Inkle and Yarico: An opera, in three acts

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

The Quay at Barbadoes, with an Inn upon it. People employed in unlading vessels, carrying bales of goods, &c.

Enter several Planters.

1st Plant. I saw her this morning, gentlemen, you may depend on't. My telescope never fails me. I popp'd upon her as I was taking a peep from my balcony. A brave tight ship, I tell you, bearing down directly for Barbadoes here.

2d Plant. Ods, my life! rare news! We have not had a vessel arrive in our harbour these six weeks.

3d Plant. And the last brought only Madam Narcissa, our Governor's daughter, from England; with a parcel of lazy, idle, white folks about her. Such cargoes will never do for our trade, neighbour.

2d Plant. No, no; we want slaves. A terrible dearth of 'em in Barbadoes, lately! But your dingy passengers for my money. Give me a vessel like a collier, where all the lading tumbles out as black as my hat. But are you sure, now, you ar'n't mistaken? [To 1st Planter.]

1st Plant. Mistaken! 'sbud, do you doubt my glass? I can discover a gull by it six leagues off: I could see every thing as plain as if I was on board.

2d Plant. Indeed! and what were her colours?

1st Plant. Um! why English——or Dutch——or French——I don't exactly remember.

2d Plant. What were the sailors aboard?

1st Plant. Eh! why they were English too——or Dutch——or French——I can't perfectly recollect.

2d Plant. Your glass, neighbour, is a little like a glass too much: it makes you forget every thing you ought to remember. [Cry without, "A sail, a sail!"]

1st Plant. Egad, but I'm right though. Now, gentlemen!

All. Aye, aye; the devil take the hindmost.

[Exeunt hastily.

Enter Narcissa and Patty.

SONG.

Patty. Well, ma'am, as I was saying——

Nar. Well, say no more of what you were saying—Sure, Patty, you forget where you are; a little caution will be necessary now, I think.

Patty. Lord, madam, how is it possible to help talking? We are in Barbadoes here, to be sure—but then, ma'am, one may let out a little in a private morning's walk by ourselves.

Nar. Nay, it's the same thing with you in doors.

Patty. I never blab, ma'am, never, as I hope for a gown.

Nar. And your never blabbing, as you call it, depends chiefly on that hope, I believe.

Patty. I have told the story of our voyage, indeed, to old Guzzle, the butler.

Nar. And thus you lead him to imagine I am but little inclined to the match.

Patty. Lord, ma'am, how could that be? Why I never said a word about Captain Campley.

Nar. Hush! hush! for heaven's sake.

Patty. Aye! there it is now. But if our voyage from England was so pleasant, it wasn't owing to Mr. Inkle, I'm certain. He didn't play the fiddle in our cabin, and dance on the deck, and come languishing with a glass of warm water in his hand, when we were sea-sick. Ah, ma'am, that water warm'd your heart, I'm confident. Mr. Inkle! No, no; Captain Cam——

Nar. There is no end to this! Remember, Patty, keep your secrecy, or you entirely lose my favour.

Patty. Never fear me, ma'am. But if somebody I know is not acquainted with the Governor, there's such a thing as dancing at balls, and squeezing hands when you lead up, and squeezing them again when you cast down. I'm as close as a patch box. Mum's the word, ma'am, I promise you.

[Exit.

Nar. How awkward is my present situation! Promised to one, who, perhaps, may never again be heard of; and who, I am sure, if he ever appears to claim me, will do it merely on the score of interest—pressed too by another, who has already, I fear, too much interest in my heart—what can I do? What plan can I follow?

Enter Campley.

Camp. Follow my advice, Narcissa, by all means. Enlist with me under the best banners in the world. General Hymen for my money! little Cupid's his drummer: he has been beating a round rub-a-dub on our hearts, and we have only to obey the word of command, fall into the ranks of matrimony, and march through life together.

Nar. Then consider our situation.

Camp. That has been duly considered. In short, the case stands exactly thus—your intended spouse is all for money; I am all for love. He is a rich rogue; I am rather a poor honest fellow. He would pocket your fortune; I will take you without a fortune in your pocket.

Nar. Oh! I am sensible of the favour, most gallant Captain Campley; and my father, no doubt, will be very much obliged to you.

Camp. Aye, there's the devil of it! Sir Christopher Curry's confounded good character knocks me up at once. Yet I am not acquainted with him neither; not known to him even by sight; being here only as a private gentleman, on a visit to my old relation, out of regimentals, and so forth; and not introduced to the Governor, as other officers of the place. But then, the report of his hospitality—his odd, blunt, whimsical friendship—his whole behaviour—

Nar. All stare you in the face; eh, Campley?

Camp. They do, till they put me out of countenance.

Nar. What signifies talking to me, when you have such opposition from others? Why hover about the city, instead of boldly attacking the guard? Wheel about, captain! face the enemy! March! Charge! Rout 'em!—Drive 'em before you, and then—

Camp. And then—

Nar. Lud ha' mercy on the poor city!

Enter Patty, hastily.

Patty. Oh lud, ma'am, I'm frightened out of my wits! sure as I'm alive, ma'am, Mr. Inkle is not dead; I saw his man, ma'am, just now, coming ashore in a boat, with other passengers, from the vessel that's come to the island.

[Exit.

Nar. Then one way or other I must determine.—[To Campley.] Look'ye, Mr. Campley, something has happened which makes me wave ceremonies.—If you mean to apply to my father, remember, that delays are dangerous.

Camp. Indeed!

Nar. I mayn't be always in the same mind, you know. [Smiling.]

[Exit.

Camp. Nay, then—Gad, I'm almost afraid too—but living in this state of doubt is torment. I'll e'en put a good face on the matter; cock my hat; make my bow; and try to reason the Governor into compliance. Faint heart never won a fair lady.

SONG.

Enter Trudge and Wowski, (as from the ship), with a dirty runner to one of the inns.

Run. This way, sir; if you will let me recommend——

Trudge. Come along, Wows! Take care of your furs, and your feathers, my girl!

Wows. Iss.

Trudge. That's right.—Somebody might steal 'em, perhaps.

Wows. Steal!—What that?

Trudge. Oh Lord! see what one loses by not being born in a christian country.

Run. If you would, sir, but mention to your master, the house that belongs to my master; the best accommodations on the quay.—

Trudge. What's your sign, my lad?

Run. The Crown, sir.—Here it is.

Trudge. Well, get us a room for half an hour, and we'll come: and harkee! let it be light and airy, d'ye hear? My master has been used to your open apartments lately.

Run. Depend on it.—Much obliged to you, sir.

[Exit.

Wows. Who be that fine man? He great prince?

Trudge. A prince—Ha! ha!——No, not quite a prince—but he belongs to the Crown. But how do you like this, Wows? Isn't it fine?

Wows. Wonder!

Trudge. Fine men, eh?

Wows. Iss! all white; like you.

Trudge. Yes, all the fine men are like me. As different from your people as powder and ink, or paper and blacking.

Wows. And fine lady—Face like snow.

Trudge. What! the fine lady's complexions? Oh, yes, exactly; for too much heat very often dissolves 'em! Then their dress, too.

Wows. Your countrymen dress so?

Trudge. Better, better a great deal. Why, a young flashy Englishman will sometimes carry a whole fortune on his back. But did you mind the women? All here—and there; [Pointing before and behind.] they have it all from us in England.—And then the fine things they carry on their heads, Wowski.

Wows. Iss. One lady carry good fish——so fine, she call every body to look at her.

Trudge. Pshaw! an old woman bawling flounders. But the fine girls we meet, here, on the quay—so round and so plump!

Wows. You not love me now?

Trudge. Not love you! Zounds, have not I given you proofs?

Wows. Iss. Great many: but now you get here, you forget poor Wowski!

Trudge. Not I. I'll stick to you like wax.

Wows. Ah! I fear! What make you love me now?

Trudge. Gratitude, to be sure.

Wows. What that?

Trudge. Ha! this it is, now, to live without education. The poor dull devils of her country are all in the practice of gratitude, without finding out what it means; while we can tell the meaning of it, with little or no practice at all.—Lord, Lord, what a fine advantage christian learning is! Hark'ee, Wows!

Wows. Iss.

Trudge. Now we've accomplished our landing, I'll accomplish you. You remember the instructions I gave you on the voyage?

Wows. Iss.

Trudge. Let's see now—What are you to do, when I introduce you to the nobility, gentry, and others—of my acquaintance?

Wows. Make believe sit down; then get up.

Trudge. Let me see you do it. [She makes a low courtesy.] Very well! and how are you to recommend yourself, when you have nothing to say, amongst all our great friends?

Wows. Grin—show my teeth.

Trudge. Right! they'll think you've lived with people of fashion. But suppose you meet an old shabby friend in misfortune, that you don't wish to be seen speak to—what would you do?

Wows. Look blind—not see him.

Trudge. Why would you do that?

Wows. 'Cause I can't see good friend in distress.

Trudge. That's a good girl! and I wish every body could boast of so kind a motive for such cursed cruel behaviour.—Lord! how some of your flashy bankers' clerks have cut me in Threadneedle street.—But come, though we have got among fine folks, here, in an English settlement, I won't be ashamed of my old acquaintance: yet, for my own part, I should not be sorry, now, to see my old friend with a new face.—Odsbobs! I see Mr. Inkle—Go in, Wows; call for what you like best.

Wows. Then I call for you—ah! I fear I not see you often now. But you come soon——

SONG.

[Exit Wowski.

Trudge. Who have we here?

Enter First Planter.

Plant. Hark'ee, young man! Is that young Indian of yours going to our market?

Trudge. Not she—she never went to market in all her life.

Plant. I mean, is she for our sale of slaves? Our black fair?

Trudge. A black fair, ha! ha! ha! You hold it on a brown green, I suppose.

Plant. She's your slave, I take it?

Trudge. Yes; and I'm her humble servant, I take it.

Plant. Aye, aye, natural enough at sea.—But at how much do you value her?

Trudge. Just as much as she has saved me—My own life.

Plant. Pshaw! you mean to sell her?

Trudge. [Staring.] Zounds! what a devil of a fellow! Sell Wows!—my poor, dear, dingy, wife!

Plant. Come, come, I've heard your story from the ship.—Don't let's haggle; I'll bid as fair as any trader amongst us. But no tricks upon travellers, young man, to raise your price.——Your wife, indeed! Why she's no christian!

Trudge. No; but I am; so I shall do as I'd be done by: and, if you were a good one yourself, you'd know, that fellow-feeling for a poor body, who wants your help, is the noblest mark of our religion.—I wou'dn't be articled clerk to such a fellow for the world.

Plant. Hey-day! the booby's in love with her! Why, sure, friend, you would not live here with a black?

Trudge. Plague on't; there it is. I shall be laughed out of my honesty, here.—But you may be jogging, friend; I may feel a little queer, perhaps, at showing her face—but, dam me, if ever I do any thing to make me asham'd of showing my own.

Plant. Why, I tell you, her very complexion——

Trudge. Rot her complexion—I'll tell you what, Mr. Fair-trader, if your head and heart were to change places, I've a notion you'd be as black in the face as an ink-bottle.

Plant. Pshaw! the fellow's a fool—a rude rascal—he ought to be sent back to the savages again. He's not fit to live among us christians.

[Exit Planter.

Trudge. Oh, here comes my master, at last.

Enter Inkle, and a second Planter.

Inkle. Nay, sir, I understand your customs well; your Indian markets are not unknown to me.

2d Plant. And, as you seem to understand business, I need not tell you, that dispatch is the soul of it. Her name you say is—

Inkle. Yarico: but urge this no more, I beg you; I must not listen to it: for, to speak freely, her anxious care of me demands, that here,—though here it may seem strange—I should avow my love for her.

Plant. Lord help you for a merchant!—It's the first time I ever heard a trader talk of love; except, indeed, the love of trade, and the love of the Sweet Molly, my ship.

Inkle. Then, sir, you cannot feel my situation.

Plant. Oh yes, I can! we have a hundred such cases just after a voyage; but they never last long on land. It's amazing how constant a young man is in a ship! But, in two words, will you dispose of her, or no?

Inkle. In two words, then, meet me here at noon, and we'll speak further on this subject: and lest you think I trifle with your business, hear why I wish this pause. Chance threw me, on my passage to your island, among a savage people. Deserted,—defenceless,—cut off from companions,—my life at stake—to this young creature I owe my preservation;—she found me, like a dying bough, torn from its kindred branches; which, as it drooped, she moistened with her tears.

Plant. Nay, nay, talk like a man of this world.

Inkle. Your patience.—And yet your interruption goes to my present feelings; for on our sail to this your island—the thoughts of time mispent—doubt—fears—for call it what you will—have much perplexed me; and as your spires arose, reflections still rose with them; for here, sir, lie my interests, great connexions, and other weighty matters—which now I need not mention——

Plant. But which her presence here will mar.

Inkle. Even so—And yet the gratitude I owe her—

Plant. Pshaw! So because she preserved your life, your gratitude is to make you give up all you have to live upon.

Inkle. Why, in that light indeed—This never struck me yet, I'll think on't.

Plant. Aye, aye, do so—Why, what return can the wench wish more than taking her from a wild, idle, savage people, and providing for her, here, with reputable hard work, in a genteel, polished, tender, christian country?

Inkle. Well, sir, at noon——

Plant. I'll meet you—but remember, young gentleman, you must get her off your hands—you must, indeed.—I shall have her a bargain, I see that—your servant!—Zounds, how late it is—but never be put out of your way for a woman—I must run—my wife will play the devil with me for keeping breakfast.

[Exit.

Inkle. Trudge.

Trudge. Sir!

Inkle. Have you provided a proper apartment?

Trudge. Yes, sir, at the Crown here; a neat, spruce room they tell me. You have not seen such a convenient lodging this good while, I believe.

Inkle. Are there no better inns in the town?

Trudge. Um——Why there is the Lion, I hear, and the Bear, and the Boar—but we saw them at the door of all our late lodgings, and found but bad accommodations within, sir.

Inkle. Well, run to the end of the quay, and conduct Yarico hither. The road is straight before you: you can't miss it.

Trudge. Very well, sir. What a fine thing it is to turn one's back on a master, without running into a wolf's belly! One can follow one's nose on a message here, and be sure it won't be bit off by the way.

[Exit.

Inkle. Let me reflect a little. Part with her!—My interest, honour, engagements to Narcissa, all demand it. My father's precepts too—I can remember, when I was a boy, what pains he took to mould me.—School'd me from morn to night—and still the burden of his song was—Prudence! Prudence! Thomas, and you'll rise. His maxims rooted in my heart, and as I grew—they grew; till I was reckoned, among our friends, a steady, sober, solid, good young man; and all the neighbours call'd me the prudent Mr. Thomas. And shall I now, at once, kick down the character which I have raised so warily?—Part with her—sell her!—The thought once struck me in our cabin, as she lay sleeping by me; but, in her slumbers, she passed her arm around me, murmured a blessing on my name, and broke my meditations.

Enter Yarico and Trudge.

Yar. My love!

Trudge. I have been showing her all the wigs and bales of goods we met on the quay, sir.

Yar. Oh! I have feasted my eyes on wonders.

Trudge. And I'll go feast on a slice of beef, in the inn, here.

[Exit.

Yar. My mind has been so busy, that I almost forgot even you. I wish you had stayed with me—You would have seen such sights!

Inkle. Those sights have become familiar to me, Yarico.

Yar. And yet I wish they were not—You might partake my pleasures—but now again, methinks, I will not wish so—for, with too much gazing, you might neglect poor Yarico.

Inkle. Nay, nay, my care is still for you.

Yar. I am sure it is: and if I thought it was not, I would tell you tales about our poor old grot—bid you remember our palm-tree near the brook, where in the shade you often stretched yourself, while I would take your head upon my lap, and sing my love to sleep. I know you'll love me then.

SONG.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in the House of Sir Christopher Curry.

Enter Sir Christopher and Medium.

Sir Chr. I tell you, old Medium, you are all wrong. Plague on your doubts! Inkle shall have my Narcissa. Poor fellow! I dare say he's finely chagrined at this temporary parting—Eat up with the blue devils, I warrant.

Med. Eat up by the black devils, I warrant; for I left him in hellish hungry company.

Sir Chr. Pshaw! he'll arrive with the next vessel, depend on't—besides, have not I had this in view ever since they were children? I must and will have it so, I tell you. Is not it, as it were, a marriage made above? They shall meet, I'm positive.

Med. Shall they? Then they must meet where the marriage was made; for hang me, if I think it will ever happen below.

Sir Chr. Ha!—and if that is the case—hang me, if I think you'll ever be at the celebration of it.

Med. Yet, let me tell you, Sir Christopher Curry, my character is as unsullied as a sheet of white paper.

Sir Chr. Well said, old fool's-cap! and it's as mere a blank as a sheet of white paper. You are honest, old Medium, by comparison, just as a fellow sentenced to transportation is happier than his companion condemned to the gallows—Very worthy, because you are no rogue; tender hearted, because you never go to fires and executions; and an affectionate father and husband, because you never pinch your children, or kick your wife out of bed.

Med. And that, as the world goes, is more than every man can say for himself. Yet, since you force me to speak my positive qualities—but, no matter,—you remember me in London; didn't I, as member of the Humane Society, bring a man out of the New River, who, it was afterwards found, had done me an injury?

Sir Chr. And, dam'me, if I would not kick any man into the New River that had done me an injury. There's the difference of our honesty. Oons! if you want to be an honest fellow, act from the impulse of nature. Why, you have no more gall than a pigeon.

Med. And you have as much gall as a turkey cock, and are as hot into the bargain—You're always so hasty; among the hodge-podge of your foibles, passion is always predominant.

Sir Chr. So much the better.——Foibles, quotha? foibles are foils that give additional lustre to the gems of virtue. You have not so many foils as I, perhaps.

Med. And, what's more, I don't want 'em, Sir Christopher, I thank you.

Sir Chr. Very true; for the devil a gem have you to set off with 'em.

Med. Well, well; I never mention errors; that, I flatter myself, is no disagreeable quality.—It don't become me to say you are hot.

Sir Chr. 'Sblood! but it does become you: it becomes every man, especially an Englishman, to speak the dictates of his heart.

Enter Servant.

Serv. An English vessel, sir, just arrived in the harbour.

Sir Chr. A vessel! Od's my life!——Now for the news—If it is but as I hope—Any dispatches?

Serv. This letter, sir, brought by a sailor from the quay.

[Exit.

Sir Chr. [Opening the letter] Huzza! here it is. He's safe—safe and sound at Barbadoes. [Reading]——

Sir,
My master, Mr. Inkle, is just arrived in your harbour,

Here, read, read! old Medium—

Med. [Reading.] Um'—

Your harbour;—we were taken up by an English vessel, on the 14th ult^o. He only waits till I have puffed his hair, to pay his respects to you, and Miss Narcissa: In the mean time, he has ordered me to brush up this letter for your honour, from

Your humble Servant, to command,
  Timothy Trudge.

Sir Chr. Hey day! Here's a style! the voyage has jumbled the fellow's brains out of their places; the water has made his head turn round. But no matter; mine turns round, too. I'll go and prepare Narcissa directly; they shall be married slap-dash, as soon as he comes from the quay. From Neptune to Hymen: from the hammock to the bridal bed—Ha! old boy!

Med. Well, well; don't flurry yourself—you're so hot!

Sir Chr. Hot! blood, ar'n't I in the West Indies? Ar'n't I governor of Barbadoes? He shall have her as soon as he sets his foot on shore. "But, plague on't, he's so slow."—She shall rise to him like Venus out of the sea. His hair puffed? He ought to have been puffing, here, out of breath, by this time.

Med. Very true; but Venus's husband is always supposed to be lame, you know, Sir Christopher.

Sir Chr. Well, now do, my good fellow, run down to the shore, and see what detains him.

[Hurrying him off.

Med. Well, well; I will, I will.

[Exit.

Sir Chr. In the mean time I'll get ready Narcissa, and all shall be concluded in a second. My heart's set upon it.—Poor fellow! after all his rumbles, and tumbles, and jumbles, and fits of despair—I shall be rejoiced to see him. I have not seen him since he was that high.—But, zounds! he's so tardy!

Enter Servant.

Serv. A strange gentleman, sir, come from the quay, desires to see you.

Sir Chr. From the quay? Od's my life!——'Tis he—'Tis Inkle! Show him up directly.

[Exit Servant.

The rogue is expeditious after all.—I'm so happy.

Enter Campley.

My dear fellow! [Shakes hands.] I'm rejoiced to see you. Welcome; welcome here, with all my soul!

Camp. This reception, Sir Christopher, is beyond my warmest wishes—Unknown to you——

Sir Chr. Aye, aye; we shall be better acquainted by and by. Well, and how, eh! tell me!—But old Medium and I have talked over your affair a hundred times a day, ever since Narcissa arrived.

Camp. You surprise me! Are you then really acquainted with the whole affair?

Sir Chr. Every tittle.

Camp. And, can you, sir, pardon what is past?—

Sir Chr. Pooh! how could you help it?

Camp. Very true—sailing in the same ship—and—But when you consider the past state of my mind——the black prospect before me.—

Sir Chr. Ha! ha! Black enough, I dare say.

Camp. The difficulty I have felt in bringing myself face to face to you.

Sir Chr. That I am convinced of—but I knew you would come the first opportunity.

Camp. Very true: yet the distance between the Governor of Barbadoes and myself. [Bowing.]

Sir Chr. Yes—a devilish way asunder.

Camp. Granted, sir: which has distressed me with the cruellest doubts as to our meeting.

Sir Chr. It was a toss up.

Camp. The old gentleman seems devilish kind.—Now to soften him. [Aside.] Perhaps, sir, in your younger days, you may have been in the same situation yourself.

Sir Chr. Who? I! 'sblood! no, never in my life.

Camp. I wish you had, with all my soul, Sir Christopher.

Sir Chr. Upon my soul, Sir, I am very much obliged to you. [Bowing.]

Camp. As what I now mention might have greater weight with you.

Sir Chr. Pooh! pr'ythee! I tell you I pitied you from the bottom of my heart.

Camp. Indeed! if, with your leave, I may still venture to mention Miss Narcissa—

Sir Chr. An impatient, sensible young dog! like me to a hair! Set your heart at rest, my boy. She's yours; yours before to-morrow morning.

Camp. Amazement! I can scarce believe my senses.

Sir Chr. Zounds! you ought to be out of your senses: but dispatch—make short work of it, ever while you live, my boy. Here she is.

Enter Narcissa and Patty.

Here girl: here's your swain.

[To Nar.

Camp. I just parted with my Narcissa, on the quay, sir.

Sir Chr. Did you! Ah, sly dog——had a meeting before you came to the old gentleman.—But here—Take him, and make much of him—and, for fear of further separations, you shall e'en be tacked together directly. What say you, girl?

Camp. Will my Narcissa consent to my happiness?

Nar. I always obey my father's commands, with pleasure, sir.

Sir Chr. Od! I'm so happy, I hardly know which way to turn; but we'll have the carriage directly; drive down to the quay; trundle old Spintext into church, and hey for matrimony!

Camp. With all my heart, Sir Christopher; the sooner the better.

Sir Christopher, Campley, Narcissa, Patty.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

The Quay.

Enter Patty.

Patty. Mercy on us! what a walk I have had of it! Well, matters go on swimmingly at the Governor's—The old gentleman has ordered the carriage, and the young couple will be whisked here, to church, in a quarter of an hour. My business is to prevent young sobersides, young Inkle, from appearing, to interrupt the ceremony.—Ha! here's the Crown, where I hear he is housed: So now to find Trudge, and trump up a story, in the true style of a chambermaid. [Goes into the house.] [Patty within.] I tell you it don't signify, and I will come up. [Trudge within.] But it does signify, and you can't come up.

Re-enter Patty with Trudge.

Patty. You had better say at once, I shan't.

Trudge. Well then, you shan't.

Patty. Savage! Pretty behaviour you have picked up amongst the Hottypots! Your London civility, like London itself, will soon be lost in smoke, Mr. Trudge: and the politeness you have studied so long in Threadneedle-street, blotted out by the blacks you have been living with.

Trudge. No such thing; I practised my politeness all the while I was in the woods. Our very lodging taught me good manners; for I could never bring myself to go into it without bowing.

Patty. Don't tell me! A mighty civil reception you give a body, truly, after a six weeks parting.

Trudge. Gad, you're right; I am a little out here, to be sure. [Kisses her.] Well, how do you do?

Patty. Pshaw, fellow! I want none of your kisses.

Trudge. Oh! very well—I'll take it again. [Offers to kiss her.]

Patty. Be quiet. I want to see Mr. Inkle: I have a message to him from Miss Narcissa. I shall get a sight of him, now, I believe.

Trudge. May be not. He's a little busy at present.

Patty. Busy—ha! Plodding! What he's at his multiplication table again?

Trudge. Very likely; so it would be a pity to interrupt him, you know.

Patty. Certainly; and the whole of my business was to prevent his hurrying himself—Tell him, we shan't be ready to receive him, at the Governor's, till to-morrow, d'ye hear?

Trudge. No?

Patty. No. Things are not prepared. The place isn't in order; and the servants have not had proper notice of the arrival. Sir Christopher intends Mr. Inkle, you know, for his son-in-law, and must receive him in public form, (which can't be till to-morrow morning) for the honour of his governorship: why the whole island will ring of it.

Trudge. The devil it will!

Patty. Yes; they've talked of nothing but my mistress's beauty and fortune for these six weeks. Then he'll be introduced to the bride, you know.

Trudge. O, my poor master!

Patty. Then a breakfast; then a procession; then—if nothing happens to prevent it, he'll get into church, and be married in a crack.

Trudge. Then he'll get into a damn'd scrape, in a crack.

Patty. Hey-day! a scrape! How!

Trudge. Nothing, nothing——It must out——Patty!

Patty. Well!

Trudge. Can you keep a secret?

Patty. Try me.

Trudge. Then [Whispering.] My master keeps a girl.

Patty. Oh, monstrous! another woman?

Trudge. As sure as one and one make two.

Patty. [Aside.] Rare news for my mistress!—Why I can hardly believe it: the grave, sly, steady, sober Mr. Inkle, do such a thing!

Trudge. Pooh! it's always your sly, sober fellows, that go the most after the girls.

Patty. Well; I should sooner suspect you.

Trudge. Me? Oh Lord! he! he!—Do you think any smart, tight, little, black-eyed wench, would be struck with my figure? [Conceitedly.]

Patty. Pshaw! never mind your figure. Tell me how it happened?

Trudge. You shall hear: when the ship left us ashore, my master turned as pale as a sheet of paper. It isn't every body that's blest with courage, Patty.

Patty. True.

Trudge. However, I bid him cheer up; told him, to stick to my elbow: took the lead, and began our march.

Patty. Well?

Trudge. We hadn't gone far, when a damn'd one-eyed black boar, that grinned like a devil, came down the hill in jog trot! My Master melted as fast as a pot of pomatum!

Patty. Mercy on us!

Trudge. But what does I do, but whips out my desk knife, that I used to cut the quills with at home; met the monster, and slit up his throat like a pen—The boar bled like a pig.

Patty. Lord! Trudge, what a great traveller you are!

Trudge. Yes; I remember we fed on the flitch for a week.

Patty. Well, well; but the lady.

Trudge. The lady! Oh, true. By and by we came to a cave—a large hollow room, under ground, like a warehouse in the Adelphi.—Well; there we were half an hour, before I could get him to go in; there's no accounting for fear, you know. At last, in we went, to a place hung round with skins, as it might be a furrier's shop, and there was a fine lady, snoring on a bow and arrows.

Patty. What, all alone?

Trudge. Eh!—No—no.—Hum—She had a young lion, by way of a lap-dog.

Patty. Gemini; what did you do?

Trudge. Gave her a jog, and she opened her eyes—she struck my master immediately.

Patty. Mercy on us! with what?

Trudge. With her beauty, you ninny, to be sure: and they soon brought matters to bear. The wolves witnessed the contract—I gave her away—The crows croaked amen; and we had board and lodging for nothing.

Patty. And this is she he has brought to Barbadoes?

Trudge. The same.

Patty. Well; and tell me, Trudge;—she's pretty, you say—Is she fair or brown? or——

Trudge. Um! she's a good comely copper.

Patty. How! a tawny?

Trudge. Yes, quite dark; but very elegant; like a Wedgwood tea-pot.

Patty. Oh! the monster! the filthy fellow! Live with a black-a-moor!

Trudge. Why, there's no great harm in't, I hope?

Patty. Faugh! I wou'dn't let him kiss me for the world: he'd make my face all smutty.

Trudge. Zounds! you are mighty nice all of a sudden; but I'd have you to know, Madam Patty, that Black-a-moor ladies, as you call 'em, are some of the very few whose complexions never rub off! 'Sbud, if they did, Wows and I should have changed faces by this time—But mum; not a word for your life.

Patty. Not I! except to the Governor and family. [Aside.] But I must run—and, remember, Trudge, if your master has made a mistake here, he has himself to thank for his pains.

[Exit Patty.

Trudge. Pshaw! these girls are so plaguy proud of their white and red! but I won't be shamed out of Wows, that's flat.—

Enter Wowski.

Ah! Wows, I'm going to leave you.

Wows. For what you leave me?

Trudge. Master says I must.

Wows. Ah, but you say in your country, women know best; and I say you not leave me.

Trudge. Master, to be sure, while we were in the forest, taught Yarico to read, with his pencil and pocket-book. What then? Wows comes on fine and fast in her lessons. A little awkward at first, to be sure—Ha! ha!—She's so used to feed with her hands, that I can't get her to eat her victuals, in a genteel, christian way, for the soul of me; when she has stuck a morsel on her fork, she don't know how to guide it, but pops up her knuckles to her mouth, and the meat goes up to her ear. But, no matter—After all the fine, flashy London girls, Wowski's the wench for my money.

SONG.