Dornock's Distress. A Tragical Dialogue Poem by James Wilson Claudero

SCENE I. Ecclefechin

DornockSolus.
O heavens support my every sense!
A large estate! yet barr'd from pence!
Trust deeds and curs'd adjudications,
Bonds, inhibitions, damn'd vexations,
Oppress my land and tear my soul,
While interest on interests roll.
A gentleman!—O hated name;
Rapacious rogues pursue the game,
Like as the hounds the timid hare,
Sp------ll and others smell me there:
M'M------; too, fam'd for his nose,
Blood suckers, false friends, worst of foes,
Pursue my foot, they beat each brake,
To pick my bones, me bankrupt make.
Shall I worth twenty thousand pounds,
Fall down a victim to these hounds.
Where shall I fly to build relief?
For sure each writer is a thief,
Who will conjoin and lend their aid,
Turn head and tail just as their paid;
A broken Laird affords fine picking,
To rascals whose sole trade is tricking:
Yet to some one I must apply,
That rogue 'gainst rogues his skill may try.
A Pastor's son my neighbour near,
Who also thirsts to swill my cheer,
Must be my choice. Let fear be hush
A drowning man will catch a bush.

[Enter Pastoris Filius, a writer.

Pray Douglas, Dornock's rightful heir,
Can I asswage or heal your care?
Can I by law or subtile wile,
By intervention those beguile,
Whose steady scent tread on your toes—
Say can I counteract your foes!
For I am learned in the law,
And will a disposition draw;
In my own person vest your lands,
To save it from the vulture's hands.—
Advised be, haste, sign the deed.—
You wont mistrust the Godly seed.

Dornock.
Stop short my buck, I smell a rat,
And guess too what you're driving at;
With sham pretexts you slyly aim,
By cunning to run down the game;
Such master strokes of writers skill
Deter me from the dang'rous quill:
I'll give a fee with all my heart,
But not one fur of land I'll part;
Here's a round sum, espouse my cause
[giving a purse.
I ask no shelter but from laws;
Justice I want and ask no more,
Procure me that for yellow Ore;
But if you e'er assume to name
Transferrence that detested game,
I'll scorn your aid tho' son of church
And in the abbey rather lurch,
Let ev'ry villain do his worst,
I'm Dornick; they may go be curst. [Pastoris Filius aside.
I'm bauk'd by Jove,—he dreads my scheme.—
And wont divest or yield the game.—
Another project I must try,
His creditors I'll artful ply,
His debts I'll purchase, here and there,
And then I'll hound him as a hare. [Exit.
Vide Decreet of Ranking.

SCENE II. Abby of Holyroodhouse
DornockSolus.

Good God! my fate is wond'rous hard,
A subject for a Tragic Bard,
I'm rich, yet poor, a paradox,
May ev'ry writer rot with pox.
Betray'd and spung'd, harrass'd and chac'd,
By muckworm rascals straitly lac'd,
And forc'd to shelter in this place
Where Duns in vain do show their face:
Depriv'd of money, bilk'd by all.
An Abbey Laird they Dornock call.
[Enter Scoundrel Grant.]

Grant.
Sir, may I make bold to ask the cause,
Why here you shelter from the laws;
Your face bespeaks your gentle birth,
Tho' frowns o'ershade it more than mirth;
Perhaps you have a large estate
Encumbered with great debate:
If so, I am an honest man,
Descended from a martial clan;
An agent too, my name is Grant,
So pious, some folk call me saint:
If you'll permit, I lend my aid,
But agents act not till they're paid;
Perhance just now you're scarce of cash,
Yet watches here are arrant trash;
Let me have that into your breeches
And I will muster up some speeches:
That without doubt will extricate
And purge from debt our large estate.

Dornock.
The watch is Gold, and all that's left
Of every Shilling I'm bereft;
But if you're honest, as you say,
The watch I'll freely give away:
Here, take it, worthy Mr Grant,
Too small a Fee for such a saint;
But, pardon me, I have some doubt,
Like my last Agent you'll turn out.

Grant.
May Poxes rot my Blood and Bones,
As also mortify my Stones,
If e'er I from your interest Swerve,
But faithfully my Client serve.
[Exit.

DornockSolus.
Was ever man so fool'd and bit?
Damn Grant, the biggest scoundrel yet.—
Sure Hell wont close while he is out.—
I'm ruin'd now without all doubt.

[Enter a Banker of Probity and great Worth, taking Dornock by the hand.]

Banker.
Dear gentle Sir, dispel your Grief.
Accept my hand, accept relief,
From Harpies I will set you free,
Discharge them all and trust to me:
A Bargain fair I'll instant make,
Judge for yourself, my offer take.

Dornock.
Your gen'rous Soul has fired mine
My lands are yours, the deed I'll sign.—
I'm now above the power of want.
And freed from that curs'd Scoundrel Grant:
To him and Rascals not a few,
I now for ever bid Adieu.

[Exit.Enter Scoundrel Grant, Pastoris Filius, and their Associates.

Grant.
Rage, Vengeance, Fury, Aid me now,
The lands are sold, what shall we do?
Infom the Son, and spur him on—
To law, to law, or we're undone.

G. M:
But where's the proof? their lies the Diel.—

Grant.
I'll swear for one, that he's facile
Causa Scientiæ, here's his Watch,
Which for a triffle I did catch.
I will betray him all I can,
And put his papers in your hand;
Pastoris Filius too will join
Though he has touched Dornock's Coin.
We'll swear such Oaths and never flinch,
As will convince the sacred Bench
That he's a Man in human Shape,
With intellects of puny Ape;
And that the Banker over reach'd,
By Doctrines base as e'er was preach'd.

G. M.
But if your Oaths should meet detection
Where will such Roguery find Protection?

Grant.
Hell is the damn'd infernal shore,
Where perjur'd Agents loudly roar,
Nor Hell I fear, at my great Change,
My Soul is bent on dire revenge.
Exeunt Omnes.