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Full text of "The British drama : comprehending the best plays in the English language"

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THE 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



THE 



BRITISH DRAMA; 



COMPREHENDING 



THE BEST PLAYS 



IN 



THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 



OPERAS JND FARCES. 




It Sj''7?-K. J^^-l D 



LONDON, 



PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM MILLER, OLD BOND-STREET. 

PRINTED BY JAMES BALLANTYNE, 

EDINBURGH. 

1804. 




/// 



£ 



7. '^ ■ 




DEC 11965 



s;ty of to 



10 2(^S'"'4 



.0^' 



PREFACE 



OF 



THE EDITOR. 



It is not easy, at the present day, to determine, whether the ancients were 
acquainted with that species of dramatic writing, which we call Farce. By 
some the .Satiric Drama of antiquity is considered as corresponding to this 
st^'Ie; while others are of opinion, that the Middle Comedy of the Greeks, 
is the true original of the English Farce. 

Instead of entering into a learned and tedious discussion of this question, 
it will be sufficient at present to observe, that Farce cannot be deemed an ex- 
act and legitimate species of the Drama. It delights in exaggeration ; and, in 
every portrait, it enlarges the features of the individual beyond their true pro- 
portion : so that, instead of real character, it exhibits to the view of the be- 
holder an overcharged caricature. Its object is not so much to promote 
morality, as mirth; and^ while Comedy aims, by a sericsof agreeable incidents, 
to inculcate a precept, the only end of Farce is to excite a laugh. IS or is 
this a matter of so small importance as might at first be imagined. For 
Sterne (see the Dedication to Mr Pitt in Tristram Shandy) has observed, "^ that 
" every time a man smiles, but much more so when he laughs, it adds some- 
" thing to this fragment of life." If this doctrine be true, the contents of 
this volume will certainly contribute something towards the longevity of the 
age. 

From this description it will be obvious how much the writers of Farce must 
be indebted to the scenic art, for the full effect and success of their pieces. 
Tragedy is able to support itself by the elevation of its language and the 
dignity of its sentiments. The well-drawn characters, and delicate strokes of 



,,a vNhui. acl.rn ihe pni^cs oflr^itMiKUc comedy, w.ll dcl.^hl almost as much 
i„ ilu- closet, as on the sta.^^e. Hut Farce, winch is i.i itself a speoes ot 
brou.l uruuace, rec.uues all th- .nimukrv of au actor, to set it off to just ad- 
vatila-c. Tra-cdv n.av be considered as a pathetic invocation to our pas- 
sio^s^Comcd^^l.'an easy and sportive appeal to our reason; but Farce ad- 
dresses itself to the risible facullies only, and stands in need ot all the tricks 
and^e^turesofanactor. to enliven the character represented, and exhibit 
tho.epccuhant.es of humour, which no language can describe, and which 
„„„.. hut ihe most vivid imagination is capable of conceiving. 

It is an obvious deduction from these observations, that, if Farce existed at 
.,11 in elder times, it couM not have been accompanied with those charms and 
attributes that make it so universal a favourite at present; for the ancients 
vere lamentably deheieut in the histrionic art : and the mask, which was uni- 
versally worn bv performers in those times, is alone sufficient to evince, that 
the science of just reproenlation was then but little understood. A comic 
piece, in a Greek or a Roman theatre, must have resembled the exhibition of 
l»u. ch at Bartholomew-fair more than the exquisite performance of - Nature's 
- lau-diing children" on the boards of Drury-Lane or Covent-Garden. For, 
although the mask might give a just representation of features for a single 
moment, it could not mark those successive changes of expression, which 
constitute the charm of just acting. It robs us of the eloquent eye and the 
.renuine melody of voice. The stare of surprise, the sudden flashes of anger, 
die pallid hue and tremulous accent of fear, are all lost under the monotonous 
nuiformityofamask. The aclor, who comes on the stage laughing, must 
continue to lau-h, when he has no longer any share in the joke. Though 
cudgelled by his master, and scolded by his wife, he must grin on to the end 

of the scene. 

The multitude and excellence of our farces, then, may perhaps be in a great 
measure attributed to the better consti uclion of modern theatres, and to the judi- 
cious rejection of the mask : Nor will it be venturing too bold an assertion to af- 
firm. thatGarrick would never have acted, nor Foote have written, had they 
lived under the old theatrical regime. The disciplineof the stage has a decided 
induence upon th< productions of the closet : and mimic excellence has often 
excited into a flame the dormant spark of dramatic genius. It is related, 
that Moliere. when youn-, accompanied by his lather, went to the theatre at 
Paris, while he was yet undecided in the choice of a profession, and that 



Ill 

the performance of the evening made such a sensible impression on his mind, 
as to determine his incHnation in favour of the Drama. And perhaps our own 
darhng Shakespeare would have been known to us only as a sonnetteer, if the 
genius of Britain had not placed him within the sphere of a theatre, and ex- 
posed the unfolded germ of his miglity mind to the vivifying influence of 
scenic splendour. It is to be presumed, that the same cause, which animated 
these great masters, impartedaray of inspiration to the humble professors of the 
sock. Opportunity may be called the stepmother of genius ; and the theatre, by 
affording a ready and advantageous display to the productions of dramatic ta- 
lent, has encouraged the race of dramatic authors ; as the royal academical ex- 
hibition has certainly multiplied the number, and probably increased the energies, 
of British artists. — With regard to farces in particular, as it is their object to 
exhibit the drollery of character and laughable scenes of common life, they 
may be compared to the humorous pictures of a Teniers, or a Smirke : and it 
must be confessed, that the British theatre is the first school in the world for 
this species of painting. It is to the excellence of modern performers, to the 
lavish decorations of the theatre, and to the improved art of stage effect, that 
Farce acknowledges the highest obligations. Tragedy and Comedy may find 
in the theatric band a powerful auxiliary ; but Farce must be allowed to owe 
almost its existence to it. 

It remains only for the Editor to repeat what he has said in the former 
volumes, as to the plan of this work. The collections of this kind have 
hitherto been without any arrangement; but as Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce, 
possess each a distinction of character, he flattered himself, that a separate and 
systematic arrangement would be acceptable to the lovers of the Drama. 
Such a plan exhibits, at one view, the full force of a nation's genius in each 
respective line ; and, while each of these volumes may be had separately, accord- 
ing to the taste of the individual, tlie whole work may be considered as the 
full and undivided essence of the British Drama. 



CONTENTS 



OF 



VOLUME THIRD. 



OPERAS AND FARCES. 

Year. Page. 

The Cheats of Scapin •■ Or way i(>77 1 

The Country Hume Va n b rugh 1715 1 5 

The Contrivances Carey 1715 25 

The Devil to Paj/ Coffey 1731 ■ 33 

27ie Beggar's Opera Gay - 1727 • 44 

The Intriguing Chambermaid Fielbino 1733 , Qj 

The Mock Doctor Ditto 1733 J5 

Chrononhotonthologos Carey ] J^-i: 8() 

The Honest Yorkshirenum Ditto " 1 J 36 <)3 

The King and the Miller of Mansfield- • • • Dodsley 1737 101 

Sir John Cockle at Court Ditto 1737 110 

The Lying Valet Gaiirick 1 74-0 1 19 

Miss in her Teens Ditto 1 JA^J 131 

Taste FooTE 1752 143 

The Englishman in Paris D 1 tto 1753 —^ — 1 52 

The Knights Ditto 1 754 1 62 

The Apprentice Murphy 1756 ■ 174 

The Englishman returned from Paris • • • • Foote 1757 1S6 

The Author Ditto 1757 199 

The Male-Coquette Garrick 175S 212 

The Upholsterer • • JMuiiPii y • 1758 225 

The Guardian G a uricic 1 759 239 



\'car. Page. 

High Life rnlon Stairs G .\ ii n I CK 1 75y 05 j 

'/•/,,■ Minur Im.ot I. ]7fiO CO'-t 

T/ie Old Maid M i u i- 11 y ] 7OI . 281 

T/i, Citizen Ditto 17()1 0^3 

'■^'^'' -''""' looTK 1700 308 

The Orators Dri TO 17(;2 329 

7 /if Diucf is in llini Co j_>i ^ >; 1 763 T^8 

1a,xc in a I'illagc IhcK kusta fk 17(;3 349 

The Mai/or ofHarratt Foot e 1 7(;,5 , 330 

'''"■^""■'^" Ditto I70.i 37O 

-^'"^'" Anonymous 1764 396 

The Maid of the Mill lilCKERSTA ff ]J(i5 ^07 

The Commissar,/ Toote 17(;.5 431 

Neck or Nothing C.aiuuck 17(,(,- 451 

Peep behind the Curtain Ditto 1 7(;7 455 

Devil upon tuo Sticks I'ootk 1-()"S 4-7 

Padlock BiCKEUSTAFF 17()"8 494 

Dr Last in his Chariot Bickeustaff cV Ioote 17()y 505 

Lame Lover I-oote 177O 505 

Maid of Bath Ditto 1771 5.^0 

Irish U'ido'x Gaurick 1772 .558 

^'"'^''" BiCKERSTAFF \JJS — 572 



^^'•^" '^'^« Garrick 

Three Weeks after Marriage . . . , Murphy 177(i 



1/76" 580 

^91 



THE 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



THE 

CHEATS OF SCAPIN. 



/' ]VA Y. 



DRAMATIS persona:. 



M E N. 



Thrifty, an old misei', and father to OcxAvr.w. 

Grjpy,, father to Leander. 

Le.vndlr, son to Gripe, a7id privaLcli/ married 

to Lucia. 
Oct AVI AN, son ^oTiiri ety, and privately married 

to Clara, 



SCAPIN. 

Shift, servant to Octavian". 
Sey, servant to Leander. 

WOMEN. 

Lucia, in love with Leander. 
Clara, in love with Octavia.v. 



Scene — London. 



ACT L 



SCENE I. 



Enter Octavian and Shift. 

Oct. This is unhappy news ! I did not expect 
my father in two montlis, and yet you say lie is 
returned already. 

Shift. 'Tis but too true. 

Oct. Tliat lie arrived this mornini^ ? 

Shift. 1 his very morning. 

Oct. And tliat he is come with a resolution to 
marry me ? 

Shi^ft. Yes, sir, to marry you. 

Vol. IIL 



Oct. I am ruined and undone ! prithee advise 
me. 

Shift. Advise you? 

Oit. Yes, advise me. Thou art as surly, as if 
thou really couldst do me no s^ood. Speak ! Has 
necessity taught thee no wit ? Hast thou no shift ? 

Shift. Lord, sir, I am at present very busy in 
contriving some trick to save myself! I am first 
prudent, and then good-natured. 

Oct. How will my father rage and storm, when 
he understands wiiat things have happened in his 
absence ! I dread his anger and reproaches. 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Otvvay. 



S/u/t. Hcproaclu!. ! Wmilil I loiilil be quit of 
liiiu U) CHsv ; ni(.tlniik!> 1 feci him iilrcady on my 
kliouldt'rs. 

Oft. DiMnlicriliiiK ')s llio I^•;l^t I can expoct. 

Shitl. Vou kiiuuUi liavc tlioiii;lit of ihiv before, 
and Hut l-.avo fallen in love with I know not 
ulioin, line that \oti ini t by rhaiice in tlin Do- 
\ir-coath : She is, indccil, a i;«)od snu^ lass; but 
(Iik! knows what she is besides; perhaps some — 

IKt. \ illain ! 

i>/iifi. I ii:ue done, sir, I ha\e done. 

Oct. I ha\e no friend that can appease my fa- 
llxi's anj;er, and now 1 shall be betrayed to 
want ami nnseiT. 

S/iil't. For my part, I know but one remedy in 
our ini>r<irlunes. 

Oct. I'ritliee, what is it ? 

a/lift. You know that rogue and arch-cheat 
S:a|)in? 

(kf. Well; what of him ? 

Shift. There is not a more subtle fellow brcath- 
ini;: so cunning, he caJi cheat one newly cheat- 
ed : 'tis such a wheedling ros;ue, I'd undertake, in 
two hours he shall make your father for<:ivc you 
all ; nay, allow you money for yf)ur necessary 
debauches. I saw him, in three (lavs, make an 
4>ld cautious lawyer turn chemist and projector ! 

Oct. lie is the fittest person in the world for 
my business; the impudent varlet can do any 
tliin<; with the pecvisli old man. Prithee, go look 
him out; we'll set him a-work inunediatelv. 

Shift. Sec where he comes — Monsieur Scapin! 

Enter Scapin, 

Sea. Worthy sir ! 

67///'/. I have been givinij; my master a brief 
account of ihymost noble qualities : I told him 
ihou wcrt as valiant as a ridden cuckold, sincere 
as whores, honest as pimps in want. 

Sea. Alas, sir, 1 but copy you : 'Tis you are 
brave ; you scorn the gibbets, halters, and pri- 
sons which threaten y(ju, and valiantly jiroceed 
in c heats nnd robberies. 

Oct. t)h, .Scapin ! I am utterly ruined without 
thy assistance. 

■SVfl. Why, wh.ii's the matter, good Mr Octa- 
%ian .' 

Oct. My fiithcr is this day arrived at Dover 
with old Mr (^ripe, with a resolution to marry 
inc. 

Sa. \'erk well. 

Oit. Thou knnwest I am already married : 
IIow will my father resent n)y disobedience? I 
am for ever lor-t, unless thou cau'st find some 
mciins to rrt-onc.le me to him. 

.S(7/. Docs your father know of your marriage? 

(Kt. I am alniid he is by this time acquainted 
with it. 

Sen. Xo matter, no matter; all shall be well. 
I am public spirited ; I love to help distressed 
young eentleuicn: and, thauk Heaven, I have 
hud good success enough. 



Oct. Besides, my present want must be consi- 
tlirred ; I am in rebellion without money. 

.SV</. I have tricks and shifts, too, to get that: 
t can cheat upon occasion ; but cheating is notv 
grown :tn ill-trade: yet, llea\en be thanked, 
there were never more cullies and fools ; but the 
•ri fate.st rooks and cheats, allowed l)y public au- 
iliorit\, ruin such little undertraders as I am. 

Oct. NNill, got thee straight about thy busi- 
ness. Canst thou make no use of my rogue here? 

Sea. Yes, I shall want his assistance; the 
knave has cuiming, and may be useful. 

Shift. .Ay, sir ; but, like other wise men, I am 
not over-valiant. I'rat, leave me out of this bu- 
siness: My fears will betray you; you shall ex- 
ecute, I'll sit at home and advise. 

Sen. 1 stand not in need of thy courage, but 
thy impudence; and thou hast enough of that. 
C ome, come, thou shall along : What, man, stand 
out for a beating? That's the worst can happen, 

S/iiJI. Well, well. 

Enter Clara. 

Oct. Here comes my dearest Clara. 

Clara. Ah, me, Octavian ! I hear sad news— 
They say your father is returned. 

Oct. Alas ! 'tis true, and I am the most un- 
fortunate person in the world; but 'tis not my 
own misery that I consider, but yours. How can 
you bear those wants to which \\e must be both 
reduced? 

Clara. Love shall teach me — tliat can make 
all things easy to us; which is a sign it is the 
chiefest good. But I have other cares. Will you 
be ever constant ? Shall not your father's seve- 
rity constrain you to be false ? 

Oct. Never, my dearest, never ! 

Clara. They, that love much, may be allowed 
some tears. 

Sea. Come, come ; we have now no time to 
hear you speak fine tender things to one another. 
Pray, do you prepare to encounter with your fa- 
ther. 

Oct. I tremble at the thoughts of it. 

Sen. You must appear resolute at first : Tell 
liim you can live without troubling him; threaten 
him to turn soldier: or, what will frighten him 
worse, say you'll turn poet. Come, I'll warrant 
you we bring him to conipo-ition. 

Oct. What would I give 'twere over! 

Sea. Let us practise a little what you are to 
do. Suppose nic your father, veiy grave, and 
very ansry. 

Oct. Well. 

Sea. Do you look very carelessly, like a small 
courtier upon his country acquaintance : A little 

inoie surlily : Wry well. Now, I am full of 

my fatherly authority. — Octavian, thou makest 
inc weep to see thee ; but, alas ! they are not 
tears of joy, but tears of sorrow. Did ever so 
good a father beget so lewd a son ? Xay, but for 
that I think thy mother virtuous, 1 should pro- 



Otway.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



a 



nounce thou art not mine ! Xcwpate-bird, rogue, 
villain ! what a trick liast thou phiyed mc in my 
absence ? Married ! Yes. But to whom ? Nay, 
that thou knowe?t not. I'll warrant you some 
waiting-woman, corrupted in a civil family, and 
reduced to one of the play-houses ; removed from 
thence by some keeping coxcomb, or 

Clara. Hold, Scapin, hold 

Scu. No offence, ladv, 1 speak but another's 
words. — Thou abominable rascal, thou shalt not 
have a groat, not a groat ! Besides, I will break 
all thy bones ten times over ! (/ct thee out of 

my house ! Why, sir, you reply not a word, 

but stand as bashfully as a girl that is examined 
by a bawdy judge about a rape ! 

Oct. Look, yonder comes my father ! 

Scu. Stay, Shift; and get you two gone : Let 
me alone to manage the old fellow. 

\Exeunt Oct. and Claua, 

Tenter Tuuiity. 

Thrifty. Was there ever such a rash action .■' 

Sea. lie has been inform(;d of the business, 
and is now so full of it, that he vents it to him- 
self. 

Thriftj^. I would fain hear what they can sav 
for themselves. 

Sea. We are not unprovided. \^At a dhtance. 

Thrifty. Will they be so impudent to deny the 
thing ? 

Sea. We never intend it. 

Tltrifti). Or will tliey endeavour to excuse it r 

Sea. That, )jerhaps, v.e may do. 

Thrfty. But all shall be in vain. 

iSVff.' We'll try that. 

Thrifty. I know how to lay that rogue my son 
fast. 

Sea. That we must prevent. 

Thrifty. And for the tatterdemaliion, Shift, I'll 
thresh him to death ; I will be three years a cud- 
gelling him { 

Shift. I wondered he had forgot me so long. 

Thrifty. Oh, ho ! Yonder the rascal is, that 
brave governor ! he tutored my son finely ! 

Sea. Sir, I am overjoyed at your safe return. 

'Thrifty. Good-morrow, Scapin. Indeed you 

have followed my instructions very exactly; my 
eon has behaved himself very prudently in mv 
absence — has he not, rascal, has he not ? 

[7b Shift. 

Sea. I hope you are very well. 

Thrifty. Very well — Thou say'st not a word, 
varlet ; thou say'st not a word ! 

Sea. Had you a good voyage, Mr Thrifty } 

Thrifty. Lord, sir! a very good voyage — Pray, 
give a man a little leave to vent his choier ! 

Sea. Would you be in choier, sir? 

Thrifty. Ay, sir, I would be in choier. 

iS'frt. Pray, with whom .'' 

Thrifty. With that confounded rogue there ! 

Sea. Upon what reason ? 



Thrifty. Upon what reason ! Ilast tliou not 
heard what hath happened iti my absence ? 

Sea. I heard a little idle story. 

Thrifty. A little idle story, quotha ! why, man, 
my son's undone ; my son's undone ! 

Sea. Come, come, things have not been well 
carried; but I would advise you to make no more 
ofit. 

Thrifty. I'm not of your opinion ; I'll make the 
whole town ring of it f 

Sea. Lord, sir, I have stormed about this busi- 
ness as much as you can do for your heart ! but 
what are we both the better? I told him, indeed, 
Mr Octavian, you do not do well to wrong so 
good a father: I preached him three or four 
times asleep ; but all would not do ; till, at last, 
when I had well examined the business, I found 
you had not so much w roiig done you as you ima- 
gine. 

Thrifty. How ! not wrong done mc, to have 
my son married, without my consent, to a beggar } 

Sea. Alas ! he was ordained to it. 

Thrifty. That's fine, indeed ! we shall steal, 
cheat, murder, and 50 be hanged — then say, we 
were ordained to it ! 

Sea. Truly, I did not think you so subtle a phi- 
losopher ! I mean, he was fatally engaged in this 
affair. 

Thrifty. Why did he engage himself.-' 

Sea. Very true, indeed, very true ; but fyc 
upon you, now ! would you have him as wise as 
yourself? Young men will have their follies- 



witness my charge, Leandcr, who has gone and 
thrown av.ay himself at a stranger rate than your 
son, I would fain know, if you were not once 
young yourself. Yes, I warrant you, and had 
your frailties. 

Thrifty. Yes; but they never cost me any 
thing : A man may be as frail and as wicked as 
he please, if it cost him nothing. 

Sea. Alas ! he was so in love with the young 
wench, that if he had not had her, he must have 
certainly hanged himself. 

Shift. Must ! why, he had already done it, buC 
that I came very seasonably, and cut the rope. 

Thrifty. Didst thou cut the rope, dog? 1*11 
murder thee for that ! thou shouldst have let him 
hang ! 

Sea. Besides, her kindred surprised him with 
her, and forced him to marry her. 

Thrift}/. Then should he have presently gone^ 
and protested against the violence at a notary's. 

Sea. O Lord, sir ! he scorned that. 

Thrfty. Then might I easily have disannallefl 
the marriage. 

Sea. Disannul the marriage } 

Thrifty. Yes. 

Sea. You shall not break the marriage. 

Thrifty. Shall not I break it ) 

Sea. No, 

Thrifty. What ! »baU ool I cJaina the privilege 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Otway. 



ofn father, and have satisfaction for the violence 
• loiif lo my son ? 

Sta. Tis a thing lie will never consent to. 

Tfiiilti/. He will not consent to! 

Srti. No : \S Ould vou h.ivc him confess he was 
hectored into any thing, that ij, to declare hiin- 
btlf a coward ? Oh, ly, sir ! one that has the h(<- 
iiour of being your son, can ne\er <lo such a 
thin-.'. 

'J'/iii/ti/. I'ish ! talk not to me of honour I he 
shall do It, or ho disinhtriteti. 

Siu. Who shall disinherit him? 

Tlirtllu. 'Ihat will I, sir. 

Siu. \<m disinherit him ! very good 

'J'/irij't 1^. liow, very uood .' 

Ufa. \ ou shall not disinherit him. 

Tlinjty. I^hall not I di^iuht rit him ? 

AVa. No. 

Thrift I/. No! 

Sea. So. 

T/irif'ty. Sir, you are very merry ; I shall not 
disinherit my son ? 

^Va iSo, I tell you. 

Thrift t/. I'ray, who shall hinder me.' 

Hcu. Alas, sir! your own self, sir; your own 
self. 

Thrifty . I myself.? 

Ski. "\"es, sir; for you can never have the heart 
to do it. 
^ Thrifli/. You shall find I can, sir. 



Sta. C!omc, you deceive yourself; fathtrly af- 
fection must shew itself; it must, it must : Do 
not I know you were ever tender-hearted ? 

Thrifti/. You're mistaken, sir ; you're mista- 
ken ! I'i.^h ! why do I spend my time in tittle- 
tattle with this idle fellow? llaug-doi; ! go 

lind out my rake-hell [7'«Siiiit.], whilst ] go to 
my brother (iripr, and inform him of my misfor- 
tune. 

Ski. Ill the mean time, if I can do you any ser- 
vice 

Thrifty. () ! I thank you, sir, I thank you. 

[i'Jr/7 TiiRiny. 

Shft, I must confess thou art a bra\e fellow, 
and our ailairs begin to be in a better posture — 
but the money, the money we are abomina- 
ble jxjor, and my master has the lean viojlant 
duns, that torment him more than an old mother 
does a poor gallant, when she solicits a mainte- 
nance for her discarded daughter. 

Sea. Your mcjney shall he my next care — Let 

me see, 1 want a fellow to Canst thou not 

counterfeit a roaring bully of Alsatia? Stalk 

— look big — \ ery well. Follow me ; I have ways 
to disiiuisc thy voice and countenance. 

Sliifl. Pray, take a little care, and lay your plot 
so that I may not act the bully always: I v\ould 
not be beaten like a bully. 

Sea. We'll share the danger, we'll share the 
danger. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. 



Enter Thriity and Gripe. 

Gripe. Sir, what you tell me concerning your 
son, hath strangely frustrated our designs. 

Thrifty. Sir, tn^uble not yourself about my 
son ; 1 have undertaken to remove all obstacles, 
which is the business I am so vigorously in pur- 
suit of. 

Giipe. In troth, sir, I'll tell you what I say to 
you : '1 he education of ciiildren, after the getting 
of them, ought to be the nearest concern of a fa- 
ther. And had you tutored your son with^iat 
care and duty incumhcnt on you, he neveiiixjuld 
so slightly have forfeited his. 

Thrifty. Sir, to return you a sentence lor your 
sentence : I'hose that are so quick to censure 
and condemn the conduct oi others, ought first 
to take care that all be well at home. 

Gripe. Why, Mr Thrifty, have you heard any 
thiiit: cuiuxrning my son? 

'Ihiftu. It may be I have; and it may be 
vf.rsc than of my own. 

Grijc. What is't, 1 pray? my son? 

ThriJ/i;. Even your own Scapin told it me; 

. and you may luar it f/om him, or somebody else: 

For my part, I am your friend, and would not 

willingly be the messenger of ill news to one that 



I think so to me. Your servant — I must hasten 
to my council, and advise what's to be done in 
this case. Good bu'v till I see you again. 

[Exit THRin Y. 
Gripe. Worse than his son ! For my part, I 
cannot imagine how ; for a son to marry impu- 
dently without the consent of his father, is as 
great an otl'ence as can be imagined, 1 take it — • 
13ut yonder he comes. 

' Eitter Leandfr. 

Lean. Oh,<*o.V dear father, how joyful aia I to 
see you safely returned ! Vv'eicome, as the bles- 
sing, which 1 am now craving, will be. 

Gripe. N(H so fast, friend a'mine ! soft and 
fair goes far, sir. You are my son, as I take it. 

Lean. What d'ye mean, sir? 

Gripe. Stand still, and let mc look ye in the 
face. 

Lean. How must I stand, sir .? 

Gripe. Look upon mc with both eyes. 

Li an. VVeil, sir, I do. 

Gripe. What's the meaning of this report? 

Lean. Rf port, sir ? 

Gripe. Yes, report, sir; I speak English, as T 
take it : What is't that you have done in my ab- 
sence ? 



Otway.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



Lean. What Is't, sir, which you would have 
had ine done ? 

Gripe. I do not ask you, what I would have 
had you done ; but, what iiavc you done ? 

Lean. Who? I, sir? Why, I have done nothing 
at all, not I sir. 

Gripe. Nothing at all ? 

Lean. No, sir. 

Gripe.'You iiavc no impudence to speak on. 

Lean. Sir, I have the confidence that becomes 
a man, and uiy innocence. 

Gripe. \'ery well : but Scapin, d'ye mark me, 
young man, Scapin has told me some tales of 
your behaviour. 

Lean. Scapin ! 

Gripe. Oh, have I causht you? That name 
makes ye blusl), docs it ? 'iis well you have some 
grace left. 

Lean. lias he said any thing concerning me ? 

Gripe. Tiiat shall be examined anon : In the 
mean while, get you liome. d'ye hear, and -tay 
till my return ; but look to't, if thou hast done 
any thing to dishonour me, never think to come 
within my doors, or see my face more : but ex- 
pect to be miserable as thy folly and poverty can 
make thee. \_Exit Gripe. 

Lean. Very fine ; I am in a hopeful condition. 
This rascal has betrayed my marriage, and un- 
done me ! Now, there is no way left but to turn 
outlaw, and live by rapine : and, to set my hand 
in, the first thing shall be, to cut the throat of 
that perfidious pick-thank dog, that has ruined 
mc. 

Enter Octaviax and Scapin. 

Oct. Dear Scapin, how infinitely am I obliged 
to thee for thy care ! 

Lean. Yonder he comes : I'm overjoyed to see 
you, good Mr Dog ! 

Sea. Sir, your most humble servant ; you ho- 
nour me too far. 

I^ean. You act an ill fool's part ; but I shall 
teach you. 

Sea. Sir? 

Oct. Hold ! Leander. 

Lean. No, Octavian ; I'll make him confess the 
treachery he has committed ; yes, \ ariet. dog ! I 
know the trick you ha\e played me : You thought, 
perliaps, no body would have told me. But I'll 
make you confess it, or I'll run my sword into 
your guts ! 

Sea. Oh, sir, sir ! would you have the heart to 
do such a thing? Have 1 done you any injury, 
sir ? 

Lean. Yes, rascal ! that you have, and I'll make 
you own it, too, or I'll swinge it out of your al- 
ready tanned thick hide. [Beats him. 

Sea. The devil's iii't ! Lord, sir ! what d'ye 
mean? Nay, good ?.Ir Leander, pray, j\Ir Lean- 
der; 'squire Leander — As I hope to be saved — 

Oct. i'rithce be quiet : for sliame ! enough. 

[Interposes. 



Sea. Weil, sir; I confess, indeed, that 

Lean. What ! speak, rogue ? 

Sea. About two months ago, you may remem- 
ber, a maid servant died in the house 

Lean. What of all that? 

Sea. Nay, sir, if I confess you must not be an- 
gry. 

Lean. Well, go on. 

Sea. ' Twas said, she died for love of me, sir : 
But let that pass. 

Lean. Death ! you trifling buffoon. 

Sea. About a week after her death, I drest up 
myself like her ghost, and went into Madam Lu- 
cia, your mistress's chamber, where she lay half 
in, half out of bed, with her woman by her, read- 
ing an ungodly play-book. 

Lean. And was it your impudence did that ? 

Sea. They both believed it was a ghost to tlijs 
hour. But it was myself played the goblin, to 
frighten her from the scurvy custom of lying 
awake at those unseasonable hours, hearing filthy 
plays, when she had ne\er said her prayers. 

Lean. I shall remember you for all in time 
and place : But come to the point, and tell me 
what thou hast said to my father. 

Sea. To your father? I have not so much as 
seen him since his return, and if you would ask 
him, he'll tell you so himself. 

Lean. Yes, he told me himself, and told me 
all that thou hast said to him. 

Sea. NVith your good leave, sir, then, he lied ; 
I beg your pnrdon, I mean he was mistaken. 

Enter Sly. 

Sli/. Oh, sir, I bring you the most unliappy 
news ! 

Lean. What's the matter? 

S/j/. Your mistress, sir, is yonder arrested in 
an action of 2001. They say 'tis a debt she left 
unpaid at London, in the haste of her escape 
hither to Dover ; and, if you don't raise money 
within these two hours to discharge her, she'll be 
hurried to prison. 

I^ean. W ithin these two hours ? 

S/i/. Yes, sir, within t!>ese two hours. 

Lean. Ah, my poor Scapin ! I want thy assis- 
tance. [ScAi'iN" ualka about surli/i/. 

Sea. Ah, my poor Scapin ! Now, I'm your 
poor Scapin ; now youv'e need of me. 

I^ean. No more ! I pardon thee all that thou 
hast done, and worse, if thou are guilty of it- 

Scu. No, no; never pardon me: run your 
sword in my guts ; you'll do better to murder 
mc. 

I^ean. For Heaven's sake, think no more up- 
on that; but study now to assist me. 

Oct. You must do something for hitn. 

Sea. Yes, to have my bones broken for my 
pains. 

Lean. Would you leave me, Scapin, in this se- 
vere extremity ? 







BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Otway. 



Stu. To put such an affiront upmi inc as you 
ciul ! 

l.iun. I wroiiEcil llitr, 1 cuniiss. 

Sea. To iisc- iiic like a hCduiidri'l, a villain, a 
rascal ; to ilin au :i to run your sword in my 
guts ! 

I^uii. I crv iliv uu i( y whh all my heart; and 
it'iliou wilt have mc tlirow mystlf at thy feet, 
I'll do it. 

(>i-/. Tailli, Scajiin, vou must, von caimol but 
yield. 

Sra. Will, then : I>ut doyuu mark mc, s-ir? an- 
otlu r time, Ik iter words and ijciitlcr Mows. 

I^aii. \\ ill you |)romise lo mind my husi- 
ncss? 

St<i. A»< I ^ec convenient, care shall he taken. 

Jauji. Hut the time you know is short. 

Sea. I'rav, sir, don't be so troublesome : How 
luucli money is't yon want ? 

Ltiin. Two hundred pounds. 

Sid. An A you .' 

Oct. An much. 

Hca. [To LKANunt.] No more to be said; it 
ehall be done : l"or you the contrivance is laid 
already; and tor your father, tliuu^h he be cove- 
tous to the la-^t degree, yet, thanks be to Hea- 
ven, he's but a shallow person ; his parts arc not 
extraordinary: Do not take it ill, sir; for yon 
liavc no resemblance of him, but that you are 
very like him. Be pn\c ! I sec Octavia's father 
coining ; I'll bejiin with him. 

[Exeunt OcfAViAX and Leander. 

Enter Til ui ITT. 

Here he comes, mumblin;;and chewing the cud, 
to prove himself a clean beast. 

Thrifty. Oh, audacious boy, to commit so in- 
solent a crime, and phmgc himself in such a mis- 
chief! 

Sea. Sir, your humble servant. 

Thrift fi. How do you, Scapin.? 

.SV(/. What, you are ruminating on your son's 
rash actions? 

Thrift 1/. Have I not reason to be troubled ^ 

Sea. Ihe life of man is full of troubles, that's 
the truth ori't : Hut your philosopher is always 
))rc|)arcd. I remember an excellent proverb of 
the niicicnts, very fit for your case. 

Thrifty. What's that ? 

Sea. Pray, mind it; 'twill do ye a world of 
good. 

Thrift I/. What is't, I ask you .? 

Sen. \Vhy, when the master of a family shall 
be absent any considerable time from his home 
or njansion, he ou^ht, rationally, pravelv, wisely, 
and philosojihically, to revolve within his mind 
:JI the concurrent circnmstances, that may, du- 
ring the interval, conspire to the conjunction of 
those misfortunes, and troublesome accidents, 
that may intervene upon the said absence, and 
the interruption of his econimal inspection into 
the ^euu^blJcsg) ncjjli^cucts, IraUtics, and huge 



and perilous errors, whicli liis substitutes, .ser- 
vants, or trustees, may be capable of, or liable 
and iibnoxioi.5 unto ; which may arise from the 
iiiipcrie( tion and corruptness of ingencrated na- 
tures, (*r the Uiint and contagion of corrupted 
educatif)n, whereby the fountain-heail of man's 
di-positioii becomes nmddy, and all t!)e streams 
of his marmvrs and con\er->ation run C'>n'^ef|ucnt- 
iy (lcii!e(l and impure: Ihese thinjis pi< ioised, 
and lore-considered, arm the said prudent p'lilo- 
so|)hical Faier-ramilias, to find his house laid 
w.iste, his wife murdered, his daughters detlow- 
cred, his sons hanged : 

' Cum multis aliis, qux» nunc prescribcrc Ion- 
gum est.' 

And to thank Heaven 'tis no worse, too. D'ye 
mark, sir .'' 

Thrifti/. 'Sdeath ! Is all this a proverb.-' 

Sea. Ay, and the best proverb, and the wisest, 

in the world. Good sir, get it by heart : 

'Twill do yon the greatest good imaginable; and 
don't trouble yourself: I'll repeat it to you till 
you have gotten it by heart. 

Thrifty. No, I thank you, sir; I'll have none 
on't. 

Sea. Pray do, you'll like it better next time; 
hear it once inorc, 1 say When the mas- 
ter of a 

Thrifty. Hold, hold ; I have better thoughts of 
my own ; I am going to my lawyer ; I'll imll the 
marriage. 

Sea. Going to law ! Are you mad, to venture 
yourself among lawyers? Do yon not see every 
day how the spunges suck poor clients, and, with 
a company of foolish nonsensical terms, and kna- 
visli tricks, undo the nation? No, you shall take 
another way. 

'Thirty. You have reason, if there were any 
oilier way. 

Sea. Come, I have found one. The truth is, I 
have a great compassion for your grief. I can- 
not, when I see tender fathers aHlicted for their 
son's miscarriages, but have bow els for them ; I 
have much ado to refrain weeping for you. 

Thrifty. Truly, my case is sad, very sad. 

Sea. So it is. Tears will burst out ; I have a 
great respect for your person. 

[Counterfeits weeping. 

Thrifty. Thank you, with all my heart ; in 
troth we should have a fellow-feeling. 

Sea. Ay, so we should ; I assure yon there is 
not a person in the world whom I respect more 
than the noble Mr Thrifty. 

Thrifty. Thou art honest, Scapin. Ila' done, 
Im' done. 

Sea. Sir, your most humble servant. 

Thrifty, liut what is your way ? 

Sea. Why, in brief, 1 have been with the 
brother of her, whom your wicked son has mar-f 
lied. 

Thrifty. What is lie.? 



Otway.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



Sea. A most outrageous, roaring fellow, witli a 
down hanging look, contracted brow, with a 
swelled red lace, enflanied with brandy; one 
that frowns, piiifs, and looks big at all mankind ; 
roars out oaths, and bellows out curses enough 
in a day to serve a garrison a week; bred up in 
blood and rapine; used to slaughter from his 
youth upwards ; one that makes no more con- 
science of killing a man, than cracking of a 
louse ; he has killed sixteen ; four for takmg the 
wall of him; five for looking too big upon him. 
In short, he is the most dreadful of all the race 
of bullies. 

Thrifty. Heaven ! how do I tremble at the de- 
scription ? But what's this to my business ^ 

Sea. Wliy, he (as most bullies are) is in want, 
and I have brought him, by threatening him with 
all the courses of law, all the assistance of your 
friends, and your great purse, (in which I ven- 
tured my life ten times, for so often he drew 
and nm at me) yet, I say, at last I have made 
him hearken to a composition, and to null the 
marriage for a sum of money. 

Tlirifti/. Thanks, dear Scapin, but what sum? 

Sea. Faith, he was damnably unreasonable at 
first; and gad, I told him so very roundly. 

Thrifttf. A pox on him ! nliat did he ask } 

Sea. Ask ! Hang hiiu ! vvhy he asked five hun- 
dred pounds. 

Thrifty. Ouns and lieart, five hundred pounds ! 

five hundred devils take him and fry and 

frickasec the dog ! does he take me for a mad- 
man .? 

Scu. Why, so I said ? and, after much argu- 
ment, I brought him to this : ' Damme,' says he, 

* I am going to the army, and I must have two 

* good hoi-ses for myself, for fear one should die ; 

* and tlmse will cost at least three score guinea*.' 

Thrifti/.' Hang him, rogue ! why should he 
have two horses r But I care not if I give tiiree- 
score guineas to be rid of tliis affair. 

Sea. Then, says he, ' my pistols, saddle, horse 

* cloth, and all, will cost twenty more.' 

Ihrifti;. Why, that's fourscore. 

Sea. Well reckoned : 'Faith, this arithmetic is 
a fine art. Then, I must have one for my boy 
will cost twenty more. 

Thrifti/. Oh, the devil ! confounded dog ! let 
him go and be damned ! I'll give him nothing. 

Sea. Sin 

Thrifty. Xot a sons, damned rascal ! let him 
turn foot-soldier, and lie hanged ! 

Sea. He has a man besides ; would you have 
him go a-foot.? 

Thrifty. Ay, and his master, too; I'll have 
nothing to do with him. 

Sea. Well, you are resolved to spend twice as 
much at Doctor's-Commons, you are ; you will 
stand out for such a sum as this, do. 

Thrifty. O, damned, unconscious rascal ! well, 
if it must be so, let him have the other twenty. 

Sea. Twenty ! why, it comes to forty. 



Thrifty. No, I'll have notliing to do in it. Oh, 
a covetous rogue ! I wonder he is not ashamed 
to be so covetous. 

Sea. Why, this is nothing to the charge at 
Doctor's Commons : and though her brother has 
no money, she has an uncle able to defend her. 

Thrifty. (), eternal rogue! well, I must do 
it ; the devil's in him, I think ! 

Sea. Then, says he, 'I must carry into France 
money to buy a nmle, to carry 

Thrifty. Let him go to llie devil with his 
mule; I'll appeal to the judges. 

.SVrt. Nay, good sli-, think a little. 

Thrifty. No, I'll do nothing. 

Sea. Sir, sir; but one little nude .■' 

Thrifty. No, not so much us an ass! 

Sea. Consider. 

Thrifty. I will not consider; I'll go to law. 

Sea. I am sure if you go to law, you do nnt 
consider the appeal-^, degrees of jurisdiction, the 
intricate proceedings, the knaveries, the craving 
of so many ravenous animals, that will prey upon 
you ! villainous harpies, pnjmoters, tipstaves, 
and the like; none of uhuh but will putTaway 
the clearest right in the world for a bribe. On 
the other side, the proctor shall side with your 
adversary, and sell your cause for ready money: 
Your advocate shall be gained the same uav, 
and shall not be found when your cause is to be 
heard. Law is a torment of all tormcnt«. 

Thrifty. That's true: Why, what does the 
danmed rogue reckon for his nmle .? 

.SVrt. Why, for horses, furniture, Timle, and to 
pay some scores that are due to his landladv, he 
demands, and will ha\e, two hundred pounds. 

Thrifty. Come, come, let's go to law. 
[Thuutv ualhi up and cloun in a great heat.] 

Sea. Do but reflect upon 

Thrifty. I'll go to law. 

Sea. Do not |)lungc yourself 

Thrifty. To law, I tell you. 

Sea. Why, there's for procuration, presentation, 
councils, prcjductions, proctors, attendance, and 
scribbling vast volumes of iulerrogat(jries, deposi- 
tions, aiKl articles, consultations and pleadings of 
doctors, for the register, substitute, judgments, 
signings — Expedition fees, besides the vast pre- 
sents to them and their wives. Ilang't ! the fel- 
low is out of employment; give him the money, 
give him it, I say ! 

Thrifty. What, two hundred pounds ! 

Sea. Ay, ay; why, you'll gain l.")Ol. by it, I 
have summed it up ; I say, give it him, i'faith 
do. 

Thrifty. What, two hundred pounds ! 

Sea. Ay ; besides, you ne'er think how they'll 
rail at you in pleading, tell all your fornications, 
bastardings, and commutings, in their courts. 

Thrifty. 1 defy them; let them tell of my who- 
ring — 'tis the fashion ! 

Sea. Peace ! here's the brother. 

Thrifty. O Heaven ! what shall I do ? 



BKITISH DRAMA. 



[Otway. 



Knter Siiii r, Jiti^uimil like « Bii/h/, 

Shift. Daninic! wlxre's this ronroiiiiclid j|oe, 
flijb father of Octaxiaii? Null the uiarn:i{:r ! I>v 
nil the hunour of inv anccbtors, 1*11 cliiiie the vil- 
iuiii ! 

Thrift i;. Oh, oh ! 

[ Hitlts himself in hind S< a i' i N . 

Sea. He cares imt, sir; lic'll not gi\c ihi- tvvo 
liuiulrc'i puiiiids. 

Shi't. Uv ll«'a\iii! he shall he worm's meat 
witliiii thfsi' tv\<» hours ! 

Sen. Sir, he lias roiimgc ; he fears you not. 

Thrifti^. You lie, I have not courage; 1 do fear 
iinn niorttliy ! 

Shift. He, he, he! Onnds he ! would all his 
faiiiilY ^^ere in him, I'd rut oft" root and branch. 
l)i>>honnur my sister ! 'I'his in his guts ! What 
Jcllow's that? ha! 

Si'a. Not he, sir. 

Shift. Nor none nf his friends ? 

Thrif'lj/. Nc*, Mr; hang him, I am his mortal 
I iicniv ! 

Shift. Art thou the enemy of that ra-icai ? 

'I'hriftu. Oh ! av, hang him Oh damned 

l.iiliy!" " ■ [Aside. 

Shift. Oive me thy hand, old boy ; the next sun 
i'h til not see the impudent ^a^cal ajive. 

Sea. Ilc'll muster up all his relations against 

Thriflii. Do not provoke linn, Scapin. 

Shift. NViniid they were all here — ha, ha, ha! 

[He forms eirry v(ii/-<tifh his .mord. 

Here I had one thioueh the lungs, there another 

info the heart : Ha ! there another into the guts : 

All, rogues! there I was with you — hah ! hah ! 

Sra. Hold, sir; we are none of your enemies. 

Shift. No, but I wiir find the viJlains out while 
my blood is up! I will destroy the whole family. 
Ha, ha, ha ! [Exit Shipt. 

Thrifty. Here, Scapin, I have two hundred 
guineas about me, take them. No more to be 
said. Let me never see his face again. Take 
them, I say. This is the devil ! 

Sea. Will you not give them him yourself.? 

Thrifti/. No, no ! I will never see him more : 
I sluill not recover this these three months! See 
the business done. I trust in thee, honest .Sca- 
pin — I must repose somewhere — I am mightilv 
out of order — A plague on all bullies, I say ! 

[Exit Thrifty. 

Sea. So, there's one dispatched ; I must now 
find outOripe. He's here; how Heaven brinsis 
tlicm into my nets, one after another ! 

Enter Gritf,. 

Oh Heaven ! unlooked for misfortune — poor Mr 
Oripe, what wilt thou do ? 

[Walks about distractedly. 

Gripe. What's that he says of me.? 

Sra. Is there nobody can tell me news of Mr 
Gripe ? 



(hipc. Who's there? Scapin! 

.V«. How I run up and down to find him to no 
purpose! Oh! sir, is there no way to hear of 
Mr Oripe? 

Gripe. Art thou blind ? I have been just under 
thy nose this hour. 

Sea. .Su' 

(iripe. What's the matter? 

Sea. Oh ! Sir, your son — 

Gripe. Jin, ir.y son — 

Sea. Is fallen into the strangest misfortune in 
the world ! 

Gripr, What is il ? 

Sea. I met him a while ago, disordered for 
something you had said to him, wherein yon very 
idly matie use of my name, and, seeking to (li- 
ven his melancholy, we went to walk upon the 
pier : Amongst other things, he took particular 
notice of a new caper in her full trim. The cap- 
tain invited us on board, ami tiave us the hand- 
somest collation I ever met with. 

Gripe. Well, and where's the disaster of all 
this? 

Sea. While we w ere eating, he put to sea ; and 
when we were a good distance tVom the shore, 
he discovered himself to be an English renegado, 
that was entertained in the Dutch service, and 
sent me off in his lone-boat to tell you, that if 
you don't forthwiih send him two hundred 
pounds, he'll carry away your son prisoner : nay, 
for aught I know, he'll carry him a slave to Al- 
giers. 

Gripe. How, in the devil's name ? two liun- 
dred pounds ! 

Sea. Yes, sir ; and more than that, he has al- 
low ed me but an hour's time ; you must advise 
quickly what course to take, to save an onlv son ! 
' Gripe. What a devil had he to do a sliipboard ? 
— Ilun quickly, Scapin, and tell the villain, I'll 
send my lord chief justice's warrant af'ter him. 

Sea. O la ! his warrant in the open sea ! d'ye 
think pirates are fools? 

Gripe. V til' devil's name, what business had 
he a shipboard ? 

Sea. There is an unliicky fate, that often hur- 
ries men to mischief, sir. 

Gripe. Scapin, thou must now act the part of 
a faithful servant. 

Sen. As how, sir ! 

Gripe. Thou must go bid the pirate send me 
my son, and stay as a pledge in his room, till I 
can raise the money. 

Sea. Alas, sir ! think you the captain has so 
little wit as to accept of such a poor rascally fel- 
low as I am, instead of your son ? 

Gripe. What the devil did he do a shipboard ? 

Sea. D'ye remember, sir, that you have but an 
hour's time ? 

Gripe. Thou savest he demands ■ ■ 

Sea. Two hundred pounds. 

Gripe. Two hundred pounds ! Has the fellow 
no conscience ? 



Otway.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



Sea. O la ! the conscience of a pirate ! why, 
very few lawful captains have any. 

Gripe, lias he not reason neitlicr ? Does he 
know what the sum two iiunclrid pijunds is ? 

Sea. Yes, sir ; tarpawlins are a sort of people 
that understand money, thouj^h tliey have no 
great acquaintance with sense. But, for Hea- 
ven's sake, dispatch ! 

Gripe. Here, take the key of my counting- 
house. 

Sea. So ! 

Gripe. And open it. 

Sea. Very i;ood ! 

Gripe. In the left-hand window lies the key of 
my garret ; ^o, take all the clothes that are in 
tlie great chest, and sell them to the brokers to 
redeem my son. 

Sea. Sir, you're mad ! I slian't get fifty shil- 
lings for all that's there, and you know that I am 
straitened for time. 

Gripe. What a devil did he do a shipboard ! 

Sea. Let shipboard alone, and consider, sir, 
your son. But Heaven's my witness, 1 have 
done for him as much as was possible ; and it 
he be not redeemed, he may thank his father's 
kindness. 

Gripe. Well, sir, I'll go see if I can raise tlie 
money — was it not ninescore pounds you spoke 

on 

Sea. No; two hundred pounds. 

Gripe. What, two hundred pounds Dutch, ha? 

Sea, No, sir; 1 mean English money ; two hun- 
dred pounds sterlins;. 

Gripe. V th' devil's name, what business had 
he a shipboard ? Confounded shipboard! 

Sea. i'his shipboard sticks in his stomach. 

Gripe. Hold, ^capin ! I remember I received 
the very sum just now in gold, but did not think 
I should have parted with it so soon. 

[ffe presents Scapin his purse, but will not 
let it go ; and in his transport ments, 
pulls Ins artn to and fro, whilst Scapin 
reaehes at it. 

Sea. Ay, sir. 

Gripe. But tell the captain he is the son of a 
whore ! 

Sea. Yes, sir. 

Gripe. A dogbolt ! 

Sea. I shall, sir. 

Gripe. A thief ! a robber ! and that he forces 
me to pay him two hundred pounds contrary to 
all law or equity I 

Sea. Nay, let me alone with him. 



Gripe. That I will never forgive him, dead or 
alive. 

Sea. very good. 

Gripe. And that if ever I light on him, I'll 
murder him privately, and feed dogs with him. 
[He puts up his purse, and is going auai/. 

Sea. Right, sir. 

Gripe. Now, make haste, and go and redeem 
my son 

Sea. Ay; but d'ye hear, sir.? where's the mo- 
ney ? 

Gripe. Did I not give it thee ? 

Sea. Indeed, sir, you made me believe you 
woiild, but you forgot, and put it in your pocket 
again. 

Gripe. Ila — my griefs and fears for my son 
make me do 1 know not what ! 

Sea. Ay, sir ; I see it does indeed. 

Gripe, What a devil did he do a shipboard ? 
damned pirate ! damned renegade ! all the di vils 
in hell pursue thee! [Exit. 

Sea. How easily a miser swallows a load, and 
how dithcultly he disgorges a grain ! [Jut I'll not 
leave him so; he's like to pay in other coin, for 
telling tales of me to hi* son. 

Enter Octaviax and Lf.axder. 

Well, sir, I have succeeded in your business ; 
there's two hundred pounds, which I have squeez- 
ed out of your father. 

Get. IViumphant Scapin ! 

Sea. But for you I can do nothing. 

[To Leaxdf.r, 

Lean. Then may I go hang myself. Fricndd 
both, adieu ! 

Sea. D'ye hear, d'ye hear ? the devil has no 
such necessity for you yet, that you need ride 
post. With much ado I've got your business 
done, too. 

Lean. Is't possible ? 

Sea. But on condition that you permit me to 
revenge myself on your father, for the trick he 
has served me. 

Lean. With all my heart ; at thy own discre- 
tion, good honest Scapin. 

Sea. Hold your hand; there's two hundred 
pounds. 

Lean. My thanks are too many to pay now : 
Farewell, dear son of Mercury, and be prosper- 
ous. 

Sea. Gramercy, Pupil. Hence we gather. 
Give son the money, hang up father, 

[Exeunt. 



Vol . IIL 



10 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Otway. 



ACT iir. 



SCI.NK I. 
Killer Li tiA and Ciaha. 

Liic. ^^ as ever such :i trick plajcd, for us 
•o run nwav from our covcrnesses, where our 
tan lul fathers liad phiccd us, to foUow a coiTj)lc 
of voiim; trentkinaii, only because thty said they 
loved us? I tliink 'twas a very noble eiiterprize ! 
I am afraid the ijood fortune we shall tjet by it, 
will vrrv hardly recompense the reputation we 
have lii>t by it. 

C'/ii. Our greatest satisfaction is, that tliey are 
men of fashion and credit ; and, tor my part, I long 
:ii;o resolved not to marry any other, nor such an 
one neither, till I had a perfect confirmation of 
Jiis love ; and 'twas an assurance of Octavian's 
that brouiiht me hither. 

Ltir. I iiiiist confess, I hafi no less a sense of 
the faith and honour of I.eander. 

C'/ii. Hut seems it not wonderful, that the cir- 
cutustances of our fortune should be so nearly 
allied, and oursclf so much strangers? Besides, 
if I mistake not, I see something in Leander, so 
much resembling a brother of mine of the 
same name, that, did not the time since I saw him 
make mc fcartui, I should be often apt to call 
him so. 

I.i/r. I have a brother too, whose name's 
Octaviaii, bred in Italy, and just as my father 
took his vovaiie, returned home ; not knowing 
Mherc to find me, I believe is the reason I 
liave not seen him yet. But if I deceive not 
mvs<!'lf, there is something in your Octavian 
that extremely refreshes my memory of him. 

C/ft. I wish we might be so liappy as we 
arc inclined to hope ; but there's a strange 
blind side in our natures, wliich always makes 
lis apt to believe, what we most earnestly de- 
sire. 

Luc. The worst, at last, is but to be forsaken 
T)v our fathers: And, for my part, I had rather 
lose an old father than a young lover, when I 
may with reputation keep him, and secure my- 
self against the imposition of fathciiy authority. 

C/a. I low unsutTcrable is it to be sacrificed to 
the arms of a nauseous blockhead, that has no 
other sense than to eat and drink, when 'lis pro- 
vided for him, rise in the morning, and goto bed 
nt nii;ht, and with much ado be persuaded to 
kc( p himself clean ! 

I.nc. A thing of mere flesh and blood, and 
that of the \vorst sort too, with a squinting meagre 
haPii-doc countenance, that looks as if he always 
wanted physic for the worms. 

C'lfi. Yet such their silly parents arc generally 
most indulgt nt to ; like apes, never so well 
pleased as when they are fondling with their ugly 
i-bue. 

Luc. Twenty to one, but to some such char- 



ming creatures our careful fathers had designed 
us ! 

Cla. Parents tliink they do thiir daughters 
the greatest kindness in the world, when they 
get them fools tor their husbands ; and yet arc 
very apt t(j take it ill, if they make the right use 
of them. 

Liic. I'd no more be bound to spend my days 
in marriage to a fool, because I miglit rule him, 
than 1 would al\>ays ride an ass, because the 
creature was gentle. 

C/a. See, here's .Scapin, as full of designs 
and affairs, as a callow statesman at a treaty of 
peace. 

Enter ScAPis. 

Sea. Ladies ! 

C'/rt. Oh, monsieur Scapin ! What's the reason 
you have been such a stranger of late ? 

Sea. Faith, ladies, business, business has taken 
up my time; and truly I love an active life, love 
my business extremely. 

Lvc. Metliinks though, this should be a diffi- 
cult place for a man of your excellencies to find 
employment in. 

Sea. W'liy faith, madam, I'm never shy to my 
friends : ]My business is, in short, like that of all 
other men of business, diligently contriving how 
to play the knave, and cheat to get an honest 
livelihood. 

Cla. Certainly men of wit and parts need 
never be driven to indirect courses. 

Sea. Oh, madam ! wit and honesty, like oil 
and vinegar, with much ado mingle together, 
give a relish to a good fortune, and pass well 
enough for sauce, but arc very thin fare of them- 
selves. No, give me your knave, your thorough- 
paced knave ; hang his wit, so he be but rogue 
enough. 

Luc. You're grown very much out of humour 
with wit, Scapin ; I hope yours has done you no 
prejudice of late r 

Sea. Xo, madam ; your men of wit are good 
for nothing, dull, lazy, restive snails ; 'tis your 
undertaking, impudent, pusliing fool, that com- 
mands his fortune. 

Clu. You are very open and plain in this pro- 
ceeding, whatever you are in others. 

Sea. Dame Tortune, like most others of the 
female sex (I speak all this with respect to your 
ladyship), is generally most indulgent to the 
nimble mettled blockheads; men of wit are not 
for her turn, ever too thoughtful when they 
should be active : Why, who believes any man 
of wit to have so much as courage ? A'o, ladies, 
if yeVe any friends that hope to raise themselves, 
advise lliem to be as much fools as they can, and 
they'll never w.Mut patrons: And for honesty, if 
your ladyship think fit to retire a little further. 



Otway.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



U 



you sliall see me perform upon ii gentleman 
that's coming; this way. 

Cla. Prithee, Lucia, let us retreat a little, and 
take this opportunity of some divertisemcnt, which 
has been very scarce here hitherto. 

Enter Shitt, with a Sack. 

Sea. Oh, Shift ! 

Sfiif. Speak not too loud; my master's coming. 

Sea. I'm glad on't, I shall teach him to betray 
the secrets of his friend. If any nian puts a 
trick upon me without return, may I lose this 
nose! 

Sliif'c. I wonder at thy valour ; thou art con- 
tiimally venturing that body of thine, to the in- 
dignity of bruises, and indecent bastinadoes. 

Sea. Difliculties in adventures make them plea- 
sant wlien accomplished. 

Shift. But your adventures, how comical soever 
in the beginning, arc sure to be tragical in the 
end. 

Sea. 'Tis no matter ; I liate your pusillanimous 
spirit : revenge and lechery are never so plea- 
ant as when you venture hard for them ; be- 
gone ! Here comes my man. [i'xi^ Shut. 

Enter Gripe. 

Oh, sir, sir, shift for yourself! quickly sir! quick- 
ly sir ! for Heaven's sake ! 

Gripe. What's the matter, man? 

Sea. Heaven ! is this a time to ask questions? 
Will you be murdered instantly ? I am afraid you 
will be killed within these two minutes ! 

Gripe. Mercy on me ! killed ! for what? 

Sea. They arc every where looking out for you. 

Gripe. W^ho? Who? 

Sea. The brother of her whom your son has 
married ; he's a captain of a privateer, who has 
all sorts of rogues, English, Scotch, Welsh, Irish, 
French, under his command, and all lying in wait 
now, or searching for you to kill you, because you 
would null the marriage: They run up and down, 
crying, Where is the rogue Gripe ? Wliere is the 
dog? Where is the slave Gripe? Thty watch 
for you so narrowly, that there's no getting home 
to your house. 

Gripe. Oh, Scapin I what shall I do? What 
will become of me ? 

Sea. Nay, Heaven knows; but, if yau come 
within their reach, they will De Wit you ; they will 
tear you in pieces ! Hark ! 

Gripe. O Lord ! 

Sea. Hum ! 'tis none of them. 

Gripe. Canst thou find no way for my escape, 
dear Scapin ? 

Sea. I think I have found one. 

Gripe. Good Scapin, show thyself a man, now. 

Sea. I shall venture being most immoderately 
beaten. 

Gripe. Dear Scapin, do : I will reward thre 
bounteously : I'll give thee this suit, when I have 
worn it eight or nine months longer. 



Sea. Listen ! wlio are these ? 

Gripe. God forgive me ! I/jrd have mercy 
upon us ! 

Sen. No, there's nobody : Look, if you'll save 
your life, go into this sack presently. 

Gripe. Oh ! who's there? 

Sea. Nobody : Get into the sack, and stir not, 
whatever happens : I'll carry you as a bundle of 
goods, tiirough all your enemies, to the major's 
house of the castle. 

Gripe. An admirable invention ! Oh, Lord ! 
quick. [Gels info the suek. 

Sea. Yes, 'tis an excellent invention, if you 
knew all. Keep in your head. Oh, iiere's a rogue 
coming to look for you ! 

ScAPi.v' eounterfcits a Wchhman. 

Do you hear, I pray yo.u '^ uhcre is Lcandcrs 
father, look you i 

In his onn voiec. 

IIow sliould I know ? What would you have 
witl) him? Lie close. [Jsidt to Guipi:. 

Have zcith him ! hok you, hur has no ereut 
pusness, hut her uauld have mtisfurtions and re- 
parations, look you, for credit and honours; by 
St Tuvy, he shall not put the injuries and af- 
fronts upon my eupluins, loot: you note, sir. 

He affront the captain I He meddles with no 
man. 

You lye, sir, lank you, and hur will give you 
beatings and chastisements for your contradic- 
tions, when hur Welse ploods up, look yon, and 
hur will cudgel your pack and your nootles for 
it ; take you that, pray now. 

[Beats the sack. 

Hold, hold ; will you murder me ? I know not 
where he is, not I. 

Hur icill teach saucy jacks how they pi-orioke 
hur W else ]iloods and hur collars : and for the 
old rogue, hur will have his guts and his plood, 
look you, sir, or hur zcill never wear leek upon St 
Tavy's day more, look you. 

Oh ! He has mawled me ! A damned Welsh 
rascal ! 

Gripe. You ! The blows fell upon my shoul- 
ders. Oh ! 

Sea. 'Twas only the end of the stick fell on 
you ; the main substantial part of the cudgel 
lighted on me. 

Gripe. Why did you not stand fm-thcr off? 

iSVa. Peace — Here's another rogue. 

In a Lancashire dialect. 

YaM.1 fellee wi' th' sack there, done yaw hnazo 
rehear ilt' awd rascal Griap is '^ 

Not I ; but he is no rascal. 

Yaw ken, yaw douge ; yaw knaw zceel cnugh 
ahear he is, an yatcden tell, and that he is a/'ow 
rascot as any in aiv the (own ; Vs tell a that 
byr lady. 
' Not i, sir ; I know neither, not I. 



12 



BRITISn DRAMA. 



[Otway. 



By th'nifss, an ay tack thee in fiotit, ay's rail- 
die the bones vn thee ; ays kctilc thet to sm/it 
tune. 

Me, sir? I don't understand you. 
H ////, than'rt his mon, thou- hoblilc ; I'll suite 
th' naes o' thee. 

Hold, liold, sir! wliat would you liavc with 
liiii) ? 

U Ay, / tiitin knock him i/oun uith my kihbo, 
the first buut to the ^rannt, unci then 1 nnnt 
beat him to pop, by ih' mess, and after uy niun 
cut ojf the /('f.v and naes on \in, and ay uot, he'll 
be a pretty suatliy f'ellee, bant lui^s and naes. 

W liy, truly, sir, 1 know not uliere he is; but h^ 
\vtnt down that lane. 

This lone, sayu ye Y Ays jind him, byr lady, 
an he be above gruunt. 

So, he's sione ; a damned Lanca.shire rascal ! 
Gripe. Oh, good Scajjin ! po on quickly. 

[(Jnu'E pojis in his head. 
Seap. Hold ; here's another. 

In an Irish tone. 

Doest thou hear, Sackman ? I prithee whare 
is that dawned do/:. Gripe Y 

Wliy, what's that to you.? What know I? 

1] hut's that to me, joy Y By my shoul, joy, I 
nill lay a iireat blov upon thy pate, euid the dc- 
ril Uk( me, hut I nill make thee know uhare he 
is indeed, or I'll beat upon thee till thou dost 
knou; by my salvation indeed. 

I'd not be beaten 

A<)(T, the devil take me, I srcear by him that 
made vie, if thou dost not tell uhare is Gripe, 
but I uill beat thy father's child very much in- 
deed .' 

V\ hat would you have me do .? I cannot tell 
where he is. But what would you have with 
hirn ? 

IVhaf rcould I hare uith him ? By my shoul, 
if I do see him, I mil make murder upon htm for 
my captain's sake. 

IVIurdiT him } He'll not be murdered. 

Jf I do lay my eyes upon him. Gad J uill put 
my suoid into his bouels, the devil take me in- 
deed. What hast thou in that sack, joy Y By 
my salvation, 1 uill look into it .' 

But you shall not. What have you to do with 
it? 

By my souh joy, I will put my rapier into it ' 

Gripe. Oh!"(ih! 

Tf hat, it docs prunt, by my salvation, the devil 
taKr me, I a ill see it indeed. 

Vou shall not see my sack ; I'll defend it %vith 
mv liie. 

Then I uill make beat upon thy body ; take 
that, joy., and that, and that, upon my soul, and 
so I do take my leave, joy. 

[Beats him in the sack. 

A ph.^uc ou him, he's gone; he's almost kil- 
led me. 



Gripe. I can hold no longer; the blows all fell 
upon my shouMirs ! 

^V". Vou can't tell me; they Ull on mme : oh 
my shoidders ! 

Gripe. Vours? Oh my shoulders! 

.SV«. Peace ! they're coming. 

Jn a hoarse seatnan's voice. 
Where is the dof- Y I'll lay him on fore and 
aft, suinge hini uith a cat-o-n'ine-tail, keel-haul, 
and then hun^ him at the main-yard. 

In broken French English. 
Ifdere be no more fnen in England, I vill kill 
him ; I vill put my rapier in his body. I vill 
gix-e him two tree pushe in de gutte. 

HereScAPiK acts a number of them together. 

II > must go this way — o' the right hand ? no, 

to til' left hand — lie close — search every where 

by my sulvalion, I will kill the damned dog— and 
we do catch 'em, zce'll tear 'em in pieces,' and I 
do hear he went thick rvay — no, straight for- 
ward. Hold, here is his man ; where is your 

master — Damn me, where i In hell Y Speak 

Hold, not so furiously— fl«rf you don't tell us 
Inhere he is, we'll murder thee 

Do what you will, sfentlemen, I know not. 

Lay him on thick ; thwack h>w soundly 

Hold, hold ; do what you will, I will ne'er be- 
tray my master. 

Knock 'en down ; beat 'en soundly ; to 'en, at 

'en, at 'en, at 

[Js he is going to strike, Oripe peeps out, 
and Sc Ainu takes to his heels. 

Gripe. Oh, dog, traitor, villain ! Is this your 
plot ? Would you have murdered me, rogue? 
Unheard of impudence ! 

Enter Thrifty. 
Oh, brother Thrifty ! You come to see me loaden 
whh distrrace ; the villain Scapin has, as I am 
^^enslble now, cheated me of 2001. This beating 
brinsis all into mv luemorv. 

Thrifty. F he impudent varlet has gulled me 
of tlie same sum. 

Gripe. Nor was he content to take my money, 
but has abused me at that barbarous rate, that I 
am ashamed to tell it ; but he shall pay for it se- 
verely. 

Thrifty. But this is not all, brother ; one mis- 
fortune i^ the forerunner of another : .Fust now I 
have rec( ived letters from London, that both our 
dauiihters ha\e run away fn>m their Governesses, 
with t\^o wild debauched young fellows, that they 
fell in love with. 

Enter Litta and Cj.ara. 

Luc. Was ever so niaiicinus impudence seen ? 
Ua ! Surely, if I mistal.e not, that should be my 
father. 



Otway.] 



BRITISH DRAM4. 



i; 



Cla. And the other mine, whom Scapiii has 
used thus. 

Luc. Bless us ! Returned, and we not know 
of it ? 

C/a. Wliat will they say to find us here ? 

Luc. My dearest father, welcome to England. 

Thrift;/. My dausjhter Luce ? 

Luc. 'I'iie same, sir. 

Gripe. My Ciara here, too ? 

Cla. Yes, sir ; and happy to see your safe ar- 
rival. 

Thrifh/. What strange destiny has directed 
this happiness to us ? 

Enter Octavian. 

Gripe. Hey-day ! 

Thriftt/. l)h, so ! I have a wife for you. 

Oct. Good father, all your propositions are 
vain ; I must needs be free, and tell you I am 
ensraged. 

ThriJ'fi/. Look you now : is not this very fine ? 
Now I have a mind to be merry, and to be 
friends with you, you'll not let me now, will 
you .^ I tell you, Mr Gripe's d:uif;l)ter, here — 

Oct. I'll never marry Mr (Jripe's daughter, sir, 
as Idusi as I hve : No, yonder's she that I must 
love, and can never entertain the thoughts of any 
other. 

C/a. Yes, Octavian, 1 have at last met with 
my father, and all our fears and troubles are at 
an end. 

Thrifty. Lo ye now, you would be wiser than 
the father that begot you, would you ? Did not I 
always say you should marry Mr Gripe's daugh- 
ter ? But you do not know your sister Luce. 

Oct. Unlooked for blessing ! Why, she's my 
friend Leander's wife .'' 

Thriftt/. How ? Ixander's wife ! 

Gripe. What ! My son Leauder? 

Oct. Yes, sir ; vour son Loander. 

Gripe. Indeed ! Well, brother Thrifty, 'tis 
true the boy was always a good-natured boy. — 
Well, now I am so overjoyed, that I could laugh 
till I shook my shoulders, but that I dare not, 
they are so sore. But look, here he comes. 

Enter Leander. 

Lean. Sir, I beg your pardon; I find my mar- 
riage is discovered ; nor would I, indeed, have 
longer concealed it ; this is my wife, I must own 
her. 

Gripe. Brother Thrifty, did yon ever see the 
like? did you ever see the like ? ha ! 

Thrifty. Own her, quotha ! Why, kiss her, kiss 
her, man ; odsbodikins, when I was a young fel- 
low, and was first married, I did nothing else for 
three months. O my conscience, I got mv bov 
Octi, there, the first night, before the curtains 
were quire drawn ! 

Gripe. Well, 'tis his father's nown child. Just 
so, brother, was it with me upon my wedding- 
day ; I could not look upon my dear witliout 



blushing ; but when we were a-bed. Lord ha' 
nercy upon us ! — but I'll no more. 

I.tan. Is, then, mv father reconrilcd to me ? 

Gripe. Recon( iled to thee ! \\ hy, I love thee 
at my heart, man, at my heart ; why, 'tis my bro- 
ker Tlirifty's daughter, Airs Lucy, whom I al- 
ways designed for thy wife ; and that's thy sister 
>.,'lara, marric d to Mr Octa, there. 

Lean. Octavian, are \\c then brothers ? There 
IS nothing that I could have rather wished, after 
complrating of my happiness with my charming 
).ucia. 

Thrifty. Come, sir, hang up your compliments 
in the hall at home; they are old, and out of fa- 
shion. Shift, go to the inn, and bespeak a sup- 
per may cost more money than I have got to 
pay tor it, for I am resolved to run in debt to- 
night. 

Shift. I shall obey your commands, sir. 

Thrifty. Then, d'ye hear, send out and mus- 
ter up all the fiddlers, blind or not blind, drunk 
or sober, in the town ; let not so much as the 
roaster of times, with his cracked cymbal in a 
case, escape you. 

Gripe. Well, what would I give now for the 
fellow that sings the son2; at my lord mayor's 
least: I myself would make an epithalamium by 
way of sonnet, and he should set a tune to it ; 
it was the prettiest he had last time. 

Enter Sly. 

Sly. Oh, gentlemen, here is the strangest acci- 
dent fallen out ! 

Tlirifty. What's the matter? 

Sly. Poor Scapin ! 

Gripe. Ha ! Rogue, let him be hanged ! I'll 
hang him myself. 

Sly. Oh, sir, that trouble you may spare ; for, 
passing by a place where they were building, a 
great stone fell upon his head, and broke his skull 
so, you may see his brains. 

Thrifty. Where is he ? 

Sly. Yonder he comes. 

Enter Scapin between two., his head wrapt up in 
linen, as if he had been aounded. 

Sea. Oh me ! Oh me ! Gentlemen, you see 
nie, you see me in a sad condition, cut oft" like a 
flower in the prime of my years; but yet I could 
not die, without the pardon of those I have wrong- 
ed ; yes, gentlemen, I beseech you to fors;ive me 
all the injuries that I have done ; but more espe- 
cially I bcii; of you, iMr Tlirify, and my good mas- 
ter, Mr Gripe. 

Thrifty. For my part, I pardon thee freely; 
go, and die in peace. 

Sea. But 'tis you, sir, I ha\e most oftcnded, 
by the inhnnian bastinadoes which 

Gripe. Prithee, speak no more of it ; I forgive 
thee, too. 

Sea. Twas a most wicked insolence in me, that 
I should, with vile crabtree, cudgel 



u 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Otway. 



Gripe. Pish ! no more ; I say I am satisfied. 

Sen. And now so near my death, 'tis an inex- 
pressible ;:rief liial 1 should dare to lift my hand 
a^anibC 

Gripe. Hold thy peace, or die quickly ; I tell 
tliee 1 have fureot all 

Sen. Alas! How pood a man you are ! But, 
fcir, d've pardon me I'reely, and from the bottom 
of y<»ur lieart, those merciless drubs that 

Gripe. I'rithee, speak no more of it; I for- 
give tlice freely ; here's my hand upon't. 

Sea. Oh, sir, how much your goodness re- 
vives me ! 

[Pulls off" his cup. 

Gripe. IIou's tliat ? Friend, take notice, I 
pardon thee ; but 'tis upon condition, that you 
are sure to die. 



Sea. Oh me ! I begin to faint again. 

T/iriJ'li/. Come, fie, brother ! never let revenge 
employ your thoughts now ; forgive him, forgive 
him without any condition. 

Gripe. A deuce on't, brother ! as I hope to be 
saved, he beat me basely and srurviiv, nevi^r stir 
hf did : but, since you will have it so, I do for- 
i;ive him. 

Thnt'tt/. Now, then, let's to supper, and in our 
imrth drown and forj^et all troubles. 

Sea. Ay, and let them carry me to the lower 
end of the table ; 

Where, in my ehair of state, I'll sit at ease, ' 

And eat and drink, that I may die in peace. 
[A dance.] 

[Exeunt omnes. 



THE 
COUNTRY HOUSE. 



BY 



VANBRUGH. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



MEN. 
Mr Barnard. 

Mr Guiffard, brother IoMk Barnard. 
Erastus, in love with Mariamne. 
DouANT, son to Mr Barnard. 
Monsieur le Marquis. 

BaKON DE MEbSY. 

Jaxno, cousin to Mr Barnard. 

Colin, servant to Mr Barnard. 

Charlv, a little boy. 

Servant to Erastus. 

Three Gentlemen, friends to DoRANT. 

A Cook, other Servants, 8fc. 



WOMEN. 

Mrs Barnard. 
Mariamne, her daughter, 
Mawkin, sister to 5 x^t^o. 
Lisetta, servant to Mariamne. 



Scene — Normandy, in France,. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. 



Enter Erastus fl??o? his man, with Lisetta, Ma- 
riamne's ?naid. 

Lis. Once more I tell ye, sir, if you have any 
consideration in the world for her, you must be 
gone this minute. 

Era. My dear Lisetta, let me but speak to 
her ; let me but see her only ! 

Lis. You may do what you will ; but not here, 
whilst you are in our house. I do believe she's 
as impatient to see you, as you can be to see her ; 
but 

Era. But why won't you give us that satisfac- 
tion, then ? 

Lis. Because I know the consequence ; for, 



when you once get together, the devil himself is 
not able to part ye ; you will stay so long till you 
are surprised, and what will become of us, then? 

Ser. Why, then we shall be thrown out at the 
window, I suppose ? 

Lis. No ; but I shall be turned out of doors. 

Era. How unfortunate am I ! these doors are 
open to all the world, and only shut to me. 

Lis. Because you come for a wife, and at our 
house we do not care for pecjple that come for 
wives. 

Ser. What would you have us come for, child ? 

Lis. Any thing but wives; because they cannot 
be put off without portions. 

Ser. Portions ! No, no; never talk of portions; 
my master uor I don't want portions; and, if 



IG 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Vanbrugh. 



lic'd follow inv arlvictf, a regiment of falliers 
should not ^u:ird Iter. 

Lis. What say you ? 

■SVr. Why, if you'll contrive that my master 
may run iiway with your mistress, i duii't much 
can, faiih, if I run away with you. 

J.IS. Don't you so, rof;uc'*s face ? But I hope to 
be hotter pro\ idetl for. 

Era. Hold ytiur tringucs. But where is Mari- 
unme's hrothcr ? lie i!> my bui>um friend, and 
woidd he willini: to serve me. 

l.ii. 1 told you 1)1 fore, that he has been abroad 
a huntiii'.;, and we have not sien him these three 
davs; he seldom lives at homo, to avoid hi-^ fa- 
ther's ill humour; so that it is not yom- unstress 

only that onr old covcti;us cuff tei/es there's 

no body in the family but feels the effects of his 

ill humour by his good will he would not suf- 

f ( r a creature to come within his doors, or eat at 
his table and, if there be but a rabbit extra- 
ordinary for dinner, he thinks himself ruined for 
ever. 

Era. Then, I fmd you pass your time vastly 
comfortably in this family ! 

Lis. Not so bad as you imas^ine, neither, per- 
haps; for, thank Heaven, we have a mistress 
that's as bountiful as he is stinj^y, one that will 
let him say what he will, and yet does what she 
will. But hark ! here's some body coming: it is 
certainly he. 

Era. Can't you hide us somewhere ? 

Lis. Here, here, get you in here as fast as you 
can. 

Ser. Thrust me in, too. 

[Futs them into the closet. 

Enter Mariamne. 

Lis. O ! is it you ? 

Mar. So, Lisetta, where have you ])een ? I've 
been looking for ye all over the house : Who are 
those people in the garden with my mother-in- 
law ? I believe my father won't be very well 
pleased to see them there. 

Lis. And here's somebody else not far off, that, 

I believe, your father won't be very well pleased 

with, neither. Come, sir, sir ! [Cul/s. 

[Erastus, and his Servant, come out. 

Mar. O Heavens ! [Cries out. 

Lis. Come, lovers, I can allow you but a short 
bout on't this time ; you must do your work with 

a jirk one whisper, two sighs, and a kiss ; 

make haste, I say, and I'll stand centry for ye in 
the mean time. [Exit Lis. 

Mar. Do you know what you expose me to, 
Erastus .? What do you mean ! 

Era. To die, madam ! since you receive me 
with so little pleasure. 

Mar. Consider what would become of me, if 
my father should see you here. 

F.ra. What would you have me do.? 

iV/ar. Expect with patience some happy turn 
of affairs; my mother-in-law is kind and indul- I 

1 ' 



gent to a miracle; and her favour, if well ma- 
naged, may turn to our advantage ; anil, could I 
prevail upon myself to ihclare my passion to her, 
I don't doubt but she'd join in our mterest. 

Era. Well, since we've nothing to fear from 
her, and your brother, you know, is my intimate 
friend ; you may, therefore, conceal me some- 
w here about the house for a few days. I'll creep 
into any hole. 

Ser. Ay ; but who must ha\ e the care of bring- 
ing us victuals? [Aside. 

Era. 'I'hrust us into the cellar, or up into the 
garret : I don't care w here it is, so that it be buc 
under the same roof with you. 

Sir. But I don't say so, for that jade Lisetta 
will have the feeding of us, and I know what 

kind of diet she keeps 1 believe we shan't be 

like the fox in the fable ; our bellies won't be so 
full but we shall be able to creep out at the same 
hole we got in at. 

Era. Must 1 then be gone ? Must I return to 
Paris .? 

Enter Lisetta. 

Lis. Yes; that you must, and immediately, 
too, for here's my master coming in upon ye. 

Era. What shall I Ao ! 

Lis. Begone this minute. 

Mar. Stay m the village 'till you hear from me; 
none of our family know that you are in it. 

Era. Shall I see you sometimes.? 

Mar. I have not time to answer you now. 

Lis. Make haste, I say ; are you bewitched ? 

Era. Will you write to me.? 

Mar. I will if I can. 

Lis. Begone, I say; is the devil in you.? 

[Thrusting Erasti s and his servant out. 
Come this way, your father's just stepping iu 
upon us. ' \_Exeunt. 

SCENE IL 

Enter Mr Barnard beating Colin. 

Mr Burn. Rogue ! rascal ! did not I com- 
mand you ? Did not I give you my orders, sirrah .? 

Col. Why, you gave me orders to let no body 
in .? and madam, her gives inc orders to let every 

body in why, the devil himself can't please 

you b(^uth, I think. 

Mr Barn. But, sirrah, you must obey my or- 
ders, not hers. 

Col. Why, the gentlefolks asked for her; they 

did not ask for you what do you make such 

a noise about .? 

A/r Born. For that reason, sirrah, you .should 
not have let them in. 

Col. Hold, sir; I'd rather sec you angry than 
her, that's true; for-.vlien you're angry, you have 
only the dexil in ye, but when madam's in a pas- 
sion, she has the devil and his dam both. 

Mr Barn. You must mind what I say to you, 
sirrah, aiul *)bey my orders. 

Col, Ay, ay, measter; but let's not quarrel 



Vanbrugh.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



17 



with one another — you're always in such a plaguy 
humour. 

Mr Barn. ^Vhat are these people that are just 
come ? 

Cot. Nay, that know not I ; but as fine volk 
they are as ever eve l)e!ield, Heaven bless them ! 

Mr Burn. Did you hear their names ? 

Col. Noa, noa; but in a coach they kcam all 
besmeared witii i^ould, with six breave horses, 
the like on them ne'er did I set eyes on — 'twould 
do a man's heart good to look on sike fine beast, 
measter. 

Mr Barn. How many persons are there? 

Co/. V'our; two as tine men as ever woman 
bore, and two as dainty deames as a man would 
desire to lay his lips to. 

Air Barn. And all this crewf sets up at my 
liouse ? 

Col. Noa, noa, measter ; the coachman is gone 
into the village to set up his coach at some inn, 
for I told him our coach house was full of vag- 
gots; but he'll bring l)ack the six horses, for I 
told him we had a rear good steable. 

Mr Burn. Did you so, rascal ? Did you so ? 

[HeatH him. 

Col. Doant, doant, sir ; it would do you aood 
to see sike cattle, i'faith ; they look as if they had 
ne'er kept Lent. 

Mr Burn. Then they shall learn religion at 
my house — Sirrah, do you take care they sup 
without oats to-nisht — \Vliat will become of me? 
Since I bought this danmed country-house, I 
spend more in a summer than would maintain me 
seven years. 

Col. Why, if you do spend money, han't you 
good things for it? Come they not to see you the 
whole country raund ? Mind how you're beloved, 
measter. 

Mr Barn. Pox take such love ! — How now, 
what do you want ? 

Enter Lisetta. 

Lis. Sir, there's some company in the garden 
with my mistress, who desire to see you. 

2Ir Barn. The devil take them ! What busi- 
ness have they here? But who are thcv? 

Lis. Why, sir, there's the fat abbot that al- 
ways sits so long at dinner, and drinks his two 
bottles by way of whet. 

il/r Burn. I wish his church was in his belly, 
that his guts might be half full before he came — 
And who else ? 

Lis. Then there's the young raanjuis, that won 
all my lady's money at cards. 

Mr Burn. Pox take him too ! 

Us. Then there's the merry lady that's always 
in a £;ood humour. 

Mr Born. \'ery well. 

Lis. Then there's she that threw down all mv 
lady's china t'other day, and laughed at it for a 
jest. 

Mr Barn. Which I paid above fifty pounds 
Vol IH. 



for, in earnest — Very well ; and, pray, how did 
madam receive all this fine company? With a 
hearty welcome, and a courtsy down to the 
ground, ha ? 

7./s. No, indeed, sir; she was very angry with 
them. 

Mr Burn. How ! Angry with them, say you? 

Lis. Yes, indeed, sir; for she expected they 
wo'uld have staid here a fortnight, but it seems 
things happen so unluckily, that they can't stay 
here abo\e ten days. 

]\Ir Barn. Ten days ! how ! what ! four per- 
sons with a coach and six, and a kennel of hun- 
gry hounds in liveries, to live upon me ten days ! 

\Exit Lisetta. 

Enter a Soldier. 
So ! what do you want ? 

Sol. Sir, I come from your nephew, captain 
Hungry. 

Mr Burn. Well, what does he want? 
Sol. He <j;ives his service to vou, sir, and sends 
you word that he'll come and dine with you to- 
morrow. 

Mr Barn. Dine with me ! No, no, friend ; 
tell him I don't dine at all, to-morrow; it is my 
fast day ; my wife died on't. 

Sol. And he has sent you here a pheasant and 
a couple of partridtres. 

Mr Burn. How's that ? a pheasant and par- 
tridges, say you ? Let's see ; very fine birds, tru- 
ly i let me consider — to-morrow is r.ot my fast 
day; [ mistook ; tell my nephew he shall be wel- 
come — And, d'ye hear? — [To Colin ] — Do vou 
take these fowl and hang them up in a cool place 
— and lake this soldier in, and make him drink — 
make him drink, d'ye see — a cup — ay, a cup of 
small beer — d'ye hear ? 

Col. Yes, sir ; come along ; our small beer is 
reare good. 

Sol. But, sir, he bade me tell you, that he'll 
brintr two or three of his brother otiicers along 
with him. 

Mr Barn. How's that ! Officers with him ! — • 
Flere, come back — take the fowls acain : I don't 
dine to-morrow, and so tell him — [Gives him the 
basket.^— Go, go ! 

[Thrusts him out, 
Sol. Sir, sir, that won't hinder them from co- 
ming; for thev retired a little distance off the 
camp, and because your house is near them, sir, 
they resolve to come. 

Mr Barn. Go; begone, sirrah! — [Thrusts 
him out.J — There's a rogue, now, that sends mc 
three lean carrion birds, and brings half a dozen 
varlots to eat them ! 

Enter Mr GriffaRD. 

Grif. Brother, what is the meaning of these 
doings? If you don't order your affairs better, 
you'll have your fowls taken out of your very 
yard, and carried away before your face. 

C 



18 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Vanbrugh. 



Mr Bant. Can I help it, brotlicr r But what's 
tljc matter now ? 

Gnf. riicrr's a parcel of fellows have been 
hunlnip ubuut your ^roiimls all this UiOriiiii", 
bloke ilown your hedges, uiul arc now cominj^ 
into your house — Don't yon Ix'ar the in ? 

Air liurn. No, no, I don't licur them : who are 
thev ? 

(jrif. Three or four rako-hclly officers, #1111 
your nephew at the head of them. 

Air ij«;/i. () the roi;ue ! He mif^ht well send 
inc fowls — but is it not a vexatious thing, thai I 
must stand still and sec myself plundered at tiiis 
rate, and have a carrion of a wife who thinks 1 
ought to thank all these roiiues that come to de- 
vour me ! But can't you advise me what's to be 
done in this ease? 

Grif. \ wish I could ; f<ir it goes to my heart 
to see you thus treated by a crew of vermin, who 
tliink they do you a great deal of honour in ruin- 
ing of you. 

Air barn. Can there be no way found to re- 
dress this ? 

Grif. If I were you, I'd leave this house quite, 
and s:o to to« n. 

Air Barn. \\'hat, and leave my wife behind 
me ? Ay, that would be mending the matter, in- 
deed I 

Grif. Why don't you sell it, then ? 

Air Barn. Becaii>e nobody will buy it; it has 
got as i)ad a name as if the plague were in't; it 
has been sold over and over; and every family 
that has lived in it has been ruined. 

Grif. Then send away all your beds and fur- 
niture, except what is absolutely necessary for 
your own family; you'll save somethuig by that, 
lor then your gueats cim't stay with you all night, 
however. 

Air Barn. I've tried tliat already, and it sig- 
nified nothing For tliev all got drunk, aad 

lay in the barn, and next morning laughed it otF 
for a frolic. 

Grif. Then there is but one remedy left that 
I can tliink of 

Air Burn. Wiiat's that ? 

Grif. You must e'en do wliat's done when a 
town's on fire ; blow up your hou^e, that the mis- 
chief may run no farther — But who is this gen- 
tleman ? 

Air Burn. I never saw him in my life before ; 
but, for all tliat, I'll hold fifty pound he comes to 
dine with me. 

Enter the ^lAnot'i?. 

Alar. My dear .Mr Barnard, I'm your most 
liumble servant ! 

Air Burn. 1 don't doubt it, sir. 

Alar. What is the meaning of this, ^Ir Bar- 
nard ? You look as coldly upon me as if f were 
a stransier. 

Air Burn. Why truly, sir, I'm verv apt to do 
*o by persons I n^ver saw in my life before. 



Alar. Yon must know, Mr Barnard, I'm come 
on |Jurpo^e to drink a bottle with voii. 

Air Burn. J hat may In, sir ; but it happens 
that at this lime I am not at all drv. 

Alur. 1 left the ladies at cards waiting for 
supper; for my part I never jilay; so I came to 
see my dear Mr Barnard I and, I'll as<-iire you, I 
undertook this journey only to have the lionour 
of your acfjiiaintaiice. 

Air Barn. You might have spared yourself 
thai trouble, sir. 

Altir. Don't you know, Mr Barnard, that tliis 
hiiii«.c of yours is a little Paradise? 

Air Burn. Then rot me if it be, sir ! 

AJur. For my part, I think a pretty retreat in 
the country is one of the greatest comforts in 
life — I suppose you never want good company, 
Mr liarnard ? 

Air Burn. No, sir, I never want company ; for 
you must know 1 love very much to be alone. 

Alur. Good wine you must keep, above all 
things — without good wine and good cheer, I 
would not give a tig for the country. 

Air Burn. Really, sir, my wine is the worst 
you ever drank in your life, and you'll find my 
cheer but very inditi'errnt. 

Alar. No matter, no matter, Mr Barnard. I've 
heard much of your jiospitality ; there's a plentiful 
table in your looks — and your wife is certainly 
one of the best women in the w orld. 

Air Bu7-n. Rot me if she be, sir ! 

Enter Colix. 

Col. Sir, sir ! yonder's the baron de Messey 
lias lost his hawk in our garden; he says it is 
perched upon one of the trees; may we let him 
have'ii again, sir ? 

Air Barn. Go tell him, that 

Col. Nay, you may tell him yourself, for here 
he comes. 

Enter the Barox de Messy. 

Sir, I'm your most humble servant, and ask you 
a thousand pardons, that I sliotild live so long in 
your neighbourhood, and come upon such :ui oc- 
casion as this, to pay you my first respects. 

Air Burn. It is very well, sir; but, I think 
people may be very good neighbours, without vi- 
siting one another. 

Baron. Pray, how do you like our country ? 

Air Bain. Not at all ; I'm quite tired on't. 

Alar. Is it not the Baron ? [.ds<V/t'.] It is cer- 
tainly he. 

Buron. How ! my dear marquis ! let me em- 
brace you. 

Alar. My dear baron, let me kiss you ! 

yrhei) run, and embrace. 

Baron, We have not seen one another since 
we were school-fellows, before ! 

Alar. The happiest rencontre ! 

Orif. These geutlcimn bcem to be ^cry well 
uciiuainted. 



Vanbrugh.J 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



19 



Mr Barn. Yes ; but I know neither one nor 
t'other ot" thein. 

Mar. Baron, let me present to voii one of the 
best-natured men in the wond ! Mr BiunarH here, 

the flower of huspitaliry ! 1 congratulate you 

upon having so <;ood a neighbour. 

Mr Barn. Sir ! 

Baron. It is an advantage T am proud of. 

Jilr Barn. Sir ! 

Mar. Come, gentlemen, you must be \ery in- 
timate. Let me liave the lionour of bringing you 
better acquainted. 

J\[r Barn. Sir ! 

Baron. I^ear marquis, I sliall take it as a fa- 
vour, if you'll do me that honour. 

Mr Barn. Sir ! 

Mar. With all my heart — Come, baron, now 
you are here, we can mnke up the m;)st agree- 
able company in the world Taitli ! you shall 

stay and pass a few days with ns. 

Jir Barn. Jlethinks, now, this sou of a whore 
does the honours of my house to a miracle ! 

Baron. I don't know what to say, but I should 
be very glad you'd excuse me. 

J\Iur. Faith, I can't ! 

Bay-on. Dear marquis ! 

Mar. Egad, I won't ! 

Baron. Well, since it must be so But here 

comes the lady of the family. 

Enter Mrs Barnard, 

Mar. Madam, let me present you to the flower 
of France. 

Baron. Madam, I shall think myself the liap- 
piest person in the world in your ladyship's ac- 
quaintance ; and the little estate I have in this 
country, I esteem more than all the rest, because 
it lies so near your ladyship. 

Mr Barn., Sir, your most humble servant. 

Mar. Madam, the baron de iMessy is the best 
liumoured man in the world. I've prevailed with 
him to give us his company a few days. 

Mrs Barn. I'm sure you could not oblige Mr 
Barnard or me more. 

Mr Burn. That's a damned lie, I'm sure ! 

\_Aside. 

Baron. I'm sorry, madam, I can't accept of the 
honour — for it falls out so unluckily, that I've 
some ladies at my house, that I can't possibly 
leave. 

Mar. No matter, no matter, baron ; you have 
ladies at your house, we have ladies at our house 

— let's join companies Come, let's send for 

them immediately — the more the merrier. 

JV//" Barn. An admirable expedient, truly ! 

Baron. Well, since it must be so, I'll go for 
them myself. 

Mar. iNIake haste, dear baron; for we shall 
be impatient for your return. 

Baron. jMadam, your most humble servant — 
But I won't take my leave of you — I shall be 
back again immediately. Monsieur Barnard, 



I'm your uiost humble servant ! Since you will 
havf it so, I'll return as soon as possible. 

Mr Burn. I have it so ! 'Sbud, sir ! you may 

stay as long as ye please : I'm in no haste for ve. 

\^E.reunt. Bai:on and Mvkquis. 

Madam, you are the cause that I am not mas- 
ter of my own house. 

Mrii Barn. Will you never learn to be reason- 
able, husband.? 

Tlie Marquis returns. 
J\[ar. The baron is the best humoured man in 
the world; only a little too ceremonious, that's all 
— I love to be free and generous — Since I came 
to Paris, I've reformed half the court. 

Mrs Burn. You are of the most agreeable hu- 
mour in the world, marquis. 

Mar. Always merry But what have you 

done with the ladies ? 

]\Irs Bur)!. I left them at cards. 
]\[ar. ^Voil, I'll wait upon them — but, madam, 
let me desire you not to put yourself to any ex- 
traordinary cxpcncc upon our accounts You 

must consider we have more than orie day to live 
together. 

Mrs Barn. You are pleased to be merry, mar- 
quis. 

Mar. Treat us without ceremony; good wine 
and poultry you have of your own; wild fowl 

and lish are brought to your door. You need 

not send abroad for any thing but a piece of but- 
cher's meat, or so Let us have no extiaordi- 

naries. [Eiit. 

Mr Burn. If I had the feeding of you, a thun- 
der-bolt should be your supper ! 

Mrs Barn. Husband, will you never change 
your humour? If you t'o on at this rate, it will 
be impossible to live with ye. 

il/r Burn. \'ery true ; for, in a little time, I 
shall iiavc nothing to live upon ! 

Mrs Barn. Do you know what a ridiculous fi- 
gure you make ? 

Mr Barn. You'll make a great deal worse, 
when you han't money enough to pay for the 
washing of your shifts. 

Mrs Burn. It seems you married me only to 
dishonour mc ; How horrible is this ! 

Mr Barn. I tell ye, you'll ruin me ! Do you 
know how much money you spend in a year ? 

Mrs Burn. Not I, truly; I don't understand 
aritiunctic. 

Mr Barn. Arithmetic ! O lud, O iud I Is it so 
hard to comprehend, that he, who receives but 
sixpence, and spends a shilling, must be ruined 
in the end ? 

Mrs Burn. I never troubled my head with ac- 
counts, nor never will : But if ye did but know 

what ridiculous things the world says of ye 

3/r Barn. Rot the world ! — Twill say worse 
of me when Fm in a jail ! 

Mrs Barn. A very Christian-like saying, truly! 
Mr Barn. Don't tell me of Christian — Ads- 



CO 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Vanbrugh. 



bud ! I'll turn Jew ; and no body sliall cat at my 
tiiblc that 13 not cutuuuibed. 

Enter Listtta. 

Lit. Madam, tlicrc's tin- duchess of Twanij- 
dillo just fell down near our door ; her coach was 
«)\crturii(d. 

jMix Barn. I hope her grace has received no 
liurt ? 



Lis. No, madam; but her coach is broke. 

Mr Hum. riicii, tln.rc'b a Miiiih in to\»n may 
mend it. 

Jas. They sav, 'twill require two or three days 
to fit it u|) aijaiu. 

Mrs liarn. I'm plftd on't, with all my heart ; 
for ihiii I shall enjoy the pleasure of her grace's 
good conijiany. I'll wait upon her. 

Mr Burn. \'try line doings this ! 

[i^'jtM/if severally. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. 



Enter Mr B.\knard. 
Mr Barn. Heaven be now iny comfort, for 
my liouse is hell ! [Sturfa.] Who's there ? w hat 
■do you want ? who are you .' 

Enter Servnut, with a portmtniteun. 

Sir. Sir, here's your cousin Janno, and cousin 
Mawkin, come from Paris. 

Mr Barn. What a plague do they want? 

Enter Janno, leading in Mawkin. 

Jan. Come, sister, come along O, here's 

cousin Bariiaid ! Cousin Barnard, your ser- 
vant — Here's my sister Mawkin, and I, are come 
to see you. 

Mali'. Ay, cousin, here's brother Janno and I 
arc come from Paris to see you : Pray, how does 
cousin Mariamne do? 

Jan. My sister and I wau'nt well at Paris; so 
my father sent us here for two or three weeks to 
t^ikc a little country air. 

Mr Burn. You could not come to a worse 
place ; for this is the w orst air in the whole coun- 
ty. 

Mnu. Nay ; I'm sure my father says it is the 
best. 

Mr Born. You father's a fool ! I tell ye, 'tis 
the worst. 

Jan. Nay, cousin, I fancy your mistaken, 
now ; for I begin to faul my stomach come to 
me already; in a fortnight's time, you shall sec 
liow I'll lay about me. 

Mr Burn. I don't at all doubt it. 

M(W. Father would have sent sister Flip, and 
little brother Humphrey ; but the calash would 
not hold us all : and so they don't come till to- 
morrow with mother. 

Jan. Conic, sister, let's put up our things in 
our chamber; and, after vou have washed mv 
face, and put me on a clean neckchnh, we'll co 
in, and sec how our cousins do. 

Mare. Ay, come along ; we'll go and see cou- 
sin Mariamne. 

Jan. Cousin, we shan't give you much troultle ; 
one bedvvill serve us; for sister Mawkin and I 
alw ays lie together. 



7l/«zc. But, cousin, mother prays you, that 
you'd order a little c<ick-brotli for hrotlier Janno 
and 1, to be got ready as soon as may br. 

Jun. Ay, a-propos, cousui Barnard, that'ij true ; 
my mother desires, that we may have some cock- 
brotli, to drink two or three times a-day between 
meals, for my sister and I are sick folks. 

Maw. And some youim chickens, too, the doc- 
tor said, would bring us to our stomachs very 
soon. 

Jun. You fib, now, sister ; it wau'nt young 
chickens, so it wau'nt — it was plump partridges, 
sure, the doctor said so. 

Maze. Ay, so it was, brother. Come, let's 

go in, and see our cousins. 

Jan. Ay, come along, sister — Cousin Barnard, 
don't forget the cock-broth. 

[E.rennt Janno and Mawkin. 

Mr Barn. What the devil does all this mean 

Mother, and sister Flip, and little brotlier 

Humphrey, and chickens, and partridues, and 
cock-broth, and fire from hell to dress them all ! 

Enter Colin. 

Col. O nieaster, O measter! — You'll not chide 
to-dav, as you arc usen to rio; no niarrv, will you 
not : See, now, w hat it is to be wiser than one's 
measter. 

J\Ir Barn. What would this fool have? 

Col- W'liy, thanks, and money to-bool, an folk 
were grateful. 

Mr Barn. Wliat's the matter ? 

Col. Why, the matter is, if you have good store 
of company in your liouse, you have good store 
of meat to put in their bellies. 

Mr Barn. How so? how so? 

Col. Why, a large and stately stag, with a pair 
of horns on his h<ad, Heaven bless you! your 
worship miglit be seen to wear them — comes to- 
wards our geat, a puHing and blawing like a cow 

in hard labour Now, says I to nivself, savs I, 

if my measter refuse to let this line youth come 

in — why, then he's a fool, d'ye see So I opens 

him the geat, jiulls dlViiiy hat with both my bonds, 
and said, you'ie welcome, kind sir, to our house. 

Mr Barn. Well, well ! 

Cot. Well, well? ay, and so it is well, as you 
shall straight way tind — So in he trots, and makes 



Vanbrugh.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



21 



directly towards our bam, and goes bounce, 
bounce, against the door, as boldly as if he had 

been mcaster on't he turns' en about, and 

thawcks'n down in the straw ; as who would say, 

here will I lay me till to-morrow morning 

But he had no fool to deal with ; for to the kit- 
chen goes r, and takes me down a musket, and, 
with a breace of balls, I liits'n such a slap in the 
feace, that he ne'er spoke a word more to me. — 
Have I done well or no, mea>tor? 

Mr Barn. Yes, you have done very well for 
once. 

Col. But this was not all ; for a parcel of dogs 
came yelping after their companion, as I sup- 
pose ; so 1 goes to the back yard-door, and as 
many as came by, Shu, says I, and drove them in- 
to the gearden So there they are, as safe as 

in a pawnd Ha, ha ! But I can't but think 

what a power of pasties we shall have at our 
house — Ha, ha ! [Exit Coi.in. 

Air Barn. I see Providence takes some care 
of rae : this could never have happened in a bet- 
ter time. 

Enter Cook. 

Cook. Sir, sir ! in the name of wonder, what do 
you mean ? is it by your orders that all tiiose 
dogs were let into the garden ? 

Mr Barn. How ! 

Cook. I believe there's forty or fifty dogs tear- 
ing up the lettuce and cabbage by the root. I be- 
lieve, before they have done, they'll rout up the 
whole garden. 

Mr Barn. This is that rogue's doings. 

Cook. This was not all, sir^; for three or four 
of them came into the kitchen, and tore half the 
meat off the spit that was for your worship's sup- 
per. 

Mr Barn. The very dogs plague me ! 

Cook. And then there's a crew of himgry foot- 
men who devoured what the dogs left ; so that 
there's not a bit left for your worship's supper, 
not a scrap, not one morsel, sir ! [Exit Cook. 

Mr Barn. Sure I shall hit on some way to 
get rid of this crew ! 

Enter CoLix. 

Col. Sir, sir ! here's the devil to do witliout 
yonder; a parcel of fellows swear they'll have 
our venison, and s'blead I swear they shall 
have none on't; so stand to your arms,' measter. 

Mr Barn. Ay, you've done finely, rogue, ras- 
cal, have you not? [Beating him. 

Col. 'Sblead, I say they shan't have our veni- 
son. I'll die before I'll part with it. \_Exit. 

Eater Griffard. 

Grif. Brother, there's some gentlemen within 
ask for you. 

Mr Barn. What gentlemen ! Who are they ? 
Grif. The gentlemen that have been hunting 



all this morning; they're now gone up to your 
wilt's chamber. 

Mr Barn. The devil go with them ! 

Grif. There's but one way to get rid of this 
plague, and that is, as I told you before, to set 
your house on fire. 

Mr Barn. That's doing myself an injury, not 
them. 

Grif. There's dogs, horses, masters and ser- 
vants, all intend to stay here 'till to-morrow 
morning, that they may be near the woods to 
hunt the earlier — besides CI over-heard them) 
they're in a kind of plot against you. 

Mr Barn. \\'liat did they say? 

Grif'. You'll be more angry if I should tell ye, 
than I am. 

Mr Barn. Can I be more angry ? 

Grif. They said then, that it was the greatest 
pleasure in the world to ruin an old lawyer in 
the country, who had got an estate by ruining 
honest people in town. 

]\Ir Barn. There's rogues for ye ! 

Grif. I'm mistaken if they don't play you 
some trick or other. 

Mr Barn. Hold, let me consider. 

Grif. What are you doing? 

Mr Barn. I'm conceiving ; I shall bring forth 

presently oh, I have it ! it comes from 

hence; Wit was its father, and Invention its m<)- 
ther : if I had thought on't sooner, I should have 
been happy. 

Grif VVhat is it ? 

Mr Barn. Come, come along, I say; you must 
help me to put it in execution. 

Enter Lisetta. 

Lis. Sir, my mistress desires you to walk up ; 
she is not able, by herself, to pay the civilities 
due to so much good company. 

Mr Barn. O the carrion ! What, does she 

play her jests upon nie, too ? but mum ; he 

laughs best that laughs last. 

Lis. What shall 1 tell her, sir ? will you come ? 

Mr Barn. Yes, yes ; tell her I'll come with a 
pox to her ! 

[Exeunt Ma Barnard and Griffard. 

Lis. Nay, I don't wonder he should be angry 
— they do try his patience, that's the truth on't. 

Enter Mariam\e. 

What, madam, have you left your mother and 
the company ? 

Alar. So much tittle tattle makes my head 
ache ; I don't wonder my father should not love 
the country ; for, besides the expence he's at, he 
never enjoys a minute's quiet. 

Lis. But let's talk of your own affairs — have 
you writ to your lover ? 

Alar. No, for I have not had time since I saw 
him. 

Lis. Now you have time, then, about it im- 
mediately, for he's a sort of a desperate spark, 
and a body docs not know what he may do, if he 



EPxITISH DRAMA. 



[Vanbrugb. 



should not hear from vou ; besides, yoii promiscil 
him, and vou luu^t boliavc yourscU like a woman 
of iuMiour, and keep vour word. 
uilar. I'll about it tliib iniiiuto. 

Enter Charly. 

Char. Cousin, cousin, couiin ! where are you 
poiug r Coiue back, I have sonietliing to say to 
you. 

Lis. ^Vhat docs this troublesome boy want ? 

Cfiar. What's that to yi)u what I want? per- 
haps I have souicthinji to say to her that will 

make her lau^h why sure ! what need you 

care? 

Af'ir. Don't snub my cousin Charly \vell, 

w hat is it ? 

C/iar. Who do you think I met, as I was roni- 
ing here, but that handsome 'icntleraan I'm- seen 
at church oiile you like anv devil ! 

IJar. Hush ! s.^ttly, cousin. 

JAs. Not a word of that tor your life. 

C/iiir. U, I know I should not speak on't be- 
fore folks; you know I made sii^ns to you above, 
that I wanted to speak to you in private, didn't 
J, cousin ? 

Mar. Yes, yes; I saw you. 

C'finr. You see I can keep a secret 1 am 

no girl, muii 1 believe I could tell ye fifty, 

and lifty to that of my sister Cicely O she's 

the devil of a girl ! but she j^ives me money 

and sui:ai-plunibs — and those that arc kind to 
me fare the better lor it, you see, cousin. 

Mar. I always said my cousin Charly was a 
good-natured boy. 

Lis. Well, and did he know you ? 

Char. Yes, I tliink he did know me — for he 
took me in his arms, and did so hui; me and kiss 
me^— between you and I, cousin, I believe he is 
one of the best friends I have in the world. 

Alar. Well, but what did he sav to you ? 

Clmr. Why, he asked me where I was going — 
I told hiin I was coming to see you — you're a 
lying young rogue, says he, I'm sure you dare 

not go see your cousin for, you must know 

my sister was with me, and it seems he took 
her for a crack, and I being a forward boy, 
he fancied I was going to make love to her under 
a hedge, ha, ha ! 

Mar. So — 

Char. So he offered to lay me a louis d'or that 
I was not coming to you; so, done, says I — 
Done, says he — and so 'twas a belt, you know. 

Mur. Certainly. 

Char. So, my sister's honour being concerned, 
and having a mind to win his louis d'or, d've sf e 
— I bid him follow me, that he might see whether 
1 came in or no — but he said he'd wait foi- me at 
the little garden gate that opens into the (ieids, 
and if I would come through the house and meet 
him there, he should know by tliat whether 1 had 
been in or no. 



Mar. Very well. 

Chur. So I went there, opened the gate, and 
let him in — 

Mar. What then ? 

Char. Why, then he paid me the louis d'or, 
that's all. 

Mar. Why, that was honestly done. 

Char. Aw\ then lit talked to me of you. 

Mar. Kul v.a» this all? 

Char. No, for he had a mind, you must know, 
to win his louis d'or back a^iaiii ; so he laid me 
another, that I dare not come back, and t<ll you 
that he was there — so, cousin, I hope you won't 
let m«' lose, for if you don't go to him, and tcli 
him that I've won, he won't pay me. 

Mar. What, would you have inc go and speak 
to a man ? 

Chur. Not for any harm, but to win your poor 
cousin a louis d'or. I'm sure you will — for 
you're a modest young woman, and may go with- 
out danger. I'll swear you must. 

Mar. What does the young rogue mean ? I 
swear I'll have you whipt. 

\_Kxtuiit CiiARLv and Mariamne. 

Enter CoLrx, 

Col. Ha, ha, lia ! our old gentleman's a wag, 
i'faith ! he'll be even with them for all this — 
ha, ha, ha ! 

Lis. What's the matter? What does the fool 
laugh at? 

Col. We an't in our house now, Lisetta ; we're 
in an inn ; ha, ha ! 

Lis. How in an inn ? 

Col. Yes, in an inn ; my measter has gotten 
an old rusty sword, and hung it up at our geat, 
and writ underneath \\ith a piece ot" charcoal, 
with his own fair hand, ' At the Sword Royal; 
entertainment tor man and horse:' ha, ha 

Las. ^\ h«t whim is this? 

Col. 1 hou and I live at the Sword Royal, 
ha, ha — 

Lis. I'll go tell my mistress of her father's 
extravagance. [Exit Lisltta. 

Enter Mr Barnard and GRirrARD. 

j\Ir Barn. Ila, ha ! yes, I think this will do. 
Sirrah, you may now let in all the world ; the 
more the better. 

Col. Yes, jir Odsflesh ! we shall break 

all the inns in the country For we have a 

breave handsome landlady, and a curious young 

lass to her daughter— O, here comes my 

young measter— ——We'll make him Chamber-* 
lain — ha, ha ! 

Enter Dorant. 
Mr Barn. What's the matter, son? IIow comes 
it that you are alone ? You used to do me tke 



Vanbrugh.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



23 



favour to bring some of your friends along witli 

Dor. Sir, there are some ot them coniing ; I 
only rid before, to beg you to give them a favour- 
able reception. 

Mr Barn. Ay, why not? It is both for your 
honour and mine ; vou shall be master. 

Dor. Sir, we have luiw an opportunity of ma- 
king all the gentlemen in the country our friends 

Mr Barn. I am glad on't with all my heart ; 
pray, how so ? 

Dor. There's an old quarrel to be made up 
between two families, and all the company arc 
to meet at our house. 

Mr Barn. Ay, with all my heart ; but, pray, 
what is the quarrel ? 

Dor. (J, sir, a very ancient quarrel ; it hap- 
pened between their great grandfathers about a 
duck. 

Mr Barn. A quarrel of consequence, truly ! 

Dor. And 'twill be a great honour to us, if 
this should be accommodated at our house, 

Mr Barn. Without doubt. 

Dor. Dear sir, you astonish me with this 
goodness; how shall I express this obligation ? I 
was afraid, sir, you would not like it. 

Mr Barn. \Vhy so } 

Dor. I thought, sir, you did not care for the 
expence. 

Mr Barn. O, lord, I am the most altered man 
in the world from what X was ; I am quite ano- 
ther thing, muii ; but how many are there of 
them ? 

Dor. Not above nine or ten of a side, sir. 

Mr Barn. O, we shall dispose of them easily 
enough. 

Dor. Some of them will be here presently ; 
tlie rest I don't expect till to-morrow morning. 

Air Barn. I hope they are good companions, 
jolly fellows, that love to eat and drink well ? 

Dor. The merriest, best-natured, creatures in 
the world, sir. 

3Ir Burn. I'm very glad on't, for 'tis such men 
I want. Come, brother, you and I will go and 
prepare for their reception. 

[Exeunt JMii Barxard and his brother. 

Dor. Bless me, what an alteration is here ! 
How my father's temper is changed within these 
two or three days ! Do you know the meaning 
of it? 

Col. Why the meaning of it is — ha, ha ! 

Dor. Can you tell me the cause of this sudden 
change, 1 say ? 

Col. Why the cause of it is — ha, ha ! 

Dor, W^hat do you laugh at, sirrah? do you 
know ? 

Col. Ha ! Because the old gentleman is a 
droll, that's all. 

Dor. Sirrali, if I take the cudgel • 

Cot. Nay, sir, don't be angry, for a little harm- 
less mirth — But here are your friends. 



Enter three Gentlemen. 

Dor. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Pasty- 
hall; see that these gentlemen's horses are taken 
care of 

1 Gen. A very fine dwelling this. 
Dor. Yes, the houst is tolerable. 

2 Gen. And a very iine lordship belongs to it. 
Dor. The land is good. 

Q Gen. The house ought to have been mine; 
for my grandfather sold it to his father, from 
whom your father purchased it. 

Dor. Yc.% the house has gone thi ough a great 
many hands. 

1 Geu. A sign there has always been good 
house-keeping in it. 

Dor. And I hope there ever will. 

Enter Mr Barxard, and Grifiaud, dressed 
like drawers. 

Mr Barn. Gentlemen, do you call ? will you 
please to see a room, gentlemen ? some body 
take cjff the gentlcmcns' boots there. 

Dor. Father ! Uncle ! what is the meaning of 
this ? 

Air Ba7-n. Here, shew a room or will you 

please lo walk into the kitchen, first, gentlemen; 
and see v/hat you like for dinner? 

1 Gen. Make no preparations, sir ; your own 
dinner is sufficient. 

Air Barn. \e\'y well, I understand ye ; let us 
see, how many are there of ye? \_Tells them.] — 
One, two, three, four: well, gentlemen, /tis but 
half a crown-piece for yourselves, and sixpence a 
head for your servants ; your dinner shall be 
ready in half an hour; here, shew the gentlemen 
into the ApoUo, 

2 Gen. What, sir, does your father keep an 
inn ? 

Air Barn. The Sword Royal ; at your service, 
sir. 

Dor. But, father, let mc speak to you ; would 
you disgrace me ? 

Air Barn. My wine is very good, gentlemen ; 
but, to be very plain with ye, it is dear. 

Dor. I shall run distracted. 

Air Barn. You seem not to like my house, 
gentlemen; you may try all the inns in tiie coun- 
ty, and not be better entertained : but I own my 
bills run high. 

Dor. Gentlemen, let me beg the favour of ye I 

1 Gen. Ay, my young squire of the Sword-Roy- 
al, you shall receive some favours from us ! 

Dor. Dear Monsieur le Garantiere ! 
t Gen. Here, my horse there. 
Dor. Monsieur la Rose ! 

2 Gen. Damn ye, ye prig ! 

3 Gen. Go to the devil ! 

[Exeunt Gentlemen, 



2 



24 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Vanbrugh. 



Dor. O, I am (lis£;raccd fortvor ! 

Mr Burn. Now, son, lliis will tench you !i(.\v 
to live 

Dor. Your son ? I <leiiy tlie kindred ; I'm tlic 
son of a whore, and I'll burn your house about 
your cars. \^Exi(. 

Mr ham. I la, ha 

Grit'. The vount: uontlenian is in a passion. 

Mr K//H. 1 hey're all gone for ail that, and 
the Sword-lloyal's the best general in Christen- 
dom. 

Enter F.nASTi's's Servant talking with Lisltta. 

I AS. What, that tall gentleman I saw in the 
garden with yc ? 

Str. The same ; he's my master's uncle, and 

rautier of the kinu's forests He intends to 

leave my master all he has. 

Mr Barn. Don't 1 know this scoundrel ? What, 
is his master here? What do you do here, ras- 
cal? 

.St r. I was asking which must be my master's 
chamber. 

Mr Barn. Where is your master? 

.S't7-. Above stairs with your wife and daut^h- 
ter; and I want to know where he is to lie, that 
I Miav |nit up his lhiu»;s. 

Mr Burn. Do you so, rascal ? 

Ser. A very handsome inn this ! Here, 

drawer, fetch me a pint (jf wine. 

Mr Barn. Take that, rascal, do you banter 
us? [A'uA's hitn out. 

Enter Mrs Barnard. 

Mrs Barn. What is the meaning of this, hus- 
band r Are not you ashamed to turn your house 
into an inn? And is this a dress for my spouse 
and a man of vour rhararter? 

Mr Barn. 1 would rather wear this dress than 
be ruined. 



Mrs Burn. You arc nearer being so than you 
imagint ; for there are S(jmc persons within, who 
have it in their power to punish you for your ri- 
diculous folly. 

Enter Erastus, leading in IMariamnk. 

Mr Barn. How, sir, what means this? who 
sent you here ? 

Era. It was the luckiest star in your firma- 
ment, that sent me here. 

Mr Barn. Then I doubt, at my birth, the pla- 
nets were but in a sciir\y disposition. 

Era. Killing one of the king's stags, that run 
hither for refuge, is enough to overturn a fortune 
inui h better established than yours — However, 
sir, if you will consent to give me your daughter, 
for her sake I \\ill bear you harmless. 

]\lr Barn. No, sir; no man shall have my 
daughter, that won't take my house, too. 

Era. Sir, 1 will take your house; pay you the 
full value of it, and you shall remain as much 
master of it as ever. 

Mr Burn. No, sir; that won't do neither; 
you must be master yourself, and from this mi- 
nute begin to do the honours of it in your own 
person. 

Era. Sir, I readily consent. 

Mr Barn. Upon that condition, and in order 
to get rid of my house, here take my daughter — 
And, now, sir, if you think you've a hard bargain, 
I don't care if I toss you in my wife, to make 
you amends. 

Well, then, since all things thus are fairly sped. 

My son in anger, and my daughter wed ; 

i\ly house disposed of, the sole cause of 

strife, 
I now may liope to lead a happy life, 
If 1 can part with my engaging wife. 

[Exeunt (w«nes. 



THE 



CONTRIVANCES. 



CAREY. 



DRAMATIS PElRSON/E. 



M E N. 

RovEWELf,, atluched to Arethvsa. 

Argus, /«<AtT to Akethusa. 

Heauty, father to Rovewell, bnt unknaun lo 

him. 
Robix, servant to Rovewell. 



W O M E N. 
Aretiiusa, attached to Rovevveli,. 
Betty, maid to Arethcsa. 



Scene — London. 



ACT I. 



SCENE l.—IlovcweWs lodgings. 

Robin solus. 

Rob. Well, though pimping is the most ho- 
nourable and profitable of all profcssioiis, it is 
certainly the most dangerous and fatiguing ; but 
of all fatigues, there's none like following a vir- 
tuous mistress — There's not one letter I carry, 
but I run the risk of kicking, caneing, or pumping, 
nay, often hanging — Let me see ; I have com- 
mitted three burglaries to get one letter lo her — 
Now, if my master should not get the gipsey at 
last, I have ventured my sweet person to a fair 
purpose — But, Basta ! here comes my master 
and his friend Mr Hearty — I must hasten and 
get our disguises. 

And if dame Fortune fails us now to win her, 
Oh, all ye gods above ! the devil's in her. [Exit. 

Enter Rovewell and Hearty. 
Hear. Why so melancholy, captain.'' Come, 
Vol. III. 



come, a man of your gaiety and courage should 
never take a disappointment so much to heart. 

Rov. 'Sdeath ! to be prevented, v.-hen I had 
brought my design so near perfection ! 

Hear. Were you less open and daring in your 

attempts, you might hope to succeed The old 

gentleman, you know, is cautious to a degree; his 
daughter under a strict confinement : would you 
use more of the fox than the lion. Fortune, per- 
haps, might thruw an opportunity in your way — 
But you must have patience. 

Rov. Who can have patience \"lien danger is 
so near ? Read this letter, and then tell me v\ hat 
room there is for patience. 

[Hearty reads!] ' To-morrow will prevent all 
' our vain struggles to get to each other — I am 
' then to be married to my eternal aversion ! you 
' know the fop ; 'tis Cuckoo, who, having a large 
' estate, is forced upon me — but my heart can be 
' none but Rovewell's. Immediately after the 
' receipt of this, meet Betty at the old place ; 
* there is yet one invention left ; if you pursue it 

D 



'2h 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Caret. 



' closely, yon may pcrdaps release her, who would 

• bo your * AiiFTiii sa.' 

lim. Vcs, Arcthusa, 1 will release thee, or die 
in ilie attempt ! Dear iVieiul, excuse my rude- 
•iie»»; you know the reason. 

AIK. 

I'll face every danger 

To rescue my dear. 
For tear is a stranger, 

Where love is sincere. 
llcpiil>es hut fire us, 

l)( spair wc despisr, 
1\ heauty inspire us 

To pant for the prize. [Exit. 

Utar. Well, go thy way, and get her ; for 
iliou descrv'st her, o' my conscience — How have 
1 heen deceived in this hoy ! I find him the very 
reverse of w hat his step-mother represented him ; 
and am now sensible it was only her ill-usage that 
forcf (i my child away — His not having seen me 
since he was live years o\(], renders me a perfect 
stranger to him — Under that pretence I iiave got 
into his acquaintance, and find him all I wish — 
If this plot of his fails, I believe my money must 
buy him the girl at last. [Eiit. 

SCENE II. — A chamber in Argus's house. 

Aretiiusa sola. 

AIR. 

Are. See ! the radiant queen of night 

Sheds on all her kindly beams ; 
Gilds the plains with cheerful light, 

And sparkles in the silver streams. 
Smiles adorn the face of Nature, 

Tasteless all things yet appear, 
Unto inc a hopeless creature, 

In the absence of my dear. 

Enter Argus. 

Arg. Pray, daughter, wliat lingo is that same 
you chant and sputter out at this rate ? 

^4re. Engrt<-h, sir. 

jlrg. En- lish, quotha ! adod I took it to be 
nonsense. 

Are. 'Tis a hymn to the moon. 

Arg. A hymn to the moon ! I'll have none of 
your hyirins in my house — Give me the book, 
housewife. 

Arc. I hope, sir, there is no crime in reading a 
harmless poem ? 

Arg. Give nie the book, I say } poerns, with a 
pox ! what are tley good f(jr, but to blow up the 
fire of love, and meke young wenches wanton } — 
But I have taken care of you, mistress ! for to- 
jBorrow you shall have a husband to stay your 



stomach, and no less a person than 'squire 
Cuckoo. 

Are. You will not, surely, be so cruel as to 
marry me to a man I cannot love } 

Arg. Why, what sort of a man would you have, 
Mrs Minx.? 

AIR. 

Arc. Genteel in personage. 

Conduct, and equipage, 
Noble by hcrita^je. 

Generous and free; 
Ikave, not romantic ; 
Ixarncd, not pedantic ; 
Frolic, not frantic ; 

This must be he. 
Honour maintaining. 
Meanness disdaining. 
Still entertaining. 

Engaging and new. 
Neat, but not finical ; 
Sage, but not cynical ; 
Never tyrannical, 

But ever true. 

Arg. Why, is not Mr Cuckoo all this .' Ado(5. 
he's a brisk young fellow, and a little feather-bed 
(hjctrine will soon put the captain out of your 
head ; and, to put you out of his pov^'er, you shall 
be given over to the squire to-morrovv. 

Are. Surely, sir, you will at least defer it one 
day. 

Arg. No, nor one hour — To-morrow morning, 
at eight of the clock precisely — In the mean time, 
take notice, the squire's sister is hourly expected ; 
so, pray do you be civil and sociable w ith her, and 
let me have none of your pouts and glouts, as 
you tender my displeasure. [Exit Argus. 

Are. To-morrow is sluirt warning : but we may 
be too cunning for you yet, old gentleman. 



Enter Betty. 



fhat 



O Betty ! w clcome a thousand times ! 
news.? have you seen the captain } 

Bet. Yes, madam ; and if you were to see him 
in his new rigiiing, you'd split your sides with 
lauphinc: — Such a hoyden, such a piece of coun- 
try stuff, you never set your eyes on ! — But the 
petticoats are soon thrown otf; and if good luck 
attends us, you may easily conjure Miss Malkin, 
the squire's sister, into your o« n dear captain. 

Are. But when will they come.? 

Bet. Instantly, madam; he only stays to settle 
matters f(<r our escape. He's in deep consulta- 
tion with his privy-cotinsellor Robin, who is to 

attend him in the quality of a country put 

They'll both be here in a moment ; so let's in^ 
and pack up the jewels, that we may be ready 
at once to leap into the saddle of liberty, and 
ride full speed to your desires. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



ii/ 



Are. Dear Betty, let's make haste; I think 
every moment an age till I'm free from this 
bondage. 

AIR. 
When parents obstinate and cruel prove, 
And force us to a man we cannot love, 
*Tis fit we disajjpoint the sordid elves, 
And wisely get us husbands for ourselves. 

Bet. There they are in, in ! 

[A knocking wU/iout. 

Akgvs yrom above. 

Arg. You're woundy hasty, methinks, to knock 
at that rate — This is certainly some roiirtier come 
to borrow money ; 1 know it by the saucy rap- 
ping of the footman — Who's at the door ? 

Hob. Tummns ! \_\Vithout doors. 

Arg. Tummos ! Who's Tummos ? Who would 
you speak with, friend ? 

Rob. With young master's valher-in-law, that 
mun be, master llardguts, 

Arg. And what's your business with master 
Hardguts r 

Rob. Why, young mistress is come out of the 
country to see brother's wife, that mun be, that's 
all. 

Arg. Odso, the squire's sister ! I'm sorry I 
made her wait so long. [Exit basti/j/. 

SCENE III.— J chamber. 

AsiGVsintroducing'Rov^w'E.LL in uoman's clot hen, 
J'oltoued by Robin as a clown. 

Arg. Save you, fair lady ! you're welcome to 
town. [RovEWELL curtsci/s.] A very modest 
maiden, truly ! How long have you been in 
town ? 

Rob. Why, an hour and a bit or so we jui^t 

put up horses at King's Arms yonder, and staid 
a crum to zee poor things feed, for your London 
ostlers give little enough to poor beasts; an' yon 
stond not by 'em yourzell, and see 'em fed, as 
soon as your back's turned, adod, they'll cheat 
you afore your face, 

A7'g. Why, how now, Clodpate ? are you to 
speak before your mistress, and with your hat 
©n, too ? Is that your country-breeding ? 

Rob. Why, an' 'tis on, 'tis on, an' 'tis off, 'tis 
oft' — what cares Tummos for your false-hearted 
London compliments ? An' you'd have an answer 
fi'om young mistress, you mun look to Tummos; 
for she's so main bashful, she never speaks one 
word but her prayers, and thos'n so softly that 
nobody can hear her. 

Arg. I like her the better for that ; silence is 
a heavenly virtue in a woman, but very rare to 
be found in this wicked place. Have you seen 
your brother, pretty lady, since you came to 
town r [RovEWF.LL cartsci/s.] O, miraculous mo- 
desty ! would all women were thus ! Can't you 
speak, madam? [RovEvycLL cur tsei/s again.] 



Rob. An' you get a word from her, 'tis more 
nor she has spoken to us these fourscore and se- 
ven long miles; but young mistress will prate 
fast enough, an' you set her among your women 
volk. 

Arg. Say'st thou so, honest fellow ? I'll send 
her to those that have tongue enough, I'll war- 
rant you. Ilerc, Betty ! 

Enter Betty. 

Take this young lady to my daughter; 'tis squire 
Cuckoo's sister; and, d'ye hear."" make much of 
her, I charge you. 

Bet. Yes, sir Please to follow me, ma- 
dam. 

Rove. Now, you rogue, for a lie an hour and a 
half long, to keep the old fellow in suspence. 

[Aside to Robin. E.iit rcilh Betty. 
Rob. Well, master ! don't you think my mis- 
tress a dainty young woman } She's wonderfully 
bemircd in our country for lier shapes. 

Arg. Oh, she's a fine creature, indeed ! But, 
where's the squire, honest friend? 

Rob. Why, one cannot find a man out in this 
same Londonshire, there are so many taverns 
and chockling housen ; you may as wtil syek a 
needle in a hay fardel, as they say'n i' the coun- 
try. I was at squire's lodging yonder, and there 
was nobody but a prate-apace wliort^son of a 
foot-bov, and he told me maister was at a cliock- 
ling house, and all tlie while the vixori did no- 
thing but taunt and laugh at me : I'cod, I could 
have found in my heart to have gi'n him a good 
whirrit in the chops. So, I went to one chock- 
ling house, and t'other chockling-house, till I 
was quite weary; and I could see nothing but a 
many people supping hot suppiugs, and reading 
your gazing papers : we had much ado to find 
out your worship's house; the vixon boys set 
us o' thick side, and that side, till we were al- 
most quite lost; an' it were not for an honest 
fellow that knowed your worship, and set us in 
the right way. 

Arg. 'Tis pity they should use strangers so ; 
but as to your young mistress, does she never 
speak ? 

Rob. Adod, sir, never to a mon ; why, she 
wo'not speak to her own father, she's so main 
bashful. 

Arg. That's strange, indeed ! But how does 
my friend, sir Roger ? he's well, I hope ? 

Rob. Hearty still, sir — He has drunk down 
six fox-hunters sin last Lammas ! He holds his 
old course still ; twenty pipes a-day, a cup of 
mum in the naorning, a tankard of ale at noon, 
and three bottles of stingo at night. The same 
mon now he was thirty years ago ; and young 
squire Yedward is just come from varsity ; lavvd, 
he's mainly growd sin you saw him ! he's a fine 
proper tall gentleman now ; why he's near upon 
as tall as you or I, mun. 



2S 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Carey. 



Arf;, Good now, good now ! lint woulds't 
driniM honest ♦Vie.id. 

Riih. I (lui:**^ t-.iri an' 1 do, a bit or so; for, to 
My iiath, I'm moi:nl dry. 

Aig. iicio, Joini ! 

Enter Scnunt. 
Take- this honest Icilow down, and make him 
\vclr<»inc. Wlicn your misiress is ready to go, 
ut'i' c"iil you. 

hell. .'* Ii ! ]>rav, take rare and n\akc much of 
me, for I am i< bitter honest lellnw, an' you did 
but Inow nic \ Exit Robin, witli stri-aw/. 

Aif:. Tii'sr country tVh.iws arc very blnat, 
but \trv honest. I would fain iiear his mistress 
talk. i\r said she wcl.o find licr toniiuf wht-n 
^he was amoiriXst those of hrr oun sex. I'll go 
listen for oJice, and liear wliat the youuL: tits 
liave to say to one another. [Exit. 

Enter UovLwtLi, Arethisa, and Bitty. 

FiOTc. Dear Arethusa, delay not the time 
tlius; vdur father wiii certainly come in and sur- 
prise us. 

Eft. Let ui make Iriy while the sun shines, 
madam : I lonii to be out of this prison. 

^ire. So do I ; but net on the captain's condi- 
tions, to be iiis prisoner tor life. 

Roie. 1 shall ruii mad if you trifle thus: name 
your conditions; 1 sign my consent betore-hand. 

[^Kisses her. 

Are. Indeed, captain, I am afraid to trust 
vou. 

AIU. 

Cease to persuade, 

Nor say you love sincerely ; 
'^^ h. :n \ lu've betrayed, 

Yfiu'll treat me most severely, 

And fiy what once you did pursue, 
llapijy the fuir 

\v ho ne'er believes you, 
But gives despair. 

Or else deceives you. 

And learns inconstancy from you. 

RoTc. I'nkind Arethusa ! I little expected this 
Upagc from you. 

AIR. 

When did you see 

Any falsehood in me. 
That thus you unkmdly suspect me ? 

Speak, speak your mind ; 

For 1 fear you're inclined, 
In spite of my truth, to reject mc. 

If jt must be so, 

'I'o the wars I will po, 
V. bore da'.mer my [•a5^ion shall smother; 

I'd rather perish there, 



Than linger in despair. 
Or see you in the arms of another. 

Enter Argus, behind. 

So, so ! this is as it should be ; they are as 

gracious as ran be already How the young 

tit smuggles her ! Adod, she kisses with a hearty 
good-v.ill. 

Arc. I must confess, captain, I am half incli- 
ned to believe you. 

Ar^. Captain ! how is this ! bless my eye- 
siL,'it I I know the villain now ; but I'll be even 
V iili him. 

Hei. Dear madam, don't trifle so ; the parson 
is at 1 he very iie.\t door, you'll be tacked toge- 
ther in an in>tant ; and then I'll trust you to 
ci.'iiie back to your cage again, if you can do it 
with a safe conscience. 

Arg. Here's a treacherous jade ! but I'll do 
your business for you, Mrs Je/ebel. 

Bet. Consider, madam, what a life you lead 
here : what a jealous, ill-natured, watchful, cove- 
tous, barbarous, old euflof a father you have to 
deal with — ^Vhat a glorious opportunity this is, 
and w hat a sad, sad, very sad thing it is, to die a 
maid ! 

AU\. 

Would you live a stale ^irgin for ever? 

Sure you are out of your senses. 

Or these are pretences ; 
Can you part with a person so clever ? 

In trotli you are highly to blame. 
And you, my lover, to trifle; 

I thought that a soldier, 

Was \^iscr and bolder ! 
A warrior should plunder and rifle ; 

A captain ! Oh, fie for shame ! 

Arg. If that jade dies a maid, I'll die a mar- 
tyr. 

Bet. In short, madam, if you stay much lon- 
ger, you may repent it everv vein in your heart 
— Tile old hunks will undoubtedly pop in upon 
us and discover ail, and then we're undone for 
ever. 

Arg. You may go to the devil for ever, I\Irs 
hn[)ndence ! 

Arc. Well, captain, if you should deceive mc ! 

liov. If 1 do, may heaven 

Are. Nay, no swearing, captain, for fear you 
should prove like the rest of your sex. 

Eov. How can you doubt me, Arethusa, when 
you know how much I love you? 

Arg. A w hcedling dog ! But I'll spoil his sport 
anon. 

Bet. Come, come away, dear madam ! 1 

liave the jewrls ; but stay, I'll go first, and see if 
the coast be clear. [A kg is meftn her. 

Arg. Where are you a-going, pretty maiden .■' 

Bet, Only do — do— do — down stairs, sir. 



Garey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



C9 



Arg. And what hast thou got there, child ? 

Bet. Nothint; but pi — pi — pi — pin», sir, 

Arg. Here, give me the pins, and do you go to 
hell, Mrs Minx ! D'ye liear ? out of my house 
this moment! these are cliamber jades, f'orsootli ! 
— O lempora ! O mores ! what an age is this ! 
Get you in forsooth ; I'll talk with you anon. 
[£.rt^ Arethisa.] So, captain, are those your 
regimental clotlies ? I'll assure you they become 
you mightily. If you did but see yourself now, 
how much like a hero you look ! Ecce signum ! 
ha, ha, ha ! 

Rove. Blood and fury ! stop your grinning, or 
I'll stretch your mouth with a vcjigcance. 

Arg. Nay, nay, captain Belswagger, if you're 
so passionate, 'tis liigh time to call aid and as- 
sistance : here, Richard, Thomas, John ! help me 
to lay hold on this fellow ; you have no sword 
now, captain ; no sword, d'ye mark me .'' 

Enter Servants and Robin. 

Rov. But I have a pistol^ sir, at your eervice. 
[Fulls out a pistol. 

Arg. O Lord ! O Lord ! 

Rore. And I'll unload it in your breast, if you 
stir one step after me. 

A}-g. A bloody-minded dog ! But lay hold on 
that rogue there, that country-cheat. 



Roh. See here, gentlemen, are two little bull- 
dogs of the same breed {Presenting tuo pistols.) 

they are wonderful scourers of the brain ; so 

that, if you offer to molest or follow me you 

understand me, gentlemen ? you understand me ? 

1 Ser. Yes, yes ; we understand you, with a 
pox ! 

2 Ser. The devil go with them, I say ! 

A?^g. Ay, ay; good-l)ye to you, in the devil's 
name. — A terrible doi;, ! — what a fright he has 
put me in ! — I shan't be myself this month. And 
you, ye cowardly rascals ! to stand by and see my 
life in danger; get out, ye slaves! out of my 

house, I say ! I'll put an end to all this; for 

I'll not have a servant in the house. — I'll carry 
all the keys in my poclvot, and never sleep more. 
What a murdering son of a whore is this ! But 
I'll prevent him ; for to-morrow she siiall Ije 
married certainly, and then my furious gentle- 
man can have no hopes left. A Jezabel, to 

have a red-coat without any money ! — Had he 
but money — if he wanted sense, manners, or even 
manhood itself, it mattered not a pin ; — but to 
want money is the devil ! Well, I'll secure her 
under lock and key till to-morrow ; and if her 
husband can't keep her from ca{)tain-hunting, 
e'en let her bring him a fresh pair of horns every 
time she goes out upon the chase. [Exit. 



ACT IL 



SCENE I.— A Chamber. 



Arethusa discovered sitting 
couch. 

AIR. 



melancholy 'on a 



leave me to complain 
My loss of liberty ! 

1 never more shall see my swain, 

Nor ever more be free, 
O cruel, cruel Fate ! 

What joy can I receive, 
W^hen in the arms of one I hate, 

I'm doomed, ylas, to live .'' 
Ye pitying pow'rs above. 

That see my soul's dismay. 
Or bring me back the man I love, 

Or take my life away. 

Enter Argus. 

Arg. So, lady ! you're welcome liome ! — See 
how the pretty turtle sits moaning the loss of her 
mate ! — What ! not a woid, Thusy .■' not a word, 
child? Coinc, come; don't be in the dumps i;ow, 
and I'll fetch the cajj'ain, or the 'squire's sist<r : 

perhaps they may make it prattle a bit Ah, 

ungracious girl ! Is all my care come lo mis? is 
this tlie gratitude you show your uncle's memory, 
to throw away what he had bustled so hard for, 



at so mad a rate? Did he leave you 12,0001. 
think you, to make you no better than a soldier's 
trull ? to follow a camp ? to carry a knap- 
sack ? This is what you'd have, mistress, is it 
not ? 

Are. This, and ten thousand times worse, 
were better with the man 1 love, than to be 
chained to the nauseous embraces of one I 
hate. 

Arg. A very dutiful lady, indeed ! I'll make 
you sing another song to-morrow ; and, till then, 

I'll leave v(ni in salvu custodiu, to consider. 

B'ye, Ihusy ! 

Are. liow barbarous is the covetousness and 
caution uf ill-natured parents ! They toil for 
estates u'ith a view to make posterity happy ; and 
then, by a mistaken prudence, they match us to 
our aversion. But I am resolved not to suffer 
tamely, however. — They shall see, though my 
bodv's weak, my resolution's strong; and I iir.ty 
yet find spirit enough to plague them. 

AIR. 

Sooner than I'll my love forego. 

And lose clie inan I prize, 
I'll bravely couibat every woe, 

Or fail a sa? riiico. 
Nor bolts norbur.-> bliall me controul, 

I deaili and danger dare ; 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Caeey. 



llcstraint but fires tlic active soul, 

And unit's fiertc ili<ip:»ir. 
The window now shall be my gale, 

I'll cithrr fall <>r iU ; 
Before I'll live with him I liatc. 

Tor hiin I love I'll die. [Adiiu. 

SCENI-: II.— 7V(e Slreet. 
IIcAinY and Rovewell meeting. 

R(ir. So, mv dear friend, here already ? 

This is very kind. 

lltar. Sure, captain, this lady must have 
some extraordniary merit for whom you under- 
take such dirticulties ! What are her particular 
charms bosidcs her money ? 

Rove. I'll tell you, sir. 

AIR. — The uorils b)/ another hand. 

Without affectation, s^ay, youtliful, and pretty ; 
^Vithout pride or nuanuess, familiar and witty; 
\\'ithout forms, obliging, good-natured, and 

free ; 
Without art, as lovely as lovely can be. 
She acts what she thinks, and she thinks what 

she says. 
Regardless alike both of censure and praise ; 
Her thoughts, and her words, and lier actions 

are such, 
That none can admire them, or praise her, too 

much. 



Hear. Well, success attend you !- 



-You 



know where to find me when there's occasion. 

YFixit. 

Enter Boy. 

Hoy. Sir, sir ! I want to speak with you. 

Rove. Is your mistress locked up, say you .'' 

/>'()(/. Yes, sir, and Betty's turned away, and 
all the men-servants; and there's no living soul 
in the house hut our old cook-maid, and I, and 
my master, and MrsThusy; and she cries, and 
cries her eves out almost. 

Rove. () the tormenting news ! But if the gar- 
rison is so weak, the castle may be the sooner 
stormed. H(jw did you get out.? 

Hot/. Through the kitchen-window, sir. 

Rove. Show me the window presently. 

Boy. Alack-a-diiy, it won't do, sir ! That plot 
won't take ! 

Jioie. Why, sirrah ? 

Roj/. You are something too big, sir. 

Rove. I'll try that, however. 

Bot/. Indeed, sir, you can't get your leg in; but 
I cnul<l put you in a way. 

Ro7 e. How, dear hov ! 

Boi/. I can lend you the key of Mrs Thusy's 
chamber If you can contrive to get into the 



liousc But you must be sure to let my mis- 
tress out. 

Rore. How couldst thou get it ! This is almost 
a miracle. 

Boi/. I picked it out of my master's coat- 
pocket this morning, sir, as I was a-brushing 
him. 

Rove. That's my boy ! There's money for you : 
this child will come to good in time. 

Boi/. My master will miss me, sir, I must go; 
but 1 wish you good luck. \^Exit. 

AIR. 

Arethusa, at the window above. 

A dialogue bctucen her and Rovewell. 

Rove. Make haste and away, my only dear ; 

Make haste, and away, away ! 
For all at the gate. 
Your true lover does wait. 

And I prithee make no delay. 
Are. (J how shall I steal away, my love? 

() how sliall I steal away ? 
IMy daddy is near. 
And [ dare nut for fear ; 

Prav, come then another day. 
Rut. b this is the only day, my life! 

() this is the only day ! 
I'll draw him aside. 
While you throw the gates wide, 

And then you may steal away. 
Are. Then, prithee make no delay, my dear; 

Then, prithee make no delay : 
We'll serve him a trick ; 
Fur I'll slip in the nick. 

And with my true love away. 

Chorus. 

O Cupid, befriend a loving pair ! 

(J Cupid, befriend us, we pray ! 
JMay our stratagems take. 
For thine ow n sweet sake ; 

And, Amen ! let all true lovers say. 

[Arethusa withdraw.^. 

Enter Robin as a lawi/er, and soldiers. 

Rvv. .So, my hearts of oaks, are you all ready ? 

.Sold. Yes, an't please your honour. 

Rove. You know your cue then to your 

post. 

[They retire to a corner of the stage; he 
knocks smartly at the door. 

Rob. What, are you all asleep, or dead in the 
house, that you can't hear ? 

[Akgvs, holding the door in his hand> 

Arg. Sir, you are very hasty, methinks 

Riili. Sir, mv business rcf|iiircs haste. 

Arg. Sir, vou hail better make haste about it, 
for I know no business you have here. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



1 



Rob. Sir, I am come to talk with you on an 
affair of consequence. 

Arg. Sir, I don't love talking; I know you 
not, and consequently can have no affairs with 
you. 

Rob. Sir, not know me ! 

Arg. Sir, 'tis enough for mc to know myself. 

Rob. A damned thwarting old dog this same ! 
[.dsjrfe.] Sir, I hve but just in tiie next street. 

[To him. 

Arg. Sir ! if you lived at Jamaica, 'tis tlje 
same thing to me. 

Rob. [Aside.] I find coaxing won't do. I must 
change my note, or I shall never imkennel this 

old fox [To him.] Well, Mr Argus, there's 

no harm done, so take your leave of 3000l. You 
have enough of your own already. [Goi7>g. 

Arg. IIow ! 3000. ! I must inquire into this. 
[ylsiWf.] Sir, a word with you. 

Rob. Sir ! I have nothing to say to you. I 
took you to be a prudent person, that knew the 
worth of money, and how to improve it ; but, I 
find I'm deceived. 

Ai-g. Sir, I hope you'll excuse my rudeness ; 
but, yoH know, a man cannot be too cautious. 

Rob. Sir, that's true ; and, therefore, I excuse 
you ; but I'd take such treatment from no man 
in England besides yourself. 

Arg. Sir, I beg your pardon ; but, to the bu- 
siness. 

Rob. Why, thus it is : a spendthrift young fel- 
low is galloping through a plentiful fortune : I 
have lent 20001. upon it already; and, if you'll 
advance an equivalent, we'll foreclose the whole 
estate, and share it between us; for, I know, he 
can never redeem it. 

Arg. A very judicious man ; I'm sorry I af- 
fronted him. [Aside.] But how is this to be 
done } 

Rob. Very easily, sir. — A word in your ear; 
a little more this way. 

\^Draus him aside ; the soldiers get between 
him and the door.] 

Arg. But the title, sir, the title } 

Rob. Do you doubt my veracity .' 

Arg. Not in the least, sir; but one cannot be 
too sure. 

Rob. That's very true, sir ; and, therefore, I'll 
make sure of you. now 1 have you. 

[Robin trips up his heels; the soldiers blind- 
fold (ind gag him, and stand over him, 
a;A«7eRovEWELL carries Arethusa off'; 
after which, the\j leave him, he making 
a great noise. 

Enter Mob. 

All. What's the matter, what's the matter ? 

[They ungag him, SfC. 
Arg. O neighbours! I'm robbed and murdered, 
ruined, and undone for cer. 

1 Alob. Why, what's the matter, master .? 
Arg. TheiQ's » whole legion of thieves in my 



house ; they gagged and blindioldcd me, and of- 
fered forty naked swords at my breast 1 bcf 

of you to assist me, or they'll strip the house in 
a minute. 

2 Alob. Forty drawn swords, say you, sir } 
. Arg. i\y ; and more, I think, on my con- 
science. 

2 Mob. Then, look yon, sir, I'm a married 
man, and liave a large family ; I would not ven- 
ture amongst such a parcel of blood-thirsty rogues 
for the world ; but, if you please, I'll run and 
call a constable. 

All. Ay, ay ; call a constable, call a constable ! 

Arg. I shan't have a penny left, if we stay fof 

a ronstable 1 am but one man ; and, as old 

as I am, I'll lead the way, if you'll follow me. 

[Exit Aug. 

All. Ay, ay, in, in ; follow, follow ; iiuzza ! 

1 I\Iob. Prithee, Jack, do you go in, if you 
come to diat. 

4 ISIiib. I go in ! what should I go in for.'' I 
have lost nothing. 

Worn. What! nobody to help the poor old gen- 
tleman.'' odds bobs! if I was a man, I'd follow 
him myself. 

3 j\loh^ Wliy don't you, then } What occa- 
sionablcncss have I to be killed for him or you 
either ? 

Enter Robix, as constable. 

All. Here's Mr Constable, here's Mr Consta- 
ble ! 

Rob. Silence^ in the king's name ! 

All. Ay, silence, silence. 

Rob. What's the meaning of this riot? Who 
makes all this disturbance .'' 

1 Mob. I'll tell you, Mr Constable. 

3 Mob, An't please your worship, let me 
speak. 

Rob. Ay; this man talks like a man of parts 
— What's the matter, friend .■* 

8 Mob. An't please your noble worship's ho- 
nour and glory, we are his majesty's liege sub- 
jects, and v>cre terrified out of our habitations 
and dwelling-places, by a cry from abroad; which 
your noble worship must understand was occa- 
sionable by the gentleman of this house, who wa* 
so unfortunable as to be killed by thieves, who 
are now in his house to the numberation of above- 
forty, an't please your worship, all completely 
armed with powder and ball, back-swords, pis- 
tols, bayonets, and blunderbusses ! 

Rob. But what is to be done in this case ? 

3 Mob. Why, an please your worship, know- 
ing your noble honour to be the king's majesty's 
noble othcer of the peace, we thought 'twas best 
your honour should come and terrify these rogues 
away with your noble authority. 

Rob. Well said ; very well said, indeed ! 

Gentlemen, I am the king's officer, and I com- 
mand you, in the king's name, to aid and assist 
me to call those rogues out of the house — Who's 



BKITlSIl DRAMA. 



[Carev. 



within tlicro? I cliar<re you come out, in the 
Line's MUMic, ami submit yourselves to our royal 
authority. 

'i Mob. This is the ijcntlcnuui liiat was killed, 
aii't pkase your worship. 

Enter Aug us. 

Arg. O nciclibours ! I'm ruined and undone for 
ever ! Thcv have taken away all that's dear to 
me in tlic woild. 

1 Moll. 'I hat's his money ; 'lis a sad covetous 
doij. 

Rob. Why, what's the matter.'' What have 
they done ? 

Ari;. O, they have taken my child from me, 
my Thusy ! 

Rob. Good lack ! 

3 Mob. Marry come «p, what valuation can 
she be? iiut, have they taken nuthing cl*e .'' 

Arg. Would tlicy had stript my liousc of every 
peimyworth, so they had left my child ! 

1 Mob. That's a lie, I beli(;ve ; for he loves 
his money more than his soul, and wouid sooner 
part with that than a <iroat. 

Ai-g. This is the captain's doings, but I'll have 
him hansicd. 

Rob. But where are the thieves ? 

Arg. Gone, gone, beyond all hopes of pur- 
suit. 

2 ilfoi. What ! are they cone ? Then, come 
jiei^hbours, let us go in, and kill every mother's 
ciiild of them. 

Rob. Hold ; I charge you to commit no mur- 
der ; follow me, and we'll apprehend them. 

Arg. Go, villains, cowards, scoundrels, or I 
shall suspect you are the thieves that mean to rob 
me of what is yet left. How brave you are, now 
all the danger's over ! Oh, sirrah, you dog ! 
[looking at Roiiix.] you arc that rogue, Robin, 
the captain's man. Seize him, neighbours, seize 
}iim ! 

Rob. [Aside] I don't care what you do, for 
the job's over ; I see my master a-coming. 

Arg. Why don't you seize him, I say .'' 

Mob. Notwp; wc have lost too much time 
about an old fool already. 

2 Mob. Ay; the next time you're bound and 
gagged, you shall lie and be damned for me ! 

3 Mob. Ay, and me, too; come along, neigh- 
bours, come along. [Exeunt Mob. 

Enter RovEWELL, IIeaktt, Aretiiusa, and 
Betty. 

Arg. Bless me ! who have we got here? O 
Thusy ! Thusy ! I had rather nevei have seen 
thee again, than have found you in such com- 
pany. 



Are. Sir, I hope iriy husband's company is not 
criuiinal ! 

Arg. Your husband ! who's your husband, 
housewife ? that scoundrel ? Captain — Out of my 

sight, thou ungracious wretch ! I'll go make 

my will this instant and yon, you villain ! how 

dare you look me in the fftcc after all this.^ 
I'll have you hanscd, sirrah ! I will so. 

Hear. O fio, brother Argus ! moderate yonr 
passion. It ill becomes the friendship you owe 
Xod Worthy, to viHfy and atVront his only child, 
and lor no other crime than improving that friend- 
ship which has ever been between us. 

Arg. Ha! my dear friend alive I I heard thou 
wcrt dead in the Intlies — .And is that thy son ? ai\d 
my godson, too, if I am not mistaken.'' 

Hear. The very same — the last and best re- 
mains of our family ; forced by my wife's cruelly, 
and my absence, to the army. My wife is since 
dead, and the son she had by her former hus- 
band, u horn she intended to heir my estate ; but 
fortune guided me by chance to my dear boy, 
who, after twenty years absence, and changing 
my name, knew me not, till I just now discovered 
myself to him and your fair daughter, whom I 
will make him deserve by thirty thousand pounds, 
which I brought from India, besides what real 
estate I may leave at my death. 

Arg. And to match tliat, old boy, my daughter 
shall Ir.ive every penny of mine, besides her un- 
cle's legacy- Ah I y')u young rogue, had I 

known you, I would not have used you so rough- 
ly ! However, since you have won my girl so 

bravely, take her, and Mclcome But you must 

excuse all faults the old man meant all for 

the best ; you must not be angry. 

Rov. Sir, on the contrary, we ought to beg 
your pardon for the many disquiets we have given 
you ; and, with your pardon, we crave your bless- 
ing. [^'-^fV kneel. 

Arg. You have it, children, with all my heart. 
Adod, I a-.n so transported, I don't know whether 
I walk or fly ! 

Are. May your joy be everlasting ! 

RovEWELL and Arethcsa, embracing. 
DUETTO. 

Thus fondly caressing. 

My idol, my treasure^ 
How great is the blessing ! 

How sweet is the pleasure ! 
With joy I behold thee. 

And doat on thy charms ; 
Thus while I enfold thee, 

I've heaven in my arms, 

[Exeunt omnes. 



THE 

DEVIL TO PAY ; 

OR, 

THE WIVES METAMORPHOSED. 



COFFEY. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^ 



MEN. 



Sir John Loverule, an honest country gentle- 
man, beloved for his hospitality. 
Butler, 



J3UTLER, ~\ 

Cook, f 

Footman, » 
Coachman, ' 



servants to Sir John. 



JoBSON, a psalm-singing cobler, tenant to Sir 

John. 
Doctor. 



WOMEN. 

Lady Loverule, wife to Sir John, a proud, 
canting, brawling, fanatical shrew. 

T ' ; her maids. 
Lettice, S 

Nell, Jobson's wife, an innocent country girl. 

Tenants, servants. 



Scene — A country village. 



ACT L 



SCENE I.— The cohlers house. 



Jobson and Nell. 

Nell. Prithee, good Jobson, stay with me 
to-iiisht, and for once make merry at home. 

Job. Peace, peace, you jade, and go spin; for, 
if I lack any thread for my ititcliing, I will pu- 
nish you by virtue of my sovereiiiu authority. 

Ac//. Ay, marry, no doubt of that ; whilst you 
take your swing at the alehouse, spend your sub- 
stance, get drank as a beast, then come home 
hke a sot, and use one like a dog. 

Job. Nounz! do you prater Why, how now, 
brazen-face, do you speak ill of the government ? 

Vol. III. 



Don't you know, hussy, that I am king in niy 
own house, and tiiat this is treason against my 
majesty ? 

iVe//. Did ever one hear such stuff! But, I 
pray you now, Jobson, don't go to the alehouse 
to-night ! 

Job. Well, I'll humour you for once ; but don't 
grow saucy upon't ; for I am invited by sir John 
Loverule's butler, and am to be princely drunk 
with punch, at tlie hall place ; we shall have a 
bowl huge enough to swim in. 

Nell. But they say, husband, the new lady will noC 
suffer a stranger to enter her doors ; she grudges 
even a drauciit of small beer to her own servants; 



St 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Coffey. 



aiul several of the tenants liuvo come home witli 
brolen htiul> tVoni her lailvshipVowii haiuis, oiilv 
lor Muehin;; sin>ii>: heer in the house. 

Job. A |)ox on her for a I'amitical jade ! she 
has ahiiost distratteil the ^ood knii;tit : Ihit sheV 
now abroad, fea>tiiij; «ith lier relations, and will 
scarce < ome home tii-ni«;lit ; and wc are to havi 
much drink, a fiddle, and merry gambols ! 

Ac//. O dear inK-band ! ht me go witli you ; 
we'll be as merry as the ni>Jil'> lonj^ ! 

Joh. \\ hv, how now, you liokl ba<:!J;as:c ! wouhl 
Vou be carried to a company ot" Muootli-luced, 
eaiiii}:. (Irinkins, hizy hcrving-men .'' iio, no, you 
iade, I'll not l>e a cuckold. 

Ac//. I'm sure they would make nic welcome; 
vou promised I siiould see tiie house, and tlic ta- 
inily lias not been here before, since you married 
aiui brouulit me home. 

./(i/». W l)V, thou most audacious strumpet, dar'st 
thou dispute with me, thy lord and master? (^et 
\i\ and spm, or else my strap shall wind about 
thy ribs most coufoundedly. 

AIR.— The Twitdicr. 

He that has the best wife, 

She's the plague of liis life; 
But for her that will scold anil will quarrel, 

Let hin» cut her otl" short' 

Of her meat and her sport. 
And ten times a day hoop her barrel, brave boys ! 
And ten times a day hoop her barrel. 

Hdl. Well, we poor women must always be 
slaves, and never have any joy ; but you men 
run and ramble at your pleasure. 

Job. ^^'hy, you most pestilent baggage, will you 
be hooped ? Be iione. 

Nell. I must obey. {Going. 

Job. Stay ! now 1 think on't, here's sixpence 
for vou ; Ket ale and apples, stretch and pntf thy- 
self up with lanib's-wool, rejoice and revel by thy- 
self, be drunk, and wallow in thy own sty, like a 
grumbling sow as thou art. 

He that has the best wife, 

She's the plague of his life, S)-c. [Exeunt. 

SCENE H. — Sir Jonx's Iiouse. 

Bi'TLER, Cook, Footman, Coachmax, Lucy, 
Letticl, Lye. 

Bui. I would the blind fidfller and our dancing 
neiiihlionrs were hcic, that we mi;;iit rtjoice a 
little, while our termagant lady is abroad ; I have 
muflc a most soverei'in bowl of ])imcli. 

Lkcij. Wc had need rejoice s^J|^etimes, for 
our devilish new lady will never suffer it in her 
hearing. 

But. I will maintain, there is more mirtii in a 



•galley, than in onr fsimily : Our master, indeed, 
is ihr worthiest fteniU-man notlimg but sweet- 
ness and lil)erality. 

Foot. Hut liere's a house turned topsy-turvy, 
from heaven to hell, since she <an>e hither. 

Liny. His former lady was all virtue and mild- 
ness. 

But. Ay, rest l)er soul, she was so ; but this 
is inspired with a lf;^ion of devils, who make her 
lay about her like a liny. 

Lucij. 1 am sure I aU\ays feel her in my bones: 
if her complexion don't please her, or she looks 
yellow in a morninu, I am sure to look black and 
blue for it before mght. 

Cook. Fox on her! I dare not come within her 
reach. I have some six broken heads already. 
A lady, quotha ! a she-bear is a civilcr animal. 

Foot. Heaven help my poor mastc:r ! liiis de- 
vilish term;.;j.ant scolding woman w ill be the death 
of him ; I never saw a man so altered all the days 
of my lite. 

Cook. There's a perpetual motion in that tongue 
of hers, ;md a d.iinnr cl siirill pipe, enough t» 
break the drum of a man's ear. 

Enter blind Fiddler, Jobsox, and neighbours. 

But. Welcome, welcome all ; this is our wish ! 
Honest old acquaintance, goodman Jobsou ! how 
dost thou ? 

Job. By my troth, I am always sharp set to- 
wards punch, and am now come with a firm re- 
solution, though but a poor cobler, to be as rich- 
ly drunk as a lord. I am a true English heart, 
and look upon drunkenness as the best part i/f 
the liberty of the subject. 

But. Come, Jobson, we'll bring out our bowl 
of punch in solemn procession ; and then for a 
song to crown our happiness. 

[Thej/ all go out, and return uith a bout of 
punch.] 

AHl. — Charles ofSueden. 

Come jolly Bacchus, god of wine, 
Crown this nii:hr with pleasure; 

Let none at cares of life repine, 
To destroy our pleasure : 

Till up the mitihty sparkling bowl, 

Tliat every true and loyal soul 

JMnv drink and sing without controul, 
To support our pleasure. 

Thn=, mighty Bacchus, shalt thou be 

Guardian of our pleasure; 
That, under thy protection, we 

May enjoy new pleasure. 
And as the hours elide away. 
We'll, in thy name, invoke their stay, 
And sing thy praises, that wc may 

Live and die with pleasure. 



Coffey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



35 



But. The king and the royal family, in a brim- 
mer ! — 

AIR. 

Here's a good health to the kins;, 
And send him a pn)S|)cri)ns reiiin ; 

O'ev hilis and iii^ih mountains, 

We'll drink dry the tountains, 
Until tiie sun rises asjain, brave hoys ! 
Until the sun rises again. 

Then, here's to thee, my boy boon, 
And here's to thee, my boy boon ; 

As we've tarried all day 

For to drink down the sun, 
So we'll tarry anti drink down the moon, brave 

boys ! 
So we'll tarry and drink down tiic moon. 

Omnes. Wu/r-x ! 

Enter Sir John, and Lady. 

Lady. O Hea\en and earth ! What's here with- 
in my doors.' Is hell broke loose? What troops 
of fiends are here ? 8irrah, you impudent rascal, 
speak ! 

Sir John. For shame, my dear ! As this is 

a time of mirth and joility, it has always betii 
the custom of my house, to give my servants li- 
berty in this season, and to treat my country 
neighbours, that with innocent sports they may 
•divert themselves. 

Ludij. I say, meddle with your own affaiis ; I 
will govern my own house, without your putting 
in an oar. Shall 1 ask leave to correct my own 
servants } 

Sir John. I thought, madam, this had been 
my house, 'and these my tenants and servants. 

Lady. Did I bring a fortune, to be thus abused, 
and snubbed before people ? Do you call my au- 
thority in question, ungrateful man ? Look you 
to your dogs and horses abroad, but it shall be 
my province to govern here ; nor will I be con- 
trouled by e'er a hunting, hawking knighc in 
Christendom. 

AIR. — Set by Mn Seedo. 

■nS(V John. Ye gods ! you gave to me a wife, 

Out of your grace and favour, 
To be the comfort of my life. 

And I was glad to have her : 
But if your Providence Divine, 

For greater bliss design her, 
To obey your wills at any time 

I am ready to resign her. 

This it is to be married to a continual tempest. 
Strife and noise, canting and hypocrisy, are eter- 
nally afloat. — Tis impossible to bear it long. 
Lady. Ye filthy scoundrels, and odious jades! 



I'll teach you to junket thus, and steal my provi- 
sions; 1 shall be devoured at this rate. 

But. 1 thouiilit, madam, we might be merry 
once upon a holiday. 

Lady. Holiday, you popish cur ! Is one day 
more holy than another? and if it be, you'll be 
sure to get drunk upon it, you rogue ! \^Bcats him.^ 
You minx, yon impudent Hirt, are you jigging it; 
after an abominable fiddle? all dancing is whorish, 
hussy ! \_Lu<i)i her by the ears. 

Lucy. O hid ! she has pulled off both my ears. 

Sir John. Pray, madam, consider your sex and 
quality ! I blush for your behaviour. 

Lady. Consider your incapacity ; you shall not 
instruct me. Who are you, thus muflled ? you 
buzzard ! \_Shc beats them alt ; .FousoN steals by. 

Job. I am an honest, jilain, psahn-sin^ing cob- 
bler, madam; if your ladysliip would but go to 
church, you might hear me above all the rest 
there. 

Lady. I'll try thy voice here first, villain ! 

[Strikes him. 

Job. Nounz ! what a pox, what a devil ails 
you ? 

Lady. O profane wretch ! wicked varlet ! 

Sir John. For shame ! your behaviour is mon- 
strous ! 

Lady. Was ever poor lady so miserable in a 
brutish husband as I am ? I, that am so pious, and 
so religious a woman ! 

Job. [Sings.] He that has the best wife. 
She's the pla'juc of his life, 
But for her that will scold and will quarrel — ■ 

[E.iit Job. 

J^udy. O rogue, scoundrel, villain ! 

Sir John. Remember modesty. 

iMily. I'll rout you all with a vengeance; I'll 
spoil your squeaking treble. 

[Beats t lie fiddle about the blind ma7i's head. 

Fid. O murder, murder! I am a dark man; 
which way shall 1 get hence ? Oh Ilcav en ! she 
has broke my fiddle, and undone me and my wife 
and children. 

Sir John. Here, poor fellow ! take your stafF 
and be gone: There's money to buy you two such; 
that's your way. [Exit fiddler. 

Lady. Methinks you are very liber il, sir; must 
my estate maintain you in your profuseness ? 

Sir John. (Jo up to your closet, pray, and com- 
pose your mind. 

Lady. O wicked man ! to bid me pray ! 

Sir John. A man can't be completely curst, I 
see, without marriage ; but, since there is such 
a thing as separate maintenance, she shall t»t 
morrow enjoy the benefit of it. 

AIR. — Of all comforts I miscarried. 

Of the states in life so various, 
Marriage, sure, is most precarious; 
'Tis a ma/e so strangely winding, 
Still we arc new mazes finding; 



56 



BUITISII DRAMA. 



[Coffey. 



Tis an action so severe, 
That nought but death can set ns clear. 
Ilappv's the man, fnun wedlock tree, 
\\ ho kiiou!, to pruc lii^ liberty : 

^\ ere man v\arv 

How they niarrv, 
\Vc hhould not be by half so full of misery. 

[Knocking at tftf diHir.] Here, where arc my ser- 
vants? Must they be tVi;4hted from me? — Wiihin 
then — see who linoiks. 

LaJi/. Within there ! — Wlu re are my sluts ? Ye 
drabs, ye queans — Lights there ! 

Enter Scnwits srieakini:, rcith candles. 
But. Sir, it is a doctor that lives ten miles off; 
lie practises physic, and is an astrologer : your 
worship knows liiin very well ; he is a cniinint: 
man. mukes almanacks," and can help people to 
their goods again. 

Enter Doctor. 

Doc. Sir, I humbly beg your honour's pardon 
for this un>-casonable intrusion ; but I am be- 
nighted, and 'tis so dark that 1 can't possibly find 
my way home ; and knowing your worship's hos- 
pitality, desire the favour to be harboured under 
your roof to-nighl. 

Lady. Out of my house, you lewd conjurer, you 
magician ! 

Doc. Here's a turn !— Here's a chanL'e ! — Well, 
if i have any art, ye shall smart for fiiis. [Aside'. 

Sir John. You see, friend, I am not master of 
my own house; therefore, to avoid any uneasi- 
ness, go down the lane about a quarter of a mile, 
and you'll see a cobler's cottage; stay there a 
little, and I'll j^cnd my servant to conduct you to 
a tenant's house, where you'll be well entertain- 
ed. 

Doc. I thank you, sir ; I'm your most humble 
servant.— But, as tor your lady theje, she shall 
this nisht feel my resentment. ' [Exit. 

Sir John. Come, madam ; you and I must have 
some conference together. 

Ladif. Yes, I will have a conference and a re- 
formation, too, in this house, or I'll turn it up- 
side down — I will. 

AIR. — Contented country farmer. 

Sir John. Grant me, ye powers, but this request, 
And let who will the world contest- 
Convey her to some distant shore, 
Where I may ne'er behold her mure : 
Or let mo to some cottage llv. 
In freedom's arras to live and die. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 111.— The Cobler's. 

Nell", and the Doctor. 
Nell. Pray, sir, mend vonr draught, if you 
please ; you are very welcome, sir. 



Doc. Thank you heartily, good woman, and 
to requite your civility, I'll tell you your fortune. 

Ac//. O, pray do, sir; I never had my fortune 
told me in my life. 

Doc. Let me behold the lines of your face. 

A'c//. I'm afraid, sir, 'tis none of the cleanest; 
I have been about dirty work all this day. 

Doc. ( 'omc, come, 'tis a good face'; be not 
ashamed of it; you shall shew it iu greater places 
suddenly. 

Nell. () dear sir, I shall be mightily ashamed! 
I want dacity when I come before great folks. 

Doc. You must be confident, and fear no- 
thing; there is nuich happiness attends you. 

Nell. Oh me ! this is a rare mau ! Heaven be 
thanked ! 

Doc. To morrow, before sunrise, you shall be 
the happiest woman in this country. 

Ne/l. How! by to-inorrow ? alack-a-day ! sir, 
how can that be f 

Doc. No more shall you be troubled with a 
surly tiusband, that rails at, and straps you. 

Nrll. Lud ! how came he to know that? he 
must be a conjurer ! Indeed my husband is some- 
wjiat rugged, and in his cups will beat me, but 
it is not much. He's an honest pains-taking man, 
and I let him have his way. Pray, sir, take the 
other cup of ale. 

Doc. I thank you. — Believe me, to-raorrovy 
you shall be the richest woman in the hundred, 
and ride in y<»ur own coach. 

AW/. O father! you jeer me. 

Doc. Ry my art, I do not. But mark my 
words ; be confident, and bear all out, or worse 
will follow. 

Nrll. Never fear, sir, I warrant you O 

gemini ! a coach ! 

AIR. — Send home my long'Strayed eyes. 

My swelling heart now leaps for joy, 
And riches all my thoughts employ; 
No more shall people call me Nell, 
Her ladyship will do as well. 
Decked in my golden, rich array, 
I'll in my cliariot roll away. 
And shine at ring, at ball, and play. 

Enter Jobso\. 

Job. Where is tins quean ? Here, Nell ! W'hat 
a [)ox, are y m drunk with your lainb's-wool ? 

Nell. O husband ! here's the rarest man — he 
has told mc mv fortune ! 

Job. Has he so ? and planted my fortune, too ! 
a lusty pair of horns upon my head !— Eh.?— Is 
it not so? 

Doc. Thy wife is a virtuous woman, and thou 
wilt be happv. 

Job. Coine out, you hang-dog, you jugcler, Toii 
chcatins, bamboo/ling villain ! must I be cuckold- 
ed by such ro_^ues as you arc ? mackmaticians, 
and almanack-makers ! 



Coffey ] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



52 



Nell. Prithee, peace, husband ! we shall be 
rich, and have a coach of our own. 

Job. A coach ! a cart, a uliecl-barrow, you 
jade ! — By the niackin, she's drunk, bloody drunk, 
most confoundedly drunk ! — Get you to bed, you 
strumpet. ' [Beats her. 

Nell. O, mercy on us ! is this a taste of my 
good fortune ? 

Doc. You had better not have touched her, 
you surly rogue. 

Job. Out of my house, you villain, or I'll run 
my awl up to the handle in your body ! 

Doc. Farewell, you paltry slave ! 

Job. Get out, you rogue ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Changes to an open country. 
DocTon. 

AIR. — The spirit's song in Macbeth. 

My little spirits now appear, 
Isadir and Abishog draw near. 
The time is short, make no delay. 
Then quickly haste, and come away : 
Nor moon, nor stiirs afford their light. 
But all is wrapt in gloomy night : 
Both men and beasts to rest mcline, 
And all things favour my design. 

Spirits. [Within.] Say, master, what is to be 
done .? 

Doct. My strict commands be sure attend. 
For, ere this night shall have an end. 
You must this cobler's wife transform. 
And, to the knight's, the like perform : 
With all your most specific charms, 
C6nvey each wife to different arms; 
Let the delusion be so strong. 
That none may know the right from wrong. 
jjr-.i- ^ AH this we will with care perform, 
* ( In thunder, lightning, and a storm. 

[Thunder. 



SCENE V. — Changes to the cobler's house. 
SON at uork. The bed in view. 



JOB- 



Job. What devil has been abroad to-night? I 
never heard such claps of thunder in my life. I 
thought my little hovel would have tluwn away ; 
but now all is clear again, and a fine star-light 
morning it is. I'll settle myself to work. They 
say winter's thunder brings summer's wonder. 

AIR. — Charming Sally. 

Of all the trades from east to west. 
The cobler's, past contending. 

Is like in time to prove the best. 
Which every day is mending. 



IIow great his praise who can amend 
The soals of all his neighbours, 

Nor is unmindful of his end, 
But to his last still labours ! 

Lady. Heyday ! what impudent ballad-singing 
rogue is that, who dares wake me out of luy 
sleep? I'll have you flead, you rascal ! 

Job. What a pox ! does she talk in her sleep? 
or is she drunk still ? [Sings. 

AIR. — "Now ponder uell, ye parents dear. 

In Bath, a wanton wife did dwell, 

As Chaucer he did write. 
Who wantonly did spend her time 

In many a fond delight. 
All on a time sore sick she was, 

And she at length did die, 
And then her soul at paradise 

Did knock most mightily. 

Lady. Why, villain, rascal, screech-owl ! who 
makest a worse noise than a dog hang in the 
pales, or a hog in a high wind ; \» here are all 
my servants ? Somebody come, and hamstring this 
rogue. [Knocks. 

Job. Why, how now, you brazen quean ! You 
must get drunk with the conjurer, must you ? I'll 
give you money another time to spend in lambs- 
wool, you saucy jade, shall I? 

Lady. Monstrous ! I can find no bell to ring. 
Where are my servants ? They shall toss him in 
a blanket. 

Job. Ay, the jade's asleep still; the conjurer 
told her she should keep her coach, and she is 
dreaming of her equipage. [Sj'ngs. 

I will come in, in spite, she said, 

Of all such churls as thee, 
Thou art the cause of all our pain, 

Our grief and misery. 
Thou first broke the commandement. 

In honour of thy wife : 
When Adam heard her say these words, 

He ran away for life. 

I^dy. ^^'hy, husband ! Sir John ! will you 
suffer me to be thus insulted ? 

Job. Husband ! Sir John ! what a-pox, has she 
knighted me ? And my name's Zekel too ! a good 
jest, faith ! 

Lady. Ha ! he's gone ; he is not in the bed. 
Heaven! where am I? Fob! what loathsome 
smells are here? Canvas sheets, and a filthy ragr 
ged curtain ; a beastly rug, and a tlock-bed. Amj 
1 awake? oris it all a dream ? What rogue is 
that? Sirrah! Where am I? Who brought me 
hither? What rascal are you ? 

Job. This is amazing ! I never heard such words 
from her before. If I take my strap to you, I'll 
make you know your husband. I'll teach yun 
better manners, you saucy drab ! 



38 



BRirrSII DRAMA. 



[Coffey, 



ImiIv. Oh, astoni>liins; ImpiiHonrc ! Ymi my 
Jiiisl)ai.(l, >irriili ? I'll have yon li;mt:od, you r(i;;iic ! 
I'm n ladv. Ix?t lue know vvlio has t;ivcii iiio a 
sittj)iii>:-(liaui:lit, ami coincyoil iiic hither, you 
dirty vailet ? 

Job. A sleepiiiji-drautht ! yes you drunken 
jade ; vou liad a sleL|>iuj;-drau';iit wilii-a-pox Id 
Vi>u. W liat, has nut your lauihb-v>ool duno work- 
ing yet ? 

Ludi/. Whc TO am I ? Where has my villainons 
husband put nic? Lucy ! Letticc ! Where are mv 
ijucans ? 

Jol>. Ha, hii, ha! what, docs she call her 
niaiiis, t(»o? 1 he conjuror has made her mad as 
veil as dnnik. 

Ladi/. He talks of conjurors ; sure I am be- 
witched. Iln ! what clothes are here? alindscy- 
woolsi V sown, a calico hood, a red bays petti- 
coat ! I am removed from my own house bv 
viithcralt. What must 1 do? What will become 
of me? [ifrt;7!s uind uif/'viif. 

Job. Hark! the hunters and the merry horns 
art- abroad. Why >.eil, you lazy jade, 'tis break 
of day ! to work, to work ! come and spin, you 
drab, or I'll tan your hide for you ! What-a-pox, 
must 1 be at work two hours before you in a 
morning ? 

Ludii. Why, sirrah, thou impudent villain, dost 
tlum nf>t know me, you rouue ? 

Job. Know you ! yes, I know you v^•cll enough, 
and I'll make you know me before I have done 
■witii you. 

Ludi/. I am fcir John Loverule's lady ; how 
came I here ? 

Job. .*?ir .lohn Loverule's lady ! no, Nell ; not 
quite so bad, neither; that danuied slin2:y, fana- 
tic whore, plagues every one that conies neai" her; 
the whole countiy curses her. 

I^adtf. Nay, tlien, I'll hold no lonijer; you rooue ! 

you in-olent villaui ! I'll teach you better maiuicrs. 

[jF/i//^'ji the bcdituff, and other things, at him. 



Jnb. This is more (ban ever I saw liy her; I 
never had an ill word from her before. Come, 
strap, I'll try your mettle; I'll sober you, I war- 
rant you, quean. [He strnps her, she flics at him, 

Lndi/. I'll pull your throat out; I'll tear out 
your eyrs! I am a lady, sirrah, i) murder! 
murdt r ! Sir John Loverule will hang you for 
thit! ; murder ! murder ! 

Ji.b. Come, hussy, leave fooline, and come to 
vour spinning, f>r eUc I'll lamb you ; you ne'er was 
so lambed since you were an inch long. Take it 
up. ynu jade. [She Jliin'x it doun, he straps htr. 

].'<idj/. Hold, iiold ! i'll do any thing 

Job. Oh ! I thought I should bring you to your- 
self auain. 

T.adi/. What shall I do ? I can't spin. [Aside. 

Job. I'll into my stall ; 'tis broad day, now. 

[ Works and sin^s. 

AHl. — Come, let us prepare. 

Let matters of state 

Dibqiiict the great. 
The cobler has nought to perplex him; 

Has nought but his wife 

To ruliie iiis life. 
And her he can strap if she vex him. 

He's out of the power 

Of fortune, that whore, 
Since low as can be she has thrust him; 

From duns he's secure, 

Por being so poor, 
There's none to be found that will trust him. 

Heyday, I think the jade's brain is turned ! What, 
have yi>u forgot to spin, luissy ? 

Lad)/. [Jut I have not forgot to run. I'll e'cu 
try my feet; I shall lind somebody in the town, 
sure, that will succour hk;. [She runs out. 

Job. What, docs she run for it ? I'll after her. 

[He ru?is out. 



ACT IL 



SCENE I. — changes to Sir John's house. 

Nell in bed. 

"Ndl. What pleasant dreams I have had to- 
nigiu I Mcthought I was in paradise, upon a bed 
of vi(jlets and roses, and the sweetest husband 
by my side ! Ha ! bless me, where am I now ? 
AV hat sweets are these ? No garden in the spring 
can equal them ; Am I on a bed ? The sheets are 
sarsenet sure I no linen ever was so fine. What 
a cay, silken robe have I got ? O Heaven ! I 
dream ! Yet, if this be a dream, I would not wish 
to wake again. Sure, I died last night, and went 
to Heaven, and this is it. 

Enter Lucv. 

Lucy. Now must T awake an alarm, that will 
not lie still again till midnight, at soonest ; the 



first greeting, I suppose, will be jade, or whore. 
Marlam ! madam I 

Nell. O gemini ! who's this? What dost say, 
sweetheart ? 

Liuy. Sweetheart! Oh lud, sweetheart! the 
best names I have had these three months from 

her, have been slut, or whore. What gown 

and ruflles will your ladyship wear today ? 

Ne/l. What does she mean ? Ladyship ! gown ! 
and ruftles ! Sure 1 am awake : Oh ! I remember 
the cunning man now. 

Liici/. Did your ladyship speak ? 

Nell. Ay, child ; I'll wear the same I did yes» 
terday. 

Lucy. IVJercy upon me ! — Child ! — Here's a 
miracle ! 

Enter Lettice. 

J^et. Is my lady awake ? Have you had her 
shoe or her slijiper flung at your head yet ? 



€oFFEY.3 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



Lucy. Oh no, I'm overjoyed ; she's ii> the kind- 
est humour ! go to the bed, and speak to lier ; 
now is your time. 

Le?. Now's my time ! what, to have another 
tooth beat out ! Madam ! 

Nell. VVliat dost say, my dear? O father ! 

what would she have ! 

Let. What work will vour ladyship please to 
have done to-day ? Shall I work pluin-work, or 
go to my stitchins; ? 

iVt//."Work, child! 'tis holiday; no work to- 
day. 

Let. Oh mercy ! am I, or she awake ? or do 
we both dream ? Here's a blessed change ? 

Z«CJ/. If it continues, we shall be a happy fa- 
mily. 

Let. Your ladyship's chocolate is ready. 

Nell. jNIcrcy on me ! what's ti^at ? Some gar- 
ment I suppose ? \jhide.^ — Put it on then, sweet- 
heart. 

Let. Put it on, madam! I have taken it off; 
'tis ready to drink. 

Nell. I mean, put it by; I don't care for drink- 
ing now. 

Enter Cook. 

Cook. Now go I like a bear to the stake, to 
know licr scurvy ladvship's commands about din- 
ner. How m:my rascally nan)cs imist 1 be railed. 

I^et. Oh, Jolm Cook ! you'll be out of your 
wits to find my lady in so sweet a temper. 

Cook. What a devil! are tiiey all mad.? 

Lucy. Madam, here's the cook come about 
dinner. 

Nell. Oh ! there's a fine cook ! He looks like 
one of your gentlefolks. [^Aaidc.^ — Indeed, honest 
man, I'm very hungry now; pray get me a rasher 
upon tlie coals, a piece of one milk cheese, and 
some white bread. 

Cook. Hey ! what's to do here ? my head turns 
round. Honest man ! I looked for ro'jue or ras- 
cal, at least. She's strangely chansod in her diet, 
as well a? her humour. \^Aside.\ — I'm afraid, ma- 
dam, cheese and bacon will sit very heavy on your 
ladyship's stomach, in a morning. If you please, 
inadam, I'll toss you upa white frirasee of chick- 
kens in a trice, madam ; or what does your lady- 
ship think of a veal sweetbread .'' 

Nell. E'en what you will, good cook. 

Cook. Good cook! good cook! Ah! 'tis a 
sweet lady ! 

Enter Butler. 
Oh ! kiss me, Chip, I am out of my wits: W^e 
have the kindest, sweetest lady ! 

But. You shamming rogue, I think you are out 
of your wits, all of ye; the maids look merrily, 
too. 

Imci/. Here's the butler, madam, to know your 
ladyship's orders. 

Nell. Oli ! pray ^Ir Butler ! let me have some 
»mali-beer when my breakfast comes in. 



But. Mr Butler! Mr Butler! T shall be turned 
into stone widi amazement! [J.svV/t.] — Would not 
your ladyship rather have a glass of Frontiniac, 
or I.acryme.' 

Nell. O dear ! what hard names are there ! 
but I must not betray myself. [Jsicie.] — Well, 
which you please, Mr Butler. 

Enter Coachman. 

But. Go, get you in, and be rejoiced as I am. 

Couch. The cook has been making his game I 
know not how long. What, do you banter, too? 

Lucy. Madam, the coachman. 

Coach. I come to know if your ladyship goes 
out to-day, and which you'll have, the coach or 
chari(H. 

Nell. Good lack-a-day ! I'll ride in the coach, 
if you please. 

Coach. The sky will fall, that's certain. {Exit. 

Nell. I can hardly think I am awake yet. How 
well pleased they all seem to wait upon me ! O 
notable cuiming man ! My head turns round ! I 
am (juite giddy with my own liappiness. 

AIR. — TTVia^ though I am a country lass. 

Though late I was a cobler's wife, 

In cottage most obscure-a. 
In plain stult-gown, and short-eared coif. 

Hard labour did endure-a; 

The scene is changed, I'm altered quite, 

And from poor humble Nell-a. 
I'll learn to dance, to read, and write, 

And from all bear the bell-a. {Exifi 

Enter Sir John, meeting his servants. 

But. Oh, sir ! here's the rarest news ! 

Luci/. There never was the like, sir ! you'll be 
overjoyed and amazed. 

Sir John. What, are ye mad? %Vhat's the mat- 
ter with ye ? How now ! here's a new face in my 
family; what's the meaning of all this? 

But. Oh, sir ! the family's turned upside down. 
We are almos-t distracted ; the happiest people ! 

Lucy. Ay, my lady, sir, my lady. 

Sir John. What, is she dead? 

But. Dead ! Heaven forbid ! 01 she's the best 
woman, the sweetest lady ! 

Sir John. This is astonishing ! I must go and 
inriuire into this wonder. If this be true, 1 shall 
rejoice indeed. 

But. Tis true, sir, upon my honour. Long 
live sir John and my lady ! huzza ! 

Enter Nell. 

Nell. I well remember tlie cunning man warn- 
ed me to bear all out with confidence, or worse, 
he said, would follow. I am ashamed, and know 
not v.hat to do with all this cereni.my : I am 
amazed, and out of my senses. I looked in the. 



40 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Coffey. 



fla^s, nnd saw a <niy fine thins I ^new not ; inc- 
thouclit my lace «As not at all like tiiat I Jiave 
seen at lionie, in a piece of loukinii-tjiass /astened 
iipiin the ciip-l)oar(). Hut L-reai ladies, they say, 
have Jhutering-jjliissc-s that shew them fur unhkc 
themselves, whilst poor folks glassea represent 
tiiem e'en just as they arc. 

AIR. — W/wn I was a dame of honour. 
Fine ladies, with an artful grace, 

Disijuise each native f«;ature; 
Whilst flattcrini; glasses shew the face. 

As made by art, not nature; 
But we poor folks in home-spun grey, 

liy patch nor washes tainted, 
Look fresh and sweeter far than they, 

That still are lineiy painted. 

Lucy. O madam ! here's my master just rc- 
Mrncd from liuntiiii'. 

Enter Sir John. 

Kell. O gemiiii ! this fine gentleman my hus- 
band ! 

Sir John. My dear, I am overjoyed to see my 
family thus transported with exstasy which you 
occasioned. 

Kelt. Sir, I sliall always be proud to do every 
thmj:, that may give you delight, or your family 
satisfaction. 

Sir John. By Heaven, I am charmed ! dear 
creature, if thou continuest thus, I had rather 
enjoy thee than the Indies. But can this be real? 
May I believe mv senses ? 

Nell. All that's good above can witness for me 
I am in earnest. [Kneels. 

Sir John. Rise, my dearest ! Now am I happy 

indeed ^^ here are my friends, mv servants? 

call them all, and let them be witnesses of mv 
happiness. r^j.^/ 

hell. O rare, sweet man ! he smells all o\er 
like a nosegay. Heaven preserve my wits ! 

^^IR — 'Tzcus uithin a furlong, S^c. 
Nell. O charming cunning man ! thou hast been 
wondrous kind, 
Aiid all thy golden words do now prove 
true, I find ; 
Ten thousand transports wait, 
To crown my happy state. 
Thus kissed, and pressed, 
And doubly blessed 
In all this pomp and state: 
New scenes of joy arise, 
Which fill inr with surprise; 
My rock, and reel. 
And spinnint;-wheel, 
And husband 1 despise; 
1 hen .lobson, now adieu, 
Thy cobline still pursue, 
for hence I will not, cannot, no, nor must not, 
buckle to. ^Erit. 



SCENE II.— Jobson's houte. 
Enter Ladv. 
ImcIi/. Was ever lady yet so miserable > I can't 
make one soul in the village acknowledge me; 
they sure are all of the conspiracy. This wicked 
husband of mine has laid a devilish plot against 
nie. I must at present submit, that I may here- 
after have an op|K)rtunity of executing my de- 
MKii. Here comes the rogue; I'll have' him 
strangled ; but now I must yield. 

Enter Jobson. 

Job. Come on, Nell ; art thou come to thyself 

yet ? •' 

Ludi/. Yes, I thank you, I wonder what I ailed; 
this cunning man has put powder in my driuk' 
most certainly. "^ ' 

Job. Powder! the brewer put good store of 
powder of malt in it, that's all. Powder, quoth 
she ! ha, ha, ha ! ^ 

lAidy. I never was so all the days of my life. 

Job. Was so ! no, nor I hope ne'er will be so 
again, to put me to the trouble of strappine you 
so devilishly. rr s, j 

Ladi/ I'll have that right hand cut off for that, 
rogue. [Aside.]— Yoyx was unmerciful to bruise 
me so. 

Job. Well, I'm going to sir John Loverule's; 
all his tenants are invited; there's to be rare 
feasting and revelling, and open house kept ior 
three months. ^ 

iMdi/. Husband, shan't I go with you ? 

Job. Wiiat the devil ails thee now"? Did I not 
tell thee but yesterday, I would strap thee for 
desiring to go, and art thou at it again, with a 
pox ? 

Lady. What does the villain mean by strap- 
pins:, and yesterday ? 

Job. Why, I have been married but six weeks 
and you long to make me a cuckold already' 
btay at home, and be hanged ! there's good cold 
pye in the cupboard; but' I'll trust thee no more 
with stronii-beer, hussy. [Exit 

Lady. Well, I'll not be lone after you ; sure I 
shall get some of my own family to know me- 
they can't be all in tliis wicked plot. [Exit. 

SCENE III.— Sir John's. 
Sir John and company enter, 

DUETT. 
Sir John. Was ever man possest of 

So sweet, so kind a wife ! 
■Sell. Dear sir, you make me proud : 

Be you but kind, 

And you shall find 
All the good I can boast of 

Shall end hut with my life. 
Sir John. Give me thy lips; ' 

■iN ell. First let me, dear sir, wipe them ; 



Coffey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



41 



Sir John. Was ever so sweet a wife ! 

[Kinsing her. 
Nell. Thank you, dear sir ! 

I vow and protest, 
I ne'er was so kissed ; 
Again, sir ! 
Sir John. Again, and again, my dearest I 
O may it last for life ! 
What joy thus to enfold thee ! 
Nell. What pleasure to behold thee ! 

Inclined again to kiss ! 
Sir John. IIow ravisliing th.c bliss ! 
Nell. I little thouglit this morning, 
'Twould ever com,e to this. 

\I)a Capo. 

Enter Lady. 

JLady. Here's a fine rout and rioting ! You, sir- 
rah, butler, you rogue ! 

But. Why, how now ! Who are you ? 
Ladj/. Impudent varlet ! Don't you know your 
lady ? 

But. Lady ! here, turn this mad woman out 
of doors ! 

Lady. You rascal ! take that, sirrali ! 

[Flinga (I gldus at him. 
Foot. Have a care, hussy ! there's a good pump 
without ; we shall cool your courage for you. 

Lady. You, Lucy, have you forget me too, you 
minx ? 

Lucy. Forgot you, woman ! VVhy, I never re- 
membered you ; I never saw you before in my 
life. 

Lady. Oh, the wicked slut ! I'll give you cause 
to remember me, I will, hussy. 

[Pu/ls her headclolhs off". 
Lucy. Murder ! Murder ! Help ! 
Sir John. How now ! What uproar's this ? 
Lady. You, Lettice, you slut! Won't you know 
me, neitJier.^ 

[Strikes her. 
Let. Help, help ! 
Sir John. Wliat's to do there ? 
But. Why, sir, here's a madwoman calls her- 
self my l^idy, and is beating and culling us all 
round. 

Sir John. [To Lady.] — Thou my wife! poor 
creature ! I pity thee ! I never saw thee before. 

Lady. Then it is in vain to expect redress from 
tlicc, thou wicked contriver of all my misery. 

Nell. How am I amazed ! Can that be I, there 
in my clothes, that have made all this disturbance? 
And yet I am here, to my thinking, in these fme 
clothes. How can this be ? 1 am so confounded 
and affrighted, that I begin to wislj I was with 
Zekel Jobson again. 

Lady. To whom shall I apply myself, or whi- 
ther can I fly ? Heaven ! What do I see ! Is not 
that I, yonder, in my gown and petticoat I wore 
yesterday? How can it be ! I cannot be in two 
places at once. 

Vol. III. 



Sir John. Poor wretch ! She's stark mad ! 

Lady. What, in the devil's name, was I here 
before I came ? Let me look in the glass. Oh 
Heavens ! I am astonished/ I don't know myself! 
If this be I that the glass shews mc, I never saw 
myself before. 

Sir John. What incoherent madness is this ! 

Enter Jobson. 

Lady. There, that's the devil in my likeness, 
who has robbed mc of my oountenanco. Is he 
here, too ? 

Job. Ay, hussy; and here's my strap, you 
quean. 

Nell. O dear ! I'm afraid my husband will beat 
me, that am on *.'other side the room, there. 

Job. I hope your honours will pardon her; she 
was drinking with a conjurer last night, and has 
been mad ever since, and calls herself my lady 
Loverule. 

Sir John. Poor woman! take care of her ; do 
not hurt her, she may be cured of this. 

Job. Yes, and please your worship, you shall 
see me cure lier presently. Hussy, do vou see 
this? 

Nell. O ! pray, Zekel, don't beat me. 

Sir John. What says my love? Does she infect 
thee with madness, too? 

Nell. I am not well ; pray lead mc in, 

[E.reujit Nell and maid. 

Job. I beseech your worship don't take it ill of 
me ; she shall never trouble you more. 

Sir John. Take her home, and use her kindly. 

Lady. What will become of me ? 

\_E.ieunt JoiiSON and Lady. 

Enter footman. 

Foot. Sir, the doctor, who called here last 
night, desires you will give him leave to speak a 
word or two with you, upon very earnest busi- 
ness. 

Sir John. What can this mean ? Bring him in. 

Enter Doctor. 

Doc. Lo ! on my knees, sir, I beg forgivenness 
for what I have done, and put my life into your 
hands. 

Sir John. What mean you? 

Doc. I have exercised my magic art upon your 
lady; I know you have too nmch honour to take 
away my life, since I might have still concealed 
it, had I pleased. 

Sir John. You have now brought me to a 
glimpse of misery too great to bear. Is all my 
happiness then turned into a vision only ? 

Doc. Sir, I beg you, fear not ; if any harm 
comes of it, I freely give you leave to hang me. 

Sir John. Inform me what you have done. 

Doc. I have transformed your lady's face so, 



4 '2 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Coffey 



that slie serins llic roblrr's wife, and have 
chiinncd her face into the likeness of my lady's; 
sind last nijiht, whin tlic stiirn> jirose, my spirits 
lonveyed them to ea^li other's bed. 

Sir Jitliii. Oh, urrfch ! ihoii hast undimc mc! 
I am fallin from the iui^lit of all my hopes, and 
mti-t still bo curst ^^i^h a tempestuons wife ; a 
fury wiiom I n(v«r knew quiet smce I liad her. 

iJoc. li that be all, I can continue the cliann 
for b(ith their lives. 

Sir John. Ix-t the event be what it will, I'll 
hani: you if you do iiol end the charm this in- 
stant. 

Doc. I will this minute, sir; and, perhaps, 
you'll find it the luckiest of your life; 1 ciin as- 
sure you, yoi.r lady will prove the better fur it. 

^tr Joliu. Hold; there's one material circum- 
htanee I'd I. now. 

Doc. Your pleasure, sir ? 

Sir .Tohn. Pcrliaps the coblcr has — you under- 
stand in<' .' 

Doc. 1 do assure you, no; for ere she was 
con', eyed to liis bed, the cobler was got up to 
work, and he haa done nought but beat her ever 
since. And yon :tic likb to reap the fruits of his 
hibour. Ik'il be with you in a minute; here he 
comes. 

Enter JonsoN. 
Sir John. So, Jobson, where's your wife.' 
Job. AnA please vonr worship, slit's here at 
tlie door, but, indeed, I thought I had lost her 
just n:j\v ; for as s'.ie came into the hall, she fell 
into such a swoon, that I thought she would ne- 
ver come out on't again ; but a tweak or t« o by 
the nose, and half a dozen straps, did the busi- 
ness at last. Here, where are you, housewife } 

Enter Lady. 

But. [Holds up the candle, but lets it fall 
rrhcn he s^ees her.] — O heaven and earth ! Is' this 
my lady .' 

Job. What docs he say ? My wife changed to 
my lady ! 

Coolc. Ay ; I thought the other was too good 
for our lady. 

iMdj/. [To Sir John.] — Sir, you arc the per- 
son I have most offended, and here I confess I 
have been the worst of wives in everv thing, but 
that I always kept myself chaste, li' you can 
vouchsafe once more to take me to your bosom, 
the remainder of my days shall joyfully be spent 
in duty, and observance of your will. 

Sir John. Rij-e, madam; I do forgive you ; and 
if you arc sincere in what you say, vo'n'U make 
mc happier than all the enjoyments in the world, 
without yon, could do. 

Job. What a pox ! Am I to lose my wife thus r 

Enter Lvcy and Lettice. 
Lucy. Oh, sir! the strangest accident has hap- 



pcnetl ! it has ania/ed ns ; my lady was in so great 
a swoon, we thought she had been dead. 

JaI. And when she came to herself, she proved 
another woman. 

Job. Ha, ha, ha! A bull, a bull! 

Lury. She is so changed, 1 knew her not; I 
never saw her face before : <) lud ! Is this my 
lady ? 

Eet. We shall be mauled again. 

iMcy. I thought our happiness was too great 
to last. 

Litdi/. Tear not, my servants. It shall hereaf- 
ter be my endeavour to make you happy. 

Sir John. Persevere in this resolution, and we 
shall be blest indeed, for life. 

Enter Nell. 

Nell. I\Iy head turns round; I must go home. 
O Zekel ! Arc you there ! 

Job. O lull ! Is that fine lady my wife.' Egf»d, 
I'm afraid to come near her. What can be the 
meaning of tliii .'' 

Sir John. This is a happy change, and I'll 
have it celebrated witii all the joy 1 proclaimed 
for my late short-lived vision. 

Lady. To me, 'tis the happiest day 1 ever 
knew. 

Sir John. Here, .Tobson, take thy fine wife. 

Job. l^iit one word, sir. Did not your worship 
make a buck of me, under the rose .' 

Sir John. No, upon my lionour, nor ever kis- 
sed her lips till I came from hunting; but since 
she has been a means of bringing about this hap- 
py change, I'll give thee five hundred pounds 
home with her ; go, buy a stock of leather. 

Job. Brave boys I I'm a prince, the prince of 
coblers. Come hither and kiss rac, Nell ; I'll 
never strap iliee more. 

A\7/. Indeed, Zekcl,T have been in such a 
dream, that I'm quite weary of it. — [To .Tobson.] 
— Forsooth, madam, will you please to take your 
clothes, and let uic have mine again ? 

['i'oi-ADY L0VKRi:i,E. 

Job. Hold your tongue, you fool; they'll serve 
yon to go to church. [Aside. 

JAtdi/. No, thou shalt keep them, and I'll pre- 
serve thine as reliques. 

Job. AihI can your ladyship forgive my strap- 
ping your liinour so very much.' 

J. inly. .M(rtt freely. The joy of this blessed 
change sets all things right again. 

Sir John. Let us forget every thing that is 
past, and think of nothing now but joy and plea- 
sure. 

AIR. — Hey boys, tip go we ! 

I.ady. Ixt every face with smiles appear, 
lie joy in every breast; 
Since from a life of pain and care, 
W'c now are truly blest. 



Coffey.] BRITISH DRAMA. 43 

Be noupht but mirth and joy our crime, 1 ,^'^^P' u 

A..d sportin, all our toiL Could ever tame a scold. ^^^^^^^ 

Job. I hope you'll give me leave to speak, | L 



THE 

BEGGAR'S OPERA. 

BY 

G A Y. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



ai E N. 

Peachcm, a resetter of stolen goods. 

Lock IT, a jailor. 

Macheath, captain of the gang. 

FltXH, ~) 

Jemmy Twitcheu, 

Crook-fingered Jack, 

Wat Dreary, 

Robin ok Bagshot, f-highwaymen. 

NiMMiNG Ned, 

Harry Paddixgton, 

Mat of the mint, 

Ben Bldce, 



WOMEN. 

Mrs Peachum, ic'ife to Peachum. 

Polly Peachum, daughter to Peachum, and at- 
tached to Macheath. 

Lucy Lockit, daughter to Lockit, and attached 
to Macheath. 

Diana Trapes, 

Mrs Coaxer, 

Dolly Trull, 

Mrs Vixen, 

Betty Doxey, 

Jenny Diver, 

Mrs Slammekin, 

SuKEY Tawdry, 

Molly Brazen, 



>zt;omen of the tcnvn-. 



Scene — London. 



ACT L 



SCENE L — Peachum's house. 



Peachum sitting at a table, with a large book of 
accounts before him. 

Air. — Ati old woman clothed in gray. 

Through all the employments of life, 

F.ach rieiglibour abuses his brother, 

Whore and rogue ihey call husband and wife; 

All prot'essions beroi^ue one another: 

The priest calls the lawyer a cheat, 

Tiie lawyer beknaves the divine, 

And the statesman, because he's so great, 

Thinks his trade as honest as mine. 



A lawyer's is an honest employment; so is mine :. 
like lue, too, he acts in a double capacity, both 
against rogues and for theui ; for 'tis but fitting 
that we should protect and encourage cheats, 
since we live by them. 

Enter Filch. 

Filch. Sir, Black Moll hath sent word her trial 
comes on in the afternoon ; and she hopes you 
will order matters so as to bring her off. 

Peach. Why, she may plead her belly at worst; 
to my knowledge, she hath taken rare of that se- 
curity : but, as the wench is very active and in- 
dustrious, you may satisfy her, that I'll soften the 
evidence. 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



43 



Filch, Tom Oagg, sir, is found J^uilK. 

Peach. A lazy dog ! when I took him the time 
before, I told liim wiiat he would come to il' he 
did not mend his hand — This is tleath, without 
reprieve. I may venture to book him [H>i7es.] : 
for Tom Gagg, forty pounds. Let Betty Sly know, 
that I'll save her from transportation ; for I can 
get more by her staying in England. 

Filch. Betty hath brought more goods into our 
lock this year, than any five of the gang ; and, in 
truth, 'tis pity to lose so good a customer. 

Paich. If none of the gang takes her otT, she 
may, in the common course of business, live a 
twelvemonth longer. I love to let women 'scape. 
A good sportsman always lets the hen-partridges 
fly, because the breed of the game depends upon 
them. Besides, here the law allows us no re- 
ward. There is nothing to be got by the death 
of women — except our wives. 

Filch. Without dispute she is a fine woman ! 
'twas to her I was obliged for my education. To 
say a bold word, she hath trained up more 
young fellows to the business than the gaming- 
table. 

Peach. Truly, Filch, thy observation is right. 
We, and the surgeons, are more beholden to wo- 
men than all the profesions besides. 

AIR. — The bonni/ grey-eifd morn, S,c., 

Filch. 'Tis woman that seduces all mankind ; 
By her wc first were taught the wheedling arts ; 
Her very eyes can cheat : when most she's kind, 
She tricks us of our money, with our hearts ! 
For her, like wolves, by night we roam for prey, 
And practise ev'ry fraud to bribe her charms; 
For suits of love, like law, are won by pay. 
And beauty must be fee'd into our arms. 

Peach. But make haste to Newgate, boy, and 
let my friends know what I intend : for I iove to 
make them easy one way or other. 

Filch. When a gentleman is long kept in Sus- 
pense, penitence may break his spirit ever after. 
Besides, certainty gives a man a good air upon his 
trial, and makes him risk another without fear 
or scruple. But I'll away ; for 'tis a pleasure to 
be the messenger of comfort to friends in atilic- 
tion. [E.iit. 

Peach. But it is now high time to look about 
me for a decent execution against next sessions. 
I hate a lazy rogue, by whom one can get nothing 
till he is hanged. A register of the gang. [Read- 
ing.] Crook-fingered Jack, a year and a Iralf in 
the service : let me see how much the stock owes 
to his industry ; one, two, three, four, five gold 
watches, and seven silver ones. A mighty clean- 
handed fellow ! Sixteen snuff-boxes, five of them 
of true gold ; six dozen of handkerchiefs, four sil- 
ver-hilted swords, half a dozen of shifts, three 
tie-periwigs, and a piece of broad cloth. Consi- 
dering these are only fruits of his leisure hours, 



I don't know a prettier fellow ; for no man alixe 
hath a more engaging presence of mind upon tho 
road. Wat Dreary, alias Brown Will; an irre- 
gular dog ! who hath an underhand way of dis- 
posing of his goods. I'll try him only for a ses- 
sions or two longer upon his good behaviour. 
Harry Paddingfon — a poor petty-larceny rascal, 
without the least genius ! that fellow, though ho 
were to live these six months, will never come to 
the gallows with any credit ! Slippery Sam; he 
goes off the next sessions; for the villain hath the 
impudence to have views of following his trade 
as a tail(jr, which he calls an honest employment. 
JMat of the Mint, listed not above a month aco ; 
a promising sturdy fellow, and diligent in his 
way ! sonic\i liat too bold and Jiasty, and mav 
raise good contributions on the public, if he does 
not cut himself short bv murder. Torn Tipple ; 
a guzzling, soaking sot, who is always too drunk to 
stand iiimseif, or to make others stand ! A cart 
is absolutely necessary for him. Robin of Bag- 
shot, ahas Gorgon, alias Bluff Bob, alias Car- 
buncle, alias Bob Booty 

Enter Mrs Peachum. 

JlFrs Peach. What of Bob Booty, husband } I 
hope nothing bad hath betiried him ? You know, 
my dear, he's a favourite ciistomer of mine ; 
'twas he made me a present of this ring. 

Peach. I have set his name down in the black- 
list; that's all, my dear ! he spends his life among 
women, and, as soon as his money is gone, one 
or other of tlie ladies will hang him for the re- 
ward ; and there's forty pounds lost to us for 
ever ! 

Mrs Peach. You know, my dear, I never 
meddle in matters of death ; I always leave those 
affairs to you. Women, indeed, arc bitter bad 
judges in these cases ; for they are so partial to 
the brave, that they think every man handsome 
who is going to the camp or the gallows. 

AIR. — Cold and razv, &c. 

If any wench \"enus's girdle wear, 
Though she be never so ugly, 
Lilies and roses will quickly appear, 
Ana her face look wondrous sinuggly. 
Beneath the left ear, so fit but a cord, 
(A rope so charming a zone is !) 
The youth, in his cart, hath the air of a lord. 
And we cry, There dies an Adonis ! 

But really, husband, you should not be too hard- 
hearted; for von never had a finer, braver set of 
men, than at present. We have not had a mur- 
der among them all these seven months; and, tru- 
ly, my dear, that is a great bles.'^ing. 

Peach. What a dickens is the woman always 
a whimpering about murder for .■' No gentleman 
is ever looked upon the worse for killing a man 



4(3 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gav. 



ill liis own (li fence ; antl, if business ciuuiot be 
carried mi without ir, what would you Jiavc a 
gcntlfinan do ? 

Mrs I'etich. If I :un in the wronf^, my dear, 
you must ixcusc mo ; for nobody can liclp the 
liailty of an over !.crii|iuloiis conscience. 

I'ciiih. Murder is as fa>hioinible a crime as a 
man can be t;uilty (tf. How many fine j;enllenieu 
ha\e we in Newgate every year, purely upon ihtit 
article? If they have whcrewiihal lo })ersuade 
the jury to brin;: it in manslaughter, what arc 
they the wor-^ ft>r it ? So, mv dear, have done 
upon this subject. Was captain Macheath here 
this morning; for the banknotes he left with you 
last week ? 

J\/rs Pcacli. Yes, my dear ; and, tliou^h the 
bank hath stopt payment, he was so cheerful, and 
so ai;reeablc ! Sure there is not a finer gentle- 
man upon the road than the captain ! If he comes 
from Ba>;sliot at any reasonable liour, he hath 
promised to make one tliis eveninj; with Polly, 
me, and Boh Booty, at a party at quadrille. Pray, 
my dear, is the captain rich ? 

Pciich. The captain keeps too good company 
ever to grow rich. Marybono and the chocolate- 
liouses are his undoing. I'hc man, that proposes 
to get money by play, should have the education 
of a hue gentleman, and be trained up to it from 
his youth. 

^Ira Peach. Really I am sorry, upon Polly's 
account, the captain hath not more discretion. 
^\ hat business hath he to keep company with 
lords and gentlemen? he should leave them to 
prey upon one another. 

Pcacli. Upon Polly's account ! What a plasruc 
docs the woman mean ? Upon Polly's account ! 

Airs Peach. Captain ^Macheath is very fond of 
the girl. 

Peach. And what then ? 

^Irs Pcuch. If I have any skill in the ways of 
women, I am sure Polly thinks him a very pretty 
man. 

Peach. And what then ? you would not be so 
mad to have the wench marry him ? Gamesters 
and highwaymen are generally very good to their 
w liores, but they are very devils to their wives. 

Mrs Peach. But if Polly should be in love, 
how should we help her, or how can she help 
litrself? Poor girl ! I'm in the utmost concern 
about her. 

AIR. — Why is your faithful slave disdained? 

If love the virgin's heart invade. 
How, like a moth, the simple maid 
Still plays about the tlame ! 
If soon she be not made a wife. 
Her honour's singed, and then for life 
She's what I dare not name. 

Teach. Look ye, wife, a handsome wench, in 
our way of business, is as profitable as at the bar 
of a Temple tuBet-house, who looks upon it as 



her livelihood to grant every liberty but one. 
You see I wouUl intlulge the girl as far as pru- 
dently *vc can in any thing but marriage : after 
that, my dear, how shall we be safe ? Are we 
not then in her husband's povver? fcjr the hus- 
band hath the absolute power over all a wife's 
secrets but her own. If the girl had the discre- 
tion of a court-laily, who can have a dozen of 
young fiUows at her ear, without complying with 
one, I should not matter it: but Polly is tinder, 
and a spark will at once set her in a flame. Mar- 
ried ! if the wench does not know her own pro- 
fir, sure slie knows her own ))lcasure better than 
to make herself a property ! My daughter, to me, 
should be like a court-lady to a minister of state 
— a key to the whole gani:. Married ! if the af- 
fair is not already done, I'll terrify her from it, 
by the example of our neighbours. 

ilir.s- Peach, ^layhap, my dear, you may in- 
jure the girl : she loves to imitate the fine ladies, 
and she may only allow tl>e captaui liberties in 
the view of interest. 

Peach. But 'tis your duty, my dear, to warn 
the girl against her ruin, and to instruct her how 
to make the most of her beauty. I'll go to her 
this moment, and sift her. In the mean time, 
wife, rip out the coronets and marks of these 
dozen of cambric handkerchiefs; fori can dis- 
pose of thera this afternoon to a chap in the city. 

[Exit. 

Mrs Peach. Never was a man more out of the 
way in an argument than my husband ! Why 
must our Polly, forsooth, difl'er from her sex, and 
love only her husband ? And w hy must Polly's 
marriage, contrary to all oljservation, make her 
the less followed by other men ? All men are 
thieves in love, and like a woman the better for 
being another's property. 

AIR. — Of all the simple things ue do, 4c. 

A maid is like the golden ore. 
Which hath guineas intrinsical in't, 
Whose worth is never known before 
It is tried and impressed in the mint, 
A wife's like a guinea in gold, 
Stampt with the name of her spouse: 
Now here, now there, is bought or is sold, 
And is current in every house. 

Enter Filch. 

Come hither, Filch ! I am as fond of this child 
as though my mind misgave me he were my own. 
He hath as fine a hand at picking a pocket as a 
woman, and is as nimble-fingered as a juggler. 
If an unlucky session does not cut the rope of 
thy life, I pronounce, boy, thou wilt be a great 
man in history. Where was your post last night, 
my boy f 

Filch. I ply'd at the opera, madam ; and, con- 
sidering 'twas neither dark nor rainv, so that there 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



47 



was no great hurry in getting chairs and coaches, 
made a tolerable hand on't. Tliese seven hand- 
kerchiefs, madam. 

Mrs Fcach. Coloured ones, 1 see. They are 
of sure sale, from our warehouse atlledriffj among 
the seamen. 

Filch. And this snuff-box. 

il/r.s Peach. Set in gold ! a pretty encourage- 
ment this to a young beginner ! 

Filch. I liad a fair tug at a charming gold 
watch. Pox take the tailors for making tlic fobs 
so deep and narrow ! It stuck by tlie way, and I 
was forced to make my escape under a coach. 
Really, madam, I fear I shall be cut otV in the 
•lower of my youth ; so that, every now and then, 
since I was puinpt, I have thoughts of taking up, 
and going to sea. 

Mrs Feach. You should go to Ilockley-in-the- 
Ilole, and to INIarybone, child, to learn valour : 
these are the schools that have bred so many 
brave men. I thought, boy, by tliis time, thou 
hadst lost fear, as well as shame. Poor lad ! how 
little does he know as yet f)f the Old Bailey ! 
For the first fact I'll ensure thee from being 
lianged ; and going to sea, .Filch, will come time 
enough upon a sentence of transportation. But 
now, since you have nothing better to do, even 
go to vour book, and learn your catechism ; for 
really a man makes but an ill figure in the Ordina- 
ry's paper, who cannot give a satisfactory answer 
to his questions. But hark you, my lad.'' don't tell 
me a lie, for you know I hate a liar; Do you 
know of any thing that hath past between cap- 
tain Alaclieath and our Polly .'' 

Filch. I beg you, madam, don't ask me ; for I 
must either tell a lie to you or to Miss Polly, for 
I promised her I would not tell. 

ilf/s Feach. But when the honour of our fa- 
mily is concerned 

Filch. I shall lead a sad life with Miss Polly, 
if ever she come to know that I told you. Be- 
sides, I would not willingly forfeit ray own ho- 
nour, by betraying any body. 

Mrs Peach. Yonder comes my husband and 
Polly. Come, Filcli, you shall go with me into 
my own room, and tell me the whole story. I'll 
give thee a glass of a most delicious cordial, that 
I keep for my own drinking. \^E.veinit. 

Enter Peaciium and Polly. 

Pollj/. I know as well as any of tiie fine la- 
dies i)ow to make tlie most of myself, and of my 
man too. A woman knows how to be mercen- 
ary, tliough she hath never been at court, or at 
an assembly : we have it in our natures, papa. If 
I allow captain IVIacheath some trilling liberties, 
I have this watch and other visible marks of his 
favour to shew for it. A girl, who cannot grant 
some things, and refuse what is most material, 
will make but a poor hand of her beauty, and 
soon be thrown upon the common. 



AIR. 



■What shall I Jo to shew how much I love 
her 'i 



Virgins are like the fair flower in its lustre, 
Which in the garden enamels the ground, 
Near it the Ixies in play flutter and cluster, 
And gaudy butterflies frolic around ; 
But when once plucked, 'tis no longer alluring, 
To Covent-garden 'tis sent (as yet sneet), 
There fades, and shrinks, and grows past all en- 
during. 
Rots, stinks, and dies, and is trod under feet. 

Peach. You know, Polly, I am nota<:ainst your 
toying and trilling with a customer in the way of 
business, or to get out a secret or so ; but if 1 
find out that you have played the fool, and are 
married, you jade you, I'll cut your throat, Imssy ! 
Now, you know ray mind. 

Enter Mrs Pe.»chum. 

AIR. — London is a fine torcn. 

Mrs Peachum [in a very great passion!] 

Our Polly is a sad slut ! nor heeds what we have 
taught her, 

I wonder any man alive will ever rear a daugh- 
ter ! 

For she must have both hoods and gowns, and 
hoops to swell her pride, 

With scarfs and stays, and gloves and lace, and 
she'll have men beside ; 

And when she's drest with care and cost, all- 
tempting, fine and gay. 

As men should serve a cucumber, she flings her- 
self away. 

You baggage ! you hussy ! you inconsiderate 
jade ! had you been hanged it would not have 
vexed me, for that might have been your misfor- 
tune; but to do such a mad thing by choice ! 
The wench is married, husband ! 

Peach. IMarried ! the captain is a bold man, 
and will risk any thing for money : to be sure, he 
believes her a fortune. Do you think your mo- 
ther and I should have lived comfortably so long 
together, if ever we had been married, baggage ? 

il/rs Peach. I knew she was always a proud 
slut, and now the wench hath plavcd the fool and 
married, because, forsooth, she would do like the 
gentry ! Can you support the expence of a hus- 
band, hussy, in gaming, drinking, and whoring ? 
have you money enough to carry on the daily 
quarrels of man and wife, about wiio shall squan- 
der most ? There are not many husbands and 
wives who can bear the charges of plaguing one 
another in a handsome way. If you must be 
married, could you introduce nobody into our 
family but a highwayman.? Why, thou foolish 
jade, thou wilt be as ill used, and as much ne- 
glected, as if thou hadsi married a lord ! 



4:5 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



Peach. Let not your an^cr, my de;ir, break 
tlirou'j;li the ruk> ol' dccciuv ; lor the captaiii 
looks upmi liimself, in tlic iiiililary caparity, as a 
peiitlcmaii hy his profession. Be-^ides what he 
hath already, I know he is in a fair way of gct- 
iin-;, orof dvini; ; and both these ways, let nie 
t(li voii, are most txctllcnt cliaaces for a wife. 
'JlII tne, liussv, arc yim ruined or no? 

Mrs Picult. Witii Folly's fortune, she miiilit 
verv well have pone oil to a person of dislinqlion : 
ves, that yiiii iniiiht, you poutins slut ! 

Fitic/i. Wliat ! is tlie wench dumb ? speak, or 
I'll make yt'u plead by squeezing out an answer 
from you. Are you really bound wife to iiim, 
or arc you only upon likiiii;.' [Piuchcs htr. 

i'()//y. Oh ! [Scieamiyifi. 

Hits Pcac/i. How tlie inotlier is to be })iticd, 
who hath handsome daughters ! Locks, bolts, 
bars, and lectures of morality, are nothiiis; to 
them ; they break through ihcin all : they have 
as much pleasure in cheating a father and mo- 
ther, as ill chcatiiiij at cards. 

Pcinli. Why, I'olly, I shall soon know if you 
are married, by Maclicath's keeping from our 
liuuse. 

AIR. — (him king of lltr ghosts, 4"f. 

PoUi/. Cim love be controuled by advice.' 
A\ ill Cupid our mothers obey.' 

'J'hoiii;h inv heart was as frozen as ice. 
At his tlaine 'twould have melted away. 

When ho kist me, so sweetly he prcst, 
^was so sweet that 1 must have complied, 

So I tlioii::ht it both safest and best 
To marry, tor fear you should chide. 

Mrs Peach. Then all the hopes of our family 
are cone for ever and ever ! 

Peach. And ^laclitath may hang his father 
and mother-in-law, in hopes to get ijito their 
tlauiihtcr's fortune. 

Po!/i/. I did not marry him (as 'tis the fashion) 
coolly and deliberately i'or iionour or money — 
but I love him. 

j\l7S Peach. Love him ! worse and worse ! I 
tlioiielit the j;irl had been better bred. Oh hus- 
baiirl ! husband ! her f<illy makes me mad ! my 
head swims! I'm di-tracted! I can't support 
myself — Oh ! [Faints. 

Peach. See, wench, to what a conaiiion you 
have reduced your poor mother ! A elasi of cor- 
dial tliis instant ! How the poor woman takes it 
to heart I [Pol/i/ goes out, and relurm ziitk j7.] 
-Ah, hu^sy! now this is the only comfort your 
mother has left. 

Pol/i/. (jixe her another glass, sir; my mamma 
drinks double the quantity whenever she is out 
of order. This, you see, fetches her. 

M?s Peach. The girl shews such a readiness, 
and S(j mueli concern, that I could almost find in 
HIV Iicart to foiiiivc her. 



AIR. — O Jenny, Jenny f tchere hast thou been ? 

O Polly ! you might Iiavc toyed and kist; 
Hy keeping men off you keep them on : 

Polly. But he so teased me, 
.And he so pleased me, 
\N hat 1 did you must have done. 

Mrs Peach. Not with a highwayman — you 
sorry sliil ! 

Peach. A word with you, wife. 'Lis no nevr 
thing lor a wench to take a man without consent 
of parents. You know 'tis the frailty of woman, 
my dear. 

Mrs Peach. Yes, indeed, the sex is frail ; but 
tlie first time a woman is frail, she should be 
somewhat nice mcthinks, tor then or never is the 
time to make her fortune ; after that, she hath 
nothing to do but to guard herself from being 
found out, and she may do what she pleases. 

Peach. Make yourself a little easy ; I have a 
thought shall soon set all matters again to rights. 
Why so melancholy, Polly? since what is done 
cannot be unijone, we must all endeavour to make 
the best of it. 

Mrs Peach. Well, Polly, as far as one woman 
can forgive another, I forgive thee. Your father 
is too fond pf yop, hussy. 

Polly. Then all my sorrows are at an end. 

Mrs Peach. A mighty likely speech, in trotl\, 
for a wench who is just married ! 

AIR. — Thomas, I cannot, Sfc. 

Polly. L 'il^e a ship, in storms was tost. 
Yet afraid to put into land. 
For seized in the port the vessel's lost. 
Whose treasure is contraband. 
The waves are laid, 
My duty's paid ; 
Ojoy beyond expression! 
Thus safe ashore, 
I ask no more ; 
ily all's in my possession. 

Peach. I hear customers in t'other room ; gp 
talk with them, Polly, but come again as soon as 
lliey are gone. But hark ye, child ? if 'tis the gen- 
tleman who washcre yesterday about the repeating 
watch, s:i'., you believe we can't get intelligence 
of it till t(j-iiiornivv, f(jr I lent it to Sukey Strad- 
dle to make a figure with it to-night at a tavern 
in Drury-lane. if t'other gentleimiji calls for the 
sih cr-hilted sword, you know beetle-browed Jem- 
my hath it on, and he doth not come from Tun- 
brit-liic till 'iucsday night ; so that it cannot be 
had till then. [Eril Voll\.] Dear wife ! be a 
little pacified ; don't let your passion run away 
with your senses: Polly, I grant you, hath done 
a ra^ii thing. 

J\[rs Peach. If she had only an intrigue with 
the fellow, why the very best families have ex- 
3 



Gay,] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



49 



cased and huddled up a frailty of that sort. 'Tis 
marriage, husband, that makes it a blemish. 

Peach. But money, wife, is the true fuller's 
earth for reputations ; there is not a spot or a 
stain but what it can lake out. A rich roi;:ue, 
now-a-days, is fit company for any gentleman ; 
and the world, my dear, hath ii.jt such a con- 
tempt for roguery as you imagine. I tell you, 
■wife, I can make this match turn to our advan- 
tage. 

Mrs Peach. I am very sensible, husband, that 
captain Macheath is wortli money; but I am in 
doubt whether he hath not two or thrte wives 
already, and then, if he should die in a session 
or two, Folly's dower would come into dispute. 

Peach. That, indeed, is a point which ought to 
be considered. 

f AIR. — A soldier and a sailor. 

A fox may steal your hens, sir ; 
A whore your health and pence, sir; 
Your daughter rob your chest, sir ; 
Your wife may steal your rest, sir; 
A thief your goods and plate. 
But this is all but picking. 
With rest, peace, chest, and chicken : 
It ever was decreed, sir, 
If lawyer's hand is fee'd, sir. 
He steals your whole estate. 

The lawyers are bitter enemies to those in our 
ways; they don't care tliat any body should get a 
clandestine livelihood but themselves. 

Enter Polly. 

Pollij. 'Twas only Nimming Ned ; he brought 
in a damask window-curtain, a hoop-petticoat, a 
pair of silver candlesticks, a periwig, and one 
silk stocking, fnmi the lire that happened last 
mght. 

Peach. There is not a fellow that is cleverer 
in his way, and saves more goods out of the fire, 
than Xed. But now, Polly, to your affair ; for 
matters must not be as they are. You are mar- 
ried, then, it seems } 

Polly. Yes, sir. 

Peach. And liow do you propose to live, 
child ? 

Polly. Like other women, sir ; upon the indus- 
try of my husband. 

Mrs Peach. What ! is the wench turned fool ? 
a highwayman's wife, like a soldier's, hath as lit- 
tle of his pay :4S his companv. 

Peach. And had iK^t you the common views of 
a gentlewoman in your marriage, Polly .'' 

Polly. 1 don't know what you mean, sir. 

Peach. Of a jointure, and of being a widow. 

Polly. But 1 love him, sir; how, then, could I 
have thoughts of parting with him.? 

Peach. Parting with him ! why that is the 

Vol. hi. 



whole scheme and intention of all marriage arti- 
cles. The comfortable estate of widov\hood is 
ihc only hope that keeps up a wife's spirits.— 
Where is the woman, who would scruple to be a 
wife, if she had it in her power to be a widow 
whenever she pleased? If you have any \iews of 
this surt. Folly, I shall think the match not so 
very umx-asonable. 

Polly. How I dread to hear your advice ! yet 
I must beg you to explain yourself. 

Peach. Secure what he hath got; have him 
peacheil the next sessions; and, then, at once, 
you are made a rich widow. 

Polly. What ! murder the man I love ! the 
blot^d runs cold at my heart with the very 
tliousiht of it I 

Peach. Fy, Polly ! what hath murder to do in 
the artair? Since the thing sooner or later must 
happen, F dare say the captain himself would like 
that we should get the rc>vard for his death soon- 
er than a stranger. Why, Polly, the captaia 
knows that as 'tis his employment to rob, so it is 
ours to take robbers ; every man in his business : 
so that there is no malice in the case. 

Mrs Peach. Ay, husband, now you have nick- 
ed the matter ! To have him peached is the on- 
ly thing could ever make me forgive her. 

AIR.. — JVoa?, ponder well, ye parents dear. 

Polly. Oh, ponder well ! be not severe ; 
To save a wretched wife ; 
For, on the rope, that hangs my dear, 
Depends poor Polly's life. 

Mrs Peach. But your duty to your parents, 
hussy, ohlisies you to hang him. What would 
many a wife give for such an opportunity ! 

Polly. What is a jointure ? what is widow- 
hood to me? I know my heart; I cannot survive 
him. 

AIR. — Le printemps rapelle aux annes. 

The turtle thus, with plaintive crying, 

Her lover dying. 

The turtle thus, with plaintive crying, 

Laments her dove; 

Down she drops, quite spent with sighing. 

Paired in death, as paired in love. 

Thus, sir, it will happen to your poor Polly. 

Mrs Peach. ^V'hat ! is the fool in love in ear- 
nest, then ? 1 hate thee for being particular. — 
Why, wench, thou art a shame to thy very sex. 

Polly. But hear me, mother — if you ever lo- 
ved 

Mrs Peach. Those cursed play-books she 
reads have been her ruin ! One word more, hus- 
sy, and I shall knock your brains out, if you have 
any. 

Peach. Keep out of the way, Polly, for fear 

G 



JO 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



of mischief, aiid consider of what is profjoscd to 

)OU. 

Mrs Itaih. Awav, hussy! Hana your hus- 
band, and l)e dutiful. \Voi i.\ lislcning.] Thr 
thins:, husliand, must and shall bf done. I'or the 
sake of inttlliuencf, we must take other mea- 
sures, and have him peached the next session 
without her consent. If she will not know her 
duty, we know our>i. 

Peai h. liut really, ray dear, it prieves one'> 
heart to take off a ^'reat man. \\'hcn I considci 
his personal bravery, his line stratagem, how 
much v»e have already tot bv him. and llo^^ 
much more wc may ^et, mcthiuks I cannot fnid 
in mv heart to have a hand in liis death : I wish 
you could have made I'olly undertake it. 

Mm Peach. But in a case of necessity our 

own lives are in danuir. 

Peach. Then, indeed, we must comply with 
the customs of the world, and make gratitude 
give way to interest. He shall be taken c)iV. 
Mrs Peach. I'll undertake to manaj;e Polly. 
Peach. And I'll prepare matters for the Old 
Bailev. [E.reuut Pr.ACiUM aiid INIrs Pfachum. 
Polly. Now, I am a wretch, indeed ! !Mc- 
thinks I see him already in the cart, sweeter and 
more lovely than the nosegay in his hand! I hear 
the crowd extollint; his rescjlution and intrepidity ! 
What vollies of sis:hs are sent from the windows 
of Holborn, that so comely a yuuth should be 
broueht to dis;irace ! I see him at the tree ! the 
V hole circle are in tears ! even butchers weep! Jack 
Ketch himself hesitates to perform his duty, and 
would be glad to lose his fee, by a reprieve ! 
What, then, will become of Polly ? As yet I may 
inform him of their desi<:n, and aid him in his 
escape. It shall he so. But then he flies ; al)- 
sents himself, and I bar myself from his dear, 
dear conversation ! that, too, will distract me. — 
If he keeps out of the way, my papa and mam- 
ma may in time relent, and we mav be liappv. — 
If he stays, he is han<jed, and then he is lost for 
ever ! He intended to lie concealed in my room 
till the dusk of the evenintr. If they are abroad, 
I'll this instant let him out, lest some accident 
should prevent him. 

[£j<7, and returns zcith Macheatii. 



AIR. — Pretty parrot say, ^c. 

Mac. Pretty Polly, ?ay 
When I was away. 
Did your fancy never stray 
To some newer lover ? 
Polly. Without discuise, 
Heaviui! sighs, 
Doting eyes, 

My constant heart discover. 
Fondly let me loll. 
Mac. O, pi etty, pretty Poll ! 



Polly. And are you as fond of me as ever, my 
dear ? 

Mac. Suspect my honour, my courage ; sus- 
pect any thiii'.:, but my love. May my pistols 
miss fue, may my mare slip her shoulder while I 
am pursued, if 1 ever forsake thee ! 

Polly. Nay, my dear! I have no reason to 
doubt you ; for I find in the roniance you lent me, 
none of the great heroes were ever false in 
love. 

AIR. — Pray, fair one, be kind. 

Mac. I\Iy heart was so free, 
It roved like the bee. 
Till Polly my passion requited; 
I sipt each flower, 
I changed every hour, 
But here every flower is united. 

Polly. Were you sentenced to transportation, 
sure, n)y dear, you could not leave me behind 
you — could you ? 

il/ac. Is there any power, any force, that 
could tear me from thte ? You might sooner tear 
a pension out of the hands of a courtier, a fee 
from a lawyer, a pretty w(jman from a looking- 
glass, or any woman from quadrille — But to tcuc 
me from thee, is impossible ! 

AIR. — Over the hills and far auay. 

]\Iac. Were I laid on Greenland's coast, 
And in my arms embraced my lass, 
Warm amidst eternal frost. 
Too soon the half year's night would pass, 
Polly. Were I sod on Indian soil, 

Soon as the burning day was closed, 
I could mock the sultry toil, 
\\ hen on my charmer's breast reposed. 
Alac. And I would love you all the day, 
Polly. Every night would kiss and play, 
iliac. If with me you'd fondly stray 
Polly. Over the hills and far away ! 

Polly. Yes, I would go with thee. But, oh ! 
how shall I speak it ? I must be torn from thee ! 
We must part! 

Mac. Flow ! part! 

Polly. We must, we must. My papa and 
mamma are set against thy life : they now, even 
now, are in search after thee : they are prepa- 
ring evidence against thee : thy life depends up- 
on a moment. 

AIR. — Gin thou zcert my ain thing. 

Polly. O what pain it is to part ! 

Can I leave thee, can I leave thee? 
{) what pain it is to part ! 
Can thy Polly ever leave thee ? 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



51 



But lest death my love should thwart, 
And brini; tliee to the fatal rart. 
Thus I tear thee from mv bleeding heart ! 
Fly hence and let me leave thee ! 

One kiss, and then one kiss Begone 

J'arewcll ! 

Mac. My hand, my heart, ray dear, are so ri- 
veted to thine, that I lannot louse my h(jld. 

Polli/. But my papa may intercept thee, and 
then 1 should lose the very glimmering of hope. 
A few weeks, perhaps, may reconcile us all, — 
Siiall thy Polly hear from thee ? 

Mac. Must I, llun, go ? 

Follif. And will not absence change your love ' 

Mac. [f you doubt it, let me stay and 

be hanged. 

Polli/. O, how I fear ! how I tremble ! Go — 



but when safety will give you leave, you will be 
sure to see mc again ! for, till then, Polly is 
wretched. 

. AIR. — O the broom, 4c. 

[Partitif^, and looking back at each other uith 
J'oiulni'ss, he at one door, ahc at the other. 

Mac. The miser thus a shilling sees, 
Which he's obliged to pay, 
With sigiis resigns it by degrees, 
And fears 'tis gone for aye. 
Polly. The boy thus, when his sparrow's flown, 
The bird in silence eves. 
But soon as out of sight 'tis gone, 
Whines, whimpers, sobs, and cries. 
[^Exeuntf 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — A tavern near Newgate. 

Jemmy Twitcher, Crook-finger'd Jack, Wat 
Dreary, Robin ov Bagshot, Nimming Ned, 
Harry Paddington, Mat or the Mint, Ben 
Budge, arid the rest of the gang, at the table, 
with wine, brandy, and tobacco. 

Ben. But, prithee. Mat, what is become of 
thy brother Tom.? I have not seen hiin since my 
return from transportation. 

Mat. Poor brother Tom had an accident this 
time twelvemonth, and so clever made a fellow 
he was, that I could not save him from those 
flaying rascals the surgeons, and now, poor man, 
he is among the otamys' at Surgeons'-hall. 

Ben. So, it seems his time was come. 

Jem. Bu,t the present time is ours, and nobody 
alive hath more. Why are the laws levelled at 
us .'' Are we more dishonest than the rest of man- 
kind ? What we win, gentlemen, is our own, by 
the law of arms, and the right of conquest. 

Crook. Where shall we find such another set 
of practical philosophers, who, to a man, are 
above the fear of death ? 

Wat. Sound men and true ! 

Rob. Of tried courage, and indefatigable in- 
dustry! 

Ned. Who is there, here, that would not die for 
his friend } 

Har. Who is there, here, that would betray him 
for his interest.? 

Mat. Shew me a gang of courtiers that can 
say as much. 

Ben. We are for a just partition of the world ; 
for every man hath a right to enjoy life. 

Mat. We retrench the superfluities of man- 
kind. The world is avaricious, and I hate ava- 
rice. A covetous fellow, like a jackdaw, steals 
W hat he was never made to enjoy, for the sake 



of hiding it. These are the robbers of mankind ; 
for money was made for the free-hearted and 
iieiierous : and where is the injury of taking 
from another what he hath not the heart to make 
use of f 

Jem. Our several stations for the day are fixed. 
Good luck attend us all ! Fill the glasses. 

AIR. — Fill every glass, <5"C. 

]\lal. Fill every glass, for wine inspires us. 
And fires us 

With courage, love, and joy. 
Women and wine should life employ; 
Is there aught else on earth desirous? 
Chorus. Fill every glass, &c. 

Enter Macheath. 

Mac, Gentlemen, well met : my heart hath 
l)een with you this hour, but an unexpected af- 
fair hath detained me. No ceremony, I beg 
you. 

Mat. We were just breaking up to go upon 
duty. Am I to have the honour of taking the 
air with you, sir, this evening upon the heath .'' I 
drink a dram now and then with the stage coach- 
men, in the way of friendsiiip and intelligence ; 
:uid I know, that about this time, there will be 
passengers upon the western road who are worth 
speaking with. 

iliac. I was to have been of that party 

but 

Mat. But what, sir ? 

Mac. Is there any man who suspects my cou- 
j-age .? 

Mat. W^e have all been witnesses of it. 

Mac. Mv honour and truth to the gang? 

]Mat. I'll be answerable for it. 

Mac. In the division of our booty, have I ever 
shewn the least marks of ^.varice or injustice ? 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



Milt. By tliesc questions sumething seems to 
have riitlled sou. Are any of us suspertod? 

Aftic. 1 liave H fixed (oululonce, gentlemen, in 
you all a> men of honour, and, as such, I value 
and resj)cct you ; Peachnni is u man that is use- 
ful (o us. 

Hint. Is he about to shew us aiiy foul play ? 
I'll shoot hnn thn>Ui;li the head. 

Mac. 1 bej; you, i:enll< n\en, act with conduct 
and diMTetioii. A pistol is your last resort. 

j\liit. lie knows nothinj; of this lueetitii;. 

S\lac. Hnsiness cannot fio on without him : he 
is a man who knows the vsorld, and is a necessary 
aL'ent to us. We have had a slight ditVcrence, 
and, till it is accommodated, I shall be obliged to 
keep out of his way. Any private dispute of 
mine shall be of no ill consequent e to my friends. 
^ ou must coiitinnc to act under his direction ; for, 
the nif)mciit we break loose from him, our. gang 
is ruined. 

Mill. As a bawd to a whore, I grant you, he 
is, to us, of great convenience. 

j\lac. Make him believe I have quitted the 
gaiii;, whicii I can never do but with life. At 
our pri\ate quarters, 1 will continue to meet j'ou. 
A week or so, will probably reconcile us. 

^lul. Your instiuctions shall be observed. — 
1 is now high time for us to repair to our several 
duties; so, till the e\cning, at our quarters in 
IMonrticlds, we bid you farewell. 

Mac. I shall wish myself with you. Success 
attend -you ! 

[Sits down melancholy at the table. 

AIR. — March in Rinai.do, with dnans and 
trumpets. 

Mat. Let us take the road. 

Hark ! I hear the sound of coaches, 

The hour of attack approaches, 

To voiir arms, brave boys, and load ! 

.Sec"tlie ball I hold! 

Let the chemists toil like asses, 

Our fire their tire surpasses, 

And turns all our lead to gold. 

[The gang, ranged in the front of the stage, 
loud I heir pistols, and stick them under their 
girdles ; thei} go off", singing the p-st part in 
thorns. 
Mac. What a fool is a fond wench ! Polly is 
most confoundedly bit. I love the sex ; and a 
man, who loves money, might as well be content- 
ed with one guinea, as I with one woman. The 
tijwn, perhaps, hath been as much obiigcd to me 
for recruiting it with free-hearted ladies, as to 
any recruitiiiii officer in the anny. If it were not 
for us and the other gentlemen of the sword, 
Drury-lane would be uninhabited. 



AIR. — Would i/uu have a young virgin, Sfc. 

If the heart of a man is depressed with cares, 
The inist is dispelled, when a woman appears; 
Like the notes of a fiddle she sweetly, sweetly 
Raises the spirits, and charms our ears. 
Ko^es and lilies her cheeks disclose, 
13iit her ripe lips are more sweet than those ; 
Press her, 
C'arcfcs her; 
With blisses 
llcr kisses 
Dissolve us in pleasure and soft repose. 

I must have women ! There is nothing unbends 
the mind like them : money is not so strong a 
cordial for the lime — Drawer ! 

Enter Drawek. 

Ls the porter gone for all the ladies, according to 
iny directions.? 

Draw. I expect him back every minute; but 
you know, sir, you sent him as far as liockley-in- 
the-Hole for three of the ladies, for one in \'ine- 
gar-yaid, and for the rest of them somewhere 
about Lewkiifr's-iane. Sure, some of them are 
below, for I hear the bar-bell. As they come, I 
will shew tliera up. Coming, coming ! 

[Ejcit Drawer, 

Enter Mrs Co.wtr, Dolly Trull, Mrs 
Vixen, Bftty Doxy, Jenny Diver, Mrs 
SiAMMEKiN, SvKY Tawdry, and Molly 
Brazen. 

Mac. Dear Mrs Coaxcr ! you are welcome ; 
you look chartningly today : I hope you don't 
want the repairs of quality, and lay on paint } — 
Dolly Trull ! kiss me, you slut ! are you as amor- 
ous as ever, hussy .? you are always so taken up 
with stealing hearts, that you don't allow your- 
self time to steal any thin<r else : ah, Dolly ! thou 
wilt ever be a coquette. — Mrs Vixen ! I'm your's; 
I always loved a woman of wit and spirit ; they 
make charming mistresses, but plaguy wives. — 
Betty Doxy ! come hither, hussy ! do you drink 
as hard as ever ? you had better stick to pood 
wholesome beer; for,in troth, BettVj strong waters 
will in time ruin your constitution : yon sliould 
leave those to your betters. — What, and my pretty 
Jenny Diver, too ! as prim and demure as ever ! 
there is not any prude, though ever so high bred, 
hath a more saiK tified look, with a more mis- 
chievous heart ; ah, thou art a dear, artful hy- 
pocrite ! Mrs Slammekin ! as careless and 

genteel as ever : all you fine ladies, who know 
your ow n beauty, aflect an undress. — But see ! 
here's Suky I'awdry come to contradict what I 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



£3 



was saying ; every thing she gets one way, she 
lays out upon her back: why, Sukey, you must 
keep at least a dozen tallymen. — iMolly Brazen ! 
[SAe kisses him.] that's well dune ! I love a free- 
hearted wench : thou hast a most agreeable as- 
surance, girl, and art as willing as a turtle. 

But hark ! 1 hear music : the harper is at the 
door. If music be the food of love, play on. 
Ere you seat yourselves, ladies, what think you 
of a dance ? Come in ! 

Enter Harper. 

Play the French tune that Mrs Slammekin was 
so fond of [A dance a la ronde, in the French 
7nanner ; near the end of it this song and chorus.] 

AIR.— Cotillon, 

Youth's the season made for joys, 
Love is then our duty. 
She, alone, who that employs, 
Well deserves her beauty. 
Let's be gay 
"VVhile we may. 
Beauty's a Howei" despised in decay. 

Chorus. — Youth's the season, &c. 

Let us drink and sport to day, 
Ours is not to morrow ; 
Love with youth flies swift away, 
Age is nought but sorrow. 
Dance and sing, 
Time's on the wing, 
Life never knows the return of spring. 
Chorus. — Let us drink, &c. 

il/ac. Now, pray, ladies, take your places. 
Here, fellow. [Pai/s the harper.] Bid the drawer 
brings us more wine. [Exit harper.] If any of the 
ladies chuse gin, I hope they will be so free to 
call for it. 

Jen. You look as if you meant ine. Wine is 
strong enough for me. Indeed, sir, I never drink 
strong waters, but when I have the colic. 

Mac. Just the excuse of the hne ladies ! why, 
a lady of quality is never without the colic. I 
hope, Mrs Coaxer, you have had good success c^f 
late in your visits among the mercers } 

Coax. We have so many interl(>pers ; yet, with 
industry, one may still have a little picking. I 
carried a silver-flowered lutestrmg, and a piece 
of black padesoy, to Mr Peachum's lock, but last 
week. 

Vix. There's -Molly Brazen hath the ogle of a 
rattlesnake : she rivetted a linen-draper's eyes so 
fast upon her, that he was nicked of three pieces 
of ca\nbric before he could look off. 

Braz. Oh, dear madam ! But sure nothing 

can come up to your handling of laces ; and, then, 
you have such a sweet deluding tongue ! To cheat 



a man is nothing; but the woman must have 6ne 
parts, indeed, who cheats a woman. 

Vix. Lace, madam, lies in a small compass, 
and is of easy c<inveyance. But you are apt, ma- 
dam, to think too well of your friends. 

Coax. If any woman hath more art than an- 
other, to be sure it is Jenny Diver : though her 
teilow be never so agreeable, she can pick his 
pocket as coolly as if money were her only plea- 
sure. Now, tliat is a command of the passions 
unronnnon in a woman. 

Jen. I never go to the tavern with a man, but 
in the view of business. I have other hours, and 
other sort of men for my pleasure : but, had I 
your address, madam 

Mac. Have done with your compliments, la- 
dies, and drink about. You are not so fond of 
me, Jenny, as you used to be. 

Jen. 'Tis not con\enient, sir, to shew my fond- 
ness among so many rivals. 'Tis your own choice, 
and not the warmth of my inchnation, that will 
determine you. 

AIR. — All in a misty morning. 

Before the barn-door, crowing, 

The cock by hens attended. 
His eyes around him throwing, 

Stands for a while suspended; 
Then, one he singles from the crew, 

And cheers the happy hen. 
With how do you do, and how do you do. 

And how do you agen .'' 

Mac. Ah Jenny ! thou art a dear slut ! 

Trul. Pray, madam, were you ever in keepr 
ing } 

Tared. I hope, madam, I have not been so 
long upon the town but I have met with some 
good fortune as well as my neighbours. 

Trull. Pardon me, madam ; I meant no harm 
by the question; 'twas only in the way of conver- 
sation. 

Tawd. Indeed, madam, if 1 had not been a 
fool, I might have lived very handsomely with my 
last friend ; but, upon his missing five guineas, he 
turned me oft". Now, 1 never suspected he had 
counted them. 

S/am. Who do you look upon, madam, as your 
best sort of keepers ? 

Trull. That, madam, is thereafter as they be. 

Stum. I, madam, was once kept by a Jew, and, 
bating their religion, to women they are a good 
sort of people. 

Tawd. Now, for my part, I own I like an old 
fellow ; for we always make them pay for what 
they carmot do. 

Vix. A spruce 'prentice, let me tell you, ladies, 
is no ill thing ; they bleed freely : I have sent at 
least two or three dozen of them, in my time, to 
the plantations. 

Jiin. But to be sure, sir, with so much good 



54 



TJRrTISII DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



fortune ns you havp had upon the ruaii, you mui^t 
be urowl) iiiuncii><lv ridi ? 

Mar. The road, iiiHioH, liatli done me justice, 
but the iraining-iablf halh been my ruin. 

AIR. — Wlun once I lai/ uith another mans 
uif't; iyc. 

Jen. Tlie gamesters and lawyers are jugglers 
alike, 
If they meddle, your all is in danger ; 
IJke S£Vp>io>j, ii' once they can tinscr a souse, 
Your pockets they pick, and they pilfer your 

house, 
And give your estate to a stranger. 

A man of courage should never put any thine to 
the risk but his life. These arc the tools of a 
man of honour : cards and dice arc only fit for 
cowardly cheats, who prey upon their friends. 

[S/ie takes up one pistol, Tawdry takes 
up the (it her: 

Tuud. This, sir, iN titter for your hand. Re- 
sides your loss of money, 'tis a loss to the latlics. 
Gamiuf; takes you off from women. How foufl 
could I be of you ! but, before company, 'tis ill 
bred. 

^lac. Wanton htissies ! 

Jen. 1 must, and will have a kiss, to give my 
nine a zest. 

[Theif take him about the neck, and make 
siiins to Peach CM and constables, zcho 
rush in upon him. 

Peach. I seize you, sir, as my prisoner. 

j\Iac. Was this well done, .Tennv ^ — Women 
arc decoy-ducks; who can trust them.' beasts, 
jades, jilts, harpies, furies, whores ! 

Peach. Your case, Mr Macheath, is not parti- 
cular. The greatest heroes have been ruined by 
women. But, to do them justice, I must own 
they are pretty sort of creatures, if we could trust 
them. You must now, sir, take your leave of the 
ladies; and, if they have a mind to make vou a 
visit, they will be sure to find you at home. This 
gentleman, ladies, lodges in Newsate. Constables, 
wait upon the captain to his lodgings. 

AIR. — Whenfu'st I laid siege to my Chloris. 

Mac. At the tree I shall suffer wiih pleasure. 
At the tree I shall suflTer with pleasure; 
Let me go where I will, 
In all kinds of ill, 
I shall find no such furies as these are. 

Peach. Ladies, I'll take care the reckoning 
shall be discharged. 

[Exit Macheath, guarded, uith Peach- 
VM and constables ; the women remain.] 
Vir. Look ye, Mrs Jenny; though Mr Peach- 
urn may have made a private bargain with you 
and Sukey Tawdry for betraying the captain, as 



we were all asssisting, wc ought all to share a- 

hke. 

Cooj. I think Mr Peachum, after so long an 
acfpiamtance, might have trusted me as well as 
Jenny Diver. 

Slam. I am sure at least three men of his 
hanging, and in a year's time, too, (if he did me 
justu'e) ^hould be set down to my account. 

Trull. Mrs Slammekin, that is not fair, for you 
know one of them was taken in bed with me. 

Jen. As for a bowl of punch or a treat, I be- 
lieve Mrs Sukcy will join with me: as for any 
thini: else, ladies, you cannot in conscience ex- 
pert it. 

Slam. Dear madam 

J I nil. 1 wduld not for the world 

Slam. 'Tis impossible for me- 



Tnill. As I hope to be saved, madam 

Slum. Nay, then, I must stay here all night — 

Trull. Since you command me — ; 

[Exeunt uith great ceremoni/. 

SCENE II.— Neu gate. 

Enter LocKiT, Turnkeys, Macheath, and 
Constabtes. 

Lock. Noble captain! yo" are welcome; vou 
have not been a lodger of mine this year and 
half. You know the custom, sir : garnish, cap- 
tain, garnish. Hand me down those fetters 
there. 

j\luc. Those, Mr Lockit, seem to be the heavi- 
est of the whole set. \N itii your leave I should 
like the further pair better. 

Lock. Look ye, captain, we know what is fit- 
test for our prisoners. When a gentleman uSes 
me with civility, I always do the best I can to 
please him. Hand them down, I say. We have 
them of ail price>, from one guinea to ten ; and 
'tis fitting every gentleman should please himself. 

j\Jac. 1 understand you, sir. [Gives money.] — 
The fees here are so many and so exorbitant, 
that few fortunes can bear the cxpence of get- 
ting otf handsomely, or of dying like a gentle- 
man. 

Lock. Those I see will fit the captain better. 
Take down the further pair. Do but examine 
them, sir. Never was better work ; how gen- 
teelly they are made ! They will sit as easy as a 
glove, and the nicest man in Kncland might not 
be ashamed to wear them. — [He puts on the 
chains.] — If I had the best gentleman in the land 
in my custody, 1 could not equip him more hand- 
somely. And so, sir — I now leave you to your 
private meditations. 

[E.reunt Lockit, turnkeys, and constables. 

AIR. — Courtiers, courtiers, think it no harm. 

Mac. Man may escape from rope and gun. 

Nay, some have outlived the doctor's' 

pill; 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



5S 



Wlio takes a woman must be undone, 

That ba^ilisk. is sure to kill. 

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the 
sweets, 

So he that tastes woman, woman, wo- 
man. 

He that tastes woman, ruin meets. 

To what a woeful plight have I brought myself! 
Here must I (all dav long till I am hanuedj be 
confined to hear the reproaches of a wencli, who 
lays her ruin at ray door. 1 am in the custody 
of her father ; and, to be sure, if he knows of the 
matter, I shall have a fine time on't betwixt this 
and my execution. But I promised the wench 
marriage. What signifies a promise to a woman ? 
Does not man, in marriage itself, proniise a hun- 
dred things that he never means to perform ? Do 
all we can, women will believe us ; for they look 
upon a promise as an excuse for following their 
own inclinations — But here comes Lucy, and 1 
cannot get from her — would I were deaf! 

Enter Lt'cv. 

Lucy. You base man, you ! How can you look 
me in the face after what hath pn.-,t between us? 
See here, perfidious wretch ! How I am forced 
to bear about the load of infamy you have laid 
upon me I Oh, iVIacheath ! Thou hast robbed 
me of my quiet — to see thee tortured, would 
give me pleasure. 

AIR. — A lovely lass to a friar came. 

Thus, when a good huswife sees a rat 

In her trap in the morning taken. 

With pleasure her heart goes pit a pat, 

In reveuiie for her loss of bacon; 

Then she throws him 

To the dog or cat 

To be worried, crushed, and shaken. 

Mac. Have, you no bowels, no tenderness, my 
dear Lucy ! to see a husband in these circum- 
stances .'' 

Lucy. A husband ! 

]\lac. In every respect but the form ; and 
that, ray dear, mav be said over us at any time. 
Friends should not insist upon ceremonies. From 
a man of honour, his word is as good as his 
bond. 

Lucy. 'Tis the pleasure of all you fine men to 
insult the women you have ruined. 

AIR. — 'Twas when the sea reus roaring. 

How cruel are the traitors, 
Who lie and swear in jest; 
To cheat unguarded creatures 
Of virtue, fame, and rest ! 



Whoever steals a shilling, 
Through shame the guilt conceals; 
In love, the perjured villain. 
With boasts, the theft reveals. 

Mac. The very first opportunity, my dear, 
(have but patience) you shall be my wife, in 
whatever manner you please. 

Lucy. Insinuating monster ! And so you think 
I know nothing of tiie atfair of Miss Polly Peach- 
ura ? — I could tear thy eves out ! 

Mac. Sure, Lucy, you cannot be such a fool 
as to be jealous of Pollv ? 

Lucy. Are you not married to her, you brute 
3'ou ? 

il/«c. Married ! Very good ! 1 he wench gives 
il out only to vex thee, and to ruin me iu thy 
good opinion. Tis true, I go to the house ; I 
chat with the girl; I kiss her; 1 say a thousand 
things to her (as all gentlemen do that mean no- 
thing) to divert myself; and now the silly jade 
hath set it about that I am married to her, to let 
me know what she would be at. Indeed, mv 
dear Lucy, thc^e violent passions may be of ill 
consequence to a woman in your condition. 

Lucy. Come, come, captain; for all your assu- 
rance, you know that Miss Polly hath put it out 
of your power to do me the justice you promised 
me. 

Mac. A jealous woman believes every thing 
her passion sugoests. To convince you of my 
sincerity, if we can find the ordinary, 1 shall have 
no scruples of making you my wife; and I know 
the consequence of having two at a time. 

Lucy. That you are only to be hanged, and so 
get rid of them both. 

Mac. I am ready, my dear Lucy, to give you 
satisfaction — if you think there is any in mar- 
riage. What can a man of honour say more .? 

Lucy. So, then, it seems you are not married 
to Miss Polly.' 

Mac. You know, Lucy, the girl is prodigiously 
conceited : no man can say a civil thing to her, 
but dike other fine ladiesj her vanity makes her 
think he's her own for ever and ever. 

AIR. — The sun had loosed his weary teams. 

The first time at the looking glass 

The mother sets her daughter, 

The image strikes the smiling lass 

W'ith self-love ever after: 

Each time she looks, she, fonder grown, 

Thinks e\ ery charm grows stronger. 

But alas, vain maid ! all eyes but your 

own 
Can see you are not younger. 

When woraen consider their own beauties, they 
are all alike unreasonable in their demands, for 
they expect their lovers should like them as long 
as they like themselves. 



56 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



Lucy. Vouder is my tat her— Perhaps this way 
T.C niiiT li^ht upon tlie ordinary, who shall try if 

\ou will be as pood as your word for I lonj; 

to he naude an honest woman. [Exeunt, 

Entir PeacuI'M anJLocKiT, uith an account- 
book. 

Lock. In this last affair, brother Peachum, wc 
are ajTrecd. You have consented to gu halves in 
Machcath ? 

Peach. We shall never fall out about an exe- 
cution. — But as to that article, pray how stands 
our last year's account ? 

Lock. If you will run your eye over it, you'll 
find 'tis fair and clearly stated. 

Peach. This long arrcar of the government, is 
very hard upon us. Can it be expected that we 
should hang our acquaintance for nothing, when 
our betters will hardly save theirs, without being 
paid t'or it ? Unless the people in einploynient 
pay better, I promise them, for the future, I shall 
let other rotjues live besides their own. 

Lock. Perhaps, brother, they are afraid these 
matters may be carried too far. We are treated 
too by them with contempt, as if our profession 
were not reputiible. 

Peach. In one respect indeed, our employment 
may be reckoned dishonest, because, like urcat 
statesmen, we encourage those who betray their 
friends. 

Lock. Such language, brother, any where else, 
might turn to your prejudice. Learn to be more 
guarded, I beg you. 

AIR. — How happy are ae, (Jc. 

When you censure the age, 

Be cautious and sage, 

Lest the courtiers offended should be ; 

If you m*"rition vice or bribe, 

Tis so pat to all the tribe, 

Each cries That was levell'd at me. 

Peach. Here's poor Xed Clincher's name, I 
see : sure, brother Lockit, there was a little un- 
fair proceeding in Ned's case; for he toid me, in 
the condemned hold, that, for value received, 
you had promised him a session or two longer 
without molestation. 

Ij)ck. Mr Peachum — this is the first time my 
honour was ever called in question. 

Peach. Business is at an end — if once we act 
dishonourably. 

Lock. Who accuses me ? 

Peach. You are warm, brother. 

Lock. He that attacks my honour, attacks mv 
livelihood — And this usage — Sir — is not to be 
borne. 

Peach. .Since you provoke me to speak — I 
must tell you t<io, that Mrs Coaxer charges you 
with defrauding her of her itiformation-money, 
for the apprehending of Curl-pated Hugh. In- 



deed, indeed, brotlier, wc must punctually pay 
our spies, or we shall have I'o information. 

lx)ck. Is tliis language to me, sirrah ! — who 
have sav'd you from the gallows, sirrah } 

[Collaring each other. 

Peach. If I am hanged, it shall be for ridding 
the world of an arrant rascal. 

Lock. This hand shall do the office of the hal- 
ter you deserve, and throttle you — you dog ! 

Peach. Brother, brother ! — wc are both in the 
wrong — we shall be both losers in the dispute — 
for you know, we have it in our power to hang 
each other. You should not be so passionate. 

Lock. Nor you so provoking. 

Peach. 1'is our mutual interest — 'tis for the in- 
terest of the world, we should agree — If I said 
any thing, brother, to the prejudice of your cha- 
racter, I ask pardon. 

Lock. Brother Peachum — T can forgive, as well 
as resent — Give me your hand : suspicion does 
not become a friend. 

Peach. I only meant to give you occasion to 
justify yourself. But I must now step home, for 
I expect the gentleman about this snuft-box, that 
Filch iiimmed two nights ago in the Park. I ap- 
pointed him at this hour. [Exit. 

Enter LucT. 

Lock. Whence come you, hussv ? 

Luiy. My tears misht answer that question. 

Lock. You have been whimpering and fon- 
dling like a spaniel, over the fellow that hath 
abused you. 

Lucy. One can't help love ; one can't cure it. 
' lis not in my power to ohev you, and hate him. 

Lock. Learn to bear your husband's dcatji like 
a reasonable woman : 'tis not the fashion now-a- 
days so much as to affect sorrow upon these oc- 
casions. No woman would ever marry, if she 
had not the chance of mortality for a release. 
Act like a woman of spirit, hussy, and thank your 
fallier for what he is doing. 

AIR. — Oj a noble race was Shenkin. 

Lucy. Is, then, his fate decreed, sir? 
Sucli a man can I think of quitting ? 
When first we met so moves me yet. 
Oh ! see how my heart is splitting. 

Lock. Look ye, Lucy — there's no saving him — 
so I think you must even do like other widov?s — 
buy yourself weeds, and be cheerful. 

AIR. 

You'll think, ere many days ensue, 
This sentence not severe ; 
I hang your husband, child, 'tis true. 
But with him hang your care. 
Twansi dans dillo dee ! 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



57 



Like a good wife, go moan over your (lyinsj Ims- 
band : tliat, child, is your duty. — Consider, girl, 
you can't liavc the man and the nioncv too — so 
make yourself as easy as you can, by getting all 
you can from him. [Exit. 

Enter Macheath. 

Lucy. Though the ordinary was out of the 
way to-day, I hope, my dear, you will, upon the 
first opportunity, quiet my scruples. Oh, sir, my 
father's hard heart is not to be softened, and I 
am in tlie utmost despair ! 

Mac. But if I could raise a small sum — would 
not twenty guineas, think you, move him ? — Of 
all the arguments, in the way of business, the 
perquisite is the most prevailing. — Your father's 
perquisites, for the escape of prisoners, must 
amount to a considerable sum in the year. Mo- 
ney, well timed, and properly applied, will do 
any thing. 

AIR. — London ladies. 

If vou, at an office, solicit your due, 
And would not have matters neglected, 
You must quicken the clerk with the perquisite, 

too. 
To do what his duty directed. 
Or would you the frowns of a ladv prevent. 
She, too, has this palpable failing ; 
The perquisite softens her into consent : 
That reason with all is prevailing. 

Lucy. What love or money can do, sliall be 
done ; for all my comfort depends upon your 
safety. 

Enter Polly. 

Polly. Where is ray dear husband ? — Was a 
rope ever intended for this neck ! Oh, let mc 
throw my arms about it, and throttle thee with 
love ! — Why dost thou turn away from me .'' 'Tis 
thv Polly— 'tis thy wife ! 

Mac. Was ever such an unfortunate rascal as 
I am ! 

Lucy. Was there ever such another villain ! 

Polly. Oh, Macheath ! was it for this we part- 
ed .' Taken! imprisoned! tried! hanged! Cruel 
reflection ! I'll stay with thee till death — no force 
shall tear thy dear wife from thee now. What 
means my love ? — not one kind word ! not one 
kind look ! Think what thy Polly suffers to see 
thee in this condition ! 

AIR. — All in the Dozens, &c. 

Thus, when the swallow, seeking prey, 
Within tlie sash is closely pent, 
His consort, with bemoaning lay. 
Without sits pining for the event ; 
Her chattering lovers all around her skim ; 
She heeds them not (poor bird !), her soul's with 

him. 

Vol. III. 



A[(ir. I must disown her [yl:>irfr.]. The wench 
is distracted ! 

Lucy. Am I then bilked of my virtue? Can I 
have no reparation ? Sure men were born to lie, 
and women to believe them ! Oh, villain, villain ! 

Polly. Am I not thv wife ? — Thy neglect of 
me, thy aversion to me, too severely proves it. — 
Look on me — Tell me, am I not thy wife i" 

Lucy. Perfidious w retch ! 

Polly. Barbarous husband ! 

Lucy. Hadst thou been lianged five months 
ago, 1 had been happy ! 

Polli). And I, too.' — If you had been kind to 
me till death, it would not have vexed me — and 
that's no very unreasonable request (though from 
a wife), to a man who hath not above seven or 
eight days to live. 

Lucy. Art tnou, then, married to another ? 
Hast thou two wi\cs, monster? 

]\Iac. If w omens' tongues can cease for an an- 
swer — hear me. 

Lucy. I won't. — Flesh and blood cannot bear 
my usage. 

Polly. Shall I not claim my own ? — Justice 
bids me speak ? 

AIR. — Have you heard of a frolicsome ditty ? 

Mac. Hov,' happy could I be with eithei'. 
Were t'other dear charmer away ! 
But while you thus tease me together, 
To neither a word will I say, 
But tol de rol, &c. 

Polly. Sure, my dear ! there ought to be some 
preference shew-n to a wife; at least she may 
claim the appearance of it. He must be distract- 
ed with his misfortunes, or he could not use me 
thus. 

Lucy. Oh, villain, villain ! thou hast deceived 
me I I could even inform against thee with plea- 
sure. Not a prude wishes more heartily to have 
facts against her intimate acquaintance, than I 
now wish to have facts against thee. I would 
have her satisfaction, and they should all out. 

AlR. — L'ish trot. 

Polly. I'm bubbled ! 

Lucy. I'm bubbled! 

Polly. Oh, how I am troubled ! 

Lucy. Bamboozled and bit ! 

Polly. My distresses are doubled ! 

Lucy. When you come to the tree, should the 

hangman refuse. 
These fingers, with pleasure, could fasten the 

noose. 
Pclly. I'm bubbled, &c. 

Mac. Be pacified, my dear Lucy ! this is all a 
fetch of Polly's, to make me desperate with you 
in case I get off. If I am hanged, she would faia. 

II 



BPxITISIl DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



liavo tlir credit of being tliou^lit my widow. 

l»c;illv, I'cillv, iliis is no time lor a dispute ot' this 
s nt ; tor whenever you arc talking of marriage, I 
:itn iliMikin<: ol' h:umiii<:. 

Foiit). And hast thou the heart to porsist in dis- 
own in*; me? 

Muc. And hast lliou tlie lieart to pcrM.^t in pcr- 
Miadmg uie iliat 1 an) njariifd ? Why, I'olly, do^t 
tiiou seek to as:i:ravato my misfortuneb? 

Lucti. Urally, Mi^s IVacliiim, you but expose 
vonrselt": besides, 'tis barbarous in yuu to worry 
a i^entleman in his circumstances. 

AIR. 

ToUi/. Cease your funning, 
porcc or cunning. 
Never shall my heart trepan : 
All thc'e sallies 
Are but malice, 
To seduce my constant man. 
'Tis most certain, 
By th( ir flirting, 
Women oft have envy shown : 
Pleased to ruin 
Others' wooiuL', 
Jsever happy in their own ! 

Dccenry, madam, mclhinks, might teach you to 
behave yourself with some reserve with the hus- 
bam), while his wil'c is present. 

Mar. But seriously, I'olly, this is carrying the 
joke a little too far. 

Liirif. If you arc determined, madam, to raise 
a disturbance in tiie prison, I shall be obliged to 
send for the turnkey to shew you the door. I am 
iorry, madam, you force me to be so ill-bred. 

l\)//i^. Give me leave to tell you, madam, these 
forward airs don't become you in the least, ma- 
dam; and mj duty, madam, obliges me to stay 
V. ith njy husband, madam. 

AIR. — Good-morrow, gossip Joan. 

Liin/. Why, how now, INIadam Flirt ? 
If you thus n)ust chatter, 
And iiro for flinging dirt, 
Let's try who best can spatter, 
INIadum Flirt ! 

Polli/. Why, how now, saucy jade? 
Sure the wench is tipsy ! 

How can you see me made [I'o him. 

The scoff of such a gipsy ? 
Saucy jade! [To her. 

Enter Peachum. 

Prnch. Where's my wench.' Ah, hussy, hussy ! 
( omc you home, you slut ! and, when your fel- 
li w is iiauged, hang yourself, to make your fami- 
'' -f>iiic amends. 



Poll}/. Dear, dear father ! do not tear me from 
him. I must speak ; 1 have more to say to him. 
Oh, tvvibt thy fetters about me, that he may not 
haul me from thee ! 

Peach. Sure all women are alike ! if ever they 
commit one folly, they are sure to commit an- 
olhi r, bv exposing themseUes. — Away ! not a 
word more ! — You are my prisoner now, hussy ! 

AIR. — 7mA hotel. 

Polly. No power on earth can e'er divide 
The knot, that sacred love hath tied ! 
\\'heri ])arents draw against our mind, 
The true-love's knot they faster bind. 
Oh, oh ray, oh Aniborah — Oh, oh, t^r, 

[Holiling Mac HEATH, Pr.ACHiM pulling 
her. — Exeunt Peaculm and Polly. 

Mac. I am naturally compassionate, wife, so 
that I could not use the wench as she deserved, 
which made you at first suspect there was some- 
thing in what she said. 

Luci/. Indeed, ray dear ! I was strangely puz- 
zled. 

Mac. If that had hern the case, her father 
would never have brought me into this circum- 
stance — No, Lucy, I had rather die than be false 
to thee. 

Lnci/. IIow happy am I, if you say this from 
your heart ! for 1 love thee so, that 1 could sooner 
hear to see thee hanged, than in the arms of an- 
other. 

]\lac. But couldst thou bear to see me hang- 
ed '? 

Lucy. Oh, Macheath I 1 can never live to see 
that day. 

Mac. You sec, Lucy, in the account of love, 
you are in my debt; and you must now be con- 
vinced, that I rather chuse to die, than be ano- 
ther's. Make me, if possible, love thee more, 
and let me owe my life to thee. If you refuse 
to assist mc, Peachum and your father will im- 
mediately put me bevond all means of escape. 

J.ucy. INly father, I know, hath been drinking 
hard w ith the prisoners ; and, 1 fancy, he is now 
takinir his nap in his own room. If I can pro- 
cure the keys, shall I go off with thee, my dear? 

^lac. If we are together, twill be impossible 
to lie concealed. As soon as the search begins 
to be a little cool, I will send to thee — till then, 
my heart is thy prisoner. 

Lucy. Come, then, mv dear husband ! owe thy 
life to me — and, thouuh you love me not — be 

grateful But that Polly runs in my head 

strangely. 

Mac. A moment of time may make us unhap- 
py for c\ cr. 

iWlX.— The lass nf Patie's mill. 

J^icy. I, like the fox, shall grieve, 
Whose jmtc hath left her side, 



Gay.] 



BIUTISU DRAMA. 



•39 



Whom hounds, from morn to eve, 
Chase o'er the country wide. 
Where can my lover hide, 



Where cheat the wary pack ? 
If love be not his ^uide, 
He never will come back. 



[EceHiit. 



ACT iir. 



SCEN£ I.— Newgate. 

Enter Lockit and Lucy. 

Lock. To be sure, wench, you must have been 
aiding and abetting to heli) liim to his escape. 

Lttci/. Sir, here hi;th been Peacluun and his 
daughter Folly; and, to be sure, they know tiie 
ways of Newgate as well as if they had been 
born and bred in the place all thcii' lives. Wliy 
must all your suspicicjn \vd}it upon me ? 

Lock. Lucy, Lucy ! I will have none of these 
shuflling answers. 

Liici;. Well, tiien — if I know any thing of him, 
I wish I may be burnt ! 

Lock. Keep your temper, Lucy, or I shall pro- 
nounce you guilty. 

Lucy. Keep your's, sir T do wish I may be 

burnt, I do — And what can I say more to con- 
vince you ? 

Lock. Did he tip handsomely r how much 

did he come down with ? Come, hussy, don't 
cheat your father, and 1 shall not be angry with 
yiiu — Perhaps you have made a better bargain 
with him, than I could have done — How much, 
my good girl ? 

Lacy. You know, sir, I am fond of him, and 
would have given money to have kept him with 
me. 

Lock. Ah, Lucy ! thy education might have 
put thee more upon thy guard ; for a girl, in the 
bar of an alehouse, is always besieged. 

Lucy. Dear sir ! mention not my education — 
for 'twas to that I owe my ruin. 

AIR. — Lf lovers a sweet passion, &c. 

When young at the bar you first taught me to 
score. 
And bid me be free of my lips, and no more, 
I was kissed by the parson, the squire, and the 

sot ; 
When the guest was departed, the kiss was for- 
got : 
But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he prest, 
That I languished and pined till I granted the rest. 

If you can forgive me, sir, I will make a fair 
confession ; for, to be sure, he hath been a most 
barbarous villain to me. 

Lock. And so you have let him escape, hussy I 
Have you ? 

Lucy. When a woman loves, a kind look, a 

tender word, can persuade her to any thing— 

and I could ask no other bribe. 

Lock. Thou wilt always be a vulgar slut ! — 
Lucy — if you would not be looked upon as a fool, 
you should never do any thing but upon the foot- f 



ing of interest: those that act otherwise arc their 
own bubbles. 

Lacy. But love, sir, is a misfortune that may 
happen to the most discreet woman ; and, in 
love, we are all fools alike. — Notwithstanding all 
he sworo, I am now fully convinced that I'oliy 

I'cachum is actually his wife. Did I let hnn 

escape (tool that I was !) to go to her? — Polly 
will wlieedle herself into liis money, and then 
Peachum will hang him, and cheat us both. 

Lock. So I am to be ruined, because, forsooth, 
you must be w love ? — A very pretty excuse ! 

Lucy. I could murder that impudent, happy 
strumpet — I ga\e him his life, and tliat creature 
enjoys the sweets of it — Ungrateful MacheHth ! 

AIIl. — -Souiii Sea ballad. 
IMv love is all madness and folly ; 
Alone I lie. 
Toss, tumble, and cry. 
What a happy creature is Polly ! 
Was e'er such a wretch as I I 
With rage I redden like scarlet, 
That mv dear inconstant varlet, 
Stark blind to my charms. 
Is lost in the arms 
Of that jilt, that inveigling harlot ! 
Stark blind to my charms, 
Is lost in the arms 
Of that jilt, that inveigling harlot ! 
This, tins my resentment alarms. 

Lock. And so, after all this mischief, I niust 
stay here to be entertained with your caterwaul- 
ing. Mistress Puss! Out of my siglit 

wanton strumpet ! you shall fast and mortify 
yourself into reason," with now and then a little 
handsome discipline to bring you to your senses. 

Go ! [Exit Lurv.] Peachum then intends 

to outwit me in this affair ; but I'll be even with 

him. The dog is leaky in his liquor, so I'll 

ply him that way, get the secret from him, and 

turn this affiiirto my own advantage. 

Peachum is mv companion, my friend Ac- 
cording to the custom of the world, indeed, he 
may quote thousands of precedents for cheating 

me and shall not I make use of tlie privilege 

of friendship, to make him a return.' 

AIR. — Packingtoii's pound. 
Thus, gamesters united in friendship are foimd. 
Tho' they know that their industry all is a cheat; 
They flock to their prey at the dice-box's sound, 
And join to promote one another's deceit : 
But if by mishap 
They fail of a chap, 
To keen in their hands they each other entraps 



(X) 



BKITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



Like pikes, lank with hunger, who nii'^s of iheir 

They bite Uicir companions, and pic y on ihcir 
fricndb : 

Now, Pcacliuni, vtiu unci I, like honest tnides- 
tnen, are to have ii fair trial, which of us two can 

ovcr-riiith the utiier. — l^ucy [Enter I.uc v.] 

Arc there any of I'cachuni's jjcoplc now in the 
house ? 

Luiy. Filch, sir, is drinkin^^ a fiuarlcrn of 
stronc wators in tlif next room \mi1i IJIack Moll. 

Lock. Hid him come to me. [Eiit Llxy. 

Enter Filch. 

Wiiy, hoy, thou lookest as if thou wcrt halt"-star- 
ved, like a shottcn hcrrins;. lint, hoy, can'.'^t thou 
tell inc where thy master is to he tound ? 

Filc/i. At his lock, bir, at The Crooked Billet. 

Lock. \'ery well — I have riothing more with 
vini. \E.iit Fii.c n.] J'll go to hi4n there, for I 
iiavo many imporUmt att'airs to settle with liim, 
aiul in the way of those transactio?is I'll artfully 
get into his secret — so that jNIacheath slrall not 
remain a day longer out of my clutches. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A gaming-house. 

iMachf.ath ijt a fine tarnished coat, Bi^v BvvGV., 
Mat of the Mint. 

Mac. I am soiry, gentlemen, the road was so 
barren of money. When my friends are in dif- 
ficulties, I am always glad, that my fortune ran 
be serviceable to them. [Gives them rnonej/.] 
You see, gentlemen, I am not a mere court- 
friend, who professes every thing, and will do 
nothing. 

AIR.— LillibuUero. 

The modes of the court so common are grown, 

I'iiat a true friend can hardly be met ; 

Friendship for interest is hut a loan, 

Which they let out for w Iiat they can get : 

'Tis true, you find 

Some friends so kind, 

W'ho will give you good counsel themselves to 

defend, 
In sorrowful ditty 
They promise, they pity, 
But shift you, for money, from friend to friend. 

But we, gentlemen, have still honour enough to 
break through the corruptions of the world — 
and, while I can serve you, you may command 
me. 

Jien. It grieves my heart, that so generous a 
man should he in\o!ved in sucli diilicuities as ob- 
lige him to live with such ill company, and herd 
with gamesters. 

lilat. See the partiality of mankind ! — One 



man may steal a horse, better tlian another look 
over a iiedge. — Of all mechanics, f>f all servile 
handicrafisuK-n, a gamester is the vilest: but yet, 
as many of the <iuality are of the profession, he 
is admill«d amonnst the politest company. I 
wonder we are not more respected ! 

iV/«r. There will be deep play to-night at 
Marybone, and consequently, money may be 
picket! up upon the road. iNleet me there, and 
I'll i:ive you the hint who is worth setting. 

Mat. The fellow with a brown coat, with a 
narrow gold binding, I am luld is never without 
money. 

]\fuc. What do you mean, Alat.? Sure you will 
not think of meddling w ilh him ! he's a good ho- 
nest kind of a fellow, and one of us. 

Ben. To be sure, sir, we will put ourselves un- 
der your direction. 

Mac. liave an eye upon the money-lenders — 
A rouleau or two would prove a pretty sort of 
ail expedition. I hate extortion. 

Mat. Those rouleaus are very pretty things — 
I hate your bank-bills; there is such a hazard in 
putting them off. 

Mac. There is a certain man of distinction, 
who, in his time, hath nicked me out of a great 

deal of the rcatly : he is in my cash, Ben I'll 

ptjint him out to you this evening, and you shall 
diaw^ up(jn him for the tlcbt — The company are 
met ; I hear the dice-box in the other room ; so, 
gentlemen, your servant. You'll meet me at 
I^larybone .'' 

Mat. Upon honour. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Peachum's lock. A table, with 
xcine, bril?icly, pipes, and tobacco. 

Enter Peachum, and Lock it. 

Lock. The coronation-account, brother Peach- 
um, is of so intricate a nature, that I believe it 
will never be settled. 

Peach. It consists, indeed, of a great variety 
of articles — It was worth to our people, in fees 
of different kinds, above ten instalments. But, 
brother, it is impossible for qs now to enter up- 
on this affair — we should have the whole day 
before us — l^sides, the account of the last half- 
year's plate is in a book by itself, which lies at 
the other office. 

Lock. Bring us, then, more liquor — To-day 
shall be for pleasure — to-morrow for business. — 
Ah, brother ! those daughters of ours are two 

slippery hussies Keep a watchful eye upon 

Poily ; and Macheath, in a day or two, shidl be our 
own again. 

AIR. — Down in the North counfrj/. 

Lock. What gudgeons are we men ! 
Every woman's easy prey ; 
Thougii we have felt the hook, again 
We bite, and they betray. 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



61 



Tlie bird that hath been trapt, 
When he hears his calHnc^ mate, 
To her he flies ; attain he's clapt 
Within the wiry grate. 

Peach. But what signifies catching the bird, if 
your daughter Lucy will set open the door of the 
cage ? 

Lock. If men were answerable for the foUies 
and frailties of their wives and daii!;htcrs, no 
friends could keep a good corrcsponrlence toge- 
ther for two ilavs — This is unkind of you, bro- 
ther, for among good friends, wliat they say or do 
goes foi- nothing. 

Enter Fii.cH, 

Fil. Sir, here's Mrs Diana Trapes wants to 
speak with you. 

Feacli. Shall we admit her, brother Lockit ? 

Lock. By all means she's a good cus- 
tomer, and a fine spoken woman — and a woman, 
who drinks and talks so freely, will enliven the 
conversation. 

Peach, Desire her to walk in, [E.ivY Filch. 

Enter Mrs Trapes. 

Dear Mrs Dye ! your servant — one may know by 
your kiss, that your gin is excellent. 

Trapes. I was always very curious in my li- 
quors. 

Lock. There is no perfumed breath like it — I 
have been long acquainted with the flavour of 
those lips — ha'nt I, Mrs Dye ? 

Trapes. Fill it up — I take as large draughts of 
liquor, as I did of love — I hate a flincher in ci- 
ther. 

AIR. — A shepherd kept sheep, fyc. 

In the days of my youth I could bill like a 

dove, fa, la, la, Sec. 
Like a sparrow at all times was ready for love, 

fa, la, la, &c. 
The life of all mortals in kissing should pass, 
Lip to lip while we're young, then the lip to 

the glass, fa, la, 6cc. 

Bat now, Mr Fcachnm, to our business. If you 
have blacks of any kind brought in of late, man- 
tuas — velvet scarl^s — petticoats — let it be what it 

will 1 am your chap — lor all my ladies are 

very fond of mourning. 

Peach. ^Vhy look ye, Mrs Dye — you deal so 
hard with us, that we can aftbrd to give the gen- 
tlemen, who venture their lives for the goods, lit- 
tle or nothing. 

Trapes. The hard times oblige me to go very 
near in my dealing — To be sure, of late years, I 
have been a great suft'erer by the Parliament — 
three thousand pounds would hardly make me 
amends — The act for destroying the Jilint, was a 
severe cut upon our business till then, if a 



customer stept out of the way — we knew where 

to have her : No doubt, you know Mrs Coax- 

er — There's a wench now (till to-dav) with a good 
suit of clothes of mine upon lier back, and I could 
never set eyes upon her for three months toge- 
ther. Since the act, too, against imprison- 
ment for small sums, my loss there too hath been 
very considerable ; and it must be so, when a 
lady can borrow a handsome petticoat or a clean 
gown, and I not have the least hank upon her ; 
and of my conscience, novv-a-days, most ladies 
take delight in cheating, when they can do it 
with safetv ! 

Peach. ^ladam, you had a handsome gold 
watch of us the other day for seven guineas — 

Considering we nmst have our prolit to a 

gentleman upon the road a gold watch will be 
scarce worth the taking. 

Trapes. Consider, Mr Peachum, that watch 
was remarkable, and not of very safe sale. If 
you have any black velvet scarfs — thev are a 
handsome winter wear, and take with most sen- 

tlemen, who deal with my customers Tis 

I that put the ladies upon a good foot : 'tis not 
youth or beauty that fixes their price; the gentle- 
men always pay according to their dress, from 
half-a-crown to two guineas, and yet those hussies 
make nothing of bilking of me — Then, too, al- 
lowing for accidents — I have eleven fine custo- 
mers now down under the surgeon's hand 

what with fees and other expences, there are 
great goings-out and no comings-in, and not a far- 
thing to pay for at least a month's cloathing — 
We run great risks — great risks, indeed. 

Peach. As I remember, you said something 
just now of Mrs Coaxer. 

Trapes. Yes, sir; to be sure I stripped her of 
a suit of my own clothes about two hours asjo, 
and have left her, as she should be, in her shit'r, 
with a lover of her's, at my house. She called 
him up stairs, as he was going to iVIarybone in a 
hackney-coach — and, I hope, for her own sake 
and mine, she will persuade the captain to re- 
deem hei-, f(jr the captain is very generous to the 
ladies. 

Lock. What captain } 

Trapes. He thought I did not know him — an 
intimate acquaintance of your's, Mr Peachum — 
only captain Macheath — as fine as a lord. 

Peach. To-morrow, dear Mrs Dye ! you shall 
set your own price upon any of the goods you 

like We have at least half a dozen velvet 

scarfs, and all at your service. Will you give 
me leave to make you a present of this suit of 
night-clothes for your own wearing? But are yon 
sure it is captain Macheath ! 

Trapes. Though he thinks I have forgot him, 
nobody knows him better. I have taken a great 
deal of the captain's money in my time at se- 
cond-hand, for he always loved to have his ladies 
well dressed. 

Peach. Mr Lockit and I have a little business 



G'i 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



we will satisf'v vnu tor Airs C'oaxcr's debt. 

Loik. Depend upon it we will deal like 

men ut' honour. 

Trapes. I don't inquire after your alVairs — so 

whatever happens, I wash my hands on't It 

hath always been my maxim, that one friend 

should assist another Ikit, if you please, 

I'll take one of the scarfs home with me ; 'tis al- 



ways good to have something in hand. 



[^Etcnnt. 



EiitcrhvcY. 
Luof. Jealousy, raj!;e, love, and fear, arc at 
once tcarin<: me to pieces. How I am weather- 
beaten and shatterctl with distresses ! 

.VIR. — One ereniiig having lost my zcay. 

I'm like a skiff on the ocean tost. 

Now high, now low, with each billow borne, 

\Vith her rudder broke, and her anchor lost, 

Deserted and all f(jrlorn : 

While thus I lie rollinif and tossing all night. 

That Polly lies spurting on seas of delight ! 

Revenge, revenge, revenge. 

Shall appease my restless sprite ! 



T have the ratsbane readv- 



with the captain vou understand nic? — and I —I wish all our quarrels might have so 

■ ■■ " • • •- comfortable a reconciliation. 

Polh/. I have no excuse for my own behaviour, 
madam, but my misfortunes — and reullv, ma- 
dam, 1 sutler too upon your account. 

Lucy. But, Miss Polly — in the wav of friend- 
ship, will you give me leave to propose a glass of 
cordial to you ? 

folli/. Strons; waters are apt to give me tlie 
head-ache. I hcjpe, madam, you will excuse me. 

Lucy. Not th<; greatest lady in the land could 
have belter in her closet for her own private 
drinking — You seem mighty luw in spirits, my 
dear ! 

Folly. I am sorry, madam, my health will not 
allow mc to accept of vour otfer — I should not 
have left you in the ruHe manner I did, when we 
met last, madam, had not my papa hauled me 
a\\ay so unexpectedly — I was, indeed, somewhat 
provoked, and perhaps might use some expres- 
sions, that were disrespectful — but really, ma- 
dam, the captain treated inc with so much con- 
tempt and cruelty, that I deserved your pity ra- 
ther than your resentment. 

Lucy. But since his escape, no doubt all mat- 
ters are made up again — Ah, Polly ! Polly ! 'tis 
I am the unhappy wife, and he loves you, as if 
you were only his mistress. 

Polly. Sure, madam, you cannot think me so 
happy as to be the object of your jealousy .'• — A 
man is always afraid of a woman, who loves him 
too well — so that I must expect to be neglect- 
ed and avoided. 

Lucy. Then our cases, ray dear Pollv, are 
exactly alike : both of us, indeed, have been too 
fond. 

AIR.— 0, Bessy Bell, ^c. 

Folly. A curse attends that woman's love, 

Who aU%ays would be pleasing. 
Lucy. The pertness of the billing dove, ' 

Like tickling is but to;ising. 
Polly. What, then, in love can woman do ? 
Lucy. If we grow fond, they shun us, 
Polly. And when we fiy them they pursue, 
Lucy. But lease us when they've won us. 

I-.ucy. Love is so very whimsical in both sexes, 
that it IS impossible to be lasting — but my heart 
is particular, and contradicts my own observa- 
tion. 

Polly. But really, mistress Lucy, by his last 
behaviour, I think I ought to envy you — When I 
was forced from him, he did not shew the least 
tenderness — but, perhaps, he hath a heart not 
capable of it. 

AIR. — Would fate to me Belinda give. 

Among the men coquettes we find 
Who couit, byiturus, all womankind, 



-I run no risk. 



for I can lay her death upon the gin, and so ma- 
ny die of that naturally, that I shall never be 
called in question But say 1 w ere to be hang- 
ed 1 never could be hanged for any 

thing that would give me greater comfort than 
the poisoning that slut. 

Enter Filch. 

Filch. Madam, here's Miss Polly come lo wait 
upon you. 

Lucy. Shew her in. 

Enter Polly. 

Polly. Dear madam ! your servant. I hope 
you will pardon my passion — when I was so hap- 
py to see you last — I was so over-run with the 
spleen, that I was perfectly out of myself; and 
really when one hath the spleen, every thing is 
to be excused by a friend. 

AIR. — Nou-, Roger, I'll tell thee, because thou 
art my son. 

When a wife's in her pout 

(As she is sometimes, no doubt) 

The good husband, as meek as a lamb, 

Her vapours to still 

First grants her her will, 

And the quieting draught is a dram; 

Poor man ! and the quietinj; draught is a dram. 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



63 



And \vc ^rant all their hearts desired, 
When they are fluttered and admired. 

The coquettes of botli sexes are self lovers, and 
that is a love no other whatever can dispossess. — 
I fear, my dear Lucy, our husband is one of 
those. 

Lucy. Away with these melancholy reflections! 
— Indeed, my dear Polly, we are both of us a 
cup too low : let me prevail upon you to accept 
of my offer. 

AIR. — Come, sued lass. 

Come, sweet lass ! 
Let's banish sorrow 
Till to-morrow ; 
Come, sweet lass ! 
Let's take a chirping glass. 
Wine can clear 
The vapours of despair, 
And make us light as air ; 
Then drink, and banish care, 

I can't bear, child, to see you in such low spirits 

and I must persuade you to what I know 

will do you good 1 shall now soon be even 

with the hypocritical strumpet. [Aside.] [Exit. 
P-ooly. All t'liis wheedling of Lucy can't be for 
nothing — at this time too, when I know she 
liatcs me ! — The dissembling of a woman is al- 
ways the forerunner of mischief — By pouring 
strong waters down my throat, she thinks to 
pump some secrets out of me — I'll be upon my 
guard, and won't taste a drop of her liquor, I'm 
resolved. 

Hinter LrcY, zcith strong waters. 

Lucy. Come, Miss Polly. 

Polly. Iniieed, child, you have given yourself 
trouble to no purpose — You must, my dear, ex- 
cuse me. 

Lucy. Really, !Miss Polly, you are as squeam- 
ishly affected about taking a cup of strong 
waters, as a lady before company. I vow, Polly, 
I shall take it monstrously ill, if you refuse me — 
Brandy and men (though women love them never 
so well) are always taken by us with some re- 
luctance — unless 'tis in private. 

Polly. I protest, Madam, it goes against 

me What do I see ! jMacheath again in 

custody ! — now every glimmering of happiness is 
lost ! [Drops the glass of liquor on the ground. 

Lucy. Since things are thus, I'm glad the 
wench hath escaped ; for, by this event, 'tis plain 
she was not happy enough to deserve to bo 
poisoned. [A.'iide. 

Enter Lockit, Maciieath, and Peachum. 
Lock. Set your heart at rest, captain You 



have neither the chance of love or money for 
another escape, for you are ordered to be called 
down upon your trial immediately. 

Peach. Away, hussies ! this is not a time for a 
man to be hampered with his wives — you see the 
gentleman is in chains already. 

Lucy. O husband, husband ! my heart longed 
to see thee, but to see thee thus, distracts me ! 

Polly. Will not niy dear husband look upon 
his Polly ? Why hadst thou not flown to mc for 
protection ? with me thou hadst been safe. 

AIR. — The last time I came o^er the moor. 

Polly. Hither, dear husband ! turn your eyes. 

Lucy. Bestow one glance to cheer me. 

Polly. Think with that look thy Polly dies. 

Lucy. O shun me not, but hear me. 

Polly. 'Tis Polly sues. 

Lucy. 'Tis Lucy speaks. 

Polly. Is thus true h^ve requited .'' 

Lucy. My heart is bursting. 

Polly. Mine too breaks. 

Lucy. Must I, 

Polly. Muit I be slighted ? 

Mac. What would you have me say, ladies.' — 
You see this affair will soon be at an end, with- 
out my disobliging either of you. 

Peach. But the settling this point, captain, 
might prevent a law-suit between your two 
widows. 

AIR. — Tom Tinker s my true love, SfC. 

Mac. Which way shall I turn me .'' — how can I 

decide ? 
Wives, the day of our deatli, are as fond as a 

bride. 
One wife is too much for most husbands to hear, 
But two at a time there's no mortal can bear. 
This way, and that way, and which wav I will. 
What would comfort the one, t' other wife would 

take ill. 

Polly. But if his own misfortunes have made 

him insensible to mine a father, sure, will 

be more compassionate Dear, dear sir ! 

sink the material evidence, and bring him off 

at his trial Polly, upon her knees, begs it of 

you. 

AIR. — / am a poor shepherd undone. 

When my hero in court appears, 
And stands arraigned for his life. 
Then rhlnk of your Polly's tears, 
For, ah ! poor Polly's his wife. 
Like I he s?jlur he holds up his hand, 
Distrcst on the dashing wave ; 
To dir ;i dry death at land 
Is as bad as a wat'ry grave. 



04 



DRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



Aiul iilas poor Polly ? 
Aiack, uiid \vell-a-tl:iy ! 
Ik-forc 1 wus in lov«', 
Oh ! ev'ry moiitl) was May. 

Imcv. If Pcachum'). heart is hardened, sure 
you, sir, will havt- more compassion on a. dauph- 
tor- I know jlic evidence is in your power 



-How then can you be a tyrant to me ! 

[Knidinf^. 

AUi.— Iunthc the loTclj/, S^c. 

^^■hcn he holds up his hand arraigned for his 

life, 
O, think of your daughter, and think I'm his 

wife ! 
What are cannons or bombs, or clashing of 

swords : 
For death is more certain by witnesses* word> : 
Then n;iil up their lips, that dread thui\dcr 

allnv, 
And each "month of my life will hereafter be 

-May. 

Loch. Macheath's time is come, I.ucy We 

know our own afiairs ; therefore, let us have no 
more w himpering or whining. 

AIR. — A cobler there nas, SfC. 

Ourselves, like the great, to secure a retreat, 
When matters rc(}uire it, must give up our gang; 
And cood reason why. 
Or instead of the fry, 
Even Peachum and I, 
Like poor petty rascals micht hang, hang, 
Like poor petty rascals might hang ! 

Peach. Set your heart at rest, Polly — your 

husband is to die to-day therefore, if you 

are not already provided, 'tis high time to look 
about for another. There's comfort for you, you 
slut. 

Lock. We are rcadv, sir, to conduct you to 
Old Bailey. 

AIR. — Bonny Dundee. 

Mac. The charge is prepared, the lawyers are 
met. 
The judtics all ranged (a terrible shovv !) 
I Ko undismayed — for death is a debt, 
A debt on demand — so take what I owe. 
Then, farewell my love ! — dear charmers, adieu ! 
Contented I die — 'tis the better for you. 
Here ends all dispute the rest of our lives. 
For this way at once I please all my wives. 

Now, gentlemen, I am ready to attend you. 
[Escunt Peac UU.M, Lockit, and Maciieath. 



l*ol/i/. Follow them, Filch, to the court, and 
when the trial is over, bring ine a particular ac- 
coimt of his behaviour, and of every thiii" that 

happened You'll fnid me here with Miss 

l.ucv. [Exit FiLCU.] But why is all this mu- 
sick? 

Litci/. The prisoners, w hose trials are put off 
till next session, are diverting themselves. 

i'ii//i/. Sure there is nothmg so charming as 
music \ I'm fond of it to distraction — But, alas! 
— now all mirth seems an insult upon my afflic- 
tion. — Ix't us retire, my dear Lucy ! and indulge 
our sorrows — The noisy crew, you see, are com- 
ing upon us. [Exeunt. 

A dance of prisoners in chains, 4"C. 

.SCENE IV. — The condemned hold. Mac- 
ijtATU in a melancholtf posture. 



AIR. — Happy groves. 

O cruel, cruel, cruel case ! 
Must I suffer this disgrace ? 

AIR. — Of all the girls that are so smart: 

Of all the friends in time of grief, 
When threat'ning Death looks grimmer, 
Not one so sure can bring relief 
At this best friend, a brimmer. [Drinks. 

AIR. — Britons strike home ! 

Since I must swing — I scorn, I scorn to wince 
or whine. [Rises. 

AIR. — Chevy chase. 

Rut now again my spirits sink, 
I'll raise them high with wine. 

[Drinks a glass of wine. 

AIR. — To old Sir Sif7ion the king. 

But valour the stronger grows 
The stronger liquor we're drinking. 
And how can we feel our woes 
When we have lost the trouble of thinking ? 

[Drinks. 

AIR. — Joy to great Cinar. 

If thus — a man can die. 
Much bolder with Vjrandv. 

[Pom;s out a bumper of brandy, 

AIR. — There was an old uoman, ^c. 

So I drink off this bumper and now I can 

stand the test, 

3 



Gay.] 



BRITISH DRAIVIA. 



65 



And my comrades shall see that I die as brave 
as the best. [Drinks. 

AIR. — Did you ever hear of a gallant sailor ? 

But can I leave my prettv hussies, 
Without one tear or tender sigh ? 

AIR. — Wliy are mine eyes still Jloning? 

Their eyes, their iips, their busses, 
Recal my love — Ali ! must I die ! 

AIR. — Green Sleeves. 

Since laws were made for every degree. 
To ciub vice in others, as well as in me, 
I wonder we lia'n't better company 
Upon Tvhurn tree ! 
I But gold ironi law can take out the sting, 
And if rich men like us were to swing, 
Twould thin the land such numbers to string 
Upon Tyburn tree ! 

Jail. Some friends of yours, captain, desire to 
be admitted — I leave you together. 

[Exit Jailor _ 

Enter Ben Budge and Mat of the Mint. 

Mac. For my having broke prison, you see, 
gentlemen, I am ordeied for immediate execution 
— The sheriff's officers, I believe, are now at the 

door That Jemmy Twitchcr should peach 

me, I own surprised me — 'Tis a plain proof, that 
the world is all alike, and that even our gang can 
no more trust one another than otiier people; 
therefore, I beg you, gentlemen, look well to 
yourselves, for, in all probability, you may live 
some months longer. 

J\lat. We are heartily sorry, captain, for your 
misfortunes — but 'tis what we must all come to. 

21ac. Peachum and Lockit, you know, are in- 
famous scoundrels : tiieir lives are as much in 

your power, as yours are in theirs Remember 

your dying friend 'tis my last request 

Bring those villains to the gallows before von, 
and I am satisfied. 

Mat. We'll do't. 



Re-enter Jailor. 

Jail. Miss Polly and Miss Lucy entreat a word 
with you. 

J\Iac. Gentlemen, adieu ! 
[Exeu7it Ben Budge and Mat of the IMint. 

Enter Lucy and Polly. 

Mac. My dear Lucy ! my dear PoUv! whatsoever 
hath past between us, is now at an end — If vou 
are fond of marrying again, the best advice I can 
give you is, to ship yourselves off for the West 
Indies, where you'll have a fair chance of getting 

Vol. hi. 



a hi'sband a-piecc, or, by good luck, two oi- three, 
as vou like best. 

Polly. How can I support this sight ! 

Lucy. Tlicre is nothing moves one so much as 
a great man in distress ! 



AIR.. 



All yon Unit must take a leap. 



L'lcy. Would I jnicht be hanged ! 
Polly. And I v\ould so too ! 
Lucy. To be hanged with you ! 
Polly. My dear, with you f 
Mac. () leave me to tiiought ! I fear! I donbt ! 
I tremble !. I droop ! — See, my conrasre is out ! 
[Turns up the empty bottle. 
Lucy. No token of love ? 
Polly. Adieu ! 
Lucy. Farewell ! 
Mac. But hark ! I hear the toll of the bell ! 

Jail. Four women more, captain, with a child 
a-piece. See, here they come. 

Enter Women and Children. 

Mac. What ! four wives more !— this is too 
much — Here — tell the sheriff's officers I am 
ready. [Exeunt. 

Enter Beggar and Player. 



Play. But, honest friend, I hope you don't in- 
tend that Macheath shall be really executed .'' 

Beg. Most certainly, sir : to make the piece 
perfect, I was for doiuii strict poetical justice. 
Macheath is to he hanged ; anil, for the other 
personages of the drama, the and ence must sup- 
pose they were all either hauiied or transptjrted. 
Play. Why then, friend, this is a di wnright 
deep tragedy. The catastrophe is manifestly 
wrong; for an opera must end happily. 

Beg. Y<iur objection is very jiibt, and is easily 
removed ; for you must allow, that, in this kind of 
drama, 'tis no matter how absurdly things are 
brouiiht about : so you rabble there — run and 
cry, A Reprieve ! — Let the prisoner be brought 
back to his wives in triumph. 

Play. All this we must do to comply witli tlie 
taste of the town. 

Beg. Through the whole piece you may ob- 
serve such a similitude of manners in hi-ih. and 
low life, that it is difficult to determine whfther, 
in the fashionable vices, the fine gentlemen imi- 
tate the gentlemen of the road, or the gentlemen 
of the road the fine gentlemen. Had the play 
remained as I at tir^t intended, it would have 
carried a most excellent moral; 'twould have 
shewn, that the lower sort of pc()[)le have their 
vices in a degree as well as the rich, and that 
they are punished for them. 



as 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gay. 



He-^nter MaCHEith, nith rabble, &c. bauling 
a RejiritTe ! 

Mac. So, it seems, I am not left to my choice, 

but raust have a wife at last Look _ve, my 

dears, we will have no controversy now. Let us 
give this day to mirth, and 1 am sure she, who 
thinks lierseJf my wife, will testify her joy by a 
dance. 

All. Come, a dance, a dance ! 

Mac. Ladies, 1 hope you will give me leave 
to present a partner to each of you ; juid (if I 
may without offence) for this time 1 take Polly 
for mine — and for life, you slut, for we were 
really married — As for the rest— But at present 
keep your owa secret. [To Folly. 



[A dance.'] 
AIR. — Liniijis (if pudding, SfC. 

Thus I stand, like a Turk, with his doxies 
around, 
From all sides their glances his passion confound, 
I'orbiatk, brown, and fair, his inconstancy bums, 
AnH the different beauties subdue liini by turns. 
Lach calls forth her charms to provoke his de- 
sires, 
Though ivilling to all, with but one he retires, 
rhen think of this niaxun, and put off all sorrow, 
The wretch of to-day may V)c happy to-morrow. 
Chorus. Then think of this maxim, &c. 

lExeunt omnes. 



THE 



INTRIGUING CHAMBERMAID. 



FIELDING: 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



MEN. 

GooDALL, father to Valentine. 

Valentike, attached to Charlotte. 

Lord Puff. 

Bluff, a drunken colonel. 

Oldcastle, intended for Charlotte. 

Rakeit, servant ^o Charlotte. 

Slap, a hailiff'. 

Constable. 

John, servant to Valentine. 

Security, a usurer. 



WOMEN. 

Mrs Highman, a widow. 
Charlotte, niece to Mrs Highman. 
Lettice, the Intriguing Chambermaid. 

Gentleman, Ladies, Constables, Servants, ^c. 



Scene — Londo)ir> 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— ^ street. 



Enter Mrs Highman, pushing John out of 
the door. 

Mrs High. Begone, sirrah ! Out of my house, 
Mr Letter-carrier I and if I ever catch you in it 
again, your cars shall pay for your audacity. 

John. Lord ! ma'am, this is not a love-letter 
from my master to your niece, if the last was- — 
this is only from Mrs Lettice, to your ladyship's 
woman, to invite her to our house this evening — 
we are to have a rout. 

Mrs High. A rout, indeed ! I'd rout you ail 
to some tune, were I your mistress. But besjone, 
sirrah : I'll listen no lonfjer to your impudence ; 
and tell that saucy jade, Lettice, to send no more 
•f her letters to my hyusci 



John. Lord ! ma'am, here she is — so, if yott 
please, you can tell her yourself. \^Exit. 

Enter Lettice. 

Mrs High. Oh, Mrs Lettice, is it you? lam 
extremely ^rlad to see you — you are the very per- 
son I would meet. 

Let I am much at your service, madam. 

Mrs High. Oh, madam, I know very well that; 
and at every one's service, I dare swear, that will 
pay for it : but all the service, madam, that I 
have for you, is to carry a message to your mas- 
ter — I desire, madam, that you would tell him 
from me, that he is a very great villain, and that 
I entreat him nevci- more to come near my doors 5 
for, if I find him within them, I will tura wav 
niece out of them. 



C>8 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Fielding. 



J^t. Truly, madam, you must send tliis by 
anotlitT inoM nmr : liut, prav, what lias my ma»- 
tc'i' (loMf to deserve It sliould l^e scut at all ? 

3lis Hi^fi. He has doue notliiiii; yet, I believe, 
I thank Heaven and my own prudence; but I 
know v\iiut he would do. 

1^1, Ho v»ou!d do nothing but what becomes 
a ci'iitknian, i am cunlidenL 

Mrs Hififi. Oh ! I dare swear, madam. Se- 
«lucin{; a yonnc lady is actiiip like a very fine gen- 
tleman ; but 1 shall keep my niece out of the 
liands of such fme <:entlemen. 

Ltl. Vou w ron;: u)y master, madam, cruelly ; 
I know liis designs on your niece arc honour- 
able. 

Mrs Hif:h. Hussy, I have another match for 
her : she siiall marry Mr Oldcastle. 

Let. Oh I then, I find it is you that have a dis- 
honourable dcsit:n on vour niece.'' 

jl/r* High. How, sauciness ! 

Lei. Yes, madam ; manying a youn<; lady, 
vvho is in lo\e with a young fellow, to an old one, 
whom she hates, is the surest way to bring about 
I kncjw what, that can possibly be taken. 

Mrs High. I can bear this no longer. I would 
advise you, madam, and your master both, to 
keep from my house, or I shall take measures 
you won't like. [Exit. 

Lei. I defy you ! We have the strongest party; 
and I warrant we'll get the better of you. But 
here comes the young lady herself. 

Enter Charlotte. 

Char. So, Mrs Lcttice ! 

Let. Tis pity \uu had not come a little sooner, 
madam : your good aunt is but just gone, anil 
has left positive orders, that you should make 
more frequent visits at our house. 
Char. Indeed ! 

Let. Yes, ma'am ; for she has forbid my 
master ever visiting at yours, and I know it 
^viil be impossible for you to live without seeing 
him. 

Char. I assure you ! Do you think me so fond, 
then ? 

Let. Do I ! I know you are : you love nothing 
else, think of nothing else all day; and, if you 
will confess the truth, I dare lay a wager, that 
you dream of nothing else all night. 

Char. Then to shew you, madam, how well 
you know me, the deuce take me if you arc not 
in the right ! 

Let. Ah ! madam, to a woman practised in 
love, like me, there is no occasion for confession. 
For my part, 1 don't want words to assure me of 
what the eyes tell me. Oh ! if the lovers would 
but consult the eyes ot their mistresses, we should 
not have such sighing, languishing, and despairing, 
as we have. 



SONfJ. 

Would lovers ever doubt their cars, 

(On Delia's vows relying) 
The youth would often quit his fears, 
And change to siniU s his sighing. 
Your tcuigue may cheat. 
And with ileceit 
Your softer wishes cover; 
But, Oh ! your eyes 
Know no disguise. 
Nor ever cheat your lover. 

What need he trust your words precise, 

Your soft dc'ircs denying; 
When, Oh ! he reads w irhin your eyes 
Your tender heart complying. 
Your tongue may cheat, 
And with deceit 
Your softer wishes rover; 
But, Oh ! your eyes 
Know no disguise. 
Nor ever cheat your lover. 

Enter Valentine. 

Val. My dearest Charlotte ! this is meeting 
my wishes indeed ! for I was coming to wait ou 
you. 

Let. It's very lucky that you do meet her here I 
for lici- house is forbidden ground — you have seen 
your last of that, Mrs Highinan swears. 

/'a/. Ha ! not go wl'.ere my dear Charlotte is? 
What danger could deter me.' 

Char. Nay, the danger is to be mine — lam to 
be turned out of doors, if ever you are seen in 
ihem again. 

Jul. The apprehensions of your danger would, 
indeed, put it to the severest proof: but why 
will my dearest Charlotte continue in the house 
of one who threatens to turn her out of it ? Why 
will she not know another home; one where she 
would fmd a protector from every kind of dan- 
ger ? 

Char. How can you pretend to love me, Va- 
lentine, and ask me that in our present desperate 
circumstances ? 

Let. Nay, nay, don't accuse hiin wrongfully : 
I won't, indeed, insist that he gives you any great 
instance of his prudence by it; but, I'll swear it 
is a very strong one of his love, and such an in- 
stance, as, when a man has once sImhvu, no wo- 
man i)f any honesty, or honour, or gratitude, can 
retuse him any longer. For mv part, it I had 
ever found a lover who had not wicked, merce- 
nary views upon my fortime, I should have mar- 
ried him, whatever he had been. 
Char. Thy fortune ! 

Ltt. My fortune ! — Yes, madam, my fort'ine. 
I was worth fifty-bi.x pounds before I put into 



Fielding.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



69 



the lottery ; what it will be now I can't tell ; but 
vou know souieljody must get tlie great prize, and 
why not I ? 

Vat. Oh, Charlotte ! would you had the same 
sentiments with me ! for, by Heavens ! I appre- 
hend no diinjfcr but that of losing you ; and, be- 
lieve me, love will sutii'iently reward us for all 
the hazards we run on his account. 

Let. Hist, hist ! get you both about your bu- 
siness ; Oldcastie is just turned the corner, and 
if he should see you together, you are undone. 
[Ereunt Valentine ««(/ Chari.oiti;.] Now will 
I banter this old cuxcou)b severely ; for, I think 
it is a most impertinent thing in these old fellows 
to interjjose in young people's sport. 

Enter Oldcastle. 

Old. Hem, hem ! I profess it is a very severe 
easterly wind, and if it was not to see a sweet- 
heart, 1 believe I should scarce have stirred 
abroad all day. 

Let. Mr Oldcastle, your very humble servant. 

Old. Your very humble servant, madam : I 
ask your pardon ; but I profess I have not the ho- 
nour of knowing you. 

L<t. Men of your figure, sir, are known by 
more than they are themselves able to remem- 
ber; I am a poor handmaid of a young lady of 
your acquaintance, Miss Charlotte Highman. 

Old. Oh ! your very humble servant, madam. 
I hope your lady is well ? 

Let. Hum ! so, so : she sent me, sir, of a 
small message to you. 

Oid. I am the happiest man in the world ! 

Let. To desire a particular favour of you. 

Old, olie hunours me with her commands. 

Let. She begs, if you have the least affection 
for her, thai she mav never see your face again. 

Old. What! what.? 

Let. >he is a very well-bred, civil, good-natured 
lady, and dofes not care to send a rude message ; 
therefore, only bids me tell you, she hates you, 
scorns yiUi detests you more than any creature 
upon the earth; that, if y(ju are resolved to marry, 
she would recommend you to a certain excellent 
dry nurse ; and lastly, she bids me tell you, in 
this cold weather, never to go to bed without a 
good ivann treacle-posset ; and by no means lie 
without, at least, a pair of flannel waistcoats, 
and a double flannel night-cap. 

Old. Hold your impertinent, saucy tongue ! 

Let. Nav, s r, don't be angry with me, I only 
deliver mv message ; and that, too, in as civil 
and concise a manner as possible. 

Old. Your mistress is a pert young hussy ; and 
I shall tell her mother of her. 

Let. That will never do; 'tis I am your friend, 
and if we can get over three little obstacles, I 
don't despair of marrying- you to her, yet. 

Old. What arc tho^e obstarles? 

Let. Why, sir, there is, in the first place, your 
great age ; you are at least seventy-rive ! 



Old. It is a lie ! I want several months of 

it. 

Let. If you did not, I think we may get over 
this : one half of your fortune makes a very suf- 
ficient amends for your asie. 

Old. We shall not fall out about that. 

Let. Well, sir; then there is, in the second 
place, your terrible, ungenteel air; this isacrand 
obstacle with her, who is doatingly fond of every 
thing that is fine and foppish ; and, yet, I think, 
we may get over this, too, by the other half of 
your fortune. — And now, there remains but one, 
whicli, if you can find any thing to set aside, I 
believe I may promise you, you shall have her; 
an<l that is, sir, that horrible face of yours, which 
it is impossible for any one to see without being 
frightened. 

Old. Ye impudent baggage ! I'll tell your mis- 
tress ! — I'll h.ave you turned off! 

Let. That will be well repaying me, indeed, 
for all the services 1 have done you. 

Old. .Services ! 

Let. Services ! Yes, sir, services ; and to let 
you see I think you fit for a husband, I'll have 
vou myself! — Who can be more proper for a 
husband, than a man of your age? for, I think 
you could not have the conscience, nay, the im- 
pudence, to live above a year, or a year and half, 
at most: and a good plent ful jointure would 
make amends for one's enduring you as long as 
that, provided we live in separate parts of the 
house, and one had a good handsome groom of 
the chamber to attend one; though, really, in my 
opinion, you'd much better remain single, both 
for your character and constitution. [Exit Let. 

Old. Cet along, you damned saucy baggage ! 
I thought this cursed easterly wind would blow 
me no good. — I'm resolved I won't stir out again 
till it changes. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A room in Valentine's house. 

Enter John, meeting Valentine. 

John. Sir, a gentleman desires to see you. 
Val. Shew him in. [Exit John. 

Enter Slap. 

Val. Your most obedient servant, sir; I have 
not the hcmour of knowing you, sir. 

Slap. I belie\ e you do not. Sir ; I ask pardon, 
hut I have a small writ against you. 

Val. A writ against me ! 

Slap. Don't be uneasy, sir; it is only for a 
trifle, sir; about 2001. 

Val. VVhat must I do, sir .'' 

Slap. Oh, sir ! whatever you please ! only pay 
the money, or give liail ; which yon please. 

Val. I can do neither of them this instant, and 
I expect company every moment. I suppose, sir, 
you'll take my word till to-morrow morning.'' 

Slap. Oh, yes, sir, with all my heart. If you 
will be so good as to step to my house hard by, 



BRITISH DRA:srA. 



[FlELDINC. 



you shall be extremely well used, and I'll take 
your wurii. 

/'«/. Viiur house ! 'Sdeath ! you rascal. 

iS/«yi. Nay, sir, 'tis in \uin ti> bully. 

Val. Nay, then — Who's there i* — my servants I 

Enter Sc'tTunts. 

Here, kii k this fellow down stairs. 

Ship. Ihis is a rescue, rememiter that — a res- 
cue, sir. I'll have my lord chief justice's war- 
rant. [.Slap isjorccd o(f hi/ I lie servants, 
[Exit X'alentine. 

Enter Rakf.it and I-fttice. 

Hake. Vou perceive, i\Irs lx;ttice, the strcn!;th 
• f niv pa'-sinu, by niv frequent visits to you. 1 
saw Oldca-tle part from you just now ; pray, 
what has he het-n entertainius; you with? 

Lit. With his passion for your you nt; mistress, 
or rather her passion for him. I have been ban- 
terini: him till he is in such a rase, that I actually 
doubt whether he will not beat her or no. 

Rake. NN ill you never leave olT your frolics, 
since we must pay for them .^ You have put him 
out of humour; now will he t;o and put my lady 
out of humour; and, then, we may be all beaten 
for aught I know. 

Let. Well, sirrah ! and do you think I had 
not rather twenty such as you should be beaten 
to ileath, than my master should be robbed of 
his mistress? 

Rake. Your humble servant, madam ; you 
need nor take any crcat pams to convince me of 
your fondness fur your niast( r. I believe he has 
more mistresses than wiiat are m our house; but, 
bant: it, I am too politf: to be jealous ; and if he 
has d'Mie me the faxour with you, why, perha|)s, 
I mav return it one day with some body else. 1 
am not the first ^eiitk man of the parl\-c;jloured 
rejiiment, who has been even with his master. 

Let. Why, indeed, masiers and their men are 
often, both in dress and behaviour, so very like, 
that a w<^viian mav be iimorently false, and ms 
take tli>, one for the o'her. Nay, I don't know 
whether such a chaniie as you mention may not 
be sometimes for the belter. 



Rake. But, my dear Lettice, I do not approve 
of this match ni our family. 

Let. Why so? 

Rake. VVIiy, you know how desperate Valen- 
tine's circumstances are, and she has no for- 
tune. 

Let. She hath, indeed, no fortune of her own ; 
but her aunt Hi<j;hman is very rich. And then, 
you know, we've hopes enow ! 'I'here is hopes of 
my young master's growini; better, for I am sure 
there is no possibility of his [growing worse; 
ho[)es ()f my old master's stayiiifj abroad; hopes 
of his being drowned, if he attempts coming 
home ; hopes of the stars falling 

Uake. Dear Mrs Lettice, do not jest with sucli 
serious things as hunger and thirst. Do you real- 
ly think that all your master's entertainments are 
at an end ? 

Lff. So far from it, that he is this day to give 
a grand entertainment to your mistress, and 
about a dozen more gentlemen and ladies. 

Rake. My chops begin to water. I find your 
master is a very honest fellow ; and, it is possible, 
may hold out two or three weeks longer. 

Let. You are mistaken, sir ; there will be no 
danger of his giving any more entertainments; for 
there is a certain gentleman, called an uphol- 
sterer, who, the moment that the company is 
gone, is to make his entrance into the house, and 
carry every thing out on't. 

Rak. A very good way, faith, of furnishing a 
house to receive a wife in I your master has set 
me a very good pattern against you and I mar- 
rying, Mrs Lettice. 

I^ct. Sauce-box ! Do you think I'll have yon ? 

Rake. Unless I can provide better for myself. 

Let. Well, that I am fond of thee, I am cer- 
tain ; and what I am fond of, I can't imagine, 
unless it be thy invincible impudence. 

Rake. Why, faith, 1 think I have the impu- 
dence nf a gentleman, and there is nothing better 
to succeed with the ladies. 

Let. Yes, yes, and be hanged to you ! You 
know the power you have over us too well ; and, 
though we are thoroughly a< quainted with your 
falsehood, yet we are, nine in ten of us, foola 
enough to be caught. 



ACT IL 



SCENE I. — A aquare, uith Valentine's house- 
Enter GoODA LL and servant, uith a portmanteau. 
Lettice comes out of Ike house. 

Good. This cur>ed stage-coach from Ports- 
mouth hath fatigued me more than my voyage 
from the Cape of Good llope; but. Heaven be 
praised, I am once more arrived within sight ot 
my own doors. I cannot help thinking how 
pleased my son will be t<j sec me returned a full 
year sooner than my intention. 



I IM. He would be much more pleased to hear 
I you were at the Cape of Good Hope yet. 

[Aside. 
Good. I hope I shall find my poor boy at 
home; I dare swear he will die with joy to see 
iiie. 

Let. I believe he is half dead already; but 
nf)w for vou, my good master. — [.^Sirfe.] — Bless 
me ! What do 1 see? An apparition ! 
Good. Lettice ! 
Let. Is it luy dear master, Goodall, returned. 



Fielding.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



71 



or is it the devil in his shape? Is it you, sir ? Is 
it positively you yourselt'r 

Good. Even so. How do you do, Lettice ? 

Let. Much at your honour's service. I am 
heartily glad — it really makes me cry — to see 
your honour in such good health. Why, the air 
of the Indies hath agreed vastly with you. In- 
deed, sir, you ought to have staid a little longer 
there, for the sake of your health — I would to 
the Lord you had ! [Asicle. 

Good. Well; but how does my son do? And 
how hath he behaved himself in my absence? I 
hope he hath taken great care of my affairs? 

Let. I'll answer for him ; he hath put your af- 
fairs into a condition that will surprise you. 

Good. 1 warrant you, he is every day in the 
Alley. Stocks have gone just as I imagined ; 
and if he followed my advice, he must have 
amassed a vast sum of money. 

Let. Not a farthing, sir. 

Good. How, how, how ! 

Let. Sir, he hath paid it out as fast as it came 
in. 

Good. How ! 

Let. Put it out, I mean, sir, to interest, to in- 
terest. Sir, why, our house hath been a perfect 
fair ever since you went ; people coming for mo- 
ney every hour of the day. 

Good. That's very well done ; and I long to 
see my dear boy. — [To Lettice.] — Knock at the 
door. 

Let. He is not at home, sir ; and if you have 
such a desire to see him 

Enter Security. 

Sec. Your servant, Sirs Lettice. 

Let. Your servant, Mr Security. Here's a 
rogue of a usurer, who hath found a proper time 
to ask for his money in ! [Aside. 

Sec. Do you know, Mrs Lettice, that I am 
weary of following your master, day after dav, 
in this manner, without finding him ; and that if 
he does not pay me to-day, I shall sue out an 
execution directly. A thousand pounds are a 
sum 

Good. What, what? what's this I hear? 

Let. I'll explain it to you by and by, sir ? 

Good. Does my son owe you a thousand 
pounds ? 

Sec. Your son, sir ! 

Good. Yes, sir ; this young woman's master, 
who lives at that house ; Mr Valentine Goodall 
is my son. 

Sec. Yes, sir, he does ; and I am very glad you 
are returned to pay it me. 

Good. There go two words, though, to that 
bargain. 

Let. I believe, sir, you will do it with a great 
deal of joy. when you know that his owing this 
®oney, is purely an effect of his good conduct. 



Good. Good conduct! Owing money good con- 
duct ! 

Let. Yes, sir; he hath bought a house at the 
price of two thousand p<junds, whic li every one 
says is worth more than tour; and this he could 
not have d<<ne without borr<»winii this thousand 
pound. I am sure, sir, I, and he, and 'l'ru«>ty, 
ran all over the town to get the money, that he 
might not lose so good a bargain. He'll pay the 
money fast enough, now. [Aside. 

Good. I am overjoyed at my son's behaviour. 
Sir, you need give yourself no pain about the 
money ; return to-morrow morning, and you 
shall receive it. 

Sec. Sir, your word is sufficient for a much 
greater sum ; and I am your very humble ser- 
vant. [Evit Sec. 

Good. Well, but tell mc a little — in what part 
of the town hath my son bought this house? 

Let. In what part of the town? 

Good. Yes; there are, you know, some qu-ir- 

ters better than others as, for exanip e, this 

here 

Let. Well, and it is in this that it stands. 

Good. Wfiat, not the great house, vonder, is 
it? 

Lat. No, no, no. Do you see that house yon- 
der — where the windows seem to have been just 
cleaned ? 

Good. Yes, 

Let. it is not that — and, a little beyond vou 
see another very large house, higher ttian any 
other in the square ? 

Good. I do. 

Let. But it is not that. Take particular no- 
tice of the house opposite to it; a very handsome 
house, is it not ? 

Good. Yes ; indeed it is. 

Let. That is not the house. But you may see 
one with great gates before it, almost opposite 
to another that fronts a street ; at the end of 
which stands the house which your son hath 
bought. 

Good. There is no good house in that street, 
as I remember, but Mrs liighmau's. 

Lei. That's the very house. 

Good. That is a very g(M)d bargain, indeed ; 
but how comes a woman in her circumstances to 
sell her house? 

Let. It is impossible, sir, to account for peo- 
ple's actions ; besides, poor dear, she is out of 
her senses. 

Good. Out of her senses ! 

Let. Yes, sir ; her family hath taken out a 
commission of lunacy against her ; and her son, 
who is a most abandoned prodigal, has sold all 
she had for half its value. 

Good. Son ! why she was not married when I 
went away ; she could not have a son. 

Let, O yes she could, sir — She's not married, 
to be sure ; but to the great surprise of every 



7« 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Fielding. 



one, and to thcRrcat scandal of all our sex, tlurr 
apptand all of a sudilcii a vi-ry lu>ty ycunK lel- 
low, of the aije of tlirce and twenty, ulioin hlio 
owned to liave been her son, and tlmt his hither 
war. a grenadier in the first regiment of guards. 

Good. ( Hi, nioiibtrous ! 

Let. Ah, sir, if everv chihl in tliis city knew 
liis own tather, if children were to inherit only 
the estates of those wlio bc^rot them, it w<»ul>I 
cau*e a i;rcat contusion in inheritances ! 

Good. Well, but I stand iiere talking too long ; 
knock at the door. 

J.rt. What shall I do.? [Aside. 

Good. \ni\ seem in a consternation ; n(j acci- 
dent hath happened to my sun, I hope. 

Jut. No, sir, but 

Good. But ! hilt what ? Hath any one robbed 
me in my absence ? 

Let. No, sir; not absolutely robbed you, sir. 
What shall I say? [Aude. 

Good. F.xplain yourself: speak. 

Lit. Oh, sir ! I can withhold my tears no 

longer Rnt( r not, I beseech you, sir, your 

hou^e — Sir, vour dear house, that you and I, and 
mv poor master loved so much, within these six 
months 

Good. Wliat of my house within these si.s 
mouths 

Let. Hath been haunted, sir, with the most 
terrible a|)|)aritions that were ever heard or be- 
held ! you'd think the devil himself had taken 
possession of it : nav, I believe he hatli too : ail 
the wild noises in the universe, the squeaking of 
pigs, the grinding of knives, the whetting of saws, 
the whistling of winds, the roaring of seas, the 
hooting of owls, the howling of wolves, the bray- 
ing of asses, the squalling of children, and the 
scolding of wives, all put together, make not so 
hideous a concert. This 1 myself have heard ; 
nay, and I have seen such sights ! one with about 
twenty heads, and a hundred eyes, and njouths, 
and noses in each. 

Good. Ilevdav ! the wench is mad! Stand 
from before the door ! I'll see whether tlie devil 
can keep me out from my own house. Haunted, 
indeed ! 

Let. Sir, I have a friendship for you, and you 
shall not go in. 

Good. How? not go into my own house? 

Let. Xo, sir, not till the devil is driven out 
on't ; there are two priests at work upon him 
now. Hark, I think the devils are dancing a Fan- 
dango. Nav, sir, you may listen yourself, and 
get in too, if you can. 

Good. Ha! by all that's gracious, I hear a 
noise ! [iMuf^hing within.] What monstrous 
squalling is that? 

J^t. Why, sir, I am surprised you should think 
I would impose upon von : had you known the 
terrors we underwent for a whole fortnight, espe- 
cially poor I, sir, who l.iy every night frightened 
with the sight of the most monstrous large things ! 



there I lay as quiet as a lamb, fearing every mi- 
nute what they would do to me 

Good, (an :dl this Ik; true, or are you impos- 
ing on me? I liave mdeed Iward of such tlnngs 
as apparitions, on just causes, and believe in 
iheiii; but why they should haunt my house, I 
can't ima^iinc. 

J.ct. Why, sir, they tell me, before you bought 
the house, there was a pedlar killed in it. 

GiKul. A p'dlar ! I nmst inquire into all these 
things. liut, in the mean time, I must send this 
portmanteau to my son's new house. 

J^ct. No, sir, that's a little improper at pre- 
sent. 

Good. What, is that house haunted ? Hath the 
devil taken possession of that house, too ? 

Ltt. No, sir ; but Madam Hiiihman hath not 
yet quitted possession of it. I told you before, 
sir, that she was out of her senses; and if any 
one does *Mit mentioi; the sale of her house to her, 
it throws her into the most violent convulsions. 

Good. Well, well ; I shall know how to hu- 
mour her madness. 

Let. I wish, sir, for a day or two 

Gt^d. You throw me out of all manner of pa- 
tience. 1 am resolved I will go thiilier this in- 
stant. 

Let. Here she is herself; but pray remember 
the condition she is in, and don't do any thing to 
chagrin her. 

Enter Mks Hichman. 

Mrs Higfi. WHiat do I see ! Mr Goodall re- 
turned ? 

Let. Yes, madam, it is him ; but, alas ! he's 
not himself — he's distracted ; his losses in his 
voyage have turned his brain, and he is become 
a downright lunatic. 

]\lrs iiii'/i. I am heartily concerned for his 
raisfortiiiic. Poor geiitlenian ! 

I^ef. If he should speak to you by chance, have 
no regard to what he says ; we are going to shut 
him up in a madhouse with all expedition. 

j\lrs High. [Aside.] He hath a strange wan- 
dering in his countenance. 

Good. [Aside.] How miserably she isalteredf 
She hath a terrible look with her eyes. 

j\Irs High. Mr Goodall, your very humble 
servant. I am glad to see you returned, though 
I am sorry for your misfortune. 

Good. I must have patience, and trust in Hea- 
ven, and in the power of the priests, who are now 
endeavouring to lay these wicked spirits, with 
which my house is haunted ; Vjut give me leave 
to ask you the cause of your phrenzy ; for I 
much question whether this commission of lunacy 
that has been taken out against you, be not with- 
out suflicient proof. 

Mrs High. A commission of lunacy against 
me ! me ! 

Good. Lcttice, I see she is worse tlian I ima 
gincd. 



Fielding.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



7S 



Jje.t. She is very bad now inrlef;d. 

Mrs High. However, it" vuu are not more mis- 
chievous than you at present seem, 1 tliink it is 
wroii^ in them to confine yon in a inadliouse. 

Good. Confine me ! ha, ha, lia ! Tliis is tm-n- 
inc; tlif; tables upon me indeed ! But, iMrs Hiiih- 
man, 1 would not liave yon l)e imeasy that your 
house is soM ; at least, it is better for you that 
my son hatli bou;zht it than another; for yon 
shall have an a|)artn)f nt in it still, in the same 
maimer as if it was still your own, and you were 
in yonr senses. 

Mrs High. What's all this? As if I was still 
in my senses ! Let me tell yon, Mr (Joodall, you 
are a poor, distracted « retch, and ought to have 
an apartment in a dark room, and clean straw. 

Goal. Smce you come to that, madam, I shall 
not let you into ray doors ; atid I i-ive yon warn- 
iui; to take away your thmiis, for I shall (ill all 
the rooms witii goods within these few days. 

Enter Si.ap, Constable, and Assistants. 

S'ap. That's the door, Mv Constable. 

Let. What's to he done now, I wonder ? 

Con. Open the door, in the king's name, or I 
shall break it open. 

Good. Who are yon, sir, in the devil's name ? 
and what do you want in that house f 

S/ap. Sir, I have a prisoner there, and I have 
my lord cliief justice's warrant against him. 

Good. For what sum, sir? Are you a justice 
of the peace ? 

S/ap. 1 am one of his majesty's officers, sir; 
and this day I arrested one Mr V^alentine Good- 
all, who lives in this house, for two hundred 
pounds ; his servants have rescued him, and I 
have a judge's warrant for the rescue. 

Good. What do I hear ! But hark'c, friend, 
that house that you are going to break open, is 
haunted; and there is no one in it but a couple 
of priests, who arc laying the devil. 

S/ap. I warrant you I lay the devil better than 
all the priests in Europe. Come, Mr Constable, 
do your office, I have no time to lose, sir; I have 
several other writs to execute before night. 

Let. I have defended my pass as long as I can, 
and now I think it is no cowardice to steal off. 

[Exit. 

Enter Colonel Bluff, and Lord Puff. 

Co/. What, in the devil's name, is the meaning 
of this riot ? What is the reason, scoundrels, that 
you dare disturb gentlemen, who are getting as 
drunk as lords? 

Slap. Sir, we have authority for what we do. 

Co/. Damn yonr authority, sir ! if you don't 
go about your business, I shall shew you my au- 
thority, and send you all to the de\ i . 

S/up. Sir, 1 desire you would gi\e us leave to 
enter the house, and seize our prisoner. 

Co/. Not I, upon my honour, sir. 

S/ap. If you oppose us any longer, I shall pro- 
ceed to force. 

Vol. in. 



' Co/. If you love force, I'll shew you the way, 
you dogs ! [(,'oi.ONF.L drives them off. 

Good. I find J am distracted ; I an> stark ra- 
\ ing mad. I am undone, rnint-d, cheated, impo- 
sed on ! but, please Heaven, I'll go see what's in 
my house. 

('('/. Hokl, sir, yon must not enter here ! 
Good. Not enter into my own house, sir ! 
Co/. No, sir, if it be yours, yon must not come 
within it. 

Good. Gentlemen, I only beg to speak with 
the master of the house. 

Co/. Sir, the m.aster of the house desires to 
speak with no such fellow s as you ai-e ; you are 
not fit company for any of the gentlemen in this 
house. 

Good. Sir, the master of this house is my son. 

Co/. Sir, your most obedient hmnhle servant; 
I am overjoyed to see 30U returned, (iive me 
leave, sir, to introduce you to this gentleman. 

Good. Sir, your most obedient humble ser- 
vant. 

Co/. Give me leave to tell you, sir, you have 
the honour of being father to one of the finest 
gentlemen of the age : a man so accomplished, 
so well-bred, and so generous, that I believe he 
never would part with a guest while he had a 
shilling in his pocket, nor, indeed, while he could 
borrow one. 

Good. I believe it, indeed, sir ; therefore, you 
can't wonder if I am impatient to see him. 

Co/. Be not in such haste, dear sir; I want to 
talk with you about your affairs ; I hojie yon hav c 
had good success in the Indies, have cheated the 
company handsomely, and made an immense for- 
tune ? 

Good. I have no reason to complain. 

Co/. I am glad on't — give me your hand, sir; 
and so will your son, I dare swear; and let me 
tell you, it will be very opportune; he began to 
want it. You can't imagine, sir, what a fine life 
he has led since you went av\'ay — it would do 
your heart good if you was but to know what an 
equipage he has kept; what balls and entertain- 
ments he has made ; he is the talk of the whole 
town, sii' ; a man would work with pleasure for 
such a son ; he is a fellow with a soul, damn me ! 
Your fortune won't be thrown away upon him; 
for, get as nnich as you please, my life, he spends 
every farthing ! 

Good. Pray, gentlemen, let nic see this mira- 
cle of a son of mine. 

Col. That you should, sir, long ago ; but, real- 
ly, sir, the house is a little out of order at pre- 
sent ; there is but one room furnished in it, and 
that is so fidl of company, that I am afraid there 
would be a small deficiency of chairs. You 
can't nnagine, sir, how opportune you are come; 
there was not any one thing left in the house to 
rai'-e any money upon. 

Good. What, all iny pi tnres gone? 

Col. lie sold them iirst, sir; liQ was obliged 

K 



74 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Fielding. 



to "cIl them for the delicacy of bis tasic : lie 
ttT(iiiiily i> the iu<>ikMe>t yi)iiii£: tellow in the 
woriil. and has coMiplained to nic a hundred 
tinu«, drunk and Miher 

Gild. Drunk, sir! wliat, does vny son get 
drijik? 

i'ol. Oh, ves, bir; rccularly, twice a day. He 
lia» 1 oni|ilanied ol' the indecent liberty painters 
take in tNp.)>«ins; the breasts and Innbs of wo- 
men; von h.id, nuleed, sir, a \ery scandahius col- 
Jei tion, and he was never ea>y while they were 
in the iiuusc. 

Enter Va I.E.N TINE. 

J'iil. 2My father returned ! oh, let me throw 
myself at his feti ! and beheve me, sir, I am at 
once over)<)yed, and ashamed, to see your tacc. 

Col. I told you, sir, he was one of the inodcst- 
cst voun-; fellows in Eni^land. 

Good You mav verv well be ashamed ; but 
come, let me see the in-ide of my house ; let me 
st.« thai both sides of my walls are standini:. 

I'ul. Sir. 1 lia\c a trreat deal of company with- 
in, of the tir>t fashion, and beg you would not 
e.\' <i^<' me beloie tlicin. 

Good. Oh, sir ! I am their very humble ser- 
vant ; ( am infinitely obliiied to all the persons 
of fashion, that they will so generously con- 
dc scciid to eat a poor citizen out of house and 
home. 

Co/. Ilark'e, Val .^ shall we toss this old fel- 
low in a lilunktt ? 

VaL .Sir, I trust in your eood nature and for- 
givenness; and will wait on you in. 

GtiuJ. Oh, that ever I should live to sec this 
day ! l^Exeunt. 

SCENE U.—A dining room. 

Lord Plff, and several gentlemen and ladies 
discovered at table. 

Enter Goodall and \'ai.f,ntixe. 

Tal. Gcntlcn.en, my father beinir just arrived 
from the Indies, desires to make one of this good 
coMipany. 

Good. My j:oo(l lords, (that I may affront none 
hy I dlinii him beneath his title) I am highly 
sensible of the great honour you do myself and 
my son, by hlling my poor house with your noble 
pel sons, and your noble persons with my poor 
wine an;! provisions. 

lA>rd Put}. '>\r ! Rat inc ! I would have you 
know, I think I do you to) nnich honour in cn- 
tirin;: into vonr doors. But I am glad you !ia\e 
lau^iht me at what (listance to keep such mecha- 



nics for the future. Come, gentlemen, let ns to 
the opera. I see if a man haih nut good blood 
in his veins, riches won't teach him to behave 
like a gentleman. 

[Exit Lord Pl'ff. 
Good. 'Sbodlikins ! I am in a rage! That ever 
a fellow should upbr.iid me with tiood blood in 
his veins, when, mlshcart ! the best blood in his 
veins hath run through my bottles. Come, sir, 
follow your companions; for 1 am determined 
to turn you out directly. 

Enter Charlotte. 

Char. Then, sir, I am determined to go with him. 
Be comforted, X'alcntme; I have some fortune 
which my aunt cannot prevent me from, and it 
will make us happv, for a while at least; and I 
prefer a year, a month, a day, with the man I 
love, to a whole stupid age without him. 

[As \'alkntine and Charlotte are go- 
ing, thei/ are met by 3Irs Uicu.man 
and Lettice 

Mrs High. What do I see ! my niece in the 
very arms of her betrayer ! 

Let. I humbly ask pardon of you both — but 
my master was so heartily in love with your 
ni^-ce, and she so heartily in love with my mas- 
ter, that I was determined to leave no stone un- 
turned to bring them together. 

Good. Eh ! Egad, I like her generous passion 
for my son so much, that if you, madam, will 
gi\ e her a fortune equal to what I shall settle on 
him, I shall not prevent their happiness. 

Mrs High. Won't you .'' Then I shall do all 
in my power to make it a match. 

Let. And 50, sir, you take no notice of poor 
Lettice ? but, statesman like, your own turn ser- 
ved, forget your friends ? 

SOXG. 
Let. That statesmen oft' their friends forget, 
Their ends obtained, is clear, sir; 
So, I'm forgot, your place I'll quit, 
And seek a service here, sir. 

I'll prove my love in every sense, 

Be dutiful, observant. 
So drop in here a few nights hence, 

And hire your humble senant. 



She'll prove her love in every sense, 

Be dutiful, observant. 
So drop in here a few nights hence, 

And hire your humble servant. 

[Exeunt onnes. 



THE 

MOCK DOCTOR. 

BY 

FIELDING. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



M E N. 
Gregory, the Mock Doctor. 
Sir J aspzr, fat /lei- to Charlotte. 
Leandek, attac/ted to Charlotte. 

T.w^o i Servants to Sir Jasper. 

JAMES, y 

Davy. 

Doctor Hellebore. 



W OMEN". 

Charlotte, attached to Leander. 
Dorcas, zcife to Gregory. 



Scene — the Country, 



ACT I. 



SCENE 1.—A tvood. 



Dorcas, Gregory. 

Gre. I tell you, No, I won't comply; and it 
is my business to talk, and to command. 

Dor. And I tell you, You shall conform to my 
will ; and that I nas not married to you, to suf- 
fer your ill-humours. 

Gre. O the intolerable fatigue of matrimony ! 
Aristotle never said a better thin^ in his life, 
than vhen he told us, ' That a wife was worse 
than a devil.' 

Dor. Hear the learned gentleman with his 
Aristotle ! 

Greg. And a learned man I am, too : find me 
out a maker of faggots that's able, like myself, tu 
reason upon things, or that can boast such an 
education as mine. 

Dor. An education ! 



Gre. Ay, huss}% a regular education : first at 
the charity-school, where I learnt t(j read ; tlien 
I waited on a gentleman at Oxford, where I 
learnt — very near as much as my master ; from 
whence [ attended a traveliiiii: physician six years, 
under the facetious denomination of a Merry 
Andrew, where 1 learnt phytic. 

Dor. O that thou had'st followed him still ! 
Cursed be the hour, wherein 1 answered the par- 
son, I will. 

Gre. And cursed be the parson that asked thee 
the question ! 

Dor. You have reason to complain of him in- 
fixed — who ought to l.e on your knees every mo- 
ment, returning thanks to Heaven, for that sreat 
blessing it sent you, when it sent you ravself. — I 
fiope you have not the assurance to think you 
desen'd r^nch a wife as me ^ 

Gre. 2s o, really, 1 don't think I do. 



76 



DRITISH DRAMA. 



[FiF.LDINO. 



Dorcas singt. 

Wlifii a l;uly, like me, comic sccnds to agree, 

To let sill ii n jac'kai)a|ic> t;iste lier, 
Witli what /cal and care, sliou'd lie worship tlie 
lair. 
Who gives liim what's meat for his master? 
His actions should still 
Attend on her will : — 
Hear, sirrah, and take it for warning; 
To hor hr should t»e 
Each niiht on his knee. 
And so he should be on each morning. 

Ore. i\Ieat for my master ! you were meat 
for your master, if I an't mistaken. Come, come, 
iSladam, it was a lui ky day for you, when you 
found me out. 

]Jor. Lucky, indeed ! a fellow, who cats every 
thiiii: I have ! 

Gte. That happens to he a mistake, for I drink 
some part oii't. 

Dor. That has not even left mc a bed to lie 
on ! 

Gre. You'll rise the earlier. 

IJnr. And «ho, from morning till night, is 
eternally in an alehouse ! 

Gre. It's uentcel ; the squire does the same. 

Dor Pray, sir, what are you willing I shall do 
with my family ? 

G>e. Whatever ynu please. 

Dor. My four little children, that are coiuiiiu- 
ally cryio}; for bread ? 

Gte. Give 'em a rod ! best cure in the world 
for crying children. 

Dor. And do you imagine, sot — 

Gre. Hark ye, my dear, you know mv temper 
is not over and above passive, and that my arm 
is extremely active. 

Dor. I laugh at your threats, poor, beggarly, 
insolent fellow ! 

Gre. Sol't object of my wishing eyes, I shall 
play with your pretty ears. 

Dor. Touch me if yf)u dare, you insolent, im- 
piukiit, dirty, lazy, rascally 

Gre. Oh, ho, ho ! you will l.ave it then, I find. 

[Beats her. 

Dur. O murder, murder ! 

Enter Squire Robert. 

Hob. What's the matter here .' Fy upon you, 
fy ujion you, neighbour, to beat your wile in this 
scandalous manner ! 

Dor. W ell, sir, and if I have a mind to be 
beat, and what then ? 

Hob. O dear, madam, I give my consent with 
all my heart and soul. 

Dor. What's that to you, saucebox? Is it any 
business of yours? 

Rob No. certainly, madam ! 

Dor. Here's an impeitiaent fellow for you, 
won't suffer a husband to beat his ow u wife ! 



AIR. — Winchester Wedding. 

C!o thra>;h your own rib, sir, at home, 

Nor thus interfere with our strife; 
May ciickoldom still be his doom, 

\\ ho strives to part husband and wife ! 
Suppose I've a mind he should drub, 

\\ hose bones are they, sir, h<.'s to lick? 
At whose expeiice is it, you scrub ? 

You are not to iind hiin a slick. 

Rob. Neighbour, I ask your pardon heartily ; 
here, take and thrash your wife ; beat her as you 
ought to do. 

Gre. No, sir, I won't beat her. 

Rob. () sir, that's another thing. 

Ore. I'll beat her when i plea.sc, and will not 
beat her when 1 do not please. She is my wife, 
and not yurs. 

Rob. Certainly. 

Dor. (live mo the stick, dear husband. 

Rob. Well, if ever I attempt to part husband 
and wile again, may I be beaten myself! 

[Exit Rob. 

Gre. Come, my dear, let us be friends. 

Dor. What, after beating me so ? 

Gre. Twas but in jest. 

Dor. I desire you will crack your jests on 
your own bones, not on mine. 

Gre. Pshaw I yon know you and I are one, 
and I beat (jiic half of myself when I beat you. 

Dor. Yes, but for the futi;re I desire you will 
bear the other half of yourselt". 

Gre. Come, my pretty dear, I ask pardon; 
I'm sorry for't. 

Dor. For once I pardon you — but you shall 
pay for it. [Aside. 

Gre. Psha ! psha ! child, these are only little 
affairs, necessary in friendship ; four or five 
good blows with a cudgel between your very 
fond couples, only tend to hei^liten the affec- 
tions. I'll now to the wood, and I promise thee to 
make a hundred faggots before I come home 
again. [Ecit. 

Dor If I am not revenged on those blow «i of 
yours ! — Oh, that 1 could but think of some me- 
thod to be revctiued on him ! Hang the rogue, 
he's quite insensible of cuckoldom ! 

AIPl. — On London is a fine town. 

In ancient davs, I've heard, with horns 

i lie wit'e her spouse could fright, 
Whicii now the hero bravely scorns, 

So common is the sight. 
To city, country, camp, or court, 

Or wheresoe'er he go, 
No horned brother dares make sport ; 

They're cuckolds all a-row. 

Oil that I could find out some invention to get 
him well drubbed ! 



Fielding.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



77 



Enter Haruy and J. msies. 

Har. Were ever two fools sent on such a mes- 
sage SIS we are, ia quest of a dumb doctor ! 

Jurtits. Blame your own cursed luemury, that 
made you foitict iii^ name. For my part, I'll 
tra»cl throuoli the world rather than return 
without turn ; that were as much as a limb or 
two were worth. 

Har. Was ever such a cursed misfortune, to 
lose the letter ! 1 should not even know his 
name if I were to hear it. 

Dor. Can I tind no invention to be revenged ! 
— Heyday ! who a.-e these ? 

James. Hark ye, mistress, do you know w here 

where where doctor — W hat-d'yc-call-him 

lives ? 

Dor Doctor who? 

James. Doctor doctor what's his 

name ? 

I'or. Hey! what, lias the fellow a mind to banter 
me r 

Hur. Is there no jihysician hereabouts famous 
for cnrinii dumbness? 

Dor. 1 t'ancy you have no need of such a pliy- 
siciau, Mr Impertinence. 

Hur. Don't mistake us, good woman, wc don't 
mean to l)anter you : we are sent by our mas- 
ter, whose dauiiliter has lost her speech, ibr a 
certain physician wlio lives hereabouts; we have 
lost our direction, and 'tis as much as our lives 
arc worth to return without him. 

Dor. There is one Dr Lazy lives Just by, but 
he has left off" practising. You would not get 
him a mile to save the lives of a thousand 
patients. 

Jarnes. Direct us but to liim ; we'll bring him 
willi us one way or other, I warrant you. 

Har. Ay, ay, we'll have hiin with us, though 
we carry him on our backs. 

Dor. Ilail Hea\en has inspired me with one 
of the most admirable inventions to be revenaerl 
on my hangdog ! — [Aside.'\ — I assure you, if you 
can get him with you, he'll do your young ladv's 
business for her ; he's reckoned one of the 
best physicians in the w orld, especially for dumb- 
ness. 

Har. Pray tell us where he lives? 

Dor. You'll never be able to get him out of 
his own house; but if you watch hereabouts, 
you'il certainly meet with him, for he very often 
amuses him>elt' here with < utting wood. 

Hur. A physician cut wood ! 

James. I suppn^e he amuses himself in search- 
ing after herbs, ym mean ? 

Dor. jSo : l;e'* one of the most extraordinary 
men in the world : he goes drest like a common 
clown; for there is nothing he so much dreads 
as to be known for a physician. 

James. All your great men have some strange 
oddities about them. 

Dor. Why, he will suffer himself to be beat 



before he will own himself to be a physician 
— and I'll give you my word, you'll never make 
him own himself one, unless you both take a 
good cudgel and thrash him into it ; 'tis what 
we arc all forced to do when we have any need 
of iiim. 

James. What a ridiculous whim is here ! 

Dor. Very true ; and in so great a man. 

James. And is he so very skilful a man ? 

Dor. Skilful — why he does miracles. About 
half a year ago, a woman was given over by all 
her physicians, nav, she had been dead some 
time; when this gre;it man came to her, as soon 
as he saw her, he pomed out a little drop of 
something down her throat he had no soon- 
er done it, tlian she got out of her bed, and talk- 
ed about the room as if there had been nothing 
the matter with. her. 

Bol/i. (J, prodigious ! 

Dor. 'lis not above three weeks ago, that a 
child of twelve years old fell from the top of a 
house to the bottom, and broke its skull, its 
arms, and legs. — Our physician was no sooner 
drubbed into making him a visit, than, havinw 
rubbed the child all over with a certain oint- 
ment, it got upon its legs, and run away to 
play. 

Both. Oh mo-,t wonderful ! 

Har. Iley ! Gad, James, we'll drub him out 
of a pot of this ointment. 

James. But can he cure dumbness ? 

Dor. Dumbness ! Why the curate of our pa- 
rish's wife was born dumb; and the doctor, with 
a sort of wash, washed her tongue, that he set it a- 
going so, that in less than a month's time she out- 
talked her husband. 

Har. This must be the very man we were sent 
after. 

Dor. Yonder is the very man I speak of. 

James. What! that he yonder ? 

Dor. The very same. He has spied us, 

and taken up his bill. 

James. Come, Harry, don't let us lose one 
moment. — Mistress, your servant ; we give you 
ten thousand thanks for ttiis favour. 

Dor. Be sure you make good use of your 
sticks. 

James. lie shan't want that. \^Eieunt. 

SCENE U.— Another part of the wood. 

GnEcoay discovered sitting on the ground, zcith 
faggots about him. 

Gre. Pox on't ! 'tis most confounded hot 
weather ! Hey, who have we here ? 

Enter James and Harry. 
James, Sir, your most obedient humble ser 



Gre. Sir, your servant. 

James. We arc mighty happy in finding yoa 
here 



78 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Fielding, 



Gre. Ay, like enouf;li— i- 

James, 'lis in vour power, sir, to do us a very 
great fuvoiir — We coiiie, >ir, to implore your as- 
si»t:iiico ii) a certain atVair. 

Ore. If it be in my power to give yon any as- 
sistatico, masters, I am very ready to do it. 

James. Sir, you are cxtreiuely obliging — But, 
tlear sir, let me beg you be covered ; the bun will 
hurt your complexion. 

Har. For Heaven's sake, sir, be covered. 

Gre. Tlicse should be tootmcn by their dress, 
but courtiers by tlieir ceremony. [Asii/r. 

James. Vou mu'»t not tiiink it strance, sir, that 
we conic tluis to seek after you ; miii of your 
capacity will be sought after by the whole 
world. 

Gre. Truly, gentlemen, though I say it, that 
should not say it, I have a pretty good hand at 
a fa£5;ot. 

James. O, dear sir ! 

Gre. You may perhaps buy facsjots cheaper 
otherwise ; but if you find such in all this coun- 
try, you shall have mine for nothing. To make 
but one word then with you, you shall have 
mine for ten shillings a hundred. 

James. Don't talk in that manner, I desire you. 

Gre. I could not sell tlicm a penny cheaper, if 
'twas to mv father. 

James. Dear sir, we know you very well 

don't jest with us in this manner. 

Gre. Faith, master, I am so mucli in earnest, 
that I can't bate one farthing. 

James. O pray, sir, leave this idle discourse. — 
Can a person like you amuse yourself in this 
manner? Can a learned and famous physician 
like you, try to disguise himself to the world, and 
bury such line talents in the woods? 

Gre. The fellow's a fool ! 

James. Let me intreat you, sir, not to dissemble 
with us. 

Har. It is in vain, sir ! we know what you 
are. 

Gre. Know what you are ! what do you know 
of me ? 

James. Why, we know you, sir, to be a very 
great physician. 

Gre. Physician in your teeth : I a physician ! 

James. The tit is on him Sir, let me be- 
seech you to conceal yourself no longer, and 
oblige us to — you know what. 

Gre. Devil take me if I know what, sir ! But 
I know this, that I'm no physician. 

James. ^Ve must proceed to the usual remedy, 
I find — And so you are no physician? 

Gre. No. 



James. You are no pliysician ? 

Gre. No, I tell you. 

James. Well, if we must, we must. \Beal him. 

Gre. Oh, oh ! gentlemen, gent. emeu ! what 
are you doing? I am — I am — whatever you please 
to have nie. 

James. Why will you oblige us, sir, to this vio- 
lence ? 

Har. Why will you force us to this trouble- 
some remedy ? 

James. I assure you, sir, it gives me a great 
deid of pain. 

Gre. 1 assure ynu, sir, and so it dors me. 
But, pray, genileiuen, what is the reason that 
you have a mind to make a physician of me ? 

James. What ! do you deny your being a phy- 
sician again ? 

Gre. And the devil take me if I am ! 

Har. You arc no physirian ? 

Gre. iMay I be poxcd if 1 am ! [T/ier/ beat 

him.] (Jh, oh ! Dear eentlenicn ! oh ! for 

Heaven's sake ! I am a physician, and an apothe- 
cary too, if you'll have me; 1 had rather be any 
thing than be knocked o* the head. 

James. Dear sir, I am rejoiced to see you come 
to your senses ; f ask pardon ten thousand times 
for what you have forced us to. 

Gre. Perhaps I am deceived myself, and I am 
a physician, without knowing it. But, dear gen- 
tleman, are you ccrUiin Fm a physician? 

James. Yes, the greatest physician in the world. 

Gre. Indeed ! 

Har. A physician that has cured all sorts of 
distempers. 

Gre. The devil I have ! 

James. That has made a woman walk about 
the room after she was dead six hours. 

Har. That set a child upim its legs, imme- 
diately after it had broke them. 

James. That made the curate's wife, who was 
dumb, talk faster than her husband. 

Har. Look ye, sir, you ^hall have content; my 
master will give you whatever you \vill demand. 

Gre. Shall I have whatever I will demand? 

James. You may depend upon it. 

Gre. I am a physician without doubt — I had 
forcot it; but I begin to recollect myself. — Well, 
and w hat is the distemper I am to cure ? 

James. Aly young mistress, sir, has lost her 
tongue. 

Gre. The devil take me if I have found it ! — 
But, come, gentlemen, if I must eo with you, I 
must have a plivsician's habit ; for a physician 
can no more prescribe without a full wisr, than 
without a. fee. \^Exeunf. 



Fielding.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



79 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Sin Jasper's house. 



Enter Sir Jasper and James. 

Sir Jas. W here is lie ? VV'hcre is he ? 

James. Only rerruitiui; himscif after his jour- 
ney. You need not be impatient, sir ; tor were 
my -^ornvz lady dead, he'd brin^ her to life aiiain. 
He makes no more ot' brinsiinjr a patient to life, 
than other physicians do ot" killinir him. 

Hit Jas. 'J'is stranae so iLireat a man shoald have 
those unaccountable odd humours you mention- 
ed. 

James. 'Tis hut a eood blow or two, and he 
comes immediately to himself Here he is. 

Enter Gregory. 

James. Sir, this is the doctor. 

Sir Jas. Dear sir, you're the welcomest man in 
the world. 

Ore. Hippocrates says we should both be co- 
vered. 

Sir Jas. Ha ! does Hippocrates say so ? In 
what chapter, pray } 

Gre. In his chapter of Hats. 

Sir Jas. Since Hippocrates says so, I shall obey 
him. 

Gre. Doctor, after having exceedingly travel- 
led in the hij^hway of letters 

Sir Jas. Doctor ! Pray, whom do you speak 
to.? 

Gre. To you, doctor. 

Sir Jas. Ha, ha ! 1 am a knight, thank the 

kind's grace for it, but no doctor. 

Gre. V\'hat, you're no doctor? 

Sir Jas. No, upon mv word ! 

Gre. You're no doctor ? 

Sir Jas. Dijctor ! no. 

Gre. There — 'tis done. \^Beufs hinr. 

Sir Jas. Done, in the devil's name! What's 
done ? 

Gre. Why, now you are made a doctor of 

physic 1 am sure 'tis all the degrees I ever 

took. 

Sir Jas. What devil of a fellow have you 
brouijht here } 

James. I t(jld you, sir, the doctor had strange 
whims \'ith him. 

Sir Jas. VVlnms, quotha ! — Egad, I shall bind 
his physicianship over to his good behaviour, if 
he has any more if ihcr-e whims. 

Gre. Sir, I ask pardon for the liberty I have 
taken. 

Sir Jas. Oh ! 'tis very well, 'tis very well for 
OUi e. 

Gre. I am sorry for those blows — 
Sir Jas. Nothing at all, nothing at all, sir. 
G'e. Which 1 vas obliged to have the honour 
©f lajiiig on so thick upon vou. 

Sir Jus. Let's talk no more of them, sir 



My daughter, doctor, is fallen into a very strange 
distemper. 

G;e. Sir, I am overjoyed to hear it ; and I 
wibh, with all my heart, you and your whole fa- 
only had the same occasion for me as your 
(laughter, to shew the great desire 1 have to serve 
yoii- 

Sir Jas. Sir, I am obliged to you. 

Gre. I assure you, sir, I speak from the very 
bottom of my soul. 

Sir Jus. I do believe you, sir, from the very 
bottom of mine. 

Gre. What is your daughter's name ? 

Sir Jas. IMy daughter's name is Charlotte. 

Gre. Are you sure she was christened Char- 
lotte .? 

.S'(> Jas. No, sir ; she was christened Char- 
lotta. 

Gre. Hum ! I had rather she should have 
been christened Charlotte. Charlotte is a very 
good name tor a patient; and, let me tell you, 
the name is often of as nuich service to the pa- 
tient, as the physician is. 

Sir Jas. Sir, my daughter is here. 

Enter Charlotte and Maid. 

Gre. Is that my patient } Upon my word she 
carries no distemper in her countenance — and I 
fancy a healthy young fellow would sit very well 
upon her. 

Sir Jas. You make her smile, doctor. 

Gre. So much the better; 'tis a very good sign 
vvlien we can bring a patient to smile ; it is a 
sign that the distemper begins to clarify, as we 
say. — Well, child, what's the matter with you ? 
vVhat's your distemper ? 

Char. Han, hi, hon, han. 

Gre. What do you say."" 

Char. Han, hi, han, hon. 

Gre. What, what, what.? 

Char. Han, hi, hon 

Gre. Han ! hon ! honin ! ha ? 1 don't un- 
derstand a word she says. Han ! hi ! hon ! What 
ihe devil of a language is this.? 

Sir Jus. Why, that's her distemper, sir. She's 
l»ecome dumb, and no one can asbign the cause — 
and this distemper, sir, has kept back her mar- 
riage. 

Gre. Kept back her marriage ! Why so ? 

Sir Jas. Because her lover refuses to have her, 
riil she's cured. 

G?e. U lud ! Was ever such a fool, that would 

not have his wife dumb? Would to Heaven 

mv wife was dumb, I'd be far from desiring to 
cure her ! — Does this distemper, this Hau, hi, hon, 
oppress her very much ? 

Sir Jus. Yes, sir. 

Gre. So much the better. Has she any great 
pains ? 



80 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Fielding. 



Sir Jas. Very prcaf. 

On: riiat's jiibt ;is [ would Fiivc it. Cive me 
your liaad, cliild. Hum — lia — a \try dumb pulse 
nuli'cd. 

Sir Jus. You have i;nt">ise(l hor distemper. 

(Jre. Ay, sir, ue ^riai pliysiciaii> know a dis- 
ttiniKT iiuintdiHtt'ly : I know some ot' tlic coi- 
lr'.:e would tali Jliis the Imrio, <jr the coupeo, or 
the siiikio, or tAtiity oliicr distempers; but 1 
j;i\e voii IDS word, sir, ymir <l;iin:hter i-j iiothiitfz 

mure than dumb So I'd have vou be vcrv 

rasy. 'or tlitrc is iiotliiiii; else the mattir with 

Jier If she were not (iund>, she would be as 

well as I am. 

.S'(> Jus. Hut r should be clad to know, doctor, 
fiom whence her dumbness proceeds ? 

Gre. Nothint; so easily accounted for. 

Her dumbness proceeds from her l)a\in^ lust her 
speech. 

Sir Jn$. But whence, if you please, proceeds 
her havihi; lust her speech ? 

Gre. All our best authors will tell you, it is 
tlip impediment of the action of the tongue. 

Sir Ja». But if you please, dear sir, your sen- 
timents upon that iTupedinient .^ 

Gre. Aristotle has, upon that subject, said very 
fme things; very line things. 

Sir Jas. I believe it, doctor. 

Gre. Ah ! he was a great man; he was indeed 

a very great man A man, who, upon that suIj- 

ject, was a man that But, to return to our 

reasoning : I hold, that this imjiediment of the 
action of the tongue is caused by certain hu- 
mours, which our great physicians call — Ifumours 
— Humours .Vli! you understand Latin 

Sir Jas. Not in the least. 

Gre. What, not understand Latin? 

Sir Jas. No, indeed, doctor. 

Gre. Cubricius arci thuruin cathalimus, sin- 
gularitcr nom. Haec nuisa ; !iic, luec, hoc, geni- 
tivo hujus, hunc, banc musa'. Bonus, bona, bo- 
num. Estne oratio Latinus.? Etiam. Quia sub- 
stantivo ct adjectivum concordat in eeneri lunne- 
rum et casus, sic dicunt, aiunt, pra;dicant, clami- 
tant, et similihus. 

Sir Jas. Ah ! why did I neglect my studies.? 

Hiir. What a prodigious man is this ! 

Gre. Besides, sir, certain spirits passing from 
the left side, w hich is the seat of the liver, to the 
right, which is the scat of the heart, we find the 
hii)g«, wliicii we call in Latm, whiskerus, huvins: 
communication with the brain, which we name 
in Greek, jacl)OOtf)s, by means of a hollow vein, 
vhich we call in Hebrew, periwi<:gns, meet in 
the road with the said spirits, which till the ven- 
tnclts of the oinotaplasnms; and because the 
said humours have — you comprehend me well, 
sir .? and because the said humours have a certain 
malignity listen seriously, I beg you. 

Sir Jas. I do. 

Gre. Have a certain malignity that is caused — 
be attentive, if you please. 



.Sir Jas. I am. 

Gre. That is cau«rd, T say, by the acrimony 
of tlie humours engendered in the concavity of the 
diaphragm; thence it arrives, that these vapours, 
F'ropiia qua; marihus tribuuntur, mascula, dicas, 
ut ^unt divoruni. Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, viro- 
ram. — I'his, sir, is the cause of your daughter's 
Ining dumb. 

James. (> that I had but his tongue ! 

S4r Jus. It ;s im|>ossible to reason better, no 
doubt. But, dear su', tlx re is one thinj; — 1 al- 
ways thuuulit, till now, that the heart was on the 
left side, and the liver on the right. 

Gre. Ay, sir, so they were formerly; but we 
have chaiiiied all that. The college at present, 
sir, proceeds upon an entire new method. 

Sir Jus. I ask your pardon, sir. 

Gre. Oh, sir ! there's no harm you're not 

obliged to know so much as we do. 

Sir Jas. Very true ; but, d<x:tor, what would 
you have done with my daughter ? 

Gre. What would I have dune with her.? whv, 
my advice is, that you immediately put her into 
a bed warmed with a brass warming-pan : cause 
her drink one quart of spring-water, mixed with 
on(! pint of brandy, six Seville oranges, ai>d three 
ounces of the best double-refined sogar. 

Sir Jas. Why, this is punch, duclor ? 

Gre. Punch, sir ! ay, sir; and what's better 
than punch to make people talk ? Never tell me 
of yourjulaps, your gruels, your — your — this, and 
that, and t'other, which are only arts to keep a 
patient in hand a k>ug tiaie — I love to do a busi- 
ness all at once 

Sir Jas. Doctor, I ask pardon ; you shall be 
obeyed. 

[Gives monei/. 

Gre. I'll return in the evening, and see what 
effect it has had on her. But hold ; there's ano- 
ther youiij; lady, here, that I must apply some 
little remedies to. 

Alaid. Who, me? I was never better in my 
life, [ thank you, sir. 

Gre. So much the worse, madam; so much 
the worse : 'tis very dangerous to be very well ; 
for when one is very well, one has nothing else 
to do but to take physic and bleed away. 

Sir Jas. Oh, strange ! What, bleed when one 
has no distemper? 

Gre. It may be strange, perhaps, but 'tis very 
wholesome. Besides, madam, it is not your case, 
at present, to be very well : at least, you cannot 
possibly be well above three days longer; and it 
is always best to cure a distemper before you 
have it — or, as we sav in Greek, distemprum bes- 
tum est curare ante habestum. What I shall 
prescribe you, at present, is, to take every six 
houis one of these bolusses. 

]\Iuid. Ha, ha, ha ! Why, doctor, these look 
exactly like lumps of lf)af-siigar. 

Gre. Take one of these bolusses, I say, every 



Fielding.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



81 



six hours, washiris; it down with six spoonfuls of 
the best Holland's i^cneva. 

Sir Jas. Sure you are in jest, doctor ! This 
wench does not shew any symptom of a distem- 
per. 

Gre. Sir Jasper, let me tell you, it were not 
amiss if you yourself took a little Iciiitivc physic; 
I shall prepare sonietliiii'; for you. 

Sir Jus. Ha, ha, ha ! Xo, no, doctor ! I have 
escaped both doctors and distempers hitherto, 
and I am resolved tlic distemper shall pay me 
the first visit. 

Ore. Say you 'so, sir ? Why, then, if I can get 
no more patients here, I must even seek them 
elsewhere; and so humbly beggo te domine do- 
niitii veniam groundi foras. 

[Exit GUEGORY. 

Sir Jus. Well, this is a phvsici;m of vast capa- 
city, but of exceeding odd humours. 

[Kveitnt. 

SC^^V.ll.— The street. 

Leander solus. 

Lean. Ah, Charlotte ! thou hast no reason to 
apprehend ms' iunorance of what thou endurcst, 
since 1 can so easily guess thy torment by my 
own. Oh, how much more justiliable are my 
fears, when you ha\e not only the command of 
a parent, but \he temptation of fortune to allure 
you ! 

AIR. 

O cursed power of gold, 
For which all honour's sold. 

And honesty's no more ! 
For thee, we often find 
The great in leagues combined, 

To trick and rob the poor. 
By thee, the fool and knave 
Transcend the wise and brave, 

So absolute thy reitcn. 
Without some help of thine, 
The greatest beauties sliine. 

And lovers plead, in vain. 

Enter Gregory. 

Gre. Upon my word, this is a good beginning ! 
and since 

Lean. I have waited for you, doctor, a long 
time. I'm come to beg your assistance. 

Gre. Ay ; you have need of assistance, in- 
deed ! What a pulse is here ! What do you out 
o' your bed } 

[Feels fiis pulse. 

Lean. Ha, ha, ha ! Doctor, you're mistaken ; 
I am not sick, I assure you. 

Gre. How, sir.' Not sick! Do you think I 

Vol. IU. 



don't know when a man is sick, better than he 
does himself? 

Lean. Well, if I have any distemper, it is the 
love of that young lady, your patient, from whom 
you just now came; and to whom, if you can 
convey me, I swear, dear doctor, 1 shall be ef- 
fectually cured. 

Gre. Do you take me for a pimp, sir ? A phy- 
sician for a pimp? 

I^ean. Dear sir, make no noise. 

Gre. Sir, I will make a noise ; you are an im- 
pertinent tellow. 

J^ean. Softly, good sir ! 

Gre. I shall show you, sir, that I'm not such a 
sort of a person ; and that you r.re an insolent, 

saucy [Leaxder gives a purse] I'm not 

speaking to you, sir ; but there are certam im- 
pertinent fellowr, in the world, that take people 

for what they are not which always puts me, 

sir, into such a passion, that 

Lean. I ask pardon, sir, for the liberty I have 
taken. 

Gre. O, dear sir ; no offence, in the least. — 
Pray, sir, how am I to serve you? 

Lean. This distemper, sir, which you are sent 
for to cure, is feigned. The physicians have rea- 
soned upon it, according to custom, and have de- 
rived it from the brain, from the bowels, from 
the liver, lungs, lights, and every part of the bo- 
dy : but the true cause of it is love ; and is an 
invention of Charlotte's, to deliver her from a 
match she dislikes. 

Gre. Hum ! Suppose you were to disguise 
yourself as an apothecary ? 

Lean. I'm not very well known to her father ; 
therefore, believe I may pass upon him securely. 

Gre. Go, then, disguise yourself immediately ; 
I'll wait for you here — Ha ! JMctliinks I see a 
patient. [Exit Leaxder. 

Enter James a7id Davy. 

Gre. Gad ! Matters go on so swinmiingly, I'll 
even continue a physician as long as [ live. 

James. [Speaking to Dxvr.] — Fear not; if he 
relapse into his humours, I'll quickly thrash him 
into the physician again. Doctor, 1 have brought 
you a patient. 

Davi/. Mv poor wife, doctor, has kept her bed 
these six months. — [Gre. holds out his hand.]— 
If your worship would lind out some means to 
cure her 

Gre. What's the matter with her ? 

Dax)i/. Why, she has had several physicians ; 
one savs 'tis the dropsy ; another, 'tis the what- 
d'ye-call-it, the tumpany; a third says, 'tis a slow 
fever ; a fourth savs, the rnmatiz ; a fiftli 

Gre. What are the symptoms ? 

Davy. Symptoms, sir ! 

Gre. A v. ay ; svhat does she complain of? 

Davj/. Why, she is always craving and craving 

I. 



82 



BIUTISII DRAMA. 



[Fielding. 



for drink, cats nothing; at all. Tlicn iii-r legs nre 
<;\vi-lleil u|) a!> bi>: :i^ a uixxl iiaiiil^oiiii post; uiid 
as cold I hey be as a stone. 

Crt. (.'oiiie, to tbe purpose ; speak to the pur- 
post', my tViend. 

[Holditit: out /lis /land. 

Dux'if. 'V\\v piir|)()M' is, "-ir, that 1 am come lo 
ask what vour \\(ir>lii}i pleases to have done «illi 
licr. 

Grv: Psha, p«iha, p-ha ! I don't undersUmd one 
word what you mean. 

Juiiits. His wife is sick, doctor; and he has 
bronjjht you a iinuica lor your advice. Give it 
the doctor, tVicnd. 

\ [Daw uivcs t/ie "uj'nfrt. 

Gre. Ay, now I undcrstan«l you ; lure's a gen- 
tleman explains tlie case. You say your wile is 
sick of the dropsy? 

Duri/. ^ es, an't please your worship. 

Gic. \N ell, 1 ha\e made a sliilt to comprehend 
your meanini; at last: you have the strangest way 
ol describing a distemper. You say your wife is 
always cidiing for drink : let her have as much as 
she desires; slie can't drink too much; and, d'ye 
hear, g:ive her this piece of cheese. 

Darij. Checfe, sir ! 

Gic. Ay, cheese, sir. The cheese, of which 
this is a part, has cured more people of a dropsy 
than ever had it. 

Dari/. I give your worship a thousand thanks; 
I'll go make her take it immediately. 

* [Exit Davy. 

Gre. Go ; and if she dies, be sure to bury her 
after the best manner you can. 

Enter Dorcas. 

Dor. I'm like to pay severely for my frolic, if 
I have lost my husband by it. 

Gre. O physic and matrimony ! My wife ! 

Dor. For, though the rogue used me a little 
roughly, he was as go<;d a workman as any in five 
miles of his head. 

AIR. — Tliomas, I cannot. 

A fi2 for the dainty civil spouse, 

Wllo':^ bred at the court of France; 
Jle treats his wife with smiles and bows, 
And minds not the good main-chance, 
Be Gregory 
The man for nie, 
Thouiili given to many a maggot: 
For he would work 
Like any Turk ; 
None like him e'er handled a faggot, a faggot, 
None like him e'er handled a faggot ! 

Gre. What evil stars, in the devil's name, have 
sent her hither? If I coidd but persuade her tn 
lake a pill or two that I'd give her, I should be a 



pliy«.ician to some purpose — Come hider, shild, 
lita ine feela vour puis*;. 

I),ir. What have you to do with mv pulse? 

Cm. I aui (If 1 rench physicion, my dear, and 
1 am to feela <le pulse of de pation. 

7.W. Yes, but I am no palion, sir; nor want 
no physician, good doctor Ititgou. 

(ire. Hegar, you must be puta tu-bed, and 
taka lie peel ; me sal give you de little peel dat 
sal cure you, as you have more distempre den 
evere were hered olf. 

Dor. \\ hal'^5 the matter aith the fool r If vou 
feel my pulse any more, I shall feel your ears for 
you. 

Gre. Bcgar, you must taka de peel. 

] !or. Ikgar, I shall not taka tie peel. 

Gre. I'll take this opjjoitunity to try her. — 
[Asu/e.] — Maye dear, if you will not letta nic 
cura you, you sala cura me; you sail be my phy- 
sicion, and I will give you de fee. 

[Holds out a purse. 

Dur. Ay, my stomach does not go against 
those pills ; and what must I do for your fee ? 

Gre. O, bcgar ! me vill show you ; me villa 
teacha you w hat you sal doe ; you must come 
kissa me now, you nmst come kissa me now. 

Dor. [Kissen /inn.] — As I live, my very hang 
dog ! I've discovered him in good time, or he 
had discovered mr — [Aside.] — Well, doctor, and 
are you cin-ed now ? 

Gre. I shall make myself a cuckold presently 
— [A.'iii/t.] — l)is is not a proper place, dis is too 
public ; for sud any one pass by while I taka dis 
phisic, it vill preventa de opperation. 

Dor. What physic, doctor? 

Gre. In your ear, dat. [W/iisper$. 

Dor. And in your ear dat, sirrah. — [Hitting 
/lini a box.] — Do you dare atVront my virtue, you 
villain ! D'ye think the world should bribe me to 
part with my virtue, my dear virtue ! There, take 
your purse again. 

Gre. But where's the gold? 

Do;-. The gold I'll keep, as an eternal monu- 
ment of my virtue. 

Gre. O what a happy dog r.m I, to find my 
wife so virtuous a wtunan when 1 least expected 
it ! Oh, my injured dear ! Behold your Gregory, 
vo'.ii ow n husband ! 

Dor. Ha! 

Ore. (J me ! I'm so full of joy, I cannot tell 
thee more than that T am as much the happiest 
of men, as thou art the most virtuous of wo- 
men! 

Dor. And art thou really my Gregory ? And 
Iiast thou any more of those purses ? 

Gre. No, my dear, I have no more about me; 
but 'tis probable, in a few days. I may have a 
h mdrcd ; for the strangest accident has happen- 
ed to me ! 

Dor. Yes, my dear ; but I can tell you whom 
you are obliged to for that accident : had you 



Fielding.] 



BRITLSH DRAMA. 



8S 



not beaten me tliis morning, I had never had you 
beaten into a physician. 

Gre. Oh, oh ! then 'tis to yon I owe all that 
drubbing? 

Dor. Yes, my dear; though I little dreamt of 
the consequence. 

Gre. How mlinitclv I'm obliged to thee ! But 
hush ! 

Enter IIl-LLEDOUE. 

Hel. Are not you the srrcat tioctor just come 
to tliis town, so famous tor curing dumbness? 

Gre. Sir, I am he. 

Het. Then, sir, I should be glad of your ad- 
vice. 

Gre. Let me feel your pulse. 

Hcl. Not for myseif, good doctor; I am, my- 
self, sir, a brother of the faculty, what the world 
calls a mad doctor. I have at present under my 
tare a patient, wIkjui I can by no means prevail 
with to speak. 

Gre. I shall make him speak, sir. 

Hel. It will add, sir, to tlie great reputation 
you have already acquired ; and I am happy in 
finding vou. 

Gre. Sir, 1 am as happy in finding you. — [Th- 
kitig liiin aside.] — You see that woman, tiicre ? 
she is possessed with a most strange sort of mad- 
ness, and imagines every man she sees to be her 
husband. Now, sir, if you will but admit her in- 
to your house 

Hel. Most willingly, sir. 

Gre. The first thing, sir, you are to do, is to 
let out thirty ounces of her blood : then, sir, you 
are to shave off all her hair ; all her hair, sir : af- 
ter which, you are to make a very severe use of 
your rod, twice a-day ; and take a particular care 
that she have not the least allowance beyond 
bread and water. 

Hel. Sir, ,1 shall readily agree to the dictates 
of so great a man; nor can I help approvinsi of 
your method, which is exceeding mild and whole- 
some. 

Gre. \To hisu'lfe.] — My dear, that gentleman 
will conduct yon to my lodgings. Sir, I beg you 
will take a particular care of the lady. 

Hcl. You may depend on't, sir; nothing in my 
power shall be wanting ; you have only to in- 
quire for Dr Hellebore. 

Dor. 'Tvvont be long before I see you, hus- 
band ? 

Hel. Husband ! This is as unaccountable a 
madness as any I have yet met with ! 

[Exit Hel. with Dor. 

Enter Leander. 

Gre. I think I shall be revenged on you now, 
my dear. So, sir. 

Lea7i. I think I make a pretty good apotheca- 
ry, now, 

Gre. Yes, faith; you're almost as good an 



apothecary, as I'm a physician ; and, if you 
please, I'll convey you to the p tient. 

Lerni. If I did but know a few physical hard 
words . 

Gre. A few physical hard words ! Why, in a 
tew hard words consists the science. Would you 
know as much as the whole faculty in an instant, 
sir? Conic along, come along ! Hold; the doc- 
tor must always go before the apothecary. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Siu Jasper's house. 

Enter Sir Jasper, Cha.-.lotte, and Maid. 

Sir Jus. Has she m^de no attempt to speak, 
yet ? 

Maid. Not in the least, sir; so far from it, 
that, as she used to make a sort of noise before, 
she is now quite silent. 

Sir Jas. [Looking on his rcatck.] — 'Tis almost 
the time the doctor promised to return — Oh, he 
is here ! Doctor, your servant. 

Enter Gregory anrf Leander. 

Gre. Well sir, how does my patient? 

Sir Jas. Rather worse, sir, since your prescrip- 
tion. 

Gre. So much the better; 'tis a sign that it 
operates. 

Sir Jas. Who is that gentleman, pray, with 
your 

Gre. An apothecary, sir. Mr Apothecary, I 
desn-e you would immediately apply that song I 
prescribed. 

Sir Jas. A song, doctor ! Prescribe a song ? 

Gre. Prescribe a song, sir ! Yes, sir; prescribe 
a song, sir. Is there any thing so strange in 
that ? Did you never hear of pills to purge me- 
lancholy? If you understand these things better 
than I, why did you send for me ? 'Sbnd, sir, this 
song would make a stone speak. But, if you 
please, sir, you and I will confer at some dis- 
tance, dm-ing the application; for this song will 
do you as much h'lrm as it will do your daughter 
iiood. Ue sure, Mr Apothecary, to pour it dowO 
her ears \ cry closely. 

AIR. 

Lean. Thus, lovely patient, Charlotte sees 
Her dying patient kneel ; 
Soon cured will be your feigned dis- 
ease ; 
But what physician e'er can ease 

rhe torments which I feel ? 
Think, < harming nymph, while I com- 
plain. 
Ah, tiiink what I endure ! 
All other remedies are vain ; 
The lovely cause of all my pain 
Can only cause niv cure. 



84 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Fielding. 



Grr. It is, sir, a Rrcat and siibllc question 
jiniiin!; the doctors, W littlif r women are more 
easv to be cured tlian men ? 1 be;; you would at- 

teml to this, sir, if you please Some say, No; 

otlicrs sav, Yes ; and, Tor my part, I say both Yes 
and No; I'orasmuch as the incony;ruity ot" the 
opa(]ue hum<)ur.'> thai meet in tlie natural tem])er 
of women, art tlie cause that the brutal part will 

always prt\ail o\er the sensilile One sees 

that the ine(]uality of their o|)ini(ins dipends 
upon the blaik movcnunt of the circle of the 
moon -, and as the sun, (hat darts his rays upon 

the ( oncavity of the eartli, tind> 

Cluir. No, 1 am not at all capable of chaining 
my opiiiion. 

Sir Jus. My daughter speaks ! my daufihter 
speaks ! Oh, the izreat power ot physic ! Oh, the 
admirable jihysician ! How can 1 reward thee 
for such a ser\ice ! 

Ciif. This distemper has given mc a most in- 
Sutl'crable deal of trouble ! 

[Travtrsitig the stage in a great heat, the 
apotheca rif folluu J ng.] 
Char. Y'es, sir, I ha\ e recovered my speech ; 
but I have recovered it to tell you, thai 1 never 
A^ill have anv husband but Leander. 

[Speaks icith great eagerness, and drives Sm 
Jaspek round the stage. 

Sir Jas. But 

Char. Nothing is capable to shake the resolu- 
tion I have taken. 
Sir Jas. What ! 

Char. Your rhetoric is in vain ; all your dis- 
courses signify nothing. 
Sir Jas. I — 

Char. I am determined ; and ail the fathers 
in the world shall never oblige me to marry con- 
trary to my inclinations. 
Sir Jas. I have — 

Char. I never w ill submit to this tyranny ; and 
if I must not have the man I like, I'll die a 
maid. 

Sir Jas. You shall have Mr Dapper^ 

Char. No — not in any manner — not in the 
least — not at all ! You throw uuay your breath ; 
you lose your time : you may confine mc, beat 
me, bruise me, destroy me, kill me; do what you 
will, use me as you will ; but 1 never will consent; 
nor all your threats, nor all your blows, nor all 
your ill-usage, never shall force mc to consent. 
So far from giving him my heart, I never will 
give him ray hand : for he is my aversion ; I 
hate the very sight of him ; I had rather see the 
devil ! I had rather touch a toad ! you may make 
me miserable another way ; but with him you 
shan't, that I'm resolved ! 

Gre. There, sir, there ! I think we have 
brought her tongue to a pretty tolerable consist- 
ency. 

Sir Jas. Consistency, quotha ! why, there is 

no stopping her tongue Dear doctor, 1 desire 

you would make her dumb again. 



Gre. That's impossible, sir. All that I can do 
to serve you is, 1 can make you deaf, if you 
please. 

Sir Jas. .Vnd do you think 

Char. All your reasoning shall never conquer 
mv resoluti(jn. 

Sir Jas. You shall marry Mr Dapper this even- 



be buried first. 
', sir, stay ! let me regulate this af- 



Char. I'l 
Gre. Sla 
fair; it is a distemper that possesses her, and I 
know what remedy Ui apply to it. > 

Sir Jas. Is it posi^ible, sir, that you can cure 
the distempers of the mind? 

Gre. .Sir, I can eiirc' any thing. Ilark ye, Mr 
Apothecary ! you si e that the love she has for Le- 
ander is entirely contrary to the will of her fa- 
ther, and that there is no time to lose, and that 
an immediate remedy is necessary. For my part, 
I know of but one, which is a dose of purgative 
rnnning-away, niixt with two drams of pills ma- 
trimoniac, and three large handfuis of the arbor 
vita-: perhaps she will make some difiiculty to 
take them ; but as you are an able apothecary, 
1 shall trust to you tor the success. (Jo, make 
her walk in the garden ; be sure lose no time : 
to the remedy Cjuick; to the remedy specific ! 

[Exemit Lf.andek and Charlotte. 
Sir Jas. W hat drugs, sir, were those I heard 
you mention, for I don't remember 1 ever heard 
them spoke of before ? 

Gre. They are some, sir, lately discovered by 
the Royal Society. 

Sir Jas. Did you ever see any thing equal to 
her insolence.^ 

Gre. Daughters are indeed sometimes a little 
too headstrong. 

Sir Jus. You cannot imagine, sir, how foolishly 
fond she is of that Leander. 

Gre. The iieat of blood, sir, causes that in 
yomig minds. 

Sir Jus. For my part, the moment I discover- 
ed the violence of her passion, 1 have always 
kept her locked up. 

Gre. You ha\t done very wisely. 
Sir Jus. And I have prevented them from hav- 
ing the least coHimnnication together: for who 
knows what might have been tlie consequence? 
Who knows but she nii'jht have taken it into her 
iiead to have run away with him? 
Gre. Very true. 

Sir Jus. Ay, sir, let me alone for governing 
girls; I think I have some reason to be vain un 
that head; 1 think I have shewn the world that 
I understand a little of women — I think 1 have : 
and, let me tell you, sir, there is not a little art 
required. If this girl had had some fathers, they 
had not kept her out of the hands of so vigilant H 
lover, as I ha\e done. 
Gre. No, certainly, sir. 



Fielding.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



85 



Enter Dorcas. 

Dor. Where is this villain, this rogue, this pre- 
tended physician? 

Sir Jus. Heyday ! What, what, what's the mat- 
ter now? 

Dor. Oh, sirrah, sirrah ! Would you have de- 
stroyed your wife, you villain ? Would you have 
been guilty of murder, dog ? 

Gre. Iloity toity ! Wliat madwoman is this? 

Sir Jus. Poor wretch ! For pity's sake, cure 
her, doctor. 

Gre. Sir, I shall not cure her, unless some- 
body gives me a fee If you will give me a 

fee, sir Jasper, you shall see me cure her this 
instant. 

Dor. I'll fee you, you villain cure me ! 

AIR. 

If you hope, by your skill 

To give Dorcas a pill. 
You are not a deep politician : 

Could wives but be brought 

To swallow the draught. 
Each husband would be a physician. 

Enter James. 

James. O sir, undone, undone ! Your daughter 
is run away with her lover Leander, who was 
here disguised like an apothecary — and this is 
the rogue of a physician who has contrived all 
the affair. 

iStV Jas. How ! am I abused in this manner ? 
Here ! who is there ? Bid my clerk bring pen, 
ink, and paper; I'll send this fellow to jail im- 
mediately. 

James. Indeed, my good doctor, you stand a 
very fair chance to be hanged for stealing an 
heiress. 

Gre. Yes, indeed, I believe I shall take my 
<legrees now. 

Dor. And are they going to hang you, my 
dear husband ? 

Gre. You see, my dear wife. 

Dor. Had you finished the faggots, it had been 
some consolation. 

Enter Leander and Charlotte. 

Lean. Behold, sir, that Leander, whom you 
Jiad forbid your house, restores your daughter 
to your power, even when he had her in his, I 



will receive her, sir, only at your hands 1 

have received letters, by which I have learnt the 
death of an uncle, whose estate far exceeds that 
of your intended son-in-law. 

Sir Jas. Sir, your virtue is beyond all estates ; 
and I give you my daughter with all the pleasure 
in the world. 

Lean. Now my fortune makes ine happy in- 
deed, my dearest Charlotte ! And, doctor, I'll 

make thy fortune, too. 

Gre. If you would be so kind to make me 
a physician in earnest, I should desire no other 
fortune. 

Lean. Faith, doctor, I wish I could do that, ia 
return for your having made me an apotiiecary; 
but I'll do as well for thee, I warrant. 

Dor. So, so ! our physician, I find, has brought 
about fine matters. And is it not owing to me, 
sirrah, that you have been a physician at all ? 

Sir Jas. May I beg to know whether you area 
physician or not — or what the devil you are? 

Gre. I think, sir, after the miraculous cure 
you have seen me perform, you have no rcasort 
to ask whether I am a physician or no — And for 
you, wife, I'll henceforth have you behave with 
all deference to my greatness. 

J)or. Why, thou pufted up fool, I could have 
made as good a physician myself; the cure was 
owing to the apothecary, not the doctor. 

AIR. — We've cheated the Parson, SjC, 

When tender young virgins look pale, and com- 
plain. 
You may send for a dozen great doctors in vain; 
All give their opinion, and pocket their fees; 
Each writes her a cure, though all miss her dis- 
ease ; 

Powders, drops, 
Juiaps, slops, 
A cargo of poison from physical shops. 
Though they physic to death the unhappy poor 
maid, 

What's that to the doctor since he must be 

paid ? 
Would you know how you may manage her 

right ? 
Our doctor has brought you a nostrum to-night, 
Can never vary. 
Nor miscarry, 
If the lover be but the apothecary. 

Chorus. — Can never vai-y, &c. 



CflPxONONHOTONTIIOLOGOS. 



CAREY. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



MEN. 
Chrononhotontiiolocos, king of Qucerumma- 



BoMBARDixiAN, his general, 

Al.DinOllONTIPnOSCOl'UORKIO, 

RiGi)i'M-I"i K X I nos. 

Captain of the guards. 

H.rald. * 

Cook. 

DiHlor. 

King of the fiddlers. 

King of' the Antipodes. 



courtiers. 



W OMEN. 

Fadladimda, gneen of QueerumrKHnitL 

Tatlani HE, her favourite. 

Tuo ladies of the court. 

Tuo ladies of pleasure. 

Venus. 

Cupid. 

Guards and ailendanfs, ^c. 



Scene — Quecrummania. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — An anti-chamber in the palace. 
Enter Rigdum-Fvxnidos and Aldiboroxti- 

PUOSCOI'HORNIO. 

Hig-Fun. Aldihoroiitiphoscophornio ! 
Wlitic- left you Chroiionhotoiithologos ? 

Aldi. Fatigued with tlie tremendous toils of 
war. 
Within his tent, on downy couch succumbent, 
Hiinseif he unfatigues with gentle slumbers : 
Lulled by the cheerful trumpets' gladsome clan- 
gour, 
Tlie noise of drums, and thunder of artillery, 
lie sleeps supine amidst the din of war : 
And yet, 'tis not delinitively sleep; 
Rather a kind of do/e, a waking slumber, 
That sheds a stupefaction o'er his senses : 
For now he nods and snores ; anon he starts ; 
Then nods and snores again : If this be sleep, 



Tell me, ye gods ! what mortal man's awake? 
What says my friend to this? 

Rig- Fun. Say ! I say he sleeps dog-sleep: 
\N hat a plague would you have mc say ? 

Aldi. O impious thought ! O cursed insinua- 
tion ! 
As if great Chrononhotonthologos, 
To animals detestable and vile, 
Had aught the least similitude ! 

Rig-Fun. My dear friend, you entirely mis- 
apprehend me : I did not call the king dog by 
craft ; I was only going to tell you, that the sol- 
diers have just now received their pay, and are 
all as drunk as so many swabbers. 

Aldi. (jive orders mstantly, that no more mo- 
ney 
Be issued to the troops : Mean time, my friend^ 
Let the baths be tilled with seas of coffee> 
To stupefy their souls into sobriety. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



87 



Rig-Fun. I fancy you had better banish the 
sutlers, and blow the Geneva cask;^ to the devil. 

Aldi. riiou counsellest well, my Rigduin-Fuu- 
nidos, 
And reason seems to father thv advice : 
But, soft ! — The kinj:, in pensive contemplation, 
3eeins to resolve on some im|)ort;mt doubt; 
His soni, too copious for his earthly fabric, 
Starts forth, spontaneous, in soliloquy. 
And makes his ton^^ue the midwife of his mind. 
Let us retire, lest we disturb his solitude. 

\_r/itj/ retire. 

Enter Kikg. 

King. This god of sleep is watchful to torment 
me, 
And rest is grown a stranger to my eyes : 
Sport not with Chrononhotontholocos, 
Thou idle slumbercr, thou detested Somnus : 
For, if thou dost, by all the waking powers, 
I'll tear thine eye-balls from their leaden-sockets. 
And force thee to out-stare eternity ! 

[£.r<Y in a huff. 

Re-enter Rigdum a7i^/ Ai.DtnoROXTi. 

Rig. The king is in a most cursed passion i 
Pray, who the devil is this Air Somnus, he's so 
angrv withal ? 

A/iii. The son of Chaos and of Erebus, 
Incestuous pair ! brotlier of Mors relentless, 
Whose speckled ri>be, and wings of blackest hue, 
Astonish all mankind with hideous glare ; 
Hini'^elf with salde plumes, to men benevolent, 
Brinus downy slumbers, and refreshing sleep. 

Rig. This gentleman mav coine of a very good 
family, for aught I know; but I would not be in 
his place for the world. 

A/di. But, ,lo: the king, his footsteps this way 
bending. 
His coairative faculties immersed 
In cog.bundity of cosiitation : 
Let silence close our folding-doors of speech, 
'Tdl apt attention tell our heart the purport 
Of tliis profound profundity of thought. 

Re-enter King, Nobles, and Attendants, 4f. 

King. It is resolved Now, Somnus, I defy 

thee, 
And from mankind ampnte thy cursed dominion. 
These royal eyes thou never more shalt close. 
Henceforth, let no man sleep, on pain of death : 
Instead of sleep, let pompous pageantry 
Keep all mankind eternallv awake. 
Bid liarlequino decorate the stage 
With all magniticence of decoration : 
Giants and giantesses, dwarfs and pvsimies, 
Songs, dances, music in its amplest order. 
Mimes, pantornimes, and all th.e mimic motion 
Of scene deceptiovisive and sublime. 



Tlicflat scene draws. The king is seated, 
and a grand puntoniinie eiitertainnient 
is performed, in the midst of which, en- 
ters a captain of the guard. 
Capt. Jo arms ! to arms ! great Chrononho- 
touthologos ! 
I he Antipodean powers, from realms below, 
IIa\e burst the solid entrails of the earth ; 
(Pushing such cataracts of forces forth, 
Ihis x\orld is too incopious to contain them: 
.Armies on armies march, in form stupendous; 
Not like our earthly regions, rank by rank, 
But teer o'er teer, high piled from "earth to hea- 
ven ; 
A blazino bullet, binger than the sun, 
"^hiit troin a huge and monstrous culverin, 
lias laid your royal citadel in ashes. 

King. Peace, coward ! were they wedged hke 
golden ingots. 
Or pent so close, as to admit no vacuum, 
I )ne look from Chrononhotonlholouos 
Shall scare them into nothing. lligduin-Funni- 

dos. 
Bid Bombardinian draw his le»ions forth. 
And meet us in the plains of Queerummania. 
J'his very now ourselves shall there conjoin him : 
.Mean time, bid all the priests prepare their tem- 
ples 
For rites of triumph : Let the singing singers, 
With vocal voices, most vociferous, 
In sweet vociferation, out-vociferize 
Even sound itself. So be it as we have ordered. 

\_lLxtunt, 

SCENE II. — A magnificent apartment. 
Enter Queen, Tatlanthe, and two ladies. 

Queen. Day's curtain's drawn, the morn begins 
to rise, 
And waking nature rubs her sleepy eves: 
The pretty little fleecy bleating flocks" 
In baa's harmonious warlile through the rocks: 
Night gathers up her shades, in sable shrouds, 
And whispering ozirrs tattle to the clouds. 
What think you, ladies, if an hour we kill, 
At basset, ombre, picquet, or quadrille •■ 

Tat. Your majesty was pleased to oi-rler tea. 

Queen. My mind is altered ; bring some ratifia. 
[T/iei/ are served round with a dram, 
I liave a famous fiddler sent from France. 
Bid him coinc in. What think ye of a dance? 

Enter Fiddler. 

Fid. Thus to your majesty, says the suppliant 
muse. 
Would you a solo or sonata chnse ? 
Or bold concerto, or soft Siciliana, 
Alia Francese overo in gusto Romano? 
W hen you command, 'tis done as soon as spoke. 



88 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Carey. 



Queen. A civil fellow ! phiv us ilie IJUick 

Joak. [Mustc piuys 

[Qtirtti and Indies ilancc the Hluck Jouk. 
So luucli for tliuuini: ; now let's rest a wliilc. 
BriiiK in the tea-lliuitfs ; Hoes the keltic boil? 

'lat. The water bubbles anil the tea-cups skip, 
Through eager hope to kiss your royal lip. 

yVea brought in. 
Queen. Come, ladies, will you please to chuse 
your tea; 
Or ^rccn Imperial, or Pekoe Bohca ? 

1st Ludi/. Never, no, never sure on earth was 
seen, 
9o gracious, sweet, and affable a queen ! 
'2d Lady. She is an angel ! 
1st Lady. She's a goddess rather ! 
Tat. She's angel, queen, aiid goddess, altoge- 
ther ! 
Queen. Away ! you flatter me. 
1st Lady. We don't indeed : 
Your merit does our praise by far exceed. 

Queen. You make me blush : Pray, help me 
to a fan. 

1st Ladi/. That blush becomes you. 

Tat. Would I were a man ! 
Queen. I'll hear no more of these fantastic 
airs. [Bell rings. 

The bell rings in : Come, ladies, let's to prayers. 

[Thej/ dunce off. 

SCENE III.— An anti-chamber. 

Enter Ricdum and Aldiuoronti. 

Hig. Egad, we're in the wrong box ! Who tlu 
devil would have thought that Chrononhotontho- 
logos should be at that mortal sight of Tippode- 
ans? Why, there's not a mother's child of them 
to be seen ! 'egad, they footed it away as fast as 
their hands could carry them ; but they have left 
their king behnid them. We have him safe, that's 
one comfort. 

Aldi. Would he were still at amplest liberty ! 
For, oh ! my dearest lligduin-Fuiiiiidos, 
I have a riddle to unriddle to thee, 
Shall make thee stare thyself into a statue. 
Our queen's in love with this Antipodean. 

Rig. The devil she is ! Well, I see mischief is 
going forward with a vengeance ! 

Aldi. But, lo ! the conqueror comes, all crown- 
ed with conquest ! 
A solemn triumph graces his return. 



Let's grasp the forelock of this apt occasion, 
To greet the victor, in his flow of glory. 

A grand triumph. — E/j^er Curo.n'ONHOTONTHO- 
logos, guards and uttrndants, <Sc. met by 
RioDLM-l' L N.MDOS and ALUIBOnO.MIPIlOSCO- 
PHORNIO. 

Aldi. All hail to Chrononhotonthologos ! 
Thrice trebly welcome to your loyal subjects ! 
Myself and faitlilul lliirdum-Fuimidos, 
Lost ill a labyrinth of love and loyalty, 
Intreat you to iiisjject our inmost souls. 
And read, in them, what tongue can never utter. 

Chro. Aldiborontiphoscopliornio, 
To thee, and gentle Rigdum-Punnidos, 
Our gratulations How in streams unbounded: 
Our bounty's debtor to your loyalty, 
\\ Inch shall, with interest, be repaid e're long. 
But w here's our queen ? \\ here's Fadladinida .' 
She should be foremost in this gladsome train. 
To grace our triumph; but, I see she slights me. 
This haughty queen shall be no longer mine, 
I'll have a sweet and gentle concubine. 

Rig. Now, my dear little Phoscophorny, for a 

swinging lie to bring the queen off, and I'll run 

with it to her this minute, that we may all be in 

a say. Say she has got the thorough-go-nimble. 

[Whispers, and steals off". 

Aldi. Speak not, great Chrononhotonthologos, 
111 accents so injuriously severe, 
()( Fadhidinida, your faithful queen : 
By me she sends an embassy of love, 
Sweet blandishments, and kind congratulations, 
But, cannot, Oh ! she cannot, come herself. 

King. Our rage is turned to fear : What ails 
the queen } 

Aldi. A sudden diarrhea's rapid force 
So stimulates the peristaltic motion. 
That she by far out-does her late out-doing, 
And all conclude her royal life in danger. 

King. Bid the physiciaus of the world assemble 
In consultation, solemn and sedate : 
.More to corroborate their sage resolves. 
Call from their graves the learned men of old : 
Galen, Hippocrates, and Paracelsus ; 
Doctors, apothecaries, surgeons, chemists. 
All, all attend . and see they bring their medij 

cines ; 
Whole magazines of galli-potted nostrums, 
Materialized in pliarinaceutic order ! 
Ihe man that cures our queen shall have our em- 
pire. [E.reunl. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



89 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— ^ garden. 

Enter Tatlanthe and Queen. 

Queen. Heigh ho ! my heart I 
Tat. What ail^ ray gracious queen ? 
Queen. O would to Venus I had never seen — 
Tat. Seen wliat, my royal mistress ? 
Queen. Too, too much ! 
2at. Did it atfright you ? 
Queen. No ; 'tis nothing such. 
Tat. What was it, madam ? 
Queen. Really, I don't know. 
Tat. It must be something ? 
Queen. No ! 
Tat. Or nothing ? 
Queen. No ! 

2at. Then, I conclude, of course, since it was 
neither. 
Nothing and something jumbled well together. 
Queen. Oh ! my Tatlanthe, have you never 

seen — 
Tat. Can I guess what, unless you tell, my 

queen ? 
Queen. The king, I mean ? 
Tat. Just now returned from war. 
He rides like Mars in liis triumphal car. 
Conquest precedes, with laurels in his hand ; 
Behind him Fame does on her tripos stand ; 
Her golden trump shrill through the air she 

sounds. 
Which rends the earth, and thence to Heaven 

rebounds ; 
Trophies and spoils innumerable grace 
This triumph, which all triumphs does deface : 
Haste then, great queen ! your hero thus to 

meet. 
Who longs to lay his laurels at your feet. 

Queen. Art mad, Tatlanthe ? I meant no such 
thing. 
Your talk's distasteful. 

Tat. Didn't you name the king .' 
Queen. I did, Tatlanthe, but it was not thine; 
The charming king I mean, is only mine. 

Taf. Who else, who else, but such a charm- 
ing fair, 
In Chrononhotonthologos should share ? 
The queen of beauty, and the god of arms. 
In him and you miited, blend their charms. 
Oh ! had you seen him, how he dealt out death, 
And, at one stroke, robbed thousands of their 

breath : 
While on the slaughtered heaps himself did rise. 
In pyramids of conquest to the skies : 
The gods all hailed, and fain would have him stay ; 
But your bright charms have called him thence 
away. 
Qucci. This does my utmost indignation raise : 
You are too pertly lavish in his praise. 
Leave me foe ever ! [Tatlanthe kneeling. 

Vol. III. 



Tat. Oh ! what shall I say ? 
Do not, great queen, your anger thus display ! 
O frown me dead ! let me not live to hear 
My gracious queen and mistress so severe ! 
I've made some horrible mistake, no doubt ! 
Oh ! tell me what it is ! 

Quren. No, fmd it out. 

Tat. No, I will never leave you ; here I'll 
grow. 
Till you some token of forgivenness show : 
Oh ! all ye powers above, come down, come 

down ! 
And from her brow dispel that angry frown. 

Queen. Tatlanthe, rise ; you have pravailed at 
last : 
Offend no more, and I'll excuse what's past. 

[Tatlanthe aside, rising. 

Tat. Why, what a fool was I, not to perceive 
her passion for the topsy-turvy king, the gentle- 
man that carries his head where his heels should 
be ? But I nmst tack about I see. 

[2'o the Queen. 
Excuse me, gracious madam ! if my heart 
Bears sympathy with your's in every part; 
With you alike I sorrow and rejoice. 
Approve your passion, and commend your 

choice ; 
The captive king 

Queen. That's he ! that's he ! that's he ! 
I'd die ten thousand deaths to set him free : 
Oh ! my Tatlanthe ! have you seen his face. 
His air, his shape, his mien, his every grace ? 
In what a charming attitude he stands ! 
How prettily he foots it with his hands ! 
Well, to his arms, no, to his legs I fly, ■ 
For I must have him, if I live or die. [Exeunt. 

SCENE U.—A bed chamber. 

Chronoxhotontiiologos asleep. 

Rough nmsic. viz. Salt-boxes and rolling-pins 
grid-irons and tongs ; sow-gelders' horns, 
mari'ozv-bones and cleavers, 4'^". 4't'- 

[Jfe loakes. 

Chron. What heavenly sounds are these that 
charm my ears ! 
Sure 'tis the music of the tuneful spheres. 

Enter Captain of the guards. 
Capt. A messenger from general Bombardini- 
an 
Craves instance audience of your majesty. 
Chron. Give him admittance. 

Enter Herald. 
Her. Long life to Chrononhotonthologos ! 
Your faithrul general, BombardiniMU, 
Sends you his tongue, transplanted in my mouth, 

M 



90 



BUITISH DRAMA. 



[Carey. 



To pour his soul out in your royal enrs. 

Chron. Then use thy uiasttr's tongue willi re- 
verciice, 
Nor waste it . in thine own loquacity, 
But britily, and at lua'c, declare thy message. 
Ilfr. Suspend a-wliile, great C'hroiionhoton- 
tholog(js, 
Tlio fate of empires and the toils of war ; 
And in my lent let's qMatf I'iialorniaa wine, 
Till our souls iniiunt and emulate the truds. 
Two eaptive females, beauteous as the morn, 
Sulimi-sive to your wishes, court your ojition. 
lla»tc then, great king, to bless us with your pre- 
sence. 
Our scouts already watch the wished approach. 
Which shall be welcomed by the drum's dread 

rattle, 
The cannon's thund(?r, and the trumpet's blast; 
While I, in front of mi;^hty myrmidons, 
Receive my king in all the pomp of war. 

Chron. Tell huu I come ; my llying steed pre- 
pare : 
Ere thou art half on horse-back I'll be there. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— J prUon. The king of the Anti- 
podes discovered asleep on a couch. 

Enter Queex. 

Queen. Is this a place — Oh ! all ye gods 
above ! 
This a reception for the man I love .' 
See in what sweet tranquillity he sleeps, 
W liih; nature's self at his confmement weeps. 
Rise, lovely monarch ! see your friend appear, 
No Clirononhotontholoi^os is here; 
Command your freedom, by this sacred ring; 
Then command me : \Vhat says my charming 
king? 
[She puts the ring in his mouth, he bends 
the sea-crah, and makes a roaring noise. 
Queen. What can this mean ! he lays his feet 
at mine, 
Is this of love or hate his country's sign ? 
Ah ! wretched queen ! how hapless is thy lot, 
To love a man that understands thee not ! 
Oh ! lovely Vcnusjjgoddess all divine ! 
And gentle Cupid, that sweet son of thine, 
Assist, assist me, with your sacred art, 
And teach me to obtain tliis str.uiger's heart. 

Vcitus descends in her chariot, and sings. 

AIR. 

i'tn. .See Venus does attend thee, 

jMy diidiusi, my dolding. 
Love's goddess will befriend thee, 

Lilly bright and shinec. 
With pity and compassion, 

i\iy dilding, my dolding. 



She sees thy tender passion, 
Lilly, tN:c. da capo. 

AIR. — Changes. 

To ihee I yield my power divine, 

Dance over the lady Lee. 
Demand whate'er thou wilt, 'tis thine, 

-My gay lady. 
Take this magic waud in hand. 

Dance, &c. 
.Ml the world's at thy command, 

My gay, &c. da capo. 

Cupid descends, and sings. 
AIR. 

Are you a widow, or are you a wife ? 

Gilly Hower, gentle rosemary. 
Or are you a maiden, so fair and so bright ? 

As the dew that Hies over the mulberry 
tree. 
Queen. Would I were a widow, as I am a wife 1 

Gilly flower, 6ic. 
But I'm, to my sorrow, a maiden as bright. 

As the dew, &c. 
Cupid. You shall be a widow before it is night, 

Gilly tlower, «S:c. 
No longer a maiden so fair and so bright. 

As the dew, &c. 
Two jolly young husbands your person shall 
share, 

Gilly flower, tScc. 
Ajid twenty line babies all lovely and fair, 

As the dew, &c. 
Queen. O thanks, Mr Cupid ! for this your 
good news, 

Gilly flower, &:c. 
What woman alive would such favours refuse ? 

While the dew, &c. 
[Voius and Cupid re-ascend; the queen goes 

off] and the king of the Antipodes JoU 

lous, walking on his hands. 

SCENE IV. — Bo.MBARDiNi.\x's tent, 

A'(/;o; a?j£/ BoMCARDiMAN at a table, with ties 
ladiei. 

Bom. This honour, royal sir, so royalizes 
The royalty of your most royal actions. 
The dumb can only utter forth your praise; 
For we, who speak, want words to tell our mean- 

Here ! fill the goblet with Phalernian wine, 
AutI, while our monarch drinks, bid the shrill 

trumpet 
Tell all the gods, that we propinc their licatths. 

King. Hold, Bouibardinian ! I esteem it fit, 
With so much wiiie, to cat a little bit. 

Bom. See that tlic table instantly be spread. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



91 



With all that art and nature can produce. 
Traverse from pole to pole ; sail round the 

globe, 
Bring every eatable that can be cat ; 
The kin<i; shall eat, thous;h all mankind be starv- 
ed. 
Cook. I am afraid his majesty will l)e starved, 
before I can run round the wjrld, for a dinner; 
besides, where's the money ? 

Kins. Ha! dost thou prattle, contumacious 
slave ? 
Guards, seize the villain I broil him, fry him, stew 

him ; 
Ourselves shall eat him out of mere revens^e. 

Cook. O, pray your majesty, spare my life ; 
there's some nice cold pork in the pantry : I'll 
hash it for your majesty in a mimite. 

Citron. Be thou first hashed in hell, audacious 
slave ! 

[Kills him, and turns to BoMHARDrxiw. 
Hashed pork ! shall C'iirononhotonthologos 
Be fed with swine's flesh, and at second-hand ? 
Now, by the gods ! thou dost insult us, general ! 
Bom. The gods can witness, that I little 
thought 
Your majesty to other flesh than this 
Had aught tlie least propensity. 

\^Poinis to the ladies. 
King. Is this a dinner for a hungry monarch? 
Bom. Monarchs as great as Chrononhotontho- 
logos, 
Have inade a very hearty meal of worse. 

King. Ua ! Traitor ! dost thou brave me to 
my teeth ? 
Take this reward, and learn to mock thy master. 

[Sir ikes him. 
Bom. A blow ! shall Bombardinian take a 
blow ? 
Blush ! Blush, thou sun ! Start back, thou rapid 

oceai) ! 
Hills ! vales ! seas ! mountains ! all commixing, 

crumble, 
And into chaos pulverize the world ; 
For Bombardinian has received a blow, 
And Chrononhotonthotogos shall die. [Drmis. 
[The women run off, crying, Help, Mur- 
der, Sfc. 
King. What means the traitor.' 
B om. Traitor, in thy teeth ! 
Thus I defy thee ! 

[Theif fight ; he kills the king. 
Ha ! What have I done .'' 
Go, call a coach, and let a coach be called ; 
And let the man that calls it be the caller; 
And, in his calling, let him nothing call, 
But coach ! coach ! coach ! Oh ! for a coach, 
ye gods ! [Exit raving. 

Returns ?cith a Doctor. 
Bom. How fares your majesty? 



Doc. My lord, he's dead. 
Barn. Ha! dead ! impossible ! it cannot be ! 
I would not believe it, though himself should 

swear it. 
Go, joui his body to iiis son! again, 
Or, by this light, ihy soul shall quit thy body ! 
Doc. My lord, he's far beyond the power of 
physic ; 
His soul has left his body, and this world. 

Bom. Then go to tlie other world and fetch it 
back. [Kills him. 

And, if I find thou trificst widi me there, 
I'll chase thy shade through myriads of orbs, 
And drive thee far beyond l!ie verge of nature. 
11a! Call'st thou, Chrononhotonthologos.'' 
1 come ! yom- faithi'ul Bombardinian comes ! 
He comes, in worlds unknown, to make new 

wars, 
And gain thee empires numerous as the stars. 

[Kills himself. 

Enter Queen and others. 

Aldi. O horrid ! horrible ! and horridest hor- 
ror ! 
Our king ! our general ! our cook ! our doctor ! 
All dead ! stone dead ! irrevocably deod ! 

Oh ! [All groan, a tragedy groan. 

Queen. My husband dead ! Ye gods ! SVIiat 
is't you mean. 
To make a widow of a virgin queen .'' 
For, to my great misfortune, he, poor king, 
Has left me so; is not that a wretched thing ? 
Tat. Why, then, dear madam ! make no far- 
ther pother. 
Were I your majesty, I would try another. 
Qeeen. I think 'tis best to follow thy advice. 
Tat. V\\ fit you with a husband in a trice : 
Here's Rigdum-Fuimidos, a proper man; 
li any one can please a (jueen, he can. 

Big. Ay, that I can, and please your majesty. 
So, ceremonies apart, let us proceed to business. 
Queen. Oh ! but the mourning takes up all 
my care ; 
I am at a loss what kind of weeds to wear. 

Big. Never talk of mourning, madam. 
One ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow. 
Let us bed to-night, and then we'll wed to-mor- 
row. 
I'll make thee a great man, my little Phosco- 
phorny. [To Aldi. aside, 

Aldi. I scorn your bounty ; I'll be king, or no- 
thing. 
Draw, miscreant ! draw ! 

Big. No, sir, I'll take the law. 

[Buns behind the Queen, 
Queen. Well, gentlemen, to make the matter 
easy, 
I'll have you both ; and that, I hope will please 

ye- 

And now, Tatlanthe, thou art all my care : 



92 

Wlicro shall I find tlico such another pair ? 
I'liv that voii, who'vi- served bO long, si) well, 
Should die a virt;in, and lead apes m hell. 
Cho<isc for vo.irsclt, di ar -irl, our empire round, 
Your porti.Mi is twelve hundred thousand pound. 
Aldi. Here ! lake these dead aiid bloody corpse 
away ; 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Carey. 



Make preparation for our wedding-day. 

Instead of sad solemnity, and black, 

Uur hearts shall swim in claret, and in sack. 

lEieunt omnes. 



THE 



HONEST YORKSHIREMAN. 



CAREY. 



DRAMATIS PERSON^;. 



MEN. 
Gaylove, a young barrister, in love rcith Ar- 

BELLA. 

Muckworm, uncle and guardian to Arbella. 
Sapskull, a country 'squire, intended for Ar- 
bella. 
Slajigo, servant to Gaylove, an archfellow. 
Blunder, servant to Sapskull, a clown. 



WOMEN. 

Arbella, niece to Muckworm, in love uitk 

Gaylove. 
Com BRUSH, her maid, a pert one. 



Scene — A country village. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — An apartment in Muckworm's 
house. 

Enter Arbella and Combrusu, 

AIR. — Set by Signior Porpora. 

Ar. Gentle Cupid ! seek my lover, 
Waft a thousand sighs from me ! 

All ray tender fears discover, 
Bid him haste ! 

O bid him haste, and set me free ! 

Combrush ! 

Com. Ma'am ! 

Ar. No news from Gaylove yet? 

Com. Not a tittle, ma'am. 

Ar. It quite distracts me ! 

Com. And every body else, ma'am ; for when 
you aie out of humour, one may as well be out 
of the world. Well, this love is a strange thing ; 



when once it gets possession of a young lady's 
heart, it turns her head quite topsy-turvy, and 

makes her out of humour with every body 

I'm sure I have reason to say so. 

Ar. Prithee leave your nonsense, and tell me 
somethiijg of Gaylove. 

Com. All I can tell you, ma'am, is, that he is 
stark staring mad, for love of you. But this con- 
founded uncle of yours— — 

Ar. What of him ? 

Com. lias just received news of the arrival of 
a rich country squire out of Yorkshire ; which 
country squire is cut out for your husband. 

Ar. They that cut a husband out for me, shall 
cut him out of better stuff, I assure you, 

AIR — In vain, dear Chloe. 

Shall I stand still and tamely see. 
Such Sraithfield bargains made of me ? 



94 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Carey. 



Is not my licait my own ? 
I liatc, 1 scorn iliiir tlowni-li squire, 
Nor lonl, nor diikc, tio I desire, 

But him I luve ulone. 

Com. Well said, ma'am ; I lu\ c a \vumai\ of 
hjiirit. 

AII{. — Hark azKii/f 'lis IliC tiurit/ toned liorn. 

^\ liy shotdd wonicn si) miirli he rontroiiled ? 
W'liy shmild men w it'll our riplits n'lake so bold r 
Ixrt tlie battle 'twixt sexes be tried, 
We shall soon prove the strongest side. 

'J hen stand to your arms, 

And trust to your charms. 

Soon whining and pinini;, 

The men will pursue; 

Hut if you f;row tame, 

Tlicy'll but make you their game. 
And prove perfect tyrants 

a once tlicy subdue, [^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A street near the house. 

Enter Gaylovf. and SlaNco. 

Gai/. No way to get at her ? 

S/ft)ig. The devil a bit, sir; old IMuckworm 
has cut olTall communication : But I have worse 
ne\^s to tell you yet. 

Cm/. That's impossible. 

Sfani^. Your mistress is to be married to ano- 
ther, and that quickly. 

Gd'/. INIarried ! you surprise me — to whom ? 

Sluni:. ']"o 's(|uirc Sapskull, a Yorkshire gentle- 
man, of a very great estate. 

Gay. Confusion! Can she be so false? To 
Sapskull ! I know him well, of SapskuU-IIall — 
T was born w ithin a mile and a half of the place ; 
bis father is the greatest rogue in the county, the 
very man I am now suing for what my late bro- 
ther mortgaged to him, when I was stufleut at 
Cambridge. Is be not content to withhold my 
right from me, but he must seek to rob me of the 
only happiness I desire in life.' 

AIR. — The charms of Florimel. 

My charming Arabcll, 

To make thee mine secure, 

^^'l)at would not I endure ! 
'Tis past the power of tongue to tell, 
The love I bear my Arabcll. 

No human force shall quell 

My passion for my dear, 

Can love be too sincere ? 
I'd sooner take of life farewel, 
Then of my dearest Arabcll. 

Is there no way to prevent this match ? You were 
not used to be thus barren of invention. 



Siang. Nor am I now, sir; your liumble ser- 
vant has invented already — and such a scheme ! 

Gu>/. How ! which way, dear Slango ? 

.S'/r/Hif. Why thus 1 must personate Arbel- 

la, (with this sweet face) and you her uncle, un- 
der which disguises we may intercept the country 
'squire, and got his credentials; equipt with 
which 1 leave you to guess the rest. 

Gui/. lla|)py invention ! Suc<ess attend it ! 

Slang. I can't say Amen, though I'd do any 
thing to serve you. Do you know the result, sir f 
no less than tlie forfeiture of your dear liberty. 
Have you forgot the song of The Dog and the 
Bone ? 

AIR.— IIV/O! the bright god of day. 

Whoe'er to a wife 

Is linked for his life. 
Is placed in a wretched condition : 

'i'liougli plagued with her tricks, 

Like a blister she sticks, 
And death is his only physician. 

To trifle and toy, 

May gi^■e a man joy. 
When summoned by love, or by beauty; 

But, where is the bliss in 

Our conjugal kissing, 
When passion is prompted by duty ? 

'I'he cur who possessed 

Of mutton the best, 
A bone he could leave at his pleasure : 

But if to his tail 

'lis tied, without fail, 
lie's harassed and plagued beyond mea- 
sure. 

Gay. I am now of a contrary opinion : Vice 
looks so hateful, and virtue so amiable in my 
eye, especially as 'tis the ready road to true hap- 
piness, I am resolved to pursue its paths. A re- 
gular life, and a good wife for me. 

AIR. — Ansicer to the above song. 

To the same tune. 

That man, who for life 

Is blest in a wife. 
Is sure in a happy condition ; 

(jO things how they will, 

She sticks by him still. 
She's comforter, friend, and physician. 

Pray, wliere is the joy. 

To trifle and toy, 
Y^et dread some disaster from beauty .' 

But sweet is the bliss. 

Of a conjugal kiss, 
Where love mingles pleasure vfith doty. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



95 



One extravagant whore, 

Shall cost a man more, 
Thau twenty i^ood wives who are saving; 

F(ir wivc^ ihey will spare, 

Tliat their children luay share, 
But whores arc eternally craving. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— Anoiher street. 

' Enter Sapskull and Blunder, staring about. 

Sap. Wuiis-lcnt ! what a mortal big place this 
same London is ! ye uiun ne'er sec end on't, 

for sure Houscn upon honscn, fulk upon folk 

one would admire where they did grow 

all of 'em. 

Bliin. Ay, master, and this is nought to what 
you'll see an by; and ye go to Tower ye raun 
see great hugeous ships as tall as houscn : Then 
ye mun go to playliousen, and there be no less 
nor six of them, a hopeful company ; o' my con- 
science ! There you'll see your comical trage- 
dies, and your uproars, and roratorihusscs, and 
hear l'"ardinello, that sings Solt'a belter nor our 
minister choir men : And more nor tiiat, ye mun 
ha' your ch(jice of the prattiest lasses, ye e'er set 
e'en on. 

Sap. By the mass, and I'll be somebody among 
them — So I will — but how mun we tind out this 
same sir Penurious Muckworm ? 

Bluii. Ye mmi look to letter for that. 

Sup. Letter says, G-r-o-z Groz-vc-n-e-r, near 

Grozvcneer square; but how mun ye know 

\vhere this same Grosveneer squire is ? 

Blun. Why ye mun ask ostler for that, he'll 
set you right for sure : For your London ostlers 
are wiser by half than our country justasses. 

Sap. Ay, Blunder, every thing's fine in Lon- 
don. 

AIR. — London is a fine toicn. 

O London is a dainty place, 

A great and gallant city. 
For all the streets arc paved with gold. 

And all the folks arc witty. 

And there's your lords and ladles line. 

That ride in coach and six, 
That nothing drink but claret wine. 

And talk of politics. 

And there's your beaux, with powdered 
cloaths, 

Bedaubed from head to ciiin ; 
Their pocket holes adorned with gold. 

But not one souse within. 

And there's the English actor goes 

V.'ith many a hungry belly. 
While heaps of gold are forced, God wot, 

On siguior Farrinelli. 



And there's your dames, of dainty frames, 

With skins as white as milk, 
Dre^t every day, in garments gay, 
Of satin, and of silk. 

And if your mind be so inclined. 

To have theai in your arms. 
Pull out a handsome purse of gold, 

They can't resist its charms. 

Enter Gaylovk, as IMucKWOUjr. 

Gaij. Welcome to London, dear squire Sap- 
skull ! I hope your good father is well, and all at 
Sapskull-hall? 

Sap. Did ye e'er hear the like. Blunder? This 
old gentleman knows me as well as I know my- 
self. [Aside to Blukdkr. 

Blun. Ay, master, you LoPidoncrs know every 
thing. 

Gai/. T had letters of your coming, and was 
resolved to meet you. 

Sap. i'ray, sir, who may you be, an' I may be 
so bold ? 

Gai/. ]My name, sir, is Muckworm. 

Sup. Wiiut, sir Penurious Muckworm? 

Gai/. So tlioy call me. 

Sap. Sir, if yournanic be sir Penurious Muck- 
worm, my name is SamLtelSapskull, jun. esq. son 
of sir Samuel Sapskull, of SapskuU-liall, in the 
East Riding of Yorkshire. 

Gai/. Sir, I am no stranger to your family and 
merit ; for which reason 1 sent for you to town, 
to marry my niece \vith 60001. fortune, and a 
pretty girl into the bargain. 
Blun. Look ye there, master! 

[Aside to Blunder. 

Sap. Hold your peace, you blockhead ! 

[Aside to Sapskut.l. 

Gai/. But how may I be sure, that you are the 
very squire Sapskull I sent for? Have you no 
letters, no credentials ? 

Sap. Open tiie portmantell, Blunder Yes, 

sir, I ha' brought all my tackle with me. Here, 
sir, is a letter from father. [Gives a letter.'] And 
here, sir, ,are deeds and writings, to shew wiiat 
you nmn ha' to trust to : And here, sir, is mar- 
riage-settlement, signed by father, in lit case 
young gentlevvoujan and I likes one another. 

Gaj/. Sir, she can't chuse but admire so charm- 
ing a person. There is but one obstacle that I 
know of 

Sap. What may that be, an I may be so bold? 
Gui/. Your habit, sir ; your haijit. 

Sap. Why, sir, 'twas counted wondrous fine in 
our country last parlementeering time. 

Gai/. O, sir, but it's old fashioned now, and 
mv niece loves e\'ery thing to the tip-top of the 
mode. But if you'll go along with me, I'll equip 
you in an instant. 



96 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Carey. 



AIR.— Set by the author. 

Comr Ijither, my country squire, 
Take friendly instruction by rue ; 
The lords simll adniirc 
Thy taste in attire, 
The ladies shall languish for thee. 



Such flaunting, 
Gallanting, 
And jaunting, 
Such frolicking thou slmlt see, 
'I'hou ne'er like a clown, 
Shalt quit London sweet town, 
To live in thine own country. 

A skimming dish hat provide, 
With little more brim than lace, 
Nine hairs on a side, 
To a pig's tail tied. 
Will set olTthyjolly broad face. 
Such flaunting, &c. 
III. 
Go, get thee a footman's frock, 
A cudgel quite lip to thy nose, 
Then friz like a shock, 



And plaistcr thy block, 
And buckle thy shoes at thy toes. 
Such flanting, ike. 

A brace of ladies fair, 
To pleasure thee shall strive. 
In a chaise and pair, 
They shall take the air. 
And thou in the box shalt drive. 
Such flaunting, &c. 

Convert thy acres to cash. 
And saw thy timber-trees down. 

Who would keep such trash, 

And not cut a flasii. 
Or enjoy the delights of the town, 

CHORUS. 

Such flaunting, 
(Gallanting, 
And jaunting. 
Such frolicking thou shalt see. 
Thou ne'er like a clown 
Shall quit London sweet town. 
To live in thine own country. 



[Erlt. 



ACT IL 



SCENE I. — An apartment. 
Enter Arbella and Combrusu. 

AIR. — Set by the author. 

Arh. In vain you mention pleasure, 
To one confused like me, 
Ah, what is wealth or treasure. 
Compared to liberty } 

O thou, for whom I languish. 
And dost the same for me, 

Relieve a virgin's anguish, 
And set a captive free. 

Enter Muckworm. 

Much. Come, there's a good girl, don't be 
in the pouts, now. 

Com. I think it's enough to put any voung la- 
dy in the pouts, to deny her the man she likes, 
and force her to marry a great looby Yorkshire 
tike. In short, sir, my mistress don't like him, 
and won't have him. Nay, I don't like him, 
and tell you flat and plain she shan't have him. 

Muck. Shan't have him, Mrs Snap-Drngon ! 

Com. No, shan't have him, sir: if I were she, 
I would see who should force me to marry a- 
gainst my will. 

Muck, ^^'as ever such an impudent hussy ! 



But I'll send you packing. Get out of my house, 
you saucy baggage ! 

Arb. Sir, though you have the care of my es- 
tate, you have no command over my servants : — 
I am your ward, not your slave ; if you use me 
thus, you'll constrain me to chuse another guar- 
dian. 

Muck. \^Aside^^ A gypsey ! who tau^t her 
this cunning ? I must hasten this match, or lose 
lOOOl. by the bargain. [To Arb.] What a bustle 
is here with a peevish lovo-sick girl ! Pray, child, 
have you learnt Cupid's catechism .'' Do yos 
know what love is ? 

Arb. Yes, sir 

AIR. — Set by the author. 

Love's a gentle generous passion, 
Source of all sublime deliuht. 

When, v\itli mutual inclination. 
Two fond hearts in one unite. 

What are titles, pomp or riches. 
If compared with true content ? 

That false joy \vhich now bewitches, 
When obtained we may repent. 

Lawless passion brings vexation. 
But a chaste and constant love. 

Is the glcjrious emulation, 
Of the blisful state above. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



07 



Enter a Servant. 

Ser. Sir, one squire Sapskull, out of York- 
shire, desires to Sjjeik witli y'>u- 

Aluck. I asn glad he's come — desire him to 
walk in. 

^Servant goes out, and returnx rvitli Gay- 
love, drc-i!,ed in Sapskill's clothes. 

Gaif. Sir, an' your name be sir Penurious 
Muckworm ? 

Muck. Sir, I have no other ; may I crave 
yours ? 

Gau. Samuel Sapskull, jun. esq. at your lord- 
ship's service. 

Muck. A very mannerly, towardiy youth, and 
a comely one, I assure you. [To Aubella. 

Gai/. Pray, sir, an' I may be so bold, which of 
these two pretty lasses is your niece, and my 
wife, that innn be ? 

Ar. What a brute is this? Before I would 
have such a wretch for a husband, I would die 
ten thousand deaths. 

Mi/ck. Which do you like best, sir? 

Gai/. Marry, an' I were to chuse, I would take 
them both. 

JMiick. \'ery courtlv, indeed. I see the squire 
is a wasr. 

Comb. Both ! I'll assure you, sauce-box ! the 
worst is too good for you. 

AIR. — Gilly-flower, gentle roae/na?}/. 

Why how now, sir Clown, dost set up for a 

wit ? 
Gilly-llower, gentle rosemary : 
If here you should wed you are certainly bit, 
As the dew it flies over the mulberry tree. 

If such a fine lady to wife you should take, 

Gilly-Howei", gentle rosemary : 

Your heart, head, and horns, shall as certa'nly 

ake, 
As the dew it flies over the mulberrv tree. 

Muck. Insufferable assurance ! affront a gen- 
tleman in my house ! \e\er mind her, sir; she's 
none of my niece ; only a pert slut of a chamber- 
tuaid. 

Gat/. A chamber-jade ! -Lord, Lord, how 

brave you keep your maidens here in Li>n(lon I 
Wuns-lent, she's as fine as our lady uiavoress. 

Muck. Ay, her mistress spoils her ; but fol- 
low me, sir, and I'll warrant you, we'll manage 
her, and her mistress, too. 

AIR. — Set bj/ the author. 

Guy. I am in truth, 

A country youth. 

Unused to London fashions : 

Yet virtue giiidcS;, 

Tor. IIL 



And still presides, 
O'er all my steps and passions! 

No courtly leer. 

But all sincere, 
No bribe shall ever blind me; 

If you can like 

A Voikshire tike. 
An honest lad you'll find me. 

Though Envy's tongue. 

With slander hung. 
Docs ot't bely our county ; 

Xo men on earth, 

Boast greater worth. 
Or more extend their bounty: 

Our northern breeze, 

With us agrees. 
And does for business fit us; 

In public cares, 

In lo\e's aft'airs, 
With honour we acquit us. 

A noble mind. 

Is ne'er confnicd 
To any shire, or nation ; 

lie gains most praise, 

Who best di.^plays 
A generous education. 

While rancour rouls. 

In narrow souls. 
By narrow views discerning. 

The truly wise 

Will only prize 
Good manners, sense, and learning. 

[All this time Gaylove does his utinost to 
discover himself to Arbella, but she 
turns from him, and wont understand 

Gay. Well, an ye wunna see, I cannot h.elp it. 
Go )d-bye to ye, forsooth; in the mean time, hei-e's 
a paper with something in it that will clear your 
ladyship's cve-sitrht. 

[Throws doun a letter, and exit smiling. 

Ar. \\'hat can the fool mean ? 

Comb. [Taking up the letter.] ?.Iadam, as I 
live, here's a letter from Mr Gaylove ! 

Ar. This is surprising. [.Snatches the letter, and 
reads.] ' Though this disguise is put on to blind 
' old Muckworm, I hope it will not conceal from 
' my dear Arbella, the person of her ever constant 

' Gaylove.' 

Blind fool that I was ! I could tear my eyes out ! 

Comb. Lord, madam ! who the deuce could have 
thought it had been Mr Gaylove? 

Ar. Hold your prattle ! t have great hopes of 
this enterprize, however; it carries a good face 
with it ; but, whether it succeeds or no, I must 
love the dear man, that ventures so hard for mv 
sake. 



98 



BTIITISII DRAMA. 



{Carey. 



AlU.—Set by the autltur. 

That man, wlii best can tlanijer dare, 
Is in()>t (Icstnint: of the fair; 
Thf bolfl and hrave we wmnt-n pri/e; 
The \\hiniii>: slave we all d« s{Mse. 

Let coxcomhs flattor, cringe, and lie, 
I'm (end to t:th^iii>h, pine, and die ; 
Sue h men of wortls my srorn shall he ; 
The man of deeds is the man for me. 

[Erit. 
Comb. My mistress is entirely in the right ou't. 

AIR. — / had a prettif lass, a teiuint of viy oun. 

The man that vc'ntures fairest, 
And furthest for my sake. 
With a fid, lai, la, &c. 

The soonest of my purse, 

And my person shall partake. 
With a fal, lal, la, (S:c. 

No drowsy drone shall ever 

A con(|uest make of me, 
But to a lad that's clever, 

How civil could I he? 

With a fal, lal, la, &c. 



[Exit Comb. 



SCENE V 



Enter SapSKULL, dresf u-la-mode de petit muitre, 
Bi.iNDEB in a 'irh liverj/, uith hig hair tucked 
up, and poudered behind. 

Blun. Mess, master, how fine ye be ! marrv, 
believe me, an ye were at Sapskull-hall, I dare 
say, -)r Samuel himself would hardlv know ye. 

Sap. Know nie ' marry, I don't know nivsclf 
— \Sui-vei/ing himself.] — I'm so rine : And thou 
art tjuiit another <-ort of a creature, too. — [7 «r«s 
Blindek about. \ — '.Veil, talk what ye list of 
Yorkshire, 1 sav there's nought like London ; for 
my parr, I dont care an I ne'er see the face of 
Sapskull-hall acen. 

blund. What need ye, an ve getteii 60001. 
with youne gentlewoman ? besides, vather has 

ty'd rsrate fast en.>u<ih to ye. An I were as 

ye, I'd e'en bide here, and live as lofty as the 
best o' 'em. 

Enter a Servant, ucU dressed. 

Ser. Gentlemen, I come from sir Penurious 
Muckworm. I am his servant, and wait on pur- 
pose to conduct you to Mrs Arbella's apartment. 

Sop. Servant ! Wannds, why, you're finer nor 
your master! 

Ser. O, sir, that's nothing in London. [Exeunt. 



SCENE VL — An apartment. 

Sl.vngo representinf! AnBri.LA, Servant intro- 
ducing Sapskvi.i. and Hlvndlr. 

Sup. Well, forsooth, you know mv business; 

few words are best anions friends Is it a 

match, or no? Say ay, ami I'll second you. 

Siuufso. .\ very compeiulious wav of woomc, 
truly — [..^AUt/f.] — I hojifi you'll spare a maiden's 
blushes sir; but, Lard Gad ! you are too quick 
upon me ! 

Sup. I means to Ije quicker yet, ay marry, and 
make thee quick, too, before 1 ha' done with 
thee. 

S/ango. I protest, sir. you put me to such a 
nonplus, I don'i know what to say. 

Sup. Ne'er heed ; parson shall teach thee what 
to say. lor my part, 1 ha' con'd my lesson afore- 
hand. 

Sfango. But will you love me? 

Sap. Love thee ! Lord, 1/ird, I loves thee bet- 
ter than I docs my hay filly ! did vou ne'er see 
her, forsooth ? Od, she's a dainty tit, and sure I 

am 1 loves her better nor I do nown father. 

Blunder, run and t'et( h a parson. 

S/ungo. Mr Blunder may save himself that 
trouble, sir; I have provided one already. 

Sap. Why, then, let's make haste, dear sweet 
honey; for I long till it's over. • [Exeunt. 

SCENE VIL 

Enter Gaylove and Arbella. 

AIR. — Set by the author. 

Gay. Thou only darline; I admire. 

My heart's delis^ht, my soul's desire ! 
Possessing thee, I've areater store, 
Than kuig to be of Inaia's shore. 

For every woman were there three, 
And in the world no man but me, 
I'd single you from all the rest, 
To sweeten life, and make me blest ! 

jir. Well, I never was so deceived in my life! 
Hon could you clown it so naturally ? 

Guy. What is it I would not do for your dear 
sake ? But, I ijitrcat you, let's lay hold of this 
opportunity, and put it out of fortune's power 
ever to divide us. 

Jr. W hat would you have me do? 

Gay. Leave all to me. I have left Combrush 
to amuse your uncle, while a fellow-collcf:iate of 
mine, who is in orders, waits in the next room 
to finish the rest. 

Ar. Do what you will with me : For, in short, 
I don't know what to do w ith mvself. 



Carey.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



99 



AtR. — The nymph thai undoes mc. 

Arb. Let prudes and coquettes their intentions 

conceal ; 
Witli pride, and with pleasure, the truth I 

reveal ; 
You're all I can wish, and all I desire; 
So fixed is my tlaiuo, it ue'er can expire. 

Cay. Let rakes and libertines revel and ranfre : 
Possessed of such treasure, what mortal 

would chantje; 
You're the somce of my hopes, the spring 

of my joy, 
A fountain of bliss that never can cloy. 

AIR.— % Mr Handel. 

Gaylove and Arbella together. 

How transporting is the pleasure, 
When two hearts like our's unite ! 

When our fondness knows no measure, 
And no bounds our dear delight. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Muckworm and Combrvsu. 

Muck. Well, 1 forgive you : This last action 
has made amends for all. I find a chamber- 
maid is prime minister in matrimonial affairs 
And you sav, they are quite lo\ ing ? 

Comb. ! ond, fond, sir, as two turtles ! But I 
beg you would not disturb them. 

Muck. By no means ; let them have their love 
out, pretty fools ! I shall be glad, however, to 
see some of their little fondnesses : But tell me 
seriously, how do you like the 'squire? 

Comb. Oh ! of all things, sir ; and so does mv 
mistress, I assure you. 

Muck. How that scoundrel Gaylove will be 
disappointed. 

Comb. He'll be ready to hang himself — about 
her neck. [Aside. 

Mu'k. They'll make ballads upon him. 

Comb. I have made one already, and will sing 
it if you please. 

Muck. With all my heart. 

AIR. — A beggar got a beadle. 

There was a certain usurer, 

He had a pretty niece, 
Was courted by a barrister, 

Who was her doatins piece. 
Her uncle, to prevent the same, 

Did all that in him lay ; 
For which he's very much to blame, 

As all good people say. 

A country 'squire was to wed 
This fair and dainty dame ; 



But such contraries in a bed, 
\Vould be a mon^ rous shame : 

To see a lady bns;ht and ;:ay. 
Of fortune, and of charms, 

So shamefully he thrown away, 
Into a looby's arms. 

The lovers, thus distracted, 

It set them on a plot ; 
Which lately has been acted, 

And Shall I tell you what? 

The gentleman disguised himself 

Like to the country 'squire, 
Deceived the old mischievous elf^ 

And got his heart's desire. 

Muck. I don't like this song. 
Comb. Then you don't like truth, sir. 
Muck. What ! d'ye mean to affront me? 
Comb. Would you have nie tell a lie, sir? 
Muck. Get out of my house, you baggage ! 
Comb. I only stay to take my mistress with 
me ; and see, here she comes. 

Enter Gaylove and Arbella. 

]\luck. So, sir ; you have deceived me : but 
I'll provide you a weddiiig-suit; a fine long Chan- 
cery suit, before ever you touch a penny of her 
fortune. 

Gay. Sir, if you dare embezzle a farthing, I'll 
provide you with a more lasting earment ; a cu- 
rious stone doublet : You have met with your 
match, sir; I have studied the law, ay, and prac- 
tised it too. 

Muck. The devil take vou and the law toge- 
ther ! 

Enter Sapskull, Slango, and Blunder. 

Iley-day ! Who in the name of wonder have we 
got here ? 

Gay. Only squire Sapskull, his bride, and boo- 
bily man. 

Slang. Come, my dear ! hold up your head 
like a man, and let them see what an elegant 
husband I have got. 

Blun. Ay ; and let them see what a dainty 
wife my master has gotten. 

Sap. Here's a power of fine folk, sweet honey 
wife ! pray, who may they be ? 

Slang. This, sir, is sir Penurious INIuckworm. 

Sap. No, honey ! I fear you are mistaken. 
Sir Penurious is another guise sort of a man; 
an I mistake not, he's more liker yon same gen- 
tleman. 

Blun. Ay, so he is, master. 

Slang. That same gentleman was sir Penu- 
rious Muckworm some time ago, but now he's 
chauHied to George Gaylove, esquire. 

Gai/. At your service, sir. 

Sap. And who's yon fine lady? 

Gay, My wife, sir, and that worthy knight's 
niece. 



100 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Carey. 



Sap. Your wife, and tlmt worthy kiiiiiht's uiccc ? 
Tvhy, who a inurnim hu\c 1 pottcii, then ? 

Gay. My man, Slongo ; and I wish you much 
joy ! 

Sap. Your man Slango ! « hat, have I married 
a man, then P 

Slatit;o. If you don't like me, my dear, we'll 
be divurrod this minute. 

S^ip. My dear ! a n)urrain tiike such dears ! 
Where's my writinj^s ? I'll ha' you ail hanged ("or 
cheats ! 

Cat/. You liad better liano; yourself for a fool. 
Co hiiine, child, go home, and learn more wit. 
There's your <leed ot" a scttlenient ; but. as for tin 
writings, they happen to be mine, and ke()t fr.iu- 
dulently from me bv your latiier, to whom tiiev 
were mortgaged by my late brother. Tin- estate 
has been clear these three years. Send your fa- 
ther to me, and I'll talk to him. This is tit for 
tat, young gentleman I Your father wanted to 
get my estate from me, and I have got the wife 
he intended for you. All's fair, sir. 

Muclc. I say all's foul, and a damned cheat ! 
and so I'll make it appear. [K.iit in a rufxe. 

Gay. Do your worst, sir; you can't unmarry 
\xt, 

AIR. — Set by the author. 

Ar. Now fortune is past its severest, 
My passion, of mortiil's sincercst. 
Kind Heaven has repaid in my dearest; 
What gifts can it sireater bestow.? 
Gay. True love shall, through destiny, guide us, 
Still constant, whatever betide us. 
There's nothing but death shall divide us. 
So faithful a fondness we'll show. 

Both. By Cupid and Hymen united, 
By danger no longer affrighted. 
We'll live in each other delisihted. 
The greatest of blessings below. 



S<ip. What mun I do ? I muti ne'er sec father's 
face again. 

Guy. Never fear, squire; I'll set all to rights; 
tlioiigh your father's my enemy, I'm not vours : 
.My house shall be your lif)me, till I have n ron- 
liied you to your father ; and, for the honour of 
Yorkshire, I'll see you shan't be abused here. 

Sap. Say ye so. sir? tlien I wish you nmch joy 
with all my heart ! 

litun. Ay, and so does Blundc r, too. 

Sap. Well, sin I see you be so happy in a wife, 
I'll not be hjui; witlKiut one, I assure you. 

Gay. You can't be liappier than 1 wish you. 

AIR.— .SW by the author. 



Gay. Come learn by this, ye bachelors, 
W ho lead unsettled lives, 
\\ hen once ye come to serious thought, 
There's nothing like good wives. 

Ar. Come learn by this, ye maidens fair, 
Say I advise you well, 
You're better in a husband's arms, 
Than leading apes in hell. 

Sap. A batchelf)r's a cormorant, 
A batclielor's a drone. 
He eats and drinks at all men's cost, 
But seldom at his own. 

Comb. Old maids and fusty batchelors, 
At marriage rail and lower, 
So when the fox could'n't reach the grapes^ 
He cried, they all were sour. 



Omnes. Old maids, &c. 



[Exeunt omnes. 



THE 



KING AND THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 



DODSLEY. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



MEN. 

The Ktkg. 

The Mii-ler. 

Richard, the Millcr^s son, attached to Peggy. 

Lord Lu rewem., a courtier. 

Coui'tiers and Keepers of the forest. 



WOMEN. 

Peggy, seduced hy Lord Lurewelx. 
Margery, the Millers wife. 
Kate, the Millers daughter. 



Scene — Sherwood Forest. 



ACT L 



SCENE I.— Sherwood Forest. 



Enter several Courtiers, as lost. 

ist Coiir. 'Tis horrid dark ! and this wood, I 
believe, has neither end nor side. 

Ath Cour. You mean to get out at, for we have 
found one in, you see. 

2d Cour. I wish our good king Harry had kept 
nearer home to hunt ; in my mind, the pretty 
tame deer in London make much better sport 
than the wild ones in Sherwood forest. 

3d Cour. I can't tell which way his majesty 
■went, nor whither any body is with him or not; 
but let us keep together, pray. 

4th Cour. Ay, ay, like true courtiers, take care 
of ourselves, whatever becomes of our master. 

2d Cour. Well, it's a terrible thing to be lost 
in the dark. 

4th Cour. It is. And yet it's so common a 
case, that one would not think it should be at all 
so. Why we are all of us lost in the dark every 
day of our lives. Knaves keep us in the dark by 
therr cunning, and fools by their ignorance. Di- 



vines lose us in dark mysteries ; lawyers in dark 
cases; and statesmen in dark intrisues. Nay, 
the light of reason, which we so mu<h boast of, 
what is it but a dark lanthorn, whicli just serves 
to prevent us from running our nose against a 
post, perhaps ; but is no more able to lead us out 
of the dark mists of error and igncjrance, in which 
we are lost, than an ignts fatuus would be to 
conduct us out of this wood. 

\st Cour. But, my lord, this is no time for 
preaching, methinks. And, for all your morals, 
dav-light would be much preferable to this da4s- 
ness, I believe. 

2>d Cour. Indeed would it. But come, let us 
go on ; we shall find some house or other by and 
by. 

4th Cour. Come along. [Exeunt. 

Enter the King. 

King. No, no; this can he no public road, 

that's certain : I am lost, quite lost indeed. Of 

what advantage is it now to be a king .^ Night 

shews me no respect : I cannot see better, nor 



J 02 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[DODSLEY. 



walL so well as another man. What is a kine;? 
Is he not wiser than amitlier man ? Nut without 
Ins cotmseliors, 1 plainly hncl Is he not more 
powerful ? I oft have hf en told so, indeed ; but 
what now ran n»_v power command? Is he not, 
greater, and more maj:nifieent ? \\ hen seated on 
his throne, and surrounded with noblcf and flat- 
terers, p«-rhaps he may think so; but whin lo^t 
in a wood, alas! what is he but a common man? 
His wisdom knows not which is north, and which 
is south ; his power a beiijiar's do^ would bark 
Jit; and his crcatncss the bc^iiar would not bow 
t(i. Anil yet, how oft are we puffed up with these 
false attributes? Well, in losing the monartii, I 
have found the man. 

[T/ie report of a gun is heard. 
Hark ! some villain sure is near ! What were it 
bc^t to do? ^Vill my majesty protect me? No. 
Throw majesty aside, then, and let manhood do 
it. 

Enter the Milleh. 

il///. I believe, I hear the rogue. \Vho's 
Uif-re ? 

King. No rotrue, 1 assure you. 

]\li/. Little bettor, friend, I believe. Mho 
fired that siun? 

King. Not I, indeed. 

]\Itt. You lie, I believe. 

King. J je ! lit ! how stransie it seems to me, 
to be talked to in this style. [^^Isj^/e.] Upon my 
word, I don't. 

JMil. Come, cOme, sirrah, confess; you have 
shot one of the kind's deer, have not you ? 

King. No, indeed ; I owe the kin;: more re- 
spect. I heard a gun eo off, indeed, and was af- 
fraid some robbers might have been near. 

JI//7. I'm not bound to believe this, friend. 
Prav w ho are you ? w hat's your name ? 

King. Name ! 

Hill. Name ! yes, name. Why you have a 
name, have not you ? Where do you come from? 
What is your business here ? 

King. These are questions 1 have not been used 
to, honest man. 

Mil. May be so ; but they are questions no 
honest man would be afraid to answer, I think. 
So, if you can ^ve me no better account of your- 
self, I shall make bold to take you along with me, 
if you please. 

King. With vou ! what authority have you 
to— 

Mil. The kind's authority, if I must L'ive vou 
an account, sir. I am John Cockle, the miller of 
Mansfield, one of his majesty's keepers in this 
forest of Sherwood; and I will let no suspected 
fellow pass this way, that cannot pve a better 
account of himself than you have done, I pro- 
mise you, 

King. 1 must submit to my own authority. 



( J«/t/e.] Very well, sir, I am glad to hear the 
Kill!; has so iiood an otiicer; and since I find vou 
have his authority, I will give you a better ac- 
count of myself, if you will do me the favour to 
hear it. 

Mif. It's more than you deserve, I believe; 
but, let's hear what you can say for yourself. 

King. I have the honour to belonc to the 
kiii'j, a5 well as you ; and, jierhaps, should be as 
unwilling to see any wrong done him. I came 
down with him to hunt in this forest, and, the 
<'hase leading us to-dav a great wav from home, 
I am benighted in this wood, and have lost my 
way. 

Mi/. This does not sound well ; if you have 
been a-hunting, pray, where is your horse ? 

King. I have tired my horse, so that he lay 
down under me, and I was obliged to leave him. 
3//7. If I thoiiuht I might belie\ e this now. — 
hmg. I am not used to lie, honest man. 
.1/(7. Whiit I do you live at court, and not lie? 
tiial's a likely story, indeed I 

King. Ik" that as it will, I speak truth now, I 
assure you ; and, to convince ynu of it, if you 
will attend me to Nottinsrham, if I am near it, or 
give me a nigiit's lodging in your own house, here 
is sumothiiig to pay you for your trouble, and if 
that is not sutbcient, I will satisfy you in the 
morning to your utmost desire. 

J/t/. Ay, now, I am convinced, you are a cour- 
tier; here is a little bribe for to-day, and a large 
promise for to-morrow, both in a breath : here, 

take it again, and take this along with it. 

John Cockle is no courtier; he can do what he 
ought without a bribe. 

A7)/^'. Thou art a very extraordinary man, I 
must ow n, and I should be glad, methiiiks, to be 
faiiher acquainted with thee. 

Alii. Thee ! and thou ! prithee don't thee and 
thou ine : I believe I am as good a man as your- 
self at least. 

King. Sir, I beg your pardon. 
Mil. Nay, I am not angry, friend ; only, I 
don't love to be too familiar with any body, be- 
fore I know wliether they deser\e it or not. 

A'/«^'. You are in the riglit. But what am I 
to do? 

Mil. You may do what you please. You are 
twelve miles from Nottingham, and all the way 
throui.!) thisthiik wood; but, if you are resolved 
upon going thither to-night, I will put you in 
the road, and direct you, the best I can ; or, if 
you will accept of such poor entertainment as 
a miller can give, you shall be welcome to stay 
all night, and, in the morning, I will go with you 
myself. 

King. And cannot you go with me to-night? 
Mil. I would not go with you to-night, if you 
were the king. 

King. Then I must go with vou, I think. 

[Exeunt. 



DoDSLEY.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



JOS 



SCENE II. — Changes to the town of Mansfield. 
Dick alone. 

Well, dear Mansfield, I am glad to see thy face 
aiiain. But my heart aches, methiiiks, for fear 
this should bo only a trick of theirs, to get me 
into their power. Yet, the letter seems to he 
wrote witli an air of sincerity, I confess; and 
the eirl was never used to lie, till she kept a 
lord's company. Let me see, I'll read it once 
more. 

' Dear Richard — I am at last Cthough much toy 
' late for me) convinced of the injury done to u> 
' both, by that base man, who made me think 
' you false. He contrived these letters, which 1 
' send you, to make me tiiink you just upon tlic 

* piiint of being married to another, a thought J 
' could not bear with patience; so, aiming at re- 
' venge on you, consented to my own undoing. 

* But, for your own sake, I beg you to return 
' hither, for I have some hopes of bemg able to 
' do you justice, «hich is the only comfort of 
' your most distressed bui ever aft'ectionate, 

' Pecgv.' 

There can be no cheat in this, sure ! The letters 
she has sent, are, I think, a proof of her sincerity. 
Well, I will go to her, however : I carmot think 
she will again betray me. If she has as much 
tenderness left for me, as, in spite of her ill 
usage, I still t'eel for her, I'm sure she won't. 
Let me see ! I am not far from the house, I be- 
lieve. \_Exit. 

SCENE III.— Changes to a room. 

Enter Peggy and Ph(ebe. 

Phcthe. Pray, madam, make yourself easy. 

Pe^. Ah, Phcpbe! she that has lost her virtue, 
has, with it, lost her ease, and all her happiness. 
Believing, cheated fool ! to think him false. 

Phoebe. Be patient, madam ; I hope, you will 
shortly be revenged on that deceitful lord. 

Peg. I hope I shall, for that were just re- 
venge ! But, will revenge make me happy? Will 
it excuse my falsehood ? Will it restore me to 
the heart of my much injined love? Ah, no! 
That blooming innocence he used to praise, and 
call the greatest beauty of our sex, is gone ! 1 
have no charm left, that might renew that flame, 
I took such pains to quench. 

[Knocking at the door. 
See who's there. O heavens ! 'tis he ! Alas ! 
that ever I should be ashamed to see the man I 
love ! 

Enter Riciiaud, rcho stands looking on her at 
a distance, she ueeping. 

Dick. Well, Peggy (but I suppose you're ma- 



dam now, in that fine dress), you sec, you have 
brought me back; is it to triumph in your false- 
hood ? or, am I to receive the slighted leavings 
of your fine lord? 

Peg. O Richard ! after the injury I have done 
you, I cannot look on you without confusion': 
But do not think so hardly of me : I stayed not 
to be sliiihted by him ; tor, the moment I dis- 
covered his vile plot on you, I fled his sight; nor 
could he ever prevail to see me since. 

Dick. Ah, Pegsiy ! you were too hasty in believ- 
ing; and much I tear, the vengeance aimed at me, 
had other charms to recommend it to you ; such 
bravery as that [Pointing to her clulhes.] I had 
not to bestow; but, if a tender, honest heart 
could please, you had it all; and, if I wished fyr 
more, 'twas for your sake. 

Peg. O Richard ! when you consider the wick- 
ed stratagem he contrived, to make me think 
you base and deceitful, I hope you will, at 
least, pity my folly, and, in some measure, ex- 
cuse my falsehood; that you will forgive me, I 
dare not hope. 

Dick. To be forced to fly from my friends and 
country, for a crime that I was innocent of, is an 
mjury that I cannot easily forgive, to he sure : 
But, if you are less guilty of it than I thought, I 
shall be very glad; and, if your design be really, 
as you say, to clear me, and to expose the base- 
ness of him that betrayed and ruined you, I will 
join with you, with all n)y heart. But how do you 
propose to do this ? 

Peg. The king is now in this forest a-hunting, 
and our young lord is every day with him: Now, 
I think, if we could take some opportunity of 
throwing ourselves at his majesty's feet, and 
complaining of the injustice of one of his cour- 
tiers, it might, perhaps, have some eifect upon 
him. 

Dick. If we were suffered to make him sensi- 
ble of it, perhaps it might; but the complaints 
of such little folks as we, seldom reach the ear^j 
of majesty. 

Peg. We can but try. 

Dick. Well, if you \vill go willi me to my fa- 
ther's, and stay there, till such an opportunity 
happens. I shall bclie\e you in earnest, and will 
join with you in your desiijn. 

Peg. I will do any thing to convince you of 
my sincerity, and to make satisfaction for the 
injuries whit;h have been done you. 

Dick. Will you go now? 

Peg. I'll he with you in less than an hour. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Changes to the mill. 

Margery and Kate knitting. 

Kate. O dear ! I would not see a spirit for all 
the world ! hut 1 love dearly to hear stories of 
theuf*. Well, and what then ? 



104 



BnmSH DRAMA. 



[DODSLEY. 



Mar. And so at last, in a dismal hollow tone, 

it crit-d 

[A knockins at the door f'rifihls t/itm 

holli ; thfif srriuin out, and throw douii 

theit knitting. 

Mar. and Kate Lord I doss us I What's that ? 

K-,te. () dear inothtr ! it's some jiultiinrnt iip- 

ns, I am afraid ! They sav, talk of the devd, and 

hf'il ipix-ar. 

jl/(/r. Kate, po and see who's at the door. 
Kiite. 1 durst not '^o, ni)thcr ! do you go. 
Mar. Come, let's both 'jo ! 
Kate. Now, don't speak as if you was afraid ! 
Mur. No, I won't, if I i an help it. Who's 
there ? 

Dick. \uilhout\ What ! won't vou let mc in ? 
Kale. O uenuiii ! it's like our l)i( k, 1 think : 
He's certainly dead ! and it's his spirit. 

Mur. lleav'n forbid ! I think in my heart, it's 
he himself. Open the door, Kate. 
Kate. Nay! do you. 
Mur. Come, we'll both open it. 

yVhci/ open the door. 

Enter Dick. 

Dick. Dear mother! how do you do? I thought 
you would not have let mc in I 

Mur. Dear chiid ! I'm ovcrjoved to see thee ; 
but I was so friiihtcd, I did not know what to 
do. 

Kate. Dear brother, I am elad to see you ! 
how have you done this lona; while? 

Dick. \'ery well, Kate. But where 's my fa- 
ther ? 

Alar. He heard a sun go off, just now, aiid 
he's i;one to see who 'tis. 

Dick. What, thev love venison at Mansfield 
as well as ever, I suppose? 

Kate. Av ; and they will have it, too. 

^y*/. f Hi/'AoM/.]— lioa! Madge! Kate! brint: 
a liirht here ! 

Alar. Yonder he is. 

Kate. Has he catched the rogue, I wonder ? 

Enter the King and the Miller. 

Mar. Wh'> have you got ? 

Alii. I have brought thee a stranger, Madge; 
thou must give him a supper, and a lodging, if 
thou can'st. 

Mur. You have got a better stranger of your 
own, 1 can tell vou : Dick's come. 

Mil. Dick! Where is he? Why, Dick! How 
is'u inv lad ? 

Dick. \'ery well, I thank you, father. 

King. A little more, and you had pushed me 
down. 

Mil. Faith, sir, vou must excuse me ; I was 
overjoyed to see mv boy. He has been at J>on- 
don, and I have not seen him these four years. 

King. W ell, I shall once in my life have the 



happiness of being treated as a common man; 
and of seeing human nature without disguise. 

{Aside. 

Mil. What has brought thee home so uuex- 
pet tid ? 

Dick. You will know that presently. 

Ml/. Of that, by-and-by, then. Wo have got 
the king down in the forest a hunting, this sea- 
son ; and this honest gentleman, who came down 
"illi his majesty from London, has been with 
them to-(lav, it seems, and has lost his way. — 
Come, Madge, ?>ee what thou can'st get for sup- 
per. Kill a couple of the best fowls : and go 
you, Kate, and draw a pitcher of ale. We arc 
famous, sir, at .Manslieid, for good ale; and for 
honest fellows, that know how to drink it. 

King. Good ale will be acceptable at present, 
for I am very dry. But, pray, how came your 
son to leave you, and go to London? 

I\lil. Wliy, that's a story which Dick, per- 
haps, won't like t<j ha\e told. 

King. Then 1 don't desire to hear it. 

Enter Kate, nith an earthen pitcher of aUy 
and a horn. 

Mil. So ; now, do you go help your mother. — 
Sir, my hearty service to you. 

King. Thank ye, sir. This plain sincerity and 
freedom, is a happiness unknown to kings. 

[Aside. 

]\Iil. Come, sir. 

King. Richard, my service to you. 

Dick. Thank you, sir. 

Alii. ^Vcll, Uick, and how dost thou like Lon- 
don ? Come, tell us what thou hast seen. 

Dick. Seen ! I have seen the land of pro- 
mise. 

Mil. The land of promise ! What dost thou, 
mean ? 

Dick. The court, father. 

Mil. Thou wilt never leave joking. 

Dick. To be serious, then, 1 ha\e seen the dis- 
appointment of my hopes and expectations; and 
that's more than one would wish to see. 

Mil. What ! Would the great man, thou wast 
recommended to, do nothing at all for thee at 
last ? 

Dick. Why, yes; he would promise ir.e to the 
last. 

Alil. Zoons 1 Do the courtiers think their de- 
pendents can cat promises ? 

Dick. No, no; they never trouble their heads 
to think whether we eat at all or not. I have 
now dangled afier his lord.-hip several years, tan- 
taiiztd with hope^ and expectations; this year 
promised one place, the next another, and the 
third, in sure and certain h' pe of a disap- 
pointment. One falls, and it was promised be- 
fore; another, and I am just half an hour too 
late; a third, and it stops the ninutli of a credi- 
tor; a fourth, and it pays the hire of a llattcrer; 



Dodsley] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



105 



a fifili, and it bribes a vote : and, tlie sixth, I am 
})i-omised still. But bavins: thus slept awav bosnc 
years, I awoke from aiy dream : mv lord, I t'ouiitl. 
was io far from ba> ino; it in his power to ijet a 
place for me, that he had been all this while 
seeking after one for himself. 

ilfiV. Poor Dick I And is plain honesty, then, 
a recommendation to no place at court ? 

Dick. It may recommend you to lie a foot- 
man, perhaps, but nothing further; nothing fur- 
ther, indeed. If you look higher, you must fur- 
nish yourself with other qualifications : you ?nust 
]earn to say ay, or no ; to run, or stand ; to 
fetch, or carry, or leap over a stick, at the word 
of conunand. You must be master of the arts 
of flattery, insinuation, dissimulation, application, 
and — \^Fuinting to hk pa/in.] — right aj)piication, 
too, if you hope to succeed. 

King. You don't consider I am a courtier, mc- 
thinks. 

Dick. Not I, indeed; 'tis no concern of mine 
what you are. If, in s:eneral, my ciiaracter of 
the court is true, 'tis not my fault if it's disaij;ree- 
able to your worship. There are particular ex- 
ceptions, 1 own, and I iiope you may be one. 

King. Nay, I don't want to be flattered ; s^: 
let that pass. Here's better success to you the 
next time vou come to London ! 

Dick. I thank ye ; but I don't design to see it 
again in haste. 

Mil. No, no, Dick ; instead of depending up- 
on li;rds" promises, depend up.m the labour of 
thine own hands; expect notliiuj; but what thou 
can'st earn, and tlien thou wilt not be disappoint- 



ed. But come, I want a description of London ; 
thou hast told us nothing thou hast seen vet. 

Dick. () ! Tis n line place ! 1 have seen large 
houses with small hospitality ; great men do lit- 
tle actions; and fine ladies do nothing at all. I 
have seen the honest lawyers of Westntinster- 
hall, and the virtuous inhal)itaiits of Change- .Al- 
ley; the politic madmen of collec-houses, and 
the wise statesmen of Bedlam. I have seen mer- 
ry tragedies, and sad comedies; devotion at an 
opera, and mirth at a sermon ; I have seen fine 
clothes at St .Tames's, and long bills at Ludgate- 
hill. I have seen poor frrandem-, and rich pover- 
ty ; high honours, and low flattery ; great pride, 
and no merit. In short, I ha\e seen a fool with 
a title, a knave w ith a pension, and an honest man 
witii a thread-bare coat. Pray, how do you like 
London .? 

Mi/. And is this the best description thoa 
can'st give of it ? 

Dick. Yes. 

King. Why, Richard, you are a satirist, I 
find. 

Dick. I love to speak truth, sir; if that hap- 
pens to be satire, I can't help it. 

Mil. Well ! If this is London, give me my 
country cottage ; which, though it is not a great 
house, nor a fine house, is mv own house; and E 
can shew a receipt for the building on't. But 
come, sir, our supper, I believe, is ready for us 
by this time ; and to such as I have, you're weU 
come as a prince. 

King. I thank you. [Exeunt. 



ACT XL 



SCENE I. — Changes to the wood. 
Entfr several keepers. 

1st Keep. The report of a gun was somewhere 
this way, I'm sure. 

2d Keep. Y'^es ; but I can never believe that 
any body would come a deer-stealing so dark a 
night as this. 

3d Keep. Where did the deer harbour to-day r 

4t/i Keep. There was a herd lay upon Hamil- 
ton-hill; another, just bv Robin Hood's chair ; 
and a third here, in Mansfield wood. 

Isl Keep. Ay ; those they have been amongst ! 

2d Keep. But we shall never be able to find 
them to-night, 'tis so dark. 

3(/ Keep. No, no; let's go back again. 

Isl Keep. Zoons ! You're afraid of a broken 
head, I suppose, if we should find them ; and so 
had rather slink back again. Hark ! stand close; 
I hear them coming this way. 

Enter the Qourliers. 
1st Cnur. Did not you hear somebody just 
Vol. III. 



now ? Faith, I begin to be afraid we shall meet 
v\ ith some misfortune to-night. 

2d Cour. Why, if any body should take what 
we have got, we have made a fine business of it. 

od Cour. Let them take it, if they will; I am 
so tired, I shall make but small resistance. 

[The keepers rush upon them. 

2d Keep. Ay ; rogues, rascals, and villains ! 
You have got it, have you .'' 

2d Cour. Indeed we've got but very little : but 
what we have, you're welcome to, if you will but 
use ns civilly, 

l.s7 Keep. O yes! very civilly; you deserve to 
be used civilly, to be sure. 

4th Cour. Why, what have we done that we 
may not be civilly used ? 

\st Keep. Come, come, don't trifle; surren- 
der ! 

Ist Cour. I ha\ e but tiiree half-crowns about 
me. 

2d Cour. Here's three and sixpence for you, 
gentlemen. 

Sd Cour. Here's my watch ; I have no money 
at all, 

Q 



lOfj 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[DoDSLE^I'. 



■\th Ci'Ur. Indeed I liavc nolhingiu my puikct 
but :i Miiitf-Lux. 

4lh Ketf). What! The doss want to bribe us, 
dutbtv? Xo, raM-aU ; you shall go btf'ore the 
justiif tt»-iiiorruw, depciul on't. 

4th Cotir. Before the justice ! what, for hc- 
inj; robbed ? 

lal Kttp. For Itcinji robbed ! What do you 
mean? Who has robbeil you ? 

4tfi (.'our. V\ hy, did not you ju5t now demand 
our nmiiiv, gentlemen ? 

1(1 Kttp. (), the rascals! They will swear a 
robl.try apiinst us, I warrant ! 

■Hh four. A robbery 1 Ay ; to be sure. 
1st Ktep. No, no; wc did not demand your 
money ; wc demanded the deer you liave killed. 

■1//* Cuur. The devil take the deer, I say ! he 
led us a chase ot" six hours, and got away from 
us at last. 

1st K'fj). Zoons ! Ye dofjs, do ye think to ban- 
ter us? 1 tell ve, you have this ni?ht shot one of 
tlie kui'j's deer ; did not wc hear the ^un go otV? 
Did not we hear you say, you was afraid it 
should be taken from you? 

'2(1 Ci<ur. We were afraid our money should be 
ta^cn from us. 

Ix^ Ktep. Come, come, no more shufflins; : I 
tell ye. you're all rosues, and we'll have you han<;- 
ci you may depend on't. Come, let's take them 
to old Cockle's ; we're not far off; we'll keep 
them there all niirht, and t(3-morrow morning 
we'll a" ay with them before the justice. 
4th Cour. A very pretty adventure ! 

[Eveunt. 

SCENE }l.— Changes to the mill. 

King, Miller, Margery, and Dick, at 
supper. 

Mil. Come, sir, you must mend a bad supper 
with a glass *of good ale; here's king Harry's 
he.ilth ! 

Ki>i,L'. With all my heart. Come, Richard, 
here's king Harry's health ; I hope yoa are cour- 
tier enough to pledge me, are not you ? 

jD<'<7v. Yes, yes, sir ; I'll drink the king's health 
with all my heart. 

]\Iar. Come, sir, my humble service to you, 
and much good mny do ye with your poor suj>- 
per ; I wish it had been better. 

King. You need make no apologies. 

Mar. We are obliged to your goodness in ex- 
cusing our rudeness. 

Jl/(7. Prithee, Margery, don't trouble the gen- 
tleman with compliments. 

Mar. J/jrd, hubband, if one had no more man- 
ners than you, the gentleman would take us all 
for hogs. 

Mil. Now, I think, the more compliments the 
less manners. 

King. I think so too. Compliments in dis- 



course, I believe, are like ceremonies in religion ; 
the one has de.^imyed all true ]>iety, and the 
other all sincerity and plain-dealmg. 

Mil. Then a lig for all ctrcmonv, and com- 
plinunts, too: give us thy hand; and let us 
drink and he merry. 

Ki'is^. Itight, honest miller ; let us drink and 
be merry. Come, have you got e'er a good 
song ? 

Mil. Ah ! my singing days are over ; but my 
man .loe ha«! got an excellent one; and if you 
have a mind to hear it, I'll call liim in. 

A//(i;. With all mv heart. 

Mii. Joe ! 

Enter Joe, 

Mil. Come, Joe ! drink, boy ; I have promised 
this gentleman that you shall sing him your last 
new song. 

Joe. Well, master, if you have promised it him, 
he shall have it. 

SONG. 

How happy a state does the miller possess f 

W'ho would be no greater, nor fears to be less ; 

On his mill and himself he depends for sup- 
port. 

Which is better than servilely cringing at 
court. 

What though he all dusty and whitened does 

go. " 
The more he's be-powdered, the more like a 

beau ; 
A clown, in this dress, may be honestcr far 
Than a courtier, who struts in his garter and 

star. 

Though his hands are so daubed, they're not 

fit to be seen. 
The hands of his betters are not very clean ; 
A palm more polite may as dirtily deal ; 
Gold, in handling, will stick to the fingers like 

meal. 

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks, 
He cribs, without scruple, from other men's 

sacks ; 
In this of right noble examples he brags. 
Who borrow as t'reely from other men's bags. 

Or should he endeavour to heap an estate, 
In this he would mimic the tools of the state; 
Whose aim is alone their own coffers to fill, 
As all his concern's to bring grist to his mill. 

He eats when he's Imngry, he drinks when he's 

dry. 
And down when he's weary contented does lie; 

Then rises up chearfnl to work and to sing : 
If SO happy a uiiller, then who'd be a king? 



DODSLEY.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



107 



Mil. There's a song for you ! 
King. He shonlcl tro siiii: this at court, I think. 
Dick. I believe, it' he's wise, he will chuse tu 
6tay at home though. 

Enter Peggy. 

Mil. What wind blew you hither, pray ? You 
liave a iiood share of impudence, or you would 
be ashamed to set your foot within ray house, 
jnethinks. 

Peg. Ashamed lam, indeed; but do not call 
nie impudent. [Weeps. 

Dick. Dear father, suspend your anger for the 
present ; that she is here now, is by my direc- 
tion, and to do me justice. 

Peg. To do that, is all that is now in my 
power; for, as to myself, I am ruined past re- 
demption; my character, my virtue, my peace, 
are gone : I am abandoned by my friend?, des- 
pised by the world, and exposed to misery and 
want. 

King. Pray, let me know the story of your mis- 
fortunes : perlmps it may be in my power to do 
something towards redressing tliem. 

Peg. That you may learn from him, whom I 
have wronged ; but as for me, shame wilt not let 
me speak, or hear it told. 

[Exit Peggy. 

King. She's very pretty. 

Dick. O, sir, I once thought her an angel ; I 
loved her dearer than my life, and did believe 
her passion was the same for me : but a young 
nobleman of this neitrlihourhood happening to 
see her, her youth and blooming beauty present- 
ly struck his fancy; a thousand artifices were 
immediately employed to debauch and ruin her. 
But all his arts were vain; not even the promise 
of making her his wife, could prevail upon her: 
In a little tiqae he found out her love to me, and, 
imagining this to be the cause of her refusal, he, 
by forged letters, and feigned stories, contrived 
to make her believe I was upon the point of mar- 
riage with another woman. Possessed wjth this 
opinion, she, in a rage, writes me word, never to 
see her more ; and, in revenge, consented to her 
ov^n undoing. Not contented with this, nor easy 
while I was so near her, he bribed one of his 
cast-oif mistresses to swear a child to me, which 
she did ; this was the occasion of my leaving my 
friends, and flying to London. 

King. And how does she propose to do you 
justice ? 

Dick. Why, the king being now in this forest 
a hunting, %ve design to take some opportunity 
of throwing ourselves at his Majesty's feet, and 
complaining of the injustice done us by this no- 
ble villain. 

Mil. Ah, Dick ! I expect but little redress 
from such an application. I'hings of this nature 
are so common among the great, that 1 am 
^fraid it will only be made a jest of. 



King. Those, that can make a jest of what 
ought to be shocking to humanity, surely deserve 
not the name of great or nol)lc men. 

Dick. What do you thmk of it, sir.'' If you 
brlonsi; to the court, you, perhaps, may know 
something of the king's temper. 

King. Why, if I can judge of his temper at 
all, I think he would not sutler the greatest no- 
l)leman in his court to do an injustice to the 
meanest subject in liis kingdom. But, pray, who 
is the nobleman that is capable of such actions 
as these ? 

Dick. Do you know my lord Lurewell .'' 

King. Yes. 

Dick. That's the man. 

King. Well, I would have you put your design 
in execution. 'Tis inv opinion the king would 
not only hear your coinpiaint, but redress your 
injuries. 

Mil. I wish it may prove so. 

Enter the Keepers, leading in the courtiers. 

Ist Keep. Hola ! Cockle! Where are ye? — 
Why, man, we have nabbed a pack of rogues 
here, just in the fact. 

King. Ha, ha, ha ! What, turned highwaymen, 
my lords, or deer-stealers ? 

Ist Cour. I am very glad to find your majesty 
in health and safety. 

Qd Cour. We have run through a great many 
perils and dangers to-night : but the joy of find- 
ing your majesty so unexpectedly, will make us 
forget all we have suffered. 

if'^; ] What ? is this the king ! 

Dick. S 

King. I am very glad to see you, my lords, 
I confess ; and particularly you, ray lord Lure- 
well. 

Lure. Your majesty does me honour. 

King. Yes, my lord, and I will <lo you justice, 
too ; your honour has been highly wronged by 
this young man. 

Lure. Wronged, my liege ! 

King. I hope so, my lord ; for I would faia 
believe you can't be guilty of baseness and 
treachery. 

Lure. I hope your majesty will never find rae 
so. What dares this villain say ? 

Dick. I am not to be frighted, my lord. I 
dare speak truth at any time. 

Lure. Whatever stains my honour, musi be 
false. 

King. I know it must, my lord; yet has this 
man, not knowing who 1 was, presumed to charge 
your lordship, not only with great injustice to 
himself, but also with ruining an innocent vir- 
gin, whom he loved, and who was to have 
been his wife; which, if true, were base and 
treacherous; but I know 'tis false, and, there- 
fore, leave it to your lordship to say what punish- 
ment I shall inflict upon him, for the injury done 
to your honour. 



103 



BRITISH DUAMA. 



[DODSLEV. 



Lure. I tlianU >•>">■ nii»jesty. I uill not be 
wvcrc; he sliall i>uly n»k my juirtlHH, and id- 
iimrrow iiiorniun he obliiiicci lo iiiarry the crcu- 
tiire lie lias traduced iiit- with. 

hiiig. Tliis is mild. Well, you hear your seii- 
ttiico. 

Dick. Aliiv I not have leave tu speak before 
your inajcsiy ? 

Knifi. What cun'sl thou say.'' 

Dick. If 1 had your majebty's perniission, I 
believe 1 have certain witne.-ses wliieh will uiidc- 
iiiahlv prove the truth of all I have accused his 
lurdship of. 

Kiii^. Produce them. 

DicL Peg!xjr ! 

Enlei- PccGY. 

King. Do you know this woman, my lord ? 

Lure. I know her, please your majesty, by 
sight ; she's a tenant's daughter. 

I'tg. \AsiJc.\ Majesty ! What, is this the 

kinj; ? 

Dick. Yes. 

King. Have you no particular acquaintance 
with iier .^ 

Lure. Hum ! I have not seen her these seve- 
ral months. 

Dick. True, my lord ; and that is part of your ac- 
cusation ; for, I hclicvc, 1 have sonic letters which 
will prove your '(ird.ship once had a more parti- 
cular acquaintance with her. Here is one of the 
first his lord-hip wrote to her, full of the ten- 
dcrest and most soleuni piotestati*)ns of love and 
constancy; here is anoilior, which will inform 
your majesty of the piins he took to ruin her. — 
There is an absolute promise of marriage be- 
I'ure ho could accomplish it. 

King. What say you, ray lord.? arc these your 
liands.'' 

Lure. I believe, please your majesty, I might 
have a little affair of gullautry with the girl some 
time ago. 

King. It 7C0X a little affair, my lord; a moan 
affair ; and what vou call gallantry, I call infa- 
my. ])o you think, my lord, that greatness gives 
a sanction to wickedness? Or that it is the prero- 
gative of lords to be unjust and inliuinaii ? You 
remember the sentence which yourself pronoun- 
ced upon tlii.^ innocent man; you cannot think 
it hard that it should pass on you who arc 
guilty. 

Ltirc. I hope your majesty will consider my 
rank, and not oblige me to marry her. 

King. Your rank, my lord ! Greatness, that 
stoops to actions base and low, deserts its rank, 
and pulls its honours down. Wlmt makes vour 
lordship great? Is it your gilded eqviipa<_'C and 
dics.s ? Then put it on your meanest slave, and 
lie's as great as you. Is it your riches or estate r 
The villain that should plunder you of all, would 
tlien be as great as you. ISio, niy lord ; he, that 
aeis greatly, is the true great man. I therefore 



think, you ought, in justice, lo marry her you 
thus have wronged. 

Peg. Let my tears thank your majesty. Hut, 
alas ! I am afraid to marry this young lord : 
that would only give him power to use iiic 
wor?e, and still cncrease my misery; I, there- 
lore, beg your majesty will not command him to 
dii If. 

Ktiig. Rise, then, and hear me. My lord, you 
see how low the greatest nobleman may l>e redu- 
ced bv ungenerous actions, litre is, under your 
own hand, an absolute promise of marriage to 
this youii'i woman, which, from a thorough know- 
ledge of your unwurlhiness, she h;is prudently 
declined to make you fulfil. 1 shall, tlierefoxc, 
not insist upon it : but I command you, upon 
pain of ray displeasure, immediately to settle on 
her three hundred pounds a-year. 

Peg. May Heaven reward your majesty's 
goodness. 'Tis too much for me ; but if your 
majesty thinks fit, let it be settled upon this 
inucli injured man, to make some satisfaction for 
the wrongs which have been done him. .'\s to 
myself, I only souiiht to clear the innocence of 
him 1 l(jved and wronged, then hide me from the 
world, and die forgiven. 

Dick. This act of cenerous virtue cancels all 
past failings; come to my arms, and be as dear 
as ever. 

Peg. You cannot, sure, forgive me ! 

Dick. 1 can, I do, and still will make you 
mine. 

Peg. O, why did I ever wrong such generous 
love .? 

Dick. Talk no more of it. Here, let us 
kneel, and thank the goodness which has made 
us blest. 

King. May you be happy ! 

Ulil. [Kneels.] After I have seen so mucli of 
your majesty's goodness, I cannot despair of par- 
don, even lor the rough usage your majesty re- 
ceived from me. 

[The king drans his suord, the Miller is 
frighted, and rises up, thinking he teas 
goi/ig lo kill him. 
What have I done, that I should lose ray life ? 

King. Kneel witliout fear. No, my good host, 
so far are von from having any thing to pardon, 
that I am much your debtor. 1 cannot think but 
so good and honest a man will make a worthy 
and honourable knight; so, rise up, sir John 
Cockle : And to support your state, and in some 
sort requite the pleasure you lia\e done us, a 
thousand marks a year shall be your revenue. 

j1/'7. Your majesty's brmnty I receive with 
thankfulness; I have been ii'iilty of no meanness 
to obtain it, a:ul iiope I shall not be obliged to 
keep it upon ba^o conditions; for though 1 am 
wijiin^ to be a faithful subject, I am resolved to 
he a tree, and an honest man. 

King, I rely upon your being so: Anfl, to 
gain the fricj)dship of such a one, I shall al- 
1 



DODSLEY,] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



ways think an addition to ray happiness, though 
a king. 

Worth, in whatever state, is sure a prize, 
Which kings, of all men, ought not to despise ; 



109 



By selfish sycopliants so close besieged, 
'Tis by mere chance a worthy man's obliged : 
But lienre, to every roiu-tier be it known, 
\ irtuc shall find protection from the throne. 
[Exetint onmes. 



SIR JOHN COCKLE AT COURT. 



DOBSLE Y. 



DRAMATIS PERSON^E. 



MEN. 
Tht King. 
Sir John Cockt.e. 
Sir Timothy Klasii. 
Greenwooh, attached to Miss Kitty. 
Buckram, u Tailor, 
£arber. 
French Cook. 
Vintner. 

.for., servant to Sir Joh.n" Cockle, 
Three Courtiers. 



WOMEN. 



Miss Kitty, engaged to Greenwood. 
Mrs Starch, a milliner. 



Scene — London. 



ACT I, 



SCENE I. 



Enter Sir John, Tailor, Barber, and Joe. 

Tav- Tis the fashion, sir, I assure you. 

Sir.Julin. I'ashions are for fools; don't tell me 
of fashion. Must a man make an ass of himself, 
because it's the fashion .'' 

I'ai/. But you would be like other folks, sir, 
would not you f 

Sir John. No, sir, if this is their likeness, I 
would not be like other folks. Why, a man 
mit;ht as well be cased up in armour; here's 
buckram and whaiebono enough, to turn a bullet. 

Jiic. Sir, here's the barber has brought you 
lioine a new periwisr. 

Sir John. Let him come in. Come, friend ! 
let's see if you're as good at fashions as Mr 
Buckram here. What the devil's thii, ? 



Bar. The bag, sir. 

Sir John. The bag, sir ! an what's this bag 
for, sir ^ this is not the fashion too, I hope ? 

Bar. It's what is very much wore, sir, indeed. 

Sir John. Wore, sir ! how is it wore } where 
is it wore? what is it for? 

Bur. Sir, it is only for ornament. 

Sir John. O, 'tis an ornament ! I beg your par- 
don ! Now, positively, I should not have taken 
this for an ornament. My poor grey hairs are, in 
my opinion, much more becoming. But, come, 
put it on ! There, now, what do you think I 
am like ? 

Joe. 1 cod measter, you're not like the same 
nion, I'm sure. 

Bar. Sir, 'tis very genteel, I assure yon, 

Sir John. Genteel ! ay, that it may be, fot 
aught I know, but I'm sure 'tis very ugly. 



J 



PODSLEY.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



Ill 



Bar. They wear nothing else in France, sir. 

Sir John. In France, sir ! v.hat's France to 
me? I'm an Ens;hslunaii, sir, and know nori;jlit the 
fools of France have to be my examples. Here, 
take it again; I'll liave none of your new-fanirlcd 
French fopperies ; and it" you please, I'll make 
you a present of this fine, fashionable coat again. 
Fashion, indeed ! 

\^Ex€unt Tailor, Barber, and Joe. 

Re-enter Joe wit/t the French Cook. 

Joe. Sir, here's a fine gentleman wants to 
speak with you. 

Cook. Sir, me have" hear dat your honour want 
one cook. 

Sir John. Sir, yon are very obliging ; I sup- 
pose you would recommend one to me. But, as 
I don't know you 

Cook. No, no, sir ! me am one cook myself, 
and would be proud of de honour to serve you. 

Sir John. You a cook ! and pray, what wa- 
ges may you expect, to aftbwl such finery as 
that ? 

Cook. Me will have one hundred guinea a 
year, no more ; and two or three servant under 
me to do de work. 

Sir John. Hum ! very reasonable truly ! And, 
pray, what extraordinary matters can you do, to 
deserve such wages ? 

Cook. O ! me can make you one hundred 
dish, de Englis know noting of; me can make 
you de portable soup to put in your pocket: me 
can dress you de foul a-la marli, en galentine, 
a-la montmorancy ; de duck en grinadin ; de 
chicken a la chombre ; de turkey en botine ; 
de pidgeon en mirh'ton a 1' Italienne, a-la d' 
Huxelles: en fine, me can give you de essence 
of five or six ham, and de juice of ten or twelve 
stone of beef, all in de sauce of one little dish. 

Sir John. Very fine ! At this rate, no wonder 
the poor are starved, and the butcher unpaid. 
No, I will have no such cooks, I promise you ; it 
is the luxury and extravagance introduced by 
such French kickshaw-mongers as you, that has 
devoured and destroyed old English hospitality ! 
Go ! go about your business ; I have no mind to 
be beggared, nor to beggar honest tradesmen. 
Joe ! \_Exit Cook. 

Joe. Sir, 

Sir John. Let my daughter know, die king has 
sent for me, and I am gone to court, to wait on 
his majesty. 

Joe. Yes, sir. \^Ii.xeunt. 

SCENE II. 
Enter the King, and several Courtiers. 

King. ^Veil, my lords, our old friend, the mil- 
ler of Manstield is arrived at last. 

1st Cour. He lias been in town two or three 
days; has not your majesty seen him yet } 



King. No, but I have sent for him to attend 
me this evening : and I design, with only you, 
my lortls, who are now present, to entertain niy- 
scif a while with his honest freedom. He will 
be hero presently. 

2</ Cour. He must certainly divert your ma- 
jesty. 

3rf Cour. Ho may be diverting, perhaps ; but 
if I may speak my mind freely, 1 think there is 
somethmg too plain and rough in his behaviour, 
for your majesty to bear. 

King. Your lordship, perhaps, may be afraid 
of plam truth and sincerity, but I am not. 

2id Cour. I beg your majesty's pardon ; I did 
not suppose you was ; I only think, there is a 
certain awe and reverence due to your majesty, 
which I am afraid his want of politeness may 
make him transgress. 

King. My lord, whilst I love my subjects, and 
preserve to them all their rights and liberties, 
1 doubt not of meeting with a proper resjiect 
from the roughest of them ; bat as for the awe 
and reverence which your politeness would flat- 
ter me with, I love it not. I will, that all my 
subjects treat me with sincerity. An honest 
freedom of speech, as it is every honest man's 
right, so none can be afraid of it, but he that is 
conscious to himself of ill-dcservings. Sound 
maxims, and right conduct, can never be ridi- 
culed ; and, where the contrary prevail, the seve- 
rest censure is greatest kindness. 

'6d Cour. I believe your majesty is in the right, 
and 1 stand corrected. 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Gen. May it please your majesty, here is a per- 
son who calls himself sir John Cockle, the mil- 
ler of Mansfield, begs admittance to your ma- 
jesty. 

King. Conduct him in. 

Enter Sir John. 

King. Honest sir John Cockle, you are wel- 
come to London. 

Sir John, i thank your majesty for the honour 
you do me, and am glad to find your majesty in 
good health. 

King. Hut pray, sir John, why in the habit of a 
miller yet? What I gave vou was with a design 
to set you above the mean dependence of a trade 
for snbsij-tence. 

Sir John. Your majesty will pardon my free- 
dom. VVhilst my tradf; will su()port nie, I am 
independent ; and I look upon that to be more 
honourable in an Englishman, than any depen- 
dance whatsoever. I am a plain, blunt man, 
and may, possibly, some time or other, offend 
your majesty ; and where, then, is my subsist- 
ence ? 

Ki>ig. And dare you not trust the honour of a 
knig ? 



11(2 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[DoDSLEY. 



Sir John. Without duuht I niisilit trust your 
majesty very !>;itoly ; but, in ptuoral, ihoufjli tlic 
huiiiuir ot" kiugs ouglil lo Ik; iiioro sacrcH, tlic liu- 
inour of kiiii»!» is like iliut of other men ; ami, 
when tliev pila^e to cliani;e their miud, who shall 
dure t>) c;ill their honour in queslion ? 

King. Sir Johi. nou are in the rii^ht ; and 1 am 
gl.id to bce you maintain that noble frecdc»ni of 
spirit: I wish all my subject's were as indepen- 
dent on me as you resolve to he ; I should then 
hear more truth and les-* flattery, lint come, 
what news? How docs my laily and your son 
Richard ? 

Sir John. \ thank your nrijcsty ; Margery is 
verv well, and ^o is Dick. 

Kiii^. 1 liope you have broui;hl her up to town 
with you ? 

Sir John. She has displeased me, of late, very 
much. 

Kuii^. In what f 

Sir John. You shall hear. When I was ouly 
plain John Cockle, the miller of .Mausiield, a 
farmer's son, in the ueii;hbourhoo(l, made love to 
my daughter. Ilo was a worthy, iionest man. 
lie loved my dauoliter sincerely ; and, to all ap- 
pearance, her affections were placed on him. 1 
approved of the match, and eave him my con- 
sent. But when your majesty's bounty had raised 
my fortune and condition, my daughter, Kate, 
became Miss Kitty : She irrew a fine girl, and 
was presently taken notice of by the younj^ gen- 
tlemen of the country. Amonsjst the rest, sir 
Timothy Flash, a young, rakish, extravagant 
knight, made his addresses to her; his title, his 
dress, his equipage, d;iz7.1ed her eyes and her un- 
derstanding ; and fond, I suppose, of being made 
a lady, she despises and forsakes her first lover, 
the honest farmer, and is determined to marry 
this mad, wrong-headed knight. 

King. And is this the occasion of your dis- 
pleasure .? I should think you had rather cause to 
rejoice that she was so prudent. What ! do you 
think it no advantage to your daughter, nor ho- 
uour to yourself, to be allied to so great a man ? 

Sir John. It may be an honour to be aUicd to a 
great man, when a great man is a man of honour; 
but that is not always the case. Besides, no- 
thing that is unjust, can be eitiier prudent or ho- 
nourable : And the breaking her faith and pro- 
mise witl) a man that loved, and every way de- 
served her, merely for the sake of a little vanity, 
or sclf-intcrcst, is an action that I am ashamed 
iiiy daughter could be guilty of. 

Kins. Why, you are the most extraordinary 
nian I ever knew : I have heard <;f fathers quar- 
relling with their children for murryiiig foolishly 
for live; but you are so singular as to blame 
y<iur's for marrying wisely for interest. 

Sir John. Why, I may differ a little from ttie 

corimon practice of my neighbours But, 

I hope your majesty does uot^ therefore, think 
aic to bluiMC.'' 



King. No : Singularity in the right is never a 
crime. If you are satisfied your actions are 
just, let the world blush that liity are singular. 

Sir John. Nay, and 1 am, perhaps, not so re- 
gardless of interest as your majesty may appre- 
hend. It IS very possible a knight, or even a 
lord, may be j)oor as well as a farmer. No of- 
fence, 1 ho|)e .'' [Turning to the courtiers. 

Cour. No, no, no. impertinent fellow ! 

[Aside. 

King. Well, sir .lohn, I shall be glad to hear 
more of tliis aiVau' another time; but tell me 
how you like London ? Your si»n Uichard, I re- 
meinljcr, gave a very satirical description of it; 
I hope you are better eniertaineil. 

Sir John. So well, that I assure your majesty, 
I am in admiration and wonder all day long. 

King. Ay ! well, let us hear what it is you ad- 
mire and wonder at. 

Sir John. Almost every thing I sec or hear of. 
When I see tiie splendour and magnificence iu 
which some noblemen appear, I admire their 
riciies ; but when 1 hear of their debts, and their 
mortgages, I wonder at their folly. When I 
hear of a dinner costing an hundred pounds, I 
am surprised that one man should have so many 
fViiMuls to entertain ; but when I am told, that 
it was made only for five or six squeamish lords, 
or piddling ladies, that eit not perhaps an ounce 
a-[)K'ce, I am <|nitc astonished. When 1 hear of 
an RstaK? of twenty or tiiirty thousand a year, I 
envy the man that has it in his power to do so 
much good, and wonder how he disposes of it; 
but when I am told of the necessary expences 
of a gentleman in horses and whores, and eating 
and drinking, and dressing and gaming, 1 am 
Surprised that the poor man is able to live. In 
short, when I consider our publick credit, our 
honour, our couriige, our freedom, our publick 
spirit, I am surprised, amazed, astonished, and 
confounded. 

1st Cour. Is not this hold, sir? 

Sir John. Perhaps It may ; but I suppose Iiis 
majesty would not have an Englishman a coward? 

King. Far from it. Let ttie generous spirit of 
freed(jm reign unchecked: To speak his mind, is 
the undoubted right of every Biiton ; and be it 
the glory of my reign, that all my subjects enjoy 
that honest liberty. 'Tis luy wish to redress all 
grievances ; to right all wrongs: But kings, alas ! 
are but fallible men; errors m government will 
happen, as weli as faihngs in private life, and 
ought to be candidly imputed. And let me ask you 
one question, su- John. Do you really think you 
c<juld honestly withstand all the temptations that 
wealth and power would lay before you? 

Sir John. 1 vmII not boast before \our majes- 
ty; perhaps I could not. Yet give me leave to 
say, the man, whom wealth or power can make 
a villain, is sure unworthy of possi ssing either. 

King. Suppose self-interest, too, should clash 
with publick duty ? 



PODSLEY."] 



BRITISH DR4MA. 



ii: 



Sir John. Suppose it. should : 'Tis alwavs a 
man's duty to be just ; and doubly liis witli 
vlioni tlie public trust tlieir rights and liber- 
ties. 

King. I think so ; nay, he, who cannot scorn 
the narrow interest of his own poor self, to 
serve his country, and defend her ri<;iits, deserves 
nrjt the protection of a country to defend his 
own; at least, should not be trusted witii the 
rights of other men. 

Sir John. I wisli no such were ever trusted. 

King. I wisli so, too: But how are kings to 
know the hearts of men ? 

Sir John. 'Tis ditiicuit indeed ; yet something 
might be done. 

King. What ? 

Sir John. The man ^vhom a king employs, or 
a nation trusts, should be llioroughly tried. Exa- 
mine liis private cliaracter : Mark how he lives : 
Is he luxurious, or proud, or ambiiious, or extra- 
vagant? avoid him: The soul of that man is 
mean ; necessity will press him, and public 
fraud must pay his private debts. But if you 
iind a man with a clear head, sound judgemnt, 
and a right honest heart — that is the man to 
serve both you and his country. 

King. You're right ; and such by mc shall 
ever be distinguished. 'Tis both my duty and 
my interest to promote them. To such, if I 
give wealth, it will enrich the public; to such, 
if I give power, the nation will he miglity ; to 
sucli, if I give iionour, I shall raise my own. 
But surely, sir John, your's is not the langiKige, 
nor the sentiments of a common miller; how, 
in a cottage, could you gain this superior wis- 
dom .'' 



. Sir John. Wisdom is not confined to palaces; 
nor always to be bongiit wiih gold. I read t)tten, 
and think sometimes ; and he who does that, 
may gain some knowledge, even in a cottage. 
As for any thing superior, I pretend not to it. 
What I have said, 1 hope, is plain good sense; at 
least 'tis honest, and well meant. 

King. Sir John, I think so ; and, to convince 
you how nnich I esteem your plain-dealing and 
sincerity of heart, receive this ring as a mark of 
my favour. 

Sir John. I thank your majesty. 

King. Don't thank me now ; at present I have 
business that must be dispatched, and will de- 
sire you to leave me; before 'tis long I'll see 
you again. 

Sir John. I wisli your majesty ^a good night. 

[Exit. 

King. Well, my lords, what do you think of 
this miller ? 

l^t Cour. He talks well : what he is in the bot- 
tom, I don't know. 

"id Cour. I'm afraid not sound. 

3(/ Cour, I fancy he's set on by somebody 
to impose upon your majesty with this fair shew 
of honesty. 

1st Cour. Or is not lie some cunning knave 
that wants to work himself into your majesty's 
favour? 

King. I have a fancy come into my head to 
try him ; which I'll communicate to you, and put 
in execution immediately. An hour hence, my 
lords, I shall expect to see ytju at sir John's. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IT. 



SCENE I.— A tavern. 

Sir Timothy Flash, the Landlord, cmd 
Greenwood. 

Sir Tim. Honest Bacchus, how dost thou do ? 

Land. Sir, I am very glad to see you ; prav, 
when did you come to town ? 

Sir Tim. Yesterday ; and on an affair that I 
shall want a little of your assistance in. 

Land. Any thing in my povver, you know, you 
may command. 

Sir Tim. You must know tlicn, I have an in- 
trigue with a young lady, that's just come to 
town with her father, and want an agreeable 
house to meet her at ; can you recommend one 
to me ? 

Land. I can recommend you, sir, to the most 
convenient woman in ail London. What think 
you of Mrs Wheedle? 

Sir Tim. The best woman in all the world : 



I know her very well ; how could 1 be so stupid 
not to think of her ? Greenwood, d» you know 
•vhere our country, neighbour, sir John Cockle, 
lodges ? 

Green. Yes, sir. 

Sir Tim. Don't be out of the way then; I 
shall send a letter by you presently, which you 
imist deliver privately into Miss Kitty's own hand, 
if she comes with you, I shall give you directions 
where to conduct her, and do you come back 
'lere and let ine know. 

Green. Yes, sir. Poor Kitty ! is it thus thy 
falsehood to me is to be punished? I will pre- 
vent thy ruin, however. [Exit, 

Sir Timothy sings. 

O the pleasing, pleasing joys. 
Which in women we possess ! 

O the raptures which arise ! 

They alone have power to bless ? 



Vol. III. 



114 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[DODSLEY. 



Beauty sniilincr, 

Wit bcjiuilins:, 

Kindiifss cli;irfiiin<j, 

Fancy waniiin;:, 

KissinL', toyiiip, 

Rlcltini!, (lyiiifi. 
O the laptiiits which arise ! 
O tlic plc;isiiij;, pleasiirj; joys ! 

iMml. Yon are a nicrrv wasr. 

Sir 'I'liii. Merry, ay ! why wjiat is life without 
eiijf)yinj: tlic pleasures of it? Come, I'll wriic 
this letter, and then, honest IJaccluis, we'll tasti 
what wine thou hast got. [iJrc«;/^ 

SCENE II, 

Miss Kitty and AIrs ST.\ncn. 

hilti/. Hut pray. .Mrs Starch, docs all new fa- 
shions conic up fiTst :it court? 

Airs Starch. O, dear madam, yes. They do 
nothinii else there but study new fashions. 
That's what the court is for : And we milliiicrs, 
and tailors, and liarhcrs, and mantua-nralicrs, 
go there to learn lashions for tlie good of the 
pul)lic. 

Kiffi/. But, madam ; was not you saying just 
now. that it was the fashion for the ladies to 
paint themselves ? 

Mrs Slarcli. Yes. 

Kilt I/. Well, that is pure; then one may be 
as handsome as ever one will, you know. And 
it' it was not for a few fieckles, I believe I 
should be very well ; siiould not I, Mrs Starch ? 

Ulrs Starch. Indeed, madam, you arc very 
handsome. 

Kitti/. Nay, don't (latter me now; do you real- 
ly think I am handsome ? 

Ulrs Starch. Upon my word, you arc. What 
a shape is there ! What a genteel air ! What a 
sparkling eye ! 

Kitty. Indeed, I doubt you flatter me. Not 
but I have an eye, and can make use of it too, as 
well as the best of them, if I please. 

SONG. 

Thouiih born in a country town. 
The beauties of L<;nflon unknown, 
My heart is as tender. 
My waist is as slender, 
My skin is as white. 
My eyes arc as bright 
As the best of them all, 
That twinkle or sparkle at court or ball. 
I can ogle and sigh, 
Then frown and be coy ; 
False sorrow 
Now borrow. 
And rise in a rage ; 
Then languish 
In anguish, 
And softly, and softly engage. 



But pray, Mrs Starch, which do you think the 
njost tienteel walk now } To trip it away o* 
this manner, or to swim smoothly along thus.' 
Mis Starch, lliey both become you cNtrcmc- 

K'tti/. Do they really? I'm glad you think so, 
for, indcctl, I Ik lieve you are a very good judne. 
And, now I think on't, I'll have your opinion in 
something else. What do you think it is that 
makc:i a fine l.uly ? 

Mrs Starch. Why, madtnn, a fine person, fine 
wit, line airs, and fine clothes. 

Kitty. Well, yoM have told me already that 
I'm very handsome, you know, so that's one 
thine; but, as for wit, what's that? I don't know 
what that is, ]\Irs Starch. 

Mrs Starch. O madam, w it is, as one may say 

the the lieini: very witty; that is 

comical as it were; doing something to make 
every body iaugli. 

Kit It/. O, is that all ? nav, then, I can he as 
willy as any body, for I am very comical. Well, 
but what's the next? fine airs: O, let me alone 
for fine airs; 1 lia\e airs enough, if 1 can but get 
lovers to practise them upon. And then, fine 
clothes ; why, these are very fine clothes, I think; 
don't you think so, JNIrs Starch .'' 

j\lrs Starch. Y'es, madam. 

Enter Sir Jgh.n", observing than. 

Kilt!/. And is not this a very pretty cap, too? 
Does not it become me ? 

Airs Starch. Yes, madam. 

Kitti/. But don't you think this hoop a little 
too big? 

Sir John. No, no ; too big ! no. Not above six 
or seven yards round. 

]\Irs Starch. Indeed, sir, 'tis within the circura- 
fereiice of the mode a great deal. 

Sir John. That it may be, but I'm sure it's be- 
yond the circumference of modesty a great deal. 

Kitty. Lord, pap.i, can't you dress yourself as 
you've a mind, and let us alone? How should 
you know any thing of woniens' fashions? Come, 
let us go into the next room. 

[Exeunt Miss Kitty and Mrs Starch. 

Enter Joe uith Greenwood. 

Joe. Sir, hero's one that you'll be very glad to 
see. 

Sir John. Who is iti' — W"har, honest Green- 
wood ! May I believe my eyes? 

Green. Sir, I am very glad to see you ; I hope 
all your family are well. 

Sir John. \'ery well. But, for Heaven's sake, 
what has broii;:lit thee to London ? NN'hat's the 
meaning of this livery? I don't understand iliee. 

Grten. I don't wonder that you arc surprised; 
bnt I will exjiluin myself, ^'(^u know the faith- 
ful, honest lo\c I bear your daughter ; and you 
are sensible, since the addresses of sir Timothy 



BoDSLEY.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



H5i 



Flash, how mucli her falsehood has grieved me ; 
yet more for her sake, even than mv owti : niy 
own uiihappiiiess I could eiulure with iiatiencc, 
but the th(;u£[lits of seeint: her reduced to shame 
and misery, I cannot bear. 

Sir John. What dost tiiou nuau ? 

Green. I very much suspect his designs upon 
her are not honourable. 

Sir John. Not honourable ! he dare not wrong 
me so ! But, 20 on. 

Green. Innncdiatcly after you had left the 
countrv, hearint; that he was hastening to Lon- 
don after vou, and wanted a servant, I went and 
ort'ei-ed myself, rtsolving, by a strict watch on all 
his actions, to prevent, if ywssible, the ruin of 
licr I cann(Jt but love, how ill soever I have been 
treated. Xot knowing me to be his lival, he 
brought me along witli iiim. We arrived in Lon- 
don yesterday, and I am now sent by hiin to give 
your daughter privately this letter. 

Sir John. What can it tend to? I know not 
what to think ; but if I iind lie dares to mean me 
wrong, by this good hand 

Gieen. Then let me tell ye, he means you 
villainous wrong. The ruin of your daughter is 
contrived ; I heard tlie plot ; and this very letter 
is to put it in execution. 

Sir John. What shall I do.? 

Green. Leave all to mc. I'll deliver the let- 
ter, and, by her behaviour, we shall know better 
how to take our measures. But how shall I see 
her ? 

Sir John. She is in the next room ; I'll go in 
and send her to vou. 

Green. If you tell her who it is, perhaps she 
will not be seen. 

Sir John. I won't. \_Exi(. 

Enter Miss Kttty. 

Kitfi/. Bless me ! is not that sir Timothy's li- 
very ! l^AsiJc] — Pray, sir, is sir 'limothy Flash 
come tt) town ? , 

Green. Yes, madam. 

Kitty. Good lack 1 is it you ? What new whim 
have you got in your head now, f)i")y ? 

Green. ISJo new whim in my head, but an old 
one in my heart, which, I am afraid, will not be 
easily removed. 

Kittij. Indeed, young man, I am sorry for it ; 
but you have had mv auiwer already, and i won- 
der you should trouble me again. 

Green. And is it thus vou receive me ! Is this 
the reward of all my faithful love ? 

Kitti/. Can I help your being in love? I'm 
sure I don't desire it ; 1 wi>h yon would not teaze 
me »' ith your impertinent lo\e any more. 

Green. W iiv, then, difl you encourage it? For, 
give me leave to say, you (Jiice did love me. 

Kitti/. Perhaps I miiiht, when I thouuht mv- 
aclf but your equal ; but now, 1 think, you can- 
jiot, in modesty, pretend to me any longer. 



Green. Vain, foolish girl ! for Heaven's sake, 
what alteration do you find in yourself for the 
better? In what, I wonder, does the fine lady 
differ tVom the miller's daughter ? Have you more 
wit, more sense, or more virtue, than vou had be- 
fore ? Or arc you in any thing altered fi'om your 
former self, except in pride, lolly, and affecta- 
tion ? 

Kitti/. Sir, let me tell you, these are liberties 
that don't become you at all. Miller's daughter I 

Green. Come, come, Kitty ; for shame ! lay 
aside these foolish airs of the fine lady; return to 
yourself, and let mc ask yon one serious question: 
Do you really think sir Innothy designs to marry 
y.m? 

Kitfi/. You are \ery impertinent to ask me 
suth a question : but, t(j silence your presump- 
tion for ever — I'm sure he designs it. 

Green. I'm glad she thinks so, however. 
[Aside.]. Nay, then, I do not expect you will re- 
sign the flattering prospect of wealth and gran- 
deur, to live in a cottage on a little farm. 'Tig 
true, I shall be independent of all the world ; my 
farm, however small, will be my own, unmort- 
gaged. 

Kitti/. Psha ! can you buy me fine clothes.^ 
Can yon keep me a coach ? Can you make me a 
lady? It" not, I advise you to go down again to 
your pitiful farm, and marry somebody suitable 
to your rank. 

S N G. 

Adieu to your cart and your plough; 
I scorn to milk your cow. 

Your turkeys and geese. 

Your butter and cheese, 
Are much below me now. 

If ever I wed, 

I'll hold up my head. 
And be a fine lady, I vow. 

And so, sir, your very humble servant. 

Green. Nay, madam, you shall not leave me 
yet; I have something more to say before we 
part. Suppose this worthy, honourable knight, 
mstead of marriage, should only have a base de- 
sign upon your virtue? 

Kitti/. lie scorns it: No, he loves me, and I 
know Will marry me. 

Green. Dear Kitty, be not deceived; I know 
he will not. 

Kitty. You know nothing of the matter. 

Green. Head that, and be convinced. 

[She reads. 

' IMy dear angel; 

' I could no longer stay in the country, when 
■ yon was not there to make it agrc cable. I came 
' to town yesterday; and beg, if possible, you will, 
' this evening, make mc happy with your com- 
' pany. 1 will meet you at a relation's ; my sei:-« 



llG 



BRITI!^II DRAMA. 



[BODSLEY. 



* vaiit \'ill rondiict vou to the Iidum". I am iiu- 

* pKrii'iit till 1 throw in\>eir inio your uriiis, and 

* cojiviiico vou how iiiiuli 1 iiin, 

* Your t'unil and [ui^Moiiatr ndmirnr, 

■ i iMoi iir I'lash.' 

Kilfi/. Well, and what is tlitre in this to con- 
vincr 010 i)t" iii> ill inieniions ? 

(jrttii. Knonu,li, I think. If his designs arc 
lionuuruhlo, why are they not op«n ? \\ hy dm •< 
he not come to ynr tatlier's house, and make his 
prnpo^aK? W hy arc you to Lc met in the dark, 
at a siraimer'*? 

kitli/. Let me sec — ' I'll meet you at a reb- 
' lion's; toy servant wdl <-ondiict you ;' indeed 1 
don't know what to ihiak of that. 

Grtin. I'll tell you, madam; tliat pretended 
relation is a notorious hawd. 

Kitti). 'lis false; you have contrived this story 
to abuse me. 

Green. No, Kitty, so well I love you, that, if 
I tlioutiht his designs were just, I could rejoice 
in your happiness, though at the expence of my 
own. 

Kitly. You strangely surprise me ! I w ish I 
knew the truth. 

Green. To convince you of my truth, here is 
a direction to the house in his own hand, which 
he himself gave me, lest I should mistake: Whi- 
ther, if you still doubt my sincerity, and think 
proper to go, I am ready to be your conductor. 

Kitti/. And is this the end of all his designs? 
liave I been courted only to my ruin? my eyes 
are now too clearly opened. What have I been 
doing ? 

Green. If yon are but so convinced of your 
danger, as to avoid it, I am satislied. 

Enter Sin Johx. 

Sir John. What do I hear? Arc you recon- 
ciled, then ? 

Kifti/. My dear father ! I have been cheated 
and a'.iused. 

Sir John. I hope your virtue is untouched ? 

Kitli/. I'hat I will always preserve. 

Sir John. Then 1 forgive you any thine. r>iit 
how shall we be revenged on this scoundrel 
knight ? 

Kitty. Contrive but that, and I am easy. 

Green.' As his base designs- have not b< en exe- 
cuted, I think, if we could txposc and laugh ar 
liiui it would be sufticient punishment. 

Str John. If it could be done severely. 

Kilti/. I think it may. I believe I have found 
out a way to be revenged on him; come with me 
into the next room, and we'll put it in execution. 

Enter a Servant. 

Ser. Sir, a gentleman desires to speak with 
you. 



Sir John. I'll come to liim. Go you together, 
d'ye hear, and coniri\e your design. 

[ffiei/ go out sevcraliif. 

SCENE III. 

Enter Sir John unit the Ki.sc, disguised as a 
co'/'giiilr. 

Sir John. No compliments, I tell ye, but come 
to liic point : \N hat is vour business? 

Hiiig. As I appear to vou in the habit of a 
coiligiate, you mav fancy I an; some cjueer pe- 
dantic u-ll()\\ ; but I assure von, J am a person of 
soine birth, and hail a lilx ral education. I have 
seen the world, and kept the l;est com|)any. But 
living a little too freely, and having spent the 
greatest part of my fortune (t\\ women and wine, 
I was persuaded, by a certain nobleman, to take 
orders, and he would give me a living, which he 
said was coming into his hands. I was just clo- 
sing with the proposal, when the spiteful incum- 
bent recovered, and I was disappointed. 
Sir John. Well, and what's all this to me? 
King. Why, sir, there is a living now fallen, 
which is in the king's gift, and I hear you have 
so good an interest with his majesty, th'at I am 
persuaded a w oid from you, in my favour, would 
be of great service to me. 

Sir John. And what must that word be, pray? 
King. Nay, that I leave to you. 
Sir John. You arc in the right; and I'll tell 
you what it shall be. That you, being a sense- 
less, idle-headed fellow, and having ruined your- 
self by your own folly and extravagance, you 
therefore think yourself highly qualified to teach 
mankind their duty. Will that do? 
King. You are in jest, sir. 
Sir John. Upon my word, but I am in earnest. 
I think he that recommends a protligate wretch 
to the most serious function in life, merely for 
the sake of a joke, gives as bad a proof of his 
morals, as he does of his wit. 
. King. Sir, I honour your plain-dealing. You 
e\actly answtr the character 1 have heard of 
your uncommon sincerity; and, to let you sec 
tiiat I am capable of something, I have wrote a 
piicm in praise of that virtue, which 1 beg leave 
til present to you, and hope you will receive it 
kindlv. [Gives him the poem. 

Sir John. Sir, I am not used to these things : 
I don't understand them at all ; but let's see — 
T'sin John reads.] — ' A poem in praise of the in- 
comparable sincerity and unc(»minon honesty of 
the worthy sir .John Cockle,' &c. — Enough, e- 
noiigh ! — a poem in praise of sincerity, with a ful- 
some compliment in the very title, is extraordi- 
nary indeed ! Sir, I am obliged to you for your 
kind intentions; your wit and your poetry may 
be very tine, for aught I know; but a little more 
common sense, I believe, could do vou no harm. 
King. He is not to be tlalteied, 1 find; but 
I'll try what bribery will do. That, I'm afraid. 



DODSLEY.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



117 



hits every body's taste. [Aside.] — Shall I bog one 
wdni more witli you? Sir, you arc a s^cnticnian 
of the i^reatesi «i!iccrity and honour I ever met 
with, and, for tliat reason, I sliall always have 
the hisiiiest regard for you in the world, and for 
all that helons^s to you. I hear your (l;uip;liter is 
going to be married ; let me beg leave to present 
her with this diamond buckle. 

Sir John. Sir, you surprise me very much ; 
prav, what may the value of this be.^ 

Kiii}i. That's not worth mentioning — about five 
hundicd pounds, I believe. 

Sir John. Why, did not you tell me, just now, 
th:u vJou had spent all your t'ort^uie? 

Kiii^. I did s(j : but it uas for a particular 
rens in; and you shall rind 1 am not so poor as I 
reproented myself. 

.Sir John I am glad of it. But, pray, how am 
I li. return this extraordinary generosity ? 

King, i expeci no return, sir, upon mv ho- 
nour; though yuu have it in your power to ob- 
lige me MTV murh. 

Sir John. Don't mention the living, f(jr that I 
have told you already you are not fit for. 

King. I won't. But there is a certain place 
at Court of another kind, which I liave long 
had a mind to :'Tis true, there is a sorry, insigni- 
ficant fcliow in possession of it at present ; but 
he's of no service ; and I know your power with 
the king; a word or two from you would soon 
dispossess him. 

Sir John. But what must he be dispossessed 
for? 

King. To make room for nie, that's all. 

Sir John. Hum Indeed it won't do with 

me — here, take it again; and let me tell you, I 
am not to be Hattered into a foolish thing, nor 
bril)ed into a base one. 

King, [(hsrovrring himaelf^ Then thou art my 
fiiiud, and ,1 will keep tiiec next my heart. 

Sir John. And is it your majesty ? 

King. Be not surprised ; it is your own max- 
im, that a king cannot be too cautious in trying 
those %\ hom he dcii^ns to trust. Forgive this 
disguise — I have tried thy honesty, and will no 
longer suspect it. 

Enter Greenwood, 

Green. Sir, I am come to let Miss Kitty know 
private! v, tliat my master will be here, disguised, 
immediately. 

Sir John. Will he ? Well, go into the next 
room, and red her so. If your iiiajestv will be 
so uood as t ) retire into this chamber a while, you 
will hear somciiiing, perhaps, that will divert you. 

Enter Joe. 

Joe. Sir, here's a maid-strvant come to be 
hired. 

Sir John. Ix:t her come in. I'll speak to her 
presently. [Exit uith the king. 



Enter Sir Timotiiy, disguised as a maidser- 
vant. 

Sh- Tim. Well, I am obliged to the dear gir 
for this kind contrivance of getting me into the 
house with her. Twill be charmingly conve- 
nient 

Re-enter Sir John. 

Sir Tim. Sir, I heard that the young lady* 
your daughter, wanted a servant, and I should be 
pruud of the honour to serve her. 

Sir John. My daughter will he here presently. 
Pray, my dear, what's your name ? 

Sir Tim. Faith, I never thought of that ; what 
shall I say ? [Aside.] — Betty, sir. 

Sir John. And piay, ^Irs Betty, who did you 
live uith last ? 

Sir Tim. Pox of his impertinence ! he has 
non-plussed me again. — [Aside.] Sir, I — 1 — lived 
with sir Timothy Flash. 

Sir John. Ah, a vile fellow that ! a very vile 
fellow, was not he? Did he pay you your wages? 

Sir Tim. Yes, sir — I shall be even with you 
for this by and by. [Aside. 

Sir John. You was well off, then ; for they 
say its what he very seldom does. Sad pay ! — 
I can tell you, one part of your business must be 
to watch that villain, that he does not debauch 
my daughter : for I hear he designs it. But I 
hope we shall prevent him. 

Sir Tim. I'W take care of her, sir, to be sure — 
I burst with laughter to think how charmingly 
we shall gull the old fellow ! [Aside. 

Sir John. Kate ! 

Enter Miss Kitty. 
Here's a maid for you, Kate, if you like her. 

Kitti/. O Tord ! a maid ! why she's a monster ! 
I never saw so ugly a thing in all my life. 

Sir Tim. The cunning jade does this to blind 
the old fool. [Aside. 

Kitty. Pray, child, what can you do ? 

Sir Tim. Fll do the best I can to please you, 
madam, and I don't question but I shall do. 

Kitti/. Indeed you won't do. 

Sir Tim. I hope I shall, madam, if you please 
to try me. 

Kitti/. No, T durst not try you, indeed. 

Sir Tim. Why, madam ? 

Kilty. Methinks you look like a fool; 1 hate 
a fool. 

Sir John. Nay, my dear, don't abuse the young 
woman ; upon my word, I think she looks mighty 
well. Hold up your head, child. O Lord ! Mrs 
Betty, you have got a beard, methinks. 

[Strokes her under the chin. 

Kitty. What ! has Betty got a beard ? Ha, ha, 
ha ! Ah, Betty ! why did not you shave closer? 
But 1 to!d ye you vvas a fool ! 

Sir John. Well — and what wages do you ex- 
pect, my dear ? 



118 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



(^DoDSLir. 



Kit 1 1/. Ay, what work do you design to do, my 
dear? 

Sir John. How cleverly you have bit the old 
fool, ha ! 

Kith/. And how chnnningly we shall laugh at 
him by '.umI hy, ha ! 

Sir Juhii. Now don't you think you look like a 

pup|)V ? 

Kitti/. Poor sir Timothy ! arc you disappoint- 
ed, love ? Come, don't nangry, and I'll sing it a 
song. 

SONH. 

Ah, luckless knight ! I mourn thy case : 

Alas! what ha->t thou done ' 
Poor Hetty ! thou hast lost thy place; 

Poor knight ! thy sex is gone ! 

Learn, henceforth, from tlii> disaster, 
When for girls yuu lay your plots, 

That each miss expects a nv.i-'ter 
In breeches, not in petticoats. 

Sir John and Kitty. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Sir Tim. Zoons ! am I to be used in this man- 
ner ^ And do you thuik 1 will bear it uure- 
venued? 

Kitty. And have you the impudence to thmk 
vou arc not well used? 

Sir John. Nay, nay, if he's not satisfied, in- 
stead of the entertainment he expected,^ suppose 
we give him what he deserves. Who's within, 
th. .'. 

Enter three or four Servants, Sir TiMorny runs 
of, and they after him. 

Sir John. They'll overtake him ; and I don't 
doubt but they'll" give him the disciplme he de- 
serves. 



T.ntcr King, GnEEXWOOn, and Courtiers. 

Kill!;. After what you have told me, I think 
they caimot use him too ill. Madam, I wish you 
joy of your escape from the ruin which threaten- 
ed vou. 

Kdlif. The king ! I thank your majesty, 

Kiiii.'. And I am clad t«j hear that you are re- 
concde/i to an honest man that deserves you. 

hitli/. I see my error ; and 1 Impe, by mv fu- 
ture conduct, to make amends fur the uneasiness 
I have eivcn to so !;ood a father. 

Sir John. My dear child, 1 am fully satisfied : 
and I hope thou wilt every day be more and 
niorc convinced, that the liappiness of a wife 
does not consist in a title, or line appearance of 
her husband, but in the worthiness of his senti- 
ments, and the fondness of his heart. 

King. And now, my good old man, henceforth 
l>e thou my friend. 1 will give thee an apart- 
ment in my palace, that thou mayest always be 
near :ny person. And let me conjure thee ever 
to preserve this honest, plain sincerity. Speak 
to me freely, and let me hiar the voice of truth. 
If my people complain, convey their grievances 
faithfully to my ear; f(jr how should kings re- 
dress th()?e ilU, which flatterers hide, or wicked 
men disguise ? 

Sir John. I thank your majesty for the confi- 
dence you have in me : my heart, I know, is ho- 
n<'St, and my atfection to your majesty sincere — 
but as to my abilities, alas ! they are but small ; 
yet, such as they are, if it clash not with my duty 
to the public, they shall always be at your ma- 
jesty's sirvicc. 

King. I'd have you just to both. 

Rut let your conntry's good be first your aim ; "% 
On this our honest miller builds his claim, > 
At ieast for pardon ; if you please, for fame, y 

[Exeunt omnts. 



THE 

LYING VALET. 

BY 

GARRICK. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



MEN. 

Sharp, the lying Valet. 

Gay LESS, his muster, attached to Melissa. 

Justice Guttle. 

Dick, servant to Sir W. Gayless. 

Beau Trippet. 



WOMEN. 

Melissa, a rich heiress. 

Mrs Gad-about, i ,r •, /.^i ,..^r-- 

Mrs Irippet, S 

Kitty Pry, maid to Melissa, 



Scoie — London. 



ACT L 



SCENE I.— Gayless's lodgings. 

Enter Gayless and Sharp. 

Sharp. How, sir, shall you be married to-inor- 
row, ch ? I'm afraid you joke with your poor 
humble servant. 

Gat/. I tell thee, Sharp, last night Melissa con- 
sented, and hxed to-morrow for the happy day. 

Sharp. 'Tis well she did, sir, or it might have 
been a dreadful one for us in our present con- 
dition: all your money spent; your moveables 
sold; your honour almost ruined, and your hum- 
ble servant almost starved ; we could not possi- 
bly have stood it two days longer — But if this 
young lady will marry you, and relieve us, o' my 
conscience I'll turn friend to the sex, rail no 
more at matrimony, but curse the whores, and 
think of a wife myself. 

Cat/. And yet. Sharp, when I think how I have 
imposed upon her, I am almost resolved to throw 
myself at her feet, tell her the real situation of 
say ailairs, ask her pardon, and implore her pity. 



Sharp. After marriage, with all my heart, sir ; 
but don't let your conscience and honour so far 
get the better of your poverty and good sense, as 
to rely on so great uncertainty as a fine lady's 
mercy and good-nature. 

Gay. I know her generous temper, and am al- 
most persuaded to rely upon it. What ! because 
I am poor, shall I abandon my honour ? 

Sharp. Yes, you must, sir, or abandon me. So, 
pray, discharge one of us ; for eat I umst, and 
speedily too : and you know very well, that that 
honour of yours will neither mtroduce you to a 
great man's table, nor get ine credit for a single 
beef-steak. 

Guy. What can I do? 

Sharp. Nothing, while honour sticks in your 
throat. Do, gulp, master, and down with it. 

Gay. Prithee leave ine to my thoughts. 

Sharp. Leave you ! No, not in such bad com- 
pany, I'll assure you. Why, you must certainly 
be a very great philosopher, sir, to moralize and 
declaim so charmingly as you do, about honou 



ICO 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



nnd conscience, when your d«)ors arc besot with 
biiiliiVs, and not one bingU: guinea in your pocket 
to hrdn: the vilhiins. 

Ciiti/. Uon't be witty, and give your advice, 
fcirrah. 

Sfiurp. Do yon be wise, and take it, sir. Hut, 
tt> be M-rious, you certainly have spent your for- 
tune, and otit-Hxed your credit, as your pockt fs 
and my bellv can testify. Your fatiur has dis- 
owned you ; all your friends forsook you, except 
myself, wlio am starving with you. Now, sir, if 
you marry this young lady, who, as yet. thank 
llcavin, kii')\vs nothing of your misforlnncs, ;uid 
by tiiat means procure a better fortune than that 
you have squandered away, make a good hus- 
band, and turn econnmist, yon still may be li;i))- 
py, may still be sir William's heir, and the 
lady too no loser by the bargain. There's reas<jn 
and ar^'uinent, sir. 

0(iy. 'Iwas with that prospect I first made 
love to her; and, thougli my fortune has hccii ill 
spent, I have at least purchased discretion with 
it. 

Sharp. Pray, then, convince me of that, sir, 
and make no more objections to the marriage. — 
You see I am reduced to my waistcoat already; 
and when necessity has undressed me from top 
to toe, slie must begin with you, and then we 
shall be forced to keep house and die by inches. 
Look you, sir, if you won't resolve to take my 
advice, while you have one coat to your back, I 
must e'en take to my heels while I have strength 
to run, and s(imethingto cover me. So, sir, wish- 
ing you much comfort and consolation with vour 
bare conscience, I am your most obedient and 
halt-starved friend and servant. 

[Cuing. 

Gay. Hold, Sharp ! You won't leave me ? 

Sharp. 1 must eat, sir ; by my honour and ap- 
petite, I must. 

Gat/. Well, then, I am resolved to favour the 
cheat ; and as I shall quite change mv former 
course of life, happy may be the consequences : 
at least of this I am sure 

Sharp. That you can't be worse than you are 
at present. 

Gai/. \A knocking icithoiit.] — Who's there ? 

Sharp. >'t>mc. of your former good friends, who 
favoured yoii with money at fifty per cent, and 
helped you to spend it, and are now become 
daily memento's to you of the folly of trusting 
ro2ucs, following whores, and laughing at my 
advice. 

Guj/. Cease your impcrlinence ! To the door ! 
If they are duns, tell them my marriaee is now 
certainly fixed; and persuade them still to for- 
bear a few days longer, and keep my circum- 
stances a secret, for their sales as well as my 
own. 

Sharp. O never fear it, sir: they still have so 
much friendship for you, as not to desire your 
ruin to their own disadvantage. 



Gai/. And, do you hear, Sharp, if it should be 
any body from Melissa, say [ am not at home; 
h>-t the bad appearanre we make here, should 
make them suspect something to our disadvan- 
taire. 

Sharp. I'll ol)ey vOH,3ir; but I am afraid they 
will ( asily discover the consumptive situation of 
our atVairs, by njy choj)-fallen countenance. 

[Ksit SuAni'. 

Goi/. These very rascals, who are now conti- 
nually dunning antl persecuting me, were the 
very persons who led me tf» my ruin, parttxik of 
my prosperity, ai.d professed the greatest friend- 
ship. 

Sharp. [Without.] — Upon my word, Mrs Kit- 
ty, my master's not at home. 

hii'fy. [Without.] — Look'e, Sharp, Pmust and 
will sec him. 

Gay. Ila ! What do I hear ? Melissa's maid ! 
What lias brought her here? My poverty has 
made her my enemy, too — She is certainly come 
with no good intent — No friendship there with- 
out fees — She's coming up stairs — What must I 
do ? I'll get into this closet and listen. 

[Exit Gayless. 



Enter Shahp and Kitty. 



11 



Kitty. I must know where he is ; and 
know, too, Mr Impertinence. 

Sharp. Not of me ye won't. — [Aside.] — He's 
not within, I tell you, JMrs Kitty; I don't know 
myself. Do you think I can conjure.? 

Kitty. But I know you will lie abominably ; 
therefore, don't trifle with me. I come from my 
mistress, JNIelissa : you know, I suppose, what's to 
be done to-morrow morning } 

Sharp. Ay ; and tomorrow night too, girl. 

Kitty. Not if I can help it. — [Aside.] — But 
come, where is your master } For see him I 
must. 

Sharp. Pray, Mrs Kitty, what's your opinion 
of this match between my master and your mis- 
tress ? 

Kitty. Why, I have no opinion of it at all ; 
and yet most of our wants will he relieved by it, 
too: for instance, now, your master will get a 
good fortune ; that's w hat I'm afraid he wants : 
my mistress w ill get a husband ; that's what slie 
has wanted for some time ; you will have the 
pleasure of my conversation, and I an opportu- 
nity of breaking your head for your imperti- 
nence. 

Sharp. INIadam, I'm your most humble ser- 
vant. But I'll tell you what, Mrs Kitty. I am 
positi\ely against the match : for was I a man of 
my master's fortune 

Kitty. You'd marry if you could, and mend it 
— Ha, ha, ha ! Pray, Sharp, w here does your 
master's estate lie ? 

Gay. Oh, the devil, what a question w as there ! 

[Aside^ 



i 



Gahrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



121 



Sharp. Lie ! Lie ! Wliy, it lies — faith, I can't 
name any particuiar place ; it lies iri so many. — 
His effects are divided, some here, some there ; 
his steward hardly knows himself. 

Kitti/. Scattered, scattered, I suppose. But, 
hark'e, .Sharp, what's become of your furniture ? 
You seem to be a little bare here at present. 

Gai/. What, has she found out that, too ? 

[Aside. 

Sharp. Why, you must know, as soon as the 
weddini: was iixed, my master ordered me to re- 
move his goods into a friend's house, to make 
room for a ball which he designs to give here tiie 
day after the marriage. 

Kitty. The luckiest thing in the world ! For 
my mistress designs to have a ball and entertain- 
ment here, to-night, before the marriage; and 
that's my business uith your master. 

Sharp. The devil it is ! [Aside. 

Kit/j/. She'll not have it public ; slic designs 
to invite only eight or ten couple of friends. 

Sharp. No more.? 

Kitty. No more : and she ordered me to de- 
sire your master not to make a great entertain- 
ment. 

Sharp. Oh, never fear 

Kitty. Ten or a dozen little nice things, with 
some fruit, I believe, will be enough in all con- 
science. 

Sharp. Oh, curse your conscience ! [Aside. 

Kitty. And what do you think I have done of 
my own head .'' 

'Sharp. What! 

Kitty. I have invited all my lord Stately's ser- 
vants to come and see you, and have a dance in 
the kitchen : Won't your master be surprised.? 

Sharp. Much so indeed I 

Kitty. Well, be quick and find out your mas- 
ter, and make what haste you can with your pre- 
parations : you have no time to lose. Prithee, 
Sharp, what'^ the matter with you.? 1 have not 
seen you for some time, and you seem t(j look a 
little "thin. 

Sharp. Oh my unfortunate face ! — [Aside.] — 
I'm in pure good health, thank you, Mrs Kitty; 
and I'll assure you I've a \ery good stomach; ne- 
ver better in all my hfe; and I am as full of vi- 
gour, hussy 

[Offers to kiss her. 

Kitty. What, with that face ! Well, bye, bye. 
— [Guiyig.] — Oh, Sharp, what ill-looking fellows 
are those, were standing about your door when 
I came in ? They want your master too, I sup- 
pose .? 

Sharp. Hum ! Yes; they are waiting for him. 
They are some of his tenants out of the country, 
that want to pay him some money. 

Kitty. Tenants ! What, do you let his tenants 
stand in the street.? 

Sha7-p. ^hey choose it : as they seldom come 
to town they are willing to see as much of it as 

VoT . III. 



they can, when they do ; they are raw, ignorant, 
honest people. 

Kitty. Well, I must run home : farewell— but 
do you hear, get something substantial for us in 
the kitchen — a ham, a turkey, or what you will — 
we'll bo very merry ; and be sure to remove the 
tables and chairs away there too, that we may 
have room to dance : I can't bear to he confined 
in my French dances ; tal, lal, lal — [Dancitig.] — 
Well, adieu ! Without any comphment, 1 shall 
die if I don't see you soon. 

[Exit Kitty, 

Sharp. And, without any compliment, i pray 
Heaven you may ! 

Enter Gayless. 

[They look for some time sorroicful at each 
other. 

Gay. Oh, Sharp ! 

Sharp. Oh, master ! 

Guy. We are certainly undone ! 

Sharp. That's no news to me. 

Gay. Eigiit or ten couple of dancers — ten or a 
dozen little nice dishes, with some fruit — my lord 
Stately's servants — ham and turkey ! 

Sharp. Say no more ! the very sound creates 
an apjietite ; and I am sure of hue I have had 
no occasion for whetters and provocatives. 

Gay. Cursed misfortune ! What can we do? 

Sharp. Hang ourselves. I see no other reme- 
dy, except you have a receipt to give a ball and 
a supper, without meat or music. 

Gay. Melissa Las certainly heard of my bad 
circumstances, and has invented this scheme to 
distress me, and break olt the match. 

Sharp. I don't believe it, sir; begging your 
pardon. 

Gay. No ? Why did her maid, then, make so 
strict an inquiry into my fortune and athiirs ? 

Sharp. For two very substantial reasons : the 
first, to satisfy a curiosity natural to her as a wo- 
man ; the second, to have the pleasure ut' my 
conversation, very natural to her as a woman ot 
taste and understanding. 

Gai/. Prithee, oe more serious : is not cur all 
at stake .? 

Sharp. Yes, sir; and yet that all of ours is of 
so little consequence, that a man, with a very 
small share of philosophy, may part from it with- 
out much pain or uneasiness. However, sir, I'll 
convince you, in half an hour, that Mrs Melissa 
knows nothing of your circumstances; and I'll 
tell you what too, sir, she shan't be here to-night, 
and 'yet you shall marry her to-morrow morn- 
ing. 

Gay. How, how, dear Sharp ? 

Sharp. 'Tis here, here, sir ! Warm, warm ; and 
delays will cool it : therefore, I'll away to hei-, 
and do you be as merry as love and poverty will 
permit you. 

Q 



BUITISII DRAMA. 



[Garr 



ICK. 



Would vnu succeed, a tuitliful friend depute, 
\\ liobc liciid caji plan, ami (Vuiit can execute. 

I nm ilie man ! and I hope you neitlier dispute 
my iVicnd^liip nnr ijualiticaiions ? 

(nir,. Indtfd I don't, i'ritlice, be gone. 

>/,(,, fi. I IW I ' [Exeunt. 

SCEINK II. — Mki.issa's lodgings. 

Enter Melissa and Kitty. 

Mil. Von surprise me, Kilty ! The master not 
at home — the man in confusion — no furniture in 

tlir hou^i' and ill-looking fellows about the 

door> ! ' 1 is :dl a riddle. 

K'Hi/. I5nt very easy to he explained. 

Ml/. IVitlice, explain it, then ; nor keep me 
loiiL'er ill sn?pence. 

hitli/. The atVair is this, madam : Mr Gaylcss 
is oitr head and ears in debt ; you arc over head 
and car;» in love; you'll marry him to-morrow; 
I he next fl.?y your whole fortune 2;ocs to his cre- 
ditors, ;ind y<»ii and your children are to live com- 
fort:'.l)ly upon the remainder. 

ilii/. I cannot think liim base. 

Kittif. liut I know they arc all base. You are 
very yoiint:, and very isinoraut of the sex ; I am 
yitui>u, too, but have had more experience : You 
ncvrr was in love before; I ha\c been in lo\e 
x^ilh an hundred, and tried them all; and know 
li em to be a parcel of barbarons, perjured, de- 
luding, bfwitchini: devils. 

J/c7. The low wretches you have had to do 
\\lt!i, may answer the character you give them; 
but .Mr Gaylcss 

Kilt I/. Is a man, madam. 

.1/(7. I hope so, Kitty, or I would have no- 
tliiiii; to do with him. 

Killif. With all my heart 1 have i^iven you 

my sentiments upon the occasi(m, and shall leave 
you to your own inclinations. 

Mel. Oh, madatn, I am much obliged to you 
for yom- tireat condcsc ension — ha, ha, lia ! How- 
ever, I h:ive so jjreat a regard for your opinion, 
that had I certain proofs of his viilany 

Mill I/. Of his poverty, you may have a hun- 
drrrl : I am sure, I have had none to the con- 
trary. 

SvU!. Oh, there the shoe pinches ! [Aside. 

Kitfif. Niiy, so far from civing me the usual 
penjuisites of my place, he has not so much us 
kept me in temper, with little endearing civili- 
ties; and one might reasonably expect, when a 
man is deficient in one wuv, that he should make 
it n[) in another. [Knockinf^ zcitltout. 

Ah I. See who is at the door [/v'jtY Kitty.] 
J must be cautious liow I lienrkcn loo nmch to 
this girl. Her bad opinion of Mr Gaylcss seems 
lo aii.-c from his disregard of her. 



Enter Sharp wJu/KiTit. 

— .So, Sharp, have you found your master ?— — 
Will things be ready for the ball and entertain- 
ment ? 

blmrp. 'J'o your w ishes, madam. I have just 
now bespoke the music and supper, and wait 
now for your ladyship's farther couunands. 

Mil. .My compliments to your master, and let 
him know, I and my company will hv with him 
by six ; we design to drink tea and plav at cards, 
before we dani-e. 

Kitti). .So shall I and my company, Mr .Sharp. 

[Aside. 

Sharp. Alighty well, madam ! 

Mil. Prithee, Sharp, what makes you come 
w ithout your coat ? ' lis too cool to go so airy, 
sure. 

Kitty. Mr .Sharp, madam, is of a very Jiot con- 
stitution ha, ha, ha ! 

Sharp. If it had been ever so cool, I have' 
had enough to warm me since I came from 
home, I am sure ; but no matter for that. 

[Sighing. 

Mil. What d'ye mean ? 

Sharp. Pray, don't ask me, madam ; I beseech 
you, don't : let us change the subject. 

Kitty. Insist upon krrowing it, madam ! I\Iy 
curiosity must be satisfied, or I shall burst. 

[Aside. 

Mel. I do insist upon knowing On pain 

of my displeasure, tell me 

Sharp. If my master should know — I must not 
tell you, madam, indeed. 

^lel. I promise you, upon my honour, he ne- 
ver shall. 

Sharp. Rut can your ladyship insure secre.sy 
from that quarter ? 

Kilty. Yes, Mr Jackanapes, for any thing you 
can say. 

Mel. I engage for her. 

Sharp. Wliy then, in short, madam — I cannot 
tell you. 

Mel. Don't trifle with me. 

Sharp. Then, since you w ill have it, madam — 
I lost my coat in defence of your reputation. 

]\lel. In defence of my reputation! 

Sharp. I will assure you, madam, I've suffered 
vcrv nuich. in defence of it ; which is more than 
I wcjulfl have done for my own. 

Alcl. Prithee, explain ! 

Sharp. In short, madam, yoa was seen a- 
bout a month ago to nuike a visit to my master 
alone. 

Mel. Alone ! my ser\ ant was with me. 

Sharp. What, Mrs Kitty.'' .So much the worse: 
for she was looked upon as my property, and I 
was -brought in guilty, as well as you and my raas* 
ter. 

Kilty. What, vour property, jackanapes? 

Mel. What is all this? 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



1'2.S 



Sharp. Why, madam, as I came out but now, 
to make preparation for you and your com[)a.iy 
to-iiis^ljt, Mrs Pry-about, the attorney's wife, at 
next door, calls to mc; * Ilurk'e, lelloa,' says she, 
' do you and your niodost master know, that my 

* husband shall indict your house at the next 

* parish meeting for a nuisance ? 

jMcL a nuisance ! 

S/iarp. 1 said so A nuisance ! I believe, 

none in the neighbourhood live with more de- 
cency and regularity than I and my master 
— as is really the case — ' Decency and regulari- 

* ty !' cries she, with a sneer — ' wliy, sirrah, does 
' not my window look into your master's bed- 
' chamber? and did not he bring in a certain ia- 

* dy such a day r' describing you, madam. ' And 
' did not I see 

Mc/. See! (), scandalous ! What? 

Sharp. Modesty requires my silence. 

Mel. Did not you contradict her? 

Sharp. Contradict her ! Why, I told licr, I 
was sure she lied ! for, zounds ! said I, (for I 
could not help swearing) I am so well convinced 
of the lady's and my master's pruilence, tiiat f am 
sure, had they a mind to anmse themselves, they 
would certamly have drawn the window-cur- 
tains. 

Altl. Wliat, did you say nothing else ? Did 
not yon convince her of lier error and imperti- 
nence ? 

Sharp. She swore to such things, that I could 
do nothing but swear and call names; upon 
which, out bolts her husband up )n me with a tine 
taper crab In his hand, and fell upon mc with 
such violence, that, being half delirious, I made 
a full confession. 

Mel. A full confession ! What did you con- 
fess ? 

Sharp. That my master loved fornication — 
that you bad no aversion to it — that Jlrs Kitty 
was a bawd, and your humble servant a pimp. 

Kitty. A bawd ! a bawd ! Do I look like a 
bawd, madam ? 

Sharp. And so, madam, in the scuffle, mv 
coat was torn to pieces, as well as your reputa- 
tion. 

JlFel. And so you joined to make me infa- 
mous ! 

Sharp. For Heaven's sake, madam, what could 
I do? His proofs fell so thick upon me, as wit- 
ness my h.ead [Sheuing his head jilaistcred.], 
that I would have given up all the maidenheads 
in the kingdom, ratiier than have my brains beat 
to a jelly. 

Mel. \"ery well ! but I'll be revenged — —And 
did not you tell your master of this ? 

Sharp. Tell him ! No, madam. Harl I told 
him, his love is so violent for you, that he would 
certainly have murdered half the attornies in- 
town by this time. 

Met. Very well ! But I am resolved not lo go 
to your master's to-night. 



Sharp. Heavens and my impudence be praised I 

[Asi(/t: 
Kill I/. Why not, madam? If you arc not guil- 
ty, tace vour accusers. 

Sharp. Dh the devil ! ruined at'ain ! [Js/f/c] 

To be sure, lace them bv all means, madam 

Tluy can but be abusive, and i)r;'ak I lie wmdows 

a little Besides, madam, 1 have thought of a 

way to make this aflair quite diverting to you — I 
ha\e a fuie blunderbuss, charged with half a 
hundred slugs, and my master has a delicate 
large Swiss broad sword ; and between us, ma- 
dam, we shall so pepper and slice them, that you 
wdl die with laughing. 
Mel. What, at murder? 

Kittt/. Don't fear, madam ; there will be no 
murder if Sharp's concerned. 

Sharp. Munier, madam ! Tis self-defence. — 
Besides, in these sort of skirn)i3hes, there arc 
never more than two or three killed : for, suppo- 
sing they Ijring the whole bi:dy of militia upon 
us, down but with a brace of them, and away lly 
the rest of the covey. 

]\Iel. Persuade me ever so much, I won't go; 
tiiat's my resoluti(jn. 

Kittj/. Whv, then, I'll tell you what, madam; 
since you are resolved not to go to the supper, 
suppose the supper was to come to you ? 'Tis a 
great pity such preparations as Mr Sharp has 
made should be thrown away. 

Sharp. So it is, as you say, Mrs Kitty. But I 
can immediately run back, and unbespeak what I 
have ordered ; 'tis soon done. 

Mel. But then, what excuse can I send to 
your master ? he'll be very uneasy at my not co- 
ming. 

Sharp. Oh, terribly so ! but I hare it — I'll tell 
him you are very much out of order — that you 
were suddenly taken with the vapours or qualms, 
or what you please, madam. 

Mel. I'll leave it to you, Sharp, to make my 
apology ; and there's lialf-a-guinea for you to 
help your invention. 

Sharp. Ilalf-a-guinea ! 'Tis so long since I 
had any thing to do with money, that I scarcely 
know the current coin of my o>vn country.— 
Oh, Sharp, w hat talents bast thou ! to secure tiiy 
master, dcc(nve his mistress, outlie her chamber- 
maid, and yet be paid for thy honesty ! But my 
joy will discover me. [Asiik.] Madam, you have 
eternally fixed Timothy Sharp, your most obedi- 
ent humble servant -Oh the delights of im- 
pudence, and a good understanding ! 

[Edi Sharp. 
Kitty. Ha, ha, tia ! was there ever such a ly- 
ing variet ! with his slugs, and his broad swords, 
his attorneys, and broken heads, and nonsense ! 
Well, madam, are you satisfied now ? Do you 
want more proofs? 

Mel. Of your modesty I do : But, I find you 
are resolved to give me none. 
Kitty. Madam! 



'J 4 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



Mel. I see tlirough yoar little mean artiltcc : 
you arc cndiavourini; to lessen Mr CJayless in 
iny <>|)inion. ht raiise he lias not paid you for ser- 
vico lie hail no occa^inn for. 

KtUv Pav nic, inaflani I I am sure 1 have 
v( rv liitle ncciision t'' l)e an-iry witli Mr Gayless 
for not paying me, wlitii 1 bericve 'tis his general 
practice. 

Mtl. Tis false ! he's a gentleman, and a man 

of iionmir, aiiH you are 

httty. Not in love, 1 thank Heaven ! 

[Cvrtsei/in^. 
^Irl. Yon are a fool. 

Kith/. I have been in love; but I am much 
wirMT now. 

Mrl. }lnl(l your tongue, impertinence ! 
Kitli/. That is the severe:^! thing she has said 
yet. " [Aside. 

Mel. Leave mo. 
Kitty. Oh this love, this love is the devil ! 

[Exit Kitty. 
lilel. We discover onr wcaknessess to our ser- 
V ants, make them onrcontidauts, put them upon an 
equality with us, and so they become our advi- 
sers. Sharp's behaviour, tliougii I seemed to dis- 
reaard it, makes me tremble witii apprehensions ! 
and, thouiih 1 have pretended to be angry with 
Kitty for her advice, I think it of too much con- 
serjuence to be neglected. 

Enter Kitty. 
Kitty. IVIay I speak, madam ? 



jifr/. Don't be a fool, Wliat do you want ? 
Kitty. There is a servant just come out of the 
country, says lie belonijs to sir William Gayless, 
and has got a letter for you from his master up- 
on very urgent business. 

Mci. Sir William (iaylcss? What can this 
mean ? Where is the man ? 

Kitli/. In the little parlour, madam. 
Met. I'll go to liiin — M v heart flutters strange- 
ly. 

[Exit. 
Kitti/. Oh, woman, woman ! foolish woman ! — 
she'll certainly have this Gayless; nay, were she 
as well convinced of his poverty as I am, she 
would have him. A strong dose of lor\e is worse 
than one of ratafia; \>hen it fince gets into our 
heads, it trips up our hf els, and then good night 
to di.-cretion. Here is she going to throw away 
fifteen thousand pounds! upon what.' Faith, lit- 
tle better than nothing. He's a man, and that's 
all — and, Heaven knows, mere man is but small 
consolation ! 

Be this advice pursued by each fond maid, 
Ne'er siioht the substance for an empty shade : 
Rich weighty sparks alone should please and 

cliariu ye : 
For should spouse cool, his gold will always 

warm vc. 

[Exit. 



ACT H. 



SCENE I. 

Enter Gayless and Sharp. 

Gay. PRiTurr, be serious, Sharp. Hast thou 
really succeeded ? 

Sharp. To our wishes, sir. In short, I have 
nianased the business with such skill and dexte- 
rity, that neither your ciicuinslanees nor my ve- 
racity are suspected. 

Gay- But iiow hast thou excused me from the 
Vjall and entertainment? 

Sharp. Beyond expectation, sir — But in that 
particular. 1 was obliged to have rcr ourse to truth, 
and declare the real situation of your affairs. 1 
told her, we had so long disused ourselves to 
dressing either dinners or suppc-.rs, that I was 
afraid we should be but aukward in our prepara- 
tions. In short, sir, — at that instant, a cursed 
gnawin'i seized my stomach, that 1 could not 
help telling her, that both you and myself seldom 
make a good meal, now-a-days, once in a quarter 
of a year. 

Gi'i/. Hell and confusion ! have you betrayed 
me, villain? Did you not tell me tliis moment, she 
did not in the least suspect my circumstances? 



Sharp. No more she did, sir, till I told Iier. 

Gay. Very well ; and was this your skill and 
dexterity ? 

Shurp. I was going to tell you ; but you won't 
hear reason : my melancholy face and piteous 
narration, had such an effect upon her generous 
bowels, that she freely forgives all that's past. 

Gat/. Does she. Sharp ? 

Sharp. Yes, and desires n«!ver to see your face 
again ; and, as a farther consideration for so do- 
ing, she has sent you half-a-guinea. 

[Shous the money. 

Gay. W^hat do you mean ? 

Sharp. To spend it, spend it, and regale. 

Gay. Villain ! you have undone me ! 

Sharp. What ! by bringing you money, when 
you are not worth a farthing in the \^ hole worl d 
Well, well, then, to make you happy again, I'll 
keep it myself; and wish somebody would take 
it in their head to load roe with such misfor- 
tunes. [Pitts up the money. 

Gay. Do you laugh at me, rascal? 

Sharp. Who deserves more to be laughed at ? 
ha, ha, ha ! Never for the future, sir, dispute 
the success of mv negotiations; when even you, 
who know me so well, can't help swallowing my 



Garrtck.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



125 



hook. Why, sir, I could have played with you 
backwards and forwards at the end of my line, 
till I had put your seii'ses into such a fermenta- 
tion, that you should not have known, in an hour's 
time, whether you was a fish or a nia. 

Gay. Why, what is all tliis you have been tel- 
ling; me r 

Sharp. A downright lie from beginning to 
end ! 

Gay. And have you really excused me to her? 

Sharp. No, sir; but I have got tliis haU'-s^uinea 
to make her excuses to you ! and instead of a 
confederacy between you and me to deceive her, 
she thinks she has brought me over to put the 
deceit upon you. 

Gay. Thou excellent fellow ! 

Sharp. Don't lose time, but slip out of the 
house immediately; the back way, 1 believe, will 
be the safest for you, and to her as fast as you 
can ; pretend vast surprise and concern, that her 
indisposition has debarred you the pleasure of 
her company here to-night. You need know no 
more ; away. 

Gay. But what shall v.c do, Sharp? Here's her 
maid again. 

iS//ar/). The devil she is! 1 wish I could poi- 
son her : for I'm sure, while she lives, 1 can ne- 
ver prosper. 

Eater Kittv. 

Kitty. Your door was open; so I did not stand 
upon ceremony. 

Gay. I am sorry to hear your mistress is taken 
so suddenly. — 

Kitty. Vapours, vapours only, sir; a few ma- 
trimonial omens, that's all ; but I suppose Mr 
Sharp has made her excuses. 

Gay. And tells me, I can't have the pleasure 
of her company to-night. I had made a small 
preparation ; but 'tis no matter : Sharp shall go 
to the rest of the company, and let them know 
'tis put otF. 

Kitty. Not for the world, sir ! my mistress 
was sensible you must have provided for her and 
the rest of the company ; so she is resolved, 
though she can't, the other ladies and gentlemen 
shall partake of your entertainment; she's very 
good-natured. 

Sharp. I had better run, and let them know 
'tis deferred. \^Gning. 

Kitty. [Stopping him^ I have been with them 
already, and told them my mistress insists upon 
their coming, and tliev have all promised to be 
here; so, pray, don't he under any apprehensions 
that your preparations will be thrown away. 

Guy. Fiut as I can't ha\e her company, Mrs 
Kitty, 'twill lie a greater pleasure to me, and a 
greater compliment to her, to defer our mirth; 
besides, I can't enjoy any thing at present, and 
she not partake of it. 

Kilty. Oh, no ! to be sure; but what can I 



do ? my mistress will have it so ; and Mrs Gad- 
about, and tht? rest of the '^o-npany, will be here 
ill a few minutCb; there are two or three coach- 
tuls of them. 

Sharp. 'Hum my master must be ruined, in 
spite of my parts. [Aside. 

Grty. [Aside to Sharp.] 'Tis all over, Sharp ! 

Sharp. I know it, sir. 

Gay. I shall go distracted ! what shall I do ? 

Sharp. Whv, sir, as our rooms are a little out 
of furniture at present, take them into the cap- 
tain's that lodges here, and set them down to 
cards : if he should come in the mean time, I'll 
excuse you to him. [Aside. 

Kitfij. I have disconcerted their affairs, I find ; 
I'll have some sport with them. Pray, i\Ir (layless, 
don't iirder too many things: they only make you 
a fricndlv visit ; the more ceremony, you know, 
the less welcome. Pray, sir, let me entreat you 
not to be profuse; If 1 can be of service, pray 
command me ; my mistress has sent me on pur- 
pose: while Mr Sharp is doing the business with- 
out doors, I may be employed within. If you'll 
lend me the keys of your side-board [To Sh<t?-p], 
I'll dispose of your plate to the best advantage. 

Sharp. Thank you, Mrs Kitty ; but it is dispo- 
sed of already. [Kyiocking at the door. 

Kitty. Bless me, the compauy's come ! I'll go 
to the door, and conduct lliem into your presence. 

[Exit Kitty. 

Sharp. If you'd conduct them into a horse- 
pond, and wait on them there yourself, we should 
be more obliged to you. 

Gay. I can never support this. 

Sharp. Rouse your spirits, and put on an air 
of gaiety, and I tlon't despair of bringing you oft" 
yet. 

Gay. Your words have done it effectually. 

Enter Mrs Gad-about, Mr Guttle, Mr Trip- 
pet, and Mrs Teippet. 

Gad. Ah, my dear Mr Gayless ! 

[X/ss^ him. 

Gay. jMv dear widow ! [Kisses her. 

Gad. We are eome to give you joy, Mr Gay- 
less ! 

Sharp. You ne\er was more mistaken in your 
life. [Aside. 

Gad. I have brought some companv here, I 
believe, is not well known to you; and I protest 
I have been all about the town to get the little I 
have I\lr Guttle, sir, Mr Gayless; — Mr Gay- 
less, justice Guttle. 

Sharp. Oh, destruction ! one of the quorum. 

Gut. Hem ! Thou<;h I had not the honour of 
any personal knowledge of you, yet, at the insti- 
gation of Mrs Gadabout, I have, without any 
pievious acquaintance with you, throwed aside all 
ceremony, to let you know, that I joy to hear 

1 the solemnization of your nuptials is so near at- 
hand. 



]'lii 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Gaijrick. 



Gtii/. Sir, tliun|>li I raniKit answer vuii wiili tlic 
siiiue riotiitifjii. however, sir, I thank yuu willi 
the same s-incerity. 

dad. Mr anil Mrs Trippct, s>!r ; the propcrrst 
huiv ni the worhl Jur your purpose, lor she'll 
(liuicc tor four and twenty lioiirs t()p;ether. 

Trip. Mv dear Charles, I am \ery anf;ry with 
yon, taith ; .'•o near marriage, and not let luc 
kn<i\v ! 'twas barbarous : you thought, 1 snpposo, 
I should rally you upon it; but dear Mrs rnp))et 
lu re has lonv: i'i^u eradicated all my anlimatri- 
jnoiiial principles. 

Mis I'rip. 1 eradicate ! fic, Mr Trippct ! don't 
he so ol)scfne. 

Kill)/. Pray, ladies, walk into tiic next room ; 
I\Ir Sharp can't lay his cloth till you are set down 
to cards. 

Gud. One thing I had quite forgot, Mr flay- 
Icss : my nephew, whom you never saw, will be 
in tov. II from France presently; so I left word to 
&end him here iinnudiaiely to make one. 

(jut/. Vou do me lu>hour, madam. 

Sharp. Do the ladies choose card.s, or the sup- 
per lirst ? 

Cay. Supper ! what does the fellow mean ? 

(Jul. Oh! the supper by ali nieans ; for I 
have eaten nothing to sij^nify since dinner. 

Sharp. Nor I, since last Monday was a fort- 
niijht. [A&ide. 

Gay. Pra}', ladies, walk into the next room : 
Sharp, jiet thini^s ready for supper, and call 
the music. 

Sharp. Well said, master ! 

Gad. Without ceremony, ladies. 

[iijrpw?)/ lodica. 

Kill'/. V\] go to my mistress, and let her know 
every thing ia ready for her appearance. 

[Exit Kitty. 

Enlcr GiTTi.E and Sharp. 

Gal. Pray, Mr Wiiat's-your-name, don't be long 
with supper : But liarkce, what can I do in the 
mean tinici' Suppose you get mc a pipe and sonif; 
good wine ; I'll try to divert myself that way till 
iu[)per's ready. 

S/uirj). Or suppose, sir, you was to take a nap 
till then; there's a very easy couch in that closet. 

Gut. The best, thing in. the wnrld ; I'll take 
your ndvice; but be sure you wake mo when sup- 
per IS ready. [K.vit Gittll. 

Sharp. I'ray heaven, you may not wake till 
then — What a fine situation my master is in at 
jiresent ! I have promised him my assistance ; 
but his affairs are in so desperate a way, that I 
am atVaid 'tis out of my skill to recover him. 
\\ ell, ftxjis have fortune, says an old proverb, 
and a very ti ue one it is ; for my master and I 
arc two of the most unfortunate mortals in the 
creati(ai. 

Enter Gatless. 
Cay. Well, Sharp, I have set them down to 



cards; and now what have you to propose ? 

Sharp. 1 have one schemo left, which, in all 
probability, may succeed. Ihe »i)od citi/en, over- 
loaded with his lust meal, is taking a nap in that 
closet, in order to get him an appetite for yours. 
Suppose, sir, wc should make him treat us. 

Gat/. I don't undersand you. 

Sharp. I'll pick his pocket, and provide us a 
supper with the booty. 

Gay, Monstrous ! for without considering the 
villany of it, the danger of waking him makes it 
im|>racticable ! 

Sharp. If he awakes, I'll smother him, and lay 
his death to indigestion — a very common death 
among the iusii< cs. 

Gay. Prithee he serious ; we have no time to 
lose : can you invent nothing to drive them out 
of the house ? 

Sharp. I can fire it. 

Gay. Shame and confusion so perplex me I 
cannot give myself a moment's thought. 

Sharp. I have it; did not Mrs Gad-about say 
her nephew would be here? 

Gay. She did. 

Sharp. Say no more, but in to your company j 
if I don't send them out of the house for the 
niuht, I'll at least frighten their stomachs away ; 
and if this stratagem fails, I'll relinquish politics, 
and think my understanding no better than my 
neighbour's. 

Gay. IIow shall I reward thee, Sharp ? 

Sharp. IJy your silence and obedience : awaj 
to your company, sir. [Exit Gayless.J — Now, 
dear madam Fortune, for once open your eyes, 
and behold a poor unfortunate man of parts ad- 
dressing you : now is your time to convince your 
foes you are not that blind, whimsical whore, 
they take you for; but let them see, by your as- 
sisting me, that men of sense, as well as fools, 
are sometimes intiticd to your favour and protec- 
tion. So much for prayer; now for a great 

noise and a lie. [Goes aside, and cries out.^ Help, 
help, master ! help, gentlemen, ladies ! JMurder, 
lire, brimstone ?—. — Help, help, help ! 

Enter jMr Gaylf.ss and the ladies uith cards in 

their hands, aiid Suarv enters, running, and 

i/iccts them. 

Guy. What's the matter? 

Sharp. Matter, sir ! if you don't run this mi- 
nute \^iththat gentleman, this lady's nephew will 
be murdered I 1 am sure it was he; he was set 
upon at the corner of the street by four ; he has 
killed two; and if you don't make haste, he'll he 
either murdered, or took to prison. 

Gad. ¥ov Heaven's sake, gentlemen, run to 
his assistance I How I tremble for Melissa ! — 
This frolic of her's may be fatal. [Aside. 

Gay. Draw, sir, and follow me. 

[Exeunt Gayless and Gao, 

Trip. Not I ; I don't care to run myself into 
needless quarrels ; I have suflfered too much for- 



GarrickO 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



1(27 



merly by flying into passions : besides, I have 
pawned mv honour to Mrs Trippct, never to 
draw niv sword ;igaii> ; and, in her present condi- 
tion, to break my word might have fatal conse- 
quences. 

Sharp. Pray, sir, don't excuse yourself; the 
younsr gentleman may be murdered by this time. 

Trip. Tiien my assistance wi'l be of no service 
to him ; however — I'll go to oblige you, and look 
on at a distance. 

Mrs Trip. I shall certainly faint, Mr Trippet, 
if you draw. 

Enter Guttle, disordered, as from sleep. 

Gut. What noise and confusion is this? 

Sharp. Sir, tiiore's a man murdered in the 
street. 

Gut. Is tliat all ? Zounds ! I was afraid you 
had thrown the supper down — A plague of your 

noise 1 shan't recover my stomach this half 

hour. 

Enter Gayless ojhI Gad-abott, zrith Melissa 
in hoi/s clothes, dressed in the French manner. 

Gad. Well, but my dear Jemmy, you are not 
hurt, sure ? 

Mei. A little with riding post only. 

Gad. Mr Sharp alarmed us all witii an ac- 
cotnit of your being set upon by four men; that 
you had killed two, and was attacking the other 
when he came away; and when we met jou at 
the door, we were running; to your rescue. 

]\lel. I had a small rencounter with half a- 
dozen villains ; but, finding me resolute, they 
wei'e wise enougli to take to their heels : I be- 
lieve 1 scratched some of them. 

[Ldi/ing her hand to her srcord. 

Sharp. His vanity has saved my credit. I 
have a thought co'.ne into my head may prove to 
our advaiitai;e, provided Monsieur's ignorance 
bears anv proportion to his impudence. [Aside. 

Gad. Now my fright's ovtr, let me introduce 
you, Uiy dear, to Mr Gayless. Sir, tiiis is my 
Uephc'.v. 

Gal/. [Saluting /(t'r.j Sir, I shall be proud ot 
your friendsiiip. 

31el. I don'r doubt but we shall be better ac- 
quainted in a little time. 

Gu!. Pray, sir, what news in France? 

Mel. Faith, sir, very little that 1 know of in 
the poliiical way : I had no time to s[)end among 
the politicians. I was 

Gai/. Among the ladies, I suppose ? 

Mtl. Too much indeed. Faith, I have not 
philosophy enough to resist their solicitations ; 
you take me? [To Gayless aside. 

Gail. Yes, to be a most incorrigible fop : 
'Sde;'.Ji, this jjuppy's impertinence is an additior. 
to my misery. [Asiic to SiiAiU'. 

Mel. Poor GavlessI to what sliiits is he redu- 



ced ? 1 cannot bear to see him much longer in 
this condition ; I shall discover myself. 

[Aside to Gad-about. 

Gad. Not before tlic end of the play: besi- 
des, the more his pain now, the greater his plea- 
sure when relieved from it. 

Trip. Shall we return to our cards? I have a 
sans prendre here, and must insist you play it 
out. 

jMdie.i. With all my heart ! 

J\lel. Allous'.donc. — [As the compamj goes out, 
Shaup pulls Melissa In/ the sleeve^ 

Sha7'j). Sir, sir ! Shall I beg leave to spea 
with you ? Pray, did you find a bank-note in 
your way hither ? 

J\Iel. What, between here and Dover, do you 
mean ? 

Sharp. No, sir, within twenty or thirty yards 
of this house. 

Mel. You are drunk, fellow ! 

Sharp. I am undone, sir, but not drunk, I'll 
assure you. 

MeL What is all this? 

Sharp. I'll tell you, sir : A little while ago, my 
master sent me out to change a note of twenty 
pounds ; but I, untortnnateiy, hearing a noise in 
the street of, Damn-me, sir ! and clashing of 
ssvords, and Rascal, and ^Murder ! I runs up to 
tlie place, and saw four men upon one: and 
having heard you was a mettlesome young 
gentleman, I immediately concluded it must be 
you; so ran back to call my master; and whcr> 
I went to look for the note to change it, I 
found it gone, either stole or lost ; and if I don't 
get the money immediately, I shall certainly be 
turned out of my place, and lose my charac- 
ter 

Mel. I shall laugh in his face. [Aside.]— Olu 
I'll speak to your master about it, and he will 
forgive you, at my intercession. 

Sharp. Ah, sir, you don't know my master. 

Mel. I'm very little acquainted with him ; but 
I have heard he's a very good-natared man. 

Sharp. I have heard so too ; but I have felt it 
otherwise: he has so much good-nature, that'll I 
could compound for one broken-head a day, I 
slioidd tliink myself very well otf. 

J^fel. Are you serious, friend ? 

Sharp. Look'e, sir, I take you for a man of 
honour; there is something in your face that is 
generous, open, and masculine ; you don't look 
like a foppish efteminate tell-tale ; so i'U venture 

to trust yon See here, sir, [Shews his hcad.\ 

these are the effects of my master's good-nature. 

Mel Matcliless impudence ! [AsideP\ — Why 
do vou live with him, then, after such usage ? 

Sh'irp. He's wortii a great deal of money; 
and when he's drunk, which is commonly (jiice 
a-dav, he's very free, and will oivc mi- any thing: 
but i design to leave him when he's married, for 
all that. 

Mel, Is he eoing to be married then ? 
.3 



128 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



Sharp. To-morrow, sir ; and ItctULxii you anil 
I, lu'll nif et wiili liis ujatcli, both for iiuinouranil 
some tiling else too. 
,, Ml!. \Miai ! she drinks, too ? 

Sftitrp. DaninaLly, *>ir ; but inuni — Yon must 
know this ontcrtaiiimcnt wasdcsifjuid formailam 
t<>-nii;ht; but slie tiot so very iiay after dinntr, 
that slie could not walk oat of her own Iioum; ; 
so her maid, who was half «^„iin too, came here 
with an excuse, that Mrs .Melissa had not the 
vapours : and so she had indeed viok-nriv, lure, 
hf re, sir. ' [ruinting (o /'us /i,<nl. 

Met. This is scarcely to he borne-. [Aside] — 
]\Ielissa ! I have heard of her; they s;iy she's 
very whimsical. 

Sharp. A very woman, an't please your hon- 
our ; and, between you and I, none of the m.ldest 
and wist:st of her sex — But to return, sir, to the 
twenty ponnds. 

-Vt/. I am surprised, yon, who have got so 
much money in his service, should be at a loss 
for tuenty pound, to save your bones at this junc- 
ture. 

Sharp. I have put all my money out at in- 
tcre.-t ; I never kevp above five pounds by nie ; 
and if your honour would lend me the other 
fifteen, and take my note for it — 

[Knocking. 

Md. Somebody's at the diTor. 

Sharp. I can give \cry good security. 

[Knocking. 

Mel. Don't let the people wait, !Mr. 

Sharp. Ten pounds will do. [Knocking. 

Mr/. Allez vous en. 

Sharp. Five, sir. [Knocking. 

Mel. Je lie puis pas. 

Sharp. Je ne puis pus ! — I find we shan't un- 
derstand one another; I do but hjsc time; and if 
I had any ihoui^ht, I miuht have known these 
y()unG; fops return from their travels generally 
wiih as little money as improvement. 

[Exit Shahp. 

Mel. Ha, ha, ha ! what lies does ttiis fellow 
invent, ai)d what rogueries does he commit, for 
bis master's service ! There never, sure, was a 
more faithful servant to his master, or a greater 
r<jgue to the rejt of mankind. But here he comes 
again : the plot thickens; I'll in, and observe Gay- 
It-'Si. [Exit Melissa. 

Enter ^iWRv, before several persons, zi it h dishes 
in their hands, and a Cook drunk. 

Sharp. Fortune, I thank thee ! the most luckv 
accident ! [.Lit/f.]— This way, gentlemen ; this 
way. 

Cnolx. I am afraid I have mistook the house. 
Is t!iis .Mr iVeatweM*?? 

Sharp. The same, the same : What, don't you 
know me } 

Cook. Know you I — Are you sure there was a 
supper bespoke here ? 

Sliarp. Yes, upon ray honour, Mr Cook ; the 



coiupany,is in the next room, and must have gone 
witiiout, had not you brought it. I'll draw a 
table. I see you have brought a cloth with vou ; 
but you need not liave done that, for we have a 
\ cry good stock of linen — at the pawnbroker's. 

[Asidr. 
[Exit, and returns immediateltf, drum- 
in ts in a lalilc. 
Come, come, my boys, be quick; tlie company 
began to be very imeisy ; but I knew my olll 
friend Lick-spit here would not fail us. 

Cook. Lick-spit! I am no friend of your's; so 
I desire less fannliarity : Lick-spit, too ! 

Enter Gay less, and stares. 

Gci/. What is all this.? 

Sharp. .Sir, if the sight of the supper is offen- 
sive, I can ea-.iily ha\e it removed. 

[Aside to Gayless. 

Gai/. Prithrc, explain thyst W, .Sharp. 

Sharp. Some of our neighbours, I suppose, 
have bespoke this supper; but the cook lias drank 
away his memory, forgot the house, and brought 
it here : however, sir, if yon dislike it, I'll tell him 
of his mistake, and send hini about his business. 

Gai/. Hold, hold ! necessity obliges ine, against 
my inclination, to favour the cheat, and feast at 
my neighbour's expence. 

Cook. Hark you, friend, is that your master .? 

S/tarp. Ay; and the best master in the world. 

Cnok. I'll speak to him then — sir, I have, ac- 
cording to your commands, dressed as genteel a 
supper as my ait a;;d your price would admit of. 

S/iurp. Good again, sir; 'tis paid for. 

[Aside to Gayless. 

Gay. I don't in the least ijuestion your abi- 
lities, Mr Cook ; and I'm obliged to you for your 
care. 

Coo/c. Sir, you are a gentleman — And if you 
would look but over the bill, and approve it, 
[Pulln out a bill.] you will, over and above, re- 
turn the obiiKution. 

S/iarp. Oh, the devil ! 

Gaj/. [Looking on a bill.] Very well, I'll send 
my man to pay you to-morrow. 

Cook. I'll spare him the- trouble, and take it 
with me, sir 1 nc\er work but for ready mo- 
ney. 

Guy. Ha ! 

Sharp. Then you won't have our custom 

[Aside.] My master is busy now, friend : Do 

you think he won't pay you ? 

Cook. No matter what I think ; either my 
meat, or my money. 

S/iarp. 'Twill be very ill-convenient for him to 
pay you to-night. 

Cook. Then I'm afraid it will be ill-convenient 
to pay me to-morrow ; so, d'ye hear 

Enter Melissa. 
Gay. Prithee be advised : 'sdeath, I sliall be 
disco\ered ! [Takes t/ie Cook aside. 



Garrick.] 



BKITISH DKAMA. 



129 



Mel. [To Sharp.] Wlial's t!ic inatter? 

Sharp. The cook has not quite unswcrfd my 
master's expectations about tlic supper, sir, and 
lie's a little angrv at him ; that's all. 

Me/. Come, come, Mr (Jayless, don't be un- 
easy ; a batclielor cannot be supposed to have 
things in the utmost regularity ; we don't expect 
it. 

Cook. But I do expect it, and will hare it. 

Me!. Wluil docs tiiat drunken fool say ? 

Cook. That 1 "ill have my money, and I won't 
stay till to-morrow — and — and— — 

S/iurp. [Riiti.t iiinl s^fops his /noiith.] Hold, hold! 
what are you doint; ? Are you mad ? 

A[eL What do you stop the man's breath for? 

Sharp. Sir, he was ii,<>w^ to call you names. — 
Don't be abusive, (Juok ; the gentleman is a man 
of honour, and said nothing to you : pray be pa- 
cified ; you are in liquor. 

Cook. I will ha\e mv ■ 

Sharp. [Ho/diiiii .^ti'll.] Why, I tell you, fool, 
you mistake the sjentleman ; he's a friend of my 
master's, and has not said a word to you. Pray, 
good sir, go into the next room ; the fellow's 
drunk, and takes you for another. — You'll repent 
this when you are sober, friend. — Pray, sir, don't 
stay to hear his impertinence. 

Gai/. Pray, sir, walk in — He's below your an- 
ger. 

Mel. Damn the rascal ! What does he mean 

by affrontiiis: me ? Let the scoundrel go ; I'll 

polish his brutality, I warrant you. Here's the 
best reformer of manners in the imlverse. [Draws 
his sword.] Let him go, I say ! 

Sharp. So, so, you have done finely now — Get 
away as fast as you can ; he's the most coura- 
geous, mettlesome man, in all England Why, 

if his passion was up, he could eat you — ]\Lake 
your escape, you fool. 

Cook. I won't — eat me ! he'll find me damned 
hard of digestion, though 

Sharp. Prithee, come here; let me speak with 
you. [Thej/ zcalk aside. 

Enter Kitty. 

Kittif. Gad's me ! is supper on the table alrea- 
dy ? Sir, pray defer it for a few moments; my 
mistress is much better, and will be here imme- 
diately. 

Gai/. Will she, indeed ? Bless me ! — I did not 
expect — but however — Sharp ! • 

Kitty. What success, madam ? 

[Aside to Melissa. 

Mel. As we could wish, girl ; but he is in such 
pain and perplexity, 1 can't hold it out much 
longer. 

Kitty. Ay ; that holding out is the ruin of half 
our sex. 

Sharp. I have pacified the cook ; and if you 
can but borrow twenty pieces of that young prig, 
all may go well yet : you may succeed, though I 

Vol. IIL 



could not. RemembtT what I told you — about 
It strai<j,ht, sir 

Gay. Sir, sir — [To Melissa.] — 1 beg to speak 
a word with yon : my servant, sir, tells me ho has 
had the misfortune, sir, to lose a note of mine of 
twenty (lounds, which I sent him to receive — and 
the bankers' shops being shut up, and having ve- 
ry little cash by me, I should be much obliged to 
you if you would favour me with twenty pieces 
till to-morrow. 

]\fcl. C)h, sir, with all my heart — [Taking out 
her pi/rse.] — and as I have a small favour to beg 
of you, sir, the obligation will be mutual. 

G<iy. How may I oliliirc you, sir.'' 

Alel. You are tu be married, I hear, to Me- 
lissa ? 

Gay. To-morrow, sir. 

jMel. Then you'll oblige me, sir, by never see- 
ing her again. 

Guy. Do you call this a small favour, sir? 

]\lcl. A mere trifle, sir ; breaking of contracts, 
suing for divorces, committing adultery, and such 
like, are all reckoned trifles now-a-davs : and 
smart young fellows, like you and myself, Gay- 
icss, should be never out of fashion. 

Gay. But, pray, sir, how are you concerned in 
thisaifair? 

Mel. Oh, sir, you must know I have a very 
great regard for Melissa, and indeed she for me : 
and, by the by, I have a most despicable opinion 
of you; for, enlre nous, I take you, Charles, to 
be a very great scoundrel. 

Gay. Sir ! 

Mel. Nay, don't look fierce, sir, and give your- 
self airs — Damme, sir, I shall l)e through your 
body, else, in the snapping of a finger ! 

Gay. I'll he as quick as you, villain ! 

[Draws, and makes at Melissa. 

Kit. Hold, hold ! murder ! You'll kill my mis- 
tress — the young gentleman, I mean. 

Gay. Ah, her mistress ! 

[Drops his sword. 

Sharp. How ! Melissa ! Nay, tlien, drive away 
cart — all's over now. 

Enter all the company, laughing. 

Gad. What, Mr Gayless, engaging with INIe- 
lissa before your time? Ha, ha, ha ! 

Kitty. Your humble servant, good Mr Politi- 
cian — [To Sharp.] — This is, gentlemen and la- 
dies, the most celebrated and ingenious Timothy 
Sharp, schemer-general, and redoubted squire to 
the most renowned and fortunate adventurer, 
Charles Gayless, knight of the woeful counte- 
nance ■: ha, ha, ha ! Oh, that dismal face, and 
more dismal head of yours ! 

[Strikes Sharp upon the head. 

Sharp. 'Tis cruel in you to disturb a man in 
his last agonies. 

]\Iel. Now, Mr Gayless ! What, not a word ? 
You arc sensible I can be no stranger to your 

R 



ISO 



BRITISH BUAMA. 



fGARRICK. 



misfortunes; and T might rcasona))ly exjxct an 
exru'^e fur your ill rrcatiiniit of me. 

(jiti^. Ni», inaiiain, (.ileiice is my (inly rcfiipi' ; 
for to endeavour to vinflirate n»v crimes, would 
show a preater want of virtue llian e\en the com- 
inii>!>ioii uf them. 

Mtl. Oh, Gaylcss !, 'twas poor to impose upon 
a w oniaii, and one that loved yon, too ! 

G(n/. t)li, most unpardonable ! but my iitces- 

situs 

Shurp. And mine, madam, were not to be 
niatcl.ed, I'm sure, o' this side starvini^. 

j17<7. Ills tears have softened me at once 

Yonr necessities, Mr (iayless, with such real con- 
trition, arc too powerful motives not to art'ect the 
breast alnady prejudiced in your favour. You 
have sulVered too much already for your extrava- 
gance; and as I take part in your sutVerin^s, 'tl^ 
easing; myself to relieve you : Know, therefore, 
all that's past I freely for<:ive. 

Gdij. You cannot mean it, sure ? I am lost in 
wondt r ! 

Mel. Prepare yourself for more wonder — You 
have another friend in masquerade here. Mr 
Cook, pray throw aside vour drunkenness, and 
make your sober appearance. Don't you know 
that face, sir.^ 

Caok. Ay, master ! what, have you forgot your 
friend Dick, as you used to call me ? 

Gui/. More wonder uideed ! Don't you live 
v\itli my father .'' 

Mel. Just after your hopeful servant, there, 
}iad left me, comes this man from sir vVillian 
with a letter to me; upon wiych (hein^ by that 
wholly convinced of your necessitous ronditioii 
I invented, by the help of Kitty and Mrs Gad- 
about, this little plot, in which your friend Dick, 
there, has acted miracles, rcsoUiiiii to tea-se vou 
a little, that you mi<;ht have a {greater relish for a 
happy turn in your affairs. Now, sir, read that 
letter, and complete your joy. 

Guy. I Reads^ — ' Madam, I am father to the 
' unt'ortunate younj; man, who, I hear, by a friend 
' of mine (that by my desire has been a continu- 
' al spy upon him), is makinij; his addresses to 
'you: if he is so happy as to make himself 

* a2;reeable to you (^whose character I am charm- 

* ed with), I shall own hira vvith joy for my son, 
^ and forget his former follies. 

' I am, madam, 

* Your most humble servant, 

* William (jayless.' 
' P. S. I will be soon in town myself, to con- 

* gratulate his late reformation and marriage.' 

Oh, Melissa, this is too much ! Thus let me show 



my thanks and eratihide — \Knrelitig, she raises 
/n/n] — lor here 'iij imiIv due. 

Sliarp. A repiitve i A reprieve! \ reprieve! 
Kitti/. I base heen, sir, a most bitter enemy 
to you ; but, suue you are likely to be a little 
more convtrsani with cash than voli have bt.en, I 
am now, with the iireuttst sun eri'.v, your most 
ol»edieiit friend, and humble servant. And I 
hope, sir, ail t'ornier enmitv will bi lorfrotten. 

O./i/ Oh, Mrs l*iy, I iia\e been too much in- 
dulued witli lorLi^eiiness mvscll, not toforgive les- 
ser olVrnres in oilier people. 

Sharp. Well, then, madam, since my master 
has vouchsaleil p.irdon to your handmaid Kitty, 
(hope you'll not deny it to h is footman Timo- 
liiy? 

Aiel. Pardon ! for what.' 

Sharp. Only for telling you about ten thousnnd 
lit s, madam ; and, aiiioiii; the rest, insinuating 

that your lad\ ihip would 

Alel. I niider-.tand you ; and can forgive any 
thing. Sharp, that was designed for the service of 
your master : and if Pry and you will follow our 
example, I'll gi^e her a small fortune as a re- 
ward for both your fidelities. 

Sharp. I fancy, madam, 'twould be better to 
hal\c the small fortune between us, and keep us 
both single ; for as we sliall Ine in the same 
house, in all probability we may taste the com- 
forts of matrimony, aud not I.e troubled with its 
inconveniences — What say you, Kitty ? 

Kttti/. Do you hear, Sharp? before yon talk 
of the comtorts of matrnnoiiy, taste the comforts 
of a good dinner, and recover your flesh a little; 
do, puppy 

Sharp. The devil backs her, that's certain ! 
and I am no match tor her at any weapon. 

Me/. And now, Mr Oavless, to show I have 
not pro\ided for you by halves, let the ninsjc 
prepare themselves, and, with the approbation of 
the c(jmp;uiy, we'll have a dance. 
A/t. By all means a dance ! 

Gut. By all means a dance after supper, 

though. 

Sharp. Oh, pray, sir, have supper first ; or I'm 
sure f shan't live till the dance is finished. 

Gnj/. Behold, Melissa, as sincere a convert as 
e\er truth and beauty made. The wild impe- 
tuous sallies of my yonih are now blown over, 
and a most pleasing calm of perfect happiness 
succeeds. 

Ihus ^^Etna's flames the verdant earth con- 
sume. 
But milder heat makes drooping nature bloom; 
So \irtuous love affords us springing joy, 
\Vhilst vicious passions, as they burn, destroy. 
[Exeunt omn^s. 



MISS IN IIER TEENS. 



GARRICK. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



MEN. 

Sir SiMO's, father to Captain Loveit. 

Captain Loveit, attached to MiS3 Biddy. 

Fribble, a coxcomb. 

Flash, a hulli/ing couard. 

Puff, servant to Captain Loveit. 

Jasper, servant to Sir Simon. 



WOMEN. 
Miss Biddy, attached to Captain Loveit, 
Tag, maid to Miss Biddy. 



Scene — London. 



ACT L 



. SCENE I.— ^ street. 



Enter Captms Loveit and Pvf?, 

Cfipt. This is the place we were directed to; 
and now, Puff, if 1 ran eet no intelligence of her, 
what will become of ine? 

Paff. And me too, sir?-— You must consider I 
am a married man, and can't hear fatisne as I 
have done. Bnt, pray, sir, why did you leave the 
arniv so abruptly, and not give me time to fill 
mv knapsack with common necessaries? Half a 
dozen shirts, and your regimentals, are my whole 
cargo. 

Capt. I was wild to get away; and as soon a- 
I obtained mv leave of absence, 1 thought e\er\ 
moment an asc till I returned to the place where I 
first saw this young, charming, innocent, bewitch- 
ing creature. 

Puff'. With fifteen thousand pounds for her 
fortune — strons: motives, I must confess. — And 
now, sir, as you are pleased to say you must de- 
pend upon my care and abilities in this affair, I 
think I liave a just ri^ht to be acquainted with 



the particulars of your passion, that I may be w.e 
better enabled to serve you. 

Capt. You shall have them. — When T left the 
university, which is now seven months since, my 
father, who loves his money better than his son, 
and would not settle a farthing upon me — 

Puff'. Mine did so by me, sir 

Capt. Purchased me a pair of colours at my 
own request; but before I joined the regiment, 
which was going abroad, I took a ramble into 
the cotmtry with a fellow-collegian, to see a re- 
lation of his who lived in Berkshire 

Puff A party of pleasure, I suppose ? 

Capt. During a short stay there, I came ac- 
quainted with this youns creature: she was just 
come from the boardinii-school ; and though she 
had all the simplit ity of her age, and the coun- 
try, yet it was mixed with such sensible vivacity, 
that I took fire at once. 

Puff'. I was tmder myself at your age. But 
prav, sir, did you take fire before you knew of 
her fortune ? 

Capt. Before, upon my honour ! 



1S2 



BRITISTI DRA^[A. 



[Garrick. 



Puff. Folly and constitution — Rut on, sir. 

Cii/it. I was intiuduct'd to the I'amily by iIk- 
naujc ot' Rodophii (tor so my companion and 1 
had settled it); at the <nd of ihree weeks 1 \^a'- 
ol)lii;ed to attend the call of honour in Flaiideis ; 
but 

PufT. Your partin;:;, to be sure, was hcart- 
breaknm ? 

Cii/il. I feel it at this instant. We vowed 
eternal constancy, and I promised to take tin 
first opportunity of returning to her. I did so; 
but we found the house was shut up; and ull 
the information, you know, that we could u'ct 
from the neighbouring cotta'je was, that miss and 
her aunt were removed to town, and lived some- 
where near this part of it. 

Puff. And now we are got to the place of ac- 
tion, propose your plan of operation. 

Capf. -My father lives in the next street, so I 
must decamp immediately, for fear of discoveries : 
vou are not known to be mv servant ; i:;o, mak( 
\vhat inquiries you can in the neighbourhood, and 
I shall wait at the inn for your iDtciliu,ence. 

Puff. I'll patrol hereabouts, and examine all 
that pass ; but I've forgot the word, sir — Miss 
Biddy— 

('apt. Bellair 

Puff. A younii lady of wit, beauty, and fifteen 
thousand pounds fortune — But, sir — 

Capl. What do you say, Puft? 

l^uff. If your honour pleases to consider, that I 
had a wife in town whom I left somewhat ab- 
ruptly half-a-year ago, you'll think it, I believe, 
but decent to make some inquiry after her first : 
to be sure, it would be some small consolation 
to me to know whether the poor woman is living, 
or has made away with herself, or 

Cnpt. Prithee don't distract me ; a moment's 
delay is of the utmost consequence ; I must in- 
sist upon an immediate compliance with mv 
commands. [£re> Captain. 

Puff. The devil's in these fiery vonnw fellows ! 
they think of nobodv's wants but their own. He 
does not consider thai I am flesh and blood as 
well as himself. However, I mav kill two birds 
at once : fur I shan't be surprised if I meet n^y 
lady waikinw the streets — But, who have we here.? 
Sure I should know that face. 

Enter 5 \svt.v. from a house. 

^Vho's that r mv old acquaintance Jasper ! 

Jax. What, Puff! are vou here? 

Puf. My dear friend ! \ Kissing A/w.] Well, 
and now, .Tasper, still easy and ha|)py ? Touioun: 
le ineme ! What intrigues now ? What uirls have 
you ruined, and what cuckolds made, since you 
and I used to beat up together, eh ? 

Jus. Faith, b-.isiness has been very brisk dur- 
ing the war ; men are scarce, vou know : not that 
I can say I ever wanted runusement in the worst 
of times — But hark yc, Pult 



Puff. Not a word aloud ; T am incognito. 

Jas. Why, faith, I should not have known you, 
if you hail not spoke fust ; you seem to be a little 
ilishabille too, as well as incognito. Whom do 
V')ii honour with your service now ? Are you from 
the wars ' 

}'uff. Piping hot, I asure you; fire and smoke 
will tarnish : a man that will co into su( h service 
as 1 ha\e been in, will fmd his clothes the wurse 
tor the wear, take my word for it. But how is it 
with you, friend .laspcr? What, yon still serve, 
I see? yon live at that house, I suppose? 

Jas. I don't absolutely live, but I am most of 
mv time there. I have, within these two months, 
entered into the ser\ ice of an old gentleman, who 
hired a reputable ser\ant, and dressed him as 
you see, because he has taken it into his head to 
tall in love. 

Puff". I'alse appetite, and second childhood ! 
But, prithee, what's the object of his passion ? 

Jas. No less than a virgin of sixteen, I can as- 
sure you. 

Puff. Oh the toothless old dotard ! 

Jas. And he mumbles and plays with her till 
his mouth waters ; then he chuckles till he cries, 
and calls her his Bid and his Bidsy ; and is so 
foolishly fond 

Pafl\ Itidsy ! what's that ? — 

J'ls. Her name is Biddv. 

Puff. iJiddy! What, Miss Biddy Bellair? 

Jus. The same — 

Putf. I have no luck, to be sure. \^Aside!\ — 
Oh, I have heard of her; she's of a pretty good 
family, and has some fortune, I know. But are 
things settled ? Is the marriage fixed ? 

Jas. Not absolutelv ; thecirl, I believe, detests 
him ; but her aunt, a very good, prudent, old lady, 
has given her consent, if he can gain her niece's : 
how it will cud, I can't tell — but I'm hot upon't 
myself. 

Puff". The devil ! not marriage, I hope ? 

Jas. That is not yet determined. 

Pujf. W'ho is the ladv, pray? 

Jas. A maid in the same family ; a woman of 
honour, I assure you. She has one husb;md al- 
ready, a scoundrel sort of a fellow, that has run 
awav from her, and listed for a soldier ; so, to- 
wards the eiifl of the campaisrn, she hopes to have 
a certilicate he's knocked o' the head : if not, I 
suppose, we shall settle matters another way. 

Puff. Well, speed the plough ! — But hark ye? 
'Oiisummate without the certificate if you can — 
' eep vour neck out of the collar^do — I have 
wore ic these two years, and damnably galled 
I am. 

Jas. I'll take vour advice; but I must run 
awav to my master, who will be impatient for an 
answer to his messace, which 1 have just deli- 
vered to the young ladv : so, dear Mr Puff, I am 
your most obcrlient humble servant. 

Puff. .And I must to our agents for my ar- 
rears: if you liave an hour to spare, you'll hear 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAxMA. 



133 



of me at George's, or the Tilt-yard — Au revoir, 
as we say abroad. [Exit Jasper.] Tlius, we arc 
as civil and as false as our betters : Jasper and I 
were ahvavs the beau inonde exactly; we rver 
hated one another heartily, vet always kiss and 
shake hands — Hut now to my master, with a 
headful of news, and a heartful of joy ! 

[Going, staris. 

' Angels and ministers of grace defend me !' 
It can't be ! By Heavens, it is, that fretful porcu- 
pine, my wife ! I can't stand it ; what shall I do i* 
— I'll try to avoid her. 

Enter Tag. 

Tag. It must be he ! I'll swear to the rogue at 
a mile's distance : he either has not seen me, or 
won't know me. If I can keep my temper, I'll 
trv liiin farther. 

Pu^'. I sweat ! — I tremble ! — She comes upon 
ine ! 

Tag. Pray, good sir, if I may be so bold — 

Puff- I have notiiing for you, good woman; 
don't trouble me. 

Tag. ]f your honour pleases to look this way — 

Puty. The kingdom is overrun with beggars. 
I suppose the last I gave to has sent this : but I 
have no more loose silver about me : so, prithee, 
woman, don't disturb me. 

Tas- I can hold no longer. Oh, you villain, 
you ! where have you been, scoundrel ? Do you 
know me now, varict ? [Seizes Aim. 

Puff'. Here, watch, watch ! Zounds, I shall 
have my pockets ])icked ! 

Tag. Own me this minute, hang-dog, and con- 
fess every tliini;, or, by the raee of an injured 
woman, I'll raise the neighbourhood, throttle you, 
and send you to Newgate ! 

Puff. Amazement ! what, my o\vn dear Tag ! 
Come to my arms, and let me press you to my 
heart, that pants for thee, and only thee, my true 
and lawful wife ! — Now my stars have overpaid 
me for the fatigue and dangers of the field. I 
have wandered about, like Achilles, iu search of 
faithful Penelope ; and the gods have brought 
me to this happy spot. [E/ubraces her. 

Tag. The fellow's crackt for certain ! Leave 
your bombastic stutf, and tell me, rascal, why you 
left mo, and where you have been these six 
months, heh? 

Puff. We'll reserve my adventures for our 
happy winter evenings — I stiall only tell you now, 
that my heart beat so strong in my country's 
cause, and being instigated either by honour or 
the devil fl can't tell which), I set out for Flan- 
ders to gather laurels, and lay them at thy feet. 

Tag. You left me to starve, villain, and beg 
ray bread, you did so. 

Pi'_ff. I left you too hastily, I must confess; 
and often has my conscience stung me for it — 
I am i;ot into an ofticer's service, have been in 
several actions, gained some credit by my beha- 



viour, and am now returned with ray master to 
indulge the gentler passions. 

Tag. Don't think to fob me ofi" with this non- 
sensical talk. What have you brought me home 
besides? 

Puff. Honour, and immoderate love. 

Tag. I could tear your eyes out ! 

Pi'Jf. Temperance, or I walk off. 

T'ag. Temperance, traitor! temperance! What 
can you say for yourself? Leave me to the wide 
world ! 

Puff. Well, I have been in the world too, 
han't I? What would the woman have? 

Tag. Reduce me to the necessity of going to 
service ! [Cries. 

Puff. Why, I'm in service too, your lord and 
master, an't I, you saucy jade, you ? — Come, 
where dost live ? here about ? Hast got good vails ? 
Dost go to market ? Come, give me a kiss, dar- 
ling, and tell me where I shall pay my duty to 
thee. 

Tag. Why, there I live, at that house. 

[Pointing to the house Jaspkii came out of. 

Puff. What ! there ! that house ? 

'Tag. Yes, there ; that house. 

Puff. Huzza ! We're made for ever, you slut 
you ; huzza ! Every thing conspires this diy to 
make me happy ! Prepare for an inundation of 
joy ! My master is in love with your Miss Biddy 
over head and ears, and she with him. I know- 
she is courted by some old fumbler, and her aunt 
is not against the match ; but now we are come, 
the town will be relieved, and the governor 
brought over : in plain English, our fortune is 
made ; ray master must marry the lady, and the 
old gentleman may go to the devil. 

Tag. Heyday ! what's all this? 

Puff. Say no more ; the dice are thrown 
doublets for us : away to your young mistress, 
while I run to my master. Tell her Rhodophil, 
Rhodophil will be with her immediately ; then, 
if her blood docs not mount to her face, like 
quicksilver m a weather-glass, and point to ex- 
treme hot, believe the whole a lie, and your hus- 
band no politician. 

Tag. riiis is news indeed ! I have had the 
place but a little while, and have not quite got 
into the serrets of the family: but part of your 
story is true ; and if you bring your master, and 
miss is willing, I warrant well be too hard for 
the old folks. 

Puff. I'll about it straight But hold. Tag; 

I had forgot — Pray how does Mr Jasper do ? 

Tag. Mr Jasper ! — What do you mean ? I — 

I— I— 

Puff. What! out of countenance, c'nld ? — 

O fie ! speak plain, my dear And the cer- 
tificate ; when comes that, eh, love? 

Tag. He has sold himself, and turned conjurer, 
or he could never have known it. [Aside. 

Puff. Are not you a jade? — are not you a Je- 
zebel .' — arn't you a 



134 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick» 



Toe. O ho ! temperance, or T walk oft". 

H, if. I ko'tw I '.(III ii"i 'inis'ieH vet, and so I 
am f.isv ; but murt' tll;lllk^ t<> iiiv tortuiie than 
jour * in lie. m.i lam. 

fli/. [H'./A/«] r-.u:, Pabt ! wlifroarc you, Tas' 

7'<i^'. (.'oiiiinj;, madaia ' Mv ladv calls — 

awav r-) your luastiT, and I'll prepare his rece^«- 
tioii >ot'iin. - 

FufJ'. Shall I bring the certificate with me? 

[Eiit Pun. 

Till'. (ii>, yo'J graccleSi rogue I you nclilv de- 
serve It. [EsU. 

SCENE II. — Chatties to a chamber. 
Enter Biddy. 

Bid. liow unfortunate a poor ^irl am I ! dare 
Ttnt tvW mv secret to any IkxIv; and, if I don't. 
I'.n inid'^ne — Heijih ho I [iS/^'As.] Fray, Tat;, is 
niv :mnt gone to her lawyer about me.^ — Heigh 
ho ! ' 

Tag. What's that sigh for, my dear young 
mistress ? 

BtJ I did not sigh, not I \ Sighs. 

Tug. N-iy. ne\er gulp them down; thev are 
the worst thnigs vou can swallow. There's some- 
thing in tliat little heart of yours, that swells it, 
ami piifls it, and will burst it at last, if you don't 
give it ^ent. 

Bid. NVhat would you have rae tell you '' 

\Sighx. 

Tag. Come, come; you are afraid I'll betray 
yon : but vou had as good speak ; I may do yo'.i 
some service von littU think of. 

Bli. It is not in your power, Tag, to give me 
what I want. [•^^(S^'"' 

Ta<;. Not directly, perhaps; but I may he the 
means of heli'ing you to it. As, for exampie — 
if \oii should not like to marry the old man your 
aunt designs for you, one may find a way to 
brea'c 

Birl. His neck. Tag? 

Tan. Or the .natch ; either will do, child. 

Bit f don't care which, indeed, so I wa^^ 

clear of him 1 don't think I am fit to be 

man ied. 

Tig. To him you mean ! You have no objec- 
tion to marriage, but the man ; and I aoi land 
yiin for it. But come, courage, miss; never keep 
it in : out with it all. 

Hi/. If you'll ask me any questions, I'll an- 
swer them : hut 1 can't tell you any tiling of mv- 
seK: I shall blush if I do. 

Tag. 'Veil, then; in the first place, pray tell 
me. Nli*-- Liiddv Belliir, if von don't like sorae- 
boHv better than old sir Simon Loveit ? 

Bid. ileigli ho! 

Tai'. What's heigho, miss? 

Bid When I sav heigh ho, it means vcs. 

Tag. Vcvv well : and this somebody is a young 
han-Uoine fellow ? 

Bid. lloigh ho i 



Tag. And if you were once his, you'd be as 
merrv as the best of us? 

Bid. Heigh ho ! 

Tag. So far so good ! and since I have got 
vou to wet your feet, souce over head at once, 
HUrl the pain will be over. 

Bi/. There — then. [A long sigh.] Now, help 
me out. Fag, as fast as you can. 

Tag. When did you hear from your gallant? 

Btd. Never since he went to the army. 

Tag. How so? 

Bid. I was afraid the letters would fall into 
my aunt's hands, so I would not let him write to 
me : but I had a better reason then. 

I'ug. Pray, let's hear that, too. 

Bid. Why, I thought if I should write to him, 
and promise him to lo\ e nobody else, and should 
afterwards change my mind, he might think I 
was inconstant, and call mo a coquette. 

Tag. What a simple innocent it is ! [Asidc.^ 
And have you changed your mind, miss ? 

Bid. No, indeed, Tag; I love him the best of 
any of them. 

Tag. Of any of them ! Why, have you any 
more ? 

Bid. Pray, don't ask me. 

Tag. Nay, miss, if ycm only trust me by 
halves, you can't expect 

Bil. 1 will trust you with every thing. When 
I parted with him, I grew melancholy; so, in 
order to divert me, I have let two others court 
me till he return again. 

Tag. Is that all, my dear? Mighty simple, in- 
deed T [Aside. 

Bid. One of them is a fine blustering man, 
and so called captain Flash; he's always talking 
of fighting and wars: he thinks he's sure of rae; but 
I shall baulk him : we shall see him this after- 
noon, for he pressed strongly to come ; and I 
have given him leave, while my aunt's taking her 
afternoon's nap. 

Tag. And who is the other, pray ? 

Bid. (^uite another sort of a man. He speaks 
like a lady for all the world, and never swears as 
•Ir Flash docs, but vvears nice white gloves, and 
tells me what ribbons become my complexion, 
where to stick my patches, who is the best mil- 
liner, where they sell the best tea, and which is 
the best wash for the face, and the best paste 
for the hands; he is always playing with my 
fan, and shewing liis teeth ; and whenever I 
speak, he pats me — so — and cries, * The devil 
' take me. Miss Biddy, but you'll be my perdi- 
' tion !' — ha, ha, ha ! 

Tag ( )h, the pretty creature ! And what do 
vou rail him, pray ' 

Bid. His naine is Fribble : you shall see him, 
too; for, by mistal e, I appointed them at the 
same time : but you must help me out with 
them. 

Tag. And suppose your favourite should come 
too 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



155 



Bid. I should not care what became of the 
others. 

'Tag. What's his name ? 

Bid. It begins with an R — h — o— — 

2'ag. I'll be hanged if it is not Rhodophii ! 

Bid. I am frightened at you ! You're a witch, 
Tag. 

lag. I am so; and I can tell your fortune, 
too. Look me in the face. The gentleman you 
love most in the world, will be at our house this 
afternoon : he arrived from the army this morn- 
ing, and dies till he sees you. 

Bid. Is he come, Tag ? Don't joke with me ! 

Tag. Not to keep you longer in suspeiice, you 
must know, the servant of your Strephon, by 
some unaccountable fate or other, is my lord and 
master: he has just been with me, told me of 
his master's arrival and impatience 

Bid. Oh, my dear, dear Tag, you have put me 
out of my wits — I am all over in a llutter. I 
shall leap out of my skin — I don't know what to 



do with myself! Is he come, Tag? I am ready 
to faint — I would give tlie world I had put on 
my pink and silver robmgs lo-day. 

Tog. 1 assure you, miss, you look charm- 
ingly. 

Bid. Do I, indeed, though ? I'll put a 'ittle 
patch under u>y left eye, and powder my hair 
immediately. 

Tag. Well, go to dinner first, and then I'll as- 
sist you. 

Bid. Dinner ! I can't eat a morsel ! I don't 
know what's the nu\tter with me ; my ears tingle, 
my heart beats, my face flushes, and 1 tremble 
every joint of me. I must run in and look at 
myself in the glass this moment. 

Tag. Yes, she has it, and deeply too : This is 
no hypocrisy 

Not art, but nature, now, performs her part, 
And every word's the language of the I'O irt. 

[Ertunf. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Continues. 



Enter Captain Loveit, Biddy, Tag, a7id 
Plff. 

Capt. To find you still constant, and to arrive 
at such a critical juncture, is the height of for- 
tune and happiness. 

Bid. Nothing shall force me from you ; and, 
if I am secure of your affections 

Puff'. I'll be btmad for him, madam, and give 
you any security you can ask. 

Tag. Every thing goes on to our wish, sir. T 
just now had a second conference with my old 
lady; and she was so convinced by my argu- 
ments, that sht returned instantly to the lawyer 
to forbid the drawing out of any writings at all : 
and she is determined never to tlnvart miss's in- 
■clinations, and left it to us to give the old gen- 
tleman his discharge at the next visit. 

Capt. Shall I undertake the old dragon ? 

Tag. If we have occasion for help, we shall 
call for you. 

Bid. I expect him every moment ! therefore, 
I'll tell you what, Rhodophii, you and your man 
shall be locked up in my bed-chamber till we 
have settled matters with the old gentleman. 

Capt. Do what you please with me. 

Bid. You must not be impatient though. 

Capt. I can undergo any thing with such a re- 
ward in view. One kiss, and I'll be quite resign- 
ed And now, show me the way. 

[Eieunt. 

Tag. Come, sirrah, when I have got you under 
lock and key, I shall bring you to reasoii. 

Puff'. Are your wedding-clothes ready, my 
dove ! The certificate is come. 

Tag, Go, follow your captain, sirrah ! — march. 



You may thank Heaven I had patience to stay 
so long. 

[ExeiiTit Tag and Puff. 

Re-enter Biddy. 

Bid. I was very much alarmed for fe r tny 
two gallants should rouie m upon us un.M'aic*; 
we should hnve Ii-kI sad work if thev hud. I 
■ind I love lUi'idopliil vastiv; for, llioiiiiii my 
other sparks flatter nic more, I can't al>i(ie rhe 
thouuhrs of them now — I have business lipoii my 
hands enough to turn my little head — but, etad, 
my heart's good, and a fig i'or dangers ! Let me 
see — What shah I do with my two galiauts? I 
must at least part with them decently. Suppose 
I set them tocether by the ears? I he luckiest 
th(JU2ht in the world ! For, if they won't quarrel 
las 1 believe they won't;, I can break with ihein 
for cowards, and very justly dismiss them my 
servile: and, if thev will fight, and one of them 
be killed, the other will certainly be hanged, or 
run away ; and so 1 shall very handsomely get 
-•id of both. I am glad I have settled it so 
purely. 

Enter Tag. 

Well, Tasi, are they safe ? 

Tag. I think so the doors double locked, 

and 1 have the key in my pocket. 

Bid. That's pure ; but have you given them 
any thing to divert them ? 

'Tag. I have given the captain one of your old 
gloves to mumble; but my Strephon is diverting 
iiimself with the more substantial comforts of a 
cold venison pasty. 

Bid. What shall we do with the next that 
comes ? 



mo 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



Tai;. If Mr Fribhic romcs first, Til cinp liiin 
lip into my lady's stnre-room. I suppose he is n 
grrat inakrr of marmalade liimsolf, and will have 
ai» opportunity ot making somo critical riinarks 
upon our pa>trv and swcitmcals. 

Hid. \\ hf n one nf thrnj como5, do you po and 
watch for the other; and as «.oon as vou sec him, 
run in to ui<, and pretend it is mv aunt, and so 
wc shall have an excuse to lock him up till we 
^^ant liim. 

7n^'. Vou may depend upon n^. Hcr«: is one 
of them. 

Kilter FRiuni.r.. 

Hill. 'S\t Fribhlo, your Scr>ant 

Fill. Mias Hitldy, your slave — I hope I lia\e 
not come upon you abruptly ? I should have 
waited up(»M ycMi sooner; but an accident haj)- 
pcncd that di.^composed me so, that I was obliged 
to CO home asrain to take drops. 

lUd. Indeed you don't look well, sir Go, 

Tas;, and do as I bid you. 

Tiii:. I will, madam. \^T!,xit Tag. 

Hid. I hav(^ set my maid to watch my aunt, 
that we mayn't Ik surprised by her. 

Frib. Your prudence is equal to your beauty, 
miss; aud 1 hope your permitting me to kiss 
your hands, will be no impeachment to your un- 
derstandins:. 

Bid. I hate the sight of him. — [Js/V/e.] — I was 
afraid I should nf»t have had the pleasure of see- 
ing yon. Pmy, let me know what accident you 
met with, and what's the matter with your hand ? 
— I shan't be easy till I know. 

Frib. W'eW, I vow. Miss Biddy, you're a 'joori 
creefer — I'll endeavour to muster up what little 
spirits I have, aud tell you the whole affair. — 
Hem ! — But first, you must ^ive me leave to 
make you a present of a small pot of my lip- 
salve. My servant made it this mornine : the 
ingredients are innocent, I assure you ; nothing 
but the best virgin-wax, conserve of roses, and 
IJIy-of-thc-vallev water. 

Bid. I thank you, sir ; but my lips are general- 
ly red ; and w heu they an't, I bite them. 

Frih. I bile my own sometimes, to pout them 
a little; but this will give them a softness, co- 
lour, and an agixcablc moist er. Thus, let n»e 
make an humble olVering at that shrine, where I 
have already sacrificed my heart. 

[Knccfs, and gives the pot. 

Bid. Upon my word, that's very prettily ex- 
pressed ! you are positively tlie best company in 
the world — I w ish he was out of the house. 

[Aside. 

Frib. Rut to return to my accident, and the 
reason why my hand is in this condition — I beg 
jDu'll excuse the appearance of it, and be satisfi- 
ed, that nothing but mere necessity could have 
forced me to appear thus muHlcd before you. 

Bid. I am very willing to excuse anv misfor- 
tune that happens to you, sir. [Curtsies. 



Frib. You are vastly Rood, indeed — Thus it 
was — Hem ! Yon must know, miss, there is not 
an animal in .the cri atioit I liave so great an 
a\(rsion to, as t(io?e hackney-coach fellows — As 
I was coming out of my lodginuB, savs one of 
them to me, Would your honourliave a cx>ach .? 
i\o, man, said I, not now (with all the civility 
imaginable). I'll carry you and your tloll to(J, 
said he, Miss Mareerv, for the same price — upon 
w Inch the ma>-culine ^leasts about us tell a laugh- 
ing. 1 hen 1 turned round in a great passion — 
( urse mc, says I, fellow, hut I'll trounce thee ! — 
And as I was lioliim^ out my hand in a threaten- 
ing pofiler — thus — he makes a cut at me with his 
whip, ami striking mc over the nail of mv little 
lin<;< r, it gave me such exquisite torter, that 1 
fainted away — and while 1 was in tliis condition, 
the mrib picked r»iv pocket of mv purse, mv scis- 
sars, my Morocco smelling-bottle, and my hus:- 
wifc. 

Bid. I shail laugh in his face. — [Aside.] — I am 
afraid you are in great pain. Pray sit «lown, Mr 
!• ribbie : but I liope your hand is in no danger i* 

[T/iei/ sit. 

Frib. Not in the least, madam ; pray, don't be 
apprehensive. A milk-poultice, and a gentle 
sweat to-night, vvith a little manna in the morn- 
ing, I am confident will relieve me eniirely. 

Bid. But jjiay, Mr Fribble, do you make use 
of a hussvvife r 

Frib. I can't do without it, madam : there is 
a club of us, all young bachelors, the sweetest so- 
ciety in the world ; and we meet three times a 
week at each other's lodgings, where we drink 
tea, hear the chat of the day, invent fashions for 
the ladies, make models of them, and cut out 
pattenii in [«»per. We were the first iinentors 
of knotting ; and this fringe is the original pro- 
duce, and joint laljour of our little community. 

Bid. And who arc your pretty set, pray ? 

Frib. There's Phil. Whiflle, .liicky Wagtail, my 
lord Trip, Billy Dimple, sir Diiberry Diddle, and 
your humble 

Bid. What a sweet collection of happy crea- 
tures ! 

Fiib. Indeed and so we are miss — but a pro- 
dieious fracas diiconccrtcd us some time ago at 
Billy I)im|ile's — three firnnken naughty women 
of the to-A n burst into our chib.-room, cursed us 
all, threw down the china, broke six looking-glas- 
ses, scalded us with the slop-bason, and scnitched 
poor Phil. W hiftle's check in such a manner, that 
lie has kept his bed these three weeks. 

Bid. Indeed, Mr Fribble, I think all our sex 
have great reason to be angry ; for if you are so 
happy, now you an? ba( helors, the ladies may 
wish and sigh to very little purpose. 

Frib. You arc mistaken, I assure you ; I am 
prfidigiously rallied about my passion for you, I 
can tell you that, and am lookwl upon as lost to 
our society already. He, he, he ! 

Bid. Pray, Mr Fribble, now you have gone so 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



137 



far, d(W)'ttliink mc impudent, if I Inns; to know 
Jiow you intend to use thft lady wlio has been lio- 
iionred widi your afferticjiis? 

Fril). Not as most other \vivcs arc used, I as- 
sure you : all tlic domestic bu:^iness \\\\\ he taken 
oil" iier hands. I shall make the tea, comb tin. 
doi^s, and dress the children myself; so that, 
thou^ih I'm a commoner, Mrs Tribble will lead 
the lite of a woman of quality ; for she will Iia\(' 
iiothmu; to do but lie m bed, play at cards, and 
scold the servants. 

BUI. What a happy creature she must be ! 

Fiib. Do you really think so? Then, |,'ray, let 

mc have a little serous talk with you riioii^l) 

my passion is not of Ions;; standing, I iiope the 
sincerity of my intentions 

BiiL lla, ha, ha I 

Frill. Go, you wild tliino ! — [Pafs hcr.^ — The 
devil take me, but there is no taikins; to you — 
How can you use me in this barbarous manner ! 
If I had the constitution of an alderman, it would 

sink under my sutferiugs iiouiiiu n nater cim\ 

support it. 

Bid. W'hv, what would vou do with me, I\Ir 
Fribble? 

Frib. Well, I vow I'll beat you if you talk so 
— ri(jn't look at me in that manner — flesh and 
blood can't bear it — I could — but I won't grow 
indecent 

BUI. But pray, sir, where are the verses you 
were to write upon me? I find, if a young lady 
«iepends too much upon such fine gentlemen as 
you, she'll certainly be disappointed. 

Fril). I vow, the flutter I was put into this af- 
ternoon, has quite turned my senses — here they 
are, though — and I believe you'll like them. 

Bid. There can be no doubt of it. 

[Curtsies. 

Frib. I protest, miss, 1 don't like that curtsy 
— Look at n;ie, and always rise in this manner. — 
[67/(;as he).] — But, my dear creefer, who put on 
your cap to-day ? They have made a fright of 
you, and it is as yellow as old ladv Crowfoot's 
neck. When we are settled, I'll dress your head 
myself. 

Bid. Pray read the verses to me, ^Ir Fribble. 

Frib. I obey — Hem ! William I'ribble, esq. to 
Miss Biddy Bellair — greeting. 

Xo ice so hard, so cold as T, 
Till warmed and softened by yom- eye; 
j^nd now my heart dissolves away. 
In dreams by night, in sighs by day. 
No brutal passion fires my breast. 
Which loathes the object when possessed ; 
But one of harmless, gentle kind. 
Whose joys are centered — in the mind : 
Then take with me love's Ijctter part, 
His downy wing, but no»; his dart. 

How do you like them ? 
Vol. Ill, 



Bid. Ha, ha, ha ! I swear ihev arc vei-y pretty 
— but I don't quite understand ihem. 

Frib. These light pieces arc nt'vcr so well un- 
derstood in reiuling as singing. I have set them 
niy:<elf, and will endravour to give them you: 
l^a — la — 1 have an al)ominable cold, and can't 
sing a note; however, the tune's nothing, the 
manner's all. 

Xo ice so hard, «^-c. [5in^s.] 

Filter Tao, rvnrung. 

Tug. 0!i, madam, madam ! 

Frib. What's the matter? 

Tag. Your aunt, your aunt, your aunt, ma- 
dam ! 

Bid. Oh ! for Heaven's sake, hide ^Nlr Fribble, 
or we are ruined ! Put him into the store-room 
this moment. 

Frih. Is it a damp place, Mrs Tag ? The floor 
is boarded, I hope ? 

Tag. Indeed it is nor, sir. 

Frib. What shall I do? I shall certainly catch 
my death ! Where's my cambric handkerchief, 
and my salts ? I shall certainly have my liyste- 
rics. [Runs in uith Tag. 

Bid. In, in, in ! — So, now let the other come 
as soon as he will ! I do not care if I had twen- 
ty of them, so they would but come one after 
another. 

Re-enter Tag, 

Was my aunt coming ? 

Tag. No, 'twas Mr Flash, I suppose, by the 
leneth of his stride, and the cock of his hat. 

He'll be here this minute What shall we do 

with him ? 

Bid. I'll manage him, I warrant you, and try 
his courage ; be sure you are ready to second me 
— we shall have pure sport. 

Tag. IIusli ! here he comes. 

Fntcr Flash, singing. 

Flash. Well, my blossom, here am I ! What 
hopes for a poor dog, eh } — Mow ! the maid 
here ? then I've lost the town, damme ! Not a 
shilling to bribe the governor; she'll spring a 
mine, and I shall be blown to the devil ! 

Hid. Don't be asha\ned, Mr Flash: I have 
told Tag the whole afliur; and she's my friend, 
I can assure you. 

Flash. Is she ? then she won't be mine, I am 
certain. [Aside^ Wed, Mrs Tag, you know, I 
suppo'^e, what IS to be done: this young lady 
and [ have contracted ourselves; and so, it you 
please to stand bride-maid, why we'll iix the 
wedding-day flirectly. 

Tag. The wedding-day, sir? 

Flush. The wedding-day, sir ! Ay, sir ! the 



138 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



wedding ilav, sir ! What lia\c you to say to that, 

sir ? 

Bid. My dear captain Tlash, don't make such 
a noist' ; you'll wuki- my aunt. 

llus/i. And suppoM- 1 liid, child, what tiicn ? 

Bid. She'd Lc tViuhtciicd out of htr wits. 

Flash. At nic, iniss? Jriglitened at nie ? Tout 
uu coiitntirc, I assure yon : you mistake the- 
thini:, tliild : I liavc some reason to believe 1 am 
nut (juilf Ml shocking. [Aff'tcttdlj/. 

Tiii.'. Indeed, sir, you Hatter yourselt' iiut 

prav, >ir, what are your pretensions? 

Flush, riie ladv's promises, my own passion, 
and the best-mounted blade in the three kinn- 
tlnms. Ilany man can produce a better title, 
let him take Iter. It' not, the devil mince me if 
I cive up an atom n\' her ! 

Hill, lie's in a fine passion, if he would but 
hold iu 

'I'd^- Pray, sir, hear reason a little. 

Flush. I never do, madam ; it is not my me- 
thod of proceedinj: ; here is n»y loiric ! [i^'oc/.s 
his siiord.'\ Sa, sa — my best arsjument is cart-uver- 
arm. madam, ha, ha ! ^Lounges]; and if he an- 
swers that, madam, throui:h my small guts, my 
breath, blood, and mistress, are all at his service 
nothins more, madam. 

Bid. This'll do, this'll do! 

'i((ir. But, sir, sir, sir ! 

Ftu.sh. But, madam, madam, madam ! I pro- 
fess bitiod, mailam ; I N\as bred up to it from a 
child; I study the book of fate, and the canip is 
my iiiiiversitv. I have attended the lectures of 
prince Charles upon the Rhine, and Balhiani 
upon the Po, and have extracted knowledge from 
the mouth of a cannon. I'm not to be frightened 
\\ ith scjuihs, madam ; no, no. 

Bid Pray, dear sir, don't mind her, but let 
jnc prevail with you to go away this time. — Your 
passion is very fine, to be sure ; and when my 
aunt and Tag are gone out of the way, I'll let 
you know when I'd ha\e you come again. 

Flush. \N hen you'd have me come again, 
child ! And su|ii)ose I never would come again, 
what do you think of that now, ha I You pretend 
to be afraid of your aunt ; your aunt knows 
what's what too well, to refuse a good match 

when 'tis offered Jxiok'e, miss, I'm a man of 

lionour ; glory is my aim ; I have told you the 
road 1 am in ; and do you see here, child ? [Hhow- 
iiig hin siiord.] no tricks upon travellers. 

Bid. But jiray, sir, hear me. 

Flash. \o, no, no ; I know the world, ma- 
dam : I am as well known at Covent-CJarden as 
the Dial, madam : I'll bieak a lamp, bully aeon- 
stable, bam a justice, or bilk a box-keeper, with 
pnv man in the liberties of Wesiuinster : \\'hat 
do vou think of me now, madam.'' 

Bid. Pray, don't be so furious, sir. 

Flush. Come, come, come; few words are best; 
go'uebody's happier than somebody, and I am a 

poo.- silly fellow, ha, ha that'> all Look 

you, child, to be bliort (for I'm u man of rellec- 



tion), I have but a ba|^tclle to say to you. I am 
in love with y -n up to hell and desperation ; may 

the sky crush me if I am n>)t ! Hut since 

tlu re is aiKJthcr more fortunate than 1, adieu, 
Biddy ! Prosperity to the happy rival, patience 

to poor Flash ; but the first time we meet 

gunpowder be my perdition, but I'll have the ho- 
nour to cut a throat with him. [Going. 
Bid. [Stopping hiin.] You may meet with him 
now, if you please. 

Flash. Now ! may I? Where is he? I'll 

sa' ririce the villain ! [Aloud^ 

Tug. Hush ! he's but in the next room. 
Flash. Is he ? Ram me [Lo«'.] into a mortar- 
piece Itut I'll have vengeance ! my blood boils to 
be at him. — Don't be frightened, miss ! 

Bid. No, sir; I never was better pleased, I 
assure you. 

Flash I shall soon do his business. 
Bid. As soon as you please ; take your owu 
time. 

Tag. I'll fetch the gentleman to you im- 
mediately. [Going. 
Flush. [Stopping her.] Stay, stay a little; what a 
passion I am in ! — .Are you sure he is in the next 

room.' — I shall certainly tear him to pieces 

I would fain murder him like a gentleman too 
— Besides, this family shan't be brought into 
trouble u\>on my account — I have it — I'll watch 
for him in the street, and mix his blood with the 
puddle of the next kennel. [Going. 

Bid. [Sloppnig him.] No, pray, Mr Flash, let 
me see the battle ; 1 shall be glad to see you 
fight tor me ; you shan't go, indeed. 

[Holding him. 
Tug. [Holding hi}n.] Oh, pray let me see you 
fiilht : there were two gentleman fit yesterday, 
and my mistress was never so diverted in her life. 
— I'll fetch him wut. [Exit. 

Bid. Do, stick him, stick him, captain Flash; 
I shall love you the better for it. 

Flash. Damn your love ! I wish I was out of 
the house. [Aside. 

Bid. Here he is Now, speak some of your 

hard words, and run him through — ■ 

Flash. Don't be in fits now 



Bid. Never fear me ! 



[Aside to Biddy. 



Enter Tag and Fribblc 

Tag. [To Fribri.e.] Take it on ray word, sir, 
he is a bully, and nothing else. 

Frib. [Frightened.] I know you are my good 
friend ; but perhaps you don't know his disposi- 
tion. 

Tag. I am confident he is a coward. 

Fnb. D'ye think so, Mrs Tag? 

Tag. Oh, I am sure of it. 

Frill. Is he? Nay, then, I'm his man ! 

Flash. I like liis looks, but I'll not venture to9 
far at first. 

Tug, Speak to hiin, sir. 



I 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



139 



Frib. I will — I undcrstan(l, sir — hem — that 
you — by Mrs Tns, here — sir — who has iiifumictl 
me — hem — that you would be glad to speak with 
me — demme — [Turns off. 

Flash. I can speak to you, sir — or to nny bo- 
dy, sir— or I can let it alone and hold mv tongue 
— if I see occasion, sir, dainmc — [Turns off'. 
Bid. Well said, Mr Flash; be in a passion. 
Tag. [To FiirituLE.] Don't mind his looks, he 
changes colour already; to him, to him ! 

[ Pus lies hi in. 
Frib. Don't hurry me, Mrs Tat:, for Heaven's 
sake : I shall be out of breath before I begin, if 
you do — sir — [To Flash.] If you can't speak to 
a fientleman in another manner, sir — why, then, 
I'll venture to say, you had better hold your 
tonsue — oons. 

Flash. Sir, you and I are of different opinions. 
Frib. You and your opinions may go to the 
devil — take that. [Turiis o(f to Tag. 

Tag. Well said, sir ; the day's your own. 
Bid. What's the matter, Mr Flash? Is all your 
fury gone ! Do you give me up ? 

Frib. I have done his business. [Struts about. 

Flash. Give you up, madam ! No, madam, 

when I am determined in my resolutions, I am 

always calm ; 'tis our way, madam : and now I 

shall proceed to business Sir, I beg to say a 

word to you in private. 

Frib. Keep your distance, fellow, and I'll an- 
swer you. That lady has confessed a passion for 
me ; and, as she has delivered uyj her heart into 
my keeping, nothing but my 'art's blood siiall 
purchase it. Damnation ! 
Tag. Bravo ! bravo ! 

Flash. If those are the conditions, I'll give you 
earnest for it directly. [D;-«?rx.] Now, villain, 
renounce all right and title this minute, or the 
torrent of my rage will overflow my reason, and 
I shall anniliilate the nothingness of your soul 
and body in an instant. 

Frib. I wish there was a constable at hand to 
take us both up ; we shall certainly do one ano- 
ther a prejudice. 

Tag. No, you won't indeed, sir; pray, bear up 
to him ; if you would but draw your sword, and 
be in a passion, he would run away directly. 

Frib. Will he ? [Draus.^ Then t can no longer 
contain myself — Hell and the furies ! Come on, 
thou savage brute ! 
Tag. Go on, sir ! 

[Here they stand infighting posture?, while 
Biddy and Tag push themj'orivard. 
Flash. Come on, sir ! 
Bid. Go on. 
Frib. Come on, rascal ! 
Tag. Go on, sir. 

Enter Captain Lovett and Puff. 
Capt. What's the matter, gentlemen ? 

[They both keep their fencing posture. 
Flash, Don't part us, sir ! 



Frib. No, pray sir, don't part us; we shall do 
you a mischief. 

Capt. I'ulf, look to the other gentleman, and 
call a surgeon. 

Bid. .\ Tug. Ha, ha, ha! 

Puff. Bless me ! how can you stand under 
your wounds sir.' 

Frib. Am I hurt, sir? 

Puff. Hurt, sir! why, you have — let me see — 
pray, stand in the light — one, two, three, through 
the heart ! and, let me see — hum — eight tlirougli 
the small guts ! Come, sir, make it up the round 
dozen, and then we'll part you. 
All. I la, ha, ha ! 
Capt. Come here. Puff! 

[ Whispers, and looks at Flash. 
Puff 'Tis the very same, sir. 
Capt. [To Flash.] Pray, sir, have I not had 
the pleasure of seeing you abroad ? 
Flash. I have served abroad. 
Capt. Had not you the misfortune, sir, to be 
missing at the last cngageracnt in Flanders? 

Flash. I was found amongst the dead in the 
field of battle. 

Puff. He was the first that fell, sir — the wind 
of a cannon-ball struck him flat upon his face : 
he had just strength enough to creep into a ditch ; 
and there be was found after the battle in a most 
deplorable condition. 

Capt. Pray, sir, what advancement did ycu get 
by the service of that day ? 

Flash. My wounds rendered me unfit for ser- 
vice, and I sold out. 

Puff. Stole out, you mean We hunted him 

by scent to the water-side; thence he took ship- 
ping for England ; and taking the advantage of 
my master's absence, has attacked the citadel ; 
which we are luckily come to relieve — and drive 
his honour into the ditch again. 
All. Ha, ha, ha I 
Frib. He, he, he ! 

Capt. And now, sir, how have you dared to 
show your face in o[)en day, or wear even the 
outside of a profession you have so much scan- 
dalized by your bcha\iour ? 1 honour the 

name of a soldier; and, as a party concerned, 
am bound not to see it disgraced. As you havo 
forfeited your title to honour, deliver up your 
sword this instant. 

Flash. Nay, good captain 

Capt. No words, sir. [Takes his srrord. 

Frib. lie's a sad scoundrel 1 wish I had 

kicked him. 

Capt. The next thing I command — Leave this 
house, change the colour of your clothes, and 
fierceness of your looks; appear from top to toe 
the wretch, the very \> retch thou art: If e'er I 
meet thee in the military dress again, or if you 
put on looks that bely the native baseness of thr 
heart, be it where it will, this shall be the re- 
ward of thy impudence and disobedience. 

[A'j'cfts him ; he rH7is off". 



140 



BRITISH nil AMY. 



[Hai^rick. 



Frih Wliat an iiifaninii<; rnscjil it is ! — I tliaiik 
you, >\r, fur ihi«, t";i«'<tiir; Init I iiiiist attf-r, atit! 
cane him. [Goiiifs, is stupf In/ the Cvi'i ai.n. 

('apt. One WDrd iMlli yuu too, ^i^. 

trib. Willi iitf, sir ! 

('«/(/. You ncL'tl not tremble; I shan't use yon 
roii'jlilv. 

hi lb. I am < rrtaiii ot' that, sir; but I am sad- 
ly ir itihUil with v\cak ncrvis. 

('apt. Ihoitart of a sjitries too despicable for 
correction; therefore be jione ; and if 1 sec you 
here aiinin, yinr msisinifirancv shan't proiert voii. 

Full. I am ohli>;ed to yon tor your kiiidness. 
^^ ell, if e\er I have any thiuii tcj do with in- 
trigues ai;a:n Miss Hiddy, your servant — Cap- 
tain, V'lur ccrvant — Mrs Tag, yours — Old soldier, 
your'- ! 

j'i'O: r.oh ! 

[lit FniDni.E's fare, as he is goiua out. 

Frih. () Lard! ' [KxcI. 

J 1 1. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Fiijf. Shall I case yon of your trophy, sir? 

Cupt. 'lake it, PntV, as a small rtteunpensc 
for ihy fidelity; thou c.ui'sL better use it than its 
owner. 

i'njX- I wish your honour had a patent to take' 
such trifles from every pretty eentlcman thai 
could spare tiiem. I w(juld set up tiie largest 
cutler's shop in the kiniidum. 

Capt. Weil said, PiitV! 

P<id. But, prav, .Mr Fox, how did you set out 
of your hole t I tiiouiiht you was locked in. 

Cupt. I shot the bolt back wijen I heard a 
noi«c — and thinkini; you \\as in daniicr, I broke 
my confinement witliout any other e-onsidcraiion 
than your safety. \Kisses her hatid. 

Sir Sim. [W'Uhout.] Biddy, Biddy! N\ hv, 

Ta-', Tair! 

Bid. There's the old frcnllcman ; run in, run 
in! . ' ' 

[Exeunt CaI'taix and Plu'. Tag 
ojjciis the dour. 

Enter Sir Simon and Jaspcr. 

Sir Sim. Where have you been, Riddv? — .Tas- 
ficr and I have knocked and called as loud and 
a- I'ln^ as we were able. W'hat were you doing, 
child r 

Bid. I was readinjr part of a play to Tag, anel 
we came as soon as v\e hearel you. 

Sir Sim. What play, Moppet ? 

Tat;. The (J!d Batchelor ; and we were just got 
to old Nykyn, as you kumked at the door. 

Sir Sim. I must have you burn your plays and 
romances, now you aie mine — they corrupt your 
innocence; and vvhat can yon learn from them.'' 

Bid. What you can't teach me, 1 am sure. 

Sir Sim. Fy, (y, child ! I never heard you talk 
at this rate before. I'm afraid, lag, you put 
these things into her head. 

Tag. I, sir! — I vow, sir Simon, she knows 
more tlian you can conceive. She surprises tiic, 



I assure you, thoui'h I have been married these 
two years, and lived with bachelors most part of 
ny life. 

Sir SiiH. Do you liear, .l.i>pei ? I'm all over in 
a sweat, IVay, miss, have you not had com- 
pany this alternoon r I saw a yoimg top go out 
of the house ils I was coming liithcr. 

Bid. You mi:dit have seen two, sir Simon, if 
voui eyes iiad been good. 

Sir Stm. Do yon hear, Jasper!^ Sure the 

cliilel IS possessed Pray, miss, what do thty 

want here ? 

Bid. Me, sir; they wanted me. 

Sir Sim. U hat did they want with you, I say? 

Bid. V\'hy, what do you want with me? 

Sir Sim. Do yon hear, Jasper ? — 1 am thunder- 

striuk ! — I can't believe my own ears Tell 

me the reason, I say, why 

Tag. I'll tell you the reason why, if you please, 
sir Snnon. Miss, vou know, is a very silly youn^ 
girl ; and, having found out H leaven knows how !^ 
that there is soii^e little dilferencc between sixty- 
live and twenty-five, she's ridicvdous enough to 
chuse the latier; when, if she'd take my ad- 
vice 

Sir Sim. You arc right, Tag; she would take 
me — eh ? 

Tui:. Yes, sir, as tlie only way to have both ; 
for, if she marries you, the other will follow of 
course. 

Sir Sim. Do you hear, .Tnsper ? 

Bid. 'lis very true, sir Simon : from knowing 
no better, 1 have set my heart upon a young 
man ; and a young one I'll have. There has been 
three here this afternoon. 

Sir Sim. Three, .Jasper ! 

Bid. And they have been quarrelling aboLt 
me, and one has beat tlie other two. Now, sir 
Simon, if you'll take up the conqueror, and kick 
him, as he has kicked the others, you shall have 
me lor your reward, and my fifteen thousand 
pounds into the bargain. W hat says my hero, 
eh ? [Sfaps him on the hack. 

Sir Sim. The world's at an end What's to 

be done, Jasper? 

Jas. Pack up, and be gone. Don't fight the 
match, sir. 

Sir Sim. Flesh and blood can't bear it — 
I'm all over agitation — Hugh, hugh ! — Am I 
cheated by a baby, a doli r Where's your aunt, 
vou young cockatrice ? — I'll let her know — she's a 
base we)man, anel you arc — 

Bid. You arc in a fine humour to show your 
valour. Tag, fetch the captain tliis minute, while 
sir Simon is warm, anel let him know he is wait- 
insT here to cut his throat. [Exit Tag.] I locked 
him up in my bed-chamber till you came. 

.SV; Sim. Here's an imp of darkness ! — What 
woidd I give, that my -^on Rob were he-re to 
thrjsh her spark, while I — ravished the rest of 
the family. 



Garricr.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



14l 



Jas. I believe we hail best retire, sir. 

Str Sim. No, no, I must see her bully first : 
and, do you hear, Jasper? if I put hiui in a passion, 
<io you knock him down. 

Jas. Pray, keep your temper, sir. 

Enter Captain Tag and Pl if. 

Capt. [Approachin<; angrily.'] What is the mcan- 

inii, sir — 'Ounds ! it is my father, Put!" ! what 

sliall I do ? \Addc. 

Puff. [Drazcing liim by t/iecout.] Kneel agam, 

sir. 

Sir S'm. I am enchanted ! [Starting. 

Cupt. There is no retreat ; I must slaiid it ! 
BU. What's all this ? 

Sir Sim. Your humble servant, captain Fire- 
ball. You are welcome from the wars, noble cap- 
tain — 1 did not think of beiiisj; knocked on the 
head, or cut up alive, by so fine a iientlcnian. 

Cupt. I am under such coufiisinn, sir, that I 
have not power to convince you <jf my innocence. 
Sir Sim. Innocence ! pretty lamb ! And so, sir, 
you have left the re!;;iment, and the honourable 
employment of fiiluins for your country, to come 
home and cut your failKi's tlu-oat.'' Why, you'll 
be a iireat man in time, ISob ! 
Bill. His father, lag ! 

Sir Sim. Come, come ! 'tis soon done — one 
stroke dofs it — or if you have any qualms, let 
your squire, there, perform the operation. 

Buff. Prav, sir, don't throw such temptations 
in my 'vay ! 

Cupt. Hold your impudent ton<;ue ! 
Sir Sim. Why don't you speak, Mr Modesty? 
what excuse have you for leav ing the army, I say? 
Capt. ]\Iy aifettion to this lady. 
Sir Sim. Your atfection, puppy ! 
Capt. Our love, sir, has tieen long and mutual. 
What acoi(knts have happened since nsy going 
abroad, and her leaving t!ie country, and how I 
have most unacc(juntably met you here, I am a 
sti anger to; but whatever appearances may be, J 
still am, anrl ever was, vour dutiful son. 
Bid. He talks like an angel. Tag ! 
Sir Sim. Dutiful, sirrah ! — have not you rival- 
led your father ? 

Capt. No, sir, you h.ive rivalled mc. i\Jy claim 
must be prior to yours. 

Bid. Indeed, sir Simon, he can show the best 
title to me. 

Jus. Sir, sir, the young gentleman speaks well; 
and as the fortune will not go out of the family, 
I should advise you to .!rop your resentment, be 
reconciled to your son, and relinquish the lady. 

Sir Sim. Av, ay. with all n)y heart — Look ye, 
son, i give you the girl ; she's too niucli for me, I 
confess ; — and, take my word, you'll catch a Tar- 
tar. 

Bid. I assure vou, sir Simon, I'm not the per- 
son you take me fur. If I have used you any 
svays 111, 'twas for your son's sake, who had my 



promise and inclinations before ynu: and though 
1 believe 1 should have nude you a most uiicom- 
fortabic wife, I'll be the best daughter to yon ia 
s.he world; and if you stand in ncei of a lady, 
my aunt is disengaged, and is the best nurse — ■ 

Sir Sun. Sn, no, I thank you, child ; yon have 
s ) turned inv stom^ich to marriage, I have no ap- 
petite left. LJut where is this aunt? Won't 

siie stop your proceedings, think you? 

T<ig. She's now at her lawyer's, sir; and if you 
please to go with the youna couple, and give your 
approbation, I'll answer for my old lady's con- 
sent. 

Bid. The captain and I, sir 

Sir Sim. Come, come, Bob, you are but an en- 
sign ; don't impose on the girl neither. 

Capt. 1 had the good fortune, sir, to please my 
royal general by my behaviour in a small action 
with the enemy, and he gave me a company.- 

Sir Sim. Bob, t wish you joy ! This is news in- 
deed ! And when we celebrate your wedding, 
son, ril drink a half-pint bumper myself to your 
benefactor. 

Capt. And he deserves it, sir. Such a general, 
by his example and justice, animates us to deeds 
of glory, and insures us conquest. 

Sir Sim. Kighi, my boy Come along, tlicn. 

[Going. 
Puff. Halt a little, gentlemen and ladies, if you 
please. Every body here seems well satisfied but 
myself. 
'Capt. What's the matter. Puff? 
Buff. Sir, as 1 would make myself worthy of 
such a master, and the name of a soldier, 1 can- 
not put up with the least injury to my honour. 
Sir Sim. Heyday ! what llourishes are these ? 
Buff. Here is the man ; come forth, caititf. — 
[To Jasper.] — He hath confessed this day, that 
in my absence he hath taken freedom with my 
lawful wife, and had dishonourable intentions 
against my bed ; for which I demand satifac- 
tioii. — 

Sir Sim. [Striking him.] What stuiT is here ! 
The fellow's brain's turned ! 

Buff. And cracked too, sir; but you are my 
master's father, and I submit. 

Capt. Come, come, I'll settle your punctili(^s, 
and will take cake c-n-e of you and Tag hereaf- 
ter, provided you drop all animosilies, and shake 
haniis this UKnnent. 

Buff. My revenge gives way to my interest; 
and I once again, jasper, take tliee to my bo- 
som. 

Jas. I'm your friend again, Puff — But, hark ye 
— I fear vou not; and if you'll lay aside your 
sfeel there, as far as a broken head or a black eye^ 
I'm at your service upon demand. 

Tag. You are very good at crowing, indeed, 
Slv Jasper ; but let me tell you, the fool, that is 
rogue enough to brag of a woman's favours, must 
be a duiijjhill every way. As for you, my 



142 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



dear hushand, shew your nvanhooH in a proper 
place, and you need no. fear tliesc !>lieef>-biters. 
Sir Sim. The abigail is pleasant, I cenfcss— he, 

he! 

Bui I'm afraid the town will be ill-natured 
ciioui;h to think I have been a little (Oquettish m 
my behaviour; but I hope, as I h.'sc been con- 
stant to the captain, I shall be excused diverting 
myself with pretenders. 



Ladies ! to fops and bracgarts ne'er be kind; 
No charms can warm them, aud no virtues 

bind: 
Each lover's merit bj his conduct prove ; 
Who fails in honour, will be false m love. 

[Exeunt. 



TASTE. 



FOOTB. 



DRAMATIS PERSON^:. 



MEN. 

Carmine,"^ 

Puir, > quacks in painting. 

Brisk, 3 

Lord d'upe, > ignorant pretenders. 



Alderman Pentweazel, a citi/ cult 
Caleb, a cub, his sort. 
Boy, servant to Carmine. 

WOMEN. 
Ladt Peutweazel, the alderman's spouse. 

Scene — A painting room. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. 



Enter CwiUia^, followed by the Boy. 

Car. Lay these colours in the window, by the 
pallet. Any visitors, or messages ? 

Boj/. 'Squire Felltree has been here, and insists 
upon Miss Racket's pictures being immediately 
finished and carried home — As to his wife and 
children, he says, you may take your own time. 

Car. Well— 

Boy. Here has been a messege too from my 

lady Pen 1 can't remember her name, but 'tis 

upon the slate. She desires to know if you will 
be at home about noon. 

Car. Fetcli it. [Exit Boy^ Was the whole of 
our profession confined to the mere business of 
it, the employment would be pleasing as well as 
profitable ; but, as matters are now managed, the 
art is the last thing to be regarded. Family con- 
nections, private recommendations, and an easy, 
genteel method of flattering, is to supply the de- 
licacy of a Guido, the colouring of a llubens, and 

the design of a Raphael all their qualities 

centering in one man, without the first requisite, 



would be useless; and, with these, not one of them 

is necessary. 

Enter Boy, with the slate. 

Car. Let's see Oh ! lady Pentweazel from 

Blow-bladder-street Admit her, by all means; 

and if Puff or Varnish should come, I am at 
home. [Exit Boy.^ Lady Pentweazel ! ha, ha ! 
Now, here's a proof, that avarice is not the only 
or last passion old age is subject to. This su- 
perannuated beldame gapes for flattery, like a nest 
of unfledged crows for food; and with them, too, 
gulps down evei-y thing that's offered her — no mat- 
ter how coarse. Well, she shall be fed ; I'll make 
her my introductory key to the whole bench of 
aldermen. 

Enter Boy with Puff. 

Bm/. Mr Puff, sir. 

Cur. Let us be private. What have you there .^ 
Puff. Two of Rembrandt's etching, by Scrape 
in May's Buildings: a paltry affair; a poor ten- 
guinea job; however a small game— -—you know 



144 



BHITISII DRAMA. 



fFoOTE. 



-\Vliat liccamc of )oii ytst 



tlif pri)\crl)— 
o:iy ' 

i'ltr. I was dclninid liy >ir Poiitive BuIiIjIc. 
lluw wrnt ilie | icciiros ? 1 l»c (juiilo, wliat <lid tli;it 
lit til? 

I'ujf. One hiiiiHicd and thirty. 

Ctir. llniii! I obrtjuim as tor the frame, tlint 
t'li painting ; tlicn, wc divide jii>)t one hundred 
mid 1^*1 iiiv-. luce. 

I'li/f'. Ilolil — not altogctlirr so fast \'ar- 

liisii jiad twn piece-, for hiildinj; against Sqiiaii- 
»]i r, and Bi u^h live for bringing sir Tavvdr\ 
'Jrillr. 

Car. Mi-ihrv well ! Look ye, Mr Piilf, i( 
tlic^c |)coplf; arc eternally qiariercd upon us, 1 
declaro otl, sir; tht-y eat up the profit. ThenV 
that d:inincd Brush — hut yon'il tind him out. I 
have, upon his old plan, aiven him copies of all 
the work I executed up>n his recommendation; 
ami what was the conscr|tiencc ? He ciaiulesrjne- 
)y sold the copies, and I have all the originals in 
my lumhcr-rooni. 

Pi'lj- Come, come, Carinine ; you arc no 
j;reat loser hy that. Ah ! that hmibcr-room ! 
that Imnher-room out of rc|)air, is the hest conrli- 
lioned estate in the county of Middlesex. V\ hy, 
now, there's your Susannah, it c )uld not have 
jiroduced you above twenty at most ; and, by the 
addition of your hunher-room, dirt, and the salu- 
tary ajjplication of the aspaltham-pot, it became 
a (.Tuido, worth a hundred atid thirty (lounds. — 
Besides, in all tratiic of this kind, there must he 
combinations. Varnish and Brush are our jack- 
als, and it is but fair they should partake of the 
prey. Conra<:e, my boy ! never fear. Praise be 
to folly and fashion, there arc in this town dupes 
enough to cratity tiic avarice of us all. 

Cm: 3Ir Putf, you arc i'jnorant, and scurrilous, 
and very impertinent, Mr Putf; and Mr PutT, I 
have a stran<;e mind to leave you to yourselves, 
and then see what a hand you would make of it. 
Sir, if I do now and then add some tints of an- 
tiquity to my pictures, I do it in condescension to 
the foible of the world; for, sir, ai;e, aiic, sir, 
is all my pictures want to render them as good 
pieces as the masters from wIkjih they arc taken ; 
and let rae tell you, sir, he that took my Susan- 
nah for a Guido, s;ave no mighty proofs of his 
ignorance, ilr Puil'. 

Piilj. Why, thou post-paiiitcr, ihou dauber, 
thou execrable while-washer, thou — liavc you so 
feoun forgot the wretclied state from whence I 
ih:»ct;cd v(JU ? The first time I set eyes on you, 
what was your occuptition, then? Scribbling, in 
s'-arcc leirihic letters, CotVee, tea, and chocko- 
iate, on a bavvdv-hjusc window in Goodman's- 
iields. 

Car. The meanness of my original demon- 
strates the {;reatuess of my jienius, 

PutY. (jcniub ! Here is a dou; I Pray, how 
)iiji did your genius soar? To lh<; daubing dia- 
bolical an^zels for ale-houses, dogs with chains for 



tanners' yanU, rounds of beef and roasted pigs 
tor Porndi^e isl.ind. 

('(/;. ILmnih.d Scratchi did the same. 

I'litf. Iroiii ihiii contemptible state did not I 
rai-e you to the Cat and I'lildi*' ni Petticoat-lane; ' 
the ( Jo )se and (Midiri>M in l'aul'.5 Churdi-vard; 
tin- liist the things y6u ever drew, do-j ? 

Cur. Pox take your memory ! Well, but, 'Mr 
PuiV — voii are so 

/"/(//! Nor d:d i quit you, then : Who, sirrah, 
recommendid you to I'rim StitVthe merer r upon 
Ludgatc-hill ; how came you to draw the queen 
there? [LoMf/ kiinchs at the door. 

Cur. Mr PutT, for lleaien's sake! Dear sir, 
you are so warm, we shall be blown • 

Enter Boy. 

Boi/. Sir, iny ladv Pen 

Cur. ^end her to the — Show her up stairs. 
Dear PutV 

I'uJ)'- Oil, sir ! I can be calm ; I only wanted 
to let you see 1 had not forgot, though, perhaps, 
yon may. 

Car. Sir, you are very obliging. Well, but_ 
now, as all is over, if you will retreat a small 
time — Lady Pentweazel sits for her picture, and 
she's 

J^iif't'. I have some business at next door ; I 
suppose in half an hour's time 

Cur. I shall be at leisure. Dear Puff 

Piiff. Dear Carmine [Erit Pvrr. 

Cur. Son of a whore ! Boy, show tlie lady up 
itairs. 

Enter Lady Pextweazel. 

Ladi/ Pent, line pieces ! very likely pieces ! 
And, indeed, all alike. Hum ! Ladv Piissoek — 
and, ha, ha, ha ! Lady Glunistead, by all that's 

ugly Pray, now, Mr Carmine, how do you 

linmcrs contrive to overlook the ugliness, and 
yet preserve the likeness? 

Cur. Ihe art, madam, may be conveyed in 
two words : where nature has been severe, wc 
soften ; w here she lias been kind, we aggra- 
vate. 

Ludi/ Pent. Very ingenus, and very kind, tru- 
Iv. W ell, good sir, 1 b''''\§ }'<^u » subject that 
will demand the whole of the first part of 
your skill; and, if you are at leisure, you may 
begin directly. 

Cur Your ladyship is here a little ungrateful 
to nature, and cruel to yourself; even lady Pent- 
weazel's enemies Cif such there he) must allow 
that she is a fine woman. 

Lad'/ Pent. Oh, your servant, good .sir! Why, 
I Ikuc had mv dav, Mr Carmine; I have had my 

Cur. And ha\e still, madam. The only dilTcr- 
enrc I shall make belv%ecn what yon were, and 
what vou are, will be no more than what KuViens 
has distingui-hcd between Mary de ilcdicis, a 
\irj:iii, and a regent. 



FoOTE.] 



BRITISH DKAMA. 



14^ 



Lady Pent. Mr Carmine, I vow yr>\i arc a 
very judicious person ; 1 was aiways said to tic 
like that family. Wiien my piece was tir»l diiii , 
the limner did me after Venus do Medic;is, 
which, I suppose, mis;ht 1)0 one of Mary's sis- 
ters: but thinn;s must change ; to be sittinj; 
for my picture at this time of day — ha, ha, ha ! 
But my daughter, Sukey, you must know, is just 
married to Air Deputy l)rif)piue:, of Candle- 
wick-ward, and would not be said nay ; so it is 
not so much for the beautv, as the similitude. — 
Ha, ha, ha ! 

Cur. True, madam : lia, ha, ha ! Rut if I hit 
the likeness, I must preserve the beauty. Will 
your ladyship be seated ? [She sits. 

Ladt/ Feat. I have heard, good sir, that every 
body has a more brttererand more worserer side 
of the face than the other — now, which will you 
choose ? 

Car. The right-side, madam — the left — now, 
if you please, the full Your ladyship's coun- 
tenance is so exactly proportioned, that 1 must 
have it all ; no feature can he spared. 

Ladj/ Pent. VVIien you come to the eyes, Mr 
Carmine, let me know, that I may call up a 
look. 

Cur. Mighty well, madam ! your face a little 
nearer to tlie left, nearer me — your head more 
up — sh.oulders back — and chest forward. 

Lady Pent. Bless me, Mr Carmine, d(m't 
mind my shape this bout; for I am only in 
jumps. Shall I sen<l for my tabbies.? 

Cur. Xo, madam, we'll supply that for the 
present — Your ladyship was just now mentioning 
a daughter — Is she — your face a little more to- 
wards me — Is she the sole inheritor of her mo- 
ther's beauty ? Or — have you 

Lady Pent. That.? ha, ha, ha! Why, that is 
my youngest of all, except Caleb. I have had, 
Mr Carmine, live-born and christened — stay — 
don't let me lie now — One — two — three — four — 

five In short, I have had twenty as fine babes 

as ever trode in shoe of leather. 

Car. Upon tny word, madam, your ladyship is 
an admirable member of the commonwealth; — 
'tis a thousand pities that, like the Romans, we 
have not some honours to reward such distin- 
guished merit. 

Lady Pent. Ay, ay, Mr Carmine, if breeding 
amongst Christians was as much encouraged as 
amongst dogs and horses, we need not be ma- 
king laws to let in a parcel of outlandish locusts 
to eat us all up. 

Cur. I am told, madam, that a bill for some 
such purpose is about to pass. Now, madam, I 
am come to the eyes — Oh, that look, that, that 
I must despair of imitating ! 

Lady Pent. Oh, oh, good sir ! Have you found 
out that .? Why, all mv family by the mother's 
side were famous for their eyes : I have a great 
aunt among the beauties at Windsor ; she has a 
sister at Hampton-court, a pcrdigious fine vvo- 

VOL. III. 



man — she had but one eye, indeed, but that was 
a piercer; that one <;ye got her tlirce husbands — 
we were called thn giinlet-eycd family. Oh, Mr 
Carmine, you need not mind these heats in my 
face ; thev always discharge themselves about 
Christmas — my true carnation is not seen in my 
countenance. That's carnation ! Here's your 
Hcsh and blood. 

\^Sheu''tng her arm. 

Car. Delicate, indeed ! finely turned, and of a 
charming colour !. 

Lady Pent. And yet it has been employed 
enough to spoil the best hand and arm in thg 

world Even before marria'je ne\cr idle. 

none of your galloping, gossipini:, Ranehn'ij 
romps, like the forward minxes of the presen j. 
age. I was always employed either in painting 
your lamskips, playing upon the haspicols, ma- 
king paste, or something or other — All our fami- 
ly had a geno; and then I sung I Every body 
said I had a monstrous fine voice for music. 

Car. That may be discerned by your lady- 
ship's tones in conversation. 

Lady Pent. Tones ! You are right, Mr CAr- 
miiie ; that was Mr Purcell's woi-d. Miss M illy 
Griskin, says he (my maiden name), you have 
tones. 

Car. As your ladyship has preserved every 
thing else so well, I dare swear you have not 
lost your voice. Will you favour me with an 
air? 

Lady Pent. Oh, sir ! you are so polite, that 

it's impossible But I have none of your new 

play-house songs 1 can give you one that was 

made on myself by Laurence Lutestring, a neigh- 
bour's son. 

Car. What you please, madatru 

Lady Pent. [Sings.\ 

As I was walking by the side of a river, 
I met a young damsel so charming and clever j 
Her voice to please it could not fail, 
She sung like any nightingale, 
Fal, de, rol ! hugh, hugh, &c. 

Bless me ! I have such a cough ; but there are 
tones. 

Car. Inimitable ones. 

Lady Pent. But, Mr Carmine, you limners are 
all ingenus men — you sing? 

Car. A ballad, or so, madam ; music is a sis- 
ter art; and it would be a httle unnatural not to 
cultivate an acquaintance there. 

Lady Pent. Why, truly, we ought not to be a- 
shamed of our relations, unless they are poor; — 
and then, you know 

Enter Boy. 

Boy. Alderman Pentweazel, and Mr Putf. 

Lady Pent. Oh, he was to call upon me ; we 
CO to the auction. Desire him to walk up — Mr 
Pentwearel, you must know, went this morning 

T 



U6 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



t.) meet Calcli, my vounccst boy, at the Bull and 
(Jatc. Tlic cliiUI lias Uecn t«o vcars ami lliree 
<|ii;irtii->i at •■cIiodI, \\itli Hr Jerk, near Doncas- 
t« 1, and tonus ti)-ilav l)y the York wafi^coii : foi- 
it i»;is nl^^av^ lu en mv niaxnni, Mr (.'arnnne, ti' 
^•ivr niv children learnini; enough; for, iis the old 
saviiiii i>, 

W hen house and land are ;:')ne and spent. 
Then learning is most excellent. 

Cur. Your ladvship is quite rii;lit. Too niurli 
inoney cannot be employed in so material an ar- 
ticle. ' 

ImUi/ Pent. Nay, the cost is but small ; but 
poor ten poimds a-year, for head, bai k, hooks, 
lit (I, and btllv; and they say the chnilren are 
all woiidertul Latiners, and couic up — lack-a- 
dav ! thty come up as fat as pitis. Oh ! here 

lltev are odds iiic ! he's a thumper. You 

see, Mr Carmine, 1 breed no star\elin<:s — Come 
liilher, child. Mind your haviours. Where's 
your best how ? Jiirn out your tties. One woultl 
think he had Irarnt to dance of his father. I am 
Siure mv taniily were none so awkward. There 
was mv brother (icoifrc, a perfect picture of a 
man : he darned, hid ! I5ut come, ail in good 
time — Hold up thy head, Caleb. 

yllU. Prithee, sweet honey, let the child a- 
lone. Mis master says he comes on wondt rful 
in his Icarniiii: ; and, as to your btjws and your 
coniiees, never fear, he'll learn them fast enough 
at home. 

l.adi/ Pent. Lack-a-day ! Well said — we now 
— it he does, I know who must teach him. \\ ell, 
child, aiul dost remember me ? lley ? W ho am 
1.? 

Caleb. A nan ? 

L(iJi/ Pent. Dost know me ? 

Caleb. Yes ; you be mother. 

Ladi/ Pent. Nay, the boy had always a good 
memory. And what liast learnt, Caleb, hey .' 

Caleb. I be got into /Esop's Fables, and can 
say all As in present i by heart. 

Ladi/ Pent. Upon my word — that's more than 
ever thy father coultl. 

Aid. Nay, nay, no time has been lost; I ques- 
tioned the lad as we came along; I asked him 
himself 

Lddi/ Pent. Well, well ; speak when you are 
spoken to, Mr Aldciman. Ilcnv often must I — 
Well, Caleb, and hadst a good deal of company 
in the waggon, boy.' 

Caleb. U la ! Powers of companv, mother. — 
There was lord Gorman's fat ctjok, a blackamorc 
drumming-man, two actor people, a recruiting 
Serjeant, a monkey and I. 

Laai/ Pent. Upon my word, a pretty parcel ! 

Caleb. Yes, iiuJecd ; but the the fat cook 

got drunk at Coventry, and so fell out at the tail 
of the waggon ; so wt; left she behind. The next 
daytheserjeautran away with the showman's wife; 



the t'other two went after ; so only the monkey 
ami I came tt) town together. 

Car. Upon my wi>rd, the young gentleman 
gi\cs a good account of his travels I 

J.adi/ Pent. Ay, ay, Mr Carmine, he's all over 
the blood of the (iriskins. 1 warrant the chil^ 
"ill make his way. Co, Caleb, go and look at 
them pretty paintings — Now, Mr Carmine, let 
us sec if my goodman can hnd me out. 

Aid. Lack-a-day! Well, I profess they are all 
so handsome, that I am puzzled to know which is 
thine, chuck. 

PnJ/'. 1 am surpri/t (I at your want of discern- 
ment, Mr Alderman; but the pt)ssession of a 
jewel destroys its \alue «ith the wearer: now, to 
me, it seems impossible to err; and though Mr 
( armiiie is generally siictessful, in this instance 
he is particularly happv. Where can you meet 
with that mixture of fire and softness, but in the 
eyes of lady Pentweazel ? 

Ladi/ Pent. Oh, sir ! 

Pnf'/'. That clearness and delicacy of complex- 
ion, with that (low of ruddiness and health.' 

Ladi/ Pent. Sir ! Sir ! Sir ! 

Pi'jy. That fall of shoulders, turn of neck, set- 
on head, full chest, taper waist, plump 

Ladi/ Pent. Spare me, sweet sir ! You see, Mr 
Pentweazel, other people can iind out my charms, 
though you overlook them — Well, I profess, sir, 
you are a gentleman of great discernment : and, 
if business should bring you into the city — for, 
alas ! what pleasure can bring a man of your re- 
fined taste there ? 

Puff. Oh, madam ! 

Ladi/ Pent. I say, sir, if such an accident 
should happen, and Blow bladder-street has any 
charms — 

Pnfj: Oh ! Madam ! iMadam ! Madam ! Ma- 
dam ! 

Ladj/ Pent. It is not impossible but we may 
receive you, thuueh not equal to your merit^rr- 

Pnjy' Madam ! 

Lailt/ Pent. Yet in such a manner as to shovy 
our sense of them. Sir, I'm your very obedi- 
eJit. 

Puff. Your ladyship's most 

LmiIi/ Pent. Not a step. 

Puff. Madam 

Ladi/ Pent. Sir — Mr Alderman, your bow to 
the gentleman. The very finest——^ 

Puff. Madam! 

Laili/ Pent. Sir, your most obedient. 

Pi'fJ'. Your devoted. 

[Exeunt Aid. and Wife. 

Car. Ha, ha! Well said, PutY! What a cala- 
mity hast thou drawn upon the knight ! Thou 
hast so tickled the vanity of the harradan, that 
the poor helpmate will experience a double por- 
tion of her contempt. 

Pujf. Hot them ! But to our business. The 
auction is about beginning; and I have promised 



FoOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



147 



to meet Mr Dftvid Dusledorpe, sir Positive BuIh 
ble, aud lord Dupe, to examine the pictures, and 
fix on those tor wliich tlicy are to bid — hnt sinc-e, 
we have settled tlic Ciernian phin ; so Varnish or 
Brush must attend tlieni. 

Car. Oil ! By all means pursne that. You 
have no conception how dear the foreiirn accent 
is to your true virtuoso ; it announces taste^ 
knowledge, veracity, and in short every thing — 
But can you enough disj^juise the turn of your 
face, and tone of your voice? A discovery of Mr 
Putf, in Mynheer Groningcn, blasts us at once. 

Pftfj'- Never fear me. I wish you may have 
equal success in the part of Canto. 

Car. Pho ! Mine's a tnfle. A man must have 
very slender abilities indeed, who can't, for ten 
ininiites, imitate a language and deportment that 
he has been witness to for ten years. 

Puff. But you must get their tones, tlu.ir 
tones; 'tis easy enough. Come, hand up here 
that there Corregio ; an inimicabie piece, gentle- 
men and ladies: the very best work of the best 
master ; subject agreeable, highly finished, and 
well preserved; a seat for the ladies; hand it to 
sir Positive; a-going for fifty : speak, or it is go- 
ing for fifty; joy to your ladyship : come, the 
next. But remember, let your bob be bushy, 
and your bow low. 



Car. Enough, enough; we arc strangers to 
each f)ther, vou know. 

PxjT. Absolute. Oh ! but what pictures of 
yours are in the sale ? 

Car. '['here's my holy family, by Raphael ; the 
marria'ieinCana, by Keuhen Rouge ; Tom Jack- 
son's 'I'eniers ; and for busts, Taylor's head with- 
out a nose from llerculaneum. 

Puty. Are the antique seals come home? 

Car. No ; but they will be finished Ly next 
week. 

Pt'fT. You must take care of Xovice's collec- 
tion of medals — he'll want them l)y the end of 
the month. 

Car. The coins of the first emperors are now 
steeping in copperas; and I have anOtho, a 
Call)a, a Nero, and two Domitians, reeking fncu 
the dunghill. The rest we can have from l)r 
Mummy ; a never-failing chap, you know. 

Puff. Adieu ! " [Erit. 

Car. Yours, sir — a troublesome fellow-, this — ■ 
confounded memory — useful, though — rounds of 
beef and roasted pigs ! — Must get rid of him — 
ay; but when? Why, when — when I have gain- 
ed my point. But how, how then ? Oh, then it 
does not signify twopence. \_Exit. 



ACT 11. 



SCENE I. — Auction room. 

Enter Puff, as Moxsievr Baron de Groxix- 
GEX, Carmine as Canto, and Brush. 

Car. Come, bustle, bustle. Brush, you intro- 
duce Puff. Puff, how are yon in your German ? 

Puff. I canno speak for Englandt, but I can 
mak understand very mightily. Will that do ? 

Brush. To a hair. Remember you are come 
liither to purchase pictures for the elector of Ba- 
varia. Carmine, you must clap lord Dupe's coat 
of arms on that half-length of Erasmus. I have 
sold it him as his great-grandfather's third bro- 
ther for fifty guineas. 

Car. It shall be done — Be it my province to 
establish the baron's reputation as a connoisseur. 
Brush has seen you abroad at the court of the 
reigning prince of Blantin. 

Puff Yes; I was do business mightily for 
prince Blantin, 

Brus/i. Your portraits go first. Carmine. No- 
vice, sir Positive Bubble, .Tack Squander, lord 
Dupe, and iEordecai Lazarus the Jew-broker, 
have appointed me to examine with them the 
history-pieces. Which are most likely to slick ? 

Car. Here's a list. 

Brush. Hush ! iiide the Erasmus; I hear the 
company on the stairs. 

\_Exit Cahmine. And re-enters anon. 



Eater Lord Dtpe, Bubble, S'Juander, SjC. 

Lord Dupe. Mr Brush, I am your devoted ser- 
vant. You have procured my ancestor? 

Brush. It is in my possession, my lord ; and I 
have the honour to assure your lordship that t!ie 
family features are very discf-rnible ; and, allow- 
ing for the difference of dress, there's a strong 
likeness between you and y(Hir pix'decessor. 

Lord Dupe. Sir, you have obliged me. All 
these you have marked in the catalogue arc ori- 
ginals ? 

Brash. Undoubted. But, my lord, you need 
not depend solelv on my judgment: here's Myn- 
heer Baron de Grouingen, who is come hither to 
survey, and purchase for the elector of Bavaria ; 
an indisputable connoisseur : liis bidding will be 
a direction for your lordsliip. Tis a thousand 
pities that anv of these masters should quit Eng- 
land. They were ct)ndiicted hither at an i;ii- 
mense expence ; aad if they now leave us, what 
will it be but a pul'iic declaration, that all taste 
and liberal knowledge is vanished from amongst 
us ? 

Lord Dupe. Sir, leave the support of the na- 
tional credit to my care. Could you introduce 
me to Mynheer? Does he speak En<j;lisli? 

Brush. Not fluently; but so as to be understood. 

]\Ivnheer, lord Dupe the patron of arts, the 

Petronius for caste, and for well-timed generosity 



148 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Fooie. 



the Leo — ami tlie Mxcen:is of the present age, 
dc^irt•^ to know vou. 

Piif}' Sir, VKU Imnour mc \crv miijhtilv. I was 
hoar of lord Dupts in lli)ll;indt. I was tell hi- 
was one «lc!atant, one c uncuse, one prii ieusc of 
his <oinitrv. 

Liirti Dupe. The Dutili are an obliging, cixi- 
lizecl, well-bred kind of |.coplc. But prav, sir. 
what occasions us the honour of a visit from 
you ? 

Puf'l'. I was conic to bid for paints for do elec- 
tor of B-.n aria. 

Loul Diijic. Are there any here that deserve 
your attention ? 

I'utt'. (>, dure arc good pieces ; but dare is 
one 1 likes nii;j:htily ; de olF-sky, and home track 
is fine , and di- maisler is in it. 

Lord Dupe. What is the subject? 

Pujf. Dat I know not ; vat [ minds, vat you 
call de draws and de colours. 

Lurd Ditjc. Mr Canto, what is the subject? 

Cor. It is, my lord, St Anthony of Padua ex- 
orcisint; tiie devil out of a ram-cat : it has a com- 
panion somewhere — oh, here ! which is the same 
saint in a wilderness, readinj; his breviary by the 
light of a Llovv-Wi.rm. 

Brush. Invaluable pictures both ! And wiii 
matcii y.ur iordsliij/s correfjio in the saloon. 

Loi.'l Dupe. I'll have them. What pictures 
are those, .Mr Canto? 

Car. Tiiey a e not in the sale ; but I fancy 1 
could procure tlicni for your lordship. 

Lord Dupe. Fhis I presume, iniiihr have been 
a landskip; but the water, and the men. and the 
trees, and the doL's, and the ducks, and the pigs, 
they are all obliterated, all trone. 

Brush. An indisputable mark of its aiitiquitv; 
its very merit ; besides, a little varnish will fetch 
the figiures again. 

Lord Dupe. Set it down for me The next. 

Cur. 'I hat is a Moses in the bulrushes. Ihe 
blended joy and grief in the figure of the sister 
in the corner, the distress and anxiety of the 
mother here, and the beauty and benevolence of 
Pharaoh's daughter, are circumstances happily im- 
agined, and boldly expressed. 

Brush. Lack-a-day ! 'tis but a modern per- 
formance ; the master is alive, and an Euglish- 
inan. 

Lord Dupe. Oh, then I would not give it 
house room. 

Puff. Here is a pretty piece I find stick up 
herein de corner : I was see in Hoilandt, at 
Loo, apiece miiihty like; there was little mices, 
that was nibble, nibble, nibble, upon vat you 
call frumage, and little shurels all vit brush taiN 
ran up de trees ; and there was great thincs vat 
vou call — pslia, that have long hearts, and crv 
Ba. . > . 

Brush. What! goats? 

J^ufJ. .Ay, dat was de name. 

Lord Dujie. I siiould thiuk, by the cheese and 



fhcL'oats, Mynheer, yours was a Welsh piece, in- 
-tead of a btittli. 

I'uJ'. A\i, 'twas good piece. I wish to my 
heart lord Dupes was have that piece. 

Enter Novice. 

Nor. Where's Mr brush ? My dear Brush, am 
I too late ? 

Brn-sh. In pretty cood time. 

A<»7'. Mav 1 lo>e my Otlio, or be tumbled 
from my phaeton the first time In hup mv sor- 
rel.-, if I havt: not made more haste than a 
young surgeon to his first lalxiur ! But the lots, 
the lots, my dear Ikiish, what are they? I'm 
upon the ra( k of impatience till i see them, and 
in a fever of desire till I possess them. 

Bruah. Mr Canto, the gentleman would be 
giatl to see the busts, medals, and precious relics, 
of Greece and ancient Home. 

Cur. Perhaps, sir, we may show him some- 
thing of greater antiquity — Bring them forward 

The first lot consists of a hand without an 

arm, the first joint of the forefinger gone, sup- 
posed to be a limb of the Apollo Delphos 

Ihe second half a f(x>t, with the toes entire, of 

the Jiini) Luciua Ihe third, the Caduceiis of 

the Meicurius Infernalis 1 he fourth, the 

half of a leg of the infant Hercules All 

indisputable antiques, and of the Memphian 
marble. 

Puff. Let me see Juno's half-foot. All the 
toes entire ? 

Cur. All. 

Puff. Hcje is a little swell by this toe, dat 
looks bad proportion. 

A' I. (lev, hey ! 

Puff What's dat? 

Cur. That! Pshu ! that! Why, that's only a 
corn. 

All. Oh ! 

Puff Corn ! dat was extreme natural ; dat ia 
fine ; de maister is in it. 

All. \e\y fine; invaluable! 

Pi{ff. Where is de Ilercides' calf? Upon my 
word 'tis a very large calf; big, big, big, all de 
way up, all de way down. 

I^rd Dupe. I believe this Hercules was an 
Irishman. 

Nov. But where are your busts ? Here, here, 
geiiilemen, here's a curiosity ! a medal of 
Oriiina ; got for nie by doctor Mummy ; the only 
one in the visible world; there may be some 
under ground. 

Lord Dupe. Fine indeed ! Will you permit 
me to taste it ! It has the relish. [All tuste. 

Nov. The relish ! Zouks, it cost me a hundred 
guineas. 

J'uff. By gar, it is a dear bit, though. 

Nov So you may tliink ; but three times the 
money should not purchase it. 

J^ord Dupe. Pray, sir, whose bust is it that 
dignifies this coiu ? 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



149 



Nov The empress Oriuna, my lord. 
Lord Dupe And who, sir, inis;ht she be ? I 
don't recollect to iiave heard of the lady be- 
fore. 

Nov. She, my lord ? Oh, she was a kind of 
what-d'ye-call-em — a sort of a queen, or wife, or 
sonu'thins; or other to somebody that lived a 
damned while ago — Mummv told me the whole 
story ; but, before gad, I've for^^ot it. But come, 
the busts. 

Car. Brin» forward the head from Ilcrculanc- 
um. Now, gentlemen, here is a jewel. 
AU. Ay, ay, let's see. 
Cur. 'Tis not entire, though. 
Nov. So much the better. 
Car. Right, sir — the very mutilations of this 
piece are worth all the most perfect performan- 
ces of modern artists. — Now, gentlemen, here's a 
touchstone for your taste ! 
All. Great ! great indeed ! 
AW. (}reat ! am.izing I divine ! Oh, let me 
embrace the dear dismembered bust ! A little 
farther otF. I'm ravished ! I'm transported ! 
What an attitude ! But then the locks ! How I 
adore the simplicity of the ancients ! How un- 
like the present, piggish, crop-eared puppets ! 
How gracefully they fall all adown the cheek ! 

so decent and so grave, and Who the devil 

do you think it is, Brush .'' Is it a man, or a wo- 
man ? 

Car. The connoisseurs differ. Some will have 
it to be the Jupiter Touans of Phidias, and others 
tlie X'enus of Paphos from Praxiteles : but I 
don't think it tierce enough for the first, nor 
handsome enough for the last. 
Nov. Yes, handsome enough. 
All. Very handsome; handsome enough. 
Car. Not quite — therefore I am inclined to 
join with Signor Julio de PanipediUo, who, in a 
treatise dedicated to the king of the two Sicilies, 
calls it the Serapis of the Egyptians; and sup- 
poses it to have been fabricated about eleven 
hundred and three years before the Mosaic ac- 
count of the creation. 

No7\ Prodigious ! and I dare swear true. 
All. Oh ! true, very true. 
PiiJX- Upon my honour, 'tis a very fine bust ; 
but where is de nose ? 

Nov. T!ie nose ; what care I for the nose ? 
Where is de nose? Why, sir, if it had a nose, 1 
would not tive sixpence for it — How the devil 
should we distinguish the works of the ancients, 
if they were perfect ? — The nose indeed ! \\'hv, 
1 don't suppose now, but, barring the nose, Rou- 

biliac could cut as good a head every whit 

Brush, who is this man with his nose ? The fcl- 
low should know something of something too, for 
he speaks broken English. 

Brush. It is Mynheer Groningen, a great con- 
nois'-eur in painting. 

Nov. Th:it may lie; but as to sculpture, I am 
iu3 verv humble servant. A man must know 



damned little of statuary, that dislikes a bust for 
want of a nose. 

Car. Bight, sir — The nose itself, without the 
head, nay, in another's possession, would be an 

estate But here are behind, irentlemen and 

ladies, an equestrian statue of Marcus .Aureiius 
without the horse, and a complete statue of the 
em|K^ror Trajan, with only the head and legs 
missing; both from Herculaneum — This way, 
eeutlemen and ladies. 

Enter L.\DY Pentweazel, Aldekman, and 
Caleb. 

Lady Pent. Now, Mr Pentwea/el, let us have 
none of your Blowbladder breeding. Remember 
y(ni are at the c(jurt-end of the town. This is a 
(|uality-auction. 

Aid. Where of course nothing is sold that is 
useful — 1 am tutored, sweet honey. 

■L<idy Pent. Caleb, keep behind, and don't be 
meddling. Sir [!/'o Brush. 

Brush. Your pleasure, madam ? 

Ladi/ Pent, [should be glad you would inform 
me if there are any lots of very fine old china. I 
find the quality are grown infinitely fond of it; and 
I am willing to show the world that we in the 
city have taste. 

Brush. Tis a laudable resolution, madam ; 
and 1 oare say, Mr Canto can supply — Bless'me ! 
what's that? [Caleb throus doun a china-dish. 

Ludy Pent. That boy, I suppose ! Well, if the 
mischievous brat has not broke a — and hjok how 
he stands ! — Sirrah, sirrah, did I not bid you not 
meddle — Leave sucking your thumbs. What, I 
suppose you learnt that trick of your friend the 
monkey in the waggon } 

Caleb. Indeed I did not go to do it, mother. 

Aid. Prithee, sweet honey, don't be so passion- 
ate. VV hat's done can't be undone. The loss is 
not great ; come, come. 

Brush. Mr Alderman is in the right. The af- 
fair is a trifle; but a twenty guinea job. 

Lady Pent. Twenty guineas ! You should 
have twenty of my teeth as 

Car. Yon mean if you had them Your 

ladyship does not know the value of that piece of 
china. It is the right old Japan of the pea-greea 
kind. Lady Mandarin ottered me, if I could 
match it, fourscore guineas for the jjair. 

Lord Dupe. A fine piece, indeed ! 

Put'f. Tis ver fine ! 

Caleb. Indeed, father, I did not break it 

'Twas cracked in the middle, and so fell a-tw» 
in my hand. 

Ludy Pent. What ! was it cracked.' 

Caleb. Yes, indeed, mother. 

Ludy Pent, riierc, gentlemen ! 

Lord Dupe. Madam, I would willingly set you 
right in tins affair : you don't seem acquainted 
uith these kind of things; therefore, 1 have the 
honour to tell you, that the crack in the middle 
is ji mark of its antiquity, and enhances its value;. 



150 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



and tlicse gentlemen arc, I dare say, of the same 
opinion. 

All. Oh. entirely. 

LM(lif I'ent. You are all of a gang, I think. A 
broken piece of china licttcr than a wlioU; une ! 

ImkI Dupt. Madaai, I never (libjjute with a 
lady; but this yicniicnian has uistc ; lie is a f'j- 
rciiincr, ami ^<» can't be thuui;ht prejudiccil ; re- 
fer it to hiu) : the day growb late, and I want the 
auction to bcjin. 

AUI. .Sv\ret honev, leave it to the gentleman. 

Ludti Pint. W ell, sir. 

PuJJ. IMadani, I love to serve de lady. Tis a 
ver fine piece of china. I was sec snrh another 
piece sell at Amsterdam for a hundred ducati — 
ris ver well worth twenty puinea. 

Cahli. Mother! — father! never stir if that 
gentleman bcn't the same that we sec'd at the 
paintini^-Mum's, that was so ci\il to mother; only 
lie has {;ot a black wig on, and s})eakb outlandish. 
I'll be far-enoui:h if it en't a May-game ! 

Ludi/ Pint. I ley! let me die but the bov's in 
the right. My dear, as I'm alive, Mr PuiVJ that 
ve saw at the linnicr's. I told yon he was a 
more cleverer man than I ever saw. Caleb is 
right ; some matter of merriment, I warrant. 

Puff. I wish it was. [Aside] I no understand. 

Car. So, Mr Puff, you are caught. [Aside. 

Lord Dupe. This is a most unfortunate old 

lady Madam, you are here under another 

mistake. This is ^Mynheer Baron de 



Lady Pent. Mynheer Figs-end. Can't I be- 
lieve my own eyes? What! do you thnik be- 
cause we live in the city we can't see .? 

Aor. Fire me. my lord, tliere may be more in 
this than we can guess. Its worth examining 
into. Come, sir, if you are Mynheer, who the 
de\il knows you } 

Puff. I was know Mr Canto mightily. 

JSyi7. Mr Canto, do you know this baron ? 

Car. I see the dog will be detected, and now 
is my time to be even with him for his rounds of 
beef and roasting pigs. [Aside.] I can't say I ever 
saw the gentleman before. 

Ifov. Oh, oh ! 

Lord Dupe. The fellow is an impostor ; a pal- 
pable cheat. Sir, I think you came from the 
Rhine — pray, how should you like walking into 
the Thames ? 

Nov. Or what think you, my lord : The rascal 
complained but now that the bust wanted a nose 
— suppose we were to supply the deficiency with 
his ? 

Lord Dupe. But justice, Mr Novice. 

Car. Great rascal, indeed, gentlemen ! — If 
rogues of this stamp get once a footing in these 
assemblies, adieu to all moral honesty. I think 
an example shoidd be made of him — But, were 
I to advise, he is a propercr subject for the rab- 
ble to handle than tlie jjresent company. 

Al/. Away witii hiin ! 
• Puff. Hands off If I must suffer, it shall 



not be singly. Here is the obsequious Mr Brush, 
and the very courtly Mr Canto, shall be the part- 
ners of my distress. Know, then, we are all 
ro-ues, if the taking ad\antai;e of the absurdities 
and follies of mankind can be called roguery. 
I own I have been a cheat, and I glory in it. 
Hut what point will you virtuosi, you conncjis- 
seurs, gain by the detection? Will not the pub- 
lishiui: of our crimes trumpet forth your folly? 

jAinl Di'fie. Mat<hless impudence ! 

Pulf My noble lord here, the dilletanti, the 
curieu, the prccieu of this nation ! what in.'initc 
glory will he acquire from this story, that the 
l.eo, the Miecenas, the Fetromus, notwithstand- 
ing his exquisite taste, has been drawn in to pur- 
chase, at an immense expencc, a cart-load of — 
rul)l)ish ! 

Lord Dupe. Gentlemen and ladies — I have 
the honour to take my leave. 

Puff. Your lordship's most obedient — When 
shall 1 scud you your Corregio, your St Anthony 
of Padua, your Ram Cat, my cood lord? 

Lord Viijie. Rascal! [Exit Loud Dvfe. 

Nov. Ihis won't do, sir — Thouiih my lord has 
not spirit enough, damn me if I quit you ! 

Puff. What, my sprightly squire ! Pray favour 
me with a sisht of your Oriuna — It has t'le re- 
lish ; an indisputable antique ; being a Biistol 
farthing, coined by a soap-boiler to pay his jour- 
neymen in the scarcity of cash, and pnrclia=ed 
for twopence of a travelling tinker by, sir, your 
humble servant, Timothy Puff. Ila, ha, ha ! 

Nov. Mv Oriuna a Bristol farthing ! 

Puff. 'Sioit assuredly. 

Nov: I'll be revenged. [Going: 

Puff. Stay, stay, and take your bust, my sweet 
squire ; your Serapis. Two heads, they say, are 
better than one ; lay them together. But the 
locks ! how gracefully they fall all adown ! so 
decent, and so — ha, ha, ha ! 

Nov. Confound you ! 

Puff. Why, sir, if it had a nose, I would not 
give sixpence for it — Pray, how many years be- 
fore the creation was it fabricated, squire ? 

Nov. I shall live to see you hanged, you dog ! 

[Edit. 

Puff. Nay, but, squire; ha, ha, ha! Now, 

madam, to your ladyship I come; to whose dis- 
cernment, aided by the sagacity of your son Ca- 
leb, I owe my discovery. 

Aid. Look you, don't think to abuse my lady. 
I am one of the- 

Piitf. Quorum — I knowit, ]Mr Alderman; but 
I mean to serve your worship, by humbling a 
little the vanity of your wife. 

Lady I^ent. Come along, chuck. I'll not stay 
tohear the rascality of the fellow. 

Puff. Oh, my lady Pcntvveazcl, correct the 
seventy of that frown, lest you should have 
more of the Medusa than the Mcdicis in your 
face. 

Ladij Pent. Saucy jackanapes ! 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



151 



Pujf. What, then ? I have quite lost my city 
acquaintance ? why, I've promised all my friends 
tickets for my lord mayor's ball through your 
ladyship's interest. 

Ladi/ Pint. My interest, indeed, for such a — 
J-«//! If Blowbladder-street has any charms — 
Sir — .Vladain — not a step — Ihe finest y;ciitleman ! 
ha, ha, ha ! And what can you say for your- 
self, you cowardly, ill-lookius; rascal? [7<jCau- 
MiNE.] Desert your friend at the fast pinch — 

your ally — your partner ! No apoloijy, sir — 

I have done vvitli you. From poverty and shame 



T took you, to that I restore you. Your crime 
i)e your punishment. [Turning to the audience^ 
Could I be as secure from the censure of this 
assembly, as I am safe from the resentment of 
Dupe, Novice, Squander, from the alluring baits 
of my amorous city lady, and the dangerous com- 
bination of my false friend, I should be happy. 

Tis from your sentence I expect my fate; 
Your voice alone my triumph can complete. 

[Exeunt omnes. 



THE 

ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 

BY 

FOOTE. 



DRAMATIS PERSON iE 



M E N. 



BfCK, the Englishman in Paris. 
Sir John Bf ck, his father. 
Subtle, an Englishman, settled in Paris, living 
hif the follies of his countrymen. 



Classic, tutor to Buck. 
Marquis. 

WOMEN. 

Mrs Subtle, wife to Subtliu 
LuciNDA, her ward. 



Scene — Paris. 



ACT I. 



SCENE T. 
Enter Mr Subtle and Classic. 

Jlfr Sub. Well, well, that may be ; but still 
I say, that a Frenchman 

Class. Is a flip; it is their national disease: 
not one of the quahties for which you celebratt 
them, but owes its origin to a foible ; their taste 
is trilling, their gaiety grimace, and their polite- 
ness pride. 

Mr Sub. Hey-day ! Why, what the deuce 
brings you to Paris then ? 

Class. A debt to friendship ; not but I think 
a short residence here a very neccssai-y part in 
every man of fashion's education. ' 

j\Ir Sub. Where's the use? 

Class. In giving; them a true relish for their 
own domestic happiness; a proper veneration 
for their national hberties; a contempt for adula- 
tion ; and an honour for the extended generou> 
commerce of tlieir country. 

Mr Sub. Why, there, indeed, you have the 



preference, Mr Classic : the traders here are a 
sharp-set, cozening people ; foreigners arc their 
food ; civilities with a — ay, ay ! a congee for A 
crown, and a shrug for a shilling ; devilish dear, 
Mr Classic, devilish dear! 

Clasi. To avoid tlieir exactions, we are, Mr 
Subtle, recommended to your protection. 

Mr Sub. Ay, and wisely they did who recom- 
mended you : Buy nothing but on mine or my 
lady's recommendation, and you are safe. But 
where was your charge ? Where was Mr Buck 
last night ? My lady made a party at cards on 
purpose for him, and my ward Lucinda is mightily 
taken with him ; she longs to see him again. 

Class. I am afraid with the same set his father 
•^eiit him hither to avoid ; but we must endea- 
vour to inspire him with a taste for the gallantries 
■ )f this court, and his passion for the lower amuse- 
nents of ours will diminish of course. 

Mr Sub. All the fraternity of men-makers are 
ir that purpose without; taylors. perruquiers, 
hatters, hosiers — is not that Mr Buck's Eng- 
lish ser\ant? 



I^'OOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



15; 



Enter Roger. 

Clin. Oh ! ay, honest Roger. So, the old 
d.jiiigs, Roger ! what time did jour master come 
home ? 

Ro^- Between five and six, pummelled to a 
jelly: here has been two of his nid couiraHes fol- 
lowed uii already; I count wc jhall lui' the whoii; 
gang; in a sc'tMi-iiight. 

C/«.v. Comrades ? who ? 

Uog. Dick Daylight, and Bob B^eadba'^kct, 
the bruisers; they all went to the show tni;otlier, 
where they had the devil to pay: belike they had 
been sent to Bridewell, hadn't a great gentleman 
in a blue stiiui:; come by and released them. — I 
hear master's bell; do, iNlaster Classic, stepuyt and 
talk to un ; he's now sober, and may hearken to 
reason. 

Clas. I attend him. Mr Subtle, you won't 
be out of the way? \K.\it. 

Mr Sub. I shall talk a liirlc with the trades- 
men. A smoky fellow this Clasiic ; but if Lu- 
cinda plays lier cards well, we ha\c not much to 
fear fiom that qirarter : coutadiction seems ro 
be the life and soul of yonn'^ Buck. — A tolerable 
expedient this, if it succeeds. Fleece the youn- 
ker ! — Psha I that's ;i thing of course ! — but by 
his means to get rid of Lucinda, and securely 
pocket her patrimony ; ay ! that indeed 

Enter Miis Subtle. 

Oh ! wife ! Have you opened the plot r Does the 
girl come into it srcedily, hey .? 

Mrs Sub. A little squeamish at first ; but I 
have opened her eyes. Never fear, my dear ; 
sooner or later, women will attend to their inte- 
rest. 

Mr Sub. Their interest! ay, that's true; but 
consider, my dear, how deeply om- own interest 
is concerned, and let that quicken your zeal. 

Mrs Sub. D'ye think I ;tm blind ? But the ^irl 
has got such whimsical notions of honour, and is 
withal so decent and modest — I wonder \vhere 
the deuce she got it ; I am sure it was not in my 
house. 

Mr Sub. How does she like Buck's person ? 

Mrs Sub. Well enougli. But prithee, husband, 
leave her to my management, and consider we 
have more irons in the tire than one. Here is the 
Marquis de Soleil to meet nuuhune de Farde to- 
night — And vvhere to put them, unless we can 
have Buck's apartment — Oh ! by the by, has 
count Cog sent you your share out of Mr Punt- 
well's losings a-Thursday ? 

Mr Sub. I intend calling on him this morn- 
ing. 

Mrs Sub. Don't fall ; he's a slippery chap, you 
know. 

Air Sub. There's no fear. Well, but our pretty 
countrywoman lays about her handsomely, iia ! — 
Hearts by hundreds ! hum ! 

Mrs Suh. Ay ! that's ii noble prize, if we could 

Vol. III. 



but manage her; but she's so indiscreet, that 
she'll be blown before wc have made half our 
market. I am this morning to give audience, 
on iier score, to two counts and a foreign mini- 
ster. 

Mr Sub. Then strike whilst the iron's hot ! 
but they'll be here befoie I can talk to my people; 
send them in, prithee. [E.iit Miis Subtte. 

Enter Tradesmen. 
•So, gentlemen. Oh! hush! we are interrupted: 
If they ask for your bills, you have left them at 
home. 

Enter Buck, Cl-^ssic, and Roger. 

Buck. Ecod, I don't know how it ended, but 
I remember how it begun. Oh ! ?vlaster Subtle, 
how do*i»t, old buck, hey.'' (iive's thy paw ! And 
little Lucy, how fares it with she ? linm ! 

Mr Sub. Wliat has been the matter, squire? 
Your face seems a little in desliabilie. 

Buck. A touch of the times, old boy! a small 
skirmish ; after I was down, though ! a set of cow- 
ardly sons of ! there's George and 1 will 

box any live for their sum. 

3.1r Sub. But how happened it? The French 
are generally civil to strangers. 

Buck. Oh ! damned civil ! to fall seven or 
eight upon tiiree : Seven or eight ! Ecod, wc had 
the whole house upon us at last. 

Air Sub. But what had yon done ? 

Buck. Done ! why, nothing at all. But, 
wounds ! how the powder Hew about, and the 
monsieurs scoured ! 

Air Sub. But what offence had either th^v or 
you connnitted ? 

Buck. Why, I was tellisg Domine. Last night, 
Dick Daylight, Bob Breadbasket, and I, were 
walking through one of their rues, I think thev 
call them here, they are streets in Londoii ; but 
they have such devilish out-of-the-way names for 
things, that there is no remembering them ; so 
we see crowds of people going into a house, anc! 
comedy pasted over the door : in we trooped 
with the rest, paid our cash, and sat down on the 
stage. Presently they had a dance; and one of 
the young women, with long hair trailing behind 
her, stood with her back to a rail, just by me : 
Ecod, what does me ! for nothing in tlie world 
but a joke, as I hope for mercy, but ties her 
locks to the rails ; so, when 'twas her turn to 
figure out, souse she flapped on her back ; 'twas 
devilish comical ; but they set up such an uproar — 
One whey-faced son of a birch, that came to 
loose the woman, turned up hi.'^nose, and called 
me bete : Ecod, I lent liim a lick in his lanthorn 
jaws, that will make him remember the spawn of 
old Marlborough, I warrant him. Ai^.other came 
up to second him ; but I let drive at the mark, 
made the soup-maigre rumble in his bread-bas- 
ket, and laid him sprawling ! Th.en in poured a 
million of them; I was knocked do.vn in a trice; 



154 



BRITISH J)RAMA. 



[Footf:. 



and what Imppcncd after, I know no nioio ilian 
v<»u. liut wiierc's J.uiy r I'll go see her. 

i'/as. Oil lie ! Iiulics arc treated lierc with a 
little mure ceremony: IMr Subtle, too, lias col- 
lected lh( SI' ptople, who are to crjiiip jou for the 
conversation of the ladies. 

Buck. Wounds! ail these ? What, Mr Subtle, 
these arc mon-ieurs too, I suppose? 

Mr Sub. No, squire, they are Kniilishnien : 
fashion has ordained, that, as you einpLiy none 
but foreis;ncrs at liouie, you must lake up with 
your own countrymen here. 

C/tis. It is not in this mstance alone we arc 
parlii ular, Mr Subtle; I have observed many of 
our prettv i;cntlenien, who cundesrend to use en- 
tirely their native language here, sputter nolhinj; 
but bad rrench in the side-boxes at home. 

Buck. Look} on, sir; as to you, and your wife, 
and Miss Lucy, I like you all well enough ; but 
the devil a ijood thing rise have 1 seen since I 
lost si<;ht of JJover. The men are all puppies, 
mincing and dancing, and chattering, and grin- 
ning : the women are a parcel of painted dolls; 
their food's fit for hogs ; and as for their language, 
let them learn it tiiat like it, I'll none on't; no, 
nor their fri[>pery neither: .So here you may all 
inarch to the place from whence you — liark'e ! 
What, are yr>u an Englishman ? 

Barb. Yes, sir. 

Buck. Doniine! look here, what a monster the 
monkey has made of himself.? — Sirrah, if your 
string was long enough, I'd do y(jur business my- 
self, you dog, to sink a bold Biiton into such a 
sneaking, snivelling — the rascal looks as he had 
not had a piece of beef and pudding in his paunch 
these twenty years. I'll be hanged if the rogue 
han't been fed on frogs ever since he came over ! 
Away with your trumpery ! 

Clas. Mr Buck, a compliance with the customs 
of the country in vvhicl. we live, where neither 
our religion nor our morals are concerned, is a 
duty we ouc ourselves. 

u\Ir Sub. Besides, squire, Lucinda expects that 
you ^honld usher her to public places ; which it 
would be impossible to do in that dress. 

Buck. Vy hy not ? 

Mr Sub. ^ ou'd be mobbed. 

Buck. Mobbed ! I should be glad to see that — 
No, no ! they han't spirit enough to mob here ; 
but come, sinie these fellows here are English, 
and it is the fashion, try on your fooleries. 

il/r Sub. Mr Dauphine, come, produce — Upon 
my word, in an elegant taste, sir 'I'his gentle- 
man has had tiie honour to 

JJaup'i. To work ibr all the beaux esprits of 
the ( ourt. My good fortune commenced by a 
small alteration in a cut of the corner of the 
sleeve for count Crib; but the addition of a ninth 
plait in the skiit of Marshal Tonerrc, was ap- 
plauded by madam hi duchess llambouillct, and 
totally established tl»e reputation of your humble 
servant. 



Buck. Hold your jaw, and dispatch. 

.Mr Sub. A word with you — I don't think it 
impossible to get you acquainted with madam de 
Uambouillet. 

Huck. An I she a papist? 

Mr Sul). V'ndoubtediy. 

Buck. Then I'll iia' nothing to say to her. 

Mr Suh. Oh fy ! who nunds the religion of a 
pretty woman } Besides, all tiiis country are of 
t!ie same. 

Buck. lor that reason I don't care how soon 
I get out of it : Come, let's gel rid of you as soon 
as we can. And what are you, hey ? 

Jitir. Jc suLs pcrui/uitr, ^lonsicur. 

Jiuck. Speak Iviglish, \ou son of a whore ! 

Bur. I am a perriwig-maker, sir. 

Buck. Tiien why could not you sav so at first ? 
V. hat, arc you ashamed of your mother-tongue? 
I knew this fellow was a puppy, by his pig-tail. 
C(jnie, let's see your handy-work. 

Bur. As I found you were in a hurry, I have 
brought you, sir, something that will do for the 
present : But a peruque is a dilferent ouvrage, 
another sort of a thing here from svhat it is en 
Aug/eferre ; we must consult the colour of the 
complexion, and the tour de visage, the form of 
I lie face ; for which enrl it will be necessary to 
regard your countenance in dilTerent lights : A 
little to the right, if you please. 

Buck. Why, you dog, d'ye think I'll submit to 
be exercised by you .? 

Bur. Oil inon Dicu .' Monsieur, if you don't, 
it will be impossible to make your wig comme il 

t'dUt. 

Buck. Sirrah, speak another French word, and 
111 kick you down stairs. 

Bar. Gad's cmse ! Would you resemble some 
of your countrymen, who, at the first importa- 
ti'Ui, with nine hairs of a side to a brawny pair 
of cheeks, look like a Saracen's head ! Or else 
their \\atcr-gruel jaws, sunk in a thicket of curls, 
appear for all the world like a lark in a soup- 
disi. ! 

il/r Sub. Come, squire, submit; 'tis but for 
once. 

Buck. Well, but what must I do? 

[P/rtics Itirn in a chair. 

Bar. To the right, sir — now to the left 

now your full and now, sir, I'll do your busi- 
ness. 

Mr Sub. Look at yourself a little; see what a 
revolution this has occasioned in your whole 
(ignre. 

Buck. Yes, a bloody pretty figure indeed ! But 
'tis a ifgure I am damnably ashamed of: I would 
nfit lie seen by Jack ^^ ildtire or Dick Riot for 
fifty pcjunds in this trim, for all that. 

Mr Sub. l^pon my honour, dress greatly im- 
proves you ! Your opinion, Air Classic? 

C/as. They do mighty well, sir; and in a little 
linu; Mr Buck will be easy in them. 

Buck. Shall I ? I am glad on't, for I am dam- 



FOOTE.] 



BBITISH DRAMA. 



155 



iiably uneasy at present, Mr Subtle. What uuist 
I do now ? 

Mr Sub. Now, sir, if yo'.i'll call upon my wito, 
you'll find Lucinda with her, and I'll wait on yon 
presently. 

Buck. Come along, Doniine ! But harkce, Mr 
Subtle, I'll out ot" my trammels when 1 hunt witli 
the kiiii:. 

Mr Sub. Welt, well. 

Buck. rU on with my jemmies; none of your 
black bni^s and jack-boots for nie. 

Mr Sub. No, no. 

Back. I'll show them the odds on't, old Silver- 
tail ! I will. Hey? 

Mr Sab. Ay, ay. 

Buck. Hedge, stake, or stile, over we go ! 

Mr Sub. Ay; but Mr Classic waits. 

Buck. But d'ye think they'll follow ? 

Mr Sub. (Jh no ! Impossil)lc ! 

Buck. Did 1 K'll you what a cliase she carried 
me last Christmas eve? We unkennelled at 

Mr Sub. I am busy now ; at any (jllier time. 

Buck. You'll follow us. I have sent for my 
hounds and horses. 

Mr Sub. Have you ? 

Buck. They shall make the tour of Europe 
with me : and then there's Tom Atkins the himcs- 
inan, the two whippcrs-iii, and little Joey the 
groom, comes with them. Damme, what a 
strange place they'll think this ! But no matter 
for that; then we shall be company eiion^h of 
ourselves. But you'll follow us in .'' [Exit. 

]\[r Sub. In ten minutes — an impertinent jack- 
anapes ! But I shall soon ha' done with him. — 
So, gentlemen; well, you see we have a good 
subject to work upon. Harkce, Dauphine, I 
must have more than twenty percent out of tliat 
suit. 

Dauph. Upon my soul, Mr Subtle, I can't ! 

Air Sub. Why, I have always that upoii new. 

Dauph. New, sir ! why, as I hope to be 

Mr Sub. Come, don't lie; don't damn your- 
self, Dauphine ; don't be a rogue ; did not I see 
at Madam Fripon's, that waistcoat and sleeve^ 
upon Colonel Crambo.'' 

Dauph. As to the waistcoat and sleeves, I 
own ; but for the body and lining — may I never 
see 

Mr Sub. Come, don't be a scoundrel ; five- 
and thirty, or I've di/ue. 

Duuph. Well, if I must, I must. 

\^Exit Da urn. 

Mr Sub. I must keep these fellows under, or 
I shall have a tine time on't; they know they 
can't do without me. 

Eater Mrs Subtle. 

Mrs Sub. The Calais letters, my dear. 

Mr Sub. [Reads.]— Ah ! ah ! Calais— the Do- 
ver packet arrived last night, loading as follows : 
Six tailors, ditto barbers ; five milliners, bound 



to Paris to study fashions ; four citizens come to 
settle here for a month, by way of seeing the 
country; ditto, their wives; ten French valets, 
with nine (u)oks, all from Newgate, v.here they 
liad bicn sent for robbing their masters; nine fi- 
gure (iancers, exported in September, ragged and 
lean, imported well clad, and in good case; 
twelve dogs, ditto bitciies, with two monkeys, 
and a litter of puppies, from Mother Midnight's, 
in the Hay- market : a precious cargo ! Post- 
cript. One of the coasters is just put in, with 

Ids grace the duke of , my lord, and an 

old gentleman whose name I can't learn ! — 
Cadso ! Well, my dear, I must run, and ti-y to 
secure these customers; there's no time to be 
lost. [ E.vit. 

Enter Classic. 

Mrs Sub. So, Mr Classic; what, have you left 
the young couple together? 

Cfus. They want your ladyship's presence, ma- 
dam, for a short tour to tlie Thuiiieries. I have 
received some letters, which I must answer im- 
mediately. 

3trs Sub. Oh ! well, well ; no ceremony ; we 
are all of a family, you know. Servant! [Exit. 

Enter Roger, 

Clas. Roger ! 

Rog. Anon ! 

Clas. I have just received a letter from your 
old master; he was landed at Calais, and will be 
this evening at Paris. It is absolutely necessary 
that this circumstance should be concealed from 
his son ; for which purpose, you must wait at 
the Piccardy gate, and deliver a letter, I shall 
give you, into his own hand. 

Rog. I'll warrant you. 

Clas. But, Roger, be secret. 

Rog. O lud ! never you fear. [E.rit. 

Clas. So, Mr Subtle, I .see your aim. A 
pretty lodging we have hit upon ; the mistress a 

commode, and the master a But who can 

this ward be ? Possibly the neglected piuilc of 
some riotous man of quality. 'Tis lucky Mr 
Buck's father is arrived, or my authority >vould 
prove but an insufficient matcii for my pupil's 
obstinacy. This mad boy ! How difficult, how 
disagreeable a task have I undertaken ! And how 
general, yet how dangerous, an experimerst is it to 
expose our youth, in the very fire and i"ury of 
their blood, to all the follies and extravagance of 
this fantastic court ! Far dilFerent was the pru- 
dent practice of our forefathers : 

They scorned to truck, for base unmanly arts. 
Their native plainness, and their honest licarts; 
Whene'er they deigned to visit haughty France, 
'Twas armed with bearded dart, and pointei! 
lance. 



15G 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Foorii. 



No poiiijioua pagcantii iurrd tlicir curious 

No tliariiis for tlicm had fops or fluttcrv ; 
Paris, tiii'v knew, tluir ilrtamirs waved a- 

tomihI, 
Tlicrc HiiloMs sua a Britibli lluiry crowned. 



I'ar oilier \ic\vs uUrucl our modern race, 'v 
1 1 nils, loiiiHcs, Iriiikcts, 1-3^-, brocade, and f 

lace ; J 

A llatmlin'; funii, an«l a fictitious face. J 

l!')ii'-c! Heassuine ! Kcfiisc a Gallic reiiin ! 
Nor let llieir arU wiu thai lljcir arms could 

never liuin. I Exit, 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. 
Eiiltr Mii Classic and Kooet. 

Hog. ()i n nlai^tcr's al a cofiic-houi^e next 
.street, and will tarrv till you s-cnd for 'iin. 

CV«s. By-and-bv ; in the «lusk, hrin;; hiin np 
the hack-stairs. You must be caicful that no- 
body sees Inni. 

Hog. I wiirrant you. 

('las. Ixt fir. John know that I would wait on 
liim myself, but I don't think it safe to quit the 
liouse an instant. 

/\<)j». Ay, ay. [Exit Ron En. 

Chis. I si!|'p(ise, by this time, matters arc pret- 
ty well settled wiihin, and my absence only 
wanted to accon.piish the fccne : but I shall take 

I are to Oh ! Mr Subtle and his lady ! 

[Exit Clas. 

Enter Mn and Mr? Subtle. 

?.lis Sub. Oh, delightfully I Now, my dearest, 
I hope you will no longer dispute my abilities tor 
forming: a female? 

ii/»' Sub. Never, never : How the baggage 
leered ! 

Jiirs Still. And llic booby gaped ! 
JVir Sub. So kind, and yet so coy ; so Uee, but 
then so reserved -. Oh, she has liiin ! 

AJisSub. Ay, ay; the fish is hooked: but 
then safely to land him Is Classic suspi- 
cious r 

Mr Sub. Not that I observe ; but the secret 
must sof)n be blazed. 

]\Irs Sub. Therefore dispatch : I have laid a 
trap to inflame his alYection. 
2lrSub.Uo\yf 

Ah'S Sub. lie shall be treated with a display 
of Lucy's talents; her singing and dancing. 
M) Sub. Psha ! Her singiug and dancing ! 
]\])S Sub. Ah ! You don't know, husband, half 
the force of these accomplishments in a fashion- 
able figure. 

Mr Sub. I doubt her execution. 
Mrs Suh. You have no reason; she does both 
well enough to flatter a fool, especially with love 
for her second : besides, I have a coup dc niaitre, 
a sine card. 

Mr .S///). What's that.? 
Mts Sub. A rival. 



Mr Suh. Who? 

Mrs Sub. The iang,iag<'. master : he may be 
easily Cfjuipt lor the expedition ; a second-hand 
tawdry suit of doaths will pass him on our coun- 
tryman for a marquis; and then, to excuse his 
speaking our language so well, he may have been 
educated eaily in England. But hush ! The 
squire approaches ; don't seem to observe him. 

Euter BtCK. 

For my part, T never saw any thing so altered 
since 1 v\as born : In my conscience, I believe 
she's in love with hini. 

BiuL Hu-h ! [Aside. 

Mr Sub. D'ye think so ? 

Mrs Suli. Why, w here's the wonder r He's a 
pretty, good-humoured, uprightly I'ellow : and, 
for the time, such an improvement! Why, he 
wears his clothes as easily, and moves as gen- 
teelly, as if he had been at Paris these twenty 
years. 

Mr Sub. Indeed ! How does he dance? 

Mr.f Sub. ^Vhy, he has had but three lessons 
from Marscil, and lie moves already like Dupre. 
Oh ! three months stay here will render him a 
perfect mndel for the Endish court ! 

M? Sub. Gadso ! No wonder, tl.en, with these 
qualities- that he lias caught the heart of my 
ward ; but we must take care that the girl does 
nothing; iniprudent. 

^Irs Sub. Oh, dismiss your fear* ; her family, 
good sense, and, more than all, her being edu- 
cated under my eye, lender them unnecessary ; 
besides, Mr Buck is too much a man of honour 
to 

[Ife interrupts l/iem.^ 

Buck. Damn me if I an't ! 

Mrs Sub. Bless mc, sir ! you here ? I did not 
t vpect 

Buck. I beg pardon : but all that I heard was, 
that Mr Buck was a man of honour. I wanted 
»o have some chat with you, madam, in private. 

Mr Sub. Then I'll withdraw. You see I dare 
trust you alone with my wife. 

Buck. So you may safely ; I have other game 
in view. Servant, Mr Subtle. 

M7S Sub. Now for a puzzling scene : I long to 

know how he'll begin. — [Aside.] Well, Mr 

Buck, your commands with me, sir? 



FOOTE.'I 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



157 



Buck. Why, madam — I, all — I, ah — but let's 
shut the door: T was, mndatn — all! ah! Can't 
you guess what I want to talk about ? 

Mrs Siili. Not I, indeed, sir. 

Buck. Well, but try ; upon my soul, I'll tell 
you if you're ligiit. 

Mrs Sub. It will be impossible for mc to di- 
vine — But come, open a little. 

Buck. Whv, have you observed nothing ? 

Mrs Sub. About who ? 

Buck. Why, about me. 

Mrs Sub. Yes ; you are ncw-drcsscd, and your 
. lothes become you. 

Buck. Prettv well : but it aii't that. 

Airs Sub. What is it.? 

Buck. Why, ah! ah! upon my soul, I can't 
bring it out ! 

Mrs Sub. Nay, then, 'tis to no purpose to 
wait : write your mind. 

Buck. No, no; slop a moment, and I will 
tell. 

]\Irs Sub. Be expeditious, then. 

Buck. Why, I wanted to talk, about jNIiss Lu- 
cinda. 

Mrs Sub. What of her.? 

Buck. She's a bloody fine girl ; and I should 
be glad to 

Mrs Sub. To — Bless me ! What, Mr Buck, 
and in my house ? Oh, Mr Buck, you have de- 
ceived me ! Little did I think, that, under the 
appearance of so much honesty, you could go 



Buck. Upon my soul, you're mistaken ! 

il/rs Sub. A poor orphan too ! deprived, in 
her earliest infancy, of a father's prudence and a 
mother's care. 

Buck. Why, I tell you 

Mrs Sub. So sweet, so lovely an innocence ! 
her mind as S{)Otless as her person ! 

Buck. Hey-day ! 

Mrs Sub. And me, sir; where had you your 
thoughts of me ? How dared you suppose that I 
would connive at sucii a 

Buck. The woman is bewitched. 

il/r.5 Sub. I ! whose untainted reputation the 
blistering tongue of slander never blasted. Full 
fifteen vears, in wedlock's sacred bands, have I 
lived unreproachcd ; and now to— 

Buck. Odd's Cuv/ ! She's in heroics. 

Mrs Sub. And this from you too, whose fair 
outside and bewitching tongue had so far lulled 
my fears, I dared have trusted all my daughters, 
nay, myself too, singly, with you. 

Buck. Upon my soul, and so you might safely. 

Mrs Sub. Well, sir, and what have you to 
urge in your defence ? 

Buck. Oh, oh ! What, are you got pretty well 
to the end of your line, arc you .'' And now, if 
you'll be quiet a bit, we may make a shift to un- 
dcr.itand one another a little. 

Mrs Sub. Be quick, andease mc of my fears. 

Buck. Ease you of your fears ! I don't know 



how the devil you got them. All that I wantec^ 
to say was, that Miss Lucy was a fine wench j 
and if she was as willing as me 

j\Irs Sub. Willing ! Sir ! What demon 

Buck. If you are in your airs again, I may a^ 
well decamp. 

Mrs Sub. I am calm : go on. 

Buck. Why, that if she liked me as well as I 
liked her, we might, perhaps, if you liked it too, 
be married together. 

Mrs Sub. Oh, sir ! if that was indeed your 
drift, I am satisfied. But don't indulge your 
wish too much ; there are numerous obstacles ; 
your father's consent, the law of the land 

Buck. What laws ? 

]\hs Sub. All clandestine marriages are void 
in this country. 

Biick. Dainr. this country ! — In London now, a 
footman may drive to May-fair, and in five 
minutes be tacked to a countess; but there's no 
liberty here. 

Mrs Sub. Some inconsiderate couples have in- 
deed gone oft' post to Protestant states ; but I 
hope my ward will have more prudence. 

Buck. Well, well, leave that to me. D'ye 
think she likes me ? 

Mrs Sub. Why, to deal candidly with you, 
she does. 

Buck. Does she, by 

Mrs Sub. Calm your transports. 

Buck. Well ! but how .' She did not, did she.' 
Iley ? Come now, tell 

Mrs Sub. I hear her coming ; this is her hour 
for music and dancing. 

Buck. Could I not have a peep.-' 

Mrs Sub. Withdraw to this corner. 

Enter LrciN'DA, with Gamut. 

Luc. The news, the news, IMonsienr Gamut ; 
I die, if I have not the first intelligence ! What's 
doing at Versailles ? When goes the court to 
Marii ? Does Rameau write the ne.xt opera ? 
What say the critics of Voltaire's Duke de Foix } 
— Answer me all in a breath. 

Buck. A brave-spirited girl ! Shc'il take a 
five-barred gate in a fortnight. 

0(1771. The conversation of the court your 
ladyship has engrossed, ever since you last hon- 
oured it with your appearance. 

Luc. Oh, you flatterer! have I .'' ^Vcll, and 
what fresh victims ? But 'tis impossiiile; the sun- 
shine of a northern beauty is too feeble to tliaw 
the icy heart of a French courtier. 

Gain. What injustice to your own charms and 
our discernment ! 

Imc. Indeed ! nay, I care not — if I have fire 
enough to warm one British bosom, rule ! rule ! 
ye Paris belles I I envy not your conquests. 

Airs Sub. Meaning you. 

Buck. Indeed ! 

M7's Sub. Certain! 



1.38 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Buck. IlMsh? 

Lir, Hut come, a tnicc to gallantry, (iamut, 
aii'l to the lius'iics«; ot' the (liiy. Oli ! 1 am quite 
ciiclr.mfcfl will) this irw instrument ; 'tis so lan- 
{Tuisliini; and so jiortaMe, smhI so soft and so silly 
— }Iiit ciiine ! for your last lesson. 

Otim. D'ye like the worils ? 

Lur. Oil, charming ! They arc so nieltinf;, 
and ea^y, and c!e}:ant. Now for a coup d'essai. 

Gum. Fake care of your expression ; let your 
eves and address acrunipany the sound and sen- 
tinunt. 

Jmc. Rut, diar Camnt, if I am out, don't in- 
l( ri iipt ine; correct itc afterwards. 

(Ju/)i. All'iiis. coinintincz. [Lucixha sin^s. 
[An occn^ionaf song is here introduced bj/ 

Ll f J\!>A.] 

Gain. Rravo, hravo ! 

Buck. Hravo ! bravissimo ! !\Iy lady, «liat was 
the Jionc abotil? [Aside to Mus .Slbtle. 

J1//X Sub. Love : 'tis her own composinL'. 

Buck. What, docs she make verses then ? 

il/;-"! Sub. Finely. I take you to be the sub- 
icct oi these. 

Buck. Ah ! d'ye think so? Gad ! T thought 
hv her oclinc, 'twas the music-man himself. 

Luc. Well, Mr Gamut; tolerably well, for so 
voun<i a scholar ? 

Gti/ii. Inimitably, Madam ! Your ladyship's 
progress will undoubtedly fix my fortune. 

Enter Servant. 

Jmc Your servant, sir. 

Ser. iMadani, your dancing-master, Monsieur 
Kiiteau. 

Luc. Admit him. 

Enter KiTTEAU. 

Monsieur Kittcau, I can't possibly take a lesson 

this moriiinsr, I am so busy ; but if you please. 

I'll just hobble over a minuet, by way of exercise. 

[A minuet here introduced. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Monsieur le Marquis de 

Luc. Admit him this instant. 

Mri, Sub. A lover of Lucinda ! a Frenchman 
of fashion, and vast fortiiue. 

Buck. Never heed ; I'll soon do his business, 
Til warrant vou. 



-Tis an age 



Enter Marquis, 

Lnc. My dear Marquis ! 

]\Inr. Ma c/iere adorable ! 

FJnce I saw you. 

Jmc Oh ! an eternity ! But 'tis your own 
fault, though. 

Mar. My misfortune, nia princesse .' Rut now 
I'll redeem my error, and root for ever here. 



Buck. I shall make a shift to transplant you^ 
I believe. 

Luc. You can't conceive how vour absenca 
has distressed me. Demand of these gentlemen 
the melanchfjly mood of my mind. 

Miir. liul now that I'm arrived, we'll dance 

and sine, and drive care to the Ha ! 

!^^ol,^i•.ur Kittcau I Have you practised this morn- 
nin<: .'' 

Luc. I had just given my hand to Kitteau be- 
lief >re vou came. 

Mar. 1 was in hopes that honour would have 
b< cii reserved for me. May I flatter myself that 
your ladysliip will do me the honour of ventu- 
ring upon the fatigue of another minuet this 
morning with me .' 

Enter Brc k brisk/i/. Takes her hand. 

Buck. Not that vou know (if, Monsieur. 

Mur. licy ! Duible ! Quelle bete ! 

Buck, llark'e. Monsieur ilagout, if you re- 
peat that word bete, I shall make you wallow 
it a::ain, as I did last night one of your country- 
men. 

]\lar. Que/ savage ! 

Buck, And another word ; as I know you can 
speak very good English, if you will, when you 
don't, I shall take it for granted you're abusing 
me, and treat you accordingly. 

Mar. Cavalier enough ! But you are protect- 
ed here. IMademoiselle, who is this officious 
gentleman } How comes he to be interested .' 
Some relation, I suppose .'' 

Buck. No ; I'm a lover. 

Mar. Oh ! Oh ! a rival ! F.h morbleu ! a 
dangerous one too. Ha, ha ! \\ ell, Monsieur, 
what, and I suppose you presume to give laws 
to this lady ; and are determined, out of your 
very great and singular affection, to knock down 
every mortal she likes, a-la-moded'Angleterrc'^ 
llcy, IMonsieur Roast-beef.? 

Buck. No; but I intend that lady for my 
wife : consider her as such ; and don't choose to 
have her soiled by the impertinent addresses of 
every French fop, a-!a-mode de Paris, Monsieur 
Fricassy ! 

Alar. Fricassv ! 

Buck. We. 

Lui. A truce, a truce, I beseech you, gentle- 
men : it seems I am tlie golden prize lor which 
you plead ; produce your pretensions ; you are 
the representati\es of your respective countries, 
l^egin, marquis, for the honour of FVance; let 
me hear what advantages I am to derive from a 
conjugal union with you. 

Alar. Abstracted from those which I think 
aie pretty visible, a perpetual residence in this 
paradise of pleasures; to be the object of uni- 
xersal adoration; to say what you please, go 
where you will, do what you like, form fashions ; 
hate your husband, and let liim soe it ; it.idulgc 



i'oOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



159 



your gallant, and let the other know it ; run in 
debt, and oblige the poor devil to pay it. lie ! 
Ma clieie ! 'IT.ere are pleasures for you. 

Luc. Bravo, marquis ! these are allurements 
for <i woman of spirit : but don't let us conclude 
hastily; hear the other side. What have you to 
olfer, '»Ir Buck, in favour of England? 

Buck. Why, mudain, for a woman of spirit, 
they give you the same advantaii;es at London as 
at Paris, with a privilege forgot by tiie marquis, 
an indisputable right to cheat at cards, in spite 
of dete.tion. 

Mar. Pardon me, sir, we have the same ; but 
I thoiii^ht this privilege so known and universal, 
that 'twas needless to mention it. 

Buck. You give up nothing, I find : but to tell 
you my blunt thoughts in a word, if any woman 
can be so abandoned, as to raTik amongst the 
comforts of matrimony, the privilege of hating 
her Imsband, and the liberty of committing every 
folly and every vice contained in your catalogue, 
she may stay single for me ; for, danm me, if I 
am a husband fit for her humour I that's all. 

il/«r. I told you, mademoiselle ! 

Luc. But stay ; w hat have you to oiTer as a 
counterbalance for tlicse pleasures? 

Buck. VVhy, I have, madam, courage to pro- 
tect you, good-nature to indulge your love, and 
health enough to make gallants useless, and too 
good a fortune to render running in debt neces- 
sary. Find that here, if you can. 

Mar. Bagatelle ! 

Luc. Spoke with the sincerity of a Briton ; 
and, as I don't perceive that I shall have any use 
for the fashionable liberties yon propose, you'll 
pardon, marquis, my national prejudice; here's my 
hand, Mr Buck. 

Buck. Servant, monsieur. 

il/«r. .Serviteur. 

BucJi. N,o otl'encc ? 

Alar. Not in the least; I am only afraid the 
reputation of that lady's taste will suifer a little; 
and to shew her at once the difference of her 
choice, the preierence, which, if bestowed on me, 
would not fail to exasperate you, I support with- 
out murmuring ; so, that favour which would 
prt)bably have provoked my fate, is now your 
protection. Voila la politesse Francoise, madam; 
I have the honour to be — Bon jour, monsieur. — 
Tol de rol ! [Exit Mar. 

Buck. The fellow bears it well. Now, if 
you'll give me your hand, we'll in, and settle 
matters with Mr Subtle. 

Luc. Tis now my duty to obey. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Roger, peeping about. 

Rog. The coast is clear ; sir, sir, you may come 
in now, Mr Classic. 

Enter Mr Classic and Sir John Buck. 
Clas. Roger, watch at the door. I wish, sir John, 



I could give you a more cheerful welcome : but 
we have no time to lose in ceremony; you are 
arrived in the critical minute ; two liouis more 
would have placed the inconsiderate couple out 
of the reach of pursuit. 

Sir John. How can I acknowledge your kind- 
ness? You have preserved my son ; you have sa- 
ved 

Clas. I have done my duty ; hut of that 

Bog. Maister and the young woman's co- 
ming. 

Clas. Sir John, place yourself here, and be a 
witness how near a crisis is the fate of y(jin- fa- 
mily. 

Enter BtCK and Lucixda. 

Buck. Psha! What signifies her? 'Tis odds 
whether she would consent, from the fear of mv 
father. Besides, she told me we could never be 
married here ; and so puck up a few things, and 
we'll off in a post-chaise du-ectly. 

Luc. Stay, Mr Buck, let me have a moment's 

reflection What am I about? Contrivinsi, in 

concert with the most profligate couple that ever 
disgraced human nature, to impose an indigent 
orpiian on the sole representative of a wealthy 
and honourable family ! Is this u character be- 
coming my birth and ed>ucation ? What must bo. 
the consequence ? Sure detection and contcmjjt ; 
contempt even from him, wh.ea his passions cool. 
I have resolved, sir. 

Budx. Madam ! 

Luc. As the expedition we are upon the point 
of taking, is to be a lasting one, we ought not to 
be over hasty in our resolution. 

Buck. Psliaw ! Stuff! V,'hen a thing's resolved, 
the sooner 'tis over the better. 

Luc. But before it is absolutely resolved, give 
nie leave to beg an answer to two questions. " 

Buck. Make haste, then. 

Imc. What are your thoughts of me ? 

Buck. Thoughts ! Nay, I don't know ; whv, 
that you are a sensible, civil, handsome, handy 
girl, and « ill make a devilish good wife. That 
is all, I think. 

Luc. But of my rank and fortune ? 

Buck. Mr Subtle says they are both great; 
but that's no business of mine; I was always de- 
termined to marry for love. 

Imc. (jenerously said I My birth, I believe, 
won't disgrace you ; but for my fortune, your 
friend, Mr Subtle, I fear, has anticipated vou 
there. 

Buck. iNIuch good may it do him ; I have 
enough for botli : but we lose time, and raav be 
prevented. 

Imc. By whom ? 

Buck. By Domiric ; or, perhaps, father may 
come. 

Luc. Your father ! Y'ou think he would pre- 
vent you, then ? 

Buck. Pcihaos he would. 



100 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FoOTE. 



J.ur. And wliv ? 

Buck. Xiiy, I don't know : l)Ut, jj!5ij;i\v I 'iooks ! 
tliis IS like sivinc ont'^ catt'cliisc. 

Luc. Hut don't yun think your f:itlier's con- 
sent nci:c>»»jirv r 

Buck. No : vvliv 'lis I am to Ik niarrifd, and 
not he. Hut come »\nn>i : old iVIInvvs love ^> lip 
obstinate; but, 'tca<i 1 am as nuilish a'^ he; and 
to trll yon the truth, if he had fuoposed me 
a wife, that ivuuld hav<! boon reason unousih to 
makt me di-likt her; ami [ ilon't lliink I vh-mld 
!)»■ hair so hot aitoiil marryinc vou,only I lliuiii.'ht 
'twould |il;'<_'ue the old fellow daumably. ^o, 
my pretty partner, come along; let in have no 
jaore 

Enter Sir John lit ■ k, and Classic. 

Sir John. Sir. I an\ obliued to yon for this de- 
claration, a>, to it, I owe the entire subjection of 
that paternal weakness which has hitinito sus- 
pended tlie correction your abandoned, libcrtia- 
isuj has loiiir provoked. You have for>jot the 
duty you owe a father, ilisclainied u»y protection, 
cancelled the natural covenant between us ; 'tis 
tmie I now should liive you up to the ptiidanee 
of your own guiltv passions, and treat you as a 
blran<rcr to my blood fur ever. 

Buck. I told you wliat would liappcn if he 
should come ; but you may thank yourself. 

Sir Joint. Equally weak as wicked, the dupe 
of a raw, giddy £;irl. But, proceed, sir; yim 
have nothing farther to fear from me; com- 
piere your project, and add her ruin to your 

OV\i). 

Buck. Sir, as to me, you may say «liat you 
please ; but for the youni; woman, she does not 
tieserve it ; but now she wanted me to <:eL your 
consent, and told me that she had never a penny 
of portion into the bargain. 

Sir Jd/ih. a stale, obvious artifice ! She knew 
the discovery of the fraud must follow close on 
your inconsiderate marriage, and would then 
plead the merits of her prinr candid discovciy. — 
The lady, doubtless, sir, has other secrets to 
disclose ; but as her cuiinin;:; revealed tlie first, 
her policy will preserve the rest. 

Luc. What secrets? 

Buck. Be quiet, I tell you ; let him alone, and 
he'll cool of himself bv-and-by. 

Luc. Sir, I am yet the protectress of my o\^ n 
honour; injustice to that, I must demand an 
explanation. What secrets, sir.^ 

Sir John. Oh, perhaps, a thousand ! But I am 
ro blame to call them secrets; the customs of 
this gay country cive sanction, and staii»p merit 
upon vice 1 and vanity will here proclaim, what 
modesty woidd elsewhere blush to whispci'. 

Luc. Modesty ! You suspect my virtue, then ? 

Sir John. You are a lady ; but the fears of a 
father may be permitted to nes;Iect a little your 
plan of politeness: therefore, to be plain, from 
your residence in this house, from your connec- 



tion with these people, and from the scheme 
which my pre seme has interrupted, 1 have sus- 
picions — of wimt nature, ask vour^-elf. 

Luc. Sir, vou have reason ; appearances are 
against me, I confess; but when vou have heard 
my melancholy story, you'll own vm have 
wronged me, and learn to pity her, \Nliom you 
now hate. 

Sir John. Madam, you misemploy vour time ; 
there, tell your story, there it \^ ill be believed; 
I am too knowing in the wiles of women to be 
softened by a >yreu-tcar, or iujposed on by an 
artful tall-. 

Imc. But hear me, sir; on my knee I be<» it, 
nay, 1 <ieni;uid it; you liave wronged me, and 
must do me justice. 

i'/us. 1 am sure, tnadat\i, sir John will be glad 
to liiul Ills iVurs are false ; but you cannot blame 
hill). 

Luc. I dim't. sir; and I shall but little tres- 
pass on his patience. When you know, sir, that 
I am the orphan of an honourable and once 
wealthy family, whom her father, misguided by 
pernicious |)olitits, broujiht with him, in her ear- 
lic-t infancy, to IVance; that dying here, he 
bequf allied me, with the poor renmant of our 
shattered fortune, to the direction of this rapaci- 
ous pair; 1 am sure you'll tremble for me. 

Sir John. C/o on. 

Luc. Hut when you know that, plundered of 
the little fortune left me, I was reluctantly com- 
pelled to aid this plot; forced to comply, under 
the penalty of deepest want; without one hospi- 
table roof to shelter me ; without one friend to 
comfort or relieve me ; you must, you can't but 
pity me. 

Sir John. Proceed. 

Jaic. To this, when von are told, that, previ- 
ous to your coming, I had determined never t(; 
wed your son, at least without your knowledge 
and consent, I hope your justice then will credit 
and acquit me. 

Sir John. Madam, your tale is plausible and 
moving ; I hope 'tis true. Here comes the ex- 
plainer of this riddle. 

Enter ^Ir and Mrs Subtle. 

Air Sub. Buck's father! 

Sir John. I'll take some other time, sir, to 
thank you for the last proofs of your friend- 
ship to mv family; in the mean time be so can- 
did as to instruct us in the knowledge of this la- 
dy, w horn, it seems, you Irave chosen for the part- 
ner of my son. 

UlrSub. Mr Buck's partner 1 choose 

I— I 

Sir .John. No equivocation or reserve; your 
plot is revealed, known to the bottom. Who is 
the lady ? 

Mr Sub. Lady, sir } the lady's a gentlewoman, 
sir. 

Sir John. By what means ? 



FoOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



161 



Mr Sub. By her father and mother. 

Sir John. Who were they, sir? 

Air Sub. Her mother was of 1 forget her 

maiden name. 

Sir John. You han't forgot her father's ? 

j\Ir Sub. No, no, no ! 

Sir John. 'I'ell it, then. 

Mr Sub. She has told it you, I suppose. 

Sir John. No matter; I must have it, sir, from 
you. Here's some mystery. 

Mr Sub. 'Twas Worthy. 

Sir John. Not the daughter of sir Gilbert ? 

Mr Sub. You iiave it. 

Sir John. My poor girl ! 1, indeed, have 

wronged, but will redress you. And pray, sir, 
after the many pressing letters you received 
from me, }iow came this truth concealed.? But I 
guess your motive. Dry up your tears, Luciuda ; 
at last you have found a father. Hence, ye de- 
generate, ye abandoned wretches, who, abusing 
the confidence of your country, unite to plunder 
those ye promise to protect. 

[Exeunt Mr and Mas Subtle. 

Luc. Am I then justihed.? 



Sir John. You are: your father was my first 
and firmest friend ; I mourned his loss; and long 
have sought for thee in vain, Lucinda. 

Buck. Pray, han't I some merit in finding her? 
she's mine, by the custom of the manor. 

Sir John. Yours ! First study to deserve her ; 
she's mine, sir; I have just redeemed this valua- 
ble treasure, and shall not trust it in a spend- 
thrift's hands. 

Buck. What would you have me do, sir? 

Sir John. Disclaim the partners of yuur riot, 
polish your manners, reform your pleasures, ainJ, 
before you think of governing others, learn to 
direct yourself And now, my heauteous uard, 
we'll for the land where first you savv the light, 
and there endeavour to f)rget the long, long 
bondage you have suffered here. I suppose, sir, 
u-fi shall have no difficulty in persuading you to 
accompany us ; it is not in France I am to hope 
for your reformation. I have now leai-ned, that 
he, who transports a profligate son to Paris, by 
way of mending his manners, only adds the vi- 
ces and follies of that country to those of his 
own. [Exeunt omnes. 



Vol. III. 



THE 
K NIG iri'S. 

BY 

FOOTE. 



DRAMATIS PEIISON.E. 



M E N. 
Haktop, in lore Tilth Miss Sr key's /orfanr. 
Sir (TiiEConv (Jazette, a simple knigttt. 
.1 K N K I M?. friend tolls k top. 
Tim. son to Sir Gregory Gazette. 
RoDix, servanl to Sn\ Gregory Gazette. 



WOMEN. 

Jfxny, a chambermaid. 

Miss Penelope Triei.e, an old mnid. 

Miss Sukey Trifle, Iter niece. 



Scene — a counfry toicn. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— A room. 



Hartop and Jexkins discovered. 

Jen. I should not chuse to marry into such a 
luinily. 

Har. Clioicc, dear Dick, is very little con- 
cerned in the matter ; and, to convince you that 
1 ive is not the minister of my counsels, know, 
t!;at I never saw Init once the objc t of my pre- 
sent purpose ; anJ that too lU a lime, and ii; a 
circunibtnnce, not very likely tj stamp a favour- 
able impression. What think you of a raw 
Loaiding-sclvjol girl at Linroln-Minster, vvith a 
ii'iud unpoiislicd, n figure uninformed, anti a act 
ut fc iturcs tainted with the colour of her un- 
whulesome fooil ? 

Ji n. No very engaging object indeed, Ilartop. 

Ihir. Your thoughts now were mine then; but 
some connexions I have since had with her fa- 
tl'cr, have <;iven birth to my present design upon 
her. You arc no stranger to the situation of my 
circumstances : my ueiglibourhood to sir Penu- 



rious Trifle, wa.-; a sufficient motive for his ad- 
vancing what money I wanted by way of mort- 
>iage ; the hard ttrnis he imposed upon me, and 
the little regard I have paid to economy, has 
made it necessary for me to attempt, by some 
s( heme, the re-estab'.ishment of my fortune. 
This young lady's simplicity, not to say ignor- 
ance, presented her at once as a proper subject 
for my purpose. 

Jen. .Success to yon. Jack, with all ray soul ! a 
fellow of yovir spirit and vi\acity, mankind ought 
to support, for the sake cf themselves. For what- 
ever Seneca and the other moral writers may 
h-ave suggested in contempt of riches, it is plain 
their maxims were not calculated for the world 
as it now stands. In days of yore, indeed, when 
virtue uas called \^i5dom, and vice fo'ly, such 
principles might have been encouraged : but as 
the present subjects of our enquiry are, not what 
a man is, but w hat he has ; as to be rich, is to be 
wi^c and virtuo'is, and to be poor, ignorant, and 
vicious — I heartily applaud your plan. 



TOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



163 



Hnr. Your observation is but too just. 

Jen. But, pritlice, in the first place, how can 
you gaui admittance to your mistress? anil, in 
the second, is the girl independent of her father? 
His consent, I suppose, you liave no thought ot 
obtaining ? 

Hur. Some farther proposals concerning my 
estate ; such as an increase of the n^ortgage, or 
an absolute sale, is a sutVicient pretence for a vi- 
sit ; and, as to the cash, twenty to my knowledge ; 
independent too, you rogue ! and besides, an on- 
ly child, you know : and tlu;n, when things are 
done, they can't be undone — and 'tis well 'tis no 
worse — and a lunuired such pretty proverbs, will, 
'tis great odds, reconcile the old fellow at last. 
Besides, my papa in posac, has a foible, which, if 
I condescend to humour, I have his soul, my 
dear. 

Jen. Prithee, now you are in spirits, give me 
a portrait of sir Penurious; thougli he is my 
neighbour, yet he is so domestic an animal, 
that I know no more of him than the common 
country conversation, that he is a thrifty, wary 
man. 

Har. The verv abstract of penury ! Sir John 
Cutlci", with his transmigrated stockings, was but 
u type of him. For instance, the barber has the 
grow th of his and his daughter's head once a-ycar, 
for shaving the knight once a f(jrtnight; his slujes 
are made with the leather of a coach of his 
grandfather's, built in the year One; his male- 
servant is footman, groom, carter, coachman, 
and taylor; his maid employs her leisure hours 
in plain-work for the ncigiinours, which sir Pe- 
nurious takes care, as her labour is for his emo- 
lument, shall be as manv as possible, by joining 
with his daughter in scouring the rooms, niakinjj, 
the beds, is.c. — Thus much for his moral charac- 
ter. Then, as to his intellectual, he is a mere 
c/iarfe blanche ; the last man he is with must af- 
ford him matter for the next he goes to : but a 
Story is bis idol; throw him in that, and lie 
swallows it; no matter what, raw or roastc<i, 
savoury or insipid, down it goes, and up again 
to the first person he meets. It is upon this 
basis I found my favour with the knight, having 
acquired patience enough to hear his st(jries, 
and equipped myself with a quantity sutficieiit 
to furnish hmi. His manner is indeed pecu- 
liar, and, for once or twice, entertaining enough. 
I'll give you a specimen Is not that an equi- 
page ? 

Jen. Hey ! yes, faith ; and the owner an ac- 
quaintance of mine: Sir (Gregory Gazette, by 
JujMter ! and his son Tim with him. ISiow I can 
match your kniiiht. He nmst come this way to 
the parlour. We'll have a scene : but take your 
cue ; he is a country politician. 

Sir GKtGOUY entering, and Wailer. 
Sir Grc. What, neither tlie Gloucester Jour- 



nal, nor the Worcester Courant, nor the North- 
ampton Mercury, nor the Chester ? IMr Jenkins, 
I am your humble servant : A strange town this, 
iMr Jenkins; no news stirring, no papers taken 
in! Is that gentleman a stranger, Mr Jenkins? 
Pray, sir, not to be too bold, you don't come from 
London ? 

Hur. I>ut last night. 

Sir Ore. Lack-a-day, that's wonderful ! Mr 
Jenkins, introduce me. 

Jen. Mr Hartop, sir Gregory Gazette. 

Sir Gre. Sir, I am proud to Well, sir, and 

what news? You come from Pray, sir, arc 

you a parliament-man ? 

liar. Not I, indeed, sir. 

Sir Gre. Good lack ! may be, belong to the 
law .? 

Har. Nor that. 

Sir Grc. Oh, then in some of the offices; the 
treasury, or the exchequer ? 

Har. Neither, sir. 

Sir Gre. Lack-a-day, that's wondert'u! ! Weil, 
but Mr — Pray, w hat name did i\Ir Tenkins, Ha, 
Ha 

Har. Hartop. 

Sir Gre. Ay, true ! — What, not of the Ilartops 
of Boston ? 

Har. No. 

Sir Gre. May be not. I'liere is, iMr Hartop, 
one thing that I envy you Londoners in nmch — 
quires of newspapers! Now I reckon you read 
a matter of eight sheets every day ? 

Har. Not one. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! — Then, may be, you ai-ft 
about court ; and so, being at the fountain- 
head, know what is in the papers before they 
arc printed. 

Har. I never trouble my head about them. — - 
An old fool ! [Aside. 

Sir Gre. Good Lord ! Your friend, Mr Jen- 
kins, is very close. 

JcJi. Why, sir Gregory, Mr Hartop is nuich in 
the secrets above ; and it becomes a man so 
trusted to be wary, you know. 

Sir Gre. May be so, may be so. Wonderful! 
Ay, ay ; a great man, no doubt. 

Jen. But I'll give him a better insight into 
your character, and that will induce him to throw 
oil" his reserve. 

Sir Gre. May be so : do, do ; ay, ay. 

Jen. Prithee, Jack, don't be so crusty: indulge 
the knight's humour a little ! Besides, if I guess 
right, it may be necessary for the conduct of 
your design to contract a pretty strict intimacy 
there. 

Har. Well, do as you will. 

Jen. Sir Gregory, Mr Ilartop's ignorance of 
your character made him a little: shy in his re- 
plies ; but you w ill now find him more commu- 
nicative; and, in your e^r — he is a treasure ; he 
is in all the mysteries of government ; at the bot- 
tom of every thing. 



H)4 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Sir Ore. Wonderful ! a treasure ! ay, may be- 
so. 

Jen. \n(\, that you may hare him to yourself, 
I'll >:i> ir searrii of your son. 

Sir Ore. Do m>, do so : Tim is without ; just 
come from his uncle 'rre^i'S];le's, at Menepi- 
•/v, in I oniwall. Tim is an honest lad — do so, 
do so — \Kvit Jknk.I — Well, Mr Ilartop, and so 
VkC have a peace, lack-a-dav ; lon<:-looked-for 
come at last. Hur pray, Mr Ilartop, how many 
newspapers may you have printed in a-wet-k ? 

}i^ll•. About an hundred and fifty, sir (ire- 
gory. 

Sir Grc. Good now, jjood now ! and all full, 
I reckon ; full as an ess I notliin<i but news ! 
\V'ell, well, I shall 50 to London one of these 
davs. A hundred and fifty.' Wonderful! And 
prav. n(,x\ , \' Inch do you reckon the best ? 

iiar. vjh, sir Grf pory, they are various in their 
excellencies, as their uses. If you are inclined to 
blacken, by a couple of lines, the reputation of a 
ncis^hbour, you may do it for two shillings in one 
paper: if you are displaced or disappointed of a 
plac?, a triplet aiiainst the ministry will be al- 
ways v»ell received at the head of another; and 
then, as a paper of morning amusement, you have 
the Fool. 

Sir Ore. The Fool ? good lack ! and pray who 
and what may that same fool be ? 

Hii: . Why, sir Gregory, the author has artfully 
nssuinert tliat habit, like the royal jesters of old, 
to level his satire with more security to himself, 
and severity to others. 

Sir Gre. Way be so, may be so ! The Fool ! 
ha, ha, ha ! Well enousih ; a queer dog, and no 
fool, I warrant you. Killic:rew; ah, I have heard 
my i^randfather talk much of that same Killi- 
crcw, and no fool. But what's all this to news, 
J\Ir Hartop ? Who ^ives us the best account of 
the kins: of Spain, and the queen of Hungary, 
and those great folks.' Come now, you could give 
us a little news, if you would ; come now — snug ! 
— nobody by. Good now, do; come, ever so 
little. 

Har. Why, as you so largely contribute to the 
support of the government, it is but fair you 
should know what they are about. We arc at 
prc^eur in a treaty with the pope. 

Sir Grc. With the pope ! Wonderful ! Good 
now, good now ! IIow, how ! 

Hur. We are to yield him up a large track of 
the Terra-incognita, together with both the 
Needles. Scilly-rocks, and the Lizard-point, on 
condition that the pretender has the government 
of Laputa, and the bishop of Greenland suc- 
ceeds to 8t Peter's chair; he being, you know, a 
protestant, when possessed of the pontificals, 
issues out a bull, commanding all catholics to be 
of his religion : they, deeming the pope infallible, 
follow his directions; and then, sir Gregory, we 
are all of one mind. 

Sir Grc. (!ood lack, good lack! Rare news. 



rare news, rare news ! Ten millions of thanks, 
Mr Hartop. But might not I just hint this to 
Mr Soakuiii, (jur vicar? 'twould rejoice his heart. 

liar. O tie, by no means ! 

Sir Grc. (July a line — a little hint — do now ? 

Hur. Well, sir, it is dilficult for me to refuse 
yon any thing. 

Sir Gre. Ten thousand thanks. Good now ! 
the pope — Wonderful ! I'll minute it down — 
Both the Needles.' 

Har. Ay, both. 

Sir Gre. Good now; I'll minute it — the Li- 
zard-point — both the Needles — Scilly-rocks — lii- 
slK)p of (jreenland — St I'eter's chair — Why then, 
wlien this is finished, we may chance to attack 
the great Turk, and have holy wars again, Mr 
Hartop. 

Har. That's part of the scheme. 

Sir Gre. Ah, good now ! You see I have a 
head ! Politics have been my study many a 
day. Ah, if I had been in London to improve by 
the newspapers ! They tell me Dr Drybones is 
to succeed to the bishoprick of Wisper.' 

Har. No ; Doctor - 

Sir Gre. Indeed ! I was told by my landlord 
at Ross, that it was between him and the dean 
of 

Hur. To my knowledge. 

Sir Gre. Nay, you know best, to be snrc. If 

it should Hush ! here's Mr Jenknis and eon 

Tim — mum ! — Mr Jenkins does not know any 
thing about the treaty with the pope .^ 

Har. Not a word. 

Sir Gre. Mum ! 

Enter Tim and Mr Jenkins. 

Jen. Mr Timothy is almost grown out of know- 
ledge, sir Gregory. 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now! av, ay; 111 
weeds grow a-pace. Son Tim, Mr Hartop; a great 
man, child ! Mr Hartop, son Tim. 

Har. Sir, I shall be always glad to know every 
branch that springs from so valuable a trunk as 
sir Gregory Gazette. 

Sir Gie. May be so. Wonderful! ay, ay. 

Har. Sir, I am glad to see you in Hereford- 
shire — Have you been long from Cornwall? 

Tim. Ay, sir; a matter of four weeks or a 
month, more or less. 

Sir Gre. Well said, Tim ! Ay, ay, ask Tim 
any questions, he can answer for himself. Tim, 
tell Mr Ilartop all the news about the elections, 
and the tinners, and the tides, and the roads, and 
the pilchards. I want a few words with Mr Jen- 
kins. 

Hur. You have been so long absent from your 
native country, that you have almost forgot it. 

Tim. Yes sure. I ha' been at uncle Trcgegle's 
a matter of twelve or a dozen year, more or less. 

Har. Then I reckon you were quite impatient 
to see your papa and inamina ? 

Tim. No sure, not I. Father sent for me te 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



16: 



uncle. — Sure Menegizy is a choice place ! and I 
could a staid there all my bom days, more or 
less. 

Har. Pray, sir, what were your amusements ? 

Tiin. Naa ! what d'ye say ? 

Hu7: How did you divert yourself? 

Ti7n. Oh, we ha' pastimes enow there ; — we 
ha' bull-baitinsr, and cock-lighting, and fishing, 
and hunting, and hurling, and wrestling. 

Hur. The two last are sports, for which that 
country is very remarkable; — in those, I presume, 
you are very expert ? 

2un. Nan ! What ? 

Har. I sav you are a good wrestler. 

Tim. Oh, yes sure, I can wrestle well enow : — 
but we don't vvrestle after your fashion ; we ha' no 
tripping, fath and sole ! we go all upon close hugs, 
or the dying mare. Will you try a fall, master? 
— I won't hurt you, fath and sole. 

Hnr. We had as good not venture though. 
But have you left in Cornwall nothing that you 
regret the loss of more than hurling and wrest- 
ling? 

Tim. Nan ! What ? 

Har. No favourite she ! 

T/w. Arra, I coupled Favourite and Jowler to- 
gether, and sure they tugged it all the way up. 
Part with Favourite ! no, I thank you for nothing. 
You must know I nursed Favourite myself: un- 
cle's huntsman was going to Mill-pond to drown 
all Music's puppies ; so 1 saved she. But fath, 
I'll tell you a comical story ; at Lanston, they 
both broke loose, and eat a whole loin-a'-veal, 
and a leg of beef : Crist ! How landlord svvear- 
ed ! fath the poor fellow was almost amazed ; it 
made me die wi' laughing. But how came you 
to know about our Favourite ? 

Har. A circumstance so material to his son, 
could not escape the knowledge of sir Gregory 
Gazette's friends. But here you mistook me a lit- 
tle, 'Squire Tim ; I meant whether your afiections 
were not settled upon some pretty girl. — Has 
not some Cornish lass caught your heart? 

Ti)n. Hush! cod, the old man will hear; jog a 
tiny bit this way — won't a' tell father? 

Hur. Upon my honour ! 

I'im. Why then, Fll tell you the whole story 
more or less. Do you know Mally Pengrouse ? 

Har. I am not so happy. 

Ti}>i. She's uncle's milk-maid ; — she's as hand- 
some. Lord ! her face all red and white, like the 
inside of a shoulder of mutton ; so I made love 
to our Mally: and just, fath, as I had got her 
good-will to run away to Exeter and be married, 
imcle found it out, and sent word to father, and 
father sent for me home — but I don't love her a 
bit the worse for that. But i'cod, if you tell fa- 
ther, he'll knock my brains out ; for he says, I'll 
disparage the family, and mother's as mad as a 
March hare about it — so father and mother ha' 
brought me to be married to some young body in 
these parts. 



Har. What, is my lady here ? 

Tim. No, sure ; dame Winnifred, as father 
calls her, could not come along. 

Har. I am sorry for that ; 1 have the honour 
to be a distant relation of her ladyship's. 

Tim. Like enough, fath ! — she's a-kin to half 
the world, I think. But don't you say a word to 
father about Mally Pcniirouse. Hush ! 

Jcii. Mr Hartop, sir Gregory will be amongst 
us some time — he is going with his son to sir Pe- 
nurious Trifle's there is a kind of a treaty of 

marriage on foot between Miss Sukey Trifle and 
Mr liniothy. 

Har. The devil ! [Apa7-t.'] I shall be glad of 
every circumstance that can make me better ac- 
quainted with sir Gregory. 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now ! may be so, 
may be so ! 

Tim. Father, sure the gentleman says as how 
mother and he are a-kin ! 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! Lack-a-day, lack-a-day ! 
how, how ? I am proud to — but how, Mr Hartop, 
how? 

Har. Why, sir, a cousin-german of my aunt's 
first husband intermarried with a distant relation 
of a collateral branch by the mother's side, the 
Apprices of Lantrindon ; and we have ever since 
quartered in a 'scutcheon of pretence the three 
goat's tails rampant, divided by a cheveron, field- 
argent; with a leek pendant in the dexter point, 
to distinguish the second house. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! wonderful ! nearly, 
nearly related ! Good now, good now, if dame 
Winnifred was here, she'd make them all out 
with a wet finger — but they are above me. Pri- 
thee, Tim, good now, see after the horses — and, 
d'ye hear ? try if you can get any newspapers. 

Tim. Yes, father — But, cousin what-d'ye-call- 
um, not a word about Mally Pengrouse ! 

Har. Muni ! [Exit Tim. 

Sir Gre. Good now, that boy will make some 
mistake about the horses now ! I'll go myself. 
Good now, no farther, cousin ; if you please, no 
ceremony — A hundred and fifty newspapers a 
week ! the Fool ! ha, ha, ha ! wonderful ! an odd 
dog ! [Exit Sir Gregory. 

Jen. So, Jack, here's a fresh spoke in your 
wheel. 

Har. This is a cursed cross incident ! 

Jen. Well, but something must be done to 
frustrate the scheme of your new cousin's. Can 
you think of nothing? 

Har. I have been hammering : pray, are the 
two knights intimate ? are they well acquainted 
with each other's person ? 

JcH. Faith, I can't tell ; but we may soon 
know. 

Har. Could yon recommend me a good spi- 
rited girl, who has humour and compliance to 
follow a few directions, and understanding 



10(5 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



CFOOTE. 



rnoush to b:irlf r a little inclination for 3UO0l. a- 
yenr ami a tool ? 

Jin. In part I pue?ss _><""■ desitn ; tlic man's 
tiautjlitcr ot the hou>e i^ a i:<)tnl lively lass, has a 
furtiine to ntaki, anil no icpntafion to loso : HI 

call her — Jcnnv ! — hut the cniniy's at liand 

I'll withdraw and prepare .Itiii.y. \V Ik n the 
wiu^ltipiul I'amiiy arc retired, I'll introduce the 
>\ tncii. 

[Exit JllNKlXb. 

Enter SiK GurGORY «r7f/TiM. 

Sir Grc. Pray, now, cousin, are you in friend- 
ship with sir IVnurions Trille? 

llcr. I have the honour, Mr, of that pi ntlc- 
inan's ac'|uainiance. 

Sir Grc. May be so, may be so ! but, lack-a- 
day, cttusin, is he sucii a miser as folks say ? 
Ciood now, they teil nic we shall hardly have ne- 
cessaries for ourselve? and horses at (i ripe-hail ; 
but as you arc a relation, you should, good now, 
know the affairs of the family. Here's sir Tenu- 
rious's letter ; here, cousin. 

Hur. ' Your ovcrtme 1 receive with pleasure, 
and should be plari to meet you in Shropshire' — 
I fanrv, from a thorouL'li knowledge of sir Pcnu- 
rious's disposition, and by what I can collect from 
the contents of tiiat h tter, he wcjuld be yuich 
better pleased to meet yon here than at his own 
house. 

Sir Ore. Lack-a-day, may be so ! — a stranee 
man ! wonderful ! But, good now, cousin, what 
must we do ? 

Hur. I this mornine paid sir Penurious a visit, 
and if you'll honour me with vuur commands, 

I'll " 

iS/> Ore. Wonderful ! to-day ! good now, 

that's lucky ! cousin, you arc very kind. Good 
now, I'll send a letter, Tim, by cousin Ilartop. 

Hur. A letter from so old an acquaintance, 
and upon so happy an occasion, will secure me a 
lavourablc reception. 

Sir Grc. Good lack, good lack, an old ac- 
quaintance, indeed, cousin Hartop ! we were at 
lleret'ord 'size together — let's see, wonderful, 
how lonii ago ! — 'twas while I was courting 
Dame Wiiinv, the year before I married — 
Good now, how long? let's see — that year the 
hackney stable was built, and Peter Ugly, the 
blirid pad, fell into a saw-pit. 

Tim. Mother says, father and she was married 
the first of April in the year ten ; and I knows 
'tis thereabout, fur I am two and thirty ; and 
brotlier Jeremv, «nd Roger, and Gregory, and 
Msier Nelly, were born before I. 

Sir Gn: (iood now, nuod now! how time 
wears away ! wonderful I thirty-eight years ago, 
'1 ini I I could not have tl;ought it. liut come in, 
let's set about the letter. But, pray, cousin, 
V haf diversion?, good now, .arc going forward in 
LoudoH ? 



Hur. Oh, sir, wc are in no distress for amusc- 
meni ; we have l>la\s, balls, puppct-shcws, mas- 
qnirades, bull-l.aitnigs, boxings, biiriettas, routs, 
drums, and a thousand others. But 1 am in haste 
for your epistle, sir Gregory. 

Sir Grc. Gousin, your servant. 

[Eitiint Sill GKt(;oiiY anr/ Timothy. 

]I(ir. I am your most obedient — Tiius far our 
sciiciiie sucieeds : and if Jenkins's girl can as- 
sume the aukward pertness of the daughter, with 
as mucii success as I can imitate the ^piriled 
toil\ of sir Penurious the father, 1 don't despair 
ol' a happy catastrophe. 

Enter Jexny. 
.Jinny. Sir, Mr Jenkins- 



Hur. Oh, child, your instructions shall be ad- 
ministered within. 

Jenny. Mr Jenkins has opened your design, 
and I am ready and able to execute my part. 

Har. !VIy dear, I have not the least doubt of 
either your inclination or ability — But, pox take 
this old fellow ! what in the devil's name can 
bring him back.'' Scour, Jenny. 

Enter Sir Gregory. 

Sir Gre. Cousin, I beg pardon ; but I have a 
favour to beg — Good now, couKl not you make 
iuterest at some coffee-house in London, to buy, 
for a small matter, the old books of newspapers, 
and '-end them into the country to me ? They 
would pass away the time rarely in a rainy day — 

Har. I'll send you a cart-load. 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now! Ten thou- 
sand thanks I — You are a cousin indeed. But, 
pray, cousin, let us, good now, see some of the 
works of that same fool? 

H(ir. I'll send you them all ; but a 

Sir Grc. What, all.? — Lack-a-day, that's kind, 
consin ! Tlie Terra-incognita — both tlie Needles 
— a great deal of that ! But what bishop is to be 
pope ? 

Hiir. Zounds, sir, I am in haste for your letter 
— WlirT. I return, ask as many questions 

iSiV Gre. Good no^v, good now! that's true — 

I'll in, and about it But, cousin, the pope 

is not to have Gibraltar ? 

Har. No, no ; damn it, no ! As none but the 
Fool could s.iy it, so none but idiots would be- 
lieve hiai — Pray, sir Gregory • 

Sir Gre. Well, well, cousin ; Lack-a-day! you 
are so — but pray 

H(ir. Damn your praying ! If you don't finish 
your letter immediately, you may carry it your- 
self. 

Sir Gre. Well, well, consin ! Lack-a-day, you 
are in such a — good now, I go, I go ! 

Har. But if the truth should be discovered, I 
shall be ine\ itahly disappointed. 

Sir Grc. But, cousin, are Scilly rocks 



POOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



167 



Har. I vvi'^ii they were in your gats willi all | Sir Grc. Wonderful ! good now, good now ! 
my heart ! I must quit the held, I Hud. a (lassionatc man I Lack-a-day, I am glad the 

\^Exit, Hartoi'. I pope is not to iiave Gibraltar though. [£j<Y. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— Sir Gregory, and Tni reading 
neics lo him, discovered. 

Tim. Constantinople, N. S. Nov. 15, the 
Grand Seignior 

Sir Gre. Lack-a-day ! good now, Tim, the po- 
litic?, child: and read the stars, and the dabhes, 
and the blanks, as I taught you, Tim. 

Tim. Yes, father — We can assure our readers, 
(hat the D — dash is to go to F blank : and that 
a certain noble L — is to resi>j;n his p — c in the 

t y in order to make room for the two three 

stars. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! good now, good now ! 
great news, Tim! Ah, I knew the two three stars 
would come in play one time or other. This 
London Evening knows more than any of them. 
Well, child, weil. 

'Tim. From the D. J. 

Sir Gre. Ay, that's the Dublin Journal. Go 
on, Tim. 

Tim. Last Saturday, a gang of hiuhwaymen 
broke into an empty house on Ormond quay, and 
stripped it of all the turniture. 

Sir Grc. Lack-a-day, wonderful ! To what a 
heiiiht these rogues are iiro« n ! 

Tim. The way to Mr Keith's chapel, is turn oif 
your 

Sir Gre. Psha ! skip that, Tim ; I know 
that road as well as the doctor -. 'tis in every 
time. 

Tim. J. Ward, at the Cat and Gridiron, Petti- 
coat lane, makes tabby all over for people in- 
clined to be crooked ; and if he was to have the 
universal world for making a pair of stays, lie 
could not put better stuff in them 

Sir Gre. Good now ; where's that, Tim ? 

Tim. At the Cat and Gridiron, father. 

Sir Gre. I'll minute that : All my lads 
Isard's children, good now, are inclined to be 
crooked. 

Enter T)rancr. 

Draw. Sir, Mr Jenkins begs to speak witli 
you. 

iSVV Gre, Good now ; desire him to walk in. 

Enter Jenkins. 

Jenk. I thought it might not be improper to 
prepare you for a visit from sir Penurious Trifle. 
I saw him and his daughter alight at the apothe- 
cary's above. 

Sir Gre. What, they are come ? Wonderful ! 
Very kind, very kind, very kind, indeed, Mr 



Come, Tim, settle my cravat ; good now, let's 
be a little decent. — Remember your best bow 
to your mistress, Tim. 

Tim. Yes, father ! but nuist not I kiss Miss 
Suck ? 

Sir Gre. Lack-a-day, ay, ay. Pray, is cousin 
Hartop come along ? 

Jcnk. 1 have not seen him ; but I fancy I had , 
better introduce. my neighbours. 

Sir Gre. Good now, would you be so kind ? 
\_Exit Jenkins.] Stand behind me, Tim — Pull 
down your nifilcs, child. 

Tim. But, father, won't Miss Suck think me 
bold, if I kiss her chops the hrst time ? 

Sir Gre. Lack-a-day ! no, Tim, no. Faint 
heart never won fair lady, lia, Tim, had you 
but seen me attack dame Winny ! But times 
aren't as they were. Good now, we were an- 
other kind of folks in those days ; stout hearty 
suracks, that would ha' made your mouth water 
again ; and the mark stood upon the pouting lip, 
like the print upon a pound of butter. But the 
master-misses of the present age go, lack-a-day, 
as gingerly about it, as if they were afraid to iill 
their mouths with the paint upon their mistresses' 
cheeks. Ah, the days I have seen ! 

Tim. Nay, father, I warrant, if that's all, I 
kiss her hearty enow, fath and sole ! 

.Sir Gre. Hush, Tim, hush 1 Stand behind me, 
child. 

Enter Hartop as Sir Penurious Trifle, and 
Jenny as Miss Sukey, and Jenkins. 

Sir Gre. Sir Penurious, I am overjoyed ! 

Good now ! 

Har. Sir Gregory, I kiss your hand. My 
daughter Suck. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! — Miss, I am proud to 
— Son Tim — Sir Penurious — Best bow, child — 
Miss Suck — 

Ti)n. An't that right, father ? \Kisses her. 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now ! I am glad to 
see you look so well. You keep your own, ^ir 
Penurious. 

Har. Av, av, stout enough, sir Gregory ; stout 
enoui:h, brother knight ; hearty as an oak. Iley, 
Dick ? Gad, now I talk of an oak, I'll tell you a 
story of an oak. Jt \\\h make you die with 
Uuigliing. Iley, you Dick, you have heard it ; 
shall I tell it sir Grejjory.? 

Jen. Though I have heard it so often, yet 
there is something so engaging in your manner 
of telling a story, that it always ap[)ears new. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! good now, good now ; 



lG8 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



I love a comical storv. Prav, sir Penurious, lei's 
luivf it. — Miiul, Tiiii ; niiiul, child. 

'Inn Yes, tatlicr ; fatli and sole, I love a 
choice story to my heart's blood ! 

Har. You, kiiinht, I was at liath last summer 

a water that people drink when thtv are 

ill. You have heard of the bath, Dick ? licv, 
you ? 

Tiiii. Yes, t'atli, I know liith; I was there in 
my way up. 

Sir Grc. Hush, 'I'im ; nood now, hush ! 

//((/. I here's a colVec-lu)U.»e, you a place 

where people drink cofl'ee and tea, and read the 
news. 

Sir Gre. Pray, sir Penurious, how many pa- 
pers may they take in f 

Har. ISha ! danm the news ! mind the storv. 

■SV;- Ore. CJood DOW, good now ! a ha.->ty man, 
1 im ! 

Jlar. Pox take you botli ! I have lost the sto- 
ry — Where did I leave oft.'' Iley — you Dick. 

Tim. About cotlee and tea. 

JJnr. Right, right ! IVue, true ! So, ecod, you 
kniglit. I Used to breakfast at this coft'ee-house 
every morning; it cost me eiglit-pence, though, 
and I had always a breakfast at home — no mat- 
ter for that, tliough ! there 1 breakfasted, you, 
Dick, ( c(jd, at the same table with lord Tom 

Triiewit YOu have heard of Truewit, you 

knight.'' a droll dog ! You, Dick, he told us the 
story, and made us die with laughing. You have 
heard ol" Charles II. you knight; he was son of 
Charles I. king here, in England, that was be- 
headed by Oliver Cromwell : So, what docs 
( harles I. you knight, do } But he tights Noll at 
^\'or(■e8ter, a town you have heard of, not far 
otVr but all would not do, you : ecod, Noll made 
him scamper, made him run, take to his heels, 
yi)u knight. Truewit told us the storv, marie us 
die with laughing. I always breakfasted at the 
colTee-honse ; it cost me eightpeiicc, though I 
had a breakfast at home — So what does Charles 
do, but hid himself in an oak, an oak-tree, you, 
in a wood, called Boscobel, from two Italian 
words, Bosco Bello, a fine wood, you ; and otf he 
marches : but old Noll would not let him come 
home ; no, says he, you don't come here. Lord 
Tom told us the story ; made us die with laugh- 
ing ; it cost me eightpence, though 1 had a break- 
fast at home. So, you knight, when Noll died, 
JMonk there, you, afterwards Albemarle, i." the 
north, brought him back. So, you, the cavaliers, 
you have heard of them ? they were friends to 
the Stuarts. What did they do, ecod, vou Dick ! 
But they put up Charles in a sign, the royal oak ; 
you have seen such signs at country ale-houses : 
so, ecod, you, u hat does a puritan do r — the pu- 
ritans weic friends to Noll — but he puts up the 
sign of an owl in the ivy-bush, and underneath 
he writes, ' This is not the royal oak.' You have 
seen writings under signs, you knight ? Upon this, 
says the royalists, ecod, this roust not be: so, 



yon, what do they do, but, ecod, thcv prosecuted 
the poor purit;in ; but they made him change his 
siijn, though. And you, Dick, hjw d'ye think 
ihiy changed it? Kcod, he puts up the royal oak, 
and underneath he writes, ' This is not the owl 
in the ivy-bush.' It made us all die with laugh- 
iiii:. Lord Tonj told the story. I always 
breakfasted at the cotVee-house, though it cost 
me eightpence, and I had a breakfast at home; 
liey, you knight? What, Dick, hey? 

Sir Gre. (Jood now, good now I Wonderful! 

Tdii. a choice tale, fath ! 

Jen. Oh, sir I'enurious is a most entertaining 
companion, that must be allowed. 

.SV; G/r. Oood now, ay, ay, a merry man ! 
But, lack-a-day, would not the young lady choose 
a little refreshment after her ride? Some teii, or 
some 

Har. Iley, you knight! No, no; we intend to 
dine with thee, man. Well, you, Tim, what dost 
think of thy father-in-law that is to be, hey ? A 
jolly cock, you, Tim ; hey, Dick? But, prithee, 
boy, what dost do with all this tawdry tinsel on ? 
that hat and waistcoat? trash, knight, trash! 
more in thy pocket, and less in thy clothes ; hey, 
you Dick ? ecod, you knight, I'll make you laugh: 
I went to London, you, Dick, last year, to call in 
a mortgage ; and w hat does me, I, Dick, but 
take a trip to a cotVee-house in St ]Miirlin's-lanc ; 
in comes a French fellow forty times as fme as 
Tim, with his muft' and parlevous, and his Fran- 
ces ; and his head, you knight, as white with 
powder, ecod, you, as a twelfth cake: and who 
the devil d'ye think, Dick, this might be, hey, 
you knight ? 

Sir Gre. Good now, an ambassador, to be 
sure. 

Har. Ecod, you knight, n(jr better nor worse 
than iMynheer V'ancaper, a Dutch ligure-dancer 
at the opera house in the Haymarket. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! good now, good now ! 

Har. Psha ! Pox, prithee, Tim, nobody dres- 
ses now; all plain : look at me, knight; I am in 
the lip of the mode; now am I in full dress; 
hey, Dick ? 

Jen. You, sir, don't want the aid of dress ; but 
in Mr Gazette, u little rcL'ard to that particular 
is but a necessary coniplimeiit to his mistress. 

Har. Stuff, Dick, stulT! my daughter, kniglit, 
has had otherguess breeding. Iley, you. Suck, 
come forward. Plain as a pikc-stalf, knight; all 
as nature made her ; hey, Tim ? no flams. Pri- 
thee, Tivn, oft' with thy lace, and burn it; 'twill 
help to buy the licence ; she'll not like thee a 
bit the better for that ; hey, Suck ? but you, 
knight; ecod, Dick, a toast and tankard 'would 
not be amiss after our walk ; hey, you ? 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now I What you 
will, sir Penurious. 

Har. Lcod, that's hearty, you ! but we won't 
part the young couple, hey ? I'll send Suck 
some bread and cheese in ; hey, knight r at her, 
3 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



J6g 



Tim. Come, Dick; come, you knight. Did I 
ever tell you my courtship, hey, Dick? 'twill 
make you laui;li. 

Jen. Not, as I remember. 

Sir Gre. Lack-a-day, let's have it. 

Har. You know my wife was blind, you, 
knight ! 

Sir Gre. Good now, wonderful ! not I. 

Har. Blind as a beetle when I married her, 
knight; hcv, Dick? she was drowned in our or- 
chard. Maid Hess, knip;lit, went to market, you, 
Dick ; and wite rambled into the orchard, and 
souse dropped into the fish-j)ond. We found her 
out next dav; but she was dead as a herring; no 
help for that, Dick ; buried her, tliougli, hey, 
you ? She was only (laughter to sir Tristram 
Muckworm, you ; rich enough, you, hey ? Ecod, 
you, what docs she do, you, but she falls in love 
with young Sleek, her father's chaplain, hey, you? 
Upon that, what does me, I, but slips on dnmine's 
robes, you, passed uiyself upon her for him, and 
we were tacked tosicther, you, knight, hey, ecod? 
though I believe she never liked me : but what 
signifies thar, hey, Dick? she was rich, you. But 
come, let's leave the children together. 

Sir Gre. Sir, I wait on you. 

Har. Nay, pray 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now, 'tis impossi- 
ble. 

Har. Pox of ceremony ! You, Dick, hey ? 
Ecod, knight, I'll tell you a story. One of our 
ambassadors in France, you, a devilish polite fel- 
low reckoned, Dick ; ecod, you, what does the 
king of France do, but, says he, I'll try the man- 
ners of this fine gentleman : so, knight, going in- 
to a coach, together, the king would have my 
lord go first: oh, an't please your ma.jesty, I 
can't indeed ; you, hey, Dick? Upon which, what 
does me, the king, but he takes his arm thus, 
you, Dick; am I king of France, or you? Is it 
my coach, or yours ? And so pushes him in thus, 
hey, Dick ? 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now ! he, he, he ! 

Har. Ecod, Dick, I believe I have made a 
mistake here ; I should have.gone in first ; hey, 
Dick ? Knight, ecod, you, beg pardon. Yes ; 
your coach, not mine ; your house, not mine ; 
hey, knight? 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! A merry man, Mr Jen- 
kins. 

[Exeunt the tuo hiights unrl Jr.x. 

Tim. Father and cousin are gone, fath and 
sole! 

Jenny. I fancy my lover is a little puzzled how 
to begin. 

Tim. How — fath and sole, I don't know what 
to say. — How d'ye do, IVIiss Suck ! 

Jenny. Pretty well, thank you. 

Tim. You have had a choice walk. Tis a rare 
day, fath and sole ! 

Jenny. Yes ; the day's well enough. 

Tim. Is your house a good way oif here ? 

Vol. III. 



Jenny. Dree or vour mile. 

Tim. That's a good long walk, fath ! 

Jenny. I make nothing of it, and back asain. 
TwK Like enow. [Wltistles. 

Jenny. [Sings. 

Tim. You have a rare pipe of your own, miss. 

Jcnni/. I can sing loud enough, if I have a 
mind ; but father don't love singing. 

Tim. Like enow. [Wliislles. 

Jenny. And I an't overfond of whistling. 

Tim. Hey ! ay, like enow : and I am a bitter 
bad singer. 

Jenny. Hey ! ay, like enough. 

Tim. Prav, Miss Suck, did ever any body make 
love to you before? 

Jenny. Before when ? 

Tim. ]?efore now. 

Jenny. What if I won't tell you? 

Tim. Why, then, you must let it alone, fath 
and sole. 

Jenny. Like enough. 

Tim. Pray, Miss .Suck, did your father tell you 
any thing ? 

Jenny. About what? 

Tim. About I. 

Jenny. What should a tell ? 

Tim. Tell ! Why, as how I and father was 
come a-wooing. 

Jenny. Who ? 

Tim. Why, you. Could you like rne for a 
sweetheart. Miss Suck ? 

Jenny. I don't know. 

Tim. Mayhap, somebody may ha' got your 
good-will already ? 

Jenny. And what then ? 

Tirn^ Then ? Hey, I don't know. But if you 
could fancy me 

Jenny. For what? 

Tim. For your true lover — 

Jenny, Well, what then ? 

Tim. "Then ! Hey ! \Vhy, fath, we may chance 
to l)e married, if the old folks agree together. 

Jenny. And suppose I won't be married to 
you ? 

Tim. Nay, ]\Iiss Suck, I can't help it, fath and 
sole. But father and mother bid me come a- 
courting; and if you won't ha' me, V\\ tell father 
so. 

Jenny. You are in a woundy hurry, methinks. 

Tinu Not I, fath ! You may stay as long as — 

Enter Waiter. 

Wait. There's a woman without wants to speak 
with Mr Timothy Gazette. 

Tim. That's I. I am glad on't. Well, Miss 
Suck, your servant. You'll think about it ; and 
let's kiiow your mind when I come back. Cod, 
I don't care whether slie likes nic or no. I don't 

like her half so well as Mally Pengrouse 

Well, your servant, Miss Suck. 

[Exit Tim. 



170 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Jevny. Was tlnTe ever sticK an iinliiktd ciih ! 
I ('on't think liis riirf.uif a sulhcimt ixw.ird for 
sa rificini; niv pcrxin lo siicli a Imolty ; \<nx as In- 
lias inoniv i li-mili, it shall no hard but f plf-nsr 
invbclf ": I liar I vNa> a liltlr tin haLlvv>:inl with 
inv trntliinan ; hnt, huwi'vcr, a I'avonraltic im- 
swcr to his la^-t qnt'slion \>iil soon settle- mailers. 

Kntir JjNUiNs 

Jen. Now, Jenny, what news, child? Arc- 
things fi\fd ? are vou ready lor the nuptial 
knot? 

Jniiii/. Wf arc in a fair «ay : I thoni:ht to 
have quicl.nicd my Spain's advances hy a little 
ari"(ctc<l cuvnc!^s, hut iIk- trap «onld not take : I 
expect him hack in a mintiie, ami then Ic-avc it 
to my nian;it:c-ment. 

Jill. Where is iieeone? 

Jcnni/. The drawer called hitn to soine wo- 
man. 

Jen. Woman! he ntiiiier knows, nor is known, 
bv anv hodv here. What can this mean? No 
counier-pi«". ? Dnt, pox, that's impossible ! You 
have not blabbed, Jenny ? 

J( mil/. Mv interest would prevent mc. 

Jt'ii. rpon that security any woman may, I 
tliiuk, be trusted. I must after him, tiiouiiii. 

[E.Lit ^^^. 

Jcnni/. I know the time wlien Jenkms would 
not have left nie so hastily. Heigh ho ! 

lliitrr IIartop as Sir Penirious, and Sir 

(iREfjORY G.VZr.TTE. 

Har. And so, you knight, says he you 

know, knight, what low dogs the ministers were, 
then : how does your pot — a pot, you, that they 
put over the fire to boil broth and meat in — you 
liave seen a pot, you knisiht ? how does your pot 
hoil these troubJesome .times? hey you ! Ecod, 
mv lord, says he, I don't know, I seldom go into 
my kitchen. A kitchen, you knight, is a place 
wiiere thev dress victuals, roast and boil, and so 
forth : Ecod, says he, I seldom no into the kitch- 
en — But 1 suppose, the scum is uppermost still ! 
Hey, you kni«:lit ! what, ecod, hey ? But where 's 
\our son, sir Gregory ? 

Sir Grc. Good now, irood now Where is 

Tim, Miss bukey? lack-a-day ! what is become 
of 1 im ? 

Jcnnij. Gone out a tiny bit ; Iie'll be here pre- 
sently. 

iV/- Gre. Wonderful ! good now, good now ! 

Well, and how. Miss .Sukey has Tim? has 

he, well ? and what, you have — wonderful ! 

Enter a Servant, nith a letter. 
Ser. Sir, I was commanded to deliver this in- 
to vnar own hands, by Mr .lenkins. 

liar. Hey, you ! what, a letter? ecod so! 

r,n-wer, you ? hey ? 
- .S'cr. None, sir. 



Sir Gre. Ij«ck-a-day, sir Penurious is busy ! 
Well, miss, and did Tim do the thing? did he 
plerix- M»n? Lome ih)w, tell us the whole story : 
woiideifnl! rare news fi.T flame \\ innv ! ha, 
Tim's father's own son ! But come, whimper — 
ay. 

Hiir. ' I have only time to tell you, that your 
scIk nie is blasted : this instant I encountered 
•Mrs r< nclope Tritle, with her niece; thry will 
soon be with you.' .So, then, all is over; but let 

us sec what expedilion will do Well, you 

knight, hey? what, have they settled? — Is the 
girl willing? 

Sir Gir. Good now, good now ! right as my 
leg ! ah, 'I im, little did I think — But, lack-a- 
day, I wiinder where the boy is! let us sec^ 
him. 

Jlar. Agreed, you knight ; hey, come. 

Eater Jenkins. 

Sir Grr. I,ack-a-day, here's Mr Jenkins. 

Good now, have you seen Tim ? 

Jew. Voiir curiosity shall be immediately sa- 
tisfied ; but I must first have a word with sir 
Penurious. 

Har. Well you! what, hey.' — any news, 

Dick ? 

Jt n. Better than you could hope ; jour rival 
is disposed of. 

Hur. Dispo'-ed of ! how? 

Jen. ^larried by ihis time, you rogue! — ^The 
womtin that wanletl liini was no other than Mal- 
ly Pciigrouse, who trudged it up all the way af- 
ter him, as Tim says : I have recommended them 
to my chaplain, and before this the business is 
done. 

liar. Bravissimo, you rogue ! but how shall I 
get otf with the knight? 

Jen. jS-ay, that must be your contrivance. 
Har. 1 have it — Suppose I was to own tiie 
whole desi!;n lo sir (iregory, as our plan has not 
succeeded with his son ; and, as he seems to 
have a toleraide regard for me, it is possible 
he may assist my s(iifincon sir Penurious. 

Jen. 'Tis wortii trying, however. But he 
ctMiies. 

Sir Grc. \Veil, good now, Mr Jenkins, have 
you seen 'lim ? 1 can't think where the boy — 

Hnr. 'J is I'.'iw time, sir Gregory, to set you 
clear with k M>tct to soiue particulars. I am no 
longer sir Penurious Trifle, but your friend and 
relation. Jack Hartop. 

Sir Grc. Wonderful ! good now, good now, 

cousin Hartop ! as i am a living man — hey 

Weil, but, good now ! how, Mr Jenkins, hey? 

Ji7'. The story, sir Gregory, is rather too long 
to tell you now : but in two words — my friend 
Hartop has very lon<: had a passion for Miss 
1 rille, and was apprehensive your son's applica- 
ti«)ii would destroy his views — which in order to 
di feat, he assumed the character of sir Penuri- 
ous ; but he is so captivated with your integrity 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



17 



and friendship, tliat he rather clinnses to forego 
his own interest, than interrupt llie happiness ol" 
yonr son. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! good now, gnod now, 
that is kind ! who ctVuld ha\ e thou'jht it, cousin 
Ilartop } lack-a-day ! Well, l)ut wherc's Tim ? 
hey, good now ! and who are you ? 

Jen. This, sir, is Jenny, the handmaid of the 
house. 

Sir Gre, Wonderful ! a pestilent hussy ! — 
Ah, Hartop, you are a wag ! a pize of your pots, 
and y.)Mr royal oaks ! lack-a-day, who couid ha' 

tliouelit ah, Jcnnv, you're a — But wherc's 

Tim? 

Enter Sir Gkegohy's servant 

Ser. Wounds, master ! never stir alive if mas- 
ter Tim has na ".nie and married Mallv Pen- 

I 
grouse ! 

Sir Gre. Wonderful ! how, sirrah, how ! good 
now, pood now, cousin lIarto[) — Mally Pen- 
grouse ! Who the dickens is she .? 

Ser. Master Timothy's sweetlicait in Corn- 
^vall. 

Sir Gre. And how came she here ? lack-a- 
day, cousin ! 

Ser. She tramped it up after master. Master 
Timothy is without, and says as how they be 
married. I wanted iiim to come in, but he's 
afraid you'll knock'n down. 

Sir Gre. Knock'n down ! Good now, let me 
come at him ! I'll — ah, rogue ! Lack-a-day, cou- 
sin, show me where he is ! I'll 

Hur. Moderate your fury, good sir Gregory ; 
consider, it is an evil without a remedy. 

Sir Gre.' But what will Dame Winny say? 
Good now, sach a disjjaragement to — and, then, 
what will sir Penurious say ? lack-a-day, I am al- 
most distracted ! And you, you lubberly dog ! 
why did not you — I'll — ah, cousin Hartop, cou- 
sin Hartop ! good now, good now ! 

Har. Dear sir, be calm ; this is no such sur- 
prising matter : we have such instances in the 
ne« spapers every day. 

Sir Gre. Good now ! no cousin, no. 

Har. Indeed, sir Gregory, it was but last 
week that lord Lofty 's son married his mother's 
maid ; and lady Betty Forward run away, not a 
month airo, with her uncle's butler. 

Sir Gre. Wonderful! what, in the news? — 
Good now, that's some comfort, however; but 
what will sir Penurious 

Har. As to that, leave him to me; I have a 
project to prevent his laughing at you, I'll war- 
rant. 

Sir Gre. But how ? how, cousin Hartop, 

how ? 

Har. Sir Gregory, do you think me your 
fries. d ? 

Sir Gre. Lack-a-day ! ay, cousin, av. 
Har. And would you, in return, serve me in a 
circumstance that can't injure yourself ? 



Sir Gre. Good now, to be sure, cousin. 

Har. Will you, then, permit me to assume 
the figure of your son, and so pay my addresses 
to Miss Trifle? I was pretty happy in the imita- 
tion of her father; and if I could impose upon 
vour sagacity, I shall find less difficulty with 
i your brother knight. 

Sir Gre. Good now, Tim ! ah, you could not 
touch Tim. 

Hur. I warrant you. But, see, the young gen- 
tleman. 

Enter Tim. 

Sir Gre. Ah, Tim, Tim ! little did I Good 

now, good now ! 

Tim. 1 could not help it now, fath and sole : 
hut if you'll forgive me this time, I'll never do so 
no more. 

Sir Gre. Well, well, if thee can'st forgive thy- 
self, I can forgive thee; but thank my cousin 
Hartop. 

Hur. Oh, sir ! If you are satisfied, I am re- 
warded. I wisli you joy ; joy to you, child ! 

Ti/n. Thanks, cousin Hartop. 

Enter Waiter. 

Wait. Sir, Mrs Penelope Trifle, with her niece, 
being come to town, and hearing your worship 
was in the house, would be glad to pay you their 
compliments. 

Sir Gre. Lnck-a-day ! wonderful ! here wc 
are all topsv-turvey again ! What can be done 
now, cousin Hartop ? 

Har. Dick ! show the ladies in here; hut de- 
lay them a little. The luckiest incident in the 
world, sir Gregory ! If you'll be kind enough to 
lend Jenkins your dress, and Master Timothy 
will lend me his, I'll make up matters in a mo- 
ment. 

Sir Gre. Ay, ay, cousin. 

Tim. Fath and sole, you shall have mine 
direc 

Har. No, no ! Step into the next room a mi- 
nute, sir Gregory. 

Sir Gre. Aye, aye, where you will. 

Ti?n. Faith, here will be choice sport. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Mrs Peneiopf. and Suck, uith 
Waiter. 
Wait. The gentleman will wait on you present- 
ly. Would you choose anv refreshment ? 
" Suck. A draught of ale," friend, for I am main 
dry. 

Mrs Pen. Fie, fie, niece! is that liquor for a 
young lady? Don't disparage your family and 
iireeding. The person is to be born that ever 
saw me touch any thing stronger than water till 
I was three-and twenty. 

Suck. Troth, aunt, 'that is so lor.g ago, thar [ 
think there's few people alive who can remem- 
ber what vou did, then. 



17'2 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Mrs Pen. How, pillflirt? none of your (leers! 
1 am clad here's ji IiusIkihH coininj; thai will take 
vou ilowu : Your tantrums ! You arc thrown too 
ln.It(^^tronvJ and robust for me. 

Suck, (iad, I believe y"u would be glad to be 
taken down the >.aine way ! 

Mrs Pen. Oil ! you are a pert ^ — But, 

see, vour lover approaches. Now, Sukey, be 
earefui, ehild : None of your 

Enter Ji.XKiNS, as Sir GRrcouv, and IlARxoi' 
us Tim. 

Jen. I,ack-a-day, lady ! I rejoice to sec you. 
Wondert'id ! and your niece ! Tiui, tlie ladies. 

Har. Your servant, mistress ! I am ^iad to see 
yqu, Aliss Suck. [Salutes hcr.^ Fath and sole, 
mistress, Suck's a tine vouni; woman, more or 
less ! 

Suck. Yes, I am well enoucli, I believe. 
Jen. Hut, lady, where 's my brother Trifle .'' 
where is sir Penurious? 

Suck. Fatiier's at home, in expectation of you ; 
antl aunt and 1 be come to town to make prepa- 
rations. 

Jen. Ay, wonderful ! Pray, lady, shall I, good 
now ! crave a word in private ? Tim, will you 
and your sweetheart liraw back a little? 

Har. Yes, father. Come, miss, will you jog a 
tiny bit this way? 

Suck. With all my heart. 
Jen. There i«, lady, a wonderful affair has 
happened, good now ! Son Tim has fallen in love 
with a young woman at his uncle's, and 'tis part- 
ly to prevent bad consequences, that I am, lack- 
n day ! so hasty to match him : and one of my 
men, good now ! tells me that he has seen the 
wench since we have been in town ; she has fol- 
lowed us here, sure as a gun, lady ! if Tim sees 
the girl, he'll never marry your niece. 

Mrs Pen. It is, indeed, sir Gregory Gazette, a 
most critical conjuncture, and requires the most 
mature deliberation. 

Jen. Deliberation! lack-a-day, lady, whilst we 
deliberate the boy will be lost. 

Mrs Pen. Wily, sir Gregory Gazette, what 
operations can we determine upon ? 
Jen. J^ck-a-day ! I know but one. 
Mrs Pen. Administer your proposition, sir 
Gregory Gazette : you will have my concur- 
rence, sir, in any thing that does not derogate 
from the regulations of conduct ; for it would be. 
most preposterous in one of my character, to de- 
viate from the strictest attention. 

Jen. Lack-a-day, lady ! no such matter is 

wanted. But, good now ! could not we tack the 
young couple together directly? your brother 
and 1 have already agreed. 

2hs Pen. Are the previous preliminaries set- 
tled, sir Greeory Gazette ? 

yen. Good bow ! as firm as a rock, lady. 
Mrs Pen. Why, then, to preserve your son, 
and uccomplisli the union between our faiuilies, 



I have no objections to the acceleration of their 
niipliats, provided the child is inclined, and a 
minister may be procured. 

Jen. Wonderful ! you are very good, good 
now ! there has been one match already in the 
housc to-day : we may have the same parson. 

Ikrt, Tim! and young gentlewoman! Well, 

miss ! wonderful, and how ? has Tim ? hey, boy ! 
I> not a mi".-, a fine young lady? 

lliir. Faith and sole, father, miss is a charming 
vonng woman ; all red and white, like Mally — 
llum! 

.fen. Hush, Tim ! Well, and miss, how does 
my boy? he's an bom st hearty lad? Has he, 
good now! had the art? How d'ye like him, 
y(juiig gentlewoman ? 

Suck. Like'ii ! well enough, I think. 
Jen. Why, then, miss, with your leave, your 
aunt and I, here, have agreed, if you are willing, 
to lia\ c- the wedding over directly. 

Stick. Gad ! with ail my heart. Ask the 
young man. 

Hor. Faith and sole, just as you please ; to- 
day, to-morrow, or when you will, more or less. 

Jen. Good now, good now ! then, get you in 
tlirrc ; there you will find one to do your busi- 
ness : vvoiiderfiil ! matters will soon be managed 
\\ittiin. Well, lady, this was, good now, so kind ! 
Lack-a-day ! I verily believe if dame Winny was 
dead, that I should be glad to lead up such ano- 
ther dance with you, lady. 

Mrs Pen. You are, sir, something too precipi- 
tate : Nor would there, did circumstances con- 
cur, as you insinuate, be so absolute a certitude, 
that I, who have rejected so uiany matches, 
should instantaneously succumb. 

Jen. Lack-a-day, lady, good now ! I 

Mrs Pen. No, sir; I would have you instruct- 
ed, that had not Penelope Trifle made irrefra- 
gable resolutions, she need not so long have pre- 
served her family surname. 

Jen. W<jiulerful ! why, I was only 

Mrs Fen. Nor has the title of lady Gazette 
such resplendent charms, or such bewitching al- 
lurements, as to throw me at once into the arms 
of sir Gregory. 

Jen. Good now! who says 

Mrs Pen. Could wealth, beauty, or titles su- 
perior to, perhaps 

Enter Si r Gregory, Roger, ant/ Tim. 

Tim. Yes, indeed, father ; Mr Hartop knew 
on't as well as I, and Mr Jenkins got us a par- 
son 

Sir Gre. Good now, good now ! a rare couple 
of friends ! But I'll be even with them ! I'll 
marr their market ! Master Jenkins, you have 
fVjbhed me finely. 

Jen. Lack-a-day, what's the matter now? 

Sir Gre. Come, come ; none of your lack-a- 
days ! none of your gambols, nor your tricks to 
me ; Good now, gootl now ! give me my clothes ! 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



i: 



here, take your tawdry trappings ! I have found 
you out at last : I'll be no longer vour property. 

Jen. Wonderful ! what's all this, lady ? Good 
now, good now ! what's here ! a stage ph\y ? 

Sir Gre. Play me no plays; but give me my 
wig; and your precious friend, my loving cousin, 
pize on the kimhcd, let'n 

Jew. Good now, good now ! what are these 
folks ? as sure as a gun, they're mad. 

Sir Gre. Mad ! no, no ; we are neither mad 
nor fools : no tiianks to you, though. 

Mrs Pen. What is all this; can you unravel 
this perplexity, untwine this mystery, sir Grego- 
ry Gazette ? 

Sir Gre. He sir Gregory Gazette ? Lack-a- 
day, lady ! you are tricked, imposed upon, bam- 
boozled : Good now, good now ! 'tis I am sir 
Gregory Gazette. 

Mrs Pen. How } 

Tim. Faith and sole, 'tis true, mistress ; and I 
am his son Tim, and will swear it. 

Mrs Pen. Why, isn't Mr Timothy Gazette 
with my niece Susannah Trifle } 

Tim. Who, me ! Lord, no, 'tis none of I ; it is 
cousin Hartop in my cloaths. 

Mrs Pen. What's this? and pray, whO' 



Jen. Why, as I see the affair is concluded, 
you may, madam, call me Jenkins. Come, Har- 
top, you may now throw off your disguise ; the 
knight had like to have embarrassed us. 

Mrs Pen. How, Mr Jenkins ! and would you, 
sir, participate of a plot to 



Har. Madam, in the issue, your family will, I 
hope, have no great reason to repent. I always 
luul the greatest veneration for INIiss Penelope 
I'riflc's understanding; if the highest esteem for 
her virtues can entitle me to the honour of being 
regarded as her relation — 

Mrs Pen. Sir, I shall determine on notliing, 
'till I am apprised of my brother's resolution. 

Hur. For that we must wait. Sir Gregory, I 
must intrcat you and your son's pardon for some 
little liberties I have taken with you both. Mr 
Jenkins, I have the highest oliligation to your 
friendship; and, miss, when we become a little 
better acquainted, I flatter myself the change 
will not prove unplcasing. 

Suck. I know nothing at all about it. 

Har. Sir Gregory, we shall have your compa- 
ny at dinner ? 

Sir Gre. Lack-a-day ! no, no ; that boy has 
■spoiled my stomach. Come, Tim, fetch thy rib, 
and let us be josiging towards Wales ; but how 
thou wilt get off with thy mother 

Tim. Never fear, father 

Since you've been pleased our nuptial knot 

to bless, 
We shall be happy all our lives more or 

.less. 

[Exeunt omnes. 



TlIK 

APPRENTICE. 

M UR P }[ \ 



DRAMATIS PERSON .E. 



MEN. 

WiVGATVy a passionate old man, part iculur/i/ fond 
of inoneii and figurta, and involuntaritjj un- 
eas>/ a bo at /lis son. 

Dick, fus son, bound to aii apothecary, and fond 
of going on the stage. 

Gargle, «« apothecan/. 

Simon, servant ^oGakgle. 



Catciipoli;, a buUij'f. 

Scotchman. 

Irishman. 

WOMEN. 
Charlotte, daughter to Gargle. 

Spouting-clab, Watch>7ien, ^c. 



Sce7ie — London. 



ACT. I. 



SCENE— I. 



Enter Wingate and Simon. 

irin. Nay, nay, but I tell you I am convinced 
— I know it is so ; and so, friend, don't vou tliink 
to trifle with me ; — I know you're m the plot, you 
scoundrel; and if you don't discover all, I'll — 

Sim. Dear heart, sir, you won't cive a body 
time. — 

Win. Zookers ! a whole month missintr, and 
no account of him, far or near ; wounds! 'tis un- 
accountable Loi;k ye, friend, don't you pre- 
tend 

Sim. Lorrt, sir ! wju're so main passionate, you 
woii't let ii bory speak. 

Win. Si.eak out then, and don't stand mutter- 
ins • what a i;)i)berly fellow you are ! ha, ha ! — 
Why don't you speak out, you blockhead ? 

Siw. Lord, sir, to be sure, the gentleman is a 
fine young gentleman, and a sweet young gentle- 



man — but, Iatk-a-<]ay, sir ! how should I know 
any thing of him ? 

Win. Sirrah, I say he could not be 'prentice to 
your master so long< and you live so long in one 
house with him, without knowing his haunts, and 
all his ways ; and llien, varlet, what brings you 
here to my house so often ? 

Sim. My master Garble and I, sir, are so un- 
easy about un, tliat I have been running all over 
the town since inornins, to enquire for un ; and 
so in my way, 1 thought I might as well call 
here — 

H7n. A villain, to give his father all this trou- 
ble ! and so, you have not heard any thing of him, 
friend ? 

Sim. Not a word, sir, as I hope for marcy ! 
though, as sure as you are there, I believe I can 
guess what's conic on un. As sure as any thing, 
master, tlie gyp-iC'S have gotten lield on un, .aid 
we shall have un come home, as thin as a rake, 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



175 



like the young girl in the city, with living upon 
notliing but crusts and water for six-and-twenty 
days. 

Win. The gypsies have got hold of hiin, ye 

bioclvhcad ! Get out of the room Here, you 

Simon I 

Sim. Sir? 

Win. Where are you going in such a hurry? — 
Let me see ; wliat must be done ? — A ridiculous 
numslvull, with his damned Cassanders and Clop- 
p;itras and trumpery; v\ ith his romances, and 
his Odyssey Popes, and a parcel of rascals not 
worth a gr(jat — wearing stone buckles, and cock- 
ing his hat — I never wear stone buckles, never 
cock my hat. Hut, zookers ! I'll not put myself 
in a passion. Simon, do you step back to your 
master, my friend Gargle, and tell him I want to 
speak with him — though I don't know what I 
should send for him for — a sly, slow, hesitating 
blockhead ! he'll only plague me with his physi- 
cal cant and his nonsense — Why don't yuu go, 
you booby, when I bid you ? 

Sim. Yes, sir. [£(77. 

Wni. This fellow will be the death of me at 
last; I can't sleep in my bed sometimes for him. 
An absurd, insignificant rascal — to stand in his 
own light ! Death and fury, that we can't get 
children, without ha\mg a love for them ! I have 
been tunnoiling for the fellow all the days of my 
life, and now the scoundrel's run away — Suppose 
I advertise the dog, and promise a reward to any 
one that can give an account of him — well, but — 
w hy should I throw away my money after him ? 
why, as I don't say what reward, I may give 
what I please when they come — ay, but if the 
villain should deceive me, and happen to be 
dead; why, then, he tricks me out of two shil- 
lings; my money's flung into the lire. Zookeis ! 
I'll not put myself in a passion; let him follow 
his nose ; 'tis nothing at all to me ; what care I ? 
What do you come back for, friend ? 

Re-enter Simon. 

Sim. As I was going out, sir, tiie post came to 
the door, and brought this letter. 

Win. I^t me see it-^ The gypsies have 

got hold of him ! ha, ha ! what a pretty felhnv 
you are ! ha, ha ! why don't you step where I bid 
you, sirrah? 

Sim. Yes, sir. [Exit. 

Win. Well, well I'm resolved, and it shall 

be so I'll advertise him to-morrow morning, 

and promise, if he comes home, all shall be for- 
given : and when the blockhead comes, I may 
do as 1 please — ha, ha ! I may do as I please ! — 
Let me see : He had on — a silver-looped iiat : I 
neverliked those vile silver-loops — A silver-looped 
hat; and — and — Slidikins, what signifies what he 
had on ? — I'll read my letter, and think no more 
fcbout him. Hey ! what a plague have we here? 



I Mutters to himself.] Bristol- 
this ? 



-what's all 



' Esteemed friend, 

' Last was 20th ultimo, since none of thine, 
' which will occasion brevity. The ifa-io^i o'" my 
' writing to thee at present, is to inform tlice. that 
' thy son came to our place with a company of 
' strollers, who were taken up b\ tiic r^iaeistrate, 
' and committed, as vagabonds, to jail.'— Zookers ! 
I'm glad of it — a villain of a fellow ! lx:c him lie 

there ' I am sorry thy laii .hould fuiiow 

' such profane courses; but, out of the esteem I 
' bear unto thee, I have taken thy boy out of con- 
' fmement, and sent him oif for your city in the 
' waggon, which left this four days ago. He is 
' signed to thy address, being the needful from 
' thy friend and servant, 

' Ebeeneezor Broadbrim.' 

Wounds ! what did he take the fellow out for? 
a scoundrel, rascal ! turned stage-player ! — I'll 
never see the villain's face. — Who comes there? 

Enter Simon. 

Sim. I met my master on the way, sir — our 
cares are over : Here he is, sir. 

Win. Let him come in — and do you go down 
stairs, you blockhead. \_Exit Simon. 

Enter Gargle. 

Win. So friend Gargle, here's a fine piece of 
work — Dick's turned vagabond I 

Gar. He must be put under a proper regimen 
directly, sir: He arrived at my house within 
these ten minutes, but in such a trim I he's now 
below stairs; I judr,ed it proper to leave him 
there, till I had prepared you for iiis reception. 

Win. Death and fire ! what could put jt into 
the villain's head to turn buffo,on ? 

Gar. Nothing so easily accounted for : Why, 
when he ought to he reading tiie dispensatory, 
there was he constantly reading over plays and 
farces, and Sliakespeare. 

Win. Ay, that damned Shakespeare ! I hear 
the fellow was nothing but a dccr-stealer in W^ar- 
wickshire : Zookers ! if they had hanged him out 
of the way, he would not now be the- ruin of ho- 
nest men's children. But what rig'ii: had he to 
read Shakespeare ? I never read Snakespeare I 
Wounds ! I caught the rascal, myself, reading 
that nonsensical play of Hamlet, where the prince 
is keeping company with strollers and vagabonds: 
A fine example, Mr (iargle ! 

Gar. His disorder is of the malignant kind, 
and my daughter has taken the infection from 
him — bless my heart! she was as innocent as 
water-gruel, till he spoilt her. I found her, the 
other night, in the very fact. 



176 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy, 



Win. Zookers ! you don't say so? — caught her 
in till' tact ! 

Gar. Ay, iu tlic very fact of reading a play- 
I'ti ik in bed. 

IVin. (), is that the fact you mean? Is tliat 
all' though that's bad cncmsih. 

Gtir. Hilt I have clone for my yoimt: madam ; 
1 liavc conliued lier to her room, and locked up 
all licr books. 

Win. Look ye, friend Gargle, I'll never see 
the villain's face : Let him follow his nose, and 
bii<- the bridle. 

Gar. Ixnitives, Mr Wingate, lenitives are 
propcrest at present : Ilis habit reciuires gentle 
alteratives : but leave him to my managenieiit ; 
about twenty ounces of blood, with a cephalic 
linctnre, and he may do very well. 

]\ in. Where is the scotmdrel ? 

Gar. Dear sir, moderate your anger, and don't 
use such harsh language. 

ITVw. Harsh language ! Why, do you think, 
man, I'd call him a scoundrel, if I had not a re- 
gard for him? You don't hear me call a stranger 
a scoundrel ? 

Gar. Dear sir,, he may still do very well ; the 
boy has very good sentiments. 

Win. Sentiment! a tig for sentiment I let him 
get money, and never miss an opportunity — I ne- 
ver missed an opportunity; got up at five in the 
morning ; struck a light ; made my own fire ; 
worked my finger's ends; and this vagabond of a 
fellow is going his own way — with all my heart; 
what care I ? let him follow his nose; let him 
follow his nose — a ridiculous 

Gar. Ay, ridiculous, indeed, sir — W^hv, for a 
long time past, he could n'ot converse in the lan- 
guage of common sense. Ask hiin but a trivial 
question, and he'd give some cramp answer out 
of some of his plays that had been running in his 
licad, and so there's no understanding a word he 
?avs. 

Win. Zookers ! this comes of his keeping com- 
pany with wits, and be damned to them for tvits, 
Jia, ha ! Wits ! a fine thing indeed, ha, ha ! 'l"is 
the most beggarly, rascally, contemptible thing 
on earth ! 

Gar. And then, sir, I have found out that he 
went three times a-week to a spouting-club. 

Win. A spouting-club, friend Gargle ! What's 
a spouting-club ? 

Gar. A meeting of 'prentices and clerks, and 
giddy young men, intoxicated with plays; and so 
they meet in public-houses to act speeches; there 
they all neglect business, despise the advice of 
their friends, and think of nothing but to become 
actors. 

]Vin. You don't say so ! — '■ — a spouting-club ! 
wounds ! I believe they are all mad. 

Gar. Ay, mad indeed, sir : Madness is occa- 
sioned in a very extraordinary manner ; the spi- 
rits flowing in particular channels — 



fl 



Win. 'Sdcath, you're as mad yourself as any of 
them ! 

Gar. And continuing to run in the same 
ducts — 

Win. Ducks ! Damn your ducks ! — W^ho's be- 
low there ? 

Gar. The texture of the brain becomes disor- 
dered, and — [WiNGATF. uulkx about uueasi/i/, 
and (>.\iu;i.E f'o//(ms.] — thus, by the pressure on 
the nerves, the head is disturbed, and so your 
son's malady is contracted. — 

Win. Who's without there? — Don't pkigue me 
so, man. 

Gar. But I shall alter the morbid state of the 
juices, correct his blood, and produce laudable 
chyle. 

Win. Zookers, friend Gargle, don't teaze me 
so ; don't plague me with your physical nonsense 
— Who's below there? Tell that fellow to come 
up. 

Gar. Dear sir, be a little cool — Inflamma- 
tories may be dangerous. Do, pray, sir, mode- 
rate your passions. 

Will. Prithee, be quiet, man — I'll try what I 
can do — Here he comes. 

Enter Dick. 

Dick. Now, my good father, uhaCs the mat- 
ter '^ ^ 

V\in. So, friend, you have been upon your tra- 
vels, have you ? You have had your frolic ? Look 
ye, younir man, I'll not put myself in a passion : 
But, death and fire, you scoundrel, what right 
have you to plague me in tliis manner ? Do you 
think I must fall in love with your face, because 
I am your father ? 

Dick. A little more than kin, and less than 
kind. 

TFin. Ha, ha ! what a pretty figure you cut 
now ! ha, ha ! — why don't you speak, you block- 
head ? Have you nothing to say for yourself? 

Dick. Nothing to say for yourself! — What an 
old prig it is ! 

Win. Mind me, friend — I have found you out; 
I see you'll never come to good. Turn stage- 
player ! Wounds ! you'll not have an eye in your 
head in a month, ha, ha ! you'll have them 
knocked out of the sockets with withered apples ; 
rcii ember I tell you so. 

Dick. A critic too ! [Whistles.'] Well done, 
old S(]uare-toes ! 

Win. Look ye, young man ; take notice of what 
I say : I made my own fortune, and I could do 
the same again. Wounds ! if I were placed at 
the bottom of Chancery-lane, with a brush and 
black-'oall, I'd make my own fortune again — you 
read Shakespeare! — Get Cocker's Arithmetic; 
you may buy it for a shilling on any stall — best 
book that ever was wrote. 

Dick. Pretty well, that; ingenious, faith! — 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



177 



Egad, the old fellow has a pretty notion of let- 
ters ! 

Win. Can you tell how much is fivc-eight'is of 
three-sixteenths of a pound ? Five-eighths of three 
sixteenths of a pound. Ay, ay, I see you're a 
blockhead; look ye, young man, if you have a 
mind to thrive in this world, study fi<;nrcs, and 
make yourself useful ; make yourself useful. 

Dick. How zvccay, stu'cjiat, and unprofitable, 
seem to me all the uses of this world! 

Win. iVlind the scoundrel no%v 

Gar. Do, Mr Win<?ate, let mc speak to him — 
softly, softly ; I'll touch him p;ently : Come, come, 
young man, lay aside this sulky humour, and 
speak as becomes a son. 

Dick. O Jepthii, judge of Israel, zchat a trea- 
sure hadst thou ! 

Win. What does the fellow say ? 

Gar. He relents, sir. Come, come, youn 

man, he'll forj^ive 

Dick Thei/ fool me to the top of mi/ bent 

Gad, I'll hum 'em to get rid of 'em — a truant 
disposition, good my lord — N'o, no, stay, that's 
not right, I have a better speech — It is as you 
say; when zee are sober, and reflect but ever so 
little on our follies, we are ashamed and sorry ; 
and yet, the very next minute, we rush again 
into the very same absurdities. 

Win. Well said, lad, well said ! mind mc, 
friend : Commanding our own passions, and art- 
fully taking advantage of otlier peoples, is the 
sure road to wealth : Deatii and tire ! but I 
won't put myaelf in a passion: Tis my regard 
for you luakcs me speak; and if I tell you you're 
a scoundrel, 'tis for your good. 

Dick. Without doubt, sir. [Stijling a laugh. 
Win. If you want any thing, you shall be pro- 
vided : have you any money in your pocket? 
ha, ha ! what a ridiculous numskull you are now ! 
ha, ha ! Come, here's some money for you — 
[Pulls out his money, and looks at it.^ I'll give 
it to you another tune; and so you'll mind what 
I say to you, and make yourself useful for the 
future. 

Dick. Else, wherefore breathe I in a Christian 
land '^ 

Win. Zookers ! you blockhead, you'd better 
stick to your business, th'in turn buffoon, and get 
trimcheons broke upon yom* arm, and be tum- 
bling upon carpets. 

Dick. I shaU in all my bci:t obey you, sir. 
Win. Very well, friend ; very well said — you 
mav do very well if you please; and so I'll say 
no more to you, but make yourself usefid; and 
so now, go and clean yourself, and make ready to 
go home to your business; and mind me, young 
man, let me see no mare play-books, and let me 
never find that you wear a laced waistcoat — you 
sroiiudrcl, wiiat I'iglit have you to wear a laced 
waistcoat? I never wore a laced waistcoat; ne- 
ver wore one till I was forty. But I'll not put 

Vol. III. 



myself in a passion: 
friend. 

Dick. I shall, sir- 



Go and change your dress, 



I must be cruel, only to be kind ; 

Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind. 

Cocker's Arithmetic, sir? 

Win. Ay, Cocker's Arithmetic, Study figures, 
and they'll carry you through the world. 

Dick. Yes, sn-. [Stijling a laugh.] Cocker's 
Arithmetic! [ Erit Dick. 

Win. Let him mind me, friend Gargle, and 
I'll make a man of him. 

Ga?: Ay, sir, you know the world. The young 
man will do very well. I wish he were out of 
his time ; he shall then have my (laughter. 

Win. Yes, but I'll touch the cash — he siian't 
finger it dining my life. I nuist keep a tight 
hand over him. [Goes to the door.] Do ye liear, 
friend? .Mind vvliat I say, and go home to your 
business immediately. Friend Gargle, I'll make 
a man of him 

Enter Dick. 

Dick. Who called on Acumet ? Did not Bar- 
barossa require me here f 

Win. What's the matter now? Barossa ' 

Wounds! What's Barossa? Does, the fellow call 
me names ? What makes the blockhead stand va 
such confusion ? 

Dick. That Barbarossa should suspect ?ny 
truth .' 

Win. The fellow's stark staring mad! Get out 
of the room ! you villain, get out of the room ! 
[DrcK stands in a sullen mood. 

Gar. Come, c )me, young man, every thing is 
easy ; don't spoil all again. Go and cliange your 
dress, and come home to your business — nay, 
nay, be ruled by me. [Thrusts him off. 

Win. I'm very peremptory, fiiend Gargle ; if 
he vexes mc once more, I'll have notliing to say 
to him. Well, but now I think of it, I have 
Cocker's arithmetic below stairs in tlie counting- 
house ; I'll step and get it for him, and so he 
shall take it home with him. Friend Gargle, 
your servant. 

Gar. Mr Wingate, a good evening to you ; 
you'll send him home to his business. 

TT7«. He shall follow you home directly. Five- 
eighths of three-sixteenths of a pound ! Multiply 
the numerator by tiie denominator ; five times 
sixteen is ten times eight, ten times eii'ht is 
eighty, and a — a — carry one. [Exit. 

Enter Dick and Simox. 

Sim. Lord love ye, master — I'm so glad you're 
come back — Come, we had as good e'en gan>j 
home to my master Gargle's 

Z 



178 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy, 



Dick. No, no, Simon, «tny a moment; tliis is 
bi.ta scurvy coat I liavc on, un<i I know my *a- 
tlier hub always sonit- jcnuny tliinij locked up in 
Ins closet. I knou liis ways ; he Uikes them in 
pawn, tor he'll never part with a shilling without 
security. 

Sim. Husli ! he'll hear us. Stay, I believe he's 
coniin-j up stairs. 

Did;, [dots In the door, and /is/cns.] No, no, 
no; he's 1:01 ni^ down, iiitiwling and grumblini; — 
ay, sny ye so, scoundrel, rascal I let him bite 
the bridle — Six times twelve is scventv-two. — 
jMl's siile, man, never fear him; do you stand 
here, 1 shall dispatc h this business in a crack. 

Sim. lilessmgs on him ! what is he about now ? 
>N hy, the door is locked, master. 

Dick. Ay, but I can easily force the lock ; 
you >liall see me do it as well as any sir John 
Urute ot" them all; this right leg here is the best 
locksmith in England — so, so ! \^Forces the door, 
and f^oes /«.] 

Sim. He's at his plays again. Odds my heart, 
he's a rare hand ! he'll go through with it, I'll 
warrant him ! Old Cojer must not smoke that I 
have any concern. 1 must be main cautious — 
Lord bless his heart ! he's to teach mc to act 
Scrub. He begun with mc long ago, and I got 
as far as the Jesuit, before a went out of town : 
— Scrub.' Coming, sir. Lord, via am, I've a 
zchole packet full of neus — some say one thing, 
and some sai/ another ; but, for wr/ part, mdum 
— / lelieve he's aJisuit.' — that's main pleasant 
— I believe he's a Jesuit, 

Re-enter Dick. 

Dick. / have done the deed — Didst thou not 
hear a noise 'i 

Sim. N o, master ; we're all snug. 

Dick. This coat will do charmingly ! I have 
bilked the old fellow nicely ! — In a dark corner 
of his cabinet, I found this paper; uhat it is 
the light nill shew. 

* [ promise to pay' — ha ! — 

' ! promise to pay to Mr jNIoncytrap, or order, 
on demand' — 'tis Ins hand, a note of his; 2/et more 
— the sum of seven pounds fourteen shillings 
and sevenpence, value received by me.' — Lon- 
don, this loth June, 1755 — Tk n anting ulnit 
should follow ; his name should tollow, but 'tis 
torn off — because the note is paid. 

Sim. O Lord! Dear sir, you'll spoil all- 

I wish we were well out of the house Our 

best way, master, is to make off directly. 

Dick. T will, I will ; but first help me on with 
this coat ; Simon, you shall be my dresser ; you'll 
be fine and happy behind the scenes. — 

Sim. O Lud ! it will be main pleasant; I have 
been behind the scenes in the country, when I 
lived with the man that shewed wild I eastices. 

Dick. IJark'e, Simon ; when I am playing some 
deep tragedy, and cleave the general ear uitit 



horrid speech, you mu^t stand between the scenes, 
and cry bitterly. 

[Teaches him. 
Sim. Yes, sir. 

Dick. And when I'm playing comedy, you 
must he ready to laugh your guts out, [Teaches 
him.] for I shall he very pleasant — Tolderoll — 
[Dances.] 

Sim. Never doubt me, sir. 

Dick. \ ery will ; now run down and open 
the street-door; I'll follow you in a crack. 

Sim. 1 am gone to serve you, master 

Dick. To serve thi/sclf for, look'e, Simon, 

when I am a manager, claim thou of me the care 
of the wardrobe, with all those moveables, 
whereof the prupcriy-man now stands pos- 

Sini. O Lud ! this is charming — Ilush ! I am 
gone. [Going-. 

Dick. Well, but hark 'e, Simon, come hither; 
zchut rnonei/ have i/ou about you, Muster Mut- 
thtzc i 

Sim. But a tester, sir. 

Dick. A tester ! That's something of the 

least, Master Matthew ; let's see it. 

Sim. You have had fifteen sixpences now 

Dick. Never mind that, I'll pay you all at ray 
benefit. 

Sim. I don't doubt that, master but mum. 

[lixit. 

Dick. Thus fur zee run before the wind. An 
apothecary 1 make an apothecary of me ! — what! 
cramp my genius over a pestle and mortar, or 
mew me up in a shop, with an alligator stuft,' 
and a beggarly account of empty boxes! — to be 
culling simples, and constantly adding to the 
bills of mortality ! — No, no ! It w ill be much bet- 
ter to be pa-ted up in capitals, ' The part of 
' Ttomco, bv a young gentleman, who never ap- 

' pcared on any stage before !' My ambition 

fires at the thought But hold — mayn't I 

rim some chance of failing in my attempt — hiss- 
ed — pelted — laughed at — not admitted into the 

Green-room That will never do Down, 

bust/ devil, down .' down ! — Try it again : — loved by 
the women, envied by the men, applauded by 
the pit, elap|>ed by the gallery, admired by the 
boxes. Dear colonel, is not he a charming crea- 
ture .'' My lord, don't you like him of all things ? — 
Makes love like an angel ! — What an eye he has ! 

— fine legs ! — I'il certainly go to his benefit. 

Celestial sounds ! And, then, I'll get in with 

all the painters, and have myself put up in 

e\ery print-sli(jp- in the character of J\Iac- 

beth ! This is a sorry sight. [Stands in an atti- 
tude.] In the cliaracter of Richard, Give me 

another horse .' bind up my wounds ! this will 

do rarely — and, then, I have a chance of getting 

well married O glorious thought ! By 

heaven I zciU enjoy it, though but in fancy 

But, what's o'clock.? it must be almost nine. 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



179 



I'll away at once; this is club-night. — 'Egad I'll 
go to them for a while — the spouters are all met 
— little they think I'm in town — they'll be sur- 
prized to see mc — OHT I go, and, then, for my as- 

signacion with my master Gargle's daughter 

Poor Charlotte ! — she's locked up, but I shall 



find means to settle matters foi her escape 

She's a pretty theatrical genius If she liiea 

to my arms, like a hawk to its perch, it will be so 
rare an adventure, and so dramatic an incident ! 
— Limbs, doi/our- office, and support mc uell ; hear 
me but to her, then fail me if you can ! \^Exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Discovers the spouting-club, the 
7nembers seated, and roaring out Bravo ! uhile 
one stands at a distance repeating 

1st Mem. Cursed be your senate, cursed your 
constitution ! The curse of grmcing factions and 
divisions still ver i/our councils/ 

'2d Mem. Don't you think his action a little 
confined ? 

1st Mem. Psha ! you blockhead ! don't you 
know that I'm in chains ? 

Qd Mem. Blockhead, say ye ? — was not I the 
first that took compassion on yon, when you lay 
like a sneaking fellow under the counter, and 
swept your master's shop in a morning? when 
you read nothmg but the Young Man's Pocket 
Companion, or the True Clerk's Vade Mecum ? 
did not I put Chrononhotonthologos in your 
hand ? 

All. Bravo, bravo ! — 

Pre. Come, gentlemen, let us have no dis- 
putes. Consider, gentlemen, this is the ho- 
nourable society of spouters ; and so, to put an 
end to all animosities, read the seventh rule of 
this society. 

A Member Reads. 

' That business, or want of money, shall not 

' be received as an excuse for non-attendance ; 

' nor the anger of parents, or other relations ; nor 

the complaints of our masters be ever heard ; 

* by which means, this society will be able to 
' boast its own mimic 'heroes, and be a nur- 
' sery of young actorlings for the stage, in 

* spite of the mechanic genius of our friends.' 

Pre. That is not the rule I mean; but come, 

He'll Jill a measure the table round now 

good digestion naif on appetite, and health on 
both. 

All. Huzza, huzza, huzza ! 

Pre. Come, gentlemen, let us iiave no quarrels. 

All. Huzza, huzza ! 

Scotch. Come, now, I'll gee you a touch of 
Macbeeth ! 

1st Mem. That will be rare ! Come let's have 
it. 

Scotch. What do'st leer at, mon f — I have had 
muckle applause at Edinburgh, when I enacted 
in the Reegiceede ; and I now intend to do 
Macbeeth — I saw the degger yesterneet, and I 



thought I should ha' killed every one that 
came in my way ! 

Irish. Stand out of the way, lads, and you'll 

see me give a touch of Othello, my dear 

[Takes the cork and burns it, and blacks his 
face.^ The devil burn the cork ! it would not do 
it fast enough. 

1st Mem. Here, here ; I'll lend you a helping 
hand. — [Blacks ///?«.] [Knocking at the door. 

2d Mem. Open locks, nhoever knocks. 

Enter Dick. 

Dick. Hozp now, ye secret, black, and midnight 
hags ?' what is't ye do i 

All. Ha ! The genius come to town — Huzza, 
huzza! The genius 

Dick. How fare the koneit partners of my 

heart f Jack Hopeless, give us your hand 

Guildenstern, yours — Ha ! Rosencrants — Gen- 
tlemen, I rejoice to see ye — But come, the news, 
the news of the town I Has any thing been 
damned ? Any new performers this w inter .' How 
often has Romeo and Juliet been acted ? Come, 
my bucks, inform me ; I want news. 

1st Mem. You shall know all in good time : 
but, prithee, my dear boy, how was it? You 
played at Bristol ; let's hear. 

2rf Mem. Ay ; let's have it, dear Dick. 

Dick. Look ye there, now — Lefs have it, dear 
boy, and dear Dick. 

1st Mem. Nay, nay; but how was you recei- 
ved ? 

Dick. Romeo was my part — I touched their 
souls for them; every pale face from the wells 
was there, and so on I went— but rot them, ne- 
ver mind them — What bloody scene has Roscius 
nozo to act ? 

1st Mem. Several things ; but. Genius, why 
did you come to us so late ? Why did not you 
come in the begiiming of the night ? 

Dick. Why, I intended it: but who should I 
meet in my way but my tViend Catcall, a devilish 
good critic ; and so he and I went together, and 
had our pipes to close the orifice of the stomach, 
you know ; and what do you think I learned of 
him? 

1st Mem. I can't say. 

Dick. Can you tell, now, whether the emplia- 
sis should be laid upon the epitaph, or the sub-; 
stantive? 

1st Mem. Wiiy, no 



180 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[MURI'HY. 



Dick. Ever, while you live, lay your emphasis 
upon ihe epitaph. 

lush. Arnih, my dear, but what ib that same 
epitaph, DOW r 

JJick. Arriifi, till/ dear cousin Ulaclisltanc, 
nvh't 1)011 fiut a riuuNiLiance upon me ? 

Irish. Ow ! hut is it niockin;: you arc ? Dw.k 
yc, mv dear, if you'd he takini; me otT — Don't 
you call it takiiii; oil? By my shoni, I'd he iiia- 

iiinii vou take yourself off What? If you're 

for heiiii; ohstropolous, I would not matter you 
thm ^kips of a Ilea. 

Dick. Nay, prithee, no oficiicc; I hope we 
shall he hrothtr-playcrs. 

Iris/i. ()w ! ilien we'd be very good frieinK; 
for, you know, two of a trade can never agree, 
my dear. 

Scotch. I>ocke is certainly rect in his chapter 
aboot innate ideas; for this moii is born without 
»nv at all ; and the other mou, yonder, I doot, is 
Bo greet heed-piece. 

Dick. What do you intend to appear in? 

Irish. Othollo, my dear; let me alone; you'll 
see how I'll bodder them; though, l)y my shoul, 
mvshclf does not know hut I'd he frightened 
when everv thinp is in a hubbub, and nothing to 
be )icard, but 'throw him over!' — 'over with 

* him !' — ' off, off, off the stage !' — ' nuisic !' — 
' won't ye lia'somc orange-chips r' — ' won't ye ha' 

* some uonpareillsr' — Ow ! but, may he, the dear 

cratuis in the boxes will be lucking at my legs 

Ow ! to h.e sure — the devil burn the luck they'll 
give them ! 

Dick. I shall certainly laugh in the fellow's 
face. [Aside 

Irish. Ow ! never mind it ; let me alone, my 
dear ; may be, I'd see a little round fac:e from 
Dublin, iu the pit, maybe I would; but then, 
won't I be the tirst genlleman of my name, that 
turned stage-player? My cousin would rather 
S'-'e me stan-e like a gentleman, with hfjnour and 
reputation — myshelf does be ashamed when I 
think of it. 

Scotch. Stay till you hear me give a specimen 
of elocution. 

Dick. What, with that impediment, sir? 

Scotch. Impeediraent! What impeeditncut? I 
do not Iccsp, do I ? I do no squcent — 1 am well 
leemcd, am I not ? 

Irish. By my shoul, if you go to that, I am as 
well timbered myself as any of them ; and shall 
make a figure in genteel and top comedy. 

Scotch. I'll gi\e you a specimen of Mock- 
beeth. 

Irish. Make haste, then ; and I'll begin 0- 
tholj.). 

Scotch. Is this a da.'.'ner that I see before mc, 
f,c. 

Irish. [Coliarivg //<>«,] — Willain, he sure you 
prox-e iiiif lute a zchore, 4t- 

[Aiiolher member comes foruard nilh his face 
j oudcred,' and a pipe in his hand.] 



— / (rm thy father's spirit, Hamlet 

Dick. I'o ! Prithee, you're not fat enough for 
a ghost. 

Mem. I intend to make my fnst appearance iu 
It. for all that ; only I'm puzzled about one thing 
— I want to know, when I come on fust, whether 
I should make a bow to the audience ? 

Allot hi r Mem. Now, gentlemen, for the true 
way of (ivinz—[S]ireads a blatikrt.] — now for a 
little phrenzy — [Repeals a dying speech, and rolls 
himself up in the blanket.] 

[Watch behind the scenes ; past five o'clock, 
cloudi/ morning.] 

Dick. Ilev ! past five o'clock — 'Sdcath, I shall 
miss my appointment with Charhitte; I have 

staid loo long, and shall lose my proselyte 

come, let us adjourn. 

All. Ay ; let us sally forth. 

Irish. With all my heart; though I should 
have boddercd them finely, if they had staid. 

Scotch. I should have sheened in Mockbeeth ; 
but ne\ cr meeud it ; I'll go now to my friend the 
bookseller, and translate Cornelius Tacitus, or 
Grotius de .lure Belli — and so, gentlemen, your 
servant. 

Scotch. Huzza, huzza ! 

Dick. We'll scoccer the watch ; confusion to 
morality ! I idsk the constable were married ; 
huzza, huzza ! 

Irish. By my shoul, myish.elf did not care if I 
had a uife, with a good fortune, to be hindering 
me from gouig on; but no matter; I may meet 
with a willing cratur somewhere. 

[£j:t^ Irish, singing. 

All. Huzza, huzza ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Street. 

Enter a watchman. 

Watch. Past five o'clock, cloudy morning. — 
Merry on us ! — all mud, I believe, in this house 
— they're at this trade three nisihts in the week, 
I tliitik — Past five o'cLick, a cloudy morning. 

All. Huzza !~[ 117/ /;o«^] 

Watch. What, in the name of wonder, are 
they all at ? 

Hurra, hurra ! — [Without,] 

Enter the spouters. 

Dick. Angels and ministers of grace defend 
us ! 

1st ]\Iem. liy Heavens I'll tear you joint by 
joi'it, and strew this hungry church-yard with 
your limbs 1 

Dick. Avaunt, and quit my sight ! thy bones 
ore ii/firrou-lcss — thae's no speculation in those 
eyes, that thou do.'il glare withal. 

Watch. Prithee, don't disturb the peace. 

A ?vlem. Be sure you ante him down an n.<;s. 
. Dick. Be alive again ; and dare me to the de- 
t 



MURHIY.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



181 



sart zcUh thy pole — take any shape but that, and 
myfir7n nerves shall never tremble. 
Watch. Soho, sohi) ! . 

Enter watchmen from all parts, some drunk, 
some coughing, 6,c. 

2d Watch. Wliat's the matter there ? 

1st Watch. Here are tlie disturbers of the 
peace — I chartie them all 

Dick. Vnmunnered slave ! advance nour hal- 
hert higher than my breast, or, by St Paul, I'll 
strike thee down, and spurn thee, beggar, for this 
insolence 

[They fight, JiicK is knocked down. Exeunt 
W atchmen, Jighting the rest. 

Dick. 1 have it ; it will do ; 'E^ad, I'll make 
niy escape now — Oh, I am fortune's fool — 

Re-enter watchmen, 4"C. 

Watch. Come, bring them along. 
1st Mem. Good ruffians, hold a while. 
2d Mem. / am unfortunate, but not ashamed 
of being so. 

Watch. Come, come ; bring them along. 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE lll.—Another street. 

Etiter Dick, with a lanihorn and a ladder. 

Dick. All's quiet here; the coast's clear ; now 
for my adventure with Charlotte ; this ladder 
will do rarely for the business, though it would 
be better, if it were a ladder of ropes — but hold ; 
Tiave not I seen something like this on the stage ? 
Yes 1 have, in some of the entertainments — Ay ; 
J remember an apothecary, and hereabout he 
dixclls — this is my master Carole's ; being dark, 
the bej:gar's shop is shut — What, lio ! apotheca- 
ry .'—hut, soft — What light breaks through yon- 
der window ? It is the east, and Juliet is the 
sun.- Arise, fair sun, ^c. 

Char. Who's there ? My Romeo ? 

Dick. ITie same, my love ; if it not thee dis- 
please. 

Char. Hush ! Not so loud ; you'll waken my 
father. 

Dick. Alas ! tfiere's more peril in thy eye — 

Char. Nay ; but, prithee, now, I tell you you'll 
spoil all ; what made you stay so long f 

Dick. Chide 7iol, my fair ; but let the god of 
love laugh in thy eyes, and revel in thy heart. 

Chur. As 1 am a livmg soul, you'll ruin every 
thing; be but quiet, and I'll come ilown to you. 

[Going. 

Dick. No, no ; not so fast : Charlotte, let us 
act t!ie garden scene first. 

Char. A fiddle-stic;^ for the garden scene ! 

Dick. Nay, then, I'll act Ranger — up I go, 
neck or nothing. 

Char. Dear heart, you're enough to frighten a 
body OHt of one's wits; dou't come up; 1 tell 



you there's no occasion for the ladder ; I have 
settled cvcrv thing with Simon, and he's to let 
me tlirougii I he shop, when he opens it. 

Dick. Well, i)ut 1 tell vnii I would not irivc a 
farthnig for it without the ladder ; and su, up I 



Enter Simon at the door. 

Sim. Sir, sir; madam, madam 

Dick. Prithee, be quiet, Simon ; I am ascend- 
ing the hiuh top-g-illaut ot my joy. 

Sun. A n't please yuu, master, my young mis-' 
tress may come through the shop; I am i^oing to 
s\^cep it out, and she may escape that way fast 
enow. 

Char. That will do purely; and so do you stay 
where you arc, and prepare to receive me. 

[Erit frmn above. 

Dick. No, no, but that won'i take; you shm't 
liinder me from gomg throuiih my part — [Goes 
up.^ — A woman, by all tha/'s lucky ! Neither 
old nor crooked ; in I go — ['xoe^ in.] — and, for 
f'rar of the pursuit if the family. Fit make sure 
of tlie ladder. 

Sim. Hist, hist, master ! leave that there, to 
save me from being suspected. 

Dicfi. With all my heart, Simon. 

[ Exit from above. 

Sim. [Alone?^ — Lord love hiin, how comical he 
is ! It will be hue lor me, when we're playing the 
fool together, to call him brother Martin. Bro- 
ther Martin .' 

Enter Charlotte. 

Char. O lud ! I'm frighted out of my wits ; 
where is he ? 

Sim. He's a coming, madam — [Calls to him.\ — 
Brother Martin ! 

Enter Dick. 

Dick. Cucfiold him, madam, by all 7neans~^- 
Tm your 7nan. 

Char. Weil now, I protest and vow, I wonder 
how you can serve a body so; feel with what a 
pit-a-put action my heart beats. 

Dick. T/s an alarm to love; quick, let me 
snatch Ihee to thy Romeo's aims, tS c. 

Watch. [Behind the scenes.] — Past six o'clock, 
and a cloudy morning. 

Char. Dear heart, di)n't let us stand fooling 
here ; as 1 live and breathe, we shall both be ta- 
ken ; do, for Heaven's sake, let us make our es- 
cape. 

Watch. Past six o'clock, and a cloudy morn- 
ing. 

Char. It comes nearer and nearer ; let us 
make off. 

Dirk. Give us vonr linnd. then, my pretty Ut' 
tic adventurer ; I attend you. 



18C 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



Ye«, my dear Charlotte, we will go together, 
Torethcr to the tlif atre we'll fjo, ^ 

'J'hon', to their ravished eyes, our skill we'll f 

show. 
And point new beauties to the pit below 



5 



Sim. Heavens bless the couple of tlieui ! But 
muni. 

[Exit, and shuts the door afltr him. 

Etitcr Bailiff', and his folloucrs. 

Bail. That's he, yonder, as sure as you're 
alive; ay, it is; and he has been about some 
mix iiiot here. 

Fill. No, no, that an't he; that one wears a 
laced coat — though I can't say — as sure as a gun, 
it Is he. 

Bail. Ay, I smoked him at once; do you run 
that way, and stop at the bottom of Catherine 
street ; J'll iro up Drury-lauc, and, between us 
both, it will be odds if we miss him. 

[^Exeunt. 

Enter -watchmen. 

Wtifch. Past six o'clock, and a cloudy morn- 
ing. Hey-day ! what's here ! a ladder at Mr Gar- 
gle's window ; I must alarm the family : Ho ! Mr 
Uarglc .'' 

[Knocks at the door. 

Gar. [Above.] — What's the matter ? How 
conies this window to be open ! Ha! A ladder ! 
Who's below, there ? 

Ist Watch. 1 hope you an't robbed, Mr Gar- 
gle.' As I was going my rounds, I found your 
window open. 

Gar. 1 fear this is some of that young dog's 
tricks; take away the laddei:; I must enquire 
into all this. [Exit. 

Enter Simon, like Scrub. 

Sim. Thieves ! Murder ! Thieves ! Popery ! 

Watch. What's the matter with the fellow ? 

Sim. Sparc all 1 have, and fake mi/ life ! 

Watch. Any mischief in the house.' 

Sim. Thri/ broke in with fire and sicord ; 
they'll be here this minute; five and fort ij — 
this will do charmingly — my young master taught 
me this. [Aside. 

\st Watch. What, are there thieves in the 
house ? 

Sim. With sicord and pistol, sir ; five and 
forlti. 

Watch. Nay, then, 'tis time for me to go ; for, 
mayhap, I may come to ha' the wyr«.t on't. 

[Exit Watch. 

Enter G.vrgle. 

Gar. Dear heart ! Dear heart ! She's gone ! 
She's gone! iNIy daughter! My dau;;hter ! What's 
the fellow in such a frit;ht for ? 



Sim. Tiown on your knea — dozen on your 
niurrorobo7ies — ftiiis will makt him think, I know 
nulhins; of the matter — l>l<'>;s his heart for teach- 
in-, me) — down on your marroudones ! 

Gar. Get up, you fuol ! get up — dear heart, 
I'm all ill a fermentaLion. 

Enter Wing ate, reading a neuspaper. 

Win. [Rcadsl] — ' Wanted, on srood security, 
' li^■(; hundred pounds, for which lawful interest 
' will be given, and a cood premium allowed. 
' Wbocver this may suit, eiifjiiiie for .S. T. at the 
' Crown and l{f)lls, in Chancery-lane.' lliis may 
be worth looking after. I'll have a good premi- 
um ; if the tclli>w's a fool, I'll fix my eye on him ; 
other people's follies are an estate to the man 
tiiat knows how to make himself useful. So, 
friend Gargle, you're up early, I see ; nothing 
like rising early ; nothing to be got by lying in 
bed, like a lul)berly fellow — what's the matter 
with yon ^ Ha, ha ! You look like a Ha, ha ! 

Gar. O — no wonder — my daughter, my daugh- 
ter ! 

Win, Your daughter ! What signifies a foolish 
girl } 

Gar. Oh, dear lieart ! dear heart ! out of the 
window ! 

Win. Fallen out of the window ! Well, she 
was a woman, and 'tis no matter ; if she's dead, 
she's provided for. Here, I found the book — 
could not meet with it last night — here it is — • 
there's more sense in it, than in all their Mac- 
bcths, and their trumpery — [B.eadsl\ — Cocker's 
arithmetic — look ye here, now, friend Gargle — 
Suppose you have the sixteenth part of a ship, 
and I buy one fifth of you, what share of the 
ship do I buy.' 

Gar. Oh, dear sir, 'tis a melancholy case— — 

Win. A melancholy case, indeed, to be so ig- 
norant ; why should not a man know every thing .' 
one fifth of one sixteenth, what part have I of 
the whole .' Let me see ; I'll do it a short way — 

Gar. Lost beyond redemption I — 

Win. Zookers ! be quiet, man ; you put me 
out — Seven times seven is forty-nine, and six 
times twelve is seventy-two — and — and — and — a 
here, friend Gargle, take the book, and give it 
that scoundrel of a fellow. 

Gar. Lord, sir, he's returned to his tricks. 

Win. Returned to his tricks ! What, broke 
loose again .' 

Gar. Ay ; and carried off my daughter with 
him. 

Win. Carried off your daughter ! How did the 
rascal contrive that? 

Gar. Oh, dear sir, the watch alarmed us a 
while ago, and I found a ladder at the window ; 
so, I suppose my young madam made her escape 
that way. 

T17«. Wounds ! What business had the fellovY 
with your daughter ? 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



II 



Gar. I wish I had never taken him into my 
house ; he may debauch tlic poor girl 

Win. And suppose he does — she's ii woman, 
an't she ? Ha, ha : tViciid Gargle, ha, ha ! 

Gar. Dear sir, how can you talk, thus to a 
man distracted ? 

Win. I'll never see the^fcllow's face. 

Sim. Secrets ! Secrets ! 

Win. What, are you in the secret, friend ? 

Sitii. To be sure ; there be secrets in all fami- 
lies — but, for my pari, I'll not speak a word pro 
or con, till there's a peace. 

Win. You won't speak, sirrah ! I'll make you 
speak Do you know nothing of this num- 
skull? 

Sim. Who, I, sir ? lie came home last iii ght 
from your house, and went out again directly. 

Win. You saw him, then? 

Sim. Yes, sir; saw him to be sure, sir; he 
made me open the shop door for fiim ; he stop- 
ped on the threshold, and pomted at one of the 
clouds, and asked me if it was not like an ouzel ? 

Win. Like an ouzel ? Wounds ! What's an 
ouzel ? 

Gar. And the young dog came back in the 
dead of night to steal away my daughter ! 

Win. I'll tell you what, friend Gargle I'll 

think no more of the fclhjw — let him bite the 
bridle — I'll go mind mv business, and not miss 
an opportuuitv. 

Gar. Good now, Mr Wingate, don't leave me 
in this affliction ! consider, when the animal spi- 
rits are properly employed, the whole system's 
exhilarated, a proper circulation in the smaller 
ducts, or capillary vessels — 

Win. Look ye there, now ; the fellow's at his 
ducks again, ha, ha ! 

Gar. But when the spirits are under influ- 
ence 

Win. Ha, ha ! What a fine fellow you are 
now ! YoU're as mad with your physical non- 
sense, as my son with his Shakespeare and Ben 
Thompson' • 

Gar. Dear sir, let us go in quest of him ; he 
shall be well phlebotomized ; and, for the fu- 
ture, I'll keep his solids and fluids in proper ba- 
lance — — • 

Win. Don't tell me of your solids ; I tell you 
he'll never be solid: and so I'll go and mind my 
business — let me see, where is this chap — [ Wcuds.^ 
— ay, ay ; at the Crown and Rolls — good morn- 
ing, friend Gargle ; doii't plague yourself about 
the numskull ; study fractions, man ; vulgar frac- 
tions will carry you through the world ; arithme- 
tical proportion is, when the antecedent and con- 
sequent — a — [Going. 

Enter a Porter. 

Win. Who are you, pray ? What do you 
want ? 

For. Is one Mr Gargrle here ? 



Gar. Yes ; who wants him ? 

Par. Here's a letter for you. 

Gar. Let me see it. O dear heart ! — \ Rcaih!\ 
— ' To Mr Gargle at the Pestle and IMortar' — 
'Slidikins ! this is a letter from that unfortunate 
young fellow 

Win. Let mc see it, Gargle. 

Gar. A moment's patience, good Mr Wingate, 
and this may unravel all — [lituds.\ — Poor young 
man ! His brain is certainly turned ; I can't 
make head or tail of it. 

Win. Ha, ha ! You're a pretty fellow ! give it 
me, man— I'll make it out for you — 'tis his hand, 
sure enough. — [Rcads.\ 

' To Mr Gargle, &c. 

' Most potent, grave, and reverend doctor, my 
' very noble and approved i'ood master ! that I 
' have taken away your daughter, it is most true, 
' true I will marry her; 'tis true, 'tis pity, and pi- 
' ty 'tis, 'tis true.' —What, in tiie name oi'^ommou 
sense, is all this?—' I have done your sliop some 
' service, and you know it ; no more of t'lat ! yet 
' I could wish, that, at this time, I had not been 
' this thing.' — What can the fellow mean ? — ' For 
* time may have yet one fated hour to come, 
' which, winged with liberty, may overtake occa- 
' sion past.' — Overtake occasion past ! Time and 
tide waits for no man — ' I expect redress from 
' thy noble sorrows; thine and my poor coun- 
' try's ever. 

* R. WiNO/VTE.' 

Mad as a march hare ! I have done with him. 
let him stay till the shoe pinches, a crack-brain- 
ed numskull ! 

Por. An't please ye, sir, T fancies the gentle- 
man is a little beside himself; he took hold on 
me here by the collar, and called lae villain, and 

bid me prove his wife a whore Lord help 

him ! I never seed the gentleman's spouse in my 
born days before. 

Gar. Is she wit1i him now ? 

Por. I believe so There's a likely young 

woman with him, all in tears. 

Gar. My daughter, to be sure 

Win. Let the fellow go and be hanged 

Wounds ! I would not go the length of my arm to 
save the villain from the gallows. Where was 
he, friend, when he gave you this letter? 

Por. I fancy, master, the gentleman's under 
troubles i brought it from a spungiug-liouse. 

Win. From a spunging-house ? 

Por. Yes, sir, in Grays-Inn-Lane. 

Win. Let him lie there, let him lie there — I 
am glad of it — 

Gar. Do, my dear sir, let us step to him — 

Win. No, not I, let him stay there — this it is 
to have a genius — ha, ha ! a genius ! ha, ha ! — 
a genius is a tine thing, indeed ! ha, ha, ha ! 

[Exit. 

Gar. Poor man ! l;e has certainly a fever on. 



184 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



hU spir'ts — do von step in with mc, honest man, 
till I slip on my cont, ami, then, I'll go after this 
inifortnnatc hov. 

I^or. Vcs, sir; 'lis in Gniys-Inn-hnc. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A s/mnf:iT)L' house ; Dick and Bm- 
LiFi at n /(//>>. rtH(/ LiiARLOTTE siltiiig in a 
disconsolate wanner l>j/ hint. 

Bail. Ilcrt's mv service to yon, younij jjcntlt- 

man don t be unousy ; the debt is not 

iinicli ; whv do you look so sad? 

Dieli. IJciausc eaptivitt/ has robbed me ofiijual 
and drar diversion. 

Kail. Never look sulky at me. I never use any 
body ill. Come, it has been many a !;«>od man's 
lot; here's my service to you, but we've no li- 
quor; come, we'll have the other bowl 

Dick. Vre now not jifhi ducal s in the zeorld 
— yet sti/i 1 nm in love, and phased uiih ruin. 

Bail. What do you say .'' you've fifty shillings, 
I hnpr? 

l^ick. Noie, thank Heaven/ Vm not north a 
grout. 

BaiL Then, there's no credit here, I can tell 
you that you must pet bail, or go to New- 
gate who do you think is to pay house- 
rent for you } You see your friends won't come 
near you — Ihc-y've all answered in the old cam. 
' I've promised my wile never to be bail for anv 
* body .' or, ' I've sworn not to do it,' or, ' I'd 
' lend you the money if I had it, but desire to be 
' excused from bailins; any man.' The porter 
you just now sent, will brine: the same answer, \ 

warrant. Such poverty-struck devils as you 

stay in my house ! you shall go to Quod, I can 

tell you that 

[Knocking at the donr. 

Bail. Comina:, coming; I am coming; I shall 
lodge you in Newgate, I promise you, before 

ni>;!u not worth a groat ! ytju'rc a tine 

fellow to stay in a man's house I You sliall 

go to Quod. [Flit. 

Dick. Come, clear up, Charlotte, never nund 

this come now let us act the prison-scene 

jn the mourning bride 

Char. How can you think of acting speeches, 
when we're in such distress .? 

Dick. Nay, but my dear ansol 

Enter Wixc.vte and Gargle. 

Gar. llush ! Do, dear sir, let us listen to him 
1 dare say he repents 

Win. Wounds ! what clothes are those the 
fciiovv has on? Zoukers, the scoundrel has rob- 
bed me. 

Dick. Come, now, we'll practise an attitude — 
How many 'if tliem have ytn\ ? 

Char: Let me see — one — tvvo-^ three and, 



tlicn, in tiie fourth act, and then — O, Gemiiu, I 
have ten at least 

Dii k. 1 hat will do swimmingly — I've a round 
dozen myself — Come, now, begin — you fancy 
me dead, and I think the »amc of vou — now, 
mind ■ ['Ihei/ stand in attitudes. 

]\'in. Only mind the villain ! 

Dick. O thou soft Jleeting form if Linda- 
niira ! 

Char. Jllnsivc shade of my helored Lord ! 

Dick. She lives, she speaks, and ue shall still 
be happy. 

Win. You lie, you villain ! you shan't be hap- 

py- 

[Knocks him down. 

Dick. [On the ground.l Verdilion catch your 
arm ! the chance is thine. 

Gar. So, my young madam ! I have found you 
again. 

Dick. Capulet, forbear ! Paris, let loose your 
hold — She is my uife — our hearts are tzcined to- 
gether. 

Win. Sirrah, villain, I'll break every bone in 
your body • [Striken. 

Dick. Parents have flinty hearts ; no tears 
can move them : Children must be wretch- 
ed 

Win. Get off the ground, you villain ! get off 
the ground ! 

Dick. 'Tis a pity there are no scene-drawers 
to lift me 

If 7«. A scoundrel, to rob yonr father! you 
rascal, I have a mind to break yonr head ! 

Dick. What, like this ? 

[T'akes off his zcig, and shews t:co patches on 
his head.] 

Win. ' lis mighty well, young man — Zookcrs ! 
I made my own fortime ; and I'll take a hoy out 
of the Blne-coat-hospital, and give him all I 
h.ave. Loi)k'c here, tVicud Gargle. You know, I 
am not a hard-hearted man. The scoundrel, you 
know, has rnbl;ed me; so, d'ye see, I won't 

iianghim; I'll onlv transport tlie fellow ■ 

And so, -Mr Catchpole, you may take him to 
New gate 

Gar. Well, but, dear sir, you know I always 
intended to marry my daughter into your fami- 
ly ; and if you let the young man he ruined, my 
money must all go into another channel. 

T17«. How's that ! into another channel ! — 

I^lust not lose the handling of his money 

Why, I to'd you, friend Gargle, I am not a hard- 
hearted man. 

Gar. Wiiy no, sir; hut your passions 

However, if you will but make the young eentle- 
man serve out the last year i>{ his apprenticeship, 
vou know I shall be giving over, and I may put 
him into all my practice. 

117/?. Ha, ha ! Why, if the blockhead would 
bur get as many crabbed physical words from 
Hvfponitcs and Allen, as he has from his non- 
sensical trumpery — ha, ha ! I don't know, be- 



MURPHY.3 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



185 



tween you and I, but lie might pass for a very 
good physician. 

Dick. And must I leave thee, Juliet ? 
Char. Nay, but, prithee now, have done with 
your speeches. You see we are brou!j;Iit to the 
last distress, and so you liad better make it up — 

\^Asidc to Dick. 
Dick. Why, for your sake, my dear, I could 

almost find in my heart 

Win. You'll settle your money on your daugh- 
ter.? 

Gar. You know it was always my iutcn- 

tion- • 

Win. I must not let the cash slip through my 

hands [Aiiide.\ ].,ook'e here, young man 1 

am the best-natured man in the world. How 
came this debt, friend ? 

Bail. The gentleman gave his note at Bristol, 
I understands, where he boarded ; 'tis but twen- 
ty pounds 

Win. Twenty pounds ! Well, w hy don't you 
send to your fiieiui bliakcspcare now to bail 
you ha, ha ! J should like to see Shakes- 
peare give bail — ha, lia ! MrCatchpolc, will you 
take bail of Ben Thompson, and Shakespeare, 
and Odyssey Popes } 

Bail. No such people have been here, sir — 
are they house-keepers.? 

Dick. You do not come to mock 7tv/ mise- 
ries '^ 

Gar. Hush, young man ! you'll spoil all 

Let me speak to you How is your digestion ? 

Dick. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of 

it 

Char. Nay, but dear Dick, for my sake 

Win. What says he, Gargle .? 

Gar. He repents, sir — he'll refoi'm 

Win. Thai's right, lad ; now you're right 

and if you will but serve out your time, my 
friend Gargle, here, will make a man of you. 
Wounds ! you'll have his daughter and all his 
money ; and if I hear no more of your trumpe- 
ry, and you mind your business, and stick to my 
little Charlotte, and make me a grandfather in 
ipy old days ; egad, you shall have all mine, too ; 
that is, when I am doatl. 

Dick. Charlotte, that will do rarely, and we 

may s:o to the plays as often as we please 

Char. O, Gemini, it v.ill be the purest thing 
in the world, and we'll see Ilomco and Juliet 
every time it is acted. 



Dick. Ay, that will be a hundred times in a 
season at least. Besides, it will be like a play, 
if I reform at the end. Sir, free. ?ne so far in 
i/our most generous thoughts, that I have shut 
my arrow over the house, and hurl my brother. 

Win. What do you say, friend } 

Char. Nay, but prithee now do it in plain 
English — 

Dick. Well, well, I will. He knows nothing 
of metaphors Sir, you shall find for the fu- 
ture, that we'll both endeavour to give yfiu all 
the satisfaction in our power. 

Win. Very well, that's right; you may do very 
well. Friend Gargle, I am oveijoyed — 

Gar. Chcarfulness, sir, is the principal ingre- 
dient in the composition of health. 

Win. Wounds, man ! let us hear no more of 
your physic. Here, young man, put this look in 
your jiocket, and let nie see how soon you'll be 
master of vulgar fractions. Mr Catchpole, steji 
home with me, and I'll pay you the money ; you 
seem to be a notable sort of a fellow, I\lr Catch- 
pole ; could you nab a man for me ? 

Catch. Fast enough, sir, when I have the 
writ — 

Win. Very well, come along. I lent a young 
gentleman a hundred pounds, a cool hundred Ik; 
called it — ha, ha ! it did not stay to cool with 
him. I had a good premium ; but I shan't wait 
a moment for that — Come along, young man ; 
What riglit have you to twenty pounds .? give 
you twenty pounds ! I never v»'as obliged to 
my family for twenty pounds^but I'll say no 
more; if you have a mind to thrive in this 
world, make yourself useful is the golden rule. 

Dick. My dear Charlotte, as you are to be my 
reward, I'll be a new man 

Char. Well, now, I shall see how much you 
love me. 

Dick. It shall be my study to deserve you ; 
and since we don't go on the stage, 'tis some 
comfort tliat the world's a stage, and all the 
men and women merely players. 

Some play the upper, some the under parts, 
And most assume what's foreign to their 

hearts; 
Thus, life is but a tragi-comic jest, 
And all is farce and mummery at best. 

[E.reiint omnts. 



Vol. III. 



2 A 



THE 



ENGLISHMAN TxETURNED EROM PARIS. 



FOOTE. 



DRAMATIS PERS0N7E. 



MEN. 
BiTK, the Englishman returned from Paris. 
Chais his father's executor. " 
LoKD John, « respectable young nobleman. 
Malp.uthen, Buck's knavish tutor. 
lUcKET, \ E„„lish squires. 
Latitat, a laxoyer. 

StRGLON. 



WOMEN. 



LuciNDA, intended for Buck. 
Le Jonquil, La Loihe, Bearnois, and Ser- 
vants. 



Scene — London. 



ACT L 



SCENE I. 

Crab discovered reading. 

'And I do constitute my very good friend, 
' Giles Crab, esq. of St Martin's in the Fields, 
' executor to this my will ; and do appoint him 
' i^uardiaii to my ward Lucinda ; and do submit 
' to his direction the management of all my af- 
' fa'rs till llie return of my son from his travels ; 
' whom I do entreat my said executor, in consi- 
* deration of our ancient friendship, to advise, to 
' counsel, ike. ike. ' John Buck.' 

A iiood, pretty legacy ! Let's sec ; I find myself 
heir, by this generous devise of my very good 
friend, to ten actions at common law, nine suits 
in chancery; t!ie conduct of a boy, bred a booby 



at home, and finislicd a fop abroad ; together 
with the direction of a marriageable, and there- 
fore an unmanageable, wench ; and all this to 
an old fellow of sixty-six, who heartily hates bu- 
siness, is tired of the world, and despises every 
thing in it. VVhy, how the devil came 1 to me- 
rit 



Enter Servant. 
Ser. I\Ir Latitat of Staple's Inn. 
Cmh. So, here begin my plagues, 
hound in. 



Shew the 



Enter Latitat, nith a bag, S)C. 

Lat. I would, i\Ir Crab, have attended your 
summons immediately; but I was obliged to sign 
jnds;ment in error at the common pleas; sue out 
of the exchequer a writ of quce ininus ; and ^ur- 



FoOTii.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



18: 



render in banco reg't the defendant, before the 
return oi sci fa, to dischariie the bail. 

Crab. Pritliee, man, ntnie of thy unintelhgiblc 
law-jargon to me ; but tell nie, in tlie ianc;uai;e 
of common senbe and thy country, what I am 
to do ? 

Lat. Why, Mr Crab, as you are already pos- 
sessed of a prubat, and letters of administra- 
tion de bonis are granted, yon may sue or be 
sued. I hold it sound doctrine for no execator 
to discharge debts, without a receipt upon record; 
this can be obtained by no means but by an ac- 
tion. Xow actions, sir, are of various kinds : 
There are special actions; actions on the case, 
or assumpsits ; actions of trover ; actions of 
clausuni j'reiiit ; actions of battery, actions of-^ 

Crab. Hey, the devil, where's the fellow run- 
ning now .'' But hark'e. Latitat, why I thought 
all our law-proceedings were directed to be in 
English ? 

Lut. True, J\Ir Crab. 

Crab. And what do you call all this stuff, lia.-" 

Lat. Fnglish. 

Crab. The devil you do ! 

Lat. Vernacular ! upon my honour, Mr Crab. 
For as lord Coke describes the common law to 
be the perfection 

Crab. So here's a fresh deluge of impertinence. 
A truce to thy authorities, 1 beg ; and as I find 
it will be impossible to understand thee without 
an interpreter, if you will meet me at five, at 
Mr Brief's chambers, why, if you have any thing 
to say, he will translate it for me. 

Lat. Mr Brief, sir, and translate, sir ! Sir, I 
would have you to know, that no practitioner in 
Westminster-hall gives clearer 

Crub. Sir, I believe it — for which reason I 
have referied you to a man who never goes into 
Westminster-hall. 

Lat. A, bad proof of his practice, IMr Crab. 

Crab. A good one of his principles, Mr Lati- 
tat. 

Lat. Why' sir, do yoa think that a lawyer 

Crub. Zounds, sir ! i never thought about a 
lawyer. The law is an oracular idol, you are the 
explanatory ministers; nor siiould any of my 
own private concerns have made me bow to your 
beastly Baal. I had rather lose a cause than 
contest it. And had not this old doating dunce, 
sir John Buck, plagued me with the management 
of his money, and the care of his booby bov, 
bedlam should sooner have had me than the bar. 

Lat. Bedlam I the bar ! Since, sir, I am pro- 
voked, I di)n't know what your choice may be, 
or what your friends may choose for you : I wish 
I was your prochain ami : But I am under some 
doubts as to the sanity of the testator, otherwise 
he could not have chosen for his executor, under 
the sanction of the Jaw, a person who despises 
the law. And the law, give me leave to tell vou, 
Mr Crab, is the bulwark, the fence, the protec- 
tion, the sine qua non, the ne plus ultra 



Crab. Mercy, good six and eightpence ! 

Lai. The defence, and offence, the by which, 
and the whereby, the statute common, and cus- 
tomary : or, as Plowdcn classically arid elegantly 
expresses it, 'tis 

Mos commune tetus mores, consulta, senatus, 
Ilac triajus statuunt terra Britannia tibi. 

Crab. Zounds, sir, among all your laws, are 
there none to protect a man in his own house ? 

Lat. Sir, a man's house is his castcllum, his 
castle; and so tender is the law of anv infringe- 
ment of that sacred right, that any attempt to 
invade it by force, fraud, or violence, ciandcs- 
tinely, or viet anni», is not only deemed felonious, 
but burglarious. Now, sir, a burglary may be 
committed, either upon the dwelling, or the out- 
house. 

Crab. O lud ! O lud ! 

Enter Servant, 

Ser. Your clerk, sir — The parties, he says, are 
all in waiting at your chambers. 

Lat. I come. I will but just explain to Mr 
Crab the nature of a burglary, as it has been de- 
scribed by a late statute. 

Crab. Zounds, sir ! I have not the least curio- 
sity. 

Lat. Sir, but every gentleman should know — 

Crab. Dear sir. be gone. 

Lat. But by tiie late acts of par 

Crab. Help, you dog ! Zounds ! sir, get out of 
my house ! 

Ser. Your clients, sir 

Crab. Push him out ! [The lavyer talking all 
the while.J So ho ! Ilark'e, rascal, if you suffer 
that fellow to enter my doors again, I'll strip and 
discard yon the very next minute. [Etit Se7- 
vant.] This is but the beginning of my torments. 
But that I expect tiie young whelp from abroad 
every instant, I'd fly for it myselt", and quit the 
kingdom at once. 

Enter Servayif. 

Ser. My young master's travelling tutor, sir, 
just arrived. 

Crab. Oh, then T suppose the blockhead of a 
baronet is close at his heels. Shew him in. This 
bear-leader, I reckon now, is either the clumsy 
curate of the knight's parish church, or some 
needy Highlander, the outcast of liis country, 
who, with the pride of a German baron, the po- 
verty of a French marquis, the address of a Swiss 
soldier, and the learning of an academy-usljer, 
is to give our heir-apparent politeness, taste, 
literature — a perfect knowledge of the world, 
and of himself. 

Enter Macrutiiex. 

Mac. Maister Crab, I am your devoted ser- 
vant. 



158 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Ciiil'. oil, a British cliifUJ, by the mass — 
V\ rll, wherr's your charge ? 

Mac. (), the young baronet is o' the rond. I 
was iiiiL'htv atVaul he had o'ert;»'cn mc; lor, be- 
tween Ciiiittrbtirv and Roclicsler, T was .stopt 
and rubbed by ;i hi^hwaymun. 

Crab. Robbed ! What tlic devil could he rob 
yo(i ol"? 

Mac. In glide troth, not a mighty booty, Ru- 
( haiian's history, Ljuidcr ac;ainbt Melton, and twa 
pinid ot" hi^h-dricd (jlasgow. 

Cruh. A good travellioi:; cjuipa^e ! Well, and 
what's become of your cub? where have you left 
liim ? 

Mac. Main you sir Charles? I loft him at Ca- 
lais, with anijther ynunp uobieman returning 
irora liis travels. IJiit why ca' ye him cub, 
Maister Crab? In gude troth, there's a meeghty 
alteration. 

Crab. Yes, yes ; I have a shrewd guess at his 
improvements. 

.Mac. lie's quite a phenomenon. 

Criib. Oh, a comet, I dare swear; but not an 
unusual one at Paris. The Fauxbourg of St. 
CJermain's swarms with such, to the no small 
amusement of our very good friends the French. 

Mac. (Jh, the French were mighty fond of 
him. 

Crab. But as to the language, I suppose he's a 
|jprfect master of that ? 

Mac. He can caw for au^ht that he need ; but 
lie is iia quite maister of the accent. 

Crab. A most astonibhing progress ! 

Mac. Suspend your juf'j/nieut a while, and 
you'll find him all you vvisli, allowing for the 
sallies of juvenility ; and I must take the 
vanity to myself of being, in a great measure, the 
aiillior. 

Ciab. Oh, if he bo but a faithful copy of 
the admirable original, he must be a finislied 
piece. 

Mac. You are pleased to compliment. 

Crab. Not a whii. Well, and what — I sup- 
pose you and ynnr What's your name ? 

Mac. Macruilien, at your service. 

Crtib. IMucruthen ! Hum ! You and your 
pupil agreed very well? 

Mac. Pi.-rfectly. The yoking gentleman is of 
an amiable disposition. 

Crab. Oh, ay ; and it would be wrouir to sour 
his ti^mper. You know your duty better, I hope, 
than to contradict him ? 

Mac. It was na for me, Maister Crab. 

Crab. Oh, by no means, Mr Maci nliten ; all 
your Vjusiness was to ktep him out of frays; to 
take care, for the sake of his health, that his 
will!' was genuin?, and his mistresses as they 
should be. You pimped for him, [ suppose ? 

M'ic. Pimp for him ! D'ye mean to affront — 

Crab. To suppose the contrary would be the 
atTroiit, Mr Tutor. What, masi, you know the 
world? 'lis noL by contradiction, but by com- 



pliance, that men make their fortunes. And 
was it for you to thwart the humour <jf a lad, 
u|)on the threshold of ten thousand pounds a- 
year ? 

Mac. Why, to be sure, great allowances must} 
be made. 

Crab. No doubt, no doubt ! 

Mac. I see, Maister Crab, you know man- 
kind. You are sir .(ohn Buck's executor? 

Crab. True. 

Mac. I have a little thouglit that may be use- 
ful to us baith. 

Crab. As how? 

Mac. Cou'il na we contrive to make a bond o' 
the young baronet? 

Crab. F.xplain. 

Mac. Why yon, by the will, have the care o' 
the cash ; and I can make a shift to manage the 
lad. 

Crab. Oh, I conceive you ! And so, between 
us both, we may contrive to ease hin» of that in- 
lioritance wjiich he knows not how properly to 
enipliiv, and apply it to our own use. You do 
know how. 

]\Iac. Y'c ha' hit it. 

Crab. NViiy, what a superlative rascal art thou, 
thou inhospitable villain ! Under the roof, and in 
the presence, of thy benefactor's representative, 
■.vith almost his ill-bestowed bread in thy mouth, 
art thou plotting the perdition of his only child ! 
And from what part of my life didst thou derive 
a hope of my compliance with such a hellish 
scheme ? 

Mac. Maister Crab, I am of a nation 

Crab. Of known honour and integrity — 1 allow 
it. The kiiigd.un you have quitted, in consigning 
the care of its monarch, for ages, to your predeces- 
sors, in preference to its proper subjects, has 
given you a brilliant panegyric, that no other 
people can parallel. 

Mac. Whv, to se sure 

Crab. And one happmcss it is, that though na- 
tional L'lorv can beam a brightness on particidars, 
t'le crimes of individuals can never reHect a dis- 
srare upon their country. Thy ajjology but ag- 
gravates thy guilt. 

Mac. Why, Maister Crab, I 

Crab. Ouilt and contusion choak thy utter- 
ance ! Avoid !i\v sight! vanish! [Exit Mac] 
A fine fellow this, to protect the person, inform 
the inexperience, direct and moderate the desires, 
of an unbridlc-d boy ! But can it be strange, 
whilst the parent negligently accepts a superficial 
rerommcndation to so in^.poitant a trust, that the 
person, whose wants, perhaps, more than his 
abilities, make desirous of it, should consider the 
youth as a kind of property, and not study what 
to make him, but what to make of him ; and 
thus prudently lay a foundation for hi? future 
sordid hopes, by a criminal compliance with the 
lad's present pre^aihng passions? But vice and 
follv rule the world — Without, there ! 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



18<) 



Enter Servant. 

Rascal, where d'vou run, blockhead ? Bid the 
girl come hither. Fresh instances, every mo- 
ment, fortify my abhorrence, my detestation of 
mankind. This turn may be termed misan- 
thropy, and imputed to chagrin and disappoint- 
ment : but it can only be by tJiose fools who, 
tlirough softness or i2;norance, re^^ard the faults of 
others, like their own, through the wrong end of 
the perspective. 

Enter Lucinda. 

So, what, I suppose your spirits are all afloat ? 
You have heard your fellow's coming ? 

Luc. If you had your usual discernment, sir, 
you w-ould distinsruish in my countenance an ex- 
pression very different from that of joy. 

Crab. Oil, what ! I suppose your monkey has 
broke his chain, or your parrot died in moult- 
ing? 

Luc. A person less censorious than Mr Crab, 
might assign a more generous motive for my dis- 
tress. 

Crab. Distress ! A pretty poetical phrase ! 
What motive can'st thou have for distrc^s? Has 
not sir John Buck's death assured thy fortune } 
and art not thou 

Luc. By that very means, a helpless, unpro- 
tected orphan. 

Crab. Poll ! prithee, wench, none of thy ro- 
mantic cant to me. What, 1 know the sex : the 
objects of every woman's wish are property and 
power. The first you have, and the second you 
won't be long without ; for here's a puppy riding 
post to put on your chains. 

Luc. It would appear affectation not to un- 
derstand you. And to deal freely, it was upon 
that subject I wished to engage you. 

Crab. Your information was needless; I knew 
it. 

Lnc. Xay, but why so severe? I did flatter 
myself that the very warm recommendation of 
your deceased friend would have abated a little 
of that rigour. 

Crab. No wheedling, Lucy. Ace and con- 
tempt have long shut these gates against flattery 
and dissimulation. You have no sex for me. 
Without preface, speak your purpose. 

Zwc. \Vhat then, in a word, is your advice 
with regard to my marrying sir Charles Buck ? 

Crab. And do you seriously want my advice ? 

I^uc. Most sincerely. 

Crab, Then you are a blockhead ! Why, where 
could you mend yourself? Is not he a fool, a 
fortune, and in love ^ — Look'e, girl. 

Enter Set'vant. 

Who, sent for you, sir? 

Ser. Sir, my young master's post-chaise is 



broke down at the corner of the street by a coal- 
cart. His clothes are all dirt, and he swears like 
a trooper. 

Cnib. Ay' ! Why, then, carry his chaise to 
the coach-maker's, his coat to a siowerer's, and 

him before a justice Prillieo, why dost 

trniiblc me? I suppose you would not meet yonr 
gallant? 

Luc. Do you think I should ? 

Crab. No, retire. And if this application 
for my advice is not a copy of your couutei- 
ance, a mask — if you are obedient, I may set 
you right. 

Luc. I shall with pleasure follow your direc- 
tions. [E.rif. 

Crab. Now we shall see what Paris has done 
for this puppy. But htie he comes, liglit as the 
cork in his heels, or the feutlier in his hat. 

Enter Buck, Lord Johx, La Loiue, Bearxois, 
and Mac r u t h e x . 

Buck. Not a word, mi Lor ; jernie, it is not to 
be supported I — al"ter being roniputout vif, dis- 
jointed by that execrable pare, to he tumbled 
into a kennel by a filthy charbonnier, a dirty re- 
tailer of sea-coal, morbleu ! 

Lord JohiU. An accident that might have hap- 
pened any where, sir Charles. 

Buck. And then the hide>us hootings of that 
detestable canaille, that murtherous mob, with 
barbarous, ' Monsieur in tiie mtid, huzza !' Ah, 
pais sauvnge, barbare, inhospitable ! Ah, ah, 
qu'est ceque nous axons i Who? 

Mac. That is Maister Crab, your father's exe- 
cutor. 

Buck. Ha, ha, Serviteur tres humble, Mon- 
sieur. Eh bicn ! What? is he dumb? Mac, mi 
Lor, mort de ma vie, the veritable Jack-roast- 
beef of the French Comedy. Ha, ha ! how do 
you do, Monsieur Jack-roast-beef? 

C?-ab. Prithee take a turn or two about the 
room. 

Buck. A turn or two ! Volontiers. Eh bien ! 
Well, have you_, in your life, seen any thing so, 
ha, ha, hey ? 

Crab. Never. I hope you had not many spec- 
tators of your tumble? 

Buck. Foiirquoi i Why so ? 

Crab. Because I would not have the public 
curiosity forestalled. I can't but think, in a 
country so fond of strange sights, if you were 
kept up a little, you would bring a great deal of 
money. 

Buck. I don't know, my dear, what my person 
would produce in this country, but the counter- 
part of vour very grotesque tigure has been ex- 
tremely beneficial to the comedians from whence 
I came N'csl-ce pas vruis, mi lor ? Ha, ha ! 

Lord John. The resemblance does not strike 
me. Perhaps I may seem singular ; but the 
particular customs of particular countries, I own, 



lyo 



lUUilSH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



iiovtr appeared to me us proper objects of ridi- 
«'tdf. 

JUiik. Why so? 

Lord John. Uctause, in this ca!"C, it is impos- 
sihie to have a rule tor your judgment. Tlie 
loriii:) and ciistums which chinaic, constitution, 
and <;i)veriiujciit, have (^iven to one kingdom, ran 
iifwr 1)C transplanted with advaiitai;e to ano- 
tlitr, ronnded on diflerent principles. And tlui'^, 
tlious;h tlie huliits and manners of ditlerent coun- 
tries may be directly opposite, yet, in my hiunbic 
concj ptioii, they may be strictly, because natu- 
rally, rii;lit. 

C'»«i. Why, there are some glimmerings of 
common sense about this young thin;^. Hark'e, 
1 hild ? by wlial accident did you stumble upon 
this blockhead?— [7 i) IkcK.] 1 suppose the line 
of your understanding is too short to fathom tlie 
depth of your companion's reasoning? 

Buck. My dear ! [^Gapes. 

Cruh. I say you can draw no conclusion irom 
the above premises. 

Ihick. Who, I ? Damn your premises and 
conclusions too ! But this 1 conclnde, from what 
I have seen, my dear, that .the Irencli ;ne the 
fn>t people in the universe-; that, in the aits of 
Ii\ ioL', they do, or ou;iht to give laws to the whole 
world ; and that, w iiosoever would either cat, 
drink, dress, daiice, fight, sin^, or even sneeze, 
uvec c/e<:(tnce, must go to Paris to leiirn it. This 
is my creed. 

Cich. And these precious principles you are 
coine here to propagate ? 

End:. C'esl vrai. Monsieur Crab : and, vvith 
the aid of these brother missionaries, I have no 
doubt of making a great many proselytes. And 
now for a detail of their qualities. Bearnois, 
urancez ! This is an oflicer of my houseliold, un- 
knov n to this country. 

L'mb. And v\hat may he be .^ — I'll humour the 
puppy. 

Buck. This is my Swiss porter. Tenez vous 
droit, Bearnois. There's a fierce figure to guard 
the gate of an hotel. 

Crab. What, do you suppose that we have no 
porters? 

Buck. Yes, you have dunces that open doors; 
a drufigery that this fellow does by deputy. But 
lor intrepidity in denying a disagreeable visitor ; 
for politeness in introducing a mistress; acute- 
ness in discerning, and constancy in excluding, 
a dun, a greater genius never came from the 
cantons. 

Crab. Astonishing qualities ! 

Buck. Belirez, Bearnois. But here's a bijou, 
licre's a jewel indeed ! Venez id, mon chcr La 
Loire. Conimenl trouvez vou: ce Paris ici '^ 

Lu Loire. Trli Inen. 

Buck. Wry well. Civil creature ! This, Mon- 
sieur Crab, is luy cook La Loire ; and for fiurs 
a'leurres, entre rods, ragouts, entremets, and the 



disposition of a dessert, Paris never s;iw his pa-. 
rallcl. 

Crab. His wages, I suppose, are proportioned 
to his merit? 

Buck. \ bagatelle, a trille. Abroad but a bare 
two hundred. Upon his cheerful compliance 
in coming hither into exile with me, I have in- 
deed doubled his stipend. 

Crab. V(ju coidd do no less. 

Buck. And now, sir, to complete my equipage, 
regariJc-: iiiunsirur Iax .fonipiil, my first valet dc 
chand)re, excellent in every thing ; but, pour /'ac- 
coin/uoilugc, for dec(jrating the fiead, inimitable. 
In one word, J^a Jon'piil shall, for iitty to five, 
knot, twist, tie, fVie/e, cut, curl, or condi, with any 
iiari/on perruquier, tiom the Laiid's-eud to the 
Orkneys. 

Crab. WJiy, what at; infinite fund of public 
spirit must y(ju have, to drain your purse, morli- 
fy your inclination, and expose your person, for 
the mere im[)rovement of your countrymen ! 

Buck. Oh, I am a very Roman for that. But 
at present 1 had another reason for returning. 

Crab. Ay, what can that be ? 

Buck. Why, I lind there is a likelihood of some 
little fracas between us. But, upon my soul, we 
must be very brutal to quarrel with the dear 
agreeable creatures for a tritJe. 

Crab. They have your atfections, then? 

Buck. De tout mon cteur. From the infinite 
civility shown to us in France, and tiieir friendly 
protessions in favour of our country, they can ne- 
ver intend us an injury. 

Crab. Oh, you have hit their humour to a hair ! 
But I can have no longer patience with the pup- 
py. Civility and friendship, you booby ! Yes, 
their civility at I'aris has not left you a guinea in 
your pocket, nor would their friendship to your 
nation leave it a foot of land in the universe. 

Buck. Lord John, this is a strange old fellow ! 
Take my word for it, my dear, you mistake this 
thing egregiously. But all you English are con- 
stitutionallv sullen. ISovember-fogs, with salt 
boiled beef, are most cursed recipes tor goofl-hu- 
inoiir, or a quick apprehension. Paris is the place ! 
'Tis there men laugh, love, and live. Vive I'a- 
luour ! Sans amour, ct sans ses desirs, un cceur 
est uien moins heurcux quil ne ptnse. 

Crab. Now, would not any soul suppose, that 
this yelping hound had a real relish for the coun- 
try he has quitted ? 

Buck. A miglity unnatural supposition, truly ! 

Crab. Foppery and atVcctation all. 

Buck. And do you really think Paris a kind 
of purgatory, ha, my dear ? 

Crab. To thee the most solitary spot upon 
earth, my dear. — Familiar puppy I 

Buck. Whimsical enough. But come, pour 
passer le tews, let us, old Diogenes, enter into a 
little debate. Mi lor, and you, Macruthen, de- 
termine the dispute between that source of de- 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



19i 



lights, ce paradis de plaisir, and this cave of care, 
this seat of scurvy and the spleen. 

Mac. Let us heed them wccl, my lord. jNIais- 
ter Crab has met with his match. 

Buck. And first, for the great pleasure of life, 
the pleasure of the table : Ah, quelle difference ! 
The ease, the wit, the wine, the badinage, the 
persistage, the double entendre, the chansons a 
hoire ! O uhat delicious moments have I passed 
chcz madame la duchesse de BarbouUac ! 

Crab. Your mistress, I suppose ? 

Buck. Who, I } Ft done ! How is it possible 
for a woman to have a penchant for me ? Hey, 
Mac ! 

Mac. Sir Charles is too much a man of honour 
to blab. But, to say truth, the whole city of Pa- 
ris thought as much. 

Crab. A precious fellow this ! 

Buck. Taisez vous, Mac. But we lose the 
point in view. Now, monsieur Crab, let me con- 
duct you to what you call an entertainment. 
And first : the melancholy mistress is lixed in her 
chair, where, by the by, slie is condemned to do 
more drudgery than a dray-horse. Next pro- 
ceeds the master to marshal the guests; in which 
as much caution is necessary as at a coronation ; 
with, ' My lady, sit here,' and, ' sir Thomas, sit 
' there;' till the length of the ceremony, with the 
length of the grace, have destroyed all apprehen- 
sions of the meat's burning your mouths. 

Mac. Bravo, bravo ! Did I na say, sir Charles 
was a phenomenon .'' 

Crab. Peace, puppy ! 

Buck. Then, in solemn silence, they proceed 
to dem.olish the substantial, with perhaps an oc- 
casional interruption of, ' Here's to you, friends;' 
* Hob or nob;' ' Your love and mine.' Pork suc- 
ceeds to beef, pyes to puddings. The cloth is 
removed. Madam, drenched with a bumper, 
drops a curtsey, and departs ; leaving the jovial 
host, with his sprightly companions, to tobacco, 
port, and politics. Viola un repas a la mode d'An- 
gleterre, monsieur Crab. 

Crab. It is a thousand pities that your father 
is not a living witness of these prodigious im- 
provements. 

Buck. Cest rrai. But, a propos, he is dead, 
as you say, and you are 

Crab. Against my inclination, his executor. 

Buck. Beiit-ctre ; well, and 

Crab. Oh, my trust will soon determine. One 
article, indeed, I am strictly enjoined to see per- 
formed ; your marriage with your old acquaint- 
ance Lucinda. 

Buck. Ha, ha, la petite Lucinde ! et com- 
ment 

Crab. Prithee, peace, and hear me. She is 
bequeathed conditionally, that if you refuse to 
marry her, twentv thousand pounds; and if she 
rejects you, which I suppose she will have the 
wisdom to do, only five. 



Buck. Reject me ! Very probable, hey, Mac } 
But could not we have an entrcv'tte '^ 

Crab. Who's there ? — Let Lucinda know we 
expect her. 

Mac. Had na ye better, sir Charles, cqvn'p 
yourseil in a more suitable garb upon a first visit 
to your mistress? 

Crab. Oh, such a figure and address can de- 
rive no advantage from dress. 

Buck. Serviieur. liut, however, Mac's hint 
may not be so mal d propos. Allans, Jonquil, jc 
nien vnis ni'habiller. Mi lor, sli;ill I trespass up- 
on your patience ? My toilette is but a work of 
ten minutes. Mac, dispose of my domestics a 
leur aisr, and then attend me with my port- 
feuille, and read, while I dress, those remarks I 
made in last voyage from Fountainblcu to Com- 
peigne. Serviteur, messieurs. 



Car le ban vin 

T>u matin, 
Sortant du tonneav, 
Vaut bien mieux que 

Le Latin 
De tout la Sorbonnc. 



[Exit. 



Crab. This is the most consummate coxcomb ! 
I told the fool of a father what a puppy Paris 
would produce him ; but travel is the word, and 
the consequence an importation of every foreign 
folly: And thus the plain persons and principles 
of old England are so confounded and jumbled 
with the excrementitious growtli of every cli- 
mate, that wc have lost all our ancient charac- 
teristics, and are become a bundle of contradic- 
tions, a piece of patch-work, a mere harlequin's 
coat. 

Lord John. Do you suppose then, sir, that no 
good may be obtained 

C)'ab. Why, prithee, w hat have you gained ? 

Lord John. I should be sorry my acquisitions 
were to determine the debate. But, do you think, 
sir, the shaking off some native quahties, and the 
being made more sensible, from comparison, of 
certain national and constitutional advantages, 
objects unworthy the attention r 

Crab. You show the favourable side, young 
man : But how frequently are substituted for na- 
tional prepossessions, always harn.iess, and often 
happy, guiitv and unnatural prejudices ? Unna- 
tural ! For the wretch who is weak and wicked 
enoueh to despise his country, sins against the 
most laudable law of nature ; he is a traitor to 
the community w here providence has placed him, 
and should be denied those social benefits he has 
rendered himself unworthy to partake. But sen- 
tentious lectures are ill calculated for your time 
of life. 

Lord John. T differ from you here, Mr Crab. 
Principles, that call for perpetual practice, can- 
not be too soon received. I sincerely thank 



VJ2. 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



you, sir, for this i oiumuiiication, and should be 
liap|ty to liuvc aU^ays near mc so moral a moni- 
lor. 

I'lab. Y>m arc indebted to France for her 
fl:iLiery. But I If ave you with a lady, wht^rc it 
will bt bctttr cnij'loycd. 

Enter I.i i inua. 

CVo/i. Tliis young lUcui waits here till your 
puppv ii |»owdcrcd. Vou may ask. him after 
your Frctich iicquaintaiice. I know nothing of' 
liim ; b;it lio docs not M'tni to be altogether so 
j;ioat a tool a* ymir iVllow. [Exit. 

Luc. I am afraid, sir, you have had but a dis- 
sigreealile tele a tctr. 

L.Jo/in. Just the contrary, madam. By qood 
5>en^c, tuiji^ed with Singularity, we are entertained 
as well .IS improved. For a lady, indeed, I\Ir 
Crab's manners are rather too rough. 

L/C. Not a jot ; I am familiarized to ihcm. 
I kiiow his intet;rity, and am never be disobliged 
1 Y his sincerity. 

L. John. This declaration is a little particular 
froui a lady, who must have received her first 
imprcs^iolls in a place remarkable for its delicacy 
to tlie fa:r-scx. iiut good-seuse can conquer even 
early habits. 

Luc. This compliment I can lay no claim to. 
Th« former part of my life procured me but verv 
little indukence. The pittance of knowledge 1 
possess, was taught mc by a very severe mistress, 
Adversity. But you, sir, are too well acquainted 
with sir Charles Buck not to have known my si- 
tuation. 



L. John. I have heard your story, madam, be- 
fore 1 had tlie honour of seeinc vou. It was af- 
fecting : V«ju*ll panlon the declaration : it now 
becoiiu s intercstin(i. — However, it is impossible 
I sli )uld not coiinratulale you on the near ap- 
proach of the happy catastrophe. 

/,((■•. Jjvents ihat de[)end upon the will of ano- 
tlier, a thou.^aiid unloresecn accidents nuiy inter- 
rupt. 

Lord John. Could I hope, madam, your pre- 
sent critic;'.! condition would acquit mc of K'me- 
iiVy, I should take tht liberty to presume, if Uic 
suit of sir ('liarles be rejected 

Enter Cuab. 

Crab. So, youngster ! what, I suppose you are 
already practising one of your foreign lessons. 
1\ rverting tiie affections of a friend's mistress, 
or debauching his wife, are mere peccadilloes in 
modern morality — But at present, you are my 
care. That way Ctjuducts you U> your fellow- 
traveller. [£fj> LohD JoHN.J — 1 would speak 
witli you in the library. [E,sit. 

JjUc. 1 shall attend you, sir. Never was so 
unhappy an interruption ! What could my lord 
mean ? But be it what it will, it ought not, it 
cannot concern me. — Gratitude and duty de- 
mand my compliaii'-e with the dying wish of my 
benefactor, my fnend, my father. But am I 
then to sacrifice all my future peace ? But rea- 
son not, rash girl ! obedience is thy province. 

Thouch hard the task, be it my part to prove, 
That sometimes duty can give laws to love. 



ACT II. 



SCENE— I. 

Buck c/ his toilet, attended by three takts de 
chambrcy and Mac ruth en. 

yV/ac. NoTwiTHSTxNDiNG aw his plain deal- 
ing, I doubt whether maister Crab is so honest a 
man. 

Bii'-I:. Pr'ythee. Mac, name not the monster. 
It I may be permitted a quotation from one of 
liieir paltry poets, 

' Who is knight of the shiro, represents them 
all. 

Did ever mortal see such mirrors, such looking- 
glasses, as ihey have here to r One might as well 
address one's self for information to a bucket of 
water. — La J(mquii, mettez-vous ie rouge ussez. 
Jle hicfu, Mac, Tniseralle .' liey ? 

Mac. Tis very becoming. 

Buck. Ay, it will do t'-.r this place; I rcallv 
could have forgiven my faMier's living a year ur 
two longer, rather than be compelled to return to 

this [Enter Lord .Tou.n.] iMy dear lord, je 

demand T/iiHe pardons ; but the terrible fracas in 



my chaise, had so patcd and disordered my hair, 
that it required an age to adjust it. 

Lord John. No apology, sir Charles; I have 
l>een entertained very agreeably. 

Buck. Who have you had, my dear lord, to 
entertain you } 

lA)rd John. The very individual lady that's 
soon to make vou a happv husband. 

Buck. A happy who? husba.id ? What two 

'ery opposite ideas have you confounded ensem- 
ble! — ti: my conscience, I believe there's conta- 
gion in tiie ciime, and mi lor is infected. But 
pray, mi dear lor, by what accident have you 
discovered that I was upon the f/ointof*becoming 
tnat happv CMi, un mart ! diuble ! 

Lord John. The lady's beauty and merit, your 
inciiiiations, and your father's injunctions, made 
me conjecture that. 

Buck. And can't you suppose that the lady's 
beauty may be possessed, her merit rewarded, 
and my inclinations gratified, without an absolute 
obedience to that fatherly injunction ? 

T.,ord John. It does not occur to me. 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



19"' 



Buck. No, I believe not, mi lor. Those kiml 
of ttilents are not given to every bodv. Doniicz 
ynoi moil Diancfion. And uuw you sliall see me 
manage tbe lady. 

Enler Servant. 

Ser. Young squire Racket and sir ToVjy Tally- 
hoe, who call themselves your honour's old ac- 
quaintances. 

line/:, (^h t!ie brutes ! By what accident could 
they discover my arrival? Mi dear, dear lor, aid 
me to escape this embarras. 

Racket anJTAi.LynoE nil/tout. 

Iloic a hoy, hoic a hoy ! 

Buck. Let me die if I do not brheve the Hot- 
tentots have hrouglit a whole iiundrod of hounds 
with them. But, they say, fwrms keep fools at a 
distance. I'll receive them en ceremotiie. 

Enter Racket a'd/ Tai.t.yhoe. 

Tal. Hey boy ; hoics, my little Buck ! 

Buck, ^lonskur Ic C/icrti!icr,Tiit!-es tres hinii- 
blc scrvitrnr. 

Tal Hey? 

Buck. Alunsici/r Racket, jc suis charmc deroits 
voir. 

Rac. Anan ! what ? 

Buck. Nc uienlcndez vous ? Don't you know 
French ? 

Kac. Know French ! No, nor you ncitiier, I 
think. Sir Toby, 'fure Gad, I believe the papists 
ha' bewitched him in foreign parts. 

Tal. Bewitched, and transformed him too. Tet 
me perish, Racket, if I don't think he's like oiio 
of the folks we used to read of at school, in Ovid's 
Metamorphosis ; they have turned him into a 
beast ! 

Rac. A beast ! No; a bird, you fool. Lookee, 
sir Toby, by the lord Harry, here are his wings ! 

Tal. Hey ! ecod, and so they are, ha, ha ! I 
reckon. Racket, he came over with the wood- 
corks. 

Buck. Voila dcs veritable Angloh. The rustic, 
rude ruffians I 

Rac. Let us see what the devil he has got upon 
his pofe, sir Tobv. 

Tal. Ay. 

Buck. Do, dear savage, keep your distance ! 

Tal. Nay, 'fore George we will have a scru- 
tiny. 

Rac, Ay, ay, a scrutiny. 

Buck. En L'race, La Jonquil ! mi lor ! protect me 
from these pirates ! 

Lord John. A Httle compassion, I beg, gentle- 
men. — Consider, sir Charles is upon a visit to his 
bride. 

Tal. Bride! Zounds, he' s t^rfor a band-box 
— Racket, hocks the heels. 

Vol. in. 



Rac. I have them, knighf. 'Fore gad, he is the 
very reverse of a Bantam cock — His comb's on 

his feet, and his feathers on his head. Who 

have we got here? Wh.at are these three fellows? 
Pastry-cooks ? 

Enter Crab. 

Crah. And is this one of your newly-arquired 
accomplishments, letting your mistress languish 
for a but you ha\e company, I see. 

Buck. Oyes; 1 liavc been inexpressibly hap- 
py. — These gentlemen are kind enough to treat 
mo, upon my arrival, with what [ believe they 

call, in this country, a route My dear lor, if 

you don't favour my lligtit But see if the 

toads an't tumbling my toilet ! 

Lord John. Now's your time, steal olY. — I'll 
cover your retreat. 

Buck. Mac, let La .Jonquil follow to rosetrlr 

my chevcux. Jc vous reniercie inille, millejoin, 

man cher mi lor. 

Rac. IIr)la, sir Toby, stole away ! 

Buck. O vion Dicu ! 

Tal. Poll, rot him ; let him alone. IIc'll ne- 
ver do for our purpose. You must know we in- 
tended to kick up a riot to-night at the play- 
house, and we wanted him ol" th.e party; biit that 
fop would swoon at the sight of a cudgel. 

J^ord John. Pray, sir, what is your cause of 
contention ? 

Tal. Cause of contention ! Hoy, faith, I know 
nothing of the matter. Racket, what is it v»e are 
angry about ? 

Rac. Angry about I — Wiiy, you know we are 
to demolish the dancers. 

Tal. True, true; I had forgot. Will you 
make one ? 

Lord John. I beg to be excused. 

Rac. Mayhap you are a friend to the French ? 

Xo;(/ John. Not I, indeed, sir — But if the oc- 
casion will permit me a pun, though t am far 
from bring a well-wisher to their arms, T have 
no olijection to the being entertained by their 
legs. 

Tal. Ay.' — Why then, if you'll come to-night, 
you'll split your sides with laughing; for I'll be 
rot if we. don't make them caper higher, and run 
faster, than ever they have done since the battle 
of Blenheim. Come aloii;:, Rackett. 

[Etit. 

Lord John. Was there ever such a contrast? 

Crab. Not so remote as you imagine; they are 
scions from the same stock, set in diilerent si>ils. 
The first shrub, you see, flowers most prodi'jaliy. 
but matures nothing; the last slip, though stunted, 
bears a little fruit ; crabbed, 'tis true, but still 
the growth of the clime. Come, you'll follow 
your friend. [L',r/Y. 

Enter Llcixda, zcith a Servant. 

Luc. When Mr Crab or sir Clunles inquire for 
2B 



1[)4 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE, 



iiic, yoii will conduct tliom hiilicr. [E.iit Ser- 
riiu{.\ lldw 1 Ions; tor nii iini i<» ll»is iiiipurtuiit 
iiittivitxv 1 Not that I liave :uiy s:reat txptrta- 
tidiis iVoin tiicis>sMc; but still in my circtiinsiancts 
;i «tutp oi" siisjjonce i'> of all !)ituati<)ii3 most dis- 
n;:rcc-al)lv. iJut hush, tlicy come. 

EnUr Sin CiiAKi.rs, MACiiuiiinx, I^rd Joiix 
tin J Crab. 

JHiick. Mac, announce nie. 

Jiltic. ■Madam, sirC'lmrlcs Buck craves tlic lio- 
nour ol ki.vsius: your hand. 

iii'ck. Tics Intmhlc acrvitrur. ]lt lonninvt sa 
yorti; JMadnnoisciltf I am ravished to r«ci; tlicf, 
i//rt c/tirc pi. tit V Jjicindc — Kh bieu, niu rcinc ! 
^\ !iv yoi: like diviucly, child. But, vain tiifunt, 
tlkv have dressed you most diabolically. Why 
what a co'^ciire must you have ! and, oh nion 
Dicu ! a itital absence of rotif^e. But perhaps 
you are out. 1 had a carpo from DetVrrny the 
dav of my departure: Shall I have the honour to 
sujply you } 

.Inc. You arc oblisiing, sir : but I confess my- 
self a con^ crt to the chaste customs of this coun- 
try- ; and, with a commercial people, you know, 
sir Charles, all artifice 

Ihick. Artiiice ! You mistake the point, wa 
chcic. A proper portion of red is an indispen- 
sable part of your dress; and. in my private opi- 
nion, a vMjman mi'^iit as well appear in public 
without powder or a petticoat. 

Lrah. And in my private opinion, a woman 
wlio puts on the first, would make very little dif- 
ficulty in pidlins^ off the last. 

Jiuck. Oh, Monsieur Crab's judgment must be 
decisive iii dress. Well, and what amusements, 
what spectacles, what parties, what contrixauces, 
to coiKjuer father Time, that foe to the fair ? I 
fancv one must ennuier considerablement in your 
Loudon here. 

Luc. Oh, we are in no distress for diversions. 
Wc iiavc an opera. 

Buck. Italien, I suppose ; piticab/r, shnckinsr, 
fixsniiiriK!}it I 01), there is no supporting their ///, 
/li. hi, hi. Ah nion Dieu / Ah, chasse brilliant 
soldi, 

UriUiant soldi. 

A-t-on jamais reu ton pareil ? 

There's music and melody. 

Luc. What a fop ! 

Buck. But proceed, ma princrsse. 

Luc. Oh, then we have plays. 

Jbvck. That i deny, child. 

Luc. No plays ! 

Bu^h. No. 

Luc. The assertion is a little whimsical. 

Buck. Ay, that may be; you ha\ e here drama- 
tic tliinii>, farcical in their composition, and ridi- 
cu ous in their representation. 

Luc. Sir, I own myself iincqual to the contro- 

rcrsy; but surely Shakespeare My lord, this 

suVycct calls upon you for its defence. 



Vnib. I know from what fountain this fool has 
drawn his nniarks ; the author of the C hincse 
Orphan, in the preface to which Mr X'oltaiic calls 
ihi' principal wfirks of Shakespeare monstrous 
fan ts. 

Lo)-d Johu. Mr Crab is ri;;ht, madam. !\Ir 
Voltairo has stigmati/cd with a very unjust and 
a very invidious appellation, the principal works 
of that great master olthe passions ; and his ap- 
parent motive renders him the more inexcuse- 
able. 

l.uc. What could it be, my lord ? 

Lord John. The preventing has countrymen 
from becoming :iC(juaintc(l ^^ith our author, that 
he might be at liberty to pilfer from hiin with 
the iireater security. 

Luc. I'nucnerouH, indeed ! 

Buck. Palpable defamation. 

Lnc. And as to the exhibition, I have been 
taught to believe, that for a natural, pathetic, 
and •^jiirited expression, no people upon earth — 

Buck. You arc imposed upon, child; the Le- 
quesne, the Lanouc, the Grandval, the Dumcnij, 
the Causscn, what dignity, what action ! But, 
a p7opos, I have myself wrote a tragedy in 
Frcncli. 

Luc. Indeed ! 

Buck. En Tcritc, upon Voltaire's plan. 

Crab. That must be a precious piece of work. 

Buck. It is now in repetition at the French 
coincdie. Grandval and La Gaussen perform 
the principal parts. Oh, what an eclat ! What 
a burst will it make in the parterre, when the 
king of Ananamaboo refuses the^person of the 
princess of Cochineal ! 

L71C. Do you remember the passage .? 

Buck. Entire ; and I believe 1 can convey i 
in their manner. 

Luc. That will be delightful. 

Buck. And first the king. 
Ma chere priuccsse,jc rous aime, c^est trai ; 
De mafemmc vous portez Ics churmunts attraits. 
Mais ce n'est pas honclte pour un homme tel que 

moi, 
De tromper ma femme, ou de rompre mafoi. 

Luc. Inimitable ! 

Buck. Now the princess; she is, as you may 
suppose, in extreme distress. 

J^i/c. No doubt. 

Buck. ]\Io7i g,rand roi, mon cher adorable, 
Aijcz pitic de moi,jesuis inconsolable' 
(Tlicii he turns his back upon her; at which she, 
in a fury) 

]\Ioiistre, ingrat, affreux, horrible, funcste, 
Oh que je vous uinic, ah queje vous detesle ! 
[Then he,] 

Pensez 7'ouz, M(ulamc, a me donner la loi ? 
V'utrc bainc, voire amour, sont les memes choscsk 
moi. 

Luc. Bravo ! 

Lord John. Bravo, bravo ! 



FoOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



195 



Buck. Ay, there's passion and poctrv, and rea- 
son and rliiine. Oh, how I detest blood and 
blank verse ! There is somethin;^ so soft, so mu- 
sical, and so natural, in the ricli rhiinos of the 
theatre Francois ! 

Lord John. I did not know sir Charles was so 
totally devoted to the belies lettros. 

Buck. Oh, entirely, 'lis the ton, the tasfc. 
I am every night ;it the Cuft'c Frocope ; and had 
not I had the n.iisfortnne to be born in this curit 
country, I make no donht but you would Iiave 
seen my name aiuonj; the foremost of the I'rcnch 
academy. 

Criib. I should think you mioht easily u;et over 
that difficulty, if you will be but so obliging as 
publicly to renounce ns. I da-.e eneaiie not one 
of your countrymen should contradict or claim 
you. 

Buck. No ! — Impossible. From the barbarity 
of my education^ I must ever be taken for un 
Angl.ois. 

Crub. Never. 

Buck. En verite ? 

Crab. En veril't. 

Buck. You flatter me ? 

Crub. But common justice. 

Mac. Nay, Maister Crab is in the tight ; for 
I have often heard the French themselves say, is 
it possible that centleman can be British .' 

Buck. Obliging creatures ! And you all coi-,- 
cur with them? 

Crub. Entirely. 

Luc. Entirely. 

Lord John. Entirely. 

Buck. How happy yon make me ! 

Crab. E^ircirious puppy ! But we lose time. 
A truce to this trumpery. You have read your 
father's will? 

Buck. No ; I read no English. When Mac 
has turned it into French, I may run over the 
items. 

Crub. I have told you the part that concerns 
this oirl. And as your declaration upon it 
will discharge me, I leave you to what you 
will call an ecclairciasement. Come, my Lord. 

Buck. Nay. but iVlonsieur Crab, mi Lor, 
Mac ! 

Crub. Along with us. 

[Ereunt Crab and Lord Johx. 

Buck. A comfortable scrape I am in ! ^^ hat 
the deuce am 1 to do ? In the language of the 
place, I am to make love, I suppose. A pretty 
employment ! 

Luc. I fancy my hero is a little puzzled with 
his part. But now for it. 

Buck. A queer creature, that Crab, ma petite. 
But, a propos, How d'you like my lord? 

Luc. He seems to have good sense, and good 
breeding. 

Buck. Pas trap. But don't you think he lias 
something of a forciiin kind of air about him ? 



Luc. Foreign ! 

jb'wcA-. Ay, sometliing so English in his man- 
ner ? 

Luc. Foreign and English ! I don't compre- 
hend you. 

Buck. Why that is, he has not the ea'^e, the 
)e ne scai qi'oi, the bon ton. — In a word, he does 
not resemble me now. 

Luc. Not in the least. 

Buck. Oh, I thought so. lie is to Be pitied, 
poor devil ; he can't help it. But, entre twus, ma 
ckerc, the fellow has a fortune. 

Luc. How tiues that concern me, sir Charles? 

Buck. W'hy, je pense, ma reine, that your eyes 
have done execution there. 

Luc. My eyes execution ! 

Buck. Ay, chihl, is there any thing so ex- 
traordinary in that? ^la foi, I thought, by the 
vivacity of his praise, that he had already sum- 
moned the garrison to surrender. 

Luc. To carry on the allusion, I believe my 
lord is too good a commander to commence a 
fruitless siege. He could not but know the con- 
dition of the town. 

Buck. Condition ! Explain, ma chere. 

Luc. I was in hopes your interview with Mr 
Crab had made that uimecessary. 

Buck. Oh, ay, I do recollect something of a 
ridiculous article about marriage in a will. But 
what a plot agamst the peace of two poor people ! 
Well, the malice of some men is amazing ! Not 
contented with doing all the mischief they can 
in their life, they are for entailing their male- 
volence, like their estates, to latest posterity. 

Luc. Your contempt of me, sir Charles, 1 re- 
ceive as a compliment. But the infinite obliga- 
tions I owe to the man who had the misturtune 
to call you son, compel me to insist, that, in my 
presence at least, no indignity be offered to his 
memory. 

Buck. Heydav ! What, in heroics, ma reine ? 

J^uc. Ungrateful, unfiiial wretch ! so soon to 
trample on his ashes, the greatest load of whose 
fond heart, in his last hour, were his fears for 
thy future welfare. 

Buck. Ma foi, elle est folic ; slie is mad, sans 
doute. 

Luc. But I am to blame. Can he, who breaks 
through one sacred relation, regard anotlier? Can 
the monster, who is corrupt enough to contemn 
the place of his birth, re\ erence those who gave 
him being ? — Impossible. 

Buck. Ah, a pretty monologue ! a fine soli- 
loquy this, child. 

Luc. Contemptible ! But I am cooh 

Buck. I am mightily glad of it. Now we shall 
understand one another, I hope. 

Luc. We do understaud one another. You 
have already been kincj enough to refuse me. 
Nothing is wanting but a formal rejectiou 



lyj 



BRITISH DRAMA 



[FOOTE. 



under voiir hami, and j-o concludes our acquaint- 
ance. 

Buck. J\ms iiUfZ Irop rite ; you are tr)o quick, 
ma c/icre. If I recollect, the consequence ol' 
fliis rejection is luy payinj; you twenty tliousaud 
pounils. 

Luc. I'ruc. 

Buck. Ninv tliat, have not I tlie least inclina- 
tion to do. 

J.UC. No, sir ? Why you own that mar- 
riaize 

Jiitck. Is mv aversion. I'll give you that un- 
der my h:ind, if yoti please ; but I have a pro- 
digious love for tlie loui*. 

Luc. Oil, we'll soon settle that dispute ; the 
huv— 

Buck. But, hold, ?/;« retne. 1 don't find that 
my provident father has prcci?:?!y detLrmincd the 
time of thiscoiiifortahlc conjunction. So, though 
I am condemned, the day of execution is not 
fixed. 

Luc. Sir ! 

Buck. I sav, my soul, there eoes no more 
to your dying a maid, than mv living a bache- 
lor." 

Ia/c. O, sir, I shall find a remedy. 

Buck. Ikit now suppose, ma belle, I have 
found one to your hand ? 

Imc. As how } Name one. 

Buck. I'll name two. And first, mon enfante, 
thouiih I have an irie>istible aiitipathv to the 
conjugal knot, yet I am by no means blind to 
yiiur personal charms : in the possession of 
which if you please to place me, not only 
the aforcsiid twenty thousand pounds, but 
the v\hole terre of your devoted shall fall at 
your — 

Luc. Grant me patience ! 

Buck. Indeed you want it, ray dear. But if 
vou ilouncc, I ily. 

Ltfc. Quick, sir, your other ! For this is — 

Buck. I i^rant, not quite so fashionable as my 
other. It is then, in a word, tliat you would let 
this lubberiv lord make you a ladj', and appoint 
me his assistant, his private friend, his cishhei. 
And as we are to be joint partakers of your per- 
son, let us be equal sharers in your fortune, wa 
belle. 

Luc. Thou mean, abject, mercenary thing ! 
Thy mistress! Gracious Heavci ! — Universal 
empire should not bribe me tr> be tliy bride. — 
And what apology, what excuse, could a woman 
of the least sense or spirit make for so unnatural 
a connection ! 

Buck. Fort bicn ! 

Luc. Where arc thy attractions? Canst thou 
be weak enough to suppi>se thy frippery dre^s, 
thy 'ilTectaliou, thy grimace, could inlluence be- 
vo.i'l the borders of a brotliel ? 

Jiuck. Tres bicn ! 

Luc. And what are thy improvements.? Thy 



air is a copy from thy barber; for thy dress tlmu 
art indfbted Ui thy tailor. Thou hast lost thy 
native laiit:uage, and brought home none in ex- 
chance for it. 

IJiK k. Kxhcmcmcnt bicn .' 

Luc. Had not thy vanity so soon exposed thy 
viilany, I might, in reverence to that name, 
to which thou art a disgrace, have taken a 
wretched chance with thee for life. 

Buck. I am obliged to thee for that ; and u 
prettv pacific partner I should have had. Why, 
look'e, child, you have been, to be sure, very elo- 
quent, and, upon the whole, not unt ntr rtaining : 
though, by the by, you have fort^ot in your cata- 
lotiiic one of my foreign acquisitions ; c'tst a ilire, 
that I can, with a most intrepid sani; J'roid, with- 
out a single emotion, support all this storm of fe- 
male iury. Hut, adieu, tnu belle ; and wlicn a 
cool hour of rellection has made you sensible of 
llie propriety of my proposals, I shall expect the 
honour of a card. 

[Eril. 

Luc. I am ashamed this thing has had the 
power to mjve me thus. \\ !io waits there.' 
Desire ^Ir Crab 

Enter Loud Joiix a7u/CnAB. 

Lord Julih. We have been unwillingly, ma- 
dam, silent witnesses to this shameful scene. I 
blush, that a creature, who wears the outward 
marks of humanity, should be in his morals so 
much below-: 

Crab. Pritliec, why didst thou not call thy 
maid'^, and toss the booby in a blanket? 

Lord John. If I might be permitted, madam, 
to conclude what I intended saying, when inter- 
rupted by Mr Crab 

I^ic. IVIy lord, don't think me guilty of affec- 
fatiou ; I believe I guess at your generous de- 
sign : but my temper is really so ruflled — besides, 
I am meditating a piece of female re\ enge on 
this coxcomb. 

Lord John. Dear madam, can I assist ? 

Luc. Only by desiring my maid to bring hi- 
ther the tea. My lord, I am confounded at the 
liberty, but 

Lord John. No apology You honour mc, 

madam. [Exit. 

Crab. And, prithee, wench, what is thy 
scliiine ? 

Luc. Oh, a very harmless one, I promise you. 

Crab. Zounds, I am sorry for it. I long to 
see the puppy severely punished, methinks. 

Iaic. Sir Charles, I fancy, can't be yet got out 
of the house. Will you desire him to step hi- 
Ih-jr ? 

Crab. I'll bring him. 

Jaic. No, I wish to have him alone. 

Crab. Why, then, I'll send him. 

[Exit. 



FoOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



197 



Enter Lettice. 



Luc. Place tliese things on the table, a chair 

on each side very well. Do you keep within 

call. But hark, he is here. Leave lue, Lettico. 

[Exit . 

Enter Buck. 

Bitck. So, so, 1 thought she would come to ; 
but, I confess, not alto<;ether so soon. Eft bkn, 
ttia belle, see me ready to receive your com- 
lu audi. 

I.uc. Tray, be seated, sir Charles. I am a- 
fiaid the natural warratli of my temper might 
liave hurried me into some expressions not alto- 
gether so suitable. 

Buck. Ah, bas^utcUe. Name it not. 

Luc. Will you drink tea, sir? 

Buck. Vohntiers. This tea is a pretty inno- 
cent kind of bcvera<^e ; I wonder the French 
don't take it. I have some thoughts of giving it 
a fashion next winter. : 

Luc. That will be very oblisiinsr. It is of ex- 
treme service to the ladies this side of the wa- 
ter, you know. 

Buck. True, it promotes parties, and infuses a 
kind of spirit into conversation. But what has 
occasioned mc, ?«« reiiic, the honour of your 
message by Mr Crab? 

Luc. The favours I have received from your 
family, sir Charles, I thought demanded from 
me, at my quitting your house, a more decent 
and ceremonious adieu than our last interview 
would admit of. 

Buck. Is that all, ma cherc ? I thought your 
flinty heart had at last relented. Well, uia reinc, 
adieu ! 

Luc. Can you, then, leave me ? 

Buck. TJie fates v.iil liave it so. 

Luc. Go then, perfidious traitor, be gone ! I 
have this consolation, however, that if I can- 
not legally possess vou, no other woman shall. 

Buck. Hey, how, what ! 

Luc. And though the pleasure of living with 
you is denied me, in our deaths, at least, we shall 
soon be united. 

Buck. Soon be united in death ! When, child ? 

Luc. Within this hour. 

Buck. Which way ? 

Luc. The fatal draught's alreiidy at my heart. 

I feel it here; it runs through every pure. 

Pangs, pangs, unutterable ! The tea we drank, 
uri^ed by despair and love — Oh ! 

L'«rA-. Well ! 

Luc. I poisoned 

Buck. The devil ! 

Luc. And as my generous heart would have 
shared all with vou, I gave you half. 

Buck. Ch, curse your generosity ! 

Luc. Indulge me in the cold comfort of a last 
embrace. 



Buck. Embrace ! O, confound you ! But it 
may not be too late. Macruthen, Jonquil, phy- 
sicians, apothecaries, oil, and antidotes. Oh, 

Je meursjje meurs ! Ah, la diablcsse. ? 

[Exit Buck. 

Enter Ix)rd John and Crab. 

Ci-ab. A brave wench ! I could kiss thee for 
this contrivance. 

LMrd John. lie really deserves it all. 

Crab. Deserves it ! Hang him. But the sen- 
sible resentment of this girl has almost reconci- 
led me to the world again. But stay, let us see — 
Can't we make a farther use of the puppy's pu- 
nishment ? I suppose we may very safely depend 
on your contempt of hioj ? 

Luc. Most securely. 

ijrah. And this young thing here has been 
breathing passions and ))rotestations. But I'll 
take care my girl shan't go a beggar to any man's 
bed. We must have this twenty thousand 
pound, Lucy. 

Lord John. I regard it not. Let me be hap- 
py, and let him be 

Cruh. Pshaw, don't scorch me with thy flames. 
Reserve your raptures; or, if they must have 
vent, retire into that room, whilst I go plague the 
puppy. 

[Exit Ckab one way, LtxY and Lord 
John another. 

SCENE 11. — Changes and discovers Buck, Mac- 
ruthen, Jonquil, Bearxois, La Loire, 
Physician and Surgeon. Buck in a nighl-cap 
and goun. 

Sur. This copious phlebotomy will abate the 
inflanmiation ; and if the six blisters on your 
head and back rise, why there may be hopes. 

Buck. Cold comfort. I burn, I burn, I burn ! ■ 
Ah, there is a shoot ! And now again, I freeze ! 

iShic. Ay, They are aw symptoms of a strong 
poison. 

Buck. 01), I am on the 'rack ! 

Mac. Oh, if it be got to the vitals, a fig for 
aw antidotes. 

Enter Crab. 

Crab. Where is this miserable devil? What, is 
he alive still ! 

Mac. In gude troth, and that's aw. 

Buck. Oh! 

Crab. S;), vou have made a pretty piece of 
work on't, young man ! 

Buck. (), what could provoke me to return 
from Paris ! 

Crab. Had you never been there, this could 
not have happened. 



198 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Enter Racket and Tam.yhoe. 

Rdch. Where is he ? lie's ii ilcad man ; his 
eyes arc fixed already. 
■ Jiuik. Oh ! 

Tul. \Vhi» poisoned him, Racket ? 

Rack. (lad I don't know. liis French cook, 
1 reckon. 

Croh. Were there a possibility of thy reforma- 
tion, I liav«' yet a secret to restore thee. 

liurk. Oh, jiirc it, give it ! 

Crab. Not so fast. It niuit be on good con- 
ditions. 

Buck. Name them. Take my estate, my — 
jave but my lite, take all. 

Crab. I'irst, then, rcnonnce thy ri^ht to that 
lady, whose jnst resentment has drawn tliis j>u- 
nislnnent upon thee, and in which slic is an un- 
happy partaker. 

liink. I renounce her tVom my soid. 

Cruh. To this declaration you are witnesses. 
Next, vour tawdry trappings, your foreign foppe- 
rv, vour w ashes, paints, pomades, must blaze be- 
fore vour door. 

Buck. What, all .? 

Crab. All ; not a rag shall be reserved. The 
execution of this part of your sentence shall be 
assigned to your old friends here. 

Buck. Well, take them. 

Crub. And, lastly, I'll Irave these exotic at- 
tendants, these instruments of your luxury, these 
pandars to your pride, packed in the fust cart, 
and sent post to the place from whence they 
came. 

Buck. Spare me but La Jonquil ! 

Crab. Not an instant. The importation of 
these puppies makes a part of the politics of 
your old Iriends the Frenrh ; linablc to resist you, 
whilst vou retain your ancient roiiglmess, they 
have recourse to these minions, who would first, 
bv unmanlv means, sap and soften all your na- 
tive spirit, and then deliver you an easy prey to 
their employers. 

Buck. Sin.ce, then, it must be so, adieu, I^ Jon- 
<juil ! ! I [Ejcuht Servants. 

Crab. And now to the remedy. Come forth, 
Lucinda. 



Enter LfcixDA and Lord John. 

Buck. Hey, why did not she swallow the poi- 
son ? 

Crab. No ; nor you neither, you blockhead. 
Buck. \\ hy, did not I leave you in pau'^, .-' 
Luc. Ay, put on. The tea was innocent, up- 
on my honovir, sir Charles. But you allow me 
to be ;ln e.\cellent uctrice. 

Buck. ( )h. rurse your talents ! 
Crab. This fellow's public renunciation has 
put your person and fortune in your power; and 
if you were sincere in your declaration of being 
directed by me, bestow it there. 

Luc. As a proof of my sincerity, my lord, re- 
ceive it. 

Lord John. With more transport than sir 
Charles the news of his safety ! 

Luc. [To Bit K.] Vou are not at present in a 
condition to take possession of vour post. 
Buck. Wliat? 

Luc. Oh, you recollect! my lord's private 
friend ; his assistant, you know. 
Buck. Oh, oh ! 

Mac. But, sir Charles, as T find the affair of 
the poison was but a joke, had na'ye better with- 
draw, and tak oiTyour blisters.' 

Crab. No, lei; them stick. He wants them. — 
And now concludes my care. But, before wc 
cloie the scene, receive, young man, this last ad- 
vice from the old friend of your father : As it is 
your happiness to be borii a Britun, let it be 
your boast; know, tb.at the blessings of liberty 
are your birth-riglst, which, while you preserve, 
otlier nations may envy or fear, but never con- 
quer or contemn you. ISeiieve, that rrench 
fashions are as ill suited to the genius, as their 
politics are pernicious to the peace, of your na- 
tive land. 

A convert to these sacred truths, vou'll find 
That poison, for yonr punishn'.ent designed, 
Will proxe a wholesome medicine to your 
mind. 

\Exeunt omncs. 



THE 

AUTHOR. 



BY 



FOOTE. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



M E N. 

Governor Cape. 

YorNG Cape, his son (the Author) attached to 

Arabella. 
Sprightly, /Vienaf to Youkg Cape. 
Cadwallader, an eccentric Welch/nan. 
Vamp, a bookseller. 
Robin, servant to Youxg Cape. 



Fact. 
Printers Devil. 

WOMEN. 

Mrs Cadwallader. 

Arabella, sister to Cadwallader. 



Scene — London, 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. 



Governor Cape and Robin. 

Gov. And he believes mc dead, Robin? 

Rob. Most certainly. 

Gov. You have given him no intinoation that 
his fortunes mii;ht nicud .'' 

Hob. Not a distant hint. 

Gor>. How did lie receive the news ? 

Hob. Cahnly enough : wlien I told him that 
his hopes from abroad were at an end, that the 
friend of his deceased fatlier thouglit he had 
done enough in putting it in his power to earn 
his own livelihood, he replied, 'twas no more 
than he had lony; expected, charged me with his 
warmest acknowledgements to his concealed be- 
iiefactor, tiianked me for my care, sighed, and 
left me. 

Got'. And how has he lived since ? 

Rob. Poorly, but honestly : to his pen he owes 



all his subsistence. I am sure my heart bleeds 
for him : consider, sir, to what temptations you 
expose him. 

Gov. The severer his trials, the greater his tri- 
umpli. Shall the fruits of my honest industry, 
the purchase of so many perils, be lavished on a 
ki/y, luxurious booby, who has no other merit 
than being born five-and-twenty years after me ? 
"So, no, Robin; him, and a profusion of debts, 
were all that the extravagance of his mother left 
me. 

Rob. You loved her, sir.-" 

Gov. Fondly, nay foolishly, or necessity had 
not compelled me to seek for shelter in another 
climate. 'Tis true, fortune has been favourable 
to my labours; and when George convinces me, 
that he inherits my spirit, he shall share my pro- 
|ierty; n(il else. 

Rob. Consider, sir, he has not your opportuni- 
ties. 



•200 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Gov. Xor had I liis education. 

Kob. As tlie world jjoes, (lio worst you rould 
have given liiiii. l,iirk-a-day ! Learning, learn- 
iii;;, sir, is no conun'»i!i;v for this market: no- 
thing nnlics niuiipv here, sir, luit money; "rsoino 
certain fashioiinhle qiaiitics that you would not 
wish yuOr son to possess- 

Gov. 1/Caiiiing use-loss ! Impossible ' Whfrr 
arc the Oxfords, the Unlit':! \cs, the ^rcat protec- 
tors aiidj-atrons of the lihoial aits? 

jR(»/>. Patron! Tlic world has lost its use; :> 
gninca-MibsLriplinn at tlic rrquc-i. of a itidy, 
whose chambermaid is acquainted wil!> the au- 
tiior, ni:ty be now and tlicn picked up — IVotec- 
lor ! Why, I dare believe tiirrt's more money 
laid out up'Ui Islintiton turnpike, in a moul!), than 
upon '11 tiio learned men in Great IJritain in 
6c\cn years. 

Gov. -And vet the press groans with their pro- 
ductions ! How do tluy all exist? 

Rob. In garrets, sir ; as, if you will step to 
your son's apartment, in the next street, you will 
see. 

Gov. But what apology shall we make for the 
visit .'' 

Rob. That you want the aid of his profession ; 
a well-pi'iuicd address, now, from the subjects of 
yonr late eovernmenr, with your gracious reply, 
to put into the newspapers. 

Gov. Ay ! is that part of his practice .' Well, 
lead on, Ilobin. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Drans, and discovers Young 
Cape tvith the Printer's Devil. 

Cape. Prithee, go about thy business — vanish, 
dear devil. 

Devil. Master bid me not come without the 
proof; he says as how there are two other an- 
swei-s ready for the press ; and i f yours don't 
come out a Saturday, 'twont pay for the paper. 
But you are alwavs so lazy; I have more piai;ue 

with yoi; there's MrCiuzzIe, the translator, 

never ki cps me a miiuite — unless the poor gcn- 
tlcman hanpens to be fuddled. 

Cape. ^Vhy, you little, sooty, snivelling, diabo- 
lical puppv, is it not sufficient to be plagued with 
the stupidity of yonr absurd master, but I must 
be pestered with yonr impertinence? 

Devil. Impertinence ! Marry come up, I keep 
as good company as vour worship every day in 

tiic year there's Mr Clench, in Little Britain, 

does not think it beneath him to take part of a 
pot of porter with me, though he has w rote two 
Tolumes of Lives in quarto, and has a folio a-co- 
ming out in numbers. 

Cnpe. Ilark'c, sirrah, if you don't quit the 
room t'lis instant, I'll show you a shorter way in- 
to the street, than the stairs. 

Devil. I shall save yon the trouble ; give me 
the Frf nch bonk that you took the story from 
tor the last journal. 

•3 



Cape. Take it- 



[Tlirons it at hihi. 

Dtvil. What, d'ye think it belongs to the cir- 
culating library, or that it is one of vour own pcr- 
fonnancf.s, that yon 

Cope. Yon shall have a larger — [Exit Devil.] 
— 'Sdf ath ! a pretty situation I am m ! And are 
I hese tfie fruits I am to reap from a long, labori- 
ous, and expensive 

Rc-enlir Devil. 

Devil, I had like to \va\c forgot ; here's vour 
wi ek'-> pay for the newspaper, five and fivepencr- ; 
winch, \«iHi the two-and-a-|)enny master passed 
his uord for to .Mrs Suds, ycjur washerwoman, 
iniikes the three hall-crowns. 

Cupe. J«iy it on the table. 

JJivil. Here's a man on the stairs wants you; 
by the slie( pishness of his looks, and the shabbi- 
nf <s of his dress, he's either a pick-pocket or a 
(uet — Ikie, walk in, Mr What-d'ye-call-um, the 
gcntlenran's at home. 

[Survei/s t/tejjgure, laughs, and exit. 

Enter Poet. 

Vaet. Your name, I presume, is Cape ? 

Cape. You have hit it, sir. 

Pact. Sir, I beg pardon ; you are a gentleman 
that writes ? 

Cape. Sometimes. 

Poet. Why, sir, my case, in a w ord, is this : I, 
like you, ha\e lon;r been a retainer of the Muses, 
as you niay see by their livery. 

Cape. They have not discarded you, I hope ? 

Poet. No, sir; but their upper servants, tl.'C 
booksellers, have — I printed a collection of jests 
upon my own account, and they have ever since 
refused to employ me ; you, sir, I hear, are in 
their graces : now I have brought you, sir, three 
imitations of Juvenal in prose; Tuliy's oration 
tor ?.Iil(), in blank verse; two essays on the Bri- 
tish hen itig-fisliery, with a lar<;e collection of re- 
buses; which, if you will dispose of to them, in 
\o\'V own name, we'll divide the profits. 

Cupe. 1 am really, sir, sorry for your distress; 
but I have a larger cargo of my own manufac- 
turing, than they choose to engage in. 

Poet. Tiiii'spity; you have nothing in tho 
compiling or index way, that you would entrust 
to the caic of another ? 

Cape. Nothing. 

Poet. I'll do it at half price. 

Cape. I'm concerned it is not in my power, at 
present, to be useful to you ; but if this trifle — 

Poet. .Sir, your servant. Shall I leave you 
any of my 

Cape. By no means. 

Poet. A n essay or an ode ? 

Cupe. Not a line. 

Poet. Your verv obedient — 



[Exit Poet, 



FoOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



€01 



Cape. Poor fellow ! And how far am I remo- 
ved from his condiliun ? Viri^il had liis Polho ; 
Horace his Maecenas; Martial his Pliny. iM>' 
protectors are, Titlc-pairc the pulilishcr, Vamp 
the bookseller, and Index the prniter. A most 
noble triumvirate ! and the rascals are as pru- 
scriptive and arbitrary as the famous Roman one, 
into the bargain. 

Enter Sprightly. 

Spright. What! in soliloquy, George ? reciting 
some of tiie pleasantries, 1 suppose, in your new 
piece ? 

Cape. My disposition has at present very little 
©f the ris comica. 

Spright. What's the matter.? 
Cape. Survey that mass of wealth upon the ta- 
ble; all my own, and earned in little more than 
a week. 

Spright. VVhy, 'tis an inexhaustible mine ! 
Cape. Ay; and delivered to me, too, with all 
the soft civility of Billingsgate, by a printer's 
prime minister, called a devil. 

Spright. I met the imp upon the stairs. But 
I thought these midwives to the muses were the 
idolizers of you, their favourite sons. 

Cape. Our tyrants, Tom ! Had 1 indeed a post- 
humous piece of infidelity, or an amorous novel, 
decorated with luscious copper-plates, the slaves 
would be civil enough. 

Spright. Why don't you publish your own 
works ? 

Cape. What ! And paper my room with them r 
No, no, that will never do ; there are secrets in 
all trades : ours is one great mystery ; but the 
explanation would be too tedious at present. 

Spright. Then why don't you divert your at- 
tention to some other object.'' 

Cape. That subject was employing my thoughts. 
Spright. How have you resolved .'' 
Cape. I have, I think, at present, two strings 
to my bow : if my comedy succeeds, it buys me 
a commission ; if my mistress, my Laura, |iroves 
kind, I am settled for life ; but if both my cords 
snap — adieu to the quill, and welcome the mus- 
ket. 

Spright. Heroically determined ! But, a-pro- 
pos, how proceeds your honourable passion.? 

Cape. But slowly; I believe I have a friend in 
her heart, but a most potent enemy in her head -. 
you know I am poor, and she is prudent. With 
regard to her fortune, too, I believe her brother's 
consent is essentially necessary But you pro- 
mised to make me acquainted with him. 

Spj-ight. I expect him here every instant. He 
may, George, be useful to you in ixiore tlian one 
capacity ; if your comedy is not crowded, he is a 
character, I can tell you, that will make no con- 
temptible figure in it. 

Cape. His sister gave me a sketch of him last 
summer. 

Vol. in. 



Spright. A sketch can never convey him. His 
peculiarities requn'e iniinite labour, and high fi- 
nishing. 

Cape. Give me the outlines. 
Sjiright. He is a compound of contrarieties; 
priile and meanness, folly and arcimess : at the 
same time that he would take the wall of a 
prince of the bl lod, he would not scruple eating 
a fried sausage at the Mews-gate. There is a 
minuteness, now and then, in his descriptions, 
and some whimsical, unaccountable turns in his 
conversation, that are entertaining enough ; but 
the extravagaiKc and oddity of his manner, and 
the boast of his birth, complete his character. 

Cape. But how will a person of his pride and 
pedigree, relish the humility of this apartment .'' 

Spright. Oh, he's prepared — you are, Geoi*e, 
though prodigiously learned and ingenious, an 
abstracted being, odd and whimsical ; the case 
with all your great geniuses: you love the snug, 
the chimney-corner of life ; and retire to this ob- 
scure nook, merely to avoid the importunity of 
the great. 

Cape. Your servant But what attraction 

can a character of this kind have for Mr Cad- 
vvallader .? 

Spright. Infinite ! next to a peer, he honours 
a poet ; and modestly imputes his not making a 
figure in the learned world himself, to the ne- 
glect of his education — Hush ! he's on the stairs 
— On with yuur cap, and open your book. Re- 
member great dignity and absence. 

Enter Vamp. 

Cape. Oh, no; 'tis Mr Vamp. Your com- 
mands, good sir } 

Vamp. I have a word, Mr Cape, for your pri- 
vate ear. 

Cape. You may communicate ; this gentleman 
is a friend. 

Vamp. An author } 

Cape. Voluminous. 

J^amp. In what way.' 

Cape. Universal. 

Vamp. Bless nic ! he's very young, and exceed- 
ingly well rigged; what, a good subscription, I 
reckon .'' 

Cape. Not a month from Leyden ; an admira- 
ble theologist ! he studied it in Germany; if you 
-iioiild want such a thing, now, as ten or a dozen 
manuscript sermons, by a deceased clergyman, I 
lielieve he can supply y(ju. 

Vamp. Warranted originals ? 

Cape. No. 

Vamp. No, no ; I don't deal in the scrmon- 
v\ay, now ; I lost money by the last I printed, for 
d 'twas wrote by a inethodist ; but I believe, sir, 
if they ben't long, and have a good deal of Latin 
in them, I can get you a chap. 

Spright. For what, sir ? 

Vamp. The manuscript sermons you have 
wrote, and want to dispose of. 

2 



202 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Sprighl. Sermons tliat T liavc wrote ! | 

I'liiKj). Ay, ay ; Mr C ape lias been telling 

nic 

Sjirig/it. Ho lias? I am mi};litily obligrd to 
liini. 

lamp. Nay, iiav; don't li«' afriiid ; I'll keep 
^()lUl^(i; old \ amp had not kept a »liop ^u lont 
sit tlw riirnstile, ii° lie did nut kiKJW how to Ix 
siiret. Why, in the year fit'teen, when 1 was in 
till' ircas iiiahle vvay, 1 ne\er squeaked; I nc\n 
paxe up hut one author in my lilc, and he wa* 
(JMni: ut a consumptiun; so it ne\cr came to a 
trial. 

,Sprii:/tt. Indeed ! 

I (imp. Never; look here — [S/ions t/ie siite of 
his IkuiL] — cropped close ! hare as u hoard ' an;.' 
for iiothiii<; ill the world but an iiinoi ent liook ot 
bawdy, as I hope tor mercy: oh ! the laws are 
vcrv hard, vtry se\ere upon us. 

Spri^fit. You ha\e jjiven me, sir, so positive a 
proof ot' your secrecy, that you may rely upon 
U)% commuiiication. 

I'aiiip ^ ou w ill he safe — lint, pad'-o ! wc must 
niiiid business, tliou!:li. Here, Air Cape, you 
jiiii^t provide me with three takint; lines for 
th(Sf pamphlets; and if yon can think of a pat 

Latin motto lor the largest 

L'upr. 1 hey shall he done. 
] ump. Do so. do so. Hooks are like women, 
l\li (.ape; to strike, they must be well-flressed : 
fnie feathers make (ine bird^ ; a good paper, an 
eli'iiant type, a handsome motto, and a (atchin;: 
title, lias dro\e many a dull treatise th^oa^ll 
three editions — Did you know Harry Handy? 
l»pri(^Jit. Not that I recollect. 
Vump. He was a pretty tellow; lie had his 
I>atin ud aiigueni, as they say ; be would have 
tiiieed you a fable of Dryeleii's, or an epistle 
of i'ope's, into Latin verse in a twinkling;: ex- 
cept Peter Hasty the voya<:t-writer, he v\as as 
j.'real a loss to the trade as any within my me- 
inciiy. 

('iipc. What carried him oiT? 
Vdiitp. A halter — haiiiied for clipping and 
coining, Mr Cape. 1 thought there was some- 
thing the matter by his not coming to our shop 
for a month or two: he was a prettv fellow ! 
Sprig/il Were you a great loser b\ his death ? 
Vump. I can't b:iy — as he had taken lo another 
course of living, his execution maile a noise ; it 
sold me seven hundred of his translations, be- 
sides his last dying speech ami contession; I got 
it; he was mindful of his I'riends in his last mo- 
ments: he was a prettv fellow ! 

Litpe. You bave no fartlier commands, JMr 
Vamp ? 

\a)iip. Not at present; about the spring I'll 
de;il with you, if we can agree, for a couple of 
volumes in octavo. 

Spnglit. Upon what subject? 

Yanip. I leave that to him; Mr Cape knows 



what will do, though novels are a pretty light 
bumim r-re-uling, and do very well at Tunbridge, 
Ilristol, and the other watci iiiu' places : no bad 
commodity for the West India trade iicitlier; 
let ilicin be novels, Mr Cape. 

Cnpr. You shall be ecrtainly supplied. 

lamp. I doubt not ; pi ay, how does Index go 
on with your .loiiinal ? 

C'ipc. He does not com|)lain. 

I limp. Ah, i knew the lime — but you lunc 
o\erstocked the market. Titlepage and 1 had 
once like to have engaged in a paper. We 
had got a young Cantab tor the essays ; a pretty 
historian from Aheidccii ; and an attorney's 
clerk for the true intelligence : but, 1 don't 
know how, it diojipid for want of a politician. 

Cape. If ill that cajiacity 1 can be of any — 

Vtimp. No, thank you, Mr Cape: in half a 
year's time, 1 have a graiu'son of my own that 
will come in; he is now in training as a waiter 
at the Cocoa-tree coffee-house ; I intend giving 
him the run of Jonathan's for three months, to 
understand trade and the funds; and then I'll 
start him — No, no; you have enough on your 
hands; stick to your business; and, d'ye hear, 
'ware cli|)piiig and coining; reniember Harry 
Ibuidy : he was a pretty lellow ! \^Jisif. \ amp. 

Sprigi'it. And I'm sure thou art a most extra- 
ordinary feilow ! Hut prithee, Ckorge, whatcoula 
proxoke tlicc to iir.ike nie a writer of sermoi s ? 

Ciifie. You seemed desirous of being acquaint- 
ed with fiur business, and I knew old \ ainp 
would let you more into the secret in five mi- 
nutes, than I could in as many hours. 

[K7ioiki7ig below, loud. 

Sprig/if. Cape, to your post; here they arc, 
I'faitli, a coachtul ! Let's see, Mr and Mrs Cad- 
wallader, and your (lame, the sister, as 1 live ! 

Cad. [li///(o«^] Pray, by the by, han't you a 
poet above? 

[W'lt/ioiit.^ Higher up. 

Cod. [Uil/ionl.] Egad, I wonder what makes 
your poets have such an aversion to mieldle floors 
— they are always to be found iti exti-emities ; in 
garrets, or cellars — 

Enter Mr and Mns Cad\vali,ader, atid Ara- 
bella. 

Cad. Ah, Sprightly ! 

Sprig/it. Hush ! 

Cad. Hey, wliat'> the matter? 

Hpiight. Hard at it ; untwisting some knotty 
point ; totally absorbed ! 

Cad. Gatlso ! what ! that's he ! Beck, Bell, 
there he is, egad, as great a pi>et, and as inge- 
nious a— what's lut about? — Hebrew? 

Spright. Weaxing the wIkjIc .isneid into a tra- 
ucdy ; I have been here this half hour, but he 
has not marked me yet. 

Cad. Could not 1 take a pcip? 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DEAMA. 



203 



Spright.. An earthquake would not rouse him. 
Cad. He seciiis in a dninned passion. 
Cape. The belt of Pallas, nor prayers, nor 
tears, nor supphcatin;: ;;ods, shall save thee now. 
Cad. Iley ! zounds! what the devil ! who? 
Cape. Pal/as / te hoc vulncrc, Pallas inimo- 
lat, et ptetiani scclcrat'j ex sanguine snmit ! 

Cad. Damn your palace ! I wish 1 was well 
out of your garret ! 

Cape. Sir, I beg ten thousand pardons: ladies, 
your most devoted. You will excuse me, sir; 
but, beinc^ just on the catastrophe of my trajjedy, 
I am afraid the poetic luror may have betrayed 
me into some indecency. 

Spright. Oh, Mr Cadwallader is too i^reat a 
geniu*; himself, not tii allow for these intemper- 
ate sallies of a heated imaiiination. 

Cad. Genius ! Look you here ! Mr What's- 
your-name ? 
Cape. Cape. 

Cud. Cape ! true ; thoui^h by the by here, 
liey ! you live devilish lii|^h ; but perhaps you 
may chuse that for exercise, hey ! Spriiihtly ! 
Genius ! Look'e here, Mr Cape, I had as pretty 
natural parts, as iine talents ! — but, between you 
and I, I hutl as damned tool of a guardian, an 
isncrant, illiterate, ecod — he could as soon pay 
the national debt as write his own name, and so 
was resolved to make liis w;ird no wiser than 
himself, I think. 

Spright. O tie, Mr Cadwallader, you don't du 
yourself justice. 

Cape. Indeed, sir, we must contradict you, we 
can't siitFcr this defamation. I have more than 
once heard Mr Cadualladcr's literary acquisi- 
tions loudly talked of. 

Cad. Have vou ? — no, no, it cannot he, hey ! 
though, let me tell ynu, last winter, before I had 
the measles, I could have nuide as good a speech, 
upon any. subject, in Italian, I'rench, German — 
but I am all unhinsicd ! — all — Oh, L'^'d, Mr 
Cape, this is TSecky; my dear Becky, child, this 
is a great poet — ah, but she does not know what 
that is — a little foolish or so, but of a very good 
family — here, Becky, child, won't you ask Mi- 
Cape to come and see you ? 

%Irs Cad. As Dicky says, I shall be glad to 
see vou at our house, sir. 

Cape. I have too great a regard for mv own 
happiness, madam, to miss so certain an oppor- 
tunity of creating it. 

Mm Cad. Hey ! what? 

Cape. Mv inclinations as well as my dutv, I 
say, will compel me to obey your kind injunc- 
tions. 

Mrs Cud. What does he say, our Bell ? 
Ara. ( )h, that he can have no greater plea- 
sure than waiting oti you. 

Mrs Cad. I'm sure that's more his goodness 
than my desert; but when vou ben't better en- 
gaged, we should be gladof your company of an 



evening, to make one with our Dicky, sister Bell, 
and I, at whisk and swabbers. 

Cud. Hey, ecod, do, Cape, ci me and look at 
her grotto and shells, and ^ee wliac >iie has got — 
VV^cll, he'll come. Beck — ecod, do, and she'll eomd 
to the third night of your tragedy, hev ! won't 
you. Beck ? Isn't she a hne girl? hey, you; humour 
her a little, do — Iley, Beck ! he says y"u are as 
tine a woman as ever he — ecod, who knows but 
he may make a copy of verses on you ? — There, 
go and have a little chat with her, talk any non- 
sense to her, no matter what ; she's a damned 
tool, an(i won't know the dilfereiK e — there, go, 
Be( k — Well, Sprightly, hev ! what ! are you and 
Bell like to come together? Oh, ecod, they tell 
me, Mr Sprightly, that you have frecpieu'ly lords, 
and viscounts, and earls, that take a dinner with 
you ; now I should look upon it as a very par- 
ticular favour, if you would uivite me at the same 
time, fiey ! will you ? 

Spright. You may depend on it. 
Cad. \\'ill you? Gad, that's kind: for be- 
tween you and I, Mr Sprightly, I am of as an- 
cient a family as the best of them ; and people 
of fashion should know one another, you know. 
Spright. By all manner of means. 
Ca<f. Iley ! should not they so ? When voit 
have any lord or baron, nay, egad, if it be but a 
baronet or a member of parliament, I should 
take it as a favour. 

S/i?tght. You will do them honour; they must 
all have heard of the antiquity of your house. 

Cad. Antiquity ! hey ! Beck, where's my pe- 
digree ? 

Mrs Cud. Why, at home, locked up in the 
butler's pantry. 

Cad. In the pantry ! What the devil ! how 
often have I bid you never come out without it? 
Mrs Cad. Lord ! what signifies carrying such 
a lumbering thing about? 

Cad. Signifies I you arc a fool. Beck. Why, 
suppose we should have any disputes when we 
are abroad about precedence, how the devil 
shall we be able to settle it? But you shall see 
it at home. Oh Becky, come hither; we will 

ri'fer our dispute to [T'^^.y go apart. 

Ara. Well, sir, your friend has prevailed, and 
you are acquainted with my brother ; but what 
use you propose — 

Cape. The pleasure of a more frequent admis- 
sion to you. 

Ara.'Js that all? 

Cape. Who knows but a strict intimacy witf* 
Mr Cadwallader may in time incline him to fa- 
vour my hi>pes? 

Ara. A sandy foundation ! — Could he be pre- 
\ailed upon to foriiive vour want of I'ortune, the 
obscurity, or, at least, uncertainty, of your birth, 
will prove an unsurmountable bar. 

Cud. I lold, hold, hold, Beck ; — zounds ! you. 
are so 



■iU4 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Sprtght. Well, but hear hiin out, niiidain. 
Cape. Consider, we have but an iiibluiit. What 
project ? \N hat advice ? 

Ara. O tic ! You would be ashamed to receive 
surcour froui a \ve;ik vvoiuan ! — }'oetry is your 
profession, vou know ; so that plots, contrivan- 
ces, and all the powers of imagination, are more 
pcrnliariy your province. 

Ciipc. I' this a season to rallv ? 
Cad. Hold, hold, hold! ask'Mr Cape. 
Am. 1 o Lc serious, tin n ; if you have any 
point to t:ain with my brother, your application 
must be to his better |)art. 

Cape. I understand vou; plough with the hei- 
fer? 

Ara. A delicate allusion, on my word ! but 
take this hint — Amongst her passion^, admira- 
tion, or rather adoration, is the pnncip;d. 
Cupf. Oh ! that is her foible? 
Aia. One of them ; against that fort you must 
plant vour batteries — But here they are. 

j\jrs Cud. 1 tell you, you are a iinnsensc man. 
and 1 won't agree to any such thing: — Whv, 
what signities a parliament man ? Vou make bui.h 
a rout, indeed. 

Cad. Hold, Becky, tny dear, don't be in a pas- 
sion now, hold ; let us reason the thing a little, 
my dear. 

Mrs Cad. I tell vou I wont — w hat, is the man 
an oaf? 1 wont reason; — 1 hate reason; and so 
there's an end on'l. 

Cad. ^Vhj, then, you are obstinate, ccod, per- 
verse. He), but my dear, now ! Becky, thai's a 
good girl: — Hey ! come, hold, hold — Egad, we'll 
refer it to Mr Cape. 

Mrs Cad. Defer it to who you w ill, it will sig- 
nify nothing. 

Cape. Bless me ! what's the matter, madam r 
— Sure, Mr Cadwallader, you must have been 
to blame ; no inconsiderable matter could have 
rutHed the natural softness of that tender and de- 
licate mind. 

Ara. Pretty well commenced. 
Mrs Cad. Why, he's always a fool, I think ; 
he wants to send our little Dicky to school, and 
make liini a parliament-man. 

Cupt. How old is master, madam ? 
Mrs Cad. Three years and a quartej', come 
Lady-uay. 

Cape. The intention is rather early. 
Cud. Hey I early ? hold, hold ! but Becky 
mistakes the thing — £gad, I'll tell you the whole 
affair. 

Mrs Cud. You had better hold your chatter- 
ing, so you had. 

Cad. Nay, prithee, my dear ! Mr Sprightly. 
do stop her mouth ; hold, hold. The matter, Mr 
Cape, is this. Have you ever seen my Dicky ? 
Cape. Never. 

Cad. No ! hold, hold ; egad he's a fine, a scn- 
iibie child ; I tell Becky he's like her, to keep 
her in humour ; but_, between you and 1, he has 



more sense already than all her family put toge- 
ther. Hey ! Becky, is not Dicky the picture of 
you? He's a sweet child. Now, .Mr Cape, you 
must know, I want to put little Dicky to school; 
now between — hey ! you, hold, you, hold, the 
<:rcat use of a school is, hey I egad, for children 
to make acquaintances that may hereafter be 
useful to them: Tor, between you and I, as to 
what they learn there, it does not signify two- 
pence. 

Cape. Not a farthing. 

Cud. Does it, hey ? — Now, this is our dispute, 
whetlur poor little Dicky (he's a sweet boy) shall 
iio to Mr Qua'-(ienius*s at lulgware, and make 
an acquaintance wiili my young lord Knap, the 
eldest son of the earl of I'ri/e, or to Dr Tickle- 
pitcher's at Barnet, to form a friendship with 
young Stocks, the rich brr)ker's only child. 

Cope. And for which does the lady determine? 
Cud. Why, I have told her the case — says I, 
Becky, my dear, who knows, if Dicky goes to 
t jtuv's-Genius's, but my lord Knap may take such 
a fancy to hiin, that upon the death of his father, 
and he comes to be earl of Frizr, he may make 
poor little Dicky a member of parliament ? Hey, 
( ape ? 

Mrs Cad. Ay ; but, then, if Dicky goes to 
Tickle-pitcher's, who can tell but youiiij Stocks, 
v%hcn he comes to his fortune, may lend him mo- 
ney if he wants it ? 

Cud. And, if he does not want it, he won't 
take after his father, hey ? Well, what's your 
opinion, Mr Cape ? 

Cape. Why, sir, I can't but join with the lady; 
money is the main article ; it is that that makes 
the inare to go. 

Cud. Hey ! egad, and the alderman, too, you : 
so Dicky may be a member, and a fig for my 
lord: \S'ell, Becky, be quiet; he shall stick to 
Storks. 

Mrs Cad. Ay, let'n ; I was sure as how I was 
right. 

Cud. Well, hush, Becky. Mr Cape, will you 
eat a bit with us to-day, hey ! will you ? 
Cape. You command me. 

Cud. Thai's kind : why, then, Becky and Bell 
shall step and order the cook to toss up a little 

nice Hey ! will you, Becky ? Do, and I'll 

bring Cape. 

Mrs Cud. Ay, with all my heart. Well, Mr 
What-d'ye-call-um, the poet; ecod the man's 
well enough — Your servant. 

Cape. I am a little too much in dishabille to 
offer your ladyship my hand to your coach. 

Cad. Psha ! never mind, I'il do it Here 

you have company coming. 

[Exeunt Mn and Mrs Cadwallader and 
Akabella. 

Enter Governor and Robi\. 
Cape. Ah, jNIr Ilubiu ! 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



£05 



Rob. Why, you have had a great levee this 
morning, sir. 

Cape. Ay, Robin, there's no obscuring extra- 
ordinary talents. 

Rob. True, sir ; and this friend of mine begs 
to claim the benefit of them. 

Cape. Any friend of yours : but how can I be 
serviceable to him ? 

Rob. Wiiy, sir, he is lately returned from a 
profitable government ; and, as you know the un- 
satisfied mind of man, no sooner is one object 
possessed, but another starts up to — 

Cape. A truce to moralizing, dear Robin; to 
the matter ; I am a little busy. 

Rob. In a word, then, this gentleman, having 
a good deal of wealth, is desirous of a little ho- 
nour. 

Cape. How can I confer it? 

Rob. Your pen may. 

Cape. I don't understand you. 

Rob. Whv, toucli him up a handsome compli- 
mentary address from his colony, by way of 
praising the prudence of his administration, his 
justice, valour, benevolence, and 

Cape. I am sorry 'tis impossible for me now to 
misunderstand you. The obligations I owe you, 
Robin, nothing can cancel ; otherwise, this would 
prove our last interview. — Your friend, sir, has 
been a little mistaken, in recommendino; me as a 
person fit for your purpose. Letters have been 
always my passion, and, indeed, are now my 
profession ; but, though I am the servant of the 
public, 1 am not the prostitute of particulars : 
As my pen has never been tin^ied with gall to 
gratify popular resentment, or private pique, so 
it shall never sacrifice its integrity to flatter pride, 
impose falseho(jd, or palliate guilt. Your merit 
may be great; but, let those, sir, be the heralds 
of your worth, who ai'e better acquainted with it. 

Gov. Young man, I like your principles and 
spirit ; your manly refusal gives me more pleasure 
than any honours your papers could have pro- 
cured ine. 

Spright. Now, this business is dispatched, let 

us return to our own affairs You dine at Cad- 

wallader's ? 

Cape. I do. 

Spright. Would it not be convenient to you to 
have him out of the way. 

Cape. Extremely. 

Sprigkf. I have a project that I think will pre- 
vail. 

Cape. Ofvvhat kind .? 

Spright. Bordering upon the dramatic ; but 
the time is so pressing, I shall be at a loss to pro- 
cure performers. Let's see — Robin is a sure card 
— a principal may easily be met with ; but where 
the deuce can I get an interpreter ? 

Rob. Offer yourself, sir ; it will give you an 
opportunity of more closely inspecting the con- 
duct of your son. ' [Aside to Gov. 

Gov. True. Sir, though a scheme of this sort 



may ill suit with my character and time of life, 
yet, from a private mttrest 1 takt- in that gentle- 
man's affairs, if the n^eans are honourable — 

!Spnght. Innocent, upon my credit. 

Gov. Why, then, sir, 1 have uo objection, if 
you think me equal to the task 

Spright. Most happily fitted for it. I should 
not have taken the liberty — But hush ! he's re- 
turned. 

Enter Cadwallader. 

Spright. My dear friend ! the luckiest circum- 
stance ! 

Cad. Hey ! how .? Stay, hey ! 

Spright. You see that gentleman ? 

Cad. Well, hey ! 

Spright. Do you know who he is? 

Cad. Not I. 

Spright. He is interpreter to prince Potowow- 
sky. 

Cad. Wowsky ! — Who the devil is he ? 

Spright. Why, the Tartarian prince, that's 
come over ambassador from the Cham of the 
Calmucks. 

Cad. Indeed ! 

Spright. His highness has just sent me an in- 
vitation to dine with him : now every body that 
dines with a Tartarian lord has a right to carry 
with him what the Latins called his umbra; in 
their language it \s jablanousky. 

Cad. Jablanousky ! well. 

Spright. Now, if you will go in that capacity, 
I shall be glad of the honour. 

Cad. Hey ! why, would you carry me to dine 
with his royal highness? 

Spright. With pleasure. 

Cad. My dear friend, I shall take it as the 

greatest favour, the greatest obligation 1 shall 

never be able to return it. 

Spright. Don't mention it. 

Cud. Hey ! but hold, hold, how the devil shall 
I get off with the poet ! You know I have asked 
him to dinner. 

Spright. Oh, the occasion will be apology suf- 
ficient ; besides, tliere will be the ladies to re- 
ceive him. 

Cad. My dear Mr Cape, I beg ten thousand 
pardons ! hut here your friend is invited to din- 
ner with prince ■ what the devil is his 

name ? 

Spright. Potovvowsky. 

Cad. Irue ; now, sir, ecod he has been so kind 
as to offer to carry me as his jablanousky ; would 
you be so ^ood to e.xcuse 

Cajte. By all means ; not a word, I beg. 

Cad. That is exceeding kind ; I'll come to you 
after dinner ; hey ! stay, but is there any cere- 
mony to be used with his highness ? 

Spright. You dine upon carpets, cross-legged. 

Cad. Hey ! hold, hold ! cross-letiged ! zounds ! 
that's odd ; well, well, you shall teach me. 

Sp/ iglit. And his highness is particularly plea- 



206 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



scd with those amongst his guests that do houour 
to his cdiintry fcoup. 

Ctui. Oil ! let iiio alone for iliut : — But should 
not I ilrcss? 

Spright. Xo ; thf re's no occasion for it. 

Cud. Dear friend, forjjive me; norliine klioiild 
take iiie t'roin you, hut bcini^ a hobblinwisky. 
Well, I'll go and study to sit cross-legged, till 
you call nic. 

Sprif^lil. Do so. 

Cad. Mis hiiihness Potowowsky ! This is the 
luckiest accident ! [Exit Cad. 

Cufic. Ha, ha, ha! — but how will you con- 
duct your enterprise ? 

Spri-ifit. We'll carry him to your friend Ilo- 
bin'< ; dress up one of the under actors in a ri- 
diculous habit ; this gentleman shall talk a little 
gibberish "itii him. I'll compose a soup of some 
nauseous in<:redients ; let me alone to manage. 
But do y')ii choose, sir, the part \vc have as- 
signed you ? 

Got. As it seems to be but a harmless piece 
of mirth, I have no objection. 

Sprig/it. Well, then, let us about it : come, 
sir. 

Cape. Mr Sprightly ? 

Spright. What's the matter ? 

Cape, ^^'ould it not be right to be a little spruce, 
a little smart, upon this occasion ? 



Spright. No doubt ; dress, dress, man ; no 
time is to 1)C lost. 

Cape. Well, but, Jack, I cannot say that at 
present I 

Sjiriglit. Prithee explain. What would you 
say ? 

Cape. Why, then, I cannot say that I have 
any other garments at home. 

Sprlf^/it. Oh, I understand you; is that all? 
Here, here, take my 

Cape. Dear Sprightly, I am quite ashamed, 
and sorry. 

Spright. That's not sooVjliging, George; what, 
sorry to gi\e mc llic greatest pleasure that — iiut, 
I have no time for speeches, I must run to get 
ready my soup. Come, gentlemen. 

lidb. Did you observe, sir.' 

Gov. i^Iost feelingly ! But it will soon be over. 

Rob. Courage, sir ; limes, perhaps, may 
change. 

Cape. A poor prospect, Robin ! Rut this 
scheme of life at last must be changed : for what 
spirit, with the least spark of generosity, can sup- 
port a life of eternal obligation and disagreea- 
ble tirudgery ? Inclination not consulted, genius 
cramped, and talents misapplied ! 

What prospect have those authors to be read, 
Wliose daily writings earn their daily bread ! 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. 

YocNC Cape and Mrs Cadwallader, at 
cards. 

Mrs Cad. Ynu want four, and I two, and my 
deal : now, knave noddy — no, hearts be trumps. 

Cape. I beg. 

Mrs Cad. Will you stock them ? 

Cape. Go on, if you please, madam. 

]\lrs Cad- Hearts again one, two, three ; 

one, two — hang them, they W(m'f slip, three. — 
Diamonds — the two: have you higher than the 
queen ? 

Cape. No, madam, 

iVir.s Cad. Then there's highest — and lowest, 
by gosh ! Games are even ; you are to deal. 

Cape. Pshaw, hang cards I there are other 
amusements better suited to a tefe-a-tete, than 
any of the four aces can atVord us. 

Mrs Cu'l. What -pastimes be thev .'' We hen't 
enough for hunt the whistle, nor blind man's huff: 
but I'll call our Bell, and Robm the butier.— 
Dicky will be here by and bv. 

Ciipc. Hold a minute. 1 Jiave a game to pro- 
pose, where the presence of a third person, es- 
perially Mr Cadwallader's, would totally ruin the 
sport 

Mrs Cad. Av ! what can that be? 



Cape. Can't you guess.' 

Mrs Cad. Not I ; questions and commands, 
mayhap. 

Cajic. Not absolutely that — some little resem- 
blance ; for I am to request, and you are to com- 
mand. 

u\lrs Cad. Oh, daisy! that's charming; I never 
played at that in all my born days; come, begin, 
then. 

Cape. Can you love me ? 

j\Irs Cad. Love you ! But is it in jest or ear- 
nest ? 

Cape. That is as you please to determine. 

J\lrs Cad. But mayn't I ask you questions, 
too f 

Cape. Doubtless. 

JMrs Cad. Why, then, do you love me? 

Cape. With all my soul ! 

3//S Cad. Upon your sayso ? 

Cape. Upon iny sayso. 

Mrs Cad. I'm glad on't, with all my heart. — 
This is the rarest pastime ! 

Cfl/x-. But you have not answered my ques- 
tion. 

Mrs Cad. Hey? that's true. Why, I believe 
there's no love lost. 

Cape. So; our game will soon be over ; I shall 
be up at a deal. I wish I niavu't be en^a>:ed to 
play deeper here than 1 intended, ilwugh. [Aside, 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



207 



Mrs Cad. Well ; now 'tis your turn. 

Cape. True, ay ; but, zooks, you are too hasty ! 
the pleasure of tiiis play, like huutuig, does not 
consist in immediately chopping the prey. 

Mrs Cad. No ! how then .'' 

Cape. Why, first, I am to start you ; then run 
you a little in view : then lose you ; then unra- 
vel all the tricks and doubles you make to escape 
me. 

You fly o'er hcdiic and stile, 
I pursue tor many a mile : 
You grow tired at last, and quat; 
Then I catch you, and all that. 

Mrs Cad. Dear me, there's a deal on't ! I 
shall never be able to hold out long ; I had ra- 
ther be taken in view. 

Cape. 1 believe you. 

Mrs Cad. Well, come, begin and start me, 
that I may come the sooner to quatting — hush ! 
here's sister ; what the deuce brought her? Bell 
will be lor learning this game, too; but don't you 
each her, for your life, Mr Poet ! 

Enter Arabella. 

Ara. Your mantua-maker, witli your new sack, 
sister. 

Mrs Cad, Is that all .'' She might have staid, I 
think. 

Ara. What .'' You were better engaged } But 
don't be angry; I am sorry 1 interrupted you. 

Mrs Cad. Hey ! Mow will I be hanged if she 
ben't jealous ofiVIr Poet; but I'll listen, and see 
the end on't, I am resolved. 

[Aside, and exit. 

Ara. Are you concerned at the interruption, 
too.' 

Cape. Jt was a very seasonable one, I promise 
you : had you staid a little longer, I don't know 
what might have been the consequence. 

Ara. No danger to your person, I hope .'' 

Cupe. Some little attacks upon it. 

Ara. Whicb were as feebly resisted. 

Cape. Why, consider, my dear Bell, though 
your sister is a fool, she is a tine woman, and 
flesh is frail. 

Ara. Dear Bell ! and flesh is frail ! we arc 
grown strangely familiar, I think. 

Cape. Hey-day.? In what corner sits the wind, 
now .? 

Ara. Where it may possibly blow strong 
enough to overset your hopes. 

Cape. That u breeze of your breath can do. 

Ara. Affected ! 

Cape. You aic obliging, madam ; but, pray, 
what is the meaning o( all this .'' 

Ara. Ask your own guilty conscience. 

Cupe. Were I inclined to flatter myself, this 
Jittle passion would be no bad presage. 

Ara, You may prove h false prophet. 



Cape. Let mc die if I know what to — but to 
descend to a little common sense ; what part of 
my conduct — 

Ara. Look'c, Mr Cape, all explanations are 
unnecessary : I have been lucky enough to dis- 
cover your disposition before it is too late ; and 
so you know there's no occasion — but, houever, 
I'll not be any impediment to you : my sister will 
be back immediately ; I suppose my presence 

will only but consider, sir, I have a brother's 

honour 

Cape. Which is as safe from me, as if it was 
locked up in your brother's closet ; but surely, 
madam, you are a little capricious here ; have I 
done any thing hut obey your dire tions.? 

Ara. That was founded upon a supposition, 
that but no matter. 

Cupe. That, what.? 

Ara. Why, I was weak enough to believe, 
what you was wicked enough to protest — 

Cupe. That I loved you } and what reason 
have I given you to doubt it i" 

Ara. A pretty situation I found you in at my 
entrance. 

Cape. An assumed warmth, for the better con- 
cealing the fraud. 

Mrs Cad. \\ hat's that.? [A.iide, liste?iing. 

Cape. Surely, if you doubted my constancy, 
you must have a better opniion of my under- 
standing. 

Mrs^Cad. Mighty well ! [Aside. 

Cupe. What an idiot, a driveller ! no conside- 
ration upon earth, but my paving the way to the 
possession of you, could have prevailed upon me 
to support her folly a minute. 

Enter Mrs Cadwallader. 

iTf;,s Cad. Soh ! Mr Poet, you are a pretty 
gentleman, indeed ; ecod, I'm glad I have caught 
you. I'm not such a fool as you think for, man ; 
but here will be Dicky presently; he sh^ll hear 
of your tricks, he shall : I'll let him know what a 
pretty person he has got in his house. 

Caiie. There's no parrying this; had not I bet- 
ter decamp ? 

Ara. And leave me to the mercy of the ene- 
my ? My brother's temper is so odd, there's no 
knowhig in what light he'll see this. 

Mrs Cad. Oh, he's below ; I hear him. Now 
we shall hear what he'll say to you, madam. 

Enter Cadwallader, Governor, Sprightly, 
and RoBiK. 

Cad. No, pray walk in, l\Ir Interpreter ; be- 
tween you and I, I like his royal highness might- 
ily; he's a polite, pretty, well-bred gentleman — 
but damn his soup ! 

Gov. Why, sir, you eat as if you liked it. 

Cad. Liked it ! hey, egad, I would not eat 
another mess to be his master's prime minister; 



208 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



CFOOTX. 



as bitter as gall, and as black as my bat ; nml 
tberc tiavc I been sitting tbcse two bours witb 
my legs under nie, till tlicy are bolli as dead as a 
herrini;. 

Capt. Your dinner displeased you ? 

Cud. Ui!.plea>ed ! hey ! look'e, Mr Sprightly, 
I'm niiuhtiiy obliged to you for the honour; bin 
bold, bold ! vou shall never persuade nic to be a 
httbbimwi^kv attain, it' the great chanj ot' the ( al- 
intii s were to come over himself. Iky I and 
wliat a damned language he has got ! Whce, 
La'%, haw — but you speak it very fluently. 

Gov I was long resident in the country. 

Cud. May be so, but bfi seems to speak it bet- 
ter ; you have a foreign kind of an accent: you 
don't sound it through tlie nose so well as he. — 
Ilev ! well, Hecky, what, and how have you en- 
lertanied Mr Cape ? 

jMra Cud. Oh ! here have been fine doings 
since you have been gone ! 

Cape. So ; now comes on the storm. 

Cud. Hey ! hold, hold ! what has Jjeen the 
matter ? 

Mrs Cad. Matter ! why, tlie devil is in the 
poet, 1 think ! 

Cud. The devil '. hold. 

Mrs Cad. Why, here he has been making love 
to me like bewitched. 

Cud. How ! which way ? 

Mrs Cad. NVhy, some on't was out of his po- 
etry, 1 think. 

Cad. Hey ! hold, hold ! egad, I believe he's a 
little mad : this morning he look me for king 
Turnus, you; now, who can tell but this after- 
noon he may take you for queen Dido? 

Mrs Cad. And there he told me 1 was to run, 
and to double and quat, and there he was to 
catch me, and all that. 

Cad. Hold, hold ! Catch you ? Mr Cape, I 
take it very unkindly ; it was, d'ye see, a very 
unfriendly thing to make love to Becky in my 
absence. 

Cape. But, sir 

Cad. And it was the more ungenerous, Mr 
Cape, to take this advantage, as you know she is 
but a foolish woman. 

Mrs Cad. Ay, me, \\ho am but a foolish wo- 
man. 

Cape. But hear me ! 

Cad. A poor, ignorant, illiterate, poor Becky ! 
And for a man of your parts to attack • 

Cape. There's no 

Cad. Hold, hold ! ecod, it is just as if the 
Grand Signior, at the head of his janissaries, was 
to kick a chimney-sweeper. 

Mrs Cad. Hey ! what's that you say, Dicky } 
what, be I like a chimney-sweeper.^ 

Cad. Hey ! hold, hold ! Zounds ! no. Beck ! 
hey ! no; that's only by way of simile, to let him 
see I understand his tropes and figures as well as 
himself, egad ! and therefore 

Spri^ht. Nay j but, Mr Cadwallader — 



Cad. Don't mention it, Mr Sprightly ; he's the 
first poet I every had in my house, except the 
bellman for a Christmas-box. 

Si)rii;ht. Good .lir ! 

(. ad. And — hold, hold I I am resolved he shall 
be the last. 

Sprigfit. I have but one way to silence him. 

Cad. And let mc tell you — 

Spri^/it. Nay, sir, I must tell him; be owes 
his reception, litre, to my rcconnnendation ; any 
abuse ol your goodness, any breach of hospitali- 
ty, here, he is answerable to me for. 

(ad. Hey! hold, hold; so he is, ecod: at 
liiin ; give it him home. 

Spright. Ungrateful monster ! And is this your 
return, for the open, generous treatment 

Mrs Cud. As good fried cow-heel, with a 
roast fowl and sausages, as ever came to a table. 

Cad. Hush, Beck, hush I 

Sprig/il. And could you find no other oVyect 
but Mr Cadwallader; a man, perhaps, possessed 
of a genius superior to your own 

Cad. It' I had had a university education — 

Upright. And of a family as old as the crea- 
tion ! 

Cad. Older ; Beck, fetch the pedigrte. 

Sprig/it. Thus far rtlaio* to this gentleman ; 
but now, sir, what apology can you make me, 
who was your passport, your security? 

Cad. Zounds, iwno. ! fight him ! 

Sprig/it. I'ight him ! 

Cad. Ay, do ; I'd fight him myself, if I had 
not had the measles last winter ; but stay till I 
get out of the room. 

Sprig/it. No : he's sure of a protection here, 
the presence of the ladies. 

Cad. Psha, pox ! they belong to the family ; 
never mind them. 

Spright. Well, sir, are you dumb ? No ex- 
cuse ? A'o palliation? 

Cad. Ay; no palliation? 

Mrs Cad. Ay ; no tribulation ? 'Tis a shame, 
so it is. 

Cape. When I have leave to speak — 

Cad. .Speak ! what the devil can you say? 

Cape. Nay, sir 

Sj:right. Let's hear him, Mr Cadwallader, 
however. 

Cad. Hold, hold ! come, begin, then. 

Cape. And first to you, Mr Sprightly, as yoa 
you seem most interested : pray, does this charge 
correspond with any other action of my life, 
since I have had the honour to know you ? 

Sprig/it. Indeed, I can't say that I recollect; 

but still as the scholiasts Nemo repcnte tur- 

pissivius. 

Cad. Hold, hold ; what's that ? 

Spright. Why, that is as much as to say, this 
is bad enough. 

Mrs Cad. By gosh ! and so it is. 

Cad. Rood, and so it is : speak a little more 
Latin to him ; if I had been bred at the uiiivcr- 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



20^ 



eitv, you should hare it both sides of your 
ears. 

Cape. A little patience, gentlemen : now, sir, 
to you. You were plcu-cd voursclf to drop a 
few hints of y'ln'" lady's weakness : iuii;ht not she 
take too seriously what was meant as a mtre 
matter of merriuirnt ? 

Cad. Hey ! hold, hold ! 

Spright. A paltry excuse ; can any woman be 
such a fool as not to know when a man has a dc- 
eige upon her person ? 

Cad. Answer that, Mr Cape, hey ! Answer 
that. 

Cape. I can only answer for the innocency of 
my own intentions ; may not your lady, appre- 
hensive of mv becominii too jrreat a favourite, 
contrive this charge with a view of destroying the 
connection 

Spri!:ht. Connection ! 

Cad. lley ! hold, hold ! connection? 

Spright. There's something in tliat — 

Cad. Hey ! is there ? hold, hold, hey ! esad, 
he is right — you're right, Mr Cape; hold, Becky, 
my dear, how the de\il could you be so wicked, 
hey ! child ; ecod, hold, hold ! how could you have 
the wickedness to attempt to destroy the connec- 
tion ! 

Mrs Cad. I don't know what you say. 

Cad. D'ye hear ? You are an incendiary, but 
you have missed your point; the connection shall 
be only the stronger : My dear friend, I beg ten 
thousand pardons, I was too hasty ; but, ecod, 
Bei ky's to blame. 

Cape. The return of your favour has effaced 
every other impression. 

Cad. There's a good-natured creature ! 

Cape. But if you have the least doubts remain- 
ing, this lady, your sister, I believe, will do me 
the justice to own — 

Airs Cad. Ay, ask my fellow if I be a thief ! 

Cad. What the devil is Becky at now? 

Mrs Cad. She's as bad as he. 

Cad. Bad as he ! — Hey! how ! what the devil ! 
she did not nuike love to you too ? Stop, hey ! 
hold, hold, hold ! 

Mrs Cad. Why no, foolish — but you are always 
running on with your riggmonrowles, and won't 
stay to hear a body's story out. 

Cad. Well, Beck ! conie, let's have it. 

Mrs Cad. Be quiet then; why, as I was telling 
you, first he made love to me, and wanted me to 
be a hare ! 

Cad. A hare ! hold, ecod, that was whimsical ! 
a hare ! hey ! oh, ecod, that might be because he 
thought you a little hair-brained already, Becky ! 
& damned good story ; WeW, Becky, go on, let's 
have it out. 

Mrs Cad, No, I won't tell you no more, so I 
won't. 

Cad. Nav, prythee. Beck ! 

Mrs Cad. Hold your tongue then : — and so 
Vol. Ill, 



there he was going on with his nonsense ; and so 
in came our Bell ; and so — 

Cad. Hold, hold, Becky , — damn your so's ; go 

on, child, but leave out your so's; tis a low 

hold, hold, vulgar — but go on. 

Mrs Cad. Why, how can I go on, when vou 
stop me every minute ? Well, and then our Bell 
' ame in, and interrupted him ; and methought 
she looked very frumpish and jealous. 
Cad. Well. 

Mrs Cad. And so I went out and listened. 
Cad. So ; what, you staid and listened ? 
Mrs Cad. No ; i tell you, upon my staying, 
she went out ; no — upon my going out, she 
staid. 

Cad. This is a damned blind story ; but go on, 
Beck. 

Mrs Cad. And then at first she scolded him 
roundly for making love to me; and then he said, 
as how she advised him to it : and then she said 
no; and then he said — 

Cad. Hold, hold ; we shall never understand 
all these he's and she's; this may all be verv true, 
Beck, but hold, hold ; as I hope to be saved, thou 
art the worst teller of a story — 

Mrs Cad. Well, I have but a word more; and 
then he said, as how I was a great tool. 

Cad. Not much mistaken in that. [Aside. 

Mrs Cad. And that he would not have staid 
with me a minute, but to pave the way to the 
possession of she. 

Cad. Well, Beck, well ? 

Ah-s Cad. And so that's all. 

Cad. Make love to her, in order to get posses- 
sion of you ? 

Mrs Cad. Love to me, in order to get she. 
Cad. Hev ! Oh, now, I begin to understand. 
Hey! What! is this true. Bell, Hey! Hold, 
hold, hold ; ecod, I begin to smoke, hey ! Mr 
Cape ? 

Cape. How shall I act ? 
Roh. Own it, sir; I have a reason. 
Cad. Well, what say you, Mr Cape ? Let's 
have it without equivocation; or, hold, hold, hold, 
mental reservation ! Guilty, or not? 
Cape. Of what, sir ? 

Cad. Of what ! Hold, hold ! of making love to 
Bell ? 

Cape. Guilty. 

Cud. Hey ! how ! Hold, zounds ! No, what, 
not with an intention to marry her ? 

Cape. With the lady's approbation, and your 
kind consent. 

Cad. Hold, hold ! what, my consent to marry 
you ? 

Cape, Ay, sir. 

Cad. Hold, hold, hold ! what, our Bell to mix 
the blood of the Cadwalladers with the puddle 
of a poet ? 
Cape. Sir ! 

Cad. A petty, paltry, ragged, rhiming-^ 
5D 



210 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[FOOTE. 



Spright. Bui iSIr 

Cufi. A scrilibliiis: — hold, liold. hold — c!irrct- 
t< tr. that has no more cloatlis than backs, no 
uioK heads thtin hats and no shoes to his fccC. 

Sfiii/^/it. Nay, hut 

( <i</. I he otV>|>rini» <>f a iliin^liill ! born in a 
celUic — Mold, hold — and living ia a j;airet ! a 
lunuus, a nui;?hri>oni ! 

L'apt. Sir, my family — 

CuJ. Your family ! Hold, hold, hold — Peter, 
fetch the judicret ; I'll show you — Your family! 
a litilr obscure — hold, hold, 1 don't believe you 
ever had a erandlaiher — 

I'ltier Peteh uit/i the pedigree. 

There it is ! there; Peter, help me to stretch it 
out : there's seven yards more of lineals, besides 
three of collaterals, that I expect next Monday 
from the herald's ottice : d'ye see, Mr Sprightly ? 

Snrigfif. I'rodigious ! 

Cad. Nay; but look'e, there's Welsh princes 
and ambassadors, and kinss of Scotland, and 
members of parliament : hold, hold ! ecod, I no 
more mind an earl or a lord in my pedigree, hold, 
hold, than Kuli Khan would a Serjeant in the 
trained bands. 

iyprtght. An ama/intj descent I 

Cud. Hey ! is it not? And for this Imv, lousy, 
son of a shoemaker, to talk of families — bold, 
hold, eet out of my house ! 

Rob. Now is your time, sir . 

Cud. Mr Sprightly, turn him out. 

Gov. Stop, sir; 1 have a secret to disclose, that 
may make you alter your intentions. 

Cud. Hold, hold ! how, Mr Interpreter ? 

Gov. You are now to resrard that yoimc man 
in a very ditfercut light, and consider him as my 
£on. 

Cape. Your son, sir ! 

Gov. In a moment, George, the mystery shall 
be explained. 

Cad. Your son ! Hold, hold ! and what then ? 

Gov. Then ! Why then he is no longer the 
scribbler, the mushroom you have described ; but 
of birth and fortune equal to vour own. 

Cad. What I the son of an interpreter equal to 
me ! A fellow tiiat trudiies about, teaching of 
languages to foreign courts ! 

Gov. A teacher of languages ! 

Cad. Stay ; ecod, a runner to Monsieurs and 
Llarquisses ! 

Sprig/if. You are mistaken, sir. 
• Cud. A jack-pudding ! that takes fillips on the 
nose for sixpence a-piece! Hold, hold ! ecod, eive 
me eighteen-peunyworih, and change for half-a- 
crown. 

Gov. Stop when you are well. 

Cad. AspuuL'er at other mens' tables! that has 
jallap put into his beer, and his face blacked at 
ChribUuas for the diversion of chiidreii ! 



Gov. I can hold nrt longer. Sdcath, sir, who 
ij it you dare treat in this manner ? 

Cud. Hey ! Zounds, Mr Sprightly, lay hold of 
him. 

Sprifiht. Calm your choler. Indeed, Mr Cad- 
walhider, nothing could excuse vour behaviour 
to this gentleman, but your mistaking his per- 
son. 

Cud. Hold, hold ! Is not he interpreter to — 

Spiit/it. No. 

Cud. \N by did not you tell 

S/)rifi/if. I hat was a mistake. This centle- 
man is the prince's friend; and, by long residence 
in the monarch's country, is perfect master of the 
language. 

Cad. But who the devil is he, then .* 

Sprig/if. He is Mr Cape, sir; a man of un- 
blemished honour, capital fortune, and late go- 
vernor of one of our most considerable settle- 
ments. 

Cud. Governor ! Hold, hold ! and how came 
you tuther to hev ! — 

Gov. By marrying his mother. 

Cape. But how am 1 to regard this? 

Gov. As a solemn truth ; that foreign friend, 
to whom you owe your education, was no other 
than myself: I had my reasons, perhaps capri- 
cious ones, for concealing this; but now they 
cease, and I am proud to own my son. 

Cupe. Sir ! it is not for me ^Knecling.^, but if 
gratitude, duty, filial 

Gov. ilise, my boy. I have ventured far to 
fix ihv fortune, George ; but, to find thee worthy 
of it, more than o'crpays my toil ; the rest of my 
story shall be reserved till we are alone. 

Cad. Hey ! Hold, hold, hold ! ecod, a good 
sensible old fellow this ; but haik'e, Sprightly, I 
have made a damned blunder here. Ilold, hold ! 
Mr Governf)r, I ask ten thousand pardons; but 
who the devil could have thought that the inter- 
preter to prince Potuwowjky 

Gov. Oh, sir, you have in your power sufficient 
means to atone for the injuries done us both. 

Cad. Hold, how .? 

Gov. By bestowing your sister with, I flatter 
myself, no great \iolence to her inclinations, 
here. 

Cad. What, marry Bell ! Hey ! Hold, hold, 
hold! zojinds, Bell, take him, do ; 'ecod, he's a 
a good likely hey ! Will you? 

Arab. 1 shan't disobey you, sir. 

Cad. Shan't you? That's right. Who the devil 
knews, but he may come to be a governor him- 
self; hey ! Hold, hold; come here, then, give me 
your hands both. [Joins their hauds.^ There, 
there ; the business is done. And now, brother 
governor — 

Gov. And now, brother Cadwallader. 
Cad. Hey! Beck, here's somethins: now for my 
pedigree; we'll pop in the Governor to-morrow. 
]\lr.s Cud. Hark'c, Mr (Governor, can you give 
mc a black boy and a monkey ? 



FOOTE.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



1211 



Cad. Hey ! ay, ay, you shall have a black boy, 
and a monkey, and a parrot too. Heck. 

Spright. Dear Georoe, I am a little late in my 
cone;ratulation ; but • 

Gov. Whicii, if he is, in acknowledging your 
disinterested friendship, I shall be sorry I ever 



owned him. Now, Robin, my cares are over, and 

niv wishes full ; and if Georee remains as un- 
tainted bv affluence as he has been i ntcnipr^d by 
distrt^ss, I have given the poor a protcctur, his 
country an advocate, and the world a friend. 

[Exeunt omnei. 



THE 
iMALE-COQUETTE, 

BY 

CAR RICK. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



MEN. 

Daffodil, the Ma/e-roguette. 

TuKKi.Y, attaclud to boi'uiA, 

Lord Rac ret. ^ 

Sir Wm.i.iam Whister,/ 

Sir rAN-livY, \7nen of the town. 

Spinner, i 

Dizzy, j 

Rii ii.F., Taht to Dafiodil. 

First ^\' niter. 

Scrond Waiter. 

Harry, 



WOMEN. 

Sophia, involnntarih/ partial to Daffodil, but 

esteeming Tukely. 

Arauklla, ^ 

Mrs Dotterel, f ,, 1 . , t-* ^^^^.t 

„, ,^ > attached to Daffodil. 

Widow [Jam ply, 4 

Lady Fanny Pewit. J 



Scene — London. 



ACT. I. 



SCENE— I. 



Enter Arabella, cnt/ Sophia in Men's clothes. 

Ara. Indeed, my dear, you'll repent this fro- 
lic. 

Sop. Indeed, my dear, then it will be the first 
frohc I ever repented in all my life. Look'e, 
Bfll, 'tis in vain to oppose mc, for I am resolved 
— the only way to find out his character, is to see 
him thus, and converge freely with liim. If he i^ 
the wretch he is reported to "he, I shall away with 
him at once; and if he is not, he will thank me 
for the trial, and our union will be the stronger. 

J-.ra. I never knew a woman vet, who had 
prudence enough to turn off a pretty fellow, be- 



cause he had a little more wickedness than the 
rest of his neit:hboiirs. 

Sop. Then 1 \\\\\ be the first to set a better 
example. — If I did not think a man's character 
was of some consequence, I should not now run 
such risqucs, and encounter such difficulties, to 
be better acquainted with it. 

Ara. Ha, Sophy ! if you have love enough to 
be jealous, and jealousy enough to try these expe- 
riments- don't imagine, thouf^h you should 

make terrible discoveries, that you c;m imme- 
diately quit vour inclinations, with your breeches; 
and return so very philosophically to your petti- 
coats a<j;ain, ha, liu ! 

Sop. You luay be as lucny with my weaknes* 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



213 



ses, as you please, madam; but I knovv my own 
heart, and can rely upon it. 

Ara. VVe are -xreat bullies by nature ; but 
courajie and b\va^<:erint; are two things, ousin. 

Sop. Since you arc as little tt) bo convinced, as 
I am to be persuaded your servant 

Ara. Nay, Sophy, this is unfriendly — if you 
are resolved upon y(jur scheme, open to me with- 
out reserve, and I'll assist you. 

Sop. Imprnnis, then; I confess to you, that I 
have a kind of whimsical attachment to Uaffo- 
dil ; not but 1 can see his vanities and laugh at 
them. 

Ara. And like him better for them 

Sop. Fsliavv 1 don't plague me. Bell — my other 
lover, the jealous Mr I'ukely 

Ara. Who loves you too well to be success- 
ful 

Sop. And whom I really esteem 

Ara. As a t;ood sort of man, ha, ha, ha ! 

Sop. Nay, should have loved him 

Ara. Had not a prettier fellow stept in be- 
tween, who perhaps does not care a farthing for 
you 

Sop. That's the question, my dear — Tukely, I 
say, either stunt; by jealousy, or imwilling to lose 
me, without a struggle, has intreatcd me to know 
more of his rival, before I eu^a^e too far with 
him — Many strange things he has told me, which 
have piqued me, I must confess, and 1 am now 
prepared for the proof. 

Ara You'll certainly be discovered, and put 
to shame. 

Sop. I have secured my success already. 

Ara. What do you mean ? 

Sop. I have seen him, conversed with him, and 
ara to meet him again to-day, by his own appoint- 
ment. 

Ara. Madness! it can't be. 

Sop. But it has been, I tell you 

Ara. How .'' how } Quickly, quickly, dear So- 
phy } 

Sop. When you went to lady Faimy's last night, 
and left me, as you thought, little disposed f )r a 
frolic, I dres-sed me as you see, called a chair, 
and went to the King's Anns, asked for my <;eii- 
tleuKui, and was shewn into a room ; lie imme- 
diateiy left his company, and came to me. 

Ara. I tremble for you. 

Sop. I introdu" ed mvself as an Italian nol)le- 
man, just arrived : It Murchese di Macaroni — 

Ara, Ridiculous ! ha, Ira I 

Sop. An intimate of sir Charles Vainlove's, 
who is now at Rome — I told him my letters were 
with my bag(ra'::e, at the custom-house — He re- 
ceived me with ail the openness imaginable, and 
woiiid have intrcjdiiced :iie Xjd his friends. I beg- 
ged to be excused, hut (jromised to attend him 
Co-dav, and am now ready, as you see, to keep 
my word. 



Ara. Astonishitig ! — and what did you talk 
about } 

Sop. Of various things women among the 

rest ; and rhouii!! I have not absolutely any open 
acts of rebellion asiimst him, yet 1 fear he is a 
traitor at heart — and then such vanity ! — but I 

had not time to make great discoveries it was 

meiely the prologue — The play is to come. 

Ara. Act your part well, or we shall hiss you. 

Sop. Never fear me ; you don't know what a 
mad, raking, wild young devil I can be, if I set 
my mind to it, Bell. [ Laying hold of her. 

Ara. You fright me ! — you shall positively be 
no bcfi-fellovv of mine any longer. ■ 

Sop. 1 am resolved to ruin my woman, and kill 
m\ man, before 1 get into petticoats again. 

Ara Take care of a quarrel though — a rival 
may be too rough with you. 

Sop. No, no, fighting is not the vice of these 
times; and, as for a little swaggering, damn it, I 
can do it as well as the best of them. 

Ara. Hush, hush ! Mr Tukely is here 

Sop. Now for a trial ;>f skill; if I deceive him, 
you'll allow that half of my business is done. 

\She iialks a.iidc, takes out a glass, and 
looks at the pictures. 

Enter Tukely. 

Take. Your servant, Miss Bell — T need not 
ask if Miss Sophy be at home, for I believe I 
have seen her since you did. 

Ara. Have you, sir ? You seem disconcerted, 
Mr Tukely : Has any thing hapjiened r 

Take. A trifle, madam— but 1 was born to be 
trifled with, and to be made uneasy at trifles. 

Ara. Pray, what trifling aftair has disturbed 
you thus.^ 

Sop. What's the matter now ? [Aside. 

Tuke. I met Miss Sophy this moment in a 
hackney chair, at the end of the street : I knew 
her by the pink negliuee; b;it, upon my crossing 
the way to speak to her, she turned iier head 
away, laughed violently, and drew the curtain in 
my face. 

Sop. So, so; well said,jeal lusy. [Aside. 

Ara She was in haste, I suppose, to get to 
her encagement? 

Take. Yes, yes, madam; I imagine she had 

some engagement upon tier hands But sure, 

madam, lier great desire to see her more agree- 
able friends, need not be attended with con- 
tempt and disregard to the rest of her acquaint- 
ance. 

Ara. Indeed, Mr Tukely, I have so many ca- 
prices, and follies of mv own, that I can't [lossibly 
answer for mv cousin's too. 

Sop. Well said. Bell ! [Aside. 

Tuke. Answer, miss I No, Heaven forbid you 
should ! — for mv part, 1 have niven up all my 
hopes as a lover, and only, now, feel for her as a 



CI4 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



frii'iK} — .ind iiukcd us a fiitiiil, a sincere frieml, 

I can't lint s;iv, that };oini; out in a hackney chair, 
uithuiit a M.'r\aiii, and cniliavtuirin^ to c<jnccal 
htrM-ir, ib soniCMhat inctirnpatililc «itli Mi?.s So- 
})liy\ nnik and ic|jutatii>n. T his I «<ju'ak a> a 
J'rifnd, not as a lovt-r. Miss Belli pray mind tliat. 

^Ini. I see it \ery plandv, AJr Inkelv, and it 
pives me preat pleasnre, that you can be so in- 
<lilUr<ni in your lu\ e, and yet su jealous it) your 
l'riend!>hip. 

Tiikr. \nu do me honour, miss, bv your good 
«)pinion. [Walks about, and sees Soimiy.J — \\ lio's 

I I lilt, pray ? 

Ara. A pentlemnn who is waitins; for Sophv. 

'l'ul:e. I think s>he lias gentlemen waitmg for 
liir every where. 

Si>p. I am afraid, sir, [Cotninp up to him zcith 
her j^luss.'] you'll excuse mc, that notwitlistand- 
in<; your declaration, and this ladv's compliments, 
there is a little of the devil, called jealousy, at 
the bottom of ail this uneasiness. 

Tukc. Sir! 

Sop. I say, sir, wear your cloak as long as you 
please, the hoof will peep out, take my word for 
it. 

Tuke. I pon my word, sir, you are pleased to 
honour me with a familiarity which I neither ex- 
pected, or indeed desired, upon so slight an ac- 
quaintance. 

Hup. I dare swear you did not. 

[Tiirnn o(f', and hums a tune. 

Tuke. I don't understand this ! 

Ara. This is beyond expectation. [Aside. 

Sop. I presume, sir, you never was out of En<:- 
laiid ? [Picking: her Icttti. 

Tuke. I presume, sir, that you are mistaken — 
I never was so foolishly fond of my ow n country, 
to think that nothing good was to be had out of 
it ; nor so shamefully untirateful to it, to prefer 
the vices and fopperies of every other nation, to 
the peculiar advantatres of my own. 

Sop. Ha, ha! well said, old England, i'faith! — 
Kow, madam, if this trentleman would put this 
speech into a farce, and properly lard it with 
roast beef, and liberty, I would encage the gal- 
leries would roar and halloo at it for half an hour 
together, ha, ha, ha ! 

Ara. Now the storm's coming. [Aside. 

Tuke. If you are not engaged, sir, we'll ad- 
journ to the next tavern, and write this farce be- 
tween us. 

Sop. I fancy, sir, by the information of your 
face, that you are more inclined to tragedy, than 
comedy 

J'uke. I shall be inclined to treat you very ill, 
if you don't walk out with me. 

Sop. I have been treated so very ill already, 
in the little conversation 1 have had with you, 
that you must excuse my walking out for more 
of it ; but if you'll persuade the lady to leave tiie 

room, I'll put you to death — damme 

[Going tip to him. 



Ara. For Heaven's sake ! what's the matter, 
gentlemen ? 

Tuke. What can I do with this follow? 

Sop. Madam, don't be alarmed ; this alTair will 
be VI ry short; I am always expeditious; and will 
cut his throat, without shocking you in the least: 
— Come, sir, [Druxcsl] if you won't defend your- 
self, I must kick you about the room. 

[Adruncing, 

Tuke. Respect for this lady, and this house, 
has curbed my resentment hitherto : But as 
your insolence would take advantage of my for- 
bearance, I must correct it at all events 

[Draas, 

Sop. Si- Ara. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Tuke. What is all this? 

Sop. What, would you set your courage to a 
poor weak woman ? You are a bold Briton, in- 
deed ! Ila, ha, ha ! 

Tuke. What, Sophia? 

Ara. Sophia! No, no; she is in a hackney- 
chair, you know, without a servant, in her pink 
negligee — Ila, ha, ha ! 

Tuke. I am astonished ! and can scarce be- 
lieve my own eyes — \N hat means this metamor- 
phosis ? 

Sop. TIs in obedience to your commands 

Thus cqiii[)ped, I have got access to Daffodil, and 
shall know whether your picture of him is drawn 
by your regard for me, or resentment to him — 
' I will sound him, from his lowest note to the 
top of his compass.' 

Tuke. Your spirit transports me — This will be 
a busy, and, I hope, a happy day for me. I have 
appointed no less than five ladies to meet me at 
the widow Dampiy's; to each of whom, as well 
as yourself, the accomplished Mr Daffodil has 
presented his heart; the value of which I am re- 
solved to convince them of this night, for the 
sake of the whole sex. 

Sop. Pooh, pooh ! that's the old story — You 
are so prejudiced — 

Tuke. I am afraid 'tis you who are prejudiced, 
madam ; for, if you will believe your ow n eyes 
and ears — ■ 

Sop. That I will, I assure you ; I shall visit 
him immediately. He thinks me in the country; 
and, to confirm it, I'll write to him as from 
thence. But ask me no more questions about 
w hat I have done, and w hut is to be done ; for I 
have not a moment to lose ; and so, my good 

friend Tukcly, yours My dear Bell, I kiss 

your hand. [A'mr.v her hand.] You are a fine 
woman, by Heavens ! Here, Joseppi, Brunello, 
I'rancesi, where are my fellows there ? Call me 

a chair. Viva /' A?nor, et Uberta 

[Exit, singing. 

Ara. Ha, ha ! there is a spirit lor you ! VVell, 
now, w hat do you stare at ? You could not well 

desire more O, fic, fie ! don't sigh and bite 

your fingers ; rouse yourself, man ; set all your 
wits to work; bring this faithless Corydon tu 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



215 



shame, and I'll be handed if the prize is not 
yours. If she returns in time, I'll bring her tu 
the widow Daniply's 

Tiike. Dear Miss Arabella 

Ara. Well, well; make nie a fine speerh ano- 
ther time. About your business now 

Tuke. I fly [Exit. 

Ara. What a couple of blind fools has love 
made of this poor fellow, and my dear cousin 
Sophy ! Little do they imatrine, with all their 
wise discoveries, that Dallbdil is as faithful a lo- 
ver, as he is an accomplished i^entleman. 1 pity 
these poor deceived womoi), with all my heart ! 
But how will they stare, when they find that he 
has artfully pretended a re^iard lor them, the 
better to conceal iiis real passion f(jr me ! They 
will certainly tear my eyes out; and what will 
cousin Sophy say to me, when we are olihiied to 
declare our passion ? No matter «hat — 'lis the 
fortune of war ; and I shall onlv serve her, as 
she and every other friend would serve me in 
the same situation 

A little cheating never is a sin. 

At love or cards — provided that you win. 

{Exit. 

SCENE II. — Daffodill's lodgings. 
Enter Daffodill and Ruffle. 

Daf. But are you sure. Ruffle, that you deli- 
Tered the letter last night, in the manner I or- 
dered you ? 

Rut'. Exactly, sir. 

Duf. And you are sure that Mr Dotterel saw 
you slip the note into his wife's hand ? 

liuf. I have alarmed him, and you may be as- 
red, that he is as uneasy as you would wish to 
have him. But I should be y;iad, with your ho- 
nour's leave, to have a little serious conversa- 
tion wirh you ; for my mind forebodes much pe- 
ril to the bones of your luimhle servant, and 
very little satisfaction to your honour. 

Dnf. Thou art a most incomprehensible block- 
head 

Ruf. No orcat scholar or wit, indeed ; but I 
can feel an oak sappling, as well as another ; 
ay, and I should have felt one last nijjht, if I had 
not had the heels of all Mr Dotterel's family — I 
had the whole pack after me 

Dqf. And did not tliey catch you ? 

Ruf. No, thank Heaven • 

Dqf. You was not kicked, then? 

Ruf No, sir. 

Dqf. Nor caned ? 

Ruf. No, sir. 

Duf. Nor dragged through a horse-pond .'' 

Riif. O, lord ! No, sir. 

Daf. That's unlucky 

Ri'it'. Sir ! 

Dut'. You must go a^ain. Ruffle, to-night; per- 
jiaps you may be in better luck. 



Riif. If I go again, sir, may I be caned, kick- 
ed, and horse-ponded for my pains. I believe I 
have been lucky enough to bring an old house 
o\er vour head. 

Daf. What do you mean ? 

Ruf Mr Dotterel only hobbled after me, to 
pay me for the postage of your letter; but being 
a little out of wmd, he soon stopt co curse and 
swear at me. 1 could hear him mutter some- 
thing of scoundrel, and pimp, and my master, 
and villain — and blunderbuss and saw pit; and 
then he shook his stick, and looked like the de- 
vil ! 

Dqf. Blunderbuss, and saw-pit ! This busi- 
ness grows a little serious, and so we'll drop it. — 
I'he husband is so old and peevish, and she so 
young and pressing, that I'll give it up, Ruffle; — 
the town talks of us, and I am satisfied. 

Ruf. Pray, sir, with submission, for wliat end 
do you write to so many ladies, and make such a 
r /Ut about ihem ? there are now upon the list half 
a dozen maids, a leash of wives, and the widow 
Damply. 1 know your honour don't intend mis- 
chief; but what pleasure can you iiave in decei- 
ving ihem, and the world } for you are thought a 
teriible young gentleman. 

Daf. Why that pleasure, booby ! 

Ruf. 1 don't understand it — VVtiat do you in- 
tend to do with them all .'' Ruin them.'' 

Dqf Not I, faith. 

Ruf. But you'll ruin their reputations ? 

Duf. That's their business ; not mine. 

Ri(f. Will you marry any one of them ? 

D«/! O, no ! that would be finishing the game 
at once. If I preferred one, the rest would take 
it ill ; so, because I won't be particular, I give 
them all hopes, without going a step further. 

Ruf, Widows can't live upon such slender 
diet. ' 

Dqf. A true sportsman has no pleasure but in 
the chase; the game is always given to those 
who have less taste, and bettor stomachs. 

Ruf. I love to pick a bit, I must confess — 
Rcallv, sir, I should not care what became of 
half the women you are pleased to be merry 
with — but, Miss Sophy, sure, is a heavenly crea- 
ture, and deserves better treatment ; and to 
make love to her cousin, too, in the same house ! 
that is very cruel. 

Dqf. But it amuses one — besides they are 
both fine creatures. And how 6o I know, if I 
loved only one, but the other might poison her- 
self ? 

Ruf. And when they know that you have lo- 
ved them both, they may poison one another. — 
This aifair will make a great noise. 

Daf. Or I have taken a great deal of pains 
for nothing. But no more prating, sirrah ; 
while I read my letters, go and ask Harry what 
cards and messages he has taken in this morn- 
ing. 



216 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



Jiul' There's no mpndin^^ him ! 

[Krit RrFiii;. 

Diif. [Opeiii Irttcm.^ 1 "his is fn»in the widow 
Damply. I know hir sirawl at a mile's div- 
t;m( c — ^hl■ pnic-ml^ that ttic fritht of her hiis- 
I'aiid's death liiirt her nerves so, that her hand 
Ikis shook ever since — ha, ha, ha ! It has hurt 
InT spcllint: too, tor here is jov with a (» ; ha, 
Jiu! |M>or creature ! [Rcudx ]\lntn — hum — hinn. 
Well s;»id, widow; she speaks plain, faith, and 
crovv^ undent. I ninst cct Q""t ot her — she de- 
sires u (I'tr a tt'te; which, witii widows, who have 
siitKnd miirli for the losrs of their hnshimd. is, 
as captain Hodadd savs, a service of danger. — 
So, 1 am ort'. [Opens another.] What the dcvd 
liave we here? A hdl in cliancerv : Oh, no ! mv 
taylor's bill — Sum Total, three hiindr« d and se- 
venty-four pounds, eleven shillimis, and hve 
j>cnce, three farthiniis. Indeed, Monsieur Chi- 
caneau, this is a danmed bill, and you will be 
damned lor makins; it; therefore, for the t^ood 
of your snid. Mons. Cliicaneau, you must make 
another. [Tears it.] I'he French know their 
consequence, and use us accordiniily. [Opens a- 
nothtr.] This is from Newmarket. 

[Reads. 

' Jlay it please your honour, 

' I would not have you tliink of matchiiiL' 
' C'lierry-Dcrry with Ginsierbiead ; he is a tern- 
' rible horse, and very covetous of his ground. — 
' 1 have chopt llurloilirunibo for the lloan marc, 
' and fifty pounds. Sir lloL'cr has taken the 
' match oft" your hands, which is a jrood thins; ; 
' for the mare has the distemper, and must have 
' forfeited. 1 flunt; his honour's groom, though 
' he was above an hour in the stable. The nut- 
* meg grey. Custard, is matched with Alderman. 
' Alderman has a long wind, and will be too 
' hard for Custard. 

' I am, your honour's 
' Most obedient .servant, 

' RoGtn Wiiir.' 

Whip is a genius, and a good servant. I have 
not as yet lost above a thousand pounds by my 
horses ; but such luck can't always last. 

Enter RtFrLE, uilh cards. 

lint. There's the morninsj's cargo, sir. 

[Throjcs them doun upon the table. 

Daf. Iley-day ! I can't read them in a month ; 
pritliee, Riitlle, set down niy invitations from the 
card>, according to their date, and let me see 

tiiem to-morrow morning So much reading 

would distract me. 

Hut'. And yet these are the only books tliat 
gentlemen read now-a-davs. 

[.hide. 



Enter a Servant. 

Ser. An' please your honour, I forgot to tell 
you that there wiis a gentleman here last night. 
I've forgtit his na:ne. 

Kttf'. Old Mr Dotterel, perhaps? 

Ser. Old ! no, no, he looks vounger than his 
honour. I believe he's mad, he can't ^tand still 
a moment ; he first capered out of the chair, and 
"hen I told him your honour was not at home, 
he capered into it Jigain — said he would call 
again, jabbered somctliing, and away he went, 
singing. 

Diif'. 'Tis the marquis of Maccaroni ; I saw 
him at the King's Arms yesterday : Admit him 
\Nhen he comes, Harry. 

Ser. I shall, your honour — I can neither write 
or remember these outlandish names. 

[Exit Serranf. 

Daf. Where is my list of women, Iluflle, and 
the places of their abode, that we mav strike off 
some, and add the new acf|uisiiions? 

liiif. What, alter again ! I wrote it out fair but 
this morning — There are quicker successions in 
your honour's list, than the court -calendar. 

Daf. Strike off Mrs Dotterell, and the widow 
Dam|)Iy. 

Ruf. They are undone. 

[Strikes them out. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. A lady, Mr Ruffle, in a chair, must speak 
with you. 

Daf. Did she ask for me .? See, Ruffle, who it 
is. * [Exit. 

Ser. No, your honour; but she looked quite 
flustratcd. 

Ddf. W e]\, go below, and be careful not to 
let any old gentleman in this morning ; and, d'ye 
hear.? if any of the neighbours should inquire 
who the lady is, you may say it is a relation ; — 
and be sure smile, do you hear.? v\hen you tell 
them so. 

Ser. I shall, your honour — lie, he, he, I am 
never melancholy. [Eik. 

Daf. That fellow's a character. 

Enter Rufflf,. 

Raf. Sir, it is Mrs Dotterel; she has had a 
terrible quarrel with her husband about your 
ietler, and has something to say of consequence 
to you bolh — she must see you, ^he says. 

Daf. I won't see her W hy would yon say 

that i was at home You know I hate to be 

alone with them, and she's so violent too 

Well, well, shew her up This is so un- 
lucky 

Riif. lie hates to see duns he never intends 
to pay. [Exit Rurri.r. 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



'J 17 



Daf. What shall T do with her? This is worse 
than meeting her husband with a liliinderV)USS in 
a saw-pit. 

Enter Mrs Dotterel, and Rurri-E. 

Dear Mrs Dotterel, this is so obli<;ina- 



Ruffle, don't let a soul come near me. [Aloud.] 
— And hark'e, don't leave us long together, and 
let every body up l!iat comes. [Aside. 

Ruf. What a deal of trouble here is about 
nothing ! [Exit Run le. 

Mrs Dot. In the name of virtue, MrDalfodil, 
I hope you have not given any private orders, 
that may in the least deroi^ate from tiiat absolute 
coniidr'tice wiiich I place in vour honour ? 

])nf'. You may be perfectly easy under tliis 
roof, madam. I hope, I am polite enough not to 
let my pas.sions of any kind run too great lengths 
in my own house. 

Mrs Dot. Nothing .but absolute necessity 
could have made me take this ini[)rudent step — 

I am ready to faint with my apprehensions 

Heigii ho ! 

Dqf. Heaven forbid ! — I'll call for some as- 
sistance. [Going to ring. 
Mrs Dot. Let your bell alone ! [Stopping him.] 
You're always calling for assistance, I think — you 
never give one time to come to one's self — Mr 
Dotterel has seen your letter, and vows venge- 
ance and destruction — Why would you be so 
violent and imprudent? 

Dqf. Tiic devil was in me, madam ; but t re- 
pent it from my soul ; it has cured me of being 
violent. 

]\Irs Dot. Come, come, don't take it too deep- 
ly neither ; I thought it proper, at all hazards, 
to let you know what had happened, and to in- 
treat you, bv that affection you have sworn to 
me, to be qareful of my reputation. 

Daf. That I will indeed, madam ; we can't be 
too careful. 

Airs Dot. Well, Mr Daffodil, I am an unhappy 
woman — married to (me I canvot love ; and lov- 
ing one I ought to slmn — It is a terrible situation, 

Mr Daffodil^ 

Daf. It is indeed, madam — I am in a terrible 

one too — Would I was well out of it ! [Aside. 

Mrs Dot. Do you know, Mr Daffodil, that if 

I had not been very religious, my passions would 

have undone me But you must give me time, 

for nothing but that, and keeping the best com- 

panv, will e^er conquer mv prejudices 

Daf. I should be very ungenerous not to al- 
low you time, madam — tliree weeks or a month, 
I iiope, will do the business — Though, by my 
honour, I got the better of mine in half the time 
— What is Ruffle doing? [Aside. 
Mrs Dot. He's very cold, methinks; but I'll 
try him furthei- — Look'e, Mr Daffodil, you must 
curb your passions, and keep your distance 

Vol. hi. 



Fire is catching, and one docs not know the con- 
sequences when once it begins to spread. 

Daf. As you say, madam, lire is catching; 
'tis dangerous to play with it ; and as I am of 
tlie tinder-kind — as one may say — we had bet- 
ter, as you say — madam — change the subject — ■ 
Pray did von ever hear of the pug-dog that you 
advertised ? It was a very pretty creature — what 
was his name, madam ? 

2Irs Dot. Daffodil, sir ! [Stijling her passion, 
Daf :\iadam ! 

Airs Dot. Could I love and esteem any thing, 
and not call it Daffodil? — What a wretch ! 

[Aside. 
Daf. You do me honour, madam — I don't like 
her looks ; I must change the discourse, [ylside.] 
Upon my soul, I\irs Dotterel, this struggle is too 
much for man : My passions are now tearing 
me to pieces, and if you will stay, by heaven I 
will not answer for the consequences ! 

Ah-s Dot. Consequences! VVliat consequences! 
Thou wretched, base, false, worthless animal ! 
Daf. You do me honour ! [Boning. 

Airs Dot. Canst thou think that T am so blind- 
ed by my pasgion, not to sec thy treacherous, 
mean, unmanly evasions ? — I have long suspect- 
ed your infamy, and having this proof of it, I 
could stab your treacherous heart, and my own 
weak one — Don't offer to stir, or ring your boil ; 

for, by Heavens, I'll [Catc/ics hold of hint. 

Daf. I stir ! I am never so happy, as when I 
am in your company. 

Airs Dot. Thou liest : Thou art never so 
happy as when thou art deceiving, and betraying 

our foolish sex and all for what? V\'!iy, 

for the poor reputation of having that, which 
thou hast neither power nor spirit to enjoy. 

Daf. Ha! I hear somebody coming — Now for 
a rapture [Aside.] Talk not of power or spirit — 
Heaven, that has made you fair, has made me 

strong O ! forgive the madness which your 

beauty has occasioned ! 

[Throws himself upon his knees. 

Enter Sei'vant. 

Ser. The marquis of Macaroons 



[Exit Servant. 



Enter Sophia. 



Airs Dot. Ha ! [Screams^ I am betrayed ! — 
[The}/ all stare, and Daffodil seemingly 
astonished.] 

Sop. Mrs Dotterel, by all that's virtuous ! — 
[Aside.] — Signior Daffodillc — resto confuso, tat I 
am com si 7nal-a-proposito. 

Daf. Dear marquis, no excuse, I beg — nothing 
at all — a relation of mine — my sister only — Miss 
Daffodil ; this is il Merchese de Maccai-oni, an 
intimate of sir Charles Vainlove's — this was 

2 E 



•il8 



BIUTISU DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



lucky. — [Jsidc] — Well, tlirn, my dtar si^>te^, I 
will wait upon yoti to-morrow, and settle llii- 
whole alViur. — [A/oiu/.] — I uin tLc most uiistra- 
blf o( mortals, ;ind have lust llu; most precious 
luuiuciils of my lite. 

[AiiUf to Mrs Dot. 

]\[rs Dot. Yon arc a villam ! I despise you, 
and detest you, and \\\\[ never .see yon more. 

[Ksit Mus Dot. 

Diif'. I la, lia, ha ! my sister has a nohle spirit, 
my lord. 

Sop. Mi (iispiiicc iiilinumcntc — it tisplis me, 
tat i h\it' iu/t tin ;ii{ni to i^U (i[lari of you famili. 

J)aJ. It is tlie old lamily business, n>y lord; 
and so old, that, by my honour, I am quite tired 
of it. 

Sop. I hate him already. — [Aaidc] — "^ignor 
DalVodiilo, she is una licltsw/ia soretla, in vcritci, 
a very prii' sis' intit. 

Dat'. I must confess to you, my lord, that my 
sister is a younj: distressed damsel, married to an 
old >;ciuleman of the ueiv;libourhood, ha, ha, ha ! 

Sop. O Cura Iii<iltiUt:n-a/ \at a fortuiiata 
contree is tis ! tc olt men marri de yoii>; (hie 
pirl, and tc yonj; line girl visite te youg signors — 
O, preciosu lilicria ! 

JJaf. Indeed, my lord, men of fashion, here, 
have some small piivilciies; we [rnther our roses 
•without f. ar of thorns — husbands and brothers 
don't deal uj poison and stilettos, as they do with 
you. 

Sop. II iiostro umico, sij^nor Carlo, has lol me 
a tousant volti, dat you vas de Orlando Innamo- 
rato himself. 

DiiJ. Unt not Furioso, I can assure you, 
my lord, ha, ha, ha ! I am for variety, and 
badinage, without atfection — reputation is the 
great ornameiU, and case the great happiness of 
hfe — to ruin women would be troublesome ; to 
tride and make love to them, amuses one. I 
use my women as daintily ns my tnkay ; I mere- 
ly sip of both, but more than half a glass palls 
me. 

Sop. II )Tiio propria gu^to — ^Tukcly is right; 
he's a villain. — [A^idt.] — Signor DalTodillo, vil 
yon do me de favor to give me stranger, una in- 
trotluzione to some of your sigujrine; let vostro 
amico taste a littel, un poco of your o'ulce tokay. 

IJtif. O, ctrlaiiicnie ! I have have half a hun- 
dred signnrines at your service. 

Sop. MuUo oliliguto, signor Daffodillo. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Here is a letter for your honour. [Surli/i/. 

Diif. What is the matter with the follow? 

Scr. jNIatter, your honour ! the lady that went 
out just nou, ga\e me such a souse on the ear, 
as I made my bow to her, that I could scarce 
tell, for a minute, whctner I had a head or no. 

Da/'. Ila, ha ! poor fellow ! there's smart mo- 
ney for you. — [Gives him )non':i/.^ — \_Exit Ser.'\ — 
^^ jU your lordship give me leave ? 



Sop. Stiiza ceremonic — now for it. [Atiile 

Dai tODii. rvath. 
* S I n> 
* I shall return from the country next week, 
' and shall h<;pe to meet yon at Lady Fannv Pewit'b 
' assembly next Wednesday. 

' I am very much your lumiblc senant, 

' SoiMiiA Spkightly.' 

My lord marquis, here is a letter has started 
game Uiv you already — the most lucky thought 
ima'iinable ! 

Sop. Coxa c tjuesta — coiu, e — vat is ? 

Ddf'. 1 here are two fine girls, you nmst know, 
cousins, who li\e together; this is a letter from 
one of them, Sophia is her name; I have addres- 
sed them both, but as matters become a little se- 
rious on their side, I must raise a jealousy be- 
tween the friends; discover to one the treachery 
of tlie other ; and so, in the bustle, steal off as 
quietly as I can. 

Sop. O ! Spiritoso amico — I can scarce con- 
lain mysclt'. [Aside. 

Duf. Ik'forc the mine is sprung, I will intro- 
duce you into the town. 

Sop. You are great. generalissimo in reritamd. 
I feel in mio con. vat de poor iiifelice Sophia vil 
feel for the loss of signor Daffadillo. 

Daf. Yes, poor creature ! I believe she'll have 
a pahg or two — tender indeed I and I believe 
will be unhappy for some time. 

Sop. \\ hat a monster ! [Aside. 

Dot'. You must dine with our club to-day, 
where I will introduce you to more of sir Charles's 
friends, all men of figure and fashion. 

Sop. I must priino haf my kttere, dat your 
amiii may be usucurati dat I am no impostoie. 

Duf. In the name of politeness, my lord mar- 
quis, don't mention your letters aiiain; none but 
a justice of peace, or a constable, would ever ask 
for a certificate of a man's birth, parentage, and 
education, ha, ha, ha ! 

Sop. \'iva, viva il signor Datfodillo ! Y'ou shall 
be il mio conduttorc in tutte Ic partite of love 
ami pleasure. 

Daf. With all my heart ! you must give me 
leave, now, my lord, to put on my clothes — in 
the mean time, if your lordship will step into my 
study there, if you chusc music, there is a guitar, 
and some X'enctian ballads; or, if you like read- 
ins, t'lcrc's infidelity and bawdy novels for vou ; 
call IJullle, liiere. [E.rit Dai'. 

Sop. [Loolciiij^ after him.^ — I am shocked at 
him ; lie is really more abandoned than Tukely's 
jealousy described him. I have got my proofs, 
and will not venture any further. 1 am vexed 
that 1 shoiilil be angry at him, when I should on- 
ly despise liim : but I am so angry, that I could 
almost wis'h myself a man, that my breeches 
miglit demapd satisfaction for the injury he has 
done my petticoats. [Edit. 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



219 



ACT IL 



SCENE I.— ?,Irs D.vmply's locli;ings. 
Enter Auauella and Soviua. 

Sop. In short, liis own declarations, the unex- 
pected raeclinsj of Mrs Dotterel, his usage of niv 
letter, and twenty things besiile, determined me 
not to go amonc the set of thcni — So, inakinir tlie 
best excuse I couKI, I got quit of liini and liis 
companions. 

Ara. AU this may be true, Sophy every 

youns; fellow lias his vanities ; fasliioii has made 
such irreaularitics accomplislmients, and the 
man may be worth having, for all your discove- 
ries. 

Sop. What I an abandoned, rash, profligate 
male-coquette ! a wretch, who can assume pas- 
sions he never feels, and sport with our se\'s frail- 
ties — fie, tie. Bell ! 

Ara. Well, well, you are too angry to be mer- 
ciful ; if he is such a monster, I am <j;lad you are 
out of his clutches, and that you can so easily re- 
sign him to another. 

Sop. To an:)ther ! there is not that woman, be 
she ever so handsome, that I hate enough, to 
wish her so much evil : and happy it is for you, 
Bell, that you have a heart to resist his allure- 
ments. 

Ara. Yes, I thank my stars — I am not so sus- 
ceptible of impressions of that kind-— and yet — I 
won't swear — if an agreeable man— I — [ — 

Sop. No, no, Bell, you are not absolute stone 
— you, you may be mollified — she is confound- 
ed — [Aside. 

Ara. Surely he has not betrayed me — 'tis im- 
possible ! I cannot be deceived. [Aaide. 

Sop. Well, shall we go in to the ladies and Mr 
Tukely .'' Were they not surprized when he open- 
ed the business to them ? 

Ara. 'Twas the finest seethe imaginable — You 
could see, though they all endeavoured to hide 
their liking to Daffodil, all were uneasy at Tuke- 
ly's discovery. At first, they objected to his 
scheme ; but they began to listen to his proposal 
the moment I was called out to you ; what far- 
ther he intends, is a secret to us all ; but here he 
comes, rjid without the ladies. 

Enter Tukely. 

Take. Pray, Miss Bell— Bless me ! Miss So- 
phy returned ! I dare not ask — and yet, if my 
eyes do not Hatter my heart — your looks — 

Sop. Don't rely too much upon looks, Mr 
Tukely. 

Take. Madam — wliy, sure 

Sop. Don't imagine, I say, that you can always 
see the mind in the face. 



Tuke. I can see, madam, tl.at your mind is 
not disposed to wish, or make me happy. 

Sop. Did not I bid you not to rely upon look*; .? 
lor, do you knowj now, ihat mv mind is at this 
time most absolutely disposed — to do every thing 
that you would liave me. [Curtsies. 

Tiikr. Then I have nothing more to wish, or 
ask of fortune. 

[Kneelx, anil kisnes her hand. 
Ara. THoine, come; this is no time to attend to 
on.', when you have so manv ladies to take carp 
of. 

Tuke. I will not yet enquire into your adre?^ 
turcs, till I have accomplished mv own. The la- 
dies within have at last agreed to attend mc 
this evening ; where, if you have a mind to finish 
the picture you have begun this morning, an 0|)- 
portunity may oifer. 

Sop. I am contented with my sketch — how- 
ever, I'll make one ; and if you have an occasion 

for a second in any thing — I am your man 

command mc. 

Tuke. A matcli — from this moment I take you 
as my second ; nay, my first, in every circum- 
stance of our future lives. 

Ara. Miglity ])retty, truly ! and so I am to 
stand cooling my heels, here, while you are ma- 
king yourselves ridiculous? 

Sop. Bell's in the right — to business, to busi- 
ness — ^Ir Tukely, you mu.it introduce mc to the 
ladies; I can at least make as good a figure as 
Mr Daffodil among them. 

[Exit Sop. and Tuke. 
Ara. When Daffodil's real inclinations are 
known, how those poor wretches will he disap- 
pointed ! [Exit AuA. 

SCENE II.— T/fC club-room. 

Lord Racket, Sin Tax-Tivy, Sir. WiLi.iAit 
Whister, Spixner writing, and Daitodil. 

[Waiter behind. 

Dqf. What do you say, my lord ? that I don't 
do it in an hour? 

Lord Rac. Not in an hour and a half, George. 

Daf. Done with you, my lord ! I'll take vour 
seven to five — seventy pound to fifty ! 

Lord Rac. Done — I'll lay the odds again, w ith 
you, sir William, and with you, sir Tivy. 

Sir Wil. Not I, faith ; Daffodil has too manv 
fine women — he'll never do it. 

Dqf. I'll go into the country for a week, and 
not a petticoat shall^come near me — I'll take the 
odds again. 

Sir Tan. Done, Daffodil ! 

Lord Rac. You are to hop upon one letr, niih- 
out changing, mind that — Set it down. Spinner. 



2^20 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garri 



CK. 



Spin. I have— Shall I read it ? 
jA'id /?«<-. Silinco in tlic r ourt. 
Spill. [Rtudi,] — ' ivt'id Ha( kel has hcttcd sc- 
' Ttiity pounds to fifty, with ihc honoiirahlf 

* CJton^c Dalludil, tliat the latter docs not walk 
' froru Biickini:hani-gat«: to thr I>un-honse, at 

* Chelsea, tat a liun there, run back to the turn- 
' pike, and from thence hop upon one le^:, wiih 

* the oti;er tied to the cue of his wifi, to lluck- 
' int.'hnin-{:ate ajiain, iu an hour and a half.' 

])(if. I say, done ! 

IahJ Hue. And done ! 

Sir UH. Consider your women — yoifll never 
do it, (icorpc. 

l),ij: Not do it!— [ifo/'s.]— Why, I'll get a 
CiKl^ea pension* r shall do it in an hour, with 

his wooden les; What dav shall we fix for 

it? 

Sir Wil. The first of April, to be sure. 

Alt. lla, ha, ha! 

Loiil Jiac. Come, Daffodil, read the belts and 
matches of to-day — then let us finish our cham- 
paigne, and go to the opera. 

DuJ. [Jve«f/.s.j— ' March 24, 1757, Sir Tan- 

* Tivy has pitted lady Pottitoe, a<;aiiist dowap;er 
' lady Periwinkle, with sir William Whister, for 

* five hundred pounds.' I'll pit my uncle, lord 
Chalkstone, aL'aiiist them both. 

Sir Tan. Done ! 

Lord Eac. The odds are acainst you. Daffodil 
— my lord has got to plain Nantz, now, every 
morning. 

DtiJ. And the ladies have been at it, to my 
knowledge, this half year. 

Lord Rac. Good again, George ! 

Sir IVii. [Reads.] — ' The honourable George 

* Daffodil has betted one hundred pounds, with 
' sir William Whister, that he produces a gentle- 

* man, before the fifth of June next, that shall 

* live for five days successively, without eating, 

* drinking, or sleeping.' lie must have no books, 
George ? 

Daf. No, no ; the gentleman I mean, can't 
read. 

Sir Wil. Tis not yourself, George ! 

0>/iues. Ha, ha, ha ! 'tis impossible ; it must 
kill him. 

Duf'. Why, then, I'll lose my bet. — [Reads.] — 

* Lord Racket has matched sir .fuslin Jolly, a- 

* gainst major Calipash, with sir 1 ;m-Tivy, to run 

* fifty yards upon the Mall, after dinner; if either 

* tumbles, the wager is lost — for fifty pounds.' 

Spin, ril lay fifty more, neither of them run 
the ground in half an hour. 

DdJ. Not in an hour ! 

Sir Tan. Done, Daffodil ! I'll bet you a hun- 
dred of that. 

Daf. Done, baronet ! I'll double it, if you 
will. 

Sir Tan. With all my heart — book it. Spin- 
ner. [Si'iNMR writes. 

Lord Rac. You'll certainly lose, George. 



])af. Impossible, my lord ; sir Joslin is damn- 
ably out of wind. 

Lord Rue. What, asthmatic? 

Ihif'. No, (|uite cured of his asthma — he died 
ve^tcrday morning — Hiie. 
[,-///.]■ Ikavo, George! 

J.(ird Rac. Now you talk of dying, how docs 
your cousin Di^zy .' 

])«/. J Jiigf rs on, better and worse — Lives 
upon asses iiiiik, ['anada, and Kriii2o root. 

Lord Rac. You'll have a wind-fall there, 
Cicorce ; a good two thousand a-ycar. 

Jhif. 'lis better, my lord ; but I love Dick 
so well, and have had so many obligations to him 
— he sa\(d my live once — that I could wish him 
better health. 

iSVr Wil. Or in a better place; there's devilish 
fine timber in Staunton woods. 

Sir Tan. Down with them, Daffodil. 

Lord Rac. Uiit let Diz/y drop first; a little 
blast will fell him. 

Enter Dizzy, 

Diz. Not so little as you may imagine, my 
lord — Hugh, hiigh [Covghs. 

All. Ila, ha, ha! 

Daf. Angels and ministers ! what, cousin! Wc 
were got among your trees. 

Diz. You are heartily welcome to any one of 

them, gentlemen, for a proper purpose- hugh, 

hugh ! 

Lord Rue. Well said, Dick ! How quick hi* 
wit, and hi3w youthful the rogue looks ! 

Daf. Bloomy and plump — the country air is a 
fine thing, my lord. 

Diz. ^V^;1I, well, be as jocular as you please ; 
I am not so ill as you may wish or imagine; I 
can walk to Knightsbridge in an hour, for a hun- 
dred pounds. 

Lord Rac. I bet you a hundred of that, Dizzy ! 

Daf. I'll lay you a hundred, Dick, that I drive 
a sow and pigs to your lodgings, before you can 
get there. 

Diz. Done, I say! [Draws his purse.] Done! 
Two hundred — done — three ! 

Lord Rac. I'll take Dizzy against your sow 
and pigs. 

Si' IVil. I take the field against Dizzy. 

J. Old Kac. Done ! 

Spin. Done ! 

Di:. Damn your sow and pigs ! I am so sick 
with the thoughts of running with them, that I 

shall certainly faint. [Smeils to a bottle.] 

Hugh, hugh ! 

Daf. Cousin Di/zy can't bear the mention of 

pork ; he hates it 1 knew it would work. 

[Aside to the rest. 

Di:. I wish you had not mentioned it — I 
can't stay — Damn your sow and pigs ! — Here, 
waiter, call a chair — Damn your sow and pigs ! — 
hugh, hugh ! [Exit DizZY. 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



221 



Daf. Poor Dizzy ! What a passion he is in ! 
Ila, ha, ha ! 

Lord Rac. The woods are yourj^, George ; 
you may wiict the axe ; Dizzy won't Hve a 
month. 

Dqf. Pooh, this is nothing ; he was always 
wealily. 

Sir Wil. 'Tis a family misfortune, Daffodil. 

Enter Wditer. 

Wait. Mr Dizzy, gentlemen, dropped down at 
the stair-foot, and the cook has carried him be- 
hind the bar. 

Dqf. Lay him upr>n a bed, and he'll come to 
himself. \^Exit Waiter. 

Lord Rac. I'll bet fifty pound that he don't 
live till morning. 

iSjV Wil. I'll lay six to four he don't live a 
week. 

Dqf. I'll take your fifty pound. 

Spin. I'll take your lordship again. 

lA)rd Rue. Done with you both ! 

Sir Tan. I'll take it again. 

Lord Rac. Done, done, done ! but I bar all 
assistance to him ; not a physician or surgeon 
sent for, or I am off. 

Dqf. No, no ; we are upon honour. There 
shall be none, else it would be a bubble bet — 
There shall be none. 

Sir Wil. If I were my lord, now, the physi- 
cians should attend him. 

Enter Waiter, with a letter. 

Wait. A letter for his honour. 
[^Gives it to Daffodil, rvlin reads it to him- 
self. 
Sir Wil. Daffodil, remember the first of April, 
and let the women alone. 

Daf. Upon my soul you have hit it ! 'tis a 
woman, faith ! Something very particular ; and if 

you are in spirits for a scheme 

Lord Rac. Ay, ay ; come, come ; a scheme, 
a scheme ! 
. DaJ] There, then, have among you ! 

[Throics the letter upon the table. 
Lord Rac. \_Reuds, all looking on.] Hum 

* If the liking your person be a sin, what woman 

* is not guilty ? — hum, hum at the end of 

' the Bird-cage Walk — about seven — where the 

* darkness and privacy will befriend ray bluslies; 
' I will convince you wliat trust I have in your 

* secrecy and honour. Yours, 'Incognita.' 

Dqf. Will you go ? 

Lord Rac. What do you propose ! 

Daf. To go — If after I have been with her 
half an hour, you'll come upon us, and have a 
blow up. 

Sir Wil. There's a gallant for ynu ! 

Dqf. Prithee, sir VVilliam, be quiet ; must a 
man be in love with every woman that invites 
him ! 

^*> Wil. No ; but he should be honourable to 



them, George, and rather conceal a woman's 
weakness, than expose it — I hate this work — so, 
I'll go the cotiee-housc. [Exit Sir William. 

Lord Rac. Let him go — don't mind hiin, 
George ; he's married, and past fifty — this will 
be a fine frolic — devilish high ! 

Dqf. V^ery ! — Well, I'll go and prepare iny- 
scli"; put on my surtout, and take my chair to 
Buckingham-Gate. I know the very spot. 

iMrd Rac. We'll come with flambeaux ; you 
must be surprised, and 

Daf. I know what to do — Here, waiter, 
waiter ! 

Enter Waiter 

How does cousin Dizzy .'' 

Wait. Quite recovered, sir. He is in the Phcp- 
uix with two ladies, and has ordered a boiled 
ciiicken and jellies. 

Lord Rac. There's a blood for you ! without a 
drop in his veins. 

Daf. Do you stay with him, then, till I have 
secured my lady ; and in half an hour from this 
time, come away, and bring Dizzy with you. 

Lord Rac. If he'll leave the ladies — Don't the 
Itafian marquis dine with us to-morrow ? 

Dqf. Certainly. 

Lord Rac. Well, do you mind your business, 
and I'll speak to the co<jk to shew his genius — 
Allons ! [Exit Daft.] Tom, bid the cook attend 
me to-morrow morning, on special affairs. 

[Exit Lord Kacket, &c, 

Qd Wait. I shall, my lord. 

1st Wait. I'll lay you, Tom, five sixpences to 
three, tliat my lord wins his bett with his honour 
Daffodil. 

2d Wait. Done with you, Harry ; I'll take 

your half-crown to eighteenpence 

[Bell rings within. 

1st Wait, Coming, sir; I'll make it shillings, 
Tom. 

'Id Wait. No, Harry, you've the best on't. 
[Bell rings.'] Coming, sir. I'll take five shiUings 
to two. [Bell rings^ Coming, sir. 

1st Wait. Coming, sir. No, five to three. 

2d Wait. Shillings? Coming, sir. 

1st Wait. No — Sixpences 

2a! Wait. vVnd done, [Bdl rings?^ Coming, sir. 

[E.i'eunt' 

Enter Arabella, Mrs Damply, Lady Fan 
Pf.wit, Mrs Dotterel, Tl'kely in women s 
clothes, and Sophia in mens. 

Ladies. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Ara. What a figure ! and what a scheme ! 

Take. Dear iadie=;, be as merry with my figure 

as you please ! Yet you shall see, this figure, 

aukward as it is, shall be preferred in its turn, 
as well as vou have been. 

Sop. Why will you give yourself this unneces- 
sary trouble, Mr Tukely, to convince these la- 



S22 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick. 



dies, who liad rnfhcr still be dcliulcH, and will 
liiite vour iViciiHsliip tor liriakins l!io chartii ? 

Am. My dear covisin, ihouoh you are satisllcd, 
thp^e ladies arc not ; and, if iliey have their par- 
ticular reasons t"i>r ihcir uirtdclity, pray, h't thcni 
enjoy it, 'till they lr.ive other proofs than your 
prejudices. 

iSop. Ay, RcU, \vr have all our prejutlices. 

Take. What siijnitics reasoning:, when we arc 
poiim upon the experiment? Dispose of yourselves 
behind those troc^, uiul I will repair to the place 
of appoimnient, and draw him hilhcr; hut yiiu 
prouiisf to contain yourselves, let what will hap- 
pen. Hear, and sec; but be silent 

[Edit Tt Kr.i.v. 

Sop. A severe injunction, indeed, ladies — Ijut 
I must to n>y post. [^"^ '*^op. 

Mrs Damp, If he's a villain, I can never hold ! 

lAidi/ I'cw, 1 shall tear his eyes out ! 

Airs Dot. For my part, if I was unmarried, I 
^ouJd not tliink him worth mv anger. 

Ara. But as you are, madam 

Ulrs Dot. I understand your insinuations, ^liss 
Bell ; but my character -and conduct need no jus- 
tification. 

Ara. I bcc pardon, madam ; T intended no 
offence. — But haste to your posts, ladies ; the 
enemy's at hand. \_l'/ifi/ retire behind the trees. 

Enter Tckely and Daffodil. 

Tiike. [In a uontan's voice.] For Heaven's 

sake, let us be cautious ! 1 am sure 1 heard a 

noise. 

Duf. Twas nothing but your fear, my ancel ! 
don't be alarmed There can be no dan- 
ger, while we have lore and darkness to bctViend 
us. 

Take. Bless mc, how my heart beats ! 

Dqf. Poor soul ! what a frigiit it is in ! 

You must not give wav to these alarms Were 

you ns well con*inced of my honour, as I am of 
your cliarins, you would have nothing to fear — 
[Squeezes her hand. 

Ara. Upon my word ! — 

Mm Damp. So, so, so ! 

Take. Hold, sir; you must take no liberties — 
But, if you have the least feeling for an unhappy 
woman, urged by her passion to this imprudent 
step, assist me — forgive mc — let me go. 

Daf. Can you doubt my lionour? Can you 
doubt my love ? What assurances can I give you 
to abate your fears .^ 

Mrs Dot. \ ery slender ones, I can assure her. 

[Aside. 

Take. I deserve to suflFer all I feel For 

what, but the most blinded passion, could induce 
me to declare mvself to one, who;e amours and 
intideljties are the common topic of conversa- 
tion ! 

D(if. Flattering creature ! [Aside.] May I 

never know your clear name, see your charming 
face, touch your soft hand, or hear your sweet 



[Aside. 
[Aside. 



voice, if I am not more sincere in my afiection 

for this little fmger, than for all the sex besides. 

[T/ie /tidies sretii astonished. 

Take. Except the widow Damply. 

Ddf. She ! Do you know her, uiadam ? 

Take. I have not that honour. 

Diif'. I thought so — Did yo'i never sec her, 
madam, nodliug and gogling in her oId-fu^hioned 
heavy cliarioi, drawn by a |)air of lean hackney 
hoiic s, with a fat bla( kamocjr footman bt hind, 
in a scanty li\ery, red greasy stockings, and a 
dirty tinban? [J'hc aidoir sienis disordered. 

Tiike. All which may be only a -foil to her 
bc.'uity. [Sifibs. 

Daf. Beauty ! don't sigJi, madam ; she is past 
forty, wears a wi<;, and has loit two (jf her fore 

teeth. And, then, she has so long a beard 

upon her upper lip, and takes so much Spanish 
^nuiV, that she look*, for all the world, lilic the 
(Mcat Mogul in petticoats; ha, ha — 

21is Dump. Vs hat falsehood and ingratitude ! 

[Aside. 

Take. Could I descend to the slander of the 
town, there is a married lady — 

Duf. Poor iirs Dotterel, you mean ? 

j\l/s Dot. Whv, am I to be mentioned ! 

I have nothing to do 

Mrs Dump. Nay, nay; you must have your 
shaie of the panegyric. 

Tukc. Sl;e is young, and has «it. 

Dfjf. She's an idiot, madam ; and as fools are 
generally loving, she has forgot all her obligations 
to old JNIr Dotterel, who married her without a 
petticoat ; and now seizes upon every young fel- 
low she can lay her hands upon — she has spoiled 
me three suits of clothes, with tearing the flaps 
and sleeves. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Mrs Dot. Jlonstcr of iniquity !• 

Diif. She has even stormed me in ray own 
house; but, with all luy faults, madam, you'll 
never tind me over-fond of age, or ignorance. 

Mrs Damp. I could tear him to pieces ! 

Mrs Dot. I iii/l tear him to pieces! 

Ara. ]iu ()uict, and we'll all tear him to pieces. 

Tuke. He has swallowed the hook, and can't 
escape. [Atide. 

Daf. What do you say, madam ? 

Tuke. I am only sighing, sir. 

Duf. Fond creature ! [Aside.] ' I know there 
i'.rc a thousand stories about me : You h»ve 
heard, too, of I.ady Fanny Pewit, I suppose f 
Don't be alarmed. 

Tuke. I can't help it, sir. She is a fine woman, 
and a woman of quality. 

Duf. A fine woman, perhaps, for a woman of 
quality — but she is an absolute old maid, madam, 
almost as thick as she is long — middle-aged, 
homeiv, and wanton ! That's her character. 

Lady Pew. Then, there is no sincerity in man. 

[Going. 

Ara. Positively, you shan't stir. 

Duf. Upon my soul, 1 pity the poor creature ! 



Garrick.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



'223 



• She is now upon her last legs. If she does 

not run away witli some foolish gcutlemau tliis 
winter, she'll return into the country, and marry 
her footman, ha, ha, ha ! 

Lacli/ Fac. My footman shall break his bones, 
I can tell him that. 

Daf. Hush, madam ! I protest, I thought I 
heard a voice — I wonder they don't come. 

[Aside. 

Tiike. 'Twas only I, iNIr Daffodil — I was nmr- 
muring to you. [Sighs. 

Daf. Pretty raurmurer ! — 'Eij;ad, if they don't 
come 6uon, the lady will grow fond. [Aside. 

Tiike. But among your conquests, Mr DatVo- 
dil, you forget Miss Sophy Sprightly. 

Daf. And her cousin Aiabclla. — I was coming 
to them ; poor, silly, good-natured, loving fools ! 
I made my adtlrcsses t j one through pique, and 
the other for pity : that was all. 

Tiike. O, that 1 could believe you ! 

Daf. Don't be uneasy ! I'll tell you how It was, 
madam — You must know, there is a silly, self- 
sufficient fellow, one Tukely 

Tuke. So, so. — [-.Jsirfc] — I know him a little. 

Daf. I am sorry for it — The less you know of 
him, the better ; the fellow pretended to look 
fierce at me, for which I resolved to have his 
mistress : So I threw in my line, and without 
much trouble, hooked her. iler poor cousin, 
too, nibbled at the bait, and was caught. So I 
Jiave had my revenge upon Tukely, and now I 
shall willingly resign poor Sophy, and throw him 
in her cousin, f<jr a make-weight, ha, ha, ha ! 

iflf/y Pea\ This is some comfort, at least. 

Ara. Your ladyship is better than you was, 

[A"o(se icithout. 

Tuke. I vow, I hear a noise. — What shall we 
do ? It conies this way. 

D(f. They can't see us, my dear. — I wish my 
friends would come. [Aside.\ Don't whisper, or 
breathe. 

Enter Soph t a, in a surlout, and slouched hat. 

Sop. If I could but catch her at her pranks — 
she certainly must be this way — for the chair is 
waiting at the end of Rosamond's pond — I have 
thrown one of her chairmen into it — and, if I 
could but catch her — 

Tuke. O, sir ! my passion has undone me — I 
am discovered ; it is my husband, sir George, 
and lie is looking for me ! 

Daf. The devil it is ! Why, then, madam, the 
best way will be for you to go to him — and let 
me sneak ott the other way. 

Tuke. Go to him, sir ! \Vliat can I say to him? 

Daf. \ny thinsi, madam — Say you had the 
vapours, and wanted air. 

Tuke. Lord, sir ! he is the most passionate 
of mortals ; and I am afraid he is in liquor, 
too ; and, then, he is mad ! 

Sop. If I cotdd but catch her 

[]^ooking about. 



Daf. For your sake, madam, I'll make the 
best of my way home [Going. 

Tuke. What ! would you leave me to the fury 
of an enraged husband ! — Is that your atfection ! 

[Holds him. 

Sop. If I could but catch her — lla ! what's 

that .'' I saw something move in the dark the 

point of my sword shall tickle it out, whatever it;' 
is. [J)razLS, and goes toicards thvm. 

Tuke. For Heaven's sake draw, and light him, 
while I make my escape ! 

Daf. light him ! 'twould be cowardly to fight 
in the dark, and with a drunken man — I'll call 
the sentry. 

Tuke. And cxp^ se us to the world ? 

D(f. 1 would to Heaven wo were ! [Aside. 
He comes forward.] Let me go, madam ; you pinch 
me to the bone. 

2'ukc. He won't know us — I have my mask 
on. 

Ladies. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Sop. What, is the devil and his Imps playing at 
blind man's buff? Ay, ay; here he is, indeed; Sa- 
tan himself, dressed like a fine gentleman — Come, 
3Ir Devil, out with your pitchfork, and let us 
take a thrust or two. 

Daf You mistake me, sir, I am not the per- 
son; indeed, I am not; I know nothing of your 
wife, sir George; and if you know how little I 
care for the v.'liole sex, you would not be so fu- 
rious with an innocent man. 

Sop. Who are you, then ? And v.hat are you 
doing with that blackamoor lady there dan- 
cing a saraband with a pair of castanets ? Sjjcak, 
sir ! 

Def. Pray forbear, sir; here's company coming 
that will satisfy you in every thing — Hallo, hallo — 
Here, here, here ! [Hallos faintly^ my lord, my 
lord 1 — Spinner — Dizzy — Hallo ! 

Enler Lor.D Racket, Sir Taxtivy, Spinner, 
and Dizzy, with torches. 

Lord Rac. What's the matter here ? — Who 
calls for help ? 

Daf [liunning to them zcith his szvord drarcn.^ 
O, my friends, I have been wishing for you this 
half hour ! I have been set upon by a dozen fel- 
lows — They have all made their escape, but this 
— My arm is quite dead — I have been at cart 
and tierce with them all, for near a quarter of aa 
hour. 

Sop. In buckram, my lord ! — He was got with 
my property here, and I would have chastised 
him for it, if your coming had not prevented it. 

Daf. Let us throw the rascal into Rosamond's 
pond. 

Lord Rac. Come sir, can you swim ? 

[All going up. Tukely snatches So- 
phia's sword, and she runs behind 
him. 

Take. I'll defend you, my dear ! — What, would 



224 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick, 



you raurdor a man, and lie with his wife, too? — 
Oh! vou are a wicked i;ciiilcmaii, Mr Daffodil. 
[A( tucks Daifodii,. 

Daf. Whv, the devil's in the woman, ! think ! 
[All the ladies udvitucr from Icliinil. 

Jjidles. Urt, ha, ha! youv humble servant, Mr 
DafftMii! — ha, ha, ha ! [^Curtsying. 

J)(i/'. rhis i.- all enchantment ! 

J.ndu I'eie. No, sir, tijc enchantincnt is broke ; 
and tho old maid, sir, homely antl wanton, before 
sh<' retires into the country, lias the satisfaction 
of knowins; that tht nureeablc Mr Daffodil is :i 
much more contemptible mortal, than tlic fool- 
man which his goodness has been jileascd to mar- 
ry hi r to. 

Ladies. I la, hi, ha ! 

Mrs Duiiti>. Would Mr Daffodil please to have 
a pinch of .^^panish snuff out of ilie preal mogul's 
box.? 'Tis the best thing in the world for lo-.v 
spirits. \Offh* Iter box. 

Jjidies. TIa, lia, ha ! 

Mrs Dot. If a fool may not be permitted to 
speak, Mr Daffodil, let her at least he permitted 
to lauij;h at so fme a centleman — ila, ha, ha ! 

Ara. Were you as sensible of sliamo, as you 
are of fear, the si^ht of me, whom you loved for 
pity, would be revenge sulliciciit — lUit I can for- 
give your baseness to me, much easier tli;ui I 
can myself, for my behaviour to this happy 
couple. 

Daf. Who the devil arc they ? 

Ara. The marquis and marciiioness of Maca- 
roni, ladies— ila, ha, ha ! 

Sop. lla ! Mio Carrissimo Amico, il siL'nior 
Datlbdillo ! 

Daf How ! Tukcly and Sophia !— If I dr'.ft 
wake soon, I shall wish never to wake again I 



Sop. Who bids fairest itow for Rosamond's 
pond ? 

lAird line. W hatj in the name of wonder, is 
all tiiis business ? 1 doi\'i uiulerstatul it. 

Diz. Nor I neither; but 'tis very drole, faith ! 

'J'kke. 1 he mystery will clear in a moment. 

Dut'. Don't pive yourself any trouble, Mr 
Tukeiy ; things arc pretty clear as they are — 
'1 ho niplu's ( ool, and my cousin 13iz/y, here, is 
an invalid — If yon please, another time, when 
there is less con)pany. — [J^tdics luuiih.^ — The la- 
dies are pleased to he merry, and yt>u are pleased 
to be u little an^ry ; and so, for the sake of tran- 
quillity — I'll go to the opera. 

[Dai loim. sneaks out hy degrees. 

Lord Tine. 1 his is a line blow-up, indeed I — 
Ladies, your humble servant — Hallo ! Daffodil. 

[Exit. 

Diz. I'ij lay yon a hundred, that my cousin 
never intrigues again — George ! George ! Don't 
run — hugh, hugh [Exit. 

Tuke. As my satisfaction is complete, I hp.ve 
none to ask of Mr Daffodil. I forgive his beha- 
viour to me, as it has hastened and confirmed my 
happiness here. [7'o Sophia.] — But as a friend 
to you, ladies, I shall insist upon his makini; you 
ample s.^tisfaction : However, this benefit will 
arise, that you will hereafter equally detest and 
shun these destroyers of your rejmtation. 

In you coqncttrv is a loss of fame ; 
But, in our sex, 'tis that detested name, 
That marks the want of manhood, virtue, sense 
mid shame. 

[ILxeunt omnes. 



THE 

UPHOLSTERER. 

BY 

MURPHY. 



DRAMATIS PERSON/E 



M E N. 

QuiDXVNC, t/ie upholsterer. 
Pamphlet, a /lacknei/ scribbler. 
Razor, a barber, crazy 7cith politics. 
Belmouk, in love witli Hauriet. 
RovEWELL, Ills friend. 
Feeble, nncle to Harriet. 
Watchman. 

Brisk, servant to Belmour. 
Codicil, a lawyer. 



WOMEN. 

Harriet, davghter to Quidnunc. 
Termagant, her maid. 
Maid to Feeble, 



Scene — London. 



ACT r. 



SCENE I.— Belmour's lodging. 



Enter Bei.mour, beating Brisk. 

Brisk. Mr Belmour ! — Let nic die, sir — as I 
hope to be sav(;d, sir 

JBel. JSirral) ! Rogue ! Villain ! — I'll teach you, 
I will, you rascal ! to speak irreverently of her 1 
love ! 

Brisk. As I am a sinner, sir, I only meant — 

Bel. Only meant ! You couid not mean it, 
jackanapes — you had no nieaninsr, booby. 

Brisk. Why, no, sir — that's the very thing, sir 
— I had no lueaniui;. 

Bel. Then, sirrali, IMl make you know your 
meauiniu; for the future. 

Brisk. Yes, sir — to be sure, sir and yet 

upon my word, if you would be but a little cool, 
sir, you'd find I'm not much to blame. Besides, 

Vol. HI. 



master, you can't conceive the good it would do 
your health, if you will but keep your temper a 
"little. 

Bel. Mighty well, sir, give your advice ! 

Brisk. Why, really, now, this same love hath me- 
tamorphosed us both very strangely, master : for, 
to be free, here have we been at this work these 
six weeks, stark-staring mad in love with a couple 
of baggages not worth a groat : and yet, [leaven 
help us !^they have as much pride as conies to 
the share of a lady of quality, before she has been 
caught in the fact" with a handsome young fellow, 
or nideed after she has been caught, for that 
matter 

Bel. You won't have done, rascal ! 

Brisk. In short, my young mistress and her 
maid ha\e as much pride and poverty as— as— 
no matter what; they have the devil and all— 



CL'^G 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



vhcn, at the sun»e time, every l«>dy knows the 
old hrokiii iiphoUtcrer, Miss llairiet's father, 
mitilit )i\yv us ull he has in the world, and not 
cat the worse pudtlinj; on a i?unday lor it. 

Ull. Impious, txtcrablc ntlitist ! \\ hat, de- 
tract from llca\en? I'll reform your noiinn-, I 
will, yr)u satiiv [Htals Inw. 

Brisk. Nav, but my dear sir — a little patience 
— not so hard 

Enter RovEWEM. 

Hove. IJclmour, your servant — What, at lo<:- 
gerheads with my old Iritiid Bri.-k ? 

Bel. Contusion ! — Mr Uovewell, your scr\aiit 
— this is your doinp, han^-dog ! — Jack RomwlII, 
I am ulad to see thee 

Kovc. Hrisk used to a ijood servant — he has 
not been tampering with any of his master's ^ii'ls, 
h;- he ? 

htl. Do you know, Rovewell, that lie has had 
the impudence to talk detractingly and profane- 
ly of my mistress? 

Br hk. For which, sir, I have suffered inhu- 
manJy, and mo^t unchristian-like, I assure yon. 

Bel. Will you leave prating, booby ? 

Rove. Well, but Iklmour, where does she 
live? I am but just arrived, you know, and I'll 
go and beat ui) her quarters. 

Bel. [Half aside. 1 Beat up her quarters ! 

[Looks at him smilingly, then half aside. 

Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; 
Oft she rejects, but never once olTends. 

[Ulands musing. 

Rove. Hey ! what, fallen into a reverie ? J'ri- 
thee, Brisk, what does all this mean } 

Brisk. Why, sir, you must know 1 am over 

head and ears in love. 

Rove. But I mean your master; what ails 
liim ? 

Briik. That's the very thing I am going to tell 
vou, sir — As I said, sir — I am o\ er head and ears 
in love with a whimsical queer kind of a piece 
here in the neighbourhood; and so nothing can 
sene my master, but he must fall in loxe with 

the mistress. Ix)ok at him now, sir 

[Bei.moi'r continues jnusing and mutter- 
ing to himse/f.] 

Rove. Ha, ha, ha ! Poor Belmour, I pity thee, 

^•ith all ray heart 

[Strikes him on the shoulder. 

Ye gods, annihilate both space and time. 
And make two lovers happy. 

Bel. My dear Rovewell, such a girl ! Ten 
thousand cupids play a'oout her iiKjuth, you 
rogue ! 

Rove. Ten thousanrl pounds had better play 
about her pocket. What fortune has she.'' 



Brisk. Heaven help us, not much to crack 
of. 

Bel. Not much to crack of, Mr Brazen ! Pri- 
tlie, Rovewell, how can you be so unscuerous as 
to ask such a question ? You know I don't mind 
t'urtune ; thou»:h, by the way she has an uncle, 
who is deteriniued to sfttle very handsomely up- 
on her, an<l on the strength of that docs she give 
herself iiipunu rable airs. 

Rove. I ortune not to br minded! I'll tell 
you what, Belmour, thon«.'h vou bave a cood one 
alriady, therf's no kind of inconvenience in a 
little luore. I am sure if I had not ndnded for- 
tune, I mi'jht have been in .fauinica still, not 
k\-irth a SI gar-cane ; but the widow Molosses took 
a fancy to me — Heaven, or a worse destiny, has 
taken a fancy to her ; and so, after ten vears ex- 
ile, nnd beinc turned a-drift by my father, here 
am I a<rain, a warm planter, and a widower, 
mo'it woefully tired of matrimony. But, my 
dear Belmour. we were both so overjoyed to 
'licet one another ye«terdnv evenins, just as I 
arrived in town, that I did not hear a syllable 
tVoui yoti of your love-fit. How, when, and 
where, did this hapien ? 

Brl. Oh, bv the mo'^t fortunate accident that 
ever was — I'll tell thee, liovewell — T was going 
one ni<:ht from the tavern about six weeks ago — 
I had been there with a parcel of blades, whose 
only joy is centered in their bottle ; and faith, 

till this accident, I was no better myself but 

e\'er since, I am grown qui'e a new man. 

Roxre. Av, a new man, indeed ! Who, in the 
name of w onder, would take thee, sunk as thou 
art, into a musing, mopinsr, melancholy lover, 
for the jrav Charles Belmour, whom I knew in 
the West Indies ? 

Bet. Poh ! that is not to be mentioned. You 
know my father took me against my will from 
the university, and consigned me over to the aca- 
demic discipline of a man of war ; so that, to 
prevent a dejection of spirits, I was ohli-jed to 
run into the opposite extreme — as you yourself 
were won't to do. 

Rove. Why, yes; I had mv moments of re- 
flection, and was clad to dissipate them. You 
know I always told you there was soinething ex- 
traordinary in my story; and so there is still. I 
suppose it must be cleared np in a few days now 
— I am in no hurry about it, though : I must see the 
town a little this evening, and have my frolic 
fust. But to the point, Behnour — you was go- 
ing from the tavern, vou say? 

Bel. Yes, sir, about two in the morning; and 
I perceived an unusual blaze in the air — T was 
in a rambling humour, and so resolved to know 
what it was. 

Brisk. I and mv master went together, sir. 
Bel. Oh, Rovewell ! my better stars ordained 
i^ to light me on to hapniness. Tjy sure attrac- 
tion led, T came to fhexerv street where a house 
was on fire; water-cugiius playing, flames ay- 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



QO' 



ce nding, all hurry, confusion, and distress ! when, 
on a sudden, tiic voice of despair, silver sweet, 
came thrilliiii; duwn to my very heart. ' Poor, 
dear, little soul, what can she do I' cried the 
neigiibours. Again she scrcamrtl ; the tire [ga- 
thering force, and u;aiiiin^ upDU her every in- 
stant. Here, madam, said I, leap into my arms, 
I'll be sure to receive you. And would you 
think it? down she came — my dear Uoveuell, 
such a girl ! I cau!:,ht her in my arms, you roiiue, 
safe, without harm. The dear naked Venus, just 

risen from her bed, riy boy her slender 

waist, Ro\evvell, the downy smoothness of her 
whole person, and her limbs, harmonious swel- 
ling by natine's softest hand ! 

Ruve. llapturts and paradise ! What seraglio 
in Covent Garden did you carry her to? 

Bel. There again, now ! Do, prithee, correct 
your way of thinking: take a quantum sutticit 
of virtuous love, and purify vour ideas. Her 
lovely bashfuiness, her delicate fears, her beau- 
ty, heightened and endeared by.distress, disper- 
sed my wildest thoughts, and melted nie into 
tenderness and respect. 

Rove. But, Belinour, surely slic has not the 
impudence to be modest after you have had pos- 
session of her person ? 

Bel. Mv vie^^■s are honourable, I assure vou, 
sir; but her father is so absurdly positive. The 
man is distracted about the balance of power, 
and will give his daughter to none but a politi- 
cian. When there was an execution in his 
house, he thought of nothing but the camp at 
Pyrna; and now he's bankrupt, his head runs 
upon the ways and means, and schemes for pay- 
ing off the national debt : the affiiirs of Europe 
engross all his attention, while the distresses of 
his lovely daughter pass unn;)ticed. 

Rove. Ridiculous enougii ! But why do you 
mind hiin ! Why don't you go to bed to the 

wencti at once ! Take her into keeping, 

man. 

Bel. How can you talk so affrontingly of her? 
Have not I told you, thousrh her father is ruined, 
still she has great expectancies, from a rich re- 
lation ? 

Rove. Then, what do you stand watering at 
the mouth for? If she is to have money enough 
to pay for her china, her gaining debts, her dogs, 
and her monkeys, marry her, then, if you needs 
must be ensnared : be in a fool's paradise for a 
hoiiey-n\oon ; tlicn, come to yourself, wonder at 
what you have done, and mix with honest fellows 
again : Carry her off, I say, and never stand 
whining for the father's consent. 

Bel. Carry her off! I like the scheme — Will 
you assist me ? 

Rove. No no ; there I beg to be excused. 

Don't you remember what the satyrist says — 
' Never marry while there's a halter to be had 
' for money, or a bridge to afford a convenient 
• leap.* 



Bel. Prithee leave fooling. 

Rore. I am in serious earnest, I assure you. 
I'll drmk with you, game with you, go into any 
scheme or frolic with you ; but 'ware matriuKmy! 
.\ay, if you come to the tavern this evening, I'll 
drink your mistress's health in a bumper ; but as 
to your Lonjugal scheme, I'll have nothing to do 
.vith that business, positively. 

Bel. Well, well, I'll take you at your word, 
and meet you at ten exactly, at the same place 
we were at last night ; then and there I'll let 
you know what further measures I liave con- 
certed. 

Rove. 'Till then, farewell ; a-propos — do you 
know tliat I have seen none of my relations yet? 

Bel. Tunc enough to-morrow. 

Rove. Ay, ay, to-morrow will do — Well, your 
servant. 

Bel. Rovev\e!l, yours. [Erit.] See the gen- 
tleman down stairs — and d'ye hear? come to me 
in my study, that I may give you a letter to Har- 
riet. And hark'e, sir — be sure you see Harriet 
herself; and let me have no messages from that 
officious go-between, her mistress Slipslop of n 
maid, with licr unintelligible jargon of hard 
words, of whicii she neither kiiow-s the meaning 
nor prf)nuncialion. [jEr/i Brisk.] I'll write to 
her this moment, acquaint her with the soft tu- 
nudt of my desires, and, if possible, make her 
mine own this very night. 

[Exit repeating. 

' Love first taught letters for same wretch's aid. 
Some banished lover, or some captive maid.' 

SCENE 11.— Tlic Upholsterers house. 
Enter Harriet ««f/ Termagant. 

Ter. Well, but, madam, he has made love to 
you six weeks successively ; he has been as con- 
stant in his moors, poor gentleman, as if you had 
the subversion of 'state to settle upon him — and 
if he slips through your fingers now, madam, you 
have noi)ody to depute it but to yourself: 

Har. Lard, Termagant, how you run on ! I 
tell you asiiain and again, my pride was touched, 
because he seemed to presume on his opulence 
and my father's distresses. 

Ter. La, Miss Harriet, how can you be so pa- 
radropsical in your 'pinions? 

Har. W'cll, but you know, though my father's 
affairs are ruined, I am not in so desperate a 
way; consider my uncle's fortune is no trifle, 
and I think that prospect entitles me to give my- 
self a few airs, before I resign my person. 

Ter. I grant ye, madam, you have very 
good pretensions ; but then, it's waiting for dead 
men's shoes : I'll venture to be perjured Mr 
Bellmoiir never disclaimeil an idear of your fa« 
filer's distress. 

Har, Supposing that ? 



228 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



Ter. Suppose, inadnni — I know it disputable 
to be so. 

}l(ti. Indisputably, I guess you mean; but 
I'mi tired of wrunirliiii; uitli you about words. 

Ter. By my tri)tb, you are in the riiiht oii't — 
tbere's ncVr a -^be in all Old Rni;land (as your fa- 
ther calls it; is mistress of such |)hisioloi:y, as I 
iim. Incertaiii i am, as how you dues not know 
nobody that puts their wiirds loajethor with such 
a curacy as myself. I on^e lived with a mistus, 
m.vdam — Mistus ! She was a larly — a fireat bre\x- 
t r's wife — and she wore as fine chjthcs as anv 
person of ijuality, let her {let up as early as she 
vill — and she used to call me — Termajiant, says 
she — «liat is the fisrilication of such a word — 
and I always told her — I tuld her the importa- 
tiuii of all my words : though I could not help 
lauf:hin;j, JMiss Harriet, to see so fine a lady 
such a downriiilit i<;rioramus. 

Her. \Ncll — but pray now, Termagant, would 
you have me, directly upon beinj: asked the ques- 
tion, throw myself into the arms of a man ? 

Ter. O' my conscience you did throw yourself 
into l)is arms, with scarce a shift on ; that's what 
you did. 

llur. Yes; but that was a leap in the dark, 
when there was no time to think of it. 

Ter. Well, it does not sif^nify arguini;, I wish 
we were both warm in bed; you with Mr Bei- 
mour, and I with his coxcomb of a man ; instead 
of beintr manured here with an old crazy fool — 
axing vour pardon, madam, for calling your fa- 
ther so — but be is a fool, and the worst of fools, 
with his policies — when his house is full of sta- 
tues of baiigcressy. 

Har 'Tis too true, Termagant yet lie's 

my father still, and I can't help hniug bini. 

7'» ;•. Fiddle faddle — love him ! lie's an anec- 
dote against love. 

Har. Hush ! here he comes ! 

Ter. Xo, 'tis your uncle, Teeble ; poor gentle- 
man, I pities him, eaten up with infirmaries, to 
to be taking such pains with a madman. 

Enter Feeble. 

Har. Well, uncle, have you been able to con- 
sole him ? 

Teeb. lie wants no consolation, child — T^ick- 
a-day — I'm so infirm 1 can hardly move. — I 
found him tracing in tlie map prince ( harlcs 
Lorraine's passage over the Rhine, and compar- 
ing it with Julius Ca'sar's. 

Ter. An oid blockhead ! — I've no patience with 
liim, with his fellows coming after him every 
hour in the day witli news. Well now, I wishes 
there was no such thing as a news[)aper in the 
world, w ith such a pack of lies, and sucli a deal 
of jab-jab every day. 

Feeb. Ay, there were three or four shabby 
fellows with him when I went into his room — I 
'•an't get him to think ol' appearing before the 



commissioners to-morrow, to disclose his effects; 
but I'll send my neighbour, counsellor Codicil, to 
him — Don't be dejected, Harriet ; mv poor 
sister, your mother, was a irood woman : I love 
vou for her sake, cliild, and all I am wortli shall 
lie yours — But I must be going — I lind myself 
but very ill ; good night, Harriet, good nicht ! 

[JSj*/ Fkebie. 

Hnr. You'll give me leave to see you to the 
door, sir. [£r<7 IIauriet. 

'Trr. O' my conscience, this master of mine 
within here minht have picked up his crumbs as 
well as Mr Feeble, if he had any idear of his 
business. I'm sure, if I had not hopes from Mr 
feeble, I should not tarry in this house — By my 
troth, if all who have nothing to say to the 'fairs 
ot the nation would mind their own business, 
and those who should take care of our 'fairs 
would mind their business too, I fancy poor Old 
F.ngiand ''as they call \X) would fare the better 
am lUg them — This old crazy pate within here — 
playing the tool— when llie man is past his grand 
ciylemnestcr. \_Exit TERMACA.Nr. 

SCENE III. — Discovers Qiidninc at a table, 
xiilh nezcspapers, pumphiets, SfC. all around 
him. 

Quid. Six and three is nine — seven and four 
is eleven, anrl carry one — let me see, 126 million 
— 199 th(iusan<l 328 — and all this with about — 
where, wlicre's the amount of the specie.' Here, 
here — with about !."> million in specie, all this 
great circulation ! good, good — Why then, how 
are we ruined ? how are we ruined ? What says 
the land-tax at 4 shillings in the pound? two 
million : now where's my new assessment ? — here 
— here — the .5th part of twenty ; 5 in 2, I can't, 
but 5 in 20 [PaM.sfS.] right, 4 times — why then, 
upon my new a,-sessinent there's 4 million — how 
are we ruined ? — What says malt, cyder, and 
nunn .'' — eleven and carry 1, nought and go 2 — 
good, good ; malt, hops, cyder, and mum. Then 
there's the wine-licence ; and the gin-act is no 
bafi article — if the people will shoot fire down 
their throats, why, in a Christian country, they 
should pay as much as possible for suicide — Salt, 
good — suiiar, very good — Window-liglits — good 
again ! — Stamp-duty, that's not so well — it will 
have a had cftcct upon the newspapers, and we 
shan't have enough of politics — But there's the 
lottery — where's my new scheme for a lottery ? 
— here it is — Now lor the amount of the whole 
— how are we ruined.'' 7 and carry nought — 
nought and carry 1 

Enter Teumagaxt. 

Ter. Sir, sir 

Quid. Hold your tongue, you baggage ! you'll 
put me out — Nought and carry 1. 

Ter. Counsellor Codicil will be with you pre- 
sently 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



22<> 



Quid. Prithee be quiet, woman How arc 

we ruined ? 

Ter. Ay, I'm confidous as how you may thank 
yourself for your own ruination. 

Quid. Ruin the nati(Hi ! hold your tonejue, 

you jade ! I'm raisins: the supplies within the year 
• How many did I carry ? 

Ter. Yes, you've carried your pigs to a fine 
market. 

Quid. Get out of tlie room, hussy — you trol- 
lop, get out of the room ! — 

[Turning her out. 

Enter Razor, Zi:ith suds on /lis head, Sfc. 

Friend Razor, I'm glad to see thee — Weil, hast 
got any news ? 

Raz. A budget ! I left a gentleman half-shav- 
ed in my shop over the way ; it came into my 
head of a sudden, so I could not be at ease tiil 
I told you. — 

Quid. That's kind, that's kind, friend Razor — 
never mind the gentleman ; he can wait. 

Raz. Yes, so he can ; he can ,wait. 

Quid. Come, now let's hear, what is't ? 

Raz. I shaved a great man's butler to-day. — 

Quid: Did ye.? 

Raz. I did. 

Quid. Aye ! 

Raz. V^ery true. [Both shake their heads. 

Quid. What did de say } 

Raz. Nothing. 

Quid. Hum — How did he look ? 

Raz. Full of thought. 

Quid. Aye ! full of thought — what can that 
mean ? 

Raz. It must mean something. 

[Staring at each other. 

Quid. Mayhap somebody may be going out of 
place ? 

Raz. Like enough — there's something at the 
bottom when a great man's butler looks grave ; 
things can't hold out in this marmcr. Master 
Quidnunc ! — Kingdoms rise and fall ! — Luxurv 
will be the ruin of us all ; it will indeed ! 

[Stares at him. 

Quid. Pray, now, friend Razor, do you find 
business as current now as before the war ? 

Raz. No, no ; I have not made a wig the Lord 
knows when ; I can't mind it for thinking of my 
poor country. 

Quid. That's ptenerous, friend Razor. 

Raz. Yes, I can't gi' my mind to any thing for 
thinking of my country; and when I was in Bed- 
lam, it was the same? I could think of nothing 
else in Bedlam, but poor old England, and so 
they said as how I was incurable for it. 

Quid. S'bodikins ! they might as well say the 
same of me. 

Raz. So they might — Well, your servant, Mr 
Quidnunc. I'll go now and shave the rest of the 
gentleman's fare — Poor old England ! 

[Sighs and shakes his head. Going. 



Quid. But hark ye, friend Razor, ask the gen- 
tleman if he has got any news ? 

Raz. 1 will, I will. 

Quid. And, d'ye hear, come and tell me, if lie 
has. 

Raz. I will, I will — poor old England ! [Going, 
returns.] — O, Mr Quidnunc, I want to ask you — 
pray now — 

Enter Termagant. 

Ter. Gemini ! gemini ! How can a man have 
so little difference for his customers — 

Quid. I tell y(,u, Mrs Malapert 

'Ter. And I tell you, the gentleman keeps such 
a bawling yonder — for shame, Mr Razor ! you'll 
be a bankrupper like my master, with such a 
house full of children as you have, pretty little 
things — that's wliat you will. 

Raz. I'm a-rouiing, I'm a-coming, Mrs Terma- 
gant — I say, Mr Quidnunc, I can't sleep in my 
bed for thinking what will come of the protest- 
ants, if the papists should get the better in the 
present war — 

Quid. I'll tell you — the geographer of our cof- 
fee-house was saving the other day, that there is 
an huge tract of land about the pole, where the 
piotestants may retire; and that the papists will 
never be aliie to beat them thence, if the northern 
powers hold together, and the Grand Turk make a 
diversion in their favour. 

Raz. [Laui^hs.] That makes me easy- I'm 

glad the protestants will know where to go, if 
the papisis should get the better. [Going, re- 
turns.] Oh! Mr Quidnunc, hark ye ! India bonds 
are risen. 

Quid. Are they! how much.'' 

Raz. A .lew pedlar said in my shop, as how 
they are risen three-sixteenths. 

Quid. Why, then, that makes some amends for 
the price of corn. 

Raz. So it does, so it does ^.Good-bye, Mr 

Quidnunc — I'm so glad the poor protestants know 
where to go ; I shall then have a night's rest 
mavhap. [Exit Razor, laughing. 

Quid. I shall never be rightly easy till those 
careening wharfs at Gibraltar are repaired — 

Ter. Fiddle for your dwarfs ! impair your 
ruined fortune, do that. 

Quid. If only one ship can heave down at a 
time, there will be no end of it — and then, why 
should watering be so tedious there? 

Ter. Look wliere your daughter comes, and 
yet you'll be ruinating about (iive-a-halter — — 
while that poor thing is breaking her heart. 

Enter Harriet. 

Quid. It is one comfort, however, they cau 
always have fresh provisions in the MerJitena- 
nean. 

Har. Dear papa, what's the Mediterranean to 
people in our situation ? 



230 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



QuiJ. TliC Mediterranean, cliilii? Why, if 
•xvc sliuulil lose tlic Mediterranean, we're ull un- 
iloiip. 

llitr. Dear sir, tliat's our ujisfurtune — «c are 
undiine already. 

QuiJ. No, no — here, here, child — I have raised 
the supplies within tiic year. 

Tir. I tell yon, you're a lunadic man. 

(^(//</. Yes, ye-, I'm a lunatic to be sure 

1 tell yon, Harriet, I have saved a great deal out 
of my alVairs for you — 

Hill. For lleaxen's sake, sir, don't do that; 
\ou must i;;i\e up every thing; my uncle Feeble's 
lawyer will he here to talk with you about it — 

Quid. Pol), poll, I tell you I know what 1 am 
about — you shall have my books and pamphlets, 
and all the manifestoes of the powers at war. 

Hiir. And so make me a politician, sir? 

Quid. It would be the pride of mv heart to find 
I had s;ot a politician in petticoats — a female 
Machiavcl ! 'Sbodikins, you might then know as 
jnii'h ns most people that talk in coiTce-houscs ; 
and uho knows but, in time, voii miijht be a maid 
of honour, or sweeper of the Mall, or — 

Har. Dear sir, don't I see what you have got 
by politics? 

Quid. Psha ! my country's of more conse- 
quence to me : and let me tell you, you can't 
think too much of your country in these worst 
of times ; for Mr Monitor has told us, that af- 
fairs in the north, and the Protestant interest, 
be^in to 2row ticklish. 

Tcr. And your daughter's affairs are very tick- 
lish, too, I'm sure. 

Har. Prithee, Termagant — 

Ter. I must speak to him — I know you are in 
a ticklish situation, ma'am. 

Quid. I tell you. Trull— 

Ttr. But I am convicted it is so ; and the pos- 
ture of my alTuirs is very ticklish too ; and so 1 
imprecate that Mr Belmour would come, and — 

Quid. Mr Iklmour come ! I tell you, Mrs 
Saucebox, that my daughter shall never be mar- 
ried to a man that has not better notions of the 
balance of power. 

Ter. But what purvision will you make for her 
now, with your balances? 

Quid. There a^ain now ! Why, do you think I 
don't know what I'm about ? I'll look in the pa- 
pers tor a match for you, child ; there's often 
good ujatches advertised in the papers — F.vil be- 
tide it, evil betide it ! I once thought to have 
struck a great stroke, that would have astonished 
ail F.urope; I thought to have married my daugh- 
ter to Theodore, king of Corsica 

Htir. What, and have me perish in a jail, sir? 

Quid. 'Sbodikins, my daughter would have had 
her coronation-day ! 1 shi>uld have been allied to 
a crowned hearl, and been first lord of the trea- 
sury of Corsica ' — But come, now, I'll go and 
talk over the London Evening, till the Gazette 



comes in; I shan't sleep to-night, unless I see the 
(ia/etle. 

Enter ConiciL. 

Cod. Mr Quidnunc, your servant — The door 
was open, and I entered upon the premises — I'm 
just come from the hall. 

Quid. 'Sbodikins, this man is now come to 
keep me at home. 

Cod. I'pon n)y word, ^Nliss Harriet's a very 
pretty yo'ing laily ; as pretty a young lady as one 
would desire to have and to hold. Ma'am, your 
n)ost obedient : I have drawn my friend Feeble's 
\vill, in which you have all his goods and chattels, 
lands, and hereditamc nts. 

Hia . 1 thank you, sir, for the information — 

Cod. And I hope soon to draw your marriage- 
settlement for Hiy friend Mr Belmour. 

Har. () lud, sir ! not a word of that before my 
father — I wish you'd try, sir, to get him to think 
of his alfairs. 

Cod. Why, yes, I have instructions for that 
purpose. Mr Quidnunc, I am instructed to ex- 
pound the la'.v to vou. 

Quid. What, the law of nations ? 

Cod. 1 am instructed, sir, that you're a bank- 
rupt — Quasi bancus ruplus — Imnqut route faire — 
And my instructions say further, that you are 
summcmcd to appear before the connnissioners to- 
morrow. 

Quid. That may be, sir; but I can't go to- 
morrow; and so 1 shall send tlhtm word — lam 
to be to-morrow at Slaughter's coflce-house with 
a private committee, about business of great con- 
sequence to the aftairs of Europe. 

Cod. Then, sir, if you don't go, I must instruct 
you that you'll be guilty of a felony; it will be 
deemed to be done malo animo — it is held so in 
the books— And what says the statute? By the 
5th Geo. 11. cap. 30. not surrendering, or em- 
bezzling, is felony, without benefit of clergy. 

Quid. Ay ! y(ju tell me news 

Cod. Give me leave, sir — I am instructed to 
expound the law to you — Felony is thus described 
in the books : Fe/onia, saith Ilotoman, de ver- 
bisj'eudalibufi, signijicut capitale f acinus, a capi- 
tal olTence. 

Quid. You tell me news; you do indeed ! 

Cod. It was so apprehended by the Goths and 
the Longobards. And what saith sir Edward 
Coke? ¥icri dcbeat felleo animo. 

Quid. You've told me news — I did not know 
it was felony; but if the Flanders mail should 
come in while I am there, I shall know nothing 
at all of it 

Cod. But w hy should you be uneasy ? cui bono^ 
Mr (Quidnunc, cui bono '^ 

Quid. iSot uneasy ! If the papists should beat 
the protestants ! 

Cod. But I tell you, they can get no advan- 
tage of us. The laws against the further growth 



MurphV.] 



BTITTISH DRAMA. 



531 



of popery will secure us ; there arc provisos in 
favour of protesLant purcliasers under papists — 
lOtli Geo. I. cap. 4. and 6tli Geo. II. cap. 5. 
Quid. Ay ! 

Cod. And besides, popish recusants can't carry 
arms ; so can have no right of conquest, vi et ar- 
mis. 

Quid. That's true, that's true ; I'm easier in 

my mind 

Cod. To be sure, what arc you uneasy about } 

The papists can have no claim to Silesia 

Quid. Can't they } 

Cod. No, they can set up no claim — If the 
queen, on her marriage, had put all her lauds into 
Hotchpot, then indeed — and it seemetli, saitli Lit- 
tleton, that this word ilutchpot is in English a 

pudding 

Quid. You reason very clearly, Mr Codicil, 
upon the rights of the powers at war ; and so 
now, if you will, I am ready to talk a little of my 
affairs. 

Cod. Nor docs the matter rest here ; for how 
can she set up a claim, when she has made a con- 
veyaiice to the house of lirandenburgh .? The law, 
Mr Quidnunc, is very severe against fraudulent 
conveyances. 

Quid. 'Sbodikins, you have satisfied me 

Cod. Why, tlierefore, then, if he will levy fines, 
and suffer a common recovery, he can bequeath 
it as he likes m feodum simplex, provided he takes 
care to put it in ses Jicres. 

Quid. I'm heartily glad of it — So that, with 

regard to my effects 

Cod. Why, then, suppose she was to bring it to 

a trial at bar 

Quid. I say, with regard to the full disclosure 

of my effects 

Cod. What would she set by that ? it would go 
off upon a special pleading: and as to equity — 

Quid. Pray, must I now surrender my books 
and my pamphlets ? 

Cod. What would equity do for her ? Equity 
can't relieve her ; he might keep her at least 
twenty years before a master to settle the ac- 
count 

Quid. You have made me easy aliout the pro- 
testants in this war, you have indeed. So that, 
with regard to my appearing before the commis- 
sioners 

Cod. And as to the ban of the empire, he may 
demur to tti;it: for all tenures by knights-service 
are abolished; and the statute 12th Char. II. 
has declared all lands to be held under a common 
socage. 

Quid. Pray now, Mr Codicil, must not my cre- 
ditors appear to prove their debts? 

Cod. Why, therefore, then, if they're held in 
common socage, I submit it to the court, whether 
the empire can have any claim to knight's ser- 
vice. They can't call to him for a single man 

for the wars iinum hominem ad guerram 

For what is common socaije ? socusium idem 



est quod scrxitium soca — The service of the 
plough. 

Quid. I'm ready to attend them — But, pray 
now, when my certificate is signed — it is ot great 

iDiisequdKC to me to know this 1 say, sir, 

when mv certificate is si<:ned, mayn't I then — 
Iley ? [Start Dtii up.] llcy ! What do I hear? 

Cod. I appiehend — I humbly conceive, whea 
your certificate is signed 

Quid. Hold your tongue, man — Did not I hear 
the Gazette ? 

I^eusman. [Within.] Great news in the Lon- 
don (jazctte ! 

Quid. Yes, yes, it is — it is the Gazette 

Termagant, run, you jade — [Turna her out.] 

Harriet, fly ! it is the (Jazette — [Turns her out. 

Cod. The law, in that case, Mr Quidnunc, 
primu facie — 

Quid. 1 can't hear you — I have not time — Ter- 
magant, run, make haste — [Sta?tips violently. 

Cod. I say, sir, it is held in the books — 

Quid. I care for no books ; I want the pa- 
pers — [Stamping. 

Cod. Throughout all the books — Bo ! the mau 
is non compos ; and his friends, instead of a com- 
mission of bankruptcy, should take out a com- 
niishiou uf lunacy. [Exit Cod. 

Enter Termagant. 

Ter. What do you keep such a bawling for ? 
the newsman says as how tlie emperor of Mocco 
IS dead. 

Quid. The emperor of Morocco ? 

Ter. Yes, him. 

Quid. My poor, dear emperor of Morocco ! 

[Bursts into tears. 

Ter. Ah, you old Don Quicksett ! — Madam, 
madam — Miss Harriet, go your ways into the 
next room; there's Mr Belmour's man there; Mr 
Belmour has sent you a billydore. — 

Har. Oh, Termagant, my heart is in an uproar 
— I don't know what to say — Where is he.? let 
me run to him this instant. [Exit Har. 

Quid. The emperor of Morocco had a regard 
for the balance of Europe — [Sighs.] — Well, well; 
come, come ; give me the papei'. 

Ter. The newsman would not trust, because 
you're a bankrupper, and so I paid twopence-lialf- 
pennv for it. 

Quid. Let's see, let's see. 

Ter. Give me my money, then, 

[Running from him.. 

Quid. Give it mc this instant, you jade ! 

[After him. 

Ter. Give me my money, I say ! [F/om him. 

Quid. I'll teach you, I will, you baggage ! 

[lifter her. 

To: I won't part with it till I have the n\oney. 

[From him. 

Quid. I'll give you no money, hussy ! 

[Mtcr her. 



99% 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy, 



Tir. Your dauglitcr bliall marry Mr Iklmour. 

[From Inin. 
Quid. I'll never accede to liie treaty. 

t After her. 
from fiim. 
Quid. You mIc mijix, worse than llic \\horcot' 
Babylon ! [^/'<r ficr. 

Ter. There, you old crackcd-braiiied-politic — 
there's your paper for you ! 

[Throws it down, and exit. 

Quid. [Sitting down.] O Heavens ! I'm quite 

out ol" breath — A jiuie, to keep my news from nic 

— What does it sav, what does it say? — [Rruds 

Tcri/ fiiit uhilf oitciiiug the paper.] — ' Whereas 

* a conunission of Ininkrupt is awarded and isMU d 
' Ibrdi ai;ainst Abraliaia (juidnunc, of the parish 

* of St Martins, in the Fields, upholsterer, dealer, 

* and chapman, the said bankrupt is hereby rc- 



' quired to surrender himself.' Poh ! what sig- 
nifies this stuff? I don't mind myself, when the 
balance of power is concerned. — H(ivvever, I siiall 
bf read of in the same paper, in the London Ga- 
zelle, by tJie powers abroad, together with the 
pope, and the French kinp, and the moyul, and 
all of them — (iood, Rood, very i^ood — ilere's a 
power of news — I^t me see — [Reads.] — ' Letters 
*' from the vice-admiral, dated Tyeer, off Calcut- 
' ta.' — [Mutters to himsel/'ieri/ eager It/.] — Odd's 
heart, those bajiuages will interrupt me ; I hear 
llieir ton'iues a-i;oin|i, click, clack, clack : I'll run 
n)to my closet, and lock myj-elf up. — .\ vixen ! a 
trollop ! to want money trom me, when I may 
have occasion to buy the state of the Sinking 
lund, or Faction J)etected, or The Barrier Treaty 
— or — and, besides, how could the jade tell but 
to-morrow v,t may have a Gazette Extraordinary? 

[Exit. 



ACT IL 



SCENE L— I7/e Upholsterers house. 

Enter Quidnunc. 

Quid.. Where, where, where is he? Where's 
Mr Pamphlet ?— -Mr Pamphlet ! — Termagant — 

Mr a a — Termagant, Ilai-riet, Termagant, 

you vile minx, you saucy — 

Enter Termagant. 

Ter. Here's a racket, indeed ! 

Quid. Where's Mr Pamphlet? You baggage, 
if he's gone 

Ter. Did not I intimidate that he's in the next 
room ? — W'hy, sure the man's out of his wits ! 

Quid. Show him in here, then — I would not 
raiss seeing him for the discovery of the north- 
east passage. 

Ter. Go, you old gemini gomini of a politic ! 

[Exit Ter. 

Quid. Show him in, I say ; I had rather see 
him t^ian the whole state of the peace at Utrecht, 
or the Paris-a-la-main, or the votes, or the mi- 
nutes, or — [Here he comes.] — the best political 
writer of the age. 

Enter Pamphlet, in a surfout coat, ike. 

Quid. Mr Pamphlet, I am heartily glad to see 
you. 

Pam. IMr Quidnunc, your servant; I'm come 
from a place of great importance. 

Quid. Look ye there, now I — Well, where, 
where ? 

Pam. Are we alone ? 

Quid. Stay, stay, till I shut the door — Now, 
^0'> . whf.re do you come from ? 

Pam From the i ourt of requests. 

[Lui/ing aside his snrtout coat. 



Quid. The court of requests ! [Whispers.] Are 
they up? 

Paw. Hot work. 

Quid. Debates arising, may be ? 

Pu/n. Yes, and like to sit late. 

Quid. What are they upon? 

Pam. Can't say. 

Quid. N\ hat carried you thither? 

Pam. I went in hopes of being taken up. 

Quid. Look ye there now. [Shaking his head. 

Pami. Fve been aiming at it these three years. 

Quid. Lideed ! [Staring at him. 

Pam. Indeed I — .Sedition is the only thing an 
author can live by now — Tinie has been I could 
turn a pctmy by an earthquake, or live upon a 
jail-distemper, or dine upon a bloody murder ! — 
but now that's all over — nothing will do now but 
roasting a minister, or telling the people that they 
are rnincd--The people of England are never so 
happy as when you tell them they are ruined. 

Quid. Yes, but they an't ruined — I have a 
scheme for paying off the national debt. 

Pam. Let us sec, let us see. [Puts on his spec- 
tacles.] Well enough ! well imagined ! — a new 
thought this ! — I must make this my own. [.^stVe.] 
Silly, futile, absurd, abominable ; this will never 
do — I'll put it in my pocket, and read it over in 

the morning for you Now, look you here ; 

I'll show you a scheme, [liummuging his pock- 
ets.] No, that's not it ; that's my conduct of the 
ministry, by a country gentleman ; I proved the 
nation undone here : this sold hugely ; and here 
now, here's my answer to it, by a noble lord — 
this did not move among the trade. 

Quid. What, do you write on both sides? 

Pam. Yes, both sides; I have two hands, Mr 
Quidnunc; always impartial, «wto t/cr^er. Now, 
here, here's my dedication to a great man : 
touched twenty for this; and here, here's my li- 
bel upon him 

2 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



233 



Quid. What, after beiu'j; obliged to !iim ? 

Pain. Yes, tor tliut reason — It excites curiosi- 
ty \Vhite-wasl» and blackin^-lnill, Mr Quid- 

minc ! in utrumque paratus no thrivini; vvitli- 

oiit it. 

Quid. What have you here in this pocket ? 

\^F riling cserlif. 

Pam. That's mv account with Jacob Zoroba- 
bel the broker, for writing: paraiir.iphs to raise or 
luiubie the stocks, or tlie price of lottery tickets, 
according; to his purposes. 

Quid. Ay ! tiow do you do that? 

Fam. As thus — To-day the protestant interest 
dechnes, Madras is taken, and England is un- 
done; then, all the lonii taces in the alley look 
as dismal as a blank ; and so Jacob buys away, 
and thrives upon our ruin, riien, to-:n jrrow, we 
are all alive and merry ai;ain ; Pondicherry's ta- 
ken; a certain northern potentate will shortly 
strike a blow to astonish all liiu'cpe : and, then. 
every true-born Kii>ilishman is willing to buy a 
lottery-ticket for twenty or thirty sliiiliniis more 
than its worth ; so Jacob sells away, and reaps 
the fruit of our succe-^s. 

Quid. What ! will the people believe that 
now .'' 

Pain. Believe it ! believe any thin^: — No swal- 
low like a true-born Englishman's A man 

in a quart-bottle, or a victory, 'tis all one to 
them they e,ive a gulp — and down it goes 



— <:Iib, glib- 

Quid. Yes; but they an't at the bottom of 
things. 

Pam. No, not they ; they dabble a little, but 
can't dive 

Quid. Pray now, Mr Pamphlet, what do you 
think of our situation.'' 

Pam. Bad, sir, bad — And how can it be bet- 
ter.? the people in po%ver nc\cr send to me 

never consult nic ; it must be bad ; now, here, 
here — [Goes to /lis loose tout.] here is a manu- 
script ! this will do the busine^s, a master-piece ! 
I shall be taken up for this 

Quid. Shall ye .? 

Pam. As sure as a sun, f shall ; I know the 
bookseller's a roi;ue, and will gi\e me up. 

Quid. Bat pray now, what shall you get by 
being taken up? 

Puni. I'll tell you — [Whispers.~\ in order to 
make me hohi mv tongue. 

Quid. Ay, but you won't hold your tongue for 
all that. 

Pam. Poh, poh ! not a jot of that — abuse 
them the next day. 

Quid. Well, well, I wish you success 

But do you hear no news r ha\ e you seen the 
Gazette ? 

Pum. Yes, I have seen tiiat — Cireat news, Mr 
Quidnunc — But hark ye — [Whisjjers.] and kiss 
Lands next week. 

Vol. II r. 



2 s^ 



Quid. Aye! "'> ^« 

Pum. Certain. 

Qiiil). Nothing permanent in this world. 

Pum. All is vanity 

Quid. Ups and downs 

Pdin. Ins and outs ■ 

Quid. Wheels within wheels 

Pum. No snif)ke without fnc 

Quid. All's well that ends well. 

Pam. It will last our time. 

Quid. Whoever lives to see it, will 
know more of the matter. 

Pum. Time will tell all. ^ 

Quid. Ay, we must leave all to the determina- 
tion of time. Mr Pamphlet, I'm heartily obli- 
ged to yon for this visit — 1 love you better than 
any man in England. 

I'ajn. And, for my part, Mr Quidnunc — I 
iov o you better than 1 do England itself. 

Quid. That's kind, that's kind — there's nothing 
I would not do, Mr Pamphlet, to serve you. 

Patn. Mr Quidnunc, I know you are a man of 
integrity and honour — I know you are — and now 
suue we ha\e opened our hearts, there is a 
tiling, Mr Quidnunc, in which you can serve me 
— Yon know, sir, this is the fulness of our hearts 
— you know you have my note for a trifle; hard 
dealing with assignees. Now, could ikH you, to 

•■erve a friend- could not you throw that 

note into the fire ? 

Quid, (ley! but would that be honest ? 

Pam. Leave that to me ; a refined stroke of 
policy-^Papers have been destroyed in all go- 
vernments. 

Quid. So they have ; it shall be done ; it will 
be political; it will, indeed. Pray now, Mr 
Pamphlet, what do you take to be the true poli- 
tical balance of power ? 

Pam. What do I take to be the balance of 
power ? 

Quid. Ay, the balance of power ? 

tum. The balance of power ! what do T take 
to be the balance of power ? the balance of 
power ! [Shuts fiis ej/es.] what do I take to be 
the balance of power.'' 

Quid. The balance of power I take to he, 
v\hen the courtof aldermen sits. 

Pam. No, no 

Quid. Yes, yes 

Pum. No, no ; the balar.ce of pov.er is when 
t!ie foundations of govenmient and the super- 
structures are natural. 

Quid. How d'ye mean natural? 

Pam. Prithee be quiet, man. This is the lan- 
guage — The balance of power is when super- 
structures are reduced to proper balances, or 
when the balances are not reduced to unnatural 
superstructures. 

Quid. Poh, poh ! I tell you it is when the for- 
tifications of Dunkirk are demolished, 

2G 



234 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



Paw*. But, I ffll yon, Mr Qiiiilnunc — 

Qniil. I say, Mr I'liuiphltt 

Puni. Hear mP, Mr (Quidnunc 



Quid, (iivc IDC leave, Mr I'amphkl- 

I*am. I iiiu>t observe, sir 

Quid. 1 iun convinced, sir- 



Pain. 'l"hat the balance of power 

Quid. That the fortificalions of Dun- 
kirk 

Pam. Depends upon tlic balances and su- 
perstructures 

Quid. Cdiibiitutc the true political equi- 
librium 

Pinii. Nor will I converse witlj a man — 

Quid. And, sir, I never desire to see your 
face 

Patn. Of such anti-constitutional prin- 
ciples 

Quid. Nor the face of any man wlio is such a 
Frenchuian in his heart, and has such notions ot 
the balance of power. 

\^E.vcunt. 
Re-enter Quidnunc 

Ay, I've found him out — such abominable prin- 
ciples ! I never desire to converse with any man 
of his notions no, never v^hile I live 

Bc-nifer Pamphlet. 

Pam. "Mr Quidnunc, one word with you, if 
you please. 

Quid. S\v, I never desire to see your face 

Pam. My property, Mr Quidnunc — I shan't 
leave mv property in the house of a bankrupt. 
\Tuisti71g hishundkerchiif lound his «r/H.] A sil- 
ly, empty, incomprehensible blockhead I 

Quid. Blockhead, Mr Pamphlet! 

PuiH. A blockhead to use me thus, when I 
have you so much in my power 

Quid. In your power ! 

Pam. In my power, sir ! It's in my power to 
bang you ! 

Quid. To hang me ! 

Paw. Yes, sir, to hang you. [^Drauing on his 
foaf.] Did not you propose but this moment — did 
not you desire me to combine and confederate to 
burn a note, and defraud your creditors? 

Quid. I desire it ! 

Puiii. Yes, Mr Quidnunc; but I shall detect 
■you to the world. I'll give your character — You 
sJiall ha\e a sixpenny touch next week. 

Flebit et insignis tola canluhitur uric. 

[Exit Pam PHI. FT. 

Quid. Mercy on me ! there's the effect of his 

anti-constitutional principles ! the spirit of his 

w hole party ; I never desire to exchange another 

word «ilh him. 

Enter Termagant. 

Ter. Here's a pother, indeed ! Did you call 
me? 



Quid. No, you trollop, no 

IVr. Will you go to btd ? 

Quid. No, no, no, no ! I tell you, no ! 

Tir. Better to go to rest, sir. I heard a doctor 
of physic say, as how, when a man is past his 
grand crime — what the deuce makes me forgot 
my worti ? his grand crime-hysteric — nothing is 
so good against indiscompositions as rest taken 
in its prudish natalibus. 

Quid. Hold youi- prating ! I'll not go to bed ; 
I'll step to my brother Feeble ; I want to have 
some talk with him, and I'll go to him directly. 

[Exit Quid. 

Tir. Co thy ways for an old Hocus-pocus of a 
ncw»|)aper ! You'll have good luck if you find 
your daughter here when you come back. Mr 
Belmour will be here in the interim ; and if he 
does not carry her off, why then, I shall think 
him a mere shilly-shally feller ; and, by my 
troth, I shall tiiink him as bad a politishing as 
yourself! [Exit. 

SCENE III. — Changes to the street. 

Enter Quidnunc, with a dark lanthorn. 

Quid. If the Grand Turk should actually 
commence open hostility, and the house-bug 
Tartars make a diversion upon the frontiers, 
why, then, 'tis my opinion — time will discover to 
us a great deal more of the matter. 

Watch. [Within.] Past eleven o'clock, a clou- 
dy night. 

Quid. Iley ! past eleven o'clock — 'Sbodikins, 
my brother Feeble will be gone to bed ; but he 
shan't sleep till I have some chat with him. — 
Hark'e, watchman, watchman ! 

Enter Watchmati. 

Watch. Call, master ? 

Quid. Ay, step hither, step hither; have you 
heard any news ? 

Watch News, master! 

Quid. Ay, about the Prussians, or the Rus- 
sians? 

Watch. Russians, master ! 

Quid. Yes; or the movements in Pomera- 
nia ? 

Watch. La, master, I know nothing. Poor gen- 
tleman ! [Pointing to his head.] Good night to 
you, master. Past eleven o'cIock. 

[Exit Watch. 

Quid. That man, now, has a place under the 
government, and he won't speak. But I am lo- 
sing time. [Knocks at the door.] Hazy weather ! 
[Looking ///).] The wind is fixt in that quarter, 
and we shan't ha\c any mails this week to come. 
Come about, good wind, do, come about. 

Enter a Servant' maid. 

Maid. La, sir, is it you ? 

Quid. Is your uiast<rr at hoiuc, child? 



Murphy.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



235 



Maid. Gone to bed, sir. 

Quid. Well, well, I'll step up to him. 

Maid. Must not disturb him for the world, 



Quid. Business of the utmost importance. 

Maid. Pray, consider, sir, my master an't 
well. 

Quid. Prithee be quiet, woman; I must sec 
him. \^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A room in Eeeble's house. 

JEw^cr Feeble, i« his night-goziri. 

Fee. I was just stepping into my bed. Bless 
my heart ! what can this man want? I know his 
voice. I hope no new misfortune brings him at 
this hour ! 

Quid. Hold your tongue, you foolish hussy ; 
he'll be glad to see me. Brother Feehle, bro- 
ther Feeble ! [Within. 

Enter Qiidnvnc, 

Quid. Brother Feeble, I give you joy ; the na- 
bob's demolished. [.b///gs.] 

Britons strike home, revenge, &c. 

Fech. Lack-a-day, Mr Quidnunc, how can you 
serve me thus? 

Quid. Suraja Dowla is no more ! 

Feeb. Poor man ! he's stark-staring mad. 

Quid. Our men diverted themselves with kill- 
ing their bullocks and their camels, till they dis- 
lodged the enemy from the octagon, and the 
counterscarp, and the bung-lo 

Feeb. I'll hear the rest to-morrow morning — 
Oh ! I'm ready to die ! 

Quid. Odsheart man, be of good cheer — the 
new nabob, Jather Ally Cawn, has acceded to a 
treaty ; and the English Company have got all 
their rights in the Phieraand aud the Hushbulho- 
orums. 

Feeb. But dear heart, Mr Quidnunc, why am 
I to be disturbed for this ? 

Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three 
chokeys, four gaul-walls, and two zemidars. — 
[S/»gs.] ' Britons never shall be slaves!' 

Feeb. Would not to-morrow morning do as 
well for this? 

Quid. Light up your windows, man ; light up 
your windows. Chandernagore is taken ! 

Feeb. Well, well, I'm glad of it — Good night. 

[Going. 

Quid. Here ; here's the Gazette ! 

Feeb. Oh ! I shall certainly faint ! 

[Sits down. 

Quid. Ay, ay, sit down, and I'll read it to you. 
[Rc«rf.s-.J Nay, don't run away — I've more news 
to tell vou ! — there's an account from VVilliams- 
bnrtih in America — ^The supcriiitendant of Indian 
affairs 

Feeb, Dear sir, dear sir — [Avoiding him. 



Quid. He has settled matters with the Chcro- 
kecs — [Folhnving him. 

Feeb. Enough, enough [From him. 

Quid. In the same manner he did before with 
the Catabaws. VAf^^^ '""'• 

Feeb. Well, well, your senant.- 

[From him. 

Quid. So that the back inhabitants • 

[After him. 

Feeb. I wish you would let me be a quiet in- 
habitant in my own house 

Quid. So that the back inhabitants will 
now be secured by the Cherokees and Cata- 
baws 

Feeb. You'd better go home, and think of ap- 
pearing before the commissioners 

Quid. Go home ! no, no ; I'll go and talk the 
matter over at our coft'ee-house 

Feeb. Do so, do so. 

Quid. [Returning.^ INIr Fecblo — I had a disr 
pute about the balance of power — pray now, can 
you tell 

Feeb. I know nothing of the matter 

Quid. Well, another time will do for that — I 
have a great deal to say about that — [Going, 
returns.] Right, I had like to have forgot ; there's 
an erratum in the last Gazette 

Feeb. With all my heart 

Quid. Page 3, line 1st, col. 1st and 3d, for 
bombs read booms. 

Feeb. Read what you will 

Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you 
know — Well, now your servant. If I hear any 
more news, I'll come and tell you. 

Feeb. For Heaven's sake, no more 

Quid. I'll be with you before you're out of 
your first sleep 

Feeb. Good-night, good-night 

[Ritns off. 

Quid. I forgot to tell you the emperor of 

Morocco is dead. [Barcling after him.] So 

now I've made him happy I'll go and knock 

up my friend Razor, and make him happy too 

and then I'll go and see if any body is up 

at the coffee-houses and make them all 

happy there, too. [Exit Quid.noc. 



SCENE v.— ^ street. A shabbi/ house, rrith 
a barber s pole up, and candles burning on the 
outside. 

Enter Quidnunc, with a dark lanthorn. 

Quid. Ah, friend Razor ! — he has a great re- 
spect for a rejoicing night — Who knows but he 
has heard some more particulars. 

Razor, looking nut at the window. 

liaz. Anan ? 

Quid. Friend Razor ! 

Ka.z. My Master Quidnunc ! I'm rejoicing for 



236 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



the news — will y.^u partake of a pine? — I'U open 
tlic door. 

Quid. Not now, fritnfJ Uiizor. 

Rtu. I've soujetliuijj; to Itll jou — I'll come 
down. 

Quid. Tliis niav be worlh staving for — What 
call iic \\n\ c iiearii ? 

Enter IIazor, a pipe in /lis mnni/u and a tank- 
ard in /lin hand. 

Riiz. Here's to you, I\Iast<r Quidnunc ! 
Quid. VVIiat have you heard? Wimt have you 
beard ? 

Jiuz. The consumers of oats are to meet next 

werk. 

Quid. Tliose consumers of oats have been 
meetins; any tin)e ilicsc ten years to my know- 
ledge, and I never could lind wliat they arc 
about. 

Ruz. Things an't right, I fear its enougli 

to put down a liody's spiiits \^Driiikx. 

Quid. No, nothing to fear 1 can tell you 

some good news a certain great potentate 

has not heard high-mass the Lordki»ov\s when. 

Raz. Tliat puts a body in spirits again. 
[Drinks.^ llcrr drink, No wooden shoes! 

Quid. With all my heart — [Drinks.] Good 
liqu'ir this, Master Razor, of a cold niiilu. 

R'tz. Vcs, I put a rjuartc rn of IJritili brandy 
in mv beer — wlui ! — Do you know what a rebel 
my wife is ? 

Quid. A rebel ! 

Ruz. Ay, a rebel — T earned nineteen-pence 
half-penny to-day, and siie wunud to lav out all 
that great sum upon the children — whu ! — but I 
bouglit those candles for the good of my country, 

to rejoice vvith, as a body may say a little 

Virginy for my pipe, and this sup of hot 

whu 

Quid. Ay, youVe an honest man : and if every 
body did like you and me, what a nation we 
should be ! 

Raz. Ay, very true [Shakes his head. 

Quid. I can give you the Gazette to read. 

Raz. Can you ! a tliousand thanks — I'll take 

it home to you when I have done. 

[Dri7iks, and staggers. 

Quid. Friend Razor, you begm to be a little in 
for't. 

Raz. Yes, I have a wliirli^igg of a head — but 
a body should get drunk sometimes for the good 
of one's country. 

Quid. Well, I shall be at home in half an 
hour ! — Ilark'e. 

Raz. Auiin ! 

Quid. 1 have made a rare discovery — Florida 
«ill be able to supply Jamaica with peat for 
their winter's firing. 1 had it from a deep poli- 
tician. 

Raz. Ay ! I am glad the poor people of 



Jamaica will have Florida peat to burn.- 



[Extwit. 

SCENE \T. — 'I'he Upholsterers house. 
Enter BtLMOun and IIakkif.t. 

Har. Mr Belmour, pray, sir 1 desire, sir, 

you'll not follow me fr<>m room to room. 

Jhl. Indnhje me but a nmment. 

Jlur. No, AJr Belmour, I've seen too much of 
your temper — I'm touched beyond all enduring 
at \r)ur unmanly treatment. 

Jie/. L'nmanly, madam ? 

Jiur. Utnnanly, sir ! to presume upon the misf 
f'ortunes of my family, and insult me with the 
formidable menaces that, 'Truly vou have done; 
' you'd be no more a sia\e to me.' — Oh he, Mr 
Belmour! 1 did not think a gentleman capable of 
it. 

Eft. But you won't consider. — 

Har. ^]r, I would have Mr Belmour under- 
stand, that though my father's circumstances are 
embarrassed, 1 have still an uncle, who can, and 
will, place me in a state of ailluence; mid thea 
sir, your declarations 

he/. My dearest Harriet, they were but hasty 
words ; let me now entreat vou suffer me to con- 
vey you hence, far from your lather's roof, where 
we may at length enjoy that happiness, of which 

we ha\e long cherished the loved idea V\ hat 

say you, Hariietr 

Har. 1 don't know what to say ray 

heart's at my lips. Why don't you take me, 

then ? 

Enter Termagant. 

Ter. Undone, undone ! I'm all over In a flu3- 
tratiun old Jimini Gomini's coming. 

JHur. O lud, what is to be done now ? 

2\r. 'J he devil ! what can be doner I have it 

— don't (lustrate yourself I'll find some n<)n- 

sense news for him — away witii you both into 
that room. Quick, quick ! 

[Exeunt Bfi MOUR and Harriet. 

Let me sec — have f nothing in my pocket for 
the old hocus pocus to read ' Psha ! that's Mr 

Ijclmour's letter to Miss Harriet 1 enveloped 

that secret for all pains to purvent me. — Old 
Politic must not have an idear of that business 

Stay, stay; is there ne'er an old trumpery 

newspaper ? — this will do-— [P«/.s it iti her poc- 
ket.] Now let the Gazette of a fellow come as 
soon as he will. 

Enter Quidnunc 

Quid. Fie upon it ! fie upon it !-"a]l the 

rotlce-houses shut ufj — Where is my Salmon's 
gazetteer, and my map of the w orld ? — in that 
room, 1 fancN — I won't sleep till 1 know the 
geography of all ihcise places, [Going. 



MURTHY.] 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



237 



Ter. Sir. sir, sir ! 

Quid. What's the matter ? 

Ter. Here has been Mr he with the odd 

ranie. 
Quid. i\Ir D — that writes the j)retty verses 

upon all public occasions 

Ter, Ay, Mr Reptile; the same. He says as 
how there are some assays of his in this paper, 
[Scarchea her pockets.] and he desires you will 
give your idear of them. 

Quid. That I will — let mc see ! 

Ter. The deuce fetch it ! here is something 
distintanglcs in my pocket; there it is. [Gives 
the paper, and drops the letter.\ Pray amuse it 
before you go to bed ; or had not you better go 
and read it in bed ? 

Quid. No, I'll read it here. 
Ter. Do so ; he'll call in the morninsT. I'll 
get him to bed, I warrant me ; and then Miss 
Harriet may elope as fast as she will. 

[Exit Termagant. 

Quid. Hey ! this is an old newspaper, I see. 

What's this.? [Takes up the letter.] Here may 

be some news — ' To ?vliss Harriet Quidnunc' — 

Let me see ! [Rt'uds.] 

' My dearest Harriet, 
' Why will you keep me in a state of suspence ? 
I have iriven you every proof of the sincerest 
constrincy and love. Surely then, now that you 
sec v"ur fritlier's obstinacy, you may derr rciiiic 
to consult your own happiness; if yon \\i.ii p< r- 
mit me to wait on you this evcninij, I will con- 
ve\ you to a family, uho will take tiir ienderest 
care of your person, till you resign it ti tie arms 
of ' Your eternal admirer, 

' Bfi.mot'k.' 

So, sol here's policy detected Why Harriet, 

dau<i;hter ! Harriet ! S!ie has not made her es- 
cape, i hope ? — So madam — 

Enter Harriet and Belmour. 

H ey, the enemy in our camp ! 

H'ir. Mr Belmour is no enemy, sir. 

Quid. No I What docs he lurk in my house 
for ? 

Bel. Sir, my designs are honourable ; you see, 
sir, 1 am above concealing myself. 

Quid. Ay, thanks to Termagant, or I should 
have been undermined here by you. 

Ter. [Looking in.] What the devil is here to 
do now ? I am all over in a quandcry. 

Quid. Now, madam, aii't you a false girl — an 
undutiful child? But I can get intelligence, you 
see — Termagant is my friend, and if it had not 
been for her 

Enter Termagant. 

Ter, Oh, my stars and garters ! here's such a 
piece of work — VV^iat shall I do.? — My poor 
riear Miss Harriet [Cries bicterlj/. 



Quid. What, is there any more news ? What 
lla^ iiappeiicd now .? 

Tt r. Oil, madam, madam, forgive me, ray dear 

madam 1 did not do it on purpose — I did 

not ; as I hope for incrcy, I did not ! 

Quid. Is the woman <ra/y ? 

Ter. I did not intend to give it him; I would 
have seen iiim gibbeted tirst. 1 found the letter 
in y(jur bed-chamber; I knew ic was the same 
I delivered to you, and my curiosity did make 
me prep into it. Says my cuiionitv, ' Now, Ter- 
' magant, vou inav gratify vourseh by (inding out 
' the contmts of that letter, wmch you have so 
' vi tleiit an itching fir.' My curi (sity d d say 
so; and then I own mv respect for y.iu did say 
to me, ' Hussy, how dare you nn^ddle nith what 
' does not belong to you ? Keep your distance, 
' and let your mistress's secrets alone.' And 
then upon that, in comes my ciiriisity again. 
' Read it, I tell you, rermaiiant ; a Aonian of 
' spirit should know every thing' ' Let it alone, 
' you jade,' says my respect, ' it is as much as 
' jour place is worth.' ' What signitication's a 
' place with an old hankrupper?' savs my curio- 
sity, ' there's more places than one; and so read 
' it, I tell you, Termagant.' I did read it ; what 
could J do.? Heaven help me ! 1 did read it; 
I don't go to deny it ; 1 don't, I don't, I don't ! 

[Cri/ifif! veri/ hitterli/. 

Quid. And I have read it, too; tim't keep such 
an uproar, woman ! 

Ter. And after I had rcTd it. thinks me, ' I'll 
' sive tliis to my mistress a^ain, and her gereina- 
' n jciis of a father shall never see it. i\ id so, 
as my ill stars wnuld lidve it, as I was giving him 
a newspaper, 1 run my hand into the lion's 
month. [Cr7/i>ig. 

Bel. What an unlucky jade she has been I 

[Aside. 

Hfir. Well, there's no harm done, Termagant; 
for I don't uant to deceive my father. 

Quid. Yes, but there is harm done, [Knocking.^ 
Hey, what's all this knocking ? Step and see, 
Termagant. 

Icr. Yes, sir. [Erit. 

Quid. A waiter from the coffee-house, may- 
hap, with some news. You shall go to the round- 
house, friend. [To Belmour.] I'll carry you 
there myself; and who knows hut T may meet a 
parliament m;m in the round-house to tell me 
some politics .? 

Enter Roveweel. 

Rove. But I say I will come in; my friend 
shan't be murdered amongst you. 

Bel. 'Sdeath, Rovewell ! what brings you 
here ? 

Ro7!e. I have been waiting in a hackney-coach 
for you these two hours; and s|>!it me but I was 
afraid tiicy had smolhered you between two fea- 
ther-beds! 



238 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Murphy. 



Enter Tehmacant. 

Trr. More misfortunes ! here comes tlic 
wiitcli. 

Quid. Tlic best news I ever heard I 

Enter Walc/iman. 

Here, thieves ! robbery ! murder ! I cliar;:o 
iliem Im)|Ii; take them directly. 

]\ tilcfi. Stand and deliver in the king's name ! 
sei/c ihein ; knock them down ! 

Jit I. Don't tVijjlitcu the lady; here's my sword; 
I surrender. 

RiiVf. \o\\ scoundrels ! Stand o(T, rascals! 

\\ ulch. Down witli him ! down with him ! 

[FiUht. 

Enter Razok, uith the Gazette in his hand. 

Ruz. What, a fray at my master Quidnunc's ! 
kno( k him down ! knock him down ! 
[J-'nAAv up the Gazette, pnt.t himself in a boxing 
altitude, and fights with the uatch)ncn.\ 

Quid. That's right ; hold him fast ! 

[iVatehiiien seize RovEWELt.. 

Rove. You have overpowered me, you rascals ! 

Ter. I believe as sure as any thing, as how 
lie's a hi(;hwavman, and as how it was he that 
rol)bed the mail. 

Quid. What ! rob the mail, and stop all the 
news ! Search him, search him ! he may have 
the letters belonging to the mail in his pockets 
now : Ay, here's one letter, ' To Mr Abraham 
Quidnunc' Let's see what it is-—' Your dutiful 
* son, John Quidnunc' 

Roir. That's my name, and Rovewell was but 
assumed. 



Quid. What, and am T your father .? 

R<i^. [Looks lit him.\ Oli, my dear sir ! [Em- 
liruees him, and powders him all over.] 'tis he 
sure enough ! I remen»ber the mole on Ins cheek 
— I shaved his first beard. 

Quid. Just returned from the West Indies, I 



suppose ! 
Hove. 



Yes, sir; the owner of a rich planta- 



Qiiid. Wiiat, by studying politics ? 

Hove. I>y a rich planter's widow ; and I have 
now fortune enough to make you happy in your 
old age. 

Raz. And I hope 1 shall shave him again? 

Hove. So thou shalt, honest Razor. In the 
mean time, let me entreat you bestow my sister 
upon my friend Belmour here. 

Quid- He may take her as soon as he pleases ; 
'twill make an excellent paragraph in the news- 
papers. 

Ter, There, madam, calcine your person to 
him. 

Quid. What are the Spaniards doing in the 
Bay of Honduras ? 

Rove. Truce with politics for the present, if 
you please, sir. We'll think of our own affairs 
first, before we concern ourselves about the ba- 
lance of power. 

Raz. With all my heart ; I'm rare happy ! 

Come, Mr Quidnunc, now with lews ha' done. 
Blessed in your wealth, your daughter, and your 

son ; 
May discord cease, faction no more be seen : 
Be high and low for country, kine, and queen. 

\Exeunt oumes. 



THE 



GUARDIAN. 



GARRICIC 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



MEN. .■ 

Heartiy, the Guardian. 

Sir Charles Clackit, his friend. 

Mr Clackit, nephew to Sir Charles. 

Servant, 



WOMEN. 

Haurtet, ward to IIeartly. 
Lucy, servant to Haurijet. 



Scene — a country tozcn. 



ACT I. 



SCENE T, 



Enter Sir Charles Clackit, Young Clackit, 
and Servant. 

Ser. Please to walk this way, sir. 

Sir Chfi. Where is your master, friend ? 

Ser. In his dressing-room, sir. 

Young Cla. Let him know, then 

Sir Cha. Prithee, be quiet, Jack ; when I am 
in company, let me direct. 'Tis proper and de- 
cent. 

Young Cla. I am dumb, sir. 

Sir Cha. Tell Mr IIeartly, his friend and neigh- 
bour, Sir Charles Clackit, would say three wordi- 
to him. 

Ser. I shall, sir. [Exit Ser. 

Sir Cha. Now, nephew, consider once ajjain, 
before I open the matter to my neighbour IIeart- 
ly, what I am going to undertake for you. — Why 
don't you speak ! 

Young Cla. Is it proper and decent, uncle ? 

Sir Cha. Psha ! don't be a fool, but answer 
me — Don't you flatter yourself I — What assurance 



have you that this young lady, my friend's ward, 
nas a liking to you ? The young fellows of this 
ige are all coxcombs ; and, I am afraid, you are 
no exception to this general rule. 

Young Cla. Thank you, uncle ; but, may I this 
mstant be struck old and peevish, if I would put 
you upon a false scent to expose you, for all the 
fine women in Christendom. I assure you again 
and again, and you may take my word, uncle, that 
Miss Harriet has no kind of aversion to your ne- 
phew and most humble servant. 

Sir Cha. Ay, ay, vanity, vanity ! but I never 
take a young fellow's word about women; they'll 
lie as fast, and with as little conscience, as the 
Brussels Gazette. Produce your proofs. 

Young Cla. Can't your eyes see them, uncle, 
without urging me fo the indelicacy of repeating 
them ? 

Sir Cha. Why, I see nothing but a fool's head 
and a fool's coat, supported by a pair of most 
impromisine lees. Have you no better proofs? 

Young Cla. Yes, I have, my good infidel un* 
cie, half a hundred. 



S40 



BRITISH DRAMA. 



[Garrick, 



Sir C/ui. Out with tlicm, tlirn. 

Yoitiifi Cl(i. First, tlic'ii — W lifiicvcr I sec licr. 
s!u' never louks at me : — Tlial's a his^n of love. — 
\\ liene\er I speak to her, she never answers ine: 
Another sii;n of" love. — And whenever I '^peak to 
nnv IxkIv else, she stnnis to be perteetly easy: — 
'] hat's a certain siijn ol" lox e. 

Sir C/ui. I he (leMl it is ! 

Yoiini; ('/(/. When I am with her bhe is always 
^rave ; and the moment I net up to leave her, 
then the poor thm}; be'jiiis: — ' \V hy «ill yon lca\e 
' nie, Mr Ciac kit ? can't you sacrilice a few mo- 
' nienis to mv bashfulni ss ' — >»tay, vou a-ireeablc 
' runauay, stay; 1 shall soon overcome tiie fears 
* vour presence gives uie.' — I could say more — 
But a man of honour, uncle 

Sir L'lia. What, and has she