_Muf._ I am indeed thy father; but how the devil didst thou know me in
this disguise? and what pearls and jewels dost thou mean?
_Mor._ [_Going back._] What have I done, and what will now become of
me!
_Muf._ Art thou mad, Morayma?
_Mor._ I think you'll make me so.
_Muf._ Why, what have I done to thee? Recollect thyself, and speak
sense to me.
_Mor._ Then give me leave to tell you, you are the worst of fathers.
_Muf._ Did I think I had begotten such a monster!--Proceed, my dutiful
child, proceed, proceed.
_Mor._ You have been raking together a mass of wealth, by indirect and
wicked means: the spoils of orphans are in these jewels, and the tears
of widows in these pearls.
_Muf._ Thou amazest me!
_Mor._ I would do so. This casket is loaded with your sins; 'tis the
cargo of rapines, simony, and extortions; the iniquity of thirty years
muftiship converted into diamonds.
_Muf._ Would some rich railing rogue would say as much to me, that I
might squeeze his purse for scandal!
_Mor._ No, sir, you get more by pious fools than railers, when you
insinuate into their families, manage their fortunes while they live,
and beggar their heirs, by getting legacies, when they die. And do you
think I'll be the receiver of your theft? I discharge my conscience of
it: Here, take again your filthy mammon, and restore it, you had best,
to the true owners.
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