The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor

Charles. Dearest dear Helen! and has your anger then no other cause? surely you could not blame a resentment which was the offspring of my fond affection?

Helen. No! to be sure I couldn’t, who could! – but what should I not have to dread from the violence of your temper, if I consented – to run away with you?

Charles. Run away with me! – no! – zounds I’ve a chaise in waiting —

Helen. Have you? – then pray let it wait, – no! no! Charles – though I haven’t scrupled to own an affection for you, I have too much respect for the world’s opinion, – let us wait with patience, – time may rectify that impetuosity of character, which is now, I own, my dread; think of it, Charles, and beware; for affection is a frail flower, reared by the hand of gentleness, and perishes as surely by the shocks of violence as by the more gradual poison of neglect.

Charles. Dearest Helen! I will cherish it in my heart – ’tis a rough soil I own, but ’tis a warm one; and when the hand of delicacy shall have cultivated this flower that is rooted there, the blossom shall be everlasting love!

Helen. Ah you men! – you men! but – I think I may be induced to try you. – Meantime, accept my hand, dear Charles, as a pledge of my heart, and as the assurance that it shall one day be your own indeed (he kisses her hand.) There you needn’t eat it – there! – now make your escape, and farewell till we meet again. – (They are going out severally)

Enter sir Rowland and sir Willoughby, at opposite sides

Charles. Zounds! my father!

Helen. Gad-a-mercy! my papa!

Sir R. So, sir! you are here again I find!

Sir W. So! so! Madam! together again, hey? sir Rowland, your servant.

Sir R. I need not tell you, sir Willoughby, that this undutiful boy’s conduct does not meet with my sanction.

Char. No! sir Willoughby – I am sorry to say my conduct seldom meets with my father’s sanction.

Sir W. Why look ye, sir Rowland, there are certain things that we do like, and certain things that we do not like – now sir, to cut the matter short, I do like my daughter to marry, but I do not like either your son or your nephew for her husband.

Sir R. This is a very sudden change, sir Willoughby —

Sir W. Yes, sir Rowland, I have made two or three sudden changes to day! – I’ve changed my resolution – I feel changed myself – for I’ve changed characters with my wife, and with your leave I mean to change my son-in-law.

Sir R. Of course, sir, you will give me a proper explanation of the last of these changes.

Sir W. Sir, if you’ll meet me presently at your attorney’s, the thing will explain itself: this way, young lady if you please – Charles, I believe you are a devilish honest fellow, and I want an honest fellow for a son-in-law – but I think it is rather too much to give twelve thousand a year for him – this way Miss Helen. [Exit sir Willoughby and Helen.

Sir R. This sudden resolution of sir Willoughby will still more exasperate him – I must seek him instantly, for the crisis of my fate is at hand; my own heart is witness against me – Heaven is my judge, and I have deserved my punishment! [Exit sir R.

Char. So! I’m much mistaken, or there’ll be a glorious bustle presently at the old lawyer’s – He has sent to beg I’ll attend, and as my heart is a little at rest in this quarter, I’ll e’en see what’s going forward in that– whether his intention be to expose or to abet a villain, still I’ll be one amongst them; for while I have a heart to feel and a hand to act, I can never be an idle spectator when insulted virtue raises her supplicating voice on one side, and persecution dares to lift his unblushing head on the other. [Exit.

SCENE II. – O’Dedimus’s Office Enter O’Dedimus and Ponder

O’Ded. You’ve done the business, you say!

Pon. Ay, and the parties will all be here presently.

O’Ded. That’s it! you’re sure you haven’t blabbed now?

Pon. Blabbed! ha, ha, ha! what do you take me for?

O’Ded. What do I take you for, Mr. Brass? Why I take you for one that will never be choked by politeness.

Pon. Why, Lord, sir, what could a lawyer do without impudence? for though they say “honesty’s the best policy” a lawyer generally finds his purpose better answered by a Policy of Assurance.

O’Ded. But hark! somebody’s coming already, step where I told you, and make haste.

Pon. On this occasion I lay by the lawyer and take up the Christian. Benevolence runs fast – but law is lazy and moves slowly. [Exit.

Enter Falkner as Abel Grouse

Abel Grouse. I have obeyed your summons. What have you to say in palliation of the injury you have done me?

O’Ded. Faith and I shall say a small matter about it. What I have done I have performed, and what I have performed I shall justify.

Ab. Gr. Indeed! Can you justify fraud and villany? To business, sir; wherefore am I summoned here?

O’Ded. That’s it! Upon my conscience I’m too modest to tell you.

Ab. Gr. Nature and education have made you modest: you were born an Irishman and bred in attorney —

O’Ded. And take my word for it, when Nature forms an Irishman, if she makes some little blunder in the contrivance of his head, it is because she bestows so much pains on the construction of his heart.

Ab. Gr. That may be partially true; but to hear you profess sentiments of feeling and justice reminds me of our advertising money-lenders who, while they practise usury and extortion on the world, assure them that “the strictest honor and liberality may be relied on;” and now, sir once more, your business with me.

O’Ded. Sure, sir, I sent for you to ask one small bit of a favour.

Ab. Gr. From me!

O’Ded. Ay, from you; and the favour is, that before you honor me with the appellation of scoundrel, villain, pettyfogger, and some other such little genteel epithets, you will be pleased to examine my title to such distinctions.

Ab. Gr. From you, however, I have no hopes. You have denied your presence at the infamous and sacrilegious mockery of my daughter’s marriage.

O’Ded. That’s a mistake, sir; I never did deny it.

Ab. Gr. Ha! you acknowledge it then!

O’Ded. That’s another mistake, sir; for I never did acknowledge it.

Ab. Gr. Fortunately my hopes rest on a surer basis than your honesty. Circumstances have placed in one of my hands the scales of Justice, and the other her sword for punishment.

O’Ded. Faith, sir, though you may be a fit representative of the old blind gentlewoman called Justice, she showed little discernment when she pitched upon you, and overlooked Mr. Cornelius O’Dedimus, attorney at law. And now, sir, be pleased to step into that room, and wait a moment, while I transact a little business with one who is coming yonder.

Ab. Gr. I came hither to obey you; for I have some suspicion of your intentions; and let us hope that one virtuous action, if you have courage to perform it, will serve as a sponge to all the roguery you have committed, either as an attorney or as a man. [Exit to an inner room.

O’Ded. That blunt little fellow has got a sharp tongue in his head. He’s an odd compound, just like a great big roasted potato, all crusty and crabbed without, but mealy and soft-hearted within. He takes me to be half a rogue and all the rest of me a scoundrel – Och, by St. Patrick! I’ll bother his brains presently.

Enter sir Rowland, lord Austencourt, and Charles

Lord A. Further discussion, sir, is useless. If I am to be disappointed in this marriage, a still more strict attention to my own affairs is necessary.

Sir R. I appeal fearlessly to this man, who has betrayed me, whether your interest was not my sole motive in the appropriation of your property.

Lord A. That assertion, sir, I was prepared to hear, but will not listen to.

Sir R. Beware, lord Austencourt, beware how you proceed!

Lord A. Do you again threaten me? (to O’Dedimus) are my orders obeyed? is every thing in readiness?

O’Ded. The officers are in waiting!

Charles. Hold, monster! Proceed at your peril. To me you shall answer this atrocious conduct.

Lord A. To you!

Charles. Ay, sir, to me, if you have the courage of a man.

Lord A. I will no longer support these insults. Call in the officers.

Enter sir Willoughby, lady Worret, and Helen

Sir W. Hey! zounds! did you take me and my lady Worret for sheriff’s officers, my lord?

Lord A. I have one condition to propose – if that lady accepts my hand, I consent to stop the proceedings. That alone can alter my purpose.

Charles. Inhuman torturer!

Helen. Were my heart as free as air I never would consent to a union with such a monster!

Sir W. And if you would, curse me if I would – nor my lady Worret either.

Sir R. Let him fulful his purpose if he dare! I now see the black corruptness of his heart; and though my life were at stake I would pay the forfeit, rather than immolate innocence in the arms of such depravity.

Lord A. Call in the officers, I say!

O’Ded. (without moving.) I shall do that thing.

Lord A. ’Tis justice I demand! Justice and Revenge alike direct me, and their united voice shall be obeyed.

Falkner. (enters suddenly.) They shall! behold me here, thou miscreant, to urge it! justice and revenge you call for, and they shall both fall heavily upon you.

Sir. R. Falkner!

O’Ded. What! Abel Grouse, Mr. Falkner! here’s a transmogrification for you!

Sir R. How! Falkner and the unknown cottager the same person!

Falk. Ay, sir; the man who cautioned you today in vain; who warned you of the precipice beneath your feet, and was unheeded by you —

Sir R. Amazement! what would you have me do?

Falk. Before this company assist me with the power you possess (and that power is ample) to compel your haughty nephew to repair the injury, which, in a humbler character, he has done me —

Lord A. He compel me! ridiculous!

Falk. (to sir Rowland.) Insensible to injury and insult, can nothing move you? Reveal your secret!

Lord A. I’ll hear no more. Summon the officers I say. I am resolved.

Sir R. I too am at last resolved! at length the arm is raised that, in descending must crush you.

Lord A. I despise your united threats! am I to be the sport of insolence and fraud? What am I, sir, that thus you dare insult me! Who am I?

Sir R. No longer the man you seem to be! hear me! before grief and shame shall burst my heart, hear me proclaim my guilt! When the late lord Austencourt dying bequeathed his infant son to my charge, my own child was of the same age! prompted by the demons of ambition, and blinded to guilt by affection for my own offspring —I changed the children.

Charles. Merciful Heaven!

Sir R. (to lord A.) Hence it follows that you, unnatural monster, are my son!

Sir W. Ods life! Hey! then there is something in the world to astonish me, besides the reformation of my lady Worret.

Lord A. Shallow artifice! Think you I am weak enough to credit this preposterous fiction, or do you suppose the law will listen to it?

Falk. Ay, sir; the law will listen to it, shall listen to it. I, sir, can prove the fact, beyond even the hesitation of incredulity!

Lord A. You!

Falk. I. You have seen me hitherto a poor man and oppressed me; you see me now rich and powerful, and well prepared to punish your villany; and thus, in every instance, may oppression recoil on the oppressor.

Lord A. Then I am indeed undone!

O’Ded. Shall I call the officers now, my lord? Mr. Austencourt, I should say; I ask pardon for the blunder: and now, ladies and gentlemen, be pleased to hear me speak. This extraordinary discovery is just exactly what I did not expect. It is true I had a bit of a discovery of my own to make: for I find that the habits of my profession though they haven’t led me to commit acts of knavery, have too often induced me to wink at them. Therefore as his quandam lordship has now certainly lost Miss Helen, I hope he’ll have no objection to do justice in another quarter. [Exit.

Sir R. Oh, Charles! my much injured nephew! how shall I ever dare to look upon you more?

Charles. Nay, nay, sir, I am too brimful of joy at my opening prospects here (taking Helen’s hand) to cherish any other feeling than forgiveness and good humour. Here is my hand, sir, and with it I pledge myself to oblivion of all the past, except the acts of kindness I have received from you.

Sir W. That’s a noble generous young dog – My lady Worret, I wonder whether he’ll offer to marry Helen now?

Lady W. Of course, after what has passed, you’ll think it decent to refuse for a short time: but you are the best judge, sir Willoughby, and your will shall in future be mine —

Sir W. Shall it – that’s kind – then I will refuse him to please you: for when you’re so reasonable, how can I do otherwise than oblige you.

Lady W. (aside.) Leave me alone to manage him still.

Enter O’Dedimus, introducing Fanny

Lord A. (seeing Fanny.) Ah, traitor!

O’Ded. Traitor back again into your teeth, my master! and since you’ve neither pity for the poor innocent, nor compassion for the little blunt gentleman her father, ’tis time to spake out and to tell you that instead of a sham priest and a sham license for your deceitful marriage as you bid me, I have sarved the cause of innocence and my own soul, by procuring a real priest and a real license, and by St. Patrick you are as much one as any two people in England, Ireland, or Scotland!

Fanny. Merciful powers! there is still justice for the unfortunate!

Lord A. (after a conflict of passion.) And is this really so?

O’Ded. You’re man and wife, sure enough. We’ve decent proof of this, too, sir.

Lord A. You no doubt expect this intelligence will exasperate me. ’Tis the reverse. By heaven it lifts a load of guilty wretchedness from my heart.

Fanny. Oh, my lord! my husband!

Falk. Can this be genuine? Sudden reformation is ever doubtful.

Lord A. It is real! my errors have been the fruits of an unbridled education. Ambition dazzled me, and wealth was my idol. I have acted like a villain, and as my conduct has deserved no forgiveness, so will my degradation be seen without compassion; but this weight of guilt removed, I will seek happiness and virtue in the arms of my much-injured Fanny.

Fanny. Silent joy is the most heartfelt. I cannot speak my happiness! My father!

Falk. This is beyond my hopes; but adversity is a salutary monitor.

Sir R. Still, Charles, to you I am indebted beyond the power of restitution.

Char. My dear father – no – no dear uncle, I mean, here is the reward I look for.

Helen. Ah, Charles – my lord, I mean, I beg pardon – to be sure papa, ay, and mamma-in-law too, will now no longer withhold their consent.

Sir W. Who, me? Not for the world – hey! mercy on us! I forgot your ladyship (aside) do you wish me to decline the honor?

Lady W. (aside.) Why no, as matters have turned out.

Char. Then Fortune has indeed smiled on me today!

Falk. The cloud of sorrow is passed, and may the sun of joy that now illumines my face, diffuse its cheering rays on all around us.

O’Ded. And sir Willoughby and her ladyship will smile most of us all; for every body knows they’re the happiest man and wife among us.

Helen.

And while amongst ourselves we anxious traceThe doubtful smile of joy in every face,There is a smile, which doubt and danger ends —The smile of approbation from our friends.THE END

1

Had Mr. Cooper entered on the profession in the days of Garrick, we are persuaded he would, with the advantage of that great man as a model, and the scientific Macklin as an instructor, have been one of the first actors that ever existed.

2

Perhaps!!! Mr. Wood we dare say has too much good sense to relish this perhaps, it rather savours of irony.

3

See Hist. Mem. of the Irish Bards.