Sir Ben. Who desired you to put in your oar? Iron. Why, sirrah, would not one wife content you? "Tis enough in all reason for one man; is it not, sir Benjamin?

Bel. jun. Sir, when it is proved I am married,

accuse me.

Bel. sen. What's this I hear! Oh! brother, can you pardon, too?

Bel. jun. Be indeed a brother, and let this providential event be the renovation of our friendship.

give it but to deny it, is a meanness, and I

abhor it.

Sophia. Mr Belfield, do you say nothing upon this occasion!

Bel. sen. Paterson, I am struck to the heartI cannot support my guilt-I am married to Violetta-save me the confusion of relating it: this dishonourable engagement for ever I renounce; nor will I rest till I have made atonement to an injured wife. Madam, I beg leave to withdraw for a few minutes.

Bel. jun. Hold, sir! this contrivance is of your forging—you have touched me too nearand now, if you dare draw your sword, follow me!

Sophia. Hold, gentlemen! you forget the lady is now in the house-she is a witness that will effectually put an end to your dispute--I will conduct her hither. [Exit SOPHIA.

Bel. jun. I agree to it.

Iron. Hark'e, nephew? I shrewdly suspect you have been laying a train to blow yourself up: if once Bob comes fairly alongside of you, you'll find your quarters too hot to hold you I never yet found my boy out in a lie, and shan't tamely see a lie imposed upon him; for while he is honest, and I have breath, he shall never want a friend to stand by him, or a father to protect him.

Bel. sen. Mr Paterson, explain my story-I will depart this instant in search of Violetta.

Enter SOPHIA and VIOLETTA. Sophia. Stay! I conjure you-stay, turn, and look back upon this lady, before you go. [Presenting VIOLETTA.

Bel. sen. My wife! Sir Ben. Hey-day! here's a turn. Iron. I thought how 'twould be. Vio. Yes, sir, your faithful, your forsaken wife. Bel. sen. How shall I look upon you? What shall I say? Where shall I hide my confusion? Oh! take me to your arms, and, in that soft shelter, let me find forgiveness and protection.

Vio. Be this your only punishment! and this! Bel. jun. Was it, then, a sister I preserved from death?

cret resolution was, instantly to have departed in search of this my injured wife—but I'm not worthy even of your resentment: here is one that merits, and returns your love.

[Turning to his brother.

Iron. Come, god-daughter, we can never say the fleet's fairly come to an anchor, while the admiral's ship is out at sea. [Presenting BELFIELD junior.] My nephew here is as honest a lad as lives, and loves you at the soul of him give him your hand, and I'll broach the last chest of dollars, to make him a fortune deserving you.What say you, my old friend?

Sir Ben. Here's my hand! I've spoke the word-she's his own. Lady Dove, I won't hear a syllable to the contrary.

Iron. Then, the galleon is thy own, boyWhat should an old fellow like me do with money? Give me a warm night-cap, a tiff of punch, and an elbow-chair in your chimney-corner, and I'll lay up for the rest of my days.

Bel. jun. How shall I give utterance to my gratitude, or my love!

Enter GOODWIN, FANNY, FRANCIS, PHILIP, and

LUCY.

Sir Ben. So, so! more work for the parson! Iron. What, Francis! hast thou chosen a mate, and art bound upon a matrimonial cruize, as well as thy master?

Fran. Ay, sir; so he is happy as well as myself, and has no objection to my choice.

Bel. sen. What! Are you all assembled to overwhelm me with confusion? Like some poor culprit, surrounded by a crowd of witnesses, I stand convicted and appalled. But all your wrongs shall be redressed-yours, GoodwinPhilip's-Lucy's: my whole life shall be employed in acts of justice and atonement. Virtue, and this virtuous woman, were my first ruling passions.

Now they resume their social, soft controul, And love and happiness possess my soul.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE I-A merchant's counting-house. In an inner room, set off by glass-doors, are discovered several clerks, employed at their desks. A writing-table in the front room. STOCKWELL is discovered, reading a letter; STUKELY comes gently out of the back room, and observes him some time before he speaks.

Stuke. He seems disordered: something in that letter, and I'm afraid of an unpleasant sort. He has many ventures of great account at sea; a ship richly freighted for Barcelona; another for Lisbon; and others expected from Cadiz, of still greater value. Besides these, I know he has maby deep concerns in foreign bottoms, and under

writings to a vast amount. I'll accost him.Sir! Mr Stockwell!

Stock. Stukely!--Well, have you shipped the cloths?

Stuke. I have, sir; here's the bill of lading, and copy of the invoice: the assortments are all compared: Mr Traffick will give you the policy upon 'Change.

Stock. 'Tis very well; lay these papers by ; and no more of business for a while. Shut the door, Stukely. I have had long proof of your friendship and fidelity to me; a matter of most infinite concern lies on my mind, and 'twill be a sensible relief to unbosom myself to you. I have just now been informed of the arrival of the young West

Indian, I have so long been expecting; you know whom I mean?

Stuke. Yes, sir; Mr Belcour, the young gentleman who inherited old Belcour's great estates in Jamaica.

Stock. Hush, not so loud; come a little nearer this way. This Belcour is now in London; part of his baggage is already arrived; and I expect him every minute. Is it to be wondered at, if his coming throws me into some agitation, when I tell you, Stukely, he is my son ! Stuke. Your son!

Stock. Yes, sir, my only son. Early in life I accompanied his grandfather to Jamaica, as his clerk; he had an only daughter, somewhat older than myself, the mother of this gentleman: it was my chance (call it good or ill) to engage her affections; and, as the inferiority of my condition made it hopeless to expect her father's consent, her fondness provided an expedient, and we were privately married: the issue of that concealed engagement is, as I have told you, this Belcour. Stuke. That event, surely, discovered your

connexion?

Stock. You shall hear. Not many days after our marriage, old Belcour set out for England; and, during his abode here, my wife was, with great secrecy, delivered of this son. Fruitful in expedients to disguise her situation, without parting from her infant, she contrived to have it laid and received at her door as a foundling. After some time, her father returned, having left me here; in one of those favourable moments, that decide the fortunes of prosperous men, this child was introduced: from that instant, he treated him as his own, gave him his name, and brought him up in his family.

Stuke. And did you never reveal this secret, either to old Belcour, or your son.

Stock. Never.

Stuke. Therein you surprise me; a merchant of your eminence, and a member of the British parliament, might surely aspire, without offence, to the daughter of a planter. In this case, too, natural affection would prompt to a discovery.

Stock. Your remark is obvious; nor could I have persisted in this painful silence, but in obedience to the dying injunctions of a beloved wife. The letter, you found me reading, conveyed those injunctions to me; it was dictated in her last illness, and almost in the article of death (you'll spare me the recital of it); she there conjures me, in terms as solemn as they are affecting, never to reveal the secret of our marriage, or withdraw my son, while her father survived.

Stuke. But on what motives did your unhappy lady found these injunctions?

Stock. Principally, I believe, from apprehension on my account, lest old Belcour, on whom, at her decease, I wholly depended, should withdraw his protection: in part, from consideration of his repose, as well knowing the discovery

:

would deeply affect his spirit, which was haughty, vehement, and unforgiving and lastly, in regard to the interest of her infant, whom he had warmly adopted, and for whom, in case of a discovery, every thing was to be dreaded from his resentment. And, indeed, though the alteration in my condition might have justified me in discovering myself, yet I always thought my son safer in trusting to the caprice, than to the justice, of his grandfather. My judgment has not suffered by the event; old Belcour is dead, and has bequeathed his whole estate to him we are speaking of.

Stuke. Now, then, you are no longer bound to secrecy.

Stock. True: but before I publicly reveal myself, I could wish to make some experiment of my son's disposition. This can only be done by letting his spirit take its course without restraint; by these means, I think I shall discover much more of his real character, under the title of his merchant, than I should under that of his father.

A Sailor enters, ushering in several black servants, carrying portmanteaus, trunks, &c. Sai. Save your honour-is your name Stockwell, pray?

Stock. It is.

Sai. Part of my master Belcour's baggage, an't please you: there's another cargo not far a-stern of us, and the cock-swain has got charge of the dumb creatures.

Stock. Prithee, friend, what dumb creatures do you speak of? has Mr Belcour brought over a collection of wild beasts?

Sai. No, lord love him! no, not he let me see; there's two green monkies, a pair of grey parrots, a Jamaica sow and pigs, and a Mangrove dog; that's all.

Stock. Is that all?

Sai. Yes, your honour; yes, that's all; bless his heart, a'might have brought over the whole island if he would; a didn't leave a dry eye in it.

Stock. Indeed! Stukely, shew them where to bestow their baggage. Follow that gentleman. Sai, Come, bear a hand, my lads; bear a hand.

[Exit with STUKELY and servants. Stock. If the principal tallies with his purveyors, he must be a singular spectacle in this place: he has a friend, however, in this sea-faring fellow: 'tis no bad prognostic of a man's heart, when his shipmates give him a good word. [Exit.

SCENE II.-Changes to a drawing-room. A servant discovered setting the chairs by, &c.

A woman servant enters to him.

House. Why, what a fuss does our good master put himself in about this West Indian! See what a bill of fare I've been forced to draw out: seven and nine, I'll assure you, and only a family dinner, as he calls it: why, if my lord mayor was

expected, there couldn't be a greater to do about him.

Ser. I wish to my heart you had but seen the loads of trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus he has sent hither. An ambassador's baggage, with all the smuggled goods of his family, does not exceed it.

House. A fine pickle he'll put the house into! had he been master's own son, and a Christian Englishman, there couldn't be more rout than there is about this Creolian, as they call them.

Ser. No matter for that; he's very rich, and that's sufficient. They say he has rum and sugar enough belonging to him, to make all the water in the Thames into punch. But I see my master's coming. [Exeunt.

STOCKWELL enters, followed by a Servant. Stock. Where is Mr Belcour? Who brought this note from him?

Ser. A waiter from the London tavern, sir; he says the young gentleman is just dressed, and will be with you directly.

Stock. Shew him in when he arrives..

Ser. I shall, sir. I'll have a peep at him first, however; I've a great mind to see this out andish spark. The sailor fellow says he'll make rare doings amongst us. [Aside. Stock. You need not wait-leave me. [Ecit Servant.] Let me see[Reads.

He writes at his ease; for he's unconscious to whom his letter is addressed; but what a palpitation does it throw my heart into a father's heart! 'Tis an affecting interview; when my eyes meet a son, whom yet they never saw, where shall I find constancy to support it? Should he resemble his mother, I am overthrown. All the letters I have had from him (for I industriously drew him into a correspondence with me), bespeak him of quick and ready understanding.All the reports I ever received, give me favourable impressions of his character; wild, perhaps, as the manner of his country is; but, I trust, not frantic or unprincipled.

Enter Servant.

Ser. Sir, the foreign gentleman is come.

Enter another Servant.

Scr. Mr Belcour.

BELCOUR enters.

Stock. Mr Belcour, I'm rejoiced to see you; you're welcome to England.

Bel. I thank you heartily, good Mr Stockwell: you and I have long conversed at a distance; now we are met; and the pleasure this meeting gives me, amply compensates for the perils I have run through in accomplishing it.

Stock. What perils, Mr Belcour? I could not have thought you would have made a bad passage at this time o' year.

Bel. Nor did we: courier-like, we came posting to your shores, upon the pinions of the swiftest gales that ever blew; 'tis upon English ground all my difficulties have arisen; 'tis the passage from the river-side I complain of.

Stock. Ay, indeed! What obstructions can you have met between this and the river-side?

Bel. Innumerable! Your town's as full of defiles as the island of Corsica; and, I believe, they are as obstinately defended: so much hurry, bustle, and confusion on our quays; so many sugar-casks, porter-butts, and common-councilmen in your streets, that, unless a man marched with artillery in his front, 'tis more than the labour of a Hercules can effect, to make any tolerable way through your town.

Stock. I am sorry you have been so incommo

ded.

Bel. Why, faith, 'twas all my own fault. Accustomed to a land of slaves, and out of patience with the whole tribe of custom-house extortioners, boatmen, tide-waiters, and water-bailiffs, that beset me on all sides, worse than a swarm of musquetoes, I proceeded a little too roughly to brush them away with my rattan: the sturdy rogues took this in dudgeon, and beginning to rebel, the mob chose different sides, and a furious scuffle ensued; in the course of which, my person and apparel suffered so much, that I was obliged to step into the first tavern to refit, before I could make my approaches in any decent trim.

Stock. All without is as I wish; dear Nature, add the rest, and I am happy! [Aside.] Well, Mr Belcour, 'tis a rough sample you have had of my countrymen's spirit; but, I trust, you'll not think the worse of them for it.

Bel. Not at all, not at all; I like them the better. Was I only a visitor, I might, perhaps, wish them a little more tractable; but, as a fellow subject, and a sharer in their freedom, I applaud their spirit, though I feel the effects of it in every bone of my skin.

Stock. That's well; I like that well. How gladly I could fall upon his neck, and own myself his father! [Aside.

Bul. Well, Mr Stockwell, for the first time in my life, here am I in England; at the fountain head of pleasure, in the land of beauty, of arts, and elegancies. My happy stars have given me