Frederick.
My father’s cruelty.
Baron.
You have a father then?
Frederick.
I have, and a rich one—Nay, one that’s reputed virtuous, and honourable. A great man, poſſeſſing eſtates and patronage in abundance; much eſteemed at court, and beloved by his tenants; kind, benevolent, honeſt, generous—
Baron.
And with all thoſe great qualities, abandons you?
Frederick.
He does, with all the qualities I mention.
Baron.
Your father may do right; a diſſipated, deſperate youth, whom kindneſs cannot draw from vicious habits, ſeverity may.
Frederick.
You are miſtaken—My father does not diſcard me for my vices—He does not know me—has never ſeen me—He abandoned me, even before I was born.
Baron.
What do you ſay?
Frederick.
The tears of my mother are all that I inherit from my father. Never has he protected or ſupported me—never protected her.
Baron.
Why don’t you apply to his relations?
Frederick.
They diſown me, too—I am, they ſay, related
