John Bull Part 17

_Shuff._ You may make, sir, a very good citizen; but, curse me, if you'll do for the west end of the town.

_Pereg._ I make no distinctions in the ends of towns, sir:--the ends of integrity are always uniform: and 'tis only where those ends are most promoted, that the inhabitants of a town, let them live east or west, most preponderate in rational estimation.

_Shuff._ Pray, sir, are you a methodist preacher, in want of a congregation?

_Pereg._ Perhaps I'm a quack doctor, in want of a Jack Pudding.--Will you engage with me?

_Shuff._ d.a.m.n me if this is to be borne.--Sir, the correction I must give you, will--

_Pereg._ [_With Coolness._] Desist, young man, in time, or you may repent your petulance.

_Mary._ [_Coming between them._] Oh, gentlemen! pray, pray don't--I am so frightened! Indeed, sir, you mistake. [_To PEREGRINE._] This gentleman has been so good to me! [_Pointing to SHUFFLETON._

_Pereg._ Prove it, child, and I shall honour him.

_Mary._ Indeed, indeed he has.--Pray, pray don't quarrel! when two such generous people meet, it would be a sad pity. See, sir, [_To PEREGRINE._] he has recommended me to a place in London;--here's the letter to the good lady, an elderly lady, in Marybone paris.h.!.+ and so kind, sir, every body, that knows her, calls her mother.

_Pereg._ [_Looking at the superscription._] Infamous! sit down, and compose yourself, my love;--the gentleman and I shall soon come to an understanding. One word, sir: [_Mary sits at the back of the Scene, the Men advance._] I have lived long in India;--but the flies, who gad thither, buzz in our ears, till we learn what they have blown upon in England. I have heard of the wretch, in whose house you meant to place that unfortunate.

_Shuff._ Well! and you meant to place her in snugger lodgings, I suppose?

_Pereg._ I mean to place her where----

_Shuff._ No, my dear fellow, you don't;----unless you answer it to me.

_Pereg._ I understand you.--In an hour, then, I shall be at the Manor-house, whence I suppose, you come. Here we are both unarmed; and there is one waiting at the door, who, perhaps, might interrupt us.

_Shuff._ Who is he?

_Pereg._ Her father;--her agonized father;----to whose entreaties I have yielded; and brought him here, prematurely.--He is a tradesman;--beneath your notice:--a vulgar brazier;--but he has some sort of feeling for his child! whom, now your friend has lured her to the precipice of despair, you would hurry down the gulf of infamy.--For your own convenience, sir, I would advise you to avoid him.

_Shuff._ Your advice, now, begins to be a little sensible; and if you turn out a gentleman, though I suspect you to be one of the brazier's company, I shall talk to you at Sir Simon's. [_Exit._

_Mary._ Is the gentleman gone, sir?

_Pereg._ Let him go, child; and be thankful that you have escaped from a villain.

_Mary._ A villain, sir!

_Pereg._ The basest; for nothing can be baser than manly strength, in the specious form of protection, injuring an unhappy woman. When we should be props to the lily in the storm, 'tis d.a.m.nable to spring up like vigorous weeds, and twine about the drooping flower, till we destroy it.

_Mary._ Then, where are friends to be found, sir? He seemed honest; so do you; but, perhaps, you may be as bad.

_Pereg._ Do not trust me. I have brought you a friend, child, in whom, Nature tells us, we ever should confide.

_Mary._ What, here, sir?

_Pereg._ Yes;--when he hurts you, he must wound himself;--and so suspicious is the human heart become, from the treachery of society, that it wants that security. I will send him to you. [_Exit._

_Mary._ Who can he mean? I know n.o.body but Mr. Rochdale, that, I think, would come to me. For my poor dear father, when he knows all my crime, will abandon me, as I deserve.

_Enter JOB THORNBERRY, at the Door PEREGRINE has gone out at._

_Job._ Mary! [_MARY shrieks and falls, her Father runs to her._] My dear Mary!--Speak to me!

_Mary._ [_Recovering._] Don't look kindly on me, my dear father!

Leave me; I left you:--but I was almost mad.

_Job._ I'll never leave you, till I drop down dead by your side. How could you run away from me, Mary? [_She shrieks._] Come, come, kiss me, and we'll talk of that another time.

_Mary._ You hav'n't heard half the story, or I'm sure you'd never forgive me.

_Job._ Never mind the story now, Mary;--'tis a true story that you're my child, and that's enough for the present. I hear you have met with a rascal. I hav'n't been told who, yet. Some folks don't always forgive; braziers do. Kiss me again, and we'll talk on't by and by. But, why would you run away, Mary?

_Mary._ I could'nt stay and be deceitful; and it has often cut me to the heart, to see you show me that affection, which I knew I didn't deserve.

_Job._ Ah! you jade! I ought to be angry; but I can't. Look here--don't you remember this waistcoat? you worked it for me, you know.

_Mary._ I know I did. [_Kissing him._

_Job._ I had a hard struggle to put it on, this morning; but I squeezed myself into it, a few hours after you ran away.--If I could do that, you might have told me the worst, without much fear of my anger. How have they behaved to you, Mary?

_Mary._ The landlord is very humane, but the landlady------

_Job._ Cruel to you? I'll blow her up like gunpowder in a copper. We must stay here to-night;--for there's Peregrine, that king of good fellows, we must stay here till he comes back, from a little way off, he says.

_Mary._ He that brought you here?

_Job._ Ay, he. I don't know what he intends--but I trust all to him;--and when he returns, we'll have such a merry-making! Hollo!

house! Oh, d.a.m.n it, I'll be good to the landlord; but I'll play h.e.l.l with his wife! Come with me, and let us call about us a bit.

Hollo!--house! Come, Mary! odsbobs, I'm so happy to have you again!

House!--Come, Mary, [_Exeunt._

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

_The Outside of the Red Cow._

_DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY before the Door._

_Dennis._ I've stretched my neck half a yard longer, looking out after that rapscallion, Dan. Och! and is it yourself I see, at last?

There he comes, in a snail's trot, with a basket behind him, like a stage coach.