Wows. And fine lady-face like snow. Trudge. What! the fine ladies' 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 fishcall every body to look at her. -so fine, she 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? 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 s; 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. sey.] Very well! and how are you when you have nothing to say, friends? Wows. Grin-shew my teeth. [She makes a low courtto recommend yourself, amongst all our great Trudge. Right! they'll think you've liv'd with people of fashion. But suppose you meet an old friend in misfortune, that you don't wish to be seen to 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 shabby banker's 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. Remember when we walk'd alone, While, tremblingly, You said to me, And kiss'd so sweet-dear Wowski tell, [Crosses, L. How could I live without ye But now you come across the sea, And tell me here no monsters roar ; When wolves to fright you howl no more. Where, tremblingly, Perhaps you'll say-dear Wowski tell, How can I live without ye? Trudge. Eh! who have we here? [Exit Wowski, L. Enter FIRST PLANTER, R. Plunt. (R.) Hark'ee, young man! Is that young Indian of your's going to our market? Trudge. (L.) Not she-she never went to market in all her life. Plunt. I mean, is she for our sale of slaves? our black fair? Trudge. A black fair! ha! ha! ha! You hold it on a 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— Plant. Pshaw! you mean to sell her! -My own life. 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, Master Black-market: 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 laugh'd out of my honesty, here.-But you may be jogging, friend; I may feel a little queer, perhaps, at shewing her facebut, dam'me, if ever I do any thing to make me ashamed of shewing 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. [Exit Trudge into the Inn, L. S. E. 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, R. Enter INKLE and a Second PLanter, R. U. E. Inkle. (L.) Nay, Sir, I understand your customs well: your Indian markets are not unknown to me. Second P. 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. Second P. 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. Second P. O 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 my 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. Second P. 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 misspent-doubt-fears-or 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 connections, and other weighty matters-which now I need not mention Second P. But which her presence here will mar. Second P. 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. Second P. 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 Second P. 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. Inkle. Trudge. Trudge. Sir! Enter TRUDGE, L. s. E. Inkle. Have you provided a good apartment? [Exit, R. Trudge. (L.) Yes, Sir, at the Crown here; a neat, spruce room they tell me. You have not seen such a con venient lodging this good while, I believe. Inkle. (R.) Are there no better inns in the town? Trudge. Um- -Why there's the Lion, I hear, and the Bear, and the Boar-but we saw them at the door of our last 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. [Crosses, R.] 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, R. Inkle. Let me reflect a little. Pshaw, 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 !-Schooled me from morn to night-and still the burthen of his song wasPrudence! 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 called me the prudent Mr. Thomas. And shall I now, at once, kick. down the character, which I have raised so warily?-- Part with her. The thought once struck me in our cabin, as she lay sleeping by me; but, in our slumbers, she past her arm around me, murmured a blessing on my name, and broke my meditations. Enter YARICO and TRUDGE, R. S. E‹ Yar. My love! Trudge. I have been shewing 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, L. U. E. |