zek, Look ye now, my Lord Soap and Candles —
Lady D. Soap and candles !

Zek. Your son had better keep clear o' vn^^J^ can
tell him that. ^^

Enter Dick Dowlas and PANoLd^

Dick. Cicely, let me — \_Running toward

Zek. [^Interposing.'] Stand off, Mr. Dowlas ! —

Stand off! — to think to come here to Od rabbit

, ! my fingers do itch to be at you. Keep you be-
ind me, sister Cicely.

Dick. My dear Zekiel, I

Zek. Don't you dear me. I put little trust in fair

)rds with foul actions.
. Cicely. Dear now, you are so hasty, Zekiel 1

Zek. Hold your peace. Cicely. The best he that
wears a head had better be hanged than venture to
harm you.

Dick, Cicely, I find, has riot explained. I am
here, Zekiel, to make reparation.

Zek. You have stung me to the quick. You do
know you have.

Dick. I share with you in all the pain, Zekiel,
which I have so wantonly inflicted. My heart smote
me, even before you left me -, and very little reflec-
tion convinced me that, in the vanity of sudden for-
tune, I had offered you and the woman of my heart,
a bitter injury. I am thoughtless, Zekiel, but not
deliberately base -, and if you can once more take to
your bosom a guilty, but repentant friend,

Zek. Oh, Dick I Dick ! — [Runs and embraces him.']
— my dear, — my old companion! — Ah, Dick! that
be a stony bosom that can shut out an old friend
who be truly grieved for his faults, and do sue for
mercy. — It be more than I can do.

Cicely. Dear, I am so happy !

so Tin-: Hi.iR AT LAW. [act v.

'. You have iDade my heart many and many j
the liah^er, Dick.

pound iiic iit^i

■Dick. And my own too, Zekiel. — And, to prove
my sincerity, my fatlier and mother here are come
with an offer of my hand to Cicely. — Fathei

Lord D. Why, my hidy here is a little upon the
grumpy order for his calling* us chandlers — But, for
my part, I don't value that not of a button. A man
needn't take no aiiiont to be told he was born low
when he has got better in the world without no dis-
honesty.— There, children, be happy together.

Zek. Why, now, that's hearty. And as luck be
apt to turn wi' us all, — why, I ha' now gotten twenty
thousand pounds

Lord and Lady D. How ?

Zek. And I warrant sister Cicely shall ha* stun-
mut handsome toss'd in at the wedding.

Cicely. Ay, all in the lottery. — I'll tell you.

\_They go apart

Pang. Twenty thousand pounds! [Goes forward
to Zekiel.] — Sir, — as you will now need a tutor to
usher you into life, three hundred per annum are the
trifling terms of your obedient servant, Peter Pan-
gloss, LL.D. and A double S.

Enter Kenrick.

Ken. Stand out of the way I — He's coming*, my
dear Miss Caroline ! He's coming !

Car. Who, Kenrick ?

Ken. 'Tis himself — 'Tis himself! — He's alive, and
leaping up stairs, like a young salmon out of the
water.

Car. Who do you mean }

Ken. My dear, young, lost master.— 'Tis Mr.
Henry himself, madam.

Car, My Henry ! — Oh, support me I

SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW . 0/

Enter Henry Morland.

Henry. My Caroline— Oh, let me clasp you to my
heart, and shelter you there for ever.

[Caroline /ain<5 in his arms.

Lord D. Why, zounds ! that's the young sucking
madman as scared me out of my senses, with the old
one, this morning.

Car, [Recovering.'] This is too much ! — Oh, Hen-
ry ! do we once more meet I-^— and after such By

what miracle have you escaped ?

Ken. Be satisfied, ma'am 5 for he's too much
bothered now to talk. — ^But you see he's here, and
that's enough. — ^The true, long-lost Mr. Henry Mor-
land.

Lord D. Eh !-— What !— Henry Morland !— Why,
zounds !— the late Lord Duberly's lost hair !

Henry. Son and heir to that revered and respect-
able man, be assured, sir. You have done me the fa-
vour to be my locum tenens in my absence, and I am
now returned to relieve you from further trouble.

Lord D. Why, what the devil! — Have I only
been a kind of a peer's warming-pan after all! —
Just popp'd in, to keep his place from getting cold,
till he jumped into it !

Henry. Nothing more, believe me. I have wit-
nesses sufficient, should it be necessary, to identify
my person in a minute.

Lord D. Od rabbit it ! then old Daniel Dowlas is
no longer a lord

Lady D. Nor Deborah Dowlas a lady

Dick. Nor Dick Dowlas an honourable

Pang. Nor Peter Pangloss a tutor. — Now, thank
heaven !

Lord D. Thank heaven ! for what ?

Pang. " That I am not worth a ducat." — Otway.
—Hem !

Zek, Then it do seem at last, Dick, that I be the

$8 .THE HEIR AT LAW. [aCT V.

rich man, and you be the poor. — Od rabbit it I be
glad on't ; for I can now please myself wi' serving
my friends.

Henry. Who is this, Caroline?

Car, An honest creature, Henry j — ^brother to this
simple girl. Their affection to me, in my distress,
has been most piercing.

Henry, Then it shall not go unrewarded, my
Caroline.

Zek, Wi' humble submission, sir, kindness to a
fellow-creature in distress do reward itself. Thanks
to the lottery, we be rich enow. But, as Dick Dow-
las be to marry sister Cicely, if you would just
lend me a helping hand, for his father and mother
here

Henry, Oh ! rest contented, honest friend ; I shall
not dispossess them without making a proper })ro-
vision.

Pang, My lord : — hem ! — If a boy should bless
your nuptials, which I conjecture are about to
take place, he will, doubtless, need a tutor. — ^Three
hundred per annum are the terms of your lordship's
obsequious servant, Peter Pangloss, LL. D. and
A double S.

Henry, You are not one of those, it seems, sir,
who lose an appointment for want of an early appli-
.cation.

Pang, The human mind, my lord, naturally looks
forward — '' Animus praevidet futura." — Cicero. —
Hem]

Henry. If I should need such a person, sir, dej)end
upon it, I should be very particular in my choice 5
for I suspect there are some among those to whom
youth is entrusted, who bring the character of tutor
into disrepute 5 and draw ridicule upon a i»spectabJe
situation, in which many men of learning, and pro-
bity are placed.

Pang. This man will never do for me. Again must

SCENE III.] THE HEIR AT LAW. 89

I retire to Milk Alley, and spin my brains for a sub-
sistence.— '' Pangloss's occupation's gone." — Shak-
spear. — Hem !

Henry. In calmer moments, my Caroline, I vniQ
explain the circumstances of my preservation j — and
when I have paid the mournful tribute due to a
much-lamented father let me call you mine, and
place you above the reach of future sorrow.

Car. Little sorrow can reach me when you are
safe, Henry.

Zek, And we'll get into the country, take a bit of
a farm, and all be as merry as grigs, Dick.

Dick. Agreed, Zekiel. — Come, Cicely! 'I have
seen enough already of splendour to seek for happi-
ness in quieter scenes ; and I have learnt, Zekiel,
that, in spite of all the allurements which riches or
titles may boast, the most solid and valuable posses-
sion is a true friend.

THE ENI>.

Printed by A. iiud R. Spottisuoodc,
IVlntcTji-iJlrctt, Lomiuii.

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