John Bull | Page 6

misery for me to abide in;--and to beg him to give me a little supply of money, now I am pennyless, and from home, to help me to London; where I may get into service, and nobody will know me.
Pereg. And what are his reasons, child, for thus deserting you?
Mary. He sent me his reasons, by letter, yesterday, sir. He is to be married next week, to a lady of high fortune. His father, he says, insists upon it. I know I am born below him; but after the oaths we plighted, Heaven knows, the news was a sad, sad shock to me! I did not close my eyes last night; my poor brain was burning; and, as soon as day broke, I left the house of my dear father, whom I should tremble to look at, when he discover'd my story;--which I could not long conceal from him.
Pereg. Poor, lovely, heart-bruised wanderer! O wealthy despoilers of humble innocence! splendid murderers of virtue; who make your vice your boast, and fancy female ruin a feather in your caps of vanity--single out a victim you have abandoned, and, in your hours of death, contemplate her!--view her, care-worn, friendless, pennyless;--hear her tale of sorrows, fraught with her remorse,--her want,--a hard world's scoffs, her parents' anguish;--then, if ye dare, look inward upon your own bosoms; and if they be not conscience proof what must be your compunctions!--Who is his father, child?
Mary. Sir Simon Rochdale, sir, of the Manor-house, hard by.
Pereg. [Surprised.] Indeed!
Mary. Perhaps you know him, sir?
Pereg. I have heard of him;--and, on your account, shall visit him.
Mary. Oh, pray, sir, take care what you do! if you should bring his son into trouble, by mentioning me, I should never, never forgive myself.
Pereg. Trust to my caution.--Promise only to remain at this house, till I return from a business which calls me, immediately, two miles hence; I will hurry back to pursue measures for your welfare, with more hope of success, than your own weak means, poor simplicity, are likely to effect. What say you?
Mary. I hardly know what to say, sir--you seem good,--and I am little able to help myself.
Pereg. You consent, then?
Mary. Yes, sir.
Pereg. [Calling.] Landlord!
Enter DENNIS, from the Door of the House--MRS. BRULGRUDDERY following.
Dennis. Did you call, sir?--Arrah, now, Mrs. Brulgruddery, you are peeping after the young woman yourself.
Mrs. Brul. I chuse it.
Pereg. Prepare your room, good folks; and get the best accommodation you can for this young person.
Dennis. That I will, with all my heart and soul, sir.
Mrs. Brul. [Sulkily.] I don't know that we have any room at all, for my part.
Dennis. Whew! She's in her tantrums.
Mrs. Brul. People of repute can't let in young women (found upon a heath, forsooth), without knowing who's who. I have learn'd the ways of the world, sir.
Pereg. So it seems:--which too often teach you to over-rate the little good you can do in it: and to shut the door when the distressed entreat you to throw it open. But I have learnt the ways of the world too. [Taking out his Purse.] I shall return in a few hours. Provide all the comforts you can; and here are a couple of guineas, to send for any refreshments you have not in the house. [Giving Money.
Dennis. Mighty pretty handsel for the Red Cow, my lambkin!
Mrs. Brul. A couple of guineas! Lord, sir! if I thought you had been such a gentleman!--Pray, miss, walk in! your poor dear, little feet must be quite wet with our nasty roads. I beg pardon, sir; but character's every thing in our business; and I never lose sight of my own credit.
Dennis. That you don't--till you see other people's ready money.
Pereg. Go in, child. I shall soon be with you again.
Mary. You will return, then, sir?
Pereg. Speedily. Rely on me.
Mary. I shall, sir;--I am sure I may. Heaven bless you, sir!
Mrs. Brul. This way, miss; this way! [Courtesying. [Exeunt MARY and LANDLADY, into the House.
Dennis. Long life to your honour, for protecting the petticoats! sweet creatures! I'd like to protect them myself, by bushels.
Pereg. Can you get me a guide, friend, to conduct me to Penzance?
Dennis. Get you a guide! There's Dan, my servant, shall skip before you over the bogs, like a grasshopper. Oh, by the powers! my heart's full to see your generosity, and I owe you a favour in return:--never you call for any of my beer, till I get a fresh tap. [Exit into the House.
Pereg. Now for my friend, Thornberry; then hither again, to interest myself in the cause of this unfortunate: for which many would call me Quixote; many would cant out "shame!" but I care not for the stoics, nor the puritans. Genuine nature and unsophisticated morality, that turn disgusted from the rooted adepts in vice, have ever a reclaiming