P R 
 
 A 
 
 %2\ 
 
Glass. 
 
 T1 
 
 - 4 
 
 Book_ 
 
.' 
 
 TOUCH AT THE TIMES ; 
 
 3 Corncnp, 
 
 IN FIFE ACTS, 
 
 AS 
 
 PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL/ 
 
 covENT- garden- 
 
 bit ROBERT FRANCIS JAMESON, Esq. 
 
 OF THE INNER TEMPLE. 
 
 •« After this manner do both sexes deceive ihcrr.sfivs? -nd bririg reflexions arid 
 disgrace upon the most happy and most honorable state of Jrfej whereas if they would 
 but correct their depraved taste, m jderate their ambition, and place their happiness upon 
 proper objects, we should not find felicity in the marriage st&te such a wonder in the world 
 as it now is,"-— -Spectator, No. 26»« 
 
 * • LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR C. CHAPFLE, 66, FALL-MALL. 
 
 1812. 
 Prke 2s. 6d< 
 
..J4 3T& 
 
 ■^/Y-f^f 
 
 Printed by Cox and Baylis, Great Queen Street* 
 Lined n' s- 1 nn -Fields . 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Custom has established forms of literary politeness, 
 ■which all authors are expected to conform to ; and, as it 
 is reasonable that they should appear equally well-bred 
 on a sheet of paper as on a Turkey carpet, I consider it 
 incumbent on me, before the reader and I sit down to- 
 gether, to make a prefatory bow and pay my compli- 
 ments. To say the truth, I feel so perfectly conscious of 
 the danger I incur, by submitting the following Comedy, 
 deprived of the aids of action, to the public, that I gladly 
 avail myself of this plausible detention of my readers, in, 
 order to endeavor to ingratiate myself with them before 
 they discover my failings. Candour is ever found condu- 
 cive to favorable sentiments ; but, lest the exercise of it 
 with an interested view may detract from its merit, I will 
 set the scale even by an ingenuous acknowledgement, 
 that I should not be so ready to evince it, if I had not a 
 hope of its influence. When I declare that I consider this 
 performance as a slight thing, very incapable of bearing 
 the test of closet criticism, I trust my modesty will be 
 duly credited, and not placed to the account-current of 
 authorship, in which art I profess myself a novice ; a con- 
 fession, no doubt, that will be thought superabundant^ 
 Nothing will more clearly prove the sincerity of my de- 
 claration* than a reference to the production of this play, 
 which, contrary to the friendly remonstrances of the pro- 
 prietors, I persisted in urging forward, at a period very 
 unfa arable to new performances. But, having saga- 
 
W PREFACE. 
 
 ciouslv noted, that Englishmen are gene rally in better hu- 
 mour in July than November, I thought it more prudent 
 to commit myself to their mercy while the sun was in Leo 9 
 than to wait till the chilling fogs of winter disposed them 
 to be as much out of humour with others as themselves. 
 Notw t'istanding the slightness of my plot, and my 
 deficiency in scenic knowledge, the public have been 
 pleased to receive the piece with approbation. To abridge 
 my egotism, I shall request 2uintillian to account for my 
 success (I will risk the imputation of pedantry for the gra- 
 tification of reminding those querulous critics, who affirm 
 the drama has made a retrograde progress, that there 
 were bad plays in days of yore)-— " Sunt actores," says 
 he, " qui et optimis poetarum tantum adjiciunt gratiee ut 
 *? no> m nite magis eadem ilia audita quam lecta delec- 
 cc tent, et viiissimis etiam quibusdam impetrent aures, 
 Ci ut quibus nullus est in bibliothecis locus, sit etiam fre- 
 *' quens in theatris : " which I beg leave to translate, 
 <c for the benefit of country gentlemen," and those of 
 the fair sex who are not disciples of Mrs. More : " There 
 are performers on the stage who add so many graces to 
 the l?est pieces, that they afford us far more delight in 
 representation, than in the closet; and who give such 
 effect, even to the poorest, that what would not be ad- 
 mitted into the library, will be well received at the 
 theatre."* 
 
 • I am naturally led here to notice the performers who filled up my 
 meagre sketches of character with so much effect. I feel the more obliged 
 to them for their exertions, since the period in which this play was brought 
 on the stage was a very unusual one for them to be called upon. I can also 
 fully appreciate the polite and obliging readiness with which they came for- 
 ward to serve me with their talents,- in parts, which, in several instances, 
 are far below the powers of those who filled them. I beg they will accept 
 my warmest acknowledgements for the very effectual support they afforded 
 me, 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 Having brought my comedy on the stage, every one 
 must doubtless admire my public spirit in thus resigning 
 it to be cut up and dissected by those literary surgeons, 
 the critics, for the benefit of those unfortunate persons, 
 who may hereafter be afflicted with ie cacoethes scribendi" 
 lam afraiu, however, that this kind of philanthropy has 
 become too common for any peculiar merit to be attached 
 to it. There are so many literary Curtii, who daily 
 throw themselves into the gulph of oblivion, that the act 
 is regarded with indifference ; nor could I expect, with 
 my light piece, to make splash enough to draw attention. 
 We are, perhaps, too generally inclined to conceive 
 ourselves the objects of notice, just as in a portrait gallery 
 each spectator thinks the pictures are gazing at him. But 
 lam falling into the extreme, and becoming vain of my 
 humility. 
 
 Before I conclude, I must be allowed to notice a very 
 unfair criticism which appeared in one of the daily papers. 
 I am disposed to listen calmly and with due deference to 
 remarks on the literary character of my play, but with 
 respect to its moral, I will stand up boldly in the mainte- 
 nance of its purity. That there are such characters as 
 Beaumont^ is too notorious; and if my humble effort adds 
 to their odium, I shall have abundant reason to be satis- 
 fied ; for I confess I do not perceive how the holding up 
 vice to indignation is a violation of decorum. I am un- 
 conscious of any expression or idea offensive to virtue, 
 and I think I may venture to assume some degree of merit, 
 in treating the subject I have chosen with verbal propriety. 
 The sagacious critic to whom I allude, is extremely in- 
 dignant at my not punishing the lady. I know not what 
 sort of justice it would he to do so ; — I am sure it would 
 not be poetic. Levity is the utmost she can be charged 
 with ; which, though almost criminal in the conjugal 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 relation, by the laws of the drama, has always been con- 
 sidered venial. For my part, I am a young man, and 
 all the critics in the universe shall not compel me to a 
 breach of gallantry. 
 
 If e'er m lines, to eke a paltry jest, 
 Should swell with honest scorn a female breast, 
 For me may no soft bosom ever heave, 
 In life to sympathize, in death to grieve. 
 Whene'er I sigh, with am'rous anguish torn, 
 May all the warmth of love raise equal scorn ; 
 Whate'er my destiny, — where'er I roam, 
 Cold be life's charities, and sad my home. 
 May no fond tie, — no tender hope console 
 The hours of absence, as they slowly roll ; 
 No dimpled cheek a smiling welcome give, — 
 Unheeded may I die, — unfriended live ! 
 I scorn the wit, which, with unhallow'd flame, 
 Throws on the modest cheek the gleam of shame. 
 Contemn'd be those, " with fascinating art, 
 Who lure the fancy to corrupt the heart ;" 
 And treat the finer feelings of the breast — 
 Love's chaste emotions — as an idle jest. 
 Solace of life ! whose magic influence pours 
 A beam of radiance on our darkest hours ! 
 When clouds hang heavy and obscure life's day, 
 The torch of Hymen cheers the gloomy way ; 
 Gleams through the storm, and points a place of rest, 
 In the sweet refuge of a faithful breast. 
 
 R. F. J. 
 
 Jult/S, 1812. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. BRUNTON, 
 
 Well may sententious moralists complain, 
 
 How blind, how weak are mortals, and how vain 
 
 Each day, each place, by trite examples show it— 
 
 We've got one here to-night — a new fledg'd poet. 
 
 Headstrong, in one sense, authors will take flight — 
 
 They think they can't do wrong when they do write ; 
 
 Lur'd by the old birds singing, up they spring — 
 
 When, whiz ! the critics hit them on the wing. 
 
 Alas ! poor bards ! how hapless is their lot, 
 
 Who cannot rise for fear of being shot ! 
 
 No wonder, then, that modern poets go } 
 
 As critics all protest, so very low. 
 
 Cook'd a la mode, to table they are sent, 
 
 Pepper' d with puns and stuff'd with sentiment ; 
 
 Yet, after all, howe'er well drest we bring' em, 
 
 Some hungry people swear there's nothing in'em. 
 
 Others, again, exclaim at the whole bevy — ■ 
 
 They can't digest'em — hang'em they're too heavy ; ) 
 
 In short, to please all palates is not easy — 
 
 Your critics' stomachs are so devilish queasy. 
 
 T'Was but the other day I chanced to meet 
 
 A magnus Aristarchus in the street, 
 
 " Pray Sir " — says he — " what trash is this you've got-^ 
 
 " One of your hodge-podge pieces, is it not j 
 
 f Where people in hysterics keep a pother, 
 
 ec Laughing with one eye, crying with the other ? "■ — 
 
 {e No, Sir," — said I— - (i 'tis strictly comic " — et Poh ! — 
 
 £i A five act farce — ay ! ay ! — I thought it so." 
 
 cc Sir — 'tis a first fruit " — •" Ay ! like all I've seen— 
 
 ie We either have it rotten or too green/' 
 
 £( Faith, Sir ! " — cried I — te I hope you have no spite— 
 
 ' c What, do you think the moderns cannot write ? " 
 
 {t No, pardon me," — -cries he— fr I know it well — 
 
 e( Yes, they can write, and, some of them, can spell -, 
 
 if Yes, they can write, no doubt of that, ifags ! 
 
 " Witness alone the great demand for rags. 
 
 ' f And let them write, poor devils, soon they'll see 
 
 ee 'Tis vain to dream of immortality. 
 
 ff They hope for mercy, but their faith wo'nt save'em, 
 
 <( D d they will be — the pastry-cook will have'em — 
 
 " Spite of the vanity that in them lurks, 
 
 <f They'll find there is no merit in dead works. 
 
 e< No, Sir, believe me, in this age of dross, 
 
 " To look for wit or taste is vain — that's 7)05."— 
 
 Half chok'd with scorn, 1 cried out — " Oh ! you Vandal I 
 
 fe Pray in what age was wrote the School for Scandal — 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 *f When was " but stop ! whtat face is that I see ? 
 
 Ah ! are you there, Sir ?- Gentlemen, 'tis he- 
 Yonder he sits with self-importance big ; 
 Not like your ancients' sages in a wig, 
 For critics now so sparing are of hair, 
 To find it on their chins is somewhat rare. 
 No doubt some brother snarls are come with this in, 
 If so, you'll quickly know them — by their hissing. 
 For you, ye jovial souls, on high who sit, 
 You will not damn a man for wanting wit, 
 While the vast mass of face that tills the floor. 
 Where a broad grin extends from door to door, 
 Shows what good-humoured folks are cramm'd together, 
 With hearts as mild and cheerful as the weather. 
 Be pleas'd as nature prompts, nor let cold art 
 Dictate a rule of feeling to the heart. 
 Check not with critic skill your merry vein, 
 Then our light scenes may chance to entertain. 
 
 DRAMATIS P1RSON J2. 
 
 Sir Charles 
 
 Wilding 
 
 Mr. Jones. 
 
 Beaumont 
 
 4, 
 
 Mr. Barrymore. 
 
 Lovel 
 
 - 
 
 Mr. Brunton. 
 
 Canker - 
 
 - . - - 
 
 Mr. Emery. 
 
 Clinch 
 
 - 
 
 Mr Simmons. 
 
 Flaw 
 
 • 
 
 Mr.Blanchard. 
 
 Serge 
 
 * 
 
 Mr. Fawcett. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont . - 
 
 Mrs. Egerton. 
 
 Melissa 
 
 . 
 
 Mrs. H. Johnston 
 
 Laura 
 
 - 
 
 Miss Booth. 
 
 gutter 
 
 - 
 
 Mrs. Gibbs, 
 
 Servants, &c. 
 
 
 
 Scen»—*London* 
 
 ■ 
 
CA TOUCH AT THE TIMES. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.-— An Apartment in Canker's House* 
 
 Enter Canker and Melissa. 
 
 Mel. Nay but, my dear, sweet, obliging, good- 
 natur'd guardy — 
 
 Can, Silence, 1 tell you $ I'm not in a humour 
 to be teazed. 
 
 Mel. Shall I run for your anti-bilious drops ? 
 
 Can. Zounds ! don't pester me — I won't be 
 haunted thus. 
 
 Met Well — I'm glad to hear that, for you have 
 been haunted a long time by a most terrible spirit. 
 Come, come, my good guardy, you can't think 
 how a smile would become you. Pray, *give your 
 muscles a little exercise— unscrew your lips, raise 
 your eye-brows an inch or so— 
 
 Can. Let me go, let me go, I say. 
 
 MeL Nay, I'll argue like a coffee-house poli- 
 tician, and if I can't detain you by the strength of 
 my eloquence, I will by the strength of your button- 
 holes. 
 
 Can. Zounds ! I say, let me go. Must I be 
 continually baited with your confounded clack, you 
 forward minx you ? My cursed goodnature has 
 brought me to this ; I must turn guardian, with a 
 
2 s A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 plague, a keeper of wild beasts. Well, half my 
 trouble is now at an end, for that rake, your bro- 
 ther, has broke loose, and sets off this morning on 
 his journey to the devil. 
 
 Mel. Lord ! guardy, what do you mean ? 
 
 Can. The puppy comes of age to day. He has 
 calculated his nativity to a second, and I expect 
 him from Oxford every minute. Bat let him do 
 as he will ; he can't blame me. I've given him 
 the best education in the kingdom, such as it is. 
 Ah ! things are not as they were formerly— the age 
 has come to a pretty pass -, — there are no men now- 
 adays . 
 
 Mel. You forget, guardy, you are still alive. 
 I hope, for my sake, you'll leave another phoenix 
 behind you. 
 
 Can. You jade, you, you're a notable house- 
 wife, you can cater for yourself ! Ay ! ay ! 1 should 
 have had you going off with that impertinent puppy 
 Lovel, if I had not been careful. One would 
 need be quicksighted in these times. I'm too in- 
 dulgent, that's the truth ; I intend to provide a hus- 
 band for you, that's a fool, in order to save you the 
 trouble of making him one. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, here's Mr. Lovel. 
 Mel. Lovel ! 
 
 Can. How, Sirrah ! didn't I order you never to 
 admit that fellow again. 
 
 Serv. Yes, Sir, but he insisted. 
 
 Enter Lovel. 
 
 Can. Insisted ! what, force my doors ! storm an 
 Englishman's castle ! Sir, your most obedient, very 
 
A COMEDY. 3 
 
 humble servant; will you allow me the liberty of 
 asking, whether you are come to cut my throat, or 
 merely to rob the house ? 
 
 Lov. Sir, I begjou will be perfectly easy as to 
 yourself; but with regard to your house, I freely 
 confess I am disposed to rob it of its chief orna- 
 ment. 
 
 Can. So* so, polite and explicit ; quite in the 
 French style. 
 Mel. f Aside.] What would the man be at ? 
 Lov. Sir, it is you who have forced me to this 
 rudeness. Could you expect me tamely to submit 
 to your arbitrary decrees. Do you think tyranni- 
 cally to usurp dominion over the heart, and sway 
 its feelings at your pleasure ? Let me tell you, Mr. 
 Canker, mine is not of so docile a nature. 
 Mel. [Aside.] Is the man mad ? 
 Can. I shall have them run off before my face. 
 Lov. Not, Sir, that I arrogate to myself any 
 right, or vainly pretend a claim either to Miss 
 Wilding's favour, or to yours — -No, Sir, I ask only 
 to be viewed in the light I merit, as an honorable 
 suitor ; at least, I trust, in point of family and for- 
 tune, unexceptionable : and think myself entitled 
 to demand for this lady (who is of age and judgment 
 sufficient to use her discretion in the choice of a 
 protector) that freedom which is her due. 
 
 Mel. Hem 1 hem ! I think it is high time I 
 should speak. 
 
 Lov. Yes, my charming girl, speak, and bless 
 me. 
 
 Can. Humph ! 
 
 Mel. Upon my word, Sir, you have a vast deal 
 of assurance. 
 
 Can. That's a compliment now-a-days. 
 Lov. Nay, prythee, Melissa, for once be serious. 
 If you are still determined to continue teasing me, 
 
 ft 2 
 
4 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 at least become properly qualified, as other women 
 are, by matrimony. I have long profess'd an 
 ardent and honorable passion ; you have hitherto 
 favor'd it, and assured me, nothing but your guar- 
 dian's consent was wanting to complete my hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Can. Well, come, that's as it should be. 
 Mel. (aside.) His folly will spoil all. 
 
 Lov. Sir, I am now come to lay my fortune at 
 your disposal > do what you please with it ; make 
 what arrangements you think fit — I shall consider 
 this hand as a full compensation. 
 
 Can. Sir, I think it strange you can't take my 
 word. I have told you fifty times already, you 
 shan't have the girl, — no, Sir, nor see her either. 
 You are too much of a rake, like the other puppies 
 of the age. Besides, I hear you pretend to be a 
 wit, and that's an unnatural character now-a-days. 
 
 Mel. And do you think, Sir, I could possibly 
 countenance any one, who has behaved so unpar- 
 donably to my worthy guardian ? 
 
 Lov. Provoking girl ! 
 
 Can. Eh ! eh ! what does she say ? 
 
 Mel. I suppose I am not to have a will of my 
 own either ? I am to have gentlemen bolt into 
 the house whenever they please, and carry me off, 
 whether I will, or no. 
 
 Can. Ay ! ay ! he has done for himself. 
 
 Lov. Was there ever such a woman ! Melissa, 
 consider the importance of this moment $ can 
 you.. 
 
 Mel. Stand off, Sir, if you please. 
 
 Can. Ay ! ay! stand off, if you please. 
 
 Lov. S'death ! is this the way I am treated ! 
 
 Can. You are treated better than you deserve, 
 considering what sort of a guest you are. 
 
 Mel. Guardy, I don't like his looks. 
 
A COMEDY, ' 5 
 
 Lov. Death and the devil ! 
 
 Mel. Oh ! Lord ! do but hear him ! 
 
 Can. I'll have him thrown out of the window ; 
 — hear, John ! Thomas ! 
 
 Lov. Sir, I will save you that trouble. Madam, 
 your servant : I am too proud to be the slave of 
 coquetry. [Exit. 
 
 Can. Ay ! ay ! he'd rather be prime minister to 
 the devil. — I'll see him fairly out of the house, an 
 impudent dog ! [Exit. 
 
 Mel. Oh lud ! oh lud ! the man must be a fool. 
 Could he not see I had no other way to carry it off? 
 The deuee is in it, the men will always take one 
 at one's word. 
 
 Enter Laura. 
 
 Lau. Bless me! Melissa, what has put my 
 uncle into such a passion ? 
 
 Mel. Nothing, my dear, but an impudent dog^ 
 who ran up stairs out of the street $ so guardy's been 
 driving him out again. 
 
 Lau. Surely I heard Mr. Lovel's voice. 
 
 Mel. Yes ; he was here too. 
 
 Lau. Upon my word, Melissa, you treat that 
 poor young man in a shocking way. 
 
 Mel. Ha ! ha ! poor thing, you are full of no- 
 thing but sympathy and sensibility. Wei], I have 
 been teazing guardy to let us go to the masquerade 
 to night, but he won't give his consent, so we must 
 go without it. 
 
 Lau. Indeed, Melissa, it would be highly im- 
 proper. You have observed Mr. Beaumont's man- 
 ner to me. His unpardonable conduct renders it 
 impossible for me to go to his house, 
 
 Mel. Unpardonable ! how ? 
 
 Lau. He has made downright love to me. 
 b 3 
 
6 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Mel. Ha ! ha ! was there ever such a queer, 
 creature ! unpardonable for making love ! Lord ! 
 what a wicked fellow ! 
 
 Lau. I don't see any thing to laugh at — you 
 know he's a married man. 
 
 Mel. And thinks you prettier than his wife. 
 You surely don't expect he should be in love with 
 her ? Love, my dear, is but a mere master of the 
 ceremonies, who introduces people to each other, 
 to dance thro* life, and, having brought them 
 together, makes his bow, and skips away. 
 
 Enter Servant, 
 
 Serv. Mrs. Beaumont, Madam. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 Mel. Your servant, Madam ; you come very 
 apropos, for we were just talking of you. 
 
 Mrs. B. Pray, my dear, don't let me interrupt 
 you. I long prodigiously to hear my own character; 
 for I'm so unfortunate, I can never learn it but at 
 second-hand. 
 
 Mel. Oh ! Madam, excuse me ; I can't think 
 of putting your modesty to the blush. 
 
 Mrs. B. Modesty and blushes ! pray, where 
 did you pick up these old-fashioned phrases ? Why, 
 my dear, if a blush should be seen on the cheek of 
 a woman of fashion, it would be thought a new 
 invention, and every one would enquire for her 
 perfumer. 
 
 Lau. Then, want of modesty seems the only 
 point fashion keeps constant to. 
 
 Mrs. B. B|ess me, little graveairs, are yoi| 
 there r I protest you quite startled me with yo*0 
 antediluvian sentiment. 
 
A COMEDY. I 
 
 Mel. For my. part, I think it greatly to the 
 credit of people of fashion to be always varying, 
 for it shews they are conscious of their own defects, 
 when they change their minds so often, 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh ! lud ! both on me at once 1 upon 
 my word, you have been caged too long, I must 
 take you under my matronly care for a winter or 
 two. — As to you [To Laura], you wicked crea- 
 ture, I believe you have taken to bad practices, and. 
 begun picking breasts; for I am sure you have 
 stolen my caro sposo's heart from his. 
 
 Lau. There, Madam, you are certainly wrong ; 
 for how could I take from your husband what is in 
 your possession ? 
 
 Mrs. B. More barbarism ! I suppose you think 
 things are now as in days of yore, when every wife 
 kept the keys and her husband's heart as snugly as 
 her pots of preserves. 
 
 Mel. I declare, Laura, I am quite asham'd of 
 your ignorance. Fashionable anatomy allows no 
 heart, 'tis only found in vulgar breasts. The ton 
 have but nervous affections, and never shew any 
 symptoms of sensibility, but at the sight of a spider, 
 or the escalade of an earwig. 
 
 Mrs. B. Ha ! ha ! you are a wild thing — pray, 
 rattle on^ But, indeed, I'm forgetting I have fifty- 
 things to do before dinner, and I came to let you 
 into a prodigious secret. If we talk of stealing 
 hearts, I think I may be vain. Pray, read this. 
 
 Mel. Why, this is guardy's hand. 
 
 Mrs. B. Something like'it, I believe. 
 
 Mel. [reads] ee If the fairest of her sex has 
 ** compassion equal to her beauty, she will, m 
 " addition to the character she intends assuming at 
 " the masquerade to-night, wear a red rose in her 
 " bosom, that she may be distinguished by a dying— 
 
 B 4 
 
8 , A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 " Franciscan Fd$r2 — Ha ! ha ! bravo, guardy ! 
 This is admirable ! 
 
 " Thus, on a starry night, fond children cry 
 For the rich spangles that adorn the sky." 
 Well, pray, what do you intend to do — to kill him 
 with kindness, or cruelty ? 
 
 Mrs. B. That weighty matter is yet undeter- 
 mined. 
 
 Lau I hope, Madam, you will save him from 
 the ridicule, which the knowledge of his folly 
 would bring on him. 
 
 Mrs. B Upon my word, my dear, I don't see 
 any thing so foolish in it, either. 'Tis excusable 
 enough ; the man's in love with me. that's all. 
 
 Mel. I have a scheme in my head ; will you 
 resign the enamouf'd swain to me ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Take him with all my heart. 
 
 Mel. Thank you with all mine, you can afford 
 to be generous in this way. 
 
 Mrs. B. Sly creature ! well, manage it as you 
 please. I protest, I have prattled away my time — 
 I must fly home, for I expect the milliner with my 
 masquerade dress — I'm a fickle being, and have 
 chosen the moon. Oh ! stop, stop! — give me my 
 billets-doux — I file them as regularly as a tradesman 
 his bills, and 'tis the pleasantest amusement in the 
 world, to turn them over in a dull hour. Apropos, 
 my dear, I hear your brother, Sir Charles, is ex- 
 pected. I am in love with him already by descrip- 
 tion ; so, remember, I engage him in my train — 
 Your servant, my dears. [Exit. 
 
 Mel. Your servant, Madam, Ha ! ha ! well, 
 who could have thought this ? 
 
 Lau. I wonder, Melissa, you take such pleasure 
 in her society. There is a levity in her manner, 
 that is far from being pleasing. 
 
/ A COMEDY. .. . _ 9 
 
 Mel. Your ignorance of the world makes you 
 think so. 
 
 Lau. Well, I think— 
 
 Mel. But, can't you think without looking so 
 serious ? I don't wonder at fashionable people never 
 thinking ; for, to say the truth, it makes one look 
 horribly plain. 
 
 Enter Flutter. 
 
 Well, Flutter, what news ? 
 
 Flut. Lard, ladies, who do you think is in town ? 
 
 Mel. A great many knaves, and twice as many 
 fools. 
 
 Flut. Lord ! mem, why Sir Charles's Mr, Fan- 
 gle, mem, is below, and says Sir Charles will be 
 here in a jiffy. Lard ! mem, you'd be surprised to 
 see how well Mr. Fangle looks. 
 
 Mel. Well, child, go, get my things for dressing; 
 and, for fear of mistakes, I forbid you thinking of 
 Mr, Fangle for the next half-hour. 
 
 Flut. He! he! mem, you are pleased to be 
 merry. [£•*#• 
 
 Mel. Bless me, Laura, how pale you are of a 
 sudden ! What's the matter with you ? 
 
 laau. Nothing — nothing, 
 
 Mel. Poor dear! let me feel your pulse. — Nay, 
 trust to my skill — Hem I — one — two — three — So, 
 Sir Charles — ten — eighteen — twenty-five — Bless 
 me, how it gallops ! My dear, you are in a high 
 fever. 
 
 Lau. You are alw r ays so ridiculous, Melissa. 
 
 Mel. Ah ! this comes of novels, and sentimen* 
 tal comedies, where two poor creatures, after lan- 
 guishing into consumptions, when each has a foot 
 in the grave, at last join hands to help themselves 
 out again. 
 
10 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 Sir Charles. (Without) Fangle, order the car- 
 riage, d'ye hear ? 
 Mel. Here he is. 
 
 Enter Sir Charles Wilding. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ah ! my dear creatures, your most 
 humble footstool. (To Mel.) Is your colour proof, 
 child ? (Kisses her.) 
 
 Mel. Psha! you don't know the danger of that 
 custom. You may be hanged some day for stealing. 
 
 Sir Chas. [To Laura.) My sweet little friend, 
 I shall 'scape hanging with you, and only be trans- 
 forte d. Bless me, do you follow nature so closely* 
 as to have no roses in winter r 
 
 Mel. Ah ! Charles — " she let concealment, 
 « like a " 
 
 Lau. Fie, Melissa! I need not tell you, Sir 
 Charles, she is as much a rattle as ever. 
 
 Sir Chas. So much the worse for poor Lovel. 
 
 Mel. What, has he been whining to you ? I 
 hope he will go down to his old gothic rookery, 
 and tell his mammy. 
 
 Sir Chas. Upon my soul, you wrong him. Bat, 
 you women are so fond of fools, a man of sense 
 has no chance with you. 
 
 Mel. No, no ; 'tis your men of sense that tre#ii 
 us like fools ; and as we hear nothing but nonsente 
 on all sides, we very wisely prefer those who de- 
 liver it most naturally, and with a better grace. If 
 men of sense will use the language of folly, they 
 must expect to be outdone by those who have it 
 for their mother tongue. 
 
 Sir Chas. Faith, I believe yoii are right there ; 
 but what says my pretty Mrs. Mum ? 
 
 Lau. I— I — -beg your pardon, Sir Charles-— 1~— 
 didn't exactly — 
 
A COMEDY. 11 
 
 Mel. Do you remember the song, my dear, — 
 " Absence is no cure for love." 
 
 Sir Chas. Love ! Oh S oh ! sits the wind in 
 that quarter ! And pray, my dear creature, what 
 happy fellow ? 
 
 Mel. Fie, fie, Charles ! We, good Protestants, 
 allow no inquisitors. 
 
 Sir Chas, Ay ! ay ! 
 
 ** Good Protestants you are, to Church so true, 
 " You make e'en assignations in a pew." 
 
 But faith, poor Laura looks so sombre, her piteous 
 face makes a very woman of me — I have the cu- 
 riosity of a whole coterie. 
 
 Lau. I congratulate you, Sir Charles, on your 
 excellent spirits. 
 
 Sir Chas. I wish, my dear girl, I cou'd return 
 the compliment. Some sad dog has robb'd you of 
 as pretty a complexion as one would wish to see on 
 a summer's day. 
 
 Lav. You have been studying flattery at Ox- 
 ford, I suppose, Sir, and play upon me to keep 
 your tongue in practice. 
 
 Mel. IVe not heard such a long speech from 
 her these three months. 
 
 Lau. Ha ! ha ! pray amuse yourselves; but, in- 
 deed, I am no match for you. 
 
 Mel. Not for me, my dear $ but you know you 
 may be for Sir Charles. 
 
 Lau. You are really extremely ridiculous, Melissa. 
 
 Mel. Ha ! ha ! now you shall judge, Charles, if 
 I have not good reason for thinking she is in love. 
 
 Sir Chas. Well. 
 
 Lau. Melissa, I beg you will not go on in this 
 foolish way. 
 
 Sir Chas. No, no 5 I positively insist upon hear- 
 ing it, 
 
12 A TOtJCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Mel. Why, then, you must know, ever since— 
 
 Lau. Indeed, Sir Charles, she is only jesting. 
 Pray don't listen to her. 
 
 Sir Chas. Oh ! if it be a jest, I'm determin'd 
 to have it; for I like a jest above all thjngs. 
 
 MeL Well, then, ever since — 
 
 Lau. Dearest Melissa, if you love me, no more 
 of this. 
 
 Sir Chas. Come, come, no tampering. Go on, 
 mistress. 
 
 Mel. You see he forces me—- So then, ever 
 since — 
 
 Lau. This is cruel of you, Melissa. Indeed, 
 Sir Charles, if jou — that is, if I — I mean if — pray, 
 excuse me. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Chas. By heaven 1 she is in tears ! this is 
 strange ! 
 
 MeL Not in the least; a very common case. 
 Love, mere love, which causes us to languish like 
 sun-flowers on a cloudy day — we are feeble plants, 
 and a dew-drop will bend us. 
 
 Sir Chas. Poor thing 1 
 
 Mel. Do you pity her ? 
 
 Sir Chas. I do, upon my soul, most heartily. 
 
 Mel. And upon mine, so do I sincerely; but 
 I can't help teazing her a little, because she stands 
 out so stubbornly against conviction. 
 
 Sir Chas. But, who is the swain ihat has caused 
 all this, and why the deuce does he not, if he can't 
 get out old Bruin's consent, bid her bundle up her 
 knicknacks, and throw herself after them out of the 
 window ? 
 
 MeL Ay ! why indeed ! and I'll give you a 
 wherefore. He's stupid enough not to perceive he 
 is the object of her passion. 
 
 Sir Chas. Then, take my word for it, the fellow 
 is an ass. 
 
A COMEDY. 13 
 
 Mel. Ha ! ha ! do you think so, my learned 
 brother? Well, I must go, and comfort the poor 
 thing — I'll tell her you pity her, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Chas. What the devil are you laughing at ? 
 
 Mel. Ha ! ha ! your servant, most sagacious Sir, 
 your servant, ha ! ha I [Exit. 
 
 Sir Chas. - At her old tricks, I see. Well, here 
 I am in town again, the deai' delightful, rattling 
 town. Egad, I think I have had enough of the 
 Muses. I never liked learned ladies, and always 
 thought a pretty girl, who could but read eyes, and 
 scratch billets-doux, the more preferable society. 
 But I'm trifling here, when IVe as much business 
 on my hands as, a coroner in November. I have 
 been loading these many years, and had a damn'd 
 deal of drv wadding cramm'd into me. Law has 
 drawn back the catchlock, nature inclines me to 
 fire — so, off I go. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in Beaumont's House. 
 
 Enter Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, meeting. 
 
 Beau. Ha ! your most obedient, Madam. This 
 is an unexpected pleasure indeed. 
 
 Mrs. B. Unexpected, no doubt, Mr. Beaumont. 
 You seem prodigiously disconcerted at this little ac- 
 cident. Pray, sit down, and compose yourself; for 
 since fortune has thus kidnapp'd us into a tete-a-tete, 
 we may as well gratify her in her whim, for the 
 sake of novelty. 
 
 Beau. With all my heart, Madam ; for to con- 
 fess a truth, I have .been plotting how to bring 
 about this very event. 
 
 Mrs. B. Indeed ! Here is something truly won- 
 derful. I'm on the very tiptoe of expectation, bit 
 
14 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 being tired of the posture, reach me a chair, you 
 uncivil creature, So, — very gallant j-^—and now pro- 
 ceed audibly, and distinctly. 
 
 Beau, Pshaw ! a truce to this trifling. We play 
 the fool enough in public ; besides, I have some- 
 thing of importance to say. 
 
 Mrs. B. Then I move an adjournment ; for now 
 you mention something of importance, I remember 
 I have to attend a private committee at Lady Fid- 
 dlefaddJe's. 
 
 Beau. Punctuality is unfashionable — We are 
 alone, I believe. In short, Madam, I cannot longer 
 conceal from you what the world will quickly know 
 — I am a ruined man. 
 
 Mrs. B. Sir ! 
 
 Beau. Yes, Madam ; and however indifferent 
 you may be, as to what generally concerns me, I 
 believe I shall have your sympathy now. 
 
 Mrs. B, It ill becomes you, Sir, to charge me 
 with an indifference you can best account for. 
 Lured by my igold you ensnared me inio this fatal 
 union — You drove my friends from me that you 
 might pamper, undisturbed, on the wealth I brought 
 you, and now, after a few years of extravagance 
 and neglect, you tell me you are ruined. 
 
 Beau. Faith, Madam, I should have great plea- 
 sure in telling you the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. B. Barbarous, unfeeling man ! To what 
 am I reduced ! Oh ! that I could retrace the fatal 
 steps I have taken, — that I had listen'd to those, 
 who forewarn'd me of the ruin I have drawn upon 
 myself. 
 
 Beau. " These are the charming agonies of 
 love ! " 
 
 Mrs. B. Ruined, did you say? 
 
 Beau. On the very verge of it. Last night I 
 lost a sum beyond my power to pay. Till that is 
 
A COMEDY. 15 
 
 settled, I cannot draw upon fortune. Tradesmen 
 are urgent — difficulties are daily closing on me, and 
 unless I can speedily raise a round sum, we must 
 sink at once. 
 
 Mrs. B. And must I be sacrificed to your extra- 
 vagance ? Am I to suffer for your dissolute and 
 unprincipled conduct? 
 
 Beau. Charming ! charming ! What a lovely 
 vermillion ! What enchanting attitudes ! My dear 
 Madam, whenever you would kill any one com- 
 pletely, put yourself in a passion. 
 
 Mrs. B. Grant me patience ! But I deserve it all 
 for putting myself in the power of such a monster. 
 
 Beau. Come, come, Madam, this ranting is 
 ridiculous. Let us remember, however our hearts 
 may be, our interests are united. My affairs are 
 disordered, 'tis true, but not beyond the possibility 
 of retrieval — That is in your power. 
 
 Mrs. B, Mine ! 
 
 Beau. Yes. There is a plain, blunt, rich uncle 
 of yours — nay, keep your temper -> — recollect, we 
 are standing, bound together, on the brink of a 
 precipice* if I fall I drag you with me. 
 
 Mrs. B. And what then ? can I be worse ? can 
 I be precipitated into greater misery than your bar- 
 barity entails on me ? 
 
 Beau. Well, Madam, all I now do, is to give 
 you warning, that you may prepare for the taunts 
 and neglect of the world which await you, and bid 
 adieu to the gaieties that surround you. 
 
 Mrs. B. And if I should save you from impend- 
 ing ruin, what more do I do than purchase a tem- 
 porary smile, and the suspension of another hour 
 like this ? 
 
 Beau, Try it ; I am not accustomed to profes- 
 sions, and I suspect you would give me little credit 
 for them. 
 
1Q A TOUCH AT THE TIMES. 
 
 Enter Servaht. 
 
 Sew. My Lady Fiddlefaddle, Madam, requests 
 to know if she shall have the pleasure of seeing 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. B. I cannot see, or be seen by any one j 
 deny me to all. 
 
 Beau. Stay, Sir.— I. thought, Madam, you had 
 more sense, and had known the world better. 
 Ifour mistress will wait on her ladyship : order the 
 chariot to the door. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Would you publish your misfortunes and accelerate 
 your fall ? Be even gayer than ever ; let not sur- 
 mise draw credit from a look. — The storm may yet 
 pass over. 
 
 Mrs. B. Why did I ever listen to that deceitful 
 tongue ? Well, Sir, I will write to my uncle, 
 Mr. Serge, though I much doubt whether it will 
 be effectual. But I must first insist on your making 
 a provision for me, that may save me from the re- 
 currence of such circumstances. 
 
 Beau. To that I willingly agree. I think, 
 Madam, as you see masks to-night, it would be 
 better to meet Mr. Serge to-morrow. You know 
 his unpolished manners and vulgar prejudices, and 
 must be careful how you offend them. 
 
 Mrs. B. The hint comes with peculiar pro- 
 priety from you, Sir. I perceive experience is the 
 tutor of fools, and the best way to obtain good be- 
 haviour from a husband, is to bind him over to it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Beau. Silly creature ! Ha ! what has she dropt ? 
 
 [Takes vp a paper. 
 
 [Reads'] " If the fairest of her sex — compas- 
 <c sion — um — um — beauty — masquerade to-night— 
 " a Franciscan Friar." — So, so, Madam, have I 
 caught you! This may be worth attending to. 
 
~ A COMEDY* 17 
 
 Money must be raised in some way, and faith 
 'twould be no bad thing if a rich fool and liberal 
 jury would lend me their assistance. In the scale 
 of misfortune, gold is ever considered an equipoise, 
 and I assess my feelings so highly, that I have little 
 doubt, by proper management, a disaster of this 
 kind might make me easy for life* [Exit. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT* 
 
IS A TOUCH AT THE TIMES :.. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Street. 
 Enter Sir Charles and Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 Sir Chas. Pray, Madam, step aside here out 
 of the crowd, I fear your chariot is too much da- 
 maged to proceed : but I trust you have received 
 no injury from this unfortunate accident* 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh ! Sir, nothing but a fright. I thank 
 you for your polite attention. I beg I may not 
 trouble your further. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ah ! Madam ! would this were the 
 least trouble you were doom'd to give me. 
 
 Mrs. B. La ! where can my servants be ? 
 
 Sir Chas. Here, Madam, is one (bowing)-*i£ 
 you deign to accept his services. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, my Lady Shophunter has just 
 drove up, and begs you will take a seat in her car- 
 riage. 
 
 Mrs. B. Extremely fortunate ! I thank her La- 
 dyship. Sir, I am greatly indebted to you, for your 
 politeness. I must insist on not troubling you fur- 
 ther. Not a step, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Chas. Pardon me, Madam, I feel myself 
 compelled to disobey you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lovel. 
 
 Lov. S'death ! what a fool am I, to think longer 
 
A COMEDY. 19 
 
 of the girl. And yet, for the life of me, I cannot 
 persuade my legs to carry me out of the sight of 
 her dwelling. Oh ! love ! love! thou dost, -indeed, 
 lead reason captive. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir Chas. A charming creature, upon my soul ! 
 I wish I could have got hold of her name. Hey ! 
 what, Lovel, — is it you ? 
 
 Lov. Your servant, Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir Chas. What the devil's the matter with him. 
 How d'ye do, Ned ? 
 
 Lov. Indisposed. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ay! the weather is heavy. Pray, is 
 there any thing new to-day ? 
 
 Lov. Psha ! nonsense ! 
 
 Sir Chas. Nay, nonsense is no novelty Fm sure ; 
 and as to your psha, Sir, I'm an Englishman, and 
 not to be pshawed out of my manners and customs. 
 Health, news, and the weather are — 
 
 Lov. Be so good as to step into the next milli- 
 ner's shop, if you must be prating, and are so full 
 of folly ; — don't run over upon me. 
 
 Sir Chas. Heyday ! Mynheer Sour-krout, have 
 you been broke upon fortune's wheel ? Sure nothing 
 less than absolute ruin can have curdled you so con- 
 foundedly. 
 
 Lov. You know not the pain of suffering, when 
 it is those we love who wound us. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ah ! I see how it is : my weathercock 
 sister. She is as tantalizing as a trout, and as whim- 
 sical as— faith ! I can't find a comparison. She 
 will make a determination, and forget it while her 
 lips are warm with the last syllable. Then, she 
 plays on one as she would on her piano, will lead 
 you thro' the whole scale of passion and humor 
 
 c2 
 
20 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 and, when she has run you up conftifritiso, diminuendo 
 you down with such masterly skill, that I defy 
 you to go .-„0JE jri any other strain than pianissimo 
 aviorosamente. 
 
 Lov. Her picture to the life. And now, Sir 
 Charles, frankly tell me what you would have me 
 do with this tyrant ? 
 
 Sir Chas. Laugh at, and forget her, 
 
 JLov. Impossible. 
 
 Sir Chas. Why, then, be; a slave still; or, if 
 you prefer it, follow ;tho glorious example of those 
 redoubted heroes* who have gallantly thrown them- 
 selves into a horsepond, or boldly advanced into the 
 noose of a garter! 'Tis not at all improbable, but 
 ypur mistress may relent — when you are dead, — 
 make your elegy to her waiting- woman, while- 
 dressing for a rout, and sacrifice a fan to your me- 
 mory, while drivings to it, 
 
 Loik I think she once loved me,, and that idea 
 will ever keep me constant; — your volatile heart is 
 insensible to the refinements of love. You fly 
 sportively from rose to rose, while I, who settle on 
 a single flower, without the power, or the wish to 
 change, view with poignancy the season of its fad- 
 ing, and dwell with melancholy pleasure even 
 amidst the remaining thorns. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ha ! ha I, poor insect 1 Well, well, 
 do as you please ; hang, drown or marry ; but re~: 
 member, I tell you, that sneaking sort of manner 
 will never do. No, Sjr, depend upon it, a good 
 bluff assurance takes with the women. Do you see 
 how many wooden-headed tellows pass for men of 
 mettle, by having brass facings to their blocks? I 
 know a little of the world, Ned—woman, is a subject 
 I have handled pretty frequently, and, without va-M 
 nity, may pretend to some knowledge of., , 
 
 iffiifcl you may pretend to what you please, 
 
except lover 'Tis not the ranting transports of 
 passion that prove b lpvery but those minute move- 
 ments of the soul p those soft, indescribable feelings, 
 the offspring of sympathy, which time matures into 
 Jove, that beam forth dn the most trifling actions, 
 and on the slightest occasions. But this is all He- 
 brew to you x Sir Charles; love is like genius, it 
 cannot be taught. 
 
 Sir Chas. If you must have similies, 'tis rather 
 -like shorthand, almost every' one has a different 
 system \ and nothing but practice can teach it* It 
 is a— but who comes here ? 
 
 Lov. What, that popinjay yonder? That, Sir, 
 is one of our chief verbal wits, commonly calFd 
 punsters. 
 
 Sir Chas. That is, one of those, who knowing 
 words are the types of ideas* think 'tis sufficient 
 proof of their possessing the latter, by shewing they 
 have a plentiful stock of the former. 
 , Lov. 'Prythee, let us slip away before he sees 
 us. 
 
 SinChas. Not I, 'faith ! I think a fool the best 
 company in the world. 
 
 Lov. Hang all fools ! say I. 
 -Sir Chas. Hang all fools ! -What a diabolical 
 sentiment f Would you depopulate the country } 
 Hist! hist =!— he sees us— now shall we have a bob- 
 major on the dictionary*— hem 1 
 
 Enter Clinch. 
 
 Clinch. Ha! ha ! Egad, I shall split. Lovel, 
 your servant, ha! ha! Excuse me, but— ha! ha! 
 I'm dying of laughing. I 
 
 Sir Chas. (aside.) He has seen his shadow in 
 a window. 9 
 
 Lov, Run to the theatre, they are rehearsing a 
 c 3 
 
22 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 German comedy, and 'tis the best specific I know 
 for the disorder you are dying of. 
 
 Clinch. You are as bad as my barber— always 
 cutting. It puts me -in mind of— Sir, I ask ten 
 thousand pardons — I should apologize for my 
 breach of manners. 
 
 Sir Chas. Oh ! Sir, not the least occasion. A 
 gentleman in your awful situation cannot be ex- 
 pected to be ceremonious. 
 
 Clinch. Eh ! my awful ! Oh ! ay ! ay ! I take 
 you. Ha ! ha ! a wag ! a wag ! ha ! ha ! faith, 
 Sir, your wit forces me into another breach — Egad, 
 though no tailor, 1 have made a pair of breaches. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ha ! ha i excellent ! {aside to Lovetj 
 What damn'd fool is this ? 
 
 Clinch {aside.) A smart, clever young fellow. 
 {to Lovel) Pray, who is this friend of your's ? 
 
 Lov. Excuse my remissness. Sir Charles, allow 
 me to introduce Mr. Clinch, a gentleman of great 
 celebrity in the republic of letters— Sir Charles 
 Wilding. 
 
 Clinch. Oh ! what the leveret— as a cockney 
 would say ? 
 
 Sir Chas. Sir ! 
 
 Clinch. The young heb\ I mean. Ha ! ha ! 
 excuse me, but it puts me in mind of what I said 
 the other day to a certain Bishop : he and I had 
 an argument as tough as bull-beef, so, to end all, 
 says I, " my Lord, I really don't understand you 
 at present, but I shall shortly have that pleasure, 
 for I hear you are going to be translated." 
 
 Sir Chas. Ha ! ha ! capital indeed ! {to Lov.) 
 Why don't you laugh, Ned ? 
 
 Clinch. Sir, I see you relish wit. By the bye, 
 that puts me in mind — my Lord Thingumbob asked 
 me just now where the poet-laureat lived—" Upon 
 
A COMEDY. &&,- 
 
 my word, my Lord," says I — " I can't tell— you 
 had better ask at the King's Mews.' 9 
 
 Sir Chas. Ha ! ha ! spare me, my good Sir, 
 spare me. 
 
 Clinch. An exceeding clever young fellow in- 
 deed ! (aside.) 
 
 Lov. And was that the formidable joke, that— 
 
 Clinch. Oh ! no, Oh ! no. Now you put me 
 in mind, I'll tell you. Sir Gregory Groom, while 
 turning a corner, just now, in his dogcart, bounced 
 against his lady's landaulet, and was popp'd over 
 as pat as a pancake ; — Egad, and the simile's no 
 bad one, let me tell you, for he was thrown souse 
 into a gutter, and so had plenty of dripping. 
 
 Lov. If you are amused with such a simple acci- 
 dent, you would have burst your sides at the last fire. 
 
 Clinch. Upon my soul, Lovel, you are like a 
 kitchen chimney, always smoaking. But the joke 
 was, to see Sir Gregory and his lady— J overheard 
 a footman say, 'twas the first time they had met for 
 the last fortnight — they were terribly alarm'd, for 
 they were nearly thrown into each other's arms. 
 
 Sir Chas. (aside.) This can't be my incog- 
 nita ! Pray, Sir, what sort of a woman is my Lady 
 Groom ? 
 
 Clinch. Really, Sir, I can't say. I hav'n't seen 
 her face these five years. 
 
 Sir Chas. I thought you had seen her just now. 
 
 Clinch. Ha ! ha ! so I did ; but, as I used to say 
 of my great grandfather's wig, " thereby hangs a 
 tale." — When a house is stuccoed, you know, one 
 can't tell what its built of. But Lovel, here, knows 
 all about her. 
 
 Lov. Not I, indeed. There's a tradition that 
 she was once a fine woman, but as I am not a 
 member of the Antiquarian Society, I never took 
 the trouble to enquire into it. All I know is f that 
 
 c 4 
 
24 A TOUCH A.T THE TIMES i 
 
 she came very honestly by her charms, for, being 
 rather eccentric in her manners, she pays her 
 tradespeople. 
 
 Clinch. Did you ever hear such a fellow ? He 
 is only 1 fit to be trustee to a turnpike, he is so 
 fond of mending high-ways. But, zounds ! I 
 forget an engagement. Well, gentlemen, what 
 say you to a partie quarrSe to dine ? Will you 
 come, and be sarcastic with my mutton — cut it up, 
 eh ? I can't promise you rarities — game we can't 
 want, for we . can always make it. No words — I 
 shall expect you. In the mean time, excuse me, 
 I must smuggle myself away, as the phrase is— 
 run. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ha ! ha ! where the deuce did you 
 pick up that fool ? 
 
 Lov. Fool ! I assure you he is considered one of 
 the chief wits of the age. 
 
 Enter Flutter, hastily. 
 
 Ha ! Melissa's woman ! 
 
 Flut. Oh ! gentlemen ! gentlemen ! dear, sweet 
 gentlemen ! 
 
 Sir Chas. Why, Flutter, your sensibility seems 
 to have received a terrible shock. 
 
 Flut. Oh! Sir Charles— 
 
 Lov. Pray heaven Melissa is — 
 
 Flut. Oh ! Mr. Lovel- 
 ier. Flutter ! Flutter ! for heaven's sake, let 
 me know the worst at once. 
 
 Flut. Oh ! Sir, so unfortunate an accident ! 
 
 Sir Chas. What, have you had your pocket 
 picked of a keep sake ? 
 
 Lov. This is insufferable ! 
 
 Flut. There, there, they are bringing him 
 along now. Dear, dear Mr. Fangle, your honor's 
 
A COMEDY. 25 
 
 footman, has just been arrested at the suit of a 
 tailor. 
 
 Sir Chas. Come, Ned, summon your philo- 
 sophy, and bear it like a man. 
 
 Lov. Psha ! 
 
 Flut. Will nobody save him ? must the dear, 
 sweet man be paw'd by a dirty catchpole ? Oh 1 
 good Sir Charles, have a little compassion and kill 
 that vile catchpole. 
 
 Sir Chas. Excuse me. my dear, I must be bar- 
 barous enough to let him live. However, to oblige 
 you, I will go and see what can be done for dear, 
 sweet Mr. Fangle ; though, let me tell you, I 
 think it devilish impertinent to run in debt to an 
 arrestable amount, 'tis affecting a style of life he 
 has no title to : and if the lower orders give them- 
 selves such airs, as not to pay their debts, egad, 
 there will be no such thing as distinguishing rank 
 in society. 
 
 Flut. Ah ! dear Sir Charles, pray go. 
 
 Sir Chas. I fly, Madam; and, in the mean 
 time, if you should be inclined to fall into hysterics, 
 I know my friend Lovel here will be happy to 
 lend you his arms. [Exit. 
 
 Lov. I should take it as a particular favor, Mrs. 
 Flutter, if you would come to a resolution as soon 
 as possible. 
 
 Flat. Oh ! Sir, I beg I may be no hindrance, 
 Sir. One sees more of the world every day. Some 
 folks are mighty thankful when other folks can 
 serve 'ern. Pray, Sir, don't let me keep you. I 
 had a little matter to say, about — but I beg, Sir, I 
 mayn't detain you. 
 
 Lov. [Takes oat his purse, and holds out his 
 hand with money it, in an ironical manner']. — Good 
 bye, Flutter. 
 
 Flat. Sir, I bear no malice, I assure vou. You'll 
 
26 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 excuse me, Sir, but, pray, is this a good one ? for 
 the last was a Frenchman. 
 
 Lov. Then, there's a real Englishman, and, as 
 that is a match for two Frenchmen, it will just 
 balance the account. I think, Flutter, you were 
 saying you had something for me; 
 
 Flut* Was I, Sir? I'm sure I don't know what 
 it could be then. 
 
 Lov. What the devil ! 
 
 Flut. Oh ! Lard ! Sir, don't swear so. To be 
 sure I have something to tell. 
 
 Lov. My dear Flutter ! 
 
 Flut. Ah ! now its my dear Flutter ! I'm sure 
 if you knew what a well- wisher I am — 
 
 Lov. I know it, I know it. 
 
 Flat. What risks I have run — 
 
 Lov. Zounds ! I know them — all by heart. But 
 I beg your pardon, I'm interrupting you — you were 
 talking of — 
 
 Flut. Ah ! you'll know some day or other what 
 I've done for you. Well, but don't keep me any 
 longer, for I'm now on my way to learn from your 
 servant, what dress you go in to-night to the masque- 
 rade. 
 
 Lov. You don't say so ? 
 
 Flut. Perhaps not, so don't believe me. Lard 
 bless us! there's our old gentleman, and if he should 
 see me with you — 
 
 Lov. Follow me, my dear creature— You have 
 restored me to life. 
 
 Flat. Ah ! how little you men know us women ! 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE II.— An Apartment in Beaumont's House. 
 
 Enter Serge and a Servant. 
 
 Serg. I tell you, Sir, I want to see your master 
 m mistress. 
 
A COMEDY. 27 
 
 Serv. They never sees tradesmen at this time of 
 day. Besides, we're all in a bustle with our 
 masquerade to-night. Call again to-morrow. 
 
 Serge. Masquerade to-night! The fellow's 
 drunk. Why, you impertinent, overfed puppy— 
 
 Serv. Come, come, none of your jaw here — 
 leave your bill, and walk off. 
 
 Serge. Leave my bill, and walk off! a discreet, 
 well-bred porter. You impudent jackanapes, do 
 you know who you speak to ? 
 
 Serv. Sir, I ask pardon — you're a character 
 perhaps ? 
 
 Serge. A character, Sirrah ! a character ! What 
 do you mean, eh ? I'll teach you to laugh at your 
 betters, Sirrah. 
 
 Serv. Oh ! Lord, Sir, pray don't carry the joke 
 so far. 
 
 Serge. Joke ! you damn'd impudent son of a— 
 I'll joke you, you scoundrel ! 
 
 Enter Beaumont. 
 
 Beau. Bless me ! Mr. Serge ! how is this ? 
 
 Serv. [Aside.'] I'm in the wrong box here, I 
 see. 7 [ExiL 
 
 Serge. An impudent rascal ! Sir, your servant. 
 Your man. here has just been giving me a little 
 specimen of your domestic ^economy. Ay ! ay ! it 
 is not to be wondered at, whatever happens. I 
 prophecied this three years ago — I said how it 
 would be. 
 
 Beau. [Aside.] Damn'd unlucky ! — You re- 
 ceived Mrs. Beaumont's note, Sir, I suppose ? 
 
 Serge. You suppose right, Sir; for, after what 
 has happen'd, nothing but your own request should 
 have brought me here. 
 
 Beau. I am extremely sorry, Sir, you should 
 have had the trouble. 
 
28 A TOUCH An THE .TIMES : 
 
 , Serge. Pooh ! , pooh ! don't tell me any Mch 
 thing— You're jnojt sorry, ; you know you're not. 
 But where's my niece ?ii 
 
 Bemi. Sir, I'll send to inform her you are here. 
 She had intended the pleasure of waitirfg on you 
 to-morrow morning— Here, who waits? 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Tell ybur mistress Mr. Serge is below. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Bur, I beg a thousand pardons— pray, be seated. 
 ^ Serge. Why, I believe I will. I'm somewhat 
 fired. — Pray, what may be the price of the se chairs? 
 
 Beau. The price, Sir! Really, I can't exactly 
 call to memory. 
 
 Serge. 'Ah I I see how it is. Pray, was that 
 your house and furniture I saw advertised this morn- 
 ing } The 1 house and furniture of a gentleman 
 going abroad. 
 
 Beau. No, indeed, Sir - y I presume you are ig- 
 norant — Oh ! here is Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 i Enter Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 My dear, here is your worthy uncle,, Mr. Sei^ge. 
 The natural goodness of his heart has induced him 
 to overlook — 
 
 Serge. Sir, I thank you ; but affairs of this 
 kind don't require masters of the ceremonies. Oh ! 
 Tucy i Lucy ! its a sad thing that nothing but mis- 
 fortune can bring us together. 
 , Mrs. B. I'm sure, Sir, I have always had a very 
 great respect for you. 
 
 Beau. Indeed, my dear, I must do you the jus- 
 tice to say, that, tho' an unfortunate misunderstand- 
 ing has subsisted between you, you have always 
 spoken of Mr. Serge in the warmest terms. 
 
A CO ME D Y. 29 
 
 Serge. Well, well ; you see I am right t at last. 
 I gave you fair warning.— Had you taken my ad-* 
 vice when you married, y« u would have been in a 
 different situation now. Yes, Sir, if you had vested 
 your wife's fortune in broadcloths, you might have 
 made, a pretty penny, of iu v - \'.: 
 
 Beau. [ Aside.] I shall laugh in the old fool's 
 face. i c - ; ( 
 
 Serge. But that was beneath so fi ne a gentleman 
 — the idea was a damn\d fow one ; you must launch 
 out, and figure ta way as a' first rate^ ^nothing but 
 routs and-riots. That money that was hardly earned 
 in Cheapside, must be lavished in St. James's— in 
 short, you set up a private madhouse* without 
 taking out a licence. ,' ! ; . ' 
 
 Beau. [Aside.] Hang him !. I must bear it. 
 
 Serge. But there's no use going back ; the fu- 
 ture is our present consideration. I trust you are 
 both wiser from the experience of folly. 
 
 Beau. I am sure I speak Mrs. Beaumont's sen- 
 timents, when I declare that nothing has so sensibly 
 affected us, as the consideration that our present 
 difficulties are owing to the rejection of your advice. 
 — [Aside to Mrs. J3.] Why the devil can't you say 
 something !~t- You remember, my dear, it was but 
 the other day we were talking on the subject. 
 
 Serge. Well, Sir - 3 and, pray, what may your 
 plan be now ? 
 
 Beau. 1 bow, Sir, to your superior judgment. 
 
 Serge. Why then, Sir, I think your wisest, plan 
 would be, to get out of the way as soon as possible. 
 
 Beau. Out of the way, Sir ? 
 
 Serge. Yes ; till matters are blown over a little. 
 
 Mrs* B. I am quite of your opinion, Sir. If 
 we were to go to Bath now, for a month or so ; 
 o r - 
 
 Bath ! out of the frying-pan into the fire 
 
30 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 — eh ? no, no. I have a wiser plan than that>~It 
 happens fortunately I have a vessel on the point of 
 sailing for the Brazils. I think, Sir, you are shrewd 
 enough if you .please. I will make it worth your 
 while to take a trip, as supercargo. In the mean 
 time I will settle all your affairs, and your wife, here, 
 shall go home with me to Fenchurch Street. 
 
 Beau. I, a supercargo to the Brazils ! 
 
 Mrs. B. I go to Fenchurch Street I 
 
 Serge* Eh ! what now ! 
 
 Beau. I am afraid, Sir, there is some little mis- 
 take between us. 
 
 Mrs B. I must say Mr. Serge has taken it up in 
 a very odd light. 
 
 Serge. An odd light, eh ? 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, here is the Milliner with your 
 masquerade dress. 
 
 Beau. How dare you intrude thus ? — Leave the 
 room. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Serge. Masquerade dress ! So the fellow was 
 not drunk. Yes, yes, I see I have taken it up in 
 an odd light. 
 
 Beau. Sir, this is only a little entertainment, by 
 way of paying off our debts of the complimentary 
 kind. I perceive you do not clearly understand our 
 situation. My affairs, it is true, are, at present, 
 rather deranged, but a small accommodation would 
 easily enable me to retrieve them. For this purpose 
 we applied to you, knowing that your goodness — 
 
 Serge. Oh ! I understand you. You have been 
 travelling post to the devil, but are now obliged to 
 stop on the road for want of means, so apply to me 
 to help you on the rest of your journey. 
 
 Beau. Sir ! 
 
 Mrs. B. What vulgarity ! 
 
A COMEDY. 31* 
 
 Serge* No, Sir, I will not set up, in my old age 5 
 as an encourager of extravagance and debauchery. 
 I had some hopes of reclaiming you, but I see they 
 are vain. Look ye, Sir, I have proposed a plan 
 for saving you ; if you think fit to adopt it, you 
 shall have my hearty concurrence ; but not a shil- 
 ling of mine shall go to support you in the scan- 
 dalous course of life you are now pursuing. — Now 
 IVe told you my mind on the matter. 
 
 Beau. Sir, I have a spirit that disdains to truckle 
 to insolent wealth, nor will I calmly suffer the con- 
 tempt of any man. 
 
 Serge, Then, Sir, you must learn not to deserve 
 
 Beau. Your age and situation, Sir, plead your 
 pardon with me ; but, as I know not how much 
 longer I can keep my temper, I must request you 
 to walk out of my house. 
 
 Serge. With all my heart, Sir. As to you, Ma- 
 dam, I pity you from my soul. I am sorry you have 
 scorned my assistance ; but remember this, that 
 whenever the day comes that shall cause you to 
 feel the want of a friend, you will know whereto 
 seek a real one. — And so — your servant. [Exit. 
 
 Beau. Impertinent fellow ! 
 
 Mrs. B. I never heard any thing so ridiculous 
 in all my life. 
 
 Beau. I think, Madam, it would have become 
 
 you, to have attempted to soothe him. You saw 
 
 I very well I was obliged to take it up warmly, and 
 
 you know how little we can afford to lose even 
 
 such friends as these. 
 
 Mrs. B. Sir, your servant — I am always wrong 
 — I never do any thing right in your opinion. 
 
 Beau. I am not held to be a singular man. ei- 
 ther. 
 
 Mrs. B. Well, Sir, I have not time just now for 
 
32 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 a quarrel, so we'll postpone it, if you please, to 
 another opportunity. [Exit. 
 
 Beau. Yes, yes, Madam, I can divine the 
 cause of your impatience $ but I shall be equal to 
 you there. Hark! the company are coming al- 
 ready. I must run and slip on my habit. [Exit. 
 
 ENE> OF ACT IX, 
 
A COMEDY. - S3 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Another Room in Beaumont* s House. 
 
 Enter several Masks, in Spanish Habits •, who sing 
 the following, and pass off, 
 
 GLEE. 
 
 Still is the night, scarce a zephyr is moving, 
 
 Nought but the sigh of the lover is heard : '} 
 
 Each tune his lute to the passion he's proving, 
 And rival the notes of the night-loving bird. 
 
 Lull not the proud with a sorrowful ditty, 
 
 Rouse her from rest who has broken your own ; 
 
 But she, whose soft bosom is open to pity, 
 
 Soothe, soothe her to sleep with a sweet flowing tone. 
 
 So soft be the strain, that it steal to her heart, 
 
 While prudence, and each chilling thought is at rest, . 
 
 There, sweetly in visions love's tidings impart, 
 Nor wake but the pity that lurks in each breast. 
 
 Then each to the lattice of her he loves dearly, 
 
 The stars wink to see us so merrily given, 
 While scar'd by the transports of lovers so cheerly, 
 
 Chaste Dian' scarce ventures to peep out of heav'n. 
 
 Apollo ! oh ! deign each fond breast to inspire ! 
 
 Blythe Bacchus, thy brother, hath lent us his aid j 
 Then grant us thy skill, and the glow of thy fire 
 
 To soften the heart of each beautiful maid. 
 D 
 
I * 
 
 34 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Enter Sir Charles and Clinch (in dominos) 
 and hov el (In propria persond.) 
 
 Clinch. Ha ! ha ! egad, Lovel, you put me in 
 .mind of the chimney-sweeper, who, when he 
 wanted to disguise, himself, washed his face. I 
 suppose you^ome'in the character of naked truth ? 
 ^ Sir Chas. He has lost his character, and is come 
 here to look for it. 
 
 Lov. Faith, gentlemen, I come in my own 
 
 character, and for the same reason that a cockney 
 
 "artisan wears a great coat in the dog days, to shew 
 
 that I have one. I am something of a virtuoso, and 
 
 am fond of rarities. 
 
 Clinch. Ha ! ha ! you'll always be an odd man 
 till you're married. You're the first person singular 
 here — I'll be sworn. 
 
 Sir Chas. Mere affectation, take my word for 
 it — the common-place sentiments of a would-be 
 sage. His wisdom swims on the surface, like a 
 floating light over a shoal. He's no saint at 
 bottom. 
 
 Clinch. If he was, he must be a devilish deep 
 fellow, for I could never come within the soundings 
 of his sanctity. 
 
 Sir Chas. There's a devilish fine figure yonder — 
 Excuse me. [Exit. 
 
 Lov. And me. [Exit. 
 
 Clinch. All vanished ! choice spirits, upon my 
 word I It puts me in mind of — but I may as well 
 keep that for another opportunity. Who have we 
 here? Hist ! Hist ! I may pick up an anecdote. 
 
 [Retires. 
 
 Enter Melissa, and Canker (as a Franciscan). 
 
 Can. Most divine goddess ! 
 
A COMEDY, 35 
 
 MeL [In a feigned voice] . Hush ! hush i sup^ 
 pose we are overheard ? Speak lower, or disguise 
 your voice, as I do. 
 
 Can. Madam, I admire your discretion. One 
 can't be too careful in this censorious age. Such 
 is the wickedness of the times, people don't mind 
 what they say, not they. 
 
 MeL True, Sir ; for do you know, they even 
 speak against you ? 
 
 Can. Aye ! aye ! scandal ! scandal ! the way 
 of the age. The fops and fools of the town, like 
 their kinsmen the monkies, always raise an outcry 
 when a man comes among them. 
 
 Mel. Envy ! mere envy ! and yet they talk very 
 confidently too. I'm afraid you're a sly creature. 
 
 Can. [Aside]' She has heard of Miss Fitzthim- 
 ble ! Ay ! ay ! this is the peering spirit of the age 
 — one Gan't trust any one now-a-days— deceit in all 
 corners — I suppose you mean my affair at— eh ? eh ? . 
 
 Mel. The same. 
 
 Can. [Aside], She must be interested about me! 
 And, pray, how did you discover it was me, when 
 I go by the name of Higgins there ? To be sure 
 you could guess that. Bless us ! to see how things 
 will out ! Oh \ you slyboots ! — Mum ! mum ! and, 
 pray, didn't you observe my adoration before this ? 
 You never noticed my treading on your toe the other 
 day, nor my squeezing your little finger. 
 
 MeL Thanks to this shield of my blushes, I 
 may now confess* I did. But, alas ! my husband 
 is a very Argus— 1 protest, I am almost afraid he 
 may be observing us now. 
 
 Can. Good lack ! that's true, so he may. One 
 can't be too cautious now a-days. But can't you 
 contrive just to slip out ? 
 
 MeL Not for the world ; he has spies in all 
 corners. Hush ! what was that ? 
 D 2 
 
36 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Can. Eh ! bless us ! hem ! hern ! I think I had 
 better not stay here. 
 
 Mel. Pray do not. But, stop — cou'dn't we 
 contrive — yes, yes ; I have an old nurse, who, my 
 husband knows, is coming to see me from the 
 country — now, if you could manage to assume a 
 disguise of that kind — 
 
 Can. To tell you the truth, I have one by me, 
 that I use now and then, to escape suspicion — there's 
 nothing like prudence now-a-days. 
 
 Mel. It is indeed a virtue rather rare in these 
 times. , You must think me prodigiously bold, I 
 fear — but having a prudent person to deal with 
 makes me less scrupulous. So, let me see you to- 
 morrow at twelve, and bring your prudence with 
 you. 
 
 Can. But, won't you. 
 
 Mel. La ! I vow you are unconscionable — well 
 there—don't eat my hand up. 
 
 Can. Oh, you, dear, sweet, pretty darling ! 
 
 [Exeunt, on opposite sides. 
 
 Enter Clinch. 
 
 Clinch. Bravo! old boy; A rare fellow^ and 
 Wants roasting. Eh ! coming again — I'll bear up, 
 and come dow 7 n upon him. 
 
 Enter Beaumont (as a Franciscan). 
 
 Beau. Yonder she is — the red flag is out, and I 
 must prepare for action. 
 
 Clinch. Sir, your most obedient, very humble 
 servant. 
 
 Beau. Clinch, is it you ? 
 
 Clinch. Hey ! what " two Richards in the Field ?" 
 Why, sure I saw you just now ? 
 
A COMEDY. 37 
 
 Beau. Me ? 
 
 Clinch. Ay ! ay ! changed your voice — Vox et 
 preterea nihil — laying in provision for the convent, 
 eh ? well, well, well, there's no harm in it -*- all 
 flesh is grass — only, don't go grazing in another's 
 pasture. 
 
 Beau. [Aside] He has overheard them- — hark'ee ! 
 this way — here are company. [Exeunt* 
 
 Enter Laura (as a Nun). 
 
 Lau. Where can Melissa be,? I have sought her 
 every where. Would I had not yielded to this, 
 foolish scheme ! heigho ! how little this gaiety suits 
 my feelings ! [Retires up. 
 
 Enter Sir Charles, and Mrs. Beaumont (as a 
 Diana). 
 
 Sir Chas. Stop — stop, my dear goddess — -if you 
 are flying to heaven, pray, take me with you. 
 
 Lau. Oh, heavens I (She leans for support 
 
 against the scene) What can I do ? 
 
 Mrs. Beau. Remember, rash youth, the fate of 
 Actseon. 
 
 Sir Chas. Fair planet, being moonstruck, what 
 wonder is it that I act madly ? Pardon me, that 
 black cloud over your face — 
 
 Mrs. Beau. Sir, I beg — 
 
 Sir Chas. Pray, Madam, don't oppose a mad**- 
 man — "Off, off, ye lendings !" 
 
 [Takes off her ?nask, his own falls.] 
 Ha ! ^ny fair incognita, by all that's lovely ! 
 
 Mrs. Beau. [Aside]. As I live, the gallant youth 
 I met to day ! 
 
 Sir Chas. Upon my word, Madam, fortune is a 
 
 D 3 
 
38 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES. 
 
 \> ^ ' - 
 
 very obliging lady, and makes a most excellent 
 mistress of the ceremonies. 
 
 Mrs. B. She is, at least, Sir, a strict observer of 
 justice, and is determined I shall duly pay the debt 
 of gratitude I owe you. 
 
 Sir Chas, Oh ! Madam, gallantry, like virtue, 
 carries its own reward. It is— but I am neglecting 
 it, by my praises. 
 
 Mrs. B. La ! this is very ridiculous. Let go 
 my hand— I protest I shall lose my character. 
 
 Sir Chas. I shall be extremely happy to help you 
 off with it. 
 
 Mrs. B. Go, you wild thing — nay, I vow you 
 must leave me. I can't suffer this, indeed. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ah ! Madam, blame nature, not me, 
 for my rudeness. She has made my heart of such 
 soft materials, that Cupid has stuck it as full as a 
 milliner's pincushion, I follow beauty instinctively, 
 it is the moon that sways the tides of my heart, which 
 ebb and flow with its frowns and smiles. Blame 
 me not, therefore, but consider, that I only do 
 homage to those charms which were made to be 
 adored. [Kneeling.] 
 
 Lau. Oh f heavens ! [Faints.] 
 
 Sir Chas. [Starts up.] Ha ! 
 
 Mrs. B. I am observed. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Chas. The voice was familiar-— a nun ! she 
 faints ! [He supports her.] Is there no one here ? 
 Ha ! Laura ! Good heavens ! Laura ! Laura ! she 
 stirs— she revives — Laura I my dear Laura ! 
 
 Lau. Is it you, Melissa ? 
 
 Sir Chas. Look up my dear girl, 'tis I. 
 
 Laic. Sir Charles ! I — I — thank you, Sir — I 
 require no assistance — pray, don't mind me. 
 
 Sir Chas. Not mind you, my dear girl ! Nay, 
 nay, lean on me — you are agitated— you need sup- 
 port. 
 
A COMEDY. 39 
 
 Lau. Leave me, pray leave me. 
 Sir Chas. Leave you ! 
 
 Lau, In mercy leave me, leave me, leave me 
 for ever. 
 
 Sir Chas, You alarm me, my dear girl. This 
 is more than common illness — Dearest Laura, why 
 this reserve ? why this repulsive treatment ? I con- 
 fess, indeed, my levities merit reproof; but if a 
 heart, swelling with the pure love of a brother — 
 you start ! — whence this agitation ? I conjure you 
 by the memory of our childhood, and those happy 
 days of confidence and friendship we have past 
 together— 
 
 Lau, This is too much ! To what misery am I 
 doomed ! I am faint — very faint. 
 
 Sir Chas. Seat yourself here a moment, my sweet 
 girl, while I fly for some refreshment. You will be 
 better soon. I will return in a moment, [Exit. 
 
 Lau. What have I done ! what can he imagine ! 
 How singular must I appear in his eyes ! why do I 
 cherish this hopeless passion, which every moment 
 leads me into fresh misery ! I had better not wait 
 his return — he may think I am desirous of his at- 
 tentions — yes, I have already lowered myself enough 
 in his esteem. 
 
 Enter Beaumont. 
 
 Beau, So far I have been successful. Ha ! 
 Laura, is it not ? And alone too, by all my hopes. 
 
 Lau, My uncle ! then I am undone on all sides ! 
 Sir, it is needless to confess my indiscretion — you 
 seem surprised I should know you. I can scarce 
 support myself, and my spirits are too far gone now 
 to satisfy you. Have but the goodness to get me 
 conveyed home, and reserve your anger and your 
 questions 'till I am better able to bear them. 
 
 d4 
 
40 A TOUGH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Beau. [Aside.] Fortune! Fortune ! I shall turn 
 Pagan and worship thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Charles, 
 
 Sir Chas. I have procured* — ha ! gone — Hey ! 
 who is that with her ? a young fellow by his air ! 
 — familiar enough — Aye ! aye ! I see how it is. 
 I thought there was something singularly reserved 
 in her manner — Yes, yes, I have been acting the 
 part of Marplot — yet 'tis impossible not to be inter- 
 ested about her. Her manner is so engaging, such 
 modest sensibility, such delicate propriety ! such — 
 Heigho ! what the devil's the matter w T ith me ? 
 Aye, the way of the world—we never care for a 
 thing till we have lost it — Ha ! ha 1 ha ! faith, I 
 can't help laughing at myself — Yet why should I ? 
 I'm in love perhaps,, what of that ? As to any 
 thing else, I hate formality — marriage is a mere 
 ceremony ! and I can easily dispense with it — Mar- 
 riage, c * thou dreadful, pleasing thought 1" Ha ! 
 ha ! I'll go moralize at White's till morning, and 
 then go to bed as all sober rakes should. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Melissa. 
 
 Mel. My pastor fido has at last discovered me. 
 I think I may as well teaze him a little longer, as 
 I perceive he is so tractable. 'Tis the best thing in 
 the world for a lover's constitution — these gusts keep 
 alive the embers of passion, and are excellent pre^ 
 paratives for the marriage state. 
 
 Enter Lovel. 
 
 Lov. Tis certainly her. How silly of me — I 
 tremble as if — psha ! courage, man ! 
 
 Mel. ['Sings.] " Nobody coming to marry me, 
 nobody coming to woo." 
 
A COMEDY. 41 
 
 Lov. Yes, 'tis her, and in one of her madcap 
 humours. Hem ! surely the poets are right in ascri- 
 bing an instinctive sympathy to love -> — by the flut- 
 tering of my heart, and the agitation of my spirits 
 you should be Melissa. 
 
 Mel. By those symptoms, it is more probable I 
 am a ghost. 
 
 Lov. Tis for you to dread such things, who have 
 killed so many— ■ 
 
 Mel. Bless me ! quite a new idea ! , Well, I do 
 pity you men, to think how you must rack your 
 heads for novelty to entertain us with. 
 
 Lov. I wish your pity were rather shewn by not 
 racking your heads in contriving how to rack our 
 hearts. 
 
 Mel. Lord ! you talk to me, as if I was a fami- 
 liar of the Inquisition — I hate such jargon. At 
 one time you come to me, as if I was a confectioner 
 — 'tis nothing but — my sweet this and my sweet 
 that. Then, one would think I were a blacksmith, 
 and there's such a fuss about the fire of my eyes, 
 and my chains, and putting bars to your happiness, 
 and rivetting I don't know what — I vow I wont 
 be treated in such a mechanic manner. 
 
 Lov. A truce to this levity. Believe me, dear 
 Melissa. [Endeavours to take her ha?id.~\ 
 
 Mel. Holla 1 Sir ! pray keep your distance. 
 
 Lov. The time is too precious for trifling. Your 
 morose guardian has forbad my visits : then why 
 neglect the moments fortune allows us ? 
 
 Mel. Upon my word, Mr. Lovel, you talk in a 
 very strange way. Really, when gentlemen have 
 done with the bottle, the butler should lock them 
 up in his pantry, or there should be a delegate from 
 the chancery in all convivial societies, to take care, 
 as the law directs, of all who can't take care of 
 themselves. 
 
42 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 Lov. Zounds 1 Madam ! — 
 
 Mel. Watch ! watch ! Sir, if you grow out- 
 rageous, I must call in the constable. 
 
 Lov. Was there ever such a woman ! Oh ! 
 Melissa 1 that you could look in upon my heart, 
 and view its movements ! to mark what swells of 
 extacy your smiles occasion, what throbs of agony 
 your frowns give rise to ! could you but perceive 
 how fixed, how mingled with my being, your dear 
 idea is ! Could you but observe in the busiest, or 
 gayest of my hours, when your sweet image is for 
 a moment obscured, with what a fervid glow it 
 rushes back to my heart— I am confident — yes, I 
 am confident you would spare me. 
 
 MeL [Aside.] Deuce take him ! I shall cer- 
 tainly make a fool of myself. 
 
 Lov. Believe me, the love I bear you, is not a 
 momentary hectic, a flush of passion. Jt is en- 
 grafted on my soul, it is associated with every idea 
 of felicity, and the substance of every hope. Hea- 
 ven gave us woman to balance the evils of our 
 being — Ah ! why render the intended balm more 
 agonizing than the ills it should alleviate ? 
 
 Mel. [Aside.] I shall never be able to support 
 it without a struggle.— Hem ! I believe, Mr. 
 Lovel, I must be a little candid. 
 
 Lov. My charming girl ! 
 
 Mel. I have been a long time very seriously con- 
 sidering the matter, and have duly weighed and 
 deliberated, whemer it is more adviseable — to be 
 an old maid, or not. 
 
 Lov. Provoking creature ! Well and you have 
 decided — 
 
 Mel. Decided indeed! as if it were a mere 
 piedpoudre cause — What, Sir 1 do you take me for 
 a rash, unthinking thing ? 
 
 Lov, Nay, now, Melissa — 
 
A COMEDY; 43 
 
 Mel, Yes, yes, you think me a wild, giddy 
 creature. 
 
 Low S'death ! but, Melissa — 
 
 MeU You will find I have a true British spirit, 
 and will fight hard before I resign my liberty. Ha ! 
 ha ! out of humour again ! a pretty specimen you 
 give me of what you would be ! ah ! you men are 
 such versatile beings ! The song says — but that we 
 may have harmony between us, I'll sing it. 
 
 AIR (Melissa). 
 
 Flora had wove each vernal grace 
 
 In union with the rose, 
 Where, tir'd with the lengthen' d chase, 
 
 I sunk to soft repose. 
 Young Love, it chanc'd, came forth that way 
 And slily, as I sleeping lay, 
 He stole ray bow and shafts away. 
 But tho* my bow and shafts were flown, 
 The canning God had left his own. 
 
 A distant bugle's echoing swell 
 
 Broke sudden on mine ear, 
 I started from the flow'ry dell, 
 
 And check'd the flying deer. 
 But when the traitor's darts I tried, 
 The deer, as if they would deride 
 Their wounds, came frisking to my side. 
 But though my bow and shafts were flown, 
 The cunning god's I thought my own. 
 
 But lo ! a man ! — with sudden fear 
 
 I pierc'd him to the heart — 
 T'was strange!— the mortal still drew near, 
 
 And smiling; kiss'd the dart. 
 
 } 
 
 } 
 
44 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 I heard young Cupid laugh with gleer— 
 
 I wonder'd whence the voice could be — 
 
 The little rogue was on a tree.— 
 
 iS See where your bow and shafts are flown— 
 
 u Mine suit you better than your own." 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 } 
 
 . Lov. Cruel girl ! yet I am so manacled with 
 her chains that I should only wound myself in strug- 
 gling to be free. [Exit. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
A CSMED Y. 45 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — Canker's House. 
 
 Enter Melissa and Laura. 
 
 Mel. You see, my dear, the power of your 
 charms. Depend upon it, you will figure as a he- 
 roine in history, and we shall shortly have the circu- 
 lating libraries teeming with novels founded on a 
 recent fact.- — But you have not told me how you 
 escaped. 
 
 Lau. I was scarce seated in the carriage, when 
 the villain declared himself : I know not how it 
 was 5 but, instead of sinking under the horror of 
 the discovery, I rather gained additional strength. 
 My screams (for I resorted to them, as my roost 
 effectual defence) soon collected a crowd ; the car- 
 riage was stopt, I leapt out — ; you may suppose 
 my joy at finding myself in the arms of a friend, the 
 gallant, the generous LoveL 
 
 MeL Heigho ! its very odd, nobody will run 
 away with me. I think though you would have 
 preferred the arms of a certain other young man. 
 
 Lau. Why will you persist in that nonsensical 
 idea ? I am sure, if you knew what pain it causes 
 me, you would refrain, even though you lost a jest 
 by it. 
 
 MeL You deserve to be punished for your hypo- 
 crisy; and since you libel my penetration, I fairly 
 give you warning, I am determined to prove its 
 correctness. 
 
46 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Lau. If you loved me, delicacy would temper 
 your ridicule ; but you seem to derive pleasure from 
 my sufferings. Indeed, Melissa, I am far from 
 being happy, and you deprive me of the soothing 
 kindness of friendship, when I most require it. 
 
 Mel. You do me injustice, my dear Laura, to 
 doubt my friendship, 'tis I who should exclaim, 
 since you deny me its first privilege, confidence. 
 But why this obstinate silence ? Why this perverse 
 equivocation ? You vainly think you have locked up 
 a secret in your breast, when the cunning prisoner 
 has long since made his escape. 
 
 Lau. Indeed, I fear my weakness is too appa- 
 rent. 
 
 Mel. For mercy's sake, do leave off this pitiful 
 manner. To be sure, I can very easily comprehend 
 your feelings, for I was once just in your way for 
 near three — weeks. I was then at school, and fell 
 in love-— Heigho ! with the dancing-master's ap- 
 prentice. Oh ! Lord ! I remember I was so terribly 
 dumpish ; I had no more appetite than an alderman 
 the day after a Lord Mayor's dinner ; and used to 
 sit for hours, looking at the moon thro' the skylight, 
 and if I did drop asleep — lud ! I was always 
 dreaming that the dear fellow was playing on bis 
 kit, while I was dancing a minuet. 
 
 Lau. How I envy you that happy indifference ! 
 
 Mel. Ah ! if your way of thinking be wisdom, 
 I am glad I have sense enough to be a fool. But 
 come, come, I must absolutely bring you to con- 
 fess; so, without more hemming and hawing, I 
 charge you to declare, whether you are not despe- 
 rately smitten with my volatile brother, Sir Charles ? 
 
 Lau. I must throw myself on your mercy, for I 
 feel I cannot deny it, and I would I could ba- 
 nish my folly with the breath that bears its con- 
 fession. Ah ! Melissa, if you had known what 
 
A COMEDY, 47 
 
 struggles my silly heart has made to keep out the 
 insinuating passion- — ! 
 
 Mel. Lack-a-day ! But, pray, why so ? Is Sir 
 Charles such a terrible creature, or are you one of 
 those prim one's, whose breast, like a market town, 
 admits no vagrants ? 
 
 Lau. Sir Charles's heart is too much occupied 
 ever to feel for me. Oh ! Melissa, last night I— 
 Heavens, he is here. 
 
 Enter Sir Charles, 
 
 Mel. So, Sir, you are a pretty gallant, to for- 
 sake two forlorn damsels, as you did last night. But, 
 to be sure, nonchalance is now the fashion, and the 
 greatest rule of good-breeding is not to shew any. 
 
 Sir Chas. I believe there is another rule also, 
 which enacts, that you should keep away where 
 you are not wanted. Amongst the old Grecians 
 three was a fortunate number, but they knew no- 
 thing of tete-a-tetes. 
 
 MeL I protest, I don't know what you mean. 
 Your sense is so modest, that it goes veiled. 
 
 Sir Chas. I hope Miss Laura is not the worse 
 for the fright I was so . unfortunate as to occasion 
 last night ? 
 
 Lau. The fright, Sir ! 
 
 Sir Chas. I, perhaps, misname it ; or, as / was 
 concerned in it, it may be too trivial to be remem- 
 bered. 
 
 [Melissa slips away. 
 
 Lau. I think, Sir, I have more reason to apolo- 
 gize than you. 
 
 Sir Chas. [Aside] A home-thrust ! Hang it ! 
 Melissa gone ! 
 
 Lau. [Aside] How cruel of Melissa to leave 
 me! [A- pause]. 
 
48 A TOtfCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Sir Chas. Hem ! I— hem ! 
 
 Lau. Sir ' 
 
 Sir Chas, I was going to observe — hem ! — psha ! 
 what have I to do with sheepishness ? You and I, 
 methinks, should know each other better. As to 
 myself — but that's nothing to the purpose. In short, 
 my dear Laura, I cannot be regardless of your al- 
 tered manner. You formerly treated me with con- 
 fidence and friendship ; but now you seem to view 
 me with repugnance, and treat me with the coolest 
 reserve. 
 
 Lau. Indeed, Sir Charles, you are strangely 
 mistaken. 
 
 Sir Chas. Mistaken ! nay, this is a matter of 
 feeling, not of judgment. Are you so lavish of 
 your regards, as to bestow on one favour'p! object 
 the whole interest of your heart ? Believe me, my 
 dear girl, I deeply feel the injustice, and even envy 
 that happiness you so profusely grant. 
 
 Lau. Really, Sir,> I am at a loss to understand 
 you. 
 
 Sir Chas. Surely you will not understand me. 
 But I perceive you hold me undeserving your esteem. 
 Fortune, however, has disclosed your secret to me. 
 
 Lau. [Agitated] My secret, Sir ! 
 
 Sir Chas. Its consequence is observable enough 
 from your alarm. 
 
 Lau. [Aside] Heavens ! what can he mean ? 
 
 Sir Chas. Be not terrified at my indiscretion ; 
 for though you may look on me (and perhaps with 
 too much justice) as a giddy hairbrain'd fellow, my 
 heart will never play the traitor, especially where 
 it has such a temptation to be faithful. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. A note, Sir, from Mr. Lovel. He is 
 
A CQMED Y. 49 
 
 waiting in the street, and desired me to deliver this 
 to you. 
 
 Sir Chas. [Reads'] " An affair of moment, in 
 which I am engaged, obliges me to ask your assist- 
 ance. Let me know if I can see you "—I shall be 
 with him instantly. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Pray, pardon me ; I find my presence only dis- 
 tresses you, and I can assure you, it is not the least 
 part of my unhappiness, that you will not permit 
 me to prove, how desirous I am to render you ser- 
 vice. [Exit. 
 
 Lau. Yes, Melissa has betrayed me. How vain, 
 how weak must I appear to him ! His very pity is a 
 ridicule of my weakness. Alas 1 how delusive, how 
 transitory is human happiness ! my heart has long 
 cherished a fond idea, which, now matured into 
 strength, turns upon its fosterer, and repays it with 
 ruin. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE II.— The Street. 
 
 Enter Sir Charles arid Lov el. 
 
 Sir Chas. How say you I did he really presume? 
 are you certain she never favored him ? 
 
 Lov. Can it be doubted ? a girl of such con- 
 summate modesty — a married man too ! 
 
 Sir Chas. No — by heavens ! I libel purity to 
 suppose it. She is truly delicacy itself. But, say 
 no more — Beaumont is a villain, and I will instant- 
 
 Lov. Softly ! softly ! where are you going ? 
 your heart has run a race with your head, and beat 
 it hollow. The affair is a delicate one, and re- 
 quires discretion. 
 
 Sir Chas. Psha ! psha ! teach the blind, optics; 
 and the dumb, oratory. 
 
50 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES*. 
 
 Lov. But, Sir Charles — nay, you must listen — 
 remember, female reputation is of so delicate a 
 growth, that the least blight stints it for ever. If 
 this gets abroad, how can you stifle scandal, which 
 will be whispering the public secret in every circle ? 
 Consider how it will gather as it rolls — how many 
 insinuations, suspicions, hints, and conclusions will 
 attach to it, and above all — how the overwhelming 
 torrent will affect the sensitive modesty of her, 
 whose cause you would thus rashly advocate ? 
 
 Sir Chas. What, and would you have me tame- 
 ly bear the insult ? 
 
 Lov. Nay, the cause is no orphan. It seems 
 Beaumont was piqued at my interference and plain 
 language last night, and affects (with the common 
 soreness of scoundrels) to feel himself injured. He 
 demands satisfaction, and I cannot deny him what 
 he so seldom meets with. I am no friend, it is 
 true, to this mode of argument, but cases of this 
 nature admit no alternative, and the cruelty of 
 your sister makes me indifferent to its event. 
 
 Sir Char. True lovers are so rare now, that I 
 cannot surfer you to throw yourself away. The 
 cause properly belongs to me, and I will defend it. 
 
 Lov. Impossible ! my honor is staked, and can- 
 not admit a transfer. 
 
 Sir Chas. Sir, no one shall rob me of the merit 
 of asserting the purity of an angel. I have in- 
 jured her by suspicion, and if I fall, I only expiate 
 my error. 
 
 Lov. But, Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir Chas. Not a word — I am resolved. [Exit. 
 
 Lov. The winds will listen to me sooner. [Exit. 
 
A COM E D Y. 51 
 
 SCENE III.— Beaumont's House. 
 Enter Beaumont. 
 
 Beau. Distraction ! ruin on all sides ! debts 
 spring up like spectres ! my designs are foiled, and 
 rumour already . begins to circulate. Curse on my 
 furious impatience, what the devil have I to do 
 with fighting ? But 'tis now too late to recall, and 
 after all, a pistol may be the best cure for my diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Mr. Flaw, the attorney, Sir. 
 Beau. Shew him in — he comes apropos* 
 
 Enter Flaw. 
 
 Well, Flaw? 
 
 Flaw. Sir, it is no such thing. I'm harrassM 
 to death with your affairs. One would need an 
 office as large as Westminster Hall to manage your 
 matters in. Nothing but duns, and bills come 
 thronging in, like bail on a justification day. 
 
 Beau. Pish ! don't distract me with them now 
 —-bills, bills, bills, — you are ever chiming them in 
 my ears. 
 
 Flaw. Sir, I shan't trouble myself with them. 
 I have a character to maintain in the profession, 
 and can't dabble any longer in dirty work — so, I 
 have just brought a little account here. — 
 
 Beau. Sir, I can't attend to those things now. 
 
 Flaw. But, Sir, these things must be attended 
 to now. Do you think to treat me like a Chancery 
 bill, put me off from term to term 
 
 Beau. What, Sir! — but, come, come, Flaw, 
 
52 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 what strange manner is this you have assumed ? I 
 thought you and I had known each other better. 
 
 Flaw. Sir, / do know you, and that accounts 
 for my manner. You forget I lived next door to 
 your father, old Bob Beaumont, the pawnbroker 
 in Oxford Street. 
 
 Beau. For heaven's sake, Flaw ! 
 
 Flazv. Know you, indeed ! what, do you think 
 I don't remember.- — 
 
 Beau. Curse your memory ! will you listen a 
 moment ? 
 
 Flaw. A pretty affair, truly ! 
 
 Beau. Hark'ee, Sir, there is no use in deceiving 
 you. You are well acquainted with my chequered 
 history, and have seen me whirl round and round 
 the wheel of fortune. The truth is, I have been 
 too daring in my speculations. My situation is now 
 become desperate ; — difficulties clog my exertions, 
 and to crown all, I am involved with a wife, and 
 a duel. 
 
 Flaw. Um ! as to the first, as Serjeant Snapfee 
 observed in the case of Trapwell versus Simpleton, 
 last Michaelmas term — " wives are now considered 
 as to a species of goods." — As to the other matter, 
 that's very easily remedied, dispatch an anonymous 
 two-penny post letter to Bow Street. 
 
 Beau. To say the truth, my courage lessens 
 with my desperation. — Honor is a mere phantom ; 
 if the world sees the shadow, it is quite enough. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv* A letter, Sir, for my lady. 
 
 Beau. Here, you may give it me. 
 
 [Exit Servant* 
 Ha ! a man's hand — faith, the very same as the note 
 I picked up yesterday. Listen, listen, you surly 
 
A COM E D Y. 53 
 
 rogue you, for I have a scheme will make both 
 our fortunes. (Opens the letter and reads.) 
 
 " Most angelic madam"— so, so,—" a circum- 
 ? stance has occurred, which will make it impru- 
 u dent for me to keep my appointment, and as one 
 " can't be too cautious now-a-days, I think it bet- 
 cc ter to postpone my happiness, than risk the repu- 
 u tation of your fair self, or your doating admirer 
 " — a Franciscan Friar." — Better and better ! what 
 think you of this ? 
 
 Flaw. I wish you joy. I always said we should 
 have her some day in the King's Bench, and the 
 Commons. 
 
 Beau. Chance, yesterday, threw into my hands 
 what I have been long watching for. I have a 
 credible witness of her guilt, who overheard an 
 assignation last night, which this letter postpones. 
 Flaw. And, pray, who may the defendant be ? 
 Beau. The devil take me if I can tell — they are 
 cautious. 
 
 Flaw. Gadzooks ! now you put me in mind, I 
 remember I saw a young rake of fashion, one Sir 
 Charles Wilding, gallanting in the street with her 
 yesterday. 
 
 Beau. Sir Charles Wilding ! it flashes on me — 
 do you know his hand ? 
 
 Flaw. Yes, I have done business for him in the 
 supply way — um ! not exactly; but then, to be 
 sure, he would disguise it. 
 
 Beau. What if I were to sound my spare rib ? 
 if she knew I had the means of convicting her, — 
 but hist ! here she comes — give me the note, and 
 step for a moment into this room. I'll see what I 
 can make of her. [Puts Flaw into a back room. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 Mrs. Beau. Ha ! ha ! well of all diverting 
 spectacles, a vulgar fashionist is the most so. 
 
54 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES*. 
 
 Beau. You seem entertained, madam. 
 
 Mrs. Beau. I am indeed, Sir. I have just dis- 
 missed my levee, and sure, such a brood of charac- 
 ters never met. Here has been Mrs. Mushroom ; 
 — but you" never saw her, so I'll give you her 
 picture. 
 
 Beau. You are very obliging, Madam. 
 
 Mrs. B. Not at all, I assure you. I only want 
 to rehearse the description, before I go to Lady 
 Fiddlefaddle's. < 
 
 Beau. Oh ! Madam, you need not convince me 
 of your proficiency in scandal. 
 
 Mrs. B. Scandal indeed ! -only an essay, Sir, 
 on what Pope says, is our most proper study, human 
 character. 
 
 Beau. , It must be confessed then, your female 
 philosophers are actuated by a truly laudable spirit 
 of enquiry ; and it is, no doubt, from a modest con- 
 sciousness of the difficulty of the science, that you 
 confine your remarks to the varieties of character^ 
 which lie more particularly under your own obser- 
 vation. 
 
 Mrs. B. True, Sir; for which reason, I never 
 talk of you. Tho', indeed, you bid fair to be a 
 very popular subject. Your last night's adventure 
 may rank with any in the annals of chivalry. 
 
 Beau. You seem highly pleased, Madam, with 
 the knowledge of it. It must, indeed, be extremely 
 gratifying to you, to discover any little errors in my 
 conduct, since you no doubt conceive they may be 
 serviceable in keeping yours in countenance. 
 
 Mrs. B. My errors, Sir ! 
 
 Beau. Fashion, it is true, Madam, sanctions a 
 freedom of manners beyond the bounds of strict 
 propriety ; but you should, at least, remember, that 
 there is a necessary decorum to be preserved by your 
 sex, a regard to public opinion in the breach of 
 
A COMEDY. 55 
 
 private duties, which is essential to the honor and 
 reputation of a husband.. 
 
 Mrs. B. I protest, Sir, at first I thought you 
 were serious ; but now I hear you talk of honor, I 
 am convinced you are jesting. 
 
 Beau. You really, Madam, carry it off with an 
 excellent air. — A knowledge of the town, I per- 
 ceive, has been of service to you. 
 
 Mrs. B. Your sense, Sir, is too deep for me to 
 perceive — so, you'll excuse my wishing you good 
 morning. — (Going). 
 
 Beau. Stay, Madam, stay, I cannot part with 
 you so easily. — 
 
 Mrs. B. What is it you mean, Sir, by this rude- 
 ness ? 
 
 Beau. Yes, Madam, you may well be alarmed. 
 — I see you are not yet so hardened as to be de- 
 prived of consciousness. — You know this hand, I 
 presume ?— 
 
 Mrs. B. Ha ! ha ! ha ! most sage of thy sex ! 
 You have brought the mouse out of the mountain. 
 
 Beau. 'Sdeath ! Madam — this is no jest. — Do 
 you think to jeer me into disbelief? — 
 
 Mrs. B. Not I, indeed, Sir, for nothing pleases 
 me so much as your jealousy. — I assure you, I con- 
 sider it as a very flattering omen. 
 
 Beau. Why do I suffer myself to be moved ? — 
 Your mirth, Madam, I assure you, is far from being 
 effectual ;— I have solid and satisfactory proofs of 
 your guilt, as you and your paramour, Sir Charles 
 Wilding, will shortly discover ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Sir Charles Wilding ! Is the man 
 raving ? 
 
 Beau. Come, come, Mrs. Beaumont, you must 
 not carry this piece of acting so far. — You surely 
 cannot imagine you deceive me ? You know I am 
 not to be trifled with — let us understand each other. 
 
 e 4 
 
56 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES I 
 
 Mrs. B. Very willingly, Sir, if you will permit 
 me ; and to do my part towards it, I can assure 
 you I never set eyes on Sir Charges Wilding in my 
 life. 
 
 Beau. Oh, excellent woman ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Servt. Sir Charles Wilding, Sir. 
 
 Beau. Ah ! is it so P You hear, Madam, Sir 
 Charles Wilding ! Shew him up, Sir. [Exit Servt. 
 — Let us see this spark. 
 
 Mrs. B. You will now be convinced, Sir. 
 
 Enter Sir Charles. 
 Ha! 
 
 Sir Chas. My fair unknown ! [Aside. 
 
 Beau. Their emotion is very visible.-— If I could 
 leave them together, Flaw might pick up some 
 intelligence. 
 
 Sir Chas. Sir, my name may probably be fa- 
 miliar to you, though personally unacquainted. 
 
 Beau. Your name, Sir, is not unknown to me. 
 
 Sir Chas. The occasion, Sir, of my visit is — 
 but might I be favoured with two minutes private 
 conversation. 
 
 [A Servant enters hastily and whispers Beaumont. 
 
 Beau. Distraction ! Is it come to that ? — I must 
 request your pardon, Sir Charles, for a moment.— 
 An affair of consequence calls me away. [Exit 
 
 Sir Chas. Singular enough ! I conceive, Madam, 
 I need not hesitate by what title to address you ? It 
 is evident the fates determine we should be friends, 
 though, on my honor, I cannot positively decide 
 whether this interview affords me most pleasure or 
 regret. 
 Mrs. B. And for my part, Sir Charles, I can* 
 
A COMEDY. . 57 
 
 not positively decide whether I should rebuke you 
 for your rudeness or thank you for your gallantry. 
 
 Sir Chas. I should propose an act of oblivion, 
 but I fear I can't be a party to it. 
 
 Mrs. B. Well, Sir, I believe you deserve mercy, 
 so I'll pass an act of grace. 
 
 [Flaw peeps out. 
 
 Sir Charles. (Takes her hand J. And thus the 
 pardon's sealed. [Kisses her hand. 
 
 Enter Servant (without his coat J. 
 
 Servt. I ask pardon, Madam, hope no offence, 
 only a little accident has just happened. 
 
 Mrs. B. An accident ! 
 
 Servt. The bum-bailiffs, Ma'am, are in the 
 house— they have taken our livery suits, and are 
 playing old Nick below, — hope no offence, Ma'am, 
 but I thought it best to let your ladyship know. 
 
 Mrs. B. Good heavens ! what new calamity is 
 this ? 
 
 Sir Chas. Pray, Madam, allow me to conduct 
 you to a friend's house, a lady of the first fashion and 
 of irreproachable character, till this affair is over.— 
 It is doubtless owing to some mistake -, but if it 
 is in my power to render any assistance, I beg no 
 delicacy may be used. 
 
 Mrs. B. The shock has overcome me. — Your 
 obliging offer, Sir Charles, I thankfully accept. — 
 These things, indeed, will happen in the best re- 
 gulated families. — I vow the wretches are coming. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Flaw conies forward.— Enter Beaumont. 
 
 Beau. Oh ! Flaw ! Flaw ! ruin stares me in the 
 face. 
 
58 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Flaw. Don't be sheepish — look at him again, 
 you won't find him so frightful. 
 
 Beau, What do you mean ? 
 
 Flaw. Your wife's gone. 
 
 Beau. The devil take her. 
 
 Flaw. Ay ! but you'll get nothing out of him, 
 for the lawyers will all be on his side — Don't you 
 see it ?-— A young rake comes into your house under 
 the cloak of friendship, smiling and plausible, and 
 takes advantage of a calamity to rob you of all you 
 value in the world, leaving you involved in double 
 distress, and smarting under accumulated anguish. 
 —What could you wish for more fortunate? As 
 the court observed last sittings, <c such circumstances 
 greatly aggravate matters, and deserve swinging 
 damages." 
 
 Bean. An -elopement ! 
 
 Flazv. To be sure it is. — I'll go and draw up a 
 case immediately, and do you go and pen a flaming 
 paragraph for the Morning Post. 
 
 Beau. First see what can be done below.- 
 
 Flaw, Ay ! ay ! — but as Counsellor Bother'em 
 observed in the case of Jeremy versus Wiggins, last 
 Hilary — " If we gain this cause we quash the 
 others I" [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Cankers House. 
 Enter Laura and Flutter. 
 
 Laura. A duel, do you say ? 
 
 Flutt. Yes, Mem, you may depend upon it, it 
 is true, for Mr. Fangle told me so. 
 
 Laura. Good heavens! perhaps at this very 
 moment — Who has seen him? — Where is he gone ? 
 
 Flutt. Lard ! Mem, no one knows. — Mr. Fangle 
 says he came home last night in a prodigious taking* 
 
A C O M E B Y. 59 
 
 as if something had flustrated him. — Mr. Fangle 
 thinks it was some matter about you, Mem. 
 
 Laura, About me ! 
 
 Flutt. Yes, Mem, for when he got into his 
 chamber, he flung himself, as it might be, into a 
 chair, and says he to Mr. Fangle — for he is very 
 fond of Mr. Fangle, Mem, and treats him more 
 like a brother than a servant — 
 
 Laura. Well — well — but — 
 
 Flutt. So, Mem, says he — " Fangle " — says he 
 — " have you heard talk of any one's keeping 
 company with Miss Laura? " — says he. 
 
 Laura. Did he say so ? 
 
 Flutt. Yes, Mem, those were his very words. 
 
 Laura. Can it be possible that — but why do I 
 trifle at such a moment ? — For Heaven's sake, Flut- 
 ter, fly to Mr. Lovel — he doubtless knows it, — beg 
 of him to interfere, and save this rash young man 
 from destruction. 
 
 Flutt. Lard! Mem, but— 
 
 Laura. Do not hesitate — his life may even now 
 be endangered. 
 
 Flutt. Well, Mem, but— 
 
 Laura. Haste — haste — delay may be ruin. 
 (Pushes Flutter out ) — Though he can never be 
 mine, his life is far dearer to me than my own. 
 
 Enter Melissa. 
 
 Oh ! Melissa — What has your brother's rashness led 
 him into ? 
 
 Metiss. Bless me ! What's the matter ? 
 
 Laura. He is engaged in a duel. 
 
 Meliss. A duel ! good gracious ! with whom ! 
 when ! where ? 
 
 Laura. Alas ! I know not. 
 
60 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES 
 
 Enter Flutter (hastily J. 
 
 Flutt. Oh! Mem. — I have such news— ? 
 
 Laura. What ! what ! 
 
 Flutt. I am so out of breath, I can scarce speak. 
 
 Meliss. Any news of my brother ? 
 
 Laura. Is Sir Charles — 
 
 Flutt. Do, Mem, wait one moment. — -I vow I 
 was so shocked, I should have fainted, but for Mr. 
 Fangle's smelling bottle. 
 
 Laura. Merciful heaven ! speak — speak, while 
 I have life to hear. 
 
 Flutt. As sure as I stand here, Sir Charles has 
 run away with Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 Laura. Then hope and I may' part for ever. 
 (Bursts into tears, J 
 
 Meliss. Impossible ! For Heaven's sake, my 
 dearest Laura, do not agitate yourself thus. — Sir 
 Charles has indeed the family failing- — a volatile 
 thoughtlessness — but this I am sure I may confi- 
 dently say, that his heart will always be found 
 ready to supply the deficiencies of his head. 
 
 Laura. I am a weak, silly creature, Melissa, I 
 am indeed. 
 
 Meliss. I never can believe this. Flutter has 
 mistaken. 
 
 Flutt. Yes, Mem, I was mistaken as to the 
 duel, I confess, for it was not Sir Charles, but Mr. 
 Lovel, that was — 
 
 Meliss. Lovel in a duel ! 
 
 Flutt. Yes, Mem, for Mr. Fangle says — 
 
 Meliss. Gracious powers! Fly, fly— this instant 
 —no — no — no — yes — yes — no — no — come back — 
 come back — run for my things — I'll go myself — he 
 may be killed before you get there — run — run — 
 
 [Exit Flutter. 
 
A COMEDY, 6i 
 
 Laura. Yourself, Melissa ? Flutter may have 
 misunderstood — 
 
 Meliss. I don't know that. I should never for- 
 give myself if any thing happened to him. I have 
 treated him barbarously — I have indeed — *L have, 
 driven him to despair — what is the woman about — 
 I have — I know I have. 
 
 Laura. But, Melissa— 
 
 Meliss. Don't talk to me — I shall go distracted 
 — here Flutter! Flutter ! [Exit. 
 
 Laura. I cannot blame her feelings. I can 
 only envy her the power she has to render happy 
 such a man as Lovel. Ah ! why has Heaven 
 taught my heart to feel, and yet has closed up every 
 source of joy ! But it is myself I should arraign. 
 Why did I permit delusive hope to enter my bosom ? 
 Why have I cherish'd the deceitful stranger that 
 came but to undo me ? 
 
 Enter Sir Charles (from behind). 
 
 Oh ! Charles ! Charles ! what misery have you en- 
 tailed on my poor heart ! 
 
 Sir Ch. Say not so, loveliest. 
 
 Laura. Ah ! good Heaven ! 
 
 Sir Ch. Fly not, my charming girl. Am I such 
 an object of dread ? Why thus averse to hear me ? 
 Nay, Laura, I must, I will know the cause of this 
 singular repugnance. I feel it too keenly to be 
 indifferent. Not a word! Will you not even 
 deign to speak to me ? 
 
 Laura. I must beg to be released, Sir, I — 
 
 Sir Ch. I cannot so tamely resign the opportu- 
 nity — What is my crime ? What have I done that 
 deserves the torment you inflict ? Oh ! Laura ! 
 how little do you know me! Inflict misery on you ! 
 sooner would I die than cause you one thousandth 
 
62 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 part of .the agony I now feel ; indeed, Laura, you 
 judge me too severely. 
 
 Laura. Alas! Sir, my judgment is of little mo- 
 ment, but if you are candid in the wish for my 
 favour — first gain the approbation of your own heart 
 and then you shall have mine. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Ch. I am amazed ! What can she mean ? 
 Faith I am almost inclined to suspect it is nothing 
 but a piece of prudery — Prudery in her! — -No, no, 
 it cannot be — Jealousy ! — hum— that's probable. 
 That acid spirit often sours the milk of human kind- 
 ness. And, yet> — zounds ! 'tis no use speculating 
 on the cause, I feel the effects, and my heart is 
 deeply interested in their removal. [Exit. 
 
 END OF ACT IV, 
 
A COMEDY. 63 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Beaumont's House. 
 
 Enter Beaumont and Flaw (from opposite sides). 
 
 Beau, Well, Flaw, how go matters? 
 
 Flam, Swimmingly. The news is hajf over 
 the town. I have retained counsel. By the bye, 
 Serjeant Ogle wants to examine Madam's waiting 
 woman this evening, at his own chambers. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Mr. Serge, Sir. 
 
 Beau, Serge ! What the devil brings him here ? 
 Flaw do you see him. I had better not be visible, 
 at present. [Exit. 
 
 Flaw. Ay ! ay ! leave him to me. 
 
 Enter Serge. 
 
 Serge. So, Sir — Oh ! I ask pardon, you're not 
 the person I want. 
 
 Flaw. It it is Mr. Beaumont, Sir, you wish to 
 see, I am sorry to say he is unable to see any one. 
 You have heard, I presume, of his late domestic 
 calamity ? 
 
 Serge. It was the report that brought me here. 
 
 Flaw- Alas, Sir ; the poor gentleman is too 
 much " affected af present to see company. He has 
 remained shut up in his chamber with the window- 
 shutters closed, ever since the lameutable event. I 
 begin to be rather alarmed about his intellects. 
 
64 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Serge. So, then, the story is true, is it ? 
 
 Flaw. True, Sir ! As it was observed in the 
 case of Clutterbuck versus Jenkins, at the last 
 sittings at Guildhall — ** so clear a case never came 
 before a jury." 
 
 ^ Serge. Unhappy creature ! she has indeed car- 
 ried her indiscretion to the height. You seem, Sir, 
 to know the particulars of this unfortunate matter ; 
 — pardon the curiosity of an afflicted old man, 
 who cannot forget he is the relation of this mis- 
 guided woman. — Where is she ? where can I find 
 her ? — It may not yet be too late to save her from 
 total ruin. 
 
 Flaw. It is not exactly known, Sir, what road 
 they have taken, but I rather imagine they have 
 gone North, and if so, by this time they can't be 
 far from York. 
 
 Mrs. B. (without.) What 1 forbad my own 
 house ! 
 
 Flaw. Heyday ! 
 
 Serge. It is — it is her ! 
 
 Enter Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 Mrs. B. It is too much to bear ! — Where is the 
 monster ! where is the villain who thus traduces 
 me ? 
 
 Serge. Ah Lucy ! Lucy 1 what is this I hear ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh ! Sir, are you here ? Then, thank 
 heaven, I have one friend. 
 
 Flaw. This is really a very extraordinary affair 
 —quite without precedent I believe. Pray, ma- 
 dam, let me ask you, how could you think of 
 coming in this manner to shock the feelings of a 
 husband, (for he must bear that title till he goes 
 into the spiritual court) — I say, how could you 
 think of such a thing after what has happened ? 
 
A COMEDT, 65 
 
 Mrs. B. And pray, Sir, who are you ? 
 
 Flaw. Me, madam ! I don't see any legal ob- 
 jection to answering that question.— I am Philip 
 Flaw, of Symond's Inn, attorney to the prosecu- 
 tion.— You will be so good, if you please, Sir, to 
 take particular notice of what is said, for I shal} 
 subpoena you on the trial — 
 
 Mrs. B And is it you; Sir, who have conspired 
 to ruin me ? 
 
 Flaw. Conspired, madam ! — Observe, Sir, I 
 am charged with a conspiracy. 
 
 Serge. I don't understand it, not I. 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh ! Sir, I am a wretched woman 
 beset with villainy. 
 
 Flaw. So, so j take notice, Sir, if you please. 
 
 Mrs. B. Villain ! dare you insult me thus, fad- 
 vancing.j 
 
 Flaw. Zounds! have a care — keep off — re- 
 member there's such a thing as law. 
 
 Mrs. B. Law ! wretch ! I shall go distracted. 
 — Villain ! villain ! (runs at Flaw.) 
 
 Flaw. Why, madam ! Holloa ! mister ! mister ! 
 
 Serge. Nay, nay, Lucy 
 
 Mrs. B. Pray, Sir, reach me a chair, I am 
 quite overcome. 
 
 Flaw. I never saw so violent a woman in my 
 life. She ought to be indicted as a common scold. 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh, Sir— that I had but listened to 
 your prophetic words ! 
 
 Serge. And is it true — *— 
 
 Mrs. B f True, Sir ! heaven forbid ! — I am not 
 such a wretched being either. No,. Sir, 'tis a deep 
 laid mercenary scheme — a villainous design to crush 
 me, and profit by my ruin. 
 
 Flaw. Madam, with the greatest deference I 
 humbly beg leave to submit to you, that you are not 
 perhaps aware your language is libellous and cogni- 
 
 p 
 
66 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 zable in a court of law. I am not one, madam, that 
 ever engages in dirty work. My name is Flaw, 
 and I defy any one to attach an imputation to it. — - 
 You will excuse me, (but I beg you'll keep your 
 temper) I must say the papers that have been put 
 into my hands, when laid before a jury, wpuld, as 
 was observed by the court in a similar case — (I 
 think it W2S Noodle versus Doodle), give us a 
 verdict, undeniable as truth itself. 
 
 Mrs. B. Papers, Sir ! 
 
 Flaw, (shrinking back.) Yes, Madam — no, 
 Madam — that is — but as it is the usual method for 
 both parties to name their attornies, perhaps it 
 might be as well to proceed in the regular way— 
 [aside]-*-! wish I was well quit of her.— 
 
 Serge. I know not how to reconcile this seem- 
 ing contradiction. — Pray, Sir, what is the nature of 
 the papers you mention ? 
 
 Flaw. Hum ! I don't know whether I ought to 
 answer that question, legally speaking. 
 
 Mrs. B. Sir, I insist— 
 
 Flaw. Oh! Madam, that quite alters the case, 
 I am always willing to oblige a lady. But hadn't 
 you better refer me to your attorney? lam afraid 
 the mention of these particulars may agitate you too 
 much. 
 
 Mrs. B. No, Sir, I will not rest till I have de- 
 tected the falsehood of the calumny. — I insist on 
 knowing what you have to produce against me. 
 
 Serge. Yes, Sir, she has a right to know the 
 charges brought against her. 
 
 Ilaxv. [Aside.] I'm prettily off between 'em. — 
 Why, Madam, the papers I mean — but I beg you'll 
 recollect I'm only the attorney to the plaintiff — the 
 papers, Madam, are letters from — you know who. 
 
 Airs. B I know who! — How, Sir, do you. 
 charge me with— 
 
A COMEDY. 67 
 
 Flaw. Oh ! no, no, no, Madam, by no means. 
 
 What I mean is, I have letters from Sir but> 
 
 perhaps, you recollect the Franciscan monk ? 
 
 Mrs. B. And is that all pur evidence. Sir ? 
 
 Flaw. Not entirely, Madam, though I believe 
 it will be granted it is pretty strong. 
 
 Serge. What is this? 
 
 Mrs. B. You'll shortly know, Sir. [To Flaw.] 
 You have professed yourself an honest man, Sir, I 
 ask you to accompany me to Mr. Canker's in the 
 next street, and I pledge myself satisfactorily to 
 explain this matter, and prove the falsehood of the 
 calumny raised against me. 
 
 Flaw. Upon my word, Madam — bless me ! it's 
 past the hour I was to have met a gentleman on 
 particular business. — - 
 
 Serge. Look ye, Sir — I take it a lady's reputa- 
 tion is a business of more importance— 
 
 Flaw. Sir, my time is not my own — extremely 
 sorry — but upon my word — I can't possibly— 
 
 Serge. Sir, I know the value of your time, and 
 I'll take care you shan't lose by any thing that con- 
 cerns me or my niece. 
 
 Flaw. Sir, you speak so much like a gentleman 3 
 I can't possibly refuse a request so genteely made. 
 
 Mrs. B. Come then, Sir, follow me. [Exit. 
 
 Flaw. After you, Sir, if you please. — I couldn't 
 think of such a thing, upon my honor. — This is a 
 rare business — fishing on both sides the water.— If 
 I don't diddle them both — call me no lawyer. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Canker's House. 
 
 Enter Lovel and Sir Charles (meeting). 
 
 Lovel. Bless me, Sir Charles, is it really you i 
 F 2 
 
*♦ 
 
 6fc A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : i 
 
 Sir Chas. Upon my word, Sir, that is a point I 
 am not determined on. — I don't feel quite myself. — - 
 But how is this ? I don't know which to wonder at 
 most, your presence or your question.. 
 
 hovel. As to being here, my concern for your 
 reputation brought me.— And I may well be sur- 
 prised to see you when, by the most undoubted au- 
 thority, you are at least half way to Scotland. 
 
 Sir Chas. What nonsense is this ? 
 
 Lovel. That you can best explain.— I make it 
 a rule never to credit more than half a report, and 
 having just heard that you and Beaumont's wife had 
 eloped, I conclude you have been playing the fool 
 already. 
 
 Sir Chas. Is it possible you are in earnest ? 
 
 Lovel. It may be a very good jest for aught I 
 know. 
 
 Sir Chas. Curse this malicious town ! 
 
 LovcL Ay, Sir; 'tis a sort of hothouse, where 
 people are brought to perfection before they are in 
 season. — You seem to have throve surprisingly in 
 it. 
 
 Sir Chas. The truth is, Ned, I am a fool. 
 
 Lovel. The confession of it proves your wisdom. 
 —I really believe, Sir Charles, you wear the mask 
 of hypocrisy the wrong side outwards. — And, yet — - 
 is it possible you have given occasion tp a report of 
 this nature ? 
 
 Sir Chas. I can't tell whether to say, yes, or 
 no. Fortune has been playing blindman's-buff 
 with me. 
 
 Lovel. Pardon me, I know the temper and 
 character of the man you are said to have injured. 
 I greatly fear you have committed yourself, for the 
 report is sanctioned by Beaumont himself. 
 
 Sir Chas. How ! 
 
A COMEDY. 69 
 
 Enter Flutter. 
 
 Mutt. Well, I vow— lard ! Sir Charles ! I pro- 
 test you have put me into such a quandary ! 
 
 Sir Chas. I seem to frighten every one, I think. 
 
 Mutt. Ah, well you may — to take to such 
 wicked courses. 
 
 Sir Chas. Plague on it, have the chambermaids 
 got hold of it already ? I shall be balladed in a 
 day or two, and chalked all over the town. 
 
 Mutt. And Mr. Lovel, too! I am glad to see 
 you alive, Sir, with all my heart. 
 
 Lovel. And I, Madam, am extremely happy to 
 hear you say so. — I perceive, Mrs. Flutter, that you 
 entirely agree with the philosopher — that, " in the 
 midst of life we are dying," 
 
 Sir Ch. Perhaps she thought such a high-flown 
 inamorato as you, would have had the consistency to 
 drown all thoughts of your mistress's cruelty in a 
 horse-pond. 
 
 Flutt. Cruelty, indeed I poor dear lady — I'm 
 sure I never saw any body take on so in all my life 
 — but havVt you seen her ? 
 ^ Lovel. Seen her ! why, what — — ?, 
 
 Flutt. Lard ! Sir. — She is gone in search of you 
 — ay ! you may stare — but as sure as I stand here — 
 when she heard you were going to fight a duel, she 
 went like one distracted. 
 
 Lovel. Is it possible ? 
 
 Sir Ch. Possible, but not probable ; the defini- 
 tion of a miracle. — And yet we have heard of wo- 
 men changing their minds now and then. — ■ 
 
 Flutt. Ay, you may say what you will, but 
 you'll find it true, for Mr. Fangle got a coach for 
 her.— Lard 1 sure I hear her now. 
 
 Lovel. Tis her — let me fly to — 
 • p 3 
 
70 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Sir Ou Stop, stop ; you'll spoil all. — You lovers 
 are so thick-headed. — Here — here — no flying just 
 now — hop into this room and leave her to me a mo- 
 ment. — ■ When I, hem ! then fly out — coo as much 
 as you please, and see if you can't persuade her to 
 go to roost with you ! 
 
 LoveL Well, but — 
 
 Sir Ch. Shoo — -shoo — shoo. — There, in with 
 you — (Pushes him in). — Flutter, not a word on your 
 life. (Walks up). 
 
 Enter Melissa. 
 
 Mel. No where to be found ? — Flutter, give me 
 a chair, T am ready to sink. 
 
 Sir Ch. [As if talking to himself.'] No — I don't 
 see any reason for concealing it. 
 
 Met. What, Charles ! 
 
 Sir Ch, She has never shewn any regard for him, 
 and will not be greatly shock'd to hear of the fatal 
 event. 
 
 Mel. What does he say ? — Charles ! Charles ! — . 
 What is itgfyou mean ?—-What fatal event has hap- 
 pened ? 
 
 Sir Ch. What, Melissa ? 
 
 Mel. For heaven's sake speak — what do you 
 mean ? — You seem embarrassed — -tell me the worst 
 at once ! 
 
 Sir Ch. Alas! poor Loveli (Turns away and 
 hides his face in his handkerchief)— Egad ! I can 
 scarce keep my countenance ! 
 
 Mel. Hey !— Why is he not laughing? — I sus- 
 pect something here ! \Aside? — Lovel ! why surely 
 nothing has happened to him ? — 
 
 Sir Ch. Don't ask me. — And yet why should I 
 conceal it ? — Can I expect you should reel more for 
 him now, when he is incapable of being moved by 
 your pity— 
 
A .COMEDY, 71 
 
 Mel. How ! [Aside] — He speaks earnestly. 
 
 Sir Ch. Oh ! Melissa ! if you have a heart ca- 
 pable of being touched, it should bleed at the name 
 of Lovel ! 
 
 Mel. [Aside.] I feel excessively sick ! 
 
 Sir Ch. [Aside.] Egad, I think 1 should make 
 an excellent actor ! 
 
 Mel [Aside.] Ha! my gentleman — I see you, 
 — Is ir possible ! poor Lovel ! Well, I shall never 
 forget him — ; he was really a remarkably well made 
 young man, and considering how men go, sensible 
 enough. 
 
 SirCh. What! so cool! 
 
 Mel. Indeed, I feel for him extremely.-— Here, 
 Flutter, take my things and bring me a smelling- 
 bottle. — I assure you nothing has shock'd me -so 
 much for a long time, and I think out of respect to 
 the poor young man's memory, I can't do less than 
 go into mourning. 
 
 Sir Ch. Oh ! curse your respect ! hang me, if I 
 don't disclaim you. 
 
 Enter Canker. *$ * 
 
 , {Jan. So, Sir Rake, fine doings, I hear. — You're 
 made free of the City of Westminster. 
 
 Sir Ck. [Aside.] What the deuce shall I do 
 with Lovel ? 
 
 Can. We shall have an association formed by all 
 married men to defend their wives against you.— 
 You'll not be suffered to live, for if revenge spares 
 you, your rakishness will cut you off. — Ay ! ay !~~ 
 Young fellows now-a-days are mere flashes in the 
 pan. — Not as they were formerly. — Look at me, 
 scapegrace, look at me. — Will you shew such a pair 
 of legs at my age ?— Such a robust, hearty person ? 
 Such a strong — hem t hem ! clear voice ? such a— - 
 
 F 4 
 
72 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES: 
 
 Enter Lovel. 
 
 Lovel. So, at last I am free. 
 
 Sir Chas. Whew ! 
 
 Canker. Eh ! 
 
 Melissa. Oh ! Jud ! oh, lud ! a ghost ! a ghost! 
 
 Canker. A ghost, eh ? 
 
 Melissa. Pray, guardy, don't go near it. It will 
 certainly do you a mischief. — 
 
 Sir Chas. Toll de roll, toll de roll — 
 
 Canker. I would fain see that — really, a very 
 fashionable ghost— drest to the life. — Sir, your most 
 obedient — if it be not impertinent- — pray, what the 
 devil have you to do here ? 
 
 Lovel. Why, Sir, upon my word, I'm afraid — > 
 nothing at a]l. 
 
 Sir Chas. Faith, Ned, I think it too. — To say 
 the truth, I should now be sorry to find you had — 
 the hand of a coquette is an evil I heartily wish you 
 free from, and I trust you have too much sense and 
 spirit to regret its loss. 
 
 Canker. So, Sir Rake, you are at the bottom of 
 this. 
 
 Lovel. Sir Charles, Sir, is my friend. 
 
 Melissa. That is plain enough from the advice 
 he has just given. 
 
 Sir Chas. Come, Ned, no longer waste your 
 thought upon thoughtlessness — shake ofFyour chains, 
 and hang them up as a votive example to lovers- 
 coquetry has had an ovation, let her not have a com- 
 plete triumph, and drag you through life in lingering 
 torment. Fly while you may. 
 
 Canker. Ay, ay ! fly while you may — or, egad, 
 I'll send for a constable immediately. 
 
 Lovel. Sir, though death were before me, I 
 would speak.— I have here set my soul, here center- 
 
A C O M E D Y. 73 
 
 ed every hope, and I cannot so easily alienate the 
 passion! feel.— Miss Wilding, will you pardon me 
 the presumption, but I have never seriously felt the 
 varieties of your manner as indicating your real 
 disposition ; — no, if you inflicted pangs, the pain 
 sprung from my own morbid feelings, which, 
 chafed into soreness by an impatient spirit, could 
 not bear the least ruffle. 
 
 Sir Chas. Ay ! love is a rare logician. 
 
 Canker. Lookye, Mister — I'll not have any 
 young puppy, that can collect a parcel of play 
 speeches, come here to utter them. — Sir, this house 
 is my own, and this lady is my ward, and cannot 
 marry without my permission. — So, Sir, I have to 
 beg the favor of you to walk out of my house, and 
 I'll take care this shall be the last time you shall 
 insult either me or my ward in it. 
 
 Melissa. Stay, Sir — my happiness is not. to be 
 sacrificed to caprice or misrepresentation — Mr. 
 Lovel's generous ardor demands, at least, an ac- 
 knowledgement. 
 
 Canker. How now, hussey ! before my face 
 too! — 
 
 Melissa. Harkee, guardy — {whispers) — do you 
 know one Mr. Higgins ? 
 
 Canker. Eh ! eh !—• 
 
 Melissa. " Hush, hush, we shall be overheard 
 — one can't be too cautious now-a-days." — In a 
 word, Sir, I know all — it was I who met you last 
 night, — I can be secret if you please — you under- 
 stand me ? 
 
 Canker. Confound the jade ! 
 
 Melissa. I am not ashamed, Mr. Lovel, to de- 
 clare that I am far from being insensible to your 
 merit, and if my good guardy would but consent-^ 
 
 Canker. Well, well, throw yourself away if you 
 please. 
 
74 A T0UC3 AT THE TIMES : 
 
 Zovel. This is magic. 
 
 Sir Chas. Yes, yes 3 she has been dealing with 
 the old gentleman ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, here is one Mr. Clinch, who enquires 
 for— 
 
 Enter Clinch. 
 
 Clinch* Ah, Sir Charles, your most obedient 
 very humble servant. — What Lovel ! — -my walking 
 segar ! — Madam, I would ask ten thousand pardons, 
 but being rather out of breath, perhaps you will 
 excuse my. expressing them. Not being a man of 
 landed property accounts for my want of mannas. 
 
 Canker. What punning puppy is this ? 
 
 Clinch, Sir, your most obsequious very humble 
 servant. 
 
 Canker. Sir, I can't say I know any thing about 
 you. 
 
 Clinch. Eh ! — sure I should know that voice ! — r 
 what, my old friend, Mr. Higgins ! 
 
 Canker. Eh'! eh! — what ?— 
 
 Clinch. Ha ! ha ! " bless us, to see how things 
 come out." — 
 
 Canker. What the devil! — Zounds, Sir, what 
 do you mean ? 
 
 Clinch. Excuse me — ce one can't be too cautious 
 now-a-days " — Ha ! ha ! Sir Charles-^-the rarest 
 piece of fun that ever you heard.— 
 
 Canker. Oh, curse the fellow ! 
 
 Sir Chas. This is beyond my comprehension ! 
 
 Clinch. Ay, a league beyond it. 
 
 Melissa. How can he have found this out ? 
 
A COMEDY. i 3 
 
 Enter Serge, Flaw, and Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 Canker* What the devil ! 
 
 Sir Clias. Heyday ! what, hoax is this ? ■ 
 
 Serge. Sir, your servant — (To Canker) — Your 
 name is Canker, J believe ? 
 
 Flaw. Stop, Sir, if you please — allow me to 
 cross-examine. We must proceed with a due regard 
 to legal consequences. Hem ! pray, Sir, is your 
 name Canker ? 
 
 Canker. Pray, Sir, what's that to you ? 
 
 Flaw. Urn! an eel ! — -that, Sir, will appear in 
 due course. 
 
 Serge. . Sir, the fact is, I am told you have been 
 playing the fool to my niece here. 
 
 Flaw. Be careful, Sir, if you please, what you 
 admit. I have known many a cause lost for want 
 of caution. 
 . Canker. [Aside.] I'm undone ! 
 
 Mrs. B. Yes, Sir, through you I have been 
 foully scandalized. I weakly suffered your impro- 
 per conduct to pass unnoticed. My folly and my 
 silence have given a licence to a scandal, which 
 now openly assails me — and I come now to claim 
 from you the restitution of a character you have 
 tended to asperse. 
 
 Sir Ch. My turn next. 
 
 Canker. I protest, Madam, I am so astonished 
 at your strange address, I scarce know what -to 
 answer. 
 
 Clinch. Well, then I'll do it for you. Egad, 
 Madam, you don't treat Mr. Higgins like one of 
 the fair sex. You forget what passed last night. 
 
 Flaw. So, so. Might I be favoured with your 
 jiame, Sir? You seem to know something of the 
 
76 A TOUCH AT THE TIMES : 
 
 matter, and I shall be under the necessity to sub- 
 poena you. 
 
 Melissa. I believe, good folks, I am a more 
 material witness than any of you. 
 
 Canker. \Aside.~\ I'm blown, and had better 
 get out of the way. (Slips of.) 
 
 MeHss. In short, it w T as I who met Mr. Canker 
 last night at the masquerade. 
 
 Flaw. That's not the point at issue. 
 
 Clinch. Heyday! Mr. Higgins, to shew he 
 knows something of the law, has given us a sett-off. 
 
 Flaw. Sir Charles Wilding, pray do you know 
 this hand-writing. 
 
 Sir Chas. Perfectly. 
 
 Flaw. There, gentlemen, you hear — you hear 
 —he deposes to his own writing. 
 
 Sir Chas. Sir, I deny it. 
 
 Flaw. You hear, shuffling — take particular no- 
 tice, if you please — affirms and denies in a breath. 
 
 Sir Chas. Why, you rascal, what do you friean? 
 
 Flaw. Allow me to observe, Sir. you are perhaps 
 Hot aware of the consequence of calling an attorney 
 a rascal. — I wish to let this gentleman know that 
 the law never suffers its members to be insulted 
 with impunity. 
 
 Sir Chas. Look'ye, Mr. Six-and -eight pence — 
 if I am warm, my situation sanctions it. — I have 
 lost a character almost as good as new, and which 
 would have done very well for London wear ; but 
 I begin to perceive how the accident happened— 
 
 Flaw. Pray, Sir, what testimony do you mean 
 to abide by ? 
 
 Serge. Sir, this is an affair that concerns me 
 nearly, and, as it would appear, you likewise. 
 Permit me to ask, are the letters written by you 
 or not ? 
 
ACOMEDY, 77 
 
 Sir Chas* Not — they are Canker's hand. 
 Melissa. As I can affirm. 
 Serge. Heaven be praised ! 
 
 [Walks up with Mrs, Beaumont. 
 
 Melissa. But soft — T see the clouds are break- 
 ing, there is one to whom the sun-beam of truth 
 would be peculiarly cheering, and she must not 
 be absent. [Exit. 
 
 Flaw. I am afraid this will turn out a bad busi- 
 ness. Sir Charles, I begin to be satisfied of your 
 innocence, and I am afraid there is a design against 
 you. — Observe, I only act in this business as a pro- 
 fessional character, and, as it now appears suspi- 
 cious, 1 wash my hands of it. The best thing you 
 can do, is to commence an action immediately 
 against Mr. Beaumont for a conspiracy, and if you 
 are not engaged, I shall feel proud in conducting 
 the matter. j 
 
 Clinch. Ha ! ha ! bravo, Mr. Latitat — no bad 
 motion — egad, I think we are playing loo, for the 
 knave seems the best in the house. 
 
 Sir Chas. Sir, I thank you, and if I do bring the 
 action you advise, I shall certainly employ such 
 an able lawyer. — But, I prefer summary justice, 
 and will settle with him in a moment. 
 
 Clinch. Egad, I think you had better take a 
 second ! But, by the bye, that puts me in mind I 
 can shew cause against the motion, for Beaumont, 
 I hear, has dispatched himself on an embassy to the 
 Catabaws.— • 
 
 * <e Are not their woods 
 
 More free from peril thaa the envious court? *• 
 
7& A TOUCH AT THE TIMES I 
 
 Enter Melissa bringing in Laura. 
 
 Mel. Nay, but my dear, you must — 
 
 Sir Chas» Will you deny me the gratification of 
 listening to my exculpation ? — I trust, I shall now 
 be able to efface those impressions which my vola- 
 tility has imprinted. 
 
 Laura. Indeed, Sir, I— I— 
 
 MeL Enough — the sympathetic idea is already 
 caught, and you may both spare yourselves the pain 
 of confession.—- 
 
 LoveL I have been a silent spectator — 
 
 MeL What are you beginning ? 
 
 LoveL A life of happiness [kissing her hancf\. 
 
 Clinch. That puts me in mind— 
 
 Sir Chas. Faith, so it does, that I should ask 
 pardon of this lady, for the distress I have been one 
 of the causes of producing. 
 
 Mrs. B. Sir — I — I am sensible of your polite- 
 ness, but am made miserable for life — 
 
 . Serge. Fie ! fie ! Lucy. — 
 
 Mrs. B. Alas, Sir ! the story is current, and I 
 bear all the odium of its truth ! How can I appear 
 again ? how can I bear the sneers of my acquaint- 
 ance, and the neglect of my friends ! Unhappy, 
 wretched woman that I am.— I shall not be able to 
 appear again the whole winter \ 
 
 Serge. Gome, come, compose yourself — forget 
 such follies, and the fools that prize them — with me 
 you shall find a home, — and a friend that will che- 
 rish you when the world forsakes you, and whose 
 esteem will rise in proportion to its neglect. 
 
 LoveL These little trials are but the preparative 
 bitters of life, which give us a keener relish for its 
 
A COMEDY. 79 
 
 sweets ; — the most beautiful flowers spring from the 
 most unseemly seeds. — 
 
 Thus on Sicilian plains the torrent fire, 
 That rolls from Etna's mount, destruction direj 
 Fraught with a fertilizing pow'r, soon yields 
 Far richer harvests and more verdant fields. 
 
 * I N I s„ 
 
*Vj 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MRS. H. JOHNSTON. 
 
 Ladi£s and Gentlemen — we're in sad plight — 
 I was to speak an Epilogue to night j 
 But now, instead, I merely eome to say 
 Our Author has not got one for his play. 
 He came this morning and in doleful whine — 
 * e Madam," — said he, — " I cannot write a line." 
 <c Not write, Sir ! — but you must, here's pen and pape 
 So pray sit down and snuff your mental taper." 
 •' Inspired by you, sweet Madam," — " Sir, your humble"— 
 So down he sat an Epilogue to fumble. 
 Awhile he bit his nails and scratch'd his head, 
 Then starting up in pompous tone he read— 
 €C How chang'd the Comic Muse — no longer gay 
 With pomp of plumes and fancy's rich array, 
 Shed are her painted wings and in their 'stead 
 Dun heavy pinions fold her sullen head." — 
 tc Oh I Lord, Sir, this will never do " — I said — 
 " To catch the crowd, load not your nets with lead. 
 No, Sir, whene'er an Epilogue you write, 
 Remember this, it always should be light. 
 When the pit rumbles and the gali'ries roar, 
 While loud and thick a storm of hisses pour, 
 An Epilogue, like life-boat, comes to save 
 The struggling drama from the 'whelming wave -, 
 Let it be only ballasted with whim — 
 The lighter 'tis, the better it will swim. 
 Some oily wards you first must duly pour 
 Upon the pit, to calm its angry ro,ar. * 
 Then, when a calm ensues, commence a railor, 
 With all the boasted bluntness of a sailor. 
 Rail at your brother bards and cry them down 
 As impudent impostors on the Town ; 
 Who think with clatfring chorusses to please 
 And gather audiences as some do bees. . 
 Touch on the leading follies that prevail — 
 The gossip stories of the Town retail- 
 Sprinkled with puns and stor'd with proverb wit $ 
 Such are the Epilogues that please the pit." 
 All this I told him, but I spoke in vain, 
 The fear of you had paraliz'd his brain. 
 In short we have no Epilogue, but may 
 Let not that circumstance condemn the play, 
 Give a mild verdict, that you mayn't bestow it 
 But in due form, I charge you — save the poet. 
 
 Printed fey Co* and Baylis, Great Queen Street, 
 LiacoIn'e-lnn-FieUs. 
 
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 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: April 2009 
 
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