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ACT II. SCENE 1.

A Library in MoR TIMER's House. MoRTIMER alone.

Mortimer. Sot so another day; another twelve hours round of folly and extravagance; 'pshaw, I am sick on't. What is it our men of genius are about Jarring and jangling with each other, whilst a vast army of vices overruns the whole country at discretion.

Enter JAkvis.

Now, Jarvis, what's your news jar. My morning budget, sir; a breakfast of good deeds; the offerings of a full heart and the return of an empty purse, There, sir, I’ve done your errand ; and wish hereafter you could find another agent for your charities. Mort. Why so, Charles jar. Because the task grows heavy; besides, I'm old and foolish, and the sight is too affecting. Mort. Why doesn't do like me then i Sheath a soft heart in a rough case, 'twill wear the longer ; fineer thyself, good Jarvis, as thy master does, and keep a marble outside to the world. Who dreams that I am the lewd fool of pity, and thou, my pandar, Jarvis, my provider You found out the poor fellow then, the half pay officer I met last Sunday jar. With difficulty; for he obtruded not his sorrows on the world; but in despair had crept into a

corner, and, with his wretched family about him, was
patiently expiring.
Mort. Pr'ythee no more on't : you sav'd him; you
reliev'd him; no matter how; you made a fellow crea-
ture happy, that’s enough.
jar. I did, sir; but his story’s so affecting—
Mort. Keep it to thyself, old man, then; why must
my heart be wrung I too am one of nature's spoilt
children, and hav'n't yet left off the tricks of the

nursery.
Enter a Servant.

Serv. Sir, Mr. Tyrrel's come to town, and begs to see you.

Mort. Let him come in. [Exit Serv.

Enter TYRRel.

So, nephew, what brings you to town I thought you was a prisoner in the country.

Tyr. I was; but now my Lord Courtland has obtained his liberty, no reason holds why I should not recover mine. -

Mort. Well, sir, how have you fill’d up your timer In praćtising fresh thrusts, or repenting of that which is past You’ve drawn your sword to satisfy one man, now think of satisfying the rest of mankind.

Tyr. You know my story, sir; I drew my sword in the defence of innocence: to punish and repel the libertine attempts of an ennobled ruffian; every man of honour would have done the same.

Mort. Yes, honour: you young men are subtle arguers; the cloak of honour covers all your faults, as that of passion all your follies.

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Tyr. Honour is what mankind have made it; and as we hold our lives upon these terms, with our lives it behoves us to defend them. Mort. You have made it reason then it seems; make it religion too, and put it out of fashion with the world at once : of this be sure, I would sooner cast my guineas in the sea, than give 'em to a duellist. But come, Frank, you are one from prejudice, not principle; therefore we'll talk no more on't. Where are you lodged? Tyr. At the hotel hard by. Mort. Then move your baggage hither, and keep house with me: you and I, nephew, have such opposite pursuits that we can never justle; besides they tell me you're in love; 'twill make a good companion of you ; you shall rail at one sex, while I’m employed with t'other, and thus we may both gratify our spleen at once. Tyr. O, sir, unless you can consent to hear the praises of my lovely girl from hour to hour, in endless repetition, never suffer me within your doors. Mort. Thy girl, Frank, is every thing but rich, and that’s a main blank in the catalogue of a lady's perfections. Tyr. Fill it up then, dear uncle; a word of yours will do it. Mort. True, boy, a word will do it; but ’tis a long word; ’tis a lasting one; it should be, therefore, a deliberate one : but let me see your girl; I’m a sour fellow; so the world thinks of ne; but it is against the proud, the rich I war: poverty may be a misfortune to Miss Aubrey ; it would be hard to make it an objećtion.

Tyr. How generous is that sentiment!—Let me have your consent for my endeavours at obtaining hers, and I shall be most happy.

Mort. About it then; my part is soon made ready; yours is the task: your are to find out happiness in marriage; I’m only to provide you with a fortune. [Exit Tyr..] Well, Frank, I suspected thou hadst more courage than wit, when I heard of thy engaging in a duel; now thou art for encountering a wife, I am convinced of it. A wife! 'sdeath, sure some planetary madness reigns amongst our wives; the dog-star never sets, and the moon's horns are fallen on our heads.

Enter Colin.

Colin. The gude time o'day to you, gude Maister

Mortimer.
Mort. Well, Colin, what's the news at your house?
Colin. Nay, no great spell of news, gude faith; aw

things with us gang on after the auld sort. I’m weary

of my life amongst 'em; the murrian take 'em all, sike a family of free-booters, Maister Mortimer; an I speak a word to'em, or preach up a little needful occonomy, hoot! the whole clan is up in arms. I may speak it in your ear, an the de'il himsell was to turn housekeeper, he could na' pitch upon a fitter set; fellows of all trades, countries, and occupations; a ragamuffin crew; the very refuse of the mob, that canna’

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count past twa generations without a gibbet in their
'scutcheon.
Mort. Ay, Colin, things are miserably changed
since your old master died.
Colin. Ah, Maister Mortimer, it makes my heart
drop blude to think how much gude counsel I ha' cast
away upon my laird; ifaith, I hanna 'stinted him o'
that; I gee'd him rules and maxims of gude husbandry
in plenty, but aw in vain; the dice ha' deafen’d him.
Mort. Yes, and destroyed; his head, heart, hap-
piness are gone to ruin; the least a gamester loses is
his money.
Colin. Ecod, and that’s no trifle in this case: last
night's performances made no small hole in that.
Mort. Whence learn you that?
Colin. From little Napthali, of St. Mary, Axe:
when a man borrows money of a Jew, 'tis a presump-
tion no Christian can be found to lend him any.
Mort. Is your lord driven to such wretched shifts?
Colin. Hooti know you not that every losing game-
ster has his Jew He is your only doctor in a des-
perate case; when the regulars have brought you to
Death's door, the quack is invited to usher you in.
Mort. Your Jew, Colin, in the present case, fa-
vours more of the lawyer than the doćtor: for I take
it he makes you sign and seal as long as you have
effects.
Colin. You’ve hit the nail o' the hede; my laird
will sign to anything; there's bonds, and blanks, and

bargains, and promisary notes, and a damned sight

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