_Henry._ [_Shaking his hand._] Tell me, is that Sir Philip Blandford, who leans on that lady's arm? _Ash._ I don't know, by reason, d'ye zee, I never zeed'un. Well, good bye! I declare thee doz look quite grand with thic golden prize about thy neck, vor all the world like the lords in their stars, that do come to theas pearts to pickle their skins in the zalt zea ocean! Good b'ye, Henry! [_Exit._ _Henry._ He approaches! why this agitation? I wish, yet dread, to meet him. _Enter_ SIR PHILIP _and_ MISS BLANDFORD, _attended._ _Miss B._ The joy your tenantry display at seeing you again must be truly grateful to you. _Sir Philip._ No, my child; for I feel I do not merit it. Alas! I can see no orphans clothed with my beneficence, no anguish assuaged by my care. _Miss B._ Then I am sure my dear father wishes to show his kind intentions. So I will begin by placing one under his protection [_Goes up the stage, and leads down_ HENRY. SIR PHILIP, _on seeing him, starts, then becomes greatly agitated._] _Sir Philip._ Ah! do my eyes deceive me! No, it must be him! Such was the face his father wore. _Henry._ Spake you of my father? _Sir Philip._ His presence brings back recollections, which drive me to madness!--How came he here?--Who have I to curse for this? _Miss B._ [_Falling on his neck._] Your daughter. _Henry._ Oh sir! tell me--on my knees I ask it! do my parents live! Bless me with my father's name, and my days shall pass in active gratitude--my nights in prayers for you. [SIR PHILIP _views him with severe contempt._] Do not mock my misery! Have you a heart? _Sir Philip._ Yes; of marble. Cold and obdurate to the world--ponderous and painful to myself--Quit my sight for ever! _Miss B._ Go, Henry, and save me from my father's curse. _Henry._ I obey: cruel as the command is, I obey it--I shall often look at this, [_Touching the medal._] and think on the blissful moment, when your hand placed it there. _Sir Philip._ Ah! tear it from his breast. [SERVANT _advances._ _Henry._ Sooner take my life! It is the first honour I have earned, and it is no mean one; for it assigns me the first rank among the sons of industry! This is my claim to the sweet rewards of honest labour! This will give me competence, nay more, enable me to despise your tyranny! _Sir Philip._ Rash boy, mark! Avoid me, and be secure.--Repeat this intrusion, and my vengeance shall pursue thee. _Henry._ I defy its power!--You are in England, sir, where the man, who bears about him an upright heart, bears a charm too potent for tyranny to humble. Can your frown wither up my youthful vigour? No!--Can your malediction disturb the slumbers of a quiet conscience? No! Can your breath stifle in my heart the adoration it feels for that pitying angel? Oh, no! _Sir Philip._ Wretch! you shall be taught the difference between us!