Belf. jun. Because I have been ambitious, and cannot survive the pangs of disappointment.

Sophia. Alas, poor man! but you know where to bury your disappointments; the sea is still open to you, and take my word for it, Mr. Belfield, the man who can live for three years, ay, or three months, in separation from the woman of his heart, need be under no apprehensions for his life, let what will befall her.

Belf. jun. Cruel, insulting Sophia! when I last parted from you, I flattered myself, I had left some impression on your heart-But in every event of my life, I meet a base, injurious brother-the everlasting bar to my happiness-I can support it no longer, and Mr. Belfield, madam, never can, never shall, be yours.

Sophia. How, sir! never shall be mine? what do you tell me? There is but that man on earth, with whom I can be happy; and if my fate is such, that he is never to be mine, the world, and all it contains, will for ever after be indifferent to me.

Belf. jun. I have heard enough-farewell!

Sophia. Farewell, sagacious Mr. Belfield; the next fond female, who thus openly declares herself to you, will, I hope, meet with a more gallant reception than I have done.

Belf. jun. How-what! Is't possible? O Heavens! Sophia. What, you've discovered it at last? Oh, fie upon you!

Belf. jun. Thus, thus, let me embrace my unexpected blessing! come to my heart, my fond, o'erflowing, heart, and tell me, once again, that my Sophia will be only mine!

Sophia. O man, man! all despondency one moment, all rapture the next. No question now but you conceive every difficulty surmounted, and, that we have nothing to do but to run into each other's arms, make

a fashionable elopement, and be happy for life; and I must own to you, Mr. Belfield, was there no other condition of our union, even this project should not deter me; but I have better hopes, provided you will be piloted by me; for believe me, my good friend, I am better acquainted with this coast than you are.

Belf. jun. I doubt not your discretion, and shall implicitly surrender myself to your guidance.

Sophia. Give me a proof of it then, by retreating from this place immediately-'tis my father's hour for walking, and I would not have you meet; besides, your brother is expected.

Belf. jun. Ay, that brother, my Sophia, that brother brings vexation and regret whenever he is named; but I hope I need not dread a second injury in your esteem; and yet, I know not how it is, but if I was addicted to superstition-

Sophia. And if I was addicted to anger, I should quarrel with you, for not obeying my injunctions with more readiness.

Belf. jun. I will obey thee, and yet, 'tis difficultThose lips, which thus have blest me, cannot dismiss me without-

Sophia. Nay, Mr. Belfield, don't you-well, thenmercy upon us! who's coming here?

Belf. jun. How? oh, yes, never fear; 'tis a friend; -'tis Violetta ;-'tis a lady, that I

Sophia. That you what, Mr. Belfield?What lady is it? I never saw her in my life before.

Belf. jun. No, she is a foreigner, born in Portugal, though of an English family: the packet, in which she was coming to England, foundered alongside of our ship, and I was the instrument of saving her life: -I interest myself much in her happiness, and I beseech you, for my sake, to be kind to her.

[Exit. Sophia. He interests himself much in her happiness -he beseeches me, for his sake, to be kind to her— What am I to judge of all this?

Enter VIOLETTA.

Vio. Madam, I ask pardon for this intrusion, but I have business with you of a nature that-I presume I'm not mistaken, you are the young lady I have been directed to, the daughter of Sir Benjamin Dove?

Sophia. I am, madam, but won't you please to repose yourself in the house?-I understand you are a stranger in this country.-May I beg to know what commands you have for me? Mr. Belfield has made me acquainted with some circumstances relative to your story, and for his sake, madam, I shall be proud to render you any service in my power.

Vio. For Mr. Belfield's sake, did you say, madam ? -Has Mr. Belfield named me to you, madam? Sophia. Is there any wonder in that, pray?

Vio. No, none at all-In any man else, such confidence would surprise me; but in Mr. Belfield 'tis natural-there is no wondering at what he does.

Sophia. You must pardon me, I find we think differently of Mr. Belfield: He left me but this minute, and, in the kindest terms, recommended you to my friendship.

Vio. "Twas he then, that parted from you as I came up-I thought so, but I was too much agitated to observe him, and, I am confident, he is too guilty to dare to look upon me.

Sophia. Why so, madam? For Heaven's sake, inform me what injuries you have received from Mr. Belfield! I must own to you, I am much interested in finding him to be a man of honour.

Vio. I know your situation, madam, and I pity it; Providence has sent me here, in time, to save you, and to tell you

Sophia. What!-To tell me what? Oh, speak! or I shall sink with apprehension.

Vio. To tell you, that he is—my husband.

Sophia. Husband! your husband? What do I hear

1

ungenerous, base, deceitful, Belfield! I thought he seemed confounded at your appearance-every thing confirms his treachery, and I cannot doubt the truth of what you tell me.

Vio. A truth it is, madam, that I must ever reflect on with the most sorrowful regret.

Sophia. Come, let me beg you to walk towards the house. I ask no account of this transaction of Mr. Belfield's; I would fain banish his name from my memory for ever, and you shall, this instant, be a witness to his peremptory dismission. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Another Part of the Garden.

Enter BELFIELD JUNIOR, and PATERSON.

Belf. jun. And so, sir, these are her ladyship's commands, are they?

Paterson. This is what I am commissioned by Lady Dove to tell you-what report shall I make to her?

Belf. jun. Even what you please, Mr. Patersonmould it, and model it to your liking-put as many palliatives, as you think proper, to sweeten it to her ladyship's taste, so you do but give her to understand that I neither can, nor will, abandon my Sophia. Cease to think of her, indeed! What earthly power can exclude her idea from my thoughts? I am surprised Lady Dove should think of sending me such a message; and I wonder, sir, that you should consent to bring it.

Paterson, Sir!

Belf. jun. Nay, Mr. Paterson, don't assume such a menacing air, nor practise on my temper too far in

this business. I know both your situation and my own-consider, sir, mine is a cause that would animate the most dastardly spirit; yours is enough to damp the most courageous. [Exit. Paterson. A very short and sententious gentleman! but there is truth in this remark; mine is but a sorry commission, after all-the man's in the right to fight for his mistress-she's worth the venture, and, if there was no way else to be quit of mine, I should be in the right to fight too:-egad, I don't see why aversion shouldn't make me as desperate, as love makes him. Hell and fury! here comes my Venus!

Enter LADY DOVE.

Lady D. Well, Paterson, what says the fellow to my message?

Paterson. Says, madam? I'm ashamed to tell you what he says he's the arrantest boatswain that ever I conversed with.

Lady D. But tell me what he says.

Paterson. Every thing, that scandal and scurrility can utter against you.

Lady D. Against me? What could he say against

me?

Paterson. Modesty forbids me to tell you.

Lady D. Oh, the vile reprobate! I, that have been so guarded in my conduct, so discreet in my partialities, as to keep them secret, even from my own husband; but, I hope, he didn't venture to abuse my person?

Paterson No, madam, no; had he proceeded to such lengths, I couldn't, in honour, have put up with it; I hope I have more spirit, than to suffer any reflections upon your ladyship's personal accomplish

ments.

Lady D. Well, but did you say nothing in defence of my reputation?

Paterson. Nothing.