as I am? all my fair prospects blasted! all my honours disgraced! sunk even to obscurity and contempt!—you are indeed come in great simplicity.
Bea. What comfort can we bring to you? does grandeur and riches include the whole of human happiness, that you should now feel yourself inconsolable and hopeless? Cannot a quiet, modest retreat, independent of the bustle of the world, still be a situation of comfort?
Sea. I know what you mean: contemptible, slothful obscurity.
Bea. You mistake me, Sir Anthony; respectable and useful privacy.
Sea. I understand you well enough: hopeless and without object—I abhor it!
Bea. What, Seabright! can a man with a family to grow up around him, be hopeless and without object? Come here children, and speak for yourselves. (he takes the children in his hands, and encouraging Sophia to come forward, they surround Seabright.)
Soph. (after endeavouring in vain to speak, and kissing her father's hand tenderly.) O my dear father! in the loneliest cottage in England I could be happy with you. I would keep it so neat and comfortable, and do every thing for you so willingly; and the children would be so good, if you would but love us enough to be happy with us!
Sea. (catching her in his arms.) Come to my heart, my admirable girl! thou truly hast found the way to it, and a stubborn unnatural heart it has been.—
