No More Learning

_Enter_ CROAKER.

CROAKER. Well, while my friend Honeywood is upon the post of danger at
the bar, it must be my business to have an eye about me here. I think I
know an incendiary's look; for, wherever the devil makes a purchase, he
never fails to set his mark. Ha! who have we here? My son and daughter!
What can they be doing here?

LANDLADY. I tell you, madam, it will do you good; I think I know by
this time what's good for the north road. It's a raw night, madam. —Sir—

LEONT. Not a drop more, good madam. I should now take it as a greater
favour if you hasten the horses; for I am afraid to be seen myself.

LANDLADY. That shall be done. Wha, Solomon! are you all dead there?
Wha, Solomon, I say.

[_Exit bawling. _

OLIVIA. Well; I dread, lest an expedition begun in fear should end in
repentance. —Every moment we stay increases our danger, and adds to my
apprehensions.

LEONT. There's no danger, trust me, my dear; there can be none. If
Honeywood has acted with honour, and kept my father, as he promised, in
employment, till we are out of danger, nothing can interrupt our
journey.

OLIVIA. I have no doubt of Mr. Honeywood's sincerity, and even his
desires to serve us. My fears are from your father's suspicions. A mind
so disposed to be alarmed without a cause will be but too ready when
there's a reason.

LEONT. Why, let him, when we are out of his power. But, believe me,
Olivia, you have no great reason to dread his resentment. His repining
temper, as it does no manner of injury to himself, so will it never do
harm to others. He only frets to keep himself employed, and scolds for
his private amusement.

OLIVIA. I don't know that; but I'm sure, on some occasions, it makes
him look most shockingly.

CROAKER (_discovering himself_). How does he look now? —How does he look
now?

OLIVIA. Ah!

LEONT. Undone.

CROAKER. How do I look now? Sir, I am your very humble servant. Madam,
I am yours. What! you are going off, are you? Then, first, if you
please, take a word or two from me with you before you go. Tell me
first where you are going; and when you have told me that, perhaps, I
shall know as little as I did before.

[Illustration:

CROAKER. —"_How does he look now? _"—_p. _ 310.
]


LEONT. If that be so, our answer might but increase your displeasure,
without adding to your information.

CROAKER. I want no information from you, puppy! and you, too, madam,
what answer have you got? Eh! _A cry without, Stop him! _ I think I
heard a noise. My friend, Honeywood, without—has he seized the
incendiary? Ah, no, for now I hear no more on't.

LEONT. Honeywood without? Then, sir, it was Mr. Honeywood that directed
you hither.

CROAKER. No, sir, it was Mr. Honeywood conducted me hither.

LEONT. Is it possible?

CROAKER. Possible! why he's in the house now, sir. More anxious about
me, than my own son, sir.

LEONT. Then, sir, he's a villain.

CROAKER. How, sirrah; a villain, because he takes most care of your
father? I'll not bear it. I tell you I'll not bear it. Honeywood is a
friend to the family, and I'll have him treated as such.

LEONT. I shall study to repay his friendship as it deserves.

CROAKER. Ah, rogue, if you knew how earnestly he entered into my
griefs, and pointed out the means to detect them, you would love him as
I do. _A cry without, Stop him! _ Fire and fury! they have seized the
incendiary: they have the villain, the incendiary in view. Stop him,
stop an incendiary, a murderer! stop him.

[_Exit. _

OLIVIA. Oh, my terrors! What can this new tumult mean?

LEONT. Some new mark, I suppose, of Mr. Honeywood's sincerity. But we
shall have satisfaction: he shall give me instant satisfaction.

OLIVIA. It must not be, my Leontine, if you value my esteem, or my
happiness. Whatever be our fate, let us not add guilt to our
misfortunes. Consider that our innocence will shortly be all we have
left us. You must forgive him.

LEONT. Forgive him! Has he not in every instance betrayed us? Forced me
to borrow money from him, which appears a mere trick to delay us:
promised to keep my father engaged, till we were out of danger, and
here brought him to the very scene of our escape?

OLIVIA. Don't be precipitate. We may yet be mistaken.

_Enter_ POSTBOY, _dragging in_ JARVIS: HONEYWOOD _entering soon after_.

POSTBOY. Ay, master, we have him fast enough. Here is the incendiary
dog. I'm entitled to the reward; I'll take my oath I saw him ask for
the money at the bar, and then run for it.

HONEYW. Come, bring him along. Let us see him. Let him learn to blush
for his crimes. (_Discovering his mistake. _) Death! what's
here? —Jarvis, Leontine, Olivia! What can all this mean?

_Jarvis. _ Why, I'll tell you what it means: that I was an old fool, and
that you are my master—that's all.

HONEYW. Confusion.

LEONT. Yes, sir; I find you have kept your word with me. After such
baseness, I wonder how you can venture to see the man you have injured.

HONEYW. My dear Leontine, by my life, my honour—

LEONT. Peace, peace, for shame; and do not continue to aggravate
baseness by hypocrisy. I know you, sir, I know you.

HONEYW. Why, won't you hear me? By all that's just, I knew not—

LEONT. Hear you, sir, to what purpose? I now see through all your low
arts; your ever complying with every opinion; your never refusing any
request; your friendship is as common as a prostitute's favours, and as
fallacious; all these, sir, have long been contemptible to the world,
and are now perfectly so to me.

HONEYW. Ha! contemptible to the world! That reaches me.

_Aside. _

LEONT. All the seeming sincerity of your professions, I now find, were
only allurements to betray; and all your seeming regret for their
consequences, only calculated to cover the cowardice of your heart.
Draw, villain!

[Illustration:

HONEYW. —"_Madam, you seem at least
calm enough to hear reason. _"—_p. _ 314.
]


_Enter_ CROAKER _out of breath_.

CROAKER. Where is the villain?

Where is the incendiary! (_Seizing the_ POSTBOY. ) Hold him fast, the
dog; he has the gallows in his face. Come, you dog, confess; confess
all, and hang yourself.

POSTBOY. Zounds, master! what do you throttle me for?

CROAKER. (_beating him_). Dog, do you resist? do you resist?

POSTBOY. Zounds, master! I'm not he; there's the man that we thought
was the rogue, and turns out to be one of the company.

CROAKER. How!

HONEYW. Mr. Croaker, we have all been under a strange mistake here: I
find there is nobody guilty; it was all an error; entirely an error of
our own.

CROAKER. And I say, sir, that you're in an error: for there's guilt,
and double guilt; a plot, a damn'd jesuitical, pestilential plot; and I
must have proof of it.

HONEYW. Do but hear me.

CROAKER. What! you intend to bring 'em off, I suppose? I'll hear
nothing.

HONEYW. Madam, you seem at least calm enough to hear reason.

OLIVIA. Excuse me.

HONEYW. Good Jarvis, let me then explain it to you.

JARVIS. What signifies explanation, when the thing is done?

HONEYW. Will nobody hear me? Was there ever such a set, so blinded by
passion and prejudice! —(_To the_ POSTBOY).
My good friend, I believe
you'll be surprised when I assure you——

POSTBOY. Sure me nothing—I'm sure of nothing but a good beating.

CROAKER. Come then, you, madam; if you ever hope for any favour or
forgiveness, tell me sincerely all you know of this affair.

OLIVIA. Unhappily, sir, I'm but too much the cause of your suspicions;
you see before you, sir, one, that with false pretences has stept into
your family, to betray it: not your daughter—

CROAKER. Not my daughter!

OLIVIA. Not your daughter—but a mean deceiver—who—support me, I cannot—

HONEYW. Help, she's going! give her air.

CROAKER. Ay, ay, take the young woman to the air; I would not hurt a
hair of her head, whoseever daughter she may be—not so bad as that
neither.

[_Exeunt all but_ CROAKER.

CROAKER. Yes, yes, all's out; I now see the whole affair; my son is
either married, or going to be so, to this lady, whom he imposed upon
me as his sister. Ay, certainly so; and yet I don't find it afflicts me
so much as one might think. There's the advantage of fretting away our
misfortunes beforehand, we never feel them when they come.

_Enter_ MISS RICHLAND _and_ SIR WILLIAM.

SIR WILL. But how do you know, madam, that my nephew intends setting
off from this place?

MISS RICH. My maid assured me he was come to this inn, and my own
knowledge of his intending to leave the kingdom, suggested the rest.
But what do I see? my guardian here before us! Who, my dear sir, could
have expected meeting you here? to what accident do we owe this
pleasure?

CROAKER. To a fool, I believe.

MISS RICH. But to what purpose did you come?

CROAKER. To play the fool.

MISS RICH. But with whom?

CROAKER. With greater fools than myself.

MISS RICH. Explain.

CROAKER. Why, Mr. Honeywood brought me here, to do nothing now I am
here; and my son is going to be married to I don't know who that is
here; so now you are as wise as I am.

MISS RICH. Married! to whom, sir?

CROAKER. To Olivia; my daughter, as I took her to be; but who the devil
she is, or whose daughter she is, I know no more than the man in the
moon.

SIR WILL. Then, sir, I can inform you; and though a stranger, yet you
shall find me a friend to your family: it will be enough at present to
assure you, that, both in point of birth and fortune, the young lady is
at least your son's equal. Being left by her father, Sir James
Woodville—

CROAKER. Sir James Woodville! What of the west!

SIR WILL. Being left by him, I say, to the care of a mercenary wretch,
whose only aim was to secure her fortune to himself, she was sent into
France, under pretence of education; and there every art was tried to
fix her for life in a convent, contrary to her inclinations. Of this I
was informed upon my arrival at Paris; and as I had been once her
father's friend, I did all in my power to frustrate her guardian's base
intentions. I had even meditated to rescue her from his authority, when
your son stept in with more pleasing violence, gave her liberty, and
you a daughter.

CROAKER. But I intend to have a daughter of my own choosing, sir. A
young lady, sir, whose fortune, by my interest with those that have
interest, will be double what my son has a right to expect. Do you know
Mr. Lofty, sir?

SIR WILL. Yes, sir; and know that you are deceived in him. But step
this way, and I'll convince you.

CROAKER _and_ SIR WILLIAM _seem to confer_.

_Enter_ HONEYWOOD.

HONEYW. Obstinate man, still to persist in his outrage! Insulted by
him, despised by all, I now begin to grow contemptible even to myself.
How have I sunk, by too great an assiduity to please! How have I
overtaxed all my abilities, lest the approbation of a single fool
should escape me! But all is now over; I have survived my reputation,
my fortune, my friendships; and nothing remains henceforward for me but
solitude and repentance.

MISS RICH. Is it true, Mr. Honeywood, that you are setting off, without
taking leave of your friends? The report is, that you are quitting
England. Can it be?

HONEYW. Yes, madam; and though I am so unhappy as to have fallen under
your displeasure, yet, thank Heaven, I leave you to happiness; to one
who loves you, and deserves your love; to one who has power to procure
you affluence, and generosity to improve your enjoyment of it.

MISS RICH. And are you sure, sir, that the gentleman you mean is what
you describe him?

HONEYW. I have the best assurances of it, his serving me. He does,
indeed, deserve the highest happiness, and that is in your power to
confer. As for me, weak and wavering as I have been, obliged by all and
incapable of serving any, what happiness can I find, but in solitude?
What hope, but in being forgotten?

MISS RICH. A thousand! to live among friends that esteem you; whose
happiness it will be to be permitted to oblige you.

HONEYW. No, madam; my resolution is fixed. Inferiority among strangers
is easy; but among those that once were equals, insupportable. Nay, to
show you how far my resolution can go, I can now speak with calmness of
my former follies, my vanity, my dissipation, my weakness. I will even
confess, that, among the number of my other presumptions, I had the
insolence to think of loving you. Yes, madam, while I was pleading the
passion of another, my heart was tortured with its own. But it is over,
it was unworthy our friendship, and let it be forgotten.

MISS RICH. You amaze me!

HONEYW. But you'll forgive it, I know you will; since the confession
should not have come from me even now, but to convince you of the
sincerity of my intention of—never mentioning it more.

_Going. _

MISS RICH. Stay, sir, one moment—Ha! he here—

_Enter_ LOFTY.

LOFTY. Is the coast clear? None but friends. I have followed you here
with a trifling piece of intelligence: but it goes no farther; things
are not yet ripe for a discovery. I have spirits working at a certain
board: your affair at the treasury will be done in less than—a thousand
years. Mum!

MISS RICH. Sooner, sir, I should hope.

LOFTY. Why, yes, I believe it may, if it falls into proper hands, that
know where to push and where to parry; that know how the land lies—eh,
Honeywood?

MISS RICH. It is fallen into yours.

LOFTY. Well, to keep you no longer in suspense, your thing is done. It
is done, I say—that's all. I have just had assurances of Lord Neverout,
that the claim has been examined, and found admissible. _Quietus_ is
the word, madam.

HONEYW. But how! his lordship has been at Newmarket these ten days.

LOFTY. Indeed. Then Sir Gilbert Goose must have been most damnably
mistaken. I had it of him.

MISS RICH. He! why Sir Gilbert and his family have been in the country
this month.

LOFTY. This month! It must certainly be so—Sir Gilbert's letter did
come to me from Newmarket, so that he must have met his lordship there;
and so it came about. I have this letter about me; I'll read it to you
(_Taking out a large bundle. _) That's from Paoli of Corsica; that's
from the Marquis of Squilachi. Have you a mind to see a letter from
Count Poniatowski, now king of Poland—Honest Pon—— (_Searching. _) O,
sir, what are you here too? I'll tell you what, honest friend, if you
have not absolutely delivered my letter to Sir William Honeywood, you
may return it. The thing will do without him.

SIR WILL. Sir, I have delivered it, and must inform you, it was
received with the most mortifying contempt.

CROAKER. Contempt! Mr. Lofty, what can that mean?

LOFTY. Let him go on, let him go on, I say. You'll find it come to
something presently.

SIR WILL. Yes, sir, I believe you'll be amazed, if, after waiting some
time in the ante-chamber; after being surveyed with insolent curiosity
by the passing servants, I was at last assured, that Sir William
Honeywood knew no such person, and I must certainly have been imposed
upon.

LOFTY. Good; let me die, very good. Ha! ha! ha!

CROAKER. Now, for my life, I can't find out half the goodness of it.

LOFTY. You can't. Ha! ha!

CROAKER. No, for the soul of me; I think it was as confounded a bad
answer, as ever was sent from one private gentleman to another.

LOFTY. And so you can't find out the force of the message? Why, I was
in the house at that very time. Ha! ha! It was I that sent that very
answer to my own letter. Ha! ha!

[Illustration:

LOFTY. —"_Ay, stick it where you will;
for, by the Lord, it cuts but a very poor figure where
it sticks at present. _"—_p. _ 318.
]


CROAKER. Indeed? How! why!

LOFTY. In one word, things between Sir William and me, must be behind
the curtain. A party has many eyes. He sides with Lord Buzzard; I side
with Sir Gilbert Goose. So that unriddles the mystery.

CROAKER. And so it does, indeed, and all my suspicions are over.

LOFTY. Your suspicions? What, then, you have been suspecting, have you?
Mr. Croaker, you and I were friends; we are friends no longer. Never
talk to me. It's over; I say, it's over.

CROAKER. As I hope for your favour, I did not mean to offend. It
escaped me. Don't be discomposed.

LOFTY. Zounds, sir, but I am discomposed, and will be discomposed. To
be treated thus!