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_Colonel E._ Monsieur, any thing to oblige you--I vil fight, or let it alone--all von to me--ma foi! Who's there? [_Calls._] Hey! Le Fleche, Justine!--
[_Exit._
_Tall._ Oho! since I find I am jockeyed in this match, I must look sharp to my other matches--See what Captain Henry has been about--This French pony is now in his own stall, and let him stay there--A silly t.i.t! to prefer monsieur, to such a tight lad as I!--but if I get once back to dear London, with a fob full of French gold, see, if I let the finest lady in the land fetter my gamarets.
SCENE IV.
LEPOCHE'S HOUSE.
_Enter LEPOCHE, strutting._
_Lep._ Aha! 'tis certain dat I ave someting in my air dat is grande--I wrong my bon addresse and figure, to stick to dis taileur trade; Oui, dat is de reason of Madame Rosa's scorn. If de Lady de Bull did take me for a colonel, dressed as I vas, vat must I be a-la-mode de n.o.blesse?--Aha! I have a tought; I vill surprise Madam Rosa into de love for my person! [_Sings._] Oui, le Marquis de Papillon clothes fit me exactement--how lucky I did not take dem home yesterday!--Aha! Oh, here come de Madame Rosa!
[_Retires._
_Enter ROSA._
_Rosa._ Ah, could I again behold my dearest lord--every separation, from those we love, seems a chasm in existence--No danger, I think, from my brother Henry; he's now too busy with his own love, to give any interruption to mine: and, yet, I think, had his pa.s.sion for this young lady but commenced previous to that of Lord Winlove's for me, Henry would not now lament the life, which, he imagines, he has taken.
_Enter LOPOCHE in a tawdry Dress--Kneels before her._
_Rosa._ [_Not recollecting him._] Pray, sir, if I may--
_Lep._ Heigho! Behold de gentilhomme dat love a you--throw your arms round my neck like solitaire, and give me kiss, my charming fair.
_Rosa._ Trifling--Impertinent!
_Lep._ Impertinent--Aha! [_Rises in a Pa.s.sion._] Do you know who you talk to, mademoiselle?--Impertinent!--You are great lady, indeed, but I vas just now, (little as you may tink of me) taken for a colonel, by my Lady de Bull, though, perhaps, not so great as you, but, by gar, she vas tree times as big--Impertinent!--See, I vill be revenge--may I never set a st.i.tch, but I vill have satisfaction--I am enrage!
_Enter NANNETTE._
You, Nannette, stand out of my valk, or I may put my feet upon you.
_Nan._ Oh, lud, what's the matter?
_Rosa._ Nannette, step with me into my chamber.
[_Exit._
_Lep._ Dere you may stay in your chamber--Aha! since you scorn me, Madame Runavay, I vill deliver you up to de Lady Abbess.
_Nan._ But Miss Rosa wants me.
_Lep._ I vant you, and I am your maitre--[_Towards the Door._] you vant a gentilhomme, do you?--but, dere, madam, you may play vid your pincus.h.i.+on--vantrebleu! Aha; I am so fine and clever, I must ave somebody--Nannette, you come and kiss me.
_Nan._ Pooh! Nonsense!
_Lep._ Comment!
_Nan._ Lud, sir, what signifies your strutting about there like a jackdaw, and there's the foreman waiting to take home that suit of clothes on you.
[_Exit._
_Lep._ So--I vas just now impertinent, and now I am jackdaw--fort bien!--de devil's in all de vomen about me to-day--[_Knocking without._]
Malpeste!--[_Looking._] here is dat Lord Winlove returned again--By gar, he vill cut my throat--best hide a littel.
[_Exit._
_Enter LORD WINLOVE._
_Lord W._ No, I cannot drive her from my heart--let me not condemn her too hastily--I'll first know to a certainty who accompanied her from this house yesterday morning--My death, from that rencontre with Henry, is everywhere believed, and even a reward offered for apprehending him--Well, one comfort, I'm a living witness of his innocence--But now for his lovely sister--Ah, see where she sits! dissolved in grief and tears.
[_Runs out to her._
_Enter HENRY._
_Henry._ Here you, Lepoche! Where is this fellow?--what has he done with Rosa? 'Pray Heaven she ha'n't given him the slip! Now, with Tallyho's consent, and the amiable Celia's acceptance of my pa.s.sion, I've no alloy to my golden delights, but the mournful memory of Lord Winlove, thus revived, in my unhappy sister's recent elopement.--Was she still in possession of her unsullied name, I, of my Celia's love, and the esteem of such a friend as Lord Winlove could have been--Fortune might do her worst.
AIR.--HENRY.
_Let Fame sound her trumpet, and cry, "To the war!"
Let glory re-echo the strain; The full tide of honour may flow from the scar, And heroes may smile on their pain.
The treasures of autumn let Bacchus display, And stagger about with his bowl, On science, let Sol beam the l.u.s.tre of day, And wisdom give light to the soul.
Let India unfold her rich gems to the view, Each virtue, each joy to improve; Oh, give me the friend, that I know to be true, And the fair, that I tenderly love!
What's glory, but pride? A vain bubble, is fame, And riot, the pleasure of wine.
What's riches, but trouble? and t.i.tle's a name; But friends.h.i.+p and love, are divine._
_Enter LORD WINLOVE and ROSA._
_Henry._ Lord Winlove alive!
_Lord W._ Sorry to see me so, Henry?
_Henry._ I own, my lord, I am surprised, yet rejoice to find my hand guiltless of blood, and you still possessed of power to heal my honour, in doing justice to my unhappy sister. Forgive my former weakness, I now only appeal to your humanity.
_Lord W._ My dear Henry, I never looked upon your sister, but with the ardent wish, of an honourable connexion--a jealous honour hurried you to rashness, and the fondest love rendered me imprudent: thus, we see, the n.o.blest principles, if guided only by our pa.s.sions, may prove destructive.
