_Maid._ No great harm if you had. You'd only have bought a pig in a poke--and what then? Oh, here he comes creeping---- _Enter_ MR. H. _abject._ Go to her, Mr. Hogs--Hogs--Hogsbristles, what's your name? Don't be afraid, man--don't give it up--she's not crying--only _summat_ has made her eyes red--she has got a sty in her eye, I believe---- _(going.)_ _Melesinda._ You are not going, Betty? _Maid._ O, Madam, never mind me--I shall be back in the twinkling of a pig's whisker, as they say. [_Exit._ _Mr. H._ Melesinda, you behold before you a wretch who would have betrayed your confidence--but it was love that prompted him; who would have trick'd you, by an unworthy concealment, into a participation of that disgrace which a superficial world has agreed to attach to a name--but with it you would have shared a fortune not contemptible, and a heart--but 'tis over now. That name he is content to bear alone--to go where the persecuted syllables shall be no more heard, or excite no meaning--some spot where his native tongue has never penetrated, nor any of his countrymen have landed, to plant their unfeeling satire, their brutal wit, and national ill manners--where no Englishmen--(Here_ MELESINDA, _who has been pouting during this speech, fetches a deep sigh.)_ Some yet undiscovered Otaheite, where witless, unapprehensive savages shall innocently pronounce the ill-fated sounds, and think them not inharmonious. _Melesinda._ Oh! _Mr. H._ Who knows but among the female natives might be found---- _Melesinda._ Sir! (_raising her head._) _Mr. H._ One who would be more kind than--some Oberea--Queen Oberea. _Melesinda._ Oh! _Mr. H._ Or what if I were to seek for proofs of reciprocal esteem among unprejudiced African maids, in Monomotopa? _Enter Servant._ _Servant._ Mr. Belvil. [_Exit._ _Enter_ BELVIL. _Mr. H._ Monomotopa (_musing._) _Belvil._ Heyday, Jack! what means this mortified face? nothing has happened, I hope, between this lady and you? I beg pardon, Madam, but understanding my friend was with you, I took the liberty of seeking him here. Some little difference possibly which a third person can adjust--not a word. Will you, Madam, as this gentleman's friend, suffer me to be the arbitrator--strange--hark'ee, Jack, nothing has come out, has there? you understand me. Oh, I guess how it is--somebody has got at your secret; you haven't blabbed it yourself, have you? ha! ha! ha! I could find in my heart--Jack, what would you give me if I should relieve you? _Mr. H._ No power of man can relieve me (_sighs_); but it must lie at the root, gnawing at the root--here it will lie. _Belvil._ No power of man? not a common man, I grant you: for instance, a subject--it's out of the power of any subject. _Mr. H._ Gnawing at the root--there it will lie.