Marie Thérèse Kemble.

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been here already ?

Lady E. No ; but we have corresponded.

O'Don. Corresponded ! now, I ask. I only ask,
Mrs. Belmore, if this is not the sort of thing to
drive a man wild ?

Lady E. What sort of thing ?

O'Don. To be clandestinely carrying on

Lady E. Clandestinely ? I beg, Sir, you'll go-
vern your expressions.

Mrs. Bel. Nay nay now-

tyDon. Excuse me, Lady Emily ; but if in
order to please you, it be necessary to banish all
sense of right and wrong

Lady E. It is, at least, indispensible, in order
to be endured by me, to possess good manners.

Mrs. Bel. Now, my good friends

G*Don. O ! my dear Madam, no allowances
are to be made for disappointed attachment !


Lady E. Your attachment is oppressive.

O'Don. Very well, Madam, it shan't oppress
you much longer.

Lady E. I'm rejoiced to hear it 'twill be a
great relief.

0' Don. O then ! and you shall have it in
this disagreement, at least, we are of one way of
thinking 'tis high time to make up my rnind

Lady E. I only wish you had done so long


O'Don It's not too late, Ma'am ; I can shake
off my bonds and live free live happily, Ma'am !

Lady E. I'm glad to hear it.

Mrs. Bel. How can you both be so inconside-
rate ? my dear Emily, say but a word to him.

Lady 'E. Wherefore ? I think Colonel O'Do-
nolan quite right I have often told him that our
dispositions did not accord.

O 1 Don. You'll not deny at least, that there is
some cause for jealousy, now ?

Lady E. No, indeed ; I will deny nothing.

O'Don. A jealous man deserves pity, at any

Lady E. (Contemptuously .) You do excite my

0' Don. And a coquette contempt she ought
to be shunned

Lady E. Why don't you go ?

O'Don. I will, Ma'am, I will ; this last stroke
has unsealed my eyes ; I now see clearly I will
leave the field open for Mr. Grenville ; and that
he may meet no obstruction from me, I this
moment bid you eternally farewell. (Goes off, and
returns) And after that, you need not expect to
see me again. [Exit O'DONOLAN.

Mrs. Bel. (Calling after him.) Mr. O'Dono-
lan ! Mr. O'Donolan ! He is really gone.


Lady E. Well, let him go.

Airs. Bel. Indeed, you are to blame ; why did
you consent to receive this young man ?

Lady E. And why not ? am I to bury myself
alive, to gratify Col. O'Donolan's jealous whims?

Mrs. Bel. No ; but where a man is so de-
votedly attached as he appears to be, I think he
merits some consideration unless, indeed, you
feel an interest for Mr. Grenville.

Lady E. Not the slightest ; and I would put
him off, but that O'Donolan's jealousies are so
perfectly well known in the world, that my mo-
tive would at once be divined, and we should be-
come the ridicule of all our acquaintance.

Mrs. Bel. You would rather have him sup-
pose then, that this Grenville is a favour'd lover ?

Lady E. On the contrary, I very much wish
he were undeceived upon that point But how ?
his reason is so perverted, that Yet stay there
might be a way but then I don't like to place
you in so awkward a predicament.

Mrs. Bel. My dear Emily, you know I would
do any thing to reconcile you.

Lady E. I will fairly confess to you, that I
did not think of driving things to such an extre-

Mrs. Bel. Then, at once proceed to the re-
medy what can I do ?

Lady E. Why then, it has occurred to me,
that all difficulties would be overcome, if you
would but consent to be my representative, and
receive Mr. Grenville under my name.

Mrs. Bel. What an extravagant idea !

Lady E. Not at all ; Mr. Grenville cannot
possibly be offended at it; for we shall laugh it
Off as a masquerade frolic : O'Donolan himself
will view it in. the same light, and will then be so



ashamed of his unjust suspicions, that it may cure
him of his jealousies for ever.

^ Mrs. Bel. If I thought that but Mr. Gren-
ville, I am certain, must at once detect the im-

Lady E. Impossible ! I disguised my voice,
never took off my mask, and my dress was so
contrived, that I defy my most intimate friend
to have recognized me it will afford us all a
hearty laugh, and what I know will have great
weight with you, it will serve me, by setting poor
O'Donolan's mind effectually at ease.

Mrs. Bel. I will hazard any thing to accom-
plish that ; but I know, I shall commit every
sort of blunder, so pray be near to assist me ;
and if I should fail

Lady E. I'll answer for it, you will not fail ;
for the motive which prompts the endeavour will
supply you with confidence for the execution of it.

She \vho can boldly dare in friendship's cause,

Tho' unsuccessful, fails with all the world's applause.





Stanly's House at Richmond.

Lady EMILY, and Mrs. BELMORE.

Mrs. BeL I begin to think Mr. Grenville does
not intend to favour us to day. It grows late.


Lady E. I am glad to see this impatience ; it
looks as if you entered into the spirit of the plot
but you forget that days at this time of the
year are not remarkable for length, and the
fashion of making morning calls by moon-light,
very much in favour of his arriving yet.

Enter a Servant.

- Serv. Mr. Grenville is at the door, my Lady,
and wishes to know if you are at home.

Lady E. (Aside.) Thank heaven ! he has re-
membered his assumed name I have been in an.
agony lest he should walk in as Chomley. Say I
shall be happy to see Mr. Grenville. \_Exit Servant.

Mrs. Bel. I declare I am quite in a tremble
you are not leaving me no ; Emily, that's not
the agreement (To Lady EMILY, who is going.)

Lady E. But for a momentI must set Jeffe-
ries to keep rny uncle out of the way if he should
walk in, it will entirely spoil the joke : I'll return
instantly to second you. [Eocit Lady EMILY.

Mrs. BeL How extremely awkward is this si-
tuation ! I don't know what to say or do : there
certainly is a great deal of levity in the proceed-
ing, and I ought not to have lent myself to it.

Enter Sir H. CHOMLEY.

Sir Hen. Shall I not incur your displeasure/
Lady Emily, in thus early presuming to avail
myself of your permission ? The happy are sel-
dom discreet : if I have been too precipitate, at-
tribute my intrusion to its 1 true cause, the impos-
sibility of checking the ardour of my gratitude.

Mrs. Belmore. (Aside). He has fallen into the
deception to her very wish.

p 2


Sir Hen. I have, as you perceive, observed
your Ladyship's commands.

Mrs. Bel. (Aside.) Dear ! what commands
have I laid upon him ? O! you are very good !
{pretending to understand him).

Sir Hen. Would there had been some diffi-
culty in them, Madam, that I might have proved
how far above all other considerations, I prize an
opportunity of obeying you.

Mrs. Bel. I can perfectly understand your de-
sire to see a person who has so successfully evaded
your discovery in the support of an assumed cha-
racter there's always a certain charm attached to
mystery imagination, no doubt, had pictured
to you

Sir Hen. Nothing, which the reality has not
far exceeded - the first moment I beheld you, I
\vasenraptured by the symmetry'of your person,
by the exquisite grace of all your movements,
and the sweetness of your accents. However you
endeavor' d to disguise your voice, I now per-
fectly recognize to be the same which thrilled
to rny heart at Lady Brellington's masquerade.

Mrs. Bel. (Smiling.) And you really know my
voice again ?

Sir Hen I should have distinguished it amongst
a thousand ; and tho' concealed by an envious
mask, you will perhaps scarcely believe, that
rny fancy had pictured your features just what
they are. But, in my warmest moments, I must
acknowledge, that I failed of imparting to them
that irresistible charm of expression which they
possess in so eminent a degree.

Mrs. Bel. So you think, that if chance had
thrown me in your way, you should have known
me ?

Sir Hen. So entirely am I convinced of it, that


ever since I had the happiness of meeting 1 you,
I have gone to every assembly, every public place;
paraded every street, visited every shop, in hopes
of seeing you it I saw a fine arm across the
room, I instantly darted to the spot, full of breath-
less expectation, till some uncouth defect in the
rest of the person, painfully proved to me how
much I was mistaken. A small foot has led rne
to Kensington to Hampstfad have I trotted after
a well-turned ancle ; in short, Lady Emily, I have
left no place in London or its environs unvisited,
in pursuit of your separate perfections.

Mrs. Bel I am quite at a loss how to answer
so many civilities- I can only say, that one rea-
son, and a very sufficient one I think it, for your
not having met me in your perambulations about
London, is, tl^at I very rarely go thither.

Sir Hen. Formed in every way to constitute
its chief ornament, permit me to say, you are
unjust in secluding yourself 'tis a public loss
besides, you wrong yourself as well as others,
for surely there is no existence out of London.

Mrs. Bel. That very much depends upon cir-
cumstances\ the best years of my life, were
passed in a remote county, in an ancient castle,
with a husband, old enough to be my father;
and yet, I can with truth declare, that I never
knew what it was to experience a moment's te-

Sir Hen. And friendship, the only feeling of
your breast ? O 1 Lady Emily, had love been of
the party

Mrs. Bel. It would have ruin'd all when two
people are so utterly dependent upon each other
for their enjoyments, 'tis fortunate when their
sentiments are of a calm, enduring nature pas-
sion is seldom long-lived ; and what painful re-


grets take place of those feelings which are too ar-
dent to be lasting!

Sir Hen. Then you don't believe that love
can endure for ever ?

Mrs. Eel. I'm not certain that I believe in the
existence of the passion at all.

Sir Hen.'~And can it be possible that you have
never felt its power ?

Mrs. Bel. That is a question which
1 Sir Hen. 1 fear may appear presumptuous but
did you know how deeply I am interested in it
you would say

Enter Lady EMILY.

The devil take this woman, for interrupting us !


Lady E, (With Music in her Hand.) He
seems confounded at my approach that's a good
sign (Aside) My dear ! I shall never be able to ac-
complish this Duet for to-night.

Mrs,. Bel. Allow me to present Mr. Gren-
- Lady E. Mr. Grenville of Gloucestershire ?

Sir Hen. (Aside.) Upon my soul I don't know
but 1 suppose so. (Bows very low.)

Lady E. I shall be happy in the honour of your
acquaintance, Sir ; I formerly knew your sister,
and a sweet creature she was she 's quite well, I
hope ? Your poor dear father too, is he still
alive ?

Sir Hen. (Aside.) Curse me if I can tell ; but I
had better kill him, lest she should ask more ques-
tions No, Ma'am, he is dead.

Lady E. I beg pardon I'm quite shocked that
Do you understand music ?

Sir Hen, No, I de not.


Lady E. Then, I'm afraid you can't sing?

Sir Hen. Not in the least.

Lady E. That's very unlucky ; for I meant to
have asked you to help me out in this Duet, this

Sir Hen. What an opportunity had I nearly
lost ! (Aside) Sing? sing, did you say ? O, to be
sure ; every body sings devil a tune can I turn,
(Aside) that is, I in a sort of a manner

Lady E. Yes, yes; that's just in my own
way ; so, if you'll step into the next room, we can
amuse ourselves with trying it over.

Sir Hen. Confound you and your Duet too !
(Aside affects to cough) Bless my soul, Ma'am,
the worst cold I ever had in my life !

Lady E. Ay, it seems very bad, indeed ; I
think you had better not venture into the night
air I must insist upon your not coming here
this evening we'll positively have the doors shut
against you.

Sir Hen. My dear Madam, I shall mend sur-
prisingly by that time. After dinner, I always sing
like a nightingale ; my notes would quite asto-
nish you there's no lie in that, at any ratG.(^4side.)

Lady E. But the fogs, at this time of the year

Sir Hen. Are a sovereign remedy for coughs
like mine you see 'tis not a common sort of
cold j 'tis only a Hum ! (Coughs.}

Lady E. So I perceive, Sir.

Sir Hen. An asthma, or spasmodic affection
that in short the fouler the air, the better I
feel myself,

Lady E. (To Mrs. BELMORE.) How do you
find him ?

Mrs. Bel. O, very agreeable.

Lady E. That's as much as to say, quite
charming (Aside.) Well, since you won't sing


with hie, I must give it up for the present. I
have two calls to make across the Green, and I'll
take this opportunity.

Sir Hen. (Eagerly.) Do people let one an-
other in at Richmond ?

Lady E. Oh yes ; bat I shall be so anxious to
return, that I will merely slide in my card. There
never was any thing so tormenting as this tax
upon society : visiting people one hardly knows
by sight, and that one shouldn't care, if one
never saw again. I'm sure you must have ex-
perienced how annoying it is, to be compell'd
to be civil to a person one wishes a hundred miles
off one, that won't be driven away by a hint, how-
ever broadly given, but that will run on from one
thing to another talk, talk, talk, till one's spi-
rits are worn out, and one's patience quite ex-
hausted! Don't you detest such beings?

Mrs. Bel. I do indeed.

Lady E. I am sure you must. Well, as I
hope to be back again in a very few minutes, I
won't take my leave Sans adieu ?

[Exit Lady EMILY.

Sir Hen. (Aside.) Thank heaven ! you are gone,
at any rate.

Mrs. Bel. How do you like my friend ?

Sir Hen. I hardly looked at her; and I shall
not easily forgive her having interrupted a con-
versation which was so replete with interest to
me. I remember I was asking a question of
Lady Emily

Mrs. Bel. Which, I remember, I had no in-
tention of answering.

Sir Hen. I am aware it was a very delicate one,
but recollect, Lady Emily, this is not the first
time of our meeting you cannot have misunder-
stood my declarations at the masquerade ; tho' it


is evident, by the reserve and total change in
your manner, that they have not been so favour,
ably received as I then flattered myself they
would be.

Mrs. Bel. You would not have me all my life
in masquerade

Sir Hen. Ah ! believe me, I do not regret the
absence of your vivacity ! How many women at-
tract by their brilliancy how few, by the ineffable
charm of unaffected sensibility ! Till this mo-
ment, I hfid judged of your wit only ; but now I
think I know how to appreciate your heart also
before, I could find words to express my admira-
tion ; but now, the utterance of vny feelings is
impossible. Oh ! but for a moment, resume
your mask, that, unawed by the dignity of your
expression, I may tell )ou with what fervour I
adore you !


Another interruption, by Jove ! ,

Mrs. Jef. My mistress has been prevented go-
ing out, Ma'am ; Mr. Stanly has just been brought
in rather ill, and very much agitated.

Mrs. Eel. Good heavens ! what has hap-
pened ?

Mrs. Jef. Returning home, it seems, he was met
by an unfortunate maniac, who had just broken
from his confinement Having seen Mr. Stanly
at the Asylum, he probably mistook him for one
of the keepers ; and, with all the strength which
madness gives, dragged him to the ground ; but,
luckily, somebody was within hearing, and came
to his assistance upon which the maniac fled,
and the keepers are already in pursuit of him.




Mrs. Bel. (Retiring) You must excuse me,

Sir Hen. But wherefore, Madam ? You hear
that Mr. Stanly is more frightened than hurt
now, I am more hurt than frightened, and of the
two, a much fitter object for your compassion.

Mrs. Bel. You must, notwithstanding, allow
me to retire my situation was rather embarrass-
ing ; and, but for this accident, I might have
found it difficult to extricate myself. (Aside.)

[Exit Mrs. BEL MORE.

Sir Hen. The devil take the keepers, for not se-
curing their madmen better, I say. I had just
arrived at the critical juncture ! When such a fa-
vourable opportunity may occur again, heaven
only knows however, I shall certainly return
this evening. Charming, charming Lady Emily !
what manners ! what sentiments ! ~ that rogue,
Delaval, too! to slander her perfections ! Oh !
't was blasphemy ! (Takes out his watch) Let me
see ; at five, I am to meet the Lawyers - however,
I can be back by eight- but will she be ready to
receive me ? they '11 probably sit down to dine at
seven : Soup she'll be five minutes, at least,
eating that she can't bfc less ; it is generally so
confoundedly hot ! I wish she would eat fish in
its stead ; but there, there again ! the bones are a
great drawback. Psha ! she 's a divinity ; and far
above the vulgar prejudice of eating and drinking
as coarse mortals do ! Lady Emily, I adore you !
Mrs. Belmore, I detest you ! and heartily wish the
Lawyers and you were all at the bottom of the Red
Sea ! [Exit.



A gloomy part of Richmond Park several Trunks
of Trees lying here and there Twilight.

Enter CECIL, with an Infant wrapped in a Shawl.

Cecil. Your cries, at length, are hush'd in
sleep, my precious infant ! and cold and hunger
are, for awhile, forgotten ! How awful is this
silence ! no sound falls on my ear, but the
tumultuous beating of my frightened heart lie
still, lie still; your throbbings will awake my
babe how comes this mist before my eyes ? I 'in
very faint My child, my child ! I can no longer
bear your weight ; (she sinks ^ placing the Infant
upon the trunk of one of the trees.) What agony
is this ? numbed as my limbs are by the stiffening
blast, a scorching fire consumes my brain ! Can
this be fear ? It is, the terror of a guilty con-
science : there was a time, when neither solitude
nor night had power to terrify me but I was inno-
cent then ; then I had not offended Heaven, whose
protection I dare not now implore. Ha ! I hear
a voice Oh! welcome, welcome sound! Yet,
should it be any one whom I have known in other
days an idle fear ; for if it should, night's friendly
shadows will conceal the features of the guilty
Cecil, I '11 follo^v his footsteps in common cha-
rity, he'll not deny that comfort to a wretched,
houseless wanderer !

Fitz. (Without.) Ha, ha I have I escaped you,
ruffians ? here I shall be safe from their pursuit.
(He is seen climbing the wall, and with
the assistance of the arm of a tree, lets
himself down upon the Stage ; in this
G 2


effort he breaks one of the smaller
branches, and uses it as a weapon of
defence) .

Here will I lie concealed they shall not again
imprison me !

Cecil. Seme miscreant escaped from justice!
What will become of us ?

Fitz. There, there they go ! One, two, three,
four ! So, so ; lie close ; they are gone, they are
gone, and now I breathe again.

Cecil. Alas ! a maniac ! what's to be done ?
/ shall I conceal myself? No; I'll make for the
gate, and endeavour to regain the public road.
(FrxzHARDiNG turns suddenly round )

Fitz. What are you ? one lying in ambush
to entrap me ? Wretch ! advance one hair's
breadth, and I fell yon to the ground! (Raising the
broken branch j Ah ! a woman !

Cecil. Yes; one without the power or wish to
harm you.

Fitz. That's false you are a woman, born
only to betray I know you are leagued against
m e but t h n s ( Threa ten ing/y .)

Cecil. O ! for my child's sake, do not harm

Fitz. A child! have you a child ? give it me
let me strangle it, before the little serpent turns
to sting the breast that nourished it pity is
folly if she live, she lives to blast your comfort.
I had a child, a child more precious to me than
my own heart's blood but she betrayed me
made a gay festival to welcome me upon my re-
turn from a long, tedious journey invited guests
too three hideous guests ! Seduction, Penury,
and Despair With the first she fled, and left me
victim to the other two.

Cecil. What do I hear ? what horrid vision


darts across my brain ! Can it be ? No, no ! and
yet, alt ho' destruction follow, I must, I will be
satisfied (She throws o^FiTZH A RHINO'S Hat, rc-
cogniscs, and Jails at his feet.) Great God ! my
father !

Titz. (Raising her, looks wistfully in her face,
and laughs wildly pause.} They are coming
you will not give me up to my pursuers you will
have more compassion than my unnatural daugh-

Cecil. Can I hear this, and yet not curse thee,
Del aval ?

Fitz. Ha ! does that darnnM name again as-
sail my ears ? Does he pursue me still ? What new
torment can he inflict upon me ? Yes, yes, I see
him DOW where is my daughter, villain ? Give
her hack restore her to me, polluted as she is,
and I will bless you but you have murdered her
your barbarous hand has nipped my pretty
rose-bud ere it was blown, and now she lies,
scorn 'd, pale, and lifeless monster ! no longer
shall your poisonous breath infect the air - an in-
jured father strikes this poniard to your faithless
heart no struggling down down Oh, oh !
(CECIL supports him.}

Cecil. (Weeping ) O, sight of horror! will all
the agony ffeel restore your peace, belov'd, much
injured father !

Fitz. (Reccvering feels her $hce\s.J How 1
weeping ! tears, real tears ! poor thing, poor
thing ! don't cry I cannot be a partner in your
grief since my poor Cecil died (for she is dead,
is she not?) I have not shed a tear.

Cecil. Oh, Heaven ! too much, too much to
bear !

Fitz. Poor thing ! poor thing ! (Pause.) You
not leave me, will you ? (&Kws her close to
his bosom.)


Cecil. Leave you ! O never, never ; I will
serve you, live for you, die for you.

Fitz. Come then, come with me ; and I will
shew you Cecil's grave ; and we will strew fresh
yew and cypress over it Come, come !

(As he is leading her aivay, voices of the
Keepers are heard without 1st Keeper.
*' This way, this way ; Til follow him over
the Wall do you secure the Gate" He
leaps from the JVall y two more come on at
the Gate.)

Fitz. I hear them, they are coming don't
let them tear me from you save, O, save me !

Cecil. Kind people, hear me ! he is my father
leave him to my tender care !

]st Keep. O yes, you'll do much good ; I wish
we had more hands with us step across to the cot-
tage, and see if you can get any body to assist.

[Exit 2nd Keeper.

Cecil. You call in vain for assistance no power
on earth shall part us once again, I tell you he-
is my father.

1st Keep. That may be but what can you do
for him ? you had better stand aside young wo-
man ; you'll only get yourself hurt.

Cecil. You shall tear me limb from limb, rather
than separate me from him.

Re-enter Ind Keeper, with Cottager.

1st Keep. (To Cottager.} There, do you take
charge of the young woman and keep her off
Now, now ! (They rush forward to seize him.)

Fitz. The first who approaches, I will lay dead

at my foot folded in your arms I fear them not.

(A sciifflc enmes, on which they are separated

FITZH^RDING disarmed^ and dragg'd



Save me from these butchers ! O save me,
save me ! [Exeunt FJTZHARDING and Keepers.
Cecil. O, for the love of mercy ! let me follow

1st Keep. (Without.) Bind his hands !
Cecil. No, no ; for the love of Heaven, no !
Inhuman men ! I must, I will go to him. O
oruel ! cruel ! O my poor deceived, unhappy fa-
ther !

(She breaks from the Cottager, and endea-
vours to follow her Father, but her strength
fails her 9 and she sinks upon her knees /
the Cottager supports her, and the Curtain




A Library in Stanlys House.
Enter STANLY, followed by a Servant.

Stan. Who wants me, whom did you say ?

Serv, The young woman, herself, wouldn't
send any name, but Mrs. JefFjries, who happen'd
to cme into the hall at the time, cried " Bless
me ! is that you, Miss Fitzharding?"

Stan. Miss Fitzharding ! at this door ? are
you certain of it ?

Serv. I only know what Mrs Jefferies said .
the young woman made no answer, but' drew


her bonnet over her face. When I told her that
you cou'dn't see her, (for as it was so near dinner,
I thought you would not chnse to be disturbed),
she seem'd greatly distressed, and talked some-
thing about the Asylum.

Stan. Ay, that's a subject that may well dis-
tress her Worthless minx ! is there any body in
the carriage with her ?

Serv. Carriage, Sir ?

Stan. Carriage, Sir ! ay ; don't you know what
a carriage is ?

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