PR 52/9 
 ■R/SP3 
 

 ■ 
 
 
 
 K*f©2 
 
 1 
 
 BHbhD 
 
 ■raft 
 
 raramP 
 
 
 £JBHb 
 
 BK2 
 
 fe^jS^S 
 
 KB 
 
 1H Si 
 
 KTlflUlltlJjH 
 
 
 
 ■■ ■ • 
 
 Pfi&fi 
 
 SSm! 
 
 esSm 
 
 £&ra 
 
 iwlnQpra 
 
 RHP 
 
 i^i^H 
 
 
d/7n! An 0rders declined unless! SIX 
 "xlv/| Stamps are remitted. / r r 
 
 LACY'S ACTING^EDrFlVl 
 
 PR 5219 
 
 | .R18 R3 
 
 Copy 1 
 
 > &^ 
 
 A- 
 
 RAKES 
 'ROGRESS. 
 
 — | ^ 
 
 THOMAS HAILES LACY, 
 
 THEATKICAL BOOKSELLER, 
 
 8 9 STRAND* LONDON; YT.O. 
 
 {Opposite Southampton Street, Qovent Garden,) 
 
 Edinburgh, Robinson, Greenside Street r 
 Birmingham, Guest, Bull St., Bbadfobd, W. Morgan, 
 
 Dublin. Wiseheart, Suffolk Street. 
 
 Glasgow, Love, Enoch's Square : Leeds, Ramsden, 
 
 Litbbpool. Mey rick, Lime St., 
 
 Manohestbb, Heywood. Deans gate \ 
 
 Newcastle on Tynb, Allan, Dean Street; 
 
 Mblboubnb. Australia, Charlwood, Bourhe Street, 
 
 Sydney, S. Kirby, Market Street; 
 
 S. FRENCH, 
 122, Nassau Street, New York. 
 
 (IT OBDBR) OF ALL BOOKSBLLJKBS 111 BMOLAlTO* 
 
 TH« OOLOMIB8, OB AMBRXOA 
 
 0-* 
 
 © 
 
 •Of 
 
 H 
 
 w- 
 
 O 
 
 ~ g 
 
 LACY'S HOME PLAYS, 
 
 nexhaustible source of harmless amusement, occupation, and interest 
 adapted for all Stations and Localities, to any age, to either sex, 
 IN VOLUMES, ONE SHILLING EACH.— post free. 
 
 ron's Sensation Dramas, with 48 Illustration** 
 mic Dramas for College, Camp or Cabin, containing Mkl« 
 
 Characters only, in parts 1, 2, 3. 
 amas for Boys, (Male characters only) by Miss Kea 
 >me Plays for Ladies, comprising Female Charac 
 
 only, complete in 2 parts. 
 
 awing: Room Dramas, Parts, 1&2.1 D %f . r ^ f . ' 
 iysfor the Parlour! ! Parts, 1 &3. } ^ -™"*<*** 
 arades for Acting, by Miss Pickering. 
 l Evenings Entertainment, consisting of an ori$ 
 
 Comedy, a Burlesque, and Farce. 
 arades in Action, or Plays without woi 4s, 
 
 by the Brothers MAY HEW. 
 rlesctue Dramas, & Cracker Bon-bon, by R. B. BROU 
 und Games for all Ages, all Seasons and 
 
 Places, Is. 6d. 
 rlor Magic; Or, the Book of Wonders, 
 
 ETHft&eds of Illaat I! &!! tl 
 
 o 
 
 H 
 
 5 
 
 C 
 % 
 
 o 
 
raiiias for Private Representation, 6d. eac'2/ 
 
 Or in Volumes, neatly bound, 7s. each, post free. 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 ud 
 
 
 IOSO 
 
 
 
 
 
 .. iple 
 
 
 Change 
 
 
 a [sion 
 
 . 
 
 1 ntru- 
 
 
 tcy 
 
 
 [ror 
 
 
 Jtmju- 
 
 
 i ie 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 mond 
 
 
 
 
 •ried 
 
 
 
 ll.&c. 
 
 
 ..- 
 
 
 
 • rPail 
 
 i 
 
 )Ut 
 
 rkin 
 
 wich 
 5usi- 
 
 .•i < ihci-ji- • t [ness 
 
 VOL 
 
 " Corner 
 
 ids 
 
 '. iing 
 
 I rOOli 
 
 Still Waters Run Deep 
 Cabinet Question 
 Married Daughters 
 Dowager 
 
 Only a Halfpenny 
 Blighted Being 
 My Wife's Mother 
 Who Speaks First 
 Four Sisters 
 
 VOL. 6, 
 Wandering Minstrel 
 Villi kins and Dinah 
 Day after the Wedding 
 Noemie [pearances 
 Don't Judge by Ap- 
 Heir at Law 
 Spring and Autumn 
 Taming a Tiger 
 Cozy Couple 
 Give a Dog Bad Name 
 Paris and Back foi £5 
 Urgent Private Affairs 
 Grist to the Mill 
 Jealous Wife 
 John Jones 
 Comedy and Tragedy 
 
 VOL. 7. 
 Housekeeper 
 Family Falling 
 Pride of the Market 
 False and Constant 
 Prisoner of War 
 Locked in with a Lady 
 Tit for Tat 
 Irish Post 
 Irish Doctor 
 Hamlet Travestie 
 Follies of a Night 
 Bird in the Hand 
 Splendid Investment 
 Lend me 5s. [Bell 
 
 Lord Lovell 5s Nancy 
 Dent Lend yr. Umtrela 
 
 VOL. 8. 
 Victor Vanquished 
 Done on both Sides 
 She Stoops to Conquer 
 Crown Prince 
 Rights & WrongsofWo- 
 In for a Holyday [man 
 Wonder 
 
 Romance undr Difficlts 
 Conjugal Lesson 
 Fascinating Individual 
 Match Making 
 Second Love 
 Sent to the Tower 
 Bamooozling 
 Good for Nothing 
 Our Wife 
 
 TOL. 9. 
 
 Wicked Wife 
 Queen of Anagon 
 Douglas [his Castle 
 English man's House is 
 Robert Macaire 
 Charles the Second 
 Double-Faced People 
 Fearful Tragedy 7 Dials 
 Husband for an Hour 
 Sarah's Young Man 
 Wilful Murder 
 Omnibus 
 Love's Telegraph 
 Raisin? the Wind 
 Venice Pre*firi'ed 
 
 High Life below Stairs 
 VOL. 10. 
 
 Victims 
 
 Frederick of Prussia 
 
 Was 1 to Blame 1 
 
 Friend Waggles 
 
 Nothing to Nurse 
 
 Sudden Thoughts 
 
 Rivals 
 
 Living too Fast 
 
 Two Gay Deceivers 
 
 Jeannette's Wedding 
 
 Very Serious Affair 
 
 Pair of Pigeons 
 
 Brother Ben 
 
 Take Care of Dowb.— 
 
 London Assurance 
 
 Boots at the Swan 
 VOL. 11. 
 
 Cure for Heart Ache 
 
 Faint Heart never won 
 
 Dead Shot [Fair Lady 
 
 Unfinished Gent. 
 
 Irish Tiger 
 
 Ticklish Times 
 
 Spectre Bridegroom 
 
 Lucky Hit 
 
 Love Knot 
 
 Double Dummy 
 Crossing the Line 
 Birth Place of Podgers 
 Nothing Venture Noth 
 Capital Match [ing Win 
 My Neighbour's Wife 
 Your Life's in Danger 
 
 VOL. 12. 
 Marriage a Lottery 
 My Wife's Dentist 
 Schoolfellows [Himself 
 Samuel in Search of 
 Doubtful Victory 
 Stock Exchange 
 Veteran of 102 
 Dying for Love 
 Pierette 
 Irish Tutor 
 King Rene's Daughter 
 Last of the Pigtails 
 Matrimony 
 Bonnie Fish Wife 
 Twice Told Tale 
 Wooing in Jest, etc. 
 
 VOL. 13. 
 Othello Travestie 
 My Aunt's Husband 
 Old Honesty 
 88 Next Birthday 
 Porter's Knot 
 Rule of Three 
 Poor Pillicoddy 
 Milliner's Holiday 
 Iron Chest 
 Turning the Table6 
 Nervous Man 
 Poor Gentleman 
 Everybody's Friend 
 Richard ye Thirde 
 Cramond Brig 
 Love in Humble Life 
 
 VOL. 14. 
 Hunting a Turtle 
 Retained for Defence 
 Julius Caesar 
 If the Cap Fits 
 Caught by the Ears 
 Nine Points of the Law 
 ' i 
 
 King and I 
 Three Cuckoos 
 Payable on Demand 
 Old Offender 
 House or the Home 
 Rifle & How to Use It 
 Husband to Order 
 My Great Aunt 
 Vandyke Brown 
 VOL. 15. 
 My Heart's Idol 
 Too Much for Good 
 Rendezvous [Natun 
 Village Lawyer 
 Nursey Chickweed 
 Good for Evil 
 Head of the Family 
 Goose withGolden Egg.' 
 Forest Keeper 
 M y Wife's Second Floo: 
 Founded on Facts 
 Two Polts 
 Thrice Married 
 Uncle Zachary 
 B. B. 
 Change of System V 
 
 VOL." 16. 
 Friend in Need 
 Douglas Travestie 
 Next of Kin 
 My Wife's Out 
 Race for a Widow 
 Cruel to be Kind 
 Brother and Sister 
 Christmas Boxes 
 Fitzsmythe of Fitsmth | 
 Dearest Mamma 
 Appearances 
 Clockmaker's Hat 
 Muleteer of Toledo 
 Aggravating Sam 
 Little Savage [therh«>9 
 My Friend from Lea- 
 
 VOL. 17. 
 Quiet Family 
 Aunt Charlotte's Mai 
 Midnight Watch 
 I've Written to Browi 
 Artful Dodge 
 Love and Hunger 
 Peggy Green 
 Household Fairy 
 Duchess or Nothing' 
 Honeymoon 
 Model Husband 
 Bowl'd Out 
 Lady of the Lake 
 Petticoat Governmen 
 Objects of Interest 
 Don Caesar de Bazan 
 
 VOL. 18. 
 Rumpelstiltskin 
 Railroad Station 
 Eclipsing the Son 
 Secret 
 Paul Pry 
 
 Observation &Flrt/at 
 Post of Honour J 
 Hard Struggle 
 Alcestes 
 Regular Fix 
 Monsieur Jaequea 
 CHmney Corner 
 Man who folic 
 Post Boy 
 Blue Bp-r^. *>•- ' 
 
 
FniclUp $<&■■ 
 
 %\- } t&n\tt»fzo$xd&* 
 
 RlFim'EZZ ^Steoltnv towards F*nny J H^> ! 
 
THE 
 
 RAKE'S PROGRESS 
 
 A DRAMA 
 
 IN 
 
 THREE ACTS. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM LEMAN REDE. 
 
 H 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 The Loves of the Stars—His First Champagne —Faith and 
 
 Falsehood- — Judgment of Paris — City Games — Barn 
 
 Burners — Douglas Travestie — Saloon and Cellar — 
 
 Boyhood of Bacchus , fyc, #e. 
 
 THOMAS hailes lacy, 
 
 89, STRAND, 
 
 (Opposite Soufliampton Street, Covent Garden Market,) 
 
 LONDON. 
 
THE RAKE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 First Performed at the Queen* s Theatre 
 January 23, 1833. 
 
 ACT FIRST — TIME, OCTOBER 1820. 
 
 [The Characters drawn and coloured after Nature J 
 Tom Rakewell, a Sketch in Water-colours, 
 
 aged 21 . . .. Mr. "W. L. Rede. 
 
 Harry Markham, graved in Brass, and highly 
 
 ■polished . . . . . . . . . . Mr. Hooper. 
 
 Frederick Florid, a Musical Sketch, highly or* 
 
 namented . . . . . . . . . . Mr. Plumer. 
 
 Sam. Slap, an Equestrian Painting, xoith great 
 
 breadth of colouring . . .. .. .. Mr. Manders. 
 
 Ned Fokes, a Fancy Portrait Mr. Chapman. 
 
 Snikes, a Taylor, in many Colours . . . . Mr. Jones. 
 
 Jerk' em, a Lawyer, in his proper Colours .. Mr. Doyne. 
 
 Frank .. .. .. . .. .. Mr. Cooke. 
 
 Fanny Moreland, a Miniature highly finished Miss M. Glover. 
 
 Betty Higgins, a Sketch from Nature . . Mrs. W. L. Kede. 
 
 Lady Blazon, Portrait of a Lady warmly 
 
 coloured . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Manders. 
 
 Fishmonger (in Oil) Milkman (in Chalk), Beggar (in Relief), 
 
 Fish (in Water), Baker (in Do.), Peasants, (in Green) &c. 
 
 ACT SECOND TIME, MAY, 1821. 
 
 Tom, more highly coloured Mr. W. L. Rede. 
 
 Harry, the Plate a little worn Mr. Hooper. 
 
 Florid, with more ornament, but a worse frame Mr. Plumer. 
 
 Sam, not " Portrait of a Gentleman'* . . . . Mr. Manders. 
 
 Ned, Painting of Fear, with a Felpny in the 
 
 back ground . . . . . . . . . . Mr. Chapman. 
 
 Snump, his accompanying Picture . . • . Mr. Coates. 
 
 Lady Blazon, Portrait of a Coquette . . .. Mrs. Manders. 
 
 Fanny, ' Beauty in Tears* — a Sketch., . . Miss M. Glover. 
 
 Betty, a simple Sketch in coarser Colours . . Mas. W. L. Rede. 
 Mrs. Dabbleditch, an old Picture, in a gold 
 
 frame . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Rossi. 
 
 Peggy, her Maid .. .. .. .. 'Miss Cooke. 
 
 ACT THIRD — TIME, NOVEMBER, 1825. 
 
 Tom, " Look on that Picture and on this " . . Mr. W. L. Rede. 
 
 Harry, a Picture of Profligacy . . . . Mr. Hooper. 
 
 Florid, an Italian painting .. ♦. .. Mr. Plumer. 
 
 Ned, a sorry Picture . . Mr. Chapman. 
 
 Sam, a vagabond Picture . . . . . . Mr. Manders. 
 
 Snump, still a following Picture . . • . Mr. Coates. 
 
 Keeper .. .. Mr. Dearlove. 
 
 Lady Blazon, a Painting out of order .* Mrs. Manders. 
 
 Mrs." Dabbleditch, in Distemper . . . . Mrs. Rossi. 
 
 Fanny, a Picture of Innocence .. .. Miss M. Glover. 
 
 Betty, a Head of Charity Mrs. W. L. Rede. 
 
 . .;* 
 
 G<FT 
 
 EST. OF J H. CORNi!^ 
 JUNE 20. 194C 
 

 £ 
 
 THE RAKE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 Tom Rakewell. — Scarlet hunting frock, buckskin breeches, top 
 boots. — 2nd dress. — Jockey jacket and cap. — 3rd dress. — Modern 
 ball room dress. — Mh dress. — Surtout and white trousers. — 5th 
 dress, — Fleshings, tattered garments, and a blanket. 
 
 Harry Markham. — Hiding dress. — 2nd dress. — Jockey jacket, 
 be-mudded. — 3rd dress. — Ball room dress. — Uh dress.— 'Walk- 
 ing dress. 
 
 Frederick Florid. — Modern suit. 
 
 Sam Slap. — Green coat, striped waistcoat, many under waist- 
 coats, white cord breeches, top boots, white hat. — 2nd dress. — 
 Of the same description, but not so good.— 3rd dress. — Appa- 
 rently the same clothes but very old and shabby. 
 
 Ned Nokes. — Smart groom's livery. — 2nd dress. — A different 
 livery. — 3rd dress. — A groom's undress, old, but not ragged, 
 
 Snump. — Corduroy breeches, white stockings, high lows, dark 
 waistcoat, grey fustian coat, coloured neckerchief, and old 
 brown hat. 
 
 Briggs. — Handsome, but flash modern suit. 
 
 Frank and Market People — Countrymen's frocks and coats. 
 
 Fanny Moreland. — Half mourning. — 2nd dress. — Ball room 
 
 dress. — 3rd dress. — White muslin. 
 Lady Blazon. — Three dresses, in the extreme of fashion. 
 Betty. — Half mourning. — 2nd and 3rd dress. — Dress of a lady's 
 l maid in humble life. . 
 
 f \ Peggy and Martha. — As lady's maids. 
 
 Market Women. — Country open gowns, straw hats. 
 
 TIME IN PERFORMANCE.— 2 hours and 10 minutes. 
 
THE RAKE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— A Market Place. (3rd grooves.) 
 
 Betty, and Male and Female Peasants, with baskets con* 
 tabling eggs, ducks, #*c, discovered. 
 
 Enter Frank, r. 
 
 Frank. Well, Betty, busy marketing, eh? 
 
 Betty. Busy ! ay, that I am ; I work like a galley slave ! 
 What with furbishing the house, attending to the dairy, and 
 looking after my young missus, I've my hands full depend on't. 
 
 Frank. Ah, poor Miss Fanny Moreland ! 
 
 Betty. Poor Miss Fanny ! well, I'm sure ! Why though her 
 father died what they call an insolent debtor, poor Miss Fanny 
 has two hundred pounds a-year under her mother's will, and a 
 house to live in, and every comfort, and me for a waiting maid. 
 
 Frank. Well, I meant no harm when I said poor Miss 
 Fanny, for every one loves her. 
 
 Betty. Ay, every human soul, down to the cat. She's had a 
 iddication fit for a duchess ; and poor Mr. Moreland (he was 
 poor if you like) though once a great merchant, died without 
 a penny. Yet, what o' that — riches never made a gentleman. 
 But I can't stand talking to you, I'm so busy. He died and 
 left my missus an orphan, and what o' that — she's independent. 
 
 Frank. Well, but I've news for you. 
 
 Betty. I can't stop to hear it — I am so busy. It's about Mary 
 Briggs — why Jack Jenkins will no more marry she than you 
 will. 
 
 Frank. But it ain't of her, it is — 
 
 Betty. I know — and I'd stop and hear it, if I wasn't so 
 busy — it's about Widow Muggle and her children ; well, if ever 
 I did see such a woman as that. I went the other morning — 
 
Sc. 1 . the rake's progress. 5 
 
 I'd tell you, if 1 warn't so busy — and I saw her washing three 
 of her children in a tea-cup ; she is the most lazy, idle, loiter- 
 
 g cretur — only I can't bear to speak ill of any one, or else I 
 mid tell you. 
 
 Frank. Well, but I've some news— 
 
 Betty. I can't stay to hear it, I'm so busy, (going.} 
 
 Frank. Oh, but it concerns your missus. 
 
 Betty. Eh? well I will hear that. 
 
 Frank. Old Rakewell, the miser, is dead. 
 
 Betty. Gone, is he ? well I don't pity him— not a bit ; a 
 nasty, creeping, cranky, dingy, stingy fellow; he had more 
 money and less charity than any one in our parish ; he would 
 have skinned a flint, and made soup of the parings. Well, 
 what's this to my missus ? 
 
 Frank. Why young Rake well is his heir, 
 
 Betty. Master Rakewell? 
 
 Frank. Yes. 
 
 Betty. Do tell me — though I am so busy I can hardly wait 
 —what did that horrid old fellow die worth ? 
 
 Frank. Five thousand a-year, they do say, and a mort of 
 money beside. 
 
 Betty. And left it all to young squire ? 
 
 Frank. All — every penny. 
 
 Betty. Well, he war n't such a bad fellow arter all— I always 
 said as that old man had some good in him. Oh, this will be 
 news to Miss Fanny ! I wish I warn't so busy, I'd hear more 
 on't. Why Miss and Mr. Rakewell— squire, I mean— has been 
 all the same as betrothed these twelve months. How happy 
 she will be — and how happy shall I be ! Miss Fanny will ride 
 in her own coach, as her father used, and I— I shall be my 
 lady's kdy. I wish I warn't so busy, Frank— but nothing's 
 done if I ain't at home. I must go — poor dear old Mr. Rake-* 
 well, of Addle Street- 
 Is* Woman. Eggs ! eggs ! 
 
 Betty. My missus and young squire will make a dear sweet 
 pair. 
 
 2nd Woman. Ducks! ducks! 
 
 Betty. Oh, don't bother ! Dear, I wish I warn't so busy, I'd 
 stop and have a rare gossip ! and yet, I must hurry home and 
 tell my dear Miss Fanny. Oh, dear ! how happy she will be. 
 Good bye, Frank — I would stop, but I'm so busy. 
 
 Exeunt Frank, r., Betty u 
 
6 the rake's progress. Act 1. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Chamber. (1st grooves.) 
 
 Harry Markham. (without, i,.) Lunch, for one, horses for 
 two, and brandy and water for ever so many. 
 
 Enters, with Ned Nokes, l. 
 Well, Ned, we've smoked along famously to this old-fashioned 
 village — built in the year one, I suppose. I'd sooner be buried 
 in London than live here. How far are we from old RakeweU's 
 domus ? 
 
 Nokes. About five miles and a half — or, correctly speaking, 
 about fifteen minutes — that's the finish. 
 
 Mark. No, no, Ned — a mile in three minutes won't do for 
 an inn hack. I wonder if Tom Rakewell is much changed. 
 This windfall to him is a lucky hit — five thousand a-year, and 
 about forty thousand in ready. My exchequer's below zero. 
 
 Nokes. Yes, sir, I must own that the mopusses have been 
 shy of late. Never mind, sir, the book looks well for the Derby, 
 and the St. Ledger's a safe card. 
 
 Mark. A thousand or two would see me through the next 
 month, and then the devil may care ; one can but shoot or 
 marry at last. 
 
 Nokes, Law, sir ! you wouldn't commit suicide ? 
 
 Mark. Why, rather than marry, I would; just as I'd 
 sooner kill a racehorse that put him in a mill. 
 
 Florid, (singing without, l.) 
 
 " Diana, my beloved ! I call in vain." 
 
 Mark. As I live and breathe that is Fred Florid ! Ned, 
 holloa for one, but enough for two. 
 
 Nokes. (calling.) Mr. Florid! 
 
 Florid, (sings, without.) " Echo hears, and calls again." 
 
 Mark. No — echo don't, but I do. Fred, my musical maniac 
 —Fred ! 
 
 Florid, (sings, ivithout.) 
 
 " Her mimic voice repeats the name around, 
 " And with Fred Florid all the walls resound." 
 
 Enter Florid, l. 
 
 Mark. Fred Florid, my Memnon, how are you ? Why, what 
 the devil brings you to this out-of-the-way village ? 
 
 Florid, (sings.) " While the lads of the village," &c. The 
 fact is, my dear Harry, I'm goiug on a visit to a sporting friend 
 — this village lay in my way, and I wished to be out of the 
 way of — 
 
 Mark, (c.) John Doe and Richard Roe, eh ? 
 
 
Sc. 2. the rake's progress. 7 
 
 Florid. Yes, they haunt me still. But you, Harry— you — 
 
 Mark. I am down to visit a young fellow who has fallen 
 into an immense fortune, and wants a judicious friend to help 
 him to dispense it. 
 
 Florid. His name ? 
 
 Mark. Tom Rakewell. 
 
 Florid. Indeed ! I know the youth. 
 
 Mark. Ah ! how came you to know him ? 
 Florid, (sings.) " We met — 'twas in a crowd — 
 
 And I thought he would shun me." 
 
 Mark. Don't sing, but talk, man alive. I mean to show 
 young Rakewell something of the world — to bring him out. 
 
 Nokes. (r. — aside.) Or take him in — that's the finish 
 
 Mark. What say you — will you come down to this old ram- 
 shackle house, where the old miser, Rakewell, died ? between us, 
 we will show the heir a thing or two. Ned ! dinner for two, 
 horses for three, and the bill to follow. 
 
 Nokes. Yes, sir ; be ready in a crack — that's the finish. 
 
 Crosses and exit L. 
 
 Mark. Well, Fred — does fortune still frown ? 
 
 Florid. Yes. 
 
 Mark. What, no luck at rouge et noir ? no success on the 
 turf? Well, I confess I'm confoundedly down myself — regularly 
 cleaned out. 
 
 Florid. So am I — I want a friend. 
 
 Mark. Then why the devil don't you go and take one ? here's 
 young Rakewell — if we don't have him, somebody else will. 
 He is rolling in riches, and we may as well have it as others. 
 
 Florid. Very true, Harry — but I'm in love. 
 
 Mark. In what ? in love ! I've been in debt, in danger, in 
 gaol, and in jeopardy, but I was never in love in my life. 
 Who and what is she? where did you meet her. 
 
 Florid, (sings.) " I met her at the Fancy Fair." 
 
 Mark. D n it, don't sing ! Wherever woman smiles, 
 
 pleasure beckons — wherever I go, I ask jollity for one. As to 
 love, it's very well upon paper, but it won't do in fact. We 
 fellows who roll through life, have nothing to do with it. Hap- 
 piness is a household ; while pleasure is a roamer who wanders 
 to all places, and is everywhere to be met. Are you serious ? 
 
 Florid. 5Tes — I am in love with Diana Dulcet. A sweet 
 girl, dark eyes, raven hair, and such an ancle ! 
 
 Mark. I should have thought more of the description, if you 
 had said — such money in the funds, such landed property, and 
 such expectations. 
 
 Florid. Ah, but she has them too. 
 
 Mark. That alters the case — get a parson for two as soon as 
 
8 the rake's progress. Act 1. 
 
 possible. If I could meet a woman with every charm, and half 
 a million of money, I'd do the desperate myself. But come, 
 luncheon waits, and our horses are ready ; a chop for two, and 
 a gallop to follow. 
 Florid, (sings.) " Mark, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale !" 
 
 Exeunt l. 
 
 SCENE m. — An Old-fashioned Chamber. Table, three chairs, 
 deed-box, rouleaus, parchments, pens, ink, and paper. 
 QLth grooves.) 
 
 Tom Rakewell and Tailor, measuring him, l. Lawyer 
 writing at table, r. 
 
 Lawyer. The gross amount of cash in the house is seven 
 thousand six hundred and forty pounds, sir ; securities for 
 thirty-two thousand pounds outstanding, and the annual rental 
 is — 
 
 Rake. Why, I shall never spend half what you have named. 
 Forty thousand pounds to one like myself, who never antici- 
 pated more than a couple of hundreds per annum ! Poor uncle 
 Rakewell ! he was an unkind brother, but he has made amends 
 for his harshness to my father, by kindness to his son. 
 
 Lawyer. Your uncle was a great man — a very great man. 
 He left besides, five thousand a year. He held more mortgages 
 than any man within five counties. 
 
 Tailor. I suppose you'll have your things of the newest 
 fashion. 
 
 Rake. Yes, yes. 
 
 Harry Markham. (without, l.) Stand for no repairs, young 
 man — room for one. 
 
 Enter Harry Markham, l. 
 
 Mark. Ah, Tom ! my prince of Plutus, give me your hand ! 
 Why, have you forgotten an old crony ? 
 
 Rake. Forgotten — oh, no ; but I haven't seen you since you 
 quitted the country for a town life. 
 
 Mark. True — a life of pleasure made me forget even you ; 
 but I heard of your fortune, and came instantly to congratulate 
 ycu. So, Tom, the old hunks has popped off at last, and left 
 his ill-gotten gold. I wish every noble-minded fellow like you 
 had such a rich old rascal for an uncle. 
 
 Rake. Hush, hush ! remember that rich old rascal has made 
 me what I am. Don't let us say any ill of him now he's in 
 his grave. 
 
 Mark. Right, praise the bridge that carries you safely over. 
 
Sc. 3. the rake's progress. 9 
 
 To be sure, he couldn't carry his gold away with him, or he 
 would. Who's that guy ? 
 
 (looking at the Tailor, who comes down r. 
 
 Rake. My tailor. 
 
 Mark. That a tailor! Spectacles for one! I never saw 
 such a fellow. Where are you from? (crosses to c) 
 
 Tailor. From London, sir. 
 
 Mark. From London! — yes, and a confounded long way 
 /rom London, I guess. Tom — my dear Tom, I am your friend ; 
 this will never do. I must take you to Stultz. I wouldn't 
 wear a coat of such a fellow's making — no, not to be hanged 
 in! 
 
 Rake. But, my dear Harry, this person has worked for my 
 father all his life. 
 
 Mark. Psha ! what of that ? He looks old enough to have 
 breeched Noah. I say, whereabouts did you live at the time 
 of the fire of London? There, don't gape, but be off; take 
 your departure for one. 
 
 Tailor. Sir — 
 
 Mark. Be off, I say ! Exit Tailor, r. 
 
 My dear Tom, I'll arrange this matter for you. You must go 
 to Stultz — everybody does it. 
 
 Rake. Oh, if everybody does it, then indeed — 
 
 Mark. Yes, yes — leave it all to me. Who's he? 
 
 Rake. That's my lawyer. 
 
 Mark. Lawyer ! My dear Tom, you mustn't keep such bad 
 company. A lawyer's very well when one wants money, but 
 never otherwise. I say, Mr. Thingamy. 
 
 Rake. His name's not Mr. Thingamy. 
 
 Mark. No matter — Mr. Rakewell's engaged. 
 
 Lawyer. I only wished — 
 
 Rake. You can finish the inventory at your leisure. 
 
 Lawyer. Oh, very well, sir — I would not intrude — (rises.") 
 
 Mark. Oh, but you do intrude ; there, toddle, and take your 
 blue bag along with you. Exit Lawyer, r. 
 
 Well, Tom, your hand. Life lies before you — a world of plea- 
 sure without a taint of care. A young handsome dog — don't 
 blush, no one does it — you must dash on — you must be one 
 of us. What do you propose ? — you'll not stay in this dull 
 village ? 
 
 Rake. My father lived and died in it. 
 
 Mark. Ah, it may do to die in, but hang me if one can live 
 in it. No, no, you must come to London. 
 
 Rake. Why, I— . 
 
 Mark. You must-^-everybody does it, 
 
 Rake, Oh, then, indeed — 
 
10 the rake's progress. Act 1- 
 
 Mark. Til tell you what Tom, I have a sincere friendship 
 for you, and though I haven't seen you these five years, I have 
 often talked about you — I'll introduce you to some fellows after 
 your own heart — men of spirit and fashion. You must join 
 our clubs. 
 
 Rake. Why, my life has been so secluded, that — 
 
 Mark. Pshaw! everybody does it. You'll subscribe to 
 Tattersall's, of course — everybody does it ; mingle at Almack's 
 — trifle on the turf — in fact, you must and shall be a highly 
 finished fellow. You're born for the world, and must bustle in 
 it — everybody does it. By-the-bye, I've brought an old friend 
 of yours with me — Fred Florid. 
 
 Rake. Fred Florid — Florid — you mistake ; he's no friend of 
 mine — I don't know him. 
 
 Mark. Oh, yes, yes, you do — everybody knows him. 
 
 Rake. Oh, then, I know him, of course. 
 
 Mark. Ned! 
 
 Enter Ned Nokes, l. 
 
 Nokes. Sir. 
 
 Mark. Shew Mr. Florid up ; and see if any of the servants 
 can let you have champagne for three, and devilled biscuits to 
 follow — hey ? 
 
 Rake. Certainly. But young man — Harry, I am afraid we 
 have no champagne in the house ; but we have capital 
 Madeira, and if you'll see Mrs. Hartshorn, the old house- 
 keeper — 
 
 Mark. A housekeeper? — do you keep a housekeeper? I 
 would as soon think of keeping a lady's maid ! You must have 
 a valet ; pray consider my fellow as yours. Ned, wait on Mr. 
 Rakewell. 
 
 Nokes. I will, sir. I'm hired — that's the finish. Exit l. 
 
 Mark. Ned will just suit — don't say a word, he's your man. 
 He's the very fellow for you — knows the world and has seen 
 life ; and so must you — everybody does it. 
 
 Florid, (without, singing.) " Do you remember the first time 
 I met you." 
 
 Rake. Curse me if I do, for I never saw you before. 
 
 Enter Florid, l. 
 
 Florid. Well, Tom, how goes it ? Do you remember our 
 jolly party, five years ago, at Squire Briarley's, when you were 
 so full of wit and humour — all dance and jollity ? 
 
 Rake. Oh, yes, yes, I remember — (aside.) nothing at all 
 about it. 
 
 Mark. Come, come, my boy, you've not forgotten Fred, Sit 
 down, sit down, make yourself at home, (goes to R. table.) 
 
Sc. 3. the rake's progress. 11 
 
 Enter Nokes, l., with wine. 
 Florid, (sings.) " A bumper of Burgundy fill, fill for me, 
 Give those who prefer it, champagne." 
 
 Mark. Tom, my boy, here's u health to enjoy your fortune !" 
 Fred, here's u may you get rid of that singing in your head !" 
 Come, Tom, a toast. 
 
 Kake. (sitting at back of table.) I really scarcely know — 
 
 Mark. Don't be shy — courage for one. Is there no little 
 blue-eyed, cherry-cheeked, lovely -lipped Hebe in this corner of 
 the globe ? What, another blush ! There he is, Fred, drawn 
 from life, and coloured after nature. Come, her name ? 
 
 Rake. Why, if I must — 
 
 Mark. Everybody does it. 
 
 Rake. Well, then, here's " Fanny !" 
 
 Mark. Bumpers for three. 
 
 Florid, (sings.) " Of all the girls that are so smart, 
 There's none like blue-eyed Fanny, 
 She is the darling of your heart, 
 And she lives in yonder valley." 
 
 Rake. Why, how do you know she lives in yonder valley ? 
 
 Mark. Oh, everybody knows it. Here's "Faimy!" (they 
 rise and drink.) Fanny's a very pretty name, and I dare say 
 Fanny's a very pretty girl ; but you will soon be in the metro- 
 polis, the court of beauty, and the bower of love. This seems 
 a very dull place. What shall we do? Come, a frolic for 
 three — what's stirring, Ned ? 
 
 Ned. (l.) Nothing, sir, all's as dead as small beer. I've been 
 all about, and couldn't raise a row no how. 
 
 Mark. Shall we have a touch at hazard? 
 
 Rake. I never play. 
 
 Mark. Never play ? — everybody does it. 
 
 Nokes. There isn't a pair of dice in the place. 
 
 Florid. No dice ! 
 
 Mark. No dice ! What an infernal slow neighbourhood ! 
 
 Nokes. What do you say, sir, to a steeple chase ? 
 
 Mark. Capital ! Horses for three. Tom, I know you are a 
 famous rider, and Fred's a perfect phaeton — arn't you Fred ? 
 
 Florid. Yes, but my horse is such a sorry hack. 
 
 Mark. Hack, be hanged ! you must have a hunter. Ned ! 
 
 Nokes. Sir! 
 
 Mark. Wasn't Sam Slap, the horse dealer, at the last town 
 when we left it ? 
 
 Nokes. Yes, sir — and training some of the prettiest creatures 
 you ever saw. 
 
12 the hake's progress. Act 1. 
 
 Mark. Ned, put yourself outside my mare ; send Sam to me 
 with the best of his stud, and jockey jackets and caps for three 
 — ranish! (rises.) 
 
 Nokes. I will, sir. A steeple chase ! break all their necks — 
 that's the finish. Exit, l. 
 
 Mark, (l.) You must do something — notoriety's the thing 
 — make a bold dash — fame for one. We'll have a race for a 
 cool two hundred — come, I'll book it. Oh, you need not dub 
 the cash — nobody does it ; to-morrow's settling day. 
 
 Florid, (c.) And to-morrow must be racing-day, I think. 
 It will be some hours ere Ned returns. 
 
 Mark. No such thing — Ned's gone off like a rocket! Sam 
 will be here like a flash of lightning. 
 
 Rake, (r.) I must leave you for awhile, Harry — I have an 
 appointment. 
 
 Mark. Hey ! what, the petticoat fever ? Well, I'll give you 
 an hour. 
 
 Rake. One hour ! oh, more than — 
 
 Mark. No — I'll time you. Women are the prettiest play- 
 things in the world, but we mustn't let them interfere with the 
 serious business of life. Nobody stays more than an hour with 
 their lady love. 
 
 Rake. Nobody ? well then, I won't. 
 
 Mark. That's right. You'll be back by four, start by five, 
 know the winner by six, return to dinner by seven, and then off 
 for London, my boy ! 
 
 Exeunt, Rakewell, r., Markham and Florid, l. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Chamber. (2nd grooves.) 
 
 Enter Fanny, r. 2 e., with a letter. 
 
 Fanny. I wonder Rakewell is not here ; he did not ose to 
 overstay his time ; — oh ! but at this moment a thousand things 
 are calling his attention ; the sudden news of his fortune — the 
 affairs of his deceased uncle, must distract him. Kind, kind 
 Rakewell — your first thought on hearing of your own happiness, 
 was to secure mine, (reads.) " Possessed of a large fortune — 
 you only are wanting to make me the most blessed of beings." 
 
 Enter Betty, l. 
 
 Betty. Oh, miss ! I am in such a bustle ; here's a coach 
 coming along smack up to this house. 
 Fanny. Well, is that so strange ? 
 
 Betty. Why, I'm sure I an't seen one here— no— not since — 
 Fanny. Betty! 
 
Sc. 4. the hake's progress. 13 
 
 Betty. Lawk, miss, I beg pardon, I meant no harm ; only 
 for the last year or two all the coaches seem to turn down 
 t'other road ; now don't fret, Miss Fanny, I didn't say it to 
 grieve you. 
 
 Fanny. The loss of carriage visitors would never grieve me ; 
 there were other thoughts connected with your words. 
 
 Betty. Never mind, Miss Fanny ; you mark my words, now 
 young squire's rich, you'll ride in your own coach that is, his — 
 which is all one. (loud knock, l.) Well, if that don't surprise 
 our knocker, I shall wonder. Oh, gemini! what a smart 
 looking footman — I'm in such a bustle, (knock.) Well, I'm 
 coming — I'm in such a bustle. Exit L. 
 
 Fanny. Who can this be ? not Rakewell, sure ; and other 
 visitors, since my father's death, I as little expected as desired. 
 
 Enter Betty and Lady Blazon, l. 
 
 Lady B. Dear, dear Miss Moreland ; how do you do ? you 
 look lovely, but that you always did ; well, now, you'll think it 
 unkind that I haven't been to see you. 
 
 Fanny. 'Tis two years, I think, since I had that pleasure. 
 
 Lady B. Yes, dear — heard of your sad affliction ; could not 
 come, then. 
 
 Betty, (aside.) Hang the friend, I say, that won't come in 
 affliction. Ay ! she's like all the rest of them. Exit l. 
 
 Lady B. Nerves, nerves, dear ; I'm such a sensitive crea- 
 ture — feel everybody's grief as my own — all sympathy — I should 
 have distressed you and destroyed myself. 
 
 Fanny. I hope you had pleasanter employment than com- 
 forting affliction ; you have been in London ? 
 
 Lady B. Yes, dear, and I should have written to you, but 
 what with parties by night, and gay scenes by day, I really 
 couldn't snatch a moment ; and then I couldn't write without 
 allusions that would have shocked my nerves. 
 
 Fanny. Pray make no further apology. 
 
 Lady B. I suppose you know I'm a widow ? 
 
 Fanny. Indeed! 
 
 Lady B. Yes — I buried my Goth twelve months ago ; you 
 were always a prodigious favourite of his, in your father's fife- 
 time. 
 
 Fanny. In my father's time, I believe I was. 
 
 Lady B. You must come and pass a few days at my seat, 
 and then, dear, you must take a little trip to London — you 
 must, indeed 1 moping in the country — it's quite horrid. 
 
 Fanny. I thank you, but I have now moped here for two 
 years ; I bore this scene through the bitterest of my affliction, 
 
14 THE RAKE'S PROGRESS. Act 1. 
 
 and it has become endeared to me. — What should I do in 
 London? 
 
 Lady B. Do ? what every body does, dear ; dress, dance, 
 sing, play, go to the opera, and flirt with the fellows. 
 
 Enter Betty, l. 
 
 Betty. Oh, gemini ! gemini ! I'm in such a bustle ; — here's 
 young squire coming smoking along ! old Dobbin gallops for 
 dear life ; I do believe that horse is as sensible as I am, and 
 knows that his master is coming, to you. 
 
 Lady B. Young Squire ! do you mean Mr. Rakewell ? 
 
 Betty. I mean my missus' husband that is to be ; young 
 Squire Rakewell. 
 
 Fanny. For shame, Betty; you know I forbid this con- 
 versation. 
 
 Betty. La, miss ! where's the harm ? — no shame in being 
 married; I know it wouldn't make me ashamed a bit, and 
 Squire Rakewell is the handsomest, nicest, goodnaturedest, and 
 now the richest — 
 
 Enter Rakewell, l., singing. 
 
 Rake, (crossing to Fanny, r.) Dear, dear Fanny ! 
 
 Lady B. (l.) Not so bad — not so bad ; but a Goth in manner. 
 
 Fanny, {crosses c.) Mr. Rakewell — Lady Blazon. 
 
 Rake. I beg your pardon, Lady Blazon, but hurrying to my 
 dear Fanny, I did not perceive you were present. 
 
 Lady B. (aside,) Quite a brute ! Oh, don't name it, my 
 dear sir — happy to congratulate and condole, and all that — 
 have come to rob you of Miss Fanny for a few days ; I can't 
 prevail on her to go to my seat — you will be a more eloquent 
 pleader. I'll leave you, Fanny dear, I shall see you again to- 
 day, for you know I can't bear to be away from you. 
 
 (shaking hands. 
 
 Betty, (l., aside.) Only two years at a time. 
 
 Lady B. (l. c.) Not a step ; I'll find my way. 
 
 Betty. Oh !. I'll show you out, ma'am, and with the greatest 
 of pleasure. 
 
 Lady B. Adieu! you must come, dear — Mr. Rakewell, good 
 morning. Exit with Betty, l. 
 
 Rake, (c.) Fanny, my darling Fanny, happiness is now in 
 store for us ; the instant the news came to me, you were my 
 first thought— your house, my first visit. 
 
 Fanny, (r.) What detained you so long ? 
 
 Rake. An old friend, Harry Markham — a delightful com- 
 panion, and so kind to me, that I couldn't get away — by-the- 
 bye, I've promised to take a trip to town, to-day. 
 
 Fanny. To London? 
 
Sc. 4. the rake's progress. 15 
 
 Rake. Yes, everybody does it ; besides, he has promised to 
 make me a suscriber to Tattersall's, and a member of his club. 
 
 Fanny. But why should you do this ? 
 
 Rake. I don't know why — but everybody does it. 
 
 Fanny. Ah! I fear these gay companions will lead your 
 mind away from the calm enjoyment of domestic life. 
 
 Rake. No, Fanny ; a bit of a breeze now and then makes a 
 calm more delightful ; one must do as other people do — you 
 really must go to Lady Blazon's — everybody goes there. 
 
 Fanny. No, no ; I have no pleasure in such scenes. 
 
 Rake. Well, that's the case with me ; Vve no pleasure i$* 
 'em, nor anyone else I believe ; but then, everybody does it; no 
 scene can have charms for me where you are not, and when i 
 forget you, Fanny, may I be myself forgotten ; I picture to 
 myself scenes of such rational, pure delight, unruffled by a cloud, 
 serene as your smile, guileless and calm ; — talking of calms, I'm 
 going to ride a steeple- chase, to-day. 
 
 Fanny. A steeple- chase ! my dear Rakewell. 
 
 Rake. Why, everybody does it ; and my friend Markham 
 has brought with him one of the oldest friends I ever had, 
 whom I never saw in my life before — one Fred Florid; 
 and Harry, I, and he, are to gallop from my uncle's house to 
 the steeple of Bransdon Church. 
 
 Fanny. Where he lies buried. 
 
 Rake. I never thought of that ; it's very wrong, to be sure, 
 but everybody does it. 
 
 Fanny. Ah, Rakewell! Rakewell! the hand that reared 
 churches, meant not their steeples for the racer's land-mark. 
 
 Rake. That's very true — but everybody does it. Come, 
 come, this is my first frolic, and shall be my last. Now, Fanny, 
 you'll go and see us come in, won't you ? Yes, I know 
 you will, for I must see you before I start for London ; come, 
 won't you ? 
 
 Fanny. It's very wrong — 
 
 Rake. I know it's wrong — it's very wrong ; but come, now, 
 promise. 
 
 Fanny. Well, I do promise. 
 
 Rake. Thanks, my dear Fanny— adieu! Exit, "L. 
 
 Fanny. I dread these sudden friends, who come like swallows, 
 when the summer shines, and leave us in the winter of distress. 
 Betty ! 
 
 Enter Betty, l. 
 Betty. Yes, miss. 
 Fanny. We are going to Bransdon Church. 
 
16 the rake's progress. Act 1. 
 
 Betty. To church, miss? — what already ? 
 
 Fanny. At least, near there. Mr Rakewell rides a race 
 to-day ; I have promised to be present at it ; get your cloak 
 and bonnet. Exit Fanny, r. 
 
 Betty. I will, miss — oh ! I'm in such a bustle. A race !— 
 gemini ! I hope he may win — t'others may break their necks, 
 if they please, so that young squire wins — oh, I'm in such a 
 bustle ! Exit, l. 
 
 SCENE V. — The Race Ground — Church in view, B. 
 Enter Sam Slap, and Ned Nokes, l. 2 e. 
 
 Sam. Sold three horses in two minutes — vot a hidea ! Ned, 
 your master's a good one. Well, how are you, my pigeon ? — 
 why, when I see you last, you was waiter at the u Horns," in 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 Nokes. Yes, but I left suddenly. 
 
 Sam. Something wrong, eh ? — any of the maids pretty ? — vot 
 a killing hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. No ; something else. 
 
 Sam. Oh ! I see — a little bit of the wrong, hey ? — something 
 missing ? 
 
 Nokes. I'll tell you ; missus didn't exactly know where she 
 had put some of the plate. 
 
 Sam. But you did ? — vot a hodd idea ! 
 
 Nokes. And so there were some words, and I felt that it 
 reflected on my character, and left — that's the finish. 
 
 Sam. Bolted, eh ? — vot a natural hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. No, not bolted, but I went off in the middle of the 
 night. 
 
 Sam. Vot a dark hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. Yes, rather than have any words — that's the finish. 
 Well, what are you up to ? I arn't seen you since you were a 
 riding boy at Doncaster. 
 
 Sam. A riding boy ! I was — look at me now ; here's a figure 
 for a riding boy — what a horse-back-breaking hidea ! I got too 
 fat for my trade, no horse could conwenient]y carry my weight ; 
 so instead of riding horses, I took to selling them. I say, Ned, 
 there's your swag, (giving money.) and thank you for the 
 customer. Three horses in two minutes ! — vot a expeditious 
 hidea! 
 
Sc. 5. THE RAKES progress. 17 
 
 Nokes. I say, I hope they're good ones ; if not, master 
 deals no more — that's the finish ! 
 
 Sam. Vy , vot do you expect in the time ? — but two of them 
 are fairish— Blackball is by Furbelow, out of Diana — Spanker 
 by Dash, out of Aurora. 
 
 Nokes. And t'other ? 
 
 Sam. He's a roarer, too ! — vot a vindy hidea ! — he's by old 
 Bobby's cart horse, out of the miller's mare ; vot a pedigree ! 
 
 Nokes. It's all right ; young Squire rides the blood ; my 
 master, Blackball; and Mr. Florid, the screw— if he gets a 
 floorer it don't matter, (faint cry, R. 2 e.) Here they come, I 
 hear the holloa — that's the finish ! 
 
 Sam. I wonder whereabouts the roarer is, that hanimal vot 
 goes about five miles an hour, and thinks he's galloping — vot a 
 progressive hidea. 
 
 (shouts without, r., increasing in loudness till Eakewell enters. 
 
 Nokes. Come, come along — a sharp turn round the corner, 
 and we shall see them come in. Run, run. Exit, r. u. e. 
 
 Sam. Run, run ! — I'm a nice figure for running — vot a pre- 
 posterous hidea ! Exit, r. u. e. 
 
 Enter Lady Blazon, Fanny, and Betty, l. 
 
 People, (shout without) Huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 Enter Frank, r. u. e. 
 
 Frank. He's done it— he's won it ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 Lady B. Who — who? 
 
 Frank. Young Squire, to be sure ! here he comes — here he 
 comes! — hurrah! hurrah! 
 
 Enter Rakewell, in a jockey's dress, R. u. E. 
 
 Rake. Ah, my dear Fanny, here I am ! 
 
 Fanny. Not hurt, I hope? 
 
 Rake. Not a whit — never better ; oh, it was a glorious race! 
 I wonder where Mr. Florid can have got to ? 
 
 Fanny. Did he not start with you? 
 
 Rake. Yes, he did start with us, and that was all. You see, 
 we went off in a gentle canter, Harry and I, side by side, and 
 Fred in the rear. Shortly after, Harry and I broke out into a 
 light gallop, and we never saw Mr. Florid after that. 
 
 Fanny. No accident, I hope ? 
 
 Rake. Only a gentle tumble, at the worst. 
 
 Lady B. But how did the race proceed, Mr. Rakewell? 
 
 Rake. Oh, famously ! — Harry and I, after riding along very 
 comfortably for some time, side by side, at last came to rather 
 a high hedge, and a tolerably broad ditch. " Is it deep? " said 
 be— " never was in it," said L— " St ! St ! " said he, and over we 
 
18 the rake's progress. Act 1. 
 
 went, clean as a whistle ; dashed down the meadows, right over 
 the furrows — up this field, and down that ; at last, Harry said, 
 " We'll neck and neck it home; at present, we'll part company." 
 — " With all my heart," said I—" Good bye," said he— " Good 
 luck," said I ; and off we set, he one way — I the other. We 
 rode down two parellel fields with hedge on each side — I could 
 just see his horse's ears peeping above the hedge, and he could 
 see my mare's performing the same operation on the opposite 
 side of the way. When we came within five hundred yards of 
 home (his animal, I could see, was at its best), dash at one 
 moment, we came over the hedge together, into the high road ; 
 there we were, head, heel, and hand, as hard as we could go— 
 you might have covered us with your handkerchief. I let out, 
 threw the mud and slush from my horse's heels, into his horse's 
 eyes — and won by six lengths. Hurrah ! Oh, there's nothing 
 like racing ! (retires up with Fanny, l.) 
 
 Betty. I knew he'd win — I saw it — bless him ! he looks as 
 if he was born for a jacket. (laugh outside, r. 
 
 Enter Markham covered with mud — Sam and Nokes, r. u. e. 
 
 Sam. I say, do you know you're conweying away mud with- 
 out leave of the commissioners. 
 
 Mark. Yes, and a pretty considerable lot I carried away. 
 Ned, fresh togs for one, and brandy and water to follow. 
 
 Exit Nokes, l. u. e. 
 
 Bake. How the devil came you in such a pickle ? 
 
 Mark. Come, I like that ! why, when you made your grand 
 push for home, your mare slapped her hoofs into a slough, and 
 sent a cloud of mud over me — enough for six ! 
 
 Rake. Where did you leave Florid? 
 
 Mark. I left him in a ditch. (horn sounds, L. 
 
 Enter Nokes, l. u. e. 
 
 Nokes. Mr. Florid's come in, sir. 
 
 Mark. How did he come ? 
 
 Nokes. He came by the mail — it was passing by — his horse 
 pitched him down — the coach took him up — that's the finish ! 
 
 Sam. (r.) Riding a steeple chase, and coming home by the 
 mail ; vot a sporting hidea ! 
 
 Mark. Ned, take places for five — three ins and two outs, 
 
 Nokes. Suppose they haven't room, sir. 
 
 Mark. Turn the insides out. 
 
 Nokes. I will, sir — that's the finish. Exit L. u. e. 
 
 Mark. Sam, you'll go with us. 
 
 Sam. To be sure I will — a pigeon to be plucked, and I not 
 there— vot a foolish hidea ! But I say, sir, you see how the 
 
Sc. 1. the hake's progress. 19 
 
 land lies ; (pointing to Rakewell and Fanny.) touched at the 
 heart — affected in'ards. 
 
 Mark. Yes ; that's it, Sam. 
 
 Sam. I guessed with half a hie ; — look'ee there — light brown 
 mane — sweet pretty fetlocks — curved neck — small head — oh, 
 that's the female. (horn heard, 
 
 Mark. Yes ; and that's the mail. 
 Sam. Vot a coinciding hidea ! Well, ladies, ta-ta ! 
 
 (crossing to L. 
 Mark. I'd advise you to take places for two ! 
 
 (crossing to L. 
 Sam. 'Cause I'm a fat one — I'll have two insides ; — vot a 
 enormous hidea ! Exit L. 
 
 Rake. Well, adieu, my love! (kisses Fanny.) 
 Mark. Kisses for one — can't you make it for two ? . 
 Rake. Be quiet, you dog — be quiet. Adieu, my dear Fanny, 
 adieu ! 
 Exeunt Rakewell and Markwell, l. u. e. — Ladies remain 
 and the coach is seen to pass from L. to R. at back, the 
 lower part hidden by the hedge, Rakewell, Markwell, 
 Florid, Nokes, Coachman, and Guard, seen on it 
 
 end of act i. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Chamber in Mrs. Dabbleditch-s House. 
 (2nd grooves.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Dabbleditch and Peggy, r. 
 
 Mrs D. Peggy. 
 
 Peggy. Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. D. Has last night's revelling injured my looks ? 
 
 Peggy. No, indeed, ma'am, (aside.) I should wonder if it 
 had. 
 
 Mrs. D. 'Twas a delightful party. Young Rakewell is a 
 pretty fellow, but a dolt, and as insensible to the charms of ii 
 fine woman as a statue. 
 
 Peggy. La, ma'am, do you think so ? I hear he's a very 
 devil among the girls. 
 
 Mrs. D. Girls, girls! what do you talk to me of girls for ? 
 you know I hate to hear the pale, paltry chits spoken of— 
 it's quite indelicate. 
 
20 the rake's progress. Act 2. 
 
 Peggy. La, ma'am ! 
 
 Mrs. D. Be silent ! don't answer me ? What's the hour ? 
 what's the hour, I say — why don't you speak ? 
 
 Peggy. Why, you told me to be silent, and not answer you. 
 
 Mrs. D. Peggy, you're getting impertinent — and if there's 
 one thing I hate more than another, it's conceit and impudence. 
 
 Peggy, (aside.) That's odd, for you have plenty of both. 
 
 Mrs. D. What is the hour ? 
 
 Peggy. Nearly one, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. D. Then I may soon expect Mr. Florid. 
 
 Peggy, Mr. Florid, ma'am ! 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, child, a dashing young fellow, whom I met at 
 Lady Flashton's soirees. I lost a trifle to him at ecarte ; I gave 
 him one of my glances, and I think it created a sensation. 
 
 Peggy. No doubt, ma'am ; but I thought Mr. Rakewell was 
 your favourite ? 
 
 Mrs. D. So he was, but he is so bashful ; he has been in 
 London now six months, but his friend, Mr. Markham, has not 
 inocculated him with his impudence. 
 
 Peggy. Mr. Markham, ma'am, was once a little favourite of 
 yours. 
 
 Mrs. D. Why, Peggy, you know my good heart ; I would 
 snatch any young man from destruction — but he is a sad fellow, 
 he cannot appreciate so rich a gift as a woman's tender heart ; 
 he's a libertine. 
 
 Peggy. La, ma'am, did you find that out? 
 
 Mrs. D. What do you mean, slut — it's quite indelicate. No 
 man in his senses would offer me an insult. 
 
 Peggy. No man with his eyesight would, I'll be bound. 
 
 (knock L. 
 
 Mrs. D. 'Tis Mr. Florid. Am I as I should be, Peggy ? 
 
 Peggy. Oh, yes, ma'am. 
 
 Florid, (without l., singing.) u Come shining forth, my 
 dearest, with looks of warm delight." 
 
 Mrs. D. 'Tis he ! What a charming voice he has — it's an 
 alarm to love ! Peggy, leave us. 
 
 Peggy. What, ma'am, will you receive him alone ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Yes, chik—my honour protects me anywhere. 
 
 Peggy, (aside.) Your age will, anyhow. 
 
 Enter Florid, l. 
 
 Florid, (singing.) u Good morning to your nightcap." 
 
 (to Peggy, ivho exits l. 
 Ah, good morning, dear madam, (they sit.) You see I am true 
 to my appointment — I should say yours. But, pray don't 
 take me for a merciless creditor. 
 
Sc. 1. the rake's progress. 21 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, Mr. Florid, I shouldn't think you merciless at 
 all ; I judge by myself, for Heaven knows / am not. A hun- 
 dred, I think, Mr. Florid — may I trouble you ? (gives note.) 
 
 Florid. No trouble at all. (sings.) " Your money is your 
 friend, is it not," &c. Really a very sensible old woman. Dear 
 madam, I am perhaps intruding, and — (rises.) 
 
 Mrs. D. Why, you are not going, Mr. Florid? I want to 
 speak to you. 
 
 Florid. To speak to me! (sings.) "Bid me discourse, I will 
 enchant," &c. 
 
 Mrs. D. I take the liberty of a friend, dear Mr. Florid ; I 
 fear you're leading a life of excesses. I know these things — 
 
 Florid. What excesses, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. D. Mr. Dabbleditch, who I married when I was fifteen, 
 was a sad man. 
 
 Florid, (aside.) So I should expect. 
 
 Mrs. D. He was always flaunting at parties, and neglecting 
 the sweets of home. 
 
 Florid, (sings.) " Home, home, sweet, sweet home," &c. 
 
 Mrs. D. Are these your sentiments ? So are they mine — 
 what a coincidence in feeling ! 
 
 Florid, (sings.) " Ah, there's nothing half so sweet in life 
 as love's young dream." 
 
 Mrs. D. I differ with that sentiment ; I have known second 
 love truer and happier than the first. 
 
 Florid. To be sure, ma'am, practice makes perfect. For 
 my part, I think a third or fourth, or — 
 
 Mrs. D. Ah, I fear you are a gay deceiver. Really it is not 
 discreet for me to remain with you. 
 
 Florid. Hollo ! this won't do ! (sings sarcastically.) " Had 
 I a heart for falsehood framed, I we'er could injure you" 
 
 Mrs. D. Fascinating fellow ! — do you indeed think so ? 
 
 Florid. I can't stand this, (sings.) " Oh, yes, believe me— 
 oh, yes," &c. 
 
 Mrs. D. I do believe — I will not distrust you ; no, your 
 passion is not feigned. 
 
 Florid. My passion ! — where did you hear of it? 
 
 Mrs. D. I saw it in your glances. 
 
 Florid. What then, madam, you have observed my little 
 attentions to — 
 
 Mrs. D. Don't, don't ! — how can you ? 
 
 Florid. How can I ! — what ? 
 
 Mrs. D. At so short an acquaintance to make a declaration. 
 
 Florid. Why, madam, our souls were congenial, (sings.) 
 
 44 Ah, sure a pair were never seen, 
 So justly formed to meet by nature." 
 
22 THE RAKE'S PROGRESS. Act 2. 
 
 Mks. D. You're a sad flatterer, but I will not be obdurate ; 
 in one word, I will be yours. 
 
 Florid. You, madam ! > 
 
 Mrs. D. Why do you stare so ? Joy and ecstasy take away 
 his breath. Come, come, I know how to encourage the timid 
 bashfulness of youth ; you have triumphed — I am yours. 
 
 Florid. I say, ma'am, I beg your pardon, but there's some 
 mistake ; I was declaring a passion for Miss Diana Dulcet. 
 
 Mrs. D. Miss Dulcet? 
 
 Florid. Yes, the lady to whom you observed my "little 
 attentions." 
 
 Mrs. D. Why, did you not just now declare your passion 
 for me ? 
 
 Florid. For you? (sings.) " Oh, no, I never mentioned it — 
 I never said a word." 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh ! very well, sir — insult my feelings — trample on 
 my budding affection. 
 
 Florid. Budding ? — blown by Jupiter ! 
 
 Mrs. D. Leave me, sir — leave me, if you can. 
 
 Florid. Oh, yes, I can. Good morning, ma'am. 'Gad I 
 wish I was safe out of the house. 
 
 Mrs. D. Will you then leave me ? 
 
 Florid, (sings.) " March away, march away ! march, march 
 away !" Exit l. 
 
 Mrs. D. What ! gone in earnest ! Ah, the young men now- 
 a-days are brutes; it's quite indelicate, I declare. They are 
 such young puppies, they won't open their eyes to their own 
 good. Miss Diana Dulcet — lath and plaster — aged eighteen. 
 As Hamlet says, " Look on this picture and on that." I think 
 the world's made up of boys and girls now-a-days. I'm sure, 
 such children marrying, it's quite indelicate. Exit) r. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Street (1st grooves.) 
 
 Enter Ned Nokes, r., with letters. 
 
 Nokes. Let me see, this is an answer to Lord L 's invita- 
 tion; that'll do presently. Call at Lady B 's, and two 
 
 more letters, and that's the finish. (Sam Slap sings without, l.) 
 Why, if that arn't Slippery Sam, the swell horse-dealer. Why, 
 Sam! Sam! 
 
 Enter Sam Slap, l. 
 
 Sam. Who'd a thought of meeting you, and walking promis- 
 cuous about the streets, too. What a cool hidea. 
 
Sc. 2. the rake's progress. 23 
 
 Nokes. Why, where have you been hiding yourself these 
 three months, hey ? 
 
 Sam. I arn't been hiding myself — one of my grooms struck 
 for wages. 
 
 Nokes. Struck for wages ? 
 
 Sam. Yes, knocked me down. Yot a pugilistic hidea ! I 
 was rather haggravated and I hit him with a stable whip, and 
 did not observe, in my hurry, that I used the butt end. 
 
 Nokes. Was that the finish ? 
 
 Sam. No, it wasn't. You know, Ned, there's little secrets in 
 all trades — nothing particular wrong, but a little — 
 
 Nokes. About the edges. 
 
 Sam. Just so. Well, this here haggravating vagabond goes 
 and peaches something about a horse as I sold that warn't ex- 
 actly all as it might ha 1 been. 
 
 Nokes. I see ; another roarer. 
 
 Sam. Worser ! this here hanimal was sich a impostor as I 
 never seed in my life — he'd a made a capital war horse, for he'd 
 sooner be d — d than run. Yot a valiant hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. How did you sell him at all ? 
 
 Sam. I'll tell you — I went into my stable one day, and I 
 reasoned with the beast ; says I to him, u you brute! it's a 
 waste of good hay and corn to give it you ! " and I suppose my 
 words affected his feelings, for he began kicking and prancing 
 like them hanimals at Astley's. Vot a dramatic hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. Well, the finish ? 
 
 Sam. Just at this time, aindiwidual comes in, says he, " that's 
 a spirited thing ; " " unkimmon," says I — " the price ? " says 
 he — " two hundred," says I; there it is," says he — " thank 
 you," says I ; and he gets a top of this dear bit of dog's meat, 
 who, to my eternal surprise, gallops away ; that horse galloping 
 as had never dewiated into a trot before. Vot a astonishing 
 hidea! 
 
 Nokes. How long did his galloping last 
 
 Sam. Only to the end of the street. 
 
 Nokes. No ! 
 
 Sam. No, he came to his senses again and stood as still as the 
 monument. 
 
 Nokes. How do you account for all this? 
 
 Sam. Why, that's the critical pint , you see, this here hani- 
 mal in the early part of his life (for he was an old one) had 
 been in the theatrical line, and at the time in question, a band 
 of mouth-organ chaps was a playing ; (whistles a tune.) that was 
 one of the tunes as he remembered hearing in his early days — 
 off he goes, prancing along like a good one (as he was not,) but 
 
24 the rake's progress. Act 2. 
 
 at the end of the street there was an end of the music, and he 
 returned to his old ways. 
 
 Nokes. And so this came to a trial? 
 
 Sam. Suunnut o' that sort — you know how they manages 
 these things. 
 
 Nokes. A little. 
 
 Sam. But the judge was a ignorant, know-nothiDg hindi- 
 vidual, and I'm blest if he didn't call it swindling. 
 
 Nokes. Dreadful! 
 
 Sam. Warn'tit? 
 
 Nokes. Well, a fine, I suppose — was that the finish ? 
 
 Sam. No, Ned ; for three blessed months I walked up stairs, 
 and I never walked down again. 
 
 Nokes. The treadmill ? 
 
 Sam. Yes ; I took steps for altering my course of life. 
 (treads.) Vot a fatiguing hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. Why, I think you're thinner. 
 
 Sam. You think so ; my broad shoulders and my stomach 
 make my back look like the end of the Old Jewry. 
 
 Nokes. How do you mean ? 
 
 Sam. Widened at the expense of the corporation. Vot a 
 hanatomical hidea. 
 
 Nokes. Come, you'll do— you're in pretty good case yet. 
 
 Sam. No — skin and bone ; my cup of misery isn't yet at its 
 drregs. When I corned out of my confinement, my horses had 
 walked off — my goods had walked off — my groom had walked 
 off— 
 
 Nokes. And your wife — 
 
 Sam. Had walked off along with him. 
 
 Nokes. That's the finish ? 
 
 Sam. It is ; she started for Ameriky, and while I was on the 
 stairs, (treads.), she was on the passage. Vot a harchitectural 
 hidea ! How's your master ? (Nokes shakes his head.) Is he 
 still of the light green shade ? 
 
 Nokes. No ; he begins to open his eyes ; his ready's gone — 
 his five thousand a-year dipped to about the tune of forty thou- 
 sand — that's the finish. 
 
 Sam. In six months ! vot a rapid hidea ! I say, where do 
 you hank ? vot are you worth now — four thousand ? Vot a 
 hidea for a menial ! 
 
 Nokes. I've been unlucky, too — I had saved a trifle, but — 
 
 Sam. But what? 
 
 Nokes. Do you remember an old coincidence about a gravy 
 spoon or two, and a few silver forks, and some teapots, and 
 other little things ? 
 
Sc. 2. the rake's progress. 25 
 
 Sam. I begins to inwestigate the willany ; privately stealing 
 in a dwelling-house. Vot a burglarious hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. They found me out. 
 
 Sam. No! 
 
 Nokes. Yes ; and as I hate words, rather than go and 
 explain it all away somewhere in — 
 
 Sam. Where? 
 
 Nokes. Newgate Street, where they wanted me to go — I 
 gave — 
 
 Sam. How much ? 
 
 Nokes. Three thousand pounds, and that's twelve times 
 what the plate's worth, for I only sold it for two hundred and 
 fifty pounds. 
 
 Sam. Then you did know summut about it? Vot, a fence — 
 vhite soup, hey ? vot a melting hidea I 
 
 Nokes. That ain't the finish ! 
 
 Sam. No? 
 
 Nokes. No, there's a chap calls this compounding a felony, 
 and comes to me twice a-month for hush-money. 
 
 Sam. Why, the himperent warmint ! vot willians there is in 
 the world, surely ! Hush-money ? vot a bribing hidea ! Well, 
 I say, what's to be done ? — how's cash, eh ? 
 
 Nokes. Why, I'm not stuck up for a canary or two. 
 
 (holding some sovereigns. 
 
 Sam. Canaries ! the prettiest bird that flies. Canaries ! vot 
 a yellow hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. I say, can't we, between us, contrive to mend matters 
 a little. 
 
 Sam. They admits of it, certainly; your master's not 
 plucked yet — and Mr. Markham — 
 
 Nokes. He's, as usual, in cash to-day—out to-morrow. But, 
 come, I must raise the supplies. 
 
 Sam. Eaise the supplies ? Vot a parliamentary hidea ! How's 
 your present master off for plate, eh ? 
 
 Nokes. That might be thought of. 
 
 Sam. I say, a door might be left open — promiscuous. Quite 
 a haccidental hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. If we join in anything like this, we must swear 
 eternal friendship. 
 
 Sam. Till death ! (they look.) 
 
 Nokes. That's a finish. 
 
 Sam. Vot a suspending hidea ! Exeunt^ a, 
 
26 the rake's progress. Act SB 
 
 SCENE III. — A handsome Chamber, opening to Ball Room, c. 
 (3rd and &th grooves.) Music without. 
 
 Enter Lady Blazon and Fanny, c. 
 
 Lady B. Retire to your own room, child ? — not join our 
 party ! — positively, I will not hear of it. You have been a 
 week in London, and haven't come out yet ; not a soul have 
 you seen, except your frowsy aunt, Mrs. Dabbleditch. 
 
 Fanny. My dear madam, my thoughts are ill fitted for gay 
 scenes. 
 
 Lady B What, is it melancholy, then ? Why, child, if you 
 are cold, do you not go to the fire ? if you have been fatigued, 
 do you not seek rest ? and if you are sad, should you not seek 
 merriment? Come, come, my dear,I must positively take you 
 into a course of fashionable training. 
 
 Fanny. You will find me but a sorry pupil. 
 
 Lady B. Is its love away, and does it droop ? 
 
 Fanny. Nay, this is unkind ; you know I've other, and more 
 serious causes for sorrow — if, indeed, what you allude to, be 
 one at all. 
 
 Lady B. You cause for sorrow ! my dear, you'll cost me a 
 stay-lace. You are young, pretty, sing, dance well, know how 
 to hear flattery, and how to answer it ; take my word for it, 
 dear, you have the best stock in hand with which to set up 
 fortune making. Cause for sorrow ! why, except me, my love, 
 you haven't a friend to care for. 
 
 Fanny. Nor one that cares for me ; many might think that 
 alone an affliction. 
 
 Lady B. Not at all — quite the contrary ! I never could dis- 
 cover the use of friends — they never send to one except when 
 they want to be married or buried or some such thing — I say 
 with the little man in the play — " Let me be happy and friend- 
 less." But come now, you will join our party ? 
 
 Fanny. I never was at a masked ball in my life. 
 
 Lady B. Then the more reason, dear, to see one now ; but 
 if you would rather be a pensive musing maid, join the pro- 
 menade in this apartment, or the musicals in the next. 
 
 Fanny. Well, well, I will strive to be gay — I will endeavour 
 to imitate your good humour. 
 
 Lady B. Very well, but you mustn't steal any of my beaux. 
 
 Fanny. You need not be alarmed. But who are thev, may 
 I ask? 
 
 Lady B. Oh, all the young fellows. Don't open those pretty 
 eyes so wide — that's the priviledge of widowhood. When I was of 
 
Sc. 3. THE RAKE'S PROGRESS. 27 
 
 your age, child, I was a good sort of yea-nay, open your eyes 
 and shut your eyes, say nothing girl, but now I have passed the 
 rubicon, I can flirt with one and toy with another — and 
 the worst that folks say is — u That widow is such a strange 
 creature." 
 
 Fanny. But in all this, Lady Blazon, what is there to touch 
 the heart ? 
 
 Lady B. The heart ? Ha, ha, ha ! My dear, I was born 
 before hearts were invented. Poets call love a mighty ocean, 
 and so it is ; but one may choose whether one plunges into the 
 fathomless gulf, or dances on the light and fluttering spray. 
 
 Enter Harry Markham, c. 
 
 Mark. Partner for one for a waltz. Why, Lady Blazon, 
 what are you about here ? My dear Miss Moreland, you look — 
 words for one ; I never could compliment in my life — but the 
 reason is, that in this instance, what I ought to say far tran- 
 scends anything that language allows. 
 
 Fanny. I see, Mr. Markham, satire, at least, is one of your 
 qualifications. 
 
 Mark. Satire ! no, on my honour — looking-glasses for one. 
 and the fact will stare you in the face. 
 
 Lady B. Come, come, Mr. Markham, you forget I am pre- 
 sent. But Miss Moreland is a new acquaintance, and poor I 
 must sing willow. 
 
 Mark. Pray don't sing at all — everybody does it ; there's 
 that fellow Fred Florid, screeching about the house till it's 
 quite horrid. I wish they'd get gags for one. 
 
 Lady B. Do you dislike music ? 
 
 Mark. Dislike music! astonishment for one enough for 
 twenty. Look at me — am I a Goth ? I doat on it, from the 
 merry tang- tang of a coachman's horn to the gentle thrumming 
 of a guitar ; but most I love the music of a woman's voice, 
 when it comes in a gentle moonlight murmuring sort of melody, 
 breathing of love and extacy — especially when it sings to me, 
 and me alone. 
 
 Lady B. Why, Markham, you are getting sentimental. 
 
 Mark. Don't tell any of your friends so, they'll never 
 believe you. But, come, merriment for two ; I'm for a waltz 
 or gallopade. 
 
 Lady B. Have with you, then. Ha, ha, ha ! what, you 
 wanted Miss Moreland for a partner — but she don't dance, so 
 you are compelled to have an old flame. 
 
 Mark. Don't dance ! why everybody does it. NHmporte — 
 come, my dear widow ; I have foisted old Mrs. Dabbleditch 
 upon poor Florid ; agony for one ! let us go and enjoy his 
 affliction. 
 
28 the rake's progress. Act 2. 
 
 Lady B. Come, then ; good bye, dear, 1 shall seek for you 
 in the music room. Come, Markham. (Music heard from ball 
 room.) Music. — They go off c. and l. 
 
 Fanny. So, after all my resolution, I am in London, near 
 him who vowed that my presence made up his existence, and 
 now — no matter, no matter ; yet I little thought, six months 
 since, when we parted for a day, that the parting was likely 
 to be eternal. Exit l. 
 
 (the Company are seen waltzing behind. 
 
 Markham and Mrs. Dabbleditch come forward — he waltzes 
 her to a seat, r. 
 
 Mark, (aside.) The deuce take that little witch of a widow, 
 she has danced off with Florid herself, and left me with this old 
 tabby. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, Mr. Markham, the waltz is a most fatiguing 
 dance, and rather indelicate. 
 
 Mark. Yes, ma'am — but everybody does it. (aside.) I hope 
 she won't dance again. 
 
 Mrs. D. A quadrille, now, is a much more elegant amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Mark. Yes, ma'am, it may be very well for persons young 
 and gay like yourself, but for me, in my delicate health, it's 
 rather too much. Chairs for one. 
 
 Mrs. D. Are you ill, Mr. Markham? 
 
 Mark, (aside.) Now she'll be fond, and that's worse. Yes, 
 ma'am, very ill — sick. 
 
 Mrs. D. Sick ! 
 
 Mark (aside.) Yes, of you. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, Mr. Markham, I fear you lead a very bad 
 life. 
 
 Mark. Why, ma'am, I lead as bad a life as I can — a man can 
 do no more. I must get rid of her. By-the-bye, have you seen 
 Eakewell ? — he's in the ball room ; he's a delightful fellow, and 
 I know who he thinks a delightful woman. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, Mr. Markham, you're so foolish. 
 
 Mark. Yes, there's two of us that way. I've heard him 
 speak of you in terms — such terms, that I cannot repeat them. 
 (aside.) That's true enough. 
 
 Mrs. D. I must confess that Rakewell is a very fine young 
 man. 
 
 Mark. Yes, ma'am; constitution for two — spirits enough for 
 twenty, and doats on you. 
 
 Mrs. D. Now do you think so? 
 
 Mark. Don't T t know so ? (aside.) How she grins and ex- 
 poses her remaining grinders; she really ought to go to a 
 
Sc. 3. the rake's progress. 29 
 
 dentist and get teeth for one. Allow me to touch that delicate 
 hand. Hoofs for one, and fetlocks to follow. 
 
 Music. — They go off through arch, it. 
 
 Enter Lady Blazon and Rakewell, though arch, from l. 
 
 Lady B. (r. c.) Come, come, Mr. Rakewell, there is some- 
 thing weighing upon your spirits. 
 
 Rake. Oh, a trifle ; out a few thousands at the first spring 
 meeting, and at the moment it was inconvenient ; but your 
 smiles would recall a Timon from his melancholy. 
 
 Lady. B. My smiles ! no, no, Mr. Rakewell, you young 
 heirs meet with too much sunshine to care for a solitary ray, 
 though from a source which would shed its beams for you, and 
 you alone, (aside.) He is a nice fellow, and certainly rich. 
 
 Rake. You wrong us, at least, you wrong me: — I am already 
 sick of what they call pleasure ; I go to races, balls, plays, mas- 
 querades, till my very senses ache with the exhaustion of what 
 they tell me is delight. But ah ! I'm not half so happy as 
 when I rose with the lark, mounted old Dobbin, and galloped 
 over to Moreland's house — hey, d — n it ! I mustn't think that 
 way. Come, widow, shall we be gay — will you engage me at 
 ecartef 
 
 Lady B. You think of nothing but play, Rakewell. 
 
 Rake, (c.) Oh yes, of much beside. 
 
 Lady B. Do you ? may one guess what? 
 
 Rake. Of love when I am beside you. 
 
 Lady B. Come, come, this is quite too good. 
 
 Rake. Nay, believe me — by this fair hand! this slender 
 waist ! those ruddy lips ! (kisses her.) 
 
 Lady B. Mr. Rakewell, you forget where you are, sir, and 
 who I am. 
 
 Rake. Forgive me, dear Lady Blazon — attribute it to an 
 ardent passion ; let me plead for pardon on my knees. I love 
 you — 
 
 Enter Fanny, l. 
 
 Fanny. My dear Lady Blazon, I come to — 
 
 Rake. Fanny Moreland ! 
 
 Fanny. Rakewell, I was not prepared for this — I will retire. 
 
 Rake. No, no — Fanny, I conjure you, stay. 
 
 Lady B. Ah ! very well, Mr. Rakewell, I compliment you 
 on your sincerity and gentleman -like attention. I shall how- 
 ever, find my way to the music-room unattended ; I wouldn't 
 interrupt your tete-a-tete for the the world. Miss Moreland, 
 your very humble servant. Exit, c. to K. 
 
 Fanny. Lady Blazon — madam — I beg — : 
 
30 the rake's progress. Act 2. 
 
 Rake. No, no, Fanny. 
 
 Fanny. Sir ! we must be strangers henceforth, Mr. Rake- 
 well, (aside.) And I must teach my tongue these accents. 
 
 Rake. Fanny, I have been guilty, very guilty — but I love 
 you. 
 
 Fanny. I heard you say as much to Lady Blazon, but now. 
 
 Rake. That was the passion of the moment. 
 
 Fanny. And this — 
 
 Rake. Has been my solace for years. 
 
 Fanny. No, Rakewell, no ; six months have passed since we 
 last met. Have you once thought of your Fanny — once 
 written ? No. Tear after tear dewed my cheek — anxious fears 
 were checked by ardent hope, till hope itself felt faint at my 
 heart, and I felt you had forgotten me ! 
 
 Rake. No, not forgotten, Fanny. 
 
 Fanny. Only neglected! Rakewell, I cannot bear that 
 from you ! 
 
 Rake. If you knew the temptations and pleasures that sur- 
 rounded me — 
 
 Fanny. Did you know the troubles and miseries that sur- 
 rounded me ! Hear me, Rakewell — ere my father died, when I 
 was rich and you poor, you were my heart's choice ; fortune 
 changed, but I was still the same — how was it with you? Had 
 you been a beggar, Rakewell, I would have shared existence 
 with you, and never felt a sorrow till you lacked a joy ; but 
 now my soul turns from you with loa — No, not with loathing ; 
 I forgive you, man — may Heaven forgive you too ! 
 
 Exit c, and R. 
 
 Rake. 'Sdeath ! I — Yet, do I not deserve it? When I was 
 friendless, I was all to her — and six months have passed, and I 
 have lost thousands — more, I have lost her ! Wine — wine I 
 
 (goes to table r. 
 
 Enter Markham, through arch from R. 
 
 Mark. So say I — wine for two. (sits L., of table.) Hallo ! 
 what's the matter, Tom? — you are in pain. 
 
 Rake. Yes, here. 
 
 Mark. The heart ! — the only place I never have a pain in. 
 
 Rake. I'm mad ! 
 
 Mark. Mad ! — strait waistcoats for one. 
 
 Rake. 1 can't stay here — let's go. 
 
 Mark. Ah, let's leave this dull place, and be off to Crock- 
 ford's. 
 
 Rake. No ; I'm too much out already. 
 
 Mark. And may you not be twice as much in? Bad luck 
 to-day, better to-morrow ; the rain must clear at last, however 
 strong the storm. 
 
Sc. 4. THE RAKES PROGRESS. 31 
 
 Rake. True — come to Croekford's — anywhere, for I'm mad. 
 Come ! Exeunt l. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Dabbleditch and Fanny, c. from r. 
 
 Mrs. D. The men are all brutes ! — and as to the women, 
 they're — No matter. Fanny, my dear, you shall not stay here 
 any longer ; you shall come home with me, child. We are too 
 mild and patient to deal with these people. You tell me you 
 have been ill-used — I know I have been ill-used — and we'll go 
 and weep in secret. Oh, I should like to be revenged on the 
 whole set ! Come, child come. Exeunt l. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Street (2nd grooves.) Moonlight. Lights 
 
 down. m 
 
 Enter Nokes, l. 
 
 Nokes. I never was so poor since I took to living upon other 
 people. A ten pound note, and that's the finish ; and I don't 
 know how long that may be mine. There's that rascal, Snump, 
 who threatens to peach — if he comes, all's up. So, master's 
 . been to Croekford's, has met Sam, and now gone somewhere 
 worse. He's a going it, I hope Sam will look out. If he 
 robs master, I suppose he'll behave honourable to me — if not, 
 I'll peach. Talk of the devil — there's Snump. 
 
 Enter Snump, r. 
 
 Snump. Cup. 
 
 Nokes. Don't bawl. What do you mean by cup ? 
 
 Snump. Tip. 
 
 Nokes. That's the finish! 
 
 Snump. Quick. 
 
 Nokes. (aside.) If I give him this ten pound note, he'll 
 never give me any change out. (aloud.) I haven't a shilling, if 
 you'll believe me. 
 
 Snump. I don't. 
 
 Nokes. Wait till daylight. 
 
 Snump. I won't, (going.) 
 
 Nokes. What are you going to do ? 
 
 Snump. Peach. 
 
 Nokes. That's the finish ! Stop — there's a ten pound note ; 
 give me back five. 
 
 Snump. No. 
 
 Nokes. Two? 
 
 Snump. No. 
 
 Nokes. I only want a trifle to get some refreshment. 
 
32 the rake's progress. Act 2. 
 
 Snump. Oh ! (gives four halfpence.) 
 
 Nokes. What's this ? 
 
 Snump. Two pence. 
 
 Nokes. What'll this get ? 
 
 Snump. A pint of beer — many an honest hard- working man 
 can't get that. 
 
 Nokes. But I'm not a hard-working man. 
 
 Snump. No — nor honest. 
 
 Nokes. What a thief you are to what I am. 
 
 Snump. Am I ? 
 
 Nokes. You're an informer ! 
 
 Snump. I know it. 
 
 Nokes. Arn't you ashamed ? 
 
 Snump. Not a bit — if every thief had an informer to dog him, 
 there would be few thieves. 
 
 Nokbs. But you don't do it from a good motive. 
 
 Snump. Yes I do. 
 
 Nokes. What? 
 
 Snump. To feed the poor. 
 
 Nokes. The poor ? 
 
 Snump. Myself and family. I haven't the courage to be a 
 thief, nor you the courage to meet a thief's doom. 
 
 Nokes. How long do you mean to follow me in this way ? 
 
 Snump. While you live. 
 
 Nokes. I'll kill myself. 
 
 Snump. You haven't the courage. 
 
 Nokes. I'll kill you. 
 
 Snump. You haven't the strength. 
 
 Nokes. I'll go to America. 
 
 Snump, I'll not let you. 
 
 Nokes. That's the finish — you know I can't keep you for 
 ever. 
 
 Snump. I shan't live for ever. 
 
 Nokes. Ah, then when you die — 
 
 Snump. My son will follow you — he knows you. 
 
 Nokes. Ha ! what shall I do ? 
 
 Snump. Submit. 
 
 Nokes. You'll never die in your bed, 
 
 Snump. I don't expect it. 
 
 Nokes. Where then ? 
 
 Snump. In yours — you'll pay for my bed as long as you live. 
 Good morning. 
 
 Nokes. Ah, you are going. 
 
 Snump. I shall see you again in a day or two. Exit, R. 
 
 Nokes. That fellow's got no conscience. I wonder what 
 Sam's got out of master ? Oh, you herring-gutted villain ! 
 
Sc. 5. the rake's progress. 33 
 
 That fellow's my fetch. A sneaking cowardly rascal ! — a man 
 that would peach, would do anything. If Sam don't come 
 down handsomely, I'll inform against him, as sure as my name 
 is Ned Nokes. Exit, l. 
 
 SCENE V. — A Gaming House. (3rd grooves.) Table, three 
 chairs, dice, fyc. 
 
 Markham, Rakewell, and Sam discovered, seated. 
 
 Sam. (l.) All cleaned out — vot a pleasant hidea ! 
 
 Rake, (c.) The devil was in the dice. 
 
 Mark, (r.) Something was in the dice, for I'll swear they 
 were loaded. 
 
 Rake. 'Sdeath ! if I thought so, I'd — 
 
 Sam. It is no use — they're all off — no one but the porter, and 
 he's deaf. 
 
 Rake. What induced you, Hal, to get me in at chickin ha- 
 zard? Chicken hazard ! a pretty name ! why do they call it so? 
 
 Mark. Chicken hazard ! because there's so much foul play in 
 it. Sam, call a coach. 
 
 Sam. I will. I say, have either of you — hey ? 
 
 Rake. Not a rap. Hal — 
 
 Mark. The same here. 
 
 Sam. Yot a hidea ! three respectable individuals, and not a 
 rap among us. I've a ticker — I'm off to my uncle's. 
 
 Rake. What does he mean ? 
 
 Mark. Everybody does it. 
 
 Sam. Quite a common hidea. I'll get a coach — wot a rum- 
 bling hidea ! Exit, l* 
 
 Rake. Hal, you see a ruined man. 
 
 Mark. I see two. 
 
 Rake. What's to be done ? 
 
 Mark. Marry. 
 
 Rake. Who? 
 
 Mark. Mother Dabbleditch. 
 
 Rake. Faugh! 
 
 Mark. She has a hundred thousand pounds. 
 
 Rake. Had she millions, I would not wed the wretch. 
 
 Enter Ned Nokes, l. 
 
 How did you find us out here ? 
 
 Nokes. Instinct, sir. A letter — that's the finish ! 
 
 Rake. Very apropos — from the old harridan. A pressing 
 invitation for a morning visit. There's her scrawl. 
 
 Mark. What a sweet hand for a check. 
 
34 the rake's progress. Act 2; 
 
 Rake. Ned, Mr. Mark'iam and I have been unfortunate at 
 play — what money have you ? 
 Nokes. Two-pence, sir. 
 Rake. & ) m , 
 
 Mark. [Two-pence! 
 
 01 
 
 3 
 
 Enter Sam, l. 
 
 Nokes. Not a rap more, as I'm a Christian* 
 Rake. I can't endure all this. 
 
 Sam. Coach is ready. 
 
 Rake. Come. 
 
 Mark. Where? 
 
 Rake. To Mrs. Dabbleditch— to the devil— come. 
 
 Exit Rakewell, and Markham, l. 
 
 Sam. I say, Ned, there's your share of the last swag ; and see 
 
 — though I've stuck up my ticker, it's in the family still. Vot a 
 
 knowing hidea ! (shows the watch, which he had only concealed. 
 
 Exeunt l. 
 
 SCENE VI. — A Front Chamber. 2nd grooves.} — Lights up. 
 Enter Betty and Peggy, r. 
 
 Betty. Oh, I'm in such a bustle ! it can't be true ! Mr. 
 Rakewell now with your mistress ! that old frumpy dumpy, 
 huffy, snuffy, old wretch ! 
 
 Peggy. What do you mean by calling her a wretch? 
 
 Betty. Why, you called her so yourself just now. 
 
 Peggy. That may be. I don't mind her being called a 
 wretch, but I don't like to be called a wretch's waiting - 
 woman. 
 
 Betty. She marry that nice, dear, sweet — no, he is a nasty 
 false, perfidy, roystering, racketing rascal, that he is. Oh, I'm 
 in such a bustle ! this was the end of Mrs. Dabbleditch's kind- 
 ness, was it ? Invite her poor neice to her house to steal her 
 husband from her ! I should like to see anyone take a man 
 from me, that's all ! But I'll go and pack up my trunk — 
 
 Peggy. Here comes my missus. 
 
 Betty. Does she ? Oh, I'm in such a bustle ! If I don't 
 tell her a bit of my mind, I'm no woman. A squinty, flinty, 
 jeering, leering old fool. Oh, I am in such a bustle ! 
 
 Exeunt, L. 
 
 Enter Markham, Rakewell, and Mrs. Dabbleditch, r. 
 Mark, (l.) Steady, my boy ! staggers for one. 
 
Sc. 6. the rake's progress. 35 
 
 Mrs. D. (r.) Oh, you insinuating wretch ! this morning it 
 cannot be. (turning up stage, r.) 
 
 Rake, (c.) Thank heaven ! 
 
 Mark. For what? 
 
 Rake. You hear. She says it cannot be. 
 
 Mark. What of that? 
 
 Rake. I can't do this, Hal — I love another. 
 
 Mark. Of course — everybody does it. Husband for one, 
 love for two, liking for ever so many. 
 
 Rake. My spirit cannot brook it. 
 
 Mark. Ruin! 
 
 Rake. 'Twill break Fanny Moreland's hear v . 
 
 Mark. Ruin! 
 
 Rake. No, no — welcome poverty. 
 
 Mark. That's not all — debts of honour unpaid. 
 
 Rake. Death and damnation ! then I must do it. 
 
 Mark. I have the license — signatures for two. 
 
 Enter Betty and Fanny, l. 
 
 Fanny, (l.) Dear aunt, I come — Rakewell ? 
 
 Betty, (l. c.) Forgive me, Miss — I dared not tell you. There 
 stands Mr. Thomas Rakewell, that used to come late and early 
 to look upon you ! there's a man selling himself for lucre to 
 to that old frumpy humpy woman. 
 
 Mrs. D. (r.) Ah ! 
 
 Fanny. Betty, she is my aunt. 
 
 Betty. I don't care — she ain't mine. I say it's a shame — a 
 burning shame ! to leave a beautiful young creature like you 
 for that old daub. 
 
 Mrs. D. Old daub! _ 
 
 Betty. Because one is poor, and the other rich, (goes up, l. 
 
 Mark. My dear everybody does it. (goes up, l. c. 
 
 Rake. Fanny, hear me ! 
 
 Fanny. Stand off, sir ! you have deceived — do not insult me. 
 
 Rake, (c.) Hold! I will— 
 
 Mark. (r. c.) No, he won't, indeed — he never does — 
 
 Rake. Villain! 
 
 Mark. You see, he don't know what he says — he calls me a 
 villian. 
 
 Fanny. I did not think our eyes would ever meet again. Go, 
 Rakewell — I free you from your vows. Now, worlds could not 
 make you mine — were you more wealthy than even my fondest 
 wishes would have made you, more dear than my heart deemed 
 you. The dream is over ! on earth we meet no more. May we 
 live so as to hope to meet hereafter, (throws herself on Betty's 
 neck, l. c. — picture.) 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
36 the rake's progress Act 3. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.—^L Chamber. (1st grooves.') 
 Enter Lady Blazon and Martha, r. 
 
 Lady B. Hasn't John returned yet ? 
 
 Martha. No, ma'am ; I don't think he'll come back any 
 more. 
 
 Lady B. What do you mean ? 
 
 Martha. Why, ma'am, John ain't had no wages of you for 
 eighteen months, and when he left home, to-day, he threatened 
 to apply to a magistrate. 
 
 Lady B. To a magistrate? for what? 
 
 Martha. To see if the law allowed fashionable people to 
 withold from their servants their hard earned wages. 
 
 Lady B. I never heard anything so infamous in my life ; 
 what an exposure among my fashionable friends ! 
 
 Martha. Oh, don't fret, ma'am ; several of your ladyship's 
 friends are in the same situation. 
 
 Lady B. What's to be done ? Was the letter sent to Lord 
 Looby? 
 
 Martha. Yes, ma'am ; he's abroad. 
 
 Lady B. What answer from Sir Charles ? 
 
 Martha. He's in the Fleet. 
 
 Lady B. From Sir Jessamy Jinks ? 
 
 Martha. He's in the Bench. 
 
 Lady B. Mr. Markham? 
 
 Martha. He's there, too. 
 
 Lady B. What shall I do ? If I could meet any enterprising 
 young mau, I'd have him, if he came pennyless to me; he 
 would at least release me from a load of liabilities. It's a 
 thousand pities I didn't secure young Rakewell. 
 
 Martha. Oh, ma'am he's nearly as bad off as t'others. 
 
 Lady B. Thus, then, end all my splendid visions ! and, of 
 the many that shared in the gaieties, follies, and frivolities of 
 this mansion, not one is to be found to alleviate its solitude and 
 sorrow ! (crossing to R.) 
 
 Martha. Ma'am! 
 
 LadyB. Well? 
 
 Martha. Would it be quite convenient to you to pay me 
 my wages ? 
 
 Lady B. You know I cannot. 
 
Sc. 1. the hake's progress. 37 
 
 Martha. Then, I must take something to the value. 
 
 Lady B. You would not dare do it ? 
 
 Martha. Yes, I would. I shall only take what IVe worked 
 for, and, if I do wrong, you are now as poor as myself, therefore 
 you'll get none to redress you. 
 
 Lady B. What a base wretch you are ! You don't consider 
 my feelings. 
 
 Martha. Did you ever consider mine ? When riches poured 
 upon you, you were proud, harsh, and cruel. / felt it then, 
 and you shall feel the effects of it now. 
 
 Lady B. Leave me, ungrateful girl ! 
 
 Martha. What have I to be grateful for ? You never gave 
 me a gown until the fashion made it impossible that you should 
 ever wear it again, anffthen it was wrung from you by flattery, 
 which I despise myself for uttering, and you for listening to. 
 But I can't stand talking to you ; I must pack up my things 
 and go, for I suppose there won't be a chair to sit upon to- 
 morrow. I'm sure — fine ladies not paying their servants — it's 
 quite a shame — so it is. Exit, l. 
 
 Lady B. This is the severest blow of all ! it has wrung my 
 very heart. Oh, if ever I recover fortune again, I'll make that 
 hussey suffer for this I 
 
 Re-enter Martha. 
 
 Martha. There's a man wants you. 
 Lady B. What man ? 
 
 Martha. I can't be troubled running up and down stairs for 
 you ; there he is, ask him yourself. This way, Mr. Thingamy. 
 
 Exi^ l. 
 
 Enter Briggs. 
 
 Briggs. I'm very sorry, Lady Blazon, but I've an account 
 against you. In plain words, you are my prisoner. 
 
 Lady B. At whose suit? 
 
 Briggs. Two ; Mr. Wokley, the upholsterer, three thousand 
 two hundred ; Mr. Osrick, the jeweller, one thousand eight 
 hundred. 
 
 Lady B. I'll send to some of my friends for bail. 
 
 Briggs. Won't do — they are Ca. Sa's. Allow me, madam. 
 
 Lady B. I shall faint ! 
 
 Briggs. This way, ma'am. 
 
 Lady B. I must see some of my friends. 
 ; Briggs. My house, ma'am, is as likely a place to see your 
 friends as any I know Exeunt l. 
 
38 the rake's progress. Act 3. 
 
 SCENE TL.—The King's Bench (4& grooves.) The room 
 divided by a curtain. Bed, l., in which Markham is dis- 
 covered. Table and chair , r., cup with dice, and plate with 
 chop, on table. 
 
 Enter Rakewell and Turnkey, r. 
 
 Turnkey. This is your room, sir. 
 Rake. This! 
 
 Turnkey. This half of it ; t'other side belongs to the gentle- 
 man you're chumm'd upon ; but you'll find him quite a gentle- 
 man, I assure you, and you'll be as happy as the day is long. 
 
 f k Exit, R. 
 
 nd of all my follies! 
 Oh, Markham !— Harry Markham, all this I owe to your per- 
 nicious counsel ! 
 
 Mark, (in bed, l.) Hollo ! quiet for one ; none of your 
 tricks, Jenks. 
 
 Rake. That voice — Harry ! 
 
 Mark. Hollo ! (looking through curtain.) Tom Rakewell ! — 
 room for two ! — when did you render? 
 Rake. But this moment. 
 
 Mark. I've been here a month, and a very snug place it is ; 
 come into my room — I want to have some talk with you. 
 Rake. Your room ? 
 
 Mark. Yes, my room ; they divide them, here — everybody 
 does it. This is not quite so gay as your villa, in Twicken- 
 ham; saw it advertised for sale by Robins. What did it 
 fetch? 
 Rake. I know not. 
 
 Mark. I see ; sold for the benefit of your creditors. Well, 
 I am quite dished — I suppose you have a few cool hundreds in 
 a snug corner ? 
 
 Rake. I have not ten pounds in the world. 
 Mark. Ten pounds ! — have you five ? lend me a couple — 
 (Rakewell gives two.) everybody does it. A dressing gown 
 for one, and slippers to follow, (gets up.) Upon second thoughts, 
 Tom, two pounds are no use to me, nor three to you — let's 
 throw for them. 
 
 Rake. No, hang the dice, I hate them. 
 Mark. I've heard you say that, often ! what, you're going to 
 shut the stable door now the horse is stolen ! — come. 
 
 Rake. Well, where are the dice ? (Markham shews the cup 
 —Rakewell throws.) Seven ! 
 
 Mark, (throws.) Sixes !— you're nicked 5 this is opening the 
 bank strong this morning. 
 
Sc. 2. THE RAKE'S PROGRESS. 39 
 
 Rake. Now I'm without a shilling ! (crosses to L.) 
 
 Mark, (r.) Don't droop — I'll lend you some. I'll go and 
 have a touch at hazard, below. Have you dined ? 
 
 Rake. No. 
 
 Mark. Here's a mutton chop and bread ; you'll find pepper 
 and salt in the cupboard to follow ; I'll send you some porter 
 from the tap. 
 
 Rake. I see you're still the same, Hal. 
 
 Mark. Yes — I don't change, though my coats do, cursedly. 
 
 (going, r. 
 
 Nokes. (without, r.) That's my master's room — No. 6 in 7. 
 
 Rake. Six in seven! what does that mean ? 
 
 Mark. Why we are all at sixes and sevens, here. (Nokes 
 speaks again, and Markham jumps into bed.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Dabbleditch, r. 
 
 Mrs. D. Wretch ! see what you've come to. 
 
 Mark. Oh, a woman ! — I thought it was Nat Graves come 
 for his bill ; how d'ye do, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. D. A man — and a-bed too ; how indelicate ! 
 
 Mark. Not at all, ma'am ; everybody does it. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, it's you, Mr. Markham, is it ? 
 
 Mark. I see — a row for one — I'm off. I shall try my luck 
 with the bones. Good bye, ma'am — I'll send you some porter 
 from the tap — use my room without any ceremony — famous 
 place for a curtain lecture. Exit, r. 
 
 Mrs. D. Oh, wretch ! see what you've brought me to ; all 
 my fortune lavished away, and not even solaced by the little 
 endearments that render sorrow endurable! where is my 
 money? 
 
 Rake. Gone. 
 
 Mrs. D. My houses? 
 
 Rake. Sold. 
 
 Mrs. D. My jewels ? 
 
 Rake. Pawned. 
 
 Mrs. D. What, my ornaments — the gems that threw a charm 
 on my beauty ! — oh, it is too much ! (cries.) 
 
 Rake. Peace, woman ! — weep not for the gauds of a girl. 
 Is this a time for selfish sorrow ? I am wrung, head and heart ! 
 I have lost a jewel nothing can restore. 
 
 Mrs. D. What? 
 
 Rake. Peace of mind, and purity of heart, gone and gone 
 from me for ever, (crosses to r.) 
 
 Mrs. D. Ungrateful wretch! to whom I gave my fond 
 affections-— oh, " Let lovely woman beware how she listens to 
 
40 the rake's progress. Act 3. 
 
 the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely." What 
 am I to do? I can't live without attendants — equipage — 
 household — and I won't — that's flat. 
 
 Rake. Oh, Fanny Moreland ! how unlike you is this. 
 
 Mrs. D. Fanny Moreland! how dare you insult me by 
 naming her ? 
 
 Boy, (without, r.) Beer ! 
 
 Enter Boy, r. 
 
 Gentleman ordered a pot of beer. 
 
 Mrs. D. Pot of beer! how indelicate ! 
 
 Rake. 'Twas Markham — leave it. 
 
 Boy. I can't leave it without the money. 
 
 Rake. 'Sdeath ! and I have not a shilling in the world ! Go. 
 
 Boy. Go ! no go, I think ! Pretty gentleman — can't pay for 
 a pot of beer ! Exit, r. 
 
 Rake. I wonder that I am not mad. 
 
 Mrs. D. You ought to be, when you think what you have 
 brought me to. 
 
 Rake. Peace, woman ! — let me not hear your raven voice. 
 
 Mrs. D. My raven voice ! — the brute's mad to a certainty. 
 I'll not remain with him — I've a relation in Hampshire — I'll go 
 outside the Portsmouth mail. Mail did I say! — I'll have 
 nothing to do with the filthy male again. That your miseries 
 may every day grow greater, till you awake to a sense of the 
 wrongs done my susceptible heart, is my last and earnest wish. 
 You brute ! Exit r. 
 
 Rake. Ned! 
 
 Enter Nokes, r. 
 
 Nokes. Any commands, sir ? 
 
 Rake. Ned, you have been long a faithful follower of mine ; 
 it pains me to say it, but I'm unable any longer to support a 
 servant — you must seek your fortune elsewhere. Ah ! can I 
 live through this ! 
 
 (Rakewell throws himself on bed, scene closes. 
 
 SCENE III.— -Racket Ground. (2nd grooves.) 
 Enter Nokes, l., meeting Snump, r. 
 
 Nokes. Snump, you have been long a faithful follower of 
 mine ; it grieves me to say it — Walker ! — but I can no longer 
 support you — you must seek your fortune elsewhere. 
 
Sc. 3. 'THE hake's progress. 41 
 
 Snump. I won't. 
 
 Nokes. You won't ? 
 
 Snump. No — I'll stick by you till death. 
 
 Nokes. But I'm out of place — I can't work for you. 
 
 Snump. Then steal for me. 
 
 Nokes. But why should I — you're no relation of mine ? 
 
 Snump. If I was, you wouldn't relieve me. I think you've 
 a mother, haven't you ? 
 
 Nokes. I have. 
 
 Snump. Now, during your career with Eakewell, what have 
 you ever sent her ? 
 
 Nokes. Nothing. 
 
 Snump. What a fine specimen of manhood you are ; natural 
 love has never extracted a shilling — unmanly fear has cost you 
 hundreds. 
 
 Nokes. Snump — stump ! — I'll have no preachy and floggy 
 too — and that's the finish. Hollo ! 
 
 Enter Sam, r. 
 
 Sam. It is the werry individual ! Ned Nokes caged at last ! 
 Vot a confined hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. Why, Sam, I shouldn't have known you ! — how you 
 are altered. 
 
 Sam. For the worser ? 
 
 Nokes. Rather. 
 
 Sam. Who's that individual? 
 
 Nokes. Oh, that's my fetch. 
 
 Sam. What — the peaching varmint — the man of informa- 
 tion ? Vot a common hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. Sam, speak to him — bluster it a little. 
 
 Sam. I will, (crosses to c.) I say, old bacco-pipe, I wonder 
 you can look an honest man in the face ? 
 
 Snump. I don't. 
 
 Sam. Vot a cantankerous hidea ! You are just sich a villain 
 as would rob a church. 
 
 Snump. And you, a churchyard. 
 
 Sam. Vot a body-snatching hidea ! Vy, Ned, he knows me. 
 
 Snump. Yes, I do ; did you never hocus a horse at Epsom ? 
 
 Sam. Hocus ? — vot a poisoning idea ! 
 
 Snump. Cup! 
 
 Nokes. That's the finish. Dub up, Sam, or you'll never 
 get rid of him. 
 
 Sam. There's half a crown, (aside.) It's a bad one — vot a 
 smashing hidea ! 
 
 Snump. (putting his hand to Sam's waistcoat.') Do you deal 
 in these ? 
 
42 the rake's progress. Act 3. 
 
 Sam. Leave off tickling a fellow there. 
 
 Snump. You'll be tickled up higher some of these times. 
 (taking another half-crown from Sam's pocket) I shall mark 
 these and keep them as evidence. 
 
 Sam. Evidence ! — vot a legal hidea ! Come, there's a good 
 one. (offering half-crown.) 
 
 Snump. I must have a sovereign now. 
 
 Sam. I ain't got it. 
 
 Snump. A lie ! 
 
 Sam. I can't get it. 
 
 Snump. Another. 
 
 Sam. Calls a gentlemen a liar. Vot a haggravating hidea ! 
 
 Snump. (crosses to R.) I'll show these to the marshal!. 
 
 Sam. (crosses to c.) Stop ! there's the ready — (gives a sove- 
 reign.) and now be off with you, for the sight of you gives me 
 a pain just here. Vot a unpleasant hidea ! (goes up.) 
 
 Snump. (to Ned.) Cup ! 
 
 Nokes. I've only a few shillings. 
 
 Snump. I'll have them. 
 
 Nokes. There ! (emptying purse.) That's the finish. 
 
 Snump. Good bye ; I shall see you both to-morrow. Exit, R. 
 
 Sam. Vot a kind hidea ! that is a vagabond, surely. 
 
 Nokes. Sam, what brought you here? 
 
 Sam. I'm a prisoner, bless you. 
 
 Nokes. What for ? 
 
 Sam. Only for telling a lie. 
 
 Nokes. Telling a lie ? 
 
 Sam. Yes, I promised to pay a man and I didn't. Vot a 
 creditable hidea ! But I say, Ned, is it all up? no go, no how ? 
 couldn't we do something together ? 
 
 Nokes. Are you willing? 
 
 Sam. I am, and I arn't particular ; I've gone on day by day, 
 year by year — getting, I may say, worser and worser, and now 
 I stick at nothing — only I'd rather prefer doing summut for 
 which, if found out, they couldn't hurt us above the armpits. 
 
 Nokes. You know Miss Fanny Moreland — she has a hun- 
 dred a-year — principal money — about two thousand four hun- 
 dred, now lies at Coutts's. 
 
 Sam. I see — a forgery — vot a literary hidea ! 
 
 Nokes. Come to the tap and we'll talk it over — it must be 
 done directly ; you can write it, I'll utter it. 
 
 Sam. (crosses to r.) That's kind ! now, how beautiful it is 
 to see two men, like you and I, trying to assist one another. 
 Come what will, Ned, through thick and thin, we'll hang to- 
 gether. (Ned starts.) Well, so we will — nothing's done without 
 friendship and combination. Vot a co-operative hidea ! 
 
 Exeunt, l. 
 
Sc. 4. the rake's progress. 43 
 
 Enter Markham, with a letter and bank notes, r. 
 
 Mark. Devilish lucky that Sir Flashly O'Flynn, who levanted 
 after last Leger should have turned up a trump at last. This 
 windfall was wanted, and I am a free man ; now for Tom's 
 letter once more, (reading.) " Scoundrel — insulted — Fanny- 
 innocence — know you to be a villian — want only my liberty to 
 prove you a coward." This is a trifle too much, Master Rake- 
 well— I've paid your debts, and by this time your discharge is 
 at the gate and my challenge in your hand — attend it, and 
 I'll prove that though I may be a villain, at least I am not a 
 coward. Exit l. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Heath. (4th grooves.) Moonlight. 
 Lights down. 
 
 Enter Rakewell, r. u. e. 
 
 Rake. 'Tis past the hour, and yet he does not come ; will he 
 not come ? No, I know him too well to doubt that. Fanny ! 
 my own, my beautiful Fanny ! deserted by him she doated on, 
 and left to the mercy of a libertine. What will be the issue ? 
 I shall murder my friend, the partner of my boyhood's sports, 
 my manhood's follies — or he murders me. Well, welcome the 
 worst — the worst is death, and that I pray for. 
 
 Enter Markham, l. u. e., with a case of pistols. 
 
 Mark. An adversary for one ; is that you V 
 
 Rake. It is. Harry Markham, you are a villain ! 
 
 Mark. What? 
 
 Rake. A perjured villain ! Recall our early days, sir. My 
 arm was your aid — my purse your banker. 
 
 Mark. Granted. 
 
 Rake. How was this repaid ? You decoyed me, drunk, into 
 a marriage with a wretch, and when you put it beyond my 
 power to right my Fanny, strove to wrong her. 
 
 Mark. Everybody does it. 
 
 Rake. Man, I come not here to jest. 
 
 Mark. Nor I — I come to fight. I am what the world has 
 made me ; it found me guileless, and left me heartless. I may 
 be a villain, a scoundrel, a gamester, but I don't choose to be 
 called so. You have added coward, that word your life only 
 can repair ; take your choice, (offering pistols.) 
 
 Rake. Your blood be on your own head. 
 
44 the hake's progress. Act 3. 
 
 Mark. Your hand, old fellow ; I bear you no malice, but I'll 
 blow you into eternity with all the pleasure in life — my honour 
 demands it. If I should happen to shoot you, I have horses for 
 one behind the hedge ; if I fall, do you mount ; it's no use for 
 either of us to be transported about a woman. 
 
 Rake. Peace, villain — she's an angel. 
 
 Mark. Well, I dare say she is ; but if I go, the odds are, it 
 won't be where angels are to be met with, so you needn't be 
 jealous. Come, take your ground, and when I give the word, 
 fire. Are you ready ? 
 
 Rake. Quite. 
 
 Mark. Fire, (they fire — Harry falls,) 
 
 Rake. Hal! 
 
 Mark. I'm dished. 
 
 Rake. Speak, Harry Markham, speak ! 
 
 Mark. It's all up. Fly, Tom, fly, and good fortune, my 
 
 boy— Ha, ha ! your hand was so d d unsteady, the bullet 
 
 took a zigzag direction. 
 
 Rake. Courage, man, it can't be fatal ! 
 
 Mark. It is, Tom, it is ; you are the first man that ever 
 touched my heart, {clapping his hand on the wound.) Mark my 
 dying words — don't bet on the Sandford race, it's a done thing 
 — hedge, if you have — ha, ha ! A coffin for one — and a tomb- 
 stone to follow, (dies — scene closes.) 
 
 SCENE V. — A Chamber. (2nd grooves.) Lights up. 
 Enter Fanny, r. 
 
 Fanny. Still no news of him for whom I have sacrificed my 
 life, and now friendless and unprotected I am left to the perse- 
 cution of a libertine. Poverty, poverty ! your greatest curse is, 
 that you expose your victims to the insults of the vulgar rich, 
 and the fashionably vicious. 
 
 Enter Betty, l. 
 
 Betty. I'm in such a bustle. Oh, Miss Fanny ! Miss Fanny, 
 there's been a man here to say that your banker has been 
 cheated out of all your money, and that you haven't a penny 
 in the world. 
 
 Fanny. Heaven forgive the heart that could rob a friendless 
 orphan. 
 
 Betiy. Forgive him ! I'm in such a bustle ; I never did see 
 an execution, but when that fellow's catched, hang me if I 
 don't. 
 
Sc. 5. the rake's progress. 45 
 
 Fanny. Hush, Betty, you do not know the temptations that 
 may have led to the crime. 
 
 Betty. And he doesn't care for the miseries that follow it. 
 I am in such a bustle ; look here, miss, a good-looking creature 
 like me works hard for the mere means of keeping life and soul 
 together — if I was to do anything wrong, what a hullaballoo 
 there'd be ; then what excuse is there for a lord of the creation, 
 who uses his strength for our undoing, and then pleads his own 
 weakness as an excuse for his crime ? 
 
 Fanny. Tell me, Betty, have you heard any more of 
 Rakewell? 
 
 Betty. I left the letter at the house, ma'am — but he's gone 
 away. 
 
 Fanny. Gone away ? 
 
 Betty. Gone to gaol; yes, the nasty, perfidy, good-for- 
 nothing fellow — and too good for him. Ah, if I had my will, 
 he should be kept for twenty years on bread and water — and 
 very little of that. 
 
 Fanny. Peace! 
 
 Betty. Cruel! false! selfish! 
 
 Fanny. Peace, I tell you. 
 
 Betty. La, miss ! I only spoke out of regard for you. 
 
 Fanny. Those who regard me, mustn't slander him. Oh, my 
 own, my first love ! dearer are you to me in misery than even 
 in your proudest day. A thousand recollections of kindness — 
 a thousand memories of happiness come with the mention of 
 his name ! Leave me, Betty. 
 
 Betty. Oh, Miss Moreland, it cuts me to the heart to hear 
 you say so ; I'm sure I always said that Mr. Rakewell was a 
 sweet young gentleman till he married that nasty old frowsy — 
 
 Fanny. Peace, woman ! his wife claims my respect. Never 
 again let your tongue utter one word against poor Tom Rake- 
 well ; if he has been guilty, I am the sufferer, and I can suffer 
 and be still — but now, when misery lays heavy on him, is it a 
 time for reproach ? Fly to him, Betty — bear him this note, it 
 may alleviate his wants, it cannot mine. 
 
 Betty. Oh, miss, miss ! do forgive me ; I arn't such a flinty 
 hearted wretch, neither — what can I do? — I am in such a 
 bustle ! (going*off, l., and returning with a box.) Here's all I've 
 saved in your and your dear father's service ; take every penny 
 of it — I'd rather starve myself, and beg for you, than think 
 that any one you loved wanted a meal. 
 
 Fanny. Oh, Betty, Betty ! {embraces her — scene closes. 
 
46 the rake's progress. Act 3, 
 
 SCENE VI.— A Street. (1st grooves.) 
 Enter Sam, Nokes, Snump, and Officer, r. 
 
 Sam. (entering.) Taken up for a forgery ! Vy vot a hidea. 
 
 Officer. It appeal's a clear case. 
 
 Snump. Very! 
 
 Sam. Vy now, look rationally at this here. Suppose I did 
 write that bit of paper, vy vot of that ? — in the hurry of the 
 moment a man may sign another gentleman's name by mistake, 
 mayn't he, sir ? — vot a confused hidea ! 
 
 Snump. No ; besides, this was a lady's name. 
 
 Sam. When a man's in a hurry, he hardly knows whether 
 he's a lady or a gentleman. Vot a neuter hidea ! 
 
 Officer. The case is clear enough — you were seen to 
 write it. 
 
 Snump. I'll prove that. 
 
 Officer, (to Nokes.) And you to utter it. 
 
 Snump. And that, too. 
 
 Officer. Any jury in the world would find you guilty. 
 
 Sam. Ned, we shall be hung. 
 
 Nokes. That's the finish ! 
 
 Officer. No ; the wisdom of our rulers has lately blended 
 mercy with justice ; your lives will be spared, but they will be 
 passed in a distant land. 
 
 Sam. Vot a transporting hidea ! 
 
 Snump. I shall come and see you at the hulks. 
 
 Nokes. You're very good, I'm sure. 
 
 Officer. Come ! 
 
 Sam. Vich is the vay to Newgate Street ? 
 
 Exeunt Sam, Nokes, and Officer, l. 
 
 Snump. When they are both transported, I shall be a little 
 more comfortable ! I'll go and see 'em locked up. Exit, l. 
 
 SCENE VII.— The Madhouse.— Half dark, (ith grooves.) 
 Door, r. 3 e., and window, L. c. 
 
 Rakewell discovered, amid the straw, and chained to a post, R. 
 
 Rake. I wonder if 'tis day or night ? — I know no change in 
 either. Day comes to me without its sunshine, and night 
 without its star. They tell me I am mad!— yes, here, here, at 
 my heart. If I am mad, they should pity, not torture me ; 
 they chain me as a beast, and wonder that I am become like 
 
Sc. 7. THE RAKES PROGRESS. 47 
 
 one. I'm left alone — all alone in this dreary solitude ; I'll not 
 bear it — I will, I will be free ! I'll rend — I'll — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 (pulling violently at the chains, sinks by the post, exhausted.) 
 Ha ! vain — 'tis all in vain ! (rises.) I have a sense of deadly 
 wrong, though I do not know my wrongers — I feel 'tis they 
 who keep me — 'tis they that torture thus ! — I'm a wretched, 
 naked man, within their thrall, and thus they treat me ! I'll 
 not endure it. I know that there is strength within this little 
 arm to rend a sphere asunder ; and I will — I will — will be 
 free, (struggling again with chain, it breaks.) Ha, ha, ha! 
 (rushes to front, and falls.) Free again ! — again free — now for 
 vengeance — this shall be my weapon, (lifting chain.) I'll rush 
 among them — I'll scale the wall, (ascends the wall, and clutches 
 the bars, l. c. — Fanny sings vnthout — he jumps down.) That 
 voice — it pierces through my heart — my brain — how well I 
 know that voice ! Why come they not now ? I'm calm — why do 
 they leave me thus alone, where all is cold — cold — all cold — but 
 here, and here, all is fire ! 
 
 (the door is heard to unlock — Rakewell, who is kneeling, 
 
 rushes back to the post, r., and attempts to re-fasten his 
 
 chain. 
 
 Enter Keeper, d. r. 3 e. — comes down — beckons on Fanny. 
 
 Keeper. Now you may speak with safety. 
 
 Rake, (stealing towards Fanny.) Hush ! 
 
 Fanny. My heart will break ! Rakewell, do you not know 
 me? 
 
 Rake, (looking towards Keeper.) Hush ! (Fanny beckons 
 to Keeper, who crosses to r.) I know you well, (whispers.) 
 
 Fanny. Do you not know my name ? 
 
 Rake. I have forgotten that. 
 
 Fanny. Hear me, Rakewell — my father's fortune is restored 
 to me, and I shall, indeed, be happy, if I can make you so. 
 
 Rake. Now you are mad — know you not I'm married? 
 
 Fanny. She is dead; and her last prayer was for your 
 forgiveness. 
 
 Rake. We should all forgive, for we all lack much of for- 
 giveness. Oh ! memory gushes in torrents on my brain. I 
 know all now — I know you well, though I do not know your 
 name ! Bear with me a little, and I will know it — nay, do not 
 tell me — it is — it is — (after a great struggle.) Fanny ! Fanny ! 
 Fanny ! (kneeling and clasping Fanny, weeping.) 
 
 Fanny. Oh ! restrain those tears. 
 
 Rake. Check them not — tears are the blessed waters of the 
 soul, that flow to purify it. But I'll be calm— I'll not rave 
 
48 THE rake's progress. Act 3. 
 
 again ; indeed I will not. I do remember — I am he who had 
 lost a fortune ! my mother is in the cold grave — my father, too, 
 he sleeps the long sleep ! I tarry yet, the worst for me ; my 
 mind is in it's grave. 
 
 Fanny. Doubt not, my Rakewell, 'twill wake again to reason 
 and to love. 
 
 Rake. Never — never ! for your tidings, go write them on 
 my tombstone when I am ashes. Forgive me, Fanny Moreland 
 — forgive the selfish heart that won your own and broke it ; I 
 will struggle against this weakness ! I'll — I feel joy come 
 bubbling — bounding — bursting through my bosom. Here ! 
 here ! (dies — slow music.) 
 
 L. 
 
 Fanny Moreland. 
 
 c. 
 
 Rakewell. 
 
 curtain. 
 
 R. 
 
 Keeper. 
 
 EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 R. R.C. C. L.C. L. 
 
 Right. Right Centra. Centre. Left Centre. Left. 
 
 FACING THE AUDIENCE. 
 
 Punted by Thomas Scott, Warwick Court, Holborn. 
 
IIXPBNOB 
 
 tast free, and of all Booksellers. 
 
 LUMB S9. 
 
 r e's Revenge 
 Cheat 
 
 in Charlotte 
 
 ng Mother 
 
 |vous Man 
 
 . the Fifth 
 
 Gentleman 
 
 night Watch. 
 
 us 
 [d of the Wreck 
 . an Winkle Opera 
 Miing an Heirest 
 dyke Brown 
 8hore 
 ra 
 
 LUME40. 
 body's friend 
 ,rd ye Thirde 
 g a Tartla 
 oftheTwc 
 and I 
 
 8 pact re 
 Parle Franca! s 
 ning theTsblee 
 ▼en Clerks 
 
 ritten to Brown 
 Caesar 
 Cuckoo* 
 friars 
 olunteers 
 (as Points of the Law 
 $»LUME 41. 
 rpic Revels 
 pic Devils 
 Deep Sea 
 t by the Ears 
 ed for Defence 
 Cap dts— 
 yoar Uncle 
 Red Men 
 Cringle 
 
 1 for Coquettes 
 ▼en 
 
 is in the Wood 
 r Witches 
 ble on Demand 
 ffender(An) 
 OL. 42. 
 mes Is. 
 to Rnin 
 e or the Home 
 I Dodge 
 klier MasonRouge 
 ■ Ball 
 ngfe and Fortune 
 Kifle & how to use it 
 L<>ve and Hunger 
 
 644 Alfred the Great 
 
 645 Jackths Giant Killer 
 VOLUMB 44. 
 
 646 Alice Gray 
 
 647 Xing Thrushbeard 
 
 648 Household Fairy 
 
 649 Cricket on the Heartb 
 
 650 Head of the Family 
 
 651 Rath the lass that 
 loves a Sailor 
 
 652 Bean Brummell 
 
 653 Farmer's Story 
 6543oose withCioldenllgge 
 
 655 Dido 
 
 656 Holly Bush Hail 
 
 657 Sisterly Service 
 
 658 Forest Keeper 
 
 659 My Wife's 2nd. Floor 
 
 660 Paphian Bower 
 VOLUME.45. 
 
 661 Tale of Two Cities (A) 
 
 662 Founded on Facts 
 
 663 Two Polts 
 
 664 Pork Chops 
 
 665 Thrice Married 
 
 666 Duel in the Snow 
 66* Uncle Zachary 
 688 "B. B." 
 
 669 Change of System 
 
 670 Miller and his Men 
 
 671 Pilgrim of Love 
 
 672 Lucrezia Borgia Brlq. 
 
 673 Outlaw of Adriatic 
 
 674 My Wifes Out 
 
 675 Inundation (The 
 VOLUME 46. 
 
 676 Wizard of the Wave 
 
 677 Doaglas Tra»estie 
 
 678 Warlock of the Glen 
 
 679 Next of Kin 
 
 680 Race for a Widow 
 
 681 Asmodeus 
 
 682 Friend in Need 
 
 683 Crael to be Kind 
 
 684 Brother & Sister 
 
 685 Christmas Boxes[diere 
 
 686 Marianne the Vivan- 
 
 687 Idiot Witness [smythe 
 
 688 Fitzsmythe of Fita- 
 
 689 Dearest Mamma 
 
 690 Mazeppa (Burlesque) 
 VOLUME 47 
 
 691 Marguerite's Colours 
 
 692 Appearances 
 
 693 Eily O'Connor 
 
 694 Bowl'd out 
 
 695 Model Husband (A) 
 
 696 Duches3 or Nothing 
 ;y Green (Nature I 697 Rifle Volunteer (tion 
 much for Good- | 698 Observation & Flirta- 
 
 699 Paul Pry (Jerrold) 
 
 700 Family Secret 
 
 701 Railroad Station 
 
 702 Pet Lamb 
 
 703 Fair Exchange 
 
 704 Hit him he has no 
 
 705 Bluejackets (friends 
 VOL. 48. 
 
 706 Patricians Daughterls 
 
 707 Hard Struggle 
 
 708 117 Arundel Street 
 
 709 Teacher taught 
 
 710 Post of Honour 
 
 711 My Fellow Clerk 
 
 712 Middy \snor« 
 
 713 Gitanilla 
 
 714 A Regular. Pix 
 V\B Secret 
 
 Turginus Burlesqao 
 Dick Tarpin 
 Magic Toys 
 Halve the Unknown 
 
 VOLUME 43. 
 Pool's Revenge Is. 
 Husband to Order 
 I Romeo & Juliet Burlesq 
 Dog of Montargis 
 Aeadevouz 
 Village Lawyer 
 Horsey Ohickweed 
 
 I Shameful Behaviour 
 Good for Evil 
 
 rmond and Agnes 
 rStrikeofCaaton 
 >hof Lnrleyberg 
 
 716 Pets of the Parterre 
 
 717 Man who follows the 
 
 718 Robin Hood [Ladies 
 
 719 Garibaldi Bxcursion- 
 
 720 Post Boy [ists) 
 
 VOLUME 49. 
 
 721 Anne Blake* I s. 
 
 722 Home for a Holiday 
 
 723 Ray Bias 
 
 724 John Wopps 
 
 725 Paris and Pleasure 
 
 726 Ugly Customer (An) 
 
 727 Robinson Crusoe Bsq. 
 
 728 Cinderella Burlesque 
 
 729 Blue Beard Burlesque 
 
 730 Dolly 
 
 7S1 Old Joe 8c young Joe 
 
 732 Endymion 
 
 733 Timour the Tartar Bq. 
 
 734 Ghrystabelle 
 
 735 Spanish Dancers 
 
 VOLUME 50. 
 
 736 Babes in Wood Is. 
 
 737 Up at Hills (Comedy 
 
 738 Dominique Deserter 
 
 739 Did I Dream it 
 
 740 Legacy of Honour 
 
 741 Old Trusty 
 
 742 Chimney Corner 
 
 743 Cantab 
 
 744 House on the Bridge 
 
 745 Tom Thumb (Cruik - 
 
 746 Little Rebel (shank 
 
 747 His Excellency 
 
 748 Census (Letter 
 
 749 Adventures of Love 
 
 750 Aladdin Burlesque 
 
 VOLUME 51. 
 
 751 Black Sheep 
 
 752 Pirates of Savannah 
 
 753 Mao Carthy More 
 
 754 Turkish Bath 
 
 755 Pacha of Pimlico 
 755 Scrap of Paper 
 
 757 Jocrisse the Juggler 
 
 758 Old Story 
 
 759 Speed the Plough 
 
 760 Telemachu3 
 
 761 Angel of Midnight 
 
 762 On and OI (Gold 
 
 763 More Precious than 
 
 764 Peace and Quiet 
 
 765 Pretty Horseoreaker 
 
 VOLUME 52. 
 
 766 My Lord and Lady Is 
 
 767 Isle of St. Tropez. 
 
 768 First Affections 
 
 769 Comical Countess 
 
 770 Mary Price 
 
 771 Syren of Paris 
 
 772 Lucky Escape (A) 
 
 773 Wren Boys 
 
 774 Temptation 
 
 775 That affair at Pinchley 
 
 776 Short and Sweet 
 
 777 Illustrious Stranger 
 
 778 Wooing one's Wife 
 
 779 Esmeralda Burlesque 
 
 780 Brother Bill and me 
 
 VOL.53. 
 
 781 Miss Eily O'Connor 
 
 782 Terrible Secret 
 
 783 Medea (Tragedy) 
 
 784 Legal Impediment 
 735 Court Cards 
 
 786 Mummy 
 
 787 Poor Nobleman 
 7^8 State Secrets 
 
 789 Deerfoot 
 
 790 KingoftheMerrowa 
 
 791 Red Riding Hoo 1 
 
 792 Parseas &£Androm 
 
 793 Slow tops Engage- 
 
 794 John Smith (meats 
 
 795 Hour in Seville (An 
 VOLUME 54. 
 
 796 Villikins and Dine> 
 
 797 Eclipsing the Son 
 
 798 Margery Daw 
 
 799 Old Phil's Birthdas 
 
 800 Mather Goose 
 
 801 Fairy's Father 
 
 802 Orange Blossoms 
 
 803 Intrigue 
 
 $04 Life's Random 
 
 805 Friends or Foes It, 
 
 806 Wife'g Portrait 
 
 807 Caught in a Line 
 
 808 Nice Qaiet Day,A 
 
 809 Catch a Weasel 
 8l0ldiotoftheMountaln 
 
 VOLUME 5S. 
 
 811 Worid of Fashion 
 
 812 Doing for the Bes M 
 
 813 Fair Rosamond 
 
 814 JeweleroFSt Jams I 
 
 815 Prince Amabel 
 
 816 I could'ut help It 
 
 817 Shilling Day (A) 
 
 818 Mrs. White (tie* 
 
 819 Colleen Bawn Set. 
 
 820 Norma Travestie 
 
 821 Keep your Tempei 
 
 822 Harvest Storm 
 
 823 Marriage at any pric< 
 
 824 Jonathan Bradford 
 
 825 Sharp Practice 
 VOLUME 56. 
 
 326 Strathmore Is. 
 827 Azael the Prodigal 
 823 Silent System 
 
 829 Bristol Diamonda 
 
 830 Sam's Arrival 
 
 831 Knights ofStJoha 
 
 832 She wd. & he Wdn 
 
 833 Duck Hunting 
 
 834 Trovatore (Drama 
 
 835 Real and Ideal 
 
 836 Jack's Delight 
 
 837 Robbers of Pyrenees 
 833Southerner&c.A (tei 
 
 839 My Son's a Oaagh. 
 
 840 My Wifes Relations 
 VOLUME 57. 
 
 841 Robin Hood,Burlq 
 
 842 George de Barn we 
 
 343 Rasselas 
 
 344 Valentine (A) 
 
 845 Carte de Visite 
 
 846 Dark Cloud (A J 
 
 847 Faint Heart did wi 
 
 848 Dred (Fair Lad 
 843 (jadyAadley'sSecri 
 
 850 Heart of Mid LothiJ 
 
 851 My Preserver 
 
 352 Duke's Daugater 
 
 353 Under the Rose 
 
 854 Forty Winxs 
 
 855 Law versus Love 
 VOLUMB 58. 
 
 856 Aurora tfioyd 
 
 857 Buckstoneat Hoi 
 
 858 Beautiful Haidee 
 
 859 Trial or fj-apcin 
 
 860 Aeis 8c Galatsj Brt 
 
 861 Blind Bov 
 
 l ostage Stamps received in payment to any amount. 
 
SIXPENCE EACH, Post free, and of all Bookseller 
 
 i 925Merrjr Wives Windsr] 95Q Cu D id and Psy 
 1 «*"— ^^ aieg & Qrr 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 M2 Merry Widow 
 863 Taming the Truan t 
 •o4 Alonao the Br are 
 
 Burlesque 
 955 Little Sentinel 
 SM l! Trovatore Bnr-lq. 
 887 Sleeping Draaght 
 8«8 A Gharming Pair 
 869 Smoked Miser 
 87» Cousin Toti 
 
 VOLUSB 59. 
 SriTMcfeet ofLeareMan I* 
 
 873 Oberon (Opera) 
 878 Cherry Bounce 
 
 874 Waich shall I Marry f 
 
 875 .The Motto 
 
 87« Ticket of Leave 
 •77 Make yonr Wills 
 
 878 Wanhoe Burlaq. 
 
 879 Aged Forty 
 
 880 All at Coventry 
 •81 His Last Victory 
 882 Ali B*ba; 89 Thieves 
 •83 Tarn Him Oai 
 
 884 Camillas Hasband 
 88* A Silent Woman 
 VOLUME 60. 
 
 886 Manfred (Room 
 
 887 Double- Bedded- 
 
 888 Deal Boatman 
 •89 Ixion 
 
 890 Pirates of Putney 
 g91 Easy Shaving (day 
 g92 Highwayman's Holi- 
 
 895 Miriam's Crime 
 894 Accusing Spin* 
 39* Where's yoar , 
 898 A Charming W 
 
 897 Beauty or the B 
 
 898 My Heart's in 1 
 
 899 Little Daisy (1 
 
 900 Portanes Frolic 
 VOLUME 61. 
 
 901 Pare Gold Is. 
 912 Patient Penelop 
 90S Review 
 
 904 Silken Fetters 
 
 905 Mada9aHatter(Ball 
 
 906 Madame Berliot's 
 
 907 Orpheas & Hurydice 
 
 908 K.\ng Arthur 
 
 909 Love and Rain 
 
 910 Lady Belle Belle 
 
 911 1868 
 
 912 Stolen £20 Re ward 
 918 Margate Sands 
 914 Model of a W ife 
 9l5UnlimitedConfidence 
 
 VOLUME 62. 
 
 916 Silver Lining 
 
 917 Paul's Return 
 
 918 The Reapers 
 
 919 Area Belle 
 
 920 Alabama 
 
 921 Lost Child 
 
 922 Venus and Adonis 
 
 923 Rumplestiltskin 
 
 924 Drawing Room <kc. 
 
 0" 014 "527 128 9 
 
 — - raun ouneique 
 936 Monastery of St. Just 
 957 My Wife's Maid 
 933 Actors' Retreat 
 
 939 Timothy to the Resca< 
 
 940 Mazourka 
 
 941 Deborah (Leah) 
 941 My Dress Boots 
 
 943 Music hath Charms 
 
 944 O n th e Sly [Game 
 
 945 Woodcock's Little 
 VOLUME 64. 
 
 946 How will they Get 
 Out of It? 
 
 947 Henry IV. Part II. 
 943 Doing; Banting 
 
 949 My Wife's Bonnet 
 
 950 Cymbeline 
 9.51 Snowdrop 
 
 952 Sybilla 
 
 953 Lad from the Country 
 
 954 Mother's Dying Child 
 
 955 The"Grin"Bushes 
 
 ess Spring 
 >n in Lov« 
 iUME 65 
 mce's Lo> 
 U Ward I 
 oon 
 
 • in? a Tai- 
 Groeu'g 
 Little Busin. 
 956 Hidden Hand 
 
 967 Our New Mar 
 
 968 Brigands of cl 
 
 969 Going to the ] 
 
 970 Billing ana Ci 
 
 971 Rustic Prima 
 
 972 Border Marria; 
 
 973 Faces in the I 
 
 974 Fanfan the Tu 
 
 975 Pirithous 
 VOLUME 66., 
 
 976PlayingwitUM 
 
 977 Three Furies/ 
 
 978 \ triple Apolo/ 
 979Wauteda You 
 
 980 Ulysses 
 
 981 La Sonnambt 
 932 Steeple Cha* 
 983 Pan 
 
 LACY'S DRAMATIC COSTUMES, 
 
 Parts l,3 9 ft, 7,9,11, 13, 15,17, 19, 21,23,25, 27, 29,31,33,35, 37, 39, to 47,— M 
 
 Parts 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22, 24, 26, 28, 30, 32, 34, 36, to 52— FEM 
 
 BAOtt CONTAINING SIX PLATES,— 2s. 6d. Coloured, or 9d. Plain, 
 
 The Work to be completed in 66 Parts, which will afford specimens of ta» 
 
 National Dreises of all Countries and periods. 
 
 ANSON'S^ 
 
 a 
 
 DRAMATIC 
 
 ALMANACK, 
 
 J U D 
 
 6d. 
 
 PUNCH AND 
 
 With 24 Illustrations by GEORGE ORUIK SHANK, 
 an account of its origin and history. — One Shilling c 
 
 HOQAR^a^S^IBM0iRS^i r raB^ol»BRA, 
 
 IN ENGLAND.— With Notices of all the Eminent Singers that have app 
 Portraits, published at 21s., reduced to 3g. gd. 
 
 Rev. Dr. BELLOW'S DEFENCE OP THE DRA 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY MR. BUCKSTONE, PRICE 6d- 
 
 GUIDE TO 
 
 Containing a Mass of Information most 
 
 THE STAGE, 
 
 rateable to Amateurs * Actors, Pri 
 
 ART OF ACTING. Price 6d. 
 
 Or concise directions as to the best coarse of attaining emin ence upon the sta 
 
 LACY'S COMIC RECITER, Parts 1, 2, & 3, 6d.Ea 
 
 Containing Laughable Tales. Addresses. Prologues, Speeches, Dialogues, Epilogu 
 
 LACY'S DRAMATIC RECITER, Part 1, 6d. 
 
 Consisting of the most popular serious Tales, Addresse s, Recitations, &c. 
 
 READING. SPEAKING, and ACTION, the Em. 
 
 J all written on the subject, by C. SMITH.— SIXPENOI 
 
tm® 
 
 Hi 
 
 ME? 
 
 EH 
 
 %mm 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 Jl 
 
 n 
 
 9 
 
 *S^S5 
 
\ 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 527 128 9 f 
 
 Hollinger Corp. 
 pH 8.5