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Enter Sir George Boncour.
Bone. 0 brother! you never arriv'd so fortunately to my assistance as now
Sir Geo. Why, what's the matter?
Bone. O, I am worried to death by my wife and my children.
Mrs. Bone. Nay, brother, you shall judge if he hath reason to complain: he hath, without my knowledge, contracted a match between Mr. Valence's children and his own; and when the young people had united their affections, truly he hath, of his own wise head, broke it off again.
Bone. You have appeal'd to a very wrong person now; my brother knows the whole affair.
Sir Geo. I know, brother! what do I know? if you have broken off the children's match, you have done a very ill thing, let your reasons be what they will.
Bone. How, brother! are you my enemy too?
Sir Geo. Can you imagine I will be your friend, brother, when you run rashly of your own head into schemes of consequence without consulting your wife !— without taking the advice of her, your best friend, your best counsellor?
Mrs. Bone. True, dear brother
Sir Geo. And then when you have done so, and suffer'd a fine gentleman here to engage hi3 precious affections, to fix his constant heart, which always doats with the same ardour on the same beauteous object—
Young Bone. True, by heavens!
Sir Geo. And this little bud here, to throw off the veil of her virgin modesty, and all overspread with blushes and confusion, to tell an odious man she will have him, which nothing but her duty to you could ever extort from her—
Miss Bone. True, dear uncle!
Sir Geo. Then after all this, out of base worldly motives, such as should never enter into the thoughts of a good man
Young Bone. Too true
Sir Geo. To disappoint all their hopes, to ruin all their fair prospects of happiness—to throw your wife into an ill humour
Mrs. Bone. Monster!
Sir Geo. To make your son here distracted.
Young Bone. Unnatural father!
Sir Geo. To break your daughter's heart!
Miss Bone. Cruel! barbarous!
Bone. Now, Madam, wife, children, marry, do as you
will 1 oppose you no longer——a leaf may as well
swim against a cataract
Mrs. Bone. But why keep it a secret from me? why must not I be trusted with a secret?
Young Bone. And may I depend on my father's permission to be happy?
Bone. Even as you please, Sir—O—aye—Madam, and you too, I will prevent you the trouble of speaking.
Young Bone. Come, dear girl, let us haste to make our friends happy with the news.
[Exeunt Mrs. Boncour, Young Boncour, Miss Boncour.
Sir Geo. Ha, ha, ha!
Bone. You use me kindly, brother.
Sir Geo. How would you have me use you, brother? you must excuse me if I don't follow your example: you see an instance now, that by humouring these good people I have gain'd their affections, I mean their thanks; affections, indeed, they have none, but for themselves; but had I taken your part, and spoken my real sentiments, I had pull d an old house on my head; your wife would have abus'd me, your datighter have hated me, and your son have wish'd to send me out of the world.
Bone. But is this consistent with your behaviour this afternoon, when I receiv'd your letter?
Sir Geo. Kemember, brother, we were alone then • and at the worst I should only have oppos'd my judgment to yours; here I must have encounter'd a majority—a measure seldom attended with success; well, but for your comfort, I have contriv'd a scheme to disappoint them all effectually.
Bone. Brother, I thank you; but will it be a goodnatur'd thing to disappoint them, poor things.
Sir Geo. Good-nature! damn the word; I hate it:
they say it is a word so peculiar to our language,
that it can't be translated into any other—Good nature!
ACT IV.—SCENE I.
Scene, Valence's House.
Enter Valence and Young Kennel.
Consider, young gentleman, the consequence of disobedience to a father; especially to so passionate a father as Sir Gregory!
Young Ken. Don't talk to me of fathers! Parblieu! it is fine topsy-turvey work, to travel first and go to school afterwards.
Val. Upon my word it would do some of our young travellers no harm.
Young Ken. That I, who am to inherit a fortune of five thousand pounds a year, may not marry whom I please, but must have cramm'd down my throat some bread pudding of a citizen's daughter, or scrag end of a woman of quality!
Val. You don't know whom Sir Gregory may provide for you.
Young Ken. But I know whom he will not;—besides, I shall provide for myself
Val. Consider first the sin of disobedience; — you know it is in his power to disinherit you.
Young Ken. No, indeed, don't I, nor he neither, that's better:—plague! if he could do that, I believe I should be a little civiller to him—no, no, that's out of his power, I assure you; my tutor let me into that secret a great while ago.
Enter Miss Valence.
Val. Oh, here comes my daughter according to my orders; now if he had not unluckily seen this wench at the play [Aside.
Miss Val. Did you send for me, Sir?
Val. I send for you! no; but come hither.
Young Ken. Ha! parblieu! 'tis she—'tis the very same.
Miss Val. What coxcomb is this? [Aside.
Young Ken. This is the most lucky adventure that hath happened in all my travels.
Val. You stare at my daughter as if you had seen her before.
Young Ken. As certain as I have seen the King of France ;—but, Sir, is this lady your daughter?
Val. She is, Sir; I have only one other child.
Young Ken. Then I believe, Sir, you are father to an angel; you know, Sir, I told you I saw a lady at the play, and for whom I would be disobedient to all the fathers in the universe.
Val. I protest, Sir, you surprise me
Miss Val. Sir, may I go?
Val. Ay, ay, child :—go—go. [Exit Miss Valence.
Young Ken. Sir—Madam, can you be so barbarous?
Val. Sir Gregory will be back in a minute, I would not have him know any thing of this for the world, he would run me through the body, though I am innocent.
Young Ken. Never fear him, I will defend you. Let me see her once more.
Val. You shall see her again; but have patience, if you will get your father away, and return back by your self, you shall see her once to take your leave of her, for you must not disobey your father; but are you certain he can't disinherit you? that is, that he is only tenant for life?
Young Ken. I don't know whether he is tenant for life or for death; but I know that my tutor, and several lawyers too, have told me he could not keep me out of one acre.
Val. But you are sure you had it from good lawyers?
Young Ken. Ay, as any in the kingdom. Val. Well, I am glad of it; 'tis a terrible thing for a man to disinherit his children:—don't be undutiful, unless you can't help it, and if you can't help it, why it is not your fault; but hush, here's Sir Gregory.
Enter Sir Gregory.
Sir Greg. Well, have you brought him to it, will he be a good boy, and marry a woman of quality, or no?
Val. I have said all that I can say, Sir Gregory, and upon my word he is rather too hard for me; I would have you consider a little, Sir, it is only whether he shall choose a wife for himself or not:—consider, Sir Gregory, he is to live with her, not you.
Young Ken. Ay, 1 am to live with her, not you .