Sir Will. So far from truth is that unjust pretence, that 'tis your present rank alone you are unfit for. You have not only beauty to adorn, but sense and virtue to support a higher.

Bessy. I know you flatter me; but, granting what you say were true, yet I had rather attend my father on this humble green, than run the risk of falling from that greatness which I neither covet nor deserve.

Sir Will. And am I, then, so much your aversion, that poverty, nay beggary itself, is preferable to wealth when brought by me? What risk, what hazard do you run? Do I not offer to marry you? Does not your father join with me in desiring your compliance? And ought not you to rejoice at the hopes of being protected from the insolence of those who daily invade your innocence, and attempt your chastity? But we are interrupted. I will go wait on your father home, and be with you again immediately.

Enter Lord RANBY.

[Exit.

Ranby. Ha! my little charmer, is not that the grave knight, that would fain seduce you to commit matrimony with him? Methinks he went away in the dumps, as if you had rejected his suit.

Bessy. Suppose I did, Sir, what then?

Ranby. Why, then, my dear, you did wisely. "Tis as ridiculous for a beautiful woman to throw herself away upon a husband, in order to preserve her honour, as it would be for a man of fortnne to give away his estate for fear he should spend it.

Bessy. I rather think it were as foolish for a woman to trust herself to a man without marriage, as it would be for a merchant to venture his ship to sea without insurance.

Ranby. A husband, child, becomes your master; a gallant will continue your admirer and your slave.

Bessy. A husband, rather, is the protector of that virtue, which a gallant would rob me of, and then desert me.

SONG.

As death alone the marriage knot unties,

So vows that lovers make

Last until sleep, death's image, close their eyes,
Dissolve when they awake;

And that fond love which was to day their theme,
Is thought to-morrow but an idle dream.

Ranby. Do you think, then, that love is more likely to continue when it is constrained, than when it is free and voluntary?

Bessy. I should think I had but small security for the continuance of his love, who was afraid of engaging with me any longer than from day to day.

Ranby. What better security can you have from a gentleman, than his honour?

Bessy. He that would refuse me all other security but his honour, I should be afraid had too little of that to be trusted.

Ranby. Well, then, my dear Bessy, to come close to the point, you cannot suspect my sincerity, since I have not desired you to trust entirely to my honour, but have offered to make you a handsome settlement.

Bessy. But, my lord, as I don't like the terms, I hope I may be excused accepting it.

Runby. Come, come, child, since I find you are so very obstinate that you will not accept of what is so much for your own good, I must be obliged to use a little compulsion, my dear.

Bessy. What do you mean, my lord?

Ranby. Only to make you happy, whether you will

or no.

Bessy. O Heaven, defend me!

Ranby. I see no likelihood of prevailing, unless I force her into my coach, and drive her to a little house I have about ten miles off. [Aside.] Come, madam, 'tis in vain to resist, you must along with me this instant.

Bessy. [kneeling.] For Heaven's sake, my lord, forbear! think on my poor blind father, and take not

support of his old age, his only child! die distracted.

od Heaven, protect me. Help! help! [As g her towards the door, enter WELFORD, ord Ranby's sword.]

lain! What means this outrage? What is my purpose disappointed? hand her, or this moment is thy last.

[Holds the sword to his breast. fold! hold! I will: have a care, the point e!

se coward! why art thou so afraid to die? u not rather be asham'd to live?

e?

-How

my deliverer! my dear preserver! let my thee, for I cannot speak.

not tremble so, my dear; compose yourself; over; come, look up. Villain! wretch!

1 dare to rob the sacred dwelling of this poor Did you not think that Heaven would take

the BEGGAR, Boy, and Sir WILLIAM.

)

my dear father! do I live to see you once What means my child?

L

Ranby. Ay, now we shall have a dismal story, how a trembling dove escaped the bloody pounces of a hawk. Or how an innocent lamb was snatch'd from the jaws of a devouring wolf.

Welf. And can you know your character so well, and not detest yourself?

Beggar. Is not that Lord Ranby? What has been done?

Bessy. This wicked man had form'd a base design; and would even now have forc'd me from you, had not the friendly arm of my dear Welford that instant interposed to save me. Forgive me, father, that I call him dear, I owe my virtue and my life to his protection. Beggar. Unworthy man! what had I done, that you should wish to make my old age miserable?

Ranby. I did not think of thy old age at all, but of thy daughter's youth and beauty.

Beggar. Which I will this instant put beyond the reach of your ungenerous and ungoverned passion. Sir William, my daughter's virtue

Bessy. My dearest father, suffer me a word, and I have done. The worth and honour of Sir William Morley are what I highly do esteem; and if 'tis your wish that I should marry him, so much I value your repose beyond my own, that I will sacrifice my happiness to it, and endeavour to give my heart where you require my hand. But O, forgive me, whilst I freely own, I feel my heart will wish it otherwise.

Beggar. Let me proceed. My daughter's virtue Sir William-has conquer'd me. I did design to have given her to your honest love; but you yourself will own, I ought not to persevere in urging a child so gentle, and so tender of me. Can I make her miserable, who prefers my happiness to her own?

Sir William. I own your justice, tho' my heart would fain plead against it. Dear Bessy, I will endeavour to subdue that love, which cannot make me happy, since it would make you miserable.

Welf. Generous and kind!

Your father was a

Ranby. Well, there is a pleasure after all in virtue, which we loose fellows know not how to taste. Beggar. Welford, come hither. worthy man, and my good friend; his bounty oft relieved my seeming want, and his good nature took me to his friendship. I am glad to find that you inherit his worth, though not his fortune. My daughter loves you; receive her therefore from my grateful hand, and with her full five thousand pounds in gold.

Welf. and Bessy. Five thousand pounds!

Beggar. Be not surpriz'd. Though long conceal'd upon this Green, beneath the poor appearance of a beggar, I am no other than Sir Simon Montford, whom the world thinks dead some years ago.* Here I have

lived, and saved these poor remains of a once noble fortune.

Bessy. I am in amaze, and scarce know whether I should believe my senses! Why did my father conceal himself so long from me?

Beggar. It was necessary, child: but now I need no longer hide me from the world. The Earl of Essex, who long sought my life, this morning died. The reason of his enmity was this: his father, who was standard-bearer in an engagement against the Welch, where I had some command, most cowardly gave way, and occasioned the loss of the battle; which when I upbraided him with, he gave me the lie, called me villain, and would have laid the blame on me. On this in fatal

rage, I challenged him, and it being his lot to fall by my hand, I have ever since been obliged to conceal myself from the revenge of his son.t

Welf. My dear Bessy, the surprize of this sudden turn in our favour has taken from me the power of expression.

* See The Editor's Preface, p. 200.

+ On the question of the real or supposed blindness of the beggar, see The Editor's Preface, p. 202.