s
To mortify him! I've a twentieth cousin,
A care-for-nought, at mischief. Him I'll set,
With twenty other madcaps like himself,
To walk the streets the traitor most frequents
And give him salutation as he passes--
"How do you, Master Clifford?"

_Julia_. [Highly incensed.] Helen!

_Helen_. Bless me!

_Julia_. I hate you, Helen!

[Enter MODUS.]

_Mod_. Joy for you, fair lady!
Our baronet is now plain gentleman--
And hardly that, not master of the means
To bear himself as such. The kinsman lives
Whose only rumoured death gave wealth to him,
And title. A hard creditor he proves,
Who keeps strict reckoning--will have interest.
As well as principal. A ruined man
Is now Sir Thomas Clifford!

_Helen_. I'm glad on't.

_Mod_. And so am I,
A scurvy trick it was
He served you, madam. Use a lady so!
I merely bore with him. I never liked him.

_Helen_. No more did I. No, never could I think
He looked his title.

_Mod_. No, nor acted it.
If rightly they report, he ne'er disbursed
To entertain his friends, 'tis broadly said,
A hundred pounds in the year! He was most poor
In the appointments of a man of rank,
Possessing wealth like his. His horses, hacks!
His gentleman, a footman! and his footman,
A groom! The sports that men of quality
And spirit countenance, he kept aloof from,
From scruple of economy, not taste,--
As racing and the like. In brief, he lacked
Those shining points that, more than name, denote
High breeding; and, moreover, was a man
Of very shallow learning.

_Julia_. Silence, sir!
For shame!

_Helen_. Why, Julia!

_Julia_. Speak not to me! Poor!
Most poor! I tell you, sir, he was the making
Of fifty gentlemen--each one of whom
Were more than peer for thee! His title, sir,
Lent him no grace he did not pay it back!
Though it had been the highest of the high,
He would have looked it, felt it, acted it,
As thou couldst ne'er have done! When found you out
You liked him not? It was not ere to-day!
Or that base spirit I must reckon yours
Which smiles where it would scowl--can stoop to hate
And fear to show it! He was your better, sir,
And is!--Ay, is! though stripped of rank and wealth,
His nature's 'bove or fortune's love or spite,
To blazon or to blurr it! [Retires.]

_Mod_. [To HELEN.] I was told
Much to disparage him--I know not wherefore.

_Helen_. And so was I, and know as much the cause.

[Enter MASTER WALTER, with parchments.]

_Wal_. Joy, m