THE DESERTED DAUGHTER. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. The House of MR MORDENT. MORDENT and DONALD, in Anger. Don. Gin the black de'el glowr at me, I'ze tell ye my mind! Dischairge me an ye wull: I a been nae mair but therty years i' the faimily. I care nae for yeer canker'd girns! An ye wad nae hear fashus tales ye munna be guilty o' fow deeds! Mor. [Looking anxiously round.] Will you speak in a lower key?-Earth is wholly inhabited by harpies, and I am eternally haunted by the most malignant of them! Don. An I get nae tidings of her to-day, I'ze advertize for her i' the public papers! Ay, and I'ze gar yeer name be imprented at full langth! Mor. [Terrified.] Print my name? Don. The de'el hike me on his horns gin I dunna. Mor. Demon! I'll blow your brains out! Don. Fiz, wi' your flash i' the pan! I dunna fear ye! Yeer rash and mad enoch! Sham betide ye! A father abandon his cheeld! Mor. Leprosy seize your licentious tongue, will you speak lower? Did I abandon her? Don. Ye wad nae acknowledge her; wad nae see her; never frae the time that she war a wee tot at the knee! Gin ye had a hairt ye wad nae aixpose her tul[Holding up his Hands in Terror. Mor. What? Don. Tramp the streets! Aixpald the warld of onesty by her ain father! And why, trow? She is a naitural cheeld! To beget children, and then turn them adrift to beg, steal, or stairve, is a damned unnaitural deed! Mor. Prophet of evil! Would you tell all the family? Expose me to my wife? Don. I'ze aixpose ye tul the whole warld, gin I dunna find her! And what the muckle better shall I be gin I do? A thrawart poverty maun be her lot! Ye ha' diced, and drabbed, and squandered, and mortgaged, till ye wull na' hae a bawbee tul yeersal ! Mor. Cease your croaking, raven ! Do you govern this house, or I? Don. Govern, trow? Balzebub himself is the governor! There is yeer pett steward! An auld whilly wha! Tak warning! I ha' toud ye aforetime, and I tell ye again, he's a rascal. Mor. Viper, 'tis false! If the earth hold an honest man, Mr Item is he. Don. Onest! A juggling loon o'hell! He feigns to borrow the siller for ye wetch he lends himsal; and the walthy possassions ye lang syne held wull eftsoon be aw his ain. Mor. I say, 'tis false! His truth, integrity, and zeal, are unexampled ! Don. Marcy of God, ye're bewetched! Mor. What a den of misery is this world! Swarm ing with one set of fiends that raise the whirlwind of the passions; and with another, that beset and tantalize the bewildered wretch, for having been overtaken by the storm! Don. Poor Joanna! Winsom lassey !-I'ze keep my word! Mor. Can nothing stop your pestiferous tongue? Have I not fifty times descended to explanation, and shown you, that I must not, cannot, own her? Don. Dare not! Ye hanna the hairt to be onest! Ye bogle at shaidows! Mor. Pertinacious devil! The public clamour and disgrace, the affected sufferings, and insulting forbearance, of Lady Anne, the resentment of her imperious family, are these shadows? Enter MRS SARSNET. Mrs S. What is it you are pleased to be talking, pray, about my lady, Mr Scotch Donald? Don. Troth, Mrs English Sarsnet, nae word o' ill. Mrs S. Ill, truly! No, sir, my lady may defy her worst enemies. Though there are folks, who ought to adore the very ground she treads upon, that use her like a Turk. Mor. How now ? Mrs S. I name no names. Mor. Who sent for you here, mistress? Mrs S. My lady sent me here, sir. Mor. And did she bid you behave with imperti nence ? Mrs S. She, indeed! A dear suffering saint! She bid me always behave with affability and decorum; and so I would, if I could. But it would provoke an angel! Mor. And what is it your wisdom thinks so provoking? Mrs S. To see a sweet lady sit for hours, and pine and grieve; and then, when some folks are in sight, pretend to smile, and be all assignation and contentment, when all the while her poor heart is ready to break! Mor. Then she complains to you? Mrs S. I said no such thing, sir! No: she complains to no Christian soul; more's the shame! I wish some folks had a little of my spirit; other folks, mayhap, mut find the difference! Don. Troth, an yee wad nae be speaking o' that, Mrs Sarsnet. Mrs S. A poor weak woman, who can only take her own part by crying and fainting. Don. Ye forget, Mrs Sarsnet, there are some poor weak women, that ha' tongues and nails. Mrs S. Have they, Mr Snapshort? Why, then, if I had you for a husband, mayhap I would let you see that I could use them. Don The muckle de'el may doubt yee! Mrs S. It's a shame, Mr Donald, for you to be getting into corners, and whispering, and peering, and plotting, to my lady's dishonour. Don. [Angry.] I plotting! How dare yee, Mrs Sarsnet? Mor. Silence, with you both! Mrs S. You ought to be ashamed of making yourself a skip-jack go-between. Don. I a skip-jack? Varrȧ weel! You hear, sir, what are my thanks! 'Tis unco weel! I hae but my desairts True enoch, I am a go-between ! Mrs S. Yes, yes; we know that very well, Mr Donald. Don. But nae sic go-between as yee, Mrs Malapert, may thenk me. I hae been a trust worthy caterer tul the faimily: [To MORDENT.] a slave tul yeer revels, and yeer roots, and yeer banquetings. 'Tis lang syne ye made me yeer purveyor; but nae mon ever yet made me his pander! Mor. Begone! See if Mr Item is returned. 21 Mrs S. Ah! There's another! Don. Skip-jack? Go-between? Mag's malison o' yeer spitefoo' tongue-gab! [Exit. Mor. Did your lady, I say, instruct you to behave with this insolence? Mrs S. You know very well, sir, my lady is the best of wives! she sent me on a civil message, and bid me speak with propriety: and so, if speaking one's mind, and telling the truth, be a fault, it's all my own. Mor. I'll put an end to this. Mrs S. Oh, to be sure; you may tell my lady, and get me turned away, if you please; because, know very well, if you bid her, she will do it. Mor. Prometheus and his vulture is no fable! Mrs S. But, as it is all for love of my lady, I am sure the Earl of Oldcrest, her father, will give me a sitiation. He knows, mayhap, more than you may think. So does the viscount, her brother, too; her aunt, Lady Mary, and her uncle, the bishop: and every body is not obliged to be so blind and so tame as my lady. Mor. What is it they know ? Mrs S. That's more than I can say; but they have Mor. Begone! Inform your lady, I have tor- Mrs S. I prognostified the answer!-A good-fornothing chap! I know very well what is becoming of a husband. He should love his wife, dearly, by day and by night; he should wait upon her; and give her her own way; and keep her from the cold, and the wet, and provide her with every thing comfortable; and if she happen to be in an ill humour, should coax her, and bear a little snubbing patiently. Humph! The fellows! What are they good for? [Exit. |