unperceived, who stands aside._

_Peter._ What do I mean? Confess your enormous guilt--the wicked trick
that you played me in my infancy.

_Mrs Bar._ Dear me, dear me, my child is out of his senses.

_Peter._ Madam, I am in my senses, but I am not your child. Woman, you
know it.

_Mrs Bar._ (_weeping_). O dear, O dear!

_Peter._ Tell me, will you confess at once, thou infamous----

[_Old Bargrove comes forward, and knocks Peter down with his cudgel._

_Old Bar._ I can't stand it any longer. What do you mean, you rascal, by
calling your mother infamous?

_Peter_ (_rubbing his head, and getting up slowly_). 'Tis well--'tis
very well I had resolved before to turn you away; now you may expect the
severest chastisement. Take warning this moment, you old----

_Old Bar._ (_lifting up his cudgel_). You old what?

_Peter._ I'll swear the peace against you. Take care what you are about.
This is a violent assault, you know; and you don't know him you are
beating.

_Old Bar._ Don't I?

_Peter._ No, you don't--but I'll tell you. This woman changed me at
nurse, and I can prove it. I--yes--I, humble as I stand here, with my
head broken also--am no less than Peter Etheridge--the young Squire!

_Old Bar._ Look at the almanac, dame. Is the harvest moon at full? He's
mad, indeed!

_Peter._ I am not. Mrs Bargrove, where is your accomplice, Nelly
Armstrong? You see I know all. (_Mrs Bargrove weeps, but makes no
answer._) I say again confess all, and then, perhaps, I may pardon you,
and let your husband keep his place.

_Old Bar._ Keep my place, and so you are Peter Etheridge, are you?

_Peter._ I am, and she knows it well.

_Old Bar._ Well, but I don't. I only know you as my foolish son, Peter
Bargrove, and so long as you are so supposed to be, I shall not permit
you to insult your mother. So, Mr Peter, I'll just take the liberty of
giving you a little wholesome chastisement, which I hope may prove
beneficial.

[_Old Bargrove beats Peter round the room, while Mrs Bargrove tries
to prevent him._

_Peter._ I'll tell my mother, Lady Etheridge! that I will. I'll go
directly.

[_Peter runs off. Mr and Mrs Bargrove sit down. Mrs Bargrove
sobbing._

_Old Bar._ (_panting_). The scoundrel!

_Enter Lucy, in her bonnet, from walking._

_Lucy._ Good Heavens, father, what was all that noise? Mother, why, what
_is_ the matter?

_Old Bar._ Matter enough; here's your brother Peter gone out of his
senses