University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Lord Seewell and Lady Harriot.
Lady Harriot.
Dear Papa, don't betray me!—her delicate mind
Would be wounded, I know, and would think me unkind:
So far from allowing, what now I impart,
She herself little knows the true state of her heart.

Lord Seewell.
Believe me, my dear, I with pleasure survey
The sisterly fondness you warmly display.
But you, who for others so sensibly feel,
May here be the dupe of affectionate zeal;
And I hope you're mistaken.

Lady Harriot.
My dear Sir, observe!
You may trace her attachment in every nerve:
If I name Mr. Beril in some idle tale,
Poor Fanny will blush, and as often turn pale.
In his absence still more and more pensive she grows,
Yet thinks not from whence her uneasiness flows.
And when he returns, tho' her pleasure is meek,
Yet the glow of content may be seen on her cheek;
And her heart, as if fully consol'd by his sight,
Appears to repose in a tranquil delight.
Dear Papa, you'll perceive, if you'll open your eyes,
That from none but herself she her love can disguise.
One other exception perhaps we may find,
As I think Mr. Beril is equally blind,
And robb'd, like herself, of the talent of seeing,
By that diffident love, which denies it own being.

Lord Seewell.
I hope this attachment, which neither has shewn,
Exists, my good girl, in your fancy alone.

Lady Harriot.
Why so, my dear Sir?—Should it prove, as you fear,
I hope, dear Papa, that you won't be severe.
Consider the delicate frame of my sister!
But I know you've a heart that can never resist her,
If you once clearly see she has fixt her affection,
Tho' she own not her wishes for such a connection;
As you know that her nature's so modest and meek,
She would die from concealment before she would speak.
I have strength to encounter the crosses of life,
And to make my part good, as a daughter or wife:
But our gentle sweet Frances is ill-form'd to bear
The undeserv'd load of vexation and care;
And therefore should wed, unregardful of pelf,
A husband as tender and mild as herself.

Lord Seewell.
Your reasoning, I think, is not perfectly just.
In the kindness of Beril perhaps I might trust;
But the motive you urge for this union, my dear,
Is what, I confess, would awaken my fear.
As you say, your mild sister should never be harrass'd
By those various ills with which life is embarrass'd,
I should guard her from all the vexations that wait
On a liberal mind with a narrow estate:
And if Beril had thoughts of becoming my son,
Had I not more objections, yet this must be one.

Lady Harriot.
I'll remove it, my Lord, for indeed this is all:
As you think they'll be pinch'd by an income too small,
You shall add to their fortune, and large it will be,
Two thirds of the portion you've destin'd for me.

Lord Seewell.
Dear Harriot! I'm charm'd with thy soul, I confess;
Thou'rt a generous girl—to a noble excess.

Lady Harriot.
To that name, dear Papa, I've no title, indeed,
As I only give up what I never can need.
In your house all my wants will, I know, be supply'd;
And if I should leave it, as Careless's bride,
The liberal heir of so large an estate
Will not grieve that my fortune has sunk in its weight.
Or should my swain frown at the change in my purse,
He may e'en take old Themis for better for worse;
For tho', I confess, he has won my regard,
Yet the knot of my love is not twisted so hard,
But 'twill slip in a moment, if ever I see
That he's rather more fond of my purse than of me.

Lord Seewell.
'Tis a pity, the friendly illusions of youth
Cannot instantly turn into substance and truth.
Your affectionate fancy, my dear, is delighted
With the dream of beholding two persons united,
Whom you fondly suppose only form'd for each other.

Lady Harriot.
I should like Mr. Beril, I own, for my brother,
Because I'm convinc'd, that no mortal on earth,
In manners, in temper, in taste, and in worth,
Is form'd so exactly to suit such a wife.
On their lasting attachment I'd venture my life.

Lord Seewell.
Your warm heart, my good girl, your young judgment deceives,
And what the first wishes the second believes.
Dear Harriot, to this fancied match there may be
Many bars, which your eyes are unable to see:
A mistress conceal'd with a young little fry—

Lady Harriot.
Should an angel declare it, the fact I'd deny;
For had Beril been loaded with such a connection,
In his eyes I had never perceiv'd his affection.
But I'll presently solve any doubts of this kind,
As I'm soon to be told the true state of his mind;
For Careless has promis'd—

Lord Seewell.
O fie! my dear, fie!
Your intemperate zeal has now risen too high.
I am really concern'd at your great indiscretion.

Lady Harriot.
Nay! but hear me, my Lord!—I have dropt no expression,
No! not one single hint, that could truly discover
Why in such a research I commission'd my lover!
Don't think, dear Papa, I'd my sister betray!—

Enter a Servant.
Servant.
Mr. Beril, my Lord, sent this letter.

Lord Seewell.
Stay! stay!
Does any one wait for an answer below?

Servant.
No, my Lord, the man's gone.

Lord Seewell.
Very well! you may go!

[Exit Servant.
Lady Harriot.
Should this be an offer!—'twould give me great pleasure;
But I fear he's too modest to take such a measure.—
Dear Papa! does he venture on any advances?

Lord Seewell.
There, my dear!—you'll not find any mention of Frances;
And I think by the note, which to you I resign,
Your conjectures are not so well founded as mine.

Lady Harriot
(perusing the Letter.)
“Occasion for money.”—“The statue to you!”—
I'm amaz'd—and can hardly believe it is true.
He never would part with so dear a possession,
But for some urgent reason.

Lord Seewell.
You see his confession:
His strong call for money is frankly declar'd;
And I fear his small fortune is greatly impair'd.

Lady Harriot.
These tidings, indeed, give me real concern:
But the source of this step I will speedily learn.
Careless soon will be here.—I will make him discover;
And till we know all, give no peace to my lover.—
But now, my dear Lord, by this note you may find,
How the heart of my sister is really inclin'd:
I'm convinc'd this will prove her affection is strong.
Here she comes for the trial—pray see if I'm wrong.

Lord Seewell.
Well, my dear, I will try, by an innocent plot,
If your sister has really this passion or not.

Enter Lady Frances.
Lord Seewell.
Dear Fanny, you're come our concern to partake,
For we both are much griev'd for our friend Beril's sake.

Lady Frances.
Mr. Beril! dear Sir,—Is he hurt?—Is he kill'd?

Lord Seewell.
No!—with terrors too lively your bosom is fill'd.
My dear, how you tremble!—But I was to blame,
To raise this alarm in your delicate frame.
He is well; but some crosses of fortune, I fear,
Make him sell what he justly consider'd so dear.
You will see by this letter.— (Aside, to Lady Harriot.)
Ah, Harriot, 'tis so;
The excess of her fear from affection must flow!

Lady Frances.
How painful to him must the exigence be,
Which extorts from his hand the agreement I see!
How cruel! for him to relinquish a treasure,
Whence his elegant spirit deriv'd so much pleasure!
But I trust, dear Papa, that your generous mind
Will not now press the bargain he once has declin'd;
And, scorning to profit by any distress,
Will not catch at the gem he still ought to possess.

Lord Seewell.
My dear, can I now, what I offer'd, withhold?
And should I, the statue no less would be sold.

Lady Frances.
Perhaps, if you chose half its value to lend,
From so galling a sale you might rescue your friend!

Lord Seewell.
I am pleas'd, my dear girl, with your spirit, I own,
But these are bad times for a dangerous loan;
And, to tell you the truth in this knotty affair,
I have just at this crisis no money to spare.
But I'll frankly explain our finances to you,
And you shall instruct me in what I shall do.—
As I've seen that old fathers, tho' reckon'd most sage,
Often injure a child by the frolicks of age,
That you may not suffer from follies like these,
I have just now consign'd to the care of trustees
All I've sav'd for you both:—so if I prove unsteady,
You are safe.—When you wed, both your fortunes are ready.

Lady Frances.
How kind, my dear Sir, is whatever you do!
But no child was e'er hurt by a parent like you.

Lady Harriot.
I must smile, dear Papa, at your terrors of slipping;
They who take such precautions are seldom found tripping.
But if in old age your philosophy varies,
I protest I'll forgive you for any vagaries.

Lord Seewell.
Very well, Madam Harriot! remember your word!
I shall claim your indulgence, if e'er I'm absurd.
But as what I have done our loose money secures,
I no longer can touch what I've firmly made yours.

Lady Frances.
Let the fortune of Harriot be sacred, I pray,
For not very distant is her wedding-day.
But as I am convinc'd I shall not wed at all,
Let my portion, Papa, answer every call:
I must beg you to look on it still as your own;
And if it may serve for so timely a loan,
It can't give me more joy, whatsoever my station,
Than by saving your friend from such mortification.

Lord Seewell.
My dear girls! you are both the delight of my life:
May each warm-hearted daughter be blest as a wife!—
What I said was but meant your kind spirit to try,
For the wants of our friend I can amply supply.
Of esteem it will please me to give him a proof,
And preserve the fine statue still under his roof.

Enter a Servant.
Servant.
Mr. Careless, my Lord!

Lady Harriot.
Now the whole I shall know.

[Going.
Lord Seewell.
Stay!—

Servant.
He wishes to see Lady Harriot below.

Lord Seewell.
Being equally anxious this point to discover,
We will all, my dear Harriot, attend on your lover.

[Exeunt.
SCENE, the Apartments of Mrs. Bijou.
Mr. Bijou.
Where the deuce is my wife?—All her rarities plac'd!
Her apartments adjusted with exquisite taste!
Some disaster has happen'd, or she would be here,
Where she ought to be waiting to welcome the Peer;
And I fancy I heard her in anger below.

Enter Mrs. Bijou, in great Agitation.
Mr. Bijou.
What's the matter, my love?

Mrs. Bijou.
O, my dear, such a blow!
I really had swoon'd, if vexation and wrath
Had not quicken'd my spirits, to scold at the Goth.
That awkward old Joan!—an unmannerly minx!
Has knock'd off the nipple, my dear, from a Sphinx;
And now on our chimney it cannot be plac'd,
With a wound so indelicate maim'd and disgrac'd.
But I've happily got these two Griffins of gold,
In the room of the Sphinxes, our candles to hold.

Mr. Bijou.
My dear, the exchange is most lucky and right,
For a Sphinx is an awkward dispenser of light;
But whether your Griffin's of gold or of copper,
A flame from his mouth is exceedingly proper.

Mrs. Bijou.
By your lessons, my love, I improve in Virtù:
All the gusto I have, I have gather'd from you.—
I have fixt the Great Mummy, my dear, to the wall,
Lest the pert Lady Harriot should give him a fall:
She'd be glad to throw down my old king, out of spite;
And I would not be vext in our triumph to-night.
I know our new picture will stir up her gall,
And this Titian will make us the envy of all.
My dear, don't you think it looks well by this light?

Mr. Bijou.
The colours, indeed, are uncommonly bright.

Mrs. Bijou.
What a beautiful youth is this Joseph!—I swear,
I am more and more charm'd with his delicate air;
I delight in him more since I've found, dear Bijou,
That in one of his features he's very like you.

Mr. Bijou.
Where can you, my dear, any likeness suppose?

Mrs. Bijou.
I protest he has got the true turn of your nose;
Not the aquiline curve, but a little Socratic:
And his eye flashes fire, that is chastly ecstatic.—
There's a rap at our door! and I hope my Lord's come.
If vexation and envy do not strike him dumb,
I think he'll harangue, like a critic of Greece,
On the exquisite charms of this beautiful piece!
I long to behold how he's touch'd by the sight:
But I know that his envy will sink his delight.
The moment he sees it, he'll think his luck cruel,
In missing so precious a cabinet jewel.

Enter Mr. Beril and Mr. Cycle.
Mr. Bijou.
Dear Cycle, I take this exceedingly kind;
And I hope you've not left your Cremona behind.
In your presence to-night I most truly rejoice,
And shall call for the aid of your hand and your voice,
(As my wife gives a snug little concert below)
When you've seen what her upper apartments can shew.

Mr. Cycle.
You may freely command me, my friend, as you please.

Mrs. Bijou.
You're a judge, Mr. Beril, of treasures like these;
And I'm eager to shew you a Titian, that's new
Since we last had the joy of a visit from you.

Mr. Beril.
The story is told, Ma'am, with striking expression.

Mrs. Bijou.
Don't you envy my husband this brilliant possession?
I thought you'd burst forth into rapturous praise;
But with no keen delight on this picture you gaze!

Mr. Beril.
To confess, Ma'am, the truth, I'm a whimsical being,
And a subject like this I've no pleasure in seeing.
On your lovely sex 'tis a satire most bitter,
That ill-nature may laugh at, and levity titter:
But I'm griev'd, when an artist has lavish'd his care
On a story that seems a disgrace to the Fair.

Mrs. Bijou.
Our sex's chief lustre, I own, it obscures:
But think what a lesson it offers to yours!

Enter Lady Harriot, Lady Frances, Lord Seewell, and Mr. Careless.
Mr. Bijou.
My dear Lord, I this instant was wishing for you.
Your voice is decisive in points of Virtù;
And you're come in the moment to end an odd strife,
In a matter of taste about Potiphar's wife.—
Should her story be painted?—We want your decision;
And here is the picture that caus'd our division.

Lord Seewell.
Ha! my poor old acquaintance!—But how, dear Bijou,
How the deuce could this picture find favor with you?
I hope that rogue Varnish has play'd you no trick.—
You have paid no great price—

Mrs. Bijou.
I am cut to the quick!
Sure, my Lord, you ne'er look'd on this picture before?

Lord Seewell.
Dear Madam! 'tis one that I turn'd out of door;
And, as I may aid you to 'scape from a fraud,
I'll proceed to inform you, I bought it abroad,
To relieve the distress of an indigent youth,
Who copied old Masters with spirit and truth;
And when it came home, as I valu'd it not,
My steward, by chance, this gay furniture got.
To a new house of his it has lately been carried;
And as your friend Varnish his daughter has married,
I suppose the sly rogue by this picture has try'd,
To encrease the small fortune he gain'd with his bride.
Search the garment of Joseph! you'll find on its hem,
And within a dark fold, the two letters T. M.

Mrs. Bijou.
Aye! there is the mark!—we are cheated, we're plunder'd.
That infamous villain, to ask me eight hundred!—
But the law shall restore it.

Mr. Bijou.
See! Mrs. Bijou,
See the fruits of my hasty indulgence to you!

Lord Seewell.
Chear up, my old friend!—'Tis my wish, that this night
May be witness to nothing but peace and delight.
I'll engage to make Varnish your money restore;
And perhaps this adventure may save you much more.
All we old connoisseurs, if the truth we would own,
Have, at times, been outwitted with canvass or stone:
But here's one, whose example our tribe now invites
To correct our mistakes, and improve our delights.
Here's Beril, tho' blest with a treasure most rare,
That with few works of art will admit of compare,
Gives up the proud joys, that on such wealth attend,
For the nobler delight of assisting a friend!

Mr. Beril.
My Lord! you amaze me; how could you divine?—
O, Careless! your zeal has betray'd my design.

Lord Seewell.
You have fixt on the traitor, yet are not aware,
That you're almost involv'd in a dangerous snare:
But I'll shew you this traitor's accomplice, my friend,
And tell you what mischief these plotters intend.
You must know, Tom and Harriot in concert pursue
Their dark machinations 'gainst Frances and you:
They have sworn you've a tender esteem for each other,
Which you both have in modesty labour'd to smother.
If their charge can be prov'd, I your freedom restrain,
And sentence you both to the conjugal chain.

Mr. Beril.
O, my Lord! that I love Lady Frances, is true;
Yet I could not avow it to her, or to you:
But to force my confession, such means you employ,
I almost may call them the torture of joy.
I'm o'erwhelm'd with surprize, with delight, and with dread,
Lest I falsely have heard the kind things you have said.
Speak! my dear Lady Frances, my anguish relieve!
Does this tumult of hope my wild fancy deceive?

Lady Frances.
I so long have my father's indulgence confest,
That against his decrees I shall never protest.

Mr. Beril.
O, how shall I thank thee, dear pride of my life!

Lord Seewell.
By cherishing still in the mind of your wife,
Such generous feelings as you have display'd.—
From my hand, my dear Beril, receive the kind maid!
Your statue is not more indebted to art,
Than she is to nature for molding her heart.
They both shall be yours; both the statue and bride!
And the wants of your friend shall no less be supply'd.—
Being free from one modish and wealth-wasting vice,
From those pests of our order, the turf and the dice,
I enjoy, my dear children, the fortunate power,
Of securing your bliss by an affluent dower.
Your quiet shall ne'er by your income be hurt,
Which shall equal your wish, tho' below your desert.

Mr. Beril.
Of your kindness, my Lord, I so feel the excess,
That my voice cannot speak what my heart would express.

Mr. Bijou.
I am charm'd, my dear Lord, by your choice of a son.

Lord Seewell.
I know, my old friend, you'll approve what I've done.
You and I, dear Bijou, wanting proper correction,
Have on vanity lavish'd the dues of affection.
We have both squander'd cash on too many a whim;
But in taste let us take a new lesson from him!
And rate our improvements in real Virtù,
By the generous acts he may teach us to do!
To remember this truth is the connoisseur's duty;
“A benevolent deed is the essence of beauty.”

Mr. Bijou.
I confess, I too oft have been vanity's fool;
But shall hope to grow wise, my good Lord, in your school.
And, as mirth should be coupled with wisdom, I'll go
And see if the fiddles are ready below.

[Exit.
Lord Seewell.
To-night, my dear Madam, you must not look grave;
Tho' Varnish has prov'd such an impudent knave,
I promise to make him your money refund.

Mrs. Bijou.
With surprize and vexation I almost was stunn'd;
But depending, my Lord, on your friendly assistance,
I am ready to drive all chagrin to a distance,
And to share in the joy of our dear happy guests.

Mr. Beril.
What I owe to you, Careless, this fair one attests:
And our sister, I hope, if I dare use the name,
From your friendship will judge of your love's ardent flame,
And, short'ning your rigorous term of probation,
Now fill your kind heart with complete exultation.

Lady Harriot.
The warm blaze of our joy, I assure you, dear brother,
With the cold damp of prudery I will not smother.
Your friend has for you play'd so feeling a part,
I confess, I am charm'd with his spirit and heart.
As in law and long courtship he likes not to drudge,
I will make him at once my comptroller and judge.

Careless.
I with transport and pride the dear office embrace!

Lord Seewell.
And long may you fill it with spirit and grace!—
My voice, my dear Careless, confirms her election;
And I give her with joy to your tender direction.
For sealing, dear Tom, you may fix your own day,
Without dreading from law any irksome delay,
As your father and I have, with friendly advances,
Already adjusted your nuptial finances.

Mr. Bijou
(entering.)
Our musicians below are all ready, my Lord:
Of pleasure you teach us to touch the true chord.
I've selected a few little pieces to-night,
That are suited, I hope, to the present delight—
May we all think this day the best day of our life!
It will prove so, I'm sure, both to me and my wife.
If a bargain should tempt us, we will not be rash,
But remember the Titian, and pocket our cash.
To Friendship and Want all we can we will give,
And buy no more baubles as long as we live.