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ffiCB 8TRX7QGLES OF A YOUKG ACTOft FOR I 

FAME. 

On^yf%SaM]Ky week vpwardB of a hundred penonal 
friends of^lfr B«9JAmm WelMtef ini4M hioi t« ft'eom-' 
plimexitary 4^ner at the Eraemaiottflf l^yern, to con- 
gratulate him on the Bucoessfttl opening of the new. 
Sojal Adfllphi, and to acknowledge, on the paH o£ the 
pubfie, the vast improvements he had effected in the 
afrangementa for the accommodation of the audience. 

Hie Chairman C^e Hon. H. F. Berkeley, M.P.) 

( liavlng proposed the toast of the eyeniog, Mr Webster 

in tlw contae of his reply gave an interesting statement 

of the difficnlties which he has had to oyensome before 

aniving at his present prosperous positicm. 

Mr Webster was reoeiYod with deafening dieers, the 
whole -company rising. He said— Mr Chairman and 

rintlemen-'This is a most anxious 'occasion tome, for 
mifeignedly feel perfectly inadequate to the! task of 
thanking ]^a sufficiently for the encomiums, the warmth 
of feeliuB, and the honour you have confermi upon me. 
To have expressed a desire to shun the felicitatiohs of 
success would have exhibited a weakness as foreign 
to my nature as want of nerte . to confront 
the diances of a failure. It would have been a Senti- 
ment l^t mi|fht have^ been constmdinto being more 
ecclusively vain than sincerely modesty and ill repay the 
^ffenerous qualities of each and all who l^ave appeared here. 
This ovWence of sqooess is not less gvatdful'to me than 
liopelol for the English stage. It assures me thaj^^^p'nrtii 
to diseiisBrfle with integrity my responsible onty «»' the ^ 
pnUio and the drama have not been in vain. (CiMars. ) ' 
It is believed that evety man during his eiarthl/^pfigri- 
naigt has at Isa^t one opportunity of grasping fa«p or , 
fortune^ \>ut it is given to few4o receive Such iem ovation ' 
«Sf true and nnvamisfaed friendly appreciation. (CWers.) 
Gentlemen, the mArk of honour you have this d^p^et 
upon the actor and the manager must ensure rcspectjor 
the class to which I belong ; and every step towai^ 
respectability is an upward advance in the eyes of tlie ' 
world, and ruses u|k tflMv^oor defamers, especially 
Ithose who would '"'dainn tI% all on one side, like an iU- 
^ roasted egg.'* Vwi hav^eard to-night that we have 
|.<dose ' obeevyers of the wrtmi 
JSotten-decuito Ost 
thank heav^en, there are lugl 
f and one has tflRsred us lanoior ont c(illeg»^(cheeT8)^' 
; who are superior to such vulgar pB||udtoe«, and praov 
: tise wiMKt lliey preach — chai^f to all mankind. 
^ (CbeerB.J[^ Xt was not ill said offth^ftc^rfttedFrenc^i 

* actreos Degcfcet, when she attiwcf^ -crowds in the stnait* 
' laced^town of Geneva, " Art is greaiter^Aum tradition.'*^ 

Genifemon, the hon. (diairmanlisslihotight some phatea 
tin my worldly movements worthy '^ mention ; anfd ^ 

• peneveraoioe can give oonvi^ to others to strive agahwt ' 
^ adverse fortono, X have «rit least 'dene some good. X 

iMve 'drunk deep of Iftie bitter «eup of the atitor^a ; 
^equered life. My career has 'boen most varied ^md ' 
precitric«|fl ; often on the «otifines'df despair, Mnn^Sii^^d, • 
MPiw'foodk sanB eveiytimig. From%>oyhood to riposinfc \ 
Inadhood each step ms Iseen bestft with difficuHies^nd [ 
, «ftuutbling blocks ; Wt {[^nflincl^qgly climbed to*ciy pre- 
aexit potion, and this ^banqu^-(^ congratulation* Anply! 
. Towards me n}r all nay trouble, ((^ud eheers.j To thej ^ 
i ffiAyer who has V> win%b wtty^to fortune— aiid%ew fewj 
'^dttain it— there •ve'fiawe'imMMtant periods. Yhere is 
the hopeful time «f jyouth, vmstt twenty is 1Jlt»*-^oTd«n 
me of life, when ^ Sever despab** is themeWte, and*aill 
seems gilded in «be>iirigbt ftttsre with rnhfei.%onoOM.^ 




nd ftppUose. ^crsis'theMadoustiiiMof idMdl«jtf«|'t 
•lien Uw hQp«d-«me»eoid U'temth teamt Muc'fnmi tin 



lew, when it fa mmutmrj torvomt the m i i wia ica odthe 

>ad of life. maA "flwytoeMM Mtuuby to 1hMi» «Mi firoTMo ' 

V those wiM «re ckpeaidetti -on you an in ««pmsHi(Ni. , 

hen there m i wtuwe dv^*Mtett>Mred am, w i^fA i rtBii i the 

Dly one oomfort 4f4MTiDg>d«Ke theor o«ljr« «M dMie%hc!r 

est throQgh n^faftt bard^ioMneii muf h0nfhtta,'9rA* 

hetheriritb!go<3t}'«vQlOTicoeB«. Thewfa ■tfti OiMm plh , 

> dnmatie fMBcrtither m-aetiog or wijiiBt|,'iw<* y¥nhm* 

niinng aead with wfaioh* tt is aoiight i« nHrrdllAtMu I 

ift ft home edmett 6f Imnnrfor the •ockaei^iiOBlriiifOBd 

WIS oftea^v^tbeoerotd^adhoe to mj totA,mmi fnqxmidf 

ithoat aKMo^Seriny lavMcd meii. B«t n^lhfet^O've 

ir the Mi was Mioh thatit^onld mmwmtSk^w Mtf-t» m- 

ent, and %o*eoAf(ii8 Ihatw flotaoiM»#C thefrofeeMomven 

mtic, ffr imy ibbr coaMon wae aoaaBpaaM'hf a 

gfathesrt. ^vghtw^eBd oheva) Bu«r;teitead 

f tnrningVDy slepe booMwraida, Moa&ita iha ipm taf 

it and wcreaee my powora ol wndmrnami-waid I fRiebe4 

D. Tet I "^mesnord faw«ui«d than iMBy others of ih4 

(llowers •dmieepis, and the oarfc el H i>e |ae ««a#ifl m^ 

oung afa<bHioa higher ' Iban the nharfnt hf'ths eon- 

aeror. I 'had thr«e etslDga to my h#ir« 'irPiadMd 

nployiMeitt»a« aa aoter my fiddle HMmy^Mod hi 

eed. and "t^ orcheetea waa my Ikome bC Tefoee 

aoglkter «Mid-«beei«),*from which 12rrp4hhote woaid 

ometimae lore'ue to a e — m e tile motley gari> 6f Harle- 

uin. fitfhapa it may^ttrest yem 4o kSMr^ and it 

oes me vevyiaiQch to iwerm yow, lhfl*•the^finl^s^ee I 

rertmdoipom mm aa aotor was tha44l'^he^WerwieK 

leatre, mi^ believe** greater pair WavwiMt sever 

itnessed. t ^janghtol. > I dare say miaBV- goad vlayt * 

aye beesi mardered these, and I have 4atMy heaM thai 

is to be oewrerted iatoea riang h fc er hensi if U«iighter.)' 

To whet hcae uses may we not rafeaRC" ( fLaoghter 

nd dkeerft) HowsTer,^ there I tben^h|i«my lerioae 

as m*de»*?or my 1p!t#> qoalitiea wefenyFfactlesIIy 

loBtratod; -and* to reverse Mrs t Uh^ ' oph ilgare i 

F speeohV^Waa one sia^a gentleman «rtflM«ito three. V 

ikught) tXwaaT^UMhbxjandthaas^jiit^'^leKaMite. 

le GretttT' I was fies:^ and aeosmi vMia in ihd, 

rchestMk;*a&d harleqiuiiiiQ the pa n is m i m e M *' WhiM; 

ngton attdUs Cat^'' alUthree in one «eee iui^ and al|' 



»rtw«nty*i;veeh9lmgas^\veek»one9ent esnit^awesia|i 



le qpsaiaii and' the misM for the ihmms tin 
reen tlie ents. (Loodlai^ghter.) FranvtheBB, a ham, 
at "hothed o( geniciA,^ as EUiatoa «sdd: to ^enn it»i 
•ezLed ils^odr s^ Bromegr jve. These I ii ■■ fct entH 
mdf, for -ihe mnsiciAna •of the tewn-^sre idlssentrrs> 
Aughteri) iGowever. liho iogenitttir «i tihs ^umagsi;! 
mod tdbeir'loflB to liistf>Tofit, for Im •eammrted tht 
chesteaiiBto a private hek for the Mjvvesef tin neighF 
•urheod, acid I— the band— played Mnnd-tim emiaHi 
(roars «f ^lasgbier)— beiiaes dandag iwHanbhaty hora^ 
pes wilho«t mislo, exoept an 'Oc^easMMl' cfaantable 
bistlerfai'tiK gallery— (renewed laogh tiwi) i s ^ li rtnfing 
defal eeEmto^wTigs nnaoeonjpai^d. .BoMirer, -mtvetf^ 
M pleaeiDg/especially plefcing ta me, apid'Toeseenied 
y taskeipen^ritrraately a«bare of onejiiMl-mpenee4r 
eek, and Caaeenre yoa ,t mts never hapiiei^aB my life^ 
Iheers.) My €rst appeamcce in print was'^siith way 
!ar, ola4 4M}d iam^nted fri^ds, Ixraglas JftKwM-.mBKt 
aman Bla&«herd» in ibageibnes and clwap4il«erttiare,| 
iblisbed-br^-artheatrical booi^Bellex nmned ^mwe>bb^ 
!ow 1^ v^dileite. were those 4&yB. ,But yoopth dreams A 
le future, Miid4e|re of the paat. Ai ten y<eanaeld:I waa 
nbitions of si|<oonsbip and pFrote a paiitomiaeeaUed 
Harleq^fas BMier," and made all the indks. The 
in that was fte shoot the 4e8erter cihangedtinto an 
ahielkk andililB coffin into aJwat. in wnsoifbe and 



oolumbme ^escaped- (l»ught4»f-^Kt^ -di^Mte- then ' 
that I Bhoold,«wr he an actor. @i>t the chlUr^^^i^ was 

St^l'i. ^ ^i*!.'^* destiny, After-eiperieikw faaf 
tanght me ilbat -dramatic ooiupowtion la the 4Dca\ 
fa«%ating aad.yat the fnowtdiffiealt to attain p^afU^ioz 

ShJTley, witfi^Uuttkind." It is not a v^ry fl«tt«riii£ 

fact for •» aiB;««teem that the®DgB«h staire ofS^ 

► SJf *''^u"'~*':i!' 2" «M«ten«e to 'e^ prtjific^^d 

'<yngmal talent whiehdihiB oountry uoftr boaetg. I ^.^^ 
rfiay to the purv^oa^ the stage, «dtii Mdnteenuieii 
4hat if you wwAjjrtrawOate you wiU «yef be tM^ribte? 
t«iat you will first die m quarto Apd die ugm & 
^uodeamo, Whule \Ljm <m this theaiel may, wAtew 
fce pardiM^ for thii&ing that if the fictor danlriSbUiS 
wthonttbeaath*«:,ythe jkJtor is the-un^ispensable com- 
Iflement, the aUer .^o, -of the dramatic author, lu 
iregarding the inUAiftte .cohesion ef two separate in- 
telligences as the ^efi^m^YB principle 4(f every truV" 
great scenic effijct, ^..oanaot oooceiviB «hfr actor aiia'< 
MitiMr existing without this <sommunioii <tf thought andl 
purpose, which m reality must be ilie condSi^oii <ȣ create 
J^ (CfeeereO WUi^^oed writipg aad expdn^ 

toe teifiied the people's sohod, for p&ys imitarcfipttbly 

'^^^J^'^^^^^J^ f*a>ewjedge of WSy thiii« 
which at wouBd bediffieult to aiake comprdUewibtefn 
the ordinary way ; such as theimer and anter Ufe of all 
nations lA aU times-their castcww, manners, livis. laws, 
arins, \h<»our, moral courage, iuitrepidity* gloii ticS 
wndered^io^. and virtue oommendec£* llnSaSS 
.mi&a tbe jBuditots choose the better side, and mmtotv 
»p«^ to Aem those lessons whicii they lave s^Te^^ 
amphfied. ^Cheers.) What can |Ailiopby. teSi^ 
foraWy as tins vfvidly apbeaJinr^kT evfry^JL^ 
jMhaps one«f the most gratifyingi^eata of tot liS^ 
been associated with the totmaJd^J^^BZ^D^m^ 
College-(lou<-^heer8)-of whicHZ^^^ 
manv weeks the foondation-stone lil Yt iSsSL^^ 

2L*Sf r^^\^^^^y charity. oSd^s gltt^^^S* 
where I was denied a comer for the Sb^dI^\Zi 
emmb fmm the ri^ table which tiie^SK ^^' ^ * 
5^'^-ifc"** ^^J This new iSSuSiJrSSSS' 

Sivy's S^Vi^ ^*^* Ora^iou* 

Sf^ril wl^ ^^ P*t«a»««^ musl'sacSeed 

iS'lS;^ bJd1ng'SoylM„"4.^^^^ 

W «y »ch oolw be foSST^HiSt^' wl.'^^'? 
been the great-desire <rf mv life aLfe! iS?' TK"^ **• 
■tudied more tl»B^rt» v^^'lf^*" '^,f''.^, """'e 

building a theatiw?««K?M?i^^j*^'^^^*e<J*aw was 
-The Sl*lW a^ Wa M«i M*^^ melodh^, I 
iw*liig the mill the bLtoL P^^H^^ *" the scenery , 



«iilty tiwn, Cat I ovorBMiie ii» m I bave HAb, Tht 
pre«, my ftl«ay« staadftti frfand, and the pnblie, have 
haded the effiirtt ; hot among many of the oeasratala- 
tiovs that have xeachedl me, thm ii one that has 
pfeeMd me, pethan, mere thaa aay ether, for it ihows 
thftt my eare f ftr thoee whoee tarmntan not capable of 
luxury have appredated my cfft«t to provide sometbiBg 
like it for them. With year pcRiiiMion I wiU read the 
letter, BQppreaeiiif thn aame : — 

Sib,- Permit a poor clerk to coDgratolaie yon on 
hebg the first mansgsr who has teatured to niake -his 
pgtromi comfortable. I visited yinir new theatre the 
ethsr evening, and theogh only the oeenpsmt, with my 
wif , of the gallery stalls, was mnoh gratified that even 
f ert snd civility pMVsiied, J aai sm« snch a 
F^boleiovM dwnge fnm what th« llmill >iiig pohiis 

have been snbjeet te caanot fail to meet Wttn tlie sne- 
ciii it desssvis, and which I heutUy Wln^ yon.— IVost- 
X9g yon win pardon this intrusion, sc 

' (Load ^eere.) Oentlemen, ft is my pride that yon sp- 
prove of my work sod Its aimgements. To these friends 
wbo started this cnmpHssentary /¥€, and to those who 
have so readily responded to the eall, I owe a dfep debt of 
gratefal aekoowledgment. The letttrs I have received 
from those conpeUed to absent themselves are flattering 
beyood parallel* In fiMst, I hardly knew wbo Benjamin 
Webster was, or that he was so moeh cared for, until to- 
day. I b^ leave to express thnkfbl obllgatioQS to the 
Hon. Bf r Berkeley, (br presidhig on this occssion, leaving 
the BUm dnties of the senate and Its mystifying sets— (a 
laogh)— to do hoaonr to one whose sets srs of the mimic 
world^ but which, I trust, srs Intelligible to the meanest 
capacity. (Ohesrs.) I te§f I have too peorly expressed 
my high eacimatim of thfs, to me, eventful occssinn. '* I 
am no orator,** as Brutus Is ; ** I am poor even in thank*, 
but I thank you." QatnUllian savs the heart Is the 
fountain of eloquence^ This I tieg ^^ to question, for 
my heart isbrimfol oi thanks, but I have not wOrds to 
expiess them. When I look around I seem to see each 
hand held out to me in the reality of frieadship—fcheere) 
— and. as the tyrsot wishfd that aH human kind had but 
one bead, that be might exterminate it at a blow, and, 
as the poet wt«hed that all womankind had but one mouth, 
that with one kiss be mi^t embsaee them all, so I wish 
that sU your bandsi were Joined in onc^ thst I might f^tp 
it with my heart in mine, knd prove the sinosrity of my 
gratitude. 

Mr Webster reeumed his seat amidst hearty nheertng, 
which contiQued for somo minutes. 






muuK tin mill, tbeboat, tlw ^^^ojolt, and dM ftgarca ' 



o 



JU^cJl. 



>v^. /• 



THE 



CTING NATIONAL DRAMA. 



COMPBIUNG 

E&T POPULAR NEW PLAT, /XtlCll; MBLO-DRAMA, OPKRA 
BURLBTTA, ETC., CAREFULLY PRINTED FROX THE 

PROMPTING COPIES. 

EDITED BY 

BENJAMIN WEBSTER, Comedian, 

(member of THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS* SOCIETY.) 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS, BY PIERCE EGAN, THE YOUNOER. 



VOL. I. 

CONTENTS: 

THE BRIDAL. 



IE TWO FIGAROS. 
iZ QUEER SUBJECT. 
IE MODERN ORPHEUS. 
ALTER TTRREL. 
V YOUNG WIFE AND MY 
OLD UMBRELLA.. 



THE COUNTRY SQUIRE. 
THE SENTINEL 
A PECULIAR POSITION. 
THE TIGER AT LARGE. 
THE MIDDLE TEMPLE. 
RIQUET WITH THE TUFT. 



i WITH A PORTRAIT OF 

J. R. PLANCHE, ESQ., F.S.A. 

ENGRAVED ON STEEL BY J. ONWHYN. 



LONDON : 
SHERWOOD, GILBERT, AND PIPER, 

PATERNOSTER ROW. 



1«40. 



Harvard College Library 
Dec. 26, 1907. 

Gift of 
Frank Hugexia Ohase 
Of Boston 



r 



BIOGRAPBKIAL SKK»» 



I or 



T. R. PLANCHB, F.S.A. 



— ^' ■*'* ■ ■ ■ *fc'^- ii - M - i _r-».rtir-<-fmj-Ln - 



^ WSkua Ibr tragedy, comedy^ history, i^MtonL paitofal>comicaV 
agtBticat HJ i Mit CT ia , tugical-ftfatoricrfj tng&»I^«oiinaf-litstaiiaa-pM'- 



jA]is»SoBu»oir PtANCBE WM bom Feb. 27th, 1796, ai4 is 
descended from a French family who had emigrated on the re- 
irocatioR of the Edict of Nantes. His mother, whom he lost 
when he was only eight years old, was possessed of eonsidem- 
ble literary abilities, and published an elementary work on 
Education. His first dramatic production ** Amoroso, King of 
l^ittle Britain," was written for private performance, but 
having been shewn by a friend to Mr. Harley, the Comediiuv 
that gentleman presented it to the Committee then managing 
Dniry-kne, by whom it was produced in May, 1818, with the 
most perfect success. This spurred him on to greater efforts, 
and after writing several other trifles for various Theatres, he 
dramatized, at Mr. C. Kemble's desire, the novel of " Maid 
Marian," and produced his opera of that name, with 
Mr. Bishop's music on the 3rd of December, 1822, at 
Covent Garden, to which theatre he voluntarily attached 
himself, ' for six seasons ; producing among other dramas, the 
altered comedies of "The Woman Never Vexed," and "The 
Merchant's Wedding." the original opera of" Oberon," written 
expressly for, and composed by C. M. Von Weber, (an asso- 
ciation of which we believe he is justly proud,^ and the pageant 
of "The French Coronation," from drawings made on the spot, 
having been sent over by the proprietors of Covent Garden to 
Paris and Rheims, for that purpose. At the desire of Mr. C. 
Kemble, he also corrected the costume of " King John," 
•; Henry IV.," " As You Like It," "OtheUo," and "Cymbe- 
line," which plays were revived from his designs and under his 
direction, and for which the Drama is deeply indebted to him. 
having aroused the actors to study what beifore they too lightly 
treated. In 1826 he made a tour through the north of Ger- 
many, Prussia, Saxony, Holland, and the Netherlands, pub- 
Jishing on his return the "Lays and Legends of the Rhine," 
Idiedicated by permission to Sir W. Scott. In 1827 he again 



i 



BIOGKAPHT. 



visited Germanyi and descended the Danube from Ratisbon 
Vienna, an account of which tour was published the folio 
year in one volume octavo, and has been lately reprinted wii 
additional matter, and in the shape of a guide along that riv< 

On the Dth of November, 1828, the anniversary of the 
on which Charles XII. was killed, Mr. Planches deligh 
drama of that name, was produced at Drury-lane, being 1 
fifty-fifth dramatic production in the course often years. 

In 1830 he was elected a member of the Society of An 
quaries. 

He is also the author of " The History of British Costume^ 
published by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Kno 
ledge, 1834; a variety of songs, essays, &c., in periodical 
other publications, and has placed, of one description or an( 
ther, nearly one hundred pieces on the Stage. If industry 
talent, joined with consummate dramatic skill, can comm 
success, no man more richly deserves it than the subject of t 
memoir. 

B. ^W. 

Jugust 25th, 1837. 



\ 



r 



I (Price ti, 

WEBSTER'S 
riKO NATIONAL DBAHA. 

V NDEH TB> AUUKIB* or TBI DBAMATIO ACTBOU' tOOIXn. 



I^Jx^ <.V >v^a«A4^^ WOyVNitor-A 



3 C.'f^' ' 

THE 

TWO FIGAROS, 

A MUSICAL* COMEDY, 

lit SiDO fl(t0, 

by 
J. R. PLANCHE, F.S.A. 

UEMBBB OF THS DRAMATIC AUTHORS 80CIBTT. 

Af pprformed at 
THE ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE. 



lECTLT PRINTED FSOM THE PKOMFTBR's COPY, WITB TRB 
>ST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, 
)ES OP ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS 
OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONA. 

Prefaced by a Dedication to 

MADAME VESTRIS; 

Aod an wiginal 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN LISTON, ESQ. 



'LENDIOLT ILLUSTRATED WITH TWO ENORATXN6S, 

rin Smith, and Pierce Egan, the Tounffer, from Drinrinf s taken 
daring the representation of the Piece. 



LONDON : 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186. STRAND. 



4 



** STAR press/' 
20, CROSS STEET, HaTTON GARDEN, 
JAMES TURNER. 



/ 



I 



■^ 



M 



DEDICATION. 



DEA& Madams Vestris, 

Allow me to dedicate this little Drama to you. I hjiTe serenl 
;ns for so doing ; the most olmona are, it's having been prodnoed 
lur Theatre ; the perfect manner in which you have thought pro- 

prodooe it, and the support it has received from your personal 
ions in the trifling part o( Susanetta ; but. I have another, and 
stronger motive. This Drama has been selected to form the 
lumber of a New Series, which wiU principally, if not wholly 
st of pieces produced by members of the Dramatic Authors' 
ty. As a very humble member of that body, I therefore take 
ublic opportunity of expressing the opinion which I, in common 
nany of my brethren entertain of your management of the Olym- 
heatre, and of the beneficial effects likely to result from it to the 
! Dramatic community. 

a time of unexampled peril to the best interests of the Drama 
[1st Theatrical property was at the lowest ebb— the larger Thea- 
lianging hands continually, and the ruin of their lessees invol- 
;hat of hundreds of their Ubfortanate dependents, — the little 
pic, the most despised nook in the dramatic world, became 
ily one of the most Popular and Fashionable Theatres London 
aw,-— but served as a life-boat to the respectability of the stage, 
was toMt sinking in the general wreck. Your tucceu is a matter 
oriety — not so however, the principal eauues of your success, 
. also constitute the claims you have upon the good wishes 
^ho regard the true interests of the English Stage. To those^ 

1 thousands are blind, and none perhaps so blind, as the 
persons who are most concerned in clearly perceiving and 
ing on them, I allude to the majority of Theatrical Managers, 
icial as well as Metropolitan. 

the first place, you have never suffered a temporary declinp 
raction to scare you into the destructive system of filling 
Joxes with orders. 

)ndly — You have never suffered your Play-bill to be disgra- 
a pvtff; but rigidly restricted it to the simple announcement 
Performances. 

•dly— In the production of every Drama, without regard to its 
native importance — ^the most scrupulous attention has been 
t all those accessories which form the peculiar charm of The- 
Representation, by perfecting the illusion of the scene, 
isequently at the same time every possible chance oi success 
;n sfPorded to the author. 

*thly — ^That if notwithstanding such aid, a Drama has occa- 
jT failed, it has been as soon as possible withdrawn in 
ice to the opinion of the public. 



IV 



DEDICATION 



Fiwy — ^That the advantage of early hours was first perceive 
by the audienees of the Olympic. The performances having 
generally so regulated as to enable fiunilies to reach their homaj 
before midnight. 

It is to these few '^ Golden Rules" which you have had tin I 
:good taste and sound policy to adopt and persevere in, more even. 
than to your deserved popidarity as an Actress, that you owe your: 
iXnequalled success, and when by the adoption of similar measumi 
similar prosperity shall attend other Theatrical Speculations, ani 
the benefit of that prosperity be felt throughout the various bran- 
ches of the Dramatic Profession, I trust it will not be forgotta | 
that the laudable experiment was first made by Madame Vestris. 

I must not omit to state as a collateral cause of the natural interes I 
Dramatic writers should take in your welfare, that with at least u 
much excuse (if there be any excuse for so absurd a practice) as 
attraction ever gave to any other manager; the privileges of tbost 
who have a professional claim on the firee admission to your Theatre, 
have never since its first openii^ been upon any occasion, tuspendd 

The writer of a piquant and complimentary notice of the Olympic ' 
Theatre, in the New Monthly Magazine, for October last, has, 
with great felicity likened your Theatre to a fashionable Confic- 
tioner's shop, where although one cannot absolutely make a dinner, 
one may enjoy a most agreeable refection, consisting of Jellies. 
Cheese-cakes, Custards, and such "trifles light as air" aenvL] 
upon the best Dresden china, in the most elegant style ; but kt : 
it be also remembered, and I am sure that writer has too mvA 
good sense not to have admitted it had it been necessary for him so to 
do; that the Olympic is licensed for the sale of ConfectioiuiT I 
onlyf and that the fine old English Fare on which the patriotic ' 
critic alone can dine, may not be served up to your customers. It 
is but fair to presume that the same spirit which induced you to ^ 
offer a trifle Uke, "the Two Figaros" on such exquisite porcelain. 
(to follow up the ingenious simile of the writer in the New Monthlyj 
— would cause you to place upon a patent dining table, the Hamlet 
of Shakspeare, in as costly plate as ever was turned out bf 
Hamlet of Sidney's-alley. 

Fortunately for yourself perhaps, your exertions have been confi- 
ned to a Theatre, the direction of which is a recreation, more titfo 
a labour; but the model is not less instructive because it i>' 
made on so small a scale and preserved in the cabinet of a ladt 
That great good will eventually, and not far distantly arise to the, 
Drama from your example, is the firm belief of many, for whose 
judgment I have great respect, and that you nuiy continue to de- 
serve their "golden opinions" and live to enjoy an ample harve 
reaped from tibe practice of your "golden rules" is the wish of, 

• My dear Madame Vestris, 

Your sincere Friend, 

J. R. PLANCHfc 
Brompton Crescent, 
Dm. 19^. 1836. 



AN OftlOINAL BIOGRAPHICAL 8KBTCH 



JOHN LISTON. ESQ. 



An thon layest my mog be not mirth full. 
Tap the small keg of sower* on thy shoulders 
And drown in the verjuiee of thy crabbed brain. 
That wicked wit, so faintly flickering. 
Through thy lantern jaw. 

ANON. 

13 incomparable professor of the mimic art, was bom in the 
1776, in the parish of St. Anne's, Soho, and many believe, 
^ally descended from Jchan De rEttomme (see Doomsday 
where he is so written), who came in with the Conqueror, 
id lands awarded Lim at Lupton Magrta, in Kent, and that 
he only son of Habakuk Liston, an Anabaptist minister, but 
leecent was a waggery of the late Chares Lamb. However the 
lability ofhis parents is fairly proved, by his having received eo 
an education at Soho school, as to enable him to become 
the year 1799, like Lingo, "a teacher of scholars," at 
ammar School of St. Martin's, in Castle Street, Leicester 
?; and that at a time, when a little learning could not 
rchased so cheaply as now. He, however, resigned the rod 
rule, for the sock and buskin, and became a member of 
est ephemeral of all arts ; for an actor's excellencies are 
nterred with his bones'* or at most, live but some fifty 
ifter, faintly recollected among the youthful follies of a 
ed sinners. His first essay was not in tragedy, as all 
r writers have averred, but in the line he has now so 
topped; having made his first appearance on the stage, 
d Duber^^ in the Heir at haw, at Weymouth, and so 
ably failed, that he adopted the advice of the manager (he 
convinced him that he had not the slightest talent for co- 
and took to what is technically termed the heiivy hutineu^ 
espectable fathers, and middle aged murderous oppressors' 
young and virtuous. From Weymouth he went to Dublin, 
;re sustained with some success the soundness of his advi- 
asoning. He figured next in the York circuit, and here, we 
1, he imbibed a great portion of that oddity of manner so 
r to him, from imitating, for green-room amusement, the 
ffiminate grotesqueness of a clever comedian, named Kelly, 
singular expression of the mother of a celebrated actress. We 
his plapng a part in imitation of the lady, excited such 
3nt, that he resolved to try back and have another fling at 
urite Thalia. For this purpose he joined Stephen Kemble's 
y, and at one of the towns of this circuit, (Sunderland^, it 



6 BIOGRAPHY. 

was our great delight, to hear him spoken of by the best men, 2 

the best terms of respect and admiration. We mention this as c 

example, worthy of emulation in the yet unknown aapirers to pubis 

approbation; for actors to win respect, is difficult, and to holdil 

falls to the lot of few. Here Mr. Charles Kemble first sav sd^ 

estimated our hero's talent, and strongly recommended him totiif 

proprietors of Covent Garden Theatre, but the comic cast of cb>- 

racters being well filled by established favourites, they declined, ui^ 

he was ultimately engaged, through the same interest by Mr. Cd- 

man, for the Haymarket Theatre. He made his debut in Zds 

Homespun^ in the Heir at LaWy and Sheepface/m the Village Loxf, 

on the 14th. of June, 1805. It is related of Mrs. Gibbs, now )L'*i 

Colman, that at the first rehearsal she went into the green-roon 

and beheld Mr. Liston seated by himself in thoughtful mood, t^ 

his chin resting on his stick, and between his legs, also seitd. 

his favourite very ugly pug dog, apparently partaking of his ms* 

ter's mind, as dogs often seem to do. The effect, to her, wass 

ludicrous, that she rushed out again, in a fit of laughter, exclaii' 

ing to some of the fraternity, that *' there was a man and a dogs 

the room whose phisiognomies were so exactly alike, it wasb^ 

to tell which was which/* Mr. Liston's appearance was not bi^ 

ly successful, but sufficient. Nor did he hit the taste of the ton 

decidedly, until one evening, after dining with Mr. Colman, (^ 

the managers of those dtfys, thought it no harm to be on frienJi! 

terms with their actors), in the character of liord Griizle.^ 

began dancing to the song of ^* Hurry post haste for a Idcestt 

which so tickled his audience, that they twice encored him, »» 

from that time, may be dated his gradual advance, to hi& presMi 

deserted popularity. Authors began to write for him, particulaiif 

dancing parts, and he was immediately offered an engagement' 

Covent Garden, which he accepted, and appeared there in <* 

character of Jacob Gavkey^ in the Chapter of AceiderUSy on the I5i^ 

of October, in the same year, with complete success. Howe«» 

the critic of one of the papers, cavilled at his performance, «» 

wished to know w;th affected ignorance where " the rrujmage^^ 

picked him up " to which he replied, by letter," Sir^ Ivbos pickd^ 

in the Haymarkety John lAston'^ From that time to this, b*^ 

studiously avoided the perusal of criticisms on himself, good,^ 

or indifferent, and thereby, wisely avoided much annoyance, f 

course ran on smoothly and brilliantly, and in 1823 on 8ec<*J 

from Covent Garden, in consequence of some disagreement -witk"* 

proprietors, he was induced by the liberal offer of £40 per weeM 

join the DruryLane corps dramatique, and proved by his gr^^ ^ 

traction,how well EUiston had estimated his value. George theFo"'* 

particularly noticed him, and by always commanding pie<^* 

which Mr. Liston performed, raised him, if possible, still ^ 

in public opinion. On one occasion, he was expressly sent'* 

from Brighton, to perform by desire of the King ; and the entT«'^, 

himself and friends to the palace, there, was sent him as a mwv 

his Majesty's estimation of his talent. ** There's honour ioxj^ 

We never saw a man so thoroughly delighted, and anhonourit^ 

to see it, as the King was, with our hero's performances; his si*: 

literally shook with laughter; tears of mirth coursed down»J 

royal cheeks, (to speak in Ellistonic phrase), and etiquette andi'" 



BIOGRA-PHT. 

checks of state, seemed to be out for a holiday, whilst the genuine 
feeling of the heart, so tempered down at courts, had full leave to 
rollick it in the dimples of King, Lords, and Commons. From 
grave to gay was but a step, and that step was when Liston put his 
foot on the stagie. The origin of the encore of Mawworm's sermon 
entirely originated with George the Fourth, and Liston's shake 
of the hand at his profanity, and the consequent roar of laughter, 
in which his Majesty joined, can never be forgotten by any who 
witnessed it. But the kindly feeling of Royalty towards the pro- 
fession seems to be inherent. George the Third was a constant 
visitor of Theatres, in town and coimtry, and particularly noticed, 
and never forgot the pleasure he derived jfrom the efforts of men of 
merit ; and our present Majesty, God bless him ! publicly saluted, 
on a late visit to Drury Lane, the veteran Dowton, in so marked a 
manner, as at first almost to overpower the exertions of that genu ■ 
ine actor. The brothers of the King, are not a jot behind him in 
this respect, and when we saw the Princess Victoria weep at the 
pathetic farewell of Mr. C. Kemble, we hope to seethe native Drama 
flourish in all its pristine vigour, under the auspices of the first in the 
land. In 1830, Madame Vestris wisely taking advantage of the faulty 
conduct of the then* managers or rather mis-managers of the major 
establishments, secured the services of Mr. Liston, at £60 per week, 
thereby clinching the opinion, that woman's wit is superior to man's 
in all points of pleasure, if in nought else, particularly as regards 
the lady in question. Here he has remained up to this our present 
writing, and is likely so to do, until he leaves us altogether, so 
much- is his comfort studied by her, who is keen sighted enough 
to know his worth to the most perfect establishment in London, 
Mr. Liston has ever been a great feature at the Haymarket, and 
during the run of Paul Pry, received from that Theatre £60 
per week, which he well earned, considering he enabled the pro- 
prietors to clear £7000 in one season, by his performance of that 
character. In 1807, he married Miss Tyrer, so celebrated for her 
performance of Queen DolloloUa, and other characters, and in her, 
acquired one of the greatest blessings in liUlef that ever fell to man's 
lot, we mean a most exemplary wife. By this marriage he has 
a daughter, bom on the 21st. of January 1814, married to the po^ 
pular composer, Mr. Rodwell, who has twice made him a grandfa- 
ther in the shape of two daughters ; and a son aged 24, Lieutenant 
in the 8th Regiment of foot, quartered in Jamaica, where in an 
amateur performance, he has enacted in his father's line to a 
delighted audience, in the same piece with the sons of Emery and 
Fawcett. We understand they have both, very naturally, a 
predeliction for the stage, and though such inclination is strongly 
opposed by the father, it is not unlikely that one or both may 
make a public essay. It is a fact no less strange than true, that 
almost all histrionic parents have a great aversion to their offspring 
following the profession they have lived by ; why, we are at a loss 
to guess, but so it is. The memoirs of the sons of actors will prove 
it, they being invariably put to some other profession, or trade, 
until the old leven breaks out, Mr. Liston though sometimes op- 
pressed with great lowness of spirits, is exceedingly fond of a joke, 
ejther in word or practice, and we could almost fill a volume with 
hisoddities in this way. Pope the actor and gourmand, was one c" 



8 BtOGEAptt '■ 

hiB great victims, and he was wont to annoy him excessively upoi 
his latter quality. Good eating and drinking, heing Pope's essenct 
of life, Mr. Liston used to speak of his preference for boiled suck- 
ing pigs, and haunches of venison, until Pope would rush out i 
the room in a state of disgust for his depraved taste. One day he 
saluted Pope with; '* What do you think, my wine merchant hasbeee 
endeavouring to impose on me, by charging me 80s. a dozen f"' 
old Port, when I can get n«w for half the money, but I am not quite 
such a fool, as to be done in that way." Pope was paralyzed ! "And 
then, that French Brandy, I never will buy any more of it. while I 
can get British." '• Why then " said Pope, " I suppose you wouli 
like turpentine T' ** I have no doubt " replied Liston ' * it would 1x 
very nice with water." This was too much. This defection oi 
palate, was a crime that Pope never could forget nor forgive, and on 
hearing a travelled gentleman, in the Haymarket Green-room, ex- 
plaining to Liston, the various modes of cooking abroad, Pope im- 
patiently addressed him, in these words, ** Sir, I have not the honoui 
of knowmg you, but hearing you descant on cooking to my worthT 
friend Liston, whom I respect in private, an4 admire in public.! 
must inform you, you are speaking to a man, who has no vm 
taste in the table than a Catabaw Indian." Mr Liston was alvi>i 
highly amused with the smartness in reply of the Irish, on hisw 
sits to Dublin ; and one that occured some three years since, thou^' 
at the expense of his wife, tickled his fancy amazingly. Mr. >w 
Mrs. Liston were walking through the streets, in Dublin, when id 
Irish basket-woman pushed roughly past them, and Mrs. Listo: 
who is very short and very stout, exclaimed; " you had better wall 
over me." The Irishwoman viewing her height and bulk, smilin?* 
ly replied, "Faith, ma^am, it would be easier to walk over you, thw 
round you, any how." 

Mr. and Mrs. Liston, a few davs after their marriage, appeared 
in Theodore Hook's drama, of *• The Fortress," in which Mr. lis- 
ton, as a sentinel, had to oppose the entrance of his wife witb. 
** You can't pass this way, Miss." and his better half to reply. 
** Miss indeed \ I'd have you to know, I'm no Miss." This replif*' 
tion, the audience applied to the new-married pair, and applauded 
to tbe very echo ; so disconcerting Mrs. Liston, that she burst int^ 
tears and retired up the stage. Liston immediately went \o ^^^ 
and taking up the apron she wore, wiped her eyes, with sucb * 
ludicrous expression of concern, that the applause was doubled, <' 
possible, accompanied with roais of most unsympathising laugl>t^ 
from all parts of the house. 

At the Haymarket Theatre, one evening, Mr. Liston not bein^ 
particularly engaged, went into a private box, with a false nose v"^ 
spectacles on, and seating himself over the stage, by his pecuh>' 
appearance, attracted the notice of Mr. Terry, who was performing 
one of his most favourite characters. His object being gained, )i' 
pointedly followed Terry with the green orbs to whatever part o' 
the stage he moved, until Terry was so annoyed, that he was obli- 
ged to leave the stage, and beg that the gentleman in the green 
spectacles and queer nose, might be requested to refrain from pay* 
ing him such marked attention, or he could not proceed with M* 
performance. A messenger went to the box, but Liston, having 
^n the mean time, removed the nose and appurtenances, and the 



BIOOBAPBT. 9 

lisance not l>emg there, it wu thought, Mr. Terry must have 
ide some mistake, as no such person, so describ^, had been 
en to enter the Theatre. Terry, insisted he was not mistaken, 
d supposed the party must hare left the house, but, being gone, 
was a man again. No sooner, however, did he step upon the 
Lge, than he saw the green-eyed monster, with no speculation in 
3se eyes, he glared withal, looking full at him, and despite every 
deavour, as if fascinated, he appeared to be always before him. 
second time was Terry disconcerted, a second time were the 
xes examined,but without effect, and Mr. Terry, must be in error 
(withstanding he was violently positive, he was not so. This 
nnable iteration continued, and though the doors were watched, 
was not until Mr. Listen pleased, that the secret came out. 
VIr. Liston has made two aeriout attempts before a London 
blic, to increase the attraction on his own benefits : his first was 
1809, a8 0ctai»in,inthe Mmmtaineert; his last in 1829, as Baron 
lUng^m, in Lover' t Vowt, On either occasion there was not 
ch even to smile at, however, his name and laughter were so 
3ciated in the minds of the many, that where he was most earnest, 
7 thought him most ludicrous, and when once set. off, merriment 
I the order of the evening; but that he can be pathetic and pow- 
lUy 80, is proved, by the tear-exciting manner, in which he 
cts as the Dominie, Lucy Bertram's offer of money, in Guy 
inertng. 

L f«w years since -it was usual with some theatrical quidnuncs, 
erm Mr. Liston a face-maker, and a droll, until his inimitable 
bnnance of Adam Broek, in Charles Ae I2ih, dispelled the illu- 
I they had been labouring under, and made them join the general 
tion, of his being a sterling actor, of the right school. Indeed, 
artist-like manner in which he gets up his characters, must be 
lessed to be credited. He scarcely ever produces an unstudied 
't, either in word, look, or gesture. It is his constant custom 
ttend the first two rehearsals of any new piece he is to act in, 
the sides of entrance may be duly arranged, he then goes di- 
itly to work, and at his next rehearsal, which takes place four 
ce days after, comes perfect, and so on to the day of performance; 
t^hich time he is so mellowed in the matter, that the words be- 
e a secondary consideration, and he is thus enabled to devote 
whole force of his mind to the business of the scene. If all 
rs were to do as much, they would find their end in it, and the 
ic be taught to respect their efforts. 

r. Liston'a height is five feet, eleven, and in his younger days, 
as considered one of the finest formed men in London. He is the 
'Ct gentleman, in manners and appearance, and that he can be 
cere friend, in a profession, where all seem enemies, ourselves, 
ig many others, can testify. His principal residence is at Penn, 
Windsor, where we hope the air will furnish him with health 
:ient, to allow of his delighting us for many years to come, by 
dmirable delineations of character, and with this hearted wish 
id him adieu. 

B W. 



{^^y/^ l^-rr^-^piO^^^ wa^ju 



\ 



3 ^flt 

THE 

TWO FIGAROS, 



A MUSICAL* COMEDY, 



by 

J. R. PLANCHE, F.S.A. 

MEMBER OP THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS SOCISTT. 

As pprformed at 
THE ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE. 



ELRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH THE 
DAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, 
IDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS 
OF THE DRAMATIS PBRSONJI. 

Prefaced by a Dedication to 

MADAME VESTRIS; 

Aod an original 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN LISTON, ESQ. 



SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH TWO BNGRATINGS, 

Orrtn Smith, and Pierce Ef an, the Younger, from Drawings taken 
during the representation of the Piece. 



LONDON : 
. CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 



£ 



\l/^ ^ -rv^«/v4^ • H ^^-cdb^^ U/0.>vJ:<yrwS 



THE 

TWO FIGAROS, 



A MUSICAL* COMEDY, 



by 

J. R. PLANCHE, F.S.A. 

MEMBER OP THE DRAMATIC AUTHOBS SOCIBTT. 

As pprformed at 
THE ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE. 



ERECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH THE 
CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, 
IDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS 
OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONJI. 

Prefaced by a Dedication to 

MADAME VESTRIS; 

And an original 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN LISTON, ESQ. 



SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH TWO BNGRATINQS, 

Orrtn Smith, and Pierce Ef an, the Younger, from Drawings taken 
during the representation of the Piece. 



LONDON : 
CHAPiMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 



[Jy/^ '^ -r^^^^i't^^ WXXjtJjL 






THE 



TWO FIGAROS, 



A MUSICAL* COMEDY, 



by 

J. R. PLANCHE, F.S.A. 

MEMBER OP THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS SOCIBTT. 

As pprfornaed at 
THE ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE. 



IRECTLT PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH THE 
:AST of CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, 
IDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS 
OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

Prefaced by a Dedication to 

MADAME VESTRIS; 

And an original 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN LISTOK, ESQ. 



SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH TWO ENGRATIN63, 

Orrin Smith, and Pierce Egan, the Younger, from Drivrings taken 
daring the representation of the Piece. 



LONDON : 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 



16 THE TWO FI0AR08. ACT I. 

Figaro. A thousand things to be sure ; but what does that signify? 
However, if you stickle for origuiality, let him be marked on both 
arms, and be claim'd by two fathers. There; there's an effect! 
there's an embarrassing situation ! 

Scrtbl For the mother 7 

Figaro. Certainly ; for the mother. 

ScrUd. But how bring about the denouement? 

Figaro. By an explosion. Nothing more easy or satisfactory. 
A blow-up of the whole dramatis personn sets all anxiety at rest. 
The greatest blockhead in the world knows nothing can ha^^n to 
them after that ; and besides the noise will drown the disappro- 
bation, should there be any, you know. You shake your head: 
you don't relish that project 7 Stay ; what think you of an opera! 

Serihl. Ah, «n opera ! 

Figaro. Then you may blend the plot and dialogue of a comedy 
with the music and scenery of a melodrama ; and if it fails, you 
can throw the blame on the composer. 

Scrtbl. Excellent. 

Figaro. And for the subject — (Aside.) A happy thought. Hi, 
ha, ha ! I cannot resist the idea. I'll dramatize my own scheme. 
Ha, ha, ha! {Aloud.) Listen. A rich nobleman — a Count, for 
instance, is separated from his wife and daughter ; the latter aboi£ 
sixteen. A deep, intriguing, witty servant of the Count, who ii 
anxious to make a sum of money at once which will enable him to 
retire from service, forms the scheme of marrying the young lady 
to an adventurer, whom he introduces into the house as a man o^ 
quality, under a promise that the marriage-portion shall be shared 
between them. The Count suffers himself to be completely led 
by the nose, recalls his wife and daughter, the wedding takes 
place, the booty is divided, and — 

Scrtbl. And no obstacles, no other incident to create an interest ! 

Figaro. 'Sdeath, man, I can't write an opera in five minutes. 
Away; begin as I've told you, and if any thing strikes me Til 
let you know. Vanish ! 

Scrtbl. I fly, Senor. {Atide.) Capital ! I've my note book in my 
pocket, and will sketch- out the first scene here in the garden. 

[Exit SCRIBLEROS, K. 

. i%oro. Ha, ha, ha ! My invention will not be hard worked 
on this occasion. The characters will find dialogue for themselvc:^ 
Mum ; here comes the principal one. 

Enter Count, /rom the PaUice, down (he steps. 

Count, Well, Figaro, I have seen Don Alvaro and decided. 

Figaro. To wait, my Lord ? 

CowU. Certainly not. To have the contract drawn immediately. 

Figaro. Is it possible ! Well, my Lord, I've done. You did 
me the honour to ask my advice, and I gave it you, candidly. 
Of course, you've a right to follow it or not, as you please. 

Count. Figaro, you know my confidence in you is not too great. 
You are, I am sorry to say, a rogue in grain; and I am, perhaps, 
to blame for having retained you so long in my service. 

Figaro. Your Lordship is complimentary; but I deserve this 
for having employed what you are pleased to call my r^oguery so 
often for your benefit. 



* 



SCENE I. THE TWO FtGAROfl. 17 

Couant. Oh, you had your own ends in view at that time to sti- 
mulate you, and I suspect you have now some interested motive 
for opposing this match of my daughter with Don AWaro. 
Figaro, If you fancy that, Sir, why ask my advice ? 
CvuMt. To see if your ingenuity, which I own is great, could 
hit upon any valid objection to it ; nothing more : and my plan 
has succeeded. You have urged all you can against the match, 
and I have answered you triumphantly. 
Figaaro. I cannot deny that ; but prudence, my Lord— 
Count. Having made up my mind that it shall take place, pru- 
dence induces me not to risk the possibility of any body preventing 
it. 

(** Se vuol haUare Signor ConHne.") 
So, Senor Figaro, I have decided. 
In this case at least, I by custom am guided. 

For folks to ask counsel, are seldom so prone, 
As when they've determined to follow their own ! 
{Shouts at a digtance^ u. E..a. Fiorello, deueadxng stept.) 
FioreUo, The Condessa's carriage is coming up the avenue, my 
Lord. 

Count. I hasten to receive her. 

[Exeunt Count, and Fiorello. u. e. h. 
Figaro. There's no glory in cheating him. It's a positive waste 
of wit. 

Enter Scribleros, b. 

Scribl. Senor Figaro ! Senor Figaro i 

Figaro. 'Sdeath, man, I can't stop now; here's my Lady arrived. 

Scribl. But one instant. I've begun as you told me. The 
rogue of a servant has projected the marriage. 

Figaro. And the fool of a master has ordered the contract ? 

Scribl. Yes. 

Figaro. Then let them sign it. 

Scribl. What ! without any other incident. The piece will be 
▼ery short. 

Figaro. So much the better for the audience. Vanish ! Here 
come my Lord and Lady. [Pushes him outj b. 

Mardi. — Enter Antonio, Barbarina, Servants and Tenantry^ then 
the Count, Countess and Susanna, u. e. r 

Chorus. (*• Ricevete Padroncina.*') 
Welcome! welcome! noble Lady^! 
Roses in your path we strew. 
Be your way through life henceforward, 
Strewn by Fate with roses too ! 

Count. (C.) Welcome back to Seville, Madam. Figaro, do you 
not welcome Susanna. 
Figaro, (b.) My feelings overpower me ! {crossing) My wife! 
Susanna. (L.) My husband! [^^ embrace, 

Figaro. {Aside.) The vixen. 
Susanna. (Aside.) The hypocrite ! 

Count. Rosina, who is the young person I saw with Seraphina? 
Countess. (R.c.) Her waiting maid a cousin of Susanna's. We 



I 



18 THB TWO FtOAROS. ACTL 

call her SuMnetta. 

Count, She's uncommonlf pretty. 

.Figaro, (to S%taima») Pretty; and a cousin of youn. I long to 
embrace her. 

Suicawa, All in good time. You need not be so remarkably 
affectionate. 

Count t (to GntiUetf.) Madam, permit me to lead you to the saloon, 
and to present to you my friend, Don Alvaro, your future son-n* 
law. [Exeunt Count and Countess, vp s^. 

Antonio, Basbarina, and Servcmtt L. and Tenantry, u.lb. 

Sutawta. And now, Senor Figaro, may I inquire the object of 
this freak of yours ; for yours I'm convinced it is. What mighty 
motive has induced you to bring about this reconciliation between 
my Lord and Lady, and cause her recall to Andalusia, as well a 
that of your neglected wife ? 

Figaro. My neglected wife ! O, ungrateful woman ! During tlij 
three long years that cruel duty has separated us, have I not bee:: 
constantly endeavouring to move the heart of the Count, not so 
much for his sake, but for my own, that we might meet agiis 

Susanna* And wus it necessary for that object, pray, that ik 
Count should insist on marrying his daughter to this Don AIti' 
ro, a person she has never seen ? 

Figaro, Nay ; of that I wash my hands entirely. I know sotbie 
of Don Alvaro, beyond-the facts of his having presented himselfs 
the Count as the only son of an old friend of the Almavivas, vb;) 
died lately in Mexico ; of his having fallen in love with Seocn 
Seraphina from seeing her portrait in the great dining room ; ^^ 
01 nis acceptance vy theCouat almost a? 9C>Qn a? he propose^! 
himself. I'm sure I've said every thing against the matd 
that a man could say, who had any respect for truth, 

Susanna. You have ? 

Figaro, Every thing; and will do any thing, in consciencs 
to prevent what I consider a sacrifice. 

Susanna, You would? (Aside.) If I could believe him now - 
But no ! we must keep on our guard. 

Figaro. (Aside.) What if I trusted her? No! She'd i^'- 
with her Lady and ruin every thing. It won't do. 

Susanna. Well, we shall see if you are sincere. You knov' 
have much to complain of. But aid us honestly to prevent tbii 
marriage, and I will forgive you every thing. 

(" Venite inginocckiatevi") 

Come promise, Senor Figaro, 

To be our firm ally. 
(Aside.) I mark'd his roguish snigger, O ! 

I'll on him keep an eye. 
(Aloud.) Turn round ! Don't feign amaz'd to be, 

In vain that simple air 

I know you're at some knavery ; 

I give you warning fair. 

Come try, if but for novelty, 

To act an honest part. 

Sixteen long years you've worried me. 

And almost broke my heart ! 

B B 



SCENE I. THE TWO FIGAROS. 19 

Figaro, Sixteen! 

Susanna, Your pardon ! I forgot the three. 

That we have lived apart. 

I quite forgot the happy three 

That we have lived apart. lExetrnt, arch, L, 

Enter, Susanetta and Seraphina u. e. r. 

SfuaneHa, (r.) Courage, courage ! Senorita, he will come, depend 
upon it ; I gave him the note with my own hands, before we set 
out from Valencia. 

Seraphina, (l.) But, should my father or Figaro recognise him. 

SvMmeUa, It's impossible. The countess and my cousin Su- 
sanna, declare that he is so much altered from the little effemi- 
nate page, who always looked like a girl in boy's clothes that they 
could not believe him to be the same person even when he declared 
himself. You know he left for the army the very year you were 
bom, and neither the Count, nor Figaro, nor any body except 
our four selves have set eyes on him since. 

iSerapfttna. Nevertheless, I'm sure I shall sink when he appears. 

Sutanetta, You'll have no cause indeed Scnorita, I'll warrant he 
plays his part to a miracle ! 

Seraphina. Here come Figaro and youi cousin ? 

Siuanetta. Then you go into your room while I am introduced 
to this celebrated gentleman, and see how the land lies. 

[Esk Seraphina, up siepi 

Enter Susanna and Figaro, arch l. 

Svaa-ma, Susanetta, this is my husband whom you have heaid 
80 much of. 
Figaro. Upon my honor she is very pretty ! Cousin, permit me— 

{Khiet SUSANETTA,) 

Sntanetta, Senor Figaro, allow me to contemplate those august 
features ! Permit me to gaze with mingled awe and admiration 
on the renowned Barber of Seville, whose name has penetrated 
the remotest comers of the earth, and whose deeds are chronicled 
in immortal music ! 

(**Non pm Anji/raX'*) 
Can it be ! do 1 really behold him ; 
On her list fame for aye has effroU'd him. 
Nature bribed merry Momus to mould him 
And then set at defiance dull care. 
Bow ye minions of mirth all before him, 
When he sings who could fail to encore him. 
When he dances all hearts must adore him, 
When he speaks, who can laughter forbear ; 
Can it be, &c. 
Figaro, (Aside.) Now rot me if I know whether she means this 
for civility or impertinence. 

Susanna. Aye, he can be a very pleasant fellow when he likes and I 
hope he is going to be on his best behaviour. He assures me he 
has had no hand in planning this marriage, and that he will assist 
us in preventing it. 

Susanetta. When you say tis my dear cousin, I hope you don't 
include me, as I beg to remain perfectly neutral in this businessi 
However I might regret to see my dear young lady compelled to 



20 • THE TWO PIOAftOS. ACT t. 

marry against her mcUnations, I could not think of assisting » 
child to thwart the will of her parent. 

Figaro. (Aiide R.) Phew ! a conscientious chambermaid ! Here's 
a new character for my opera ! Figaro ! Figaro ! Have thy wiu 
about thee, there is mischief here, (aloud,) Admirably spoken, 
my charming cousin ! It is quite refreshing to hear such langu&ge 
in these demoralised days. I not only improve of your determina- 
tion, but will follow your example. 

Siuanna. How, after your promise 7 

Figaro. Second thoughts are best wife. I object to the roatcb 
as much as ever and will do nothing to forward it ; but, will assist 
neither of the belligerent parties. Susanetta and I, are neutn! 
powers, and our flags must be respected. 

Enter CoUNT and Countess, down ttept. 

Count, (l.) Very well, Madam, very well ! It is fated that ve 
should never agree, but notwithstanding, I am the master of mj 
house and my family, and my will shall be obeyed ! 

Countess, (c.) I do not dispute your will. Sir, I merely beg you tc 
have some compassion for your daughter and allow her a shoit 
time to become acquainted with the man you intend for her hus- 
band instead of marrying her at an hour's notice. 

Susanna, (b.) At an hour's notice ? 

Figaro. At an hour's notice ? 

Count. At half an hours notice, if I please. 

Susanna, (b.) Surely my lord, you are not serioi:us in hurrying 
this extraordinary marriage ? 

Count. Surely Susanna, the marriage is not more extraordinaiT 
than the fact, that you are for once of the same opinion as youi 
husband. 

Susanna. If we are indeed of the same opinion, it certainly is ex- 
traordinary. 

Count. Oh, Senor Figaro is eloquent upon the subject. 

Susanetta. (Aside.). Then he means it to be a match. 

Count. But notwithstanding his disinterested objections, I ^ 
determined •; and command him forthwith, to fetch the Notary t^^ 
draw the contract. 

Susanna. (Aside.) Now — your promise— remember. 

Count. Well, Sir ; wiU you go ? 

Figaro. I, my Lord? 

Count. Yes, yoUi Sirrah ! I chuse you to be my messenger on thi> 
occasion. 

Figaro. Oh, very well my Lord, if you insist. 

Susanna f!4«ic?«.J Heyday ! is this what you call neutrality? Sup- 
plying the enemy. Go if you dare ! 

Figaro (Aside.) Oh I as you please, (aloud) My Lord, I request 
you will suffer me to decline. 

Count. Fiends and Furies ! Do you mean to dispute — 

Enter Fiorello, u.k. r. 

Servant. My Lord, there is a young man without, with a letter, 
which he insists on placing in your own hands 

Figaro. (Aside.) The devil ! what can it be about ? 

Susanetta, (Aside to Countess.y 'Tis the Colonel 1 He's just io 
time. 



8CENE I. THE TWO FIOAftOfl. 21 

Count. Weil, let him come m. [Exit FiORBLLO, u. B. b. 

Enter Che&ubino, u. b. b. 

Now 1 from whom is this important letter f 

Cherubino. (l. c.) From Colonel Cherubino, my Lord. 

Figaro, (r.) Cherubino ! 

Cmmi. (b.c.) I haven't heard from the scape grace for years. 
What does he want with me, I wonder ? (operu At letter) " Most 
excellent Sir, I write to you from the cabin of the San Fernando, be- 
ing about to sail with my regiment for the Havannah. Your kindness 
to me has been so constant that I seem to have a right to importune 
you. Deign to protect and employ the bearer of this letter. He is 
an honest, affectionate, active, and xealous servant, whom I much 
regret to part with. Trusting you will not deny me this, perhaps 
the last proof of your bounty, I pray Heaven to preserve your 
Excellency many years, &c. &c. &c.*' So I he if going abroad 
then. I was told yesterday, the regiment had embarked. 

Cherubino. It has sailed by this time, my Lord, and I shall never 
see my dear master again I 

Count. And you wish to enter my service ? 

Oiervbino. Oh yes my Lord ! 

Count Well, we shall see ; what is your name ? 

Oierubino. Figaro, 

All. Figaro I 

{'* Largo al Factotum.") 

Cherubino. Barber, Factotum in short I'm a Figaro. 

La ! La ! La ! La ! 
I can shave, run of errands and play the guitar also ! 

La ! La ! La ! 
But in popularity ; 
From any hope sir, 
Ever to cope sir ! 

With the great barber I'm very far ! Fm very far I 
All but Figaro and Cherubino 

Ah, anew Figaro I bravo! bravissimo! bravo 1 La, la, la I 
Fortune has sent him here quite apropos 1 Bravo ! La, la I 
Cherubino. Hair I can dress sir 

Bleed with success sir, 
Carry a message or billet doux ; 
Sing serenades sir. 
Flatter the maids sir, 
Dance a Bolero passably too ! 

La re Ian, la re Ian— (iSKn^i and Donees.) 
Z^al and agility — 
If not ability— 

In all humility > 

Sir, I may say, 

I'm the possessor of \ 

And the professor of : 

Nothing but what you'll find quite in my way, 

La, la, la, 
Your servant make me — 
But don't mistalce me— 



22 THE TWO FIGAROS. ACT I 

From any hope sir 

£?er to cope sir, 

With the great Barber I'm yer> far> 

ifO. Figaro, Figaro ! 

Figaro. That's me ! 

Chervbino. That's me! 

BoA. Confusion ! that's me !^- 

Two of a trade will ne^er agree! 

Count, Figaro t 

Figaro and Chervbino, I'm here. 

Susanna, Figaro ! 

Chertibino and F^aro, I'm here. 

Sutanetta. Figaro here {-—Figaro there ! 

Omnt, Figaro he ! 

Figaro, Figaro ; you 

Susanna, Figaro one\ 

Sutanetta. Figaro two I 

All but J^aro. Oh what confusion here ; 
Curious intrusion here ! 
Which we are calling they never will knov; 
Ah bravo, Figaro I bravo, bravissimo ! 
Fortune has sent him here, quite apropos. 
(AU laugh but Figaao.) 

Count, And you really mean to say, that your name* is Figaio 

Chervbino, I am a foundling, sir, my family unknown ; u^ 
being of the same vocation, I assumed the same name, in honor O' 
my great prototype. 

I^aro. ! come, come ! fine words butter no parsnips, Senor 
whipper snapper 1 You've no right to my name. 

Chervbino, Are you then the great, the real original! 

JRgaro. No palaver ! I tell you it wont do ! you shall not d 
yourself Figaro. 

Count, But I shall call him so, if I please. Figaro the secooi 
shall do what Figaro the first refuses. You are my servant, sirr&i 
from this moment. I require the- presence of a Notary. Yoj 
must take a letter from me to one in the City. 

Chervbino. Your Lordship may rely upon my speed and obedience 

Counteu. (Aside.) How f 

Susanetta. Let him alone, Madam. 

Figaro. (Aside.) He plays my game for me at any rate. 

Count, I will write the letter directly. Madam, (to the Cov^i 
you will inform Seraphina of my resolution and prepare her ^^ 
obey me. 

Countess. I shall do sir, as you command. [Exit up stff^- 

Sutanetta, 1 fly to tell her of his arrival, [ExH i 

Count (to Figaro,) As for you sir, I do not discharge you, tJ' 
you may stay or go, as you think proper [Exit up ^• 

Susanna. (Aside,) Never mind husband, the Countess will re- 
ward you ! \Ex^ ^ 

Figaro. Virtue is its own reward ! 

Cl^rvbino. (l.) Senor Figaro, was that your wife who whi8pere<^ 
to you ? 

Mgaro. What's that to you ? 

ChenMno, I've often heard of her. 



iCENE I. THE TWO FI0Aft08« 23 

Figaro, What's that to me ? 

Oierubino. She's a fine woman. 

Figaro, She knows that. 

Cherubino. My young master was very fond of her. 

Figaro. I know that. 

Chervbino. He used often to talk of you both ; I was very anx- 
ouB to make your acquaintance. 

Figaro. Well, and now you have made it— 

Chervbino. I'll try how far it was worth making. 

Figaro, You're very polite. 

Chervbino. I wont answer for that. But you shall own I'm very 
lincere. 

Figaro, Indeed ! 

Chervbino, Try me. 

Figaro. Well then. What's your object in coming into this family ? 

Cherubino, To turn you out of it. 

Figaro, Well, that if more sincere than polite, I confess. And 
bow d'ye mean to set about it? 

Chervbino. By doing every thing you wish me not to do^ and 
frustrating all your intentions. 

Figaro, Had'nt you better begin by knowing what they are? 

Chervbino. I can make a shift with guessing. 

Figaro. May I learn how near ? 

Chervbino. Certainly. I guess, in the first place, that the Count 
vants a Notary to draw a marriage contract; and, in the second 
place, that although you refused to fetch one, that you are anxious 
the marriage should take place. 

Figaro (Aside.) Oh ! oh 1 Here's gunpowder, indeed I (jalovd) Then 
of course, you won't fetch the Notary ? 
Chervbino Yes 1 will. 

Figaro. Then if I am anxious that the marriage should take place — 
Cherubino, It shall not take place. 

F^aro. And yet you will fetch the Notary ? I don't understand — 
C^«T«6tno. I don't mean you should. 

F^aro. It's impossible to be more candid, or more mysterious ! 
(Aside) Figaro, Figaro I Here's an antagonist worthy of thy skill — 

a^Touae thee man ! put thy spirit in arms ; a light foot-— a sharp 

eye— and ears every where. 

Enter Susanna, l, 

Susanna. Figaro. 
%oro. Which of us? 

Susoma. The eldest. 

(^^^^^rvbino. There can be no mistake, (bowing to Figaro.) 

Figaro. Puppy ! (crosses to Susanna) what do you want ? 

Susanna, My Lady would speak with you, you must come with 
^^' (makes a s^ to Chervbino.) 

Figaro, [Aside.) Ha ! she made some sign to the other. 

Susanna W^ ell, are you coming? 

Figaro. Oh, to be sure ! I follow you. {Aside) But I'll be 
back again in a twinkling ! {Exeunt Figaro and Susanna, l. 

^^^»^'nibino. If I understand her sign, I was to touch my guitar 
*8 soon as they were gone — yes, yes, no doubt to let Seraphina 
or Susanetta know that the coast was clear. (Seats himself on 
'^ *t€psand accompanies himself on the Guitar.) 



34 THE TWO FIGAROS. ACT L 

( ♦• Voi che tapete:') 

Vamly the morning 
Smiles o'er the sea, 
Lost are its splendors, 
Lady, on me 1 
'Reft of thy presence, 
Far from thy eight. 
Day is but darkness, 
Morning but night. 
Through your long lasher, 
Beam fbrth ye eyes, 
Which make my sunshine i 
Lady, arise ! 

Vainly the mornmg, &c. 

Enter Seraph in a, partly descending the stept. 

Seraphina, by all my hopes i 

Serapkina. (leaning over ike bcduitradef to thai her face itp- 
tiaUy hid by me vote cUAe bottom of it.) My dear Cherubino .' re 
have succeeded in gaining admission. 

Oierubino Most fortunately ! The moment I received your n«' 
I decided on the step I would take. I was convinced nobody i^ 
could recollect my features, so changed by time and service ; i^ 
the fact of my regiment having received orders to sail for ^^ 
Havannah, renders it impossible that the Count or Figaro, shou& 
under any circumstances suspect who I really am. 

Seraphina. But Figaro, I hope is our friend. 

Oiervbino, Don't trust him for your life ; I am convinced ol^'' 
contrary. Have you seen my rival, this Don Alvaro ? 

Seraplwna, No, he left the house as soon as he had been intrc 
duced to the Countess, on the plea of particular business, and ir^' 
not return 'till the evening. 

Chertdnno. That's unlucky ! I wanted to see him myself;'' 
sound and mystify him. 

Eniter Figaro, cautioutly, back arch, l. 

Figaro (Aside.) As I expected. There's one of them with tiJ^ 
Who is it ? Seraphina I Aha I {creeps nearer.) 

Seraphina. What's to be done ? My father insists on the contract 
being signed, the moment Don Alvaro returns. 

Chervbino. We must be guided by circumstances; but I h**^* 
ev'ry hope of success. I cannot believe, the Count» will remain W' 
flexible to the entreaties of his wife, the tears of his daughter, a>^ 
as for Figaro ; I'll lead the old rascal such a life. 

Figaro. (Asule,) Will you. Just oblige me by staying two Mi- 
nutes longer. [glides otU bcide arcft ^ 

Enter SusanettA, partly down steps. 

Susanetta. Away, away I Figaro was watching — -he's gone to fetei> 
the Count. 

C^ervbtno. The devil ! How long was he there ? 

Susanetta. Oh, not two minutes — ^I've watched him all the tim' 

Chentbmo. Then he can't have heard much to harm us. -A^^ 
with you both. 



8CENB I. . THE TWO PtOAROS. 25 

Sutanetta. No, no 1 Only you, Senorita. Give me that mantilla, 
and then in. {Exit Seraphina up steps ) Now, do you continue 
talking to me. 

Cheifiibino, I understand. 

Susanetta, Here they come. (Places hers^ in the exact position 
that Seraphina had ocayjied.) 

Enter FlOA&o voilh the COUNT, cautiously^ bade arch^ and cross to u. E. r 

Figairo, There, sir, there they are. Now believe your own eyes 
and ears. 
Susanetta. Then you will do as the Count bids you ? 
Count. That's not Seraphina ! 
Figaro. Eh ! Why, I could swear — 

Cherubino. Do as the Count bids me ? To be sure. Is he not my 
master? and a very good master, I'm certain, to any body who 
serves him' faithfully. 

SusaneUa. Oh ! so I believe. I like the Count much myself. 
I wouldn't persuade you for the world to do any thing wrong. I 
merely ask'd the question ; for I am determined to remain neutral 
in the business altogether. 

Count, Why, Figaro ! you must have been mad sure ? 
Figaro. (Asidet) It's enough to drive me mad. They've the best 
of it this time. 

Cbtin^. Or, if not mad, you are at some of your old mischiefs 
You want to get rid of your new name-sake; but he is a faith • 
fal young fellow, and I will hear nothing more against him. 
{Oyining forward C.) Figaro the second. 
Cherub. My Lord. 

Count. Here's the letter forthe notary ; he lives near the cathedral. 
Cherub. He shall have it, my Lord. 
Count. Susanetta, where is your young Lady ? 
Susanetta. {on steps) Here she comes with Susanna, my Lord. 

Ettter Sebaphina, and Susanna, doum steps. 

Cherub, (crosses to Figaro R.) Have you any commands in town t 
Figaro. Go to the devil 1 {Aside) I've lost this trick, but not 
the whole game. 

("Zttft ZUli,'') 
Cherubino. 
On your Lordship's errand hieing. 
Like an arrow quickly flying; 
On my zeal and speed relying, 
But command, and I obey. 

Susanetta^ Sutawna^ and Seraphina, 
All our hopes on him relying, 
To know how 'twill "fend I'm dying. 
To out-wit each other trying, 
They will every art essay. 

Count to Cherubino. 
While you talk here time is flying, 
On your zeal and speed relpng, 
Shortly both I shall be trying. 
And with gold perchance repay. 



26 THE TWO FIGAROS. ACT 

Figaro. (Ande.) 
Fairly caught, there'a no denying, . 
But to pay them off I'm dying, 
Soon for quarter they'll be crying, 
And confess I've gained the day. 

Count. 
Speed away ! speed away ! 
Susanetta, ^c. 
Caution ! caution ! Silence pray ! 

Count. 
Quickly! 

Cherubino. 
Swiftly : 
Figaro {to himself.) 
Caution ! 
Susanetta {to Susanna.) 
Silence ! 
Count. 
Quickly speed you on your way ! 
The rest. 
Caution. Let no word our aim betray. 

[The Count leads Seraphina up steps — Chehubino rw 
steps to exit u.E. TL. Figaro, watching hm, r. and Susaxn i > 
Susanetta, l. Drop falls on the pidure."] 



ACT II 



SCENE continues. — -A table in Front of Steps — Chair, R- 

Figaro. {Discovered stated.) The more I tl^ink of this busine*?, ■ 
more I am puzzled. This young rascal who calls himself Fh"' 
has evidently an understanding with the women. His arrival r/ 
expected by them, no doubt. Is he really gone for the notary? * 
can't believe it ; or, how will he prevent the marriage from taV.'-- 
place, if that is his object? ' If it is not, I don't much care i^"" 
it is. Oh, for some clue ! 

Enter SCRIBLEROS, U. E. R. 

Scribl. There he is, and seemingly in deep meditation I'm a^Dn'"" 
afraid to disuib him. Sen or Figaro. 

Figaro. {Not looking round.) Well, well. 

Scribl. I have ventured to look in upon you once more. J' T' 
would be kind enough to give the matter just another thought be.w 
you decide — I've brought in the notary, but — 

IHgaro. The notary ! You have ? Where is he ? Oh, it'3 y^'- 
is it ? Confound it"—! thought — 



S6BVE T. THE TWO FIGAROS. 27 

Scrihl. I perceive you are busy. I won't detain you a minute; 
but I am sure you wiil see, that to finish the piece without any 
other incident — 

Figaro. Oh, my good friend, I can furnish you with one now, as 
strange as you can desire. 

Scribl. Indeed ! 

Figaro. I've two new characters for you. 

Scribl. I'm delighted. 

Hgaro. A moralising chamber>maid, who arrives with the young 
lady, and a mysterious valet, who offers liis services to the father 

Scribl. A mysterious valet J Excellent! Here's interest! But 
how mysterious ? In what way ? Is he to be a rogue or an honest 
fellow ? 

Figaro. Oh, a rogue ; there's no doubt of it ; a precious scoundrel. 

Scribl. Aye, I see: then he's to perplex the other scoundrel ? 

Figaro. What other scoundrel ? 

Scribl. Why, the Count's old valet, you know. The rascal who 
is making all the mischief, and who, I think, at last, we should send 
to the galleys, if you've no objection. , 

Figaro. But I have. 

Scribl. O, well then, we'll punish him some other way. But he 
must be pmiished, you know; poetical justice demands it. And 
pray who shall the mysterious valet turn out to be after all ? 

Figaro. Ah ! that's a grand point which I have not yet decided. 

Scribl. I've an idea. 

Figaro, (contemptomly) You ! 

Scribl. Pardon me for presuming to suggest anything to you; 
but— suppose we made him alover of the young Lady's in disguise ? 

Figaro. (Starting.) A what? Say it again. 

Scribl. (Alarmed.) I merely suggested. A lover in disguise. ' 

•Figaro. That's it ! And I — O Figaro ! Figaro ! Shame upon thee ! 
To let a dolt like this stumble upon a fact which thou shouldst 
have seen at the first glance. 

Scribl. You like the notion, then ? 

Figaro. Like it? I'm transported ! Aha! I triumph! I triumph ' 

Scribl. You? (Aside.) Oh, I see; he's supposmg himself the 
other rascal. 

Figaro. Oh, precious discovery ! A lover disguised ! Aha ! my 
fair ladies. I have your secret. You are in my power — 

Scribl. Says the old scoundrel ? 

^t^aro. (Atide) Eh! Zounds! I shall betray myself to this fool. 
[Aloud.) Yes, yes, of course; he carries all before, him now, expo- 
ses the gallant, is rewarded by his master marries the girl to his 
friend ; shares the money, and — 
, Scrbl. And is not found out himself; not sent to the galleys, or 
hanged for his own roguery ? He must be discovered and kicked 
(•ut of the house, at least, or — 

Figaro. I shall kick you out of the house, if you say another 
"«ford on the subject. Avaiint, thou- spoiler of paper, thou — 

Scribl. I'm gone, most excellent Sir. (Aside.) Diavolos! What 
* ^^ge he's in if any one differs from him in opinion. Nevertheless 
''niS is my incident, about the lover. He cant deny that ; and the 
piece shall end with something like a moral, that I'm determined. 

[Exit SCRIBLEROS, U. E. R. 



M TBV TWO FIOAAOS. actil 

FSgaro. To be sure, to be sure ! — It't all clear now !•— Don Alvm 
baa a riTal as well as Figaro. But wbo is he ? It doea'nt signifr 
—out be goes wbo ever he is. 

Enter Susanetta, doum steps. 

Your most obedient, sweet Susanetta-— were you looking for me f 

SnsometUi. No, Senor Figaro, merely admiring the Palace. It'i 
a very fine house, this of Count Almaviva^s. 

Figaro. Very. Do you contemplate staying long in it ? 

Susanetta, It must depend upon circumstances. 

Figaro. Decidedly. Has my new name-sake returned ? 

Susanetta. Figaro the second ? no— I have not seen him. 

F^aro. Will he fetch the Notary, think you T 

Susanetta. I can't pretend to say. 

Figaro. But what do you think ? 

StuaneUa. I should think, yes. 

Figaro. I should think, no. 

Susan^ta. Indeed !— -for what reason ? 

Figaro, Oh, that's a secret. 

Susanettet. A secret I But however it does'nt concern me— 

Figaro. Oh dear no, nor me — and as we are both neutral in ticf 
matter you know — I don't mind telling you ; but you'll prontf 
not to tell again— 

Susanetta, Oh, can you suppose — 

Figaro. I do not — I do not — Indeed there is one person I cou'i 
swear you would not tell, for the world ! 

Susanetta. Who's that ? 

Figaro. The Count. 

Susanetta. The Count ! why not bun in particular ? {AsiiU.) I 
begin to fear — 

Figaro. (Aside.) She's alarmed !— I'll frighten it all out of bei. 
{(doud,) Do you know 1 suspect — 

Susanetta, You suspect — 

Figaro. That this new comer — 

Susanetta. Well, well ! 

i^oro. This young, impudent fellow, Who calls hinaelf Figaro-^ 

Susanetta. Yes, yes — 

^i^aro. And pretends to be a servant— 

Susanetta. Pretends to be ! {Aside) oh mercy ! 

Figaro. But it don't concern you, and so — 

Susanetta (Aside.) What shall we do ! ^Ahud) No, no, it don't 
concern me certainly — ^but— 

Figaro. Well, as I've begun, I say then that from a certain air— 
and manner— and — so forth ; I suspect — ^nay, I'm certain, that thit 
pretended valet, is — 
- Susanetta. Who ? What ? . 

Figaro, Most moral and conscientious of chambermaids, can't 
you imagine ? To be plain, don't you know! 

Susanna. Not I— Senor Figaro — I do not know — 

Figaro. Then I dOt and I will tell you cousin — 

Susanetta. (Aside.) Santa Barbara I It's all over with us. 

Figaro, He is — (Aside,) It's all right, she's ready to faint ! (AM 
He is— a lover in disguise. Cousin^ and his name, — shall I tell tcs 
bis name, Cousin ? 



8CEVE I. THE TWO FIGAROS. 29 

Susanetta, No, no— -I don't want to know it-~It*B nothing to 
me— 

Figaro. His name — ^the name of this disguised lover is — 

SuMMeUa. Oh, hash ! don't ! — ^I won't hear it ! I won't hear it ! 
{Puti her fingers in her ears,) 

Fiffaro. {aside) What a pity! I coud'nt tell her if she would. But 
no matter — Ha, ha, ha ! I've frightened her out of her wits, and 
convinced myselfof the principal truth. (il2oucI.)Well, as you won't 
hear it my dear, cousin. I shall go and tell the Count, here, he's 
in the garden 

SuMometta. O surely ! You won't do that, after promising to he 
neutral ? 

Figaro, The treaty ishroken; no more sailing under false colours, 
my pretty pirate ; mine are nailed to the mast head and I'll sink 
myself or blow you out of the water ! [Exit Figaro, b. 

Susanetta, We are ruined 1 Nothing can save us, if he really 
knows ; but does he really know, or does he only invent, for the 
sake of sounding. Oh, if it should only be that after all ! I said 
nothing ! He is none the wiser for me. 

Enter Cberubino, u. B. B. 

Oh Colonel ! I'm so glad you've returned, here's such a business 

Chervbino. What's the matter ? 

Susanetta. Figaro, suspects, and .perhaps knows who you are, 
and what you've come for. 

Chervbino Impossible ! what has he said ? 

Susanetta, That you are a lover in disguise, and that he knows 
your name? 

Chervbino, But hedid'nt tell you (ftot— * 

Susanetta. No — not the name-— 

Chervbino, Then he does not know, depend upon it. 

Susanetta. But he's gone to tell the Count what he does know— • 

(" Aprite presto aprite, ") 

Susanetta. 'A pretty scrape we're in, sir ! 

Our plot's not worth a pin, sir 1 

Our hopes are all over. 

He knows you're a lover — 

Oh dear, what shall we do ! 
(^^terub. Suppose I own I am in love 

And say that 'tis with you. 
Susanetta. A very pretty, story. 

No— that wo'nt do. 

No, no, no, no, 'twill never do. 
Cherub. Yes, yes, yes, yes, I say 'twill do. 
Susanetta. He never will believe you. 
Chervb. Let not your fears deceive you. 

Why, who can contradict me ? 
Susanetta. Why, Figaro knows better — 
Cherub., But how can he convict me ? 
Susanetta. The Senorita, she there-;- 
Ch»ub. I know, he chanced to see there, 

But pretty Susanetta, 

The Count saw you and me there. 



30 TES TWO FIGAROS, , iCT H 

Susanetta. 1^'ell, wel). If it must be so— 

They're coming ! they're coming sir, this way. 
C^-an^X "lnow do'nt you contradict me, 
^ What ever I may say. 

fJ^aaneUa. I'd give a twelve-months' wages 

I was twenty miles away ( 
Cherub. We'll puzzle them completely. 

We'll mystify them neatly. 

Caution ! the foe ia nigh. 
Susanetta. O dear, you've frightned me so, 

I've half a mind to cry — 

O mercy I O mer— (he stopt her mouih.) 

Cherub. Don't stir; and whatever I say don't contradict mc. 

Enter the Count and Figaro, a. 

Count, (c.) Nay, nay, I insist on your being present. 

Figaro, (r.) Oh, with all my heart. Sir. 

Count. And luckily, there he is. 

Figaro. And Susanetta with him, whispering. I am curious f 
know what story they will trump up. 

Count. You, Sirrah, come hither. Susanetta, stay there. 

Cherub: I have delivered your letter, my Lord,^ to the notar 
and he will be here at six this evening, with the writings you hr* 
commanded. 

Count. You really have been to him then ? 

Cherub. Assuredly, my Lord. There is his answer to sob. 
particular questions in your letter. [Gwes a lett^' 

Count. So there is, and in his hand- writing too. You see, Figar 
you are wrong in your first guess, that he wouldn't seek the notir? 

Figaro. O, I'll grant that, my Lord, that's of little impopUntf 
Come to the main point. 

Count. I will, I will. He shall clear himself, or out of the hou-= 
he goes, be assured of that. {To Chervhino.) So far so good, Sir- 
rah; but there is a serious charge against you. Sirrah. Yqji -'' 
accused of having introduced yourself here under false pretences. 

Chervh. I, my -Lord? 

Count. Yes, you Sirrah ! Your name is not Figaro. 

Cherub. Certainly not, my Lord. It is an assumed name. I tc : 
your Lordship so at first. 

Count. Egad, so he did; that's very true, Figaro; he did H] 
at first it was an assumed name. 

Figaro. What does that signify. Let him tell you his real nam' 

Count. Ay€y Sirrah ; if you are an honest young man, irtiat t' 
your real name .' 

Cherub. I am a foundling, my Lord. I do not know the naiK 
of my fiamily. I mentioned that fact also. 

Count, So he did, Figaro ; so he did. 

Figaro. But are you obliged to believe. him, my Lord? Is*? 
he has another name ; I know he has. 

Cherub. Then what is it, if you know ? 

Gmnt. Aye, what is it, if you know ? 

Figaro. It doesn't signify ; I know he's an impostor, 

Susanetta. {Aside.) He knows nothing. 



SCENE I. THE TWO FIGAROS. 31 

Count (to Figaro.) So you keep saying. But that remains tp 
be proved. Had you any secret motive for entering my service ? 

[To Cherubino. 

Figaro. As if he*d tell you, my Lord. 

Cherub. Why, if I must tell, I vrould sooner tell his Lordship 
than any- one else. 

Figaro. There 1 there ! He confesses. 

Cherub. WeU, sooner than have my character whispered avray 
by you, Senor Figaro, I will confess, vdth Susanetta's permission. 

figaro. Sttsanettal I t(dd you, my Lord, she was an accom- 
plice. 

Susanetta. Oh, I've no objectionj I*m sure, since it's come to this. 

Counvt. What ! there was a motive, then ? If it should be as he 
says — Confess, rascal 1 

Oiervb. I do, my Lord. That it was love, powerful, all mighty 
love, that induced me to request the Colonel to recommend me 
to your service. 

Qyimt. He is a lover in disguise I Oh, you villain J 

Qhervh. Nay, no viUain» my Lord. My intentions are honourable. 

Count. Honourable I .Why, you impudent varlet, would you 
dare to propose for my daughter ? 

Cherub. Your daughter, my Lord ? Saints preserve me ! No. 
The object of my affection is Susanetta. 

Count and Figaro. Susanetta I 

Susanetta. (Curtseying ^ R. c.) Yes, if you please, my Lord. 

Count, Why, Figaro I 

Figaro. They'll drive me crazy 1 Susanetta — My Lord — my 
Lord — Do you really mean to believe this story ? 

Count. And why not ? Is there anything so improbable in it ? 

Figaro. Improbable J I tell you it is false altogether. He is 
in love with Senora Seraphina. I saw them together with my own 
eyes. 1 4:old you so. 

Couni. Yes ; I know you told me so ; but when I came, with 
my eyes — 

Figaro. Your eyes I {Stamping with rage) 

Count. I saw only Susanetta, and that is one proof. 

figaro; Proof 1 proof I Oh, Til have proof, if I die for it. 
He owned himself to me, that hq^ame here on purpose to break 
off the match with Don Alvaro. 

Clierub. Oh, Senor Figaro ! Fie, for shame 1 

Count. Aye, aye, fie for shame, Figaro I These assertions vrithout 
any thing to supjjort them are very disgraceful, even if vsrell meant. 
Let me hear no' more of them. If the young man like your 
cousm, and she like him, it's their ovni business : I've no objectioiv 
to it whatever. Let them marry one another as soon as they like. 

Susanetta 8f Chcrvb. Thank you, my Lord. 

Cherub. There Senor Figaro ;. we're to marry one another as 
soon as we like. What have you to say to that ? 

(*' Dolce nodo.'*) 

Susanetta, O, how (•harming ! 
Figaro. Charming! 



32 THE TWO riOAROS. ACT II 

Susanetta, My own! my dearest I 

We'U be married i 
Figaro. Married I 

Svsanetta. Without delay, Sir ! [2b ifce Covm. 

(Jfierub, Eyer grateiiil 1 
Figaro. Grateful 1 

Count. Joy's in their featorei ! 
Cherub. Your humble servants, 

For your welfare—^ 
Figaro. Welfare! 

Count. Happy creatures 1 
Cherub. Are bound to pray, Sir. 

For your welfare are bound to pray t 
Count. Happy, happy creatures ! 

Joy is shining in their features I 

Happy day 1 happy day 1 

Enier FxobbllO l. 

FioreUo. His reyerence, the Canon Basilio, my Lord. 

Count. Ah, my old Mend Basil. He's come, no doubt, to piy 
his respects to the Countess, his former pupil. Usher him to yo? 
Lady, I am coming directly. lExit FiORELLO, i 

Figaro. Basil I My Lord, one moment, I beg. — ^YoaWk' 
proofs from me : I require proofs from them in my turn. They 
say, and you say, they are to be married. Be it so. The reraafi 
Canon is here. If they are serious, let them be married on tb« 
instant, and my suspicions are over. 

Susarietta. Eh! 

CJ^erub. What? 

Figaro. Look, my Lord, they are disconcerted. Insist uponH 

Coumt. Well ; what do you say young people ? You do se^ 
rather fluttered. 

Susanetta. Dear, my Lord, it's enough to flutter any body, to ^ 
ordered, all of a sudden. 

Cherub. To-morrow morning, if your Lordship pleases. 

Figaro. This very moment, if your Lordship would be satisfied 
I'U fetch his Reverence. 

C/mnt. WeU, fetch hun, Figard^; for I will have this matter clear 
ed up. 

Figaro. I fly, my Lord, (erouet to l.) Viva ! I have '^i"' 
Caught in their own snare. ' lExit Figaro, i-- 

Cherub, {Aside to Susanetta.) What's to be done now ? 

Susanetta. (Aside to Cherubino.) It's my turn. Don't osot'^' 
diet me. 

Count. No whispering ; no connivance ! My doubts retoni' 
Tremble i 

Susanetta. I do, from head to foot. And its no use your heSP^' 
Sir. (7b Cherubino.) I will tell my Lord every thing, and thro' 
myself on his mercy. 

Count. ■ It's your only chance, mistress, if^ou have been goa^^V 

Susanetta, (crossing to Count and falhng on her JImeef .)0h, yes, y^ 
my Lord, I have conspired with him to deceive your Lordi^F 
but only forgive m» this time. 



8CEKE t. THE TWO FI6AE0S. 33 

Count, Confess all then, without evasion. But as for that 
traitor — 

Siuanetta^ Oh, indeed, mj Lord, you must forgive him too. He 
is most penitent for his crime. 

Cowtt, Then Figaro was right. 

Susanetta. No, no, Sir ; Figaro knows nothing of the truth, Sir, 
and never must know, Sir. If he should know, we should be all 
murdered, periiaps. 

Count. What do jou mean, woman ? Speak out. 

Siuanetta, O, Sir ; I did deceive you ; but it was to save my 
cousin, Sir, my poor cousin Susanna. 

Count. Susanna 1 

Sutanetta. Yes, Su:. It's Susanna that this young man loves, 
Sir — to distraction. And she, Sir, neglected by her husband, I 
am afraid is inclined to return his affection ; but I Ve talked with 
him, 1^, and reasoned with him ; and so has my young Lady ; for 
ittcHu she that Figaro saw talking to him to-day. Sir, before you 
came and foimd me. O, I'll tell you the whole truth now. Sir. 
But, for mercy sake. Sir! for my sake. Sir I for Susanna's sake, Sir! 
don't tell F^o. We shall be all mur — ^mur— mur Oh I Oh 1 Oh ! 

Count. Then don't make such a devil of a noise yourself about 
it, or the whole city will know. 

Susanna. You wont tell Figaro— 

Count. Get up, do, and compose yourself. Upon my honour, 
joa are a fine young libertine, {to Cherubino.) 

Cherub. I am sensible of my faidt, Sir ; and if you will only par- 
don me, I promise— 

Count. {Aside,) Ha 1 ha 1 ha ! I can't help laughing though — 
to think that poor Figaro, who is so mighty sharp-sighted in others 
affairs, shoul£i't suspect — under his very nose — Ha, ha I Ahem ! 

f^aro, {Without L.) This way, Iteverencia, this way. 

Cherub. May I trust, Sir, thatyou willnot tdl Figaro, for Susan- 
na's sake. 

Count. We shall see — ^we shall see how you behave. 

Enter Figaro, with Basil, l. 

Figaro, (c c.) Here, my Lord, here is the reverend Canon. 

dunt. (b.) Glad to see you, my old Mend. 

BasU. (c.) I^aro tells me you want — 

Count, No, no, not now ; I've changed my mind. 

Figaro, Changed your mind 1 

C6wHt. Yes, yes, flgaro ; I know every thing. Susanetta has con- 
fessed every thing ; but you know nothing, and perhaps, it's just 
as well that you don't. 

Figaro, Oh 1 you know every thing and I know nothing. Very 
well, very well. O, my head I my head ! 

Count. {Aside.) Egad ! that looks as if he had a shrewd guess. 
{Aloud.) Have you seen your old pupil, Basil ? 

BasU. Not yet, m/Lord; Figaro came and — 

Count. Come with me, then ; she'll be delighted to talk of old 
times. You remember the music lesson ? Eh 1 

BasU. Aye, aye. 

Count, And the scarlet fever. 



34 THE TWO FIGAROS. ACT :i. 

Basil, Aye, aye. 

Cotmt, And tibe way we tricked that poor old Doctor Baitob. 
Basil, Aye, aye, aye 1 ha, ha, ha ! 

Count. Ha, ha, ha !. There never was a man so bamboozled 
Figaro. (Atide.) Oh, yes, there was. 

Count. Come along. (Croitestoh.) Susanetta, send your cousi 
to me ; I want to talk to her. Sirrah Figaro the second, I've m 
done with you yet. Figaro the first, if you take my adTice, yoa'I 
ask no more questions. Drop the subject. Come Basils cm< 
{Sings to the air of** Dr. BaHolo " in " II Barhiere. ") 
Come, come and see Rosina, 
And her daughter, Seraphina. 

[^Exewnt Count and Basil, up tf^i 
Figaro. Pray Susanetta, may I enquire — 
Susanetta. Hush I take my lord's advice — drop the subject. 

[F^ Susanetta, E. 

Figaro. 'Sdeath and fury ! who ever jou are I insist — 

ChervJbino. Hush 1 Take my lord's advice — drop the subject. 

[Exit Cherubino, L 

Figaro. I shall drop myself with shame and vexation ! {^ 
into a chair.) 

Enter Toribio, u. e. r. . 

Toribio. Figaro ! 

-Figaro. Oh you're come at last are you ? You're a useful ally tmlj. 

Toribio. I have made all the haste I could. What's the matter? 
Your looks alarm me 1 

Figaro, The matter ! you've a rival ! 

Toribio. Who is he ? 

Figaro. Ah, find that out if you can 1 He's the devil I ^ 
iieve — at least he's playing the devil with us — and there's a ^ 
fiend to assist him in the shape of a cousin of my wife ! I confer 
with shame — that I am at my wits end. 

Toribio. You ? impossible I 

Figaro. There's but one chance left. The Count wiD beliere bo* 
t^ing I say, but you may have some influence — go to him, ^ 
all you can out of him, he'll tell you every thing, say nothing ^ 
you've told me and then for a grand final effort. 

Toribio. Stay one moment. 

Figaro, What now ? 

Toribio. Who's that leaning against the orange tree ? 

Figaro. That — that's he ! my pest — my double — my denifli 
Figarothe second. 

Toribio. Santissimo 1 It's very like him. 

Figaro. Him 1 who ? You know who he is then ? 

Toribio. No, but if it is the person I think, he knows who 1 8S' 

Figaro. Diavolo I 

Toribio. Wait here — I'll steal round the garden and getane*^ 
look". [Exit ToRiBiOjU-E*- 

Figaro. Stay — say — ^tell me first — (foUcimitg.) 

Enter Fiorello, l. 
Fiorellc, Figaro, the Count wants you immediately. 



SCENE I. THE l*WO FIGAROS. 35 

Tigaro. Vm coining. 

J'iorello* (stopjnng him) Going rather — ^that won't do, you must 
follow me to his chamber directiy. 

Figaro. Very well, very well — (Ande.) Fortune, thou blind 
goddess, do as thou wilt, for I'm as much in ^e dark at present 
as thou art. [^Exeunt Figaro cmd Fioilbllo, l. 

Enter Susanna avd Susanbtta, ftocfc l. 

Susanna. Upon my word, Susanetta, a pretty situation you've 
placed me in. 

Susanetta. Think what a 8i|iiation we were in — ^we should have 
been married in two minutes. The case was desperate I 

Susanna, The T^ount is not to tell Figaro. 

Susaneita. Of course we begg'd him not ; but if he does so much 
the better. 

Susanna. So much the better ! suppose he should believe it, 
what's to become of me ? 

Susanetta. Oh, there's no danger — here comes the Count — I'll 
vanish. [Exit Susanetta, r. 

Enter Count, down steps. 

Count to Susanna. So Susanna, your cousin has told you I sup- 
pose, that I am aware of every thing. 

Susanna. It is not my fault, indeed, my Lord, I can assure 
you. I did not encourage him. 

Count. Well, well, I hope you did not ; and the young man 
prof^ses to be sorry for his behaviour. 

Susanna. Oh yes, Sir,' he had determined indeed to leave the 
house when the suspicions of Figaro — 

Count. Well, you can't wonder that he suspected something 
was wrong, though he little guessed what it really was ; but I have 
made up my mind to tell him every thing. 

Susanna. You have. Sir } O dear, suppose he should poison 
me in a fit of jealousy. 

"Count. Don't be alarmed. I mean to have a clear understanding 
and a complete reconciliation. I have sent for both the Figai-oa, 
and here comes the first. 

Enter FiGARO, L. . 

Figaro. Your Lordship sent for me ? 

Qnmt. I did. I have been having some little talk with Su- 
sanna, and she confirms what Susanetta told me. 

Figaro. I've no doubt she does. 

Count. But she is not to blame afc all—so don't fly out when I 
^ell you that the secret motive which induced the young man to 
enter my service, was — mind I say was — ^for it exists no longer, a 
passion for your wife. 

Figaro. For my wife ! 

Count. Now no anger, no jealousy, because its all over. Susanna 
has very properly rebuked him. He sees, and is sorry for bis 
fault, and I request you will embrace your wife and show that yott 
don't syspect her of having encouraged his attentions. 



•/ 



2g THE TWO FIOAROi. ACT U 

Figoirp. Ttore is'nt the dightcst occasion for cmbracmg, my 
Lord, she knows I do'nt believe a word of it. 

Cbin/. Come, tbat't generous I Now continue to act m tbu 

spirit. 

Enter Chbrubino, b. 

Here is the penitent— forgive him. 
Figqiro, (b.) M I do — 
G,«n*. (c.) What ? when I assure you- 
Chprvbino (vi^ How— my Lord, have you then- 
Sves, it w» the bJ w.y to^ dl .-.pidon. ^ ret ; » 

"X!S!"/^7moreofU. »»r«.ce, I'tc &d enough oft 
CmMM. OSmaimH Before you too I 
Suuxna. De« hiuband-he J^„P~"'^«<* ,*»J»f^"f * e- 
CAeruftMO, Oh yes-it was a foUy-« madness ! But myejo 

are opened. 

SumwM, He loves me no longer. ^ 

OWrttWno. A wUd passion has given way to a '^fP*^^'^. 
-S-utanna. If you had not neglected me— he could not have pt 

severed. 

{From, Fmole, lit Act, " III Barbierer) 

Sxuawna. 
O forgive him but this time, sir, 
He's aware, sir, of his crime sir. 
And he'll never, no, he'll never, 
•Diink of doing so again. . 

C&eru&tno. 
Forgave me but this time, sir, 
I'm aware, sir, of my crime, sir, 
' And I'll never— no, I'll never, 
Think of doing so again. 

Cownt. 
O forgive him ! you had better. 
Passion's very hard to fetter. 
He will ever be your debtor, 
And ne'er do the tike again. 

EfUer SusANBTTA, B. and Fiobbllo and Servanttt i" 

What has caused this clamour dire. 
Is it murder ? Is it fire ? — 
We have come Sir, to enquire. 
Have the goodfiess tu explain 1 

Count, Silence I . « « «ri^ 

(Drives aU out, l. except Figaro, Chebubino <$• StrsANitTA ^ 
Figaro, Enough I enough 1— you have it your own way no*- 
must wait my time. 

Count, Do you forgive him ? . . . v « . .r ,«,(' 

Figaro. For loving my wife, certainly. {Ande.) But not for a>.' 

ti^^g her husband. 

Count. Well then there's an end of it 



x: 



SCENE I. THE TWO FIGAROS. 37 

Cherubino, But Sir, I cannot stay in your service, if— 

Count, Oh, nonsense, nonsense I Susanna, do you go and tell 
your lady that I am going out for an hour and that if Don Alraro 
returns before I do, she must receive him. You, sirtah(^o Ckeruhino) 
go fetch my hat and cane. Well 1 {to Swatma) what do you stop 
for? 

Staanna, {(icrosttoCoitnt,) If you please, my Lord, let him fetch 
the hat and cane first, and then I'll go to my Lady. 

Cbu9tf . What on earth's that for ? 

Svaaima, Because we must both go the same way, and if we 
go together, Figaro will be sure to take some new crotchet into 
his head. • 

Cownt. Pshaw, stuff 1 Go directly both of you. 

[Exeunt ^jjSKVS A f and Cherubino, l. 
You're not such a fool, Figaro, as to fancy still that — 

Figaro, My Lord — I am aware, all I can say is useless. But if 
thTs day passes over, without my proving to you, that you are 
grossly duped. 

QnmJt, Figaro 1 

Figaro, Your patience but one moment, Sir. This fellow, who- 
ever he is, I repeat to you, has a design on your daughter ; my wife 
and her cousin are both in the plot — ^they are moving heav'n and 
earth to break off the match with Don Alvaro ; and though, as 
you know, I was opposed to it myself, he is your friend, and as 
such, I will assist him in exposing this vile conspiracy. 

Covad, You astonish me I 

Figaro, Oblige me, Sir, by stealing back to the house, without 
any body's seeing you. Come to my room. The traitors believing 
UB to be both absent, for you shall give me leave to go out, will be 
sure to lay their heads together somewhere, and if I do not prove 

to you — 
Gnad, If you do not — I will discharge you on the instant. 
Figaro, I will be content to go, my Lord. It's a bargain. 
Count, It is. 

Elder Cherubino, writh Hat and Cane, l, 

Cherubino, Your hat and cane, my Lord. 

Count, Very well. I shall be back before six to meet the Notary ; 
but if any thing should detain me, of course he must wait. 

Cherubino, Yes, my Lord. 

Count, Figaro, you may go where you wish, but mind you return 
by six o'clock also. lExit r. 

figaro. Depend upon it, my Lord — ^much obliged. 

Cherubino. {Aside.) Both going out — ^what's on foot now? 

I^arQ, {Ande.) Now if Toribio has but ascertained— 

Cherubino, Are you going out Figaro ? 

Figaro. With your permission. 

Cherubino, What, and leave me at home with Susanna. What 
confidence you must have in us both I Ha, ha, ha ! but it was'nt 
a bad joke eh ? to make the Count believe I was in love with your) 
wife! Ha, ha, ha! 

Figaro, {Aside,) 'Sdeath 1 if he says he is'nt, perhaps it's true 
(alovd) Do you mean to say it was 'a joke, then ? 



^8 THE TWO FI04K08. ACT 11 

Cherub, Why you know it was a story, trump'd up to getSosa- 
netta and I out of the scrape of the wedding. Ingenious, was'ntit 

Figaro. And you confess this to me ? 

Oierttbino. To be sure. I tell you the plain troth on purpose t) 
puizle you. I should have no chance with you at lying. Comf 
own now that I do not disgrace the name of Figaro. 

Figaro. (Atidcj as if struck by a sudden thought.) I'll try a net 
way ! (aloud.) Well, I do own it— frankly — candidly — ^you are to' 
much for me. Senor, (for I am convinced you are a gentleman I 
will be as sincere as you are. Let us come to an understandim 
If you love the Senorita and she returns your affection ; deal with ik 
as you would with any other person in the same situation. Pro 
*mise me a handsome gratuity iif you succeed, and I'll work as haru 
for you against the Count. 

Oierubino. As you did for the Count against Dr. Bartolo. 

Figaro. I will, by my love of gold, and my reputation for rognerj. 
You can't doubt the oath. • 

Cherubino. Give me your hand — I will trust you. 

Figaro. (Aside.) I have him. 

Cherubino. My dear Figaro, you can be of the greatest assist- 
ance to me : and as' you have now promised to sei^e me, and I hare 
made up my mind to admit you to my fullest confidence — kw. 
in the first place — (looking abovi Mm cautioiisly.) 

Figaro. (Aside.) Oh my Lord, my Lord ! Why are you D<:i' 
within hearing. 

OiervMno. That — but pray do not divulge the secret — ^that — ^whs: 
you don't know, you can't tell, and tliat the little you do kno'"' 
is of no consequence, because nobody will believe you. - 

Figaro. Confusion ! Master or servant ! Man or devil ! who is 
sent to torment me, I wiU know who and what you are ? 

Cherubino. Well, well,there, keep your temper, and I don't mini 
telling you that — I am — Figaro the second in the service of Count Al- 
maviva, residing at his lordships palace, near Seville in Andalusia. 
There's my name, quality, and address, should you wish to write to 
me while you are from home, and. so a pleasant walk to you, Seuof 
Figaro the first. [£xi^ Cherubino, l 

Fioraro. He'll drive me distracted. 

_■_ 

ToRiBio, entering sudderdy, 

Torihio. It's all over with us, my fears were light, it is the very 
man. ^ 

Figaro. But who ? what man — don't you know his name ? 

Tbrifcto. No. He's a friend of iny old master, Don Pablos d- 
Merida, and travelled with us from Barcelona to Madrid, two years 
. ago ; he was following up some love affair, and passed as s 
Frenchman, but Don Pablos told me he was an officer in the Span- 
ish service. It's the very man, I tell you. I've been listening ami 
know his voice. 

Figaro, From Barcelona to Madrid, two years ago, and know! 
you servant — confusion-ywe must have a story to meet that. 

if it comes out — but I've hopps of getting him out first — keep you 
out of the way one moment longer, the Count is in his room by this 
time ! It's neck or nothing f But I'd almost give my neck to be 
revenged on him. \_Exit Toribio, r. Figaro, l. • back arch. 



$CEXE 1. THE TWO FIGAROS. 39 

Enter Countess and Susanna, down steps. 

Omntess. That's all very Tvell, Susanna ; but when the Notary 
trrives with the contract, how are we to avoid its being signed ? 

Susanna. WTiy, Madam, if the Colonel cannot find a better rea- 
OQ for interfering, he means to declare himself at once, and try 
he effect of your united supplications. 

Countess. It will be useless ; unless he can shake the credit of 
Don Alvaro^and, by the bye, it's very strange, the Don should 
lot have returned. 

Susanna. Very, my lady. It looks as if he kept out of the way 
m purpose. 

Enter Seraphina, l. 

Seraphina. Oh, Madam I Figaro is gone out as well as Papa ; 
iadSusanetta, and — and, somebody else, wishes to speak with you. 

(xAintess. Let them come hither. 

Susanna. Figaro gone out too I Now what can that be for ? some 
mischief I'll be bound, Madam. 

* 

Enter Cherubino and Susanetta, l. 

('* Piano, Pianissimo.") 

Oiervbino. 
Presto, Prestissimo ! Council let's hold, 
When the cat's out — ^the mice are bold. 
(Figaro and the CovnTf steal in behind, back arch l.) 

Cherubiru), Susanetta, Susanna and Seraphina. 
Presto ! Prestissimo, &c. 

Count. (^Aside.) 
Piano, Pianissimo ! — Council they hold, 
Whtn the cat's out — ^the mice are bold I 

Susanetta. 
Now is the moment — no body's near I 
All foes are absent ! The coast is clear ; 
Piano, — Piano ! 

All. 
Presto ! Prestissimo, &c. 

Chervhino. Quick, quick, Madam ! Let us snatch this oppor- 
tunity to hold a council of war. I have caught a glimpse of 
my rival — this redoubted Don Alvaro. 

Susanna. And do you know him ? 

Cherubino. I am dmost sure I do— but to be certain and expose 
bim properly, I must find a friend, who luckily for us is at this 
moment in SeviDe. 

(buntess. You must leave us then ? • ^ 

Cherubino. (r.) For a short time. All that I ask therefore of 

you, madam, and of the Senorita, is to be firm in your refusal, 

sLould the Count press the signatures before my return. Do that, 

^d I promise you, Seraphina shall never be the wife of Don Alvaro. 

( Count advances furioiishj, c . ) 

^^nt. Out of my house I Traitor i Impostor ! 



/ 



40 THE TWO FIGAROS. ACT IL 

An. The Count I 

Sxuatma, And my n^ne of a husband. 

Courd. Aye, the Count, who b to be duped no longer. Wttfain 
there, Fiorello— Pedro— Lopez — who waita? 

[£n/«r FioBXLLO and SsBVANTS L. — Figaro, odoances. r. 

Counteis, (r.) Hear me, my Lord. 

Coimt, IVe heard enough 1 To your chamber, Madam— and 
you, Seraphina, this instant. 

Cherubino, {Aside^ to Seraphina.) Say nothing — ^fear nothing. 

[ExewnJt Countess and Seraphina, uf Ste^. 

Count, Fiorello, turn that person out of the house I If he is a 
gentleman, he knows his remedy — ^but turn him out, this instant. 

Figaro, Adieu ! Figaro the second \ 

Cherubino, Au revoir I Figaro the first 1 

Count (to Susanetta,) And you, minx, out with you, also ; foUov 
your accomplice — ^Troop I 

Susanetta, You'll be sorry for this, my Lord. 

Figaro, Good bye. Cousin, I told you I'd blow you out of the 
water. 

Susanetta. They laugh longest, who laugh last — cousin, 

(" Buona Sera,'*) • 

Cherubino and Susanetta, 
Fare you well, sir — ^who's the dupe, sir, 
When too late, sir — ^you will know ! 

Fiorello. 
There's the door, sir, wiU you troop, sir 1 . 
Sweet Senora 1 Prithee go. 

Cherubino and Susanetta. 
Peace be with you, good Senor. 

Count and Flo/rello, 
Out this instant — there's the door. 
[£x^n^ Cherubino, Susanetta, Fiorello and Servants u.e* 

Count, As for you, mistress Susanna, I leave you to your husband 

Figaro, (r.) Oh don't leave her to me, pray ; out with her too. 
if she deserves it. 

Susanna, (l.) Brute 1 

Count. Leave the room. 

Susanna, - Oh ! I little thought I should ever have reason to thaui 
the stars, I was your wife. But I do now^— for the right it gives ib« 
to plague you as long as I live. {Exit Susanna, l 

Figaro. Affectionate creature I 

Enter Fiorello, r. 

Fiorello, The notary is come, my Lord. 

Count. Good, good. Figaro, arrange every thing for the ce^ 
mony. I go for Don Alvaro. lExit Fiorello, »• 

Figaro, Depend upon me, my Lord. 

Count. I do, I do I My only faithful Figaro how I have wroi 
you. {Exit Count, l. vpstep- 

Ftgaro, Don't mention it, my Lord. The obligation is mutual- 
(brings two chairs from L. and places them at the tdbleywHhAeO^ 



SCENE f. THE TWO FIGAROS. 41 

already on the stage) Viva ! *viva I Victory ! victory ! The enemy 
is routed completely. I am master of the field I Now let the 
contract be signed, and the money paid ; I'll take care that half 
of the cash at least never goes back again I I saw it all to-day, in 
his cabinet, in good hard glittering dublcions. O, how my fingers 
did itch for the handling. 

Enter Susanna, l. 

Well ; what do you want? 

Susanna. You. Do you wish ever to know another quiet moment ? 

Figaro. Most fervently. For there's only one way I'm likely to 
get it. 

Svjsanna. I understand you ; but never mind that. Figaro, you'll 
break my Lady's heart, and the poor Senorita's. That can do you 
no good — ^you shan't break mine — I'm determined — so you need'nt 
hope fol* that, therefore if you've a heart your8elf---delay this 
marriage — I know you've the power — delay it only for a few hours. 

Figaro. I have no heart, I gave it to you long ago, and as to de- 
laying the marriage, that's impossible. The Notary is here. 
Look, I'm placing the table on which the contract is to be signed ; 
there's the chair in which the Notary will sit, here are two more 
for my Lady, and the blushing bride, who will weep with one eye 
whilst she ogles her intended with the other. Oh ! bless your 
soul, I know the sex. Here will stand the Count, and by his side 
the happy bridegroom. I, in this comer enjoying the picture, and 
you in that, biting your nails so for vexation that they wont be 
able to tear my eyes out. 

Susanna. They shall do it now. (H^aro rrxns (nut k. latching.) 
Wretch ! monster ! Oh I that I could find some way — 

£n^er ScRiBLEROs, r. u. s. 

Scrible, Your pardon, Senora, I was told Senor Figaro was here. 

Swanna. Figaro ! my husband— or — 

^crible. Four husband? Ah, madam, have I the honor — {bowii/tg.) 

Susanna. (Aside.) This must be the Notary — ^if I could get rid 
of him — {aloud)YovL come about the marriage — 

Scribleros. I do, madam ; I perceive he has told you the plot. 

Susanna (Aside.) The plot ? O, fortune I This may be worth 
every thing to us. (Aloud,) Oh yes, of course — he would conceal 
nothing firom his wife — I am as much interested as himself in this 
business. 

Scrible. Ahl Madam — ^your most devoted; I am under great 
obligations to Senor Figaro. 

Susanna. No doubt — ^but the plot — ^you were about to say some- 
tWng and we may be interrupted. The parties are on the point of • 
signing the contract. 

Scrible. Yes, yes, and I want to know if the disguised lover 
18 to frustrate the scheme— or if the impostor is to succeed. . 

Susanna, The impostor ! You know he's an impostor then ? 

Scrible. Oh yes — ^that's understood ; Senor Figaro proposes that 
he should succeed, and divide the portion wiUi the rogue who 
introduced him, but I— 

Susanna, You object ? 



42 THE TWO FIGAfiOS. ACT II. 

'-',r,},ir. Why, betweeen ourselves, inadam, what do you think: 
Don't you fttl that the .situation is dangerous ? 

-'"'morula. (Aside.) He's frightened and will tell a]l.(Aloud.)\iit 
you object to — 

St-rible. Why, 1 confess I think if the intrijguers are to be tai- 
uii\])hfuit, that I shall run a risk of being what is vulgarly called 
— damned — sa\in,i; your presence, madam. 

Susajina. I perfectly agree with ygu.; and, since you have thought 
bitter of it — in two words, if you are well paid for it, will vou 
detail this plot to the Count ? 
.Scrihle. With the greatest pleasure madam ; but Senor Kgaro— 

Susanna. O ! never fear him — come with me this moment to tk 
Countess. 

<ScribIe. To the Countess? 

Susamia. Yes, we must settle all with her first. 

Siviblc. As you please, madam. (Aside.) What an honor ! I ^ 
dedicate the play to her. 

Sifsoniia. Quick, quick ! It shall make your fortune. 

Scrihle. I have no doubt of it. Here's a piece of luck ! — 

[Exeunt Susanna and Scribjlebos. i- 
Fnter Count, Toribio and Figaro, idth the Notary, k. 

Count. At last, Don Alvaro, I shall call you my son. (TOfNOan. 
AVeleoL'ic, my good fiiend, you have prepared the contract ? 

NoUiTii. According to the instructions of your Lordship's lettf 
this moniing. 

Cuunt. Very good ; please to be seated. ' 

^Notary takes the chair 'pointed out to him by Figaro. 

Fntcr ScRiBELos, Susanna, Seraphina, a?/d Countess l, 

Scrihle. (r. c.) You see, madam, there i* the Notary — lac; 
only — 

Susanna, (c.) It does'nt signify — you shall tell my Lord all. 

(^:unt. (l.) Who is that person ? WTiat is the meaning — 

Cowntess. My Lord, my Lord — this man will prove to you th:t 
Don Alvaro is a mere adventurer — introduced by Figaro who^'- 
share the portion you give your- daughter. 

Count. How ? > 

Toribio to Figaro. Traitor I ?" Altogether. 

Scrible. No indeed, my Lady. ^ 

Figaro to Toribio. (r.) Hold your tongue you fool. (.(4 ^t/t^d) Howl 
do you dare — ( To Scrible.) 

Scrihle. Not I, as I hope for mercy I It's your wife here— 
who mistook me for this gentleman and ineists that the plot A 
ray opera is true . 

Count and Toribio. The plot of your opera .'' 

Figaro. You hear, my Lord. It's my wife there, who in h«T 
passion, has made this stupid blunder. 

Si/sanna. It does'nt signify, you told him the storj', and you 
know it's true. 

Count. What story ? 

Figaro. My Lord, it's the most ridiculous thing ; this gentle- 
man is an author, and the story is pure invention — a subject fc* 
an opera — 

Scrible. Yes my Lord, an opera, here it is my lord, (crosses to c 



\ 



-'i 



SCENE I. THE TWO FIGAROS. '43 

Ftgaro. (Taking it from him.) Yes, here it is my Lord — your 
Ijordship will perhaps do him the honor to read it — some other 
day. {pushing Sceibi^eros over to r.) 

Count. Aye, aye — ^some other day, but let him begone now, 
and put an end to this folly — 

Figaro to Scribleros. Yes, you must begone now — call again 
to -morrow . ( Pushes him out e . ) 

Toribio to Figaro, What does this mean ? 

Figaro, (aside to him.') Never mind now. 

Countess and SerapJuna. (aside.) What's to be done ? • 

Susanna. Don't sign — ^let nothing induce you. 

Count. Silence woman! Are you mad? {to Notary.) Com- 
mence, Senor. 

Susanna. And the Colonel, not here ! 

Figaro. (Aside.) There's the picture, put as I designed it. 

Notai-y. (reading ) *' Before me, Alon2o Quiroga, Notary Public, 
&c. &c., and in presence of &c. &c. &c." Your name if you please 
Senor.'' 

Toribio. Don Alvaro de Ribera. 

Notary, (writing.) '' Don Alvaro de Ribera." — Any other title 
Senor ? 

Elder CHERUBiNom fuU uniform^ unfh Susanetta u. e. r, 

Cheruhino Alias, Toribio, valet to Don Pablos de Merida, wIk) 
is now at Seville, ready to prove the assertion of Colonel Cheru- 
bino, here present. 

Figaro. (Aside) Cherubino ! 

Toribio. Mercy, ray Lord 1 I confess — ^but it was Fi9;aro who — 

Cfterifbino. (c.) Begone, rascal ! whilst you're in a whole skin. 

[^Toribio runs oiit, \.. 

Count. (Collaring Figaro wfto is stealing away.) Figaro, you 
villain. 

Figaro (r. c.) My Lord, you know I always told you, you 
were too hasty ; if you had listened to my advice — 

Susanna, (r. c.) Out with him too, my Lord, if he deserves it. 

Susanetta. (r. c.) Who's blown out of the water now ? 

Figaro. Charming Cousin. 

Cherubino. What say you to my new name and address ? 

Figaro. Gallant Colonel I For old acquaintailce sake — consi- 
der, I've lived in this family for a long time, and work'd hard to be- 
nefit them and amuse others, and as to my roguery, that's what first 
recommended me to his Lordship's, service. If I had only been a 
barber, I should never have been the barbier ! Reraain'd aU my Ufe 
an indefinite article 1 

Susanna. My Lord — I am sure I should be the last person to 
say a word in his favour — but I am his wife — wev'e been marrieS 
sixteen years. 

Figaro. And when you talk of punishment, that should be taken 
into consideration my Lord. 

Ck>unt. I believe my folly has been more to blame than your 
roguery^ sirrah, I have almost deserved this lesson, and as it is to 
Cherubino I owe your defeat, he shall award your sentence. 



44 THE TWO FIGAROS. ACT II 

' Cfierubino, As Siuanna is generous enough to intercede fiKrhin, 
and in consideration of his former services tor my Lord and the 
Countess, I should be glad to extend mercy to him ; but ^ihit 
would the world say — 

Figaro. Ah, that's where my friend the author is puzzled too. 
He fears the world would say, the rogue ought to be punished, but 
I say, the world is a very good natur'd world — I'm sure I'tc abrsjs 
found it so : there are greater rogues in it than I, who are tolerated 
because they are diverting ones ; and if Figaro the first has been 
lucky enough to amuse that part of it here present, it will not con- 
demn the amiable weakness of ¥lgaro the second. {Advancing. 
We are all of us fallable mortals, and to parody the EngliBh Poet. 
If to my share some human errors fidl, 
Look in my face — ^and you'll forget them all I 

Finale. (*' // Barbiere.'') 

Chembino. 
Whatever faults you've seen, O 
■ To mercy's side pray lean, O 
In Colonel Chembino, 
Remember still the Page ! 

Chorut. 
And here for years sixteen, O 
" The Barber " re-engage! 

Sutanetta 

Though we've no Tamburini, 
No Grisi nor Rubini, 
We trust, you've heard Rossini, 
And now, and then, Mozart. 

Ouyrus, 

Can names alone, that end in ''ini" 
To you delight impart ? 



James Turner,—" Star Prei»" 20, Crotii-Street, Hatton-Gardea 



WEBSTER'S 
TIIir« BTATIOlirAIi drahia. 

MDER THE AUSPrCES OF THB DRAMATIC AUTHOR*' SOCIETY, 



/ 



V 



THE 

COUNTRY SQUIRE; 

OR, 

TWO DATS AT THE HALL, 

AN ORIGINAL COMEDY, 

BY 

CHARLES DANCE, Esq., 

(member of the dramatic authors' society.) 

AS performed at the 
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN. 



correctly printed from the prompter's copy, with 

the cast of characters, costume, scenic 

arrangement, sides of entrance and exit, 

and relative positions of the 

dramatis personje. 

with a 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF MRS. GLOVER. 



splendidly illustrated with an engraving, 
by orrin smith, from a drawing by pierce egan, the 

younger, taken DURING THE REPRESENTATION OF 

THE PIECE. 



LONDON: 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 



/ 



W. 8. JOHNSON, " NASSAU PRESS/' NASSAU STREET, SOBO 



*M^ 



DEDICATION. 



M.Y D£Aa Farrkn, 

There is perhaps no gratification more 
complete than that which a Dramatic Writer experiences in seeing 
a pet part of his own faultlessly performed. 

You have afforded me that gratification in Squire Broadlands 
and as a small hut earnest acknowledgment of it I have sincere 
pleasure in dedicating this Piece to you. 

Believe me to remain. 

Very faithfully your's, 

CHARLES DA^XE. 

Garrick Club, 



3&ininairlfe0# 



This admirable littW drama is purely English; English in con- 
struction, language, and character. Our love of country sparkles 
in the eyes of all during its representation and when in the last 
scene, the song of " The Old English GewUeman" is played and 
illustrated, it has never failed to have a most exciting effect; all 
seem wishing to shake " The Country Sqtdre' a" hand, but serve him 
more by shaking their own hands, which they do most heartily. 
The old English Gentleman, one of the olden time, is we fear 
nearly extinct, we say fear because the proper association of the 
landlord with his tenantry has always produced a happy result. 
In some isolated parts of the kingdom, the oxen and sheep may 
etill be seen roasted whole on festive occasions, and in the midst 
of fashion, at Brighton, one of its most favoured resorts, that 
noble patriot of art, the Earl of Egremont may be seen on the 
anniversary of his birth entertaining a thousand persons in true 
old English style under the blue canopy of heaven, himself 
anxiously attending to their wants, walking from table to table, 
and by his affability, winning golden opinions from those less 
elevated in life than himself, but from whose efforts flow the riches 
of the land, both in money and matter; for it is a remarkable cir- 
cumstance in the history of mankind, that some of the best books 
lusre been written, and some of the greatest achievements per- 
formed, by those whose origin was truly plebeiam. Nobiliku sola 
ut atque unica virtut. We cannot pass by unpraised the Morris- 
dance in this piece. It is admirably arranged and the nightly enccfre 
it is honoured with proves how well it is executed. While on this 
subject it may be well to mention that " Morris-dancers," is a vul- 
gar corruption of the Spanish word " morisco" signifying a Moor, 
as well as a dance, wherein, there were usually five men, and a boy 
dressed in a girrs habit, called the " Maid Morian," from the Italian 
word " morione" a head piece, because her head was particularly 
gaily ornamented. It is a dance of great antiquity* and is still to 
be seen at wakes, fairs, and sometimes in the streets of London, 
though somewhat despoiled of its original character. Maid Morian 
being dispensed with, and the number of men varying from six to 
a dozen. Of the acting, we must allow the author to speak for 
himself, and he has requested us to offer his best thanks to Mrs. 
Glover, and all the Ladies and Gentlemen, who have so ably sup- 
ported their respective parts in this drama, as well as to Mr. Henry 
Wallack, the Stage-Manager, for his friendly and judicious 
exertions during the progress of its rehearsals. 



EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

L. means first entrance, left. R, first entrance, right. S. E. L 
second entrance, left. S. E. R. second entrance, right. U. E. L. up- 
per entrance, left. U. E. R. upper entrance, right. C. centre. L. C. 
left centre. R. C. right centre. T. E. L. third entrance left. 
T.E. R. third entrance right. Observing you are supposed to 
face the audience. 



nnST PERVORUED JAKDAIIT 18th, 1837. 



m^^^ti^ iMm m m m ■ ^ — ^■^-^. ^ -^ ^g - g-y,,.^.^ ^^ ^^^ ^^ 



Squirb Broaolands. (l8t. dress,) Green shoot- 
ing coat, buttoned up to the neck — Leather 
breeches, and shooting gaiters — Broad brimmed I 

white hat— Coloured neckerchief—- Shot belt ^ 

Gloves. {2nd. dress.) Dark blue coat, gilt buttons/^ ^'- ^' ^"^ 
—Buckskin breeches-— High top boots — ^White' 
waistcoat and cravat — Close white wig and tail' — 
Broad brimmed black hat. 

Horace, {lat. dress.) Dark bear-skin surtout 
— ^Darktrowsers — Boots. (2nrf. dress.) Fashionable 
black surtout, velvet waistcoat and trowsers — t m j ^ebsiet 
(3rd. dress.) Brown Newmarket coat, basket but- ^* ' 
tons — Fashionable white trowsers — Boots — Blue 
and white spotted neckkerchief — Light gloves. 

George. {Ist. dress.) Brown great coat — Dark 
trowsers — ^Travelling shawl, round the neck — 
Boots. {2nd. dress.) Olive surtout, slate colored 
waistcoat — dark trowsers. (3rd. dress.) Ckret ^ Mr. Pritcbrd 
dress coat, with gilt buttons — light waistcoat 
and trowsers — Boots- — ^Black stock. 

Sparrow. An olive-green short tail'd coat, 
with gilt buttons — ^Brown musquito pantaloons > „ ,_, , , 
—Spotted waistcoat—Shoes—Light drab hat— • ^ 
White neckcloth. 3 

Guard. Complete Mail coach guard's dress. Mr. Harris. 

Samuel. {Servant to Horace.) Drab great-coat ? -^ c^vm 
—Travelling shawl— Breeches— Gaiters— Shoes, i 

Servants. White livery coats, trimmed with | Messrs. P»a'' 
scarlet — Scarlet waistcoats, and plush br^ches — > Becket ana 
White hose — Shoes. ' Andrews. 

Cooks. White jaoket&— aprons and caps. 

Wrestlers. Nankeen tight dresses and belts. 

Morris-Dancers — Short smock frocks, with belts,* and tie<i 
round the arms, above the wrists and elbows with coloured ribbon' 
— ^blue breeches — white hose — ^black shoes; round straw hats vi« 
coloured ribbon and coloured neckerchiefs, &c. 

Sophy. {Ist. dress.) A Pink satin dress — Satin ^ 
bonnet, fashionably made. {2nd dress.) White I Miss Lee. 
muslin. ' 

Fanny. {1st dress.) A handsome blue riding 
habit — ^round black hat — Gloves — Boots. {2nd, 
dress.) Light blue silk pelisse, and bonnet. (3rd I 
dress.) Black velvet spencer, and polish cap, trim-^ ^^^^ Vincent. 
med with gold — ^White muslin scirt. (4fA dress.) 
White muslin. 

Temperance. Fawn coloured silk dress, with iT 
white muslin pelerine and cap. I Mrs. Glover. 

Alice. A chintz gown — ^Bluesilk kerchief and j iw5o„ vi/.holso«. 
apron— White hose—Black shoes— Cap J " * 

Female Archers. Same style as Fanny's third dress. 
Time of representation 1 hour and 40 minutes. 



^ 



THE COUNTRY SQUIRE, 

OR 

TWO DAYS AT THE HALL. 



ACT, I. 



SCENE L — The Park of Broadlands Hall, The Lodge a. and 
iron gates across stage, smaller gate practicable r. near lodge. 
The open country seen beyond. 

The sound qfaooach-hom is heard. Mail-coach Guard appears, 
outside the gate, and rings the bell. After a short jMuse he rings 
again more violently. 

Guard, Hollo i Lodge there I Hollo 1 What a sleepy set you 
ve 1 Lodge, there, I say I 

AHce, ( Opening Lodge lattice window, and looking out.) Coming ! 
What a hurry you are in ! I declare, you mail people are the 
plague of one's life ; you always come teasing one in the morning, 
l)efore one's made one's-self as one should be 1 

Guard. Come, be aliyel Keep moving, there's a good lass 1 

Alice, I am ahye, Mr. Guard ; but if I keep moving, how can 
I pin myself ? Wliat have you got for us .' 

Guaani. A parcel from London, for the Squire. 

Alice, Throw it over the gate, then. 

Guard. Aye, but I want two and eight pence ! 

•4fioe. Throw it over, I tell you ; and I'll pay you to-morrow 
I can't come out, till I'm proper, and I won't ! 

Guard, {Throwing parcel over the gate.) There you are, then I 
But you must come out ; 'cause here's two gentlemen and a ser- 
vant coming, and I can't throw them over the gate ! 

[^Exit Guard, r. u. e. 
(Alice shuts window — Horn heard again, a little further qff'.) 

^^"^from L. u. E. beyond ga^, George Selwood, aru^ Horace 
^BLiUB Selwood, followed by Sam, carrying a Portmanteau 
and Carpet Bag, Sam, rings the Bell. 

Enter Alice, from Lodge Door^ b. s. e. 

•<1^. Three more males, I dedare ! but of a different sort. 
The Squire's relations that be expected from London, no doubt ! 
^ning, gentlemen, coming 1 {Unlocks side gate, r. c. and 
*'**'^», as the Selwoods enter, foUowed by Sam.) 

B 



10 



THE COUNT RT SQUIRC 



iJCT L 



Geo. (Advancififf c.) Good mormn^ to you, my dear 1 and t 
good morning it is indeed, for the weatiier is beautiM ! 

Alice. ( Who is l.) Charming, sir I 

Horace. (On &. to AJUce.) And you are beautiful ! 

Alice. Charming, sir i {checking herself) Oh, dear ! I beg yov 
pardon, siiv-rl thought yon were speaking of the weather. 

Horace. You are both charming ! 

Alice. {Curtseys.) Thank, you, sir. 

Horace. What's your name ? 

Alice. Alice, sir. 

Horace. Then, my dear Kl\c%.— {Advancing a step.) 

Geo. {Pushing him aside.) Now, Horace, be quiet ! do, for 
decency's sake, let some one woman alone. 

Horace. {Aside to him.) My dear fellow, what on earth would 
vou have me do ? You saw that I couldn^t let that woman in tiie 
coach alone — ^and this one is infinitely better looking — ^infinitely ! 
{Attempts again to cross to her^ George puts htm hack.) 

Geo. ( To Alice.) Is the Squire at home ? 

Alice. Yes, sure, sir, he's up at the Hall, and he expects com- 
pany, I know : I had best step up with you, sir — ^who shall I say, sir? 

Geo. The Squire's two nephews — Mr. Geoi^ Selwood, and 
Mr. Horace Amelius Selwood. 

Alice. La, sir 1 can it he really ? Well, I never — I b^ ytwr 
pardon ; but you don't recollect me — 

Geo, (c) Faith, I don't 1 — ^Who are you ? 

Alice. Alice, sir, little Alice that was — niece to my wsaH. 
sir — 

Geo. Likely enough ! 

Alice. Yes, sir ; but I meant niece to aunt Temperance — ^la •' 
I thought every body mnst know my aunt ! Why, she's die 
Squire's housekeeper, sir — ^la ! sir ! don't you recollect, tho' it is 
sixteen years ago, when you came down to the Hall to spend your 
Christmas holidays, and we all had a dance — Gentlefolks, tenants 
servants, and all — ^and one of the Squire's nephews danced with & 
little dark girl — that was you, sir. 
Geo. I a little dark girl, child ! 

Alice. No, sir, no—/ was the little dark girl ; yon were tk 
nephew. 

Geo. Yon seem to have an excellent memory ! 

Alice. Capital, sir ! And one of the Squire's nephews got mto 
Aunt Temperance's room and stole two custards before dinner — 
that was you, too, sir. 
Horace. Ahem ! George ! 
Geo. {Confused) I forget about that. 

AUce. And then the Squire's other nephew was a little fair- 
haired boy, with a sky-blue jacket, and a great many rows of 
white sugar-loaf buttons ; and we used to call him — for you know. 
sir, servants will be familiar with gentlemen, when they are cbll- 
dren ; we used to call him, " Miss Molly Selwood ! '* 
Geo. Ahem ! Horace \ 

Horace. Poh 1 Nonsense ! — I don't remember any thic^ about 
that — et us go and see Nunky ! 

Geo. Come then. Friend Alice, shew the way. {They cross to l. 



SCENE II. THE COUNTRT 8QUIRB, 11 

Geo, Sam 1 follow us with the portmanteau. 

{^Exeunt y Horace om2 George, l. 

Sam. {Who has remained up the stage r.) Yes, sir I 

Alice. {Going up to Sam,') Here, let me help you up with it I 
How d'ye do, Mr. Sam ? as that seems to be your name. 

Sam. {Shaking hands vnth her.) How d'ye do, Mrs. Alice, as 
that seems to be your name. I thought you did not mean to 
speak to me. 

Alice. Oh I but I did, tho' I but gentlefolks before senrants, al- 
#rays ! I'm glad to see you ; we're all glad to see one another 
here at the Hall, and the good old Squire is glad to see every body. 

Enter Horace and George, l. 
Geo. {To Horace y who is looking at Alice.) Come along, 
Miss Molly Selwood 1 

Horace. Come along, Mr. Custard-stealer I 
Geo. {Looking round.) Come along, Alice I 

\_Exeunt George and Horace l. 

Alice, {Following y then looks round.) Come along, Saml \_Exiti.j 

Sam. {Looking after them.) All gone ? Then come along. 

portmanteau. [Exitf l. 

SCENE, II.-'A room at the HaU. 

Enter Sparrow, l. looking at his watch. 

Sparrow, Alice I Alice I upon my word this is too bad 1 It is 
already nineteen minutes and a half past the time at which you 
promised so to arrange as to meet me, by accident, at the clock 
in the Great Hall. Three times have I taken off the hands, and 
three times have I put them on again ! I have wound it up for 
the week, and set it iat the day. Alice 1 Alice 1 I repeat, it is 
too bad ! Your neglect pains me as a lover ; and your want of 
punctuality hurts my feelings as a Watchmaker. 

Enter Alice, l. 

Alice, Here's little Sparrow, I declare 1 How d'ye do, Sparrow ? 

Sparrow, How do I do, Alice ? What a question ! it only 
wants seven minutes to nine 1 

Alice, I didn't ask you what it was o' clock, you little goose 1 
I asked you how you did ? 

Sparrow. Alice — dear, but late, Alice — I set myself by you, 
and I never do well when you don't — ^you are twenty three 
minutes after your time ! 

Alice. Nonsense ! how you tease one about half an hour, 
what does it signify ? 

Sparrow. What does half an hour signify ? You astonish me 1 
Listen, while I teach you what half a minute may signify — ^what 
think you, where there is a large fortune in the case, of one brother 
of twins being born half a minute before the other ? What think 
you of a man being hanged, and a reprieve coming half a minute 
afterwards ? "What think you of a woman being married, and — 

Alice. What has all this to do with me ? I am no more likely to 
have a large fortune, than I am to be a twin brother — I have no 
intention of being hanged, and, what is worse, I dont expect to be 
married. {Crosses to b..) b 1 



12 THB COUNTRY SQUI&B. ACT L 

Sparrow, Not expect to be married, AHce ? Oh I Don't say 
so ! Think of the length of time yon have kept me in suspense. 
It was on the thirty fint of August in last year, under the great 
Oak planted by the Squire's Grandfather, that I first ventoredf 
at fourteen minutes past eight, P.M., to offer you my hand ia 
marriage ; and here on the first of May, at five minutes bef(»e 
nine, A.M., I am stiU anxiously waiting for your answer. 

Alke. What a funny little man you are ! 

Sparrow. There it is again 1 I see how it will be, that littk 
word, '^ little'' will be the death of me 1 I wish to &te I oonld 
wind myself up till I was as tall as the Monument. 

Alice. And do you think I should like you any better if yoa 
could? 

Sparrow. What you do like me, then ? 

Alice. I didn't say that. 

Sparrow. Then you don't like me ? 

Alice. I didn't say that. 

Sparrow, Hang me if I can tell what you mean I Talk of 
mechanism indeed ! Why a watch is nothing to a woman I — 
What I mean, myself, is this — ^Your great gawkey maypoles of 
men may sometimes get snubbed by the women ; but they never 
get laughed at, as we under sized individuals do. Oh 1 Alice \ 
if you could only see the size of my heart when I'm talking to 
you, you would tjiink that it belonged to a giant I It feela to me 
as big as a kitchen clock, only it goes faster. 

Alice. La ! does it really, Mr. Sparrow 1 As big as a kitchen 
clock, do you say ? 

Sparrow. Not a doubt of it Alice, if you didn't mind putting 
your head just here, you might hear it tick 1 

Alice. Well, well, not now. It's just nine o'clock, and tiie 
Squire's two Nephews are come from London, and there's more 
company coming, by and bye, and we shaU be so busy I {going r.) 

Sparrow. Oh I hang it I five minutes can't signify. 

Alice. No I why I thought punctuality was every thing with yon ? 

Sparrow. Yes — well — that is, no— not every thing, {{iside.) 
Confound that hall clock, I wish I had put it back I {akmd.) 
Well, but you're not offended with me ? 

Alice. Who ? I ! La ! bless you, no ! quite the contrary I I'm 
as pleased as Punch with you, you're so polite, and civil I 

Sparrow. Charming Alice I and you'll marry me ? 

Alice. Bless me I what a short question ; you quite startle one ! 

Sparrow, I beg your pardon if I was any ways abrupt ; but I 
made the question short, because you said you v^as so particularly 
pressed for time. Let me say it again ; it wont frighten you half 
so much the second time. 

Alice. No ! no I don't say it any more just at present. 

Sparrow, {taking out his watch.) Will you be so good as to 
mention any time that I may see you again ? 

Alice. Now, don't tease me any more just now, there's a nice 
dear little man ! 

Sparrow. What am I to do then ? 

Alice. Go away. 

Svarrow. But going away is coming to nothing — {going i*.) 



GCENE III. TSX COUNTRY SQUIRS. 13 

Alice. Go awaj, I tell jon 1 

Sparrow, But listen to me. (peU rings l.) 

AUce, Listen to the bell I ^Exeunt — AiACMt k. SpARaow, u 

SCENB III. — Tke Hail. Large glazed doors opening to the 
floor in centre, Tke Squire's grounds seen beyond. Table l. c. 
laid for breakfast. Side table, l. s. e. urOh cold meat, fowls, 
hamt ole, S^. Four chairs, and one large easy chairs discovered. 

Enter Temfe&ancb, r. preceding George, and Hora.ce 

Selwood. 

Temp. This way, gentleme&t if yon please. 

Geo. My nnde enjoys good health, I hope ? 

Ten^. Excellent, sir I I have known bun for thirty years, and 
neyer knew him ill. 

Horace. Then yon have known him well 1 ha ! ha I 

Ternp. I beg your pardon, sir — I was not aware that I said any 
thing to langh at. 

Horace. Oh dear, no 1 I was laughing at what I said myself. 

Tengg. Certainly, sir — ^you must be tiie best judge of what ought 
to be done with your own speedies. 

Geo. (c. Aside to Horace.) Ahem 1 Horace ! 

Horace, Poh! poh! {croeses to Temperance.) My good 
lady, you don't understand me; I made a joke, ha! hat a 
joke, I say, ha I ha I what we call, in London, a joke — ^ha ! 
lia I {Aside.) How serious the woman looks ! 

Temp. Is good health then so plentifiil in London, sir, that 
you can afford to make a joke of it ? here in the country we look 
upon it as the first of blessings, and daily give thanks for possess- 
ing it. 
• Geo. {iti. Aside to Horace.) Horace, my boy, how do you get on ? 

Horace. {Aside to him.) I don't believe a word about house- 
keeper — I think she's the chaplain in disguise. 

Geo. You had better change the conversation. {Aside.) 

Horace. {Aside.) I wUL {Aloud.) May we expect the pleasure 
of the old gentleman's — I mean, my imcle BroacUands' company 
at breakfast ? 

Temp, Surely, Sir I But as it is so many years since you have 
seen him, it is proper that I should inform you that he will not like 
yoa to call him either Uncle Broadlands, or the Old Gentleman. 

Horace. No? What are we to call him, then? 

Temp, The Squire, Sir — the Squire, and nothing else : it is his 
homour, and as he alwa]^ says — '4et any man dare to cross my 
humour, and he shall see what I'U dol" 

Horace. Well, what would he do? 

Temp, Sir, we never cross him here ; and so we don't know. 

Horace. What sort of man is my Uncle, I mean the Squire ? 

Temp, He is an Old English Gentleman, Sir. 

Horace, That I suppose, — old, because upwards of seventy— En- 
S^y because bom in this country, and gentleman, because my unclel 

Temp, Having been considered a gentleman for fifty years be- 
fore you were bom, sir, he may be one, notwithstanding he is 
your unde I but he can hardly be said to be so, because of it. 



14 THE COnWTRT SQUIRE. ACT L 

Oeo. {A»ide to Horace,) Horace, I knew yon would bum your 
fingers I 

Horace. {Aside to Aim.) Come and help me then. Hai^ me if 
I can manage her at all 1 

Geo, {Crossing to c.) MintreM Temperanoey my brotiier and I 
have not, as yon know, seen tiie Sqnire shice we were bofg, 
and he has now suddenly sent for ns : we are therefore nataiaUT 
anxions, before we meet him, to learn something of bis temper 
and disposition. 

Temp. Well sir, heistroly and completely that whicb he often 
says that it is his only ambition to be thought — ^The Old Engiisk 
Gentleman ; a character which we read of in books, hear of in 
songs, but do not often meet with in life. 

Horace. What I does he wear a huge snuff-coloured coat a- 
domed with gold lace? does he encase himself in a doublet and 
trunk hose ? is he punctilious in paying and receiving visits ? does 
he employ running footmen, and go to church, on a Sunday, in a 
large coach of Queen Anne's time, drawn by six long tailed black 
horses ? 

Temp. No, sir, no I nothing of the sort. It is the good feding of 
the olden time, rather than the peculiarities of dress or customs, 
that he adheres to. He his happy to visit his fiiends, viAen he 
can spare time ; happy to receive them, at all times 1 He lives on 
his estate, holds the wealth which Providence has given him, in 
trust for the benefit of his less fortunate feUow creatures — cares 
for the humble, does not care for the proud — ^is kind and affable 
to all, and he always walks to church. 

Geo. Upon my life, it delights me to think that I am tbe 
nephew of such a man ! 

Horace. He seems to be a capital old chap ! but I think he's 
wrong to walk to church always. He should ride when its hot 
{Goes up the stdge.) 

Geo, (To Temperance.) A word with you, if you please. 

Temp. Surely, sir ! 

Gt^, If my cousin, Sophy Herbert, well ? 

Temp. Quite well, sir; butMiss Herbert isat present on aviait. 

Geo. {Eagerly.) On a visit ? How unfortunate. 

Temp. {Aside.) So I so ! — the wind sets in that quarter * (alaud^ 
The young lady is in the neighbourhood, sir ; she has onty dccn 
spending a fortnight with Mr. Medium, and his niece, Miss Fanny 
Markham — or, " Master Francis Markham," as she is sometimes 
called. 

Geo. Indeed ! So masculine is she ? 

Temp. Yes, sir. You haven't a young lady in London to match 
her for spirit, I'U be bound. But you'U see her to-day, for they 
are coming here. 

Geo. Delightful I Let me see — ^my cousin Sophy has now 
been nearly two years with the Squire. They agree very well, I 
believe 1 

Temp, Perfectly, sir ; but that is no great wonder ; every body 
agrees with the Squire ; and I should think, that any body might 
agree with so nice a young lady as Miss Herbert. 

Creo. {Shaking hands with her.) Your praise of my cousin 



8CBNE IlL THE COUNTRT SQUIRE. 15 

Horace. ( Who ia Bitting in a chair k. up stage, turning and oh" 
serving them.) Why, that fellow is making love to the Houie- 
keeper 1 {Rises, and cofnes forward r.) George. 

Geo. Well ? 

Horace. You seem to haye a devilish deal more influence in that 
quarter than I have 1 Can you get me a question answered ? 

Temp. There will be no need of influence, sir : any question of 
yours, which I can understand, it is my duty to answer. 

Horace. Well, I am excruciatingly hungry ; do you think the 
Squire wiU get up soon ? 

Temp. Gret up, sir ! He has been up, and out, these three hours. 

Horace. Why when on earth does he sleep ? 

Temp. At night, sir. You London gentlemen sleep in the day, 
I hear. 

Geo. He's quite right 1 That's the way to enjoy health ! 

Temp. The Doctor says he is as likely to live twenty years as 
any man in the county. 

Geo. Good 1 and as nothing is better, for one of his time of 
life, than peace and quietness ; be assured that he shall meet with 
no disturbance from us : we'll be as quiet as mice — ^Won't we, 
Horace? 

Hora c . I'm quite willing to be a mouse ; but I should like to 
have something to nibble ! 

Geo. Hush 1 Speak lower, hell be here directly, perhaps, and 
we must practice moderation. 

Temp. Oh I sir, as to that, the Squire's nerves are not very 
delicate ; he doesn't mind a little noise, sometimes. 

Horace. Loudly.) Oh I well, you know, if he doesn't mind a 
noise — 

Geo. Hush 1 Horace, pray let me have my way, for once. 
Hush, now, hush ! 

{A double barrelled gun is fired, without, l. u. b. The HaU hell 

rings. 

Squire. (Calling without lustily.) Breakfast 1 Breakfast ! 
Geo. I'm astonished 1 

Temp. I told you the Squire didn't mind a little noise, some- 
times, sir. 

Geo. A little noise ! But here he comes. 

Enter at centre door the SauiRE carrying a gun in his hand, 

followed by Richard. 

Squire. Well, dear boys 1 How are you ? How are you ? Wel- 
come to the Hall ! I'm glad to see you both — that is, I shall be, 
when I've washed the dust out of my eyes. And I'm happy to shake 
hands with you both — that is, I shaU be, when I've washed the 
gunpowder off my fingers. {To Richard.) Get me some water, 
and a towel, Richard, and here, take my gun ! {Gives him shot- 
belt and gun. Exit Richard l.) I suppose you London lads 
haven't much to do with guns *, but in case you should, I'll give 
you a bit of advice. Never bring a loaded gun into the house. Tem- 
perance ! Grood morning ! How do you do, to-day ? 



16 TEE COUNTRY SQUIRE. ACT t 

Temp, {Curtseys.) Good morning, sir. {Coming down l.) 

Squire, Give me a chair, there's a good soul ? 
{Temperance ^ wheels the arm-chair to centre, SauiRB sOs,) 

Temp, Tired, sir ? 

Squire. For the moment, only ; the morning is hot, and I am 
hungry I 

(Temperance returns to the table — Richard enters l. tvith basin, 
water, towel, soap, S^c, the Squire proceeds to wash his face and 

hands. ) 

Squire. You lads mustn't think me rude ; at my time of life, it is 
allowable to get at one's comforts by the shortest road. {TtirrUng 
to her) Have you made the tea, Tempy ? 

Temp, {At table.) Yes, sir. 

Squire, ( Turning to R.) And therefore I do as you see. {turns 
to TEMP. L.) Order coffee, &c., &c., &c., ¥riUyou? 

Temp. This moment, sir t [^Exit l. 

Squire. {To Richard, in an under tone.) Have you been over 
to the village, this morning, to see your father and mother, as I 
told you ? 

Richard. Yes, sir. 

Squire, Are they better ? 

Richard. Both better, thank your honor. 

Squire. Did you give them the money ? 

Richard. Yes, sir, and they both said, '' Heaven bless the good 
Squire." 

Squire. Heaven has blessed me, largely blessed me ; and m^ 
being able to serve your poor &ther and mother, is one proof c^ 
it — ^Take away the w&ter.(Rises. Exit Richard, with basin, S^c.) 
There, now boys, that I can see you — come forward, and let me 
have a look at you — ( T^y advance towards him, on b,.) 
George, in front.) Bless my soul I Strange alterations in tiie last 
sixteen years, on both sides ; you were boys, and have become 
young men — I was a man, and have become an old boy 1 Well, 
weU, we all have our turns ! {holds out his hand to George) 
Which is this? 

Geo. George, sir, {shaking him heartily by the hand, and m<mng 
so a^ to discover Horace.) 

Squire, And which {crossing to, and struck with Horace's ap- 
pearance, pauses.) or, rather, what is this ? 

Horace, (r.) Horace Amelius, sir, at your service. 

Squire. (Shaking hands with him vdth much formaUiy.) Sir, 
you are vastly polite — and I beg to say in return, that I am happy 
to see as much of your face as you think it right to leave uncovered 
with hair. 

Horace, {Aside.) Odd people I these Country Squires 1 

Squire, George, «ome hillier 1 {aside to him.) What is the 
meaning of all ^t mess upon your brother's face ? 

Geo. (l.) That sir ? that's the fashion. 

Squire. The fashion 1 Why, he's not in the army ? 

Geo. No, sir. 

Squire. Then he shall take it off I 

Geo, I doubt if he willoonsent to do so : he is very proud of them. 



8(Atte III. -tHE COUNTRY SQtTlRE. 17 

Sgutre. Fktotld of them ? Proud of them ? Proud of lookiiig Hke 
a monkey? Proud of being too lazy to shave himself? I'll have 
those thmgs off, if I turn village barber mygelf I 

T^MP^nANCiSf enters jj. followed by Two Servants hringing cqffke, 
urn, SfC, They move great chair backf advance breakfast table c. 

Place chairs. S^c. 

{Aloud.) Come I Breakfast I No ceremony I One there, the other 
herel This is my great chair ; and you, Mistress Temperance, 
take, as usual, the head of my bachelor's table 1 {They sit. Tem- 
perance c. fronting the audience. Squire, at b. comer. Ho- 
race, at the opposite comer; and George, between him and 
Temperance.) And now, boys, while we break&st, we must 
have a little family conversation. You think me an odd old man, 
I dare say ; but I shan't explain myself. You must find me out 
as we go on. {Servant comes down on SauiRB's r. handy with 
silver tankard of ale — he drinks, and returns the tankard. Servant 
retires with it to side table l.) One of my maxims is, never to 
lose time ; and, in pursuance of it, I mix up pleasure and busi- 
ness till I don't know one from the other ; by these means, I 
enjoy myself from morning till night. {The Servants keep hand^ 
ing ham, S^^.) 

Geo. A most excellent plan, sir ! 
Squire. ( To Horace.) Do you think it good ? 
Horace. {Eating,) Capital, sir 1 I never tasted better. 
Geo. Why, Horace 1 Youdidn'tunderstandtheSquire'squestion. 
Squire. Let him alone, boy ; let him alone ; we shall find one- 
another out, in time. I like to study character ; and this is some- 
thing quite new to me. But. I say — ^where did you learn to call 
me the Squire ? 

Geo^ Mistress Temperance told us it was your wish, sir. 
Squire. Good soul ! Good soul I She anticipates all my wishes. 
Temip. It is my duty, sir. 

Squire. It is your inclination, my good friend ; and, without 
that, I would not give a farthing for its being your duty. Surely 
the world cannot be so bad as it is said to be ; every body about 
me is good to me. 

Temp. It is the force of example, sir ; you are so good to others, 
that they cannot, dare not, be otherwise than good to you. 

Squire. Hollo ! Hollo ! Poll's the king's trumpeter 1 Some 
more tea, if you please, my friend ; and next time, a little less 
sugar — ^You understand me ? 
Temp. Perfectly, sir. 

Squire. To be sure you do. I say, lads, if you mean me to like 
you, you must respect that worthy individual ; but you must not 
swdlow all she says about me ; for she would make you believe 
that I am something more than mortal ; whereas, I have many 
faults — among the rest obstinacy : for instance, I choose that every 
body about me should respect her — ^it is my humour. Let any 
man dare to cross my humour, and he shall see what I'll do. 

Horace. Aye ; but they never cross you here, and so they don't 
know. 
Geo. {Checking hitn.) Horace? 



18 TBB OOUNTBT SQUIftB. ACT L 

Squire. (To George.) Let him alone, boy 1 (to Horaee.) "Who 
told you that, my friend ? 

Horace. I learnt it from — 

Temp. (Interrupting.) More tea, did you say, Mr. Horace? 

Horace. Hush 1 — I*m answering the Squire : I learnt it — 

Squire. {^Interrupting.) First do me the favour to dauwer 
Mistress Temperance. 

Horace. No more tea, thank you I (To Squire.) I learnt it- 

Temp. (To Squire.) Then I believe, sir, breakfast is over— 

Squire. Have you done, George ? 

Geo. Quite, sir, thank you. 

Squire, And so have 1 1 (Rises.) come, then — for I expect 
some friends presently, and I want a few minutes talk with yoa 
boys first, {to George) Push my chair to this end of the roooL 
iffe does soS) Now, bring your's, and place yourselves one on 
each side of me. (They do so, George, r. Horace i<.) Stay! 
get up, again 1 I have changed my mind: leave the room, both of 
you, for two minutes, but don't go faurther than the next, that I 
may call you, when I want you. I order you about, yon see. 

Horace. (Crossing behind^ to George — going,) He's a derifish 
odd fish 1 

Geo. (Aside to him,) Come along, we must not cross his humour. 

Horace. (Aside to himfOnd pausing.) Upon my soul, I shoold 
like it 1 I want to see what he would do. 

Geo. ( Taking his arm^ and ptUUng him qff.) No, no, come 
away, I tdl you 1 [^Exeunt, b. 

Squire. Temperance 1 

Temp. (Advancing on l.) Sir 

Squire. Have you had much conversation with these yoon; 
men, since they came ? 

Temp. I have, sir. 

Squire. Which do you like best ? 

Temp. Mr George, sir, beyond all doubt : indeed, if I miglit 
be so bold, in spealdng of a Nephew of yours, I should almost say 
I disliked the other. 

Squire. What is your objection to him, any thing solid ? 

Temp. Nay sir, my principal objection is that I have remarked 
nothing solid about hhn, that is, if I except the breakfast he eat. 

Squire. He seems to have a good appetite certainly ; but that 
is a proof of good health — good healtii generally brings with it 
good humour, and with two such blessings to his back, he can't go 
far wrong — or if he does, it must be fkshion, not nature, whid 
misleads him. 

Temp. Ah I sir, according to your doctrine, nobody is wrong: 
you make people's very faults appear virtues. 

Squire. No, I don't; you are wrong — so there's somebody 
wrong, you see in a moment. All I mean to say is — ^that that boy's 
father and mother were two as worthy people as ever lived; and 
I think there must be some good beneath the incrustation of Lon- 
don folly which disfigures him. If so, damn me if I don't digit 
out! 

Temp. Why, Sirl 

Squire. Whaf s the matter? 



SCENE III. 



TBE COUNTRY SQUIRE. . 19 



Temp, You swore an oath! 

Squire, Eh? Egad! 1 believe I did I well, never mind, Tm the 
Sqnire of the parish, and I forgive myself. 

Temp. Bnt then, as a Magistrate, you know, Sir, you ought to 

fine yoursdf . 

Squire. Oh, no 1 as a Magistrate, 1 have only to say, "sworn 
before me," and it's all right 1 WeU, then, I must form my own 
opinions of these lads, at last. So I wont detain you any longer, 
for you have plenty to do. (Tbmpbrancb is going ^ l.) One 
moment — are all the preparations for the entertainments going on 
well? In the house, to-day, — ^in the park to-morrow ? 

Temp, Yes, Sir. 

Squire, Let there be plenty of everything; remember my fiivo- 
rite song. {Sings.) 

** And he kept a fine old Mansion ap, at a boantiful old rate." 
Talking of that, reminds me that — (Sings,) 

" He had a good old Porter^ to relieve the old poor at his gate." 

And you know I shall be seventy to-morrow, and there are the 
seventy bags of money to be distributed according to the list I 
made oat — ^for that I do, every year, in humble imitation of the 
King — God bless him I 

Temp. I believe, sir, you will find all your orders attended to ; 
and that fuU effect will be given to your benevolence to the poor, 
and to your hospitality to aJl — 

" Like a fine old English gentleman, all of the olden time." 

Squire. Ah I Good soul ! Good soul ! Another line from my 
favorite song ; I like that of you — I like it ; but I say, Tempy, 
why don*t you sing it } 

Temp, (Laughing.) Nay, sir! Any thing but that ; I can't sing, 
even to oblige you. 

Squire, Why, it's very easy. I'll teach you — (sings) 

** Likfe a fine old English gentleman, all of the olden time." 

But, perhaps, that's too low for your voice. (Beginning agatn^ 
— ** Idke a fine.** — m a higher key.) 

Temp. Indeed, sir, I cannot sing 1 

Squire. EHd you ever try ? 

Temp, Never I 

Squire. Then how do you know you can't ? I never learnt ! 
Well, never mind, you have other things to attend to just now, 
and so have /. See to them I See to them 1 (Temperance is 
about to curtsey. He goes to her, takes her handy and conducts 
her to the wing l.) There, no curtseying, you're a good creature. 
(Earnestly.) a good creature I (Exit Temperance l.) And so 
she is a good creature I An excellent creature ! Personally speaking 
I always had rather an objection to matrimony; but, if it had 
happened to occur to me, about five and twenty years ago — some 
day when I was at leisure, I would have married that woman, (calls 
q^B,.) George! Horace! 

Enter George atul Horace r. 
Geo. Here we are sir 1 



20 THS COUNTRY SQUIRE. AOT I. 

Squire, Goodl Resume your seats. {Theysitj £%e SainKs m 
the middle f as b^ore.) I am rich — ^I am seventy, and I faaTeno 
heir — ^Yon two boys being the children of one sister ; and yonr cou- 
sin, Sophy Herbert, the child of another sister, both of whom have 
preceded me to — ^in short, you are my nearest living r^aHons ; 
Sophy, is a dear, good girl. She has been, as you Imow, under 
my roof these two years. {Gtorge sighs,) There is nothing tosigb 
about, my friend ; she is very comfortable ; at least, if not, it 
must be her own fault, for she does just as she likes. 

Horace, (l) Upon my life, sir, yours must be a devilish pleasant 
house to stay in ! 

Squire. Sir, you do me infinite honor ; but 1 haven't time to 
luxuriate in your praises just now ; Miss Fanny Markham, and 
your cousin Sophy, will be here shortly, if therefore yoa can 
make it convenient to let me proceed without interruption» I shall 
take it as a personal favor. {They bow assent.) Consider your 
cousin Sophy provided for. I now come to yourselves. I shall 
deal frankly with you. I have plenty of money to leave yon both; 
but I have sent for you here, because I want to fix upon one of 
you to take ray name when I die ; and to do me the honor to 
inherit the bulk of my estates. {They look at one another in asto- 
nishment.) Don't stare, but listen. You are both good, I dare 
say, in your ways ; but I want to discover which of you is die best 
man for my purpose. I have now told you my object, openly and 
honestly, as a gentleman ought. If you are gentilemen, and mind 
I use the term in its broadest sense, you will answer my questions 
as openly, and as honestly. I have scorned to decdve you ; and, 
if either of you condescend to try to deceive me, depend upon it, 
{observing a movefMnt on their parts ^ he continues^) don't be in a 
hurry, I was only going to say, depend upon it I shall find yon 
out I {AU rise.) 

Horace, Sir, we pledge our honors. 

Squire, 1 require no pledge, my friends, no pledge ! Besides, the 
honor of a gentleman is a Ireasure too precious to be lightly 
parted with ; it should be retained within the workshop of his 
mind to gild and beautify each action of his Hfe, ere it passes 
into public observation. George. 

Geo. (r) Sir. 

Squire. You are the eldest, I believe ? 

Geo. By five years, sir. 

Squire. You are a merchant of the city of London ? 

Geo. 1 am, sir. 

Squire. And you take pride in being so ? 

Geo. 1 do. 

Squire. So you ought. But the time approaches when yon 
may, perhaps, be called upon to exchange that appellation for 
another, equally honorable — ^that of an English country gentleman. 
In the hurry of business, I have somehow forgotten to get married, 
until it's too late. 

Horace, Too late, sir 1 Why, you seem as hearty as a man of 
fifty! 

Squire. Don't interrupt me, and above all, don't talk nonsense; 
it is too late, I say; I can't help being an old man ; but I can help 



BC9N« II. TSE COUNTRT SOUmE. 2i 

bdng an old fool 1 I am the last of my name, in tb« coiut7.(«i^) 
I would do anything, in reason, to oblige my friends and neighbours » 
but 1 can't live much longer, even to accommodate them. liiow, 
I don't relish the notion of removing from the family mansion to 
the family yavlt, without leaving behind me some i^ture Squii:^ 
upon whom I may depend to carry on the war as I have done* 
Yes, boys, I say, as / have done ; for when I reflect upon my 
past life, {becomes ejected y) I feel that I may assert, without fear 
of contradiction, that I have done some little good, in my time. 
{Rousmff himself,) Psha 1 This is folly ! At my time of life, oun 
needn't lie, even about one's-self 1 {earnestly,) I have done ». 
damned deal of good, and I know it 1 
Geo. Every body about yon seems to know it equally weU, sir. 
Squire. My dear boy, I want no flattery ; I was taUdng al>out 
a fact, and I only mentioned that because it came in as a matter 
of business. Now answer you first. Should you like to succeed to 
this place, when I die ? 
Geo. I trust that such an event is yet far off, sir. 
Squire. Poh 1 Poh ! Nonsense I I shall die none the sooner 
for your talking about it. Answer my question. 
Geo. If I could fill it as you do, sir — ^Yes. 
Squire. Very well. Now, what is to hinder you from doing so ? 
Geo, My education and habits. 

Squire, "Why, you have had the education of a genUeman ? 
Geo, True, sir. 

Squire. Used to habits of business, you must have a good head. 
Geo. For the duties of a merchant I hope I have. 
Squire. And a good heart ? 
Geo. Nay, sir. 

Horace, ( Un(^ectedly) Let me answer for him, there ; a bettei 
hearted fellow than Greorge Selwood does not exist I 

Squire. (Rising, sharply to Horace.) I told you not to interrupt 
me \{then shaking his handj) But I can forgive that I (To George.) 
And so, sir, you seem to think upon the whole, that my place 
wouldn't suit you, as the servants say ? 

Geo. My dear sir — I know Httle about horses ; nothing abou^ 
dogs, or guns. I neither ride, drive, shoot, nor hunt; and there- 
fore, upon the whole, honestly, I doubt it 1 

Squire. Then, honestly, I say, you shall have a fair change ot 
changing your opinion, (takes his hand.) Gkorge, your candoui 
does you honor. I have rather slender hopes of our friend, here ^ 
^t, I must try Aim, now. (turning to "H-OBJiCEf who is placing 
Vfitk his moustaches.) Mr. Horace Amdius Selwood ? 
Horace. Sir! 

Squire. If you think there would be no danger of your head 
falling off your shoulders, perhaps you wiU let go of those things^ 
Bud attend to me ? 
Horace, (Putting down his hands.) Vfi^ pleasure ! 
Squire. (Imitating him.) With play-jaar I What a queer word 
you make of it ! (to George.) What does he talk so for ? 
(^eo. It s the fiishion. Sir. 

Squire. Fashion, again! I observe, that everything that is p«r- 
^"wuariy ridiculous ia the fashion. (To Horace.) WeU, Sir, 



THE COUNTRY BQUIRB. ACT X 

yoa peroeiTe the difflcnlty in which I am placed ; can you do anj« 
thing to reliere me? 

Horace. Hang me, if I know ! 

Squire. I tell yon what, young Gentlemen, you really are two 
of t£e qneerest fellows I ever met with! It is not often, I suspect, 
that station and fortune go begging in this manner. 

Horace Don't mistake me. Sir; I haye no objection to the 
money. 

Squire, Haven*t you really ? 

Horace. Oh, no; none in life! In point of fact, I ratiierlike 
it; and I'll tell you why; I have rather '' Out-run the constable" 
lately. 

Squire. {Astonished.) You have done what, Sir! 

Horace. Out-run the constable. 

Squire. {To Geo.) What on earth has this boy had a consta- 
ble after him, for ? 

Oeo. {Smiling) Oh, sir, don't be alarmed! out-running the 
constable is only a feshionable phrase for spending more than 
one's income. 

Squire. And the offence, I fear, is as fashionable as the phrase, 
(7b Horace.) Then pray, sir, why don't you jump at such a 
chance as this ? 

Horace. Because I haven't the least idea how to be a Squire ! 

Squire. Come, thaf s honest, at all events ! Are you willing to 
learn? 

Horace. Is it much trouble ? 

Squire. Less than to be a noodle! — ^at least I should think so. 

Horace. Then I'll try! 

Squire. So you shall. Give me your hand ! And give me 
yours, George: now mind! this brother of yours, engages to become 
my pupil, if I succeed in humanizing him, he will be my heir; 
if not, you mast \ No answer; for by Jupiter! one of yon, shall! 

Geo. Horace will be the man, sir, no doubt: he is younger than 
I am, and his habits are less settled. 

Squire. Much less seemingly! {Aside.) How shall I begin with 
him? {To Horace.) Can you ride? 

Horace. I flatter myself thafs about the best thing I do ! 

Squire. Then you really are not afraid of a horse ? 

Horace. I'm adfraid of nothing 1 

Squire. {Aside.) How one may be deceived by appearances! 
Aloud.) Can you drive ? 

Horace. Gig, curricle, tandem, unicorn, or four ! I have driven 
the coach from London to Brighton, about two hundred times. 

Squire. I'm glad you can drive ; but, I beg to inform you that 
whoever becomes my lieir will be able to make a decent livelihood, 
without turning stage coachman ! 

Geo. It isn't for that, sir — ^it's the fashion. 

Squire. (To George.) Oh! {to Horace.) Pray, sir, is it the 
fieuGihion for gentlemen to turn servants of all denominatiiXLi ' 
Because, although our roads here are well supplied with coadi- 
men, at present, I have a vacancy for a footman, if that would 
suit you? 

Horace. That would be degrading ! 



8CBNE III. THE COUNTRT SQUIRE. 23 

Squire, Oh ! I beg your pardon. I didn't percdye the iifl- 
tinction. Can yon shoot ? 

Horace, I can kill eleven birds out of twelve, at thirty yar Is { 
for farther particulars, enquire at the Red House, Battersea. 

Squire, Is that true? 

Horace, I never tell a lie, it's ungentlemanly. 

Squire. {Aside,) He's a strange animal; but there is good 
about the feilow ! (Aloud,) Now, sir, one thing more, and 1 hare 
done with you, for the present. You are short of cash, I und r- 
stand ? 

Horace, Ezcmdatingly I 

Squire. I want to make a purchase of yon ; if I give you fiity 
pounds, may I take my choice of any article you have got about 
you ? 

Horace, Most willingly I 

Squire, Enough! {Taking out pocket-book,) Greorge I I lodge 
the money with you, when the goods are delivered, pay the vendor. 

Geo, But what is the purchase, sir ? 

Horace, Aye ; what is the purchase ? 

Squire, The growing crop of hair upon your face ; with liberty 
to mow, whenever I please. (George laughs — Hoilace looks 
asionished.) 

Horace. My whiskers, and moustaches I 

Squire, Even so ! Come, a bargain is a bargain ; away to your 
room. Shave them off clean I (Puts Horace over towards r.) 
and don't let me see your face again, until, until — in short—I 
can see it. {Goes up to table and rings bell, Horace is goings r. 

Geo, Horace I 

Horace, { Turning,) "What ? 

tfeo. {Laughs y and imitates shaving,) I say — 

Horace, Now be quiet I {Going,) 

Geo, Horace ! 

Horace. {Peevishly j turning again,) Weill What do you want 

Geo, Look here, old man 1 {Holding up note.) 

Horace, Well — ^to be sure — ^a fifty is two ponies ; and the hair 
will grow again ! [Exit r. 

Enter Servant, l. 

Squire, Take some hot water into Mr. Horace's room, direciy. 

Servant, Yes, sir. (BowSf and exit, l.) 

Squire I'll turn that young monkey into a man, yet ! 

Geo, I have no doubt, sir, that you will succeed with hmi; 
and I sincerely hope you may ; a tovm life suits me better taan 
a country one. 

Squire, Well, well, we shall see 1 (Large bell rings, l. u. e.' 
Oh I there are the two girls, I dare say ! Your cousin Sophy anc 
you, are old friends ? 

Geo, Oh! yes, sir. 

Squire, You don't know Fanny Markham ? 

Geo. I never saw her in my life, sir. 

Squire, Ah I Say no more about that ; because it reminds me 
that I've been wrong to let so many years pass without sen Jing 
for you. c 1 



24 



TBB comrrsT savuiB* 



Mfttl 



Geo. Ske is quite an original, Ibettofe? 

Squire. Quite. She's a male-girl ; a good hearted wibiicIl «seB 
bet *ad we all like her I {Bell rtngs again, violenify,) WlMit does 
this mean ? There most be aometbiDg the matter. 

Enter Sparrow, haatUy^ centre doors, 

Whatisit? What is it Mr. Sparrow ? 

Sparrow, Oh, sir 1 Such a misfortune 1 — ^Thc carriage has ar- 
ziyed, with Miss Herbert — {Comes down, l.) 

Squire. That's no misfortune, foolish feUow 1 Is it overturned? 

Sparrow. No, sir ; but Miss Markham, sir — 

J^uire. What of her ? 

SparrouL Miss Markham, sir, wouldn't ride in the carriage, 
and so she came on horseback, sir ; and the great yard dog was 
loose, sir, and flew at her horse, sir; and the horse whiiied 
round and round, as if his main-spring was broke 1 (Gkorgb, 
hettrinff tluBf rushes qffy c. d.) 

Squire. Is she thrown ? — Is she thrown ? 

Sparrow. No, sir — She keeps her seat like a good nn ! Bat the 
horse is galloping over the park, like mad ; and they are afinid 
sbe'U be dashed to pieces against some of the low branches of 
the trees ! 

Squire. Here, George, run ! {Missinff him.) Oh I he's gone ! 
Good fellow 1 Run you, too, sir 1 Call all the men about the 
farm 1 A hundred pounds to anybody who saves that poor girl! 
( With vehemence.) Fly, Sparrow I [Exit Spabroit, c. d. 

My young legu are gone ; but I must try what I can do with my 
old ones. {Going up, c. — a cheer without, he pauses.) Oh I that 
sounds welll 

Enter Alice, hastily, centre. 

Now Alice, how is it ? 

AUee. It's aU right, sir-^Miss Markham is quite safe I Oh I be 
is a brave young gentleman, if ever I saw one ! 

Squire. Who is a brave young gentleman ? 

JUce, Your nephew, sir 1 If you had seen him 1 There stood 
Miss Markham's servant, who had got off his horse, before her's 
ran away, afraid to mount him, and go after her, like a great nasty 
coward, as he was I When down comes your nephew, without so 
much as waiting to put his hat on — jumps on the horse — gallops 
after the other, like the- wind-^-cuts off a sort of a comer — ^heads 
the young lady, and seises the bridle, just as the mad beast was 
going to plunge into the river with her ; they were both thrown 
off, but neither of them much hurt — and here they come, sir I 
\h 1 I could scratch that servant's eyes out 1 {Servants run in, 
c. D. and move chairs back.) 

Squire. {Aside.) Bravo! George 1 You're a noble fellow ! You 
must be my heir, whether you like it or not ! 

Enter, Sophy, (c. d ) who rune to the the SairiBB, and points to 
Fanny, then Fanny, supported by Gborob then Spabrow 
and Servants, an arm chair is put forward, in which they piace 
Fanny. Temperance enters unth salts, S^c, and goes to Fanky 
Horace appears at the door (c.) [have air. 

Squire. Stand from about the chair, open the window, let her 



SCENE IlL THE COUNTRY SQUIRE. 25 

Temp. (l. c.) There is no danger, sir, Miss Markham is only 
stunned by the fall. 

Squire, (R.)My dear Sophy, this is a most fortunate escape ! 

Sophy J (r. c.) It was poor Fanny's own fault, I must say. She 
would ride a colt of her Uncle's, that isn't half broken in. 

Squire. Well, let us hope it may serve as a lesson : but hadn't 
we better send for a surgeon ? 

Sophy. No, Uncle, I think not. See 1 she is reviving, already I 
( They ail watch Fanny, as she revives.) 

Fanny. Steady, steady, you cross grained rascal, you ! I'll pull 
yon up, yet I {Putting her hand to her side.) Hollo! I've got a 
stitch in my side ! 

Temp. Have a little more sal-volatile. Miss 1 {CWering a 
tumbler.) 

Fanny. (^Pushing it aside.) Sal-fiddlestick ! Take it away, you 
nasty creature, do. 

Squire, Fanny, my dear, don't speak so. 

Temp. Oh 1 sir. Miss Markham and I understand one another, 
quite well I 

Fanny. To be sure we do I La I bless you, I wouldn't affront 
old Mothffl: Tempy, for the world 1 (Shaking hands imth her.) 
Would I, old girl ? 

Temp. (Lauglis.) No I I'm snre you wouldn't. [Exit. 

Squire. " Old Mother Tempy." What an animal it is I 

Fanny. (Rising.) 1 say. Squire — ^yon don't mean to tell me, 
(^ I have been thrown ? 

Squire. No — no— not exactly thrown. 

Fanny. I should think not I 

Squire. No, my dear ; only, you see, your horse run away, 
and — 

Fanny. {Interrupting.) Yes, I remember all about that ; but, 
it wasn't my fault, and it wasn't the colt's fault ; it was all thai. 
Master Dick ! 

Squire, (l.) And who may Master Dick be ? 

Fanny, What I Don't you know "Dick?" He's nimky's 
groom, that he's so fond of 1 A pretty chap he is, to call himself 
a groom I He knows as much about a horse, as I do about a 
needle and thread I This Master Dick, you must know, chose to 
stand me out that I could ride that hot-headed brute of a colt, in 
a snaffle ; I told him how it would be — ^but he was as obstinate as 
a mule. Well, it wouldn't do, for Fan Marl^ham, to cry craven ; 
80, up I jumped I 

Squire. And off went the colt. 

Fanny. Not a bit of it I The horse went quietly enough, till 
your dog fliew at him. 

Squire. I'll have that dog shot. 

i^anny/ Nonsense I Shot ? It wasn't the dog's fault — ^they had 
no business to let him loose. 

Sophy. You know, my dear Fanny, you will always be in ex- 
tk'^.mes ; the groom says that the snaffle you had was too light ; 
but, that the curb you wanted would have been as bad the other 
way—it would have made him kick. 

Fanny. Who cares for his kicking ? It's the running away that 
1)others one ! 



26 THE COUNTRY 8QUIKE. i.CT I. 

Squire. (Aside,) You male-female I 

/bfuiy. I'll trouble you ibr that colt's canTing me over your 
park at a alaahing pace ; I mlj, who saw me duck when he Cook 
me under the trees ? I flatter myself I did that pretty bobbiahly ! 

Squire. I suppose it was hobbishly! 

Fanny, What stopped my horse, at last? I can't remember how 
I got here* 

Sqmre, I'll tell you: My yard dog, made your horse run away; 
and one, whom I mean in future to be my house dog, stopped it; 
so that if one of my family put you into danger, another took you 
out of it. {Crosses to George k.) George, stand forward, and let 
me present you, in due form, to the damsel whose life your knight- 
errantry has preserved. 

Geo, Had the chance been mine, sir, I hope I should have dose 
my best; but, Horace was before me, and to him your praises are 
due. (Pointing to Hoilace, who is seated l. c.) 

Squire, Why you don't say sol you, Horace! is it possible/ 
This is a better beginning than I could have hoped fori (Aloud,) 
Come here, young hopeful? (Horace comes slowly forwardf l.. 
Squire meets him,) If you go on this way — ^well, well, we'll talk 
of that hereafter. (7b Fanny,) Miss Fanny mad-cap, allow me to 
introduce to you, my nephew — Mr. Horace Amelius Selwood— a 
young gentleman, who has saved your life, at the peril of his own.; 
and prevented youfrom getting your neck hTokcDr^Aside,) Ahem! 
till a future opportunity! (jiosses Fannt over to Horace, and 
talks to SoPHT: Horace hows,) 

Fanny, You saved my life, then? 

Horace, I had that happiness. 

Fanny, (Shaking hands heartily with him,) Well, thank yoa 
old fellow ! I'll do as much for you, when you are in a mes8» 

Horace, (Aside,) Extraordinary creature ! 

fanny, (To Horace.) But now I can't make ouiliow you did 
it? 

Squire. He followed on your servant's horse. 

Fanny, What the Chesnut? (To Horace.) I say, that's a nice 
horse to ride, isn't it? 

Squire, Come, my dear, we won't stop to discuss the merits of 
horses, just now: you, and your preserver, may sit next each other, 
at dinner, to-day ; and dance with each other, in the evening ; and 
then you may taik about horses, ( Z^ooArm^ a^ Horace.) or donJdes, 
or anything else you happen to Uke. To-morrow, we shall have a 
filte in the park, to celebrate my seventieth birth-day, upon whidi 
oc<»sionl shall disclose a family secret, (.^^irfe and crossing to j^. c.) 
which at present, I don't know, myself ! (To Fanny.) and now, I 
advise you to go to your room and lie down, for an hour or two. 

Fanny. Oh, no! I'm all right, now ! (Trying to walk) Oh! that's 
a twitcher, tho' I 

Squire. There ; I told you so ! 

Sophy, Dear Fanny, be advised, take my arm. 

Fanny, Well, come along, then! Oh! (Winces again.) 

Horace, (Runs to her,) Allow me — 

Squire, (Putting him hack.) No, sir! I won't allow you,, jpour 
asastance is not wanted any longer ; your room lies that way, and 
I'm afiraid that your hot water is getting cold. (Servant enters £• 



SCENE in. THB C019NTRT SQUIBB. W' 

witJi hot tpaier; %e., he €r<mt» ooer hehmd, to b. 8. b.) Run, yoa 
dog I {Pushing Hobacb oDer towards b.) nm, and cut tliat hior 
off, I'm impatient to see your conntenancey ( With utrong em- 
phasis,) for I begin to suspeot, tiiat it's an honest one ! 

Exeunt Squibe and Gbob.qb, followed by Spabbow c, Fanny 
supported by Sopht and Aucb, l. s.b., Hobacb horror struck 
at the shaving materials^ and Sebyant b., as the Drop deeends,) 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Another part of the park, Gbobob and Sopht 
discovered seated on a bench, on r, of centre^ dressed more gaily 
than in the first act ^f or the fete, 

Geo, {Kissing her hand,) Dear, dear, Sophy! as I told you last 
night, so let me repeat to yon this morning, you cannot think what 
pleasure it gives me to be once more in yonr society. 

Sophy, I hope I can sir 1 

Geo. "Well, I hope so tool 

Sophy. Would words convince yon better than actions? 

Geo. I should like both. 

Sophy, Then, listen — £ am qnite willing to acknowledge, that 
men are deceitful, and women crednlons, but tho* we may some- 
times mistake mere professions for sincerity, no woman ever mistook 
a real itffection for an assumed one. Now sir, are you satisfied? 

Geo, Perfectly, perfectly; and can you consent to exchange this 
fine mansion and domain for my humble dwelling in London. 

Sophy. The size of a house is not perceived by her, who has no 
eyes but for one object in it. 

Geo, How can I repay this goodness? 

Sophy, I'll tell you — In the first place, don't you catechise me 
^7 more, for it strikes me that I have already said too much. 
Besides, this is no place to talk about such awful matters} {Enter 
the SduiRE, L. s. E.) anybody may overhear us. 

Squire. {Aside.) Well if any body may, I suppose, /may? 

Geo, But tell me how you managed to persuade the Squire 
to send for us? 

Sophy. Bless his dear heart I he wants no persuasion to do a 
wnd action. I merely mentioned it — ^he would have done it be- 
lore, if it had happened to occur to him. 

Squire. {Aside.) Who says that listeners neter hear any good of 
tliemsdves? 

Geo. E»7erybody seems to love him I What a happy old man he 
must be 1 



3B TBE COUNTBT SQUIRE. ACT U 

Sqpiire, (Atide,) Bless me, its really getting very warm I 

Sopfty, Bnt why reject the noble offer he has made yon? 

Oio, Would it be honest in me, Sophy, for the mere sake of 
money, to accept an offer of which I feel myself unfitted to falfil 
the conditions? 

Squire. {Aside.) Bravo! master George, I'll be even with yon 
for this, somehow. 

Sophy. This overstrained notion of honor will lose yon a fortune. 

Geo J Let it; I have enough for all my wants, I may say for all 
our wants; for there is one, Sophy, whose happiness, I shall ever 
prise beyond my own ! 

Squire. Aside. The devil there is! He's in love with somebody, 
I'm glad of it, he shall marry her, whoever she be! 

Sophy, Don't mistake me, Greorge, I love yonr brother Honce. 
as you well know — 

Squire. {Aside.) Why, she's in love too, — and with young 
Moostaches! 

Sophy. Stin I can't bear the thought of his depriving yon of this 
fortune, 'tis unjust ! 

Squire. {Aside.) What a disinterested little rogue it is ! 

Geo. Sophy, I tell you once for all, Horace wants money, 1 do 
not; Horace can be turned into a country gentleman, I can not; 
let Horace be my Uncle's successor, for / wUl not. 

Squire. {Advandnj/f and putting his head between them) Ton 
wont, eh? ( They staart^ and rise.) Don't let me disturb yon, I beg! 

Geo. My dear sir, I had not ijie slightest intention of offendi^ 
you, I had no idea that you were so near. 

Squire. Is there anything so very extraordinary in my bdog 
in my own park ? But as it appears that I am not to be allovcd 
to leave it to whom I please when I die, po'haps the privily of 
walking about it while I am alive will be denied me next! 

Sophy. Nay, my dear Unde, you don't understand him. 

Squire. My dear Niece, {Crosses to centre.) you and your Cou- 
bins are a very difficult set of young people to understand as ever 
I met with, but I have accidentally overheard your convers«- 
tion, and I now begin to see my way a little more clearly. To& 
have both delighted me by what I have heard you say, and m 
see if I can't delight you in return. 

Geo. and Sophy. Dear sir ! 

Squire. No speeches — I'm full of business to day, and I havnl 
time to hear them — Sophy, you are in love ! George, you are in 
ditto! whether wisely or not, is more your affair than mine. {To 
George.) Is your affection returned? (George looks at Sophy.) 

Sophy. It is. 

Squire. {To Sophy.) Oh ! Ycu know that, do you ? Is your's 
returned ? {Sophy looks at George.) 

Geo. {Eagerly.) It is ! 

Squire. Well, as she answered for you, you couldn't do less 
than answer for her. {To Sophy,) You ought to have told me of 
this, before, you baggage I But I suppose you thought, that 
because I'm an old bachelor myself, I should oppose marriage in 
others ? George, I'm an oddity — Sophy knows it, and you'll know 
it better, the more you see of me. Give me your hands, both of 



SCENE I. THE COTJNTRT SQUIRE. 

f on ! And now, my dear boy and girl, under the sanction of an 
ancle who loves yon, consider yonrselyes all but in the Arms of 
the objects of your affection. ( They are about to embrace, wften 
he pushes Georob away with Ms right hand.) Get away, sir, get 
away t we don't want you ! (7b Sopht, an^f taking her under his left 
armS) Come along, my love ! 

Sophy, (^Hanging hack,) With yow, sir? (They cross, l. firm 
in arm,^ 

Squire. To be sure, child ; when T have an opportunity of ma- 
king others happy, I never like to delay a moment. 
lExeunt hastily, l. the Squirb and Sopht ; the latter, rehui- 
tantly, and looking back at George.] 

Geo, (^Standing in astonishment , and looking after them,) ** Con- 
nder yonrselyes all but in the arms of the objects of your affec- 
tion ! " •* Get away I Get away ! We don't want you." (Jkiming 
to go qff" in an opposite direction,) WeD, he said he was an oddity; 
and if he is not, I never saw one 1 [^Eafit, r. 

Enter Horace, u. e. l. thoughtfully, 

Horeuse. I don't know, whether it's losing my moustaches, 
or filling Miss Markham ; but something makes me feel particu- 
larly queer ! I have got a sort of palpitation of the heart ; it began 
soon after my gallop to save her, yesterday morning ; and got 
worse and worse, the more I danced with her, last night. ( Throws 
himself on the bench.) She is a very charming girl, that is certain ; 
'tis a thousand pities she should be so masc^ine. (n. e. r. Thvo 
shots Jir&i behind scenes, fie starts up.) She is coming this way, 
and with a brace of pistols in her hand, as I live I {(S)es up l.) 

Enter Fannt, n. e. r. tJioughtfuUy, with her arms folded, and 
<»rrying a brace of pistols, she does not perceive Horace, who 

watches her, 

Fanny, It's of no use, I'm out of spirits, my hand is unsteady, 
and I miss every shoti That Horace Selwood runs strangely in 
my head ! he's a nice good looking fellow, I must say. It's a sin 
and a shame that he should be so namby-pamby, (Holding out one 
of the pistols, as if taking aim.) 

Horaxie, (Approaching her,) Miss Markham? 

Fanny. ( Without changing her attitude.) What say you? 

Horace, Pray, pray I lay aside those un-feminine weapons, and 
listen to me, for a moment. {Struck by the earnestness of his man- 
ner she lays pistols on bench, returns, and attends to him.) I feel 
impelled by sensations, powerful as they are new, to entreat your 
serious attention to what I am about to say — 

Fanny. (Aside.) What can he mean? his manner, even his 
voice is changed ! (Aloud.) Mr Selwood, your earnestness sur- 
prises me a little — ^but go on, I am listening to you. 

Horace. Do I presume too much, in asking information upon 
certain points relating to the life it has been my happiness to 
preserve? 

Fanny, You do not : ask what you will, I will answer it frankly 
and truly. 

Horace, You were left, at an earlv age, an orphan, were you 
not? 



30 THB OOUNTRT •QUIRB. 

Fanny. So youMig tiiat I do not mneoiber to baye aeen eitlier 
my ftthar m moHaer. 

Horace. You were brought ap under ihe care of your unde, Mk. 
Medium? 

Famty. Yea. 

Horace. And Hie oompanunu of your childhood were — '^ 

Fawny. My uncle's two sons, Tom and Bill! 

Horace. (Aside.) Tom and Bill I (Aloud.) It is from them, tiien, 
that you haire aoquired these mascoline habits so uosnited to your 
sex? 

Fanny. What habits do yon mean ? 

Horace. This violent and reckless riding — ^this pistol firing— 
liiese strange expressions which yon use, uid which, believe me, 
oome with added deformity from the tips of one to whom, natoie 
has given beauty, sense, and talent, that she might become a 
leader of her own sex — not a follower of our's. 

Fmny. (Aside.) His words produce a strange impressiaik on 
met (Aloud.) Mr Selwood, be assured you are the first person 
who has ever ventured to take me to task in this manner. 

Horace. Miss Markham, be assured. I am also the first penon 
who ever felt an interest aJi>out you, deep and sincere enoi^;h, to 
risk your displeasure, rather than auifer you to continue unwarned 
to do iigustioe to yourself. 

Fanny. Your words confuse me; my cousins loved me as if 
they had been my brothers, and cared for nothing so modi as 
making me one in all their boyish games. I loved them like 
a sister, and to please them, I joined, as far as I could« in. all 
their amusements and pursuits — ^was this a fault? 

Horace, As a child, surely not, but as a woman, they should 
have been laid aside. 

Fanny. I seem, I know not how, to have offended you, to whom 
I am almost a stranger; and yet, I have not one Mend in the 
world, who does not tiao own me for a favorite. 

Horace. And mth reason; they love you, for the goodness of 
your heart — ^for the frankness of your disposition — not for your 
adopted eccentricities. • 

Fanny. And yet they laugh at, and encourage them. 

Horace. The thoughtless may; but bdieve me, the judidoos 
will grieve at the misapplication of powers which were given you 
for higher and better uses. 

Fanny. Why have I never been told of this before ? 

Horace. The task was reserved for me. If I succeed, anew and 
brilliant prospect of life opens upon me; if I fail, my lot is cast 
for misery. 

Fanny. You shall not faill one is enough to be unhappy! and 
you have made me completely so. 

Horace. I, Fanny — {Checking himself .) I, Miss Markham? 

Fanny. Indeed you have ; I never wilfully did wrong in all my 
life, and yet your words have made me feel that I stand here like 
a criminal before a judge. 

Horace. Nay; my object is to protect you ttgainst unhappi- 
ness. Win you consent to become my pupil? 

Fanny. To you, to whom I owe so much, there is but one an- 
swer, {Oiving her hand.) I will! 



9CKNS I. THE COUNTBT SQUIBB. 31 

Horace, In the first place, promise me that these fingers, 
formed for the useful and elegant accomplishments of female &e — 
for the work-table, the pencil, and ^e piano — shall, from this 
moment, give up all acquaintance with such implements {Pnwixttg 
to pistols.) as those. 

^anny. Take them, tiiey are yours 1 I have no wish oyer to see 
them again. 

Horace, Next, that you will be more guarded — don't be angry 
with me — ^more feminine in your expressions ; that you will use 
your own words in short, and not your cousins' Tom and Bill ; 
you can do so, you Aave, now, since we haye been talking together. 

Fanny, Are not your language also and your manner, soms- 
thing d^enent from what they were ? 

Horace. I cannot tell ; but if they are, what wonder, when I 
feel as I neyer in my whole existence felt before ? Qh 1 Fanny, 
for so I must call you, let me improve the happy chance these mo- 
ments giye me, and hold this hand, until you say it shall be mine 
for life ! 

Funivy. (Wiikdrawing her hand in confusion,) I was not pre- 
pared for this ; indeed, I know not what to say. 

Horace. Consult no monitor, except your Idnd and open heart ! 
If you feel the smallest interest for me, do not trifle witii my hap- 
piness — ^but own it, like — ^like — 

Fanny. Like a man ? 

Horace, No — not like a man — {Tkams away, t.) 

Fanny, WeSl, well — ^if I have been taught too much of the 
freedom of your sex, at least I have w>t been taught the coquetry 
of ours — I do like you ; and, if I am wrong to say so, blame 
yourself for asking the question of one, who has not art enough to 
giye a false answer. {Giving her hand.) 

Horace, {Kissing it.) Dearest, dearest Fanny, but see, the 
Squire is coming this way — ^how very unfortonate 1 

Fanny. The Squire I Then I must toddle-^{Crosses to l. He 
looks at her J she checks herself,) leave you, I mean, (going,) 

Horace. {Following her.) We shall meet again, presoitly ? 

Fanny, Yes ! Yes ! 

Horace. I have a fiivor to ask you — 

Fanny, What is it ? 

Horace, That you will change this boyish fiishion of your hair — 

Fanny, What 1 Does my curly wig offend you, too ? Well, the 
master orders, and the pupU must obey I (Curtseys, and exit l.) 

Enter the SauiRE, L. u. e. 

Horace, (Looking after her, and unconsciously resuming his 
affiled voice,) Happy, happy fellow 1 She loves you — that's 
evident 1 

Squire. (Aside,) Now, she*s in love with somebody I What 
loving relations I have got. 

Horace, (Coming forward unthout seeing him) How strange it is 
that people never can see their own defects 1 Here has tfaiis girl, 
with every requisite, natural and acquired, to become an ornament 
to society, been miUdng herself positively ridiculous, by assuming 
a language and a manner altogether unsuited to her sex. 



32 



TBS COUNTST SQUIBB. 



ACT a 



Squire. (Aside r.) Came, that's prettf well, for you. 

Soraoe, But I don't see tiie Squire, now— (Going up i«.) 

Squire, Tom tluB way, my friend, and you will. That wasMiai 
Fanny Markham who left you ? 

Horace, (l.) It was, sir. 

Squire. She is a good wench, but an odd one. 

Horace. I have found her both. 

Squire. You were talking yery earnestly with her, seemin^y ? 

Horace. I was. 

Squire. What about ? 

Horace, Nay, sir — excuse me—" When a woman's in the 
case." — 

Squire. Fiddle de dee I with a woman in the case ! Yon were 
talking to her about love, I suppose? 

Horace. Something of the sort, I beliere. 

Squire. Are you in love ? 

Horace. (Aside.) What shall I say ? (Aloud,) No, sir. 

Squire. More shame for you I 

Horace, (Aside.) I have done wrong 1 (Aloud.) I meant, yes, 

Squire. It's lucky for you 1 Fanny is in love, also, I presome, , 
as a matter of course ; for it appears to me that the air of 
Broadlands has become '' nuurelously £Bivorable to the growth of 
the tender passion." 

Horace, I believe I may say that she is, sir ! 

Squire. No doubt. With whom ? 

Horace. Nay, sii^— ^Aa^ is a question — (Aside.) I must teU lum 
by degrees. (Aloud.) With one of your nephews, sir. 

Squire, I'm delighted to hear it! (Aside.) This lets out Master 
George's secret, then ; and this good boy, has been interoediiig 
with her, for his brother! (Aloud.) Horace, I perceive exactly 
what you have been saying to Miss Markham — you have done 
a very good natured action — I'll take care that you don't lose 
by it. 

Horace. (Aside.) What on earth, does that mean? (Aloud.) 
My dear sir, what I did, was merdy — 

Squire. (Interrupting.) Don't explain ! Modesty is the compa- 
nion of merit ; come hither, you young dog, and I'll whisper 
something in your ear to begin with — (Horace approax^es Aim, 
he takes his arm^ and speaks mysteriously.) Your affection is 
returned. 

Horace. (Puzzled.) You know that? 

Squire. I do. 

Horace. You overheard, then ? 

Squire. I did. 

Horace. And you are not angry ? 

Squire. Angry, my dear boy? I'm seldom angry with anybody, 
never, with my darling Sophy ! 

Horace. Your darling Sophy, sir ? 

S<fUirc. What are you alarmed at ? There is no particular 
danger in her being my darling Sophy I imagine ? 

Horace. I have no objection, sir. 

Squire. And now, sir, I want to know ho«" your notions about 
giving up London get on ? 



SCENE I. THE COUNTRY SQUIRE. 33 

Horace. Upon my life, sir, I begin to think that I shall find 
the country very endurable ; and then, yon know, sir one needn't 
be here constantly ; one may spend above half the year in Town. 

Squire, Indeed one may do no such thing I No, sir, the man 
who takes my place when I am gone must do as I have done — 
reside the greater part of his time amongst those who have a na« 
tural right to look up to him for protection and support ; and 
spend the greater part of the wealth the soil produces amongift 
those, who, under Providence, have made that soil productive. 

Horace. Indeed I believe you're right, sir. 

Squire. My friend, I know I'm right. I've tried the system 
for fifty years and I ought to know by this time. And now, I 
want to ask your advice. 

Horace. My advice, sir ? 

Squire. Yes, I don't wonder at your being astonished. {Aside.) 
I'll invent a tale of woe, and try what his heart is made of. 
[Aloud.) I find myself in a painful position ; the only son of one 
of my tenants has robbed me of forty pounds; if I prosecute 
him he will be transported, and his father and mother, who are 
worthy, honest people, will be brought to disgrace — perhaps to 
death ! 

Horace. Then don't prosecute him. 

Squire. {Aside.) Good ! {Aloud.) Aye ; but as a magistrate, 
I am bound to punish the guilty. 

Horace. Granted ; but, as a man, you are bound not to punish 
the innocent. Think of his poor devUs of a father and moliier. 

Squire. He should have thought of them, before he committed 
the crime. 

Horace. So he should ; but as he didn't — suppose we think of 
them for him ? 

Squire. What course do you recommend r 

Horace. Tell him to replace the money and you'll forgive him. 

Squire. It wouldn't do for me to tell him. 

Horace. Then, let me, without your knowing it. 

Squire. But I have reason to believe that he has spent it. 

Horace. Then I'll give it him out of the fifty you gave me 
yesterday. 

Squire. {Aside, and turning away to conceal his emotion.) I shall 
hug him directly. 

Horace. Come Nunky, don't be hard hearted ! 

Squire. {Aside, and much moved.) Yes, I'm very hard hearted — 
very — 

Horace. It must be such a horrid bore to a fellow to go to 
prison I Won't you let me go to him and settle it .' 

Squire. {Strvggling with his feelings.) It's ten miles off I tell 
you, and my horses are all employed to-day. 

Horace. All employed } Then I'll walk I 

Squire. (Turning, towards him.) Horace, come to ray arms 
for I love you ! {Embraces him, and then pushes him away.) And 
now get out, for I hate you ! 

Horace. Love me and hate me ! 

Squire. Yes ; I love you — ^because upon every important point 
on which I try you, I find you with the feelings of a man and a 



34 THB COUNTST SQUIBK. ICT XL 

gentleman: I hate yon — becaoM yon hide those fedingibdimdtk 
langnage and hearing of a dandy and a noodle ! Expound yomaelf 
boy ; for to me you are a riddle. 

Horace, K I knew what yon objected to, I wonid alter it, ar, 
m£ti pleasure. 

Squire, There it ia then ! What do yon say '' with ploffrfaar," 
for ? Can't you say, with pleasure ? 

Boraee, (In a leu dandified tone.) With pleasore. 

Squire. lW*8 better ; bat it wont do yet — ^with pleasor* 1 

Horace. {Imitating him,) With pleasure. 

Squire. There, I knew you could speak like a human being if 
you chose. Keep to that my dear boy, and drop your Londoo 
drawling ; you'll gain three quarters of an hour every day by it 

Horace. I shall endeavour. 

Squire. Quicker! 

Horace, I shall endeavour. 

Squire, That will do I And now, my firiend I want yoa to alter 
your walk. 

Horace, What's the matter with my walk ? 

Squire, I don't know, but it seems to me very uncomfortable— 
I would see you walk thuSy {Crosses to Im) like an English 
gentieman ; not thuSf like a foreign dancing master. ( Croties to 
B.) I would have your very gait an index to your character- 
firmness of step, to bespeak firmness of purpose — i^irightness of 
l>ody, to indicate uprightness of mind. I would have you look the 
world in the face, and defy it to make you wink. A smile for a 
Mend, a frown for a foe, but a full front for all I 

Horace, I will do my best to meet your wishes; and, that I 
may begin my practice at once, tell me where this poor culprit 
lives ? 

Squire. (Agide.) Odso! I forgot that! I can't well tell him what 
I don't know — 

Horace, {Taking out note.) I must first get this fifty pound 
note changed. 

Squire. Stay, my boy, a thought strikes me. I can relieve yoa 
of tiiat trouble ; give me that note and I'll give you the clumge 
for it by and bye. {Crosses l. Aside.) Better change than 
ever was given for a fifty pound note before ! {Aloud,) And nov, 
come along — you curious, anomalous, contradictory, puzzling ani- 
mal ; you silly, rattlebrained, dandified, kind hearted, bro&eiij, 
brave, generous, noble minded rascal 1 Come along ; and as yos 
come, walk as I have taught you, Ihus I {Taking his hand, u)aBasg 
and singing,) 

" Like a fine old English gentleman, all of the olden time ! ** 

lExsunt L. hand in hand — Horace tmitating the Squire's waft, and 
singing with h«m.] 

SCENE II. A room at the HaU, 

Enter Temperance, l. foUowed slowhj and wnmUingly by Alice.. 

Temp. Come on this way with me, I tell you ! I want you in 
my room. 



scsifB II. Tos couirrmT 8qu»b. 35 

AUee. Let me stay thera a litde longer, Aimt — I had rallier— 
I had indeed! 

Temp. What for ? Why ? 

Alice. I can't exactly teU vrhy— - 

Temp. Then come with me — I hare often told you that you 
ahoiild have a reason for every thing. 

Alice. Well, I have a reason Aunt, but I don't think you'll be 
satiafied with it. 

Teff^. Why not? 

Alice. It's such a little one. 

Enter Spabrow, Itastilyt l. 

Sparrow. Well Alice, here I am, punctual as time. (Seeing 
TxicPBRANCE, he is about to retreat l.) 

Temp. {Crosses to c.) Come in I come in 1 no mnmng away 
( To Alios.) So this was your reason? 

AUce, (b.) Yes, aunt; I told you it was a little one 

Ten^. I'tc caught you Mr. Sparrow I 

Sparrow. I own it; but open the trap and let me go. 

Temp. Why do you come here seeking to make a fool of this 
girl? 

Sparrow. By the honour of a correct— I may add, an irreproaoh - 
able watchmaker; I seek no such thing I 

Temp. What tlien is your object? 

Sparrow. My object? She to whom my hand poinits, my char- 
ming Alice! 

Temp. Your Alice? Who is to make her your's pray? 

Sparrow. The Reverend Mr. Roberts. 

Temp. Alice; have you consented to this? 

AUoe. Have I, Sparrow? 

Sparrow. Most certainly you have. 

AUce. Well, ifyou say so, I suppose I have I (ToTbmpeaancb.) 
I'm Tery sorry, aunt, if I have done anything wrong, but if you'll 
only let me marry him this once, I'll never do so any more. 

Temp. You're a silly girl; and I desire I may hear no 
more of this at present at idl events; two or three years hence 

perhaps — 

Sparrow Two or three years! What a terrible waste of time ! 

Temp. (To Sparrow.) Now we have a great deal to attend to, 
so pray go away. 

Sparrow. Go away! wound up as I am, I cannot possibly go. 
(KneeHng.) Kind, good Mrs. Temperance, on my knees I entreat 
you to taJce pity on two virtuous and 8u£fering individuals! 

Temp, Get m^ you foolish creature, do! 

Sparrow. Never! Alice, come down, and help me to melt your 
aunt! 

Alice. (KneeUng r.) Dear aunt, please to melt ! 

Temp. Alice, I'm quite ashamed of you get up this instant 
I only wish the Squire were here to see you! 

Enter the Squire l., they rise hastily on hearing his voice* 

Squire. You have your wish my good friend! What were these 
young people kneeling to you for? 

Temp. The foolifdai creatures want to be married, sir! 



36 THB COUNTRT SQUOtB. ACT IL 

Squire. Well, why don't y<m let tiiem? If the match tnznB oot 
badly, they're the people to suffer. {Crosses to Tamperancs.) 

Temp, True, sir, but Alice ia too young. 

Squtre. Ah! She'll soon mend of that fault, ( To Alice.) and 
1 don't think she has any other. (Axicb curtHeps. To Tsmfeb- 
ANCE. ) Have yod anything to say against my little watchmaker 
in ordinary here ? 

Temp, No sir, the little man is well enough. 

Sparrow, I beg to obserre, with great respect, that there are 
no less than six men in the village shorter than I am. {Urawmt/ 
himself up,) 

Squire, That's right my friend, stand up for yourself J and nov 
111 flay something for you ; there is no man in the Tillage tall or 
short who is more punctual than you are. (Sparrow bows. To 
Temperance.) And my experience has taught me friend Tempj, 
that a man who is punctual in matters of business, will seldom go 
far astray in other matters. 

Sparrow, {Aside to Alice, who has crossed behind to l.) Do 
you hear that, Alice? [the sfage. 

Alice. {Aside to him.) What a dear old Squire! (They retire vp 

Squire. {Aside to Temperance.) Come, what say you? It 
does not follow, because you and I have never been married that 
nobody else should be. 

Temp. Be it as you command, sir. 

Squire, Nay, nay, I don't command in such a case. 

Temp, Then as you wish, sir. 

Squire. That's a^good soul ! and I'll see if I can find a stray 
hundred or so, for the girl! {Aloud,) Come hither you two! 
(7b Alice) Your aunt gives you permission to be married, anU I 
will give you something to buy a new bonnet with. 

Both. Thank you, sir! 

Squire. No thanks ! come to me two or three years hen(%, if 
I should happen to be in the way, and if you thank me theriy I 
shan't doubt that you have good cause for doing so ! And now si, 
tuck this young woman under your arm, and go see some of the 
amusements which are going on in the park, for I have nothing 
more to say to you, and I have something very particular to say 
to my friend here. 

Sparrow and Alice. Oh I thank you, thank you, sir ! 

^Exeunt Sparrow and Alice l. 

Squire. {Aside.) Yes; I'll pretend I'm going to be married, and 
that shall be Horace's last ordeal. Tempy shall assist my pian. 
and imdertake to act the part of my wife at a short notice! 

Temp. Something very particular, sir ? 

Squire. Aye, something very — very particular! 

Temp, {Aside.) What can it be ? 

Squire. Mistress Temperance — 

Temp, Yes, sir! 

Squire. Temperance — 

Temp. Yes, sir! 

Squire. {Taking her hand.) Tempy — 

Temp, S— Sir I 

Squire. {Letting go qf her hand and aside.) Upon my Kfe it 
is rather an awkward thing to do, now I come to the point 



•GBKS IL THE GOUNTRT 8Q01SB. 37 

T}smp. (Aside.) How very strange ! He seemB as orach ooniiised 
as if hie were going to ask me to marry him! 

Sepiire. I have a favour to ask of yoa ; but it is a fiivonr of 
so peculiar a description, that I feel it right to prepare you in 
some d^ree, before I mention what it is. 

T^emp. {Aside.) Why it never can be so! (Aloud.) You have 
only to speak, sir, and I hope you know that your wishes will 
be attended to. [Aside.) I don't know what to say about it. 

Squire. (L.J You are aware that I am rich.' 

Temp. Yes, sir. 

Squire. That I am seventy jrears old ? 

Temp. Yes, sir. 

Squire. {Takinff her hand a^otn.) And tiiat I am unmarried .' 

Temp, (Startled,) Sir! 

Squire. (Letting go of her hand and aside.) Now what in the 
world does she start at that for ? (Aloud.) Why, you never sup- 
posed that I was married, did you ? 

Temp. Certainly not, sir. 

Squire. Then you need'nt agitate yourself yet, at all events. 
When I sent for these nephews of mine, it was under the idea of 
making one of them my heir. Yesterday I inclined to George ; 
to day I have had a preference for Horace ; but to-morrow, nay 
even to-day, if you consent to my wishes, may bring with it another 
change. 

Temp, (Atide,) I hardly dare trust myself to guess at his meaning. 

Squire. Yesterday proved that this boy Horace was biave; 
to-day has shewn hhn to possess half a dozen other good qualities ; 
it has however occurred to me, that he may think me a good na- 
tured old fool, and may have assumed them to impose on me. I 
want therefore, to know how he would behave if he found that I 
was going to be married ? 

Temp. You, sir, going to be married ? 

Squire. Yes. I have therefore made up my mind to ask you — 
(Aside.) It really is a very delicate and a very awkward thing, to 
ask a woman to pretend she is going to be married to you. (AUmd. ) 
I say I have therefore made up my mind to ask you — (Asitle.) 
I cannot do it and so it don't signify I I must insinuate what I 
mean, she is a shrewd woman and will understand me in a 
moment. (Aloud.) Tempyl 
Temp. What, my dear sir ? 

Squire. Yon are a sensible, clever creature, and I dare say if 
the truth was known, that you already half see through my intention. 
Temp, (b.) It is possible I may, sir. 

Squire, (l.) Good ! Good ! I am aware that a little plan of 
this sort, may seem almost foolish in a man of my time of life ; 
but you will make allowance for me, when I tell you that it is to 
satisify me on a subject which is nearest my heart. 

Temp, Any subject which is near your heart, sir, cannot be far 
from mine. 

Squire, A thousand thanks, my dear friend ! Your quickness 
has saved me from much awkwardness ; without further preface 
then, I shall announce to all my household that I am going to 
be married. 



38 THS COVNTRT SQUIAK. ACTIL 



Timnp, {Aride.) That it should oome to tills at Int I {Abmi.] 
Will not such an aunonncement seem rather abnq^ air ? 

Squire, .That is what I want — She'll be the more off his gaarl 

Amp, llien it shall be as you wish^ 

Squire, And yon will not forg^ to confirm all I saj, both bf 
your words and manner ? 

Temp. It is not likely I should forget it, sir. 

Squire, Good soul I Qood sool I And if occasion shoold rsqaiic 
it, you will not fail to support your new dignity ? 

Temp. I shall do my best to support it. 

Squire. I'm sure you will I Aiid now faieweU — my wife tint 
is to be — ^for a short time — 

Temp. For a short time dear sir, farewell. 

Squire, (Atide.) Horace be prepared, yonr last trial ip- 
proaches 1 [^Sxit l. 

Temp. I have often thought that this might happen ; but it has in- 
deed come suddenly now it has come ! It would perhaps have been a> 
well if he had mentioned it some twenty years ago ; but that is ncta 
foolish proverb, which says " Better late than never 1 ** The oolj 
question is, ought I to decline the offer ? I can see no reason idiy 
I ought. I wrong no one by accepting it ; and I serve myself, 
while I please him whom it is my first duty to please. Come 
then Mistress Temperance, late as it is, lay aside the new- 
ness of the Squire's housekeeper, and, since he desires it, prac- 
tice the deportment of the Squire's lady! 

[^ExU B., wiih auumed digiuiy. 

SCENE ni. — Large open part of the park, fire at the bad, 
V. E. L. at vMch an ox and a large pig, are hein^ roasted vhole; fov 
or five cooks are attending to them. In the centre a May-pole is erected, 
decorated with garlands and flowers. Hogsheads of ale. v, E. R- 
hong covered tables and benches, n. and L. ^c. A garden seat it placed m 
B., and some garden chairs in s. E. R., for the SauiRE andhis partg. 

Enter Sparrow and Alecs, u. b« b. 

Sparrow. {Comity down with Alice, arm-in-arm.) Here's yoor 
works ! 

Alice. Well I declare, this looks something like a birth-day! 
Was there ever such a dear old Squire ? 

Sparrow, (r.) I must say, that every thing seems uncommonlT 
well regulated ! 

AKce. (l.) I should think so ; look at the ox, look at the sheep, 
look at the cooks ! 

Sparrow. They're nothing to what you'll see presently ! There'll 
be the wrestlers, and the single-stick players, and the morris-dsn- 
cers, and I don't know who besides ! 

AUce. Why you forgot the ladies and gentlemen, belonging to 
the society of Tox — tox — tox — ^what is that hard French word ? 

Sparrow. Toxophilites ! But I don't think it's French, I think 
it's an Italian word ! 

AUce. Yes, Bows and Arrows, that's it ! Well they're all coming 
in their dresses ! 



SCBlca III. THE GOUNTBT BQUIBB. 39 

Sparrow, Why yoa wouldn't hare them come out of thdr drenes, 
would yon ? 

AUce. Don't be a gooee ! 

Syurrow. I most be a goose to-day, I can't help it. It's the 
Squire's birthday, and it's in a manner our wedding-day'— 

AUce. And it's abeautiliilday, and it's a merry day, and it's*- 

Sparrow. {Interrupting,) And it's nearly one o' clock, and 
here's ill the world beginning to come ! 

AUce, Oh my! what a stream of people all across the park! 
(Music, very piano u heard, indicating the appro(u^ of the Morris-doH' 
emre,) [jffte stage. 

Sparrow. Huzza! here they come, music and aU. (They turn up 

(Music; enier v. B. r. Female Archers and Morrii'dancen, &^ 
dance, round t^ ttc^e and 0ien stt, the ladiet r. ^ gentlemen l*. 
Groups of cotuUry pestle ^ L. u.e. among uihieh are intermixed persons 
dressed for running^ wresUing, quoit-thrcnoingy single-stick playing, 
S^.^ ^ley moee about Ac stage, conversing, and examining the d^erent 
preparations /or the amusewtents,) 

Enter Horace l. u. b. 

Horace. Where in the world can Famiy have got to ? I can't 
find her any where. (He is crossing the stage towards r., when 
Fannt enters r. u. b , vnperceived, in a female archer* s dress, cross- 
mg his path ; he runs against Iter, then turns round, bows and takes <^ 
his hat.) I beg your pardon, sir, ma'am I mean. (Puts his hat on 
again and is going L.) 

Fanny. Is that all you have to say, sir ? 

Horace. ( Turning hastily. ) You Fanny, is it possible ? 

Fanny. Quite possible ! How do you like my dress ? 

Horace. To be candid with you, not at all ; I am disappointed 
and vexed to find you in it. 

Fanny If I had thought you would have disliked the dress, I 
would not have put it on ; but my companions expect me to join 
them ; I am their captain. 

Horace. Would you rather disappoint them or distress me ? 

Fanny. Come, come, do^'t look so very serious about it ! 

Horace. You promised me to discontinue the use of weapons. 

Fomny, Well, I gave you my pistols ! 

Hara^ie. I meant of aU weapons ! 

^awiy. Why I have only got a bow and a few arrows. 

Horace. Still they are mascuUae. 

Fawty. I expected to win the prize to-day. 

Horace. Give me your bow and arrows and I'll win it for you. 

Fanny. {Eagerly.) You will i I shall like that better! (Gives Hiem 
to him.) 

Horace. Dearest Fanny, and will you gratify my whim . 

Fanny. I suppose I must. [Goim/ k.) 

Horace. (Going to lier.) Then let me see you back to the hall. 

Fawiy, (Checking him.) No sir, thank you, not while I wear a 
dress which disappoints and vexes you ; you have offended me, sir, 
and I have a great mind — • J/orace looks imploringly at her) to 
forgive you! (Horace kisses her hand. Exit Fanny r., he mixes with 
the crowd, and disappears,) 



40 THB COUNTRT 8QUI£E. ACT E 

AUce, {Coming furvoard with Sparrow.) What tfane wiH tiie 
Squire come ? 
Sparrow, One, to a moment I 

(Lor^f Clodc goei the quairtert, and ttriket One! Voiea L.u. i. 
caMmd ''The Squire ! The Squire ! " The persont dreesed far h 
d&ferent sports form in groups on either side, wUh the Country Peo^ 
bMnd them, leaving a passage open down the centre. Small eaMm 
are fired in the distance. The bells nng. The band plays "ThsOii 
English Gentlemany* and the people cheer m time at tiie end qf eoA 
line, Tfie SauiRB appears from L. u. £. leading Tbmfxbahck 
by the hand, followed by George, Horace, aiuL Sopht. He tub 
Jus hat oj^, to the right and left, in answer to the dteers, haii 
Temperance to the garden seat, and bows generally, to &e tAcIt 

Msemhly, as the music concludes.^ 

Sparrow, One cheer more I {All shout,) 
Squire, A kind welcome to all my friends both great and small 
Now let the sports begin ! 

The SauiRE, sits on L. of Temperance ; George, Sopht, ad 
Horace, occupy seats, s. e. r. 

BaMet of Morris Dancers and Female Archers, 

Squire. Good I Now friends, rest awhUe and refresh yonrsdTCs; 
presently we'll have more sport, and after that we'll find some 
prizes for the winners. 

The people seat themselves ai the tables. The SauiRB rises and cffi»^ 
forward, followed by his own immediate party. 

Squire, (c.) Where is my friend Fanny ? 

Enter Fanny, (r.) in a plain white muslin dress, 

Horace. {Coming to meet Jier.) Here, sir! 

Squire. Good ! Come nev me all of you — and come next iMt 
you two boys ; I have a family secret to communicate to yon. 

Sophy, and George, {n.c.) Horace and Fanny (l.) A secret, sir! 

Squire A most important one I It bums me — and I must out 
with it. 

Temp. (r. IamIcs earnestly ai the Squire, who crosses to her )Vg- 
haps it might be as well, sir, not to mention my name in the first 
instance. 

Squire. (Aside to her,) You are quite right ; I wont, unless I 
find it absolutely necessary. (Aloud, crossing c.) I sent for you 
two boys, imder the notion of making one of you my heir ; y<>° 
George have saved me all trouble, by declining the situation. 

Temp. (Aside.) He has saved lamself some trouble, also. 

Geo. My dear sir, if I had two lives I should have no objec* 
tion to spending one of them in the country ; as it is, I most still 
:u-iy, London for me ! I care more about five per cents, than fi^f" 

iTred gates — more about farming stocks, than stocking farms" 



[ 



SCENE in. THE COUNTST SQUIRB. 41 

and though I am at home among balls and bean, I should be 
sadly oat among oxen and sheep ! 

Sqtdre. Well, well, I'll settle accoants with you bye and bye. 
Horace ! 

Horace. Sir. 

Squire. You took to my plan readily. 

Btracc, Very much so indeed. 

Temp. (Aside.) Poor fellow 1 It will be a cruel disappointment 
to him. 

Squire, For your sake I have turned teacher of elocution and 
drill sergeant ; and I must admit, that in the short space of two 
days yon have made considerable progress. 

Horace, You're very good, sir. 

Squire. Don't be too sure of that I don't regret having taught 
you; but I do regret that circumstances obUge me to alter my 
previoos intention of making you my heir. 

Famy. (Aside to Horace.) Why ike Squire is never going to 
back out, is he ^ 

Horace. (Checki her with a lookf and turns to the Squire eamestiy.) 
What have I done, sir, to forfeit your good opinion ? 

Squire. Nothing. 

Horace. Then sir, allow me to say — ^that to excite my hopes in 
the way you did ; and then without cause, to dash them to tiie 
gronnd, is unlike all that I have ever heard of you — ^it is cruel, it 
is onjastifiable I 

S^e. (Aside.) Bravo I Bravo 1 

Fanmy, (Aside.) He gives it to him well, and serve him right 
too 

Squire. (Aside.) I like his spirit 1 

G^. Horace only meant, sir — 

Squire. Let him alone boy 1 ( To Horace.) You interrupted me, 
just as I was going to give you a reason — 

Horace. Oh I sir — ^what reason can you have ? 

Squire. One, that you will find conclusive if not satisfactory. 
I am going to be married. 

All. (except Temperance.) Married ! 

Temp. (Aside.) There'll be another little surprise when they 
hear whom it is to ! 

Squire. How you all stare I Did you never hear of an elderly 
gentleman's being married before ? 

Geo. Why sir — ^you know it was only yesterday that you said 
it was too late, and added that — (Hesitaiing.) 

Squire. I remember it perfectly — that I couldn't help being an 
old man, but I could help being an old fool. But then I'm like 
Benedick, '* when I said I would die a bachelor, I didn't think I 
*ould live to be married." 

Temp. (Aside.) I'm sure I little expected it I 

Horace. (Going to the Squire, and offering his hand.) My dear 
BT) I ask you ten thousand pardons. 

Squire, (Astonished.) What have yoti done ? 

Horace. It never entered into my head, that you were going to 
be married. 



4) Tin couimiT squire. actii 

Squire, (Atide,) I don't wonder at it 1 (Aloud.) And now tkt 
it does enter your head ? 

Horace, I percdye in it notfaiqg beyond what, having pkotjoi 
money and being aoconntable to nobody, yon have a perfect i^ 
to do ; and what, were I in yonr place, I would do myself tfl 
chose it. 

Squire, And yon don't consider me an old fool ? 

Hontee. No, sir I 

Squire. Nor an old brute ? 

Horace. Certainly not, sir ! 

Squire. Pray, sir, do you remember vdiat yon may lose bj it i 

Horace. I can't hielp it ; that which is j«st in itsdtf doei lot 
become unjust, merely because I happen to suffer by it. 

Squire, Boy, yon exceed my hopes, and I will own to yoi- 
(^Aiide.) No, I won't own it yet, I'U keep it for a bonnebon^l 
(Aloud.) I owe you some recompence for bearing thisBewss 
wcU ! 

Horace, Surely, sir, you are old enough to do as you like. 

Squire, Why yes — ^but I am not, and I hope I never shall be dii 
enough, to prevent others from doing as they like. Geoige, 700 
are in love ! 

Geo. I own it. 

Squire, Horace, you are in love 1 

Horace. I admit it. 

Squire, Sophy 1 my darling, come hither. Fanny, my fiioi 
come to thit hand \ {They cross to km,) And now, mydeargiti* 
and boys, be happy witiii the objects of your affection^. (H«^ 
SoPHT to HoBACE, v>ho IS L., and Fanny to Georgb, u^ >»• 
They all start avxiy from each other exclaiminfff " Sir ! ") WWi 
the matter with you all ? Wh at is this mock modesty abont' 

Geo. There's some mistake, sir. 

Horace, Farmy, and Sophy. Yes, sir, there's some mistake. 

Squire, {To George.) What, ar'nt you in love with FanF'? 

Geo. No, sir I 

Squire, {To Fawny.) Nor you vwth Greorge ? 

Fanny. No, sir ! 

Squire, {To Sophy.) Nor you with Horace ? 

Sophy, No, sir I 

Squire, {To Horace,) Nor you with Sophy ? 

Horace, No, sir! 

Squire, Why didn't I overhear — 

Geo. {Interrupting.) I can save you trouble, sir. In yonrnsa' 
anxiety to make others happy, you have for once mistaken ^ 
means ; permit Horace and myself to change places and all ^ 
he right. 

Squire. Oh I that's it, is it ? Well, with all my heart {^ 
tiuLnges the ladies over — they shake hands. ) I have always been of 9^ 
nion, that when the dance is for life, people should be allowed to 
choose their own partners. ( They aU turn up the stage, exeeptTtv^ 
RANGE. The SauiRB looks at her,) 

Temp. Now, comes my turn. 

Squire. Tempy 1 {She approaches him.) Nearer, I don't *»* 



SCESE III. THE COUNTRT 8QUUB. 43 

every body to oveHisar JiB-^She gf>€9 dote to Atm.) Yon were mig- 
taken in that boy Horace yesterday, he has tamed out better 
llua you thought. 

Tflnp. He has indeed ! 

Squire, How admirably he bore the newt of my intended mar- 
riagel 

Temp. It's hieky lor him that he oonld bear it so. 

^[uiTe. It shall be Incky for him. (Lauf^J) It's funny enough, 
that they should none ik them ask to vhotn I was going to be 
married? 

Temp, Perhaps it was as well, sir. 

Squire, Better, my friend, better! — ^because we needn't tell 
them now. 

Temp, Oh ! not now you think, sir ? When then ? 

Squire. When I say not now, I mean not at all. 

Temp. They nuut know it at some time or other. 

Squire. Not if we keep our own counsel. 

Temp. (Agide.) Why, he never can mean to propose a secret 
marriage at our time of life ? 

Squire. What's the matter, Tempy? 

Temp. Nothiog, sir — I was only wondering how you could ma- 
nage to avoid the mention of my name. 

Squire. That's the easiest thing in life. I can tell them one half 
of the joke without telling them the other. 

Temp. (Aside.) Joke ! What can he mean by joke ? 

Squire, What is the matter with you, Tempy ? You seem quite 
uneasy about something? 

Temp, Shall I be candid with you, sir ? 

Squire. If you value my friendship. 

Temp, Then, I do not feel comfortable in the situation in which 
ytfu have placed me. 

Squire, And you've been in it thirty years and never said a word 
about it before. 

Temp. I allude to our conversation half an hour ago. 

Spuire. What, did I say any thing to offend you ? 

Temp. Offend me ! Oh ! no, sir — but, I shall feel more satis- 
fied when your relations know the whole truth. 

Squire, What whole truth ? 

Temp, I mean, with r^ard to the offer you have done me tiie 
honor to make me. 

Squire. The offer I have done you the honor to make you ? 

Temp. To become your wife. 

Squire. (Starting.) My wife ? 

Temp. (Aride.) He seems surprised. 

Squire. (Aside.) What can she mean ? Oh ! she's joking of 
oonrse ; she should not joke with me upon such a subject ; but I 
have no i%ht to complain for I began it. (Aloud.) Upon my life, 
yoQ seemed so serious that I forgot you were carrying on the jest 
which I ask'd you to join me in. putting on my urohew^ Horace* 

Temp. The jest, sir, the jest? Can it be possible? (Aside.) If 
I have fo ndsteken him, I shaU be ashamed to look him in the 
face again. 

Sqjdfre. (Aside.) Here's a pretty business! As I'm a living 



44 THE COUNTBT SQUIBB ACril 

Squire, she thinks I proposed to marry her in good earnest! I see 
it all now ; this comes of my damn'd delicacy that wouldn't k( 
me speak out. {Looking at her,) Poor thing ! Poor thing I I ha 
wounded her feelings ; most innocently, I must say : what does 
that signify ? I have wounded them and I must heal them; but 
how ? Can it be done with honor ? Yes 1 Without injury to otheis! 
Yes : It can and shall ! If the man has made a blunder, the go- 
ileman shall set it right ! {Goes and takeM her ha$¥i.) Tempy-it'! 
rather late in life — ^I have had thoughts of this in years gooe by- 
but let us not talk of that ; your wishes shall be attended to, m 
relations shall know all — I will tell them. {Gathering morefinaia^ 
Now, this instant! 

Temp. {Wiihdraunng her hand,) Your pardon, dear sir; ^ 
me one minute to collect myself. {Aside.) I hiace mistaken hifl 
and what is worse he has discovered it ; yet, he would sacri&e 
himself rather than inflict pain on one whom he regards — there it 
comfort for me yet — ^the secret is between ourselves, and be- 
tween ourselves it shall remain — ^my momentary fit of pride is 
past — and I am once more, the Squire's Housekeeper ! 

Squire. May I call them now ? 

Temp. I am prepared, sir. 

Squire, Boys and girls, come hither ! {He erosset to l. coner- 
They return, Gboboe and Sofht b. c, Horacs and FANNTL.a 
I told you I was going to be married ; but you were so occap/A 
about being married yourselves, that you never asked me to wboo. 

Geo. No more we did I declare i Allow us to ask it now ? 

Temp, {To the SciuiBE.) Let m« answer, sir. 

Squire. Do so ! 

Horace, Briefly, then — ^where does our future aunt exist ? 

Temp, In the imagination of your uncle, sir. {All test^ sa- 
prise.) There is not (looking earnestly at the SauiBE,) and thett 
never trtU be, any such person. It is true, that he once fori 
moment, entertained such an idea ; but as it was only a joke, ind 
as the name of the other party is known to no one here bat tbe 
Squire and myself, we think — ^we both think — that it would be 
unfair to mention it. 

Squire, {Crossing tovoards Tkuveb. ah ce, toho meets him, hetfi'' 
ner hand eagerly.) Tempy, I understand you ; you lose an ^ 
man by this, but you shall gain something betteiv— do yottvnder' 
stand me? 

Temp. {Smiling.) This time, I think I do, sir. 

Squire. Good soul ! Good soul ! {Returning to c.) George, I 
shall take care of you and my little Sophy. I have money in t 
comer for that. Horace, come hither! (Horace crosses to fni 
approaches the SauiBE.) I deceived you, but it was for a gw^ 
purpose ; I have broken through your outward follies to try witft 
your heart was made of and nobly has my labour been re^ 
{ Leads him forvxird and speaks partly to him and partly to the avdtestt) 
It was once thought, that the bucks and beaux of London vodd 
never make good soldiers ; but, when their king and conntiy 
required their services, the blood of the English gentlemen roshed 
to meet the caU and they soon made their enemies confess that 
their friends had been mistaken. {To the People,) You here be- 



CENE III. THE COUNTRY SQUIRE. 45 

Lold, in my adopted son, your future Squire 1 (All rise and shout, — 
^a Horace.) You hear that shout? It proceeds from hearts 
ehich / have made happy ; do you keep them so when I am gone, 
have found you to possess courage, humanity, kindness, gene- 
osity and sympathy with those in misfortune. May such qualities 
:ver distinguish " The Country Squire I" 

4 general shout. The air of the " Old English Gentleman" is 
repeated, and the curtain descends. 



THE END. 



Disposition of Characters. 

^(^UlRE. HOR. ^ 

/ 



W. S. JOHNSON, ** NASSAU PRESS," NASSAU STREET, 80H0. 



"■ ^J 



i 



THE 

QUEER SUBJECT. 

A FARCE, 

In ®ne Act» 

by 
J. S. COYNE, Esq. 

As performed at 
THE ROYAL ADELPHI THEATRE. 



COKRECTLT PRIMTKD FEOM THE P&OMPTSR's COPT, WITH THE 

CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, 

SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS 

OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONiB. 

Prefaced by 

A DEDICATION TO JOHN REEVE, ESQ. 

And an original 

BIOORAPHICAL SKRTCH OF THE SAME CELEBRATED 

COMEDIAN. 



SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH AN BNORAYING, 

By Orrin Smith, from a Drawing by Pierce Egan, the Younger, taken 
during the representation of the Piece. 



LONDON: 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 



" STAR PRSaS " 

20, CrosS'Street, Hatton-Garden, 
JAMfiS THRNtR. 



TO JOHN REEVE, ESQ. 



My Dear Sib, 

In my earliest essay as a Dramatic writer for 
a London Theatre, it was my good fortune to have the humble 
efforts of my pen, rendered elective by your inestimable acting. 
To you, therefore, with sincere feelings of personal esteem, and 
high admiration for your professional talents, I beg, my dear 
Sir, to dedicate this the Jirnt /jip^/w I have ventured to pluck 
from the Tret of Fun. 



J. STIRLING COYNE. 



London : 

Marcel, 1837. 



AN ORIGINAL BIOOAAPHICAL 8KBTCH 

of 

JOHN REEVE, Esq. 



Mister not me, my jolly masters. Call me John,— plain John, 
for I'm no beauty, or " Fat Jack, ha ! ha!" not being one of Fha- 
roah's lean kine, but a thorough John BulL Truth assisted nature 
in compounding my clay. I have a heart for my wife and children, 
a hand for a friend, owe no man a shilling, and my motto in LiNOO 
Latin, is; Rex pecuniar doUarorum doumo. 

Rbsvs's Enctclopgbdia. 



John seems to be a fortunate sponsorial appellation, dramatically 
speaking, for we have had John Kemble, and John Bannister, and 
we have John Liston, and John Reeve ; names, always good for a bill, 
whether of a playhouse or a bank, and capital drawers of houses and 
salaries. The father of this veritable son of Momus, Mr. Thomas 
Reeve, was sixteen years a Common Councilman of the City of 
London, and his son John, made his first appearance in this world, 
within the estimated sound of Bow-bell, on the 2nd. of February, 
1799. His relative position in life embraced two uncles of con- 
siderable celebrity, George Reeve the composer, and Alderman 
Waithman. Master John passed through his early days without 
any thing peculiar occurring and in due time was sent to school, at 
Mr. Thompson's, Winchmore-hill, where he met with Master Fre- 
derick Yates, and many mishaps. A mischievous friendship was 
formed between them to the cost of the other students, and one 
breach of decorum in heating slates nearly red hot and placing them 
on the seats for their unsuspecting schoolfellows, gained them so 
severe a flogging, as to make their form a stool of repentance, for 
having no unbirched place to rest upon, they could not sit down, and 
became a standing joke to those they had been such warm friends to, 
for many days. At the age of 14 master John Reeve was taken 
from school and his friend Yates, to the counter of his father's shop, 
on Ludgate Hill, where he remained stocking the customers with 
Hosiery until his father retired from business, which was about 
two years. He was then sent to Messrs Neville's, the Hosiers, in 
Maiden Lane, Wood Street, Cheapside, on very different terms to 
those he enters the sock and buskin's door of the Adelphi Theatre, 
in Maiden Lane, Strand. Here he remained three years and then 
left, in consequence of murdering the sleep of the peaceable citisens 
by mangling Shakspeare's Othello and Payne's Brutus on the 
spouted leads of his employer's house in conjunction with one 
John Bye, a fellow counter revolutionest whom he always saluted 
with '* Good Bye !" The neighbours threw cold water on their 
efforts and they fired with indignation, heaped upon their persecu- 
tor's heads the curses of Lear and Brutus. Next morning came 
and with it sundry complaints, so Mr. Johnny was forced to make 



BIOGRAPHY. D 

his exit as the Hosier, and make double entries as a clerk in 
Gosling's Banking-house. Here, to use plain John's odd words, his 
dramatic mania exploded, and he subscribed four shillings per week 
to Mr. Pym's private Theatre, Wilson Street, Gray's Inn Lane, 
that has been the hot bed of many a dramatic genius. The first part 
he ever played in his life (which was rather ominous) he only had 
to say one word, No I and he made a mistake and said, Ye9t For the 
information of those curious in such matters, we beg to inform them 
this part was the Waiter^ at the Gambling House, in Totm and 
Covmtry, Besides this he had several other " shocking bad " parts, 
which made him think four shillings per week too much, especially, 
as a specimen of his ad UhUum style as a servant, in The Wheel of 
Fortune^ when Weazle said '* You, Gentlemen, must have your lit- 
tle comforts," he replied, *• To be sure we must, we must have 
our little carraway coin/Et(."wa8 thought not legitimate. He accor- 
dingly took the house of Pym, for ;^10, and had his own bills 
printed. The play was Othello, he the Jtm CVoio, Mr. Willis 
Jones the lago^ and Mr. G. H. Rodwell the composer, the JRoder^o; 
the farce, Syloester Daggerwoodf wiS% imUaiUmt. The eclat of the 
Daggenvood portion of the evening's entertainment led to our 
friend John's appearance at Drury Lane, for the benefit of Mr. 
Rodwell senior. But this was not his first public essay, as gene- 
rally supposed, he having previously to this performed the Firtt 
Grtwe-d^ger in Hamlet, at the Haymarket, for the benefit of a Mr. 
Grove, of puffing fame, who advertised to play Hamlet for a wager 
of ;^100, better than any actor living or dead. However, it had 
the desired effect for the gulled public crammed the house to suf- 
focation. This same Mr. Grove before caused a silly and squinting 
brother-in-law of his, named Roach, son of a publisher of plays, 
some thirty years ago, to enact Richard the Third, and challenge in 
printed placards a comparison with Kean. The performance was 
absurd in the extreme and the indignation of a most numerous 
audience vented itself in laughter, yells, and hisses, imtil in the 
wooing scene with Lady Anne, our Richard's mother, not the 
Duchess, but the irritable Mrs. Roach, rushed on in dirty faded 
black, cap and flesh to match, and with most Billingsgate rage, 
drove her son with hands and tongue off the stage. 

But to our hero, who, on the benefit previously spoken of, Was 
so rapturously received, that he was earnestly requested to repeat 
his perfomumce on the following evening for Mr. Lanza's benefit, 
he compled, and so completely established himself as an imitator 
and adtor, as to induce the proprietor of the English Opera House, 
to offer him an engagement, which he accepted nib rosa, tvb 
Arnold, not wishing to resign his banking concern, until assured 
he might be unconoemed about it. On the 17th. July 1819, he 
appeared in a clevcjl personation farce, called, **1, 2, 3, 4, 5, ^ 
adoerHtement, as Mri * • • • *." Had the seven stars come down 
from Heaven, they could hardly have created a greater sensation, 
and, to parody the Caesarian exclamation, he appeared, he acted, 
and he triumphed; yet no man could be more diffident of his 
abilities, for, at a dressed night rehearsal, he was continually 
dropping his character, and enquiring of Mr. R. B. Peake, the 
very worthy treasurer of that establishment, (and one of the most 
popular authors of the day), who was seated in the critical seat of 



6 BIOOBAPHT. 

the pit, " if he thought that would do." Much has been said about 
the wordy imperfectnessof our friend Reeve, but, we boldly aMeit 
without knowing the real cause ; over anxiety to please, will «&• 
nerre the most marble moulded man, when he is awaie that thou- 
sands of persons on whose fiat he lives, are listening to his erery 
intonatioD of voice, watching his every movement of feature and 
limb. Then what must it be to actors, who are, under Heaveo, 
the most excitable beings in the world. The sensible loss of 
nerve begets a desire to recover it, and thinking of this, the words 
occasionally escape. We have known our hero, perfect to the 
letter in a farce, four days before its production, but as the boui 
of trial approached, his courage, like that of Acres', oosed away, 
and nothing but his powerful flexibility of face and ready vit, 
carried him through with perfect success. Performing* is any 
thing but playing, to those who are practically acquainted with 
the drama, and we sincerely think, that the author is frequently 
more indebted to the actor, than the actor to the author. On the 
18th. of October, in the same year, Reeve commenced an engage- 
ment at the Adelphi llieatre, in RaUlepaU^ in !%« Green Dragony 
and Lord Cfruzle, in Tom Thumb. From thence, he went to 
Cheltenham and Bristol, and at the latter place in 1821, he wu 
married at St. John's Church to Miss Aylett, who died at Swan- 
sea in the following year, after giving birth to a son. This was 
a sad blow, and we believe, is an unforgotten sorrow to this hour, 
though he has sought, and received comfort from a second wifs. 
She was a most amiable person, as the followiog letter, from the 
father of the acknowledged first tragedian of the day, will 
testify,— 

" Swansea, 16th. October 1822. 
My Dear Sib, 

The melancholy task, you requested me to un- 
dertake, I have attempted. I send you the lines, which 1 trust 
you will not estimate by their lack of merit, but my earnest wish 
to prove, that I would oblige you, if I could. To those who weie 
happy enough to be acquainted with the late Mrs. R., all praise is 
unnecessary, those who had not that gratification, can form but a 
faint idea of her worth, from the report of my feeble pen. I hope 
you all arrived safe in the Metropolis, and that the young gentle- 
man is not worse for his journey. With every good wish, and 
compliments of Mrs. Mc. Cready, I remain, dear sir. 

Tour's truly, 

W. Mc Cheady;' 

" Pure virtue, innocence, and truth, 
Were Anna's riches here on earth ; 
Bequeath'd them with an infant dear, 
To a loved husband's pious care. 
His tender steps, with faith to guard. 
And find in heaven, his great reward," 

John Reeve, Esq. 
Adelphi Theatre. 

The child alluded to above, is the present Master John Reere, 



BIOGRAPHY. 7 

now of course about fifteen years of age, and whose education does 
honour to his father's care. He has two daughters by his second 
marriage, whom he is equally anxious to make ornaments of society. 
This says a great deal for a man's heart. In 1826 he commenced 
an engagement of five seasons at the Haymarket, and stood on 
Listen's ground firmly, though he immediately followed him in 
most of his characters, with all the prejudice of first impressions 
and long favouritism. After his engagement expired at the 
Haymaiket he went for three years to Covent Garden, and we do 
not think he had that fair play his talent deserved. However, 
nothing, seemingly, can ever shake the strong hold he has upon 
public opinion, and managers are ever ready to secure him on his 
own terms. In the autumn of 1836 he made a trip across the 
Atlantic, and delighted brother Jonathan so much, with his quips 
and cranks, that he not only realized a large sum, but has sown 
the seed for a rich harvest, should he be tempted to trust himself 
on the perilous ocean again. He certainly left America too soon 
for his own advantage, but his friendship for his old schoolfellow, 
Yates, and j^40 per week for three seasons, combined with an anz* 
ious wish to see his children brought him home to be welcomed 
most heartily by all who love a hearty laugh. 

Mr. Reeve is about five feet ten inches in height, of a dark 
complexion, and possessing a great flexibility of feature and limb. 
Though a bulky man, it is quite astonishing to see the lightness 
and ease with which he moves about the stage, in dancing or walk- 
ing, and that he may be light and ddight, is our sincere desire. 

March 18th, 1837. B W. 



- ^^^^^-^ 



This very laughable farce so essentially depends on its comic 
situations, that it is almost necessary to see it, to believe its effect. 
We believe this is the first effort of the author upon the London 
boards, but we hope it will not be his last by very many, such 
funds of comic humour not being too numerous. 



FIRST PBRPORMBD AT THB THBATRB ROTaL ADBLPH(, NOT. ISSi. 



X*V •* •V-.^^^.^w^^^ Sr-m V V ^-^ ^ N/« #VW^^*/ ^N* 



Dr. Bingo. Black square cat coat, waistcoats 
und small clothes — white wig — black silk stock- > Mr. Cullenford. 
ings — shoes, and buckles. 7 

Charles. Plumb colored frock coat — flight buffP i^^^ Sterling, 
stripe trowsers — ^white waistcoat — boots. 1 

Bill Mattock. A buff ragged jacket — corde- ^ 
roy small clothes — grey worst^ darned stockings i 
— dark brown ragged waistcoat — ^white round hat \ Mr. J. Reew. 
dirty shoes. Second D/Cis. A long white bed-gown i 
and night-cap. j 

Ned Snatch. A grey jacket, patched — short 
brown trowsers patched {same catoorkhoute clothes.) i 
— little black hat — ^worsted stockings — shoes \ Mr. Sanden. 
patched. Second Dress. A smock frock and L 
slouch hat. I 

Sammy ISpectre. Velveteen coat and trow- > «-. wikinaon 
sers — ^black waistcoat — ^white apron. \ '* 

Tom Darkino. Old fashioned livery — greens yi^^ g^ Six^- 
turned up, with red and yellow. J 

Countrymen. Brown countrymen's coats ands Messrs Kiog 
small clothes. \ and Gibson. 

Julia. White muslin frx)ck. Miss Map. 



Time of reprcicntation 40 minutes. 



THE QUEER SUBJECT. 



A•S'\/^^v^/^/^'■^v^/^v^^ ^w\/\/vyv» 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — The road hefore Vr. Bingo' t hotue, u^iUh is teen through 
an Iron QatCy (c.) situate a short distance/rom ike road. 

Bill Mattock and Neid S:(7Atch, discovered breaking stones by 

the road side. 

BUI M. (b. c.) {stopping work,) Why don't you learn to break 
the stones according to the luntiUectual plan N^ ; see how I bring 
down my hammer with mathalogical sagacity to allow for the 
pincosaion of the stone. Yoa've no science. 

Ned S. (r.) Yes I have though, and I defy any gemman wot 
ever handled a hammer to show a better finished heap of stones 
than that afore me. 

BiU There a'nt no doubt Ned, that you have a genus for 
your profession — ^you smash away like fun at the sand stone ; but 
when you gets hard flints, Ned — ^you can't touch 'em, my covey, in 
the reg'lar scientific way, like the man wot reads the Maga^e for 
the Confusion of Useless Knowledge. 

Ned, But a'nt you precious tired of this life BiU ? 

Bill, Sartinly, there amt no comfort whatsomdever in it, be- 
cause, you see, fortius are to be made by breaking in all tirades 
bu^ours. 

Ned, Aye, that's vot I says — ^here ve sits hammering, hammer- 
ing, all day long ; and after all we a'nt able to hanuuer out as 
much as keeps us in grub and lush. 

JBtK. I've had serious notions lately of going into another line. 

Ned, I knows of no line that a'nt supplied except the Cambridge 
line, and they're all low fellows as breaks on that road. 

BiU. I dont mean a line of road, I means a line of business Ned. 
As I'm a literary character I've a strong hidear of trying my hand at 
bookmaking. 

Ned. Bookmaking ? 

^t^. Yes, a'nt it better than road making, where a man's works 
are sure to be trampled upon. . 

Ned. It may be, BiU, ]f yoxir works dont get macademized by 
critics — ^but a'nt it very hard to write a book. 

BiU. Bless your noody head, nobody thinks" of writing books 
now — ^we breaks 'em up out of the old 'nns just as you smashes tllat 
big stone into rubble. 

B 



2 THE 4UEER ACT I. 

Ked. And what do you intend calHng yoor book ? 

Sm. Why, Fm thinking «< Chalkingf by the way/' would be ao 
bad'title. 

Ned» It would be a strildng one, Bill. 

BiU. Yes» and here we are striking for wages. 

Ned, But mind your eye, here's some folks coming oat of Doe- 
tor Bingo's {fiiey resume workj) 

BUI. (tinging,) I am a jolly Sailor Boy 
Does wander up and down, 
I courts the girls where'er I go 
In country and in town, 

Sing fa la la, fal la la. 

Enter Doctor Bingo, and Sammt Spbctbb, yrom £ft«&ot£jeaiii 

^ough gaie c. 

Dr. Bingo, (l.) You comprehend my instructions Sammy ? 

Sammy, (l. c.) Perfectly sir, a'nt this it ? If an Exeter canier 
should bring a package here this evening directed for.Doctcn- Bingo, 
I am to receive it, and give the bearer the3e ten guineas you hare 
left with me, {thows pune.) 

Dr. Bingo. Right Sammy, and you are to have the package care- 
faUy depositsd in my study — ^and Sammy be particular to let no 
person meddle with it or go near it — ^it is a matter of great impor- 
tance to me. 

Sam. There sha'nt a soul come near it sir. (Exit Doctor, r.( 
A matter of great importance eh ! I wonder what it can be. The 
Dpctor looked very mysteriouA — I don't like that. 

lExit Hvrough gaie c. into house. 

BiU. I say Ned— 

Ned. Well. 

Bill. Did you twig what the Doctor said to the little chap. 

Ned. Yes, what of it. 

BUI. I means to make ten guineas of it — I knows well enough 
what the Doctor expects by the Exeter carrier. 

Ned. Do you ? (ikey rise and advanqe.)' 

Bill, To be sure I do, (whispers.) 'lis a subject Ned. 

Ned. What ? 

BUI, A subject — I've had some dealings with the Doctor, when 
I was in that Une. I have a plan now, but (looks eautioieshf round) 
you must keep mum. 

Ned. Mum ? 

Bin. You must die, Ned. 

Ned. Aye, that would be keeping mum. 

Bill, You're not awake, my pippin — I'll be more drcumlocutioiis. 
hoo'i. ye, you must let mef put you into a sack ; I'll then carry you to 
Dr. Bingo's as a subject, fob the ten guineas and you can easilj 
manage to steal off after I have taken myself off. 

Ned.^ WeU it's a rare plan ; but can't you get into the sack your- 
self, Bill ? 

BiU, Why so L would. Snatch ; only itwould'nt be' spectablefbr 
a gemman wot writes, to put his head in a bag. 

Ned. But I'm the elder partner, Bill ; and you know it wOuWat 
be' speetable, for. the head of the firm to put his head in a bag. 



8CENB U. SUBJECT. 3 

Bill. Well, 1*11 toss up for who goes — ^what d'ye say I 

Ned. I nerer hobjects to nothing what's gentlemany. You hide. 
Is it to be the best in three ? 

BUI. The best in three I What a low hidear — ^no, Newmarket 
is the genteel thing — one toss settles it, {totset up apiece of money) 
cry, my tulip ! 

Ned. Majesty. 

BiU. I'm blow'd if I a'nt in for it ! here's a pretty go— but as 
it's according to the moral torpitude of things wot be, I wont flinch. 
Come along, and when you tuck me up Snatch, like the fat man in 
the play, I'U * addict myself to tack.* 

Ned. Before we commence our job, let us turn into Tom Dark- 
ing'j boozing ken and have a drop of lush. 

BiU. Aye, Tom's as close as a church. 

Ned. But how shall I manage to carry you ? I wont be able, for 
your weight — ^you're as heavy as the Natignal Debt, Bill — you'd 
break the back of an elephant. 

BiU, Ho, ho, ho I Yes Ned, though not a man of tean I'm sar- 
tinly a man of size ; but, lord We you ; I'm only a babby now to 
what I was, afore times grew bad — I was then so round and so 
slick that my chums called me ** Church Bill," — ^but I'm now so 
fallen away that folks calls me ** Anatomy Bill." 

lExit Bill and Ned, l. 

SCENE II. — Tom Darking*t Puhlic-houte door a. e. L.f Tom' enters 
8. E. B. biutlihff ahoutf arranging Tables, Chairs j ^c, 

Tom, I wonder some of the market folks are not here afore now : 
the night is as sharp as sour beer, they seldom pass the Blue Swan, 
without having a drop of sum'mut on their way home. 

Enter Bill Mattock and Ned Snatch, voi^ a sackf n. s. e. l. 

Gemmen, you're welcome, wo'nt you sit down ? {They sit.) 

BiU. Tom, fetch us a pot of stout — ^we're a going up to Doctor 
Bingo's with a job. 

Tom, What, at the old trade. Bill ? Got a subject bey ? 

BiU, Why — a — ^yes, but I'm a going to be the subject myself. 

Tom, You, ha I ha ! A precious Queer Subject you'd make. 

Bid. It's true enough though ; but not a word, keep dark as a 
coal-pit, you'll know all to-morrow. I jnust not be seen here by 
any one, Tom. 

Tom. Th^n you'd better mizzle, for I hear some one a coming to 
the door. 

BiU. Keep it fast Tom, 'till I get into cover — I'll be smoked else, 
for my face is as well known in this house as the Saracen's head on 
Snow -hill — ^^here shall I hide ? 

Tom. There's a press if you could manage to squeeze your- 
self in. 

BiU. No Tom — ^though theprew has often done a good turn for 
me — ^it wont serve me this turn ; the freedom of the press ^ Tom, is 
A capital thing ; but the liberty of the subject is a better — 
(knocking^) 

Bl 



4 THB QUEEB ACT I. 

Tom, Coming, .comiDgy 

Ned, Get into the Mck, and you'll never be noticed. I*a dap 
you standing here, in the comer beaide me. 

3iU. Well t» with me — ^like other great men, I'U go into trum- 
pery retirement. (jff€Uingwtoihetadc) Ned did you ever before 
bag 80 much game at once ? (Jcnodang l. s. b.) 

Tom, Cominir, comimr. 

Bm-S^ifth^. r>nottob.<Uddkd<mtofm7lHiaor, 
for its according to the moral torpitude of things wot be, that a man 
should drink — ^Stop I here's the Tery thing — a hole in the sack,— 
now mind, Ned, whenever you put a glass to your own mouth, apply 
another to this hole, and leave the rest to me. Now tie me up. 
(Bill geU behind the table in (c.) Snatch fatteru ihe sack and 

reiumethit teat (l. C.) finpvi^,) 

" Billy Taylqr was a brisk young fellar, 
Full of mirth and full of play, 
Soon he did his mind diskivir 
To a charming lady gay. 

Toll de loll, di da, &c." 

(Tom Darking opene ffie door, vMU Snatch it singing. Samht 

Spectke enierSf L. s. E.) 

Sammy, Why here's nice treatment ; to be kept waiting at the 
door, at this awful time of night, {futt hithatonihe tade,) 

Tom I did'nt know it was you, Sammy, why you look as pale as 
a ghost. 

Sam, A ghost 1 oh, dont mention it I the very hidear puts me 
into a shaking fit. I remember, one night I went all alone into the 
coal-hole, and do you know I saw something very awful — 'Fon mj 
life, I did. 

Tom, Well, sit down, sit down. Oh I here be some of the market 
folks. {Enter two cowktirymen d.s.b.b.) Welcome gents, — At down, 
what shall I fetch you ? {Th4!y aU siJt,) 

\tt Man, (l. c.) Sum'mut hot and comfitable. Master Darking; 
it's precious cold on the hiU side. 

Sam, (r. c.) The hill side, then you've passed thnnigh the 
Church-yard? 

let Man. Aye, and a dismal looking place it be too. 

Sam. How awful! And did you see any thing remarkable -tiiere. 
Sir ? any ghost, or spirits,' or shapeless shapes, or — '' 

1st Man. I cUd'nt see nothing partic'lar — But I'll be on my affi- 
davy I heard a rustling like, in the branches of the old yew tree. 

Sam. Oh dear, that was very awful — I remember one night, I 
was all alone in bed, and I heard something very marvellous — a sort 
of scratehing at the wainscot like a mouse' a gnawing. 

2nd Man, (l. r.) But I seed sum'mut to night. I seed a sum- 
'mut like a laige black tom cat — ^walking along the church-yard wall 
— ^well I shut my eyes, cos I thought it was something as waxn't 
right ; and when I opened theii^ arter awhile, blow me if the appear- 
ance war'nt gone. 

Omnes. Wonderful I 

Sill, (peeping out of the hole in the tack c.) Ha I ha I ha ! 

Sam. Who laughed .' 

1st Man. Not I. 



.iZJ^i 



SCENE II. 8UB/BCT. 5 

Omnei. Nor I. 

Sam, Welly there tvas a lai^h, and that I think reaUy very awfol. 

Ned. Pshaw ! iPs an echo that's in this room. 

Sam, I remember one night last winter, soon after I went to Kre 
with Doctor Bingo — I was sitting alone by the fire listening to the 
crickets and thiiiSbdng of pleasant ghoet stories i when all at miee, I 
heard a mysterious langhin Sally the housemaid's room, and an 
alarming noise like the smacking of a carter's ^^p. 'Poa my Me 
I did. 

BiU. Ha I ha ! ha I 

-Sam. What was that? 

2nd 3idn, I dont know-^bnt Vta eertain it was a laugh. 

Sam. And what's more awfiil"— It a'nt a humane laugh. I know 
its the laugh of a departed spirit. 

Ned, Who cares for a departed spirit; while we have spirits like 
these present, {holdt up a gkus) come £31 your glasses and I'll give 
you a stave, — {tings) 

Am, *' Paddy Piztarro/' 

Talk of spirits indeed, 

Why the man's but an ass. 
Who heeds any tpiriit 

But those in his glass. 

And for demon or denl 

A fillip I say, 
For blue ruin my boys 

Drives hluedwiU away. 

Tol<-delroU, loU-de-roU-lol, &c. 

(Bill joint in f^hdntt and drinkt out (/Ned's platt through the hole 

in the «acA:.) 

Sam, Oh dear I what's that ? 

Ned, Kotlung. N<yw gemmen, I'll give you a toast, if so be 
you have no groundless objections. I'U give you, * The friend of 
humanity wot's always Unending his fellow creters ways.' \ 

Omnet. Bravo — ^The friend of humanity, &c. 
(Bill iakdt Spectre's glastj drinkt it of and replaoet it at Spec- 

tkb's left hand — <ft« rest of the company drink.) 
■ Sam. Where's my glasft ? bless me I it wad here this moment — 
oh 1 here it is — empty ! this is really awful — I a'nt quite oomforta- 
ble^— tiiere's somefliing over me I'm sure. 

Ned, Tou're not afraid of ghosts, my lAd ? 

Sam. A-a not particularly afeared of ghosts, only I dont like up- 
starts, chaps wot won't be quiet*— but get up out of their snug litde 
graves, to widk about at improper hoars ; it a'nt tiie part of a 
'spectable ghost, so I likes to ke^ oat of onreglar company 

BiU, Ha! hal hal 

Sam, There it is again, I won't stay here no longer-^It's really 
very awfiil. 

Tom, Don't go , Sammy, the Doctor won't be home firom the dub 
this hour yet. 

Sam, Aye, but he charged me to be home at nine, as he ex- 
pects a jpackisige firom 1^ country, and he left, me ten guineas to 
pay the carrier, so I must run back immediately — ^but I'll tell you 
what, there's something very awful going on at home. 



6 THB QUERR ACT L 

BiO, Gammon 1 

Sam. Oh dearl whore's my hat ? Its really rerj awful. 

lit, Man. Dang me if I stay here any longer, (Countrymen go 

of, L. 8. B.). 

Sam. Wait a moment. I'm a very frightful feUow by niglit; 
I remember onoe I was a going home by night, and I'd just got to 
the place where tiie mad fiddler hanged himself, when all on a 
sadden I felt— (Bill Mattock knodct kit hat down over kit eya) 
oh 1 oh I this is really too awful, (Samuy runt cff, l. a. s.Bill 
tiirowt off'0u tack). 

BiXL WeU now Ned, as the meeting is dissoluted we can begin 
to put our own plans in prosecution. 

Ned. And now for my disguise — I dont think Master Sammy 
Spectre will smoke Ned Snatch in the toggery of the flzeter 
carrier — {uiklle Snatch it putting on a tmock frock and douA 
hat, Bill tUt thoughtfully at table). 

Tom. What's the matter. Bill? why man you look as dull as a 
turkey in rain. 

BiU. Do I Tom? ah 1 that's cos I'm depreciated in my narves. 
I don't like this business of playing the dead man — ^It a'nt to my 
taste. In the good old times I used to get a decent living by other 
folks dying, but now Tom, they're so altered that I must b«gin to 
die on my own account, to keep myself from starving. It's that 
Tom that effects the inflammability of my wisage and makes me so 
glumfoundered — so draw us a pint of hawf-and*hawf my boy, inll 
ye? 

Tom. Wouldn't a go of gin and water, or a nip of brandy be 
more revivinger for you. Bill ? 

BiU. No, there a'nt nothing worser for ahardent imginatlon than 
hardent spirits ; hawf-and-hawf is the only drink for the develop- 
ment of genus— don't you see the measures of hawf-and-havf 
that go down with customers of the swell house at the West End. 

Tom. So they do Bill» — ^and here's a swig of as choice stuff as 
ever moistened a mug, {lays a pot before Bill). 

Bill. Your health my rum 'uns, (drinkt) Tom, there's no com- 
fort in life like drink — so I'U give you a few verses that I some- 
times sings at the Leather-heads. That's a conwivial 'sociation 
Tom, where a few of us hintellectual coveys that reads the Maga- 
zine for the Confusion of Useless Knowledge meets for the concus- 
sion of Political Economy, and Gastronomy, hem ! {si/igs.) 

Air—** TJie Meetingo/the Watert.** 

Oh there is not in nature a bliss so complete 
As the first glass of. toddy — strong smoking and sweet. 
All cares it dispels— driyes the megrims away, 
Tis the first glass of toddy that makes our hearts gay. 
Tis the first glass of toddy that makes our hearts gay. 

Air,— (" fhe Blach Joke.**) 

If one glass of liquor such wonders can do 
We'll double our pleasure by making it two. 

Toll de roll de roll toddy, loll loll de roll toIL 



SCENE III. SUBJECT. 7 

With spirits elated we joke and we laugh, 
Our lasses we tpast, and our bumpers we quaff, 
We towxle the girls, or snatch a stray kiss; 
Was there erer a moment so merry as this? 

Toll de roll, &c. 

AiB,— (•* Fve been roaming**) 

I've been drinking — ^IVe been drinking, 

At the Coal Hole all the night. 
And I'm thinking — and I'm thinking, 

That I'm nearly screw'd outright, 
I've been going — ^I're been going, 

At the brandy, gin, and beer; 
And I'm growing — and I'm growing 

Rather comfortably queer. 

AiB,— <*' FarewdL to the MoufUain,") 

Farewell to the brandy. 
Farewell to the swipes, 
To the pots full of porter, 
The backey and pipes. 
To the ale — and the gin, 
I'm a leetie (hip) unwell 
I'm going Qup}--^ going 
Farewell (hip) oh — fare-well. 

{Stagger* hadc^ ecene clous. 

SCENE III.-^^ room m Db. Bingo's houte^ Julia enters wHK 
a book in her hand. b. 

Julia, Hist i what noise is that ? how my heart flutters at eyery 
footstep— well — ^this love is the plague of a poor girl's life — I wish 
those stupid books would teach us to conquer the tyrant passion, 
{throws the book away pettishly). Heigho 1 I wonder will Mark- 
ham ever come ? It is now full two minutes and a half past 
the appointed time. (goes to window) What a beautiful night t 
how softly do those moonbeams fall upon the calm river as it ripples 
and sparkles amidst the dark foliage of the motionless trees. Oh I 
this hour 1 this sweet, sweet hour of love I 

Song — Air, ** Ea<^ bower has beauty.** 

When the moon on the river is sleeping, 
When the nightingale sings in her bower; 
When the glow worm its vigil is keeping, 
Oh come to me love, in that hour. 

On the leaves, when the dew brilliants glisten, 
Like the tear drops, on mfancy's cheek ; 
With none but the pale stars to listen, 
And none but my lover to speak. 

Oh come to me then — and our meeting. 
Shall be like zephyr and flower ; 
So blissful shall be our fond meeting. 
Oh, come to me love in, that hour. 

When the moon &c. 



8 THE QUEER ACT I 

{Knodc L.) Hist 1 Us he ! — {r^em the door Charles Mask- 

HAM, BntertL.) ' 

Mctrk, My dear Julia 1 

Julia. You are a sad truant, but. now that you are come, I for- 
give yon all — am I not a merciftd sovereign ? 

Mark, As merdfiol as yon are bei^atSW ; yon, unlike many 
of yonr sex, seek not to prove your- power over a lover^ h^ tonnoit- 
ing him to the utmost endurance of his love ; and, it is this, tlot 
makes me doubly your slave. 

Julia, Yes, Markham — ^if I can retain youf a]1f>giance by a gen- 
tle sway, I shall never change my flowery sceptre for a rod of iroo: 
but Charles, though these stolen interviews fom the chief happi- 
ness of my existence, I tremble lest by some chance tkey should be 
discovered by my uncle. 

Mark, That apprehension, has also disturbed my mind, and to 
put an end to this disagreeable suspense, I have resolved to ac- 
quaint him with our attachment ; feurely, there is nothing in my 
family or fortune to disentitle me to the boner of aspiring to yoor 
hand. 

Julia, Nothing, but the singular whim my uncle entertains of 
marrying me to one of his own profession. A Doctor, I must 
have I 

Mark, Pshaw I Julia, he's little better than a silly enthusu^, 
carried away by the fantastic theories of his art. A Homoeopatfaist, 
a Galvanist, and I know not what besides ; he would fain tora his 
house into a college of health, and all its inmates into, professors. 
But if your husband must have a diploma, let it^fi:t>m love's 
college, 'tis the true school for making a lady's best phymdan. 

Jidia. We will argue that inatter another tin^^ &t present, I 
want your opinion of some new music I jhave got f-covke, 4ny hup 
is in the next room. lJ^:feuKi!, n« 

SCENE IV. — ^DocTOE Bingo's Sttidy, a large table covered v^ 
baize in c. smaU, iatbls R» GeUvanic apparatus behind c. teMe, 

Enter Sammy c. d. carrying a lights followed by Nbd Snatch, 
dragging on liis shoulder Bill Mattock, in the Sack* 

Sam. Oh I its all perfectly right, pray can you tell me what 
you've got in the sack ? 

Ned, A doan't knaw, but a' knaw Z'se to git ten guineas for 
the carying on it from Exeter. 

Sam, Ah ! heres a ticket, {reads.) To Bpctor Bingo. A sttifd 
Drynurse^ with care, A stuffed Drynurse I eh — my eye — can it be 
possible, (reads again.) A stuffed Dry-drynurs — drynurterit wtA 
care. Oh, a Drynurseris 1 That's some curioxts fish from the 
Theological Gardens 1 Here lay it upon the table — ^why a stuffed 
Drynurseris seems almost as heavy as a stuffed. Alderman, (Ned 
lays Mattock along the table c.) There's your ten guineas— 
{gives it.) 

Ned, Thank'ee master, you'll find un a dang'd queer fish I'se 
warrant. [£«2^ -Snatch, d. c. 

Sam, Now I'd like vastly to take a peep at this here cretur, only 
I'm a little afeared — I've a great fancy to see what sort of a ham* 
mal, a stuffed Drynurseris is — I remember once, I gave a penny 



BCENB III. 8UBJBCT. 9 

to see the lamed pig, and the seven legged mare, and now I can 
see a stuffed Drynurseris for nothing. Egad 1 1 will have a peep {ffoet 
towards the table ; Mattock meezetinlhesadcy Sammy lets the candle 
fall, runs off exclaiming,) Oh, oh oh 1 thia is too awful 1 (Mattock qm 
soon as he is gone gets out of the sack, dressed in a long tohite shirt 
and night cap — stage dark /) 

JBill. Well this is what I call nun work, Fd be glad to know whe- 
ther I 'ma staffed Drynursais, a dead subject, or tiie living Bill Mat- 
tock. Let me consider ; I can't be a stuffed Drjmurseris, for I a'nt got no 
diniier to day — I'm more liker a balloon stuffed with nothing what- 
somdever. Then, I can't be a dead subject, for my life is in the 
lease of my house. I'ts clear then, that I must be the 'dentica^ 
liying Bill Mattock ; I'm pretty sure of it too, cos Bill loved a pot of 
good porter, and I feel just now as if I could tuck in a full pot of 
double stout — ^it's sartin then I'm Bill Mattock ; well, come that's 
some comfort, I never could have proved philologically that I was 
myself if I had'nt read the Magazine for the Confusion of Useless 
Knowledge — And now to find a way of getting out of this pitchy 
hole, before the Doctor comes home, {he gropes about) here's a door 
(i«. opens it) — all dark — ^no matter — I'll venture like Phineas into 
the Internal regions. lExit Bill, l. s. e. enter by cuwther door n. s. e. 
Jui^iA and Mabkham, with a light, — Stagelighl») 

Julia. I fear, Charles, that we have prolonged this interview, 
beyond the limits of discretion — I expect my uncle home every in* 
stant and if he discovers you here he will instantly remove me to a 
distant part of the country where we shall never have an oppor- 
tunity of meeting. 

Mimrk, Let us hope a better fate, Julia ; but what is there to make 
you apprehend a discovery now ? 

Julia, It is past ten o'clock, and the doors are always locked by 
the servants, at that hour — there are no means left of retreat but 
through the conservatory — here is the key of the door that opens 
from it into the garden, from thence with the help of the garden 
ladder, you can scale the wall, and escape, b^one now — (^ves him 

Mcark. WiU yon then force me to leave you ? 

JsiUa, Will yon penrist in staying ? (fenociSc.) Hark. 1 that is my 
uncle's knock — ^fiy dear Charles, there lies your way — ^mind the 
conservatory — ^to the right. 

iliarXr. Adieu ! dearest Julia ! to the right — adieu 1 \Exit c. d. 
. Exit Julia, takxngthe Ught by door r. s. e. after a Aort intervat, 
Ma&kbam returns cautiously — Stage dark.) 

Mark. («m a low tone.) Julia, Julia my love ! Julia — ^you have 
given me the wrong key — ^hist — a wrong key, my dear ! I can't get 
cyut — ^what the devU shall I do ? Where shall I conceal myself ? I 
dare not venture back through the house ; ten to one but I may 
be sliot as a robber, before I can make myself known, should I be 
found here by that mad old Doctor (a thina crash wilhout l. s. e.) 
All 1 here he comes, {ffoes to door, Julia weni out by) — a door— 
fast — (<motherercuh,) — He's playing the devil among the china-^- 
he is in some desperate rage, (he stumbles against the table c.) Ah, 
here' 8 a table, and here's — what ? — a sack — a thoughtstrikei; me, I'll 
get into it, and if old Bingo should come here, he'll take me for a 
subject bkiHight in during his absence-^I know this is his anato- 



10 THB QXJtXk ACTL 

mieal experiment roonit bat the wont ihat oan oome of it is a &- 
oorerjf and a sammary ejectment hj the teatjr Doctor, (gtUing 
ink) flodlt)— So here I go,*— 4i«t, he's coming this way, I miist 
lie still {dnmtiht totk ovtr hk ktad and thttchm himadfon ihe tahU.) 
Enter Bill Mattock, wi^ aboUie ii^onehandf and part of a fad 

in tiie other^ l. 8. B. 
StU, Here I am again, after leaving the print of my pncioQs 
coontenance against twenty walls and doon in the dark — no mj 
to escape, co<^)ed up here, like a turkey for christtnas — groped 
my way hito a larder, that wasn't so bad ; made a jcAy saaik 
among the crockery ware*— broke all the mugs in the house, and 
damaged my own — ^weU, oome I got a capital tack oat by it, cotd 
roast goose and port wine-^not bad grabbing for a dead man ; kit 
they aont put enoogfa of ingmgs in their goose — here's joBy good 
hick {Jfmkt) I wish I could find the table now. Vd take another 
stretch on it, for I find an uncommon dizsinees coming over me; bat 
thafs according to the (hip)-— torp — torpitude — (hip) — reallytliii 
is very pretty port (drinfcc) I'm confident it is,— ^hip), — ^now I lunre 
the table, where'smysack? (layg his AomtonMAnK,) Who are job? 
does your mother know your'e out ? you'd better mizzle, my tAmp 
—what 1 eh I blow me, if this ara't another subject 1 I woada 
who raised him — (hip)— 4hat's noreason though thathe shouldliife 
ray place, oome along my covey there's plenty of room on the 
floor for you, there's a nice spot under the tri>le for you (he Atycfcai 
Under ^ tabte,) We, none of us like to give up our places qnkttf, 
no, no— we cant afford to give up our pl»ces, (hip) (iitton^tabU) 
I'm sorry, I did'nt bring another botde of this port with me, it's 
avery entertaining sort ofcompanioftinthe dark — (hip,) Tery, in- 
deed — ^what a hard hearted creter a deal table is, it has no tender 
sympathy for shoulder or hip bones — (eingt) ** On this cold fliatj 
rock I w^ lay down my head," (he it about to Ue doion when wkts 
we heardf) Hark I there's some one coming-^tis the old Doctor, 
I'd give ten bob, if I was well out of his clutches, (haetilig stretdiet 
himeelfupon ihe table,) 

Enter Doctor Bingo, followed by Sammt SpECTBB-^cannpi9 

li^if^Stage light,) 

Doctor B, So the carriei' firom Exeter has brought the padose 
Sammy ? 

Sam, Yes master, the staffed Drynurseris — and I gave him the 
ten guineas. 

Dr, B, Right Sammy, you are an excellent boy, if you could 
only overcome your fears. I intend Sammy to show you to- 
night one of the wonderful effects of our art : the package Sanuny 
which you suppose is filled by a stufiied Rhinorcerus oontuns, is 
rsality — a — 

Sam, Wh— h— h— a— t Doctor ? 

Dr. B, A dead body, Sammy--«n anatomical subject. 

Sam» Oh I don't say so, it's a v^ awful subject 1^. 

JXr, B, Nonsense, boy ! you must reconoile yourself to things 
of this sort, give me the light, (goet to U»e- table and raitee Mat- 
tock's leg) why this subject is still quite warm \ How fiortiuiate ! 

Samt (atidey and fearfuUy peeping over tiie Doctors' JumUer^ 
I wonder how he got out of the sack. 

J}r, B, Come near, Sammy, you shall see me galvanise hiiB* 



SCEffR III. SUBJECT. 11 

Sam, Galvanize I what's that, Sir ? 

Dr. B, A wonderfol operation, Sammy, yon shall see me make 
this subject moTe by the aetion of the Electro— Galvanic Battery. 

Sam, Won't he then have an action of battery against you ? 

Dr. B, Pshaw 1 {jBs hringt forward ike QaloaMio apparaim aV' 
ranget ii and continues tpeaking,) I have sanguine hopes, if my 
experiment succeeds, of restoring life to the body ; — I have aU 
the apparatus in readiness, attend now, (ht eommencet turning the 
Eledrical Mathine.) 

Sam, It's really very awfid. ■ 

Dr, B, In the first instance, motion will be given to the arms, 
then to the legs, and afterwards the whole body will resume it's 
natural action as in Ufe. (Afterafeio turns, Bill ihrusts one hand 
into Doctor Bingo's face, strikes the other acrou Sammy's body, 
kieks oukhis leffSf sits up, nods his head at D&. Binoo, and finaUygets 
off Ae table, Sammy gets tato a comer and D&. Binoo bxSa on 
wiA delight,) 

J)r. B, Oh, wondeifiil triumph of art I he lives, he moves, glo- 
rious discovery, this will make my fortune I Sammy, Saimny 
Spectre, behold this miraculous resuscitation. 

Sam, Oh 1 oh ! 'tis too awful to behold 1 Kill him again Doc- 
tor, or I'll die with fright. (Bill strides round the room, ihe 
Doctor oUows, 

Dr, B, ' €ret out of that yon fool 1 Kvery motion as perfect as 
before death ; but he does not speak, I'll try the eiSect of another 
shock — (he goes up,) 

BiU, Oh ! I can't stand that. 

Dr, B, Was not that his voice ?— lH speak to him. ( To BiU,) 
Well, how do yon feel now ? 

BiU, Pretty bobbish, tiumk ye I 

Dr. B, Amazing 1 The recovery is perfect— he speaks. How 
long have you be^ dead ? 

Bin, Ten days* 

Dr, B, Ten days 1 Impossible I You were quite warm whea I 
came in, not ten minutes ago. 

BiU, That's cos I was a baker { We holds the heat a long while. 

Dr B. Oh I very likely. Were you conscious of anything during 
your trance ? 

BiU,' Yes, I was particnlaliy conscious of roast goose and bot- 
tled port, only they did not put eoKXig^ iaings in the goose. 

Dr, B, Singular sensation 1 And pray what did yon die of ? 

BiU, Suspended animatioB. 

Dr, B, Suspended animation I • I don't comprehend yon — 

BiU. Don't yom ? I was suspended frmn a rope, hanged, that's 
wot I eaUe dying of suspended animation. 

Dr. B. Prodigious ! This is the most extraordinary case I ever 
heard of ; I'llhave it published to-morrow. Where are my writing 
materials ? Remain here a nwmenttili I find them, I'll be back 
presently — I'll take down the particulars this very nij^t. 

Sam. I'll tske down the particttlars tins very minute, {takes a 
fiatkfrom his podeet and drinks,) 

(Exit Doctor, . c.^ d. «2oiely fbUowed by Sammt— Bill, eatdies 

Sammy by the coat,) 

BiU. Where are you going, my little bottie imp ? 



12 THE QUEER ACT I. 

Sam, Prodigiouf ! Sir — I was only a going to the other side 
of the door. 

Bill. Wen you'd better leave the bottle on this side {taket (k 
bottle and givet him a kick) mizzle now. 

Sam. Oh ! that's awftd ! 
{Exit Sammy, c. d. Bill titt on ihe table and flUt a glass, vhen 
Makkram creepsfrom under &ie table in ffte sack.) 

Bill. I'm Bwizzled, if the other subject a'nt getting livdy I who 
bid you get up ? You should lam to behave yourself like a peace- 
able subject and lie down 'till your rig'larly dissicated. It's all fat 
the benefit of the Humane S<xdety, and parfectly according to the 
moral torpitude of things wot be. 

Mark. I have been a witness of your proceeding, Sirrah, and 
you're little better than an arrant impostor. 

Bill. You're another. 

Mark. I shall inform Doctor Bingo, the instant he returns of 
the fraud you have practised on him. 

Bill. Why you know, my tulip, that you're a dead man and 
your evidence an't good in law, so give no more imperence but get 
into your sack again, you're the most unruliest subject I ever handled 
(tries to put Makk'BLAM, into the sack,) 

Morfr. Let me go, you ruffian. 

BiU. You won't, won't you ? I'll see that. What's the use of 
kicking when you knows your dead ? 

Mark. (Struggling.) Help I Murder ! Help I 

(Doctor Bingo ruslies into the room c. d. followed by Sammy. 

and Julia after) 

Dr. B. What's all this, who have we got here ? 

Julia. For Heaven's sake what's the matter ? 

Sam (r.) Oh, madam I the subject is strangling the Drynurseris, 
it's really awful ! 

Dr. B. (to BiU.) Stand back, can I believe my eyes ? Mr. Mark- 
ham I 

Julia, (crossing to him) My dear Charles I 

Dr. B. (r. c.) What is the meaning of all this ? How came job 
here Sir, engaged in such an extraordlniry manner with the poor 
man I have just rescued from death ? 

Mark. It can be briefly explained. Sir, — ^first my passion for 
your niece, brought me I confess clandestinly into your house — an 
unlucky chance preventing my retreat, I adopted tiie expedient of 
concealing myself in a sack, which I found lying in this room- 
hoping by means of it to avoid discovery until day-light would ena- 
ble me to esci^ ; while in durance I found that there was another 
sham subject here — ^whose counterfeit death and pretended resni- 
citation would have exposed you to the ridicule of the town, had 
you published it. 

Dr. B. Could I have been so grossly duped ? (to Bill ) 'Who 
the devil are you fellow ? 

Mark. If I mistake not, he's a notorious character, named Mat- 
tock. 

Dr. B. What, Bill Mattock, my old bone merchant ! 

BiU, ( Throwing off ^ ^mi and cap.) Why I believe there is no 
use denying it now. I am that unfortunate individual. 



RUKJECT. 15 

Dr. B. And have I given ten guineas for you, you rascal ? 

BiU, Oh don't be miflfy about it, if you a'nt had enough of me 
to-night, I'll stay *till you've had the worth of your money of me. 
{At de.) There's a back and two side bones of the goose left; yon 
see I likes to give satisfaction. 

Dr, B. O I Curse your satisfaction. Markham, to you I am in- 
debted that I have not made myself a public laughing stock, and 
\ the best reward I can offer you is Julia's hand, there take it (he 
joint tJieir handtf) but not a word about the ** Queer Subject.** 

Sam, Now I'm beginning to feel rather comfortable again. 

BtU, Well, there would have been none of this comfort, if I 
hadn't died to bring it about, and yet not one of 'em says as much 
as ** thankee Bill," that's hard — ^it's down right ungrateful ; but 
howaomdever, I don't much mind, if my g^od friends here don't look 
so grave on the ** Queer Subject,** 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 

SAM. JULIA. MARKHAM BILL. DOCTOR. 

(R.) (lO 



■ sT*^ */ vXi'VS 



Jnme9 ruiner,— " Star Press" 20, Cro«-Strfcl, Haltoii Ganien. 



rlj 



1 



THE SENTINEL, 

A MUSICAL BURLETTA. 

« 

In 0ne 9tce« 

BT 

JOHN MADDISON MORTON. Esq. 

TMEMBBa OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS* SOCIBTT ) 

As perfonned at ~ 
THE ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE. 



CO«a9CTLT PRINTED PROM THl PROMTSa'SCOPr, WITH THE 
CAST OF CHAAACTBRS, COSTUME, SCKITIC ARKAJKGBMBMT, 
BIDES OF KNTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATITE 
POSITIONS OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONi^. 

Prefhced by an original 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKBTCH OF MADAME YBSTRXS. 



SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH AN ITCHING. 

»T PIERCE BGAN, THE YOUNGER, FROM A DRAWING TAKEN 
DURING THE REPRESENTATION OF THB PIECE. 



LONDON: 
SHERWOOD, GILBERT, AND PIPER, 

PATERNOSTER-BOW. 



I 



** 1KABBAV ATUAU PMBSfi.*' 
Vr, 8. }«HV80K« €, VABSAV 8TIISKT, SMIO. 



AM OllIGINAL BIOGRAPHICAL 8KSTCJI 

of 



MADA3IIE VESTSIS. 



So many eyes and ears have I pleasured, 
And hearts made jialpitatc with witching mien ; 
That were I^kv «U my Mil»j«cts, I should rmie 
A mosticotan^iBMiiMitMn o£ pastijae lovers. 

The Fjum. Wxtcii of Wvch sTKSKr, 

« 

Signer Bartoloyn, tbe cel^rated eugra^'er, is the father of our 
very celebrated «ritfte, MaSatne ▼estris. This most popular iiiem> 
ber of the stage arrived into this busy And meddling world, per the 
female, in the year 1797. Sbe wm not bred to a theatrical life, 
though it has beeft bread <o her. On the 2e>th. of January, 1813, 
she was mscrried to M. Azsnafid Vastris, the grandson of the sur* 
named " IXeu de Dance" by whom he was presented to the pubik of 
France before they were a republic, and who once said, there were 
but three great men m the world, vix. himself, Voltaire, and Fred- 
erick of ymssaa.* On the fight fantastic toe, the grandson well ' 
upheki his grandifire^s deification,' making the female's hearts beat 
by his manly and buoyant bounds, and turning their heads with his 
pirouettes. In -the course id time, that is, upon July 20ik. 1^5. 
our heroine appeared ait "^e Italian Opera, £or her lord and master's 
benefit, in the character of Pro$er]^na in *' 11 RoUq di Pro$9rpma," 
and was greatly successful; so much so, as to induce h(^r husband 
to take her to Psris, where, at the Theatre Italien, she again came 
off with edat in A^same part. Not long after this, the man die 
sincerely k)ved, and to whowi she rightly looked for protection, de- 
serted her for the arms of another, that other being a pupil of his, 
with whom he went to Naples, and some time after died. Thus 
left alone, and dependant entirely on her own resources, she ac- 
cepted an engagement of Mr. Elliston, and made her iirst attempt 
on the English stage at the Theatre Royal Dntry Lane, on Febmary 
19th., 1820 as UUa in the Siege of Belgrade. From this time, the 
tide of fortune set in, and her appearance as the hero in Mr. Mon- 
crief 's celebrated CKovwuU in London, where svnimetrv of form, 
combined with grace, beauty, and talent, secured for her a popu- 
larity and attraction that will riever die while she lives. In 1829, 
she became proprieti^ess of the Olympic Theatre, and has shown 
by her spirited' and liberal conduct, that almost Salisbury Plain 
nii^ht be a site where she could induce the public to come and 
see dramas admirably performed; for no place of amusement 
could be in worse odour than Uie Olympic at the time she took it. 
SiTM^ then, her course has been so brilliantly developed, to all eyes, 
to relate it would be useless. That she will rise superior to the 
misfortmies that at present assail her is our earnest wish, for she 
is a gem that the profession would seriously feel the loss of, either 
as Ajx actress or a manaiier- 

May 19, 1837. 



FIRST PERFORMZO JANUARY 19th. 183?. 



'•'■V'V*^-''V^^^^S^^ . K -i**^^- ^'.i^^^^V*^^ 



KiNG.^-Dark blue military oo«t| in Che style 
of Frederick the Great, the skirts tamed ap 
with red, two rowH of brats buttons on breast — K^^^ • ^ 
stor—white small-clothes— high jack boots, ^ *■'"'• ^'^'^'^^• 
and spurs — small cocked hat^-powdered long 
tail wig — sword. 

PniNCK. — Light blue military coat, in the% 
9ome style as the king's — white small clothes — v \r ^ 
high boots, and spurs — powdered wig — cloak C ' ^'•■^* 
and hat. 

Baron. — Black velvet coat, trimmed with 1 
gold lace — black satin small-clothes— claret > m^ n i^jr 
silk stockings— shoes and buckles— powdered C «"-J*iATH«Wi 
vrig and tail — cockeil hat. - 

Offickrs.x— Dark blue coats, fkced with red, and triiaaied 
with gold — ^white srodl-clothes — ^long boots and spars — ^powdered 
wigs — cocked liats — swords. 

ScHLOPPSEX. — White military coat, faced 
with blue, trimmed with red, long skirts — long 
white gaiters over knees, black strap round | 
knee — cross belt — ^long sugar loaf cap, with^ MrC.MATHSws 
red cockade at top — white great coat, trimmed' 
with black straps, black collar — ^powdered wig 
4ind tail. ^ 

Soldiers. — ^The safhe. 

Linda.— Red petticoat-Hiilack velvet bod-J *, -- 
■«. i.'!. . '^i' 5 Mad, Veutris. 

dice — ^white apron. ^ S ^«.ai»«. 

Time afrppreventationl hour. 



>v * 



EXPLANATION OF THB STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

L. moan* first entrance, left. R, first entrance, right. S. E. t 
second entrance, left. S. £. R. second entrance, right. U. E. L. up- 
per entrance, left. U. E. R. upper entrance, right. C. centre. Ii^C. 
left centre. R. C. right centre. T. E. L. third entrance iWt 
T,E. R. third entrance right. Observing you are auppoM^to 
lace the audience. 






/. 



/ / 



/l^A^/'t^^ 




/S^//^^^ 



•., * 



^^/ 



A^ THE SENTINfi 







' *^ ^;ENE. — View of Palace and gardens with sentni^ho^\ in BerUn^ 

/<y ^ ^j^iLOPPSEX on duty as Sentni hrfure the garden door, wi*h ht9 
arms grounded f Officers, SoLDiERg. Drummer ft/frfCoRPORAiT 

discovered , 

Corporal. Come lads arouse to duty, 
" Fall in, fall in ye brave, 

No dreams of love or beauty 
Your senses must enslave. 
Then march along while this our song 
Shall make the ramparts ring, 
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrali, hurrah, 
For father — land and king. 

>) home fiid kindred true: 
'ith anxio)i^bosomV>ffniing 
?V)r her who sigts^efryou. 
'e*ll marctiaj40n|kwhile tins our song 
Bhall m^jB^'^ach vil^e Hug, 
[urRtlC hurrah, hurw, hurrah. 

Enter Baron Vonderbushel. //wm the door, c, hastily, ^S^ ^ 

Baron, Gentlemen ! His sacred Majesty ! and in a devil of a furyLi//^^^ 
{ Drums heat, th e Soldiers hastdy form into a lin*'. ScHLOPPSEiy ^ ^ 
prestnta anm,) " J^T^// 

* Enter the King, (c), Officers. 



The King. {^larvhing rapidly to and fY 'o hrand u*hing his cane.") 
By my ancestors but this shaii not be endured I state policylnclu- 
ces me to seek an alliance for my son and successor, with the 
illustrious family of Ferdinand of Brunswick, who on the faith of 



b THE SENTINEL. 

our Royal word, escorts his daughter to our court, when— patience 
befriend me I my son Fritz, little careing to thwart our Royal plea- 
sure, tell:) me to my face and in the presence of the whole court, 
that the only means of secui-ing an alliance between tiie families <^ 
Brandenbei^ and Brunswick, is to marry the lady myself! This to 
^me I Frederick William of Pioissia — to me^ who ovei'threw Charles 
of Sweden on the plain of Stralsimd I Who overran Pomeramia in 
spite of Russia and its threatening empire ? No, no, Prince Royal 
of Prussia, bitterly shall you repent this act of insubordinatioB! 
Consent to' espv/iise the Princess Elizabeth Christina, crave pardoa 
of your king and father : or by my Royal office, you shall be de- 
clared unworthy to wield tlie sceptre of these realms ! 1 mysdf 
will pronounce your sentence, aye, and cause it to be read at the 
head of every regiment in the service ! 

Baron. [ A nprotich iiKfruut inmilij^ r. ) Sire! allow me to observe 
with the mt)st perlecf conHousness, however, that I may be eg^e- 
{pously in the wrong — that this state of royal irritation — 

Kinr/. Silence, fool ! 

Baron. I've done. (Bowing.) 

Kbuj. Iriitation, f orsootn f I would have you to know. Baron 
Vonderbushel that I am not the man to be schooled into modera- 
tion when it suits me to put myself in a passion ! No sir 1 when 
the anger of Frederick William is aroused, he wishes it to be known 
from one end of Prussia to the other. I am not one of tiiose 
monarchs of gew-gaw and tinsel, who can force a smile to conceal 
their dspleasure! Here, sir! here is my sceptre. { Bretndiskiny hix ^ 
^£«e/) Yuu know how I wield it. 

Baron. ( Asidpj rubh im ^ his shoidders. ) T!iere*ll be broken heads 
at court to^iiight! {Aloud ^ arid in (T^nj obtteqiaoti'* tone.) Your 
Majesty has eveyy reason to be eicessiveiy indignani;, 1 may say, 
higlily incensed, and if I had been in your Royal place — 

King. You in ray place ! ( (^on p^nptoHilf f. ) Well sir ? 

Baron. I should have adopted the sam^ rational, calm, digui&ed 
line of conduct ! 

King. Ugh 1 would that I had those about me who would si>ea^ 
as honest men should I 

Baron. Well sire, if I might be allowed to-suggest — 

King, To the point at once sir ! but remember, should your 
counsel militate against my absolute authority, you may chance to 
exchange your golden collar for an iron one in the fortress of Giatz ! 

Baron, {/iside.) An iron collar I The bare idea has given me a 
crick in the neck ! 

King. Now Baron, I'm all attention. You were saying — 

Bartn . No, your Majesty, I did not actital/f/ say any tUio^, I 
was only saying that I was going to say — 

King. What? 

Baron. That there exists a woudei'ful unanimity of opinion 
between your Majesty and the most devoted of your snbjectsv 
' {Bov's very low.) 

Khig. Ttien wliy presume to offer any palliation for our son's 
flagrant ingratitude I • 

Baron. loffdr palliation ! on th« contrary, I think his conduct 
infamous ! 



V 



THE 8ENTIXEL. J 

Kuif/. f^nqfiluA And pray, Baron Vonderbuiifael, wii3 liai con- 
stitated yoa judge of the actions of the Prince Royal of Prussia, eh t 
BaroH, I the jadge ! on the contrary, sire, I am no judge of 
any thing, I merely am inclined to think, that is to say,—- the ten> 
dency of my h|imble opinion goes rather to establish my conTiction 
that I know nothing about tlMS matter t Still had I been in Ptinc? 
Frederick's place— 

Kmp. Not being my son, you would hare been shot ; but tc» ' 
mbre important business than your life. Have sentinels been 
placed in every avenue leading to the palace? (j^^gjL8&BUi£n» 
le ko has been sta ndimt like an automaton, prtaentina a/ins b.> ) 

nbrFenaoier, you. are tired with presenting arms ( Schl^>i*» ff pff^ 
asse/tt,) and have wished me at the devil ? C^CHLpppa nod^^qainA ; 

J ikph, shoulder arms. (Schlopps execMtes thin manoeuvre ititk 
at/jgrMes8 and vrecision. j That's a smart fellow;' you say,' you nave 
received mtormation that Prince Frederick attempted yesterday toX^" * 
escape from Bncholtz, where I had exiled him. / ' ^ 

Baron. Such was the report, sire. J/' ' 

King, Do you believe it ? * jfrr^ 

Baron. I believe — I believe it. ( Cautionsh/ ,) ^ * '"^^ 

Kmff. Do you doubt it ? 
Baron. I've no doubt but I do doubt it 

King. Pshaw! ( To th^ O^ cfr^A Grentleraen, attention! Princ© 
Frederick is banished from our court until he consent to sue for 
pardon at the feet of Blizabeth Christina, Grand Duchess of Wol- 
fenbattel. I myself will visit the post^ to-night. Baron, you wifi 
accompany me ; let every avenue be strictly guarded, especially 
that entrance to the palace garden. ( Pointing to the door where 
Schlopps /.s standing .) It is the post of honour. ^ 

Baron. Is not your Majesty satisfied with yonder sentinel ? 
King. ( Lookiyi o at ScHifQPPS. (tnd shrugging hia shmddersS ) 
Honaph. { To hs suite.) Forward gentlemen. 

[^ Exennt the King and Suite. u» b. l j ♦ 
Scklopps. ( Watching f/tg*lPtVB o?//, rumen ^ ( mtard, ^mifStmg/j 
Humph,! his A^ajesty my highly respected sovereign, 1^ Wliai I L'lU 
a decided specimen of tlie " difiicuit to be pleased class of the 
community," never mind Schloppsen, great men are seldom duly 
appreciated ! Take for example, my noble patriotic sire, Manmi- 
lian Schloppsen, who though seven feet two in his stockings never 
rose above a corporal. Oh if I could but get my discharge from 
thSs infernal service. I've done my best to get drummed out of 
the regiment, but thy won't part with me, and as for my being 
killed off, I flatter myself there isn't the least chance of that ; 
besides, I am the last of the family, the sole surviving link 
between the Schloppsen's and oblivion, and I have fallen a willtAg 
Tietim to the tender passion in order to perpetuate our name. 
Oh I-iinda, Linda, raoat adorable retailer of posies in the whole 
Gernaanic confederation, wlit'U shall I be able to call you Madame 
Schloppsen. If I could only have a little familiar confab with. 
his Majesty I could whisper something in his ear, concerning the 
safety ot the royal person, and the obligation lie owes to the 
deceased corporal, my father, that might perhaps, — Ah, a stranger • 
approaches. Attention I (Shanfders his musket and stands at 

At8 VO»t) 




S THE 8ENTIXEL. 

Enter Prihc» Preperick in a cloak and siouched hat, (l. ) 

Fred, At length. I haTe escaped from my exile at Bucholtz in 
apitt of my royml ftther and his myrmidoma? Never shall it be 
said tliat I ooBsentod to hnrailiate myself before a prond prinoesB, 
or bestow my hand where my heart could not follow ! No, no. 
Elizabedt Christina, take the councel of a friend, return to Brans- 
wickf beatow your fisTOor on another, and leave Frederick to lus 
celibacy. ( Loc^ ^ around .) By all that's dntifal, I am in the very 
purlieus of ^'palaceT* Faith, it woiUd be a^glorioas sadsfactioa 
for my wrongs to torn the laugh of the whole court upon my angry 
sire, by passing the night within his palace walls. Besides,'! 
might perchance catch a glimpse of this formidable princess, my 
brUie elect. Ha, ha, she has never seen me, and as I am deter- 
mined not to marry her, the satiafaction of my cariosity is worti 
the risk* It shall be so.-^If I remember right, this little dooi^ 
j ApproqeMettMedoorj 8cHy)FP8 ptogf* himvlf before it .) 

"Vci/tjj/J*. (nJ ^n a iouavotc e) Haiti 

Fred, Hush! ^ 

Sehiopfi, ( ^ Louder still .) R^ht about face. March ! 

Fredm Veace fool ! and stand back. 

Schloppa. Stand back yourself, individual 1 

fk^d. By whose orders, fellow, do you bar my entrance ? 

Schlopps, His Majesty's ! '* ^chloppsen my fine fellow," sajw be 
to me, '' keep your eye on that gate, let nobody pass, as you valae 
your life." Now, as I happen most decidedly to value my life 
says 1 to you — eyes left. March! 

Fred, Ha ! ha ! surely grenadier, a man may look at a gat^ 
though it may lead to a king's palace ! 

Sohlopps. No fellow ! If you look at that gate, 'tis evident you 
have something in your eye, and if you have something in yoar 
eye, you're a suspicious person, and I shall shoot you as in duty 
bound. 

Fred. (Aside. ) I see I must have recourse to my purse. (Aloud^) 
Here, take tiiis lloriii, and don't push the joke any further ; yoa 
understand ! 

Schlopps. { Presenting his bai/onet. ) I'll push it a great deal 
farther, if you don'i beat a retreai I 

Fred. This to me? ( Cl/tecks house//.) Confusion, I must not 
betray myself ! 

ScAlopp!?. Hark'ye, young man, put that paltry kingle florin in 
your pocket again, or I'll send a bullet through you, tho' you were 
the Prince Royal himself. 

Fred. ( Aside.) This fellow is not to be trifled with I I must 
seek other means of access to the palace! (Alcud,) Foi^ve me, 
my brave fellow, and accept this purse, not as the price of treason, 
but the reward of a Prussian sol<fier's loyalty ! Farewell! (Flingt 

Schlopps. He called me "brave fellow." How people may be 
deceived. However, I will call him a generous one, for h« flings 
his money about like a prince: I should like to know more of t)»t 
young man. I'll cultivate his acquaintance, and advise him not ts 
throw his money about, or ten to one it is picked by some 



THE SENTINEL. 9 

selfish fellow. C Zooks about him, then ttichs ttv the, purse.^ Huzza ! 
filled to the brim with gulden Fredericks ? Here's luck I one, two» 
three, poh 1 I should not count them in a year ; iPttts the pu rse if i^ 
^f^ rjtnt ptichftj\ What shall I do with it all ? how shall I spend it i 
Let me see. Til build an asylum fo^ cowards 1 Poh ! all Berlin would 
not hold them. I have it, I'll giTe a ball in the barracks, and my 
own darling little Linda shall be queen of the revels : delightful 1 
la, la, la, la, ( WcUt sing about the stage,) 

Enter Linda, crying, (l- 

Linda, Oh dear, oh dear ! where can Schloppsen be ! the Ser* 

jeant said his was the post of honour, — now the post of honour 

ought to be. at the gate of the king's palace. (Sees Schlopps.) 

There he is sure enough, Schloppsen ! (He^ yam no attentio n^ 

Schloppsen! ( Boxes hUt ear8,'\ What are you about sir ? 

Schlopps, |*racticing a pas seul. Miss Linda! {Rttbs his cheek.y 
What are you about, if you come to that? 
linda. Beating time, Mr. Schloppsen. 

Schlopps. I'd swear to your knuckles among a thousand 
What a peculiar way you have of saluting. 
Linda, A very proper way,as it strikes me! 
Schlopps, As it strikes me you mean. {Rtdibin^ again.) 
Linda, And serve you right sir ! for presummg to caper about^ 
when you see Tm miserable. If this is the way you reward my 
tenderness — 

Schlopps, Tenderness ; it does not lie at your finger's ends, my 
charmer. 

Linda. You are a cruel, good-for-nothing fellow ! ( Sqbbinf/.^ 
Schlopps, Dry those pretty black eyes, most fascinating flower 
merchant, and pour your sorrows into this sympathising bosom. 
( Wit\ mock feelinoA 

Linda. Ah Schloppsen, I remember, when like a fool you Usted 
into his Majesty's grenadiers* and left me to sigh and sing my sad 
ditty., 

Song . 
Oh sad was the change when my lover was gone, 
The flowers had no perfume, the grove had no song ; 
The sootliings of friendship no joy could impart. 
And my ditty was tuned to the throb of my heart. 

W^ell a day, 
Ah me ! 
Well a day. 

Ah glad was the change when my lover returned, 
The landscape no longer in solitude mourned, 
Like the mists of the mom, I bid sorrow depart, 
And my ditty was tuned to the joy of my heart, 

Happy day, 
Oh yes, 

Happy day ! 

Linda. But now I'm wretched again, for if you had seen what I 
have seen, and heard what I have heard, you would feel as I feel 4 
Schlopps. i Tenderbj. ^ And how do you feel ? 



10 THE M:STiyEL. 

Linda. A kuid of presentiment that you and I will ne^er be 
man and wife I unlei»s — /• 

Sckhppf. Ah, unlefU) ; 

JUttdii, Yoa instantly coma with me to vcij father. 

Schlopj)9. 'Tis very easy to aay, come, but I'm oa duty, — ^this 
is the post of honour ! ( Vt^'tt/i diffHJtyi) 

I^tvda. Ncrer mind >*cJfiloppeeH, yua'U find the post here when 
you coiiie back 7 it won't run: away ! 

Schlopps. No ! but I should. 

Undo. I'm ai^hamed of you sir^ 9» 111 buck to my papa» tell 
him I don't care a bit about you, and mai'py Biouni the blacksmith. 

Schl'jpjin, A bhicki«mith ! degenerote dafntel. 
^ Linda. Yes, he hafl been making violent love to- me. Such fibs^ 
«uch oaths, and such »ighs ; btft flncHii^ mv heart steeled agaiotit 
his fajjcinations, he coaxed father to a neighbouring tavern, tai 
whether my poor father's head was too weak, or the wine too 
stron? I don't know, but this I do know, ^%t h? a^ot — 

SchUjpp^. Merry t 

Lmda, More than merry. 

ScM)ppK. Jolly? 

Linda. More than jolly. 

Scht);}ps. Drank ? (ifitk solemniin.^ 

Lhidit. Very! and in that state prombed my hand to- this od£o» 
blncks:nith. 

S<M)pp^. What's to be done ! I have it, — ^in an hour's time I 
shall be relieved, and tljen, Linda, I'll to your father, open my 
heart, my purse, and my brandy bottle, and thus treWy anned, I 
shall overmatch this brawny Vulcan! 

Unda. But Schloppsen, in less than an hour this horrid contract 
will be signed. 

ii'cUoppx. Tlie devil it will ! Ah I^nda^ fortane's- a «apcici0ft* 
hussey ; 'tv/as but just now she s<*t me dancing to the »oand of the 
prettiest music you ever heard, and now she semfe you brimftdl of 
tears and si?hs to make me the moHt Inckadaisical dog ia Beidin. 
, Linda. But Schloppsen, what ro///^/ malce you so happy in nj 
absence ? 

Schlopp^. That whtcrh wiU make jgvl sa. luisten I { chhiks tke 
vKrse. ) 

Ltnda. "Well mr ! I*m all attention., go. on ! 
^^-^hloppi. Goon! She likes it. {Skews monstf,) Look here, 
and here. 

L'nd(f. Gold?n Fredericks I declare : who was th^ generous 
donor ? • 

S ^filopp^i^, ( ^fff^f"rirusf7(. ) I believe, the emperor of all the Kus- 
sias ! A remarkably discriminating gentleman, who gave them as 
a reward for my loyalty and courage. 

Linda . Your courage ! 

Siihlopp». Yon may well be astonished. /was thunderstnii^l 
Egad, I wiih he'd come this way again, I'd just ask him to dodulf 
for me here while I ran to rour old dad ! - '• 

Linda J But perhaps he's not a soldier. • 

Siiidopp*'. Oh! I'd soon make him one. 

Unda, Poh I Your business is to make a soldier's wife, 
me your musket, and III mount guard tiil your return. 



>.« 



■.I* 



THE SKVTIXKL. 



11 





Sckffipp^; But if you're di^cowred, — 

lAnda, Wliy then, like you aad otUer heroes, I'll rua away I . 

Schlopps. And / shall be shot. 

Unda, Well ^f!ir, you had better be shot than lose m?. 

Schlopps True, of two erils choose the least. Ahem; so hero 
goes. Firit, my great coat to keep you warm, \ Puts hut coat oty 
her, awl fattens the bdts,) my cap, ( Puts tJte cap on* ) and ray musketl 
There.— 

JJnda, Can't you lend me your mustachios Schloppsen ? / 

Sdthpps. Not conveniently, ha ! ha ! / 

Linda. But you have iiot told me what my duty is, ♦ / 

Schlai^s True, you are to stand sentinel at that gats, and should^^ 
any one attempt to pass its sacred threshold — Q£iilLJ23!^ 
imjfsrtance.) 

iJnda. {Lookins fierce.^ I flatter myself I'm too formidable 
and ferockmsa looking personage for anyone to attempt it. Besides 
you forget IVe served jn the Invincibles. I'll send him to the right y^ 
.hout in double quick ti,ne. ^^^^ ^/M^^ ^ 

Linda, With {rowniug looks beliold m3 now, ^^ 

I place my cap well o'er my brow, CX!^^ 

Withsh>Ml'T3.*i bij!c, an.ifor.n erect. 

Blustering gait, and oaths sele?tr; 

A foe to wine and blind to beauty, 

That is to say, when I'm on duty ; 

But when I'm relieved, theit hey for gbsses, 

Sparkling wine, and pretty lasses. 
Schlopps. Silence ! or draad the basttna.le, 

Remember sir, you're on parads. 

Attention ! 
Liiula, Your voice so gruff and fierce, alarms 

Me so, I scare* cm, — 
Schlopps. Shoulder arms ! 

No s^ forward ! March. 
Ijinda. 'Tis all your fault 

If I am out, so pray cry 
Sdilojfps. Halt! 
■ Linda. Oh dear I'm tired, so if you phase, 

I'll give the word, and stand at ease.' 
Sdd.ippi. On3 moment yet, 
Linila^ I cannotstay, 
Schloppi;. Recover arms, 
Linda. Another dav. 
Scldipps. My orders sir, dare not dispute^ 

I here command, you execute 

One more miii'jevure. 
Unda. WTiat? 

Schlopps Sddute \ [A'w'?? her, crd A | ; ^ ^'»^ TT. B. Lu 

Ijiula. Til ere he goes. Heigh a ! No chance of becoming lak 
widow of a soldier that runs as fast as he doe?, i vs'onder why 
this is called standing at ease, I'm sure I never felc so uncom> 
fortabie in all my life. I don't wonder at Schloppssn being tired 
of the service. I'm sure this musket is enough to tire any one. 
( i^j,ii>i-if on the miisK-et, tcith her chin on tfie miur^fe.) 



. f 



?■ 




.52^5^, 




jJP^<U^</ 



4r 





^VM^l 



12 



THE 8ENTIXBL. 



^.Starti gtcoy.) Mercy on me ! suppose it were to go off. 

1 begin to we a shrewd suspicion that I ought notio have Tofaa' 



red into his Mi^esty^s srenadiers 




ush! footsteps. 



^estys grei 
Dear me, now very disagreeably dark it 
and coming this way. What will become of me ! (rertreg.> 

Enter PfLixcE Frederick, hastihij l. 

Fred, ( Looking anxunuly off" slase, ) I have escaped my pursuers, 
and once more am sate ! 

Unda. (Behbvi) A stranger! and a man ! Here's a situi^ion for 
the fiiture Madam Schloppsen. 

Fred. The whole town is on the alert, the police on my track, 
and not one friendly door open to receive me. 

Linda. He says the police are on his track, he must be some 
desperate bandit. 

Frc^, ( Looking round lum.) Surely I should know this spot. As I 
live, I have thrown myself once more in the clutches of that 
formidable sentinel ; yes, yonder he stands : as fierce and uncom- 
promising as ever. 

Linda. I think I had better give him some idea of my cosse- 
quence, Til intimidate the wretch, (Aloudt and in a grvff rotee.^ 
Ahem ! 

Fred. {Atidt.^ He recognizes me, and appears disposed to be 
more communicative than at our last interview. (Linda qActu 
ogot'n.l Poor fellow, he doubtless wishes to enliven the monotony ' 
or duty by a little conversation. (Avuroaciiet Linda.) Grenadier ! 
a word with you. (LiyDA slia^es iter head.) Nay, mynne fellow, do 
not imagine that 1 wish to seduce you. 

Linda. (Aside . ) Come, there's some comfort in that ! (Aiqud. ) 
Thank ye, sir ! 

Fred. (Imitating. ) Thank ye sir. Ha! ha! radieran unmilitary 
expression Tor one of Frederick's grenadiers. (Approaches close to 
Linda.) By my hopes, a woman ! 

Lifida. Yes, if you please, sir, (Curtseying. ) 'Tis all over with 
me. (Aside.) 

Fred. And a lovely one ! 



Linda. Yes, if you please, sir. (Curtseys a gaifi A 
entrance to the palace garden I 



Fred. Fortune, I thank thee. 1 presume you S not dispute my 



Linda. 
neiC i Indeed! but 




before the, door a nd 



md presenting Aer bat/o^ 
-_. , _ I will. *L1iis is a post of honour, wkicki \ will 

defend to the last extremity ! 

Fred, Thcs my pretty Bellona consider yoonelf in a state of 
siege ! Will you surrender ? 

Linda. Surrender I ( ^ Fiercehj *) No sir! do your worst! 

Fred. Then thus I commence operations. (Is about to kiss ier.\ 



Cr 



-" Distant Drum^ Chorus^ ver i 
When evenimjr's bells are to 



uma 
Uing, 



lano 



evening s 

With steady tramp patroling, 

Each maiden hears the drum 

And smiles a welcome as we come. 
Linda. Lud a mercy what's that ? 

Fred, Hush ! 'tis the patrol guard, they march this way. 
JAnda, Then I had better march the other way. (Is going q^) 



J 



TBE 8BNTINEL. IS 

Fred. What ! desert your podt ! Nay, I have a better plan. Gitct 
me your musket and accoutrements, conceal yourself in y(Mider 
sentry.box, and leaye the isiue Jx) my generalship ! 

Linda. You'll not betray me ? 

Fred, Betray thee, child, not for Prussia's diadem. (Linda 
conceals herself in aentr^'hox^ The pRiycE iwto on the (XXUt 4sg_ 
a/ui stands as sentinel. 

Eider Corporal and Guarp (u. e. l. j 

Fred. Who goes there ? 

Corporal. Patrol. 

Fred. W^ell Corporal, what news afloat ? 

Corporal, The devil's own news, comrade — Prince Frederick is 
ID Berlin. 

Fred. Impossible! , 

Corporal. Fact ! but he'll be arrested to-night. 

Fred. Jndeed ; and his punishment-— 

Corporal. Three years solitary confinement in the fortress of 
Spandau. 

Fred. Rather a severe sentence for so trifling an offence. 

Corporal. That's not our business, comrade, the King has pro- 
mised a glorious reward for the apprehension of this runaway 
Prince, and if I once lay my hand on him — (Ptdting his Juind ou 
th e Princess thoidder.) 

J'red. (Slipping on one side.) He would slip through your fingers 



depend 

Corporal. Ha ! ha ! that remains ,to be proved ; so good night, ryf 
•comrade. A/^/ 

Fred, Good night, and when you do catch him, keep ti ght hold. / \ 'f'^\^ 
[ Exewit Corporal onrfGuARP, g. e. .Drmn "KerfiMig, v>Jf V /^ 

XAnda. (RuwuHgoui ojsentry-oox. ) A thousand, thousand thanks I 

Fred. i"haVe none you an essential service, foir maiden, and I 
now claim my reward. 

JAnda. (Hesitatitw .) Reward ? yes sir, of course, that is but 
reasonable, but lia^ i not better first consult Schloppsen 

Fred. Schloppsen, who may he be ? 

Litvda. My sweetheart, sir ! 

Fred. A soldier, I presume ? 

lAwla. Of course sir. 

Fred. Of liigh standing ? 

Linda. Oh no ! there isn't as much of him as there is of you.. 

Fred. And yet you love him ? * 

Linda. With all my heart, we are a very interesting couple, I 
assure you, but there are obstacles to our union. 

Fred. To obviate which, if I mistake not, your Schio ppsen, has 
deserted his post ? 

Linda. But not without first jjrocuring an efficient substitute. 
(Cbneeitedhj.) Dear, dear, what a head 1 have ! When I promised 
to attend to ids duty, I quite forgot ynine 1 What will the Pribcesft 
Elizabeth think of me for neglecting her sup[)ly^of roses ? 

Fred. ( Startina, ) The Princess Elizabeth ! 

Linda. Do you know her ? 



14 THE SENTINEL. 

Frf'i. Merely by report, which ia not very comp4imeiitary eidier 
to hf r ]>euuty or her disposition. 

Liu'la. Then report ought to be ashamed of itself, for she has 
the kindest heart that ever throbbed, the softest eyes tiuKt eter 
beamed, tlie sweetest Kps that ever smiled ! I only wish I ooold 
have a few words with that good-for-nothing Prince Frederick. 
I*d tell him a bit of my mind ! 
Fred. Indeed! 

LiiirJa. I would say to him yonr highness is neither wise nor 
just, in rejecting the proffered hand of one who loves you, and who 
in spite of scorn, indifference and neglect, never refieves a bfother 
^y^^\^ ^^ sister in affliction, without bidding them pray for the weifarc 
^ ^ \ of Prussia and its foture monarch. 

/^ I Fred. (^A ffedetL) Can this be true — love me. 
/ ^_ I U^ida, Love you ! Bless the man, what is he trhtntrug 

l^ /about! 

^^ J Fr&L {Aikle ) Am I the sens^ess fpol this girl describes me. 
^ ^^^ Have I blindly, madly, rejected a pearl of such price ! I am more 
than ever resolved on gaining admission to the palace I I mast 
and \\iU satisfy my doubts. jAhywl,) You have now an oppoftamty 
of repa^ng the service I have rendered you. (Taking c^his<u- 
eomtrements and shlng them to Lix D A ) Will you obey my instruetHNB? 
jJuda. W hai are they .' 

Fred. Simply these. (Placen Linda loith her face to th^ amiiemt) 
I wish to leave this spot unBo^ed! I'Tomise me mat yxMi wid Tok 
observe the path I take ? 

Linda. On condition that your path does not' lead through yoD- 
der gate. {Pointing; orer her sUutlde'- to the gate.) 
Fred. Agrees. 

Linda. And pray hpw long is my curiosity to stand this for- 
midable trial ? 

Fred. Until yon hear thi* signal thrice repeated. C^fam yii g kii 
hands, ) 

Linda. { Bepeafmo the 7nathti.) Vm sure I have no objeetioB to 
. that signal y only make haste for IVe got the fidgets already ! Hers'* 
a situation for a Grenadier ! 

[ Yn^DViRiCK nets nnmd t) r. andvlaees Linda to *>w^ ») 

JJmla. These eyes kind sir you see are closed. 

You'd swear that I wejs sleeping. 
^ Aside,) Suppose I took one little look 

(flafj' tnrnt her head, and t}»en re-twrnt it, ) 
He'd maks me -pay tor peeping. 
(Almtd,) 'Tis hard to keep me fast asleep 
"VnfJenl insist on waking. 

I The Prixce by this time ha^ ascended tite vaM^ m.) 
(Aside, ) But by and bye with h:ilf an eye, ' 
I'll see which road he's taking. 
(Impatiently ) The signal give, 
"^ Or as I live 

I'll se? whnt vou're aUo"iit. 
Ah now I'm free, 






THE aESTlVEL, 15^ 

{ 77ig Prixcs i^ires th? ii^nal with his Jiands, ) 
~' lies, on? — two — three! 

(Screaws.) Oh now the mischiefs out, 
(Tumi unround and drappuyvunaml c'>ni,R. as PnixcE dimTmeart^ 
Lindit l^m rained, decpivev, sacriticea I Ub tbe post of honour ! 
( Ti-jes to look over the wtdl hn I'wmping. ) Oh do come back, there's a 
de*, good-for-nothing, amiable, odious young man. (2fatonw>) 
Who can he be ? Some sangiiinary conspirator, I dare say, gone 
to massacre the Kii^ and pocket the priry purse ! I shall be shot 
as an accomplice. C'Sifs d^ncn on a ben^ under the wall, and ewefs 
her face with her a^imm\ 

£!«ter The Kino and Babon Vondbbpshel, tJie latter cmnps^g a 
lautfiem, under lus clxik, /oKowed Oy soldiers toho remai n o^ the stdettu 

King. Baron ? 

Baron. (^Bawin^.) Sire. 

King. I on will sigitify my thanks to tiie officers of the garrison 
for the Tery efficient mannet in which my orders hare been obeyed. 
I hare every reason to be Irighly satisfied with the iiiiFer«nt posts 
I have this night visited ; thi« is the last and most important. 

Baron. I'm confident your Majesty conld not have entrusted a 
poiKt of honour to an abler or more loyal soldier. I know him 
well, and will be answerable for his efficiency. 

King. Indeed I I take you at yonr word Baron I Report to me 
the result of your inspection ! ( ^ 17tg Barok advances towoBrds 
LiypA, tcAo during the ultore has rmmnied on the seatl and is /oofeiwg 
^ er tne u>ail, the BJABoy sbirts on seetna her ) 
' hf^ig. Well isaron, are you satisfied ? 

Baron. CStamnierirtir.) _ Yes sir, That is — 

King. No equivocation. Somethiiig is amiss ! 

Baron. (.Rig^farwmg tnwarjisthe Kiyg.) Yes, decidedly a miu ! 

King, lioes be sleep at hw post ? 

Baron. He ! please your Majesty — he is not a he ! 

King. iKwra^d^ 'Sdeath and ftiry, what have you seen ? 

Barofti. 7 In a lowl vchisio er. ) A petticoat I 
(The Kixg snatches the lanthern froni the Barox. marcltes rcujiiHi f 
np to jLinpa, holds tlie lanthern upj9 far, and survetfe fier.j 

King' (Inavoiceof^under7] Gr€uadier\ 

( LiypA screams and fails back mTHte King's ar ms.) 

Kms. rrf y tn ato aJHenof'j/e /liniHeff.^ Baron, remove the^ggage^ 
or your King wiH certainly be suffocated ! 

Idnda. The King ! Oh, most mfl^stic Majesty {Falliug on her 
kn ees.) Pai'don, pardon I 

Kimj. Peace, wDman I "VVlio is the Grenadier that has dared to 
abandon his po^»t ? 

Linda. My sweetheart, please your PrinciiHility. 

Kin(/. ( ro{\fnrutin^ A His name ? 

Linda. Maximilian Schloppsen. 

King. The cowardly rascal. \ 

Uiida. Yes that's he. ^ 

Ktmj. And his reason for tliis gross ne^ect of ^juty ? 

Lindit. To drink the heulth of your hig^ Mightiness, and per- 
■nade my father to consent to our marriage I 




46 TflE 8ENT1NEU 

King. Marriage! Ugh ! ( Walking to andfro^ aitd brandishing 
h if cane. ^ By my ancestons/ but 1 will make a terrible example of 
Ibe caitiff! Corporal ( He adoanceit.\ convey this contralMnd 
Orenadier to the Dearest Guard-house! 

Baron . {Jutentcmina. ) Sire ! might I be allowed — 

KiT^, To accompany her. Certainly Baron ! You became res- 
ponsible for the efficient tenure of this post and I took you at |por 
"word. Away with them. 

( Corporal attempta to seize Lixpa.) 

Corporal, TLe woman won't march, your 31aje8ty. 

Kiny. Then chain them together. (Corporal places handai^ 
ofi LiXDA and Baron. ) " 

Baron, IJhain us together ! What will the Baroness Vouder- 
bushel say ? ' 

Linda . Say ! that she pities me. That instead of the bands of 
wedlock I'm to be chained to a fat, fubsey old Baron ! 

Baron, As it must be so, my dear, we may as well be sociable. 
iO fferine lti» Itgnd.^ AUow me to offer my hand. 

Liiulu. March hand-in-hand ? what would the Baroness Vonder- 
bushcl say ? ( Imitafine Baron.^ 

Baron, ( To JLix D A, and powk^i^ off.) After you, I beg. (Bokjus. ) 

Linda,, ISo ceremony, 1 entreat. {Jjiurtsenins,^ 

King. (Ansrrilu .) March I say. 

Linda. OhmdT ( Siezes the Baron's armt and hurries him otUjU 
followed bv suard.) 

King. I have yowed to maintain the discipline of my army ; my 
noble army ; my pride, my boast ; that I have reared from in&Bcy 
with a parent's care, and led from field to field, from yictorv, tt 
victory ! How shall I forgive an act of insubordination. Ah; kiiigs 
should be pitied, and he alone envied, who has not the power to 
punish I I have been thwarted in my dearest hopes by my thank- 
less son : he, whom my fond pride has often pictured as the future 
Frederick the Great, but who, instead of studying my paternal 
wishes, has forsooth declared Iiimself a disciple of the Froichmaa 
Voltaire, and his new philosophy. By my ancestors, but I wooU 
•.barter the costliest jewel in my diadem to have that said philoso- 
pher in my good town of iBerlin. f Stumbles over tlie mudeeij ^. ire.) 
What have we here ? (Pic k s tliem up,) Ah, the accoutrements « 
that runaway sentinel. I'laith, as tliis post must not be left unoc- 
cupied,* I'll e'en mount guard myself! ( Puts on tlie coat, anddwul' 
ders tfie musket.) 'Tis not the first time I have done a soldier's 
-auty, or carried musket and knapsack. 

ScMopps. ( Witlioid^ " Malbrook s'en va en guerre, 

Tire li ton ton, tire Ion terre." 

Kiiiff. Ha, ha, a merry heart at any rate. I'll observe him. 
(Reti/es into sentry boXj^ , 

Ente r Schloppsen, tipsy u. E. L . 
Som/, 

All silly sober folks agree, to drink is sad i 
That they who drink till they can't see, must be mad, 
Yet juice of grape, in every shape, I've reason good to think it 
Can't be so bad, so very bad, since saints and sinners drink it. 

Drink it, drink it. 



THE SE^TTINEL. 19 

Vwe often read and heard it said, lore makes men blind;' 
That wine is worse, a very corse to half mankind ; 
Bat as for me, I cannot see why folks should take the toonble. 
For I maintain, wine clears my brain, by making^ me see' double. 

Double, double. 

Ent er tfte Kin g, dretud at a teniinel. 

ScUoppt, (With great tolemnihL ) Vm decidedly of opinion, 1 
nay say, internally convinced, that I am in a state of considerable 
intoxication. Vm happy, unquestionably happy. But human 
felicity is so unsteady. C St a ^^s.) Let me collect my scattered • 
senses. I have been drinlcing Dumpers of brandy with u jolly old 
dog, who has sanctioned my matrimonial intentions in fuvour 
of his adorable daughter ! 

^""ft* ^-Bg/wnrf. ) So, so, this is the deserter. / 

Schloppe, (^egi//gf/ig King.) Yes. There stands the pearl of her ' 
sex! Now for a joyful surprise. { Staggers towardt Hie KiNG.^ / 
Ahem ! here I am, you coaxing little rogue. \ ' 

King. fCfruMn,) Uniph : V 

Schlonpe J^Imitatins. ^ Umph ; fascinating creature, I repeat^ 
here I am I (King tttrns fz-otn /hm,) Most inconstant of Flora'* 
nymphs, is , tnis the reception you bestow on your devoted 
Schloppsen! {Seizes the Kixg^s haml^ wluch he snatc/ies awau .) Ah. 
I see how it is : she is offended at my long absence. ( Ticlchs the 
King, fry, mulling him in the side^ tfien dutchs him under tfte chin, ntfts 
nis iiaiuL S Mms Lmda, if ii is not asking an impertinent cjuestion^ 
^hen did you shave last? (King lau^lis aside,) But you don't 
seem to evince any curiosity about the result of my errand. I 
found your fieither as sober as the pope, add left him as drunk as a 
piper ; but luckily we settled matters before the brandy settled ut^ 
and if I can. only contrive to get to the blind side of old Fritz! 

King. Old Fritz. 

Sdihpps, We that are on intimate terms wkh his Majesty never 
crfl him any thing but old Fritz. (Tite King lav»iis,) Ah ! you 
may laugh, you think I should not have pluck enough to s])eak my 
tniud to him ; I only wish we were looking each other plump in 
the face. This is what I should say, ''Your Majesty need not nil 
your royal eyes about like a duck in thunder, — you .won't frighten 
ine ! a king's but a man, and the man that is dnmk is as great as 
a king. 



^^ 



King. (Aside,) A moralist in his cups, ha! ha! ha! 

SdUopps, I should say, "old Fritz," (Pi/ttim his Juind on the 

Kixg^s shotdder,) when Maximilian Schloppsen, at the battle Of 



c'tralsund, tlirew himself between your Majesty and the bayonet 
of a Swedish soldier, you talked of gratitude. 

Kiftg. (Affected. ) True. (Aside J 

SclUopps, I am old Max s son, and in my father's name I de- 
mand a discharge from your Majesty's service. There ! that's what 
I'd tell him, and between ourselves, I think old Fritz would be 
rather puzzled for an answer. 

King, ( Alcrnd,^ You are mistaken, Maximilian Schloppsen. 

SdUopps, (^Staggered b i j ilie voice.) Eh! no! — yes! llie Kiof^l 




THE 8ENTI9fEL. 



Kir-'. (o*/m'/mjJ Old Fritz «rould answer tbas. ( Flaeei las 
/irtwrf rn SciiLOPFS, </Mm<Jgr.) Pardon to the soa^ in memory oC toe 
th er. 

tt ainrwn beU, and drums beafiag ave heard. Enter Baron wal 
D\ 7'liHtfirtif . /i^tfoM? ^rf fa/ i'oRPOiiAL and Gi 



^ rUARD. (^L. U. K.) 

Tease your Majesty,- 

King. (c.) How now Baron, you appear alarmed, 

Bariiii. Considerably Harried sire, but not alarmed, 

JJiulci. (a.) out no, not in the least alarmed 1 {Aside, ) Never 
was so frightened in all my life. 

King. To the point at once ! ilmitatienthh ) 

Baron. *Twas on my way to the— 

King, the guard house, I had forgot. 

Jtaron. { Aside. ) But I liad not, nor shall I in a harry, Q^kwA) 
Wluv.i the soldiera were ordered to the palace, to capture a van 
who had forced his way into the very apartments of the princess 
£liy.alieth Christina, grand duchess of — (With ureat soltinmiv. ) 

King. Ah ! Unierrupts him.) 

Bartm. So I took tne opportunity of running back to break the 
tidings^ to your Majesty. 

Ldnda. And nearly broke his neck, and mine in the bargain. 

King. (Motio.is- ihe CoRPOBAL to unloose tlie Jianilcuff*. LiXD.v 
rmii to ScHLOPPSKX ) Soldiery, quick! surround every avenue to 
ihe palace. ( aoLPiEits exeunt in different directions^ 

Baron, Shall Jl drag this audacious mcinider irom his conceal* 
ment ? (Tlie King pusliesJUm aside^ 

King. JSIo,"tl(iat shall be my task. {Draws Ids stoord, aful raxs to 
aiesate. (c,)_ 

Prince Fbkdbrjck aT^peijirs ai the t£ate » 

Fred.. He is hercf 

King.. ( Li f tins /«^ swird.) Traitor I 



> V iAjtras[ n^ 

Fred. {Kn^ctni^ to him.) Father. 

King. { Props ius sword . ) Son I ( With severity.^ Rise prince royal 
of Prassia. 

Fred. Not till my king pronounees my pardon at the entreaty of 
Elizabeth of Brunswick, who, in spite of my cold neglect, Ibrga^e 
me when I knelt before her:' shall I kneel in vain to my filtlier! 

King. {Raisins /»'»> to Jus arms.) No ! her forgiveness seeuKS 
mine ; she'li teach you, my boy, a natural philosophy, worth all 
the sophistry of a regiment of voltaires ; and believe me, Frede- 
rick, that your making a good husband, will be no bad security to 
your subjects, for your making a good king, (^Sees Schloppskx . • 
Maximilian Schloppsen, stand forward. jScnLoPFStudrmices, vn^ 
king tJie militari/ salute. ) What is the reason you assign for wisbiDf 
io leave my service .'' 

Sddojyps. A veiT fair one your Majesty ' 

King, { To Llnda^ Maiden, will you enlist him into yours? 

Linda. {(Jinns fier hand to ScuLOppiji.) It is a post of honour 
lie may aspire to. 

King. And in such a service, (Gallantli i.) if he neglect his duty, 
woe to him. ( Shakins his cane at Schlopps.) So I the state has loit 
a good soldier ! 



Linda. But (he Hng has gaii rd two grateful lubjedB 
SMopps. Besides a whole regiment of little Sditopps ii 

fpCftive. (Enthiiniuhc'i 



Fimh. 
SMiyppt, If for our toils, rowanliiig smiles, 
Shall cha.se eauh care atid sorrow, 
At yoar command, I'll talie my ktaad ! 
Your lenliael, to-morrow. 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 



r 



A 



No, 5.1 [Price 6d. 

WEBSTER'S 
ACTING NATIONAL DBAMA. 

rrosB IBS ivencta or tsb sbuuho xvsaoat' sooiktt. 



(i> 



THE 

MODERN ORPHEUS; 

OB, 

MUSIC THE FOOD OF LOVE. 
A FARCE, 

By benjamin WEBSTER (Comedian), 

JKen^er of tfre Srsniatic 9iuttiott^ j^odctfi. 

AS FBRFOBMXD AT THB 

THBATBB EOTAL, COVENT GARDEN. 

rBKTAOBO BY AK OBIOIKAL 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF W. FARREN, ESQ. 



CORBBOTLT PBXNTBD FBOM THK FBOMPTBBAb COPT, WITH THB CIST OT 
CHABACTBB8, COSTrVE, 8CBNIC ABBikVGBHKKT, BIDES Of 
BHTBANCB AVD EXIT, AVD RXLATITB POSITIONS 
OF THB DRAMATIS PEBSONiK. 



LONDON : 



WXBSTEB AWD CO., 411, BTBAIO) ; W. 8. JGHITSOF, "KAS8AV 
8TBAM PSXSS/' 60, ST. MABTIS'S LAITE ; ME8SBS. PIPXX Al^D CO., 
FATXBirOBTSB BOW; TICKBBS AND BUBeSB, HOLYWXLL 8TBBST; 
AlXSir, WABWICK LAVE; JOHN HETWOOD, MAKCHE8TEB; 
UnSXHEABT, SmPVOXK STBEET, DFBLIir ; SUTHEBLAIT]) AKD CO., 
ZDIKBTIBOH ; VXTBIDOS, BOSTON, T.B.; AND ALL BOOKSXLLBBS* 



W. S. Jobn5>nii, '* Nassau Steam Prcat," 60. St Marltu's Iau«^ W.C. 



TO 



D. W. OSBALDISTON, ESQ. 



Sir, 

In dedicating to you my first production at the Thea- 
tre Royal Covent Garden, however trifling, I but do myself a 
pleasure and you a right, (for to you, sir, I am indebted for a 
success I scarcely anticipated) as, by accepting it, you ensured its 
being performed in a manner superior to the resources of any 
other Theatre, especially in its principal parts. That you may 
long and profitably hold your present station, which, as is acknow- 
ledged by those under your management you so worthily fill, is 
the sincere wish of 

Sir, 

Your obedient servant, 

B. WEBSTER. 

15, Museum Street, 

April 2€th., 1837. 



tf ^ ' ^r '-^f 



fj 



AN ORIGINAL BIOGRAPHICAL 8K2TCH 

OP 

WILLIAM FARREN, Esq. 



-^V V'VN^>«%.< VW ^ ^ VN 



An you love old age, my masterB, then love me; 
For my art can shew him in as many forms, 
As e'er was given us model of by nature. 

Old Parh. 

Mr. William Farren is the third son of an actor of some consi- 
derable celebrity, who enacted at the Theatres Royal Drury Lane, 
Covent Garden, and Haymarlcet, during the latter part of the las^ 
century and died in 1 795. The subject of the present memoir was 
born 13th May 1791, and educated in the same school where List«D 
acquired learning enough to become a master. In due time he m* 
placed in a solicitor's office, but we suppose, the Acts of Parlia- 
ment reminded him of Acts of Plays, and every shrivelled bit of 
parchment of the wrinkles of old age. Certes it is, that from the 
very jG,rst he bent his mind and body both upon the actions of old 
men, and consequently his great success in pourtrayiug age upon 
the stage. In bringing up his histrionic genius in the way it 
should go from the time it was bom of his brain, proves that if 
actors would charily choose the line at starting best suited to their 
personal and physical qualifications, we should have much more 
excellence in the market than there is at present. But actors 
generally waste the best part of their lives in pursuing a wrong 
course until accident reveals to them, when too late, that the patli 
to public favor had been open to them had they wisely taken it. 
Mr. W. Farren's first essay was at the Plymouth Theatre, then 
under the management of his brother Mr. Percy Farren and > 
Mr. Smith, in the character of Sir Archy Mdcsarcasm in Love-a-k- 
mode^ in 1809, and was well received. After getting well grounded 
in the practical and theoretical part of his profession he went t« 
Dublin, and there continued to delight his Irish friends until be 
appeared in London. While in Dublin, a most riotous tuniUit. 
termed the Dog-rotD^ occurring in the Theatre, in consequence of the 
dog not performing in the Forest of Bondy, obliged Mr. Jones to 
resign the management to our hero, in which situation he gave- 
great satisfaction. Several overtures were made to him from the 
great Theatres here for some time previous to his appearance, but 
Mr. Harris, by his liberal offers, was the fortunate securer of bis 
abilities, and on the 10th. of September, 1818, he backed the 
manager's opinion by making a most triumphant hit in Sir Petff 
Teazle ; and the bill^of the following day announced the " Paba- 
MOUNT Success of Mr. Farren," in capitals of the lacrgest So^ 
dimensions. In short, he was at once acknowledged to be & 
capital actor. 

At Co^nt Garden Mr. Farren remained, performing in the sud-; 
mer at the Haymarket, until a change in the management hi l82i? 
deemed by him detrimental to his interests, caused him as p^t 



■*»fc.a. 



BI0GR4PHT. 

agreement, to secede from that establishment, and join Mr. Price, 
the then lessee of Drury Lane, who, by his bold and well calcu-> 
lated policy had rendered it a most attractive place of amusement. 
An action was the result of this step, in which the proprietors of 
CoTent Garden were nonsuited, but, being fortunate enough to ob- 
tain a rule for a new trial, they gained their cause, such is the glori- 
ous uncertainty of the law. Notwithstanding this, Covent Garden 
continued to see him grace the boards of its rival until the present 
season, when his return was most cordially welcomed by all who 
love genuine comedy. 

Mr. Farren is about five feet ten inches in height, and of a florid 
complexion, with light hair, but though looking most healthy, he 
has once or twice by over-study and anxiety been so seriously 
indisposed as to be obliged to live by rule. No actor ever took 
more pains to deserve the great reputation he possesses than Mr. 
Farren. He very properly looks upon his profession as an art 
worthy of devotion, and the approbation of the public and the high 
terras he commands, prove that it is so. 

April 28th. 1837. B.— W. 



Mtmarisf. 



This trifle is a free adaptation of the second act of a French 
vaudeville called " Jeune et VMle** and we are most ready to confess 
that its popularity is more attributable to the acting than to aught 
else. To particularize where all is excellence, is difficult, but we 
cannot pass over without our especial notice the admirable manner in 
which the author, or rather the adapter, was supported by Mr. 
Farren and Mrs. Glover. The first for his pure romantic feeling 
and true identification of that singular and admirable artist Faga- 
nini, and the latter for rendering a rather unamiable lady highly 
interesting. By the bye, in these very original times, it may be as 
well to observe, that the Paganini portion of this entertainment is 
not borrowed from our neighbours. To Mr. Tilbury, Mr. J. Web- 
ster, Miss Lee, and Miss Nicholson, the thanks of the author are 
heartily awarded and justly deserved; and if they are only as 
much pleased with their parts, as both author and audience are 
with their representation of them, the general satisfaction will be 
"ProdigiotM/" 



PIRIT PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDIH 

April 15th 1837. 



\/N -v X' ^ « ■/" V^^'V^/V"WW VN^^X 



Achilles Dumont. (A retiring Musician — a 
la-Paganini,) Black coat, rather large — trowsers J 
and waistcoat — ^black hose and shoes — black f mj^ ^ « 
wig, with long curls behind — ^white cotton C ' ' 
gloves, wristbands turned up — ^broad brimmed \ 
black hat. 

PiCOTB. (-4 re^irerf^Aywc/aw.^ A fawn coloured 
French cut coat, with lapels and square skirts — i 
a white double-breasted waistcoat — ^black satin v Mr. Tilbury, 
small clothes — speckled hose — shoes and buckles C 
— ^powdered ¥rig and tail. 1 

Philippe. (His son,) Blue coat, gilt buttons — 7-^ j Wg^jgtg I 
white pantaloons, and french gaiters. ) '^' ' 

Madame Picote. Drab coloured, fall-sleered 
gown — ^white neckerchief, bound with white satin 
— ^whitelace cap, with blonde lappets, and white 
muslin French apron. 

Cecile. Book-muslin dress — flight blue sash f-^. j 
—long tight blue kid gloves. f ^*^" ^^' 

jAcauETTE. A figured linen gown — white net i 
frill — a flowered China crape kerchief — a scarlet J Miss Nicholson 
apron with pockets. ^ 



id V 
inf 
teC 



Mrs. GloTer. 



Time of representation 45 minutes. 



EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

L. means first entrance, left. R, first enttance, nght. S. £. L 
second entrance, left. S. E. R. second entrance, right. U. £. L. up- 
per entrance, left. U. E. R. upper entrance, right. C. centre. LC. 
left centre. R. C. right centre. T. E. L. third entrance left 
T.£. R. third entrance right. Observing you axe supposed to 
face the audience. 



^ - — — — 



THE 



MODERN ORPHEUS, 

OB 

MUSIC THE FOOD OF LOVE. 



SCENE. — A Chamber. Practicable door centre, A door l. s. i. 
Another R. s. E, wi^ small window ever it^ both practicable. A key 
in R. door. A table R., work-basket S^c. on it, dtair on the K. in 
which Cecile, is discovered^ teated, at needU-work. Chair l. in 
which PicoTE sUt, reading anewspaper^ and a sofabehind. On the L. 
side of the stage, a table, with writing materials, and pair of green 
spectacles on it. A chair on the n., another l. qf it. Philippe. 
discovered standing at a music desk, near the l. side, behind table, 
playing on the violin, 

Picote. Don't teaze me, I tell you! Pm reading an article on 
the balance of power. 

Philippe. La! Father — 

Picote. La ! Son ! You had better be off to your law studies. 

Philippe. No, father, I shall not go this morning; I prefer 
staying at home and practising my violin. 

Picote. (Rising,) Master Picote! What is that you say? 

Philippe, (l.) I say, I will not go ! 

Picote. (r.) You will not go ? 

Philippe. No! 

Picote. Very well, sir, — very well, then don't. I care not, 
whether you go, or stay. It's your mother's business, not mine. 
She'll let you know who's master I 

Philippe. And why, my very dear father, don't you let her know 
who ought to be master ? Why don't you, instead of studying the 
government of nations, learn to govern your own family? Ah! 
when I marry, I will he lord and master, to the very letter ! 

Picote. (r.) That's just like your mother. She spoils you, 
she spoils you, I tell you ! Tou are her pet, her duck, her lad 
of wax ; whilst I am her goose, — and her hand is the only member 
that's inclined to hestow on me, the appellation of lad of whacks ! 
And so it has been ever since I married her! But, thank heaven, 
forty years endurance has fortified my nature against her most an- 
gry attacks. Having amassed a considerable sum of money, du- 
ring the time I served the republic, in the capacity of surgeon, I 
resolved to marry, simple soul that I was; chose a portionless 
girl, because 1 would rule the roast, and have had nothing hut 



-^ ^MWHMattMta>4km»iqaMiVm^K.A«tfa»^aa«ita^. ^1 <» . r I i^uii '^^m^m^mtfM 



8 TQB MOOERX 0RPHBU8. 

^broils erer since ! My wife, treats me as the first consul did Xh 
* people, I have no voice in the affairs, foreign or domestic. 

PhiUppe. It's all your own fault, father ! If you have t miid, 
1*11 put you in the way of obtaining a majority. 

Picote. A conspiracy of us three? Vm for it, boy! 
Philippe, First, here's your son, I by myself, I. 
Picote. I flatter myself you are, I by myself — I. For we're u 
like as two peas [Cecile riseSt and advances \ 

Philippe. Next comes Cecile, your ward, the daughter of thtl 
dAr friend of my mother's, poor Constance! 
Picote. Well ? 

Philippe. {CajoUngly,) You know, my ever respected father, 
how anxious we always are to please you, by sticking up for your 
rights, and upholding your consequence and your dignity, u the 
master of this establishment. But, alas ! though strong in will, oar 
power is weak. So we were thinking — eh, father ? The best plu 
would be — to marry us, and so augment the number of your 
allies. 
Picote. What? 
Philippe. Make us two, one ! 

Picote. Why that would be reducing the number, according to 
that reckoning. 
Philippe. I flatter myself not 1 
Picote. You love each other then ? 
Philippe. (li.) To distraction! 

Picote, (c.) It can't be ! You're bamboozling me, you dog, you 
are! What, in love with another, and I not observe it ? 

Cecile. (r.) It's very true, for all that, sir! But, perhaps \ou 
have been married so long, you would not know the symptoms if 
you saw them. 

Picote. True, true! But the obstacles ? {To Cecile.) You, my 
dear, have nothing— 

Philippe. How! nothing? 

Picote. Absolutely, nothing! I am her guardian, and ought to 
know ; and your mother is so fond of money, th«txe!ll be no mttri- 
mony for you, without it, I fear. 

Cecile. It is too true ! • ' " 

Philippe. Then, what are those seal'd papers, your mother, on 
her death-bed, entrusted to your care ? 

Cecile. They are not for me ; they are addressed to a person i 
have never seen, and to whom my mother was once warmly 
attached, a Monsieur Achilles Dumont. 
Philips. May they not be bank notes ? 
Picote. Bank fiddlesticks ! 

Philippe. What matters about money ? The essential point is, 
we love one another. That's a settled thing, and — you will vf^ 
for us to mother, will you not? 
Cecile. Do, there's a dear guardy! 
Picote. Oh, you cajoling little rascals. 

Jacquette rum on^ oeTUre door. 

Jacquette. Here's madame ! here's madame ! 
Picote and Philippe. The devil! 



^ 



THE MODERN O&PHBUS. V 

(PicoTE runt to his newspaper ^ Philzppb, to Jus violin, Cecilk 
to her needleiffork'—iind Jacquette begins dusting,) 

Picote Hush ! not a word ! Don't appear flurried, take pattern 
by me. 

Enter Madame Picote, centre door^ dressed tyery simply ^ some- 
thing like a quakeress. 

Madame. {As she enters.) Put up the bill, immediately ! I in- 
sist upon it ! I shall give them notice to quit! 

Picote, [Rising y and putting dmim the paper.) What is the mat- 
ter, my dear? 

Madame. These apartments are too large and too elegant for 
us, and I have made up my mind, to let them to some single gen- 
tleman, who can board with the family if he chooses, on reason- 
able terms. 

Picote. {Aside,) Reasonable they must be, if he fares no better 
than we do, at present ! {Aloud.) i^xxt if we turn out of here, my 
love, where are we to turp-in 1 ,, 

Madame. The third floor 1 

Picote, {Aside.) More economy. {Aloud.) But, my duck — 

Madame. What objection have you to it, sir ? 

Picote. None, my dear, in the world ! {Aside.) 1*11 change the 
subject, as I've a ruling queen beside roe ! Have you just left the 
Abbe Douceur, my dear ? 

Madaxne. Yes, sir! and he is very angry with you all particu- 
larly you, Cecile! 

Cecile. {Advancing r.) With me, madame? 

Maefame. Yes, miss ! He has observed your distractions, during 
your confessions. (Philippe, tuning his violin.) Ah ! Philippe, my 
dear boy! {Turming to /»/m, L.) Good morning, good morning. 
(Philippe advances.) Does he not grow more and more like me, 
everyday? (Awses Philippe.) 

PiGot& Yes, my dear! {Aside.) For, he will have his own way! 

Madame. Tell me, my dear boy, where did you go to yesterday 
evening ? 

Philippe, To the play, my dear mother ! 

Madame. What do I hear, to that pit of perdition? 

Philippe, No, mother, to the upper boxes! 

Madame. You shall not go out any more, without me. You 
shall accompany me to my religious conferences. 

Picote, (Aside, to Cecile.) Why does he not speak out? now's 
his time ! 

Madame. What are you talking about, Mr. P ? 

Picote. Talking my dear — was I talking? Oh, Ah ! I was ask- 
ing if the Abbe Douceur, dined here to day ? 

Madame. No ! 

Picote. Oh! 

Madame. That reminds me of what I promised him. Jacquette. 
Fetch me those two bottles of orange flower- water, and that box 
of preserved apricots, you will find in the closet of my chamber. 

Jacquette. {Who has come down l.) Yes madame {Aside.) That 
old hypocrite gets all the good things of this world. 

[Eait centre door.'] 



warzsBoessjBFCsrrzr' 



^a - . ^ »> r *gi.tty* 



10 



THE MODERN ORPHEt^^. 



Mcuiame. The worthy creature, they will do him good. 

Picote. (Aside to Philippe and Cecile.) All the preserves an 
preseryed for him. 

Madame, Apropos, Mr. Picote. 

Picote, My love I 

Madame, You mu&t go and thank him for the honor hebt< 
conferred upon you. 

Picote, The Abb^ Douceur ! what honor my dear ? 

Madame. Thanks to him, you are appointed churchwarden. 

Picote. Ah I 

Madame, Well! don't you understand what I say? Church 
warden! 

Picote. Yes, yes. 

Madame. A title that gives you a voice in the church, m 
places you in the best pew. You do not rejoice at it ? 

Piccie, Pardon me, my dear, the thought of the great influeocf { 
which this new dignity, would bestow upon me, has almost des- 
troyed my sense of speech. Jacquette, Philippe, Cecile ! lam 
churchwarden; rejoice at it everyone, and to celebrate thedav. 
weMl have a liberal feast. 

Madame. A feast, sir, on a fast-day ? 

Picote. But I am churchwarden I 

Madame, The more reason for mortifying yourself and setting 
a good example. 

Jacquette enters by centre door^ trith two bottks and a box, vhk'i 

she gives to Madams Picote. 

Picote. (^Aside.) Oh lord, more soup maigre 1 

Madame, You are sure, this is the best ; that, that is sweetened' 

Jacquette. (l.) Yes, madame. 

Madame. You may drink the other, Mr Picote. (Eseamines horkt. . 

Picote. Oh ! thank you. 

Cecile. {Crossing tOy and aside to Picote.) My dear guardiac. 
now is the moment to speak to her. 

Picote. {Aside to her^ Do you think so ? 

Cecile, She appears to be in an excellent humour. 

Picote, Ah 1 but appearances, are often deceitful. 

PkUippe, {Aside to PicoTE.) Screw up your courage, sir, (L. c. 
(Philippe and Cecile, urge Picote to speak by various getturei.: 

Madame. (Turning and seeing them.) What's the matter! 

Philippe, Nothing, mother, only father has something very par- 
ticular to say to you, and was motioning us to leave youaiou<'| 
together — was*nt you, father ? 

Picote. {Aside*) That boy of mine, will be the death of me. 

Madame. That is fortunate, as I have something very particulsif| 
to say to him. 

Picote. {Aside.) What can she have to say to me? ( To Philippe* 
who in action, keeps urging him to speak.) Oh 1 you parricide 1 

Madame. { To Jacquette.) Carry these to the Abbe Douceur,! 
with my best respects. [Exit Jacq., with box 4ff., C docr]^ 

Philippe. {Aside to him,) Now, father. 



TDK IIODBKK ORPHEUS. 11 ' 

PieoU. (Jsidt foFHiL.) Going tbtaugh fire and inter is nothing to 
> tuV like Ihia. 

Phmppe. ( To U«.) WbBt h»e you to fnt T 

Pkote. Aootber faat day, to-morrow, if I otTend her. 

PiiUppe. (To Cec.) Let u* leire them, (7b PlC.) Succ»b 

Picote, Where are you going, hit? {Motioning hint not to 
ItOBeliiin.) ' 

Piilippe. To lekre the room, father. 

PicBte, I desire— 

Madame. Yes; I desire you will do so. 

PhxUppe. {Aside to Cbc.) Fslhcr is in b comer, md must fight 
hii w«y out. [Kreimt Fhil. and Cec, l/irough o, door.] 

MaJamt. (Afttr a patae.) Now, Hr. Picoie. I'm all at' 

Picole. I — hem — I doo't knoir— I — {Atidt.) I viah they were 
at the devil, for leaFing me »lone with her. 

Madame. Well—! 

Picote. PardOD me, my dear, — after ypu, I could'nt think of 
illowing my communiealion (0 lake precedence of your'a 

Madamt. True, true. Reach me a chair. (Pic. obey).) The 
Abbi Douceur {Perceivei Pic. ilanding.) There ia another chair 
in the laom, ia there not } (Pic. fetcha a cAair, and aits at aome 
datanee, a.) The Abb* Douceur— (^erinji tciere he has seated 
iimtttf.) Do you wish me to bawl to you, Mr. P. ! 

Picote. Decidedly not, my dear. {Drauing his chair dote 
to her's.) 

Madame. The Abbi Douceur, who takes so much interest in all 
that concenia you, has given me some eicellent advice, ae regards 
our family. I had some idea of making Philippe, the dear fellow, 
lake holy orders; but I fear, be has no great detotion, be lotei 
the world and its vain pleasures, such as theatres, balls, et cetera. 
Therefore, ne mast hit upon some plan, to put a stop to bis idea* 
of liberty whilst he is young, and the only one I know of is 
marriage. 

Picote. That's a sure way. Why, my dear, this is the very 
plan I was going to propose to you, and I have every reaaon to 
think, he will jump at the noose. 

SSadame. .Ah \ I am not at all surprised at it, when he every day 
witneeses the bappiness you eiyoy ; the marriage altar is a shrine, 
il which all should bow. 

Picote. Beyond a doubt, I apeak feelingly, knowing il (Aaide.) 





■^ 


Madame. With the tt 


.sistance of our eicellent ftiend, we 


been able to find a fitlin 


g match for him, Ma'mselle Giancleni 


Pieote. The daugbte 


I of the receiver general, she is 



Puate. Such a temper, A perfect lump of animated hi 
Madame. What has that to do with the match ? 
Picott, Every Ibing my dear. 



12 THE MODERN ORPHEUS. 

Madame. SiiRlce, sir I this, young lady, has 80,000 francs for 
her dower; and is a perfect pattern of piety. 

Picote. Ah ! my dear,. riches were not your only coMidention, 
when you married me. 

Madame. What other consideration could I have, Mr. P? 

Picote. Mem I But, Cecile— 

Madame. She shall enter a convent, 

Picote. A convent ! 

Madame. They are coming for her, at three o'clock 

Picote. {Aside.) Here's a pretty business ! 

Madame. And so, this was your plan, Mr. P ? 

Picote. Why— 

Madame. How well, you see, we agree on all points. It seemi 
as if one mind governed the two bodies. 

Picote. ( With emphasis.) It does, indeed. 

Madame, (l.) And in consideration of my letting you have your 
own way, in so material a point, you must grant jne a faTour.in 
return. 

Picote. (r.) a request from you, my dear, is to me, a cotmad. 
Madame. It is a mere trifle. 
Picote. What do you call a trifle, my love? 
Madame. That as churchwarden, you thoroughly repair the 
church. 

Picote And do you call that a trifle, my dear? 

Madame. Father Douceur, says, it will only cost you 20,000 
francs ; and your name will be blazoned in letters of gold on a 
tablet of marble. Come, you cannot refuse me, I am sure. No 
I knew you could not, I read consent in your looks. 

Picote. But, my dear, the expence — 

Madame, (Rising ^ and speaking with an authoratative ?0)ie.)IIow. 
sir ! do you hesitate to grant the only favor, I have ever asked you! 
Then sir I I insist upon it. Do you hear — I insist upon it. {Cross& 
H.) It shall be done. {Going ^ she turns to him, with tenderms.^ 
Let us not part in anger ; your conduct has been very harsh to 
me, but I forgive you tho' it's wearing me to the grave. {Crying.) 
Ah ; when I am gone, you'll never meet with another woman, who 
will love, honour, and obey you, as I do.[Exit crying, centre door] 

Picote. Am I asleep, or awake, or is my marriage a forty ywr* 
dream, after all? 

Enter Cec. and Phil, centre door, first peeping. 

Philippe. Is she gone ? 

(jecile. {Coming forward, l.) Well, my dear guardy. 

Picote. Here come my other plagues. 

Philippe. {Coming down R.) Have you spoken, father? 

Picote. Oh, yes, I've spoken. 

Philippe. And is it all settled ? 

Picote. Oh, yes, it's all settled. 

Both. Bless you. {Embracing him ) 

Picote. Your mother, is not at all averse to your marrying. 

Philippe. How happy we shall be. ( To Cec.) 



iggymgrr^-T-* -r-u.-.-^-^—^.-^ ..-- 



'9' »— n ^il 






THE MODERN ORPHEUS. 13 

Pieote, No doubt, no doubt ; marriage is a delightful state ! But, 
you see, there* is only one point, upon which your mother, an(t 
'you, do not exactly agree, and that is, in the choice of the person 
you are to marry. 

Both. Whit mean you ? 

Pieote. That iastead of Cecile, she has selected a Mademoiselle 
Grandemaison, to be your wife. 

Philippe. {Enraged.) My devil! 

Pieote. That's not at all improbable. 

Cecile, (l. Crying,) Then, what will become of me ? 
i Pieote. (c.) Oh! you*re to become a Nun. 

Cecile. A Nun ! 

Philippe, (r ) Did'nt you tell her how we lored one another?* 

Pioote. No. 

Cecile, Did'nt you tell her, I could'nt be a Nun ? 

Pieote, No. 

Both, Oh 1 ( Walking up and down in great distress^ r. and L. ) 

Pieote. Well but hear me! (Walking after them,) 
Would you have me rudely (Jbject ? 

Both. Yes, we would 1 

Pieote, Could I do so at the first start ? 

Botii. Yes, you could 1 

PhiHppe. Before I'll marry another, I'll — but it's all your 
fault. 

Pieote. My fault, sir, my fault ? 

Cecile. Yes, I dare say you planned it, if the truth was known. 

Pieote. (Croetei R.) W'ell, damn me if thy 're not all alike 1 from 
mother to son, from son to ward, and from ward to maid l" 

Philippe. I'll not be the victim of such tyranny 1 

Ceeile. Nor I. 

Philippe. I'll revolt, I'll mutiny. 

Cecile. So will I. 

PhUippe. I'll blow up the convent ! (Phil, and Cec. ihrow 
ihemsehes into chairg, Phil, r., Cec. l.) 

Pioote, I'm pretty well blown up among you ! (Crottei c.) 

Enter Jacquette. hastily eenire door» 

Jacquette. Oh 1 sir, sir, sir ! 

Pieote, What the devil's the matter now ? 

Jacquette. Here's a gentleman to see the apartments I 

Pieote. More bother 1 well what have I to do with it ? Inform 
your mistress of it, you know I never meddle in these matters. 

JacguOte. (Ande,ai she goes up c.) No, nor in any others I 

[Exitc. 

Pieote. {Look'ng at Phil, and Cec.) We shall have a thundering 
storm presently ! The heat drops are falling already, and as the 
harshness of my temper might wear and tear, my honoring, loving, 
and obeying wife, I'll go and meditate ftihon^ the tombs of Pere 
le Chaise, and dream of happiness to come, . in imagining a monu- 
ment of affection, from a loving husband to his dear, departed, 
better half. [Exit cautiously with his hat and eane c. D. and off 
R. u. E., Cec. cTij^ng l. Phil, vsiping his eyes r. 

c " 



-• fumi'safsr.rs^srsTSfrr- 



14 THB MODEBK ORPHEUS 

Enter Jacquette ihetoing in Dumont c. d. 

Jacquette. This way sir, this way. 

Dumont. Thank you, my dear, thank you ! Does your muter 
object to letting the apartments, without the coach-house anl 
stable ? 

Jacquette. (l.) La, sir 1 he can't object to anything 1 

Dumont. Why? 

Jacquette. Because, he's married sir! so, sir please to sit down 
sir, and I'll run and fetch missus. (Placet a thair a little up tio§e, 
c. and exits c. d.) 

Dumont. With these young people? Willingly. I havealwsyi 
loved youth ; there is a frankness about it, always fresh sod gay, 
as a May morning I (Seeing Cec. in tears.) £h, this looks more like 
April 1 (Sees Phil., advances towards them,) What's the matter 
here? What ails you my young friends? 

Philippe. (Turning round.) Friends? 

CecHe. We have no friends, sir. 

Philippe. No, we're an abandoned couple I (Turmngfrtmhin.] 

Dumont. Pardon me, 1 do not know you it is true, but I see 
you in tears, and sorrow is always a sufficient introdiiction to ooe, 
who has had his full share of it. (Puts his hat and cane on iaiiki.) 

Both. (Approaching Dumont eagerly,) Indeed, sir ! 

Dumont. (Taking the hand qf each.) Behold the proof, yomw 
we are friends already. There is even good in miftfoitime; it 
draws men together, it is the fortunate that keep aloof fromoBc- 
another and I perceive we are not of tliat class. 

Philippe, We are not indeed, sir ! 

Dumont, I see, I see, a tender passion — a disappointed love. 

Both. Exactly so, sir ! 

Dumont. Ah I I have experienced that pang, too ! 

Philippe, Poor old gentleman 1 

Dumont. (c.) I have not always had wrinkles. Ah, Achilles I 
time has laid you by the heel 1 I was once, like my young frieni 
here (Points to Phil.r.) all life and soul I Like him too, Ilond, 
and she I loved was as charming a young creature as this. 

CecHe. (l.) And did she return your love ? 

Dumont, She did ! 

Philippe. And you were faithful to her ? 

Dumxmi. I was, I am, and will be, till death do us part. I barf 
remained a bachelor ever since, waiting for h^r ! 

Philippe. What God-like constancy, worthy of the admiration 
and imitation of all true lovers ! and so sooher than marry ^S^^ 
my will, I'll die an old bachelor. 

decile. And I an old — 

DumoWt. Don't be rash, my dear I 

Philippe. Well then, we'll wait till we're fifty. 

Cedle. Fifty I Sixty I 

Dumont. Ah I that's the age for loving, for cuddling, and com- 
fort 1 No jealousy, no fear of being cut out ! 

PhUipe. Why did you not marry her then? 

Dumont. Who? 



r 



THE HODERIf ORPHEUS. 15 



CecUe. The charming young creature, you said was so like me. 

PhuUppe. Ah! a little obstacle ! 

Dummtt, Yes 1 a Utile one. • • « . 

Philippe, Good Heavens I 

Dvmont. She married another 

Bcih, How shocking I 

Dumont, In obedience to her mother's wish; who objected to 
me, on the score of my being only a poor violinist. So when I 
found her loved dearer than life, united to another ; like my name- 
sake Achilles, of old, I turned my heel on Paris, with my violin 
in my bag, hope in my heart, and both under my left arm. I sought 
amid other climes, to climb the hill of fame and fortune. I have 
achieved both; but even now, I play with variations,- every evening, 
the air I was wont to serenade her with, in the days of our bliss. 

When from her, we love, away. 
How full of sorrow is each day. 
Such pangs in separation lie, 
A thousand deaths we seem to die. 

Philippe. I recollect my mother used to lull me to sleep, when 
an infant, with that. {Sings.) 

Such pangs in separation lie, 
A thousand deaths we seem to die. 
And then I used 'to drop off. 

Dumont. Aht that air, eamelion like, I have lived upon for 
forty years ; giving concerts at Vienna, Berlin, St. Petersburgh, 
and London, where I have been patronized beyond my hopes: espe- 
cially LondQU ; everything there is foreign to the purpose. Only 
clap the magical word, " Signer," before your name, your notes 
are turned to gold, and one string to your bow, found to have dou- 
ble the effect of two. I have now returned, after forty years ab- 
sence, to lay my weary bones in their native soiL 

CeeUe. (l.) At what age did ydti leave France? 

dumont. About twenty. But come, my little blossoms, that 
yon>may not be nipped in the bud, tell me how your hopes are 
likely to be blighted ? 

PhiUppe. You are very kind, sir. Learn then, sir, that my 
mother — 

Cecile. Yes, sir, his mother, Madame Picote, sir, won't let us be 
married to one another. • ' 

Dumont. ( With emotion.) Madame Picote I 

PhUippe. What is the matter, sir ? 

Dumont. Nothing, nothing. There are many Picote's in the 
world, and this cannot be the daughter of Madame Bertrand. 

Philippe. The same. 

Dumont. Rose? 

PhiUppe. My mother 1 

Dumont. Your mother? Is it possible! let me look at you 
again. A fine boy- 

PhiUppe. Boy I you forget, I'm on the eve of marriage. 

Dumont. Ah ; true, true. What a precocious age this is. (An - 
spiouely.) . Your father, Monsieur Picote, is he stiU living ? 



16 TUB MODERH ORPHErt. 

Piulippe. Yes, sir. 

Dumont. (^After a sigh!) Ah 1 So much the better, perhaps. 
(Jeciils, (L.^ He^ilas notthe leasfobjectioiHo our being unkedr- 
but, you seem troubled, sir. {Attbists Phil., in piacing a chair for 

DUMONT.) 

Dumont. No, no, a slight pang— ft fluttering of the heart. (5its.) 

Philippe. (R. ) You know our family? 

Dumont. Yes, yes, I am an old friend, of whom you hare, per- 
haps heard your mother speak. Achilles Dumont. 

Philippe, Achilles Dumont! 

Dumofit. ( With eajme8tne8s.)Achi\\eB Dumont I 

C^cile. Oh sir, if you would but speak a good word for us. 

Pkilipe, We should be so much obliged to you, sir I 

Dumont. Well, well, I will ! And I dare promise you hopes of 
succesEr. But I must collect my se\{ {Atide^ erosting to L.) Poor Rose! 
what a surprise. What joy will sparkle in her bright eyea (to 
them.) Not a word of who I am, as you value my friendship. 
Your mother is coming to this apartment. {Aride.) My heartbeats 
with hope and fear, in all the vigour of twenty, while my legs 
tremblingly remind me of sixty. Now leave me my good young 
folks, leave me 

Philipe. She's coming ! 

Dvmoni. Courage, courage ! 

Cecile. {Approacfiingf and taking hi* hand L.) You tremble, sir! 

Dumont. l)o I, do 1 ? Only a twich of the nerA^es. (Ande.) To 
say truth, a t£te-a-tdte with a fine woman, at my age, is enough 
to make a man feel a little nervous. 

Cecile, {Aside to Phil.) Our- new friend, is a wry singular 
man. 

Philippe. (Aside to her, as they go up towards C D.) By the bye, 
he is the person to whom that packet of letters is addressed. 

Cecile. True-! I'll go and seel^ them. 

Philippe. And I'll to my studies, and pray fox the hour thit 
makes you mine ! [^Exeunt Cxc. C. D. Phil. , d. b. s. e. 

Dumont. (Sits.) After an absence of forty years, I shall beboM 
her once again. Rose I That little word, transports me, in iflea, to 
the moment when I bid her farewell ; when I saw her for the last 
time in the blue chamber, ornamented with white curtains, on tbe 
fifth story. . My airy voyage across the perilous bridge, formed by 
.a plank from one window to the other, on which I wallc^a with so 
much audacity. I see it now (IZmng* and MoaUcing as if on o, 
plank, with an unsteady step.) I am there, 1 walk it again 1 (Ap- 
pears to become giddy, staggers back, and sinks into ilie e^air,) 1 
havp been beating time all my life, and now time beats me 1 The 
charming Rose, my affections are as warm towards her^as ever. 
And so are hers to me, I'll be bound. She like me, has not 
changed. She vowed she never would. I think I see her now— 
that look so tender I {Rises.) That waist so taper. {With (he tender- 
cst expression.) Ah, Rose! Rose! what ecstatic remembrances. 
And shall I again hear that sweet, soft, melodious voice'! — 

(^Madame Picote, speaking in a loud, fiarsh tone toithout^ c. D.) 1 
insist upon it I I have given them warning, and out they shall gol 



i 



THE MODERN ORPHEUS. 17 

Enter Madame PiCOTE, centre door. 

DuvMni, ^on\fi pne approaches. Should it be«— (^e«f Madame^ 
toho makes afarmaJL incUnation qf the head, Dumonl retvnu it and 
appears vexed.) Who is this old lady I wonder, and what does she 
want with me? 

Madame. You are the person, I believe, who wishes to take my 
apartments ? 

Dwnumt. {Stupified^ and regarding her wUhemoHcn,) How ! What! 
Eh? (Aside.) iNo, it can't be, and yet I'm afraid — {Ahud.) Are 
you then Madame Picote. 

Madame Yes, sir. 

Dumont, {His ardour a little damped, and aside.) I shall faint ! 
{looking at her a^axn.) Now I look at her again, there is still some- 
thing ; and then our hearts — Ah 1 our hearts I At all events, they 
are unchangea. 

Madame. You have seen the antichamber. This is the saloon, 
that door to the right, leads to my son's apartqtent {Crosses R.) 
This to the dining-room, bed-chambers, dressing-room, et cetera. 

DuHONT, as she passes him, observes her size, <^c. 

Dumont. Never mind; I do not wish to see them now, they will 
suit me very well, I h|lve no doubt. 

Madame. Yes, but you spoke of detaching the coach-hoi^se and 
stable. I cannot let them separately. 

Dumont. Then I must take them together, though I have no use 
for them. 

Madame, (r.) Oh 1 as long as you p^y me for them, I shall 
not compel you to occupy them. 

Dumont. (L.) You are very good. Thjs affair is then concluded. 

Madame, Not yet. I cannot let apartments, to nobody knows 
who. You must inform me, what is y(?ur profession, or rank in 
life? 

Dumont. {Aside.) Ah 1 this may recall — (^^1^^/(2.^1 amamusician I 

Madame. (Starts.) A musician 1 

Dwmcnt. {Aside.) That word startled her, and seems to have 
awakened thoughts of other days! 

Madame. {Aside.) 'Tis lucky I asked him his profession! 1 
know, from experience, that musicians can't often afford to pay 
thousand cifowns. a year, for a* lodging. • 

Dumont. (L.) You never think of the art of softening rocks now, 
I suppose? i 

Madame. Sir! 

Dum.ofU. Music, I mean. . 

Madame. You'll excuse my being a little distrustful; but really 
I have lost so much through my good nature, that I have resolved 
never to let a Lodging again to any one, I have not the pleasure of 
knowing, without a deposit. 

Dumont. (Aside.) Oh ! the devil ! it was the thoughts of the 
I'ent, and not of other days, that affected he^ I How prudent a^'e 
makes us I I will pay you six months in advance. 

Madame, ( Wit/i an amiable air.) Oh, sir ! I did not mention it 



-^-- "Wi^^^T^Isf^ ^_ 



18 TflE MODERN ORPHEUS. 

from any fear I had of you, sir ; the best gnarantee is in the mia- 
ners and physiognomy of a gentleman, like yourself. 

Duffumt. {Looking at her very tenderly,) Do^you think so: 
What you perceive, eh ? [Aside.) Come, liere's {he first iikalment 
of a sympathy in arrears. 

Madame, {Offering snuffs and taking a pinch herself.) Do yoa 
take snuff, sir ? 

Dutnont, {Watching her with horror.) Ohl oh! oh! Rose. 
takes snuff 1 

Madame. We will say then — the board and lodging, a thousand 
crowns ; three hundred francs for the coach-house ; two hundrd 
ditto, for doors and windows ; for you must know, there are a 
great many grand processions pass by our house ; and on biTtii- 
days, or any particular festivals of the year, when we have litde 
extras, I shall not ask you for any thing towards them, provided 
we can have the use of your rooms on those occasions ; but yoc 
shall give me fifty crowns, which shall pay your share thnragh- 
out the year. 

Dumont, (l.) Will that include all extras ? 

Madame, You are too reasonable to suppose it. Tterewillbs 
two hundred francs, for lighting the staircase, and keeping it in 
order. 

Dumont, Eh? 

Madame, Would it be proper that at your age, we should let 
you go up and down ricketty and ill-lighted flights of stairs, vit^i 
the chance of stumbling— rl could not suffer it ! My lodgers wel- 
fare, sir, is very dear to me 1 

Dumont, And very dear to them I 

Madame. {Going towards table, l.) 1 beli6ve then, sir, we per- 
fectly understand each other. {Seats herself right of the tabk i- 
puts on a pair of green spectacles j and prepares to write,) Your 
name, sir ? 

Dumont, (a.) My name ? {Aside.) Now then to produce a 
grand effect ! {Aloud,) My name I Dumont 1 
. Madame, { Writing without being the least moved.) Do W 
spell it with a T ? 

Dumont. {Stupified.) Rose, wears spectacles ! With a T? 

Madame, What is the matter, sir ? 
. Dumout, What I .is th^name so strange to ypu, thfit yp^ukuov 
not how to write it ? 

Madame, I am at a loss to comprehend your yeaning, sir? 

Dumont, Have you so entirely banished from your memory 
and your heart, the friend and companion of .your youth, tb? 
sharer of your joys and sorrows — AchiUes Dumoi^t ? 

Madame, {very coolly,) Achilles Dumont ! Is it possible? th«a 
you are — 

Dumont. (With transport.) Yes, Rose, yes 1 .lam your own 
Achilles ! {Kneels to her on r.) That far-famed'of fiddlesticts- 
whose bow could never shield him from the shafts of love, fired 1? 
those eyes (without spectacles 1) into my heart, through thega^^' 
window. 



1 



THE MODERN ORPHEUS. 19 

2£adame, Sir ! repress this ardour, or I must leave the room 

{Rise, 

Dumani. You need not ; your friendship is all I covet now. 
Mustl recall the cruelty of your conduct on that day, when you 
violated your vow of eternal fidelity to me, by giving your hand, 
for money, to this Doctor Kcote ? Must I remind you of my 
burning charcoal in my room, and aspiring to the interesting honor 
of suicide on your account ? 

Madame, Sir, those moments of frailty are eradicated fit)m my 
mind, and they are to me, as if they had never occurred. 

Dumont, No I — Time can never efface recollections like these. 
Only tell me that you have not forgotten them, and I shall be 

happy. 
Madame. Well I have not, quite — that is, if I must avow it to 

you — 
Dumont. Well, Rose, welt— 

Enter jACftUETTE, centre door, ^ 

Jacquette. Oh 1 Madame ! Madame ! here's Monsieur the Abbe 1 
Dumont. The devil take the Abbe I Just as the chords of our 
hearts began to vibrate in unison, in pops a flat third I (JPaxiea the 
stage towards b.) 

Madame, It is well I I know his business. I will come to him ! 
Where is my son ? 
Jaoquette, In his chamber Madame, studying. [^Exit c. o. 

Dumont. {Aside,) Yes, how many one and one make I 
Madame, {Goes to door s. e. K.^locks it and takes key with her.) 
I am desirous tl}at he shpuld not see little Cecile, any more, and 
that they part without bidding each other adieu. {Looking at 
Dumont.) These partings are often very dangerous I (Aloud.) 
Sir! (Curtseys,) 

Dumont ^ ( Taking her hand.) One word more — I have promised 
to speak in favour of your son, who is a s ardently in love, as we 
once were. 
Madame. Again sir. (Crosses l. going up to c. d.) 
Dumont. And in the name of our new friendship and old love— 
Madame. Sir, believe me, I shall always regard you in the light 
of a friimd (Dumont advances.) and a lodger, but my duties at pre- 
sent clainci my attention ; nay are waiting for me. I shall shortly 
have the honor of seeing you a^ain. (Making a cold and formal 
curtsey,) Exit c. d. 

Dumont. Ah I Why have I beheld her again ? I, who thought 
her so t^ider, so amiable, so affectionate, so faithful 1 I can never 
forgive her for destro3ang illusions that have supported me through 
weed and woe, for forty yesirs ! I have lived but for her, I have 
fiddled but for her — my one-string movements were devoted to 
her. As I ascended the finger board it reminded me of the plank 
from window to window, and shall I remain near her ? No, no, ! 
I shall become as callous as she is. The hearts now are not like 
the hearts of my time. £^t Cupid, and enter Mammon — Exit 
Love, and enter — 



20 THE MODERN ORPHEUS. 

Enter Cecile, crying^ c. d. 

Cecile. (r.) Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! I shall never survive it! 

Dumont. What are you crying about, my dear ? 

Cecile. About — Oh, dear sir ! The Abb^ Douceur has come to 
take me away, and place me in a convent ! 

Dumont, (l.) Poor child I And I imagine those places are net 
over gay. 

Cecile. Were it a desert — a dungeon — I should not care. It U 
not that that makes me cry. 

Dumont. No I what then ? 

Cecile. The idea — {Sobbing. ) The idea of being separated from 
my dear Philippe ! I'm sure I shall break my heart ! 

Dumont. Say you so ? You don't know what pleasure your sor- 
row gives me. 

Cecile. Can you be so cruel, you who I thought so kind! 

Dumont. It is exactly as I say. Hurrah ! I have found one who 
loves yet as they did in my time ! {To Cecile.) You must posi- 
tively refuse to comply ; I will be at your elbow — I'll back yoD .' 

Cecile. But how am I to refuse Madame Picote, who has brought 
me up, educated me, been a mother to me ? For you must know, 
I am a poor orphan, the daughter of an old Mend Df hers — Con- 
stance Gramont. , 

Dumont. Gramont I Gracious Heavens I What, the little 
amiable gentle Constance, who always wore bonnets a-la- Marengo ? 

Cecile. I do not know that — 

Dumont. It is as if fate had ordained it should be so. 

Cemle, But this I know, that she esteepaed you ^ her best friend, 
and her only wish was to see you once again before she died. 

Dumont. Poor Constance I " 

Cecile, {Giving a sealed packet.) To place this packet, which 
belongs to you, in your hands, and which had been many years agi^ 
confided to her care. 

Dumont. The letters of Rose and myself, which at my departure 
were placed in her hands. Poor Constance ! She then lovwitroly. 
Blind that I was — happiness was within my grasp — on the same 
floor ! {Looking at Cecile.) And that lovely girl might havebeen 
my child. What a senseless fool, was 1 1 I should know better 
now I And when it is too late see my error. It is the failing of 
mortality ! ( Goes to table l. , open'i packet and reads a number of 
letters^ with a melancholy air. Philippe knocks at door b. s. e.) 

Philippe. {Without.) Hollo I open the dooivl Open the door. 
I say I 

Cecile. {Running to the door.) It is poor Philippe ! Oh, my 
goodness I the key is not there, and they have locked him in ! 

Dumont. { Without taking his eyes qff-'the letters.^ His mother 
did it just now. 

Cecile. I divined as much, it is to prevent our bidding each 
orher a last farewell I 

Philippe, {Appearing at the small window over the door,) Las- 
farewell I are you then going away? 



\ 



THB HODftRN ORPHEUS 21 

CecUe. This instant. The Abb^ Douceur is come.for me. 

Philippe, And do you think I'll suffer it ? Tell them, if they 
attempt to take you away from me — if they dare to separate us, 
I will blow my brains out I 

Dumont. {Delighted.) Bravo 1 You're right my little spark 1 

Cecile. Whatl to blow his dear brains out ? 

Duwumt, What the devil do you want with brains, in love mat- 
ters ? I was just such another, at his age — it is myself, my very 
self] 

Philippe, But I'll not stand tins any longer 1 If I do, I'll — 
that's all i Wait a moment, I'll shatter the door that separates us 
into a thousand pieces ! (Kicking violently with his feet.) 

Dumont. Shatter the door to pieces \ what darling children 1 ( To 
Phil.) £h I Stay — stay — ^hnsh, I say ! won't the noise alarm your 
enemies, and bring them here ? 

Cecile, But how is he to get out ? 

Philippe, Through this window. 

Dumont, Capitals Oh, you're a boy after my own heart! 
D — n me 1 I b^gin to feel quite frisky again 1 

Cecile, Oh, he'll hurt himself! 

Dumont, Pooh 1 Nonsense I there is an especial providence for 
lovers as well as for sparrows — and with two or three chairs — To 
the escalade \ 

Philippe, That's right J To the escalade 1 

Dumont, To the escalade I {He places the table against the door, 
the sofa against that, Cec. gets on the sofa to assist Phil.) 

Cecile, Take care I pray take care, dear Philippe 1 

(DvuojST has by this time placed a chair on the table, and Phil. 
is endeavouring to get through the unndow, when Madame Pi cote 
and PicoTE enter ^ wrangling c. d.) 

Madame, What do I see i 

Cecile, Your mother ! 

Dumont, The devil J (Crosses quickly to l., sits in chair r. qf 
table and begins recLding die lettera^-^Madame VicoT'&leads Cecils 
down from sofa.) 

Madame, What are you (|oing there, miss ? What am I to un- 
derstand by such conduct? (During this Picote opens Philippe's 
door and goes in.) Looking thus into the chamber of a young man 1 
Speaking with him in secret, unknown to your friends and rela- 
tives, and in a house like mine t Are these then the examples I 
have set you ? 

Dumont, (AsideJ) I'll read some of her own letters, to shew the 
example she set. {Reads aloud.) ^'My mother has forbidden 
me seeing you, but I laugh at that-— and the moment she goes out, 
dear AcUlles, I will let you know, by opening .the window." 

Madame, (Aside,) Mercy 1 

Enter from d. r. s. e, Picote and Phil, 

Picote, How, sir ? 
Philippe, Butf father-— 

Madame. Silence, sir. You are also to blame t Are you not 
ashamed, scaling doors, and clambering windows ? 



.fW 



22 THE MODERN ORPHEUS. 

Dftmont. {Reading another letter.) "Take care dear AchiBes! 
I tremble at your boldness ; and if the neighbours should see yon 
cross the plank from your window to mine, as you did yester- 
day—*' 

Madame, Gracious powers ! 

Picote. (Lvitens^ arid crosses to Mcuiame,) What Ls all this?— 
What is this gentleman reading ? 

Dumont. A novel, in letters, that I have some idea of publish- ^ 
ing, wifli the names of the parties, 

Madame, Sir! 

Dtimont. It will depend upon circumstances ; and the consent 
of a certain lady, to a request of mine. 

Pitote. The authoress, I suppose? 

Dumont. Exactly so ! (Rises.) 

Picote. They are doubtless very entertaining ; will you allow me 
to look at them ? {AbotU to cross to Dumont.) 

Madame. (Stopping kim.) And do you imagine I -would permit 
you ? I am shocked at the idea of such an indiscretion 1 

Picote. My wife is so rigid in her principles, she will not hear 
even the name of a romance, or novel ! 

Dumont. I think she's wrong ; the first chapters are so amusing. 
and there is always a mord to be drawn from them, if yoo 
look at them in a proper light. ( To Madame ^ givir^ her a Utter. \ 
Convince yourself, Madame, by reading this. I may confide it to 
you. 

Madame. ( Troubled ^ and wishing to conceal the letter.) Sir— 

Picote. Come, read ! read it out, my dear ! 

Madame. \(Reads with gpeat emotion.) "My adored, my 
dearest — " 

Dumoni. I must beg of you to pass over the proper names. 

Picote, That's perfectly correct, my dear — three stars — 

Dumont. (A.'ide to Madame.) Read there, the first page of tiw 
romance of our early days {Aloud as Picote advances) ; and as all 
romances terminate with a marris^ — {Motions Philippe andCedk, 
who kneelj one on each side of Madame.) 

P/iilippe. Mother ! 

Cecile.. Madame ! 

Picote. Consent to their union, my dear ! 

Madame. No ! no 1 no I (-4^ this moment ^ DuMom', who ha-i 
taken up the violin which Philippe had lef^ on the Table t-.^j^ 
the air he previously sung. After it is once played through, Phi- 
lippe sings the words which Dumont accompanies. 

Phillippe. 

* 

When far from her, we love, away. 
How full of sorrow, is each day ; 
Such pangs in separation lie, 
A thousand deaths we seem to die. 

Madame. (Aside.) That air ! those words ! remind me of the 
only happy days, I have -ever known : sweet remembrancer of mf 



THE MODERN OBPHEUS. 23 

« 

first love, you triumph over the cold calculations of age 1 (Aloud.) 
Take my consent, children, and may happiness attend your union 
(Sinks into a chair overpowered by her fetlings.) 

Dumont. (In extacy^ coming forward ) She relents \ she relents I 
Talk of Orpheus moving rocks and stones, I have softened the 
heart of an obstinate old woman 1 Oh, you darling instrument ! 
{Hugging the vioiiyi.) lo poeans ought to be sung to thee, for I 
owe thee every thing 1 You have made me happy, by enabling 
me to make two young creatures so, and shall be laid up in laven- 
der, as Jiie first fiddle of love ! (Crosses into ct?itre.) 

Philippe 4r CecHe. Oh ! how happy have you rendered us I 
Dumont. (To Phil, and Cec.) Come, come, we need not des- 
pair of her becoming a sociable being ; she is still alive to the 
charms of music I And now, to make ail comfortable, I'll lay 
my fortune at the shrine of true love, by making Cecile, the inhe- 
ritor of it. 

PhUippe is Cecile. Our benefactor 1 Our friend I How shall we 
thank you I 

Dumont. By proving an union of love, can be happy. 

Philippe. We will I we will 1 

Cecile. And we will love you for ever I 

Philippe. And so shall our — 

Dumont. No*, no I I shall be quite satisfied with that of one 
generation ! (Sighing and taking their hands. ) Love you for ever ! 
Again those words ! / onee, thought it possible ! 

(Philippe, (jr..) And do you not think so now ? 

Dumont. If my dear children to be loved for ever, was the first 
dream of my life — let friendship be the last ! ( Taking Madame 
Picote's hand) As I have been instrumental in bringing this little 
concerted piece to the last bar — that is, the bar of public opinion, 
I take upon me, as I have played to some tune, in the service, 
to offer my solo advice, in behalf of the band, who have performed 
it, in favor of the composer I We make our efforts in a major key 
— and hope, for a majority of hands, to beat time, in unison, for 
a nightly encore to your Modem Orpheus. 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 
PfiiLLiPE. Cecile. Dumont. Picote. Madame. 

R.] [l. 



James ruiiier,— " Star Piess" 20, Cros»-Strecl, Halton Garden. 



_ J. 



•*k" 



WEBSTER'S 
ACTING NATIONAL DRAMA, 

Tnder the aiuplcea of the Dtmnuktlo Antliors' Society. 



> 






6 



PECULIAR POSITION. ^ 



A FARCE, 

In ®W Act* 

By 
J. R. PLANCHfe, F.S.A. 

IfVBiBER OF TBB DRAMATIC AUTHOIls' 80CISTY, 

Aa performed at 
THE ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE. 



;0KRECrL7 PRIKTEO PROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH TBB CAST 
OP CRARACTFRS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRAKOEMENT, SIDES OP 
SNTBA19CB AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS OF 
THE DRAMATIS PERSONiC. 



SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH h^ ETCHING ON STEEL, BY 
PIERCE EGAN THE YOUNGER, PROM A DRAWING TAEEN DURING THE 

HBPB ESENT ATIOK. 



LONDON : 
CHAPMAN AMD HALU 180, STRAND. 



REMARKS. 

This farce is little more than a free tranBlation of the Com^i?- 
Vaudeville *• Lafrontiere de Savoie,** by Messrs. Scribe and Bayam- 
The only merit I can claim is the haying induced Mr. Liston to 
add the pnrt of Mons. Champignon to the long list of characters 
which owe their popularity to his inimitable acting. 

J. R.P. 



PIR0T PERPORM ED AT THE BOTAL OLYMPIC THEATRE, MAY 3, 1837 



Major Lascari. Blue uniform, faced with' 
red, and trimmed with gold lace — cocked-hat, i « Selhv 
with Sardinian cockade — jellow, red, andC ^ 

white. ^ 

Champignon. Brown hollaud trousers and^ 
gaiters — striped waistcoat — large travelling f-. Trg*^-, 
green coat, with soYeral capes — foreign forag- C 
ing cap. y 

Carlo. Blue coat, faced with red — white 1 
trousers and gaiters^^hlue cloth undress cap, I- Mr. Bland, 
with yellow tassel — cross belts and side-arms. J 

Peptto. Brown jacket and trousers — ^bluel 
waistcoat— black neckhandkercbief— white stock- V Mr. Oxberry. 
ings — shoes and buckles. Costume of Savoy* J 

Servant. Livery. Mr. Cooke. 

Countess de Novara. White ^^^"^''^^"^"'■AMiagMttrjay, 
a la Fravfai$e, J ^' 

Madams Champignon. Checked silk dress — *1 ^. Criso 
—plush bonnet, and shawL J ^* 

Barbara. Pink jacket— striped petticoat — "1 
white stockings — ^shoes and buckles— head-dress I w:„ «•. ia^ 
composed of a handkerchief bound over the cap T™*" ruzwaiier. 
in the Piedmontese fashion. J 

Time of representation 60 minutes. 



EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

L. means first entrance, left. R. first entrance, right. S. E. L« 
second entrance, left. S. E. R. second entrance, right. U. E. L. 
upper entrance, left. U. E. R. upper entrance, right. C. centra. 
L. C. left centre. R. C. right centr**. T. E. L. third entrance, left. 
T. £. R. third entrance, right Observing yoa are supposed to 
ftoe the audience. 



' « ' 









..* 



»v 



.;i 



r • 


I. J 






<< 


.' ■ 


} ... 


« 


\-'^. 


1^ 


■ ) ^'' . 


.'• .i' 



A PECULIAR POSITION. 



SCENE.-— ^ large apartment in an old chateau near Chambery. — 
Large folding doors in centre, and tioo doors on each side of the 
Stage, — Table laid for dinner. 

Enter Carlo and Barbara, door, c. 

Bar, Oh Carlo ! My dear Carlo f Hove glad I am to see you. 
Wbo would have thought of you? 

Car, Why Barbara, 1 hope you always thous^ht of me. 

Bar, Dear Carlo, so I do ; but I meant to say, of seeing you — I 
never dreamed I should whilst you. were quartered at Lans-le- 
botti^. Hare you got leave of absence 1 

Car. Only for an hour. 

Bar, For an hour ! YouVe come six-and-thirty leagues, and 
have to get back in va hour ! 

Car, Silly wench! No; we had orders to march suddenly to 
Chambery, where we arrived last night, and this morning a detach- 
ment was sent forward to the frontier. My company is stationed 
betwixt this and Les Eachelles, not half a league distance. 

Bar, Oh ! I'm so glad. Then you*ll stay and dine 1 

Car, No, I must be back within the hour. I have only just run 
here to tell you that T am in the neighbourhoodi and to ask what 
joyr mother baa said to mv proposal. 

■Bar. Won't hear of it, dear Carlo ! Says I shall never marry a 
soldier, with her consent. 

Car, Plague take it ! Well, never mind, Barbara, I have only 
another year to serve, and then I'll turn my sword into a plough- 
share—and — 

Bar, And by that time I shall be married to another. 

Car, To another * 

Bar, Yes ; my mother insists upon my receiving the addresses 
of Pepito, a nasty little mischief-making, tattling, babbling fellow ; 
one of the new servants that the Countess hired just after I 
came here. He knows my mother, has saved a little money, and 
has managed to get into her favour, so that she will hear of nobody 
else. 

Car, Oh, don't you be afraid! Til settle his business for him 
depend upon it. Only you be firm in your refusal for a short 
time, and before I quit this neighbourhood I'll find some way to 
send him packing. But farewell — I must be off again. 

Bar, Directly? 

Cor. This very moment — I shall barely save my distance. 

Bar, And when will you come again t 

Car, Oh, very soon — to-morrow or next day; nay, perhaps 



6 A PECULIAR 

before night agi&n ; for we are to be on 4he qui oioe. Govenmest 
hai received some information about tbe Carbonari — a moTemeDt 
it apprebeoded — and the French ficontier ia to be vigilaDtlv 
guarded. Not a rat is to leare Savoy without a passport from tbia 
minister, properly vu£d by the local authorities. So one kiss, dear 
Barbara, and—- 

Bar, Hush ! somebody's coming. 'Tig Pepito, I declare : I 
wouldn't have him see you — she'll tell mother and— 

Car, Pepito ! I'll strangle the villain ! 

Bar. No — no— no~pray don't make a disturbance. My Isdj 
will be so angry — ^you'll ruin all. 

Car, Well, I haven't time to strangle him comfortably, so 111 
postpone the pleasure ; but if ever I do lay hands on him — 

Bar, Weil, but do go now, dear Carlo. Here, this is tk 
nearest way out, and nobody will see you. Quick ! quick [ 

{^Hurries him out, door, u 

Enter Pepito, c 

Pep, (of he enten,) Vexy pretty ! very pretty, upon my word 1 

Bar, (oiide,) Oh mercy! I hope he didn't see Carlo^~(aJ0iul)~ 
What's very pretty, Pepito ? 

Pep. What's very pretty 1 Why you're very pretty — my chinc- 
ing wife that will be soon. 

Bar, Is that all t 

Pep, No, that is not all ; but I'm called a tattler— a mischief- 
maker «-and therefore I shall keep this little secret to myself; par- 
ticularly as I might get into a scrape with my lady by telling it. 

Bar, Into a scrape with my lady ! (aside,) Ob, if I could but 
make him toll now ! (aloud) What is it Pepito 1 you'll sozely tel! 
me. 

Pep. No, no ! Women can't keep secrets. Their tongues are 
always running, it would get about somehow or another, that I 
saw a great, tall man, wrapped up very mystoriously in a ,Uik 
cloak, glide into the Countess's apartment. 

Bar, You don't say so ! 

Pep, No ; I don't say so ; but if I did say so, people might saj 
I said so ; — and then you know — 

Bar, And then you know you'd be turned oat of the chateau ts 
you deserve for scandalizing my lady. 

Pep, Well, but I didn't— 

Bar, But you hinted as much, and I'll just go and tell my ladr, 
I will. 

Pep, You wouldn't be so spiteful \ you don't know what piisduef 
you might make. For it really is true^ 

Bar, True \ That you saw a man steal into my lady'^ room ? 

Pep, Muffled up in a great blue cloak. 

Bar, And you didn't stop him, and question him? — ^Whj, be mtj 
be a thief, and we may be all robbed and murdered ! 

Pep, Hash! hold your tongue, don't make a noise, Mr 
lady will be very angry; she begged me not tcsaj a word about 
it to any body — 

Bar, She. Why there is the Count himself, you foolish fellow. 

Pep, What her husband, and our master, come into his oim 
house that way— 



POSITION. 7 

J3ur, That way ? wby the master of the bouse may come in any 
way, mayn't he ; we've been expecting him Aow every day for 
more than a week — he came off a long journey — very tired, uo 
tloubt — and went straight up to bis room. 

Pep. Then why shouldn't the Countess have said so, instead of 
desiring me not to take any notice to any body of what I had 
seen ? 

Bar, And you disobey ber directly. Very well, sir, she shall 
know — 

Pep. And suppose it should not be the Count, what will she say 
to you, and what shall / be obliged to say to the Count when he 
does come ? 

Bar. You're a scandalous good-for-nothing little man ! I'm sure 
it must be he, and you can't say to the contrary, for you never 
saw him in your life, any more, than myself. He went to Naples be- 
fore I came here, and two mouths before you poked your ugly 
face into the house. 

Pep, Come, come, be civil, respect yoor future husband. 

Bar. You never shall be my husband. 

Pep. But your mother says I shall, the dear old soul ! It's all 
settled* and you must have me. 

Bar. And suppose I love somebody else, better ? 

Pep. I don't care, you shall marry me. 

Bar. But suppose I've promised to marry him — 

Pep, I don't care for that. If you haven't married him. 

Bar. Well then, suppose I have married him ! 

Pep. Eh ! oh, nonsense — ^you're joking. . 

Bar. Am I — well — you'll see ! (aside) Come, that's not a bad 
thought; and as he provoked me— • 

Pep, Married ! — to whom i — when ! — where ! — 

Bar. I sha'n't tell you any more — it's enough for you — I'm 
married — there. You may go and tell my mother that ; it's a fine 
opportunity to make a little more mischief ;— so good morning to 
you. lExit Barbara, 2d door, l. 

Pep, Married ! I feel as if a stack of chimneys, had fallen on 
my head ! Tell her mother ! Indeed I will tell her mother. The 
poor dear respectable old creature, to be so treated. 3ut she shall 
be revenged on her undutiful daughter, I'll take care of that ! She 
shall leave me every thing she has in the world, the dear old soul^ 
that she shall : and I won't give a crust to her unnatural child, if 
soe comes starvmg to my door! — Hah ! — ^the Countess ! — 

Enter the Countess, 2d door, r. 

Coun. Pepito, leave the room directly. 

Pep, Yes, madam, (aside) What a flutter she's in ! There must 
be something very wrong somewhere. [Exit Pepito. c. 

Coun. What's to be done ? He must not remain here. They 
will be sure to seek him in his own chateau, and search every 
corner ! There is no chance of concealing him. He must cross 
the frontier — once in France, he is safe^ but how? — this passport 
is in his own name, and by this time, orders may have reached 
Les Eschelles for his arrest. What shall I do — what shall I do ? 

Re'^nter Pepito. c. 
Who's there ? How dare you, sir — when I desired — 



8 A rSCUUAB 

Pip, Tour pardon, nuidam ; oat there it • pereon widMNrt viio 
woald ipeek with yon immediately. 

Cottfi. A pereon ! — whet eort of a pereon ? (ojsde) I tremble aS 
oyer. 

Pep. Wbj, madam, he is a very odd aort of person ; he won't be 
said '* No " to. I told him you were particolarly engaged — coold 
see nobody. 

Caiun* ijmdeJ) How nnfortanate! — each an answer will arouse 
or increase suspicion! (aUntd) Yoa did wrong, sir. Who told 
you to say I was engagea 2 

Pep, Shall I show him io, then ? 

Ciiu,n, Certainly — directly — stay — didjou ask his bneineas ? 

P«p. Oh dear, yes, madam! I always ask every body's 
business. 

Coun. And what did he say it was ? 

Fep. He said it was no business of mine. Verj rude, madam, 
don't you think ? 

C<mn, (ande.) Refused to answer ! 'Tis an officer of the police ! 
All is lost. 

Pep, What shall I do, madam ! send him packing ? 

Coun. Oh, *tis no use! he would not go; he will insist od 
entering. 

Pep, Oh, bless you I — ^yes ; he does. He says he must see the 
Countess herself — in private. 

Coun. (aside) Then there is no doubt. Well, let meknnwtbe 
worst. (aUnid) Show him in here, Pepito. 

Pep. Yes, madam, (aside) Very mysterious all this ! I don't 
ike the look of it. [£xtt Pepito. c. 

Coun, (running to the door fty which she entered, and hatf-opernKg 
it). Bolt this door inside, and stir not, for your life ! (S&uts tJic 
door. Some one is heard to bolt it inside.) Kind fortune ! give me 
courage to support this interview. The least agitation may betray 
me. He comes ! 

Re-enter Pjbpito ushering in Cmamptgkon. c. 

Pep, There's my lady. 

Cham, (aside.) A magnificent woman upon mj word ! 

Coun. (aside.) He is not in uuifonn — some spy — some agent 

Cham, (aside.) How she looked at me ! If I were a vain man 1 
should say she was struck by my appearance — even in this inele- 
gant and travelling costume. 

' Coun. (aside.) There is a malicious triumph in that smile. He 
knows he holds his victim in his grasp. I must speak to him. 
(aloud) Sir, you desired to see me ; may I inquire your name and 
business ? 

Cham. I have a thousand apologies to make for this intrasion, 
madam. My name is unknown, I believe, to you ; but that, as 
well as my business, shall be communicated iromediatelj, if you 
will condescend to favour me with a private, — a strictly privtUt 
interview (looking at Pepito). 

Coun. Leave us, Pepito. (tuide) How alarming is this studied 
civility » ' 

Pep, (aside.) I wonder if I can hear through the keyhole. 

IKxit Pepito. c. 



POSITION. 



9 



Cham. I tratt, madam, yoa will excuse the rerj great liberty I 
have taken in requesting a private audience ; but if 1 were a vaiu 
man — I might aay — I have a peculiar way of doing business ; and 
the delicate nature of the oommunieation I am about to make — 
servants are such meddling creatures — ^thej have always their own 
interests in view — I never cuny favour with them — I never attempt 
to bribe them — in all important cases it is my maxim to go direct 
to the person I wish to secure. 

Coun. (^starting.) Secure ! Ob, heavens l 
Cham. What's the matter, madam? You are disturbed ? 
Caun. Not at all, sir ; not at all. Pray proceed, sir. 
Cham. As I was saying, madam, according to my maxim, I 
should, in this case, have gone direct to the master of the house. 

Coun. The master of the house ! Sir, the Count de Novara is 
not here. 

Cham. So I have been told, madam ; and, therefore, I took the 
liberty of inquiring for you ; and if you will do me the honour to 
ansner me one or two questions — 

Coun. Sir, I presume you have a right to interrogate me, and, 
therefore, t must needs reply. 

Cham, By no means, madam. If you have the slightest repug- 
nance to answer when you hear my qoestions, I beg you will say so 
at once, and I make my bow immediately. I have a peculiar way 
of doing business. 

Cmin, (aside.) If I refuse to snswer, he considers it a proof of 
guilt, and so reports it immediately to his employers — (^aUmd) 
Sir, I await your question. If it is one I can reply to, I — 

Cham. Oht certainly, although it more immediately concerns the 
Count, you, as his wire, madam, cannot be supposed to be ignorant 
of the fact. 

Coun, {oiide.) Dreadful intimatiou! — {aloud) Speak, sir, re- 
lieve me from this suspeose. 

Cham. Without further preface, then, madam, the Count de 
Novara has been, I am credibly informed, in the habit of purchasing 
cog^iac and liqueurs of various descriptions of an Italian of the 
name of Gilletti, residing at No. 54, Grande Rue, Chambery. 

Coun, {a$ide.) He has been arrested, and has some way com- 
promised my husband. 

Cham, Am I right so far, madam ? 

Coun, Sir, I know not why I should deny that Signer Gilletti has 
occasionally supplied the chateau with various articles in which he 
deals ; but, further than that, neither the Count nor myself have any 
knowledge of him ; and, n;oreover, we have lately had so much 
occasion to complaiu of his chaises, that the Count has signified his 
intention of withdrawing his custom. 

Cham, Then my information was correct, and I have no hesita- 
tion in placing this paper in your hands. 
I Coun, A paper — which has been found on Signer Gilletti ! 

Cham. No, madam ; one I have caused to be prnted for general 
I circulation. 

^ Coun, A prDoIamationi— a description of the person of some un- 
fortunate — 

Cham, No, madam, no ; simply a list of the articles in which I 
deal, and which I can with confidence recommend as unequalled. 

Ad 



I 



10 4 PKCULXAK 

either in quality or priM, bj toy ■iimiar eatabli8hmeii.t io cinliied 
Korope. 
Coun. Sir! 

Cham, I have • peeuUar way of doing businesa — ne^er interfert 
with a brother tradesman. Had I not ^en aaaured, by peraoos on 
whom I could confidently rely, that Monaiear the Count de 
Noyara had poaitirely aignified to Signor Gilletti hia diaaatia&e- 
tion, I should ne?er ba?e presumed to solicit the custom of his 
lordship, or — 

Cou.i. Can it be poanble ? You are, then — 
Cham. Pierre-Auguste-Polydore-Champignon, at the Goldet 
Pineapple, near the Promenade, Chambery ; sells all sorts of 
wines, liqueurs, spices, dried fruits, preserves, pickles, tea, cotfee, 
chocolate, macaroni, yermicelli, Italian oils, French capers, sad 
English blacking. 

dotin. (oiide,) What a relief! — (aloud) Oh, my good fneadl 
if you knew how happy you have made me ! 

Cham. Madam ! You overwhelm — you confiise — {aside) If 
I were a vain man, I should say — (aUmd') May I then hope, 
madam, that you will honour me by your favours 1 

Court. Sir, I am afraid that the Count has already promised ; hot 
when he returns, I will mention your name — yoa will call again, 
perhaps? (going,') 

Cham, \\'ith the greatest pleasure, madam, on my return fron 
France. I must pass the chateau — and — 

Cuun, (stopping iuddeiUjf.) From France! Are jou on tout wit 
there now, sir ? 

Cham, That alone, madam, could excuse my presenting myseif 
to the Countess de Novara, en voyageur — I am going to Lyooi^ 
perhaps to Paris — ^to make purchases. — Madame Cbmmpigaoa 
accompanies me as far as the frontier — ^parting with her is theo&Ij 
drawback to my joy at revisiting, even for one day, ais MU 
France — my native country ! 

Coun, (aside,) What an idea ! If I could but manage— (ai0<LO 
Indeed, you are not a Savoyard then ? 

Cham, A Savoyard ! No, madam ; I am a Frenchman, ns^ % 
Parisian, by birth ; my home is at present in Savoy, but» as the soo^^ 
says, ** Je suis Fran9ais ! mon pays avant tout.*' 

Coun, But are they not very strict just now, reapecting 9S.\ 
body — and particularly a Frenchman — passing the frontier. 

Cham, Rigorous in the extreme, madam ; but I happen to beii 
a peculiar position ; the Go'den Pineapple being honoured by the 
custom of his Majesty the King of Sardinia, I have a passport firaa 
the minister which acts like a talisman upon all the authorities. 
Coun. Irdeed! Will )0u permit me — 

Cham, P»v all meant*, madam — (giving passport,) Too see, 
madam : " Permit firet-ly to pass." &c. &c. " Pierre- Augusts-Polj* 
dore Champignon, native of France, Epicier Droguiste to his Ms* 
jesty the King of Sardinia, &c. &c. &c." 

Court. Oil, perfectly ; with such a passport as this, there evi ht 
no douht — 1 beg your pardon. (Drops the list he had prtcitmjij 
given htr.) 

Cham. Permit me, madam, (Stoops to pick it up,) 
Coun, (quickly changing the passports.) You are very 



POSITION. 1 1 

jou ; it*8 the list of your waies, I believe; ifyou will allow me, 
I'll keep it, and on jonr retorn, perhaps (^offering him the other 
pastport)—- 

Cham, I shall make a point of calling, madam. 

Coun. Barbara! Barbara! 

Enter Barbara,. 2d door, l. 

Bar, Yes, madam. 

Coun, Take care of this paper, and when Mr. Champignon re- 
turns, let him know what coffee, or chocolate, or anj thing else he 
stfllfl, iA wanted. The Count himself will speak to you about the 
wines, sir ; I wish you a pleasant journey I (^aside to Barbara) 
Keep him in conversation for a few minutes--»(ai<)u^) Good morn- 
ing, sir. (^Kfwcks at td door, r.: the bolt U withdravm,') 

[Eiit Countess. 

Bar. (aside,') Keep him in conversation ! Dear ! how odd ! 

Cham, (aside.) She's a splendid woman, and a most affable, 
engaging woman ; upon my honour, if I were a vain man, I should 
say — 

Bar. , Are you going, sir f 

Cham, Going, my dear! Yes, my love, I am going on a long 
journey. 

Bar. If youll just stop while I look over this list, sir-^perhaps 
I could tell you now, sir. 

Cham. An uncommonly pretty girl, I declare ! (aloud) Stop, 
my love! £gad, with such a mistress, and such a maid, if it were 
not that Madame Champignon is not very fond of waiting, I 
shouldn't care if — 

Bar, Madame Champignon ! What, are you married then ? 

Cham. Unfortunately — I mean — undoubtedly I am — to a most 
exemplary female — ^in fact a charming person — rather hasty, 
perhaps, and a leetle inclined to be jealous; but if I were a vain 
man, I should say — that can scarcely be wondered at — I confess I 
have been in my time a terrible fellow — when 1 lived in Paris—- 
Rue des Filles, St. Thomas \ — and even now — occasionally. — 
Wbat*s bred in the bone-— eh — you little smiling, rosy rogue, 
you — 

Bar. Ob, sir! sir! 

Cham. Oh, sir ! sir, indeed I Harkye ! — a word in that pretty 
little white ear. I'm to have the custom of (he chateau, you know. 
I sball often look in ; and if you're fond of barleysugar — 

Bar, No— I don't like sweet things. 

Cham, I do. (kissing her,) 

Bar, Be quiet — or 1*11 call out. 

C^tn. If you do I'll never kiss you again. like liqueurs? — • 
Send you 9ome ** parfait amour!" 

Bar, I don't want any of your amours — get away do— here's 
eomebody coming—and there's your wife waiting for you. 

Cham, Very true! — so she is! Poor Madame Champignon! 
kicking her heels in the little smoky postliouse at Les Kschelles. 
Adieu my angel — adieu for ten long days-^I must tear myself 

away ! 

(Sings.) — " Partant pour la Syrie. 

Le jeune et beau Dunois." 
[Exit at c. door singing, and kissing his hand to her. 



12 A PBCVLIAH 

Enter Peptto, c. Champiomon goa ouu 

Pep, Mighty gallant, indeed, whoever he is. 

Bar. Well, and what's that to you ? 

Pep. A great deal — for IVe seen your mother ; and she says voa 
are not married — she doesn't belieye a word of it— «nd Uit-refore 
you are to marry me. 

Bar, Very well ; perhaps you'll beliere when you see mj 
husband. 

Pep, Yes, vken I see him ; and thatlt be when I look in the 
flass some day shortly. 

Bar, He must be looking oreryour shoulders, then ; for itwtm't 
be you. 

Pep, I know better, I can see by your face you're telling a 
story. I defy you to name your husband. 

Bar: I could if I liked ! I could if I liked. 

Pep, You can't — you can't — I dare you. 

Bar, You dare me ! (asidi) I've a great miud-^he won't be 
back for ten days, and by- that time — 

Pep, There, you can t — ^you haven't a word to say for yourself. 

Bar, Hayeo't 11 Do you know who ihat waa that went oQt jttst 
now ? 

Pep, No ; he wouldnH tell me. 

Bar, Then I will. That's my husband. 

Pep. He ! and I let him in ! 

Bar, It was Tery kind of you, I'm sare. 
. Pej9. Thedeyil! If this is true- 
Bar. Hadn't you better run after and ask him ? 

Pep, Then that's why he was so confoundedly mjrsterions. 

Bar, Of course ; d'ye think he'd bare trusted hia rival. Ue'H 
be fine and angry with me for telling you ; but as you dared ma— 

Pep, You've married that manl^Why he'a fifty ! 

Bar. He is no such thing; and if he were, he's worth fifty 
of you. 

Pep, Very well — very well ! What did be want with my lady ? 

Bar. To tell her we were married ; because I was afraid to do 
so myself. 

Pep, Well you might be afraid, and ashamed to. Marrj sodi 
a fellow as that, when you might have had such a man as me ! 
Enter Major Lascabi and Cbampignon, c. 

Cham, But sir, I assure you — 

Major, And I assure you, sir, that my duty alone"— 

Bar, (aside.) Oh, mercy ! He's come back again ! 

Pep. There s the very rascal ! 

Cham. But business of the greatest importance — 

Major, Sir, I will not detain you an instant longer than my 
orders imperatively compel me. Your name, if you please. 

Cham, Cbampignon. 

Major, Where are you going 1 • 

Cham, First to join my wife ; and then — 

Pep. It is not true ! 

Cham, What do you mean by that t 
' Pep, Why that one of you must tell a story ; for Barbara aays 
th^i your wife, 

Cham, Barbara! — ^No— does she though? (aside to her} Ufa 



POBITIOK. Id 

you little ragiie ! I wish you were. — Egad — if it wasn't for Ma- 
ciame Champignon — 

Pep' He doesn't Uke to own it; she told me he wouldn't. 

Major. Well, sir ! 

Bar, (ande.) Don't deny it. You'll oblige me. 

Cham, (aside.) Oblige her! poor little girl! Champignon! 
Champignon — tins is the old story. 

Major. Sir, I want your answer. 

Cham. My answer, sir 1 — My answer is that whether I am her - 
husband or not, my name is Champignon. Pterre-Auguste-Polydore 
Champignon, as my passport shall convince you — and— 

Major, Ob, yon have a passpwt ! — ^That's another affair. 

Cham, I bflieve it is too {producing it). Inhere, sir, look at 
that, and detain me at your peril. 

Enter the Countbss, 9d door, n, 

Coun, {ande.) A soldier ! — ^1'ben 'twas but just in time. 

Major, Mow is this ?->" Champignon !" There is no such 
name ; this passport is made out in the name of the very noble- 
man I hare orders to arrest — ^the Count de Novara. 

Bar, and Pep. The Count de Novara ! 

Cham. The Count de Novara! — Poh ! poh !— you can't read ^ 

Major. Can you 1 (showing it to him.) 

Cham, To be sure— eh ! why — this is not my passport — 

Major, Then where is yours, and wbat business have you with 

this ? 

Cham, Confonnd it ! it must have been some mistake of tbat 
booby of a clerk ', he knows me well enough, too, but because I 
told him I meant to call here, and talked about the count ; the 
stupid fellow has written the name by mistake— 

Major, And described the person by mistake, too ? ** aged 49." 

Cham, I'm only 47, sir. 

Major, Y< n look older ; '* Height 5 feet 8 inches." 

Cham, I'm 5 feet 9, sir ! 

Major. Bah! that's near enough; «* eyes gray, hair brown, 
nose ordinary — " 

Cham, Ordinary' 

Major. " Mouth idem," " complexion idem." 

Cham. Pshaw I nonsense ! But what does it signify ? Here! — 
here's the Countess herself, she'll tell you who I am, won't you, 
madam ? 

Coun. Sir, I will say whatever you wish me to say ; but I fear 

it is now too late. 

C/iam. Too late!— Not at all. 

Coun, You are recognised, and all denial would be idle. 

Cham, Recognised ! — why, you don't mean to say. madam, 
that I am your husband, do you ? (aside) The deuce is in the 

women ! 

Coun, If I could hope to deceive that gentleman, I might be 
tf>mpted to deny it ; but that unfortunate passport has discovered 

all. 

Cham, Discovered all ! ^ « 

Coun, But do not be alarmed, sir ; I trust there is no danger, 

you are innocent. 

Cham. As a lamb ! — ask Madame Champignon. 



14 A P3CULIAB 

CoMfi. Na^, nr-^drop all diagniie, and oonfid* at onee id tlw 
honour of tbii geotlemao, I am tare he will not exceed his orders, 
and obey them be matt ; they are, I trust, not very seyere. 

Cham, I trust not, with all my soul. 

Major, They are simply to detain his Lordship till the arriTtd 
of a courier from Turin ; I have only to request he will not attempt 
to leave the chateau ; I do not wish to deprive him of your society, 
Madam. He may remain perfectly unmolested in the bosom of 
his family. 

Cham, In the bosom of my family ! 

Coun, You hear, sir, you may stay with me. 

Omm, May I ! (aside.) £i:ad, I should like nothing better: 
but what does it all mean ? if I were a vain man, I really ahooid 
say, this is a very peculiar position. Egad, she shall have her own 
way ; if it's a joke, I'll see bow far shell carry it. (aloud) 
Madam, to me your widhes always were commands. Sir, I im 
your prisoner. As you will have it, I am the Count de Novara. 

Pep, I'm stupi6ed • Why Barbara' 

Barb, (atide,) What shall I say now ? (to Pepito) Well^ifbe 
is the Count, he is a base man, that's all I say. 

lExit Barbara, ^d door, l. 

Pep, I'm horrified ! 

Cham, (aside.) Poor Madame Champignon ! Well, I can't help 
it ; when a lovely woman insists upon any thing, I never can say 
no — never could in my life ! (aUmd to Major) May I ask yoor 
name, sir 1 

Major, Lascari — Major Lascari. 

Cham, And you are instructed to prevent my proceeding on m/ 
journey ? 

Major, 1 am, Count. 

Cham, You positively insist on my remaining in the chateau 1 

Major. In compliance with my orders. Count. 

Cham, Very well. Major ; you will be responsible for whatever 
may occur in consequence. 

Major, Certainly. 

Cham, Then I snail order dinner immediately, for I am getting 
remarkably hungry, what say you, my dear t 

Countess to Pepito. You hear your master 1— obey him. 

Cham, You hear your mistress ] — dinner directly ! 

Pep. (aside.) The vile seducer ! — I wish it may choke him ! 

[Erit, c. 

Cham, (aside.) I shall dine titehtite with the Countess ! — Poor 
Madame Champignon ! 

Coun, (aside.) 1 must detain the Major, if possible, (jaiond.)— 
M^or, I trust your orders will not prevent your dining with us. 

Cham, Eh ! — (a^ide to Countesb) We don't want him. 

Major, You are very kind, madam. I shall harve much pleasnrc 

Cham, (aside.) Confound him ! 

Major. Wiil you not divest yourself of your disguise. Count 1 

Cham, Disguise ! 

Major, Yes, this bourgeois-looking coat and cap, as tbey are 
now useless, will you not exchange them for a habit more befitno; 
your rank ? 

Cham, My ranki Oh— ay— but it doesn*t signify. What do 
you say, my love ? 



POSITION. ] 



K 



C4mn, Just as you please, sir. There are two suits, you know, 
in /our dressing-roQin {pointing to Ut door, r.). Or there's your 
morning gown, if the Major will excuse. 

Major, Oh, madam. 

Cham, Ah ! I shall feel more comfortable in the morning gown, 
and, as we're all at home, you know, amongst ourselyes, for we 
won't call the Major company ; so if you will excuse me for a few 
mioutes — yon are not afraid of my escaping ? 

Major* Not in the least. Count ; for, independently that I con- 
sider you upon your parole, the attempt would be fatal. There are 
sentries all round the chateau, with orders to fire upon any indi- 
vidual leaving it suspiciously. 

Cham, I shall not attempt it, upon my honour ! [Exit \st door^ r. 

CouH. (iuide,) Merciful powers I another iostaut, then, and he 
'would hare fallen ! 

Major. You hare not long resided here, I beliere, madam ? 

Coun, Not above three months, sir. The Count is fond of shoot- 
ing, and took this place merely for the season ; but we had scarcely 
arrived here when some private affairs compelled him to set out for 
Naples. It is this unfortunate journey, taken suddenly, and for 
family reasons with some degree of mystery, which has drawn 
upon him the suspicions of the government ; but he is innocent, 
indeed, sir, of all political intrigues, as he can prove, if they will 
bat give him time. 

Major » I trust he can, madam. You will, I am sure, believe that 
this is the most disagreeable duty which can devolve upon a 
soldier. 

Re-enter Pepito, c. 

Pep, I beg your pardon, my lady, but I can bear it no longer, 
and speak 1 must. 

Coun. What is the matter 1 

Pep, The Count may turn me away if he likes, but I don't care 
— its downright treason, and I'll denounce him. 

Major, Treason ! 

Coun, Pepito ! — (aside) I shall sink. 

Pep, Yes, Major; yes, my lady; and it's treason as much against 
you, my lady, as against me. 

Coun, What do you mean, sirrah ? 

pep. He has taken advantage of his being unknown to Barbara, 
and entrapped her affections. 

Coun, Barbara ! 

Major (aside tohim.) Hold your tongue ; don't make mischief. 

Pep, I will — ^I will make mischief. He has made mischief 
enough. Barbara says she's married to him ! married to a married 
man ! 

Covn, Impossible! 

Pep, Ah ! so I said. I didn't believe it was in human nature. 
But Barbara vows it is ; and he didn't deny it. Did he, Major, 
when I accused him? I ask you, upon your honour, now, as an 
officer and a gentleman. 

Major (aside,) Ugh! you tattling booby ; what is it to you 1 

Pep, What is it to me ?— There's morality! — Why she is pro- 
mised to me by her mother, sir ! I was to marry her myself, 
and have all the old woman's money. — What is it to me iudeed ! 



16 A PECULIAB 

Coun» (atidt.) He talked about his wife, certainlr* EHd 1m 
mean Barbara ? or has he really deceived the poor gui. I must 
see her at any rdte— learo her story, and trast her with my secret 
(aloud) Major, Excuse me for a few moments; I must speak to 
this girl. lExit Countess, td door, u 

Major, I'here, youVe made a fine piece of work. This may end 
in the separation of the Count and Countess. 

P<p. i don't care, and I don't believe they woald much. I 
could tell something about the Countess if I liked. Hang me if I 
(!on*t thiuk one's as bad as t'other! Ay — ^you maj stare, 
Major. But you ask her who the man in the blue clooik was ? 
That's all. 

Major, Why you scandalous little rascal ! I ask her, iodeed !— 
No ; it's no business of mine, {^aside) A precious family this. 

Re-enter Countess, 3d door, l. 

Coun, Pepito! Leave the room! and never let me hear your 
breathe about this subject again ! 

Pep, Madam! 

Coun, Leave the room, I ssy. 

Pep, (aside,) Won't I though ? [Exit Pepito, r. 

Mofor, There wss no foundation, I presume, for any serious 
charge ? 

Coun. None in the least, sir. The girl merely made up the story 
to annoy Pepito. whom she can't bear ; and little thinking it was 
her master, whom she had never seen. 

Major. Ha ! ha ! and he would not contradict her for fear of 
betraying himself to me. I see it all. 

Coun, Here he comes — ^not a word to him, if you please. 

Re-enter Chjiiipionon 1st door, n, h. in a splendid morning- govca, 
cap, and slippers. Servants at the same time enter vnth dinner from c. 

Cham, I call this remarkably becoming now — really. 11 1 were 
a vain man — I should say, that if I made stich an impression in my 
common everyday dress, in this elegant dishabille, I must be irre- 
sistible ! Oh, Champignon ! Champignon ! Thou hast been the 
hero of many adventures. But this, of al], is the most peculiar 
position I 

Coun, Now, Count, are you ready for dinner? 

Cham, Heady ! my dear Countess ; iVe the appetite of a cha- 
mois hunter. It's past five o'clock : and, at the Golden Pineapple, 
we always dine at — 

Major, The Goldun Pineapple ! 

Coun, The — the hotel the Count was staying at, at Naples. 
Major, will jou take that chau* ? The Count will sit here. 

[Exeunt Servanie, c 

Cham, (aside.) She places me next to herself— the dear creature ! 
(aUmd) Yes, yes, I sit here, next to my darling wife ! in conjunc- 
tbn with Venus, and in opposition to Mars, as tbc almanac would 
say that hangs up in the back parlour of the Golden— 

Coun, (treading on his foot.) Do you eat macaroni. Major! 
(helps him,) 

Cham, (aside.) She trod on my toe! — She positively trod on 
my toe ! 1 II put the other foot forward though, for l>e a confounded 
corn upon this. 

Cotm, Macaroni, Count ? 



FOflinoM. 17 

Cham. Macaroni ! to be sare ; Vre the greeteirt possible retpect 
for macaroni, and flatter myself I am rather a jndge-— («atiii; 8om$,) 
O dear ! O dear 1 O dear ! This won* t do at all — a very inferior 
article, I can assure yoa ; I suppose yon had this from that Italian 
fellow, Gilletti. He ought to be alahamed of himself; an Italian too» 
to call this macaroni ! Why we wouldn't giro it boose room at tbe 
Golden — (Countess treadi on kit fooU — And$) Confound it* she 
will tread on the one with a corn. 

Coun. I am afraid tbey have made yon dainty at Naples ; of 
coarse, you were then in the yery land of macaroni. 

Cham. At Naples — oh yes, true; oh yes, fine place^Naples ; 
famous for soap, too, as well as macaroni — I have some very supe- 
rior for shaving — if the Major — 

Coun. Don t yon think the Major would rather judge of your 
wine than your soap, Count, at the present moment. 

Cham. My charming Countess, you are perfectly correct — a 
most deserved rebuke. What's tbis? — Marsala — prettv fair ; and 
Bordeaux of tbe yery first quality, I tow. You didn t hare this 
from Gilletti's, I'll swear, (drinh.) 

Cmn. No, sir ; you know very well that was a present to you 
from tbe French minister at Turin. 

Cham. Oh, ay — to be sure ; I remember — know him yexy 
well — lives close by the Promenade — served him mys(>lf often. 

Coun. Exactly ; and be sent you this in acknowledgment of 
your services. 

Cham, True, true, (aside) She will tread on the wrong foot. 
(aUmd) Major, you don't drink — you are dull — thoughtful ; you 
nave left some pretty girl behind you, I'll venture to say. These 
mushrooms have been pickled. 

Major. Nay, Count, not I ; I was never in love but once in n)y 
life— and that was for a very short time ; and, to own the truth, I 
believe more because she was going to be married to another, than 
for any other reason. 

Cofun. Married to another I Poor Major ; and so you lost her 
then? 

Major. Ves, madam, if it is to be termed a loss. She was a 
woman of the world, and preferred a tradesman with money to a 
gentleman with none. 

Cham. A sensible woman ! We'll drink her health if you've do 
objection. 

Major. Not in the least. I believe she liked me better than tbe 
man she married, after all ; and she always said if he behaved ill 
to hot she'd seek me out were I at the further end of the world. 

Cham. A woman of spirit too ! Here's to the health of— 

Major, Adolphine! 

Chanu Adolphine ( Why that's the name of my wife! 

Major. Your name, madam 1 

Coun, (trtadine violently on Chamvicvov's foot,) Yes, one Of my 
names, (twde to him) Would you destroy me ? 

Cham, (aside.) Destroy her! Oh, murder! She's lamed me 
for life ! It's ]ealonsy~downright jealousy. — The mere mention 
of another woman ! 

Miiffor. What's the matter, sir ? Yon seem in pain. 

Cham. A twinge, — a sharpish twinge in my foot. 



18 A PECULIAll 

Mofor, TIm gout, mx t 

Ckmm, No, a com. I have a rery bad com on thfta foot, mykre. 
—Some wine, Major* — ^That parmeaan i» too dry.— 'Don^t weep.— 
The trae teat of good parmeiaa ia — 

Enttr Pbpzto, c. 

Coun. (to Pepito.) Well, rir 1 

P«p, Tbere'a a lady inq airing for yoo, madam, or the Count 

Coun. For the Count! (aside) Should she know him. — Who can 
ahe be 1 (aloud) Did you aay we were at dinner ? 

Pep, Yes, madam. She said she'd wait. 

Major, Pray make no ceremony, madam, I have dined. 

Cham, Is she pretty ? 

Pep, Not particularly. 

Chanu Jm her wait, and tell them to take away, and bring some 
coffee and liqueurs, if you have any worth drinking. — Huile de 
Venus, or Kirchwasser, or Cogniac. 

Pep. Well, I'm sure ! [Exit Pepito, c. 

Cham, I don't know but what I prefer Cogniac to any thing else 
in the way of a chasse— eh, Major 1 

Major, Your pardon. I will do myself the pleasure to retnn 
for my coffee. I must just visit the sentries. 

Chnm. Oh, by all means! (aside) I'm glad he's going! Iloog 
for the denouement of this delicious adveoture. 

Coun, (aside.) I hope Barbara ia at haod, ready to appear, as I 
told her, the moment we were left together — the man migl^t 
presume— 

Major. Ill be back in a quarter of an hour, at furthest. 

[Ertt Majos, r. 

Cham. Oh, pray don't hurry yourself! (to Countess) At 
length, most charming of women — 

Ccun. (aeide^ Ah ! here she is ! 

Enter Barbara, td door, u 

Cham, What the devil do you want? 

Bar. Mr. Champignon ! b that the way you apeak to me ! I 
want to know, sir, if you have told my lady what you promised ? 

Cham. What 1 promised ? 

Bar, Yes. What did you come here for, pray, bat to tell my 
lady that we were married, and to ask her to speak to my 
mother. 

Cham. Smother your mother! What d'ye mean, you little 
foolish girl — ^married to you— 

Coun, Mr. Champignon ! Can I believe my ears ! 

Cham, There's not a word of truth in it as I live and breathe, 
madam ! 

Bar, Oh, you base man ! 

Coun. Pepito told me something of this ; but I refused to listen 
~«1 could not imagine that one of my own servants — 

Cham. It is not true, madam I I'm a married man, and sb« 
knows it. 

Coun, More shame for you — ^you must have promised her mv- 
riage at least. 

Cham. I never promised her any thing but some barleysogar. 

Bar, Didn't you acknowledge to the Major— 

Cham, Yes ; because you asked me to oblige you-^yon attacked 



POSITION. 19 

me on my weak point— I nerer could say no to a lady in my life. 
But 1 give you my word, madam, that you^and you alone — 

Coun. Dya't apeak to me, sir «— don't come near me. Go, faith- 
less man — leave the chateau, and never let me see you more. 

Cham, Go! It's very easy to say go — how the devil am I to go ? 
If 1 attempt it they*!! ehooi me. 

Coun, Hush ! — I had forgotten that. 

Cham. You're very kind — ^but 1 had not. 

Omn. And 1 dare not yet avow — ^he may not yet have passed 
the frontier. 

Mad. Cham. (toitAout.) I don't care 1 — I will see tlie Countess — 
r insist upon it ! 

Cham. Eh ! That voice ! 

Caun. (tuide.) Ah ! the lady who was inquiring for me or for 
the Count. 

Enter Pbpito with Madame Champignon, c. 

Mad. Cham. Don't tell me ! 1 know he must have been here ! 
Ah ! there he is \ 

Cham. My wife, by all that's terrible ! 

Coun» Bar. S^ Pep, His wife ! 

Pep. Another wife I Why's he's the Grand Turk ! 

Mad. Cham. Mr. Champignon ! What does this mean I You 
here in a morning gown and slippers — quietly at your eas€^ — 
while I have been in agony on your account. 

Coun. Nay, if 'tis thus — I must explain — and trust to their 
kindness, (aloud) Madam-*a few words will — (Re-enter the 
Major, c. — (^Ande) The Major ! — 1 dare not ! — 

Mad, Cham. Pray speak, madam — 1 am on the rack. 

Cham. So am I. 

Major. What's the matter, Count ? 

Mad, Cham. Count!— He — 

Major. To be sure; the Count de Novara! — ^andl— or I am 
much mistaken.— -Adolphine 1 

Mad^. Cham. Antonio ! — I shall faint \ {falls in the Majok's 
arms.) ^ 

Cham, Hollo! hollo! Major!— I say— do yon know — that's my 
wife ? — 

MfKjor. Your wife ? 

Pep, Yes ! — ^The Blue Beard ! — He has deceived her aa he hai 
Barbara. 

Oiam. Hold your tongue, you fool. Adolphine! — ^an't you 
ashamed of yourself. Wife I say — 

Mad. Cham. Don't touch me. — ^Wretch ! — ^Monster ! — your 
wife ! — I am no longer your wife ! — Take me from his sight, 
Antonio ! 

Mqjor {to Countess.) Pray madam, may I ask — 

Coun, Question me not, sir. 1 cannot answer ! 

\Ent Countess, lit docn*, r. 

Pep. Now, Barbara! Now, you see — 

Bar, Don't talk to me, sir. — Oh, ^ou horrid man! (to Cham 
FiONON.) [Exit Babbaba, ^d door, l. 

Cham, Madame Champignon^! 

Mad, Cham. Antonio ! Protect me from him * 

Major, But pray explain — 

Mad, Cham, Away — away from him, and I will tell you all. 



20 A PSCULIAB 

M^far, Come, then !— Naj^ sir ; yoQ do not quit this room, till 
the myiterj is um^velled. Pepito, lx>lt the doors. 

[Eteunt Major ami Madame Chaji«c. 

Ptp, .Thtt I will \ — I shall be revenged on somebody. 

[£jn(Pmprro,G 

Cham. (foUomng,) Bot I say!— Major! — ^Madame Chsm- 
pigDon f (The door it bolted.) They Ve bolted me in ! — Weil, tlas 
IS oertainly the most peculiar way of wslking off wiih a maa'i 
wife! Bat if I'm not rerenged on Madame Champignon it sha'a't 
be my fault, that's all I know ; up to this moment I hot ooa- 
tempiated an innocent frolic — a simple flirtation-~a paasin^ 
gallantry — a pardonable peccadillo. I had left the follies of mj 
youth in the Roe, Filles St. Thomas. My constant heart would 
hare shuddered at any serious infidelity, and flown back with 
unsullied pinions to connubial love and the Golden Pineapple !• 
But now! — O rage! — O Tengeance !— There is no atrocity I 
am not prepared to commit ; I will employ all the powers of 
fascination 1 possess to victimize the whole sex, in rt-venge for this 
heartless desertion ! It's getting dark ! Welcome ye shades of 
night — black as the deeds I contemplate. Beantifnl but 
capricious Countess, whatever may have been thy motive fiir 
placing me in this peculiar position, thy heart shall be the 
first sacrifice upon the altar of revenge ! (apffroaehts the door by 
which the Countess hat ditappeared, and (apt gently.) 

Coun. (within.) Who's there ? 

Cham. Idol of my soul ! 'tis I, yoiir adoring Champignon. (TV 
door it boUed.) Hah ! she unbolts the door----(trtes it) — ^no, 8he*s 
bolted it. Loveliest of your sex, you've made a mistake — ^youVe 
fattened the door. No answer — no movement! Inexplicable 
woman ! Hah ! an excellent thoc^ht — ^I'il pique— 111 nettle her. 
That's a sure card to play with all snch coquettes. Ill beg^n with 
Barbara ; she shall be my first victim (goet to the door through 
which Barbara went out.) Bewitching Barbara,. are yon there 1 
(The door it bolted.) Barbara, my love, you've bolted the door; 
'tis I, your own Champignon ! Don't be silly — my oolcjneas was 
only fiaigoed. I love — I adore you. It was only to deceive my 
wife that I pretended to slight you — (tingt) 

** Ouvre moi ta porte. 
Pour Vamour de Dien 1" 
{The door itnnboUed.) That's done it! She opens the door! 
• lestial melody, I thank thee ! 

{Enter Carlo with two twordt under hit arm, and a lighted candle 

in hit hand,) 
Who the devil are you ? 
Car. An iuiured man, who requires sa tisfaction. 
Cham. Satisfaction I 

Car. Yes, sir ; vou have descended to attempt the sedoctioB of 
a girl in humble life —you must not plead your rank to evade the 
consequences. 

Cham. 1 1 What do you mean ? 

Car, 1 mean that you are, or you are not, the Count de Nof ara. 
if you are then, you have assumed the name and character of a 
tradesmsr to effect the ruin of Barbara, for which yon must answer 
to me. 



rOBITION. 21 

Cham, In that case, I am not the Count de Norara. 

Car. In that case, then, yon are the tradesman jou represent 
joorself, and, heiog a marriffd man, have had the villanj to conceal 
that fact, and offer marriage to an ionocent and unsnspecting girl, 
for which yoa shall answer to me ! 

Cham. It's no such thing — she insisted herself. Let her come 
out and saj it to my face. 

Car. She is not there— I hare not seen her ; but Pepito, who was 
at least an hoooorable rival, has told me all,->~tberefore. Count or 
no Count, defend yourself ! Here are two swords— choose. 

Cham. The bloodthirsty monster I Choose ! — I won't choose ! — 
I don't choose to choose ! It's false altogether. 

Car. false ! Did I not hear you this moment declare your affec- 
tion, and acknowledge yon had deceived your wife ? 

Cham. Oh, that I was in the little back parlour of the Golden 
Pineapple .' Sir, I assure you it was a mere joke, to tarn the tablet 
on Madame Champignon, who has behaved most shsmefully. 

Car, A joke ! The destruction of a poor girl's character ; for' 
such was the least evil which could arise from your conduct! 
This, to me, is adding insult to injury — Defend \our8elf. 

Cham. I won't ; you shall be hanged for murder, JEbr 1 won't move 
hand or foot. [SUt dawn in a chair. 

Car. Coward ! you cannot be the Count de Novara. Coward, 
I say ; cannot that move you t 

Cham. Nothing can move me. I am in a peculiar position. 

Cor. Be it so. You are worthy the death that awaits you— a 
public execution. 

Cham. What! 

Car. The common courage of a man might have saved you 
from that infamy ; you had the chance of ftilling by the sword 
of a soldier iu fair combat. You will now be shot like a dog. 

Cham. I tell you what. If this is s joke, it's by no means an 
^^eeable one, and I must trouble you to explain. 

Car. An order has arrived from Turin for the immediate execu-» 
tion of the Count de Novara. 

Cham. What's that to me, sir ? I am not the Count de Novara, 
I am Pierre-Augoste-Folydore Champignon, spicier to the 
King of Sardinia, and I should like to see any body shoot me like 
a dog. 

Car. Yon will not have the pleasure of teeing it, certainly, for 
your eyes will be bandaged ; but shot you will be. take my word 
for it. If you are not the Count you have connived at the escape 
of a traitor, and will be treated accordingly. 

Cham. Treated he calls it! My dear sir, you don't mean to say 
that they really thmk me guilty of nucb a crime as — 

Car. There can be no doubt ; you have the Count's passport, 
and some one has already passed the frontier with that of the Sieur 
Champignon. 

Cham. Then, I'm a murdered man ! Robbed and murdered ! 

(Jar. Hark ! They come. I offer you still the chance. 

Cham. Go to tbe devil !— I won't fit^ht — I won't be shot. Ma- 
duo. i My Lady I Countess I I m in a peculiar position. 

IKnifcking violently at door^ a. 



2*2 A PECDLlAli 

Ent^rfrom cdoor tht Major, Madame Champignon, and Barbaia. 

M^or, Pierre- A uguBte Polydore Champiynon. 

Cham. That's me ! joa hear ! — ^I am not the Coont. Ob, my 
dear Madame Cbam|>igDoo. 

hlajar, I arreit yoa on the charge of faaTin,^ cooBired at the 
escape of the Count de Novara, a proclaimed traitor, wbohascroiaed 
the frontier hr meant of your passport 

[Couniea appeart at dm, r. 

Cham, I'm a dead man ! 

Coun» (advancing) My hushsnd safe ! Oh» then, hear me, sir. 
I am the offender ! It was I who, to save a husband's life, ezchangfii 
the passport without the knowledge of this person. 

Cham. Hear her 1 hear her ! I am ionocent. There never wu 
such an innocent ! 

Mvjor. You must excuse me, madam, but I cannot believe joar 
assertion— it does not agree with the voluntary assumption of the 
Count's name aud dress by ibis individual, and I must, tbereforf, 
only consider it as a generous devotion on your part to save tbe 
accomplice of your husband. 

Cham, Me ! — an accomplice ! 

Couu, Indeed, sir, be was ignorant of the purpose for wbicb, at 
my request, he assumed this character. 

Cham. Yes — at her request — you bear, Madame Champignon. 

Major. This will avail b:m little, umless you could prove that 
tbe Count de Novara was no traitor. 

Coun, Alas ! sir, tbougli confident of bis innocence, that must 
be tbe work of time, and, to gain that time, be 6ed — 

Cham. And left me to be shot instead of him — the unoataial 
monster ! 

Major, In that case, madam, we have only to hope that, before 
the execution of Monsieur Champignon, the government may 
itself obtain some light upon tbe subject. 

Cham. To be sure — before ; f don't care what they do after. 

Coun. But what time, sir, will be allowed to him ? 

Major. A quarter of an hour. ' 

AIL A quarter of an hour ! 

Cham, Madame Champignon! 

Cotin. Ob, sir, you bnve a smile upon your lips ; yon would AOt 
do this for mere mockery ; you most have some iotelligeDce. 

Major. You are rigb', madann ; I have tbe pleasure of placing in 
your bands this des atcb by wbiih you will perceive that tbe order 
I have just received was to release tbe Count if be had been taken, 
as Government bad cnvinced itself of tbe unfounded nature of the 
charge against him. I have despatched a courier with the wdcomo 
news to tbe Count himself. 

Coun. Oh, sir, bow can I express my gratitude to yoa for that 
kindness ? 

Major. Nay, madnm ; it is in itself a su^cient recompence. 

Cham. And what's to recompense me fcr having my feelings 
trifled with in this barbarous manner ? 

' Mqjor, Ask Madame Champignon, if some punishment was not 
deserved for your professions to Barbara and to the Countess. 

Cham. My professions — 

Mad. Cham. Ay, Mr. Champignon, I heard you, and so did th* 



P08ITI0K. 23 

Major, *' Idol of my aonl \" and " bewitching Barbara, I adore you, 
it was only to deceire my wife that I pretended — 

Ouvre moi ta porte !" 
Oh, for shame, Mr. Champignon ! 

AIL Oh, for shame, Mr. Champignon ! 

Cham, For shame yourself, Madame Champignon, didn't you 
fling yourself into the arms of an oflScer, before m j face, in a most 
peculiar position ! 

Coun . Come, come, no recrimination — ^no more misunderstanding. 
Both Barbara and myself have a right to answer in some degree 
for his conduct ; neither of us could well explain to him our own, 
and, " if he had been a rain man'' he certainly might have presumed, 
in his " peculiar positiou" — 

Cham, You hear, Madame Champignon, I might have presumed — 
^rhile you — but I'll be generous, the Countess desires it, and I never 
could say " no" to a lovely woman in my life— Adolphine ! 

Mad, Cham, Polydore ! (t/icj; embrace.") 

Cham, (^as'ide,) I shall keep an eye on the Major though. 

Coun, Barbara, I will speak to your mother in favour of Carlo ; 
Mr. Champignon, foi^et not you have the custom of the chateau. 

Cham, Forget it, madam! Impossible! but I have a peculiar 
way of doing business, and must first beg leave to ascertain the 
opinion of my other customers. Ladies and gentlemen, I feel I 
cannot serve this chateau withoat I obtain your approval. If I were 
a vain man, I should say 1 have long been honoured by your 
favours, and therefore may indulge ia the hope that you will not 
withdraw them from me now that I am placed in this *' Peculiar 
Position." 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 

COUNTESS, HAJOB,CHAMPIONON, MAO. CHAMPIGNON, BARBARA, CARLO. 
R.] [L. 






< 1 m*K: 



[SECOND EDITION-.] PrlM 6d. 

WEBSTER'S 

riarc urATisiirAi; braha. 

DER THE AUanCEl OF THB DRAMATIC AUTHORI' »CirrV. 



^.joHinoN. "im**KV»n\f ru«t," Gi luuAvtTBirr, Miia> 



I ? . 



^ * 









t 



^ 



WALTER TYRREL: 



A DRAMA, 



Sti Z\m 9ktx$, 



BY E. FITZ.BALL, ESQ. 



(MKMBBR of tub PRAM4TIC AUTHORS* SOCIBTT^ 



AS PBBFOBMBB AT THB 



V 



THEATRE ROYAL COVENT GARDEN. 



COSBBCTLT PBlllTBIl FBOK THB PBOMPTER's COPT, WITV 
CAffT OP CMARACTXKB, COSTUME, SCENIC 
ABBAMOBllBirr, tUBS OF BMTBANCB AND BXIT, 
AMD BBLATITB POSITION OP THB 
9BAMATIS PXBSONA. . 



amVDlDLT ILUiaTBATXV WITH AN ETCHING, 
&Y FUNtCB EOAN, THE YOUNGER, FROM A ORAWINQ TAUl^ 

SUBIliG THB BBPBBtBMTATION. 



lonpon;: 

SHERWOOD, OrLBERT, AND PIPER, 
PATBBNOSTBR ROW. 



I NASSAU STBAX H^BB/ 
VC, 8. JOBK8OH1 6, NASSAU VTBXn] WBXS 



vMm/^h >m j.-(¥'^:?-^^'" 



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. •^• 



This drama is foimd^^^ Jj^;|oU«wiBgr cireomatances^ whhh 
are thus r^ted p$ SiiL j^^ H^^g^zr^L^^^** As ilw Kisgwas huat* 
ing at Choringham in the New Forest, he struck a deer lightly w^ • 
an arrow ; and stayed his horse to \Qok after the deer, holding, his 
hands before his eyes td^ice^p oirWe sun-beams which dazzled his 
«ight; aabtlrer deer cwrtSsMg theVajr,'Sir Walter Tyrrel shooting 
at it too carelessly, or too steadily at the King, hit him full in the 
breast." jj^i^ Tyrrel obs^nf^i^iflUwMgh Fiorenofrof Worcwter, 
Malmsbury and Simeon of Durham, (who wro^ within forty yews 
after this accident) do" atl a'^ree in the place and person who. had..,. 
this misfiUP^iHie ttos ^6'intl tMlPririce, yet there ^re authors o^^ 
that very age, who ndf 'ftifty dfdli^t, t\it positively deny that this . 
Walter had any hand in it." Eadmersays; " Whether the arrow 
was shot at hjun, or^as^WMt affito^ slarhim 'by^his falling' down 
upon it.*^ ''IMalittSbury writes: — ** It is by no meancm tk 4s\^wtlf: 
ascertained point that it waa }}j Tyr^^i'a arrow the King died. 
John of Sfibliitbuzyliays fliat when he wrote, it W4s as dpubtful by, 
whom William was killed, as it was by whom Julian the Apostate ' 
fell ; then<:jare cartamstances in the case which' fkvtmr the idea' of 
a meditated assassinatif^ ; V^^® ipiinuation U nowhere aaadein 
the historical authontieg^.^rr^r^f^^.Q^^ ot Eng., ▼« 1, p. l%9»<^ 
Such ia the jioery^^ghi jbaaierj^ op w^j^ Mr. Fitjibali has wroiigh|> 
a very exceirenrtnre^a^cf play^^taak of no small difi^ouUy, AS Q4ift 
modem playrights can lestif^., W^H|S?f -they are too often alov to 
acknowledge it. Historical subjects are most desirable on the 
stage, if well haf^^ed ; ti(§y are ^ii^Ily favourites with the pub- 
lic, and in yout^ml minds beget a cnri^sHy io bb6ome ai^quainted ' 
with the recor4»<0l iJk^jxumtMp froiwhich the ittddegts aretaken^ 
60 that they are imperceptibly led to acquire a very necessary 
branch of useful knowledge. Hoping this most successful author 
will again oeeftfr m ^jBd^xW9%:iff Ike ^ttaa, botik honourably 
and profitably, is ^ our j^ari^eft and i^^oere wish. Mi» £lton maAe 
his first appearance at,X/oye)Q]l;^§r4^u4n this play, and iiffovedhiiii«9< 
self fully equal t^ holding ja./il|ii^i^j^^ his profession^ <Mieft' 

rent was the p^ection ofihe meixv 1 



Vincent was the p^ection of the me^y. warm-hearted lass of hum* 
blefife, an<i''Bg§'sttel^^^ by^h^r wonted ex^uiisite actjaig^ 

and unaffecteate'elihg, V^on the hearts of all who witmoiyed ^tker* : 



FIRST PBRFORMBD JANUARY 19tb,1837. 



• WiLLiAii THB SmeovBttumamed Ru/us, . 
Khiff qf Bnglandr^ltlt. dress— scarlet and/ j^^ |^^^ 
fold long shirt — band and crown, 2nd. dress t 
gree n TelTet hunting snit. ' 

Pbincx HxNBTy (his Mm,) Ist dress— ^ 
yeUow and silter shiit—green hose, and C Mr. J. WelMter. 
sandal shoes — ^2nd. dress, green hunting suit. > 

Hugh Rivet, (the King's armourer) — a > -m^ ireii*— 



% 



WAiiTxnTmKBL. — ^Brown shirt— breast ^ 
plate — helmet— scarlet hose, and sandal > Mr. Elton« 
shoes. ^ 

Robert, (his comrade) j Ibid — ^with thei 
exception of a yellow, instead of a scarlet v Mr. PritcfaanL 
shirt. ^ 

, Paul.— A white friar's gown and cowl. Mr. Harris. 
Tassel. {A cook in the King's kitchen) ^ 
—White tabbed jacket and large trunks edged f ^ Webster 
with black — blabk hose, and white sandal C 
shoes.' ' 

, Peter the Hebmit.— A monk's brown } « »ru^_.«,^ 
gown and cowl. ^Mr. Thompwu. 

Bbrtband.— Scarlet shirt— steel breast- 7^ xu ^^\ 
pUte— hehnet, and flesh hose. J ^^' ^^^^' 

Sir Hubert.— Ibid. Mr. CoUett. 

Edith A, (^1 young Saxon Girl), — Ist^ 
dress, — Satin and gold train dress, witii scar- / 
let satin robe and yeil, bound to the head > Miss Helen Fa]iat> 
with a band of pearls. 2nd. dress, — a white \ 
cashmere peasant's dress, trimmed with blue. ^ 

Margaret. (Rivet's daughter,) Blue I ••« . •»- ». 
jacket, and yeUow petticoat. f ^"^ ^»««*- 

TimeofrepreaentotioD ShourtandaOminvteB. 



EXPLANATION OF THB STAGS DIRECTIONS. 

h, means first entrance, left. R, first entrance, right. S. £• ^ 
second entrance, left. S. £. R. second entrance, right. U. E. t,^?" 
per entrance, left. U. E. R. upper entrance, right. C. centre. LC- 
left centre. R. C. right centre. T. E. L. third entrance left- 
*r.E. R. third entrance right. Observing you are supposed to 
lace the audience. 



WALTER TYRREL. 



ACT I.— SCENE l.-^TAe summit of a hill, beyond which is 
teen a village , on the border qf the New Forest, at Sunset, 

Enter Hubert, BertranDi and Normak Soloibrs, with torches, 

S* E* !<• 

Bertrand, We are soldiers ; not assassins, Hubert 1 
Yon dwelling, too, that we are set to burn. 
Was once my comrade's, Tyrrel's, 
A Norman, like ourseWes. 

Hubert. Was not his wife 

A Saxon ? One, who urged her husband on, 
Despite the king's command, to chase the deer ? 

Bert, On his own grounds ; for which, he lost his eyes I 
Perhaps his life 1 and I must now go bum 
His widow and his orphan children, forth ! 

Hub. Ail are not there : the eldest son's away. 

Bert, Aye ; absent, in the service of that king, 
Who sends his kindred ruin 1 Poor Walter ! 
They say that, in the war, he nobly fought. 
And is expected to his country, home. 
Covered with glory ! What be his rewards ? 
A father slain ! — ^a hearth made desolate ! 
And I must bear the brand that Hres his roof. 
Never — Hubert — ^Never. 
A traitor's death I'll- die, an hundred times, 
Kather than join in this ! 

Huh, Well, hie thee back ! 

I'll neither thee impeach, nor harm yon lives : 
Still must they quit the wood — ^the cottage blare— 
For saving it, were to destroy ourselves. 
The warrant of the king's imperative. 

B 



6 WALTER [act I. 

Bert. I would thy duty had a better task. 
You know I am no dastard ; that my heart 
la finui as is this arjbour which I wear: 
Nor is't disloyal : but Tyrrel was my friend ; 
And though this hand be sundered for a traitor's, 
I'd rather place it instant on the block. 
Than lift it 'gainst his children ! [£^B.] 

Huh, Soldiers, on ! [itevati] 

Enter Waltb&i skadUng the ey€s^''^0VK%'r,wifffM8tkidd{i.) 

Robert. What blind freak is this ? Out on thee, scapegrace I 
Jack o' lantern, hence ! — into some quagmire 
Would'st thou lead me ? 

Walter, No ; nor into peril. 

Nor would I have thee stumble, but exalt 
Thy feet of blindness on the topmost hill. 
From which thou may'st look down upon yon forest, 
And its calm village sleeping i* the sunset. ^ ^ ». 

Rob, I wfll eonfide in thee ; " for iiow I hissfir^- ■ "^ ' 
The gushing of some stream, and the lf^%ree9te ' '^' 
Kissing the leaves of love-assenting boughs : 
The breath of gamer'd hay is <m Hie gtiM *•♦ ^^^ - '• ' ' - 
What a sweet prelude ! — ^it antic^Mtes 
All the lip promises, which, 'njsath a f^Sd^ >^ ,^ v. ^ 
Breathes perfume to love's young ,jjK^gi9jUBg|j|! ,,,; .^..^. 

Walt, Down with the vizor, thcsa, juid fe^;t}|jypi^ . 
On lips and eyes, and lovelier features fajr^-^,^.., . . ,- 
Than meet the dreams of those, :^^ never look 
Beyctod the verge of nature— ^is not,, thisi.. . .^, 
A home to be remembered? Is it qot? ,.. ,\,^^^^^ ^^. :• 

Rob. {Gazing,) WeU loi^ a f ceQg,^.^jq)fi9i£$J, siil»liiAe 1 
Such noble mind inspire. ,,^.^ ...,;, ' .^^ f^.. 

Walt. Lo! whex^]goikbiidgi^9:> >.t. c; 

The fallen trunk of what was osigfi a^ oaky^^^ ^.^ ,, 
Supplies a path across that sunpy strei^r ^ t<i*us^ 
Where the tall w^illow overhangs, the ba^k, , .. ,,. ,. .^. , .;_• 
Like a young maiden bending l9^<».to driiiky .. ^ ;. .:. 
Her long fair ringlets floating 99 Jibe ^/f^, ,v * y > ■-: 
Of the pure crystal, emblem of herse^trr- , ,^^ j.. 

That cabin, that, of antique fo|^,. q^'cr^inifg ^^ ., . , .^ 
By the soft shadows of the hiUabovei .,...., ...y ./,. - 
It is my father's : how my breast expands, ,,,..„; ... ;^ 
And trembles with an hundred, s^^ t^qtiox^, , , > ^ . 
As now I gaze, e'en through its very walls, .^ . . . 
Into its inmost chamber— and boholdf^- ^. \_- . 
At least with memory's eye, each w]^.]^oi^j)jpQk. .^ 
Absence, and service in a foreign land . .,,-, .,- ^ * t •. 
Have changed me nothing in tfie- heart*f j^cords. .^. 
My father, mother, and my dear^^de^jiisteris. j -^ ■-- 
Rob, But there is one, I've heard thee mention offcy 



S€ENC I.] TTftftlL. 9 

Whose name kangs back now on thy falt'iing tangos, 
! As at a feast, the rarest c^p oomea lai t. 
I Walt, Edithal Yes, my own belOTed EdithaJ 

Together we grew up-— there — aide by aide, 

Coupled and wild as birds. We knew no data. 

Whereby to fix the joining of our hearta— • 

They were akin by natnre; when we parted, 

What tears we shed — ^what sad forebodings rose— • 

I quite forgot me that I was a soldier, 

And wept me like a wench — ^wonld'st thoubeliere't? 

But now the wars are over — ^peace proclaimed— 

And I am home again, worthy this sword, 

Which wears her name and parity; and she 

Oh, heaven ! I tremble with excess of bliss, 

To think from her dear eyes how all my soul 

Will drink delicious welcome I ( T/ie village begins to burn,) 

Robert, lo ! 
Rob, Is it the setting snn which blazeth forth 

Through the dark leaTes of yonder bowering wood ? 

But, no ! the sun is gone, and still those flames ! 
Walt, Is it some bonfire, lit, — a joyous beacon, 

To 'gratnlate the soldier ? — ^No-*-ialas 1 {A scream without,) 

It is no happy blase ; for even now 

I hear the cry of women, in despair I 

The sound of troubled steps — ^this way it comes. 

Speak, thou l<*^wiio-»-my mother ! 

Enter Ghita, with dishevelled hairf and pBde, attended by ktr 

Daughters and friends, 

Ghita, My boy I my son ! 

Oh 1 is it he, indeed, at such an hoorl (Embrace^) 

Oh I Walter, Walter I 

Walt, Aye, mother ; but these are not the looks 
I hoped should greet my coming— whence jthe woe^ 
Which pales thy cheek — thd tears which fill those eyes ? 
My sisters, speak !-^why thus aghast, and wan ? 
Where is our father ? 

Ghita, Oh, my heart! 'twill burst ! 

At menticm of his name 1 weep) children ! weep I 

Alas ! your tears are all the (Asequies ^ 

His corse can know ! 

WaU, His corse I'^mother I mother! i 

Is mj father dead ? I 

Ghita, Woeful hour !— Alas ! I 

WaU, Oh, mother ! tdl me. how he died— when-^wli cra — { 

And what he said of his poor truant boy ? 
Yet» if he cursed me, do not tell me that ; 
'Twould kill me I No — ^no— I sent him, mother, 
A faulchion, taken by this hand in battle — 
How look'd iM OA that trophy ? say, with pride, 
That I may hope he did not quite forego .• 

The love, the pardon, of his contrite son! 



j^SSBS 



$ WALTER [Mf ■ 

Ghita. ThMt fword came not, tiU he had loit his light; 
Yet he appeared to gaze on*t with his tean , 
Which, as they flow*d down the unoonsciona steel, 
Seem'd drops of blood, wrung by its fatal edge, 
JSyen from thy father's heart. 

Walt, How 8aid*8t thou ? Blind ! 

Ghita Demons that Ut the ibrest, blinded him. 
€nch was the punishment the king ordained — 
Norman or Saxon, should alike endure, 
Despite of right, or heritage, that dared. 
After his edict, here, pursue the chase ; 
Nor staid the oppressor so : whole families 
like dogs were driven from their ancient homes, 
** With all the rigour of the olden time. 
When the first William's scourge fell on their hearths. 
That the next William might still more encroach, 
And bunt the deer, nor greet from bush or bower. 
The honest echo of a Saxon curse — 
No purchase made, nor no exchange of land- 
Nothing, but, get ye forth ! or fire and sword ! 
Flames to your dwelling ; blindness to your eyes ;" 
No license granted, but to starve ! to die I 

Walt, And I, for such a tyrant, fought and bled ! 

Ghita. Three nights agone, thy sisters and myself 
Had ventur'd forth, to join our friends in prayer. 
Leaving your father, 'neath his wounds still smartiog, 
£ditba, near him, as his nurse remain'd. 
On our return, the orphan maid was gone, 
As't seemed, by force; for in thy father^s hand, 
^is cold dead hand, grasp'd as it were in struggling, 
Found we this broken arrow 1 ( Thking alioody and hrcken vrf» 
from her mantle.) 

Walt. Murder'd, he! 

She, torn by ruffians hence — ^lived no Saxon, 
To track these blood-hounds to their devil's lair. 
Oh ! that I held but one, now, by the 'throat I 
To whet still more the edge of my sharp wrath! 
My father ! my betrothed ! Oh ! vengeance, heaven ! 

Ghita. Aye, we cried, vengeance ! and they gave us— fire I 
• ^llas ! my son, the dwelling of thy birth 
■ Is xiow black ashes ! — and no roof is left us 
But these wild boughs, to screen us from the storm. 
Pespair ! despair! (Crosses, "l. Wringing hsr handi.) 

Walt. ( With sudden thought.) Mother, where's that arrow ? 

Ghita. Here, my son, behold the fatal shaft. 
Red with the life-stream of its victim's heart 1 

Ghita. (To Walter.) Quick! to yon grave — ^thy father's gri« 

my son, 
There to renounce, henceforth, thy Norman blood, 
Which should have gush'd from the son's veins all forth, 
When they did she'd thy father's ! 

Walt. (Examining the arrow.) Mbther, stay, 



*CENE I.] TTRRWfc. 9 

This is no common shaft ! — no imlgar hand 

Draws forth such arrows from the qulTer, mother I 

This stamp is one of even princely bearing ! 

Be this the weapon^ henceforth, only mine — 

Vengeance I I am enlisted in thy cause! (JOieels,) 

Be &0U the star to guide my darkened life ! 

Come ally and 'neath yon tree whose dewy boughs 

"Weep o'er my &ther's day, we'll swear revenge — 

Our Saxon oath of justice f blood for blood. (Exeunt i. 

SCENE II. — A room in Rivet's house. 
Enter Rivet and TASSEh/oUowing Margaret l. 

Margaret. I touch the cithern, to please a king's mistress 1 
Not I, i' faith I be she as melancholy 
As holly in the minster, at Christmas. 
I'U not do it I 

Riv, What say'st thou, prate-a-pace 

Whell thy cousin, here, brings thee such rare chance ? 
TTiou should'st go, were she ten kings' mistress ! 

Marg. Wait upon a wanton I a good-for-nougfat ? . 

Tas, (Crosses centre) She neither is of those, sweet cousin I 

Marg. No ? 

"What is she then ? 

Tas, One, gentle as thyself I 

Fair, too, as thou ; and hath, like thee, twin stars 
For eyes. 'Tis said, the king while in the chase, 
Did suddenly surprize a milk-white doe, 
The which pursuing far beyond his followers, 
The doe became a woman, young and beautifiil ; 
And this is she. 

Marg. To whom I am to sing I 

Such does, I ween, are found 'neath every bush I 
L<et birds warble to them, for my music. 

Tas, My pretty Margaret, quickly now set forth ; 
I'U warrant me, tiiou'lt make thy fortune soon ; 
And then, I'll marry thee I 
Marg. Thou hast my hand. (Strikes him.) 

Riv. Out on thee, housewife ! — 'twere a proper match t 

Marg. Would'st have me wedva skillet ? 
'Twere quite as wise, as marry with a cook ! 

Riv. How came the king to hear that Madge's pipe 
Could cure the spleen ? 

Marg. Aye 1 how came that about ? 

Tas. Thus then, it was : our master cook came down 
Into the kitchen, with a dish untouched — 

* * A dish of peacocks' wings, I think it was, • 

* * Stew'd in pure burgundy — 'twas heart breaking 

** Such dish should be untouch'd, and so he sigh'd." 
And told us that the king's young mistress 
Was seiz'd of spleen, which no cook's art could cure : 
Whereat I said, how often> Margaret's voice 



10 WMr7«» [act I 

Had made 1x17 heart dancc^ Uke an eel i' the IH^,<i v. 
The rumour spread, be sure, from c<k^ to pa^/ . 
From page to king, and bade to me again* 
With order to conduct yon to the yseafiiu^^ 

Miv* 'Twas well deYis^d^ food TMseU(.te advance 
Thy kindred's interest. F^tbee;,. Ma^igi;^ make tiaste-r 
Thy hood and cithern ! ...,. , 

Mary. AbI mnst» I muat L.^1 '^ . ' {Sai 

Biv, Must I 'twill be thy ipal^ng-Hyiick I ^ \ \ 

Tas, Quick I lose no time 

Riv. Madge is no fool ; that muck I'll say^ lorinv, 
To waste sweet moments at the looking glass, 
O'er curb and bobbins, and wtefr f n p p et ' i rt i, • 
Yet eieanly ia she — smari— • , ^; •,- . , 

Td8, Andc9i^^,^i^l ., 

Beautiful Margaret 1 how I kMrj^hefi Uncle.l . , 
'Twere pity we too come not soon together ! {Sighs *)^ 

Riv. K-dA so tbfM »hait^boy4 wp» )w^, like a man, 
Not like a turnspil ( •. > . 

Taa, Uncle, throu'rl^rig^l/ 

I'll get me, unele, i' the Body Guar^ ;. . 
Tmufona my spit into am halberdyjofi^ , 
I'm not without ambition I — 'tis my iotble. 
As all shall shortly see, for Margaret's sake : 
Each smile of her's wiU make me talle^j^w, 
And smile she wiU, when I'ma^H^esdifgr l^^, . .^^ . 

Enter Margaret, wHk'h kooS Mf a ifikeimfn her htmi^ i. 

Marg, With hood and. citterj[](f^j^ith|g^^n^ 
Tas, Dideverhoodo'eirhi^soaweet^ll^^?' ^^^ 

Come, pretty falcon, perch upon my wrist f ' ' ( Tcuaen^ A?r vn) 

I'll guard thee well at couirt, be,|^^r^. I will I 

And brave I am, thougji 1^11 not firag 9it.^t4 

But let's away, or by my manhpod'^ ^^^f- / o ^ t c . 

The master cook wik baste me to the QQ9eV. ." ' , [Exf0i> 

SCENE llii-^^mTuk*iA^im^l,, ' 
Entet Trs Kin« 4Hi$d Editha. 

Kng. Still ever sighing f<M* thy native wd6d^' ' . • 
Thou silly mourner gaze around tny prison- 
How beautiful I how gay and bright it is^! 
** Flowers entwine its bars, soft minslreJsy ^ . .' ^\' 
" Rings through its domes^ its walls, with clo^'bf g(i!a, 
" Outshine the sun 1 '^ .. - . ^ ^ 

EditJia, Staiitisaprison! '*'- 

King. A heaii that lov'd thee less might <fraw yofntolti, 
And yield thee that, which stronger love rfehies— ^''' " ^ 
Liberty ! — and tiien would'st thoii fly awa^^ ♦•• " \'^ ^ 

Editf I had a linnet, once'; ain-«ttysaiigsterVt^ 1 " 
At least it was so , in the foriest , ef e ' ' \ , /. '^ 

He, who but liv'd to please my Vfeak desires, -*•-'*'•• 



SCfiNl III,] TTftftSL 11 

Brought the poor thmg a captive, in a cage. 
And hung it in my lattice, while t slept — 
Oh ! how I fed> caressed, and kmsd tiiat bM! 
But stiJl it pined away, and its glad song. 
So blithe while free, became so mournM tad, 
That moved to pity, I unclosed its bars, 
And let my prisoner tbrth. I see it now I 
With what a bound it tanlted into dir, 
As its whole nature claimed affinity 
With that light element I 

King. Thou'dst be that bird— 

To quit, unkind, thy cage? 

Edit. No ; wonid I not: 

Lest, like the bird, I did return again ! 
But hear the sequel of my story — ^mark 1 
I listened for the note of happy gratitude ; 
For liberty, restored; when, presen^y, 
A faint small cry of terror met mine ear-^ 
I looked towards the wood, and, lo 1 my bifd, 
Shorn of its brightest plumes— ihitt*ring-— bleeding- 
Pursued by its companions, who disdained 
A wretch, that slavery's brand had marked, 
Back to its prison for protection flew, 
Nestling for safety in its gaoler's bosom, 
And there the ilutterer died ! 

King. I'll lift thee so above the dross of earth, 
That queens tbemselTcs, wives of anointed kings. 
Shall curse the fates, who made them less than thoa. 

Edit. Give me no titles ; honors, I despise! 
At least, such honors as attend me here* 
The lightning of these jeweb blinds my senses : 
A peasant maid should be a peasant's mate: 
In gilded courts, she's but a spot i'th' sun : 
I feel, I know, too late, my wretchedness I 
For, oh ! thisheart was never formed to glow 
With dreams of grandeur ; titles charm not me ; 
Saving the joyous one of May-queen 1 — that, 
Indeed, I own, was my delight ! — ^my throne, 
A hawthorn bower ; my septre radiant. 
Of new pluck'd cowslips, gemmed wi^ morning dew. 
Such smiling subjects ! — sweet remembrance I — ^mine 
Was a happy reign ; I weep, to think on't f 

King, Child that thou art, ££tha, thus to mourn 
The broken baubles of thy folly's spring ! 

Out on diese teardrops; gentleness like thine, , i 

Needs never fear the tempest o'er life's brook. 
Thou bend'st thy wiHowc^ head, so miidty down, 

To drink of sorrow that the shaft of doom "1 

O'ershoots thy boughs, and joy's returning oalm, | 

Decks thee in greener garlands^-Weep no more. 



]2 WALTEV. [act 

Elite Hubert, l. 

Hub. Sire ! the minstrel maid thou bad'st attendi 
Waits in the ante-room. 

Edit. What minstrel maid ? 

het me not look on any woman's face. 
Whose gaze might turn despair into my soul. 

King. Calm thee, Editha ! — Hubert, bid the minstrd 
Give us a prelude of her skill. 

Hid), Advance ! 

Enter Margaret, trembling, l. 
King. Damsel, fear nothing : with thy music speed. 

Air. — Mar'garrt. 

Though red be the berries of merry Malwood, 
When boughs are all wreathed in snow-— 

More red are the lips of my beautiful love, 
And white as the snow is her brow : 

She's modest and mild, as the meek primrose, 
Which closeth its lids to the day — 

Her breath is more sweet than the violet, 
Or the silvery-tufted May. 

I'm far from the bowers of merry Malwood, 

My home is the battle field ; 
But Hope, in the form of my beautiful msidf 

Beams bright on my sword and shield ! 
Of glory enough, I'll fly to my love, 
She'll weep but to see me appear — 
As welcometh dawn the young violet. 
Through a silvery-shining tear. 
King, Where learned you, girl, that song ? 

Edit. It is not Saxon measure. 
Marg, Lady, no : 

At least, I learned it of a Norman soldier. 
Who was himself the minstrel and the poet. 

King. Indeed I so skilled a bard, should wear a name- 
How called they him ? 

Marg. Walter Tyrrel. ♦ 

Edit, Heaven t 

King. Editha I 

Ed^, A sudden pang — a tremor, 

Came o'er my heart, this instant — ^it is gone. 

King. The music hath disturbed thee ! There is gold 
Maiden — ^go ! 

Edit. I pray you, bid her tarry : 

Her simple manners better suit my fancy, 
Than the high bearing of the hand-maidens. 
Who tend upon me, here — 

King^ Have thy desire: this damsel be thy servant I 



SCEinR III.] TTRRBL 13 

And Syren, if thou know'st a soug so sweet. 

To light the faded smile upon those lips, 

The lark, which heralds in the virgin day, 

Shall win less favor of the husbandman. 

Than thou in kingly halls ! Loved Editha ! 

Meet we soon again I — ^in smiles, remember ! 

Farewell ! I'm waited for, in council. V^^^t ^'^'^ <^* 

Edit. Now, oh ! maiden, answer me, at once — 
Of that young soldier — ^Walter Tyrrel — ^tcU me — 
Is he alive ? 

Marg. He is — 

And near these walls. 
Was last m^tA seen — 

Edit, Thou'rt sure his name was Walter Tyrrel ?— sure ? 

Marg, He so called himself. 

Edit, A man, lll'favored — 

Was he not ? and one of rude discourse ? 

Marg. The contrary, fiur lady, of all this. 
Comely his look, most courteous his speech — 

Edit, It was he !•— «nd he is here 1 — ^poor Walter I 
Her he'll seek, Editha, his first love ! yes, 
He'll seek for her, in vain — should he come hither, 
"Hs a fearful thought — oh, he will curse her 1 •' 

Maiden, could'st keep a secret, for a bribe ? 

Marg. Without a bribe, lady, were it a love secret. i 

Edit. It is so, then, of disappointed hope — 
To one, whose worth deserved a better fate 1 
This lock of hair, take thou ; and 'neath these walls, 
Should chance with Walter Tyrrel give ti^ee meeting- 
Yet trust not chance, seek him with all <fispatch. 
Tender this severed lock, and say to him, 
As this is sundered from her head that wore it. 
So she is now from thee cutoff, for ever \ 
As eanly rejoin this unto her brow, 
As her to thee again : therefore, good Walter, 
Forget the flower that in thine absence ikded. 
And pluck some other from a fairer boughs- 
Wilt do my bidding ? 

Marg. Faithfully, I will 1 

E<Ut. And not a word betray ? 

Marg. No; not a word! 

Edit. ' Come with me in ; I'll tell thee more, anon : 
And thou shalt whisper me, of Walter ^^rrrel. 
But, oh ! so softly speak, that on the wall 
No murmur tell the name thouutterest. 
Lest it be writ in blood. Hush ! hush 1 — observed 
We are ! — thy cithern to my chamber ! — come 1 [Exeunt^ tu 

SCENE IV.— ^ view^ near the Tower, 
Enter Walter and Robert, r. {JiastHy) meeting Tx^s^h, !*» 
Wait. Friend, what means that outcry ? listen ! listen i 






14 WALTER [act I 

Tas. Tis strange! thoalook'st a soldier — ^yet, know'stnot 
Rtdeth the King to Westminster new Hall. 

iValf. Westminster !-~^lMdes not the court at Malwood ? 
Tas. At least, not now. But I've no time to waste 
In idle gossip ! no 

I cannot tarry — 
Why thus detain me from affairs of state? 

Rob, What be the affairs of state thy presence lack? 
I trust they prove not vital. 

Tas, There, thou'rt wrong ! 

For they be vital to the vital part — 
The stomach I — seven standing crusts I've set 
Into my oven ; while I'm prating here, 
Merely to answer yon, they'll be all charcoal ; 
And I, delaying, strangled on the hearth. 
With the kitchen-towel — ^and all this tragedy 
To pleasure you. 

Bob. To pleasure us, thou'dst go. 

Taa. The thankless cur ! — after I've served him np^ 
A dish of tidings, Ht to feast a bishop. {A mn) 

Good patience, what was that ? 

Why, as I live, 
Yon scaffold, where the mystery is acting. 
Hath strangely tumbled, devils and saints together I"— 
Gramercy, what a hash ! — ^was e'er the like? 
And see ; a horse hath taken fright — see, see. 

IValt, They cannot stay that steed, whose stately rider 
No longer bears himself upon the saddle — 
Hb foot is, by the stirrup, dragged along ; 
Ten paces more, and over yoncl»r terrace 
That rider is a corse I {RusA^s qff^, followed 5y RoJinT.J 

Tas. Why wha* i desperate grojp the fellow hath 
To throw hiixiself, at once, upon the rein 
Of that mad steed !•*— I could'nt have better done't. 
The man, too, saved ! — St. Dunstan, 'tis the king I 
Now, what a fool wa^ I, who thus stood gaping 
That might, myself, have saved his majesty, 
I'll never gape again. I'll run, at once, 
And tell the news to all the scullions round I 
*Tl8 something to be iirst, in great afiairs. [^'''' 

SCENE Y.-^Tke HaU of Westminster, On l., a tkroae.t.'i 

banqueting tahh^ H^hted, ^. 

£nter Servants , arranging the things — thent TA8Wta»i 

Margabet, 

Taa. I tdl ye, itWM i, did asvttthe idng! / 

AU, Ha I ha ! ha ! ' 

Taw. {Mocking.) Ha 1 ha I ha I 

Tes, ha ! ha ! ha ! is mighty easy sport ; 

And much less difficult, than save a king! 

Yet that did I, I'll prove it by the nile-^ 



;•» 



8CENB V. TTSRKL. 15> 

As how ? why, thus ! — ^had I not, in diaooane^ 
Detained the youth hard by the very spot. 
Would he have been at hand to waxe the rein f 
Certes, he wonld not 1 — ^Ergo, I'm the cause ; 
The first cause, and the origin, i'iaith, 
And weU deserve a km^thood. 

Marg, Who is he. 

Did save the king ? 

Tas. Oh t some low-bom upstart! 
Not one of us, the royal househiM men. 
Worthy to be advancol. (^Music^ 

Bustlel bustle I 
See — the tables served — ^the king approaches I 

Marg, Comes his preserver with him ? 

Tas. Aye ! no doubt. 

And thou shalt note witii what assurance, he 
Will wear the laurels, fitted for this brow I 
Anon ; vaj turn will efaanoe, though i'this wbrld 
It seems, the scum be ever uppermost \ 
I swear, I'll get me made a halberdier. 
Then, I must be noticed and promoted. {JAtme^ 

Enter Tins King, Prince Henrt, Court, &c, 

King, Where's this brave youth, who, unrestrained by Ibar^ 
Stay'd with transfixing grasp our courser's speed, 
You said, he was a soldier 1 

Heuj Aye, my liege. 

King, I'm glad to learn it : I can best fwomote 
A soldier's weal ; 
Why seeks he not the presence ? 

Hen, 'Tis his fault. 

I bade him gird him in a suitlier robe, — 
Whereat he stoutly swore, by hxkj Paul, 
He^d don no better garb on such occasion, 
Tlian the bruised armour, worn at Michaid'a mount ; 
''The gear," quoth he, " that's weU to ssve a king 
Is well enough, methinks, to greet a king." 

King, Ha! ha! 

Why here's a fellow for a king to love 
A free and independent subject, too I 
With so much loyalty as peiffs life* 
To save his king, ne'erless ; quick I bring him in. 
E'en in the humour, or the garb, thai suits. 

Mmer Ttrrrl. 

Welcome, Sir ! 
We owe to you, our hfc ! — the stats, its monarekt 
What wilt, in return ? 

Walt, Redress t 

King, Redress I 

Wlio hath done thee wrong ? 

1^2^. He^OatdevmylattMr 



r 



16 WALTER [aCTL 

King, His name? 

Walt, I know not, yet — 

King, Your father ! was he Saxon ? 

Walt, No ! of France was he : my mother, Saxon; 
In whose good right my father, as of yore, 
Pursued the deer at Malwood — ^and for this 
Robbed they thy truest subject of his eyes. 

King. Call you that, murder ? 

Walt. Sir, the law hath said, 

'' Who sheds man's blood, by man his blood be shed/' (Rni^u 

Great King, redress ! 
If I have done thee service, give me up 
The assassin of my father 1 — ^blade to blade, 
I will dispute the life he entertains, 
And heaven defend the right ! 

King, What is thy name ? 

Walt. Walter Tyrrel I 

King. Liv'dst thou in the forest ? 

Walt. Saving of two years past, in Brittany ; 
And one campaign with thee. Oh, king, redress ! 
"My father's bones cry from their grave — redress I 

King. Enquiries shall be made for the offender^ 
And much as may be, the offence requited. 

Walt. Death for death ! 

King. We'll speak of this, to morrow t 

'' Not but I'd have thee be discreet, and bury 
The memory of thy wrong, in living honors. 
The sun that settetii fair, may rise in storms- 
Waste not to-day upon to-morrow's hope, 
Lest, at the portal, thou be' found at noon 
Not yet astir, while others win the chase." 

Walt. Wilt thou not hear ? 

King. No more than this I Rise up, Sir Walter Tyrrel, C^f^X 
Our almoner shall pay thee marks enough, ^)\ 

To bear thee as ti gentleman, I 

—Ho ! music ! (^^^ 

Drink to Sir Walter Tyrrel : t'would rejoice 
His father in his grave, to hear that pledge, ^ 

By kingly lips conferred I. {All rise and dr'm^i 

All Sir Walter Tyrrel ! 

Walt. {Half distracted.) Thanks, sire! and nobles, all M 
poor, poor brain ! 
Whirls with excess of — {Aside.) misery I To me 
Honors ! — ^what are they ? — rose leaves round a cankeri 
Covering, not assuaging. 

Kifig. Serve the banquet ! 

Music ! more music ! — quick ! begin the dance. 
{Exeunt King, 4rc., u. e. l.) 

Enter Robert u. e.l. 

Rob. That lady !— ^the king's young lovely mistress 1 
Walt. What's loveliness to me, whose weary life 



8CSNE ▼.) TTRRSL. 17 

Is but the shadow on the dial plate — 
Doomed to one end, and darkest still in light. 
Robert, fiurewell ! 

Rob. I pray you, Walter, stay 1 

See where the this way moveth — ^Walter, see ! 
Tis adiTinity 1 {Drawing him towards Editha, who is seated A.) 

Walt. "Tis Editha ! 

Do my eyes deceive me, — ^is this frenzy ? 

Rob. Say'st thou— 

Walt. "Hs she, that was my loTe— oh, God ! 
Glittering in the raiment of a wanton. 
Robert, I'll snatch her from this infiuny, 
And with the loud groans of a broken heart, 
Wake her from hell's delusion. 

Rob. (Detaining him.) Madman, stay — 
Would*st have the charge of murder on thy soul ? 
Thou that would'st so for murder be avenged ! 
'Twould kill thy mistress, thus to meet her sight-^ 
Furious, and unlooked for. 

Wall. Killher? hat hal ha! 

She hath outlived an hundred deaths in this I 
Yet, yet methinks, I trace upon that brow 
A thread which anguish braids, 'mid strings of pearl I 
Those eyes, though bright appear, as they could weep. 
As dew-drops faXL from stars, seeming all fire-~ 
Take me away I — I shall forgive her, else I 
My breat is still too human-7-take me away I 
From pitying, or from cursing, lead me hence ! 

(^As he is going qff, l. Margarst meets him,) 

Marg. It is the samel die self-same Walter Tyrrel I (Crosse* 
to Editha.) 

Edit. (Starting at the sound.) That name ! that form !— He ! . 

{She utters a cry and falls,) 

Walt. So young I so frail ! — ^be this the atoning hour ? 
Knclasp her, death, in thy transfixing arms ; 
Let her not wake, till, in a better world, 
Her soul hath cast away perdition's garment. 
And clothed itself in the pure majesty 
Of immortality ! — there will I seek her, death. 
The bridegroom of the grave. (He rushes qffj i,.^ followed 6y 

Robert and Margaret, — as Thb King re-enters AasfzY^yT.E.L.^ 

and supports Editha, ^c. 



ACT II. 

SCENE l.—Enterior qf Westminster HaU. 
Enter Walter and Margaret, l. 

Marg. Aye, such was her discourse. 
Walt. And she bade thee 

Repeat those words to me ? c 



18 WALTER [act II, 

Mary, Those very words. 

Walt, And from her brow, her own fair brow, wh^re once 
Honor and love resplendent shone, she severed 
Tliis golden lock to send it me ? 

Mary, She did — 

By holy mother, much it grieves me, Walter, 
That I should thus grieve thee ; but her sad tears 
Were gems, that won me sadly to her purpose^-^ 
Having none else within whose tmsty heait 
She might confide tiie errajid of her woe. 

Walt, {Looking at the lock of hair,) As tbott art sew'd froi 
the brow that wore thee 
So she from me is sunder'd now, for ever ! 

No wedged gold, 
Locked 1' the miser's adamantine bosom, 
Shall more securely rest, than this in mine ! 
Meet no more — Editha — said she, never ? 

Marg, Comfort thee, Walter ! — ^time will heal thy grief, 
And thou may'st meet with one whose purer love 

Walt. Speak not so, I pray, young girl, be silent I 
liOve is no merchandize that we can barter. 
Or purchase, or transfer—^ 
Love is a portion of ourB^ves, otir blood, 
Which, flowing forth, we die, as clouds 
Rain themselves to nothing. 

Marg, Woe the while— 

Walt, You pity me, and weep, I am unhappy. 
If there did come, this night, with silent step, 
A youth, whose breast were all made up of storms, 
Would'st thou, hope's chalice in thy gentle hand, 
Deny its balm to stUl the waves of anguish ? 
For I am he, that am so woe begone ; 
And thou art she, that 'twixt me and my love, 
Barrest hope's door. 

Marg, Out on thee, Walter I 

I deserve not this. 

Walt, Thou guard'st the door 'twixt me and my Editfaa % 
Hear me then Margaret ! — hear me ! 
What hour the curfew rings the knell of day, 
Will I, by cunning stealth, and unobserved, 
Approach the chamber, wherein poor Editha 
Chaineth her soul unto perdition's car. 
And never monk shall counsel her, as I, 
To break the bonds of an eternal death. 
Aid me then, Mai^^aret, in this holy purpose, 
And saints on high will register the deed ! 
Marg. I dare not, Walter ! No! 

For at the portal, 
A guard is set, to question all that pass — 
And the king — ^he — 

WaU. The king. to>night, attends 

A solemn council. 



0CKNB II.) TlfRRKL. 19 

Margaret, all is fair — 
The time and chance agree. 

Marff. All I can, I will ; be sure of that^- {Huting^y 

At the eighth hour — whjt what a thought is this! 
At the eighth hour, 'tis solemnly believed, 
The ghost of the last king, the conqueror, WiUiam> 
Walks in yon gallery, to comit the bell 
Toll curfew — ^tihen gUKtd, and serf, and vassal, 
Steal from the spot, to cross and bless themselves. 
Had'st thou the courage, now, to play the spectre, 
I^d bring thee, from the armoury, a casqufr-** 
A mantle, too, worn by the king of yore. 
And place them by the fountain, 8ecretly~- 
Thoud'st put them on ? 

Walt. Be sure of that. 

Marff. O, calm those troubled looks. 

Walt. With the first sound of curfew — ? 

Marff. With the first — 

I swear upon this cross I will not fail. 

Go now away — 
I fear we are observed — lEait» 

Walt J Yes, my £ditha, we shall meet agun ! 
I'll snatch thee from perdition, yet, I will ; 
Come quickly night — eome brain appeasing night, 
Conceal me in tiiy mantle for my soul 
Sick — sick ! — and all a- weary of the day — 
Yeameth but for thee — O, come, ni^ht, come ? lExit. 

SCENB II. — An ante'-room. 
Enter Tassel, folhwinff Margarbt. 

Marff. So — get thee gone I 

I bade thee never speak of love, again — 
At least, to me — 

Tas. Nor do I, for myself; 

But for a soldier, young, and brave, and handsome. 

Marff. {JoyftiUy.) The saucy knave 1 — I marvel at his boldness I 

Tas, Bight, right, good coz. — I'll chide him hence, at once. 
And say, thou bad'st me — {Gohtff*} 

Marff. Nay, nay — ^not so fast ! 

A soldier, in these jarring times, gadsooth ! 
Is no man to dispute with : he*a a friend — 
Especially to woman, who, poor soul. 
Frail woodbine, that she is, hath still discretion 
To cling, for succour, round the strongest tree. 

Tas. Cousin, Til be that tree, an' thou, my woodbine — 
Cling here, sweet flower. 

Marff. Out on thee, sirrah ! — else. III bid yon soldier 
Lop thy vain branches I thus to do his bidding. 

Tas. Look on yon dial, by the sun it worketh— » 



dO WALTER [act II 

And, ere time's serpent, with rapacioiis jaw. 
Hath swallovi^ him ten golden minutes up, 
I'll Rend thy suitor to thee. lExU u 

Marg. Now, what portends all this ? A soldier ? bah ? 
A soldier, and afraid 

To speak his mind ! {Look9 at dial ^) 

Only a minute I — what a snail is time, 
Crawling on thus : the sun stands still,, to-day^ 
No ! — ^there's another minute ! Gallop, sun ! 
Else night will come, and thou not couch on earth — 
Eight minutes more— and then, the Tiigin thanks I — 
Another gone ! Come, soldier, to my feet ! 

Enter Tassel, h, as a halberdier — kneeling as she watches ike diA 

Tas. Turn, vanquisher! where low the captured kneels, 
And break, at once, his chains. 

Marg, What sight is this ? 

Tassel, a halberdier ? 

Tas, (Risitig.) Marry, yesf 

Promoted from the kitchen, to the staff; 

Am I not a soldier, lady love ? (StrtOtiMg.) 

Come, pretty woodbine, twine thy tendrils round me^ . 
Shew thy discretion ! — ^in these jarring times. 
Remember, coz., your soldier is a friend — 
Especially, to woman I (Laugki,) 

Marg. Mummer 1 hence! 

Tas, Mummer, am I none ? — and that I'll prove! 
My uncle's suit hath won me this estate ; 
Tassel, the cook, is Tassel halberdier — 
A man at arms — ^the keeper of this door. 

Marg, Thou hast not wit enough, to be the fool ; 
Thou, guard a door. A scarecrow Tthe com, 
Bestuffed with straw, I'll swear me, hath more courage! 
I'd with my distaff rout an army such ! 
Ha ! a soldier ! — 
Mercy ! — what a soldier ! [EriY, laughing B. 

Tas, Spite! spite! 

Shrew ! — I'll run and call her names — ^No, I'll not 1 
I'll tell her father — 'tis petty treason — 
Call me, i'the king's service, a fool's fool ! 
I'll have her gagged for this, i'the ducking chair! 
Nothing's too bad for her I I'll get her set 
To do some penance, in St. Swithin's church, 
In a white sheet — a taper in each hand — 
Or, better still — I'll throw myself away, 
Upon some other, fairer far than she : 
And, when I've wed — a wife, that knows who's who--- 
I'd like to ask who will be fool's fool, then ? lExU u 



,,4i 



8CENF. IV.] TTRREL. 21' 

SCENE lY.-^il royal apartment, wiUi archway onK, e., a door^ 

another t. e. l. near it, leading to cm armoury, with arms SfCf 

visible through a window, lamp from the ceiling, A door r. 

RiUer Mabgaret, cautiously, c. 

(Cuifew tolls.) 
Marg It is the hour ! — and, lo ! the spirit walketii. 
I'm all afraid, lest the true ghost it be. 

Enter Wai.tsr, in mantle and casque, 
Walt. Fear nofhing, Maqjaret; all hath answered braTely 1 

(Taking qff easquey and placing it on tablet &•) 
Marg, Vm. glad to see iiij face ! — my heart misgave me— 

Enter Tassel, c. 

Tas, Margaret, coaTersiDg with the ^ost ! — ^that's strange I 

Walt. ThatToioe! {Drawing cowl over his face.) 

Marg. 'Tls Tassel's ! aid me, woman*s wit ! 
Follow, holy Fkiar. 

(Tassel, his halberd in his hand, comes forwardf passing hit haU 

berd across the doorway, r.) 

Tas, Not so fast, I begl 

I am the halberdier of this same door ; 
A man in office, and I know my duty ! 
But how know I, this friar be a fnar ? 

Walt, (l.) Fellow t back ! 
Had'st thou the strength of ocean in thy Umbs, 
rd breast thee, thns : for I must swim or drown, 
In the stem peril of the moment — hence ! 

Marg. (c.) A pretty halberdier, indeed, thou art ! 
ru beg his reverence, when my lady's shiieved, 
He give thee absolution. 

Tas, Absolution! (Peeping at Wautek.} 

Sure, I should know that face I. Your covered cUsh, 
'Scapeth not me, ho ! 
I'll ahum the watch. (froing, c.) 

Walter, {Seizing halberd,) A step, or half a step, this hal* 
herd's point 
Shall fix thine abject corse ta yonder door. 

Tas. Sirrah! knuwestthou, 

I'm i'the king's service ? 

Walt, " Pity, such vile curs 

Should e'er be found, to bark out honest heels, 
E'en from, the courts of kings :" into this kennel [t. b. r.) 

Dog 1— or, by St. Paul, I'll nuur thy yelping. {Drives him in ,doorf 
Be still as death, and see thou stir net, once 
Nor place thine ear against the key hole, there. 
To catch one word — ^this halberd be the key. 
To lock the secret in thy bosom up ! 

Marg. 'Tis herself— 

I'U watch, without. ISxU o. 



^ 



'22 WALTER f ACT II. 

Walt. That step, so light of old, 

One tearoe beliflred it mortal, dings to earth. 
As though a leaden aomm held it down: 
That eye, the matin light, where e'er she eaae— 
That voice, the melody of morning birds** 
Both, both, are changed! — ^for, lo ! she weeps, and talki 
To Taeancy, making the air her confidant. 

Enter Editha, (Abstracted.) 

Edit, Memory ! 

Why, with these thorny roses, twine my heart? 

This coil should be a serpent: this, a sting; 

But that the honey of remembered bliss 

Tempers the venom, idiidi would else destroy. 

And mar, the great work of God's crucible. 

Remorse ! — ^Thou here, holy friar 1 — comfort ! (She kned^-ie 

lifts up his clasped hands, in henefyM\ 

Stay ! — do not bless me ; I deserve it not 1 
Oh, no ! — a peijured heart defies all blessings-^ 

But teach me, by what penance, or infliction — 

By what pilgrimage — ^In what desert sand — 

Digging, with these false hands, my lonely grave, 

I may find hope, with music-breathing voice. 

To solace roy last hour ? 

WaU. Editha 1 

Edit. [Rising hastily.) That accent ! — ^let me hence — 
Walt. {Detaining her.) Editha, no ! 
'Thou shalt not fly me, so I — a word, one word f 

I come not to reproach thee — stay ! 
Edit, My story — 

Hear my story ! — ^I was mad--deluded ! 

And he that won me from my better love, 

His sword defended me, a Saxon maid, 

When Norman rufiians crossed my forest path— 

Thou would'st have blessed him, for that deed, O, Walter t 

Andl— 

Walt. Thou paid'st him with a heart, not tfainel 

But mine — mine ! — ^thou swor'st it, ere we parted — 
Edit, And do so still I — I was deceived, betrayed ? 
By thankfulness, and what soft magic, else, 
I cannot tell : he nothing breathed of love, 
Though oft we met, — ^for I had said how Walter, 
When from the battle field he should return, 
Would bless the hand that saved Editha's honor. 
Scornful of thanks, he never sought our cottage; 
But still, by accident, was ever near. 
Last time we met, he came not then alone — y 

I had esci^ed, but, lo ! the snare entwined mel ' ^ 
Seized by a bimd of hunters, reason fled ; 
Recovering which, was here, to find mysdf 
The inmate of a palace : lost, defenoeless ; 



8C^NE IV.] TTRRSI.. 9t 

Mypreflerrer— ^my oetraver — BngUnd'tldngl . 
Curse me not Walter ; oiaUwomeiiyl 
Am most unfortunate — am moat deapauing« 

Walt. Corse thee ? Not I ! The merchant, when he ims 
His argosy go down into the deep» 
Cursetii not it, but, on the greedy wave 
Pou^ the fidl phial of his hitter wrath, — 

Edit. Walter! Walter I 

Escape the peril of thy staying here I 
For thee, there is a road of glory still^ 
Honor and ftme ; and every princely gift 
Of rank and wealth I Go! go! Forget Editha— 
Forget that we have lov*d^ happier lot 
Awaits thee I A bright, a bright to-morrow I 

Walt, Editha, no I for me their is no morrow,— 
I will not live npon the rainbow hope : 
Editha^ wilt thou quick depart this place ? 
It is thy hell I Come, I'll conduct thee forth. 

Edit. Oh ! Not with thee I — the plagua spot in my hand 
As from the wounded hart flieth the herd. 
Fly thou from me ; there's peril in my step s 
To die, myself, were nothing ; but to die 
Thy murd*ress, were to crush my soul I 

Walt. I came not hither to depart alone : 
Wreck'd vessel as thou art, this faithful hand 
Would tow thee stiU ashore — ^not for the love 
"Which is, but for the love that was, bygone^- 
Thy father 

Edit. Mercy ! 

Walt. Yes, thy father was 

A Saxon soldier ; brave and honorable ; 
Fighting his country's battles, on the field 
He nobly fell ! His last prayer was for theet 
Think then, Editha, if that gallant spirit 
Might be permitted to behold thee thus. 
His mould'ring bones would spring out of their grayet 
To curse tke child he pray'd for ! 

Edit. {Shuddering,) Horror! horror! 
Methinks I hear his malediction now ! 

Walt. When that father 

Left thee an orphan — ^who befriended thee ? 
My home was thy home — ^my parents, thy parents ! 
They lov'd thee as their own ; as thou lov'dst them ! 
Yet they are gone, or desolate ; their hearth 
Which fost'rd thee, one pile of smouldering ashes ; 
And all this misery is his decree, 
For whom thou deck'st thy brow in wreathed smiles ! 

Edit. Oh ! did'st thou see the wound within my hMurt^ 
How deep and cureless, thoiiwonld'8tnot---iio, B0,-» 
Thou could'stnot tear ittiuis! 

Walt. If thou say'st tr^e 

Why hesitate to fly this laaar hou^e I . , . 



34 VALTEE ACTIL 

The hardest rock that ever braT*d the stOfA, 
If thou say'st tnie, were softer to thy head 
Hian aU the silken pillows of these halls I 
I fed on earth our hearts can link no more- 
Bat come, I'll guide thee to a shrine so sacred, 
Angeb themselvesshaU listen to hear thy story; 
And while recording saints attest its wrong, 
Soft pity's tear will wash away the fault, 
And blot the page that registers against thee. 

Edit. Can such hopes live ? Away then let as go. (EteeoUmg,) 
Ok, heaven ! I hear a footstep — thou art lost ! 

Enter Maroarbt hasHiy, c. 

Marg. Alas ! the king returns I Good Walter, benot* 
Into this armoury, till all be safe, 

Walt. {To Edit.) Thou'lt come to me again ? 

Edit. I will! Iwill! 

Walt, And quit the place ? 

Edit. But save thyself — I will ! 

ITa/^ Enough. I'm gone I {He enters the armoury t. e.l.) 

Edit. Support me, Margaret, or I sink, o'ercome ! 
lExit Editha, supportedhy Margaret, r., as The Sjlng enkn 
at back, attended by Friar Paul, and Guard, Paul uearsa 
cloak and cowl exactly like Walter's. 

JCing. This way, unguarded ? Idstl what sound was that ? 

Tas. (Knocks, and speaks withoutT,!!:,) Unfast the door ; — help ; 
treason; murder; help. 

Kinp, Treason and murder !^-quick, withdraw yon bolt! 
{Tkey open the door, Tassel enters, door t.e.r.) 
Thou, sirrah !— Speak I 

Tas. (r.) Oh ! mighty King ; your pardon. 

Plots are at work— treachery is brewing — 
That wicked monk ; {Points to Paul.) in yonder prison locked ne* 
At peril of mine own halberd — naughty monk : 
That no monk art — no ! he's a wolf, my liege ; 
Off with his sheep's clothing. 

Paul.{h.) {Dropping liis cowl.) Halberdier! 

Tas. Amazed, I am. 

King. The knave is mad, or drunk. 

Go, place him in the stocks, till four at mom, 
To freeze, or sleep away these swinish fumes. 

Tas. Hear me, O, kmg ;— the monk is not a monk, 
Although he be — ( They force him qfi) 

King. ^ Away, degenerate hound 1 

Now, Where's Editha ? {Going.) Whence that harried foot? 
Walter Tyrrel here. 

Enter Waltsr, door t. b. l. hastily, without the mantlef uM « 

air distractedr^ie has a quioeirfiUed with arrows, m hishmd, wkk^ 

he examines with great agitatkm^ 

Walt, (l.) Alike! the same— t 

The very cypher on this arrow-graven ! 



SCENE IV TVRREL. 2& 

Heaven speaks in this I — ^Vengeance, thou mighty king ; 
Vengeance for this I and I'll forgive all else — {KneelaJ) 

Kmg, Vengeance I — on whom ? 

Walt, My father's murderer ! 

King, Who is he ? Speak I 

Walt, To whom belongs this quiver ? 

King, It is mine. 

Walt, (Starting up,) Thou art the man I— 
Give me my father's eyes — ^his blood. 
A Saxon oath is registered on high — 
My father's blood, or thine ! 

King, Force him away I r . - 

WaU, Standoff! •*' 

Or, with this crimson point, Til strike him dead 
That stirs ! — King ! is this arrow thine ? 
1. hou darest not trust the answer to thy tongue — 
But on thy quailing cheek I see is writ, 
In characters that cannot be misread — 
Murderer'. I My father's bleeding spirit 
Howls in mine ear — " Behold the murderer !" 
Blood demandeth blood ; 
My father's blood, then, be upon thy head. 
My father's son avenges, thus, his death I 
(^Attempts to atrike The King — Guards arrest a7td detain him. 

King, Another instant — I'll not spare his life : 
Call up the headsman ; on yon battlements, 
The traitor dies. Yon moon shall not depart 
So soon as he ; — the axe ! the axe prepare ! 

Edit, {RuJthing on, l.) Mercy, mercy I — heart oh, hear 
Editha I 
He saved thy life, this morning ; spare thou his. 
Be merciful ! be just — ^this hour thou said'st, 
*^ Editha, ask of me whate'er thou wilt, 
'Tis thine." Thus, lowly at thy feet I fall. 
I kiss thy robe — I'll be thy Bnmblest slave- 
Spare me this man's life. 

King, (Raising her,) Enough ! he's free. 

Walt^ Editha 1 

Edit.' (Crosses to c.)Away! away! " 

Walt' {Reproachfully,) Thou say'st ifc— 
I knew thee not, tiU now 

Thou bid'st me hence, to tarry here with him — 
Oh, base ! perfidious ! ' / 

Aye ! clasp — clasp his hand ; 

"Ks well thou should'st do so— the murderer's hand — 
Thou I — ^there's blood upon it ! yes, accusing blood — 
The blood of Walter's father. 

(Editha With a ivild cry y releasing ^ herself from The Kino's 
grasp f remains torpid.) 
King, (l.) Hence, Editha. 

Walt, (Struggling.) Stay, tyrant I — thou that darest 
T« make of innocence a loathsome thing, c > 



2S VALTIE [act IQi 



And shed, as recUeitly, aan's gviltlew bkMd; 

The tnae will come, 

Tliy hand shall lack the pewer to reptl 

The circling raven, croaking thee to 

From thine doom's glaia a power, inviable* 

Draws back its blood-stained eiirtai»-«lo! — bdi«ld. 

Reft of thy ermin'd robe, thou liest, a corse. 

In some dark wilderness, uBMeii, forgot — {PouUg to EsiTBi.) 

And she is there, beside thee— •ereii there<^ 

Her image cold and ghastly, as thine oiwii — 

Thy fate, her fate ; — thy grave, her grave ! 

Out from mine eyes, grim visioii, out-Hsa more ! 

King ! we shall meet again I — I know it. 

Murderer 1 
We shall meet again— onoe more oace Biore I 
Thk Kino, half appaUidf yaxea aiktUiyott, and trembles keneaik 
the frenzied looks qf Waltmu Waltbk, wiU tUmoet oyer- 
humaJi fftrengthf resists the ^ffwrts tff ^ GvAABft to /ores him 
a/wayy tiU the condusion qf the speech^ 



ACT III. 

SCENE h^The Court qf Qutle Muheo<^,frvm wkick then it 

a flight qf steps , t. b. l. 

>TAfl8BL diseotered mtks stocks, x.. Hunters ancf Falcon us 
laughing ; Eustace and Nobles. 

Ewter Prince Henry, l. t. b. 

Prince. Take wages for your pains, my merry men. 
For those maidens, pay them with soft kisses. 
The day wears on, apac&-<-I marvel me, 
The king so late astir is — ^ah ! 
What knave art thou, thus early i' the stocks t {AU lemgh,) 

Tas, Fast by the heels, thou see'st ambition's fool : 
A fool that was a cook, would be a soldier — 
The spit brought honor, which the halberd lost. 
Every dog has his day ; I have had mine. 

Prince. What's thhie offence ? 

Tas, I am too honest, sir. 
To dwell with kings, or monks ; that's my offence. 

Prince. Peace, unholy knave I 
Or o'er hot ploughshares, barefoot must thou walk, 
Or penance do, with pebbles in thy boota. 

Tas. Here comes one, could tell, an' she would speak^ 
How wrong'd I am — and she's my cousin, too, 
But, like the sex, thus seeing me in straights, 
Will straightway turn aside: the stocks, your highnesHy 
Are mighty shutters out, of great relations. 



•CBNB I. TTEtn. 97 

Enter Maroasst fr«m Palace^ l. t. en. 

Marg, See, what I httve. 

Tcus My wHTtiit to be lumped f 
Oh I fool was 1 1 to touch on pofitioi. 

Marg. See \ I bring a wurrant of release. 

{Giving paprr to Princb.) 

F*rinc€, *T'a so, indeed I 
Good verier free the rogue. ( They release Tasskl— a/7 laHg?i . ) 

Tas. Gadso ! here's lock ! 
Thou art the very pasty of a coz ; 
What shall I do, to prove my gratitude ? 
Could'st eat a maunchet ? — such a one I'll m&ke, 
Kneaded in honey, sweet as are thy Hps. 

Enter a Pagb, l. t. B., artd speaks apart^ to the Prince, r. 

Marg. 1*11 set thee service, thou must quickly do— 
An errand to be run, with zeal and caro"- 
An' thou would'st keep my favor — this way — come— 
I'll tell it thee. 

(MtLsic. — i^^e beckons Tassel, they all exeunt , l. — except Painor 

and Page, 

I*rinC€. Said'st thou asleep ? 

Page, Aye, your highness — the king, like one aghast, 
Did gaze upon me, as I entered in, 
With eyes that seemed to see, yet saw me not. 

Prince. This is strange I 

Page. Behold, sir. where 
The king approacheth I 

Enter The King, (l. t. e.), pale and hurried. 

Prince, {Apart.) Whence that troubled look ? 

King. {Seeing Hunters.) This cavalcade ! — ^Brother, what 
dates the day. 

Prince. The second of the month ; 'tis Xiammas chase. 

King. I'll not hunt to-day. — Henry, not to-day 
Will I go hunt ; the elouds portend a storm. 

Prince. Pardon, your grace— the sky is one wide arch 
Of spotless blue ; calmer morning never 
I>id greet your going forth. I remember me. 
Last year it thundered ; so, ti^e year before— 
Tet, to the Lammas chase, iirst rode the king. 

King, Well, by and bye, I'll come — ^say — ^presently : 
My spirit needs repose. {Exeunt Prince, Humtbrs, &c.y R.) 

Enter Paul, (l.) 

Am^. Come hither, friar 1 A hideous waUdng-dream, 
Within this hour, did all my brain invade- 
As, in my chamber, waiting for my page, 
I sat, alone, methought the canopy 
Above my head, did seem like forest boughs^-* 



128 WALTBR [act 10. 

Thick-woven, yet, by forked lightnings pierced~- 

Lit by one flash, I gazed upon myse^, 

And, lo I a ghastly corse, this form appeared ; 

Then, from these veins burst forth the purple stream, 

Mixing its kingly tide with earthly dust ! 

Death's chilling grasp fell heavy on my throat, 

"Whereat a form unearthly rose beside me — 

The wasted form of that old sightless man. 

Who when I tore Editha from her home, 

Clung to my raiment — ^would have dragged me down, 

But for that arrow, from my quiver snatched, 

Which struck him dead. 

Paid. And ended so the dream ? 

King. Not so, indeed !— for, as this image passed, 
The howl of many wolves was in mine eai*s — 
Then, then, there hemmed me round, a grisly pack. 
Who slaked their burning tongues in the red blood— > 
And he was there — that boy, Walter Tjrrrel, 
Who, last night, sought my life ; withiu his grasp, 
I saw again that arrow so uplifted — 
Here, here it fell, deep hissing through my heart, 
Its shaft of winged lire, 

Paul. Gracious sir. 
Go not to the chase : of death take heed— 
Of cruel death, by violence enforced. 

King. Monk-~did'st, as I ordained. 
Bid me some one, of tinist, last night, pursue 
The steps of that same Walter T3rrrel ? 

Paul. Sir, 
I followed him, myself, and counselled him 
To tarry at the Malwood hermitage. 

King. TiU thou should'st bring him tidings of his love? 
So I told thee. 

Paul, E'en as your highness said, 
Did I. 

King. 'Twas well ; and wisely understood. 
This base half Saxon, and half Norman cur, 
Shalt thou, apostate to our faith, denounce 
Speed to my closet ; letters I'll indite 

To Peter the hermit— he shall do it 1 (Jiefiecii»9A 

I were not safe, an' Walter Tyrrel live ! 
Monk,come in. Exit (l. t. e.) fciUmed by PAOfc 

SCENE II. — An apartment j with a window to open* 
Enter Margaret l., looking out qf window R. 

Marg. What delays the chase ? not yet departed ? 
Goeth not forth the king ? And yet he doth— 
Or why that steed detained there, at the portal ? 
Ahl now he quits the palace ! {Bugle n. ) Lady ! ho I 
That sound proclaims the cavalcade is gone ! 



8CENB II. WALTER d9 

Enter Editha, r. simply dad. 

What garb is that ? 

Edit. The garb of innocence ! 
It was BO once ; its wearing cheers my heart, 
Kindling anew, tho' with a transient breath. 
The golden embers of expiring joy. 
Simplest of forest maids, thus clad was I, 
When he, that should have scorn' d me, pluck'd me horn. 
The bank whereon I grew, and placed me here, 
To wither in a clime, too bright ! too sunny ! 
The violet bloometh best beneath its leaves — 
In these sad garments, all of bliss remaining, 
Oh I let me to my native bowers again, 
j^nd die ! 

Marg. Gramercy ! no ! die, shalt thou not I 
But, with thy friends, live happy. 

EdU, Happy? Oh! 
For me, there is no joy like dying — ^none ! 
Give me to look upon my early home ; 
And close these tearful eyes, 'mongst Saxon friendfl^ 
'Tis all I ask — exp^ — entreat, no more. 
For thee, oh, Margaret 1 kind and generous maid> 
Who peril'st haply life to set me free— 
These jewels, given me by the king — 

Marg, No— no! 
I need no recompence, but conscience : 
To mitigate your woe, my sole desire — 
^'^ r: : *o live within your kind remembrance, 
■but, iu 1 our pilot cometh ! 

Enter Tassel, as a Mcn^j l. 

Holy father. 
Is all prepar'd ? 

Tas, Aye, pretty daughter, all I 
Here are the pilgrim weeds— quick ! throw them on I 
The coast lies clear — save, at the outer gate, 
A single sentinel — knowest the pass word ? 

Edit. ** Lammas-tide !*' And here I have the signet^ 
From the king's closet. 

Tas. That's the best of keys ! 
But bides no danger in this masquerading ? 

Marg. Tbink'st thou of danger, which I i^othing fear t 
^at heart, so faint e'er won a heart like mine ? 
Out on Ihee, coward ! 

Tas, I no coward am ! 
And that I'll prove, an' thou'lt requite me, Coz. 

Marg, Said I not, I would ? Be silent pray I 
^r I withdraw my promise. 

3"cs, Let's begone — 

^dit. (Crosses c.) Stay I to thy keeping, I these gems oonddey 
As Margaret's dowry — she a richer jewel 



30 TTEftK ACT 10. 



Than any here, tho' theae .be prinoely 

Nay, put them by, kind Margaret, not a word 1 

I'll have it so , or stay ! — 

Now speed we for the forest— <|aick<»iremember 

** Lammas tide/' 

Tas, fiammas tide ! ( The^foOaw Tiissu out l.) 

SCENE lll,^CIeai/¥BTKiithehennU,L. A rustic aUar,viih 
crucifix L. near it a rude chair on lohich are a robe and a (Mi 
Door at back l. opening into the forest. In a recess of the rock, &.,a 
bed qf moss, across which a tattered curtain is partiaBy drawn. Pi- 
ter the hermit discovered reading a letter ; Paul stavding near Mm. 

Peter, Thou accusest this man <^ heresy ? 

Paul. So writeth the king. 

Peter. Ah I I understand 1 
'' Advise/' means here, '* Perform "-—it must be done 1 
So get thee hence ; and humbly tell his grace. 
Peter the hermit shrinks not from the tesk. 

Paul. Farewell I (Aside,) Right glad am I, tobereleas'd 
From deed so fonl, and cruel I [Exit at boA, 

Peter (After placing Thib, KiifG*s letter in a missel onthe altar.) 
Sleeping still ! 
(Drawing aside the curtain he diseoversWALTBM asleq) on the id 

of moss,) 
A darker, deeper sleep, awaits him here— 
Since die he must, to please you tyrant king, 
From whose stem mandate tiieir is no redress ; 
The executioner must play his part. 

Walt, Editha! 

Peter, Ha ! he calls upon her name. 
Whose Saxon sorceries have tum'd the king. 
Of late, so much aside, and shed a scandal 
On the cause of Rome — 

Walt, Editha! let us hence! 
I will forswear my Norman blood and faith I 

Peter, Enough! enough! 
The subtle poison of this deadly cup, (Producing it.) 
Wrong from the leaves of pestilential herbs. 
Drain to thy Saxon gods ! 

Walt. (Awaking,) I parch! I bum I 

Peter, Here's that, will 'suage thy thirst«» 
Here's drink for thee ! ( Qffkring o^).) 

Walt. Thanks, friendly hermit, thanks 1 
But, tell me— tell me — hath not yet the friar, 
Witii promis'd tidings, hither sped ? 

Peter. Not he I 

Walt, {Comesforward,) No ! — How my wild brain beatoini 
throbs! 

Peter. That cup will swift compose thee— 

Walt, GKve it me, quickly, then-r (A scream heard c.) VW 
cry was that ? 



SCEiXB II. WALTER 31 

A woman's Toice ! and see 1 where tiiro the wood 

A female form amkstremblin; down! {Skuhet qff^e* and turns m.) 

Peter. {Placing cup on altar. ) I'm glad it chanoeth thus I 
Fate turns aside the blow — 'tis off my soul ! 
Oh, heaTcn! I thank tiieetiiat of this yontii's blood, 
At least, these hands are stainless ! j[Eant l. 

Re-enter Walter »• c, supporting in his arms Eoitha, her 
long hair conceals her features, as he places her in a cftair by ths 
altar (l. c.) 

Wait. Maiden, lol 
Danger now is pest — Great heaven ! Editha ! 
Good hermit, quick, some water 1 Is he gone 1 
Nay then, this wine — {Gives cup from aitar.) 
Tkon dost revive — 

Edit. I thank thee— yes 1— Walter t 

Wak. Nay, nay, Efiflia ! shriflik not from my gaze— 
These garments speak that even I have wrong'd See t 

£dit. Oh ! take me, take me to some place of refdgel 
Where I may tell thee all my anguish, Walter— 
My sufferings, and my firalt ! — where, on my knees, 
I may fall down before thine injnrie^^ 
Entreat forgiveness, and atoning die I 
And thou wilt dig me there, a quiet grave, 
Walter, wilt thou not ! and place me in it ? 
And no one, but thyself, shfdl ever know 
Where lost Editha, and her wrongs, repose. 

Walt. Rather I'll bear tiiee to some distant land, 
Thereshalt thou live, and Walter be thy servant ! 
I know a diff, which overhangs the deep, 
Where none, save desperate feet dare ever climb ; 
Yet being there, the eye looks grateful out. 
On floods of gold, and woods of waving green— 
The eagle in her eyrie, shall not be 
More safe from harm, than thou on that (air snmnat. 
I'll guard thee throuj^, the dawn, the day, flie nighfe-^ 
Bring thee the forest fruit — ^the ocean shell*-* 
I'll trim thy little garden with sweet flowers, 
AVhere thou shalt meditate, unwatehed, unseen*- 
And fflnk at eve, calm as the eve, to rest. 
Lulled by the melody of distant waves. 

Edit. Alas ! alas, what hopeless draam is this ? ^ 

But, list ! — I hear a footstep — save me, Walter ! 
The castle guards, from whom I fled, are near'— 
Hark l-— tiiis way they oame. 

Walt. Here, Editha, here I 
{She goes behind the curiam qf the recesss r, which he draws^ 
hastily, and puts on the cloak and hood, kneelingh^ore the akar, 99 
Hubert and Six Soldiers enter, (c. 
Hub. Hermit, tell us — passed there not, bnt now 
A female, through this door ? 



311 WALTEE [ACI OL 

Walt, None behold I ! none 1 
There— -and there— are other chambers— search around! 

TAei/ cJirunff (r. and l.) as Editha skews herself. 

Where stood my father's dwelling — quick \ — I'll follow— 
(S/te glides outf and he kneels^ as Hubert aiid Soldios 

return, (l. aTtd r.) 
Hub, None see we tlierc I (Drawing back curtain, (a. s. k.) 

Nor here I — search yonder glen. 

[Exit with SoLDiBRS, (i.) 
Walt, {Ris'uig hastily, the missal in his handj which he hat pn* 

tended to read, lets escape therefrom^ the king*s letter,) 

That way they wander, this way, she is gon&— 

I'll. follow — {Goes to replace book,) What hath fallen there? 
some creed? 

'Twere sacrilege to leave it on the earth — 

Amazement! — my name writ ! — a king's letter ? 

It warrants my destruction— *by poison ! 

Mighty power ! — that cup !— >what frightful doubt 

Bursts on my brain! — Editha ! where. 

Where art thou ? — I scarcely dare to follow — 

My brow is cold — Walter ! be a man ! 

Avenging lightnings never would permit, 

Even unwittingly performedi a deed 

So horrible ;— Editha ! [Exi c. 

SCENE IV. The heart of the Forest, thunder andlightmf. 
Enter Prince Henry a?id Hunters, (l.) 

Prince, Hillio ! there, hunters I who hath seen the king? 

1st. Hunter, Not I. 

2nd, Hunt. Nor I. 

Srrf. Hunt, Nor any here about ? 

Prince, I saw him half a mile before us all, 
When the last deer did from the covert break ; 
But when the storm came on, he disappeared, 
Nor have I since beheld him I Wind your horn I 
He'll hear it, and reply. {Horn sounded, (■•) 

No 1 not a sound I 
Take separate paths — ^the king will chide us for 
Neglect, I fear Let the whole forest with 
Your bugles ring I [Bueunt (&•) 

(The Kino speaks, without, (l. s. e.) Horn heati in the iit' 

tance, dying away,) 

King, Stay there my steed ! this bough uphold thy rein 1 
Deeper and darker grows the tangled wood. 

Enters, l. 

What zeal, intemperate, urged me thus outstrip 

My tardy followers ? — As I've lost the deer, 

So have I them ; they wander from me, still— (BuS^*) 

More distant, tuid more cligtant, flows yon strain I 



SCENE in.] TTKRELL 33 

My bugle broken, not one warning note {BuffkJ) 

Can give yon laggards notice where I roam. 

Now, the last tone is hushed ; not e'en echo 

Whispers me the way ! The fiend of thunder. 

Flashing his fearful torch above my path, 

Witb growling menaces, alone directs me : 

What reptile this, which glides across my foot, 

Soft as the tread of mischief? O'er my head, 

Why croaks that raven ? — Whence I ill-omened bird I 

Am I a child, to start, and tremble thus ! 

The fortunes of a king are not mere vapour, 

Nor writ in sand, for common destiny 

To blow, at once, away. — Hillio ! there ! ho! 

Methinks I see a cabin — ^A^Tio goes there ? 

Woodman, ho I a guide ! (Xhutider atid lightning^) lExil a. 

SCENE IV. — A Saxon cottage in ruins l. On k. is a spreading 
oak tree of unusual dimensions ^ on ita trunk is carved " Totheme-^ 
mory of the murdered Tyrrel .' " The hack scene represents a 
thick wood J with vivid lightening occasionally playing among ita 
branches, • 

Enter Editha, over a bridge, at back, c. pale and trembling^ her 
garments torn by briars, her hair dishevelled. 

Edit, Sick, sick to death I— my quailing heart 
Almost forgets to beat — courage ! courage I 
Dare I advance, and contemplate again. 
The changed scene of my once joyous days ? 
But, ah ! less changed than I ! Will not the eyes 
Which gaz'd on me, in kindness, and the voice, 
Sweet music to my childhood's happy ear, 
Conspire to curse me, now, a blighted thing. 
Whose fate unlucky dragg'd down all it loved, 
Into the vortex of its own destruction ? (Advances^) 

God ! what a sight is this ! — ^the peacefiil cabin, 
The smiling garden — all — all, desolate ! 
Where are the tender looks so often met, 
Here at this threshold ? Where the verdant flowers \ 
Trampled down all, and vdther'd, like myself, 
In one fell destiny I Walter I Walter ! 
Was this the soldier's welcome to his home 1 
And I — Oh, misery! oh, misery! {Leans against tree r. c. u. b. 
Thunder,) 

Enter Ghitha,/^o»i cottage l. u. e. mad, 

Ghi, {Comes down l.) WTiat wretch art thou, that wailest thro' 
In, in, with me ; we'll yield thee honest shelter — [tiie stona 

Yet stay an instant — comest thou from the king ? 
Or from his court ? If so, in lieu of welcome. 
We'll give thee curses ! {Bitterly.) Curses! 

Edit, {Falls at her feet.) Oh, mother ! 

Ghi. The grave hath not a voice — and yet, I heard 



34 WALTBIt ACT IH 

A 8ound 80 soft ! a broken hamioay, 

FlU'd by the chords of sweet remembruioe up, 

That my poor heart leapt from its bed of woe. 

And danced a moment, in the extacy 

Of gone-by days— *Why wakes it not again ? '^^Ustem^,) 

Edit. Oh I mother, pardon I — knowest thou not Editiia? 

Ghita. {Recoils.) Edithal— -one I knew, who wore audi oaae; 
But, serpent-like, she turned, and basely stung 
The heart, that fostered her from infancy : 
She fled a virtuous home— through bk>od, she fled! 
To ruin 1 to perdition I Oh, my husband ! 
Who thy destroyer, she alone might tell, 
Who sold herself, and thee, and me and all, 
The loi'c of my poor, poor boy 1— the wanton 1 
The gilded mistress of a cruel king I 
Malediction! (OonesB. 

Edit. Hear me, mother I — ^hear me I 
Despairing that I am, and broken hearted : 
As there are Saxon Gods, I nothing knew 
Of my dear father's death ; nor culpable 
Were my feet, to fly his dwelling — ^but, force— 
Oh 1 again this suffering strength forsakes me. [FnOi) 

Ghita. (Kneels behmd, and supports her,) I will not hsim thcf, 
pretty one-«»Iook np : 
Why is thy hand so eold?~-4rom thy closed eyes. 
Why gush those crystal drops? — ^now out— «Ias I 
Methought that I, alone, seemed bom to weep ; 
But I am old — at, least, in suffering, old— - 
While thou art young, and fair-- 4ind, on thy cheek. 
There should be roses yet— revive ! revive ; 
I'll warm thee, in my heart. 

Enter Walteh, over bridge. 

Walt. Mother I mother \ 

Ghita. Come hither, Wafter 1— know'st thou this pale child! 

Walt. Mother, aye?— it is Editha?— alas I 
This corse-like hue !— look up, Editha— «peak I 

Edit, (Reviving.) Walter I 

Walt. Thou knowest me I 
Banish the wild, wild terror of thy looks 1 
Harm cannot reach thee now— Editha, come-* 
To safety I'll convey thee. 

Edit. Walter, no I 
A surer safety than this earth can yield, 
Death's citidal from which none may escape, 
Awaits to circle me within its walls— 

Walt. She sinks I she dies ! 
Why did these parched lips not drain yon cup ? 
Poison how sweet, to such a sight as this. 

Edit. Said'st thou of poison t 

Walt. No, Editha, no ! 
I'm mad — ^bewildered 1— know not^hat I say. 

Edit. Walter, thou doat, and fear'st to tell it me. 



\i 



flCKNB !▼.] TTRREU 3^ 

Some poisoned cup it was, thou spokest of— > 
Was it tke cup of yonder kermitage ? 
By thy hand too conferred ; if so, Walter, 
Speak, speak the truth, expiring I'll forgive thee. 

Walt, What dark suspicion occupies thy soul ? 
Acquit me of a thought, so hideous—- 
That wine, I swear, was for myself intoided, 
A holy hermit's gift. 

Edit. I understand 1 
These agonies betray what thoud'st conceal— «■ 
The king had set the monk to poison thee—* 
Happy mistake ! if, dying thus for thee, 
I still preserve thy life, for joy and peace. 
Were it to do again, and at my lip 
The fatal cup, I'd drain it ail, my Walter, 
To rescue thee. 

Walt a-4it 

jBdit, We shall meet again— I feel— know— ve shall I 
There-— where the stem and wicked never come I 
There is no torture in these throbs— Haone—^one-» 
It is not pain, but sleep, which overwhelmes me— 
^3alm, sweet sleep ; not suffering, Walter, no— 
No— No I Ji^iea.) 

Ghit, (OlmervinffWAhThKf who appears torpid,) s 

Walter, Walter,8peak to thy mother, boy! 
Speak, and weep, or soon thy scorched brain, 
For need of moisture, like the parched earth. 
Will crack, as mine hath done, and bring to bear 
No seed of future reason. Even now 
I cannot well collect, why she lies there. 
And thou stand'st so transfix'd ? And yet, I know 
Thou should'st be taken from this scene away. 
It is so horrible I the chill wind shakes fhec. 
The ague of thy limbs convulses thee. (Crosses behind, h.) 

Walter, come ! nay, if not for thy mother, 

I'll send thy kindred forth, to drag thee hence 1 [Exit into Cottofftp 
i<.T.E.] (A </0fi»— rails— <AtiiM2eyN—4^&lntMsr.) 

Walt, What dreadful incubus sits on my soul ? 
Off, dream of misery I Ah, 'tis but too real 1 (Seeing Editha.) 
She lieth there, indeed,-^)ale, blighted, dead I ( Weept,} 

Alas! Editha! 

Enter the King, l. 

King, Editha! 

WaU, (Starts.) That voice— it is the King ! 

Kinff, Tyrrel, at liberty! — and I alone t 

WaU, Why, that is well ! Tyrant \ thine evil spirit 
Hath sent the hither, to thy great account ! 

Xinff, VilUin ! thou would'st not murder me ? 

Walt. Why not ? I murdered her ! 

iCinff, E^tha, dead! 

Walt» Aye, slain by me 1 tho* on thy damned soul 
^^MiUfidl the leaden vengeance of the guilt I 
^^ilf » gaze around : read, on this ancient bark, 



fj 



3# WALTBtt TYRREL [ACT III, 

My father^s epitaph—- this arrow — ^thine ! did slicd; 
Here, in the duBt beneath, his aged blood I 
Nov tell me, King, what law of Hearen, or nature, 
Should spare thee from my fiiry. 

King, I feel the web around me — but, this way 
Remains— Traitor, die I {He draws ^ suddenly, the arrmo from kis 
quiver, and diacharffing it at Walter, it overthoots him, and 
appearsjueed in the tree over the grave.) 

Walt. Vain man, thine hour is come I 
My father's shade hath turned aside the shaft, ( The aiTOtc fatk.) 
And dashes it, a symbol of thy doom, 

To earth I— I understand— now, murderer ! [titroi^) 

My ruined home !— -my mother's reason, fled ! {Seizing him by&ti 
Ediths, gone ! — and last, my father's blood— 
All with this weapon evidence against thee ! 
Here, on this grave, all, all, I thus avenge ! 

{Drags him to tree, and stabs him with the arrme.) 

King, {Falling.) My dream, my fatal dream I 
I hear the doom-bird croaking in mine ear; 
I see the crimson tide around me flowing — 
And there, that sightless man, denouncing, stands. 
Mercy, help I I die. {Diet.) 

Enter Robert, Ghita, and Saxons, (l. t. e.) Norman Soldisu 

and Huntsmen over bridge. 

Walt. Saxons, rejoice, rejoice I 
Tyranny is dead 1 — the oppressor's hand 
Is cold !— My oath performed, 

Father, take back thy pledge. {Drops arrow.) 

Come, madness, come, with thy oblivious cup. 
Drown all remembrance — ^be this wretched brain , . ,^ 

Wild as these locks I tear — warped as this heart ; 
Where art thou, death ?— beautiful death, where art thou ? 
Ha? I feel thy grasp ! — 'tis here! — ^'tis here ! 
Editha, is it thou ?•— so fair, and lovely ; 
Aside, stem king!— despite thy ghastly brow. 
Thou part'st us not again. Away 1 she's mine I 
I hold her in these arms 1— ha, ha, — ^ha, ha. 
She's mine! she's mine, mine I — Editha ! cold, cold, dead I 
(He rushes suddenly forward, as if cUvtpiyig her in his arms, and 
falls beside her. Curtain slowly descoids. 



DISPOSITION Of THE CHARACTERS. 

SOLDIERS AND HITNTSMEN, ON BRIDGE. 

nUNTSMEN. SAXON WOMEN. HUNTSVEN. 

KING. GHITA. SAXONS. ROBERT. 

WALTER. 
EDITHA. 



8. Price, 6d. 

WEBSTER'S 
ACTING NATIONAL DRAMA, 

Under the fttuplcea of the Dnunstlc Anthon' Society. 



* m 



t 



THE 



TIGER AT LARGE; 



OR, 



THE CAD OF THE « BUSS." 

A COMIC fiURLETTA, 

In One 9et. 

By 

GEORGE BLINK, Esq. 

As performed at 
THE STRAND THEATRE. 



CORRECTTLY PHIKTBD FHOH TUB PBOMPTEr'b COPT, Wmi THE CAST 
OF CHARACTRRSf COSTUMfi, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, SIDES OP 
ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS OP 
THE DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

PREFACED BY A DEDICATION TO W. J. HAMMOND, ESQ. 



Splendidly illuarated with an Etching on Steel, by Pierce Egan the 
Younger, from a drawing taken during the representation. 



LONDON : 
CHAPMAN ANP HAI4', 180, STRAND* 



I 

/ 



WHITING, BXAUFORT HOUSX, STRAND. 



\ 



DEDICATION. 



TO W. J. HAMMOND, ESQ. 

Dear Sir» 

Actuated by feelings of gratitude for the kindness which 
you have uniformly shown me, I dedicate this trifle to you. But 
while I admire the talent displayed by you in its representation, I 
regret that so slight a vehicle was furnished for its ezercise« 

I am, dear Sir, 

Very truly yours, 

GEORGE BLINK. 



/ 



/ 



REMARKS. 



«i 



The Tiger at Large, or tke Cad of the Bum,*' is a title that 
will " be Greek to the Cyclops;" we can almost imagine we see 
some of our uninitiated, simple-hearted, country friends poring 
over dictionaries to arrire at a definition of the mysterious 
words it contains. ** The Tiger at Large" will be taken literally ; 
bat, " The Cad of the Buss" will prove a puzzler. " A ead worm 
we catcii trout with," says an old disciple of Walton. " A 
Buss is a sn^dl sea-ressel used by the Dutch and English for the 
henrtng fishery," cries one, ▼ersed in nautical lore. ** Tc buss, 
is a yerb active, signifying a most pleasurable coming in contact 
of the lips of males and females," sighs a loye-sick Dominic, as 
he ogles the dear object of his affections. Though Shakspeare 
has applied the word to the coming in contact of kn^s and 
stones: 

^ Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand. 

Thy knee bussing the stoneiB ; for in such business 
Action is eloquence." 

However, for the better information of the uninformed, a 
tiger, according to the most receiyed notions of fashion, is a very 
small biped, otherwise a little boy, elad in man's attire, and jolted 
behind a cab for sundry hours of the night and day, until bis 
face and tops are of the same colour for want of rest. Some 
iigers are of larger dimensions, but they are like the quadruped 
tiger of Bengal, and could only come from the east; such tigers 
being yoted bores aithe west end of this extraordinary metro- 
polis. A cad is the hanger-on of the rear of an omnibus (which 
htijs not inaptly been translated Shillibeer), and calls out the des- 



VI EBHARK8. 

tination of the vehicle, very uointelligibly to any ears but thoie 
used to the language of cockalne. For instance, Nieh, mesni 
Greenwich; Te, means City; and so on. Heisamostincongrooas 
animal, made up of civility, blackguardism, and witty flash; 
somewhat of the same species as the bear. Goldsmith writes of, 
that only " danced to the most politest of tunes." In short, he 
is the purveyor of the conveyer ; the continual inviter of 
pedestrians to save their legs and shoes by riding, and like hit 
buu, is a general receiver. The farce was well acted, and verj 
successful ; which will induce the author, we hope, to favour the 
public with many lively originals. 



7IRST PERFORMED AT THE STRAND THEATRE, MAY 7, 1837. 



Sir Toby Pliant. Suit of plain black } ,j ^ Younee 
—with black beasian boots. 9 ' * 

Frank Latisb. A plain gentleman's 1 
salt. Second dress — conductor's hat and > Mr. Melyille. 
coat. J 

Jem Bolt, his Tiger. Omnibus liyerj, 
gold lace on the coat, collar, and hat — ^ Mr. W. J. Hammond. 
breeches and boots. 

Tactic, Lavish's friend. A plain gen-^ 
tleman's suit. Second dress, coachman's ^Mr. Roberts, 
coat and hat. 



t— VMr.W.J. 

ft-* "I 
I's I^Mr. 



dre^r^' ^"'"'*'" ^'^' ^^'*'' °'"'^^"'}MissE. Hamilton. 
Patch, her maid. The usual servants' dress. Miss Daly. 
SAT.LY Comfort, her friend. The same. Miss Petdfer. 

Time of action — ^that of representation. 



EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

• 
L. means first entrance, left. R. first entrance, right. S. £. L. 
second entrance, left. S. £. R. second entrance, right. U. E. L. 
upper entrance, left. U. E. R. upper entrance, right C. centre. 
L. C. left centre. R. C. right centre. T. E. L. third entrance, left. 
T. £. R. third entrance, right. Observing you are supposed to 
face the audience. 



THE TIGER AT LARGE. 



SCENE I.— A Street. 
Enter Fbank Lavish, r., und Tactic, l. 

Tact. Frank Lavisli, mj dear frieod — ^faow are yout 

Lavish. Never better. Tactic. But how is it that you have 
allowed me to be in the practice of the Ibw, on my own accoanc 
for the last week, without putting a single case into my hands l 
"why don't you knock down some querulous old fellow and gire me 
the chance of defending you in case he brings an action 1 

Tact. Though I esteem you highly, Frank, it will be some time 
before I do you such a favour. 

Lavish. Devilish uncharitable of you, to say the least of it. 

Tact, I could have helped you to a brief, had you been in my 
company half an hour ago. 

Lavish. Could you, though ? 

Tact. That is if threatening language can be taken cognizance of^ 

Lavish. That depends on circumstances. Who threatened you, 
«nd what were the words used ? 

Tact. My tailor — and his swearing to have the amount of his 
hill 

Lavish. A tailor's bill is a bad suit, though it invariably carries 
costs. 

Tad. I know it. 

Laviih. The threats of such men I pass by "as the idle wiod 
which I respect not" — as the poet says. But when I hear one 

feraon say to another, I'll punish you if it costs me fifty pounds, 
rejoice to find there is still some spirit in the world, and hail that 
man as an example to his species. But, joking apiurt — have you 
«een anything of my Jem ? 

Tact, The last time I saw him was behind your cab. 

Lavish, Since then the fellow has given me ihe slip. 

Tact. Run away ! well, I always envied you the possession of that 
invaluable servant. 

Lavish. Very invaluable ! but I think he set rather a high price on 
his merits, when he left me with twenty pounds of mine in his 
pocket. 

Tact, So I think, but how was it you confided such a sum to 
bis keeping ? 

Lavish. I had a very high opinion of him ; and it was the 
amount of a check I sent him for ; and I'll check him if I get hold of 
him, and I think I have a clue by which I shall, discover the 
rascal before long, for I have heard that he has been seen behind an 
omnibus on the Clapham road ; and as I have a little affair in that 
direction that requires my presence, I will keep a good look out. 

2d 



10 THE TIGER 

Tact, O ! ihm, there if some truth in the mmoor I htve heud, 
of your having been seen in that road rather often of late ? 

Laviih, Why the fact is I lately met with a most delightfnl littk 
creature at a party, who on coming of age will be eotitl^ to a saag 
little fortune ; but as is generally the case, she has a guardian, who 
being a bachelor, sees no reason why any one el«e should many- 
he keeps her therefore under restraint, in a large house by the road- 
side — the wall of which, 1 am under the necessity of scaling, 
whenever I want an interview. 

Tact, What do you mean to do ? 

Lavish, I don't know ; and there I miss mv Tiger. He wu a 
fellow of quick parts ; up to every thing ; — ana, leaving out of tbe 
que&tion the misappropriation clause in his character, one of the 
cleverest fellowa in the world, and faithful as a spanieL Besidei 
which, he has a little love-afiB^r of his own, under the same roo£ 

(TAtf noise of an omnibus is heard in the distana, 

Jem. (without t l.) No go, ma'am — full inside and out. Not so 
much as room for a gentleman's walking-stick — all ri^ht ! 

Lavish. That is my Tiger's voice. 

llict. After him. 

Lavish, You follow ; I may require your assistance. Now for 
it. [Exeuirt u 

SCENE II. — A room in Sir Toby Pliant's house, with a mndtm 
in flat. Table, ^c. three chairs. Patch discovered sewing patek- 
work quilt. 

Patch. Well, if I don't get married till I hare finished this 
patch-work quilt, I stand a chance of remaining sinsle as long as I 
live. My affectionate friend, Sally Comfort, said she woold ooow 
and assist me ; and Miss Lydia, Sir Toby's ward, promised me a 
paper of real Whitechapel blunts, warranted not to cut in the eye, 
the first time of her going a shopping ; but when that wiU be 
nobod j^ knows ; for, since Mr. Frank Lavish met her at that party, 
•he has been kept closer than ever. Poor thing ! How I do pity a 
poor girl that can't have the man she loves for a aweetbeart ! 
lud! what's that? 

Jem. peeps in and enters, l. 

Jem. Only I, Patch. Is the coast clear ? 

Patch. Yes — but you should not frighten a body so. 

Jem, So, then, fright's catching — I have had my share on it 
But never mind. Whafsthaf! 

Patch. Nothing particular, Jem. 

Jem, Then, if 'tis nothin' partic'lar, you can't object to my seeing 
of it. I must see. Why, if it t'ant a patchwork quilt — and what 
a little un ! It t'ant for a baby, is it ? 

Patch, What nonsense you do talk ! 

Jem, Where's the harm? Don't I intend to do the thing is it 
right by you afore long, and no mistake 1 

Patch, Do you really 1 

Jem. In course I do, for I have ris in my perfession. Look at 
my attire— I am now a aolicitor. 

Patch. In the law 1 



AT LARGB. II 

Jem* No— behind • boss. 

Patch, What good fortune ! Do you dri^e, Jem ? 

Jem, O no ! I am the geotleman as stands op behind, and says 
-agoing down, ma'am ? 

Patch, From Paddington to the Bank? 

Jem, Nothin' so low as that. We are none of your sixpenny 
goes. Our consam is from Oxford- road to Stamford -hill — ^a shil- 
ling all the way, or if you only looks at us. 

Patch, What has put you so out of breath 1 

Jem, Runnin' here to get a sight o' you, darlin*. 

Patch, That's all nonsense, 

Jem, No nonsense at all. The facts is, I just cotch sight of my 
late master ; and, if he once gets hold on me, down I comes from 
the boss, and mounts another wehicle, not hf no means a change 
for the better. 

Patch, Law! Jem. 

Jem, Fact! What do you think I did when I see himi I told 
JVed to gi^e him the go»by ; and he druv like a good on, which a 
old lady, with a wheesin' pug-dog in her lap, as the jolting didn't 
agree with, swore to pull us up for, and no mistake. I wish she 
may get it. 

Patch, Did she take your number? 

Jem, I tipped Ned Uie wink, and he hung the tail of his coat 
over it^ and, when she asked for it, we was as deaf as beetles. ' 
So it's all right. And now for a salute. — But, what ha^e you got 
for lunch ? 

Patch, A cold, boiled chicken. 

Jem, .Any relation to the last ? 

Patch, Why? 

Jem, Because he was a great grandfather, at the least ; you 
might have sOled shoes with bis skin, and I hates to make a tile of 
a pleasure. 

Patch, This is a real chicken. 

Jem, A riglar good on, and no mistake ? 

Patch, Yes. 

Jem, You are a prime article ; hot where is the chicken 1 

Lydia, (without, r.) Down in the kitchen \ I'll go to her. 

Jem, That's the woice of Sir Toby's chicken ^ if she sees me 
here, won't she blab ? What shall I do ? 

Patch, Get under the table. 

Jem, If I do, only get rid of her as soon as you can ; because, 
bein' folded up a'ter this fashion a'nt no joke. I'm not a two-foot 
rale, you know. [He hides under the table. 

Enter Ltdia, r. 

Lydia. My dear Patch, I have been so longing for a sight of 
you. 

Jem. I wish you could only see me. (aside,^ 

Ljfdia, You know my dear Frank 1 

Patch, Yes, Miss ; what of himi 

Ijydia, I was looking out of my window just new, and I saw 
bim standing and gazing about. I know he was looking for me. 

Jem, I wish I was sure of that {aside,) 



12 THX TIGKB 

Lydia. For, wlien I wared my haod to him, be kissed hk hand 
to me, so cbarmingly* 

Jmi. Only a bUna a'ter all. (agide,) '^ 

Lpdia, And seemed, by his actions, detenntned to do asiie did 
last night 

Patch, And what was that? 

Lydia. Get over the garden-wall. 

Jem, (atide.) Then I am booked. 

Patch. O, Miss ! 

Lydia. I hope joa are not shocked. 

Patch. Very much shocked, indeed, 

Lydia. Did you never hare a lover 1 

Patch, I have a lover, Miss 1 What woald people think of m», 
indeed 1 don't make me blush, I beg* 

Lydia. Hark! Didn't you bear a cough? It is Frank in the 
ahrubbery — let me see him. O, delightful ! plague on the vnndow ; 
it is too hi^h to reach. Help me upon the table, my dear Patch, 
that I may have a peep. O, do help me ! {She pulU the tahb 
aside, and discovers Jem. Patch lodkt eonfiued.') 

Lydia. (screams, a.) Mercy on me— a man^ 

Jem. And you don't mean to say as yon are afraid of a man? (gets 
up.) 

Lydia. Frank's tiger, as I live! I suppose, Patch, this ia a fiiend 
of your*8 ; if he were a lover, what would people think of yoa ^ 
Don't blush • 

Patch. T confess I have been a little indiscreet. 

Lydia. Never mind, I will not betray you* 

Patch, Thaok you. Miss ; and I will do all I can for you. 

Lydia. No, will you, though 1 

Patch. I keep the key of the garden -gate. 

Jem, Suppose I takes care on it for you. (snatches it from her.) 

Lydia. You surely don't mean to betray me ? I did not expect 
such conduct from my dear F^rank's tiger. 

Jem. I am not that indiwidual now, though I was. I won't be- 
tray you neither ; the fieuiis is, Frank Lavish, Asquire, sent me 
here, (toinking ta Patch.) 
Lydia. No, did he 1 

Jem, There's no gammon about me, is there, Patch? Frank 
Lavish as is, asked me to bring you a letter — word of mouth, says 
I, is much better — give my love to her then, says he — ^loave me 
alone for that, says I, and 111 do the thing as is genteel, and no 
mistake. All as you has to do, therefore,, is to be ready to be on 
the move— he doesn't intend to stand no nonsense of no kmd, but ts 
do the thing at once, offhand, quite riglar. (an(2« to Patch,) An't 
that pitcbin' it strong ? 

Lydia. You make me so happy. But how will he manage to get 
me over the wall ? 

Jem. Havn't I got the key of the garden-gate ? but go yoo and 
get ready. Miss. I expect him here every minute. There's no 
gammon in that, (aeide.) 

L^/Wta. Delightful news ! (Exit, n.) 
Patch. What a shame to tell such a atory ! 
Jem. Inwention's to blame ; not I. Didn't I want to be left 
alone with you and the chicken darlin' ? 



AT LAROE. Id 

Patch. Well, then, help me to spread the cloth. 

Jem, What wouldn't I help you to dol 

Patch, Will jou eanre, Jem ? 

Jem, I always gives op the bead of the table to the lady, if you 
knows which that is. Three plates ! You don't expect company, 
do you t 

Patch, Sally Comfort promised to pay me a morning visit. 

Jem, The devil she did ! the other string to my bow ! If she 
comes, won't there be a kick up ! (^aside,) 

Patch, Do you know Sally ? 

Jem, Never see her in all my bom days. 

Patch, Such a nice, friendly wconan — and so affectioDate. 

Jem, You don't say so. 

Patch, And, what is very singular, she has a lover so like you, 
as two peas, according to her description. 

Jem, How wonderful ! Shall we wait for her, or begin ? 

Patch, Begin, by all means ; she'll excuse it, I dare say. (They 
sit down,) 

Jem, rU excuse her, if she don't come at all. 

Patch, How very kind of you. 

Jem, And you really thought of me when you hoiled this chicken ? 

Patch, That I did. The lion has his provider, and why 
shouldn't the tiger have his ? 

Patch, But I don't think you told me why you left the service 
of Mr. Lavish. 

Jem, His wages was too low. Don't you think a pound a month, 
and find one's self is hard cheese ? 

Patch, Too little by half. 

Jem, So I thought, and I therefore made up the difference by 
payin' myself accordin* to my walue. And master as was, calls 
that a robbin' of him. Did you ever hear the like o' that ? 

Patch, Never. But how much did you value yourself at ? 

Jem, Only twenty pounds. 

Patch, Veiy moderate, indeed. 

Jem, I'm worth more than that — an't 1 1 and I know Mr. 
Lavish would give as much again to get hold of me once more. 
But I must fight shy of him for the futur, and no mistake, or 
there'll be no weddin' atweeu you and I — and to show you I 
means to do the thing as is right — here is the ring (a ring at the 
bell), and here's anoUier \ 

Enter a Servant Boy, l. 
Boy, Sally Comfort, Mrs. Patch. [Exit l. 

Jem, This is a settler for me. (aside.) 

Enter Sally Comfort, l. 
Patch, Sally, my dear — how do you do ? 
Sally. Folly Patch — come to my arms. (They embrace. ^ 
Jem, How wery movin' — it 'ill be my turn next, (aside.) 
Patch, Sally, allow me to introduce you to my tiger. 
Sally, Monster! (Screams, and falls into a chair, l.) 
Patch, Pray don't be alarmed, Jem, she often goes off in this 
way. 

Jem, I know it ; and I wish she'd go off altogether., (aside.) 
Patch, I know what will bring her to. [,^t jt . 



14 THE TIOEE 

Jim, I'm not afraid but ahe'U come to, soon enoogh. Wfaik'i 
the matter with you ? 

Sally, (moving, $ke lodkt at Jsm .) O ! Jem t Jem, yoa'll bntk 
my heart. 

Jem, Rather a toagh job I take it. (jatide,) 

Sally, What if > oar reason for coming here? 

Jem, A spree of mj master's ; I am obliged to coart the maid 
to get intelligence of the migsus ; all as 1 am a doin' here if 
gammon, as you'll soon find out. 

Sally. But jou hare left off calling on me of an erening, and I 
proyided something so nice for you on the night joa promised to 
come. 

Jem. Did you, though ? You are a riglar good un a'ter all. 

Sally, Then you are still true to me ? 

Jem. As true as erer I was. 

Sally, Handsome Jem. I do love you so dearly. 

Jem, You are too good for me. 

Sally, You set too small a value on jourself. 

Jem, I wish erery one thought as you do. 

Sally, Insinuating Jem. 

Jem, Unrisistable Sally. (They fly into each other's armt.) 

Ri'^nter Patch, r. with a dram. 

Patch, Is she not come to jet 1 

Jem, Don't you sea she's come to ? She'll do now. Patch. 
Mum's the word you know, (aside to Sally.) She don't want tbat 
now, so suppose 1 takes it. (drinks itJ) 

Patch, What was it that made you go off so ? 

Sally, I was struck with the resemblance between this gentle- 
man and the person I hare so often talked to you about, and mj 
feelings got the better of me. 

Patch, Sensitive creature ! 

Sally, O Jem ! (aside.} 

Jem. O Sally ! If that's not pitchin' it strong, I don't know 
what is. (aside.) 

Sir Toh, (without, R.) Who is in the kitchen ? 

Patch, O lud ! here comes master. (She folds up the table-cloth, 
^c, and throws them aside.) 

Jem, The devil ! — If he sees me I'm book'd. 

Sally, It is lucky he knows me. 

Jem, I'd rather he knew any one but me. Where shall I go ? 

Patch. Can you make yourself small ? 

Jem, I'd rather make myself scarce. 

Patch, Get under the table again. 

Jem, Not on no accouut — and by no manner of means, I had 
quite enough o* that afore — ^it's stoopin' too low for the inde- 
pendence of my natur'. 

Patch, Well, then, if you can do yourself up in a small com|>ass 
this cupboard will suit you to a tittle. 

Jem, Why you might as well pop me into a hat-box. 

Patch. Try how it suits you. ( He goes in.) 

Jem, Suits me — it's what I calls an unkimmon tight fit. Don't 
shut the door, or you'll squeeze me as flat as a pancake. 

Sally, I'll stand against the door. 



AT LABOB. 15 

Patch, That may cauie suBpicion. 

Jem. And if I am found out, 'twill amoont to a positive fact. 

Sally. Don't breathe so loud. 

Jem. 1 can hardly breathe at all. Snj^XMe I should sneeze. 

Sally. We'll say 'tis the cat. 

Jem. Well, a tiger is of the same genus. 

Patch. Hush! 

Enter Sib Toby Pliant, b. 

Sir Tab. Who's that ? 

Patch, Only my respectable friend, Sally Comfort, Sir Toby. 

Sally. Your most obedient. Sir Toby, (^curtsies.) 

Sir Tob. O-ah ! I see. 

Patch, She is come to help me with a little needle work, Sir 
Toby. 

Sir Tob. O very well. By the bye, I miss my corkscrew, and 
John tells me there is one in that cupboard. 

Patch, In this cupboard, Sir Tobyl I am rare there is nothing 
like a corkscrew there— is there, Sally. 

Sally. O no, very different kinds of things are kept there I 
assure you, Sir Toby. 

iStr fob. I presume you don't object to my looking t 

Patch. Every thing there belongs to me. '^ 

Sir Tob. What impertinence ! Allow me to tell you that every 
thing in this house belongs to me. 

Patch, Really Sir Toby, it is very unpolite of you, to wish to 
pr J into a poor servant's affairs. 

Sir Tob. 1 have no wish to pry — I only wish to be convinced. 

Sally, Let me recommend you, Sir Toby, to try a couple of 
forks — quite as good as a corkscrew any day. 

Patch, Or push the cork into the botUe with your thumb. Ah ! 
Sally. 

Sir Tob. Was there ever such assurance. (Jem tneezes.) What'a 
that? 

Patch, (pretending to tuppote he means the pateh^vfork quilt, seites 
it and holds it up.) This, Sir Toby, this is a patch-work quilt. 
Take hold of the other end, Sally. Isn't it pretty ? and all my 
own work, too. Isn't it Sally 1 Escape, Jem. (aside.) 

[They hold it up so as tfl let Jem creep out from behind, unseen 

by SiB Toby, and exit l. 

Sir Tob. Confound the patch-work ; I don't want to see it. 

Patch, You don't know what a serviceable thing it ie, nor how 
many uses it may be put to— does be, Sally ? 

Sir Tob. Put it away, I say. 

Patch. Well, if yon won't look at it, it is no longer of any use to 
hold it up, is it Sally ? 

Sir Tob. The cupboard door open— and a man s hat, as I live ! 

Patch. Why this is a hat of your own, Sir Toby. 

Sir Tob. Mine? 

Patch. Yes, Sir Toby; if every thing in this house belongs to yon. 

Sir Tob. I'his is a foul conspiracy ! Some fellow of yours, Miss 
Patch, whom you bave let in to rob me, or run away with my ward. 
Thieves! thieves! 



16 THE TIGEft 

JU'tnier Jem, l. 

Jem. Then 111 be down upon 'em in no time. There sha'nt. be 
no lobbin' done where I am, as I always sets my face agin sich 
parceedings. By jingo, I bare done it ! (aside.) 

Sir Tab, The very fellow whom I have seen behind Frank 
Lavish's cabriolet. 

Jem, You'd say whai*s wrong if yon spoke agin, old gen'leman. 

Sir Tob, You bare been in that cupboard, sir. 

Jem» It tan't no use denyea* on it. I have. 

Sir Tob. There's nothing like a cork-screw there, (mimieing.) 

Jem, Well, now, am I ? I was screwed up a good deal was, 
though. 

Sir Tob. Go to your master, and tell him that his plans hare been 
frustrated ; for, no doabt, this is all his doing. 

Jem. Frank Lavish is no master of mine. I have cut him. I 
didn't like his ways at all. 

Sir lob. Are you not in his service now ? 

Jem, No, I arn't. I came here on business, as well as pleasure 
and if you have — any thing as wants doin' in my line, say so, and 
I'm the chap asll do it. P'rhaps you'll oblige me with my tile — 
that's it. 

Sir Tob. O, your hat — but in what way is it in your power to 
serve me ? 

Jem. By givin' you a lift whenever you likes in our buss. 

Sir Tob, It is very fortunate that I have met with this fellow — 
he may serve my purpose admirably, (oiiide.) Patch, you and your 
friend may retire. 

Patch. If it is your wish, we can go of course. Nothing about 
the chicken, (abide to Jem.) 

Jem. Mum's the word! (aside.) 

Sally, Don't forget me, dear Jem. (aside.) 

Jem, I don't know how to do it. (aside.) 

^Exeunt Patch, r. and Sally, l. 

Sir Tob. It shall be so. How long is it since you left the ser- 
vice of Mr. Lavish ? 

Jem. About a month. As soon as 'twas worth my while I gave 
him the slip. 

Sir Tob. How long have you been a conductor ? 

Jem. Not long enough to be made wicious by bad example. The 
facts is Mr. Larish and I had a dispute about money matters — so 
I cut him. 

Sir Toby. I have been told that you were a faithful servant. 

Jem, 1 always made his interest mien and mien his'n ; we shared 
and shared alike, and no mistake. He would go a great way to get 
hold of me again. 

iS'ir Toby, No doubt. 

Jem. But I'm not to be had — once bit twice shy ; there's no 
gammon about me, I'm upright and down straight, and right as a 
tiivet. 

Sir Toby, Upright, and down straight and right as a trivet ? these 
may be strong recommendations though quite unintelligible to me. 
(aside,) Will you do me a favour 1 

Jem, With all the pleasure in life — ^what is it ? 



AT LABGE. 17 

Sir Tolfy, I wish to take my ward— to Stamford Hill, out of the 
way of Frank LaTish, while I go for a few days into the countrj. 
So if you will have your omnibus driven into the lane at the back 
of my house for that purpose (my own carriage there might excite 
suspicion), I wiU reward you handsomely. Can you manage it 
for me ? 

Jem, Lord love you, Sir Toby — ! it'll come as na'tral to me as 
eatin' and drinkin . What is he up to ? (aside,) 

Sir Ihby, At what time will you be ready 1 

Jem, In half an hour. I don't think weVe booked full, there's 
only two bye streets and one at the turnpike as I knows on at 
present. 

Sir Tciry. All the better— in about half an hour I shall be ready. 
Marry, indeed ! why can't people take example from me and keep 
single — these girls are more trouble than they are worth. 

(atide and exit, R.) 

Jem, Here's a purty start ! I han't a doubt but he's goin' to get 
spliced upon the sly — 'a nice chance for her as he marries — she'll 
have to help him on with his stockin's afore she's a year older. 
Hang ic if these old codgers isn't wus than the young uns arter all. 
I'd give a trifle to know the truth on it. l. h. w. r. 

Lavish comes in, l. v. e., and taps him on the shoulder, l. 

Lavish, Would you give twenty pounds 7 

Jem, I am booked. 

iMvish, What have you to say for yourself? 

Jem, Say for myself? 

Lavish, Ay, sirrah ; and where ia the money you robbed me of? 

Jem, I never had no money ; it was a cheque as you give me. 

Lavish, Where is it ? 

Jem. I left it at the banker's. 

Lavish, Hand over the cash, sir. 

Jem, Did I forget to give it you ? Well, now, what a memory 
I have got to be sure. There is something wery heavy in my 
pocket. What csn it bet it is money sure enough, and your pus, 
too ! how sing'lar ! There it is ; and, if I had come across you 
sooner, you would ha' had it afore, and no mistake. 

Lavish. Now, what do you not deserve 1 

Jem, Least said 's soonest mended : and, as all the words in the 
world won't fill a bushel, s'pose we drops the subject. 

Lavish, I will do so on one condition. 

Jem, Name it. 

Lavish, You are under engagement to take Sir Toby Pliant and 
his ward to Stamford-hill ? 

Jem, You have guessed it. 

Lavish, Allow me to take your place* 

Jem, What 11 you give me ? 

Lavish, Do you want a bribe to do your kind master a service 1 

Jem. You a*nt no master of mine. 

Lavish, Have you no gratitude ? 

Jem, I follows the example of my betters ; and no gentleman, as 
is a gentleman, exjpeots that in another as he has not ^ot himself. 



18 TBB TIQBH 

Lavish* Will fire guineae satisfy yoa ? 

/cm. To begin with ; and, if you gets the young Udj and tbe 
whole of her fortin' to your own cheek, and will promise to set 
me a going with a boss of my own, I'll do the thing as yoa wish. 
He Utile thinks how nicely he's goin' to be done by the old un. 
(oiide.) 

Lavish, Mercenary scoundrel ! (omfe.) Yoa have still your old 
failing, I perceive, (giving him numty,} 

Jtm, What's bred in the bone won't come out of the flesh. 

Lokvithn I will comply with your demand. Now, then, change 
coats and hats with me. 

Jan, None o' your keepin* em, now, mind — there's a hat ! da 
you know why its like me 1 

Lavish. I can't say that I do. 

J«m. Because its loaterproqf. Ha! ha! (They change.) I never 
see you look so respectable afore. Aod I fancies as I acts a raj- 
ther comical figure in these togs. Should you know me, tiiink yoa ? 

Lavi$h, Scarcely — you look like a gentleman, Jem. 

Jem, Not the fust as owes as much to his tailor. Now, as I am 
to be the gen'leman in this 'ere affair, I shall, in coarse, expect a 
gen'leman's privileges — a bottle of wine and a baiscate. 

LavliK Have what you like, and charge it to mf>. 

Jem, That's what I calls liberal ; and mind, I shan't kiss the 
maid, if I can get bold of the missus. 

Lavith, Please yourself, and you will please me. 

Lyoia runs in, r. and flies into the arms af Jem, vih> embraces her, 

Jem, Sweetest dove ! I likes bein' master most unkimmon. 
LavisK That's going rather too far. Lydia — don't you know me ? 
Jem. I'm not so particular as you on that pint. 
Lydia, (r. c.) Lavish ! 

Patch enters it, she runs up to Lavish in the tame way. 

Patch. My dear, dear Jem-^-such a bit of fan ! 

Lavish. Pretty Patch ! (kissing her,) 

Jem. Don't you call that going rayther too far as well 1 

Lavish. You are not so particular on that point. 

Lydia. What mean these disguises ? 

Patch, (l.) My Jem, a gentleman ! 

Lavish, I am to conduct you to Stamford Hill in the place of Jen 
Bolt, whom your guardian just now engaged for that purpose. 
(r. c.) Do you thiok I shall do ? going down, ma'am 1 

Lydia, (r ) Admirably. 

Jem, Let me give you a little bit of adwise ; when yoa sayi 
goin' dowD, you must up with your finger in the rigler way. 

Lavish, I thank you Jem for the hint. Do I look the cad ? 

Ijydia. Excellently. 

Jem, I say Miss — he looks as if he'd never been anythin§p eke^ 
don't be ? 

Lavish, Don't be imperinent, Jem. Patch, you mast keep thii 
affair a secret. • 

Jem, I'll put a stopper on her mouth -^arter this manner, (fctss- 
ing her.) 



AT LA&GE. 19 

Lydia, Is Sir Toby to go with us ? 
Lavish, Not if I can prevent him. 
Patch, O lad ! here comes master. 

l^Exeunt all hut Lavish, b. i. l. 

Enter Sib Toby Pliant, r. 

Lavish, Now Sir- ya hip. 

Sir Tchy, Don't make such a noise — are you ready 1 
Lavish, All right, Sir Toby. 
Sir Toby. You know where to leave us ? 
LavisK Not two a goings. Sir Toby 1 
Sir Toby, O yes — I and my ward. 

Lavish, Sorry for that — onlj room for one, and that must be a 
light weight or we shall get pulled up. I say Bill. 

Enter Tactic disgtiised, l. 

Tact, (to Sir Toby.) Servant Sir Toby— (toucWng his hat.) 

Lavish. I say. Bill, amt we full 1 

Tact, Bookd full afore we started. 

Lavish. We could manage to take the lady, I suppose, ah ! 
BUI? 

Teuit. Why, we'd strain a pint to do that. 

Sir Tob, How very awkward ? 

Tact, No fault ot oum ; the proprietors shouldn't ha- book'd 
'em. 

Sir Tob, Have you room outside ? 

Tact, Couldn't think of patting sich a gentleman as yon out- 
side — ^like riding on the roof of a bouse. 

Lavish, And suppose there should be a spill ? 

Sir T, Pray don't frighten me ! 

Lavish. I'll engage to take the lady all right, Sir Toby. 

Tact, You may trust him, Sir Toby; he's one of the most 
riglariat men on the road, and '11 do what's right by the lady, and 
no mistake. 

Sir Tob. May I depend on you 1 

Lavish. Honour bright. Sir Tuby. 

Sir Tob. If you leave her in safety at my friends, I will make 
yoa a handsome present. 

Lavish, We shall be quite satisfied so as we gets the fair — ah ! 

Biin 

Tact. To be sure we shall. Right's right all the world oyer. 

Sir Toby, Then give this card, and ask for my friend's in ex- 
change; that will assure me of my ward's safe arrival. 

Tact. You shall soon be satisfied that every thing is as it should 
be. 

Lavish, That you shall, and no mistake. Ah ! BUI ? 

Sir Tob. Lydia! 

Enter Lydia, &• s. l. 

Sir Tob, There is only room for jou in the omnibus I am told, 
therefore as I can^t go myself, X must put you under the care of 
this young man. 



to THE TIOEft 

Lydia, A etd to take care of ne, Gnardy ? 

Sir Tob, No reflections! Don^t you tee that he belongs tot 
nepcotable firm ? Look at hU Uvery. 

Lydia, Bat why am I to go from home 1 

Sir Tob, To please me. 

Lydia, Remember, it is all jovr own doing. 

Sir Tob* And I am willing to bear the responaibility* 

Lydia, Well then, good by Guardy. 

Sir Tob. Good by ; I'll s**e yon safe off, you will be well pio- 
▼ided for where yon are going. 

Laviih, Much better provided for than yon imagine. Ah! 
BiU?(Mide.) [Em««U. 

Enter Jbm, led in by Patch, s. e. l. 

Jem, What a worry comfortable thing it is to be a genlemsn ! 
I am as happy as a grig, and no mistake. 

Patch, I am really ashamed of you, 

Jem, Why don't yon brush, then ! Don't you like to see a mas 
a little fresb ? just enough spirit in him to miJce him lively 1 

Patch, But you have had sufficient to take all your spirit avsy. 

Jem, Only as far as the wine went— that's all gone — and if yoa 
would ouly send for one bottle more, just to finish with, I'd Jove 
you as long as I live, and no mistake. 

Patch, You hare had quite enough, I'm sure, for one sittini^ 

Jem, And I know I could manage another sitting unkimmon 
well. Do send for t'other bottle. 

Patch, You shall have no more wine till by and bye. 

Jem, Will " by and bye" be long first ? I am so thirsty! Bo 
take compassion on me. 

Patch, Don't be so headstrong. I hare no more wine, nor 
money to buy it with. 

Jem. 1 hare lots, in one of these pockets — ^no — now I recollect, 
I'm cleaned out, and done for — and now I*m done np ! (/oUf.) 
Don't disturb me. 

Patch, You must not sit there. 

Jem, Wby not, eh ? 

Patch, Suppose Sir Toby should come in and catch you. 

Jem, I'd scorn to run. But he'd excuse it, if he has any plnek 
in him. Was he never in a smilimer situation ? 

Patch, "Sever, 

Jem. 1 wouldn't giro a mag for the man as waa ne-rer & little 
fiesb. 

Patch, Now do get up. 

Jem, You follow my example, and sit down with me, darltn', 
to keep me company. I'd do as much for you, if you was in the 
flame purdieament. 

Patch. Nonsense! — ^how it would look ! 

Jem, Never mind how it would look, but do it. Do sit down, 
and let's you and I talk a bit over our futur splicin'. I'm 'tennined 
not to get up 'less you do. 

Patch, Will you get up then ? 

Jemf Honor bright. 



AT LAROE. 21 

Patch* There, then. But no noDMiiae, Jem. (th$ laueh down by 

Jem. Patch, you are a real good un ! and I do love you bo— lord, 
hoir I do loYO yon! (nutting hi$ arm round her n€ck,) 

Patch. Don't be a tool, Jem. 

Jem* I can't help it — its nat'ial— and I'm not the fast man as hat 
been made a fool on by a woman. And here's your master to 
prove it. 

PaUh. O lad ! (riling.) 

Eattr Sir Toby Pliant, l. 

Sir Tab. What is the meaning of this ? 

Jem. Hie meaning of it is— don't ran away, Patch — How are 
you old chap ? (getting up.) 

Sir 7b6. That scapegrace. Lavish, as I lire ! — and tipsy too. 

Jem. I am neither one nor t'other, my old cock. 

Sir Toh. A nice spark truly, to pretend love to the mistress, and 
then gallant with the maid ! 

Jem. A spark! — Patch, another bottle to squench it. And as 
for the missus, 1 don't care that for her while I can have the maid. 

Sir Tob. So then you glory in the facti 

Jem. In course I do. 

Sir Tob, How did this fellow, Layish, gain admittance to my 
hoosel 

Patch. Please you, Sir Toby, this is my Jem. 

Jem. What do you think of that old codger? 

Patch. Pray be civil, Jem. 

Sir Tob. On looking more closely I see that I have deceived. 

Jem. And if you had not been nnkimmon short sighted you'd 
ha' found out that afore, and no mistake. 

Sir Tob. It was you, sir, that I engaged to take my ward to 
Stamford Hill. 

Jem. And I preferred stoppin' here with Patch, like other 
great men, I got a deputy. 

Sir Tob. Whom 1 

Jem. Frank Lavish, Asquire. 

Sir Tob, Then I am a ruin'd man. 

Jem, It serves you right, what business had you to think that 
eieh a nice young lady as your ward could marry an old codger 
like you ? 

Sir Tob. I never dreamt of such a thing. 

Jem, Bet you mean't to do it, don't deny it, it won't do old 'an, 
I'm not to be gammon'd, I see yoa give her sich a look ! 

Sir Tob. Impertinent scoundrel \ Leave my house, both of yon. 

Jem, Jt 'ud be wery uupolite, jist as you ha' got company a 
comin', they'd think as we wanted to cut 'em. 

Enter Fbank Lavish, Lydia, and Tactic, l. 

Sir Tob, As I live, Lavish and Lydia ! Where have you been ? 

Lydia. To Stamford Hill, Ouardy. 

Lavish. And saw a very pretty little church by the way, the 
doors of which stood so invitingly open, that we could not resist 
tbe temptation of entering. 



22 THB TI6BB AT LAEOE. 

Sir Toh, Are you married 1 

LaviMh, As fast as priest could make as, so we now are one. 

Sir Tob. I presume, sir, jou are aware on what conditioM my 
ward hecomes entitled to her property? Marrying without n^ 
consent, disinherits her. 

Jem. So then, as you couldn't get the young un with her fortio', 

r)a'll have the fortin' without her. 1 tells you what. Sir Toby, 
don't envy you your sleep o' nights, if while you are haggis' 
her bags of gold you leaves her to i>tarre. 

Sir Tob. I am neither mercenary, nor unforgiving. She shali 
hsve her fortune, and my forgiveness too ; little as she deterres 
either. 

Lydia. But I will endeavour to merit both, for your kindness, 
Guardy. 

Jem. Needs must when the devil drives, but you'll giveyooi 
consent for Patch and I to be spliced ' 

Sir Tob. You may have her, provided you promise to make ber 
a good husband. 

Patch. That I am sure he will. 

Jem. Promises and pie-crusts is made to he broke, but 111 do the 
thing as is right by her, and no mistake. 

Enter Boy, l. 

Boy. O! Sir, Sally Comfort has run away with the omniks 
driver. And has borrowed Patch's best silk gown to get manied 
in. [ExitL. 

Patch. O ! the wretch, I shall faint! 

Jem. No, don't, a good riddance of bad rubhidge say I. Never 
mind your gown, I'd have you if you hadn't a gown to your hack. 
Though fine feathers make fine birds, while your heart's in the 
right place I don't care for all the finery in the world. And «s I 
am sound wind and limb, and have got a good situation, which it 
shall be no fault of mine if I don't keep, the only buss III hare 
is this, which I gives to Patch, (kisses her.) 

Lavish. Patch, I will not forget you on your wedding-day. 

Patch. Thank you, sir, 

Jem. And, as master that was has looked over my little (to the 




I means to do so — its a long lane you know as has got no turnm 
and no mistake. 

Finale. 

Good humour, with good fortune, too, 

Shall now all happy make ; 
If we've succeeded, friends, with you. 

All's right, tind no mistake. 

Patch, Bolt, Sir Toby, Lavish, Lydia, Taotc. 

R, I" 

THE END* 



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1 



THE BRIDAL. 

A TRAGEDY, 

in ipibe Arte. 

ADAPTED FOR REPRESBNTATZOV 

(WITH THREE ORIGINAL SCENES, WRITTEN BY 
JAMES SH'ERIDAN KNOWLES, ESQ.^ 

PROM THE 

MAID'S TRAGEDY 

OP 

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PREFACE. 



In the catalogue of Beaamont and Fletcher's worki, the Maid's 
Tragedy has always ranked, if not first, among the very first: for 
maoy years it retained its popularity on the stage, being "frequently 
acted, and with the greatest applause." 

In the preface to the edition of their .plays, 1711, it is men- 
tioned, that after the Restoration, Hart and Mohno were the Amin- 
tor and Melantios, and Mrs. Marshal the Evadne, and their efforts 
in those parts are spoken of as " deservedly fieimous." Betterton 
succeeded Mohan as the representatiye of Melantius, and for the 
rest of bis life it was esteemed one of his most finished performances. 
For some years the play was withdrawn from the stage, in obe- 
dience to an interdict laid on its representation by Charles II., 
whose licentious habits must have made the apphcation of that 
part of the moral particularly distasteful, which points to the 
"unlooked for, sadden deaths" of "lastful kings" as a heavenly 
▼isitation. Waller strove to set the favourite plaj upon the stage 
s^ain by the substitution of a more courtly termination ; and tapered 
down the grand and massive proportions of this noble work into a 
sickly and fantastic form ; the several parts so finely discriminated, 
amd yet so harmoniously blended, in the nervous rerse of Beaumont 
and Fletcher, losing tone, form, and all distinctive qualities in 
Waller's feeble rhyme. It is more than probable, that Waller's 
alteration was never brought on the stage ; that it was not per- 
mitted to retain possession of it, is proved by the testimony of 
Southerne, who in the latter part of Charles the Second's reign 
had seen the play acted, as it was originally written. With Bet- 
terton, whose death was accelerated by his exertions in the part of 
Melantius, the last in which he ever appeared, the Maid's 
TVagedy seems to have died, as an acting drama; yet surely none 
of the plays that have occupied its place (after those of Shakopeare), 
can hold comparison wiih it for variety and truth of character, for 
simplicity and power of langusge, for poetry and passion ! 

The adaptation, now submitted to the public, was prepared six years 
ago. But long before, the great scenes of the original tragedy had 
fastened on my attention, and provoked a strong desire to test their 
excellence by the sympathies of an audience. It was to the fine 
taste of my friend, Mr. Shiel, .that I was indebted for the first 
suggestion of the practicability of its adaptation, and, with his en- 
tbnsiasm for the beautiful and true in poetry, he undertook its 

a2 



4 PBBFACE. 

arrangement. How be would haTe.accomplislied tbe taak, had h« 
penevered in it, may be coojectared from bis masterly treatnnit 
of « The Fatal Dowry," where hia scenes, placed io jaztapoeitioB 
with those of Massinger, successfully compete with theminelo* 
quence aod passion. But avocations of a more important natore 
interfered wiih his design, and in the course of a few weeks he 
intimated to me his inability to g^ire up the time necessary for iti 
completion. 

At a sub8e(|uent period I endeavoured to stimolate the energiei 
of another friend in the cause, that had begun to interest me 
deeply ; and pressed the subject on Mr. Sheridan Knowles, as one 
worthy of his powers and congenial to his taste and spirit. He 
embraced the proposal with his habitual ardour, but in a few 
weeks abandoned it under the persuasion, that the beauties and 
deformities of the work were inseparable, — that the groeaness, 
which defiled it, was an integral part of it, and could not be remoted 
without injury to the e£fect of what remained. 

My expectdtions were thus again disappointed, but my judgment 
was not coarinced. To me, the ndstake of our great poets 
seemed not in the outline, but in the filling up of the sbny; 
the offensive situations and language being neither essential to 
the delineation of character, nor condncire even to an effect of 
contrast, — ^They are in fact disfigurements of a splendid picture. 
In the Martyrdom of the Two Saints by Nicolas Poussin in the 
Vatican, the subject is so revolting, that the skill of the artist's 
pencil aggrarates its loathsomeness, in proportion as it heightens 
its reality. No artifice of genius in its treatment could mfUiethe 
moral dignity of the sacrifice prominent. The taste is too much 
shocked by the physical presentation to seek for any thing beyond. 
The selection of the subject is the one insuperable fault. 

Something to this effect has been latterly asserted of the Maid's 
Tragedy ; but bow erroneously ! There is not a gross or licentioos 
eiEpression necestary to the deeply tragic situations, with . which it 
abounds. Its simplestory of slighted loye and deyoted friendship, of 
criminal passion and its awful penance, is blurred and blotted by 
the wanton and capricious indeUcacies of language, and strainings 
at effect, that are scattered over it, These superficial blemishes 
. remoyed, a picture of human nature in its grandest bearings, and 
its saddest liabilities, stands before us ; in the back ground of which, 
justice, like a portentous shadow, m like its own embodied idea in 
the Eumenides of ^echylus, appears to mete out with even band to 
every offender his full and fearful amount of retribution. 

With these impressions, and a strong sense of the grand and 
terrible moral of the fable, 1 was led to a frequent reconsideration 
of its development, and, on my engagement by the gentleman 
renting prury-Lane Theatre in September, 1831, a method of 
altering the catastrophe was suggested to me b^ an incident in one 
of Lord Byron's poems. No time was lost in re-modelling the 
plot, though at the expense of much that is beautiful in the 
touching character of Aspatia. Before the first scene was finished, 
my miscalculation of the degree of labour requisite became apparent. 
and in order to ensure the completion of the work in an accordaiit 
. style, and within the period prescribed, an arrangement was en- 
tered into with Mr. Sheridan Knowles, who, approving .tbe plan. 



PREFACE. 5 

engag^ed to furnish the three new scenes* required in the projected 
alteration. 

Public opinion hai pronounced them worthy of their place. The 
genius of our first living dramatic poet is acknowledged to be 
kindred with the mighty spirits that bare passed away, but whose 
" precious remains/' as Sturley rapturously declares, can '* nerer 
perisb but by a miracle." 

The play, ooder its new form and title, was presented to Droiy- 
Lane Theatre in October, 18S1, accepted, and the conditions of its 
performance agreed on. It was read, according to custom, in the 
green-room, and delivered into the copjriat's hands. The delay of 
its production led to an inquiry into the cause, and, afier somb liesi- 
tation, a roessage was brought me by the then acting-manager, 
which instantly determined me to withdraw the MS. and relinquish 
the agreement During the season of 1833-4, it lay among the MSS. 
of Drury-Laae Theatre, for the faint chance of some occasion 
arising favourable to its prodnctioa, and at the end of that season it 
was sent back to me. It was brought on the stage during my en- 
gagement at die Dublin Theatre in the autumn of 1834 with a 
saccess, that strengthened my c<mfidence; and on my return to 
Drury-Lane Theatre in 1835, an agreement was interchanged 
between myself and the person then in the direction of that theatre, 
specifying the time and conditions of its performance. That agree- 
ment was not fulfilled. 

I have touched, as lightly 9k I could, on these cireumstanoes, 
in order to correct some erroneous public statements on the subject, 
that have appeared from time to time. 

For. its eventual production at the Havmarket Theatre, I am 
indebted to the decision and enterprise of Mr. Webster. 

The welcome, with which this attempt to replace on the scene the 
poetry of Beaumont and Fletcher, has been greeted in the theatre 
and by the press, is most grateful to me, not merely as justifying the 
fidth I have held, but as affording a promise of success in the ap- 
propriation of our stage to its legitimate and nobler purposes. 

W. C. MACREADY. 



* The aeeond scene of the ilrst act, tiie second scene of the llmurth, the 
second of the fifth to Evadne's confeuion of Aspatia*s innocence, and the 
speech of the King, that doses the first scene of the third act, are Crom 
the pen of Mr. Sheridan Knowles. 



v|BCT pnrOBM ID JUNB 96, 1837. 



A KG A MIS, King afRhodet* Yellow ntin shirt* ' 
richly ornamented with various coloured atones. 
Crimson satin cloak ; white silk stocking-pantn- ^ Mr. Haines. 
Icons, black reWet sandal- shoes, gold band 
round the bead. 

Mblantius. Bloe shirt, thickly eoTOredwith^ 
silrer studs, with crimson sleeves, aad cap and I ^^ Mi^.^ a 
cloak to match, ilesh leggings, and russet sandal. \^^' °>^<»«^7* 
shoes. -' • 

AMiNToa. White kerseymere shirt, slashed -| 
with blue satin and trimmed with silver, cap and I .« ^^ 
feathers, white silk stocking-pantaloons and [ *^*o^' 
white saodal-shoes. ^ 

Lymppus, brothtr to the King» Purple em- 1 
broidered shirt, the sleeves slashed with yellow I «^ q .., 
saUo, whitesilk stocking-pantaloons, black vioUt J ^'* »»^"*- 
sandid- shoes, aod cap and feathers. 

DiPBiLUS, brother of Molantha and Evadnt, I 
Blue veWet shirt spotted with gold stars, cloak rjur^ r mr v^ 
and cap to match. Blue ailk stocking-pan- J "''''• *^«'«*'- 
taloons, and sandal'shoes. 

Cleon. Light green embroidered shirt and "I 
cloak, white silk stocking-pantaloons, and white I Mr. Worrell 
sandal 'Shoes. 

Calianax, kinsman to Aipatia, Scarlet em* 
hroidc'red shirt, Boarlet stocking-pantaloons, cap^ 
to match, and black velvet sandal-shoes. 

Archab, keeper of the prison. Brown shirt' 
trimmed with black, brown leggings, and black » 
sandal* shoes. 

Strato. Pure merino shirt, and black velvet' 
cloak, trimmed wiih gold, white silk stockkig- 
paotaioons, and white sandal*shoes. 

Diagoras. 

Assassin. Crimson shirt, steel breastplate "j 
and hehnet, flesh leggings, and mssei sandal- >Mr. Andrews, 
shoes. J 

Dion. Ibid, Mr. Bishop. 

Eva DNS, wife to Amintor. 1st dress, white .^ 
satin richly trimmed with silver fringe, wreath I ^^. t* aa ^ 
of white and silver flowers. «nd dress. White f ^"" Muadart 
muslin and lace veil. -^ 

Aspatia, formerly betrothed to Amintor, 1st 
dress, white muslin. 2nd dress. Orange merino -njri^ TVvlor 
shirt, with large white merino sleeves trimmed y ^ J - 

with blue ; white silk stocking-pantaloons and 
sandal-shoes. 

AvTifHiui, lady attendant of Atpatia, White i||j.« pkaiiM 
muslin edged with rose-coloured muslin. J * ™' 

Clbanthe, ditto. White muslin. Misa Wrighten. 

Olym piAs, ditto. White muslin edged with 1 «-. ^^i^^ 
black and rose-coloured muslin. J *"*■• wauoi. 

DvLA, ditto. Yellow silk, trimmed with black. Mrs. Humby . 



.Mr.Selby. 



Mr.Goagb. 



••Mr. Harris. 
Mr. Halt. 



THE BRIDAL. 



ACT I. 



SC£NE L — A re^m in Aspatia*s hotue^ a large window, centre 
40pening upon a balcony overlooking the city ; a door, 3 b. r. half 
open ; an empty chair in centre, on which it a lute ; Antiphila is 
discovered, employed on a large piece of tmbroidery, l. Above her^ 
on Is,, a lady painting. On n,, a table, at which are seated Dula, 
Olympias, and another lady, at work on a tambour-frame, with a 
vase of flowers on a stand before them. Above them, on r., two 
ladies toith needlework. Distant shouts; laughter, and music. 

Dula, Good faith, I'm weaiy of this task ! To sit 
Thus moping, while the whole city rings with mirth. 
And, sare ourselves, each maiden twines within 
Her hair the flowers, we must be fain to toil at! {Music, andUughter.) 
Nothing but music and merry rotces. since 
The sun rose. Antiphila, must we sit here till night 1 

Ant, If it be our lady's will, I have no wish 
To cross it : e*en in her happier days 
I never would ; now in her sorrows I'd 
Rather die than do it. 

Dula. Oh, so would I, 
And all of us ; — and I'd sit patient, nor 
Think of a masque or show. {Music, and laughter,') Hark! How 

it sets 
One's spirits bounding ! I declare, Antiphila* 
I cannot hold my needle ; my fingers are 
Quite weary. 

Oly, But thy feet would move as nimbly 
In the happy dance, as the wild pulses of 
Thy heart itself! 

bula. May we not send to ask 

The sadden cause of these new revels ? 

Ant, What 
Is it to us T 

Dula, To us ?— I*d give the world 
To know! {Shouts, laughter, and music.) Again!— Ob« let ns 

take a look 
At least, Antiphila, on the gay scene ! 

Ant, Dula, for shame ! sit still. 

Dula, Well ; if X may not 
Even by look or word humour my curious 
Appetite* I may at least make harmony 
At home with the gay minstrels, that i hear 
Abroad ; and I will do so. Now Olympias— 



8 THB BRIDAL. 

Ant, Ab, happy girl ! would that thou conldst instil 
Some of tby rnirtn into Aspatia ! 

DiUa, She is in lore ; hang me. if I were so ^ 
But I could run my country. Where's the Inte ?— - 
Tell me, Antipbila* if e er you heard 
A merrier strain than this ? 

Aspatia iings without, 3 s. n. 

SONO. 

'* Lay a garland on my hearse 

Of the dismal yew ; 
Maidens* willow brancfaea bear» 

Say, I died true ; 
My love was false, but I was firm 

From my hourpf birth ; 
Upon my buried body lie 

Lightly, gentle earth !" 

DuLA putt the lute davm on table, a., and retumt mournfully to her seat, 

Oly, It is our lady :— 

Ant, Yes; sweet lady! — see. 

See, if she has not spoil'd all Dula's mirth ! 

[Shoutt, laughter, and mmc. 

Enter Calianax, r. 

Cal, Know ye what makes this uproar thro' the city ? 

Ant, We have not heard, my lord. 

Cal, My fears guess at it ! 
They said Aspatia was here. 

Aut, Not long 
Ago she left us ; as I think, 
To hide the tears, that swelled into her eyes. 
When thoughtless Dula in her idle vein, 
Talked of the young Amintor. 

Cal, Curses on him ! 

The traitor ! Does she still feed her sad humour ? 

Ant. Yes ; she is heart- stricken * 
Her watery eyes are ever bent to earth. 
She carries with her an infectious grief, 
That strikes all her beholders, Sbe will sing 
The mournfuirst things, that ever ear liath heard. 
And sigh and sing again ; and when the rest 
Of our young ladies, in their happy moods. 
Tell mirthful tales in course, sbe will bring forth 
A story of the silent death of some 
Forsaken virgin in such phrase, and with 
So sad a look, that ere she end, alas ! 
She'll send them weeping one by one away. 
See, where she sits; as she were turned to marble ! 

Cal, My poor cousin ! a feller blow, than that 
Which struck thy heart, was never dealt by man t 
The breath of kings should be like that of gods. 
Healing and not destroying, but its foul taint 
Has withered all thy hopes. (^Musie, and shouting). This menimcDt 



TBB WBXDAh, 9 

\nd music jar like discord on my Texed 

Spirit. Aiitiphila» try thy best skill 

To soothe thy mistress* sadness, while I learn 

The strange erent that stirs this revelry. 

I will retarn forthwith. [Esit Cauanix, l. 

Ant. 'Tis ail in yain ; 
Words have lost power upon a grief like hers. 
She comes. — 

Enter Aspatxa, door 3 b. a. Her dress negUctedt and her hair loose 
upon her shoulders. She sinks into chair, c. 

Dear lady — dear Aspatia. Speak 
To her, Dala. 

£>ula. Madam, 'tis holiday 

To-day, for all the city ; be it so 
To your sad thoughts, and make it so to us 
By one sweet smile. 

Asp. It were a timeless smile should prore my cheek ; 
It urere a fitter hour for me to laugh. 
When, at the altar, the religious priest 
Were pacifying the offended heavens 
With sacrifice, than now.— This should hare been 
My bridal 4ay, and all your hands employed 
In gi^'itig me a spotless offeriog 
To young Amintor's bed ! 

Ant* Leave this talk, madam. 

Aep' Would I could, then should I leave the cause. 
T>id yon ne'er love, my girls ? tell me, Olympias. 
Oly. Never. 

Asp, "Sor you, Antiphila ? 
Ant, Nor I. 

Asp, Then, my good ffirls, be more than women wise ; 
>^t least, be more than I was ; and be sure 
You credit any tbiog the light gives light to 
"Before a man. Rather believe the sea 

"%Veeps for the ruined merchant, when he roars ; ^- 

^Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sails, 
'VV'hen the strong cordage cracks ; rather, the sun 
<3oines but to kiss the fruit in wealthy autumn, 
"%^hen all falls blasted. (Rises and vnilks about). 
j^erhaps he believed me worthless ! 
:^ut, till he did so, in these ears of mine, 
OPhese credulous ears, he pour'd the sweetest word 
*:ir*hat art or love could frame. No more— no more. 
:S»liow me the piece of needlework you wrought. 
Ant, Of Ariadne, madam ? 
Asp. Yes, that piece. 

Ant. 'Tis here* (showing embroidery ^ l.) 
Asp, This is Theseus? he 's a coz'ning face. 

Xs it not he? 

Ant. Yes, madam. 

Asp. 'Tis well done. 

«it where is Ariadne ] 
Ant. There, madam. 

A3 



10 mx niDAL. 



Asp, Ob, you have mined it there, Antiphihi ; 
These ooloun are not dull and pale enough 
To show a soul so full of misery. 
As this sad lady's was. Do it by me ; 
Do it again — ^by me, the lost Aspatia. 
Suppose I stand upon the sea-beach now ; 
Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind, . 
Wild as that desert, and let all about me 
Tell, that I am forsaken. Do my face 
(If thou hadst e^er feeling of a sorrow) 
Thus, thus, Antiphila. Strire to make me look 
Like sorrow's monument ; and the trees about me. 
Let them be dry and leafless ; let thelrocks 
Groan with continual surves ; and, behind me. 
Make all a desolation ! Look, Antiphila ; 
A miserable life of this poor picture f 

Ant. Dear madam ! 

Asp, I hare done* (linki into ehttir, c.) 

(Singt,) " Tell him, should he chance to chide. 
That it was for him I died." 

Agp* Alas ! poor lady ! [Enter Caliaviz, i- 

CaL (erosset to r.) ft is a tyrant's will — 
A traitor's deed : coward no less than traitor ! 
Why stay ye here ? Why join ye not the throng 
Of fools and knaves, that, with most courtly mirth. 
Shout, laugh, and frisk, as a king wills they shonld ? 

Ant, It is our lady's pleasure, we are here. 

CaL Go, get you in — my passion speaks before 
My better thought ; go, good Antiphila, {eromng to ANnrmLA.) 
And ply your tasks within. lExiunt ladies, n. door, 3 1. 

Aspatia, listen. 
I have that to speak calls for your best attention* 

Atp. My kind cousin, what would yon say to me ? 

CaL Dry up your tears. Aspatia 1 oh, my tongue 
Can scarce gi^e utterance to the news, I come 
To speak. 

Asp. I know it all. 

CaL Who was the officious 

1*001, that blabbed it to thee ? 

Asp. A fool indeed, 

A fond, believing fool — my heart, Calianax : 
That practised ftith so long, it has learnt. at last 
Even to trust its fears. Amintor weds 
To-day ! 

CaL Would it could be denied, or hid 
From thee! 

By the king's own command (his heralds 
Trumpet it in every street), Amintor 
Weds Evadne. 

But to the world, even at the altir, 'fore 
Himself and bis affianced minions, 
Thy wrongs and innocence shall be proclaimed. 
Though I pull down my death upon my head. 



XBX MODAL. 11 

A$p, And add aaotlier to my mtny griafil 1 
I hare enough withoat thy help, dear couatiu 

Cal, Too much, poor girl ; my very heurt weept with thee. 

Asp, Then I will weep no more ; <Mr if I do, 
Yon shall not see me, cousin. I have a thought. 
That kindles here like hope, to steel me 'gainst 
This weakness. Will yon attend me 1 

Cal. Whither 1 

Asp. To the court. 

CaL The court ! what have yon fpond it. 

But a place priyilesed to do men wrongi 
1/Vhat would yon there? — Where is your pride ?— your shame ? 

Agp. 1 ne'er knew shame, save of ill thoughts ; nor pride, 

If proud I ever was, but of such shame. 
I'd see the king. — 

Coi. Aspatia! that tyrant) 

Atp. There's doubt and fear in thy fixed gaze, my friend ; 
I am not mad ;— come with me to the king. 
AU that in life I'd keep, even the wish 
To lire, alas ! I lost with my Amintor ; 
In my death 

I would not my fair name were cast away t 
Come to the king ; (erouet to l. ;) my misery so sets me 
Above all fear, that even him I most 
Should fear, and shudder at, I now can coldly 
Look on ', come, Calianax, your presence 
Must support me ; — I have no ear for counsel. 
Come, dear cousin ! [Exeunt, l« 

SCENE 11^-^^ Hall in tU Kimg't PaUa. 
^fUer Kino and Strato, l. 

King. These thbgs are done ? 

Str, They are. 

JTtfi^. Rnn't o'er again : 

What circumstance of state have we omitted. 
Which, in our love to young Amintor, ought 
To grace his wedding-day ? 

Str, The preparations 
Are full my lord, and high, as were yourself 
About to lead a bride. 

King. I'd have them so. (eroiMi to l.) 
It was proclaimed a holiday ? 

Str, It was. 
And will he held as such. The oitiaens 
Keep closed shops ; and one and all prepare 
To make their houses gay. Already some 
Hang out their cloths, of bright and vary'd dyes ; 
Some their festoons of flowers, their banners some. 
The streets are thronged with happy looks, boys, girls. 
And men and women, by your grace set free, 
And ready for rejoicing. 

Kirtg, Have they prepar'd, ere mores the cavalcade, 
An ample shower of roses, to dispene 
Among the waiting crowd 1 






IS TAX BUOAL* 

Str, Thej bftTC, my liege. 

King* And coin to leaUer, ai we peee along ? 

Str. Tbe^ biTe. 

King, 'lis well. My harness have tbey stuck 
With white rosettes, as I directed 1 

Str. Yes. 

King, Tis well ; 'tis very well. And to my coach 
Have tbey prepared to yoke my finest steeds 1 
I wonld he chief 

In doing honon r to the napttal ^y, 
That w^ Amin tor. 

Str, Tom where yonr highness may. 
You shall not see that faulty thing, wherein 
Your pleasure's not reflected. 

King. Bravely done : 
Go, and inspect my body guard : (Strato eroitt$ behind to r. ) 111 hare 
About me nought. 

That does not look and speak a lusty joy 

To give Amintor greeting. [tlxit Strato. r. 

Yes, Amintor, 

Thy Joy is mine — if that be joy to thee. 
For that I blasted thy Aspatia's name. 
And feign'd a thriving suit, whose suit did fail, 
JVf y love held cheap for thine.-^Yet not my love — 
That was, and is another's. Rather 'twas 
Hate for the manly graces, which betwixt 
Me and my pleasures stand ; and give thee sway 
Where chief I'd boast to reign. 

£7»t«f Dion, R. ' 

Dion. The fair Aspatia 
Entreats an audience of yonr highness.' 

JiCtn^'. Who ? 

Dion. The fair Aapatia. 

King. Straight admit her. [Biit Dtoir, a. 

How? 

Aspatia crave an audience ! — She that from 
My court withdrew herself — repulsed my visits — 
My costly presents spurn'd !— What brings her? — Woman, 

" On slights, finds nature in her, which before 
She never dream'd she owo*d — perceives attraction 
In arms she shunn*d, shut out from those she sought." — 
My heart, more quickly that performs its function 
At mention of her visit, says she's welcome ! — 
'Tis not her beauty — 'tis the chariness. 
With which she hoards it, that I'd master***She, 
Second in place to many in my court. 
In person, too, surpass d by more than one. 
In pride of chastity takes lead of all. — 
Gods I but she's humbled, when she stoops to crave 
An audience of me ; — me ! — 'gainst whom her door 
An hundred times she bhut ! — To pay me visit ! — 
Fresh from her toilet, doubtless ;•;— nor before 
She turn'd her back — and went— «nd tum'd again 



TRB BftlDAL. IS 



For warrant of her mirrors—Now, to 

The wonders of her wardrobe, beauty's arsenaly 

Wherefrom it arms itself for conquest ! 

Enter Aspatia and Cauanax, b. 

How! 

Is it Aspatia, that I lo(A upon ? 

AMp. If thou canst read a sorrow in mine eye. 
Complexion, fonn— deep, melancholy, clear. 
Wherein do lie a maiden's drowned hopes. 
Pride, peace, rank, fortune, youth— Huiy life itself, 
It is^ — ^If not, why then it is a stone. 
And not Aspatia that thou look'st upon. 

King, How she persuades my vision ! — Sweetly doth 
Affliction dress her !— Sweetly ! — ^It doth well 
To take the gaudy rose away, and leare 
Nought but the lily !— She becomes it!— Well, 
To quench her sparkling eyes, which now, like dew 
In cups of flowers of amaranthine dye. 
Shine weepinglj^ — Who's that 1 — ^Calianax ! 
What dost thou here, Calianaz ? 

Cal. Attend 
Upon my kinswoman. 

King, Attendants wait 
Without ! Hence ! — Leave us ! 

Cal, By her wish I stay. 

King, Tis mine thou go ! — Art thou assistant to 
Our conference 1 — Art thou her tongue 1 — her eye ? 
HSt thought? her wish, she cannot do without? 
Well ? 

Coi: I'm her kinsman, air. 

King. And I'm her king 
And thine, though thou wert fifty kinsmen to her 
Dost thou withdraw 1 (crvtMs to Cauanaz.) — Dost hear me V 

In a word. 
She speaks with me alone, or not at all. 

Jsp. Leave us, Calianaz 

JTtYi^. He does not well 
To know our will, and dally in the doing on*t !— 
Thou heardst ! — ^Thou art dismiss'd. — ^Tby kinswoman 
Gives thee thy leave.—Thou dost intrude on ber, 
If not upon thy king. 

CeU. My liege, I heard . 
My kinswoman. [Exit Caliawax, 

King, Hadst thou a boon to ask. 
And be, of whom thou'dst ask it, sought excuse 
To meet thee with denial, lady, he 
Had found it in thy friend. 

Asp, A boon, my lord, 
I come to ask* O king, (kneeling,) be just to me ; 
Or, if not just, be merciful to me. 
Thy breath hath killed my virgin name ; — thy breath 
Can give it life again ; — O, bid it live. — 



1 



14 THB BMBAU 

Ouglit it to die ?~Tlie body doct not die. 

While liTes the hoirt— Thou know'it the heart of that 

It quick and liealthfiil foimd. — ^What thon aTcrr'dBt 

To jTOoog AminCor, that inflicteth death. 

Where death on^ not Co be> uniay— deny, 

Ai nid in jest, to wake his jealoosj. 

Or try how deeply lore had taken root 

In a young virgin's heart : — else, while the priest 

The proud Ersdne makes Amintor's wife. 

Command the sexton dig a grare for me ! 

JTtng. No more of this. 
What kin art thon to death 1— Death hath not blood ! — 
His reins are empty — ^thine are fhll^— His flesh 
Is cold — and thine is warm< — His heart is still-^ 
Thine beats.-^He'8 loathsome, and Ufe shrinks from 
Thou'rt sightly, sweet, and life doth cling to thee. — 
What is Amintor 1 — Body, face, and limbs. 
Senses, thoughts, feelings, are not his alone, 
But properties as well of other men. 
Belier'st thou, hearts of fleili can wish but once t 

Atp, (itarting up.) So please your highness, this is not my sut 

King, 'Tis mine — and more will serre thee than thine own- 

Asp, My liege, 
Pmr you vouchsafe an answer to my suit. 

King. Thou sbouldst be mistress to a king, Aspatia ! 

Atp, Fd rather be a suitor, that did thrive. 

King, Thou sbouldst be mistress to a king, I say. 

Asp. Not a king's wife, that lack'd a kingly heart ; 
Nor wife of him, that own'd one, save he were 
The monarch of my soul, (eroaet to a.) 

King, Hear me, Aspatia ! 
What's gold, that will not bring the worth of gold ? 
What is a gem, which you do know is one, 
And yet the lapidary's skill condemns. 
That none will take it at a jewel's price ? — 
As good a bead of glass ! — I see tbou*lt list 
To reason. Hear me, sweet Aspatia! 
Rightly thou saidst, my breath, that kill'd thy fame. 
Can make it live again ; and it shall do it. 
Look, as thou promptest, I'll act^— 111 say — ^in jest — 
To move Amintor*s jealousy — prove thee— 
Or compass anv other end, within 
The range of likelihood — I owned thee kind. 
When to that maid* forbidden mansion, thon 
Unwittingly wert lur'd. — Note farther— this 
Is fair Evadne's wedding-day — a word 
Shall change it into thine. An hour gone by, 
Amintor leads her to tha altar — there 
Aspatia takes her place. — ^Tbou mark'st ? — ^Thy name 
No sooner clear'd, and bright, as e'er it was. 
Than for a br^hter one excbang'd — ^the wife 
Of young Amintor ! Now, Aspatia, 
Husbands, that hedge you in, do screen you too. 
Aspatia, women I can name you, who 



TU niDAL. 15 

As wives are charitable, yet, when maids, 

"Were noted for a soj^id penary. 

Dear maid, thy silence and thy downcast looks 

Are words and glances, that talk transport to me ! 

It lacks an honr : now, give me only earnest 

Thtki soch a wife, as I have named, Amintor 

Will find in thee, and be Amintor *8 bride. 

Thou hear'st me ? Well! thou understand'st me ? Well! 

Nay, if my tongue imperfect speaks the wish, 

Liet my knee tell it thee, Aspatia. {kneelt,') 

Asp, Thou slave I 

King. What say'st thou 1 

Atp. Art thou not a slave ? 
An iJ>ject, pitiful, and loathsome slave ! 
That to thy grovling passions stoop'st to kneel ! 
Nay, keep thy posture still, thou vicious man. 
That wottldst a pander make of honour's hand. 
Thou ruthless man ! that, when I came in woe 
To sue to thee, as I'd ask Heaven for help, 
(Oh ! most unlike to heaven !) to get my prayer 
Wonldst have me damn my soul ! Nay, rise not yet. 
Bring to its knee the sin, that bent thy knee. 
And then stand up a kiiw ! (TKe King rises,) Heaven is my witness, 
lliat I, thy subject, and the slander'd maid, 
SlanderM by thee, to thee, my king, in vain 
Applied to do me right ; so thou repaid'st 
The grace of heaven s anointing ! Fare thee well. 

[Exit AsPATiii, a. 

King, Perverse and shallow maid ! 

Enter Strato, r. 

8tra. Good news, my liege. 

Melantius* gallant fleet is hove in sight ! 
Moreover, by a vessel of swift sail, 
Despatch'd before bin, and just now arrived. 
We learn he brings you victory. Much joy 
To vour highness ! 

King, Thank you^ [Exit Stbato, r« 

Better that defeat 
Had held him where he was ! — He is a man 
To read a troubled look ; and, right or wrong. 
Find out the cause on't. He is reckless honest : 
A man, who to respect, must have a reason ; 
Who measures all by honour — full of action — 
Of courage too. that heeds not what it faces ! 
A nature which I loathe. He loves his sister— 
Amintor too ! — Why comes he at this time t 
I thought to better purpose 'twas, I hdd 
His promis'd succours back ! But let him come» 
Monarchs are manv-banded men ! Well find 
A way to deal with him, should he prove froward ! lEsit Kzkg, s. 



16 THE laiDAL. 



ACT II, 

SCENE I.— il magniileent hall in AmintOb's palaet* At the bade 

a lam areh, IMnd which a rich drapery cmeaiUs the preparaUmu 

for the nuuque ; two thrtmes vnth canopioi, one 9 b. &., the dher 

2 I. L. Strato> u Clbon, r. and four attendants buded m orraii^- 

ing lh$ apartment. Shouts of laughter heard vritheut, 

Stra, (l.) A.U wem so mad with riot, 'twould appear. 
The ^ery craftsmen had a kindred share 

In young Amintor's joy. (Shouts of laughter,) The world is cna'd! 
See to the minstrels and the masquers ! (two attendants'eieinu, L) 

for all faults 
The king will rail at us ' 

( Without, L.) Room for the prince ! 

Enter Lysippus and two lords. 

Lys. Where is the Lord Melantius T Not yet 
Ashore ? 

Str, No, my good lord :— 

Lys,_ Despatch more messengers. — 

Let torches blaze along the beach, to light 
Him here ; his great service would make poor our 
Fullest welcome* — {^Exeunt tujo attendants, l> 

Str. Bring you no tidings from 

The temple, prince 1 — Tis now the only question. 

Lys. I left Amintor and Evadne there 
Before the altar ; — as the sacred priest 
Held their joined hands in bis,— 
Blushing, with eyes down-cast, the lovers stood. 
Like the bright vision of an angel's dream. 
Called by some god to life. Oh ! may the knot. 
That they this night have tied, last, till the hand 
Of age undo it ! [Shouts without, h 

Cle. The king ! — Make ready there ! 

S|r. No :— look, my lord, who 'tis, that is returned ! 

[<SA4mts without, l. 

Enter Melantius and two lords, l. 

Lys. Noble Melantius ! the land, by me. 
Welcomes thy virtues home. — But the time gives thee 
A welcome above mine, or all the world s. 

Mel. My lord, my thanks: — ^but these scratch'd limbs of mine 
Have spoke my truth and love unto my friends. 
More than my tongue e'er could. — My mind^s tlie same 
It ever was to you : where I find worth, 
I love the keeper, till he let it go, 
And then I follow it. 

Enter Diphilus, l, 

I^iP' Hail, worthiest brother ! 

He that rejoices not at your return 
In safety, is mine enemy for ever. 



THS BBIDAt. 17 

MeL I tbaiiK thee, Dipbilas ! But thou art fiulty 
I sent for thee to exercise thine arms 
With me at Patria : thou cam 'it not Dipbilus ; 
Twas ill. 

Dip. My noble brother, my excuse 
la my king's straight command ; which you, my lord» 
Can witness with me— 

Lys. Tib true, Melantius. 

He might not come, till the solemnity 
Of this great match was past. 

Mei, And for these gauds. 

The succours to reKere my fainting soldiers 
W ere kept at home ! (aside.) 

Lyt, We have a masque to-night ; 

And you must tread a soldier's measure* 

Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me. 
But is Amintor wed ? 

Uip. This very night. 

They come now from the Temple. — 1 hear their music ! 

MeL All joys upon him ! for he is my friend. 
Wonder not, that I call a man so young my friend* 
His worth is great ; valiant he is. and temperate, 
And one, that never thinks his life his own. 
If his friend need it. — When he was a boy. 
And I retum'd from battle, he'd gaze on me, 
And view me round, to find in what one limb 
The virtue lay, to do those things he beard. — 
Then would he wish to see my sword, and feel 
The quickness of its edge, und in his hand 
Weigh it :— he oft would make me smile at this* 
His youth did promise much, and his ripe years 
Will see it all performed. — Blessings be on him. 
And his fair bride* Aspatia ! 

Lys. You're mistaken ; 

For she is not married* 

MeL You said Amintor was. 

Dip, T'lB true, but — 

Mel, Pardon me, I did receive 

Letters at Patria from my Amintor, 
That he should marry her. 

Lys, ^ And so it stood 

In sdl opinion long : but your arrival 
Made me imagine, you had heard the change. 

MeL Whom hath he taken then 1 

Lys. A lady, sir. 

That bears the light above her : — fair Evadne, 
Your virtuous sister. 

MeL Peace of heart betwixt them ! 

But this is strange ! 

Lys. The king, my brother* did it ; 

Partly, for that foul rumours touched the fame 
Of sad Aspatia, but his chief purpose was 
To honour you ; and these solemnities 
Are at his charge* 



18 THB BftlOAL. 

I 

MeL Tit roral, like himself. Bat I am griered 

To tbink, that ought nnfortttnate ghonld bear 
On beauUfal Aspatia* (^ercuing to r,, distant mutie htarj, l.) 

Dtp. Hark ! they're coming 

From the temple. — See— their torches flarii a day 
About them ! (Mblantiu8,Lvsippu8,^ DiranAj;r€tin to tucprur.) 

( Without, L.) Room there, make room ! 

Minttrelt, virgins, and nobles Sfiter th proctttum, preeoding Aimnitt, 
EvADNB, and ths Kimg ; ikeyJiU up the hadtefike stfiigt. 

Chorus of youths and virgins* 

Fairest goddess, queen of loves* 
Soft and gentle as thy doves, 
Beauteous mother of delights, 
Happy days, and happier nights, 
£yer young, and golden trened. 
Be this fair for ever blessed ! 

JLvs. My lord, the bridegroom I 

^tl, I might run fiercely, not more hastQy« 
Upon my foe. — ^I love thee well, Amintor :— 
I joy to look upon those eyes of thine: 
Thou art my friend— but my disordered speech 
Cuts off my lore. 

Ami, Thou art Melantius : 

All love is spoke in that. Melantius 
Returns in safety ! Victory sits on thy sword 
As she was wont. May she build there and dwdl. 
And may thy armour be, as it hath been. 
Only thv valour and thy innocence ! 

Mel, I'm but poor in words — 

King, {crouing to him,) Melantius, here are friend&.tmpatieiit 
To claim right in thee. 

Mel, My sovereign ! {kneels,) 

King, (raising and emhraeing him,) Thou*rt welcome ; and my 
love is with thee still. 

Mel, {crossing to her.) Sister, I joy to see you, and your choice '• 
You looked with my eyes, when you took that man ; 
Be happy in him ! 

Eva. Oh, my dearest brother ! 

Your presence is more joyful, than this day 
Can be unto me. 

Enter Strato, c. 

Str, (r,) Sir, the masquers wait 

Your bidding. 

King, Amintor, you are monarch 

Of the night — dispense your own commands. 
Ami, Let them attend. (The Ktno goes to throne, l., and siu. 
Strjito, having given directions, comes to the side of the Kivc, 
vnth Ltsippus and Diphilub.) We shall but trouble you 
With our solemnities. (Leading Evadnb to throne, r., placing her 
nearest the audience,) 



THS BBIDAI^ 19 

MeL Not so, Amintor : 

But if yon laugh at my rude carriage 
Id peace. Ill do as much for you in war. 
When you come thither. One word with yon* (Amintob advances 

R.) I fear 
Thou art grown fickle, aud that Agpatia 
JVIoums. forsaken of thee— on what terms I know not. 

Ami. Tis true, she had my promise and my lore ; 
HeaTen knows my grief to lose her ; but the King, 
On secret motives touching her fair fame. 
Forbad our union, and made me make 
This worthy change, thy sister, accompanied 
With graces far above her. 

MeL Be prosperous ! 

( The minttrels, virgintf and nobles retire <m each side. The curtains 
are vntkdraton, and discover variously ^rovaped, the heaihen deities 
J^lora and Vertumnns, l., Thetis and Triton, c, Ceres and Pan, R. 
ApoUo and Diana above c, with their symbols,^ 

Dance of attendant nymphs to ihe/ollowing ehorut. 

All dear Nature's children sweet 

Lay at the bride and bridegroom's feet. 

To grace this happy night ; 
Richest gems the waters yield, 
Fairest flowers of the field. 

Every treasure. 

Every pleasure. 
Crown your days with fresh delight ! 
If there be a joy yet new 
In marriage, let it fall on you ! 

(^Afterlaying at the feet of Evadnb and Amintor emblematic gifts, 
they retire within the arch, and are closed in by the drapery as they 
form themselves into a group. 

King, (rising.) A thanks to every one. — Good night, Amintor, 
And fair Evadne : — we'll ease you of more ^ 

Tedious ceremony. — ^Attend the bride 
With all due honours, ladies* (coming down, l. c.) 

Eva. Happiness 

Be with my sovereign lord I 

lExeunt Evadni and ladies. 

King, Melantius, 

We must not part : our banquet would be poor, 
And the full goblet, though to love upraised. 
Want its diviner spirit without thee 
To do our revels honour. — Once more welcome ! 
Joy and good night, Amintor ! 

MeL (to Amintor.) Could I love thee 

More, thou'st given me cause to do so — 
But I cannot: — my blessing rest with thee ! 

King. Thy hand, Mdantius. — Come. — 

[Exeunt Kino and Mblantius, i 

Ami, Much happinebS unto you all — my friends, good night! 

IKeeunt all bitt Amintor, l. 



flO THB BBTDAt 

Would I eoold eue this falness of the heart, 

That almost aches with its excess of bliss ! 

Teach me, ye gods ! to thank you, as I ought. 

For all this store of blessings, never yet 

In one man's lot poured with such boundless goodiMn ! 

I am too happy— -(AspATiA enten through drapeni c) 

Atp, At last he is alone — 

My— My lord (comes down r.) 
Amintor— 

And, Heavens ! Aspatia — Madam— Aspatia— I ! 
What would you — speak your will, madam : — prithee 
Keep in thy tears. 

Asp, They flow despite of me ; 

I thought, that I had wept them quite away. 
For since we parted, it has been my only 
Solace, to weep and think of you. 

Am, How cam'st 

Thou hither 1 — I would not hare men see thee — 

Agp, Oh I let them gaze — for human agony's 
A fayourite spectacle ; and 'tis no sight 
Of common suffering, they'd come to look on here. 
Long hours I've watched in patient torture for thee— 

Ami, Thou dost awake feelings that trouble me. 
And say, " I lor'd thee once." I dare not stay. 

Atp, A moment yet, my lord : — 'tis the last time 
You ever may behold me. — If you were 
False to me— 

AmL Aspatia ! — false 1 — 

A$p. Nay, I accuse 

You not ; — ^but if you were, forgire it, Hearen !— 
And may its pardon reach even his perjured soul, 
Who causelessly has laid griefs on me, that 
Will never let me rest ! — My errand at 
This hour is — to look once again upon you; 
And to give to your own hands this paper — 
'Jis a prayer you'll not deny, if I dare trust 
A hope, that once deceived me. — 

Ami, Wrong me not ; — 
If it be aught that may content thee, and 
In honour may be given, receive my promise ;-— 
And begone : — ^Aspatia. leave me, for 
Beholding thee, I am, I know not what. 

Asp» ril trouble yon no more ! (crones to r..) 
Go, and be happy in your lady's love ! 
May discontent ne'er grow 'twizt her and you. 
May all the wrongs, that you have done to me. 
Be utterly forgotten in my death ! 
Still I am prouder, prouder far 
To have been once your love, though now refused. 
Than to have had another true to me. 
So with my prayers 1 leave you, and must try 
Some yet unpractised way to grieve and die. [•&% ^ 

Ami. Her sorrow strikes my heart :— Methioki I feel 
Her grief shoot suddenly thro' all my veins. 



THE BJIIDAI.. 21 

I fear she has suflered irroiig ! — But why perplex 

Myself? — The king was her accuser, and 

With ronch of her inconstancy, forced me 

To break my troth! what says her suit? (reads.) '< My tongue 
shaU pray for your happiness, though mine eyes refuse to wit- 
ness it : 1 carry my sorrows far from you, and in my farewells 
commend to your care a brother, whom too much lore for 
you has hereft of a sister's protection. — Be to him what you 
would have been, had you never doubted my truth, and when 
you find it spotless, requite him with the kindness owed to me. 
The lost Aspatia/' 

Unhappy girl ! — He shall be erer near me. 

The inmate of my home and of niy heart. 

My soul sinks down within me ; the light spirit, 

Erewhile that lifted me from earth, is turned 

To dullest lead ; — No, no ; — the messenger of lore 

Appears to chase the shadows, that o*ercloud 

My joy. 

Enter Cleantue, k. 

Thou need*st not speak thy errand ; 
I know thou com'st, Cleanthe, to accuse 
Me as a heedless spendthrift of rich time — 

CU. My duty, sir — 

Ami, Oh ! what a tone and look for Hymen's herald 1 
A lip without a smile on such a night 
Is a bad omen. Ill not listen to thee, (going.) 

CU. My Lord 
Amintor, stay ; your bride, Eyadne, 
Waits you in the library. 

Ami, What dost say 1 

CU. She wishes there to see you : — The noblest 
Ladies, selected by the king to do 
Her grace, she has dismissed, and unattended sits 
In pensive mood, waiting your presence there. 

Ami. What coy device is this ? — Evadne t — Ha ! 
Does sickness weigh upon her 1 — Is she ill ? 

CU. My lord— 

Ami. My lord 1 — My life hangs on a word, 

Thou seest me suffer, yet prolong*6t my pain, 
To flatter me with forms ; away, I cannot 
Stop to question thee — Evadne ! my Evadne ! — 

[Exeunt, a. 

SCENE II. — The library of Amintor ; a door v. s. r. half 
open ; Evadnb discovered, and seated at talfU, with a Ught on it. 

It. M. 8. 

Eva. Was't not a step? (ri»ifigf)— No : — ^therehas been scarcely 
Time to give my messagre ; (bringt doum chair) but the fretful wish 
Still lengthens out the time, it would o'erleap. — 
I hear his rapid foot upon the stair !— 
'Tis he ! (tits, u 



2» THE BRIDAL. 

Eiir^ Amxntor, door u. e. a. 
Ami, Eradne ! let me look upon thee ! 

2?.^]^ ^**T*": "y ^^^ ^^^^ ^**« J health 8 lOMsate bloah 
Still decks tiiy loFely cheek, and those bright e^ 
Can blot all sad remembrance far away.— 
But, dear Eyadne. spare thy tender body : 
The rapours of the night may reach thee here :— 
And did thy thoughtful fondness send to chide me t 
£oa. No* 

Ami, My best love : why art thou up so Ion* ? 
Eva. I am not well. 

i*"** iLT , . r ^^?^^ '^Ul *>M>i»h sickness : 
JLva, My lord. I cannot sleep : —nay— were my couch 

The smgle spot on earth, where I could hope 

For rest, I would not seek it there. 

^"**« And why. 

Dear love I 

Eva. Why t— I ha^e sworn I will not— 

iT*'v * . Sworn vadne! 

j:^' Yes, sworn, Amintor : and will swear Sirain. 

Ifyon will wish to hear me. 

-^w**- I'd hear no 

Oaths, but those of love from thee. 

Eva, Of lore from me ? — 

Ami, How prettily that frown becomes thee ! 

Eva, Do you like it so ? 

Ami, Thou canst not dress thy face in such a look, 
out I must like it. 

Eva. What look likes you best 1 

Amu Why do you ask 1 

Eva. That I may show you one less pleasing to you. 
Amt, How s that ? ^ o j 

Eva. That I may show you one less pleasing to you. 

Am. I prithee, put thy jests in milder lookj : 
It snows, as thou wert angry. 

Eva, So perhaps 
I am indeed. 

-4m». Why? who has done thee wrong ? 
Name me the man, and by thyself I swear 
Thy yet unconquered self. I will revenge thee ' 

Eva, (standing up,) Now I shall try thy truth.— If thou dost 
love me. 

Thou weigh'st not any thing compared with me ;— 

jLife, honour, joys eternal, all delights 

This world can yield, or hopeful people feign.— 

Or m the life to come, are light as air 

To a true lover, when his lady frowns. 

And bids him - do «/.M.''-Wilt thou kill this man ? 

bwear, Amintor I 

Tin T^^ t ., ^ ^"* °°' ^^^^' «''««* lo^e, 
i 111 I do know the cause. 

vf^Tl • .1. . ' '^®"^^' *^ou wouldst ! 
Why, it 18 t What wrongest me :-I hate thee : 

Thou/shouldst have kiUed thyself. (m«e7 toT) 



THE BEIDAL. 28 

Ami, Iff should know that, I sbonld qaickly kill 
The man you hated. 

Eva, Know it then, and do't. 

Awu» (looking at W.) Oh, no : — what look aoe'er thou shalt put 
on. 
To try my faith, I shall not think thee false : 
I cannot find one blemish in thy face. 
Where falsehood should abide. — ^This cannot be 
Thy natural temper ! ^ 

Eva, Put off amaxement, and with patience mark 
What I shall utter : 'tis not for this night 
Alone I Ve sworn to our divorce — it is 
For crer! 

Ami, Great HeaTen I I dream ! 

Eva, Yon hear right ! 

I sooner will find out the beds of snakes, 
And with my youthful blood warm their cold flesh. 
Letting tliem carl themselves about my limbs. 
Than break the oath I've sworn. — ^This is not feigned. 
Nor sounds it like the coyness of a bride, (croucs to l.) 

Ami. Evadnel 
What horrid fears rise sick'ning at my heart? 
Art thou 1— 

She can but jest : — Oh ! pardon me, my love ! — 
Yet satisfy my fear ; 
It is a pain beyond the band of death 
To be in doubt : confirm it with an oath. 
If this be true. 

Eva, Do you invent the form : — 

Let there be in it all the binding words. 
Demons and sorcerers can put together. 
And I will take it. — I have sworn before. 
And here, by all things holy, do again. 
More than in name never to be thy wife ! 
Is your doubt over now 1 (sits.) 

Ami. The only doubt, that e'er could shake my soul, 
Now makes my heart beat with a coward's motion : 
What means this trembling o'er me ? — There^s a cause. 
For this, my honour shrinks to ask for, but 
I'll know : — tell me— tell me — 
Or by those hairs-^-whicb, if thou hadst a soul 
Like to thy lock8,*were threads for kings to wear 
About their arms — 

Eva. Indeed ! 

Ami. 1*11 drag thee to the earth, and make thy tongue 
Undo this wicked oath, or on thy flesh 
1*11 print a thousand wounds to let out life ! 

Eva. I fear tbee not. — Do what tbou dar'st, Amintor ! 
Every ilUsounding word or threatening look. 
Thou show'st to me, will be revenged at full. 

Ami. Woman! — Evadne? — Am I then so vile. 
So poor of heart, thou dar'st to fling a threat 
Into my face 1 — Where are your champions 1— where ! 
Set them before me. — Death 1 I stand and prate, 



24 THB BRIDAL. 

Holding a oowtrd P«ri«7 with soch intolt. 
As taiuti the life of honour, sbeds the bligbt 
Of infamy upon my uastaiu'd name ! 
Give me to know tbe man, would wrong me tbas, 
And ibougb bis body were a poisoooun plant, 
That it was deaib to tuaoh, 1 hare a aoal 
Will throw me on him. 

£va. IVe too much ears of thine aad my own fame. 
To drag a fate upon thtf<>, would kill both. 

Ami, Hiou oanst not be — The thought is madness to me ! 
I am afraid, some sudden start will pull 
A murder on me ! 

Ye powers abo? e t if you did ever mean, 
Man abould be used thus, yoa have thought a way 
How he may bear himaelf and save hb honour ; — 
Instruct me in it ; for to my torn heart 
There seems no mean, no moderate course to run : 
I must live scom'd or be a murderer. 

Eva. This rage can di> no good. 

Ami. Evadne, hear me : 
Thou hast ta'en an oath, which in itself is sin- 
That I'll forgive — freely forgive thee all. 
That can forgiven be: — say but, thou art not — 

Eva. Why shoQldst thou pursue ^ 
A question, that resolv'd makes only sure, 
What known thou'dst wish to doubt? — Why dost thoa gaw 
Upon me, as thy starting eyes would pierce 
My soul's dark depths 1 — Is it not enough 
To know, I love thee not ? — Tbe fate, that yokes me 
With thy humbler spirit, can lay no thrall upon 
My sovereign will ; my beait defies all bondage. 
I love with my ambition, not my eyes. — 
Be 6chooVd, Amintor : — When pain's all the fruit 
Tbe tree of knowledge bears, who bat the fool 
Would reach his hand to pluck? — I've told thee all 
Imports thee know, — and warn thee seek no further. [Ent, l. 

Ami, Have I my reason? — 'Twas Evadne spoke ! 
Melantius* sister — my wife — new wedded — 
Gracious gods! what am I ? — What dread mystery. 
What secret of disgrace, and death, and horror 
Lies underneath her words !~ Oh, man ! vain man ! 
That trusts out all his reputation 
To rest upon tbe weak and yit- Idiog hand 
Of feeble woman ! — It is Heaven's justice! 
I'he faithless sin, I made, — weak, credulous fool !-- 
To fair Aspatia, now is well reveog'd : 
It follows rae. — But I will know the worst, 
E'eo though to know it goad me into murder, 
And my own death should follow ! — 'Tis my fame. 
And honour, both enforce me to it ; I 
Have never disobeyed them. — She shall speak. [Exit, l. 



THE BUDAL. 25 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — A hall in Amintor's palace, with door in r. Jiat, 

A ehair on each tide. 

Enter Melavtivs and Diphilus, l. 

Mel, It sounds incredibly ! 

Dip, You woald have trusted 

Me oQce 1 

Mel, And will still, where I may with justice 

To the world ; — but to beliere such tctioos 
1 u my King were treason to him. Heard you not 
Dion say, that even now Lord Strato bears 
To Amintor and our dear Eradne 
His royal master's greetings ? — ^A lo7e like bis. 
So prodigal of goodness, can no alliance hold 
With lust and cruelty :— No more — thou'lt anger me, (^croues to l.) 

Dip, Not for the truth, Melantius -, and men's Ures 
And ladies' blighted names can vouch the history, 
Thou'rt loath to hear. 

MeL ' I must not hear it. 

Licentiousness, oppression, murder ! — 'tis 
A monster, that, thou paint'st ! (Strato enters from door in flat, R.) 

llie name of king. 
Though it bore thunder, should not stay my fury, 
Were this true, from throwing on him the stain 
And fate of tyranny. 

Str. (^eoming down c) You speak loud, 

If you talk secrets, sir. — 

Mel, My speech requires 

Your comment and attention, lord, as little 
As it fears your kind report Listeners are 
Ever babblers. 

Str, Boldness becomes you, but 'twere well 

To treasure it 'gainst a time of need — (^crot$e$ to l.) another 
Visiter is on his way ; — farewell I [Ei-it Strato, l. 

Dip, Shall I 

Not silence him ! (^touchim^ his tiword,) 

Mel, Be patient, boy ; he has 

No power to wound my hones^ : — see who approach ? 

Enter Cleon, Diagoras, lords, S^c, 

Cle. Is not the bridegroom herel — Good day, Melantius ! 
Our lore would pay the customary greetings 
To Amintor and your sister. 

M«». Our errand was the s ime ; 

1*11 seek them for you. [Exit Mflantti's. r. 

Cle. Are we too early 1 



16 TBS BftlDAL. 

Dip. No : Lord Stimto, whom yea met, bad bone 
E'en now nlatingB and congratoliitionB 
From tbe king, precnrton of hia preaence here. 
Unto Amintor. 

LnitT Akiiitob door in fiax^ s. 

CU, From the King ! — ^he raise 

Hia royal faroara on him : 'tie hia love. 
That weigba Amintor'a rirtuea. 

"Dill, See, the bridegroom \ 

AH. Joy to Amintor ! 

AmL . Who'a there % — my brother ! 

Dtp. Yea ; 

Come with the worn-out wiah, that erery day 
Be blither than the laat. — 

Ami. Amen ! amen I (eroues to l.) 

Cle, It makea men happier to tnink you happy, 
And, moat of all, yoor nienda, who tell yon ao. 

Ami, You are all welcome :— oome — abali we be merry ? 

Dip. You do not look aa you were ao dispoaed. 
You are ill, Amintor— your eyes are heavy — 

AmU Tia true t 

EnUtr MsLAimva, a. 

Mel. (erofSM to him,) Good day, Amintor : for to me tbe n 
Of brother is too diatant : we are friends. 
And that is nearer. 

Ami, Dear Melantioa t 

Let me behold thee. — Is it possible ? 

Mel. What sudden gaie is this ? 

Ami. 'Tis wond'roua atrange ! 

Mel, Why does thine eye desire so strict a view 
Of that, it knows so welll — ^There's nothing here. 
That is not thine. 

Ami, I wonder mneh» Melantius, 

To aee theae noble looks, that make me think 
How virtuoas thou art ! And on tbe sudden 
Tis strange to me, thou shouldst hare worth and hoooar ; 
And not be base, and false, and treacberoua— 

Mel, Stay, stay, my friend : 

I fear this sound will not become our loves. 

Ami. Oh, mistake me not : 

I kuow thee to be full of all those deeds, 
That we frail man call good. ^ Yet by the course 
Of nature, thou shouldst be >s quickly changed 
As are the winds — Ob, bow near am 1 
To utter my sick thoughts I (aside.) 

Mel, But why, my friend, should I be so by nature? 

Ami. Tve wed thy sister, who hath virtuous thoughts 
Enough for one whole family ; and it is strange. 
That you ahould feel no want. 

MeL Believe me, this compliment's too cunning for me ! 



THE BBIDAL. 27 

Etadnb without, R. U. B. 
Where is nay lord ? 

Ami, EvadDe !— Come, my lore ; 

Enter Evadne, door in flat, R. 
Your brothers do attend to wish you joy. (Evadnb between Diphi* 
L.VS and Mblantius.) 
Mel. Good-morrow, sister ! He, that understands 
Whom you hare wed, need not to wish you joy ; 
You hare enough : — take heed, you be not proud. 

Dip, Sister ! — have you no ear for my good-morrow 1 
It shall be merrier, and full as true 
Ab our grare brother's. 

Eva. Dear Diphilus, lore's smiles 

A.re erer earnest of its truth, speaking 
More pleasantly than sober words, that oft 
Seguile us. Your mirth shall hare its audience. 
With thanks in recompence. 

Cle. Lady, if wishes 

Could prolong your happiness, it would oatlire 
All time. 

Eva. Your goodness tasks our gpratitude 
To pay thanks worthy of it. 

[Amintob has gone in melancholy abstraction row^ the 
stage, and sunk into cftatr, r., M-ELAVtivs foUow/him. 
Mel. AmintorT 
Ami. Ha 1 

MeL Thou'rt sad. 

Ami. Who, I ?— I thank you for that.— Shall Diphilus, thou 
And I sing ? 
MeL Howl 

Ami* Prithee let's. 

MeL Nay, that's too much the other way. 
Amu I am so lightened with my happiness ! 
Gentlemen ! 

Would you had all such wires, and all the world. 
That I might be no wonder ! You're all sad.— 
What, do you enry me ? I walk, methinks, 
On water, and ne'er sink, I am so ligbt. 
MeL 'Tis well you are so. 

Ami. Well 1 now can I be other, when she looks thus ? 
Ifl there no music there 1 Let's dance. 
MeL Why this is strange, Amintor ! 
Ami. I do not know myself; — (cros$es to l.) 
JSva. Amintor, hark! (aside.) 
You do it scurrily ; — ^'twill be perceired. (ErADNB goes up ttage 
attended by all the lords.) 
Cle. My lord, the King is here. 

Enter King, Lysippus, and Strato. 

Ami, Where ? (crostes to r., and throws himself into a chair.) 
Dia. And bis brother. 

King, Good morrow, all \ 

Andntor, joy on joy fall thick upon you ! (Amintor starts up and 
iupports himself by the chair,) 

B 2 



20 THE BRIDAL. 

Mtdame, I salute you ; you're now aoother's, 

Atid therein twice the object of our care. 

Ha ! Melantius ! 

Whispers h%ve reacbM us, casting doubts, Melantins, 

Upon a trusted subject's faith : — ^you can conceive 

My meaning easily ; for men, that are in &ulc. 

Can subtly apprehend, when others aim 

At what they do amiss. But I forgive 

Freely before this mao. 

Mel, I cannot tell 

What 'tis you mean : — but I am apt enough 
Rudely to thrust into an ignorant fault : — 
But let me know it : happily 'tis nought 
But misconstruction ; and where I am clear. 
Twill not take forgiveness from high Hearen, 
Much less from you. 

King, Nay, if you stand so stiff, 

I shall call back my mercy. 

Mel, I want smoothness 

To thank a man for pardoning of a crime 
I never knew. 

King, Not to instruct your knowledge, but to show yoa 
My ears are every where, you called me tyrant, 
Aod even menac d me. 

Mel, ■ Pardon me, sir : — 

My bluDtness will be pardoned : — You preserve 
A race of idle people here about you — 
Facers and talkers — to defame the worth 
Of those, that do thin^^s worthy ; — (Stbato eomes down it.) 
And if I thought you gave a faith to them, 
1 he plainness of my nature would speak more. 

Sir. Why didst thou not before me say thus much ? 

Mel. Oh, then it comes from him ? 
. Str, Who should it come from ? 

- Mel, I talk not to him : — 
Should the vile tales of such an abject thing, 
A cringing, gabbling, eaves-dropper, make a breach 
Between your majesty and me? Twas wrong 
To hearken to him ; but to credit him. 
At least as much as I have power to bear. — 
I have bestow'd 

My careless blood with you, and should be loth 
To think an action, that would make me lose 
That, and my thanks too. When I was a boy, 
I thrust myself into my country's cause, 
And did a deed, that pluck'd five years from time» 
And styl'd me man, then. My heart 
And limbs are still the same ; my will as great 
To do you service. Let me not be paid 
With such unkind distrust. 

King, Let me take thee 

To my arms, Melantius, and believe 
Thou art, as thou deserv'st to be, my friend 
Still, and for ever,— <Amintor (crosses to htm) cheer thee 



THE BRIDAL., 29 

Tbou art i<tiU a bridegroom, and we mast use thee so. 
Yea will trust me, will you not, to chouse 
A wife for yon again. 
Ami, No, never, sir ! 
King. Why — like you this so ill ? 
Ami. So well I like her ; — 
And if the powers. 

That rule us, please to call her first away, 
Without pride spoke* this world holds not a wife 
Worthy to take her room. 
For this I bow my knee in thanks to you. 
And lift my ban<ii3 in prayer, in grateful prayer. 

To Heaven 

From the deep vi^orkings of ano'er fraught heart. 

Imploring strict remembrance in i(s justice 

Of all your bounty gires me, and, at its chosen 

Time, that 'twill repay the debt I owe you. 

Which my life, though stretch'd through countless ages, 

Cannot clear. 

King. I do not like this : — 

All forbear the room, but you, Amiutor. (^Exeunt Strato, l., the 

ether lords through door in flatt R.) 
I have some speech with you. 
Which may concern your after living well. 

Ami. He will not tell me, that he has diagraped me I (ondie.) 
If he do, something heavenly stay my heart. 
For I shall be apt to thrust this hand of mine ' 
To acts unlawful. 

King. Amintor— -something lurks 

Beneath your words. — Do yon suspect me ? 

Ami. Sir ? — 
Suspect you ? . . 

King. You would suffer me to talk 

With fair Evadne, nor have a jealous pang ? 

Arm. (after a pause.) I will not lose a word 
On that vile woman. Bat to you, my kin^,— 
The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth, 
You are a tyrant f 
King. How, sir ! 

Ami. You that can know to wrong, should know how men 
Must right themselves : What punishment is due 
From me to him, that shall abuse my bed ? 
Is it not death ? 

King. Draw not thy sword ; thou know'st I oannot fear 
A subject's hand. 

Amt. As you are mere man, 

I dare as easily kill you for this deed, 
As you dare think to do it. But there is 
Divinity about you, that strikes dead 
M 7 rising passions. — Good, my lord the King, 
Be silent on it. 

King, Thou mayst live, Amintor, 
Free as thy King, if thou but turn thine eyes 
Away — 



80 THB BRIDAI.. 

AmL A ptnder?— >HoId, my breast ! — A bitter eurae 
Seize me, if I forget not il respects 
That are religions, on another word 
Soanded like that ; and thro' a sea of sins 
Will wade to my rerenge, tho' I should call 
Pains here, and after life, upon my soul ! 
Tempt me no more— my senses will not hold — 
Monster !— Barbarian 1 I will not listen to thee ! C^^^ ■* 

King, Hit frantic passion satisfies my heart 
Of fair Eyadne's truth ; — ^while that is mine 
Let this weak boy rage on ! Suspects Melantius 
Aught 1 — ^methinks it is a mask, and not his face. 
He shows me. Gods ! knew he — sure Amintor 
Hath stronger sense of shame, if not of manhood. 
Than to be herald of his own disgrace ! 
If. they should plot together ! — I'll remove them! 
Take danger by the root, and up with it 
Before it comes to bear ! Its noxiousness 
Lies in its baleful fruit. Up with it ! — Deep ! 
Go deep ! Leave not a fibre ! — They shall die ! 
Amintor and Melantius both shall die ! L^^f k. 



SCENE II. — A room in Amintor's piuac$, Amintor dUeoveni 
seated at a table, R. Aspaha disguiied as a boy, $tanding near^ u 

Asp. Is there no service that my lore can learn 
To do you profit % At first 1 may be awkward. 
But if you deign to teach me, my strong wish 
To please will make all labours easy. 

Ami. Gentle youth. 

Leave me ; for beholding thee, in voice and look 
So like thy much wronged sister, my sins 
In their most hideous form stand up before me — 
But 'tis my fate to bear, and bow beneath 
A thousand griefs ! 

Asp, Are there not some, that I 

Could sufier for you P-^send me not from yon, mt. 
For a fault of feature only : I'll stay by you. 
If but to weep in silence, when you mourn ; 
Or I would lull your sorrows with my lute. 
And sing to you betimes, or, stories tell. 
To win you to a brief forgetfulness 
Of all, that now disturbs you. — 

Ami. I could believe, it was Aspatia spoke!— 
Wouldst do so much, my boy ? 

Asp, I would do any thing to show 
My love '.—wander with you in poverty. 
And danger, — ^bear cold and hunger, venture 
Life itself, and smiling lay it down 
To lengthen yours, or make your safierings 
E'en by one sigh Uie less. 



r 



TBS BlIDAU 

Anu* I am not worth' 

Such lojaltf , kind youth ; tho* I must lore 
Thee for it ; and for Aspatia's sake wili erer 
Cherish thee. 

(Riting and apart.) Why should 1 he thus wretched! 
JPor aught I know, all husbands are like me ; 
And every one, I talk with of his wife. 
Is but a Tain dissembler of his woes. 
As I am. — Wobld I knew it ! for the rareness 
Afflicts me now. — But let me bvar my giiefs 
Hid from the world, that no man^s eye perceive 
My inward misery. — Oh ! (throwing hinuelfinto ehair, r.) 

Enter Mslantius, l. 

MeL Vn know the cause of all Amintor's griefs. 
Or friendship shall be idle. His <Ustracted carriage 
Takes deeply on me ; I will fiod the cause. 
I fear his conscience cries, he wronged Aspatia. 
Ami, Who's there ! — my friend ! 
MeL Aminior, we hare not 

Enjoyed our fnendship o* late, for we were wont 
To change our souls in talk. 

AmL Melantius, I 

Can tell thee a good jest of Strato and 
A lady, the other day. 

Mel. Howwas't* 

Ami. Why, such 

An odd one. 

MeL (^erasset to a.) Leave us good youth. [Exit Aspitii, a. 

I have loDg'd 
To apeak with you, not of an idle jest 
That s forced, but of matter you are bound to utter 
To me. 

Ami. What's that, my friend ? 

MeL I have observed your words 

Fall from your tongue wildly, and all your carriage. 
Like one, that strove to show his merry mood. 
When he were ill disposed. — You were nut wont 
To put such scorn into your speech ; or wear 
Upon your face ridiculous jollity. 
Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would 
Coyer over with smiles, and 'twill not be. 
What is it?— 

Ami. A sadness here ! — what cause 

Can fate provide for me, to make me sad 1 
Am I not loy'd thro' all this isle ? The king 
Kains greatness on me ; have I not received 
A beauteous lady as my bride, whose heart's 
A prison for all virtue ? Are not you 
(Which is above all joys) my constant friend !— • 
What sadness can I have ? 



te 



THE BKIDAL. 



MbL You may, Amiotor. 

Shape causes to cosen the whole world withal. 
And Touraelf too ; but 'tis not like a friend. 
To hide your soul from me. — 'Tie not your nature 
To be thus idle^-— I baye seen you stand. 
As yon were blasted, 'midst of all vour mirth : 
Call thrice aload, and thru start, roignine joy 
So coldly I — World, what do I here ? — a niend 
Is nothing.— Heavens ! I would have told that man 
My secret sins ! 

Come with a compliment ! — I would have fought — 
Or told my friend ** he lied," ere soothed him so ! — 
Out of my bosom ! (crofs<« to l.) 

Ami. But there is nothing — 

MeL Worse and worse ! — fiurewell ! — 
From this time have acquaintance (going, l.), but no friend ! 

Ami, Melantius stay : — you shall know what it is. 

MeL See, how you played with friendship * Be advised* 
How you give cause unto yourself to say, ' 
You've lost a friend. 

Ami, Forgive what I have done ; 

For I am so o'ergone with injuries 
Unheard of, that I lose consideration 
Of what I ought to do. — Oh, oh ! — 

Mel. Do not weep. 

What is it? — May I once but know the man 
Hath turned my friend thus ! 

Ami, I had spoke at first 

But that— 

Mel. But what 1 

Ami. I held it most unfit 

For you to know. — Faith, do not know it yet. 

MeL Thou aeest my love, that will keep company 
With thee in tears ; hide nothing then from me : 
For when I know the cause of thy distemper. 
With mine old armour I'll adorn myself. 
My resolution, and cut thro' thy foes 
Unto thy quiet ; 'till I place thy heart 
As peaceable as spotless innocence. 
What is it t 

Ami, Why, 'tis this — ^let my tears make way awhile. 

MeL Punish me strangely, Heaven, if he escape 
Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this ! 

Ami, Your sister — 

MeL Well said. 

Ami. You will wish't unknowB* 

When you have heard it. 

Mel. No. 

Ami, Is much to blame^— 

And to the King hath given her honour up ! 

MeL How is this ? — 
Thou art run mad with injury, indeed : 
Thou couldst not utter this dse ! — speak again. 
For I forgive it freely : — tell thy griefe. — 






TBI BBIDAL. ^^S 

Mel, She'e wantcm — (I am loth to say the word. 
Though it ho tnio). 
And I the chosea cover of her shame ! 

Mel. Speak jet again, before mine anger grows 
Up, beyond throwing down : what are thy griefs ? 

Amu By all our friendship, these. 

Mel. What, am I tame ?^ 

After mine actions shall the name of friend 
Blot all our family I and stick the brand 
Of wanton on my sister, unreyenged ?— 
My shaking flesh, be thoo a witness for me. 
With what anwillingness I go to scQox^e 
This railer, whom my folly hath called friend ! 
I will not take thee basely ; thy sword 
Hangs near thy hand ; draw it, that I may whip 
Thy rashness to repentance. — Draw thy sword ! 

Ami, Neyer, neyer on thee. 

Mel, Ye gods 1 he's base 

And fearful i — ^Thoo hast a guilty cause. 

Amu Thon pleasest me : — ^much more like this-* 

MbL Take then more 
To raise thine anger : *tis mere cowardice 
Makes thee not draw ; — ^but I will leaye thee dead, 
Make thy vile memory loathed, and fix a scandal 
Upon thy name for oyer. 

AmL No choice is left my honour. 

I knew before 

Twould grate your ears ; but it was base in you 
To urge a weighty secret from your friend 
And then ra-,e'at it. — I shall be at ease 
If I be killed; and if you fall by me, 
I shall not long outliye you. (juivancing on him,) 

Mel, Stay awhile. — 
The name of friend is more than family. 
Or all the world besides: I was a fool ! — 
Would I had died, ere known 
This sad dishonour ! Pardon me, my friend 1 
If thou wilt strike, here is a faithful heart, 
Pierce it; for I will oeyer heaye my hand 
To thine : — Behold the power thou hast in me ! 
I do belieye my sister is a wanton ! 
A leprous one ! — pat up thy sword, young man ! 

Amu How should I bear it then, she being so 1 
I fear, my friend, that you will lose me shortly ; 
And I shall do a foul act on myself, 
Hirough these disgraces ! 

Mel, Better, half the land 

Were buried quick together. No. Amiotor ! 
Thoa Shalt haye ease. — Oh this adult'rous kiitg, 
To wrong me so 1 

Ami, MHiat is it then to me. 

If it be wrong to youl 

Mel, Why not so much : 

The credit of our house is thrown away ; — 

»8 



34 THB BUDAL. 

But from hit htm den I'll waken Death, 
And hurl him on thia king ! — Mj honeaCy 
SbaU ateel my sword : and on ita horrid point 
111 wear my canae that shall amaze the eyea 
Of thia prond man, and be too glittering 
For him to look on. (crauM to a.) 
Ami. I ba«e quite undone my fame. 

MeL Dry up thy watery eyes ; 
And cast a manly look upon my face ; 
For nothing is ao wild aa I, thy friend. 
Till I have freed thee. Still this swelling hreaat ! 
I go thus from thee, and will never cease 
My Tengeance, till I find thy heart in peace. 
Ami Stay, stay, — 

MeL I will to death pursue him with revenge. 
Ami, Out with tby sword then, and hand in hand with me 
Rush to the chamber of this hated king. 
And sink him with the weigbt of all his aina 
To hell for ever. 

Mel, 'Twere a rash attempt. 
Not to be done with safety. Let our reason 
Plot our revenge, and not your passion. 
You'll overthrow my whole design with madness. 

Ami, I am mad indeed. 
And know not what I do. — Yet have a care 
Of me in what thou dost. 

MeL Wby, thinks my friend 

I will forget bis honour ? or to sare 
The brav'ry of our bouse, will lose his fame ? 
Ill do what worth shall bid me, — and no more. 

Ami, 'Faith I'm sick ; — and desperately, I hope* 
Yet leaning thus, I feel a kind of ease. 
MeL Come, take again your mirth about you. 
Ami, I shall never do it. 
MeL . 1 warrant you 

Ami. Thy love — oh wretched ! — Ay, thy love, Melantius * 
Why I have nothing else. 

MeL Be merry then — 

Look up — we'll walk together. 
Put thine arm here : all* shall be well again. 

(Melantius accompanies Amintor off the stage, i.., mad 
immediately returns^ 
This worthy young man may do violence 
Upon himself ;— bat I have cherisb'd him 
To my best power, and sent him smiling from me 
To counterfeit again. Sword, hold thine edge ; 
My heart will never fail me. I will wash the stain. 
That rests upon our house, off with his blood. 

Enter Diphilus, r. 

Diphilus ! — thou comest as sent ! 

Dip, Yonder haa been such laughing ! 

MeL Betwixt whom? 



THE BBIOAL. 85 



Dip, Why, onr nster and the king ; I thought their ipleens 
Would brei^ ; they Uaghed us all out of the room. 

Md. They must weep, Diphilus. 

JHp. Must thej ? 

Ma. They must.-- 

ThoQ art my brother ;— and if I did believe 
Thou hadst a base thought, I would lip it out. 
Lie where it durst. 

D^» You should not ; I would first 

Mangle myself, ai^ find it. 

MtL ^ That was spoke 

Aoooxding to onr stnin.-^ome, join thy hands 
Tomina, 

And swear a firmness to what project I 
Shall lay before thee. 

D9* You do wrong us both ; 

People hereafter shall not say, there passed 
A bond, more than our loves, to tie our liyes 
And deaths together. 

Mel. It is as nobly said, as I could wish. 
Anon 111 tell you wonders ;— we are wrong'd ! 

Dip. But I will tell you now, we'll right ourselves ! 

Mel, If thou be'st what thou say'st, we will, my brother ! 
Tilts is the night, spite of astronomers. 
To do the deed in, that shall either bring 
Our banished honours home, or create new ones 
In oar deaths. Time files ; prepare the armour 
In my house ; and whatever mends you can draw to us. 
Not knowing of the cause, make readj too : 
Then to the port, and bid my trustiest soldiers. 
In secrecy and silence, be prepared 
This night to combat for Melantius' honour. 
Perhaps his safety.— Be swift, yet cautious — 
A word may be our ruin. — Haste, my brother. 
To-night we strike the blow, and day is fast 
Declining ; midnight is the hour— remember I 
Haste, Diphilus, the time requires it ; haste ! 

[Exit DtPBTLVS, L. 

He must die, and his own sin shall strike him! 

My aim can't miss. All that this world calls happy. 

Shameless tyrant, thou'st pilfer*d from me ; but 

I will redeem 

The honour thou hast stolen, or escape 

In death the shame on'tl— By my revenge I will ! 

lExit Melantius, ii« 



M- TBI BIXDAL. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I*— -4 room in Amintor's palace ; E^adhb on wrfa, »., 
and iix ladies Handing round her, disecvered^ 

Eva, Now, ladies, who has brought a merr ale 
To wake our laughter ? 

Cle, I should he, iDadam» 

The merriest here, hut I ha^e ne'er a story 
Worth telliog at this time. 

Enter MsLANnns, door c. 

Mel. Save yoa ! 

Eva, Sare you, sweet brother ! 

^*^* In my blunt eye 

Methioks you look, Evadne-- 

Eva, Come, you would make raeblusk. 

MeL I woald, Eradne :~I shall displease my ends else. 
I would not hare your women hear me 
Break into commendation of you ;— 'Tis uot seemly. 

Eva, Go, wait me in the gallery. [Exeunt ladies, deer c. 

Now speak. 

Mel. I'll lock the door first. 

Eva. Why? 

Mel. I will not hare your gilded things, that dance 
In yisitation with their Milan skins, 
Choke up my business. 

Eva. (rising.) You are strangely disposed, or • 

Mel, Good madam, not to make you merry. 

Eva. No ; if yoo praise me, it will make me sad. 

Mel. Such a sad commendation I have for you. 

Eva. Brother, the court has made you witty. 
And learn to riddle ! 

Mel. I praise the court for't : 

Has it learnt you nothing ? 

Eva. Mel 

MeL Ay, Eradne. 

Eva, Gentle brother! 

Mel. 'Tis yet in thy repentance, foolish woman. 
To make me gentle* — 

Eva. How is this ? 

MeL Tis base : 

And I could blush, at these years, through all 
My honoured scars, to come to such a parley. 

Eva, This is saucy ! 
Look yoa intrude no more ! There lies your way. 

MeL Thou art my way, and I will tread upon thee, 
'Till I find truth out. 

Eva, What truth is that you look for ? 

MeL Thy long lost honour. — ^Would the gods had set me 



THX BUDAL. SI 

Kather to gnpple with the plague, or stand 

One of their loudett bolts !-— Come, tell me quickly. 

Eva, I onderstand you not. (eroiUi to l.) 

MeL Do not play with mine anger ; do not, wretch ! 
1 come to know that desperate fool, that drew thee 
From thy fair life. Be wise, and lay him open. 

Eva. Unhand me, and learn manners ! Such another 
Forgetfulness forfeits year life. 

meL Quench me this mighty humour— and then tell me — 
Whose wanton are you ? for you are one, I know it. 
Let all mine honours perish, but 111 find him, 
Tho' he lie lock'd up in thy blood ! Be sudden ! 

Eva. Begone ! — ^Vou are my brother ; that's your safety. 

MeL 111 be a wolf first ! — Tis, to be thy brother. 
An infamy below the sin of coward. 
Force my swollen heart no further. — I would save thee. 
Thou hast no hope to ^scape * — He that dares most. 
And damns awav his soul to do thee service. 
Will sooner fetch meat from a hungry lion. 
Than come to rescue thee ;— thou'st death about thee ! 
Who has undone thy honour^-pois m*d thy virtue, 
And, of a lovely rose, led thee a canker ? 

Eva, Let me consider, (crosses to r.) 

Mel, Do — whose child thou wert — 

Whose honour thou hast murdered — whose grave open*d— 
And so pull'd on high heaven, that in its justice 
It must restore him flesh again, and life, 
And raise his dry bones to revenge this scandal ! 

Eva, It had better in my mind let them lie still. 

MeL Do you raise mirth out of ray easiness 1 — 
Forsake me then all weaknesses of nature. 
That make men women I— Speak, you wanton ! speak ! 
Speak truth I (dravnng his dagger) — 
Or, by the dear soul of thy sleeping father, 
This steel shaH be thy lorer !-Vsetses her.) TeD, or Fll kill thee ' 

Eva, Help ! help ! — oh ! help ! 

MeL By thy foul self, no human help shall help thee, 
If thou cnest! — When I have kill'd thee — (as I have 
Vow'd to do, if thou confess not) naked. 
As thou hast left thine honour, will I leave thee ; 
I'hat on thy branded flesh the world may read 
Thy black shame, and my justice. — Wilt thou bend yet ? 

(In the struggle Melantius gets to j^, she on her kneesf 

vide illustration.) 

Eva, Yes — yes. . 

Mel, (raises her.) Up, and begin your story. 

Eva, Ob, I am miserable I 

Mel, Tis true, thou art ! — Speak truth still. 

Eva. I have oflended : 
Noble sir, forgive me. (kneels,) 

MeL With what secure slave ? 

Evai What shall I do 1 

Mel, Be true, and make your fault less. 

Eva, I dare not tell. 

MeL Do not (all back again :— but speak. 



98 THE BUDAL. 

Em* Will jou forgive me then ? 

M$L Stay 1 most ask 

Mine honour finU^IVe too much foolish nttare 
In me : Speak. 

Eva. Is there none else here ? 

MtL None, but a fearful conscience : that's too many 
Who is'tl 

Eva. Oh, hear me gently. It was — the king. 

MgL No morow— My worthy father's, and my serTices 
Are liberally rewarded. King, I thank thee ! 
For all my dangers, all my wounds, thou hast paid me 

In my own metal : ^tbese are soldier's thanks. {crvsie$ to l.) 

How long have yon lired thus, Evadne ? (raues hir.') 

Eva. Too long. 

Mel. Can you be sorry for your fault t 

£tMi« Oh! my brother. 

M§1, Evadne thou wilt to thy sin again ! 

Eva, First to my grave t 

M$l. Would Heaven, thou hadst been so blest ! 
Dost thou not hate this king now 1 Prithee hate him. 
Couldst thou not curse him 1 I command thee, curse 
Curse, till the heavens hear, and deliver him 
To thy just wishes ! 

Dost tbou not feel within thee a brave anger, 
That breaks out nobly, and directs thine arm 
IV) kill this base king ? 

Eva. All the saints forbid it ! 

MeL No : all the saints require it ; for heav'n is 
Dishonour'd in him. 

Eva. It is too fearful ! 

Mtl. You're valiant in your vice, and bold enough 
To be a wanton, and have your name of mistress 
Discourse for grooms and pages — thus far you 
Know no fear. 

Emu Good sir I 

Mel. Be wise, and do it. Canst thou live, and know 

What noble minds shall make thee 1 see thyself 
Found out with every finger — made the shame 
Of all successions — and in this great ruin 
Thy brother and thy noble husband broken t— 
Thou shalt not live thus ! — Kneel, and swear to help me. 
When I shall call thee to it ; or by all 
Holy in heaven and earth, thou sbalt not live 
To breathe a full hour longer : — not a thought ! 
Come— 'tis a righteous oath, (she kneels.) Give me thy hands. 
And, both to Heaven held up thus, swear by that wealth 
This lustful thief stole from thee, when I say it. 
To let his foul soul out 

Eva. Here I swear it : 

And all you spirits of abused women 
Help me in this performance ! 

Mel. Enough, (crosses to l.) This must be known to none 
But you and me, £vadne :— not to your lord, 
IW he be wise and noble, and a man 



THE BUDAL. 



39 



Dares ftep M fiur into a worthy Mtion 

As tbe most daring :— «ik not why {fcnoOt at door o.) 

yfho*B there ? 

Eva. I know not. t j t:. j 

Str, (without,c., knocking.) Gentle lady— Lady Evadne, 

I am from the king. 

MeL (unlocks door.) Come m then.— JVow, 
Speak yonr errand. (Strato enters door c.) 
Sir. (confused.) The Lord Melantius ! 
MeL -^ Yea: 

Her brother, sir. Well '.—You are from the kmg : 
What is his graciooa pleaaare ? 

Str. Sir— I— 

Mel. Why 

Do you pause % 
We wait the king*8 behest. 

Str. *Tis for 

The lady's ear alone. 

MeL I am her brother, 

Sir ; the love that binds us, owns no secret 
'Twixt us. No trifling : the king has wnt you : 
Your errand's to my sister : — well ; she's there, — 
Waiting your master's will ;— speak it, and quickly, 

Str. Her lord, Amintor, now is with the king, 
On matters of some moment, which require 
The lady Evadne's presence ; 'tis his highness' 
Will she attend him at the palace. 

Mel. Sir, it is 
An honour 

She'll study to deserve ;— obedience is . 

Our duty. [^*'^ Strato, door c. 

Yes, obedience to the voice 
Of all -coBunanding justice ! 

£t». Oh, my brother. 

Let me not go^ 

MeL 'Tis not my purpose: thou 

Must stay awhile ; the villain lied, Amintor 
Is not there. The hour may come, when brothers, 
Husband, friend, will be but names, echoing 
Thy frantic shrieks. — There's death abroad ! 
Evadne, in that hour think upon me : — 
Think on thy wrongs committed, and endured : 
Remember — thou hast sworn— and let this token. 
The sacred legacy of murdered honour. 

Absolve thee of thy oath to Heaven and me ! (giving a dagger.) 
Farewell. [^*»* Melantius, door c. 

Eva. Would I could say so to my black disgraces ! 
Oh, where have I been all this time ? how friended ? 
That I should lose myself thus desperately. 
And none in pity show me, how I wandered ? 
Now whither must I gol my husband shuns me ! 
My honest brothers must no more endure me. 
No friend will know me — chaste women blush to see me, 
And pointing, as I pass, say— "There, there, behold her. 



40 TBI BBTDAL. 

Look OD her, litflo chUdren ; that is the, 
fhat bandflome lady ; siark I** — Oh m;^ aad fortaae ! 
Is this the end I'?e lired for ? There i» not 
In the oompaM of the light a more unhappy- 
Creature . 
Oh, my lord! 

Enter Amintob, door c 

Ami. (r.) How now ? 

Eva. tu) My moch-ahnsed lord ! (hneeU,) 

Ami, This oaonot he. {Ju tumtfrom her.) 

Eva, I do not kneel to live ; I dare not hope it. 
The wrongs I did are greater— Ah I look apon me. 
Though I appear with all my fadta. 

Ami, Stand up. 
This is a new way to heget more sorrow : 
Heaven knows I haye too much — ^prithee do not mock me. 
' Bva, My whole life is so leprous, it infects 
All my repentancow— I do not fall here 
To shadow, hy dissembling, with my tears. 
Or to make less, my lord, what my yile will 
Hath done. — No, I do not.— I do appear 
The same, the same Eyadne, drest in the shames 
I lived in, and am soul-sick till I have got 
Your pardon. 

Ami, Rise, Evadne, if this be 

Serious, I do forgiye thee. 
Rise, Evadne. (raiut her,) 

I should haye killed thee, but Ais sweet repentance 
Locks up my yengeance. It was fate decreed 
Our parting. (erot$et to l.) Oo Eyadne, and take care 
My honour fidls no further. 

Eva. All the dear joys here, and ahoye hereafter 
Crown tby fair soul. — ^Thus I take leaye, my lord. 
And neyer shall yon see the foul Eyadne, 
Till she has tried all honoured means, that may 
Set her in rest, and wash her stains away. 

[^Exeunt ieverally, Amintor l., Evadhe, r, 

SCENE IT. — An apartment in the King's jtalaee, door l., doer c. 
Table with writing materials, r. u. s., a chair. 

Enter the Kino. 

King. What are our wishes, if contenting them* 
We mar our own content ? What are our pleasures. 
If they engender cares T Better they ne'er 
Were bom, than to such progeny giye birth ! 
(Sits down,) My heart is heayy — sad. Where is Eyadne ? 
She'd cheer it — and it would be sad again ! 
{Rises*) Gods, but this darkness of my soul is thick ! 
Why comes Eyadne not, to bring me Ught 1 
To warm and cheer me ? Hark ! — It must be she; 
Come on my sun ! Rise on me ! Leaye me not 
LoD^<^r to brood on this oppressiye night. 



THE BBIDAt. 4l 

Wludi looks as tbo* 'twould never pass away ! 

'Tis she ! — Come in ! Why do you knock 1 — Come in ! 

(knocking at door, l.) 
What kept you ? I have wanted you ! 



Enter Mslantiu8» door l. 

Mel, (l.) I'm come ! 
King, (r.) Melantius! 

Jhfis/. If Melantius knows his name ! 
Who knoweth not things as familiar quite, 
So time has metamorphos'd them. 

King, This calm (aside) 
Is anj thing but true ! — a quiet sea 
Beneath a lowering sky — not to be trusted ! 
There's storm above, tho' not a wave below, 
As yet — as yet ! I'm glad my guards are near 
'Twas, seasonable foresight. — Well Melantius ! 
MeL Well 1 

King. What's your pleasure ? 
MeL What is yours ? — I think 
You said, when I came in, that I was late— 
That you had wanted me. 

King, It was not you, 
Melantius, whom I wanted. 
MeL No I whom then ? 
King, I said, it was not you. 
MeL I say, whom then ? 
King. Is It your business t 
MeL Nay, that's known to you. 
Who know the business. — Is't my business ? 
King, No! 

MeL Why then suppose it not. 
King. What brings you here ? 
MeL Business of yours and mine. 
King. Tia not a time ! 
MeL It is a pressing suit* 
JRitn^. 'Tis not a time ! 
MeL What if it be a wretch. 
Whom, save a god, none but a king can help 1 
King. 'Tis not a time ! 
MeL It is a time, sir king ! 
When mercy's to be shown, or justice done. 
To every man, and most of all a king. 
It always is a time ! — That is« at least. 
It should be so. 

King, You have been revelling ! — ^Wine, 
Melantius, drowns your proper self in you. 
And makes you seem another man. 

MeL Not so. 
In wine I am two Melantiuses. I'm twice 
As generoup, honest, brave. Say, when I'm sober 
I'd not take fifty ducats, did you ask me 



42 THE BUDAL. 

To do t base de«d, then I would not do it 
For a hnndred ! Not myself, when I'm in wine 1 
In wioe men ever are tbemaelrea I There's not 
That vice, bow cunninglj soe'er wrapped up. 
Hut you will find the goblet will uncloke it. 
How show you in your oups 1 

King, By your account, 
I must seem twice a king. 
MeL Or twice a fiend. 
King, How 1 

Mel. What's amiss ? Why start yon and change colour ? 
I did not say, that you were not a king ; 
Tbo' men there are as bold. — Just now I sat 
In company with one. — which brought me here. 
Kittg. Wh^, what fell out? 
MeL He laid to your account, 
Most mighty king, unking-like practices. 
King, Who was he? 
Mel, Acts so much o' the vein of hell. 
That twenty demons could not worse complot ! 
King, Who was he ? 
Mel Such excess of vile offence, 
The vilest grade of human trespass yet 
Looks down upon it ! — ^As you were my king — 
As I bad serv d you from my prime of youth,— 
My choicest years on your account laid out,— 
As for you I had borne captivity. 
And shed my blood,— -as bei^ a proof or two 
Without a tongue can vouch. — As I bad borne 
Your banner long, before your enemies,— 
Most limes in triumph, without honour never— 
As I had served you much from sense of duty, 
Belief of merit more, but must of all — 
From love — when such aspersion on your name 
Fell like a blight upon a goodly tree, 
AH blossom — I did feel a wish — 
King, What was't ? 
Mel, To smite ! 
King, Whom? 

Mel. Thee, that gav'9t a subject cause — 
A man tbou'rt born above — whose knee, arm, blood 
Thou hast a right to claim — who gav'st to such. 
Right to disparage thee ! 
King, Right ! 
Mel. Right — thou vile 
And self-debauched kmg ! 
Whom look'dst thou for 

When I came in ? whom look'dst thou for, I say 1 
King, How dar'st thou ask ? 
MeL Have I no rigiit to koow ? 
Thou damned pestilence, that tak'st not one, 
But twenty at a swoop ! 
King. Audacious man ! 
W here's thy allegiance ? 



THE BRIDAL. 4S 

JIfol. Whexe*8 Eradne's hononr ? 

My nster ! Where's her hoDoar> which I left 

One crystal, without cload, flaw, speck ? Yea, more, 

A diamond for its weight, and starry fire, 

The richest of the brood ! I thought it safe. 

I left it so : and, pleas'd, at my return. 

Beheld her give it, as I thought, to young 

Amintcnr's keeping. Bat she cheated him ; 

Gaye him the empty casket, and confessed 

A thief had got the gem — dishonouriog him, 

Beyond all parallel ; disgracing me, . 

New, in my hard -won laurels ; by the name 

Of her proud father writing such a word 

As blasts his son, to look upon that name ; 

Imputing nature to her mother's womb, 

Whichy ere it should hare own'd, that saint had bleis'd 

Heaven for the corse of barrenness ; and blotting 

The bright escutcheons of as clear a race 

As ere your kingdom boasted, that no herald, 

Howe'er so canning in his shining art, 

Can make them what they were. This — this, sir king. 

This hath my sister done \ Palm'd off herself 

Aa a rich bnde, fit for my friend to wed. 

When all she had was stolen. This she confessed ! 

And, -when I did demand of her the thief. 

That I might glut a brother's vengeance on him, ; 

She said, Uiat thou wast he ! — Felons must die ! , 

It is the law. (drawing his sword and rushing on lum,") J 

King, Would St kill me ? j 

Mel. Ay ! thou monster. • 

King, 1 raitor, hold ! ' 

MeL (after a pause,) Lo ! king ; the man whom thou hast 

Foully wrong'd. 

Tnere dost thou kneel, at sight of whom my blood. 

Polluted in its richest channels by thee, 

Both run a stream of fire — ^there dost thou kneel ! 

The space between my weapon and thy heart 

Is traversed in a moment — less — and yet 

I cannot take thy life, but as a soldier. 

Where is thy weapon? — Is it in the roomt 
King. It is. ^, 

Mel, Then get it — haste. ] 

King* (jgping to the door, g.) What bo ! there ; treason. 
MeL (rushing after him.) Nay, then — 

Enter Strato and guards, door c they seize Melamtius and bear 

him back l. 

King, My guards — seize him. How stand we now ? 
To whom belongs it now to sue ? Kneel thoa. 

Mel. (l.) Not though the block were there. Lo ! there's the sword 
I ne'er shall wear again ; that ne'er knew spot, 
Till in a tyrant's heart, I tried, but failed 
To sheathe it. 

King, (c.) You do hear-— to prison with him ! 



ii tax lUDAL. 

Mil, Aad to til* t»ck with Ibeel tbs b«d, wh«n btokiu. 
And iMt npoM mnit thee. I def; thee ! 

[MfLiHTiui draggtd ^guarded, (.. 1. 1. 
King, (In Snini.) Sttjr joa, end wait s moawnt. 

[^M( up to (aM( B. aii4 n-iw. 
Str. (b.) Thoa hMt nu 
Thy coune, Malgjitiu — in the king*! eya I leid 
Thg wirruit of thy d«Mb. 

Kiiw. Here, ur. (jim Mm a poMr.) Deapttchi 
Straighi to tbe priwn, ud deliver thii 
With jaar owo baud — 'tie tit the forenior, 
Wham •««, deapits *U let — deipateh, I as;. 

[Eril Stkato, ■■ 1. 
M; mind'i it ewe — Mebntiat dies to night. 

{Eiit Knto, dnri. 



ACT V. 
8C ENE t—Ttu atdwhiuniA-, uilh an opening In i.. fiat, Itai 
t la KiNO'i btdthaiaber. An optti viindoa in a. fiat. A do 
A iait^ bummg* 
EtiUr Etadhi, palt, and alth a find ieek, aad StbatO. doat 
Eva, Did Ton not aiy — m; thaugbls were wRndeiing, u 
Wepusaddong.— You saw bim chained? 
Str. I did, 

adj 1 mina wM the office to gaatd him to 
Hii daneeon. 

Eva. Did DiphiluB, my brother, 
Bear him company 1 

Sir. He ii not to be found 

ThrouKhoul tbe dty i fieah ' 



when, on e geoller embaaay 
Haa'ths King n 



Deepatched, I came to lead you bithai. 
diedtoreetl 



Madam, an bone 

EiM. What it the time 1 
Str. Near midnight, 

Madam. 

Eva. Qire me the key, aii, and let no one 
Be near ; — 'tie the King's will. 

"- ' :nag tht *«j.) Your wiL 

is : to know ii to obey it. 
miei the officers, who wait. 
[ood oight. 

i thank you. air ; — good night ! 
EvjDNE locta the dtwr <^ttr Um, 
t'^owa horrible, and all arouad me 
>iack purpoae. — Husli \ — I fool a atark 
i motioD in ray blood ! — I am 
■ad rea:>luLe (o meet the feara 



THE BRIDAL. 45 

That death can bring ; and yet would it w«r« done ! 

I coald almost beUeve my gniUj soul 

Breathed out a gloom around me, and diffiised 

A sickening yapoor through the wholesome air, 

Dimming the blessed lights aboTe me. — Oh ! 

The conscience of a lost virgin I whither wilt thou pull me? 

To what things, dismal as the depths of hell. 

Wilt thou proToke me 1 — Let no woman dare 

From this hour, be disloyal ! — 'Tis so many sins 

An age cannot repent 'em ; and so great 

The heavens want mercy for ; yet I most through 'em ; 

I hsTe begun a slaughter on my honour. 

And 1 must end it— tfc«re / (UiUM at the opening in flat l.) — He 

sleeps ! — good heavens ! 
Why give you peace to this intemperate breast. 
That hath so long transgressed you ? 
I cannot hear him breathe ! — He sleeps* as if 
He meant to wake no more : — would it were so ! 
But then my punishment might seem too light 
For my o'erweighing sin. The powers above 
Make us a great example of their justice 
To all ensuing eyes. — Hark ! — did he wake 1 
No_no. — ^The grave is not more still. — I must 
Be sudden : — ^The oath is yet unanswered 
On my soul ; and while I pause, in fearful'st peril 
Stands MelantiusMife. {seizes the lamp,) A moment lost 
May be too late I — Now — now I 

[ xit EvADNB through opening in flit l. 

SCENE n. — A prison, A door in c. Lamp burning, suspendedfrorn 
the ceiling, Melaniius in chains, pacing the prison, 

Mel, Meet death as you would meet an enemy. 
Bravely, with gallant cheer, — Once your account 
With gentle heaven's made up. To crouch beneath 
Calamity, is to play slave to fortune, whose control 
The noble still contemn. Then, what's a spasm, 
A shoot of pain, a minute's lack of breath. 
To die in a good cause? But the shame ! That men 
Should say he perished on a scaffold ! What 
Imports it, where a man may die, whose life 
Has been above disgrace ! My heavy fate ! 
For hard it is in prime of life and fame 
At once to be out off. — Come when it may 
Or, how it may, I'll meet with lightsome he irt, 
As it beseems a man ! 

Enter Archas, the jailor, door c, andfnir more, who remain near 

the door on r. 

Jai, You're lonesome, sir. 
And here are two or three I've brought to you 
To keep you company. [Retiring, 

Mel, (l.) Who are they, Jailor? [Brings htm back. 

Why don't you answer me? What is't o'clock? 

Jai. (c.) Past twelve. 



46 THB BRIDAL. 

Mil. What timelT Tinten are theae 
Yon bring ne, at dead of night, when men 
Should goto Bleep 1 

Jai. Sir, 

M$l, Vm a ioldier, friend. 

Jai, I know you are. 

Mel. Why shriok you, then, to say 
What company is this, you seem with dread 
To leave with me ? 

Jai. With dread? 

MeL Yon wonder, sir. 
At what you know. You're urgent to be gone^ — 
You breathe not fteely, yet your lungs are sound ; 
You're healthy, and your cheek's of sickly hue ; — 
And when you look'd upon me now, it was 
As one, that says, " God help him " in bis heart.—- 
What are these men ? Whence comes it, they are here T 
Waa't by your own advice you brought them, or 
Direction of another ? Must I needs 
Be solaced with their goodly company ? 

Jai. They are here by order, sir. 

MeL If that be so, 
Then know I, why they're here. Good friend, a word. 
You'll stay with me 1 I would have some one by. 
Some human eye to look on what is done. 
'TIS drear to die alone a death like this. {Archas turning.} 
What ! hast not strength to see, what thou should'st find 
I have the strength to bear ? Then hie thee hence. 
Yet one request. I pray a cup of wine ; 
And then good night. Y ou go to bring it me ? 

Jai. I do. [Exit Archas, door c 

(Mfxantxus coolly toalhs up to the men, R., and survey* them.) 

Mel. You have seen service t 

Itt. Assae, Yes. 

Mel. I know it. 
A soldier finds a soldier out. A bold 
And stirring ftUow were you ; but you lov'd 
Your trade for its worst part. You'd he at home 
At sacking of a town. A dog you were 
Priz'd for his savageness ; one, it were well 
None but any enemy came near. Well done ; 
You've kept your word, (to the Jailor, who enters door^ c) 

Jai. (c.) 1 would I could do more ; 
You are a gallant man, sir. (jrresenting a cup.} 

Mel, (l!) Is it good ? 

Jai, The king, sir, has not better. 

Mel, Damn — ^no, no ! 
He is yonr master. You have shown me grace ; 
I'll not give wound to you. Give me the cup. 
You've filled it. Thank you. — Friends, good night to you ! 
This is my parting cup, tor love of you ; 
I grieve to say we drink no more together. 
Good night to the world ! Look, jailor, mark the cup ; 
Come closer to it. Does it tremblo > 






THE BRIDAL. 47 

Jau No. 

MeL Art Bare it does not ? 

Jai, Sure. 

Mel. Look at the liquor, jailor *, it is frail. 
And quivers at a breath ;^-or I mistake, 
Tis solid motionless. Look in my face ; 
Couldst guess from it, it is not to a feast 
I'm bidden ? 

Jai, No. 

Mel. Remember this, good friend. 
And now, good night. 

Loth am I, loth to let thee go — but go. [Exit Jailor, door c. 

Come, I shall sell my life. He's velcomest. 
That offers boldest for it. Come, thou dog, 
I fancy thee. Oh, had 1 but a sword ! 

SoL Upon him, all at once, and down with him. (they draw 
their swords.) 
All, all at once, I say. Now- 

Eva. (shrieking without,) Open quick, T say. 

MeL My sister's voice ! 

EvADNE enteritig with Jailor, door c 

£tMi. (r.) Melantius ! 
It is not too late. 
Remove these men, and straight take off his chains. 

Jai. (c.) Madam ! 

Eva, You see ! your duty's to obey, (showir^ a ring.) 
And not to question. 

Mel, Is it the tyrant's signet ? (crosses to Evadne.) 
Bloodhounds, your work. 

Eva. Melantius, be a man. 
And play not the rash boy. Is it not done ? 

Jai, Here, madam, is the order for his death, (shotoing warrant.) 

Eva, Here's the command that makes it nothing, sir. 
Unbind him on the instant. 

Mel No. 

Eva, Melantius! 
Do it, sir. 

Mel. Evadne, how is this ? 

Eva, I say, 
Good brother, peace. Let them unshackle thee. 
Then question, (they unchain him.) Leave us. Take these men 
with thee. [Eant Jailor and the rest, door c. 

3dr«/. Evadne, how is this, I ask again ? 
How happens it, I see thee mistress here ? 
How cam'st thou by the signet of the king ? 
Talk not, Evadne, of thy brother's life, 
And liberty : — How is it with his honour t 
Is that safe ? Tell me. Paid'st thou for tiiat ring 
More than the worth of liberty and life ? 
Hast thou relaps'd 1 Look at me. Thou canst meet 
Mine eye, and prisoner art to vice no more. 
That it should ever Have eathrall'd thee ! Oh ! 
Evadne, one so mntchless rich as thou wast 



'4d THE BEIDAL. 

Should ne'er have grown so poor ! Ay, hong thy head. 
Thy dowry's gone. Thy jewels, ducats, lands. 
Ten thousand brothers with thy brother's love. 
Could not replace for thee— but, seeing lost. 
Would wish thee too away. 

Eva, Thou'dst see me dead ! 
Hath a swer? 'd sister then no use for life 1 
And would'st thou wish to see me dead, Melantius, 
Because, oh, selfish man, thou loT'st thyself 
More than thou lowest me ? It is thy pride. 
Thy jealous honour, not thy love for me. 
That wished thy sister dead. Melantius, why 
Would'st thou refuse thy breast to me, when now 
I threw myself upon it, and 

Would'st lock thy arms, and drive me shamed away, 
Ai thou mine own door had'st shut upon me 1 

Mel, Sister, this house a tenant hath, to whom 
Thou hast done a wrong ao shameful, 'twere a shame 
If it did open to thee^ 

JEm. Brother, no 1 
If tears are peacemakers with Heaven itself. 
But earth, in virtue low as heaven is high. 
In pride of virtue toppeth lofty heaven. 
Melantius, thou didst ask me now, if more 
Ipaid to save thy life, and set thee free, 
Tnan life and freedom's worth — I did pay more. 

MeL What ! 

Eva, Ay, change colour. Clench thy hands. Breathe hard, 
Let thine eyes start, as from their seats they'd leap. 
Set thy lip quivering, as with curses fraught. 
More than thy tongue can speak. I did pay more. 

MeU Wanton ! 

Eva. A harder word, I prithee. 

Mel, Wretch ! 

Eva. A harder still, my brother 

Mel. Murderess ! 

mva. Ay, that's the word. 

Mel. It fits thee, does it not ? 
Thy father's, mother's, brother's name, that slowest 
When thou didst stab thine own. (^crosui to r.) 

Eva. What should I do, 
But loll the tyrant ? How else set thee free 7 

MeL Monster of shame^-outshaming shame itself ! 

Eva. What seek'st thou for? 

Mel. To make a merit of 
Thy act of wantonness ! 

Eva, What seek'st thou for? 

MeL Pernicious wretch ! 

Eva, What seek'st thou for, I say ? 

Mel. For what I know I have not ; yet, so want, 
I can't believe but it is here. 

Eva, Thy dagger 1 

Mel, Yes. 

Eva. Thou wouldst kill me ^ Here is one, my brothsr. 



THE BEIDAL. 49 

Mel Give it me — 'Tis bloody ! 

Eva. Is it? 

MeL Reeking yet ; 
As from a deed new done. Whose gore is it ? 
The tyrant's 1 Speak Evadne. — Hast thou turned 
From a lost angel into the wasting spirit 
Of retribotion 1 It it the tyrant t blood 7— 
Why, sister, dost not speak 1 and what dost mean 
By that unearthly look, as tho' a corse 
Stood there, and glared apon me 1 — Powers of grace 
Thou changest more and more ! The little light 
Thine orbs had left, seems gone. — Thy lineaments 
Grow sharp ! — ^Their hue, Uiat ashy was before, 
Looks ashy now to that ! — ^Thy frame contracts. 
Like something that was vanxshing-Hmbstance now. 
Now air ! — My heart is cow'd before thee ! where 
*Twa8 all a conflagration, nothing lives 
Bat freezing horror now ! Speak, speak, Evadne, 
What art thou ? Life or death ? What art thou ? Speak. 

Eva, A murderess 1 

Mel, Embrace me. — Smile my sister. 

Eva. Lo, an oblation to thy*injured honour ! 

MeL It is accepted. Smile, Evadne, smile. 

Eva, Nor seemed it yet enough. I saw thee by roe. 
And when I struck, look'd in thy fiery eye, 
To see if thok wast pleased : — 'Twas scowling still, 
And seemed to say to me, — " Thou work*st by halves, 
Kvadne ! To no purpose dost thou slay 
Tby paramour, if thou remain'st behino. 
Follow the tyrant ! Follow him V 

Mel 'Twasafiend 
And not thy brother, so commanded ! 

Eva, Nay, 'twas thyself ! thyself, Melantias, as 
Tbuu look'dst that hour apon me, when thy poniard^ 
By thy fierce honour on thy sister drawn. 
Flashed in her face, like light'ning sent from heaven. 
To strike and melt her sin-encrusted soul ! 
** Follow the tyrant," thou did'st seem to say ; 
Nor did I think thee wrong to wish me dead— 
A loathsome worm upon the healthful leaf 
Of thy fair honour feeding !— I resolved 
To do thy bidding, my Melantius! 

Mel No, not for a thousand worlds ! 

Eva» Thoa'dst have me live ? 

Mel Ay, my poor sister ! — kiss me ! (she sinks into his a-ms, 
Distant shouts,) 

Enter Amintor and Aspatia iomaima, st«r c 

Ami, My Melantius ! {coming down, u) 
Hast thou not heard the shout of liberty . 
The city is in arms, thy brother leads toe throng !— 
The tyrant's dead — slain by some unknown hand. 
Righteously slain t Lysippos is proclaimed, 



50 THE BRIDAL. 

Audi witb a general amnesty beg^ins 
A more auspicious reign ! 

Eva, le't not Amintor 
My much wronged husband apeaka 

Mel. It is, Evadne. 

Kva. Bid him draw near — Amiotor, where'a thy page) 

Ami. The boy in here. {Pointing to AspatiAj l.) Adroportvo 
of blood 
I'he poorer for his master's sake ; my shield 
Againvt my will ; he bravely took a blow 
Intended for my life. 

Eva, No boy ;s he ! — The rain disguise ne'er blinded mo— 
That pang ! — 

Amintor, know Aspatiain thy page 
And take her clearance from her enemy. 
She nerer swerve<l : the tyrant slandered her 
To gain his ends with thee. 
His. dying groans proclaimed her innocence. 
And his own guilty practice. I ne'er wronged her. 

Ami, Aspatia ! 
Have I another fault like this to answer ? 

Eva, Give her thy hand, • 

When I've relt>ased it, which anon 111 do. 

Mel. What meanest thou lore ? 

Em, Melandus, turn thy head, 
For I am faint — that 1 may look on thee. 
Turn it full round. I would see all thy face. 
My own Melantius 1 thou'rt my brother still ! 
Bend thy head towards me. Let me kiss thy cheel^ 
Now this, and now thy forehead, dear Melantius, 
And didst thou say indeed, thou'dst have me livel 

Mel. 1 did, my sister. 

Eva, And wouldst thou lore me then ? 

Mel, My dear, dear sister. 

Eva, I'd fain deserve thy lore. I would not lire 
A blemi&h in a noble brother's eye, 
So swallow'd poison. Brother, I am dying. 

Mel, Come, let me bear thee to some place of help. 

Eva, There is no place for me so fit to die 
As here, {shouts, and a flourish without,} 

Enter Diphilus, Lysippus, Ci-eon, Diov,8i;c,S^c.tdoorc» 

Dip. (r.) Melantius, thou art free. We are reveng'd. 
The king himself comes to unloose thy bonda<-* 
Evadne ! — 

Mel. 'Tis too late. I have no thought 
For aught on earth but her. 

Mel, Lean on me, lore ; come iny Eradne— 

Eva, I must rest here ; 
My strength begins to disobey my will : 
I would fain lire now, if 1 could, Melantius ; 
Would'st thou hare loved me then 1 

Mel, Alas! 
All that I am 'a not worth one thought of tb«tt» 



THE BRIDAL. 51 

Eva, Gire me thy band : — my hands stretch un an 1 down, 
And cannot find thee.— ElaFe 1 thj hand, Melautiu;*, 

Mel, Thou greatest blessiog of ihe world, thou bust. — 

EfM, 1 dobeliere thee better than my sense, 
Oh, I must go. — Farewell ! (dies,) 

Mel, She swoons ! — help here ! for Heav^en's sake help 1 
Eradue ! speak. — I'll chafe her temples — nothing stiri. 
Some hidden power tell her Melantius calls. 
And let her answer me I Evadne ! speak ! 
Oh, she's gone !— 

Since out of jastice, we must challenge nothing, 
I'll call it mercy, if you^ll pity me. 
Ye beayenly powers ! and lend, for some few years 
The bleBsed soul to this fair seat again ! 
No comfort comes, — the heavens deny me too 1 
Kvadne ! — ^my Evadne I 
Oh my heart ! 

Wilt thou not barst at need — *tis this must 
Free thee, (offers to kill himself,) 

Ami, Mj Melantius! 

Dip, Hold, brother! (disarming him.) 

Mel, His spirit is but poor, that can be kept 
From death for want of weapons. My murdered sister. 
He, who caused thy death, will ne'er outlive thee. 
My sister ! my dear sister ! (throws himself on the body*) 

Ami, My poor friend ! Remove the body from him. 
Dear Aspatia, * 

I will not leave thy trnth unrecompensed, 
]f a whole life of grateful love can quit it. 
Prince, may this to thee be an example 
To rule with temper. For on lustful kings, 
Unlooked-for, sudden deaths, from Heaven are sent ; 
But woe to him, that is their instrument. 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 

Lords. Loans. 

Clbon. Diacoras. Jailor. 

Melantius. 
Lvsirpus. Diphilus. Evadne. Amintor. Aspatia. 



Time of representation, two hours and forty miuute^^ 



WEBSTER'S 
ACTING NATIONAL DRAMA, 

|id«r the Kiuploes of the Dr»m»tlo Anthora' Bool«ty> 



id 



6 

MY YOUNG WIFE 

AND 

MY OLD UMBRELLA. 

A FARCE, 

In 0nt Act. 

(aiupted from the frenob.) 
By 

Benjamin Websj£R» Comedian. 

MEMBBB OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS* SOCIETY. 

As performed at 
THE THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET. 



CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY WITH REMARKS 
TBE CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, 
SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS 
OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



PrefAced by a Dedioation to 
D. £. MORRIS, ESQ. 



ILLUSTRATRD WITH AN ETCHING, 

By Fierce Egan the Younger, from a drawing taken during the 

representation. 



LONDON :, 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 180, STRAND. 



TO 



D. E. MORRIS, ESa 



Mr DBAS Sir, 

I beg leare to dedicate tbe following trifle to joa, 
as a amall mark of esteem, being the first piece I hare produced 
at a theatre* where the legitimate drama was always upheld in all 
its purity, through good and ill success, and from which you have 
retired with honour, and the respect of all those who hare erer 
been under your management. 

I am, my dear Sir, 

Your obedient serrant, 

B. WEBSTER. 

Theatre Royal, Haymarket, 

JuUf 3, 1837. 



m (S iPi{ fi m % s, 



This farce is merely an adaptation of a clever French vaude- 
ville, by M. Laurencin, called " Ma Femme et men Parapluie»'' 
with some slight alteration! to make it more palatable to au 
English aadience. Wires and ambrellaa are of very ancient 
date ; the former originating with Adam and the latter, some 
commentators on the Bible conceive to be alluded to in the 
passage where " a shade, defending from the sun/' is mentioned' 
Certainly, it is very plainly depicted in those most ancient 
sculptures at Penepolis (which are considered to be anterior 
to the times of Alexander the Great) ; the chief personage, when 
in the open air, being invariably attended by a servant holding, 
with both hands, a large umbrella over his august head. In 
later sculptures, on the TakhM-Boatan rock, although they date 
twelve centuries back, close behind the horse on which the king is 
riding, walks a man holding over his majesty's head an umbrella, 
very much resembling the chaise umbrella of the present day. 
No doubt the umbrella is of Asiatic origin. It has been known 
in the warm countries of that quarter ** of this great O" from time 
immemorial, though it is labour lost to endeavour to trace in 
which of them it originated ; but it is only in China, and the 
Europeanized parts of Turkey, that it is an article in commsn 
use among the people against the sun and rain. In fact, the 
parasol is the parent of this child of larger growth, the original 



6 ftSMAEU. 

uie of the ambrella being to afford shelter from the sun, its sp- 
plication as a defence against rain haying been chiefly introduced 
from Europe. In the farther peninsula of India and in Persia the 
umbrella is strictly confined to royalty itself ; and in the king of 
Ava*s letters to foreign powers he styles himself " brother to the 
sun, a near relation to the moon and stars, lord of the ebbing 
and flowing of the sea, king of the white elephant, and lord of the 
twenty-four umbrellas.** This latter title sounds rather absurd, 
but is not really so, the umbrella being an ensign of royal 
authority, and, we beliere, signifying the number of kingdoms 
and states which have been subjected to the Blrman empire. In 
Hindostan the umbrella was a distinction reserred for great per- 
sonages, although not exclusively appropriated to royalty itself. 
In the Mahratta sute, the title of '* lord of the umbrella" is still 
maintained as a peculiar mark of honour by the highest officers. 
Among the Arabs the umbrella is also a mark of authority, and 
it was probably by them this use of it was carried into Africa, 
where we still find the ambrella, among the Moorish tribes of the 
north and the negro nations of the west, employed as a royal 
distinction ; and an umbrella was among the presents offered by 
Ali Bey Co the £mperor of Morocco. In Constantinople, even 
now, with ail the present Sultan's European notions, you must 
not pass the actual residence of Ihe " brother of the sun and 
moon," in the most pitiless storm, without lowering your um- 
brella, or running the chance of a bayonet being thrust into yonr 
abdomen. Thus much for umbrellas ; for wires — ^we roust ven- 
ture no tales about them, or we might hear of sad stories about 
husbands by way of hx talionit ; but as far as our own experience 
goes we sincerely wish, in homely phrase, ** The single married 
and the married happy.'' 



rXRST PERPORMED JUNE 33, 1837. 



Gregory Grizele. Brown patched coat,! 



► Mr. W. Farren. 



battened close ap to the neck ; faded nankeen 
pantaloons, rather large, black gaiters, nec- 
kerchief » and hat. 

Peter Prog. Green Newmarket cut coat, 
yellow waistcoat, white smallclothes, drab V Mr* Strickland 
gaiters, and broad-brimmed hat. J 

George Allen. Black sartout and waist- \jur t xxr u « 
coat, and white troiuers. J-Mr. J. Webster. 

Augustus Tomkins. Light-green sartout, 1 
crimson relvet waistcoat, light jean drab trou- > Mr. Webster 
sers, and eccentric hat. J 

Dinah. Light-bloe silk dress. Miss Phillips. 



Time of representation, thirty-fire minutes. 



EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

L. means first entrance, left. R. first entrance, right. S. £. L. 
second entrance, left. S. E. R. second entrance, right. U. E. L. 
upper entrance, left. U. E. R. upper entrance right. C. centre. 
JL. C. left centre. R. C. right centre. T. £. L. third entrance, 
left. T. E. R. third entrance, right. Observing yon are sup- 
posed to face the Rudience. 



MY YOUNG WIFE AND MY OLD 

UMBRELLA. 



SCENE L — A Chamber ; a door, l., andwindoto in flat, B*, IccJdngon 
a court and garden ; doort R. and l. ; chairs, table, sofa, and writing 
materials ', Dinah, l., and Pboo, b.., diicovered seated ; Dinar 
at work, Proo reading the newtpaper. 

Prog, It's all trae, it's all trne, my dear Dinah ; the nevrs I 
received yesterday is confirmed ; my beaatiful farm of Cutaway, 
near Eton, is bamt to the ground! 

Din, My dear father, this is a very great misfortune. 

Prog, How do yon know that ? Never judge by appearanceft. 

Din, Why, surely, my dear papa, a destructive fire like this — 

Prog (rising). Hold your tongue. Miss Prog, or you'll put me in 
a rage ; imitate my philosophy, and tune up " The Light of other 
Days" on your piano. 

Din. (rising). But you know, papa, my piano is out of tune. 

Prog, What does that signify ? cao't you play on the keys that 
are in tune, and let them that are not, enjqy the air with me in 
silence. At any rate, you have no excuse for not getting it put 
in order. 

Din, I hare spoken to Mrs. Primmers, next door, and she has 
promised me her tuner this morning. 

Prog, Well, in case she should forget it, just go jog her memory. 

Din, Certainly, papa, I would not cross you for the world ; 
this fire is enough to put yon out of temper. 

Prog, Look at me, cool as a cucumber in an ice-pail. Thanks 
to the march of intellect, I know what philosophy is, and can 
bear this loss with the calmness of a Cato. I can affbrd it, espe- 
cially as it was insured in the Sun fire-office. 

Din, In the Sun ! excellent — why, my Cousin George is in 
that office ; and I'm sure, if he could be of the least service to 
yon — 

Prog, Miss Prog, never speak of that young man to me. His 
means are so small, he should neither make love nor marry — lie 
can't afford it, so I have desired him to pay his addresses and 
visits elsewhere. 

Din, I'm sure he's a very nice young man. 

Prog, How do you know that ? 

Din, By his appearance. 

Prog, Never judge by appearances. 

Din, Then he has such a libeial mind 1 ' 



10 MT TOVirO WIFB 

Prog, Witbont a penny in hit pocket ; most people are libenl- 
minded, when they can't afford to be otherwiae, mj dear. 

Din, We have not leen him theae eight daya. 

Prog. So mnch the better ; and, aa I have promtBed you to 
another, yon mast not aee him any more, at any rate — 

Enter Gkorob, d. in r. 

JHn, Here he ia. 

Fro;. The devil t 

Goo. (c.) Yea, sir, at yonr senrice ; donH mind me, nnde ; Fm 
one of the famUy. 

Prog, (r.) Yea, and yoa want to inereaae it. 

Geo, My sweet cousin. 

Prog. Mr. George Allen, I am astonished, damme — ^I'm electri* 
fied. Dinah, go to Mrs. Primmers, and see if the pianofortt 
toner ia come. 

Diti, (l.)' But, papa~ 

Prog, Miss Prog, must I speak twice ? 

Vin, Good morning, Geoige* 

Prog, Will you go ? 

Din, La, papa ! [En^» d. m f. 

Pboo walkt up to G^ros, toith a very severe look, and is aheut tn 

speak, when George checks him, 

Geo, I have jnst heard of your miafortune, nncle ; and, as one 
of the family, I hare come to offer you my senricea. 

Prog, I'm obliged to you ; but, aa I ha?e nothing^ to do, I skill 
not trouble you. 

Geo, Trouble ! it would be my pleasure, unele. In adversitT, 
friends should prove what before they professed. 

Prog. Sir, my farm cost me £6000. Well ! I could afford it ; it 
waa insured for £8000. Well, they can afford it ; and, as it is 
burnt to ashes, they must down with the dust ; so you aee '* it ii 
an ill wind that blows nobody good." 

Geo, My dear uncle, I am afraid you reckon without your host 
that you will not get a shikiing from them. 

Prog. What! 

Geo, They assert that yonr farm was fired through wilful ne- 
glect, and if they can prore it yonr policy might as well have beea 
burnt with your property. 

Prog (jumping up). I'm ruined ! I'm ruined ! all my savings 
gone ! After keeping a shilling ordinary for thirty jean I shall 
want a dinner. I m dished at last. 

Geo, Never mind, sir, as one of (he family- 
Prog. As one of the plagues of Egypt! 

Geo, I bare not the plagne'apot in my hand when I offer it 
to you, and ask you to ah are my eaminga. 

Prog, George, but for this accident you should not repent this 
kindness. 

Geo. But for this accident I could not have proved my disia- 
teresCed regard for you. 

Prog. But I'll not stand it. Ill go to law. Ill aerve them with 
% fieri J'adas. 

Goo, Don't put yourself in a passion. 



AND MT OLD UMBBXLLA. 1 1 

Prtfg. Why DOtI my constitutioii is strong, aad I can tfferd it ; 
darome» it*8 the ooly thing I can afford now. 

Geo. Coolness and cantion mast be onr weapons ; nothing is 
yet decided ; I have some influence with the directors, they are 
always open to reason, and you shall not be wronged out of your 
rights, if I can help it. 

Prog, Oh, you dear boy ! your kindness is engraren here — ^I'U 
not say more now, only recommend you to keep secret that my 
farm is insured; something may happan — I am rather anxious 
that my intended son-in-law should not know. 

Geo, Your intended son-in-law ! Mr. Augustus, whom I hare 
seen with you you or three times 1 

Prt^, The same; he's a musical director of concerts in the 
suburbs, as harmonious as disinterested ; he counts on having 
£4000 with Dinah, but, thanks to the fire, I dare say he'll be 
content with half. 

Geo, Not a word shall escape my lips ; this Mr. Totdkins is 
very rich then. 

Prog, Not yet, bnt with the money I shall advance him, he will 
be ; he is going to start a perambulating concert-room — a mag- 
nificent idea — engage a host of foreigners, and visit all the prin- 
cipal towns in the world. 

Geo, And you would give your daughter to a man like this— a 
perambulating musician ! 

Prog, What can I do better? I love music — love it passionately ; 
why not ? I can afford it. 

Gris. (loithoui, n. in p.) Ob, very well, first door on the right ; 
thank you, much obliged. 

Prog, Some one comes. (To Geo.) My dear boy, I have no 
hope but in yon. 

Geo. Rely upon my zeal. Til return to the office, meet me 
there in an hour, and bring your policy of insurance with you. 

[£atf, D. in p. 

Enter Gbiszls, n. t«i f. 

Grijr. (L.)Mr. Prog? 

Prog, (r.) The same. 

Griz, You Mr. Prog ? 

Prog, I am the gentleman. 

Grii, Gentleman ! 

Prog, Does that astonish you ? 

Griz, You kept an ordinary 

Prog, Yes, sir. 

Griz, At a shilling a head. 

Prog, Yes, sir. 

Griz. I've dined with you often. (Sighing) Oh dear ! 

Prog. Why do you sigh ? 

Griu Sigh ! it's enough to make any toan sigh (tpitefully), to 
think, that an ordinary man, at a shilling a head, beer included 
(that is, small) has made his fortune ; while I, who helped you 
into this galloping consumption of eatables, am poor and out at 
elbows — %s humiliating, is it not ? 



' 12 MT roxjvQ win 

Prof . Sir, tbii language— 

Grig» Wby yon {calming hii rag*) — I'm wrong, excuae 
misfortona has sound me — I am a lo«t individual. 

Prpg, Ob, I lee, (aiide) a ihabbj-genteel beggar. Ill aire him 
sixpence, and get rid of him (tafut monay from hU pocket). Here, ' 
friend, I am not rich, and this is all I can afford {offering kin 
moiicy). 

Cru, Sixpence ! sixpence ! do yon mean to insult me 1 

Prog, Who and what the devil are yon ? 

Grii. You don't know me — nothing personal ? tiien all 's forgot- 
ten. forgiven. Vm Mr. Gregory Grizzle, pianoforte tuner. 

Pr<^» Recommended by Mrs. Smith ? 

Grts. Even so. 

Prog. Why didn't you say so at first 1 

Grit, I foigot it. When I lool&ed at you, your face recalled a 
thousand things to my recollection ; above aU, it reminded me of 
my wife. 

Prog, Is she like me T 

Grit. Like you ! nasty brute ! I see you wish to insult me. 

Prog, 1 tell you, I don't. 

Grts. Like you ! Not so bad as that neither ; no, sir, no ; bat 
we used to dine at your house together. 

Prog. Ah, indeed! then yon — 

Grit, Exactly so. Poor Emma! Curses on the rillain who ttole 
my Emma from me ; for, spite of myself, I regret her loss. 

Prog. Have you lost her then ? 

Gris. No, she has lost herself; but don't let us speak of that, 
{crying,) whenever I think of her mv heart is ready to bursL 

Prog. Indeed ! poor man, how I pity you. 

Grit. Sir, I require no man*s pity; no one shall pity me, sirj 
to pity me is to insult me. 

Prog, Well, I won't pity you ; so go and tuna my daughter's 
piano ; to-night we sign her marriage-contract, and 'tis a good 
occasion for showing off her talent. 

Grts. I beard of this marriage, this morning, at Mrs. Jenkins's! 
You know Mrs. J., delightful woman to chat with---speaks ill of 
every body. 

Prog. Indeed ! 

Gris. She says, that your daughter does not love Mr.Tomkias, 
and that she is very fond of hercousb, Mr. George Allen. Its no 
affair of mine~I know neither one nor the other — but, take my 
word for it, my Emma's example may be followed. 

Prog, Well, time will show ; but I have to go out on business ; 
and, as it is going to rain — 

Grit, {quickly). Is it really going to rain ? 

Prog. Yes, and I must make haste before it comes down. 

Grts. And to think that I don't know the scoundrel who has 
carried off what I prized so dearly. 

Prog. Ah, your wife 1 

Grts. No, my umbrella* 

Prog. Your umbrella ? 

Gris. There must have been a plot against me ; a roan whom I 
have nerer seen ; well, sir, he has deprived me of her. 

Prog, Her ! was it a feminine umbrella i 



AND MT OLD UMBUSLLA. ]$' 

I 

Griu No, mj Ma. 

Prog, Your Mat » 

Grit, YtB, her name is Emma ; for shortoess^ I call her Ma, 
My lawful wedded wife, a lorely young creature, betides a family 
umbrella that had walked with grandfather, father, and son, 
on eveiy cloudy day— only eighteen years old, with flaxen ring- 
lets, a mouth like a rose, a Grecian nose-^sbe wished to mdke a 
parasol of it. 

Prog. Of her nose 1 

Gru. No, no, of my umbrella, an heir*loom ^-^the rillain to de- 
prive me of them both ! 

Prog, Tis a sad business, but permit me to observe— 

Grix, (jquiddy). On that very day it rained in torrents, and I had 
returned home for my lamented — umbrella ; but, im|gihe my hor- 
ror, I found neither umbrella nor wife. 

Pn^, My good friend, tiiat is not the point in question. 

Griz, But, there's the crime, sir; wires run away every day, 
that's nothing; rery likely they have taken away yours ; but they 
dare not take away your umbrella ; there's the crime— your wife 
is not your goods ; but your umbrella is ; if a man run away with 
your umbrella, he*s transported ; but, if he run away with your 
wife, he's delighted. 

Prog, Well, sir, if you will not listen to me— 

Grit, 111 show yon proof; a note (feeling m hi» pochtU), — 
no, I ham't got it about roe, but I remember all the ex- 
pressions : *' Beautiful Emma, cease to be sorrowful, to- 
morrow at two, I will tear you from your tyrant, and 
conduct you to— yon knou> where ' — but no name — ^no, no ; the 
scoundrel ! Well, sir, I was like a madman, I rushed into 
the street without my hat, went to all my friends and 
neighbours, and gare an exact description of her— covered with 
green silk, an ivory hawk's head, and mother-of-pearl eyes. Now 
have I not cause to hate the whole human race 1 You have done me 
no harm, but I hate you ; and when it rains, I hate myself, I hate 
the world, I hate every thing. 

Prog, But, my good sir, what have I to do with your wife 
or your umbrella ? 

Urit, Enough, sir, I understand you. Where is your um- 
brella? 

Prog, My what ? 

Oris, I beg pardon, your piano. 

Prog, (thowit^ him to room a.) In that room — put it in 
proper order — 1 don't care about the expense — ^I can attbrd it. 

Grix. {crostet a.) Ha, ha, insult my poverty, do, do. 

Prog, (atide). What a queer fellow ! 

Grtf. (oMide). An old, selfish, poisoning, shilling ordinary 
rascal, to have made a fortune by the digestive organs, when with 
tuning pianofortes, I am as poor as Job, but I was born to 
misery, so it s my father's fault, not mine, (goei into room a.) 

Prog, 1 thought I should never get rid of him. Ah I there's the 
rain coming down in torrents ; but it mustn't prevent me from 
going to the insurance office-*-! must take a coach, I can 
alford it, and I will. 



ii& (S iPKt fL m % s« 



This farce is merely an adaptation of a clerer French vaude- 
▼iiie, by M. Laurencin, called " Ma Femme et men Parapluie»'' 
with some slight alteration! to make it more palatable to au 
English audience. Wires and umbrellas are of very ancient 
date ; the former originating with Adam and the latter, some 
commentators on the Bible conceive to be alluded to in the 
passage where " a shade^ defending from the sun," is mentioned- 
Certainly, it is v«ry plainly depicted in those most ancient 
■Cttlptores at Persepolis (which are considered to be anterior 
to the times of Alexander the Great) ; the chief personage, when 
in the open air, being invariably attended by a servant holding, 
with both hands, a large umbrella over his august head. In 
later sculptures, on the Takh^i•Bo•tatt rock» although they date 
twelve centuries back, close behind the horse on which the king is 
riding, walks a man holding over his majesty's head an umbrella, 
very much resembling the chaise umbrella of the present day. 
No doubt the umbrella is of Asiatic origin. It has been known 
in the warm countries of that quarter " of this great O" from time 
immemonal, though it is labour lost to endeavour to trace in 
which of them it originated ; but it is only in China, and the 
£uropeani2ed parts of Turkey, that it is an article in commsn 
use among the people against the sun and rain. In fact, the 
parasol is the parent of this child of larger growth* the original 



16 MT TOONO Wire 



Enter Gboros» d. in r. 

Tom. Voar consio* doabtlen, can ansirer for roe. 

Dm, George I 

Tom. Come in, Mr. AHeu ; come in. sir. 

Ceo, Ho«r 1 detest the fellow ! (atide.) 

Tom, I sm sorry ; one too many, I perceive. 

Goo, What do you say, sir ? 

Tom, Nothing; but there are secrets that have not escaped my 
penetration. No, my friends, yon do not know me. Augustus 
I omkins, the natural protector of love and harmony, disunite tvo 
hearts beating in unison ? Never. No— I'll sacrifice myself for 

ru. Your happiness shall be mine No thanks — adien. What 
feel here will reward me sufficiently — adieu — be happy! be 
happy ! [Runj off, d. in f. 

Goo, What does this mean ? Explain. 

Din, Why, he, no doubt, knows you have paid your addresses, to 
me. 

Goo, He knows that I love you, and you think that he is gene- 
rous enough to resign you 1 Hope returns to me. 

Din, You conclude too fast — ^there is still my father's consent 
wanting. 

G$o, Never fear ; I have some good news for him — news that 
will make him happy. 

Din, Indeed 1 then I begin to have hopA myself. 

Geo, You love me, then i Oh, celestial cousin ! 

[Kisses her hand, 

Grizzlb appear* at door in f. 

Gr«. Ah! 

Geo, The devil ! [Runs off, l. door* 

Din. A stranger ! [22uit« off, r, doer, 

Griz, So, so. I've spoilt their billing and cooing ; 'twas Mis 
Prog — lets a young man kiss her hand before she is married— 
hum — hum— they're all alike — this it is to teach girls to play 
" Love among the roses" on the piano; but, apropos, the young 
man who confided this letter to me, must be mad. As I was pat- 
ting it into the post, I looked at the address ; and, to my astonish- 
ment, I read, ** To Peter Prog, Esq.;" the Peter Prog, who lives 
here, no doubt ; and so I thought I would save the old fellow two- 
pence bydeliveiing it myself. I hate the human race, but such is 
my character, I will always save a man twopence, if I can, when 
it costs me nothing. 



Enter Paoo, d. in F. 

Prog, (l.) I couldn't find my nephew at the office. 

Griz. (r.) Talk of the devil— Mr. Prog. 

Prog, Ah, Mr. Grizzle ! is the piano in order ? 

Griz, Not yet — an accident ; these sort of things are always hap- 
pening to me particularly ; but that's nothing — there is a letter 
for you. 

Prog. A letter ! from my nephew.' 

Grit. Very likely, he looked like one of the family. 



»A* 



AND MT OLD UMB&ELLA. 17 

Frag* Yes, lie't a fine fellow ! (^fpemng tetter,) 

Griu I merelj meant in manners. 

Prog (trying to read.) The— he— ^eai^-hum — ^wfaat a scrawl ; 
tis impossible to decipher a syllable— only look at it. {giving 
Utter to Gbizzlb.) 

Grix. ReaUy, it seems to have been written by a fly that has ac- 
cidentally dropped into the ink. 

Prog, What 8 the signature ? 

Gri 1. It has none. 

Prog. Tis veiT singular. 

Grit, I think I can make it ont. (reading.) ** I bear, sir, that 
yoa are on the point of uniting," surely I know this hand. 

Prog, Why do you stop ? 

Grit. Be quiet, be quiet — '* on the point of u-uniting your 
daughter to Mr. Augustus Tomkins, I think it necessary to warm 
you ' — eh ! warm you. 

Prog. To warn you. 

Griz. It looks exactly like warm — . . . *' to warn you that he is 
a libertine, a bad*condncted fellow, and a gambler." 

Prog. What an atrocious calumny ! 

Gris, Mr. Anonymous may be a rival. 

Prog, Ah, true, my nephew — the rascal has disguised his 
hand. 

Grig, I should think so, or else he was educated before 
cbarity-schools were in vogue. 

Prog, Go on. 

Griz, " At this very moment he is living with a young woman 
whom he has carried off from her husband— '((aiigftimg.) Ha ! ha ! 
capital, capital 

Prog, It makes you laugh tnen* 

Oris. Yes, yes, I have a sort of ferocious joy on such oc- 
casions. Another husband deceived, ha ! ha ! ha t so much the 
better, the more the merrier— (^ughing.) Ha t ha t ha ! 

Pn^. Go on, go on. 

Grit. <* Yon will not doubt what I advance, when you know the 
lady's name." Ah ! ha, now we shall know who she is. 

Prog, It seems to delight you. 

Grit, To be sure, to be sure, you never had a wife taken from 
you, or you'd be as pleased, as I am — " this young woman is 
called Emma" — oh ! Lord ! I'm very ill— (nnfcs into a ehair,) 
Prog, Emma ! (taking Utter.) 
Gris, I must have made a mistake. - 

Prog. No ) " Emma, and her husband is Mr. Gregory Griz- 
zle, pianoforte tuner." Why that's you ! 

Grtc. Yes, yes, I am the unhappy wreteh! oh, villanous 
Tomkins, I shall know you at last — ^you then have carried off my 
umbrella. 

Prog, Still 111 not believe that Tomkins— 
Grit, But 111 believe it. Where is he, where does he live, 
name his place of abode, that I may annihilate him, crush him 
to bits? 

Prog, Don't put yourself in a passion. 

Grix, Why not? I ought to be in a passion, and I will be so. 



16 MT TOUMtt Win 

Hm he not left me for the lett fortBurht expoeed to aU the is- 
clemendei of society and the weather ? 

Prtjg* Still you mutt not condemn him anheard. 

Grit» Bttt I will oondenu him unheard. 

Prog, 111 go to him, and if he doesn't jnatify himself, 1 will 
find another ion>in-law—- 1 can afford it. 

Grit. Perhaps you can, hut I can't afford it. But where shsll 
I find another family umbrella ? 

Prog, Will you wait for me here till the affair la explained t 

GHs. Well* well, I will ; but make haste, for I'm in sudi a 
state of nerrons excitement I shall do something desperate. 
(Tafc«f up a ehair andJUmrithet it over hit head,) 

Prog. Be calm, be calm, I'll return immediately. [Exit, d. tn f. 

Oris. Now, Tomkins! damnable Tomkins ! yon cannot escape 
me; hide yourself where yon wUl, I'll find yon— stay ; on enterin; 
this room a little while ago, the indiWdual who was kissing Miss 
Prog's hand — if it should be Tomkins, he is there in that room. 
(pmnting to door, l.) Oh, Heavens I thoughts of murder and blood 
flash across my mind. (Gsobob appoaring at door, i», with the 
undfreUa,) 

Geo. Mr. Prog does not come, so 111 return to the counting- 
house, notwithstanding the rain* 

Grix, There he is. 

Geo, I have taken the liberty of borrowing this umbrdla 
which I found in the room. 

Grix, (r.) Umbrella ! my umbrella, by all that's horrible ! 'tis 
he, no doubt — ^Tomkins, the destroyer of my peace. 

Geo, (g<nng), I'U bring it back at night. 

Grix. You shall not stir, {ttanding before the door in f.) 

Geo. What would you with me, friend? 

Grix. 1 have found you at last, wretch I — ^look at me^let me 
examine you face to face. He's not even good looking. 

Geo. Sir, I am as fond of a joke as any man, from those I know 
but from you, a total stranger — 

Grit. A stranger! you don't imow rati but you shall, you diaU. 
(mysterioutly^) Grizzle. 

Geo. No. 

Grix. Pianoforte tuner. 

Geo, No* 

Griz. Air-street. 

Geo. No. 

Griz. Husband of Emma. 

Geo. No. 

Grix. No ! you don't know me t But you have got my um- 
brella, infamous robber ! Do you know me now 1 do you deny 
my umbrella ? 

Geo, Does it belong to you then ? 

Grix. You know it does. 

Geo. For what do you take me then ? 

Grit. For a reptile, a knave of hearts, a thief! 

Geo. This is beyond bearing, and if you persist— (ratmy tiai- 
breUa), 

Grit, Strike—do— assassinate me — ^put the finishing blow to year 



AND MT OLD UMB&ELLA. 19 

crimes, and bring yourself to the gallows I Ah ! you dare not 
do it ; you fear toe scaffold, coward that you are {in a ttpultkrai 
voice). The scaffold ! the scaffold ! 

Geo, Stand out of the way then. 

Griz, You stir not hence — ^give me back my wife — where is 
she, where is she — where is Emma'i 

Geo, Once more, will you leave me alone 1 

Griz, Give me back my wife. 

Geo, Go to the devil. 

Griz, Then let me go to my wife — you won't? — then keep her ; 
'twill be a sufficient punishment ; but, at least, give me back my 
umbrella -, my wife is culpable, but my umbrella — give me back 
my umbrella. 

Geo, Are you mad 1 

Crrif, Yes, my umbrella, my umbrella, (uiting it.) 

Geo, You shall not have it. (holding it,) 

Griz. Leave go, sir, leave go. (pulling,) 

Geo. I won't, I won't, (pulling,) 

Griz, Oh you thief! you unfeeling robber (pulling,) 

Enter DiNi^H. 

Din, What is the meaning of this noise ? 

Griz, Come here. Miss (jpiUling), and let your presence confound 
him. 

Geo. Don't listen to him, Dinah, he is mad. 

Griz, Hold your tongue, you cannibal, hold your tongue, I 
despise you. Yes, Miss, this man, who is making love to you, is 
a Tillain ; — ^you know you are. Taking advantage of the rain one 
day, he walked off with my wife, a vile seducer ! and has lived, for 
the last fortnight, with my umbrella. 

Din, Good gracious ! 

Griz. Never marry him, never. In the first place, I know you 
wouldn't like him — I know you wouldn't ; besides, I can give you 
other reasons — lean, you highway robber, you know 1 can — Mr. 
Prog knows all about it. 

Geo, Mr. Progi 

Griz, (letting go the umbrella). Never mind, you cannot escape 
me ; I go to seek for a letter, your rascally letter ; after that, I 
will never leave you, never — 

Geo. Leave the room, sir. 

Enter Tomkins, d. in f, 

Tom. What's the matter ? 

Crriz. (to T0MKIN8). Oh, my dear friend, thanks to you, I shall 
be revenged, (to Geokoe.) Oh, you villain ! 

Geo. Leave the room, sir, or by heaven- 
Grit. The scaffold— the scaffold— Newgate — Monday morning, 
8 o'clock — my wife — my umbrella ! [E^» D. in f. 

Tom, (c) What does he mean ? 

Geo. (l.) Really I don't know, he has been abusing me in an 
outrageous manner, but for what I cannot imagine. 

Din, (r.) What he has said was very clear^your conduct is 
shameful. 

Geo, Why, cousin, he's mad! 



20 HV VOUNO WIfE 

Dwu No tuch thing, sir ; I have seen him at Mrs. Primrose's 
often, and I belieTe e^ery things he has said about yon. 

Gto, Indeed! (erouet to her). He told me just nowr that he 
kaew you could not bear me. 

Tom. (l.) What's all this ? a quarrel between two lovers who 
adore each other. 

Din, I can nerer love a man of intrigue. 
Geo. Nor I a coquette, {crotses io l.) 

Tom. (c) Come, come, be friends ; follow my adyice ; I hare a 
right to give it, since I have sacrificed my own love. 

Din. You were wrong, Mr. Tomkins, for 'tis you alone whom I 
esteem, and I am ready to marry you. 
Geo. Per6dious woman ! 
Tom. The devil ! this will never do (aside). 
Din. When my father returns I will tell him so. 
Tom. I beg pardon, I merely call'd for my umbrella ; oh, yoa 
have it in your hand. 

Geo. Is this umbrella yours, then ? 
Tom. Certainly. 

Geo. Indeed I it was claimed by another person just now. 
Tom. Mr. Prog will certify to you that it is mine. 
Geo. (giving it). That's sufficient — I know yon — there it is. 
(aside) rm out of that scrape. 

Tom, Adieu, my friends— make it up — too happy that yoar 
happiness is my work. 

[^Going to exit through door in p., stopped by 
Mr. Prog, who enters. 
Prog. Ah ! Tomkins, I have just been to your house. 
Tom. Indeed ! 

Prog. (l. c.) I have learnt some fine things about you, sir. 
Tom. (r. c.) (a\»ide). Good, he has received my letter. 
Prog, I hope you will be able to clear yourself, otherwise I — Ah 
nephew ! Well f 

Geo. (l.) Some excellent news, the insurance will be paid to the 
utmost farthing. 

Tom. (aside). What do 1 near t Your farm then was insured ? 
Prog. For a third more than its value. 

Tom, I've made a nice thing of this. Father-in-law, I rejoice at 
your good fortune, and hope you will, at once, fix the day for my 
union with your charming daughter. 

Prog. To the point (taking out letter), I have been written to, 
sir — I have in my hand a letter relative to you — 
Tom. A letter ! 

Prog. Which speaks of all sorts of dreadful things. Yes, sir, it 
states that you have enticed a certain Emma, the wife of a Mr. 
Grizzle, pianoforte tuner, from her home. 
Din, 'Tis he then. 

Geo. You see how every thing comes out. 
Tom. I have enemies, Mr. Prog, and, above all, a rival ; there 
he is, and 'tis he alone can have written that infamous letter. 
Geo, (taking Utter from Prog). Look, uncle, is this my writing? 
Tom. Pshaw ! you have, of course, disguised your hand, and he 
has put the Grizzle affair to my account, when he is the guilty 
party. 



AND MT OLD UMBRELLA. 21 

Din, Jut now Mr. Grizzle bad a dreadful scene with him 
Tarn, You bear. 
Ga>. I shall choke with rage. 
Din» Cousin, your conduct is abominable. 
Geo, Mr. Tomkins, we must fight, sir. 
Tom, Pooh, nonsense ! 

Prog. Gro, sir, leave the house — IVe done with you, sir^ for 
ever. * 

Geo, My uncle, you are deceived. 

Enter Grizzle, do(^ in f. 

Gris, (pointing out George.) Ah ! there he is ! my dear friend, 
let me embrace you. {^Embraces him,) 

Prog, Here's another. 

Geo, (l.) Yon suffocate me. 

GHz, (l.c.) Don't try to shim my gratitude, yon .are the 
most generous of men ; yes, you see before you the most generous 
of men. 

Prog, (c.) My friend, have the kindness to speak intelligibly, for 
upon my word, at present — 

Griz, Mr. Prog, this morning you saw me melancholy, mis- 
anthropical, the chain of my existence was unhinged. I was like 
a piano with the strings broken, all jar and discord ; but now 
I'm in tune again, for on entering my house just nowl fonnd— - 

Prog. Your umbrella. 

Gris, No ; my wife, my Emma! 

Tom, (l. c.) (ande,) Emma ! 

Grix, The dear Emma, threw herself into my arms, a thing she 
never did before, and to whom do I owe this happiness ? To him 
whom I accused, to this excellent and good friend, Tomkins. 
{To George.) 

Geo. You are still in the umbrella error* 

Griz, Hold jour tongue you perfection of Tomkins's, let me 
publish your virtues ; Mr. Prog, my wife is very jealous, my pro- 
fession of pianoforte tuner, brings me in contact with num- 
berless young ladies, Emma did not like it; she was tenacious of 
her Grizzle ; so much so that she had almost determined to throw 
herself into the river. 

Prog, Well, well. 

Griz. I should, however, tell you she had taken with her my 
umbrella. This gentleman (to Georok) passing at the time, saw, 
on Waterloo Bridge, my young wife leaning on the umbrella — 
no^ no; on the parapet! be ran and found her drown'd. 

Prog, Drown d. 

Griz, In tears. He consoled her, and walked with her home, 
carrying in his hand my grandfather's umbrella, which in his 
hurry be forgot to return, (shaking George's hand.) Good 
creature, Emma begged hioi to escort her to her aunt's, who 
lives at Putney, and 'tis that which gave rise to that letter which 
caused all my suspicions. 

Prog. Yes, yes, ** charming Emma I" ^ 

Griz. ** Dry your sorrows." 

Pro^, ** To-morrow about — " \ 

Griz " Two o'clock, &c, &c.," you know it was as well as I 



VT TOUNO WIFE 

do. (gning titttr lo Gboros.* There it is, I reinrn it to you, 
generous man, you bare triumphed over my blue derils, and 1 
feel again in my heart love for my felloir creatures ; 1 wish 
every one to live a thousand years, with twenty thousand a year, 
and a dozen or two of children ; the universe has cbangi^ its 
aspect, human nature appears beautiful to me, and the ugliest 

Serson seems handsome, even yon. Prog, look handsome. By the 
y, generous man, will you allow me to ask what yoa have done 
with my umbrella T 

Geo. Ask that gentleman there, he says it belongs to him. 

Grix. To him 7 has he the effrontery — 

Jhm. No, Mr. Grizzle, 'tis yours, and I beg leare to return it 

Grts. {talcing it tuutUy.) Very well, sir^beiog without de- 
licacy 1 I say it before Mr. Prog, though he is your nephew, 
he is a being without delicacy. 

Prog, My nephew ! really, sir, I — 

Oris. Don't defend him ; 'twas he who wrote the anonymous 
letter against my friend, Tomkins ! 

Prog, Against Tomkins ! 

Gri%, 1 saw him mjrself concocting the devilry. 

Tom, (atide.) He will betray me. 

Geo, (who has examined the note,) Why, really this letter is in 
the same handwriting as the other, look at it. {Giving letter ta 
Proo.) 

Prog. Can I believe my spectacles ! 

Tom, {aside.) All is up. 

Prog, Oh, Tomkins, I'm ashamed of you. 

Griz, You mean George. 

Prog, No, no, Tomkins. {Pointing to Tomkins, r.) 

Grts. No, no, that's George, and this is Tomkins. {Pmuting to 
Georoe, l.) 

Prog, No, no, that's Tomkins, and this is George. 

Grit, Is it possible ! {Crotset to Tomkins and emhraeing Asm) 
My dear sir, I beg your pardon, you are my friend. 

Prog, Really, I don't understand this. 

Geo, But I do, and will explain. 

Tom, {aloud,} No further explanation is necessary, sir. Yoa 
love Miss Dinah, she loves you, take her, and be happy. 

Prog. What 1 what? whati 

Tom, I resign her. Good morning, (^going,) 

Prog, Stay, stay, you owe me £5<X). 

Griz. Never mind. Ill pay you* 

Prog. You ! how? 

Gris. With my umbrella. 

Prog, Pshaw ! it's not worth sixpence. 

Grts. I beg your pardon, its value is immense ; it is an object of 
public curiosity. I could wake a fortune by showing it at a 
penny a head. Look, isn't there something rery patriarchal 
about it ; observe this patch and the handle ; is there such another 
umbrella in the world ? No ! in itself it is valuable for its sin- 
gularity ; but when such an affecting story is connected with it, 
when it has been the cause of such unparalleled domestic distress, 
it becomes invaluable — who would not like to possess such a trea- 
sure — no indlvidoai can purchase it; but* to accommodate the 



AND MT OLD UMBRELLA. 23 

pablic and the world in general, IVe hit upon an expedient, 1*11 
raffle it; and, to render the excitement greater, mj wife, the 
affectionate and beautiful Mrs. Grizxie, sbiUl superintend the ar- 
rangements ; now don't you.see jour paltry £500. Come, gene- 
rous friends, (to Tomkims), come under, this faithful shelter, and 
form, with me, an interesting tableau ! (Putt up his umbrella.) 
There, IVe put up mj umbrella ; (Tomkins goes to Grizzle) ; long 
may it rain over us, and bear the heaviest shower of applause 
your approbation may pour down upon my 

" Young Wife and mt Old Umbrella." 



DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS. 
Psoo. ToMKivs. Dinah. George. 

R.] [l. 



TrHinNO, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND. 



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THE 

MIDDLE TEMPLE; 

OB, 

WHICH IS MY SON ? 
A FARCE, 

In ®tu Set, 
By R B. PEAKE, Esq. 

fRtwAtx nf tfie Snmutk 0itti)OT0' i6ode<s* 

riBST PXRVOBMXD JULY 1828, AT THE 

THEATRE ROYAL, ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE. 



OORJUCCTLT PBIKTXD TROM THE FBOMFTKB'S COPT, WITH THS CAST OY 
CHA&ACTJEBa, 006TV]I:B; BCXSIC ABBAISGCIIEKT, BIDS8 OP 
ZBTBAirCX AVD EXIT, AVT> RILATTVE POSTTIOWB 
or THE DBAXATIB PEBBOKJB. 



LONDON : 



frXBSTEB Ain> CO., 411, BTBAUD; W. B. JOHNBOK, "KASBAU 
8TSAM PEESS," 60, BT. MABTIir'B LANB ; MBBSBB. PIPBB AND CO,, 
PATEBKOBTEB BOW; TICKXBB AlfD BBBGEB, HOLTWELL BTBSBT; 
AIXEN, WABWICK XiAJTE ; JOHN HETWOOD, MANCHE8TEB; 
WIBEHEABT, BrPEOlK BTBEET, DVBJJIS j Bt THEBLAIO) AM) CO., 
EDINBITBGH ; EETBIDaE, BOSTON, T.S.; AND AUi B00K8XLLBBS. 



W. S. JtliBMA, "NasMU 8toun PraM." 00, St MnriiB's Uxxe, W.& 



J 



FIRST PBBFOBMKD, JULY, 1828^ 
AT TBK THBATBB BOTAL, BNOLI8H OPERA H0U8X. 



Mr. Minton. 



Brieflbbs. Black coat and waistcoat^ 1 
gray trousers and Wellington boots. ^- vMr. Wrench. 
eond dress, footman's lirery jacket. J 

Mr, Pbbttyman. Neat old gentle- 1 
man'ssuit— powdered wig— dove-coloured >Mr. W.Bennett 
Bilk stockings. J 

Hairbbain. Old-fashioned barber'sl 
coat— spron, &o.&c. J 

Brutus Hairbbain. A drab* coloured 1 
jacket, with a red vest — open shirt- collar 
-7-naukeen tight pantaloons, with large 

ties at the ankles. When the jacket is f Mr. Keeley — Reeve. 
taken off, the shirt-sleeT'es are ornamented 
^th red ribbons— at the wrists, elbows, 
and shoulders — dancer-fieishion. 

PouNCB. Black coat and troosers. 
John. 



Mr. Heath. 
Mr. Lodge. 



■•{ 



Plain coat. 



NOGOINS, 1 

and > Creditors, -l &c. 
DooGiNs.j 1^ Very shabby 

ill-cut black coat — ^red neck-handkerchief ^ Mr. Salter, 
—old white cord breeches — black worsted 
stockings — old white hat, with black crape 
hatband— high-lows. 

Mrs. MiDOLEMiST. Handsome aarceoet 1 .^.^ ^ t^»^„ 
dre8»-turban or toque. / **"' ^- ^'^- 

Julia. Silk morning dress. Miss Pincott. 

Penelope. Neat gingham gown (coun- 1 t^_ K/w*!*.* 
try cut) -straw hat with red ribbons. / ^'*' '^^^J* 



Sc$ M ' l Amdo^ 



THE MIDDLE TEMPLE. 



SCENE I. — An apartment in Mrs,Middlemi8t^s house — 1*100 chairs on. 
Enter Mrs. Middlemist, followed by Juua, l. h. 

Mrs. M. It is quite incorrect, my dear. 

Julia, I am aware of it Aunt, but what am I to do ? 

Mrs, M. You must write a letter to Mr. Briefless, and forbid him 
your presence for ever. Mr. Briefless is a good kind of young 
gentleman, but he is a poor tag-r^ barrister, who sits in the fourth 
row of wigs at the Assizes. 

Julia. His poverty is his only crime ? 

Mrs, M, And can there be a worse — ^no, no, think no more of Mr. 
Briefless. 

Julia. Ah, dear Aunt ! how can I divert the course of my 
thoughts ? 

Mrs. M, Well, you're a good girl, but infinitely too romantic — 
go and write the letter, as I desire. 

IBxit Julia, l. h. 

No, my niece must look a little higher than a barrister witliout 
practice, if her fancy is for a professional man. . 

Enter John, r. u. 

John, A gentleman below has sent up his card, ma'am. 

Mrs. M, (readir^.) Mr. Prettyman I declare — what can have 
brought him to London. Show the gentleman up. 

[Exit John, r. h. 

Dear Mr. Prettyman, an elderly finished gentleman of the days 
gone by — such innate modesty I have never before beheld in the 
male sex. 

Mr. Fretty, (^without,) I thank you — do not let me inconveni- 
ence you — greatly obliged. 

Enter Mr. Prettyman, r. h. 

Mr, P. My dear Mrs. Middlemist, I entreat that you will par- 
don this interruption — permit me to apologize. 

Mrs. M. Extremely happy to see you in town, and at my house, 
which I hope you will always consider your home. 

Mr. P. You're too good, my dear Mrs. M. — I am come to 
London on an affair of immeasurable anxiety and perplexity. 

Mrs, M. Indeed ! 

Mr. P. On one of the most delicate subjects. 

Mrs, M, Bless my heart — take a BeoX-^(both sit.) 



t> fHS MIODLS 

Mr, P. I protest 1 can scarceij explain myself, and I shoold 
apologue for aoooying yob now 

Mn, M, Pray do not apologise so much, Mr. Frettyman. 

Mr, P. It is a ridicoloas habit — I apologize fur it, bat if mj 
fMiings irill permit me to indulge in utterance. • . . 

Mn. M, You may always confide in my bosom, Afr.PrettviDaa; 

declare, sir, your blushes quite interrupt your story. 

Mr, P. Allow me to apologise for blushing — I must expUiA to 
you. (Siatt himulf formally.) You are aware that in early yoath 
my amiable cara tposa, Mrs. Prettyman and myself were deeply 
attached— I, won by her beauty, anti she overcome by my rPipeet> 
ful demeanour ; Mrs. Middlemist, yon 're a woman of me world, 
you hare permitted me to confide in your bosom — we were teoda 
— we were indiscreet — pon my honour I can not — I — 

Mrs, M, Pray proceea, sir. (aside,) What can be coming 1 

Mr, P. Mrs. P.'s health breaks — years are stealing oo us— m 
hare been blessed with no little pledges of affection since our nor- 
riage — and — the feelings of the mother will have their way, theto 
is — forgive me — we have a son. 

Mrs. M, A son, sir f — I thought you said yon had not baeo sa 
Uessed since your marriage ? 

Mr, P, 1 did say so — but — 

."Vfn. M, Pray proceed, sir 

Mr, P. How I palpitate ! — the birth of that son was prepiw^tsny 
{both rue.) I mean prior to the ceremony. 

Mrs. M, Here's a discovery f 

Mr, P, l*m ready to sink into the earth — allow me to ipo^ize 
for Mrs. Prettyman ; poor lady, she couldn't help it ; she caaa«( 
be happy until she clasps hOi only son to her heart and owns kim. 

M^i. M, But where is the young man 1 

Mr, P, That is my present object to discover — some^-»»ere in 
London, in one of the Inns of Court, I believe. — He ha5( istt9»? re- 
eeived an annual remittance thro' an agent (»f mine — that ^ent is 
lately dead, and this year 1 bring the remittance myself— a rather 
«[id fortune for him ; — I'm now hastening to find my boy 

Mrs. M. Poor sweet lost child ! 

Mf. P. How have I regretted the then urgent necessity of dis- 
owning him — ^we cannot desert our ofispring — the opinion c' tiie 
world is now indifferent to us as mortals, compared with the silent 
affectionate admonitions of our feelings as parents ; we have erred 
•I fear I have said too much, — we may still be indiscreet; ezett»! 
<Qe, but we have hearts, and our son shares them. I teel I iare 
spoken too freely — peimit me to apologize for the feelings of a 
katber. ^Exit, i. s> 

Mrs, M, {speaks off.) We dine at six, Mr. Prettyman ; bless me 
what a discovery — well, who'd have thought it of orim MiSi 
iP-'ettyman ! — I declare her affection for her child, is ooiia nexarML 

Re-enter Julia, with Utter, l. h. 

hilia. Aunt — I — I — have written the l«»tter to Mr. Briefless. 
\fr«. M. And» how have you worded it, pray .• 
Julia. Wordod it — oh! I have begged him ta call here tfaii 
^hnn^noD — t*^nt-— thftW* 



TSKPLS. 7 

Mrs. M. Call here — for what purpose 1 

Julia, That I may bid him adiea, for the last time. 

Mrs. M. No matter, your note shall go — Mr. Briefless will of 
course come to the appointment, and then 1 will see him— I will 
give bim his final answer, {calls) Penelope. 

Penelope, (without,} Yes, ma'am. 

Enters y l. h. 

Mrs» M, I wish joo to carry this note to the Temple — do you 
know which is the Temple ? 

Pene. No, ma'am. 

Mrs. M. And I cannot spare John ; of what use are you in 
London ? 

Pene. Don't know I'm sure, ma'am. 

Mrs. M. You 've a tongue in your head, I suppose? 

Pene. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. M. Well, then, take this letter, inquire your way to the 
Temple, Mr. Briefless's chambers, Fig tree Court — did you ever 
see Mr. Briefless ? 

Pene. No, ma'am. 

Mrs. M. There ; do not make any mistake— wait for an answer 
if the gentleman ia within — inquire your way (x. l.) the Temple, 
don't forget — Fig- tree Court — remember ! 

[Exity L. H. 

IPene. Fig-tree Court, the Temple— that must be some beautiful 
building, mayhap like tl/e summer-house in the Squire's garden. 
Fig-trees growing about the court too I 1 love green figs. Bobs, 
but rii ask the gardener to give me one if I see him ! and I'll sit 
in the beautiful temple an^i eat it too! Fig-tree Court, in the 
Temple. [£xt<, r.h. 

SCENE II. — Chambers m the Temple, table toith miniature in drawer , 
books, boot-*ree, brush, live^ coat and waistcoat on chair ^ wig on 
bU)ck, Briefless discovered. 

Brief. Well, of all lives^ a barrister without business is the most 
melancholy! A pretty condition I'm in! — Half my law books 
sold to stop my tailor's mouth— my Coke exchanged for a sack of 
coals — Burn's Justice — Blackstone's Commentaries — all bartered 
for the common comforts of life — my servant gave me warning 
yesterday, has left his livery, and gone away. And even my 
*' harmless necessary cat** has retired to avoid starvation. Strange 
that my annual remittance has not arrived, and I have no clue to 
discover from whence it formerly came ! Mine has been a life of 
mystery, but crowds of creditors surround me, and I'm positively 
overrun with ** galloping dreary duns." (A knock i.. h. single.) 
How my heart beats at every tradesman's rap ! I suppose it is 
because I have not a rap for them in return. I most face it. Who's 
there ? 

Hairbrain, (without.) I. * 

Brief. Which of them ? 

^lair. I, Mr. Hairbrain. 

Briej. Oh, only the tonsor, the shaver 1 I owe him a quarter's 



8 THB HIDDLS 

eatdng. Ctn't arrest me for diet. Come in, Mr. Hnrbnln {opm 
door L. H.) 

Enter Haiebrain, l. H.o.2d b. 

Hair, Morning, ho-; paMing through the conrt, betrd toot 
mui-fenrant had left you; called to see if I coold have the boaour 
to be of any aervice. 

Brirf, Thank yoo, Mr. Hairbrain. I want aome one to attend 
the chambers. Perha|>i yon may know of a person. 

Hair, That's my errand, sar. The fact is, my son, sar. Hair- 
brain junior, a handsome lad (very like Mrs. Caroline Mttildi 
Hairbrain, my wife, his mother), is st present unemployed; bot, 
aar, he baa a aoul aboFO my profession ; turns up his nose at the 
curling irons, cuts razors and scissors, and blowa bladders oot of 
window with the shaving soap. 
Brief, Mercy on ua, what a gabbler ! 

Hair, I want to steady him a little. Take him on trial, to m 
at the desk, and answer the door. He's at your senrioe for bis 
wittlet. 

Brief. He won*t surfeit himself here. Hell do rery litde if be 
works in proportion to his food, (popart.} 
Hair, I'll be answerable for his honesty. 
Brief, (atiide,) There's nothing to steal. 

Hair. I can recommend the bojr warmly. There's bat one reiar- 
ration— don't aak him to shave you — he*ll cut your throat to» 
certainty. 

B^Hef. Good recommendation for a valet ! Let me see him. 
Hair, Greatly obleeged, sar — ^be's a nice youth, sar. (aside.) I 
shall get rid of the troublesome dog. Mus'n t say a word about bit 
love of dancing. I'll send Hairbrain junior directly ; and sboold 
Hairbrain junior have the honour to serve you, depend upon tbe 
lasting, and never-to-be-sufficiently-expressed gratitude of Hair- 
brain senior. 

[£xt(, L. B. 
Brief. Should the son possess the volubility of the papa~oo 
matter — ^it will be convenient to have tbe fellow here for a day « 
two. {takes wig.) Ah, neglected innocence ! — my wig has a sine- 
cure—superintendent of the block machinery (^replaoes wig) ; nor 
can r quote the song, *' And ye shall toaUc in siUc attire," in West- 
minstec Hall. I think the opportuuity will soon occur ; for, havn't 
I received an intimation that my talent will be patronized by a 
high dignitary of the legal profession? In fact, I'm in bonnj 
expectation of an order to attend his Court. Now I really ongbt 
to succeed ; for, vanity apart, I'm tolerably eloquent, and exceed- 
ingly plausible, (a iingle knock,) What's that ? Mr. Hairbrain 
junior, I suppose, (looks through tkehey-hole^ l. h. s.b.) No I plague 
take it ! it is a ferocious creditor. What is to be done ? I can't 
pay, and I can't run away. The fellow does not know my person, 
and I'll take care he snail not ;— though I'll pay him when aj 
remittance arrives. I could close the outer door, but I expect 
every moment the message from his Honour, which I must not 
neglect (single knock,) Ha ! joined by another harpj of a tradea- 
man ! Nay, then disguise must aid me. (looks at livery,) Yes 
— I have it. I have been a long time my own master* I will 



TSMPLB. 9 

now be my own man. (pnU on Uvery coat.) HflB ! — Now I can (ace 

them fearlessly, (^operu door,) 

Enter Noooinb and DoogxnSj u h. o. 

No^. Pray, young man, is Mr. Briefless within ? 

Brief. Not that I'm aware of, sir. 

Nog, He is a difficalt perton to meet ? 

Bnef, Not at all, sir, if you come at the right time. 

Nog. What do you call the right time ? 

Brief, The Christmas after next. 

Nog, I've given Mr. Briefless credit, tho' I never had the plea- 
sure to see the gentleman. 

Brief, (atide.) So much the hotter for me. 

Nog. My hill is for whitewashing these chamhers. 

Brief, (^aside.) Whitewashing — I wish you would do as much 
for the tenant ! 

Dog. (to Brieflesi.) Why you're a new man ! 

Brief, {bows.) I wish I was (aside). 

Dog, When do you expect Mr. Briefless inl eh ! 

Bnef, (x.c.) Impossible to say, gentlemen, he is so engi^ed in the 
Courts chat he has not a moment to himself. — What names shall I 
have the pleasure to tell Mr. Briefless, gentlemen ? 

Nog, My name is Noggins. 

Brief, Nog^s — and yours, sir 1 

Dog, Doggms. 

Brief, Noggins and Doggins — a sort of rhyming coincidence I 

Nog, Come no sneeHng, I shall call again to-morrow, and tell 
your master if my hill is not settled, he'll get a six-and-eight 
penny letter from my solicitor^eneral. [Exit, l. h 

Brief. Good bye, Nofgins. 

Dog, Yon have sent that gentleman away* without his change — 
you have hnrt his feelings (takes out bill). Young chap, give that 
^ere to Mr. Briefless — my bill !— tell him as that Doncaster Races 
is over I am much pressed for cash— come — I'll do the handsome 
thing by you, if you can persuade your master to pay this directly. 
"-I'll tip a tizzy and a glass of summit short. Ax him. 

Brief. FU ax him, certainly ; (aside) 'gad I've a good place. 
Dog, But keep your own counsel. 

Brief, I shall never employ any other (looks at bill) — but what 
is all this about \ Oreads.) To two dozen blue rocks — to two 
dozen blue rocks. Pray was this hill incurred at the sea side ? 

Dog, Sea side — no — the blue rocks are the two dozen pigeons 
Mr. Briefless shot at, and missed at Battersea. 

Brief, Oh ! no go— 

Dog. Yes, it was a go — they all good home again. 
Brief, (reads.) Hem ! ** To shaving a poodle eight-and-sixpence" 
"—shaviDg a poodle — come, come, economy — here's no allowance 
for the wool, I see? 
Dog. Wby I couldn't afibrd it — the poodle was a moulting. 
Brief, O very good ! 

Dog. I suppose you'll make it all right — if you do I'll stand your 
Mend, in my way of business. 

[Exit, L. lis s. 



10 



Tm MzsDur 



Httirbnin, (wUhatUJ) PlMie fir, am I right ? 

Britf', That depends upon circamBttncet. (Enter Bnttm Hm' 
hrain at door,) Who Um deace are vou ? 

Brutut, If 70U please, father toldme— 4atber informed me— 

Brirf. Who is your father 1 

Brutut. The old Perriwigger, in the court. 

Britf, Oh! you're— Mr. Hairbrain*s son, then — 

Bruiui, Yes, then— and so I am now — Mr. Brutus Hanhiain— 
but what's the use of my coming here— fortune again squirts oq sie. 
Mr. Briefless hss got a new servant already ! what was the use of 
father sending me out without my breakfast ; he told me I should 
breakfast here. Father told me, Mr. Briefless wanted a bo^ ? 

Britf, And yon are the man— oh \ very well — ^1^11 get out of mj 
UrBTj again — pull this coat off— 

Brutus, Pull this coat off— pull the new footman's coat oSX 

Britf* Gad — first 1*11 see what this fellow is made of, and per* 
haps Messrs. Noggins and Doggins may return (see Brutus reitiv 
his hand mi taMe, and tltvating his Itg.) Capering — tkl— 



now, sir^— 

Brutus, (^dancing up.) Now, young man ? 

Brief, Mr. Briefless desired me to ascertain the extent of joor 
qualifications 1— see, young Hairbrain, said my master, find oat if 
he has any head. 

Brutus, I flatter myself I hare a head and a tail too, (shamMf fig- 
tail,) l*m like a new penny ! 

Biritf. Let other people discorer your beauties, what can yoo do 
to get your living 1 

Brutus, Any thing in the world. 

Brief, Any thing in the world is rather a comprehensible a- 
twer — what do you mean by any thing in the world ? 

Brutus, Nothing particular. 

Brief, Hare you commenced the study of any profession? 

Brutus, Oh ! yes. 

Brief, What? 

Brutus. Figure dancing, (capers,) 

Britf, Of great utility in a law office. — What the deuce put that 
into your head— or rather into your heels 1 

Brutus, Native natural British genius. 

Brief, Genius 1 

Bruttu, Yes, and a straight leg. (capers.) 

Brief, Then why not follow the bent of it ? 

Brutus, Bent— {looks at his leg conceitedly) bent ! you could not 
have said a more cutting thing, if the calf had been befiM* 
instead of behind — 1 have applied to all the ballet masters fo 
employment — they all said I was well on my pins — but — 

Brief, But what? 

Brutus, They intimated that my face wouldn't answer. 

Brief, Face wouldn't answer — you won't do to open our door 
then — but if you have a mind to make yourself useful, you mar 
have the run of these chambers — attend the knocker, mend peni— 
inhale pounce, brush coats, copy pleadings, clean boots, take the 
fees and catch mice ; but no dancing. 

Brutus. Except dancing attendance— Oh, Mr. John. 

Brief, John ? 



TEMPLB. 1 1 

Brutut. Every footman Is named John— how flball I ozpreie my 
gntitnde — I'll get ^ou a shilling order for Sadler's Wells some 
nignt— I'll just step home to father, to tell him of my preferment 
and fetch my tinder — I mean my linen — I know not what I'm 
saying — I'm in such extatics, I shall make a pironette from the top 
of the staircase to the bottomi and come a'plomb into Pump Court. 
(Pirouettes) I'll be back directly. {Jumps out, l. h. d.) 

Brief. TTiat is a sprightly youth, however — evidently does not 
know who I am.^Now to take off this livery and become Mr. 
Briefless again, (prepares to pull of coat — a tingle knock, l. h. 
looks off.) Is this Use message from his Honour— come in. 

Enter Penelops. l. b. d. 

Hey — a she creditor — perhaps a h«n baiiiil. 

Pene, Is this, Mr. Brif fless's ? 

Brief, Yes, my prettv maid. (astd<.) A milk score. 

Pene, What a hunt T've had about the Temple ; but it's no more 
like what I thought ! there an't no figs in it ! — is Mr. Briefless at 
home ? 

Brief, Yes, my sweet, that is«-no, he is not. (aside.) I'm out. 

Pene, La ! what a pity ! — I'm Miss Julia Herbert's own maid. 

Brief, The devil you are ! (looks oAamed,) 

Pene. Oh ! fie ! what a naughty word ! — ^you said, devil— couldn't 
yon hear that I was a maid without swearing. Miss sent me with 
this here note for Mr. Briefless — I was to give it into bis own band ; 
besides, I never set my eyes on Mr. Briefless, and I wants to see 
him ever so much. 

Brief, Oh ! you never saw him? 

Pene, No« never saw him*-no more than I have ever seen you 
before. 

Brief, Where's the note 1 (she produces it.) It is dear Julia's 
hand I 

Pene, Dear Julia ! — come — that might do from the master ; but 
from the footman. 

Brief. I forgot, I have so often heard Mr. Briefless use that 
afiectionate term, that — 

Petie, You cotched yourself at it — please to take the note to your 
master, for I want an answer. 

Brief, I will give you one directly. 

Petie, Youl 

Brief, That is — psha! — perhaps Mr. Briefless may be in the 
next room without my knowing it — so I'll take the note in — good 
bye, sweetbriar. 

[Exit, D. p. R. 

Pene, Sweetbriar — ^how nice that smells — that's the prettiest 
gentleman's gentleman I have seen this many a day ; well, Miss 
has a lover, and I admire her prudence ; why shouldn't I have 
somebody to be anxious about and titillate my heart, and make me 
forget to put my hair in papers of a night! I wish that footman 
would give me an opportunity of saying summit civil to him — la ! 
but I could do it. 1 would not stand shilly-shally as my friend 
Sosan did| and lose all her sweethearts. 

(&7^.)— ** Young Susan had lovers." 

(Pvbliihed by Goulding 8f D*Almaine,) 



12 THB MIDDLX 



R«-€R(«r Bbibfliss, toUh letter, d. f. 

Brief. Here's the answer my little daisy, and now to pay tiK 
meManger with one kiss, (^vei letter,) 

Fetie. Two if you like, sir ! 

(BaiKFLBSsaftoutto fciii her — Enter Buvtvb Hairbrain, l. n^ 
with a bundU) — he utten, 

Brutus, A— hem! {atide), 1 balked him. 

Pene, (teeing Brutus.) {aside) Fool— (lo Briefless,) Sir I aoifier 
nothing derogrotory to my decency. 

Brutus, (tuide.) Ah ! the fox and the grapes— oh ! oh ! — (epen 
to Bribpless.) Try again, John — 

Brief, Come— come — go along, don't be impertinent. Go, simb, 
brush— in yonder room stands a boot-tree, (pointe,) 

Brutus, A boot-tree-— well IVe heard of many trees, but seTcr 
heard of a boot tree before, John— he ! he ! he ! (jnits his Jigger 
to his nose, pointing at Penelope.) 

[£xtf, R. B. o.r. 

Pene, (^loohs rounds wipes her lips,) Oh f John — if you should em 
oome our wav, the Area-gate is never locked till nine— good bje. 
(/fs kisus her,) 

Brief, Good bye. 

(Brutus looks through the door — shakes boot-tree b^ind Bsixr* 
LMs's back as he kisses her, and she goes out — Brutus retires.) 

Brirf. Very nice little girl {opens draxoer and takes out mtniatn.) 
No remittance yet ; I'm now positively without a sixpence— «b!j 
memorial of who I am or what I might be — let me view thee. (ItJ^ 
at it,) This little portrait, discovered in the room of my none, 
may have been the resemblance of my mother! Mother! abi' 
the name has been unknown to me. (a gentle triple knock, ) Pltgnft 
take the knocker ! Hairbrain Brutus— Hairbrain ! — ^The felloir's 
deaf, (drops miniature on table — looks off,) A respectable-lookiDg 
personage — is it the messenger from the Court, or a well-dressed 
bailiff? — the livery must again aid me for I've not time to get 
it off. 

"EnUr Mr. Prbtttxan, l. h. 

Mr, P, I enter unasked, unushered— I beg to apologize, is Mr. 
Briefless within ? 

Brief, Sir— I— a-hemi— 

Mr. P. Ah ! is your master at home 1 — I've a BM^tter of a pnvsle 
and peculiar nature to communicate to him. 

Brief, (aside,) The old cant of ao old bailiff — spite of his geo* 
tility, I will preserve my incognito. 

Afr. P. I must arrest Mr. Briefless's attention a few moments. 

[Sits, L. B. 

Brief, (o«d«.) Arrest '.—that's enough — Sir, yon shall eee a; 
master directly, (goes to door,) Brutus— (firutiw a^^pemrs at dm. 
brushing a boot which Briefless thrusts aside,) Bruins ! 

Brutus, Well, Cassius ! 

Brief, (pointing to Mr, P.) D'ye hear 1 (apart,) Say you'w 
Mr. Briefless — 111 explain all in a moment. 

■Brutus. You are Mr. Briefless— eh 1 



TEMFLB. 13 

Brief. Psha! (in under tone,) Tell tbtt old gentleman that 
youVe Mr. Briefless. 

Bnau$. Ob ! ay — ^sy— but Joho, won't tbat bd a taradiddle ? 

Brief, (tuide.) Obey my directions or yoall loee your new place 
^-io tbe mean time, 1 m tired of these interruptions, I shall put on 
my owu clothes, and visit my dear Julia, leaving Mr. Brutus here 
to fight tbe battle. 

[Exit, L. H. 

Mr, P. Pray, sir, are you Mr. Briefless t (Brutus makee a 
dtnctng'tnaUer's bow,) The Mr. Briefless who has for some years 
psst received an annual remittance. (Brutus boiot,) Permit me 
to shake hands with you 1 

BrutiM. Certainly, youVe very welcome, (aside,) Now, if 
I'm to be Mr. Briefless, I ought to do the genteel thing, {to Mr. 
P.) Will you take any thing to drink, sir ? — A. bottle of ginger 
beerl 

Mr, P, £xcuse me. (aside.) Very extraordinary ! 

Brutuf . And no bad offer neither. I'll ofier it once — offer it 
twice — two off'cn and out — ^like trap. ball. If you understand 
trap, ginger beer is no bad thing after dancing, (capers affectedly.) 

Mr, P. Sure, 1 must mistake, (sees miniature.) Ha ! what 
incture is this ? That fiiee— the identical portrait of Mrs. Pret- 
tymsn. 

Brxutue. (peeps over,) Pretty woman, 1 think. 

Mr. P. My heart misgives me ! I bad hoped — ah, sir, {to 
Hairbhain) permit me to inquire, does this portrait belong to you 1 

Bfxuus. (swaggering,) Every thing here belongs to me. {aside.) 
I'm to pass for master. 

Mr, P. Oh, nature ! nature ! — I apologixe— I dread to ask (to 
HiiRBRAiN.) how came you by this miniature ? 

Brutus. What, that there locket ? (aside.) HI tell a white lie. 
(to Mr,P,) I wore it round my neck, when I waa a little tiny thing, 
so high. 

Mr. P. Ah 1 tell me, sir, do yon happen to know your fathei 1 

Brutus. It's a wise child that knows its own father. 

•Mr. P. Tbat dress and manner — without further proof I dare 
not own him for my son. Have you a father ? 

Brutus, I have ; and he turned me out without my breakfast. 

Mr, P. (aside,) Figuratively condemning my unnatural conduct. 

Brutus, My father always shaves very close. 

Mr, P. In vulgar phrase he again rebukes me. Surely I have 
discovered my lost heir! {looh at kirn,) My poor neglected 
boy! 

Brutus. I've been sadly neglected. I'm sure I wonder I'm not 
ricketty. (dances.) No ricketty child could do that ! 

Mr, P. Pray stand still, and let me regard you with tender- 
ness 

Brutus, How yon stare * 

Mr. P. Here, take this, (gives money,) procure yourbolf new 
dothes. 

Brutus. What, new coat, waistcoat, and inezpressesl 

Mr, P. Let me see my heir well dressed. 

Brutus. Your hair well dressed, eh ! I'll run for father — ^I mean 
(he perriwigger in tbe court. 

B 



14 THS mooLE 

Mr, p. I will take the boj to Mrs. Middlemist's boon; t^ 
•zplanatioD shall occur in the presence of that worth j gentlewoinaD. 
(gwn card.) Follow me to Uiis direction. (Brutus efttr ku, 
treading en his heelt.) No, not now. 

Brutus* You told me to follow jou in this direction. 

Mr, P. No, thie-^pointing to card.) 

Brutus. Oh, we must speak by the card, as Billy Shakipem 
says. 

Mr. P. (with emotion.} Farewell ! farewell ! 

Brtitus. Good bye. (aside.) Affected old frump ! 

Mr. FRErrriiAN gnng, met by Pounce, with blue bag. 

Pounce. Is Mr. Briefless within ? Mr. Prxttyhin fwd» ft 
[Brutus, aiMi Exit. — Brutus dances — Pouwzstafft 

Pounce, His Honour wishes to see you in Court directly. 

Bruttti. Eh ? —what ? 

Pounce, His Honour. 

Brutus. Who's his Honour ? Tell his Honour that rm goiogfii 
get some new clothes, and that my honour can't come. 

Pounce. That is my message ? 

Brutus. To be sure. 

Pounce. Oh I very well. [Exit, t. h. 

Brutus. So much for honour ! the old boy has given me 101. note, 
to get me redressed. If I jump into a handsome^suit of clotbaia^ 
present myself at the theatre, for the situation of Ballet'ibAr 
now — la ! tbey won't reject me. 

(Song.) 
My talent sure was for the stage meant, 
I'll now procure a good engagement — 

I can manage my leg well 

Like the great Mr. O'Egville, 

Express all passions with the toes ; 

A ballet too I thus compose. 

<' I am Lubin— up above 
At the window sits my love ; 
I dance on, in fly and cap, 
At the casement give a tap. 

[Clasps his hands thritt. 

Lisette trips on with triple flounce, 
I satute, chasser and bounce — 
Then I elevate my chest, 
Clap both hands upon my breast. 

C'est Tamour— c*est Tamoar. 

I'm rejected — ^neglected — ^unprotected 

Tear my hair — beware — there — 

I dash on — in a passion —after this fashion 

On the brink of despair ! — 
Now all this will surely tally 
Information of a ballet.' [Eiu, R. >• 

SCENE IIL — fi'a/tfon— Mrs. Middlemist's h^use.-^Tw chains 

Enter Julia, meeting Penelopb, r, b. 
Julia, Well Pen, did you see Mr Briefless? 



TEMPLB. 15 

Pene, No, Migs ! I saw his servmt, a nice young fellow enongh. 

Julia, But hare you no letter— no answer? 

Pent, The Failey de sham who ralely seemed moch beyond his 
situation in life, said to me— and he had such a sweet turn to his 
mouth — 

Julia. Pen, you forget 1 

Pen. No, I sball nerer forget him. Miss, (sighs,) 

Julia. Where's the letter 1 

Pen, He had it in his hand — the smallest hand I ever saw for a 
footman, {gives letter.) 

Julia. 1 shall be very angry with you. (retires up x. l.) 

Pene. (x. l.) I can't help thinking on his ejes, which looked all 
streaming and swimming at me like prcsarred damsons. If erer I 
see John again, TU be even with him — I'U stare at him just as he 
stared at me. [£xir, l. h. 

JtUia. (reads.) ** I shall endeavour to have a serious explanation 
with Mrs. Middlembt, for which purpose I shall probably be with 
you a few minutes after the delivexy of this note." Alas ! to what 
will this lead^ll-judged and hasty — it will bring matters to a 
climax — 

Briefless appears ut id b. l. p. 

Tho' I know you love me dearly, I am too much enamoured of 
you my beloved friend, to suppose that delay could altei the affec- 
tionate interest with which I regard you — ^yet — 

Brief, (coming forward.) Yet, what — ffulia'! 

JuUa. Ah! — oh. Briefless! how could you steal in unper* 
ceived ? 

Brief, To snatch a short moment of tenderness and delight— 
when, sweet Julia — ^when will you share my heart and home? I 
am ashamed to talk of that visionary thing ! 

JuUa, Are we not rash to think of daring fate with nothing but 
love to support us 1 

Brief, Ix)ve— my love — and what better? — Then there's the 
law. 

Julia. The law ? 

Brief. Yes. I have liushek of bnefs aaily— my clerk takes half- 
crowns enough in a week to inlay the Regent's Park. 

Pene. (without,) Ma'am? 

Julia. It is only my maid—- come in. 

Brief, i ih, the deuce * ' 

Enter Pbkelope, l. h. 

Pene, Please ma'am, Mrs. Middlemist desires me to say (sees 
Bkiefless, shrieks faintly) — Oh, John — John — John. 

Brief, John, John — where's John ? 

Pene, I'll be banged if he has not got his master's clothes on. 

Brief, {turning and nodding.) Ah, little rosebud — how do Ve 
do — how do ye do? Mum, {to Julia.) I made acquamtance with 
lier this morning, (nods and winks.) 

Julia, Pen, you msy go down stairs. 

Brief, Pen, you may go down stairs. (a«ii2i>) 

JuUa, Why do you tand there ? 



10 TRV MIDDLE 

Britf. YM«*wfaj do TOO ■tand th o re t his it reaDy, t wutJnj- 
maid — ^you can't g«t ri«l of her— poutiFolj, Julia, jour Pen u 
joQ call her, wanta oMiidiog. 

Pen«. Ob, if I might dimlf o— pleaae ma'aniy lbe((8j<mip«rioD 
(to BaiirLBSB, z. c.) bo ga joar pardon too, sir. Ma'ui'Binl 
step here. — Do yoa happen to know that person 1 

J'ttlia. Certainly. 

FsM. No yoa don't— yoa etn't — you *re deceiTed— indeed joa 
■re. He— 'he's a-«* 

JuIm, What? 

Ftn9. He's a man* 

/iiiis. Weil I know that, simpleton. 

PsfM. She knows it (Jioud) ma'am, he's a serrant. 

Bruf, (boiMto JuuA.) Certainly, year humble serrant. 

Pen*, I can bear it no longer— oh, miss, (Juua potnti to dior) 
(aiids,) lU set old mother Middlemist upon Mr. John, is 
no time. [JSnt, l. h. erp^ 

Jtt/io. What can poasiblj ail the giil \ 

Enttr Mrs. Miodlbkist, l. 

Jifrf. Bf. Hoity-toity, indeed— 4omebody has driTso mj Pn 
wild ; she insists that there is a strange footman in the ptHw^* 
and has advised me to look after the spoons, {tea BaisFLEtt.) Oii, 
your pardon, sir, I'm happy to meet with you. 

Britf, {hmot.) M uoh flattered ! 

JUrs. M. To express my perfect disapprobati<m of yoorTic* 
upon my niece. 

Jvlia. Ah, aunt \ 

Britf, Pray, madam, what may be yovr objections 1 

Mn. M, few and trifling'— you're without fortune or friends ; I 
don't know your family. 

Bruf, (apart.) Nor I either. 

Mrt, M, And it is impossible to convince me that you erer bd 
either a father or a mother 1 

Brief. Yes, I had. 

Mrs. M, In short, I must desire that you never intrude yoane'j 
nor your impertinence here again. I did intend to hsve expreoec 
my opinions in much stronger terms— 

Brief, (ttows.) Sufficiently strong, ma'am. 

Mrs. M, But I'm of the weaker sex. 

Brief. True. 

M*^. M, Had I a husbaud liring^- 

Brief, (atide,) Happy fellow, he's no more ! 

Mrt, M. Sir— ^fortunately (x. l.) My dear old friend, Mr.PnttJ' 
man, is coming up stairs ; I'll refer the whole affair to hinu 

Enter Mr. Prstttm an, l. h. 

My dear, sir, I throw myself upon your protection. 

Mr, P. How— eh ! — what's the matter — any apology rpqaiw^' 

Mrt. N. Be good enough to say to this person, that faia tbMOC 

ill confer a fiivour. 

Mr, P. Certainly— certainly— a-hem ! Sir, I beg to apdoj*- 
but, why (looks at Briefless) surely I know that face ? 



tKUfLR, 17 

Britf, Bravo ! this it a climax ! 

Mr, P. Did I not see you lo a iireiy to^ay— -you caa*t deny it. 
Ladies, do you imow this iodiTidnal 1 

Mrs, M. An acquaintance of Miss Julia. 

Mr. P. Bless me ! why he's a footman out of livery t 

Julia, Sirl 

Brief, (eaide.) What's to be done? I must silence this old 
twaddle, and yet I can't betray my real circumstances, (to Mr. 
MiDDLBMisT.) Sir — ^Madam, x. c. Miss. — If this respectable gen- 
tleman will do me the honour to give me five minutes bearing in 
the next room, I can explain all to the general satisfaction. 

Mr, P. Certainly— certaiuly'— prove me wrong, and I shall be 
happy to apologise (apart to Mrs. M.) I've found my lost sou in 
tbe Temple; I regret to say that he's rather unpoliiihed — I've 
directed him to follow me here, and have given him my card. 

Mrs, M, I will welcome your son, sir 1 

Mr. P, Now, Mr.yT-tliis way if you please, and let me hear your 
apology. 

BrUf, (apart to Juua.) Fear not Julia ! allow me to apologize. 
[£nt with Mr. Prettyuan, through folding doars. 

Mrs. M, Ah, miss— see what your romance has brought you to— 
lost your heart to a livery 1 

B. Enter Joun—~give$ card to Mrs. Midplemist. 

Mr. Prettyman's card ! Oh, the bearer of this must be his long lost 
son. Where is the young gentleman 1 

John, Sitting on the step of the street-door, ma'am. 

Mrs, M, Sitting on the step— show him in instantly. 

JttZia. (apart.) I must be spared thia interview, however. 

[^Exit John, r. 

(Esit through centre,} 

Mrs. M. I wonder what sort of a personage this unacknowledged 
Mr. Prettyman, junior, is 1 — 

Enter Brutus Hairbrain, r. (clothes badly fitted.) 

He looks like a natural — ^your servant,, sir 1 

Brutus. Thank you, ma*am ; there was an old Fizgig told me to 
bring that card here. 

Mrs. M. Old Fizgig t (aside) does not speak quite respectful of his 
parent. Your father will be here presently. 

Brutus. He must look very sharp then ! 

Mrs. M. He*s in the next room. 

Brutut. How he must have bowl'd his old pins along — impossi- 
t)Ie ! I left him curling the mace-bearer's wig in Devereux 
Court. 

Mrs. M. (apart.) Ah, poor little fellow ! (to Brutus.) You don't 
know what a great shock von may have. 

firutu«. A great shock \ (feels his head.) Ma*am, there's a pro- 
verb, '* i»hoemaker*s wives are the worst shod" — well may 1 have a 
shock. Father has n't laid a pair of scissors on my nob this twelve 
months, it's all because I can t pay him a bob. 

Mrs, M. Mr. Prettyman, jim. ! You're perfectly incomprehen- 



1^ TRE mnOLB 

■ibi*. (pRvm tttrmm) Will it not ^ve yoa gnat ddigfattobe 
restored to the tmif otjoar doting mother! 

finaia. Why as to that, the old 'omao'a Hod enoogh, hot Vm. 
grown too largo to be oarried in her arma. 

Mn, M, 111 redre and return with >our best friend—adiea. I 
perceire vou and 1 will be onich better acquainted — adieu! 

* [Erit,L.D. 

Brutuu Now what*8 the meaning of all this— that old lady and I 
are to be much better acquainted. She*s taken a bit of a hnej to 
me — well here I am — new clothes and natty figure {looks rwwi) 
good sort of apartment this for the Collie hornpipe — plenty of kg* 
room — nothing like a little practice, (^daneet,) 

AiK^—^CoUege Hornpipe.') 

With my right arm so-— and around I go 
And step so prime, exact to time, — 
Let none dende while thus I stride 
From side to side and point my to»— 
With a double 8buffle--Bhake the ruffle. 
Stamp tol tol— with a riggle wiggle. 
Niggle giggle — tramp tol lol-- 
No dance, that Fraose perchance can know 

Will beat our College hornpipe, O ! 
No dance that France, &c. &c. 
A quadrille's genteel, likewise Scotch reel. 

With active feet, the steps are neat. 
But they don't elide down upon their heel. 
And finished with a double beat — 

Nor with double shuffle, &c. &c. 

During concltuion. Enter Mr. Prkityman, Briepi^ess, Mbs-Mhi- 

DLEMisr, Julia, and Penelope. 

Mrs.M, Excellent! excellent! Your protegee is a chanain^ 
dancer. 

Brutus, You're very good. I'll do it over again. (s«es Brkfles.) 
Hallao ! John — have you left your livery behind yoa at tl»e 
chambers ? 

Mr. P Another evidence! Livery again! Then, sir, all y<w 
hare been telling me in the next room is a deviation from tmtb. 

Mrs. M. Come, young man, retire, or I shall be under the necM- 
sity of sending for a police officer. 

Brutus, John, what have you been doing ? What have you been 
arter ? 

Pene. I pity the poor fellow from the bottom of my heart! 

Mr, P. (takes mii picture.) How inscrutable are th*- freaks ot 
fortune ! If it had not been for this little picture, I should never 
have discovered my darling hoy. (embraces Brutus.) 

Biief. That picture, sir » That picture came from my cham- 
bers. 

Mr, P. Your chambers ! 

Brief, Yes, sir, and I value it as I do my existence. Mv J"* 
nurse confided to my infiant ear, that it was the portrait of m* 
mother. 



TEMPI K 16 

Mr, P. (to Brutus.) Who, then, is your motow / 

Brutus, Mother Hairbrain, of UeTereuz-coart. 

Mr, P, Here's a mistake — I apologise — jes— it must be— Ihote 
8)68 — that nose — {to Briefless.) — Come to a father*8 hearu 
(embraces,) 

Brutus, (comet to embrace, but repelled.) Why, you made as 
much of me this morning! — Don't know your own mind two 
minates together, n*mporte, {capers away,} 

Mrs, M, I perceive the whole error. Mr. Briefless, {curtsey'-' 
ing) or rather Mr. Prettyman junior, I regret 1 have used unbe- 
coming language to you. 

Mr, P. Allow me to apologise for Mrs. Middlemist. 

Brief, Fortune, 1 ihank thee ! (to Mr. P.) Sir, the first favour 
I shall crave, is permission to solicit the hand of this young lady. 
If your friend, Mrs. Middlemist, will coosent, I am happy for 
life. 

Pen, Well, though I am disappointed, it's a pleasurethat he's to 
he my master, as 1 can't be his mistress, {wipes her eyes,) 

Brutus. I kept your secret, sir. 

Brief. For which you may keep your new suit of clothes. 

Brutus. Given to me in the Temple. I shall consider this as 
my law-suit. 

Brief, {to audience.) Ladies and gentlemen, now the rightful 
heir is discovered, will you, on a promise of amendment, pardon 
the errors — the eccentricities of the Templar. 

FINilLB. 

Julia, Aunt, you've made me truly happy. 
Mrs, M, Yes, dear niece, I like vour choice. 
Julia. All your fears are now unfounded. 
Mrs, M, I approve with hand and voice. 
Brief, The Templar promises amendment. 
Brutus. Then, I think, he*s growing wise -, 

Beg your pardon, for offending. 
Mr. P, Sir, you must apologize. 
Brutus, Ladies, ^ents, with merry faces. 

This hour's freak, I pray, forgive. 

We won't dance out of your good gractn 
Allow our bagatelle to livA, 

Cknrus. Ladies, gonts, Ace. 



W. S. Johnion. " Nasuu Steun PraN^" 60, St. Haxilnli Laue^ W.a 



13. [SECOKC EDITION.] PriM 64. 

WEBSTER'S 
1TINO WATIOHrAli BBAIHA. 

JNDER THE AUtPKES OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHOKt' lOClETV. 



'. t. MHHMH, "lUHi^lf IKAN PMa*,*' % NACUg (TUKI^ WMTOa 



o 



\<u 



I 

i 



RIQUET WITH THE TUFT : 

A GRAND COMICAL, ALLEGORICAL, MAGICAL. 
MUSICAL BURLESQUE BURLETTA, 

In ®nc 9rt» 

by 

J. R. PLANCHfi, 

and 

C. DANCE, Esa»s. 

MKMBSBS OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHO&S' SOCIETY. 

As performed at 

MADAME VESTRIS' ROYAL OLYMPIC THEATRE. 



•^ *^ » mO<^fc^^^^^^^^^^»^^fcArf^#N^>^^^--^Nrf^ 



CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH THE 

CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT, 

SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE POSITIONS 

OF THE DRAMATIS PEaSONiB. 



SPLENDIDI^Y ILLVSTRATBD WITH AN ETCHING, 

ny Pierce Egan.the Youag«r,from adrawinf taken dnringtherejirewntati.^o 

of the rieee. 



LONDON: 
SHERWOOD, GILBERT, AND PiPfiR. 

PAXS&NOSTSR-aoW. 



Wv&m&Uti ^nmntK, unM B^ntvmt 



FIRST PBRFORMEO DECEMBER 36th, 18S6. 



Mr J. Bland. 



Mab. {Queen of Fairy Land.) — Silver 
tissue body, petticoat aud veil — jewelled 

stomacher — silver tissue high-crowned hat ^ Miss. Fitzwalte*.; 
— pink silk stockings, silver tissue slip- 
pers. 

Mother Bunch. — Black velvet boddice \ 
and robe, tucked up behind — scarlet satin / 
petticoat — ^point-lace apron and ruffles — S Miss. R. Isaacs*. 
black velvet high-crowned hat — red stock- i 
ings, and black high-heeled velvet shoes. ' 

Green-horn the Great. — (Grand 
Duke of tite Green Islands.) Green velvet 
doublet, and trunk breeches, slashed and, 
puffed with gold tissue — green velvet' 
cloak, lined with crimson satin— green silk, 
stockings-^black velvet shoes — black vel- 
vet hat, with jewelled band, and plume of 
white feathers. 

Prince Riquet with the Tuft. — 
Jacket, cloak and loose breeches of plum- 
coloured satin, richly embroidered with 
gold, and lined with light blue satin — | 
point-lace shirt, showing at waistband, and 
point-lace falling collar — ^black velvet Spa- 
nish hat, with plume and border of white | 
feathers — ^white silk stockings, buff boots, 
and gold spurs. 

Prince Finikin.— Pink silk tunic, em- 
^)roidered with silver, and faced and col- 
lared with sable — white silk stockings — 1 
yellow morocco boots — pink cap, turned, 
up with sable, and very large falling plume 
of pink and white ostrich feathers. 



Mr. C. Mathews* 



Mrs. Anderson. 



Grand Chamberlain. — Green satin 
doublet trunks and mantle, slashed and 
puffed with pink silk, and embroidered 
with silver— pink silk stockings, and green 
shoes — black velvet hat, and pink feathers. 

Usher of the Green Rod. — Green 
cloth doublet trunks and hose, slashed and 
puffe dwith white silk, gold embroidery 
— ^white silk stockings, black velvet hat, 
and white feathers. 



Mr. F. S. Francs. 



Mr. Kerriogv* 



X!r. Cooke. 



\ 



PftGlfZBKiNQ AT AtKS. — Green under 
dreM| tal»ard of cloth of gold, witli the arms ^ 
of the Grand Duke, a buck's head, vert, > Mr. Hcghkv 
<>mbroidered on it a bronze crovrnonhisV 
head, and a bronze bceptre in his hand. ' 

Green Draoox Herald. — Similar 
dress, only a ;?rpon velvet hat instead of i 
crown, and bearing a trunipot with the v Mr. Irelaxd. 
Grand Dukc*8 arms) on the banner, and tho C 
motto *• Semper viridia." 1 

Green Mantle Poursuivant. — Same 
as Herald. 

Captain of the Guard. — Short green 
jacket with largo sleevoA, stiappod with } 
orange,— green tiuuk hos-? to msit4:h — f 
stockings parti -coloured red and whitt* — ^ Mr. TuLLY. 
orange- coloured hat, and green feather, 
on back and breast, an escutcheon of the 
Grant! Duke's arin«. 

The Grand Duchess Verdantica, — \ 
Green vplvi*t body and farthingale, the train / 
magnificently embroidered — -jewelled sto-f ,, ,_ 
madior — gold lama petticoat— cherrj -col- ^ ^^' -M^c^camara. 
oured velvet hat, and white feathers — high^ 
ruff green velvet shoes, J 

Princess Emeralda. {1st dress). — 
White satin, with green and gold embroid- 
ery, (*2w/. dress.) — Green velvet robe, 

richly embroidered, open in front and(^ Madame Vestris. 
showing petticoat of gold tissue — ruff — , 
small green velvet toque, with coronet of' 
diamonds, and bird of Paradise plume. 

^Iyrtilla. — Green satin robe, embroi- 
dered with silver — white satin petticoat — 
ruff— green shoes. 

Ladies of the Court. — Green dresses, embroidered witk 
gold. 

Guards. — Same as Captain, but not so rich — ^hallebards. 

Fairies. — Light blue and silver, with high-crowned hats of 
silver tissue — silver wands. 

Time of representaUon 1 hour and 20 minutes. 
EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

L. means first entrance, left. R, first entiance, right. S. £. L 
second entrance, left. S. £. R. second entrance, right. U. E. L. Qp> 
per entrance, left. U. £. R. upper entrance, right. C. centre. L. C. 
left centre. R. C. right centre. T. E. L. third entrance left 
T.£. R. third entrance right. Observing you are supposed to 
face the audience. 



RIQUET WITH THE TUFT. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Fairy Land. — Qc££N Mab, FxiaiBS. 

CHORUS. 

(" VTho would sleep in her Coral Cave ? " Finale 2nd. act, Obentuf 

Welcome queen of the Elfin band ; 

Thou art welcome back to fairy land, 

To the land of music, the land of mirtli, 

And Joys unknown to the sons of earth. 

Merrily, merrily let us sing, 

Round as we trace the fairy's ring. • 

Queen Mab, Say where the bard who in his brightest dreams^ 
Hath not drawn inspiration from our streams ; 
Say where the chnrl so dull to set no store 
By fairy tale, or scoff at fidry lore : 
If such unthankful clod on earth there be. 

** Pinch him fairies mutually, 

Pinch him for his villany. 
Pinch him and bum him and turn him about, 
Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out.''^ 

Mother Bunch, rises, l. 

A/. BnRc/» Then by my fay, some trouble It will cost, 

You'll have to pinch and turn the world almost. 
For in its own conceit, 'tis grown so wise^ 
'Twill betieve nothing, but its hands and eyes ; 
Holding in scorn of essences ethereal, 
All that is not material, immaterial ; ; 

My book is banished, nursery and hall i 

By knowledge which the boobies ** Useful " caU. j. 

Usefol forsooth ! where finds the housewife now, t 

Her hearth swept up ? was that no use ? I tow, i 

It makes me mad ! the lazy sluttish maid \ 

Now sleeps in peace, no more of us afraid-— 
** Farewell, rewards and fairies " runs the song 
That now they sing, and they shall rue it long. 



6 RIQUET [act I. 

Qiuer Hnb, Nay my good mother you are scarcely just, 
To the poor children of yon bail of dust ; 
We need not whisk through key-holes as of yore, 
For ignorance no longer charms the door. 
The superstition which enslaved the clown, 
I grant is gone, he takes the horse-shoe down. 
But though our presence he no more perceives. 
He feels our influence on summer eves, 
And winter nights, and still in every cUme 
The fairy tale is told ; and lov'd the fairy rhyme. 

iV. Bunch. Well, well, e'en you please — I'm getting old, 

And grant I'm vexed when maggots grow so bold. 

I have a godson whom I would befriend, 

But that task done — My earthward journeys end. 

Then farewell to their world so wondrous dever. 

Old Mother Bunch deserts it, and for ever. ( Crosses to n. 

Qusmn Mab, We hold a feast to night — ^You'll come t 

M. Btmck, I'll see. 

With me of late, late hours do not agree. 

Qvtetn Mab» Oh ! here we're never late ; Ere midnight hour 

The glow-worm lamps are quench'd in every bow'r. 
Each Mry bids her acorn shutters close. 
Or draws the leafy curtains of her rose. 

GLKE — Queen Mab and Faries. 

(*' Oyme unto these Ydkm Samde,") 

Hasten back to fairy land, 

And bring your godson in your hand. 

To join our band. 

Speed! speed! 

May you succeed 

And back repair, 

Our Elfin feast to share. 
Hasten back to fairy land. 
And bring your godson in your hand, 

To join our band. 
With a fal la, la, la, la, la, &c. 
Mother Bunch descends l. — Scene graduaUy dianges to 

SCENE II. The gardens ofihe palace of the Grand Duke t^the 

Green Islttnds. 

Enter Grand Dukb and Duchess, a« 

Did^e. Sweet wife and duchess moderate your passion. 

Speak with calm dignity in our own £uhion. 
What is it of our daughter you would say f 

Ducheis . Duke, she grows more provoking every day, 
And 'tis vour fault 

JDuke, Our fault ! we've no faults madam 

And we have power to pardon if we had 'em. 

Duche 5-. The girl's no sense. 



i 



CENE l."] WITH THE TUFT. 1 

hike. Well say that she has not 

I canaot give her — 
*ucliess. What you hav'nt got. 
nke. Grand Duchess — 

ttc/tc«*. Well you say such things, you do, 

They would provoke a saint. 
like. Then wherefore you ? 

You should be proud ma'am of my daughter's beauty. 
uchess, I'd rather she were plain and did her duty. 
^uke. Her figure's formed by Medicean rule. 

^uchess. An upright figure, but a downiight fooL 
'ufee. With eyes so bright, and voice so sweet and ttmeful— • 

^uchess. And scarcely brains to fill the smallest spoonfull. 
'itAre. You'll make me swear — A Princess rich and pretty, 

What earthly reason has she to be witty ? 

She's the most lovely girl in our dominions ; 

About that fact there can*t be two opinions, 

At least we beg to say we think their can't be. 
>uchess. Perhaps there can. 
)uke. Then ma'am we say there sluint be, 

Because who so presumes, his head shall fall, 

And then we'll trouble him to think at all. 

Besides you know full well 'tis in our power 

To give our daughter an enormous dower. 

And that's been ever found beneath the sun 

To be sense, wit, and talent, all in one ; 

Nay if such wealth should on a Negro light. 

The world would call that black a lucky white. 

[^A crash of china heardf k. 
Dwiiess. Hark ! something dreadful sure must be the matter ; 

That's from my Indian Cabinet, that clatter. 
Dvke. 'Tis nothing! 

Ov£hess, Nothing ! Why you heard that smash ! 
^ke, I think I did hear something like a crash ! 

l^uchess. Bear something like, why Duke, I should'nt wonder 

if you would make the same remark on thunder. 
Onke. My love there's one small fact which you forget, 

I'm used to smashes in the cabinet. 

But here comes one will tell ug what's occurred. 



Enter Chamberlain r. 

Duchess. ' Grand Chamberlain what noise was tliat we heard ? 

Otamberlain. Her serene highness the Princess Emeralda has 
been graciously pleased to overturn the porphry table, and demol- 
ish the entire service of Nankin Porcelain presented to your 
highness by the Emperor. 

Duke, Ha, ha, ha, the gypsey has had the temerity to make 
var on China. 

Duchess (c.) What can you now, pray, in her favour plead? 
Dttke. She has atoned already for the deed! 

Ouchess. Prove that — my anger on the instant ceases I 



RIQCET 



[act L 



Duke. 

Jhtdteu, 
Duke. 



Duke. Why, for one loar tike's made yoa fifty pieces, 

Dudtess, My best long senrioe, trampled on for sport. 
Dttke Long services are oft past o'er at court, 

And we remember when a tiny elf 

We broke a world of crockery ourself ! 

Where is the Princess ? 
Ducltess. Yonder she is racing, 

A butterfly or some such thing she's chasing. 

Music, A buUer/ty crosses from R« to l.. Emerald a appeart dfu* 

ing itf R. she disappears l.) 

Why there's a fact that will alone refute 

The fools who say that she has no pursuit 

About an insect to make all this foss. 

She ought to catch it for behaving thus. 

Aud she has caught it ! look, and here she eomes. 

Holding it twLxt her fingers and her thumbs. 

Emler £mk&alda loith a butterfly l» 

AIR. — Emeraloa. 
(* rd be a Butterfly") 

So Mr Butterfly ! full half an hour, 

All through the palace you've led me a chase; 
What, let you go again, once in my power! 

Don't you believe it, my little scapegrace. 
No longer roving from flower to flower, 

Pinn'd to a paper and in a glass case. 
You Mr. Butterfly, '* bom in a bower," 

Shall find time to rest yourself after your race. 

Come hither Emeralda dear to me 

I've caught a butterfly, see, father, see. 

Can*st look me in the face, thou childish rover ? 

Yes, Madam; {Looking at buttenfly,) and it seems ail 

painted over. 

{^Aaide.) Hem, our grand Duchess there received 

a rub. 
Emeralda, ^ A charge is made by your revered step- 

mother. 
(c.) To think it comes from an old ugly grub. 
(Aside, R.) Preserve us! That's a harder hit than 

t'other. 
(l.) This is too much : Since she to listen scorns. 

Upon your head grand Duke be — 
(Holding up buttenfly.) Two great honu. 

Grand Duchess ! S 'death ; The child you flurry so, 
You make lier answers seem maUa-propos. 
Come hither love — she's shy, I'll speak to her— 
She minds me always — don't she } {To Chamb.) 
Always, sir I 

Shy — she is sulky, aud you call it shyness. 
She never minds me — does she ? (7b Cfumbmy 



Duke. 

Emeralda, 

Duchess. 

Emeralda, 

Chamb, 

Duke. {To 

Emeralda. 
Otambt 

DucJtess, 

Emeralda. 
Duke. 



C'lamh. 
Duchess. 



BCENE II.] WITH THE TUFT. 9 

Oiamb, Never, highness. 

Duke to Emerdlda. These childish sports you now must lay aside. 
The time has come for you to be a bride. 
Already two great princes for your hand, 
Through their ambassadors, have made demand. 
They'U soon arrive themselves, and one of these 
Emeralda, O yes — 1*11 marry both sir, if you please. 
Duke, Dear child ! You see — she's really too obedient. 

To marry both, my love, is not expedient. {FloimfHi,') 
Cfiamb, Your highness ! — ^by that trumpettiug and druBuningy 

One of the suitors must at least be coming. 
Ducheftn, A suitor, and this girl in such a trim. 

Suit her he may, but she will scarce suit him. 
TRIO,— CiRAND Duke, Chamberlain, and Emeralda. •• 

C" Gazza Ladra^) 
Grand Duke. To her chamber quick convey her, 
And ill richest robes array her ; 

Let of Diamonds rare, a cluster, 
Grace her brow, ere you to public gaze display her 

And 'tis ten to one their lustre, 
"Will by half the world at least, for wit be ta'en 
Emeralda. Oh ! in jewels and velvet and ermine, 
I'm going to see a fine lover! 
I'll be married to dav I determine, 
And never be scolded again ! 
©itfee <^ Chamb Amid jewels, and velvet, and ermine. 

All her awkwardness they may look over I 
And such trifles will often determine 

The choice of a wavering swain— 
His own folly 'twould only discover. 

To see hers, through such splendour too plain! 

lExevnt r • 

At symphony qf Music the tcene disappears and dUcovers^-^ 
SCENE lU.^Grand Hall of Audience. 

Eitler Myrtilla, c. 

^/r.— " My Beautiful RUner 
How very provoking two lovers to see 
For another arriving, and not one for me ! 
Some nice lord in waiting, with them should there be. 
Let him but pop the question, he sha'n't wait for me. 

Enter Grand Chamberlain, centre door, 

Chamh. Well fair Myrtilla, you have been seeing something of 
these suitors no doubt. 

^fyrt. Something, my Lord ! aye something that beats every- 
thing to nothing. There is such a blaze of splendour in the 
court-yard, that, if you only put your head out, it's enough to put 
your eyes out. 

Chamb, But their highnesses themselves — have you seen them? 



10 RIQUET [act L 

MjfTt. One fourth of them only. 

CAamb. One fourth of two gnitors ? 

Myrt. Exactly ; I have seen one half of one of them, for his 
cap is so beplnmedy and his cloak so bedizened, that from head to 
hip, the wearer is inviiiible ; he's a man of jewels, if not a jewel of 
aman, and as for his feathers — ^it has been, pull oetrich — ^puU prinoe, 
and the prince has got the best of it. 

Chcunh. That must be prince Finikin. 

Mi//-t, Oh ye?, that^s his name, there's no doubt it. 

AIR. — Mtrtilla. 

"Diavolo.'* 

In golden coach, reclining. 

With lazy lounging tooth-pick air. 
In gold and diamonds shining. 

He's dress'd with ultra care. 
In hopes of undermining. 

All rivals who to court repair 
On fashion's self refining, 

His looks, his name, declare. 
Finikin ! 
Dress and make, and air 

Would hfs name alone proclaim 

Finikin! Finikin! Finikin! 

C/uirnh. And what of his rival Prince Biquet with the tuft ? 

MifH. Oh that's a jewel I have only seen the case of, his high- 
ness is boxed up in a golden litter, the bUnds of which are imper- 
vious even to female curiosity. 

Chamb. Then the workmsm who made them is entitled to name 
his own wages; ha! ha! ha! they must be a curious pair of 
princes by your account, or rather two odd ones, for one seems to 
_ be all outside, and the other all inside. 

Myrt. Just so. It seems as if one suitor had brought his for- 
tune on his back, and lent the other his strong chest to travel in. 

^Flourish.] 

Ckamh. The court approaches 1 I must take my place. 

Myrt, And keep it too my lord, in any case. {Crosses to n.) 

Mtisic.—** March from Bronze Horse" — Enter c, Six Ladies of ^ 
Court y who form a half -circle opposite to UteUvrone; six Guards-of- 
honour are seen^ three of whom enter, aand take tiiar stations on eati 
side of the door. Then Bronze King at Arms, Herald ami 
Pursuivaett enter^foUowed by Usher of the Green Rod preeeding tive 
• Crrand Dtike and BuchesSf who toaZfc round the circle,and then take Aeir 
seatSyTL. The Grand Chamberlain standing on the right of&e Duke» 

CHORUS. 

(** Mountain Sylph,") 

Hail to the ruler of all the green isles! 

Superlative happiness waits on his smiles ! 

His subjects, too fortunate, gaze and adore; 

He is all that is glorious, and gracious,-— and more! 



SCENE III.] WITH THE TUFT. 11 

Duke. Deeply we feel this homage to our station, 
So free from aught like fulsome adulation ! 
Now introduce the Princes ! let us see 
Those who aspire our son-in-law to be. 

(.The Usher goes to the door^ C, and returns introducing Prince 
Ftmkiriy c. The Prince has given a card to the Usher, who 
hands ii to tlie Grand Chamherlain^') 

Cficanh. (i^^ac^mp'.)^' The most high and puissant Prince Finikin, 
heir presumptive to the crown of Shadow-land, and knight of all 
the orders of the universe, on presentii^ himself to request the 
hand of the Princess Emeralda." 

Prince. As lightning swift ; by hope auspicious led, 
From climes beyond the sun I've*hither sped. 

Duke, Your highness must be excessively tired, will you 
please to take a chair. 

Duchess. "What a magnificent air ! 

Duke. What an air of magnificence. Prince Finikin — sit ou 
our right hand, you are right welcome. 

JUimc— -77ke Usher agaxn proceeds to the door^ and returns j precedutg, 
a rich litter bonie by four Pages^ it rests c.) 

Chctmh. (reading a card which ishanded to him hy Usher. ) * * Prince • 
Riquet with the Tuft, requests permission to throw himself at the 
Teet of their serene highnesses . * ' 

DuJce He has permission;. Wherefore this delay ? 
Why is he not more open with us pray ? 

(T/i« litter is opened, and PtllNCE RiaUEr comes oiU of it. — He is 
hunchbacked, bvio legged, wit}i a hump ever one eye, and bald headed 
with tlie exce/Aion <f one tuft of very red hair. He is richbj attired 
and wears a miniature of Emeralda ahoid his necTc. The ladieu 
shriek, and the men burst out laughing. 

TllD. — Grand Duke, Chahberlaix, and Riquet. 

{''LaMiaDordbeUa:') 

Grand Cliamb, Ah ! what a queer fellow. 

Oh ! who can he be ? 
He's like Punchinello, 
Why surely 'tis he ! 
Du^ e. He is a queer fellow 

As e'er eye did see, 
I think Punchinello 
Less ugly than he! 
Riquet. Go on, my good fellow. 

But mark what I tell you. 
This same Punchinello, 
May cut short your glee. 

Trio. Laugh while ^ ^^^^^'^^ | able 

You'll r ^"'° ^^*' '^^^®* 



12 RIQDET [act I. 

Jliquet, I thiuk I may to. 

Grand Duke. Why you don*t say to. 
Jiviuet. And since you teaze me to. 

It does'nt please me, so 

I soon will let vou know 

Vou go too far. 
Grand Duke. 'Tis far tco risible I 
liquet. What's far too risible ? 

Grand Dvke, Your hump so visible, ha ! ha! ha! ha 1 
Riquet. My hump so visible ! 

1 soou will let you know you go too far. 

Dwhess, (l. c.) Some frolic surely must be meant. 
Duke, (r.) Or is he to insult us sent. 
Prince, (R.) Speak! mis-shapen wretch, or die. 
Riquet, (L.) Riquet with the tuft am I, 

And by love's supreme command, 

Suitor here for Beauty's hand. 
Prince, (r.) JSmm//* hand? ha; ha ; 'tis plain, 

'Tis the Beast has come again. {Six Soldien 

Duke, (k.c.) Spurn him from the palace gate. (jadixmce, &• 
Riquet, {h.c.) He who ventures, meets his fate. 

Slaves and sycophants beware ! ( They retire.") 

Prince, I boast not form so fine, 

But my honor is as fair ; 

Fairer it may be than thine. 

Purer far than thrice my love, 

Bright as thine, my knightly sword : 

If thou doubtest — ^let this glove 

Prove the truth of Riquet's word. 
Xhike, How ! defiance in our court. 

In our presence ! 
Riquet, I'ardon pray — 

Ye have made the beast your sport. 

Shrink ye, when he stands at bay. 

Laugh and welcome at my form ; 

I can laugh as well as you, 

But you wake a fearful storm, 

Wheii you touch my honor too. 
Dvke, Parley with the wretch, were vain : 

Let him, if he will remain — 

Son-in-law ( To Prince Finikin.) for such we nail thee. 

Haste with us, thy bride to see. 

Madman, if no arm assail thee ( To Riquet.) 

Thank our matchless clemency. 

JExeuiU all but RiauET and Myrtilla, in procession through c 
dooTf to " March from Bronze Horse,** 

Riquet, (l.) Humph ! Rather an unfavourable commencement of 
A love expedition. ( To Myrtilla.) Well — what are you, and why 
do you not follow your friends ? 

Mi/rt, (r.) Your highness has mt enough to know, without ask 
ing ; or I'm much mistaken. 



I 



«CBNE I1I.1 WITH THE TUFT. 13 

Riquet, By your pertness. yoa siiould be a waiting woman. 

Myrt, Your highness finds I prophecied. — ^And my motive for 
staying ? 

Riquet, A ruling one with all women, but with waiting women 
especially y— -curiosity. 

Mi/rt. Your penetration, prince, is a compliment to mine. 

Riquet, And pray, my quick-tongued mistress, will you save me 
the trouble of guessing on what particular point your curiosity is 
excited? 

\fyrt. Your highnesses wishes are commands. Y^ou fell in 
love with the princess Emeralda, from a sight of her portrait. 

Riquet, I did. The first glance of this miniature enchanted, 
— enslaved me. 

Myrt, 'Tis a good likeness I grant, and my surprise is only 
that your highness did not send in return, as faitiifiil a resemblance 
of yourself. It would have saved you the fttigue of a long 
journey. 

Riquet. Ah, you mean to say — I am ugly. 

Mi/rt, That might be considered rude sir ; but your highness 
will no doubt admit that your features — 

Riquet, You are rather difficult to please I fancy, in these 
Green Islands. I can assure you, I deem myself — everything con- 
sidered, a very fortunate fellow. 

SONG.— Riquet. 

I'm a strange looking person I own, 

But contentment for ever my guest is; 
I'm by habit an optimist grown, 

And fancy that all for the best is. 
Each man has of troubles his pack. 

And some round their aching hearts wear it ; 
My burden is placed on my back, 

Where I*m much better able to bear it. 

Again tho' I'm blind of one eye, \ 

And have but one ear that of use is, 
I but half the world's wickedness spy, 

And am deaf to one half it's abuses : 
And tho' with this odd pair of pegs. 

My motions I own serpentine are; 
Many folks blest with handsomer legs. 

Have ways much more crooked than mine are ! 

Nature gave me but one tuft of hair, 

Yet wherefore, kind dame, should I flout her ? 
If one side of my head must be bare, 

I'm delighted she's chosen the outer ! 
Thus on all things I put a good face, 

And however mis-shapen in feature. 
My heart, girl, is in the right place, 

And warms towards each fellow creature! ' 

MyrU Excellent ; 1 admire your philosophy Princei and admit 



14 RIQl'ET [act I, 

the force of your argument, all things consideredi as you say — 
)our highness is certainly fortnnate. 

i\/quet. Nay, only put this ring upon yonr finger, and ivhen 
you have contemplated its brilliancy for a few moments, look again 
upon the giver, and you will find he is vastly improved, even in 
countenance. 

Jl/f/rf. Aa I live, so I do I Why there must be magic in 
the ring surely. I do think certainly, that your highness is, com- 
paratively ppeaking, a very agreeable-looking personage, and I wiU 
hasten and tell the Princess Emeralda what a hosband she is likely 
to run away from. 

Hitptet Stay ! stay ! the Princess Emeralda say you — are y(m 
then one of her attendants ? 

Mtjrt, Like your highness, I am her devoted humble servant. 

Hiquet. Then my pretty mistress Malapert, you can earn a 
dozen such baubles, by obtaining for me one private interview with 
youHhdorable mistress. 

Mi/rt. Cau't you employ me in some other service first, I 
should be sorry to lose your custom prince, and the interview I 
fear, will close accounts between us. 

Jiiquet. I am more sanguine — ^but there is no time to spar& 
even now, perchance she lends a willing ear to the addresses of my 
rival ; act as smartly as you speak my mirror of waiting maids, 
and ril give thee a groom of the chiunber for a husband, and & 
wedding ring that would make a portion for a countess. 

Myrt. Your highness's liberality shall not be ill bestowed. 
Gemini, if all lovers were like Riquet-with-the-Tuft, I'd baigaia 
with my next mistress to take the cast-off suitors, instead of the 
cast-off suits. 

AIR. — ^JMybtilla. 

(*'LaSylphide.") 

On my zeal pray depend, sir, 

I yoursr.it will befriend; sir. 

Here a moment or two, my return but attend, sir. 

I to seek her will fly, sir, 

And my influence try, sir, 

To b ring her your features to see in your wits ; 

What a comical figure a courting to go sure, {AsioLe.) 

Dan Cupid, must blinder, and blinder still grow, sure. 

Or has changed to a hunchback his own crooked bow, sure, 

To frighten each obdurate fair into fits! [Exit's,. 

Pdqiict. It does seem ridiculous in a being so formed as myself, 
to travel thus far in the hope of winning the loveliest of her sex. 
But I am urged forward by an irresistable impulse. I feel it is my 
fate to seek her love, and there are moments when my heart pro- 
phscys success. 

Oh all potent Mother Bunch, 

Patroness of hump and hunch.. 

Thou who countest not as sins. 

Bandy legs, and broken shins. 



SCENE III.] WITH THE TUFT. 15 

Best of godmothen, now hear me. 
In my hour of need, be near me. 

Mother Bunch, {rises^ c.) Good morning godson ; (he kneels) what 
frightened at me 1 rise. 

Riquet, (l.) No not frightened, godmamma — only a little as- 
tonished. 

M. Bunch. You called on me — 

Riquet. I calVd upon your name — but I conld'nt do myself the 
pleasure of calling on yoitj because I did'nt know where you 
lived. 

M. Bunch, Ha ; ha ; thou wer't ever a lively child. 

Riquet, (Aside.) And you're a lively-looking godmother. 

M. Bunch. Don't you say anything you don't want me to hear, 
because it's the same to me, whether you talk to yourself or 
speak out. 

Riquet. {Aside.) The deuce it is ? 

M. Bunch. Yes ; the deuce it is. 

Riquet. Pshaw ! I forgot again — honored godmother, excuse 
my astonishment, this is my first personal interview with you. 

Jfcf. Bu7u:h. Not so, Riquet — you paw me the day you were bom. 

Riquet. Possibly, but I was so very young then. 

M. Bunch. Mankind are always ungrateful; I bestowed a gift 
on you. 

Riquet. Was it this trifling excressence, (Pom*i/i^ tohump.^ov 
the little pent-house beneath the shade of which my left eye reposes ? 

M. Bunch. Neither ; nature gave you those. I gave you wit and 
cheerfulness by way of compensation, and prophecied that the 
most beautiful girl in the world should become enamoured of 
you. 

Riquet. Indeed ! then fulfil your prophecy — I have come 
hither— 

Af. Bunch. Spare your breath — :I know all — ^your lady love is 
a per^ct simpleton. 

Riquet. {Producing miniature.) A simpleton I with such eyes as 
these ? 

M. Bunch. Yes, silly as she is beautiful — but 'tis in your power 
to bestow sense upon her, if she wi^ consent to marry you. 

Riquet. Delightful : but if she is so silly, how shall I be able 
to convince her that she vnUshew her sense by marrying me ? 

M, Bunch. Ha : ha : very well — ^very well. 

Riquet. Nay, don't laugh, dear little mother Bu— godmother 
Bundi, I mean, but relieve me of this hump, if only for the first 
interview with the princess. 

M. Bunch. Nay, 'tis she herself must do that, the fairy who pre- 
sided at her birth gave her the same power over the person, that I 
gave you over the mind ; win her affections, and all your deformi- 
ties vanish. 

Riquet^ But she will be frightened, and run away at the very 
sight of me. 



16 RIQIET [act I. 

M, JBundi, Well — well — your tongue shall have a fair chance at 
aU eventf . I will g;ive you the means of becoming invisihie while you 
talk to her. Behold the mantle of prudence. 

Mother Buncr presents magic gause chak to Riquet. 
(*• Air. — The Witches* Dance.'') — Paganini. 

This magic mantle take you! 

Invisible Hwill make you. 

Want of such has ruine^l wiser folks than yon. 

When passions fierce, assail man, 

E'en wit and talent fail man, 

Unless his better genius gives him prudence too ! 

M ihe end of song Mother Bunch ffives Aim tAe cloak, he hoUs tt 
up ton look at it and she vamshes vchile ke is so doing, down centre 
trap. 

JUiquet. ( Puts on cloak.) — ^Weli now-^this is really very kind of 
you, I assure you I feel — Gone I excellent little woman — 
it would be a glorious thing ifor the world, if all god- 
mothers would take pattern by you — ^never come till they're 
called — ^then give one a handsome present, and vanish. Some 
one approaches. 

Re-enter Myrtilla, running, r. 

Myrt, Prince Riquet; Prince Riquet {She runs dose past 
him, n-ithout perceiving tmn.) 

Riquet. She sees me not — there's virtue in this cloak indeed! 
{Aloud.) Myrtilla ! (Myrtilla screams and turns.) 

Myrt* "V^iiat's that : who spoke ? 

Riquet. 1, your friend — prince Riquet. 

Myrt. Mercy on me, I can see nothing — I shall faint, ai^ 
there's nobody to catch me. 

Riquet. Be not alarmed — 

Mt/rt. I can't help it, you have made all my teeth chatter. 

Riquet. Not I, child, that's a trick they learnt of your tongue. 

Mi/rt. Where are you .' 

Riquet. Never mind where I am, where is the princess Erne- 
ralda, and how have you prospered with her for me ? 

Myrt. I've no time to tell you, she is coming this way with 
your rivaj Prince Finikin. 

Riquet. She is ! Then ^o and leave me. 

Mi/rt. Oh dear ; oh dear ; I don't know which way to go, and 
J don't know whether I leave you or not. [Exit Myrtilla, i..] 

Riquet, She comes indeed ; now mantle, be my friend. 

My rival's suit shall have a speedy end. (Retires, r.) 

Enter Princess Emeralda c. d., f allowed hy prince Finikix. 

Prince Finikin, (l.) Turn, lady fair, vouchsafe thy slave a word. 
Or see him fall upon hisown good sword. 



liCENS ni.] WITH THU TUFT. 17 

Emer. (r.) I don't know what to say. 

Riquet, (c. Who has come between them^ aloud, and m extaty,} 
She speaks. 
Smer. (r. Starting.) O dear — 

You need'nt talk so close sir in my ear. 
Fini. Who ! I ? — most beauteous object of my choice, 

I breathed no sound. 
Riquet. (c. In his ear,) You did. 
JF^ni. Why change that voice 

So silver sweet.' 
Emer. What do you mean by change ? 
Fini. Nay, now 'tis as before. How very strange I 

But give in any tone a kind reply — 

Do'st love me ? 
Emer. Not a bit. 
Fini. But will you try ? 

'Twere easy, sure, with me in love to fall. 

What thinkest thou of me ? ^ 
Emer. I don't think at all. 
Fini. Dost not admire me ? 
Emer. I admire your dress. 
Fini. Wilt marry me ? 

Riquet, {Aside to her.) For mercy, don't say '* yes I" 
Emer. Well then, I won't. 
Fini, Refused ! let me be cool, 

I came not hither to be made a fool. 
Riquet, (7b him.) No, you came ready made. 
Fini, Insulted! 2ounds. 

Madam, I must say, this exceeds all bounds. 
Emer. What ails the man .' I never moved or spoke. 
Fim, No doubt your highness thinks it a fine joke, 

In a feign'd voice, to say the things you do. 

But princess, I will change my tone with you ; 

{^Putting on his hat.) And shall report your words to 
your papa. 
Riquet. {Knocks his hat q/f.) In presence of a lady, Chapeau oas 
Fini, Confusion! 
Emer. There's your hat off! Ha; ha ; ha ! 

TRIO. — Finikin, Riquet and Emeralda. 

{** Frendi Air") 

Fiitiinn. Madam, you this deed shall rue, 

To your court I bid adieu; 
I'll declare war I swear, 
Blood shall flow for this affair 1 
Strike a man of my degree, 
Dearly this shall answered be ! 
From my head, dash my hat I 
Heads themselves shall fall for that! 



IS 



ttiQi' y.T 



[act I. 



Pini. 
Emer» 



Rig, (Aside.) 



I 



Kmeralda, ^^' hat's the matter now, air ? 

'Twasn*! me I vow, sir, 

If your hat tumbles flat, 

^'hat have I to do with that 

Go and war declare, sir, 

What d'ye tlunk I care, air. 

I shall tell my papa, 

I won't have you — ha! hal ha! 

Madam you, &c. 

Sir, 'tis you this ras^e shall rue. 

To our court, pray bid adieu. 

Go declare wai , I care 

Nothing fir your a:\gry air, 

My papa shall let you know 

What it is to use me so. 

If your hat tumbles flat, 

What havG I to do with that I 

It will do ! Yes, it will do I 

To the court he bids adieu. 

Go declare war, I swear, 

You shall have enough to spare, 

Whatl an empty coxcomb sec. 

Threaten one beloved by me? 

Had your head been worth your hat. 

It had fallen instead of that! [^ExU Fiximi, 
JEmer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Riquet. Ha I ha ! ha ! 

Emer. O dear me! what's that, {JLooA-mg dboui.^ I hear a 
laugh close to me, and yet I can't see anybody. 

Riquet, lively princess — be not alarmed, a fHend is near yon, 
who is most anxious for your welfare. 

Emer, {CurtHeying.) Thank you sir, but you have the advantage 
of me. 

Riquet, (l.) And I must keep it now, or lose it for ever. 
Emer. (r.) I don't understand what that means, and so if yon 
please, I shall wish you a good morning. {Going,) 

Riquet, Nay, leave me not thus, 1 have something of import- 
ance to communicate to you. 

Emer. Oh, but they tell me, things of importance are too 
much for my head {Going,) 

Riquet. My communication is for your heart. 
Emer, {Returning.') Oh, they hav'nt told me anything about that. 
Riquet. It is in your power to become as sensible as you are 
'beautiful. 

Emer, Am I beautiful then ? 
Riquet. Assuredly you are. 
Emer. And am I not sensible ? 

Riquet, Not even of your own beauty : an incredible dullness 
in woman. 

Etner. I should like to know how beautiful I am, can yoa 
make me sensible ? 



8CEKE IV.J WITH THE TCFT 19 

Riquet. T can. 

Emer. Then you must be a conjuror : Oh, how I should like 
to see you. 

Riquet. I fear you would not. 

Emer. But I'm sure I should. 

Riquet. What makes you siire of that ? 

Emer. You speak so kindly to me, I like your voice— and 1*11 
*ay a wager I should like you. 

Riquet. Would the stake was your heart, and I could win it. 

Emer. Where have you hid yourself } let me see you ! 

Riquet. Suppose I should be ugly ? 

Emer. You cannot be so ugly as that horrid hunchback who 
come here to-day ; papa says he was quite a monster. 

Riquet. Let us confine ourselves to the principal point. Do 
you sincerely wish to become sensible ? 

Emer. Yes. 

Riquet, There is but one way, you must promise to marry me. 

Emer. And will that be the last foolish thing I shall do ? 

Riquet No, the first wise one. 

Emer, Well ; then I will marry you. 

Riquet, With this kiss then, I relieve thee from the bondage 
of folly. {Kisses Emerald a) {Gong sounds.) 

Emeralda seems rooted to the spotf RiauET slmvly exits l. as 
(Procters rush on, Hterried Music. — The Grand Duke, 
Mtrtilla, Chamberlain, and the whole Court, Guards^ ^c, 
enter in confusion. 

TRIO & CHORUS. 

Myrtilla, Grand Duke, and Grand Chamberlain. 

{"IlBarbeire.") 
Mute and immoveable behold her here! 
What can hswe come to thee ? i daughter 7 dear 
speak — I Lady ^ 

. Emeralda. Fears to earth my feet arc pinning. 
Round niy giddy head is spinning. 
Life as if but now beginning — 
Crowding thoughts my soul confound! • 

[^T%under lieard, 
CHORUS. 
. What an awful peal of thunder I ' 

A s though heav'n was rent asunder ! 
Filling all with fear and wonder. 
Rolling still 1 hear it round ! 

Emeralda sinlcs into thearmsofthe GsiAVD Duke. 

TABLEAU. 
SCENE IV. — A romantic view of the garden, grottos, SfC, 

Enter Grand Duke and Duchess, (l.) 

Duke, Ourself is thimderstruck I most wondrous case, 
Duchess, The girl is changed completely — ^moves with graiQe> 
Talks common sense. 



^0 



RIQUET 



[act 



Duke, (a.) Uncommvn sense I say. 

Duchess, (L.) Sings. 

Duke, With a voice — remember that love pray ! 

Duchths, And is so altered from t-he fool we thoi^t her, 

That no one now would take her for your daoghter. 
Duke, Prince Fiiiikini his haste will now repent. ( Crosses to k) 
Duchess, She comes this way — on some^ing she's intent. 
Duke, A -book is in her hand — [Crossitiff to l.) my hopes 
exceeding ; 

I shouldn't be surprised if she was reading. 



Ertier, 
Duke, 



Emer, 



Duke, 



Emer, 



Enter Eme&alda. (l.) 

My darling daughter, whence this happy change? 
What change, dear sir I 
What change ? How very strange, 
Ar'nt you aware, that a few hours ago, 
You were — that is^ folks said ; pshaw 1 stuff, you know. 
Not I indeed. 
Duchess, To hide it where 's the use. 

This moniiiig, child, you were a simple goose. 
And now you're quite a duck ! Oh tell us pray, 
Where learnt you to say — ^what they say — ^you say. 
I know not sir — I only know I seem 
As just awakened from some troubled dream. 
But if I'm changed, and with your approbation. 
I'll try to keep {Curlseyinff,) from furdier alteratioii 

AIR. — Emeralda. 

(" The ligU of oilier days") 

The dream of other days has faded. 

Its misty clouds are past— 
My path too long by folly shaded, 

Is clear and bright at last ! 
The sun of reason o'er it rising. 

Sheds forth it's cheering rays. 
And my mind the new born splendor prizing, 

Makes light of other days ! 
• The world itself they say is brightning, 

An age of darkness flies, 
The torch of knowledge fast as lightening. 

O'er earth and ocean hies ! 
How many shrinking from its burning, 

Regret their old cUrk ways. 
And would fain behold that gloom returning. 

Called »* light " in other days ! 

i9i/A«. (l.) Grand Duchess, I shall go with rapture wiU. 
/jDuc/iess. (r.) Prince Finikin, do you i^member child? 
Etner, (c.) No madam. 
Duke, Do remember if you can', 

You saw him once, a pretty little man 






SCENE IV.] ♦VITH THE TUFT. 21 

He has been doubly struck, if he uja tmei 
First by your portrait, love — and then by you# 

DitcJtess, He sought your hand. 

Duke. And got it. 

Difcltess. Duke, for shame. 

Emer. I trust he'll pardon me, I was to blame. 

Duke. He'll be too happy, if you'll be his bride. 

Emer, Sir, 'tis my duty, if you so decide. 

Duke to Duchess. Let's seek the Prince, and tell him 'tis 
expedient. 
That he return — my daughter's most obedient. 
Should he be gone, I will dispatch a letter. 
To say she's changed her mind — and got a better. 

[Exeuiat Duke and Duchess, (r.) 

Emer, Prince Finikin then is to be my husband — ^is he young, 
handsome? above nil accomplished ; should he be otherwise— 

Enter Myrtilla. (l.) 

Myrt, (Aside.) There she is, and alone: I declare I'm aU in a 
twitter still — She's bewitched to a certainty, and I'm not quite 
sure that I arn't too, (Aloud.) Madam ! 

Emer. Myrtilla. 

Myrt. Your Highness does know me then ; 1 thought yo« 
had forgotten everything. 

Emer. I have not forgotten you at any rate. 

Myrt. The whole court seem to have gone out of their wits 
at the idea of your Highness's having come into your's, what has 
made you so sensible on a sudden ? 

Enter. It is a most curious thing, Myrtilla, but I can answer 
every question that is put to me, except those which ask me why I 
am able to do so. 

Myrt. How very wonderful. 

Emer. As I told my father, I seem to have just awakened 
from a dream. 

Myrt. And n6w your Highness' eyes are open, what are you 
going to do ? 

Emer. Why, in the first place, I'm going to be manied. 

Myrt. Well, that is generally the first purpose for which the 
ladies use their eyes. And to whom ? 

Emer. To the Prince Finikin. 

Myrt. Oh, that'll never do, I shall lose my friend Prince 
Riquet's presents. (Aloud.) Does your Highness mention that as a 
proof of your sense. 

Emer. No, as a proof of my obedience only — ^for I have no 
recollection of this Prince. 

Myrt, Then I have, and I should say he is, witli every res- 
pect, and in every respect — a perfect — fool. 

Emer. Fool ! 

Myrt. Just so, and sa^^ng your presence, if your Highness 
marries him, you'll be the better half of a fool yourself. 

"Emer. Myrtilla. 



38 RIQUET [act L 

y>jr!. I said the better half madam. {Aside,) She says nothmg 
about Hiqnet She can't have seen Aim, for she could never have 
forgotti n that, 

(A Dovejlies across the stage ^ from r. to l., atvi drops a letter, c.) 
BlesiK me madam : did you see ? The dove dropped a letter: and 
its addressed to you. 

Kmcr. To me, {Opens it.) Verses, and signed, the *' invisible." 

DUET. — Emeralda and Myrtilla. 

(^"I am come from a happy land.**) 

" I have sought thee beloved one 

To give thee my heart, 

I have made from thy mind the shade 

Of folly depart. 

Come, come, then haste with me. 

Where love*s banquet waits for thee; 

Mine ! mine ! oh lady be ! 

Heart give for heart ! 

Oh love, hath like faith, a power, 

Mountains to remove ! 

And pain and care extinguished are 

Bv the breath of love. 

Hoar, then, hear me sweet. 

To bowVs of joy with me retreat 

Cares which here we meet, 

Far, far above. '* 

Enter, Who can it be from ? 

Myrt. I know for a hundred. 

Bmer, Pray tell me then. 

Myrt. Prince Riquet. 

Emer, Riquet, who is he ? 

Myrt. What, don't you remember even his name ? 

Enter. Not in the least. 
{Vaine within,) Fairies! Fairies I Fairies I work away. 

Etner. What voice was that ? 

Myrt, O lud, madam, I don't know, I'm sure I tlioiight 
somebody said something about fairKS. ( Gong.) 
Sce^ie opens and discovers a large Kitchen, Mother Bunch 
and Fairies cooking at various, stoves, ranges, Sgc, 
CHORUS. — Mother Bunch and Faries. (Macbeth) 

Cook away ! 
No delay f — 
Come ! come ! come ! come ! come ! 
Come ! come ! cook away ! 

Myrt, Run madam, run ! I'll use my legs, or they^ll devil 
'em for somebody's supper. [Exit Mtrtii.i.a i*. 

M. Bunch. {Coming foncard, l.) Stay, Emeralda 1 do not yon 
be alarmed — I am your friend ! 

Emer, (r.) What is the meaning of these preparations ? 

M. Bunch, We are cooking the bridal sapper <tf Prince 



J 



SCENE IV.] WITH THE TUFT. 23 

£mer. Prince Riquet again. — ^Who is he ? 

M. Bunch, Biquet with the tuft — you should know hetter 
than any hodyi as you are his hride-elect, 

Emer, 1, — ^mercy on me. 

M. Bunch, Yes, you promised to marry him — this very morning 
-^whcn you were an awkward simpleton — and Riquet in return 
for that promise made you the intelligent creature you now are. 
See he is here to claim the fulfilment of your pledge. {Gonff.) 

{Trees and rocks close up.) 

Enter RiauETi wrapped in the invisible cloak ^ Mother Bunch. 

crosses to l. comer. 

Emer, Here! where? 

Riquet. Close beside you, lovely Emeralda. 

Emer. Mercy on me ! whence came that voice ? 
- Riquet. From the "invisible," whose verses you sang but now. 

Emer. And have I promised to marry somebody, not only that 
I have never seen, but that I never can see ? O dear, O dear I I 
must have been foolish indeed. 

Riqiiet. I fear you would never have promised if you had seen 
me, and for your own sake, that promise was indispensable. 

Emer. What are you then ? A spirit ! 

Riquet. No, a mortal like yom-self — that is — ^when 1 say like, 
I mean as regards the mortality — for I hav'nt the face to say it in 
any other respect. 

Emer. You are nobly bom. ? 

Riquet. A Prince — rich and powerful. 

Emer Accomplished ? or you could not have made me so. 

Riquet'. If I have not wit exu>ugh to win your heart, I shall 
break my own. 

Emer. Brave, of course ? 

Riqitet. I never knew fear till now. 

Eme7\ (Aside.) Well, so far, I have not made so rash a promise. 
(^Aloud.) Tolerably good-looking? 

Riquet. Intolerably otherwise : and that's the plain truth. ^ 

Emer. Indeed ! Oh, no, you are jesting. " 

Riquet. There never was a more serious fact. It is, therefore, 
prudence which kept me invisible till you had sense enough not to 
trust to your eyes alone. 

Emer, As that time has arrived, why not let me see you 
straight. 

Ri(piet. Straight I That's impossible, but see me you shall, 
for I have too much honor to insist upon your completing a blind 
bargain— only let it be by degrees, suffer me, while prudence is yet 
necessary, to place a bandage over your eyes, which you can remove 
little by little, and so become gradually accustomed to a person, 
who, at first sight, might appear hideous. 

Emer. Well, if you are bent upon it 

Riquet. I am bent particularly. {He hinds her eyes.) 

Emer. But I am sure you are making mountains out of mole- 
hUls. 



M KIQUST [act 1 

Riquet, On the contrary. I have two mountains of which 1 
would fain make mole-hills, one on my back, and the other on my 
left eye. {Throwing <af* *w cloak,) 

Kmer, Ah I {Putting her hands up to lift the bandage,) 

Riquet. Not yet — for mercy's sake not yet, one moment, let 
me summon up courage to give the word— O godmamma Bunch, 
what will she say to me ? one look will settle the business. 

.1/. Bunch. Courage, courage boy. 

EmcT. O lud, I declare 1 begin to be frightened myself. 

M. Bunch. And you too. Emeralds ; take heart, and employ 
the reason Riquet has given you. What is the value, after all, of 
mere personal appearance ? 

F^mer. Well, am I to lift the bandage ? 

Riquet. Yes ; but very slowly. 
C Emerald A raineis the bandage by degrees, occasionalfy starting as 
she obtains a view of his Jigure^ till Iter eyes meeting his face, she 
utters a cry of horror j which makes him suddenly tumfrvm her, and 
show the hump tipoa his back, at which she screams, avd covers ker 
face itith her handn.) 

Riquft. I told you so godmother : Its all over with me. 

Af. Bunch. P'shaw are you as silly as she used to be, speak 
to her. 

Riquet. Emerulda ! I perceive my fate, you no longer consent 
to marry me. 

Enter. Marry you ! 

Riquet. I gave you reason, Emeralda — I thought to treat me 
more kindly. 

Emer. My gratitude is due to you for that. 

Riquet. But your love, Emeralda, 'tis that alone can make me 
happy, nay, remove the defects of person under which I now 
labour. 

JSmer. I pity thee. 

Riquet. Pity is a kin to love, but it has not its magic poorer, I 
love you, Emeralda, adore you I loved you when you were grace- 
' less, mindless-^and should love you now, were you even the plain- 
est of your sex. 

Enter. I wish, for your sake, I could say as much — you seem 
to possess an elegant — nay, a noble mind. 

Riquet. Can you not see my visage in my mind ? 

Enter. I'm afraid it would'nt look very handsome anywhere. 

Riquet. Pleasant, godmamma — is'nt it ? 

M. Bunch. Courage, courage, she listens at any rate. ' 

Riquet. Well, egad, she does do that. 

AIR.— Riquet. 

{"' French Air") 

Well I know my form and my features 
Are not made thy breast to warm. 
Loveliest thou of mortal creatures, 
I, devoid of every charm. 



J 



8CNEE IV.T WITH THE TUFT. 25 

But I trust I still may suit the*--* 
Marriage hath pow*r dinne— 
None can e*er dispute thy beauty. 
Wed me — and then thf beauty's mine. 

Emer. (Aside,) What a pity he's so very hideous ; his maimers 
are truly agreeable. 

Riquet, Come godmamma : I think we made a more then ; 
charming Emeralda, if you could but love me a little — ever so lit- 
tle, just to begin with, perhaps, in time — 

Emer. Aye, aye, ** if." 

Riquet. Well, 1 said *' if," and time is not much of a beauti- 
fier in general, so hang it, love me at once, and you have no notion 
how it would improve my appearance. 

3/. Bunch. Remember, Emeralda, how much you are indebted 
to Riquet. Love is often born of gratitude. — Come, we will wait in 
this grotto your decision. 

Sings. — " listen to the voice of love.*^ 

[Exit Mother Bitngh with RiauEX, into grotto, l. s. bj. 

Enter the Grand Duke, Duchess, Prince Finikin, and 

Grand Chamberlain, (r.) 

I>uke. Daughter, behold, the prince who claims your hand ; 

His merits now, you've sense to understand. 
Fini. {To Emeralda.) Long cherished idol, thy adorer see; 
Oh look not on the ground, but look on me I 
Yet, no ; in mercy — do not raise those eyes, 
Lest, in their light, thy dazzled lover dies. 
What mortal can be proof against their rays ; 
My heart ! my soul's on fire ! I burn I I blaze. 
Emer. (l.) Oh Riquet ! Riquet ! you are ugly to be sure, but 
how much superior. 
Fini. Riquet I 

Ihike. (l.) Wliy» that's the cursed hunchback that frightened 
me out of my presence chamber. 

IMicliess, Remember, Emeralda, you but now promised us to- 
wed Prince Finikin. 

Emer. A previous promise which I had forgotten, madam, 
renders that impossible. 
AH. Impossible ! 

'Duke. Impossible I It really seems to me, as if she meant to 
say, it could'nt be. 

Enter. Pardon me my dear- father ; but it is to Riquet I am 
indebted for every accomplishment I now possess, and he alone 
has a right to my hand. 

AIR. — Emeralda. 

{Zampa.) 

Love thy laws we must obey I 

Mv heart in vain would fly thee; 
All who live must own thy sway, 

"lis folly to defy thee ! 



M R1QURT [act I. 

Though bards proclaim thee reMon's foe, 
To thee alone, I reason owe. 

Yes, believe the tale I tell. 
Too oft they have belied him. 

Love will ever longest dwell, 
Where reason lives beside him ! 
Biquet, Iliquet, no more repine, 
My hand and heart are thine i 

Enter Riqukt and Mother Bunch, //om grotto. 

Duke, The girrs bewitched : marry that horrid fright. 
Emer. He does appear revolting at first sight ; 

But when you see the b«niiy of his mind, 
Much less distortion in his form you'll lind. 
And when you know the kindness of his heart. 
All ugliness will from his face depart. 
Yes, dear Riquet, your noble soul I pri?^, 
And leve ma >es you perfection in my eyes. 

(Gong and Mtmc, B.iavEr's deformities disappear,) 
Riqnet, Well, though I praised humps when others used to 
flout them 
Perhaps, after all, I'm just as well without them. 
M. Bunch {to Myrtilla.) To Emeralda is due the merit of this 
transformation ; love has power to embellish the ugliest of mor- 
tals, but virtue and talent can alone render the most beantiful, 
happy. Come all with me, to queen Mab's court repair. 

iSrene changes to the Palace qf Queen Mabf in Feury Land, — Quejcm' 
Mab and Fairies discovered, T/ie Queen weicomes the cltarae- 
tcrSfWho retire to their seats f (c.) while Queen Mab introduces ffm 
Denizens qf Fairy iMnd. 

Queen, Children of clay, we bid you welcome here, 
Behold the chpicest spirits of our sphere ; . 
Valiant the Jack the Giant queller, 
Rests him in our bUxMning bower. 

Air. — ** See the conquering Ac/*©." 

Jack enters^ (r.) with Giant* s headf and salutes Qwen, 

Queen, Crystal slippered Cinderella, , 

Fears no more, the midnight hour. 

■ Air. — *^ Non piu mestaJ'* — {Cenerentola,) 

Cinderella, Prince, Page, and Sisters e titer ^ and perform the 

mipper fmsinesi^-. 

Queen On little red riding hood, no greedy wolf can sup. 

So pull the bobbin fearlessly, and let the latch go up. 

Air.—** Rose D^atnour," 



60EXB V.J WITH THE TUFT. 27 

Enier little Red Riding Hood, (r.) Qffef^ pot ixf hotieif ^. 
to Mab, {c.) and curtseying retires to {b^) 

Queen, Beauty and her Princely Beast, 

Grace the ball, and share the feast. 

Air. — ** Love amongst the rosesj* 

Enter Beauty, followed 6y Beast, (l.) he declares his lovef she 
at first repuUes, then pities and accepts liim, and lie changes to 
Prince, they retire, (r.) 

Queen, With us knightly Valentine 

And his brotiier, forest bred. 
Share the fairies' festal wine, 
And the fairies' measure tread. 

{Music frotn iJte melodrama of ** Valentine and Orson,") 

Enter Valentine and Orson. Business of forest scene, shtekf 

and ropey S(C., theg retire, (l. ) 

Queen. Models of the race feline. 

Puss in Boots, delicious rogue, 
White cat, fond and feminine. 
Swell the fairy Ca^-alogue. 

Air. — " Ditig dong heUy Pussy's in thexDell** 

Enter White Cat, preceded by Puss in Boots, they march 
round the Stage to (L.) Ojff^er liomage to Mab and marching 
hack again stand (l.) 

Queen. See, tiie Champions brave, 

Though on earth their race be run ; 
Here their honored banners wave : 
Here they wear their laurels won. 

Grand March. 

Enter tlie Six Champions, three (r.), three (l.) different 
entrances. ' St. George enters (r. c.) welcomes thefn, they icave 
their banners, form in a Itnej and march round to {r.) 

Queen, Come Riquet, and join our band, 

Denizen of Fairy Land. 

Finale. — {The Characters come forward.) 

AIR. — Emeralda. 

(•♦ 77m? Old Enghsh Gentleman.'*) 

Old friends, I've the old prayer to make, before it s too late, 

With your old kindness please to view this change in our old state. 

Our old mythology, we thou«fht, was getting out of date. 

And so we've left Olympus old, ajid all its gods so great. 

For a fine old English fairy tale, all of the olden time I 

Now winter old brings frost and cold, wc open house to all. 

For while we strive to please the large; wo don't forget the small. 



28 RIQVET WITH THE TUFT. [aCT 

Then ** boys and girls come out to plft)',** in answer to our cali 
And with a good old English cheer; oh, let our curtain fall, 
I'pou this old English fairy tale, all of the olden time. 

CHORUS. 

Upon this old English, &c. 



DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS. 

Fairies. I ^^^^^ ^^^ J Faibies. 
\ on a throne. i 

The Seven Champions, &c. &c. &c. 

Mother Bunch. 

RlQUET. EBIERAI.DA. 

Duchess. Myrtili^a. 

€kand Duke. P. Fikikis. 






W. 3. Johnson, ** Nassau Steam Press," Nassau Street, Soho. 



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