Charles Ratcliffe friend. His virtues, his misfortunes, his integrity, (you'll undeceive me if I err) have much endeared him to me.

Sir Step. Say rather his connexions: Come, I see where all his friendship points-to folly, to disgrace -therefore no more of it! Break off! new friendships will cost you dear; 'tis better you should cease to call him friend, than put it in his power to call you brother. In one word, Frederic, I never will accept of Ratcliffe's sister as my daughter-in-law-nor, if I can prevent it, shall you so far forget yourself as to make her your mistress.

Fred. Mistress! Good Heaven!-You never saw Miss Ratcliffe.

Sir Step. I wish you never had-But you have seen your last of her, or me I leave it to your choice. [Exit.

Fred. I have no choice to make; she is my wife— and if to take beauty, virtue, and elegance without fortune, when my father would have me take fortune without them, is a crime that merits disinheritance, I must meet my punishment as I can. The only thing I dread is the severe but honourable reproach my friend Ratcliffe, to whom this marriage is a secret, and whose disinterested resentment I know not how to face: I must dissemble with him still, for I am unprepared with my defence, and he is here.

of

Enter CHARLES RATCLIFFE.

Char. Well met, Frederic!

Fred. I wish I could say so.

Char. Why? what's the matter now?
Fred. I have no good news to tell you.

Char. I don't expect it, you are not made to be the bearer of good news; knavery engrosses all fortune's favour, and fools run up and down with the tidings of it.

Fred. You are still a philosopher.

Char. I cannot tell that, till I am tried with prosperity it is that which sets our failings in full view; adversity conceals them.-But come, discuss: tell me in what one part of my composition the ingenious cruelty of fortune can place another blow.

Fred. By my soul, Charles, I am ashamed to tell you, because the blow is now given by a hand I wish to reverence. You know the temper of Sir Stephen Bertram he is my father, therefore I will not enlarge upon a subject that would be painful to us both. It is with infinite regret I have seen you (nobly descended, and still more nobly endowed) earning a scanty maintenance at your desk in his countinghouse: It is a slavery you are now released from.

Char. I understand you; Sir Stephen has no further commands for me. I will go to him, and deliver up my trust, [Going. Fred. Have patience for a moment. Do you guess his reasons for this hasty measure?

Char. What care I for his reasons, when I know they cannot touch my honour!

Fred. Oh Charles, my heart is penetrated with your situation; what will become of those beloved objects?

Char. Why, what becomes of all the objects misery lays low? they shrink from sight, and are forgotten.-· You know, I will not hear you on this subject; 'twas not with my consent you ever knew there were such objects in existence.

Fred. I own it; but in this extremity methinks you might relax a little from that rigid honour.

Char. Never; but, as the body of a man is braced by winter, so is my resolution by adversity. On this point only we can differ. Why will my friend persist in urging it?

Fred. I have done. You have your way.

Char. Then, with your leave, I'll go to your father.
Fred. Hold! Here comes one that supersedes all

other visiters-old Sheva, the rich Jew, the merest muckworm in the city of London: How the old Hebrew casts about for prodigals to snap at! I'll throw him out a bait for sport.

Char. No, let him pass: what sport can his infirmities afford?

Enter SHEVA.

Sheva. The good day to you, my young master! How is it with your health, I pray? Is your fader, Sir Stephen Bertram, and my very good patron, to be spoken with?

Fred. Yes, yes, he is at home, and to be spoken with, under some precaution, Sheva: if you bring him money, you would be welcome.

Sheva. Ah! that is very goot. Monies is welcome every where.

Fred. Pass on, pass on! no more apologiesGood man of money, save your breath, to count your guineas.

Sheva. Ah! dat is goot, very goot. [Exit SHEVA. Fred. That fellow would not let his shadow fall upon the earth, if he could help it.

Char. You are too hard upon him.

courteous.

The thing is

Fred. Hang him! His carcase and its covering would not coin into a ducat, yet he is a moving mine of wealth.

Char. You see these characters with indignation : I contemplate them with pity. I have a fellow-feeling for poor Sheva he is as much in poverty as I am, only it is poverty of another species: He wants what he has, I have nothing, and want every thing. Misers are not unuseful members of the community; they act like dams to rivers, hold up the stream that else would run to waste, and make deep water where there would be shallows.

Fred. I recollect you was his rescuer; I did not know you were his advocate.

Char. 'Tis true, I snatched him out of jeopardy. My countrymen, with all their natural humanity, have no objection to the hustling of a jew. The poor old creature was most roughly handled.

Fred. What was the cause?

Char. I never asked the cause. There was a hundred upon one; that was cause enough for me to make myself a second to the party overmatched.I got a few hard knocks, but I brought off my man. Fred. The synagogue should canonize you for the deed.

Enter SHEVA.-CHARLES retires.

Sheva. Aha! there is no business to be done: there is no talking to your fader. He is not just now in the sweetest of all possible tempers-Any thing, Mr. Bertram, wanted in my way?

Fred. Yes, Sheva, there is enough wanted in your way, but I doubt it is not in your will to do it.

Sheva. I never spare my pains, when business is going: be it ever such a trifle, I am thankful. Every little helps a poor man like me.

Fred. You speak of your spirit, I suppose, when you call yourself a poor man. All the world knows

you

roll in riches.

Sheva. The world! The world knows no great deal of me. I live sparingly, and labour hard, therefore I am called a miser-I cannot help it-an uncharitable dog-I must endure it a bloodsucker, an extortioner, a Shylock-hard names, Mr. Frederic, but what can a poor jew say in return, if a christian chuses to abuse him?

Fred. Say nothing, but spend your money like a christian.

Sheva. We have no abiding place on earth, no

C

country, no home: every body rails at us, every body flouts us, every body points us out for their maygame and their mockery. Hard dealings for a poor stray sheep of the scattered flock of Abraham! How can you expect us to show kindness, when we receive none?

Char. [Advancing.] That is true, friend Sheva, I can witness; I am sorry to say, there is too much justice in your complaint.

Sheva. Bless this goot light! I did not see you-'tis my very goot friend, Mr. Ratcliffe, as I live.-Give me your pardon, I pray you, sir, give me your pardon: I should be sorry to say in your hearing, that there is no charity for the poor jews. Truly, sir, I am under very great obligations to you for your generous protection t'other night, when I was mobbed and maltreated; and, for aught I can tell, should have been massacred, had not you stood in my defence. Truly, sir, I bear it very thankfully in my remembrance; truly I do, yes, truly.

Fred. Leave me with him, Charles; I'll hold him in discourse whilst you go to my father.

[Exit CHARLES. Sheva. Oh! it was goot deed, very goot deed, to save a poor jew from a pitiless mob, and I am very grateful to you, worthy Mr.Ah! the gentleman is gone away that is another thing.

Fred. It is so, but your gratitude need not go away at the same time! you are not bound to make good the proverb-" Out of sight, out of mind."

Sheva. No, no, no; I am very much obliged to him, not only for my life, but for the monies and the valuables I had about me; I had been hustled out of them all, but for him.

Fred. Well, then, having so much gratitude for his favours, you have now an opportunity of making some return to him.

Sheva. Yes, yes, and I do make him a return of my