PR 3704- ■ Fft hB . / THB FUN ERA L; OK, GRIEF A-LA-MODE; A COMEDY, By SIR RICHARD STEELE, ADAPTED FOR THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION, AS PERFORMED AT THE HEATRE-ROYAL, COV^NT-GARDEN, REGULATFD FROM THE PROMPT-BOOK, By Permimen of the Manager, lines distinguished by inverted Commas, are omitted n he Representation,, LONDON: Printed and published by eorge Cawthoan, ^a ' titearg, Strand BOOKSELLER AND PRINTER TOHiwl fOYAL HIGHN&SS THE PROCESS OF WALES, MDCCCUI. -5l»i 7 ' PROLOGUE. ■** ATURE's deserted and dramatic art, To dazzle now the eje, has left the heart $ Gay lights and dresses, long -extended scenes. Demons and Angels mowing in machine* $ All that can now, or please, or fright'thefalr, May be performed without a writers care, And is the skill of carpenter, not player. Old Skakspere's days could not thus far advance 3 But what V his buskin to our ladder dance ? . In the mid region a silk youth to stand, . } With that unwieldy engine at command] G org" d with intemperate meals while . ereyousit, Well may you take activity for wit : Fte, let confusion on such dulness seize ; Blush you We so pleajd \ as we that so we please. But we, still kind toy Our inverted sense, JDy most unnatural things once more dispense, For since you're still preposterous in delight, Our author made ajull house to invite, A funeral comedy to-night. Nor does he fear that you will take the hint, And let the funeral his own be meant ; No, in old England, nothing can be won Without afaclion, good or ill be dene $ To own this cur frank author does not fear \ But hopes for a prevailing party here : [&, He knows h" has numerous friends, nay knows they'll shevj And for the It oiv -soldier save the poet. ©raroatl* $3er£onae* COFENT-GARDEN. Men, Lord Brumpton, - - Mr. Powel. Lord Hardy, son to Lord Brumpton, Mr. Pope. Mr. Campley, - - Mr. Lewis. Mr. Trusty, Steward to Lord Brumpton, Mr. Hull. Cabinet, - Mr. Sable, an Undertaker, Puzzle, a Lawyer, Trim, Servant to Lord Hardy, Tom, the Lawyer's Clerk, Mr. Claremont. Mr. Quick. Mr. Munden. Mr. Fawcet. Mr. Blanchard. Women* Mrs. Mattocks; Lady Brumpton, Lady Charlotte, an Orphan, ward to Lord Brumpton, - - Miss Hopkins. Lady Har*i®t, her Sister, - Mrs.Esten. Mademoiselle D'Epingle, - Miss Leserve. Tattleaid, - - Miss Stuart. Mrs. Fardingdale, - - Mrs. Leicester. Kate Matchlock, Visitant Ladies, Sable's Servants, Recruits, &c. Scene Covent-Garden. THE FUNERAL. ACT 1. SCENE 1. Enter Cabinet, Sable, ^/^Campley. • Cabinet. I burst into laughter. I can't bear to see writ over an undertaker's door, Dresses for the dead, and j necessaries for funerals ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Sab. Well, sir, 't is very well, I know you are of the laughers, the wits that take the liberty to deride all things that are magniricent*and solemn. Cab. But is it not strangely contradictory, that men can come to so open, so apparent an hypocrisy, as, in the face of all the world, to hire professed mourners to grieve, lament, and follow in their stead, the nearest relations, and suborn others to do by art What they themselves should be prompted to by nature Sab. Alas ! sir, the value of all things under the sun is merely Fantastic $ we run, we strive, andpur- B 6 THE FUNERAL. Aft'L chase things with our blood and money, quite foreign to our intrinsic real happiness, and which have a being id imagination only, as you may see by the pother th:?.t is made about precedence, titles, court- favours, maidenheads, and china-ware. Camp. Ay, Mr. Sable, but all those are objects that promote our joy, are bright to the eye, or stamp upon our minds pleasure and self-satisfaction. Sab. You are extremely mistaken — and there is often nothing more inwardly distressed, than a young bride in her glittering retinue, or deeply joyful, than a young widow in her weeds, and black train $ of both which, the lady of this house may be an instance, for she has been the one, and is, I *11 be sworn, the other. Cab, You talk, Mr. Sable, most learnedly. * Sab. I have the deepest learning, sir, experience; remember your widow cousin, that married last month. Cab. Ay, but how could you imagine she was in all grief an hypocrite! Could all those shrieks, those swoonings, that rising falling bosom be constrained ? Ycu 're uncharitable, Sable, to believe it : What co- lour, what reason had you for it ? • Sab. But as for her, nothing, she resolved, that looked bright or joyous should after her love's death approach her. All her servants that were not coal black must turn out ! a fair complexion made her eyes and heart ache, she'd none but downright jet, and to exceed all example, she hir'd my mourning furniture /. THE FUNERAL,.. 7 b/*the year, and in case of my mortality ty"d my son to the same article ; so in six weeks time ran away with a young fellow. — Pr'ythee, push on briskly, Mr. Cabinet, now is your time to have this widow, for Tattleaid tells me, she always said she'd never marry—— Cab. As you say, that* s generally the most hopeful sign. Sab. I tell you, sir, "t is an infallible one; you. know those professions are only to introducediscourse cf matrimony and young fell : ws. Cab. Put I swear I could not have confidence, ev'n after all jsinlance, and the mutual love -which his lordship (who indeed has now been so kind as to leave us) has so long interrupted, to mention a thing of sucb :-■ nature %o lably ■ ■ Sab. tins ! why I tell you *t is the only season (granting her sorrow unfeigned :) when Would 1 you speak of passion, but in the midst of passions*? there 's a what d^yt call a crisis — the lucky mi nute, that *sso talked of, is a moment between joy and grief, which you must take hold of and push yo-xt fortune^ But get you in, and you 'il 1 st i ;ad your .fete in the reception Mrs. Tattleaid gives you : all she cays, and all she d$es, nay, her very love and hatred are mere repetitions of her ladyship's passions : I % \\ say that for her, she -""s a true lady^s woman, and is herself as much a second-hand thing- as her $3thes. But I must beg your pardon, sir, my people are come, I sec. [Exit Cab. and Camp. Enter Sable's Lien.]— Where 'Bij i *THEFUNERAt. A3 1 1 in the name of goodness have you all been ! have you brought the sawdust and tar for embalming ? have you the hangings and the sixpenny nails, and my lord's coat of arms ? Enter Servant. Ser and running to each other. Wid. Oh, Tattleaid 1 his and our hour is come ! Tat, I always said by his church-yard cough, you *d bury him* but still you were impatient Wtd, Nay, thou hast ever been my comfort, my confident, my friend, and my servant : and now 1 '11 reward thy pains ; for tho' I scorn the whole sex of fellows, I '11 give them hopes for thy sake $ every smile, every frown, every gesture, humour, caprice, and whimsy of mine, shall be gold to thee, girl ; thou shalt feel all the sweets and wealth of being a fine rich widow's woman. Oh ! how my head runs my first year out, and jumps to all the joys of widowhood j if thirteen months hence a friend should haul one to a play one has a mind to see, what pleasure 't will be, when my Lady Brampton's footman's called, who kept a place for that very purpose, to make a sudden in-^ surreelion of fine wigs in the pit and side-boxes. Then, with a pretty sorsow in one's face,, and a ml* Afil. THE FUNERAL. ig ling blush for being stared at, one ventures to look round, and bow to one of one's own quality: Thus [fvery direSily] to a snug pretending fellow of no for- tune. Thus [as scarce seeing him] to one that writes lampoons: Thus [fearfully] to one one really loves. Thus [looking down] to one woman acquaintance : from box to box thus [with looks differently familiar. I Then the serenades ! the lovers ! Tat. Oh, madam, you make my heart bound with- in me. I Ml warrant you, madam, I '11 manage them all; and, indeed, madam, the men are really very silly creatures, 'tis no such hard matter— They rulers ! they governors ! I warrant you, indeed ! Wid. Ay, Tattleaid, they imagine themselves fhighty things, I laugh to see men go on our errands : strut in great offices, live in care?, hazards and scan- dals, to come home and be fools to us in brags cf their dispatches and negotiations, and their wisdoms — as my good deceas'd used to entertain me 5 which, I to relieve myself from — would lisp some silly iequest, pat him on the face Tie shakes his head at my * pretty folly, calls me simpleton — gives me a jewel, then goes to bed so wise, so satisfied, and so de- ceived——- Tat. But I protest, madam, I *ve always wondered ' how you could accomplish my young lord's being disinherited. f/U. Why, Tatty, you must know my late lord — how prettily that sounds, my lace lord ! but I say, my late Lord Fribble was generosity — I pressed him 54 • THE FUNERAL. t AH L there, and whenever you, by my order, Tiad told him stories to my son-in-law's disadvantage, in his rage and resentment, I (whose interest lay otherwise) al- ways fell en my knees to implore his pardon, and with tears, sighs, and importunities for him prevailed against him : besides this, you know I had, when I pieased,?fits. — Fits are a mighty help in the government of a good-natured man. Tat. O rare madam! your ladyship's a great head- piece 5 but now, dear madam, is the hard task, if I may take the liberty to say it— —to enjoy all freedoms and seem to abstain j but now, madam, a fine you n^ gentleman with a red coat, that dances— Wid. You raay*be sure the happy man (if it be in fate that there is a happy man to make me an unhappy woman) shall not be.an old one again j but the day is now my own— -Yet now I think on 't, Tattleaid, be sure to keep an obstinate shyness to all our old ac- quaintance. Tat. Ay, madam— -I believe, madam-— I speak, madam, but my humble sense-- -Mr. Cabinet would marry you. Wid, Marry me ! No, Tattleaid, he that is so mean as to marry a woman after an affair with her, will be so base as to upbraid that very weakness. Enter a Servant. Ser I hope to see the time when that there is indeed some progress made in, shall be w he Vy effected ; and by the improvement of the noble art of tautology, every inn in Halborn an inn of court. Let others think. .of logic, rhetoric, and I know not what impertinence, but mind thou tautology — -What *s the first excellence in a lawyer ? Tautology. What 's the second ? Tau- tology. What's the third? Tautology; as an old pleader said of action. But to turn to the deed- — Pulls cut an immeasurable parchment.'] for the will is of no force if I please, for he was not capable of making one after the former, as I managed -it — upon which account I now wait on my lady — by the way, Tom, do you know the true meajiing of the word a dscd ? ! Clerk* Ay, sir, as if a man should say the deed. P:tz. Right; 't is emphatically so called, because after it all deeds and actions are of no efiecr, and you have nothing to do but hang yourself — the only oblig- ing thing you can then do. But I was telling you the y use of -tautology — Refed towards the middle of that instjument. Clerk, [Reads.] I the said Earl of Brumpton, do fcive, i estow, giant, and bequeath, over ;nd above ithe srAd premises, all the site and capital messuage,, calied by the name of Oatham, and all out-houses, barns, stables, and other edifices and buildings, yards", ;<>rchards, gardens, fields, arbors, trees, lands? earths* C lS THE FUNERAL. Atl I. meadows, greens, pastures, feedings, woods, under- woods, ways, waters* water-courses, fairing-ponds pools, commons, common of pasture, paths, he~ath- thickets, profits, commodities, and emoluments, with their and every of their appurtenances whatsoever, to the said capital messuage and cite belonging, or in any- wise appertaining, or with the same "heretofore used, occupied, or enjoyed, accepted, executed, known, or taken as part, parcel, or member of the same ; con- taining in the whole, by estimation, four hundred acres of the large measure, or thereabouts, be the same more or less j all and singular which the * id site, capital messuage, and other the premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, are situate, lying and being--. [Puzzle nods and sneeers as the synonimous "words are re/ eating, whom L. Brumpton scornfully mi?nics, Puz. Hold, hold, good Tom j you do come on in- deed in business, but do n't use your ncsa enough in reading-— [Reads in a ridiculous law tone till out ofbreuth.] —Why, you 're quite out 5 you read to be understood —let me see it — I the said enrl-— — -Now again, suppose this were to be in latin- --{Runs into Latin terminations ."] Making Latin is only making it no English — — Ego pradicl—Comes de Brumpton iotas meas bamos outhousas & stabulas—yardos — —Bur there needs no ' further perusal. I now recollect the whole— -my lord, * by this instrument, disinherits his son utterly, gives all to my lady ; and moreover, grants the guardianship of two fortune wards to her— id est, to be sold by her, which is the subject of my business to her ladyship. AB 1* THE FUNERAL. 19 who, ^methinks, a little overdoes the aftair of grief, in letting me wait thus long on such welcome articles— But here — ■ Enter Tattleaid, wiping her eyes. Tat. I have, in vain, done all I can to make her regard me. Pray, Mr. Puzzle, you re a man of sense, come in yourself, and speak reason, to bring her to some consideration of herself, if possible. Pu%. Tom, I '11 come down to the hall to you ; dear madam, lead on. [Exit Clerk one wayi Puz. and Tat. another. [Lord Bi umpton and Trusty advance from their con- cealmenty after a lotfg pause, and staring at each other.] L. Brump. Trusty, on thy sincerity, on thy fidelity to me thy friend, thy patron, and thy master, answer me direclly to one question— Am I really alive ? Ami that identical, that numerical, that very same Lord Brumpton, that— Trusty. That very lord— that very Lord Brumpton, t the very generous, honest, and good Lord Brumpton, who spent his strong and riper years with honour and reputation ; that very Lord Brumpton, who buried a fine lady, who brought him a fine son, who is a fine gentleman ; but in his age, that very-man, unseasonably captivated with youth and beauty, married a very fine young lady, who has dishonoured his bed, disinherited Lis brave son, and dances o'er his grave. L. Brump. Oh, that damn'd tautologist tool- That Puzzle, and his irrevocable deed;— [Pausing.]— . Cij SO THE FUNERAL.' Aft 11. Well, I know I do not really live, but wander o'er the place where once I had a treasure- 1 '11 haunt her, Trusty, gaze in that false beauteous face, till she trembles, till she looks pale, nay, till she blushes- Trusty. Ay, ay, my lord, you speak a ghost very much 5 there 's flesh and blood in that expression— that false beauteous fwice ! L. Brump. Then, since you see my weakness, be a friend, and arm me with all your care, and ail your reason— Trusty. If you Ml condescend to let me direct you, you shall cut off this rotten lirnb, this fake, disloyal wife, and save your noble parts, your son, your family, your honour. Short is the date in which ill acls prevail, But honesty V a rock can never fail. [Exeunt, ACT II. SCENE I. Enter Lord Hardy. Lord Hardy. Now, indeed, I am utterly undone—— but to ex- pec! an evil softens the weight of it when it happens ; and pain, no more than pleasure, is in reality so great as in expectation. But what will become of me?— How shall I keep myself even above worldly want ?— Shall I live at home, a stiff, melancholy, poor man of AB 11. THE FUNERAL. 21 quality ; grow uneasy to my acquaintance as well as myself, by fancying I am slighted where I am not : with all the thousand particularities which attend these whom low fortune and high spirit make malcontents ? No! ue have a brave prince on the throne, whose commission I bear, and a glorious war in an honest .cause approaching, [clapping his hand on his sword.] in which this shall cut out bread for me, and may, per- haps, equaUthat estate to which my birth entitled me —But what to do in present pressures ---Ha, Trim J [€ ailing* Enter Trim. Trim. My lord I L. Hardy, How do the poor rogues that are to recruit my company? Trim. Do, sir ? They have eat you to your last guinea. L. Hardy. Were you at the agent's? Trim. Yes. L. Hardy. Well, and how? Trim. Why, sir, for your a rears, yon may have eleven shillings in the pound 5 but he Ml not touch your growing subsistence u^der three shillings in the pound interest j besidt ,vhich, you must let his clerk, Jonathan Item, swear tb oeac gainst you, to keep you fijom du-liing ; c nsure your life, which you may do for eight per cent. On t si erms he '11 oblige you, which he would not do foi bod) else in the regiment $ but he has • friendshi tor you, Ciij 22 THE FUNERAL. ABU. L. Hardy. Oh, I am his humble servant ! but he must have his own terms ; we can't starve, ncr must the fel- lows want. But methinks this is a calm midnight} I have heard no duns to-day. Trim. Duns, my lord ! Why, now your father 's dead, and they can't arrest you, I slfall grow a little* less upon the smooth with them than I have been. Why, friend, says I, how often must I tell you my lord is not stirring? His lordship has not slept well, you must come some other time j your lordship will send for him when you are at leisure to look upon money affairs ; or if they are so saucy, so impertinent as to press a man of your quality for their own, there are canes, there 's Bridewell, there 's the stocks for your ordinary trades- men} but to an haughty, thriving, Covent Garden mer- cer, silk, or lacernan, your lordship gives your most hnmble service to him, hopes his wife is well : you have letters to write, or you would see him yourself} but you desire he would be with you punctually on such a day, that is to say, the day after you are gone out of town. L. Hardy* Go, sirrah, you are scurrilous : I won't believe there are such men of quality— -d'ye hear, give my service this af tern oon*to Mr. Cutpurse, the agent, and tell him I am obliged to pay him for his readiness to serve me, for I am resolved to pay my debts forth- with — - [A 'voice without.] I do n't know whether he is within or not. Mr. Trim, is my lord within ? L. Hardy \ Trim, see who it is 3 I am not within, you know ■ r Att 1L THE FUNERAL. 23 Trim, [Without.] Yes, sir, my lord is above ; pray walk up L. Har. Who can it be j he owns me too. Enter Campley and Trim. Dear Tom Campley, this is kind —You are an ex- traordinary man, indeed, who, in the sudden accession of a noble fortune, can still be yourself, and visit your less happy friends. Camp. No, you are, my lord; the extraordinary man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, can be master of a temper that makes you the envy, rather than pity of your more fortunate, not more happy friends. . L. Har. Oh, sir, your servant !— -But let me gaze on thee a litrle 1 ha n't seen thee since we came home into England — most exacTly, negligently, genteely dressed — I know there is more than ordinary in this. [Beating Campley's breast.] Come, confess who shares with me here. I must have her real and poetical name —Come, she is in sonnet, Cynthia 3 in prose, rmstress Camp. One you little dream of 5 tho' she is in a manner of your placing there. L. Har, My placing there I Camp. Why, my lord, all the fine things you have said to me in the camp of my lady Charlotte, your father's' ward, ran in my head so very much, that I made it my business to become, acquainted in that 24 THE FUNERAL* AB U. family, which I dfd by Mr. Cabinet's means, and ?un now in love in the same place with your lordship. £. Har. How ! in love in the same place with me, Mr- Campley? Camp. Ay, my lord, with t' other sister, with t* other sister. L. Har What a dunce was I, not to know which, without your naming her? Why thou art the only man breathing fit to deal wjfh her But my Lady Charlotte ; there 's a woman ! so easily virtuous 5 so agreeably severe $ her motion so unaffected, yet so composed ; her lips breathe nothing but truth, good sense, and flowing wit. Camp. Ladyilarriot ; there 's the woman! Her lips are made of gum ano\balm — There is something in that dear girl that fires my blood above — above — above — L. Har. Above what ? Camp. A grenadier's march. L. Har. A soft simile, I must confess- But, Oh, that Charlotte! to recline this aching head, full of cnre, on that tender, snowy, faithful bosom Camp. Oh, that Harriot ! to embrace that beau- tireo^s ■ ■» ■ ■ ■■ ■ L. Har. Ay, Tom ; but mcthinks your head runs too much on the wedding night only, to make your happiness lasting : mine is fixed on the married state ; I 'txpecl my felicity from Lady Charlotte, in her friendship, her constancy, her piety, her houshold cares, her maternal tenderness- — But tell me, I won- A£l II. THE FUNERAL: 25 der how you make your approaches in be^eging such a sort of creature 5 she that loves addresses, gallantry, fiddles j that reigns and delights in a crowd of ad- mirers. If I know her, she is one o those yen may easily have a general acquaintance with, but hard to make particular. Camp. You understand her very well — You must know, I put her out of all her play, by carrying it in .a humorous manner ; I took care in all my actions, before I discovered the lover, that she should in ge- neral, have a good opinion of me : so that she is now extremely at a loss how to throw me from the familia- rity of an acquaintance, into the distance of a lover; but I laugh her out of it $ when she begins to frewn, and look grave at my mirth,; I mimic her till she bursts out a laughing. I. Har. That 's ridiculous enough. Camp. By Cabinet's interest over my Lady Brump- ton, with gold and flattery to Mrs. Fardingale, an old maid her ladyship has placed about the young ladies, I have easy access at all times, and am this very day to be admitted by her into their apartment —I have found, you must know, that she is my relation. L. Har. Her ladyship has chose an odd companion for young ladies. Camp. Oh, my lady's a politician; she told Tat- tleaid one day, that an old maid was the best guard for young ones ; for they, like eunuchs in a seraglio, are vigilant out of envy of enjoyment they cannot i£ THE FUNERAL. Aft U. themselves arrive at. But, as I was saying, I have sent my cousin Fardingale a song, which she and [ are to piaclice to the spinnet — The young ladies will be by, and I am to be left alone with Lady Harriot. If you Mi meet me at Tom's, have a letter ready, I will, myself, deliver it to your mistress, conducl you into the house, and tell her you are there, and find means to place yon together. You must march under my command to day, as I have many a one under yours. L. liar. But, faith, Tom, I shall not behave my- self with half the resolution you have under mine 5 for, to confess my weakness, though I know she loves me, though I know she is stedfastly mine, as her heart can make her, I know jiot how, when I am near her tiiat my tongue falters, my nerves shake, and my heart so alternately' sinks and rises, that my pre- meditated resolves vanish into confusion, down-cast eyes, and broken utterance.—— Camp* Ha, ha, ha I this is a campaigner too! Why, tr.y lord, that s the condition Harriot would have me in, and then she thinks she could have me; but I, that know her better than she does herself — But I shall make her no such sacrifice. *T is well my lady Charlotte's a woman of so solid an understanding 5 I do n't know another that would not use you ill for your high value. L. Har. But, Tom, I must see your song you have sent your cousin Fardingale, as you call her. Camp. This is lucky enough— [Aside.] — No, hang Aft II. THE FUNERAL, ZJ i * it, my lord, a man makes so silly a figure when his j< verses are reading — Trim, thou hast not left off thy loving and thy rhyming $ Trim's a critic : I remember him a servitor at O'xon: {Giving a paper to Trim.] I give myself into his hands, because you sha n't see ( them till I am gone« — -My lord, your servant —you sha n't stir. L. Har. Nor you neither, then, {Struggling. Camp. You will be obeyed. [Exeunt ; Lord Hardy ivaits on him dowm Trim. What is in this song— Ha !— do n't my eyes deceive me ?— -a bill of three hundred pounds ! [&ads^ < Mr. Cash, Pray pay lo Mr. William Trim, or bearer, the sum of three hundred pounds, and place it to the account of Sir, Your humble servant, Thomas Campley.* [Pulling off bis hat and bowing.'} Your very humble servant, good Mr. Campley. Ay, this is poetry ; this is a song indeed—Faith, I '11 set it, and sing it myself Pray pay to Mr. William Trim — — so far in recitative — Three hundred- — [Singing ridiculously.'] — bun — dred — hundred — -Hundred thrice repeated, \ because 't is three hundred pounds 5 I love repetitions in music, when there is a good reason for it * Po — — — ds, after the Italian manner. If fh?y would bring me such sensible words as these, I would outstrip all your composers for the music prize. This w?s ixmestly dont of Mr. Campley : though I have carrk4 28 THE FUNERAL. AB II. him many a purse from my master, when he was en- sign to our company in Flanders. Re-enter Lord Hardy. My lord, I am your lordship's humble servant. L. Har. Sir, your humble servant. But, pray, my good familiar friend, how came you to be so vQiy much my humble servant all of a sudden ? Trim. Ib:g pardon, dear sir ; my lord, I am not your humble servant.* L. Ear. No ? Trim, Yes, my lord, I am 5 but not as you mean— btjt I am — I am, my lord In short, I am over- joyed. \s.Har. Ove? joyed! thou art distracted What ails the fellow ? Where is Campley's song? Trim. Oh, my lord one would not think it was in him ! Kir. Campley is really a very great poet — As for the song, it is only as they all end in rhyme — owe, woe j isses, kisses ; boy, joy — but, my lord, the other in long heroic blank verse : [Reading it with a great tone.] Fray pay to Mr. William Trim, or order, the sum of How sweetly it runs ! — Pactolian guineas chink in every line. L. Ear. How very handsomely this was done in Campley I I wondered, indeed, lie was so willing to shew his verses. In how careless a manner that fel- low does the greatest actions ! Trim. My lord, pray, my lord, sha n't I go immedi- ately to Cutpurse's ? Jfl \l % THE FUNERAL. 29 L» Har. No, sirrah ; now we have no occasion for it. "Trim, No, my lord, only to stare him full in the face after 1 have received this money, not say a word, but keep my hat on, and walk out : or, perh'aps, not hear, if any I meet with speak to me ; but grow stiff, deaf, and shortsighted to all my old acquaintance, like a sudden rich man as lam; or perhaps, my lord, de- sire Cufpune"s clerk to let me leave fifty pounds at their house, payable to Mr. William Trim, or order- till I come that way— or a month or two hence, may have occasion for it— I. do n't know what bills may be drawn upon me— Them when the clerk begins to | stare at me, till he pulls the great goose quill from be- hind his ear, [Pulls a handful of farthings^ out.] I fall a reckoning the pieces,- as I do these farthings. L, Har. We]/, sirrah, you may have your humour, but be sure you take fourscore pounds, and pay my debts immediately— if you meet any officer you ever see me in company with, thatlooks graveat QitpurseU house, tell him I'll speak with him— We must help our friends— But learn moderation, you rogue, in your good fortune} be at home all the evening after, while I wait at Pom's to meet Campley, in order to see lady Charlotte My good or ill in her alone is found ', And in that thought all other cares are dro%vn"d. [Exit. Trim, Oh dear, dear, three hundred pounds. [Exit. D 3« • THE FUNERAL. AB IL Enter Sable, Lord Brumtton, and Trvsty. Sab. Why, my lord, you can't in conscience put me off so j I must do according to my orders, cut you up, and embalm you, except you '11 come down a little deeper than you talk of; you do n't consider the charges I 've been at already. 'L.Brump. Charges! for what? Sab. First, twenty guineas to my lady's woman for notice of your death (a fee I 've before now known the widow herself go halves in), but no matter for that — in the next place, ten pounds for watching you all your long fit of sickness last winter— L. Brump. Watching me * Why, I had hone but | my own servants by turns. Sab. I mean attending to give notice of your death, I had all your long fit of sickness, last winter, at half a crown a day, a fellow waiting at your gate to bring me intelligence, but you unfortunately recovered, and I lost all my obliging pains for your service. L. Brump. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Sable, thou 'rt a very im- pudent fellow. Haifa crown a day to attend my de- cease, .and dost thou reckon it to me-? Sab. Look you, gentlemen, do n't stand staring at me— I have a book at home, which I call my -dooms- day-book, where I have every man of quality's age and distemper in town, and know vytien you should drop— —Nay, my lord, if you had reflected upon your mortality, half so much as poor I have for you, you weld not desire to return to life thus-*-*— in short, A3 H. THE FUNERAL. %1 I cannot keep this a secret under the whole money I am to have for burying you. L. Brump* Trusty, if you think it safe in you to obey my orders after the deed Puzzle told hi3 clerk of, pay it him — — 'Trusty* I should be glad to give it out of my own pocket, rather than be without the satisfaction of seeing you witness to it. L. Brump. I heartily believe thee, dear Trusty Sab. Then, my lord, the secret of your being alive is now safe with me. Trustj. I '11 warrant I *ll be reveng'd of this uncon- scionable dog. — [Aside.] — —My lord, you must to your closet 1 fear somebody 's earning — [Exeunt Sab. oneway, and L. Brumpt. and Trusty another. SCENE II. ")ra 1 ofBrumpton, out of your head, or making him absent Dij 35 THF FUNERAL. Acl 11. from your eyes. Do but look on me now, and deny it at you can. Lady Char, You arc the maddest girl [Smiling* Lady Har. Look ye, I knew you could not say it and forbear laughing — [Looking over Charlotte,] — Oh I see bis name as plain as you do F — r — a — n Fran, c— i — s cis, Francis, 'tis in every line of the book. Lady Char. [Rising.'] 'T is in vain, I see, to mind any thing in such impertinent company — but granting *t were as you say, as .to my Lord Hardy, 'tis more excusable to admire another than one's sel f ■ Lady Har. No, I think not — Yes, I grant you than really to be vain at one's person, but I do n"i admire myself—— Pish ! I do n't believe my eyes have that softness- — [Looking in ike glass, [ They an't so piercing : no, 't is only sturf, the men will be talking— — Some people are such admirers of teeth— -Lord, what signifies teeth! [Shewing her teeth.'] A very btack-a-moor has as white teeth as I - * — No, sister, I do n t admire royself, but I *ve a spirit of contradiction in me : you do n't know I 'm in love with myself, only to rival the men. Lady Char. Ay, but Mr. Campley wili gain ground ev'n of that rival of his, your dear self— — «- Lady Har. Oh, what have I done to you, that you should name that insolent intruder — A confident opi- nionative fop— No, indeed, if I am, as a poetical lover of mine sighed and sung of both sexes — The public envy and the public care* An IL THE FUNERAL. 33 I shan't be so easily catcbed^I thank him — I want 'but to be sure, I should heartily torment him by ba- nishing him, and hen consider whether he should de- part this life or not. Lady Char, Indeed, sister, to be serious with you, : this vanity in your humour does not at all become you. Lady Har. Vanity I All the matter is, we gay people are more sincere than you wise folks : all your life 'g an art— Speak your soul— Look you there— [Hauling her to the glass,'] Are you not struck with a secret plea- sure, when you view that bloom in your look, that harmony in your shape, that promptitude of your mien ! Lady Char, Well, simpleton, if I am at first so silly as to be a little taken with myself, I know it a fault, and take pains to correct it. Lady Har. Pshaw! pshaw! talk this musty tale to old Mrs. Fardingale, 'tis too soon for me to think at that rate. Lady Char. They that think it too soon to under- stand themselves, will very soon find it too late-— But tell me honestly, do n't you like Campley ? Lady Har, The fellow is not to be abhorred, if the forward thing did not think. of getting me so easily— Oh, I hate a heart I can't break when I please- -What makes the value of dear china, but that 't is so brittle I —Where it not for that, you might as well have stone mugs in your closet- Lady Char. Iiist, hist, here '$ Fardingale. 34 THE FUNERAL. AB II. Enter F audi ng ale. Far. Lady Harriot Lady Charlotte— I '11 entertain you now j I *ve a new song, just come hot out of the poet's brain. Lady Charlotte, ray cousin Campley writ it, and it 's set to a pretty air, I warrant you. Lady Har. *Tis like to be pretty indeed, of his writing. [Flings away. Far, Come, come, this is not one of your tringham trangkam, witty things, that your poor poets write ; no, *t is well known my cousin Campley has two thou- sand pounds a year ^ ■ ■ ■ — ■■But this is all dissimulation in you. Lady Char. 'Tis so indeed, for your cousin's song is very pretty, Mrs. Fardingale. [Reads, Let not lo've on me bestow, Soft distress and tender gentle boy, None of thy grief but all thy joy \ But Harriot thinks that a little unreasonable, to expect ©ne without enduring V other. Enter Servant. Ser. There 's your cousin Campley to wait on you without- Far. Let him come in We shall have the song now Enter Cample y. Qamf. Ladies, your most obedient servant— Your ■'jtSl II. THE FUNERAL, 35 servant, lady Charlotte-— servant, lady Harriot*-- [Har- riot looks grave upon him.] What 's the matter, dear lady Harriot— Not well ? I protest to you I 'm mightily concerned-- -[Fulls out a bottle.] This is a most excel- lent spirit— snuff it up, madam. Lady Ear. Pish— the familiar coxcomb frets me heartily Camp. 'T will be over, I hope, immediately.- Lady Char, Your cousin Fardrngale has shewn us some of your poetry. Camp. You should not have called it my poetry. Far. Who waits there— Pray bring my lute out of the ^ext room— [Eater servant ivitb a lute.] You must know I conn'd this song before I came in, and find it will go to an excellent air of old Mr. Law's, who was my mother's intimate acquaintance : my mother's, what do I talk of? I .mean my grand-mother's --Oh, here 's the lute--- Cousin Campley, hold the song upon your hat, [Aside to him.] 'T is a pretty gallantry to a relation. [Sings and squalls. Let not love, &c. Oh> I have left off these things- many a day. • Camp, No j— -but are not assured enough-— Take it higher --[la her vwn squall.]-- -Thus-— I know your voice will bear it. Lady Har. 0h, hideous ! Oh, the gross flatterer— I shall burst— Mi o. Fardingale, pray go on, the music fits the words most aptly— Take it higher, as your cousia advises.. 3^ THE FUNERAL. A8U, Far. Oh, dear madam, do you really like it-— I do purely to please you— for I can 7 t sing, alas ! Lady Char. We know it, good madam, we know it- —But pray— - Far t Let not love, and substantial blisses, is lively enough, and ran accordingly in the tune. [Curtsies to the company,'] Now I took it higher, LadyHar. Incomparably done ! nothing can equal it, exqept your cousin sang his own poetry. C imp. Madam, from my Lord Hardy]-— Delivers a letter to lLady Charlotte.] JJow do you say, my Lady Harriot, except I sing it myself 1 then I assure you I will. Lady Char. I haVt patience, I must go read my letter. [Exit. Far, Bless me 1 what's become of Lady Charlotte ? [Exit; Lady Har. Mrs* Fardingale, Mrs. Fardingale, what, must we lose you? [Campley runs to the door, takes the hey out, and locks her in.~\ What means this insolence ? a plot upon me. Do you know who I am ? Camp. Yes, madamj you 're my Lady Harriot Lovely, with ten thousand pounds in your pocket $ and I am Mr. Campley, worth two thousand a year-— , of quality enough to pretend to you— And I do design, before I leave this room, to hear you talk like a reason- able woman, as nature has made you. Nay, 't is in vain to flounce, and discompose yourself and your dress. Lady Ear, If there are swords, if they are men of 1 } cilL THE FUNERAL. 37 honour, and not all dastards, cowards that pretend to this injured person— [Running round the room. Camp. Ay, ay, madam, let 'cm come— .Th -it 's put- ting me in my way, fighting 's my trade— but you 've used all mankind too ill to expect so much service in short, madam, were you a fool, 1 should not desire to expostulate with you [Seizing her hand. L.id> Ear. Unhand me, ravishes-!— -[Fulls her land from htm, and runs round the room, Campley after her. Camp. But, madam, madam, madam, why, madam ! Pry thee, Cynthia, look behind you, [Sings. Age and wrinkles will overtake you. Lady Har. Age, wrinkles, small pox, nay, any thing that *s most abhorrent to youth and bloom, were wel- come in the place of so detested a creature. Camp. No such matter, Lady Harriot 5 I would not be a vain coxcomb, but I know I am not detestable nay, know where you 've said as much, before you understood me for your servant. Was I immediately transformed because I became your loyer ? Lady Har. My lover, sir ? did I ever give ycu rea- son to think I admitted you as such ? Camp. Yes, you did in your using me ill— how do you answer yourself for some parts of vour behaviour 9 to me as a gentleman Do but consider, madam, I have long loved you— bore with this fantastic humour through all its mazes-— Nay, do not frown— for 'tis no better 1 love with too sincere, too honest a eteyotion, and would have vour mind as faultless as $8 " THE FUNERAL. Acl H s your person, which *t would be, if you '11 hy aside this vanity- ^ ■ '[She walks about less violently) but more confused,'] Had I not better tell you of it now, than when you were in my power j I should be then too generous to thwart your inclination. Lady Har. That is indeed very handsomely said* Why should I not obey reason as soon as I see it*— [Aside.] Since so, Mr. Campley, I can as ingenuously as I should, then, acknowledge that I have been in an error. [Looking down on her fan* Camp. Nay, that's too great a condescension. Oh* excellence! 1 repent 1 I see 'twas but justice in you to demand my knees, {Kneeling] my sighs, my con- stant, tenderest regard and service — And you shall have 'em, since you are above 'em' Lady Har. Nay, Mr. Campley, you won't recall me to a fault you have so lately shewn me 1 will not suiter this— no more ecstasies 1 But pray, sir, what was 't you did to get my sister out of the room ? Camp. You may know it, and I must desire you to assist my Lord Hardy there, who writ to her by me— For he is no ravisher, as you called me just now. - He is now in the house-— — And I would fain gain an interview—- Lady Har. That they may have— But they '11 make % little use of it : for the tongue is the instrument of speech to us of a lower form : they are of that high order of lovers, who know none but eloquent silence, ana can utter themselves only by a gesture, that speaks 'Jan. 'jiB II. THE FUNERAL, $9 their passion inexpressible— —and what not fine things. Camp. But pray let *s go into your sister's closet, while they are together. Lady Har. I swear I do n't know how to see my sister — she '11 laugh me to death to see me out of my pantoufies, and you and I thus familiar However, I know she 'il approve it. Camp. You may boast yourself an heroine to her, and the first woman that was ever vanquished by hear- ing truth, and had sincerity enough to receive so rough an obligation, as being made acquainted with her faults — Come, madam, stand your ground bravely, we '11 march in to her thus. [She leaning on Campley. Lady Har. Who '11 believe a woman's anger more ? I 've betray'd the whole sex to you, Mr. Campley. [Exeunt. Re-enter Lord Hardy and Campley. Gamp. My lord, her sister, who now is mine, will immediately send her hither But be yoursel f « Charge her bravely ■ I wish she were a cannon— an eighteen pounder for your sake— Then I know, were there occasion, you 'd be in the mouth of Lady Har. I long, yet fear to see her— —I know I am unable to utter mysel f Camp, Come* retire here 'till she appears. 4° THE FUNERAL. AB II. Enter Lady Charlotte. Lady Char. Now is the tender moment now ap- proaching [Aside,] There he is [They approach and salute each other, trembling.] Your lordship will please to sit : [After a *very long pause, stolen glances, andir- resclu't gestures] your lordship, I think, has travelled m those parts of Italy, where the armies are— — L. Hardy. Yes, tnadam. Lady Char. I think I hav? letters from you, dated Ma.ntua. L. Hardy. I hope you have, madam— and that their purpose — - - Lady Char. My lord ? {Looking serious and confused. L. Hardy. Was not your ladyship going to say something f Lady Char. I only attended to what your lordship was going to say-— that is, my lord- --But you were, [ believe, going to say something of that garden of the world Italy— I am very sorry your misfortunes in England are such as make you justly regret your leaving that place. L. Hardy. There is a person in England may make those losses insensible to me. I Lady Char. Indeed, my lord, there have so very few of quality attended his majesty in the \var, that your birth and merit may well hope for bis favour. L. Hardy. I have, indeed, all the zeal in the world for his majesty's service, and most grateful aJTe&ioa for his person, but did not then mean him. dB 11. THE FUNERAL. 41 Lady Char. But can you indeed Impartially say that our island is really preferable to the rest of the world, or is it arrogance only in us to think so? L. Hardy. I profess, madam, that little I have seen has but more endeared England to me ; for that medley of humours which perhaps distracts our public aifairs, does, methinks, improve our private lives, and makes conversation more various, and consequently more- pleasing — Every where else, both men and things have the same countenance. — In France you meet with much civility and little friendship; in Holland, deep attention, but little relied ion $ in Italy, all pleasure, but no mirth — But here with us, where you have every where nretendejrs, or masters in every thing, 1 you can "c fall into company, wherein you shall not be *;uastnic~ted or diverted. Lady Char* I never had an account of any thing from you, my lord, but I mourned the loss of my brother — -you would have been so happy a companion for him — With that right sense of yours — My lord, you need not bow so obsequiously, for I do you but justice— — -But you sent rne word of your seeing a lady I in Italy very like me — —Did you visit her often? L. tiurdy. Once or twice ; but I observed her so loose a creature, that I could have killed her for having yo\:r person. Lady Char. I thank you, sir ; but Heaven that pre- 1, serves me unlike her, will, I hope,, make her more like me — But your fellow-traveller — His relations themselves know not a just account of him. \ E 4» THE FUNERAL. AS! IL L. Hardy, The original cause of his fever was a violent passion for a line young woman he had not power to speak to— but I told her his regard for her as passionately as possible. Lady Char. You were to him, what Mr. Campley has been to you — Whither am I running — Poor — your friend— Poor Gentleman. L. Hardy. I hope, then, as Campley's eloquence is greater, so has been his success. , Lady Char. My lord ? L. Hardy. Your ladyship's—— Enter Lady Harriot. Lady Har. Undone ! undone ! Tattleai J has found, by some means or other, that Campley brought my Lord Hardy hither j we are utterly ruined, my lady 's coming L. Hardy. I '11 stay and confront her. Lady Char. It must not be— we are too much in her power. + Enter Campley. Camp. Come, come, my lord, we 're routed horse and foot — Down the back stairs, and so out. [Exeunt. Ladies. Ay, ay Lady Har. I tremble every joint of me—- Lady Char, I 'm at a stand a little, but rage will recover me ? she 's coming in » ■- » » " ■ * AiilU \ THE FUNERAL. 43 Enter Widow. Wid. Ladies, your servant — I fear I interrupt you, have you company ? Lady Harriot, your servant, Lady Charlotte, your servant? Whatnot a word? — Oh, I beg your ladyship's pardon— Lady Charlotte did I say ? My young Lady Brumpton, I wish you joy. Lady Char. Oh, your servant, Lady Dowager Brumpton— That 's an appellation of much more joy to you- Wid. So smart, madam 5 but you should, methinks, have made one acquainted-— Yet, madam, your con- duel is seen through ^ady Char* My conduct, Lady Brumpton I Wid* Your conducl, Lady Charlotte ! \Conungup to each other. Lady Char. Madam, 't is you are seen through all your thin disguises— Widow. I seen ! By whom ? Lady Char* By an all-piercing eye 5 nay, by what you much more fear, the eye of the world— The -world sees you, or shall see you: it shall know your secret intemperance, your public fasting— -Loose poems in your closet, an homily on your toilette— Your easy skilful practised hypocrisy, by which you wrought on your husband basely to transfer the trust and ward of us, two helpless virgins, into the hands and care of-— I cannot name it— You 're a wicked woman. Lady Bar* [Aside.] Oh, rare sister! 'T is a fine thing to keep one's anger in stock by one j we that 44 T II E V UN E K A L . A3 1L are angry and pleased every half hour, have nothing at all of this high-flown fury ! Why, she rages like a princess in a tragedy ! Blessings on her tongue Wid. Is this the effecT: of your morning lectures, your self-examination, all this fury? L?Ay Char. Yes, it is madam; if I take paint t# govern my passions, it shali not give licence to others to govern 'ns for me Wid. Well, Lady Charlotte, however you ill deserve it of me, I shall take care, while there are locks and bars,^ to keep you from Lord Hardy— From being a legerlady, from carrying a knapsack. Lady Char. Knapsack ! do you upbraid the poverty your own wicked arts have brought him to— Knap- sack! Oh, grant me patience, can I hear this of the man I love ? Knapsack I I have not words. [Stamps about the room. Wid. I leave you to cool upon it $, love and anger are very warm passions ■ [Exit. Lady Har. She has locked us in— *— . Lady Char. Knapsack! Well, I will break wall* to go to him— I could sit down and cry my eyes out \ Dear sister, what a rage have I been in. Knapsack ! I '11 give vent to my just resentment—- Ob, how shall I avoid this-base woman, how meet that excellent man! —I hope 't is in fate to crown cur loves ; for it is only in the protection of men of honour, that we are natu- rally truly safe : — — And woman's happiness > for all her scorn, Is only by that side 'whence she e was born. [Exeunt. Mill. THE FUNERAL. 45 A3 111, SCENE 1. Enter Lord Hardy, Campley, WTrim. L. Hardy. That jade Tattleaid* saw me upon the stairs, fori had not patience to keep my concealment, but must peep out to see what was become of you. Camp. But we have advice, however, it seems, from the garrison already — This mistress of Trim's is a mighty lucky accident Trim. Ay, gentlemen, she has free egress and re- gress, and you know the French are the best bred people in the world— she '11 be assistant—but, faith, I have one scruple that hangs about me— and that is — Look you, my lord, we servants have no masters m their absence— -In a word, when I am with mademoi- selle, I talk of your lordship as only a particular ac- quaintance, that I do Business, indeed, for you some« i. times— I must needs say, cries I, that, indeed, my Lord Hardy is really a person I have a great honour for. L. Hardy. Pish ! is that all ?— I understand you— • your mistress does not know that you do me the honour to clean my shoes or so, upon occasion— Pr'ythee, Will, make yourself as considerable as you please. Trim. Well then, your lesson is this She out of her respeft to me, and understanding Mr. Campley was an intimate of my friend my Lord Hardy, and j .. . E iil 4* THE FUNERAL* ASl III. condescending (th'ough she is of a great house in France) to make mantuas for the -improvement of the English— which gives her easy admittance— -She, I say, moved by these promises, has vouchsafed to bring a letter from ray Lady Harriot to Mr. Campley, and came to me to bring her to him You are to under- stand, also, that she is dressed in the latest French cut $ her dress is the model of their habit, and herself of their manners.*— for she is But you shall see her— {Exit. L. Hardy. This gives me some life!— Cheer up, Tom. —but behold the solemnity—Do you see Trim's gallantry ? I shall laugh out. Enter Trim leadingin Mademoiselle Trim. My dear Lord Hardy, this is Mademoiselle d'Epingle, whose name you 've often heard me sigh— - [Lord Hardy salutes her.] Mr. Campley, Mademoiselle - d'Epingle. [Campley salutes her. Madem. Votre servante, gentlemen, votre servante. Camp. I protest to you I never saw any thing so be- coming as your dress— shall I beg the favour you 'd condescend to let Mr. Trim lead you once round the room, that I may admire the elegance of your habit. [Trim leads her round. L. Hardy. How could you ask such a thing ? Camp. Pshaw, my lord, you 're a bashful English fellow— You see she is not surprised at it— Oh, ma- dam, your air ! — the negligence, the disengagement ®f your manner! Gh, how delicate is your noble ASt TIL THE FUNERAL. 4.7 nation-— when stall you see an English woman so dressed ? Modem, De EngHse! poor barbarians, poopsavages, dey know no more of de dress, but to cover dere na- kedness [Glides along the room.~\ Deybecloded, but no dressed— But, Monsieur Terim, which Monsieur Campley? Trim, That 's honest Tom Campley- Camp. At your service, Mademoiselle- Madem, I fear I incur de censure, [Fulling out the letter, and recollecting as loath to deliver it.) but Mr. Terim being your intimate friend, and I designing to honour him in de way of an husband— So, so, how do I run away in discourse——! never make promise to Mr. Terim before, and now do it par accident Camp* Dear Will Trim is extremely obliging in having prevailed upon you to do a thing that the se- verity of your virtue, and the greatness of your quality ! (though a stranger in the country you now honour by your dwelling in it), would not let you otherwise con- descend to- — — Madem. Oh, monsieur! Oh, monsieur! you speak my very thoughts- --Oh, I do n't know how ! Pardon me to give a billet — it so look ! Ob, fy ! I cannot stay after it— [Drops it, runs affectedly to the other end of the room, then quite cut, re-enters.] I beg ten thousand E pardons for go so mal-a-proposs. [Curtsies as going. L. Ear. Your servant, good madam—Mr. Trim, you know you command here pray, if Madame cTEpingle will honour our cottage with longer stay, 48 THE FUNERAL. AB HI. wait on her in and entertain her- Pray, sir, be free—. Trim. My lord, you know your power over me, Tin all complaisance [Leads her out. Camp. Now to my dear epistle— < Sir, * There is one thing which you were too generous to touch upon in our last conversation— W% have reason to fear the widow's practices in relation to our fortune, if you are not too quick for her— I ask lady Charlotte whether this is not her sense to Lord Hardy -—She says nothing, but lets me write on These people always have, and will have admittance every where, therefore we may hear from you. * I am, Sir, * Your most obedient servant, Harriot Lovely.* My obedient servant ! Thy obedience shall ever be as voluntary as now— ten thousand thousand kisses on thee—- — Thou dear paper— Look you, my lord— » What a pretty hand it is ? L. Hardy. Why, Tom, thou dost not give me leave to see it— — you snatch it to your mouth so— — you'll stifle the poor h\dy * — » — Camp. Look you, my lord, all along the /lines, here went the pen, and through the white intervals her snowy fmgers. Do you see 3 thi3 is her name—— • L. Hardy. Nay, there 's 'lady Charlotte's name too in the midst of the letter-*—* Why; you'll not be m Ait UL THE FUNERAL, 4^ unconscionable— you 're greedy— you 'II give me one kiss snre - ' Camp. Well, you shall, but you Ye so eager— -do n't bite me— ..fur you shaVt have it in your bands- --there, there, there— Let go rr y hand- L, Hardy. What an exquisite pleasure there is in this foolery But what shall we do ? Camp. I have a thought ? pr'ythee, my lord, call Trim. L. Hardy. Ka, Trim — - — — Camp. Hold, Mr. Trim— You forget his mistress is there. ^ L. Hardy. Gra'mercy— Dear Will Trim, step ia hither. Camp. Ay, that 's something* — Enter Trim. Trim, have not I seen a young woman sometimes parry Madame d'Epingle's trinkets for Jier, coming from my lady Brumpton's. Trim. Yes, you might have seen such a one, she waits for her now. Camp. Do you think ycu could not prevail for me to be dressed in that wench's clothes and attend 3 our mistress in her stead thither ? They 'ii not dream we should so soon attend again. Trim. Yes, I '11 engage. Cctmp. Then, we'll trust the rest to our good geniwsj I 'ii about it instantly Harriot Love!) \Excunt kissing the Uiter* 5© THE FUNERAL. Aft III. Enter Widow and Tattleaid. Wid. This was well done of you ; be sure you take care of their young ladyships 5 you shall, I promise you, have a snip in the sale of them. Tat. I thank your good ladyship. Wid* Is that the porter's paper of how-d'ye's ? Tat. Yes> Madam, he just sent it up 5 his general answer is, that you are as well as can he expected in your condition : but that you see nobody, s Wid. That 's right — [Reading names~\ Lady Higgle* Lady Formal — Oh, that Riggle ! a pert ogler— an in- discreet, silly thing, who is really known by no man, yet for her carriage justly thought common to all ; and as Formal has only the appearance of virtue, $0 she has only the appearance of vice ■ What chance, I wonder, put these contradictions to each other into the same coach, as you say they called Mrs. Frances and Mrs. Winnifred Glebe, who are they ? Tat. They are the country great fortunes, have been out of town this whole year 5 they aie^those whom your ladyship said upon being very well-born, took upon them to be very ill bred. Wid. Did I say so ? Really I think it was apt enough ; now I remember them Lady Wrinkle: Oh, that smug old woman i there is no enduring her affectation of youth 5 but I plague her j I always ask whether her daughter in Wiltshire has a grandchild yet or not—— Lady Worth ; I ca n't bear her company, she has so 'ABIU. THE FUNERAL. 51 much of that virtue in her heart, which I have in my mouth only. [Aside.] Mrs. After-day : Oh, that's she that was the great beauty, the mighty toast about town, that *s just come out of the small- pox; she is horribly pitted, they say ; I long to see her, and plague herwith my condolence. 'Tis a pure ill-natured satisfaction to see one that was a beauty unfortunately move with the same languor, and softness of be- haviour, that once was charming in her ; to see, I say, her mortify, that used to kill ; ha, ha, ha !— The rest are a catalogue of mere names or titles they were born to; an insipid crowd of neither good nor bad. But you are sure these other ladies suspect not in the least that I know of their coming ? Tat. No, clear Madam, they are to ask for me* Wid. I hear a coach — *-[Exit Tat.] I have now an exquisite pleasure in the thought of surpassing my Lady Sly, who pretends to have out-grieved the whole town for her husband. They are certainly comings Oh^no! here let me — thus let me sit and think— f Widow on her couch : while she is raving, as io herself, Tattleaid softly introduces the ladies,'] Wretched, dis- consolate as I am I Oh, welcome, welcome, dear, kill- ing anguish 1 Oh, that I could lie down and die in my present heaviness! Eut what — how? Nay, my dear, dear iord, why do you look so pale, so ghastly at me ? Wottoo, wottoo! fright thy own trembling, shivering Tat, Nay, good Madam, be comforted. Wid* Thou shalt not have me*—— [Pushes Tat»3 5* THE FUNERAL. Aft JIL Tat. Nay, good Madam, 'tis I, 'tis I, your lady- ship's own woman. *Tis I, Nfadam, that dress you, talk to you, and tell you all that's done in the house everyday; 'tis I — — Vf'id. Is it then possible ? Is it then possible that I 4 am left ? Speak to me not, hold me not ; I '11 break the listening walls with my complaints [Looks :ur~ ' prised at seeing the company, then severely at Tattleaid.] Ah, Tattleaid!- — r ist Lady. Nay, Madam, be not angry at her 5 vre would come in sp'ite of her ; we are your fi lends, and are as concerned as you are. W'id. Ah, Madam, Madam, Madam, Madam, I am an undone Woman! Oh, me J alas! alas! Oh, Oh f [ All join in their notes.] I swoon ! I expire ! [Faints, id Lady. Pray, Mrs. Tattleaid, bring something that is cordial to her. . [Exit Tattlaakfc. yl Lady, indeed. Madam, yon should have patience 5 his lordship was old. To die is but going befoie in a journey we must all take. Enter Tattleaid, loaded with bottles; ^d Lady la&.'s ^ a bottle from her, and drinks* £±th Lady. Lord, how my Lady Fleer drinks ! 1 have beard, indeed, but never could believe it of her. [Drinks, also. 1st Lady. But, Madam, don't you hear what* the town says of the jilt, Flirt, fat men iiked so much in the Farjt?'— — Hark \e— was seen with hiia m a Act III. THE FUKERAL. « hackney coach -" and silk stockings— — - key hole — v his wig — on the chair — — [Whispers by interruption. id Lady. Impudent flirt, to be found out ! id Lady. But I speak it only to you, $lb Lady. Nor I, but to one more. [Whispers next woman. $th Lady. I can't believe it ; nay, I always thought it, Madam. [Whispers the Widow, Wid. Sure 'tis impossible ! the demure, prim thing —-Sure all the world is hypocrisy — ■ — Well, I thank my stars, whatsoever sufferings I have, I have none in my reputation. I wonder at the men 5 I could never think her handsome. She has really a good shape and complexion, but no mien 5 and no woman has the use ^©f her btauty without mien. Her charms are dumb, they want utterance. But whither does distraction lead me to talk of charms ? * 1st Lr.dy. Charms! a chit's, a girl's charms!—— Come, let us widows be true to ourselves ; keep our countenances and cur characters, and a rig for the ■maids, I mean the unmarried. 7.4 Lady. Ay, since they will set up for our know- ledge, why should not we for their ignorance f ^d Lady. But, Madam, o' Sunday morning at church, I curtsied to you, and locked at a great fuss in a glaring light dress, next pew. That strong, masculine thing is a knight's wife, psetends to all the tendeqaesa in the world, and would fain put the un. wieidiy upon us, for the soft, the languid. She has F '54- THE FUNERAL* AB III. of a sudden left her dairy, and set npfor a fine town lady 5 calls her maid Cisly, her woman, speaks to her by her surname of Mrs. Cherryfist, and her great foot-boy of nineteen, big enoogh for a trooper, is stripped into a lace-coat? now Mr /Page, forsooth. $ih Lady. Oh, I have seen her — Well, I heartily pity some people for their wealth; they might have been unknown else You would die, Madam, to see her and her equipage : I thought the honest fat tits, her horses, were ashamed of their finery \ they dragged on, as if they were all at plough, and a great bashful- look'd booby behind, grasp'd the coach, as if he had held one. St h Lady. Alas ! some people think there is nothing but being fine to be genteel : but 4:he high prance of the horses, and the brisk insolence of the servants in an equipage of quality are inimitable: but to our own beasts and servants. i st Lady. Now you talk of an equipage, I envy this lady the beauty she will appear in a mourning coach, it will so become her complexion ; I confess I myself mourned for two years for no other reason. Take up that hood there. Oh, that fair face with a veil. [ They lake up her hood. Wid. Fie, fie, ladies ! — -But I have been told, in- deed, black does become-' - id Lady. Well, I Ml take the liberty to speak it, there is young Nutbrain has long had (I Ml be sworn) a passion for this lady ; but I Ml tell you one thing I fear she Ml dislike, that is, he is younger than she is< AftlU. THE FUNERAL. $$ %d Lady. No, that *s no exception j but I 'il tell you one, he is younger than his brother. Wid. Ladies, talk not of such affairs. Who could love such an unhappy relicl: as I am ? But, dear Madam, what grounds have you for that idle story ? $th Lady. Why, he toasts you, and trembles where you are spoke of. It must be a match. Wid. Nay, nay, you rally; you rally; but I know you mean it kindly. jst Lady* I swear we do. [Tattieaid whispers the Widow. Wid; But I must beseech Jyou, ladies, since you have been so compassionate as to visit and accompany my sorrow, to give me the only comfort I can now know, to see my friends chearful, and to honour an entertainment Tattieaid has prepared within for you. If I can find strength enough, I *11 attend you 5 Ifut I wish fyou would excuse me, for I have no relish of (food or joy, but will try to get a bit down in my own chamber. 1st Lady, There is no pleasure without you. Wid. Bur> Madam, I must beg of your ladyship not id be so importune to my fresh calamity, as to mention pfamrain any more. I am sure there is nothing in it. In love wich : Ue> quoth~a ! \ls led off. \Exeunt Lauies, &c* |f«to M.\!>:MOisELLn, and Campley in instan:. [Exeunt Lady Harriot and ; Mademoiselle. Camp. Well, I like her every minute better and better. What a delicate chastity she has! These is something so gross in the carriage of some wives, (t ho" they are honest too) that they lose their husbands hearts for faults, which, if they have either good nature crgocd- breeding, they know not how to tell 6o THE FUNERAL. Acl IV. them of* But, how happy am I in such a friend as Hardy, such a mistress as Harriot ! - Continue, Heaven, a grateful heart to bless , With faith in friendships and in love success* [Exit. ACTW. SCENE L Enter Widow and Trusty. Widow. Mr. Trusty, you have, I do assure you, the same place and power in the management of my Lord Bruiopton's estate, as in his life time. I am reduced to a necessity of trusting him. [dside.] However Tatrleaid dissembles the matter, she must be privy to Lady Harriotts escape, and Fardmgale is as de THE FUNERAL Aft IV. Camp. He is very honest, to my knowledge. L. Har. I remember, indeed, when I was turned out of the house, he followed me to the gate and wept over me, for which, I have heard, he had like to have lost his place. But, however, I must advise with you a little, about my behaviour to him. Let us in. Boy bring him up hither ; tell him I '11 wait on him pre- sently.—^*// Boy.]— I shall want you I believe here, Trim. [Exeunt. Re-enter Boy and Tr u st y. % Boy. My lord will wait on you here immediately. - [Exit. Trusty. 'T is very well. These lodgings -are but homely for the Earl of Brumpton. Oh, that damned strumpet! that I should ever know my master's Wife fo* such. How many thousand things does my head .run back to ? After my poor father's dealh, the good lord took me, because he was a. Captain in his regiment, and gave me education, I was, I think, three and twenty when this young lord was christened ■■■■ — What ado there was about calling him Francis! [V/ipes b:s eyes.'] These are but poor lodgings for him. I canne* bear the joy, to think that I shall save the family fro*'; which I have had my bread. Enter Trim. Trim. Sir, my lord will wait on you immediately; Trusty. Sir, 'tis my duty to wait on him-— r— [As Trim is going,] But, sir, are not you the young man A3 IV. THE FUNERAL. €$ that attended him at Christ-church, in Oxford, and have followed him ever since ? "Trim. Yes, sir, I am. Trusty. Nay, sir, no harm 5 but you '11 thrive the better for it. Trim. I like this old fellow 5 I smell more money: [Aside."] [Exit. Trusty. I think it is now eight years since I saw him ; he was not then nineteen, when I followed him to the gate, and gave him fifty guineas, which I pre- tended his father sent after him. Enter Lord Hardy. L. Hardy. Mr. Trusty, I am very glad to see you 5 yon look very hale and jolly; you wear well j I am glad to see it— But your commands to me, Mr. Trusty ? Trusty. Why, my lord, I presume to wait upon your lordship My lord, you are strangely grown ; you are your father's very picture ; you are he, my lord 5 you are the very man that looked so pleased to sec me look so fine in my laced livery to go to Court. 1 was his page when lie was just such another as you; He kissed me afore a great many lords, and said I was a brave man's son, that had taught him to exercise his arms. I remember he carried me to the great window, ' and bid me be sure to keep in your mother's sight in all my finery. She was the finest young creature $ the maids of honour hated to see her at Court. My lord I then courted my good lady. She was as kind to me on 6± THE F0NERAL. AB IV. her death-bed; she said to me, Mr. Trusty, take care of my lorcfs second marriage, for that child's sake : she pointed as well as she could to you $ you fell a crying, and said she should not die ; but she did $ my lord 5 she left the world, and no one like her in it. Forgive me, my honoured master, (Weeps •, runs to my lord, and bugs him.'] I Ve often carried you in these arms that grasp you, they were stronger then 5 but if I die to-morrow, you're worth five thousand pounds by my gift 5 'tis what I 've got in the family, and I return it to you with thanks But, alas, do I live tQ see you want it? L. Hardy. You confound me with all this tenderness and generosity. Trusty. I '11 trouble y»u no longer, my lord — but— L. Hardy. Call it not a trouble $ for— — Trusty. My good lord, I will not, I say, indulge my- self in talking fond tales, that melt me, and interrupt my story*— my business to your lordship, in one word, is this; I am in good confidence at present with myLady Dowager, and I know she has some fears upon her, vyhjch depend upon the nature of the settlement to your disfavour ; and, under the rose- be yourself *" ■? I rear your father has not had fair play for his life— bs composed, my lord. What is to be done in this ? — v/c 'd not apply to public justice in this case, till we . o fvU :ther, 't will make it noisy, which we must not !o, if I might advise. You shall, with a detachment I your company, seize theccrpseas it goes out of the house this evening to be interred in the country, 't will y;uly look like taking the administration upon yourself. AfrW. THE FUNERAL. 6$ and commencing a suit for the estate ; she has put off the lying in state, and Lady Harriot's escape with Mr. Carnpley makes her fear he will prove a powerful friend, both to the young ladies and. your lordship. — She cannot with decency he so busy, as when the corpse is out of the house, therefore hastens it. I know your whole affair: leave the dare of Lady Charlotte to me, I '11 pre . .-quaint her, that she may 'n't be frightened, and dispose of her safety to observe the issue. L. Hardy. I wholly understand you, it shall hedone. Trusfy. m l 'm sure I am wanted this moment for your interest at home. Tnis ring shall be the passport of intelligence, from whom yasu send to assault us, and , the remittance of it sealed with this, shall be authentic from within the house. L. Hardy. 'T i.s very well. Trusty. Hope ail you can -wish, my lord? From a cer- tain secret relating to trie estate, which I 'ii acquaint you with next time I see you. [Exit. L.Hardy. Your servant This fellow Vstramgely 1 honest— Ha! Will. Enter Cample y and Trim. Will, do n't the recruits wait for me to see them at 1 their parade before this house ? Trim, Yes, and have waited these three hours. L. Hardy. Go to them, I '11 be there myself immedi- j ately: we must attack with them, if the rogues arc sturdy, this \ery evening. G 66 THE FUNERAL, Ac! IV. Trim. I guess where — I 'm oveijoy'd at it. I '11 warrant you they '11 do it if I command in chief. L. Hardy. I design you shall, [Trim rum out jumping. Camp. You seem, my lord, to be in deep medi- tation. L. Hardy. I am so, but not on, any thing that you snay not be acquainted with. [Exit. Enter T 'rim, tyith a Company of ragged fellows, good woman, 'tis right ?— [Drinks.] How — French — pray— nay, if I find you deceive me, who pay the men— — [Brinks m Kate. Pray, good master, have you spoke to my lord about me ? Trim. 1 have, but you shall speak to him yourself— thou hast been a true campaigner, Kate, and we must not iiegiecl thee— Do you sell grey pease yet of an, evening, Mrs. Matchlock— [Drinks again. Kaie. Any thing to turn the penny ; but I got more money by crying pamphlets this year, than by any thing I have done a great while' * -Now I am married inro the company again, I design to cross the seas next year. But, master, my husband, a Temple porter, and a Parliament-man's footman, last night by their talk made me think there was danger of a ptacej wny, they said all the prime people were against a war. Trim. No no, Kate, never fear, you know I keep great company 5 ail men are for war, but some would have it abroad, and some would have it at home in their own country* Kate. Ay, say you so ? — Drink about, gentlemen, not a farthing to pay $ a war is a war, be it where it will *, . . . . jiw But pray, Mr. Trim, speak to my lord, that when these gentlemen have shirts I may wash for them. Gij 63 THE FUlAnAL. Aft IV* • Urim. I tell you, if you behave well to-night, you shall have a fortnight's pay each man as a reward $ but there ? s none of you industrious — theie 's a thousand things you mjght do to help our about this town- as to cry- puiT — puff pies. Have you any knives or scissars to grind— — or late in an evening, whip from Grub-street, strange tind bloody news frofh Flanders —votes from the House of ComrnQns- — — buns rare buns—old silver lace, cloaks, suits, or coats— i old shoes, boots, or hats. But here, here, here 's rrry lord s coming- -here 's the captain ; fall back into the rank — —There, move up in the centre. Enter Lord Hardy and C ample y. L. Ilr.rdy. Let me see whether my ragged friends ere ready and about me. Kate, Ensign Campley, Ensign Campley, I am overjoyed to see your honour — ha ! the world's surely altered, ha ! Camp. It is so, 'faith, Kate 5 why art thou true to the cause, with the company still, honest Amazon! Kate. Dear soul, not a bit of pride in hifn ; but won't your honour help me in my business with my lord ? — Soer'k ior me, noble eosig ', do. Cajnfc Speak to him yourself, I '11 second you. Kate. Noble captain, roy lord, I suopose Mr. Trim has told your honour about my petition : I have been a great sufferer in the service | 't is hard for a poor wosaan to lose nine husbands in a war, and no notice taken ; nay, three of them, alas ! in the same cam- paign: here the woman stands that says it, I never AB W. tHE FUNERAL. • 69 stripped a man 'till I first tried if he could stand oa his legs, and if not, I think 'twas fair plunder, ex- cept our adjutant, and he was a puppy that made my eighth husband run the gauntlet for not turning his . ' toes our. L. Hardy, Well, we '11 consider thee, Kate 5 but fall back unto the rear. A roil of what ? gentlemen soldiers.- — Trim to Bumpkin.] Do you hear that, my lord, him- self can 't deny but we are all gentlemen, as much as his honour. L. Hardy, reading.'] GQnt\(traQn. soldiers quartered in and about Guy- Court in Vinegar- Yard, in Rus*el- Court in Drury-Lane; belonging to the honourable captain Hardy's company of foot So, answer to your names, and march off from the left Corporal S-.' agger, march easy that I may view you as you pass by me j drums, Simon Ruffle, Darby Tattoo — there 's a shilling for you*— '—Tattoo, be always so ■ tighc : how does he keep himself so clean ? Trim. Sir, he is a tragedy-drum to one of the play- houses.' L. Hardy. Private gentlemen-— Alexander Cowitch, Humphrey Mundungus, William Faggofy 1 Nicholas Scab, Timotny Megrim, Philip : : ;r;ch, I Nehemiah Dust, Humphrey Garbage, Natha 'el Matchlock. Camp. What, is Matchlock come back to the com pany ? that 's the fellow that brought me off at Steeii- kirk, Giij 70 THE rUSEHAL. .AcllV. L. Hardy. No, sir, "t is I am obliged to him for that [Offering to give him ?neney] 3 there, friend; you shall want for nothing, I '11 give thee a halbert too. Kate. O brave me I shall I be a Serjeant's lady — i' faith I 'il make the drums, and the corporals' wives, and company-keepers know their distance. Match. I was whipt from constable to constable — Trim. Ay, my lord, that 's due by the courtesy of England to all that want in red coats 5 besides there 's an acl: that makes us free of all corporations, and that 's the ceremony of it. Camp. But what pretence had they for using you so ill, you did not pilfer ? Match. I was found guilty of being poor. Camp. Poor devil ! L. Hardy. Timothy Ragg — Oh, Ragg! I thought ■when I gave you your discharge just before the peace, we should never have had you again ; how came you to lisc now ? Ragg. To pull down the French king. L. Hardy. Bravely resolved but pull 'your shirt into your breeches, in the mean tir»e — jeolirey Tatter — what 's become of the skirts and buttons of your ©pat? Tatter. In our last clothing, in the regiment I served in before, the colonel' had one skirt before, the agent one behind, and every captain of the regiment a button. L. Hardy. Hush,, you rogue, you talk mutiny. \8mitingj AtllV. THE FU ^ AL * 7I 'Trim. Ay, sirrah, what jpve you to do with more knowledge than that ofe^pr right h?.nd from your j e r t ? •'' J/#£ J ^ * ^^ w ^ ^ /> so do I for my dear sempstres^ Madam d^Epingle. When I ruth on> sure nrne will dare to stay\ 'Tis beauty calls, and glory leads the =zvav. [Exeunt* ACT V; SCENE L Enter Trusty and Lord Brumpton* Trusty. She knows no moderation in her good fortune—* You may hear her and Tattleaid laugh aloud-— -She is so wantonly merry. L. Brump. But this of Lady Charlotte is the very utmost of all ill-— -Pray read— but I must sit— my late fit of the gout makes me acl with pain and con- straint — let me see«— «» Trusty. She writ it by the page who brought it me* as I had wheedled him to do all their passages, ABV. THE FUNERAL. 73 L. Brump. [Reads.]— ( You must watch the oc- casion of the servants being gone out of the house with the corpse : Tattleaki shall conduct you to my Lady Charlotte's apartment — away with her — and be sure you bed her—— — * Your affectionate sister, Mary Brumpton.' Brumpton ! The creature — She called a« Fi auk's mother was! — This is to forget her xcry humanity — her very sex. — Where is my poor boy ? wirere *s Frank? — does not he want ? — hew has he lived all this time ? — -not a servant, I warrant, to attend him what company can he keep ? — what can he say of his father ! Trnsty-r Though you made him not your heir, he is still. your son and has all the duty and tenderness in the work! for your memory-" — L. Brump. It is impossible, Trusty, it is impossible ■ 1 will not rack myself with the thought. That one I nave injured can he so vary good' — Keep me in countenance — tell me he hates my very name * would not assume my title, because it descends from me. What *s Lis company ? Trusty, Young Tom Cample}', they are never asunder. L. Brump* I am glad he has my pretty tattler- the cheariui innocent— — —Harriot —I hope he *il be good to her — he 's good-natured, and well- bred Trusty, But, my lord, she was vejy punctual in or- dering the fimeral" ■ c she bade Sable be sure to lay 74 THE FUNERAL. Acl V. your deep enough*— —she had heard such stories of the wicked sextons taking up people— but I wish, my lord, you would please to hear her and Tattleaid once more' L. Brump. I know to what thy zeal tends * «» But I tell you, since you cannot be convinced but that I have still a softness for her— —I behold her now with the same eyes that you do- she has a great wit but a little mind — something ever wanting to make her appear my Lady Brumpton she has no- thing natively great. You see I love her not— -I talk with judgment of her* —■ - Trusty. I see it, my good lord, with joy I see it ^ nor care how few things I see more in this world « my satisfaction is complete welcome old age — ^ welcome decay— 't is not decay, but growth to a later being. [Exit leading L. Brumpton* Re enter Trusty, meeting Oath net. Trusty. I have your letter, Mr. Cabinet. Cab. I hope, sir, you '11 believe it was not in my nature to be guilty of so much baseness \ but being born a gentleman, and bred out of all road of industry, in ( . ttic r :oo many are, I soon spent a small patrimoi [being ieb;.uched by luxury I fell into the narrow ..■ ■' to dread no infamy like povert — - whiiih rnade me guilty as that pap-^r tells you— and ha I no; writ to you, I am sure I never could have told you of it. Trusty, It is an ingenuous, pious penitence in you— » ASIV. THE FUNERAL. 75 my Lord Hardy — fto whom this secret is inestimable) is a noble natured man— and you shall find bim such •— I give you my word— — Cab. I know, sir, your integrity- "Trusty. But pray be there — all that you have to do is to ask for the gentlewoman at the house, at my Lord Hardy's -, - she '11 take care of you—And pray have patience, where she piaces you, 'till you see me.— - [Exit Cab.] My Lord Kardy's being at an house where they receive lodgers, has allowed me convenience to place every body I think necessary to be by at her discovery — —This prodigious welcome secret ! I see, however impracticable honest actions may appear, we may go on with just hope. All that is ours, is to be justly bent, And Heanjen in its own cause will bless th" event. [Exit, Enter Widow in deep mourning, with a dead Squirrel on her arm, and T a t t l e a i d . V/id. It must be so— It must be your carelessness— What had the page to do in my bed-chamber? 'Tat. Indeed, madam, I can't tell— But I came in and catch'd him wringing round his neck — Wid. Tell the rascal from me, he shall romp with the footmen no more— No- -I '11 send the rogue in a frock J to learn Latin among the dirty boys that come to good— I will— poor harmless animal— pretty ev'n in death. — — 7 5 THE FUNERAL. £% jT 4 Death might have over-look'd thy little life — How could'st thou, Robin, lea-./e thy nuts and me ? Cbearfully didst bear thy little chain, Cement— So I but fed thee with this hand. *Iat. Alas ! 'alas ! we are 'all mortal : consider, ma- dam, my lord 's dead too. Wid,Ay, but our animal friends do wholly die 5 an husband or relation, after death, is regarded or tormented— —that 's some consolation — - — .1 know her tears are false, for she hated Robin always. [Aside."\ Eat she 's a well-bred dishonest servant, that never spec's a painful truth— — Bin I *ll resolve to conquer my affliction -Never speak mere of Robin- - Hide him there— — Rut to my dress How soberly magnificent is^blatskr— and the train— I wonder how widows came to wear such Ion;; talis ? Tat. Why, madam, the stateliest of all creatures hosthe longest tail 5 the peacock, nay, it has of all creatures the finest mien, too— -except your ladyship, who,are..a ph&A *-— — Wid* Ho] brave Fattleaid- — —But did not you ob- serve what a whir as; my Lady Sly made, when she had drank a little? Did you believe her? Do you think there are really people sorry for their husbands? Ktf. Really, madam, some men do leave their for- tunes in such distraction, that 1 believe it may be— [Steak's with pins in her -mouth \ Wid. Bat I swear I wonder bow it came up to dress us thus* *" But I protest I wonder how two of us thus cfad can meet with a grave face-*— me thinks they should Aft l r . T H E f U N E F. A L . 77 laugh out like two fortune-tellers, or two opponent lawyers that know each other for cheats. Tat. Ha! ha! ha! I swear to you, nwidam, your ladyship's wit will choke me one time or othe r - I had like to have swallowed all the pins in my mouth—™ IVid. [A noise within.]— Ha! what noise is that — that noise of fighting — Run, I say — Whither are you going-?- What, are you mad — Will you leave me alone _ — Can y t you itir — What, you can 't take your message with you— -Whatever 't is, I suppose you are not in the plot ; not you S — Nor that now they r re breaking open my house for Charlotte— i-Not ycu — Go see what *s the matter, I say 1 have nobody I can trust One [Exit Tattleaid] minute I think this wretch honest, and the mxi false Whither shall I turn me! Tat. Madam ! — —Madam ! cf Re entering. L Madam, madarn, will you swallow me gaping. ii?/. fray, good my lady, be not so oat of humour company of rogues have set upon our 8«rvan1 e bu*ial man's* while others ran away with the corpse-— . How, what can this mean ! what can they do a! Weil, 'twill save the charge. of internment— But to what end? Enter Trusty, and a Servant bloody and dirty, hauling in C L u M P a n < i E u M p k. i n . v% I "\i teach you better manner- — I 11 poor H g 7 THE FUNERAL, A&V* soldier you-^-you dog you, I will — Madam, here arc two of the rascals that were in the gang of rogues that carried away the corpse. Wid. We '11 examine them apart Well, sirrah, what are you ? whence came you ? what '3 your name, slrrali ? [Clump makes signs as a dumb man* Ser pray let me be gone— — — L. Hardy, No, madam \ I must beseech your lady- ship to stay, for there are things alledged against her which you, who ruve lived in the family? may, per- haps, give light into, and which I can't believe even she could be guily of. Lady Har. Nay, my lord, that *s generous to a folly, for even for her usage of you (without regard to myself), I am ready to believe she would do arry thing that can come into the head of a close, malicious, cruel, designing woman. . Enter Boy. Boy. My Lady Brumpton ? s below* " Lady Har. I '11 run then Camp. No, no, stand your ground ; you *re a sol- dier's wife. Come, we 11 rally her to death- — =- L. Hardy. Pr'ythee entertain her a little, while I go in for a moment's thought on this occasion. [Exit. Lady Har. She has more wit than us both Hi) 80 THE FUNERAL, AFl V. Camp. Pshaw, no matter for that—Be sure, as soon as the sentence is out of my mouth, to clap in with something else— and hugh at all I say: I "13 he grateful, and burst myself at my pretty witty wife— We 11 fall in slap upon her — She shan't have time to say a word of the running away. ? Enter Lady B rump ton end Trusty. O, my Lady Brumpton, your ladyship's most obedient servant. This is my. Lidy Harriot Campley Why, jmadara, your ladyship is immediately in your mourn- ing—Nay, as you have more wit than any body, so (what seldom wits have) you have more prudence coo — Other widows have nothing in readiness but a second husband—- but you, I see, had your very weeds and dress lying by you — • Lady Ear. Ay, madam \ I see your ladyship is of the order of widowhood, for you have put on the habit— — Wid. I see your ladyshrp is not of the profession of virginity, for you have lost the look on't-"— — Camp. You 're in the habit — That was so pretty; nay, without flattery, Lady Harriot, you have a great deal of wit, ha! ha! ha! Lady Bar. N. > my Lady Brumptos, here is the wo- man of wit j but indeed she has got but little enough, considering how much her ladyship has to defend— Ha! ha! ha! If id. I 'm sorry, madam, your ladyship has not what 's sufficient for your occasions, or that this pretty Aft V. THE FUNERAL. Si gentleman can't supply them — [Campley dancing about and trolling.'] Hey-day, I find, sir, your heels area great help to your head — They relieve your wit, I see \ and I do n't question but ere now they have been as kind to your valour — Ha ! ha ! ha ! Camp. Pox, I can say nothing, *t is always thus with your endeavours to be witty. [Aside.] I saw, madam, your mouth go, but there could be nothing offered in answer to what my Lady Harriot said— 'T was home— 'T was cutting satire Lady Ear. Oh, Mr. Campley! But pray, madam, has Mr. Cabinet visited your ladyship since this ca- lamity How stands that affair now ? Wid. Nay, madam, if you already want instructions ■I *11 acquaint you how the world stands, if you are in distress, but I fear Mr. Campley overhears us. Camp. I swear, Lady Harriot, were I not already yours, I could have a tendre for this lady. Wid. Come, good folks, I find we are very free with each other- What makes you two here ? Do you board my lord, or he you ? Come, come, ten shillings a head will go a great way in a family— What do you say, Mrs. Campley, is it so? Does your ladyship go to market yourself ?-— Nay, you are in the right of it— Come, can you imagine what makes my lord stay ? He is not now with his land steward--not signing leases, I hope — Ha! ha! ha! Camp. Hang her, to have more tongue than a maa and his wife too. [Aside. ' H iij 82 / TH^. FUNERAL. Ait T. Ente r Lord H a r d y. L. Hardy . Because yc<;r ladyship is, I know, in very much pain in company that you have injur'd, I '11 be short— -Open these doors ; there lies your husband's, my father's body, and by you stands the man accuses you pf poisoning hirn ! Wid^ Of poisoning him ! Trjisty. The symptoms will appear upon the corpse. L. Hardy. But I am seized by nature. How shall I view°. breathless lamp of clay-— him, whose high veins conveyed to me this vital force and motion* I cannot bear this sight o I am as frx'd and motionless as be * — [ They open the coffin^ eat of which jumps LcJy Charlotte. Art thou the ghastly shape my mind had form'd t Art* thou the cold inanimate— -Bright maid I Thou giv'st new higher life to all around. Whither does fancy, nVd with love, convey me! Why is my fair immov'd-~My heay'nly fair 3 Does she but smile at my exalted rapture? Lady Char. Speak on, speak on, and charm my attentive ear: How sweet applause is from an honest tongue! Nor'r.ow with fond reluctance doubt to enter My spacious, bright abode, this gallant heart. \Reclines on Hardy. Lady Ear. Ay, marry, these are high doings in- Aft V. THE FUNERAL, gj deed 5 the greatness of the occasion has burst their passion into spe< ch— -Why, Mr. Campley, when we are near these fine folks, you and I are but mere sweet- hearts— -I protest, I Minever be won so; you shall begin again with me. Camp. Pr'ythee, why dost name us poor animals \ They have forgot there are any such creatures as their old acquaintance Tom and Harriot. L. Hardy. So we did indeed, but you '11 pardonus. Camp. My lord, I never thought to see the minute wherein I should rejoice at your forgetting me, but new I do heartily. [Embracing. IFid. Sir, you 're at the bottom of all this 1 see your skill at close conveyances— I '11 know the mean- ing instantly of these intricacies^ 'tis not your seeming honesty and gravity shall save you from your deserts *i v * 'My husband's death was sudden— you and the buriai fellow were observed very familiar- — -Produce my husband's body, or I '11 try you for hh murder 5 which I find you'd put on me, thou hellish engine? Trustj. L:ok you, madam, I could answer you, but I scorn to reproach people in misery— -you 're undone, mad a m- hid. What does the dotard mean? Produce the tody, villain, or the law shall have thine for it— [Trusty exit, hastily,] Do you design to let the villain escape ? How justly did your father judge, that made you a beggar with that spirit?— You mentioned just now you could not bz:^? the company of those you'd iftjtir'd. S4 The funeraI. AB V. L. Hardy. You are a woman, madam, and my fa- ther's widow— but sure you think you 've highly in- jured me. [Here my Lord and Trusty half enter and observe. Wid. No, sir, I have not, will not injufe you---Irnust obey the will of my deceased lord to a tittle 1 must justly pay legacies. Your father, in consideration that you were his blood, would not v/holJy alienate you— he left you, sir, this shilling, with which estate you are now Earl ofBrumpton. L. Hardy. Insolent woman- -It was not me my good father disinherited, 'twas him you represented. The guilt was thine, he did an acl of justice. Lord Brumptor entering 5 ■ Vi. !,*.'»»>' toft