ACT III.
SCENE I.
[An Apartment at Sir Luke Tremor's. Enter Sir Luke and Aurelia.]
Sir Luke.
Why, then Aurelia, (though I never
mention'd it to my Lady Tremor) my friend wrote me word, he had reason
to suppose your affections were improperly fixed upon a young gentleman
in that neighbourhood; and this was his reason for wishing you to leave
that place to come hither—and this continual dejection convinces me
my friend was not mistaken—answer me—can you say he was?
Aur.
Why, then, Sir Luke, candidly to
confess—
Sir Luke.
Nay, no tears—why in tears? for
a husband? be comforted—we'll get you one ere long, I warrant.
Aur.
Dear, Sir Luke, how can you imagine
I am in tears because I have not a husband, while you see Lady Tremor every
day in tears for the very opposite cause?
Sir Luke.
No matter—women like a husband
through pride—and I have known a woman marry from that very motive, even
a man she has been ashamed of.
Aur.
Why, then I dare say, poor Lady Tremor
married from pride.
Sir Luke.
Yes;—and I'll let her know pride
is painful.
Aur.
But, Sir, her Ladyship's
philosophy—
Sir Luke.
She has no philosophy.
[Enter Lady Tremor and Twineall.]
Sir Luke.
Where is his Lordship? What have
you done with him?
Lady.
He's speaking a word to Mr. Meanright
about his passport to England.—Did you mean me, Sir Luke, that had no
philosophy? I protest, I have a great deal.
Sir Luke.
When? where did you shew it?
Lady.
Why, when the servant at my Lady
Grissei's threw a whole urn of boiling water upon your legs, did I give
any proofs of female weakness? did I faint, scream, or even shed a tear?
Sir Luke.
No—no—very true—and while I
lay sprawling on the carpet, I could see you fanning and holding the smelling
bottle to the Lady of the house, begging her not to make herself uneasy,
"for that the accident was of no manner of consequence."
Aur.
Dear Sir, don't be angry;—I am
sure her Ladyship spoke as she thought.
Sir Luke.
I suppose she did, Miss.
Aur.
I mean—she thought the accident
might be easily got the better of—She thought you might be easily
recovered.
Lady.
No, indeed, I did not—but I thought
Sir Luke had frequently charged me with the want of patience; and that
moment, the very thing in the world I cou'd have wished, happened—on
purpose to give me an opportunity to prove his accusation false.
Sir Luke.
Very well, Madam—but did not the
whole company cry shame on your behaviour? did not they say, it was not
the conduct of a wife?
Lady.
Only our particular acquaintance
cou'd say so—for the rest of the company, I am sure, did not take me
to be your wife—thank Heaven, our appearances never betray that secret—do
you think we look like the same flesh and blood?
Sir Luke.
That day, in particular, we did not
—for I remember you had been no less than three hours at your toilet.
Aur.
And, indeed, Sir Luke, if you were
to use milk of roses, and several other little things of that kind, you
can't think how much more like a fine gentleman you wou'd look.—Such
things as those make, almost, all the difference there is between you and
such a gentleman as Mr. Twineall.
Twi.
No, pardon me, Madam—a face like mine
may use those things—but in Sir Luke's, they wou'd entirely destroy that
fine martial appearance—[Sir Luke looks confounded.]
which women as well as men admire—for, as valour is the first ornament
of our sex—
Lady.
What are you saying, Mr. Twineall?
[Aside.] I'll keep him on this subject if I can.
Twi.
I was going to observe, Madam—that
the reputation of a General—which puts me in mind, Sir Luke, of an account
I read of a battle—[He crosses over to Sir Luke, who turns
up the Stage in the utmost confusion, and steals out of the room.]
Lady.
Well, Sir—go on—go on—you were
going to introduce—
Twi.
A battle, Madam—but, Sir Luke is
gone!
Lady.
Never mind that, Sir—he generally
runs away on these occasions.
Sir Luke. [Coming back.]
What were you saying, Aurelia, about
a husband?
Lady.
She did not speak.
Sir Luke.
To be sure, Ladies in India do get
husbands very quick.
Twi.
Not always—I am told, Sir Luke—
Women of family, [fixing his eyes stedfastly on Lady Tremor.]
indeed, may soon enter into the matrimonial state—but the rich men in
India, we are told in England, are grown lately very particular with whom
they marry, and there is not a man of any repute that will now look upon a
woman as a wife, unless she is descended from a good family. [Looking at
Lady Tremor, who walks up the Stage and steals off, just as Sir
Luke had done before.
Sir Luke.
I am very sorry—very sorry to say,
Mr. Twineall, that has not been always the case.
Twi.
Then I am very sorry too, Sir Luke; for
it is as much impossible that a woman, who is not born of a good family, can
be— [Lady Tremor returns.
Sir Luke.
That is just what I say—they cannot
be—
Lady.
Sir Luke, let me tell you—
Sir Luke.
It does not signify telling, my dear,—
you have proved it.
Lady. [To Twineall.]
Sir, let me tell you—
Twi.
O! O! my dear Madam, 'tis all in
vain—there is no such thing—it can't be—there is no pleading against
conviction—a person of low birth must, in every particular, be a terrible
creature.
Sir Luke. [Going to her.]
A terrible creature! a terrible
creature!
Lady.
Here comes my Lord Flint—I'll appeal
to him.
Enter Lord Flint.
Sir Luke. [Going to him.]
My Lord, I was saying, as proof that our
great Sultan, who now fills this throne, is no impostor, (as the rebel party
wou'd insinuate) no low born man, but of the Royal Stock; his conduct palpably
evinces—for, had he not been nobly born, we shou'd have beheld the Plebeian
bursting forth upon all occasions [Looking at Lady Tremor] and
then, Heaven help all those who had had any dealings with him!
Lady.
Provoking! [Goes up the
stage.
Lord.
Sir Luke, is there a doubt of the
Emperor's birth and title? he is the real Sultan, depend upon it—it surprises
me to hear you talk with the smallest uncertainty.
Twi.
O, Sir Luke, I wonder at it too, [Aside
to Lord Flint.] and yet, damn me, my Lord, if I have not my doubts.
[Lord Flint starts.
Sir Luke.
I, my Lord? far be it from me! I was only
saying what other people said; for my part I never harboured a doubt of the
kind.— [Aside.] My head begins to nod, only for that word—pray
Heaven, I may die with it on!—I / shou'd not like to lose my head—nor
shou'd I like to die by a bullet—nor by a small sword—and a cannon
ball wou'd be as disagreeable, as any thing, I know—it is very odd—but
I never yet could make up my mind, in what manner I shou'd like to go out
of the world. [During this speech,Twineall is paying court to Lord
Flint; they come forward and Sir Luke retires.
Lord.
Your temerity astonishes me!
Twi.
I must own, my Lord, I feel somewhat
aukward in saying it to your Lordship—but my own heart—my own
conscience—my
own sentiments—they are my own—and they are dear to me.—And so it
is—the Sultan does not appear to be [With significance.] that
great man some people think him.
Lord.
Sir, you astonish me—pray what
is your name? I have forgotten it.
Twi.
'Twineall, my Lord—the honourable
Henry Twineall—your Lordship does me great honour to ask—arrived this
morning from England, as your Lordship may remember—in the ship Mercury,
my Lord—and all the officers on board speaking with the highest admiration
and warmest terms of your Lordship's official character.
Lord.
Why, then, Mr. Twineall, I am very
sorry—
Twi.
And so am I, my Lord, that your
sentiments
and mine shou'd so far disagree, as I know they do.—I am not unacquainted
with your firm adherence to the Emperor—but I am unused to disguise my
thoughts—I cou'd not, if I wou'd— I have no little views—no sinister
motives—no plots—no intrigues—no schemes of preferment,— and I
verily believe that if a large scymitar was now directed at my head—or
a large pension directed to my pocket—(in the first case at least) I
shou'd speak my mind.
Lord. [Aside.]
A dangerous young man this! and I
may make something of the discovery.
Twi. [Aside.]
It tickles him to the soul, I find.
—My Lord, now I begin to be warm on the subject, I feel myself quite
agitated—and, from the intelligence which I have heard, even when I was
in England,—there is every reason to suppose—
exm—exm—exm—[Mutters.]
Lord.
What, Sir? what?
Twi.
You understand me.
Lord.
No, Sir—explain.
Twi.
Why, then, there is every reason
to suppose—some people are not what they shou'd be— pardon my thoughts,
if they are wrong.
Lord.
I do pardon your thoughts, with all
my heart—but your words, young man, must be answer'd for [Aside.]
Lady Tremor, good morning.
Twi. [Aside.]
He is going to ruminate on my sentiments,
I dare say.
Lady.
Shall we have your Lordship's company
towards the evening? Mr. Haswell will be here; if your Lordship has no
objection?
Sir Luke.
How do you know Mr. Haswell will
be here?
Lady.
Because he has just called, in his
way to the Palace, and said so—and he has been telling us some very
interesting
stories too.
Sir Luke.
Of his morning visits, I suppose—I
heard Meanright say he saw him very busy.
Lady.
Sir Luke and I dine out, my Lord;
but we shall return early in the evening.
Lord.
I will be here, without fail.—Sir
Luke, a word with you if you please—[They come forward.] Mr. Twineall
has taken some very improper liberties with the Sultan's name, and I must
insist on making him answer for it.
Sir Luke.
My Lord, you are extremely welcome
[Trembling.] to do whatever your Lordship pleases with any one belonging
to me, or to my house— but I hope your Lordship will pay some regard
to the master of it.
Lord.
O! great regard to the master—and
to the mistress also.—But for that gentleman—
Sir Luke.
Do what your Lordship pleases.
Lord.
I will—and I will make him—
Sir Luke.
If your Lordship does not forget
it.
Lord.
I shan't forget it, Sir Luke—I
have a very good memory, when I please.
Sir Luke.
I don't, in the least, doubt it,
my Lord—I never did doubt it.
Lord.
And I can be very severe too, Sir
Luke, when I please.
Sir Luke.
I don't, in the least, doubt it,
my Lord—I never did doubt it.
Lord.
You may depend upon seeing me here
in the evening—and then you shall find I have not threatened more than
I mean to perform—good morning!
Sir Luke.
Good morning, my Lord—I don't in the
least doubt it. [Exit Lord Flint.
Lady. [Coming forward with Twineall.]
For Heaven's sake, Mr. Twineall,
what has birth to do with—
Twi.
It has to do with every thing, Madam—
even with beauty—and I wish I may suffer death, if a woman, with all
the mental and personal accomplishments of the finest creature in Europe,
wou'd to me be of that value, [Snapping his fingers.] if lowly
born.
Sir Luke.
And I sincerely wish every man who
visits me was of the same opinion.
Aur.
For shame, Mr. Twineall! persons
of mean birth ought not to be despised for what it was not in their power
to prevent—and if it is a misfortune, you shou'd consider them only as
objects of pity.
Twi.
And so I do pity them—and so I do—most
sincerely—poor creatures! [Looking on Lady Tremor.
Sir Luke.
Aye, now he has mended it finely.
Lady.
Mr. Twineall, let me tell you—
Sir Luke.
My dear—Lady Tremor—[Taking
her aside.] let him alone—let him go on—there is something preparing
for him he little expects—so let the poor man say and do what he pleases,
for the present—it won't last long—for he has offended my Lord Flint,
and, I dare say his Lordship will be able, upon some account or another,
to get him imprisoned for life.
Lady.
Imprisoned! Why not take off his
head at once?
Sir Luke.
Well, my dear—I am sure I have
no objection—and I dare say my Lord will have it done, to oblige you.—Egad,
I must make friends with her to keep mine safe. [Aside.
Lady.
Do you mean to take him out to dinner
with us?
Sir Luke.
Yes, my dear, if you approve of it—
not else.
Lady.
You are grown extremely polite.
Sir Luke.
Yes, my dear, his Lordship has taught
me how to be polite.—Mr. Twineall, Lady Tremor and I are going to prepare
for our visit, and I will send a servant to shew you to your apartment,
in order to dress, for you will favour us with your company, I hope?
Twi.
Certainly, Sir Luke, I shall do myself
the honour.
Lady.
Come this way, Aurelia, I can't bear to
look at him. [Exit with Aurelia.
Sir Luke.
Nor I to think of him.
[Exit.
Twi.
If I have not settled my business
in this family, I am mistaken—they seem to have but one mind about
me.—Devilish
clever fellow, egad!— I am the man to send into the world—such a volatile,
good-looking scoundrel too! No one suspects me—to be sure I am under
some few obligations to my friend for letting me into the different characters
of the family—and yet I don't know whether I am obliged to him or not—for
if he had not made me acquainted with them—I shou'd soon have had the
skill to find them out myself.—No; I will not think myself under any
obligation to him—it is devilish inconvenient for a gentleman to be under
an obligation. [Exit.
SCENE II.
[The Palace. The Sultan discovered with guards and officers attending. Haswell is conducted in by an officer.]
Sul.
Sir, you are summoned to receive
our thanks, for the troops restored to health by your kind prescriptions.—Ask
a reward adequate to your services.
Has.
Sultan—the reward I ask, is to
preserve more of your people still.
Sul.
How more? my subjects are in health—
no contagion reigns amongst them.
Has.
The prisoner is your subject—there
misery—more contagious than disease, preys on the lives of
hundreds—sentenced
but to confinement, their doom is death.—Immured in damp and dreary vaults,
they daily perish—and who can tell but that amongst the many hapless
sufferers, there may be hearts, bent down with penitence to Heaven and
you, for every slight offence—there may be some amongst the wretched
multitude, even innocent victims.—Let me seek them out—let me save
them, and you.
Sul.
Amazement! retract your application—
curb this weak pity; and receive our thanks.
Has.
Curb my pity?—and what can I receive
in recompence for that soft bond, which links me to the wretched?—and
while it sooths their sorrow repays me more, than all the gifts or homage
of an empire.—But if repugnant to your plan of government—not in the
name of pity—but of justice.
Sul.
Justice!—
Has.
The justice which forbids all but
the worst of criminals to be denied that wholesome air the very brute creation
freely takes; at least allow them that.
Sul.
Consider, Sir, for whom you plead—for
men, (if not base culprits) yet so misled, so depraved, they are offensive
to our state, and deserve none of its blessings.
Has.
If not upon the undeserving,—if
not upon the hapless wanderer from the paths of rectitude,— where shall
the sun diffuse his light, or the clouds distil their dew? Where shall
spring breathe fragrance, or autumn pour its plenty?
Sul.
Sir, your sentiments, but much more
your character, excite my curiosity. They tell me, in our camps, you visited
each sick man's bed,— administered yourself the healing draught,—encouraged
our savages with the hope of life, or pointed out their better hope in
death.—The widow speaks your charities—the orphan lisps your bounties—and
the rough Indian melts in tears to bless you.—I wish to ask why you have
done all this?—What is it prompts you thus to befriend the wretched and
forlorn?
Has.
In vain for me to explain—the time
it wou'd take to tell you why I act thus—
Sul.
Send it in writing then.
Has.
Nay, if you will read, I'll send
a book, in which is already written why I act thus.
Sul.
What book?—What is it called?
Has.
"The Christian Doctrine." [Haswell
bows here with the utmost reverence.] There you will find all I
have done was but my duty.
Sul. [To the Guards.]
Retire, and leave me alone with the stranger.
[All retire except Haswell and the Sultan. They come forward.]
Sul.
Your words recall reflections that
distract me; nor can I bear the pressure on my mind without confessing—I
am a Christian.
Has.
A Christian!—What makes you thus
assume the apostate?
Sul.
Misery, and despair.
Has.
What made you a Christian?
Sul.
My Arabella,—a lovely European,
sent hither in her youth, by her mercenary parents, to sell herself to
the prince of all these territories. But 'twas my happy lot, in humble
life, to win her love, snatch her from his expecting arms, and bear her
far away—where, in peaceful solitude we lived, till, in the heat of the
rebellion against the late Sultan, I was forced from my happy home to bear
a part.—I chose the imputed rebels side, and fought for the young aspirer.—
An arrow, in the midst of the engagement, pierced his heart; and his officers,
alarmed at the terror this stroke of fate might cause amongst their troops,
urged me (as I bore his likeness) to counterfeit it farther, and shew myself
to the soldiers as their king recovered. I yielded to their suit, because
it gave me ample power to avenge the loss of my Arabella, who had been
taken from her home by the merciless foe, and barbarously murdered.
Has.
Murdered!
Sul.
I learnt so—and my fruitless search
to find her since has confirmed the intelligence.—Frantic for her loss,
I joyfully embraced a scheme which promised vengeance on the enemy—it
prospered,—and I revenged my wrongs and her's, with such unsparing justice
on the foe, that even the men who made me what I was, trembled to reveal
their imposition; and they find it still their interest to continue it.
Has.
Amazement!
Sul.
Nay, they fill my prisons every day
with wretches, that dare whisper I am not the real Sultan, but a stranger.
The secret, therefore, I myself safely relate in private: the danger is
to him who speaks it again; and, with this caution, I trust, it is safe
with you.
Has.
It was, without that caution.—Now
hear me.—Involved in deeds, in cruelties, which your better thoughts
revolt at, the meanest wretch your camps or prisons hold, claims not half
the compassion you have excited. Permit me, then, to be your comforter,
as I have been theirs.
Sul.
Impossible!
Has.
In the most fatal symptoms I have
undertaken the body's cure. The mind's disease, perhaps, I'm not less a
stranger to—Oh! trust the noble patient to my care.
Sul.
How will you begin?
Has.
Lead you to behold the wretched in
their misery, and then shew you yourself in their deliverer.—I have your
promise for a boon—'tis this.—Give me the liberty of six that I shall
name, now in confinement, and be yourself a witness of their enlargement.—See
joy lighted in the countenance where sorrow still has left its rough
remains.—Behold
the tear of rapture chase away that of anguish—hear the faultering voice,
long used to lamentation, in broken accents, utter thanks and
blessings.—Behold
this scene, and if you find the medicine ineffectual, dishonour your
physician.
Sul.
I will behold it.
Has.
Come, then, to the governor's house
this very night—into that council room so often perverted to the use
of the torture; and there, unknown to them as their king, you shall be
witness to all the grateful heart can dictate, and enjoy all that benevolence
can taste.
Sul.
I will meet you there.
Has.
In the evening?
Sul.
At ten precisely.—Guards, conduct
the stranger from the palace. [Exit Sultan.
Has.
Thus far advanced, what changes may
not be hoped for? [Exit.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
